#Class 28

[just-sittin-on-a-fence]

Unseen Metrovick pic!

Cumbrian Coast, April 1965, a local train. Perhaps lower risk ;-)

[supertrainstationh]

16Jun76. Bristol Bath Road. Metrovick CoBo TDB968006 (Ex D5705). [Slide_1456-TPZ] by MrDeltic Via Flickr: Wed 16 Jun 1976. Metropolitan Vickers Class 28 Co-Bo No TDB968006 at Bristol Bath Road mpd. Previously D5705. Arguably the ugliest diesel ever to run on BR metals. The loco was withdrawn in June 1968 from the London Midland Region, Preston Division (D10). It then served as a carriage heating unit. [2020: The loco is preserved, but not in working order]. 

This dork hid behind a bunch of coaches to avoid being scrapped. My hero.

[deergirlestradiol]

[leslie057]

dont u just love to put her in situations <3

[kyouka-supremacy]

If I think too much about Akutagawa addressing himself as yatsugare I'll start feeling a lump in my throat and suddenly feel the need to throw up

[iamalivenow]

mom: do you want anything for your birthday

me: not really but a balloon might be fun

mom:

[valiantstarlights]

[Wedding Planner AU] Part 2: On the Restaurant's Balcony Area.

Tagging: @unfortunatelyevent @usernamesareoverratedseriously and @mademoisellemacabre , all of whom have expressed wanting to read more of this AU. I hope you like it. 🖤

--

"I was thinking the wedding should take place just as the sun starts to dip into the horizon, and the reception be held right after," Mrs. Nyx Endless says, then titters. "Of course, the reception would last until morning. We have to make sure that all our hundreds of guests are happy until they leave, and that would be whatever time they decide to leave. I'm thinking an open bar and two dozen new hors d'oeuvres every half an hour. We'd absolutely hate to bore anyone."

Hob nods and notes all of those down, saying nothing but already cursing internally. A sunset wedding alone is going to be hell to arrange. He'd have to consult actual meteorologists for it, and then pray to a hundred different gods to make sure it's not going to be rainy, cloudy, or whatever the hell England's weather is planning to do on that date. And two dozen new hors d'oeuvres every half an hour? Christ.

"A sunset wedding sounds marvellous, Nyx," Mrs. Muse agrees. "The golden hues of the sun would complement the golden theme of the wedding. And, of course, Calliope must look like Midas's daughter herself."

Hob nods dutifully again and notes that down, careful to keep his face blank, then bites the insides of his cheeks so he doesn't laugh in Mrs. Muse's face at that unfortunate reference.

Were Ms. Calliope to look like Midas's daughter herself, then Dream would be marrying a silent, golden statue. But then again, maybe he would prefer that. Lord knows he'd want someone as different from Hob as he could get, who everyone and their 3rd butler knows is just one dirty, stinking, unworthy, flea-bitten mongrel.

"I..." Calliope hesitates, then looks around for support. Hob pointedly does not notice how she toys with Dream's fingers, and how Dream squeezes her hand back. It looked like an automatic, intimate gesture. A silent conversation where meanings are translated almost instantaneously because of how well one understands the other. Hob looks steadfastly down at his notes and wills his own hands not to shake. "I would just like to have a simple garden wedding, actually."

Mrs. Muse tuts at her. "Nonsense, darling. A 'simple garden wedding' will not be the most talked-about event of the season. No, we'll have to have your wedding on a beach, somewhere lovely with white sand, and you'll be bedecked in topaz and sapphires like a goddess."

Mrs. Endless gasps in excitement. "Oh, Mnemosyne, that's such a brilliant idea! Sweet Calliope would look absolutely stunning in topaz and sapphire jewelry, while Dream could wear some matching blue and yellow roses pinned on his lapel."

Hob, again, says nothing to that and only notes everything down. In Calliope's previously empty column, he writes down '(simple) garden wedding.' In Mrs. Muse's column, he adds 'white sand beach wedding, sapphire and topaz jewelry (lots).' In Mrs. Endless's column, he adds 'blue and yellow roses pinned on groom's lapel.'

(Hob doesn't think he can write Dream's name yet. He thinks even that will hurt him.)

Dream has yet to say anything, and his column is as empty as the promises he once made to Hob. "And you, Mr. Endless?" Hob asks his notes. "Do you have any preferences?"

Dream takes a moment to even acknowledge that he has been asked a question. Hob thinks this is because Dream's father, that old curmudgeonly bastard, just died a year ago, and Dream is probably used to others saying, 'Mr. Endless' and the title referring only to his father. Well tough luck, because Hob isn't about to call him Young Master Dream or whatever their staff calls the Endless children.

"Anything Calliope wants," is what he finally says, voice still sounding the same, so hypnotizing and deep, if a bit hoarse, like he wasn't used to talking anymore. His eyes remain on the mostly full plate in front of him. He has barely eaten the previous courses, and his small square of chocolate cake with raspberry filling (decorated with gold leaf and a small gravity-defying chocolate sculpture of a bird in flight) had only been played with to create the illusion that he took a bite.

Hob hates that he still notices these things. Notices these things and worry. That it still makes him want to drag Dream to the nearest hole-in-the-wall restaurant he knows where they serve cheap but hearty meals that fill your stomach as the cozy atmosphere fills your soul.

"Dream," Mrs. Endless scolds. "Will it kill you to sound enthusiastic? This is your wedding, too, you know!"

Mrs. Muse hushes her friend and coos at Dream. "Oh, Nyx, please, it's fine." To her daughter, she says, "Did you hear that, Calliope? Dream says, 'Anything you want,' so you better want something truly spectacular! My, what a good man your son is, Nyx," she continues, seemingly not noticing how Mrs. Endless is continuing to scold Dream through her eyes. "So sweet and accommodating."

Mrs. Muse then turns to Hob like he is just another lady in her court during rich-people tea time. Like they were close and she isn't thinking about how his mere presence is polluting the very air she breathes. "Isn't he just the sweetest, Mr. Gadling?"

Hob thinks about his boyfriend Dream from years ago and how he is in the mornings, wearing nothing but Hob's ratty jumpers, his messy hair that looks like a bird's nest, his eyes soft and blinking sleep away, smiling at Hob like he's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He thinks about Dream's gentle, addicting little kisses that Hob only token protests at because finals week is coming up and they need to study and not fuck like rabbits again. He thinks of Dream saying, 'yes,' saying, 'I love you, Hob,' saying, 'I'll love you forever.'

Hob nods politely, showing Mrs. Muse his most impersonal smile and speaking in his most professional voice. "I'm sure he is."

[synthshenanigans]

Jashtober Day 27 & 28- Potion & Bass

Designs by @/cinnamonsly!!!

Bonus Bass doodle:

[captainjonnitkessler]

There's a certain segment of leftists that believe that, without capitalism, everyone would be naturally motivated to build things safely and to code. They believe this because the only reason they can think of for having code officers and regulatory enforcement is to stop evil capitalists from cutting corners to make more money. And while that is a contributing factor some of the time, we don't actually live in an episode of Captain Planet and what actually happens is that the people designing the space go "ooh, this would be so much pretty if we designed it like this instead!" and it turns out that their prettier option is not ADA compliant, not NFPA compliant, and a energy-sucking ventilation nightmare.

I was actually just about to make a post along these lines. Like yes, corporations cutting corners to save money and foremen forcing people to work unsafely to be more productive are huge issues and the primary reason for labor laws. But also . . . have you ever tried getting a construction worker to wear a hard hat if safety isn't right there watching him?

Like, pretty much everyone will cut corners or ignore safety guidelines here and there, and not out of greed or maliciousness. It's just because it's faster and easier and it's really, really easy to think "oh I'll just do it real quick, it'll be fine". Or for over-confident people to think "I don't need to look up how to do this, I know how it works", or for someone to just plain be wrong about how they interpreted something. Or to use the wrong part for something because there's a 99% chance it'll be fine and getting the right part will cost a thousand dollars and won't be here for eight weeks.

Basically any system that just relies on humans always doing everything perfectly by the book just because that's the right way to do it is doomed to failure. THAT'S why we have regulatory agencies and require things like permits and inspections - to disincentivize people from taking those shortcuts. It's my biggest problem with a lot of leftist visions of the perfect society - they rely on people not acting like people anymore, and that's just never going to happen.

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

genuinely find it difficult sometimes to believe the metrovicks were, like, real

[sunshineandlyrics]

🫧 A fan was blowing cute bubbles during She is Beauty We are World Class 🫧

FITFWT Melbourne, 28 January 2024

[just-sittin-on-a-fence]

A 'Metrovick' class 28 diesel hauling a parcels train in Dalton, Cumbria

June 1966

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2023: Day 29 - Out of Service

Oliver Wasn't the Only Engine in that Siding:

Oliver the Great Western Engine is thankful for the second chance that Sodor has given him. Every day, he wakes up and says ‘good morning’ and ‘thank you’ to Douglas before starting his day’s duties. Douglas never really understood the custom.

“Ye dinnae need tae thank me ilka day,” Douglas said one morning. “I do though,” Oliver replied quietly. “It’s important to me… to everyone. You saved us when we had no one to turn to, and it’s because of you that I’m here today. That alone is worthy of my eternal gratitude.”

Douglas left it at that, and puffed away to start his day.

Once Douglas had rounded the bend out of sight, Oliver released a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding in. The Caledonian couldn’t possibly know.

There are two days that Oliver will never forget: the first is the day that Douglas rescued him from the Other Railway, but the second…

The second is the day he arrived in that scrapyard; two months prior. He’d been out of coal, unable to find even a single lump of the black fuel source. He’d been captured by a smirking diesel, who’d dragged him up to the Barrow Scrapyard and left him in a cold, damp siding with his coach Isabel and his brakevan Toad. The trio thought they were alone, until an old, scratchy voice broke the silence.

“Welcome to the ‘out of use’ siding,” wheezed the voice. Oliver looked back. Behind him was a row of old, rusty engines. They were not Great Westerns like him – they were ex-LMS stock. The one who had spoken was a grimy Fowler 4F, who was missing both his tender and his dome. He stood right behind Oliver, but ahead of six other engines. Two were Jinty tank engines, one was a Black 5, one was a Stanier 8F, one was an Ivatt 2MT tank engine – and the last was Pettigrew D5, from the Furness Railway.

The other engines didn’t say anything. They just sat there – silent hulks leaving growing shadows on the ground.

“Hello, little runaway,” smirked an oily diesel. Oliver looked up to see a large, grease-smeared Class 28 rumble up alongside him. “We caught you at last.” Oliver glared defiantly. The Great Western engine refused to give the diesel the pleasure of a reply.

“Heh, not a talker?” sneered the diesel. “No matter. We’ve got a little treat in store for you. You’re last on our siding, so I hope you enjoy what comes next.”

And with that, men left the works coach the Class 28 was pulling, and made their way over to the first of the Jintys.

Oliver couldn’t bear to look – but he was forced to listen. Listen to the hiss of the blowtorch, to the screech of 1000 degrees slicing through metal, to the screams of the engine as it was slowly; agonisingly carved up and turned into a pile of parts.

The Class 28 shunted the parts into the smelter’s shed.

Oliver wanted to cry, but the look on the diesel’s kept his eyes dry. The glee – the sheer, unadulterated glee – in that engine’s eyes was sickening. Oliver wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing his sick, twisted game was getting to the Western engine.

The scrapper’s had waited a week before returning, with that same smarmy diesel. This time, Oliver got to read the engine’s number off its cab.

D5701.

Oliver noticed that the other Class 28s avoided this one. They looked at this diesel as if he was a monster. Oliver agreed with them. This diesel seemed to take enjoyment from the screams of his victims, listening in for the moment the screams dissolved into whimpers.

The torch worked its way through the engines in the siding. The Staniers and the other Jinty were gone by the end of the month, leaving Oliver with the D5, the Ivatt 2MT and the Fowler 4F. All four rarely spoke – especially not with the other diesels growling and sneering at them. All except the other Class 28s. The rest of that class seemed horrified at their siblings’ actions – and they were the only ones that came near them without bringing death.

D5703 rumbled up beside Oliver one evening, looking around fugitively. “Tonight, the Midnight Goods comes across from Sodor,” she hissed quietly. “We’re going to try and redirect their engine this way – but you need to grab their attention.” Oliver couldn’t find the steam to reply.

“We’ll try,” croaked the Fowler from behind Oliver. “Thank you.”

The night wore on, and the four engines, Isabel, and Toad all waited for signs of a Sodor engine puffing past. Instead, D5701 growled past, dragging D5703 behind as she hissed and hurled insults at her unfeeling sibling.

“Try and help those relics, huh?” he snarled. “Try and derail to bring those disgusting Nor-Westers this way? It’s such a shame that the company wants you gone, little sister.” Oliver watched with wide eyes as D5701 dragged their own sister into the smelting shed. There was the distinct hiss of smelting torches being fired up – and then a single, ear-piercing scream. D5701 growled out of the smelting shed, lip curled up in a snarl.

“And let that be a lesson!” he roared. “There is no escape!” The four steam engines said nothing, didn’t give the furious diesel the satisfaction of a victory.

The next day, the men came for the Ivatt, slicing the young engine up extra slowly.

That was when a second young Class 28 began to visit the trio. D5714 was an unassuming young girl - she wasn’t the youngest of her class, nor the oldest. She just was. She pulled her trains when her Crossley motor allowed her to, and she got her driver to play the radio for her when she couldn’t.

“What is the West like?” she asked Oliver one evening. “Well, it’s wonderful,” grinned Oliver. “Beautiful scenery – and all our coaches were painted chocolate and cream. But… the managers didn’t care about steam. Said we were too inefficient. They were… they were proud to claim their region was the first to… to… to abolish steam.” D5714 gasped. “That’s horrible! The same is happening to my class… they say we’re too expensive to keep running. We aren’t ‘revolutionary’ like the other diesels. Big brother 5702 said our best chance of survival was to learn from the steam engines, and use their wisdom to do better at work. Big brother 5701 wants us all to get into the… the scrapping business. He thinks if we do, we’ll survive on the scrap-merchant’s money. Big sister 5700 was scrapped though… and so was big sister 5703! I saw 5701 drag her off.” Oliver paused, realisation hitting him like a runaway freight train.

The Class 28s weren’t even ten yet. They’d been built in the late 50s! The young girl in front of her couldn’t have been older than eight years old. And here they were, being forced to debate the best way to survive. It was sickening – and it was all British Rail’s fault.

The D5 was the next to go. The poor old engine had been sat in that siding for ten years and had accepted his fate long ago. When the cutters came for him, he simply smiled at them. His voice had been lost during the last downpour, and the rust was creeping up his smokebox. He didn’t scream like the other engines – and Oliver could tell how much that infuriated D5701.

“Why was he so quiet? Are the torches not hot enough?” he demanded. The scrappers all shot the diesel dirty looks. “That engine was meant to have been cut up years ago,” one of them snapped. “You’ve kept him on this siding for nearly a decade, and that’s all you have to say?” Oliver felt sick to his boiler. That old engine had been sat out in the wind and snow and driving rain and baking sun for an entire decade. Longer than most of his replacements had even been alive.

And he could tell that D5714 thought her brother’s words were horrible too. “Don’t mind him,” muttered the Fowler softly. Oliver jumped. The 4F had been silent ever since D5703 had been scrapped. “I… beg your pardon?” “Don’t mind that bully,” the 4F said. “His type has always existed, and they always will. But you can’t let them win.” “How do you know?” asked Oliver. The 4F didn’t reply. Oliver had a sinking feeling that he didn’t want to know.

“The Midnight Goods is due in two weeks,” hummed D5714 the next evening. “I wonder if it’ll be that Scot again?” “Scot?” asked Oliver. “Yes – the last one was pulled by some engine with a Scottish accent. He spent a good few minutes hissing insults at 5701.” Oliver noticed that the young engine was no longer referring to her classmate as ‘big brother’.

That evening, D5701 came for the Fowler 4F. Unlike the others, he was dragged out of the siding.

“Well, old timer?” sneered D5701. “It’s your turn. How does it feel to be scrapped by the very people you once worked for?” “Like a cruel irony,” came the blunt reply. “And one I feel you too will come to know.” D5701 laughed – but his laugh was like shards of glass falling, the laugh of a maniac.

“Me?! Ever be shunted off into a siding like you? You outlived your usefulness as a scrapper’s engine, Fowl one, though that’s to be expected from such a relic.” “And what of you? Even as we speak, they are cutting up your class in the sidings of Carlisle. Five gone, and a sixth being withdrawn tomorrow. I do not envy you, if that is what you want me to say. I do not wish to be you, and I will not argue, or beg, or plead, or scream. There is no satisfaction in that. Not anymore.”

D5701’s engine roared at this, backfiring with a massive Bang! A fireball shot up, and he surged forwards, bumping the Fowler hard enough that the old engine went sailing into the smelting shed, joints creaking and groaning before suddenly giving way. The Fowler 4F’s axles shattered beneath him, and he toppled cab over wheels to one side, parts snapping off and smashing down all around the husk of an engine. D5701 smirked.

“You’ll be next, Western,” he said. With that, he rumbled off to deal with scrapping the remains of the Fowler 4F. D5714 sidled up next to Oliver.

“I have a plan,” she said quietly. “But I need you to have at least a little steam. Can your crew build a fire?” Oliver blinked. His crew was somewhere in Barrow – probably trying to find a way to speak to the Fat Controller across the bridge – but he hadn’t heard from them in well over a month. “If you can get them to me, we can probably get something started with all the overgrown weeds…” Oliver replied. D5714 smiled. “Good. When the steam engine arrives, I need you to get their attention, no matter what. Oh! Or if it’s D5702. He’s also a Sodor engine. If you can do that, I can distract everyone else.”

Oliver felt a smile slowly grow on his face. “Thank you,” he whispered. D5714 smiled. “It’s the right thing to do,” she replied. And then she was speeding away before her psychopathic brother could reappear.

Oliver’s crew were back the next day, tugging weeds out of the ground and laying them out in Oliver’s firebox to dry out. They took a floorboard or two from Toad as well. Even so, it was dangerous work. D5701 kept rumbling over to gloat, counting down the days with a manic grin that split his face in two, revealing a row of pearly white teeth. On any other engine, that smile would have been natural, reassuring – D5714 smiled like that sometimes, when Oliver told her about all his adventures back on his branchline – but on D5701, it just seemed sinister.

But he was nowhere to be found the day before the Midnight Goods was due to arrive, in spite of it being the day before he planned to scrap Oliver. D5714 was smirking when she pulled in.

“We’re in luck,” she said. “5701 is stuck at Carnforth due to some faulty points. It gives us an even better chance.” And with that, her driver pulled a sack out of the diesel’s cab and tossed it to Oliver’s driver. The driver opened the bag and gasped.

“Coal!” “It was the last in the bunkers on the branch,” D5714 said. “So use it wisely.” Oliver beamed. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said earnestly. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?” D5714 thought for a moment, then smiled shyly. “I would like… a name.”

Oliver stopped dead, stunned. “You don’t have a name?” “Not many diesels do,” D5714 replied quietly. “British Rail says it encourages deviant behaviour – but I heard that all steam engines have names!” “We do,” said Oliver proudly. “I’m Oliver… and you… what do you think of Eleanor?” “Like that American woman?” asked D5714. “The one who helped found the United Nations?” “Yes,” Oliver replied. “Eleanor Roosevelt. I met her when she came to Britian during the war. One of the most amazing people I’d ever spoken to. She wanted to help everyone… a lot like you.” “I… I like it.” “Then pleased to finally meet you, Eleanor.” Eleanor blushed, and was about to leave when the pair heard a disturbingly familiar horn echo through the yards.

“Quick! He’s coming back!” hissed Oliver. Eleanor sped away, and vanished just before D5701 finally returned. Oliver’s crew hid in Isabel, daring not to make a sound. “One night left, steam kettle,” sneered D5701. “I’m going to enjoy tomorrow.”

With that, he rumbled away.

Night fell. Oliver’s crew began building a small fire in Oliver’s firebox, having first checked his tanks had water. They were in luck. All was still in the yards.

Then, suddenly, the fire alarm rang out, just as a sharp, deep, Caledonian Railway whistle boomed in the distance. Oliver could see in the distance that the main sheds were on fire – and D5714’s plan was suddenly in motion.

Oliver could only hope that his crew had built enough of a fire to make steam.

Back to Master Post

[buglaur]

answered asks below 💞

THANK YOU GUYS 💞💞💞💞💞 it really means a lot 🥺 @deehya @pxeltownie @leafbatraccoon

AWH thank you!!!! you're literally so sweet. i'm so happy you like my gameplay!! i might try and get some new cc out soon too, i was working on a new pair of earrings before i started my exams. you made my day with this seriously thank you 🥺🙏

right?? i feel like a bit of a fraudster tagging all the posts with tjol, because he's literally not doing ANY of the things he's supposed to. i honestly might abandon the tjol efforts and just play with him regularly 😭 so glad you've loving him though!! i love him too no matter how much grief he causes me 😭

@rainymoodlet i've been hoarding your asks like little good luck charms in my inbox for so longgg 😭😭 and i've read your tags on my post and I MISS YOU TOOOOO i can't wait to be back around here on the daily. so glad to be almost done, when i am i'm going on a huge rainymoodlet.tumblr.com binge 💞💞💞 seriously thank you for checking up on me!!! ilysmmm

[albatmobile]

Master List: The Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds

𓅪 Navigating the present is hard when your past refuses to die. After not hearing from Roy or Jason for five years, you suddenly find yourself taking in extra income as a babysitter for their child.

Rated E | fem!reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper CLICK FOR LINK TO SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

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Next in Series: Cardinal Sins

[ejzah]

In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 28

***

After a couple days of thought, Caleb decided he did want Monica to visit again, so Deeks called the number she’d left during that first night. He was honestly a little surprised when she answered. Or that she’d actually stayed in town at all.

Twenty minutes before Monica was supposed to arrive on Thursday night, Deeks pulled a chicken and roasted vegetables out of the oven for dinner. He’d debated including Monica in on the meal—it all seemed a little too domestic for his comfort—but decided any other option would be obviously rude and petty. He had resisted the urge to do any extra cleaning, even though cleaning was one of his natural stress responses.

The doorbell rang as he was flipping a separate pan of potatoes.Deeks waited a moment to see if Caleb would come running to answer it. Either he hadn’t heard it from his room, or was ignoring it.

Deeks wiped his hands on a spare towel, tugging at the hem of his shirt as he walked out of the kitchen. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long night.

He opened the door to a smirking Monica, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I almost thought you weren’t going to answer,” she said, ducking under his arm.

“Nice to see you too, Monica. Please, come in,” he said wryly, closing the door behind them. “Caleb’s still finishing his homework, but he should be done in a few minutes.”

“Homework?” She chuckled, and he didn’t need to look to know she’d rolled her eyes. “In our day they gave us a couple pictures to color and called it a day.”

“Yeah, times change. I’m finishing dinner, if you wanna follow me. Otherwise, you’re welcome to the TV in the den.” He gestured with his chin, and Monica tilted her head, scrutinizing him for a few seconds that felt unbearably long.

“Hm, I think I’ll take the first option,” she decided. “It’s been a long time since I’ve watched you cook.”

“I don’t seem to recall you being that impressed before,” Deeks commented without thinking.

“Ooh, somebody’s feeling spicy tonight,” Monica said teasingly. “You know what they say about absence.”

Deeks chose not to comment on that, silently walking into the kitchen, and occupying himself with checking the potatoes. They needed a couple more minutes. When he turned around, he found Monica watching him again.

“You want anything to drink?” He pulled a couple glasses from the cabinet next to the stove.

“It feels like a wine kind of night. Do you have anything red?”

“I might have a cabernet somewhere.” Shaking his head, he put one of the regular glasses back, pulling out a wineglass instead. A drink sounded pretty good right now, specifically a large shot of scotch. That seemed like a poor choice though, for a multitude of reasons, so he filled his glass with water, and started searching through the small collection of alcohol he had on hand.

He found a merlot from a couple years back, decided that would have to do, and uncorked it. Monica stayed silent through the whole process, making him feel uneasy.

“So, who’s Kensi?” Monica asked abruptly as he passed her a glass of wine. The question was so unexpected, he said nothing, and she apparently interpreted it as willfully ignoring her. “I heard Caleb say the name the other night when I came. Clearly he expected someone else. And, he accidentally mentioned her a couple other times.”

“Oh no, we’re not going there,” Deeks said firmly.

“That means she’s important. Did you finally break your vow of celibacy and start dating again?”

God, she was infuriating sometimes. He took a couple steps back, purposely distancing himself.

“Monica, I am not discussing my personal life with you.”

“I think it’s my right to know who’s coming into my son’s life,” she insisted with a careless shrug. She paused to take a long sip of her wine.

“No, it’s not,” Deeks said more quietly, but with no less conviction. “Maybe if you were here more than once every year. Or if you even kept in touch regularly. You haven’t though, so I get to make the decisions about who is in Caleb’s life.”

Monica gave him an incredulous look, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I’m guessing I’m not one of those people, huh? I’m not this Kensi who makes both of you light up.”

“If you’re implying that I’ve said anything negative about you to Caleb, that is the farthest from the truth.” He lowered his voice on the off chance that Caleb chose this moment to walk in as seemed his way. “I’ve done my very best to never let my own feelings and opinions about you influence him. Seeing you tonight was completely his own decision.”

Her eyes widened as she tilted her head again, mouth slightly open. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“When have I ever lied to you, Monica?” he asked, and she seemed stunned by the simple question.

Beyond her shoulder he saw Caleb appear in the doorway, standing there hesitantly when he noticed Monica in the room too.

“Hey kiddo, you finish your homework?”

“Yeah. Is dinner ready?”

Setting her wine aside, Monica turned and offered Caleb a smile. “Hi Caleb. There’s my big boy,” she said, holding her arms open.

“Hi Mommy.” He smiled back shyly, accepting a hug a little stiffly.

“Did you miss me?” she asked.

“Kind of,” Caleb answered honestly.

Monica’s face feel briefly before she recovered herself. “Well, I missed you.” She poked Caleb in the stomach, eliciting a little giggle from him. “Let’s set the table while Daddy finished dinner.”

As they walked out of the room, she fixed Deeks with a determined look that he knew could only mean trouble. Slouching against the counter, he pressed his palms against his eye sockets. He hoped this hadn’t been a terrible mistake.

***

A/N: Yes, Monica just brings all the drama. And yes, she’s the villain of this story.