#these were a bit grainy and he was moving through trees and in conversation(?) with a wolf or something

[mannequinswithkillappeal]

some more scraps

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Children can be assholes

Summary:  

Children can be fucking assholes. Actually, they were fucking assholes, too much of a bunch of assholes that Levi wondered what future generation his fellow soldiers had dedicated all their fucking hearts to.

And why did it take him having his own child to realize just that?

Levi and Hange's child gets bullied and the two contemplate their parenting styles. 

Written for Levihan Week 2021, Day 4: Childhood.

Link: AO3

Notes:

@levihanweek Day 4: Childhood

I don't know if this is still accepted because it's so late huhu. But I was on a slight hiatus for a while I was in the US since I don't see my family there often.

I'm in the Philippines again so I think I'll have an easier time going back into writing regularly.

Children were unreasonabe little shits and his own son was no exception. In fact, his experience with his own son might have been the sole reason Levi held on so tightly to that belief in the first place.

“Daddy, can we buy the cereal?”

“No.” The response was automatic and it had been automatic since the kid started asking for that damn cereal two weeks ago. During my time we didn’t even have cereal. Levi opened his mouth to say it.

“Why don’t you give it?” Hange spoke up first. Her own contribution had seemed to come out of nowhere especially since she had been neck deep in some research papers until a while ago.

Most days, she would have left by the time they had that conversation and Levi was in no mood to fill her in on it. He turned to his son. “Would you even finish it?”

Luke’s were trained expectantly at Levi, his eyes wide. He looked innocent, confused.

If Levi stared for any longer, he might just buy it. He averted his gaze, and snuck a glance at Hange “He doesn’t even eat it.” He kept it to a soft whisper, too soft that he could never be too sure of whether or not she got the message.

Hange put the papers down on the table then she flashed her son a smile usually saved for insufferable diplomats. “Luke, if we bought you the cereal would you eat it?”

Luke nodded quickly.

Lies. It was a fucking lie. Levi had bought him the cereal the first few times the young boy asked. Every single damn time though, Levi had ended up finishing the box. And he was sick of cereal. So sick that when he closed his eyes and willed himself to think of it, he recalled everything from the grainy texture and overly sweet twinge so vividly, he practically tasted it in his own saliva.

“I’ll buy some on the way home,” Hange said. “The name is ‘Pops’ right?”

It was difficult to protest when it was Hange suggesting. Levi nodded.

“What about now?” Luke said. “I wanna bring it to school.”

Levi and Hange exchanged glances. “Why?” he asked.

Luke was side-eyeing something. A closer look only confirmed, Luke may have been too deep in thought to have fixated on anything in particular. Finding the right words, maybe? “Lunch.”

“Is there anything wrong with the lunch I packed you?” Levi asked. There shouldn’t have been anything wrong with the packed lunch. Levi always made sure of it.

Or maybe Levi was just deluding himself into thinking he was a good cook. Luke kept mum and stared down at his food, only ringing alarm bells inside Levi.

Levi was suddenly self conscious of the neatly packed lunch box he made every morning. Like all weekday mornings, it was lined up on the counter right next to Hange’s own lunchbox. He glanced quickly at it, and he was tempted to go the extra mile and reorganize it. “Luke is there anything wrong?”

Luke shook his head. He was starting to look a little flustered.

Everyone seemed to be bearing the weight of the tension and awkwardness since that question was raised. They were all very sluggish. For Levi, there was more than enough time to take a peek at the lunch box.

The sandwich was packed, the crackers were nearly lined up just next to them and there was a box of orange juice snug on the corner of the lunch box. Nothing was supposedly wrong with it. Still, it was worth a try. “You want anything packed differently?” Levi asked.

Luke nodded but he didn’t say anything after. As if he had expected Levi to read his mind.

Levi wasn’t a mind reader. One quick look at Hange and Levi concluded, Hange wasn’t a mind reader either. “What do you want packed differently?”

Luke shook his head then looked down at his food. There was a slight tremble in his lips.

Was he about to cry? Before Levi even noticed it, he had raised his voice, spoke more quickly. “If you don’t tell me, we won’t be able to fix it.”

Hange was also strangely still. She held her spoon a few inches above her plate and she could have been calculating something. That was the face Hange would make in the lab, when running through an experiment for the third team. That face was a prelude to long speeches on hypotheses and conclusions.

Do we have the time for a long speech? Levi noted the time on the mantel and Hange’s slow movements that morning. “Hange, you might be late for work.”

“Right…” Hange dropped her spoon and stood up slowly and hesitantly. Then when she got to her feet, she put on her usual confident and busybody demeanor. “I’ll make sure to buy that cereal on the way back. If you really want that for lunch, I see no reason to say no.” ”

It turned out though, it had been nothing more than a facade. Levi had followed her out to lock the door and exchange goodbyes like every other day. Then, Hange’s true thoughts came out as a whisper. “Can you stay after school for just a bit? Just see what happens after they drop him off?”

“Why?”

Hange hummed, chin raised and nose turned up. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

He didn’t need Hange to point it out for him. For a while as they packed up, Levi had already been pondering how long he could stay in the schoolyard before one of the teachers saw him home. “You didn’t have to tell me twice.”

Hange’s expression relaxed. She said a soft goodbye. Then her mind and her murmurs to herself were suddenly elsewhere.

She was thinking about work again. Like every other day before, During those times, Levi was reminded, keeping their son safe was his responsibility until Hange got home from work.

***

By some rule that didn’t seem to make any sense, the parents weren’t allowed to stay during school hours. Most days, he didn’t really mind but the last thing he had prepared himself for was a scolding, not from the teacher, but his own son.

“Daddy go home!” Luke had his back to his classroom and it didn’t look like he’d be turning his back on Levi until the latter was long gone.

“Luke, I need to talk to the teachers. Then I’ll go home.”

“Don’t talk to the teachers!” Luke said. He was starting to seem more and more agitated.

What the hell? What type of parent told their kid not to talk to their teachers? Levi was more determined to stay behind. “I just want to see--”

“Don’t talk to my friends!”

Something inside Levi broke at that moment. He had raised that kid and ninety-nine percent of the time, he was a peace loving kid. The way Luke had raised his voice at him, had him almost shaken. The young boy’s face had crumpled into a pout and it only made the cracking inside Levi all the more painful.

Then some defensive instinct inside Levi took over. He narrowed his eyes and observed more closely, he could have sworn he saw fear in those young boys' eyes.

“Go home daddy.” Luke said, more softly that time. Whatever gentleness though quickly assuaged when he ran towards Levi only to push him away.

“Okay. I’ll go home,” Levi backed away slowly at first. “I’ll pick you up at two okay?”

Luke didn’t reply. He didn’t even spare a wave before Levi turned his back on him. Hange was most likely right, his gut instinct might just be right too.

Something about Luke’s sudden change in demeanor just wasn’t natural. Despite Luke’s protests, Levi didn’t go home that morning.

***

Children can be fucking assholes.

They were fucking assholes, too much of a bunch of assholes that Levi wondered what future generation his fellow soldiers had dedicated all their fucking hearts to many years ago.

Levi had concealed himself under the shade of one of the trees just outside the school yard. His fighting instinct was still strong and he didn’t find it even a little stifling to completely freeze right under the tree. At the same time, he was completely confident that as long as he didn’t move, nobody would see him.

They were too far away anyway and the group of children seemed to be more occupied in what was looking to be utter assholery.

“Your lunch looks like poop!” Who the hell compares meals to human waste?

That was the least of his worries though. The boy that had fallen to the ground was Luke. The lunch that lay scattered on the grass was the one Levi had so carefully put together that morning.

Wasted food, wasted food he had worked on himself and the scene of his own son sprawled on the ground seeming defenseless just pushed Levi to the point of just almost feral. He wasn’t a soldier anymore and he hadn’t been in years. At that point in time, he even identified more as a father than a soldier. An attempt remain hidden forgotten, Levi rushed to the schoolyard.

“What’s going on here? Why are you wasting food?” Levi kept his tone almost polite. His own actions may have betrayed it though. Levi pushed himself to the front, pushing a little less gently when he recognized the kid who had thrown Luke’s food to the ground.

That had been enough to leave a look of horror in all of the kids' faces. Levi bent over, cleaned up the lunchbox and helped his son up. He flashed the boys a stare, and he hoped that would have been enough to poke daggers into them. “Don’t do that again,” he said firmly.

Paternal instinct had Levi’s mind racing. When he was thinking quickly, his body tended to act much faster. Even when he wasn’t even aware of it, Levi had pulled his son up by the arm.

And everything else happened quickly after that.

It was only when he had closed the door behind him, when his son had succeeded in wriggling out of his grasp, did Levi make sense of circumstances. The day wasn’t even over and he had dragged his son home.

“Daddy what were you doing there?” The look of horror was still there, his cheeks were tinged a little red.

“They weren’t treating you right,” Levi said matter-of-factly. He was starting to doubt himself though. Had that been the right thing to do?

Luke didn’t seem too happy at whatever Levi had done anyway. The young boy padded into his bedroom, slammed the door and like many other days, Levi was left alone in the kitchen, a ruined lunchbox on hand. He opened it and started to salvage.

The food was still edible and they didn't look too bad. The young starving boy who grew up in the underground city would have been happy to have received that. In contrast, Luke grew up in a comfortable home, with an easy three meals never wanting for anything. And that was Luke’s lunch and it would never be the young Levi’s.

He started to contemplate the small things. He inspected the sandwich, caked with a little soil. He then held the apple slices between his two fingers. All stained with dirt.

When he ran the container over running water, the dirt eventually disappeared and Levi deemed that edible for lunch, for his lunch at least. He wouldn’t serve that to his son. He pulled ingredients out of the cupboards, ingredients for a quick sandwich, eggs, mayonnaise and cheese.

It was a little past one and there was no time for anything fancier. Luke didn’t have lunch and was probably starving and Levi was having a harder time as well shaking that ache in his stomach. He went through the motions a little faster, turned on the toaster in advance.

In those in betweens, Levi let his mind wander. The father inside him then started to ask more questions.

How was he going to talk to Luke about it?

***

Levi had made two sandwiches for a party of three. Unexpectedly, Hange arrived from work early because of some ‘strange phone call’ from the school about ‘their son going missing.’

“And it looks like, you're the strange short man who abducted our son,” Hange said playfully in between bites of an egg salad sandwich.

Levi let his own sandwich sit, or at least his sorry excuse of a sandwich. The egg salad he hurriedly made had only been enough for two people. Thus, his own share had been barely even enough to cover even one side of the sandwich.

That was the least of his worries. He turned to Luke. “Would you’ve rather stayed in school?” he asked.

Luke didn’t answer. He was biting at his egg sandwich much faster. The loud chewing could have been a hint at the least that Luke refused to speak.

“I can get off of work early. Later, we could go to the supermarket and get your cereal later” Hange suggested, an attempt at some light conversation maybe. “You wanted to bring it for lunch tomorrow right?”

Luke shook his head quickly and continued to chew the sandwich.

Levi thought back to the scattered lunch box, the muddied contents. He couldn’t blame the kid. But how to tell Hange? “Luke couldn’t have lunch,” Levi said.

Hange’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? Did school get busy?”

“It’s not that… “ Levi was feeling for the words slowly and carefully. He turned to Luke who was digging through the sandwich much much faster. “It’s---”

Luke’s hands slammed on the table. “Nothing!” he screamed, in a tone that was definitely not nothing.

“Luke, are you okay?” Hange asked. “Did something happen?”

“Daddy came to school today!”

“But you like daddy right?” Hange raised one eyebrow.

Luke shook his head. “No! No parents allowed in school.”

Levi stared down at his plate. The sandwich was starting to look less and less appetizing. What was that heavy feeling? Guilt? What else was he supposed to do? Stay still while they pushed his son to the ground and spilled his lunch onto the grass? “Luke, no one was supposed to be pushing you to the ground either. Of course I’d jump to your rescue.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You didn’t look like you were fighting back,” Levi argued. "You could have gotten hurt."

Luke stared up at Levi, a flash of indignance on his face. And for a few moments, the kitchen was silent, the air was heavy.

Hange cleared her throat. “Luke… Why don’t you fight back?” Something about her voice was too rehearsed.

“He knows how to fight," Luke answered hesitantly. For assurance maybe? He didn’t believe it as confidently though.

Hange hummed. “What makes you say that?”

"He learned to fight."

"Who taught him?" Hange asked.

“His daddy and mommy.”

“Really? How?”

“They’re soldiers.”

***

It took more effort after that to coax the rest of the information from Luke.

It came in between banters, in between fights, hurling of unintended insults and it ended with some half baked conclusion from Levi that the military police never really shook off the irrational pride that came with working so close to the king but doing close to no actual combat.

And how the hell did a next generation kid pick up that same abrasive attitude and the bare minimum of fighting skills.

Hange received her own personalized message from the whole ordeal. A message which Levi would rather Hange never entertained. “Did we do something wrong?” She broke the dim silence with the awkward question.

It was late in the evening, Luke had retired to bed and Hange and Levi had deliberately selected a corner of the room, farthest from Luke’s room. Even if it meant having to make themselves comfortable on the floor with some Indian sit.

Levi shrugged. “According to Luke… We did… By not being part of the military police.” He laced his tone with sarcasm, enough to lighten up the mood. The sliver of a smile on Hange’s face was enough indication that it worked just a bit.

Luke’s intention hadn’t been to hurt definitely. Levi conceded, maybe it had been his fault for forcing it out of the young boy.

“But we do know how to fight right? I mean, we’ve always had more experience than the military police officers,” Hange said.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You fight better than all military police officers, Commander Hange Zoe,” Levi said.

“If I fight better than all military police officers then humanity’s strongest, Captain Levi fights better than all the soldiers right?”

Captain and Commander. Very nostalgic epithets.

It had been years since they even used those epithet. Most people in the office called Hange by her first name while Levi was convinced most people called him Levi anyway. Organizing paperwork, expediting processes, executing trades, setting up meetings for the Queen and just knowing the ins and outs of  executive level bureaucracy, Hange’s job was indispensable but painfully thankless. Levi's own job as a homemaker which had been raising a child, while his partner worked had also been painfully thankless.

It wasn't like their jobs as captain and commander of the survey corps had been any more thankful during times of war. Just the thought of fighting was strangely intimate but the stress and the adrenaline rush that came with war, the pain of an injury and the very close brushes with death were not anything to be proud of.

After being dissed by their own child though, Levi was uncharacteristically self conscious. A quick onceover at Hange and he was sure she was thinking the same thing. "Maybe that's what we did wrong?"

"What?" The look of confusion on Hange's face was enough of a reminder.

Levi's own reflection had been silent. "Do you think I coddle Luke too much?"

Hange didn't respond immediately but Levi hadn't been in a hurry either to goad whatever answer out of her. "To be honest...I thought about it…" she huffed. "Okay, I wouldn't use the word coddle but don't you think it's just a little bit strange that our child is growing up in a completely different world from what we did."

Was it wrong? Levi's mind was finding ways to justify it.

Hange continued. "Of course we did things wrong we weren't perfect parents but it just feels weird… We raised a child who can't fight? A child who probably doesn't even know the realities of war.” She flailed her hands up in emphasis. “If we drop him off in some forest, he might just die...And now he's being bullied by some kid of retired soldiers. Should we have raised him a little stricter? Taught him to fight?" A tremor shook in her tone but when she looked up, she was smiling. More specifically, forcing a grin.

Hange always found a way to blame herself, an annoying habit since even back when they were soldiers.

A very annoying habit. Levi sighed. "I was the one who raised that kid. If anyone should be taking shit for not teaching that kid anything about standing up for themselves. It should be me."

Hange sighed then shrugged. "Well, it happened. So what now Papa Ackerman?"

Hange must have acknowledged it, the countless hours that Levi had put into raising the child. Between both of them, Levi should have known more about how to approach the young boy and just the thought of putting Luke through an inkling of that same training he went through had his stomach turning.

Admittedly, if Levi had encountered those bullies at Luke's age, or maybe even younger, he would have been more than capable of beating the shit out of those bullies. But, would he even be proud if he found Luke beating the shit out of those kids?

"We talk to the teachers," Levi answered.

"You don't think we should teach him how to defend himself?"

Levi shook his head. "Times have changed. Even if he doesn’t need to, I wouldn’t.” He met Hange's eyes. “I don't want to teach people how to solve things with violence."

Hange cocked her head to one side. “Why not?” Her mouth twisted into an expression of genuine curiosity.

Levi was terribly curious too. Fighting wasn’t one thing he would have wanted to think back to anyway. He didn’t see himself in Luke, or at first glance he didn’t. In the darkness, he gave himself some leeway, some space to think deeply about it and he started to realize, he couldn’t really avoid seeing himself in his son.

The glaring difference between himself and his own son had been circumstances. Luke didn’t have to learn how to fight. The age of war was over. No one was constantly in any immediate danger.

"Maybe you're better off teaching him what you know.” Levi sighed. If I could get away with not teaching my son how to fight, then I’d rather not.”

***

Diplomacy and maybe talking could have worked. That is, if they were talking to anyone else.

"We could launch an investigation on this…" The teacher side-eyed nothing in particular.

"Just now?" Hange raised one eyebrow. A quick estimation and a detailed recall of Luke’s change in demeanor put the estimate at two weeks ago. How did no one notice it?

The teacher nodded. "But it might take some time.” She leaned slightly forward. “I hope you understand… it's not easy to approach cases like this.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Levi said.

The teacher didn't prod. She didn't put much weight in Levi's assertion either. She raised her hands up in defense. "Give us time."

Levi gripped the edge of his seat in some attempt to alleviate tension. It had taken a little more time to get his bearings so he opted not to say anything just yet.

Hange straightened up on her seat. "How much time?"

At least it was Hange who was asking, Levi was sure he couldn’t have said it any more amiably.

The teacher’s responses weren’t making it any easier. “A few weeks?”

A few weeks. That was at least ten lunch meals. Or even more than that. When Levi fathomed the scale of it, he was also considering the wasted meals in retrospect. How often was Luke coming home with an empty stomach? “Really? A few weeks? You can’t implement something, monitor our son….”

“You have to understand, it’s not that easy to investigate a bullying problem. The line between rough play and actual bullying is not very clear. We don’t want to be accusing any kids either.”

Hange bit her lip and looked away. Levi couldn’t even make a good conjecture of what she would have wanted to say. One thing was for sure, his fists were shaking, or maybe it was the leg underneath.

“So that means you aren't doing anything?" Levi confirmed.

The teacher flashed him an incredulous look and Levi was starting to confirm, it came out more as a challenge. Well, he didn't care too much, if challenging the teacher made everything happen faster.

"We're doing what we can," the teacher said.

"I've heard that spiel already," Levi said. He needed a breath of fresh air. If Hange wanted to talk anymore, if the teacher wanted to talk. It was their prerogative. "Thank you for your time," he added coldly, not bothering to look back.

Hange didn't leave immediately. She probably had a lot more to say, and maybe those were the same things running through Levi's head. Like always, she had a more open minded and more pragmatic way of navigating such a conversation.

Something Levi would probably never learn how to do. Hange would probably take her time, and even if he did lose her in the school, he knew his way home like the back of his hand anyway.

He allowed himself some free rein, wandering through the hallways while taking careful deep breaths. He took the long way to Luke’s classroom, subtly taking a peek then allowing himself enough of a view to search for his son among the students behind the desks.

It was easy to pick out the dark hair that peeked out from among the other attentive faces. Luke’s head was down. He was focused on a book maybe, or maybe he was just particularly self conscious of everything at once.

Levi didn’t have the view to tell, nor the time. The teacher eventually looked to her side, then a few young faces followed. Levi pressed himself against the wall. For sure he was out of site.

Just to make sure, Levi walked on ahead, he then turned the corner of the school, a familiar voice echoed form the other side of one of the hollow walls.

Kids these days are too spoiled if you ask me..

We grew up during a war… And these kids are crying over a few fights?

And the parents can be pretty entitled

Luke Zoe’s parents… I think those are former soldiers… You’d think they’d know better about spoiling their son.

Maybe the glory of war got into their heads or something. Suddenly they want their kids to have an easy life.

Yes, Levi agreed, he wanted his kid to have an easy life. He conceded to that.

Actually, not conceded. He wholeheartedly agreed with it. The essentials though of that conversation, the fundamental beliefs that carried it were just infuriatingly wrong.

Levi didn’t allow himself to contemplate and maybe he just didn’t have the energy for it. He opted not to wait for Hange, he slipped quickly out of the hallway and out onto the streets.

He took the long way home and part of him was hoping he got lost. He was in no mood after all to discuss ‘a spoiled generation’ with a teacher who grew up during a time of war.

He might just end up fighting back.

***

He didn’t have to teach his son how to use a knife. Still, Levi considered it enough times to sneak a few glances at the knife holder a foot away from the sink.

The first weapon Kenny had ever taught him to use was a knife. But knives hurt, knives kill.

The only reason Levi was teaching his son how to fight back was to prevent any more wasted lunches,  to prevent bruises for piling up on his ass to prevent any more scrapes from appearing on the palms of his hand.

"When they push you like this… what do you do?" Levi stretched out his arms in front of him, positioning himself to push.

Luke was a quick learner He gripped Levi's hands and the grip was surprisingly hard. Levi's wrists ached and he was suddenly hyperaware of the nails digging into him.

Levi bit his lip, he forced an outward flinch just to show his son it was working. Then the leg movements followed. Luke was still much smaller than Levi. The latter though had done it too many times during bar fights to tell, Luke had picked it up to a T.

Lock your knee to the back of their leg.

"Then push!"

Levi teetered and he was sure he still had the reflexes to jump away. Still, he wanted to give his son that confidence.

He fell to the floor, catching his light weight with the palms of his hands. "There. Okay? When they try to punch or push, you pull them towards you." Levi mimed the movement with his hands. "Then trip them from behind."

Luke nodded obediently.

"Okay…" Levi stood up. "Now let's try it again. Much faster this time."

***

Levi didn't have to try too hard to teach his son.

Luke had the natural agility and quick wittedness. With the right guidance, he was a force to be reckoned with, especially when facing a group of bullies.

Be it two bullies, three. Regardless of whether or not he was outnumbered, Luke might just make it work.

Maybe fighting skills ran in the family. No, it definitely ran in the family. Luke had natural skill that could have made him indispensable in the survey corps many years ago. WIth the right training and the right guidance, he managed to pick up the same fighting instinct Levi was all too familiar with.

Was it the same Ackerman gene? Or was it just natural talent. Levi entertained that as nothing more than a passing thought. After all, no one needed the Ackerman’s anymore since the war was over, the titan curse completely obsolete.

Soon, the Ackerman abilities would be too.

It was a slow process, and maybe it did start with his sons own stint against the bullies.

Levi found himself sneaking through the bushes near the school grounds around lunch time. The branches pricked, the leaves tickled and the smell of green lingered in his nose and he was already planning the warm bath as soon as he got home.

The situation he had put himself in, reminded him too easily of the war. Laughably, the situation he was roped into was much much milder.

He wasn't there to stand by while his team took down titans. He was just there to stand by and jump in just in case things got too heated for Luke.

Luke had proven self-sufficient in practice. But could he easily apply it?

Levi was watching the developments like a hawk, his heart beating in time to some rustle in the leaves, his hand digging into the branches right next to him. He didn't even notice he was holding his breath until the first body slammed onto the dirt with a loud thump.

Levi let it out with a loud huff then he closed his eyes, recounting the events of just a few seconds ago.

Grip hard, kick hard enough behind him to buckle his knees.

One down.

Push against him, use your weight against him. If you push hard enough, twist in this direction. He'll flip.

Two down.

With a swift strike to his---

"Stop!"

Levi’s eyes widened then they darted back and forth between the boys on the floor then the naturally, the only one left standing.

Luke dropped his hands to the side. Then everyone was silent, the two boys still recovering, one of them giving his own tailbone a consoling rub.

"Boys! What are you doing here?"

With the sound of that voice, Levi’s blood ran cold. By some stroke of bad luck, a teacher had seen them fighting.

"Luke? What were you doing here?" And by a more annoying stroke of bad luck, circumstances made Luke out to be the bully.

***

"It's very admirable that you're sticking with your son through thick and thin," the principal said, a wide smile plastered on her face.

Having dealt with military police bullshit for a good chunk of his life, Levi was fairly adept at sniffing out bullshit. Consequently, he wasn't so good at accepting such a fake compliment.

"What can we say? He's our son," Hange said, glaringly uncomfortable with the turn of events. She had some excuse to seem tense. After all, she rushed there from her office just a few minute ago.

"They sustained a few bruises, on the tailbone, a few scrapes on the knee which required some tending and one of the boys has a sprained ankle." She listed them out like a sprained ankle was a mortal wound. "I'm sure any settlements can be discussed internally… but if you need any help?"

Hange shook her head. "No thank you. I'll make a few calls, see what I can offer."

But they're not gonna do anything about Luke's mental state and his fucked up lunch meals huh? Levi looked to Hange, attempted to send a semblance of that message with his glare.

The principal cleared her throat. "Have you considered sending your child to a specialist?"

"A specialist?" Hänge asked, her voice was a little higher pitched. She furrowed her brow.

The principal nodded. "Yes, a specialist in a correctional facility, someone who could work with your son. The teachers… they saw your son fight. In this day and age, it’s quite alarming to see...

Levi looked down. His eyes landed on his shaking hands. In some attempt to pacify them, he balled them into fists.

"If he proves to be a danger to students…."

"He won't." Levi answered, voice clipped. If he spoke for any longer, he just might end up shouting.

"It's best to nip this in the bud while it's early."

"I said, he isn't going to do that. He's a nice kid."

"We get that from parents a lot but I firmly believe in some prophylactic work… especially when the first few signs…"

First few signs? What first few signs? The other kids were the assholes here. They started it.

They started it?

That was the argument of a six year old. Something, he constantly scolded Luke over for years.

On the one hand, Hange wasn’t letting any of her emotions out as if she was still trying to process it herself. "May I ask… what are these signs of Luke's aggression?"

The principal raised her eyebrow. "The way he was caught fighting the other students. He moved like a trained fighter. Isn’t it alarming that your son has been trained to fight like that, to be aggressive like that? We don't want this type of aggression here." She said those last words, matter-of-factly, firmly, with some finality.

Levi sensed self righteousness. Self righteousness was fairly bearable in small amounts. He was dealing with someone though with a little too much of that and seemingly little inclination of reflecting and getting to the bottom of it. Something inside of him snapped. "If you really don't want any aggression then watch the other fucking kids. My son is not going through some correctional facility because you as a principal can't do your fucking job keeping the students safe."

"Excuse me?"

"Those kids deserved to be body slammed into the floor. My son has been dealing with their bullshit for weeks."

"How certain---"

"Sure enough. My son doesn't fucking lie."

"That's a bold statement right there."

"You don't know my son better than I do so stop pretending." Levi wouldn't be giving her a chance to speak. Hange could have been glaring daggers at him but he was on some strange high, talking back at the old lady who had been rubbing him off since a while ago.

She paused for a moment and averted her gaze, a refreshing sign for Levi. "Okay then, but if you'd allow me to suggest---"

"Don't tell us how to raise our son."

Before he even noticed it, one hand was pushing him back on the chair.

"Please. Go on," Hange said, not to Levi but to the shaken teacher in front of him.

It had taken her a few more seconds to gather herself. Hange had taken a more comfortable grip of Levi by the wrist, under the table, out of view. She held him with enough firmness to control him but enough gentleness to calm him.

Whatever she says, grin and bear it. Work with it. If Hange had been meaning to say anything, that might have been it.

He wasn't going to spare her a kind smile though.

The principal cleared her throat. "Have you considered that you're spoiling your kid just a little too much?"

When the heat had dissipated, when the tension loosened, Levi found he conceded

To some extent. To some very small extent.

"If you compare what I grew up with to what Luke's growing up with. Maybe he is spoiled," Levi admitted. He kept his voice soft enough not to echo in the hallways, his footsteps slow enough that he didn’t need to think too much about walking.

"No one should ever have to grow up like you did," Hange answered with a more serious tone. A few seconds later, she turned to him with a more relaxed smile. "Do you really think he's spoiled?"

"If you consider the fact that if we dropped him in some military training, he probably wouldn't survive..."

"In this day and age, not everyone will be mandated to join the military anyway," Hange said. "So is it really necessary for Luke to have had to learn how to fight?"

"As much as possible, I wouldn't have taught it to him. If children weren't such assholes."

"And I think we raised him fine. In fact, I'm proud of that kid."

Proud of Luke? For what? Levi asked that question silently but he wasn't looking for answers, he was looking for specifics. He was proud of that kid for a lot of reasons.

Some of the reasons, he didn't really pick them out until they were bumbling towards him.

In between classes, Luke met them on the hallway, a large box wedged awkwardly on his side and Luke lost his balance a few times as he carried it.

As soon as Luke was only inches away, Levi took stock of it. A first aid kit?

"I have bandaids here. Do you know where we can buy medicine?" Luke asked.

"For what?"

"For their booboos."

Levi gave Luke a onceover. "You don't have any."

Luke shook his head. He turned towards the empty schoolyard then to the direction of the clinic. "Their booboos." It quickly became clear who they were talking about.

"Luke, why would you want to give them some?"

"Is that not allowed?" Luke blinked at him in confusion. It was as if that question was the most natural answer in the world. The most correct answer.

Levi started to realize, maybe he didn't know the correct answer either. He bent down and put one hand on Luke's head.. "I'll help you prepare one at home and we'll talk to their parents okay?"

Luke nodded. His lips curled into a wild smile. "I'll see what else I have in the cubby hole."

"He's too kind," Hange commented as soon as they were out of earshot.

"That's the kid we raised," Levi said. "You're proud of that?"

"To be honest, yes. We all aspire to be that kind." She gave Levi a knowing but very playful look. "Maybe he got it from you?"

"Me?" Levi crossed his arms and pulled away. Whatever look he had on his face was enough to have Hange chuckling.

"Maybe kindness runs in your family."

Levi's thoughts flew to Kenny. Kenny? Then he thought back to his own mother. She was enough of a looming thought that Levi was entertaining the kindness gene theory of Hange as some potentially acceptable truth.

"It runs on yours too then," Levi said.

There was a pregnant silence between them. Hange's face had softened into some half smile as she stared down at floor, seeming to be deep in reflection.

It was familiar and the more Levi stared, the more clearly he understood. That was the same exact way they stared at every lost comrade.

"If that's true, then maybe Luke got it from us? Maybe if we grew up in a better world, the same world Luke was growing up in, we would have been much kinder," Hänge said.

"If we had the childhood?" Levi added.

Hange looked at him pointedly. "If you didn't have to fight in the streets, I'm confident you would have grown up just like Luke."

"What makes you say that?"

"You're a good guy Levi. Despite your kill count, the way you talked to the towns people, the way you lectured the soldiers back then... I mean, you weren't the nicest guy but the kindness... the goodness, it just felt naturally there?"

It was a hilarious prospect to consider and Levi had to look away to conceal whatever playful expression took over then. "Well the same goes for you then. Not too many leaders would have risked everything to stop a genocide."

A subtle pink stained the apple of Hange's cheeks, subtle enough that Levi could have sworn a second later that it was never there to begin with.

Levi dropped his shoulders and leaned on the wall. "I've always known Luke was a good kid. It could have been from us, or it could just really be how that kid is. All I know is I wanna nurture it and it feels like the best way is to just give him the childhood I never had.”

[hermannsthumb]

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

------------

Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

[ladyamber]

Sirenade: Chapter Twenty

Good evening everyone and welcome to Sirenade once again, I know my schedule’s been really out of whack especially since I didn’t post last week. Not because I forgot, but because I really needed a mental break. I’ve been extremely busy with college applications, projects, studying and school that I sometimes barely get a break. Do know that I would love to post to a consistent time which I am working on day and night to fix, but with my life being very unpredictable it might not get fixed for a while. Though I do plan to work on more on Sirenade during Thanksgiving break. God forbid that my teacher’s decide on giving me work over my break. Anyways enough of my rambling, as always I hope you enjoy this week’s chapter and Stay Tuned! For next week’s chapter which I will most definitely see you for! BTW this chapter's going to be longer than normal since I missed two weeks enjoy!

Start: Prologue

Previous: Chapter 19

Next: 12/1/19

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 20

Soft music played throughout the Brewery’s Happy Hour time, not too loud but not too quiet either. The rhythmic drumming of his fingers danced with the polished pine counter as he awaited his company and drink. Normally his routine consisted of enjoying a brew or two with friends over the weekend, but this time it seemed different. The atmosphere was calm and casual setting up a perfect conversation accompanied by someone special and a bottle of scotch. He wasn’t a heavy drinker not since he’d moved on from a difficult loss, but he did tend to get a bit tipsy if alone. The smell of fresh food and beer flooded his senses the longer he sat at the booth. He snapped from his thoughts as a glass was set on the counter, “Sorry for the wait Tyler, hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

The small brunette slid his drink across the counter and dried his hands off with the small white towel draped over his shoulders. “It’s funny to see you here on a Wednesday night, waiting for someone special?” The younger male wiggled his eyebrows at him. Tyler chuckled, took a sip of his beverage as he rolled his eyes.

“It’s funny not to see Nogla following behind you like a horny bitch, but I’m not complaining.” Tyler snickered as his smaller friend turned red from blushing and howling in laughter obviously trying to hide it.

“Cabron, I’m not complaining I’m just curious. Who are you meeting in the middle of the week?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see Lui.” Tyler continued sipping his beer as he received a playful punch in the arm from Lui. It remained peaceful as the homemade cold brew sat in his stomach, though it didn’t stay peaceful for long. A petite figure sat next to him at the nearly empty booth, he didn’t mind but found it rather annoying that out of all the seat they choose the one right next to him.

“Evenin’ Miss, what can I getcha?” His taller bartender friend seemed to peak the interest of the small woman, but only for that sparkling interest to fall right on to him. He didn’t look directly at her although from the corner of his eye he swore he saw something else in that innocent appearance she was trying to pull off. It was gone when she turned her attention back to his Irish friend.

“A dry martini, please.” Her voice matched the look she was trying to pull, but Tyler knew better the shine in her eyes somehow made him very uncomfortable.

“Course.” Tyler decided to ignore her for the rest of the night, however it seemed fate had other plans. As Nogla prepare her attention snapped to him when he picked his glass up once again.

She smiled sweetly, “How rude of me to stare, so sorry. Where are my manners, Octavia Dimmer.”

Now he said he’d ignore her presence but being raised to always be polite took over his gut feeling. “Tyler Wine.” He gently shook her hand and exchanged smiles.

He turned his body back to Nogla who’d just  finished putting together her drink. He placed it on a coaster in front of her. “Enjoy!”

With that Nogla scurried back into the kitchen leaving the two now “acquaintances”. “So what brings a man like you to drink all alone?” She bartered her eyelashes at him. He turned his head and rolled his eyes.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first though.” She rested her head on her hand while her fingers danced on the shiny counter like his did not too long ago.

“Waiting for someone.” He returned his attention back to the bar when Nogla came back. Smiling as he cleaned one of the many glasses that had been used hours before he entered.

“Well while we wait for this said person why don’t you and I get to know one another?” She placed her hand in his arm again attempting to flirt with him.

“No thanks.” He brushed her off when reaching for his beverage. She huffed and turned back to the bar with a pout.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a bar. I’m here just for work but it was so hard to ignore this beautiful little town.” 

I didn’t ask.

“That’s nice.” Tyler only wanted a peaceful night.

“But it’s harder to ignore someone like you. Broad, tall, strong… handsome.” This time she put her hand on top of Tyler’s.

“What don’t you-“ What interrupted his opportunity to tell this “Octavia” off was not the change in music, the argument happening in the back, and not the loud conversations around him. Through the glass windows of the restaurant stood Craig, dressed to perfection with his choice of clothing hugging every part of his body with absolute sophistication, and a face of dismay framed right where Tyler could see it. His eyes trailed down onto their hands, those soft blue eyes glossed over causing a reaction in Tyler which almost broke him right there. He sadly smiled before running away from the brewery.

Tyler sat shocked blocking out every noise that filled the atmosphere, ignoring the protests of his friend and “acquaintance” (one for not paying and the other for being denied) as he quickly followed right after Craig. Leaving behind a slightly pissed off Nogla and an innocent face eyeing its next person of choice.

~*~

It had been twenty minutes since Tyler ran after Craig. He searched high and low in their little town for him, but it seemed as if he’d disappear. Of course his mind went straight to Craig being in a dangerous situation once again. Eventually his search led him to the woods, not the most practical idea to be in the forest at night but right now Tyler gave two shits about that.

Please let him be okay, please let him be okay, please-

A melody snapped him out of his panic. A sweet song and strum danced with the nature that lived there. It seemed as if everything was enchanted by the voice. Who could blame them even Tyler was in awe by its beautiful song. He quickly followed the song which led him out of the forest and to a small bay surrounded by trees. The melody continued to play as Tyler approached entered the hidden bay. Careful not to make a sound that would interrupt the enchantment.

“Turn off your porcelain face. I can't really think right now in this place. There's too many colors. Enough to drive all of us insane,” The voice became familiar the closer Tyler got. He listened to the lyrics as well he felt as if they were speaking directly to him. The song shifted his emotions of fear into sympathy for the owner of the angelic voice. He kept listening, ”Get a load of this train wreck, his hair's a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet. But little do we know the stars welcome him with open arms.”

The more he listened to the melody the harder it was to keep himself from falling into a trance. Soon enough the effect of the spell took over his mind, causing him to lose control over his hidden position. “Time is ...Slowly…Tracing his face. But strangely he feels at home in this-“

His heavy footsteps shuffled in the sand as he came closer to the voice, but when he gave away his position the voice stood thus snapping Tyler out of his enchantment. “Ty? What- what are you doing here?”

Tyler watched him wipe away his emotions, sniffling softly to hopes of hiding it from the taller male, “Following you.” Tyler mumbled with his head hung low.

“Well you should’ve have. You should be at the pub enjoying a drink, with a lady at your side like always. Isn’t that right?” Craig turned his face away from Tyler’s own blue eyes that shone brightly with the moonlight.

He shrugged his shoulders as he shuffled awkwardly in the sand. “If you’d let me explain myself then you’d know that wasn’t the case, plus I wanted to chase after you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” He began to walk away from the grassy area and towards the sandy beach that contained a beautiful sight outlined by the luminescence of the night and the ocean waves in the background. Seating himself next to the frail soul he watched as his friends sapphire eyes examined him closing. He wondered if Craig saw him like he did, a wonder underneath the moon. He shuffled on the cool grainy substance trying to find a comfortable position, eventually he did. Turning at lookout into the vast body of water which seemed to stretch for eternity.

“You know, I didn’t know you had such an amazing voice.”

“You can’t compliment your way out of this one Ty… I thought this was going to be a night of just the two of us. I mean when was the last time we’ve had one?”

“I know, I know I’m sorry okay? I did want to spend tonight with you it’s just that bitch wouldn’t leave me alone. You just happened to walk in at the wrong moment. Could’ve told her off if you hadn’t interrupted me.” That word was laced with venom, however the rest of his statement remained truthful towards Craig. He sincerely felt guilt for making him express such emotions in which he never wanted to see again.

“It’s just so frustrating sometimes, you know? To have to chase after someone in order to get their attention. Only this person has the attention span of puppy.” Craig eyes only sparked for a second when he spoke, but it quickly faded as he turned his gaze back at his instrument. Playing a small tune as the breeze scattered the notes through the bay.

“They must be a fuckin’ dumb ass then… Can you play something?”

Craig hummed as he mindlessly strummed chords, “Any requests?”

Tyler shook his head as he placed his head on Craig’s shoulder, listening to him tuning the ukulele before strumming a familiar tune. “Really, Steven Universe?”

“Can you blame me? Though to be fair it’s your fault for introducing me to it.” Tyler chuckled before falling silent to the melody that flowed through his mind.

“If I could begin to be half of what you think of me. I could do about anything, I could even learn how to love. When I see the way you act, wondering when I'm coming back. I could do about anything, I could even learn how to love like you. Love like you. I always thought I might be bad. Now I'm sure that it's true 'cause I think you're so good. And I'm nothing like you, look at you go. I just adore you, I wish that I knew. What makes you think I'm so special. If I could begin to do, something that does right by you. I would do about anything, I would even learn how to love. When I see the way you look, shaken by how long it took. I could do about anything, I could even learn how to love like you. Love like you. Love me like you.”

“Sorry, it's not the greatest but-” Tyler didn’t give Craig the opportunity to finish his statement as he captured the rest of it with his lips. Grabbing every sounds and words that came from his glossy lips. Not bothered by the chilly wind that blew their head in every direction, he parted from the addicting skin to catch the look on Craig’s face. Craig’s face exploded with color, crimson spreading like wildfire, pupils dilated and red lips barely apart from one another.

“Why- Why did you do that?” His eyes widened with every passing second as Tyler remained silent to process his actions. He’d just kissed his best friend, he’d never told any he found interest in another guy, hell he didn’t even know he was into guys. He felt like an idiot for dancing around the truth for years.

“Did you hate it?” He asked with caution expecting to be rejected or hated for his sudden actions.

“Of course not. I’ve always… wanted you to do that, but I never thought you would because of Kelly. And then all those random hookups over the past years. I mean it seemed like you weren’t into guys until now. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wait, what about Kelly?” Tyler barely kept up with Craig’s rambling, but the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name made him catch every single word.

“Well... before everything happened. She made me promise to always make sure that you were happy even if I wasn’t because you deserved it.” Tears slide down their faces falling into the sand which simply absorbed the salty liquid. “Even if I can’t help you like a human would I promised I would still try.”

“What did you say?” Tyler saw the panic swirling in his eyes.

“That I should always keep you- you happy.”

“No after that. Can’t help you like a human? What’s that supposed to mean Mini?”

“Oh would you look at the time its way past Smitty’s bedtime. If you’ll excuse me-” Before Craig had a chance to escape Tyler grabbed his waist and sat on top of his legs eliminating his chances of running off. “T-Tyler! Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me what you meant.” Fiery flashed in his dark blue eyes, staring down at the smaller male as he tried not to make eye contact with him. Of course he failed, biting his lower lip. Finally with a heavy sigh he spoke, “I’m not human. I’m a siren.”

At first, Tyler didn’t know how he should have reacted. In his mind he felt that he would’ve screamed and hit the creature he’d always been told to be afraid of, but seeing that the so called monstrous creatures that killed people at sea was his best friend. He didn’t panic as much as he thought he would’ve. Although he still panic, “ Are you going to eat me?”

Giggles turned into loud laughter that ricocheted throughout the forest, slowly dying down as Craig seized his cackling, “What, no. Well only if I’m desperate, but you’re safe for now.”

His eyes widened expressing his slight panic, “I’m kidding we don’t eat people. Those stories are all rubbish, only meant to sympathies with man and belittle our kind.”

“Can I see it?” 

“See what? Oh, you mean… why don’t I show you the wonders of our world instead of just me.” Craig stood up and walked towards a tree, laying down his instrument, taking off his shirt and folding it neatly next to his ukulele. Next thing Tyler knew Craig began to run towards the sea, causing sand to be thrown back with his steps. Jumping into the water, he watched an outline of orange wander the rocks one by one until it came to a brief stop at one. Craig emerged from the water a moment later holding a teal plant in one hand and extending his other. “The water’s a bit cold but you’ll get used to it.”

Tyler hesitated for a moment still unsure about how he should process the information he’d discovered about one of his closest friends. How many more were there? How many of his friends were sirens?

“Ty. It’s okay, I promise I won’t let you go. Or eat you.” He chuckled as he approached the ocean. It played with his feet trying to pull him in closer to its bottomless wonder. Eventually, he walked to where Craig could no longer stand and floated instead. He placed the small plant into his hand and looked up at him with soft blue eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Tyler nodded, examining the plant as he brought them to his mouth, tasting the contrast between the saltiness of the environment but the sweetness of the plant itself. Craig smiled at him, grabbing his hand and submerging them into the cold abyss that hid beauties the world might never see. At first, the water burned his nostrils and eyes when he took his first breath, but slowly the plant took effect and helped his body adjust to the new habitat. Fish and life in the ocean was like he’d never seen before. It all looked so much more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen. What really took his breath away was Craig’s new form, a shiny orange tail replaced his “normal” pale legs, scales littered his skin and his fingers contained webbing in between. It was almost like a dream, but he knew this was real when Craig swam up to him and guided their lips together. Tasting and feeling the heat that cooled with the surrounding water, his scales brightened and flared as Tyler explored every inch of Mini’s mouth. Pulling away to admire one another and to see the audience they had created, fish came out of hiding to see the human and siren explore their world. Hands intertwined with one another.

~*~

Hours passed since Tyler and Craig had entered the water. The effects of the plant wearing off at the last few minutes of their adventure, oh the fun they had felt satisfying as they enjoyed the presence of each other back on the bay. Tyler had never felt so relaxed in his life, for once someone was taking care of him and he couldn’t complain this was the best day of his life. He laid his head on Craig’s lap as those delicate fingers danced and stroked his hair. “Hey, Tyler.”

He hummed as a response letting Craig know his exhaustion, “Thank you for today. I love you.”

He lazily opened his eyes and looked up at the smaller male, Craig pecked his lips soothing him to return to his daze. He closed his eyes once again, smiling as a tune lulled him into a deep slumber, feeling content and happy a feeling he had longed for.

“I guess I’ll have to face, that in this awful place, I shouldn’t show a trace of doubt. But pulled against the grain. I feel a little pain, that I would rather do without. I’d rather be free, free, free… I’d rather be free, free, free. Free, free, free… From here.”

Credits to the creators of the songs. This is Home by Cavetown, Love like you and Escapism by Rebecca Sugar.

[empathicstars]

Nothing More Important

  It’d been a long, grueling, impossible fifty hours. Longer and more grueling and more impossible, believably, than Neoma’d expected it to be. After all, how difficult was it to find a singular officer in a world where identification was required for everything one did?

  Apparently, difficult. She’d been awake and running around the base since 2100 hours on, uh... --... how many days ago was it? One, two? It was hard to keep track. All Neoma could remember any longer was the pounding of her feet on pavement, of the crisp air that felt drier and drier the longer she was out in it, of the feeling of brick beneath her fingers and metal against her arms as she climbed and scaled the impressive base in search. The teams by her side had switched off five separate times, and more than once someone had attempted to relieve her.

  But she’d made a promise. She told them she’d bring her back.

  And she would.

  Doctors marveled at how she was passing each examination they ran on her in attempts to force her to take her leave. She didn’t seem to be tired, and any scrapes or bruises were beyond minor. What she’d told Jim just before he drifted to sleep was true: she didn’t get sore. But that didn’t mean that spending fifty hours wide awake, soothing every officer she came into contact with, and walking the length of one of the Federation’s biggest bases multiple times over was enjoyable or restful for her. ( That didn’t mean that part of her wasn’t still shaking from an encounter with a limp body in a river, that her disagreements with all of those close to her wasn’t burning a coldness somewhere hard in the back of her throat. )

  Ah, Jim… Fuck. When he learned about this disaster, she was sure he’d staunchly refuse to ever sleep again. And after all her hard work. Ancestors. It felt like all of her effort with everyone was coming up to nothing, now. Encouraging Reg out of his shell, building and mending a relationship with John, her friendship with Luci, Jim… ancestors, she was tired.

  Part of her wondered, briefly, if she could convince Spock to keep all of this on the down low from him -- especially now that it was over. But she didn’t have to know him very well at all to know that that wasn’t an option.

  But at least it was over. At least it wasn’t like waking up on Corvid.

  At least this was a nightmare that would end.

  After checking every Federation and non-Federation ship, the Institute, all of Yorktown… after climbing every building, sliding under every tree, dipping herself deep into water and barging in through every library… Neoma had decided, on a whim, to check for Liana on incoming ships, and was rather floored when it worked. An Aella -- not Liana -- Moore was on a non-Federation supply ship, heading back to Yorktown, and Neoma was going to be there when she docked. It only took a few calls to the captain of that ship to put together the pieces. Liana’d beamed on from a civilian transporter, rather than a Starfleet-specific one -- a transporter that dealt with such a large volume of use that it had no choice but to delete profiles of those who passed through it -- to his ship. She’d been on the base and had been trying to find another ship to lead her elsewhere. It was only a half a day, it seemed, before she’d buckled internally, admitted to him that she’d snuck aboard his ship before shields went up, and requested to take the next return trip with him. He’d agreed, and now she was less than twenty minutes from docking.

  And so, here Neoma stood. Waiting for her. In a bustle of laughing, chattering people, moving swiftly and gleefully throughout a shuttle bay. Her pole collapsed at the magnetic belt on her side, her arms crossed, her hair pulled back into a fishtail braid that she thought maybe looked alright whenever she’d done it. She tugged at the tie to let it free from its mess, let her hair fall around her, catch briefly in the wind.

  For a moment, it was almost too easy to believe that Liana wouldn’t show up, after all. That the information had been a farce. That she’d reported Liana’s recovery prematurely, and she’d have to resume activities again. That this was a break, and not the end.

  But relief touched some distant part of her when she spotted a thin figure walking through the crowds. Dressed in a long white dress, a single book clutched to her chest, as though it’d protect her from the reality she was about to face. Ancestors, Liana looked about as shitty as Neoma felt. Black hollows beneath her eyes, pale, paper-thin skin, body bent in on itself. She stared at the floor with the same guilty expression Meeth wore when he knew he’d done something wrong.

  The same expression her girls had had…

  Neoma breathed out. Released the fifty hours that’d passed -- released the memory of Amila and Naith pouting -- and focused on the start of this hour, focused on the face of this girl.  

  The security officer reached out, palm up, and waited until the kid’d walked to her side to drape her arm around her shoulders. She felt Liana stiffen beneath the contact of the half-hug, but Neoma still leaned forward to distribute a kiss in her hair.

  “Welcome back, Liana.”

  Liana’s head tilted up so painfully slowly -- and when their eyes met, everything in the kid’s face was open, childish, shocked. She was round, and gentle, and small, and… Ancestors, she looked like she was about eleven years old. “H… i.”

  Neoma squeezed her with one arm. “You really gave us a fright, you know.”

  “I… I did?”

  The confusion would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. Maybe still would’ve been if Neoma hadn’t spent the better part of these past few days fighting that fright.

  She smiled, instead of answering -- tapped her with her thumb and began leading her away from the ships. “Where were you off to?” Conversational. Light.

 Liana stared back down, once again. Felt a little bit closer to Neoma than she had moments before. “I don’t…” Nearly choked. “I do not know. Just… away. As far away as possible.”

  “Well,” with humor in her teeth, “you know, if you want to go far away, the Enterprise is a great place to do it.”

  Liana’s lips flattened, and she ducked her head further, but it somehow read almost as a small smile might.

  They walked for a bit in silence, and, wow -- how good silence could sound. How good walking could feel! But what sounded even better, y’know, was conversation. Especially conversation that mattered. So…

  “I hear you don’t want to be a Betazoid. You don’t want to be an empath. That right?”

  She jolted, as though something horrific had been found out. “Y… yes.”

  “Why not?”

  The sounds of the crowd from the bay were beginning to disperse. It made her pause sound even louder. “I… I want to be normal. I want to be… like everyone else.”

  Ha. “You are like everyone else.”

  “No.” Her voice was dark, steady, so suddenly it was surprising. It was too much like the Aella Neoma’d met one time in a communications bay. “I am apart from them, and they from me.”

  “Apart?” Neoma’d never been fantastic at clamping at her humor -- and now was no exception. A hard laugh, rough and grainy and loud erupted from her.

  “W-- what is so funny?” Ah, there she was, again -- the petulant child annoyed with the humor she didn’t understand. ( So much like Amila. So much it burned. ) “That is not funny.”  

  “Ha… you really have no idea, huh?”

  “Of course I do not. That -- that is why I asked.”

  “No, no… I meant…” Okay. Stop smiling. Serious Neoma time. “Everyone’s been in a frenzy looking for you. Spock, Reg, John. Casper. ’Ve had to tie almost all of them back from going out to look for you.”

  “What? No -- no, you are -- you are lying.”

  “What’s the point in lying, Liana? Already got you here.”

  She paused. Perhaps, Neoma supposed, to consider that maybe it was true. “R… really?”

  “Really really. Do you know how many times I had to wrangle Spock into submission?”

  “The -- the commander?”

  “Unless there’s two of ‘em.”

  “But -- no! W… why would he…? No. He… he must be like this with everyone.”

  Neoma was able to temper her amusement back to a chuckle, this time. “Nah. He told me you two were close.”

  “What?” She was watching her, now.

  “Yup. He gave me a lot of invaluable information about where to look for you, too. I don’t think any of them’s gotten a lick of sleep since your disappearing act.”

  “I… oh, I…” Her shock fell into something else. Something small and sad, plain enough for even Neoma to get. “I did not mean to worry them. I did not know they would realize my absence. I -- I just wanted… to be free.”

  Free, huh? Neoma sighed -- probably came out more like a huff. Either way, the noise was low, rueful. She didn’t get it. Ties were the best part of life. Hadn’t she just said something like that in the comms a few days ago? Having a spot to call your own, and a sky you knew… that was precious. But…

  “Well, my girls wanted to see the stars. They wanted to be free so, so bad. But you don’t have to run away to see the stars. You’re… already in Starfleet.”

  “But I…” A frustrated breath from her. “I do not want to be.”

  “Why not?”

  “I… I do not like it! It is scary, and dangerous. I do not want to live on a ship. I… I do not want to be what she was.”

  “Ancestors, kid.” It came out before she could stop it. That she was so vehemently said. “She who?”

  Liana’s voice fell low, quiet and stripped and now anything but the acid she’d once tasted. “Aella.”

  Oh. Fuck. Well, okay. “Why are you separating them?”

  “What?”

  “You and her. Who you were and who you are. You’re the same people.”

  “N-- no! No!”

  Another one? Really? “Sorry, but… yeah.” Neoma recognized the wiggling -- like an animal wanting to be put down -- and so she stopped, turned to face her. Wherever they were now, it was quieter. Less clattering, less people. Neoma pressed both her palms into Liana’s shoulders, watched her shrink, slightly. “Listen to me.” She waited until her gaze lifted, even if was only minute at first. “I used to live beneath a volcano. I’d sleep with a burlap sack over my face, and wake to watch the guar. I hadn’t been ten miles from where I lived. I hated fighting. I just wanted to watch my guar in peace. Fabric like this…” She rubbed at Liana’s shoulders. “I’d never even seen it before. It was a whole different world. And now look at me. I’m a security officer out in space. Lightyears away from where I raised those guar. On ground that isn’t really ground. On a planet that’s not really a planet. Using technology, every day, when the most expensive thing I used to own was… I don’t know. Maybe my staff. And if you’d asked me then where I’d be now… I’d never see it. I’d never see this.”

  “Then how did you get here?” By now, Liana was staring at her. Her eyes were large, glassy, fixed. Neoma felt the weight of her attention keyed into every single word. “Why are you here?”

  “Things changed. Lot of things changed. And I got new perspective. And... I guess that’s what happened to you, too. No, you don’t know why you’d want to live on a ship, or be in Starfleet. No, it doesn’t make sense to you. But you don’t remember the perspective that made you want to be here. So of course you’re confused. Of course you’re lost. But what… what if you could rediscover that perspective? What if you could learn more about yourself?”

  The eyes staring back at her were brimming with tears, now. She opened her mouth twice -- two false-starts -- before she found her voice.

  “I… I am scared something would happen to me. To who I am. John tells me he has a Haliaan waiting to heal me… but I do not believe it will heal me. I believe it will kill me.”

  “Kill you?”

  “Who I am…” Her palm raised from her side, and she stared at it, pressed fingertips against it. “I will be gone. Another person will take her place.”

  “No. Hey, look at me. No. Same person. Just new perspective. Okay? And it’s not gonna be like a…” She lifted a hand, only for as long as it took her to snap. “... you know? You may get the perspective and decide… hey. I still want to go to the Institute. I still want to leave Starfleet. And then you can. But then you’ll know, too. And something like sensing someone’s emotions won’t set you off so much that you disappear.”

  Eyelashes fluttered, and a tear fell to Liana’s cheek. Neoma moved to wipe at it with the back of her hand. The kid’s eyes shuddered closed from the contact.

  “I’m not gonna make you stay in Starfleet, okay? It’s your life. But… if you’re going to leave, I’m gonna make you say goodbye.”

  It was supposed to sound almost jesting, that last sentence, but… Liana wasn’t opening her eyes. Wasn’t relaxing again. Fuck. Neoma’d not fucked up, had she?

  Neoma was grasping at new words to throw Liana’s way when she spoke again, in a voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the nothing around them.

  “They… really missed me? They really… worried about me?”

  “Really, really.”

  Liana’s lips thinned, and she stared down at her hand again. Edged a foot a bit against the ground. “Then… then I should at least try. For them.” Tentatively… “After all… there… is nothing more important than family, yes?”

  When Neoma laughed this time, she felt it -- felt the joy, the relief, the end of a nightmare. And this time, when she pulled Liana into a hug, she felt a warmth in her belly that would’ve made it nearly impossible not to.

  “That’s exactly right, kiddo.”

[neomacaught]

Nothing More Important

   It’d been a long, grueling, impossible fifty hours. Longer and more grueling and more impossible, believably, than Neoma’d expected it to be. After all, how difficult was it to find a singular officer in a world where identification was required for everything one did?

   Apparently, difficult. She’d been awake and running around the base since 2100 hours on, uh... --... how many days ago was it? One, two? It was hard to keep track. All Neoma could remember any longer was the pounding of her feet on pavement, of the crisp air that felt drier and drier the longer she was out in it, of the feeling of brick beneath her fingers and metal against her arms as she climbed and scaled the impressive base in search. The teams by her side had switched off five separate times, and more than once someone had attempted to relieve her. 

   But she’d made a promise. She told them she’d bring her back.

   And she would.

   Doctors marveled at how she was passing each examination they ran on her in attempts to force her to take her leave. She didn’t seem to be tired, and any scrapes or bruises were beyond minor. What she’d told Jim just before he drifted to sleep was true: she didn’t get sore. But that didn’t mean that spending fifty hours wide awake, soothing every officer she came into contact with, and walking the length of one of the Federation’s biggest bases multiple times over was enjoyable or restful for her. ( That didn’t mean that part of her wasn’t still shaking from an encounter with a limp body in a river, that her disagreements with all of those close to her wasn’t burning a coldness somewhere hard in the back of her throat. ) 

   Ah, Jim… Fuck. When he learned about this disaster, she was sure he’d staunchly refuse to ever sleep again. And after all her hard work. Ancestors. It felt like all of her effort with everyone was coming up to nothing, now. Encouraging Reg out of his shell, building and mending a relationship with John, her friendship with Luci, Jim… ancestors, she was tired.

   Part of her wondered, briefly, if she could convince Spock to keep all of this on the down low from him -- especially now that it was over. But she didn’t have to know him very well at all to know that that wasn’t an option. 

   But at least it was over. At least it wasn’t like waking up on Corvid. 

   At least this was a nightmare that would end.

   After checking every Federation and non-Federation ship, the Institute, all of Yorktown… after climbing every building, sliding under every tree, dipping herself deep into water and barging in through every library… Neoma had decided, on a whim, to check for Liana on incoming ships, and was rather floored when it worked. An Aella -- not Liana -- Moore was on a non-Federation supply ship, heading back to Yorktown, and Neoma was going to be there when she docked. It only took a few calls to the captain of that ship to put together the pieces. Liana’d beamed on from a civilian transporter, rather than a Starfleet-specific one -- a transporter that dealt with such a large volume of use that it had no choice but to delete profiles of those who passed through it -- to his ship. She’d been on the base and had been trying to find another ship to lead her elsewhere. It was only a half a day, it seemed, before she’d buckled internally, admitted to him that she’d snuck aboard his ship before shields went up, and requested to take the next return trip with him. He’d agreed, and now she was less than twenty minutes from docking. 

   And so, here Neoma stood. Waiting for her. In a bustle of laughing, chattering people, moving swiftly and gleefully throughout a shuttle bay. Her pole collapsed at the magnetic belt on her side, her arms crossed, her hair pulled back into a fishtail braid that she thought maybe looked alright whenever she’d done it. She tugged at the tie to let it free from its mess, let her hair fall around her, catch briefly in the wind. 

   For a moment, it was almost too easy to believe that Liana wouldn’t show up, after all. That the information had been a farce. That she’d reported Liana’s recovery prematurely, and she’d have to resume activities again. That this was a break, and not the end. 

   But relief touched some distant part of her when she spotted a thin figure walking through the crowds. Dressed in a long white dress, a single book clutched to her chest, as though it’d protect her from the reality she was about to face. Ancestors, Liana looked about as shitty as Neoma felt. Black hollows beneath her eyes, pale, paper-thin skin, body bent in on itself. She stared at the floor with the same guilty expression Meeth wore when he knew he’d done something wrong.

   The same expression her girls had had… 

   Neoma breathed out. Released the fifty hours that’d passed -- released the memory of Amila and Naith pouting -- and focused on the start of this hour, focused on the face of this girl.  

   The security officer reached out, palm up, and waited until the kid’d walked to her side to drape her arm around her shoulders. She felt Liana stiffen beneath the contact of the half-hug, but Neoma still leaned forward to distribute a kiss in her hair. 

   “Welcome back, Liana.” 

   Liana’s head tilted up so painfully slowly -- and when their eyes met, everything in the kid’s face was open, childish, shocked. She was round, and gentle, and small, and… Ancestors, she looked like she was about eleven years old. “H… i.” 

   Neoma squeezed her with one arm. “You really gave us a fright, you know.” 

   “I… I did?” 

   The confusion would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. Maybe still would’ve been if Neoma hadn’t spent the better part of these past few days fighting that fright. 

   She smiled, instead of answering -- tapped her with her thumb and began leading her away from the ships. “Where were you off to?” Conversational. Light. 

  Liana stared back down, once again. Felt a little bit closer to Neoma than she had moments before. “I don’t…” Nearly choked. “I do not know. Just… away. As far away as possible.” 

   “Well,” with humor in her teeth, “you know, if you want to go far away, the Enterprise is a great place to do it.” 

   Liana’s lips flattened, and she ducked her head further, but it somehow read almost as a small smile might. 

   They walked for a bit in silence, and, wow -- how good silence could sound. How good walking could feel! But what sounded even better, y’know, was conversation. Especially conversation that mattered. So… 

   “I hear you don’t want to be a Betazoid. You don’t want to be an empath. That right?” 

   She jolted, as though something horrific had been found out. “Y… yes.” 

   “Why not?” 

   The sounds of the crowd from the bay were beginning to disperse. It made her pause sound even louder. “I… I want to be normal. I want to be… like everyone else.” 

   Ha. “You are like everyone else.” 

   “No.” Her voice was dark, steady, so suddenly it was surprising. It was too much like the Aella Neoma’d met one time in a communications bay. “I am apart from them, and they from me.” 

   “Apart?” Neoma’d never been fantastic at clamping at her humor -- and now was no exception. A hard laugh, rough and grainy and loud erupted from her.

   “W-- what is so funny?” Ah, there she was, again -- the petulant child annoyed with the humor she didn’t understand. ( So much like Amila. So much it burned. ) “That is not funny.”  

   “Ha… you really have no idea, huh?” 

   “Of course I do not. That -- that is why I asked.” 

   “No, no… I meant…” Okay. Stop smiling. Serious Neoma time. “Everyone’s been in a frenzy looking for you. Spock, Reg, John. Casper. ’Ve had to tie almost all of them back from going out to look for you.” 

   “What? No -- no, you are -- you are lying.” 

   “What’s the point in lying, Liana? Already got you here.” 

   She paused. Perhaps, Neoma supposed, to consider that maybe it was true. “R… really?” 

   “Really really. Do you know how many times I had to wrangle Spock into submission?” 

   “The -- the commander?” 

   “Unless there’s two of ‘em.” 

   “But -- no! W… why would he…? No. He… he must be like this with everyone.” 

   Neoma was able to temper her amusement back to a chuckle, this time. “Nah. He told me you two were close.” 

   “What?” She was watching her, now.

   “Yup. He gave me a lot of invaluable information about where to look for you, too. I don’t think any of them’s gotten a lick of sleep since your disappearing act.” 

   “I… oh, I…” Her shock fell into something else. Something small and sad, plain enough for even Neoma to get. “I did not mean to worry them. I did not know they would realize my absence. I -- I just wanted… to be free.” 

   Free, huh? Neoma sighed -- probably came out more like a huff. Either way, the noise was low, rueful. She didn’t get it. Ties were the best part of life. Hadn’t she just said something like that in the comms a few days ago? Having a spot to call your own, and a sky you knew… that was precious. But… 

   “Well, my girls wanted to see the stars. They wanted to be free so, so bad. But you don’t have to run away to see the stars. You’re… already in Starfleet.” 

   “But I…” A frustrated breath from her. “I do not want to be.” 

   “Why not?” 

   “I… I do not like it! It is scary, and dangerous. I do not want to live on a ship. I… I do not want to be what she was.” 

   “Ancestors, kid.” It came out before she could stop it. That she was so vehemently said. “She who?” 

   Liana’s voice fell low, quiet and stripped and now anything but the acid she’d once tasted. “Aella.”

   Oh. Fuck. Well, okay. “Why are you separating them?” 

   “What?” 

   “You and her. Who you were and who you are. You’re the same people.” 

   “N-- no! No!” 

   Another one? Really? “Sorry, but… yeah.” Neoma recognized the wiggling -- like an animal wanting to be put down -- and so she stopped, turned to face her. Wherever they were now, it was quieter. Less clattering, less people. Neoma pressed both her palms into Liana’s shoulders, watched her shrink, slightly. “Listen to me.” She waited until her gaze lifted, even if was only minute at first. “I used to live beneath a volcano. I’d sleep with a burlap sack over my face, and wake to watch the guar. I hadn’t been ten miles from where I lived. I hated fighting. I just wanted to watch my guar in peace. Fabric like this…” She rubbed at Liana’s shoulders. “I’d never even seen it before. It was a whole different world. And now look at me. I’m a security officer out in space. Lightyears away from where I raised those guar. On ground that isn’t really ground. On a planet that’s not really a planet. Using technology, every day, when the most expensive thing I used to own was… I don’t know. Maybe my staff. And if you’d asked me then where I’d be now… I’d never see it. I’d never see this.” 

   “Then how did you get here?” By now, Liana was staring at her. Her eyes were large, glassy, fixed. Neoma felt the weight of her attention keyed into every single word. “Why are you here?” 

   “Things changed. Lot of things changed. And I got new perspective. And... I guess that’s what happened to you, too. No, you don’t know why you’d want to live on a ship, or be in Starfleet. No, it doesn’t make sense to you. But you don’t remember the perspective that made you want to be here. So of course you’re confused. Of course you’re lost. But what… what if you could rediscover that perspective? What if you could learn more about yourself?” 

   The eyes staring back at her were brimming with tears, now. She opened her mouth twice -- two false-starts -- before she found her voice.

   “I… I am scared something would happen to me. To who I am. John tells me he has a Haliaan waiting to heal me… but I do not believe it will heal me. I believe it will kill me.” 

   “Kill you?” 

   “Who I am…” Her palm raised from her side, and she stared at it, pressed fingertips against it. “I will be gone. Another person will take her place.” 

   “No. Hey, look at me. No. Same person. Just new perspective. Okay? And it’s not gonna be like a…” She lifted a hand, only for as long as it took her to snap. “... you know? You may get the perspective and decide… hey. I still want to go to the Institute. I still want to leave Starfleet. And then you can. But then you’ll know, too. And something like sensing someone’s emotions won’t set you off so much that you disappear.” 

   Eyelashes fluttered, and a tear fell to Liana’s cheek. Neoma moved to wipe at it with the back of her hand. The kid’s eyes shuddered closed from the contact. 

   “I’m not gonna make you stay in Starfleet, okay? It’s your life. But… if you’re going to leave, I’m gonna make you say goodbye.” 

   It was supposed to sound almost jesting, that last sentence, but… Liana wasn’t opening her eyes. Wasn’t relaxing again. Fuck. Neoma’d not fucked up, had she?

   Neoma was grasping at new words to throw Liana’s way when she spoke again, in a voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the nothing around them. 

   “They… really missed me? They really… worried about me?” 

   “Really, really.” 

   Liana’s lips thinned, and she stared down at her hand again. Edged a foot a bit against the ground. “Then… then I should at least try. For them.” Tentatively… “After all… there… is nothing more important than family, yes?” 

   When Neoma laughed this time, she felt it -- felt the joy, the relief, the end of a nightmare. And this time, when she pulled Liana into a hug, she felt a warmth in her belly that would’ve made it nearly impossible not to. 

   “That’s exactly right, kiddo.” 

[imjustthemechanic]

Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion Part 13/? - Apocalypse Bunker Part 14/? - Terrible Truths Part 15/? - Library Crystals Part 16/? - The Stark Gallery

They landed at LaGuardia, where they had a quick (and expensive) lunch, and visited a kiosk to get Peggy and Howard a second set of cell phones before catching a train into the city.  Peggy’s impression of twenty-first century London had been of the city she remembered but somehow more so, bigger and brighter and busier than ever before.  Manhattan was, if anything, an even more extreme example.  The streets were teeming with cars, dogs, and people.  New, shiny buildings stood side-by-side with ones nearly a hundred years old.  And like the familiar buildings in London, it hadn’t aged particularly well.  Plaster was peeling and pavement was cracked, as if the entire island were crumbling away under the weight of all this human activity.

In the midst of all that, it was a bit unbalancing to find that the Fifth Avenue façade of Howard’s old mansion hadn’t changed a bit.  It looked exactly as it had during the brief time Peggy and Angie had lived there – a mix of Georgian and Neoclassical architecture that probably looked refined to anybody who didn’t know the difference between the two.  The magnolia trees had grown but they’d been lovingly pruned, and there were different flowers in the garden but the beds were in the same place.  It looked as if Peggy could move right back in.

Except, of course, for the giant banner advertising a new exhibit of Jackson Pollock, and the massive queue of people waiting to get in.  Those were very definitely new.

“That’s a hell of a thing to see,” Howard muttered, as they got in line.  “A hundred people just waiting to get into your house.”

“Are you telling me that’s never happened before?” Peggy asked, skeptical.

“Those were reporters,” Howard told her.  “Not members of the public.”

Peggy looked at the crowd of people waiting, and then at Toulouse herself, with blue and green locks falling out from under her knitted cap.  It would be silly to keep Toulouse and Kevin out when all these other civilians were coming in, and Toulouse herself looked determined.  Peggy had a feeling if she told her no, there’d be a fight.

“Not now,” she decided, “but this is just a scouting-out trip.  Once we have a plan for what to do next, we may ask you to leave.”  They probably wouldn’t have to worry about anything more dangerous than security guards, but Peggy wasn’t going to take that for granted.  HYDRA might be able to find this place, too.  They might even have followed them here.

“Let me know if I can help,” said Toulouse firmly.

While the main façade faced Fifth Avenue, the actual entrance to the mansion was on East Seventieth Street.  Toulouse paid admission for four and then stepped into the main foyer, where Peggy discovered that Toulouse had not been joking about the interior having been preserved with its original décor.  Even the wallpaper was, while not exactly what she remembered, certainly a very close replica.  The coat check and small gift shop were on the right, and on the wall across from them was a large framed photograph of a family posing in the portico.

“Son of a bitch,” Howard said under his breath, and walked towards it.

The photo was in colour, and printed very large – nearly three feet tall, which rendered the image a little grainy up close.  Even so, there was no mistaking the identity of the largest figure.  It could only possibly be Howard himself.

Peggy came closer, too, to see how her friend had changed over the years.  He definitely looked older, thinner, and more tired.  His mustache was a little bushier and his hair had gone gray, and he looked more deathly serious than she could ever remember seeing him.  Standing on his right and smiling gently was an attractive blonde woman, at least twenty years younger than he.  Her hair fell long around her shoulders and she was dressed in a dark skirt suit and pearls.  Between the adults was a little boy, three or four years old.  He had a mop of dark hair and serious brown eyes, and looked stiff and uncomfortable in his little suit and tie.

There was a brass plaque below the picture.  It said, Howard, Maria, and Anthony Stark, September 1973.

“So that’s them, eh?” Howard murmured.

“So it is,” Peggy agreed.

It was a strange thing to see, she thought.  Toulouse had mentioned that Howard would get married, but here was the proof, staring back at them across forty years.  His wife, Maria, was very much Howard’s type – a petite blonde with a pretty face and a charming smile.  Peggy wondered what was different about this one.  What had made Howard decided that out of all those little blondes, this was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

Howard must have been thinking the same thing.  “I wonder what she was like,” he said.  “I wonder where I met her.”

“It might say on your Wikipedia article,” Toulouse suggested from behind him.

“Yeah,” Howard said distantly, and Peggy could tell that he wasn’t going to look.  He didn’t want to know.  Why would he?  Who wanted to know that here was the love of their lives, forever beyond their reach?

Peggy knew that feeling all too well.  It still came over her every so often, usually in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep.  She’d told herself again and again that she was over Steve, that she couldn’t dwell on what might have been – she’d told Jason that, and it had been good advice for him as it was for her, but there was a part of her heart that just wasn’t willing to take it.  Daniel had asked Peggy if she still loved him and she’d had to say yes, she always would.  She knew better than to let it interfere with the rest of her life and relationships, but she was very much still in love with Steve Rogers.

Kevin and Toulouse were hanging back now, not wanting to interrupt.  Peggy herself was of two minds about it.  If they stayed here staring for two long, somebody might wonder why, but Howard was having to contemplate an entire life he could never live.  A wife he would never meet, a son he would never hug… he would need time to cope with that.  Peggy hoped they had that time.

Finally, Howard tore himself away, with honest pain in his face that he couldn’t quite hide by forcing himself to smile.  “Okay,” he said.  “The vault entrance will be in the library.”

“Wasn’t it in the music room?” asked Peggy with a frown.  Howard had used the library.  The music room was only there because fancy houses were supposed to have one.

“It was, but when I decided to hide it better I planned to move the door,” he explained.  “If I got on with that, it’ll be in the library.”

The music room was circular, and was now used as an exhibit of antique instruments, including an eighteenth-century cello and a white-lacquered grand piano.  They looked like the sort of things Howard would collect just because rich people were supposed to collect things.  A doorway from there led into the library, which was where most of the crowd was.  Not only was it home to several rare books, but the featured exhibit of three paintings by Pollock were hanging on the far wall.  These were not particularly impressive as far as Peggy could tell.  They all looked like they’d been made by simply throwing paint at a canvas.

Howard took no interest in the art at all.  He turned immediately to the right, where the library shared a wall with the music room – the fact that the latter was round left a wedge-shaped space between them.  A large Indian rug was hung there, with a plastic panel in front of it so that people couldn’t touch.

“Is this the place?” Peggy asked.  Based on her memory of the music room entrance, it did seem right.

“Should be,” Howard said.  “Looks like they re-wallpapered, or maybe I did that.  Either way, hides the entrance completely.  If I can just find the seam in the plaster…” he reached to touch the wall.

“Sir,” a security guard stepped forward.  “You’re not allowed to touch that.”

Howard looked at the man and began drawing himself up to his full height, and a horrible mental picture flashed through Peggy’s head.  He’d forgotten the situation, and was about to tell the guard that he could touch whatever he wanted in his own house.  She grabbed his arm to drag him away.

“There’s a sign right there, Honey,” she said, in an American accent.  “I know it’d look nice in your study, but I’m sure it’s not for sale.  Right?”  She smiled at the guard.

“That’s correct, Ma’am,” the guard told her.

Howard deflated as he remembered where and when they were.  “Yeah, okay.  Sorry,” he said.

There was a little café in the museum courtyard.  The food there was even more shockingly expensive than at the airport, but they ordered some coffee with steamed milk and some Danish pastries, and sat down to talk about their next move.  Howard continued to be uncharacteristically quiet.  The fact that this house no longer belonged to him was apparently as difficult for him as knowing he would never meet the woman in the photograph.

“I suppose we could always come up through the sewers, like the last people who robbed that vault,” Peggy observed.

Howard shook his head.  “I filled in the hole and reinforced it.  It’d take a bomb to get it out again.  We’ll just chip off the plaster and go in through the door.”

“And how do we get back into the house after closing?” Peggy wanted to know.  She didn’t doubt Howard knew how to do it, she only wanted to remind him that he hadn’t told her.

“Why would we leave?”  Howard started to smile again.  “You really think I built myself a house with only one secret room?”

“Oh, of course.”  Peggy shook her head.  “How very silly of me!”

“How can I help?” asked Toulouse.

The humour melted out of the conversation as Peggy and Howard exchanged a glance.  Neither of them wanted Toulouse getting hurt, and the chances of them triggering some kind of alarm while doing this were very good.  A technology that could create those multi-use mobile phones could do all kinds of things with surveillance.

“You can wait outside,” Peggy decided, “and let us know if the police are coming.”

Toulouse sighed.  “That’s what I figured you’d say.”

“You’ve already been a great help,” Peggy assured her.  “We couldn’t have come this far without you.”

“I know,” said Toulouse.  She had a spoon in her hand, and was playing with the foam on her coffee, piling it up in to a mound that slowly collapsed again.  “Daddy would agree with you.  He’s all about paying to save the world, but he never goes to any of these places himself.  I guess he’s afraid he’ll end up like Junior.”

Peggy had slept through the part of the conversation on the plane when Toulouse had said how her brother died.  She wondered now if it might be important, but Toulouse didn’t look as if she wanted to talk about it and Peggy didn’t want to sound like she was prying.  “Well, perhaps that’s a very good reason,” she said.

“I agree with them, for what that’s worth,” said Kevin.  “I’m just sticking around to make sure somebody’s trying to avoid Yellowstone blowing up under me.  I don’t actually want to have to fight a supervillain if I don’t have to.”

“Daddy isn’t a supervillain!” Toulouse protested.

“He kind of is,” said Kevin.  “I mean, he wants to set off a volcano on purpose.  That’s some top-tier supervillainy.”

“He is not a supervillain,” Toulouse told him.  “Supervillains are like… are like Loki, or Ultron.  They’ve got powers and stuff.  Daddy isn’t a supervillain.  I figure there’s got to be a reason why him and Cass are mixed up in this,” she went on.  Now she was gesturing with the spoon, rather than scooping foam.  “Maybe somebody’s using them.  Remember I said Daddy did the investigation when HYDRA was exposed in the UK?  Maybe somebody promised him something and he didn’t realize it was going to lead to this!  I wish I’d been able to say something to Cass.”

Peggy wondered if she ought to be worried.  It was possible that Toulouse was right, and if she told her father and brother what was going on, they’d put a stop to it.  It was also possible, however, that she was dead wrong, and that trying to say anything to them would be a disaster.  They needed more information before they could let her try.  Before she could say anything, though, Howard spoke.

“Actually, Toulouse, Kevin, I’ve got a really important job for you two.  We are going to need a distraction.”

The staircase to the second floor was between the foyer and the fountain court  There was a security guard posted there to intervene if anybody decided to duck under the rope.  Across from the staircase was a little marble table displaying an intricate silver-plated wine cooler.  Toulouse and Kevin passed by this, and Toulouse hitched her purse up her shoulder and knocked the cooler over.

“Oh my god!  I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, and went to pick it up.

“No, don’t touch it, you’ll get fingerprints on it!” Kevin told her.  He stuck out his foot to stop her, and bumped the thing again.

“Both of you get away from that!” the horrified guard exclaimed.  He went to move them away from it, and with his back turned, Peggy and Howard slipped up the red-carpeted stairs.

“That poor cooler,” Peggy remarked.

“Eh, it’s not even real Sheffield plate,” Howard said, unconcerned.

At the top of the steps was a little room where another guard was supposed to be watching a bank of television screens that showed various views of the house.  Peggy and Howard outside the door were quite clearly visible on one of them, but the guard in question was reading a comic book and not paying the slightest attention.  As they tiptoed by, Peggy noticed what was hanging on the wall next to the shelves of screens.

“Is that one of those paintings from California?” she asked.

Howard glanced over his shoulder at the portrait.  “I dated an artist there,” he said.  “She told me I was her muse.  That’s when I knew I had to leave her – I couldn’t take being anybody’s muse.  Too much pressure.”

“Mmm,” said Peggy.  “We’re lucky the staff didn’t recognize you, if they have to look at that all day.”  Then again, perhaps they had, and just dismissed it as a coincidence.

“I wonder what happened to the ones she did of me nude,” Howard said.

“If she had any sense, she burned them.”

[hiraeth-doux]

A Road Paved In Gold (12/?)

Summary: Steve Trevor didn’t die in the sky in Belgium, but his survival came with a price he couldn’t have ever imagined.

A/N: Okay, this is probably something you’ve been waiting for? I hope? :)) Thank you for your patience, guys ♡♡

AO3 |  FF.net

Gotham, 2017

The storm came two night later, strong and vicious, the nature lashing out at the world with frightening determination. The wind was bending the trees around the lake house in half while the thunder rolled angrily so close to the roof that it felt like it was going to shake it right off any second.

“Do not turn left,” Steve said into a headpiece as he watched a grainy image of a security camera on the screen before him.

“There’s also a right,” Victor’s voice sounded loud and clear in his ear.

“There’s a staircase straight ahead of you,” Alfred leaned closer to the screen across the desk, his fingers tapping impatiently against it.

Steve’s stomach tightened, his mind racing. The howling of the wind outside was making the Batcave feel particularly… well, cavernous, and yet he still preferred it to the ground level of the house where the walls suddenly felt fragile under the raging gusts of wind and a heavy downpour that made him feel like they were drowning. What was Bruce thinking living in an actual glass box he had no idea.

The distress call from the S.T.A.R. Labs in Gotham came about an hour ago, and at first it seemed that it was merely a power outage issue, what with the storm practically trying to flood the entire city. Until the maintenance crew arrived to have a look only to find the building alight and half of the staff beaten up within an inch of their lives while the other half was holed up in every nook and crevice they could find while the Lab was taken over by what appeared to be a group of people who Barry described in a hushed whisper as ‘freaky’ – Steve found that detail particularly helpful.

Fast, strong, ruthless, and without a grain of humanity and consciousness to them, they were adamant to leave the place, even if it meant taking a few lives along the way.

“Test subjects,” Bruce grunted with disgust when they came across some sort of hibernation pods in the basement with life support system hooked up to them. Steve could hear him running, his footfalls soft and almost soundless for someone his size. “Someone was trying to create their own universal soldiers.” The words sounded sour in his mouth, like he bit into a lemon.

“Or meta-humans,” Victor added somberly.

Steve exchanged stunned glances with Alfred.

New meta-humans…

And suddenly everything felt a thousand times more real – the intensity, the danger, the tight voices on the other end. Like the whole world zeroed in on a handful of people trying to solve this puzzle while the time slowed down to a crawl, so precious each moment was. So life-changing each of them could be.

His mind jumped to Waller. To their conversation a couple of days ago. She wouldn’t do it—she wouldn’t have time–

How long could it take to drug and brainwash someone out of their mind? Maybe not long, but Victor said that the place looked like it had been operating for some time. Located on the lower level that wasn’t even supposed to be used, it could have remained hidden for a while, he figured. A backup plan? Her Task Force X plan had failed spectacularly, costing her not only a chunk of her ego but also the trust of the people she was meant to protect. And the League, despite her attempts, was barely under her control.

If he was honest with himself and based on what he knew about this woman, Steve wouldn’t have put keeping a whole new army on ice past her. Someone – Bruce? – had mentioned hibernation pods, and given the Labs’ access to resources and technology, he didn’t doubt that they could probably come up with a way to keep someone in a medically induced coma for as long as they needed it.

Until the storm cut off power for however short a time and woke the subjects up.

But that was a food for thought for later, and definitely something to consider when they had more time and hopefully information. Right now, they needed to get everyone out of the facility and try to round the… whatever those people were.

“They are soldiers,” Steve muttered when one of the cameras snatched an image of two men in what looked like hospital scrubs walking along the corridor, their eyes glassy, their faces nothing but stone masks that carried no trace of emotion.

“Pardon me?” Alfred turned to him.

“Soldiers,” Steve repeated, his brows pulling together. “You can see it in their postures, in the way they move.” Like they were on a prowl.

He wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad news. On the one hand, it was one less question bumping around his head. On the other, though, they were trained to survive at all costs, they tended to be excellent at hand to hand combat, and although it factored greatly into a certain degree of predictability that the League could use to their advantage, devoid of all other instincts, they could be lethal. Especially devoid of other instincts.

He’d seen it before, in the Great War. Not a medically induced condition, but more like despair that stripped men around him off their humanity. Like they weren’t going to stop at anything. They had reached their limit and had nothing to lose. Except they were not at war now.

The men paused in front of the camera and looked up, and for a second Steve got an unnerving feeling that they were staring straight him. So much so that he even drew back involuntarily. And then one of them reached for the lens and the screen went black.

“Great,” Alfred muttered.

“Victor, is your father there?” Steve asked a little too loudly, getting a muttered curse from Bruce.

“No,” Victor responded promptly. “Not this late. The only staff around are those burning the late night oil.”

A loud noise of something like a file cabinet toppling to the floor cut him off.

And then Diana’s voice barked at Barry to duck, so close that it made Steve’s pulse stutter. More commotion followed dotted with grunts and yelling, although whose it was hard to tell. Arthur’s war cry cut in, close to someone with a headpieces as he deemed being hooked to one of Bruce’s gadgets uncool. More screams. Rapid footfalls of someone running.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred said if a little tentatively, fearful of being distracting when Bruce least needed it.

Nervous energy mixed with adrenaline was throbbing in Steve’s chest, hot as lava. His hand was gripping the edge of the desk. Another peal of thunder rolled over their heads, making the whole house shake all the way down to the foundation.

“We have half of them, out of about a dozen,” Victor’s voice cut through the sounds Steve was no longer trying to interpret. “And all staff is safe in the back, but a few might need medical assistance. Those guys knew what they were doing. ”

“Don’t hurt them,” Diana’s order followed, muffled and too far away from them, and still like on cue Steve’s heart slammed hard against his ribs. “It’s not their fault. They are confused and don’t know what’s happening.”

“Just another Friday night,” Alfred muttered, rubbing his eyes, the lines around his mouth deeper somehow, his concern no longer hidden behind the ever-present façade of mild disinterest.

The problem, however, wasn’t to just stop the rogue subjects, but to do it safely, seeing as how Diana was right and they were as much the victims here as the people they had turned on, but remembering that was all the much harder when someone Steve actually cared about was fighting on the front line.

His mind was still spinning, trying to put the information together. From the pieces he’d snatched here and there, it looked like someone was attempting to create new meta-humans by pumping people – who might or might not have volunteered for it on their own free will – with steroids and a chemical cocktail meant to increase their endurance and stamina and god only knew what else. During the process of transformation they were, apparently, sedated either to reduce the pain of the process or to avoid violent outbursts, but when the storm hit the city, the lightning damaged several power lines in the area, shutting down the machines they were hooked to and cutting off the drip of the sedative. The few minutes that it took the emergency generator to kick in were all they needed to wake up, drugged up out of their minds, disoriented, and desperate to get the hell out of the place that had turned them into something that they couldn’t understand. There was nothing to them but heightened strength, fast reflexes, and an animal instinct to survive at any cost now.

The one thing that Steve wanted to know right now was if there was a way to really save them.

He thought back to Dr. Maru and her experiments, to the Nazi camps during the Second World War, and felt sick in the pit of his stomach. Funny how people never truly learned not to play god. Their ways grew more refined, but at the core so little had changed over the past hundred years that he was starting to wonder if they were going to keep running in circles for as long as they existed as a species, or if there was hope for them still.

Steve jolted at the sound of a loud crack upstairs, and then a flash of lightning darted toward them, a breeze of movement sending a stack of papers to the floor and the air around them was suddenly thick with static and smell of the storm.

And then Barry was lowering Victor onto the concrete floor, grimacing with exertion as he struggled not to collapse as well.

“What happened?” Alfred asked as Steve moved instantly to crouch near the Cyborg, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Nothing,” Victor winced, his whole body twitching slightly all over. “I’m good.”

“No, he’s not,” Barry protested in between sucking in gulps of air, his face glistening with the rain water. “The robot man is not meant to be tossed against walls,” he explained.

Steve turned to Victor, not quite certain what he was looking for. He was no medic to begin with, and Victor… Victor wasn’t even human, biologically speaking. Whatever his injury was, it had to be internal, and to be completely honest, he wouldn’t know how to go about it even if he knew where to start.

“I’m good,” Victor insisted, frowning with one human eyebrow and waving them off. “Just… need to… I’m fine.”

“Is it over?” Alfred asked Barry.

“No,” Barry shook his head fanatically. “Diana said to get Vic out of the way.”

Her name set Steve’s inner alarms wailing. “Where is she?” He asked in a suddenly hoarse voice. “Barry, where is Diana?”

“She was with Arthur, last time I saw her,” the younger man responded if a little uncertainly. “They were about to be done. There was like a storage room, kinda like a vault on the lower lever and we were trying to lure them all there, those… things.” He inhaled with a shudder. “And then one of them sorta decided to play a Cyborg rugby.”

“He didn’t—” Victor winced.

“You stopped responding, dude,” Barry interjected and then looked up at Steve. “They should be here any moment.”

Steve nodded, not quite buying his feigned nonchalance, not when Barry was basically vibrating with either excitement or stress, or a combination of both. At least he didn’t seem hurt. Steve looked up at the screens. And froze.

Breaking into the Labs’ intranet was a piece of cake, what with Bruce’s advanced toys the origins of which he tried not to think too hard about. And helpful, too, as it allowed them to tap into the live feed of the security cameras. However, it wasn’t what drew Steve’s attention now. It was a small red warning signal blinking in the corner of the screen.

Earlier, when the power went off, the emergency generator kicked in. But right now he could see that for some reason, when the central supply was restored, the generator didn’t turn off as it was meant to, and now the place was so overloaded it was a miracle the sparks weren’t flying.

Steve darted toward the workstation and swore as his fingers hit the keyboard.

“Captain…” Alfred started.

“I need to turn off the power,” Steve muttered, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it happen. He could feel three pairs of eyes on him, quizzical and worried.

“Ms. Prince asked not to--” Alfred began, stepping toward Steve.

“It’s a laboratory, Alfred,” Steve cut him off. “What do they have in laboratories?”

“Super cool tech,” Barry piped in from behind them.

“Illegal experiments?” Alfred offered, puzzled.

Steve shook his head without looking away from the screen. “Oxygen tanks.”

He heard Alfred suck in a breath.  

“If there is a fire…” Steve started, but refused to go any further, his imagination helpfully supplying him with a vivid picture he wasn’t sure he’d be able to erase any time soon. “Ms. Prince might need to be unhappy about this some other time--Dammit!” He smacked his fist on the keyboard in frustration. “It’s not responding. I need to—I have to—” He sprung up to his feet, his breath hitching. “They need to shut it off… Bruce!” He barked into an earpiece.

And it was then that he realized that he couldn’t hear anything anymore. Nothing, not even the ever present sound of someone’s footsteps or breathing heavy with exertion on the other side. The channel was silent.

“It’s down,” Alfred said before he could ask. “The communication system is down. Must be the storm…”

“Victor--”

“I can’t.” Still sprawled on the floor, the Cyborg grimaced in what looked like pain. “I can’t connect to anything, not until I…” He trailed off with a wince.

“I could go,” Barry said quickly standing up, his glance darting toward the staircase. “I’m fast.”

Steve paused and turned to him, considering his earnest, eager face, his whole body still shaking slightly either from energy coursing through him, or adrenaline, or cold. They needed to turn the power off as soon as possible, and of them all, Barry had speed on his side.

“Do you know how to do it?” Steve asked.

Barry hesitated. “If you tell me…”

At that, Steve was shaking his head and running up the stairs already, ignoring Alfred calling his name and taking two steps at a time because it was a matter of minutes, perhaps, and maybe Barry was fast, but if he did it wrong, he wouldn’t be helping anyone. He could kill them all.

Steve’s hands were shaking with adrenalize when he rolled his bike out of the garage and into the dark driveway, its wheels skidding on wet gravel. He tried Diana’s phone on the way out the door, not surprised to hear it ringing somewhere in the house – they left in a haste. And then Bruce’s in a burst of wild hope, but it went to voicemail, seeing as how they were all busy.

It was up to him then.  

The rain was still falling in earnest, the wind throwing angry handfuls of water at the face shield of his helmet. The handlebars were sleek and slippery in his hands, and he had to grip them tight so as not to feel like he was going to veer off any moment. The wet road glinted in the headlight of his bike while the world around him was nothing but blackness and he hoped desperately that he wouldn’t get lost in the maze of unfamiliar streets as he circled around the city.

Another lightning pierced the sky, and Steve sped up, fearing the worst. If any of them hit S.T.A.R. Labs, it wouldn’t stand a chance. Even now, he was half-expecting to see a blaze of fire on the horizon.

Instead, the S.T.A.R. Labs perimeter lights came into view, sooner than he had anticipated, the parking lot glistening with puddles.

He skidded to an abrupt halt, the traction of his bike on the slippery ground nearly sending him flying, and hit the ground running as he yanked his helmet off and tossed it on the grass. Frigid rain blinded him momentarily. Even from twenty yards away, the building was towering ominously over him.

This part of town was crowded with banks and business centres, bustling with life and commotion during the day, but this late at night and in the storm that was seemingly trying to eradicate the world itself, it was dark and dead silent save for the explosions of thunder and the rusting of the rain. There was something unnerving in it, in the darkness around him and the echo of his footsteps on the pavement.

A few of the second-floor windows were lit up, but the front entrance was locked and his pounding on the thick reinforced-glass door remained unanswered. He could hear muffled sounds of struggle coming from the inside, police and ambulance sirens piercing the air – Alfred must have tipped them off. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, panic building up inside of him like a tidal wave threatening to drown him.

He swore under his breath, the expletives that even Charlie, known in his brave days as a cussing pro, would find impressive, and started toward the back of the building, desperately trying to remember the layout the saw captured on the CCTV camera and the floor plans that he wasn’t sure they could trust. The main breaker box controlling the power supply of the building was inside, but there was also a backup one, for emergencies, although Steve didn’t think that anyone could have possibly accounted for something like this when they were designing this facility.

He heard a glass break somewhere inside the building, his head snapped up automatically, and there was only so much he could so not to dash in that direction on instinct. Instead, he nearly fell, running into Batmobile, black as the night itself, parked crookedly on the lawn.

Someone screamed above him.

Breathless, Steve stumbled in the dark, hands groping along the wall, and then all but threw himself at the breaker box when his fingers grazed against the metal. He could smell the smoke already, the metal was hot when he touched it, but it was locked, too. He glanced around, looking for something to break into it with, but this far away from the street lights, everything was black and thick with shadows around him. He was running out of time.

He flexed his fingers, curling them into a fist, and hit the lock once, twice, three times, the door bending under the force of his blows. At last, something gave in inside of it and he yanked the door open with enough force to nearly rip it off, his eyes scanning the switches wildly. When he touched them, they were hot, almost melting. He could see small sparks, too. Could hear the low hum of electricity running wild.

A moment of hesitation, and Steve flipped a few switches down, burning his fingers on the melting plastic. The whole building plunged into darkness. Everything went eerily quiet for a few long moments. All he could hear was the patter of the rain all around him, heavy drops bouncing off his jacket, his hair plastered to his head.

And then a sound of a broken glass pierced the night. A window above him shattered and something – someone – went flying out of it. Steve recognized one of the subjects immediately by the swift roll along the wet grass and a predator crouch that he came up in. He looked up for a brief second and then his eyes fixed on Steve – a new target.

“Oh, hell,” Steve muttered when the man lunged at him, his teeth bared and his body poised for attack. They really didn’t have time for this.

The impact of collision sent Steve into the brick wall, his breath knocked out of his body. He hissed in pain when his bad shoulder took the worst of it, pain jolting down his arm and he pushed the soldier away. He stumbled as stars exploded behind his eyes, his hand groping along the wall for support. But the man wasn’t done. He was coming at Steve again. And bloody hell, those people were basically superhuman and he very much was not.

His hand shaking, he grabbed onto the breaker box door and yanked at it, slamming it into the man’s face. He staggered unsteadily but not from the damage so much as in surprise. Not letting him gain his bearings, Steve swung at him, punching him square into a jaw and bracing himself for another attack. However, before he could so much as blink, a glowing lasso all of a sudden wrapped around his chest. The next moment Diana herself landed gracefully behind them, her eyes blazing and her expression fierce in the pale glow of the emergency lights, and pulled hard.

The man fell back onto the concrete pathway with a dull thud, swallowed instantly by the darkness and rain. He didn’t move after that.

Steve exhaled sharply.

They stood in front of one another as the pause stretched between them, separated by the veil of rainfall. His chest was still heaving, his hands flexing ever so slightly, curling into fists and uncurling again, his mind oddly empty. This was the first time he saw her in her armour since the 50’s and he couldn’t help but stare.

Diana glanced down at the man sprawled at her feet, which Steve found awfully ironic and more than a little hilarious, considering that it summed up the feelings of all League members toward her pretty damn accurately, albeit in a slightly more figurative sense. Then she looked up at Steve, a faint frown on her face, although he couldn’t tell if it was meant for him or the situation in general.

But before either of them could say a word, Arthur appeared behind him, his eyes locked on the man sprawled on the ground.

“Nice catch, Cap,” he noted gruffly, but not without approval.

“Wasn’t me…” Stave started, swallowing back a comment about how much more in his element the Atlantian seemed when he was drenched, his hand clasped tightly around his trident and his face all but joyous in the fight. He truly did find his calling with the League, it seemed.

Steve hoped he didn’t spear anyone in that building, or they would have some serious issues with the authorities. Amanda Waller would not be pleased.  

Another shadow that leaped from the broken window effectively derailed the train of his thought, and then Bruce was standing over the man as well, his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breathing. Steve could see a cut on his cheek, the rain washing away the blood, his eyes narrowed against the wind.

He glanced briefly at Arthur and Steve before his gaze was drawn back to Diana. “I guess we got them all,” he noted.

She nodded and lifted her eyes again, but by then, Steve already stepped into the shadows and disappeared in the rain.

---

“Does it hurt?” Alfred asked, more curious than concerned, which, given Vic’s history with surviving far worse things wasn’t much of a surprise if Steve was honest with himself.

There was curiosity pulsing inside of him, too, so at least they had that in common.

Sprawled on the couch in the lounge, Victor looked up at him. “It doesn’t hurt,” he responded. “It’s more like…. Like if you throw a laptop against a wall, you wouldn’t really expect it to work as well as before, would you?”

“I wouldn’t throw a laptop against a wall,” Alfred noted.

“Not everyone is that considerate,” Victor grimaced a little, and tried again, “Imagine your system failing.”

Alfred arched an eyebrow at him. “I’d rather not.”

“So how does this work?” Steve asked. Sitting across the coffee table from the couch, he leaned forward, elbow propped on his thighs as he studied the Cyborg closely. He didn’t look any different, admittedly, but using his own analogy, a broken device might not either. Only one of his hands was flexing ever so slightly as if he was squeezing an invisible stress ball.

Victor turned to him. “Nano-bots will patch me up. At least I don’t feel like I’m being electrocuted from the inside anymore. I’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Which is… how long?” Barry inquired.

“A few hours, probably.”

“Would you like some aspirin, Mr. Stone?” Alfred offered graciously.

Victor shook his head. “Thanks, Alfred, but I don’t think it’s how this works.”

“Well, then,” the older man straightened up. “In that case, I better go check if Master Wayne has any bones that need to be snapped into place. Ms. Prince,” he nodded at Diana who stepped into the lounge on his way out.

A brief hello, and she moved into the room. “Victor,” she smiled at the Cyborg, walking over to the couch. She studied him, her head tilted. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone broke him,” Barry offered helpfully. He turned to the Cyborg and poked him in a metal shoulder. “Hey, can we reboot you?”

Victor waved his hand off. “Can we reboot you?”

“I’m not made of Nano-bots,” Barry pointed out.

“My point exactly.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Diana asked, nipping their bickering in the bud.

Victor tuned to her and nodded. “I am.” He paused. “It’s just—it’s easier to be here where my father doesn’t prod at me even though it’s nothing,” he added, and asked, “What about… those… whoever they were?”

Diana’s brows pulled together, and Steve remembered Arthur mentioning the Labs’ staff and night security who got a full dose of weird and had to be coaxed out of their hiding spots, not trusting the people who had attacked them to be detained and no longer dangerous. Several had to be sent to the hospital with concussion and a few broken bones, none of them coherent enough to even begin to tell their side of the story yet.

“They are under observation for now,” she responded. “Once the drug they are on wears off, they will be sent into a recovery therapy to see if they can remember what happened to them and who did it.”

“There was nothing in the S.T.A.R. Labs on them?” Steve looked up at her. “No records, no…”

“No,” she shook her head.

“I asked dad to check,” Victor spoke, his gaze darting between the two of them. “But he doesn’t have the clearance.”

“I bet we won’t have an issue with that,” Steve muttered, thinking of the magic that the Batcave contained.

Diana nodded. “Bruce will see if he can bypass their firewall, but there’s a chance that whoever is behind this was careful enough not to leave any trace.”

“So, we’re just making meta-humans now?” Barry asked, voicing what everyone was thinking.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Diana said diplomatically. “We don’t know that for a fact.”

“It was obvious enough last night,” he pointed out.

“Waller?” Victor offered.

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “She is quite busy trying to sweep it under the rug right now,” he said carefully, mindful of not looking at anyone in particular. “She couldn’t control Suicide Squad and she can’t control Justice League. It is not unreasonable to assume that her trying to keep quiet about this is an attempt to keep her record clean, but there is also a possibility that she might be tired of waiting and decided to take the matters into her own hands.”

“So that’s a yes, maybe,” Barry summed up.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Diana promised. She turned to Victor again and leaned in to place her hand on his cheek. “Thank you, for helping last night.”

He nodded again, and even smiled, his voice softening. “Sure thing.”

“And if there is anything--”

“I’ll ask,” he promised.

She reached for his hand a squeezed it, encouragement and affection pouring out of her eyes. Then she looked up, her eyes locking with Steve’s.

“Can we talk?” She asked.

He blinked, startled, as if there was another Steve in the room and she couldn’t have possibly meant him. His gaze held hers, a silent question in her eyes. Anticipation. Uncertainty. They were doing a damn good job dancing around one another without much of actual communication and he wondered what could have possibly made that change.

“Yeah. Sure, of course,” he said when the pause between them grew sufficiently awkward and cleared his throat.

“In private,” Diana added when he remained sitting.

Steve nodded if a little hesitantly, feeling like a moron for no reason that he could pinpoint, and rose from his seat to follow her.

“What’d you do?” Barry’s whispered theatrically to his back, but Steve barely registered the question.  

He thought they would to the study, or maybe the kitchen, but instead Diana headed to the garage where she pulled the driver’s door of a grey Volvo open, keys in hand. She paused when Steve stopped several feet away from the car, more confused than anything at this point, watching him with one eyebrow raised. Half-dare, half-invitation.

Oh, hell, it wasn’t like he had anything to lose, and his curiosity was starting to get the best of him.

Steve slid into the passenger seat without a word and she started the car, the engine purring softly under the hood as they rolled out into the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.

“Were they the military?” He asked when they were on the highway, staring out of his window and trying not to think of a thousand reasons for Diana to ask him to come somewhere with her for a talk, none of which looked particularly bright in his mind.

There was little they could say to one another that couldn’t be said in front of everyone else in the house, and he wondered if the trip was meant to make it less uncomfortable for either of them.

“It seems so, yes,” she responded, her voice measured.

He nodded. “Makes sense. If you want to create enhanced soldiers, it would probably pay off to use the real ones for it.”

The idea made him sick, the things he’s seen before vivid and clear before his eyes. They had fought so hard for every grain of peace. He could still smell the blood on his hands, feel the recoil of the rifle ram into his shoulder, hear the echo of the gunfire so clear in his mind like someone was pulling the trigger not ten feet away from him. All this, and they were still here, in the midst of another war the people were bringing upon themselves for no reason he could think of. And still, every victory felt like merely a stepping stone leading to another battle, and another one, and another one. And there seemed to be no end to them.

Nothing was ever enough.

“Do you really think Amanda Waller is behind it?” Steve asked after a few moments.

Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel. “The question is – why would she?”

“You said so yourself – she wanted someone like you to control, but she can’t control the League. I don’t see anything stopping her from trying to create an army of Terminators if she is so hell-bent on power.”

He saw Diana glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “I thought that having you here was meant to get Bruce to cooperate.”

“Bruce doesn’t seem like the type,” Steve breathed.

There was something that the Batman wanted from Waller, but Steve didn’t know how long they would keep up this charade without going for each other’s throats. When her team arrived at S.T.A.R. Labs last night, just missing that narrow window of being useful, he did think that it was not going to end well. He wondered how close they came to having another casualty or two.  

Diana bit he lip, two faint lines appearing between her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

They hadn’t spoken again until she pulled up to a curb near an old apartment building not far from the business district of Gotham. Red-brick building with bay windows and high stoops reminded Steve of the Beacon Hill area in Boston. He looked up, taking in the cheery curtains on said windows and potted plants on the windowsills and the general air of coziness that spoke of belonging, and felt a twinge in his gut. Nostalgia for the things he never had.

He followed Diana up the stoop leading to the entrance and then to the third floor where she opened one of the doors and stepped into an apartment. The large window right across the door overlooked the street and a row of similar houses on the other side of the road. He allowed himself to have a look around, noting that the place seemed spacious but impersonal. There were no knickknacks on the half-empty bookshelf, plain blinds instead of curtains, and the air smelled faintly of dust. Clearly, it had been a while since anyone bothered to open windows to let some fresh air in. Or to live here, for that matter.  

“What is this place?” He asked at last, overcome with curiosity.

Diana closed the door behind them and paused hear the counter that was separating the small kitchen from the living room. She put the car keys on the countertop that, to Steve, looked like real marble. He was no expert, but the place seemed like a rare find.

“Clark stayed here when he was working on Lex Luthor’s case,” she answered, glancing around. “Bruce kept it after he—after Clark died so that Lois could take care of his things.” Okay, that would explain the boxes in the corner, Steve thought. “I think he’ll just wait for the lease to expire rather than bother dealing with it. I thought…” She trailed off and looked at him, her arms folded over her chest. “I thought it would be slightly more private than the house. It can get…”

“Hectic,” he finished when she paused, searching for words. “Okay, sure.” He shrugged and stared at her expectantly.

The slight frown of disapproval made its return as Diana gave him a measured look.

“What you did last night was reckless,” she said. Not angry, but there was a sliver of frustration simmering right under her skin, close enough for him to catch a glimpse.

“Driving in the rain? I doubt it,” he brushed her off. “I mean, statistically speaking….”

“You know what I mean,” she interjected, not falling for his attempt at deflecting. “The electric doors were the only thing keeping those people contained.”

“I don’t think it stopped that guy that leaped out of the window,” he reminded her, his heartbeat stuttering just a bit at the memory of expressionless face and dead eyes staring at him.

“He was the last one. What if they--”

“But they didn’t,” Steve countered. “They shouldn’t have been created in the first place.”

“That is not the point,” Diana shook her head and leveled him with a gaze. “You could have been hurt,” she added softer.

“I wasn’t.” Steve stuffed hands into the pockets of his pants, wishing he knew where this was coming from.

She couldn’t argue with this logic and they both knew that they would drown in what-ifs if they ever allowed themselves to venture there, but there was something else that bothered her that he couldn’t see yet. He watched her try to figure it out for herself, and the possibilities scared him.

“If we’re a part of the team, I need to be able to trust you,” Diana said at last.

Steve glanced away from her. “You used to,” he muttered.  

“You were not supposed to be there last night, Steve. If something happened to you--” She took a breath, her voice finding a disapproving edge, and his pulse tripped over itself. “We wouldn’t—I wouldn’t know to help you until it was too late.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “I wasn’t—” he started, trying to focus on the conversation and not her eyes watching him with careful anticipation and the fact that this was the first time in the past few weeks that they were really and truly alone without a mission or anything of that kind looming over their heads.  

I don’t need help.

He exhaled sharply.

“You think I don’t understand that this,” he gestured at the two of them, his voice something short of bitter, “is not working? You think I don’t see it, Diana?” He grimaced when she glanced away. “I know that this is not about Amanda Waller or Bruce or anyone else. This is about something more and it will always be about—about--”

Us. He didn’t dare say it.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

They should have discussed this a while ago, he figured. They should have tried to maybe find a way to make this work before the situation escalated to a kind of crisis that could have someone killed.

“Look, I wasn’t trying go against your decisions,” he tried again, fighting to keep his voice even. Surely he could lay out the facts without being carried away by… her presence or something. “I just… I saw what you couldn’t see, okay? The building’s power system was overloaded. It was minutes away from going up in flames. And with the storm… If it did reach the critical point, someone escaping that place would’ve been the least of everyone’s problems, believe me. If I could get to Bruce, he’d be the one flipping the switch, but the communication system was down and Victor was out of commission, so…”

He felt frustrated, tired, helpless. And standing before her and not being able to reach for her filled him with such throbbing ache that he felt it deep in his bones. Standing before her and not being able to even hold her gaze because it felt like a sucker punch was even worse, somehow.

Steve shook his head and stepped further into the room, allowing his glance to wander. A distraction as good as any to keep his mind off Diana. She used to trust him, without thinking, without hesitation, and knowing that she didn’t anymore… well, that hurt almost more than everything else.

“What is it that Amanda Waller wanted from you, Steve?” She spoke behind him.

A sharp, humorless laugh bubbled up in his chest, and the sound that escaped his throat was painful even to his own ears. “From me? Nothing. I’m just her means to an end. She wants to control Bruce Wayne and thinks that getting in his good grace will make that happen.” He paused, and then added, “She has some personal information about me, something she should never have found. She promised to erase it if I do something for her.” His lips curled into a bitter something. “Of course, she conveniently forgot to mention a detail or two.”

“Do you trust her to keep her word?” Diana asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, turning to look at her again. “But I’d like to try and minimize the risk of Amanda Waller or whoever might come after her using it against me.”

A faint frown creased her forehead. “So, this is why you came?”

It didn’t sound much like a question but he still unanswered. “Yes.”

“And why you stayed?”

Steve nodded.

She pursed her lips together. “I see.”

“I know this is not the most…” he started, “…desirable situation for you, and it was your boyfriend’s idea to agree to Waller’s offer – and trust me, I know that we both wanted him not to – but I guess we could figure out how to… maybe stay out of each other’s way without jeopardizing anything for the League.” And added, “It’s the last thing I want, I swear.”

Diana’s brows knitted together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not trying to—to take over, or anything.” Steve took a breath. “Look, I was only trying to help. I want to help. I really do, and last night--”

“No, what did you say about Bruce?” She stopped him.

Heat crept up his cheeks. Great, now they have to go into semantics.

He kind of figured out that whatever it was, the League was either completely clueless, or suspected something but didn’t know it for a fact. Either way, they didn’t seem to have a particular opinion on it. Not that he could blame Diana for wanting to keep her private life private and everything.

“I mean… whatever it is that you guys are.”

Smooth. Very smooth. Several generations of his spy predecessors were probably rolling in their graves now, watching him crash and burn from the other side.

Diana was staring at him like he was speaking a tongue she could not understand.

She tilted her head. “We’re not anything. Bruce and I, we’re not – did you think we were together?”

He looked away. “I saw you. My first night in Gotham, Waller suggested we meet at the hotel that housed that charity function to give me a crash course on the best and brightest of this city… Which was a smart move, actually. You know what they say about being invisible in the crowd.” Steve trailed off. “And there you two were,” he cleared his throat again, “kissing.”

Her face fell, the defensive lines smoothing out. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” he breathed out.

“It’s not like that,” Diana shook her head. “We’re not… like that. We never were. That kiss was--”

He held up his hand, stopping her. “Don’t say it was a mistake.”

“It was not a mistake. It was nothing.” Her voice was soft but decisive, without a trace of hesitation, and Steve tried real hard to ignore the flutter in his chest. “It was one glass of champagne too many and an impulse.”

“Does Bruce know about that?” He didn’t mean the question to sound so territorial. And yet…

“Of course.”

“—because it sure as hell doesn’t seem so,” he finished. The way he acts around you. The way he is around you…”

“I can’t tell him what to think or feel,” Diana said. “Just like no one has that kind of command over me.”

“And you—you live in his house,” he added, as if not hearing her.

“So do other people,” she pointed out. “I am only ever in Gotham on the League business. Staying at Bruce’s house is merely a matter of convince.” God, he hated the logic that he couldn’t argue with. She paused. “So, all this time…”

“Well, to be fair, I had no reason to think otherwise,” Steve admitted. His gaze skittered around “I just thought you weren’t too… demonstrative in your--” passion.

He choked on the word that opened room to the kind of mental images that were to drive him insane if he let them loose. He had already spent too many a night, thinking of her in another man’s arms a few walls away from him.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

He rubbed his eyes, wishing that they never started this conversation at all. Wishing – shockingly – that he was at the lake house, listening to Arthur and Victor debate something or other, to Barry argue with a video game and Alfred telling them to please not put their feet on the antique coffee table, thank you very much. The list could go on and on and on. Anywhere but here, really, if only because he didn’t want to think of what Diana’s admittance meant and that wild satisfaction that it stirred inside of him. The one that he had no right to own.

“I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to pry,” he added lamely, for lack of better ideas. “I… I respect your privacy, and if that was something that you wanted to keep to yourself…” he trailed off, all too aware of sounding more or less like a moron.

“You weren’t prying.” Her voice was soft. “And I told you that there is nothing happening between me and Bruce. I’d never lie to you, Steve,” she said earnestly.  

A laugh that escaped his mouth was short and harsh, grating even to his own ears. Steve hated the sound of it.

“Like you never lied to me about the fact that I died in Paris?” The words came out of his mouth before he knew to stop them, and now that the wound was cut open again, he couldn’t help but keep twisting the knife. “On that day after liberation, when a German bomb hit out hotel. That kind of thing?”

Diana froze, all colour draining from her face.

“Because you didn’t.”  

He met her gaze, adamant. “But I did, didn’t I? I was dead when you found me.” He watched anguish cross her features like a shadow. “Until I wasn’t.”

In the silence that fell between them, he could hear the clock ticking on the wall in the kitchen and a car honking outside, and a whirlwind of her thoughts that she couldn’t structure into anything coherent. And suddenly the air was so thick he couldn’t take a proper breath.  

“How did you…” Diana started.

Steve looked away from her.

There was a snow globe sitting on the shelf right before him. He doubted that it was Clark’s. Probably some other tenant forgot it here a lifetime ago and no one who came to live here afterwards had the heart to throw it away. It was small, the size of a tennis ball, and inside of it was a village – a church and a several buildings sitting around a town square with a fountain in the middle of it. Steve stepped toward the shelf and picked it up. He shook it, setting a snowstorm into motion, white flakes circling above the buildings and falling on the roofs and the cobbled street and windowsills.

It looked so much like Veld that he almost felt the chilly November air biting at his cheeks as they sat on the ledge of the fountain, watching the celebrations. Could hear the music spilling through the open café doors and Charlie’s unsteady voice that tried to find itself again after all the time when Charlie had nothing to be joyful about. He could smell the chimney smoke and the snow, and in contract to it, the touch of Diana’s hand to his felt hot as fire. There was wonder in her eyes, unadulterated curiosity the likes of which Steve couldn’t remember seeing in his entire life. And his heart was beating so thunderously in his chest that he was certain she could hear it, too.

“Your mother told me,” he said after a few moments, his eyes still glued to the dance of plastic snowflakes. “When we went to Themyscira.”

“My mother…” Diana echoed, confused. “I don’t understand. Why would she…” She paused, her breath hitching. Steve could feel her eyes on him, burning right through him, and he knew that he was cornered. That there was no way out this time.

He was so sick of lying.

He turned to her, meeting her gaze and holding it despite the fact that he could barely stand it, shame and guilt making him want to fold in on himself and cease to exist. She deserve more. So much more. More than the world itself. All the things he couldn’t give her because he was not enough, it was simple as that. But he could give her the truth, at least. Maybe he could make it count for something.

And so he told her everything. About his conversation with Hippolyta and Diana’s mother opening his eyes to his miraculous survival in not one, but two explosions that would have killed anyone else. About how Diana was the one who made it happen and how it came with a price neither of them had bargained for.

He had imagined that conversation thousands of times over the years, playing out his words in his mind, a smooth flow of the story that was meant to fix everything. But now that he was speaking the truth, the words kept jamming in his throat, squashed by the look of utter incomprehension on Diana’s face.

She was listening to him silently, her eyes disbelieving and her posture rigid, shocked. He could hear her try and put two and two together in her mind, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing, her logic fighting a losing battle with her heart. He could see it all in her eyes, betrayal and hurt, not only his but her mother’s as well, again. How many times could one person go through something like this before they couldn’t do it anymore?

Steve wondered what kept her fighting after all this time when he’d come so close to giving up. He feared that this might be the last straw. He loved her for her goodness and kindness and compassion above all else. But how much of it was still there to keep her going after mankind had let her down over and over again for a hundred years?

He tore his gaze away from her, unable to stand the things that he was seeing, feeling exposed and all the more at fault for everything that had happened between them, for having done this to her and still doing it. The air felt charged between them, thick and heavy. Like it was a living thing in and of itself, breathing and pulsing around them. Steve felt his skin prickle under her scrutiny when he spoke of the day when he walked away from her, his voice not nearly as measured as he wanted it to be. And he knew the exact moment when she couldn’t stand looking at him as well.

“This can’t be…” Diana whispered when he fell silent. “My mother… she ought to be wrong, I couldn’t—I can’t--”

“You told me you couldn’t shoot lightning from your gauntlets until a certain point, either, but you’re a daughter of Zeus, Diana. Is it really that much of a stretch to believe that you can grant life?”

She was shaking her head. “But why would she tell it to you, and not me?”

He paused. “She thought that it was my life, and my choice to make.”

“It wasn’t.” Her voice was laced with accusation and contempt now.

“She thought that if you knew, you would have tried to save everyone. And if you did, it would destroy you,” Steve breathed.

“How could you not tell me?” She whispered and pressed her hand to her lips.

“How could I do it?” He turned to her. “You… you gave me my life back at the cost of—of yours, your strength. And all I could do in return was take from you, giving nothing but pain back?”

Diana’s brows knitted together. She rubbed her forehead. “How can you even know that it’s true?”

He did think of that. He had spent years thinking of that, hoping against all hope that Hippolyta was only half-right, the good half. The one that meant that they could be together for the rest of eternity without either of them having to suffer the consequences of this decision.

Steve ducked his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, willing the right words to come. At last, he had a chance to do right by her. And he needed her so desperately to understand.

“Because I had the goddamned nightmares every night after the war, everything that I’d done, everything that was done to me. All of it on an endless loop because I couldn’t scratch them out of my head.” He pinched the bridge of his nose until it hurt, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and had no choice but to look at her. “Every single night, Diana. Until you came back, and then they were gone. Until you started having them instead.”

She was staring at him in stunned silence.

“The things that you didn’t understand, but I did because I lived them.” He whispered, begging her to see and knowing that she couldn’t. “How could I keep doing this to you?”

“You lied to me, Steve,” she started and stopped, pressing her lips into a thin line. He wondered what words of blame she was trying to swallow back. “You promised you would never lie.”

He felt his shoulders slump.

“What would you have done, Diana? If the situation was reversed, what would it be?”

“I’d talk to you,” she said forcefully, heatedly.

“Talk to me?” Steve echoed, a sharp pained laugh clawing its way out of his throat. “Like you talked to me that time when you snuck out in the middle of the night and disappeared for 16 years?”  

Her face fell. “Is that why… why you did it? Because I--”

“Christ, no,” he breathed out and scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, it wasn’t—it wasn’t a payback. I wouldn’t, no--” He took in a shuddered breath. “I didn’t know what else to do,” Steve admitted, his voice dropping in defiance. “But I couldn’t stand hurting you any longer. I couldn’t stand holding you back and thinking that if something happened to you, it would’ve been my fault.”

“But it still hurt, Steve,” she whispered. “Every day when you were gone.”

She might have as well slapped him. God knew he deserved it.

“And if I told you? What if I did, what would…” He trailed off, not sure how to put it into words. Not sure if he wanted to hear her answer.  

“I wouldn’t care,” she said simply and without hesitation. “I loved you. If what you’re saying is true, if my mother was right…” The words sounded odd and foreign on her tongue as she tried to believe him, not yet succeeding. “If I loved you enough to keep your heart beating, what would any of this matter? All I ever wanted was to be with you.”

Steve felt his body deflate.

It occurred to him that they both completely lost track of time. The soft light of the afternoon turned honey-gold as the sun started to dip toward the horizon, flooding the room with the kind of warmth that he wanted to bottle up and hold on to, the old rug striped with the shadows that painted an entirely new story beneath their feet.

All this time in this world, and the one thing that never ceased to amaze Steve was that time stopped for nothing. Someone’s life might be falling apart, people’s joys and tragedies morphing seamlessly into one another, mind-shattering and breathtaking, but the Earth would keep on spinning, not pausing for anyone. Never allowing them to catch on.

“I know,” he breathed, feeling so drained all of sudden that his very bones ached with it. “Because if it was me, I wouldn’t care, either. But how could I keep doing that to you, Diana? How could I save you from myself if I stayed?”

“I didn’t need you to save me,” she argued, looking at him like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I needed you to want me.”

I did, I do, he thought watching her, relieved to finally have the weight of this secret lifted off his shoulders, and loathing himself beyond comprehension for having done this to her, for the unshed tears in her eyes.

“If you wanted to go, I would never have forced you to stay,” Diana added. “I would never have made you do anything against your will, least of all be with me if you wanted something else for yourself. But you still should have told me. You had to have told me, Steve.”

He ran his hand over his face. “What difference would it make?”

He flinched when the hurt lurking behind her eyes flared up with startling intensity.

“Well, maybe then I wouldn’t have to spend nearly seventy years of my life certain that the only man I’ve ever loved thought that being with me was a mistake.”

There was no anger to her words, no resentment, no accusation, but Steve would have preferred them to disappointment and weariness. To the bloody acceptance.

All air wheezed out of him. “I never said that it was a mistake.”

“You said that we had nowhere left to go, that we couldn’t have ended otherwise. What else could it possibly mean?” She looked away from him, staring instead at the floor and the ornate carpet under their feet. “If all of this is true, if you were so adamant to leave then, why would you stay now?”

“I thought that you were with Bruce,” he responded softly. “I thought that you’ve moved on and none of this would matter anymore. You didn’t want me here anyway.”

Her expression hardened when she lifted her eyes again. “Don’t put it on me, Steve. I waited for you, and all you have wanted since the moment when you walked through Waller’s door was to escape again. I merely didn’t want to be reminded of everything I wished for us to have but that we never did.”

“I don’t--” Steve rubbed his eyes. “I’m not trying to—it’s not what I meant.” He shook his head. “Do you think I wanted to be here and watch you be in love with someone else?”

“I’m not. I wasn’t.” She trailed off. They stayed quiet for a few moments – him running his thumb over a worn wood of the bookshelf because it made for a great avoidance technique apparently, and Diana staring at the wall because it probably beat looking at him. And then he heard her inhale shakily. “None of this matters, right?” Her voice was hard and clipped behind him. “You’ll get what you want from Waller and be on your way.”

Steve swallowed and turned to face her. “Yes.”

And then he would spend the rest of his days thinking of how spectacularly he had screwed up the one good thing that ever happened to him and knowing exactly how much he hurt the only woman he was ever crazy about. Who still, despite everything, was his entire world.  

She nodded. “I see.”

Steve’s gaze skittered past her.

“You know, when you called me a liar and a murderer, it was a spot on. It’s all I am, all I ever was.” His voice dropped. He glanced out the window because the words came easier that way, when he didn’t feel as exposed as when he wanted to cross the damn room and kneel before her, taking back every hurtful word that ever fell between them. “You think I didn’t know that? You think I don’t know that I never deserved you? You’re a princess, for heaven’s sake. You’re a goddess, Diana. What did I ever have to give you?”

A car drove down the street, swerving to avoid a cyclist. A gust of wind picked up an empty coffee cup and chased it down the pavement. Even with the windows closed, he could smell wet soil and fallen leaves and the cold that was yet to come.

“It wasn’t your decision to make. Not like that.”

“I’m not going to stay at the lake house,” he murmured without arguing. Maybe it wasn’t his decision to make, but someone had to make it nonetheless. “I’ll find—I’ll find a place and get out of your hair. I’ll figure out how to take care of Waller.”

Diana nodded again, lips pressed together.

“It’ll be better that way,” Steve added even though she didn’t protest.

He could barely look at her, shame and resentment eating him up from the inside. Everything that was good in the world, everything that was worth saving – it all lived in her soul, a little weathered and frayed after her time in man’s world but no less brilliant regardless. She deserved the stars from the sky, but there was only so much that he could offer.

“Very well,” Diana said quietly after a moment.

This is it, Steve thought. He had finally hammered the last nail into the coffin of everything that had ever happened between them, the good things and the pain laced through the moments in time when it was too big to contain. He broke every promise he had ever made to her, except for the one to love her until his final breath, and even though his chest felt lighter somehow with the words spilled out and shared at last, it seemed like a small consolation for what was yet to come. His relief over the fact that he didn’t have to watch her be happy with someone else quickly replaced by the sad truth of not being the one by her side either.

Steve stepped away from the bookshelf and the snow globe and willed himself to bottle up the memory of Veld and every day that he’d spent with her since then as tight as he could, and tried not to think of how his world was tearing at the seams all over again.

Diana turned around without a word, reaching for the car keys still sitting on the counter, and Steve followed her in silence. There was nothing else to say, and filling the silence just for hell of it felt cheap. He bet that this wasn’t how she expected their conversation to go.

At the door, she reached for the knob, twisting it, but the old lock jammed, refusing to turn. Behind her, Steve stopped abruptly not expecting her to pause, nearly stepping on her heels, so close to her now that he could hear her breathe. Could catch the smell of honey and flowers on her skin and the faint scent of her leather jacket.

Diana stilled, her grip on the doorknob so tight that her knuckles had gone white, unmoving and aware of his sudden proximity, and all he could think of was how much he missed the unobstructed closeness of her. Not accidental, not the one that he tended to avoid, but her presence in its purest form.

“Did you mean it?” Steve asked quietly when several moment had passed and yet none of them moved.

She half-turned, looking somewhere past her shoulder. “Did I mean what?”

“That I was the only man you ever loved.”

“What does it matter?” She whispered, still not looking at him.

His gaze followed the slope of her forehead, the flutter of her eyelashes, the line of her nose and down toward the curve of her mouth, seeping her in. Allowing himself to do it on the off chance it wouldn’t happen again any time soon.

He closed his eyes.

“Everything,” he said at last, a whoosh of breath that fell on her neck.

Diana turned slowly, still caught between him and the door, and looked up. He opened his eyes and found her gaze, deep and so damn beautiful that he forgot how to function. He could feel her search for words, studying him from this close – something she’d done thousands of times, but never like this. Like she was trying to reach for something deep inside of him. Steve’s heart had never felt this heavy in his chest, as though his very soul was bleeding.

She reached tentatively for his face, her thumb brushing against a small faint scar on his chin underneath the faint shadow of stubble, a thin pale line – two wars and numerous battles, and he somehow managed to cut himself while shaving. God, there was so much irony to it – he remembered laughing at it as he held a towel to a careless nick that was stinging from the remnants of the aftershave on his skin and she was smiling at him from the bathroom door, no less amused than he was.

“Diana.”

“I remember this,” She whispered. Her fingers stroked his cheek gently as blood roared through his veins. “I remember everything.”

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry…” Steve started and stumbled, a hot lump lodged in his throat and panic rising inside of him in waves. “For not knowing how to fix this mess back then… and for not knowing how to do it now.”

The words were tumbling out of his mouth, frantic and hurried like he was running out of time, and his heart was hammering so fast in his chest that he could barely hear himself speak. There were words perhaps that could make her understand and he was desperate to find them.

“I didn’t know what to do—I still don’t, but if I stayed… if I stayed, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. And if—if I told you everything, and you’d asked me not to go, I would never--” Steve swallowed, his mouth dry. His voice was tight and hoarse, and the touch of her hand burned on his skin. “I thought it would be easier to make you hate me, I wanted you to hate me, but I can’t—if I could take it back, take it all back and redo the past, I’d do it right. Somehow, I’d find a way to do it right.”

Diana bowed her head when he fell silent, looking away from him, and Steve felt the ground swim beneath his feet. The urge to reach for her was unbearable.

“When you left, it felt like something tore me in half,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” The apology fell from his lips again, earnest as it could be. “I missed you… every day, every moment,” he murmured, scared to touch her even though he could all but hear her heartbeat next to him, so close she was. “I wish I knew how to make it better, how to fix it all. How to…” His mind was running in circles, making him faint. “I never thought those things that I said, that… that there was nowhere for us to go because the only thing I ever wanted was to be with you. But not like this, not that that cost--”

She lifted her face to his, tilting her head, and then she closed the distance between them. Her mouth brushed to his, soft and familiar, effectively rendering Steve completely and utterly speechless.

“I’d do it again,” Diana whispered against his lips. “To have you with me, I’d do it a thousand times.”

She kissed him again, her mouth moving slowly over his, breathing for him when there was no air left between them, their memories chasing one another and blossoming into something new. Her hand curled over Steve’s jacket, fingers pushing into his hair, and it was all the permission that he needed to kiss her back. His palm cupped over her cheek, his hand on her hip pulling her closer still, and Christ, he missed her so much.

“Diana…”

“I never stopped waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured once more, not certain what else to say, his words punctuated by her lips touching to his. I’m sorry. He might say those words for a million years and it still wouldn’t be enough. His hands curled over her wrists, pulling her hands down from his face and holding them against his chest. They were both breathless, dizzy. “Diana… you can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up. “Can’t love you still?” She freed one of her hands from his grasp and curled it over his jaw. “Why?”

Because you’re better than this, he was thinking. Because you deserve more.

This close to him, she was so impossibly beautiful that all he could do was stare, drinking her in.

“Because… I told you why,” Steve shook his head as if there was a chance in the world that either of them could forget the past couple hours. “How can you say this after… after everything?” His voice cracked, and he sucked in an unsteady breath. He dragged his gaze away from hers and focused instead on her fingers curled over his and pressed right above his heart. “I lied to you. I hurt you. And I know my ‘sorry’ is not enough, can’t be enough…” He started and faltered, no longer certain where he was going with this. “Surely after all this time--”

“Steve.”

He wasn’t sure why he was trying to convince her to push him away when the only thing he ever wanted was finally right there at his fingertips, but he certainly deserved her rejection more than her grace and the kind smile that made his heart ache.

“You are so much better than me,” he added quietly. “So much more. How can you--”

Her hand swept his hair back from his face, making him still under her touch, her eyes searching his, studying him like she’d never seen him before.

“Because I’d choose it,” she responded at last so softly that he barely heard her over the blood rush in his ears.

“Choose what?” Steve blinked, failing to follow.

It was getting decidedly hard to keep track of their conversation with her fingers brushing absently against his skin, making his pulse stutter with every touch. For all he knew, they could be talking about the weather, and he’d still be lost.

Diana’s lips quivered, a smile that didn’t quite come. “If someone asked me, I’d choose to bring you back to me. I’d choose to take your pain away,” she said. “Of course, I would.” Her thumb ran over his chin again. “I would always choose you.” She hesitated when an afterthought dawned on her. “If you still want me.”

If he still wanted her?

She was looking at him with such tenderness that he was scared to so much as blink for fear of missing even a second of it, her skin soft and warm beneath his touch and her pulse a rapid staccato under his fingertips. He thought of the first time he had laid his eyes on her and how she smiled at him in relief and wonder, so radiant that it was brighter than the sun. Thought of every morning that he’d got wake up next to her and every single thing they had ever said to one another. And he wanted more of all of that now, as much as his life could fit, be it another year or a thousand.

Steve nodded. And then again, frantically, confused by her implication – how could he not want her?

She tugged him down by the lapels of his jacket to kiss him once more. It was hasty and breathless, and he could taste tears on her lips, although there was no telling who they belonged to. He thought he was dreaming.

“I love you,” Steve muttered against her mouth. “I love you, Diana.”

Her breath hitched, a low sound forming in the back of her throat nearly undoing him in the best way. His hands slipped around her, snaking underneath her jacket to touch her the way he wanted for so long. He pressed her flat against the door, kissing her with reverence and urgency and some serious desperation. Lithe and languid against him, she wound her arms around his neck, her fingers tugging at his hair as she dragged her mouth along his cheek, nuzzling into the soft behind his ear.

“Diana.”

He name fell from his lips like a curse and a plea, fingers flexing on the fistfuls of her clothes.

When she drew back for a shaky inhale, her eyes were glazed-over with want, meeting his briefly before she pressed her mouth to his jaw, inching it slowly toward his heck, her breath of on his skin making him weak in the knees. Desire tightened in his stomach .  

Her body pushed against his, and he took a step back, and then another one, and another one into the late afternoon light of the living room. And then her mouth was on his, plying his lips open and the crazy collision from a few minutes ago turned into something purposeful, deliberate. She arched into him, and for a long, endless moment all Steve could think was finally.

There was a time quite a while back, maybe twenty-something years ago when he stopped being able to summon her voice as clearly as he used to in his mind, when the taste of her was but a ghost in his memory and the way her laughter resonated deep within him carried none of the weight that he loved so, and he wondered not without dread about the day when she would only remain in the periphery of his recollection, incorporeal. Kissing her now, though, feeling her respond to the slightest of his touches, Steve wanted to laugh at the idea of being even remotely capable of forgetting her even after a millennium. Of letting go.

Suddenly, her touch was gone, and when he opened his eyes, half-panicked and dazed in equal measure, she already let her jacket fall to the floor at her feet. He looked at her, a silent question in his gaze, a hesitation to allow her to change her mind, but she was stepping toward him and nodding and reaching to push his jacket down his shoulders and allow the gravity to take it.

“Diana,” he muttered hoarsely.

His hands on her hips, he drew her to him as the fear of this moment shattering before his eyes pounded in his mind. The only man I’ve ever loved. The words resonated within him with achy longing. Diana’s fingers brushed to his lips, skimming over his face as if she was reading him in Braille. And then they dropped to his chest, dark eyes watching him.

“I still want you,” he said hoarsely, honestly.

Her gaze traveled over her face and down his body, palms running over his shoulders, and then she was tugging at his shirt and inching it up until Steve raised his arms over his head for her to pull it off and toss it aside.

She smiled, hand smoothing his rumpled hair, but her eyes were hungry and wanting. Desire careened through him with all-consuming intensity. His awareness tunnelled, zeroing in on what little space was still there between them as he drank her up with his eyes, needing to touch her, to never stop touching her, but needing even more to capture this instant, its fragility slicing right through him.

This was the moment when they needed to pause and maybe talk everything through. She had more questions, he knew it, could see it in her eyes earlier. There were words on the tip of his tongue too, waiting to be spoken. Yet none of them stopped, and when her eyes found his, he forgot what he was thinking.

“Does this hurt?” Diana asked, skimming her fingers lightly over the bruise on his shoulder that had faded from the terrifying purple to faint yellow, still tender but not nearly as bad as it was before. A slight frown creased her face.

Steve shook his head. “No, just looks bad.”

She nodded and leaned down to press a kiss to it, her mouth moving to a scar above his collarbone, as gentle as she could be. His eyes closed, seeping in the feeling of her. Her lips latched on the side of his neck, sucking hard on his skin, and Steve swore quietly, his fingers bunching the back of her shirt that was one layer too many between them.

Impatience surged through him, forming into a low grunt. He felt Diana smile against his throat. She found his mouth again, kissing every promise she could make right into him, her hands moving over his chest, tracing a map of scars – a life lived with purpose. He let her, revelling in the familiar swell of belonging rising inside of him, his muscles flexing under her touch. His hands tugged at her shirt once again, more urgently, and she drew back just far enough away to peel it off before her hands cupped his face again.

“I love you,” Diana whispered, nuzzling into his cheek. She kissed the corner of his mouth. “I missed you.”

“I’m here,” he promised.

His hands slid up her sides, gliding over the smooth skin, palms flat over her ribs. And then they were moving, one stumbling step at a time, turn between desperate urgency and the need to make every touch, every kiss count. Steve hoped she knew where they were going because he sure as hell was too busy to pay attention, focused on her hands on his body and his on hers. For all he cared, they could have just collapsed on the floor and it would’ve been fine with him.

Her hand slipped around his neck, fingers burrowing into his hair and, god help him, he wanted her so badly that he could barely stand it.

Steve’s calves hit the mattress – how they reached the bedroom he had no idea and no time to think about it - and he lowered down to sit on the edge of it, tugging Diana to him by the belt loops until she was standing between his parted knees.

“I have never not loved you,” he whispered, kissing down her sternum while his fingers worked on unzipping her pants and pushing them down her hips for her to stop out of them. “I have never not wanted you.” His eyes dropped shut, his voice hoarse and low as he murmured against her skin, but he didn’t care. She was here. His, at last.

He took a shuddered breath and exhaled slowly, struggling to get his heartbeat and blood flow under control. This was not meant to be over before it even started.

Diana’s breath caught in her throat, a shiver drilling down her body. For a moment, he merely sat here with his forehead pressed to her skin, breathing her in, fearful of his heart bursting right out of his chest. Her hand carded thought his hair, and Steve squeezed his eyes tight, willing himself to remember this second for as long as he existed on this earth.

Her hands slid down and under his chin to lift his head to look at her, his face cradled in her palms as her thumb kept running over his cheekbone. Steve swallowed, hard. Heat flared up in her eyes, pouring into him and thrumming in his veins, and when he tugged at her hips, she slid into his lap, straddling his thighs. Her fingers dug into his shoulders for support as Steve’s hands gripped her waist to keep her close.

“If you want to stop--” he started.

Diana tilted her head, her lips curving and her gaze roamed over his features before locking with his. “Why would I want to stop?”

Steve nodded, absently and distractedly, completely at a loss for words. His gaze dipped. He reached to trace the of her pale pink bra with her fingertips, laze and silk clinging to her like second skin, not even trying to stop his blood from rushing south.

Without a word, Diana reached back and unclasped it, letting it slide down her arms and fall to the floor. His mouth dropped a little in a way that went just slightly below dignified. He didn’t care, having to focus all of his willpower on not touching her, yet. His gaze traveled slowly from the smooth expanse of her chest to the juts of her collarbones, up the column of her neck, past the bow of her lips and until it found the fire of her eyes once more.

Diana leaned forward until her forehead rested against his and Steve had no choice but to hold her gaze.

“I have wanted you for so long,” she whispered, her nails scratching through his hair.

“Diana.”

Her palm splayed over his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. She smiled, pressed a kiss to his cheekbone, his temple.

“I love you,” she murmured, marveling in the freedom of being able to say it whenever she pleased.  

Steve reached for the band holding her hair in a tight ponytail and pulled it off, allowing the waterfall of it to cascade down her shoulders, soft as black silk. He combed his hand through it, pulling her to him. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen with kisses, the heat radiating from her making it hard to think, and he hadn’t even done anything yet but kiss her. Steve tilted her chin to press his lips to her, loving the taste of her, the way her mouth felt languid against his, how she arched into him when he traced his hand up from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck.

He kissed the underside of her jaw, moving his mouth to the spot behind her ear. Smiled at the small gasp and a murmured curse that fell from her tongue when his hand traced the waistline on her panties. And then his explorations came to an abrupt halt when she reached for the button of his jeans. Steve sucked in a breath and caught her wrists before Diana had a chance to undo the zipper. If she touched him now—

He shifted her weight in his arms and turned them over, his palm anchored on the base of her spine, lowering her on the bed and effectively distracting them both long enough for him to find his bearings. If she touched him when he wasn’t ready he would probably - most definitely, surely - disintegrate. Except Diana was kissing him again, and he was more than eager to give her that. And so he did.

When he pulled away, breaking the kiss to look at her, Diana was dazed and more than a little desperate, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

“Steve,” she mouthed soundlessly, a plea and command rolled into one.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head to press a hot kiss to her neck, making her breath catch in her throat and shudder unsteadily out when his mouth moved down, marking a slow path along her clavicle and across her chest.

He didn’t even notice her hands giving his jeans another push to slide them down to his thighs. He smiled, pausing just long enough to discard them and his boxers – an afterthought that didn’t really matter at the moment. And then he leaned over once more to kiss a path between her breasts and down her sternum, pausing just below her navel to hook his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slide them down her legs in one swift motion.

When he looked up, he found Diana watching him, her eyes dark with want.

“God, I love you,” he breathed, allowing his gaze to travel along her body from the ankles up to the slightly parted lips.

He had wanted her before. He’d wanted her pretty much non-stop from the night on the boat when they left Themyscira nearly a hundred years ago, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember the last time he wanted her this badly. To the point of a dull ache in his solar plexus and tremor in his hands.

Steve bent forward, picking up from where they had left off a minute ago, tattooing a trail of kisses from her navel down, nuzzling into the silky skin between her hipbones.

“Steve,” she sighed, the sound of his voice scattering around them.

It died on her lips with a soft gasp when his mouth closed around her, her back arching, fingers gripping his hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bunch the sheet with her other hand, her knuckles white and her breath nowhere to be found.

“Angel,” he murmured, into her skin.

He was slow and thorough, and he knew exactly what he was doing. It might not have been a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but Diana was a goddess, no less. Knowing how to coax the sounds that she was making out of her left Steve stupidly pleased with himself as he worked her up with deliberate dedication, stopping just short of pushing her over the edge until a curse in a language he didn’t understand fell from her mouth and her fingers gripped his hair in a soundless command.

Steve chuckled and pressed his lips to her just the right way. Her breath stuttered, morphing into a whimper, muscles shuddering, and he was rising above her, kissing whatever skin he could reach. There were words on her lips that he didn’t know, her skin slick with a sheen of sweat. He traced his tongue along her collar bone, teeth grazing gently against her throat. She smelled like sex and he was drunk on her, his own unreleased pleasure pulsing in his fingertips.

Barely coherent, she nuzzled sloppily into his cheek, kissing his jaw and pulling him down to her.

“Diana,” he groaned, one hand tangled in her hair.

“I want you,” she whispered almost soundlessly.

He swore, feeling her smile against his skin, her hands moving over him with impatience and urgency. She wrapped one of her legs around his hip, reeling him in – a demand that he couldn’t resist, not anymore. Steve shifted against her body, pressed a kiss to her temple. She gasped into his shoulder when he pushed inside of her, hot breath on his heated skin sending a shiver down his spine. I love you, he thought. I love you so fucking much.

His fingers flexed on Diana’s flesh, moving along her thigh as he kissed her throat, trying to focus on going slowly for fear of making this end too fast. Beneath him, he could still feel faint shudder of aftershocks shooting through her, her muscles spasming wonderfully around him. Steve weaved his fingers through hers and stretched her arms above her head, pressing them into the sheets and feeling her grasp tighten in agreement.

“Look at me,” he said, desperate to see her. “Diana… Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and heavy-lidded, hungry in the way that he liked best. Her gaze swept over his features and dropped to his lips, and it was just about enough to end him if he’d only let it. She pulled one of her hands from his grip and curled her palm around his neck. Her mouth found his, her hips rocking slowly beneath him to push him into motion.

Like earlier, Steve took his time, building up the heat between them until it was nothing but a hot coil somewhere deep inside of him and then easing away, moving above her as he whispered breathless confessions into her skin, peppered with promises and the words of love until she was frantic and barely coherent and his own pleasure took over reason. He could feel her teeth grazing over his shoulder, nails digging in frenzy into the skin of his back as his pace picked up, the need to feel all of her so overwhelming it was unbearable.

He dreamed of that, dreamed of making her his again, the bliss of closeness shattered by the light of the morning and the emptiness of his bed, her ghost a constant presence that made him feel like he was losing his mind. But she was real now, her voice and her touch electrifying, and everything he had ever wanted to say to her pouring out of him like he had no control over those words.

And then her body constricted around him, tipping him into a bliss of momentary rapture, her arms catching him, breaking his fall, cradling him close, her name on his lips like a prayer.

Steve drifted back to awareness slowly to Diana’s hand stroking his hair, her lips on his temple and his breath falling on her collarbone.

“I love you,” she whispered when Steve managed to drag his gaze to hers, looking no less pleased with herself than he had earlier.

He smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I missed you,” he breathed.

Her hand closed around his and she pressed a kiss to his fingers. “I’m here.”

---

Afterwards, in the soft evening light filtering through the window, Diana couldn’t stop thinking of his haunted eyes, the vulnerability that he had allowed her to see earlier. Like it was something that was spilling through the cut-open wound.

For Steve, it was a no easy feat, and she knew it. The past couple of hours proved that they still remembered the language of their bodies, slipping easily into the familiar patterns and the smooth touch of their hands – all moves rehearsed and repeated but never lacking nonetheless. He knew where to put his hands to make her forget the world, knew how to kiss her to leave her breathless, how to touch her to turn her desire white-hot and thrumming in her veins. Diana loved that he knew her better than she knew herself, her body coming alive in his arms.

Yet, after all this time she couldn’t help but feel a twinge in her stomach at the thought that at the core, they were strangers now. And she itched to make the feeling go away. She wanted him back, wanted him to be completely and utterly hers again.

Right now, stretched under the sheets beside her, Steve was watching her from all of two inches away, her head resting on his pillow and their legs tangled together, sweet weight and warmth and yearned-for comfort. She studied him back, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, his weary look, the tenderness in his eyes that made her breath catch in her throat. The eyes so blue that Diana couldn’t help but feel like she was in them. No one ever looked at her the way Steve did. In all of her life, he was ever the only one.

She lifted her hand and carded it through his damp hair.

“I need a cut,” Steve whispered, smiling under her scrutiny.

Diana shook her head. “I like it.”

He ran his thumb along her jaw. His skin was a little calloused, rougher than hers, making her wish he would never stop touching her. “You okay?” He asked.

She nodded. Hesitated. And then craned her neck to press a kiss to his brow before resting their foreheads together, crowding his space. He didn’t seem to mind. “I forgot…” she murmured, feeling her eyes drop shut for fear of losing the sensation of this moment, “what it was like to be with you.”

“Must’ve not been very memorable,” he chuckled, a little amused, a little wary of her answer.

Her hand moved to rest on the back of his neck. “No, not that. I didn’t forget,” she said after a moment, searching for better words. “I stopped allowing myself to remember.”

“Diana…”

Her eyes opened slowly, “Because if I didn’t, I’d lose myself.”

Steve’s smile slipped, his expression growing pained. She watched his jaw work, his lips moving without a sound, struggling against the question.

“Will you be able to forgive me?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted and regretted saying it the second the words came out of her mouth as he went rigid beside her. From this close she could almost feel his pulse stutter.

“Do you… do you want me to leave?” Steve uttered, his voice low and resigned. “Because screw Waller,” he stroked a strand of her hair, but his hand was shaking and he drew it back. “If this is too much for you, I could--”

Diana brushed her fingers to his lips, silencing him, and then tilted her face up to kiss him. “No.” She shook her head and kissed him again, slowly and lazily, smiling when he responded without hesitation, his hand sliding around her waist to rest on the base of her spine.

She pulled away and lowered her fingers to trail the length of his clavicle. They needed to talk. She had questions still, things that she needed to know and answers that made sense. Everything that he had told her about his conversation with her mother was having trouble settling in her mind, so wild it seemed, and she had seen enough wild in her life to not be easily swayed. But right now his body was warm against her, his chest rising and falling steadily, and she was deliriously happy and sated and finally at peace. He loved her. And she loved him, and somehow everything else lost its importance.

They would talk, she knew that. Eventually, they would figure out how to make this work, but right now she didn’t want to think about that. All she wanted to do was trace the lines of his body as they basked in the lazy afterglow and promise him whatever he wanted so long as he swore to never leave her again.  

“No,” Diana repeated, her eyes searching his, back irises darting between the blue ones. “How can I want you gone when I just got you back?” She smiled, but it dimmed almost instantly and his brows pulled together in response. “I just—I need time,” she breathed.

Steve nodded. “Yeah… yes, of course. Anything you want,” he promised quietly.

She brushed her fingertips down his cheek. “And I want you, always.” Another nod, and she felt her body relax. “I love you and I’m done losing you, Steve.”

A shadow that had settled over his face remained intact. She could practically hear his thoughts chasing one another, bouncing against his skull.

Steve drew back from her and rolled onto his back, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. He tucked his arm behind his head and exhaled slowly. His lips pressed tightly together like he was trying to swallow the words wanting out, his profile a dark outline against the pale rectangle of the window behind which the shadows were deepening.

“You’re doing it again,” Diana whispered, moving close to him seeking his warmth. She kissed his shoulder.

Steve glanced at her. “Doing what?”

“Pulling away from me.”

He didn’t say anything. She could feel his unease with her skin, his fear lurking behind the façade. It was like all the words they’d said to one another, all whispers punctuated by kisses dissolved into nothing. He meant them, she knew he did, but he was also scared of them. She thought back to the time they had spent together, before. Before everything went up in flames. Thought of how careful he always was with his confessions, pouring his soul into every single one of them but wary of making promises he couldn’t keep.

She tried not to think of those that fell through the cracks of their relationship, ground into dust. Life, she had learned, was merciless like that, and promises were not unbreakable at all.

Diana propped up on her elbow and looked down at him even though his eyes never shifted to her, studying him in the dimming light. His chest was rising and falling steadily as he breathed, and two faint concerned lines creased the skin between his brows. Everything about him was so familiar that just looking at him was erasing the time and space between them.

“You’re not less, Steve,” she said. “And I’m not more. We’re just… us. That’s why we work, why we always have.”

“We haven’t,” he reminded her in a whoosh of breath, and for a moment she was overcome with fear of watching him slip between her fingers again.

“You know what I mean,” she shook her head. “We have both made mistakes. It doesn’t mean that we deserve to be punished for them for the rest of our lives.”

“But what if--”

“What if what?” She interjected. “What if the sun falls from the sky? What if I wake up tomorrow and decide that you’re not good enough for me after all?” He flinched. “You think I don’t understand? You once told me you didn’t want me anymore.”

A shuddered breath broke out of his chest.

“And you told me that you couldn’t forgive me, which, trust me, I get because I will never forgive myself, either.”

“I didn’t…” Diana started and faltered.

It wasn’t that but she wasn’t quite certain how to put into words that it might take her some time to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. That it wasn’t about him but about her as well. The art of healing one’s heartache was never taught in a fight. It was the minefield that she had to cross on her own. There was no armour in that war, no shields and no swords, and every step could chip away just enough of her heart for it to disappear for good before she knew it. She needed time, but in no way did that mean that she was willing to let him go.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispered. “I…”

“I know,” he breathed, a small, humorless smile appearing on his face, the jagged edges of his voice slicing right thought her.

He knew.

He’d been there before.

“There is so little I can give you,” Steve spoke after a moment. “You don’t need me to protect you. You’re stronger than anyone I ever knew, in every sense of that word. And it’s not just my ego talking - and believe me, I have a rather inflated one - but facts. You’re…” He paused. “You’re a goddess, for heaven’s sake. You’re divine in every way I can think of, and I-- If leaving was the one thing I could do for you, how could I not--”

“It wasn’t,” she stopped him. “You say that having this… bond with you,” the words still sounded alien to her ears, “was a high price to pay. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. You think I wouldn’t have done it knowingly?” Her voice broke just enough for Steve to turn to her. “You think I wouldn’t have pulled you out of that plane if I could? You think I wouldn’t have shielded you if I saw that bomb coming?”  

He glanced away from her and then back, seemingly unable to hold her gaze. “Do you feel it?”

She hesitated as if to have a better look inside of herself in search of something that she didn’t know was there a few hours ago. But what she found there was tenderness and relief and unspoken prayers to all gods she knew for bringing him back to her. All the things that had been there for so long that she had long forgotten what it was like to live without them.

“I feel... I feel scared because I don’t want you to be taken away from me, and it seems like that it’s all that’s been happening since I met you. I’m scared not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust you not to break my heart again for you’re also the only one who can mend it.” Maybe it was good that he wasn’t really looking at her, after all. She wasn’t used to being this outspoken, either. The key to keeping said heart whole, she had learned, was not baring it for anyone. “It frightens me to feel this way, but I don’t know how to make it be otherwise.”

She put her palm on his chest, flat over where his heart was beating steadily.

“Diana…”

“I told you that I loved you. That I always will.” Her voice was soft, but his face contorted at her words nonetheless. Diana watched a storm of emotions sweep over his features. “Didn’t you believe me, Steve? Not once?”

“I believed that you believed it,” he ran a hand over his face. “You can’t know--”

She brushed her fingers to his chin and turned his face to her, catching his eyes and holding his gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. He was not used to letting anyone see him so exposed, not even her because enough time had passed for the old habits to get rusty and what was once a given had a to be a choice again.

There were people in Diana’s life, people she cared about and who cared for her, but the loneliness that followed her across the past decades was all-consuming nonetheless. She didn’t know the whole story about him yet, the questions she didn’t yet know how to ask rolling on the tip of her tongue, but looking at him now she had a distinct suspicion that Steve had put a fair amount of effort into keeping whoever happened to pass through his days at arm’s length as well. She could feel it in the way he carried himself, in the tiny change of his expression when he thought no one was looking.

They were small things she’d seen before, but the time really put them into perspective. All those weeks when she was busy agonizing over him not loving her anymore, and it never crossed her mind that he was thinking the exact same thing. That she had left him behind a long time ago.

Her heart squeezed fiercely, tight with so much affection it almost hurt to breathe.

“How can I ever love someone else when I love you so much?” She whispered, her voice low and earnest as she tried to put into it everything that no words could convey.

Her question wedged itself between them as Steve stared at her. She hoped desperately that it was the right thing to say to smooth out the worry lines that creased his features. Her heart skipped a beat when a moment had passed, and then another. And then—

“C’mere.”

He reached for her and Diana didn’t hesitate, moving to him. She settled into the warmth of his body and brushed her lips to his skin above his collarbone before tucking her face into the hollow of his throat. Steve trapped his arms around her, holding her close. She could hear his heartbeat reverberate into her, could feel his lips press to her hair, and she squeezed her eyes, wanting to never stop feeling any of this.

“I thought… I hoped that you’d moved on,” Steve said a while later. “You deserved love, Diana. You deserved happiness.”

“I tried,” she admitted after a moment. “I have never stopped waiting for you, but I stopped believing that you’d come back. Not after a while.” Diana’s hand twitched a little on his skin. She drew her hand back, feeling his fingers comb through her hair. She kissed the spot right beneath his collarbone. “I tried,” she repeated in a whisper. “But no one made me feel the way you did… the way you do.”

Her words were simple, her soul bare.

“I’m sorry,” Steve breathed. 

“Don’t be,” she said, lifting her head to look at him.

Never wanted to stop looking at him, either.

His lips twitched again, and this time there was a familiar spark in his eyes, the one that made her chest constrict and her blood turn into molten lava. She felt his fingers strum along her spine. “No, I’m sorry for being…” Steve sighed, “glad, I guess, that it never worked out. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here with me.”

Diana tilted her head, allowing her lips to curve as well. “Don’t be.” She studied him for a long moment. “Do you remember Veld?”

Vividly, Steve thought. There were a lot of things that he’d forgotten since then – some through the passage of time, others through effort of not wanting to keep carrying the weight of them. But that night and her mouth on his and her body pressed beneath him was bright as ever in his mind, his own beacon of hope. The beginning of life he never knew he could ever imagine.

He nodded, “Yes.”

She brushed her hand through his hair, her expression wondrous and tender. “You’ve made me yours that night, Steve,” she whispered. “I have never belonged to anyone else since.”

“Not even--” He started and cut off. He cleared his throat.

“Not even when I was with someone else, no,” Diana said.

He rose up on his elbow, capturing her mouth with his. Smiled when she hummed her approval in the back of her throat and kissed him back.

“Are you tired?” She asked against his lips, her voice raspy and wonderfully breathless.

Steve cocked an eyebrow at her. He bumped his nose against hers and kissed her once more. “No.”

“Good.” Diana moved to toss her leg over his hips, allowing him to pull her on top of him, his fingers tunnelling through hair and tugging her closer. “We have some catching up to do.”

To be continued....

[huntertales]

Part Two: Fate is a Cruel Mistress. (My Heart Will Go On S06E17)

Episode Summary: After Balthazar changes history and keeps the Titanic from sinking, Fate intervenes and begins killing those who would have died on the ship. Castiel tells the reader, Sam and Dean that Fate is upset with the three of them and the only way they can stay alive is to kill her. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,131.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Two dead bodies and a piece of gold string found at each crime scene, it was about the best lead you and the boys had going for. Along with the fact that the poor people had their lives cut short from a fatal “accident” that left you scratching your head in a bit of confusion. Nobody got beheaded by their garage door and it was more than just bad luck for someone to get choked by a fax machine after their keys somehow got misplaced behind there and their scarf got caught in the thing. But you had no valid proof something supernatural caused this to happen. There was no EMF to detect a pissed off spirit, no traces of sulfur or even a lingering smell and no hex bag to rat out a witch seeking a bit of revenge. All of it appeared to be accidental. But in the words of Dean himself, accidents just don’t happen “accidentally.”

You and the boys headed back to the motel to reevaluate the evidence that you did have and try to dig deeper on the family history of the two victims that was a little too squeaky clean. You decided while you sat at the table with Sam, both of your laptops open, and little help from the internet to guide you to an answer, there was somebody who might know something. When in doubt, you always called Bobby when you were in a pinch. But you were smart enough than to call him up when he was in such a mood. So you settled for the very next best thing—Ellen. She happily answered the phone when she noticed your incoming call.

You explained to Ellen about the situation going on, from the strange accidental deaths and the piece of gold thread pinched between your fingers. When she asked you to describe it, you tilted your head to the side and tried your hardest. “So, we found another piece of this, I don't know,” You shrugged your shoulders, not sure what kind of adjectives you could describe a piece of thread “Shiny string. It was at both scenes.”

"Oh, I was afraid of that." Ellen mumbled. You dropped the hand holding the string to the laptop keyboard, asking her why. "Oh, these so-called accidents—we're seeing 'em nationwide. About seventy-five so far. I got Jo and her crew working on a cluster in California."

"Blood relatives?" You presumed, wondering if this thing was a curse that was affecting families. But the biggest question was why people were dropping like flies because of some crazy accident. And why the hell a piece of string was left at each scene, like it was the calling card of some sick and twisted monster claiming its work.

“Some yeah, some no.” Ellen said. “She's got about what you do—pile of bodies and a whole bunch of gold thread.”

“So what's it mean?” You asked the woman.

“I don't know.” Ellen admitted. “I got Bobby working on it right now.”

You twirled the piece of string between your fingers and stared at your laptop screen, suddenly becoming worried at the mention of the man who had raised you since you were ten. You'd seen him with his ups and downs, but never bad as this. "How's he doing, by the way?" You curiously asked, trying your hardest not to worry Ellen from the sound of your voice.

“Oh, don't worry, Y/N.” Ellen reassured you. “I'm kicking his ass back to health and happiness.”

"Who asked you to? To hell with you." Bobby’s voice echoed from the other line, his crude and sarcastic attitude clear as day. The ends of your lips stretched into a faint smile deciding to take it as a sign he was doing all right. And you felt more reassured that he wouldn’t be alone during such a hard time in his life. Ever since Ellen had come into his life, she’d been nothing but good for him. And everyone else, too.

“I heard that.” You said, calling Bobby out on his rude behavior. Ellen chuckled at what unfolded and reassured you once again that he would be okay. But you knew Rufus’ untimely death didn’t just affect the older hunter. It was taking a toll on all of you. You couldn’t help but ask the woman out of concern, “Are you okay?”

"Aw, honey, you're sweet." Ellen mumbled. "You know me. I just worry about you boys."

"Yeah, well. We're all doing fine." You said. You looked up from your laptop screen to see Sam was diligently working on his laptop as Dean sat across the room on his bed, silently watching TV. You pushed yourself up to your feet and began walking over to Dean, taking the liberty to take a much needed break from your laptop and plopped yourself down on his bed. "All right, so, all these corpses, anything relate 'em?”

"Well, actually, I did dig up one thing. I just don't know what to make of it." Ellen. You hummed quietly, informing her that you were listening to what she had to say. You continued on the conversation while you mindlessly watched whatever sort of show Dean was watching. "Well, it's a weird one, and it was buried pretty deep, but Bobby and me were combing through the family trees on all the victims, and we started seeing, well, the families all came over to America the same year."

“Really? That is weird.” You noted.

"Yeah. 1912. But here's the real weird part.” Ellen said, getting to the part where you would get a kick out of. “They all came over on the same boat."

You furrowed your brow slightly, finding that bit of information way too strange for that to be a coincidence. That might be the connection to what was going on here. Only you had no possible information to make such a theory. “All right, so what's so special about the boat?”

“Nothing. It was a boat.” Ellen said. “It did what boats do.”

“What was it called?” You asked.

"The Titanic. Did you ever hear of it?" She wondered, you told her no. You weren't familiar with the name. If it was just a boat that sailed across the sea, then why the hell was it killing off its passengers families nearly a century later? And for no apparent reason, you might add. "Yeah, me neither. I'll keep digging."

You exchanged your goodbyes to the woman and ended the conversation with more information that you had to start. You thought for a moment to yourself while you sat up in bed, Dean's arm wrapped loosely around your waist, trying to somehow keep you here for a little while longer. You remained where you were, trying to think of you knew anything about this boat, if you might have learned it in school or not. There had to be something. But your mind was coming up blank on this one.

"Hey, guys," You spoke up, getting each of their attention. "Does the name Titanic ring a bell?"

Dean thought about it for a few seconds before answering no. Sam took a little longer, but even his big brain of his, the man couldn't recollect on any sort of information that connected to the Titanic. You unwillingly stepped away from the bed and Dean's embrace and back to the rickety old chair and your laptop. It took a few minutes of searching the Titanic to find a complete website dedicated to the boat. Skimming the information, you picked out what seemed slightly interesting and read it back to the boys.

"Okay, so, the RMS Titanic was the largest passenger steamship in the world when it made its maiden voyage across the North Atlantic in 1912." You read off the first paragraph you found.

“So what's the big friggin' deal?” Dean asked, not seeing what the big fuss was all about. “It's a ship. It sailed.”

"On the evening of April 14, 1912 the Titanic had a dangerously close call with an iceberg. Only the sharp eyes of the First Mate, Mr. I.P. Freely saved the ship from disaster. Despite the late hour, and poor visibility conditions, Mr. Freeley spotted the iceberg which was almost one hundred (100) feet high and four hundred (400) feet long. Emergency maneuvers averted what would surely have been a disastrous collusion. Freeley was hailed a hero by the passengers and crew.”

"Looks like there was a close call. Ship almost hit an iceberg. Luckily the first mate spotted it just in time." You said, telling the boys about the near fatal crash that took the ship down. You read more of the paragraph that told of the dangerous night that almost ended in disaster. The more you read, the more eerily strange from the coincidence. Dean looked you, wondering why you were staring at the laptop screen with a bit of a confused expression. “Uh, this first mate. Mr I.P. Freeley.”

"Well, that's not suspicious. You got a picture of old Freeley?" Dean asked. You scrolled through the website where you found a grainy black and white picture of the crew. Clicking on it, you pulled up a bigger version, and of the man dubbed a hero. Who you saw made your face drop in slight twinge of annoyance. Dean headed over as Sam leaned over the table to get a good look himself. It didn't take long for Sam to have the same reaction as you did. All Dean needed to do was take a quick glance to realize why the man looked so familiar. He let out a frustrated sigh. "Balthazar."

You didn’t have a very good friendship with Balthazar. He had a knack for elaborate, over the top schemes you and the boys always seemed to get in the middle of. You weren't the least bit surprised to see that he had landed himself in more trouble. His choices and bad plans to only benefit him were inconvenient and annoying, but this...whatever sort of trick was up his sleeve, it was causing the lives of too many people. You and the boys decided to have a friendly chat with him. However, in order to get into contact with angel, praying wasn’t a valid option for you. So you chose to summon him.

The process wasn’t an easy one. You shut the curtains to give the three of you privacy while the boys moved the table across the room to give all of you more room. You removed the laptops from the table so Sam could place down a bowl full of all sorts of ingredients after Dean drew a few familiar sigils in chalk. To add the final touch, you lit a match against the box before throwing it into the bowl, watching as the flame ignited before dying down. You looked around the room to see that things were working when you noticed the lights began to flicker, a few bulbs even burst from what was about to happen.

“Boys, boys, boys. And the lovely, always delightful Y/N.” Balthazar’s familiar accent filled the room, signaling his arrival. You turned around to see the angel himself. Your lips stretched into a frown. “Whatever can I do for you?”

“We need to talk.” You informed the angel.

"Oh," Balthazar mumbled. He took notice of your body language, crossed arms over your chest and annoyed glare, to realize you summoned him on not so good terms. "You seem upset, Y/N."

“I kind of am. You see, the boys and I are working this case. And you know whose face I come across while doing research for this case?” You asked him. Before Balthazar could try and give a sarcastic answer, you tell him. “Yours! What the hell is with the boat, Balthazar.”

“What boat are you possibly referring to, darling? I’ve been around for a very long time. Seen a lot of boats.” Balthazar said. You narrowed your eyes on him in annoyance at his response. “Be more specific, that’s all I’m asking.”

“The Titanic.” You told him in a sharp tone. “Ring any bells?”

“Oh. Ja. The Titanic. Yes, well, uh, it was meant to sink, and I saved it.” Balthazar explained to all of you. His voice was all too casual, acting as if he was talking about the weather. You raised your brow slightly from what you just heard and asked him what he meant by that. “Well it was meant to bash into this iceberg thing and plunge into the briny deep with all this hoopla, and I saved it. Anything else I can answer for you?”

“Why?” Sam asked the angel.

Balthazar looked at the younger Winchester with a bit of a confused expression by his question, “Why what?”

“Why did you un-sink the ship?” Dean asked again more clearly this time, and a little bit slower. Due to the fact that he was trying to keep his patience.

“Oh, because I hated the movie.” Balthazar said.

Your face scrunched up slightly, “What movie?”

Balthazar let out a laugh, “Exactly.”  

“Wait, so you saved a cruise liner because—“ Sam said, trying to wrap his head around what he was hearing.

“Because that God-awful Celine Dion song made me want to smite myself.” Balthazar said. You and the boys grew confused at the name the angel mentioned. “Before you waste your time asking, she’s not important. Thanks to my wonderful plan she's a destitute lounge singer somewhere in Quebec, and let's keep it that way, please.”

"Okay, I didn't think that was possible." Sam said. "I thought you couldn't change history."

"Oh, haven't you noticed? There's no more rules, boys." Balthazar said. The angel grew a smirk at his plan that he thought was oh, so brilliant. Only it was causing all sorts of problems. But you highly doubted Balthazar thought that far ahead to get whatever he wanted.

"Wow. The nerve on you." Sam mumbled. He slowly shook his head and scoffed at what he was hearing from the angel. "So you just, what, un-sunk a giant boat?"

"Oh come on. I saved people.” Balthazar defended himself against the younger Winchester and his judgemental glare. “I thought you loved that kind of thing."

"Yeah, but now those people and their kids and their kids' kids, they must have interacted with so many other people, changed so much crap. You totally Butterfly-Affected history!" Sam said. He pointed out the big, glaring flaw Balthazar refused to think about to get his own way.

"Dude. Dude." Dean mumbled, getting his brother's attention. You rolled your eyes from what he felt the need to bring up at a time like this. "Rule one, no Kutcher references."

"Ah, yes. Unfortunately, there's still an Ashton Kutcher. And you still averted the Apocalypse, and there are still Archangels. But, thanks to me, I made it a bit harder for them to do it. It’s just the small details that are different, like you don't drive an Impala.” Balthazar said. Your face scrunched up slightly at the mention of a car you don’t think you’ve ever heard of. The angel spoke up quickly, not feeling the need to waste time on unimportant knowledge. “Yes, yes. ‘What's an Impala?’ Trust me, it's not important. You see, Y/N wasn’t supposed to be raised by Bobby. Along with the fact that Ellen and Jo aren’t supposed to be alive.”

"Wait, what?" You asked the angel, suddenly becoming way too confused at what was going on here to keep up with what he was explaining. Balthazar walked over to the small kitchen area where he spotted a bottle of unopened whiskey. He took it upon himself to pour himself a drink

while you thought more about what he said. "What do you mean?”

“You see, your darling mother—Ella, right? She was supposed to end up with a different man that you think is your real father, who died when you were six. A whole bunch of nonsense. Basically you’re supposed to be a half demon. The apocalypse was supposed to go a

other way. A bunch of things.” Balthazar said. He twisted off the top to the whiskey and poured a drink while he explained. “Luckily I tipped off a cherub to point his magic arrow somewhere else so you could be raised by Bobby, who you always went on about being your ‘real’ father. And, of course there was that whole ordeal with Ellen and Jo.”

“What?” You mumbled, your voice suddenly growing eerily quiet.

"Ella wasn't supposed to have died when you were a kid and by that hound. She was supposed to sell her soul, sell her husband's soul and all that jazz. Ellen and Jo are supposed to be dead.” Balthazar said. “You see, I save a boat, those peoples' kids have kids, your mother falls in love with someone else, one thing leads to another, which leads to another thousand things, and yada, yada, yada. To cut a long story short, they don't die in a massive explosion and you three get to grow up together. Let's agree I did a good thing. One less Billy Zane movie and I saved two of your closest friends.”

You weren't sure what the hell was going on anymore. Your way into this world and upbringing wasn't a usual one. You learned when you were in your early twenties that your mother made a deal with Azazel, a yellow eyed demon responsible for the tragedy in your life, to have a child after she couldn't get pregnant. Deals only brought ten years. Your mother thought she could try and outrun a hellhound. You remembered on your tenth birthday you were in the process of moving, somewhere far away. It had been just the two of you since your father was killed in a car accident when you were six years old. She just wanted a normal life.

But your mother’s idea of a perfect life was cut short when she was ripped apart by a hellhound. And you heard it all. All you remembered about the tragedy was locking yourself in a closet, petrified you would mauled by a beast you could hear, but couldn’t see. John Winchester and Bobby found you a few days after your mother died. While John had his hands full with his own two sons, Bobby couldn't stomach the idea of letting you out of his sight, so he took you in. He'd been your father figure ever since then. You didn't know what you'd do without him, but hearing all of this from Balthazar, about how things were supposed to be different, the room felt like it was spinning.

"But now somebody is killing the descendants of the survivors." Sam said, his voice bringing you back into the situation right in front of you. Balthazar raised his brow, wondering why he should care about such a thing. "And that's maybe, like, fifty thousand people."

Balthazar continued to stare at the three of you with a blank expression, “And?”

“And we need to save as many people as we can, but we need to know who's after them.” The older Winchester explained the situation a bit more clearly for Balthazar to understand without really having to think about the mess he just made.

“Oh, uh, sorry, uh. You have me confused with the other angel—you know, the one in the dirty trench coat who's in love with you. I...don't care.” Balthazar spoke the last three words rather slowly, making sure you and the boys would get the message so you wouldn’t bug him again. You scoffed as he took a long sip of his drink to finish it up. “Goodbye, boys. And it’s been a pleasure, Y/N.”

"Whoa, whoa, wait, wait, wait, wait." Dean said, trying to get the angel to stay for a few more minutes. He stepped forward in an attempt to try and stop Balthazar, but when you blinked, the angel vanished from your sight, leaving you to clean up the mess he made. "Son of a bitch!"

+ + +

After you were left high and dry by Balthazar, you and the boys tried to figure out the extent of the consequences you were left to deal with by the angel after he unsank a boat for the sake of keeping a movie from being made and a lounge singer from seeking fame. The most troubling fact you had to break to Bobby was about Ellen and Jo and their...different path. You knew it was going to break his heart to hear the news. You tried to postpone it far as you could while you explained the situation to the older hunter on speaker phone.

"So, Balthazar un-sank a boat, and now we got a boatload of people who should never have been born." Bobby said, recapping the information you and the boys told him over the past few minutes.

"Yeah. Like fifty-thousand." Sam said, giving the haunting number of people you were supposed to try and save. The older hunter's response wasn't what you were anticipating. He seemed casual, saying that all of this made sense. "How does any of this make sense?”

“Because I got an idea who we're up against. Fate." Bobby said. Fate was a word that meant everything happens for a reason, why your life ended the way it did was because that's how the reality of things were written out. You always thought of the word as a concept, something someone higher up chose, like God himself. It turned out fate might not be a concept, more of a person in charge of how things turned out.. "I mean Fate, like the Fates. Or one of 'em, at least."

“You mean like Greek mythology?” You wondered. “Like the sisters?”

You could thank all of your knowledge about the things that went bump in the night on Bobby. He taught you everything you needed to know. And you spent most of your time reading the dusty books cluttered all over his house. What else was a girl to do? Dean's mumbled remark of calling you a nerd didn't go unnoticed. You gave him a look as you lightly kicked him in the shin.

“These ladies are responsible for how you go down, literally. So if you get creamed by a garage door or crunched by a copy machine, they're the ones who hammer out the details of how you die. Spin out your fate on a piece of pure gold." Bobby explained to all of you. You realized the gold thread found at each scene of where the victims had died was for a reason. It made sense from what Bobby was saying. "And then one of 'em writes it all down in her Day Runner of Death. It's high-level stuff. Anyway—fits. Now we know what Balthazar did. It seems to me that maybe Fate is just trying to clean up the mess."

Sam asked the question on everyone’s mind, "So, how do we stop it?"

“How do we stop Fate? Good question.” Bobby said.

"Well, there's got to be a way." Dean said, thinking there had to be a loophole of some sort.

“Or there ain't. I mean, this is Fate we're talking about here. You know, the easiest way would be to get that angel to re-sink the boat.” Bobby said. You found yourself shooting down the idea in a heartbeat before he could try and suggest it again. “Big difference between dying awful and never being born, Y/N.”

“We are not sinking the boat, Bobby. Okay?" You told him in a tone of voice that you didn’t want to hear anymore of this. You never spoke to Bobby like this. But you didn’t want to change the way things were, the way you grew up to think that this was how it was meant to be. You knew things were more complicated than you could handle, but you’d deal with it. “Don't even think about it."

"Well, okay. What's got you biting my head off? Normally you're all about doing the right thing." Bobby said. You let out a quiet sigh as you found your gaze lingering over to the boys, as if you were hoping for some guidance on what to say next. Bt they looked overwhelmed themselves at what the right thing to do was. So, you told the man that it was nothing. Bobby didn't believe your excuse. "Try that again?"

"Look, it doesn't even really matter, but..." Dean decided to spare you from breaking the bad news when he spoke up, however he found himself growing silent for a moment, not wanting to tell the man the bitter truth. But, he forced himself to. "Apparently, a crapload of dominoes get tipped over if the Titanic goes down. And, uh, bottom line—Ellen and Jo die.”

The other line suddenly went quiet when Dean told the older hunter the news. You bit the inside of your cheek as you imagined what must have been going through his mind right now. Bobby and Ellen had been married for over a year now, since the apocalypse wrapped up. Both of them were head over heels in love with each other. Ellen was like a mother you never had, and Bobby was a father figure to you since you were little. The thought of things being different made you feel uneasy. When Bobby spoke up a few moments later, his response to the information wasn’t the least bit surprising.

"Okay, you three. Listen up." Bobby spoke up, his voice dead serious. "You make sure... Keep those angels from sinking that boat. Do you understand me?”

You and the boys agreed with the plan. You ended the call on that note, only you found yourself feeling more overwhelmed at what you were ahead of. Along with the fact that you had no clue how the hell to fix any of this. You tossed the phone to the bed and let out a loud sigh.

"He's bad enough without her." You mumbled. "Think how he'd be if she was gone."

"Yeah." Sam sighed, knowing the situation ahead of you was going to be a moral dilemma. "So, what do we do? I mean, how do we save fifty-thousand people?"

“I got no freaking clue.” Dean said.

“We don't even know who they are.” Sam added more details you didn’t want to think about.

You were about to let out another sigh from the trouble ahead of you as you turned your head slightly in the direction of the nightstand. You noticed something sitting on the ledge, leaning forward, you realized it was the pamphlet Dean grabbed from the office of one Sean Russo. A dick in a shiny suit—who might be the next victim of Fate. And your only possible lead in stopping this situation before it could get any worse than it already was.

+ + +

The next morning you and the boys decided to stake out Russo's office to catch him off guard this time. You called his secretary, posing as a potential client, asking when he'd be available, big surprise to hear that he was all booked with appointments. You watched from the backseat window as car passed by every so often, blocking your view of the front door to the office. It was a little over an hour of waiting before you spotted Russo. He was making his way out with a client from the looks of it, who looked in terrible shape from the neck brace and cane he had to use while walking. You scoffed at how Russo acted. He just radidated bad vibes.

You and the boys got out from the car to tail Russo in attempt to get his attention. While you and the boys called out the man’s name to get his attention, the man was at least twenty feet ahead of you, too wrapped up in his phone conversation that he took to acknowledge either one of you.

"I don't care. Send him a fruitcake." Russo said to the person on the other line. You tried to get the man's attention when you called out his name a little louder, but he continued to chat into his phone, getting closer to the end of the sidewalk to cross the street. You had a feeling he was too wrapped up in his conversation to look both ways. "Who's the judge? Ah, no. 20 bucks. Believe me, this guy—he owes me."

“Russo, stop!”

You took no chances when you called out his name on the top of your lungs. While you did get his attention, it was at the possibly worst time. You looked to see that there was a van speeding down the road, showing no signs of breaking for pedestrians. Before Russo could become roadkill, Dean lunged forward, saving the day by grabbing ahold of the man and roughly shoving him to the sidewalk, getting him out of the way. Russo went tumbling to the ground as his cell phone bounced a foot or so away.

The driver slammed on his breaks, exactly where Russo was just standing a few moments ago. If none of you had acted when you did, Russo would have been good as dead. But it seemed the man wasn't feeling gratitude for your act of heroism.

"Get off of me." Russo ordered, pushing away Sam's awaiting hand to help the man back up on his feet. You gave Russo a dirty look when he snatched his phone away from your grip after you generously picked it up for him. "And you—I told you and your creepy friend to leave me alone, didn't I?”

"Look, we're just trying to help you out, okay?" You said, Russo scoffed at your excuse.

“Help me?! You almost killed me, you lunatic. Unbelievable." Russo grumbled underneath his breath. You gave him a dirty look at how he was acting as he began attempting to walk across the street now that it was clear of any cars. Dean tried to get the man's attention, causing Russo to stop in the middle of the street. "Just be glad I'm not suing your a—!"

Russo would never be able to finish his passive threat, and those would the last words he would ever get the chance to say. Things turned for the worst at what happened next. Nobody saw it coming. A bus came hurtling down the street, going too fast to stop for the idiot that stepped into the road and didn’t move when the bus was approaching. You and the boys stood there in silence, eyes wide and mouths parted open, wondering what the hell you just witnessed.

[Next Part]

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[thedreadpirateglitterbeard]

Corona Park Jams, By Andrew L. Foster. Creative Non-Fiction, 2017

For Your Entertainment, feel free to analyze, make remarks, ignore, enjoy, or otherwise. roughly 1600 words. about a 10 minute read.

Reflected sunrays pierce slightly bloodshot eyes after a night of libations with friends from out of town. The 1995 Buick LeSabre rattled as though it had bricks for engines. My head ached as if I had bricks for brains. The car would have its 21st birthday soon if it hadn’t had its big day already. That was reason enough for us to celebrate. Last night was the celebration of the Buicks birthday and the squeal of its belts was the hangover to the pounding in my mind. We also had friends in from out of town, we can celebrate over anything.

As if Puebloans needed a pretense to party. I allowed myself to be absorbed into the cushy carpeted seats that were tanned a light grey from years of Pueblo desert sunshine. A smile crept across my face and that lonesome sun smiled right back at me. I appreciated the historic boom district appeal contrasted with the “we never recovered from the Great Depression,” patina. Even the quintessential Pueblo dish of a cheeseburger covered in Green Chile known as a “Slopper” was weird mixed with cool. It’s the kind of college town where the community college does better than the university but they both aren’t that great. The rivalry is strong. The feeling of family is stronger. Puebloan’s need little reason to come together but create lots of reasons anyway.

This stop light always catches me. Emilio leaned into the steering wheel, elbow cocked into the open mouth of the driver’s window as the breaks pressed us to a stop. One hand clutched the wheel, fingers tapping the rhythm to a Circle Jerks jam, the other hand connected to his resting elbow brought a smoking cigarette to his open mouth. We were all in our cups last night, but we were “on one” and stocking up for more no-excuse-necessary partying. The green light cleared our passage and Emilio sought after parking.

The Pantry is a Seinfeld-esque dinner, though maybe less cliché, which is a wonderful place to fill the old tum-tum. Abriendo Street hosts a series of Roman revival structures, one or two-story buildings connected business fronts with inset window wells that lead to doorways, pulling walker-bys into shops to search for doo-dads in antique shops with no particular end in mind. We pulled up Michigan St. and parked the bucket in front of Tony and Joe’s Pizzeria. The tree-lined streets are triple wide in the Aberdeen district thanks to General Palmer calling this neighborhood home for many years. His old manse was farther up from the shops, at the first corner. A quick walk to the drugstore that has been there as long as the Corona Park and Bessemer districts, near a century. Autumn trees, gold and green leaves shimmer. The air carries the aroma of old money. We walked to the corner and found The Pantry.

Emilio represents the profile of friendships that have enhanced my life. He is unique. His Style is the more independent and classic profile of punk that could be likened to the clash, early on—before they stopped making music with pretense. No need for spikes or studs, just a simple rejection of the common standard. Emo has tackled deep self-reflection and made pertinent life changes that mirror the development of his personal philosophy. This largely consists of him choosing to be a pescatarian—a bit of a contradiction if you ask me, but I let it slide because I eat everything and have no place to talk. I hold him in high regard because he has introduced me to many Pueblo intellectuals whom I have learned and taught with too great satisfaction. Life’s zest can often be found in good company, good food, and good conversation.

Emilio paid for the half-dozen potatoes, egg, and cheese breakfast burritos. Exiting the maze of The Pantry’s tight corridors, I gave a shout out to a classmate I recognized, Anthony. He is both homeless, employed, and a student in the lowest rent city in Colorado. Anthony gave a friendly smile and went back to bussing tables. We had an ancient civilizations class together, his presentation on the ancient Assyrian warrior caste was excellent and marked him in my mind as brilliant, yet his condition remained troubled. He only came to class 1 out of 3 sessions a week. I suspect this wasn’t due to a lack of heart.

It was ten am and the hot September Sunday was well underway. Emo and I sauntered back towards the whip both donning colorized wayfarer sunglasses, like Millennial Blues Brothers, sent on a mission from God to feed our hungry and hungover friends breakfast. Next stop this morning was Hercules Liquor Store, Agent Orange’s “Bored of You” had the energy flowing through us and the breakfast burrito’s smelled like a cure to disgrace. Emilio reeled the clunker away from The Pantry and the general’s old castle and back into Abriendo’s light Sunday traffic.

Herc’s was just another couple blocks up the way on Colorado Avenue. This drag shared a wine and coffee breakfast bar on the corner, next to the Local 1607 Millwright’s office so the metal works could catch a shiner before meetings with the union. Hercules Liquor and the Historic Firehouse Museum shared an alley. Occasionally I would see familiar faces from the firefighter school working in the museum as I went into Herc’s for an evening brew. They always carried themselves with purpose as I slinked by with little pride. Emilio cut a wide U-turn and pulled us into the alley to park behind the spirits house.

This, a small cramped store was absolutely flush with plenty of beer to choose from and an excellent selection of liquor and wine. Mike and his brother ran the store together, owned by their mother who is suffering from late-stage dementia. Despite this, the boys are always smiling and chatty when they see Emilio and I come in. They like us because we drink like their late Slovakian grandpa. Campari and grappa are two of the commonly stocked items at Herc’s we can’t find elsewhere. Because the brothers are 2nd generation Americans, they still have close ties to their Italian and Slovakian family. They have cousins who live on the Island of Crete where the sculptor Pygmalion’s statue Galatea was granted life by Aphrodite because she was moved by his passionate love for the female statue he created. Just so, the Cretian Grappa Mike sold us was the type of spirit that could awaken marble statues. Grappa is what is left after wine grapes are stomped upon. It tastes vaguely like wine, but primarily like pure alcohol. It does the trick. We left the store flush with cheap beer, cheap whiskey, and a bottle of Grappa which may have been cheap or expensive, but we had yet to find another bottle in town to compare price.

As we parked on the too-narrow street in front of the house, Benjamin wore Adidas classics that had looked as though they had been walked on their whole life. His wiry chair leaned precariously back against the stucco wall while his foot pressed against the ever-loosening banister which enclosed the porch. He had a cigarette in one hand while the other cradled an iPhone near his eyeballs. A three-day beard and unruly bed head alluded to Bens Sunday dishevelment. Benji is a Vancouver Canuck. His mother passed several years prior, not long after Emilio lost his father. The two, and their larger group attended St. Mary’s Catholic for primary school and the bonds shared between my two friends were far deeper than I could estimate being a new inductee to an exclusive group.

Before Emilio and I could walk up the concrete steps Ben was laughing and explain the problems that Trotskian economic theory faced after the Bolshevik Revolution and argued that the Soviets picked the wrong guy in Lenin. I smiled and nodded as if I knew anything about Trotskian political theory. Ben was always expansive in conversation and I admired him deeply for it. The first time Emilio introduced us, my misgiving and mistrust of new people was rendered mute next to the backyard fire pit and eager talking points Ben insisted on sharing with me.

I remember that night, he would hardly let anyone say a word as he often does. I interrupted him as he spoke with conviction on the need to rid the world of paper currency to be replaced with a social exchange program in line with “From each according to their ability, to each according to their need.” I asked him if he always commanded the conversation and if he ever let anyone else speak. I was instantly mortified at my manners but everyone sitting around the fire began to laugh. Ben’s other half said, “No, this is how he always is.” Ben quitted down a bit and we all shared the conversation. We all picked songs on an iPad adorned in a case printed with an ancient world map and took turns playing obscure music while passing the bottle of cheap around. The grainy taste of the whiskey mixed with the fire smoke's aroma, both gently burning our throats. This was the standard weekend for most of two years, good company seasoning our slowly aging lives within the old, worn town that rested in the fading shadows of old wealth.

As the Sunday star dipped below the horizon, we looked out towards La Vida Pass and the Sangre De Cristo mountains. The buzz we shared reached deeply into the earth and for a moment it seemed like all of us were supposed to find each other, as though no matter how big the universe became this moment would persist as both the flash of a meteorite and the timeless life of a lonely sun. As if we needed more reason for us to celebrate.

[kariachi]

I’m not completely satisfied but goddamn. One of the longest chapters in this damn story.

Ch12, the one where they have a house and maybe a home

The two of them stayed another few days on Earth. Not long, just enough to recover from the wedding itself, get over some of the initial awkwardness that came from sharing close quarters with a stranger. In that time they, didn’t really leave the hotel. Their suite had a kitchen which Kevin’s pack had been forward-thinking enough to stock with some basics, and their luggage had been there when they arrived, so there really hadn’t been much need. Instead they’d spent the time getting to know each other… more or less.

Okay, so it’d been fifty percent doing other things quietly in close proximity, thirty percent slowly lengthening conversations, and twenty percent ranting about random shit. Close enough.

~~

“-so we’ve got this message from the Tennysons’ grandpa saying we have to gather up other Plumbers’ kids to help us fight off this threat and immediately I’m on edge because number one these are my friends this guy is asking us to put at risk and number two these are my niblings this plan is asking us to put at risk, but the Tennysons are all gung ho about it so I go along as I’m considering the situation. Well, the first fucker we find turns out to be Mike- you know, blond, glowy?- and he was as suspicious as me just, ‘Does your brother know about this?’, no, he doesn’t, I kinda want to tell him, so we did.

And Argit he lost his shit. And then he called Pierce’s dad and he lost his shit. And Mrs. Armstrong, and my mother, and just down through the list and they all flipped. And that’s how the Highbreed plan got out and was stomped down by so many fucking governments, because rather than call Ben and Gwen’s cousin, or my brother, or any of the other adult Plumbers on the planet, this guy wanted us kids to handle things and so many people lost their tits. It was amazing.” Argit stared at Kevin as he settled back into his chair, mouth agape.

“…well, if I’d ever wanted to start shit, that dream’s gone.”

~~

“-look, I love my Pa, he’s an amazing warrior, great military strategist, good father, but Depths take me that man can’t administrate for shit. And who’s surprised, really, when his drive for so damn long has been a stupid watch? You know he once tried to bring Zs’Skayr, you know, the guy known for trying to plunge a planet into darkness? He tried to bring him onto Vilgaxia. Seriously. Because he might be useful in getting the watch. If I hadn’t pitched an unholy fit, and my siblings hadn’t been on my side, and we hadn’t basically threatened to kill him and usurp the throne, I don’t even want to know what would’ve happened.

Even outside of that, he wanders off for ages at a time, does no fucking paperwork when he is here. He can’t delegate for shit, straight up forgets planets he’s conquered once he’s not using them anymore- which hey, fine with me, but somebody has to officially give them back to themselves if he doesn’t want them- and don’t even get me started on his budgeting. You know what I do when I can’t figure out a solution to a problem? I call and ask his advice and then don’t take it. Always works. And Tiara is just like- What is that look?” Clapping a hand over his face, Kevin bit back the stupid smile that’d grown over it as the monologue went on.

“Oh nothing, nothing, continue.”

~~

But it wasn’t long before they had to head out. The ‘honeymoon’ wasn’t over, but they had a house to try to make a home together, and it was agreed that if they put off leaving too long Kevin might literally grow roots and refuse to go. So, with one final grocery run- which itself took way too long, because Kevin suddenly decided he needed to stock up on foods from twelve different places on the planet and Argit felt guilty enough about moving him that he didn’t say no- they were gone, with the blue and green ball that was Earth shrinking behind them and the orange one that was Vilgaxia at the end of the journey.

“Woah,” Kevin said, whistling long and low as he came in to land, “nice place.”

“Thanks,” Argit responded, “Earth wasn’t exactly a shitstain either.”

The planet really was lovely, at least there at the capital city. Farla was a massive city by the standards of the culture, sprawling out from the base of a low mountain range. The city itself looked eerie as they approached, lights and a few taller buildings like spotlights in the thick morning fog, but that wasn’t where they were headed. Argit instead directed Kevin to the mountain closest to the city border, apparently not having been kidding when he said he’d got them a place on the outskirts. As they got closer Kevin could identify first a large river running towards and under the city, then what he could only describe as large, coral-like structures followed by smaller fixtures reminiscent of things like algae and seagrasses, all in various colors familiar and new to his shape, until finally they came over a ridge and straight into view of their new home.

Kevin whistled again.

It didn’t look much different from other buildings on the planet- low-slung, circular, with a rounded roof and what was nearly a band of windows. A road wound up the mountain to the dark and colorful building, and the yard was done up in coral ‘trees’ and beds of soft corals and anemones.

“Lawncare’s gonna be a bitch,” Kevin said, waiting as Argit typed in the passcode for the ship-garage visibly sunk into the ground beside the house. Argit shook his head.

“Don’t need any care,” he said, “it’s all native, so as long as we keep pests managed everything’ll handle itself just fine.” Well, he was the local. Kevin put yardwork out of his mind as they landed inside and gathered up their things.

The garage was large, massive even, and Kevin was visibly planning a layout even before they were completely out of the ship. He just stood there at the bottom of the ramp, luggage slung over his shoulder, clearly figuring out what machinery and projects he would be putting where, until Argit rolled his eyes, grabbed him by the sleeve, and dragged him towards the stairs. It wasn’t a long way up, and immediately Argit began leading the way to the bedrooms so they could put their things away, only to be stopped short by Kevin planting himself like a tree.

“No, first things first, I’m seeing what sort’ve kitchen I have to work with.” Looking back at him with exasperation, Argit sighed.

“Really?”

“Look, I can live just about anywhere, and the garage is great, but if this is gonna be home there needs to be a decent place to cook.” Another sigh, this one more pained as Argit realized he was married to this man for the hundredth time, and the smaller hybrid turned on his heel and started down the hallway.

Thankfully the layout was as circular as the building, with most of the rooms connected with one long hallway that ran the whole of the house. Outwards-facing rooms with large windows on one side, and more private rooms without them on the other. The kitchen, being one of the outer rooms and one without a door, was easy to find. Argit stopped and stared when they reached it.

“That table wasn’t there before,” he said. And it wasn’t just the table, though that was odd. It was definitely Murran in design- low slung and round and as much bench as anything else- but he’d never seen a table made completely of solid glass, and definitely not one in a grainy white with fine purple edging like this. But there was more going on. On top of the table was a small wooden crate with what appeared to be fabric inside, though the more curious thing was the small potted trees- immediately recognizable to Kevin as fruit trees from Earth and various Ossy planets- that sat on the floor along the walls and cabinets. Laughing, he briefly dug his fingers into the fur at the base of Argit’s ear.

“That,” he said, gesturing at the trees, “is an Ossy thing, and the table is probably from pack.” It took a moment for him to figure out that it did double duty, which amused Argit enough to make him relax, and once he did he settled in beside the crate and pulled it into his lap. “This, on the other hand, I’m curious about.”

Argit didn’t trust it, visibly didn’t trust it, but though he kept his ears back and eyed the crate carefully, he did come closer. As he did so Kevin pulled a steel ball from one pocket and pulled a coating from it, stowing it away before getting to work prying the crate open. Once the lid was free and set aside he broke into a wide grin and Argit decided that meant it was safe enough to position himself right by his husband’s leg.

“Oh hello there,” Kevin practically cooed, pulling out a bit of yellow-stained fabric and reaching inside the crate to present a kitten-sized arachnid. Eyes going wide, Argit tilted his head and leaned closer. He’d seen things that looked vaguely similar to this, but the creature itself was completely new to him for all that Kevin clearly recognized the variety of spider if not the specific animal. Climbing up Kevin’s arm, it carefully seemed to investigate it’s surroundings, even reaching out one metallic, silvery leg to poke at Argit’s muzzle. He found himself resting his head and arms on the table and just, watching it as it settled in, entranced by the newness, the glint of metallic limbs and net-like markings, it’s firey blue coloration, even as Kevin laughed at him. It wasn’t a mean or teasing laugh though, and during the second Argit tore his eyes away to look at him his expression was distinctly fond.

“Pretty nice place you’ve got me so far,” he said, then looked around the kitchen with a laugh and smile. “And we’ve even got a bit of a start on making it a home.”

[thatbluegibson]

CH 41

“If it were any warmer, this would be Malibu,” Dave bent to pick up a shell at his feet before looking it over and handing it to Liz.

“What a fresh hell that would be,” she scrunched up her nose and looked down the beach, counting just a few other people with their dogs on the mile long stretch of sand. They were completely alone at the far sound end of the cape and a mild breeze came in off the waves, but it was warm enough to walk barefoot in the sand. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she pulled it free.

I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he would go straight to the bar.

She sighed and tapped out a reply to Travis.

It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting him. We’re cool.

Liz put her phone in her sweatshirt pocket when Dave bumped his shoulder into hers. “Travis says he’s sorry,” she said.

Dave shrugged and looked over her head to the rock sea wall behind her. “If you weren’t in any danger then he has nothing to be sorry for, right? Isn’t that all he signed up for?”

Liz was surprised he understood the situation so well when she barely grasped it herself, “Are you my voice of reason now?”

“I’m just saying that if you have that reaction every time you’re around the guy you’re supposed to be co-parenting with, I’m going to die an early death. A very happy early death, but early all the same.”

She flipped the shell he had given her around her fingers, smiling at his words. “I just wasn’t prepared for it,” she muttered. It wasn’t the sight of Kyle that freaked her out as much as it was him seeing her with Dave. She wasn’t ready to have the ‘who is he to you’ conversation with someone she had been devoted to for an entire decade and she wasn’t even sure what Dave was to her. After the night before, she felt like they had evolved into something more than whatever it was they had in LA, but it had been so long since she had dated that she wasn’t sure what exactly it was. On top of all that, she didn’t know how Kyle would react to her moving on. It had always been Kyle leaving her for someone else that inevitably lasted a couple weeks, maybe a month before he came back and she stupidly let him back in. And Kyle had a bit of a temper when he felt threatened which Liz was really trying to avoid. 

“Is that a ship wreck?”

Dave’s question pulled Liz from her thoughts and she looked up as they approached a point in the cape that reached out into the sea making a natural sea wall between two beaches. The tide was receding, revealing several blackened tree stumps in the water.  

“That’s the ghost forest. We only get to see it when a bad storm comes through,” she turned back to the rock point and looked for any signs of storm damage.

“A shipwreck would have been cooler,” Dave replied, turning away from the waves to put his arms around Liz.

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, “Those tree stumps are 4,000 years old! There’s a wreck just north of here, but a storm is coming.”

Dave looked out to the clear, bright horizon, “I think whoever predicts the weather smokes far too much weed.”

“Give me his number so I can send him some product,” Liz mumbled into his sweatshirt before looking up at him, “For real, we should head back.”

*

“How the hell did you know a storm was coming?” Dave yelled over the wind as they ran up the steps to her house.

She unlocked the door and hurried inside, rain dripping from her clothes as she flipped on the gas fireplace. “My collarbone was screaming at me,” she grimaced, rubbing her shoulder a bit. “Doesn’t your leg hurt when the weather is about to change?”

“I guess it hurts a little, but I figured it was from walking, you weirdo,” he peeled off his soaked sweatshirt, giving her a quizzical look.

“I was told it’s something to do with the pressure in the air, but I like to think that the guy that my bone graft came from was a meteorologist,” she laughed a little and jumped when large gust of wind crashed against the house.

“You have a dead guy’s bone in your body?”

“That’s what she said,” she grinned and grabbed his sweatshirt from him, crossing the tile floor to the hallway that the laundry room was in.

Twenty minutes later they were bundled into her bed in their underwear, listening to the wind and rain outside while Dave flipped through the channels on the TV.

“Ugh,” Liz grumbled as her face briefly flashed across the screen.

“Ooo what does the outer world have to say about you today?” Dave teased, flipping the channel back. She lunged for the remote, but he held it above his head and out of her reach as video clips of Liz on various red carpets and in interviews played in rapid succession.

After finalizing her divorce in May of last year, she was seen cozying up with several different men throughout the summer…

“Slut,” Liz grumbled sarcastically as a series of candid photos of her in various social situations vaguely near another famous human male appeared.

Ben Affleck

“Producer of the last movie I was in and also, no thank you,” she shook her head, annoyed.

Chris Pratt

“I buy beef from his ranch... not a euphemism.”

Jason Momoa

“Fuck, I wish,” Liz laughed when Dave glared at her.

Aaron Rodgers

“He bought me a drink and I told him Russell Wilson is my favorite quarterback.”

Valentino Rossi

“His interpreter didn’t believe me when I said I ride and I almost fought him.”

The pictures then changed from candids to two separate photos stitched together and Liz rolled her eyes, “Now they’re just grasping.”

Leonardo DiCaprio

“I’ve literally never even met that man.”

Harry Styles

“I… don’t know who that is.”

Pictures of Liz and Johnny at their many Disney premieres scrolled by.

But the actor and sometimes rocker that claimed most of her attention last summer seems to have fallen out of favor for a different rock star…

A grainy cell phone shot of Liz and Josie staring up at the stage at Dave’s show appeared, then immediately changed to a blaring commercial. Liz looked up at Dave, but his eyes were glued to the screen.

“And here I thought my only competition was Radar,” he muttered, flopping back against the headboard.

“Please tell me you don’t honestly believe that dumpster fire of a show,” Liz said, sitting up on her knees beside him.

Dave just shook his head, but he was beginning to fully understand what Taylor had meant about the unwanted media attention. She was a big deal right now, one of the most sought after celebrities and her disappearing from LA the week before the fucking Oscars only made the media more blood thirsty. It wouldn’t be long before they were pounding on his door asking about her.

“That,” Liz jabbed a finger towards the flat screen mounted on her bedroom wall, “is not me. That’s not anybody. They have twenty four hours of air time to fill so they make shit up.”

“I know.”

“So stop looking at me like that.”

He again remained silent as the commercials ended and Liz’s picture popped back up on the screen.

… Colbert seemingly left the Hollywood rebel in the dust while falling into the arms of the ‘Nicest Guy in Rock’

A picture of Liz and Depp on set gave way to a closely cropped version of the picture of Dave and Liz in the hotel lobby before Liz gently took the remote from Dave’s hand.

No sightings of Colbert as Oscar week heats up and sources say she’s hiding out to prepare for her next big role which is already generating Oscar buzz for next year. Here’s hoping the Best Actress favorite appears before they announce her name on the big night.

“I’m quitting the industry,” she said quietly, pressing the mute button.

Dave felt his heart skip a little, “What? Why?”

“I hate it. I hate that,” Liz tilted her head towards the TV, now displaying paparazzi shots of Dave and Liz leaving the show on Saturday, her neck still streaked with red scratches. “I like acting, but it’s not worth it.”

“What about all the projects you have coming up?”

“Most of them are so far out that I can bail without legal consequences, but I have hard commitments to the next three films.”

“And how long will that take?”

“At least a year and a half,” she sighed, leaning back against the headboard next to him. 

“Principle photography starts in London in three weeks on the first one, the other two are in Vancouver.” She looked over at him when he remained silent. “And you? Any big plans?”

“Just my usual post-album depressive state. Taylor, Chris and Nate have other projects lined up, so we’re on hiatus for a bit.”

“You’re breaking my little fan girl heart, Dave,” she cried, clutching her chest with a smile. 

“It’s fine. I’ll take the girls to Disneyland every other day and pretend like it isn’t eating my soul from the inside out.”

“Hey, those soul sucking Disney trips paid for this house!” Liz laughed. She was happy to change the subject, but didn’t like where this was headed. 

Dave looked down at the sheets between them. “I’ll probably write, maybe call Josh and Jones to do something,” he shrugged.

“Dave,” Liz said, suddenly serious, “Are you telling me you’re making another Vulture’s album?”

He looked over at her, a shadow of a smile on his face, “You’ll have to force that one out of me.”

Liz narrowed her eyes at him, “Challenge accepted.” She slid off the bed and disappeared in the walk in closet, returning a moment later and tossing a small bag and lighter onto the sheets next to Dave.

He picked it up and suspiciously eyed the professional packaging, “Selkirk Cannabis Company.”

 She climbed back into bed and sat across from him, taking the bag from his hands and tearing it open. “This is a late season harvest,” she mumbled, slipping the joint between her lips and lighting it. She inhaled slowly before handing it back to Dave.

He stared at it for a moment before laughing a little, “The last time I smoked, Taylor fucking Swift had to come save my ass.”

Liz exhaled sharply with a smile before taking the joint back from him. “I heard about that,” she mumbled, her voice a little raspy from the smoke and crawled up the bed until she was inches from his face. “She’s a customer of mine,” she said, slipping her arm around his neck and taking another long drag.

“She smoked out Bieber that night,” Dave replied distractedly, his eyes focused on her lips. He was fascinated with how she could go from adorable to seductive so quickly.

Liz smiled and dipped her head, shotgunning her drag to Dave. He pulled her closer as soon as their lips met, running his hands up the backs of her thighs.

“I can almost guarantee it was my weed she did it with,” Liz said when she pulled away, smiling when Dave took the joint from her hand.

He took another drag, tasting her vanilla chapstick on the paper and leaned back against the headboard, “So how does one grow good weed?”

Liz shrugged. “Years of trial and error, I guess. It all comes down to sex.”

Dave’s eyebrows shot up and he coughed a little, “What?”

“Female plants produce the bud and what they want is a male plant to send them some pollen, so they produce more sticky resin to try and capture any that might be floating through the air.”

“O… kay?” Dave took another drag, trying to follow along.

“So I did a little experiment in college and found out that if you have a male plant nearby, but not close enough to pollinate, the female plant goes crazy and produces more and more resin. Therefore, sexual frustration equals great product.”

“Very scientific,” he replied, already feeling his head swimming a little.

“If you call a bunch of broke and stoned college kids scientific,” she laughed, watching his eyes close just slightly. “You ready to tell me about that album yet?”

“I’m not saying a word,” he laughed.

“Oh, no?” Liz smiled and took the joint from his hand, leaning over to set it on a glass tray on the nightstand before reaching back and unsnapping her bra. She slowly pulled the straps off her arms, holding the fabric to her chest to keep it from falling, “How about now?”

He grinned and shook his head slowly, relaxing back into the bed. His smile faded as she tossed her bra aside and his hands shot up to touch her, but she grabbed his wrists to stop him. Her slow smile returned and she kissed him lightly before snaking her way down his body. Dave sat perfectly still in Liz’s bed, his eyes wide and staring straight ahead at the fireplace mantle as he felt her hand slip into his boxers and her hot breath against him, “We’re making another Vulture’s record.”

[sending-the-message]

It'll be back tonight by jesswhatineeded

The drilling started around 3 a.m.

I opened my eyes with a jolt, instantly awake and confused in the pitch black humidity of the room. My room, although it was still unfamiliar. As I let the shape of my nightstand and the books piled on top of it form in the darkness, the muffled mechanic whirring continued below me.

I kicked the sweaty sheets off my body in a tangled heap and heaved myself off the mattress, immediately stubbing my toe on an unpacked box of picture frames. Of course I hadn’t plugged in a lamp yet.

“Shit,” I hissed and tiptoed to the door around more boxes and bins, a landmine of my procrastination.

I made my way downstairs and peered into the living room. It was blindingly bright with all of the lights turned on - the overhead fan, both lamps on either side of the couch, even the glow of the quiet TV showing a rerun of Family Feud. My dad was crouched down by the front door, drill in hand, installing what looked like a military-grade padlock beneath the knob. His toolbox was open on the floor, its contents scattered around him, and his face was scrunched up in concentration. He was mumbling something to himself.

“Dad?” I whispered.

He jumped, dropping the drill onto the toolbox with a loud clattering, his mouth open in horror. When he turned and saw me, he exhaled and clutched his chest.

“Jesus, Sarah, you scared me half to death,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “What’s going on? You should be in bed.”

“I could say the same thing,” I said. “You’re the one using power tools at 3:00 in the morning.”

“Is it that late?” He laughed again - that same weird, nervous tittering that was so unlike him - and looked down at his watch. “Must have lost track of time. I’ll keep it down. Sorry, sweetie.”

“Dad, what are you doing?” I asked, crossing my arms over the baggy t-shirt I wore to bed.

“We didn’t have a decent lock on this door,” he said simply. “You know, this house hasn’t had any updates since the ‘70s. Anyone could come breaking in here and steal something. For all we know, a couple of hobos could have been using this place as a crack den before we moved in.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A crack den in a cul-de-sac?”

“You know what I mean,” he muttered. He ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. I spotted two empty beer bottles on the coffee table, a third one half-full next to the toolbox. “I’m sorry I woke you. You should really get to bed.”

“Dad, try and get some sleep,” I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead, clammy and cold on my lips despite the heat. “And then maybe I can get some sleep. No more drilling, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, without looking at me, his bloodshot eyes focused on the wall behind me. “Love you, bug.”

I stumbled sleepily back upstairs when my parents’ bedroom door opened a crack. My mom poked her head out into the hallway, her hair a mess of matted curls. “Again?” She asked me in a strained voice. I nodded and we shared a look of concern.

Dad had never been an insomniac, but ever since we moved to our new house a little over a week ago, he stayed awake all hours of the night. The first night was normal enough; he was up late unpacking. But Mom and I found him sitting upright in the armchair the next morning, wide awake and trembling. The next night I heard him pacing when I got up to use the bathroom, peering down the stairs to see him walking back and forth in the living room, the floorboards creaking gently beneath him as he muttered to himself. The following nights had followed a similar pattern. I would wake to hear him trudging up the stairs after the sun had come up.

He was a writer - mostly of personal essays and nonfiction pieces - but he was never this secretive or consumed with his work. Now whenever we found him bent over his laptop or scribbling furiously into his notebook, he would pack up his belongings and shuffle into the next empty room. This was the first night he had incorporated light home construction and, as far as I knew, beer into his routine. Dad had never been a drinker, either.

The next afternoon, while my dad snoozed the day away in his room, my mom rehashed the same conversation we’d been having for days.

“He needs medication,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Ambien or something. Do you see what he did to the door? It’s not natural to be up all night like that. He’s teaching freshmen at 8 a.m. in a few weeks!”

Both of my parents were English professors at the local college, part of the reason for our move. While my mom had taken on teaching afternoon and evening summer courses, my dad had the season off, fortunately for him given his current predicament. But the fall semester was rapidly approaching. I chalked most of his antics up to anxiety over living so far from the city; he was used to noise, people, chaos. Now we were the only house on a small, dead-end street a few miles from campus, shrouded by trees.

After my mom left for class through the garage (“I can’t even figure out to open my own goddamn front door,” she had snapped) I examined the living room, looking for any signs of remaining bottles. Our front door was now armed with a heavy deadbolt towards the top, as well as a chain at eye level. I balked at the level of security my dad had taken and unlocked each one. I turned the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. I had missed the heavy padlock at the bottom. I tugged it to no avail, then stood to run my fingers on the top of the doorframe searching for a key. Nothing.

“Jesus, Dad,” I whispered to myself, bending down to examine the lock. He must have dropped quite a few things in the process, too - long white scratches marred the floor, disappearing underneath the door.

Fueled by annoyance and concern, I jogged upstairs and quietly entered my parents’ room. Dad was still snoring soundly as I unplugged the MacBook from its charging place on the bureau and snuck back out. Downstairs, I typed in my middle name and birthday at the password prompt and began my search. I didn’t really know what I was looking for, but I was hoping to find some clues for his odd behavior.

The desktop was littered with folders holding files from old student essays, photos from family vacations, and other miscellaneous crap, all labeled accordingly, but I couldn’t find any new projects. When I checked his internet browser history, something caught my attention. I clicked the link and pulled up an article published in a newspaper only a few months before: “Family of four found butchered inside home.” A red-haired couple, each holding red-headed toddler boys in their laps in what looked like a Christmas portrait, smiled out at me from the grainy featured photograph.

The details were chilling. The father was found in the bedroom, decapitated, his head only a few feet from the body. The mother was found in the children’s room, her body splayed on top of one of the beds in what police determined was a protective move. One of the boys was found underneath her, both bodies hacked to bits. The younger boy was found in the bedroom...and the hallway...and the bathroom. His body parts were strewn throughout the house. I shook my head in disgust and clicked back into the browser history.

A much less graphic story about the family had been published to another news site, this time with a video. The reporter interviewed shocked neighbors who all repeated the same mantra: they seemed like such a nice family, nobody knew them well, they had just moved in, and terrible things like this never, never happened in their town. The police chief looked stricken as he disclosed that there were no leads, no suspects, no signs of forced entry. I clicked back again.

To my horror, there were more articles. Not just about this red-haired family and their smiling boys. There were others, too.

A mother and daughter disemboweled in their country home. A man found dead in his duplex, the lower half of his body torn away. Three brothers hacked to bits in a locked room. A young couple eviscerated in their own bed in what police thought looked like an animal attack… only they lived on the 22nd floor of their apartment building.

The stories were from all over the country, but the only thing the gruesome murders had in common was that all the victims were new residents. After only a few days of moving into new homes, apartments, wherever... they were found dead. No known suspects. No explanation.

I must have been reading for hours, paralyzed with fear as shadows stretched across the room, the brightest light coming from the laptop screen. I had clicked through so much carnage, my stomach was rolling. Even though I tried to explain to myself that this was just essay material, just fodder for my dad’s next big writing gig, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly, horribly wrong with him.

“It’ll be back tonight.”

I jumped at the sound of my dad’s voice. I strained to see him, blue circles dancing in front of my eyes in the darkness. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he turned the overhead light on with a click and I squinted from the sudden brightness. He was wearing the same disheveled clothes from the night before.

“Wh-what?”

Wordlessly, my dad moved slowly into the kitchen. I put down the laptop and followed him, watching as he opened the fridge and leaned down for a beer bottle, twisting off the cap and guzzling down half before wiping his mouth. He turned to me with tired, bloodshot eyes.

“I’m sorry, bug,” he said, sadly. “I didn’t want to bring you into this. Not yet.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in a shaky voice. “What will be back tonight?”

“I don’t know what it is,” he admitted. “And, frankly, I don’t want to know. But I think I figured out how it works, I guess. I’m not sure. There are still...questions.”

“How what works? What the hell are you talking about?” I practically shouted. “You’re really scaring me.”

He sighed and leaned on the kitchen counter, bracing himself with one hand and closing his eyes.

“Since we got here, I’ve been hearing these...these horrible voices,” he said. “Inhuman voices. Animal. And...not. I know them. But they still say awful things. Terrible things. Sometimes they’re not just voices. Sometimes I see them.”

“What do you see, Dad?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

He opened his mouth to speak, his face contorting with his struggle. But he was at a loss. He shrugged helplessly and shook his head, closing his eyes.

If this was a joke, it wasn’t my dad’s style. He was blunt and honest, almost to a fault, and he wouldn’t indulge in a prank like this. Whatever was happening, he truly believed it was real.

“Dad, are you…,” I started, unsure if I could finish the question. “Are you… drinking when you hear these voices?”

He looked up at me with a furrowed brow and laughed gruffly, without humor. “You’ll see for yourself, Sarah. Soon.”

He finished the rest of the bottle and placed it on the counter, heading back into the living room, leaving me alone, my body shivering from a sudden cold.

It was almost midnight. Dad and I were sitting in the living room, our hands wrapped around mugs of coffee. I don’t think he needed any help staying awake anymore, like I did, but I was just thankful he had put his beer away at my request.

Mom had brought home burgers for dinner from the campus diner around 7. She tried to strike up a conversation with Dad and me, but we were pretty quiet, only murmuring in response to her story about an embarrassing typo in her PowerPoint slides. Eventually, she grew frustrated and declared she was going to bed early since we were “positively boring her to death” and “maybe we all needed more sleep.” I was glad for her absence; I still hadn’t decided what I was going to say to her. I mean, how do you tell someone that her husband is clearly unstable?

Now it was just me and Dad, sitting and waiting. Waiting for what, I didn’t know. But I owed him at least one night to buy into his delusions before figuring out what to do about it. I checked my phone a few times, scrolling through my Facebook feed without absorbing anything. The TV was off and all I could hear was the ticking of the clock.

“How...much longer?” I asked.

“Depends,” he answered.

“On what?”

“Don’t know,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, dumbly.

And back to silence.

I must have dozed off in my chair because it was nearly 2 a.m. when I felt my dad shaking me awake.

“Sarah,” he whispered. “Sarah, wake up. It’s here”

“What’s he - “ I almost asked, before remembering with an unpleasant sinking feeling this little game I was indulging. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw he was holding a shotgun in both hands.

“What - when the hell did you get a gun?” I nearly shrieked with a voice hoarse from sleep. “Put that down!”

Dad crouched by the door, setting the gun across his knees and putting his ear against the wood in deep concentration. “It’s here,” he whispered again, to himself more than to me. He looked at me with wide, wild eyes. “Do you believe me now?”

I sat up in my chair and strained to hear, well, anything. But it was just the ticking of the clock and my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. I waited nearly a minute before sighing and standing.

“Dad, I don’t hear - “

“Come outside, Daddy,” a voice hissed.

I froze, icy fear spreading through my veins. It sounded like a little girl. I looked to my dad in panic.

“Daddy, I’m so cold. Please come outside,” the voice called again.

It sounded like a young girl, but off. Like something was mimicking her voice. Underneath the high-pitched trill, I could hear a faint, gravelly echo. And there was something so, so familiar about it. I had heard this girl before.

“D-dad,” I whispered, drawing closer and kneeling to join him on the floor. “Who is that? Who’s talking to you?”

He looked at me, sadly. “It’s...it’s you, bug.”

“Daddy, please, I’m scared,” the hollow voice grew louder, like she had her mouth pressed right up against the door.

I realized with horror that it was my voice. Or at least, my younger voice, something I had only heard in the shaky audio of VHS home movies my parents had recorded with handheld cameras. Once I recognized it - the slight, childish lisp I carried at six years old after I lost my two front teeth - it was uncanny.

“How is that possible?” I asked my dad, but he didn’t answer, listening intently to whatever was on the other side of the door.

“I know you’re in there, Daddy. Why won’t you come outside?”

“I don’t know,” my dad whispered back. “But it’ll get worse.”

“Sarah? Sarah, is that you? I need you, sweetie!”

I nearly choked at the sound of my name. It was my mother’s voice, which was impossible because she was upstairs and sleeping, blissfully unaware, like I had been the past week.

“Sarah, come outside right now. I won’t ask again.” It was the stern voice my mother only used when I was a child and I was in trouble.

“It knows you’re here,” my dad whispered. “It always knows everything. I-I don’t know how.”

“Sarah, listen to your mother. Come outSIDE, NOW.” The voice changed and dropped, morphing into a deep growl as something pounded forcefully on the door. “COME OUTSIDE. COME OUTSIDE. COME OUTSIDE NOW.”

I leapt back in fear, scrambling back away from the door with tears brimming in my eyes. My dad slowly stood, pumping the shotgun with a loud pop. The door was shaking, the locks rattling nearly off the hinges.

“Come outside, Sarah,” the gnarled voice nearly sang. Something was tapping on the door now - no longer banging full-force, but like fingernails tapping down and back up in quick succession, light as rain. “Come outside or we’ll come in.”

I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself. “Make it stop,” I pleaded. “Dad, please, make it stop.”

My dad aimed the gun at the door as it continued. Suddenly, after what felt like an eternity, it stopped altogether.

My dad lowered his gun and took a step closer to the door. He peered through the peephole, then inexplicably, lifted his hand and slid the chain lock to the left, letting it swing undone.

“Stop!” I called. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” he told me, sounding less confident than he looked. “Everything is going to be okay.”

I watched in abject terror as he undid the deadbolt and unlocked the doorknob, fishing in his pocket for a key to the padlock before kneeling to unlock that as well. Every single millimeter of metallic protection we just had was gone. I wanted to beg “no,” but I couldn’t speak. He turned the knob and pulled the door open.

The porch light only cast a small halo of light in the inky black night and wind blew the warm evening air inside. Nobody was standing there, but I could feel it watching. I peered around my dad and blinked into the darkness. Something was moving in the black, slipping soundlessly through the trees, almost completely camouflaged by the cover of night. But I could see the tiniest pinpricks of light moving, pacing back and forth, disappearing quickly and then reappearing. They were eyes; eyes reflecting the porch light and blinking.

And from the shadows, it began to scream.

I covered my ears and cried, shutting out the pained howl. I closed my eyes as I waited for some unknown creature to gallop into the house and devour us whole. But instead, I heard the door slam shut.

“It’s okay,” Dad assured me, crouching down next to me, placing the gun on the floor. He grabbed my hands away from my ears and held them with his own. “It can’t come inside. I know that now. It can’t get us. Shh, it’s okay, honey.”

“We have to call the police,” I sobbed. “We have to get Mom and leave here now. It’s going to kill us.”

“We can’t, Sarah.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s what it wants,” he said. “It wants us to go. It wants us to flee. That’s how it works.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I said. Everything felt like the climax of a nightmare when you’re waiting to wake up and worrying that all of these horrible things are really happening. “How do you know all of this?”

My dad sat back, keeping a firm hand on my arm. “After that first night here, I did some research and found out about the last family. Then I found the rest through property records. Everyone who lived here before us is dead. I don’t know how or why, but I know that - that thing, whatever it is, has to be responsible. This house… it’s both a curse and protection. As long as we’re here, I - I think we’re safe. But if we leave…”

He trailed off, glancing at the door. I didn’t need him to finish. I had read about those families. I knew what would happen to us. And I knew I wasn’t waking up.

That was a few months ago. We told Mom soon after that night. She didn’t believe us until we showed her; I don’t think it’s something you can accept until you experience it yourself. Now she understands.

We take shifts, switching off who keeps watch each night. Last Tuesday, we felt safe enough to forego assigning a guard and fell asleep in our rooms. It didn’t like that. It needed an audience. We woke up in the middle of the night to its shrieks, the door pounding off the hinges, slamming open and shut in heavy blows, broken locks scattered on the floor. Every picture frame on the wall was broken, swinging precariously from their nails. We’ll never make that mistake again.

I ask Dad why he bothered replacing the locks when he knows they won’t make a difference either way. He says it’s more symbolic than anything, maintaining this idea of peace in the face of something so helpless. I guess I know what he means. After all, I locked them in place a few minutes ago myself.

It’s my turn. I grab a book and put on a rerun of a show I’ve seen a thousand times. It makes me feel less alone for some reason. On a good night, I can get a few hours of sleep. I can ignore it when I hear my own voice, but it’s hard when it’s Mom and Dad. It’s worse when it’s something else. Sometimes, not often, I see it, too. Just glimpses - a silhouette in the window, shadows passing under the door, and (just once) black claws sneaking in from under the door. I don’t know if it’s possible to look at it straight on, but I know I’ll never, ever try.

It’s quiet now. No crickets, no birds, no wind. Even the TV seems muted somehow. That’s how I know it’s coming.

It’ll be back tonight. And every night. But so will we.

“I know you’re in there, Sarah. I can hear you breathing.”

[chocolatebuttonsandbooks]

Reunion

For day 7 of @freezerburn-week here is a quite long piece that, as always, is an AU again. I have it saved as the airport AU on my laptop but it’s basically a world like ours. Starts off kind of sad but I promise it gets fluffier near the end! Yang hates saying goodbye.

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption.

Pairing: Freezerburn

3285 words.

This was how it always was for Yang at airports.

People who were a part of her life always left her.

Yang would stand, trembling, as she waved goodbye with a smile on her face until they turned away from her.

Her mom had left her more than once.

Uncle Qrow left, but he did come back. Sometimes.

Even Ruby left last year. Of course, Yang wanted her to go to a great University and be the genius she was but Yang couldn’t help feeling as if she was the only one stuck in the past. As if she was the only one not to move on to better things.

Now Yang faced Weiss and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“So… I guess I won’t see you for a while.” Yang cursed her inability to say something important, say something meaningful, to say how she felt.

“No. Probably not.” Weiss’ gaze was on the floor. “We can call each other and video chat though.”

Weiss looked up and Yang felt her body tense. There was a sharp pain in her stomach. So many words were close to slipping out of her mouth but she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Bye, Weiss.”

“Goodbye, Yang.”

“Good luck over there.” Yang opened her arms for a hug and, much to her relief, Weiss stepped into the embrace. “You’ll have to let me know if anyone gives you any trouble and I’ll sort them out.” Yang rested her head against soft, white hair and held Weiss tight.

���I can handle myself, you know that.” Weiss let out a laugh and pulled back to look into Yang’s eyes.

“Give ‘em hell, princess.”

“I will.”

Yang returned Weiss’ smile but she couldn’t make it reach her eyes.

All she could do was watch as the woman she loved walked away.

Blake was sat in the corner of the coffee shop when Yang stumbled in, out of the cold, and made her way over.

“It’s good to see you again Blakey.”

“It’s nice to be back, Yang.” Blake treated her with a rare smile.

“How long are ya sticking around for?” Yang asked, as she flung herself into the leather armchair.

“A couple of weeks. I’m doing some book signings actually.” Blake took a sip of her tea.

“Oooh, very nice.” Yang laughed and wiggled her eyebrows at her long-time friend.

“Thanks.” Blake’s eyes lost their playfulness as she put her cup down. “How are you holding up?”

“Holding up? Oh, you mean with… with uh Weiss leaving?”

“Yes. You’ve clearly been in love with her since senior year.”

Yang felt her face grow warm. “Sophomore year,” she mumbled to correct Blake.

“And you still feel the same?”

“Yeah.” Yang sighed. “I couldn’t tell her. I almost did. I almost ran after her.” Yang wrung her hands together. “Blake, I swear when she walked away I could feel my heart breaking. I’m never going to get a chance to tell her now and it’s all ‘cause I was too much of a coward.”

“You sound like a character in one of my novels.”

“Heh. I’m sure I do. Part of me wishes I’d said something but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.”

“You know long distance relationships are a thing, Yang.”

“I know. I just. She’s gonna be asleep when I’m awake and she’s going to be busy and-”

“You’re making excuses.”

“I am.” Yang chewed her lip. “I was still scared I’d tell her how I felt and she’d look at me with disgust. What if she just doesn’t like me that way?”

“If you never tell her, you’ll never know.”

“Well I missed my chance now.”

Blake rolled her eyes. “It’s your choice.”

Yang smacked her laptop a few times until it began to cooperate and she finally saw a pitiful, grainy image of Weiss.

“Hey! I can see you now. I don’t know what was up with it,” Yang explained.

Weiss let out a laugh that crackled out of Yang’s speakers. “Maybe you shouldn’t abuse it so much.”

“Alright. I didn’t realise you were part of my laptop defence squad.”

“I’m the chairwoman.”

“You have time for that in your schedule?” Yang laughed. “What have you really been up to?”

“The usual. Attending important meetings, having posh dinners and trying my hardest to ignore Whitley.”

“So, he hasn’t grown out of his… phase yet?”

“No. I think he’s just like that.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yes, it is.” Weiss coughed. “How have you been?”

“Good. You know, nothing much changes here.”

Their conversation was less awkward after they got over the first few minutes. Yang still managed to make Weiss laugh and if she couldn’t tell Weiss was getting tired she wouldn’t have wanted to hang up.

“It’s got to be late for you now. You should probably go to bed,” Yang suggested.

Weiss sighed before glancing over at her clock. “It is nearly two A.M I suppose.”

“Goodnight, Weiss.”

“Goodnight, Yang.”

Yang was wiping the bar down during a particularly quiet shift when her phone started ringing. She saw the caller I.D and snuck into the staff breakroom to answer.

“Hey Rubes, I’m at work. Are you okay?”

“Oh sorry! I didn’t realise. I’m fine I just have some news.”

“News?”

“Are you sure you can talk now? I can call back later.” Ruby’s voice took up a guilty tone.

“It’s slow today, plus, you’ve got me interested now. What is it?”

“Okay. Well I know you’ve totally loved Weiss since we were at school-”

Yang let out an exasperated sigh. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Yang I’m pretty sure I’ve heard you sleep talking about letting her step on you.”

“I- well. That’s none of your business. Anyway, apart from embarrassing your only sister why else did you call me?”

“She’s sort of dating someone.”

“Who?”

“Weiss.”

“No. I got that. Who is she dating?” Yang’s hand was tightening around her phone.

“I don’t know some guy in Atlas. Her dad’s been inviting loads of people to balls and stuff.  Anyway, she’s young, and an heiress, and she’s not going to wait for you forever Yang.”

“I…” Yang felt like she’d been punched in the gut. “She’s never mentioned any of this to me.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious yet. Yang, don’t you see? You have to tell her how you feel.”

“Well she obviously isn’t interested in me. She must like this guy.”

Yang was sure Ruby growled down the handset at her. “Yang. Maybe she feels just like you but thinks that you don’t like her!”

“Thanks for telling me, Ruby. Look I’ve got to get back to work but I’ll call you later okay?”

“Okay Yang. Loveyoubye!”

Yang laughed at her sister’s speech. “Love you too.”

Yang hopped from one foot to the other. Not long until Weiss’ plane arrived.

And she was totally going to tell her the truth.

Yang held up the sign, that she had spent a sad amount of time designing, with Weiss’ name on it, as she scanned the crowd of arrivals.

She spotted white hair.

“Weiss! Over here!”

Blue eyes met hers.

“Yang!”

Weiss ran towards her and leaped into her arms. Yang inhaled that familiar apple scented shampoo and held Weiss in a crushing hug.

“I missed you so much,” Weiss said.

“I missed you too.” Yang let Weiss back onto solid ground. “I have something important to tell you.”

“Oh, me too.”

“You first, Miss Schnee.”

Weiss let out what could only be described as a giggle and Yang felt a fluttering in her stomach. “Well, I’ve sort of met someone. He’s with me if you want to meet him.”

“I- sure.” Yang’s head pounded at the news but she faked a smile. “So, you’re dating?”

“Yes. It’s nothing official yet but I thought since everyone’s back for the holidays I’d be able to introduce you all.”

“Great idea.” Yang knew she was going to have to master talking through gritted teeth if they were here for a while. “Where is the lucky fella?”

“Neptune? Come and say ‘hi’.” Weiss waved over a tall guy with blue hair.

Yang wasn’t particularly impressed.

“I’m Yang, nice to meet you.” She offered her hand and regarded his limp handshake as proof he was not worthy.

“Neptune Vasilias, at your service m’ilady.” Apparently, he was a flirter too.

“Great,” Yang drawled, “why don’t you grab the bags and I’ll take you both to the car.”

Neptune walked over to the baggage collection point, winking at a couple of female passengers on his way, and Weiss turned to her. “So… what do you think?”

“He seems… nice.”

“Oh.” Weiss’ face fell.

“I mean it. I’m sure it’ll be fun to get to know him.”

“Is it the blue hair?” Weiss ventured.

Yang smirked. “Maybe. Or how freakishly tall he is, like, what do they feed you over in Atlas? Although, I guess you missed out on the super growth food.”

“Hey!” Weiss slapped at her arm. “I may like tall people but I know I’m the perfect height.”

“How do you ever reach stuff on high up shelves?”

“I don’t need to when I can get others to do it for me.” Weiss took on a smug look.

“I let you out of my sight for a couple of months and you’re already letting this heiress stuff go to your head.”

“Good thing I’m back now then.”

Yang smiled, genuinely, and enjoyed Weiss’ return gesture until Neptune hobbled over and dropped a suitcase on her foot.

“Sorry! They’re a bit heavy.”

“Don’t worry about it, pal.” Yang rolled her eyes and grabbed the majority of the bags off the trolley before leading the way out of the airport.

“So… what’s he like?” Ruby threw even more tinsel at the already covered Christmas tree.

“He’s stupidly tall, has blue hair that looks stupid, and he has stupid noodle arms. Like, has the kid never heard of arm day? Not that he’s heard of leg day either…”

“Not all people are buff Yang.” Ruby held up her arm and showed off her biceps. “Not everyone can be as hardcore as us.”

“It must run in the family!” Tai burst into the living room with his arms flexed.

“You guys are cute but we all know I’ve got the best arms.” Yang smirked at them.

“I’m gonna let you have this round ‘cause I know how sad you are about your girlfriend dating some guy,” Tai relented as the doorbell sounded. “Also, she may or may not be at the door right now and I made cocoa for everyone so enjoy.”

“Thanks dad!” Ruby followed him back into the kitchen.

“I guess I’ll get it!” Yang yelled in their general direction as she made her way to the door.

Of course, it was Weiss stood there in an adorable pea coat.

“Hey.” Weiss’ voice was muffled by the thick blue scarf she wore.

“Hey. Do you want to come in?”

“Yang, are we okay?” Her eyebrows were furrowed together as she looked up at Yang.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You’ve just been acting a bit weird since I bought Neptune back and you keep being busy whenever I try to meet you. If I’ve done something to make you upset will you at least tell me what it is?”

“Weiss. You’ve done nothing wrong, and the last thing I wanna do is make you upset. I’ve been busy with work is all.”

“Okay. I can tell you don’t like him though.” Weiss shuffled her feet. “Can I ask you why?”

“You know me.” Yang shrugged. “I’m protective of those I care about. I don’t know him well enough to judge properly, and I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but I just get the feeling he isn’t as serious about you as he should be.”

Weiss’ eyes were wide in the porchlight. “I’m glad you were honest with me. Maybe you’re right.”

“You deserve someone who will commit to you and will be devoted, Weiss.”

“Well…” Weiss smiled at her, “let me know if you find that someone.”

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled. Do you wanna come in for some cocoa?”

“That sounds lovely.”

The frost of the winter was melting away when Yang next saw Weiss.

Another airport reunion.

“Welcome back!” Yang, Blake and Ruby spoke in unison as they fell into a group hug.

“The gang’s all here and it’s time to party!” Yang pumped her fist in the air. “So, Weiss, how are you feeling about being twenty-one? You looking forward to the party?”

“It can’t be any worse than last year.”

Yang’s face turned serious. “We don’t talk about that.”

“Anyway,” Blake cut in, “who’s invited?”

“Oh, you know, the usual lot.” Yang waved her hand around.

“Did you invite Jaune?” Weiss asked.

“Uh, Yeah.”

“Ugh. That guy was always obsessed with me at school.”

“He’s not the only one,” Blake muttered to Ruby, who began giggling until Yang shot them a glare.

“What did you say, Blake?” Weiss questioned.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Let’s get moving, shall we?” Yang helped Weiss with her bags.

The party was, and Yang never used the term lightly, “Bangin’”, as she told her sister.

“It is,” Ruby replied. “Maybe you should call it quits on the cocktails though.”

“Why?” Yang wobbled as she carefully placed her Strawberry Sunrise back on the bar, only spilling about a quarter of its contents in the process.

“You just need to be able to dance, Yang!” Ruby shouted over the music.

“I got my moves, sis. No need to worry.”

“Yang that’s a lunge.”

“Just stretching.”

“Weiss should be the most drunk on her birthday don’t you think?”

“Now that I can agree with.” Yang completed another stretch. “Where’s she gone?”

“I don’t know but there’s Neptune.” Ruby pointed across the dancefloor.

“Aha! My nemesis.” Yang cracked her knuckles.

“Uh oh. Maybe we should go find Weiss?”

“No!” Yang straightened up and started towards the noodle boy. “I must challenge him.”

“No fighting. Yang. Please! Him and Weiss aren’t even a thing anymore.” Ruby followed her and grabbed onto her arm but Yang dragged her along.

“Blue hair!”

Neptune looked their way and frowned at the sight of Ruby hanging off Yang’s arm. “Yang?”

“Yes. It is I.” Yang drew herself up to her tallest. “I challenge you to a dance battle!”

Neptune’s eyes shifted left and right, and his forehead was shiny with perspiration. “I’m not sure I feel like it right now I uh I-”

“No excuses. Only you, me and the glorious art of dance.” Yang turned to take in the spectators that dragging a teenager across a dancefloor and yelling at someone tended to garner. “Ren- you can judge us.”

He solemnly nodded to accept the title of dance battle judge and they commenced.

Yang was still high on the adrenaline of her victory, despite it being an easy one, when she swaggered over to Weiss. The boy couldn’t dance. Nonetheless, a victory was a victory.

Yang leaned an elbow on the bar. “Well hello there. Can I buy you a drink?”

Weiss mirrored Yang’s posture. “What’s a bar like you doing in a pretty girl like this?

“What.”

“You’re pretty. I will have that drink now.”

“Oh.” Yang’s face felt warm. “What do you want?”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

“Guys!” Ruby rushed over to them. “Why don’t we go outside for a bit- there’s going to be fireworks.”

“But we were about to get drinks,” Yang protested.

“Fireworks,” Ruby replied more forcefully as she took hold of them both.

“Alright.” Yang let herself be led outside.

There was a paved area that was designated as a ‘beer garden’ that many party-goers had gathered in to enjoy the firework show.

Ruby disappeared and Yang turned to Weiss. She was shivering in the cold, her breaths visibly leaving her mouth and her cheeks and nose were tinged with red.

“Weiss, I was thinking we should walk home after these fireworks. You can stay at mine.”

“Great idea, hotshot.”

Yang laughed. “You haven’t called me that since we were kids.”

“You’re still saved in my phone as that.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Yang.” The blonde boy, who seemed to have no buttons on his shirt and was friends with Neptune, approached them.

“What is it, friend of the enemy?”

“Huh?”

“What’s up… brah?”

“Nothing much, dude. Just wanted to let you know how cool this party is and to give you another beer.”

“Ah. I like you.” Yang gave him a high five and took another can.

Yang cracked her eyes open and became aware of just how fast the world was moving.

“Shit…” Her head felt like it was going to split in two.

She opened her eyes again and was grateful that her past-self had thought to leave a glass of water on her bedside table. She gingerly propped herself up against the pillows and sipped the water whilst trying to remember all that had happened last night.

“Uuughhh.” A groan, muffled by the covers, caught Yang’s attention. White hair, that was impossibly messy, appeared next to her. “Yang?”

“Uh. Good morning?”

“I feel like I’m dying,” Weiss croaked out.

“Same.” Yang sighed. “Have some water. Oh, and Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” Weiss sat up and Yang suppressed a laugh at her messed up hair, smudged lipstick and the large band T-shirt Yang must have lent her. She still looked beautiful.

“You’re looking good.”

“Don’t tease me.”

Yang swallowed. “I’m not.”

Weiss froze with the glass halfway to her lips. “Oh.”

Yang put her hands in her lap and focused her gaze on them. “I wish we weren’t so hungover for this but since I got you in my bed anyway… Weiss.”

“Yes?” Weiss finished her gulp of water and placed the glass on the stand.

“I love you.” Yang watched sky blue eyes widen but she wasn’t finished yet. “I’ve loved you since we were at school together, and waking up this morning has made me realise that waking up next to you is a privilege I’d like to repeat.”

“Yang…” Weiss’ eyes went from wide shock to something akin to anger. “Why did it take you so long?!”

“What?” Yang’s head shot up. “You could have at least given me a clue.”

“I’ve hardly been subtle.” Weiss sighed. “When we left school, I thought I must have gotten the wrong signs off you. You always seemed so confident I was convinced that if you liked me you would have made your move.”

“I can’t believe we’re managing to sort-of argue about this.” Yang rolled her eyes.

“Well I can’t believe I spent the last few years thinking I was losing my touch. I genuinely thought the only person I was interested in was impervious to my charms. I-” Weiss was cut off by Yang’s lips and all the nervous energy that had been between them for so long was thrown into it.

Yang pulled away when she felt her head spin. “I can’t tell if I feel dizzy ‘cause of kissing you or if it’s my hangover.”

“I have that effect on people.” Weiss smirked at her until they burst into a fit of giggles.

“You know the best cure for a hangover?”

“To stay hydrated,” Weiss answered immediately.

“Well yeah but also cuddles.” Yang shifted closer to the middle of her bed and held up her arm.

“I’ll have to test your theory out.” Weiss beamed up at her then nestled underneath Yang’s arm, against her side. “I think this is officially the best birthday ever. Oh, and Yang?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

Chapter Twenty-One | The VK

Fandom: Disney’s Descendants

Summary: Quinn Little, raised in Auradon by Little John, finds out that her heritage is not what she thought it was. When Little John tells her that her real father was a villain, she must go on a journey of self-discovery that will bring her to all the forbidden places in the United States of Auradon.

Pre-canon & canon compliant to the first Descendants film.

Word Count: 2k  |  21/23

ao3 ||| ff.net ||| wattpad ||| quotev

It became more and more difficult to go out in public. The way people whispered and shot glances her way reminded Quinn of high school in the worst way possible. She had started living with Chloe to be closer to the action and she missed Dad and Sherwood.

Routine set in – a depressing routine that seemed to accomplish nothing. She signed up for audiences with the king and queen every Monday – which were always refused. So, they would demonstrate in front of the palace on Tuesday or Wednesday. If the demonstrators were deemed ‘too loud’ or ‘provoking un-goodness,’ she and a bunch of others may spend the night in a cell. Then they would have a meeting at Chloe’s apartment to discuss progress.

And sometimes there was actual progress: a few new people had joined from outside the Underground and Sherwood, or reports of smaller demonstrations in other regions in Auradon. Once, Prince Aladdin and Princess Jasmine, the leaders of the Lone Keep region, had issued a statement saying that although they did not fully agree with Think of the Children’s message, they acknowledged that people could change. After all, Aladdin, a former thief, was proof of that.

But most of the time, they would leave the meeting less heartened than they had upon entering it.

On the weekends, Quinn would pore over the footage from the Isle crime reports on tv, trying to piece together what was going on over there. She would smile when she saw a familiar face on the grainy footage – even if it was just Fabienne Facilier or Josephine from the Queens. She knew the Crew had disabled the cameras around the docks ages ago – which she had been grateful for in her time there, but now lamented – so she had to rely on the downtown cameras to catch a glimpse of them. And she rarely did.

•••

When she was in Sherwood, Quinn had taken to sitting on the roof of their house to think at night, since it was the closest thing to the Jolly Roger’s crow’s nest. She hugged her knees and looked up at the stars she could see through the leaves of the trees above her. Although she spent her last month or so on the Isle sleeping alone, she missed Jax beside her.

She heard the roof creak slightly and saw Dad climbing up to sit beside her. “I see you haven’t lost your climbing skills,” he said.

Quinn smiled. “I was able to keep them up on the Jolly Roger’s ratlines, as well as the buildings of the city.”

“And how do ships and cities compare to trees?” he asked.

She thought about it for a moment. “The Isle had hardly any green, which I missed. A lot. But the seaside breezes were nice. And there’s nothing quite like a thunderstorm while onboard a ship.”

They sat in silence for a minute or so. “I had a boyfriend over there,” she said finally. She was not sure why she had not told him yet. She and Dad had always been able to talk about everything, including romance. He was the first person she told that she had kissed Winston Scarlett and didn’t want to be with him but didn’t want to tell him because no story she learned about at school had a princess tell a prince that. And he had told her to tell him anyway because those princesses had lived in a very different time.

He looked over at her and said nothing, prompting her to continue.

“His name is Jax, Captain Hook’s son. He was one of the first people I met on the Isle and he helped me even though I told him who my father was.” Dad listened patiently as it all spilled out: the training, the kiss in the alleyway, flings on the Isle, all the way to Seamus’ blackmail, how he supported her through the outbreak of whooping cough and finally helping her to come back. “I love him, Dad.”

He just nodded and enfolded her in a hug. “He must be a very special guy.”

Quinn nodded. “I miss him.”

“Then you have another thing to fight for,” he said. “And I’m sure he’s fighting just as hard to get back to you.”

 Her conversation was much less serious and much more, well, Mark-like.

“Are you telling me you lost your v-card to a pirate on a pirate ship?”

“Oh, I regret telling you already.”

They were sparring with quarterstaffs behind his parents’ house.

“Little baby Quinn –”

“Shut up,” she said, but she was laughing.

“– sleeping with – what was his name again?”

“Jax.”

“Please tell me it’s spelled with an X.”

“It is.”

“Wonderfully scandalous.”

Quinn thwacked his leg with her quarterstaff while he was distracted.

 Things continued to go badly for the campaign, and Quinn decided to stay a bit longer in Sherwood. One evening, after racking her brain, she tossed her notebook onto the coffee table in frustration. She sighed. “They just don’t care.” She ran her hands through her hair. “And I don’t know how to make them care.”

Mark looked over from where he sat at the kitchen table with a sympathetic smile. “Come on, Quinn, you can’t give up now.”

She got up and walked over to the kitchen pantry. “I know,” she said as she dug through the shelves for a granola bar. “It’s just frustrating.” Unwrapping the bar, she went to sit at the table. “I mean, we have been taught our entire lives to be good, to care about people, but then when I suggest we care about the innocent children of villains, everyone goes crazy.”

“We’ve also been taught that we are the good guys and they are the bad guys,” Mark said, closing his laptop. “And that they deserve what they get.”

Quinn nodded as she munched on the granola bar.

“We just need to find a way to show everyone that the kids on the Isle aren’t so different than the kids here. That being a villain or a hero is a choice, not genetics or whatever,” Mark said.

She swallowed and looked at Mark. “I think I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Make them see that being a hero or a villain is a choice,” she said, eyes wide.

“Yeah...?”

Quinn grinned, full and wide, like she hadn’t in a while. “I’m living proof of that.”

“You want to come out as the child of a villain?” Mark said uncertainly.

“Yeah! How did I not think of this before?”

“Because it might have bad consequences,” Mark said. “They might hate you even more.”

“But,” Quinn said, excitedly. “It might show them that who your parents are doesn’t matter.”

 Quinn told the rest of her idea over the group chat. Everyone was also growing discouraged and although they were not sure it would work as Quinn did, they were running out of ideas, so they all agreed it was the best way to move forward.

•••

The next day, Quinn stood inside the house, pacing back and forth. She could hear the reporters outside and knew Mark and Dad were watching her from where they sat at the kitchen table. The clock on the wall struck nine and she took a deep breath as she turned to the door.

“You’ve got this,” said Mark.

“Do you want us out there with you?” Dad asked.

Quinn smiled at them. “No, I need to do this by myself.”

“Alright, knock ‘em dead,” Dad said.

She squared her shoulders and stepped out the front door and was met with camera flashes and shouted questions. When she got to the ground, microphones were shoved in her face.

“What is your announcement, Miss Little?” many reporters asked.

Quinn looked around and then focused on the main news network’s camera. “As you all know, my team and I have been campaigning for the care and rights of the children of villains. I would like to point out that despite my many statements to the king and queen, I have had absolutely no response from the throne.” She looked at the camera for a moment, hoping that the king was watching. “So, Your Majesty, I ask again, are you satisfied with the children of villains – your subjects – living the punishments of their parents’ crimes of which they are innocent?” She took another pause and got ready for the thing that she knew would make or break the campaign. “So today I would like to make an announcement.” She took a breath. “I am the child of a villain.”

There was a moment of complete silence in the crowd of reporters and then she was bombarded with questions.

“I do not say this to call attention to myself,” Quinn insisted quickly, speaking over the reporters. “I am putting this out in the open so that I can show the country that being a villain or being a hero is a choice. People are not good or evil because of their parents, they are good or evil through the choices that they themselves make.”

More questions came from the reporters:

“Which villain?”

“When did Little John adopt you?”

“Is this why you started your campaign?”

The reporters started to crowd her and Quinn could feel her fight or flight reflexes start to kick in. She took a breath and smiled at the reporters. “I thank you for your time, um, that’s all I have to say for today.” She scrambled up and into the house as quickly as she could.

•••

Jax had about had enough of Auradonian news. Every mention of Quinn was accompanied by vague gestures at her upbringing and handwringing about culture.

So when she told the country about her parentage, he was not surprised about the fallout. They dissected her school record and social media, looking for ‘clues’ about her heritage that they had missed. They interviewed her classmates, most of whom seemed very eager to talk about how odd she had been – her and the Sherwood kids.

The most daring commentators were beginning to question the goodness of the Merry Men. After giving one interview, Robin Hood seemed to catch wind of their intentions to smear him and gave no more statements. Little John had avoided the press from the beginning, but they hounded both him and Quinn until several outbursts from him were painted as “violent” and “coarse” in the press.

A headline: “Woman calls guards on Quinn Little, claimed she ‘felt threatened’ by presence”

A picture: Quinn, eyes tired and mouth pinched tight, tries to avoid cameras as she heads back to Sherwood after a protest at the royal palace. There is a prominent bruise on her arm where a guard grabbed her.

Watching the news began to take more and more of Jax’s time. He did not want to tell anybody else about how badly the campaign was going. Part of the reason they helped Quinn was the promise she would help them get away from their parents.

Jade would often find him late at night, slumped on the couch in front of the TV, face worried even in sleep.

“You know obsessing over Quinn’s campaign won’t help her,” she said one morning.

Jax rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I know, but there’s not much else I can do.”

“Jax.” Jade sat across from him. “She’s out there fighting for us, so you need to fight too. For the Crew and everyone else. We can make life better here while she’s working to make it even better for the future.”

He smiled softly. “You’re right, Jade, as always.” He sighed and looked over at the tv, muted by Jade. Yet another tv commentator yammered on as footage of Quinn yelling into a megaphone in front of the palace played. “We’ll do our part while she does hers. We gotta prepare everyone for Auradon.”

[sylveondreams]

ahappyphil

genre: fluff word count: 1.7k warnings: none summary:  The doors opened achingly slow and people disembarked achingly slow and he scanned the crowd and finally there he was. Dan, seen not through a grainy webcam or slightly less grainy photos but through the clarity of real life, his head raised to see over the people to find Phil.

Happy birthday to Nora (@pseudophan)! You’re an old man now. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. 

read on ao3

Dan was antsy. He’d read the magazine three times already, each time failing to really absorb anything, and was working on a fourth time through. He’d tried looking out the window, which, although entertaining with the trees and roads and houses whizzing past, wasn’t really distracting enough to wave away the ants that came with the nervousness and excitement (anticipation). And he’d tried using his phone, but there wasn’t much he wanted to do with it other than message Phil. It was still another half hour until the buzzing feeling could be satisfied and he could meet Phil.

Dan had lost his pen earlier when he had decided to doodle on the Kerrang and he’d drawn too energetic of a circle and it spun away under a seat, so that was out along with the page upon which there was sketched a slightly smudged half-finished evil Mario covering up most of the text.

He had to give up on the magazine. If third time wasn’t the charm, fourth time wasn’t going to be, so he fished out his earbuds for what he figured was going to be the longest thirty minutes of his life.

---

Phil was bouncing on the balls of his feet, watching the train pull into the station with a barely bridled mix of excitement and nervousness. As it slid to a stop, he watched the doors for Dan. The doors opened achingly slow and people disembarked achingly slow and he scanned the crowd and finally there he was. Dan, seen not through a grainy webcam or slightly less grainy photos but through the clarity of real life, his head raised to see over the people to find Phil.

Bees struggled to erupt from Phil’s stomach Alien-style and propelled him towards Dan and buzzed out of his mouth in a bee shout of “Dan!”

Dan turned towards him, his face lighting up. And then they were running to bridge the last fifteen feet between them and their arms were around each other and Dan’s magazine had flown out of his bag and was on the floor next to his feet and Phil was laughing, giddy with excitement.

“You’re even more amazing in real life,” Dan was saying into Phil’s ear, pressed against him, and Phil, pressed against him, was saying, “I swear your smile’s lighting up the room right now it’s so bright.”

They let go, the bees in Phil’s stomach buzzing around in his head and making him lightheaded. The smile was stuck on his face.

“I can touch you and you’re real,” Dan said.

“No, I’m a ghost,” Phil said.

Dan shoved him, still beaming. “You’re cute.”

---

The line for the big wheel was no longer than usual but seemed like it was, and while they stood in line the bees in Phil’s stomach tried to make him go eight directions at once but definitely not stand still. Dan was looking up at the top of the wheel, his mouth slightly open and his hair falling across his forehead. Phil could only look at him, at his soft brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled, and Phil hoped Dan knew Phil liked him, because Phil couldn’t really tell him himself.

“Hey, Dan?” he asked.

Dan looked at him, and damn if he didn’t want to see Dan look at him glowing like that every day.

Phil hadn’t had anything to say, so he just made an animal sound and swatted at Dan’s arm.

Dan laughed. “What kind of animal was that?”

“Double horse.”

“Of course.”

“Horse, of course.”

“Shut up.”

The cabin on the wheel swung lightly as it ascended, the view growing wider and wider between jerky stops for others to board. Halfway up, Phil’s hand found Dan’s on the seat between them and scuttled around for a moment before taking hold. Phil kept looking out the window, but he could feel Dan’s smile illuminate the cabin with its soft light.

As they ascended a second time, Phil pointed out landmarks in the city beyond the glass.

Dan’s eyes were on him instead of the places he pointed out, so it wasn’t really a surprise when he interrupted with a “Phil?”

Phil turned to him. Dan put his hand on Phil’s knee and leaned in and Phil’s eyes fluttered closed and Dan’s lips met his and oh was Dan just who he wanted to be doing this with.

Finally, Dan pulled away and Phil opened his eyes to a slightly flushed face smiling back at him. Phil knew he was smiling too; he couldn’t help it.

“You’re so beautiful,” Phil told Dan, his voice whisper-quiet even though it was only the two of them in the car.

“You’re more,” Dan whispered back. He closed the gap again and Phil let himself drift into Dan’s lips before the cabin swung to a stop and Dan fell back into the seat, his hand falling off Phil’s knee.

---

Dan’s body was warm next to Phil’s, their hands touching and his breath ghosting Phil’s face. Their conversation, like any of the others they’d had over Skype while falling asleep, had drifted from topic to topic and had fallen into a lull where they just laid next to each other and watched each other’s faces.

“I’m happy I’m in your bed with you,” Dan said, his voice low despite the house being empty other than the two of them.

“I still can’t believe there isn’t a screen here,” Phil said, waving his hand between their faces.

Dan snuggled closer to him, his warm body pressed all against Phil’s, and Phil pressed a kiss to Dan’s forehead.

“I think I’ll sleep so much better with you here.” Dan’s fingers drummed against Phil’s.

“I don’t think I want to sleep. I want to stay up with you forever.”

“I think I want to stay with you forever.”

“I think we will.”

Dan put his hand on Phil’s chest and kissed him, long and languid and without hurry. They only had those few days until Dan had to go home, but deep in their minds they both knew they would really have their whole lives to spend together.

The conversation once again fell into a lull, populated by warmth and light kisses and foreheads pressed together.

At some point, sleep began to tug at them. Dan succumbed first, his breathing growing slower and more even and his body relaxing. Phil tugged the duvet up over them as much as he could without moving very much and let himself think about a future where they slept together like this every night, pressed together in their own bed in their own home.

---

The morning came with Phil getting kneed in the crotch as Dan got up to go to the toilet. “Ow,” Phil said, his voice muddied with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Phil,” Dan said.

Phil woke up again when Dan got back into bed, his cold feet touching Phil’s legs. “You’re colding me,” Phil told him, still mostly asleep.

Dan pressed his cold hands and feet against Phil and Phil was jerked into consciousness, yelping and trying to scoot away from Dan.

“I’m cold,” Dan said. “You’re warm. Warm makes cold warm.”

“Your mum’s cold,” Phil told him, and despite Dan’s chilliness wrapped his arms around Dan and brought him closer.

A cold hand tangled itself in Phil’s hair and pulled him to meet Dan’s lips. “You’re addicted to kissing me,” Phil mumbled into Dan.

“Don’t do drugs, kids. I tried making out with Phil once and now I’m addicted.”  One of Dan’s hands was inching its way towards Phil’s ass.

Impulsively, Phil bit down on Dan’s lip. A quiet moan escaped Dan’s throat, clearly having tried to be forced into silence, and Dan’s fingers that were brushing against Phil’s side pressed into his skin.

Phil’s lungs emptied with a breathy whisper. “Dan Howell, I want to eat you whole.”

“I knew my parents were right that you were a cannibal.”

“I was hoping they wouldn’t know it was me who killed and ate you.”

“Sorry, Phil.”

Phil hooked an arm over Dan’s back. “Fall back asleep with me. You bring nice dreams.”

“You’re too old for me. I don’t want to date an eighty-year-old.”

“You fell asleep before me. You’re the old one.” Phil, though, could feel his heart speed up at the prospect of them dating, and after a moment tacked on “Do you want to date me now, though?”

Dan seemed to have taken up the offer of falling asleep, however, and only answered with a slow, quiet “Maybe tomorrow.”

Phil tucked the duvet up over them again and closed his eyes, absorbing Dan’s presence.

---

“Why do you always make cat whiskers on your face?”

“I’m sexually attracted to cat people.”

“Where’s your marker? I want to be a cat person.”

Phil got up to find a sharpie, and Dan winked at the camera.

“I see,” Phil told him, sitting back down. “Hold your face straight.”

“But I’m not straight.”

“Don’t you want to be a cat person?” Phil grabbed Dan’s chin and drew whiskers on his face. “There, now I can be properly attracted to you.”

“All that kissing didn’t count?”

“Were you a cat? No.”

They both looked into the camera, and Dan giggled. “I’ll be a cat person for you, Phil.”

“I’ll buy a tail and a collar for you, then. You can wear them next time you visit.”

Dan looked Phil dead in the eye and paused for a long moment, then in the sexiest voice he could manage said “Yes, master.” They managed to keep eye contact for nearly another ten seconds before bursting out laughing.

“You’re the worst pet ever,” Phil told him.

“Shut up, let’s give you cat whiskers.”

---

After they had shut the camera off, Dan and Phil lay on the ground, their fingers twined together and their whiskers smudged. Dan was laughing at nothing so hard the laughs were barely audible, looking up at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. Phil lay on his side, watching Dan’s eyes disappear into his smile.

“What are you laughing about?” Phil asked when the laughter had died down.

Dan turned to face him. “I’m just happy. I want to keep filming silly videos with you as long as I can. Can we make silly videos together forever?”

Phil kissed him. “Of course.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”