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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut.

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content.

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you.

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat.

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure.

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports.

“Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head.

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed.

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest.

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally.

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while.

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted.

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock.

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.”

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere.

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot.

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads.

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.”

“Uh, guys,” Martin said.

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin’s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said.

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”.

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said.

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes.

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes.

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise.

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain.

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses.

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar.

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did.

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said.

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other.

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it “ - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness.

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them.

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other.

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself.

****

This plan had a few complexities.

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss.

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia.

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back.

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had.

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them.

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually.

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it.

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair.

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit.

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.”

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him.

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip.

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug.

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don’t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation.

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon.

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise.

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred.

Then the Archivist began to speak.

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug.

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality.

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands.

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone.

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world.

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell.

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots.

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time.

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true.

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect.

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing.

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great.

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss.

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse.

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time!

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said.

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said.

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned.

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed.

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating.

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion.

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard.

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed.

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly.

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too.

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them.

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green.

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed.

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten.

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge.

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama.

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon.

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face.

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one.

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long.

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well.

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse.

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway.

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder.

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate.

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense.

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider.

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing.

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly.

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug.

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable.

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too.

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing.

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically.

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed.

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth.

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel.

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias.

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about.

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too.

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful.

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly.

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk.

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms.

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered.

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug.

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped.

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out.

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor.

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested.

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing.

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen.

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs.

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel.

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red.

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew.

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.”

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths.

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert.

Then the pain abated, and was gone.

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion.

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest.

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway.

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around.

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

#i know I say 'this is the stupidest thing i've ever written' EVERY TIME BUT #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfic #tma time travel au #crack #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #martin blackwood #elias bouchard

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sweetteaanddragons · 4 years ago

Text

Innocence

Nolofinwe’s first thought was that Feanaro had sired another son and neglected to mention it.

A second thought dismissed this as ridiculous, given a moment’s comparison between the age of the child (halfway to adolescence) and the length of time Feanaro had previously been able to resist announcing that he had another child (half a breath).

His second thought was that Curufinwe had sired a child, but given that then he would have had to miss both a birth and a marriage announcement, he was inclined to doubt it.

“I did say Atar was unavailable for a reason,” Pityo said helpfully from behind him.

“No,” Nolofinwe said after another moment of stunned silence spent exchanging stares with a bright eyed and half sized Feanaro, “you said, and I quote, “Atar is unavailable for - reasons.” Forgive me for assuming you were just trying to get rid of me.”

Feanaro had hopped up to perch on the scarred wood of his much abused workbench, presumably so he could continue the staring contest from a more equitable position. “Why do we want to get rid of you?” he asked. “Who are you, anyway?”

Nolofinwe blinked.

He wasn’t quite sure which sentence had hit him harder. It was probably better not to think about it.

“He doesn’t know who I am either,” Pityo in a voice that was clearly trying to substitute manic cheer for sanity. “I think an experiment went wrong.”

“How do you know it went wrong?” Feanaro demanded. “Maybe I was trying to do this.”

Well, at least some things hadn’t changed. “But we are accepting the premise that this was an experiment.”

Pityo looked helplessly around Feanaro’s workroom, with its profusion of strange tools, unidentifiable substances, and suspicious jewelry, as if to ask, What else could it be?

“That’s what the - my notes say,” Feanaro said, and the stumble revealed the first hint of uncertainty in this whole mess. “I think.”

Nolofinwe snatched up the closest sheaf of papers.

It immediately became apparent why Feanaro had not been able to make that statement with any more certainty.

“He’s developed another system of writing,” he said blankly. It was not quite a question. “Wasn’t coming up with one enough?”

Feanaro brightened. “I made a new system of writing? What’s it like? Will you show me?”

“It’s not a whole new system,” Pityo said at the same time. “It’s just his code. I suppose . . . “ And he gestured helplessly again, this time at his miniaturized father.

“I recognize some of it,” Feanaro said defensively. “And I figured out some of the rest. I’m sure I’ll get it eventually.”

“He’s stuck like this until he can decode his own notes?”

Pityo shook his head. “Curufinwe should be able to decode it. Probably. He taught it to all of us, it’s just . . . been a while.”

“He said I have seven sons,” Feanaro said. He sounded enormously impressed by this information. “Are you one of them?”

It took a lifetime of controlling his expression in court not to choke.

“No,” Pityo said, sounding horrified.

Nolofinwe was not particularly eager to hear how one of Feanaro’s sons would explain him.

“I’m your brother,” he said. “Nolofinwe.”

He was not at all prepared for the way Feanaro glowed.

Or for the way Feanaro flung himself off the worktable and wrapped himself around Nolofinwe like the octopus Arafinwe had once shown him.

Before Nolofinwe could react, Feanaro had already clambered up, tiny limbs jabbing into Nolofinwe and awkwardly pulling at the jewels pinned to his court finery, until Feanaro had secured himself firmly on Nolofinwe’s back, pointy chin digging into his head.

“There,” Feanaro said triumphantly. “Now I’m taller than you again.”

“Again?” Nolofinwe asked, automatically adjusting his grip on Feanaro’s legs to keep him from falling. He was abruptly thankful that Pityo had managed to dig up some child sized clothes before he got here.

“You’re my little brother,” Feanaro said matter-of-factly. “I’m taller than you.”

Nolofinwe was, in fact, about a hands-width taller than Feanaro, a fact that he was privately and perhaps bit embarrassingly proud of.

He resisted the urge to share this fact with his currently younger half-brother.

This bit of maturity was helped by the fact that he was still processing the look on Feanaro’s face when he had found out who Nolofinwe was to him.

He took a deep breath. “Back to our most urgent concern,” he said. “If Curufinwe is the only one who can translate these notes, where is he?”

Pityo bit his lip. “Out with the others, probably. We were all helping Makalaure set up for his performance at the festival tonight. I just came back to grab something and found . . . “

“Me,” Feanaro said, small arms temporarily squeezing tighter in their grip.

“Right,” Nolofinwe said. He resisted the urge to rub between his eyes. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why you were trying to make yourself younger in the first place? I assume you intended to keep your memories while you did so, but that still doesn’t explain the rest of it.”

“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” For once, Feanaro’s voice wasn’t smug, just matter of fact. “I was probably trying to figure out how to make other things younger and just tested it out on myself.”

“But why? We already have the means to preserve items - “

“But not animals,” Feanaro said, one arm releasing him so he could wave it excitedly. “Or we don’t, at least, and I bet you don’t either. If I could make this work, then people could have horses or cats that they’d never have to lose.” His voice was passionate with excitement for a project that wasn’t even really his, and for all the distance and anger between them, Nolofinwe didn’t have to wonder even for a moment why.

“But did you have to try it on yourself first?” he asked instead even though, rationally speaking, it was a waste of time to direct the question to Feanaro just now.

“I don’t think he did,” Pityo said. “There’s a loaf of bread on the table that I’m pretty sure was stale this morning, and when I opened the door to come in here, a kitten ran out. This was just . . . the next logical step.”

Nolofinwe gave him a flat look. Pityo jerked his chin up stubbornly.

Feanaro tugged on the collar of his robes to regain his attention. “Aren’t you even a little impressed, Nolo? I turned back time!”

“Of course it’s impressive,” he said, automatically reassuring. It had the benefit of also being true. “It’s just also insane.”

Feanaro was apparently not bothered by the second part of this because he settled back down almost immediately, pointy chin once again burrowing into Nolofinwe’s shoulder.

Pityo looked about to protest, but apparently he didn’t want Feanaro’s pointy chin any closer to his own shoulders because he kept his objections to himself. “Look,” he said instead. “I’ll go get Curufinwe and bring him back here to start working on things. I would have gone earlier, but I couldn’t leave him alone.”

And the last thing they needed was for word of this to spread around Tirion, which went unsaid.

Technically, of course, he was one of the people such word would have been kept from; there were a half dozen plans that could be pushed forward in the court with infinitely more ease with the knowledge that Feanaro would not be interfering for the foreseeable future, and Pityo knew it.

But it was hard to think of that while Feanaro was clinging to him like Nolofinwe’s own children had been too old to do for ages. And if Pityo hadn’t trusted him not to turn the situation to his own advantage, he at least trusted him enough to look after Feanaro now that he knew.

That was something.

So he just nodded, and Pityo took off like a deer with the whole hunt of Orome behind it.

When the door swung shut behind him, Nolofinwe turned his head so that he could better see Feanaro and said, “You’re taking this very well.”

He’d waited in case Feanaro took that as he cue to start not taking things well; he didn’t think the situation would be in any way improved by Feanaro bursting into tears in front of his son.

But Feanaro just shrugged. “It’s an adventure!” he said with a blinding grin that faded a bit into thoughtfulness. “And I’ve seen my notes in here and . . . and some of Amil’s tapestries upstairs. It looks like a house I’d have.”

And of course there was no reason to be concerned, Nolofinwe supposed; Feanaro was safe, there was no reason to suppose he’d ever be anything other than totally safe. This was Aman, not long ago Cuivenien, but still.

He supposed the world had changed since Feanaro was a child after all because he still couldn’t quite suppress a thrill of vicious vicarious unease. Feanaro in his right mind would not want to be this vulnerable, especially not in front of the half-brother that he now seemed for inexplicable reasons to adore.

But Feanaro was now squirming down from his place on Nolofinwe’s back. He let him down quickly, and Feanaro circled around and reclaimed his perch on the workbench, face suddenly very serious.

“Those weren’t the only things I saw upstairs,” he said. “I saw the bedrooms too.”

“Oh?” Nolofinwe said, at a loss as to why this, of all things, would upset a child-sized Feanaro.

Feanaro’s shoulders were tense. “I saw my bedroom,” he clarified, and when this still provoked no answer, his chin jutted out. “Don’t play stupid with me,” he insisted. “I saw. It was my bedroom, just mine. Something happened to their mother, didn’t it?”

His voice shook over the word “something.”

It probably said something too that he said "their mother" and not "my wife," but given his current age, mothers were probably an infinitely more comfortable topic, even considering the history of his own.

Nolofinwe sat down beside him. “Nothing happened to Nerdanel,” he said gently. Feanaro perked up just a little at the extra information he had just inadvertently provided, so Nolofinwe gave him some more. “That’s her name. She has hair just as red as Pityo’s, and she’s a sculptor. Her workshop should still be here. Have you seen it?”

Feanaro shook his head.

“She’s the best in Aman,” Nolofinwe said, and it was no empty flattery. “She’s gone to visit her family, that’s all. Nothing bad.”

“She went to visit her family, and she took everything with her?” Feanaro said skeptically.

Nolofinwe had come here hoping to discuss a few details of the festival with his brother before he went to push his case for the new university's funding in court. He had prepared for that. He had not prepared how to discuss the difficulties in his brother’s marriage with a child who wasn’t familiar with any possible difficulties in marriage beyond death.

“You had a fight,” he admitted.

Feanaro considered this. “Did I win?”

“That depends on how you define winning,” Nolofinwe said dryly. “But regardless, she is very much still alive.”

This seemed to satisfy Feanaro. At the very least, he moved on. “So how much older than you am I?” he asked, and there was a strange look on his face now.

Nolofinwe didn’t really see how the answer could do any harm, but something about the look on Feanaro’s face made him wary. “You had already started your apprenticeship when I was born,” he said, leaving at least a little ambivalence in case he needed it later.

Feanaro’s shoulders slumped a fraction, but he recovered quickly, leaning forward eagerly. “But I started that young, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he admitted. “You’d finished it before you were of age.”

Feanaro nodded, calculations running behind his eyes. “And I bet she didn’t have you right away,” he said, fingers tapping quickly, like a count. “They would have waited.”

“That’s . . . true,” he said warily.

“So it won’t be much longer then,” Feanaro said cheerfully. “From my perspective, I mean, I know it’s already handled here.”

Cheerfully?

Feanaro had apparently noticed his confusion because he rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot,” he said with a deep scorn that was far more familiar than any other expression he’d worn that day. “I know where babies come from. Atar couldn’t have given me a brother on his own.”

“Two brothers,” he said blankly. “Arafinwe - “

Feanaro grinned. “Even better.” But the grin faltered quickly. “Did she - blame me? When she came back, and you turned out alright, did she think it was my fault?”

When she came back.

He had wondered, earlier, just how old Feanaro was.

Too young, apparently, to know of his father’s decision to remarry.

That explained . . . a lot.

Feanaro’s face had crumpled in the face of his silence.

“Of course not,” he said. “Of course not, she would never blame you.” He wrapped an arm around Feanaro and pulled him closer.

Feanaro’s shoulders shook. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said, stubbornly not crying. “I’m not a baby.”

“She didn’t blame you,” he invented wildly. “She blamed Atar. But she forgave him, as Arafinwe obviously proves.”

It came out almost naturally. It would have been entirely naturally if it hadn’t belatedly occurred to him just how much trouble he would be in if Feanaro asked the obvious follow-up question and demanded to see her.

Thankfully, at that moment, the muffled sound of the door to the house banging open rang out, followed quickly by the door to the workshop slamming open in its turn.

Curufinwe ran through first, and Fenaaro’s jaw dropped at the older reflection of himself.

For his part, Curufinwe’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tears still trembling in his father’s eyes. Thunder clouds immediately began to form on his face.

Maitimo was a slightly calmer presence behind him, but his face was still flushed from moving too fast in formal robes in the summer heat. “Uncle,” he said, inclining his head. “We appreciate your assistance.”

Curufinwe opened his mouth. Maitimo very firmly snatched the relevant papers from the workbench and steered him to the other end of the workroom. Curufinwe went, though he kept sending rather understandable glances back toward his Atar.

Maitimo was gentler when he approached Feanaro, kneeling so that they were at eye level. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Maitimo. Did Pityo tell you who I am?”

“You’re the one with all the letters in your room,” Feanaro said, a little warily.

Maitimo’s mouth twitched up in amusement. “That’s right.”

Curufinwe was in sweat stained work clothes, but Maitimo’s were finer; he must have visited court before going to help Makalaure. Regardless, there were jewels glinting around his neck, and Feanaro, perhaps inevitably, was drawn toward them.

“Did I make those?” he asked eagerly, successfully distracted from his earlier distress, eyes tracing the chain of gold framed rubies that looked like sparks from a fire that wrapped from Maitimo’s shoulder to his waist.

Maitimo’s smile widened. “You did,” he said. “They were a gift for my first appointment of any real substance at court.”

Feanaro’s attention turned to Nolofinwe’s own court finery and the sapphires twisted into the silver circlet in his hair. “Did I make that?” he demanded.

Nolofinwe resisted the urge to wince. “You did not.”

That was no crime, of course; it was just that this piece in particular was very pointedly not made by Feanaro. It had, in fact, been made by a Vanyarin smith who had been trumpeted as their very best, and while the Vanyar were not generally known for their smiths, some had boasted that he could challenge even Feanaro’s skill.

Commissioning the piece had been a statement, a declaration that he was not ashamed of his Vanyarin heritage, that Feanaro’s supremacy was not unchallenged, that -

Well. A lot of things. Wearing it was also always a very deliberate jab, and it was one he had been wholeheartedly in favor of this morning.

But he couldn’t tell that to the painfully earnest Feanaro of right now.

“You’ve made me others, though,” he said, which was actually true.

There was the delicate silver bracelet that had likely been a long forgotten statement of some kind that Feanaro had gifted him upon his birth. He still had it tucked into a corner of his jewel box despite the fact it was now far too small to be of any possible use. There was the necklace Feanaro had presented to him when he was still very small, and Nolofinwe had been dragged out to Tol Eressea for the first time. He had been terrified of the shadows there and of the sky so dark that stars could peek through, and Feanaro had presented him with a chain of jewels that glowed when his tiny hands squeezed them. There had been a more formal piece too, a diadem, when he reached adolescence and was formally presented to the court. Feanaro had given it to him shortly after he confessed in a tense whisper to his nerves.

There had been a handful of more minor trinkets too, but those had trailed off after that last diadem. Feanaro had been . . . distant, frequently, in his youth, but that had often been a matter of physical distance as much as anything else, and the vast gulf in their ages. When that distance had been crossed, he had been - kind, in that fierce way of his, especially when Nolofinwe had felt weak and most in need of him.

It was when Nolofinwe had proven himself strong that the tension between them had truly arisen as a force in its own right instead of merely an echo of their parents’ lives. Childish fears of the dark had melted, and a gift for persuasion and rhetoric had sent him on a meteoric rise in courtly influence in their place.

It had not meant the end of gifts, exactly; Feanaro had as much desire to appease their father as Nolofinwe did, and so the gifts had continued at all appropriate occasions. It was just that they were never from Feanaro’s own hand anymore, and with only a few small exceptions, he strongly suspected them to have been selections of first Nerdanel and then Maitimo.

But there had been one exception, even to that. It had, ironically enough, been presented to Nolofinwe shortly after he had first worn the set he was currently draped in.

Unlike every other piece Feanaro had ever given him, the chains had been gold. Most of the jewels had been blue, glowing with a faint light, like the light of the Mingling reflected on the ocean, but the centerpiece, the largest jewel, had been like blood spreading on the water.

A violent image, but still beautiful.

It had been a statement, just like Nolofinwe’s own commission, only he had never been entirely certain of the extent of the statement involved. That it had been a defense of Feanaro’s superior craftsmanship was certain, and also a point it was difficult not to concede. The piece looked like a song given form, and it was difficult to tear his eyes away from it when it was in sight.

The rest of it, though - and there surely must be a rest of it - was less certain, and so for the most part, Nolofinwe left it quietly in its box.

Just this once, though, it surely couldn’t do much harm.

“If you’re still like this tomorrow, I’ll wear it then,” he promised.

Feanaro’s dark mood vanished for a moment before being replaced by new urgency. “We can’t wait that long! I have to be older again by tonight.”

Tension immediately reentered the room.

“Oh?” Maitimo asked with forced calm. “Did you see something concerning in your notes?”

Feanaro shook hs head. “No, but Pityo said Makalaure’s concert was tonight, and he said I couldn’t leave the house until I was back to normal, so I have to be back to normal by tonight, I have to.”

Maitimo smiled as the tensions slowly drained out again. “I’m sure he’ll understand, just this once.”

But Feanaro shook his head fiercely. “Atar always comes when he says he will,” he said firmly. “I have to do the same thing.”

“You can help me decode these if you want,” Curufinwe offered. “It would go faster.”

Feanaro hesitated a moment, but an encouraging smile from Nolofinwe sent off him quickly.

Nolofinwe looked after him for a long moment before turning back to Maitimo. “I hate to do this to you,” he said in a low voice, “but I do have other matters to attend to before the festival begins. If there’s nothing else I can do . . . ?”

“Of course,” Maitimo said. “Let me show you out.”

“Good,” he said, rising. “There’s a few things you should probably know . . . “

He explained his lies with a hint of guilt as Maitimo showed him to the door, but if Feanaro's eldest resented them, he said nothing of it.

He should at least say goodbye. He knew he should. He would be late to see Atar if he did, but Atar would never hold it against him, especially if he explained the cause.

He just - couldn't.

. . .

He hadn’t wanted to leave, exactly, but with both Feanaro and his sons pouring over the notes, Nolofinwe had little doubt the issue would be resolved quickly.

He simply preferred not to be standing right there when it was.

He had no idea whether or not Feanaro would remember what had happened. He wasn’t sure which alternative would be worse.

Either way, he would return to find things largely unchanged by his absence. He had resisted the urge to tell the king what had happened. They would have to if things persisted, of course, but he truly did not think they would, and in the meantime - it felt like a betrayal, as absurd as that was, to reveal Feanaro's joy at what could have been to anyone else.

Perhaps that was why as he dressed for the concert, he couldn’t quite help his hand lingering over a certain box.

It wasn’t quite what he had promised, but it was probably the best he could do.

And it was, after all, almost certainly the finest he owned. It was a shame to let a few complications keep it hiding in the dark.

. . .

(The concert is out in the open, great flocks of elves streaming through the festival streets to gather around the stage. Nolofinwe walks with his wife on his arm, waiting for the first golden note.)

(It is struck just as the Mingling starts. The light shimmers as it dances off the jewels on Nolofinwe’s chest.)

(For just a moment, through the crowd, he spots Feanaro, once more only a hand’s width shorter than Nolofinwe’s own height.)

(Feanaro does not approach him.)

(But his gaze catches on the dazzling jewels, and just for a moment, his half-brother smiles.)

#feanor #fingolfin #fic #silmarillion #de-aged

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stuff-from-the-void-matron · 4 years ago

Text

Oh Baby!

(baby!Tommy x motherly!Reader)

(lets see if this gets any attention. if it does i’ll see about doing other characters as babies! maybe wilbur or techno lol.)

--------

You were minding your own business, just relaxing at home in L’Manburg with a good book and some of your favorite drink. But the peace and quiet was all at once interrupted by frantic knocking at your front door. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at the front entrance, wondering as you got up who in the world could be knocking so hard on the door.

You cautiously went over and raised an eyebrow when you heard… crying and then the sound of someone running away? Now more confused than ever you tentatively cracked the door open and looked around but didn’t see anyone. Though the crying was still close and when you looked down your eyes widened at the sight of a covered basket sitting innocently on your front porch.

The crying slowed to only whimpers but it was definitely coming from the basket and you hurried to pull the door open all the way and lean down to check the abandoned basket. But you hesitated when you saw a slip of paper stuffed in the side of it. You pulled it out and quickly read it, and felt your stomach drop when you read out loud,

“Reader. IDK what happened. Tommy and I were dungeon hunting and there were skeletons shooting at us and he didn’t have a shield and got hit with a tipped arrow of some kind and then he turned into a baby. I can’t handle kids but you seem like you could. Don’t worry, it should wear off eventually. But don’t tell Philza, he’ll probably kill me. -Quackity.”

You let out a confounded ‘what the fuck?!’ then finally pulled the blanket off the basket and froze when you looked into a VERY familiar pair of bright blue eyes. Only instead of being on a teen boy’s face they were on a little baby’s face. A baby face that was streaked with tears. Your shocked face softened when you saw how distressed the little guy was. Without thinking about it too hard you reached down and scooped the little bundle up into your arms.

Tommy stared up at you with his wide watery blue eyes and sniffled before whimpering again. You cooed at him and began to rock him in your arms, trying to soothe his distress as best you could.

“Oh no baby, shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. C’mon, let’s get you inside,” you said as you brought him and the basket in.

You noticed he wasn’t actually wearing anything and the only thing keeping him covered was the blanket he’d arrived in. So first things first you crafted him some cloth diapers and got him cleaned up and changed. Then you held him up in front of you and smiled while you baby talked to him.

“Oh there we go! All dressed huh? Not nakey no more!”

Tommy giggled and kicked his chubby little legs and reached for your face. You pulled him close so he was snuggled to your chest and he instantly used one hand to grab some of your hair, but thankfully he didn’t yank on it and just held it. While his other hand patted your face while he babbled.

You wondered if Tommy could understand you, or if he had any memories of before he was turned into a baby. Then you wondered how long he’d be like this, or… if he’d go back to normal at all. But when Tommy started fussing you let those thoughts drift to the back of your mind so you could take care of him, for as long as he needed you.

-0-

Turns out he’d been hungry so you’d warmed him up some milk, which he’d more than eagerly drank til there was nothing left. Then you’d had to burp him, which was cute and thankfully he’d not thrown up on you at any point. He was a cute little baby but nobody wants baby barf on them.

But now you were playing with him on the carpet, doing the ‘this little piggy’ game on his toes (which he apparently loved more than anything) and each time you’d recite a line about a ‘piggy’ you’d wiggle one of his toes. He was giggling and watching you with bright eyes, knowing when you got to the last piggy you’d tickle his feet.

You played with him well into mid day, but then you noticed him getting fussy again. And he’d eaten not too long ago so you doubted he was hungry again. You also checked his diaper but he was clean, which meant he was sleepy. So you scooped him up and started walking to your bedroom, rubbing his back and telling him it was nap time. He continued to fuss as you closed the curtains and shut off the lamp. There was still enough light to where you could see but it was dim enough to make sleeping easier.

You got into bed and laid on your side and nestled him so he was on his back with his head laying in the crook of your arm, making sure he was between you and the wall for safety. He didn’t want to sleep it seemed because he started whining and kicking his feet, clearly upset. But you shushed him and hummed to try and get him to settle down. It didn’t work though and he continued to fuss. You sighed and thought back to how your mom said she got you to go to sleep.

So you turn him on his side so he was facing you and then start to gently run your nails up and down his back in a soft scratch. Your mom swore by this, it could put any baby to sleep. And true to her word the moment you started scratching Tommy’s back his eyelids drooped and he yawned. Soon his eyes closed all the way but you kept scratching until you could tell his breathing had evened out.

You stopped scratching and waited a minute to see if he’d wake up or stir at all, but luckily he stayed sleeping. You brushed his honey colored hair from his face and kissed his forehead then slowly inched out of the bed. You’d have napped too but you had chores that needed to be done that you were supposed to do earlier but couldn’t because of Tommy’s surprise visit.

After successfully getting out of bed you surrounded Tommy with pillows to keep him from rolling off the bed and hurting himself. Then you silently crept from the room and cracked the door behind you so you could keep an ear out while he slept in case he woke up.

-0-

You managed to tend to your garden and harvest the carrots and potatoes without trouble, then handle your laundry, but it was when you were washing dishes that you heard it. Tommy wailing. You dropped the dish you’d been washing into the sink of soapy water then practically sprinted upstairs to your bedroom. You were cursing yourself for not putting more pillows around him, fearing he’d fallen and banged his head or something.

But when you burst into your bedroom you let out an audible breath of relief when you saw he was still safely on the bed and not the floor. You hurried over, cooing at him as he saw you and raised his arms up towards you, making grabby hands to show he definitely wanted to be picked up. You happily obliged him and lifted him into your hold and kissed his wet cheeks and lovingly rubbed his back while he calmed down from his crying.

“Oh baby I’m so sorry, did you wake up all alone? I’m sorry, I’m here, don’t worry~” you murmured sweetly against his crown.

He clutched onto your neck and refused to let go, but you didn’t try to pull him away, instead you just rocked him and took him downstairs to be with you so he wouldn’t cry anymore. You were starting to get hungry and you knew seeing you eat would make Tommy hungry so you decided to warm him up some milk while you prepped some carrot sticks for yourself. You figure if he wanted some of your food a carrot would be the safest option for him to gnaw on.

But while you were standing at the kitchen sink filling a glass with water for yourself you glanced over when Tommy hiccupped and saw him blink as potion swirls hovered around him. Before you could see what was wrong he hiccupped again and suddenly the weight sitting on your hip was MUCH heavier and you stumbled a bit before realizing the blue eyes you were looking at were sitting on a teen boy’s face and not a baby’s…

All at once it hit you both that Tommy was naked save for the underwear he was in (how’d his diaper turn into tighty whities?) and you were holding him up on your hip. Once it hit him he screamed and flailed until you let go of him and he fell to the floor. You wanted to laugh but asked him if he was okay instead. Or you tried to but he screeched,

“DON’T FUCKIN’ LOOK!! I’M NAKED!!”

You turned your head away from him but you could see him scrambling to his feet and trying in vain to cover himself with just his hands. You helpfully directed him to the bathroom and said you’d bring him some clothes to change into. A second later you heard your bathroom door slam closed and you finally broke out into snickers. Once you composed yourself you went to grab some spare clothes of yours from your bedroom.

You knocked on the bathroom door and passed the clothes through, not taking offense when Tommy quickly slammed the door closed after getting the shirt and pants. But once he was dressed he came out with a red face and looking huffy. You asked him if he remembered anything and he grumbled before swearing.

“Well fuckin’ Quackity and I were exploring this weird dungeon and there was a hidden spawner or somethin’ because suddenly we were trapped with like 7 skeletons and they were shooting these weird glowing arrows at us. An my shield broke and I got hit by one. Then… I don’t know, it’s blurry after that..”

He would never admit that he remembered everything from when he was a baby. He remembered how you looked after him, soothed his cries, and just loved him. He couldn’t remember anyone ever caring for him so nicely before. Ever. Not even Philza was that loving and he was his dad pretty much. But saying anything like that out loud would be humiliating! So he faked remembering nothing.

You shrugged and filled him in briefly, saying he’d been a baby for the day and you’d made sure he didn’t die. He gave an embarrassed ‘thanks i guess’ but you just grinned and said you’d never let anything bad happen to your “widdle baby~!”. Tommy’s face flushed red and he sputtered angrily and started shouting that he wasn’t no BABY! He was a MAN! You just laughed and agreed, yes yes, very macho.

Things returned mostly to normal, though if your relationship shifted ever so closer in a familial way after that then neither of you mentioned it. But truthfully Tommy grew quite attached to you and you to him. Like the family you both weren’t aware you’d needed.

#dream smp #dsmp #dsmp tommy #platonic c!tommy x reader #c!tommy #tommyinit mcyt #mcyt x reader #pure fluff babey

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rallamajoop · 4 years ago

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Regis cosplay, and an ode to floral fabric textures

So, the other thing that’s been keeping me distracted these last few months is that I kind of committed to doing Regis cosplay (really more of a femme!Regis, but still). Only it was supposed to be worn at PAX AU, back when we were still holding out hope that might actually happen this year... and then Sydney had to go and ruin things for the rest of us. As the cliche goes: not surprised, just disappointed.

(You ‘n me both, Regis.)

Anyhow, since wearing it in public is tabled for a while, I figured I may as well share some of it here.

First item of business: tracking down that gorgeous, patterned fabric that makes up Regis’ shirt/robe.

I don’t know how other players spent half of Blood and Wine getting distracted by pretty fabric textures and going ooooooo, but I gotta say, there are some beautifully rendered high-end-fabric textures in this expansion.

Shortcuts were taken in places (protip: no matter how pretty your floral gold embroidery texture, putting it on both your main characters who will be standing next to each other throughout the same event is just going to make you look cheap) – but the way the light plays on the intricate pattern on Regis’ robe was one of those effects that never got old for me.

The colour of that robe a little odd. I had it in my head it was green – I’ve definitely seen fanart which made it green that never twigged me as wrong – but in most lights, it’s probably more of a pale grey-brown. For real fabrics, search terms like ‘olive’ or ‘sage’ mostly seemed to get me the closest results.

I can’t be the only one admiring the pattern either, because it turns out someone has actually put a copy of the pattern up on Spoonflower, where you can order in custom-printed fabric.

And I was tempted, but I didn’t end up going for it. For one, though it was available on base colours options of either green or brown (there’s that ambiguity again), it’s been set up to print the pattern in black, which isn’t going to look correct. For another, I was more invested in getting the sheen of the fabric right, and that would be hard to do with a printed pattern. Cue too many hours of hunting through the web for decent floral jacquards or brocades.

I settled on a floral jacquard in a pattern that helpfully came in multiple colours. None were quite perfect and the photos on the website aren’t great quality – I ordered in samples of olive and gold and found the actual fabrics were much darker than they’d looked (photos I took below are better than the ones from the website but still not great) – but either would have done okay. I guess the advantage of trying to match a colour you can’t quite name or remember is that you can’t entirely get it wrong either. (It’s possible beige or apple green might’ve worked even better, but you can only order in so many different samples before eventually you have to make a decision.)

The samples that arrived were also far too thin to make good shirt fabric, but that was pretty fixable by covering the inside with interfacing to give it a little more weight.

I’d post the finished robe at this point, but the truth is that it was mostly done when the confirmation that PAX was cancelled came through and seriously took the wind out of my sails. I’ll still get it finished at some point, but it really doesn’t feel like there’s much rush anymore.

Ah well, maybe next year.

#Regis #Emiel Regis #cosplay #The Witcher #regis cosplay

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ninjas-go-round · 4 years ago

Note

🍜

Hi yes these were meant to be short-short but things got out of hand so CONGRATULATIONS you get a longer Drabble instead lol

Kai finally decides he’s going to ask Skylor out (also Skylor is the world’s best manager)

(774 words)

Kai watches as Skylor moves about the noodle house with practiced ease, marveling at how amazing she was. Beautiful, hardworking, dedicated, and not to mention she could totally kick his ass. It’s no surprise he was totally head over heels for her.

And tonight was the night he was finally going to tell her. Well. Maybe he wasn’t ready to declare his love just yet but at the very least he wanted to ask her to dinner. Just thinking of asking her out was nerve wracking enough, but after years of stolen moments in between busy lives trying to figure out just what this was between them, Kai wanted to finally take the chance and at least get a solid answer on where they stood.

His nerves seem to have other plans, and by the time Skylor makes her way over to him ten minutes later, he wants to bolt.

“Hey sorry that took so long. You know how it can get,” She slides into the booth across from him.

“Don’t sweat it. It seems every time I come here it’s busier than the last.”

“Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to have the business but sometimes a girl just wants a day off. It’ll be good once my head chef comes back from vacation. Then I’ll have a chance to relax a little. But I’m sure you’re not here to listen to me complain about my lack of free time. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

Kai froze. This was it. This was the moment. What was he supposed to say?

“What?” His brain helpfully supplied. The look Skylor gives him makes him want to bang his head on the table.

“You wanted to ask me something. Or at least that’s what you said when you called,” She smirks at him “Or was that just one of your ploys to try and spend more time with me?”

“Ah no-wait what? Huh?” Kai blinks in confusion, grasping for something coherent to say. His heart was racing so fast it was a miracle Skylor couldn’t hear it.

“Are you alright?” Skylor peers at him worriedly. “You weren't drugged by criminals again, were you?”

“No. NO! No drugs I swear,” Kai shakes his head. “I’m just nervous, sorry.”

“You. Kai Smith. Nervous? What could you possibly want to ask me that would make you nervous?” The teasing tone edges back into her voice.

“Wouldyouliketogooutwithme?” Kai blurts before he gets a chance to stop himself. Now it’s Skylor’s turn to be speechless.

“You want to-you want to go out? With me? Like, on a date?” She eventually says.

“Yes. That was kind of a mess, sorry but I really like you Skylor. I always have. I would very much like to date you.”

“I would love that,” Skylor smiles wildly, and Kai lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I’m going to be honest, I was starting to think you weren't interested..”

“I know, I know. Between the world constantly ending, and you running the shop and my work as a ninja, it never felt like a good time. But then I realized there was never going to be a ‘good time’ with us so here I am. Sorry it took so long. But I am Very Interested, so maybe we can see a movie next Friday and go from there?”

Skylor doesn't get a chance to respond, as right as Kai finishes the young cashier comes rushing up to them.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but there’s this customer on the phone, something about her delivery order being wrong? I don’t know, she just keeps yelling and I’m not sure what to do,” the poor girl looked like she was on the edge of tears.

“No, it’s okay Katie. That’s what I’m here for. Why don’t you take a 15 minute break and I’ll deal with the customer.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Katie nods before rapidly retreating. Skylor turns her attention back to Kai.

“Sorry, looks like I need to go give someone a tongue lashing. Nobody makes a member of my staff cry and gets away with it. It’ll only take a minute if you want to wait.

“Nah, I should probably get going anyways. I’ve got a team meeting with the commissioner later this afternoon. You go give that customer a piece of your mind, and I’ll see you next Friday at 8:30?”

“It’s a date,” Skylor leans across the table to give him a peck on the cheek before leaving.

Kai can’t help the stupid grin on his face as he watches her go

#ninjago #kai smith #skylor chen #kailor #I’ve never written Skylor #please forgive me #MK writes

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nicknellie · 4 years ago

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Anonymous requested: “tricked into 7 minutes in heaven at a party” AU with willex, where theyre close friends and apart of the same friend group, and their friends know they both like each other and are tired of watching them dance around each other so they devise a plan to have a party and play seven minutes in heaven, and get them to be alone together in a closet or room or something. so a sort of getting together/modern AU with some kissing cause the boys deserve it?

I had to Google what 7 Minutes In Heaven is. Anyway!! I love this prompt so much, it’s so so sweet. We love some getting together fluff. Thank you so much for suggesting it!

Title from Alone by Heart.

The Secret Is Still My Own

Alex could have kicked himself for not realising what this was much earlier. It was probably Luke’s idea. Maybe Julie’s – she could be sneaky when she wanted to be. It didn’t really matter who had devised the plan, all that Alex was worried about now was the fact that he was about to spend seven minutes locked in a small room with Willie and the likelihood was that it was going to be utterly dreadful.

A few months ago when Alex and Willie had first met, it wouldn’t have been so awful. Their friendship had been fresh and exciting and there had been an easy banter flowing between the two of them that made Alex feel light and giddy. He had been glad to spend time with Willie then, looking for every excuse to hang out with him because who wouldn’t? Willie was funny, kind, intelligent, and everything good in the world. Alex would have been mad to not want to spend time with him. It didn’t take long for Alex to realise he was falling for Willie, quickly and with no signs of stopping.

And he made the grave mistake of telling that to Luke.

“Dude,” Luke had said, grabbing Alex’s shoulders. “You gotta ask him out!”

“What? No!” Alex had protested. He tried to wriggle free but Luke’s grip was like iron and he gave up after a moment or two. “I don’t want to. I like being friends with him.”

“Yeah, but imagine if you were more than friends,” Luke pressed, grinning wildly. “It’s not like he’d say no – he’s head over heels for you, man.”

“He is?”

“I think so.”

“That’s not proof,” Alex deadpanned. “You also thought that if you ate watermelon seeds one would grow inside you. Then you cried when Reggie ate them.”

“That was ages ago!” Luke whined.

“It was last week, but alright.”

“Alright, fine, I’m a bad example,” Luke admitted. “But what if I told you that Julie thinks Willie likes you?”

Alex considered it for a moment. Julie was definitely more reliable than Luke, and where Luke was almost definitely guessing about whether or not Willie had feelings for Alex, Julie had probably spoken to Willie herself to find out. So he shrugged and gave Luke a short nod.

“Does she think so?” he asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

“Dude,” Luke scoffed. “She was the one to point it out to me. You and Willie are made for each other, bro! Ask him out or I’ll have to do it for you.”

Alex hadn’t asked Willie out. It hadn’t been because he didn’t want to or because he didn’t think Luke and Julie were right – it was because he simply didn’t know how. How was he supposed to go up to Willie, a literal angel, and ask him on a date without spontaneously combusting? He didn’t want to make a fool of himself, not in front of Willie.

He had thought that Luke was joking about getting Alex and Willie together himself. That had, of course, been an incredibly naïve thing to believe. When Luke said he’d do something, he meant it – Alex should have learnt that from the time Luke had said he would lick an electric fence and then followed through immediately and without hesitation. So really he shouldn’t have been surprised when Luke made it his mission to get Alex and Willie together.

The first time it had happened was when Alex and Willie were hanging out alone in the studio. They had been talking, just catching up with each other, and it had been nice. Willie had been halfway through a story about one of the kids at the nursery he worked part-time at when all of a sudden the lights in the studio had dimmed and slow, romantic music had begun drifting from the stereo in the corner.

Willie had looked utterly bemused, a quiet half-smile gracing his features. “What’s all this?”

“I don’t know,” Alex told him, standing up and flicking the lights back on, then going to the stereo and turning the music down all the way. “Sorry about that. It’s never happened before.”

“You mean you didn’t set it up?” Willie asked.

“No,” Alex replied, looking around the studio. Unsurprisingly, he had spotted Luke in the attic, hidden amongst the beanbags, the stereo’s remote in his hands. He didn’t even have the good grace to look guilty, instead giving Alex a cheery wave.

“Oh,” Willie had said. His tone made Alex turn to face him – there was something in it he couldn’t quite put a name to. “Okay. Anyway, so, as I was saying…”

Luke’s plans had not improved from then on. He had pulled the classic “invite both of them to hang out but don’t show up so they’re just spending time together one-on-one”, he had dedicated an entire setlist to Willie at their most recent gig and told the entire crowd that it had been Alex’s idea, and every time Alex and Willie had a conversation he would find a way to muscle in and very unsubtly suggest they go on a date.

It was making Alex’s life a misery.

Because now every time he saw Willie felt painstakingly awkward. The both of them were just waiting for Luke to show up and do whatever he’d planned, after which they’d be steeped in brittle, tense silence until one of them found an excuse to back out of the situation. The ease and light-heartedness their friendship had once been built on was pretty much shot to pieces. Alex knew that Luke meant well, but he was almost certain that he had ruined everything.

It didn’t help that Luke had got Julie, Reggie, and Flynn in on it too, though they were much less heavy-handed than he was when it came to getting them together. Reggie’s main tactic was ask if they’d been on a date yet every time he saw them but leave it alone once they said no, while Julie and Flynn tended to talk to Alex away from Willie and try and convince him that they were, in Flynn’s words, a match made in heaven.

“He totally wants you to ask him out,” Flynn gushed on one of these occasions. “Did you see the way he was looking at you earlier? He’s in love.”

“Things are awkward enough between us as it is,” Alex had explained. “I’m not going to make it worse by asking him out.”

“Well, maybe you don’t need to ask him on a date,” Julie suggested, ever the voice of reason. Alex inwardly thanked her – at least somebody was on his side. “But I do think you need to at least talk about what’s going on between you.”

He revoked his inward thank-you.

“We don’t need to talk,” Alex insisted. “If we just leave it alone then the problem will eventually go away.”

“That’s always your solution,” Julie said.

“And it never works,” Flynn added.

“If you just face your feelings head-on and actually try communicating with him you might get somewhere,” Julie said. Alex looked at her and knew she was telling the truth – her eyes were wide and kind, her mouth set into a gentle smile, and she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to help Alex. “You’ve been dancing around each other for so long, all you need to do is figure out where you both are. Trust me.”

He had shrugged inelegantly and let Flynn change the direction of the conversation, grateful to be talking about something else.

But he hadn’t taken Julie’s advice. Talking to Willie was difficult. Their banter was all but gone and their conversations lasted no more than a few minutes at most. It was a lot easier when they were with all their friends, in a big group where they could talk to others, which had been exactly the reason that Alex wasn’t worried about the impromptu party Julie had invited everyone to that night.

And look where it had got him.

It had been Luke who suggested it during a lull in conversation.

“Why don’t we play Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

The suggestion had been met with excited ‘ooooh’s from most of the group sat around the studio, all except Alex. The last time he’d played Seven Minutes in Heaven had been in middle school – he had been locked in a closet with a girl in his class, she had kissed him incredibly awkwardly, he had blurted “I’m too gay for this” and fallen ungracefully out of the closet with six minutes still left on the clock. While that had been years and years ago, the memory still burned with embarrassment.

“Count me out,” he said. “That game is cursed.”

“I think you’re thinking of Bloody Mary in the Mirror,” Reggie supplied. “That game is cursed. This one’s just a bit of fun.”

“Absolutely not,” Alex said, shaking his head. “You guys can play, I’m staying out of it.”

“Oh, come on, Alex,” whined Luke, “everyone has to play! Otherwise it’s no fun.”

“You might not even get picked,” Julie said helpfully.

“But also you might,” Luke added.

Alex looked around the room at his friends – Reggie was smiling encouragingly, Luke looked put-out that Alex had even thought about refusing, Julie and Flynn were looking at him with hope and excitement in their eyes that he really didn’t want to crush, and Willie… Willie was avoiding eye contact altogether.

He didn’t know what it was that did it, but finally he relented. “I’ll play.”

Luke punched the air triumphantly and began entering everyone’s names into a generator he’d brought up on his phone. Alex watched with bated breath as the little wheel spun, slowing down until it landed on a name. The screen lit up with an over-the-top fireworks animation and the name ‘WILLIE’ in garish bubble writing.

Alex didn’t look at Willie, but he did feel his own insides squirm. What if he was picked next? He wasn’t sure he could last seven minutes alone with Willie. What was he supposed to talk about? What was he supposed to do? How was he meant to act like it wasn’t the most awkward thing he’d ever done especially after everything that had happened in the past few months?

Luke set the spinner off again and Alex watched nervously as it ticked through all the names. The firework animation lit up the screen again and when it was cleared the name ‘ALEX’ was left behind, glowing in all its bubble writing glory.

He tried not to sigh in defeat and he stayed put, no matter how much he wanted to leg it from the room and never come back.

“Alright then!” Julie said, clapping her hands and beaming. “Alex and Willie! You guys feeling up for this?”

Alex didn’t have an answer, but it appeared that Willie did. He stood up and offered a hand to pull Alex to his feet too, smiling gently.

“I’m ready,” he said, though Alex didn’t miss the waver in his voice. “How about you, hotdog?”

He could feel his friends’ eyes boring into him like lasers, but kept his own eyes trained on Willie, searching his expression with no idea what he was actually searching for. Eventually though, he gave a resolute nod and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

“You can go into the bathroom,” Julie said, pointing towards the little room at the back of the studio. “You’ll have to lock the door yourselves.”

Alex nodded and mutely followed Willie into the bathroom. He shut and locked the door behind them, then flicked the light-switch on. Immediately, Willie flicked it back off.

“Why can’t we have the lights on?” he asked. “I can’t see you.”

“Those are the rules, hotdog,” Willie returned. His voice sounded like it was coming from the opposite side of the room, but Alex couldn’t be sure. After all, he couldn’t see anything.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and sweat starting to bead on his forehead as he slid himself down the wall to sit on the floor. He had no reason to feel so nervous right then; he’d been alone with Willie a thousand times, this didn’t have to be any different just because it was in a small dark room and they had a time limit ticking over their heads. Admittedly, he hadn’t been alone with Willie all that often recently, but he shouldn’t have been too out of practise.

“So,” he ventured, rubbing his hands along his legs, hoping the repetitive movements would dull his nerves. “What do you want to talk about?”

Willie was silent for a moment and Alex was sure that he’d somehow already put a foot wrong. Briefly, he considered unlocking the door and trying to leave very quietly so that Willie wouldn’t notice, but he realised quickly that plan wouldn’t work because he would never get past his friends in the studio. All he could do was stick it out for six and a half more minutes.

But mercifully, Willie finally spoke.

“Things have been weird recently, huh, hotdog?”

It teased a laugh from Alex, if only a small one. Because yes. Yes, things had been incredibly weird and he hated it.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “it’s been weird. I’m sorry about Luke and the others.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Willie said. Alex could hear the smile in his voice and found himself relaxing. “It doesn’t really bother me. But… I mean, it seemed like it was bothering you. I’ve been trying to give you a little space but I don’t know if that’s what you want.”

“No,” Alex said, far too quickly. He tried to rein himself in a little, not wanting things to descend back into that dangerous awkward territory. “No, I don’t want you to give me space. I really like hanging out with you, Willie. I don’t want to stop that. I just wish they’d stop teasing.”

There was another pause, smaller this time, barely perceptible.

“Why?” Willie asked quietly.

“Because,” Alex began, but he quickly found himself lost for words.

How was he supposed to explain it to Willie when he found it hard to explain it to himself? He didn’t like their teasing because he was scared. He didn’t like their teasing because he didn’t want to make Willie uncomfortable. He didn’t like their teasing because this thing, whatever it was, between him and Willie was theirs and only theirs and he wanted to keep it between that way. Because he wanted to make these decisions on his terms, not when his friends decided he should.

“Because?” Willie prompted.

Alex swallowed his pride and his nerves and made himself speak.

“Because I really like you, Willie. And when our friends try and find ways to get us together it just feels awful because I want to do it myself. I don’t want them to intervene or mess this up. I want to do it my way. They keep saying that you like me too – is that true?”

Silence again. Alex could hardly stand it.

“Yeah,” Willie said finally. With that single word Alex felt like he could breathe more easily than ever before. “I do. Like you, I mean. And I get it. I’m sorry this whole thing has been such a mess.”

Alex huffed a laugh. “Blame Luke.”

“Oh, I will,” Willie replied through a chuckle.

Alex heard him shuffle across the bathroom floor and felt their sides press together as Willie came to sit next to him. Without thinking he laid his head down on Willie’s shoulder, then felt Willie rest his head on his in return.

“So,” Alex said again. “What does this mean for us?”

“What do you want it to mean?” Willie asked teasingly, the smile on his face evident in his voice.

“Are we dating?” he asked. He could feel his own smile tugging at his lips as Willie slipped an arm around his shoulders.

He felt Willie press a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “Yes, Alex. We’re dating.”

Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the dark room, maybe it was the rush of adrenaline he got from hearing Willie day the words “we’re dating”, but something gave him a warm and welcome rush of courage and he said, before he could think better of it, “Can I kiss you?”

“Well,” Willie said, “I think that’s what usually happens in this game.”

“I don’t want to kiss you because of the game,” Alex told him. He knew Willie was probably joking, but he wanted to be certain. He wanted to make it clear that none of this was because of the game (mainly because Luke had probably rigged it somehow and Alex still wanted to do this his own way). He needed to show that this was for Willie and for himself, nothing else.

“I know,” Willie said gently. “I don’t either. I just want to kiss you.”

Alex slid a hand up to cup Willie’s jaw and they slowly came together. Willie’s lips were softer than Alex thought should be allowed, the kiss gentle and slow. It felt perfect, like fireworks had been lit in Alex’s soul (though much better fireworks than the terrible animation on Luke’s random selector wheel). He felt Willie’s fingers knot through his hair and pull them closer together.

It hadn’t gone the way Alex would have really liked. He didn’t get to ask Willie out on his terms. But from now on, with Willie as his boyfriend, they could do everything else on their terms. They could go at their own speed, hand-in-hand, with no ticking time limit set by their friends. They could move at their own pace with nobody but each other.

And Alex could breathe easy.

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @teammightypen @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright

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wicked-mind · 4 years ago

Text

Remember Me: Chapter Seven

Summary: Y/N and Bucky were the unlikely match when it came to love, but they were inseparable since they met. After a fight, Y/N left to be a trauma surgeon in the military and returns without her memories. How will Bucky remind Y/N how she is the fire in his bones?

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Swearing (I like swearing. Adds character and sounds pretty to me lol), mentions of surgical procedures, car crash, miscarriage, John Walker, slight bit of PTSD.

Series Masterlist

All Writings Masterlist

As always, any likes, reblog, or comments are appreciated (:

*gifs not mine

Previously

Y/N removed her eyes from his face, listening to the story. Her forehead creased a moment as she thought about all that was said before meeting his gaze once again. A small smile curved on her lips and she leaned towards him, kissing his lips softly before pulling away slightly to look at him, “I forgive you, Bucky."

Bucky felt relief flood through him at her words, smiling down to her. He couldn’t find any words to say to her so instead he returned his arms around her body and pulled her closer, kissing her deeply. Those were words Bucky had waited to hear for so long and for a while he didn’t know if he would ever hear them from Y/N. Everything seemed right in the world for now, and even though he was worried about what was written in those journals John had given her due to what Steve had said, he hoped that whatever else it was would be forgiven also.

Truth was, Y/N always had forgiven Bucky for what was said the moment she left. She knew it was from his own fears. But what had broken her heart was hidden in the pages of those journals.

Chapter seven - The truth in the writing

Y/N wasn’t supposed to be back to work until noon, but she got called in early due to an apartment fire that would lead to multiple traumas coming in meaning it was all hands on deck. Bucky watched her pack the yellow folder John had given to her last night into her backpack before taking her to the hospital. He came back to Steve’s to find him and Peggy having some coffee. Bucky grabbed himself a mug of the dark liquid before leaning against the counter, “She took the journals with her.” He said over to Steve.

Peggy narrowed her eyes as they flickered between the two, “What journals?”

Steve sighed, sitting at the dining table next to Peggy, “Y/N’s friend, that blonde guy named John, brought some of her journals that were left behind at her base camp. Says there’s everything in there.” He informed.

“Yeah, including something we don’t know about.” Bucky grumbled out, “Something that made our break-up worse than just the words that were said.” He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. He replayed that night so many times in his head that every moment was burned into his brain and he couldn’t think of anything other than what was said before she left, “We gotta figure this out. So I can at least try to make it better after she reads whatever is in there.”

Peggy set her glass mug on the table, “Okay, then let’s walk through it.” She said helpfully, “Y/N came here that night after her shift and showed us the deployment papers with the date for her to leave set in a month, June 7th. She was so excited to tell you that she left immediately after. What happened at your house, James?”

Bucky sighs, setting his mug down on the counter to run a hand through his dark hair, “She came in all excited and jumped into my arms. Everything was fine and then she showed me the papers. We argued about it because I didn’t want her to go. I told her if she walked out those doors I wouldn’t be here waiting for her and not to come back. And then she left.” He flinched at his own words. He hated that he had said that to Y/N.

Steve leans back in his chair, “Then she came back here in tears and frantic. We tried to get her to talk to us about what happened but she just packed her bags, got in her car, and left.” He sighs, “I called her everyday for about four days until she finally picked up and told me she was fine, just needed some space, and she would be back soon. After that, I didn’t hear from her until she was deployed.”

Bucky cocks his head to the side at Steve, narrowing his eyes, “You never told me that.”

Steve scoffs slightly, “Yeah, well, you made my sister run away, we weren’t exactly on the best speaking terms, Buck.”

“So we have no idea where she was or what she was doing for a month before she was deployed?” Peggy interrupted, watching Bucky and Steve shake their heads to say no. She bit her bottom lip for a moment, “Maybe something happened in that month.”

Bucky looked over from Peggy to Steve, “What did she say while she was deployed?” He asks curiously, folding his arms as he leaned against the counter.

Steve looked from Peggy to Bucky, picking up his mug and bringing it to his lips for a drink before setting it back down, “Y/N called me when she got to the base, told me she made it safe and she was sorry she didn’t come back before she left, that she couldn’t come back. I asked her what happened between you two and she told me what was said. I told her you didn’t mean it and to at least give you a call.” He watched Bucky’s features soften for a moment, “There were a few more phone calls. She told me what you said hurt, but that she was okay and there was another reason she couldn’t come home or talk to you. We didn’t really talk about you two after that.”

Bucky groaned slightly. What had happened? The more he thought about it the more the timeline didn’t make sense. Everything had been fine between them the days, even weeks leading up to when she ran away were fine. He sighs looking back to Steve, “I don’t know, man.” He said, “Everything was great. We made cookies together, went on rides, had a Star Wars marathon. Everything was perfect… So perfect in fact I bought a damn engagement ring.”

Steve looked at Bucky with almost fully wide eyes before looking at Peggy who was sipping her coffee avoiding eye contact, “You knew about this, Peggy?”

Peggy put her coffee down, pursing her lips a little before speaking, “Of course I knew! Who do you think had to help him pick out the damn thing?”

Steve nodded and turned his attention back to Bucky, “Wow.” He said still nodding, “Well, now I really wish things would’ve gone differently. She would’ve been so excited.” He said with a small smile towards Bucky. Steve had always trusted Bucky with Y/N. The way he treated her was like a queen.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile for a moment at Steve’s approval before it faded back into a stern line. He was going to ask Steve for help with the proposal when Bucky eventually figured out how to ask, but hadn’t gotten around to it before it all went to shit, “So nobody knows what the reason is…”

Steve nodded slowly, “Well… none of us know. But there is one person who does.”

Bucky groaned a little again and rubs his hand along his face, “God, I really hate John Walker.”

—

Y/N dealt with the wave of incoming traumas from the apartment building fire, running point on sorting patients by the degree of their injuries to create a steady flow in the operating room and emergency room. Once everything had died down, Y/N sat in the attending’s lounge eating a sandwich and starting to go through yellow folder from her backpack. There were photos of Y/N with Bucky and some of her with Steve and Peggy as well of her with John. There were also photos of her while she was deployed mostly doing silly poses in the middle of nowhere. She placed the photos back into the folder and pulled out the two notebooks next. They were leather-bound full sized journals. She opened the first one that looked just a bit more well used, figuring it was the first one. Her brow furrowed when she turned to the first page. It was dated at the top, May 15, 2019 but the rest of the page looked like the words had been gone over with permanent marker. Y/N turned to the next page and the next but for about ten pages over the next ten days from May 15th, all the words had been scribbled over with permanent marker, “Well, that’s just great.” She mutters out to herself softly, “Thanks me. Super helpful.”

Y/N finally found a page with actual words instead of just a page of black marker, the date read May 25th, 2019. It was filled with the words repeating ‘I am not my trauma.’ over and over again until the last line that read:

I’ll forget the piece that was taken away from me.

She frowned a little. What trauma did this refer to? What had happened? She turns the page quickly to read the next page.

May 26th, 2019

I leave in eleven days.

I want more than anything to call him. I don’t know what I would say. How do I explain what happened. Where do I begin?

He told me if I leave to never come back. That he won’t be waiting for me.

A part of me knows that’s a lie. I know he’d be there with open arms if he knew what happened.

I found that ring after all…

Y/N had to read the line over again a few times. Ring? There was a ring?

But how would he feel if he knew how ruined I was?

His sun swallowed into a dark pit.

He loves me. And I don’t think I’m me anymore.

Nobody wants broken things.

May 28th, 2019

I want to feel safe again.

They say writing down what I feel is going to ground me to reality. They also said I should call somebody. I can’t do that. I can’t let them know how much I hurt. I just want to run as far away as possible and that’s what I’ll do. I need to get out of here. It feels like I can’t breathe and everywhere I look I’m met with eyes filled with pity. It makes everything worse the way they look at me and stare. I get released tomorrow, I’m signing out AMA. Then it’s just nine more days. Maybe it’ll replace my trauma with a different trauma. Anything would be better than this.

I miss Bucky. I miss running my fingers through his hair and the way his stubble would brush against my skin. I miss being in his arms the most. They were so safe like nothing could ever hurt me. I wish I would’ve stayed then none of this would’ve happened. We could’ve just fought about it then go to bed and sort it out until I left. At least then I would’ve felt save and would’ve been safe.

I think the worst part about our fight was that I knew about the ring. I found it in his boxer drawer when putting away his laundry. You’d figure he would’ve picked a better hiding spot, but nope. He’s never been good at hiding things from me. I was halfway expecting him to propose when I showed him my deployment papers so we both had something to look forward to when I came back. I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat if he did. After all, James Buchanan Barnes is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. But that’s not what happened. And here I am stuck in pain and guilt.

Y/N shut the book when she heard someone come in, wiping away some tears she hadn’t noticed falling from her cheeks. She looks over and put on her best smile for Chief Miller, “Afternoon, Chief.”

Miller had his hands tucked in his pockets, “Everything okay, Y/N?” He asks gently, nothing the tear brimmed eyes.

Y/N nodded, keeping the same smile on her face, “Yeah, everything’s good. A friend brought me some journals to see if they’ll help me remember. It’s just confusing and a lot to read.” She said softly, “Were you looking for me?”

Miller nodded at her words, “I’m sorry, that must be hard.” He said with a reassuring smile, “I was just getting all your medical records transferred over and one was locked from a hospital in Queens. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to unlock it so we have that information on file in case it’s needed in the future.”

Y/N tilted her head at him, her brow pulling together in confusion, “I don’t remember what the nature of that visit would be… Did it have a date? I can call the doctor from the hospital to get it unlocked if I know the date.”

“May 14th, 2019.” Miller replied, “The doctors name I think was Wanda Maximoff.”

Y/N nodded slowly at the date. It was the day before her journal started with the scribbled out pages. She pushed the journal into her backpack, “Thanks, Chief. I’ll give them a call.” She said with a small smile before standing and leaving the room. She found an empty office with a computer, googling the hospital in Queens and asking for Dr. Maximoff.

“This is Dr. Maximoff.” A woman with an accent said over the phone when Y/N was connected.

“Hi, this is Dr. Rogers from Brooklyn Mercy. I was calling about a locked file in my health records.”

“Oh, Y/N! How have you been? Are you back from deployment?”

“Been better… And yes, I am. I was calling because a medical report of mine from May 14, 2019 is sealed and I don’t remember the nature of the visit. I lost a lot of my memories due to an incident overseas and I’m trying to put pieces together.”

“I see.. I’m so sorry to hear that. Our hospital isn’t too far from Brooklyn Mercy, I think we should talk about this in person given the situation. I’ll drive down and meet you in about forty-five minutes, would that work?”

“That’d be perfect, thank you Dr. Maximoff.” Y/N said before enhancing goodbyes and hanging up. It felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest with how fast it was racing and she felt sick to her stomach as she tried to remember what happened. Whatever happened, it was bad enough that Dr. Maximoff was coming to tell her in person.

Y/N asked Chief Miller if he would be there when she went over the information with Maximoff, wanting some sort of support in case whatever happened was really bad. She kept adjusting herself in the chair in front of Chief Miller, nervous for whatever information was about to come out. She put on a small smile when Dr. Maximoff came into the office holding a medical file, shaking her hand and watching her take a seat in the chair next to her, “Nice to meet you again, Dr. Maximoff.”

“Oh call me Wanda. And again, I’m very sorry about your memory loss. I want to start by saying that we have support groups I can recommend after we talk about this information. Given that you don’t remember, it is possible you’ll go through all the emotions and grief again.” Wanda said before placing the file on Chief Miller’s desk and opening it slowly, “The night of May 14th, 2019 paramedics responded to an accident involving two vehicles. You were in one of them. It was determined the other driver was driving under the influence and had a large amount of alcohol in his system.”

Y/N nodded slowly, watching Wanda instead of looking at the file. Her eyes were full of kindness, even maybe a little pity, “What happened to the drunk driver?”

“He died in surgery. With the amount of alcohol in his system, the bleeding couldn’t be controlled and the damage was too severe.” Wanda said before continuing, “It was later determined that he was going forty miles per hour over the speed limit and from your statement, he was driving down the wrong side of the road with his headlights off. You didn’t see him coming until it was too late.”

“How bad was it?” Y/N asks softly, picking at her fingers nervously as she listened.

Wanda sighs, flipping through pages of the file on Chief Miller’s desk, “You sustained abdominal bleeding, two fractured ribs, and superficial lacerations that our head of plastic surgery took care of which is why there is no scarring. You made me promise not to call your emergency contacts.” Wanda paused, observing Y/N’s reaction but she was just sitting there nodding, “We took blood samples to cross match your blood so we couldn’t have to keep giving you O-negative blood. Those blood tests showed trace amounts of the hCG hormone. After we took care of the abdominal bleeding, you miscarried from stress. You didn’t know you were pregnant. You asked me to seal the records of the accident and you signed yourself out against medical advice.”

Y/N took a deep ragged breath, looking down at the floor in shock. The writings in the journal were making sense. She could hear Chief Miller and Wanda asking if she was okay but they sounded distant and like they were underwater. Flashes started coming back in her mind of that night. She was driving down the road back to her hotel she was staying at, crying and listening to sad songs on the radio when the crash happened. Y/N put her hand on her chest as her breathing became more erratic, it was like she couldn’t get enough air. She could see Wanda and Miller trying to ask if she was okay and calm her down but their voices were so different and everything around her was swaying. She remembered sitting in a hospital bed and crying over the news and the guilt she felt for leaving the safety of Bucky, “Can’t breathe…” She whispers out, trying to stand slowly from the chair. Y/N remembered the day after it happened, Wanda brought the journals to her hoping it would help to write what she was feeling since she wouldn’t contact anybody. She remembered the grief she felt as well as the shock and pain. This was the reason she didn’t come back to Bucky and avoided him, she didn’t know what to tell him. The world was swaying like she was on a boat and it felt like she was underwater, unable to get air in her lungs or hear the muffled sounds coming from Chief Miller and Wanda. She stumbled around at the room spinning, blinking rapidly before the world around her started fading to black and she fell onto the floor.

——

Steve, Peggy, and Bucky were still all trying to figure out events that lead up to Y/N running away a month before her deployment, trying to think of any clues that would help put the puzzle pieces together.

Steve’s phone starting ringing and he excused himself from the conversation to take the call, “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Doctor Miller, Chief of Surgery over at Brooklyn Mercy. Is this Steve Rogers, Y/N’s brother?”

“This is Steve. Is everything alright?” “Yes, everything is alright. I’m just giving you a call to ask you to come in. Your sister had a pretty serious panic attack and lost consciousness. I think it would be good if you came in.”

“What? Yeah, I’m on my way.” Steve said, walking back into the kitchen, “We have to go, Y/N’s been admitted to the hospital for a panic attack.”

Bucky frowns, “Probably read those damn journals.” He growled out, turning immediately and walking out the front door to his motorcycle and speeding down the road towards the hospital with Peggy and Steve right behind him in their car.

When they arrived at the hospital, Chief Miller was waiting for them at the front doors. He lead them up to the room Y/N was in where she was talking to Wanda with the door closed and crying, pulling an oxygen mask up to her mouth every so often. Bucky looked through the window to the room before noticing that none other than John Walker was standing a little bit away from the room leaning against the wall with a frown. Bucky immediately felt rage consume him, stomping over to John and pushing him against the wall, “What were in those journals?!” He yelled before landing a punch to John’s cheek.

John winced at the hit and pushed Bucky away from him, “She knew about the ring, asshole! She thought you were going to propose that night but instead you broke up with her!”

Chief Miller and Steve quickly pulled the two apart, Miller holding John back while Steve held Bucky back, “That’s not what it was about! Now knock if off before I call security.” Chief Miller said, moving to stand between the men, “Due to her privacy, I can’t tell you what it was but it wasn’t about a ring.”

“She knew about the ring?” Bucky said, wide eyed as he processed the words. No wonder she had been so mad at him and what he had said. She thought she was coming home to a potential proposal and instead he told her if she left to never come back.

Peggy had separated herself from all the testosterone and walked into the room Y/N was in, shutting the door behind her, “I’m Peggy, her sister-in-law.” She told Wanda before she took a seat on the edge of Y/N’s bed, gently taking her head, “Are you okay, honey?”

Y/N shook her head rapidly, keeping the oxygen mask pressed to her mouth and nose as she cried into it. She remembered the pain when Wanda had told her she miscarried and feeling alone due to the fight she had with Bucky. It was the reason she had ran- she didn’t feel like she had a home to go back to and she wouldn’t know what Bucky would think if she told him she had lost their child. All Bucky had wanted was to grow up and have a family with her and she ruined that. Her gaze set on Bucky through the window and she pulled the blanket on her legs up over her head, sobbing loudly underneath the blanket. How could she even look at him knowing what she knew now?

Wanda got up to close the blinds in the window before returning the chair placed next to the bed, “Y/N,” Wanda asks gently, reaching out a hand to rest reassuringly on Y/N’s leg over the blanket, “You’ve dealt with this pain alone for a long time and you’re going through it again like it’s fresh. You should talk to someone about it, you need support.”

Y/N pulled the blanket off her head at the sound of the blinds shutting, looking at Wanda through her blurry tear filled eyes, “I can’t…You… You tell Peggy… I can’t… I can’t.” She sobbed out, dropping the oxygen mask to her lap and putting her face in her hands.

Wanda looks over to Peggy who was eyeing her curiously, “The night of May 14th, 2019 Y/N was brought in after her car was hit by a drunk driver. We took care of all the injuries… But we found out she was about six weeks pregnant. Due to the stress of her injuries and the stress she was already under, she miscarried.”

Peggy’s jaw dropped at the news, slowly looking over to Y/N. She quickly adjusted herself on the bed to scoot closer to Y/N, pulling her into a secure hug and stroking her hair softly, “Shh… It’s okay… I’m so sorry, honey…I’m here…” She soothed gently. It all made sense of why Y/N didn’t come back before she was deployed and why she never talked to Bucky.

Eventually Wanda offered a light sedation for Y/N since she couldn’t stop crying and keep her breathing under control. Y/N drifted off to sleep from the sedative, her mind finally calming but the ache in her body didn’t fade. When she opened her eyes, it was nighttime. She looked over to the window to see Peggy and Steve talking to Wanda and Chief Miller outside of the room. Her attention was take when she felt a soft squeeze of her hand, looking over and seeing Bucky sitting in the chair staring at her with a small smile. The sight of him almost made her break again, pulling her hand out of his grasp and pulling the blanket up over her head to hide from his face.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky said with a small frown when she hid away from him under the blanket, “Baby, come on look at me. Talk to me.” He pleaded, trying to pull the blanket away from her face, “What happened, doll?”

Y.N eventually quit fighting the tug of war with the blanket, letting him pull it away from her face. She didn’t meet his gaze though, staring into her lap as tears started to roll down her face. She was amazed she still had any water left in her body to cry, “I can’t… You should go…”

“Fuck that, darlin. I’m not going anywhere when you’re crying.” Bucky told her, moving himself from the chair to sit by her bedside. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, leaning close and kissing her temple softly, “Talk to me, please.”

“I can’t.” Y/N replied, still not meeting his gaze as she shook her head, “I was finally feeling like everything was right in the world… Like I was back where I belonged with you… Safe.” She took in a sharp breath, releasing it slowly, “Now, it’s just all going to be ruined again. We’ll be ruined. You’ll leave.”

Bucky’s frown deepened at her words as scenarios ran through his mind of what Y/N could be talking about, studying her features intently, “No we won’t. I told you that you are the love of my life, Y/N. Nothing is going to change that.” He told her, moving his position to take her face in his hand and forcing her to look at him, “Now talk to me.”

Y/N stared at Bucky for what felt like forever, studying his face. She wondered what would reflect back to her in his eyes when she told him. Right now his eyes were pooled with concern for her but once she would tell him, they knew that concern would leave, “The night we fought… May seventh right?” She watched him nod, “On May fourteenth I was driving and I was hit by a drunk driver. I was taken to a hospital in Queens where I was treated.” She watched the concern grow in his eyes at her words, “I didn’t know I was six weeks pregnant and I lost the baby… Our baby… I would’ve came back if I knew, never left… But after I couldn’t come back to you.”

Bucky’s mouth parted slightly at the words, his eyes moving across the features of her face watching the tears leak down her face. He hadn’t even noticed his own tears starting to fall at the news. Guilt raked through his body at the words he had said that made her leave, put her in that position to get hurt. It would have never happened if he would’ve swallowed his own fear and anger at her deployment. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug, “I’m so sorry, doll.” He said through his own shaky breathes, trying to control his breathing as he cried, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I did this, it’s my fault… I’m so sorry.”

_____________________________________________________________Taglist: @vicmc624 @buckypops @shawnie--jo @ahahafudge @intothesoul @austynparksandpizza @stcrryslibrary

Shout out to @shawnie--jo for having a big brain and guessing correct (:

If I missed anybody on the taglist or you would like to be added, send me a quick message, comment, or ask. Thank you for the support (:

#bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic series

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candycityy · 4 years ago

Note

RIVETRA AND 51.

Note: Hey anon! I already did 51, you can check it out here <3 But in the similar spirit of husband!levi, I did 63 instead ("Can you just man up and change his diaper?"). I hope you enjoy it still!

(You can also read this on AO3!)

Petra Ral, without a doubt, is the person he trusts most on the planet. From subordinate, to comrade, to lover, and finally, wife, she has always demonstrated nothing more or less than an unerring sense of judgment.

This trait, of course, is what made her the most reliable person on his squad back in the day, and what allows him to entrust his life—and the life of his daughter—to her.

But. Still.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Levi asks, for the fourth time that night. His wife doesn't even bother with an exasperated glare this time, just idly turns the page of her book. "And why won't you tell me who you got to babysit? I swear, Petra, if it's Hanji—"

"It's not Hanji, relax," she says lightly, tucking a neatly curled lock of hair behind her ear. "And yes, I'm sure. We haven't had a date night in ages. I think I've forgotten what it's like to actually do an activity that doesn't involve crayons or nursery rhymes."

"But if you'd just tell me—"

"No, Levi." She stands up and smooths down the fabric of her dress—a silky, knee-length sheath the colour of honey. He's seen her in it before, but it still makes his breath catch in his throat; although, to be fair, it's been a while since he'd seen her in something other than a t-shirt and sweatpants.

She glances at the clock, and then at the cot, where Ava is still dozing peacefully—for now, anyway. "They should be here any second."

"They?" he's about to say, when two hesitant knocks come at the door. He starts to get up, but Petra shoots him a warning look and sweeps towards the door. He sits back down.

"Boys, thank you so much for agreeing to babysit today." Petra beams down at their guests, her voice like melted sugar. "Come in." Levi glances up just in time to see...of all people, Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirschtein, wearing twin expressions of wariness.

Oh fuck no.

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. "Petra, you're not serious. Jaeger and Kirschtein? You might at least have tried for one of the girls."

"Mikasa wouldn't come," Eren says helpfully, and then blushes, looking a bit awkward. "She has...uh, a bit of a grudge against the captain still, I think."

"Historia was busy, and I don't think you'd want Sasha anyway, sir." Jean, who's crisply attired in his military wear for whatever reason, looks mildly offended at Levi's brusque comment.

Levi tries to be polite.

"It's nothing personal. It's just that the pair of you don't have any experience with infants," he says, attempting to rearrange his features into that calm, reassuring expression Erwin makes whenever he's faced with agitated civilians.

Judging by their faces, he's still pretty far off the mark.

"Actually," Petra intervenes, "they do. Well, Eren does." She shoots him another warm, cinnamon-sweet smile, and he blushes again. "He said he used to babysit the neighbour's toddler with Mikasa. And Jean...well, it was between him and Connie." When the teenager chafes at the comparison, she adds hastily, "and he's always been perfectly responsible and conscientious, hasn't he?"

"We can handle one infant, sir," Eren pipes up. His face is a picture of anxious enthusiasm, reminding Levi sharply and uncomfortably of a particularly eager-to-please puppy.

"I mean, we kill Titans with no problem, and they're a heck lot more troublesome than a baby, I would think," Jean adds, casting a skeptical look over at the still-silent cot.

"You would think," Levi mutters darkly, and is about to put his foot down, no, absolutely, not, when Petra firmly loops her arm through his and begins to steer him towards the exit.

"See? Everything's fine. We'll see you in a couple of hours, boys! Thanks for doing this again!" she chirps, and frog-marches him out of the door.

"Bye, captain! Bye, Ms. Petra!" Eren calls cheerfully, waving. Levi turns (with some difficulty, considering his wife's very firm grip) to glare at him.

"She's a Mrs. now, you brat," he manages to snarl before the door slams shuts in his face.

Despite everything, they have a nice date.

It takes about four glasses of wine and a threat of bodily harm from Petra before he finally stops fretting about Ava—but, truth be told, the rest of the night goes as well as it possibly could have, considering.

"See, didn't you have fun?" Petra teases. There's a blush high in her cheeks from the cold and the wine, and with his thick coat wrapped around her slight figure, Levi figures she looks pretty damn adorable.

He grunts in reluctant assent, feeling unusually relaxed. It's been a long time since it was just the two of them, after all, and he's almost forgotten what it feels like without the constant stress of being responsible for a very small, very fragile human being who he loves with such fierceness that sometimes he feels as though his chest will burst.

He's still revelling in the niceness of it all—the cool night air, Petra's small hand in his—as they walk up to the door of their house. He's seriously contemplating if he should actually get Jaeger and Kirschtein something nice for their trouble—maybe a day off or something, he doesn't know—when he hears a sound that makes him freeze in his tracks.

Next to him, Petra stiffens. The sound fades momentarily, only to re-emerge with a vengeance, and there's no mistaking it: it's a scream.

Levi doesn't remember sprinting to the door and wrenching it open, his heart pumping so fast he can barely breath and Petra hot in his wake, but he supposes he does at some point because in a matter of seconds he's in the house, staring straight into the face of absolute chaos.

The living room is littered with toys and scattered pillows and, for some reason, a lone shoe. The stove is smouldering in a vaguely menacing manner, heavy smoke rising from the burnt remains of something completely unrecognisable. Meanwhile, their beloved daughter crawls quite cheerfully across the floor, beelining for Jean, who's slowly inching away on the ground, his face screwed up with equal parts terror and disgust. A familiar stink wafts through the room, and Levi instinctively wrinkles his nose.

And the perpetrator of the scream: Eren Jaeger, who's hunched over the basin, scrabbling blindly at the trickle of water from the tap, feverishly attempting to wash what appears to be spit-up out of his eyes.

Clearly, none of them have yet noticed their arrival.

"HORSE FACE, CAN YOU JUST MAN UP AND CHANGE HER DIAPER?" he shrieks across the room, his voice coming out noticeably higher than usual.

"WHY CAN'T YOU DO IT?" his comrade yells back, his eyes not moving from the effervescent infant, who giggles at the sound of all the shouting.

Behind him, Petra stifles a laugh.

"BECAUSE THANKS TO YOUR SHITTY BURP TECHNIQUE, I'M NOW BLIND, YOU—" The teenager proceeds to cuss him out quite colourfully, and Levi chooses that moment to intervene.

"What," he goes, lowly, "in the living fuck do you think you're doing?"

The effect is instantaneous, like the firing of a gun. Both boys instantly scramble to their feet and thump their fists to their chests in salute (Eren still blinking furiously).

Petra just giggles and strides across the hall to Ava, who's now babbling happily at the arrival of her parents. "Thanks for babysitting, boys," she goes, taking a cautious whiff of the baby's diapers and reeling at the smell. "Whew. I'll take care of this. Levi, be nice," she warns, before hoisting their daughter onto her hip and strolling away.

He can't help but notice there's a little amused bounce in her step, and his glower darkens.

"Captain—" Eren begins, but Levi lifts up a hand.

"I don't even wanna hear it," he barks. "You—for fuck's sake, go wash your face in the bathroom, the water flow is better there. And you..." he rounds on Jean, who gulps nervously. "You're dismissed. Just...go. Bye."

The boys slump over, looking at him with the big sad puppy eyes (although the effect of Eren's is somewhat diminished by his pained squint). And maybe it's the wine, maybe age or marriage or parenthood has made him soft, but he adds, with utmost reluctance, "Wait. Uh...thanks." He clears his throat. "Take a day off next week. If you want."

It takes a while for them to realise that it isn't a trap of some sorts (seriously, he doesn't get it; why do cadets always think the worst of him?), but eventually, he manages to shoo them off with wide eyes and thank-yous and maybe some mild trauma on Jean's part, but hey, this is the Survey Corps, after all. When he goes back to their bedroom, he finds Petra waiting for him, Ava sleeping peacefully in her arms, a mischievous, smug grin on her face.

"Don't even say it," he snaps.

Drabble challenge!

#keep the prompts coming!!#rivetra #levi x petra #attack on titan #levi ackerman #petra ral #aot fanfiction #candycity writes

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darkisrising · 4 years ago

Text

Five Times, by DarkIsRising, pt1

Oh, yes, it is time for me to at last tackle this beloved fic convention! So excited, I’ve wanted to try one for years but it never worked out. This WIP is a DinLuke, will eventually be Explicit, starts pre-Mandalorian S1 and will end post S2 Five Times Din and Luke Met (and one time they never parted)

He’s drunk, and he isn’t quite sure how that happened.

That’s not true, Luke does remember vaguely how it happened, more or less, and it all started with Han.

He’d been the one that had brought Luke here. He’d said there was a guy with information and the only place they could find him was this one bar on Flausy. Well, they happened to be on the Millennium Falcon, and Flausy was just around the star system from them, so, sure, it made sense that they ought to swing by and find the guy. Get the information.

“Han,” Luke had said when they’d walked in and looked around at the bright lights cutting through the dance floor, the tight press of bodies grinding to the music together, the flirtatious finger waves as they passed by the lower-lying tables. “Han, is this a gay bar?”

When it became evident that yes, this was in fact a gay bar, and Han had in fact brought him here, a few other pieces of this plot had begun to come together. “Was there ever even a guy with information?”

“Not really. Lando mentioned this place. Said it might be a good one to bring you to.” Luke’s legs stopped working and Han had been forced to throw an arm around his shoulder and frog march him the rest of the way to the bar. “Come on, kid, loosen up. You’re too young to be this serious, and I figure the best thing I can do for my dear, sweet, too-serious brother-in-law is get him out of his head for a bit. Get him drunk or laid. Or both, that would be ideal.”

“Does Leia know about this?”

“Whose credits do you think I’m using?” he replies with a lazy grin as he slaps a card on the bar. A droid comes whirring up, towel slung over it’s cybernetic shoulder, and bleats out a question. “Shots. Lots of them.”

Now here he is. Drunk. A tiny glass with a swirling purple drink in it and each one he throws back makes his mouth feel more and more like a spaceship entering hyperspace.

Han is taking his job as Luke’s wingman very seriously. He’s leaning against the bar like rough trade—blaster strapped to his thigh, leather vest gaping open, a knowing slant to his crooked mouth—and every guy that tries to pick him up is nimbly redirected toward Luke. Han talks him up in a voice that is loud enough to carry over the music, but not nearly persuasive enough to do much good.

It would hurt his pride more—that not even Han’s classic bait-and-switch can do much for his dismal love life—but he has purple shots to keep him warm and if Leia is buying, Luke figures it would be rude not to keep ordering them.

“That tin can is checking you out,” Han says, nodding to a dark corner, and Luke lifts his head from counting the drink rings on the bar to find a Mandalorian in full, if a little worn and poorly matching, regalia standing there.

He’s also wearing a silver helmet with the kind of blacked-out visor that’s impossible to see what he might be feeling or doing or checking out under there.

Luke rolls his eyes. “Ha. Ha. Very funny,”

“He could be checking you out,” Han says with a shrug. “No way to know for sure.”

“Another round?” Luke calls to the server droid who scurries to obey. “You sure he’s not here for you? Maybe you’ve got another bounty on your head.”

“Ha. Ha.” Han repeats with an eye roll of his own. “Didn’t you hear? I’m respectable now. All bounties on me have been squared away, Leia’s orders. Now I’m just a faithful husband and a soon-to-be doting dad.”

Luke can’t help the hysterical laugh that takes him then, and for that he blames the liquor. He gets a punch to the shoulder for it that is harder than a friendly tap yet not quite hard enough to mean business.

“I do think Tin Can is checking you out,” Han says a few minutes later, thoughtfully, as he idly rolls an empty shot glass between his fingers.

“Maybe I have a bounty out on me,” Luke says, snorting down into his drink. *

As it turns out, Luke does, in fact, have a bounty out on him.

* “This is all a misunderstanding,” Luke says standing behind the Mandalorian in the cockpit of his ship as he prepares for take off.

His wrists are bound in front of him, something he could probably get out of with one well placed thought if he wanted to but, well, Han had been right. He has been too serious lately, too lonely, and there’s something about the tall, aloof type that gets to him. And he can’t get much more aloof than a Mandalorian whose face he has yet to see and who has only said a handful of words between capturing Luke and bringing him back here.

Also, Luke’s been drinking. That might also be part of it.

“So, is that bar like,” he tries to think of a tactful way of putting it, very aware that it’s been a long time since he’s tried this talking to (potentially) handsome men thing. “Do you go there a lot, or…?”

“No.”

Luke waits for him to elaborate but that seems to be all he’s going to get.

“Oh. Well, me neither. It was my first time at that place.” The ship tremors as it leaves the atmosphere and Luke lurches forward. He catches himself on the back of the Mandalorian’s chair with his shins since his hands aren’t good for much in these cuffs. “First time having those nurple shots. Have you ever had a nurple shot?”

No response.

“They’re purple,” Luke says helpfully. “Really, really purple. Strong, too.”

The ship makes a sharp turn and Luke staggers to the side along with it.

“I think I might be drunk,” Luke confesses and the Mandalorian snorts out a laugh, the first sign of an emotion he’s shown yet.

“You think?” And then because apparently Luke’s luck is holding he tilts his head and keeps talking. “How about you sit before you hurt yourself?”

“Wow,” Luke says as he falls into the copilot seat. “That was like a whole sentence. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me.”

Another snort, but that’s all the answer he’s apparently going to give Luke.

“That’s not a no,” Luke points out.

The silence continues on and the white out of hyperspace starts to lull Luke to sleep which is probably not great for his future escape plans, but he feels himself start to slump over nevertheless.

Kriffing Han, he thinks as he comes ever closer to passing out. Kriffing nurple shots.

Just as he’s drifting off he hears the Mandalorian say: “It’s not a no,” but he can’t for the life of him remember what they’d been talking about before darkness takes over. *

The thing is, if Luke were in his right mind he’d try making a pass at the Mandalorian.

Luke doesn’t have the most sexual experience, but for a farm boy from a nearly uninhabitable rock, he’s done pretty well for himself. He knows he’s got the blond thing going for him and that aw-shucks-I’d-be-delighted-to-go-down-on-you thing, and together that can be a pretty winning combo.

Or at least it is according to the holovids that he used to watch and then swear to Uncle Owen that he had no idea how those charges ended up on their plasticard account. Which is to say, he might not have experienced it all but he’s seen some things and if that one ‘vid ‘Mand-ooooooh!-lorian, vol.9’ had anything to say about it all it would take is the right smile, the right wink, and Luke would see himself bent over the cockpit’s console in no time.

Instead he wakes up from a dead sleep and manages to turn his head away from the man he’d really like to impress before vomiting nurple shots all over the floor.

“I'm sorry,” Luke moans. “I’m so, so sorry.”

If the Mandalorian is disgusted at Luke, it's hard to tell with that helmet on.

“I'll clean it up. Just tell me where you keep your supplies and I'll take care of it.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t so much as move from where he’s fiddling with the ship's controls, but still the cockpit door opens behind Luke with a whir.

“Right, yeah, okay.” Luke scrambles up from his seat to the door. A piercing pain is starting above his right eye that he tries to blink away. “I can figure it out.”

The ship’s compartments are narrow and the lights are flickering just enough to make his nausea even worse, but he’d said he would clean up and so he will. A storage door opens with a snick and Luke is staring at more weaponry than he’s seen in one place since the Rebellion ended.

For the first time since he’s been captured Luke wonders where his lightsaber has gotten to.

He remembers fumbling for it with fingers that had gone nerveless from the shots, but then the Mandalorian was hauling him away with some sort of cable line and Han was no help at all, laughing himself into a stupor as he leaned against the bar.

And that’s as far as he can remember.

Luke closes the weapons storage door, turning away a little too fast and the headache is worse now.

He’s wincing, reaching up with his bound hands to pinch at the space between his eyes when he realizes he isn’t alone any more.

“This’ll help with the hangover,” he hears over his shoulder before he’s swung into a carbonite chamber and unceremoniously blasted with freezing gas. *

By the time he’s rescued the Mandalorian is long gone, having collected on his bounty, and all Luke has to do is wait out the shivering aftereffects of the carbonite with a bemused Han shape that he can barely see through the hibernation blindness.

Squatting down to where Luke is sprawled across the floor, Han presses the hilt of Luke’s lightsaber into his hand and asks: “Did you at least get his comm code?”

“I didn’t. Even. Get his. Name,” Luke forces out through chattering teeth.

A warm hand claps him on the shoulder.

“Tough luck, kid. Maybe next time.”

#dinluke #dinluke fic #darkisrising fic

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lizbotw · 5 years ago

Text

SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL: BAKUGOU’S ROUTE - DIADEM

YOU’VE CHOSEN A WINDING PATH: TURN BACK NOW (MASTERLIST)

pairing: bakugou x reader

summary: An attempt to blow off steam is your saving grace in the forest.

a/n: second route of my halloween collab with our favorite explosive boy and the prompt “firework’s lightshow” ♡ also, the title is a specific type of firework in case you were wondering! i think they might be my favorite kind actually lmao, they’re super pretty if you look at the differences between the different fireworks patterns!

warning: very mildly spicy in one part

word count: 3.9k

You could practically feel the impatience rolling off of him in waves from next to you. Outwardly, he was the picture of calm—or at least as calm as you could seem with your arms folded across your chest and your face set in a scowl. He was thinking and you could tell because his eyes weren’t fully focused on the spot on the floor he was supposedly glaring at.

It was hard to be sure in the dim light, but you knew that look anywhere.

It was clear he wanted to do something. The obvious choice when you had been trying to figure out how to get out of here had been to have him either go blasting off above the trees to find the way back to U.A.—if it was even close enough to see—or to set off a signal in hopes of someone catching sight of it. Then, of course, there was the issue of visibility that had put a halt in all plans of escape.

Yet there was still that small voice of reason within everyone’s head though that perhaps you were being overly cautious—Bakugou could still technically do it. You were hero course students, among the best of the best, a little rain and lack of sunlight shouldn’t stop you.

While Todoroki was good for the survival aspect, especially when it came to staying warm during the frigid night, Bakugou seemed like the key to the way out. It felt like everyone was expecting him to do something, just volunteer already—or, at least, you were pretty sure that’s what he felt like. The truth was, no one was expecting anything from him. The plan had been set to simply try to find a way out in the morning. Things would be better then and you knew all of you would have reacted the same way he did and held back a little from immediately rushing out to look for help in conditions like this.

Plus, you were pretty sure they felt it too. A weird tugging in your bones—you don’t know how but you just knew it had something to do with the forest not mixing well with your quirks. You could feel it.

You knew Todoroki and Iida had amazing stamina, honing their quirks from a young age in top hero families, but it seemed that even they had to take more frequent breaks than usual when they had been using their powers earlier. Kaminari’s attempt at sending out a signal had fizzled out and he was reluctant to try charging your phones, stopping every so often to take a deep breath.

All of them must’ve felt it, even if no one said anything. It was like the forest was trying to keep you here.

The feeling was so strong that it was the only thing that could keep someone like Bakugou from pushing past the cautious side of things and actually saying fuck it, he was going to do whatever he wanted. He was still tense though, feeling like he should do something (you could tell). He was the best and he was going to be your way out of here in his mind.

You noticed the way his fingers were digging into his forearms where they gripped and you felt terrible all over again.

You tentatively reached over, about to lay a hand on his arm. “Hey-”

“(Y/N)! Truth or dare?” Kaminari’s voice sliced through the air and you stiffened, quickly drawing your hand back and pushing it into your lap. You could feel the other’s eyes on you even though you were staring straight ahead at Kaminari, chest hot at the sudden choice to begin the game with you.

“Um…”

Bakugou shifted next to you, not really readjusting his position, but seeming like he just wanted to move. “This is stupid…”

“Yeah, you said that before, Bakugou. Lighten up a little, will you?” Kaminari was grinning, tone teasing, and it seemed that it was only you that had noticed Bakgou’s ansty nature. Maybe staying in a random cabin wasn’t the best idea. You started to feel a little trapped too and the onsets of a possible headache pounded in your skull. This all felt weird.

“How the fuck can I lighten up when we don’t know even know when we’ll get out of here?” You expected him to yell it, emotional and scoffing at how stupid the rest of you were being to be fine with sitting around—but that was the opposite of what happened. In fact, you would’ve preferred that to the alternative. Instead, his voice was flat, his brows still furrowed as his eyes seemed to take a special interest in tracing over the ridges in the floor. He refused to look at anyone and he seemed strained.

“Bakugou, come on, man. We’ll get out of this fine. Just give it a few more hours.” You weren’t sure if Kaminari was getting what Bakugou was feeling the same way you did, but he did seem to be choosing his words a little more carefully. That is until— “It’s almost like you want to get dared.” The light laugh that followed had your heart clenching because Kaminari why.

Bakugou finally looked up, staring Kaminari dead on. “Fine. I’ll play.”

That almost halted his laughter, turning it uneasy. “It’s not really your turn yet-”

“I said I’ll play.”

Kaminari seemed unsure now.

You bumped your arm with Bakugou’s and whispered, out of the side of your mouth, “Calm down.” He grunted in reply but made no other indication he was going to listen to you.

It seemed like Kaminari, after a brief second of back and forth with himself, had mustered up the courage to actually agree with Bakugou’s request. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

No one said anything for a moment and the crackling of the fire was the only noise.

Then, Kaminari released the tense breath you had all been holding. “I don’t know what’s with you, but you’re giving me a weird look—and not the standard I’m-going-to-kill-you one either.” The others were silent, although it looked like Midoriya wanted to say something with how he was leaning slightly forward, biting at his lip like he was forcing the words back down. Kamianri continued, trying to lighten the strange mood that had settled over all of you, “I dare you to chill out. Seriously, we’re going to be fine. Ha, didn’t know you were that worried about me, dude.”

The cheeky comment was apparently the wrong thing to say because before you knew it, Bakugou had risen to his feet beside you. “Okay.” And then he made for the door, opening and slamming it shut behind him. Everyone was left blinking at where he had just stood.

It happened so fast you weren’t sure if it had been real, although the sudden coldness at your side gave you the answer to that question.

“Are we still going to play?” Jirou broke the silence. No one was sure if they should go after him or give him a moment to clear his head.

“Um…,” Kaminari was dumbfounded for a moment as his eyes kept going back and forth between the spot where Bakugou had sat and the door he had just left through, “Yeah… sure… who wants to go next?”

“It was (Y/N)’s turn,” Jirou supplied helpfully, leaning back to rest on her hand. Were they just trying to pretend that nothing had happened? Being here sure was starting to make everyone act different.

“Right. (Y/N)-”

You cut him off. “I dare myself to go check up on him. Be right back.” You scrambled to your feet and within a few heavy steps you were pushing open the door and stepping out into the cool night air, surely leaving the group to lament the loss of yet another player.

You hugged your arms around you as the door swung shut and the glow of the fire was left long behind you—if you thought it had been bad inside, out here was freezing. “Bakugou?” He was nowhere in sight, although you knew he couldn’t have gotten far.

You took a quick glance around the edges of the cabin, covered in moss from years of disuse (you would have expected a lot more though if this had been truly been abandoned… you pushed the thought out of your mind), looking to see if he’d turned a corner. Unlikely. There was no way he wanted to be near here right now.

Then that leaves… your gaze slowly shifted to it. The forest. Of course he would.

You toyed with the idea in your mind for a bit, wondering if you should just call it quits and head back inside.

...fine, you would just briefly check and if you couldn’t find him, you’ll turn back right away to avoid getting lost. He probably had some grand secret hiding place if he wasn’t there anyway. Without thinking, you walked forward and beyond the trees, not seeing any point in hesitating.

Cautious to watch your step, you began to pick your way through the area, each hum of nature, hoot of a faroff owl, and chirp of a cricket making your heart race. It didn’t take long for you to see a flash of movement up ahead—you had been right, he’d come to the riskiest place to be alone right now.

Your steps picked up in speed as you rushed after him, closing the distance easily. “Where the hell are you going?” you hissed, “There’s a reason we’re all staying inside.”

He didn’t answer, but you hurried to catch up and fell into pace next to him, trying to search for any signs of his thoughts on his face. The moonlight coming through the branches wasn’t much help and everything was shrouded in shadows.

“Bakugou.” No answer. “Bakugou.”

“Where does it look like I’m going?”

You didn’t expect the sudden response and faltered momentarily in your steps before you quickly recovered. “What?”

“Where does it look like I’m going?”

“I don’t know! Maybe somewhere you shouldn’t be?”

“I’m getting us out of here.”

“Yeah, in the morning.”

“No, now.”

“Bakugou, you’re impossible.”

“You’re one to talk.”

This time you actually stopped walking and although he continued for a few more steps, he eventually stopped as well, a few paces in front and his back to you.

“What do you mean?” Your voice sounded small.

“What? You’re the same way when we’re at U.A.”

“I don’t-”

“The sports festival?”

“Well-”

“How many times did I have to stop you before you hurt yourself?”

You bit your tongue when he turned to face you now. You could say the same about what you did for him.

The moonlight barely reached this part of the forest, although you knew what he probably looked like right now—you knew his facial expressions, his hard stares, the way he twisted his mouth for brief flashes when he tried to hold in emotions.

Bakugou rubbed at the back of his neck before he came back to stand next to you wordlessly, passing through a patch of moonlight before pausing in the darkness with you. You were about to say something when he reached a hand up to flick at your shoulder.

“Wha-”

“Leaf.”

Right. You were in a forest. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

You stared at each other for a while and suddenly it felt like all the fall layers you had on were too much—who was messing with the thermostat in this forest? Not necessarily because of him (although, maybe he was a factor... who knows?), just… in general. You wanted to go home.

“You still got first.” The dark shadows made it difficult to see his face and you shifted to get a better look at him, accidentally bumping into the tree behind you. You reached a hand behind you to steady yourself against the trunk. “At the sports festival I mean,” you quickly added for clarification, “even though you kept trying to babysit me.”

“I did.”

There was the unspoken agreement to drop the matter—you knew he was still bitter over what felt like a false win to him.

“I’ll get first now too,” he said quietly and you knew what he meant. He was still set on finding the way out. Your hand darted out automatically, grabbing his arm before he could try to go off on his own again.

He tried to shake off your hold but when you held fast, he gave up relatively quickly, twisting his wrist around to grip your arm as well. It was mutual now. Always something equal between you two.

“Why the fuck do you keep stopping me? Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“Not if it means we get lost in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t you have your phone?”

You tapped against your pocket to feel if the device was there. Empty—you’d left it with Kaminari to charge. Not that there was any reception out here anyway. “No. Do you have yours?”

“No. I was going to say we could use the flashlight and then it wouldn’t be as bad.”

You fully leaned back against the trunk of the tree now, not caring if it ruined your jacket, your legs tired from standing up already. You were still holding onto each other’s arms and his grip was starting to hurt a little bit. Bastard. You tightened yours to make it even again. “You could just use your quirk, you know.”

You felt his fingers flex against your arm at the idea and even with the minimal light you could tell he was pressing his lips into a thin line. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

Of course you knew what he meant—the weird quirk suppressing feeling. “Yeah.”

Bakugou grumbled, no longer studying your face, but now observing his free hand, as if that would reveal some sort of secret. “I can’t do anything like this. For fuck’s sake, I fucking hate it-” In response to his anger, a few sparks flared up his palm, although you could see what he meant—they were dull, as though something was actively putting them out.

In the brief light, you could see his eyes dart to you as if he wanted to make the most of the illumination as well and take in what you looked like. You could see where the cold had nipped at his skin, and the way his expression was slightly less tense now that it was just the two of you and—

And then it was dark again and you were all but left with only his silhouette. It felt darker now that you had experienced that brief taste of light and you considered asking him to do it again.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Bakuogu suddenly asked and you were caught off guard.

“Like what? You can’t even see me.”

“I saw you just now though. You’re making that face.”

“What face?”

“That face you’re always making at me during times like this and-” He cut himself off and shook his head, knowing this was going nowhere, although you had a feeling you knew what he meant. He had been giving you the same look as well—one that was indescribable. “Nevermind.” He was back to looking at his hand, flexing his fingers—the dark shapes twisted in front of you as you watched him, not able to make out the details of the lines on his fingers or the area where his sleeve met his wrist.

“What’s wrong?” You knew he was thinking about earlier when all seven of you had tried to come up with a plan to find a way out, but you still felt the need to ask.

“I would’ve done something—”

“I know you would’ve.”

You felt his harsh glare on you even if you couldn’t see it. “Will you let me finish a sentence for once, for fuck’s sake?”

You held up your hand in surrender, smiling—even if he couldn’t see you—at how easy it was to rile him up. He studied your darkened form as if making sure you were truly going to be quiet before he continued.

“I was going to do something—I would’ve—but my hands were feeling weird and I knew I couldn’t make a proper explosion.”

You nodded—you felt the same way with your quirk—and then remembered he couldn’t really see you and stopped.

“I didn’t want to be in the middle of doing whatever and suddenly my power supply cuts out. Don’t need anyone seeing that shit.”

“Bakugou, it’s fine.”

“It’s not because I know you wanted to catch the rerun of that dumb old Halloween movie on T.V. tonight.”

“Do you mean-”

“I don’t care about the name so don’t tell me.”

Typical, Bakugou. The thought had you grinning as you pulled on his arm to tug him closer to you because you were suddenly feeling cold again. He was fluid with your movement as he stepped closer like you wanted. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

You just knew he was rolling his eyes. “Of course I remember. You wouldn’t shut up about it for the past week.”

“Yeah, but still. That’s cute.”

“That’s what?”

“Cute.”

He didn’t immediately shut it down and after mulling it over, seemed to accept the term. His head dropped down to rest on your shoulder now and you let him, supporting the pressing weight as you readjusted yourself against the tree trunk.

“I guess,” he breathed out.

“You’re always cute.”

“Okay, I fucking get it, can you shut up now?” You felt his scowl against the part just below your shoulder where his mouth was almost brushing against due to the angle.

“Okay, okay, but get off. You’re tickling me.” You were laughing at the feeling of him talking against your shoulder now and lifted it up to your ear as you tried to pull away. He relented, straightening up a little, but not moving completely away yet, and as you slid back into place, comfortable against the trunk, you realized he was but a hair’s breadth away. There was a small bit of moonlight that came in from between the branches of the tree and positioned like this he fell right into its path. Only half of his face was lit up, but it was enough to see the crimson iries that bored into your own.

“I’ll watch it with you when we get back,” he whispered.

“The movie?”

“Yeah. I checked in case we didn’t have time to watch it today—didn’t fucking think we’d be bsuy doing this though—and they’re showing it again tomorrow. Halloween night.”

“That sounds good.” You breathed in. “Make me popcorn?”

“You fucking bet.”

Neither of you could think of anything to say, but you lean forward to playfully bump your nose against his. His eyes closed at the action and there was an irregular thumping in your heart when he started to tilt his head. Steeling yourself, you let your eyes fall shut too, anticipating the warmth.

That is, until a loud crackle rang out through the forest and you harshly pulled back from each other in surprise, startled. You hit your head against the trunk behind you and brought up a hand to run at the sore spot. Bakugou had released your arm in his haste and you could still feel the imprint of his bruising grip (your own grip had been loosened on his arm when you’d gotten distracted by the proximity before, so when he pulled away you easily let go).

“What was that?” Your voice was hoarse and you cleared your throat, eyes darting around the area.

“I don’t know…” You saw him looking down at his hands now, remembering that he was almost entirely defenseless like this. If it was something objectively “bad,” you would for sure be in big trouble. It didn’t look like he was worried about himself though—more so about protecting you (as strange as it seemed) even though you’d proven yourself to be more than capable of taking care of yourself on countless occasions (then again, that had been before whatever quirk zapping magic had descended upon your group).

You rested a hand on his arm. “Maybe we’ll find someone if we follow it.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever-” Another faint crackle rang out and above the trees there was a flash of light—someone was definitely here.

You looked at him now with the same I-told-you-so tilt of your head and raise of your eyebrows you knew he hated and you knew he could picture you doing it as clear as day even if he couldn’t see anything.

“Fucking fine, let’s just go already.”

It didn’t take the two of you long to get closer to the source of the noise since every few seconds it sounded again, and the colorful lights in the night sky were enough to keep drawing your attention in the right direction. Bakugou kept stopping to make sure you were following him and keeping up, but whenever you waved him off because you were fine, he would just grumble and pretend like he hadn’t been looking behind him for your sake at all.

Within a few minutes you emerged onto a cliffside, the area clear. In the distance below it, you could make out what looked to be glimmering city lights (which was alarming enough) and as you walked closer to the edge—

“Is that-”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Not far away from the cliff, U.A. towered from its place atop the hill it always sat upon—the campus illuminated as part of the ongoing holiday celebrations. You could see now that fireworks were being set off from there. You had been this close all along.

You were caught up in admiring the display—and slowly lowered yourself to sit at the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the edge, eyes on the bursting lights—until you remembered the past few hours and what this meant. You quickly moved to scramble to your feet— “Bakugou, have to tell the others-” —but found a weight pushing you back down into place.

Bakugou sat down next to you with a thump on the hard packed ground, swinging his legs over the edge of the cliff to mimic your position.

“Bakugou?”

“We’ll tell them later,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. You thought about protesting but then— “Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes.” You couldn't tell what he was thinking and his voice concealed it well, although you understood the implications of his words.

“Okay.” And then you were quiet, settling against him as another string of fireworks went off—U.A.’s annual week-long Halloween light show—brilliant variant colors that twisted into various shapes lighting up the night sky against the sparkling stars, moonlight bright now when paired with the hustle and bustle of Musutafu down below. It was still chilly, but you felt strangely warm now and… free? You realized the weight of the forest was gone. In its place you felt a comforting pressure—warm and spreading through your body, and as you sat there and listened to Bakugou’s beating heart, you decided you had an inkling of what it might be.

YOU’VE REACHED THE END OF THE PATH: RETURN TO THE CABIN

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bluenet13 · 4 years ago

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What's Really Keeping You Awake?

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: 9-1-1: Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Nancy Gillian, firefam (mentioned).

Prompt: Arm in a Sling

Summary: When T.K. gets hurt at work he tries to hide the injury from Carlos. But he should have known his boyfriend is always one step ahead.

Links: ff.net - AO3

T.K's fingers tapped impatiently against his thigh as he waited for his call to get picked up.

"Hi, babe, everything okay?" Came Carlos' eventual greeting.

"Hi, yeah, everything's alright. Just wanted to let you know that I won't be going home tonight after shift. Going with Owen instead," T.K. said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Why?" Carlos asked suspiciously. "Is he okay?"

"Nothing special, no issues with his recovery. Dad's just been feeling it since mom left and then we moved in together," T.K. explained.

"Isn't that why Mateo moved in?" Carlos wondered, "I mean, the guy needed a place to live, I get it. But we both know Captain Strand wasn't the obvious choice."

"Yeah," T.K. said, not able to argue that fact. "But Mateo is staying with Paul for the weekend so I just want to keep my dad company."

"Hmm." Carlos audibly sighed. "Are you sure nothing happened?"

"Yes, of course," T.K. said, forcing his voice to stay calm and collected.

"Are you in the hospital?" Carlos blurted out.

"What? No!" T.K's responded, letting out a nervous exhale.

"Tyler," Carlos said in his best threatening tone.

"I promise, I'm not in the hospital," T.K. assured, pursing his lips.

"Are you in an ambulance?" Carlos asked next, wanting to cover all bases.

"I work in an ambulance," T.K. said simply.

"You know what I meant," Carlos grumbled.

"Stop worrying, Carlos. Everything's okay. Just trying to be a good son," T.K half-lied, chuckling to himself as he silently wondered what it said about him that in this situation Carlos' first thought was that he was trying to hide an injury, unlike most others who would have thought he was having an affair.

"Okay, I will see you this weekend then?" Carlos relented, but his tone letting on that he wasn't happy.

"Yeah, I will call you tonight. Love you, baby," T.K. promised, then ended the call, again, just a little too quickly.

Putting his phone back in his pocket, T.K. sighed and turned back to Nancy. "Sorry, you can keep going."

"Carlos is going to kill you when he finds out," Nancy offered helpfully, "but lucky for you, I don't think anything is broken so you won't have to go to the hospital. At least, you weren't lying about that."

"Yeah, lucky me." T.K. rolled his eyes, doing his best to suppress a grunt as Nancy prodded the area around his shoulder.

"But, on second thought... I have to pop it back in, maybe you want to go to the hospital for that?" Nancy questioned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" T.K. asked with a groan.

"Maybe, a little. Not the injury, tho. I'm sorry the patient knocked you off the ladder," Nancy said sincerely, "but I'll enjoy hearing of Carlos' reaction when he finds out," she added with a grin.

"Well, too bad he won't find out," T.K. challenged, "or I'll tell Tommy that you broke her favorite coffee mug. You know, the super cute, purple one her girls got her for mother's day?" His familiar smug smirk now plastered on T.K's face.

Nancy grunted but said nothing, knowing she was beat. "Ready?" She asked instead, knowing there was no way T.K. was voluntarily going to a hospital for a dislocated shoulder.

Suddenly reminded why he was sitting at the back of their ambulance, T.K. instantly lost his smile and blanched a little. Because no matter how many injuries someone has had, popping in a dislocated anything always hurt like a bitch, especially when you couldn't take any painkillers. But still, he nodded, closing his fist around his shirt and bracing for the pain.

"I'll be quick," Nancy whispered and without warning moved her hands to either side of T.K's shoulder and yanked.

"Son of a…" T.K's yelped, his words cut short by a loud pop as his joint set back into place.

"Sorry, Strand," Nancy said, a guilty smile replacing her previous grin. "I know you won't take anything strong, but can I give you some Ibuprofen?"

T.K. just shook his head, his mouth set in a straight line as he tried to breathe through the pain.

"You're going to be sore," Nancy pushed, gazing down at T.K. with a knowing look as she maneuvered his shoulder into a sling.

"I've OTC painkillers at home, I promise I'll take some if the pain gets too bad," T.K. lied, grunting as the movement jostled his injured joint.

"You mean at Owen's house, right?" Nancy asked (not so) innocently.

"You can really be mean sometimes." T.K. pouted, trying to bite down a grin.

"You just make it too easy. But really, I know you won't take anything, so at least ice your shoulder when you get home and remember to sleep on your other side," Nancy directed, wishing she could offer her partner some relief from the pain but knowing that with T.K's history that simply wasn't an option.

"I'll be okay, Nance. Thank you for taking care of it, I'll be careful," T.K promised, then rolled his neck as he got accustomed to the feel of the sling around his arm.

"And no nighttime activities for you," Nancy said softly, looking at T.K. with a knowing smile, "but on second thought, I don't think that will be a problem now." Her grin turning into full-blown laughter.

"You only say that cause you're jealous," T.K. said, sticking his tongue out. Then jumped out of the ambulance, smiling to himself as Nancy made a face and tossed a roll of gauze at him.

As Nancy finished organizing everything in the back, T.K. sat down on the ambo's bumper and sighed, wishing he could go home to cuddle with Carlos instead of to an empty apartment. But he was tired of the trouble magnet jokes and Carlos saying he was taking years off his life, and this was too simple an injury to worry his boyfriend over. So, he would just have to suck it up.

A few minutes passed with the partners just chatting about everything and nothing as they waited for Tommy to get back after dropping their patient at the hospital.

"You okay, Strand?" Was Tommy's first question as soon as she returned to the ER's parking lot.

"I am, Nancy checked it out and we're ready to go," T.K. said and raised to his feet, trying very hard not to cry out when the movement jerked his shoulder.

"Are you sure you don't need to be looked at?" Tommy was still staring at T.K with a worried expression, even when the question was directed to his partner.

"He will be okay," Nancy explained, "nothing got broken and the joint should heal nicely after a few days of rest. Plus, T.K. is not a liar and he absolutely wasn't at the hospital today," she couldn't help add, the corner of her lip tucking upward.

"Do I even want to know?" Tommy asked no one in particular, shooting a curious look to her two, young coworkers.

"Probably not. Let's go," Nancy said with a chuckle, getting into the back of the ambulance and sitting on the bench. "You can sit at the front, Strand. Just don't go getting used to it," she added as a way of response to T.K's raised eyebrows and silent question.

"Thanks, partner," T.K acknowledged, happy with the sort of truce that he had reached with his new partner, and even more with the way that agreement was slowly evolving into a real friendship.

The ride back to the firehouse was spent in comfortable silence, all three paramedics lost in between their thoughts and the low music coming from the speakers. Tommy did her best to avoid any cracks in the pavement but still shot sympathetic glances T.K's way every time he grunted or winced.

Reaching the firehouse, T.K's ignored everyone's concerned stares and just walked quickly to the locker room. Knowing with the sling taking off his shirt would be a pain, he decided to just leave on his uniform and wait until he was home. He would want to shower and better to go through the hassle just one time.

After promising all his teammates that yes, he was okay, and yes, he would call if he needed help, and no, he didn't need a ride (especially when he was planning to go to Owen's and not Carlos'), T.K. was finally able to escape all the mother henning and quietly get into his Uber.

Going up the stairs and inside Owen's apartment was more difficult that it should have been, with T.K. dropping the keys as he tried to open the door with his non-dominant hand and as he continued to fumble with the strap of his duffel bag, which kept rolling down his shoulder. The ordeal left him winded, and with a very big desire to just face plant on the couch and sleep for the next many hours. But he had worked more than half a shift before he got hurt so he was in desperate need of a shower.

So, T.K. just dropped his keys, wallet and phone on the kitchen counter and walked to the guest room, his face losing all color as soon as his eyes landed on the figure sitting on the bed.

"Hi baby," Carlos said cheerfully, even as his eyes narrowed and his lips turned upward into an innocent smile.

Letting his bag fall to the floor with a thud, T.K. had the sudden urge to turn around and run, instead he tried to give Carlos his best apologetic grin as he looked straight into his boyfriend's eyes.

"Want a chance to explain before I start asking questions?" Carlos said, making T.K. wonder if that's how he started interrogations with the people he arrested.

"What are you doing here?" T.K. asked, ignoring Carlos' question and trying very hard not to squirm under his boyfriend's gaze.

"I asked first," Carlos said matter-of-factly.

"Long, boring story I'm sure you don't want to hear," T.K. mumbled, hoping against hope that Carlos would just let it go for now. Then he tip-toed towards Carlos and tried to wrap his arms around his boyfriend, but Carlos just jumped out of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Whoa there, cowboy. Slow your roll cause you're not getting out of this so easily," Carlos quipped, a scowl now adorning his features too.

"What do you want me to say, Carlos? I got hurt at work." T.K. awkwardly raised his injured arm, trying to emphasize his point, before he dropped both shoulders dejectedly, and turned his eyes to stare at the ground.

"I think that part is obvious," Carlos simply stated, "but I'm more interested in the part where you thought it was a good idea to lie to me and hide the injury."

"I didn't lie, everything I said was technically true," T.K. tried, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"In this case, omitting the truth is the same as lying."

"I'm sorry, Carlos. I just didn't want to frighten you again. I mean, come on, we haven't even been really dating a full year and I've already been shot, kidnapped and knocked unconscious with a concussion. I know you all joke that I'm a trouble magnet, but I also know you worry. And you have enough worries at work to also lose sleep over me," T.K. rambled as he paced around the room, "besides, I don't want you realizing that I'm just too much for you," he finished barely above a whisper, sad eyes moving to Carlos' again.

Carlos remained silent for a few minutes after that, seemingly mulling over T.K's words, before his arms uncrossed and he moved towards his boyfriend, engulfing him in a quick hug before he stepped out of his space again.

"First, I'm a cop, babe, do you really think a dislocated shoulder will really scare me? You know I've seen it all, and yes, it's worse when things happen to you, but I know it's the nature of both our jobs."

"I'm sorry," T.K. whispered, cutting Carlos off and taking a tentative step forward.

"Wait, let me finish," Carlos said, raising his hands to stall T.K's movements. "I won't get mad if you get injured, but I don't like you lying to me. Or emitting truths," he amended before T.K. tried to find another loophole, because sometimes his boyfriend really took to his mother. "You once said we made a pretty good team. And you were right, and we have only gotten better with time."

"In more ways that one…" T.K. said smugly, his eyes going to Carlos' lips, and then further down.

Carlos let out an outward moan, even if he would argue it was more like an annoyed groan, as his lips parted on their own volition and he ended up having to bite down on his lower lip as he tried not to give into T.K's charm.

"Yeah," Carlos easily agreed, his deep voice sounding even huskier. "But don't go trying to distract me, you're not out of the doghouse yet. So as I was saying, I don't care about a dislocated shoulder, but…"

"Wait, how do you know about the shoulder?" T.K asked, "and how are you even here?"

"Will you stop interrupting me?" Carlos said, sounding mildly exasperated, "I called Mateo. I knew you were hiding something, and I know Marjan, Paul and Judd would have been more difficult to deal with. Mateo might be a damn good firefighter but that boy can't lie to save his life. He told me what happened, then I called Captain Stra- Owen, and turns out he thought I was working a shift tonight so that's why you were coming here."

"What have we talked about interrogating my team, Officer Reyes?" T.K. wondered out loud, wishing his boyfriend wasn't so good at his job.

"Well, I wouldn't have to if you gave me another choice," Carlos challenged, eyebrows raised. "But again, as I was saying, we're a team T.K. and I can take anything you, or life, throw our way. You might be high maintenance but you'll never be too much for me," he added, a teasing smile now gracing his lips, easing the harshness that had taken over his features.

"I'm high maintenance? I'm not the one that only eats homemade tortillas, can't get veggies that are not from the farmer's market and forces me to get up at dinner and get the salt because God forbids you handle it to me and doom our relationship forever," T.K. mumbled under his breath, the twinkle in his eye showing that his words carried no heat.

"It's not my fault that Latinos have many superstitions. Or that I need to do so much stress cooking because my stubborn and daredevil boyfriend keeps getting in trouble. Which brings me to my last point, I do lose sleep over you, T.K," Carlos began, stepping towards him and moving his hands under his shirt. "But not because I worry about you. I do, always will. But when I go to sleep, with your body next to mine, I tend to have other things in mind." Pushing, T.K. all the way back until he fell onto the bed, Carlos let his lips hover just above T.K's for a moment before he leaned forward, crashing his already parted lips into T.K's waiting ones.

The moment quickly became more heated as they deepened the once sweet kiss, both their hands now exploring every reachable part of their boyfriend's body. That is, until Carlos let too much of his weight fall onto T.K, making the man gasp and groan as his shoulder took the brunt of it.

"Too bad you're injured and I can't show you the type of things I think about," Carlos croaked, pressing a kiss just on the edge of T.K's lips, before he pushed his body away from the bed, and out of his boyfriend's reach.

"Oh come on, babe. You can tease like that and just leave me hanging," T.K. breathed out, trying to grab Carlos's shirt, but his fingers only brushing a bit of exposed skin along his hip.

"Don't pout, babe. It's not a good look on you. Plus you'll get wrinkles and I happen to love your smooth skin," Carlos said, trying to ignore the electricity coursing through his body starting from the spot T.K's fingers had touched.

Not missing the way Carlos' body just quivered, T.K looked at his boyfriend with his perfected shit-eating grin, his eyes practically undressing the other man, just as his boyfriend silently did the same.

"Lucky for you, I have other ideas to show you how being with you could never be too much. In fact, every moment we spend together is just never enough," Carlos said sweetly, like usual being the first to give in. Extending his arm to his boyfriend, Carlos pointed to the bathroom with his chin as his free hand was already removing T.K's belt and unbuttoning his pants.

"I like the sound of that," T.K. rasped out, barely able to form words. He then took Carlos' hand, letting his boyfriend pull him towards him, as his free arm reciprocated, briskly and awkwardly loosening Carlos' sweatpants, and pulling at the hem of his shirt.

"Good. The hot water will be good for your shoulder. Plus, you're still in uniform, I can only assume you didn't shower at the station. It's only natural that we do that before I get you into bed," Carlos explained simply, "so you can rest your shoulder, that is," he added, but his darkened eyes showed that right now taking care of T.K's injury was the last thing on his mind.

Brain short-circuiting, T.K. only nodded as he let Carlos remove the sling on his arm and the rest of the clothing that still got in between their desires, before he let his boyfriend lead him into the bathroom.

Later on there would be time for T.K. to continue apologizing and explain more about how he got hurt, for Carlos to take care of his shoulder and comfort his boyfriend, and for both of them to further promise that they were it for each other, that they were both in it for the long run and there was never a need to hide things because they would always be a team. But for now, all thoughts of T.K's injury and small lie were out of their minds, and Carlos and T.K. just relished the presence of the other, the feel of their bodies pressed together, as they let the steam of the shower dissolve their insecurities and fears, and just got lost in each other.

"Wait, what if my dad comes home?"

"Too bad you will have a lot of explaining to do. There's a reason I asked you to move in with me," Carlos said, finally getting his chance to be the smug one.

And whatever was said next was lost to the outside world, as the door to the bathroom slammed shut, and only T.K's groan and Carlos' laughter could be heard over the splash of the shower.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fanfiction #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos #bad things happen bingo #idiots in love #tarlos fanfic

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writingletterstothefire · 4 years ago

Text

right where you left me

A/N: So here it is, a full 3 days after I said I’d post it. Things have been pretty crappy, so I apologize if there was anyone out there who actually cared about this fic. The idea came to me while listening to right where you left me by Taylor Swift. I had this image of like, okay, we know about Lorraine, but what if there was someone back in Texas still waiting for Javi, after all this time? And from that thought, came this. it’s not beta-read in the slightest, so I’m so sorry if there’s any typos or sentences that don’t sound right. Thanks, y’all. Enjoy.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: maybe some language?? abandonment, Javier Peña

Prom night was supposed to be the best night of your high school career. And at first, it really felt like it might be. Your best friend Javier Peña was taking you, and you had picked the perfect dress. You and Javi were going as friends, but you really thought that this might finally be the night that you worked up the courage to tell him how you felt. You’d been dancing around each other for months, and tonight was the night that you’d finally take your friendship to a new level.

At 8pm sharp, there was a knock on your door. Javi was always right on time. You walked down the stairs slowly, like you’d seen girls do in movies, but Javi just smiled up at you and went, “Hey, you actually look like a human instead of a troll today!”

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly ecstatic at the start of the night. By the time you got to the prom, though, you had calmed down and reminded yourself that Javi was prone to sticking his foot in his mouth. He was probably just not used to seeing you dressed up.

“You alright, squirt?” Javi asked as he helped you out of his truck and started to lead you into the school. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

“No, I’m fine!” You smiled up at him, determined to have a good night. “Ready to force you to dance with me all night.”

Javi laughed at that. “I’ll give you three dances, alright squirt?”

“Deal!” You beamed up at him. Javi’s heart skipped a beat, like it always did when you smiled at him like that.

In the end, you got four and a half dances out of him. He wasn’t happy about it, but he would do anything you asked him to.

After the prom, you both ended up at the diner you worked at part-time, sharing a milkshake and a plate of fries. That was when the bomb dropped.

“I’m leaving,” he suddenly blurted out, halfway through the milkshake.

“Oh, okay, I’ll go get us a box—” you started to offer helpfully.

“No, I…” he grabbed your hand to stop you getting up, “I, uh, I’m going to Quantico. After graduation.”

Quantico was a conversation that had been looming over the two of you for the last three months. Javi wanted to go, and he wanted you to go up to Virginia with him. He begged you to at least apply to the schools in the area. He needed his best friend.

You’d been denied financial aid from the schools that you applied to.You would be staying in Texas. Eventually, with his father’s health declining after catching a bad bit of pneumonia, it had started to look like Javi might be staying in Texas too. But Chucho ended up making a full recovery, and insisted Javi went to Quantico to advance his career.

It seemed he would be taking his father’s advice. He would be leaving you.

But, you realized, the way Javi was telling you, the way his eyes were pleading with you now… It was almost as if he was waiting for you to ask him not to go. Javi would do anything you asked him to. But you couldn’t ask him to give up his future.

“I’m happy for you, Javi,” you managed to get out, tears collecting in your eyes as you smiled. “You’ve worked so hard to get there, you’re going to be amazing.”

Javi looked almost heartbroken. He had been so sure that you were going to yell and scream at him, beg him to please just stay. Yet, here you were, encouraging him to do the one thing he simultaneously wanted more than anything and didn’t want at all.

He just nodded silently and waited for you to finish the milkshake before taking you back home. You had both been anxious on the ride home. You knew it was now or never, because he was leaving in a week. The problem was that you weren’t going with him. Could you do it, knowing you’d be giving him a taste of what would never be?

You didn’t have time to think too hard about it before Javi had your face in his hands and was planting the sweetest kiss on your lips.

Before you could stop yourself, you whispered, “But, you’re leaving…”

The both of you stayed frozen for a few moments, before the tears in your eyes spilled over and you were rushing inside. Javi didn’t chase you, even though he wanted to.

The two of you avoided each other at school the following Monday. And then, a week later, he left.

Five years passed without much more than a few phone calls and a handful of letters passed between the two of you. You both chose to ignore the way that prom night ended. You needed each other too much. Even if it was a distanced friendship now, you chalked it up to growing up. Of course you weren’t going to be best friends forever, and it was foolish of you to consider that the distance wouldn’t change things.

But then, Javi walked into the diner. The same diner where he told you he was leaving. The same diner you still worked at every night, noon to close.

You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him and grabbing him in a tight hug. He hugged you back, of course, squeezing you tightly and murmuring sweet nothings into your ear about how much he missed you.

“Javi, what are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be working for the DEA!” You squeezed him tighter, despite questioning his presence.

“What, I can’t visit home every once in a while, squirt?” He smirked that trademark smirk of his. You finally pulled back, crossing your arms over your chest and quirking an eyebrow.

“We haven’t seen you here since Christmas four years ago. And even then, only your dad saw you because you were only here for a night.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, I need to visit more,” he grumbled. His energy shifted into a nervous one. “You know, I’m actually here to, uh, give you this. I wanted to give it to you in person.”

He pulled a small slip of paper from his jacket, and you felt the blood leaving your head. You’d seen so many of these in the past two years, but you supposed you were getting to that age now.

“I wanted you to hear it from me,” he said gently, “because you mean more to me than anything. There’s a plus-one, if you, uh, need it.”

His brow furrowed as he said it, as though he was upset at the idea of you having a plus-one, and you were so confused by his expression that you almost forgot to take the paper from him. The invitation. A wedding invitation. Javi, your Javi, was getting married. You could hear a pin drop in the silence of the diner, mostly empty now, save for a few tables quietly eating amongst themselves.

“Congratulations, oh my god,” you finally exclaimed, quickly hugging him quickly so that he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to overflow. You hoped you sounded excited enough to throw off suspicion.

The two of you caught up over a milkshake and a plate of fries, and for a moment you could almost forget that five years had passed. You could almost forget the wedding invitation burning a hole into your apron.

When he asked you about your relationships, you were embarrassed to tell the truth. But you did, because you couldn’t exactly lie to Javi. He was still your best friend, distance and time spent away aside. You told him the truth, that none of the guys you met were the right fit. It was hard to find a good guy in this small town, you had jested. It was true. The best one had left.

Eventually, Javi left with a slip of, “Lorraine’s waiting for me—,” and you cut him off with a pained smile and a, “It’s fine, no it’s totally fine, I have to finish my shift anyways!”

In the end, you couldn’t make yourself go to the wedding. You picked up an extra shift that night, and focused on polishing each piece of silverware until it sparkled.

You’d learn two days later that Javi left her at the altar. Well, that is to say, he never even made it to the altar. He didn’t arrive to the church at all. He simply turned around, and booked a flight back to Quantico, tux and all. He was on the first plane out.

You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. You figured that it didn’t matter. You’d never get the chance to do either one.

———————————————————————

Ten years passed after that. You saw Javi at some Christmases, and you were sure to give him hell for leaving a woman at the altar, but for the better half of ten years, you didn’t see him. When he went down to Columbia, he didn’t come home for holidays. He didn’t want to bring any trouble back up to Texas. It was understandable, but your heart ached every day.

You tried to move on. You’d been trying for fifteen years. But, if you were honest with yourself, there was just no one for you like Javi. No one could compare to him.

You were still working at the diner, but you’d been promoted. The old owner, when he passed away, left the entire thing in your name. He requested that his estate pay off the rest of the mortgage and overdue bills, and you were gifted the diner, completely debt free. You refused to just accept the free money, though. Along with your new duties as the owner, you still worked at the diner five nights per week. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t really have anything else to do. Your cat had food and water, your plants were watered in the morning, and you didn’t have anyone waiting for you at home. So, every night you helped serve tables, run food, and even bus if it was busy enough. You were happy to work. It kept your mind off of how lonely you were.

You were working on closing up one cold, rainy night, when you heard the door open. You never got any patrons after 11pm, so you immediately grew suspicious. You subtly reached for the baseball bat you kept behind the counter.

“We’re closing up, can I help—,” you froze. Javi was standing in the diner soaking wet and shivering. “Oh my god, Javi?”

“H-Hey squirt,” he managed to get out through his chattering teeth.

You hurried over to him, shoving his jean jacket off his shoulders. “You’re going to make yourself sick in these wet clothes! Come on, I’ve got some stuff in the employee lost and found that might work.”

You quickly locked up the front and ushered a shaking Javi to the back room, shoving the first clothes you found that might fit him into his arms. He started stripping his shirt off before you could turn around, and you felt yourself going bright red. After an embarrassingly long moment of you being frozen in shock, you managed to spin around and hurry out to the front with a, “I’m gonna make you something warm to drink!”

Your shaky hands somehow threw two mugs of tea together, and you set them on a table just as Javi came out of the back dressed in oversized sweats and a tie dye hoodie. You offered a small smile and sat at the booth, before realizing it was the booth that you’d sat at together so many times. This was the booth that you’d sat at the night he told you he was leaving. And the night he’d invited you to his wedding.

He sat at the other side of the booth, his ears a bit pink as he bashfully avoided your eyes.

“T-Thanks for the clothes. I don’t know why I didn’t grab an umbrella as I left,” he ducked his head.

You just gently pushed the mug of tea closer to him. “So, what brings you here? What did I do to be graced with your presence on this fine night?”

You didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so snarky, but you saw Javi flinch at your words. His hands wrapped around the warm mug as he stared into the tea.

“I’m, uh… I’m back from Columbia. For good.”

That wasn’t what you’d expected. In your surprised state, you took a moment to examine Javi. This Javi was rugged and worn out. He had permanent bags under his eyes, worry lines in his forehead, a thick, prominent mustache on his lip where there used to be only peach fuzz. His shoulders were hunched over and tense, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on them. And he was, you realized.

The man in front of you was not the boy you graduated high school with. He wasn’t even the man who left his wife at the altar. This man was seasoned and hard, well aware of the darkest horrors that the world possessed.

“What happened down there, Javi?” You had to ask. You knew from the way his jaw clenched that he didn’t want to talk about it, but you also knew that if he didn’t talk about it with you, then there was no one else who stood a chance.

And so, he told you. He recounted his struggles finding Escobar, and then Escobar’s escape. He told you about Escobar’s death, and then the rise of the Calí cartel. The things he’d thought he had to do for the cause. The things he would never repeat to anyone else for years to come. The nightmares that plagued his mind every night. And you listened to him. You didn’t interrupt, except to reach across the table and grab his hand, squeezing tightly every so often to remind him that you were here.You’d always be here, and you both knew that. Javi left and came back and then left again, and you stayed planted to the spot he left you in, waiting patiently for him to come back.

Javi finally finished recounting the stories from Columbia around two in the morning. You’d sat there, holding hands across the table for nearly three hours. You knew, in your heart, that it was time to tell Javi. If he accepted you, you’d go from there. If he rejected you, it was time to move on and try to find some semblance of happiness while you still had time.

“Javi, I—”

“I love you, squirt.”

You must have been looking at him like he’d just told you he was growing a third leg, because he burst out laughing. You couldn’t form a coherent thought. All that came out was a broken, “W-What?”

Javi just tilted his head at you. “Well… you can’t be all that surprised, can you? After all this time, you don’t know?”

“Javi… Javi, we’ve been friends for thirty years, but I’ve barely seen you for half of them. You were… You almost got married, Javi! To someone who wasn’t me! And you have the nerve to say I can’t be all that surprised?!” You knew the volume of your voice had risen substantially, but you didn’t care. He had no right to come into your diner and act like, after fifteen years, he had any right to spring this on you.

“Squirt, I…” Javi sighed, getting up and coming around to your side of the table. He sat next to you and picked up your hands, clasping them tightly in his own. “I messed up. I know. I thought you were better off without me, that you were going to go on to do bigger and better things, and you have, but I… I’m going to be selfish, squirt, for one more time. I’m going to be selfish and tell you that I love you, and I need you. With Lorraine… I proposed because she expected it. We didn’t even really get along that well. A month after I proposed…,” his head dropped, ashamed as he spoke his next words, “I said your name in bed.”

If you hadn’t already been frozen to your seat with shock, you’re sure you would’ve fallen over.

“I know it was unfair to her. I wish I’d never asked her to marry me. I should have come back for you, told you how much I loved you and how much I needed you. You’ve been so patient with me, I know you have. You’ve been nothing but amazing, even when I was a shitty friend to you. I wanted you to come to Quantico with me, and when you couldn’t, I thought… I thought that it was the universe telling me that it wouldn’t work. But fuck the universe. I am so sorry that I ever left you, squirt. I love you. And, if you’ll have me, I want to be with you. I want to marry you, if you’ll let me.” He kissed the backs of your hands.

You stayed frozen for a moment. You knew that none of this was easy for Javi. Admitting his true feelings, owning up to his mistakes, apologizing. He was coming to you, with his heart on his sleeve, and begging you not to turn him away. And how could you, if you were honest? You’d stayed in this state, in this town, in this diner, all for him. You told yourself it was just stability and familiarity that kept you there, but deep down you had always known that you were waiting for Javi. Staying put, right where he left you, just in case he ever decided to come back. And here he was, asking you to love him.

“Javi, I love you, too.”

You’d never seen Javier cry. The day he left, he came close. When his arms wrapped around you, you’d felt him shudder, just once. When you pulled back, his eyes stayed averted, and he didn’t look at you again. Except when he left, about to board his flight, and his eyes were just a tad shinier than usual.

Now, Javi allowed full tears to stream down his cheeks, as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him. He spoke no words, he just held you. He never truly thought that he would get to.

You slowly pulled back, reaching up to cup his cheeks and wipe away his tears. “I love you, Javi. And I… I’ll marry you, one day. Let’s see how this goes? I don’t want to spook you by us moving too fast, I can’t lose you.”

Javi shook his head frantically. “No, you’ll never lose me. I’m never leaving you again, I was a fool to have left for all these years.”

You wiped at his cheeks one more time, before leaning up to kiss him. And he kissed you back.

You supposed that, if you finally got to have him, then all of the pain you went through while he was gone was worth it. Your waiting hadn’t been for nothing, you finally had your Javi. He was holding you, right here, right now, in the same place he’d left you. Only, this time, he was here to stay. He was here with you.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javi x reader #javier pena x reader #javier x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos #javier peña x you #javier pena x you #javier pena #my writing

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andipxndy-writes · 4 years ago

Text

the coffee shop

fandom: alex rider warnings: none requested by: @zixylixy word count: 9.8k

cross-posted to ao3

summary: You knew you should've stayed in bed the moment your coffee went all over your front. Still... that meant you met someone unique, someone different. Someone who was becoming special to you. And if you were being completely honest, now that you were thinking back on it, you wouldn't have it any other way.

the coffee shop

You knew you should’ve stayed in bed that morning the moment your coffee went all over your front.

To be fair, up until that point your morning hadn’t gone too badly. You’d woken up, been tempted to stay in bed for a few hours longer, and then realised you had emails to answer and paperwork to do for work. Granted, you were working from home, so there was no rush to actually complete the work you’d been assigned until the end of the working day, but it was nice to get it all done in the morning. Then the rest of your day was free.

And that was what ended up happening. As soon as you’d got up and ready for the day, you managed to get your work done pretty quickly. All it took was a handful of hours of properly focusing, and you could get everything you needed to do done quickly enough.

Plenty of time for you to do things for yourself.

Of course, doing things for yourself wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when you finished work for the day. First of all there was the dishes (which took all of five minutes), and then the washing (which took a little longer, but you had that all in in half an hour), and then there was the general cleaning of the house that you hadn’t managed to get to last weekend (which definitely took closer to a couple of hours, maybe more). By the time you were done with all of that, it was the middle of the afternoon.

You thought it was about time to actually treat yourself.

So at about three in the afternoon, you had your little backpack packed with your notebook, laptop and a book, ready to keep yourself entertained with a coffee at your favourite local coffee shop. Just to wind down, maybe get back into that reading and writing groove again.

Except, when you got to your favourite local coffee shop, it was filled. Somehow, and you didn’t know how, the place had become everyone’s favourite place to visit in the late afternoon. Which meant that you couldn’t find anywhere to sit. In fact, the knowledge that someone was sitting in your favourite spot on their own and was casually scrolling through their phone was what irked you the most, and it made you very hesitant to leave the place. A small part of you even wanted to kick them out of the seat. But it was crammed, and you didn’t particularly like being around so many people anyway.

So you left. You knew where the nearest Starbucks was, and you also knew that it wasn’t too far to get to, so it would have to do. For once.

(Last time you’d gone there, with the absolute crowding and mess that went on there, you vowed to never go again. But the nearest Costa was too far to walk and the nearest Cafe Nero was even further. So it would have to do.)

As you got your coffee, you had to mentally remind yourself that just because Starbucks was mainstream didn’t mean that the coffee was any worse than what you usually got at your favourite spot. Perhaps the baristas here were decent, and the coffee had to be drinkable for people to regularly get drinks there.

When you took your coffee and sipped on it, your brain and taste buds helpfully reminded you that the coffee was worse, and tasted pretty cheap and generic, but you were going to have to deal. Because the next best places were further out and you couldn’t be bothered to walk that far.

The only other downside to Starbucks was because it was so popular and so mainstream, it also didn’t have any space for you to sit. Luckily, you were less bothered about this, and had been prepared for such an eventuality, so you were heading out to go to the local park – there were some picnic benches there that you could sit on and use to relax whilst you had your coffee, and the day was nice enough that it made sitting outside with your hot beverage and a good book worth it.

Your plans were ruined the moment you stepped through the open doorway.

“Hey!” you cried as your cup smacked into your front and emptied out over your jumper and jeans. As much as you didn’t care about the coffee, you did care about what you were wearing. You just so happened to be wearing your favourite outfit that day.

You were not impressed.

“Hey, I–oh my god I’m so sorry.”

The person who had crashed into you was tall, with fair hair and plain brown eyes. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him, really. Apart from his sharp jawline. And handsome features.

Nope, nothing remarkable about him at all.

Shaking out your hands to get off the hot coffee before trying to peel your clothing from your skin so that it didn’t keep burning you, you huffed, scowling. One small part of your brain decided to remind you that you were glad to be rid of that horrible coffee, but you hadn’t exactly wanted it on you instead.

“I’m so sorry, let me buy you another coffee.”

You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow at the offer. You were currently covered in coffee, sticky and wet, and standing on the pavement in front of your least-favourite coffee shop.

Another coffee wasn’t going to cut it, and you made sure your face said exactly that.

“I need to change,” you muttered, more to yourself than the man in front of you as you looked back at your clothes. “This was my fave… god, I need to do another wash…”

You spared the man a glance out of the corner of your eye. The guy looked a little awkward now, hearing you ramble to yourself, and a small part of you was satisfied in knowing you’d made a grown man feel awkward about not watching where he was going. You didn’t tend to do that often, but when you did it was incredibly satisfying.

“I’m sorry, truly. I’ll buy you another jumper. And a coffee.”

Another jumper and a coffee? Was this man desperate for your forgiveness or something? You looked up at him properly, narrowing your eyes at him.

He offered a nervous smile in return.

The smile melted your scowl.

“I’ll take the coffee,” you mumbled in response, giving a sigh of resignation. “But after I’ve changed, god. I’m not sitting around in coffee-stained clothes.” Your clothes felt hot now, but they were definitely going to get colder and stickier, and that was going to get very uncomfortable. Before he could speak again, you held up a hand to silence him. “I live a ten minute walk away. You can wait for me right here. Right here. Don’t move.”

You didn’t realise how serious the guy was about getting you coffee (and a new jumper, you supposed) when, after you returned in a fresh change of clothes, he was still standing right there waiting for you.

***

There were a few things you learned from that coffee you had with the guy who’d crashed into you. Firstly, and most importantly, you found out that he wasn’t a fan of Starbucks either, and somehow managed to get you both into your favourite coffee shop when you told him about the spot. With seats in your favourite spot.

He’d laughed when you vowed to love him forever.

The second thing you learned was that his name was Alex. You introduced yourself too, of course, but he seemed more than a little reluctant to tell you his surname. You didn’t mind, of course, but that meant that you insisted on being given the same courtesy – first names only, no surnames allowed. And from the way he nodded, it seemed to be a good enough agreement for him.

The third thing you learnt was that Alex was actually single, and had been on his way to meet someone when he’d crashed into you. He then insisted that your impromptu “date” was a lot better than what he’d originally planned to go to. It made you curious about the person he’d been going to meet, definitely, and why he was so willing to ditch them for someone such as yourself – especially when he’d only just met you.

Well, what you two had done hadn’t been a date, exactly, considering it felt more like two friends catching up. Or two friends meeting for the first time. But you realised you’d enjoyed it like one, and the two of you exchanged social media handles before parting ways: you suggested Twitter, he gave you his Insta, and both of you laughed when you realised you had Tumblr.

Neither of you shared your Tumblr usernames.

And then that was it. You pretty much forgot about the guy – any thoughts of him were lost amidst all of the work you were suddenly bombarded with (which you didn’t appreciate at all, and you were frankly disappointed in your boss for) and you were barely even given the chance to breathe.

It made you miss your writing.

That was why, when you got your next batch of free time (and told your boss that under absolutely no circumstances was he to send you more work to do) you packed up your bag with your usual notebook and stationary set and headed down to the nearest park. Since that last time you’d tried to get coffee, you hadn’t even attempted to get out of the house and do some writing on your own. You figured today would be a good day to go out and get some writing done, as well as get some fresh air.

Taking one look outside, though, you realised it was gradually getting darker, and one look at the clock told you it would probably get dark within the next couple of hours. Knowing your habits, it would be dark long before you finished wanting to write.

Perhaps the nearest university library would be best. You still had a membership card for it, anyway.

It took you about ten minutes to get out of the house with everything you needed, and then you were walking towards the library. Your favourite coffee shop was on the way there, so you decided it would be a good idea to stop by the coffee shop and grab something to drink at the library. You had your travel mug with you anyway, and it wasn’t as if the library refused to let people drink in there all the time.

Students practically lived in there anyway. They had to keep themselves alive somehow.

Just as you were walking into the coffee shop, you realised it was pretty quiet inside… but very noisy outside. Not noisy in the sense that there were lots of people walking about, oh no. It was noisy because there was something more than a little hectic happening on the street that ran by the coffee shop. Cars were speeding past, bikes were speeding past. The only thing that didn’t speed past was an ambulance, which (considering the speed those vehicles were moving about) concerned you greatly.

Still, you managed to tell yourself that this wasn’t your issue and you moved on, not even looking back over your shoulder to see what was going on. The distractions would hold you back, and it was getting later and later. You wanted your coffee and your spot in the library.

It wasn’t until you’d grabbed your coffee and were about to head out that you saw a bike – a battered, wobbly motorbike – pull up outside the cafe. It was a no-parking zone out on that part of the street, and you knew this, but you weren’t going to be the one to warn the person about it when the owner was probably out back watching on a security camera or something. They could suffer from that earful themselves.

The rider got off the bike, stumbling a little bit as they got used to being back on their own two feet, before pulling off their helmet. That was when you realised two things.

One, you’d seen that bike before. It had been brief, yes, but that bike had definitely been part of that whole commotion that had gone on outside whilst you’d been walking. You were absolutely sure of it. In fact, you were pretty sure it had been near the front of whatever had gone on, and had been the main one speeding. Which was more than a little concerning, considering it had now stopped outside of the cafe.

Two, you recognised the person as soon as their helmet came off. You didn’t know exactly why you managed to recognise them so quickly, but you hadn’t managed to see them for a while. Not since you’d first met.

It was Alex.

You stood frozen in place, surprised that after so long you were finally seeing him again. It was… strange, to say the least.

He paused himself, standing sort of lopsided as though he was supporting himself with one leg mostly. He was also seemingly surprised to see you, and then he gave you a half-smile. You got a feeling that he actually did kind of remember you, though you didn’t quite know what would really encourage him to do that.

Then you remembered how you first met, and it all made sense.

“Hello,” he finally greeted once he was close enough to you.

You simply took a sip of your coffee, staring him in the eyes. You didn’t know why exactly you did that – maybe it was a reminder of how he didn’t have to make you spill your coffee all over yourself to get your attention. “Hi.”

You both stood there in silence for a few moments, him watching you drink your hot beverage, and then he finally decided to speak.

“Do you want to sit in here and talk for a bit? We should catch up, right?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. Catch up? That was definitely very… forward of him. “We barely even know each other.”

“Then we can get to know each other more.”

You were so tempted to give in and point out how forward that seemed. After all, this was only the second time you were meeting in person. Granted, you’d seemed to get on pretty well the first time you’d met, but that didn’t mean you’d get along this time… did it? But, of course, you knew you were better than that and that you weren’t the type of person to call someone out when you barely knew them.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m not staying here.”

“Then I’ll grab a drink and join you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Be quick, then.” It didn’t seem as though you were going to get much writing done today either, and it was this guy’s fault.

Again.

***

After that second meeting, where he managed to successfully crash your library writing time and instead had you both sitting in the nearest park chatting over coffee, you began to spend significantly more time getting to know and hanging out with each other. Less than a week after you’d met, you received a message to your Insta from him, and the two of you ended up striking up a conversation via direct messaging that got incredibly long and in-depth, about anything and everything that came to mind. It got to a point where you looked forward to getting responses from him, whether the topic had switched to politics or reading or hobbies. You hadn’t yet decided to tell him that you enjoyed creative writing – in fact, you weren’t even sure you were ever going to tell him, because that was a very private part of who you were – but you spoke about enough other hobbies that you realised you had a wide range of hobbies and skills between you both. There were even some that you shared, whilst others seemed a lot more… obscure on his end. (You certainly hadn’t been scuba diving before.)

Anyway, with the increased conversation came the increased chance to meet up, but every time you planned to meet up for another coffee at your favourite spot something came up. And you meant every time. Whether it was work pushing you again and forcing you to work beyond business hours, or Alex having to cancel for some reason or other (that he often didn’t tell you), everything you organised didn’t work out. It sucked, really. Especially since you seemed to spend more and more time at the coffee shop as the weather changed, whether it was because you were writing or because you wanted a change of scenery to get your work done as best you could.

Well, it sucked until, finally, someone decided to take it into their own hands.

Hint: it wasn’t you.

At the time, you didn’t know why Alex had asked for your address, and you didn’t know why you’d so willingly given it over either. But it wasn’t as though you were particularly worried about him knowing it. He was a decent enough guy, and if he wanted to get you stuff and have it delivered to your doorstep then you weren’t going to complain about it. If he decided to kidnap you instead, you were pretty sure you wouldn’t have a problem with that either. Considering how boring your life had become, you’d probably thank him for it.

You didn’t, however, expect him to turn up on your doorstep, bags of what definitely smelled like your favourite takeout in his hands. You tried not to let your jaw drop too dramatically.

You’d only ever mentioned your favourite takeout once, in passing conversation. How did he even remember that?

“Hi.” His greeting sounded almost suave, as though him going out and getting your favourite takeout after a good while of not seeing each other in person just to have dinner at your place was perfectly normal.

And not… weirdly kind, or borderline romantic.

“Hi,” you responded in an almost hesitant tone, watching him warily for a few moments.

He stood there with the takeout still in his hands, but he didn’t look awkward at all. Not one bit. If anything, he looked like he’d done this too many times before to be doing it again with you.

It made you curious.

“So… are you going to let me in?” The question was asked in a sarcastic drawl, not unlike the one you heard in your head whenever you read messages from him that came as a response to something funny you said, and it made you smile. The wariness and hesitation about him being there melted away immediately.

“I guess I am,” you chirped back, before standing aside and letting him walk past. As he passed you, you couldn’t help but notice he was wearing cologne – maybe he was walking closer to you this time than he usually did, but you could smell it.

And it smelled pretty nice.

You held yourself back from mentioning anything, though.

Soon enough, the two of you were sitting at your small dining table, usually intended for one but actually catering to two tonight, with the takeaway on the table between you both. You couldn’t remember being particularly hungry when Alex arrived, but as soon as you both sat down at the table and Alex began to unload everything ready for you to eat, your stomach decided to announce that it was empty and you were famished. Alex only cracked a grin at the sound your stomach made, and you had to try hard not to let your cheeks heat up in response.

“It’s not funny.”

“Of course it isn’t.” He opened up the food, and the smell was absolutely heavenly. “It’s an indication of how hungry you are. That’s all.”

“Exactly.” And then your eyes narrowed at him. “Are you mocking me?”

He simply replied with a grin as he finished dishing out plates for you both. His lack of an answer was just as good as a confirmation, in your opinion, and you scowled at him playfully as you picked up your cutlery.

You would have to forgive him begrudgingly, if only because he brought you food. And good food at that.

Your meal was pretty nice, you had to admit. The conversations you had were varied, as they usually were, and somehow Alex managed to bring up almost everything that you could have talked about – from politics to art, and science to TV. Even you had to admit that the conversation was a lot more interesting than it usually was, and even if you didn’t share the same opinion on some things, it wasn’t so different that you immediately hated each other and broke off your friendship.

Yes, because that was what it was. Friendship.

You were just friends with this hot guy.

…Your mother was going to have words with you when she found out about this.

By the time you finally looked at the clock, you had both finished dinner a while back and were just sitting at the table, chatting. At some point, you’d popped into the kitchen and made hot beverages for both of you – a tea for him, and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The clock, of course, was almost at midnight. Your eye twitched.

You had work tomorrow.

Alex followed your gaze to the clock, his own eyebrows rising. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit indeed.” You looked down into your mug and, finding it was empty, pouted a little. There was nothing there to keep you two talking other than a desire to continue the conversation, and it wasn’t as if you could tell your boss that you were tired because you just wanted to chat with a friend. “I guess we’ve got to finish off, huh?”

That was all it took for both of you to start clearing up, and by the time all of the dishes were washed and everything was put away it was well past midnight. It wasn’t as if washing up was going to go smoothly when the two of you could easily have chatted the night away. In fact, it was almost one in the morning when you and Alex finally made it to your front door, you leaning on the door frame as he stood just beyond your doorway.

It took you almost ten minutes to actually say goodbye.

“Message when you get home,” you called out as he turned to head down the corridor. He gave half a wave over his shoulder, smiling back at you, and you waited until he’d completely disappeared from sight before closing the door, leaning against it with a frown.

Why were you so determined to make sure Alex was safe?

And why, why, did you all of a sudden latch onto just how attractive Alex was?

***

From then on, dinner seemed to happen on a pretty regular basis. Somehow you managed to pry Alex’s home address from his lips, and sometimes you got what you worked out was his favourite takeaway and headed over to his place, surprising him with dinner and a chat. One time, you were pretty sure you walked in whilst he had someone else over – a dark-haired woman, pretty with freckles and blue eyes. She only looked between the two of you before leaving, a smirk on her face, and you narrowed your eyes at Alex until he admitted that she was a childhood friend that he was (somehow) still close to.

You met her a couple more times. She was nice.

But not as nice as Alex’s oldest and longest best friend. He was a riot.

The first time you met him, Alex came over bringing dinner with a scowl on his face. Before you could even ask what was wrong, a smaller, wiry guy burst in with a huge grin on his face. He, of course, immediately struck you as a troublemaker.

You just didn’t know how much of a troublemaker he was.

He spent most of your dinner recounting stories from when Alex was a teen, all the stupid and reckless things that Alex had done that you were pretty sure would have got him into very big trouble if any sort of adult had found out, and you ended up spending most of the dinner laughing as Alex rolled his eyes and tried to correct him or defend his actions. You didn’t really have an opinion on much of what Alex did (that was a lie, you thought he was totally reckless and stupid), but you found it funny watching him squirm and get defensive, and he was fun to poke. This was a side of Alex you hadn’t really seen before.

You liked it.

It wasn’t until the end of the evening that you found out that Alex’s friend’s name was actually Tom Harris. You didn’t know how you’d managed to go that whole evening without finding out his name, but you had.

The next morning, the first thing you did was send him a friend request on Facebook. By the end of the day, you had him on all possible social media platforms and were sending each other all of your favourite memes.

Your favourite meal by far, though, was the one that stuck most in your memory. It would always stick the most in your memory.

Alex, in an apparent twist in tradition, had decided to bring his favourite takeaway over to yours for the evening. You didn’t mind the switch – you actually kind of liked it – but you didn’t hesitate to rib him for it. After all, what kind of gentleman was he if he brought over what he wanted, instead of what you would want?

His response of, “You’ll eat anything anyway,” hit deep, but it wasn’t wrong. You swatted at him with a tea towel for it, and he simply laughed as he moved to unload everything on your tiny dining table.

“I can’t believe you ditched my favourite for yours today,” you whined as you sat down, waiting for him to dish out the food onto your plates. The agreement was that whoever brought over food would be the one serving, but it was weird being served food that wasn’t your favourite. “This feels like a betrayal.”

He just scoffed at you and rolled his eyes. “My place was on the way.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. You knew that your place was on the way from his to yours, you saw it every time and silently longed over it whenever you brought over Alex’s favourite to his place. So the only way for his chosen place to be on the way was for him to be coming from that direction, which was in the opposite direction. Like, if he was coming from somewhere else.

Like work.

“A busy day at work, then?” you asked casually. Alex didn’t usually come from work straight to yours, he usually came from home. At least, that was what you assumed. After all, he was dressed a lot less casually than he usually was. (In fact, you wanted to say that he looked pretty dashing in what definitely looked like a business suit.)

A small frown grew on his face in response to your question, stayed there for a moment, and then he seemed to brush off whatever was on his mind and give you a small smile. “Yeah, pretty busy.” He paused for a moment, finishing off dishing out his food and setting the takeout bowls aside, and then, “I’ve been asked to go on a business trip.”

Your eyes shot up at this, widening as you stared at him. Alex had never really gone into detail about his job before, but… a business trip? You didn’t think he went on business trips. At least, he hadn’t been on one since you’d known him. Not that you’d known of anyway.

“…How long?” you asked eventually, once he’d taken his blazer off and settled in his seat, both of you about to start eating. Your voice was quieter than you expected it to be. You didn’t quite get why you were so quiet all of a sudden – it was just Alex, and you’d had friends disappear for long periods of time before. You were pretty sure you had some friends who went on regular business trips. But you’d gone quiet anyway, and it didn’t seem as though you were going to make yourself any louder.

Alex watched you for a few moments, his fork in his hand and hovering over his plate, and then he put his cutlery down. You got the feeling that this was about to be a pretty in-depth conversation, and mentally prepared yourself.

“Unconfirmed,” he answered, his voice taking on a harder tone, “but maybe a couple of weeks.”

“Where are you going?”

His lips pursed at that, and that confused you. Why was he so reluctant to tell you? “Somewhere in Europe. I’m not sure where yet.”

You just stared at him. Why was he keeping it such a secret? You got the feeling that he knew… but weren’t you close enough friends for him to tell you something like that?

Alex gave a sigh, picking up his fork again. “Let’s… let’s talk about something else, alright?” He offered you an awkward half-smile. “I didn’t come here to talk about me. I came here to have dinner and talk about anything and everything, like we usually do. You know?”

You did know. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t a coworker at the end of the day about anything that came to mind, especially over dinner. It meant that you could have varied conversations that didn’t involve getting work done.

But now you felt as though you really should know more about him. What was his job? Where did he even work? He’d never told you that before. And you didn’t think he was ever going to tell you that now.

So you picked up your own fork, looking down at your plate, and decided to focus on your food for a little while. Until you got all of your thoughts together, at least. You didn’t think you would be able to talk until that happened, and there was no way for it to not be awkward if you decided to go and collect yourself in the bathroom or anything like that.

The rest of your dinner was pretty quiet. You did, eventually, manage to collect all of your thoughts and get back into conversation with him, but you couldn’t help but feel that at least some of it was forced, on both sides. You didn’t want it to be – you missed the easy conversation you and Alex tended to have at the table when you were sharing dinner – but it ended up being so. Even as he helped you to wash the dishes and put everything away, you realised the atmosphere just wasn’t as relaxed and easy as you were used to it being.

And it continued that way all the way up to the front door, where you ended up in your usual position of leaning on the doorframe as Alex stood outside of the door. You both stood there in silence for a few moments, taking in the fact that this would be your last dinner together for a while.

“Well,” you started, pushing yourself off the doorframe, “I have work tomorrow, so…”

“Right,” Alex agreed, his hands in his pockets as he nodded. Usually he would at least take some of the food back to his place if he bought it. Today he wasn’t taking anything. “You shouldn’t stay up too late. Or you get–”

“Cranky,” you cut in, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

That made Alex crack a grin, and somehow that eased the tension between you both the slightest bit. There were at least some parts of your friendship that wouldn’t change with Alex being away for so long. You’d miss the dinners, definitely, but you had Tom’s number. You could invite him over regularly, and show up at his as well. Sure, he had a girlfriend, but she was lovely and probably needed someone a little more sane around for at least a little bit of time a week.

“I guess I’ll see you when I see you,” you said, trying to sound hopeful, and Alex gave a nod. The situation, the whole him leaving thing, didn’t feel as depressing as it could have been. It was temporary. Alex would be back, right?

“I guess so.” He pulled out hand from his pocket and half-waved in his usual way, before turning to head down the corridor. “See you around!”

You simply smiled, and as soon as he disappeared from sight you moved to shut the door, sighing. Perhaps… perhaps Alex would change his mind and actually tell you where he was going. Perhaps Alex would even message you whilst he was out on his business trip, just to see how you were doing without him around. Those late night chat conversations were always nice, and if those stopped for two weeks you would be sorely disappointed.

You were just headed to the kitchen to make sure everything was tidied away and switched off when there was a knock on the door, and you frowned. Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? You turned and headed back towards the door to see who it was.

As soon as you opened the door, you felt a pair of lips against yours.

You were surprised at first, not sure who it was that was actually kissing you, but then that familiar smell of cologne hit you and you knew.

It was Alex.

His lips were dry, a bit chapped despite recently having dinner, and still managed to feel soft against your own. He seemed a bit hesitant at the start of the kiss, but when you didn’t fight back… when you didn’t fight back, his arms circled your waist, pulling you closer. You simply sunk into the kiss, letting him move his lips against your own, with your arms moving to rest on his shoulders and your hands interlocking behind his neck. You didn’t know how long you even kissed for, but by the time you were pulling away you were starting to feel lightheaded. You blinked owlishly at him, genuinely surprised at what had happened.

Had he just… had he just kissed you?

He stared back at you for a few moments, before clearing his throat. Pulling away from you, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Then he opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly trying to decide on the words to say. And then,

“I’ll… see you in a couple of weeks, then.”

You stared after him in something akin to shock as he disappeared down the corridor.

***

The following two weeks were nothing short of torture for you, both physically and emotionally. Work, somehow, got significantly more busy for you, and it meant that you actually had to go back into the office some days to get some work done. You didn’t particularly like the idea of going back and being around so many of your coworkers for long periods of time, not when you were so comfortable in your own space at home and were pretty productive on your own as it was. But it meant that if you had to stay on and do work, you weren’t distracted by the idea of ordering dinner only to realise that there was no one around to have dinner with. Sure, Tom was about, and so was his girlfriend. But Alex was out of town.

It also meant that you didn’t have to spend any time thinking about that last dinner you had together. About how you’d felt when you found out that Alex was disappearing on you for two weeks all of a sudden, or that he actually went on business trips and disappeared for periods of time.

Or how you felt when he’d kissed you for the first time.

You sometimes got butterflies just thinking about it, him placing his lips on yours and holding you close. The way his slightly dry lips felt against your softer ones, how he smelled up close, how warm his embrace felt as he pulled you in close–

You had to pinch yourself to stop yourself from thinking about it, otherwise you’d spend all day pining or crying over it.

Sometimes you even visited the cafe where you first sat down together to chat, where he’d bought you your first coffee and you’d had your first… well, your first technical date. All you wanted was a coffee, and you ended up being assaulted by thoughts of him and the time you’d spent together.

You didn’t want to think about it that way – you’d never wanted to think about it that way, that it was your first date. But that was how you ended up thinking about it. It had been a date, technically. And all the times where you’d gone to each other’s for dinner had also been dates. You just didn’t want to think of it in that way because you’d only ever thought of him as a friend, and you hadn’t discussed anything to imply that you were anything more.

That kiss more often than not made you think of him as something more.

It reached its worse when one evening, you got off work early. You thought you’d be fine, you told all of your coworkers that you’d be fine at home on your own (it wasn’t as if they knew about Alex anyway) and headed off. It was the middle of the week, so it wasn’t like you could join in on anyone’s night out or anything. Because, you know, no one went on a night out right in the middle of the week.

That evening you found yourself craving company, just wishing there was someone there to have dinner with you. That evening, you craved him.

That evening someone knocked on your door, and you opened it to find it was Tom, Alex’s best friend. He had a frown on his face, a genuine look of concern, which quickly wiped away when he realised you were standing there. The look turned into a grin as he held out what was obviously your favourite takeaway, perfectly bagged and ready to eat.

Just as Alex would.

“I hear someone usually gets takeout with Mr. Businessman,” he teased, before heading into your place without even an invitation. You wanted to be mad at him as he started rambling on about how Alex had thought it was best to get a replacement for dinner and how every time Tom had knocked you hadn’t been there, but really you were glad. You hadn’t wanted to spend the night alone.

Well, you wouldn’t.

And really the night turned out to be more fun than even you had expected. Tom was a non-stop chatter, commenting on anything and everything, and he even went as far as telling you stories about Alex that you were very sure he wouldn’t tell you himself. It meant that you spent pretty much the whole night in stitches as Tom recalled his and Alex’s childhood. You knew he and Alex had been friends for a long while, but just knowing some of their history… it made you realise how they had managed to stay so close for so long.

If you had been through even a smidge of what those two had been through together with a friend, you doubted you would have left them behind ever. You were pretty sure you would have been best friends for life.

When it came time for Tom to finally leave, you couldn’t help but feel like you were going to miss him. Sure, having dinner with him didn’t match up to having dinner with Alex, and you were definitely sure there was someone else Tom could have been with that evening, but it was the nicest night you’d had since Alex had left. You appreciated Tom, you really did.

And you made sure to tell him that as you both headed to your front door (you didn’t have the heart to make him do the dishes with you, like Alex did, so he was leaving considerably earlier than Alex usually would).

Tom only gave you a grin as you thanked him. “It’s alright. You’ve done a lot for him. It’s the least I could do for you.”

You frowned a little. What exactly had you done for Alex? As far as you knew, he had done so much for you. He bought you food, kept you company, and had genuinely been a good friend to you from the moment he’d bought you a coffee to make up for the spilled one. You couldn’t really think of anything you had done for him. Instead of dwelling on that, though, Tom was quick to switch the subject to when you’d next have dinner together (and he pointed out that you’d need to bring over extra as well) and informing you of his favourite takeaway.

Part of you didn’t want to feel like he was talking as though Alex would be away for longer… but he was definitely talking like Alex would be away for longer

“Are you going to be alright?”

Tom’s question snapped you out of your thoughts, and you stared at him. Were you going to be alright? You’d spiralled already because one person was missing – it wasn’t as though the world was ending or anything. So you gave him a smile.

“I’ll be alright.”

A small part of you wondered whether that was really true.

***

It was more than a couple of weeks. You’d been busy, and had probably lost track of the time, but it felt like it had been more than a couple of weeks. It had been too long since you’d shared a dinner with that rather attractive fair-haired man, whose first time meeting you involved making you spill your coffee all over your front. You were still really missing him, like you were having withdrawal symptoms, and it felt weird.

You hadn’t ever missed someone like this for so long before – not even your own parents. It felt… weird. Part of you didn’t like it. You didn’t want to feel this way when it took over most of your waking thoughts if you weren’t sufficiently distracted. You wanted to be able to think of and do other things without having to try so hard. And more often than not, you couldn’t do other things unless you were working, because nothing else distracted you enough.

Other than, well, writing.

But you hadn’t had your writing mojo in a while. Mostly because you spent most of your time at work, but also because you didn’t actually have the energy or the time to get out your notebook (or even open up your documents) on most days to actually get some writing done. Perhaps it was about time to kick that back into gear. You had a feeling that hobby would kick your loneliness.

And that was how you ended up packing up your backpack, your notebooks and stationary in there along with your empty travel mug, as you headed down to your favourite coffee shop. You hadn’t been there in ages – not since before Alex had left – and you missed their coffee. You thought you could do with something hot and caffeinated, just to kick you into gear and wake your brain up. After all, you wouldn’t have the usual adrenaline from work waking you up and pushing you through.

The walk down to the coffee shop was rather nice, admittedly. It was a decently nice day, and it was peaceful outside – most people were either at work or relaxing at home for the day, so it wasn’t as though there was anyone outside to bother you or get in your way. Soon enough you managed to make it to the actual coffee shop, and you were more than glad that you hadn’t really bumped into anyone on your way down. It meant that you didn’t really have to talk to anyone at all, not even your neighbours, so you could get into the headspace that you wanted without too much issue.

The only thing was, the coffee shop was decently busy at the time. There was a steady hum of conversation as you walked into the shop, various people sitting on the different tables available. You worried that it would mean there wouldn’t be any space to sit, or that someone would try to strike up a random conversation with you, until you realised that your favourite table was actually free, and you smiled.

This was definitely a sign.

You headed straight to the counter to order your classic usual – an iced caramel latte, even though it wasn’t particularly hot outside – along with a blueberry muffin. Just to treat yourself and get you into the vibes of the cafe. It didn’t feel like it took long at all for your order to come, which was probably helped along by the fact that the barista hadn’t seen you in a while and struck up a conversation with you. You felt a little bad for not visiting as often – you used to chat near-regularly with this guy when you came there on an almost thrice-weekly basis – but you never had the time recently, and you admitted that.

When he asked you how your writing was going, you just felt guiltier.

Either way, you exchanged social media handles before he gave you your order, and you promised to message each other more when you weren’t around. After all, you liked chatting with the guy. You may as well strike up whatever friendship you had going with him. (And if it turned into something more… then what did you have to lose?

It was about half an hour after you sat down, when you’d finally got into your writing flow, when you felt the whole atmosphere of the cafe change very suddenly. What had once been warm and welcoming suddenly changed to curiosity and wariness, and as much as you wanted to ignore it and keep writing, the change was too dramatic for you to ignore. You had to see what was going on. That was why you put down your pen and looked up, curious about what was going on.

And it felt like, in that moment, your breath was stolen from you.

You recognised that familiar mop of fair hair the moment you saw it. You’d had dreams, weird dreams, of running your fingers through that hair, just to see how soft it was. You’d always imagined that it looked thinner and more wiry than it actually was, that you would run your fingers through it as he lay his head in your lap, the two of you relaxing at either of your places or even out on the local park, simply enjoying nature.

You were drawn out of your daydreams about his hair when his eyes suddenly focused on you. You’d always known his eyes were dark, but something was… something was different about them now. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what, but it was something. Something that you had a feeling should concern you.

Still, the moment his eyes landed on you, they somehow lit up, and that was enough to get you to stand to greet him instead of sitting until he came over. You watched him as he slowly approached you, not intending to get any closer to him.

Your feet carried you forward anyway, and soon enough you were embracing him, your arms wrapped tightly around him, and his around you. He felt almost like a lifeline, like someone you needed to survive. You didn’t know when he’d become that for you, how or when you’d come to depend on him so much, but as you clutched him you realised that you weren’t sure how much longer you could have survived without him around.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmured, your lips right next to his ear.

He let out the breathiest of laughs, tickling your ear. “I’ve missed you too,” he murmured lowly. And then he pulled away just enough to look you in the eyes. “We need to t–”

You didn’t know what had come over you, but the next thing you knew, your lips were pressing against his in a soft kiss that you hoped, you dearly hoped, conveyed everything you were feeling right then. Everything you felt about him in that moment. The way he froze up reminded you of how you’d hesitated when he’d first kissed you, but then he was kissing you back, his familiar chapped lips moving against your own. A few moments later you slowly pulled away – not breathless, but satisfied. And he rested his forehead against yours, a small smile on his lips.

“…Okay then.”

You laughed at his words, suddenly very aware that people in the cafe were probably staring at you both. Regardless, you took the opportunity to reach up and run a hand through his hair. You realised that your thoughts had been right – it was softer than it looked, and felt running through your fingers. Idly, you watched as his eyes closed in response to the movement.

So he liked his hair being played with? That was good to know.

“You’re right,” you spoke up, making him open his eyes so that he could concentrate on what you were saying. “We need to talk.”

Alex nodded as your hand slid out of his hair to rest on his shoulder. His hands rested on your hips, holding you close. “Right. Talk.” He paused for a moment, as though he was collecting his thoughts, and then, “Coffee?”

Your smile widened impossibly as you thought back to the first time you’d met. Of how he’d bought you a coffee in this very shop, and had your drinks at the very table you’d been sitting at when he’d walked in. And you were about to do it again.

“Coffee sounds like a good idea. You’re buying?”

He scoffed as he pulled away fully, making you laugh. “Are you expecting me to buy, or asking me to?”

You simply grinned at him as you headed back to your table. As soon as you sat down, you rested your elbow on the table and your chin in your palm, a smirk on your face. “You figure it out.”

He stared at you for a few moments, noticing your half-finished iced latte still sitting on the table, and rolled his eyes at you. “You’ve been spending too much time around Tom.”

“I’ve been spending just enough time around Tom, thank you very much.”

You just about managed to stop yourself from saying how you wanted to spend more time with just him, though. Just about. But that was all that went through your mind as you watched him go off to get his coffee from the barista you’d been chatting with earlier.

Soon enough he was back with his coffee. You swore you could see the barista watching after him with a weird expression on his face, but as soon as Alex was sitting in front of you your focus was on him, and not on the guy you chatted with whenever you came there to get your coffee. Your eyes were glued to him and only him as he took a sip from his coffee, and you couldn't help but realise that there were… purple-ish marks on his neck. At least, they looked that way to you. You didn't get much time to look at them, though, because soon enough he was looking at you again and had put his mug down, his shirt covering up whatever you’d seen.

“So, talking,” he started, and you couldn’t help but glance down at your iced latte, very tempted to take a sip from your drink so that you didn’t have to say anything. But you got the feeling that he would catch that – Alex was very observant – so you decided against it.

“Talking,” you repeated, before taking a deep breath. How did you even talk about it? It was… a lot, but at the same time, so little. Where did you even start? “…Do you want to talk about the first, or the second?”

You could tell Alex was trying to hold back a smirk as he looked at you. “Well, ideally we should start with the first, don’t you think?”

Well, when he put it that way, he made it seem so obvious.

“Okay, then you start,” you pointed out, deciding now was a good time to take a sip from your latte. “After all, you initiated.”

His cheeks flushed pink at that point. “I did.”

You realised that you found the pink flush very cute.

It took him a few moments to seemingly compose himself, and that was the moment you realised that Alex wasn’t as confident or as outgoing as he usually let on. There, right then, you were seeing him as a shy, awkward man – probably the kind of person he’d once been before he’d grown up and started putting on the more confident front.

You liked this shyer version of him.

“I… have liked you for a while,” he admitted, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear him. “I say a while, I mean… I mean a month, or so?" He gave an awkward half-shrug. "I just… acted."

You stared at him, blinking a few times. "You just… acted?"

"Yes."

"On impulse."

"Yes."

"Giving into an animalistic desire–"

"I wouldn't go quite that far."

You didn't know why, but suddenly you felt emboldened. The feelings you thought were a one-way crush turned out to be reciprocated, and your heart was bubbling with so much joy. But for some reason… for some reason you didn’t see the same level of excitement in his eyes.

Instead, you saw… was that hesitation?

He looked down at his mug, and then back up at you. And that was when you realised he wasn’t sure whether you felt the same way. Or, at least, that was what you were thinking, anyway. So you rolled your eyes at him.

“Aren’t you going to ask me on a proper date, or something?” you teased. You quickly realised that maybe saying that was a little too bold, but the way his cheeks flushed and he awkwardly laughed made you think that maybe he didn’t think of it as really offensive. Though the longer it took for him to answer made you wonder whether he was actually considering asking you on a date, or was trying to find a way to let you down gently.

“Dating me isn’t easy,” he finally said, his voice quiet. He looked… nervous now. “I’m a demanding person.”

“I know, I’ve fed you,” you responded casually. When he didn’t laugh, you realised he was probably talking about more than just food.

“I can also be absent for weeks at a time,” he pointed out.

“I can work with that, I’ve had a taster.”

“My job is really demanding, and I can’t tell you anything about it.”

That one confused you. Alex hadn’t ever told you anything about his job before anyway, but you knew that if you were getting closer to him that you’d want to know what he did from day to day. Or at least have an idea of what he did every day. But hearing that he couldn’t tell you anything… that sounded like it would be tough to deal with. And it also sounded like it was something that Alex anticipated.

So you reached over and placed your hands on his, watching as his eyes widened and he tensed a little. You gave him a small smile.

“I wouldn’t be dating you for your job. I’d be dating you for you. The job thing is secondary and not as important.”

He stared at you, as though he was actually processing what you were saying and whether you meant it. You hoped that he knew that you did mean it, and that you really did want to date him regardless. Relationships came from working hard at them – the two of you could work past anything you were unsure about now over time.

“Are you sure?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Do you think I’d still be sitting here with you if I wasn’t?”

He stared at you, seemingly trying to decide whether you were telling the truth or not. So you decided to offer him a soft smile to try and encourage him.

“Do you really want to do this?” Alex asked, and you gave him a definitive nod.

“Yes.”

The smile that appeared on his face… it wasn’t quite blinding, but it was certainly very beautiful and very happy. And it made you smile even wider in return.

“Alright then.” He took a deep breath, still smiling. “Alright.”

“So pick me up tomorrow at seven?” you went on, and he laughed a little.

“Tomorrow at seven it is.” He shifted your hands so that he was actually holding them, and he squeezed a little. A squeeze that marked the beginning of a rather companionable silence as you both stared down at your hands, how they looked as you held onto each other.

Until you broke it.

“Is this the end of our talk?” you asked, looking up and raising an eyebrow at him. “Because if it isn’t, I think we need to discuss the way you alert me before you disappear for weeks at a time. The night before you go is not acceptable and I would like to have words with you about that.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, about that–”

“The next time you do that, I’m punching you and breaking your nose.”

He blinked, and then smirked. “Are you, now?”

“You bet I am.”

You knew you should be offended by the way he laughed at you, but you couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. It had been a while since you’d heard that laughter coming straight from him.

It was nice.

And you were glad that you were getting the opportunity to hear it more. At least, you hoped you were. You just had to wait and see.

#writing: mine #writing: fanfic writings #written for: zixylixy #fandom: alex rider #alex rider fanfiction #oneshot #alex rider

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