#.....oh i wonder if all the lab reports is a factor too

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2023: CONVERSATIONS ON WRITING by Ursula K. Le Guin with David Naimon.

Currently dual wielding books, over here--I've never really been big on reading two different fiction books at once, but I can pair fiction with nonfiction just fine.

I haven't read as much nonfiction as I'd hoped to this year (overcorrecting from last year, apparently), so I'm excited to get back into some Writers Writing about Writing stuff while I cool off of my current project before I gear up for NaNo. This one starts with "In Memoriam," though, so I suspect it'll probably break my heart a little bit. This is Fine™.

[green-eyedfirework]

Why was it that Nightwing always got captured by the creeps?

“You have no idea how special you are,” the head scientist of the sketchy biotech company Nightwing had been surveilling prattled on as the wheelchair squeaked down the hallway.  “An omega vigilante, I almost couldn’t believe it when I heard, oh, I knew opening an office in Bludhaven would be a great idea—”

Red Hood got the mobsters, Red Robin got the intellectuals, and Batman and Robin got the dramatic ones.  But Nightwing?  Nightwing got the villains that were walking sexual harassment lawsuits.  It wasn’t fair.  Especially when he was the only omega of the bunch.

“Don’t you worry,” the head scientist said patronizingly, patting him on the head.  “I can’t give you a heat inducer, that’ll mess up your fertility, but I promise it’ll be over soon.  And you’ll get a pup out of it!  How does that sound?”

Maybe it was the skintight suit.  Maybe he was drawing too much attention to the wrong, ahem, assets.

“Of course, you won’t be able to keep the pup, but consider the vast contributions you will be making to science!  Oh, the healing factor alone…” the beta scientist devolved into raptures of scientific glee and Dick wondered what exactly it was about a Ph.D. that turned so many of them into villains in the process.  This one had done some research on the meta gene and super serum before his access to the government labs had been revoked—gee, Dick really wondered why—and now he was attempting to recreate the research with his own unethical experiments.

“And you don’t have to worry about them, my dear,” the beta patted Dick’s head again and Dick hissed through the gag.  He’d been drugged a second time when he tried to bite, and all he had to show for it was the increased restraints and some fondling from the too-interested guards.  “I got a delightful pollen from a lovely woman that’s guaranteed to send alphas into ruts, so they’ll be up to the performance.”

Dick rolled his eyes.  So this guy was one of those idiots that thought that alphas turned into raging knotheads on their rut.  Sure, it dialed their instincts up to eleven, but everyone didn’t think about sex all the time, gods.

“As long as you behave, I’m sure they’ll leave you in one piece.”

No, the more immediate concern was that Dick was starting to get the sense that the beta was using they as plural and not gender-neutral, and combined with the other hints that he was referring to metas with superhuman strength, it wasn’t adding up to a pleasant picture.

“And I have reliable reports that you know them, so this should work out great!”

Wait, what?

With that last ominous statement, they arrived at a huge, thick steel door that took several locks to disarm.  Dick didn’t get much of a chance to examine it, though, before the wheelchair tilted and he was dumped inside the small cell.

“Remember to enjoy yourself!” was the maniac’s parting statement before the door swung shut.

Oh, Dick was going to enjoy pointing Hood at this asshole.

But the more immediate problem was the occupants of the cell he’d just been locked into.  The very familiar occupants, and Dick worked at his bindings with trembling fingers as the alphas began to stir.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered out loud as soon as he tore off the gag, watching them shift and move as silver hair caught the light and gleamed.  “How did they get all of you?”

Deathstroke, Ravager, Jericho, Nightshade, and Respawn.  The entirety of world’s deadliest mercenary pack.  All enhanced, metas, or hopped up on some kind of experimental serum, Dick had never gotten close enough to figure out the specifics, but what he did know was that they were incredibly dangerous.  The Titans had faced off against them more than once and barely managed to go limping home.  The only reason they weren’t classified as a higher threat was because usually they stayed out of hero business.

“Getting captured by one idiot scientist is definitely going to puncture that reputation,” Dick said, eyeing their sluggish movements.  They were beginning to wake up.  “Kind of pathetic, actually.  Aren’t you guys supposed to be the most elite fighters in the world or something?”  That was certainly something the Ravager had spat at him once or twice.  “How does a mercenary pack get kidnapped?”

A low growl and a rush of alpha pheromones billowed out to flood the space.  Dick scrunched up his nose at the scent, he could feel his own start to turn sweeter in response as his omega recognized that he was trapped in a room full of alphas going into rut.  The scientist had torn off all his blockers and Bruce’s scent management techniques only went so far in the face of burgeoning alpha aggression.

“Not a threat,” Dick murmured slowly, keeping his hands by his sides and staying on his knees.  No need to trigger any violent movements.

He wasn’t sure what the idiot scientist was thinking—the more alphas, the better chance for Dick to be impregnated?  Except with Deathstroke trapped with his pack—including a pup just barely old enough to have presented—his focus would be on protection, not procreation.  It wouldn’t matter that Dick was an omega if Deathstroke or the others registered him as a danger.

“Not going to fight you,” Dick said, keeping the low, easy tone.  “I’m trapped here just as same as you guys.”

The mercenaries recovered fast.  One moment they were weak and sluggish, and the next the two oldest alphas had jerked upright, scanning the space and growling.

“Not a threat,” Dick murmured, low and soft.  Ravager locked gazes with Dick and kept up a low, warning rumble, but Deathstroke continued scanning the area and checking over his pups.  Nightshade was instantly alert, as was Respawn, growling adorably like Damian—Dick had to fight not to coo—and Jericho was the last to shake off whatever they’d been drugged with.

Half of them were staring at Dick, Respawn clutched close to his father’s side while Deathstroke prowled the cell.  It was admittedly unnerving, being stared down by three growling alphas, but Dick kept his calm, his scent still the sweet of placating omega, posture unthreatening, voice soft.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Dick repeated, low and smooth.  “I’m not a threat.”

Nightshade shifted towards him, teeth bared, but Ravager quickly yanked her back.  Unfortunately, this turned Deathstroke’s attention his way, and it was definitely harder to keep the soothing tone when staring into the face of a man that had the highest kill count of any assassin currently alive.

“I’m not a threat,” Dick repeated, hands out and open.  “I’m not going to fight you.”  Alphas responded better to scent and posture when in rut, but words still occasionally made it through.  Deathstroke drew closer and Dick fought the urge to run—there was nowhere to go.  “I’m not going to fight you.”  The alpha loomed above him and Dick kept himself carefully still, relaxed and not tense.  “I’m not a threat.”

Deathstroke bent down.  Dick could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he remained as still and calm as he could.  The alpha’s one-eyed gaze travelled over him as he took a deliberate whiff of scent.  Dick hardly dared to breathe.

The mercenary made a low growl and backed off, leaving him alone.  Dick exhaled in a rush.  No being mauled by mercenaries in rut tonight.

Unfortunately, Dick had spoken too soon.

He spotted the lunging motion out of the corner of his eye, too fast to react any way but instinct, and he immediately ducked and rolled, countering the alpha’s move with his own, trapping her punch and twisting her arm to yank her into a hold before he fully realized what he was doing.

“Oh, shit,” Dick hissed, hurriedly letting go and backing up, but it was too late.

He didn’t register Deathstroke moving until the mercenary slammed him to the ground, expelling his air in a breathless wheeze, and teeth digging in at the back of his neck turned his automatic protest into a low whine as submission flooded through him.

(more emphasis to bites, on fighting)

The room was thick with alpha rage and Dick stayed as still as he could, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, hoping that this was a show of force and not the prelude to playing with their food.

It didn’t matter if he struggled or not, there was no way he could beat a group of enhanced, trained alphas hopped up on aggression, but there was still the chance that if he stayed quiet and submitted, they wouldn’t tear him apart.

Dick winced as the collar of his suit was torn apart easily under enhanced hands—the goons that had captured him hadn’t been able to undo the catches without getting shocked and had quickly given up, but clearly the kevlar weave was no match for supersoldier strength.  Another low whine was punched out of him as a second pair of teeth closed down on his unprotected neck, biting deep and worrying at his skin.

He could smell Nightshade’s scent change from anger to satisfaction at his apparent submission and he made another low, placating sound to appease her.  Two bites meant his limbs were trembling, submission running through him like a rip current, ready to pull him down under.

Dick couldn’t help the tension—he was helpless here, lying at the mercy of a mercenary pack, waiting for them to get bored and ignore him, or for them to tear him apart as an intruder.  Dick had been in worse situations, but right now, he was a having a hard time pinpointing specific examples.

Another hand joined the ones pointlessly pinning him down and Dick smelled a darker version of the rage, a scent he remembered from battlefields.  He couldn’t jerk away from Ravager’s grip, so he had to stay there, hissing weakly as the alpha’s bite joined his father’s and his sister’s.  Fuck that hurt.

He couldn’t move.  His scent dripped with sweetness, rising alarm disguised as enticement.  Dick made an aborted sound as he was dragged off the ground, bruises aching, to be hauled into someone’s impenetrable grip, hands tight on his forearms.  He didn’t know whose lap he was all but sitting in, the alpha scents were mixing together, aggression and rage, possession and pride.

Dick couldn’t help flinch back as Jericho moved towards him.  “No,” he breathed out, alarm rising higher, but there was nowhere to go, trapped in a cage of alphas, and Dick could only watch as Jericho braced himself on Dick’s shoulders and bent down to bite.

It felt like he was leeching the soul from Dick’s body.  Submit pressed harder down on him, until what little resistance Dick had was like a slick grip in a storm, peeling away by inches, one slippery finger at a time.  Too many hands, too many alphas, and Dick whimpered without meaning to, caught in a maelstrom of scent and overwhelmed by it.

Something tugged painfully at him.  His pack bonds, responding to his agitation.  Dick could feel the others nudging him, sending him calm and worry—and he could also feel it fraying.

No.

No.

If this was the entirety of Deathstroke’s pack—

The pup started crawling towards him and panic rose up, sharp and high.  “No,” Dick whispered, struggling against the grips chaining him in place.  He was a trained vigilante, he could still throw off submission, the problem was the four alphas holding him down.  “No, let me go!”

It was like battering himself against a steel wall.  None of them moved.

Respawn moved up to crawl into his lap and Dick growled, as low and deep as he could make, baring his teeth in the imitation of an alpha snarl.  The pup yelped, tumbling back, but then a hand in Dick’s hair wrenched his head painfully to one side and Dick couldn’t stop the growl shifting to a high, desperate whine.

“No, please, stop, don’t do this—” the pup clambered on top of him more carefully this time, ignoring his weak struggles, and Dick felt teeth close down on the jut of his collarbone. “—please—”

His pack bonds shattered.

Dick couldn’t feel them breaking over the rush of the new ones taking their place, slamming home with a suddenness that felt like a punch.  He keened, curling over as much as he was able as growling filled the room, less concerned with the alphas’ emotional state than his own.

Fuck.

The only way to complete a pack claim was to have every member of the pack bite the claimant.  It would destroy any other pack bond in the process, which meant that his bond with the Bats had been shredded under the force of Deathstroke’s claim.

“No, no, no—”

From the Bats’ side, Dick’s bond would’ve abruptly snapped without warning.  There were only three ways to break a bond—by breaking it yourself, by subsuming it with a new claim, or by death.

And the first two were rarer than the last.

Dick choked on the overwhelming scent of foreign alpha, his own scent gentling in recognizance of his new pack, unable to breathe under the onslaught of emotion humming through him.  Five alphas in rut was stretching his senses to the breaking point and it felt uniquely violating to have strangers inside the part of him that had always been for family.

“No,” Dick whimpered, unable to push them out.  Everything was too loud and too much and he felt pulled in a thousand different directions.

Pack-alpha was rage-protect-furious and older-alpha was frustration-burning-hate and alpha-sister was angry-attack and alpha-brother was irritation-discomfort and alpha-pup was scared-distressed-angry and Dick couldn’t begin to untangle the web.  He hurt, inside and out, broken grief and bruising aches and rising terror and throbbing bites.

“Please,” Dick tried to say, but no one was listening.

His body did the only thing it could do under the onslaught of alpha rut, new pack bonds, and increasing stress—Dick smelled the honey sweetness first, and groaned in recognition of what was to follow.

Attention focused sharply back on him as the first note of heat hit the air.

“No—” Dick fought hard against the restraining bonds, this wasn’t his pack, he wasn’t safe here, “let me go—”

They didn’t. He could feel their bonds change to anticipation, the laser focus of their rut brought to bear on him.  There was nothing more important in the room to them.

Dick went pliant for a breath, enough to relax the grips on him, enough to feel the ache as the warmth of heat slowly ramped up, muscles cramping—and then he lunged, yanking himself out of the grips and aiming for the corner.

Enhanced alphas, of course, reacted fast.

Dick found himself jerked back against a solid chest, arms wrapping around him and forcing his arms down by his side. Ravager was in front of him now, Ravager and Nightshade, and between them they managed to turn the top half of his suit to confetti.

Dick, half-naked, trapped in the middle of five alphas in rut and smelling of honey, had a terrible thought—

But no one was moving to pull the rest of his suit off and it was Respawn that crawled forward first.  Dick tried to yank away when he realized what was happening but Deathstroke’s grip didn’t budge a fraction, a low growl warning him to stay still.

His chest ached, not with bruises but the growing cramps of heat, and when Respawn latched onto a nipple and sucked, Dick screamed.

It hurt.  The pressure, the unbearable weight of an insistent, demanding pup as his body tried to remake itself to provide for his pack.  The increase in cramping right before the milk finally came.  And the horrible, awful relief, the unshakeable sense that Dick was losing something, that this was defilement greater than he’d expected.

“No,” Dick sobbed, keening as Nightshade shoved forward to latch onto his other nipple.  “No, stop, that isn’t yours—”

The alphas didn’t care. They drank busily, sucking his milk out in greedy pulls, uncaring for the way Dick writhed as he cried.  His scent was sweet but his bond was twisted in distress, and the alphas didn’t twitch.

When the pup was done, Jericho moved forward to take his place, bright blond hair the only thing visible in Dick’s blurred vision.  Ravager growled as Nightshade kept drinking and snapped warningly at her before she let go with a pout.  Ravager dove for her spot and Dick made a low, punched-out sound.  The increase in suction was unbearable, he felt like he was being unmade under the onslaught.

“P-please.”

Jericho stopped sooner, but that wasn’t a relief—Nightshade’s tight grip replaced her father’s as Deathstroke bent down, latching on tight and drinking with deep, strong pulls that had Dick wailing.

It hurt, it was pain on a level deeper than flesh, it was too much and yet Dick was pinned here to endure, overwhelmed under the onslaught and unable to run.

There was no comfort but the restraining grips around him, no warmth but from bonds from the enemy, no protection but from the very same people that were hurting him.  His omega was shrieking for safety and reassurance and the most Dick could do was press into the hands holding him, fingers wrapped tight over someone’s palm, hand clasping the pup to him, pulling an alpha’s arm closer until he could see and hear and smell nothing but them.

Dick made a low, broken keen, and the rumbles of his pack answered him.

[lumibye]

hii charm i wanted to ask , what was sycamaris first date ? 🤔 how did it come abt , who asked, how did it go ? im soo interested , and i hope uve had a wonderful weekend ! - @catake

hehe hi clara ! hope your weekend's been lovely as alwayss and i hope your finals went just as well !! i'm sure they did but sending my heart and wishes anyways ofc ofc

( ♡ ) ty honestly sm for encouraging me to talk abt them bc it's all in my drafts but i'm just . . soso shy ( if you could believe it ehe ; ) so it really means a lot to me ! i'm v grateful i get to speak my silly nonsense eek >_< their first date was . . it was a ' date ' but it wasn't ? this is prob a good time to explain why they're ' working together ' ig for context purposes ! ( i'll prob compile this all into a post at some point actually )

( long post again bc my filter is broken ehe ; )

although he has a lot of information on mega evolution in regards to battle , he doesn’t have a lot in the way of contests 

pokemon aren’t affected by any external factors like attacks or status conditions when performing , but they’re still expending a good amount of  energy with the use of moves

so , as someone that’s very invested in the subject , his research and the bond between pokemon and trainer - this information would be valuable to compare and contrast with his current findings

he doesn’t really know anybody in the contest scene? there’s serena, of course, but she’s also currently undertaking the gym challenge and being one of his pupils it doesn’t feel right to stick this kid with even more work considering she’s a dex holder  so mariannes his best bet , even though they're only acquainted at the time they share a mutual acquaintance in serena at least . it's mutually beneficial in a sense , if marianne can't use mega then she's going to be at a disadvantage in the contest circuit ( i hc that contests are similar to ORAS in kalos hehe ) her ' job ' would be to monitor the behavioural changes in her pokemon after rehearsals and performances as well as their general health and wellbeing . there'd be weekly or biweekly ' check ups ' at the lab for more thorough analysis but these ' reports ' are more casual to fit both their schedules also , it's a good excuse to go out for him to go out for coffee considering he's so busy . but they're not dates , don't be silly . . . ( /hj he doesn't intend it to be . . but . . ) anway ! to actually answer your question now ( i'm soso sorry i can talk for aages they live in my head rent free 24/7 ; ) once he proposes this to her at the lab ( it's like on a weekend so nobody's there ) and gives her a list of pokemon that can mega she notices the only one that can is benched because of her accident in the unova circuit reasons and she goes ' umm , i don't really have any on this list at the moment ' and augustine is kind of stumped because this meeting is now way shorter than he expected it to be so he goes ' oh , that's ok . . well let's go out for coffee instead ' ( not those exact words ofc ) because

a.) she's not super familiar with lumiose and having a kind of ' guide ' might be helpful

b.) atp he knows she's a bit of a reserved person and the few times they've met he hasn't seen her with any friends so that's mildly concerning

c.) if they're eventually going to work together he should know her a bit better and

d.) she's piqued his curiosity honestly marianne's very bad at saying no especially on the spot so as nervous as this makes her she agrees , for similar reasons too . this person's offering her an advantage in her career so it'd be rude to say no , wouldn't it ? so they go to soleil ( because taking a shy girl to your best friends cafe on your first outing seems like a really bad idea ) and he offers to pay and she protests and there's that cliche back and forth about who's going to pay that makes the barista a bit ticked off ( people pleasers , the both of them ) and it takes her a bit to open up but he's genuinely enthused when it comes to learning about people . so eventually she does crack a little bit , especially when the topic of coffee comes up . she used to be a barista in castelia and coffee is his passion so that's their jumping off point . after that they both surprise each other with just how similar they are ! they talk about their thoughts on self expression ( he asks about her career ) and just how important it is and their energy just gels . they end up almost gushing to each other about their thoughts and beliefs , which is something she hasn't done in ages since she's been alone for quite a while so it makes her so so happy . he didn't expect this to come out of someone like her and she didn't expect someone primarily invested in research to share her beliefs and ideas . afterwards she feels bad that she's talked primarily about herself but still . . . it feels good and honestly ? that's kind of exactly what he was hoping for and he's pretty happy himself . they both are ig , more than they'd thought they would ! she definitely goes home and screams into a pillow about how embarrasing she was tho ehhehehe

[ems-self-ships-galore]

Love Songs for Chaotic People

It had been a few days and counting, Neil was already well acquainted with Edith's rather retro music tastes. So much so that he actively enjoyed some songs from a music catalogue dating from either the 70s or 80s.

After having been stuck in overbearing silence after doing another memory traversal job, driving back to Sigmund Corp to type up some follow up reports; Edith looked over to see that Neil had pulled out a cassette tape out of his lab coat pocket. It's title read, Love Songs for Chaotic People.

“Where did you get that Neil?” Edith asked, wondering on how and where he got the cassette tape.

“Just some thrift store, nothing too important. Figured I'd compile a nice little list of retro or whatever you call it love songs,” Neil explained, popping the cassette tape into the radio.

“Oh you're sweet, I love that-” Edith was cut off when she heard the all too familiar first opening notes of a specific song that had it's rather comical connections.

Edith, knowing how typically laid back or comical Neil was everyday, just knew that this was the first song to be played intentionally.

“Neil, honey- are you trying to be romantic or did you just put this on for the meme factor?” Edith wondered.

“Both,”

“What do you mean both?” Edith asked yet again. “I know exactly what I mean. Just play the next song, you'll thank me later.” Neil told her in response. Begrudgingly, Edith clicked the next song button.

“I know you said that Top Gun was not one of your favorite movies-”

“That I only liked the soundtrack. Please don't take this the very wrong way but you can be so thoughtful sometimes, Neil.” Edith pointed out. “What does that mean?” Neil asked. “Despite being a goofball, you actually care about me and Eva. And I like that about you,” Edith stated.

“Aren't you a delight to be around?”

“Haha Neil, you're funny. Besides, did you add any of the songs I introduced to you on the tape?” Edith wondered. “Click the next song button and it'll answer you,” Neil stated.

“Please do not make a JoJo's reference,” Edith begged.

“Dido, I am only saying this because I love you- surely whenever you mention the name of this band you mean, Robert E. O. Speedwagon.” Neil stated, causing Edith to comically howl out in anguish; Neil giggling menacingly in response.

In an attempt to get Neil to stop teasing her, Edith clicked the next song button. "Hey why did you do that for?" He wondered.

"Oh shush it, you."

"Okay, Edith- you win this time," Neil admitted to defeat, knowing that he had a soft spot for the current song playing. Only this time, Edith didn't change it. She just let it play. "Giving up so easily? Last I checked, that isn't a very Neil Watts thing to do." Edith remarked. "I've had my fun, Dido- only reasonable to let you have yours," Neil pointed out.

"Wow, okay." For the duration of the drive, the two sat in silence as their most favorite song played on in the background; until Edith stopped the tape as the car pulled into the parking lot of Sigmund Agency of Life Generation.

"Dido, you owe me one." "Oh do tell me how I owe you one, Neil." Edith requested to know as she and Neil got out of the car, already walking towards the building. "Since our much needed days of break are coming up in the next few hours or so, how about I take you out for dinner and come over to your place afterwards?" Neil suggested. "I like that."

[lucycola]

Hey could you do a Spock X reader where she knows nothing about Vulcans and like keeps accidentally doing taboo things e.g touching hands or touching his ears

I thoroughly enjoyed writing this! I accidentally made it gender neutral, because I forgot what pronouns, you used. I’m sorry! I hope you like it.

WARNINGS: Fluff, affection, ignorance of affection in Vulcan culture idk. Maybe Spock is slightly OOC but who cares. I took a little liberty of giving the reader a pinch of background.

To say you were oblivious was an understatement. You weren’t a complete idiot, or anything, just innocently scatterbrained. Perhaps that was the explanation why you didn’t flinch when every you were chastised for a mistake or given a strict order by your commanding officer. As a blue shirt, you fell under the command of the Enterprise’s first officer, and his reputation as a stony, unfeeling, authoritarian preceded him. You were never bothered by this. He was most terrifying, others noted, when Captain Kirk left him in charge when unable to take the chair. You were warned about him-to never cross him and always do exactly as he said. Spock was a hard-ass. He was handsome and perhaps at first you wondered, but it had been made clear to by others he wasn’t interested in anyone.

You had met more terrifying people. You had nine brothers and a strict, often unfair and bully of a father. Commander Spock was a piece of cake. It was in your nature to be gentle, welcoming, and comforting despite the constitution of your upbringing. It was your personality. You didn’t like to let people bring you down.

You were elated alone to be living your dream, anyway. You weren’t going to let the attitude of anyone around you affect your nature or happiness.

You obviously didn’t know anything about Vulcans either.

The first touch was accidental. It always is.

You never took the Vulcan to be clumsy, but on one occasion while discussing your current assignment in passing he dropped his holotape. You both reached  for it, and in a cliché manner brushed hands. While your boss pulled away, you did not and picked up the tape.

“Here ya go!” You cheerily patted the tape in his hand for good measure, “I’ll have that report in the morning like you’ve requested, sir.”

Bypassers gawked as you cheerily skipped away. Your commanding officer only quirked a brow and went on his way.

The next time was less on purpose and more out of your kindness as your commander internally lamented about his captain’s safety during an emergency situation. He had donned the chair and even while appearing composed and direct you had an eye for spotting worry in well kept men. In an brief moment you pressed your hand to his wrist and said softly, “He will be okay. You’ll make sure of it.”

He tensed under your touch and you removed your hand a smiled.

“Report to your station, Ensign,” he said in his usual tone, no hint of distaste or approval in his voice.

“Yes sir.”

The third time was even worse. Somehow you had been suckered to prompting Spock by Doctor McCoy into reporting to an impromptu physical. Confidentiality be damned, the Vulcan’s stress levels were unusually high and it was affecting his demeanor. You accidentally overheard the nurse and the doctor whispering something perhaps about pon farr happening again, but no it hadn’t been seven years yet. Whatever that was.

“I don’t think he’ll listen to me, but if you say it’s important, I’ll try.”

“You’re his favorite, so you’re my best bet.”

“Mister Spock doesn’t have favorites,” you laughed, “But I’ll do it anyway. Someone has to draw the shortest straw. I never mind it being me.”

“Thankyou, Ensign. And good luck.”

You skipped along to the your commander’s quarters. You had never been inside and only rarely had delivered your reports to him in person when requested. He couldn’t always come to you and that was understandable.

At the chime the door slid open and though it was subtle, your boss clearly wasn’t expecting you.

“Hello, Mister Spock,” you greeted, “Doctor McCoy-”

“I am aware of the doctor’s request. As it is not mandatory  I do not find it necessary to attend.”

It wasn’t like him to interrupt you. He was tense and though he stood perfectly erect like a statue there was a little shake in his right hand. Without thinking, you grasped it to still the quiver.

“Are you alright?”

Many would expect his to snatch it away, but he didn’t and stood there. If he was caught off guard, it wasn’t apparent. His expression was unmoving and his eye contact never wavered.

“I am fine, Ensign. Report back to your duties.”

“Doctor McCoy said it was important.”

“I am not here to entertain the doctor’s every illogical human whim.” He pulled his hand away, “There is no empirical evidence to suggest I am ill.”

“You’re shivering.” You put your hands on your hip and gave him the most mothering look you could muster.

“Multiple factors such as the natural low temperature of deep space can illicit such a reaction,” he retorted.

“It’s broiling in your cabin, Mister Spock. Only people with fevers do things like that.”

“Humans, Ensign. Humans,” he corrected, “I deduce you are not aware of Vulcan biology or customs.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” you requested softly, “How am I supposed to work efficiently under an ill commanding officer?”

The way you spoke nearly convinced him to do your bidding, but still he remained stubborn.

“I do not comprehend how that would deter your work efficiency.”

You grabbed his hand again, “I am going to worry myself to death if you really are ill and you’re just trying to act like you’re alright. That will keep me from working like I’m supposed to. Efficient crew needs an efficient captain.” You winked at him.

“But Captain Kirk-”

“It’s a metaphor, Mister Spock. Now please come so the doctor can stop paging me and I can work on my report concerning the Althenian plant’s healing properties and various uses from its sap.”

“I yield,” he said after a small beat and without releasing your hand, followed you to the medbay. More people inwardly gawked watching to drag him down the hall. His face was tense, albeit slightly amused.

After reaching your destination you waved him and the doctor off sweetly and made your way back to the lab. You heart wrapped around the thought of him being ill and you hid that worry ill. A little heat bloomed in your chest at his previous touch. You brushed it away. No, you told yourself.

The doctor was only a little surprised. His suspicions were confirmed.

“I had my doubts at first, Spock, but now I see it’s true.”

“Despite Vulcan’s telepathic abilities, I cannot automatically read your mind. Elaborate, Doctor.”

The doctor chucked, “That ensign is your favorite.”

“I do not understand.”

“Who else could have convinced you to come here to let me scan you? Probably not even Jim-”

“I am inclined to follow the captain’s every order.”

“You don’t let anyone touch you like that. Especially not for a long time. If I’m not mistaken you two were practically kiss-”

“That will be enough elaboration, doctor. Please proceed with your medical assessment, as I have much work to attend to.”

The doctor chuckled again. “It’s too bad I can’t tell with that one. They act like that towards everyone.”

“Everyone,” Spock repeated flatly although it was intended to be a question.

“Sweetest soul I’ve ever met. Lights up a room as soon as they enter it.”

“Indeed,” Spock nodded, familiar with the colloquialism.

The doctor’s eyebrows raised and he grinned, “I knew it.”

You of course were oblivious to all of this as you continued through your work, happy as a clam.

After some deliberation one of your coworkers decided to explain the delicacies of Vulcan culture after viewing a friendly hand grasp as a greeting between you and your commanding officer. You were elated to see his shivering had stopped and once again he tensed under the touch, but nodded his head at your greeting. You had blushed while doing so. It was sweet, but your coworker had to break it to you as they had before when warning you last time about him not being interested in anyone.

“Vulcans don’t like to be touched, you know,” they said to you, taking you aside.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re very sensitive to skin to skin contact. They guard themselves mostly, but hand touching is extremely taboo the way kissing in public or other sexual acts are.”

“You mean...” you blushed, “I’ve been--! I hope he’s not offended.”

“Normally he’s not afraid to explain things or clear up-“ you coworker coughed,”-unwanted affection. I’ve seen plenty girls get a talking down to.”

“What are you saying?”

“Perhaps he’s forcing himself to be polite.”

“Oh, I’ve got to apologize right away!”

You felt so stupid! How could you be so offensive to him or his culture? You should have read up on his customs before truly interacting with him. It would seem like a smart thing to do-but you were so lost to the world it was embarrassing.

You paused in front of his door for the first time in your life, afraid to speak to him.

The door open quickly and you stepped back, surprised. He had looked like he had been going to leave and you sheepishly smiled, “I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir. I need to speak to you.”

“Come inside.”

You blushed at the request, wringing your hands as you entered.

You turned to him and blurted, “I had no idea what I was doing, sir, I swear. Had I known that touching you was wrong I would stop. I’m so used to being touchy-feely on Earth I forgot that not everyone-”

“Ensign,” he said firmly.

“Yes?” you squeaked.

“Had those interactions provoked me I would have made it known. I should be the one offering an apology. I should have explained what such interactions mean on Vulcan before anyone else claimed the opportunity. I assume someone took the liberty of doing so.”

“Yessir. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize.”

“Why not?’

“Because your actions did not provoke me, but precisely did the opposite.”

“What-what do you mean?” Your face was fully red and you obscured it with your hands. He let out a sound that was the closest Vulcan thing as a sigh and stepped closed to you.

He grasped your hands and lowered them from your face. His eyes were soft and the most vulnerable as you had every seen them.

He pressed his right hand that was shivering terribly to the side of your face. It stilled instantly.

“I am aware of your affection for me and I return the sentiment.”

You couldn’t find your voice and after a long moment of studying your features he leaned down to give you a kiss, warm and firm.

You gasped into his lips and pressed back.

He released you and you looked at him starry eyed.

“So it was true, what the doctor said, you said in a hushed tone.

Spock’s arms were around you gently, “Elaborate.”

“I am your favorite.”

“Affirmative.”

FIN

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies: Prologue

yeah okay I ship pinecest and I’m writing a soulmate AU nobody asks for or needs but you know what either I write it and not post it or I write it and post it so I might as well post it. If you’re not into pinecest, that’s fine, you can skip on by. TBOAS chapter 23 is coming out soon.

Regarding this fic, let me explain a few things about it. So in this universe, everyone has a soulmark that appears as soon as you touch your soulmate. It's exactly the same as theirs. Soulmarks appear regardless of age, but once you hit seventeen, you start to feel an insanely strong attraction to your soulmate whether you've touched them already or not. When you do actually touch them, you get a very very strong urge to, well. Bone. It's also very draining to be away from them for too long, so most soulmates who find each other move in with each other right away, just so it's easier on them. There are no laws against incest-y soulmates, but it is still strictly taboo. Most people think that incestuous soulmates should just live separately and not be around each other at all. It’s not gonna be the most angsty fic on the face of the earth, but there is definitely gonna be some in there. And probably a healthy amount of sexy stuff because, despite being in a happy relationship, I am also a huge pervert and like to see my ships do the do so that’s gonna happen. Buckle up. And now, without further ado, welcome to the prologue of Looks like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies. Starts under the cut.

“No one is ever ready to be a parent. We’re all just varying degrees of not ready.”- my Mom

August 30th, 1999, 10:42pm

“…and as we get closer and to the new millennium, more and more people are coming forward with opinions on the new studies indicating that 17% of mated couples are actually siblings, with an astonishing 73% majority being twins. We have one of the researchers here who has her own opinions about the issue, Dr. Eleanor Robinson. Thanks so much for joining us this evening, Dr. Robinson,” said the news reporter on the television.

Mildly interested, Mr. Will Pines took a sip of his can of Pitt soda as a blonde woman in a lab coat came on screen.

“No problem, Robert, happy to be here,” said the doctor.

“So Dr. Robinson, are these statistics true?” asked the reporter.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, absolutely. I participated in the research myself, and we made some very interesting discoveries.”

“Really?” The reporter leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What kind of findings are you at liberty to share with us?”

“Well,” the doctor continued. “We’ve found that biological sex doesn’t seem to have much of an impact on the soulmarks showing up. The rules seem to be the same as they are with anybody else- except the twins we’ve studied, their marks have been there since birth.”

“So they never have that “ahah!” moment the rest of us experience when we first touch our soulmate?” Robert wondered.

The doctor twisted her lips slightly. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. They get the same sort of… electricity when touching their soulmate prior to accepting the bond, and they certainly feel drawn to them both romantically and sexually, but that doesn’t happen until later in life.”

“Oh, so they don’t experience it as children, then?”

“No,” Dr. Robinson shook her head. “As with all children who find their soulmate early in life, while touching them does cause the mark to show up, it does not elicit any biological reactions until both parties are at least seventeen.”

“Interesting,” the reporter said with a nod. “And is it true that you support attempts to eliminate the social backlash that these couples experience?”

“Oh, absolutely, absolutely,” Dr. Robinson nodded. “Soulmarked couples are in no way at fault for their feelings for one another, and should not be criticized or judged for acting on those feelings. It’s completely biological.”

“What about the risks of inbreeding? Is that a concern?” Wondered Robert.

The doctor shook her head. “Not really, no. Soulmarked couples are at a much lower risk of genetic birth defects, because they are chosen partially because of their abilities to produce the healthiest children each individual is able to produce. So you see the statistics of soulmarked couples who aren’t related compared to couples that are not soulmarked, and the percentage of birth defects in the former is so much lower than the latter that I’d have difficulty believing it had I not done the research myself.”

So, wait,” the reporter interrupted. “There’s no risks at all?”

“Well of course there are risks, there are always risks when having a child,” reasoned Dr. Robinson. However, with soulmarked couples, the risks are vastly lower than with non-soulmarked couples. The pregnancies are much safer, the births are much safer, and the children themselves are much healthier. According to the research we’ve done, that doesn’t change in the slightest when factoring in the biological relationship, if any, of the couple.”

“Fascinating, just fascinating. Do you have any personal recommendations for parents who have soulmarked children?”

“You mean children who are soulmates with their siblings?” The reporter nodded, and Dr. Robinson tilted her head slightly in thought. “Well,” she began. “I’d recommend that those parents don’t panic or try to separate their children from each other. Even at a young age, after you’ve already had your soulmark appear, not having your soulmate nearby at all can lead to difficulty concentrating and depression. This can, of course, be counteracted with medication, but that’s wholly unnecessary if you allow the children to spend adequate time together in a way that’s age-appropriate and healthy. Supervise them, of course, but the reason most people move in with their soulmate as soon as they find out they share a soulmark is because it’s incredibly draining to be apart. As a doctor, I cannot, in good conscience, recommend attempting to have them live separately if it can be avoided.”

Mr. Pines snorted. Obviously such a thing could never happen. Not to anyone he knew, anyway.

At that moment, Mrs. Caroline Pines staggered into the room, one hand clutching the wall and the other clutching her very large belly.

“Will!” She cried out, wincing. He whipped his head around, startled. “It’s time,” she told him in a shaky voice.

In their haste to get to the hospital, he barely managed to turn off the television.

~~~~~

Six and a half hours later, Mrs. Pines had given birth to two children, a boy and a girl. She was too exhausted to give them names just yet, and when the nurse placed them in her arms, she smiled tearfully.

Mr. Pines smiled affectionately at his family. “I’ll be right back, honey. I’m going to go grab us some water bottles.”

She barely noticed him, cradling her newborn children.

Mr. Pines jogged out of the room and found the vending machine down the hall. Putting in fifty cents for each water bottle, he leaned down to grab them from the vending machine. Standing back up, he heard a horrified screech he recognized as belonging to his wife.

He felt a horrible drop in his stomach. No. No, it isn’t possible.

“Caroline!” He called out, running as fast as he could, coming to an abrupt stop at the hospital room door, his shoes squeaking on the waxed floors as he did. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Two nurses had taken the children from Mrs. Pines, rocking the newborns in their arms to calm their crying. Mrs. Pines was sobbing uncontrollably, clutching at her hair. A third nurse was desperately trying to calm the new mother down, but was unsuccessful.

“Their wrists!” She gasped out. “Look at their wrists, Will!” The drop in his stomach worsened, and dread filled his veins, but he did as she told him, gently turning each squalling child’s wrists so that he could examine them.

To his horror, he discovered what had upset her so much. Both children had soulmarks.

And they matched.

~~~

Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns that aren’t insults about my new ship? Cool, message me! I’m always happy to talk about pinecest.

[yastaghr]

Writing it Down

Summary: Gaster is messing around with science and accidentally induces an artificial heat. Luckily his husband, Sans, is willing to help.

Relationship: Sanster

Warnings: None

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26629375

Gaster watched as his creation bubbled. It was currently a bright blue and fairly caustic, but he hoped that by adding the sulphide that it would stabilize the concoction into a more useful cleaning agent. Humans were obsessed with such weird things. He didn’t understand why they needed such a wide variety of cleaning agents, but the client was paying well, it was an interesting challenge, and he needed to do something to get back into the game after so long.

This had seemed like a good plan at the time, but when he added the chemical to the solution it had… unanticipated results. For one thing, it blew up. That really shouldn’t happen in a casual lab like his, but magic always had an unpredictable factor that could make even the simplest of activities exciting.

For another thing, it didn’t burn. Most cleaning products should not be applied to skin (or bone), but this one definitely wasn’t behaving like a cleaning product. When he wiped the blue goop off of his safety goggles he discovered that the entire room was covered in a thin layer of bubbling goop, including him. There wasn’t much that was actually touching him thanks to his insistence on proper safety gear. It only seemed to have gotten on the exposed bone of his skull.

Finally, the mess it had made seemed to be giving off a strong smell. Gaster sniffed it experimentally. It seemed to invade his sinus cavities and fill his brain. He huffed, trying to get the smell out of him (really, what was he thinking?) but it was too late. The musky smell already seemed to have affected him, along with the rest of his physical exposure. He could feel his joints throbbing as magic gathered in the narrow ley lines there, the room suddenly felt too hot, and his mental process was interrupted with one thought: Sans.

Where was Sans? Wasn’t he here a bit ago? Gaster urgently needed to find him to deal with this… ah, that was what it was. The solution he had created had induced an artificial heat. Well, he definitely needed his boyfriend for that, didn’t he? Besides, Sans was his supervisor. This was definitely the kind of accident you should report.

Gaster took one second to peel back the layer of magic that lined the room and made cleaning a breeze, dumped the mess in an appropriate way, and reapplied the layer of magic. He took another second to strip the PPE off of him and wash his face off in the sink. A third second was spent writing down a few quick notes in the log. The only difference between screwing around and science is writing it down! Then he opened the door that led to their break area and sang, “Sa~ans! I had an accident!"

For some reason, that statement did not have the desired effect. Sans jumped up from where he had been making notes in his notebook. He must have gotten at least two seconds of hangtime. That was impressive. His face, however, was not. He looked scared to death.

“gaster, are you alright? are you injured? oh, stars, i knew i shouldn’t have left you alone in there. there’s a reason why you used to insist on the buddy system when working with dangerous chemicals. where are you hurt? do i need to call an ambu-” Sans scarcely paused for breath throughout the entire speech.

Gaster interrupted him, “I’m fine, Sans. It appears as though the solution I created can induce artificial heats, however. I can already feel my magic gathering, and I’m sure I must smell delicious.”

Sans narrowed his eyes at him. “really. you’re sure you aren’t just horny and want to fuck? you know, like last time?”

“Ah, no,” Gaster could feel himself blushing, “I’ll admit that was… somewhat ill-advised. I should have just told you the truth. I apologize again. However, this time I really do think I’m in heat. You can smell for yourself and check my joints for comparison if you wish, and, if you so desire, I can teleport home and make use of one of our toys.”

Sans sniffed and shook his head. “no, i believe you. you smell like musk and black licorice. just let me finish up this observation and then i’ll help you. you might as well strip while I do that.”

Gaster shivered. He loved it when Sans got so commanding. It made his whole body shiver, not with cold or fever, but with desire. He striped out of his clothes faster than he ever had before. His body, which still retained some of its goopy properties even after all this time, was glowing faintly purple. His genitals had already formed a thin, tendril-like length on his pelvis. Gaster waved it experimentally. Yes, it still worked.

Sans finished scrawling that obnoxious excuse for handwriting of his and set the pencil aside. Then he looked up, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. He stood up and sashayed over to Gaster, palming his dick almost immediately. “someone’s got a boner, heh heh heh.”

A smooth hand with a hole in its palm cupped the side of Sans’ face lovingly. “Oh, yes. Only for you, Sans.”

Sans’ grin spread. “now me, i don’t usually get aroused so easily, but your scent has got me going, doc. you in the mood for a pussy or an ass?”

Gaster sported a grin of his own. “Oh, whatever you’re in the mood for, Sans, you know that. Although… it has been a long time since I have gotten to cum inside your womb. Maybe you would oblige an old man and form one?”

“oh, you’re not that old, doc. you’ve still got the energy to fuck me senseless on a regular basis, right?” Sans joked as he wrapped his hand around Gaster’s length, pumping it teasingly in the way he knew would drive Gaster nuts. “i bet that you can cum more than once.”

Gaster countered, “I can’t do that if you make me waste a load outside of you. Please, pull down your pants and get on the table.”

“geez, buy a guy a drink first,” Sans said with a wink as he lowered his pants. His magic was summoned, the dark blue ecto body puffy and fat, just like Gaster liked it. His pussy was already glistening with precum. When Gaster ran his fingers through it it was already slick.

“Hmm, it seems like I’m not the only one who has a boner. Or, at least, the pussy’s equivalent,” Gaster said with a smile. “Now all we need is a little bit of foreplay and we can start. Oh, and you still need to get on the table, Sans. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your lack of compliance. Get on the table on your stomach, please, with your legs dangling off the edge.”

Sans scrambled to comply, just like Gaster knew he would. Being fucked from behind like that, as well as being unable to do anything about it one way or the other, were two of Sans’ favorite things when it came to sex. He loved it when Gaster took control. Just for the icing on the cake, Gaster said, “Oh, and put your arms behind your back with the forearms together. I need a good handhold if I’m to fuck you well.”

Oh, that got Sans going. He was absolutely dripping by the time he was in position. Gaster helped him get his hands into the right position with one hand while his other hand gathered up slick. Then, without any warning, he slipped a finger inside of Sans and held it still. Sans clenched around him, but Gaster had to fight this heat to not start moving immediately. He knew it would be more fun for both of them if he did this right.

It wasn’t too long before Sans pleaded, “doc, you’ve gotta move! you’re driving us both nuts when all we both want is for you to stick your dick inside me!”

Gaster groaned. Dirty talk was one of his biggest kinks and Sans knew it. “Oh, you little sneak. I’m not going to fall for it, though. I want you to really enjoy this, and you’re no masochist. I need to make sure you’re prepared.”

“Then at least move your damned finger! or, better yet, put in a second one and get to work! i can handle it. please!” Sans begged.

“Impatient,” Gaster tutted, “but you have a point.” He inserted a second finger and began working them. The wet sounds his fingers made as they scissored Sans open were music to Gaster’s non-existent ears. He listened to them, dick twitching, until he was sure that Sans could take him. Then he pulled them out to the tune of a groan from Sans. “Easy, Sans. I’m sure you’ll like what I’m about to do to you a hell of a lot more than just my fingers.”

Sans whined. “oh, please doc, slide that sexy tentacle of yours inside me. fuck, i can already picture it. please!”

Gaster obliged him, thrusting his whole dick into Sans in one go. Sans’ pussy spasmed around him, but Gaster was done waiting. He gripped Sans’ arms with both hands and set a brutal pace. Sans groaned and moaned his name, but Gaster was beyond words, at least for now. This artificial heat had built up inside of him to the point where he needed to get off before he could use words.

Sans didn’t seem to mind. “fuck, doc~ you feel so good inside me. i can feel you all the way inside me. your length is perfect for me, and this pace- this pace is wonderful! mmh, yes.”

His words only drove Gaster on faster. Soon the friction built to the point where Gaster felt he was about to cum. He buried himself up to the hilt inside of Sans and let his orgasm rock over him. Purple seed spurted inside of Sans’ womb. Gaster saw it when he flipped Sans over onto his back. The little pool of purple got him going again. He snapped his hips back and resumed his rough pace. Sans’ moans grew until they were a cacophony of sound.

“Oh, Sans, you have no idea how good this feels. You like this, huh? You like my twisty little dick cavorting inside your cunt? You like it when I make the table squeak across the linoleum with every thrust? You like being helpless in the face of my need to fuck?” Gaster asked lasciviously.

Sans groaned. “fu~ck! doc, i love it! i love your twisty little tentacle in my big, fat hole. I love the way it feels against my g-spot. oh, fuck, i’m getting close!”

Gaster moaned and sped up his thrusts. “Oh, please, squeeze your pussy tight around me!”

His husband obliged, cumming with a cry and clamping down on his dick. Gaster, spurred on by his induced heat, pounded him right through his orgasm and out the other side. Sans’ cries grew desperate as another orgasm built inside him. Gaster dragged at his hips, slamming into Sans’ pussy and stroking his good spots.

This time, when Sans came, it was with a wail. He went on fucking Sans right through it, his own orgasm just a few more strokes away. Sans squirmed and Gaster tried to pull out. He didn’t want to make his husband uncomfortable. However, Sans grabbed his arms and dragged himself back onto Gaster’s tentacle until it was buried to the hilt. “keep it up, g. i’ve got another one in me, and i’m sure you do. you still smell worse than my sock collection.”

That comment made Gaster growl and turn up the intensity from 9 to 14. “Oh, really? You think I smell bad? Or do you just want another load of cum in your chubby, tight pussy?”

Sans didn’t answer him. He was too busy trying to breathe. His tongue was bouncing up and down along with his ecto fat folds. His eye lights had gone out. Gaster grinned. He loved making Sans lose it like that. He kept on fucking Sans hard until his own orgasm overcame him. He buried himself up to the hilt again, and this time he got to see his own dark purple magic spurting into Sans’ womb. He grinned. Oh, how his possessive side loved to see that. It was so… satisfying.

Gaster waited a bit to see if the heat was satisfied yet or not. Partially seemed to be the answer. It was satiated enough to let him take a break and take care of his husband. Gaster scooped Sans up in his arms and headed for the bathroom.

[more--than--anything]

Episode Review: "Do you realize how many times this team has saved the world?" [S05E04]

This week, we see our team trying to make progress in the present, while also taking a painful stroll down memory lane—and that was even before the shocker at the end. How are we doing after that wild ride?

Y: Every week, I say to myself, okay, this was painful so next week has to get better. And every week I discover I am a fool. Such a big dumb fool because it only gets more painful.

L: I cannot keep eating so much chocolate. It just isn’t good for me. And the next episode looks like it’s going to require another truckload!

When we last saw our team, they had discovered Madeline was planning to set off a chemical bomb. But figuring things out in the present requires a trip into the past. How does wrangling their ghosts help our team piece this puzzle together?

L: When we last saw our team, they had discovered plans for a chemical weapon stored on a chip in the arm of a deceased Dabbur Zann member. They seemed stalled until Patterson unlocks a hidden file on the drive with a schematic that Kurt and Jane recognize as the weapon that they were supposed to steal for the Dabbur Zann in 4.07. Kurt blew it up when the terrorists tried to abscond with it, but it looks like they’ve managed to locate another one. To figure out what it is, Patterson tracks down the evidence log for the “mystery bomb,” and they discover it was logged in 2011, on Tasha’s first day at the NYO, which sends Tasha on a long and painful trip down memory lane to the day she first met and befriended Reade.

Yes, this episode had a high chocolate consumption factor. I cope by eating my feelings, don’t judge.

Tasha remembers being stuck sorting through cold case files with Reade on Jonas Fischer’s orders. Fischer is another blast from the past we loved to hate, and I’m kind of delighted to see his officious self back in the NYO. And not just because hating on him keeps us from getting too maudlin about mourning over Reade. Tasha can’t remember much about the case that caught her eye, except that a body was found in the river with traces of two poisons in his system, and only one of them was listed in the autopsy report. So she and Reade headed down to the lab to question a “random lab tech” who turns out to be an adorable baby Patterson with a Princess-Leia hairdo. She immediately hacks into the FBI systems to get the data Tasha and Reade are after. “If they wanted me to stay away from the databases, they wouldn’t make them so easy to access.” Oh, Patterson, you haven’t changed at all. Please never do!

Baby Patterson tells them that when “chemical I can’t remember” is combined with “second chemical I can’t remember” they create “one of the most devastating poison gasses on the face of the earth.” Because of course; we already know Madeline isn’t farting around here. Tasha digs harder into her memories at Weller’s urging and remembers that she and Reade interrogated a scientist whose company had something to do with those chemicals. Fischer interrupts and sends the woman on her way, and knowing what we know about Fischer, I have to wonder whose instructions he was acting on at that moment. He does mention that their interviewee “is a member of a very particular, very influential family.” Tasha recalls enough about their mystery scientist for Patterson to find a name: Kerry Coleman, who apparently vanished right around the time that Reade and Zapata questioned her. Jane recognizes her as one of the terrorists they exchanged shots with in the warehouse.

Tasha struggles to remember more (and honestly, her memory of Weller literally barking at her and Reade is hands-down my favorite moment in this episode). This time it is Jane (the team’s expert in recovering memories) who encourages her, using Earl Grey, Reade’s favorite tea, to provide a sensory trigger. Tasha powers through the painful memories and is able to remember the names of both chemicals, Chlorine12 and Phosgene517, as well as how they found the location where they were being stored, which helps Patterson figure out where Coleman and the Dabbur Zann could be storing them now. The team heads out to Decin, a town on the Czech-German border.

I love the way the camera cuts back and forth between the present and Tasha’s memories of the initial take-down, and how she envisions Reade’s tiny head nod, to tell her that she needs to go and back up her team. Pardon me, there must be something in both of my eyes. (Not to mention his, “Thank you for saving my life yesterday. I owe you one.”) Yeah, this is why we buy chocolate in the institutional-sized bags. But after all this pain and suffering, we finally get to see the Tasha that we know and love. She’s kicking butt without stopping to take names, and they take out the bad guys in a matter of moments. She’s baaaaack!

At that point, the day seems like a win. Coleman and some of her henchman escape, and presumably they still have the device, but the team secured the chemicals, and so Madeline’s plans have been thwarted at least for the moment. If the episode had ended here, there’d have been celebration all around. But Ivy Sands is nothing if not tenacious, and she and her henchmen manage to shoot Jane and take off with Kurt in their trunk, and is it time for the next episode yet? How about now? Now?

I love that once again it took the entire team (even Reade, sniff!) to solve this case, both in the present and in the past. They needed Kurt and Jane’s memories of the device, Tasha’s memories of the original case with Reade, plus Patterson and Rich’s computing power to crack this one. None of them could have done it alone. This team is so much more than the sum of its parts. All the parts are amazing, but when you put them together, you hit superhero level.

And I loved what this one line of dialogue says: “Okay, the authorities should be here soon so let’s split up, take our own path back to the bunker.” These people are on the run from every law-enforcement agency ever right now. But they are stopping the bad guys and then calling the police to let the authorities deal with the criminals through the proper legal channels—even though they know it’s possible that they may be putting themselves at risk. All because this is just the right thing to do. They may be outlaws, but they are still the good guys at heart.

We don’t visit the FBI NYO this week, but it’s probably for the best, given that Weitz is probably still sweating bullets and trying to figure out how to give Madeline what she wants before she kills any more of his coworkers. We do see that the team got the message about Briana. It’s a little less graphic than the message they received about Sho, but the content is the same: You help the team, you end up dead. On second thought, I’m a lot more worried that we didn’t see Weitz and Afreen this week. I hope that doesn’t mean they’re riding around in the trunk of Madeline’s car.

Which makes me think about Kurt again in the trunk of Ivy’s car. What is it with these people and trunks? Also, please pass the chocolate.

Y: I love a flashback case, especially in an episode that is mostly a bottle episode, and when the flashback isn’t just expository but also is part of solving the case. Everything about the structure of the episode was great, and what was absolutely brilliant was the editing and cutting between the present and the past and the way they played the parallels—especially when Tasha was guarding the back and it kept jumping to that same moment in the past but with Reade by her side.

And I have to say that as much as I would have loved to see Mayfair, I guess Jonas Fischer was a guest character worth bringing back in this farewell season, because boy do we hate this character but also John Hodgman is just so incredibly good.

No Madeline this week isn’t something I will complain about, but not checking in with our little Resistance does have me worried. I hope that the team learning about Briana doesn’t deter them from reaching out again in the future to either Weitz or Afreen. I understand that they would be worried about them but come on—Weitz has a redemption arc to complete and Afreen is a superhero just waiting for her moment to shine!

Our team isn’t fighting the way they were the last time we saw them, but that doesn’t mean that it’s all smooth sailing now. What ripples are we seeing beneath the water this week?

Y: There’s actually something very beautiful happening with the team right now. I know that pretty much everything that is happening to them is absolutely horrible and brutal and painful, but through all of it, something amazing has been happening. And isn’t that always the case, really?

One of the things the show is doing best right now is showing how people act, react, and exist in a situation like the one that the team is in. They’re in some sort of lockdown. They’re at war. They’re going through some traumatic shit. And every single day is a battle for survival. And when you’re going through something like that with a group of people, it’s not all drama all the time. You adjust and you adapt and you find ways to survive. And the writers are doing such a good job at portraying a very believable, relatable, and realistic version of this. There’s arguing and bickering. There’s humor and teasing. There’s joking and banter. There’s emotional breakdown. There’s snapping at each other. There’s getting fed up and storming out. There’s sulking alone and seeking out places to hide. There’s keeping secrets and inside jokes and being there for one another and listening to each other’s problems and supporting each other. For example, the way they all rallied to support Tasha this episode and help her remember and be there for her was such a wholesome thing, and yet they also manage to argue over Rich’s shopping habits and Rich hit back at Patterson’s chore wheel which was in its way also very wholesome.

The team is doing all that, and it’s amazing.

But the real winner is how through all this, they’re finding a new normal, not to get used to it and stay in it, but in order to be able to stand on their feet and continue to fight. The most important thing is that they’re finding purpose.

It’s been such a short time for the team since the season started, but they’ve already been through so much and they’ve grown and evolved so much, both collectively and individually. So let’s tackle them individually now, and let’s start with the one who is currently least problematic—Rich Dotcom.

Yup, that’s one sentence I never thought I would write. Rich Dotcom is at the moment the least problematic character on Blindspot. 2020 just keeps getting weirder.

Rich has really stepped up this year. He has become the backbone of the team—its heart and soul—and this is not by accident. Ever since he’s joined the team, Rich has steadily been on a path of redemption. He had found a home—a family—and being part of this family has helped him right his wrongs. He knows just how important this family is and just how irreplaceable it is. He knows where he would be without it and cannot fathom the idea of not being with them. His experience in the black site has really helped him put things in perspective, focus on what really matters, and he has decided to be the glue that holds this family together no matter what.

He has become the main go-to guy for everyone on the team—from seeking emotional support, to asking for advice, to getting information online or grabbing something from the shop. He’s come a long way from who we first met, to how the team saw him when he first joined, to now becoming the guy they share their secrets with and trust with… everything and anything. He’s—shockingly—become a voice of reason and at some points he might be carrying a little too much on his shoulders, but I think I trust Rich to be able to handle it. I really do. Especially since he’s still got his snark and his humor and unmatched talent to make everything lewd and inappropriate. What Rich did for Tasha this week—all of it, from picking up what she needed from the store, to being there for her, to listening to her when she needed someone to listen, and to just letting her rest her tired head on her shoulder—was immeasurable. They may have seemed like small insignificant things, but they literally kept Tasha going and kept the team from breaking.

And similarly being there for Jane when she needed him—doing what she needed him to do and also providing sound advice—even if Jane ignored that advice.

So that’s the purpose that Rich has found—keeping the team together—even if it means he has to take up a role he’s never been comfortable with or accustomed to before, then so be it. Because no one is going to break up Rich Dotcom’s family. Not on his watch.

L: I love this new role for Rich, being everyone’s go-to guy. I think he’s still a little bit surprised to be taken so seriously by everyone, but he’s more than earned it. I love that the team sends him out for snacks (at least I hope it was snacks; if the canned meat indicates it was supposed to be “groceries,” then clearly Bill Nye was right to be so concerned about Patterson’s eating habits while on the run), that Tasha asks him to get her a pregnancy test, and that Jane asks him to find info on Bethany. There is no question that they all trust Rich to keep their secrets and not share them with the rest of the group.

And in a lot of ways, this is more significant than trusting him with a gun. They are all trapped together there in the bunker. They have little in the illusion of privacy, judging by the fact that they all seem to be sharing the same single bunk room. The only thing that they have that isn’t on display for the rest of the team are their secrets. Tasha could easily have volunteered to take the snack run for Rich and picked up her own pregnancy test without anyone knowing. Jane could have taken her request to Patterson instead. But they both trusted Rich.

And I don’t think that’s a coincidence. They all have their own agendas, but right now, Rich is the only one who is 100% Team Bunker. Patterson is worrying about her father, Weller is worrying about Bethany, Jane is worrying about Kurt, and Tasha is mourning Reade and dealing with her new complication. But Rich is the only one who is fully there, in the present, completely focused on the team as a whole. He’s become the heart of this team, keeping it all together right now and worrying about the rest of them. And yeah, it’s a good look on him. He’s never really had this before; we know from the comments he’s made that he’s not that close to his own family, and his relationship with Boston has certainly been filled with ups and downs. But there doesn’t seem to have been anyone who was just there for Rich before, someone he could count on the way he can depend on this team. And he is determined to look after them in return.

And frankly, if that doesn’t warm your heart, you might want to go your ticker checked.

Y: Next on the unproblematic scale is Patterson.

Patterson had a rough start to the season, especially after the Finland op that brought her and her dad together and then they had to part ways again and it sent him into hiding somewhere in Europe. It is perfectly understandable that that op had shaken Patterson up. And if you add to that all the things pertaining to their situation and that she is completely out of her comfort zone, away from all the things she is used to and more importantly used to have under her control, then you cannot blame Patterson for not being okay there for a while. You know, we talk about Kurt being a control freak—which he is—but in many ways Patterson isn’t that different. Just another one of the many things that those two have in common in my books. Looking back, Patterson had always been like that. And as a woman of science and someone who typically is the most capable and smartest in the room, it makes sense that she feels like she needs to be in charge and needs things to be how she wants them. Remember how she was in her lab? Things needed to be the way she had them and no other way worked.

But after a bumpy and emotional start, Patterson has found her rhythm. She’s found her focus and her purpose and her head is back in the game. Unfortunately, she no longer has the best technical facilities that FBI money can buy and is forced to use normal people computers and that is just the absolute worst. But this is Patterson. Patterson is capable of things that normal people cannot even imagine and that above average people can only imagine. Nothing is going to get in the way of her doing her thing.

One of the most exciting parts of the team being cooped up in this bunker is that we’re inevitably getting scenes between everyone and getting interactions between everyone and that has allowed these relationships to develop and for intimate moments to happen between everyone. It’s allowing this team to grow and heal and develop a new dynamic that they would have never had otherwise. Naturally, Patterson and Rich are getting to spend so much time together and that dynamic which we have adored for two seasons is just getting better and better every day. But there was also another little moment with Kurt this episode that fits perfectly into this bunker living situation and highlights how this team is really living a familiar and relatable family situation. Patterson tells Kurt what happened with Tasha—out of concern for their friend—and then he offers to check in on Tasha. And then later, when she picks up that there is something happening with Tasha, she tries to coax the truth out of Rich but again, in a perfect little moment, he manages to find a diplomatic answer. There’s something notable here about Patterson and Tasha’s relationship. These two have never really recovered from the Borden working for the CIA situation. They’ve come a long long way since then, but I don’t think they ever got back to where they were before. Of course, it did not help that Tasha spent most of season undercover with Madeline, so those two never got the chance to properly reconcile. I hope that in what is left of season 5 we get to see them go back to where they once were.

And finally, there’s no way I’m going to go through the Patterson section and not bring up rookie Patterson back in 2011. There is only one word for what we saw on screen. Perfection. Pure and utter perfection. Everything from the quirkiness, to the sass, to the neediness, to the hair and the glasses. Absolutely perfect.

L: Rookie Patterson is adorable. I loved how the flashbacks showed us the seedlings that grew into the team we know and love. Even as a “noob,” Patterson couldn’t resist the lure of hacking into a system that was supposed to be keeping her out. She’s a control freak who follows the rules, yes, but we see here that she’s always been a bit of a hacktivist who is willing to bend the rules for a good cause.

And yeah, I think that someone who alphabetizes her board game collection by the name of the game designer is probably not someone who would ever be comfortable with a life on the run, so the fact that she’s coping this well is probably due in great part to the fact that she simply keeps working, while the rest of the team around her sleeps, goes on junk food runs, or agonizes over personal conflicts. If she stopped working, she’d have to deal with this new reality, but the team needs her to keep working and finding them leads to chase down, so she is just going to keep on going.

Even if that means having to deal with “normal-people computers.” Patterson, we feel ya, especially those of us who are trapped at home with “normal-people internet access.” Really, she’s dealing with it quite admirably.

But yes, I totally agree with you about Patterson and Tasha’s friendship. Patterson seems like the more logical choice for Tasha to have confided in, and the fact that she didn’t shows that there is still some distance between them (despite both being members of the “love of my life got killed trying to help me” club). Which brings us to Tasha.

Y: Ah, Tasha—she who has the most problems right now. And not that we blame her. Ever since she took that undercover op for the CIA, things haven’t been going great with Tasha. Honestly, just with what she went through in season 4, I am in awe of how she still manages to wake up in the morning. And you add to that everything that has happened since? Tasha Zapata deserves a statue in her honor.

There’s a part of her that is missing—and those flashbacks showed us just how important that part is. Not only as the man she loves but as someone who has been her partner from her first day on the job. Her other half when it comes to being an agent. And the is why the flashbacks in this episode were so important. Sure it helped them solve the case. But their true purpose was to bring Tasha back to us—the Tasha we know and love and desperately need right now.

The flashbacks in this episode were such a powerful tool. They weren’t just a great tool to bring Reade back and give us a sneak peek into the past. But they were so powerful because Tasha was really living in those two timelines—emotionally and mentally. I personally love a good flashback episode. But this was so much more. Like I said above, it helped us solve the case, helped bring Tasha back to us and was a great window to her emotional and mental state. But more than that, this felt more like an origin story than just any other flashback. From the first day we met them, we knew Tasha and Reade were the best partnership at the NYO and getting to see how this partnership came to be was fantastic. Looking back at them now, nine years on… they really were such an incredible pairing and a formidable partnership. There was always something special in their dynamic and the way they worked off of each other. The banter, the trust, the way they challenged each other, and the friendship and love that grew between them has always been one of our favorite things on the show and seeing how most of it was there from day one just makes it all so… bittersweet.. Even from day one, their individual strengths shined through, and it was clear just how well they completed each other in the office and in the field. They had each other’s backs from the beginning. She’s relentless in her pursuit, and he’s more logical and structured, but together they could do anything. They shared a powerful bond and understanding—both professionally and on a personal level. I loved seeing how even on the first day, she helps him keep his job, which is something we saw her do repeatedly over the years. And at the same time, we see how he guides her fire, and she constantly challenges and pushes him, and he drives her to do better.

It was really great seeing Reade again and the episode provided a reminder that he was so good at what he did. And the best part was that he was part of this case and helped them solve it even if he wasn’t there—through the flashbacks and by his memory helping Tasha through the day.

That little nod in the end—when Tasha almost froze again—was all she needed to be reminded of who she is, what she is capable of, why she started doing this in the first place, and why she is doing it now. And she’s back in the game and no one is gonna stop her—which is great because the team are really going to need her at the top of her game next episode.

Going back to where it all started helped her remember who she is and what she is capable of and why she does what she does. She found her strength and her drive. Knowing that Reade will always be with her and always be a part of her, and that his memory and their history will always be something she carries with her, will make her stronger and motivate her. Tasha has found her purpose and she’s all in. The pain and heartache are not gone, but they are not crippling her anymore either. Like she tells Jane and Kurt when they as if she’s okay—“No, but I will be”—Tasha knows the road to healing is a long one, but at least she owns it now and has had some sort of closure, at least the kind that provides focus and purpose. And hope. Hope is a powerful thing.

Oh, and Tasha is pregnant by the way. This storyline will give us so much to work with when it comes to Tasha’s character and her arc, and I’ll let L go into that more, but I will just say that just the fact that it gave us that beautiful moment between Rich and Tasha is enough for me.

L: All of this!

That little moment after Tasha tells Rich that she’s pregnant when she puts her head on his shoulder? That got my heart almost as much as the Reade scenes this week. Tasha is so tough and dangerous that it says so much when she’s willing to admit weakness, even for just a brief moment.

And I agree that her grieving was a necessary stop on the road to healing. She’s been kind of drifting since the premiere, stuck between the past she can’t let go of and the present she can’t make herself participate in. The universe (ahem, aka the writers) seems pretty cruel to have thrown this particular case at her at the exact moment she figures out she’s pregnant. That’s almost too much for anyone to bear, even someone as tough as Tasha.

I’m sure there are opinions on both sides about Tasha’s pregnancy. Yes, I know it might feel as though it came from out of left field. (Although it shouldn’t be terribly surprising, since I’m pretty sure Ice Cream’s rustic fishing shack didn’t have a condom dispenser in the bathroom.) And it’s been three months, so yes, she could have figured this out a little sooner. But I’m going to say that she was able to write off all the indicators as the stress of her situation, if she was even paying attention to them at all in her haze of grief. (And also, this is Blindspot, where baby math is apparently non-Euclidean.)

But I have to say, in this situation, I’m in favor of this plot twist. Tasha is, as we have noted before, a wildcard. Over the seasons, we’ve seen her go from gambling with her life’s savings to gambling with her actual life. Reade was the one person who kept her grounded, and losing him would likely have sent her spiraling off into greater and greater risks, especially if she could justify them as necessary for protecting her remaining family. On that trajectory, I could totally see Tasha sacrificing herself at some point later in the season. But a baby changes everything for her. Protecting Reade’s child, and thus, herself, is a game-changer for Tasha, giving her just as much responsibility for keeping herself alive as the rest of the team.

I loved how each member of the team reaches out to her this week, one by one, taking turns, giving her pep talks, helping her focus on her emotions or a particular sense to help jog her memory. Yes, they have to do this to track the case. But they all know how incredibly painful this is for her, so they are also all reaching out to her to help her not only remember but also wade through the painful feelings that trying to remember is digging up. And I think that goes back to what Yas said above: Even in all of this turmoil, the relationships within this team are strengthening. They only have each other, and they are all determined to make sure that they don’t lose anyone else, in any way.

Also, apparently the entire bunker is now stealing clothes from Weller’s closet. In 5.01, it was Rich borrowing one of his signature denim shirts, this week it’s Tasha. Maybe on his next supply run, Rich can pick up some more clothes?

Our power couple hits a bit of a rough patch this week. And just like Rich, we hate it when Mom and Dad fight. How do they get through this, both separately and together?

Y: We haven’t seen Jeller angst like this in quite a while. But before we get to the angst, let’s just take a quick look at what went on with Jane and Kurt separately during the episode. Finding the chemicals, of course, was the top priority this week but in them being so, it meant that everyone on the team was focused on helping Tasha get through the tough emotions and remember. And both Jane and Kurt played a big part in that and were amazing at it.

The weight of leadership and the way she was thrust into the role is really not a thing that Jane is taking lightly. She knows how important her role is and the responsibility she now carries. She is trying her best and doing a good job at it. I just love how she helped with Tasha pulling straight from her own experience, and she was so gentle, patient and understanding.

Another Jane moment I absolutely loved was her going to Rich and trusting him with the favor she needed. I loved it because on the one hand, it showed just how important Rich has become to all of them but also because it’s another sign of Jane being such a great leader. A great leader knows the strengths of those around her, acknowledges what they’re good at and delegates and trusts them. And Jane is doing all of that. Also, I love how in so many small things you can see how she’s picking up on things that Kurt used to do when he was in charge and sort of learning from him.

And speaking of Kurt and his leadership skills, he didn’t just sit back during all this either. At the end of the day, this is Kurt Weller. And the minute Patterson tells him that Tasha is going through something, he jumps up to help. Kurt might not be your go-to guy when it comes to having a heart-to-heart or sharing feelings. But he does so well with Tasha. I loved the moment they shared—both aware and sympathetic to each other’s pain and heartache. These two have so much in common when it comes to building walls and closing up, so seeing them like that is a beautiful reminder of how close these people are and how much they genuinely love each other.

L: Jane and Kurt are both driven individuals. When they are working a case, neither one will rest until they’ve seen it through to the conclusion. And the stakes have never been this high with any other case, so it’s no surprise that they both keep trucking despite what’s going on between them personally. Which is good, because this week they’re hit with a doozy.

It’s been a while since we’ve seen Jeller at odds. But every marriage hits its rough patches, and in this one—as is often the case in real life—it’s not really anyone’s fault.

Let’s start with Kurt. Look, I can’t imagine missing one of my kids’ birthdays, so this is another one of those moments that really hurts to watch. And knowing that Bethany is too young to understand where Kurt is and why he’s not with her makes it even worse. When Jane tries to reassure him by telling him that Allie is keeping her safe, Kurt asks, “She gonna explain where I am? Or why I’m a fugitive now?”

And that’s the thing about having kids... They make us want to be better people than we were before. And they make us want to make the world a better place for them. Kurt wants to be a hero to Bethany, and he wants to save the world for her. But in order to be a hero and save the world, he has to let her down, both by his absence and by the possibility that he could fail—he could never clear his name, or he could die in the effort, and all that she would never know of him is that he died a wanted fugitive. That’s a really hard pill to swallow on top of all the hugs and giggles and sticky kisses that he’s missing out on, all the life milestones as she learns to read and ride a bike and toss a frisbee without him. No parent could cope well with that.

So Jane isn’t at all wrong to want to do something for him to try to comfort him in the face of all that hurt. We have such a sweet scene where she frames Bethany’s artwork for him. And she’s not wrong to want to give him something more to go on, so her reaching out to Rich makes sense. And honestly, so does waiting to be sure that the information checks out. Why get Kurt all upset if it turns out to be a false alarm? Really, her only questionable call is holding off from telling Kurt once Rich confirms that the child in the hospital is in fact Bethany.

Which brings us to Kurt. As much as we love the big lug, he can be a little bullheaded about the people he loves. If someone he cares about is in danger, he’s the first out the door to rescue them. It’s his blindspot, if you will. And we don’t have Reade around anymore to talk him down when he’s on a tear like that. So knowing what we know about Kurt? Honestly, if I were Jane, I’d have waited to tell him too. At least until after this op was done, so at the very least he wouldn’t be distracted out in the field and get himself killed. But maybe even afterwards, because I could totally see Kurt donning some horrible disguise and stalking out of the bunker to the airport, yelling at Patterson to get him a good fake id and a plane ticket home, and I’m not even sure that Rich blocking the door and brandishing his hammer would be enough to stop him this time.

But all that said, I also understand how betrayed he feels, knowing that Jane could keep something like this from him. Trust is another one of his hot-button issues, and Jane knows that she’s breaking his trust by keeping this news from him. And as Rich so accurately puts it: “When has keeping things from each other ever backfired for this group, right?” Ouch. The truth hurts. Part of the issue here is the timeline... with all the flashbacks, it’s hard to get a good sense of how much time has elapsed. Has it been a couple of hours since Rich located Bethany or has Jane been sitting on this intel for days? If it’s the latter, Kurt’s response is more understandable.

So as with a lot of marital discord... they’re both wrong and they’re both right. But honestly? This marriage is pretty stable, for all that their lives are in upheaval right now. By the end of the episode, they’ve both cooled off enough to appreciate the other’s position. They know each other, and they trust each other. Kurt knows that Jane wouldn’t have kept something like that from him forever, and maybe he’s willing to admit that she was right to be worried that he’d try to get to Bethany and end up in jail instead. And Jane knows that Kurt values her and her safety, too, so there’s also a good possibility that he would have realized that trying to rush back to the US would put Jane and the team in danger and hurt their chances of clearing their names and bringing Madeline down.

Y: After a couple of episodes of these two switching roles and raking turns supporting each other, this week saw Kurt and Jane getting into their worst fight in a really long time. I’m going to have to take sides here and say that even though I understand what Kurt must have been feeling and I empathize completely with him and my heart shatters for him—and I will get to him in a minute—I also completely understand Jane’s point of view and her reasoning and her logic. But at the end of the day, in a situation like this… reason and logic maybe take a back seat.

Except for that one thing she did wrong, Jane did everything right.

Jane was incredible here. She framed Bethany’s drawing. She went to Rich to get information on Allie and Bethany. Jane is suffering so much, but she is putting her own pain aside to help everyone else heal. She just wants to make things better for her husband on this very hard day. How could you blame her for that? She’s bending backwards to accommodate everyone but still keeps finding herself having to apologize. Even her decision to not tell him is from love. Her only intention was to protect him because like she said he would have lost his head and put himself in unbelievable danger and put Bethany in even more danger. And this is what these two always do. They protect each other. Yes, keeping secrets has always been the one thing to come back and destroy them and you’d think they learned but under the circumstances… I really get Jane here.

But at the same time… I also get Kurt…

Kurt Weller just cannot seem to be able to catch a break this year and it breaks my heart watching have to deal with all his worst nightmares at the same time—being a fugitive, being hunted, working outside the law, clashing with his Jane, being separated from his daughter, not knowing anything about her, being unable to get in touch, and on top of that, learning she’s been hospitalized and not being able to do anything about it. Not being able to protect those he cares about has always been Kurt’s trigger, so you can just imagine what this does to him—and it’s not just anyone. It’s his daughter. And it’s happening on her birthday—the first that he has missed.

Just take my heart and stomp at it, why don’t you?

These two haven’t had a fight this bad in quite some time. And the angst experienced last season was a whole different kind. So it was really hard to watch them like this, to watch them go through this and yet despite it all that bond between them was still as strong as ever. Kurt—as heartbroken as he was from being away and heartbroken that Bee is sick and Jane kept it from him—out in the field still looks to Jane as his partner. When he “called their formation” when they arrived at the warehouse, putting Jane with him, it reminded me of that episode in season two when Jane had told him about Emma and it sent Kurt into a similar spiral. Back then, when it came to being in the field, he told Jane that she was still the only one he trusted out there. And that will never change.

But it all just hurts so much! So so much!

And at this point of the episode—knowing what we know of the next episode—I really thought that the writers were going to leave it at that and have them go their separate ways on bad terms.

I was expecting that angst but not at all ready for it. But luckily for us, Jane had other ideas. God bless your heart, Jane Doe. And bless you for this amazing growth you’ve experienced that has taught you that the best thing to do after a fight is make up and clear the air because nothing is worth risking something happening between you two. They’ve gone through so much and Jane knows that at the end of the day the most important thing is what she has with Kurt, and she will do anything to fix it before separating.

I am so proud of Jane for doing this. It couldn’t have been easy, and I think this is the most emotionally vulnerable we’ve seen Jane this season yet. She’s been hurting as well. And she’s been pushing everything down and ignoring her own hurt but when Kurt is pushing her away, when Kurt is upset with her and when there is a rift between them, that is when Jane can longer ignore her pain and no longer push it down. He’s her rock. He’s her other half. And she needs him now more than ever. She cannot do any of this without him and the thought of this being possibly the last time they see each other then she cannot even bear the thought of them parting ways and still have this between them.

The apology/make up scene was just… it was so so so good. Everything about it was… so good. The dialogue was perfect. Simple. A few words spoken but so much was said. And they were both so broken and vulnerable… I just… I need so much chocolate just to get through the last few sentences of this review. Jane admitted she was wrong, but she also let Kurt know that his pain is hers, that she too is hurting, that her heart is broken too, and that everything about this whole thing is terrifying for her as well. And when she says that, Kurt does that little shake of his head and he realizes that in focusing on his pain, he’d failed to notice that his wife was falling apart as well. And just like that, he doesn’t blame her anymore, he doesn’t direct his anger at her anymore, and he realizes that she genuinely was just trying to protect him. He realizes just how much pain she is in and Jane being in pain is the absolute worst thing for Kurt.

Every time I rewatch the scene, I am overwhelmed with the feels but especially seeing the tears in Jane’s eyes, the absolute and utter desperation in her voice, and how Kurt’s voice is shaking and cracking and breaking… and then Jane does that simple gesture of gently touching his face and he tells her he loves her and I collapse.

L: But honestly... isn’t this how it should be? Marriage doesn’t mean you’re in lock step all the time. (Or if it does, my husband and I have been doing it wrong for a couple of decades now.) You’re not going to get it right all the time. You’re gonna screw up, you’re gonna fight, you’re gonna hurt each other. What matters is how you deal with that. Do you double down and refuse to consider that you might be wrong? Or do you think about your partner and how much you trust them and then consider things from their point of view? Do you get stuck on one issue, or can you focus on the bigger picture? As Jane says, “Our lives are so unpredictable right now. If we go our separate ways and something were to happen...” That is the big picture, that is what matters right now. Staying together, being united, getting through this as a team, stopping Madeline, getting back to their families... that’s what matters. And that’s what they show us that they both realize at the end of the episode.

There is one thing I need to vent about here. We’ve heard about Kurt missing Bethany and Patterson missing Bill Nye. But we haven’t heard one damn word about Avery, the daughter that Jane was trying so hard to build a relationship with back in season 3. I understood shipping her off to college in season 4; it would have seriously complicated everything that Jane was going through when she reverted to Remi. But surely Jane deserves a throw-away “I miss Avery too” line of dialogue? Yes, Jane missed a lot of years with her, and yes, she’s older than Bethany, but that doesn’t mean that she loves her daughter any less than Kurt loves his daughter. Love doesn’t accumulate by credit hour like a college degree. Jane has her full complement of Remi memories now; she remembers all the months she carried her daughter, and she remembers the pain of losing her. And she remembers all the tiny fledgling steps they took toward building a new relationship when they were reunited.

Surely Jane would worry about what Avery thinks about her now, just as much as Kurt worries about what Bethany thinks; does Avery believe that Jane is really a terrorist? They know that Madeline isn’t above using their families as leverage; wouldn’t she lose sleep worrying about Avery’s safety? Especially since Avery has no other parents or guardians to look out for her safety, the way Bethany does. She’s probably still attending classes at Brown, with no protection whatsoever. Instead of “I miss my daughter, too,” we get a generic, “Being cut off from our loved ones is hard on all of us.” Which would be fine if she was talking with Patterson or Tasha. But this is her husband, the one person who knows how much Avery means to her and how she agonized over that relationship. She can be honest with him, and the fact that she doesn’t even mention Avery in this context really bugs me.

----------

That’s all we’ve got on this episode. If you need us, we’ll be curled up in the fetal position, overdosing on chocolate, and stressing out over 5.05. Come visit our ask box and freak out with us!

—Laura & Yas

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 110

It was hard to make heads or tails of any of the information you’d pulled after that night. Whether “Kilgrave” was a first name or a last name- or more realistically, probably was a fake name. It didn’t appear anywhere. No records. No whispers. No murmurs. But, you supposed that was easy for someone like him. Anyone he came across he could talk into unwilling subjugation until his time with them was over. ...except for you and that woman-

Jessica Jones. While you’d disagreed with Tony and told him you had no interest in watching her or spying on her, JARVIS had delivered his findings to your email the next morning. You sat in your office, third cup of coffee steaming away, you’d stared at the subject line for a long time. A long time, wondering if you should just delete it. 

Then… you clicked on it. And let your eyes look for all of two seconds. Enough to get her name. Place of residence- and then you deleted it. 

She’d been abducted, same as you. She’d found a way out, same as you. Now she was angry. Her path diverted there. You’d fallen into a deep depression and guilt after surviving that incident. She just seemed on a warpath. There was nothing you could do to help her, especially considering she thought you should have done more in the first place. Because if you had, she wouldn’t have been taken and forced to endure whatever he’d done to her. 

Were you a coward? 

A thought that plagued you the rest of the day. Maybe you were. Maybe you really should have done more. Gotten out of bed sooner. Talked to Fury. Went on a search effort with your team. Done anything other than waste away and suffer- ...which then led to other people’s suffering. Deaths, too. No telling how many. 

It was this dark cloud that formed over your head that kept your next week preoccupied. You tasked Pepper with pulling all the recent MTA bus accident reports- quietly. And when she asked why, you simply told her you needed to check up on something important. There was a quiet tense feeling in your heart… one that continued to grow the more incident reports you went through and found nothing. A great testament to the city you were in that there were so many accidents on record. Pedestrians getting hit and buses needing to be repaired. 

But as for fatal accidents…? None on record. There were a few buses that had reported significant damage, and the inquiries that had been done to get insurance to pay out had been all over the place for the handful you’d discovered. Was it possible that the city of New York was covering up hitting someone and killing them? Sure. You wouldn’t put it past the governing body. Especially not after all you’d been through. But… it was extremely troubling, to say the least.

Jessica had been telling the truth. You were sure of that. But she was telling a truth she thought she knew. Had she seen Kilgrave get hit by a bus in the middle of a road? Sure. Had she seen that his injuries had been devastating? Also sure. Had he died? ...not so sure. There was no record of it, if he had. And that was upsetting. 

Did he have healing factor, like you? Had he crawled his way somewhere and was resting up right now? It was entirely possible. Maybe even more likely than you wanted to admit. While Jess had blamed you for a lot, things that may have been true, even… part of you wanted to be done with it anyway. You didn’t want the universe to ask you to try and make this right. And yet- 

“Have a minute, honey?” 

You’d been staring blankly at your computer screen for the better part of twenty minutes now. Tony’s interruption was not entirely unwelcome, but it took a great deal of effort to muster a smile for him. “A few. I have to get ready for a couple meetings downtown.” An investor and pitch meeting respectively that you were a little under-prepared for, but it didn’t really matter. 

He came in and perched himself on the corner of your desk as you turned towards him. Reaching down, he took hold of your hands in his. “I was thinking about taking some time off. Call it an early Valentine’s vacation.” 

“Oh?” Smiling a little more easily up at him then. “Where are you going?” 

He shrugged. “I’m not particular. How about Fiji?” 

“I hear it’s nice. Do you want me to put you in for paid time off?” Teasing him, just a little. 

His small grin was worth it. “You, too, if you’d please. As long as the big boss thinks it’s okay.” 

“The big boss says…” Holding out the thought on a hum as you pretended to consider it. Was it wise to take off right now? Nothing needed your immediate attention. Your research was turning up nothing, and becoming more and more troublesome the more you dug and didn’t find what you were looking for… “...sure. Fiji. Why not.” 

He lifted both your hands to press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. “I’ll cook tonight. We can go in the morning.” 

“Oh.” Smile bright then. “Cooking, too? Must be a very special occasion. What are you making?” 

He pressed another grinning kiss to your hands before letting them go and moving to stand. “You’ll just have to come home and find out.” 

Leaning atop your desk, you let him get all the way to the door before you called out to him. “You say it like you expect I might not come back otherwise.” 

Raising his pointer finger in a little shake, “Always good to incentivize.” 

                                                       ----

Pepper came and got you when it was time to leave, and both she and Happy accompanied you in and out of your meetings. It was unfortunate that both meetings also ran unbearably long. The people within them wanted to give you every little facet of information possible, even when it was probably clear (rudely so) that your mind was elsewhere and you weren’t really interested. Nonetheless, you tried valiantly to put your best effort forward and take their folders and information when everything was said and done. 

You put in a call to Tony just as you’d left your last meeting of the day, letting him know that you were going to be home soon and, of course, you were sorry for being late. The sun had long since gone down and the city was unbearably cold, still. 

Even going from the warmth of the car to the warm lobby was terrible. And while your mind was on a million different things, especially as you half realized Happy and Pepper were both talking to you, passing by the main foyer on your way to the elevator, something caught your eye. Something… very terribly out of place. 

You left both your companions waiting for the elevator as you made a quick turn around to approach a child sitting, purposefully, as far away from the front desk as he could. He was wearing clothes that really were not suited for the freezing winter that was still holding over the city- just a small windbreaker and ripped jeans. Hat with some sports logo you didn’t recognize. Bulky backpack over on his shoulders. Head down, pretending to be engrossed in whatever game he was playing on a very obvious piece of beat up, perhaps well loved, Stark Tech. 

“Excuse me.” You called out to him, carefully, but he pointedly ignored you. Coming to a stop in front of him you tried again. “Hey- are you waiting for your parents? Are they upstairs?” Perhaps someone who worked was running late, same as you. 

He just shook his head, though, but didn’t look up at you still. 

No? “Are you lost? Did you get separated from a tour group or something?” Maybe he’d wandered into Stark Industries while his parents had their back turned. “Do you need me to call someone for you?” He mumbled out something and you leaned just a touch in. “Hello? Excuse me?” 

Heaving a terribly annoyed sigh, “I said no. Leave me alone.” 

Right now was not a good time for you to be interacting with a rude child. Your nerves were paper thin and you just really wanted to go upstairs and relax with Tony. But you couldn’t very well just walk away from this kid. “I’m afraid I can’t just leave you alone. You’re in my lobby, unattended.” 

“Your lobby-” Finally he lifted his head, reaching up to tilt the brim of his hat back to give himself more visibility. He had a dirty face, some wispy pieces of dirty-blond bangs hanging down from his hat, and blue eyes that widened just a touch when he leveled them your way. “Oh.” Realizing, finally, just who he might have been dealing with. “Good. Come on. Let’s go upstairs.” 

It was a little too much to ask of you to not make a face at him- which you promptly did. “Upstairs?” 

“Yeah. To like- you know. The place where you live- actually- I wanna see the labs first- see if it’s all it’s made up to be.” 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” When the kid just rolled his eyes at you and then turned his attention back to his game again- as if to say- I’m not talking to you anymore unless you do what I say- you decided to play this game for only a few seconds longer. Although… you did catch a bare hint of hurt rolling off him. “LUNA.” Turning away from him, you crossed one arm and pressed your earring to activate your visor with your other hand. Catching his now very interested gaze, at least until he got caught and looked down again, “Scan and identify please.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“How’d he make that?” Looking up again at you briefly, brows raised. 

“Nanotech.” 

“But how?” 

“I don’t know, you’d have to ask him.” 

The kid scoffed with another roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. “Psh. Figures.” 

Before you could reach down to yank him up by the strap of his backpack and throw him security’s way, LUNA spoke up. “That’s Harley Keener, ma’am.” A short profile window popped up. Twelve years old. Last known address somewhere in Rose Hill, Tennessee. 

The fight (that you would have had with a child) escaped you as you looked at him again. “You’re Harley- the kid that helped Tony in Rose Hill.” Saying it just a little in disbelief, as much as you were also parroting the information to let him know you now knew who he was. 

“I did more than help.”Proud. 

“Oh?” 

“I saved his life. Bet you didn’t know that.” Staring you down, now. Now a little insulted.��

“I didn’t.” Truthful with him. Tony hadn’t really talked a lot about what had happened while he’d been stuck there. Mostly because it had been shadowed in his mind by the importance of you being kidnapped and exploding. But… maybe you should have asked him about it… He served you with yet another eye roll and you tried to ignore it. “What are you doing here? Your parents know you’re here?” 

He looked very upset very suddenly. “I’m basically thirteen, I can go wherever I want.” 

So that was a no. “You ran away from home?” 

“Who cares.” Dropping his eyes again to press very hard at the buttons on his game. 

You tried to hold yourself very steady. “I care, Harley. Tennessee is a long way from New York-”

“It’s not even halfway across the country.” Making a face at you that very much implied he thought you were extremely stupid. 

“-for a child to travel, so if you ran away, they’re probably looking for you-”

“What do you know? Why don’t you mind your own business. Don’t you have papers to file or something? I don’t need you babysitting me. Leave me alone. Go away.” 

That was twice now, that this child had insinuated you were beneath Tony’s level. You wondered what he really thought of you. But- that’s what he was. A child. So you had to remind yourself not to give in to him. He’d run away from home, for who knew what reason- probably not a good one- and had come a long way seeking maybe the only friendly face he thought he could count on-

Harley looked up. “You just gonna stand there all night with your mouth open?” 

Forcing a very tight smile at him, you quickly turned away, holding a hand up to stop Happy who was lifting his shoulders at you, still waiting at the elevators. “LUNA call Tony, please.” 

The call connected in just a second, and his live feed popped up in your visor. “What’s up, honey? Traffic that bad? You could always just meet me on the deck-” 

“I need you to come down to the lobby. Now. We have a situation.” 

He looked a little unnerved. “...what kind of situation? Is this an Iron Man is needed in the lobby type situation? JARVIS hasn’t reported anything-” 

“No. This is a Tony Stark is needed in the lobby situation. Now.” 

Knowing better than to argue, “Coming, honey.” 

You kept a smart distance between yourself and Harley- he seemed uninterested, anyway, still playing his game- while you waited for Tony. It took him only a minute to get downstairs. A relief, really. But as he came out of the elevator with his hands raised in question, you went over to him, settling a hand on his chest and aiming only the sweetest of smiles up his way. “I realize now- in our five year talk the other night- we never discussed children.” 

He paled a little, arching one brow. “Children?” 

Pressing your lips together in a tight smile, you patted his chest. “I don’t think I want any.” Leaning up to press a little kiss to the corner of his mouth and then getting out of his way. You sensed he was looking at you as you walked away from him and into the elevator. 

But as you waved to him, and he waved back, the doors starting to close as he turned. And you heard his very surprised call. “Kid!” Happy to see him, maybe. Didn’t matter. Harley was waiting for Tony, so he could have him. Clearly you were not involved. 

                                                      ----

Upstairs you took a long series of deep breaths to settle yourself, slipped out of your heels, and dropped into a kitchen chair, eyeing the dinner Tony had made. Some kind of glazed chicken and sauteed veggies with rice- he’d really been stepping up his chef game lately, something you appreciated. Far more than just a breakfast man. A bottle of expensive wine was chilling in a bucket, glasses aside it. 

Waiting. Waiting for the both of you. This was supposed to be a nice meal the two of you shared together. You were supposed to be enjoying your time with him. And now… now instead you were pouring yourself a glass to drink by your lonesome while you wondered what on earth Tony was going to do with that kid in the lobby. 

The proper thing to do would be to call his parents. Tell them to come get him- or, more likely in the event that they couldn’t, put him on a jet with Happy and send him home. But… seeing as Tony didn’t return after fifteen minutes, you guessed that was not what was happening. Which was worrisome. 

Maybe they were just catching up. It had been a little while since they’d seen each other, and while Tony never talked about him, you knew he’d been looking out for him from afar. At least in the way of sending him some money and some tech to fill out his garage. But you thought that had been a one-off thank you sort of thing- 

And what had Harley meant by I saved his life? Things had been pretty dicey, during that little misadventure. You’d known he’d been fighting off those terrible AIM agents that had had their genes altered. To think they’d gotten in a scrap so bad that Tony had nearly died? Or maybe the kid was exaggerating, as children tended to do. It was hard to say. 

What you knew was that the two of you were about to have a serious problem. Because you were a quarter into your third glass of wine, going over work emails, when Tony finally returned- an hour and a half later- and he was not alone. 

The excited harried footsteps of that young boy spilled out across the foyer. “This place is so cool!” You heard him throw his backpack on the floor somewhere. “Where’s my room?” 

“Guest bedroom is two doors down on the left- just- take it easy. You’re making scuff marks on my floor.” 

“Can we order pizza??” His voice trailed off and you heard a door open and then slam closed and then open again. No telling what the hell he was up to. Looking around, maybe? 

There was a soft air of hesitance, same as his movements as Tony came up behind you. Dinner had gone cold, you didn’t want to eat without him. As he finally stopped next to you, laying a hand on your shoulder, you aimed a deservedly foggy look up his way. Quickly deciding to lay down what little bit of law you could. “He can’t stay here, Tony.” 

“Look- I know- I agree- but-”

“No buts. We can’t just- we’re looking at a kidnapping charge, honestly. How did he even get here? Call Happy and get him to take him back-”

“Alright, honey- just, will you lower your voice? Please?” Nervous. 

But he was right. You took a breath. The kid was no doubt listening. He’d run away. Probably for a reason. Whether or not it was a good one, you didn’t want him to hear you and Tony arguing. In fact, after the way he’d treated you- what he seemed to think about you- that was the last position you wanted to be in. For him to think you and Tony weren’t a team. 

So you stood suddenly, Tony having to help you as you wobbled only a little, and you took his hand, leading him to the elevator. Quickly you got in. “JARVIS drop us half a floor and stop.” 

“Descending.” 

The perfect place to be alone. Once the two of you came to a stop, you crossed your arms feeling a chill creeping in and looked up at him. “I don’t know what happened to him but he needs to go home. Tomorrow.” 

“His home situation is… not ideal. Best I could get out of him was his dad came back and sold all the stuff I sent to junkers. Mom doesn’t want any part in it. Works for a living with two kids. Hard enough as it is.” 

Being open and candid and honest with you. ...it also put a wrench in your plans that Tony seemed pained for this kid. Sad for him. “Was his father gone for a long time?”

“Six years, last we spoke. So. ...again, not ideal.” 

You drew a breath and tried to let it out as evenly as you could. “...so what do you want to do about it? We can’t keep him, Tony. He’s missing school right now. And even if his parents are shitty, they’re bound to notice he’s gone eventually. And that’s not a story we need out there. That we’re harboring a child that isn’t ours.” 

“I know. Honey, I know.” Reaching up, he smoothed his hands up and down your arms. “I agree. On all accounts. I just… I need a little time to figure out what to do.” 

He wanted to help Harley. It was burning inside of him. The need to try and fix this. You caught a small ripple from him- ...he felt… responsible for some reason. “...okay, Tony. A little time.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Smiling at you then. “I work great under pressure. Should be able to knock this out in a couple of days.” 

Since the two of you were settled and agreed on this… you tried to get your brain to move. “I guess I can- we had a program on the docket. I can move it up. Stark Internships for gifted children- at least that way we can pretend he was invited or… something. And he can get school credit-” 

“See? This is why I love you.” He warmed very suddenly, drawing you further in. You laid your hands and face against his chest, just breathing him in. “Thank you.” 

“But- if he’s staying-” Craning your head back to look up at him. “He’d better watch that attitude of his.” 

“He can be a handful-” 

“I won’t tolerate him talking down to me.” 

“I’ll warn him.” 

“You better. He seems to think I’m stupid.” 

Tony grinned then. “Worst mistake a person can make.” 

You pursed your lips at him. “Yeah- well. He also seems to think I’m beneath you.” 

“Oh. Well he’s got it all wrong.” 

Sliding your hands up his chest to brush the sides of his neck, “You tell him that.” 

“I will. But- you know how kids are at that age- probably thinks you’re full of cooties.” Shifting half back, arm moving to hold you steady around the waist, he pressed the button to signal the elevator to go up to the top floor again. But, before the doors opened, he aimed a curious glance your way. “...you really don’t want kids?” 

“I- I cannot have that discussion right now. ...why? Do you?” Not sure what to make of that. Or what to think. The two of you had certainly never had a real conversation about it. And… to think Tony wanted a child? Was that right? Did he seem like the sort of person who would? ...maybe not before all of this. But now…? 

He hummed out a thought, leaning in, nose brushing yours. “No no. You have a fair point. Let’s table that discussion.” Retreating, quickly. 

It was a simple kiss he laid to your lips, but you wanted nothing but to melt into it. Your arms looped around his neck, holding him there. It would have been nice to go to bed after all this. But a very over dramatic sound of disgust greeted the two of you a few seconds after the door opened. “Eugh. Can you like- not do that in front of me? It’s basically child abuse.” Harley was sitting on the back of one of the nearby couches, swinging his feet- shoes still on- against the cushions. 

He seemed like an entirely different kid than the one you’d met in the lobby. Something about spending just a little bit of time with Tony had put some light into him. ...it was kind of sweet. 

“Get your feet off my couch.” Still. You had to take some charge here. 

He rolled his eyes, head lolling to the side. “He paid for everything, that makes it his.” 

Tony put his hands up. “Actually, kid, this whole Tower is hers. She designed it. Every room. And- between you and me- she’s kind of the boss around here.” 

He scoffed. “You’re lying.” 

You crossed your arms, waiting patiently. Seeing how this would get sorted. Tony went over to him. “I’m not. She’s the boss. Owns the company. ...you didn’t know that?” Grinning a little wryly at him. Baiting him. “Hey. It’s okay. We all make mistakes. By the way- even if it wasn’t true- I’d still side with her.” 

“Ugh.” Hanging his head back like he’d been dealt a terrible blow. Tony had picked his girlfriend over him? “Gross.”

 Tony simply smiled. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Stepping closer you hooked a thumb to the side. “Shoes off my couch. Now. ...and tell me what kind of pizza you want.” 

Harley looked at you, regarding you, perhaps thinking about what decision he should make. Wisely he pushed himself off the couch and stuck his hands in his pockets. A little shy suddenly. “I dunno.” 

Tony crossed his arms. “He wants anchovies.” 

Livening up again immediately, “I do not!” 

“Sure you do. You’re always telling me about your great love of little fish. I think it’s weird, but, hey, everyone’s got their thing.” Grinning at him again. Teasing him. 

Harley pushed him. “Stop it- I do not-!” Play-fighting with him as Tony laughed, holding him at bay. 

...maybe it was the wine talking but… For the first time since you’d been together the thought crossed your mind that… Tony might make a wonderful father. 

 ...some day.

[weaverlings]

dictionary definition

so this is another thing that mostly happened because I wanted art of Cecil and Carlos cuddling but I can’t draw well enough for that so I had to try to write something that captured the feeling

and god knows we need some fluff right now

ao3 link

cw: animal death (Glow Cloud-related)

Perfect was a word that had waxed and waned its way through their relationship. 

Once, Cecil had described Carlos this way first and foremost, had understood him mainly through this: that Carlos was an epitome of a person, beautiful and intelligent and really any other positive adjective you might choose. Any adjective, and Carlos was the superlative of that.  Cecil had reported on this extensively: playing with the words, unable to make them sound wrong in any way.

And Carlos had known that this was true about Cecil, too. Known and feared, because, well, from the perspective of mere facts and logic, there were so many more unknowns than that one, large, looming known. These had included, but were not limited to: his danger meter never dipping below blood orange, the incident at the Pinkberry, and simply how long his funding would last. Of all that he feared in Night Vale, perhaps the most frightening was this: Cecil's feelings were mutual. It was the least scientific thing he had to be scared of, but that was only a contributing factor. 

So Carlos had hypothesized briefly: if he didn't even know how long he'd stay in Night Vale, it would have been deeply foolish to initiate a relationship, even when there was a man with a voice like that (always, always written and described and thought as such - there was no suitable scientific descriptor beyond italics), and who spoke with it so enthusiastically about, well, everything. Cecil loved the world the way a scientist did, Carlos thought, and that was perfect. 

Why couldn't he say it as easily as Cecil did? Carlos felt like he understood the weight of it better. But maybe that wasn't a fair statement. He couldn't assume that it was anything better or worse. Different. It was just different.  Even when they did start dating, when Carlos had learned something about fear and something else about innocence, and when Cecil still insisted on perfection.

Cecil learned otherwise soon enough. He understood that Carlos was not perfect any more than he was, and it was only after the risk had passed that Carlos could explain a key component of his own fear: that Cecil would see Carlos for who he was, imperfect, and that would be it. Over. Done. 

Like: Carlos was private to the point of pain, but then, Cecil had a warped idea of privacy in the first place. 

Or else like: 

"You know, you're just ruining perfectly good coffee," Cecil chided over breakfast, as Carlos stirred in milk and sugar.

"It's science, babe. Milk binds to tannins in the coffee, making it less bitter. And less bitter things taste better. Ahh, science." Carlos nudged their mugs together. "Cheers!" 

Cecil learned, and they persisted. That, on its own, was not enough enough for the risk to pass. What really did it was: Cecil wasn't perfect, either, and Carlos wanted to stay with him, anyway.

Like: Cecil had no boundaries between his personal and professional lives, while Carlos maintained his so carefully that he had accurate pie graph to show how he divided his day.

And sometimes: 

"Oh, my god, how can you see? Give me that!" Carlos held out his hand for Cecil's reading glasses', his own microfiber cloth at the ready.

Cecil shrugged, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I can see just fine."

No, they were not perfect, and this would not tear them apart melodramatically or break them up quietly. None of the dates ended awkwardly, or, many of them did. But it was comfortable. It was mutual, one of many things they could share. And Carlos learned another thing about fear, and the shape of perfection in his own mouth. 

Because there was also this: the living room couch, again. Not always, but usually. Cecil, running his fingers through Carlos' hair, catching strands gently, murmured, "Perfect. Oh, my perfect Carlos…"

And Carlos caught Cecil's free hand, kissed his palm and agreed into it, "Mhm. Perfect."

A quiet evening. Just them and the rhythmic thuds of dead animals hitting the roof, following a contentious school board meeting earlier that day. But they'd just had their roof repaired, so it was fine. Better than fine. 

Perfect, Carlos thought, although that time, he mainly meant it for emphasis.

- - -

They waited on the plush vinyl bench for the host to notice them and run away screaming. They leaned in close to each other, speaking in hushed tones about Lance's poor arachnid identification skills - he had tried to offer a scorpion coffee, thinking it was a sales tarantula. They laughed in whispers, as private as anything in Night Vale could be. 

Carlos shifted on the bench. He glanced down and smoothed his skirt and took in the shape of Cecil's legs, crossed over each other.

"Oh, you're just perfect," Carlos said, as if struck suddenly. He was. One hand cupped his fiance's cheek, and the other held Cecil's hair back, to perfectly reveal a deep flush. Cecil's mouth opened, with wonder and desire and all the heat that he could feel in his face, and it was a beautiful expression. 

Carlos said, "You're beautiful. There's no scientific definition of beauty - the one scientific thing about beauty is that it's subjective. But if anyone thought otherwise, they would be wrong. You're beautiful. Perfect."  

"Carlos…" Cecil breathed.

"Don't argue. It's definitely science. There's only one scientific thing about beauty, yes. But it is a scientific fact about you that you are beautiful. In conclusion: so there." He kissed Cecil on the forehead. 

Cecil smiled slowly, giddily. "Uh-huh. Okay. Whatever you say, Doctor."

He looped his arms around Carlos' neck, and pressed a kiss to his lips. "This is perfect, isn't it? This… I never want it to end..."

The host shrieked, and sprinted into the restaurant. They knocked over their own stand in their hurry to flee, and it clattered with a violent ambiance that perfectly suited the Tourniquet dining experience. 

Cecil stood up. "But also, I'm actually pretty hungry. Sounds like our table is ready. Shall we go, my dear?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'm starving." 

Cecil offered an arm, and Carlos allowed his fiance to escort him to their table.

- - -

Cecil rolled over in bed. He had been perfectly comfortable before; his only reason for shifting was to lay an arm over Carlos' chest and press his face into his husband's neck. He nuzzled into Carlos' skin, which smelled faintly of formaldehyde under the lavender of his soap. Cecil nuzzled and kissed and cooed. 

"Perfect Carlos…"

Carlos set his phone down on his nightstand, and lifted Cecil's chin to kiss him. Cecil sighed into it, squeezing a remarkable amount of adoration into a single breath. 

"Scientifically speaking, that is my name…" Carlos tapped Cecil's nose and then, finally, just asked. "Hey. What does that mean to you, anyway?"

"What? You? You mean everything to me, Carlos."

Carlos shook his head, and then cut the gesture off to nod. "No. Oh, well, yes, you, too, but. I meant perfect. What does perfect mean to you? Because it seems like you've always thought that about me, and I, well, a lot of things are mutual. Mutualism is a scientific concept that isn't really relevant here. But that's mutual, too - what you said. 

"And I've thought about what perfection means to me: it means, if reverence can be teasing, or if love can be stillness and not something with wild momentum. Except that's all hypotheticals - not a hypothesis, because I have no idea what the result of those conditions would be, and also you're not perfect, and I'm not either. So I guess I still don't get it?"

He flopped back onto his pillow and shrugged into it, and lifted his hands palm-up to carefully emphasize his confusion.

"Ah," said Cecil. His lips twitched, his eyes flicking back and forth thoughtfully, until he settled on a smile. "Well, maybe I have some science for you."

"Oh?" 

Cecil arranged himself onto his elbow, leaning over Carlos. "Yes. I was talking to Nilanjana before I picked you up the other day. I was like, 'Hey, Nilanjana, how's the experiment going?' And she said it was going perfectly, which I thought was weird, like, nothing is perfect, right? Perfection isn't real. I told her that. I, uh, may have scoffed it."

He paused, straightening Carlos' lab coat over his nightgown, and then not letting go over the fabric. He teased the lapel in his fingertips, undoing his own adjustment as he went on, "Anyway, she explained to me that while one way to understand perfect is 'free of flaws,' that's not the only way. It can just be..." 

Cecil released Carlos' lab coat, and shifted further, lying almost on top of Carlos. Carlos' breath caught, and Cecil asked, "Is this okay?"

Carlos shifted an arm, reaching up to lay a hand on his husband's shoulder. "Oh. Yes. Go on."

Cecil let his body settle over Carlos', careful about the amount of pressure he applied. But he knew what Carlos liked. He balanced himself on an elbow again, bringing himself close to his husband and kissing his cheek. With his other hand, he caressed that oh-so-perfect hair. 

"Right… Perfect can just be something that is at its best, or most complete. And a lot of the time, people take that to mean that it's free of flaws. But it can just mean… You know, complete. You wouldn't add anything. Or take anything away." Another kiss, just because, just at Carlos' temple. "It can just mean that something is the way it's supposed to be, and why can't that include some flaws?"

This time, a string of kisses, tracing from Carlos' temple over the strands of gray in his hair.

"You are everything you are supposed to be. What that is may change - no, it will, and it will still be perfect, because it's you. You are always perfect, because you are always everything you're supposed to be, and I will always, always love you for it. I will never not love you. You will never not be perfect to me." 

Carlos tilted his chin up, an invitation for Cecil to kiss his neck which was promptly taken. Carlos said, breathlessly, "Oh. Okay." 

Cecil laughed, "Okay?"

"That makes a lot of sense. Scientifically, I mean. And I like it. Speaking personally, just, you know, for myself - I like that definition of perfection. And you. I love you!"

"Yeah, well, guess what? I love you, too!" 

That was perfect, and it was human, and it was real. 

[besidemethewholedamntime]

and i will always love you ~ chapter 6

Fic Summary:

“He feels sorry for her. It’s hard not to. Except it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still the child of an eminent politician, using her wealth and status to arm herself in ways that others in her situation couldn’t. Fitz has protected all kinds of people who’ve done the same thing, and every last one has been a complete and utter wanker.”

When an accidental discovery causes nationwide outrage at Dr. Jemma Simmons, Protection Officer Leopold Fitz is the one called upon to be her bodyguard. It starts off as one thing and ends quite another. A bodyguard au.

Chapter Summary:

A chapter that contains:

The moment that has finally arrived.

{Read chapter 6}

{Read from the beginning}

or read chapter 6 below!

She says it casually one morning while she’s busy report writing and he’s busy sketching.

“Oh, Fitz! We could go to the beach!”

He screws up his face and keeps on drawing. “What? Today?”

“Not today,” she draws out. “But the weekend? You’re working this weekend, aren’t you?”

He thinks back to his schedule, hastily written on a post-it note. “Unless anything major happens then yeah, I am.”

“Excellent!” She actually claps her hands together and he wonders how bored she is. Her last running experiment finished days ago and, still banned from anything new, she’s grown restless.

“Well yeah, maybe for you it is,” he mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Fitz closes over the sketchbook and looks at her. “Why’d you want to go to the beach?”

“A few of my friends have made this whole plan to go, as long as the nice weather holds up, of course, and I’d just… well I’d really like to do something that’s not here, for once.”

Jemma Simmons wanting to escape the lab? It must be serious. “I can’t stop you from going to the beach. If you want to go then I’ve got to come.”

She huffs a little bit. “You could act a bit more excited than that.”

“Yay beach day!” He adopts a falsetto whilst clapping his hands as Jemma’s frown only deepens. “What? Was that not good enough?”

“Ugh, Fitz,” she says, going back to her report writing. “You really are insufferable.”

-x-

It’s been a long time since Fitz has been to the beach. He’s never been a fan of them. When the weather’s nice enough to actually visit one it’s usually far too hot for his fair complexion and he ends up spending the whole time underneath a parasol slathered in factor fifty, fanning himself with the tinfoil from the sandwiches. As the weekend looms closer, he finds himself looking out the window in the morning and hoping against hope that it will rain.

Except it doesn’t, of course it’s doesn’t because the universe is spectacularly against him like always, and on Saturday morning when he opens the dingy off-white curtains in the hotel room the sun shines straight into his eyes and blinds him for a minute.

He could have said no, citing some unreasonable security breach that Jemma wouldn’t have believed for a second but might have gone along with anyway. He could have phoned in sick, but considering that Jemma’s been sharing a room with him for the past five days she might have noticed that. He could have simply told her that he doesn’t want to go, but the look on her face in the lab now causes such an ache in his chest, a yearning to do something that he knows he never could have said anything against it.

They go to Jemma’s flat first to pick up some beach attire that she neatly packs into a bag in two seconds flat. She then turns to Fitz and asks, “What are you wearing?”

“Eh,” he frowns, looking down at his jeans and t-shirt. “This.”

“Oh, Fitz,” she gasps. “You can’t go to the beach in those. You’ll melt!”

Well now she tells him. “Well I didn’t have any else with me now, did I? Not like we planned to go to the beach.”

“Why do you have to be such a child all the time? We’ll simply go to yours and pick up some things.”

Which would be all fine and well except Fitz doesn’t really own any beachwear, but it seems a little bit too late now to say such a thing. Which is how they end up at Fitz’s flat, with Fitz raiding Hunter’s wardrobe for some shorts while Jemma waits in the living room. He eventually finds some that don’t make his legs look too skinny and pale and, after a minor fight about who gets to drive (which Jemma wins) they are on their way.

It’s all so stupidly domestic that he has to physically remind himself that this isn’t some couple’s day out at the beach. This is a job. It’s all part of the job. The longer the job goes on, though, the more everything that came before seems to fade. This has become his life. Day in and day out with Jemma Simmons. It’s as bizarre as it is true, and he only finds himself falling further and further, entangling himself more. Fitz thinks of Bobbi’s advice, wonders what could be the worst that could happen if he told her?

Everytime he gets close to wondering, his heart rate accelerates, a headache builds behind his eyes and he finds himself terribly afraid. If that’s what he’s like with what’s in his head, then how would he react if the actual situation arose? He leans back in his seat and tries not to think about it anymore.

“So?” He asks, checking the road the same time as Jemma as she joins the motorway. “Who are these friends of yours we’re meeting anyway?”

“Oh, you know, friends,” she waves a hand before realising that it’s meant to be on the steering wheel. “I suppose you could say the equivalent of what you have with Hunter, only with less beer.”

He frowns. “That worries me, you know.”

“You really shouldn’t worry, Fitz,” she laughs, before going on to describe the friends from her university days that are closer to her than her own family. There’s Mack and Elena, who sounds lovely from all accounts but not Hunter-esque. Then she gets to Daisy and Fitz goes ah.

Daisy this and Daisy that, Jemma speaks of her so much that she becomes almost a legend, making Fitz nervous to meet her. Which is ridiculous, really, because what kind of bodyguard gets nervous meeting friends? But those little butterflies are there, making their presence known, and he almost wants to ask her to open the window as they speed along at exactly 70mph so he can stick his head out of it in case he needs to be sick.

But eventually Jemma moves on from Daisy’s highlights into some other, questionable territory, and while the butterflies still flutter, he feels decidedly less nauseous.

“Is Daisy by any chance the one who destroyed your bed the time you left for a work conference?”

Jemma peers at him for a second, surprise on her face. “Yes, she is. How did you know?”

“Just a feeling I had.”

He must look nervous, face betraying his thoughts, for she tells him, “Don’t worry about meeting them. They’ll like you.”

“Pft,” he scoffs. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I like you.”

It hangs in the air, stops his heart, and for a moment he cannot breathe. Except it shouldn’t be a surprise. Of course she likes him, just as he likes her. He’s been protecting her for a while, the longest job he’s had. They work together, practically live together… by each other’s side the whole damn time. They click. Of course she would like him… just as a friend.

“Well,” he tries to grin, hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. “At least that’s something.”

If he gets nothing else, at least he has this.

-x-

They eventually make it to the beach and Fitz’s stomach settles considerably once he gets introduced to the whole gang. He’s warmly greeted by Elena, clapped on the shoulder by Mack. Daisy smiles at him and says hello nicely enough, but there’s a glint in her eyes that’s not quite dangerous but close enough.

Jemma, after applying sun cream, makes straight for the water followed by Mack and Elena, leaving Fitz and Daisy with the bags and towels on the sand. Fitz fidgets awkwardly, wondering what he should say. He’s here in a professional capacity, but nobody else on the beach is paying much attention to Jemma on this busy day, and without the need to be on high alert his thoughts are whizzing around his head. Conversation would distract him and he turns to Daisy to try and make friends. It seems she has other ideas.

“So, what are your intentions with our friend Jemma?”

He feels like a deer trapped in headlights, and he tries to stumble out an answer. “Eh, well, I’m her protection officer so my intentions are just that. To protect her.”

Daisy rolls her eyes, reaching into one of the bags for a drink. “Please, cut the crap.”

“Hey! It’s not crap. That is what I want to do.”

“Fine. But it’s not all you want to do now, is it?”

It’s a hot day and his face is already pinkening with the sun so he hopes the heat rushing to it for an entirely different reason isn’t too obvious. Daisy’s right, of course, but it’s not like he’s going to admit it.

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he says, turning away from Daisy and looking to the sea where there’s a competition between Jemma and the others to make the biggest wave. This is a different Jemma, one different to the one in the lab and the moments when it’s just the two of them. He’s learned that there’s probably countless different Jemma’s, each slightly different parts to the one enchanting whole.

“Oh, come on. Even the way you’re looking at her just now,” Daisy huffs. “You’re so into her I’m surprised she can’t see it.”

“So she doesn’t – she doesn’t know?”

“Aha! I knew I’d get you to admit it eventually!” Daisy cheers triumphantly, raising her can of juice to him.

A trained officer falling for such a trap, he wonders if this would be grounds for dismissal. “Alright, fine. Maybe there are feelings there, but I know it could never happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s bloody unprofessional, that’s why. People should be protected without wondering if their protection officer fancies them. Would taint the whole profession, give us a bad name.”

Daisy sighs. “Alright, drama queen. Chill.” She turns to look at her friends as well.  “It’s not creepy if she feels the same way about you.”

“She doesn’t,” Fitz says automatically. “I would know if she did.”

“Oh really?” Daisy raises an eyebrow. “Just like she totally knows how you feel about her.” When he doesn’t answer she groans. “God, the two of you, for being such accomplished adults, are actual kids.”

He starts to half-heartedly protest but Daisy stops him with a hand and, chastised, he has to admit that maybe she’s right. This game that he’s been playing with himself, the burying his head in the sand, would have been fine if he were still in school. Except he’s not. He supposes this is what Bobbi and Hunter were trying to tell him. Maybe he just needed it to be from a stranger to finally get it to sink in.

“Look, Fitz,” Daisy turns back to him, eyes soft. “I know I’m just some stranger you met like half an hour ago but I do know what I’m talking about. Jemma Simmons is a good friend, one of the best I’ve got. She’s a good person who deserves the world and I can tell that you two would be so freaking cute together I would probably vomit.”

Fitz drops his eyes to the sand. “I’d love to have your confidence,” he mumbles.

“Jemma and I go all the way back to our boarding school days. I’ve known her a long time and I know when I’m right about her. She doesn’t do things without a reason, she doesn’t leap into the void she… she doesn’t take chances! It’s not been easy for her, then or now.” Something in Daisy’s voice makes Fitz meet her eyes again, finds a determination in them burning like a flame. “She deserves something good.”

“And what? You think that’s me?”

“I think it’s what you two could have, what you’ll make together. That’ll be something pretty amazing.”

At first, he felt affronted, but now he feels that maybe it could be possible. Airing the thoughts in his head, giving them room to breathe, has changed his outlook. It doesn’t feel so unreachable anymore.

“You don’t even know me,” he says. “How can you be so sure?”

Daisy shrugs. “Jemma doesn’t shut up about you, which is one thing, but also Mack’s friends with a certain Bobbi Morse and well….” She smiles. “We all know how chatty that ex-husband-slash-boyfriend of hers can be.”

“God, Hunter,” Fits groans, cradling his head in his hands. “Probably half the stuff he’s said are lies, right. I promise.”

Daisy just smirks and says nothing, taking a sip of her drink.

They talk mindlessly for a while, which is nice after the emotionally-intensive start they had. Fitz learns a lot about Daisy; she’s a genius with computers, has a wicked sense of humour, ran away from boarding school three times, and once lived in a van. Daisy share stories about Jemma, about how she was never quite as supportive of her ‘bad girl shenanigans’ and lectured her constantly, but was always there to pick her up when she fell.

“You’ve known her a long time,” Fitz says, more thinking out loud than talking directly.

“Yeah, I told you that at the start,” Daisy laughs. “But yeah, we’ve been though it all together. We’re each other’s family at this point, you know?”

Fitz nods, knowing the feeling acutely. “I get the feeling her mum and dad are a bit…”

“Not there? Yup. I can relate. Her dad’s alright, really. A bit closed off, a bit absent, but nothing traumatising. It’s her mom you have to watch out for. I met her once when Jemma let me stay for Easter break and she was chilling. Like seriously, I’ve been in front of freezers that have given off warmer air than her.”

“Oh?” Fitz listens on in surprise. Jemma’s few mentions of her mother have never been favourable, but they’ve never gone into a depth such as this.

“Oh yeah. She’s the calculating one in the marriage, the political sniffer dog. Got her claws in everything and chasing every opportunity. Dangerously high standards, too. Jemma’s never admitted it, but I think it hurts her that her mom doesn’t care what she’s achieved as opposed to what she’s yet to achieve.”

Fitz sees how that could be so, knows something himself of dangerously high standards. Only his dad walked out when he was ten, and his mum has always been careful to be proud of him, to make up for what happened in his early childhood. To still be living with it now, on the cusp of thirty… Jemma Simmons is a stronger person than him.

“She’s achieved so much, though. She made such an amazing discovery!”

“You know it, and I know it, but the rest of the world and her parents just can’t see it.” Daisy shakes her head. “Parents eh?”

“Parents,” he agrees. You can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Sometimes it seems like all they’re good for is screwing up their children. Then he remembers his mum; his sweet, sweet mum who looked after him in those first few weeks after his car accident. Some, not all. A lesson he’s learned already during this assignment.

“You’re a good friend,” he says to Daisy. “Rounding on a man you don’t know for the sake of your friend and all that. It’s admirable.”

“I’ll do a lot worse to you if you hurt her,” Daisy warns. “But thanks, Fitz. You’re a good guy, and I think you and my best-friend will be awesome together.”

He only manages a shy smile before Jemma comes bounding back up to their spot, shaking the sea out of her hair as she grabs for a towel. Clad only in a bikini, she reaches over Fitz who coughs and looks away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Daisy roll her eyes.  Mack and Elena aren’t far behind Jemma, and when they catch up Mack throws Daisy a questioning look which she responds to with a nod.

“So,” Jemma begins, and Fitz notices straight away how different her voice sounds, much lighter and carefree. He’s glad he came. “What have you both been chatting about?”

Fitz laughs awkwardly. What to say? He settles for some version of the truth. “Everything.”

Jemma cocks her head, raising an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Nothing,” Daisy clarifies, shooting him a dark look. “Just chatting about stupid stuff, you know? Movies and snacks and that kind of thing.” She jumps up, clapping her hands together. “Now who wants ice-cream? If I’m not mistaken, I think it’s Mack’s turn to buy.”

-x-

It’s late when they get back to the hotel.

They’d all stayed out late, having a barbeque and watching the sun go down. It was like being a teenager again and for those few hours he had felt invincible, like nothing in the world could trouble him at all. Drunk on sea air and the idea of love, Fitz has come up with what he’s been trying to all along – courage.

“I should probably go for a shower,” Jemma says as she flops backwards onto her bed, “but I’m just so tired. I had such a good day.” She props herself up on one elbow, eyes glowing as she looks at Fitz. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he says, finding that he means it. “It was great.”

He flicks on the bedside lamp, half listening to Jemma as she says how good it was to just have fun for a change, to relax, to see her friends again. Now that he’s back indoors, the spell has worn off somewhat but there’s still enough magic running in is veins to convince him that this is a good idea. So what if he doesn’t have a good plan? Does anybody ever have one when they feel like this? He can’t quit, can’t move on and this is all that’s left. Tonight is the night; he can feel it in his bones.

“Fitz?” Jemma’s voice breaks through his thoughts and grand plans, reminding him that the moment is here and now. “Are you alright?”

“Yup.” His voice is shaky, though, betraying the nerves that are of course still there. “I just… can we talk?”

Jemma laughs. “It’s what we’re doing right now, aren’t we?”

Being by the sea all day has made them silly. This carefree version of themselves, momentarily unburdened from their responsibilities, is refreshing. Unsustainable, of course, but refreshing nonetheless.

He laughs in spire of himself. “I suppose we are, but a… different kind of talking.”

“Oh.” Jemma sits up. “That kind.”

Unlike the night that she stayed at his flat, the bravery hasn’t deserted Fitz yet. His heart is thumping underneath his t-shirt and his cheeks feel hot for a different reason other than the sunburn, but he is not so afraid as to throw the chance away.

He sits down next to her on the bed, looking down at his hands as he tries to put the words together in his head. “So, I was, ah, talking to Daisy today…”

“Oh,” Jemma says again. “I kind of thought, I mean, I saw you two talking and your face did that funny thing when you’re talking about something you don’t really want to talk about and I just knew she’d pester you.” She looks up at him through long lashes. “I’m sorry, Fitz.”

“No, no,” he hurries to say. “Don’t be. She helped me realise things.”

“Really?” Jemma’s voice sounds odd and he can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement driving the change. “What sort of things?”

“All sorts of things,” he says. “But mostly that you’re, well you’re pretty amazing, Jemma, and I know we’ve only been working together for a short time but I just, I can’t imagine going back to a life without you in it. And I know that you said that you wanted to be friends after this ends but I don’t want to be just friends… I’d like to have something more than that.”

He’s finally able to meet her eyes, breathless at the end of so many words that he didn’t rehearse at all. Jemma looks at him for one second, then two, and it’s three seconds later before she smiles and says in a voice that sounds unlike any other voice he’s heard her use, “So what are you saying?”

What is he saying? He doesn’t know, not really. Just getting to this part is the only achievement he considered without getting laughed off. Any further and he is completely in uncharted territory. “I’m saying…” he says, taking a deep breath. “Well, asking, really, is if you would like to go to dinner with me. Dinner that’s in someplace nice.”

Jemma’s moved closer and he didn’t even realise. “I would love to,” she grins, eyes bright. His heart thumps in victory. “Only…”

Oh no. There’s no way to survive this fall. He regrets his entire life in this moment, only managing to squeak out a, “What?”

“I just don’t think I can wait that long,” she says, inching ever closer. “Who knows when this will be over?”

His breath comes easier into his lungs and he takes back all those thoughts he thought only a moment ago. “So – so what do you think we should do about that?”

“I think,” she murmurs, so close now, the closest they’ve ever been to one another, “that we should stop thinking and that we should just do,” and kisses him.

It’s a little clumsy because it’s late and because they’re silly, but it’s also familiar. She tastes of salt and hope and love and they move with each other with an imperfect synchronicity that they’ve had from the start. In this moment he feels invincible. It feels exactly right.

When they break apart, foreheads touching, he already misses her. It’s gone to his head already; this feeling has made him drunk.

“That was…” Jemma begins.

“Nice,” Fitz finishes.

Jemma raises an eyebrow. “Nice?”

It’s like his brain has just taken a back seat, letting his mouth just have free reign. “Very nice,” he assures her. “Very, very nice.”

She shakes her head, unable to hide her smile from him. “I think it was very nice, too.”

They both smile, suddenly shy, and for a moment neither of them speak, overcome with the implications of it all.

Fitz goes first.

“So does this mean that we’re just not doing dinner or?”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma sighs. “Shut up.” And she kisses him again.

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Drunk Punch Love 2: Chapter 1

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089466/chapters/54170929

Part 2- Chapter 1: Breathe Again

"Wake up, Shepard!"

As she fell through the haze of darkness and brain fog, she saw flashes of dark space, burning light, and bright blue eyes. When her eyes started to flutter open to a blindingly white lab ceiling and the loud voice sharpened until she could identify it as a woman's. Memories were starting to come back to her, and she was only more confused realizing that the last thing she knew, her lungs were popping and she was dying. On instinct, she clutched her chest, but her lungs were functioning just fine, sucking in normal air.

And based on the heart thudding in her chest, dying wasn't the case anymore.

She didn't really have the time to think about that for long, though. Between the overcom instructions and muscle memory, she basically ran like a bot on command. Anya understood she was in a Cerberus facility, and she got that yes, she did die, but they brought her back, and that this Jacob guy was way too friendly. But past that? She just shot shit and hoped it worked out. Lucky for her, some of her muscles felt even nicer than she remembered.

By the end of it, she was helping out the uncomfortably attractive Miranda person and too-friendly Jacob survive their own base. The weird part, though, was having other people all up in arms about protecting her. Because from what she could gather, the organization pumped billions of credits into her.

If she was ever asked how much weight on her back might finally break her, billions might do it.

Anya still couldn't quite wrap her head around it. Culture and firefights were her wheelhouse. Economics were not. All the numbers and metrics Miranda kept throwing just gave her dark flashbacks to when her mother abandoned her in Alliance accounting to "learn a thing or two" and she just ended up hiding in a closet.

Mostly unrelated, that's how she met her first crush, Ryel. He was also hiding from "learning a thing or two".

Honestly, Anya wasn't even sure her brain knew how to process linear time until they were back at another Cerberus base. Jacob had asked her some questions about her record and memory, but she did that on autopilot.

Hopefully she answered everything right.

When she finally felt like she could count her fingers in a row without getting distracted, she was already being thrown in front of the infamous Illusive Man.

He blabbered on about his investments and creations and all his plans for her, like any manipulative movie villain. Shepard was quick to cut him off. "What stops me from taking the resources you give me and heading straight back to the Alliance?"

Looking a little shocked, he laughed. "I can't help but admire your bluntless, however ill-advised." His fingers twined into each other as he sat on his asshole chair. Anya wished she could kick the hologram over, but she knew what that kind of look meant: a planned answer. "Let's put it this way, Shepard: you're basically walking around with a Cerberus receipt on your back. Go back to the Alliance, too up in their own asses getting defensive instead of offensive, and you'll be grounded until they decide you're not a spy. I'll give you much more flexibility, as long as you take my concessions."

"And what are those?"

"Use my ships, my people, my contacts. Hunt down the Collectors. Pull together dossiers that I suggest and you like. Do whatever you want, just make sure to send reports back to me."

"So I don't have to follow your dumbass orders?"

"Unfortunately, you seem most effective on your own." It was at least a little satisfying that he seemed genuinely annoyed by that fact. Guy might be an asshole, but a pragmatic one. "As much as your ideology and attitude pain me, Shepard, you are the best shot humanity has. Backing you is the only option."

"Understood." Shepard paused, not sure if she wanted to bring up the people that mattered most to her in front of him. But when it came to saving lives, she needed to factor them into the equation. "Any of these dossiers for my old teammates? People I trust?"

"Wrex and Tali are tied up with their people. Kaidan is an Alliance boy, through and through. T'soni is deliberately elusive, and Vakarian has gone dark. But I do have one surprise for you."

Anya's heart had already stopped dead at the thought of Garrus being MIA, but there had to be more to it. He had to be alright. Cerberus was a shady organization with a wealth of information. "Gone dark" couldn't be it. Maybe they had a few clues and, if they passed them along, she could find him. After all this, she couldn't come back to a galaxy without those bright blue eyes in it. Her favorite, dumb turian had to be somewhere and she had to be able to find out where. She opened her mouth and said, "Wait-"

But the Illusive Man gave her a wave and the most irritating smirk she'd ever seen in her life. "We'll talk again soon enough, Shepard." And then he disappeared, leaving the room an empty, black square.

She was ready to shoot his dumb face for cutting her off. While Anya knew that really wasn't an option, she at least kicked her foot at the ground like she kicked his stupid chair out from under him. It was marginally satisfying.

But most of all, she was mad because regardless if Garrus was missing, he was fucking right about the Alliance. She needed to get shit done, not get stuck in bureaucracy. Bastard had her under his thumb. For now.

All her violent thoughts went silent, though, when she walked out to see someone she'd never expect in a Cerberus uniform.

Chronic lean and annoying smile in tow, Joker said, "about time you dragged your ass out of the grave."

Anya didn't mean to, but she pulled him into her arms and hugged him, tight. It was the first time anything in this new reality of hers felt real. He groaned under her grip. Anya released his shoulders, hoping she didn't break anything. After everything, seeing him... It was so refreshing she had to hold on tight. She said, "Sorry! Sorry. How are you...?"

"Cerberus said they were rebuilding you and my baby. And Alliance didn't feel right without you. How the hell could I say no?"

Overall she still wasn't sure how she felt about Joker in a Cerberus uniform, but it didn't matter. Everything about this moment was overwhelming, and after hours of dazed autopilot, it all hit her. She lost two years, lost time with the people she loved, and now she was back and at least Joker was still here. Anya didn't mean to, but her eyes welled up with tears. "It's so good to see you."

"Hell, Shep. Don't think I've ever seen you cry." What he said was a joke, but Joker put a hand on her shoulder.

Regaining composure, on instinct Shepard shrugged his hand off. But the second she did, she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. It felt so wrong to push him away, knowing she'd lost him. And if it wasn't for Cerberus, it would've been forever. "This rebooted body comes with a lot of surprises." In her head, she kept replaying every second here with him, trying to notice any possible differences in his face, voice, demeanor. She couldn't help but notice he seemed a little seriouser, even if his humor didn't show it. But then something he said came back to her, and she raised an eyebrow. "Wait, what did you say about your baby?"

He smirked. "Come with me."

Anya followed him down a few halls until they were in front of a huge docking window. She didn't mean to stop breathing, but right in front of her-

"The Normandy. Good as new, eh? With some new Cerberus features. Chairs are nicer, but the crew still isn't mine yet. Having my family there will make it better." Joker leaned on the railing and looked right at her. "Leaving the Alliance wasn't easy, but if it meant having you and my ship? There wasn't any other option." Grumbling, he also added, "Anyway, they grounded me for way too long after the funeral."

His jokes slid right past her consciousness. Instead, Anya was just staring at the ship that changed her life; the one she called home. It was different, but it was hers. That wasn't some easy thing to swallow. Hell, none of this was easy to swallow. "Oh my god. I still can't believe you're Cerberus. What did my mother say about you doing this?"

"You think I have a death wish? No, I delayed that suffering. As far as Oksana knows, I went on a trip and fell off the grid. If I'm lucky, she'll just think I went on a bender."

"Christ. Mama bear's going to kill you."

Joker scoffed and bumped Shepard's shoulder. With so much new tissue in her body, it almost felt alien. But the memories? They made sure Anya knew that she just got some of her family back. He countered, "Me? Talk about yourself, zombie commander."

"Maybe we seek forgiveness once this blows over, not ask permission."

"Sounds good enough to me."

Trying to stay casual, Anya kept all her stunned staring to a minimum. But she did admit to him how important seeing him was, in her own way. She wasn't the best with saying what she should. She just hoped it was enough. "I'm happy to see a familiar face. None of this felt... Real."

"I know, right?" Joker rolled his shoulders, and she wondered who'd been bandaging his shoulders or keeping an eye out for him the past two years. He didn't need it, per se, but it was apart of who she was with him. It made her chest ache, knowing how his routines changed because she got herself killed. Who did he go to when he got drunk? Or was he just alone now?

Joker himself interrupted her thoughts. "These Cerberus guys don't tell me anything. Are we getting any of the old team?"

If her heart wasn't caving in enough about Joker, what the Illusive Man said about Tali, Kaidan, Garrus... It all hit her like a thundering pack of Varren. Anya shook her head at him. "No one. A lot has changed in two years. It looks like it's just you and me this time, spearheading a new crew."

"I haven't seen most of them since the funeral. None of us were the same, after that." She watched his shoulders sag, a weight and responsibility she'd never seen on him. He stood up straight and said, refusing to meet her eyes, "Anya, I'm-"

"Don't." Leaning her head on his shoulder, she added, "I would do it again in a heartbeat."

Sighing, Joker flashed her a smile that didn't seem all that real, but she still appreciated it. "Ready to save the Galaxy again?"

"Nope. But we're going to do it anyway."

"Sounds about right."

///

I so very much my best girl Anya Shepard. I love the strong badass and awkward middle school ballerina wrapped up on one. Time for her to get back to saving the galaxy, friends!

Anyway, thank you so much for reading! And extra thanks to my lovely patrons:

Danypooh80

Amy Connolly

If you want to help support my writing, my Twitch aspirations, and my goal to create a fun, pro-fandom community, please check one of these places (or my bio) for more information:

Patreon: patreon.com/gracejordan

My Twitter: Steph_Marceau

My Wattpad: user/GraceJordan13

The various tiers include a discord server, shout-outs, cameos, one-shots, early access, and more :) If you can help out, I’d love it. If not, I still love you and this story so it’ll still be posted. Happy Friday!

[annathescavver]

What Remains Of Us Ch. 2

The Institute was an incredible place. The walls soared high, lit by bright, clean light. Fountains bubbled merrily, the water running clearer than Rebecca had ever seen. And grass - a rich, healthy green - grew alongside flowers and small trees, each nourished by the light and specially designed fertilizers. The temperature was just right, neither too hot nor too cold. It was a utopia, a future like those advertised in magazines before the war. A place for mankind to be safe and happy.

And yet, she wasn’t happy.

The hallways Rebecca walked in echoed with her footsteps and those of the synth beside her. She scrubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to drive away her nerves. Sneaking a glance to her side, she took in the synth’s uniform and their upright, unbreakable posture. She’d offered them a smile before, one that she hoped wasn’t too awkward, but she’d received no response. They weren’t terribly talkative, and she chose to respect that.

Darker thoughts entered her mind as they neared their destination. She knew very well that the synth - and others like them - were guards, and as such, probably had strict programming that allowed no personality. While it was nice, her smiling probably did little.

No, not little. She refused to think that way. “Thank you for your help,” she said to them when they arrived at the door she needed. They left without a word, hands tight around their rifle. She squared her shoulders, summoning her best courtroom face, and opened the door.

“Ah, Mother.” A man greeted her, long white coat pristine and carefully ironed. “I’m glad you could come.”

“Shaun,” Rebecca said and her voice cracked only slightly. She shook his hand, feeling the years in the creases of his hands. “You said you wanted to see me?”

"Of course, yes. Our tour of the other division the other day was incomplete. I wanted to give you plenty of time to recuperate. I understand your journey was a long one.” Shaun smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Today I plan to show you the robotics division. Dr. Binet and his team are eager to meet you. If you would, come with me.”

He led the way out of the room. Rebecca followed even though her stomach was suddenly seized with queasiness. Robotics. Where the synths were made.

They wound their way through the corridors, traveling down one spiral staircase and then past a door locked by a keycode. Shaun typed in the code easily, his back subtly turned to block the keypad from Rebecca’s sight.

She had little freedom. She was a welcome guest at the moment, an honored one even, but she was not yet trusted. That was understandable, sure, but the secrecy - most of it not as subtle as the scientists thought - was already beginning to irritate her.

“Through here, please.” Shaun waved a hand before folding them behind his back and leading her down a long, narrow corridor. “Ah. Here’s Dr. Binet now. Doctor, good morning. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” Dr. Binet replied easily, as if he was used to interruptions or knew better than to make a scene. “What do you need, Director?”

Shaun gestured for Rebecca to step forward. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. This is Rebecca, my mother. She’s just recently joined us and I thought I’d show her around. Perhaps you could give us a tour?”

“Oh, yes of course. My team should be about to start with a new group of synths. If you’d like to see that?”

“That will do, doctor.”

Dr. Binet nodded and gestured for them to follow. He led the way through the laboratory, nodding to the people at work.

Rebecca looked around. There were terminals stationed all around the room, but she was unable to read what was on any of their screens. There were other machines, too, great alien ones that no doubt made parts or stored lines of complicated code. And above, the ceiling was high above them, lit sufficiently but sending down drafts of cold air.

She followed the others through another series of doors. Each were keycoded.

“Here we are,” Dr. Binet said, gesturing as they entered the last room. It was a small office, sparsely furnished and with large glass window. A pair of seats sat under the window while a desk - like the rest of the room, it was barely decorated - took up most of the rest of the space. “This is one of the offices where we work on our synth’s programming,” he said to Rebecca. “There are others, of course. You can see them there and there. Now, down there is our laboratory. Have a seat. It looks like my team has already started.”

Rebecca claimed one of the seats. It was an uncomfortable thing, with little padding. Beside her, Shaun claimed the opposite one while Dr. Binet leaned against the desk.

With carefully concealed discomfort, Rebecca looked down into the laboratory.

A large red circle dominated the space and it took a moment for her to realize it was a vat. Built into the floor, it was full of some kind of red material. Bubbles rippled along the edges. Surrounding it were more terminals and several scientists, each person outfitted with full lab attire and two carrying clipboards. 

There were large circular contraptions, each flickering with light. A human frame was positioned in one of them, looking like some kind of famous painting. As Rebecca watched from the window, a large mechanical arm began forming a skeleton within the frame. Bone by bone. The arm moved so quickly it was nearly a blur. “It starts there,” Rebecca said quietly, noting it for her report to the Railroad.

Next the arm carefully grabbed the skeleton and moved it on to the next machine. Lines, thin ones, were woven over and around the skeleton. The nervous system, perhaps.

Dr. Binet cleared his throat. “The basic human programming already in place by this point. When they’re done there, they are brought up here, to one of our senior roboticists.”

With a shallow nod, Rebecca tuned back into the lab. The frame had been moved again, and now muscle was being formed around it. The body took form quickly, sinew and fiber built rapidly, before it was finally placed into the vat of red liquid.

“This is the animation process,” Dr. Binet explained from behind her shoulder. “The rest of the body is formed, as well. Skin, hair, nails.”

“Right,” Rebecca said. “Looks like a fine-tuned process. Quick, too. You said they come up here when they’re ready. How do you decide where to send them?”

“It depends on a lot of factors,” Dr. Binet said vaguely. “Where we want to investigate an area, where we want to form an alliance with the residents.”

Rebecca could tell she wasn’t going to get more information out of him. And from the tightening of Shaun’s jaw, she knew she shouldn’t ask more questions. So instead she played innocent. “I see. That makes sense.”

Below, the surface of the vat rippled and she watched it closely. A figure - the synth, fully formed -  emerged, their movements slow. The liquid ran in blood-colored rivulets down their body and dripped from their hair. The synth fell to their knees, the liquid splashing around them. They made a face of undeniable frustration and picked themselves back up, hands desperately trying to wipe the liquid off of their skin.

Rebecca wanted to turn away, to evade her eyes from the synth’s nakedness and vulnerability, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight.

One of the scientists stepped forward. She held out a towel, a smile easy on her lips and her eyes trained on their face. She said something, but Rebecca couldn’t hear her.

The synth looked at the towel for a few moments in sheer confusion before stepping forward and taking it. They wrapped it around their shoulders. The scientist led them away and they followed, footsteps unsteady and slow.

"We’re making incredible progress. As you can see, the synths emerge complete and with little mishap. After this they are taken aside and assigned, and then programmed. Doctor Navarette has been working on the programming for their components, and she and I are very pleased with the results.” Dr Binet glanced over to Shaun and added, “The advancements in artificial emotions are coming along well, as is our work in simulating humanoid...extremes.” There was a faint cough, one Rebecca and Shaun both noticed. “As you ordered, Director.”

Rebecca wondered what he meant by that. Obviously, the Institute would continuously be working to improve emotions and intelligence in their synths. Humans had a wide range of emotions, and if synths were meant to replace, or infiltrate, humans on the surface, synths had to have the same range. What he meant by extremes, Rebecca had her suspicions.

The surface wasn’t an easy place to live. Disease, radiation, conflit. All of it left harsh scars on the mind, and the Institute would need to simulate that as well.

The thought made Rebecca feel sick. She swallowed back her nausea and looked back at the floor. A second synth was being placed into the vat. This time, when they emerged, none of the scientists offered them assistance. The woman who had offered the towel was still gone, and no one thought to follow her lead.

Rebecca finally turned her head away. This had to stop. Somehow, she had to find a way to stop all of this.

“Excellent work, doctor. Do continue to send me reports of your team’s progress. Now, I do not wish to keep you any longer.” Shaun nodded to Dr. Binet before folding his hands behind his back and turning to leave. “Mother, there is something else I would like to discuss with you. Please come with me.”

Rebecca glanced down at the laboratory floor again and saw yet another synth emerge from the vat. She wanted to know more, as grisly as the process was. She needed to know more, and so did the Railroad. They had sent her here - risked agent’s lives to do so - in return for information.

“Sure, of course,” she said and followed him out of the laboratory.

----

They settled back in his rooms. Dinner was brought to them and Rebecca couldn’t deny her eagerness to eat. It had been months since she’d eaten well, and the Institute - or at least, those in charge - had access to great food. The aroma of roasted vegetables, some kind of soup, fresh bread, and more caused her stomach to growl in an embarrassingly loud way.

Shaun looked over at her with an indulgent smile. “Please,” he said. “I believe the prewar saying is dig in.”

Rebecca did. Whatever her opinions about what’d she seen, she couldn’t do anything about it at the moment. Acting now, or speaking of it even, was dangerous. She had to get more information. Find out if there was anyone in the Institute she could trust.

“Someday I hope the Institute can grow our food on the surface,” Shaun began, sitting opposite her. “With our advances in agriculture, and the room up there, I’m sure we could grow enough to feed hundreds of people. Only, we’re still working on a way to neutralize the radioactivity. Even short trips to the surface can be dangerous. Such trips have damaged the DNA of our scientists.”

“Surely the Institute has ways to handle that?”

“Not completely. Our environment suits, while a thousand times better than they were prewar, can only protect from so much, and for so long. And radiation can last for centuries. Some isotopes, millennia.” Shaun finally began to serve himself. He seemed to eye the bottle of wine on the table for several moments before pouring himself a glass. “There is a team in the Bioscience division dedicated to this subject and their reports are fascinating. I recommend you pay them a visit.”

Perhaps she would. Though it had little to do with synths, learning other ways of handling radiation would prove extremely useful. “Well it is true that the food on the surface is sometimes radioactive,” she said, thinking of both the prewar variety and that grown on farms. “There was always medicine to deal with it.”

“A weak effort, I’m afraid. I applaud those living on the surface for trying to minimize the dangers, but a bottle of rad-x cannot stop the rads completely.”

“What else do you think they should do? It’s not like there are labs like this out there.”

Shaun eyed her. “No,” he agreed. “That is another reason we work so hard down here. I dream of a day when we fix the surface world. Do you know what we say down here? Mankind, redefined. The war may have changed humanity, but we can improve ourselves and be better than ever.”

It was a nice idea, at first. Rebecca nodded in agreement, though in her heart she had her doubts. She didn’t think the Institute meant to help the surface world in any way. The Institute wanted to replace the surface world.

Silence settled between them. Rebecca finished her dinner and considered a glass of wine herself. “Shaun,” she said as she poured a small amount. “I’m glad to have found you. I admit, things didn't turn out the way I had planned. I thought I would get to watch you grow up, and I missed that. That the Institute did this to us...it will take some time for me to come to terms with.”

She was choosing her words carefully and they both knew it.

“I understand, mother. It is regrettable that this is how we meet. It is even more regrettable that my father was killed. I would have liked to meet him as well.”

At the thought of Warren, Rebecca’s eyes welled with tears. She thought she’d cried enough. Waking from cryosleep in the vault, escaping and finding their world destroyed, hunting down and killing the man who murdered him, and finally burying him. She had cried so many tears and lost a lot of herself. She wondered who she’d become, and at times she wondered how she could go on.

She’d accepted her new place. She’d made friends. She’d grown, and healed as best as she was able. The scars were still there, the pain cutting so deep, but she’d come so far and she refused to stop moving.

“Maybe we can make up for the time,” Shaun said slowly. “I look forward to showing you the work the Institute does, and the good we can do for the rest of the world. I hope you can be happy here, mother. There’s a place for you in the Institute, should you take it.”

“Yes, maybe. And maybe we can truly help the surface world. Share our advancements with them. Help them rebuild.” Rebecca finished her wine and offered him a smile. She wasn’t sure how much of a choice she had and that frightened her. If she tried to leave, or if she refused to stay in the Institute, would he try to stop her? “Maybe we can reach out soon. Show them that we want to help.”

Shaun looked unconvinced. “Mother, I’m sure you’re aware of how the surface world thinks of us. I do assure you that we are not the monsters others are convinced we are.”

“I’m sure,” Rebecca said. His tone had been even but she caught the slight warning in his words. “I really would like to get to know everyone here. I agree, there is such good the Institute can do for the world. The Institute just has to find common ground with the surface world.”

“Common ground?”

“It won’t be easy, I know,” Rebecca continued lightly. “I want to help, Shaun. Besides finding you, my dream since leaving the vault was to rebuild the world. Dig through the ashes and find the good parts of civilization, and help it grow. Please, we can do so much good.”

Shaun frowned, eyes narrowing. “I still don’t see how we can find common ground with the chaos of the surface world. Don’t you think we’ve tried, Mother? We are stopped at every turn. Every time we try to intervene, to help them, they attack us.”

Perhaps, Rebecca thought, if you wouldn’t try to kill people. Or replace loved ones. Or kidnap children. Perhaps they wouldn’t attack you.

“Then let me help you find it. I lived up there for weeks. I have friends up there. Allies.”

"Yes, I’m sure you have your connections.”

“Then you agree? I can help the Institute connect with the people up there. I know things have been rocky at best, and it will take time and a lot of effort to make things right. But it can still be done.”

With a sigh, Shaun nodded. “I can see where you’re going with this. I’m not sure I agree, but I respect your dedication. You have experience up there and we can use that. In the meantime, make yourself known around here. Just as we should learn from you, you need to learn from us.”

There was a considerable amount of condescension in his voice. Rebecca decided that she didn’t care for it. The conversation had not gone as well as she’d hoped, and she mentally kicked herself for being so pushy. She wondered if she’d shown her cards too early.

“Alright,” Rebecca said, instead of voicing any other of her opinions. She straightened her back and put her neutral mask back on. “Thank you for hearing me out. I look forward to working with you, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish settling in.”

Shaun stood and walked her to the door, an easy smile on his face. “Yes, of course. I have a meeting with the directorate tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps after that we can discuss these plans you have. But for now, just make yourself comfortable around here. Good day, Mother.”

They shook hands again and Rebecca left the room. The door slid closed behind her with a soft hiss. She let out a sigh of relief, allowing her shoulders to droop and her eyes to close. Speaking with him was going to be exhausting, she could already tell. She couldn’t truly say what she wanted, and she had to be mindful of who he was and the power he had.

“You must be tired from your trip.”

Rebecca straightened, recognizing that voice. Before, it had been scathing and impatient, telling her that by no means did he trust her. She might be the director’s mother, but he would be watching her. 

Justin Ayo stood in the hallway. He was the head of the Synth Retention Bureau, the part of the Institute dedicated to finding runaway synths and bringing them back. “I would have thought you’d have settled in by now. It’s been several days, hasn’t it? And yet you still chose to wear those rags. Perhaps you’re not planning on staying long.”

Rebecca almost hoped there would come a day where she could tell him exactly what she thought of him. Now was not that day. “It’s quite an adjustment, I’ll admit,” she said calmly. “I’m only human. These things take time.”

“What an odd phrase,” Ayo said. “Only human. As if to be human is to be just...mediocre.”

“It’s an old prewar saying.” Rebecca waved it off, hoping to appear indifferent. Only human? Why did those words come out of her mouth? “Excuse me. I’m sure you need to speak with the director.”

She sidestepped Ayo and left him standing before Shaun’s door. She could feel his eyes on her, weighing, judging. Waiting for her to slip.

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Sexiled (Part 7/23) ~ Steve Rogers x Reader College!AU

A/N: Hi lovelies!  More Sexiled! :) Hope everyone has a great week. 

Summary: Getting to know the important people in Steve’s life. Aka parent’s weekend with your not boyfriend 

Rating: T

Warnings: Nothing really, probably language 

Word count: 1798 

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Looks like traffic from Brooklyn to Boston on a Friday afternoon was worse than they thought. They’re still in Connecticut,” Bucky reported at 5:30. “Becca says it’ll probably be two more hours.”

Steve frowned but nodded.

“I’ll call and see if we can move our reservation.”

“Good plan, but I’m starving. I’m going to go to the dining hall. You two coming?”

“I ate after lab. Sweetness?”

“Not that hungry,” you yawned.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I ate a ton after the exam.”

“Alright. Well I’m going to head down there then.”

Steve was already dialing the restaurants number so Bucky waved and left. You hopped down from the bed and he looked at you questioningly. You mouthed “bathroom” at him and slipped out of the room as the host answered the phone.

When you returned Steve was sprawled out on the bean bag chair flipping through his phone.

“Did they move the reservation?” you asked as you kicked your boots off and shrugged out of your sweater.

“Yup. We will now be seated at 8:30.”

“Perfect.”

You settled yourself between his legs, leaning back on his right thigh so you could look at him. He smiled softly as he scrubbed a hand over his face.  

“You look tired, love.”

“I am. The labs were killer today.”

“Yeah, this week was bad,” you agreed.

“Do you want to watch some more supernatural?”

You weighed the options, grimacing slightly.

“I’m taking that as a no,” he chuckled as he rubbed circles into your lower back.

“I’m just not really awake for it. Something less mentally taxing?”

“Scooby Doo?”

“Perfect.”

“Witch’s Ghost?”

You nodded excitedly and shifted on the bean bag so you were leaning fully against him. He reached for the remote and turned on the movie before settling his arms around your waist.

Neither of you had realized how much the three almost all-nighters had gotten to you, and soon you were fast asleep.

You woke to a bright flash.

“Becca,” someone hissed as you rubbed your eyes trying to get your bearings.

“The flash wasn’t supposed to be on,” someone whispered back.

As you blinked away the blurriness your eyes widened and your stomach dropped. You scrambled to your feet waking Steve in the process. Bucky seemed to be unsure whether he was amused or apologetic. You fiddled with your dress and tried to discreetly smooth your hair down.

“Oh hey everybody.” He grinned, unfazed as he hopped to his feet and hugged his mom. “I’m so glad you could come, ma.”

“Me too, sweetheart.”

When he let go of her, he reached out and slipped his hand in yours tugging you closer.

“Everyone, this is y/n. She’s my best girl.” You hadn’t been sure how he was going to introduce you, but the term had a warm feeling settle in your stomach. “Y/n, this is my mom.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Rogers.”

“Sarah,” she corrected. “Please. And I’m so glad I finally get to meet you. You’re even prettier than your picture.”

You bit your lip as you glanced up at Steve. His cheeks were pink and he nudged you towards Mr. Barnes.

“And this is Bucky’s dad.”

“George,” the older gentleman supplied with a kind smile. You could see where Bucky got his looks from.

“You can call me, Winnie, dear,” Bucky’s mother offered as she took your hand and squeezed it in both of hers.

“And I’m Becca. We’ve heard so much about you,” Bucky’s little sister gushed surging forward to hug you, making you drop Steve’s hand to embrace her.  

“Bex, chill,” Bucky laughed.

She pulled back, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Sorry.”

“Oh be quiet, Bucky. I’m really excited to meet you too,” you told her with a genuine smile.

 Your nerves settled fairly quickly once you got to dinner. Sarah and Bucky’s family were so kind – hardly a surprise knowing their sons, but it still put you at ease.

“So you’re studying biology as well?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And are you premed too?” George asked.

“No, I ruled that path out a while ago. I do want to be in the medical field just on the other side of it.”

“Injuring people?” Bucky teased and you rolled your eyes, but smiled good-naturedly.

“Research,” you explained. “Regenerative medicine, to be exact. But even that is still broad so I’m still trying to figure out my future.”

“That’s very impressive, Y/n. Now what exactly is regenerative medicine?”

“The area I’m interested in basically strips something like a skin cell back to its most basic state where it can become any cell type. It hasn’t made what are called cell fate decisions.”

“And how does that help?”

“Well, by itself it doesn’t really. But the goal is to discover what specific factors cause these cell fate decisions and induce them in the pluripotent cells to create whatever type we want. The end goal being to recreate tissue and even organs that won’t be rejected by patients because it’s their own DNA. But that’s a long way down the road.”

They asked a fair amount of questions and you ended up spending the next twenty minutes explaining the research you someday dreamed of doing. You were so engrossed in what you were talking about that you didn’t notice the slightly awed look Steve was giving you. Bucky didn’t take much notice, that was how Steve always looked at you when you weren’t paying attention, but the rest of the family certainly did.

“How do you choose something like this? I’ve never even heard of it,” Sarah wondered.

“I sort of fell into it. I was reading for bio class junior year about cell fate decisions, and I had this thought – what if we could decide which cell type something would become? We could do so much. I thought I was so original, and then I found out there was a whole field dedicated to doing just that.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It was a welcome discovery if I’m honest. I thought I would end up in medicine, but the prospect of working directly with patients was a bit daunting. This way I’ll get to stay in the field and focus on the science. Assuming everything goes to plan."

“So you want to save the world?” Winnie deduced.

“As much of it as I can,” you announced proudly.

“You two really are well matched,” George chuckled as he looked between you and Steve.

“There’s a reason she’s my best girl.”

 “Thanks again for letting me stay with you tonight, y/n.”

“Of course. I’m glad we get to hang out for a bit.”

“Sorry if I was kind of overzealous earlier. It’s just the way Bucky and Steve talk about you, I knew you’d be really cool,” she mumbled as she played with the end of her braid.

“You weren’t at all. I promise. It was actually a relief. I was super nervous about meeting you guys.”

She cocked her head in confusion. “Why were you nervous?”

“I wanted to make a good impression. Though I probably didn’t do a great job of that.”

“Because you two were asleep when we came in?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“It was honestly really cute. And from what we could tell, totally innocent.”

“Of course,” you rushed to confirm.

“You have nothing to worry about. You completely live up to the hype.”

“So do you.”

“So, since I’m not sure we’ll get any other time alone together, is there anything you want to know about the guys?” Becca offered with a mischievous grin.

“Is there anything juicy I should know?”

“Well…”

The two of you spent a couple of hours gossiping and getting to know each other. Becca was so endearing, you two were fast friends.

 That was how the whole weekend felt. You managed one on one time with all of them, and you grew very close to Sarah. She shared your love of music and the ballet and you fell into easy conversation. On Sunday, after brunch, the seven of you were walking through the park when you noticed one of the public pianos was open.

“Would you like to play a little?” Sarah asked when she noticed your preoccupation.

“I wish I knew how. I can pluck out Mary Had a Little Lamb and that’s about it. Do you play?”

“I used to. I can show you a little if you like?”

“Please.”

The two of you sat on the cold wooden bench and she ran her fingers up and down the scale.

“Surprisingly well tuned for an outdoor piano. So place your hands like this,” she demonstrated and then fixed your hands as you attempted to mimic her. “Good.

You fiddled around playing a few little snatches of things.

“Maybe I’ll stick to singing.”

“That is always an option,” she laughed as she absent-mindedly played a soothing tune. “Y/n, darling. I am so glad that Steve has found you.”

Her words twisted in your gut and you felt like you had been deceiving her.

“Sarah, I have to be completely honest with you.”

“About what?”

“Steve and I aren’t dating.”

The crinkle of worry that had creased her forehead disappeared as she laughed.

“I know that, sweetheart.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Then why…”

She continued playing but looked over at you.

“Steve has had Bucky his entire life. Even when he had no one else. When he finally got healthy and grew into his handsome self,” you glanced over at Steve, smiling at how he held himself as he spoke to George and Winnie. “People finally noticed him, but they didn’t care about him. It’s obvious that you do.”

“I really do.”

“Do you feel better now?” She asked, blue eyes twinkling just like Steve’s.

“Much.” You finally recognized the song she was playing and began to hum the opening chords. “I love this song.”

“It was always one of Steve’s favorites when he was little. His father and I would put the record on and dance to it, and he always loved it.”

Your eyes drifted shut, imagining dancing with Steve as you began to sing along.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper I love you

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me

You sang quietly, not wanting to draw to much attention to yourself. But it felt good to stretch your vocal chords.  

“Wow.”

Your eyes snapped open at Steve’s hushed exclamation, and you twisted around to look at him.

“I could listen to you sing forever.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, caught by his intense gaze.

“Well, that’s very hard on the vocal chords, so you’ll have to settle for special occasions,” Sarah teased, breaking the moment, allowing you to breathe.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I’m sorry the A/n are like barely there on this one. I’m half asleep. 

Sexiled Tag List @yourspecialcrush @part-time-patronus @impala-with-wings @shitty-imagines-95 @zlixlle @peter-parker-steve-bucky @encounterthepast @holygaygal @hista-girl @steves-on-a-plane @juliagolia87

Steve/Chris Tag List @isaxhorror @peachykeen3502 @patzammit @wordlesscaptain @coffeebooksandfandom @hereisanapplepie

Marvel Tag List @hdthdthdt   @sophiatomlinson23 @misty-panther @supermusicallee @scarlettsoldier @acupofhotlatte @slender--spirit

Permanent Tag List @iamwarrenspeace @jayzayy @bexboo616 @neoqueen306 @santheweird @rowenaravencalw @buckitybarnes @prxttybirdz @sergeantjbuckybarnes @sebsunshinestan @broitsmydick @ailynalonso15 @nyxveracity @queenoftrash97 @walkingtravesty97 @lamia-maizat @memyselfandmaddox @lowkeybuckyb @whiskey2011 @averyrogers83 @lovingpeterparker @buckybarneshairpullingkink @beansparker @unicornblood4ever @xxashy999xx' @thisismysecrethappyplace @ravennightingaleandavatempus @paintballkid711

[goddessofthundathighs]

Iqiniso

Chapter 3

Pairing: Redeemed!Erik/ Killmonger x Black OC

Word Count: 1,900

A/N: This chapter is sad.. sorry not sorry. I’ll make up for it in chapter 4. 

Chapter 1   Chapter 2

“Finally!” Jaelyn quietly whispered as the last few drops of liquid dripped into the vial. For the last few weeks she’s been studying Dr. Chiron and the Iqiniso strain like a hawk, learning its chemical makeup and experimenting with refining it to a liquid form. After about 20 failed attempts, she’d finally done it. She couldn’t wait to report back to Agent Spade with her findings. But first, there was a tiny matter that she needed to attend to.

Hennessy was seated at the vibranium desk in her office, a gift from King T’Challa after she’d opened the dispensary. She was reviewing the patents for her three most successful strains as well as the land plots Erik had sent her from Wakanda. She’d already decided that he and Abasi’s daughter Tao would be the overseers of the dispensaries there, given Tao’s scientific prowess and Erik’s business sense. The fact that the two of them spent more time in Wakanda than she did also played a factor in her decision making. Erik still hadn’t returned home which meant she was still avoiding Agent Spade and her questioning. She had accomplished so much and didn’t want it all to come crashing down once they finally spoke. A swift knock at her office door pulled her from her thoughts.

“Come in,” Hennessy called, placing the paperwork in the desk drawer.

“Hi Dr. Chiron, I’ve come to ask a favor.”

“I’m listening,” Hennessy responded.

“Well, my mother’s real sick and I was wondering if I could have the rest of the day off to spend some time with her. The doctors aren’t real sure how much time she has left,” Jaelyn added in an attempt to pull at the good doctor’s heartstrings. Hennessy only looked at the girl, completely unfazed by the Oscar-worthy performance. She still couldn’t place it, but there was something about this girl that rubbed her the wrong way. As a means of getting the young woman out of her office and out of her face, she agreed to let her have the rest of the day off with the promise that she’d work later the following day.

“Thank you so much Dr. C! I promise you won’t regret this,” Jaelyn called over her shoulder, vial tucked safely in her purse. As she made her way out of the laboratory, she placed a call to Agent Spade.

“Did you get it?” Jaelyn rolled her eyes at the lack of greeting before engaging in the conversation.

“Well hello to you too, Spade. Yes I have the serum and am on my way back to D.C.”

“Perfect! She’s stalled me long enough, I’m sending Baxter to bring her in.”

______________________________________________

“Erik!” Hennessy squealed when Erik crossed the threshold of their shared condo. Erik laughed into her hair as she clung to him tightly like a spider monkey in a tree.

“Missed you too, Princess,” he responded, returning her hug a placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“How have things been around here?” he asked, setting his bags down on the floor.

He noticed how quickly the energy switched in the room as well as how her demeanor changed, so he pressed further.

“What’s been going on around here babygirl?” he asked, gently running his fingers through her thick coils.

“It’s like Agent Spade knew you weren’t here. Every time I turned around, she was there. She keeps asking me to come to D.C. for questioning regarding Ares’ death. I’ve been stalling as much as I could, waiting for you to come back.”

He could tell by the way her voice shook that she was afraid and he hated that for her. True enough she’d done some fucked up things in her past, but she wasn’t a monster.

“Is that all that’s been bothering you?” he questioned, pulling her onto his lap on the couch. Instead of responding, she buried her face in the side of his neck. The smell of his cologne calmed her. For the first time in the two months that he’d been gone, she relaxed, comfortable in the knowledge that her protector was back home. His fingers on her chin brought her out of her thoughts as he lifted her head so that their eyes met.

“Talk to me,” he cooed, tucking a few stray curls behind her ear.

“There’s this new intern that started that rubs me the wrong way. Don’t get me wrong, she’s incredibly smart and exceptional in what she does, but it’s just something about her that leaves a sour taste in my mouth.”

“Need me to drop by the lab tomorrow and check her out?”

“Actually, yeah.” Hennessy responded. Erik’s aura was one that told others not to fuck with him. She knew if anyone could get to the bottom of this whole Jaelyn business, it would be him. She turned her body sideways so that her legs draped over Erik’s and onto the couch. She resumed her original position with her head resting on his shoulder and cuddled deeper in his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she admitted before drifting off to sleep.

________________________________________

Hennessy woke with a jolt, body instantly growing cold when she realized that she was on the couch alone. She reached over to grab her phone from the bedside table to check the time, 11:45 am.

“Damn,” she thought to herself. She’d forgotten how well she slept when Erik was home and it was nice to sleep in for a change. Taking in how late it was, she decided to take the remainder of the day off for a little self-care. She’d been working ridiculous hours and needed to realign her chakras. After a confirmation text from Erik that he’d go by to check on the lab, she decided on a nice long soak in the bath. She’d just finished adding lavender oil to the water when a rough knock came to her door.

“Dr. Chiron?” the burly man asked.

“Yes,” Hennessy responded, one eyebrow raised.

The man held up the warrant before continuing.

“I’m Agent Baxter and you’re under arrest for the murder of Ares Green.”

Hennessy looked like a deer in headlights. Of all the times for Erik to not be home, it had to be this one. She moved to grab her keys and phone before Agent Baxter stopped her.

“Leave your phone, it’s not allowed in the Pentagon.”

The Pentagon?! You’re taking me to D.C.?!”

“Yes ma’am, now come on. I don’t have all day!” Agent Baxter snapped.

Hennessy followed behind reluctantly, cursing herself for telling Erik that she didn’t need Ayo watching her.

The ride to D.C. seemed longer than usual. She and Erik would make the seven-hour trip some Saturdays when neither of them had anything better to do. She felt her heart sink to the pits of her stomach. She wasn’t sure what awaited her in D.C., but she knew she’d feel better if Erik was there or if she even got the chance to let him know where she was. She knew he’d be pissed once he came home and saw that she wasn’t there.

___________________________________________________

Erik made his way to the laboratory in the back of the dispensary. He was a familiar face so none of the other interns batted an eye at his appearance, except one. Jaelyn almost dropped a beaker full of sulfuric acid at the sight of him. Her body still quaked at the thought of the week they spent together during his time at MIT. She turned around quickly, hoping that her mistake went unnoticed, but Erik noticed everything, especially those that looked out of place. He stalked up behind her slowly, like big cat stalking prey. He waiting until she was done with the chemical before discreetly grabbing a fistful of her coils.

“You got 10 seconds to tell me what the fuck you doing here, trust fund baby,” he growled in her ear.

“That’s Agent Trust Fund Baby to you, Stevens. And I’m only here to keep an eye on your psychopathic girlfriend,” she snapped back, silently wishing one of the other interns would pay attention to what was going on.

“She’s not a psychopath,” he growled back, gripping her coils tighter. If she wasn’t in fear for her life, Jaelyn would be incredibly turned on right now.

“Oh, but she is and she’s about to tell Agent Spade all of her dirty little secrets with the help of her own creation,” Jaelyn teased, holding up one of the vials of liquid Iqiniso.

Erik immediately saw red. He knew that Spade was shiesty, but he never could have imagined that she’d stoop that low. Erik quickly released Jaelyn and made his way back to his Jeep. He could only hope that he’d make it to D.C. before it was too late.

______________________________________________

“Dr. Chiron! So nice of you to finally meet with me,” Agent Spade exclaimed as she walked into the interrogation room.

After the long drive, Hennessy was exhausted and hungry. She wanted to get the entire ordeal over with so she could find some food and a bed before returning to Cambridge the following morning.

“Would you like some water?” Agent Spade asked, producing a water bottle from her pocket.

Hennessy took it eagerly, drinking like she’d been stuck in a desert for weeks. Once she was done, Agent Spade continued.

“I’m sure you know why you’re here, so we’ll just dive right into it. Did you kill Ares Green?”

Hennessy wanted to say ‘no’, but found herself at a loss for words instead. She immediately noticed this as a side effect of Iqiniso and realized exactly how much trouble she was really in.

“What’s the matter Shy? Truth got your tongue?” Agent Spade teased.

“How about I ask a different question. How old were you when you first killed?”

“14.”

“Who did you kill?”

“My foster father.”

“Why?”

“He was raping my foster sister. I stabbed him and dumped his body in the Mississippi River.”

The words were flowing out of Hennessy like lava spilling from a volcano. Her tears were flowing just as freely, knowing that these confessions would be the end of her career.

“Now, I’ll ask again, did you murder Ares Green?” Agent Spade barked.

“Yes,” Hennessy replied weakly.

Before Agent Spade could get another word out, she was cut off by the sound of gunfire and yelling outside the room. Hennessy immediately recognized the angry voice as Erik’s and revelled in the thought that he’d come to rescue her. Her revelry was instantly cut short by a stinging pain in her stomach. She looked down at herself and through blurry vision she saw red. The last thing she saw was Agent Spade standing over her, the barrel of her glock 9 pointed at her face before she blacked out.

Erik cradled the semi-lifeless body as a child would their favorite teddy bear. Everything that they both had worked so hard for was crashing down around him. Blood was everywhere; her face, arms, and torso. As much as he fought them back, his tears were falling in streams. He cursed himself and T’Challa. If they’d gotten back sooner, he would’ve been able to prevent this and she’d still be with him. His ears rang and his vision blurred. The world around him became shrouded in darkness as the Beast began to rise to the surface. He’d fix this. Everyone involved in his love’s current predicament would suffer until she came back to him.

“Don’t worry Princess,” he whispered into her hair.

“Killmonger will make it all better.”

TAG LIST: @vibranium-soul @imagine-mbaku @mareethequeen @greennightspider @eriknutinthispoosy @hearteyes-for-killmonger @blackpantherismyish @muse-of-mbaku @shesfromwakanda @thehomierobbstark @wifeyofnjadaka @youreadthatright @tgigoldie @killmongersgurl @dameshaemonique @princessstevens @princesskillmonger @thickoreo @amethyst1993 @iamrheaspeaks @laketaj24 @bidibidibombaclaat @allhailnjadaka @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @forbeautyandlife @yaachtynoboat711 @panthergoddessbast @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @dacreskars @thadelightfulone @drsunshine97 @wakanda-inspired @wawakanda-btch @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @ayellepea @awkwardlyabstract @itsangeludaku @yoyolovesbucky @madamslayyy

[my-dark-words]

Old Friends

Just for something different. Featuring the Host and Dr Iplier.

A lab coat, a stethoscope and an air of confidence can get a man many places in a hospital, even a busy one such as this.

Guiding a man with a bloodied bandage around his eyes and giving the impression that he knew exactly where he was going also prevented awkward questions. Hospital staff were busy enough at the best of times, the last thing any of the staff wanted was to get involved with somebody else’s patient, unless help was requested or someone was actively dying. The man with the bandaged eyes muttered constantly to himself, but this didn’t seem to concern his guide, who was perfectly capable of maintaining their conversation on his own. “You don’t know how much good I could do if I could understand the world like you do,” Dr Iplier said, leading his friend by the arm. “… The doctor leads the Host down the emergency B ward corridor, oblivious to the Host’s disinterest in this meaningless topic…” To the casual observer the two men could have been brothers. In another time, before bandages adorned the Host’s face, they could even have been mistaken for twins. “I mean, I only get to see bad things as they’re happening, and only to the subject in front of my nose at the time.” “… wallows in self pity…” “It’s always too late by the time I know what’s happening,” Dr Iplier sighed, “I can never do anything about what I know.” The pair stopped beside a row of cupboards. Dr Iplier calmly started inspecting them for the materials he required, stacking them into a clean and unassuming kidney dish as the Host narrated his actions. “… Nursing manager Stibborns is entering the ward. She doesn’t recognise the doctor, frowns and goes to find a roster…” “That would be our queue to get going,” said Dr Ipiler, guiding the Host by the arm again into a different ward. “You know everything that’s happening and about to happen,” Dr Iplier continued his one sided conversation. “But yet you do nothing. How can you stand it?” “…The doctor apparently has difficulty understanding the meaningless of existence, and how little the experience of any one being matters in the grand scheme of everything…” Dr Iplier nodded casually to two nurses standing by the water fountain, staring at the Host’s bloodied bandages with concern. “… He fails to grasp the concept of all actions having consequences, as the tiny butterfly flaps its wings and the storm brews in Argentina…” “What’s wrong with him?” the younger nurse asked. “Oh, the antipsychotics make him chatty,” Dr Iplier replied quickly, “but he’s fine though. It’s when he stops talking that you need to worry.” “… the wisest course of action when faced will all possible actions and their infinite consequences is simply to do nothing….” “What happened to his face?” the older nurse asked. “Oh, just a little attempted autoenucleation,” Dr Iplier replied, increasing his pace. “Nothing special.” The younger nurse’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh! Can I see?” Their enthusiasm was quickly curbed by a swift slap on the arm from the older nurse. “Sam! That’s very rude!” “… absolving oneself of moral responsibility and placing oneself outside the narrative…” “Yes Nurse, that is very rude,” Dr Iplier chastised them, “Even if a patient doesn’t appear to be fully aware, you should always talk to them as though they are. Now come along Sir, we’ll get you back to where you belong.” He led the Host around another corner before quickening their pace while nobody was there to watch. “How can you be aware of everything, and yet do nothing?” Dr Iplier asked, not expecting a direct answer. This was usually how their conversations went. “… all actions are equal and pointless when the initiator remains within the story…” “I mean, doesn’t it drive you mad knowing that you could have made a difference?” Dr Iplier paused at the next junction, the tempting aroma wafting down the corridor. “… The doctor remained wilfully ignorant of the absence of meaning in every decision and action, his transparent attempt to guilt the Host into revealing the evidence that he desires was pointless…” “I know we’re not that different, you and I,” the doctor sighed, “but at least I try. I’m always the bearer of bad news, but at least I fricking try.” “… and yet he persists…” Despite the wafting promise of caffeine, Dr Iplier chose the other path, grabbing an abandoned pair of bandage scissors left unattended on a trolley. “I’d rather that than never trying at all,” he muttered. “ … the doctor continues to wax philosophical, oblivious to the pair of security guards walking his way from the elevator…” “Right, in here now.” Dr Ipiler decided, ushering the Host into an empty lavatory. The Host stood perfectly motionless in the small cubicle. With half his face obscured it was difficult to read his emotion, if he had one, and his tone of voice gave nothing away. “I swear, sometimes I think you’re gone,” the doctor said, shaking his head sadly, “and then I get these little glimmers that you’re still in there.” “… a lesser man than the Host would feel outrage at being hastily shoved into a lavatory, but the doctor is fortunate that the Host is both patient and merciful…” Voices came and went outside the door. When it was quiet, Dr Iplier peered back into the corridor. “The coast is clear,” he said, guiding the Host back out. “… a temporary reprieve from the doctor’s indignity…” “Just a few more things. I promise, my friend.” “… friend is not here…” The doctor led the Host back to Emergency Ward A, the primary ward where all new admissions were treated until they were judged to be stable enough to go somewhere less critical. There was always a little more chaos in a ward like this, debris and equipment often pushed to the side of the corridor for a few moments at a time when something dramatic happened, whether that was a patient legitimately dying or just one throwing a tantrum. The doctor led the Host through the ward, with a confident smile and the occasional nodded greeting to other staff in false familiarity. “I miss the old you, you know,” said Dr Ipiler as he casually swiped a packet of sutures from a bench as he walked past. “… assumptions lead to error…” “You probably knew that,” he continued, slipping some iodine impregnated wipes from an ignored trolley.“You can probably look into my brain as easily as you looked into one of your books.” “… as an open book to the Host, though the current idiom is cruel…” “I just wonder sometimes,” Dr Iplier sighed to himself, scanning the ward for other ignored, useful objects, “If I knew what you knew, maybe I wouldn’t always have to be the Bad News Doctor.” “… pushed into the walkway after a minor laceration repair…” Dr Iplier smiled as he spotted a used stitch up kit waiting to be returned to central sterile supply for cleaning, and a happy daydream washed over him. “Perhaps then I could be the happy and charming Good News Doctor for a change.” He froze when a patient in one of the beds began screaming and thrashing on the bed, and a crowd of staff flocked to them immediately. With nobody looking, he quickly wrapped the kit and shoved it under his lab coat. “Maybe I should just give up,” he wondered, leading the Host away from the commotion before he was accidentally asked to assist. “… realisation, however brief…” “Maybe I could retrain as a barista. It’s hard to go wrong with coffee. And I am, after all, very handsome. I bet I could get tipped well.” “… delusions returned…” “See! You do have a sense of humour in there somewhere!” the doctor declared, briefly triumphant before the melancholy returned. “I mean, this is emergency. Probably half the patients here will be dead within the month, and there’s not a thing any of us can do about it, but we try anyway.” He looked around at the emergency ward, which was settling again now the screaming patient had stopped. The Host stood still, continuing to narrate to himself. “It’ll drive me mad if I look at any of them too closely,” Dr Iplier admitted sadly, “too much bad news, and nothing I can change.” “… finally accepting the inevitability of reality…” “At least that one will probably get to walk out of here,” the doctor said carelessly, gesturing to an athletic young man in a bed as they passed before suddenly freezing. “… The Host is unclear as to why the doctor’s sudden concern…” “I’m sorry…” Dr Iplier muttered, tearing his gaze away from the patient, who was starting to draw faster, shallower breaths, “…They’re dying.”  “… every living being in this universe is dying…” “Come on, there’s nothing I can do that the other doctors can’t. Lets get out of here.” “… the doctor’s subsequent assessment is flawed and incorrect. Like many of their kind, the physicians at this hospital are blinded by assumptions, which will directly result in the misdiagnosis and death if this patient…” “What?” Dr Iplier asked in disbelief. “… Autopsy reports will concede that the circumstances leading to the death of Mr Freeman are highly unusual and could not have been predicted…” “What circumstances!” Dr Iplier grabbed the Host’s shoulder, turning him to face him as though it might make a difference. “… this very moment, after months of erythropoietin abuse for athletic edge, a large clot hovers in his right atrium. Soon it will dislodge again, flowing away until it comes to its final resting place…” “NURSE! Get this man into CT, stat!” “… blocking both branches of his pulmonary artery…” “I don’t care if he doesn’t have the usual risk factors! Make this happen!” “… blocking all blood flow to both lungs and resulting in, obviously, death…” “I said SHUT UP NURSE!”

…

“So, uh, he’s going to have a rough couple of weeks, but he’ll probably live,” said Dr Iplier, wandering down the street as incognito as it was possible for the two of them to be. “… this feel good activity is fleeting and meaningless…” “I mean, he’s going to be in hospital for weeks, but he was going to be in the morgue in an hour, so while the news is bad, it’s not the most bad and I’m counting it as a win.” “… the doctor smiles at his blinded companion, despite the obvious futility of the gesture…” Dr Iplier sighed, but it was a relaxed sigh this time. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do that.” “… for the first time today the introspective doctor’s assessment was correct…” said the Host in his familiar monotone. “I mean it,” said the doctor, nudging his folded arms gently, “Do you want a coffee? My treat.” “… nudging his arm. The Host…… He…. The Host does appreciate a latte.” “Consider it done my friend.”