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thecandywrites · 4 years

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Of Heaven and Fire Part 11

Do ya’ll have any idea how long I’ve been saving that picture of Benyana’s brother Kaive? Since part 1. Finally. He’s here. Ya’ll are in for a treat.

Tagging the crew. @probablyclever @imherefortheforthefanart @funmadnessandbadassvikings

Of Heaven and Fire Part 11

“...and a thousand.” You counted out before you were handed a set of documents which you quickly put away into your satchel before you gave your orders to the builders and gave them a bonus in their wages and gave the foreman your new orders before you began to walk the long walk back down the beach towards Stormbreaker before Oriles came out of the water to walk next to you.

“How are the legs working out?” You asked him curiously as you walked together.

“Strange, like two tails instead of one but they have to work together as one to get anywhere.” He answered.

“You’ll get used to them.” You offered as you took his arm as you walked together, your steps going in tandem.

“Why did those gold tattoos on those orcs surprise you?” He asked curiously.

“Can you keep a secret?” You whispered.

“I’m a Prince of the 9 Seas, of course I can. Besides, I would also like to be your friend. And It would honor me to keep your confidence.” He flattered as your intuition told you that for now, you could count on him.

“Look at the back of my neck.” You offered before he did and frowned.

“You have a gold tattoo too!” He realized.

“It’s called the gold moura mark. All moura are born with it. So if they have it, they are also moura.” You explained. “But the fact that they think it’s an orc thing, they’re...intimidating, not to mention fierce, powerful and are in great numbers and have a strength I don’t dare play against, so I don’t dare correct them.” You answered. “Every moura a few months after birth grows what’s called a moura cloak- it does look like a feather blanket at first. However someone is stealing the cloaks from them and they think it’s one of their gods and have built a tradition around it. To steal a moura’s cloak is a very serious crime and injustice and whoever is doing it- is counting on the orcs not realizing the real value of what they have lost and their own naivety, if not imposed ignorance. It’s like if I were to trade you two tiny pearls for a large pearl just because there’s two of them instead of one, counting on the fact that you don’t know that your one large pearl is worth more than two small ones, if not many small ones. They’re content with the sack of gold only because they don’t know the true worth of what’s been taken from them and it’s just a matter of time before they find out and when they do, it could be another war, one that no one would win, so we all need to be careful and cautious.” You explained.

“Ooohhh,” Oriles nodded in understanding. “That’s why Mr. Jealousy was as shocked as you were, because he’s moura too.” Oriles realized as you giggled at the name.

“He is jealous isn’t he?” You asked rhetorically. “I don’t know how I’ll handle him. Usually men who are like that irk me and I have nothing to do with them. Now I have to deal with him or else.” You grumbled.

“Who says you have to?” Oriles questioned.

“The hundred and fifty thousand heavenly moura above us.” You answered as you looked up and noticed they seemed to watch you steadily. “I’m worried one wrong move from me will have disastrous results.” You muttered.

“You already told us that we are not to harm either you or your family or the other competitors.” He countered.

“I don’t trust Cordene to honor that.” You said plainly which got Oriles to grin.

“Well at least we both sense that.” He nodded.

“If you could keep an eye on him for me, I would appreciate it. He may let things slide in front of you that he may not with me. I trust you won’t abuse this and put words in his mouth or falsely malign him.” You furthered.

“It’s obvious you are an honest person and therefore put importance on honesty from others, despite the situation. I respect that and I respect you. I will do as you ask.” Oriles agreed.

“Thank you.” You thanked him.

“So what were you doing over here?” He asked as he turned to look at the docks under construction behind you.

“Getting more information about what’s going on there, I like to be well informed.” You placated. “Rhos said that they’re building the docks to circumvent Stormbreaker. I came to see if it’s true.” You explained.

“And?” He asked curiously.

“Not quite, but her hunch was close. When people are fearful, they assume the worst about everyone and everything. To be cautious is good, but too fearful and you become too guarded to believe the truth if it’s not as bad as what you fear it is.” You advised as Oriles grinned fondly at you. How wise you were despite how young he knew you were.

Once you got back Suriel and Cordene unveiled their gifts to the clans in your honor since they could tell you held the clans in a safeguarded fondness, they were mobile villages on clouds that the orcs could move into that could travel all the way up to Suchi, one for Stormbreaker and one for Hurricane Breaker and you were unbelievably pleased before Suriel revealed to Oriles that he would make sure Oriles’ ship would also float up to the city so his own people would be able to be close and have a home away from home as well which pleased you supremely.

However that night at midnight the cloak detached and Suriel woke you up to tell you that within mere moments of it being detached, someone was already there to steal it and you were instantly enraged to the point you transformed into a missile hawk and flew after the two sparrows that flew like bats straight out of hell out of the top of the tent where there was a hole for the smoke from the fire inside it- to come out of and once they saw you, they transformed into missile hawks to try to evade you but you were determined and your rage gave you a fuel that you sorely needed and in moments of great acrobatic feats as you both fired at the other before you managed to hit each of them while evading their own fire and then you caught them and drug them down to the ground before they were captured in cages and you transformed into yourself.

“Change into yourselves you fucking bastards!” You roared angrily as they looked at each other and simply backed into the corners and away from you, doing their best to imitate real missile hawks.

“Suriel,” you called out before he was at your side in an instant and all it took was for him to flick the cages and both birds instantly transformed into their human forms as you gasped in horrified shock.

There, at the bottom of the cages knelt your brother Kaive and your brother in law Garis.

“Oh fuck.” Suriel breathed.

“Who are they?” Cordene asked as you were ready to set them both on fire as a fire like glow came from your heart then rose up your throat.

“Hey, hey, hey, take a step back and breathe.” Brock realized as he pulled you away and tried to calm you down which surprised Kaive and Garis the most as Brock watched as the glow began to wane before it died out.

“Talk to me, who are those guys?” Brock asked before you started to cry.

“That’s my brother Kaive and my brother in law Garis, this doesn’t make sense, they would never do anything like this.” You explained as you steadily lost your composure before Brock just hugged you as you sobbed into his chest as the others turned to Kaive and Garis as they both winced and grimaced.

“Then ask them to explain themselves.” Brock invited before he brought you back but just looking at their guilty expressions and posture got you seeing red again.

“What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You?!” You screeched before Brock had to pull you away from attacking the cages once he saw your hands becoming clawed as the air above you started to waiver from the heat rolling off of you in the brisk spring night air.

“Hey, they can’t answer you if you burn them to ash before they get a chance to explain themselves.” Brock calmly if not a little firmly reminded you. “Hey Suriel, how about you do the asking for a minute. You have a level head and know what’s really going on right?” Brock suggested as he tried to make sure you just didn’t turn into a fiery phoenix.

“Explain yourselves.” Suriel demanded as Brock did his best to calm you down.

“Elder Vedross told us that another moura colony was attacked and in the spoils was a baby’s moura cloak which the figured the orcs thought was just a blanket and put the blanket around their own child and tasked us with getting it back and suggested we leave a bag of money so that the orcs could buy a proper baby blanket but when we saw that the cloak actually belonged to the baby, we knew something was wrong so we left the money and the blanket on the baby and we fled.” Kaive explained.

“Vedross?” You repeated in confusion. Elder Vedross was someone you never would have suspected of something like this but it only made you realize that this corruption was more vampant and arcane than you thought it was? What if TriKeng was actually rather new to this scandalous sin? What if this had been going on for centuries? What if there were other clans with gold moura marks? What if every colony’s elders were guilty of this? You were just one girl. Granted you were in extraordinary circumstances, and you did currently have legions at your disposal but did you really, honestly, want to use them on the very people you knew and loved and attack the colonies? Attack the very fabric of your way of life? Was there any answer to this problem that didn’t involve either blood or ash? And what if your family was more involved than it already was?

You swallowed down the bile in your throat as you took a measured breath to keep yourself from hyperventilating as you could feel yourself grow numb in response to your overwhelming thoughts.

“Tell me the truth, is this your first time doing this?” You questioned as they both affirmed that as you stalked over to them, angry tears rolling down your cheeks.

“And are either of you aware that these cloaks have been stolen from these people for generations? To the point that these people have built an entire tradition around the theft? And does the council of elders know that all it takes is for word to get out of the true nature of this and no moura on the surface would be safe? Ever? Every moura would have to go back to the heavens or face these warhammers and battle axes and atone for these sins. These people have had their very birthrights stolen from them, their powers stripped from them and purposefully kept in the dark about the true nature of what’s been stolen from them. All of these crimes will be answered for and justice will be served- so may the gods help and deliver me I will see to it that each and every single one of these people will get their cloaks back or I will expose anyone and everyone involved so that the whole world will know the truth in vivid detail and whatever has been built on these sins I will break and tear apart thread by thread and brick by brick if I need to because these people are our brethren and they deserve to be recognized and respected as such and deserve to be welcomed into our brotherhood as a whole.” You insisted.

“Because here I’ve risked my life to find a way to help Suchi, as we speak there are ships whose holds are frozen solid with seafood meant for Suchi and in just a matter of days we will be at the base of the mountain ready to climb up the passes and if the elders would just open their gates and if they would receive us in peace and joy and fortune we could be such strong allies. No one would come up against us ever again if we really embraced our brethren like we should have all along. Now if there is a way that that can happen without bloodshed and without everything set on fire to fuel war and for this great wrong to be set right, I’m all for it. The council of elders has until we get up to the gates to decide how to proceed.” You decided before you set them free.

“Ok, I’ll let them know.” Garis nodded before he fled while Kaive stayed put.

“Aren’t you going to go with him?” You prodded as you nodded up to Garis’ shrinking form in the night sky.

“No, only one messenger should be needed for a message like that.” He answered before he cautiously came forward. “I really am sorry that I was stupid enough to get caught up in this, but I am so happy and relieved you’re ok, obviously.” Kaive apologized.

“Thank you.” You sniffled as you hugged him.

“How about I stay with you for now.” Kaive suggested.

“Ok,” you nodded before you introduced him to everyone around you before he walked you back to the clan where Cordene and Suriel were all to happy to have you sleep in one of the homes on the massive cloud island that had been built for Stormbreaker.

“How the fuck did you manage all of this?” Kaive asked as you both settled in bed as you curled into him.

“Kaive, do I have a tale for you…” You chuckled.

#Of Heaven and Fire #Of Heaven and Fire Part 11 #orc #orcs #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #moura #merman #siren #angel boyfriend #exophilia #exo

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tippystreasurebox · 5 years

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FAB Five Feb 2020 - Gordon

Wooo! Made it just in time for his birthday!!!! :D

This is for @gumnut-logic and her amazing prompt challenge!!! Hopefully, it turned out okay!

Prompts: “How did you do that?” and Can’t

~*~*~*~*~*~

"How-" a grunt of effort as the elder brother untangled more of the twisted metal and cables with the grip of his exo-suit. Virgil gave an apprehensive groan as he watched the fingers continue to twitch through the small opening in the debris. "How did you do that?"

"Hey," Gordon wheezed through the comm, "would you've - preferred a smooshed bro - instead?" The fingers flexed again as the blonde let out a pained cry.

"Quit moving, Gordon," Virgil ordered gently, the worry seeping into the way he tore at another piece of the shattered remnants of observation bridge. Fires still raged a few decks down in the large ocean liner, the heat and smoke an ever present reminder for the engineer of his time limit. Thankfully, the fires up top had been extinguished. "John? What's the status on the passengers?"

"You've got all but one lifeboat clear." The astronaut answered with the steadiness Virgil needed. "The last one is having difficulty launching."

A growl as he threw another chunk of metal - too small - glaring at the rest of the structure that needed to be moved in order to get to his brother. How many people were left?

"There are one hundred thirty-two waiting to board," John answered his unspoken question.

"Damn it -" he wanted to rip the whole metal disaster away, but with one frustrated pull, it shrieked in warning and Virgil was forced to let go.

"Virg - get the boat down," Gordon urged, knowing the torture a decision like this one would be for the engineer. "I'll be here when you get back."

As if to add emphasis to the need for haste, the ship leaned as plumes of smoke and bright orange erupted from her side. She was going down and if Virgil didn't do his job, the people they'd come to rescue could die.

"You better be," he took the few seconds to remove his hand from the exo-suit and gently grabbed hold of the one sticking through the debris.

Gordon squeezed, shakily, "oh yeah - thought I'd check out the - buffet." Another squeeze and he let go. "Not goin' anywhere."

And that was the problem.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," heavy foot falls sounded over the deck as Virgil ran for the lifeboat John had indicated on his map, keeping the comm line open for Gordon's benefit and his own.

Virgil had prepared for chaos, but was met with the frantic worry of mostly crew and the boat's captain. The man was working at the controls with another officer, trying to disengage the supports. The relief when iR arrived was palpable and Virgil went straight to work on the problem as the group moved away to give him room.

"International rescue," the captain breathed. "We were able to get one of the releases, but this one's jammed."

Looking at the piece preventing the lifeboat from descending, Virgil made a quick decision. "I'm going to have to cut it from the ship and lower it down manually. That'll be the fastest." He was already activating the laser cutter, his claw grabbing the cable before the boat could be damaged in the fall. He grunted as the cords extended, slowly lowering the craft until it hit the water and the bright orange shoot inflated up to the deck.

"That's it!" The captain cheered. "Thank you, we have it from here."

Virgil gave the briefest of nods before turning to head back to Gordon. Two steps and the boat listed again, the rear dropping into the churning waters and it was the startled cries that forced the engineer back to the group. Most were piling into the escape tube, but a few had lost their footing and were sliding along the deck.

"John!" The engineer called with a distinct edge of frustration. "This ship's about had it! Any news on Thunderbird 1?"

"Scott's still dealing with the cave in," John answered, calmly. "Alan's on his way with a pod, but it'll be another twenty minutes."

"Lady Penelope?"

"Still in Peru. She's doing her best to end the talks," there was a 'but' hanging off the end of that sentence. Her work was currently keeping a group of immigrants from being sent back to their country where death was waiting for them.

"Vitals?" He made it to the first crewmember, shifting them to the railing so they could make it back up.

"Steady," and for his benefit, John threw their little brother's suit information up over his wrist. The beat was as the astronaut indicated, though the pressure had dropped.

Alright, four more and get back to him, Virgil caught another as his cable he'd attached farther up continued to extend. The third clung to that one and he swung them both to the side. The last two had hit a set of stationary deck chairs and Virgil quickly collected them, reversing his grapple to bring them back to the lifeboat.

They were down to the last group before the engineer felt comfortable leaving them again, giving the captain a wave before climbing up to Gordon's location.

"Hey, Fish," his breath was short as he turned the corner, catching sight of the smoke overtaking the front of the ship. "You with me?"

"Can you believe - they don't have any pineapple on the buffet?" A laugh that turned into a pained grunt and Virgil was searching for the hand. Fingers were clenched as Gordon struggled to regain his senses.

"There'll be plenty at home," he began sizing up the job, the ship's new angle adding a new level of difficulty. Virgil also couldn't decide which to worry about more, the rising water or the flames cresting the bow. Their options were minimal. And they were going to hurt. "Gords, I'm gonna have to cut the section on top of you and move it as one."

"It's all you, bro," his voice held a smile Virgil wished he could see. "Go for it."

He didn't need any further permission as he aimed for the lower side of the bridge, right of his brother and smoothly seared through the bent metal. His heart buckled with the loud crash of the structure.

"Gordon?!"

"Good, I'm good -" the aquanaut choked out, obviously just as alarmed. "Just a bit more - snug."

"New plan," Virgil dislodged his arm from the exo-suit, bringing up the controls for his 'bird. "John, I'm taking back control of Thunderbird 2."

"FAB," the icon went green as John released the 'bird.

His girl descended through the smoke to hover over his shoulder and with a flick, two magnetic grapples connected with the piece of metal he meant to remove. "Gordon, can you get your arm back through? Once I make this next cut, I plan on moving the debris fast. I'd rather you not be hanging from it."

His brother didn't answer, but the grunts of effort were audible. Eventually, Gordon let out an exhausted sigh. "Yank away, Virg."

A second to reconsider, but there were hisses echoing around them as the ocean flooded the fire-consumed decks. No more time to rethink this. The glow of the red beam reflected around the broken ship, metal melting as it swiftly moved from left to right.

And then, Virgil was watching and listening. Watching the chunk of debris pull away. Listening to the shriek of metal and wood over the cry in his helmet as Thunderbird 2 dragged it over the deck. Seeing the bright blue and yellow.

And he was running through water, sliding to reach his brother's side. Pain was etched across the blonde's features, but he still managed a thumbs up and lopsided smile.

"Going home, now?" Gordon looped his arm around Virgil's neck as he lifted him from the water. The way the blonde's eyes rolled before his helmet fell back and his arms lost their hold sent Virgil's head screaming.

"I've got him! John?" He was trudging up the deck that was quickly submerging, the fire and smoke gone.

"Blood pressure plummeted, but the suit's not detecting any major injuries at the moment." John's words were met with a shuddering gratitude. After all, there had been no time to check his brother before scooping him up. Virgil's mind had already ticked off so many potential injuries that could have been made worse with that choice.

"I need you to take Two again," he spoke as he made it as far up the sinking ship as he could, the water on his heels. John did as requested and the grapples holding the bridge were released. The platform came down a second later and with as much precision as the astronaut could muster from space, he brought Thunderbird 2 down to the edge of the ship. Virgil let his laser cutter make quick work of the railing before carefully leaping into his 'bird.

The next few minutes were a blur, but they all centered around his movements. Get to the med bay, scan Gordon as he began to wake, calm said brother as he came to in pain and crying until he could fight the disorientation and realize what had happened and where he was - all in a matter of minutes that drained them both.

"Thanks, Virg," Gordon whispered with the drowsiness of a kid who'd played too hard for far too long in the pool.

He paused in his ministrations of the brace to the sprained knee, still baffled that it hadn't been worse - the bruising to his abdomen, however was still worrying him. A wavering smile was aimed at the half lidded amber eyes and Virgil let his bare fingers brush through the unruly blonde waves.

"You know I've got your back. Now, lay still. We'll be home in a coupla minutes and a nice, comfy infirmary bed." The smile remained as he went back to his work.

"Ech - not comfy. Wanna sleep in my room." The whine was accompanied by a groan as the brace snapped shut. "Please?"

"Tell you what, your abdomen comes back clear and I can give you the okay," which was going to be a hard no for at least a day. "I'll see about getting you to your tacky palace."

"Promise -"

"Cross my heart."

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #gordon tracy #virgil tracy

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hinerdsitscat · 4 years

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i just binge-read your "lars and organa" series and i want to know if you have any ideas what might have happened if they did take over the empire? would they have gone evil?

Oh dang, this takes me back (my very first foray into Star Wars fanfic!) I guess I sort of have an answer for you, because I started work on a more-or-less-officially-abandoned sequel to Lars & Organa, which was going to be another four-part cycle where the galaxy has to deal with an invasion from a Yuuzhan Vong-style empire from parts unknown. But it got a little too grim and also overloaded with stuff from the Clone Wars and Rebels animated series, so I moved on to other things.

But I did write a good chunk of it.

In the first part of the sequel (tentatively titled A Day of Peace) while Luke is dealing with various Political Things and then running off to respond to a distress beacon from a mysteriously-reappeared Ezra Bridger, Leia is doing her thing with Rogue Squadron because the war with the Empire is still going on.

A supposedly-simple mission (ha) to steal some starfighters goes incredibly awry when a Star Destroyer shows up. Vastly outnumbered, the Alliance ships are suddenly saved by the arrival of three other Star Destroyers, who attack the first Star Destroyer and destroy it.

Here’s an excerpt:

There was a long silence before Han hailed the remaining Imperial ships. “Venerator, not to be ungrateful, but what the hell is going on here?”

“Let me take the opportunity for further introductions, then: my name is Fleet Admiral Chalnos Rivian. The Venerator is the flagship of the Fleet of Succession, which has sworn its allegiance to the true heirs of Palpatine’s Empire.”

“Then what are you doing helping us?” Han asked in confusion.

“Because they are currently among your ranks: the Emperor Luke Skywalker and his sister Leia Skywalker, the Lady Vader.”

“Oh shit,” Leia whispered in the cockpit of her X-wing.

---------

For the first time in Leia’s memory, Mon Mothma appeared to be at a loss for words.

“To be fair,” Leia said, fidgeting awkwardly in her chair, “we assumed that they would figure out that we had tricked them once we had escaped.”

The older woman pressed her fingers to her temples, then let out an exasperated groan. “What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“There is an Imperial fleet outside, and you call that ‘nothing’?”

“We didn’t—” The rest of Leia’s reply was interrupted by the entrance of General Dodonna, followed by R2-D2.

“Rivian gave us this audio recording, captured during the Battle of Endor,” General Dodonna said, gesturing to Artoo to play the recording. Leia winced as she listened to her brother do his best Scary Sith Lord impression.

“Apparently you were quite convincing,” Mon Mothma said drily once the recording ended.

“Okay, yes, that… that does sound bad,” Leia said, still wincing.

“And you just forgot to mention this during your debriefing?”

“We were only in charge for fifteen minutes!”

“You staged a coup and your defense is that it was brief?” Mon Mothma asked incredulously.

During Books 3 and 4 of L&O, Vader had been doing some work behind the scenes to gather any Imperial forces who he had influence over and set it up so that if Palpatine died, they would seek out Leia and Luke and follow them. The Rebellion is initially thrilled at the arrival of all of these resources, but are less than thrilled to discover that a) Leia and Luke were sort of technically in charge of the Empire for like five minutes at the end of Book 4, and b) these Imperials are still, well, Imperials and consider themselves heirs to the real Empire, not Rebels. Leia, gritting her teeth, decides to accept their offer and becomes the head of this weird group of not-actually-defectors.

It gets weird.

The head of the fleet is a fanatic who basically worshiped the ground Vader walked on, and is more or less angling to get Leia to take her father’s place in the whole Bloodthirsty Sith Commander department. Leia spends most of the story struggling to do some kind of good with the power she’s been given, but the pressure doesn’t exactly bring out the best in her.

Here’s a scene when Leia breaks up a brawl between a group of Rebels and a group of Imperials under her command:

“What happened?” Leia demanded. No one seemed prepared to speak, so she pointed at an officer she recognized. “You, Carden, what happened?”

Carden, a wiry dark-skinned man who worked with Agent Lumaan, got to his feet. “Some words were exchanged between the Wookiee and a group of our staff and then he attacked us, ma’am.”

“Without any provocation?” she asked skeptically. She turned to Chewbacca. “What happened?” she asked the Wookiee.

Chewie glared at the officer that Leia had noticed earlier, the one with blood on his face, and began a tirade of furious Shyriiwook that was far too fast for her to follow. At one point, Han nearly rose to his feet, but a few Rogues were able to grab him by the shoulder and hold him back.

“Chewbacca, please, slow down,” she said. She looked over at Han. “What is he saying?”

Chewie glared up at Leia and used a word in Shyriiwook that Leia knew all too well from Tatooine: “Slave. He called me a slave.”

“And more,” Han growled. “That he had served on Kashyyyk, that he had taken part in what the Empire did there, that he would make sure that he—”

More Rebels joined in, but Leia was no longer listening to their words. She could only hear the blood roaring in her ears. She began to walk slowly towards the officer. “What is your name?” she asked him, her voice soft and dangerous.

“Lieutenant Stria, ma’am,” he said, carefully standing up.

“Did you say those things, Lieutenant?”

“No, ma’am, it’s all—”

“I will know if you’re lying,” she said as she stepped closer. “Did you call him a slave? Did you brag about your role in enslaving his people?”

“Ma’am, it’s just a Wookiee—”

Leia snarled and shoved Stria against the nearest wall with the Force. She was in his face only a moment later. “These are our allies, Lieutenant. These are my friends. If you can’t get the most basic notion of respect through your thick duracrete skull, then at least remember that.”

Leia could barely see through her rage. Stria tried to look away; she grabbed his chin and forced him to face her. “I don’t know what Empire you think you’re fighting for, Lieutenant, but now you’re working for me and you know exactly who I am. Exactly what I am: I am the Lady Vader, you useless bucket of Hutt-spit, and I can literally flay you alive if you so much as cough in a way that I deem offensive.”

Pinning the now-shaking Stria to the wall, she turned to face the rest of the Imperials. “That goes for every single one of you: if there is even a single instant of anything other than complete obedience and loyalty, your next trip off the Venerator won’t be on a shuttle—it’ll be through the fucking airlock.”

“And you…” she hissed in Stria’s face, “not only are you no longer a lieutenant, you’re no longer a person. You are a walking carcass who should count his every future breath as a damned miracle. What I have planned for you back on the Venerator is going to make this—” she flicked a finger against the blood drying on his face “—look like a fucking trip to the refresher, you—”

Leia had let go of his chin to indicate the blood; as she did so, Stria slumped to the ground, senseless.

She hadn’t been holding his chin. She had been strangling him.

Leia flinched back in horror. A dozen Imperial eyes were on her, not to mention those of her former squadmates. She couldn’t have a meltdown right now. She had to get out of here.

Straining to keep herself from visibly trembling, she signaled two members of the shuttle crew. “Bring him aboard.” He was still alive, at least. She looked at the rest of her staff. “Let’s go.”

Admiral Rivian had apparently been watching the entire incident from the ramp of the shuttle.

As she passed him, he inclined his head respectfully. “My Lady,” he said, giving her a smile that sent chills down her spine.

So... not great.

While the first series involved Luke’s temptation to the Dark Side and ultimate rejection of it, the sequel series was going to do the same with Leia. Luke, whose temptation had involved experiencing a lot of trauma, is now developing new relationships and support (introducing the Ultimate Sass Squad of Luke Organa, Ezra Bridger, and Mara Jade), while at the same time, Leia is growing increasingly isolated, leaving her vulnerable to the Dark Side.

It all works out in the end, of course. But the journey to get there was a bit more exhausting than I could manage at the time, and I shifted to working on some prequel-era AUs instead.

I hope that answered your question at least a little?

#star wars #star wars fanfic #by me #fanfic #q: anonymous #Anonymous

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freudensteins-monster · 6 years

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Paint Stained Collar

Pre-Stucky White Collar AU. Also on AO3.

I somehow managed to write this while downing cold & flu meds and liberal amounts of chicken soup, which is ridiculously impressive considering how little writing I've been doing whilst healthy. Unbeta'd - All mistakes are mine and the cold virus's fault.

The repetitive scratching of the worn-down screw against the concrete was almost hypnotic. If he hadn’t been on such a tight schedule Steve could have easily have lost himself in the process. As it was, the moment the cell doors opened he made a few hasty final touches before chucking the screw under his cot and brushed the dust from his hands onto his tired orange jumpsuit. A guard started on the roll call and Steve double checked that his only photo of his mother was in his pocket before stepping out of his cell just as his name was called, and then it was off to the mess hall for what was hopefully going to be his last breakfast of powered eggs and cold toast.

He moved his food around and tried not to be too obvious about tracking the guard’s movements, making sure they were all sticking to the same schedule as yesterday, and the day before that. He also paid attention to his fellow inmates, gauging each group’s current temperament and whether he could expect any trouble from anyone today. Thankfully he was still invisible to anyone of concern, as he had been since his main tormentor, Rumlow, had been sent to Maximum Security, the guards finally acting the third time he put Steve in the Infirmary.

An unsuspicious amount of time later Steve dumped his food tray and headed for the east block security check point. He waited there with the rest of the cleaning crew inmates for the supervising guard to let them all through and escort them to the cleaning supplies storage room. Steve filled up his mop and bucket and headed off to his section, working his way towards the clear barriers next to the guard station and, more importantly, the visitors waiting area.

Twenty of the longest minutes of Steve’s life later he glanced up and easily spied his friend amongst the visitors thanks to his trademark purple t-shirt. He winced as he tapped the side of this nose (the damn thing was broken again), the signal for “Operation: Free Bird is a go”. Steve took a deep breath and put his part of the plan into action.

“Finished that section. Going for a refill then heading for the other corridor,” Steve said as he passed the supervising guard. The man grunted a reply, barely looking up from his phone to acknowledge the inmate.

Good, thought Steve. The guard could be relied upon to be engrossed with his phone until it was time to lock up the supply room, which would give Steve approximately 15 minutes before his absence was noticed. He entered the supply room and abandoned his mop and bucket next to the others, making straight for vent in the back corner of the room. As planned, the vent cover was now unscrewed and it was simply a matter of Steve climbing the rickety shelving unit and pulling himself up into the ventilation shaft opening… eight feet off the friggin ground.

A few prayers and a lot of muttered cursing later Steve fell into the ventilation shaft, reaching for the respirator mask that had been so thoughtfully left for him – thank you, Clint - before he copped a lungful of the mould and dust that coated the metal walls. Also left behind for him was a small, plastic, keychain-sized torch and a much folded piece of paper, with a crude map of the ventilation system and a handy red line between “You Are Here” and “X” drawn on it.

Ten minutes and only one wrong turn later Steve found the duffle bag waiting for him at the exit point. He checked everything was all clear before dropping down into a cubicle in the visitor’s toilets, balancing precariously on a dividing wall before climbing down, the vent cover clapping softly shut behind him thanks to hinge Clint had managed to attach to it.

Five minutes later a skinny hipster in clothes two sizes too big for him exited the toilets and took a seat in the waiting area. The guy in the purple shirt was nowhere to be seen.

Two minutes after that, just as an inmate’s absence was being reported by a sheepish guard, two cameras at the opposite end of the compound lost visual and all hell broke loose. The skinny hipster was evacuated with the rest grumbling visitors and headed for the nearest road, a friendly guy in a purple shirt soon pulled up alongside him and offered him a ride back to Brooklyn.

** *** **

Special Agent James Barnes of New York’s White Collar Crime Unit was pacing outside what was, until very recently, the site of a boiler room with ties – allegedly – to the untouchable Alexander Pierce when Probational Agent Lewis approached him.

“Boss?”

“The place has been cleared out. Just like last time,” James spat. “Pierce has got to have someone on the inside,” he added lowly. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. The team got here not even half an hour after the warrant was issued and the place was empty. Not a single computer or friggin headset was left behind. They took everything but the goddamned light bulbs.”

He stopped pacing and stared at his usually talkative junior agent. She was shifting awkwardly, her phone held out to him.

“What is it?”

“Steve Rogers escaped.”

“What?!”

** *** **

James arrived at the prison and had to let rip with a high pitched whistle to announce himself over the bickering of the warden and the US Marshal in charge.

“Agent Barnes, FBI,” he said, flashing his badge and a smile.

“You’re the one who caught Rogers the first time?” the warden asked, almost reaching out to him in desperation.

“‘Caught’ might be a stretch,” he shrugged. “I brought him in. He’s not really the 'on the run’ type.”

“He is now,” the gruff marshal said gruffly.

“Let’s figure out why, shall we?”

James followed the warden to Rogers’ cell while the marshal peeled off muttering something about roadblocks and hen houses.

“I don’t understand it,” the warden fretted. “Rogers has been a model prisoner. Followed instruction, always polite, never caused any problems… He was up for parole next month.”

Something in the warden’s inflection caught James’ attention.

“Did he have any problems?”

“He was one of the smallest guys here,” the warden shrugged like it explained everything. “He held his own, but there was this one inmate, Rumlow, who had it out for him. Despite being a raging psychopath he was careful and the guards only caught him in the act last month. Rogers was in the infirmary for a week.”

“That’s reason enough to want to escape.”

The warden shook his head. “That was Rumlow’s first and last strike. He was sent up to Sing Sing after that. Don’t know how he wound up in minimum security in the first place.”

“Good lawyer, probably,” James mused, stopping short as they reached Rogers’ cell. “Holy shit…”

Etched into the wall opposite the cot was a replica of “The Girl with a Pearl Earring”, if the girl had been a fifty year old kemo patient.

“He’s quite the artist. Had a good business going, trading tattoos for food or books…”

James tore his eyes away from the art on the walls looked around the small cell. The bed was neatly made and the shelf above the small desk in the corner was piled high with ramen and chocolate bars. The desk itself was littered with drawings and the remnants of cheap pastels. He rifled through the pages - character studies of guards and inmates mostly - until he found the catalyst. He passed the eviction notice over to the warden.

“We’ve got the why, now the how.”

“I don’t understand,” the warden griped, struggling to keep up with Barnes as he made his way back to the guard station.

“He was getting kicked out of his apartment.”

“But he wasn’t living there…”

“He was keeping up with the rent payments somehow. The landlord must have only just cottoned on to the fact that Steve’s not around anymore and terminated the rental agreement. He has until tomorrow to clear out his stuff.”

“You think he hid something valuable in the apartment?”

“Depends what you mean by valuable,” James replied cryptically as they reached the security check point, nodding to the guards to let them through.

“Here’s Rogers,” the guard said, pointing to the blond on the monitor as he exited the mess hall. The security footage sped through the rest of the morning until… “He goes into the supply room, and never comes back out.”

“Keep going until the guard notices he’s missing.”

James didn’t say a word about the idiot guard with his eyes glued to his phone; word had it he was getting fired just as soon as the marshals were done chewing him out.

His eyes flicked to the two camera angles that went dark around about the time the guard realised Rogers’ was MIA.

“What happened there?”

“They were shot out.”

“Shot?”

“With a bow and arrow,” the warden added in the dazed tone of a man mentally drafting his resignation letter. “But we’ve checked the area. There’s no signs of a breakout. And even if there were it couldn’t have been Rogers. He can’t have gotten to that side of the compound without passing through three security check points. Especially not without leaving the storage room first!” the warden reasoned desperately.

“So it’s a distraction. Too coincidental to be completely unrelated,” James countered. “Show me just the cameras from this block. From the moment Rogers walks into the storage room until the place goes on lockdown. … There!” he exclaims, jabbing a finger at a flash of blonde hair. “That’s how he got out: he walked out the front door.”

“But that… that’s just a visitor. Isn’t it?”

James flicked an irritated look at the frazzled warden before turning back to the security footage. “Blow that angle up. Play it again.” On a full screen it was obvious that it was Rogers but apparently the hipster glasses were enough to give the warden reasonable doubt. “Rewind it,” James asked irritably. “Show me when he goes into the bathroom.”

The tape went back and back and back and the moment never came. He gave the warden a non-verbal “I told you so” and made for the visitors bathrooms. He gave the dreary tiled room a once over and didn’t see any obvious entry points, no Shawshank-style holes in the wall, but maybe…

“Give me your baton,” he asked of the guard trailing behind the warden (in case he passed out from stress, James assumed). He extended it with a flick of his wrist and stood atop the last toilet in the row, using the baton to reach up to the air vent cover… And wouldn’t you know it, the damn thing was unscrewed.

“That’s not possible,” the warden scoffed. “It’s not possible. It’s too small! No one could fit in there!”

“No one our size, perhaps, but Rogers is, what? A foot shorter and a hundred pounds soaking wet? A guy that size would have plenty of wiggle room.”

The warden was still clinging to his righteous indignation when James moved to the waste bin and dug out a black duffle bag from under the used paper towels. He pulled an orange jumpsuit from the bag and handed the whole thing over.

“I’d fix those vents if I were you.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find him.”

** *** **

Steve Rogers, in Agent Barnes’ off-the-record opinion, was not a bad guy. He had just been a kid, working his ass off on a partial fine arts scholarship at Columbia, when his talent for recreating old masters was noticed by the wrong people. The guy had an unwavering moral compass and James believed that if his mother hadn’t gotten sick Steve Rogers would never have fallen into the world of art forgery. He was sure Steve had told himself it would just be the one time, but then his mom got sicker and the bills kept coming, so he allowed himself to be commissioned for another forgery, and another. And then Sarah Rogers had died and Steve’s true north died with her. By the time Steve was able to drag himself out of his depression the funeral bills had been added to his pile of debt, the rent was due, and he had a pressing need to eat some time that week. He buckled.

Three years later and Steve was forging everything from “lost works” from old masters to bearer bonds from the forties. He was probably one of the best forgers James had never heard of, until some snivelling yuppie who had been laundering drug money through his art gallery had dropped Steve’s name and crimes in the hopes of reducing his own sentence.

James had gone to Steve Rogers’ home himself to ask him a few questions, get a feel for the guy, but the moment the skinny little artist had seen James’ badge his shoulders had slumped; he knew he was nicked and he wasn’t going to fight it. He did however only do the bare minimum to cooperate with their investigation and didn’t implicate himself in any crimes the Bureau wasn’t currently aware of. He did suggest he wouldn’t be of much help with the crimes they could trace back to him, admitting that all of his jobs were brought to him by an agent of sorts and he never had any contact with the people who bought his work. If he accepted a job he’d give the agent a list of supplies he’d need to pull it off and by the end of the next day they be delivered to his doorstop and he’d get to work. He claimed not to know their name, only communicating via a burner phone that his agents conveniently couldn’t find when they searched his place.

James pulled up at the aforementioned place, an unremarkable apartment building in a corner of Brooklyn that had scared off the forces of gentrification. Back up pulled up a few seconds later and he motioned for them to stay outside and watch the exits. Steve Rogers wasn’t armed or dangerous, and James had a feeling he wouldn’t run.

The elevator was broken again, or still broken from his last visit, so James hoofed it up four flights of stairs to the former residence of Steve and Sarah Rogers. The lock had been jimmied and the smell of fresh paint almost knocked him on his ass as he pushed the door open. It was a small apartment, just two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a cramped “open plan” kitchen/dining/living area, though it seemed less cramped now that it was completely devoid of furniture.

James sighed and checked the bedrooms, and found Steve sitting on the floor of what James remembered as Sarah Rogers’ untouched bedroom.

“Hey Steve,” he called softly from the doorway. “What happened?”

“The bastard lied. He sent the eviction notice to cover his ass but he didn’t even think I’d get it so why wait the full 14 days? He threw everything out two days ago. Now this is all I have left of her,” he cried, holding up the creased photo of his mother.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

James gave him as much time as he could before helping him to his feet and escorting him from the building. Handing Steve over to the marshals was one of the harder things he’d had to do in his line of work and his broken expression kept James up all night. Not that he told Darcy that when she commented on the bags under his eyes the next morning.

“Where are we on the boiler room?” he said instead, taking the proffered coffee.

“Nowhere,” Darcy grumbled. “Forensics pulled a few partials but they’re not confident they’ll be enough for a match. Fury’s given the file to me to chase down some leads that won’t go anywhere.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because,” she said, brandishing a new file with a smile. “You have something more important to look into: the Ghost might be back.”

The Ghost was called the Ghost because they never left any evidence other than an empty space where a priceless work of art once sat. In the past two years the Ghost had been credited with five high profile thefts, and if the file in front of him was to believed that number was now six. James sighed and tried to savour his coffee. Art Crimes wasn’t exactly his forte, he was a forensic accountant at heart - give him a good embezzlement case and he was happy. But Art Crimes? He’d never quite understood the value and status (rich) people put on it, nor had he been able to, in the five years he’d been an agent, find a reliable CI in that world to give him a leg up.

Maybe Steve knew someone, maybe Steve…

An idea took hold and James threw himself into research, coffee and potential Ghost case all but forgotten.

** *** **

Steve put on a brave face and smiled as James entered the interview room.

“Good morning, Agent Barnes. What brings you here?”

“I wanted to talk you about your parole.”

“Uh, you’re a little late,” Steve chuckled. “The hearing was cancelled on account of my little… furlough.”

“No, I heard about that. I had a little something a little different in mind.”

“Like what?”

“Have you ever heard of Frank Abagnale Jr?”

“The conman they made that DiCaprio movie about?”

“The conman that became an FBI consultant,” James supplied. “I was wondering if that was something you would be interested in.” He smiled as the man across from him did a pretty good impression of a fish. “If you agree you’ll be fitted with a tracking device and be released into my custody. You’d be given room and board – nothing much, I’m warning you now – and serve your sentence consulting on cases instead sitting in a prison cell.”

“If I agree?” Steve laughed. “But why me? I was just a forger.”

“I think you’re selling yourself a bit short there, Rogers. I know for a fact that you were holding out on us when you were arrested, you know a hell of a lot more than you let on, and you’ve got connections in that world which sometimes feels like it’s half the job. So… what do you say?”

Steve smiled. “When can I start?”

** *** **

James smiled as he saw Steve kiss the dog tags and wedding ring that hung from a chain around his neck for the fifth time on their drive back to the city.

“I’m glad you got your personal effects back, Steve.”

“Me too. It’s not much but it’s a hell of a lot better than nothing,” he sighed, relinquishing his hold on them in favour of fidgeting with his new watch-slash-tracking device. “Did they have to make this thing so bulky?”

“Count yourself lucky it’s in standard issue black. I had to talk the guy down from making it in his trademark red and gold.”

“Red and gold? This is a Stark?!”

“Yeah, my boss insisted on something unhackable before agreeing to let you out into the world, and Stark owed me a favour after I solved a patent issue he was having.”

“I feel both honoured and insulted. It’s like your boss doesn’t trust me.”

“Oh, he doesn’t. But don’t take it personally; Fury doesn’t trust anyone.”

James double checked his GPS, took the next right, and pulled up in front of a rundown motel with several letters missing from its flickering neon sign.

“Here we are, home sweet home.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Steve muttered as he followed James into the dingy lobby.

“Agent Barnes,” James flashed his badge at the attendant. “This is Steve Rogers, my office called earlier.”

“Right, right,” the (possibly high) attendant murmured. “There you, Snake Eyes,” he said, tossing the keys in Steve’s general direction.

Steve stared at the keys where they landed on the dirty ground and pleaded with James. “Do I have to stay here? Prison was cleaner. And probably safer,” he added in quiet tones, eyeing the residents loitering in the lobby warily.

“I warned you it wasn’t going to be much,” James reminded him. “It costs 700 a month to house you on the inside, so that's what it costs here. For the money, this is as good as it gets. You find something better - take it. In the meantime, get settled in, do your homework,” he added, passing Steve a few files, “And I’ll pick you up at 7am.”

“What about clothes – or toiletries? I’m wearing my entire wardrobe,” Steve argued, tugging at his threadbare shirt.

“Your tracking anklet is set up so you can go anywhere within two miles of this place. Find a thrift store.”

“And pay for it with what money?”

“Oh, almost forgot. Here,” he said, handing over a fifty dollar bill. “That’s your weekly allowance. That’s how much it costs on the inside,” he repeated before Steve could argue. “If you need anything extra I’ll show you how to fill out a requisition form tomorrow. Until then: homework, two miles, 7 am. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

** *** **

Steve lasted a whole two minutes in the possibly haunted motel room before walking straight back out again. He splurged on his first decent cup of coffee in almost a year and found a bench in a nearby park to sit and read the files Agent Barnes had given him while the light was still good. After that he wasn’t sure what he was going to do, only that it involved not sleeping in a room that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned properly anytime in the past decade.

He was almost at the bottom of his coffee when something caught his attention; an elderly woman in her eighties, maybe even nineties, clinging to her purse like a life raft, her expression changing from confused to sheer panic at an alarming rate.

“Ma’am, are you ok?” Steve asked, stepping into her field of vision. “Are you alright?” he repeated when she finally registered his presence.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit lost,” she confessed with shaky voice and just the hint of an English accent.

“Why don’t you come sit next to me and maybe I can help you find your way.”

“Aren’t you a nice young man,” she remarked as she allowed him to lead her to the bench.

“Do you remember where you were going?”

“I think… I think I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere,” she admitted bashfully. “I was with my niece and she stopped to take a phone call and I’m afraid I must have wandered off. She’s going to be ever so cross with me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Steve assured her.

“No, it’s this mind of mine, betraying me in my old age,” she tutted. “And it’s got me quite forgetting my manners. Agent Margaret Carter, formerly of her Majesty’s armed forces and Churchill’s S.O.E. But you can call me Peggy.”

“Wait a minute, the S.O.E.? You were a spy?” Steve exclaimed, happy he retained something from his WWII studies.

“Spy, codebreaker, kicker of Nazi asses,” she grinned back. “And who might you be, other than the kind of man who helps little old ladies cross the street?” she teased.

“Oh, uh, Steve Rogers, ma’am. Recently paroled art forger turned consultant for the FBI,” he answered truthfully, returning her firm handshake.

“A forger? Really?” she beamed. “You must be quite talented. You’ll have to paint my portrait for me.”

Steve blushed but before he could answer her a frantic younger woman ran up to them.

“Aunt Peggy! I thought I lost you!” she cried, almost falling to her knees in relief.

“I think it was me who lost you, dear. Steve, this is my niece, Sharon. Sharon, this is Steve, the young man that has been keeping me company while we waited for you.”

“Thank you so much,” Sharon greeted breathlessly, still trying to get her racing heart under control.

“It wasn’t a hardship. You’re aunt’s a real firecracker.”

“Oh you,” Peggy blushed, slapping Steve’s arm. “Steve here is an artist. I was just in the process of commissioning him to paint my portrait, something dark and austere to loom over everyone at family dinners long after I’m gone,” she laughed.

“That sounds great, Aunt Peg. Have you got a card?”

“Oh, no, sorry. Uh, I don’t even have a phone at the moment.”

Sharon raised an eyebrow at his admission but Peggy steamrolled over any awkwardness.

“It’s not the boy’s fault, Sharon dear. He’s just been released from prison, but now he’s working for the FBI, isn’t that exciting?”

Sharon raised both eyebrows.

“Art forger… turned consultant…” Steve repeated self-consciously.

Her eyes flicked to him the files at his side.

“Are those case files?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Can I see them?”

“Um… no?” It wasn’t like they had [Top Secret] stamped all over it, and James hadn’t mentioned anything about confidentiality, but maybe that’s because it went without saying. “Give me a break,” he said in answer to Sharon’s razor sharp gaze. “It’s my first day isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Who’s your liaison?”

“…Special Agent James Barnes. Why?”

Instead of responding Sharon turned her attention to her phone, tapping away until she found the answers she needed.

“Steven Grant Rogers, twenty six years old, convicted of one count of felony forgery though implicated in at least a dozen other cases. Non-violent offender, served 11 months on a four year sentence before escaping only to be captured that same day and released into the custody of Special Agent James Barnes. Currently residing… at the Heart of the City Motel. Seriously? That place is a dump.”

“Yeah, it is, but… How… How did you know all that?” Steve asked dazedly, pointing to her phone.

“Classified,” she smirked.

“My dear Sharon has followed in my footsteps somewhat. She works in Washington,” Peggy supplied with an exaggerated wink, earning an amused snort from her niece. “And that agent of yours doesn’t really expect you to live at that awful motel, does he? That place should have been condemned when Sharon was a girl.”

“According to the Bureau, it cost 700 a month to house me on the inside, so that's all they’ve budgeted for my room and board on the outside. Agent Barnes said if I could find something better for the same money I should take it, but in this city?” Steve scoffed.

“Why don’t you come stay with me?”

“Aunt Peg,” Sharon scolded.

“You said it yourself, dear. Your work is in Washington, and though you visit as often as you can you still worry about me being all alone in that big house once Anna leaves for the day.”

“I really couldn’t…”

“And you,” she said, turning to Steve. “You said you’d paint my portrait. I could be your patron, how marvellous,” she grinned.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to say no to Peggy’s enthusiastic generosity, instead he looked to Sharon to give him out by deeming him an unsuitable houseguest by rap sheet alone, but it seemed she wasn’t immune to her aunt’s enthusiasm either.

“Fine. But if you hurt her in any way, shape, or form, you won’t have to worry about going back to prison because you’ll be dead. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, knowing it wasn’t hyperbole in the least.

“That settles it,” Peggy clapped. “Rent can be due on the first of every month and meals are served at 7am, 12pm, and 5pm, Monday through Friday. Though we’ll be left to our own devices for lunch and dinner on weekends until Anna’s daughter stops working nightshift and no longer needs a babysitter. Any questions?”

“Uh, just one,” Steve replied, holding up his tracking bracelet. “Is your place within a two mile radius of the motel?”

** *** **

Steve parted ways with the Carter’s and wandered back to the awful motel in a giddy daze.

“Hey Snake Eyes,” the attendant greeted. “What can I do you for?”

“Checking out,” Steve grinned, dropping the keys into his hand.

“So soon?”

“Yep. You got paper and a pen? I need to leave a note for that guy that dropped me off.”

“Secret Agent Man?” he asked, passing over the required items.

“That’s the one,” Steve murmured as he crafted his note. “Give this to him when he turns up tomorrow morning?”

“Sure thing. Hey, that reminds me,” he said to Steve’s retreating back. “Someone left something for you,” he said, looking around his small station until he found a familiar brand of black duffel bag. “Left you a note too.”

“To: Cap,” it read in Clint’s familiar scrawl. “Sorry about your stuff. Went dumpster diving behind your building and got some of it back. x Hawkeye”

Steve took the bag and frantically rifled through the smelly contents. It was mostly clothes, some coffee mugs and books, and a few precious framed photos that Steve wasn’t ashamed to say he hugged to his chest.

A few hours later he was settled in his new digs, a guest apartment in Peggy’s townhouse, complete with an ensuite and its own kitchenette. Steve had spent the better part of an hour following dinner with the delightful Peggy getting better acquainted with said ensuite, swearing to himself he was never going back to prison, and prison showers, ever again. When he finally exited the bathroom, wearing only “guest pyjama” bottoms as his entire wardrobe was in the washing machine downstairs, he almost shrieked at the sight of a woman perched at the end of his bed.

“Hello Steve,” she purred.

“Jesus Christ, Nat,” he swore at the redhead. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he gasped, leaning against the wall for support.

“Not going to ask stupid questions like ‘How did you find me?’” she teased, moving in for a hug.

“I know better than that. I would ask that you don’t make this a habit though. Peggy’s niece is kinda your level of intimidating.”

“I’m aware,” she smirked knowingly. “So, how’s life on the outside treating you,” she asked, rummaging around his fridge for something to drink and finding only random craft beers and bottled water.

Steve gestured at his comfortable surroundings. “I think my luck’s turning around.”

“All you had to do was sell your soul to the feds,” she grimaced, flicking the bottle cap into the sink.

“It’s not like that, Nat.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

“You painted a few pictures, Steve.”

“And forged bonds and stock certificates, and a goddamn printing plate. Nat, I did the wrong thing over and over again. I broke laws, committed crimes, and even if the feds aren’t aware of all of them I’m going to atone for them. This is how.”

“Even if it means ratting out your friends?”

“Hey, I would never. I say a word about you then, I won’t now.”

“So you’ll just lie to your FBI handler?”

“I don’t have to lie. I can just be vague and obtuse. Agent Barnes knows I’m not telling him everything and he seems to accept it.”

“Until a case I’m involved in comes across your desk.”

“I’d go back to prison before ratting you out, Nat. You have to believe that.”

“I do, that’s the problem,” she smiled sadly. “You went to prison the first time because of me, I won’t let you do it again.”

“That wasn’t your fault…”

“It was,” Nat argued. “I got you into all this in the first place. My uncle saw that Degas you painted for my birthday and he kept pushing the idea of that first job, asking me to ask you…”

“I didn’t have to say yes.”

“You were desperate. I took advantage.”

“And what about those last few years, after all my debts were paid… Was I still desperate then?” Nat sighed and picked at the label on her water bottle. “It was my choice, Nat. The guilt should be mine too.”

“And yet I still feel like an asshole, so I’m going to make it easy for you: I’m going to take a holiday.”

“For how long?”

“Four years. Two with good behaviour,” she smiled, abandoning her drink in favour of another hug. “Look after yourself, Rogers.”

“You too, Romanoff. And hey,” he called as she made for the door. “Take Clint with you, would you?”

“Who do you think’s flying the plane?” she teased and disappeared from sight.

Steve’s heart broke a little bit at the thought of his friends being out of the country for four years – because of him. But it wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, he reasoned, and worst case scenario they’d be back for his 30th birthday, and what a party that was going to be.

** *** **

James read over Steve’s note, and the obnoxious little smiley face tacked on the end, and prayed to his mother’s god that busting this kid out of jail wasn’t going to end up being the worst mistake of his career. He checked the address again and knocked on the fancy front door.

“Good morning, I’m Special Agent Barnes,” he greeted, flashing his badge as was habit. “Is there a Steve Rogers at this address?”

The woman smiled warmly and waved him through.

“Good morning Special Agent Barnes. My name is Anna Jarvis, I’m Ms Carter’s housekeeper. She and Mr Rogers are taking breakfast in the main dining room.”

“Of course they are,” James muttered to himself as he followed Anna through the lavish home.

“Agent Barnes!” Steve grinned contagiously. “You’re early.”

“You moved,” he countered, staring around the opulent room in disbelief.

“Yeah, it's nicer than the other place, don't you think?”

“I don’t think the other place served breakfast. How…”

“Well, while taking advantage of the generous freedom you gave me I went to the park yesterday afternoon and bumped into Peggy here,” Steve explained, enjoying James’ awkwardness immensely. At the mention of her name Peggy dragged herself away from her morning crossword. “Peg, this is James Barnes, the FBI guy I was telling you about. Agent Barnes, this is Agent Margaret “Peggy” Carter, formerly of her Majesty’s armed forces and Churchill’s S.O.E, and my generous patron to boot.”

“Isn’t he a riot,” Peggy laughed.

“He’s something alright,” James agreed. “Steve, why don’t you go get dressed. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

“Will do. Thanks for breakfast, Anna. Have a wonderful day, Peg.”

“You too, dear,” Peggy waved.

James fell down in an open chair and graciously accepted the cup of coffee Anna poured for him. The drink helped him gather his wits and he turned to address the elderly woman at the head of the table.

“It’s very nice of you to put Steve up, Ms Carter, but he did disclose to you that he’s a convicted felon, didn’t he? And that that thing on his wrist isn’t just a watch.”

“Young man,” Peggy replied sharply. “I was hunting down Nazi’s before your father was even thought of; I know what bad men look like, and Steve Rogers is not one of them.”

“No, ma’am, he isn’t,” James conceded.

** *** **

James was waiting by the car when Steve finally emerged, dressed in clean dark jeans, a loose fitting t-shirt, and a comfy looking button up sweater that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Peggy’s wardrobe.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses.”

“First day on the job and you’re already late,” James grumbled as he got behind the wheel.

“Hey, you were early,” Steve shot back.

“You read the files?”

“Yep,” Steve said, handing them back.

“And?”

“The Bourke and Jones jobs feel like insurance fraud to me, the Bourke especially. I’d put money on the painting that was displayed being a fake; the brushstrokes looked all wrong to me. The Caffrey was definitely an inside job. I’d look for an employee, or a close relative of an employee, who’s got gambling debts with a guy named Berrigan. He’s got a soft spot for post-war abstracts, Rothko’s in particular. The other three… they could very well be the same guy but I’d like to check out the most recent crime scene before committing to that theory.”

“…You know what, Steve?”

“What?” Steve asked.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

In case you were wondering...

- James dropped the nickname Bucky when he went to Quanitco in an effort to be taken more seriously. Steve finds out about it from Darcy, ala Diana telling Neal about Peter's mustache. - Darcy and Sam would be James' main underlings. - James often thinks of Steve as "kid" though he's 26 and Bucky's barely pushing 30. - Clint/Nat are Steve's Mozzie but as Steve is completely different to Neal - no ulterior motives, no big secrets, etc - it seemed right to have them step back from Steve so he wasn't found breaking parole for consorting with criminals, and Steve wasn't torn apart by guilt for covering for his friends/lying to James about their involvement in open cases. - Steve and Clint met as they tried to pass each other in some random alleyway in Brooklyn, both bloody and bruised, when they were still in high school and have been close friends ever since. Steve met Nat in college though he wasn't aware that she was slightly mobbed up until she brought him his first "commission". - I do say the the vent was too small for guys Bucky's size but okay for Steve - so what about Clint? Apparently Clint+ceiling vents in a fanmade trope, and I had no idea, so let's just say that Clint is bigger than Steve but smaller than Bucky and since he's so accustomed to ceiling ducts it might have been a tight fit but completely doable for him. - Steve may have told himself what he was doing wasn't hurting anyone there would have to be an ep where he discovers how his actions ruined someone's life, etc. - Rumlow would come back as Steve's nemesis/hired muscle for Alexander Peirce.

#paint stained collar #white collar au #mcu crossover #steve rogers #bucky barnes #pre-serum steve rogers #criminal!steve rogers #fbi agent!bucky barnes #criminal consultant!steve rogers #clint barton #natasha romanoff #darcy lewis #peggy carter #sharon carter #crime au #criminal au #fbi au #freudensteins-fics

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noodledragonoverloard · 7 years

Text

The Stars are Red.: (Onlookers)

A/N.: So yea, I’m back with The Stars are Red. Thankfully the muses were on my side for once and let me get this chapter out before the end of fall break.

Pairing: Scotty/ Reader (It’s getting there)

Warning: You legit might wanna kill Uhura rn (and probably the next chapter too. ‘XD)

Prompt: Slight ‘Jim’ prompt, no lyrics in this one

Summary: After hearing your voice over the loudspeakers singing, Uhura is 1000% on your radar. You just so happen to have intell as to where she is. It’s not your fault ‘Jim’ got in the way.

One would expect Leonard McCoy to be fearless at this point. If a man could survive living around their biggest fear for years, repeatedly going back to it after multiple near-death encounters, it seems like a fair assumption. But that assumption is far from the truth. Allowing himself to be a part of this five year mission has subjected him to more fearful thoughts and encounters than the medical officer could ever foresee.

Yet, there was one thing that truly brought more fear to the Southern Doctor than space could ever conjure up to spite him. That fear was you. More specifically, you being on a warpath.

Sadly, fate wasn’t on his side today.

Having just been annoyed by the tenth red shirt in the last hour, the doctor was most certainly at the end of his rope. The nurses on hand, most of which McCoy signed on personally a few days prior, somehow found a way to keep the CMO at bay through their scuttling around the med bay. Most of the procedures, he knew, were the routine checkups that were required in a few days.

Uhura was no different. She was taken into a room to do the regular procedures. Claire, one of the newer nurses, was glad to put her info into the database. All of her numbers were fantastic, save for a slightly elevated heart rate, which could easily be filed under as simply being nervous. When they left the room, it was clear to the nurse that she was correct in that assumption.

Leonard should’ve seen the warning signs as soon as you came in. Your smile was tighter than normal, clearly fake to anyone looking hard enough. Even though he couldn’t hear you talking, it was clear from Christine’s body language that, whatever you said, was something worthy of keeping an eye on you for. Yet, the longer you stayed in the facility, the easier he found it to forget to keep you in his sights. A mistake he instantly began to regret as soon as your target came into your view.

Uhura was swift in racing away from you, yet you were right on her heels. The bay became a slew of moving obstacles, most attempting to get out of the way as the realization of what was happening around them kicked in.

Putting your tactical expertise to good use, you watched Uhura’s body closely. Even with how random her movements looked to the outsider, you saw the thoughts that went into each movement the woman made. Each sway was a calling card, each side-step a small piece of a bigger game plan. Though, no matter how close you scrutinized her moves, you couldn’t find a single hint to the bigger picture.

That was the case, until you nearly ran into ‘Jim’.

The nurses and Leonard watched on in a daze as you both shouted at each other on opposite sides of the ‘captain’.

“You jerk!” You bellowed out, attempting to reach the fawn skinned woman, “I trusted you!”

Raising a fabric wrapped arm, Uhura used it to block your attack as she stammered out, “I- I didn’t do it! Honest I didn’t!”

Blocking ‘Jim’s’ arm with ease, you allowed the arm to fall limply to his side. You had more important matters at hand. “Yeah right. And Andorians and Vulcans smile and sing kumbaya together on weekends.” You spit out, pushing ‘Jim’ towards Uhura, all in hope that it might cause her to lower her guard.

Needless to say, it didn’t work. With each advance you sought, Uhura countered in her own time, all the while maintaining the mobile barricade between your bodies. Whatever argument you had before had dwindled down to throwing petty insults at the other, most of which were a slew of different dialects. The only way to truly describe the amount of rage flowing through your veins at the moment was ‘seeing red’.

You were so committed to your argument that your brain didn’t register anything else. That was, until someone chose to be stupid enough to use their arms to keep you at bay.

Through your huffing and cursing, it was clear that whoever was holding you back was a man, his chest pressed to your back to better help his arms gain enough leverage to maintain their hold on you. Rearing your head back you realized that he was a fair bit taller than you’d expected, feeling his throat buckle slightly instead of the nose you were intending to break. Unfortunately, the attempt at getting free only ended up with a harsher hold and a soft warning growl in your ear.

Whipping your head to the side, you intended to make the man regret ever trying to hold you back. With teeth bared in a sneer and eyes blazing with fury, you threw out the first words that came to thought in a rumbling whisper.

“Don’t test me. You won’t like how it ends.”

“Oh, really?” He whispered harshly, his voice brought down a few octaves from your attack, “Yet yer the one bein held back.”

As the man finished speaking, you finally registered the captor’s red shirt and deep brown eyes that stared back into your own. Even with how deep his voice was, his Scottish accent was easy to recognize. Forcing yourself to look down, it was made quite clear to the scotsman that you registered what you had done by the soft blush and whimper that refused to be held back.

“Ya back now lassie?” With a soft nod, Scotty let go of you, not catching the way you shivered as his hand slowly pulled away from around your waist.

“Hey Scotty,” Uhura called out, peeking out from behind ‘Jim’s’ back, all the while making sure not to place too much weight on the preoccupied doctor.

“Morning lass. Now, if I may ask, what da bloody hell went on?”

With enough decency to look bashful, the young woman muttered out, “We got in a fight over something that we could’ve talked out. We even pulled poor ‘Jim’ into it.”

“Ay, I can see that.” Giving you a glance over his shoulder, he walked over towards the battered skeleton. “Poor lad’s shirt is hanging off. An he’s still pantsless, the stook oughta know by now how to act in front of so many bonnie lasses. Wouldn’t ya agree Bones?”

Looking toward the man, it was clear that he wasn’t listening. Christine had all of his attention, currently discussing a procedure that involved too many complex words and acronyms for you to follow comfortably. Both were too immersed in their own world of medical jargon to notice the multiple glances that Uhura, Scotty, and yourself exchanged. For the few brave souls that opted to watch the whole duration of the pointless game of cat and mouse were experiencing something that was often spoken of in hushed whispers among the crew.

‘The Enterprise’s Wrath’ was plotting an attack.

A name that the Scotsman, the Communications officer, and yourself donned as a joke during ‘The Mighty Prank War’ was one that a fair portion of the crew chose to keep calling you ‘in secret’. It was a fitting name at the time, for three commonly laid-back crew members that hid their true knack at pranking and evasion unless they chose to hone in on a victim.

Most can still find a picture or two on the immediate database of the carnage that was Jim’s room.

Taking a silent vote full of raised eyebrows and squints full of reproach, it was decided. Bones gets to walk away, only by sway of ice cream and movie night from Uhura’s side.

Since the covert, and more amusing, option was now off the table, you opted for a more abrupt approach. Slinking behind the southern man, you found his attention on a datapad, clearly displeased with whatever was written on it. With no time to think your actions through, you whipped an arm around the doctor, only to pull back just as fast when his datapad was in your grasp.

“Give it back little lady!” He growled lowly, keeping his hand outstretched for the offending object.

“Hmmm. . . “ was all you quipped out, smirk evident as you pretended to think it over, “Why would I do that? If the ever diligent Bones was occupied with whatever is on it, then why would I give it back before I knew what was written on it?”

With every step he took forwards, you sprung back an equal distance. Skimming over the words, it was painfully obvious that the words comprised of a medical document. With diligent flicks of your finger, you got deeper and deeper into the letter. All of a sudden,both you and your smile froze, much to the confusion of the now captive audience. With nothing but a glance back at the man, you lifted the document as if it weighed led.

Wasting no time, McCoy took the object back as quickly as you had taken it.

Making sure to get in your space, the doctor leaned down to your ear before he spat out “You gonna leave my stuff alone when I tell you?”

Voiceless, all you could manage was a soft nod, too in shock to respond accordingly.

“You better.”

Opting to recognize Scotty rather than you, he tilted his head towards the scotsman, making it clear that he was listening.

Gathering his thoughts as rapidly as he could, he sputtered out, “Eh, tha captain says that we av’ta go to a banquet tomorrow. Says that it’s for ‘diplomatic purposes’. You too, Uhura.”

“Can’t make it. Got too much stuff to do here.” Seeing that as being the end of the discussion, McCoy strode over to his office, Christine close on his heels.

Huffing out in frustration, Scotty’s eyes met Uhura’s, clearly asking her opinion as to what to do.

“Were they expecting anyone expressly?”

“I donae think so, save for the captain and Spock. We were what the captain thought would be best at the party.” He acquiesced, adding in a shrug for good measure before adding, “He only asked for me to tell the lad because I was on my way for a physical.”

“Well, I was about to head back on shift anyways, I’ll see what he wants us to do.” Was all she deemed necessary to end the conversation.

On her way to the door, her eyes met your own, making it clear that you were meant to follow her. Giving him a courtesy nod, you rushed out before your blush could be made evident. As you fell into stride with her, you saw her fingers flying over her datapad, no doubt talking to Jim about what to do.

Once you both reached the turbolift she commented,“I’m vouching for you.”

“W-what?”

“I’m vouching for you to Jim. And it looks like he’s for it so far.”

“But I don’t even have a dressy enough dress to go to a banquet in!” you almost shrieked at the other officer.

Choosing to reply with a side-eye as her device pinged again, her body language as a whole screamed ‘you don’t think I’ve already had this planned out from the start’.

Pausing the turbolift, she canceled both of your intended paths, choosing instead to enter the lowest inhabited deck floor. The same floor that allowed people on and off the station. As she activated it again, she gave you a smirk that made it clear that you were both going to the party and going to go all out with the dress options you could find.

With a huff, the words that you had hoped to never hear come from her lips met the air, with an amusement fit for an overenthusiastic torturer.

“Let's go shopping.”

All you could do was pray that the three hours left docked would go swiftly.

#Bones #Uhura #Reader/ Scotty #You be wild #and fierce #don't tick off reader #bones is mad #Deep voice Scotty must exist #Uhura is friend goals #(uhura is also low-key torturer)#'Jim' appearance #med bay #@impalaanddemons

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trekficsandbobs · 7 years

Text

The Captain’s Yeoman (Chapter 5)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Summary: Following the encounter with the Heravic, Amelia finds herself without friends and without Jim. Under Doctor’s orders she decides to give it one last attempt at salvaging their friendship.

Pairing: Jim Kirk x OC

Warnings: language, angst

A/N: So this is the final chapter, thank to everyone who has read it and I hope you enjoyed it.

Words: 2,095

Two weeks had passed since Amelia had woken up. Mr Spock had been fetched and the details of her subconscious encounter with the Heravic had been noted, archived, and sent to the Federation Headquarters to be reviewed. The effects of the meeting had been long lasting and torturous. She could not sleep for every time she did she dreamt she was trapped in a swirling, furious storm being pulled in every direction. She felt helpless and lifeless as the storm picked her up and threw her around, over and over and over, until she eventually woke up slick with sweat and tears.

Life on the Enterprise had been quiet, no further trouble had been met on their journey through uncharted space. But it was quiet for another reason entirely. Amelia felt the eyes of her peers pierce the back of her head, and their whispers sharp to her ears. They all seemed to avoid her, scared of some alien side effects that would bring her out in a murderous rage. She endeavoured to continue her work, and not get trodden down by hearsay but at times she would catch herself wiping away a tear as she walked down an empty corridor to her next destination.

Even being by Jim’s side felt wrong now, as he regarded her with the same suspicion - the same coldness - as others did. It broke her heart more often than not to see his eyes turn away from her as she spoke to him. McCoy was the only person who spoke to her as he did before, he was her Doctor after all, and if anything was wrong he would be the first to know. She was thankful to have someone, but she wanted Jim back.

“He’ll come round, darlin’” McCoy drawled as he scanned her with the medical tricorder.

“Is it really that obvious?” Amelia asked. There was no point denying it any longer, not to herself or to her only friend.

“Yeah, but he’s been off with everyone lately” He sighed, placing the tricorder down on the medical trolley and sitting beside her on the bed. “Think it’s spooked him s’all; he does care about you, it’s just all this has given him a reality check I guess.” He gave her a reassuring smile which she attempted to return with little success. “Just give him time. Maybe talk to him on shore leave, I think Spock is forcing him to take some time off.” He stood up and waved a nurse over to return the trolley to its designated space. “I have to get back to work, but if you need me you know where I am.”

Before she could thank him he was gone. She picked up her PADD and walked out of medbay to her appointment with Mr Scott. As she walked she thought about what Leonard had said. Shore leave started in two days on the planet they were currently orbiting as they made sure it was safe for the crew to go down to. If Jim really was forced to take some time off and take the weight off his shoulders for just a few hours then maybe she could get through to him. If not, then at least she knew where she stood. As the entrance to Mr Scott’s office (it could hardly be called such a thing as it was filled with coils, broken machine parts, and smelt strongly of oil) came into view, Amelia was resolved. She would fix this once and for all in two days’ time.

The time for shore leave came quickly, in her head she had a few words planned out for when she got Jim alone. Lining up for the transporters to be beamed to the surface Amelia practiced it again: Jim, tell me what I’ve done. Tell me why you can’t look at me anymore. I can’t carry on with this shit, you’ve got to tell me where I stand - where we stand - or I have to go. She wished she could come up with something a little more inspiring and emotional, tug on his heart strings a little, but that was all she had. Jim would be one of the last off, alongside the other senior officers, so she probably had an hour or so to kill before she could see him.

…

The planet was beautiful. It was covered in lush emerald coloured grass, with tall trees of various types and colours. Amelia’s favourite was the bright pink willow-esk tree whose branches waved slowly and sluggishly in the breeze. The flowers were all brightly coloured, unlike anything she had ever seen before. A plant, which had all the appearance of a sun flower, had petals as big as her head. Crew members lay about under the shade of the fruit trees (which had been deemed safe to consume by the biologists) chatting and laughing, while some swam in the crystal blue waters of the lake.

Amelia sat under the shade of the willow tree reading a book she had brought down with her. She wasn’t really reading it, her thoughts were elsewhere as she flicked through the pages. The longer she sat there, the more nervous she got about confronting Jim. What would he say? Would he be angry? Questions she would soon be forced to face as she heard the distinctive sound of people beaming to the surface. It was Jim, accompanied by Mr Spock and McCoy.

Good, if Leonard is there I might be able to get him on his own.

Giving him ten minutes to adjust to his new surroundings, Amelia paced under the protection of the sweeping branches, rehearsing her hello to her Captain. It had been a long time since she had done that. On her first day on the Enterprise she delayed as much as possible, going over her introduction until it was ingrained into her head and she was ready to take up her place.

Right. Let’s get this show on the road.

Amelia grabbed her bag and steeled herself, smoothed over her uniform and took a deep breath. Stepping into the bright sunshine she took a moment to readjust and practice her hello once more.

As she walked towards the three men, her hands started to shake. McCoy noticed her first, giving her a smile, waving her over. Jim looked up to see her approach, he almost looked sad to see her.

“Uh hi” she managed. Good one Amelia.

“Beautiful planet isn’t it?” McCoy said, smiling at her knowingly.

“Yeah, it’s like the Garden of Eden or something, I’ve never seen anything like it” she replied, a little courage returning to her. Do it now while you can get words out. “Captain, I was wondering if I could have a word.” she asked, turning to Jim, whose eyes - for the first time in a long time - were on her.

“Of course” he replied, gesturing with his arm for her to take the lead, “After you.”

Shit. Amelia thought, she hadn’t planned on where to go.

She began to walk back to the tree she had appeared from, all too aware of how strange that was. Jim walked beside her quietly. Amelia glanced over her shoulder to McCoy.

“Good luck” he mouthed while Spock was preoccupied studying the local fauna.

“Step into my office” she said pulling back some branches to form a doorway for Jim to step through. The joke was a reflex reaction to the sheer awkward tension in the air and she regretted it instantly. If she had kept her eyes on Jim for just a second longer before looking to the floor in embarrassment, she would’ve seen the small smile which broke on his face.

Placing her bag on the ground and clearing her throat, she turned to her Captain. Now or never.

“Captain, if I have done something wrong please tell me. You’ve been nothing but cold and distant from me since those bloody monks messed with my head and I can’t deal with all this shit anymore.” Not quite what she had planned but it came out in one go, so it could be deemed a success.

Jim Kirk looked taken aback. Had she crossed a line? This was the worst idea ever, he’s gonna transfer me the second we’re back on the Enterprise. She thought, cursing herself.

“I…I’m sorry Amelia” he replied quietly, looking at the ground.

“Why? Why have we changed?” Amelia breathed, all the fight had gone from her now, she just wanted answers.

“It’s not you, it’s me” He looked at her now, stepping closer.

“I’ve heard that one before”

“No… I really mean it. That day, you were out for hours. I sat by your bed and all I could see was the fear in your eyes when they took over you. I thought you were going to die.” Jim breathed out heavily, as if he had been holding all the words in.

“You sat with me?” Amelia whispered, she didn’t believe it, nobody had said anything.

“Yeah, I told Bones not to say anything… I don’t know why.” He held his hands out towards Amelia. “I thought I lost you. When Bones told me you had woken up and called for Spock I thought you hated me; you didn’t call for me so I figured you blamed me. So I’ve been trying to keep my distance, but I guess that’s just made it all worse.”

“Jim,” she took his hands in her own, stepping towards him, “I don’t blame you. It wasn’t you who nearly fried my brain. I didn’t join Starfleet because I thought it would be the safest job I could have. I joined because I thought I could make a difference, anything that happens to me is not your doing.”

“But…”

“No buts. I don’t want anyone to feel responsible for me, I’ve had a lifetime of it.” Amelia sighed, it was time she told Jim about her past. Sitting down, she signalled Jim to sit next to her and lean against the wide trunk of the tree.

“My mum was very protective, with the whole nearly kidnapped thing when I was little the only time she let me out of her sight was school. Even then she’d call me every break to make sure I was ok. She felt responsible for what happened, and we both had to live with that. You remember that call you walked in on weeks ago? When you came to my quarters to do the reports? That was the last call I ever got from her. She was hit by a driver who ran a red light at a cross roads. I knew something was wrong when I didn’t get a call in first break, then lunch… I was pulled out of my last lesson and…” wiping away a tear she continued: “So as soon as school finished I joined Starfleet, she would’ve hated it but then she wasn’t there to stop me” she smiled to herself, “I watch that call every day to stay close to her I guess. My point is that I’ve had my fill, it tortured my mum until the day she died. Don’t let it torture you.”

“I didn’t know, Amelia. I’m so sorry” he turned to her, taking her hand and gazing into her eyes.

There was silence. The breeze rustled through the branches, the sound of laughter from the crew in the lake could be heard through the natural curtain. Amelia stayed still, looking into Jim’s eyes. It was him who broke the silence.

“I love you.”

It was Amelia’s turn to be taken aback.

“What?” she managed, in complete disbelief.

“I love you, Amelia. That’s why I can’t lose you. It’s killed me the last couple weeks to not be able to be the man you think I am. But I love you, and I don’t want to keep it from you anymore - even if you don’t feel the same.”

She did. She really did.

He was still looking at her. Waiting for a response. But Amelia had no words, not yet, so she did the next best thing. She kissed him.

It was not the most delicate kiss, she pulled him towards her until their lips met. It was passionate and intense as the two desperately tried to make up for lost time and suppressed feelings. After a few seconds Amelia pulled away, Jim smiled at her - dazed. She had finally found her words.

“I love you too, Jim.”

tags: @youre-on-a-starship @feelmyroarrrr @webhoard @yourtropegirl

#jim kirk x oc #jim kirk #jim kirk imagine #star trek imagine #star trek aos

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