#Bad Breath Essex

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Wary Sailor Pt. 3 | Matthew Joy x fem!reader

summary: A storm is coming to threaten the Essex and her crew, and not even second-mate Matthew Joy is ready for the toil that it will cause. When he's thrown overboard, his sweet Siren saves him, but she begins to understand the danger of their relationship.

warnings: Thalassophobia, drowning, and bodily harm.

word count: 2210k

I'll Believe in Anything- Wolf Parade 🎶

Asleep- The Smiths 🎵

shout out to @everandforeveryours for helping me with ideas! More to come 🖤

That night the sea was rough and the captain called for all hands on deck. Matthew did not sleep that night or much of the day. His thoughts of the girl were incessant and his body still held the memory of her, making it even more difficult to focus on the important tasks of the day. Through the turbulent waves, the Essex sailed with the help of her crew. Their calls and shouts could barely be heard over the roar of the sea around them. Matthew wondered if Y/N was watching from the sea, the waves a place of safety even in the worst storm. 

As rain pounded the deck, Matthew stood at the railing and looked out at the storm, his hands gripping the edge. They’d lowered the sails and were preparing the ship for storms. 

“Joy,” Owen’s voice pulled Matthew from his thoughts and he looked over his shoulder at the Essex’s first-mate. Owen stood beside him at the railing and looked out at the sea. 

“You alright, mate?” He asked quietly, not meeting Matthew’s eyes. Matthew furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his friend’s face. “You’ve been… off since the morning we spotted the pod of whales, and you were down in the boat alone for a long time last night. You and I both know how we can get after years at sea…” Owen cleared his throat and waited for Matthew to speak. 

“Do you believe in Sirens?” Matthew asked him instead and Owen scoffed, taken back by the random question. 

“What?” Owen shook his head, “no, I don’t believe they’re real. Why? Do you think you saw one?” Owen shrugged light-heartedly and scratched his mustache.

When Matthew didn’t respond, Owen lowered his hand and sighed slowly. 

“Be careful, Joy. Don’t let the sea play with your mind, at least for our sake,” Owen patted Matthew on the back and stepped away. “I’m going to help secure the sails for the night. Captain wants us to continue straight, he thinks we’ll clear the storm before it gets bad but I don’t know, Joy. No whale is worth testing the sea and her temper.” 

“Oh, Joy,” Owen turned back, remembering something, “do you remember what they say about seeing a Siren? Seeing one likely means the ship will sink,” Owen set his brow, his voice dark like a warning. 

Matthew glanced back at his friend and nodded, “I’ll make sure my men are ready if anything happens tonight.” 

“Good.” 

Owen walked off to help the younger sailors fasten the sails in place and chain the barrels of fresh water below deck. Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose and silently cursed the Captain. Joy had been on the water long enough to know that the storm clouds in the distance were not a good sign for a ship. The sea was already riled up, so heading beneath the dark gray and greenish sky seemed the worst decision to make. 

Could she see him now? He wondered. 

…

Matthew managed to get a few hours of sleep before the ship entered the storm. Matthew was not alone in his frustration. Every sailor groveled over the Captain’s poor direction, knowing this trip would cause more harm than good. Matthew climbed to the top deck and began scaling the rigging system of ropes. A mast had been knocked from its place by the wind. Matthew directed the men, calling for help in fixing the massive piece of wood. The Captain watched from below, his nice uniform ruined from salt water and the rain. 

“Joy! Come down from there and help secure the mast’s rigging!” The Captain yelled up at him and Matthew cursed below his breath. The wind whistled in his ears as he climbed down the rope system, slick and slimy. Landing hard on the deck of the ship, Matthew helped a few other men lift the bundle of cord used to hold the mast in place in case of emergency. The ship plunged between massive waves and one of the ship’s Booms swung around, knocking Matthew over the railing. There was no time to hold onto anything or try to save himself as he was forced over the edge and fell down, down into the sea. 

…

His body sunk below the surface of the angry sea. Waves engulfed him, forcing him down whenever he almost swam to the top. The sea was dark green and blue, so much so that he couldn’t see anything around him. His coat and boats weighed him down but he couldn’t take them off in his determination to swim to the surface. The air had been knocked out of him when he landed, his back was surely already bruising. Without any breath in his lungs, Matthew’s lungs began to spam, trying desperately to pull in air. Soon, he could feel himself sinking further, no longer making progress to the surface. He could feel his muscles loosening as he began to lose consciousness. Matthew was a good swimmer, and yet, he was no match to the severity of the sea during a storm. 

Y/N, he thought as swallowed some of the water around him in his instinct to breathe. His arms were stretched out in the water, reaching for the Essex and safety. 

You shouldn’t be here.

Matthew tried to open his eyes when he heard the familiar voice in his head. Between his eyelashes, he saw a ray of soft light. As his eyes opened more, he realized the ray of light was the Siren, the woman he’d begun to love. 

You can’t be here, Matthew. I need to get you back to the surface. 

He didn’t remember closing his eyes but could feel Y/N’s arms wrap around his shoulders, dragging him with her. The action was swift. Her tail was pure muscle that propelled them as fast as she wanted it to. In what felt like seconds, Matthew’s head cleared the surface of the water. 

Breath, Matthew. 

Matthew heard her in his head and tried to breath but he already felt dead. 

“I think that’s him, sir!” A sailor yelled from the deck. Men gathered at the railing to assist, piecing together a rope ladder for their lost second-mate. It was raining so hard that the men on the deck could barely see Matthew nor the woman-like creature beside him.  

The sound of his crewmates awakened something else inside Matthew: duty. 

They need you Matthew. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t breathe right now.

Matthew’s eyes snapped open and he began to cough, clearing the water from his lungs. His arms began to instinctively tread the water to keep himself afloat. She appeared beside him at the surface, keeping her head low. It took a few moments for Matthew to clear his head and catch his breath. 

“Y/N,” he croaked and gave her a crooked smile, pain in his eyes, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, sailor.” She released a sigh of relief and glanced up at the rope ladder the men were trying to detangle. “Your men are lowering a rope. You’re going to be fine.” 

Matthew looked between the rope and the woman who had just saved his life.

“Come with me.” Matthew’s blue eyes flashed as he spoke, “I’ll look after you. We can be together after they know what you did to save my life.” 

She shook her head and bit her lip. “I can’t, Matthew. That’s your world, not mine. And besides,” she glanced up at the rope ladder starting to fall, “I can’t survive up there… for short periods of time, sure, but not forever.”   

“I don’t think I can be away from you,” Matthew admitted and coughed again. 

“You must.” 

The ship tossed and turned in the rough water. The men threw down the rope and it landed in the water yards away. He’d have to swim to it, fighting the massive waves. 

“This is getting dangerous. I should have never come aboard your boat. This is all my fault…” the Siren closed her eyes. 

“What do you mean, love?” Matthew tried to reach for her face in the water. 

“It’s bad luck for a woman to board a sailor’s boat. I knew it was unlucky and I still did it because I needed to meet you. I’m so sorry, Matthew.” 

“Don’t say things like that,” Matthew furrowed his brow, ignoring the calls of his crewmates, “you saved my life.” 

“We’re tempting fate.” 

“Fuck that! I love you. I’m- damn it- I’m in love with you, Y/N. Come with me, please.” 

The Siren smiled painfully and closed the distance between them. She kissed Matthew deeply, their lips sliding into place against each other as they were meant to do. Her nose was crushed against his as he kissed her back. He sucked desperately at her bottom lip, pulling her mouth closer to his. His hands held her face painfully tight, boring into the flesh on her cheeks, somehow still staying afloat as he did so. Finally, she pulled away but kept her face close so that she could speak quietly to him. 

“I don’t trust your Captain Pollard, sailor, and neither should you. Be wary.” With a sad expression on her beautiful face, she slipped below the waves. Her silver tail flipped up into the air, sending a wave that carried Matthew the few feet closer he needed to swim to the base of the ladder. 

“Y/N!!” Matthew screamed into the wind, spitting salt water from his mouth. 

“Joy! Climb the god-damned rope right now!” Owen ordered from the deck. After a moment Matthew forced himself to swim to the rope ladder. He released an angry yell and slammed his fist against the side of the boat, his hair sticking to the side of his face as he looked back at the sea. 

“Joy!” Owen’s voice was louder now that he was closer. Having no other choice, Matthew found one of the rungs and dejectedly began to climb. 

…

He choked on the water still in his lungs when he fell back onto the deck. Hands grabbed at his clothes and dragged him away from the railing. Owen crouched beside him and slapped his face with both hands, stimulating blood flow. 

“You alright, second-mate?” Owen tried to joke. Matthew coughed up more water before wiping his mouth and nodding. 

“I’m alive.”

“Barely. Take him below!” Owen ordered a smaller boy to help Matthew to his feet and escorted him below deck. There was a small sick-bay between the sailors’ berth and the Captain’s quarters. No doctor worked there, but it could be used for quarantine when necessary. At that moment, Matthew was placed there more for comfort than anything. After he was helped onto the shallow bunk and the boy left him alone, Matthew began to remove his wet clothes. Dropping them on the ground, he looked for injuries, Y/N’s words still echoing in his head. 

Yes was leaving him, probably forever. And they had parted with one last warning: don’t trust Captain Pollard. Matthew didn’t trust him very much to begin with and now he disliked him even more. The man had no tangible experience with commercial sailing, especially not whaling boats. Owen should have been Captain and Matthew should have been first-mate. Things would have gotten done, they would have never entered a storm like this. 

He was changing into dry bloomers when someone knocked. For a moment, Matthew watched the door, expecting to see the girl on the other side but when the visitor entered, it was not her. 

“Everything is secured. There are men still keeping watch but I’ve ordered everyone else below deck until we clear this storm.” Owen stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Pollard?” Matthew cleared his throat and slowly sat back down on the bed. 

“He’s… doing some calculations, navigation.” Owen waved his hands about and sighed. After a moment of silence, his eyes returned to watch Matthew and he drew in a strained breath. 

“Joy,” Owen started ominously and Matthew looked up, his icy blue eyes drowned out by the darkness, “I saw… well how do I say this… I saw who saved you, Joy.” 

Matthew looked to the side and nodded absently. 

“So you were right then, they’re real. She… saved you?” Owen grimaced as he tried to confirm what he saw. 

“Yes, she did,” Matthew laughed tiredly, his smile falling short. 

“Why?” Owen asked hesitantly. 

Matthew turned his head back slowly to look at his best-friend. His pale skin looked yellow in the light of the whale oil lamp. His hair was still damp but it had begun to dry where it had fallen in waves around his head. 

“She loved me,” Matthew answered with what he believed whole-heartedly to be the truth and wrapped a blanket around his shoulder, hissing as his back muscles clenched in pain. Owen looked Matthew up and down and nodded, understanding that he was supposed to leave.

Once alone again, Matthew sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and looked up at the ceiling. Rainwater managed to sneak through the cracks between floorboards above his head. He watched it drip around him and sat in silence. 

…

End of Pt. 3!

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Code Blue Ch. 50 - Red Dawn

Summary: A tense car ride is full of twists and turns. Josie gets an upsetting message. Craig softens and he and Jo seem to bond as they share another long talk. A phone call leaves Jo with more questions than answers.

*Chapter Warnings* language, angst, anxiety, drinking,

Chapter characters: Luke, Josie, Craig, Lee

Chapter word count: 7,953

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist:

Salem, Massachusetts

March 22, 2022

The tedious drive back to Salem seemed like an eternity and it was deafly quiet, except for the cat-like purr of Luke's Charger. As soothing as the subtle sound was, it still couldn't calm the seething tension between you and the law abiding bad boy that consistently chewed on his thumb nail, for it was much too close for comfort in the compacted side by side space.

But as the cruising car entered Essex county, your focus then went to the mile long monster that lied up ahead. The Salem Harbor Bay bridge that you had recently drove over with Orlando with no choice, for time had been of the essence to get to Dave and this time, your reaction was not much different as your anxiety began to rise, but at least that time, you were in the driver seat. You had control and had someone with you that you trusted and felt safe with and that got you through it. Now, you were literally bound by your wrists and at the mercy of a man who's personality was all over the place. Hot, cold, gentle, savage. It was mood swing madness and you had been stupid enough to wake the lion.

The no speaking agreement was now over for you as you became desperate. "Can you please go another way?"

Luke's tone was cold and his words were straight to the point. "Nope. Freeway. Nowhere to turn around. This way is faster. The sooner I get you out of my car and my sight, the better."

You supposed you couldn't blame his anger after shoving him like you did. You were angry with yourself too, for look where it had landed you. In cuffs and facing prison time for assaulting a cop. Jesus, how were you going to get out of this one? You hated to admit it but Luke was probably right. Gerry couldn't do anything for you. Not without jeopardizing his job and his morals, but...it didn't mean he wouldn't try and you had to hold out hope for that, for if anyone could find some loophole to free you, it was your ex-fiance. You also knew that his guilt over his drunken one-nighter with your sister would give him the extra incentive, not to mention, he still loved you and now you were the one who felt guilty for even thinking of using that against him. BUT, you had the same issue you recently had with Dave. Gerry was M.I.A. and now with that added onto the Brobdingnagian bridge rapidly approaching, your nerves might just send you into a code blue.

Seconds before the wheels thumped over the divide from stable ground to an abyss of lung filling liquid, Luke couldn't help but notice your fear through his random side eyed glances at you as your body stiffened up, your breathing ceased and your eyes clenched shut. He pretended not to notice as he stared straight ahead and tried not to care but deep below the hardened shell of a man, the Grinch's small heart grew 3 sizes that day.

"What's going on Jo?"

"Just shut up and drive. Faster would be great." you muttered, eyes still closed.

"Can't. There's a truck in front of me and I can't pass. Double lines."

Your left eye peeked at Luke. "Oh my god mister holier than thou. Trying to make up for the shitty things you've done by being a model citizen now? What happened to the skillful driver who perfectly whipped my Monte Carlo around every turn in town like he was Luke Duke in the General Lee trying to outrun Rosco P. Coltrane?'

"But Bo always drove the majority of the time."

"Yeah I know that! I just thought it was more fitting to say Luke since that's your name and your hair is dark like his."

"True I suppose. I didn't care for Bo anyways. I don't like blonde hair."

There was silence as both of your eyes were now open and glaring at him as he stared straight ahead with that curled smug smirk of his.

You then raised a smart ass brow. "So that's why you cuffed and stuffed me."

Luke's eyes swung right over to yours and now you were giving the smug smirk.

"I cuffed you because that blonde hair of yours caused you to do something extremely stupid. Now, I thought we weren't talking?"

Your lips pursed and your eyes slitted. "We're NOT! So just hurry up and get us over this bridge already."

"We've been over it for the past 30 seconds."

"What?"

You straightened up in your seat and looked around to see that you were now on a rural road surrounded by forestry.

"Hmmph." you marveled as you burrowed back into your heated leather seat. "Guess I was distracted."

Luke grinned as he glanced at you. "Exactly. It usually does the trick."

"Wait, so...you only engaged in conversation with me to distract me from my fear??"

"Yep and it worked like a charm. Guess I' m not such a bad guy after all."

"Says you."

His eyes snapped to you as he grimaced. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Is that supposed to be a rhetorical question??? Can you please just STOP talking now??"

"Whatever." he mumbled and sped up.

Not even a minute passed and Luke was speaking again. "So...you're afraid of bridges huh? Why's that?"

Rolling your eyes, you sighed and continued to gaze out the window as you reluctantly replied.

"I'm not afraid of bridges. I'm afraid of heights. There's a difference."

"So, more so, you're afraid of falling really."

"Well duhhhh...and falling into what lies beneath it. All the weight of that water, just pulling me down further and further into it's ice cold depths where there's nothing but darkness and it fills my lungs as my panic forces me to suck it in, trying to breathe."

"Or...you could always swim."

Your eyes lowered as you became quiet and began fidgeting with your fingers.

As Luke looked at you, awaiting your usual mordant riposte, he quickly realized why you hadn't.

"You...you can't swim?"

"Does this even matter? Why can't you just leave me alone and quietly revel in my misery? I got my just deserves. But hey, if you do happen to find a heartbeat under that cold and austere armor, could you not mention this to my mother for the time being? This is the last thing she needs right now."

You wriggled your hips in the skintight seatbelt so you could turn towards the window to hide the oncoming tears of shame and once Luke couldn't see you, they poured out of your eyes like a waterfall. What you didn't consider was that he could see your emotional reflection in the glass as you silently sobbed.

5 minutes of faint intermittent whimpers and sniffles were unwillingly heard loud and clear by Luke. As he came to a stop at a red light, he looked over at you and that's when his own anxiety got the better of him.

Seeing you all vulnerable and huddled against the door like a child sent a stinging twinge of empathy through his heart and made him question if what he was doing was right, even if you did break the law, for he had goaded you and not only that, your anger was justified about Lee. He wasn't going to tell you that though or the fact that he spent many nights weeping and beating himself up over what happened between him and his once upon a time good friend. It was extremely hard for him to speak about just as it was for Lee, for Luke knew it was all of his own fault by intentionally knocking over the first domino, he just never knew the chain of events would lead up to what it did. What he did know is that someday, you would know the ugly truth.

As Luke neared the road that led straight into downtown Salem, the guilt trip he was on forced him to abruptly stop and turn around.

As he pulled to the side of the road and parked, you were already sitting straight up with wet and wildly confused eyes.

"What are you doing? The police station is the other way?"

"I'm not going there. Give me your hands."

"What??"

"Jo, just give me your hands before I change my mind."

As you slowly and unsurely swayed your hands in his direction, he grabbed them, startling you as he vigorously unlocked the cuffs, then yanked your seatbelt off.

"There. Go on. Get out of here."

You sat speechless for a moment, staring at him as he stared out of his window, chewing his thumb nail once again.

"You...you're letting me go...just like that??"

"Did I not just take the cuffs off and tell you to go?"

"Ok but...here? You want me to walk? It's at least another mile to get back to my apartment."

"Can't you just thank me and get out?"

"Why won't you look at me and WHY are you doing this?"

"God damn it." he grumbled and side eyed you. "Why are you such a pain in the ass??!! Just fucking go!"

"Not until you tell me why you changed your mind and are freeing me into the wild like some caged bird??!!"

His palms slapped over his face and then he roughly dragged them down as he groaned in frustration.

"If I tell you, will you fly away???"

"Depends on what the answer is."

"Holy fucking hel..." he began as his fuming eyes met yours, but abruptly paused when he saw the remnants of your tears, then popped the glove box open, ripped a tissue out and held it in front of you as he continued, refusing to look at you once again.

"It's what you said about your mum. You're right. She don't need this. I spoke with her briefly last night and she was quite distraught about Megan so, I just feel with all her grief over one daughter, she don't need the added stress from another."

"So you're telling me you're doing this for my mom??"

"You sound like that's incredibly hard to believe."

"I don't know what to believe from you anymore Luke. One minute, you're this sweet and caring man that seems to have a heart, like the one who once came to my mom's house and comforted me through an anxiety attack and even defended me against my sister and stopped me from strangling her, WHICH ironically I was doing for you with Landy only 24 hours prior when you morphed into robot Arnie the freaking terminator...and the next minute, you're back to being human again, helping me back there on the bridge and now you're claiming to let me go out of sympathy for my mom."

You sat back in a huff, realizing that Lee was behaving the exact same way and you were at a crossroads, literally, on what to do anymore about either of these messed up men.

Luke sighed and softened up a bit. "Look Jo. I don't know what else to say. I pushed you over the edge, waving a red flag at you. If I hadn't done that, I don't think we would be sitting here right now."

And so you softened up a bit too. "Yeah well, I pretty much came at you sideways and got you all riled up."

Luke chuckled and shook his head, then looked right at you with a disbelieving smile.

"What?" you asked, returning a half smile as your eyes curiously tried to figure him out.

"You. You're so afraid of all these things that are bigger than you and here I am, at least 3 times your size, yet you weren't afraid to shove me on my ass. I'm not sure what shocks me more. The fact that you did it or the fact that you were even able to do it. I admire that fire in you Jo. Don't ever let anyone try to put it out. With that said though, use that fire on those other than authority. If it were anyone other than myself or Gerry, you'd be at the station right now being booked as we speak."

You gasped. "Oh god, speaking of, I better call Dave and tell him because I guarantee he's already on his way to bail me out and you'll be busted. I mean, it's the least I can do so you don't lose your job over me."

Luke sat quietly stunned as you made the call, telling Dave to turn around and asking him to keep what he knew under wraps.

"There. He won't say anything. I really hope you are going to lay off of him now."

"As long as these ferry tickets he gave me and the ferryman's words all coincide, he should be good. Thank you Jo and... for the record, I wouldn't have just left you out here. I would have let you sweat for about 5 minutes and then came back." Luke teased with the usual curled grin, then put the car in drive.

Your riposte came out of left field and definitely struck a nerve. "Thanks for sparing me from being another victim of love em and leave em Luke."

Luke gritted his teeth, appalled by knowing that either Orlando or Lee had told you about his notorious moniker of his younger days that he had long forgotten about and wanted to keep it that way.

"This joy ride is over. It's time for you to go home and...about Lee. Just stop asking me. It's his story to tell. Put your seatbelt on."

"It's not just his story when you're involved."

"Wasting...your...breath." he firmly certified and slid a cd in, hoping to shut you up.

You buckled your belt then crossed your arms and scoffed as you sank back into the seat. When a song came on, Luke cranked it up and began mumbling the words as he tapped his fingers upon the wheel and both the singing and the choice of music had your eyes gaping at him with an severely raised brow.

"There'll be no strings to bind your hands..." he began and then snickered as he glanced at you. "How fitting eh?"

"Seriously? You have a Juice Newton cd? Why am I not all that surprised."

"You're mocking me when you clearly know who she is?"

"Nope. Not at all. It's just that the night you drove my car, your choice of music was quite different and frankly much better."

"Oh, you mean Radar Love. Yeah well it was fitting for the occasion just like this one because now here we are with you, a cheery oh angel of the morning." he razzed and then beamed a snarky smile full of teeth.

Shaking your head, you heavily sighed and looked away, trying to ignore the overgrown infant beside you, but that quickly became impossible when he began crooning out the chorus, which you knew was solely just to annoy you.

"JUST CALL ME ANGEL OF THE MORNING BABY! JUST TOUCH MY CHEEK BEFORE YOU LEAVE ME BABY! Then slowly turn away...from meeeee."

"Whad'ya think? Next American Idol winner?" he gloated and howled on with his karaoke session, which if you were to be honest, Luke had a damn good set of pipes but you wouldn't dare tell him that because then he would certainly never shut up.

"Goblin king, take this baby away from me!" you irrationally jeered, then flung your head back against the seat and closed your eyes to try and zone him out, hoping he would take the hint to leave you alone, but you should have known better than that.

Luke's speedy riposte was a breath stealing punch to the gut and you had pretty much had set yourself up for it.

"Oooo ouch. That's rich coming from you. You know Jo, you should really be careful what you wish for since children seem to go missing when you're around."

Just as your eyes snapped open from the sting of his tongue, Luke was pulling up in front of your apartment and low and behold, Craig was outside speaking with what appeared to be a gardener.

"What a coinkydink. Daddy dearest in the flesh. So, does he know that Blaise was right within his reach that night and you knew and didn't...."

"He knows alright! I..I told him yesterday and now, I guess I'll be moving back in with my mom."

"Oh? Why not move in with Lee? You're basically at his place and up his arse all the time anyways aren't you?"

"Now you're the one wasting their breath. We're done here Luke. And if I were you, I'd get out of here before Craig sees you. Besides me, you're not exactly his favorite person."

"Not worried in the least."

As you opened the door, Luke touched your shoulder. "Hey Jo."

"What now??"

"Just be careful around him ok? You're probably better off to get away from him."

"And that's rich coming from YOU." you argued and got out.

Before you could close the door, Luke had more to say.

"Oh and Jo."

"Oh my god, what Luke??"

"Don't let the door hit you in that cute ass."

You shot a death glare at the derogative detective, then slammed the door and heard the blacked out window roll down.

With an arrogant wink, Luke put on a pair of mirrored sunglasses and attempted his best terminator voice. "I'll be bock."

Your eyes rolled so hard, it made you dizzy. "Ughhhh!"

As you stormed off, he revved the engine and sped off which then alerted Craig to your arrival. The last thing you wanted was another confrontation, especially with your rightfully pissed and soon to be ex-landlord, so you kept your head down and moved quickly, feeling his eyes upon you the entire time as you trekked up the sidewalk and into the building, but he never said a word.

You were now safe inside your apartment, all alone to finally gather and process all of your scattered thoughts, but first, you needed to call your mom and see how Megan was.

Slipping off your coat, you let it fall to the floor and went straight to the fridge for some wine, not caring that it was only 10 in the morning, the same time Craig had been drinking yesterday that you hypocritically gave him a lecture about. As you sat down on your bed with your full glass and turned your phone screen on, there was a text from Lee.

When you opened it and read his woeful words, your heart dropped down to your stomach as if you were falling.

Lee always expressed himself with such endearing words from his heart, but sometimes, he let poetry and music speak for him and this time, it was lyrics from a song you knew.

"I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. I don't know what I'm supposed to do haunted by the ghost of you. Take me back to the night we met when the night was full of terrors and your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet. Take me back to the night we met and then I can tell myself what the hell I'm supposed to do. And then I can tell myself not to ride along with you."

Your heart began to pound, for Lee was basically telling you he wished he could go back to that day in the hospital and never visit your room and that meant you never would have found his bracelet under your bed and took it to his house where your love story all began. You knew he wasn't trying to hurt you. He was just being honest about how he was feeling, but it still hurt. It hurt immensely.

You didn't reply. You didn't even know what to say to that, so you just picked up your wine and let the entire contents of the glass roll down your throat as you fought back the burning tears.

Desperately trying to distract yourself, you called your mom. She told you Megan was doing well but was still too groggy to speak. She also told you that she saw Lee that morning when she came down for coffee. He was on the phone with someone, seemingly upset, so she respectfully kept her distance but she couldn't help overhearing his scolding tone to the unlucky recipient. He spoke about his father's one month of passing and that he was going to his grave to pay his respects after attending the evening mass and told the other person that they should be going too, then Lee abruptly hung up and stormed out. You knew instantly it had to be Gordon and had something to do with the farm dispute between the two bitter brothers.

You told your mom you would be there later to sit with Megan so she could go home, eat and shower. When you hung up, you then nervously wondered if you should still go to the cemetery too, like you and Lee had planned, for if you saw him, you might not be able to walk away again.

Undecided, you got up to begin packing up some things since Craig had given you till the end of the month to move out and that was now only 7 days away. Luke's words haunted you about moving in with Lee as you sorted through your clothes. Yes, you were there all the time and everything was perfect in that area. You were so happy there with him. You would have been happy anywhere with him because Lee was home to you.

Your distraction tactic of keeping busy was failing miserably and it was quickly blown to bits when you were going through clothes you hadn't laundered yet and found a shirt of Lee's that you wore home a few mornings ago. And if that wasn't gut wrenching enough, it was still saturated in his Drakkar cologne and all you could do was scrunch it up against your nose and inhale his intoxicating essence as you laid down and cried your exhausted eyes to sleep.

Meanwhile, Craig was on his way up to your apartment to give you back your deposit and as he approached your door, he raised his hand to knock, but humbly lowered it when he could hear your muffled laments from within. Whatever you were going through, he felt that he should not add to it and it aggravated him that he even cared. Was any of it due to how he had treated you?, for he just witnessed you had rushed to avoid him at all costs or was it because of the depraved detective he had come to despise?, solely because he was Ethan's brother. Craig's street smarts told him Luke was still a red flag, no matter what surname he took on to disassociate himself with the flyblown Bloom blood and if Luke became a threat to you as Ethan had, he would handle him too. Regardless of what was ailing you, Craig decided to leave you alone for the time being and slipped the check under the door, then left, feeling rather disheartened over making you leave.

3 hours later.

You awoke in the same position that you fell asleep in, still tightly clutching Lee's shirt against you and now, not only did his sweet succulent scent seep from your pores, it was also imbedded in your purple satin sheets. You had to get rid of it. ASAP.

The bed was torn apart as you ripped the sheets from it and threw them in the basket along with the perpetrator, Lee's guilty shirt and then headed to the door to take them all down to the laundry room which is when you discovered the check laying on the floor.

Upon picking it up, the amount floored you, for it was hundreds more than what you had given Craig and attached on the back was a sticky note, scribbled in red ink with incredibly perfect penmanship for a man.

Craig certainly seemed to be on the wealthy side but this was too much and was clearly not about your clothes. It was his guilt over kicking you out and you weren't about to accept a payoff apology, especially when he didn't even have anything to be sorry about. You were the reason his 4 year old daughter was missing, even when you weren't the one who snatched her.

Exasperated over that and everything else, you hurried downstairs and packed the washer full of clothes along with an undetermined amount of soap while sobbing the entire time, then went back up to cry some more in the shower, a shower that was cut short by a burst of water as cold as the Atlantic and rust as red as blood....just like what happened to Dave. AND...you had the same reaction as he did.

Gasping and frantically rubbing your eyes, you huddled in the corner waiting for your sight and the water to clear. What was happening?? You did not believe that to be a coincidence all in a matter of 8 hours at two far away different locations, especially when that had never happened in your shower before. Was it some kind of sign, more so an omen or was it merely a plumbing issue like Dave believed his was?

Now that you were all primed and primped for the day, you resumed your packing while debating on calling Craig about his demonic shower needing an exorcist and to come get his money, or...you could just simply shove it back under his door with your own note attached so you didn't have to interact with him. Option 2 seemed best.

You scrawled out a note on the back of his and reattached it to the check, then quietly creeped down the hall to his studio where all was silent inside. Hoping he wasn't in there, you bent down and slipped it under the door, cringing at loud the sound was. Just as you stood up to tiptoe off undetected, footsteps swiftly approached the door.

Spinning around with a gasp, you rushed off only to freeze solid at his shout from directly within the door.

"Just Josie. Come on in!"

With a gulp, you hesitated then slowly made your way back to the door and walked in. There he stood, dressed in all black attire as usual and wickedly grinning while holding your check.

He then turned it over and began reading your note out loud in a trenchant, yet amused tone.

"Thank you but no thank you. My outfit only cost twenty bucks at a thrift shop."

"Well, if that's so." he continued, "then you obviously like deals and that's what this is. A hell of a bargain actually."

"Craig, the added amount is almost as much as one months rent. All you needed to give me was my deposit."

"I was trying to apologize for my wine induced behavior and the harsh things I said to you and a simple "I'm sorry" just didn't seem to cut it."

"You don't owe me an apology Craig. I deserved all of it and the paint bath too."

"You were only trying to help my drunk ass up and even after the first failed attempt that ruined your clothing, you still tried again. And no, you didn't deserve my spontaneous misguided anger. You didn't kidnap my child and you certainly couldn't have known that it was going to happen."

"How could I have not?? I witnesses Elizabeth drop her off at Angel's in a panic over Ethan harassing her about paternity. I should have tried a hell of a lot harder to reach you, end of story... and for that, I will forever be so damn sorry, but as you said, those words just don't seem to cut it. I..I pray that you find Blaise safe, sound and soon. I really do and I will do whatever I can to help make that happen and make things right for you and her. Now, I have to go finish packing. Your apology is accepted and please just keep the money."

"Alright." Craig agreed with astonished disappointment all over his face as he watched you walk out.

His agreement was short lived though and he chased after you, squeezing in your door just before you turned to close it.

"Craig, what the..."

"Just hear me out. Please?"

"Do I even have a choice since you barged right in?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Ok fine, but whatever you have to say, you'll have to say it while watching me pack. I have a lot to do today."

"Fair enough. I guess I'll start with Jason. Are we even now?"

"Even?? Craig, I swear I didn't use Blaise to get back at you for..."

"No no no. Jo, I know you didn't and I'm sorry I ever said that. What I meant was, well...if I forgive you, can you forgive me for not telling you your brother was alive? I mean, you were pretty rabid mad that day. Just a little bit scary." he teased with a smile.

You chuckled as you thought of what you just did to Luke. "Yeah umm...I guess I too had spontaneous misguided anger. It was meant for Jason, not you. I know you were just trying to keep him safe and you did. You saved his life, so how can I not forgive you?"

"Sweet. So we're square now. Well, except for one thing."

Craig walked over to your suitcase and began tearing your clothes out of it.

"What are you doing??"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm unpacking your clothes."

"What...wait...why?? Put those back!"

"I will not. I don't want you to leave. I kinda like you a little bit if I'm honest AND I think you kinda like it here and maybe even me too and..."

He held up a long blue dress and placed it against his brawny body. "And oooh wow. Smokin hot."

"Give me that!" you barked and grabbed it, but Craig laughed and wouldn't let go.

"Nope. Not until you agree to stay." he demanded as you both were now playing tug of war...until the dress split right down the middle.

"Oh, well THAT'S great. It's all yours!" you huffed and plopped down on the edge of the bed.

Craig sat down too and slowly handed you the ripped remnants.

"Sorry." he whispered.

You couldn't even be mad, especially when he had the shameful expression of dog who got busted for chewing up a pair of shoes. Instead, you did what you were becoming a pro at lately. Broke down crying with your face buried in your hands.

"Whoaaa, hey now sweetheart. What's this??"

"Everything!" you squeaked and then rambled on. "My sister was hurt really bad and is in the hospital. She could have, would have died if she hadn't been found and I know Ethan did it, and I was almost arrested today for what you described as my rabid madness and Jason took off with Britt because of your creepy ass father and Lee, he is...I don't even know anymore with that and then everyone's showers are spraying blood and..."

"Alright slowwww down and breathe love. Let's start with the psycho scene. Showers are spraying blood??"

"Yes, mine and Dave's. Well, he said it was rust but with all this ghost shit, I don't know what to think."

"Ghosts??"

"Long story. Is your shower doing that?"

"No...and what did you do to almost land yourself behind bars?"

You mumbled your answer in shame. "I...assaulted a cop."

Craig's eyes popped wide open as he released a titter out of is grinning lips. "Oh how I would have loved to have had a front row seat to that event. What a little baddy you are. Remind me to never piss you off."

"Not funny." you sniffled.

"Ok, maybe not then, but you're obviously not in jail. So, how'd you get out of that mess? Oh wait, was it your ex-fiance cop?"

"Let's just skip this part ok? I shouldn't have mentioned it."

Considering Craig saw Luke drop you off and how fired up you both seemed, he knew it was him you spoke of, but per your request, he would drop it and the overwhelming desire to take the little piggy to market...for now.

"Yeah cops aren't exactly my favorite subject either. Ok so...what's going on with your sister? Ethan attacked her?"

"It certainly appears that way but she hasn't been alert enough to finger him. I'm going to the hospital later to see if she's talking, but I just know it was him. I think he did it because she told Luke that she thinks Ethan took Blaise because he thinks he is her father or maybe he did it to scare me because he hates me and wants Lee all to himself."

"That measly inbred maggot. I should have just taken care of that problem when..."

Craig stopped himself but, it was too late.

"When? Does that have something to do with what you said yesterday? About something you did for me involving him??"

Craig seemed stunned and he was. "I...said that??"

"Yes..I...I just forgot with all that was going on. Craig, what did you mean?"

"Jo, I was quite sauced yesterday remember? I tend to say a lot of things when I drink. What...exactly...did I say?" he probed with an curious brow so he could figure out if he had to tell you what he knew about Ethan and Lee.

"You said you protected me from him but never said why or how."

Craig made sure that his explanation wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the entire truth because he felt you didn't need to know Lee was still Ethan's husband during a meltdown.

"Ohhh...that. Yes, well...I...I saw him once and I basically told him to stay away from you or he'd be fish food." he paraphrased as his heart began to beat again.

"You did that for me?"

Craig suddenly felt awkward. Not in a bad way, but more in a "too close for comfort" kind of way, so he gave a logical answer instead of admitting he had taken a sweet fancy to you, which was the last thing he wanted. He had vowed to himself after Elizabeth's destruction that he would never allow himself to become close to another woman ever again.

"Well...you're my best friend's little sister, so, you know. What's important to Jason is important to me."

"Well thank you and well... I wish you HAD fed Ethan to a mosh pit of sharks, still ALIVE and baited in a pool of his own blood and then let me watch so I could hear his screeching screams and the satisfying crunch of his bones as the angry aquatic vampires with a thousand razor sharp teeth chomped him to death in a splashing feeding frenzy of pure diabolical rage."

"Yeeesh. Easy there Annie Wilkes. Tell me how you really feel, minus the Stephen King synopsis. Horrifying image."

"Arrrgh. Jason was supposed to have taken care of him by now and for saying that, I feel like such a fucking hypocrite for giving him and Lee such a hard time about Liz when she was no better than Ethan."

"And I married the black widow. Even had a kid with her, or so I thought. Creator of life, destroyer of mine. "

'"So did Lee basically. She fooled everyone, EVEN Ethan. God Craig, how could she do that to her own son??? That little boy was my nephew and now Ethan has your daughter and I know he's not just going to forget about Lee. So much keeps happening. No wonder I ended up in the hospital."

"I...I heard about that and...I wanted to maybe send you some flowers or come visit but...I..I didn't think my presence would have been appropriate, you know, just being your landlord and all and well...there's the little tidbit of my primary profession as well that I'm sure Lee isn't too fond of. Anywhoooo...I'm really glad you're ok. You're...ok..right?"

"For the most part yeah. Just gotta keep my iron intake up and stress levels down, which you can see is damn near impossible with the life I'm stuck in."

"You're only stuck if you choose to be."

"It doesn't feel like a choice anymore, even when I try to...ugh, it doesn't even matter."

Craig's ocean-like eyes were consoling as his hand went to your cheek. "Hey, it does matter. What else is bothering you? I have really good listening ears like that of a faithful family dog, only much less hair and a strong but soft shoulder to lean on and even comforting arms if you recall."

"I don't know. Like, for one thing, I'm supposed to hate my sister after all the horrible shit she's done to me and yet, I'm having a hard time hating her after what happened. Like, why...why do I care about people that don't deserve it???"

"Because you have a good heart which can sometimes be a curse really. You're supposed to be able to trust the people closest to you and when they go and give you a reason not to, it's a total mind fuck. It's hard to let them go even when you know it's what's best for you. I get it Jo."

"What I don't get is why I'm not good enough for the truth. I'm always being lied to. It's become nothing but a pattern and how am I supposed to trust someone when I don't know what they're holding back?"

"Ok first of all, you are good enough and if someone doesn't see that, then they are the ones not good enough and second of all, why do I feel this is not about your sister?"

"I appreciate what you're trying to do Craig, but...it doesn't matter."

"It does matter because you're clearly not happy. Tears don't lie. Are...you happy?"

Your eyes fell. "No. No I'm not. I'm miserable."

"Me too. Why don't you stay. We can be miserable neighbors together and drink wine every day and night to the point of inebriation, creating terrible art as a hobby while being covered in a rainbow of paint. You know, kind of like I already do? It's actually kinda fun and therapeutic. A little bit of good trouble..per se. I could use some inspiration as you well know."

You giggled. "Right...because we would actually be the artwork. How inspiring."

"Exactly! Except you'd be a firework. Oh, and you still owe me a viewing of your own masterpieces. So...whad'ya say?"

Craig got down on one knee and took your hand as he gave you a pathetic puppy face.

"Will you be my neighbor?"

"Oh my god you're such a nerd. Get up." you chortled and stood up.

"Well, I've been called much worse. Things I cannot even pronounce. You don't want to know, trust me. Sooooo, is that a yes?"

"I'll think about it."

"YES!" he jeered like an old lady at a bingo game winning the jackpot.

"So now, I'm really sorry but I need to get going. Thank you Craig...for listening and for the advice. It was nice. I want you to know I'm thinking of Blaise everyday and if I can help, I will. You'll never convince me that it wasn't my fault."

In the blink of an eye, Craig became all serious as he placed his hands on your arms. "Alright but, before I go, I need you to listen to me. Don't be letting your guilt cause you to do something dangerous. You let me handle this ok?? I don't want anything happening to you. Let me know what you decide on the apartment and...I'm really glad you're ok Jo and I...I hope you will stay. I like having you around."

He softly smiled and headed to the door, then turned back around.

"Oh and...I'm also glad you don't hate me."

"Ditto." you smiled. "Talk soon."

Craig left and you felt terrible for him. The formidable mafia man, always full of quirky humor wasn't so tough on the inside and was clearly lonely, but even so, you had to do what was best for you and if you stayed, would it really be a good idea? Had you known when you first moved in that Craig was one of Sonny's men and Jason's bff, you most likely would have ran away as fast and as far as you could. On the other hand, he could protect you and he wanted to and you felt safe around him. BUT, that didn't mean you would be. Things could always go wrong, especially in his world, which was now your world. Although, hadn't it always been your world because of Jason? And things always went wrong then, no matter where you were. Even your own brother couldn't keep you safe.

In your confliction, you knew you may still need to leave on a temporary basis because of your sister. No one knew yet what happened to her or where Ethan was, so she could still be in danger and that put your mom in danger as well with Megan living with her.

As you carried on with packing the rest of the one suitcase for the time being, once again you were interrupted. This time by the cordless phone ringing that Lee had talked you into getting for extra ways of communication. You decided to let the answering machine get it because you were in a hurry to get to the hospital, but when Lee's hypnotizing voice was heard, you stood frozen in time.

"Hey sweet girl. I tried your cell but...I don't know, it must be on silent or maybe you just don't want to talk to me. I wish you would. I'm sorry about my text. I didn't mean it in the way you must think. If you're there, could you please pick up? I'd really love to hear your voice."

He paused and waited a few moments, then continued.

"Ok, well, I...I'll just say what I need to say and leave you alone. Jo, I know I've said this so many times and it just sounds so meaningless, but I mean it, with every ounce of my being. I'm so sorry baby. For all of this. For all I have put you through. It's only been a single day and I miss you in ways that there are no words for. You are a mental and physical ache. A longing woven deep into my DNA and I...I don't know how to live like this. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm nothing without you. I'm inside out. I merely exist in this soulless shell and because I know you exist, there's no going back for me. There will never be anyone else for me but you. No one else could ever do. The heart wants what it wants and mine wants you and I knew it. I knew you were the right one from the get go and I still know it because the word "forever" does not sound like enough time."

As your heart was being torn in two and devoured by his agony, you walked over to the phone and picked it up, letting your finger hover over the call button, but you couldn't bring yourself to answer, so you just kept listening to his unintentional torture.

"I know I have no one else to blame but myself. I know I'm broken. We were both broken. By life. By others. By our own serious dysfunctions, but we finally found each other after a decade of near misses. We were so close to each other all that time, yet so far apart and when destiny finally stepped in and we finally came together like the sun and moon during a total eclipse, all of the jagged edges of our broken pieces fit together like a puzzle, as if all that time, we were being broken for that purpose, to be a perfect fit for each other. But now I feel like I don't fit anywhere at all. Not anymore. Life goes on around me as i sit here and watch the boats sail by on the bay and I feel like I'm just a spectator, watching from the sidelines. You were...are my life. You are where I belong. You are my purpose, my reason. God Jo. Without you, all I want to do is drown my sorrows away and Lord knows I've tried, but even then, a sea full of whiskey couldn't intoxicate me as much as a drop of you. Because of you, I believe in love and fairytales and soulmates and everything that is magic. I followed the signs because you showed them to me. Just tell me it's not too late. Don't give up on me. I want to tell you everything and if I can bring myself to do that, maybe then you'll understand. I guess I've wrote a novel here and I should go. I still wish you would come today...to the cemetery. I'll be there around 4. If you don't come, it's ok. I will understand. Ok well..."

There was a pause and then he finished as his voice became very shaky. "I...I love you Miss Massachusetts. God I love you."

Lee quickly hung up and sat down. He had too. The 3 Red Bulls he downed earlier paired with the threat of an oncoming panic attack had him jittery, weak and breathless.

"Lee wait!" you shouted as you punched the red button, but there was nothing but a dial tone.

Should you call him back? It would be so much easier than speaking to him in person because he had this wicked way of breaking you down and getting what he wanted from you that no one else had ever possessed, but of course he could say the same thing about you. Now the real question was, should you go? Lee clearly needed you and you were worried about him. You could hear it in his voice, the fear, the destitution and desperation...the love. And just because you and he were having problems didn't mean you would abandon him, but were you strong enough to uphold your boundaries in his presence? The mere sight of him was like some invisible magic in itself. You felt so guilty because he was fighting like hell for you and you were keeping him at arms length and just running away. Fight or flight? That was the all out question now and you knew exactly who to go to for the answers. Someone who had been through it all. Your mother.

@redeemer46

[universitypenguin]

Part XII of “The Princess & the Lawyer”

Summary: Lloyd notices Princess’ rising stress but he’s distracted by some unexpected news. Lloyd gives Mr. Bishop his impressions of Nguyen and Princess meets Detective Roth, who reveals a shocking development in the case.

Masterlist

Word Count: 8,481

Warnings: Smut. Sexually explicit writing, erotica level heat. Mention of domestic violence, murder, legal proceedings, stalking, violence, and discussion of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

The Princess and the Lawyer - Part 12

“Careful!”

Lloyd caught your elbow and steadied you. After traveling for twenty hours straight, waves of exhaustion were crashing down. First, the weariness had made your head swim. Now it was disturbing your usually good sense of balance.

“Mmmmhhh.”

“You’re asleep on your feet,” Lloyd said.

You leaned into him and blinked, trying to focus.

“Uh-huh…”

You felt drunk. Even navigating the familiar layout of Lloyd’s front hall was a challenge. He guided you around the corner, to the stairs leading to his bedroom.

As you climbed them, his hand never left your waist. When the bed came into view, the sight of it turned your knees weak. Excitement and relief propelled you the last few feet before you dropped face first onto the mattress. Lloyd chuckled as you buried yourself in the green jacquard duvet, savoring the feeling of the cool fabric. With effort, you dragged yourself up the bed and then sorted through pillows until you’d found the right combination.

The moment your eyes shut, you were asleep.

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

Lloyd smiled at the sound of the deep, rhythmic breathing that signaled your unconscious. He slipped off your shoes and socks, and when that didn’t rouse you, he unbuttoned your pants and tugged them down. Trusting the effects of jet lag, he removed your shirt and bra, then dressed you in one of his button-ups. You didn’t stir during the entire process.

He tucked the sheet under your chin and watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Seeing you look so serene in his bed gave him a curious sort of satisfaction. The feeling turned his heart warm and soft, as if a ray of sunshine had shone directly into his chest, and melted it.

You were stressed out about something.

He’d felt you tossing and turning all night yesterday, and knew your sudden collapse wasn’t strictly due to jet lag. The emotion had become visible in the same moment you’d learned the bad weather had cleared. He watched it build and was mildly put off that you hadn’t shared the cause of your feelings with him. Not yet, at least.

Comforting you was impossible when he didn’t understand the problem. He’d held you last night, but it hadn’t settled your racing pulse. Your heart had pumped so hard and fast, he could feel the beat of it vibrate through you and invade his own body. All night he’d felt it thundering, like drums shaking the walls of a concert venue. This morning at the airport he’d asked if you were feeling okay. Your denial was unconvincing, but he’d marked it down to the public setting. He knew something had gotten your tail in a twist. It was only a matter of time before he found out what it was.

Since this was hardly an appropriate time for that conversation, Lloyd headed downstairs. He reset the alarm system and collected the luggage. Unless he threw in a load of laundry tonight, you’d have to go home and change in the morning.

He unpacked and sorted your laundry with his, making sure to inspect the tags for special instructions. Then he put a load on quick cycle and went to check the mail. He was standing in the kitchen sorting it when his phone buzzed.

The screen showed a 208 area code. He didn’t recognize the rest of the number, but picked up the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hello. I’d like to speak with Lloyd Hansen, if he’s available?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Abigail Essex. I’m calling from St. Benedict’s Hospital in Ketchum. Before we continue, can you please confirm the nature of your relationship to Joe Hansen?”

Ice formed in his chest and slid down to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Joe Hansen is my father.”

“Thank you. I’m a nurse in the medical ICU. Your father was admitted a few days ago for generalized weakness and nausea. His condition took a turn for the worse today.”

She paused. Lloyd stared at the glossy white wall. The message was straightforward, but his typically agile brain struggled to comprehend it.

“I’m sorry to be blunt, Mr. Hansen, but your father’s condition is quite serious. He’s suffering from viral influenza which is complicated by his existing liver failure. From the medical records, it looks like his general physician diagnosed him six years ago. The illness was already so advanced that his treatment options were limited.”

Limited treatment options. That meant terminal, didn’t it?

Abigail cleared her throat. “Mr. Hansen? Lloyd?”

“I’m here. How long?”

“Hours, maybe days. His condition is deteriorating. There’s a note in his file that Joe is estranged from his children. However, during end-of-life care we always try to reach out to the family. Social work searched for next of kin, but only found your records. If you’d like, I can contact your siblings and-”

He cut her off. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay. We have his POLST on file, so there’s no need for you to make decisions.”

“POLST?”

“I’m sorry. A POLST is short for physician’s orders of life-sustaining treatment. It’s a form filed with the state to express final wishes. Joe already documented his refusal of invasive life support, which is what our next steps would be. You don’t need to decide. Like I said, it’s standard practice to contact family members when we initiate palliative care, in case they’d like to pay their final respects. This call is strictly a notification.”

His lip curled, and rage tightened his belly. Final respects.

“As far as I’m concerned, you can unplug him.”

Shocked silence filled the line.

Lloyd’s eyes turned to the mirror in the dining room. He had his father’s bone structure and his thick, dark hair. They stood at exactly the same height and shared a powerful, athletic build. Most days he hated their resemblance, but he was eternally grateful for the last two traits. After puberty his body easily developed and retained muscle, giving him a priceless advantage on the football field. He’d turned it into a ticket to the Ivy Leagues, then to freedom.

There were other differences between them, but only on a superficial level. Where Joe Hansen’s eyes were jet black, Lloyd’s were cobalt blue. Joe’s skin was a medium olive that browned quickly in the sun. His own skin repelled sunlight and what little melanin he could develop in the summer vanished before Labor Day. The contrast in coloring was the starkest difference between him and his old man. Except for that, they were almost clones.

The fair skin and blue eyes were gifts from his mother. Those recessive Norwegian genes that caused the divergence seemed most readily passed from mother to son. Without them, he’d begin each morning staring at the face of a monster as he shaved. Thank God for small favors.

“Is there anything further?” Lloyd asked.

“Would you like to be notified when he passes?”

“Call if you want, I don’t care. He’s been dead to me for years.”

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

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.

Lloyd hit snooze with enough force to send the clock skittering across the nightstand. You curled into your pillow and groaned. He stretched and climbed out the bed to open the curtains.

On Mondays, he usually jogged the five-mile loop from Old Town to Belle Haven. He shoved back the drapes and saw the sky was ink black and the sky was spitting rain. The humidity would be a bitch and even the light rain would soak him to the bone in minutes. Blankets rustled faintly behind him as you rolled over. He glanced back and smiled. There were other forms of cardio, which were just as effective, and he’d stay warm and dry doing them.

Lloyd sat down by the cocoon of blankets you’d coiled into during the night. He ran his hand over your back and lightly scratched between your shoulders. You made a noise, something halfway between a hiss and a moan, like a cranky kitten.

“It’s Monday morning, Princess. Time to rise and shine.”

“No…”

“C’mere,” Lloyd purred.

You whined as he dragged you into his arms, trying to grab for the pillow. Because you hadn’t opened your eyes, you missed it by a mile and flailed in protest as he hauled you into his lap. He kissed your cheek and rubbed the bridge of his nose against your jaw. Instantly, you softened. He took advantage and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Lloyd. I’m tired.”

“You’ve slept ten hours, you need to stretch your muscles.”

“Go away! I’m not going jogging! Self-respecting humans don’t run at this hour of morning.”

He pretended to be hurt. “You don’t want to come keep me safe? What if I get mugged?”

“Muggers don’t get up at this hour.”

Lloyd chuckled. “Because they’re such nice, polite, self-respecting humans?”

“Yes. You have a screw loose, Hansen.”

“Several,” he agreed. “What if I did my cardio here? Would that repair your impression of my respectability?”

“Mmmmhhh. Okay.”

You were falling asleep again. He could hear it in your voice and feel you relaxing in his arms. Lloyd pushed off the remaining blankets and undid the dress shirt’s buttons. You stirred as he drew apart the sides of the garment to expose your chest. Kissing a feather-light pathway from your ear, down your neck, to the swell of your breast, he took his time.

You arched and lifted your arms over your head, an offer he couldn’t refuse. The rise and fall of your chest quickened as he explored the sides of each breast and nibbled on the delicate swells of their undersides. He kissed your sternum, making sure his mustache tickled your skin.

You squirmed and giggled.

The sound made him smile, even as heat throbbed in his groin. He returned to your lips for another taste. You kissed him with feverish demand, your fingers delving into his hair as you tilted your head back. The innate submission of the movement cracked his control. He growled and his tongue flicked into your mouth as he teased your nipples with his fingertips. You moaned when he cupped the soft flesh and stroked the tender buds. They were rock hard, biting into his hand like pebbles. Every little whimper you made inflamed his desire.

Your nails raked the back of his neck, sending a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. When your hands moved from his shoulders, down to stroke his chest, he inhaled sharply. The caressing exploration made him groan. Your touch felt almost innocent, as if you were still fascinated by his body, despite your increased experience. You traced the swirl of a cowlick in his chest hair. Then your nails scraped, and he hissed at the flash of pleasure.

He lunged, attacking your neck with his lips and teeth, eager to retake the upper hand. Lloyd pinned you to the bed, easily countering your half-hearted attempts to squirm away. Then he bit your neck, and the startled cry it elicited from you went straight to his groin. He licked the mark he’d left and savored the taste of your sweat. When he took a deep breath, and scented the tang of your arousal, hanging thick in the air, it shattered the last of his control.

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

All the pleasure you’d experienced at Lloyd’s hands paled compared to this. It was like he was everywhere at once. Your lips, neck, and cheeks buzzed with heat. A bead of sweat rolled between your breasts - Lloyd licked it up. His eyes flashed to yours and he purred, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

During the week in Qatar, you’d done nothing more than cuddle. His experiences there haunted him and you understood the lack of desire was nothing personal. It seemed this morning he’d shaken off the ghosts and was making up for lost time.

His kisses were dominating, and his touch was tinged with a new sense of property. He was focused on your physical reactions and the caution he’d shown with you in the past was nowhere to be found. His tongue drove into your mouth and your teeth clashed against his. He restrained your wrists above your head without a second of hesitation. Excitement bubbled up at the realization that the flash of dominance he’d shown in Qatar had come out to play again. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you threw yourself into the kiss, matching his feverish assault with equal heat.

He broke the kiss to return his attention to your breasts, and you whined at the loss. Lloyd chuckled, low and warm. His teeth scraped over the pounding pulse in your throat. He nipped at your collarbone and across the mound of your breast. The brush of his mustache as he nuzzled the side, a spot you’d never known could be so sensitive, made you shiver. When his lips finally closed around an aching nipple, the sensation made your back bow.

Fire licked over your skin and raced to your core. The sensitive walls of your sex convulsed, frustrated by unmet need. You felt the wetness soaking your panties as desire built and your body prepared to be filled. Lloyd took his time, lavishing attention on your breasts. He seemed to take pleasure in foiling your attempts to gain control and drew out the foreplay as long as possible. When he finally eased back, you were sobbing and quivering at each brush of his lips against your hyper-sensitive nipples.

Tears glazed your eyes. The pulsating heat in your core was nearly painful. The intense desire rippling through your muscles had turned them weak. Hunger throbbed in your blood and sweat soaked your skin. It was unclear what portion of it was yours and what amount Lloyd had contributed. His body was feverishly hot against yours and his eyes burned with the same hunger that had you writhing helplessly against him.

Finally, he settled over you, peeling off the damp lace covering your sex and shoving it down your legs. He lifted the panties to his face and breathed in the scent. His eyes flashed to yours and their cobalt depths radiated victorious heat.

He growled. The authenticity of the sound stole your breath. It rumbled from his chest, raising the hair on the back of your neck at the barely restrained violence it contained. His fingers delved into your pussy and he groaned, flexing his digits and stretching your inner walls. The searing heat building in your channel turned molten as his fingers expertly stroked and teased. You cried out, sensation rippling from your womb, down your thighs, up your spine, until it crested and you bucked against his hand.

“Lloyd!”

He grunted, then his thumb swiped over your clit, eliciting a scream. The ecstasy made your whole body shudder.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go.”

His fingers kept moving, plunging in and out, teasing your sweet spot, and caressing your pulsing clit. You trembled on the cusp of orgasm, wanting the release, but not quite able to reach it. Lloyd captured the peak of your breast between his lips. You screamed and shattered. Your body surged, hips canting off the bed as you convulsed. Lloyd continued to draw the pleasure out of you, moving steadily even as your powerful inner muscles seized on wave after wave of climax. His thumb teased your clit, even when you tried to jerk away and twisted, trying to dislodge the tormenting stimulation.

“No, no, keep going. Come on, Princess. Give me one more.”

Your shoulder blades pulled together, clenching, as his coaxing words triggered fresh spasms of climax. Right on the heels of the first orgasm, a second wave dragged you into mindless rapture and knocked everything out of your head. Lloyd sucked your nipples, using the strength of his arm to increase the roughness of his ministrations. The change pushed your orgasm to new heights. You keened, thrashing, clutching the sheets for purchase, and wailing as the pleasure refused to let up.

Several minutes later he eased his drenched fingers from your channel. You could only hear the blood pounding in your head and the ragged sound of your breath. Every muscle was shaking. There was no way to count how many orgasms he’d taken from you, or if they’d been separate, because after the second, they’d all blended together. The final tremors of climax lingered in the shaking muscles of your thighs and clenching sex. It felt endless and overwhelming. Despite that, a deep ache inside of you demanded something more. It needed a more complete pleasure to be slaked than his hands alone could give.

He settled between your legs, stretching over you. Lloyd tilted your face up and when your lips met, his kiss was surprisingly gentle. He gently teased your swollen lips before his tongue darted into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed him with fervor.

“Good girl,” Lloyd praised. “Slide down for me.”

He guided you lower, tugging your hips, pulling you away from the headboard. His hands went under your legs and he pushed your knees up, then widened your thighs as far as possible. A tremor ran through you as he dipped his fingers into your sticky folds. He explored around your clit without touching it directly. Just that was enough to make you shake. Lloyd groaned.

“Such a responsive little thing. You’re so fucking tight, Princess.”

The head of his cock rubbed your slit, teasing you with the promise of relief. You whimpered at the slow, cautious breach of his cock sliding into your sex. Lloyd’s eyes fastened on your face. His girth burned, but the discomfort only made your sex flutter harder. The delicate channel beat with a welcome pulse as it struggled to draw him deeper. You groaned at the delightful stretch as he worked himself into you inch by inch. When he was halfway there, he drew back, and with a powerful thrust, drove home. You shrieked when the throbbing spot, deep in your body, that inferno that had demanded relief, was struck hard by the crown of his cock. A blinding surge of pleasure made you thrash, toss your head and claw at his back.

Lloyd snarled. His hips pistoned forward, triggering another blinding surge of pleasure. He rocked again, then set a brutal pace that electrified your spine, making your pliant muscles undulate with a new intensity. Your hands were weak as they grasped his biceps, clinging to him for security.

“Look at me.”

His rough command made your eyes open.

“Say it…”

Your hormone addled brain stuttered, unable to process the demand. He pounded into you harder at your speechlessness, eyes flashing.

“Princess, I wanna hear you.”

He jerked his hips, impaling you deeper than you’d ever felt him. The devastating flood of pleasure made your toes curl, eliciting a scream as tremors became convulsions and you unraveled.

“Say it!”

“Lloyd! Aaaahhh…”

His fingers found your clit and rubbed, quick and hard. You jackknifed at the unexpected pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, Lloyd!”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name!”

The pace of the thrusts increased as his control slipped. You recognized the signs of his orgasm and whined in anticipation. His hands tightened on your hips and he lifted you slightly to pound into you at a deeper angle. It brought on another orgasm. This one was fast, sharper than the first. He put his weight behind the thrusts, driving impossibly deep. You screamed.

“Lloyd! Uuhhh…”

The climax felt unending. A groan rose in your throat, low and reverberating, as an entirely different kind of pleasure sent you reeling. The depth of his penetration caused the waves of climax to spread, up into the muscles of your belly, and down your quivering thighs. He teased your clit mercilessly, even as you sobbed. Ripples of pleasure caused your legs to jerk, seizing around Lloyd’s hips as they stripped you of your senses. You shuddered helplessly, crying, whimpering, consumed by a delirium of passion.

His thrusts grew quicker, turning harder and shorter, before his seed flooded you. Lloyd gasped, moaned and then collapsed. In your post-orgasm stupor, all you could manage was to curl one arm around his back. The other was limp, along with the rest of your body. You felt disconnected, so much so that even the pressure of Lloyd’s crushing weight was a distant echo.

This couldn’t be normal. How could so much emotion pour out during something so profoundly physical? You weren’t built to handle this kind of intensity. It had been like the first time, when the sheer excitement of being with him had short-circuited your brain. Except today there had been more. More power. More raw, unbridled passion.

Was it because of the foreplay? Or the brief period of abstinence last week in Qatar? Or was it just the especially potent chemistry between you and Lloyd?

He moved first, rising to his elbows. His eyes were glassy and the emotions in them mirrored exactly what you felt. Recognizing it calmed your racing thoughts. You brushed back his hair and kissed him. His arms flexed around your waist and you felt another pulse of release splash against your womb. Then you realized your bodies were still joined, and you were sticky with more than just sweat.

“I need a shower. We both do, actually.”

He grunted. “Can you move?”

“Probably not. I feel boneless.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

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

Lloyd’s eyes skimmed your figure appreciatively as you walked ahead of him, entering the lobby of Bishop & Howard.

“No ogling before 10:30, Counselor.”

“If you don’t want to be ogled, don’t wear skirts that make your legs look so tasty.”

“When did I say that I didn’t want to be ogled? I only said it had to be after 10:30.”

“10:30 p.m. came and went nine hours ago.”

“I hate lawyers.”

He followed you to the elevator car and leaned against the wall, his eyes still tracing your curves.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“And you look like a troll that woke up on the wrong side of the bridge. Are you jet lagged?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

The car arrived with a chime and you stepped in. Lloyd tapped the button for the fifth floor.

“All that cardio this morning probably didn’t help. Why don’t you take a catnap on your sofa? I can cover for you.”

“No. I need to see Bishop.”

Your humor faded. “You’re going to tell him?”

“There’s no point in waiting.”

“Alright. Just make sure he’s caffeinated.”

Lloyd snorted. “I do have some sense of self-preservation.”

The elevator doors opened to the unexpected sight of Bishop, waiting for you. He had a take-away carrier of coffees balanced in his left hand.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. I already had two cups.”

You assembled in Lloyd’s office, and everyone fell into the same places you’d taken on the day the case was introduced. Bishop settled into one of the armchairs while you and Lloyd shared the couch.

“How was Singapore?”

“The interrogation went smoothly. Nguyen wasn’t forthright, but he wasn’t as hostile as he could’ve been,” Lloyd said.

Bishop considered. “Age could do that, but so could twenty years of living with a guilty conscience.”

“I wouldn’t say the good doctor has an overdeveloped conscience,” Lloyd said.

“I’d concur. Did you learn anything new?”

Lloyd leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together loosely and met Bishop’s gaze.

“I don’t think he did it.”

“That’s ridiculous. I know my prosecution didn’t have the strongest evidence, but I stand by that verdict.”

“There are significant inconsistencies in the case.”

“Nguyen’s history, and his obvious motive, were evidence enough.”

“He had a motive for Julia’s murder. But there’s no solid connection between him and the missing women. In the best cases all there was is circumstantial evidence and in the worst cases, it’s pure conjecture.”

Bishop waved his hand as if wiping away the claim.

“He had opportunities and he’s the only person directly connected to all the victims. When his girlfriend turned up dead, we knew. But the real nail in his coffin is that when he was prosecuted, the disappearances stopped.”

“Roth sent us the files on the other suspects. I’d hardly call those ‘investigations’ thorough,” Lloyd said.

“When your list of suspects is the whole town, it’s hard to be thorough,” Bishop fired back.

“Fine. But this is an instance where the simplest explanation was molded to fit the public’s theory and calm the community.”

“Don’t chase zebras, Lloyd. You spoke with the man, you’re an astute judge of character. It takes all of five minutes to know what he is.”

“Emotionally unstable. Intelligent. Manipulative enough to identify emotions but cold enough not to feel them. His sense of empathy is strictly cognitive - he can understand why people have emotions, but I suspect he doesn’t feel much more than pleasure, excitement, anger, frustration, and disgust. He’s pretty high up on the spectrum of psychopaths. But he’s not excited by violence.”

“How could you tell?”

“His reactions. He feels, or at least pretends to feel, a sense of shame for how he treated Julia. The investigation scares him. But what really made him react was hearing about the second body. He knows more than he’s saying. It’s probably why he didn’t fight the charges harder. He knew he was safer in prison.”

“Who’s your suspect?” Bishop asked.

Lloyd snorted. “Everyone in town, unfortunately.”

“The media has dragged this story through the mud, and back again, several times. They’d whipped the locals into a lather long before Dr. Nguyen’s name entered the investigation, and they’re fixing to do it again.”

“I expect it will be a challenge, but that’s why you brought me in. Roth provided the original case files. The kindest way I can phrase my opinion is to say that their investigation never really got both oars in the water.”

Bishop’s hand covered the joint of the ankle that rested on his left knee. He tilted his head back in what most people would have taken for arrogance, but knowing him, you pegged it as discomfort.

“The state police took one look at Julia’s case and immediately decided it fit the pattern of the disappearances. Nguyen wasn’t just a convenient suspect, he was their only suspect. Extrapolating from a solitary murder, one that occurred within the setting of a domestic violence situation, to a broader accusation doesn’t track.”

“What tracks is that after he went to prison, the disappearances stopped.”

“Nguyen is an emotionally unstable, deeply insecure, coward of a man with an unquenchable need for control. Beating on his woman gave it to him. Why seek other outlets for his anger, when he had a perfectly good punching bag waiting at home?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist. Why he committed his crimes isn’t my concern. My concern was that women stopped disappearing in Harmony once they locked him up.”

“Why were Julia’s remains so easily found? If Nguyen had the means to dispose of numerous other victims before her without leaving a trace, why wasn’t he as careful getting rid of his own girlfriend?” Lloyd asked.

“Dumb luck. Son of Sam was caught because of a parking ticket. Israel Keyes used a credit card from one of his victims. Anyone can get sloppy - even serial killers. When they do, it’s a lucky day for the justice system.”

“Murdering your girlfriend is one type of crazy. Serial killing is another. It’s no stretch to imagine Nguyen in the first category, but the second? He doesn’t have the patience, the emotional control, or the guts.”

“He had connections with all the missing women,” Bishop said.

“Shocking, isn’t it? Given that Harmony’s such a bustling metropolis, and considering Nguyen was a local doctor who treated hundreds of patients a year. Most of those so-called ‘connections’ were pretty thin.”

“Well, along with being connected to all the victims, he lied to investigators and showed guilty knowledge about the circumstances of Julia’s death. He also had a documented history of violence against women and no alibi.”

“He showed guilty knowledge of Julia’s death. That’s one point we can wholeheartedly agree on. The problem is that they distorted his domestic violence into a generalized violence towards women. When the two separate concepts are blended into one, it’s easy to jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction,” Bishop said.

“Nguyen had a personal attachment to Julia, and he was violent toward her. However, I suspect anyone who got too close with him would be at risk. Dominating someone else, taking away their control, that’s how he relieves anxiety. It’s a feedback loop, one that only works when there’s an emotional bond between him and the victim.”

“That’s interesting. But the fact stands: locking Nguyen away precipitated the end of the abductions in Harmony. Twenty years have gone by without another case.”

“Coincidence.”

Bishop bristled at Lloyd’s dismissive tone. “No more victims equals no more offender.”

“That’s a non sequitur. No more kidnappings equals no more kidnappings; drawing any other conclusion is bending the facts to fit a theory.”

“I disagree, but common sense isn’t a flower that grows in everyone’s garden.”

Lloyd snickered. Just like that, the thick layer of tension hanging over the room evaporated.

“You asked my opinion, and went to a lot of trouble arranging the interview, because you knew I wouldn’t be anything less than candid.”

“You’re a blunt instrument, Hansen,” Bishop sighed.

“Always have been, always will be.”

“I considered sending Zach to interview Nguyen. The trouble is, my objectivity in this case took a hike long ago and whoever went to Singapore…”

He trailed off, cheeks flushing with embarrassed color.

“Whoever went to Singapore had to come back and pull the thorn out of the lion’s paw,” Lloyd said, filling in the rest of the thought.

“I needed an unfiltered perspective on Nguyen from someone I trusted. You’re the only person I respect who’d be irreverent enough to speak your mind, regardless of it pissing me off.”

“Irreverence is a speciality of mine.”

Bishop laughed, then sighed. “It’s difficult to re-investigate a cold case under the best circumstances. When the media learns there are new victims, and where they were found, they’ll descend like a plague of locusts.”

“No doubt,” Lloyd agreed.

“When I met with Roth, he mentioned reporters had already come sniffing around. Nguyen probably contacted them himself.”

“I can handle the media,” Lloyd said.

“Uh-huh.” Bishop glanced at you.

“I’ll keep him away from reporters,” you promised.

“Just try your best. Even reformed, he’s damn near ungovernable.”

“They ask me stupid questions, I’ll give them stupid answers,” Lloyd said.

“No, you won’t. If they call, you forward it to me. If you’re approached in person, the only acceptable answer- even to stupid questions - is ‘no comment.’ Under no circumstances will you say anything else.”

“She loves to cramp my style,” Lloyd said to Bishop.

“I know… my peace of mind often relies on it.”

A tap sounded on the door frame, and three sets of eyes swung to the noise.

“Visitors for you, Mr. Hansen.”

The receptionist stepped aside, revealing a uniformed police officer. Beside him was a man you’d have guessed was his partner, if he’d worn the same navy blue. Instead of a uniform the second guest was dressed in slacks and a blazer. The jacket was the most hideous shade of burnt orange you’d ever seen. It should be a crime to dye perfectly good fabric such an ugly color.

“I’m here to see Mr. Hansen,” the officer said.

“That would be me.”

“May we come in?”

Bishop moved to the couch, directing the newcomers to the matching armchairs on the far side of the conversation area. You slid to the middle seat and let him take the end.

There was a grimness in the officer’s features that suggested this wasn’t a casual visit, or a pleasant one. Bishop frowned, apparently picking up the same vibe. Lloyd, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the apprehension the guests carried into the room.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m Officer Audley, of the D.C. Metro Police. This,” he gestured to the man in the hideous jacket, “is Morgan Lopez, our community coordinator.”

Audley paused and scanned Lloyd’s face.

“I have some bad news, Mr. Hansen. Your father was admitted to the hospital in Ketchum, Idaho last week. He had chronic liver disease, which was complicated by a bout of influenza. I’m sorry to tell you he died earlier this morning.”

The statement hung in the air, wiping everything away with its finality. Lloyd’s father was dead. Your heart twisted unpleasantly. Your father was your rock, the steadiest, most reliable man you knew. In Lloyd’s position, you’d be devastated.

“Alright. Thanks for stopping by.”

Officer Audley blinked, and Mr. Lopez’s eyebrows lifted. Even knowing Lloyd like you did, his reaction was unsettling. He noted their response and gave a tight smile.

“Look, there isn’t much to say. My father and I haven’t spoken in almost 25 years.”

Audley’s expression shifted, recovering its professional mask. “I understand. The Blaine County Sheriff asked us to pass on some information.”

He waited for Lloyd to nod, then flipped open a small notebook.

“According to the sheriff, your father had downsized his cattle ranching operation but the… uh…” Audley squinted to read his writing. “Brand inspector?”

“That’s right. I take it there are cattle to be dealt with?”

“367 of them according to the Brand Inspector’s records. They’ve contacted the feed store and some local cowboys will take care of things for a couple days.”

Audley’s tone was tinged with disbelief as if he found discussing the day-to-day operations of a cattle ranch utterly bizarre.

“Was anyone available?” Lloyd asked.

“Just for the next two days. Sheriff Holbrook said he’d put out some feelers to see if anyone was available for temporary hire, but all the cowboys are employed, or busy rodeoing.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Lloyd said. He looked at Bishop.

“Go. Take care of your family matters.”

“The case-”

“Zach will take the lead and Princess can keep you in the loop. If you’d like to be in the loop, that is.”

“I do. I want regular updates.”

“Then it’s settled. Don’t spare a thought for the investigation, just take care of what you need to. Your team can handle things.”

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

You closed the door behind Officer Audley with a quiet sigh of relief.

Lloyd’s complete lack of reaction made enduring the rest of their visit hard. It was difficult not to comfort him. It was even harder to sit there quietly, aware of his pain bubbling up, as the shock wore off. Bishop had charmed the visitors and skillfully ended the visit by escorting them to the elevators. You felt like an eon had passed before he’d led them away.

Lloyd stood by the desk, his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the items lining the edge. You stood with your back to the door and braced for the crash of him shoving everything off the desk. Even with therapy his strongest displays of emotion leaned toward volcanic.

A minute passed and the crash didn’t come.

“Lloyd?”

You stepped closer and when he didn’t react, approached him. Making sure he saw it coming, you touched his shoulder.

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a father.”

You stroked his arm, observing the quick rise and fall of his chest. The increase in respirations was the only visible sign of distress.

“I didn’t come up with that,” Lloyd said.

His tone was remote, as he stared sightlessly at his desk. The vacant expression called to mind the pictures of shell-shocked soldiers from the First World War. After seeing them in your third-grade history textbook, those photos had given you nightmares for months.

“Some dead Pope came up with that saying. My father, he grew up Catholic… he repeated that phrase. Repeated it a lot. When I was a kid I thought it was nonsensical. Then one day the meaning of it hit me, and I realized he knew exactly what a shitty excuse of a father he was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His voice prickled with defensiveness, the kind that always reared up after he revealed something painful about his past. You usually eased away when he signaled discomfort, because comfort was something he despised, especially when he was the one who needed it. Today you couldn’t offer him that space. Your arms went around him and you slid between his body and the desk, cuddling into his broad chest.

Lloyd’s arms banded around your waist, loosely at first. Then they tightened into a fierce hug.

“I got a call last night. His nurse asked about end-of-life care and I told her it was fine by me if they unplugged him. But he’d already put his last wishes on file. No life saving measures. He stole the only chance I could’ve had to legally kill him. That pisses me off.”

His voice was gravelly with a hurt that ran deeper than anger ever could. You could feel the sorrow welling up in him. After a minute he lifted you to sit on the desk and buried his face in your neck. You spread your legs as far as your tight skirt allowed, drawing him close.

“I thought I’d feel relieved.”

You combed your fingers through his hair, listening to his ragged breathing. After a while, you felt dampness on your shoulder. It didn’t surprise you that his tears came, or that they fell silently.

“How do you feel?”

“Angry. Cheated. Full of regret. Confused. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be confused about. The bastard finally drank himself to death, and the world is a better place.”

But he was still your father.

You didn’t say it, because it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t comfort him or lighten the weight of his grief. The fact was, nothing could break that primal tie between a child and a parent. That was the cruel nature of heritage - it endured, no matter how hard a person tried to break away.

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

Trying to be subtle, you glanced up and down the hall. When you were sure you were alone, you ducked into the stairwell for a secret meeting on the fifth floor landing.

Jake was already there, with Landon McAnanny.

“Have you talked to Lloyd?” Jake asked.

“I couldn’t, something came up.”

“What the hell came up?!”

“His father died!”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Lloyd’s father is alive?”

“He was until this morning.”

“Uh… he’s never mentioned his father before.”

“He’s going to Idaho to settle his affairs.”

“He’s leaving today?” Landon asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s not good.”

You cringed at the concern in his eyes. Seeing his reaction fanned the anxiety you’d been fighting back for days.

“I’ll tell him as soon as he gets back.”

Landon eased a half step closer. “Look, reaching out to Aiden’s father was a good start, but he can’t control his son for long. The anger is escalating and there’s a subtext of entitlement in the latest messages. It stinks of trouble.”

Jake nodded emphatically as Landon continued.

“You’ve already documented everything. It’s more than enough to file a complaint.”

You were shaking your head before Landon finished.

“They can’t do anything. Aiden’s texts are anonymous and he’s been careful not to be spotted.”

Landon’s right eye twitched. “I know. But reporting your suspicions-”

“Will be little more than an exercise in humiliation.”

The men exchanged a sidelong glance. You sighed, knowing they probably didn’t share your distrust of the police, especially not in a matter like this.

“Look, cops are notoriously bad at handling stalkers. A lot of it comes down to the fact that anti-stalking laws have to be balanced against the bill of rights. Using other avenues to resolve this is a much better option.”

“Mr. LeDoux is a cop, and he said he would help with that,” Jake pointed out.

You sighed. Having Mr. LeDoux’s support behind your complaint would count for a lot in a town like D.C.

“With the amount of evidence you have, they’d be completely negligent to ignore you,” Landon said.

Someone coughed. You looked up and froze at the sight of Bishop on the sixth floor landing.

“I apologize for eavesdropping, but if I can interject…”

“Please do,” Jake invited.

Bishop came down the steps and joined you on the lower level.

“From what I gathered, your ex is making a problem of himself, Lloyd doesn’t know, and the situation is escalating.”

“Yeah.”

“How bad are the messages?” Bishop asked Landon.

“Bad. He’s gone from annoying and sadistic to action-oriented threats. The past three days he’s been sending pictures of her building like he’s staking it out.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“It started when I was in Singapore. I contacted his father already, and he holds the purse strings, which should help, but so far…”

Bishop nodded. “Uh-huh. Legally speaking, it would be beneficial to start a record with the police sooner, rather than later.”

“I’m coming around to that… slowly. I’m going to tell Lloyd, just not right now. I can’t add to his stress.”

“You’re working in the field with Zach this week,” Bishop said. “Stick close to him. Outside of work, you’re going to be house-sitting for Lloyd while he’s out of town, correct?”

“Yeah.”

The thought of Lloyd’s security system brightened your mood. Your top priority was not returning to your apartment for the foreseeable future. Not when Aiden might be sulking around.

“What about telling Zach?” Jake asked.

“How do you think Lloyd would feel if I told Zach before him?”

“You told me, and I told Landon. What’s the difference?”

“It’s different. Zach is his best friend.”

Bishop frowned. “Under the circumstances, I think he’d understand.”

“Can she work from our offices?” Landon asked. “The rent-a-cops down in the lobby aren’t much more than window dressing.”

“You can work from home, Zach’s offices, even the State Police building if Detective Roth allows it. Until Lloyd can be here with you, our building has too much foot traffic for safety,” Bishop said.

“Weston might not be thrilled with that.”

Bishop sighed at the mention of your supervisor. “He’s still annoying you about time cards?”

“He called me in Singapore to inform me that my card from last week is wrong.”

“You’ve never had an issue before, so I’m sure it’s nothing. Have Jen approve your card and tell Weston it’s resolved.”

“Thanks.”

Bishop opened his phone and typed out a message. Your phone chimed, and you saw he’d shared a contact card.

“That’s the information of a detective I’m acquainted with on the Robbery-Homicide squad at Metro. He’s in the second district office. Just in case you feel the need to speak with someone, keep his number handy. You’re going over to Fairfax with Zach, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll text Lloyd and stop by to pick up the keys, learn the alarm system.”

“Stick close to Zach. Between Lloyd’s security system and him, you should be okay for a few days.”

“And file a police report. Tonight,” Landon said.

You scanned the serious faces of the three men and gave in.

“Okay. I will. Tonight.”

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

You arrived at Lloyd’s finding his luggage packed and sitting by the front door. From the back of the house, a door slammed, and you followed the sound to the kitchen where Lloyd was re-lining the trash can.

“Hey.”

“I just finished cleaning out the fridge. You might need to pick up some groceries. There’s $300 cash in the cookie jar, don’t waste your own money.”

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re already doing it.”

You hugged him and he propped his chin on top of your head as he returned the embrace.

“We hadn’t spoken in decades, so I don’t know why this feels different. But it does. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s okay to be confused. And you don’t owe me any explanations,” you said, rubbing his back.

“I can’t understand how I can hate him so much and still feel grief.”

“Feelings aren’t required to make sense. They get to be complicated, and if you don’t want to unravel them right now, that’s okay. Just don’t feel like you’re alone. Whenever you need to talk, or just be with someone, I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’ll be staying here while I’m gone.”

So were you, but for entirely different reasons.

“Call me when you land, okay?”

“I will. Text me about the meeting. Even if it won’t get through until I’ve landed, I want an update.”

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

At the state police headquarters in Fairfax, you met Zach in the parking lot.

He peppered you with questions about Lloyd’s reaction to his father’s death. You realized he knew far more about their relationship than you did and traded bits of information for the scant details he could offer about the late Mr. Hansen.

A young female officer escorted you to a conference room, where Detective Roth was waiting. Having spoken with him on the phone, you’d formed an image of how he looked, which was completely wrong. He wasn’t in his mid-thirties with sandy brown hair as you’d expected.

Instead of hair, he had a shaved head. At first glance his eyebrows appeared blond but when the sunlight caught them, you saw he was actually a redhead. Most surprising was that he wore rimless glasses, the kind Steve Jobs was famous for, though his were more oval than round. When he stood, he towered over you. Even Zach, who wasn’t short by any means, had to look up at him.

“Good afternoon,” Roth greeted.

There was a hint of a Georgia drawl in his vowels and his eyes were arctic blue. The icy gaze carefully examined both his visitors before he invited you to sit.

He opened the meeting with the usual pleasantries and you noted his manners matched the Southern drawl. His relaxed posture didn’t hide the cunning intelligence in his pale eyes and within a minute you recognized that he was every bit as dangerous as Lloyd or Zach. Questions flowed naturally into the conversation, like slippery eels, and his nonchalant mannerisms disguised the intense scrutiny behind them. Roth took his time, thoroughly analyzing you and Zach, before he addressed the elephant in the room.

“Given Bishop’s history with this case, I’m not comfortable with his people involving themselves in my investigation.”

“We’re here to help, nothing more,” Zach said.

He’d been trying to connect with Roth, using the good old boy affability he wore like a veneer when he was trying to be personable. It wasn’t working, not even a little.

“Help,” Roth repeated.

His tone was bland, despite the twinge of annoyance you caught around his eyes. He pinned Zach with a hard look.

“You’re here to help, alright. And to keep your boss informed. He’s already been down and given me his version of the charm offensive. To be honest, Mr. Hightower, I liked his style more than yours. But I didn’t answer his questions and I’m hesitant to share anything further, knowing he’d like to influence my work.”

Zach smirked. “I don’t work for Bishop.”

“Employee or not, he pays you. That’s working for him in my book.”

You jumped in before Zach could dig a deeper hole.

“Detective, we understand your concerns. Trust won’t grow overnight, but we’re here. What can we do that would be most helpful to assist your work?”

“I have a nightmarish list of records to locate, if they even exist, and organize. That’s priority number one.”

“I had a thought about that the other day,” you said.

“Creating a database of publicly available records from that time would streamline the research process significantly. With some help from the Harmony library and the courthouse, I can get started. Once we’ve logged our own copies of everything, it will save a lot of time cross-referencing later.”

“That could be useful.”

Zach cleared his throat. "Speaking of useful, can we get access to the recent labs?”

“No. But if you file a request with the front desk, they’ll get back to you.”

“File a request? Are you kidding me?”

“Does the look on my face suggest that I’m joking?”

You had to smother your laughter. Roth’s face didn’t suggest anything. He might be the most closed-book person you’d ever met. You especially appreciated the way he pushed Zach’s buttons.

“Have you had any media attention on the case lately?” you asked.

“Fortunately, no. But my luck won’t hold for long. Any help managing that shit storm would be much appreciated.”

“I’ll leave you my card.”

“And I guess I’ll go file my request with the front desk,” Zach said.

The tiniest smile curved Roth’s thin lips. He waited until Zach began to unfurl himself from the chair, then reached for a folder.

“Here’s the DNA results.”

He turned it over, so the print side was down, and slid it across the table. Zach picked it up and held it so you could both read. Your eyes scanned the page quickly. As you took in the meaning, you bent forward to check that you’d read it correctly.

“They’re sure this is accurate?” Zach asked.

“Yeah. We were surprised, too. Not by the first result, but the third comparison they did was a heck of a plot twist.”

You studied the results. “The first test established that the woman in the recently discovered slab is the mother of the child found with her. But what about the DNA sample labeled X? Who is that from?”

“A relative. We do that a lot in cases like this, trying to identify a family tree. DNA from mother and daughter matched with a known sample in CODIS.”

“50% match with the mother and a 25% match with the daughter. You found a grandparent?” Zach asked.

“We identified a full-blooded sister of the mother,” Roth said.

“Who is sample X from?” you asked.

“Julia Xiarong.”

“Holy shit,” Zach murmured, staring at the report.

“That wasn’t the strangest part. Now, I’ve confirmed this next piece of information five different ways, trying to wrap my head around it. By all records, and from interviews with people in China who knew Julia as a child… Everyone confirms the same thing. She didn’t have a sister.”

You struggled to absorb the revelation. Roth pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they’d rested. A disbelieving smile twisted his thin mouth.

“There’s no record of Julia Xiarong ever having a sister.”

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

Next - Part XIII

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

Masterlist

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me @patzammit

@badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess @amiets2 @seitmai

@elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-medstudent-help @terry2227

@jesevans @mjey12 @openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar

@ultrasilentwhispers @awkwardgiraffe726

@pono-pura-vida @mysweetlittledesire

@maylaysia109 @liecastillo

@unluckyevans @marantha @literaturelove

@babyevansblog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

@thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03

@cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @roseeatta

@pensieve-foryour-thoughts

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@bambamwolf87 @michalkasimp

@namelessav @yiiiikesmish

@lavenderx0 @calwitch

Masterlist

Taglist:

[randomvarious]

1990s Trip Hop Playlist

Been six months since I added anything to this fly-as-fuck playlist, and this week I've got a bunch of heady, spaced-out, and super stoned treats for you all. For this update, I ended up drawing from three separate releases: Ninja Cuts: Flexistentialism, a terrific comp from 1996 that was put out by premier UK trip hop, hip hop, downtempo, and future jazz label Ninja Tune; French native Kid Loco's brilliant DJ-Kicks mix from 1999 that was put out by Germany's !K7 label; and a varied South African comp that was put out by national indie label Fresh Records in 1998 called ReRooted: Beatz From da Ground Up.

So let's highlight some sweet goodies from all of these then. First up, "Junkies Bad Trip" by London Funk Allstars, a quintessential piece of head-nodding mid-90s boom bap dope that sounds like it's waiting for your favorite New York rapper's favorite New York rapper to spit some crazy fire over it. When it comes to instrumental trip hop and hip hop-type shit, there's really nothing in my mind that tops something like this tune right here; a big sonic bluntski with two pretty iconic samples in it: one from Baby Huey's "Hard Times," which gives the song its frenzied, metallic, whistling stabs, and has been used in a whole bunch of other rap tunes too; and a funky guitar riff from James Brown's "Blind Men Can See It," which was also famously used in Das EFX's 1992 classic, "They Want EFX" as well. Currently at around 252K plays on Spotify.

Next, something really cool from that ReRooted comp by a band from Cape Town called Naked, who only ever put out one album, 1998's Bone Needs Flesh. Here they offer up a tune called "Wash Your Hands (Stone Cold remix)," which employs this really unique blend of chopped-up vocals, heavy breathing, and sharp, acidic bass stabs, as a couple different effects are applied to frontwoman Kaolin Thompson's voice. This one seems pretty damn obscure, as it's currently sitting at under 1,000 plays on Spotify. It's terrific, though.

And for some pure fuckin' THC-induced nuttery, there's "Attitude Adjuster" by Essex, England's own Tom Tyler. Appearing on Kid Loco's DJ-Kicks mix, this 1999 leftfield stunner's marked by a very imposing, dissonantly wobbly, and bleating horn sound, with a dubbed-out drumbeat beneath it, and all of it anchored by a super chill and steady synth pad to mellow and balance the whole thing out. A simply bananas piece of music that was made to satiate your crusty-eyed inner insomniac at 3:46 in the morning. Currently at a little over 4,000 Spotify plays.

9 Lazy 9 - "Turn Me Loose" Jazz Con Bazz - "Wayz of Life" Luke Vibert - "Get Your Head Down" Up, Bustle & Out - "Ninja's Principality" London Funk Allstars - "Junkies Bad Trip" DJ Vadim - "Theme From Conquest of the Irrational (Remix by The Prunes)" Pelding - "One" Naked - "Wash Your Hands (Stone Cold remix)" Boards of Canada - "Happy Cycling" Tom Tyler - "Attitude Adjuster" Kid Loco - "Flyin' on 747"

Now, something else I should mention is that the YouTube version of this playlist includes all of these songs too, but a bunch of the versions that are specifically from Kid Loco's DJ-KIcks mix are as they appear on the mix itself, which is a little different from how they sound unmixed on Spotify, except for the set's sweet and serene closer, "Flyin' on 747."

But in addition to that, this YouTube update also comes with some songs from that DJ-Kicks mix that aren't on Spotify at all too, like something from a London collective called Common Ground, whose 1998 song, "Dark Soul," has some piano-and-string bits that might remind you a little of something like the theme song from Succession—a show that came 20 years after this very song dropped—but this tune, like so many others in this update, is also very fucking stoned; it has this Mike Oldfield Tubular Bells-like opening, some plonking xylo, and some slow and incremental, scale-climbing vocals to mark its 'chorus' too. An absolute, unheralded banger as far as I'm concerned, and currently only nearing 1,900 plays on YouTube across a couple different uploads.

Emperors New Clothes - "Dark Light (Underdog Mix)" Grantby - "Grimble" Tongue - "Culture Consumers" Common Ground - "Dark Soul" Stereotyp - "Slo Jo"

And this playlist is also on YouTube Music.

So with this update we're now at 46 songs that clock in at 4 hours and 5 minutes on Spotify, but over on YouTube, we've got 76 songs that clock in at 7 hours and 2 minutes! So if you want more dank 90s trip hop than you know what to do with, then do yourself a favor and pick the YouTube one.

And if 7 hours and change or 4 hours and change sounds like way too overwhelming of an amount of trip hop for you to handle, I've got a bunch of this broken down by year too:

1994 Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music 1996 Trip Hop: Spotify / YouTube / YouTube Music 1997 Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music 1998 Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music 1999 Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music

More trip hop next week, but from a certain locality 😎.

Enjoy!

More to come, eventually. Stay tuned!

Like what you hear? Follow me on Spotify and YouTube for more cool playlists and uploads!

[heckcareoxytwit]

A small team of mutants consisting of Prodigy, Frenzy, Jubilee, Dazzler and Cannonball, had been somewhat resurrected for a dangerous mission as they jump through the bad future realities created by the Moira Engine. With all that complicated mess of Moira's mutant power and her lives, Sinister's Moira clones, and the ascension of Essex/Enigma coming into fruition. The new team are the last-ditch effort to stop the Dominion from ever forming in the first place, Xavier and Rachel had enlisted the help of the newly elected X-Men members who were recently killed at the Hellfire Gala. The fate of mutantkind rests in their hands.

The team landed into the reality where it was desolate with scorched land and it was ruled by evil demonized Magik. After retreating from the evil Magik AU, the newly-revived team return to Atlantic Krakoa, the place where it is held in White Hot Room dimension. They are given a mission briefing by Rachel Summers (now residing in the No-Place-X of Atlantic Krakoa) through the burning bush. Cannonball and the X-Men jump through another reality and they landed in yet another desolate land and this time, the air is too thin and difficult to breathe. Fortunately, they are saved by AU Blink who teleports them to the space station where they meet the remaining mutants. The remaining mutants in space consisting of Abigail Brand, Blink, Random, Armor and Rootfire the fusion of Redroot and Sunfire. Prodigy gains new form of knowledge in a rather painful way as he reads Abigail's mind and explains to his team about how the bad future happened. This space bad future AU happened when Abigail Brand wasn't stopped by Cable, Wiz Kid, Sunspot and Mentallo. Since no one stopped her, Abigail was double-crossed by her ally, Orbis Stellaris who had destroyed both Earth and Arakko before anyone could detect him. Thus, Abigail had to form her new team of mutants in space.

Sheesh...This is so complicated with all those bad futures and reality-hopping.

Dead X-Men #1, 2024

[beeslibrarycorner]

Feeling alive

Billy butcherson x reader

Word count: 646

Warnings: NONE, ITS HURT AND COMFORT.

Plot: A stranger helps you when you're feeling down.

Billy froze when he heard the sounds of someone sniffling, when he looked up to where the noise was coming from he saw you. You had stopped him dead in his tracks when he saw your rosy cheeks and quivering lip. He felt his dead unbeating heart start to break at the sight of your sadness, you just looked so distraught.

You were hugging yourself as you walked in his direction and as you got closer he could see the tears in your eyes ready to fall. He hated the way you shook from the brisk evening air, you looked so delicate.

What was the reason for your sadness? Who hurt you so bad that you were walking home in the October chill alone, he had to know. When you got close enough to him he stopped you in your tracks by putting his hands on your shoulders, halting you on your journey. If it were truly possible by the magic of the Sanderson sisters he felt his heart break just a bit more at the sight of your big watery eyes looking up at him.

As he got a good look at you up close he saw your mascara had started to congele under your lower eyelids and the tears started to flow down your cheeks. “Are you ok?” Billy asked, unsure if that was ok to say, he didn't want to scare you. “I had to stop you to make sure you were ok.” he continued as he watched the wheels turn behind your eyes.

You let out a forced laugh and sniffled, “Yeah I'm ok, my group of friends ditched me while I was talking to one of the shopkeepers on Essex street and they keep declining my calls. I'm just bummed because it's going to take me a good 20 minutes to go home.” He frowned back in his time when he was living, everyone in his community made sure everyone got home safe when the sun had set for the day.

“Will you be ok to walk home?” He asked. Allowing the old habit to slip, making sure you would get home safe. It felt good, it reminded him of a time when he was alive. You smiled up at him. “I think i'm good thank you for asking” Billy felt relieved that he can change your sullen mood allowing himself to smile too. 

“I like your costume” you mused unaware of the very real zombie before you. But you couldn't have known, there was a costume party at someone's house everyday in october. He smiled playing along for your sake, “Thank you, It took me ages to do the makeup”. He swore he felt his heart melt at the giggle that slipped from you.

Billy cupped your cheeks and wiped the tears away with his thumb. “Your makeup is running under your eye.” he murmured, happy that you look a little less sad.  He couldn't help but let his hands linger on your skin, you were just so warm. It was a warmth that he hasn't felt in forever. 

“Thank you” you murmured and Billy stopped touching your face. After you calmed down, you allowed yourself to breathe and collect yourself. Billy watched patiently, “I think I'm going to get something to warm me up before I keep walking back to my house.” You said, your eyes lighting up. It was a refreshing sight to see, Billy thought.

He chuckled, allowing himself to lean against the brick wall to his left, “The October chill is brutal after the sun sets, I don't blame you” he replied. After you composed yourself enough to keep going you thanked him and he told you it was no problem. Billy watched you walk away, you looked way more positive. Now he could get back to looking for that wench, Winifred Sanderson and her sisters.

[dustedmagazine]

John Butcher & Eddie Prévost — Unearthed (Matchless)

Within improvised music, there are certain recordings that initiate timelines. One of them is John Coltrane’s Interstellar Space, which established the drums and saxophone duo as a creative situation worth exploring and documenting. The album’s name articulated the format’s appeal — maximum freedom. It provided a creative space within which the participants, freed of harmonic boundaries, were limited only by their techniques and imaginations.

Drummer / percussionist Eddie Prévost (born 1942) and soprano / tenor saxophonist John Butcher (born 1954) are members of different generations. A founding member of AMM, Prévost is part of English free improvisation’s first wave. Butcher came on the scene in the 1980s and first played with Prévost in the 1990s. They’ve had differing relationships to the format under consideration. While AMM functioned for several years as a drums / sax duo in the 1970s, Butcher steered mostly clear of drummers, as well as anything else that might push him towards a jazz-oriented way of playing, as he established his singular vocabulary of carefuly inflected, constantly non-obvious extensions of what one expects from a saxophone foror much of the 1980s and 1990s. However, they’ve developed an enduring partnership that spans several contexts, including the duo. Unearthed is their third such recording.

Unearthed is partly a creation of circumstance. The duo’s previous recordings were made in the greater London area, where Butcher lives and Prévost has often worked, and the latter employed a pared-down percussion set-up. But since it’s a bit harder for Prévost to get around these days, this recording took place in All Hallow’s Church in High Laver, Essex. The building was originally erected over 800 years ago, at which time repurposed Roman tiles and bricks were among the building materials. In addition to antiquity, it is distinguished by its active acoustic qualities. The bounce-back from old stone is not a problem for Butcher, who actively seeks to play in crypts, caverns, cisterns, and other lively acoustic situations,  but an opportunity. He’s a master at incorporating the influences of echoes and absorbent surfaces into his improvisations. But while the space could easily turn an extroverted drummer’s playing into an undistinguished blare, a jazz drumkit is the instrument that Prévost has chosen to play. One of his accomplishments on this set is his deft management of the density of his playing and the clarity with which he’s been recorded. His drumming doesn’t blare, it sings, and the recording conveys both his playing and what the space does to it quite clearly.              

Interstellar Space unveiled potentialities, stripping away limits to permit absolute freedom. But the human condition dictates that even if one can glimpse artistic liberty, absolute freedom is beyond anyone’s grasp. After all, Coltrane died just five months he and Rashied Ali played the session. And barriers aren’t all bad; they give a body something to push against. Prévost inhabits with the boundaries of time in several ways. He not only plays the drums with all the awareness of space, presence, and meter-transcending shape that he’s brought to AMM and so many other musical encounters; he plays them like a jazz drummer, drawing upon the brush technique, cymbal accents, metric subdivisions and syncopated pulses that a young fellow who came up playing bebop and skiffle in the 1950s learned by heart. One might say that he’s surveying his own timeline as a drummer, from back to front. There’s a moment in “Digging,” the second of the album’s long tracks, where he finishes an unaccompanied passage with a flourish that Gene Krupa would recognize as a solo-ending signal. Butcher responds with a lightly feathered, circular breathing-elongated gargle. Earlier in the same piece, he inserts echoing pops into Prévost’s spare perambulations about the snare and tom, focusing the kit’s output. The act is simultaneously contrary and completing, a reminder that one of the limits that this format shatters is the limit of one musician’s imagination. 

Bill Meyer

[masterwords]

I am a sucker for stories about characters getting together, mutual pining/ idiots to lovers are the best!

I would love a good story like that with Hotchgan unfortunately there aren't many out there like that.

So strange that Hotchgan get so little notes on AO3 and so much love on tumblr

Hey! I love those types of stories too! I'm going to fully admit right now that I'm not good at writing pining, especially with these two...but I tried. And it got long. The problem is that I'm not sure Hotch really allows himself to pine, and Morgan just kind of...goes for it. So I had to put them in a situation, and it gets kind of ugly but it ends with kisses so HANG IN THERE while you read okay? As far as getting together stories...I do have a number of them, I can definitely link them directly for you if you haven't read them. I've written hundreds of thousands of words about these idiots. (Ignore that if you have.)

Thank you for sending me this request! I'm not home a lot to write lately because I have a passel of kiddos and they're always in sports which means a LOT of traveling, but I had a lot of fun (and agonized a lot over it, not gonna lie) writing this and I just hope you like it!

.........................................................................................................................

Quid Pro Quo

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: divorce, anxiety, carsickness/gagging, Vincent Perotta, implied talk about abuse and other bad Hotch childhood things (brief)

Words: 5.6k

**

In an '82 Dodge Diplomat, they rolled down the deserted highway, dirt kissing the fresh white paint job. Police issue, from the back lot, Derek's favorite place to choose from. Of course they could have had something newer, nicer, preferably an SUV according to Hotch...but this reminded Derek of his dad. No longer silver streaked with bright blue, no longer screaming POLICE, it still had that smell. Some kind of sharp vinyl smell that permeated everything, new car smell but somehow dusty and old at the same time.

“All the cars on the lot,” Hotch muttered, playing around with the loose heat controls. He was freezing. The smell of burning dust was all that wanted to come out of the heating vents. “And you choose this one?”

“Give her a second,” was Derek's reply, his hands running along the smoothed out plastic and metal of the steering wheel. Cars now were so bulky, this one was sleek. “Specs said everything is in perfect condition. She's an old girl, probably needs some time. Tell me you wake up spry and ready to rock firs thing in the morning...”

Hotch grumbled under his breath about how rude that was, but he couldn't deny it. He wasn't getting any younger, and neither was this car. But, it wasn't a lie. Ten minutes later and that heater was about hot enough to melt through the dash, and Hotch had his hands greedily held as close to the vents as he could get. Long before heated seats, this was the best he could do.

“Did your dad drive one of these?” That had to be it, the reason Derek would choose this car out of everything else on the lot. Tons of them, kept in tip top condition, for the times when airline tickets weren't in the cards. They weren't going far enough, they were told, to warrant the cost of an airline ticket plus a rental car, and they certainly weren't going to use the jet for just the two of them. It was only about 330 miles, give or take, to the Ohio State Penitentiary and it was simply not worth the trouble of flying. Still, 300 miles sounded a lot nicer with a newer rig, heated seats, better sound insulation.

Especially when Aaron thought about who they were going to see. Vince Perotta had just been moved from Essex in New Jersey to Ohio State, his lawyers worked out a sweet deal for him. He bounced around every year or so, and as soon as he was settled they came calling on Hotch for a visit. Promising more names, more locations, anything to get him to agree to a face to face. Normally he went on his own, the team didn't even know he did it. Just take a few days, tell everyone it was personal time, and hit the road.

He'd been planning to do the same this time, too, until Haley had him served. Until he held those divorce papers in his hand and felt his entire world burn to ashes. She'd warned him, told him she was going to do it, she wasn't playing...but it didn't feel real until he held them. And now he'd lost whatever confidence he had in going to see a man who took pleasure in picking apart his carcass slow and methodical. That's all these visits really were. Perotta would give, but he would also take. It was the taking that required the extra day of personal time. But he didn't think that would cut it this time, so he asked Derek to come along.

Derek who had a million questions that he knew better than to ask. He just smiled and nodded, loving the car and the simplicity of it. There was something sweetly nostalgic about it, and Aaron could almost feel his sentimentality for this old beast of a car. It soothed his frayed nerves. “Yeah. I rode around in a car like this every day after school. Dad would pick me and my sisters up, take us out for a donut or a soda, tell us not to sass mom and do our homework, then drop us off at home. Same thing every day...” Until it wasn't. Until that ended, but he didn't want to go there. Not now.

“My father drove a Caddy,” Hotch offered automatically. He was staring off into the distance, nothing but highway and farmland as far as he could see. There was a big wall of storm clouds gathering on the horizon, thick and gray and ominous. “A big 1968 Cadillac Fleetwood...champagne with these custom white leather seats that scorched your legs in the summertime and never warmed up in winter.”

“You learn to drive in that beast?”

Hotch laughed a joyless laugh. “Are you kidding? My father wouldn't let any of us behind the wheel. He bought my mother this station wagon that was half a block long and almost as wide. Wood paneling on the sides. I learned to drive in that. Took out a few mailboxes before I got a handle on how big it was.”

“What happened to the Caddy when he passed?” Derek asked, hoping it wasn't too forward of him. Aaron made a little huffing noise and shook his head.

“He left it to Sean. You can imagine it didn't last long. He sold it for rent money, so he claims. I have my doubts.”

Derek did too. He knew Sean well enough to know that he wasn't exactly the most trustworthy person. Not exactly responsible. That he and Hotch shared both parents and a genetic pool never ceased to amaze him. Still, he liked Sean. A night out on the town was always more fun when he helped make the plans.

“Hey, that bag on the backseat, can you grab it? I brought a little surprise...”

The minute Hotch lifted it up, he knew what it was. The sound of plastic clacking together, the jagged angles bulging against the thin nylon. He set it on his lap and waited for Derek to invite him to look inside, and what he saw didn't exactly surprise him. “Pick one.”

“Derek, we don't need music...”

“Bullshit. Pick one. They're all classics.”

It was a pile of mixtapes. White covers with meticulously labeled track lists in various colored ball point pen. Definitely Derek's handwriting. “You made all of these?”

“Those go all the way back to high school, man. Seriously, they're all gold.” Now Hotch understood why Derek chose this car. It was more than just nostalgia. He could control the entire musical experience. And, he thought a little suddenly (not even sure where it came from) that Derek might be trying to cheer him up. Or take the edge off of what was going on in his life. The gesture was appreciated.

Hotch sifted through the tapes with thinly veiled fascination. He had a few tapes still in a shoe box somewhere, probably in the storage unit. Nothing this elaborate, and he wondered as he poked through the pile whether Derek had every cassette he'd ever owned. Probably. They would be neatly cataloged, on display, too. A part of him wanted to see it.

The rest of the trip, Derek couldn't be contained. He sang loud like he was in the shower, dancing with his shoulders in his seat, patting and drumming against the steering wheel. There was something almost contagious about it. Hotch even found himself humming along more than once to songs he knew...some Whitney Houson, some Marvin Gaye, even Dwight Yoakam and Elton John. He really did have a little of everything, and he wasn't lying when he said it was all good. Hotch may not have enjoyed the Nas as much as he did the smooth, soft sounds of Lionel Richie, but he found that he couldn't help bopping along with the beat anyway.

By the time they were nearing their motel, Hotch was eagerly reading through the track-listings trying to find a suitable next tape. He almost wanted to just continue to drive...something about getting to know Derek through this felt intimate and like a gift. Better than any amount of talking.

They ordered a pizza and settled into their motel room easily. Two beds, a grainy old television and a coffee machine. Not exactly high-end accommodations, but they were happy to be out of the car and kicked back on lumpy old mattresses watching half an action movie until they passed out. The daunting nature of the following day had Hotch on edge as much as he tried to hide it, and Derek did his best not to bring it up. He didn't need to ask to understand that there was something specific about Vincent Perotta that got deeply under Hotch's skin.

It did his, too. Watching the man garrote his friend, being unable to take the shot, years later it still made him angry. The bruises beneath Hotch's buttoned tight collar were purple black and his voice had been hoarse for nearly a week after. As it slowly went back to normal and the bruises faded to sickly yellow, everyone else seemed to forget but Derek couldn't. He stared at it every time they were in a room together, considering it a failure on his part.

If given the chance to go back, he didn't really think Perotta being alive was terribly important to the investigation or saving Jimmy, they could have figured it out on their own...he'd put that bullet between Perotta's eyes without thinking twice.

Police station was the first stop in the morning for a short seminar, as Jason used to call them. Rossi just told them that while they were on the road, they may as well stop by and poke their heads in. Especially since they now held a prolific serial killer in their jurisdiction and he was a doozy. Hotch didn't mind the short distraction. They had some basic information to present but it was more of a conversation that they wanted to center around Vincent Perotta. A Q&A session with cops who weren't usually terribly receptive to what they did. Derek always made it easier, having been a cop himself. It was like an instant kinship. He would walk in and they could just tell by the way he walked, the way he carried himself. He was one of them, and Hotch was an outsider. He tried too hard to combat that, be friendly instead of putting up his usual shield of armor...usually it worked after a while. They either respected him or took pity on him, either way they usually warmed up but not today. Today it was one knock down after another until he found himself retreating to the silent shadows beside the power point on screen and let Derek take lead on their session. It would be over soon. He wasn't there to rile them up, and Derek had it under control.

Afterward, the Sheriff apologized to Hotch and he figured that was about the best he could have hoped for...but Derek, he had them on board with what he was saying.

“You could have done that on your own,” Aaron said, lugging the bag of equipment over his shoulder. “I was only in the way today.”

Derek regarded him sadly and shrugged. “You're just off your game. It's understandable, man. But I was talking to one of the guys afterward, while you were with the Sheriff. Guess they've been burned a few times lately by Feds jumping into their business...it's not you. Don't take it personally.”

“They called me a pencil pusher,” Hotch muttered, throwing the bag into the backseat with a huff. Derek laughed.

“Well shit, they're calling you worse now that you're not in the building.”

Hotch stopped and held his hand up over his eyes to shield them from the sun while he stared at Derek more than a little incredulously. “Like what?”

“Oh you know...cop things...” Derek's voice was sly, mischievous, and his smile said he wasn't about to tell Hotch exactly what he knew. “Things my mama would tan my hide over if I repeated them. You're better off not knowing.”

“That isn't true. My imagination can fill in the blanks. Just tell me.”

“Not a chance, Hotchner. Your mind isn't nearly filthy enough to come up with half the shit they'll say just at the coffee maker, let alone at the bar after their shifts are over...pick a tape so we can drive to the prison and get this over with.”

The prison was Hotch's place. Being a cop didn't help you there, but being a former prosecutor helped. He knew the walk, the sign in, the way to interact with the guards. Derek fell in line, followed Hotch's lead, knowing that his expertise stopped at booking these guys into the county jail, once that transport bus came he was out of their lives. And he was fine with that. These custodial interviews made him nervous...prisons weren't kind to ex-cops, for starters. Hotch could fool everyone into thinking he was just a lawyer, just a pencil pusher, but Derek, he gave off the vibes of I put you here you asshole. These guys fed on it. He'd done a few custodials on his own and preferred to have someone with him if at all possible, though he'd never say it aloud. He could never admit that.

He had his suspicions that Hotch knew, though, because he never sent Derek alone. Not once. Gideon had, Rossi had, but Hotch always went with him or gave him a partner.

“You don't have to do anything in here, just...” Hotch paused, searching for a way to make this as painless as possible. “I couldn't do this one alone. Whatever you hear in there doesn't leave this prison.” Derek didn't have a chance to reply before the guard let them into the little room set up for them. Derek just nodded his understanding, as nonchalant as he could, even though he felt the rock settle in in the pit of his stomach. He was more than a little uneasy, this wasn't going to be pretty. If it had Hotch nervous...hell he didn't think he'd ever seen Hotch nervous.

Perotta was already seated at the small metal table. He looked like a giant, his meaty fists chained to a metal hoop in the center of the table. Hotch eyed the chains and considered his options. He swallowed and there was an audible click in his throat as he did so.

“Agent Hotchner,” Perotta said in his cool, slow voice. “You brought us a guest.”

“Yes,” Hotch replied quickly. He tried to come up with a lie, a reason, something to give Perotta but he was sure by now that the man could smell the lie he was cooking up. “I thought it best I didn't come alone today.”

“Oh? You sound different, Aaron. Have you been sleeping?”

Hotch sighed and led Derek around to the other side of the room, cautiously giving Perotta a wide berth. He wouldn't sit too close, either. That chain looked tight but Perotta was strong. Involuntarily he gulped and felt that phantom barbed wire feeling. “Does that count as your first question, Vincent?”

Perotta smiled his feline smile, bearing his teeth. “Sure. I'd love to know what's keeping you up at night these days.” Almost instinctively, Perotta's gaze drifted from Hotch's face to his hands as he pulled out his file and pen, and then his smile widened. “Where's your wedding ring?”

“That's two questions, Vincent. Do you expect me to answer both of them? You're going to have me out of her faster than usual at this rate.”

Perotta glanced at Derek briefly, and then back at Hotch. Derek almost thought he could see Perotta's gears turning and he didn't like what he was seeing. Still, he waited. The silence ate away at their hour and he would be glad to let it.

“I knew she'd leave you. Was it a shock to you?”

Hotch remained silent, no longer wanting to play Perotta's little game of cat and mouse. “I'd like you to answer that one question. I know you're not sleeping because she left, that no longer interests me. I'd like to know if you were surprised that she left you.”

Hotch held Perotta's intense gaze. “I suppose. When she took our son and left, I thought she might still come back. I shouldn't have been surprised when she had me served, she gave me ample warning, but I was anyway.”

Derek couldn't believe the honesty that Hotch was affording this man chained to the table. He wondered if he could have gotten such brutal honesty out of Hotch if he'd asked. Maybe he would, he hadn't ever really tried...he rarely tried to get Hotch to talk because he knew it made the other man uncomfortable.

It was a peculiar back and forth. Perotta had a slew of questions prepared, and to Derek's constant amazement, Hotch answered him honestly each time. He worried his thumb over the inside of his ring finger, right where that wedding ring no longer sat, and stared hard at Perotta. Hotch answered questions about his childhood, about his father, about things Derek didn't know. It was almost like walking into a movie that was already half over, a continuation of previous conversations. Perotta asked, but he never had a response and his face stayed stony and unreadable. He took careful mental notes, cataloging every syllable. And yet he could tell Hotch was withholding as much as he thought he could get away with. These stories were honest, but threadbare. Perotta wouldn't know his tells the way Derek did. Maybe he could tell an outright lie, but he wouldn't see through the minor infractions. Careful guarding of information that was too deeply personal, too well buried, to speak into the world.

“You've got two questions left,” Hotch said, clearing his throat. It wasn't any worse saying those things in front of Derek than he thought it would be, it was only as bad as he imagined. That was a relief. If he had to bare his soul in front of anyone, he couldn't ask for anyone better.

“I'd like to ask Agent Morgan a question,” Perotta said after a long, pointed silence. He'd been weighing his odds, studying the two men. “May I? I'll forfeit my final question.”

“That's up to Agent Morgan,” Hotch answered quietly, before turning to Derek. “You don't have to say yes.”

Derek squared his shoulders and stepped forward from where he'd been standing a few feet behind Hotch, just a casual observer. “You can ask, but I'm not promising I'll answer.”

“No,” Perotta oozed, smiling. Realizing he once again had the upper hand after only a momentary lapse. “That isn't the deal. But I'll work with you. I ask you the question, and if you're not comfortable answering, I get to ask Aaron two more anyway.”

Derek hated the sound of that. If he thought the question he was asked was too personal, too much, the focus would shift back to Hotch who had already answered such deeply personal questions that Derek felt sick on his behalf. Hotch didn't look too bad off, all things considered. He'd looked worse before they came in. It had obviously been eating at him, the anticipation of this conversation. The fact that Hotch hadn't told him about any of this, hadn't shared with him what was about to happen, was gnawing at him.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

Perotta grinned. There was nothing endearing or sweet in his smile, it was as near as Derek thought he'd ever seen to real evil. “Did you know you were in love with Aaron before you aimed your gun at my head, or was it my garrote around his neck that did it?”

Derek cleared his throat nervously and balled up his fists to hide the tremor. “That sounds like two questions...” His voice was frail and he found that he couldn't look at Hotch. Bright spots clouded his vision. Perotta shrugged lackadaisically.

“I suppose it is. You can't blame me for my interest?”

“You don't have to answer that.” Hotch's voice sounded far away to Derek's ears and he sat down on the bench beside his friend. Sat hard, before he passed out. He wasn't sure why he was reacting this way, really. It wasn't like he'd never been put on the spot before, he did this shit for a living. And it also wasn't like he hadn't ever confessed love to someone who didn't want to hear it...you don't get to his age without a few broken hearts. But something about this felt so much bigger. So much worse.

He had more to lose this time.

“Come on, Agent Morgan. I've got a time limit. If you don't answer soon, your friend here might not get the information he's after. We'll have to wait until next time.”

“I,” Derek started, swallowing hard. “Before. But I don't think I understood it until that moment.”

Hotch stared hard at Perotta, refused to let himself be distracted by the sudden sharp pain in his chest, the dizzy feeling that washed over him. He studied Perotta's reaction, the pleasure at making both of them uncomfortable, at what he figured would probably destroy their working relationship after it made for an awful drive home. He looked pleased.

“The paper,” Hotch said with some finality, glancing only briefly at the clock. “Time's up.”

The little sheet of paper was released from Perotta's grip, crumpled and damp from his sweaty palm but it was legible. Same as always. A name and a location.

It took Derek almost a full minute to gather himself, to stand up and follow Hotch out of the room once Perotta had been removed. They didn't speak all the way down the corridor, and they didn't say a word as they got their weapons back and re-entered the free world.

Derek sped up as they walked to the car. He unlocked Hotch's door first, old school locks being what they were, he was still a gentleman even if he was more than a little off his game. Old habits die hard. Once inside the car he rifled through the tapes, selected one, and turned it up a little too loud. Loud enough that he couldn't hear himself think. And he definitely couldn't hear anything Hotch might want to say.

He knew what was coming. Useless platitudes. He'd assure Derek it didn't mean anything, he'd forget all about it, even offer him an out to say he'd lied and said what Perotta wanted to hear. And the most frustrating part of all of it was that he would do it. He'd forget it, if Derek wanted him to.

“Derek,” Hotch said as Derek floored the gas a little too hard and made his stomach do a somersault up into his chest. “Derek.”

He turned the music up and drove a little faster. Hotch sighed and looked out the window, watched the prison disappear in the rearview mirror. The softened, damp piece of paper was still in his hand...his unpleasant day was only beginning. He still had to find this person's family, get the police out to the location, dig up remains. His shit was getting deeper and that pain in his chest was quickly turning into a sick feeling in his stomach.

Quickly, without giving it too much thought, he flicked the volume button until it was all the way down and turned toward Derek. His knee knocked into the console and he winced at the jolt of pain. “Derek.”

“Stop please. Just don't.” He was getting angry now. Angry at what? Perotta? Or maybe Hotch for bringing him along in the first place? Or himself for answering so brutally honest when he had no reason to. Hotch gave him an out. But he'd been so angry about being blindsided by the content of the conversation and far too guilty about how much Hotch gave up to lie, or worse, to refuse to answer. Lord only knew what other violations Perotta had in store for Hotch. As it was, he felt like he'd been watching an assault in graphic detail.

“Was it true?” Hotch's voice sounded small and fragile, the question leaving him breathless. Derek's foot eased up on the gas a little at the sound of it. He frowned.

“What? What I told him? Yeah, I guess it was...didn't think lying was an option after everything you gave him...”

“What I gave him was part of the deal I made. You didn't owe him anything. I'm sorry I put you in that position.”

One painfully silent moment stretched into the next and finally, on an empty stretch of highway between the prison and their motel, Derek veered off to the side of the road in a cloud of dust and squealing brakes.

“You're sorry? Man...” Derek's anger was tangible and he knew, without a doubt, the person he was angriest with was himself. “Don't you dare do that.”

Hotch pursed his lips and waited. Derek didn't look like he was done talking. He was just busy processing.

“He thinks you guys have a lot in common. That's fucked up, you know that? Looks at you like you guys are the same...”

“I suppose in some ways ways...”

“No. No. You're not. Maybe you guys both had shitty fuckin' dads but that doesn't make you the same. You gotta be smart enough to see that.”

Silence. All the color had gone from Hotch's cheeks. “It isn't that simple, Derek.”

“No, of course not...it never is...”

Another long silence. God the silence was painful. It was thick and settled in his chest. Finally, when Hotch couldn't take it a moment more, and it looked like Derek was going to start the car again, he reached over and placed his hand over Derek's before he could turn the key in the ignition.

“I asked if what you said was true because...” he paused, gathering what little courage he could still muster after the beating his soul just took in that prison. He wasn't sure he could come back from this if it went south, not after everything else. The things Derek knew about him now...he was too raw to even meet his stare. He'd never shied away from eye contact with Derek before.

Hell, in that case, he might already be dead in the water. “What Hotch?”

He desperately needed Derek to soften a little, and under the gentle touch of his hand he almost seemed to. Almost. He didn't make things easy. “Because what dammit?”

When Hotch took too long to respond, Derek groaned and turned the key in the ignition, shaking Hotch's hand away with the motion. Frustrated, Derek let out a sigh and floored the gas before turning the radio back on and back up. Way up. There was a faint sting of tears in Hotch's eyes. Tears of frustration, at Derek for being so impulsive, for being so open, at himself for being unable to do one fucking thing he wanted to do. This whole trip had turned out to be just as disastrous as he'd anticipated. His fail-safe had blown up in his face. He'd tried to avoid the self-destruction of going on his own but managed to make it worse.

There was nothing he could say now. He knew Derek well enough not to touch that volume dial again or they'd be on the fast track to an actual argument. Instead, he sat silent, each of them stewing in the raw emotions Vincent Perotta had scraped up. The man had a knack.

Derek blew past the turn off to their motel, and Hotch watched it fade into the distance curiously. Part of him thought about speaking up, but his features were set and he looked in absolutely no mood to hear anything come out of Hotch's mouth. So, he kept himself quiet. Clear on they drove as the afternoon turned on them, those storm clouds finally making good on their threats. They'd been hovering all day but the air was still, quiet, calm. Now it crackled with electricity, he could feel it in his teeth.

Derek switched the tapes silently, loud plastic clacking together as he worked one handed. Hotch thought this might be the time, the brief silence between tapes.

“Derek, pull over,” he said quietly, his stomach twisting. He'd done a fairly good job at holding it off. His carsickness was usually enough to keep him in the driver's seat, but he didn't often have trouble if Derek drove...unless he was driving like a wild man through a violent sheet of rain and thunder. This sudden out of control feeling of barreling toward endless black chaos. “Please pull over.” His voice had taken on a breathy quality that Derek didn't like. He knew it well enough from years of sitting in the backseat of a car piloted by Gideon down back roads and highways. Before the jet was in their employ whenever they wanted it.

He swerved onto the shoulder of the road and by the time the car was in park Hotch was spilling out the side onto his hands and knees, gagging and heaving. Nothing was coming up, there was nothing to come up, but man did it hurt. He crawled further away from the car, as if the movement would help. At least it would get him away from the pungent smell of exhaust. Thunder rumbled through the air around them, followed shortly by lightning that lit up the sky as he skidded down the embankment and pushed his way into the wall of corn stalks to get some shelter from the rain. Derek stayed in the car, and he was grateful for that. His stomach cramped painfully but thanked his lucky stars he never actually got sick.

Some part of him knew he wasn't just car sick. It wasn't Derek's driving, it was the time with Perotta, it was the smell of his breath so close, it was that phantom pain in his windpipe every time he looked at the man's hands. It was every single thing he said about his father, about trips to the emergency room and social workers and his mother. It was memories dragged up from murky depths that tasted like bile and blood. He gagged and whimpered until it finally settled and he just sat there, crouching inside the strange shelter of tall cornstalks and drenched spiderwebs that looked like silk and diamonds when the lightning lit up the sky.

“Hotch!” Derek's voice floated strangely through the electric air and he pressed his palms against his thighs to try and stand up. His knees shook a little and he nearly fell, but caught himself quickly against one thick stalk.

“I'm here,” he answered, staggering out of the field. Derek was standing just outside of his door, staring incredulously into the night while Hotch lurched through the muck and up the small embankment to the road. “I'm sorry.” He muttered it while he shucked his soaking wet jacket from his arms and tossed it into the backseat and kicked the muck off of his shoes against the tires.

“You good?” Derek asked, and Hotch could tell that he'd softened a little. The edge was gone from his voice, and his features didn't look quiet so stern. “Need another minute?”

“No, I'm okay.” He paused, meeting Derek's eyes over the roof of the car briefly. “Derek...what you said to Perotta, is it still true?” Somewhere in that muddy corn field he'd found whatever sliver of courage still existed in him and lit it on fire. It would burn fast and hot, it wouldn't last long. He shivered and pushed his wet hair back from his forehead, staring intently at the man before him.

“What does it matter?” Derek asked, reaching for the door, to let Hotch in. He wanted to get out of the rain, but Hotch wouldn't move. "Hotch, get in..."

“Just answer me. It matters.”

“I don't know. Yeah, I guess it's still true. It's okay, you can tell me it's fine and you don't care and...”

He didn't get a chance to finish before Hotch was grabbing the sides of his face, palms splayed drenched and a little muddy against his cheeks, and leaning forward for a kiss. There was nothing gentle about the way he pulled Derek toward him, the way he dove into that kiss hungry and more than a little desperate. Behind them thunder rumbled through the field and moments later the sky lit up in a ferocious web of blinding light. Derek's arms wrapped tight around Hotch's waist, pulling him close, chest to chest, hip to hip and he leaned them up against the car door. His feet slipped in the growing puddle beneath them, but somehow the rain seemed inconsequential. They lost track of the entire storm, the fury of mother nature faded into the background.

“Let's finish this at the hotel,” Derek whispered, his teeth chattering. He really hoped the heater warmed up a little faster this time. Hotch smiled dreamy and tired.

“We'd be there right now if you hadn't missed the turn.”

Derek glared at him, nose to nose, and squeezed his waist a little harder. “Don't push your luck. I'll leave you here.”

[vikki-tikki-tavii]

*Peeks up slowly, whispers* Beaten and bloody Oswald standing bsck up and saying "That all you got, love?" Sorry.

AWWwwwwww mannnn

Oz’s head snaps sharply to the left as his opponent lands an impressive left hook onto his cheek.

The world spins and darkens slightly as he stumbles into the dingy wall of the alleyway in the under city of Essex. He wipes at his nose as he feels what he can only assume to be blood dripping from his nostrils.

He takes the time he has to before his opponent decides to swing again to regain his composure.

And to reflect.

He started as a happy rich kid with loving parents and a best friend who always had his back. He had it all…and in a matter of months it was all ripped away from him. Fast forward years later and here he is. Fighting some brute in the streets of the worst part of the UK, now forced into an involuntary fist fight with a moron and who decided he wanted to back out of the deal.

How did his life come to this? Why did his life come to this?

“Oi! What’s the problem twerp? Can’t han’le one punch? Didn’t think you were that weak. Especially with the reputation you seem to have in these streets. My apologies… If I had known, I would‘ve used my bad hand…”

the bastard mocked with a harsh bark of laughter as he waved his right hand which was missing 2 fingers.

Oz’s whirling thoughts came to a halt as his opponents gruff voice rips through his ears. He clenches his jaw as keywords repeat in his head.

Twerp. Weak. Runt. Loser. Crybaby

A handful of the insults he was called in his youth. Insults he swore didn’t bother him but still managed to tug at the repressed recesses of his mind.

Oz clenched his aching jaw as he slowly straightened up. His opponent chucked as he reared up for another swing.

“A’ight then. Let me see those “boxing skills” I heard so much ab- UGHAA!”

His taunt was cut short by the harsh, guttural scream that ripped through his words.

In split second timing, Oz had lunged at the man, grabbed his left arm, and twisted it harshly in a direction it was definitely not meant to go. The brutes scream didn’t manage to hide the sickening snap that sounded from the injured appendage. A snap Oz felt reverberate through his hands.

The brute found himself gasping for air as the ground seemed to be shoved out from below, effectively knocking the wind out of him. He fought back groans as the man he so foolishly underestimated now stood above him. The slender man crouched down and forcefully shoved his knee into his chest and grabbed his neck with both hands.

If he had trouble finding his breath before, it was very much impossible now.

He gasped and choked. Desperately clawing at the man’s wrists in an attempt to remove the offending abjects from his throat, but his actions were stunned by multiple swift punches to his face.

A wicked smirk stretched across Oz’s lips as the fear and defeat became apparent in the brutes eyes. His favorite thing was catching people off guard. Have them underestimate him so he can show them just how hard he can hit.

Just how strong he his.

Just what he is capable of.

He opened his mouth and leaned closer to the bruised bastard - making a point to speak meticulously so the brute could hear the mocking tone that dripped from every syllable that came out his mouth.

“ ‘s that all you got, love?”

[stormxpadme]

​Whumptober 2022 No. 23 - Tied to a table & “Hold them down.”

2035

This was … bad. This was potential knockout material.

From all Logan knew about this asshole keeping his family and him prisoner, the guy's fucked up methods had always easily matched even the ones of Logan's Weapon X torturers at the time, sure. But this, right here … wasn't just sick and fucking agonizing, not to mention the fact that his wife and his other two lovers had to watch with their own two eyes as some 200 years hundreds old mad scientist was cutting Logan open … It was also dangerous on a level Logan hadn't often run into trouble before.

  It should technically have been good news that at least, Essex hadn't slapped an inhibitor on him, unlike on Jean, Scott, and Scott's wife who were all frozen in shock in their respective cells, the only occupied ones in that lab rat track lining the operation theater from all sides, like some absurd arena. Being – unfortunately – as brilliant as he was clinically insane, that bastard was too smart to let someone possibly die on him that he wanted to use as a living weapon, shield and for his sick experiments to accelerate his comparatively low healing factor all at once.

  That didn't make the nauseating pain of a laser scalpel neatly peeling Logan open from his lower ribcage all the way down to his loins before the unforgiving, ice cold clamps of huge wound retractors started to keep his abused flesh from mending back in place, any easier to bare though. Moreover, judging by the way Logan started to feel dizzy from the enormous blood loss immediately, his voice, thankfully, too hoarse for any more screams after minutes already and not recovering immediately on its own … There had to be at least a weak kind of inhibitor radiation somewhere nearby. This little shit knew exactly what he was doing, and sadly, he had the means to achieve it, too. If none of them didn't come up with an idea to end this dicey situation as soon as possible, Logan doubted he would make it home from this captivity in the middle of their fucking beach holiday in one piece, if at all.

  "Oh, right. That." His enemy wasn't busy enough cutting through his organs in what felt like a completely random pattern to not notice the way, Logan's wide-open eyes were wandering through the room, searching the source for this compromised condition, between gagging on the bile, spit and blood that was dripping from his scream-split lips and gasping out chopped breaths through the all-consuming agony in the parts of his body not shielded by his Adamantium. "I think this is what you're looking for, Mister Howlett." His snow-white face the menacingly grinning grimace of a skeleton, Essex held up what he'd prepared behind him on a sterile table for this so-called revolutionary next surgery of his. Some metal device shaped in the same diamond form that was that asshole's goddam brand, sticking to his forehead like a blood mark. On the apparatus' shell, there was indeed not only the lazy red blinking of an inhibitor signal showing but also the golden and blue paneling of a radio signal receiver. "A masterpiece, if I may say myself. You see, the moment I find a suitable place for this feeder between your intestines, it will inject minuscule amounts of a toxin even lethal to a robust system like yours into your blood. With this remarkable healing factor of yours, of course, the damage from that concoction will be continuously repaired; I'm afraid you will be feeling its effects on a non-subtle level nonstop. I am confident that with this new beautiful piece in place, you and I will quickly come to an agreement about your services in my ranks. That is, unless you wish me to activate the crystal's internal inhibitor, the receiver range of which reaches far beyond this continent, I might add, and find out if you can use those fascinating weapons in your hands quickly enough on yourself to not perish to most unpleasant poisoning ... Or …" With a dramatic little swirl, Essex turned to the cell closest to the theater where Jean had sunk down to the ground, with her knees hugged close to her body, her face almost as white as her captor's, staring ahead entirely unmoving.

  A sight that was so much worse even than the gruesome pain leaving Logan to writhe in his Adamantium bonds hard enough for them to cut all the way through to the same alloy enwrapping his bones, a disgusting, screeching, clanking sound louder with every second this torture went on.

  And Essex very much obviously was in no hurry. "You do, of course, still have the option of asking your wife to comply with all of my requests and put an end to all this. You need to understand, Mister Howlett: My favorite research object over there, or his lowly classified spouse, I do not necessarily require for my current series of tests. And while you would make a beautiful addition to my rebuilt forces, I am a man true to my word when I enter an agreement. You two can put an end to this unappetizing episode anytime by giving me what I desire."

  Logan would have snorted if he hadn't been too busy coughing blood for that. He'd, fortunately, got to know his wife better in the course of the decades than to think she was even considering, no matter how far her soul had fled into complete apathy, helping what was one of the most dangerous and powerful enemies both of mutant- and mankind on this planet of all people to burst the mental chains around most of his abilities that Charles and Emma had once placed upon him, right after learning about the bastard's existence.

  Of course that had been before both Old Baldy and that Frost psycho had fucked up so badly that they had either gotten tired of justifying their bullshit on Earth and had rather left to fuck certain Empresses of planet-destroying alien Empires full-time or had had to be taken away from Earth with a mental equivalent of a prison shackle by force. Both of which had weakened that decades-old mental hold on that asshole so much that he'd managed to break free and restart his damn army and empire of labs and storages of medical data on mutants around the world. And he was long from being finished.

  So far, they'd all been lucky enough to not be hit with the full force of the guy's powers – which Logan seriously doubted they could have survived even if every super-powered being on this damn planet had worked together –, mostly, because everything that Essex had stolen in the course of the centuries from his countless examination objects, was still trapped in that jail of his own fucked up head. It was one of the few things, Logan reluctantly had to give Charles and his blonde partner-in-crime credit for, no matter how many manipulations, lies, and downright ethical crimes it had taken for the two of them to hide this part of their work from the rest of the world.

  Jean might not share all of Logan's animosities towards her old mentors, but there was no way in hell she would unleash this creature's full might back onto this world just to save Logan from slavery or worse, even if it would tear her sane mind and heart to pieces. Not her. Not she, who had been forced to do that very thing with another, more cosmic but just as insane being trying to destroy all life in the universe two times already. Something Jean had once told him after her first death pricked his increasingly dazed thoughts in spite of that relieving fog of threatening unconsciousness that promised, Logan would at least not have to feel the part of the procedure that might as well tear him away from his home and everyone he loved there for good. Something about fate ... Something about how Scott would not have been able to save Jean in Logan's place and that maybe the two of them had meant to be together from the start. As much as Logan cared for Jean's and his two part-time lovers, he could only find that his amazingly clever wife had been right once more.

  If it had been Scott, tied to this stretcher right now instead of standing completely still there in his cell, watching his arch-enemy with the blazing heat of a dying sun in his eyes but unable to unleash it from them … One of them would have broken, Jean or him. Simply because Scott's body, capable as it was, had not been equipped with the same gift as Logan's. Which meant, Jean wouldn't have had even the smallest hope that Logan knew her to be clinging to right now, even with their link rendered inactive, that she could have got him back, somehow, even if it took decades. Fate indeed.

  Essex seemed to tire of waiting for anyone to indulge his sick fantasies in silence and walked back to Logan's stretcher with something almost akin to a shrug, a surprisingly human notion for someone not even possessing the basic sense of empathy by nature and having no problem with that. "I was kind enough to offer. As I was saying: This device that I have been working on since I regained enough of my old strength to break free of the bonds that were …"

  Logan somehow managed to turn his head Scott's way in spite of the growing heaviness in his muscles and let out a cynical huff, which brought up what felt like half a liter of more fluids he couldn't tell any longer what they were, ending up in a decorative white and rust red puddle on the ground. He didn't expect them to be able to stop the guy from his most recent insane plan, but at least buying time had in the past more than once made a significant difference. Though admittedly not in situations like this when no one was missing them yet and even if they did, no one would be able to track them down, not with Jean's and Noemi's mental connection cut and Logan's and Noemi's bond being far too weak for such ambitious plans. But if there was one thing Logan had learned from the life by his wife's side, it was hope to the last desperate second because it had paid off more than once. And talking kept him from giving in to the roaring, livid rage of the animal that was his instincts inside because that wouldn't do any of them any good as long as his claws were stopped by Adamantium shackles while he was bleeding out and going into multiple shocks from pain and blood loss and croaking from organ failure all at once. "That guy always talking that much?"

  "I wouldn't know," Scott answered, surprisingly soberly for Logan being able to see even from over here that every single muscle of his body was tense. That he was only waiting for the chance to tear his oldest enemy to pieces, in spite of knowing just like the rest of them, even that would only be a temporary relief as long as Essex had his damn clones stationed everywhere on this damn planet and could telepathically transfer his whole mind to any of them within split seconds. Similar to Jean, Scott didn't waste energy, trying to fight someone a hundred times more powerful than him, unlike his wife next door who had been very grimly busy, ever since waking up from whatever tranquilizer they'd all been taken out with at the Caribbean, to manipulate the lock of her cell with hardly more than two nails and a hairpin, as if Essex wasn't even there. As if their enemy didn't just a wave of his weakened but still working telekinesis to shift all damage back into place. Right now, all they had on the asshole was words and spite, and sometimes that had to do. "Charles was nice enough to purge all that narcissistic pathos of his from my mind, as you know. Thank god for small favors." For someone who hadn't remembered Essex existed until five years ago and who, thanks to said installed barriers in his mind, still didn't know anything about him but what Emma occasionally penned down in a few e-mails from her increasingly fuzzy memory, Scott sure as fuck knew exactly how to play that asshole like a fiddle who'd been obsessed with him all his life.

  Essex didn't bother to let that gap in the size of the Rockies in Logan's midsection close but his device was forgotten for the moment when he approached his victims' cells with slow, stiff steps, his head held high, his teeth clenching so hard, Logan thought he could hear it even through the cotton covering his senses. "That's correct, young Mister Summers. Your former mentor was thoroughly making sure, your fragile mind doesn't lose itself to insanity before he could exploit your powers himself. The man you claim to have loved so much was only ever interested in what your body had to offer. Correct me if I'm wrong but did he not leave you without as much as a goodbye or lifting those barriers in your head?"

  Scott leaned against the cell door with an unbelievably bitter grin on his lips that Logan doubted he had to feign. "Right. Because you are haunting and torturing my family and me solely for our irresistible charm."

  Definitely a shrug this time. "Unlike your old puppet master, I was always honest about needing you for your gift. But I richly reward those who are mine. Were you not enslaved by Charles Xavier long enough, Scott? You know I always keep a spot for you vacant in the highest ranks of my army."

  Scott turned away coolly. "Thanks for the consideration, asshole. But I think I'm actually really good with knowing only scraps about you."

  Logan could swear he could see Essex' tall, strong shape shake in growing aggression that was so much unlike his usual detached demeanor for a moment. "Suit yourself, boy. With these class four telepaths so eager to protect your ignorance no longer around, I promise, you will no longer be able to forget about me." Abruptly turning away, the bastard stalked to one of the hall's dozen cabinets with instruments and came back with a long, thick pole that didn't look particularly dangerous at first sight … Not before one of Essex' hands turned into a harsh fist, his powers reshaping one end of the rod. His blurring sight didn't allow Logan to make out what the sicko was up to this time, not until Essex reached for one of his beloved laser scalpels next and heated his new tool, revealing its now orange glowing, smoking end to be of the same shape the asshole was wearing on his face. A lazy wave of hand later, one of the eerily human-shaped robots in this facility that Essex was commanding with his sheer mind stomped towards Scott's cell.

  At this point, the blood loss had become too grating for Logan to even keep his eyes open. He thankfully kept on drifting off, even the hole in his body at this point nothing but lethal emptiness, the turmoil of his emotions dazed too much to decide between dull admiration for his team leader's unwavering strength and frustration about the stupid stubbornness with which Scott had just earned himself a ticket on the agony coaster himself.

  But what Logan could make out easily still was that uncharacteristic loathing, hissed tone in Essex' voice that revealed Scott had indeed managed to land a blow himself for once. "Hold him down." That obviously meant, nothing had come from an unfair duel between a very well-trained but dehydrated and exhausted body and a metal shape twice its size with the strength to match.

  If Logan was lucky enough, he would pass out before he would have to hear the screams.

  He didn't hear Scott scream. He heard Scott's wife talk, for the first time since they'd all woken up in this moldy underground facility that could be anywhere from the equator to Atlantis for all they knew. "Revenge doesn’t become you, Essex."

  "Cat … don't." The provocative defiance gone instantly, Scott panted out his warning between groans of pain from whatever bruises the sparring against metal guy had left. With none of those links that Jean's abilities had created between all of them in the course of the years working right now, there weren't a lot of ways Scott could try to keep his not exactly-always-rational partner from some stupidity. Not that he was having a lot of success with that any other day.

  "Shut up, kitten," Logan somehow managed to grit out as well with what was left of his voice. Which wasn't a lot at this point.

  He doubted it would have made a difference if his lover had heard. "Non-procedural physical alterations, really? And here the woman who has put your ugly mug six feet under for decades won't get tired yapping about how you compartmentalize all your personal sensitivities away from your work."

  "I am not reciprocating," Essex returned stiffly, but Logan could hear the asshole had actually stopped on his way to Scott's cell again. When he somehow managed to pry his eyes open once more, he could see a clear hesitation in the way the bastard looked back and forth between the unruly prisoner that he hadn't even given a second glance to so far and his so much more loathed other victim. The pause lasted only for a moment before he straightened his posture again. "I am reclaiming what is mine so that we can all save ourselves these unpleasant encounters in the future. When we first met, you used to know I was inevitable, Scott. It will be easier for all of us if you never forget it again."

  "Really. Couple of PhDs, an M.D, the occasional pact with eon old assholes, and this is the best you can come up with." Katja wasn't finished yet, pissing someone off who could squash her like a damn fly, and Logan very much hoped that his favorite kitten knew what she was doing, because for once, none of them was in a good position to pull her fine ass out of trouble. One thing was for sure, she had been spending far more time reading those highly confidential little snippets of information on this bastard here that Emma occasionally sent them from her space exile than Katja would let on, more than one would expect, given that bitter enmity between her former mentor and her. "Hundreds of years spent in the shadow, making sure there's not a single trace you leave on your most prized jewel, because what good surgeon likes to give their patient scars … And now? You sure someone's not being a little petty here? What was that you used to tell people about cruelty for no purpose being ignorance?"

  "Oh, I have a very specific purpose in mind for the man that the two of us happen to share, my darling thunder angel." An ugly laugh came from Essex' lips, betraying all his usual noble claims about his only goal being the good of humanity and bringing it to salvation single-handedly. "But I am thinking, you might be right. A reminder to not resist serving science when I am calling might be a lot more effective when Mister Summers here is confronted with the consequences of his noncompliance every day henceforth."

  One half turn on his heel and a prompting snap of Essex later, robot guy had slammed Scott's resisting body back against the cell's back wall and shut the door, only to open the one right next to it. Huge, unforgiving hands grabbed Katja around her throat before she could even think of defending herself with her own long-trained athletic maneuvers, knocking the wind out of that terribly small and fragile-looking body by forcing it brutally against the cell's bars.

  A cut of a sharp-clawed metal finger later, Katja's top hung from her upper body in pieces. The fight of all that anger that had filled her enough a second ago to challenge one of the most powerful beings in this universe, left as quickly as it had come.

  Logan only realized that a new, weak surge of energy had revived his own cells when that ugly rattling of his wrist bones against his cuffs sounded once more, more rivulets of thick red dripping onto the dark-tiled ground, an unhinged growl on his lips that was nothing but a promise Essex' way.

  Though underlined with a lot less feral noises, spoken with almost scary emptiness instead, Scott left no doubt that his threat wasn't any less serious. "You lay hand on her, Essex, it's the last thing you'll be doing."

  "Maybe you should seek your former partner's assistance with restoring your memories about our common past, Mister Summers." The scornful glee was back in Essex' voice, leaving no doubt about how much this sick son of a bitch really enjoyed his sadism the moment he found a good enough excuse for it. "Then I would not have to remind you how much I dislike getting my hands dirty." His newly heated rod in his hand, not stopping for even another second, their enemy entered Katja's cell.

  Through the shadows in these parts of the room and the obstacle of the thick bars, not to mention the veils of tears and sweat and blood and exhaustion in his eyes, there wasn't a lot Logan could make out at this point.

  But when Katja's and his eyes did meet for a moment, there was not a hint of the fear, despair, and guilt suddenly in them that was radiating off every of Scott's cells, now that he had to watch his oldest enemy torture the love of his life … with a scenario like this happening for the second time. Only this time, Katja had consciously and willingly chosen it. That bitter triumph on her face didn't even vanish entirely when her scream filled the hollow echo of the room, along with the sickening smell of burnt flesh. This was exactly what she had been going for, and she was facing it with both eyes open like every other challenge in her life.

  Logan didn't get a lot of time to be proud of his kitten.

  Essex had only just left that cell again with a satisfied nod, leaving his prisoner in a trembling, curled-up heap on the floor when Logan's dampened hearing could pick up on the smallest, quietest click of metal from the direction of Scott's cell.

  Instead of withdrawing into her fears and grief as Logan had actually thought for ten dumb minutes, Jean had gathered whatever small hint of cosmic force she had kept behind in her cells after finally being parted from Dark Phoenix for good, to bypass the obstacle of her inhibitor collar, for being able to use her telekinesis on another one.

  Before the two halves of the broad metal band had even entirely fallen from Scott's neck, Sinister's current body was blown into a thousand pieces, followed by the one of the robot nearby and two more waiting in the operating theater's corners.

  With how completely unhinged at the seams his team leader obviously was, a dangerous glare of red still smoldering in his pupils even after the enemies had fallen, Logan had to give him as much exhausted credit as his failing thoughts could still come up with, for having enough wit left to first shoot the lock on Jean's cell to pieces before even blasting his own and then the one on Katja's door before rushing into that room, falling onto shaking knees to take his wife in his arms.

  Those two would be alright for the moment, Logan supposed, though they all certainly shouldn't sit around here for too long, wherever here was, before the next army of robots or possibly even some Marauders would come storming in here. It wasn't like he could have helped his lovers a lot right now anyway.

  With the well-known, professional touch, free of even the slightest tremble, of his wife on those cruel instruments in his body, the sickening tug and tear of pressure finally gone just seconds later … But then the real pain started, the animal inside breaking free with a hysteric scream from its leash, leaping forward, wiping every sane thought and emotion but revenge and defense out with pure adrenaline and hot, blind-red rage … Luckily for everyone in the room, the smallest twitch going through Logan's upper body when he instinctively tried to break free from his real bonds once more, had him black out.

     ***

    They must have gotten the most necessary hydration and sustenance into him in the time, however long it had taken the others to blast and shove their way free from whichever fortress of their enemy they'd been in this time. When Logan opened his eyes next, the usual unnerving nausea of missing ground under his feet and the calming, low hum of the Blackbird's engine soothed the last of feral wrath inside of him trying weakly to break free once more but being far too numbed for it from his body still plenty busy trying to repair itself.

  Jean's soft touch against his forehead, her gentle kiss against his too-dry lips did the rest to ground him back in reality. "Almost home. Wounds have all closed. A night on an IV, half of Hank's sugar stock, and a bottle of the good stuff or two, and you'll be fine."

  "Thank you, Red." Logan pulled her second hand that was holding his close for a brief kiss; that was all his still annoyingly weak muscles allowed for the moment. He needed her to know though, how proud he was of her. How grateful that this shitshow had ended before they could have been parted once more for only God knew how long. And for stepping in before a certain other ugly scene on the other side of the room could have become even worse. "The others?"

  Jean let out a sigh of the same resignation and tender admiration Logan remembered feeling for a certain member of their group earlier and nodded to the other side of the jet, the small figure laying there on the passenger bench on her stomach, nuzzling against the caress of her husband on the side of her face, her neck, far from where a huge bandage was covering her shoulder. "She learned a little too much from you for my taste."

  "It's not Logan's fault someone here still doesn't know their limits," Scott threw in unusually harshly, ignoring the astonished raised eyebrows from a certain blue furball and an aging Cajun in the cockpit, not pulling back when his wife winced a little but also leaving no doubt whom this anger was directed at right now. "Why …? What the fuck were you thinking, Katja?"

  "That you suffered from this madman enough," Katja gave back calmly, her voice, too, still rough from screaming and captivity, but free of any doubt.

  "And you shouldn’t have at all." Scott's free hand clenched in his suspiciously messy hair for a moment, another weak red tint in his sky-blue pupils revealing how much this captivity had really hurt him, in spite of walking away from it basically without a scratch. Especially because of that. "Neither of you. You should never have been dragged into this. I should have searched for him alone the moment Emma told me about him."

  "Where would you have started looking?" Jean tried to stifle these exhausting, useless new waves of self-flagellation that ran so deeply in this damn family before they could even arise. "Please, enlighten us. Tell us what we missed, what we lacked in our attempts to find something that Emma and Charles buried and burned all traces of decades ago, so thoroughly that Emma doesn't even remember herself."

  "I should have done something," Scott insisted, even moving away from his wife for a moment as if he'd feared that Katja's patient caress over his reddened cheek, the agitatedly working muscles of his neck could stop these self-destructive thoughts he sometimes liked to lose himself in so much as they were making the pain inside easier to bear. "Today should never have happened. What you all went through, what you had to see, Jean ..."

  "I didn’t." Only Jean's remarkably placid interruption finally had Scott stop, his head tilted in confusion. "It might have escaped your attention, but I was kind of busy. Like, with manipulating the lock of your collar with powers on a class 1 level. Or cutting Essex off from all his clones safe for the one he had ready as an escape this time."

  For long seconds, all of them were speechless. Even in the cockpit, no one was breathing.

  Logan's senses were still far too exhausted to make out a lot but to see that glistening suddenly shining in Scott's eyes, he didn't need them. He was pretty sure, their lover would have stormed over to kiss Jean senseless if Logan wasn't just doing that himself. "Sometimes I forget you were always the strongest of us," he murmured against her shoulder when she took him tightly in his arms, the soft touch of her hair, the faint smell of roses always lingering on her skin the necessary further input of affection and memory to drown out the last of agony and dread. "Why didn't you take the last one away from him too, though?"

  Jean showed a frustrated grimace and an apologetic shrug Scott's way. No, that had not been the last meeting with that son of a bitch yet. But for the first time in decades, hope was at least very justified that it would happen soon. "He would have got suspicious. I couldn't risk that he'd kill the ones among us he thought expendable in revenge. Or torture them further."

  "If he'd been gone forever then, that would have been a small price to pay." Though everyone looked at her with a good amount of irritation, Katja lowered her eyes just as little as when she had challenged Essex to keep his dirty paws off her husband earlier.

  Neither did Jean, though. "You're gonna have to leave choices like that to us, Cat. We all make our own sacrifices." She briefly nodded toward that undoubtedly very unsightly new mark on her lover's skin that would, thanks to the X-Men's resident mutant healer though, hopefully, be gone without a trace soon enough. In many respects, Essex still underestimated them a lot.

  "Scars are something I can deal with," Cat gave back quietly, with a weak grin as if she'd been in Logan's head for a moment. "Losing one of you? Not so much. So do me a favor, Claws … Make sure that asshole never gets you again. I can't promise I'll be that patient with him next time."

  "As long as I have anything to do with it, none of you will ever get anywhere near that bastard again. Especially not you, Katja," Scott stated quietly, a rest of regret and anger still thick in his voice that only vanished when his wife pulled him close for a tender kiss. As it turned out in that very same year still, boss man should once more be annoyingly right.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive​

[demy85]

Chapter 3 - The exhilaration of coming out (and it’s downsides)

For this year's spring gala, which his parents had been hosting for at least a decade now, his mother had once again spared neither expense nor effort.

They had booked the entire downstairs function area of Essex House and Alec was left in awe when he first walked into the main hall.

He found himself in an opulent, classic ballroom with several pivotal elements and was at a loss as to where to look first. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center, casting a warm and luxurious light into the room. The long sides were lined with numerous high, arched windows and doors with a white decorative frame and golden accents, through which natural light fell into the room and the impression of space was reinforced.

There was still a lot of commotion. Tables were set up, flower arrangements were pushed back and forth until his mother nodded in satisfaction.

But Alec hummed as he was able to discern his mother's vision, the perfect picture of an elegant celebration. It was a breathtaking sight.

Alec glanced around and could see the fine details of the preparations. He saw the waiters polishing the last of the glasses and arranging the place cards. It was a scene of distinguished bustle and perfection that promised to make the evening ahead something special.

𒐣

Having given in to Izzy's pleas, he had gone on a shopping trip with her a few days earlier. It had been nerve-wracking and it had once again reminded him why he loathed this leisure activity. 

As he was sitting in his old childhood bedroom, in his parents' house, staring at the suit his sister had picked out for him during that shopping trip, he wished the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

If it were up to him, he'd still be in New Haven prepping for his classes instead of sitting in New York attending yet another of his parents' snobbish benefit galas.

The only bright spot was that Jem had assured him in advance that he would be attending, too.

Jem had been one of the few attorneys at his parents' law firm who had taken him under his wing while he had been doing minor work at the firm as a teenager. From that time on, Jem was like a mentor to him, someone he could look up to and easily talk to about whatever he wanted. He was also the only person who knew about Alec's sexuality.

Alec breathed in deeply once more as he checked his watch. It was high time he got ready. He didn't have much time left before the limousine arrived that would take his sister and him to the gala.

𒐣

Alec was already standing outside the door as the limousine made its way up the driveway leading towards the house. He was getting more impatient by the second and was about to go back through the door to call for his sister when she suddenly appeared in the doorway and his breath came short.

Until that moment, he hadn't seen the dress Izzy had chosen for the evening. It was stunning and he was sure that Izzy would attract a lot of attention. Probably much to the disapproval of their mother.

It was a fancy evening gown with a plunging sweetheart neckline and white floral embroidery all over the top and skirt of the dress, contrasting beautifully with the black fabric.

"You look gorgeous, Izzy," Alec said, holding out a hand to help her into the limo.

She laughed as she took his hand and replied, "You don't look so bad yourself, brother."

During the drive to Essex House, the two sat quietly side by side, both lost in thought and anxious to see what the evening would bring.

Both knew that Maryse would almost certainly give them disapproving looks, but to save face would say nothing about the outfits they had chosen for the occasion.

There was no way either of them could have had an inkling of the turn this evening would take.

𒐣

Alec had given up counting the number of hands he had already shaken.

These events always followed the same pattern and he was so tired of playing the poster child. However, he and Izzy had complied, as they had learned by now when it was time to bend to their mother's will rather than fight it.

And so, with smiles on their faces, they stood beside their parents at the entrance to the hall and greeted each new arrival.

Alec had just turned towards the musicians, who had taken their place at the right end of the hall and had already started playing the first notes, when he suddenly heard a sharp intake of breath from his mother.

It wasn't long after that he felt Izzy's hand clasp his in a bone-crushing grip. And then he heard her say, so quietly that only he could hear, "Our mother is going to go berserk. Look who Jem has brought as his companions."

Alec had never turned his head as quickly as he did at that moment.

It was then that he saw him. Jem had just come striding down the small corridor that led from the foyer to the hall, with a woman on his right and a man on his left. From the way they were walking, laughing and holding hands, you would have had to be blind not to notice that the three of them were connected by something more than friendship.

Finally, Jem stood in front of the Lightwoods and greeted Maryse and Robert before turning to Izzy and Alec. Afterwards, he let his gaze wander over his companions and back to the Lightwoods.

"May I introduce my wife Tessa and my husband Will," Jem said in a cheerful tone.

Alec had never seen his mother as pale as she was at that moment.

𒐣

Robert became immediately aware of the fact that his wife found it more than uncomfortable to be around these people. Even though Jem was one of the best attorneys in their firm, Robert had no doubt that Maryse would do anything in her power to get rid of him after that evening.

He reached for her hand and held it tightly, trying to tell her without words that she had better not be making a scene.

He paid absolutely no attention to Jem at all or even towards his children. His focus remained solely on Maryse. The two were engrossed in a conversation in which no one else could participate, for they did not speak with words, only with their expressions and gestures.

They were snapped out of their trance-like state when they heard Jem mutter something to their son. The two of them shot each other a shocked look and then turned their gaze to their son.

It wasn't as if Alec hadn't already been a disappointment after he and his sister had told them they weren't both going to law school.

But to see him now standing next to this abomination and interacting with him drove the anger and disappointment Maryse experienced towards her son to unknown heights.

When Alec noticed the look on his parents' faces that almost seemed to pierce through him, he knew it was now or never. Because he was tired of it, he was so tired of hiding who he was.

Jem remained at his side, holding his hand in a firm grip as he whispered to him again, "I'm here. I've got your back, no matter what. Don't let your fears intimidate you. They don't exist to make you feel insecure. Fears are there to let you know that there is something worth fighting for."

In a brittle, devestated voice, Alec whispered, "I'm gay." 

His parents stared at him in disbelief and Alec couldn't hold on any longer and shouted at the top of his lungs, emphasizing every single word, "I.AM.GAY!"

𒐣

After his outburst, he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. It felt liberating, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The fact that Izzy had been standing at his side the whole time and was looking at him, beaming with joy, helped him to stay calm. And then, suddenly, he found himself in the arms of his brother Jace, who held him in a bone-crushing embrace.

Jace held him so tightly in his arms that Alec almost lost his breath, but he didn't try to squirm out of the embrace. And then, when his brother whispered to him, "I'm so proud of you, Alec," it almost seemed like his heart would burst with happiness and he wrapped his arms around Jace and hugged him close.

"Thank you. Really, you don't know how much your encouragement means to me," he whispered gently, hoping that his voice didn't show that he was trying with all his might to suppress his tears.

But one thing he realized at that moment was that it didn't really matter whether his parents accepted him or not. As long as the people who were really important to him stood by him.  Because he knew that he had nothing to fear as long as he had them by his side.

It did his soul good to see that not only Jem stood behind him, but also his siblings.

𒐣

Maryse was absolutely furious.

She gave her son a tight look and said in a firm voice, "Life is not about what you want to do, it's about what must be done. Stop this drivel and act like a real Lightwood. I don't even recognize you anymore."

Jace was about to stride up in front of Alec, determined to protect his brother, but Alec gestured for him to stay put. Then he took a deep breath and met his mother's eyes, "I'm the same person I've always been. Now everything is just out in the open. There's no going back and either you accept me and I mean all of me or it's time for me to be leaving."

By now, the small group had attracted the attention of many of the other guests present and it was easy to sense Maryse's discomfort.

She let her eyes wander over her children once more and the small group standing behind them. 

She was disgusted, but she knew she couldn't start a fight. Not there. And so she decided to leave them and went into the ballroom without exchanging another word with any of them. 

Robert looked at his children with an indistinct expression. Then he shook his head gently and put a hand on Alec's shoulder as he turned to him and said, "Give her time, I'm sure she'll come around."

He smiled once more and then went after his wife.

𒐣

Jem gave Alec an encouraging pat on the back when he said, "Alec, I'm very, very proud of you. And you know, no matter what is going to happen, I'll always have my door open for you."

After that, he turned to Will and Tessa, took them both by the hand and left the hotel.

Alec was glad that his siblings didn't pester him with questions, that they didn't demand to be told as to why he had confided in Jem but not in them.

And then he noticed someone grabbing him and dragging him along with them. Izzy giggled as Jace stated, "This calls for a celebration. Let's get out of here and have some decent food and drink somewhere."

Alec thought to himself that the evening could only have gone better if his parents had accepted him as well. But he had come to the conclusion that his parents, especially his mother, would never accept that he was gay a long time ago.

And even if his father hadn't shown any reluctance towards him, Alec knew for a fact that he would never go against his wife.

He tried to banish all thoughts of his parents and their opinions from his mind and instead simply enjoy the rest of the evening with his siblings.

He finally started to feel free and it was an indescribably amazing experience.

𒐣

A short time later, the three of them found themselves in Hunter's Moon, completely overdressed for the small bar, but they couldn't possibly have cared less. 

When they had all lived in New York, they had often come here. They had played pool or darts until they were kicked out by the owner, as they were not yet of legal age at the time. Nevertheless, they kept coming back because they enjoyed the atmosphere and the food was good and cheap, at least by New York standards.

It had become their little safe haven when things got unbearable at home. Which was increasingly the case the older the siblings got. Their home had not been a loving one for a very long time. Robert and Maryse were usually absorbed in their work and when they did find the time to engage in activities with their children, it usually resulted in arguments between the two of them.

But Alec didn't want to think about why they had set out in search of a place where they could spend some time. Because, as Jace had said, the evening needed to be celebrated.

With Jem's help, he had finally mustered up the courage to come out to his family. And even if it had gone exactly as he had feared, he still had the support and love of his siblings.

So they had every reason to celebrate and that's exactly what they did.

𒐣

They had long since stopped counting the shots, but at least Alec and Izzy had been able to convince Jace that they should stick to one drink and not go mixing wildly.

Thus they had settled on Tequila Silver Shots, which were served with a slice of lime and coarse sea salt at Hunter's Moon. It was a marvelous flavor experience, first you licked the salt off your hand, then you drank the shot and afterwards you bit into the lime.

They all loved the taste and went on to order round after round.

Izzy giggled every time they licked the salt off their hands and Jace grimaced each time they bit into the lime. However, they didn't stop ordering shots.

The two of them were ecstatic and could still hardly believe that Alec had finally come out of the closet, that he had in fact been able to reveal his sexuality. They were so incredibly proud of him.

Which, of course, they made clear with every shot they brought to their lips.

You could hear them cheering, "Here's to Alec!" or "Alec's great" or "Well done, bro"

They drank until the bartender announced the last round and then they were kicked out of the bar.

Alec couldn't remember ever being this drunk and he was sure the other two were no better.

And yet somehow they managed to get home, but how exactly they did it, none of them were able to recall exactly by the next morning.

𒐣

Alec was sitting at the breakfast table with his siblings, each of them had a steaming cup of coffee in front of them as no one really had an appetite when suddenly the door burst open and an angry, fuming Maryse strode into the kitchen.

Paying no attention to Jace or Izzy, she purposefully advanced on Alec and then hissed, "What the hell were you thinking? Not bad enough that Carstairs made a scene, no, you thought this was the perfect time to humiliate your parents. I don't even recognize you anymore."

Alec's head was throbbing, not enough that he had the worst hangover ever, no, to make matters worse his raging mother was now standing in front of him accusing him of things that were absolutely baseless, at least in his opinion.

Why was his mother so narrow-minded?

And then, as if the situation wasn't already bad enough, he heard her say through her gritted teeth, "Pack your bags and go. Get out, I don't want to see you in this house ever again."

Alec was shocked and he saw his utter shock being mirrored in his siblings' eyes. He stood up, towering over his mother with his tall stature and then said, as calmly as he was capable, "I'm the same person I've always been. Now everything is just out in the open."

After that, he took a step to the side and left the three of them behind him, walking past his father, who had remained standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching in silence. Not a word passed his lips as Alec walked past him, neither had Alec expected his father to say anything about all this.

He had climbed the first few steps when he heard the loud voices of Izzy and Jace shouting in confusion and a warm feeling spread through his chest.

"How dare you, that's your son!"

"If Alec isn't welcome here, then I'm leaving too!"

"You're giving up your own flesh and blood because you care more about how you're perceived by others! Because you're narrow-minded and can't see that your point of view is wrong."

Alec didn't linger a moment longer on the stairs, instead running as fast as he could to his room and slamming the door behind him. He was overwhelmed that Izzy and Jace had his back, but his mother's outright disapproval made something inside him crack.

𒐣

Alec had grabbed a suitcase and packed the few things he had left in his childhood bedroom. Right as he was in the middle of cleaning out his closet, the door to his room was cracked open.

“I honestly can't believe that our mother is such a homophobe. To the point that she's not even able to accept her own son for who he is,” Jace could be heard whispering.

Izzy put her hand on Jace's shoulder and shook her head as she whispered to him, “ We need to be there for Alec now. Make sure he knows we will always have his back.”

Alec, who had heard the words his siblings had exchanged before they'd fully entered his room, made no move at all to face them. The pain caused by his parents' reaction was simply too immense. He couldn't even say which one caused him more pain. His mother's open hostility towards him or his father, who had simply been standing idly on the sidelines.

But then Alec found himself in a warm embrace, wrapped in the arms of his two siblings, who whispered quietly to him how proud they were of him and that they would always support and stand by him, no matter what their parents might say.

Tears trickled down Alec's cheeks without him really realizing it as he heard the loving words of his siblings and in that moment he knew that he had the love and support of the people who were truly important.

[the-firebird69]

The Stand 1994 Trailer | Stephen King | Gary Sinise

It's no joy being here it's very hard and it gets attacked a lot I'm kinda doing it that's his point isn't like Vegas at all he didn't like really going there and she didn't like it either she's talking about to her friends after said he's like some kind of fanatic and had to go there and look at it and see what it was he didn't really like it that much said a lot of old people come here to die and they give up their money and it's over and it was them too the girls said she was talking to they think to win a lot of money and he says they don't win too much and rarely do they have a jackpot and they probably collected but you didn't say that he said most of it and she said it was very sad when he explained it to me no felt bad for awhile and he said I'm gonna try to win something so we have something and it was horrible and she was talking about other stuff and she finally said they probably won't ever let us win there and they're superstitious and it kinda clicked with me he can't win there and then it's like he's sending out code sometimes and I got that too but not all the time and not to win off their machines and such so he went a little bit but it was off of us kind of in our machines and I do follow it but he's not much money it's coded but really it's kind of silliness but I guess we take our gambling seriously and I can see their point but really we're keeping him poor and we're probably all gonna pay. Go into this movie and I know what I'm doing and other people do too vegas is a place that took in a lot of us and Megan Merkel does not sing the song but but she's on it and they show her as a giant I'm just looking around but we go there and cause problems and we can come to Axman and we fight each other and we're taking max and all sorts of things happen I probably get shot a lot. And he says my character is bad breath and smells like farts it's true that's what the guy smells like it's because of what he needs to get bigger and it's gross it's not cohogs but close crabs no it's clams and yeah that strange looking guy at Essex we have a lot of stuff to talk about but this is a huge deal with me it's pretty big because he recognizes it my son does too and he can't go gung ho and say to do stuff but they've had problems with  but they've had problems with them for a long time that area is very evil to them when they were up there they had some issues and they got prolonged and elongated and things got a little mean and they didn't even win anything and their businesses got better but really he attracts a negative crowd and we're part of it and that was what happened too and Tommy F attracted a negative attention when he got to Diablo stuck and they prevented him from going there and yeah I was helping to get him there and we call ourselves demons and the devil and stuff. And they knew about it and that's what they're saying they're saying about him too. And about Tommy F and he said he's the count like Count Dracula and we caught on to it and they hated him for it but we want to make this car and he is saying we can't do it the other car had mistakes but we'd have to copy the Lambo And it would have to be very high performance and it would cost a lot of money. To make it on the Asian chassis seems kind of a waste it's not really sturdy enough and it's true for 800 miles an hour the Ford and the Camaro are not that great the older Corvette is pretty good it's a little longer but you can elongate this and the chassis is very sturdy and you kind of need it and he said he was thinking of it at first and he knew it was a little long but it looks the same wouldn't be a big deal to lengthen it and he says it's not mid engine and to lengthen it would make it work easier that's kinda true cuz you can fit it behind it easier it's usually a real pain when you're using a different type of motor so it gives you the added three inches which won't be noticeable so we're gonna try and do it and he says on a Corvette is symbolism and it's powerful and you see Justin on the fleet and those are old corvettes the new ones are like star Blazers and I guess we're gonna toss our fleet to the wind and he's saying it you need to go to earth to defend your stuff and it's a pseudo empire they are going after our stashes and catches so yeah they don't wanna allow it but going after Venus is a waste and that's what they're saying and they don't want them there at all and nobody does right now and I tell them to do it I guess and it's stupid and he is remarking that it's remarkably stupid so I'm sounding logical in the next minute i'm doing something that is really really bad for myself and my people and he understands why he just can't stop me and he's gonna have some of those and foreigners and eventually will have to face the empire I do get that I'm not handing it off but that's kinda what's gonna happen yeah lobster that looks good this guy is so small and he prepares the most meat I've ever seen in my life I don't know why the hell he's so teeny and he said that he craps it all out and he has to think about why and sometimes bread works along with things like that but it's true he eats a lot of stuff that makes you poop like the cream it use yogurt instead plain yogurt that's Greek and it tastes nice a little tangy but that cream will go right through you just like mayonnaise

trump

andno not my father but close ok hahah lol. was him ok. and he luaghs oh me nd nope not the guy either knows who that is

we work now this rules this is gonign to be good no this blows so badly call off the fleet off fvenus we are his enemy due to hit do that ok we suck so badly

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex, or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed- Prologue: Red Carnations

Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Pairings: To a Degree Stella Ransome/William Ransome, with a focus on the tragedy of their marriage, and eventually Stella Ransome/Male OC.

Word Count: 614 (Pretty Short)

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

A03 Link

If you liked this, consider buying me a Ko-Fi!

Warnings: Good For Her Cinematic Universe, First Person POV, Bye-Bye Canon, This Fic will eventually have an Eventual Major Character Death towards the end, Cheating, and its consequences are discussed, children, marriage, We are very anti-W*lliam and anti-C*ra in this fic, so you have been warned. Sexual content but not smut or anything titillating. Angst. COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

┈┈┈┈┈❀┈┈┈┈┈

"Your children's mother, You see won and afflicted,

Made sad by you, And proscribed by you.

You know how once I loved you, cruel one,

Once I was dear to you, cruel one!

I am alone here, without love, driven away..."- Medea by Cherubini, English Translation

“What I did not know was that I had hit upon a truth of womanhood: However blameless the life we lead, the passions and the greed of men could bring us to ruin, and there was nothing we could do.”- Jennifer Saint, Ariadne.

My husband fingered another woman against a tree.

I saw it. I saw it from my window. I watched them like God watches us all.

What little breath I already had was knocked out. I blinked. Wondering if this was a dream. A bad one. And I would wake up again. Maybe I would wake up and feel him next to me. To feel strength in my legs, hunger in my stomach, the fresh air in my lungs, and the chatter of the children and the dog yelping from outside. That I would turn over and see him smile, pat my hair, and sleepily say “Good morning, my Stella, my star.”

Their moans and releases were silent. But I felt as if I could detect the rumble of them like an animal feels the rumble of the floor of an approaching predator.

Perhaps I should have stopped them. But what could I do? Slam the window, yell with my weak lungs? And even if I could, by the time I looked it was too late.

Perhaps it wasn’t him. The man who did that very act to me on our wedding night. It wasn’t the man who swore to love me. The man who promised to forsake all others, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer until death did us part. The man who weekly went to the pulpit to preach of The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The man who preached studied and discussed the Ten Commandments, including the seventh one. The man who fathered my children. He was downstairs writing his sermon or drinking coffee. It couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be.

I saw on his head the same hair as my two sons.

No, our two sons.

There was no denying it was him. And there was no denying what they were doing. Pleasuring her. Her. Her. Her. And I could see her mouthing the pucker and the slight drop of the jaw to create his name silently-

William. William. William.

I walked carefully to the wall, hiding. Maybe it was a vision. I looked at the blank brown of the attic, and then back again. To the light where dust fell as snow.

They were still there. And still making love. Trading our wedding bed, soft, carefully carved from the local carpenter as a gift of thanks to his minister on his wedding day, with sheets washed on Thursdays for some ancient, dirty, sharp oak among the thorns, branches, leaves, and snakes.

They never noticed me. And they might tell you they never noticed me.

But I saw them.

I am so sorry. I do not normally speak like this. Speak of such lewd, unspeakable things. What must you think of me? I fear you think I am some base thing. That this is a tale of forbidden desire and lust fulfilled in a moment of passion.

This is not that story. If you think it will be that you are mistaken.

Leave and fulfill your desire to be The Woman somewhere else.

Everyone wishes to be her. They wish to be the glamorous mistress whose beauty led a man away from the bed of his plain, boring, dumpy wife. They don't want to be the wife. No one wants to be. They don't wish to speak of me. People do not wish to acknowledge me. Or tell my story. They don't want to see themselves as me. Dull Stella. Frumpy Stella. Scorned Stella. Plain Stella. Passive Stella. Poor Stella. Unwanted Stella. Undesired Stella. Rejected Stella. Betrayed Stella. So they never speak of me. They don't want to see themselves in my position. They don't want to imagine that the ones they love most might betray them for another. They'd rather be the darling who men obsess over to break their holy oaths.

And yet it still happens.

I tell you this because before my story begins, you must know that this will happen. Because it was the most painful moment of my whole life. I must tell it now or I will be overcome with my own heartbreak as I recall the happy years of my marriage with William to recount it.

This is mine. Not The Woman against the tree. The one who was left watching. The wife who was left behind. Mine. And I cannot remain silent. About that, or before, or after.

And it must be said, read, and listened to.

[alisondentaldesign]

Elevate Your Oral Health: Exploring Dental Hygiene at Park House Dental Health in Essex

In the serene landscapes of Essex, where tranquillity meets modern living, Park House Dental Health stands as a bastion of excellence in oral care. Renowned for their dedication to promoting optimal dental health and wellness, they offer a comprehensive range of services aimed at preserving and enhancing the beauty of smiles. Among these essential offerings, dental hygiene emerges as a cornerstone of their practice, ensuring that patients achieve and maintain optimal oral health for life.

Understanding the Importance of Dental Hygiene:

Dental hygiene is not just about achieving a sparkling smile – it's about safeguarding the health of your teeth and gums. By maintaining a consistent oral hygiene routine and seeking regular professional care, you can prevent common dental issues such as cavities, gum disease, and bad breath, ultimately preserving the integrity of your smile and supporting your overall well-being.

The Park House Dental Health Difference:

At Park House Dental Health, the pursuit of oral health excellence is woven into the fabric of their practice. Led by a team of dedicated professionals with a passion for patient care, they combine expertise with empathy to deliver personalized dental hygiene services tailored to each individual's unique needs and concerns.

Comprehensive Dental Cleanings:

Routine dental cleanings form the foundation of dental hygiene at Park House Dental Health. During these appointments, their skilled dental hygienists utilize specialized tools and techniques to remove plaque, tartar, and surface stains from the teeth, ensuring a thorough and effective cleaning that leaves your smile feeling fresh and rejuvenated.

Periodontal Therapy:

For patients with gum disease or signs of periodontal issues, Park House Dental Health offers targeted periodontal therapy to restore gum health and prevent further damage. Their experienced hygienists employ advanced techniques such as scaling and root planing to remove bacteria and plaque buildup from below the gumline, promoting healing and reducing the risk of future complications.

Patient Education and Empowerment:

Beyond professional cleanings and treatments, Park House Dental Health prioritizes patient education and empowerment. Their knowledgeable hygienists take the time to educate patients on proper oral hygiene techniques, including brushing, flossing, and dietary habits, empowering them to take an active role in maintaining their oral health between visits.

Preventive Care and Early Intervention:

By emphasizing preventive care and early intervention, Park House Dental Health aims to address dental issues proactively before they escalate into more serious problems. Regular dental hygiene appointments allow their team to monitor your oral health closely, identify potential concerns, and intervene promptly to keep your smile healthy and beautiful for years to come.

In Essex, where beauty and tranquility converge, Park House Dental Health offers more than just dental care – they offer a pathway to optimal oral health and wellness. If you're ready to elevate your dental hygiene routine and invest in the long-term health of your smile, schedule a visit to Park House Dental Health today. Because when it comes to your oral health, excellence begins with preventive care and a commitment to lifelong wellness.

Park House Dental Health

Website: www.phdentistry.co.uk

Phone: 01702 613196

Email: info@phdentistry.co.uk

Address: 1 Bournemouth Park Road, Southend-on-sea, Essex, SS2 5JQ

[dentalkind]

Dental Veneer Essex

DentalKind offers Dental veneers in Essex, Billericay at an affordable cost that suits your pocket and a consultation free. For more detail contact us online www.dentalkind.com

[captain039]

Secrets of mutation

Logan(wolverine) x reader

Warnings: Age gap, student/teacher, AOB, trauma, swearing, sexual, intimate, a little forceful, anxiety

Xmen/new mutants

AOB will be referred to second gender xD

The alarms were blaring in your ear when you woke. Startled and uncoordinated you got out of bed and looked out the door seeing no one but flashing lights, what the hell was going on?

You remember waking up in this strange place, handcuffed to a bed in some strange room filled with other empty hospital beds. You don’t remember much from before, your past blurry. A woman had come in, a tablet in hand as she scanned you with something.

“Where am I?” You asked.

“Who are you?!” You added tugging at the cuffs.

“Calm down Miss Y/n, my name is Dr Reyes, you’re at a facility” you frowned at her words.

“What facility?” You questioned.

“A facility for mutants like yourself” she said typing down something.

“You do know what mutants are yes?” You nodded to her question.

“I’m- not a mutant” you trailed off a little unsure.

“You are Y/n, a little late in showing but none the less, a mutant” she walked to your cuffs and you flinched as she unlocked them.

“What’s my mutation?” You asked rubbing your wrists.

“We have yet to figure that out” she smiled.

“I’ll show you around”

It was more of a cage for mutants than a program, you learnt after some time, the others you were with didn’t appreciate new blood apparently except Sam, Danny and Rahne. You were finding it difficult to present your power to anyone and yourself. Rahne said she could sense you differently from the others, you were unsure why though. As it became more clear you weren’t getting out you began to freak out. Your mind forcefully trying to figure out what happened before, your parents, your life? You couldn’t remember any of it, just flashes of faceless people and laughs. You got nightmares every night, something different each time, a jumble of memories perhaps. When those alarms rang though you sought nothing but freedom.

You had found the others as they looked around confused also. You all had headed outside a jet of some sort landing nearby.

“Who the hell is that?” Roberto asked.

“How are we supposed to know?!” Rahne yelled as a voice filled your head.

“It’s alright” it said as the jet opened and an old man came out on a wheelchair.

“No!” You heard Dr Reyes stumbling out as a orange bubble surrounded you. You were suffocating in it as you fell to your knees gasping for breath, desperately bashing on the force.

You had awoken to soft beeping, before it slowly picked up much like your heart beat. You looked around this feeling to familiar when someone walked in.

“You’re awake” she said as you stared at her, machine beating rapidly.

“What’s going on?!” You tugged against the tubes on you and panicked.

“Calm down” she said rushing to you quickly.

“My names Storm” she said and you frowned.

“You’re at professors Xaviers school” you frowned at her words.

“School?” You questioned looking around the high tech medical lab.

“Well above us is the school” she chuckled.

“You might know us better by the xmen” she said and you still stared.

“Took us a while to find your facility, I’m afraid you’re not the only one who was in that situation, they’re happening everywhere” she sighed sadly.

“That shield around it blocked the Professor out for a while till he got in” you laid back down, head spinning.

“Are the others ok?” You asked.

“They’re fine, getting use to the school, Magik causing some trouble but she’ll adapt” she stood by your bed.

“I-I don’t know my mutation” you mumbled.

“That’s why the professors here” she said softly as someone walked in. You sat up again seeing the old man in the chair.

“I’m not that old” he chuckled and you flushed.

“I didn’t-“ you frowned at him.

“My mutation my dear, I can hear people’s thoughts” he smiled stopping by your bed.

“Oh” you said.

“Don’t worry I won’t scope around in their unless you require me too” he chuckled you crossed your arms awkwardly.

“Bad joke I’m afraid” he said as Storm chuckled.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Um?” You said.

“Yes I’d imagine this situation is rather stressful but we are here to help” he offered a warm smile.

“I don’t know what to do- I don’t remember my past apart from waking up in that facility, nor do I know my mutation” you said.

“Yes, the facility’s, the Essex’s program give you a serum that takes away your memories of your past life, to better focus the mind” he sighed.

“As for your mutation I can help you find it” he smiled.

“Essex’s program?” You asked.

“Yes there are secret facility’s around the world, covered by the orange shield, they hold powerful mutants in there for testing, turn them into weapons with no memories” he spoke grimly, his eyes downcast.

“It’s hard for me to get through the shield without causing a big war” he sighed.

“These programs are made by the government, to test on mutants the deem powerful and dangerous and turn them into killers in the future” he looked to the woman who had a saddened face also.

“It’s hard to find you all” she said sadly.

“Terrible thing” she added.

“Come, I’ll show you around the school, lighten your mood a bit” the Professor smiled. You stood slowly thankful your clothes were still on and not some stupid hospital gown. You followed the Professor through a bright hall and into an elevator.

As the door opened again you were stunned by the house and smells. Old but clean with students walking around.

“They’re all mutants” the Professor said as you looked to each one as you walked.

“We have classes upstairs and down stairs, down the end here is the cafeteria” he pointed down the hall and you nodded.

“Back this way is the smaller kitchen and toilets along with rooms on the left side” he added pointing out each room.

“The floor below us is where you train, like for PE and fighting” he said.

“There’s a courtyard and plenty of room outside as well as in” he smiled going up the stairs.

“Professor!” You jumped as someone called.

“Ah Logan” you turned with the professor seeing the man coming towards you. You were hit with something though, an overwhelming scent and you held a hand over your nose.

“What?” The man said.

“I don’t stink that bad” he sniffed himself and you shook your head.

“No Logan I don’t think she understands our second gender” the Professor said and you frowned.

“Jesus kid” the man muttered.

“Did you need something Logan?” The Professor asked.

“Yeah that girl you found her with Magik? She’s causing a bloody mess again” he huffed hands on his hips and you perked up.

“Shall we go see your friends?” The Professor asked and you nodded. As you walked away from the man you glanced back meeting his gaze. You gulped looking away and speeding up a bit.

“Y/n!” Rahne was the first to run to you. You sighed hugging them tightly. Danny joined and you felt tears in your eyes. Sam came over too and you chuckled giving him a hug also.

“You guys ok?” You asked pulling back.

“We’re fine” Rahne said.

“How are you?” Sam asked.

“I’m ok, I think” you gulped a little glancing to the professor.

“You’ve been out a couple of days” Danny said and you frowned.

“Really?” You asked and she nodded.

“Was worried you weren’t gonna get up” you turned seeing Roberto and went to hug him.

“I get a hug?” He said in awe and you chuckled shaking your head.

“Where is your friend Magik?” The Professor asked.

“Outside in her little world” Roberto sighed.

“She hasn’t taken a liking to this place” Rahne said.

“She never liked being cooped up anyway” you shrugged.

“Y/n are you happy to stay here while I go talk to her?” The Professor asked.

“Yeah, thank you” you whispered and he smiled leaving.

You sat on the couch sighing, head hung back.

“We’re really at Professor Xaviers school” Danny said in little awe.

“The xmen” you mumbled.

“Yep” Rahne said.

“Seems strange we weren’t sent here- but then again we were in a secret program” Sam said.

“Secret program of psychos” Roberto grumbled.

“I don’t understand why I was there though” you said saddened.

“I don’t know my powers, I don’t know anything apparently” you sighed leaning your head in your hands.

“What’s the second gender?” You asked.

“You don’t know?” Roberto asked surprised.

“No” you mumbled.

“The second gender is-“ Sam stuttered on his words.

“Alpha, Beta, Omega” Rahne said and you frowned.

“I don’t understand?” You said.

“It’s a ranking system almost” Roberto spoke up.

“When you hit puberty is when you know your rank, Alphas are the-“ before Roberto could speak Danny interrupted.

“Alphas are hot headed idiots” she rolled her eyes as Roberto huffed like a child.

“Betas are in the middle class, omegas in the bottom and alphas at the top” Rahne said.

“What are you guys?” You said.

“Robertos an alpha so is Sam and Illyana, I’m a beta and so is Danny” you frowned at Rahne words.

“What am I?” You said.

“You’re an omega” Sam muttered.

“So I’m beneath you?” You questioned.

“No it- it doesn’t work like that” he sighed.

“Then how does it work?” You asked desperate.

“I can’t explain it’s always been there” Sam shrugged.

“What the hell” you mumbled sinking into to the couch more.

“I’m sure the professor can help you” Rahne held your hand as you tried to smile and nod. You didn’t know your past, your powers, your second gender? Who even were you?

Next Chapter ->