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lilbeearts · 4 days ago

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SATURATE

HIGGS MONAGHAN X F!READER

WORD COUNT - 2.6k

Summary for this chapter: A call from an unexpected source dredges up your painful past, leaving you with a decision to make about your future.

Warnings for this chapter: Adults Only MDNI! Swearing. Angst and anger. Mentions of parental loss. A bittersweet family reunion. Mentions of readers agoraphobia. Reader has DOOMS. Reader is a Black woman with vague descriptions of her appearance towards the end of the chapter. Attempted theft of a pizza.

A/N: Okay so this is the most excited I've been to write anything in months, which is a big step for me! I'm trying to keep the chapters short though so if some of them end up being longer than others, just know it's because I'm giddy and rambling lmao

Tagging: @thatsthewrongwallcraig @lilbeearts @savage-rhi

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

|| Prologue ||

Chapter I - Answer Phones From People I Just Don't Trust

The call came just as a porter left after dropping off your delivery, the sound of the terminal just beyond your door with a tune you hadn't heard in a long time. No one ever contacted you like this, you got spam mail in your inbox, your neighbours sending you their wacky conspiracy theories in the middle of the night, but no one ever called, not since—

No. You won't let yourself think about him.

You open the door a crack to make sure the porter is gone, only the sound of the wind howling outside and the continuous ringing coming from the terminal remain. When you're sure the coast is clear, you step out and in a few short steps you're at the terminal looking over who the call is from only to see ‘unknown number’ blinking back at you on the screen. For a moment you let the demons in, the long buried part of you that yearns to hear his voice just one more time slithers its way into your thoughts. What would you even say other than ‘fuck off’? Maybe you'd tell him how much you despise him. How much of a worthless piece of shit he is. How you hope he suffers an agonizing demise for everything he's done. You would, you're sure you would, you'd give him a piece of your mind and then some.

You'd refuse to let ‘I love you’ be the last thing you had ever said to that man, not Peter, but the person he became after abandoning you.

It's not him.

It can't be him.

With a hesitant tremble in your hand, you access the terminal and accept the call, waiting with bated breath to hear who it is on the other end of the phone.

And then they say your name, that familiar voice that you haven't heard in years, evoking a visceral response in the form of memories flooding back to the days when he'd come and visit you and your parents whenever he had a rare and brief period of leave from his job.

“John?” You're in awe, a swirl of grief and confusion hitting you all at once, along with another feeling that you can't quite explain that it's not the person who you thought it was going to be on the other end. Disappointment, maybe? Only because you wanted to tear Peter a new asshole, of course.

A huff of laughter comes from the other end before he speaks again. “Wow, now that's a name no one's called me in a long time. Hold on, let me switch to video call.” There's a shuffling and a fumbling on his end before the flickering hologram appears in front of you, clad in a black suit with red white and blue stripes on the jacket sleeves and an embroidered Bridges logo with a UCA pin on his lapel along with an almost ghoulish looking black mask on his face, even with that on, you'd recognize his voice anywhere.

“Oh yeah, of course… I guess ‘Die-Hardman’is the new normal now huh? Although Uncle Die-Hardman doesn't roll off the tongue quite as well as Uncle John does.” You're not even sure why you're making jokes with him, he'd stopped contacting you after your parents died, it had been a tough pill to swallow at first given that he had been someone you looked up to, but you adapted to being alone quickly, something you wish you had just left that way in the first place.

A laugh doesn't come this time though, a tentative pause lingers on his end long enough for you to realize this wasn't a social call. “What I'm about to say cannot leave this bunker, I need you to listen and I need you to listen carefully.”

You can't help but let the irritation rear its ugly head a little bit now, the audacity to ask anything of you after years of no contact. Your eyes narrow on him, arms crossed over your chest. “Do you make a habit of telling strangers what to do?” Your emphasis on the word ‘strangers’ isn't subtle, that's what you are to each other after all, bound by blood, meaningless now.

A sigh of your name leaves his lips, the masked man continuing on and ignoring your protests. “Bridget Strand is dead.” He gives you no time to process or insert questions. “We're looking for her daughter Amelie right now so she can be inaugurated as president of the UCA.”

The president is dead?

Admittedly, you hadn't been following along much with the whole UCA thing, the network hadn't expanded out your way yet, but you'd heard bits and pieces here and there whether in the form of a hairbrained theory from The First Prepper or on the news. Ultimately though, you can't bring yourself to feel any emotions about a woman you didn't even know and a president you never asked for.

“Well I'm sorry to hear that John, guess that means you're unemployed now, but why exactly are you calling me to tell me this?” Considering you hadn't even bothered to make a courtesy call after your parents — his own sister and his brother in law — died is what you wanted to add, mentally patting yourself on the back for your restraint on that one.

“This isn't about the president per se, rather the potential fallout that's to come surrounding her death.”

The man is speaking in riddles, it's infuriating.

“Get to the point John, what is this about exactly?”

And then he utters the very last name you'd want to hear right now.

“Higgs Monaghan. I assume you've heard of him?”

Your stomach just fell into your ass, was that accusation in his tone? How does he know about your fling? Is Bridges spying on you somehow? Are they in your walls!? All the irrational thoughts hit at once and suddenly you realise you're sounding a bit too much like your neighbours.

A sputter leaves you before you manage to salvage what little composure you have left, just enough to be convincing. “Yeah, I have… leader of the monsters that are going around blowing up entire cities, right?” You'd never admit just how closely you'd been following the stories about Higgs and the Homo Demens since the initial news broke just over a year ago, you'll never let yourself think about Peter too much, but the morbid fascination you have for Higgs is something that keeps you awake at night, there hadn't been any warning signs that this was to come, Peter wouldn't have hurt a fly, Peter wouldn't be committing the atrocities that the news says this man with his face is, Peter would never have broken your heart like that.

He did though.

He did all of that.

It didn't matter that he went by a different name now, a wolf in sheep's clothing is still a wolf.

You must be a better actress than you thought you were because John doesn't pick up on any of your discomfort or the tension in your voice. “That's right. He's been upping his efforts since finding out about Bridget's passing, he's trying to enact the last stranding, so what I need from you is—"

“Wait what!? What do you mean he's trying to enact the last stranding? As in ‘shows over folks’?? You can't just skip over that part!” You don't care that you're butting in, people probably hold this guy in high regard and respect the crap out of him too much for that in his day to day life, not you though, any trace of that died when your parents did.

“What I mean is, his goal is to enact the last stranding, yes as in ‘lights out’ for good, for all of us. We don't know why, but what possible logic could a terrorist have anyway? All I know is we can't let that happen, and we're not going to. But right now I need to get you somewhere safe.”

“Get me somewhere safe?” You balk at him, no longer caring to hide your anger now. “I'm perfectly safe where I am! I've lived in this bunker my whole life, I've taken care of myself this whole time and after my mom and dad died where were you? Nowhere! You don't just get to come back into my life and pretend to give a shit about me all of a sudden just because the world is about to end. Let it! Mine ended the day they died anyway!” The words are laced with pain, anguish and poison. Of course you don't want the world to end, you don't want more people to die needlessly, but right now your filter is off and the thought of leaving the one place in the world that is really yours all because of two men who abandoned you when you needed them most, you've lost family and you've lost a lover, it didn't matter whether it was through death or deserting, it all made your heart ache the same.

Despite it all, John doesn't rise to the heated words you throw at him, they sting and pierce his heart, but he doesn't show it. “I understand that this might be difficult for you.” A loud derisive scoff from you forces him to pause. “But, it would only be temporary, just until we have Higgs in custody and we're sure the last stranding isn't going to happen. You can go back to your bunker when all is said and done, I just… I need you to consider this. It's the least I can do.”

There's words left unspoken on his part, you know he's doing this out of guilt or whatever residual feelings of responsibility he thinks he has for you as his niece. It's about 10 years too late on his part though.

This conversation is taking it out of you, draining any energy you had for the rest of the day, just wanting to curl up into a ball and sleep, if the DOOMS will let you. You need an out, you could just hang up on his ass, but you know your genetics and if he's anything like you, he'd just keep calling until you answered again.

So you say the only thing you can think of to placate him, not a yes, but not a no either. “I'll think about it.”

“That's not an answer” Yep, he's definitely from your gene pool and you should have seen this response coming. “Listen, if it's your phobia, then I understand that, but I can send a porter to come get you and bring you here, I wouldn't ask you to make the journey alone, I have someone I trust more than I trust myself, just say the word and I'll set it up.”

He really is persistent. It's fucking annoying.

“I said I'll think about it, John.” You reiterate, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers, a cluster headache forming between your brows.

He must recognize that he's met his match with you, reluctantly giving a shallow nod as he smooths over an invisible wrinkle on his lapel. “Alright, you've got 72 hours to decide, after which I'll contact you again and arrangements will be made.”

“If I accept.” You interject, leaving no wiggle room for misunderstanding.

A beat before he speaks again, almost begrudgingly. “If you accept.”

You're almost sure you're not going to change your mind over the next 72 hours, how much safer are you going to be in a Bridges facility than you are in your bunker? If the world is going to end, what does it matter anyway?

“Alright. That it? Can I go now? Things to do, places to be.” That last part is not entirely a lie, if the place you needed to be is your bed.

“That's it. Thank you for hearing me out.”

“Yeah, great catch-up.” You don't even bother to hide the lack of enthusiasm in your response, already reaching for the end call button when he says his final parting words, leaving you with a real gut punch.

“You look so much like her, you know?” You can't see his face, but you can hear the melancholy in his voice, a hint of fondness for a sister long lost and then he's gone, he'd hung up before you even got the chance to say anything in return, your eyes still a little wide and your lips parted ready to thank him, something you didn't think you would have done in response to that, but the words come out to the empty space in front of you where he once was anyway.

When you retreat back into your bunker, you take a long look at yourself in the mirror, you see the oaky brown eyes from your mother staring back at you, the soft and rounded tip of your nose that resembles hers so much, you even wear your curls how she used to when you were little, you remember the hours the two of you would spend together as she taught you how to take care of your hair and she let you practice on her, you'll never forget the time she walked around with wonky braids because it had been your first attempt and she didn't want to discourage or upset you, it wasn't until you were older that she told you the truth through fits of laughter.

You miss her. You miss them both so much.

That night you talk to them before you go to sleep, asking for guidance and the strength to forgive the uncle that left you behind.

You're deep in the middle of a sketching session the next day when the internal buzzer sounds, notifying you of the presence of a porter at the terminal.

“Huh? Haven't ordered anything?” You mumble to yourself as you push off the couch, setting the sketchpad and pencil down on the coffee table before padding over to the intercom, probably some poor sap that's gotten lost in the snow looking for one of your neighbours.

When you press the button on your end and project yourself to speak to the wayward porter, you're met with an empty space and a single rectangular piece of cargo on the floor with a note folded on top. No one in sight.

You close the shutters to the entrance of the shelter as a precaution before making a beeline for your door, peering out to stare at the yellow container on the ground. A smell hits you that makes your stomach rumble, the unmistakable scent of melted cheese and dough seeping out of its confines.

You definitely didn't order a pizza, but is it worth the hassle to mail one of your neighbours and tell them to come get it? Decisions, decisions.

“Fuck it.” You gleefully push off the door and crouch down to scoop the container off the ground, grinning from ear to ear to yourself over the prospect of free pizza. No MRE for you tonight.

Just as you turn to head back inside, the note flutters to the ground and with a huff you pick it up, taking a moment to read who you're stealing this from is the least you can do, right?

Wrong.

‘Did you miss me sweetheart?

- P. E’

You drop the pizza to the ground and the note with it like they've scalded your skin, your appetite suddenly gone altogether.

He was here. Peter was here. Higgs was here.

Your call to Die-Hardman comes before the 72 hours are even up, accepting his offer to get you to Central Knot City, you hid your fluster well somehow during that call, hiding any sense of urgency that was bubbling away inside you.

The thought of the outside world scares you shitless, but the idea that you're still on Higgs’ mind scares you more.

And it scares you that you liked it.

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