#Alan sounded SO matter-of-fact and pleased responding with that

[velvetjune]

[alan wake voice] oh, tor and odin. they were in my musical :)

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 10)

Read here on AO3.

Someone’s gone missing in Glacier National Park, Scully tells herself. That’s why the helicopters are out. It’s the only possible explanation.

It couldn’t be—there’s no way—it can’t be that those helicopters are for them. No one’s tracking them anymore. Mulder ditched the ring back in Utah. It flew out of his hands and landed in six feet of snow. Right? Right?

“We can’t stay in this house,” Mulder mutters, dragging her by the shoulders to the front door.

She stumbles in the dark, her brain spinning. “Wait, wait, stop,” she says, laying a hand on his chest. His heart is racing. “Mulder, stop a minute.” She draws in a long breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “Why can’t we stay here? We won’t fare much better if we try to take the car out. They know what vehicle we’re driving. They’ll spot us the minute we get on the roads.”

Even though it’s dark, she can sense the moment Mulder pauses to consider it. For a time, everything goes still and silent. Even the beat of the helicopter blades grows quieter.

And then he starts pacing.

“We’re sitting ducks in this damn house, Scully,” he grumbles angrily. “No weapons, nowhere to run. They’ll find us. It might take a few days, but if they were able to track us to this area, they’re eventually going to figure out we’re in this cabin.”

She swallows hard, nodding in agreement. As he walks by her, he reaches out to squeeze her waist.

“So,” she says after a long minute, “I guess the ring wasn’t tracking us after all.” She rubs subconsciously at her empty ring finger.

Mulder doesn’t respond.

When she contemplates the fact that her engagement ring is gone forever because of Mulder’s mistaken assumptions, she feels a pang of regret. But other thoughts and feelings quickly overshadow the pain of that particular loss. Finding out that Alan was planted in her life; questioning whether his feelings for her were real; wondering what things will look like when she gets back to that life.  

A keen sense of self-pity ripples through her as she recalls her life in California, how she believed she was happy, how she believed in her feelings for Alan. But as usual, being around Mulder has thoroughly disrupted her belief system.

She shakes her head to clear her mind. Now isn’t the time to think about these things.

As the minutes pass by, their tentative decision to stand their ground and hunker down in the house starts to seem less and less appealing. If they don’t run, they’ll almost certainly be found here. But if they do run, there’s a chance they’ll be caught sooner. Right?  

“Can you please stop pacing?” she finally barks. “You’re making me nervous.”

He ignores her and she scowls irritably. He’s a caged lion, a ticking time bomb.

“Do you have any idea how they’ve found us again?” she asks after a few minutes, wringing her hands.

He grumbles a no.

She’s hesitant to even speak again, but she has to give voice to her thoughts. “Do you think—is it possible—” He glances at her through the darkness. “Did someone we know give us away?”

The caged lion goes deathly still.

“Frohike would die before doing that,” he breathes with conviction, and he sounds so sure of it, she nods too.

“Skinner?” she whispers hesitantly, hating herself even for the suggestion. But her logical mind demands she consider all the possibilities—no matter how unlikely.

“I don’t—” he sighs, his shoulders crumpling. “I don’t think he would give us up either.”

She purses her lips and nods. There’s a dark, chilling thought niggling at the back of her mind. It’s been there on and off during this entire escapade of theirs, but she’s vehemently refused to consider it, has continually denied it access to her conscious mind. Because if she takes it out and examines it, the results will feel devastating. Horrific. Life-altering.

With the distant beat of helicopter blades nearby, though, she really has no other choice but to face the unthinkable. She licks her lips unsteadily.

“Mulder,” she murmurs, and she feels his body turn to face hers. He must be able to hear the panic in her voice because he takes two steps into her, his hands falling to her waist. She tips her forehead to his chest and his hands travel up her spine to cup the back of her neck. She huffs a painful laugh. It’s like he already knows what she’s going to say. “Mulder, the chip . . . the chip in my neck.”

He swipes a tender finger across the raised bump above her spine. “It’s not that,” he says decidedly, and she instantly knows he’s already considered it too.

She scoffs, pulling away. “And how do you know that? They found us without the ring. Clearly it wasn’t that, so this is the next most logical explanation we have.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “It’s not your chip, Scully. It can’t be—”

“But what if it is?” she exclaims, pushing against his chest. “Mulder, we could be running forever and they’d still always find us!” She sucks in a lungful of air. “We need—we need to split up. You need to get away from me. If they catch me, so—so what? They’ll dangle me as bait for you, they wouldn’t hurt me as long as you’re still running—”

He grabs her wrists so hard she flinches. “No,” he growls. “That’s not happening. I’m not leaving you.”

“Then we cut the chip out of me,” she says confidently.

His hands dig more painfully into her skin and she cries out. “Mulder—”

He releases her with an apology on his tongue, crushing her head to his chest. “That is not an option, Scully. We’re not even sure if they’re using the chip to track us. Get that out of your mind, because I’m sure as hell not removing that chip from you. It saved your life.” She grabs at his shirt, bunching it up in her fists. “We can fight this, Scully. We can—we can keep running. We just have to stay one step ahead of them.”

She huffs exasperatedly. “We can’t run forever, Mulder. It’s only been a few days and we’re already—we’re exhausted, emotionally wrecked. We—this running—this isn’t a life. It’s barely even survival.”

“Bullshit,” he says, and she glances up from his chest. His eyes blaze with conviction through the darkness. “I’ve learned a lot these past nine months. Most importantly, that what I’ve been living isn’t a life. Not without you. It’s only a life if I get to spend it with you, Scully.”

Her mouth falls open, but before she can respond, he’s dipping his head down to press his lips to hers. She moans into his mouth and pushes her hands beneath his shirt. All her earlier uncertainty slips away. With time pressing in on them at every angle, she’s realizing that this may be her last chance to experience anything good. Forget Alan, forget fidelity, forget her life back in California. Those don’t exist, not in this space, not when there’s helicopters hunting them down and a chip in her neck and Mulder’s desperate confessions whispered against her lips.

He peels off her shirt and she yanks his off too, stretching on tiptoes to reach above his head. Her hands tremble as they touch smooth skin and firm muscle, and she wishes they could turn the lights on so she could look and feast.

His hands don’t hesitate to roam to her pants, releasing the zipper and shoving them down her legs. She shivers in the cold air and he draws her in, slipping his hands over her ass to pull her close. And then he’s hooking his hands under her thighs and lifting her off the ground, and she scrambles to link her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist.

He tilts his mouth to trail down her jaw and neck as he stumbles in the dark to find the couch. She laughs in surprise when they tumble onto the cushions together, her hands flying out to brace herself against his chest. In his lap, she lifts her hips and fumbles inelegantly at his jeans, breathless when he finally swats her hands away and does it himself. They shimmy his pants off together and then she’s sitting half-naked on his boxers, which leave no room for imagination. She can feel everything, and it’s delicious. She wraps her arms around his neck and grinds down into him, enjoying the way his head falls back against the couch at her movements.

She’s about to drag his head back up for another kiss when she feels it.

Right there, along the top of his spine.

A rough line of raised skin. It’s thin and small. Very small. Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-small.

Small, thin, raised . . .

It’s a scar.

For the second time today, she freezes in his lap. And for the second time today, Mulder begs her not to stop.

“Please,” he whispers, and it’s so desperate that she can almost convince herself to keep going. Just put it out of your mind until you’ve done this one thing, she thinks. Just wait a little bit longer to unravel the true horrors of tonight. Let yourself enjoy him for just these next few moments.

“Mulder, stop,” her higher logic demands, and it’s authoritative enough that he immediately retracts his hands from her thighs.

“You okay?” he asks nervously, running his fingertips across her biceps. She still has her arms around his neck.

His featherlight touches distract her momentarily, and she again convinces herself that she could just keep going right now. With unwavering self-control, she drags her focus back to the more pressing issue.

“There’s something in your neck,” she says, and he too goes still.

“What?” he whispers incredulously. Slowly, his hand rises to meet hers, which is poking and prodding the top of his spine. Gently, she guides his finger over the place where she feels it, the very slight, very unremarkable protrusion right under his skin. An incision scar, just like hers.

He flies off the couch, sending her lurching to her feet. He grabs her hand and drags her towards the bathroom, where he shuts the door, turns on the lamp, and stuffs a towel in the door crack to block out the light.

They blink at each other for a long second, two sets of eyes dragging lustfully across half-naked bodies. God, he looks gorgeous. Tousled, muscular, clearly aroused.

They snap out of it and she motions for him to turn around. He stoops low and she stretches to her toes, fingers quickly finding the place on his neck.

Sure enough, there it is. A very small incision, just like hers.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, her hands falling away.

He turns around slowly, eyeing her meaningfully. “You’ve got to cut it out of me.”

She starts to nod, because that is the next logical step. Take out the tracker in his neck, then flee.

“Scully?” he says urgently, motioning for her to leave the room, probably to get her medical bag.

She shakes her head. “No, Mulder.”

His eyes widen. “What do you mean no? This is obviously what’s been tracking us this whole time—”

She holds up a hand to interrupt him. “Would you let me take it out of my neck?”

He scoffs. “Are you kidding? If it was just a—a tracking device? Of course I would. It’s tracking us, for Christ’s sake—”

“How do you know removing it won’t kill you? How do we know what it really is?” she says softly. “How do we know it’s not like mine?”

His expression falters. “It’s just a tracking device,” he repeats, but he sounds less sure of himself.

She shrugs. “We don’t know that. For all we know, it could—it could release some toxin into your body the moment you remove it. It could—it could be a slower-acting agent, like cancer, like what I was given—”

“We’re taking it out,” he says decisively, pushing past her to shove open the door.

Apparently, all thoughts of keeping the place dark have gone out the window. He rushes to the bedroom and grabs her medical kit, yanking it open and rifling through it until he produces a sharp tool. It’s the wrong one for this job, but she doesn’t bother correcting him.

He turns on her with a madman’s eyes. “You’re taking it out of me, Scully.”

“Let’s just think—”

“Stop,” he yells, thrusting the tool into her hands.

Her hand trembles in a way she’s not used to while holding surgical instruments, and she can see the conviction in his eyes.

“You’re taking that goddamn chip out of me or so help me God, Scully, I’ll—” he pauses, unable to continue his toothless threat.

She almost laughs at the absurdity of it. “It might kill you,” she argues quietly.

He reaches forward and squeezes her shoulders, his eyes burning into hers. “If that thing doesn’t kill me, they will, someway or somehow. Either way, I very well may die. But there’s another possibility, Scully, don’t you see?” His eyes crease wistfully. “There’s a chance it’s just a stupid tracking device, nothing more. And that gives us the chance to run, to get away from here.”

“But where do we go? The car—”  

He shrugs. “Into the woods. Get lost in that national park.”

“But the bears,” she protests weakly.

He laughs and she sees hope rising in his gaze. This is really it, she realizes. This truly is their biggest chance for survival.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispers, not stopping to marvel at how quickly he’s once again become the only person she can’t live without.

He grimaces. “Take out the fucking chip, Scully.”

**

Mulder doesn’t burst into flames or ooze green jelly or die from a fast-releasing toxin. In fact, the chip removal is relatively unremarkable. He flinches at the initial cut and Scully hides her nerves by teasing him about his pain intolerance. And then she removes the little fucker from his neck.

“How long do you think you’ve had this in?” she asks as she cleans the wound.

He grits his teeth. “I was conscious the whole time I was in San Diego, even after they found me at the airport,” he muses. “So it must have been before that. I would have known they put something in me, right?”

She nods. “This incision is well-healed. I’d say it’s been months at least.”

He turns to face her and she tosses a cotton pad into the trash. His eyebrows crease. “At the hospital, then. When I was in the psych ward.”

She swallows, dropping his gaze. “They must have known, then,” she says.

He hums a question.

“They must have known that they wanted to continue using you. Destroying the files was never enough, not even from the very beginning. What they’ve always wanted—”

“Was me,” he interrupts, smoothing his hand across her waist. Her lips part at the warmth of his palm against her bare skin. He squeezes her hipbone and briefly, she remembers what they were about to do right before she discovered the tracker. She shivers. “They always planned for me to die in disgrace. So they stuck a chip in my neck in case I ever did anything they didn’t like, like follow you to San Diego, or run away with you to Utah. That way, they could always drag me back and bend me to their will.”

“And me?” she asks, cupping his elbow and drawing him closer. “Just a pawn to get you to cooperate?”

His eyes darken. “I’ve said it before. You’re my Achilles heel, Scully. Everyone knows it.”

She bites her lip, flushing. “Do you think they were ever really planning to ship me off to run more experiments? Or was that all bluff?”

He eyes her carefully but doesn’t answer.

“I haven’t forgotten, Mulder,” she says meaningfully. “You still owe me the contents of that letter.”

His eyes close briefly, and then he steps forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “Later,” he promises.

After dressing, they gather their modest supplies in a bag and then start arguing about the car. Mulder insists they risk driving; Scully fears it will be the death of them.

In the end, Mulder wins again, convincing her that if they don’t take the car, they’ll just inevitably end up lost, starving, and exposed to the elements smack-dab in the middle of grizzly territory. It’s the threat of bears that eventually convinces her.

It takes Mulder five tries before he manages to get the car up the hill without headlights on. The vehicle bump-bump-bumps over terrain it was never meant to climb and Scully clings to the dashboard with a dizzying lack of optimism.

Once they reach the road, though, they both heave a sigh of relief. They’ve agreed to avoid driving into the park—it will be manned by park rangers, who may or may not be keeping watch for two FBI agents on the run. Instead, they head west towards another set of mountains, the plan being to bunker down in northern Washington’s remote Cascade Range until they’ve determined whether they’re still being tracked. They still haven’t worked out a plan for getting basic supplies or accommodations; by now, their faces are probably plastered over every news outlet in every town. They can’t just walk right into a gas station or motel.

On the road, they are completely silent as they fly through dense forest, headlights still off. The driving is treacherous—a mixture of snow and ice still covers the roads and without light for guidance, Mulder is barely keeping them on the asphalt. Scully keeps looking in the rearview, waiting for the inevitable moment when a car flies up behind them, or a helicopter drops out of the sky. But nothing happens. Eventually, they pass a sign for a national forest and without hesitation, they pull off the main road to head deeper into the wilderness. It is nearing dawn when they decide to stop and hunker down in a vacant campground.

Mulder mumbles something about needing to get gas and Scully shoves that concern to the back of her brain. They’ll worry about filling the car later. Right now, they need rest.

She climbs into the back while Mulder reclines his seat as far as it’ll go. They make eye contact as the sun starts to rise, flooding their car with light.

He reaches back to take her hand and she loops her fingers loosely with his.

“If anything happens,” he tells her solemnly, “you run. Leave me. Get as far away from me as you can.”

She frowns. “Not gonna happen, Mulder.”

He cracks a wistful smile, squeezes her fingers, and leans back in his seat. She shuts her eyes, listens for the sound of helicopters. But the forest is silent, save for the singsong of birds and the hum of insects.

She sleeps.

**

Scully wakes with an unbelievable urge to pee. Groggy, disoriented, and crick-necked, she rises from the backseat. Mulder is sleeping peacefully, his arms crossed over his chest. She smiles fondly. He looks for all the world like the version of Mulder who spent every night falling asleep on his couch in front of the T.V. She resists the urge to reach over and push his hair off his forehead.

Instead, as quietly as she can, she opens the car door and sneaks outside, silently cursing the fierce chill in the air. She hunkers down behind a tree to relieve herself, eyes scanning the quiet morning for signs of trouble.

Sensing nothing out of the ordinary, she rises to her feet. Ten feet away, she sees Mulder stirring in the front seat. He glances in the backseat and startles at her absence, then flings open the door.

“Mulder!” she calls quietly, and his eyes race to find hers across the forest. She smiles as relief crosses his face.

Sunlight warms her skin and she is suddenly filled with an incredible sense of optimism. The tracking device is gone. They escaped the cabin without notice. They seem to have reconciled, mostly.

And perhaps most thrillingly, Mulder wants to get her naked.

She takes a step towards him.

There’s a pop, a distant echo.

Something strikes her shoulder so hard she falls backward, the breath forced from her lungs.

She opens her mouth to call for Mulder’s help, but the pain hits her. Fire—raging, burning, roaring fire—races down her body and she screams in agony.

She hears Mulder shout, distantly notices the sound of footsteps approaching, but all she really knows is extreme, acute, blinding pain.

Against her will, her eyes flutter closed, and she realizes she’s losing consciousness. Her screams turn weak, then faint, and then she can barely open her mouth at all.

Someone’s hands reach roughly under her armpits and she is momentarily comforted by the thought that Mulder is saving her. He knows how to treat gunshot wounds. This is a gunshot wound, right?

Wait—why the hell was she shot?

As she’s lifted to her feet, her eyes blink slowly open, and in that brief moment, she realizes that the arms around her don’t belong to Mulder.  

Because he is writhing on the ground in front of her, two men wrestling to keep him pinned to the earth. His eyes are glued frantically to hers and she realizes, even through the agony, that this is it. They’ve been caught.

A sob escapes her throat and the person holding her tosses her violently over his shoulder. She cries weakly at the renewed pain, her eyes tearing away from Mulder’s.

She strains to hear his shouts, but her hearing is starting to fade. Her vision goes in and out. Her attacker jostles her on his shoulder and another wave of pain jolts down her body.

She faints.

[ak47stylegirl]

Hmm... sicktember, huh? Let's go for #10 and I'm going to be boringly predictable with Scott :D Your choice of caretaker.

This was fun 😁 I know you love Scott and Gordon, so the choice of the caretaker was easy lol 😂 I hope you enjoy it! I went with a little bit of a different writing style with this fic, so hopes it's good 😅

I'm doing this challenge by asks, so send in a number and a bro, and I'll get to writing 😄 Overload my inbox!! 😁

----

Glass crunched under his feet.

“Wow…this place was asking to become a danger zone...” Gordon muttered, gingerly tipping over an empty beaker with a finger. “What even was this place?”

It was hard to tell what was dust and what was rubble from the earthquake; everything was in some form of ruin or decay.

“The building is listed as an office complex, owned by lee frank industries, but….” John frowned, sounding perplexed, “something doesn't add up….”

Frustration was evident in John’s voice, because there was nothing that John hated more than a puzzle piece to a mystery being just outside his grasp.

That or false information, especially incorrect space facts…oh boy, does John go feral if you joke that the sun is just a planet that‘s on fire.

So does Alan, though he's more the barking puppy variety, Gordon thought with a smirk, oh that was a great mental image…

“You’re right about that, John….” Scott reported, stormy blue eyes scanning the room, back rigid. “This looks more like a lab than an office, and not one that reaches any legal safety requirements either….”

Gordon straightens unconsciously, becoming more alert and focused. He understood what Scott was implying and what that could mean…

The building’s stability may not be the only danger…

There was a tense pause on the comms before “I’m contacting the GDF….” John's voice filtered over the comms, each word heavy with the severity of the possible growing situation.

“Good plan, John….” Scott nodded, looking left and right down the long complex “in the meantime, Gordon and I should look for survivors….”

“FAB….just..” John’s professional mask slipped for a second, his voice softening, “be careful down there, okay?”

“Will do…” Scott nodded, with a small, confident smile, catching his eye, “Gordon will search the left side of the building, while I take the right, all agreed?”

“FAB”, Gordon and John replied in unison.

“Good”, Scott’s eyes hardened, his commander persona coming to the forefront, “comms stay on at all times, is that understood?”

Acknowledgement was voiced, and in Gordon’s case, in the form of a mock salute, and an ‘Ay, Ay captain!’

Scott’s eye roll could be felt from space.

----

So far, the left side of the building was devoid of life, a ghost town of broken glass and rubble.

And bodies.

“I found another one, John..” Gordon grimaced, crouching down next to a middle-aged female, who was crushed by a shelf, chemical burns making her unrecognisable.

“Damn it, Scott was right, this place was a safety hazard waiting to happen…” Gordon looked around the small stuffy room, bottles of chemicals stacked haphazardly, sharp objects just discard all over the place.

Brains would have a fit if he saw this…

“Had any luck on your end, Scott?”

“Not so far, but keep-” the sounds of harsh coughing could be heard over the comms, “-keep l-looking….”

Gordon frowned, “Scott, are you alright?”

There was more coughing before Scott replied, “I’m f-fine…I just-” Scott groaned, his words starting to slur, “-I just cau-caught my..my b-breath, I-”

There was more coughing and a thud on the other end, followed by Scott’s comm going dead. “Scott?! Scott, are you alright?! Answer me!”

Gordon started to run full speed, all thoughts of lab safety abandoned in his panic. All of the alarm bells in his head were ringing; something’s wrong, something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong!

“Gordon, put your helmet on now!” John barked over the comm line, causing him to halt and follow without question. “There is an unknown gas radiating from Scott’s location! GDF and Virgil are on route now!”

Gordon took off in a sprint again, helmet now secured. “Good! We may need it! Do you have eyes on Scott?”

Gordon flew around a corner.

“He’s still not responding; vitals show he’s conscious, but none of them are in a healthy range.”

John sounded worried. Not a good sign. As was the yelling he could hear as he neared Scott’s location, but something was off about it.

The only one yelling was Scott.

He slowed down his pace, not wanting to run into an unknown, possibly dangerous situation unprepared.

“No! No! Gordon! Please, wake up!” Scott could be heard screaming; his voice filled with pure anguish. “Please!!”

A shiver ran down Gordon’s spine, “John, you don’t have any clue what that gas does, do you?” He whispered tensely; honestly a bit freaked out by Scott’s cries.

“I’m working on it….” John growled, sounding beyond frustrated that vital information was alluring him. “Don’t engage Scott until we know what we’re dealing with, okay?”

Gordon scowled, hearing Scott scream and cry his name again. “Sorry John, no can do….” He turned the corner, finally laying eyes on his brother.

Scott was hunched over a body, screaming his name and begging the dead body to wake up, sob rattling Scott’s shoulders.

Scott thought that body, a young adult male, was him, Gordon realised in horror, his face going ash white.

“Scotty?” Gordon spoke softly, taking a cautious step forward, his hands held up in front of him in a gesture of peace. “You’re okay there, bro?”

Scott’s head snapped up at his entrance, blue eyes locking onto him. Blue eyes which were cloudy and glazed over.

Gordon grimaced, taking another step forward.

Yeah, Scott wasn’t in his right mind; that was plainly obvious.

The situation changed so fast Gordon barely had time to react as Scott launched to his feet with a snarl, yelling, “You!”

Gordon barely dodged Scott’s punch, his eyes going wide. “Whoa! Scott, it’s me! Gordon!” He pleaded as he dodged Scott’s attacks.

That seemed to just make Scott angrier, “don’t you lie to me, you bastard! You killed my brother!!” Scott jumped at him, finally managing to knock him off his feet.

This was bad! This was very bad! Gordon thought as his big brother started to punch him, pinning him down with a crazed look in his eyes.

Virgil and John were yelling at him over comms. He had to do something! Gordon thought as he struggled against Scott, whose punches were becoming more painful.

Gordon’s elbow stuck Scott’s cheek, stunning Scott long enough for him to shove Scott off, and put distance between them.

“Scott! Stop this! I don’t know what you’re seeing, but it’s not true!” Gordon yelled as he once again began to dodge Scott’s attacks, his ribs protesting immensely. “Please, Scotty!”

Scott’s attacks stopped, blue eyes clearing for a second, “Gordy?” Scott’s voice trembled, sounding so terrified.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, Scooter….” He took a hesitant step forward, a plan forming in his mind. “We were on a rescue, remember?”

He took another step forward, seeing that Scott was staying still, slowly reaching for the emergency sedative in his sash.

Scott’s eyes latched on his hand movement, eyes going wide, and the anger returned. “Ahhhrgh! Get out of my head!” Scott shook his head, gripping his hair in his fists. “Your tricks won’t work on me, Hood!”

Well, that explains a lot…

He took another step forward, “Scotty, I promise I’m not-“

“Enough lies!” Scott screamed, tackling him to the ground, his head hitting the ground hard, being momentarily stunned.

“No!” Gordon cried out as Scott knocked the syringe from his hand, it rolling just out of his reach.

“It’s over, Hood!” Scott sneered, blue eyes devoid of their normal kindness and love, “you’re never going to hurt my family ever again!”

Gordon looked into emotionless eyes, and felt proper fear of his brother for the first time in his life.

Scott wasn’t going to stop; he was going to...

Gordon growled, his eyes hardening in detention as his fist met Scott’s nose. Scott cried out in pain, distracted for a second, and in that second, he was able to wrestle Scott under him.

While Gordon was quick and agile, a good fighter in his own right, Scott was stronger than him. The fight quickly escalated into a wrestling match, neither letting the other get the upper hand.

Gordon spotted the syringe near them, just as Scott got the upper hand, slamming him into the ground.

No matter how much he struggled, Scott had him well and truly pinned this time, one arm pinned above his head.

One arm was free, but mobility was limited by Scott’s body weight on his upper shoulder and arm. But he had to try!

“Scott! I’m just tr-” Scott pressed his forearm against Gordon’s throat, beginning to cut off his air supply “,-t-trying to help you!”

His fingers brushed against the syringe, it slipping just out of his grasp. So close! So close!

“Like hell you are!” Scott cried, tears of anguish and fury pouring down his cheeks. “What have we ever done to you?! What have my little brothers done?!”

Tears pickled at the corners of Gordon’s eyes, his vision darkening just as his hand finally gripped the syringe.

He didn’t hesitate, slamming the syringe into Scott’s thigh with all of his remaining strength. Scott cried out, the pressure on his throat disappearing as Scott leapt away from him.

“What did you-” Scott stumbled, falling on his butt, eyes starting to blink rapidly. “What did you just...just inject into me?!”

Gordon slowly sat up, wrapping an arm around his ribs. “Scotty, it’s okay….” He moved towards Scott, who tried to flinch away, but only ended up collapsing onto his side.

“No, no, this, this can’t be h-happening..” Scott whimpered in despair, unable to lift his head or stop Gordon from moving towards him. “P-please, not G-Gordy….”

“I’m right here; I’m right here, Scotty..” Gordon pulled Scott onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “It’s alright, shh come on, go to sleep now….”

Scott’s eyes were becoming heavy, each blink becoming more prolonged than the last, “No, I can’t…I gotta…I gotta…“

Scott’s breathing evened out, eyes slipping close and not opening again. Gordon sighed in relief, slumping backwards, Scott’s head resting against his chest.

“You owe me big time, big brother…” Gordon whispered with a small pained smile, hearing Virgil’s voice in the distance. “So very, very much….”

[janetbrown711]

“ there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe” yakko dot Wakko

“What do you mean we can’t stay here anymore Yakko?” Wakko asked his older brother. Yakko sighed heavily. Wakko was six years old now, and Yakko had originally hoped that meant he’d be able to get a grip on things and make his life easier, but his hopes were in vain.

“I mean the orphanage is being shut down by King Salazar, so we have to go somewhere else,” Yakko rubbed his forehead as he folded blankets and put them into bags.

“Why? He isn’t really king, dadoo was,” Wakko frowned, and Yakko shot him a look.

“Wakko- how many times have I told you not to say things like that,” He said in a harsh whisper. Wakko lowered his head and muttered an apology. Yakko sighed. “King William and Queen Angelina the Second died two years ago, and King Salazar took his place.”

“Why does he want to shut down an orphanage? Doesn’t he have important things to do?” He asked.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Yakko scoffed. He looked at his younger siblings and sighed again.

“King Salazar isn’t a good man. He’s very greedy, and wants to put up a different shop here because he doesn’t want to fund the orphanage anymore,” Yakko explained.

“But we don’t have anywhere else to go, doesn’t he know that?” Wakko huffed and crossed his arms. Yakko tried to think of a response as his eyes went to Dot, who was running around chasing a butterfly that had gotten inside somehow.

“I know that Wak... but there isn’t anything we can do,” He shrugged and continued packing.

“There has to be something,” Wakko kicked the ground and thought. 

“Wakko, there just... isn’t. Not everything can be stopped,” Yakko touched his younger brother’s shoulder. Wakko didn’t respond, looking at the ground intensely as he thought. 

“C’mon Wak, we have to go,” Yakko said, tying up the blankets and what little clothes they had into one blanket that he slung around his shoulder. He called to Dot, and she ran on over, beaming up to him with the confidence and joyfulness that only a naive two-year-old could possess. 

“Wak.” Yakko said, becoming impatient. Wakko sighed and kicked the ground, muttering, but Yakko didn’t particularly care, and the warners left the now empty orphanage. 

“Where we go?” Dot asked her eldest brother. 

“Somewhere else, but not too far, Acme Falls is home,” Yakko said, bluffing his confidence. At least he knew some of it was true; no matter what, he was never going to leave Acme Falls. His mom told him to stay there, that was where he was going to stay. He couldn’t risk him and his sibs getting recognized, he couldn’t afford to lose them too...

“I want to go back,” Wakko huffed again. Yakko groaned internally, getting very tired of the wave of moodiness that had overcome his brother. 

“We can’t go back Wak, I just explained that to you,” He stated, avoiding looking at a few of the townsfolk who were shooting them looks of pity. 

“I want to go home,” Wakko stomped. Yakko stepped back. 

“Wakko, we don’t have a home. We don’t have anywhere to go,” Yakko said for what felt like the millionth time in two years. 

“Why can’t we go back and fight for our home?!” Wakko shouted, angrier than before. Yakko’s eyes widened, and he quickly scanned to see who was watching before he pulled his brother by the collar of his shirt into an ally, and Dot followed closely behind. 

“Wakko, where on earth are you getting these ideas?” Yakko harshly whispered. 

“Those stupid stories you tell Dot-”

“Hey!” Dot protested but was ignored. 

“-talk about brave princes who fight evil. Why can’t we? King Saladbar-”

“King Salazar is a grown-up, and very, very powerful. We couldn’t fight him if we tried.” Yakko put his foot down. 

“C’mon, in Dot’s stories it’s always the little guy. We could fight him,” Wakko said proudly

“Yeah!” Dot agreed with his enthusiasm, not really grasping what he was saying.

“Not ‘yeah’ Dot, that’s a very dumb idea,” He told her.

“You said good people always fight for what's right and to protect what they love,” Wakko scowled. 

“Of course they do Wakko, it’s just-” 

“Then why don’t we fight?!” Wakko seemed outraged now and Yakko really, really hoped no one was listening in to any of this. 

“Because you’re just a kid Wakko. You can’t fight,” Yakko said. 

“Not true- I fight Dot and I win,” Wakko crossed his arms. 

“She’s two, she doesn’t count,” Yakko rolled his eyes. “And besides, I am protecting you two.” 

“Faboo job so far,” Wakko muttered under his breath, but Yakko heard it clear as day. 

“Watch your tone Wakko or so help me-” 

“Or what? You aren’t Mum or Dad,” Wakko stomped, which made Dot jump and scurry behind Yakko. 

“Wakkorotti Alan Warner so help me-” Yakko felt his temperature rise with anger, but he swallowed it best as possible, bringing his fist to his mouth and attempting to take calming breaths. 

“Look, I know you’re confused. I’m sorry that the orphanage closed, there’s nothing we can do about it,” He said, looking down when he saw Dot hold his hand. “Just... know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you- either of you safe, okay? I love you guys more than anything,” Yakko said.

“If you’d do anything to protect us, then why won’t you fight Salazar, huh??? Why did you let him take away our home???”

 “Why did you let Mum and Dad die?!”

Wakko’s words felt like a giant bat hit him right in the chest and left him feeling utterly speechless. He looked at Wakko and saw that tears were streaming down his face, and he covered his mouth with his hands. Yakko couldn’t look at him, and he turned around to face the back of the alley. 

“Yakko?” Dot asked quietly. She was likely confused from all of the shouting, but Yakko didn’t have it in him to comfort her. He was done. 

He could still see his mother in his mind, all bruised and bloodied. He remembered what her soft velvet gloves felt like against his cheek, her soft and tender kisses on his forehead, and he could still hear her cries of agony right before the gunshot that silenced her. 

Guilt had wracked his mind ever since that night. At first, he hadn’t been able to sleep, he stayed up for weeks at a time, before exhaustion got to him and he was forced to sleep. He was slowly able to regain control of his guilt, with the help of the local doctor, but it still rested in the back of his mind, like a sleeping dragon. 

A dragon that Wakko had just woken up. 

“Y-yakko I’m sorry- I-i didn’t mean it,” Wakko was quick to apologize, but Yakko couldn’t look back at him. 

He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to his dad, but he had seen his mother. He could’ve done something, but he froze, he froze, like some idiot and he had gotten caught, and because they saw him they killed her. 

It was his fault. He froze, and because of that his mother was killed. 

“Y-yakko please, I’m s-so s-so sorry. I didn’t mean it- You did what you could,” Wakko was practically sobbing at his point. Yakko glanced back at him, and that confirmed his suspicion. Wakko took his glance back as an invitation to hug him, and soon Yakko was almost crushed by the strong embrace of his little brother and little sister. Yakko swallowed painfully as he felt a sob of his own get caught in his throat. 

“I’m so so so s-so sor-sorry Ya-Yakko, I-i love you,” Wakko squeezed tighter. “

“I-i-” Yakko started, but he couldn’t speak. He knew his siblings didn’t understand, how could they? They were trying their darndest to comfort him, but they didn’t understand. Whether or not Wakko meant it wasn’t relevant, he was right, and the weight of that fact would rest on Yakko’s shoulders for the rest of time. Yakko began to cry.

“You're the best big brother I would ever wish for! I didn’t mean any of that! You love us a whole lot a-and we love you too, right Dot?” Wakko sniffled and looked to his two-year-old sister, who nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! Dot loves Yakko!” She said. Yakko couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that. Dot’s way of speaking did that to him. 

“Yeah! A-and I love you too! You’re the best big brother and a good prince and a good protector,” Wakko let go of him only to wipe his tears off of his own face. Yakko did the same and took in a deep breath. 

“I love you two too,” Yakko said shakily. Wakko bit his lip. 

“I didn’t mean it really- It’s Saladbar’s fault, not yours. He’s evil and mean and he decided to attack our home. It isn’t your fault mum and dad gone, I was being stupid,” Wakko said. Yakko nodded slowly, doing his best to take in the words. They almost sounded to elegant to be Wakko’s, but Wakko had a knack for expressing his emotions, something even he, the quote-on-quote “talkative” sibling, struggled with. 

“Thank you Wak... just... don’t ever say anything like that again, okay?” Yakko asked him. Wakko nodded his head a thousand and one times. 

“I promise, Yakko. I didn’t mean it. Saladbar is the one to blame, I hate him,” Wakko stated affirmatively. Yakko couldn’t help but snicker had his mispronunciation of Salazar, which made Wakko happier. 

“While I usually don’t condone hatred... I’ll let it slide this one time. We can hate Salazar,” He said. Dot and Wakko beamed. 

“Good, because I really, really hate him,” He said. 

“Yeah! Dot hates Saladbar!” Dot shouted, raising a tiny fist in the air and giggling. 

“Good,” Yakko smiled at her and took her hand. “I’m glad we all can agree on that.” He went to pick up the bag of their stuff, but Wakko took it instead, and held his brother’s other hand. 

“Now, let’s go find us some shelter. There’s got to be something around here somewhere...” Yakko said, and together the little family walked out of the alleyway and began to look for somewhere where they would start the next chapter of their lives, secure in the knowledge that while they couldn’t change the past they did have each other, and that’s all that mattered. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

[willow-salix]

This fic came about after a hilarious conversation with my fellow co-conspiritors @hodgehegposts @hedwigstalons @eirabach and @olliepig. I blame you all for the fact that I wrote this at stupid o'clock in the morning. Bitches!

“Hi, Ebony, how’s the coffin this morning?”

Selene scowled over her coffee cup at the annoying beast that was Gordon. “Choose your words wisely, fish boy, I’ve barely had a sip yet.”

“Sorry, don’t get your fangs in a twist.”

Her eyes narrowed warningly and he wisely retreated. She nodded in satisfaction and took a long sip. Boys are weird, she had always known this. But couldn't he have picked a better time than seven thirty in the morning? Apparently not.

She had forgotten about his strange morning greeting by the time she’d had her second coffee and was so deeply engrossed in a dice reading that she didn’t notice Alan sneaking in until it was too late.

“So, when you and John get married, are you going to be a Tracy?”

“Huh?” she glanced up, having caught around ten percent of what he had said. “What was that, bub?”

“I asked if you were going to become a Tracy when you marry John…” he had moved closer to catch her attention but now he had taken a step back, “or are you going to stay as a Raven-Way?” He ran before she could fully take in what he had said, or throw something at him.

“Raven-what? What is going on with these idiots today?”

“Not a clue,” Virgil shrugged.

“Well you’re no help,” she huffed, taking a picture of her dice spread and tucking them back in their bag, there was no way she’d be able to concentrate now that they had weirded her out.

She found them both in the lounge reading something on a tablet and laughing. They looked innocent enough but she was wise to their ways and wasn't fooled for a second.

“Right, I want to know what the hell is going on, right now,” she had crossed her arms, her foot was tapping in annoyance and a wise man would recognise the signs and tread delicately. The boys were not wise, Gordon does not possess the ability to be delicate. Neither, it seems, did Alan.

“Nothing is going on,” Gordon promised, all wide eyed innocence.

“Don’t bullshit me boy.”

“All we asked was if you were keeping your own name. What’s wrong, was your morning blood not warm enough?”

“I’m a witch, not a vampire, dumb ass, surely you know that”?

“Are you in love with Draco?” Alan asked slyly.

“Draco?” she was instantly distracted, having a love of all things classic Harry Potter. “You know I’m a Draco fan, it was all his parent’s fault, he was a good boy under all that sass and bad parenting.”

“Maybe John will change his name to Draco as a wedding present,” Gordon grinned. "That would be perfect."

Selene’s narrowed eyes darted in his direction. It was a look that should have shrivelled him on the spot, but Gordon was immune, he was puffed up with some secret knowledge, some joke that she was not part of and it was pissing her off.

“She got up on the wrong side of the coffin this morning, didn’t she?” Gordon side whispered to Alan who sniggered.

“There is no coffin!” Selene screamed, getting thoroughly fed up. She turned on her heel and stomped out of the room before she gave in to the urge to kick one of them. Sure, she’d regret it later, because no matter how doofy and annoying they were, she did love them, but oh, it would be so satisfying.

There was only one person that could help her at that moment, the all knowing, all seeing one that she happened to call the love of her life.

“Johhhhn,” she whined the second his hologram popped up. “Your shitty little brothers are picking on me again.”

Ahh there was that eye roll that they all knew and secretly dreaded seeing.

“What have they done now?” he sounded slightly distracted but that wasn't unusual and she didn't hold it against him.

“They keep being weird and saying strange things to me that sound like insults but are really just stupid and I don’t understand it and they are pissing me off,” she ranted without taking a breath.

It took John a second to mentally rewind the conversation enough for him to pick through her words in order to properly respond.

“They’re saying weird things? That’s not that unusual.”

“I know that! And if it was their usual kind of weird I wouldn’t be bothered.”

“What are they saying?”

“You have the same tone a mum does when one child is telling tales on another,” she accused.

“No, I don’t, this is my normal tone.”

“So your normal tone is downtrodden soccer mum?”

“What did they say?” he asked again, ignoring her comment as he did almost all of the things she said.

Selene flopped back against the pillows on his side of the bed, having hidden in the bedroom to bitch about his brothers. She placed her comm down on the bedside table and reached for...yep, she had one of his planets again. She had bought him a small model of the solar system, which he loved, but each planet was made from a different crystal, which she loved. Jupiter was a tigers eye, Venus was an amethyst, Earth a pretty jade and so on. This time she had snagged the small red topaz that was Mercury and was rolling it between her fingers.

“First it was Gordon-”

“Naturally.”

“He said something about my coffin and fangs and he called me Ebony.”

John frowned. "That is weird. And not just Gordon weird. What else did they say?”

“Alan asked if I was going to take the Tracy name when we get married-”

“Well we haven’t discussed it but it would but up to you obviously, you have built a reputation off your name after all.”

Selene smiled. There were no outdated marriage ideas for her man. That was one of the reasons she'd changed her mind about getting married, the fact that he wanted it as a commitment for them, not as a sign of ownership where she changed her name to his and gave up part of her identity.

“You’re amazing, I love you.”

“I love you too," he answered. He had no idea why she suddenly felt the need to say it but he wasn't going to complain. "But getting back to the original conversation, surely that kind of question wasn’t too strange?”

“No, the strange part was when he asked if I was keeping my maiden name of Raven-Way.”

John blinked. “Your what now?”

“Exactly. So I tracked them down and asked them what the fuck was going on-”

“Naturally.”

“There’s that tone again, babe.”

“There is no tone, you are imagining the tone, continue.”

“They asked if I loved Draco and suggested that you change your name as a wedding present. They also asked if my blood was too cold this morning.”

“They're up to something.”

“I know! Now find out what it is, that’s your job after all.”

“It’s actually not, I have a rather more important job than finding out everything they are doing.”

“They are your brothers, therefore it’s your job.”

John sighed the put upon sigh of the big brother that really wanted some peace and quiet.

“I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“And make sure you put Mercury back before Armstrong runs off with it again because you’ve left it on the bed.”

“That only happened three times…” his eyebrow raised. “Alright, five at the most. I’ll put it back, OK?” She plopped it gently back into its little holder close to the center and the large citrine that was the sun. “There, it’s back.”

“Thank you. I won’t be long.”

Selene had only managed to read two pages of her book before he was back.

“I think I’ve found the origins of their comments.”

“You have? Where? What is it? Did they tell you? Did they confess?”

“My tablet’s in my drawer, I sent the link there.”

"The link? Was it on the Internet? Are you telling me I could have just googled it?"

"You could, yes."

Confused but also very curious she retrieved the tablet and easily bypassed his passwords and security, they had no secrets, and located the link.

“What the heck is this? You know I’m not really a fan of fan fiction.”

“Just read it, I’ll wait.”

***

“Are you alright?”

Selene stared dumbly at the screen, her mouth opening and shutting in horror.

“Sel?”

Her goldfish out of water impression continued.

“Selene? Are you broken?” She'd been staring into space for more than five minutes, having read the abomination, the utter abuse of the English language and anything that was considered good literature.

“I’ll kill them,” Selene growled, breaking her silence. John breathed a sigh of relief, his woman was a little on the dramatic side but he hadn’t meant to fry her brain.

“Please don’t, can you be content to just hurt them a little.”

“Fine, but first I have to do something very important, I’ll see you later at dinner.”

“Okay, but are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yep, I’m fine,” she insisted as she swiped her comm off the side, slung it around her neck and left the room.

John’s hologram bounced along with her as she stalked down the halls to the lounge.

“Hey, Eb, what’s up?” Alan greeted her, earning himself a very rude hand gesture as she passed by without a word. John’s hologram raised the pointy finger of doom at him in warning, his expression clearly saying ‘look what you two have done, look what I’m dealing with now, sleep with one eye open’.

Selene went straight to the hangars and into her car.

“Where are you going?” John asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“You’ll see when I get back.”

***

“Ow!” Gordon yelped as he suddenly found himself the recipient of a smack around the back of his head from John as he passed behind the couch.

John's hand lifted to give Alan the same treatment but the youngest Tracy was quicker and used a pillow as a shield.

“What were you two thinking? Do you have any idea how insulted she is? I’m going to be talking her down for a week.”

“Lighten up,” Gordon huffed, still rubbing the back of his head.

“Yeah, it was just a joke,” Alan added in their defense. “We didn’t know she’d get insulted by it, we thought she’d laugh.”

“Did you, did you really?” John was not convinced.

“She’s going to kill us, isn’t she?” Alan asked, suddenly looking terrified.

“Probably, not that I’d blame her.”

“Where is she anyway?”

“I’ve no idea, she turned her comm off when she reached the mainland.”

“What would she be doing there?” Gordon pondered.

“Stocking up on knives?” Alan shuddered.

“Eh, I’m not too worried, you know she loves us, we’ll just say sorry and it’ll be fine.”

“What was that?” Alan jumped, hearing voices in the hall. “I think she's back.”

All three of them fell silent, leaning closer, straining their ears to hear the conversation.

“Honestly, I love it, it’s great,” Scott assured her.

“You promise? I don’t look weird? I’m still not sure about it, I don’t really feel like me yet.”

“I promise, you look great.”

“Is he home?”

“Got back about ten minutes ago, want me to get him?”

“Yes please.”

John was already on his feet before Scott entered the lounge, pausing to exchange a rather bemusing high five with Scott as his eldest brother tagged himself out of the situation.

John had no idea what to expect, in fact his mind had been conjuring up all sort of weird and not so wonderful scenarios of things that could greet him when she got home. Thankfully, out of all the things he had imagined, this was nowhere near as bad.

He stopped dead, his eyes taking in the sight before him.

“Wow, that’s different.”

“Good different or bad different?” she asked, tucking her hair behind one ear in the most self conscious gesture John had ever seen from her.

“Good different, not that you looked bad before,” he hurried to add, worried that she might still be pissed off.

“You sure?”

“I’m very sure,” he promised her. “Come here, let me see properly.”

She stepped closer allowing him to study her from all angles. Her hair had had a trim, losing about an inch and tidying up the slightly feathery layers that had been growing out, giving it a sleeker and more grown up look. It flowed down over her shoulders in a silken wave, as straight as a ruler. But most surprising of all was the colour. Her hair was now a deep, dark plum colour all over, the black with lilac streaks a thing of the past.

“I figured I needed a change, you know.”

“You didn’t have to do this, not because of those idiots.” His fingers tunneled into the soft strands, feeling the same heavy weight that he was used to as well as the smooth softness. He twirled a small section around his finger, caressing it with his thumb. He liked it, it suited her.

She shrugged. “I know I was annoyed at first but now I kinda like it. I’ve had that hair for a long time, I guess it was a bit of a statement at first, it made me feel more like me, like I was being true to myself and I just never had the guts to change it after that.”

“You didn’t have the guts? I find that hard to believe.”

“I just worried that if the hair went, I’d lose a little part of myself too, the part that I’ve been fighting for for a long time. I felt like I finally loved myself, the hair was part of that.”

“So why change it? Not that I don't like it, it's lovely, it's very you. It suits you.”

“Because I realised something today and that knowledge let me know that it was time to leave the comfort blanket behind, because I have something more important than hair colour.”

“You do?”

“Yep,” she caught his free hand and tugged him closer, lifting her head for a kiss. “I’ve got you and I know you’ll love me enough for the both of us if I ever have a wobble.”

“I can definitely do that," he smiled, unable to resist stealing another quick kiss. It was going to take some getting used to, he'd never known her with any other colour hair, but it wouldn't be a hardship, she looked as lovely as ever to him, in fact, if pushed he'd say even more beautiful than she had before, something he wouldn't have believed was even possible.

“Good.”

“So, in a roundabout way, Gordon and Alan actually did something good?”

“Yes, I’ll admit that a little good did come out of it.”

“So you’ll go and put them out of their misery?”

“Hell no, I’m gonna make the little shits suffer for at least a week. How dare they compare me to Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.”

[aspiring-ginger]

Words (Jaskier x Reader)

Request: Could you please do a Jaskier x reader, where the reader has had a rough, very upsetting day, so she goes to Jaskier and asks if he would sing to her to help her calm down? Gives them both a chance to vent, and she gives Jaskier the appreciation he DESERVES for his wonderful singing 😍

Warnings: Language

Word count: 1,705

Pairing(s): Jaskier x fem!reader (The Witcher)

Song: Words, by Gregory Alan Isakov

A/N: Here you go, nonnie! This took awhile, but I hope you liked it! This song has always been one of my favorites, and it instantly popped into my head while trying to think of songs Jaskier would sing. It’s very calming and beautiful, and I highly recommend giving it a listen! 💜

Comments and feedback are always appreciated!

Taglist: @thunderdog8​ , @dreaming-about-starfleet​ , @dandelionwitcher​

Masterlist

You nodded in thanks as a bowl of stew was placed in front of you. There was no way to tell what kind of meat was even in it, and what you thought were supposed to be vegetables were just grey chunks. Maybe it was some sort of dumpling? Either way, it looked disgusting. But it was hot, and that’s all that mattered.

You’ve been travelling with Geralt and Jaskier for some time now, and it honestly feels like you’ve been on the road forever. It had taken at least an hour’s worth of pestering from both you and the bard to convince Geralt to stop for the night at some unnoteworthy small town, instead of pressing on before camping for the night. So, at least this food was hot and not hunted and cooked before your very eyes. There was a chunk of bread to go with it, but as you moved it to grab your spoon, it fell to the table with a thud. That thing was stale.

Honestly, you didn’t expect any better from this stupid town. Your day was spent arguing with shopkeepers who overpriced their goods just for you. Literally, A man looking through the same wares as you was given a lower price, but when you approached the owners with the same items, they raised the price. You had a sneaking suspicion it was because of your disheveled appearance, and the fact that you were a woman carrying a weapon.

That was just ridiculously stupid, as you were travelling on the road with a gods forsaken witcher. Of course you needed weapons to protect yourself. It didn’t matter if you actually used them or not, but both Jaskier and Geralt felt better with you having one.

Anyway, while Geralt was off seeking any contracts or work suited for a witcher, Jaskier sought out any rich families who might want his musical entertainment for the night. After all, once you’ve seen one tavern, you might as well have seen them all, so playing in one was not quite exciting. Although as much as the bard would complain about his songs and skill being much too good for such a tavern, money was money and he would still play if need be. So that left you with the task of restocking and repairing equipment, as well as tending to the horses.

Your body was still sore from your second task, and you absolutely reeked of horse. While leading Roach and Jaskier’s new horse (who seemed to have a new name every day as Jaskier was very indecisive) into the tavern’s stables, something must’ve spooked the horses and some idiot hadn’t properly taken care of their horse. The frightened mare broke free and ran straight into you, knocking you down into a fresh pile of horse dung. Of course.

It had just been a shit day overall, and you wanted nothing more than some food in your stomach, although this ‘stew’ in front of you didn’t look particularly appealing, and a hot bath. You grimaced and chewed through your dinner, trying to ignore the strange textures from...whatever it was that you were actually eating. You didn’t even bother with the bread, it was way too hard to chew, and just wasn’t worth the effort. You shoveled the slop as into your mouth as quick as you could, desperate to get on with the meal and hop straight in the bath. Of course the universe just wanted you to be absolutely miserable, because when asked about the baths the innkeep directed you in the right direction, but there was no hot water. Cold water only.

You had to take a deep breath to hold your tears of frustration at bay before you stomped up the stairs. There was no way you were letting this horrible town get the best of you and see you cry.

Just as you expected- the baths were freezing. You did your best to get yourself clean, shivering as you scrubbed. It would have to make do. Once you were clean and not a second after, you hopped out of the bath and trudged up to your shared room with Jaskier.

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to comfort you or simply let out your frustrations alone. These were all very silly things to get upset for, but you were already in a foul mood to begin with, and the world’s punishments were seemingly endless. It was very silly, so you should be able to deal with whatever life handed you. You cursed to yourself as you thought this, your eyes welling up once again.

It seemed you didn’t have a choice in the matter- as you opened the door you saw Jaskier in a chair against the wall, lute in hand and bits of parchment crumpled and strewn about the floor around him. You mumbled a greeting as you headed straight for the bed, plopping yourself down and not even bothering with the blankets. Jaskier looked up from his notebook and furrowed his brows in concern.

“Are you alright, love? You didn’t even say hello.”

You didn’t respond.

“Darling? What’s wrong?” He gently placed his lute on the floor and stood from his seat.

“Just a bad day, that’s all. Don’t stop working on a song just because of me.” Your voice was muffled from the pillows. There was a pause as you heard shuffling around you. The mattress dipped as Jaskier sat down.

“It’s okay, love. I want to hear how your day was. If something’s the matter I want to help.” He reached out a hand and began to gently massage your back.

“Shitty,” You grumbled.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. “ Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?” You thought for a moment and then shrugged.

It was comforting just being in your lover’s presence, but you didn’t know what he could do to make your day better. You felt bad interrupting his work. Jaskier just waited, rubbing circles and miscellaneous shapes into your back.

“Maybe….you could sing for me? Show me what it is you’re working on?” You asked.

Jaskier shifted and his hand stilled. “Well, I had this song almost finished and ready to go, but when I showed it to Geralt, he just said it was worthless. I’m sure you don’t want to hear that. It’ll take some time for me to rewrite everything to make it good, if any of it is actually salvageable. Are you sure you don’t want to hear a different song?”

You frowned and turned your head to face him. “Geralt didn’t actually say that, did he?” He nodded. “Well that’s stupid, your songs are always good and Geralt has no idea what he’s saying. You said it was almost finished, I want to hear it.”

He sighed. “Would that help you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Alright fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Nothing I’ve written lately has been any good.”

You didn’t respond and waited for him to begin.

“I erm, I had you in mind when I wrote this, but I don’t think it does you any justice, and I love you so much and I just want it to be perfect for you, because you deserve the best and nothing less.” Jaskier rambled.

“Julian. I’m sure I’ll love it. Just play.”

He sighed when you used his full name, and picked up his lute. He began to strum a few notes to get back into the rhythm, then he began to sing. His soft voice carried around the room as he gently plucked each string.

“Words mean more at night

Like a song

And did you ever notice

The way light means more than it did all day long?

Words mean more at night

Light means more

Like your hair and your face and your smile

And our bed and the dress that you wore

So i'll send you my words

From the corners of my room

And though I write them by the light of day

Please read them by the light of the moon

And I wish I could leave my bones and my skin

And float over the tired tired sea

So that I could see you again

Maybe you would leave too

And we'd blindly pass each other

Floating over the ocean blue

Just to find the warm bed of our lover

And i'll send you my words

From the corners of my room

And though I write them by the light of day

Please read them by the light of the moon”

The tears that had been threatening to spill all day finally broke through, spilling down your cheeks and staining the pillows.

“I-It’s really meant to be more of a poem talking about a song, or just a poem, but I thought that it would sound best with music, but obviously it needs a lot of work…” He began, wringing his hands and playing with the ring around his finger.

“Oh, Julian.” His head snapped up when he heard your sniffles. “That was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. Geralt is a fool for not appreciating your work.”

“(y/n), please don’t cry, I-”

“No, Jaskier. I’m crying because I’ve had a terrible day and you just played one of the sweetest songs for me. These are good tears.”

Jaskier smiled as he climbed back into bed with you.

“I loved it.” You were quick to fall into his embrace, resting your head on his shoulder.

“You really think so?” He pulled you closer, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Of course. It was wonderful.”

“I love you with all my heart, (y/n).” He murmured into your hair.

“And I love you.” You snuggled closer, letting a few stray tears drip onto his shirt.

Jaskier held you like this for a long time, whispering sweet words when tears would begin to fall again. As he heard your breathing slow, he hummed the melody one more time. There was a small smile on your face as you drifted off to sleep, knowing that you were safe in his arms.

Taglist and Requests are open!

[tsarisfanfiction]

Bedtime (Should Not Be 4am)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Jeff Tracy, Scott Tracy, Gordon Tracy, John Tracy, Tracy brothers

Familiar Strangers: The first night home should be relaxing, but for Jeff it's anything but as he readjusts to being back on Earth, and five sons who've grown up without him. Spoilers for 3.25 "The Long Reach (Part 1)"

Jeff couldn't sleep. Gravity was heavy all over, a pressure his body hadn't felt the force of in far too long, and the light cotton of his clothes was a foreign sensation after so many years in his uniform. And that wasn't including his underlying fear that falling asleep here would mean waking up back there, in the wreckage of the Zero-X all alone, with the sinking knowledge that being back home was just a dream.

He threw off the covers and scrambled his way to his feet. There was no sense in lying awake with nothing but his thoughts for company – he'd had plenty of time to do that in the depths of the Oort Cloud. Tracy Island was its own quiet paradise in the middle of the ocean, and he didn't have to double and triple check his oxygen levels before leaving his airlock prison.

That didn't stop him reaching for the helmet by his bed out of habit, only realising what he was doing when his fingers met air where years of instinct told him should be the smooth shell of his gear. He sighed, a deep exhale followed by a shallow inhale. Adapting to life on Earth would be a lengthy process.

The door opened soundlessly and easily – no airlock to shift, just simple light wood separating his bedroom from the rest of the villa and he padded out equally quietly on bare feet. Snuffles sounded from the room next door, the noises his mother made in her sleep still familiar despite the long absence and he smiled as he passed. Tanusha's - Kayo's – room was on the end, just before the flight of stairs to his sons'. A new change; one of many, so many he had no idea how he was ever going to adapt to the life that had gone on without him. He remembered her as being quiet, but even through the door he could hear slow even breathing.

Carefully he made his way down the stairs, the exactly equal paces required for descent a marked change from clambering over a rugged planetoid, and passed his sons' rooms. Doors closed, they should all be asleep, exhausted after the mission of a lifetime. No matter how badly he wanted to see them again, he could wait until daylight. They didn't need him disturbing their sleep. Not now.

There was light in the den as he descended the stairs towards it. More of a glow than light, it came from the desk – his desk? Was it still his? The holoprojector was on, a blue background defining white text he couldn't read at that distance, and in the shadows it cast, something gestured and it changed.

Someone was still up. He could hear their breathing, slow but not quite steady, and the tap-tap-tap of fingers drumming on wood. As his eyes adjusted to the off-kilter lighting he could make out the sight of his eldest son hunched over the wood, one hand propping up his chin while the other tapped at the desk by a mug.

He checked the time. It was gone four in the morning. Scott was still in his day clothes, shirt rumpled and hair falling loose from its gelled confines to flop weakly over his forehead. He looked exhausted, even as his hand paused its tapping of the wood to swipe the hologram into the next page of text.

Jeff remembered the days of paperwork, one of the few things he hadn't missed during his time amongst the stars. The fact that Scott had taken it on was not a surprise – he had had far too much time to think about what his boys would do in his absence, and while many of his predictions appeared to have been falling flat, Scott was the eldest child and therefore officially his heir. The paperwork required to keep Tracy Industries afloat would have settled on his shoulders.

The time of night he had chosen to work on it, however, was. He'd thought Scott would follow his example – work during the day when not on rescues. There was no reason for him to stay up all night, and his parental instincts flared in a mix of worry and anger.

Scott knew the importance of a good nights' sleep, had had it drilled firmly into him as a child. Why was he ignoring everything he'd been told as a child about bedtimes? He was only going to hurt himself!

He stepped forwards, deliberate and determined to get his wayward son into bed where he belonged at this time of the night only to be brought up short by a hand landing on his shoulder from behind.

His nerves lit up, the warmth of the touch unexpected and unwelcome in the darkness when he hadn't known it was coming, and he whirled around sharply to see who was foolish enough to sneak up on him.

It was Gordon, his second youngest's hands raising up in a quiet surrender as he rounded on him, breathing heavily.

"Shh!" the blond hissed under his breath, sounding like a leaky air tank as he pressed a finger to his lips in an unmistakable demand for silence. He looked tired himself, hastily suppressing a yawn before bringing a glass up to his lips and sipping it quietly.

Jeff remembered his midnight kitchen trips from before. But then it was sweets, sugary menaces that would keep him bouncing off the walls for most of the following day before crashing mid-afternoon. Not a simple glass of water.

He gestured for him to go back up to bed, not wanting to deal with multiple sons up when none of them should be, and Gordon responded with a shrug and clear invitation for him to join him. Jeff signalled later before turning back to Scott, only for Gordon to shimmy around in front of him, arms crossed and shaking his head.

Leave him, he mouthed, barely visible in the pitch dark of the island. His lips were barely lit by the glow of the hologram Scott still perused on the desk, seemingly obvious to their presence. Jeff frowned, digging his heels in at the idea of leaving his eldest to an ill-advised all-nighter, but Gordon had inherited the Tracy stubbornness and his mother's cunning.

Jeff wasn't entirely sure what Gordon did to get him climbing back up the stairs, away from Scott, but that was where he found himself heading, Gordon behind him – between him and Scott, almost like a guard dog.

"You won't get him to stop," the blond teenager said – was he still a teenager, or had he reached twenty yet? Jeff had lost track of the years in a place beyond Earthly time. "Interrupting him now is like trying to wake Virgil up this early. Violence, arguments, and ultimately futile."

The idea that this was something common enough that Gordon knew what would happen did not sit well with Jeff.

"This happens a lot?" he asked, looking back at the stairs that led to his eldest. Gordon sighed before draining his glass.

"I don't remember the last time he slept in his bed," he admitted, and Jeff's heart sank. "There's just never enough time in a day, you know? Rescues, rescue reports for the GDF, being badgered by the GDF about anything they please, keeping Tracy Industries running."

"The GDF?" Jeff's voice came out strangled as he tried to think what the Global Defence Force would have to do with International Rescue. They were two independent organisations, the GDF had no jurisdiction over them! Unless… no. His sons wouldn't-

"They think Scott's too young," Gordon said, sitting back on his bed and staring at the ceiling. "He won the battle to keep us independent, but it came with compromises."

Jeff thought back to how he remembered Scott, leaving him with a reassurance that he'd be home soon and that it was a simple mission – he didn't need the backup just to stop the Zero-X. Then he remembered the wrist he'd clasped as he stopped him falling to his death, the face that had looked up at him then.

Too young? Maybe the Scott he'd left behind that day had been. But the one he'd reunited with less than an Earth-day ago was too old.

"He'll pa- uh, fall asleep soon," Gordon continued, jumping back to their original topic of conversation. "His favourite blanket is kept tucked under the yellow couch." He said that as though it was supposed to mean something. Jeff nodded awkwardly, feeling the gap between them yawn into a chasm. He didn't know this young man in front of him. Not really.

Gordon looked at him after a moment, a why are you still here look in his eyes – one Jeff recognised from the mirror, not because he'd ever seen Gordon wear it with such gravitas before – before he flinched and sighed.

"Oh yeah, you don't know," he said, and Jeff got the feeling he wasn't the only one facing someone who should be familiar but wasn't quite as expected. "Scott won't go to bed. He sleeps at the desk. Whoever finds him first throws the blanket over him. Unless it's Virgil. Virgil can at least carry him to the couch. He's too tall and heavy for me and Alan."

Jeff had expected some things to have changed while he was gone. It was only natural, after all. But this change he would need them to explain, in detail, why they let it happen.

A conversation for the daylight. For now, he had a son to leave to sleep, and another son to handle. Gordon made it sound like he was as volatile as uranium, but Gordon was prone to over-exaggeration… unless that was another trait he had dropped or changed. He reached out to brush Gordon's hair back, the urge to kiss his son goodnight overwhelming even though dawn was approaching, and Gordon made a small, blessedly familiar noise of protest and quiet squirm before muttering "night, Dad."

It was good to know not everything had changed.

Jeff closed the door quietly behind him, the quiet click of the catch engaging a contrast to the clunk of the airlock door, and he forced himself not to shut it again just to ensure it was truly closed. Gordon's window had been ajar anyway.

One erstwhile son dealt with, although it felt uncomfortably like he'd done nothing at all and Gordon had been the one doing the handling, one to go.

He padded back down the stairs, just as quietly as the previous time and just as jarred by the artificial evenness of each foothold, to find that Gordon had been right. Where before Scott had been hunched over the desk, fingers tapping agitatedly, now he was slumped over it, head at an uncomfortable looking angle over the hard wood and looking more like he'd fainted than fallen asleep.

Then again, Gordon had started to say pa-, which Jeff could now easily finish as pass out.

"Oh, Scotty," he breathed, falling into the childhood nickname without thinking as he quietly approached. The holoprojector was still on, showing rows and rows of figures – annual turnover, Jeff recognised – and under its bluish tinge Scott looked grey and washed out. The mug beside one of his hands was still half-full, a long-missed scent of strong coffee wafting out of it but unaccompanied by any steam. Despite himself, Jeff buried his nose in his arm. Packet coffee from the Zero-X's rations had been nothing like the real thing and the smell was overpowering despite its welcoming nature.

He turned the holoprojector off, both because it was unrequired and because he didn't care for the light it was casting his eldest son in – Jeff had had many nightmares about his sons with a sickly dying pallor and seeing it even as an illusion caused by lighting made his heartbeat accelerate. Now the only light came from the stars and crescent moon, shining through the glass wall of the house. It bathed Scott in silver, and did little to improve his appearance.

Gordon and Alan threw a blanket over him. Virgil carried him to a couch. John hadn't been mentioned, but Jeff had already suspected his second eldest spent more time than he should in orbit. Like father, like son, for all that he wished his love of space hadn't been inherited in such a self-destructive fashion.

Jeff wasn't quite as tall as Scott now, or as broad as Virgil, but he was a father and carrying sleeping sons to bed came as naturally as breathing. Scott always was – had been – a light sleeper and he had no cause to suspect that had changed, so he was as gentle as his weakened body could manage as he oh so carefully shifted his eldest son into his arms and started the journey up the stairs, counting them carefully and realising he didn't recall exactly how many there were as his carefully questing foot met resistance one time more than he'd expected.

Scott shifted in his arms, a sign that his shallow sleep was losing its hold on him, but Jeff didn't let himself hurry as he continued his journey, nudging Scott's door open with a toe and frowning at the neatly-made bed that clearly hadn't seen any occupancy in far too long. The sheets were cool to the touch as Jeff set Scott down on them, and his frown deepened as Scott shifted some more, his subconsciousness aware that something was happening.

He hadn't dealt with shoe laces in forever, the texture of thin cord rough against his hands, but muscle memory prevailed as he unknotted them – Scott still tied his laces the exact same way Jeff remembered, and he let himself enjoy the unchanged moments as he found them – and slipped them off his feet.

Easing the sheets out from underneath his barely sleeping son was a challenge, and his heart sank as he pulled them up to Scott's chin – the way he'd always had them as a child, taking comfort in being all bundled up even if he wouldn't admit it out loud – and caught sight of blue eyes blearily opening.

"Ssh-sh-sh," he hushed, barely audibly, one hand carding back the escapee hairs from Scott's rigid gelled style. It took several repeats of the motion before they slid back closed again, a quiet Dad? breathed from between slightly parted lips.

I'm here, Scotty, he wanted to say, but words would only wake his eldest child up so he kept them at the forefront of his mind instead. Go back to sleep. He risked the same goodnight kiss as he had with Gordon, and received little more than an unintelligible murmur in response.

To his relief, it didn't take more than a few seconds more before Scott was fast asleep again, and as with Gordon he gently padded out of the room and shut the door gently, hearing the click instead of the clang as the catch caught. This time the desire to try again until it sealed didn't rear its head – his desire for Scott to sleep improbably overriding survival instincts.

With two sons out of bed and since settled back into them, Jeff couldn't rest until he knew the other three were tucked in and sleeping soundly. John's room was next to Scott's, he thought until he nudged it open – aware that his ginger son was the most likely one to be awake – and found a mess of a bedroom with a blond mop of hair on the rug in the middle.

When had Alan taken John's room?

And why was his teenage son – Alan was definitely still a teenager – sleeping on the rug instead of his bed? The bed in question was piled high with all sorts of paraphernalia not best for sleeping with, including a holoprojector blinking at him, declaring that it was in sleep mode and not turned off, as holoprojectors should be at four in the morning – more like four-thirty now, he realised.

Still, Alan was sleeping soundly, and moving him would require tidying his bed, which Jeff knew he was not up to in his adjusting-to-Earth state. He settled for readjusting the blanket the lanky boy had half thrown off at some point, running fingers through thick blond hair and finishing the ritual with another forehead kiss before quietly leaving again.

Next along was Virgil's room, unmistakable even only lit by the moonlight by the numerous paintings hung on it. Relieved at finding another thing still the same, he gently pushed the door open. Faint snores heard through the door turned into loud ones as the barrier was moved, and Jeff smiled at his middle child, sprawled out in the middle of his bed with blankets everywhere and snoring to his hearts' content. Recalling Gordon's warnings about waking him, and his own memories of a grumpy dark haired child declaring that school was at an ungodly hour of the morning and how the education system should have more sociable hours, Jeff resisted the urge to fix the mess of blankets and instead pressed a customary kiss to this son's head as well, rewarded by a brief pause in snores, before backing out of the room.

He skipped Gordon's room, the second-youngest already seen once this side of midnight, and went for what was once Alan's, closest to Jeff's own room one story up. If Alan had moved to John's room, between Scott and Virgil's, then by process of elimination John used Alan's room when he was down from orbit.

He was down from orbit now, but as Jeff had suspected, not sleeping. He was sat by the window, eye pressed to his telescope as he looked at the stars up above them.

"Circadian rhythm," John said before Jeff could say a word. He held his hands up in surrender, managing to find a smile on his lips for the first time since he'd found Scott working himself past exhaustion at the desk.

"They look different from down here," he said instead, crossing the room – empty, barely lived in – to stand by John's side and look up at the stars.

"They do," John agreed, breaking away from the telescope long enough to share a grin – an in-joke, one only recognised by those who spent more time in space than on Earth. "It's trained on her," he continued, sliding sideways and gesturing for Jeff to look through it himself. He took it, knowing which star John meant and drinking his fill of the beautiful sight his second-eldest son had named after the most important woman in both their lives. Lucille-20181325 shone as steadily as he remembered.

John wasn't the most tactile of his brothers, not by a long shot, but he didn't resist as Jeff wrapped a delicate arm around his shoulders and pulled him in for a one-armed embrace.

"She'd be proud of all of you," he said quietly. "As am I."

Circadian rhythm or not, he wouldn't let John miss out on – or escape, depending on the point of view – the same treatment his brothers had received, and gently kissed his forehead.

"For my next sleep?" John asked, smiling. He'd never been as dismissive of the affection as his brothers, for all of his desire for personal space.

"For your next sleep," Jeff confirmed, matching the smile with one of his own.

[cinnamon-bebe]

Remember Us

(Sebastian x Reader)

Summary: Some mistakes cannot be fixed. A couple must come to terms with their loss.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, bereavement, cheating, mentions of abortions.

(’Re-purposing’ and embellishing an old storyline I had written for a fic years ago)

—————————————————————–

Sebastian

My feeble fingers fumble for the stereo in an attempt to put an end to the miserable love song on the radio but of course, I fail spectacularly, dialing up the volume with all my drunkenness.

“And I wish I could leave my bones

And my skin

And float over the tired, tired sea

So, that I could see you again

Maybe you would leave too

And we’d blindly pass each other

Floating over the ocean blue

Just to find the warm bed of our lover”

Why must the radio torment me tonight?

I try to change the station as I grip onto the steering wheel, I feel my car sway from side to side but it’s fine. There’s no one here, I’m all alone.

I soon come to realise that the music isn’t coming from the radio, rather a CD inside my stereo. Ripping out disc, my bleary eyes make out the name; Gregory Alan Isakov.

She must have forgotten this.

God, I shouldn’t be driving. If my agent knew, she’d be livid but for the sake of my sanity, I couldn’t stay at that PR sham any longer. Seeing all those phoney faces, pretending to be interested. Pretending to be into my hot new co-star, all for the sake of eliciting some publicity for our film. The only thing that made the night bearable, was the endless supply of booze. No doubt the organisers were hoping for the press to catch some drunken antics by the bevy of celebrities; we’ve got a movie to sell, all publicity is good publicity right? And I almost succumbed to it if it wasn’t for Maddie, physically holding me back from taking another swig straight from the champagne bottle. I was being every agent’s nightmare and she wasn’t afraid to tell it to my face. In fact, she ordered me straight into the men’s room to “fix myself up” before I dare make another appearance back at our table. She probably thinks I’m still in there.

I remember now. She used to love this album.

I throw the disc onto the empty seat next to me, as the house finally comes to view. I pull up on the side of the road; the lights are off, she’s not home.

The deafening silence in the car hurts. I feel my brain trying to sober me up but my mind just isn’t ready yet. I fall back against the headrest, my hands on the wheel to steady myself, to keep my head from spinning.

She’s usually home by now.

I reach for my phone, hopeful that Y/N had come around and returned one of my calls.  

Nothing.

A text from my mother at 3.

A couple of missed calls from Chris at 7.

3 voicemails twenty minutes ago from Maddie; probably figured out I was gone.

My fingers slide over my contact list until it finds a familiar number, one I have hesitated to call lately after our last encounter but I guess, the alcohol is fuelling some sort of blind courage tonight.

“Hello?”

“Liv? It’s me…Seb.” I slur. I figure the louder I speak the more comprehensible I would sound.

“Wow, you have some nerve don’t you? Did I not make myself clear last time?”

I wince at the hostility in her voice.

“Is Y/N with you? She’s not picking up her phone…I’m outside her house right now.“

“Jesus Christ Sebastian. Just leave her alone okay? She doesn’t need this right now! She doesn’t need you fucking with her head anymore!”

I’m sure Liv is just as sick of me as Y/N.

The last 5 months I have been trying to see Y/N, to tell her how sorry I am, to fix our lives but she’s manage to avoid me in every way imaginable.

Her locks are changed, she no longer frequents the places that we loved and I know she’s taken extra shifts at the hospital, all to avoid seeing me; the pariah.

Liv was my only window to her, to find out how she was doing.

Coping.

After my last attempt to raid Liv’s house for her, she’s cut off all contact from me.

I’m surprised this woman hasn’t hung up yet.

“I just want to know that she’s alright…that’s all I want to know Liv. I miss her.”

I feel as if my entire body is sinking, my shoulders grow heavy and the exhaustion of everything that has happened, all hitting me at once. Blow after blow.

I cry down the phone to her best friend who hates me.

My Olivia.

My Olivia who was always in my corner whenever I fought with Y/N, helped her see past all the stupid shit I’d do, helped her see the rational side of things whenever she had doubts. Liv was our family who had been through it all, seen all our good and plenty of the bad. God knows how many times she intervened to save our relationship.

Seems as though this time, not even Liv can salvage what is left.

The line crackles as she sighs.

“Seb…we both know this is better for Y/N. She needs to move on and you do too.”

“I don’…I can’t. I can’t lose her, not like this. I can fix this.” My cries become uncontrollable, I have ruined the expensive suit I’ve been wearing, if it wasn’t already been marred by the stench of booze.

“Seb. There’s just nothing you can do. She doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

“Liv please. Help me, I know you can help me.” I regain an inch of control over my sobs, holding onto the last sliver of dignity that I have left.

“How?“ She sighs, exasperated. “How do you expect me to fix… this?”

“Just tell me where she is.”

She pauses, I can hear her contemplating over the line.

“She’s gone on out with someone.“ She says curtly. "She should be back soon but you need to be gone by then.”

Before I could even respond, she hangs up the phone.

Is she seeing someone?

I pull my palms across my face, cleaning myself up as I run through all the possibilities of who Y/N could be out with at this hour.

I adjust myself in my seat. I’ll sit out here for as long as I need.

I have to see her tonight.

—————————————————————————–

Y/N

The car ride home was quiet. I had fiddled with my nails all the way through, scratching out bits of the red varnish I had spent so much time and effort painting on. The air conditioning was blowing directly at me, much to my discomfort but I didn’t want to break the peace and ask for it to be turned off.

It’s fine now. We’re outside my house.

“I had I great time Y/N.” Josh holds my hand, affectionately running his thumb against my skin.  

Josh.  

Handsome, smart, dependable Josh. Perfect. Just perfect. Which is exactly why I am kicking myself for feeling so miserable this whole night.

I had went all out to pump myself up for this date, even so much as buying a ridiculously expensive dress that I’ll probably never wear again.

We’ve been seeing each other for the past couple weeks, yet I feel nothing. No butterflies. No chemistry.

“Me too.” I lie.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” He begins to stroke my face, my body fighting its urge to flinch.

Slowly, he draws me closer, planting a soft and affectionate kiss on my lips; which I return. A part of me hoping it will ignite some spark but instead, only the desire to push him off and run.  

“Good night Josh. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I pull away, hoping he misses the aggrieved expression on my face.

I can tell he is disappointed that I didn’t invite him in but I just can’t. I’m not ready no matter how many times I tell myself I am. It’s been 5 months and the thought of having another man in my house still makes my stomach turn.

I give him a final wave as I leave his car. Making my way to my door, my feet drags slowly behind on the pavement, pained from wearing the stilettos I had reserved for special occasions.

From the corner of my eye, I swear I could see a familiar car.

No. My mind must be playing tricks.

I fumble away for my keys as I reach the steps of my porch.

I halt to a stop.

My breath hitches as he emerges from the shadows, gathering himself up from where he was sitting on the floor.

“Y/N.”  

His voice. That voice that’s been haunting me, turns me immediately on my heels and sends me running in the opposite direction.

“Y/N!”

He pulls me from behind. I feel myself numb in his arms, his body pressed so tightly against mine as he holds me hostage in the dark.

“Get off Sebastian.” I try to whisper, remain as calm as my mind would allow. The last thing I want is to wake my neighbours and invite them to this little peep show.

“I want to talk to you Y/N. Please.” He’s been drinking, I can smell it from his pores.

“Get off.” I try to turn myself around, facing him so I could push his heavy chest away.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just get off!” I begin hitting him, smacking him hard in the torso. Even just an inch between us would allow me to escape.

“We can work through this, it’s us.“

I refuse to respond.

"It’s us.” He cries, dropping his arms from around me, finding my hands instead. He rests his forehead against mine, his tears hot on my cold skin.

I upset the moment pushing him one last time. His reflexes falter causing him to stumble, permitting me to break away.

“Y/N!”

I harshly jerk from his clasp, ignoring him clamouring after me. I rush to my door with the keys shaking in my hands.

“Will you just talk to me? Please!” He gets angry with me.

The audacity.

I ignore him again, trying my best to get my hands to function, to get the key in.

“You think you’re the only one hurting Y/N?”

The keys drop from my hands, along with my every chance to get away, hitting the wooden slabs of my porch with a loud thud.

“GOD!” I scream. At him. At myself. I stare at my keys sitting so helplessly on the floor, as I fall down myself.

How have I become so weak?

I no longer recognise what I have become, what we have become.

I have spent every ounce of my energy trying to recover some form of normalcy back in my life, convincing my friends, myself, that everything is fine, that my world isn’t falling apart. I try so hard but I can never fool myself. The world can see right through me, no matter how much I force that smile.

“Y/N.“ Sebastian collapses beside me, tugging at my arm. "Look at me, please.” He grabs my wrist, propping my hands against his pain ridden face.

"I know I can’t do things over, I can’t change what happened but we can overcome this. W-we can make it through the other side.”

I sit motionless in his arms.

The night is dark, so dark it seems we were exiled from the world. It must be 2, 3 am in the morning by now, not a decibel disturbing the street.

Sebastian starts to relax his hold on me, I can feel him slowly sobering up as he rests his head on my lap, his face nestled close to my stomach. The vitality we once had has drained out of us, our lifeless vessels too weak to go on.

I look down at him, his eyes are closed as he murmurs inaudible words into my abdomen.

“We lost the baby.”  I whispered.

“I know.”

The reality of those words cut me in a million ways. I have never dared utter those words out loud, too afraid to speak the truth into existence.

“I did this, didn’t I? I made you lose the baby.” Sebastian looks up at me, his eyes vacant; dying.

I can’t find the will to respond.

I’ve spent so long placing the blame on him, why is it suddenly so hard to say it out loud now?

[chloca-cola]

Bear Witness Chap 1

This is a fic that I was inspired to write thanks to a group chat conversation haha

TW: none, just the reader incessantly teasing Leon (poor guy)

Pairings: Leon x reader

Word Count: 1,809

~~~~~~~~

 "Leon, you are the only agent not assigned to something right now." Hunnigan explained, causing Leon to sigh heavily. Hanging his head in frustration, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

     "I understand that, Hunnigan. It's not really in my job description to babysit."

      "Well, it's not babysitting, so you should be good." She sassed right back at him, having gotten used to his mouth over the years. "Y/f/n y/l/n has got to be protected. She knows too much about the man who let loose the last virus. He's after her." Leon sighed again, knowing he would never win this fight anyway, he caved.

      "Fine, there's nothing I can say to get me out of it, right?" Hunnigan smiled, nodding quickly.

       "You're finally learning!" Leon scoffed, shaking his head at her. "You'll be moved in with her in that new condominium complex on the outskirts of town. She should be arriving soon, so be ready to leave as soon as she gets there." Hunnigan disconnected the call, and Leon put his phone in his pocket, groaning to himself over such a mundane job.

        He had just begun to pack when knocking rapped against his door to the tune of 'shave and a haircut' and he grimaced. He walked to his front door, looking through the peephole to see you, apparently standing on your tiptoes to look back at him through the glass. You leaned back and waved at him, smiling brightly. The secret service agent tasked to escort you here did not look pleased in the slightest.

        "Good luck, Kennedy." The mans burly voice boomed when Leon finally opened the door, and you laughed.

       "Oh, come on Jenkins, it was a fun 30 minute ride!" You exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of your feet, playfully punching his chest and he grunted.

      "For the last time. My name is Perkins. Not Jenkins." He grumbled as he quickly turned, leaving you in Leon's hands now. You turn and smile up at the taller man.

      "You don't look like much." Leon observed, confused by why the previous escort seemed so surly.

      "Haircuts a little outdated, don't cha think?" You teased him and Leon frowned, beginning to understand Perkins' displeasure. You pick up your bags and with a pep in your step, waltz into Leon's apartment, turning in a circle as you looked over his decor. "Not bad, my dude. Must make the big bucks babysitting people."

      "I don't babysit people." He deadpanned, closing his door to go back to packing. "I'm not doing this because I want to." You snort out a laugh.

     "Like I am?" You flop onto his couch, crossing your ankles on the coffee table before you, digging in your pocket for your phone. 

     "No, what the hell do you have that for?" Leon asked, incredulously, snatching the device from your hands. "Why didn't Perkins take this from you?" You give him a big shit eating grin.

     "He did, my dude. I got sticky fingers though." You respond, holding up your hands and wiggling your fingers, while simultaneously wiggling your eyebrows at him. Leon huffed, turning off the phone, feeling his patience wearing thin already.

      "They can track this if they want too." You shrug, folding your arms over your chest.

      "Perkins said that too." Leon gaped at you like a fish out of water.

      "Do you wanna be caught? If so, leave, not like I wanna look after you anyway. I've got better things I could be doing." His harsh words bit deep and he knew it immediately, and he sighed, relaxing his stance. "Sorry...I know you're going through a lot and that wasn't fair." You wave you hand at him flippantly, shrugging a shoulder and looking out the window next to you.

      "It's all cool, guy. I get it, you don't want me around, but you've got me." You smirk at him, and lower your feet to the floor, joining him in his bedroom. "Whatcha packin'?" You asked in an unveiled innuendo, biting your bottom lip, dragging your eyes down his body, you heard an intake of breath, and his body tensed, before you grabbed a shirt from his suitcase.

       Leon snatched the shirt away from you, quickly folding it and placing it back in the case. "Are you always this nosy?" You toss your head back with laughter, clapping his arm before you flopped on your back on his bed.

      "Pretty much. That's a good color for you, in all seriousness." You say truthfully, motioning at the dark blue shirt with the hand that wasn't behind your head.

       "Uh, thanks." You let him finish packing in silence, not denying the fact that you think this man is probably the most gorgeous person you've ever laid eyes on. You knew better than to let any curiosities get you, because as soon as Alan Reicherman was caught, you'd likely never see Leon again.

~~~

     At the condo, you whistled as you entered the vast living room. Dropping your bags in the doorway, causing Leon to trip slightly as you ran to the window to look at the view.

     "This is some swanky shit, Skennedy." He grumbled under his breath, as he picked your bags up as well, depositing them and his own suitcase beside the couch. 

      "Either call me Leon or Agent Kennedy. Don't mesh my name together like that. It's annoying." You turned your upper body to smile at him, the first genuine one you've given him since you met. Leon's lips parted slightly as the sunset cast an ethereal glow around your form, finding it to be almost heavenly in this moment. He quickly shook his head to get the thought from his brain. You were a client, nothing more.

      "Ok, boomer." The moment was gone as you snorted again, doubling over in laughter, and Leon groaned at you, rubbing his forehead. This was going to last forever. "I'm kidding, lighten up. I'll call you whatever you want me too." You continue to laugh as you pick up your bags and hauled one over your shoulder. "I'll call the room with the best bed!" You call over your shoulder as you inspected the rooms.

     A few hours passed, and you were getting restless, fidgeting with your fingers, bouncing your leg, pacing the room, sighing loudly until Leon finally acknowledged you.

     "Is something the matter, princess?" You toss your hands in the air, waving them around wildly. 

      "I'm bored, dude. Like how can you just sit there like that?" Leon shrugged, a small smile on his face as you sat on one of the barstools next to the island separating the living room and the kitchen.

      "It comes with the job." You look at him, your chin cradled in your palm.

      "Babysitting?" Leon scratched the back of his head in frustration, before shooting you a warning glare.

      "I'm not a babysitter." You smile at him again, enjoying pushing his buttons a little too much.

       "Yeah, you're too handsome to be a babysitter." You say off handedly. "If you were my babysitter, I'd do whatever necessary to get you to spank me." You admit, giving him a playful wink, and Leon covered his face with his hands. "So, what is your job then?" He looked over his finger tips at you, debating on if you were just going to throw another quip at him, but you were earnestly curious.

         "I'm an agent in the DSO." He explained, simply and you quirked an eyebrow, motioning with your hands for him to continue. "A special division for efficiently and quickly eliminating any crisis that threatened the United States of America and its people." He responded and you nodded slowly, taking in the information.

       "That actually sounds like it would be a cool job. Much better than babysitting me." You smile at him, standing up and moving to sit next to him on the couch. "But then again. It's me, so you've been blessed." He rolled his eyes at you, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes. 

     Leon awoke several hours later, not realizing he had drifted off, surprised he could with your incessant teasing him. Speaking of that, Leon sat upright, you were nowhere to be seen or heard for that matter. He jumped up, moving to the room you claimed as yours, seeing the clock on the wall read 1 in the morning. Figuring you just moved to you bed, he was shocked to see that the bed in question was empty.

     Panic began to grip him, as he began checking the other rooms, gun drawn and ready for action if needed. Nowhere, you were nowhere, and he closed his eyes. He would be dead if someone had got in to take you, so that was out of the question. So where could you be. He explicitly told you to not leave this place.

     Like you would listen to him.

     A soft rustling in the kitchen caught his attention, and he moved slowly as to not startle who or what ever was making the noise. He turned the corner, gun trained on you and you looked up at him in surprise, cheeks puffed out full of Fruity Pebbles. You slowly chew on the mouthful before smiling brightly at him.

     "Where did you get that?" You give him a confused look, before looking down at the box of cereal in your possession pointing at it, with a raised eyebrow, before shrugging.

       "Couldn't tell ya." He tilted his head and gave you a skeptical look, replacing his gun in its holster. 

       "You left didn't you?" You feigned innocence accused, as if he had just told everyone in the world that you kick puppies.

       "I would never do that, Leon!" He pursued his lips, pointing at the floor next to you, where his car keys sat and you blinked at them.

       "My keys are right there." You swallowed your food before picking them up and tossing them up onto the nearby table.

        "No they're not." You shrug, pointing up at the table and he scoffed, feeling aggravation building again.

        "I just saw you throw them." You blink at him, placing your palm on your chest. 

        "It's not my fault you just leave your keys on the floor, man." He growled at you, tugged at his hair, before taking a deep calming breath, pointing at you, in an almost defeated manner.

        "No more leaving." He said sternly, and you bite back a smile, popping another handful of cereal in your mouth.

        "You're not my dad." You teased him, and he hung his head, causing you to giggle. "C'mon, Leon, it's bedtime anyway. I'm done with my midnight snack." You say, standing and placing the box on top of the fridge, before linking arms with him, laying your cheek on his bicep and leading him to the bedrooms.

~~~~~~~~~

@imagineleonkennedy @mitsuintheworks @kezikatescribbling @disneymarina @locus-desperatus @nthevalkyrie

[somedayonbroadway]

A Newsie Carol Isn’t It Nice That Once Again It’s Christmas Eve

Fandom: Newsies

Word Count: 4K

Summary: One man. Three ghosts. One more chance of redemption.

A/N: So guys! I was just in a production of A Christmas Carol, and I loved it! It was the Alan Menken musical, if you don't know it, I highly recommend listening to it! It's beautiful! (The earlier one. Not the Hallmark one). But yeah... so now thats how we ended up here. I hope to post one chapter per day, it's almost completely written, so keep your fingers crossed.Also, I know y'all really want Crutchie to be Tiny Tim... but guys... C'mon... you know me well enough to know who Tiny Tim is gonna be.Anyways!Please enjoy!

Snyder was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Pulitzer had signed it.

Old Snyder was as dead as a doornail.

For seven years now it had been that way. For seven years Pulitzer had been running this business on his own.

And things were going just swimmingly. Even on Christmas Eve.

Snow was falling fast outside the doors of the large publishing company. Carolers were singing all up and down the streets, blissful and content as they held their jars and boxes meant for that of charity. People tossed them coins and spared them a few dollars.

Not the man walking out of the elevator. In fact, the very sound of the cheery harmonies made him groan as he stormed out into the open.

"Kelly!" Pulitzer shouted as he made his way down into the lobby of his building. "Hurry up, damn it."

A young man, practically a boy, came rushing around the corner behind him, so many papers still in his arms from the meeting they'd had only mere moments before. He had on a pair of worn slacks and a jacket he hadn't buttoned up over a white dress shirt and grey tie. He looked more than exhausted. "I'm comin', Mr. Pulitzer! Sorry, sir!"

The old man turned to him and the young man skid to a stop, the papers and files in his arms falling on the floor as he fell to his knees. He bit his lip as he lowered his head in embarrassment and began to fish for the papers that had scattered every which way all over the ground.

The boss only glared at the young man who was struggling to keep up with him. Everyone around them stood almost eerily still, watching the scene in a tense silence. Pulitzer shook his head and took a moment to watch his assistant scrounge up the files and a few things he hadn't seen before. "What in God's name is that?"

The young man quickly grabbed at those loose, scattered pieces of white paper with so many pencil sketches all over all of them. Some of people, some of scenery, some of random items. "Nothin', sir, 'm sorry, sir," he forced out quickly, trying to laugh it off, as if he had any dignity left after the months he'd had at this job.

The old man rolled his eyes and easily buttoned up his blazer, stepping over the boy on the ground and glaring at the rest of the large room as they gasped and immediately got back to themselves. The room was large and round and practically made of glass. It was beautiful.

And everyone was terrified to step through the doors.

Pulitzer found his gaze drawn to those windows, just at the front of his building where four happy carolers stood, ringing an annoyingly large bell in the faces of guilty Christians and Starbucks goers, knowing they'd toss a few coins into their red, metal basket.

The man's unforgivingly dark eyes didn't leave them for a good while. He fixed his blazer around his thin, tall frame and shook his head again, turning and almost falling into the young man who was finally standing from his position on the ground. Kelly, startled and a bit out of sorts, immediately took a step back, lowering his head in submission.

Joseph Pulitzer shoved past him. "Mr. Seitz!" he cried, causing the man at the front desk of his building to whirl around, even with the phone held at the crook of his neck.

"Yes, sir?" the large, red headed man asked quickly, knowing better than to keep the boss waiting.

"Get those wretched singers to move themselves before the police must get involved," he sighed, almost sounding defeated, like he felt bad for them.

He didn't. Lord knows he didn't.

The man at the phone stood stunned for a moment, letting out a small, nervous laugh, almost as if he though it was a joke. But Pulitzer didn't crack a smile. So Mr. Seitz nodded. "Right away, sir," he responded, unable to do much else.

That was all that needed to be said. Everyone knew not to question the boss. Unfortunately, not everyone had gotten the right amount of sleep the night before.

Pulitzer turned around with a nod only to be met with his clumsy assistant standing with great hesitance a few paces behind him. "But..." Kelly began, biting his lip mere moments later when he realized what he'd done. He lowered his head again, unsure of whether he was welcomed to continue or not.

But Pulitzer had already been interrupted. So he wished to see what his young, blubbering assistant was getting at. "But what, Kelly?"

Taking a small and shy glance around, the boy shrugged a bit. "It's... it's Christmas Eve..." he stated. "They're raisin' money f'r the children's hospital down the street..." he explained sadly, quietly, knowing he was way out of line, speaking to the man who'd given him a job like he was.

Scowling a bit at the information he'd been given, Pulitzer looked his assistant right in the eyes. Those green orbs were terrified of what was coming next. "Christmas is nothing more than a commercial holiday, Mr. Kelly. The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be. Christmas is an excuse for a day off and a guilt trip that charities eat up every moment."

The young man bit his lip all over again and took a step back, looking all the more shy and terrified in that moment.

Pulitzer sighed and checked his watch, beginning to walk past the boy. "I suppose you were going to ask for tomorrow off," he practically growled, heading towards the doors where a new client would be arriving shortly.

The young man nodded tiredly. "It's... It's my kid brother, Mr. Pulitzer... he's real sick n'-"

"Give him some tea," the old man order gruffly.

But the young man shook his head in disbelief. "He's only six..." he stated, as if Pulitzer had known that. Finally coming to a stop at one of the desks in the front of the lobby, the young assistant managed to set down his pile of papers. Then he scratched the back of his neck. "Look... I'm all he's got right now, n' he needs-"

The old man whirled around right then and there, his eyes judgmental and ready to rip the kid a new one. "I do not need to know about you family or your hardship. It is not my job to take care of you or your brother or anyone else," he stated rudely, looking the young man up and down, almost in disbelief. "Christmas is by far the most incredible time of year when it comes to working, Mr. Kelly. Either you work or you go home and make no money to provide for yourself or your family. You decide which is more important," he spat.

It was only then that he noted the watery gaze in those forest green eyes. "Mr. Pulitzer... please... I'll neva' ask again..." he promised, as bravely as he could. It was still small and quiet. "He needs me right now..."

The boy was desperate, anyone and everyone could see that much. As Mr. Seitz walked past them to shoo those carolers away, he shot the young man a sorry look but did not speak up to help him.

Most everyone had the next day off. Everyone except for Mr. Pulitzer himself, and one Jack Kelly.

Though, someone else did. "Mr. Pulitzer, Jack has never missed a day! Tomorrow's Christmas Day. He deserves a break." The old man looked over at a small woman. She had fiery red hair that was tied back in a bun at the back of her head. There was a hint of an accent that slipped out with her words. Irish.

Jack smiled at her, a small, sad smile, as if to show his gratitude and tell her to just let it go. But she didn't. She walked closer to them with purpose. "Jack, no one needs to be here on Christmas Day, he's just too afraid to tell everyone he's scared to be alone, or facing the only family he has. So he's gonna come in and work and do something that we could all do on December 26th."

Pulitzer scowled when Jack's eyes widened in shock. That woman had some backbone on her. And when that boy looked towards her, she gave him a wink. So Jack hesitantly looked back up towards his boss who let out a long sigh. "Be here an hour earlier the next morning. But I suppose, if you must, take the day off," he offered between his teeth.

It didn't matter that that was said with such irritability. It still made Jack grin. "Yes! Of course! Thank you! Thank you so much!" he cried.

"Don't get too excited, Kelly. The day's still young," he sighed, turning back around.

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" the young man laughed, nodding towards the woman in thanks as Pulitzer turned back to the door that was opening to bring in another client.

One that Pulitzer would no doubt drain the life out of.

But Jack was too happy to care about that poor sucker at that moment.

He was getting Christmas Day off from the meanest most irritating man in all of New York. And he was on Cloud Nine.

—

"Make sure Charlie reads him 'The Night Before Christmas' n' make sure he has 'The Grinch' with him, it's his favorite..." Joseph Pulitzer could easily be known as the most successful man in New York, maybe even the country. And he did not come to be so successful by letting his employees talk on the phone throughout the day. "Tell him I'll be there tomorrow... I know, but boss's got me workin' late every night n' I neva' wanna wake him. J'st... j'st tell him how much I love him, okay?"

"Kelly!" The man barked. Jack jumped at his small desk.

"I gotta go," he rushed out quickly before hanging up and shoving his old, cheap phone into his back pocket. "Sorry, Mr. Pulitzer..." he apologized sadly, giving the man his full attention.

Joseph grumbled something under his breath and walked passed the young man, into his large office. "Get me Frank on the phone, now. Clear your desk before you go and don't forget that you owe me an hour on Thursday!"

"Yes, sir!" the young man agreed, immediately doing as he was told. "And... Merry Christmas," he called softly after him.

Pulitzer turned around to glare. But he found his young assistant grinning as he got to his work. He ignored the oddly warm feeling in his chest telling him that that smile was somehow there because of him. He didn't need that.

"Oh! Mr. Pulitzer," Kelly called after a moment, just as the man had begun to turn his back on him. He turned back to see the desk phone up at the boy's ear. "There's a call waitin' f'r you already. Your daughter," he stated easily, shrugging a bit when Pulitzer gave him a questioning look. "Hannah just called ta tell me ta find you..."

"Okay, fine. If I'm not back in five minutes, come and get me and get Frank on the phone," Pulitzer sighed, shaking his head as he walked into his office, almost slamming the door behind him.

He thought maybe she'd given up this year. Maybe she'd just leave him alone.

But she was never one to give up.

So he grabbed the phone and held it to his ear. "Yes?" he practically growled out.

"Well hello to you too, Daddy," a sarcastic, feminine voice responded. While he would never admit it, he'd missed that voice. The voice of his wonderful little girl who had walked out on him so long ago.

"What is it, Katherine? I have a lot of work to do, here," he sighed, sitting down at his desk and unbuttoning his blazer. He clicked open his computer to few emails, too many festive alerts and holiday wishes.

He rolled his eyes.

A sigh came through the speaker of the phone. "Well, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to spend Christmas together? My friend Darcy and I were planning a little dinner at his father's house and... I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come?" she asked bravely. Though it sounded as if she already knew the answer to the question she was asking.

Hardly even truly listening, Pulitzer shook his head. "I really am very busy, dear. I'm not in the business of having people pick my pocket without consequence every year," he spat, hating the very idea of celebrating Christmas, having to buy gifts and pretend he cared about each and every person around him.

"We're not asking for anything but your presence, Dad. You don't have to bring anything or buy anything-"

"But your friend Darcy will pester me until I donate to his useless charity." Pulitzer argued, knowing very well how this went.

Just because he was fairly wealthy didn't mean it was his job to provide for others. He'd worked hard for his place in the world, and these people would only try to take it from him. "He's raising money for the homeless shelter, Dad. Money that you wouldn't even notice was gone if you bothered to donate," his daughter countered, sounding more and more irritated by the second.

But Pulitzer was not impressed. "The homeless shelter has nothing to do with me! If you're asking me, they'd all be better to die and decrease the surplus population!" he argued. Then he paused, knowing this wouldn't help the strained relationship he had with his little girl. The one who used to be the light of his life. But it didn't matter anymore. It was beyond saving. They were beyond saving. He heard her trying to speak.

All she managed to do was stutter for a moment, truly unsure of how to respond. Years of this. It was not how it used to be. It couldn't be. "I'm sorry," she finally said, and Pulitzer could hear the disappointment in her voice. "Goodbye, Dad."

"Goodbye, Katherine," he sighed, but she had already hung up the phone.

Vaguely, Pulitzer could feel a sort of regret. He should pick up the phone, call her back. But he didn't.

A knock on his door roused him from his thoughts and before Pulitzer even looked up, he barked at the person. "What?!" Kelly flinched a bit, moving to hide it with a small cough and a shrug.

"Frank is waiting on line one... I'm gonna head out..." he forced out a bit shakily.

Pulitzer didn't have any guilt in him in that moment. After all, who was this man to him? He didn't care about many people. Caring was messy. And Pulitzer was not a messy type of person. "Fine," was all he managed to bite out.

And Jack nodded with a grateful smile. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Pulitzer," the boy wished before rushing off, grabbing his backpack on the way out.

It was only then that Pulitzer realized how late it truly was.

But he didn't care.

He marched back over to his desk and sat down and picked up the phone. "Thank you for holding Frank..."

Because business didn't take a holiday. Not even on Christmas.

—

Walking home was a menace. Hell, getting out of his building was a the real challenge.

"Seitz, I told you to get these carolers out of here!" Pulitzer yelled as he made his way through the lobby. There they were, singing in perfect harmonies and getting a few coins and a couple dollars from people passing by.

The man behind the desk didn't answer. Because the man behind the desk was no longer there.

It was nine o'clock on Christmas Eve. Everyone had gone home. Everyone but him.

Grumbling under his breath, Joseph Pulitzer walked out of the large front doors, practically shoving his way through some baritones as he did so.

Someone caught his shoulder less than three feet out. He rolled his eyes. "Hello, sir! We're raising money to help the kids in the children's hospital! Anything you could give would be appreciated!" It was one of the young men. The rest of them kept singing.

Pulitzer shot them a fake, forced smile. "How about I give you all the sad truth, instead?" he forced out. The smaller man seemed taken aback by the offer, but didn't object to it. "Some of those kids are going to die. You can't save them all."

"But you can try," the stranger insisted, holding out one of the small cups full of donations.

Shaking his head in annoyance, Joseph rolled his eyes. "It has nothing to do with me," he spat before turning to go.

Only to almost run into someone else. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!" The short, plump, dark skinned woman apologized immediately. She laughed at herself, her smile bright enough to light up the night sky. Her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold, matching her coat and snug beanie. She seemed overly eccentric and much to overjoyed to be out in the freezing weather.

The old man did not share her excitement, closing instead to push past the caroler who was now standing in the way of his and the cab that was supposed to be waiting for him already.

It was late.

The young singer let out a small cry of offense when he was quite literally shoved aside. And the woman, young and so full of life, gasped at the rude treatment, just after she slipped a twenty dollar bill in with the collections. She turned to Pulitzer who only just stopped as she called after him, "Hey, have you forgotten how to smile, sir?" She sounded hurt, like somehow it was a crime against her.

He didn't care nearly as much as she seemed to. He turned to her, shrugging. "What am I supposed to be smiling about?" he inquired glancing up at the dark sky and then at the even darker world around him, despite the lights that made the stars impossible to see. "These carolers? Growing a year older and not an hour richer? Or perhaps because I have just witnessed such a kind act from such a kind samaritan." The words were spat out at her.

But she was not intimidated in the least. In fact, she stepped even closer towards him. "Life is passin' you by, my friend. You might just miss it." Then she walked right past him and straight into the cab just behind him. Before he could argue, the door was shut and she was gone.

Scowling hard and pulling his coat further around him as the wind picked up and the snow began to fall. "Of course," he muttered to himself. He shook his head and began walking, figuring he would find a cab somewhere along the way.

In Manhattan on Christmas Eve, he couldn't find a single one.

He walked down a few blocks, shivering in the cold and pulling away from everyone who tried to stop him and talk to him. He continued on angrily, regretting his decision to let his assistant leave so early. Kelly would have been useful at that moment, to call him some kind of car, to get him home somehow.

"Excuse me, sir! Can you reach that grate?"

Pulitzer groaned when he spotted the young man, reaching up for a grate at a small bodega. He was jumping, trying to pull it down with force. He could reach the thing. But he just couldn't get it to come down. He was young. In his mid twenties at most. He had pale cheeks and light brown hair, not unlike Jack's, though his was a bit thinner and he was definitely a bit taller than the other boy. "I don't have time or the care to do your work for you." Pulitzer tried to continue on, but the young stranger rushed over to him and put a hand up, trying to stop him, even as he continued to walk on.

"Please, I'll get fired!" he begged, looking more cold than Pulitzer himself, which made sense as all he wore was a button up uniform and a sweatshirt.

Still, the old man continued to walk on, hoping the kid would just give up. "Then I suggest you find a suitable job."

In a single second it got colder. The young man stopped, forcing Pulitzer to stop or else run into him. "You ought ta take the time to do some right, sir… sooner or later you'll be sorry you didn't." The bodega worker walked passed him, looking much less scared or helpless all of the sudden.

A bit more intrigued than he cared to admit, Joseph turned back to the younger man and watched him walk right on by the bodega, snapping his finger. The grate slid down with ease and the young man never turned back only to offer him a small wink. Then he walked around a corner, and he was gone.

An odd feeling crept its way into Pulitzer's chest. One he hadn't felt in a long while. One that was almost a sort of fear. But he kept walking. He kept walking towards home where he could just be warm.

It was so cold.

He hardly made it much farther before another voice was calling out to him. He growled a bit. "Got a coin ya could spare f'r a blind man, sir?"

"I have nothing for you," Pulitzer responded quickly.

But the old man was not done. His long white hair and beard were barely visible beneath the hood of the ratty old coat he wore that was a desperate attempt at keeping himself warm. What was much more visible were the pale blue eyes that pierced through the night. As Joseph tried to walk past him, a gloved hand grabbed at his arm. "I may be blind, but it looks like I can still see betta' than you can," the blind old man spat.

"Let go my arm!" Pulitzer cried, wrenching himself from the older man's grip.

"Oh, neva'mind, sir… go on, get outta here!" The blind man yelled, backing away and retreating back into the alleyway he'd come from. "Come the future, you'll rememba' me," he rasped.

Then he simply waked away, a black stick in hand to help him get around. But those words seemed to echo around in Joseph's head. Even as he turned to continue on his trek down the street.

It was freezing. He had to get home. He couldn't get caught by another person. He just wanted to go to bed.

He walked for a full hour before he could see his home. It was a large house, one many people envied from the outside. He huffed in relief when he saw it. That is when he heard another voice. "Joe…"

It was so quiet, it was almost like the wind. But Joe heard it. He gasped and whirled around, eyes widening, as no one had called him that for years. "Hello?" he called, his voice more hesitant than scared.

He was Joseph Pulitzer. He didn't get spooked.

But he was sure he was going insane.

He picked up his pace, heading straight towards his front door, only to hear the dark whisper again. "Joe..." It was louder this time.

And Joseph shook his head. "Leave me alone," he called, fishing in his pocket for the keys to his front door.

But when he finally found them, he dropped them on the ground. It was just his luck, he supposed. He sighed as he bent to to grasp them, straightening back up only to jump back in horror at the sight he saw in front of him.

A cry fell from his lips when he saw his door knocker has morphed into some kind of face. "Joseph!" it cried loudly. Strongly enough for half the city to hear. He ducked down, rushing to put his hands over his head and try to make sense of out what he'd just seen. Because he didn't understand it. He couldn't. None of it made sense.

Ghosts weren't real. But Joseph swore he'd just seen the face of someone he'd buried years ago.

"What the hell?!" he cried out, turning back to the door, ready to hit it or run away, surely one of the two.

But the face was gone like it had never even been there, and all that was there was his knocker. Pulitzer froze.

He was overly worked and overly tired. He was seeing things. Little things were getting to him. So he took a moment to gather himself, shrugging off the feeling of fright that was still coursing through his veins as he pulled himself together and forced himself to go through his front door.

He practically ran through the door and rushed up the stairs.

He wasn't scared, he was cold. And tired. And he needed sleep.

He slammed his bedroom door shut, refusing to acknowledge the emptiness of his large mansion. He didn't need that right now. He locked his bedroom door and lazily sauntered over to his chair to take his shoes off.

He failed to hear the sound of chains that followed him up the large stairs. That is, he failed to hear them, before it was too late...

A/N: As always, thanks for reading! Make sure to tell me what you liked, what you'd change or what you'd improve by leaving me a review! Love ya, friends!

[gumnut-logic]

V.T. Green (Part Six)

Title: V. T. Green

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Author: Gumnut

22 Sep – 15 Oct 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.”

Word count: 2463

Spoilers & warnings: None.

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: Finally, the next little bit of this fic. Apologies for the delay in this. ‘Dirt’ took over my writing life for a couple of weeks there and now ‘Save Me’ is attempting to do the same ::headdesk:: I foresee at least one more chapter of this and hopefully that will be it :D

This is one that I have been meaning to write for some time. I hope you enjoy it :D Many thanks to @scribbles97, @vegetacide  and @thunderstorm-bay for all their wonderful help with this.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 He was still lying there half an hour later when there was a soft knock on the door.

The thought of ignoring it flittered through the back of his mind. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Shutting down his blog actually felt wrong, kind of sad, as if an outlet was now denied him...which it was. He really enjoyed speaking to like minds about ideas and innovations. He enjoyed brainstorming with Brains, of course, but his online interactions were something different and, if he was honest, he liked having the confidence of fellow engineers and a little recognition of his knowledge and skill from time to time.

But his ingrained politeness and self control forced him to push himself upright with a groan, drag his feet off the bed to hit the floor and respond.

His eldest brother’s head poked in the door. “Virg?”

The engineer didn’t answer, just waved him over, eyes closing a little in resignation.

Of course, Scott had a bottle of pills in one hand and half a glass of water in the other. Inevitable. Virgil held back the sigh.

“Don’t say it. This is non-negotiable.”

Virgil shifted where he sat on the edge of the bed only to jar his shoulder and groan.

The glass of water landed on his bedside table and the pill bottle rattled as Scott held his hand and shook two pills on to it.

Virgil glared at him, but shoved them in his mouth and took the offered water, washing them down with a grimace.

Ugh.

The empty glass ended up on the bedside table and Virgil let his shoulders droop just a little. Maybe he could climb back into bed, close his eyes and ignore the world for the rest of the day.

Scott sat down beside him on the bed. “We need to talk.”

Oh, crap. His shoulders tightened.

“Then I need coffee.” He shifted to push himself to his feet, but Scott reached out and gently tugged him back down, keeping him on the bed. “Virgil, please, tell me what is wrong. You haven’t been yourself for days now. Something is bothering you.”

“I don’t have the capacity for this without coffee.” He was like a computer that had run out of memory space. I’m sorry, Scott, I’m afraid I can’t do that. He rubbed his hand across his face.

“Does it have something to do with Mom?”

What? He turned to stare at his brother only to find real worry in those blue eyes. “Why would it have to do with Mom?”

His brother shrugged a little guiltily. “When you failed to turn up for debrief, I checked on you. You had been looking at a photo of Mom.” He held up a hand. “I didn’t mean to pry, honest. I picked your tablet off the floor where you had dropped it and the screen flashed it at me.”

Virgil swallowed. A pause. “It’s not about Mom.”

Those blue eyes still had questions in them. “Then what is it about?”

The room was quiet, the only sounds the sea breeze in the palm tree outside his window, distant gulls, surf on the other side of the island. He looked down at his hand in his lap. “Do you think I’m smart?” It came out before he could think it through.

“What?” Scott’s forehead furrowed. “Does this have to do with that idiot Windemere?”

A sigh. “No. Yes. Maybe. Alan said something and it got me thinking.” No, he shouldn’t be talking before coffee or after pain killers. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m fine.” He made to get up, but a strong arm held him down.

“It is not fine. Why are you questioning yourself? My god, Virgil, you are one of the smartest people I know.” A pause full of unspoken words. “What did Alan say?”

Shit. “It is nothing. Just had a bad couple of days. I’ll be fine.”

But again that hand held him down.

It wasn’t strength. Virgil was stronger than his brother. It was...Scott.

“Talk to me, Virgil. Why are you questioning yourself?”

His shoulders dropped. “Should I have grabbed Alan? Or should I have trusted him get himself out of that fall?”

“What?! Are you kidding me? What the hell did he say to you?!”

Great. Now Scott was going to lambast his brother again. Virgil held up his hands. “This isn’t about Alan. It’s about me.”

“I don’t care which of you it is about. Alan was stupid and, yes, you did the right thing yanking his ass out of that fall. I would have done the same. I’m sorry you were injured, but the alternative...you did good.”

It felt weak, but honestly, to hear it from Scott helped. Scott was his guide, his weather vane, his lead. He often felt that without Scott, he would be lost.

A swallow. “I can’t see it happening any other way, either.”

“Then what is the problem? Why are you doubting yourself?”

“Do you think Brains is smarter than me?”

That gave his brother pause. The frown deepened, his eyes shifted to thought for just a moment as he processed the question.

“Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“No, I don’t.”

Now that gave Virgil pause. “What?”

“Apart from the fact that this is not a race, Virgil, intelligence cannot be measured on a single scale. Everyone has different skills and aptitudes. There are situations where Brains’ abilities will flourish and different areas where yours will shine. For example, I put Brains on the front line very rarely as his skill set does not respond well to unknown situations, whereas I can throw you in and know you’ll land on your thinking feet and deal efficiently with whatever is thrown at you. You’re both smart, just at different things.”

He eyed his brother. “What about engineering?”

“What about it?” Perplexed was the word to describe his brother’s tone and expression.

“We are both engineers. Yet you default to asking Brains before you ask me.”

“What?”

“It’s true. I can be standing beside you in the danger zone and instead of asking me, you comm Brains.”

“I...I do?”

“Yes, you do.”

“That’s Brains’ job.”

“But not mine?”

“I wasn’t aware it was an issue.”

“It isn’t.”

“Then what? Virg, what the hell is going on? You’ve lost me.”

He let his shoulders slump. “I don’t know either. Don’t worry about it.” God, he needed coffee.

Scott slipped off the bed and knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his left shoulder. Virgil had no doubt that if his right shoulder wasn’t damaged, there would be a hand there too. “Virg, you know, no matter what, you have my support. If you want to shift your duties more into the realm of engineering than they already are, fine, let’s do it. If I have ever caused you to think I have any doubt in your abilities, I am truly sorry. There is no doubt. I would trust you with everything. I have trusted you with everything. It isn’t about smarts, it’s about you.” Scott’s blue eyes bore into his. “You have my everything.”

Something lodged in Virgil’s throat. God. His voice was hoarse. “Thank you.” He tried to swallow past that lump. “Likewise.”

Scott smiled just a little and squeezed his shoulder. “Are we good?”

“We weren’t anything but.” Coffee, give me coffee.

Those eyes grew quizzical again. Virgil reached out and clasped Scott’s arm. “I’m good. Honest. I just really need some coffee.” Coffee and a shower.

His brother’s expression switched to one of fond exasperation before he sighed and rose to his feet. Scott held out a hand. “Well, c’mon then, we can’t deny you your fix, can we?”

Virgil pursed his lips, but took the helping hand, shoving himself to his feet. Scott threw an arm around him and drew him close. “No doubts, okay?”

Again with the hoarse voice. “Okay. Thanks, Scott.”

His brother eyed the uniform Virgil was still wearing. “Need a hand?”

Virgil grunted. It wasn’t the first time he or his brothers needed some assistance due to injury, but it still sucked.

Scott took the sound for what it really was and without any further comment began gently helping his brother out of his coverall.

“So what did Alan say?”

“I will talk to Alan.”

Scott’s lips tightened. “I hope he is grateful for what you did and apologises for being stupid.”

Virgil touched his brother’s arm. “I will talk to Alan.” A gentle squeeze. “And please, be a little less liberal with that word.”

“What word?”

“Stupid. None of are stupid. We all have our reasons for what we do. There is no stupid on this island, only a genuine want to do what is right.”

Again with the staring blue eyes. A pause. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

His brother stared at him a moment longer before returning to helping him out of his uniform. The rest of the job was done in mutual silence.

Scott handed him his dressing gown. “Coffee, before I trust you in the shower.”

Virgil glared at him, but silently agreed as he shouldered on the garment.

His brother just grinned at him. “Let’s get you your fix.”

-o-o-o-

The rest of the afternoon was quiet. A rare dip in rescues that just gave them time to wind down and recover.

Virgil made the most of it. Not that there was any way he would be attending a rescue for at least a week, possibly more if Scott had his way. He had his coffee, extra large mug in the hope to combat the fog of his medication. It kind of worked. Enough for him to have a nice long shower, get cleaned up and throw on some fresh clothes. There was the piano and a painting, but he felt more like lying down, so found himself a pool lounger and, with a pile of self-indulgent pillows, holed up at the far end of the pool under a palm tree. His tablet provided the latest edition of Art Monthly and he let himself get lost in other people’s art. The air was warm, but not hot, the breeze gentle and despite the dose of caffeine, it wasn’t long before he drifted off.

When he woke, the sun was making for the horizon, the whole island cast in gold.

“Hey, Virgil.”

The soft melodious voice of his space borne brother was lacking its usual transmission static and it was a pleasant surprise to roll over and find John sitting on a lounger beside him. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

First question of any brother to any injured brother, of course. “Good, actually.” And he was. Relaxed, pain at a minimum, a gorgeous sunset in preparation, and... “Great to see you down here.” Virgil didn’t admit it often, but he did miss his middle brother. Didn’t really like him so far out of reach. But John loved it, so it was what it was. Didn’t mean Virgil couldn’t be happy to see him when he could. “What brings you to this little planet?”

The sun was sculpting John’s pale features and white shirt in almost molten gold, merging his skin with his copper hair. The odd thought of some kind of Greek god fluttered through the back of Virgil’s mind. He shook himself mentally. What the hell?

“Why did you shut it down?”

“What?” Virgil stared at his brother.

“Your blog. Why did you shut it down?” John’s turquoise eyes were a splash of contrasting colour stabbing through the gold.

Virgil opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“And for that matter, why haven’t you told anyone that you are V.T. Green?”

“Gordon knows.” It came out defensive.

“So, you told Gordon?”

“No, he guessed.” Still staring. “How do you know?”

“Remember who taught you how to protect your identity online?”

Virgil frowned. “You hacked my website?!”

“For a legitimate reason, yes, I did.” His brother appeared very unapologetic. “Brains needed information on V.T. Green so he could approach Scott with the idea of inviting him to the island.” John smiled a little lopsided. “You’ve certainly expanded your defensive repertoire. I had quite a time tracking your identity down.”

He couldn’t help it. He bit his lip and smiled just a little. “I did learn from the best.”

“And you sent the best on a right royal goose chase. The moon? Really?”

“It was convenient.”

“So why haven’t you told Brains.”

“Didn’t you?” He peered up at his brother.

“No. Not my information to share.”

“Yet you hacked my site to get that information.”

“Had to be done.”

Virgil looked away a moment, his eyes catching the far off movements of a flock of seagulls.

“Why are you hiding, Virgil?’

He shot his brother a glance that almost turned into a glare. “I’m not hiding. Never was.”

“But you haven’t told anyone.”

He shrugged and was rewarded with a medication reminder as his shoulder complained. “I didn’t think I had to. It wasn’t a thing.”

“I read through your blog. Some pretty amazing stuff. Brains was right, V.T. Green is a genius.”

Virgil eyed him. “You’re the genius in this family.” He turned back to the seagulls.

His brother didn’t answer and for a short time there was silence except for the sounds of the island.

John sighed. “Do you remember in sixth grade those two boys, Jareth and Brodi.”

“Sure, a couple of dicks. Scott should have hit them harder for what they did to you.” Bastards. John still had the scar.

“Yeah, well, comes with the territory.” John paused for a moment. “You’re smart, Virgil. Very smart. Why...”

“Why don’t my school grades show it? Why wasn’t I picked on for my IQ?” He sat up, dragged his legs off the lounger and faced his brother. “Are you asking me if I’ve been bludging to hide my brain, John?”

“Have you?”

Virgil stared at him. “No!” He shifted where he sat. “I did my best at school. Hell, do you think I would have made it into Denver otherwise?”

“But these concepts are way beyond your qualifications.”

“Qualifications? You think education ends at school? That it is tied to some stupid diploma? I did my dues; I convinced a bunch of hidebound professors that I understood enough to get my piece of paper. After that, I didn’t have to convince anyone but my family.” He glared at John. “And I thought my family knew what I was capable of.” He shoved to his feet. “I haven’t been hiding anything. I’ve always been who I am and I thought you all knew that.” He turned away. “I guess I was wrong.”

He didn’t look back as he stormed inside.

-o-o-o-

End Part Six

Part Seven

[lovemesomerafael]

It’s Complicated                     Chapter 3:  Protection

Source:  @barbaoutfits

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  

Rafael was impressed with the way Dr. Rojas presented as an expert witness.  She had plenty of experience testifying, of course, and anyone would listen to her once they heard her credentials, even if she hadn’t been as articulate and poised as she was.   Plenty of expert witnesses were either incapable of speaking at a level understandable by a jury, which was off-putting, or sounded as though they were intentionally dumbing down their words, which was insulting.  Rojas didn’t.  She had an ability to explain complex matters and introduce technical terms in a way that was understandable and relatable without being condescending.  It didn’t hurt that she wore her shiny, black hair in a French twist that would have been severe except for the gently curling strands that escaped it to soften her look, and a simple but elegant suit in a subtle green that flattered her warm, coppery skin tone.  She was accomplished and beautiful but, because of her open, friendly manner, the jury found her attractive rather than threatening.  

Frankie had needed almost no preparation, which was fortunate for both her and Rafael because, after their argument a few days before, they were almost unable to speak to one another normally.  For Rafael, it was difficult to disguise the deep feelings she aroused in him.  He wanted her, there was no question about that.  And, after the way she had responded to him in the interrogation room, he was certain that she wanted him, too.  He would have been very excited by that, except that he also despised what she stood for and found her personally irritating in the extreme.  Even hearing her name generated a physical and emotional heat he had to work around in everything having to do with her.  It was not an ideal situation for a Prosecutor questioning an expert witness in a felony trial. 

It was no easier for Frankie.  In fact, after spending the past two days watching him own this courtroom, dealing with Barba had only become more difficult.  She was always attracted to talent and intelligence, and had a special predilection for men who were clever with language.  Barba was like a rock star on stage as he subtly, expertly maneuvered the trial in exactly the way he intended.  It was exquisite torture to watch him in his perfectly-tailored suits that allowed her to imagine exactly what she would discover if she took them off, until she caught herself being lulled into those thoughts and roughly yanked herself back to the present.  She only wished she could see his facial expressions which, over the last few days, had become entirely fascinating and electrifying to her.  Just watching him lift an eyebrow or twitch his lips could be disturbingly erotic.  She still didn’t like him, but she probably owed Amanda a dozen cupcakes, because she’d skipped right over thinking Barba was hot to desperately wanting to jump him.  Worse, after their argument in the interrogation room, she was fully aware that he knew how she felt. 

Rafael saw the moment Rojas spotted Alan Canady in the courtroom.  It was as though someone had thrown a switch that drained all color from her face and caused tiny beads of sweat to pop out on her forehead.  The fear that instantly clouded her features scared him a little, too.  Fortunately, it was very near the end of her testimony and he was questioning her on redirect, which gave him options.  He sauntered, seemingly casually, toward the witness stand and stood next to her, between her and the jury box. 

“¿Estas bien?”[1] 

“No.  Alan esta aqui.  Cuarta fila.  Mi derecha.”[2]   

“OK.  Escucha, ¿puedes esperar un poco?  Él no puede hacer nada mientras estás en el estrado.”[3] 

“No se-“[4] 

The defense attorney objected to the whispered conversation, which objection the judge sustained. 

“Apologies, your honor, I was just asking the doctor whether she needed a break.” 

“Dr. Rojas?”  The judge lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” Frankie responded, willing her voice not to shake. 

Rafael purposely asked her several questions he knew defense counsel would want to follow up, specifically to keep Frankie safely on the stand after he was done questioning her.  Once he had completed his redirect and had retaken his seat, that allowed him to whisper to Fin Tutuola, sitting next to Sonny Carisi directly behind Barba in the gallery.  While Frankie answered the defense’s follow-up questions, Fin whispered to Carisi, who then left the courtroom, pulling his phone from his pocket as he went.  Fin quietly moved to where Alan Canady was seated in the courtroom and sat down a little too close to him, whispering something that caused Canady to scowl.  But he didn’t get up from his seat.

When the judge excused Frankie from the witness stand, her first instinct was to flee from the courtroom.  Instead, since Carisi had returned, she went to sit next to him.  She had seen what Barba had done, so she knew that Alan was under control for the moment.  But she was still comforted by the fact that she was touching shoulders with an armed police detective who knew the situation.  She wondered who he had called when he briefly left the courtroom.  As court was adjourned for the day, she turned to him to ask, but was surprised when Carisi took her upper arm, saying, “Come with me.”

He led her through the railing to the prosecution table, where Barba was hastily shoving a few things into his briefcase and instructing the junior A.D.A. who was sitting second chair regarding the rest of the materials on the table.   Frankie looked behind her to see that Fin was standing next to Alan, whom he had apparently instructed not to leave his seat.  Alan was glaring daggers at her, with an evil leer that shot a surge of fearful nausea through her.  Barba nodded to Carisi and they led her past the judge’s bench to the door on the other side, Barba before and Carisi behind her.  That level of protection both reassured her and ratcheted up her terror. 

Barba opened up the door to a small room with a scarred wooden table surrounded by a disorganized set of battered, mismatched chairs, with additional chairs along two of the walls. 

 “We’ll be fine in here,” he told Carisi.  “No one can get through that door without getting past the bailiffs, and Canady can’t get into the courthouse armed.”

“Right.  I’mma go back Fin up.  I’ll get the bailiffs to put someone outside this door, and I’ll come get you when Porter gets here.” 

When he left, Frankie began to pace the small room.  Rafael set his briefcase on the table and pulled out a chair.

“Do you want some coffee?”  He asked before sitting. 

She looked alarmed at the question and reached out a hand to him.  “No!  Please, don’t-”   Realizing how that must have sounded, Frankie quickly said, in a softer, more controlled voice, “I’m sorry.  I just meant…”

“I know.  I’m not going anywhere.  I’ll just ask someone to bring us some.  OK?”

“OK.  Yes.  Please.”

She decided to try to sit down while Barba muttered to someone passing in the hall.  It was no good; almost as soon as she’d felt the chair under her, she’d become too agitated to sit still and stood again.  Barba closed the door and turned back to her.  Now that they were alone, they instinctively lapsed into Spanish.

“I saw what you did,” Frankie told him.  “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure.  I’m killing out there, so I don’t want anything to happen that might cause a mistrial.” 

Rather than making her mad, the joke had the intended effect of comforting her.  “Cocky asshole,” she said, shaking her head, her lips twisting into a slight, involuntary grin. 

“Not gonna deny it.”  He took his seat and looked at her.  “You OK?”  

“Yeah.  Thanks to you.  You’re pretty quick on your feet.”  

“You talking about the trial, or – “  he indicated the room.  

“Both.  It’s nice to see that your ego isn’t entirely unwarranted.” 

“Careful, Doctor.  That was dangerously close to a compliment.  Remember who you’re dealing with here.” 

“Oh, I remember, don’t you worry.   But I have to admit, you are sort of killing this trial, and you did just get me out of a jam, so…  I’d say don’t let it go to your head, but why waste my breath?”

Barba’s smile, and the resulting rush of heat, finally got Frankie to sit down.  She wondered how she could possibly be horny at this particular moment, but in this tiny room with this stupidly handsome man who had done nothing all day but impress her, she couldn’t help it. 

They sat, not speaking, Rafael reviewing his notes and Frankie, having jumped up again to pace the room as soon as the surge of hormones cleared her system, making him nervous with her restlessness.  After ten minutes of that, Rafael handed her a report written by the defense’s expert psychiatrist.

“Make yourself useful,” he grunted.  “See if you can think of anything else I can attack this on.” 

She took the report from him, preparing to review it standing up.  “What are we waiting for, exactly?  Fin and Carisi have Alan, why can’t I just leave?”

“Quit complaining and read your report.”

“Well, what’s taking so long?” 

“Doctor, when a team of professionals from three different agencies are working to protect your shapely ass, a little gratitude is generally expected.” 

“You think my ass is shapely?” 

“That’s what you got out of that?  I was calling you ungrateful.”

“And shapely.”

Barba sighed and went back to his notes.  

It was half an hour later when Carisi knocked softly and entered the room.  “Porter’s taken Canady to Federal Plaza,” he told them.  “So Doc, you don’t want to go back to your office right now.  And until we know whether the feds are gonna be able to arrest him, I’m afraid it’s not a good idea to go home, either.”

“It’s a very secure building,” Frankie began. 

“It’s the precinct or Barba’s office.  You pick, and I’ll get you there safely.”  

“But he’s in custody!” 

“He’s not.  He’s being questioned, but he can leave any time unless Porter finds a way to arrest him.  So we need to move now.  Where’d you like to go?” 

“I have a ton of work to do,” she sighed, sounding whiny and ungrateful even to herself.

“My office,” Barba said to Carisi as he re-packed his briefcase.  “I’ll be there prepping all night, anyway, and it’s quieter, so la fresa[5] will at least be able to work in peace.” 

“Barba, you-“  She decided not to finish that thought in front of Sonny. 

Carisi grinned and opened the door, sweeping a hand toward the hallway.  Rafael took the report from Frankie’s hand as he preceded her into the hallway. 

“What’d you call her?”  Carisi asked Barba, speaking across Frankie as though they didn’t flank her protectively as they walked down the hallway. 

“She knows,” Barba smirked. 

   The evening was quiet and actually fairly comfortable as Rafael worked at his desk and Frankie worked on her laptop on the table in his office.  She envied this beautiful space; the plush quietness was much nicer than the industrial government-issue feel of her own office in Federal Plaza.  She’d instantly liked his assistant, Carmen, perhaps because she felt such sympathy for her, having to work for a bully like Barba.  Carmen’s last act before leaving for the day had been to order them Szechuan food from the place Mr. Barba liked so that they could have dinner while they worked. 

Carmen was intrigued.  Francisca Rojas was nothing like Mr. Barba had described her, and his interaction with her was decidedly unlike his interaction with people he disliked as much as he claimed to dislike her.  Besides which, Carmen didn’t need to be as intuitive as she was to see the sizzle between her boss and Dr. Rojas.  As much as Carmen liked Mr. Barba – and she liked him better than any of the attorneys she’d worked for in the past – she found him inexplicable when it came to women.  He relied upon Carmen to do much of the work surrounding his dating life – plan dates and make reservations, get tickets, send flowers, choose gifts – so she knew his tastes.  He claimed to be too busy to do it himself, and that Carmen was much better at that stuff than he was, but she suspected that it was closer to the truth to say that he really couldn’t be bothered.  Mr. Barba dated a lot of beautiful, accomplished women who seemed to like him as much as Carmen did.  But she could never figure out why a man as nice as he was – and he was nice, despite what he wanted the world to think – never seemed to get very emotionally involved. 

When his phone chimed to let him know their food had arrived, Rafael told Frankie he was going down to the front lobby to retrieve it.  The look on her face was only slightly less fearful than it had been at the courthouse when he’d offered to get coffee.

“It’s OK, Doctor.  You couldn’t be safer.  Not only can’t he know you’re here, he couldn’t get in even if he did.  Sit tight, I’ll only be a minute.”  His voice was meant to be reassuring, but she found it distinctly sexy, instead.  She had thought from the beginning that his voice was sexy when he used a certain tone, and now that she thought pretty much everything he did was sexy, she was almost relieved to have him leave the room for a moment.

She took the opportunity to look around.  The first thing she noticed was that his framed diploma showed he had graduated Magna Cum Laude from Harvard Law.  She wasn’t surprised, but she was deeply impressed.  Frankie had only graduated Cum Laude from law school, and she had to imagine that Harvard’s law program was tougher than A&M’s.  She wondered whether Barba had chosen the art on the walls in his office.  She liked it.  She appreciated not only the historical subject matter, but the way the pictures themselves complemented the overall gravitas projected by the office.  Her mouth quirked as she wondered whether Barba had intended that, to lend himself more gravitas.   Not that he needed it, anyone who spent more than five minutes with him would have a healthy respect for his ability, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

He returned sooner than she expected, noting that she was standing in front of a bookshelf studying the titles.  

“Preparing a critique of my reading choices?”

“Hmmmm,” she responded noncommittally.  “I can’t help but notice you have a copy of ‘Twenty-Five Acts’, which is in questionable taste…” 

“Would you believe that was for a case?” 

“Yes, but only because I already knew that.  And that doesn’t explain why you still have it.”  Her mocking half-grin unsettled Rafael. 

She sat back down at the table in front of her laptop as he stood nearby, taking cartons of food from the bag he’d placed there.  They smelled delicious.  

“Don’t work through dinner.  That’s a terrible habit.  Come sit on the couch and talk to me.” 

“I don’t want to talk about ‘Twenty-Five Acts.’” 

“You don’t even want to know how I got Cain convicted?”

“I know how you got Cain convicted.  And bragging, while perhaps a little bit deserved in that case, is rude.”

“You already think I’m rude.”

“I know you’re rude.  So why should I come over there and talk to you?” 

“Because you’re a doctor, and you should know that polite conversation is better for the digestion than reading about depraved criminals.  And before you say anything: yes, I am capable of polite conversation.” 

“This I gotta see.”

Frankie chose a carton and a fork and sat on the opposite end of the couch from Rafael, leaving her shoes on the floor and tucking her legs under her, which meant she had to pull her fitted skirt a little up her thighs.  Rafael stifled a groan.  Rather than say what he was thinking about her legs, he asked, “Fork?  Really?” 

“Sue me.  I’m from Texas.” 

“That’s no excuse not to know how to use chopsticks.”  

“Mmm-hmmm.  ‘I know how to make polite conversation’ he says.  I knew you couldn’t do it.” 

Forget hot.  He was gorgeous when he laughed.  “OK, that one I deserved.  Sorry.”

“Maybe we could just eat in blessed silence.”

“No.  I want to hear about growing up in Texas.  Please keep it to culture.  I don’t want to hear about any mansions or butlers.  I’m eating.” 

Rafael was very fortunate not to be eating at the moment she threw her head back and laughed.  The way her long, graceful neck arched, the flash of white teeth, the music of her laughter, or any one of those could have caused him to choke.  As a doctor, she probably knew the Heimlich Maneuver, and he did want her to put her arms around him, but still. 

“Is that what you think?  Oh, Barba, you clearly did not do a very good job on your research.  I did not grow up in a mansion.  I have, in fact, met real butlers, but it was at other people’s houses, and they freak me out.  I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say to them, and I refuse to pretend they’re not there.”

Rafael was stunned, and not only because the flush of amusement that animated her face made him want to laugh with her almost as much as he wanted to kiss her.  He had clearly missed something.

“You’re BioRed Pharmaceuticals.  You have more money than God.”

“BioRed Pharmaceuticals is a corporation, and my father has more money than God.  You did take Corporations at Harvard, right?  Trusts and Estates?  You understand how property works?”

“Let’s stick to your story.  You’ve got me interested now.  So, no mansions or butlers?”

“None.  I grew up on a working ranch, where my family still lives.  I ride workhorses and I’m pretty good at roping steer, which is a skill I’ve considered using on you a time or two, and I’m holding in reserve, just in case.  Never played polo, never even seen polo.  All my ridin’ and ropin’ was done in the course of long, hard workdays, because that’s how we were raised.  I will admit that my father paid my way through school, so I don’t have any student loans.  But I’ve had to earn my own money since the day I started getting an allowance.”

“But… your clothes.”

“I like clothes.  I spend too much on them.  What’s your excuse?”

“Same.  But I don’t have a billionaire father.” 

“I guarantee you I get less money from my father than you do from yours.”

“My father is dead.” 

“OK, then I get exactly as much money from mine as you do from yours.  Which is to say, none.  He believes in working for a living.” 

“And who’s ‘we’?  You said ‘that’s not how we were raised.’” 

“I’m one of six kids.” 

“Really?  Oldest, no doubt.” 

“Wrong again.  I have three older brothers and two younger ones.” 

“Wait… you have five brothers?  I should probably have found that out before I started talking to you the way I do.  And they’re from Texas… can they shoot?”

“Can they shoot?  You have heard of Texas, right?  You know what happens on a ranch?”

“Can you shoot?”

“I can shoot the eye out of an iguana at a hundred paces.”

“Shit.”  

“Does this mean you’re going to be nicer to me from now on?”

“Of course not.  But it does mean I’m going to ask Liv for a bulletproof vest.” 

“Don’t bother.”

“Is that a threat, Annie Oakley?”

“No, it means I don’t have a gun.  I hate ‘em.  Although, with Alan around again, maybe I oughtta re-think that.”

“You could always lasso him.”

“Shootin’s more fun.  At least, in Alan’s case.”

“Also more illegal.”

“Spoilsport.  But I don’t want to talk about Alan.  Tell me about you.  Where’d you grow up?”

“Right here.  The Bronx. With my eight siblings.”

“You have no siblings.”

“I have eight.”

“No.  There are practically entire textbooks about how your personality says you’re an only child. Beloved and the pride of your family, but an only child.”

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“Everyone who has ever met me knows that.  The real question is, why are you avoiding telling me about your childhood?”

“I’m not avoiding it.”

“You’re so avoiding it.”

“No, I’m – Ok, fine.  I was small and nerdy and I sucked at sports.  I had two best friends who did all the same things I did and I was always the one who got caught.  Which was fine, because I could always talk my way out of trouble.”

Frankie was smiling at him while she listened.  He was so damn cute.  If anyone had told her before this moment that she would have thought that, she’d have laughed or maybe assessed their mental competence.  But it was true.  

“I loved my abuelita.  She was my favorite person in the world.  No matter what happened in my life, she thought I was the smartest, and the best, and that I could do anything.  She used to call me el juez.[6]  Even before I got into law school.”

“I think I’m in love with your abuelita.”

“Me, too.  I miss her. We lost her last year.”

“I’m sorry.“

Half an hour of sweet stories about Rafael’s childhood later, Barba’s desk phone rang.  They both turned to look at it.  “You know what this is going to be,” he said.

She slid her shoes back on and followed him to the desk, standing on the other side while he listened to Dean Porter.  Rafael’s side of the conversation was almost nothing except an occasional “uh-huh.”

Frankie was almost frantic by the time he hung up.  “Well?”  

Rafael looked her in the eye as he told her that they had gotten nothing out of Canady, and hadn’t had any reason to arrest him.

“So he’s just out there somewhere.”

“I’m sorry.  Porter says you shouldn’t go home.  Canady was pretty pissed when he left.”

“Fuck that.  He is not driving me out of my home.  Not again.”

Frankie stomped over to the table and rummaged in her purse for her phone, plucking it out and beginning to touch the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for an all-night gun store.”

Rafael took the phone from her.  “I can think of at least five reasons that’s not a good idea, but the only one you’re going to listen to is that there’s a three-day waiting period. You might as well relax and get used to the idea that you’re not going home.”

She grabbed the phone roughly from his hand and threw it back into her purse, then slammed her laptop closed and began shoving things into her carryall.  “That is so easy for you to say.  You’re safe. You can go home.  You don’t have some deranged asshole following you around the country trying to kill you.  Well, fuck him.  If he wants to kill me so bad, let him try.  So maybe I can’t get a gun tonight, but I got plenty of knives in my kitchen and I might as well be comfortable while I wait.”

“Francisca, stop it.  You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Damn straight I’m not!  I’m pissed off!”  She stormed toward the door, with him right behind her.  “I’ll show myself out.”

“You can’t-”

She turned to him.  “I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of opening a door.”

“And similarly capable of making a very bad, very dangerous decision in a fit of temper.  Which I am not going to allow you to do.”

He took the last few steps toward her and they both reached for the doorknob.  Standing chest to chest, her hand on the doorknob and his hand on hers, they faced one another, both angry.

“You’re not walking out of here alone.  And you’re not going home.”

“You really think you can stop me?”

“You really gonna make me?”

Their faces got closer with each word.  “You are so…”

“Yes?”  He asked, putting his arm around her and leaning so that his lips were almost touching hers.

“Annoying and frustrating,” she closed the distance. “And arrogant, and…”  Their lips met in a molten kiss.

“Well, you’re conceited and short-tempered and you drive me up a wall,” he gasped, pushing her against the door with his body.  Taking his hand from the doorknob, he encircled her with both arms as he captured her mouth with his.

“Do you ever fucking shut up?”  She panted into the kiss.

“Not when I have something to say.”

“Why am I not surprised?”  She asked, burying her hands in his hair the way she’d been wanting to for days as she responded to his probing tongue.

“You’re not exactly silent yourself,” he muttered.

She gave herself completely over to the sensations he was creating in her.  He used his mouth on hers in ways that had her beginning to moan after only a few minutes, as she moved her body to fit it more closely to his.

“Nothing to say?”  He gasped, moving to kiss down her neck.

“I have plenty to say.”  She whispered between breaths.  “I’m prioritizing.”

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Damn right I am, but not because you said so.  Because I want to.”

“Whatever gets you there,” he growled.

 Rafael and Frankie scandalized the cab driver who took them from Rafael’s office to his apartment.  Rafael had pulled the silky shell she wore out of her waistband and unhooked her bra by the time they reached his apartment building, hands all over her breasts as he ravished her mouth.  He had no idea how much the fare was, or how much cash he tossed into the front seat as he followed Frankie out of the cab.  

By the time the elevator reached his floor, Frankie had Rafael’s tie off and his shirt undone, and a fairly significant purple mark on the front of her neck.  As soon as they closed his door behind them, she’d removed his jacket, pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and practically torn off his shirt.  She threw them to the floor and reached to pull his undershirt up, but he pushed her jacket from her shoulders, causing her to have to stop her progress in undressing him to allow him to remove it.  She reached for him again, but he moved her hands out of the way.

“You’re so fucking pushy,” she complained as they broke their nearly continual kisses so that he could pull her shell up and over her head.  She paid no attention to what he did with it, and neither did she, because their lips were again enmeshed and he flicked her bra off and began working on her skirt.  She remembered to be grateful she’d worn nice lingerie today.  

“And you’re way too fucking spoiled,” he muttered, allowing her to take off his undershirt before slipping her skirt down her hips to fall onto the floor.  She pulled at the fly of his trousers as he again began to fondle her breasts.  It took her little time to get his pants unfastened and run her palm down his abdomen, under the waistband of his boxers, and take hold of his stiff member.  He groaned as she’d hoped he would.

With very little effort, he pulled his trousers and boxers down and stepped out of them.  She was too engrossed in his penis to pay attention to how he got his shoes and socks off, but noticed when he took one of her hands and led her toward what she assumed was his bedroom.  She stepped out of her shoes on the way.  They didn’t bother with lights; there was plenty of light coming in through the window from the city beyond.  When they reached the bed, he turned and took her into his arms again, falling with her onto the mattress.  Somehow they wriggled and rolled their way to lying side by side, lips and hungry mouths never parting.  

When he ran a hand up her thigh to the moist crotch of her panties, she let out a moan that could have made him come right then, but he kept a hold on his desire long enough to quickly pull the skimpy boy shorts off her body.  

“Shit,” he gasped.  “We need to talk about… consent, and protection…”  He was breathing almost too hard to speak.

“I’m clean and I’m on the pill and if you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds, that’s when we’re gonna have a problem,” she growled.

“Impolite, and disrespectful,” he murmured, moving into position and gently nudging her thighs apart.  “Impatient, and… oh, fuck!”

He kissed her, hard and messy and frenzied, as he began to thrust into her.  

“Yeah, well, you’re… uhn…  uncivil and surly… oh… and bossy…”

“Tell me how to make you come,” he grunted.

“See?  Bossy… oh, shit…  fuck, Barba…  I’m… Just like that!  Just… like…”  

Frankie could not remember the last time she had come just from being fucked. Well, at that moment, she couldn’t remember her own name.  But she somehow found a small part of her brain with which to be astounded at how good Barba felt inside her and the ease with which he had brought her to this shouting, incoherent climax.

He followed just as she began to come down.  Did he actually call her fresa in the midst of his orgasm? Oh, this man was absolutely impossible. Entirely, completely impossible.    

[1] Are you all right?

[2] Alan is here.  Fourth row.  My right.

[3] OK.  Listen, can you hang on for a little while?  He can’t do anything while you’re on the stand.

[4] I don’t know.

[5] See definition in Chapter 2

[6] The judge

[1dffexchange]

Great Unexpectations

To: Inm @in-madhouses​

From: E @unofficialxstyles​

Summary: Alana Bosworth thinks Dickens is overrated. That and the fact that there was no such thing as too much coffee.

Niall Horan begs to differ.

A tale of two different people, one coffeeshop and a how things never go the way we expect them to.

There probably was no such thing as too much coffee.

Sure, everyone talked about the effects of overdosing on caffeine-among which was infertility, by the way, but nobody actually cared. Coffee was a nectar of the Gods.

And sometimes, Alana Bosworth did think she was God.

Or at the very least maybe a distant, distant, distant relative of the heavenly being.

Afterall, she was able to (read: nearly) finish a ten thousand word assignment in one sitting a day before the submission deadline. If that was not a testament to her powers then perhaps, drinking a total of no less than six cups of coffee was.

Still, as Alana threw her body against the smooth wooden counter that overlooked a quiet, deserted street, she could not help but to second guess her coffee addiction. She hated to admit it but six cups did seem like a bit much.

So she did what any sane person would do in her shoes-she reached for her phone and punched in some numbers. The person on the other end of the line picked up after three rings, specifically, but what was supposed to be cordial greeting was instead replaced with muffled screaming and a loud thud.

Ouch.

“Henry…Henry I told you…no, no,” the voice at the other end of the line sounded distressed but Alana merely waited it out. “Honey, please. Okay, okay, fine, eat the cake,” There was another muffled scream, random shuffling and then, at long last, a proper, “Hello,”

“Hello to you, too, Kat,” Alana responded brightly, adjusting herself so that she was seated upright once more.

“Alan? Hi,” came the response. Unlike before, Katherine Bosworth-Ferguson sounded a little more excited this time. “How are you? You haven’t called in like two weeks. Mum was getting worried, you know. She keeps thinking you’re passed out drunk in a London pub or something and one of these days she’d be getting a call to let her know that you’re dead,”

Alana cringed.

First of all, pubs were never her thing.

Second of all, she did wish her mother had more faith in her.

“You guys actually give me far less credit than I deserve, Kat. You know I could bust ass if need be,” Alana replied, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. There came a sound at the other end of the line once more, a little croak that indicated Kat already had a counter argument fully ready to launch but Alana quickly cut her off. There were more pressing matters at hand.

“Hey, listen I know it’s late I was just calling to see if you maybe knew how much coffee is like too much coffee? As in a lethal amount?” Alana questioned.

Three beats of silence passed.

Birds chirped.

Henry dropped his fork on his now empty chocolate cake plate.

“You….called me….to…ask about…coffee,”

“I’m figuring if there’s anyone who’d know about such things, it’d be a nurse and you’re a nurse so,”

“Exactly what time is it there,”

The question prompted Alana to glance at the watch she had on. “A little after 12.....oh,” The redhead sheepishly smiled, even though her older sister could not witness her slight embarrassment. “It’s early there,”

If eyerolls could be heard, she was pretty sure she heard Katherine’s tumble to the back of her head.

“You should be going to sleep,” was all Katherine said.

The screaming resumed.

“Listen, Alana, I would love to catch up but Henry is now covered in chocolate cake and heaven knows what else so I should really go. Henry…Henry no,” Once again, Katherine sounded livid. “But to quickly answer your question, caffeine has side effects so don’t drink too much of it. It does increase memory, though so if you’re into entering the spelling bee or something, coffee is your best bet. Text me…later, or call me at a better time…maybe text before you do…I have to go. Henryyyyyy,”

With that, the line went dead.

Sisters before misters, they always said.

Unless of course one had a sister with a robust three year old keen on destroying everything he touches.

Then maybe it was time to get a mister.

Or maybe not. Those were always a problem, too.

Knowing she’d get nowhere that night with her burning questions about coffee, Alana pursed her lips, threw her phone into her bag and then resumed her position slumped against the counter. She closed her eyes for all of seven seconds.

“Uhm, miss,”

Good things never did last, of course.

Alana opened one eye and was met with a tall, blonde man looking at her with an odd mixture of curiosity, politeness and a hint of irritation.

She opened the other eye and sat up. He pointed at the clock on the wall.

“We’re closed. We actually closed fifteen minutes ago and….you have to go,” his accent was think but his tone, albeit a little understandably impatient, was apologetic.

Alana nodded her head in understanding and stood up, mumbling her own apology. “Didn’t see the time. Life gets like that when you have to finish a damn assignment on three hours of sleep after finishing one the day before. Life sucks and especially so before Christmas break,”

Alana began packing her bag, throwing a stack of notes and her laptop into her carry on before stacking four empty coffee cups neatly and handing it over to the barista. She knew he was the barista because he was a familiar face-he had been making her coffee over the last year with no less enthusiasm than an energizer bunny each time.

He did not prepare her coffee consistently, of course, but he was there often enough to know her coffee order before she even got a word out and to sometimes use his staff discount.

When the weather was extra nice, they’d even engage in small talk.

His name was Niall.

“Tell me about it,” Niall replied cordially. “I’m this close to being dead but you know…extra cash always helps; especially around Christmas. And they say a bachelor’s will get you far in life….They never mentioned the need to get through this phase, first,”

Alana snorted, then nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Bachelor’s? More like Bache’s gonna kill me,”

Niall, much to his credit, had the courtesy to chuckle lightly at what Alana already knew was a failed attempt at a joke. He held the coffee cups in a silent gesture of goodbye.

“I… should go clean up. Goodnight,”

“Goodnight,”

She watched Niall disappear behind the double doors that led to the kitchen before heaving a sigh. The young woman grabbed her coat and began her trek back to her dorm room-just two blocks down from Barney’s Coffee & Cakes.

Replaying the few words that she and Niall had exchanged earlier, the reminder of Christmas approaching made her smile in nostalgia. With the most awaited holiday just two weeks away, despite her excitement of spending it abroad for the first time in her life, she did at times wish she had chosen to spend it with her family. She could already picture Katherine, Joshua and Henry taking a photos with the Christmas tree at her parent’s house, her father in his ugly Christmas sweater insisting everyone taste the turkey he’d already perfected the recipe for and just staying up with her mother on Christmas night, talking about all the things they were thankful for in the last year.

The mental image made her miss her family a little bit more but she comforted herself with the fact that she was about to experience something different, this time with friends she had made over the last year, which made the anxiety dissipate a little.

By the time she had reached her front door and turned the key into the lock, Alana was, once again, affirmed over the decision of staying in London for Christmas instead of heading back to Los Angeles a week early.

That is, until she opened the door to a sight straight out a porn production.

“Holy Jesus,”

The curse that left Alana’s mouth broke the obvious sex laden trance two of her friends were in and they immediately broke apart while having the decency to actually look guilty. She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air, making her way towards the kitchen.

“I thought you weren’t coming home,” It was Soo Young-Soo to everyone else-who spoke first. She got up from her position on the sofa and trotted towards Alana. The latter thanked the heavens Soo still had her t-shirt on.

“And what gave you the idea?” Alana poured herself a glass of water.

“I don’t know. You might have decided that someone at the coffeeshop was worth getting laid with. You spend like…all your time there,” Soo commented, positioning herself next to Alana against the kitchen counter.

“Not all-”

“All,” Zayn, Soo’s boyfriend, volunteered. Upon careful inspection when her attention was turned to him, she noted that he too was still fully clad. “Would it kill you to live a little, Alan?”

“I only go there when I need to complete an assignment,”

“That doesn’t mean being there all the time?” Soo poked Alana’s arm, earning a protest from the latter. “Honestly, Alan….you’re beautiful and you’re funny sometimes. Talk to people. So what if you don’t meet deadlines? Not making it for one assignment wouldn’t kill your grades,”

Alana offered Soo a stare that could rival Medusa’s.

“You forget that I’m here on exchange and my grades do matter because my records are going to be sent back to UCLA and I want to graduate when I get back or my year in London will come to moot,”

“Your year in London is already moot,” Zayn argues. “You came to London a boring bug and you’re leaving London…a boring bug,”

She loved Zayn-adored him, really-but sometimes, he had the emotional quotient of a pig.

In an attempt to defend herself and to prove a point of sorts, Alana crossed the space between them and smacked Zayn squarely on the head. There were times where she hated his truthful and wise moments-even if they were….truthful and wise.

“I’m not boring. I party with you guys,” Alana defended herself.

Zayn chortled.

Soo grunted in apparent disagreement.

Alana looked between them both.

“Look, Alan, there’s nothing wrong with being a homebody and considering game night a party but really, let loose a little,” Zayn advised. “Like Soo said…you’re young and beautiful. And maybe call yourself Lana instead of Alan,”

“What’s wrong with Alan? I like Alan and everyone calls me that,” Alana scrunched her face up. “It’s much more unique than an Alana being called Lana,”

Logic, duh.

“Yeah,” Zayn stifled a yawn. “But being an Alan won’t get you laid as often,”

“You’re very misogynistic you know. You’re lucky I love you or I’d have put a lock on our door a long time ago,”

This time, Soo laughed from where she was in the kitchen and Alana cracked a smile.

Of all the things that had happened in the last year-which really was not much- she was most thankful for having Soo as a roommate and then, by default, meeting and becoming friends with Zayn. Unlike her, they were both students with King’s College and were her first friends. It was Soo who brought her on a ‘Locals Only London’ tour on her first week here and Zayn who invited her to his birthday party-where she met a few other friends she had grown to appreciate.

In turn, it was one of her outer circle of friends who had introduced her to Barney’s-which quickly became her sanctuary. It was less popular than the other coffeeshops in the area because it was a little rundown-with some scratched out tables and rickety chairs-but somehow, Alana thought those very features held true the coffeeshop aesthetics and were ones that made the place all the more cosy.

Plus, Zayn and Soo did occasionally get up to no good in the room so to Barney’s was a quick escape plan.

“Life’s not all about getting laid though is it,” Alana finally replied, sitting herself proper next to Zayn. Soo soon joined her other side. “Anyway, getting laid thoughts aside…are we still doing the Christmas gift exchange thing with Harry and Jen?”

It was the highlight of Alana’s Christmas abroad.

At the mention of this, surprisingly, the previously playful air around them tensed a little and Alana did not miss the look Soo and Zayn shared. Instantly, it sent warning bells ringing in her head. When they had talked about Christmas plans a month ago, it was Soo who suggested they had a small gathering in a nearby bar-just having drinks and hosting a gift exchange. Alana had jumped on the idea, thinking it was a perfect way to celebrate the holiday.

“About that….” Soo broke the silence, biting her lip as if not liking her next words, either. “Zayn’s parents invited us down to Braford for the holidays and we…kinda agreed. It was totally last minute, we didn’t know,”

“Harry and Jen will still be here,” Zayn offered.

Alana felt her heart clench but she quickly gathered herself and smiled. Holidays were family time, too, and she could not be selfish about things like these. Besides, Zayn and Soo had done so much for her-she could not expect them to stay back against their will, too.

“I’m not as close to them but…it’s okay. We’ll manage. You guys go, have fun,” Alana assured them. “Say hi to your siblings for me, Zayn. Would love to meet them someday,”

Zayn ruffled the top of her head.

“Will do, Lana,”

Alana groaned. “It’s Alan,”

Soo hugged them both.

---

Christmas eve in London was like one of those postcards on a window display one saw whilst walking along the streets heading to the Tower Bridge. It was snowing lightly, bright lights lit up the street and there were muffled noises of celebration going around campus. Alana jammed her hands inside her pockets, soaking in the sights as she headed to Barney’s. It was two hours till Christmas and she did not feel like spending Christmas eve alone so she had decided to head to her favourite hangout instead.

Soo and Zayn had left for Bradford three days before. An unusually teary Soo apologised profusely for pulling out the plug on their holiday plans and it took a firm hearted Zayn to pull her away and multiple assurances from Alana that they’d see each other before Alana went back to the States before Soo would let her go. Alana gave them both their little gifts-a bottle of Soju and pair of concert tickets for Soo and a thrifted leather jacket for Zayn which proclaimed his undying love for Guns and Roses, embroidered at the back-before bidding temporary goodbye.

That Christmas eve, Harry, Jen and her had met up at the pub as planned, sharing a few drinks before doing the exchange. At Harry’s invitation to attend a Christmas eve countdown party afterwards, Alana had decline, using the excuse that she was a little bit tired. In truth, however, Alana had no interest in spending time with people she barely knew.

She was certain she would have listed the benefits of coffee to an unsuspecting stranger and branded herself a weirdo for life and she would very much like her Christmas eve to be pleasant.

Even if Jen did stay true to her teasing promises and gave Alana an ugly sweater for Christmas.

Finally arriving at Barney’s, Alana was unsurprised to find that it was even emptier than it was before. Despite the wooden walls being decorated with proclamations of a “Merry Christmas” and a few miserable Christmas cards, Alana doubted anyone would want to ring in Christmas drinking coffee. The young woman walked up to the counter, ordered herself a latte then sat herself by the usual spot, by the window, as she awaited for her coffee to cool down.

As she stared out the window and watched people heading towards their Christmas plans, Alana could not help but to admit that she’d miss Barney’s as much as she’d miss Soo and Zayn. Barney’s had seen her through late nights, early mornings and days where she just needed to treasure her aloneness. Somehow, the wooden walls has seen her grow over the last year-the unusually quiet girl had taken a leap of faith, going to another country for an entire year, alone, merely to pursue the unknown. It was a walking cliché but hell, it was Christmas eve.

Heaving out a breath, Alana pulled her knees up to her chest and took out the book she had been attempting to read over the last week. One of her classmates, while in conversation about the best literary classics of all times, found herself in genuine disbelief when she realised that Alana had not yet read Great Expectations. Alana had defended herself, letting her classmate know she had attempted it before but just never properly understood it and had given up. She was presented the book a day later by the very same classmate with the promise that she would read it over the Christmas break.

Her second attempt, so far, was a failure. She was at page twenty seven when she closed the book, pushing it across the table in mild frustration.

“Not a fan of Dickens?”

It was Niall.

Alana looked up to find him looking at her in ill-disguised amusement.

“I just don’t think it’s as much a classic as its touted to be. Or maybe I just don’t understand it,”

“You think Great Expectations is sub-par?” Niall had the audacity to look surprised now. He perched his bucket of collected mugs against his hips, eyebrows raised.

Alana made a face, then chuckled.

“Wait here,”

Before Alana could protest or question the semi-stranger before her, Niall disappeared behind the double doors. When he re-emerged, he spoke in hushed tones to the other barista, gesturing towards her. With a firm nod from the other, Niall undid his apron and quickly joined Alana, sitting across from her.

He would have been skiving had it not been for the fact that the only customer was her.

“Care to tell me what this is about?” Alana’s asked. She leaned back in her chair, then folded her arms across her chest.

“I’m here to tell you what you missed out with Dickens,”

Niall’s grin was smug.

“Right…because what I really need on Christmas eve is a lecture about the great Charles Dickens,” Alana mocked, looking pointedly towards the book.

Niall seemed to contemplate his response and in those moments, Alana dared a glance at him. Only then did she fully register that his eyes were a deep blue and that he had a slightly dented chin. His hair, while mostly blonde, had highlights of auburn in them.

Strange how she had seen him throughout the year and only then noticed the most obvious details.

“About that…why are you here on Christmas eve?” Niall’s sudden change in topic caught Alana off guard, causing her to frown. Her response prompted Niall to shoot his arms up in defence and after laughing lightly, added. “I mean, I’m sure you have better Christmas plans than coming here to get drunk on coffee,”

“I don’t get drunk on coffee,”

“Well, with a six cup black coffee record, you might as well have,”

“I’ve had ten once back home,”

“And….where is home?”

The question, although catching Alana off guard, caused her to grin. “Smooth one-if that’s your way of finding out where I live,” Alana pursed her lips, reaching for her coffee. “Home is Los Angeles. Only here for exchange…which officially ends in a week,”

Sometimes, when Alana got nervous, she tended to give more than she cared to admit.

“That’s…pretty far from here. No plans tonight?”

Alana shook her head no, then added. “My grand total of two friends decided to love it up back in his hometown so I’m left with a barely friends Christmas secret Santa thing and Dickens in a coffeeshop,”

Yup, she was definitely nervous.

Instead of appearing sorry for her, however, Niall shrugged.

“Sounds a whole lot better than working on Christmas eve,” his voice was laced with an undertone of sadness and that alone, somehow, made Alana sit up a little bit straighter.

“Well, you have your barista buddy if it counts for anything…and an equally lonely customer,”

As if to proof a point, Alana raised her cup in a quiet toast before sipping her drink.

“Jack’s about to knock off; he has a party to get to…but you’re more than welcomed to stay,” Niall stood up then and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I uh…better go clean up. We close at twelve so don’t make me chase you out…again,”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Alana joked.

“Hopefully it wouldn’t be the last, either,”

The laughter that escaped Alana’s lips carried through the now empty space, She chose to sit back and do nothing for a while, watching as mere minutes later, Jack emerged from behind the counter, waving at Niall as he approached the front door. He noticed Alana during these moments and with an enthusiastic “Merry Christmas”, was on his way.

Perhaps, in all of England, her Christmas was the most boring.

In the two hours that followed, Alana alternated between attempting Dickens and checking her phone-though she spent more time doing the second. The group chats she was in were filled with Christmas greetings and updates, the most active being one of her family and her close friends back home. Both groups seemed to be preparing for Christmas in full swing. Her father was roasting the turkey, as usual, and her friends were already calling dibs on what they’d be bringing to the party at Carlos’. Alana felt a pang of sadness wash over her but as quickly as it came, she halted her thoughts by reaching for Dickens, focusing now on Pip and his journey on Christmas eve.

Perhaps, in some greater metaphor of sorts, Dickens on Christmas did seem appropriate.

“Looks like I am going to chase you out,” Niall’s sudden interruption brought her out of her semi-reverie in nineteenth century England.

“Is it twelve already?” Alana looked at the clock to find that they were exactly five minutes away.

“Not yet but I wanna wish you Merry Christmas instead of chasing you out right at midnight. That would be very Fairy Godmother of me,”

“Indeed,” was all Alana said before standing up, packing her bag and then swinging it over her shoulder.

“Did you get anywhere with Dickens?”

“First base, if I’m lucky. But I think it’s more of a cordial friendship at this point,” When the response was met with a puzzled look from Niall, Alana giggled. “We’re at page forty and I am still not impressed,”

Niall did the unthinkable then.

“Come over to my place then…tomorrow…not tonight…because I have to clean up and it’s…not appropriate, anyway,”

Alana blinked.

Twice.

In slow motion.

“I mean…if you want to. I did a review on Dickens last semester and maybe it’d be easier for you to understand and appreciate it and also….I kinda don’t want to spend Christmas alone,”

As if to confirm her suspicion, Alana asked. “You’re asking me out?”

“No…yes…I mean…we’ve known each other almost the year right so that makes us friends and we’re just…hanging out on Christmas and I have gingerbread cookies and we could talk Dickens or not and you can say no-”

The rest of Niall’s words blurred into the background and in its place was Zayn’s voice telling her she needed to live a little and live a life outside Barney’s that was less calculated. Leaps of faith were never her thing but perhaps, there was no harm in this one-especially since she knew deep down, she had nothing to lose. It was a tiny gathering between friends and if she had to put it in her own words and her own terms, it was kind of like a Christmas study date.

“-and of course I have boardgames and-”

“Okay,” Alana answered at last. “I’m pretty sure we’d get nowhere with Dickens but I do love gingerbread cookies,”

Niall held in his response for a moment after the agreement was forged, unable to belief that his spontaneous idea of asking a fellow lone soul to spend Christmas together would bear fruit.

“Yeah…yeah okay,” Niall finally found his words but unconsciously scratched the back of his neck in sudden shyness. “I’ll go get my phone and then text you my address,”

While Niall went to get his phone, Alana quickly reached for hers and with rapid speed and an equally quick heart rate, ignored the multiple texts she received to send a message to Soo.

“Got asked out on an almost date for Christmas. Merry Christmas to you and Z!!!!!!!!! xxxxxx”

Just as she hit send, Niall emerged once more and handed his phone to her so she could type in her number. A knowing smile formed on her lips, however, when the name space was filled with the name “Karen”.

“Uhmm…my name is actually Alan. Short for Alana. Alana Bosworth,”

Niall looked puzzled. “What do you mean….?”

“I mean….” Alana paused and licked her lips, unable to hold in a laugh that eventually escaped her lips. She held his phone up. “I mean my name is Alana not Karen. You might have misheard me saying Alan…everyone calls me Alan…. and assumed my name was Karen and wrote it down by mistake. You’ve been writing it wrong the whole year,”

It was Niall’s turn to blink twice. In slow motion.

“What do you mean I’ve been writing your name wrong for a year?” Niall turned pale, his eyes reflecting obvious embarrassment. “Why have you never corrected me?”

“Because,” Alana was laughing without inhibitions now and gave herself a few moments to gather herself. “….Because you only asked once and I thought I could correct you the next time I saw you but you never asked for my name again so I’m….Karen,”

Niall ran a hand through his hair, opening his mouth as if to say something before quickly deciding against it. “You mean I’ve mistaken you for a Karen the whole year,”

Alana nodded in mock seriousness, the nudged her new friend. “It’s okay…no big,”

Typing her phone number in then, she gave herself a missed call before handing the phone back to Niall who looked a little less shocked than he was before but still clearly beating himself up over getting someone else’s name wrong for a whole year.

“Relax, Niall. It’s okay, really. At least now you know, right?” Alana assured him. “Text me your address tomorrow and we’ll meet up,”

Niall nodded his head robotically.

“Okay,” Alana was still amused as she backed away and towards the door. “Goodnight, Niall…and Merry Christmas,”

“Good….goodnight, Kar….Alan. See you tomorrow. Merry Christmas,”

Niall blew out a breath of utter shock as he watched Alana leave. When he finally fully recovered, he dialled a number on the phone. The other person picked up almost instantly.

“Hey…yeah buddy…Merry Christmas to you too. Listen, you wouldn’t belief what happened, Zayn….”

[tagsecretsanta]

Belated gift from @gumnut Logic to Emma on Facebook

Thank you Nutty for filling in last minute with this wonderful piece, both I and Emma truly appreciate it! 

As always, Secret Santa does not own this piece, full credit goes to the author mentioned above!

Title: Happy New Year

A TAG Secret Santa fic

Author: Gumnut

27 - 30 Dec 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Not the average new year’s eve.

Word count: 3439

Spoilers & warnings:

Timeline: Standalone

My prompt was: How the Tracy family celebrate Christmas and new year

Author’s note: Okay, this fic is a little weird and I’m not sure it answers the prompt, but it is what happened when I started typing. I hope you enjoy it anyway. And I hope you all have a fantastic new year :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Ten...the match caught and flickered in the breeze. She caught it, wrapping it with her hands, nursing it to the candle, and letting out a breath as flared into life.

Module Four hit the surface of the North Pacific Ocean and immediately started rolling in the swell. Thunderbird Two’s heavy-duty spotlights tracked it as it was tossed about.

“Gordon, you okay?”

“Riding it out. Though I have to say, I’m glad I didn’t over indulge at dinner.” Virgil watched as all the module indicators flicked to green. “We are go for module deployment.”

“Make it fast. That swell is unpredictable.” He would have preferred to have lowered TB4 using the grapples, but the wind gusts were more problematic than the swell. As if to reassure him of his decision, TB2 was suddenly swiped sideways. He compensated hurriedly, bringing her back to stability, her lights once again training on the module. It was the better of two poor choices.

The undersea habitat didn’t have a choice, so here they were, in the pitch dark of the last hour of the year, attempting to fish more scientists out of the deep.

The weather was not cooperating.

Gordon lowered the ramp, and with a speed he would not usually deploy, shot off into the cold and turbulent water.

Virgil grunted as the wind caught his girl again.

Module retrieval was going to be a bitch.

-o-o-o-

Nine...she took the first candle from its holder and gently tilted it towards its brother. The two wicks touched and flickered. The two became one.

Space is silent, but it isn’t. There is always some kind of machinery functioning to keep life alive. Whether it be Thunderbird Three herself, or his own helmet, Alan was always accompanied by sound.

At this very moment, it was his own swearing.

“Goddamnit, move!”

But the airlock refused to obey. Likely fused shut by the explosion that had set the ship adrift, it was between him and the three remaining life signs. He had to get it open, their life support was failing.

“John, what are the chances of me cutting through this?”

“Not great. It is reinforced. Have you tried the Claw?”

The Claw, complete with a capital C, was a piece of equipment designed by Virgil based on his exo-suit. Virgil rarely made it out into space, but there was occasionally the need for heavy lifting out in the void. It used a grip attached to a thruster pack and could be deployed to create force in any direction.

“It was next on my list.”

“You’ve got nine minutes left.”

“Working on it.” He pulled in his equipment pack, tethered to his sled, and grabbed the Claw. Fastening the grip onto the airlock wheel, he deployed the thruster pack to give the correct directional push.

And the wheel refused to budge.

-o-o-o-

Eight...the first candle flickered haphazardly, once again teased by the breeze as she moved it to the second of its brethren. She smiled just slightly as it, too, caught and flared.

“How do they expect me to catch something I can’t see?!”

It was muttered at his instruments and he didn’t expect an answer. All his scanning equipment was trained ahead attempting to locate the hidden exhaust of an experimental plane deployed by the GDF. It would have been an interesting experiment, if the pilot wasn’t currently trapped inside. It was codenamed Nighthawk because the plane was designed to work best at night - apparently testing it during the day would have made Scott’s rescue attempt a little too easy. So here he was after dark, on New Year’s Eve of all nights, flying over the back end of New South Wales attempting to find an invisible plane.

Yet again, International Rescue was the only organisation with the mechanical guts to fix the GDF’s problems.

It pissed him off big time.

His sensors flickered, his arms moved, and Thunderbird One darted to starboard. For just a moment he had the craft clear as day in his sights.

Then it was gone again.

It was only a matter of time before it crashed. He could communicate with the pilot, but the signals were scrambled and misdirected and no use for locating anything. When the GDF screwed up, they screwed up big time.

“C’mon, c’mon!” He brought TB1 to a hover, every sensor combing the darkness around him.

A flicker.

Another.

Nothing.

A godawful metallic screech as something impacted his ‘bird’s hull on the port side. She swung around, spun on her axis, and suddenly Scott was in free fall.

-o-o-o-

Seven...the third candle wouldn’t catch. She bit her lip, and prayed just a little. The breeze threatened.

John Tracy wished he had more hands. Two were not enough when he had four brothers - one in space, one underwater, and two in the air.

“Scott! You need altitude! Impact in twenty seconds.”

His brother grunted as his hologram grimaced, fighting the controls of his ‘bird.

John didn’t need a damage report, TB5 provided him with all too much detail. Damage to Thunderbird One’s port side VTOL and flight stabiliser had her in a spin.

“She’s not responding.”

“You’ve got additional weight on your port side.” John’s fingers flew across the hologram, attempting to ascertain exactly what the readings were trying to tell him. Damn. “You have a mass embedded in her superstructure, despite the fact we can’t see it.” Calculations. “You’re going to have to attempt to land vertically. Use your rear thrusters to support the imbalance.”

It wasn’t going to be easy. Thunderbird One wasn’t designed to be anywhere vertical but on her gantry, but there was no way Scott would be able to sustain a horizontal landing.

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.” It was said through gritted teeth.

He couldn’t help but think that if Thunderbird Two had been sharing the same airspace as her sister, she could have pulled her out of her dive.

But she wasn’t.

And John was left to watch.

-o-o-o-

Six...the third wick absolutely refused to light and her heart clenched. Let it rest a moment. She moved onto the fourth candle and touched the flame to the waxed cotton.

Night rescues weren’t really out of the ordinary, but they could be eerie. As he left the reach of Thunderbird Two’s powerful spots, he had to rely on the illumination his own Thunderbird could emit. And Thunderbird Four could shine a considerable wattage.

Underwater nightlife was a whole different ocean full of fish in comparison to that under daylight. Despite being in the middle of open ocean, this particular spot was above the very top of a great undersea mountain, just high enough to support the beginnings of a temperate reef system. No doubt one of the reasons the mobile observatory was in the area.

“Undersea Habitat Victor-Two-Zero-Romeo, this is Thunderbird Four, do you read me?”

The line crackled a moment, but a female voice gasped and answered. “Oh, thank god. We are down to our last module. Please hurry.”

“FAB, ma’am. I’m on approach. Can you give me any further detail on the cause of the problem?”

“It won’t go away and keeps attacking.”

Gordon frowned. “What won’t go away?”

“The whale.”

“A whale?!” And his spots lit up the damaged habitat. It looked as if it had been pummelled with a giant baseball bat. Of the five interconnected modules, only one had any sign of life. “Why would a whale attack you?”

But he didn’t get a chance to listen to her answer as his spots lit up a giant mass of flesh, an eyeball, and suddenly Thunderbird Four was rolling.

-o-o-o-

Five...when the fourth candle refused to light, she took firmer measures and turned to the iron fire pot and touched the first candle to paper. It burst into flame.

“Alan, you’ve got incoming debris!”

“What?!”

But John didn’t need to repeat himself as the first of the projectiles tore through the space in front of his helmet and ricocheted off the hull of the space freighter, narrowly missing his arm.

“Shit!”

“Take cover. Freighter’s starboard side. Now.”

Alan grabbed the Claw and flipped himself vertically to thrust in the right direction and tore around the engine compartment of the ship and hid in a crevice directly opposite the incoming stream. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Apologies, Alan, I didn’t catch it early enough.”

Alan sighed. He knew his brother was stretched thin at the moment. Apparently dangerously thin. He should have been paying more attention himself.

“We’re down to five minutes.”

“I know.” Silent impacts thundered around him. “Is there any other way in that doesn’t require me to be swiss cheesed?”

“Only the maintenance hatch you dismissed earlier.”

“We may not have a choice.” Alan sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, but it is going to be tight. It wasn’t meant for ship access.” But he would make it work.

Grabbing the Claw and his laser cutter, Alan darted out from his crevice and along the length of the ship, hiding in its shadow. A snap of a carabiner and he was secured once again.

“Okay, you hunk of junk, I’m going to kick your ass.”

-o-o-o-

Four...The breeze was stronger and the first candle flickered out, leaving just the one burning, flickering sporadically. She added fuel to the fire pot.

The flash was blinding and Virgil swore.

Lightning wasn’t a problem, but the storm was. “Gordon, you need to make this quick, the weather is deteriorating faster than we anticipated. He swore again as a nasty downdraft attempted to shove the cargo plane into the turbulent ocean.

The module below was being thrown about like a cork. Virgil made the decision. “Thunderbird Four, I am submerging the module. You will need to dock underwater.” His fingers darted across controls as Thunderbird Two shuddered through another nasty downdraft. Below, the mechanics of Module Four started pumping water and it slipped beneath the waves to hover at a depth that would protect it from the turbulence.

“FAB, Virgil - Shit!”

“Gordon?”

“We have a pissed off whale down here!”

Virgil watched as his readouts tracked Thunderbird Four. She was darting, rolling and suddenly shoved sideways by massive lifesign. He grit his teeth, unable to do anything to help.

-o-o-o-

Three…she built up the fire pot until it was a massive towering flame.

Scott yanked the lever backwards and let off a prayer to the god of pilots.

Thunderbird One attempted to respond, and he grit his teeth. “C’mon.” Without her port thruster, getting her vertical was a challenge. “C’mon, damnit.” The extra weight dragged and she refused to stabilise.

The air was dark around him, but his instruments were screaming altitude loss and collision warnings, his cockpit lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Goddamnit, fly!”

-

Gordon swooped around the mass of angry whale. What the hell was his problem. And it was definitely a ‘he’, a full-on bull sperm whale, a very unhappy one.

He ran through whale behaviours in his head as he swooped and dove towards the habitat. A hand darted across his instruments, searching...

-

Alan hit the hatch with his fist in frustration. Grip, for crying out loud!

He was down to three minutes to get these guys out and he still hadn’t made it into the damn ship yet.

There was no sound in space, other than the scream in his own helmet as suddenly the entire side of the ship was torn away, a chunk of rock tearing through its hull.

The Claw spun off into space.

-

John bit through his lip, his concentration total on all four brothers. One hand played his holographic controls like Virgil played his piano, data shunted off to where it was desperately needed at the flick of a finger. The other spun between views, scans and acquired information at the full speed his highly advanced Thunderbird could manage.

“Virgil! Waterspout!” And the information was shunted directly to TB2.

-

“Waterspout?! What the hell!” Thunderbird Two groaned as he forced her sideways out of the path of the anomaly. The crosswinds were shit, and she dipped noseward. Damnit!

He kicked in her rear thrusters, killed the VTOL and tore across the ocean in an arc, circling around to return for pickup. She bucked like a rebellious mare.

-o-o-o-

Two...she grabbed all five doused candles in one fist.

Gordon swore again as the whale clipped him on one side. “Okay, I’ve had enough of this. Undersea Habitat Victor-Two-Zero-Romeo, I want you to kill all transmissions. All kinds. I want you silent as the grave.”

“What?”

He spun TB4 on her axis. “Now. If I think what is happening is happening this is your own fault, do what I say!”

He sighed as all transmission bands went silent. He scanned the full spectrum. No....no...ah, damn there it was. “I said all of them!” And it finally disappeared.

Another dodge of a whale fluke and Gordon peeled off in a curve.

-

Alan tasted blood. He had bitten clean through his cheek. He spun slowly in space, the ship in front of him sporting a jagged hole in its side.

Just big enough for an astronaut to crawl through.

Two minutes and counting...

-

Thunderbird One bucked like a mule, but he finally managed to get her vertical enough to fire her rear thrusters. Their plummet slowed.

The holographic ground was still coming up fast.

-

Virgil homed in on the module’s signal, finding once again his place in space. Lightning flashed in warning.

-

John held his breath. Seconds ticked by...

-o-o-o-

One...with determination she thrust all five wicks into the roaring flame of the fire pot. Burn damn you.

Scott yelled as his thrusters made contact with solid ground.

Gordon flicked a control and Thunderbird Four sung into the darkness.

Alan dove into the ship, calling out in desperation.

Virgil swore yet again as Thunderbird Two bucked.

John wished he could close his eyes.

-o-o-o-

All five candles burst into vibrant flame, the five merging into one, defying the breeze, taking on the energy of the fire pot and burning strongly.

Just as midnight passed over Tracy Island, Sally Tracy separated out the five candles and placed each of them in their holders. She smiled just slightly as each eagerly leapt up brightly, dancing.

“Grandma? Have you heard anything from John?” Kayo walked across the comms room towards the balcony where Sally had set up the fire pot. The breeze tousled her hair as it lay loose around her shoulders.

“Not in the last ten minutes.”

Kayo came up close and hugged her. “Happy New Year, Grandma.”

She kissed her granddaughter on her cheek. “Happy New Year, honey.”

-o-o-o-

Epilogue

As dawn lit up the sky on Tracy Island, the sun was witness to five very tired brothers flying home. Thunderbird Two had Thunderbird One grasped under her undercarriage, the severely damaged craft sporting a massive dent in her port side. Her pilot sat very unhappily beside Virgil in the cockpit of TB2. Gordon was asleep in the seat behind them.

The sky roared as the great red rocket of Thunderbird Three tore out of re-entry and spun in for landing.

She was followed by the ever-silent drop of the elevator from Thunderbird Five.

Virgil lowered his brother’s ‘bird to the side of TB2’s runway. He and Brains, and no doubt Scott, would be out later to assess the damage and plan repairs. As fast as possible. Scott was intolerable when his ‘bird was down.

He rolled his shoulders as he brought his own ‘bird into land. There would be no shortage of checks to be done on Thunderbird Two, either. Gordon was already complaining about the work to be done on both TB4 and Module Four, and he wasn’t even fully awake.

Thunderbird Two spun in her hanger and he powered her down.

All three brothers sighed.

“Debrief in ten?”

Scott muttered an affirmative and while Virgil ran through post flight, his brothers crawled out of their seats and headed up to the villa.

In the distance, Thunderbird Three roared as she docked in her hanger.

-o-o-o-

“The idiots were emitting random noise on a frequency that could have been designed to piss off a sperm whale. Once I had them kill it off, I dug up something that would interest, but keep that same whale calm, and I led him off. When he was gone, it was easy to grab the three idiots. We docked with the module, surfaced, and then had wonder pilot over here do his retrieval magic. I have to say, Virgil, that was some damn fine manoeuvring.”

Virgil blinked at the unexpected praise. Gordon must be seriously tired. “Thank you. I admit it wasn’t easy, but we made it in one piece. Brains, I will need to do some thorough checks on the grapple launchers and the module connectors, they were put under some serious strain.”

The engineer nodded.

Scott blinked as if he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. “Good job, Gordon, Virgil.” He turned to their youngest brother and frowned. Virgil followed his gaze and found Alan asleep in the corner of the couch.

“I can report for Alan.” John looked as tired as Virgil felt. “All the crew of the freighter were saved. In spite of the unexpected debris storm Alan encountered. Virgil, he will need a new Claw. He might have some modification requests on that front as well. “John yawned. “Sorry, full report will be available as soon as I’ve had enough sleep.”

“Scott, your turn.” And despite himself, Virgil yawned as well.

“I’ll keep it short. Stop doing that.” And Virgil grinned as Scott caught the yawn bug. “The GDF night camouflage is pretty damn good. I had a lot of trouble locating their craft. That problem was solved by said ship colliding with Thunderbird One’s port side. You’ve seen the damage. She’s down for repairs. We’ll know for how long as soon as Brains has a chance to assess it. Pilot was a lucky bastard and survived with only minor injuries. Apparently, the camouflage works both ways and navigation from inside the ship is extremely difficult. It’s back to the drawing board for the GDF.” And he spat the acronym. “Brains, you might want to check out One’s logs on what she could detect. All I can say is that Thunderbird Shadow walks all over them.” There was no shortage of smugness in that statement either.

Accompanied by another yawn.

“Well done everyone.”

They all muttered something congratulatory, punctuated by another round of yawns.

“Oh, and Happy New Year.”

A couple of grunts followed that.

“Get some sleep and we’ll look at throwing some belated fireworks.”

More grunting.

“Dismissed.”

Virgil stood up with creaking bones and stumbled towards the stairs.

And almost collided with his grandmother.

“Oh, so sorry, Grandma.” He steadied her with one hand, suddenly aware of four brothers lining up behind him. In the corner of his eye, Alan was wobbling with Gordon holding one of his arms to keep him steady.

Grandma grabbed him in a hug. “Happy New Year, Virgil.”

He startled and immediately returned the embrace, dropping his chin onto her head and holding her tight. “Happy New Year, Grandma.” He kissed her hair. His eyes darted to his brothers, all four frozen to the spot.

She let him go, but looked up at him and smiled, before darting to Scott and repeating the process.

Virgil frowned, staring just a little as she moved from one brother to another, wishing each of them a Happy New Year and hugging intensely.

His attention was suddenly drawn away, however, as, silent as always, Kayo appeared and wrapped her arms around him. “Happy New Year, Virgil.”

His eyes widened, but he hugged her and wished her the same. She smiled up at him and then, just like Grandma, moved onto Scott and, hugging him, wished him a Happy New Year.

Virgil simply stared.

Once all the brother hugging had been completed, both women stood back and Grandma started ushering them up the stairs. “Well, off to bed with you. We can celebrate later tonight.” She smiled at all of them.

Kayo’s smile was a little smaller, but just as genuine.

Virgil decided he was too tired to work out what the hell was going on. He turned and began to tackle the stairs. He would think after he had slept.

-o-o-o-

Sally watched her boys climb the stairs wearily.

They were home safe. Tired, but safe.

So far it had been a good year.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[gumnut-logic]

V. T. Green (Part 4)

Title: V. T. Green

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Author: Gumnut

5 - 21 Sep 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.”

Word count: 2916

Spoilers & warnings: None.

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: Apologies for the delay on this. I had some major writing mojo interruptions in the last month due to illness. But the brain is working okay at the moment and I wrote a good chunk of this today. So much for a four parter, possibly a six parter now ::headdesk:: I knew I shouldn’t have estimated it.

This is one that I have been meaning to write for some time. I hope you enjoy it :D Many thanks to both @scribbles97 and @vegetacide for all their wonderful help with this.

Thank you for all your wonderful support with this. I hope you enjoy this bit. There is more to come. ::hugs you all::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“It’s you.” Gordon was staring at him.

“Who?” Shit.

“V. T. Green. Oh god, it is so obvious. Virgil Tracy and his Green Machine.” Gordon let out drawn out laugh. “Hoo, this is a good one.”

“Gordon!” What the hell had happened?

“Yes, my genius bro? Ooh, when do I get this self-healing polymer upgrade to Four? Sounds totally cool.”

“I don’t even know if it works yet.”

And Gordon was staring at him again with a small triumphant smile on his face. “Genius bro.”

“Shut up.” But it was half-hearted and Virgil found himself half-smiling.

There was silence a moment, Gordon turning his attention back to Two. Virgil fiddled with his sling.

“Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“Didn’t know what to say.”

“But this is major, Virg. Brains is ecstatic about this guy, well, about you. When he finds out V. T. Green has been under his nose all this time...” Gordon frowned at him. “What is it?”

Virgil shrugged.

His brother’s frown deepened. “What is it, bro?”

He didn’t answer, looking away.

But then...he straightened his shoulders. Voice quiet. “You’re right. It is obvious.”

A pause as his brother processed that. “Aww, shit, Virg.”

“Thunderbird Two, Thunderbird One is on site. You need to get here fast, Virgil. We will need to deploy nanocrete as soon as you get here. The wall is not going to hold.”

“FAB, Thunderbird One.”

And they were on approach, all conversation was killed off as business came to the fore. Gordon landed Two beside the dam in the same spot Virgil parked her last time.

The scans at this proximity only screamed louder that the dam was on the verge of collapse. “Gordon, I want you and Alan to reinforce the structure here, here and here.” He pointed at a hologram of the dam. “Use a crosshatch deployment. These are the weakest points. Once they are secured, we will need a structural pattern from here to here to here. That will secure the wall until the water can be released slowly.”

“FAB, Virg.”

Virgil eyed him before reaching out his good arm and squeezing his brother’s shoulder. “Thanks, Gordon.”

The aquanaut smiled just a little, but the expression in his eyes told Virgil that their conversation wasn’t finished.

Virgil rose Two up on her struts and let his brothers out in the helipods, watching them for just a moment as they flew down and began pumping nanocrete onto the face of the dam. The wall would be secured, but if what he thought was the cause, the dam was doomed long term.

The question was why?

Pushing himself awkwardly out of his seat, he grabbed his molecular analyser and a portable scanner. “John, can you send the structural readouts to my HUD?” He fumbled with his helmet. This was a darn sight easier with two hands.

Muttered profanity and he secured it and turned to the hatch. Perhaps now he would get some answers.

-o-o-o-

Scott held back the urge to swear. The dam supervisor was an excitable man who just would not shut up.

“Sir, we will have the wall secured shortly.”

“Are you sure? You’re not using that stuff you used last time, are you? You are the reason we are in this predicament in the first place.”

“I assure you, sir, we know what we are doing.”

The first responder had ignored several accusations like this already. TB2 appeared on the horizon, moments later lowering to an efficient landing. The man kept babbling.

“I spoke to your engineer last time and he said exactly the same thing. Look what happened.”

“Sir-“

The two helipods launched from Two’s module and immediately the man upped his anger. “What?! You’re using more of that crap?!” The man, dragging his assistant, ran to the edge of the dam wall, staring down as Gordon and Alan started spraying nanocrete on the concrete face. Behind him, he heard Two’s hatch lower.

Finally. Virgil could slam this guy down with facts.

His injured brother had his helmet on and an armful of equipment. Ignoring the supervisor, Scott strode over to give him a hand. “Warning, Virg, excitable, blaming and annoying.”

His brother eyed him. “FAB.”

“You! You’re the one responsible for this travesty.” A blink as the man eyed Virgil’s sling. “What the hell happened to you?”

Virgil ignored the question. “Mr Windemere, the nanocrete cannot be responsible for this incident. It is just not possible.”

“Prove it! You refused to give us the composition. It is a substance unknown to science outside of your little business. How can I trust you?”

Scott flared at that. The nerve!

“We are wasting time. I need to ascertain the cause of the wall’s pending collapse. Please excuse me.” Virgil stepped around the supervisor and headed towards the walkway across the dam. Windemere hurried to follow, his assistant on his tail.

“What the hell are you doing? That is for authorised personnel only.”

Scott stepped in front of him, cutting him off from Virgil. “Mr Windemere, we will find the cause. Please let us work.”

“No!” The man puffed up his chest, but he was still too many inches shorter than Scott to have any impact.

Out the corner of his eye, Virgil was working his way along the span of the dam, scanner in hand. Over the edge and down below, the pods’ pumps threw liquid nanocrete at the wall in a reassuring rumbling percussion.

“Scott!”

Windemere was glaring at him. “Please excuse me.” He turned and strode towards his brother.

Predictably the supervisor followed.

Scott sighed to himself.

“I need to rappel down the face of the dam.”

Scott blinked. “Are you kidding me?”

“Scott-“

“Forget it. Tell me what you need and I’ll do it. You cannot do it one armed.”

“Scott...” His brother grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the supervisor. Barely a whisper. “I’m ninety-five percent sure this is sabotage. The dam is suffering from concrete cancer, a condition that takes longer to develop than this dam has existed. But I need proof. I need to scan the seal we made last time.”

“Can’t the pods do it?”

“No, the pods need to secure the structure otherwise this valley is going to be full of concrete and dam water in a very short time. It is literally crumbling under our feet.” Brown eyes fixed on him. “I need to examine it myself. This isn’t something you can do.”

Scott stared at him. This is why he didn’t want his injured brother on a mission. Because the man could not resist ‘helping’. “No. We will do it later.”

“There is no later, Scott! By this time tomorrow, this dam will all most certainly be rubble no matter how we try to reinforce it. I need to examine it now! We need the proof.”

He didn’t like it at all. If his lips thinned any further, he would probably lose one due to lack of circulation. “You are not rappelling down there.” He held up a hand as his brother opened his mouth. “I will secure you in a harness and lower you myself. Below Thunderbird One.” His brother glared at him. “That is the only way this is happening, Virgil, and I’m not happy about it in the slightest so take what I’m giving you or forget it altogether.”

Brown glared at him, but his brother subsided. Virgil was so two faced about injury. If any of his brothers, including Scott himself, had tried this, he would have shut them down faster than they could open their mouth. But Virgil? No, that was different. There was going to be a long hard talk after this.

Scott turned towards his ‘bird only to have Windemere jump into his face again. “What are you doing now?”

For the love of-

“What we have to do, Mr Windemere. Please excuse us.”

“No, I won’t let you sabotage this dam any further! You caused this. I know it!”

Scott turned on the man ever so slowly, intentionally emphasising his power and capability. Windemere cowered just a little, but attempted to straighten his spine regardless.

“Mr Windemere, this dam is endangering the lives of all the people in the town below. International Rescue will secure the structure to give those people the chance to escape and to give the water as much time as possible to drain away before this wall collapses.”

“Collapses?! What do you mean, collapses?”

Virgil took a step forward. “The reinforcing within the dam wall has corroded and, in the process, expanded, microfracturing the concrete throughout the structure. This dam is failing, Mr Windemere. What you are standing on right now will be at the bottom of the valley by tomorrow. Our priority is to release the water in as a controlled manner as possible and secure the safety of people downstream.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Scott stared at the man. Virgil eyed the administrator for one moment before turning away, his shoulder nudging Scott into movement. “I need your assistance, Commander.”

Right. “Mr Windemere, or you...” Scott indicated the man being dragged around by the windbag. “That water needs to be released as fast and as safely as possible. We could do it, trust me, we could.” It wouldn’t take John long to hack the dam’s systems or Scott to follow up on his threat. “But as per International Rescue protocol, you are required to take our recommendations in an emergency. I can get the GDF out here, in fact, I will have to anyway, so if you would like to save what little career you have left, I’d start draining that dam now.”

The assistant paled and took several steps back. Windemere pursed his lips and glared like his head was about to explode, but he turned away and stalked off.

Scott glared at his back. “Thunderbird Five, monitor output of the dam. I need to know if the water is being released fast and safely.”

“FAB.” John’s response was sharp enough that Scott wouldn’t be surprised if his brother or Eos were already in the dam controls.

Virgil was stalking towards Thunderbird One, shucking off his sling in the process.

For god’s sake. Scott strode after him. “What the hell, Virgil? Put that back on.”

“If you think I’m hanging off your ‘bird with one arm immobilised, you’re dreaming.”

For the love of...just give me strength. Scott drew in a breath and forced the words he wanted to shout at his brother back down his throat. “You injure yourself further, I’m setting Grandma on you. Home cooking and all.”

That hit home and Virgil shot an angry glare in his direction.

-o-o-o-

Virgil tolerated his hovering brother because he had to. It was understandable. He had to admit that if their positions were reversed, Virgil’s hair would be going grey and there would be words.

So many words.

But it had to be done. Virgil had the knowledge and the equipment and they had to find out why this was happening. It couldn’t be the nanocrete. It wasn’t possible. But to prove that in a court of law, they would have to expose the formula to public examination. That could release the technology to who knew who.

And Virgil had some suspicions.

But still, did Scott really have to fuss that much? It wasn’t like he was Alan or Gordon, really?

His big brother secured the extra harness to Virgil’s uniform, the inbuilt harness apparently not enough for a one-armed engineer or younger brother.

“Scott, it is secure.”

“Never hurts to be extra sure, Virgil. You of all people know that.” The man kept fiddling at the connections, checking they were safe.

“We need to do this today, you know.”

That earned him a blue-eyed glare. Another tug at the harness and his brother let him go. “Hang on with the arm that does work.”

Virgil returned the glare, reluctant to admit, that yes, his injured arm was a mess of pain and, no, he did not want to move it at all. His instruments hung from his belt for one handed access, but he needed his injured arm free in case of emergency.

His brother turned towards the cockpit. “Be safe, Virgil, please.”

A frown. “I will do my best.”

His brother didn’t answer, moving to his pilot’s seat. Moments and they were airborne.

It wasn’t often Virgil flew in One and this was one of the shortest flights in history, but he couldn’t help but feel his brother’s ‘bird roar beneath his feet. She felt so different to Two, almost alien, yet so...Scott.

It was almost as if being held by One, he was being held by his brother.

He sighed and shook his head. The ache was making him maudlin.

One shot up into the air, gliding smoothly sideways over the rim of the dam.

“Hang tight, Virgil, I’m opening the hatch and will lower you down slowly.”

True to his brother’s word, the harness gently lifted Virgil from his feet as the hatch below him yawned open. Far below, Gordon and Alan darted back and forth across the dam wall. Now moving into the second phase of reinforcement and creating a spiderweb of support across the whole structure.

Scott lowered him down toward the centre of the dam, where older nanocrete shone dully in the sunlight.

He urged Scott to move him closer, lower, a little more. There. He reached out first with scanner.

The nanocrete was stable. The same it had been the last time he examined the crack. As it spanned the internal width of the wall right through to the water beyond, Virgil had no doubt it was the strongest part of the structure, totally unaffected by the cancerous concrete around it.

As to that cancerous concrete.

Scans came up worse than any of the others he had managed already.

Hell.

The nanocrete was sitting in a fragile souffle of degraded construction material. Windemere was right. This was likely at least part of the source of the issue.

But it couldn’t be the nanocrete. The substance worked on an entirely different chemical level to that of standard concrete. There was also no way it could have caused the substrate to disintegrate...

Wait.

What the hell?

His HUD flickered back to the reading and zoomed in.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

He scanned further to the left.

Another one.

To the right.

Shit.

And a number of unrepeatable words.

“What the hell is going on down there, Virgil?!”

“Some bastard has used a microlaser to inject corrosive material into the dam’s concrete.”

And there was another one. Ultrafine bore holes reaching deep into the structure. So fine that only IR technology would have been able to find them.

They were everywhere.

Initially focussed around the original repair, but as he asked Scott to move his position, he found them at equal spaces all across the dam face.

To say it was suspected sabotage was one thing. To actually find the proof...

“Virgil, if I said those words, you’d be joining Grandma with the soap in cleaning out my mouth.”

“It’s worth it.” An awkward flick of his comms. “Thunderbird Five, can you access satellite imagery and the dam’s records and find out if anyone has been out on this dam face since we repaired it? I need everything you can find. There is no doubt that this is sabotage.” Scott was drawing him back up into the belly of his ‘bird, ever so gently.

“FAB.” John’s voice was tight.

Virgil felt like kicking something.

So many lives endangered. Why?

-o-o-o-

It was a question that wasn’t answered until long after the dam had been as secured as possible. Long after Thunderbird Two airlifted the last of the downstream inhabitants out of the way of the impending deluge. After Gordon and Alan had switched from helipods to bulldozers and built in as much flow redirection into the valley as possible. After Scott used One to airlift pallet after pallet of sandbags to assist the GDF in protecting the town.

After Virgil had yelled himself hoarse and had to be dragged away by that same older brother as Windemere refused to assist.

After John hacked the system and began the water release.

After Colonel Casey stepped in and arrested the dam supervisor.

After Scott dragged Virgil back to Two and yelled at him until he sat down.

“What the hell is going on with you, Virgil?” His expression was more worried than angry. “This isn’t you.”

He was in the medbay. Scott’s preference, despite lack of any injury. Well, more than he already had. That was enough. His arm ached abominably, despite having been returned to its sling.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Scott, but this situation puts us in a difficult position.”

“How?”

“Proprietary nanocrete. Only we know the formula and the properties. Accused of crippling a dam. We have proof it was sabotage. But only proof using equally proprietary technology, which we can’t share. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. They have our asses over a barrel and one way or the other, to clear our names, we will have to divulge some of our technology. And to top it all off, the proof is crumbling as we speak. By tomorrow, there will only be our scans, using our technology, to prove that our technology isn’t to blame for this multi-million-dollar catastrophe.”

-o-o-o-

End Part Four

Part Five

[gumnut-logic]

Gentle Rain (Part Twelve)

Title: Gentle Rain

Warm Rain Series

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve 

Author: Gumnut

8 – 9 Feb 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes it is so gentle, you don’t realise it is happening.

Word count: 3614

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Scott/OC, Gordon/Penelope, spoilers for Warm Rain up to this point in the timeline. Possible trigger warning for tall building fires.

Timeline: Six months after ‘The Proposal’, almost a sequel.

Author’s note: For @scribbles97   It is amazing what a day off work can do :D We’re out of Christmas Eve and things are moving. Many thanks again to @scribbles97  for some extensive help on this. I hope you all enjoy it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“You did what?!”

Em entered the comms room and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Virgil stood glaring at John, tension in every line of his body. Only the two of them were in the room, both looked tired, John worried and Virgil absolutely furious. She would never have thought the man could possibly be that angry, he seemed so calm and gentle.

“I sent Brains.”

“Why the hell did you do that?! Why wasn’t I called?”

John stepped forward. “Because you aren’t well. Even I can see the pain you are in. Right now, in fact.”

Virgil flared even more. “And that saved who how? Now I have to go out and save Brains!”

John looked uncomfortable.

The sun was barely over the horizon. Em was only half awake, hovering just outside the elevator where the two men couldn’t see her. She desperately needed to examine Virgil, he was clearly in pain, but she was hesitant to interrupt their argument. Perhaps she should wake Scott?

“We will discuss this later.” Virgil’s baritone had dropped to a threat. The man turned and strode across the room in her direction. She slipped further into the shadows, but he approached the wall beside the portraits. Turning around, he reached up and grabbed onto two light fixtures. She heard him mutter something about having to fly the tin can and then the wall ate him. A rumble of machinery echoed through the panelling.

She blinked.

“Doctor Harris?”

Okay, that made her jump and not a little guilty. John was looking in her direction, so she slipped out of hiding and ‘scooted into the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

John sighed. “You didn’t. Please excuse Virgil, he is not really approachable before his morning coffee.”

“Where is he going?”

Another sigh. “There was an incident in a Brazilian skyscraper early this morning. A fire. Thunderbird Two attended with Alan and Gordon along with Brains for engineering advice.” What? She’d slept through that? John must have read her expression. “The villa is well soundproofed for most of our launches. Only one really disturbs the main house enough to wake those deeply asleep.”

As if in demonstration, the glass doors onto the balcony clicked and began to close. John smiled just a little. “You might like to watch this.” He led her to the edge of the room where she could see the pool just beyond the balcony. Using her ‘scoot to her own advantage, she raised herself up higher for a better view.

The pool was moving, retracting into the house, a gaping hole left in its wake.

“There is only one thing Virgil hates more than early mornings.” Beneath her feet the building made an odd clunk sound as the pool fully retracted. “And that is piloting Thunderbird One.”

Something exploded beneath them. The whole house shook in its foundations and to her astonishment, the famed rocket plane of International Rescue burst forth from where the pool used to be, a blur of red, grey, blue and white alphabet tore vertically into the sky.

Her jaw was on the floor.

“That’s Scott’s Thunderbird?” She could barely hear the roar anymore, much less see the craft. It was gone.

“Yes, it is.” But it wasn’t John who answered.

She spun herself around to find a dishevelled Scott darting across the room. He had obviously dragged himself out of bed in a hurry. He was still in his pyjamas and his hair was skew-whiff. His broken leg wasn’t quite on the chair support properly. She headed towards him. “Hey.”

But his eyes were for John. “What is going on?” As he fell in beside her, his hand reached out and caught hers. She couldn’t help the tiniest of smiles. She had never had her hand held so much in her life. He seemed to have this urge to be continually connected to her.

She didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Thunderbird Two called for assistance in a skyscraper fire in Brazil. Apparently, the building partly collapsed, trapping Brains. Alan managed to jump clear. They need Virgil and his exo-suit.”

Em’s eyes widened. “You’re going to let him strap on that metal skeleton in his condition?!”

Two pairs of Tracy eyes pinned her. The hand in hers twitched and tightened. “What condition?”

Okay, she was a doctor and these things were obvious to her, but how could they not have seen the man grimace every time he moved? “Surely you can see the man is in pain.” One of the reasons she was up so early herself was so she could grab the second eldest Tracy before he ran off, but obviously she hadn’t been early enough.

“John, where have you sent him?!” Kayo was fury incarnate as she strode into the room, Grandma and Kip in her wake.

John stiffened. “I had no choice, Kayo. Brains is trapped. Who else could I send?”

That halted her pending tirade. Em watched fear flicker across her friend’s face before it was controlled. “Prep Thunderbird Shadow. I’m going out to assist.” She turned on her heel, strode over to the circular lounge and sat down in one of the paired chairs.

Yet another clunk of machinery and both Kayo and the chairs disappeared into the floor. Moments later an empty copy of the chairs replaced them.

Em blinked.

That was unexpected. She looked around the room at the other various pieces of furniture and wondered what else moved in ways unusual.

Scott’s hand was still in hers.

“Em, what is Virgil’s condition?” His voice was quiet, concerned, with just a touch of fear.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to examine him properly yet. It could just be scar pain, I think in any case that is a good part of it. What little I have seen tells me we need to work on some remedy for that, but...damn, I should have grabbed him last night.”

His hand squeezed hers. “He was given the option.”

She turned to him. “Yes, but I could have pushed the matter. He’s not the first reluctant patient I’ve come across. Though he may be one of the most important.”

Scott shot her a look. She could feel his eyes on her face, but she turned away. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, but it was said anyway. He could interpret it as he pleased.

Somewhere above them, more rocket engines fired and the island echoed a clunk of release. The ghost Thunderbird fell into view over the ocean, exhaust flaming, and tore off into the west.

“Good morning and Merry Christmas to you all.” Penny slipped elegantly into the room.

Em did her best not to glare at her.

Merry Christmas indeed.

-o-o-o-

Virgil Tracy hated flying Thunderbird One. She was as touchy as a flighty deer and responded to everything. Thunderbird Two made her presence known. She withstood the elements and made them do as she pleased. TB1 was slave to every air current, every downdraft, every touch of turbulence. It gave her the needed agility, the flexibility to spin in the air at speeds TB2 couldn’t dream of, but she was an ass to fly.

Scott was a hot shot pilot and he loved her responsiveness and equally derided TB2’s solidity and reliability.

But at least Thunderbird Two wouldn’t accidentally fly into a mountain if the pilot got distracted.

Virgil wasn’t really in the mood for wrestling with the Thunderbird. It made his side ache even more.

All she had to do was get him to Brazil, and Alan could fly her back.

Why didn’t John wake him? Brains was a brilliant engineer, but his onsite skillset was lacking, particularly for this kind of fire. And who the hell had let him off Thunderbird Two in first place?

Save first, kill brothers later.

The fire was obvious from miles off. Thick columns of smoke reached for the sky creating their own cloud cover.

Damn, it was a bad one.

On approach, he mentally ran through his plan of attack using the information his eyes and TB1 could give him. John had packaged everything they knew and sent it onto him mid-flight. There was some suspicious insulation used in the building. He flung up a hologram of the skyscraper’s structure.

Damn, when were they going to stop using that cross bar support design. It made the structure vulnerable to capsule collapse. particularly in hot fires. And this was a hot one.

Thunderbird Two was hovering near an exact example of why that design should never be used again, one section of the building had crumpled under the strain, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the structure, and, in turn, leaving the entire building prone to total collapse.

Goddamnit!

“Hey, Virg, thanks for dropping by.” Gordon’s flippancy was forced.

“I’m coming down. Slave TB1.”

The controls immediately shifted to the blue of auto.

A zip line, the open hatchway of his beloved ‘bird, the thump of his boots on her deck plates.

“Situation.”

Gordon was at her controls, the harmonics of her fire dampening systems resuming now he was aboard. Flame flickered and died. “Alan and Brains went in to rescue a trapped family. We got them out, but the whole section collapsed before Brains could get free. No space for a pod, we need your exo-suit.”

“FAB.” As expected, situation unchanged. He slipped through the cockpit access door, heading for the module. “Oh, and Thunderbird Shadow is on approach.”

He didn’t have time to react to that.

Slipping on the fire version of his exo-suit took a few moments longer than his regular setup. Was it logical to miss his baldric? The retardant suit fit him snug and the thick material actually provided a little support to his aching side.

He needed to get this job done as fast as possible. Then perhaps he should ask Em to look at him. It was getting worse.

Returning to the cockpit, he took up his place on the hatchway again. “Okay, Gordon, get as close as you can and lower me down.” He secured a line to the hatch as his brother lowered it. Winds, no doubt hot, buffeted at him.

He aimed the zip line and fired. Sensors confirmed a strong connection and he clipped in the d-ring of his harness. Moments of blur and he was surrounded by flame, smoke and general hell.

“Alan, give me your location.”

Data fed to his systems, complete with a tracker to follow. “Great to have you here, Virgil.” There was fear in his little brother’s voice.

“We’ll get him out.” His thermal readout screamed at him. “Fast.”

Virgil ran.

-o-o-o-

Alan Tracy was a highly experienced rescue operative. In his twenty-one years, he had saved hundreds of people. But he had his specialities, space rescue being one of them, as did all of his brothers.

Fire rescue was one he dreaded.

Perhaps it was because of that space speciality that drove it home. Fire in space was a horror. Fire on Earth, well, it wasn’t much better.

So, it was with no lack of relief that he looked up to see his second eldest brother, exo-suit geared up, emerge from the all-encompassing smoke.

“Detail.” Virgil’s tone was sharp and no nonsense.

“Brains is responsive, but unable to free himself just beyond this door.”

Virgil looked up, his eyes assessing the structure. “Gordon, give me a stress readout. Pin lines and supports on this floor.”

Numbers passed over the airwaves.

“Alan, step back.”

He didn’t have to ask twice.

To Alan’s surprise, Virgil didn’t lift the fallen masonry. He simply went through the wall.

The bright red laser beam cut smoothly through concrete and steel alike. His massive primary claw finished the job.

“Alan, you’re on retrieval. Make it fast. This section is unstable.”

He darted into the room, his helmet lamp bouncing through the smoke. “Brains!”

“I’m h-here. My ankle.”

His light hit a shadowy figure on the floor. “We need to move.”

“RAD.”

Alan didn’t have time to roll his eyes. Reaching down, he lobbed the engineer into a half carry.

“Move it, Alan! It’s coming down!”

And the world rumbled. The half carry became a fireman’s carry as Alan threw Brains over his shoulders and ran.

Concrete dust. The groan of straining steel. His brother yelling at him to move. That claw came out of nowhere and deflected an airborne chunk of building. Virgil grunted over comms and then swore a blue streak.

“This way!” And there was a stairwell. Behind them the world crumbled. “Move!” The stairs were shaking.

Smoke and sudden flame. A gaping hole in the floor.

“Gordon, I need a zip line retrieval, 129th floor, east wall. Suppress what you can.”

“FAB.”

And there was a view to the outside. Virgil’s laser lit up red again, the reinforced glazing melting before their eyes. That claw and the smash of breaking glass.

The roar of VTOL, quickly followed by those familiar fire breaking harmonics and the green body of Thunderbird Two hovered into view.

“Stand back. Deploying zip line.”

As Alan moved, the whistle of a grapple through the opening in the glass, thunked into the concrete  floor. Virgil checked it was secure.

Their world rumbled in warning.

“You’re first, Brains. Alan, you follow.”

“FAB.”

He secured Brains to the line and quickly followed, prepared to stabilise the other man at the end to prevent further damage to his ankle.

It was wonderful to be free of the building.

As his feet hit the deck plating of TB2’s hatch, the zip line wobbled. “Virgil?”

“This section is going. Gordon, be ready to move!”

“Alan, hang on!” Gordon yelled into the comms.

And to his horror, the side of the building Virgil was standing in, collapsed like a landslide. Concrete, steel and burning insulation sliding down the side of the skyscraper in a terrifying roar of finality.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil!”

For a split second, Kayo’s heart froze, caught between beats and two futures. One desperate and filled with tears.

But then the zip line attached to Thunderbird Two ripped free of the tumbling rubble, a suited figure dangling from its end.

Oh god.

“Virgil! Speak to me.”

“Kay?” His voice was breathless. “Need a hand.”

He was swinging in the breeze, obviously tangled in the line. “Are you secure?” She was moving without an answer.

“Uh, define secure?”

Damn him.

Thunderbird Shadow spun on her axis and dove down beneath her sister and gently rose below her lover. “Gordon, keep her steady.”

“Kayo, I am so not moving.” There was fear in her brother’s voice.

The clatter of Virgil’s boots on Shadow’s fuselage shoved her heart into her throat.

“Thanks, Kay.” Still breathless. Scratches and movement. “Separated and secure. I’m in your hands.”

Did he have to sound so happy?

“Gordon, rendezvous here.” She sent him the coordinates of a local football field. The order left no room for discussion.

“FAB.”

Ever so slowly, ever so aware of her precious cargo, Kayo turned her bird towards the nearby sports arena.

-o-o-o-

Virgil took the moment of riding on the back of his lover’s ‘bird to attempt to lower his heart rate. That had been close. The floor collapsing beneath him, his mad scramble to connect with the zip line, concrete catching him on the back of his suit, spinning him around, a tangle of limbs, line and the plummet below.

The flashback of mountain scape and a thousand foot drop.

The world tumbling.

Kay’s voice.

His beautiful Kay.

Shadow shifted beneath him, her VTOL firing as she came in smoothly to land.  Gordon had both his ‘bird and TB1 following in. A rush of wind and International Rescue landed as one.

The cockpit in front of him was flung open immediately. He smiled as Kay leapt up and climbed over the back of her ‘bird towards him.

He struggled to his feet, hydraulics hissing. “I’m okay, Kay.”

She didn’t answer, her hands moving to his helmet release. The rush of fresh air tainted by smoke and her gloved hands on his jaw. Green eyes staring up at him, desperate for reassurance.

He slid his left arm from the suit and reaching up, slipped her helmet off, bent down and kissed her softly. “I’m fine. Thank you for the rescue.” His voice was a touch hoarse, his lungs still grabbing for air.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders. “You better be.”

“You okay, Virg?” Gordon appeared beside Shadow, worry etched into his features.

Slipping his arm back into the suit, he turned and unclipping his harness, leapt off Shadow and landed with a grunt beside his brother. Pain lanced up and down his side and he stumbled. For a moment, he couldn’t catch his breath, spots danced in his vision. God.

“Virgil?”

He gasped and blessed oxygen hit his system. Panting. “I’m good. I’m good.”

“You don’t look good.”

“Give me a minute.” His heart was doing its best to catch up, thudding madly in his chest. Okay, he definitely needed to speak to Em.

In the distance, the skyscraper continued to burn.

Forcing himself, he straightened up. “We need to finish this job.”

Gordon was staring at him, worry in his eyes. “You sure you’re up to this?”

He looked down at the aquanaut. “I have to be.”

His brother’s eyes didn’t agree, but he didn’t voice it.

Virgil jabbed his comms. “Alan, secure Brains if you haven’t already. You’ve got Thunderbird One. I’ll take Two.” He lifted up one arm and activated his holographic interface. A skeletal view of the building appeared. “Now the building is fully evacuated - good job with that by the way - we will use a combination of spike deployed firebots and suppressant grenades. TB2’s harmonics will take out any surface flares. Kay, you’re on spot to the east. Alan, you’re spot to the west. Gordon, you’re onsite spot when we start deployment. Kay, please advise the authorities to stand clear.”

“FAB.” Alan’s answer was sharp and precise. A moment later, his brother was running across the field to Thunderbird One.

As far as Virgil was concerned, he was welcome to it.

His suit hummed as he strode towards his own ‘bird.

A pair of hands caught his arm and he turned. Kay was frowning at him. “Virgil...” She obviously wanted to say something, but hesitated. A flash of movement and she was kissing him. “Fly safe.” She handed him his helmet.

“Love you.” The words were breathy and said without thought, simply emotion.

She smiled slightly, worry still in her eyes. The sooner this job was over the better.

He turned and headed towards his ‘bird.

-o-o-o-

The tactic worked as expected. Starting at the bottom, Thunderbird Two deployed her laser at specified intervals, piercing the building to its core, creating a method of entry for hundreds of small firebots. Preprogrammed to hunt for the source of fires, Brains’ little inventions took out the fire level by level. This was backed up by strategic deployment of the suppressant grenades and topical use of the harmonics to catch surface fires. Alan and Kayo spotted flares before they could take root and as the team rose higher and higher, the flame lessened. By the time International Rescue declared the fire defeated, the skyscraper was an unsalvageable wreck, but it wasn’t going to fall on anyone, and the fire was out.

Virgil recalled those bots that had survived and gave the order to head home.

Thank god.

Gordon was still eyeing him with worried eyes.

He didn’t blame him. Virgil couldn’t seem to get a good breath without hurting. Something wasn’t right. The moment he was able to set the course across the Pacific, he switched TB2 to auto and lay back, closing his eyes.

“Virg?”

“I’m okay, Gordon.”

“No, you’re not. You’re panting while sitting still.”

“I just need to take a breather.”

“Sick pun, bro.”

Virgil forced a smile. “You would know.” A deep breath and he tried not to grimace. “I’ll speak to Em when we get home.”

“Now I know something is wrong.”

“Quit worrying.”

“Quit scaring me.”

Virgil frowned and opened his eyes, turning to his brother. Those eyes, so similar to his own, were staring at him, and yes, there was fear. “Do I really look that bad?”

“I’m on the verge of locking you out of Two’s controls.”

Virgil glared at him. “Just try it, kid.”

“I will do what is necessary, big brother.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re as pale as a corpse.”

Virgil didn’t have an answer to that. “Fine, whatever. Take control. See if I care. I’ll go and check on Brains.” He pushed his seat back and forced himself to stand, clutching at the headrest when his world suddenly spun. Shit.

“Virgil!”

“I’m...I’m...” But suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Not enough oxygen. He couldn’t...He gasped desperate for air, but none came.

His legs gave out, hands caught him, lowering him gently to the deck. “Virgil, c’mon, man, don't do this.”

His hand flailed and caught uniform. He wanted to reassure his brother, but he couldn’t draw breath. He was gaping like a fish out of water. “I...c-“

“Virgil!”

But there was no oxygen and he was suffocating. Panic rose, he struggled, eyesight narrowing as his brain desperately tried to function on nothing.

“Goddamnit, Virgil! Don’t do this!”

He couldn’t stop it. There was nothing he could do. No matter what he did, his body shut down system by system, his lungs failing to do what they needed to do.

The last he saw was a pair of frightened brown eyes and a mouth yelling his name.

-o-o-o-

End Part Twelve.

Part Thirteen