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animefreak1145 · 4 years ago

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For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 4| I Am Thee and Thou Art Me

Chapter Summary:

The action's you do is for survival and no other reason.

You don't understand other's actions though.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

Chapter Warnings: Mental/Emotional Anguish, Toxicity, Self-Loathing

A/N: Bottled beer is liquid hope and you love pictures.

Footnote: Translations at the bottom.

“Bell” Second Life 08:16 | February 26, 1981 West Berlin, Anita Wronski Cafe

“Looks like you’ve met death in the face, Bell. Rough night?” Lazar questioned, poking fun as they grabbed breakfast for everyone in line.

You rubbed your eye before pinching between your brows.

“Something like that,” you said tiredly as you looked around the small cafe. Distantly taking note of Lazar’s statement with a dry smirk. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Small metal tables inside with metal chairs to match, both with interesting swirls for patterns making up the surfaces. There were more outside, the cafe a bit cramped in the first place even with just three tables again the wall. The smell of sweet German pastries and salty breakfast flooded your nose, making you lick your lips despite yourself not being hungry yet.

You were already up an hour beforehand, wondering to yourself how you and Adler could be in the car once more into the safehouse. Only to ‘volunteer’ when Lazar knocked on your door to help him grab food for everyone, apparently Adler already gone and left to the safehouse.

You internally frowned at that, you’re not sure why before you felt grateful. You would rather not talk about. . .whatever happened in his car. Which was nothing.

The flash of a clenched hand on the wheel as if holding back and a taut jaw came to the forefront of your mind.

Marionette’s should stick with their role.

It was nothing.

Lazar snorted, making you turn towards him as they both stepped up to the cashier. Lazar pointing towards the dessert window of what to get in a box as you spoke in German to the woman. Several more items of breakfast were ordered that will take some time to make, so they moved to sit to the only open table inside the quaint café.

“You drunk what—four cups of coffee yesterday, Bell? And looking at a bunch of nonsense for hours as if your brain is steel and your eyes can’t melt out of your head.” What a nice vision. Lazar took a sip of the German coffee he got for himself, eyes lighting up at the taste before looking back at you. “All that must’ve been stuck in your head and probably even in your dreams. Had any floating codes flying around your mind as you slept by any chance?”

That’s not quite right, but you’ll take the excuse handed to you as you shrugged. Lifting your own cup of coffee that you doused in three creams and two sugar’s, humming for a moment in agreement to Lazar at the strong and bold taste before taking another one.

“You can say that. I would have kept going and working until I got tired. You would call me a night owl so to say.”

“You seem pretty alright to me now,” Lazar observed as he leaned back in his chair.

“I have an impressive work ethic. Better than others I think. I’m used to going to sleep late and waking up early.” You can infer that your body is used to this schedule, harsh and strict work ethic that you must’ve gotten when you worked with Perseus. “Although, I admit I’m not very hungry right now. You chose a bad partner in this.”

“But you volunteered,” Lazar stared ever so seriously and another sip to his coffee. You could see he was fighting a smile.

You huffed through your nose, shaking your head.

“Yes. How could I have forgotten. Like I did for Kraus.” Lazar slightly winced at the reminder of how you got kidnapped, muttering an apology which you waved away. “It’s fine. I was the best to do that anyways.”

“You sure are pretty accepting with all this work. Just asking and taking files like nothing, ” Lazar rose a brow, you couldn’t tell if it was for being impressed or disbelief. You didn’t say anything to that, the both of you just sipping on their coffee and waiting for their meals to take to the car before heading back to work. You’ll walk past the center table easily and just sit in your chosen desk. Maybe get a lecture about professionalism which you will just absently nod at since you will make yourself feel numb if you have to, just to get away from the man in any way. Lazar paused at your far away look, your cup by your mouth yet you’re not drinking, instead of looking at a simple framed painting of Germany’s hills at the wall. ". . .As much as the boss man likes to act like it, we're not machines,” you blinked out of your reverie, your eyes flicking towards Lazar. “You're not either. Even though you understand numbers with little pattern and words that would have no connection normally—be able to put it together and have it make sense."

You blinked once more, albeit slower.

"I...I know I'm not a machine."

"Do you? Acting like you don't sleep and eat, besides those seeds of yours like you're a bird yesterday outside of the one meal I brought you. Do you sing too?" You released a surprised laugh at that, short as it was with lips still up. "That's better. Thought your lips stay flat like that. I swear, it seems both you and Adler are obsessed with Perseus. See why you're his protege now."

You were struck at Lazar’s words, focusing on him with a frown. The implications that the both of you were similar making you look down.

“Guess we're two peas in a pod.”

You mumbled the last bit, as if to yourself as you lowered your cup on the table.

"What? Oh. . .guess you could say that. But remember this Bell," He throws a pastry at you as you quickly catch it before it met your face(you would always have to be prepared for that before), blinking down at your hands before looking at the kind faced Lazar. "Lighten up. We'll get him so don't push yourself so much. And eat real food too! Seeds! As if that's food."

Your mind showed you moments from your previous life, Lazar always teasing and making you eat and try as much as different food as possible. Away from your decryption tasks as he would wave your plate under your nose as if to entice you.

“No point in being greedy,” The kind man would say, wry smile playing his lips with a tone to match, after letting you try food from his plate, even encouraging it. “Memories—memories with food should be savored and light and new dishes should be enjoyed.”

You thought of when you first found out the truth, still recovering from wounds of Cuba as you sat—away, away from that gurney—and guilt with Lazar—should’ve been quicker, perhaps you would’ve been kinder, kindness is a lie—and asking Park if Lazar knew. About you. About this. MK-Ultra. Everything.

You stared at the Israeli man for a moment before smiling, a mischievous thing. Genuine. Like the man in front of you.

"I am smaller than you, it's enough for me."

"Now you're just poking fun."

Lazar was always kind.

Oh, how he played his role perfectly for you.

At this point, you’ll take what you can get and stop wondering with him. You’ll go mad.

Foolish американский щеноk. The collar around your neck has choked all the trust for others in you.

Best, you think as Lazar easily teased you again, an unreadable look in your eyes as you take another sip of your drink. To just not feel at all.

The breakfast the both of you ordered came, Lazar grabbing the bag as movement behind the counter caught your eye. A worker bringing in a new dessert towards the other German sweets, yellow and round and looking spongy similar to a cake but with a crust like a pie. You walked back up to the counter, pointing and asking the worker in fluent German what was that. Her replying with a smile that it is their pineapple kasekuchen, the German’s take in a cheesecake.

You turned your gaze to the sweet, lost in thought before raising your hand with two fingers up to order, the worker nodding.

You grabbed the box and walked up to the curious Lazar by the door, his brow arched as if asking a silent question. As the both of you exited the bakery and walked towards the car, you still not saying anything and only periodically glancing down at the box with the kasekuchen, even tightening your grip a tad around it when the crowd around them got a little too close, Lazar decided to speak.

“You know,” he began, and you took note that he sounds amused. Almost knowing. You pretended to stay oblivious. “There was this mission I was on in Thailand with Adler a few years back.” At the mention of Thailand, your memory of yesterday in Adler’s car still fresh, you looked towards Lazar as they walked. “Something covert and recon with the usual stray chance of a suicide bomber. The standard for our great unpredictable job. Keeps us in our toes.” His tone was a mix of sarcasm and easygoing, as if suicide bombing in a country was like if he stated it’s going to rain again. Where is he going with this? “Anyways, when we weren’t doing that—we’d stop at this corner store near the safehouse we were in. Boss man would always buy his precious cigarettes, leaves the other stuff we need to actually sustain us to me. Except, he would get something else too. To eat and I always thought each time I saw that, that Adler is human after all.” He glanced down at you, one brow raised. “Do you happen to know what it is?”

You huffed, turning your head away. Them reaching the car and you going to the passenger side as Lazar stood by the driver’s side—still unopened and leaning his crossed arms on the top of the car.

“You sure like playing games today,” you dodged with quirked lips, shuffling the box in your hands to hold it in one as you moved your free one to open the door. “Volunteering me again and calling me a bird and now having me guess what a man like Adler would get besides his addiction. You want to talk about machines, look at him.”

How the puppet lies so so sweetly.

Lazar hummed, deciding to open the car and the both of you going in and settling as they placed the bags down by you to make sure none of it spills. After they pulled out from the space, Lazar spoke once more, offhandedly and an interesting turn of the lips.

“Pineapples sure are sweet and tart. Pretty good too.”

You don’t say anything.

Just made sure your hold on all the boxes of food for everyone didn’t tip over as Lazar would turn. If your grip with the kasekuchen was firmer than the others, you didn’t notice.

Feed the god and you might get a reward.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You squinted behind your closed eyes, shifting in your uncomfortable sitting position in the foxhole with only dirt and soil to help cushion you within the trench like pit. The crickets were loud, deafening in the jungle with a periodic squawk or call from a bird deep within. You shifted, your M-16 moving down in your lap from the movement despite your lucky green cloth gloves holding it as you blearily opened your eyes, blinking them against the darkness until they got used to it. The half moon helping somewhat in giving light as well as the fireflies flying around in the dance where only they heard the music.

They were still on their way to Hue City, night coming upon them quicker than expected. The jungles are harsh and thick, especially with the route they’re taking due to their stealth and recon mission, but the planned route was still underestimated. It did not help the planned foxhole they were going to got covered, completely useless and the time to make another one is time they don’t have. Luckily, they were able to find another, although this one was tighter. Two small foxholes that barely fit the five of you, hence having to sit basically in a ball against the wall of dirt behind you.

All of you were doing one hour intervals in keeping watch, the watcher usually standing up in the foxhole in order to watch their surroundings. And if an attacker did come, they could duck within the foxhole for cover.

You felt like you should’ve woken up for your shift already.

Your eyes focused next to you, finding the spot where Larson was supposed to be standing empty. You hastily stood, pack heavy against your back as it tensed in protest at the sudden weight, your hands tight against the M-16 and about to call the other’s names at the missing soldier only to stop.

Your standing position giving you new access to see more besides the sky above you, surrounded by brush and green foliage of all types with high grass upon the ground. Larson sat, just a few inches away from the foxhole a little to your right, staring up in the starlit sky. He turned his head towards you at the sound, seeing you were awake before turning his head back, as if you weren’t there.

“Larson,” you whispered, not wanting to wake up the others in the foxhole next to yours. When Larson didn’t move so the two of you could switch, you reached out to tug on his pack on his back. “You can’t be out in the open like this. You don’t know if VC or NVA might come by in the area.”

“Let them,” Larson said brazenly but just as low, making you release his pack in surprise. “Besides, there’s a bunch of shit around here to cover us. Even this grass is kinda covering my face. Nothing will happen. Now, go back to sleep and leave me be.”

You stared, before sighing. Carefully looking around once, twice, before coming out of the foxhole as quietly as you could—using the open holes on the dirt walls to place your feet to get out. You sat by Larson, who ignored you and went back to staring up at the twinkling sky.

You took a moment to stare at it too. This far in the boonies, away from cities and cars and just filled with wildlife, it has a sort of bewitching air around it. Despite the loud chirp of the crickets, the call of the birds, and how one would sometimes have to smack any open skin for stubborn mosquitos—the trees, the grass, all the greenery that looked dark in the night outside of being lit by the fireflies and the stars and moon above. You were struck once more, just how beautiful this country was. With it’s natural serenity as the moonlight not covered by clouds touched lightly upon to aid somewhat with the darkness but not as much as a flashlight would do, still, the moon did its best even if it was just at it’s half tonight. The stars were there to support it and you wish you learned more about constellations than your books, you’re sure you could spot all of them and weave stories of your own instead of reading them.

“You know,” your attention shifted to Larson, who still gazed up as he spoke, lost in thought and appearing away from here as he spoke quietly. He does not wish to wake the others it seems. “I don’t know if you remember me telling you this, but I grew up on a farm. Small. Not very fancy and it was just me and my family—Ma, Pa, and my two brothers and sister. Out just taking care of our cattle and our horses. Middle of nowhere, we would have to drive about an hour to get to a good grocery store that isn’t just a corner store or gas station. I hated it more that the closest school was about the same length. . . But what could I do? Needed an education, at least some, and than spend the rest of my life worried about a farm. With all it’s cow and horse shit, waking up before the sun does and at the end of the day you smell like all the shit you cleaned up.” He ended, sounding tired and yet with the bitter words it had an iota of equal bitter amusement.

You maintained your silence, instead moving your gaze back and forth around them. Not looking at how Larson’s lips quirked begrudgingly, head tilted up towards the silent night.

“. . .there were a few good things though. When me and my brothers and sister were done with work, and the moon was out—we’d head out to where the cattle were. Laying down on the grass without a care, why bother? We were already dirty with sweat and dirt and shit. And we’d look up—and than—“ Larson reached an arm out, as if to reach the sky, only to clench his hand and put it down back by his lap before gripping his MP40 hard where you could spot how white his knuckles were. “. . .laying down, in the grass, in the middle of nowhere, with just a dark black sky over you. . .it felt like it could swallow us. Whole. Not caring about how we looked or smelled or how old we were. . .it made us feel small. Yet huge. If we pretended enough, we could act like we can really touch the moon. The stars. I guess it just showed all of us there was more, than this little farm. With it’s shit and it’s smell and being in the middle of nowhere. The black sky might just eat us to put us out of our childish misery. Maybe that’s also why we kept going back, not just cause of fucking beautiful it was, but maybe. . .”

Larson trailed off and you decided to speak up, softly. Not wishing to break this odd aura around them, because this was more than talking about how small a human’s life is.

“‘If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you,’” you quoted, Larson cocking his head slightly and glancing at your from the corner of his eyes. You released a small fleeting smile. “It’s a quote. By a German philosopher called Friedrich Nietzsche. A depressing guy but. . . I feel like his words fit. The abyss swallowing. . . perhaps it is more you become one with it. A fusion. Where you don’t know where you begin and the abyss ends.”

Larson turned his head away, grabbing a handful of some grass and pulling as he moved his eyes back up.

“Who knows? Maybe. . . shit,” Larson dryly chuckled, “maybe, I should’ve stuck with staring up at my family’s farm home—staring up this abyss right here but there instead. Than maybe. . .you know, I would say sappy shit in my letters to her?” You didn’t ask who ‘her’ was, you could fill in the blanks as you wisely kept silent. “All words about the moon and stars and we were staring at the same one so I wasn’t that far away cause we stared up at the same thing’s. That she had stars in her eyes and if I looked up, I could see her in them. That she pulled me to her like the moon does water and just—shit. Fuck. ”

Larson hissed, putting his head to his hands. His shoulders slightly shook, you could barely tell in the darkness but you imagine he is holding himself back.

“I loved her,” Larson said, voice all cracked and broken as his breath hitched. “I love her still. And she’s—she’s leaving. What will I have when I come back? Go back? I—there’s nothing. We were. . .I went to war for her . Our country .”

You kept your mouth shut. Letting him release his sorrow and emotionally charged words that made zero sense such as that. You learned, especially on the beach night, it is not wise to depend on another’s support when it comes to actions of war.

You didn’t even give Larson the full quote earlier either. You do not think he needed the full one, but you know yourself what Nietzsche was going for. You think Adler might like it actually.

Eventually, you managed to put Larson back into the foxhole as you took watch by him. Standing in the foxhole as you did your shift. A few minutes officially in however, you took note of noise in the foxhole next to you. You turned your head, noticing Adler’s head was out, helmet on and war paint slightly losing their color. You can see his stubble starting to really come in now. He had his shades on, even at this time, in this darkness—but you could tell he was staring at you. Something clicked as you lightly sighed.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.”

You nodded, turning your eyes around their surroundings with your M-16 in front of you and gripped at the ready just in case.

“You left something out,” Adler said after a while, voice low to not wake the others that it sounded husky to your ears. You glanced at him, brow raising questioningly as Adler’s lips lifted to a knowing smirk. “I don’t know much, but my high school education isn’t too laughable I think. I know that quote. You missed the whole beginning and just gave him the end.”

You blinked, before shrugging as you peered up at the sky for a moment.

“He didn’t need the beginning. Just the end.”

“Some might call that yellow journalism. Or lying.”

“Others might call it wise,” you retorted lightly. “He didn’t need to know it. It wouldn’t have helped. So why give it? Besides, we know it. We’re the only type of people who need it.”

Adler hummed, whether it was in agreement or in thought, you couldn’t tell. You took note of him shifting, hands a little fidgety around his M60 and you felt sympathy swell in you. He hasn’t been able to smoke since the start of this mission, having to be cautious with any type of smoke. You don’t know personally, but you know that the craving for cigarette’s were mind consuming if you did not have one to quell it. Perhaps this conversation was a welcome distraction.

You wonder if this night is just you going to be playing silent therapist.

“Do you think Larson should’ve heard it?”

Adler answered as he kept his dutiful watch around, him facing the area behind you as you focused in front.

“No. He just needed someone to listen. Poor bastard should ask for R&R after this. I’ll grant it to him, maybe he could go to Australia and just wind down there for a week.” He scratched at his face, the war paint surely feeling a little off since he first put it on. “Forget about all this. All of it. The States. The war. He needs it. Hell, we all do.”

Your lips formed a teasing smile.

“Even shadows and monsters need a smoke?”

Adler chuckled easily.

“Everyone needs a smoke as far as I’m concerned. Maybe less people will act like they’re one push away till they make a shitstorm the rest of us need to clean up. But sure, kid, ” he half shrugged, focusing on the sky above with all its celestial like bodies. “Larson might’ve been onto something though with what he was saying.”

“Which part?”

Adler chose silence as his answer, staring up for another moment or two before huffing and turning his attention back onto the ground.

The two of you stayed guarding for a few more moments. You didn’t bother asking Adler why he was up and you had this watch, just like how he didn’t seem to bother to order you to go to sleep. You felt like once more, there was an understanding between you two. Still though, it didn’t stop you from the question bubbling in your throat.

“Since you know the quote,” Adler hummed lightly, showing he was listening. “What do you think Nietzsche was referring to, that the reader itself hasn’t fought with other monsters yet or from experience because he is a monster to not have other’s fight him?”

Adler scoffed quietly, amused.

“Just cause I know the quote doesn’t mean I constantly wonder about it’s meaning, Bell.”

“Humor me.”

“I thought I told you earlier I’m not here to spoil you.” You threw him a sheepish grin, Adler sighing and shaking his head as his expression turned inquisitive with how he pressed his lips together for a moment. “It’s a warning. That’s how I always saw it. But it’s not one we need like you said earlier, kid. We don’t need it.”

You didn’t ask anymore. Because as you thought more into it, he was right.

Nietzsche wrote a warning, to the innocent reader and the oblivious society that put emphasis on morals and truth that he did not agree with.

‘Battle not with monsters, lest you become a monster. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you.’

Monsters do not fret about what they already are. Just as they are not worried if the abyss ends with them or if it begins.

“Get ready, kid.” Adler said much later as they all slowly woke the others up to move, his eyes squinting behind his glasses as he stared past the trees, the bushes, and the greenery as the beginning of dawn started to rise. “It’s going to be a shit show in a few hours.”

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“Bell”

Second Life

14:02 | February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You see yourself as one with patience.

When it comes to this sort of line of work, it is required. A sort of fortitude and composure that not all can be able to acquire but must be needed for this—for lives at stake based on whether you can put up an act or have the tact of an eagle capturing a snake, all sharp claws and silent feathers against the hissing strike. ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ.

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time,” as said by one one of your favorites, Leo Tolstoy, from one of the best works in history: War and Peace.

You recall last time—stop clinging, you stupid dog—when you stood outside the safehouse in the cold with your head to the book, Adler stepping out and taking note of your book with a cocked brow. Stating his surprise at your book choice as you mumbled something or other as you read, that it is an integral book. You even stating the same quote back to him, a surprise to you when Adler didn’t know of it. Listening as you explained it with a flick of his lighter and calm inhales and exhales of his addiction, showing off where the quote was as he leaned in slightly. Your heart pounding as his warmth was felt without even touching, than a brush of his shoulder to your back as he drew closer. Than it was gone.

“All grim thoughts and wise words with you, eh Bell?” Amused. A fleeting turn of the lips that stayed longer and a gaze that lingered as he stared through you under those shades. “Make sure you take a breather when you raise your nose for air from your books. Can’t do this without you.”

He would tease, but didn’t stop you from taking your reading breaks outside for fresh air. And he’d always ask, curiosity in his expression when you’d show him a line each time. You thought it was special. Their own little thing where you would raise your book and he would lean to you and they would touch.

“Bell, open the door.”

It was just cruel kindness.

Patience, you are using it to your fullest. You can do what you must and see if your actions can work up to something—all your effort and hard work being seen as a good little tool.

Though, time—time is something you may not have. Unless you make sure you’re loyal.

You were quick to drop off the breakfast on the center table, ignoring Adler’s rose brow as you moved. The pineapple kasekuchen in their rightful place. You avoided and didn’t speak outside a quick “good morning” to everyone else and went to work, breakfast by you whenever you got truly hungry.

You didn’t think about why you bought the dessert. Outside the rationalization it shows your loyalty. Perhaps a peace offering to ignore what happened the night prior. You didn’t think much about that at all.

американский щеноk.

Until he called you over to his desk with a wave of his hand, your chest thundering with your eyes wide as you wondered if he’ll say anything. Take you aside in private to talk. About last night or the sweet, you’re not sure. Only for him to motion for you to sit, tapping his knuckle against the file on the desk. You took note the box of the kasekuchen wasn’t there anymore(must’ve already ate it or threw it away) as you blinked, slowly sitting in the seat across from him as he slid the file towards you as he asked your opinion on it.

You scanned, mind wandering and flying, before you glanced up at him. His favorite mahogany leather over him that is second skin, a lighter shade of blue for his collared shirt today under him and his mouth free of a cigarette as well as his hands. Those aviators still on his head, a part of him. Sort of like the beanie—ski—mask over your head as he looked down at another report in front of him. As if he didn’t call you over from your desk to his to help with a file when he could’ve just left it on your desk. As if you didn’t cross a line—you always cross the line, over, behind, or creating a completely new one to do what you must like he does whatever it takes but it was wrong, you are no saint, pitiful mutt—yesterday with your words and questions.

A hand reached towards the file in front of you, knuckle tapping twice, more force this time.

You focused back on the file, only to see Adler already took his hand back. Continuing to read as he patiently waited for your consensus on the file before you.

You were struck than how he’ll handle this, understanding dawning on you as your gaze focused and turned to the file below you and picking it up.

If he wishes to pretend as if it never occurred, it’s fine with you. It’s best either way for both of you. You have too many worries already, Adler included. Best to leave certain things out your mind about the man lest you’ll get clouded. You’re trying to survive. Not get caught up in and tangled in mind games.

You spotted in the corner of your eye Adler give a ghost of a nod, the tiniest tip of the head, imperceptible to others but you knew. He gave a similar one when you captured Volkov, walking up to you with a calm swagger and gloved hands around his weapon, as he moved his head in approval. Such a good girl to be happy with just a nod. Satisfied. He’s satisfied. He knows you understood. Understood him.

“You know me too well.”

“Guess we’re two peas in a pod.”

“I need Bell.”

You raised the file closer, over your mouth formed in a subconscious echo of a pleased smile. You didn’t even feel it. Nor did you feel electric blue eyes behind shades glance towards you before turning back to his work—the silent agreement to keep what happened last night to themselves written and signed without the two of you having to open your mouths.

Coward, you wanted to snarl. To who, you’re not sure. You just focused on what Adler gave you. You’ll need to have Adler let you live so you’ll need to not just be a perfect asset to the others but a person to him.

You have to do what you must.

“Damaged goods.”

You have to.

“You remembered.”

You flicked your eyes towards him, file momentarily forgotten. He didn’t look up from his own file, continuing to read it with the expression he always has when concentrated—a hint of pressed lips that reveals his dimples and brows lowered than usual where it would be difficult to see due to his shades. You would think that mania has truly taken a hold of you, with it’s dark tentacles filled with dark thoughts and mental anguish or rather slithering and multiplying vines where Lykourgos grew mad due to Dionysus’ vengeance except for you it is with choking collars and stifling leashes and cutting strings. He looked as if he didn’t speak at all. All the quiet focus of a war hardened CIA agent that didn’t have a ring on his finger but was married to his job with a badge to show all the same.

But you knew his voice. As if it was your own.

“We’ve known each other for years.”

“Fought together. Bled together. Been through Hell in Vietnam together.”

“We got a job to do.”

“ B e l l, o p e n t h e d o o r . ”

The poor американская сука loves pain like a drug.

“I wasn’t sure what you would,” Adler spoke again, your eyes focusing on him once more. His head still was tilted down and a little to the side, shades facing the paper but you believed he glanced towards you. “The coma did a number on you with your memories. I know you’ve been saying it’s only been about Vietnam but you never specified about what. Or if you happened to remember anything else.” He didn’t state it like a question but he might as well have.

Of course he would ask. Why wouldn’t he?

Nonetheless, you knew what he was referring to in his earlier statement. He ate them. You picked up your file with a small huff.

“Hard to forget, Adler. Of course I would remember. You would hold those cans like a lifeline,” your lips lifted at the memories, of Adler trading with others if he must to get his precious golden ambrosia that would appease him similar to his cigarettes. You kept your lips up despite the quick recall the memories were fake—the trading of trash, the quiet understanding to not speak of it, of beautiful Vietnam foliage and unforgettable talks—just as you glanced at him and continued easily. “Glad you liked them. Wasn’t sure if you would. As for other memories. . . it’s still only been with Vietnam. I haven’t gotten anything else.” Adler hummed, cocking his head a tad before your lips formed more of a smile that you felt. “But at least I still know what I like or don’t. Can’t imagine a clean slate.”

“That’s normal,” Adler said, shades now facing you as you somewhat hid your face with the file. The only thing him being able to see fully was your eyes. “Learn how to calm down and that you can’t take all these shots like you’re a target in a shitty gun range. Might remember more.”

You found yourself snorting, rolling your eyes. Finding dark amusement at his words despite yourself. Perhaps you are growing insane.

“Based on what you told me in the hospital, you would’ve had some holes instead.” The way you said it, it sounds like you still believe it. Like it was real. Dance puppet, dance. You turned up your lips into a semblance of a smirk as you looked over the file towards him. You maintained it even though you think the both of your eyes connected despite the shades hiding. “You don’t have to worry, Adler. I got your back. Always. A few shots is nothing.”

It’s what you would’ve said before. It scares you how much you meant it previously. As if your life was forfeit if it came to having Adler live longer. Nothing else would matter as long as he lived. Nothing. As if the world would come to an end if he fell—the only one that could hold it and keep it straight.

Perhaps he is Atlas after all. . .

The loyal dog with the pretty collar will always protect the master.

Cursed due to his cruelty.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Adler stared at you for a moment, as if assessing your words. Scrutinizing them. He than reached into his jacket, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Once he did the first drag and released his puff, away from you as you observed the smoke curl around them, he looked back down to the papers on the desk.

“How lucky am I that I got you around than, kid,” he replied, all low and earnest as he took another drag. “Just don’t go dying on me. Can’t have Sims talk to his shrink about something else. He’d be heart broken.”

Adler said that sentence a little louder, so it was no surprise that Sims by the desk put down his magazine and called out.

“I resent that!”

Adler’s lips twitched in response, but kept his gaze down as your heart thundered.

You thought of an explosion to the chest, your heart open and bare for more reasons than you planned. Of soft words to your ear that sounded like regret and something else as you coughed. Of a gentle touch that held you up, hands wandering from your waist to your stomach—stopping just short of a bleeding chest as if they wanted to stop the red—redredredredred—from flowing out but hesitated. An encircling of arms that released heat as you grew cold—you don’t like the cold much anymore—while an expression was carefully guarded with eyes hiding behind a shaded curtain.

You felt your throat tighten. The need for answers to unanswered questions reaching a head.

“Just Sims?” you asked softly, a little breathless and a little confused at said breathlessness.

He glanced up, aviators slightly down and you could barely see his eyes as he exhaled a puff, eyeing you. You staring as his brow lifted for a moment before it settled, an interesting look in your eyes that one might call forlorn. And something else that is dangerous and not meant for monsters who are better alone.

“Maybe another life, kid.”

Mind thine eyes dog, for they show you yearn the impossible.

“You know the answer, Bell. Everyone would be,” Adler leaned slightly back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers in his customary hold between his ring and middle finger. “You’re part of the team. What kind of question is that?”

“You’re still one of us.”

He knows what he’s doing. Just as he knows what you mean.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down with squinting eyes at the file. Your hand making it a little wrinkle and you don’t know what you expected. What you’re expecting. He hurts. He pretends. Why would he even answer truthfully when he can dodge and feel less guilt about a hole in you caused by his hand?

He’s—

You felt a nudge against your knee, you looking up in shock with a quick inhale at the unexpected touch. It staying there—his knee, he’s touching you—as you watched Russell tilt his head at you, brow up and lips quirked with a cigarette around it and looking wry and relaxed—what is this, why, what could this be for, why is he doing acts that are pointless yet mean everything when he could just be distant, you are getting worked up over just knees touching, you touch starved little thing—as he motioned his head an iota to the left. Your eyes following the movement to see Park where she was, nearby with her desk and a headphone to one ear but the other still able to listen in despite how naturally quiet you and Adler are with your soft voice and Adler’s low tone.

Park? What does she have to do with anything? And why would Adler of all people care?

You frowned, only for your lips to flatten in realization of her words to you about Adler. To stay away. You now wonder if she did a similar warning to him.

“Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

You wonder if the pissing match that was imperceptible and the slight tension was more than just two agencies trying to come to an accord.

But why would Park warn Adler?

You glanced back at Adler, who gave a half shrug as if to answer your silent question. It only raised more. You moved your knee back closer to your form and Adler didn’t react as you did so. The both of you turning back to the files that Adler requested your assistance.

Not thinking in the back of your mind of fleeting touches, lingering looks, or a voice to your pounding ear that tinged with remorse even though you couldn’t see his face.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You and Park just recently finished going through the report you and Woods got from Ukraine. Sims and Lazar were in the back rooms where the gun range was while Park was in the Red Room. Last you checked, Adler was still in his office with a call while Mason and Woods were by the weight lifting equipment and taking turns to work off some steam due to what was discovered. You were putting the findings up on the evidence board with tacks, careful to not stab yourself. You wouldn’t be as concerned if you were wearing your gloves which you put away earlier by your bunk bed, but than again, you’re quite careful with your gloves. Not only because of the quality, but who got the leather gloves for you when you were just recently discharged out of the hospital back in the States.

You smiled, putting the last tack on the board only to have a sudden weight around your shoulders. You widened your eyes, briefly alarmed only to turn your head to see it was a smirking Woods.

“Done? Good! I’ve been holding off till now but it’s time to fucking see what you’re really made of Bell.”

You blinked, confused and still reeling at the fact you didn’t sense his approach at all. Your mind will zone out over the littlest of things lately. It concerns you. But it hasn’t been a problem so far out in missions, so you think it’s alright.

“And how exactly I’m going to do that? Thought I showed you enough back in Ukraine.”

At that, Woods laughed as he basically tugged you to where Mason was, who was shaking his head at his friend and shooting you an apologetic look as you just smiled that you were okay with it. Their van door open in the back as well as a table and chairs in front. You took note of the packs of beer and you see what Woods meant as he sat by Mason in the van on the floor, you sitting down and observing as Woods took a hefty gulp of a beer.

“I think I know now. But,” you glanced to where Adler’s office was, “is this wise? Isn’t Hudson coming over here soon?”

Woods slammed his beer down, causing some of it to come out as Mason sighed at the wastefulness.

“Man, fuck Hudson!” Woods wiped his chin harshly, irritation coloring his features. “I want to forget about that nutsack for the rest of the day. When he comes, he better not say shit or I’ll punch him again. Maybe with that shit will stop coming out his mouth.”

Mason chuckled, having his own beer in his hand as his eyes wandered to his longtime friend, shifting as he got comfortable in his seat.

“How’s the hand?”

Woods scoffed.

“Pfft. Nothing fancy,” Woods looked at said hand, clenching it as he moved to crack his knuckles as he grinned wildly. “Ready enough, like I said, if Hudson says something smart.” He punched his fist against his hand, muscles flexing noticeable despite his jacket as you couldn’t help but laugh along with Mason.

“I still can’t believe you punched him yesterday,” you spoke up, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine anyone punching the intimidating harsh man that is James Hudson. Soon after your discharge, you had to meet with him back in Langley for the mission before all this Perseus business—although you suppose supporting the Polish union Solidarity in fighting back communists have everything to do with Perseus. You don’t understand why the man seems to dislike you so much, especially if the two of you worked briefly before which you sadly can’t remember. He must always be like that with others, Woods doesn’t seem to like or appreciate Hudson’s icy countenance either way. You don’t quite appreciate the man’s secrecy about the nukes, so you see why. “If I even breathe the air wrong around him, I think I will be dead come morning. I don’t think I’m exaggerating.”

“You?” Woods asked, amused incredulity in his tone as he faced you. “The one who basically took out three Heavy’s by your lonesome? Scared of that ball face? You’re shitting me!”

Mason rose his brows as he turned towards you.

“You didn’t say that in the report. You holding out on us, Bell?”

“Right?! Now open a bottle and tell Mason here everything that happened.”

You rose a brow, amusement shining in your eyes, your hand moving to the pack of beer before stopping. The memory of the arcade room making you smile knowingly.

“Everything?”

Woods made a face, cheeks looking an interesting color that Mason caught as he nudged his friend with his elbow.

“What’s she talking about Woods?”

“Nothing! Jesus Christ Bell, didn’t know you could be a little shit like Adler can.”

The words bounced off you easily, already used to the man’s vulgar personality from the mission and even before the mission to go over details, as you shrugged, smirking as Mason kept pushing Woods on what happened as Woods would grumble or drink his beer to avoid answering. At Adler’s name however, you looked back at the office, slightly biting the inside of your lip.

Your breaks thus far outside of eating has just been reading your books or a quick game in the back room. Never for a drink like Lazar would do with Sims and Park at times. Adler, at least what you know of, hasn’t drunk and just has stuck with his cigarettes. You don’t even remember the last time you drank. All you know is that you like it.

But. . . you’re not sure if Adler would approve. You’re always focused on your work and great at it, he depends on you to maintain your focus to catch Perseus.

You subconsciously put your hand in your jacket, feeling the polaroid as you thought.

Woods noticed your apprehension and called out to you, you turning your head back.

“Whatcha fuckin’ worried about? You’ve been working all day from those codes and whatever the shit you put on the board. I don’t think Adler would want you to be worked dry where you don’t even think straight.”

“Only booze can do that,” Mason added helpfully.

Woods nodded, looking too serious it was almost comical since they were just trying to persuade you to drink.

“What he said.”

You took a moment before you shrugged, grabbing a beer and opening it as you stated that you guess you could drink with legends. Woods huffing at you, soon calling you cocky in realization as to why you made fighting Heavy’s not a big deal and not impressed with him. Mason seeming to find it funny as the three of you drank and talked about the mission more freely and colorful words with Woods. You did slightly flush when Woods told Mason you were a nerd for playing a quick game while there were Russians preparing for their training course, Mason snorting as you hushed them when Park grew near them. Not wishing for her to find out.

Quickly hiding it by inviting her to join just as Lazar and Sims came back, the two men seeming to easily join in as Park contemplated as she stared at the beer. With a sigh though, she sat by Lazar as she took one.

“Next time, I’m buying the alcohol here. You bought rubbish, Woods.”

“‘Rubbish?’ And beer is beer, nothing wrong with good ol cheap beer sometimes,” Woods defended. “Adds to the flavor.”

Lazar smiled, raising his bottle.

“Cheers to that.” Lazar and Woods tapped their bottles in the middle when they reached over, an easy aura settling between the group.

Sims got a bottle, assessing the name as well as the pack as he did a dog whistle.

“Germans know how to do one thing right, and that’s beer. You’ll be fine Park. It could be worse,” Sims took a drink, humming as he did so while Park frowned at her bottle when she took a few sips.

“Worse?”

“It could’ve been canned,” Mason answered, speaking from experience that made you raise a brow as you took a drink, settling further into your seat. “Canned cheap beer you can basically taste the metal. There was one time back in the States where I practically shitted myself due to this cheap beer I got at this random gas station in the middle of nowhere. Ruined my night.”

“And your pants it seems,” Lazar commented, mirth clear in his tone before he released a laugh along with Sims guffaw at the Israeli’s words. Park shaking her head but anyone can see her smile on her lips as Woods stated that’s what happens when you’re in “bumfuck nowhere” and probably got experimented with weird moonshine.

You snorted in surprise, covering your mouth as your imagination pictured the soldier rushing to the bathroom lest an accident happens. Mason? He seems so serious all the time, which you can understand why. You’ve read up what you could on everyone here, the description’s were small but you could fill in the lines. He’s lucky that he has such a good friend like Woods.

It soon became a trading of stories between everyone about drunk nights and how they reached that point, Lazar running with a bowl of chili and Woods determined to make condom water balloons and Sims was just finishing his own passed out in random deck chairs story when the door of the office opened.

You immediately turned towards where Adler now stood, staring at all of you as he closed the door and currently free of a cigarette. Your anxiety only grew when Adler turned his head towards you, as if he was asking you personally on the situation as you could only throw him an apologetic yet impish smile. Adler’s brow rose.

“Adler!” Woods called, raising a hand and motioning it for the man to come over. Adler approaching the group as you could only stare and tried to get a read on him. Alas, it was hard to discern his mind even if you could spot him glancing at everyone and the table with bottles. “Join us while there’s still beer left! Planning to drink all of this before Hudson comes. He can’t say anything if there’s no evidence.”

Adler hummed, stopping behind you and Sims as he appeared in thought. A trickle of hope coming up your chest at Woods offer.

“All of you are in luck,” Adler eventually answered, the subtle amused tone not lost on you as you intently focused on it. “Hudson isn’t coming till early in the morning tomorrow. Got caught up with something with Black. Can’t imagine how he would react if he saw all this.”

“Fuck ‘im,” Woods spat, reaching for a bottle and throwing Adler one. Adler catching it with his hand, shaded eyes turning towards the bottle to read the label. “We’re not here to please his every whim and cater to him like we’re his butlers. I say it’s a perfect time to wind down. We were just trading stories of getting shit faced.”

“All of you were,” Park corrected easily, “I don’t plan on sharing any such event.”

“Never say never, Park,” Lazar said, a grin playing on his lips as he winked at the British woman. “I’m sure a lady like you has quite a collection of stories.”

“A lady never says her secrets.”

You were still staring up at Adler as Sims playfully groaned at Lazar’s flirt tactics that Park didn’t seem to mind, Adler tilted his head down and met your eyes. Seeming to assess before turning his gaze towards the evidence board, which now had additional papers than previously since he entered the office, assessing. He than turned back towards you, you impatiently waiting as you shifted in your seat to see if he would let all of you continue, his eyes seeming to follow when your hand went to your jacket pocket.

Adler released a huff of soft exasperation, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Don’t see the problem. We can all use a break from all of this.”

You practically beamed as Woods whooped, you moving a seat over where you were now next to Woods. Adler taking your seat as he sat by Sims now, opening his bottle as he asked whose story they were on. Sims continuing it and finishing before Lazar had another one. You listening with a smile or laughter, feeling the most at ease since this whole mission started you think. You believe that Adler must feel the same way, appearing relaxed as he sat and leaned back against the chair, beer forgotten and customary cigarette on his lips as he listened.

It made you want to take a picture of this moment. You standing up and announcing to the others you’ll do just that, Woods raising a brow at you.

“You and pictures. You a photographer or something? I hope you’ll at least show me what pics you took of me instead of those Red’s building.”

Your cheeks felt heated as you turned towards Woods, standing over him with fists clenched by your side as you called his name, askance. Making the man laugh at your expression, your irritation leaving you due to it but you gave him a warning look and call of his name which he caught. Not wishing for you to say the story, as Adler watched nonchalantly.

“Pictures? Got distracted again, Bell?” He asked, almost sounding like a tease only for the others to join in that you really loved that camera. You pursing your lips and appearing like you were pouting, as you turned away and got the camera from the Red Room quickly. Taking the picture of everyone only for Woods to motion his hand for it to your bewilderment.

“What? Don’t you want one with you in it too?” Woods asked, grabbing the camera from your hands as he grinned up at you. Adler and Park glancing at each other behind you, Adler flapping his cigarette hand uncaringly in answer. Mason raising a brow at the exchange but staying silent as his eyes moved back towards his loud friend.

You didn’t think of that but you stated you wanted one with everyone than, Park raising her hand for the camera to do the setting for it to be timed and placing it on top of Sims car he was working on earlier. All of you turning your chairs slightly, getting close with beers in hand and you trying to maintain a perfect smile even with Adler’s knee touching yours. The camera flashed, you feeling something by your head only for you to lightly punch Woods shoulder once you saw he must’ve gave you bunny ears in the photo. Him laughing away as you fought your own smile, his rugged charm rubbing off on you as Adler inhaled quietly as he watched the exchange.

The stories than eventually moved to mission stories, and than, unsurprisingly—to Vietnam. At this point, Park and Lazar retired for the night—Sims eventually doing the same when he noticed it turned to Vietnam. Which left you, Mason, Woods, and Adler—Adler just finishing up the story about what happened in Hue City, leaving a few details out you noted but loyally and wisely kept silent, as Mason took it in with a slight nod of his head.

“So that’s what happened on your side. Shit. . . that whole place was a shit show since the beginning. Lucky I only had to do a quick in and out by just getting a dossier.”

Woods snorted, nursing his fifth beer.

“That whole war was a shit show. Only good thing that came out of it is telling stories about it years later in a depressed warehouse. While a whole other type of war is happening.”

At the mention of the reminder of them losing that war, you spoke up.

“Not the only thing,” you couldn’t help but say, lost in thought as you looked at the ground.

Adler turned his head towards you as Woods and Mason did the same, curious.

“And what’s that, kid?”

You kept your gaze down for a moment more before flicking your eyes to the side towards Adler.

“We’re all still here, aren’t we?”

✯ ▙ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▞ ✯ ✯ ✯ ■ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▞ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▙ ✯

Ȳ̶͇̝͐ó̶̘̈ṵ̴̡͑͒ ̴̯̗̅ŵ̴̭͘â̸̭̼̤n̵̼͚̘͑t̶̠̮̯́̏ ̶̭̝̱̄́̅ţ̶̠̑̈̚ǫ̶̳̉́ ̴̘͖͊͊͘ͅ ̵̡͋́ṣ̶̞̆̚ ̴͚̲̕ț̸̓ộ̴̍̐p̴̣͓̾́ ̴̫̗̆͜ḫ̴̛̦͓́́ẽ̴̛̻̋ṛ̵̲̞͈̅͠ę̷̼̯͔̍̌͌?̶̫̩̆͆

̷̼̈́

̵̣̽̉͛

̶̝͋͂B̷̝̾̾u̸͚͊̕ţ̷̛̭͖̈́̾ ̶̱͑̔i̷̩͇̤̐ṯ̴̪̓̓ ̷̜͊d̸̆͜į̶̩͔̉̏d̵͔̓͝n̴̨͇͒’̵̰͑́͂ţ̸̯̯͋ ̷̧͖̣̿̒e̴̥͋͝n̴̘̱̿̕d̸̛̤̹̔ ̵̡̡̩̈̐h̷̫͔͂͜ë̴̺̜́͑͊ȑ̶̺͉͠ĕ̴̥̉.̴͕̭͌̕͠

̸̠̹̿̊̿

̸̠͊̅

̸͙͓̬̂͒͝Ë̶̼̙̭́͘̕ ̶̳͆v̵̱͙̿̋ ̴͔̇̋ę̷͚̫͆̃̈n̵̥̣͈̏̅ ̷͇̮͒͊ ̴̛̺ ̶̡͆t̶̢̘͒ḧ̷̺̉ě̸͓̼̂ͅ ̶̬̲̫̈b̶̟̪̒̒ę̵͊͝s̶̟̱̐ţ̴͙̳̆̚ ̶͔̈́d̸̝̭͑̈́͒o̸͖͑̓g̸̨͌̈́̀s̴̹̫̖͗̅ ̶̯̝͛ḷ̶̬̔͌̐i̷̘̥̓́k̴͕̓͝ĕ̷̡̿̽́ ̵̖͗̾͘ţ̵̟̤̈́́̽ö̴͖͕͙́͗͝ ̴̦̂͊͝r̶͉͈̊̆̔ų̴̝̋̈ņ̶̼͛ ̶̭̦́.̶͔̇̄

̶̫̘͒̌̿

̵͓̱͇̆̕͠

̷̧̰̙̇͝B̶͕̐̐̓e̸̖̟̋ŝ̶̨t̵̗̎̀,̴̯̥̐̕ ̶͚͓̓̀́ť̶͐̂͜ŏ̸̢̿̉ ̵̨͎̄̿͆ć̷̣̓͑́ơ̶͔͓̋̿̔m̵̧̢̩̃ê̸̘̠̠ ̴̰̫͠͝ͅb̶͇̔̒ą̶̤̯̰̽͊c̸͈͗k̸̩͉͙̓̿ ̷̻̼̰͆ẃ̶̞͙̃͒͌ḧ̵̘͑̒̃e̵̜̰̓͘͝ń̶͙͒̚ ̵̪̖̥̊̈́ȑ̷̢̌̎ẽ̸̛͇̂ͅà̴̞̖̫d̸̤̺̽͛ỳ̴̰̊͝ ̷̠̌͝f̴̢́͊o̴͉̒͠r̷͕͙͙̽̋́ ̶͈̾̉t̴̥͒͘r̷͉̘̐́ų̸̠̔̋́t̴̨͚́̾h̷̖͕̯̀̒͛.̵̫̟̬̄

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Bell”

Second Life

15:47| February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

Soon after you said your thoughts to Adler about the file, you moved to go back to your desk only to pause by the T.V. You turned back, Adler raising a curious brow as he put out his cigarette with his ash tray nearby. You asked him for any other files he may need help with, Adler saying nothing as he reached another file by him and handing it to you. You grabbed it, your black leather gloved hand grazing against his bare one as you took it. Taking note of what he said about it before turning to your desk and staying there. Ignoring a probing stare in the back of your neck.

You’ll do what you must, but if he expects you to stay by his side when he inconvenienced you earlier by making you come to him. . . Well, you think a little petty action is worth it.

Besides, you have to think by yourself for a moment. The call about Volkov squeaking his rat mouth should’ve came already. By nighttime—you, Adler, and Park should already be on the way to Ukraine and meet up with Woods and Mason.

Woods and Mason, you think fondly with a sad smile of a whirlwind of a man drinking back beer after beer like water with a deep throated laugh and the silent soldier with sad eyes yet listens attentively and a kind smile that brightens. Oh, I’ve missed you guys.

They were barely in the safehouse, out in missions constantly when you would decode and just being the team’s powerhouse duo. When they were here though, the safehouse was louder. More easy and free, less stifling and grim due to the work they were doing. They had a certain charisma very different than Adler’s, one’s that captured you in a different manner so it is no surprise you managed to get close and hang with them more than anyone when they were here. Sims being distant, Park communicating with MI6 about the CIA, Lazar determined to woo the agent when he wasn’t cleaning and prepping weapons, and Adler was. . .busy watching you were in line you suppose.

Card games and stories being shared, Woods and Mason not seeming to mind when you were around them. You suspect Woods let you get close to make sure you don’t tell his precious secret and blunder back in the arcade room in Ukraine. Although you would tease him that you might at times.

You feel like that in your other life, Park was right. You don’t think those two knew about your situation. It just made you like them more.

Because at least with them, you’re positive it was real.

“I knew I could count on you.”

You wished they were able to save you from Adler though. But they were tired and celebratory of what they accomplished. They took in Adler saying you and him were just taking a detour at face value.

“Do not trust Adler. He is lying to you.”

Adler always lies.

You have to remember that. And to just brush away any kindness he may show.

It’s not real.

Is it?

A loyal and trained dog through and through.

When you saw it was nearing 1700 hours, you looked around where Park was. Seeing she was with Adler in the corner by the weights, conversing with him with a crease in her brow while Adler looked as if he was only mildly taking note of her words as he puffed along his cigarette. A trait of his you knew frustrated the British woman. Adler likes to feign disinterest a lot. It could be seen as a weapon to make others talk due to how irritating it could be or make one cautious at how apathetic the man can act or look.

You walked over to them, your ears getting the tail end of whatever was ailing Park.

“—not making light of this and reign it in. Oh, Bell.” Park’s tone softened, a sharp contrast that stood out to you as she noticed you step up to them. Adler not even glancing at you as he continued his smoke, or at least not turn his head towards you. It’s dark in this corner so you wouldn’t be able to tell if he turned his eyes towards you or not unless he moved his head or body in your direction. “What’s wrong? Any new updates on the decryptions?”

You shook your head, looking between the two of them before settling on Park.

“What’s the word on Volkov? He talk yet?”

Park sighed.

“I’m afraid not. He’s proved himself stubborn despite his tastes being similar to what makes the U.K. great.”

You cocked a brow, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“Medieval torture devices not his style?” You asked, calling back to what Park said about Volkov’s hobbies.

Park matched you, amused as she shrugged lightly.

“I believe the lack of scotch is what will do him in personally.”

“He has to talk soon,” Adler cut in, exhaling a puff as you and Park turned towards him. Adler faced Park, arching a brow as he continued calmly. “Your guys over there aren’t giving him a good time right now, I imagine. The last thing we need is for him to be tight lipped.”

Your throat turned dry. You think you regret mentioning this as Park answered.

“He’s not the type to remain loyal if his back is to the wall. His selfish demeanor and arrogance will what cause him to try to strike a deal with us. It will benefit us than him in the end once he breaks.”

“If he breaks,” Adler added with a frown. “If he still doesn’t talk by the next two days, we might as well have killed him once we saw him. He’s useless.”

“She’s of no use to us anymore.”

You swallowed, moving to pocket your hands in your black bomber jacket as your hands clenched along with your jaw.

Park frowned at Adler, disapproving.

“He knows a great many things. Not everyone can handle interrogation for so long and be able to stay silent about anything that might give them reprieve.”

Oh, look, you thought sourly, bitterness starting to rise once more as you maintained your blank expression besides your taut jaw. They’re complimenting me. How nice of them to say I wasn’t easy for them.

Control your tongue, you stupid dog.

Adler huffed, it almost sounding like one mixed with amusement and exasperation as he shook his head slightly.

“Perseus’ people are almost as slippery and conniving as Perseus himself. And dangerous.” Adler took another inhale and exhale, the smoke curling around them and going over your head as your gaze lazily followed it to distract yourself while Adler did the same, tipping his head up to watch. “Perhaps he knows if he talks, he might as well be dead. We don’t need an Aldrich in the MI6 either.”

Park’s demeanor straightened at Adler’s accusation, the possibility of having a traitor or spy in her agency a great insult. She was about to say a scathing retort surely, but you cut her off.

“He’ll talk,” you say cooly, unreadable gaze towards Adler as he finally turned his head in acknowledgement towards you.

“What makes you so sure?” He asked, curiosity lacing his tone along with intrigue as he moved to place his cigarette for another puff.

You straightened your shoulders as you stared deep into his aviators that shadowed him properly to be America’s Monster.

“They all eventually do.”

Adler paused his hand, lips not around his craving as he stared towards you. Both your gazes not breaking even as Park looked between the two of you before settling with staring at Adler with slightly narrowed eyes.

Adler pressed his lips, a whisper of a smirk as he did it and nodded towards you once more before turning back towards Park.

“You hear that, Park? No reason to worry. Everyone talks. Right, Bell?”

“Yes, sir.” You say, ignoring how your stomach churned yet your heart pounded. You’re no saint. “We both know how to make them.” You slipped out, knowing eyes not leaving his face as you twisted a knife.

Adler didn’t seem to notice, or care really as he seemed to throw Park a mildly triumphant look. You don’t know why it would. You wouldn’t either and can care less about those you tortured—whether false or real.

Monsters do not worry over every drop in the red ocean they created.

Y o u’r e n o s a i n t, д е м о н.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You had headphones in, listening to the audio log to finish up the decryption despite the lack of other Intel so you could put all your focus on Operation Red Circus. Instead of the exchange earlier, all of them.

So you didn’t hear when the garage door opened and a van to come in, but you did when it got slammed closed. You jumped in your seat in the corner on your desk, hidden behind the evidence board and the T.V. You lowered your headphones, curious to see what was going on and if Sims brought in another car, only for your breath to hitch in your throat. You standing up so quick your chair almost fell back as you stood next to the T.V., heart thundering only for it to stop as you stared avidly, wildly, madly, hopefully.

Adler moved his hand to guide the red van in, sighing out a puff of smoke as the driver came out.

“Hudson barely gave me any warning about this before you guys arrived. Didn’t think he was going to give the okay on this based on the latest call on Volkov.”

“Well, you know Hudson,” the voice that spoke was quiet yet deep with how it spoke in easy amusement. If one strains their ear, you could spot the reserved soldier with sad eyes and a kind smile. “Always the one that loves to talk.”

“Pfft, yeah,” this one, this one was all rough and throaty as if it got abused in the past from events unknown but one can guess. If one just takes a glance, you could discern the storm stuck in a body yet does a light drizzle for friends despite the thunder. “Hudson’s a real charmer. Don’t tell me that the Russian Godfather decided to finally open his mouth right when we got here.” At Adler’s nod, the one man army groaned. “Man, jet lag is going to be a fuckin killer! Forget hotels, I’m sleeping here until we head out.”

They’re. . . Your hands shook by your side. Not paying kind to Park who stepped out the Red Room, head turned towards you and approaching you as she called out to you. You only stared as you bit the inside of your lip.

Sims, who helped pull the van in and was now leaning against the side of it, shook his head amiably with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t do that unless you’re fine with a raggedy ass mattress that looks like hasn’t seen the light of day since the ‘60s.”

“I believe the ‘70s personally,” Lazar spoke up as he sat on his desk, empty plate of takeout near him. “It still has potential if one’s desperate.”

“Yeah, well I’m desperate. Now where is it?” He turned his head along with his friend, comrade, forever ally just as they took a few steps close to where Park’s desk was and seeming to notice you the first time. Adler tilting his head at you, you silently just staring at the two as if you haven’t seen them in years, puffing silently as his brow rose curiously. But you could only look dumbly, eyes feeling a little pressure. They’re here. “Who are you and what the fuck are you looking at?” Woods asked sharply.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Your lips lifted into a smile before it opened, letting a loud bark of a laugh come out. You’re laughing.

When was the last time you laughed? Genuinely?

You could practically feel the stares, but you didn’t care. They’re here.

They were real.

Once your laughter calmed to chuckles and giggles, clearing the corner of your eyes for any possible tears, Adler stepped up between you and the two soldiers. Giving you a quick once over behind his glasses, you waving your hand at him dismissively slightly at his unanswered question, his brow furrowing before relaxing as he put an arm out towards you.

“Woods. Mason. This is Bell, my protege. I spoke to you about her before.”

You quickly fixed yourself and your expression as you took a polite step forward, you probably look absolutely insane. They don’t know you despite you knowing them. Calm down. You just didn’t expect that a change like the others would be this. Oh god, you looked insane.

“Sorry,” you began, a tiny sheepish play to your lips, “I just—you guys are both legends and I just didn’t expect to see you guys here. At least, so soon. You could say I was a bit. . . excited to put it lightly. Hope I didn’t scare you off?”

Woods and Mason stared at you, Mason having distant amusement playing in his brown eyes as Woods non-subtly leaned towards Mason, a hand slightly covering his mouth.

“Careful Mason,” Woods falsely whispered as he eyed you with suspicion. “We have a rabid fan on our hands.”

“I think she can hear you,” Mason didn’t try to whisper but it didn’t matter as Woods suddenly snorted as he crossed his arms.

“Listen here, Bell. The last thing that’s gonna scare us is someone who got excited about seeing us like we were the fucking—what is it these days? Someone gimme a hand.”

“You talking about bands?” Lazar questioned, Woods nodding as he glanced behind to where the dark skinned man stood by his desk, Lazar staring up in thought. “There’s Fleetwood Mac still going on.”

“Not like how the Beatles was going on,” Woods answered, a little too seriously as you fought a smile while Mason moved and leaned against the evidence board.

“Hear there’s growing popularity with AC/DC and Kiss. They’ve been on the radio a lot lately.”

Woods swiped his hand back and forth as he made a sound of disgust.

“You comparing us to those guys that look like they came out of hell, Mason? What do we look like?”

“I think it fits,” Adler dryly stated, clicking his lighter on to light his cigarette. Woods telling Adler he’s not helping as Park came by next to you with a hand to her hip.

“If demons don’t work, there’s always the Queen. And I’m not talking about the one I serve.”

“Queen is pretty good,” Sims said from behind, “but you guys had to have heard that new song Celebration by the Kool and the Gang. That shit hits.”

“Whichever!” Woods turned towards you asking you how exactly you know about them, you answering honestly that you read up on them on the computer. Seeing no point in hiding it as Woods gave a vicious grin towards you. “Well, aren’t you a nosy little shit. You always read up on everybody?” You were once again honest, saying you like to be thorough with everything but you only had a brief description to go off about them. Whatever secrets they may have is safe with them. Woods sniffed, slightly backing off and Mason appeared to have relaxed his shoulders. “A nosy shit with manners at least. And balls to say all of that to our faces despite what you read.”

True, if you did not know Woods and Mason. Despite that one time where you truly felt their intimidating aura on you, once you get to know them, they’re softies that are loyal. Even with Woods barbed and vulgar words and Mason always observing quietly behind with an assessing look in his eyes, you know they’re shields. Walls. To help with whatever occurred before—just like everyone else here.

And, just like there’s walls. . .

“There’s no innocence here,” you answered, shrugging with a bitter smile.

Woods stared at you for a moment before guffawing, pointing in your direction as he turned to face Adler who stared at you behind his shades as he inhaled his addiction.

“Where’d ya find her, Adler?” Woods asked, before than flapping his hand. “Answer that later. I need food and to knock the fuck out for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeated, even though you already knew as Adler answered.

“Let’s go over the details briefly. You were right, Bell. Volkov talked.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You watched after the meeting how Woods moved, all loudness and an army in one body with the propriety of one would find in any soldier—none at all. Refreshing. Needed. Even though he looked at you strange when you offered to help with setting up his bed that was all dust and old in the storage room by the generator.

You wonder in the end, after the cliff, how Woods reacted after just saving you from a large sheet of metal debris. Is it naive thinking that he might’ve been mad?

You looked at Mason, more careful with your approach as you smiled softly at him while you gave him the quick rundown that everyone has a spot chosen for their work. That they could use the desk by where they put the projector if they want. Mason raising a brow at you but letting you once you wisely gave him his space.

Would Mason be furious? You were unlucky because you were under the wrong flag. You were born a Russian. If you weren’t than, maybe, they would’ve kept you like they did him.

Meanwhile, Adler—a gaze that never falters, and eyes that are all-seeing with how hawkish they could be, does he see(?)—observed you silently as you moved to and fro with an energy that wasn’t there before. And a smile that looks genuine. He sits back, and watches.

“Shame you were born in the wrong country.”

There’s a lot of shameful things that are tied to you. But like any good monster, any foolish Icarus, and any stupid girl—you’ll ignore them.

American pup—американский щеноk

American bitch—американская сука

You wish to be American, comrade—ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ

Demon—демон

I don't know if it's been too subtle--but Bell isn't exactly. . .mentally/emotionally healthy right now. Adler is just everywhere. But maybe Woods and Mason can help now by just being there.

I love those two a lot.

This Second Life of Bell is coming to a close soon, this has gone longer than planned but thank you for everyone that has been with me so far! ^///////^ Happy Late 6th Anniversary of Undertale that inspired this story's plot <3

I am having trouble contacting my beta due to Tumblr being stupid with messages. Maybe I can reach them here, please contact me on Discord under username: Animefreak1145 (Code #8517)

*PM me if you wish to be Tagged*

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @nocturnalblurbee @salvija @gojocat247 @dallmaistir @animecriminal @weirdoartist21

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histrionic-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

A little unusual: An MCU AU idea/partial fic outline

This floated into my head as I floated awake this morning. My subconscious apparently put together the basic idea of this thread (Tony doesn’t know, but he has super-soldier serum because of Howard’s experiments on himself) with all the fanfics about “Hydra used Bucky and/or Steve’s DNA to try to make another supersoldier” and came up with a rich angst-mine.

Say that one of these Hydra experiments succeeded in the early seventies--succeeded, that is, in that the subject was viable. They have no idea if the super-soldier serum traits have been passed on. The only place with the equipment required to test that is a SHIELD lab, so a few well-placed Hydra minions sneak the two-day-old baby in for testing. But babies cry, and the boss has a habit of wandering around the facilities, especially the labs, when he can’t sleep.

Howard and Maria Stark can’t have children. But when Howard happens upon a baby apparently abandoned in a SHIELD lab, well, that’s concerning for a number of reasons. (The SHIELD agents closest to the lab swear they heard the crying and were coming to check it out, and they think they saw someone run away that way, Director, but they couldn’t give chase because they wanted to make sure the baby was alright.... and as they say this, they kick the super-soldier-serum detection test kit under a nearby desk. Maybe we should heighten the security around the labs, Director Stark.) But when no one claims the kid, it kind of feels like fate, too. I mean, a child discovered in a lab? There’s really no one better to pass on a legacy of creation and defense to, is there?

They never tell the kid he’s adopted--apparently until the last few decades, that was the norm--and they don’t tell many other people, either, just some close friends, who they ask not to tell the boy either. (Obadiah Stane is surprised at first, and worried about Howard being distracted by a child, but Howard laughs and tells him that will never happen, and if the kid somehow isn’t interested in science, well, maybe he’ll just dump the company on Obie instead! Stane laughs and drinks to that, and it’s forgotten.) Howard and Maria both travel a lot, and everyone just assumes that they were somewhere else during the pregnancy. The child has dark hair and he’s scary smart and he picks up Howard’s mannerisms like the little sponge he is, and it never crosses anyone’s minds that he’s not their biological son.

They wanted him, and they were happy to have him, but even that doesn’t stop Howard from getting sucked up into his work. Despite what he said to Obie, Howard never truly believed his little laboratory foundling wouldn’t be interested in science. If anything, it might even make him more desperate to have the child be the person he can pass on his legacy to. They wanted him, but it doesn’t stop the friction. It doesn’t stop them from arguing.

It’s a little unusual, as he gets older, how he can pull so many all-nighters, handle heavy sheets of metal alone, and has reflexes good enough to escape the worst lab accidents even when he’s tired or drunk or hungover, but that’s genius for you--genius or a skewed but intense work ethic. Probably both. You’d need both for that, right? The endless buckets of money and privilege can’t hurt his ability to get away with things, either. He even keeps functioning longer than you’d expect when he forgets to eat. He’s just...he’s tough, and dedicated, but that’s not so unusual, right?

“The serum amplifies what is already there.” What does that mean if it’s passed along genetically? What’s already there in a newborn? Well: potential. Babies want to grow, and learn, and do. They want to live and create and be loved. Turn that up to 11 and you have someone larger-than-life, a brilliant, grandstanding, partying, hard-working inventor/CEO.

No one thinks of that as superhuman, just a little extra.

And so it’s a little unusual when he stays alive long enough for Yinsen’s jury-rigged car-battery medical device to stop the shrapnel from reaching his heart. It’s a little impressive that he can get up and stagger to the lab after Stane paralyzes him, instead of lying helpless on the couch, frozen, until he dies. Maybe he lives with palladium poisoning for several months without anyone but him noticing the effects because the effects aren’t as bad as they would be for someone else, at first. Whether he’s resistant to Loki’s mind control because of some mysterious boost to his own psychic resistance or because the scepter needs skin contact, not reactor contact, is unclear.

He’s Tony Stark. He’s Iron Man. No one notices if he’s a little unusual because he’s always at some far end of the bell curve.

And then there’s the Hydra data drop, and Steve Rogers with a crazy story, asking him if he can find anything in the data drop, anything to supplement the files Natasha got from Russia. So he looks. The Hydra database doesn’t have much information on the Winter Soldier (they must have kept most of that offline, or there would be no canonical shocking revelation from Zemo; it would have been out there already). But there are a few mentions of a “Project Snowfall” that he digs into because of the loose similarity in theme, just to be thorough. He thinks it’s related from a few redacted lines, and that makes it all the more interesting, because the project was apparently successful, but mysteriously abandoned.

Tony looks at the files. It’s weird biological stuff, mainly, and he’s not a biologist and he’s just skimming, but there’s a date near the end with “viable” and then a date just days later with “confiscated before testing,” which isn’t a term he’s seen before in these files. Not “terminated,” not “tests negative,” but “confiscated,” accompanied by a note on trying again when more secure facilities can be found for the testing process. Then a note on holding off on that because “distant observation of subject” reveals nothing special.

Maybe he wouldn’t think much of it, except for when those final dates are.

And then he thinks of something Obadiah Stane said when he took the reactor out of Tony’s chest. ....But no. No, that’s crazy.

Tony looks at the files.

Tony looks in the mirror.

Tony, for the first time, looks at his own social security card and birth certificate, and then at the other--ever-so-slightly questionable--documentation around the beginning of his life.

Tony, feeling embarrassed and irritated and--always--curious, asks JARVIS to muck around with Photoshop and face recognition software and pictures of Tony, Howard, and Bucky Barnes.

Tony talks to Pepper.

...I’m not sure what happens next, and how it affects Civil War, because it depends on when Tony and Steve talk about what, and when Tony gets his hands on a DNA sample and shoves two random samples at Bruce and says “just run it. Please,” and refuses to say what’s going on. (Or whether Bruce is around for him to do so--stupid Age of Ultron taking away Tony’s science bro.) And there are a million ways Bucky could react to finding out, too. I may write one or more ways it could go in this same sketch/outline way later. For now I just have the basic premise.

#Tony Stark #my writing #kinda #Marvel #Iron Man #Bucky Barnes #what if #Tony Stark with superpowers

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script-nef · 5 years ago

Text

A fluffy dog is a great pillow | Aizawa Shouta

Hades!Aizawa | Greek Gods AU

Category: fluff

1.3k words; Aizawa’s greatest rival in his realm is a three-headed dog

Your side of the bed is cold. That’s what wakes Aizawa up from his much-needed slumber, the lack of familiar heat. His eyes crack open despite his brain insisting that he keeps them closed, and sure enough, you’re nowhere to be seen.

The joints in his back pop as he stretches lightly sitting up. The air in his palace is always chilly and it would have made goosebumps along his bare top if he was human. It’s one of the things you always complain about and use as an excuse to slip into his robes. You think it’s sneaky. He thinks it’s adorable.

Servants file into the room at his call, holding his clothes and various rolls of scripts. Even looking at them is enough to make him groan and return to bed. Aizawa hates his fortune of pulling the short straw compared to the other gods. They get to wreak havoc and mess with humans as much as they like without a second thought about him, who’s stuck with cleaning up their messes in the afterlife. Bakugou, the God of War, is the most troublesome of them all right now because he’s throwing a tantrum by creating, who would have guessed it, war.

Lots and lots of war. Which means extra humans are dying. Which means his time with you diminishes. And with the number of diseases and crises that are happening around the world right now, Aizawa is so close to grabbing the brat by his throat and casting him off into Tartarus. Along with Mineta for the diseases.

The only thing stopping him is how you would frown admonishingly at him if he does.

Moaning, Aizawa drags himself off the comfortable and plush bed and dresses in his usual black robe. His tailors have long given up on trying to make fancy and colourful clothes for him, knowing it would just collect dust in storage.

The servants trot after him with scrolls piled high in their arms, rapidly reading them out for him to make the decision. Most of them are mind-numbingly similar; they range from killers to normal civilians to worshippers to heathens, and his verdict is nearly instantaneous thanks to the amount of repetitive work he’s done over millennia. He’s more focused on tracking you down in this uselessly huge palace. But you’re not in any of your usual spots: not in the library, not in the personal garden he created for you or the dining hall enjoying treats.

Aizawa eventually makes his way to the throne room, folding himself on the huge throne. One huge stack done, about thirty more to go.

He groans and lays his head on the obsidian armrest, hoping the freezing stone would numb his brain so he would have an excuse to get out of this chore. He has competent workers. Surely they could do it and leave him alone with you to enjoy the afternoon. But, as usual, his work ethics get in the way.

His eyes drag across the large room until they reach a black furball hiding halfway in the shadows. The bright red collar on its neck indicates its Cerberus, but a bit of white also gleams through in the dark. Frowning, he waves the attendants off and makes his way to it.

To his delight, it’s you that’s wearing the white dress he got you a couple of days ago and is currently being smothered by Cerberus’s fur. All three of its heads lift at his arrival, whimpering quietly as not to wake you. He scratches between its several pairs of ears to calm it down and it returns to its previous position.

Aizawa directs his attention to you, snoozing away while snuggling in the dog’s warmth. He crouches down, sweeping your hair behind your ear to get a clear look at your face. Your face is serene, eyelashes fluttering while your lips form into a small smile. You do that whenever you have a nice dream, and he’s half tempted to summon Shinsou to enable him to enter them. His consideration for your privacy always stops him, though.

It’s your first time wearing the dress and he’s pleased with how beautiful you look in it, how it hugs your form perfectly. You squealed and thanked him profusely when you received it, giving him a rare hug. He revelled in the sensation of your body against his before you apologised and detached from him.

Pushing away Cerberus’s legs gently, Aizawa squirms into place next to you. His arm rests around your shoulder, playing with slivers of your hair. You complained before how the change in atmosphere was absolutely abysmal for them but they seem to be regaining their shine now. He presses light kisses to your head and you wake up at the contact.

You yawn as your eyes crack open to the unfamiliar ceiling of the great hall. Aizawa hums your name, smiling at your panicked squeak.

“Aizawa-san!”

“I told you, it’s Shouta. You don’t have to be formal with me.” He loves how you get flustered when he asks you to be casual with him and he truly loves your flushed face.

“S—Shouta. Sorry, I’m still… kind of embarrassed.” You burrow your face into Cerberus’s fur, eyes peeking out. He gives you a kind and soft smile, slipping his arm behind your waist and pulling you towards him. Another squeak escapes you as you fall onto his uncovered chest.

“Why are you sleeping here? Was the bed uncomfortable?” He did his best to change everything to suit your human body since you weren’t as tough as him or the other permanent residents of the Underworld, except for the temperature. It just returns to its frigid cold after hours of him readjusting it.

“No, of course not! Everything is amazing and lovely, don’t worry! I just went to get a cup of water and I passed this hall. And Cerby was curled up here, looking so sad all alone, and he was whimpering in the dark, so… I was just going to hug him and give him some treats but I accidentally fell asleep.” You coo at its adorable faces as you rub on them. “Aw, aren’t you all adorable, yes you are! I don’t understand why people think you’re so scary when you’re just a big pile of soft hair and mush and love.”

You completely ignore him as you baby-talk to the harmless monster more, kissing it on its three snouts. Aizawa’s eyes narrow as he feels heat rising to his head. He’s never liked how you’re so affectionate to the dog, how you’d immediately leave his side for a chance to cuddle it. His eyes would pierce into the back of your head while his servants sigh in the background, shaking their heads at their master’s antics.

This dog again, even after I told it to stay away from [Name]... It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s just one of many, many monsters I have in this place and I can easily replace it with a ca—

“Ah, Cerby! Ew!” You groan as its three tongues lick your face, salivating all over you. “This was new! I’m sorry, I’ll wash i—” Your apology is cut short as Aizawa lifts you up in his arms, glaring at the dog. It whimpers under his glower, heads bowing. “Ai—Aizawa?”

“I told you, it’s Shouta. Besides, it’s fine.” He turns and carries you down the hallway. “You’re not going to wear it for much longer, anyway.”

He absolutely adores your blushing face.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta imagine #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha imagine #boku no hero academia imagine #bnha one shot #boku no hero academia one shot #bnha #boku no hero academia #aizawa #aizawa shouta #fluff #greek gods au #female reader

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etherian-affairs · 6 years ago

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Mermista's Wild Ride.

This is a crackship roller coaster. It includes Merdak, Entrapdak, Mertrapta, and Perfume Weaver mentions.

Every section was written based on reaction to the previous section in the discord server I wrote this in. In real time!

Anyway buckle up.

==========

The Hordak esq creature was baring down on Mermista fast. Entirely too fast. She had also made the mistake of not noticing it over the other soldiers she was fighting. A rather large mistake. For a brief moment Mermista really thought she was going to finally bite it. Fear fills her in her final moments, real deep fear.

As the thing reared up its weapon, sneering at her, the Princess of Salineas finds an arm warp around her waste. With a yelp she's tugged to the side, and a large energy cannon attached to an armor encased arm is extended out. It hums with power for a moment, power that is suddenly unleashed.

The brutes arm is gone in a flash. Then there's another flash and the top half of its body is gone, simply erased from existence. The remains fall over lifeless.

Lord Hordak releases Mermista, she stumbles, wide eyed and staring up at the alien conquerer in shock and something else.

He looks serious, focusing on the battlefield as he releases the built up heat from his arm cannon. The flames of destruction that he himself has born during this engagement flicker in the backdrop to highlight him. Like a stoic god of war in an oil painting. "Are you alright?" He asks as he glances down at Mermista.

"Uh... Yeah... I'm good." Mermista feels a burning sensation crawl up her cheeks.

"Good. Pay more attention to your sorroundings moving forward." Hordak adds as he readies his weapon and fires on another target, returning to the fray proper as if this entire moment did not happen.

...

"Princess Mermista. You seem distracted." The voice jolts Mermista out of her daydreaming. Hordak is standing before her, quirking a brow at her surprise. When had he approached her? She had been watching him how could he have approached her without her noticing?!

Watching him for entirely Alliance related reasons of course.

"Oh. Yeah sorry. I've just been... Thinking about stuff." The princess tries to brush it off casually. He does not need to know anything about these nonsense feelings swirling inside of her mind.

Hordak nods, seeming to ponder that response before looking out from their campsite to the fields below. Visibly charred and broken from the battle earlier, even in the moonlight. "Indeed. There is much to think about. It seems we have Prime's forces on the run... For now. The use of heavy weaponry has closed the bottleneck of his armies entry."

"Yeah..."

"Still. If you cannot remain focused you should get rest while things are calm." Hordak notes, nodding to Mermista. "I can keep watch of this post while you do so, so do not worry."

Again heat flushes Mermistas cheeks. Why? He's just being a fellow soldier. Collected and calculating and thoughtful...

"Thanks. I think I will." Mermista tries to say casually. Taking a deep breath and heading to her sleeping roll. Best to sleep this off.

...

Burning cheeks? Easy to handle. A flutter in the chest when he brings her coffee in the mornings of their shared deployment? That can be pushed down. That slight pleasant burning in her core as he destroys the armies of their enemy? That's a fluke.

This though. This... Ache in her chest... This Mermista can barely stand. It's eating at her.

They've met back up with another group of Alliance soldiers. Specifically a group with Entrapta in it. It was immediate, the Princess of Dryl shouting "Hordak!" And literally leaping into his arms with a happy laugh.

And Hordak catching her.

The way they smile at each other. The way they nuzzle and give each other gentle loving kisses. The sheer... Apparentness of their love. The bottomless affection they seem to share. Even the way they immediately and seamlessly get to work together. As if they barely need to say anything to know each other's thoughts.

It hurts. Mermista hurts.

It doesn't help that Sea Hawk is here too. He's nice and she is fond of him but he does not currently mix well with these very problematic feelings.

"Oh Mermiiiistaaaa! The greatest soldier there ever waaaaas!" Sea Hawk sings at her side.

She groans and glowers. Pulling her eyes away from the happy lab couple working on bots nearby. "Please stop..."

She isn't sure who she's talking to at this point.

...

"Oh I can share." Entrapta says with a mischievous grin.

Mermista stammers. Actually stammers. How had it come to this? Sure she had been a tad surly and more flippant than usual but how had Entrapta of all people figured out what was going on? And why was Entrapta okay with it?! "yeah well... What about Hordak?"

Entrapta giggles. "Oh he's fine with it too. Watch!" She glances back. "Hordak!"

The Lord looks up from his maintenance of Emily. "Hmm?"

"Would you want to sleep with Mermista sometimes?" Entrapta asks. "It would help her morale!"

Mermista is beat red. Entrapta is shouting right now. Alliance soldiers are staring. This is awful. All Mermista can do is wait for Hordak to tell Entrapta no. That Entrapta is being ridiculous as she tends to do.

However Hordak just nods. "Very well. It will likely increase her battlefield efficiency if she has been desiring that."

Mermista gapes.

Some of the people listening in gape too.

...

"No!" Adora shouts. "No! No no no! No!"

Mermista is clutching her forehead. Beat red. Entrapta can be so loud and soldiers gossip and now everyone knows.

Everyone. Knows. The other Princesses, the entire army, probably Horde Prime himself.

"It's already... Weird! That Entrapta and Hordak are a thing!" Adora adds on to her exclaiming.

"Pretty sure that's rude!" Entrapta shoots back looking grumpy.

"It is." Hordak assures his wife. He's unbelievably calm.

Suddenly Sea Hawk let's out another loud sob. He has been doing that. "Mermista! I thought we HAD SOMETHING!!!" His eyes are red, filled with tears.

Mermista wants to die. Just bury her at sea right now.

Catra raises her hand from the crate she's sitting on. "To be fair to Mermista. Hordak IS hot."

"Catra No!" Adora screams in horror.

"I will not be sleeping with Catra, even if it won the war." Hordak notes mostly to Entrapta.

"Ouch." Catra fires back sarcastically.

This is all the worst.

...

"So let me get this straight" Queen Glimmer of Bright Moon looks over the assembled Etherian Alliance Ruling Council. "You have all called a council meeting to discuss... A moratorium on sleeping with Hordak?..."

"Yes!" Adora stands and shouts. "It's a distraction from the war effort!"

"This is ridiculous!" Entrapta shouts back. "It's a morale boosting activity!"

"He's evil Entrapta! It's already weird you do it!"

Mermista is currently trying to slide under the table to hide. Anything to get away from this.

Perfuma raises her hand. "Excuse me... I have a question."

Glimmer sighs. "Yes Perfuma?"

"Is the issue that Hordak is evil?..."

"Yes!" Adora shouts.

"That's irrelevant!" Entrapta shouts back. "He's just ethically divergent!"

Perfuma cuts through. "Um... Okay... So... If the issue is he's evil... Can we still sleep with other evil people? Like Shadow Weaver?"

"WHAT?!" Catra and Adora both scream in unbridled horror.

Even Hordak looks over at Perfuma with wide eyes at that one. Mermista feels slightly better for a moment as the focus leaves her.

...

"Okay!" Adora shouts. She never stops shoutong. She's gesturing to the large board covered in pictures and documents with string and other nonsense. They've been here for hours. "I think we have this worked out!"

Entrapta, standing next to Adora nods. "Yes! This seems fair!"

Everyone else is sitting back watching this unfold. Entrapta and Adora basically completely took over for this whole meeting. Mermista continues to look and feel like dying, Hordak looks quietly amused, Catra is glowering, Perfuma strangely hopeful.

Queen Glimmer just looks so tired.

Really everyone else is some mix of those and the air in the room is heavy and awkward.

"So!" Adora continues. "There will be no more casual sleeping with Hordak with the singular exception of Entrapta who due to sleeping with him previously and remaining effective is allowed to continue. However others may petition the alliance council for permission to sleep with Hordak if they can show good cause that it would somehow aid the war effort!"

Entrapta nods. "Hordak and I retain full rights to veto any yes given by the council in this regard though!" She adds.

"This is so stupid." Catra mutters quietly.

"Furthermore!" Adora says loudly. "We should all be aware of the Shadow Weaver clause that states that Princess Perfuma, and only her, may sleep with Shadow Weaver under stipulation that she never ever talk about it again!"

"Yay" Perfuma claps.

...

As everyone leaves Hordak approaches Mermista. The Princess of Salineas looks up at him, feeling so... Everything. This crush spiralled out of control in ways she could scarcely comprehend and she just wanted to hide in Salineas forever.

"Hordak..." She mutters.

"Princess Mermista." He replies, glancing around as people file out quickly. Trying to escape this horrible meeting.

Suddenly when they're mostly alone the Lord leans forward, close to Mermista. She almost shivers. "Petty Alliance rulings aside. Feel free to visit Dryl as you desire." He grins. Red teeth glinting in the light. "We are good at being discrete." He adds before standing back up and marching away to rejoin Entrapta.

Mermista is beet red.

...

Mermista stares up at the ceiling of the royal chambers of Dryl. A room of metal and purple and fluffy furniture. She's in the bed, a massive thing. How did she even get here? It's all a blur. Not actually of course, she knows exactly how she got here, she followed through on the invitation. The emotional journey is what's a blur.

All because Hordak saved her life. Honestly that's kind of cliche and pathetic.

Before Mermista can let out a groan of defeat she feels a body press against get and glances over. Entrapta. Naked and curled against the Princess of Salineas. Snoring and cuddling. Mermista stares at her for a moment in... Bewilderment? This whole situation is so bizarre.

Then the person on her opposite side speaks. "Cute isn't she?" Hordak asks with a pleased tone. "Do not worry about waking her, Entrapta sleeps like the dead." He adds.

"Yeah..." Mermista nods absently before staring back up at the ceiling. "The alliance is going to kill me..."

"They don't need to know." Hordak adds. "Do you want breakfast? I can make something for you two."

Mermista looks over at him. "Uh... Okay." Might as well get free food if this is happening after all.

#merdak #entrapdak #perfume weaver #my writing #nonsense

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pondernce · 6 years ago

Text

Behind Closed Doors

Hi!

So this is the first thing I’ve written in almost 5 years, and the first for Outlander. (be kind to me). I hope you like it, and much love to @julesbeauchamp for her support <3

Jamie and Claire meet again in less than ideal circumstances...

Chapter 1

He could feel her hands on him, soft, delicate fingers tracing the planes of his back. They danced over scar tissue--the groves hewn into his skin by force--healing the wounds for him. Her mouth dipped to caress his jaw, the feathery brush of lips chased by soft, humid breath. A kiss on his neck. His Adam’s Apple. The juncture where sternocleidomastoid met trapezius. For a moment he let his eyes close, lost in the sensation. She found his mouth then, her legs winding over his hips and guiding him, urging him on.

Immersed in her, the gentle sound of the crashing waves was lost to him. He pressed up onto his hands, wrenching his mouth away because he needed to see her, needed to find those eyes…

Jamie woke up.

His heart raced, his skin was damp with sweat and he was uncomfortable stiff in his pants. As he was every time he remembered. And he always woke before he could see her face again. Aye, he could call her to his mind’s eye and he’d drawn her a dozen dozen times, but nothing so vivid as those dreams. The sketches were never quite right, and he knew that if he could only see her face in those dreams, he’d be able to capture her likeness completely.

With a sigh bordering on a groan, Jamie sat up and glanced at his phone. Five in the morning wasn’t too early, he supposed. At least it gave him time for a workout before he headed to university. A chance to get the nerves out. For some, perhaps, university was an unnerving step into adulthood. Leaving home, moving into a new place, the excitement of newfound independence. But Jamie had already made his move. From Highland Scotland to the Middle East, with the RAF. He couldn’t look forward to seeing what lads and lasses barely out of their A-levels would make of “adulthood” when they had no real responsibilities yet. And what would they make of him?

The streets of London were hardly quiet at this hour, but they were remarkably empty, and that’s what Jamie needed. A place to clear his head- to get her out of his head- before hustling through the crowded halls of King’s College, London. He jogged through the streets of Southwark, dodging the odd dog walker or early commuter. His route to King’s wouldn’t be long, thankfully. His military salary afforded him a nice enough flat close to the school, just across the river. He shared it with another Scot, Rupert, whom he’d served with in Afghanistan. It was a small mercy that Rupert spent almost all his time at his lass’ flat. The bloke was cheerful, but a bit too much sometimes.

Rounding the corner, Jamie checked the time on his FitBit and pushed his pace up, aiming to finish out five kilometers before he made it home. It wouldn’t due to be late for his first course though, even if his schedule for the day of Legal Philosophy and Medical Ethics hardly seemed interesting.

---

Legal philosophy could have been interesting, if the professor hadn’t put half the class to sleep. Jamie wasn’t surprised though, given that the majority couldn’t have been more than 18. High off being in Uni and hardly interested in what the ancient man before them had to say about the foundations of Legalism. The two girls next to him hardly paid attention, too busy giggling. He recognized the blonde from orientation, and she clearly recognized him.

Throughout the lecture he took diligent notes, only to avoid the girl’s eyes. The former soldier nearly bolted when the course ended.

He had nearly two hours before his next course, and plans to meet that bloke from the Rugby team. He’d gone out before orientation, trying to find some way to get involved. Many veterans struggled in university to find community, and he hoped he wouldn’t be another statistic.

“Fraser!”

He turned, smiling over a few startled students to see John Grey speed walking towards him. He was young, but Jamie found he didn’t mind that energy, John seemed a good person.

Smiling, he bumped the shorter man gently on the shoulder. “Good to see ye, I hope yer class wasn’t as boring…”

“Haven’t had class yet, just came early to grab lunch with you. We have practice this afternoon, you know? You’re welcome to come.”

Jamie glanced at his phone and shook his head. “Medical Ethics,” he sighed, “can ye tell I’m keen?” he laughed and shook his head. He wanted to get a background in law before he tried to leap into counter terrorism, and how did medicine relate to that?

“Pity. I hope it’s interesting.”

“I doubt it.”

Jamie didn’t mean to be cynical about university. It was supposed to be an opportunity to make something of himself after his medical discharge. Only, he found it overwhelmingly uncomfortable. And pointless. When he’d been in the war, reviewing briefings and in charge of his men, everything had been urgent. Learning on the fly, under pressure, where attention meant life or death. Here, he had the feeling he’d never need to attend to do well. It was disheartening.

His mind drifted as they ate. His fingers itched for his sketchbook, idle in his book bag. Jamie has taken up the hobby in the barracks, well before he met his muse. But the last two Moleskins had been interspersed with pages devoted to her. It had been a year, he knew he needed to let go. But he couldn’t yet.

“Jamie,” John’s voice cut into his thoughts, jarring the plans for how he’d shade the moonlight dappled on her skin from his thoughts.

“Och, Sorry. What was it ye we’re saying?”

John pursed his lips with that good natured shake of the head Jamie had already come to realize was a habit. “We should get going to class, where’s your head, man?”

The scot blushed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck with a laugh. “Nothing, sorry. I didn’t sleep well, ye ken?” It wasn’t quite a lie, given he almost never slept well, or the medically recommended amount. With a small nod he grabbed their rubbish, scolding himself internally on the short walk to the bin.

Jamie knew better. He wanted to make something of himself that wasn’t available in the military, and that’s why he was here. He’d done the work, networked with other former soldiers already working for MI5 and in the government, learned what he needed to do if he wanted to work against domestic terrorism. But university should also be for himself, shouldn’t it? A change to live a bit of a normal life, to decompress after so much time at war. He knew he was lucky to even be back in the UK, let alone at a prestigious university. With a sigh and a quick shake of his head, he returned to John.

“I’ll be at practice after my class eh, make it up to you. Ye free for a pint after?” He grabbed his bag and fell into step alongside the shorter man, making a mental note of their plans as John went off about something on the news that morning. His brother was running for Parliament and the whole family had been in politics for centuries. Perhaps someday Jamie would be able to take advantage of such a connection, but presently he just needed the company.

They parted ways at one of the newer campus buildings, all shiny glass and stone. London was like that--an eclectic mix of modern and tradition that had Jamie missing Scotland more than foreign shores ever had. He’d not been home in years, and never truly wanted to go back. At least not yet.

“Excuse me,” he shoulder his way through a gaggle of students in the corridor, looking for the correct room. “104, 106… Christ.” 108 had to be the smallest room in the building, if not on the bloody campus. He’d failed to realize that the modern building connected to one of the oldest buildings, where the rooms became cramped cubicles of stone with sharply pointed windows, more reminiscent of a church than a university. The floor was old oak pitted and polished by centuries of steps, and Jamie could almost trace the path to one of the few available seats left. He was a large bloke--a fact which became abundantly clear as he settled behind the old fashioned desk. His knees knocked against the tabletop when he tried to sit up, forcing him to fold them awkwardly over the side. “Bit cramped, aye?” He joked quietly, meeting the eyes of a petite girl watching him. She flushed violently and nodded, stuttering over her reply.

“It-It’s a small course,” she shrugged finally, milky eyes darting back to her phone.

Jamie hummed, his own phone lost in the bottom of his bag after he got off the tube. After the military he apparently lacked the addiction to smartphones present in the rest of his generation. Or perhaps he was just old. Stretching his legs, he inadvertently cracked his back and sighed in relief, twisting to traction the other side just as another student walked in.

He froze, tracking her steps as she came into the small room. Slightly flustered, curls escaping her high bun and dragging over the material of her lightweight olive jumper, and her arms full of files and textbooks, she was unmistakably the same woman. His muse. Jamie traced every line of her, the smooth curves he knew with his hands and his pencil. He watched the long arc of her graceful neck, so pale and flawless against her dark hair. He couldn’t see her eyes, not yet, and the desire to almost had him squirming in his seat. So distracted was he that he failed to notice she hadn’t taken one of the available seats.

His muse had set down her books at the front of the room, shrugged off her camel overcoat and tossed it carelessly over the podium, carved her name into the ancient chalkboard in neat print, and now stood before them all, introducing the course.

His muse was a professor. His muse was his professor.

The name that had been absent from his syllabus and his memories stared mockingly back at him, stark white on deep green. Dr. Claire Beauchamp.

#my fic #behind closed doors #jamie & claire #prof/student au #if you catch a typo let me know!!#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fic

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divagonzo · 6 years ago

Text

Knight’s side Bishop - Ch. 5 of Beloved

Ao3 // FF.net

A/N: My thanks to those who are reviewing and reblogging. ‘Tis appreciated.

In light of having ace followers, this is a T-rated version (and you can find the full one on Ao3) for those lovelies who find adult physical activities less than amazing. *wink* (Cripes I forget who I need to tag for this update) How about @barmy-owl, @headcanonsandmore, @vivithefolle, @lytefoot and I dunno who else.

Give me my demarcation line

Audrey held two cups of tea, one fresh and one tepid. The day-old scones, freshened up slightly for crème tea were her second favourite for breakfast but in this case, anything was better than nothing. She bumped the door with her hip to quietly slip into the room and froze for a moment, thinking that everything went sideways in the last ten minutes.

Hermione was laying her head under his hand, crying. "I can't lose you. I need you. We need you. You have to come back to me, to us." Hermione took his other hand – pale, yet scarred from the brains from the Department of Mysteries so many years ago – and threaded his fingers one by one through hers, using his hand to pillow her cheek on top of his blankets. "You promised me, Ron. You promised me six months and four days ago that you'd never leave me, and to always return to me. Those were part of our vows to one another, you insisted since how important they were to you to have them included. You said our vows had to include them, as your promise to me. I told you it wasn't necessary but you said it was to you, that you insisted on it, even going so far as to promise an Unbreakable vow. I knew you meant it and how serious you meant it."

Audrey took a deep breath, realizing that their entire world hadn't yet gone sideways. It was Hermione finally coping with the grief in her soul. Merlin knew she'd stuffed so much down in her soul already and this was only a small portion she kept locked away inside.

Audrey put down her parcel and paper cups of tea down, content to listen and keep watch while Healer Cattermole took her kip. She could work and focus on the notes in her satchel and not pay too much attention to Hermione lamenting her situation.

While what she was doing was blurring the ethical lines between personal and professional, she owed it to the junior healer more than the distraught witch sobbing into the starched bedclothes. She could answer to Director Sinclair later on if there was an issue. But she would cross that chasm if she came to it.

Audrey opened the file to look over Ron's medical notes. Healer cipher was easy to discern since it was based on Greek and Latin. "Healer Cattermole was right," she thought to herself. "It's a huge balance. Not long enough and he's disabled the rest of his days. Too long and he doesn't wake." Audrey made a couple of notes on the margins about complications and consequences and treatments. She added that they shouldn't try to wake him until Wednesday evening, almost 3 full days after he was brought in. From her previous patients from the war, anyone who was awoken before the 3-day mark was left permanently handicapped and two were in the Janus Thickey ward because of it. After six days and the patient wasn't going to wake at all. That list was over a hundred after the fighting ended. Those were some very dark days, the first week after Voldemort perished.

There was no way in Hell she was going to share that knowledge with anyone remotely related to Ron.

She looked up from her notes and saw Hermione asleep on the blanket, softly snoring. Let her sleep¸she she might be grieving, no one else mattered at the moment except Ron. The lad in the bed, whom Audrey had come to appreciate in the last few years for how much a foundation he was with the family, and also the steadfastness that they all somehow depended on to continue living after losing one of their own, was the focus. Yet she also knew that it was a roll of the dice when it came to whether he was going to pull through this. Even if she believed in luck and burning incense and praying to her ancestors, she wouldn't put a galleon on whether he would come through. And while she knew that it was a critically poor prognosis from all of the medical notes, if anyone could pull through this ordeal and survive the worst, it was the one in the bed, clinging to life and potions to hopefully help him heal, surrounded by passionate people who loved him immensely, to pull him out of his ordeal.

She hoped. The brain was the last frontier in the medical field. There were no guarantees he would even wake.

Audrey looked up from her notes and saw Hermione lay her head down on his hands, weeping into the blanket covering her comatose husband.

'You're home!" Hermione leaped up from the oversized chair she curled up in to read in the evening, a table for her tea next to her along with a stack of books knocked over. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow night!" She snuggled up next to Ron, giving an enormous hug. He immediately stiffened under her crushing hug.

"You're hurt."

"Somewhat but I've been cleared by a Healer. I'm off duty a few days and if you're game, I'd love for you to take a day off to spend it home with me."

"I will," She hugged him again, inhaling his particular scent, mixed with some healing balms, sweat, dirt, and some residual smoke. She pulled back a smidge and felt his hands caressing her face and back of her head. Long fingers threaded into her loose curls up under her evening bonnet before melting into a much-awaited kiss, renewing their vows of promises of return, of accepting however he returned, asking no questions until he was ready to share if he could. And if not, giving him anything he needed to open up to her, even if it was with a particular form of non-verbal communication that they loved sharing.

He pulled back one inch, placing a gentle kiss on her nose and forehead before capturing her lips once again.

Two tears leaked out, washing down her face and across his lips.

"I missed you too, love."

"You were gone so long, too long without you."

"I know. The bugger was moving every night and it was sod all trying to track him down. While he escaped, we also captured his partner and released a dozen muggles they had trafficked in from Morocco. Between that and some contraband potions that were highly dodgy, we broke up a major criminal ring."

"How did, I mean, um, "

"How did I get hurt?" His smile was infectious and Hermione smirked back. "Well, Jones and I were dueling Dolohov – "

"You saw him? Antonin Dolohov?" Hermione blanched.

"Yeah. The two finest duelers in the department and we couldn't take him down. Bugger nailed her but I'd tripped him right before he got his spell off, she wasn't hurt bad. Sure it's enough to make her sore and angry for the next week – "

"You mean?"

Ron laughed. "Well, when he tripped, he nailed her right on her arse. She got hit with a massive stinger and it was like getting stung by a Firecrab. I tried to apprehend him when she went down but he escaped, the bastard."

"And you're hurt because – "

"Well, he'd nailed me with a curse earlier."

Hermione gave him a dirty look. "How bad did he hurt you?"

Ron looked down at his feet. "Well, it's not a big deal, but it felt like someone knocked a bludger into my wedding tackle."

"Oh honey," Hermione hugged him again, patently avoiding the front of his trousers. "I know you're in agony."

"I was. It was almost as bad as catching your boney arsed knee in the bits."

"I'm not that bad!"

Ron smiled down at his wife. "Yeah, you are, especially at 8 am after I've been asleep for 2 hours and you shift to get out of bed after a lie-in."

"I don't mean to," She cringed and Ron laughed again.

"I know, love, but you do anyway. It's a barmy way to wake up from a good sleep." Ron smiled down at his lovely wife. "So if you're looking for some fun tonight, I'll be happy to take care of you but I dunno if my cock will be up for the task."

"Well," Hermione dropped her eyes a bit, tinkering with the belt holding up his trousers, "Maybe a hot shower and some tender loving care will change your mind?" She looked up at him and saw his eyes had grown wide and dark.

"Are you offering, love?"

She reached for his hand, her face blushing hard, pulling him towards the stairs leading to their loo.

Give me my demarcation line

Director Gawain Robards sat back in his ancient chair, the springs squeaking under his girth. "Merlin's saggy bits. Quit begging me for information. I know you're married but I'm not breaking mission protocol to tell you where he is."

"Do you really think I am going to tell anyone?"

"It's not about you. It's about rules for everyone. You probably can keep your gob shut but Smythe? Get him pissed on Firewhiskey and he'll natter all night to Hannah at the Leaky and every sodding bloke who barters in information will be rich – and my Aurors will be dead. So I'd love to let you in on everything but – "

"Rules are rules and for everyone," she lamented. "Well, these rules are crap."

"And I agree but protecting the Aurors out on a mission is paramount. Even you realize that. Do you think Jones likes going away from Aurora and not telling her? She makes you look like a piker when it comes to worrying."

"Rubbish," Hermione crossed her arms while regarded the grizzled Auror Director. Gawain Robards was considerably older than most in the Ministry, having survived both wars and somehow still trusted. "I know Professor Sinestra. She is nothing short of a walking example of a British upper lip."

"You've never gotten a firecall at 3 am from her then. She's ripped my bollocks off me wondering where Hemera was, why she was late returning."

"And yet with all of us honorable people, we still can't be afforded information to know where our partners are at." Hermione stood on the other side of the desk, appearing as a 1.6m towering ball of impotent rage. "This is bullshit, Director."

"I see Weasley's finally rubbed off on you. Good. But that's the thing about rules, Granger. They aren't in place for the honourable people. Those who are find it stifling. The rules are for the ones with little common sense, who would natter about sensitive information to any walking cock and blow investigations or give a tip to someone who is under surveillance.

"We still have a few Death Eaters in the wind, stirring up trouble and causing problems. That is who I send the best out to hunt down." Robards gave her a long, non-blinking look. "So any information that would be shared outside of me and the Aurors in question could have deadly consequences. That's why I am not telling, and why your worries are legitimate but also under mission orders, from me and Kingsley himself."

"Well it's crap."

"I'll take your opinion under advisement."

Hermione picked up her purse and satchel. "So maybe he'll return by the end of the month?"

"It's the 2nd of the Month, Granger. He's only been gone a week."

"I know. I'm asking whether I need to work long hours while he is away."

Give me my demarcation line

Their home was quiet - entirely too quiet. Harry was at work. Ginny was off at Holyhead. Ron was on day 3 of his mission. The fire crackled and her tea steamed for the fifth time. But the house was cold. She was cold. Her world was subdued, like someone turned down the color in a photograph from full color to sepia or even greyscale. Work was satisfying but it wasn't her life. Even the enormous grumpy fuzzball known as Crookshanks, asleep on the footstool by the fire enjoying the warmth, too, was the only real colour in her life. Nothing tasted good and she barely slept, missing his snoring and long arms around her when they shared sleep.

No, her life was off somewhere, on a mission she wasn't privy to, trying to track down the remaining criminals who were responsible for the coup years gone by.

This wasn't the first night she was left home alone while everyone else was out living, working, flying. And it probably wouldn't be the last one, with Ginny flying for the Harpies and Harry and Ron working with the Aurors. But it wasn't like she was going to beg him to stop working in the job he seemed naturally suited to. She shared so much pride in him finding an occupation that he seemed brilliantly suited for.

Soft footsteps drifted to her ears behind her.

"Miss Hermione, is there anything you need this evening?"

She pointed to the plate of croissants and jam on her plate, her dinner when everything tasted like chalk and mouldy cheese, much less sleep. "I wish Ron were home," She said wistfully. "But I don't think you can make him appear right now."

"Well, Miss Hermione, I could fetch Master Ron for you." Hope erupted in her chest. She wouldn't need him long – only 5 minutes to snog him breathless and just know down to her bones that he was alive, healthy, and whole. Maybe she could sleep tonight if she just knew he was fine instead of worrying herself sick. "Kreacher can do that for you." The diminutive elf looked upon her with his watery green eyes, droopy ears, the well-tailored trousers held in place with suspenders and his cravat, emblazoned with the letter B on it and waited.

Ever since he chose to work for Harry for wages and choose his own livery, he had perked up, seemed to grow confident and even taking to being almost polite to her. Almost. She did catch him muttering under his breath on occasion, usually when she was being short-tempered. She took the time to make amends to him later in some way that he appreciated. The last one was finding some old photographs of Regulus Black in the archives. That photo was on the wall of his small room, the one he chose off the kitchen.

Would his appearance compromise mission safety if he showed up at the wrong moment? Would Ron get hurt if he showed up? Face an inquiry? Made redundant? Decisions tossed back and forth in her mind, one as important as the other. A decision erupted in her mind, one that would suffice.

"Kreacher, would you do the following? Would you ask Ron? If he says he is busy, then no. I miss him terribly but not to risk their mission. I know you can apparate silently and that would help him and you."

Kreacher departed in a lightning crack, leaving Hermione alone in the parlour, curled up in the chair by the fire, Crookshanks asleep on the footstool in front of the fire, staying warm, while she waited as each second ticked by on the clock in the foyer.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

She turned to stare at the ancient grandfather clock at the other end of the parlour. It had been in the attic, banished decades ago, according to Kreacher. Harry thought it would be useful once Mr. Weasley fixed it to show their own family – the five of them under the roof, along with Luna and Neville. That present had been a gift from Ron – Kreacher's own arm on the clock, either at home or Hogwarts, and one minuscule location known as the Hog's Head – since Aberforth had taken a liking to the wizened elf and kept half-pint mugs on hand for him – and a few dusty bottles of elf made wine.

Tonight was one of the many nights where she wished that bloody clock had been relegated to the rubbish pile or left in the attic.

A sharp crack exploded across the parlour, frightening Hermione up from her chair. Kreacher, still looking rather dapper, stood before her, his ears hanging down along with his proboscis nose. "Master Ron says he can't leave, that it's too important. And in his words, Kreacher blushed, or what passed for blushing for him, 'Don't believe I don't want to come home and give it to you. I do.' Those are the words he used, Mistress Hermione."

Hermione swallowed down the salty tears that flooded her nose and throat. "Thank you for asking, Kreacher. I appreciate you taking the time to ask. I will see to the dishes if you wish to retire for the night."

Kreacher stood up a little taller – which was not quite 1 meter in height – and straightened his suspenders holding up his dapper trousers. "Master Harry has paid my wages this week and Aberforth has asked that I come to visit him this evening." He made a noise which she had learned passed for a laugh. "But if you need me," he croaked.

"Yes, I will call for you straightaway. Have a good night, Kreacher. Enjoy your half-pint."

"Good evening," He croaked one last time before toddling away to the kitchen doorway, another lightning crack telling her that she was now utterly alone in the house, not including Crookshanks.

Hermione looked at the footstool and saw it empty, too. Crookshanks had left when she wasn't looking, either plodding down to the kitchen to eat or to chase the vermin that infested the second basement. No matter how hard she tried, various bugs and rodents made their way into that damp space. That was the only downside to having a shared home in central London.

She looked at the tome in her hands, something dry and related to work that she couldn't be arsed for the moment, not when she was completely alone in the enormous home the five of them shared. She couldn't even ring up her parents, not after the last exploding row she had with her mum a fortnight previous.

She looked at the small table and saw her forlorn croissants and jam. She cringed, the thought of that meal making her gag. Hermione pulled her wand from her curls and pointed it towards the other table, a silently accio towards the basket containing the takeaway locations in their neighborhood. Like most nights when she was home alone with no one else to share a meal with, she put it back down, sighing to herself. She replaced the book in her work satchel, locked down the fireplace for the night and slowly walked up the stairs to the second landing, going to bed at half seven without her dinner or her lover.

Give me my demarcation line

Hermione raised her head with a start. "Audrey?"

The older witch stopped packing her satchel. "I was about to leave to do my rounds. Do you need anything?"

"No, I don't think so. Something woke me, I think. Did I doze off?"

"I do think you took a kip. You were pretty quiet for about half an hour." She glanced at Healer Cattermole and saw her put her nose into her parchment – a Healer sign that they weren't paying attention. "You were crying earlier and I think you cried yourself to sleep."

"Well, um, I might have," Hermione lifted her face up and rubbed it, moving the bonnet around on her hair and showing a few escaped curls. "I am exhausted."

"Well, if you need me, I'll be around the hospital. I have rounds to do and patients to check on."

Hermione gave her a pointed look. "I need my husband awake, healed and completely healthy."

"We're working on it." Audrey collected her satchel along with her purse and went over to Hermione. She gave a hug and whispered words of encouragement and she left, leaving Hermione with Healer Cattermole.

Mary stole a glance at the couple on the other side of the room. Maybe Mrs. Granger-Weasley would settle in rather than acting as an impatient owl. She put her head back down to continue writing.

Quill scratching on parchment was the only noise in the room. Healer Cattermole was writing up what ideas she had for saving the patient and how much risk it was for potential infections, for recovery and therapy to help him if he woke, and how long that might take. The senior healers were glad to have some ideas from the Muggles and how they could help their patients they couldn't heal straightaway. Anything to help the patient without harming him was all on the table. But now it was still a wait and see.

A harsh hiss broke the silence of the room. Healer Cattermole looked up and saw Hermione collecting her small purse. "I, uh, um, I need to run home and change clothes. I'll be back shortly."

The young healer nodded. "I'm on duty until 8 pm." She turned her head back to the parchment, continuing to scribe additional ideas.

"Thanks," Hermione bustled out the door.

Time ticked by and Healer Cattermole continued to work, listening to the even breathing of Mr. Weasley in the bedclothes.

Sometime later, she looked up to see Harry return, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "How is he?" Harry asked softly, not to disturb Mrs. Weasley who was tending her son in the bed by adjusting his blankets, rubbing his feet and hands with what appeared to be some sort of lotion and moving his legs in what appeared to be a bicycle movement. Arthur unpacked her large tote, bringing out more potions and lotions and a pillow for Mrs. Weasley. He placed it gently in her chair before returning to her side, looking down at his son and surreptitiously wiping his face occasionally.

"He's not moved since he was placed in the bed, according to my notes," Healer Cattermole looked past Harry and grimaced, "Well, he's not moved on his own since he was put in the bed."

"Notes?"

"Yes, sir," she looked down some to avoid his harsh stare. "Healer Reeves stayed with him while I caught a kip. She said she wanted me alert today so I did as she instructed. When I returned, she left. Mrs. Weasley-Granger left a little after she did, saying she needed to run home and change and would return." She looked back up at him and he tried to smile and failed, instead looking vexed. Worry creased her face in discomfort. "I am a junior healer and I have to follow any Healer's instructions, especially when they will offer an hour's rest."

Harry finally was able to smile. "I know Healer Reeves pretty well, too, professionally. We have to do what she tells us, right?"

The junior healer sighed in relief. "Yes sir, we do."

"It's odd that we didn't pass Hermione or Audrey in the lift or downstairs," Arthur spoke up and Molly silently shrugged. "No matter,"

Harry took a seat in the plastic chair on the other side of the room, facing the door. Some habits were hard to break and having his back to the door was the worst one. But then he didn't expect the worst to happen since it already had, putting Ron in the hospital bed teetering between life and death.

"I think I'm going to go home and change too, and maybe check-in at the office before returning."

"I'll stay with our sons," Molly looked across the room at Harry, too. "I won't leave them alone today."

He felt a rush of affection for Mrs. Weasley for her comment. It still boggled him from time to time how his adoptive family actually liked him and wanted him around.

Harry went to the side table and reviewed all of the potions there, along with the script on each one signifying what he was taking. Nerve regeneration potions, blood replenishing potions, an ampule of clear liquid sealed inside a glass vial, strong pain potions, and two bottles of skele-gro. Harry put the paper down, unread, and really looked at Ron under all of the bandages and protective padding.

"Well, I'll, um, I'll be back at lunch, then, and then after dinner. I can stay the night if you want to go home and sleep." Arthur came over to hug Molly from behind, whispering soft words into her ears and only for her ears. Harry averted his eyes, seeing the ones whom he cherished in a moment of intense intimacy, almost like walking in on them. He didn't look towards his surrogate parents, not while they were having a somewhat private conversation.

The door crashed open and Harry had his wand pointed at the door before Arthur could lift his head. George stood there looking haggard and disheveled. "I came as soon as I heard," he told them. He bent over, huffing and puffing, holding his side like he had a stitch.

He looked at Harry and watched him keep his wand trained on George. "Tell me something that only I'd know."

"Harry!"

"Either tell me or you're going to have a bad headache while in a holding cell at the Ministry."

"You're the reason why the git got new robes his sixth year."

Harry dropped his wand instantly, feeling mortified at following protocol in a hospital room.

Molly toddled over to hug her son fiercely before she let go, letting her husband get a hug in too.

"How bad – " the words got lodged in his throat, looking gaunt. Dark shadows hung under his brown eyes and his clothes looked as if he slept in them. He probably had yet again.

"He's pretty bad. It's stable but it's a wait and see."

"Fuck," he said half-heartedly. He looked up and saw Harry standing on the other side of the bed, looking forlorn. "On duty?"

"Unfortunately."

"Did you do it?"

"George Weasley!"

"No, it's fair he asks." Harry shuffled his feet. "And no, I didn't do it but it still happened while I was with him."

"You're always there when something happens. Why?"

"Hell if I know, George."

The two men shared a long, hard look before George turned away. "So what is wrong with him?"

"Head injury," Molly spoke up first, dabbing her eyes yet again. "They did some barbaric muggle surgery on him to save him but he's like this. They said they will try waking him later today. But if he doesn't wake, it's a race. If he doesn't wake shortly, he – " her voice broke into a gut-wrenching sob.

"They said if they can't wake him soon enough, he might never recover, or wake. But if they wake him too soon, he could be disabled permanently."

"Fuck," George spoke under his breath. "Why him?" George turned on Harry, a few inches shorter but with ingrained anger at the world. "Why did he get hurt? Everyone aims for you. Why him?"

"A walking knob ended excuse of MLS officer cocked up. So blame me if it helps you feel better, but I didn't do it."

George acknowledged Harry's explanation before he turned back towards his brother in the bed. "He looks like a half-wrapped mummy." He huffed. "Brilliant," he said to no one in particular, "the first time in three years I get a weekend off because this prat was gonna cover for me – "

"George!"

" – and he goes and gets himself hurt. I wonder who I made crackers in the universe to make this happen to me again."

"This isn't about you, George. It happened and – "

"I know, Mum," George yelled before muttering sorry under his breath. "I'm complaining and this sucks and I can't cope. Cut me some slack huh?" George turned back to Harry. "You know, I don't want him looking like Moody before he's 25. Maybe you can suggest he retire or get a desk job, huh? Not like I want the tosser sharing space with Fred before I do."

"George Weasley!" Arthur's face was bright red. "That's enough." A sob erupted. "Quit upsetting your Mum."

"Fine," He made his way to the door. "I'll be back later." He stormed out, leaving the door open to the hallway.

"Arthur, why - " Molly's words echoed out from her husband's chest.

"Do you remember how you were after Gideon and Fabian were murdered?"

"Yeah, I do. But after Ginny, I got over it."

"And it took how long?"

"Few years," she muttered. "But – "

"It's only been a few years. This is hard for him. We should give him some distance on this."

"Last time we did Percy had to take him somewhere to dry out."

"Well he has more help now," Arthur saw Harry standing quietly, distracted by the side table of potion vials. "Harry, you know he doesn't blame you for what happened."

"I know but it still bothers me," he shrugged. "Anyway, I'll manage better once Ginny arrives."

"Did you owl her?"

"Well, no. I figured Hermione did."

"Well, we didn't owl her. We did let Fleur know but she's home with the kids since Bill is in Madagascar for the Bank."

"Bugger," Harry grimaced. "I better owl her or firecall the Harpies office to let her know. Last time I checked, they were on a tour of the Far East right now. I dunno if she will be able to take emergency leave. You think we should tell Charlie?"

"I think he needs to know, even if he can't come home because of the expense."

"You stay," Arthur came over to give Harry a much-needed hug. Arthur pulled back, looking slightly down at Harry through his glasses. "I'll see to contacting the others, including Bill. I'd be more comfortable if you were here keeping Molly company while I was away." Arthur quietly left the two behind, to see informing the others.

Harry looked over and saw Molly pull out a skein of wool and set her knitting needles to work. She was immediately engrossed in what she was doing – reading the Daily Prophet and glancing every so often at her work. He'd been in this world 12 years now and seeing how she could multitask using magic always put a smile on his face and warm his heart.

Harry pulled a rigid plastic chair to the side of Ron's bed and sat down, trying to find a comfortable spot before giving it up as a bad job. He leaned in while using his wand to silently spell the area around Ron's bed into a cone of silence, keeping Molly from knowing what he wanted to talk about.

Some habits never die.

"Ron, I should have listened to you. I should have put a stop to the entire mission once I realized Trowbridge was brought on. Damn," He ran his hands through his hair before smudging his glasses, making the person before him even blurrier. "Why didn't I listen to you? Why did I just let things slide again." Harry ran his hands through his hair and fought down to anguish in his heart.

"I fucked up real good this time."

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essiefreds · 7 years ago

Photo

This one’s wild.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22

Word Count: 3125

Tagged: @hotemotionalmess

Almost the minute you walked into headquarters the following day, after a night of restless sleep filled with dreams that you were positive had been nightmares, but that you could not describe in detail, Director Fury intercepted you.

“What have you learned?” he asked, looking and sounding patient, although his question made you wonder if he was really willing to be so.

“Uh… probably what you already have hundreds of files on,” you replied, wanting to step around him, but not wanting to risk it. “I just had him tell me about himself."

"You ate dinner with him.”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “I think he’s been craving human interaction, but he hasn’t been able to form trust with anyone enough to ask them to spend time with him.” You lifted your shoulders. “I didn’t exactly give him a choice yesterday, but I think I must’ve convinced him I’m trustworthy, because he asked me to eat with him.”

Also, no one’s called it ‘had dinner with him’. Why is that? Is it because 'had dinner with him’ makes it sound like a date, or something? Maybe. No one’s comfortable with the idea of the super soldier dating when he’s barely ventured out of his apartment, apparently.

Director Fury did not relax, but he did say, “It’s a start,” so you supposed that was as close as you were going to get to approval. “What are your plans for today?"

"I’m going to give him some breathing space,” you responded, gratefully moving around Fury as he stepped out of the way, but walked with you towards where you’d established a space for yourself in one of the many sectors of SHIELD’s headquarters. “I don’t want to overwhelm him with my presence, however accepting of it he seems to be.” You paused. “Does he have a way of getting in contact with people down on these levels?”

“Of course,” Fury said. “Why?"

You lifted your shoulders. "I told him that whenever he wants to eat with me, he just has to let me know. I wanted to make sure that he has a way of doing that.”

Director Fury was silent for a moment as you started down a hall towards the vacant room that you’d claimed as an office. You did not have an official job title with SHIELD, other than Agent Y/LN, but since the space had not been occupied, you took it as your own. You always worked better in solitude, rather than with people all around you, talking and moving around.

“You should discuss a direct line of contact with him, see how he feels about that,” Fury finally said as you reached the door to your office.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Whatever gets him moving into the future. If he prefers to have contact with you whenever he wants it, and if you’re comfortable with it, of course, then we should give it to him.” He paused, studying you carefully with his one good eye, and seemingly his eye patch as well. It was kind of an unnerving feeling. “But it’s just for work purposes, obviously. We’re not trying to create a relationship, here."

Something within you protested strongly to this, but you forced it to stay silent as you replied aloud, "Of course, sir. Strictly professional."

"Good,” Fury said. “Send me a memo when you decide to head up there.” He turned, and walked away, leaving you to enter your office on your own.

As soon as the door was closed, you allowed the protesting part of yourself speak its mind: Not form a relationship? What the hell is the cyclops thinking? Of course you want to form some kind of relationship with Steve! How else are you supposed to convince him that he can trust you with the task of helping him adjust? He needs a friend right now, not another SHIELD agent who is only focused on getting the job done. He needs someone who is working to help him, and not just the agency.

There were solid points in that argument. Forming bonds with people that you wanted to help had always been a large component of actually being able to assist someone. When a person felt as though you were a friend, they automatically expressed more trust in you, and were willing to tell you more, and with less hesitation. If Director Fury wanted to get Captain Rogers back into the world sooner rather than later, than it was incredibly necessary that Steve felt like you were his friend.

And you wouldn’t mind being his friend, either. You liked him, quite a lot. He was kind, had a sense of humor, and genuinely seemed interested in you, in your life. Under completely different circumstances, you would not hesitate in trying to befriend a man like him, perhaps even going so far as to ask him on a few dates.

But, because of the current situation, that latter part was completely impossible, and apparently, the former bit was at least a little bit unorthodox. Although you couldn’t understand why. Things pointed in SHIELD’s favor if you befriend Steve.

It meant that, once he actually did adjust to the 21st century enough to be on his own, that someone in SHIELD would still have contact with him. No doubt the agency would still keep tabs on him, but didn’t it make sense to have someone doing so in a more ethical way?

Annoyed, you sat down at your desk, and poked at the snow globe that sat on the surface. You’d need to talk to Director Fury about it in more depth, once you actually had something to report, and could prove that you were managing to get things rolling.

The day passed normally. You sorted through some files that had to do with other assets that SHIELD was debating sending you in on. Namely, Anthony Edward Stark. You knew Stark (how could you not), and that SHIELD had been trying to get him on board with some undisclosed project. They’d gone so far as to help Stark save his own life, even, and you knew that they were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to cash in on that favor. The downside, however, was his attitude about the whole thing. Stark hating owing anybody a favor.

According to the files that had been sent to your office a few days prior, they wanted you to try and shift that opinion.

You didn’t think you’d be able to do that. Your work was dealing with trauma victims and war veterans, and apparently, helping ninety year old men adjust to a future they had suddenly woken up in. You could not change the minds of playboy billionaires.

Also while camped out at your desk, you sent an order in for the most popular movies that had come out during the 1940’s, as well as a few choice films from the 1950’s that you might be able to move onto. Because of SHIELD’s vast resources, digital copies of all the movies, as well as a portable DVD player, were delivered to your office within an hour. These joined the collection of modern movies that you had brought from your apartment. You had a plan, and hopefully, it was a good one.

At one o'clock in the afternoon, you decided that you’d stalled as much as possible, and headed upstairs to Steve’s apartment. On the way, you passed by an intern, who was ushering down the hall with a cart that looked like the one that dinner had been brought up on the night before.

“How is Captain Rogers today?” you asked the intern, who blinked at you.

“Uh… normal? I don’t know.”

“Great, thanks,” you said, refraining from rolling your eyes. You supposed that normal was a good word, though.

You continued down the hall to the door, which you noticed was the only door in the hall, aside from the elevator near the other end. It was kind of startling to realize that this entire floor belonged to Steve, and yet he did not choose to venture beyond that door. There was no reason for him to, however, was there? The hallway was not decorated, had nothing to offer.

Maybe you could change that. You’d have to think on the best way to use the space, to help with your goal of welcoming him to the 21st century.

You knocked on the door. About a minute passed before it opened. You did not think too long on the implications of that, especially because, once the door had opened, and Steve saw it was you standing on the other side, his eyes lit up considerably, and he smiled.

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Hello,” you returned, smiling back. “How’s your day been so far?"

"The same as it usually is,” he replied. His eyes drifted down to the bag you carried with both hands. “What’s in there?"

"A surprise,” you answered. “Can I come in?"

"Of course,” Steve said immediately, stepping out of the way of the door. A big improvement from the day before.

You entered the apartment, and set your bag of DVDs on the sofa. Steve joined you in the main room, and looked at the bag curiously. “I hope this surprise isn’t anything too surprising -”

“Why don’t you let me show you?” you suggested, and he nodded after a moment of hesitation. You reached into the bag, and after rooting around in it for a moment, you pulled out a copy of the oldest movie that had been delivered to you. You turned around, and held it out to Steve.

He stared at it for a moment, and then he lifted his gaze to meet yours. “Casablanca?"

”Casablanca,“ you confirmed, holding it out further, in an effort to encourage him to take it, which he did. "Have you seen it?"

"Of course,” he answered. “It came out in 1942."

"Oh, good,” you said. “You can explain it to me while we watch it, then."

"Wait, what?” he asked as you turned back to the bag, to go about setting up the portable DVD player. “I don’t - I thought you were supposed to be explaining modern things to me?"

"Yeah, and I will,” you said to him, pulling the player and it’s power cord from the bag. “We’ll take turns. We’ll start with a movie that you’ve seen, and then I’ll show you a movie more recent, and then we’ll watch a movie that neither of us has seen. That way, we’ll be even.”

Steve did not appear to know what to think of this. He watched as you plugged in the portable DVD player, and then turned around to look for somewhere to set it up so that you’d be able to watch it together.

“Here,” he said at last, handing you Casablanca, and going to retrieve the table from the night before. “This should work, right?” he asked, holding it up with one hand.

“Yeah,” you agreed, pleased that he was willing to cooperate.

He set up the table for you, and you set the DVD player down on top of it, before putting the DVD itself into it. You then turned to look at Steve. “You’ll probably have to actually sit next to me on the couch, this time,” you said, smirking.

“If you don’t mind,” he replied, hesitantly. You responded by patting the empty cushion beside you, and after a moment, Steve moved around the couch and settled down there. He was clearly uncomfortable, at least for the first few minutes while you prepared the movie.

By the time you’d hit play, he had relaxed, at least enough to actually lean back.

“So… what’s the premise of this movie?” you asked him as the opening credits started to flash across the screen.

He glanced at you. “Uh, well, basically, this guy has to protect a woman and her husband from Nazis,” he explained.

“Why?"

"I can’t tell you that, it’ll spoil the movie.”

“But it’s almost two hours long,” you complained.

He chuckled. “Just watch. It’s pretty good, I think."

"You would think so,” you sighed, but turned your attention to the DVD player nonetheless.

Throughout the movie, you continually glanced over at him to see how he was handling watching it on such as small screen. He seemed to be enjoying himself, however, despite the difference in viewing than what he’d most likely experienced back in his time period. It was probably due to the fact that the movie was familiar to him, and that he wanted to pay attention, just in case you had any questions for him. The plot of the movie was strange, and you found yourself asking questions. Although they were about the movie, they were also check-ins, to see if Steve was still doing all right. He responded amiably and patiently to each one, which was a good sign, that it wasn’t a strain for him to watch the movie on the small screen.

However, you decided that it was probably a good idea to maybe get a bigger one set up, at some point in the future.

Once the movie was over, and the credits were rolling, Steve looked at you, clearly waiting for your assessment.

You had to be honest. “Uhm… I didn’t like it.”

You were relieved when Steve let out a laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest."

"I just - were we supposed to be rooting for that Rick guy and the girl? Because, excuse my language, but Rick was a dick."

Steve merely laughed harder, as you continued to complain about the movie. "Like, okay, it’s obvious they had a past relationship, right, but… why? He was the worst, Steve! And like, is the movie supposed to be romantic? Because it’s not! It was really, really, bad! And the premise of the movie, of people being stuck in Morocco, waiting to try and get to Lisbon, that’s great, but why wasn’t the movie about that?"

"It kind of was,” Steve managed through his laughter.

“No! It was about this jackass of a man, trying to fight against this love for a woman that he had once upon a time, while also trying to make sure she and her husband can get to the United States. I don’t… I don’t get it. It pissed me off.” You shook your head. “This movie is supposed to be a staple film, and it just… it was terrible. Although I do appreciate that it was kind of an original story. Most movies nowadays are just repetitions of something that already exists. Casablanca actually made me feel something, whereas a lot of movies today don’t make me feel anything at all."

"Profound,” Steve said once he’d finally stopped laughing, and you were tempted to hit him, but you didn’t. “So, I’m going to guess that love in modern movies isn’t portrayed that way?”

“Not at all,” you responded, and he laughed again. “And, as such!” You reached for your DVD bag, and pulled out a modern movie that was known for it’s romance. Pulling it out, you offered it to him, and he frowned to himself as he took in the cover art.

“What’s… what is this?” he finally asked, looking at you.

“This… is a modern romance movie, that takes places in the 1940’s,” you responded, smiling at him. “And… I don’t like it, but I don’t like romance in general. And I thought it was important to follow up a romance movie from the 1940’s with a romance movie from the early 2000’s."

"How early?” Steve asked, handing it back over so that you could put it on.

“2004. So like, it’s not super new, which is good for you, and it’s a familiar setting, being that it takes places in your time period. Right?”

“I guess we’ll see,” Steve said, although he sounded apprehensive.

“Also, it’s super sad,” you said, and then you pressed play.

“Wait, it’s sad?” Steve demanded. “I don’t want to be sad!"

"Shh,” you hushed, pointing to the screen.

Steve fell silent as the opening credits of The Notebook began to play.

Looking back, it probably hadn’t been the best choice, but sometimes it was better to jump square into a pool than it was to linger on the edge of it for an extended period of time. Steve did not speak the entire time, unlike you during Casablanca. Instead, he watched the movie with rapt attention, his expressions varying between many different emotions throughout the film.

At the end, you reached over to pause the credits, and then turned to him. You were thrilled (probably because you’re evil) to see a tear running down his cheek.

“And that, Captain Rogers, was a romance that someone can get invested in,” you told him.

“Yeah, uhm, huh.” He said, using his hand to wipe at his face. “That was… something."

Immediately, you could tell that something was wrong. You stood up, cautiously, not wanting to invade his space. "It… it hit home with something for you,” you said, softly, watching as he covered his face with his hands. Even as you said this, it hit you: Agent Carter.

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, cradling your own face in your hand. “Steve, I - shit. I didn’t even think about it. I’m so sorry."

"It isn’t your fault,” he muttered, but he did not raise his head.

“Yes, it is, I should’ve… I shouldn’t have just jumped into it like I did. I should’ve thought out it, thought about how it might… parallel. Dammit.” You couldn’t believe how stupid you’d been. “I’m… I’m really, really sorry. I should… I should go."

"That might be a good idea,” Steve agreed, still not looking up.

Something inside you was screaming, probably in a mixture of rage at yourself, and horror that you’d already fucked up so terribly, and on the second day. As quickly as you could, you gathered up the remnants of the movie day you’d been having, sticking the two DVD cases and the player into your bag. You then headed for the door of the apartment. That thing within you was still screaming, although its focus had turned towards Steve rather than yourself. It was insisting that you shouldn’t leave him alone.

You paused next to the door, and glanced back at him. He still sat on the couch, his head hanging in his hands. He did not look to be moving at all, not even to breathe.

You closed your eyes, briefly, and exited the apartment. You’d have them set up surveillance, to make sure he didn’t try anything damaging to himself, but you knew that staying in the apartment was a terrible idea.

#drabble #steve rogers drabble #marvel drabble #step by step #writing #steve rogers #nick fury #casablanca #the notebook #marvel #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #i am... shook and quaking and also a terrible person so sorry #history has its eyes on queue

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