#I haven’t started it yet and I’m so afraid. I’m getting my affirmations straightened out now so I don’t do a murder later

[prans-micellar-water]

I must not get angry at the netflix three body problem adaptation. Hating a new adaptation just because it’s different is the little death that brings total destruction. I will face the casting choices. I will permit the anglicization to pass over me and through me. And when I have watched the final episode I will turn my inner eye upon the tumblr 3 body problem tag to revel in the reactions of the other. Where the loathing has gone only a ‘meh it was fine’ will remain.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Divination Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 占卜之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ Released on 16 September 2021 ]

MC: Gavin, I’ve been way too unlucky recently! I fell down while riding a bicycle, the water supply was cut halfway during a shower, and last week, three flights were delayed by more than two hours within the span of three days... Sob sob, life is so difficult...

It’s a Saturday, and Gavin has come over to my house to kill time as usual. The moment we meet, I can’t help but wail about how I painstakingly got through the week. 

As though he’s comforting a small animal, his palm gently covers the top my head.

Gavin: You’ve already told me these things.

He pulls me over to sit on the sofa, then leans over to look at my knee. Knowing his intentions and feeling afraid that he’s genuinely worried, I hurriedly wave my hands.

MC: Actually, it wasn’t a serious fall, and my skin didn’t tear. There were a few red cuts, but they're gone now.

Even after confirming the veracity of what I said, Gavin doesn’t straighten up. His fingers rub my knee, conveying his belated consolation.

After a while, he rests an arm on the sofa while turning his head towards me.

Gavin: Want to drink milk tea or eat cake? Didn’t you say that with these two things, even the worst of moods can be turned into the clearest of skies?

With this reminder, a location instantly flashes past my mind.

MC: Let’s drink coffee!

I reach for my phone on the coffee table. Tapping on my saved searches, I show Gavin a shop.

MC: This one - Witch Café. The name’s a little outdated, but it’s really popular recently. I’ve seen many people checking in on Moments. 

MC: The manager of this shop knows divination, and the reviews mentioned that she’s really accurate... 

MC: Also, if the results from the divination aren’t that great, she could help turn my fortune around. 

MC: The shop sells lots of objects used for changing one’s fortune, such as crystal rings and bracelets. 

MC: I think what I need most right now, aside from you... would be a change of fortune!

Gavin bursts into a laugh, then lifts his head to look at me.

Gavin: It’s my fault for not learning divination to change your fortune for the better. Otherwise, you’d only need me.

Gavin’s quick wit causes me to do a thumbs-up.

MC: Wow. Your logic... makes a little bit of sense.

He scrolls down my phone screen, taking a casual look at the café’s introduction.

Gavin: Mm, it looks really interesting and isn’t very far.

MC: It’s really nearby. It’s only a few kilometres away, and there definitely won’t be a traffic jam at his hour. But it’s the weekend, so I’m not sure if we’d need to queue.

Gavin takes my phone from my hand, then pushes me on the back gently.

Gavin: Get changed. I’ll give them a call to make a reservation.

I immediately get up, giving him a deliberately formal bow.

MC: Understood.

-

The internet-famous café is even more popular than I imagined. Although it isn’t time for afternoon tea yet, the shop is already fully packed.

Fortunately, we’re seated in a relatively quiet corner next to the window. However, we can still hear a few ladies from the neighbouring table fervently discussing the results of their divination.

I tug on Gavin’s sleeve from across the table.

MC: Gavin, you’ve never believed in such things, have you?

Gavin: Divination?

Gavin nods frankly, then suddenly chuckles.

Gavin: I initially wanted to say that I didn’t believe it. But I suddenly remembered that an Evolver who can predict the future is sitting right in front of me.

MC: ...that’s true?!

Realising this, I sink into a deep contemplation. Gavin reaches out to scratch the tip of my nose.

Gavin: I meant that as a joke. It’s impossible to meet a second Evolver with a precognition ability.

I glare at Gavin angrily. He shifts his gaze, looking at the manager who is currently talking to patrons.

Gavin: But she is an Evolver.

MC: Really? 

I turn my head to look. The manager is wearing a black apron, and she’s bending down as she patiently explains the divination symbol to a patron, her smile warm and amiable.

She exudes an aura which makes whatever she says very believable.

Just as my anticipation is hooked, Gavin stifles it with his words.

Gavin: But it definitely isn’t related to precognition.

MC: I see...

When Gavin sees that my anticipation has dampened, he pushes a blueberry cake in front of me.

Gavin: Don’t feel disappointed yet. Divination has never needed to rely on Evol. You’ll know if it’s accurate after giving it a try.

He digs a small piece of cake with a spoon, then brings it over to me. Munching on it, my eyes widen as I look at him.

MC: Incredibly! Delicious!

The cake exceeded my expectations. Thinking that the coffee might be pretty good too, I quickly lift the cup of coffee from the table.

In the meantime, Gavin picks up the explanatory card the manager had just brought over, and starts reading from it.

Gavin: It says that once you’ve finished drinking the coffee, you have to press the bell to call for the manager. The manager will obtain the divination results after observing the shape of the coffee sediments. 

Gavin: Before the divination, you could think of the contents of the divination first.

Gavin: If you have a ring or another token, you could prepare it beforehand. Place it at the bottom of the cup afterwards to increase the effectiveness.

After reading this, he rests his chin against his hand while chuckling softly.

Gavin: It’s almost the same as the tarot cards we tried the last time.

I take the explanatory card from him. Opening it up, I give it a sweeping glance.

MC: ...so it’s tasseography. I did research on it when we were playing with tarot cards the last time. Afterwards, I realised how complicated it is to interpret the divination results, so I gave up on learning it.

Finishing the rest of the coffee in one gulp, I press the copper bell at the corner of the table.

Upon hearing the bell, the manager looks up and shoots me a smile while washing a coffee cup. After wiping her hands, she walks over to us.

Manager: Are the both of you done with your coffee?

Seeing me nod in anticipation, she picks up the serving tray on the table, placing it next to the coffee cup.

Manager: May I know how I should address you?

MC: MC.

Manager: MC, lift the coffee cup and sway it gently while contemplating on your divination question. Once you’re done, place the cup upside down onto the tray.

I follow her instructions.

After a short while, she uncovers the cup, displaying the shape of the coffee sediments inside it.

Manager: Based on the results, you seem to have been going through a rough time lately, and your mood hasn’t been great. Is this correct?

MC: !!!

I immediately look at Gavin, thinking that this is far too accurate.

The manager seems to detect an affirmation from my expression. She sets down the coffee cup, then retrieves two wrapped chocolate cookies from her apron.

Manager: I made them this afternoon, and they’re for you. Based on the shape of the coffee sediments, although you might have experienced some rough moments recently, all the unhappy moments have already passed. Over the next few days, you’ll receive good news in succession, and you’ll be happier.

While saying this, she leans over, her slightly curled hair exuding a floral fragrance which refreshes the soul, causing me to be left in a mild daze.

Gavin suddenly speaks up.

Gavin: You’re using Evol.

The manager pauses in fright. For a moment, she’s at a loss, and has no choice but to bow slightly with her hands by her side.

Manager: I’m sorry, have I offended the both of you?

Seeing her frantic expression, I hurriedly shake my head.

MC: I-it’s fine... we don’t discriminate against Evolvers. And I’m sure you didn’t have malicious intentions.

The manager’s shoulders slump in resignation, admitting her “little magic” to us candidly.

Manager: ...I just wanted to send a flower into your memories.

MC: Send a flower?

Seeing that I didn’t understand what she meant, she explains patently.

Manager: Sorry, that’s a phrase I use in the shop.

Manager: Through tasseography, I can truly tell that you haven’t been in a good mood recently. But it’s very difficult to change your future fortune. 

Manager: In order to lift the spirits of patrons who do divinations, I use my Evol to alter their memories slightly.

Manager: However, my Evol has its limits. The only thing I can do is add something small that’s worthwhile of happiness into their unhappy memories, such as a flower. 

Manager: Are you willing to give it a try?

Considering how frank she is, I can’t find a reason to refuse. Furthermore, no incidents will occur with Gavin around.

MC: Mm...

The manager’s hand gently glides across me. Although I feel as though nothing happened, she signals that she’s done. Gavin stares at me curiously.

Gavin: Are there any changes to your memories?

I inexplicably recall the time when I fell off the bicycle, and images beginning from the moment I fell surface in my mind -

The path in front of me is tilted, and I can’t control my plummet towards my left side. 

These images are exactly the same as what actually happened, but in the very last snippet -

In an unremarkable corner of the crosswalk, a blue wild flower sways along with the breeze.

MC: A flower? There’s really a flower!

For some reason, seeing this flower enveloped in sunlight causes my emotions to become much more composed, reducing the annoyance I felt about the fall.

The manager releases a joyful sigh, then continues her soft explanation on why she does such things.

Manager: People often have a deep impression of negative things, while happy moments are fleeting. Unhappy memories linger much longer in memories.

Manager: So I thought - if I could add an element of happiness into the unhappy memories of patrons, such as a flower, or a ray of sunlight...

Manager: Their unhappy memories may become a little brighter. On a subconscious level, their mood would naturally become better.

Manager: With a good mood to lift them up, they’d focus on the positive aspect of things the next time they face something else. That’s why they’d find that their fortunes have truly turned for the better.

After saying this, the manager looks at the both of us before apologising again softly.

Manager: Even though I use Evol on patrons, I don’t have malicious intentions. Could you be magnanimous and not report me?

I toss a glance at Gavin, hoping that the Captain would close an eye this time.

After pondering for a moment, Gavin nods calmly at the manager.

Gavin: I won’t report you, but don’t use Evol on patrons in the future.

He looks at me from the side, then reaches out to grab a tissue before wiping it gently against the corner of my lips. Lowering my head, I spot blueberry coloured cream on the white tissue.

Gavin: I believe that your coffee and snacks are enough to bring patrons happiness.

The manager grabs my hand in relief, thanking me repeatedly.

Manager: Thank you both for liking my coffee and cakes. I’ll give another present to the both of you.

-

By the time we leave the café, it’s still early. Gavin and I aren’t in a hurry to go back. Holding hands, we take a stroll beneath the shade of trees.

We can’t help but bring up what happened in the café earlier.

MC: It turns out that it’s so simple to change one’s mood. Adding an element of happiness into unhappy memories is enough.

Surrounded by the chirping of cicadas, even Gavin’s voice reveals a refreshing and carefree touch of summer.

Seeing his slightly sweat-damped fringe sticking to his temples, I retrieve a tissue from my bag and wipe it for him.

Gavin: I remember that you once mentioned that the secret to maintaining a happy life is to focus on the positive side of things.

While saying this, Gavin takes the tissue in my hand and stores it into his own pocket.  

MC: Mm, that’s right! Actually, such forms of self comfort are pretty effective. 

MC: Even though I fell while riding a bike, I told myself that it was fortunate that it wasn’t anything more than a fall. 

MC: When the water supply was cut while I was showering, it only happened because I didn’t pay attention to the announcement by the property management... 

MC: I’d just learn from this experience and check the announcement board more often. 

MC: Also, the flights were delayed due to torrential rain. It was an objective reason, and nobody could have expected it.

MC: A lady from the airline company even gave me orange juice and a small gift.

Gavin chuckles leisurely, meeting my gaze from the corner of his eyes.

Gavin: Many things may not have happened according to how you wished over the short span of a week. Immersing yourself in the state of mind that everything wouldn’t go smoothly made you forget to look at the positive side of everything.

MC: Mm, but I can’t help it... Maintaining an optimistic outlook is really difficult. It’s inevitable to feel discouraged.

While saying this, I tighten my grip on his hand.

MC: But now, I know that if I face any unhappy moments in the future, I just have to search for a flower.

Gavin stops in his footsteps, lowering his eyes and giving me a smile.

Gavin: Have you thought of a new method to cheer yourself up?

I release a matter-of-fact “mm”. Pulling his collar, I give him a gentle peck on the chin.

MC: Whenever I face an unlucky incident, all I have to do is tell you immediately, and I’d immediately be comforted by you... 

MC: That way, I’d no longer be unhappy.

Gavin is taken aback momentarily. Then, he smiles faintly while looking at me.

MC: Whether it’s a fall or a delayed flight... The moment I share these things with you, the moodiness in my heart vanishes like smoke. The reason why I specially complained to you today was just to play coy.

I draw closer to him, swinging our interlaced hands.

MC: In the café earlier, I didn’t take the crystal bracelet she offered to change my fortune for the better... 

MC: I already have a bracelet which can bring me the greatest luck in the world.

I lower my head. Fragments of sunlight fall onto the ginkgo bracelet, refracting resplendent and exquisite faint light.

MC: This ginkgo leaf makes me happier than any other flower. No matter when, simply looking at it lifts my mood instantly.

Gavin doesn't release my hand. Instead, he pulls my hand to his back, bringing me into his arms gently.

The verdant trees and chirping of cicadas intertwine. The clean fragrance of shower gel from the side of his neck causes me to wrap my arms around him tightly.

Gavin: I knew that you were playing coy. Trivial matters have never influenced your mood. You’re always very good at comforting yourself and seeing the positive side of everything. But the bracelet alone isn’t enough. The next time you come looking for me, I’ll definitely do something that’d make you even happier.

After saying this, he can’t help but release a resigned chuckle.

Gavin: ...even though I haven’t thought of what I’d do.

I burst into a chuckle, then bury my head into his embrace completely.

Gavin: But there will definitely be things that I can do to add an element of happiness into your unhappy memories.

Dense green hues and shadows fall on his shoulders. Lifting my head, I see faint light riding the wind through crevices of large clouds in the faraway sky.

Leisurely and carefree ants pass by the slabstone road, winding around a fallen green leaf, and I can’t tell if they’re taking a stroll or scavenging for food.

Summer is flourishing, and this moment is incomparably tranquil.

My heart is filled to the brim with contentedness and happiness. Even my tone is relaxed and at ease.

MC: Gavin, you have to promise me one thing. If you’re unhappy about something in the future, you have to tell me about it immediately, okay? I can add many, many elements of happiness into your memories so that you wouldn’t even have half a second of unhappiness. I can guarantee that.

I lift my head to look at Gavin. With our close proximity, I can see his amber eyes reflecting large swathes of lush branches and leaves belonging exclusively to midsummer.

The gentleness flowing from these eyes aren’t stingy at all as they land on my face.

MC: We have to be the ever-fresh and blooming flowers in each of our memories, forever swaying in the wind.

Gavin releases a soft “okay”. He rests his chin on my shoulder, tightening his grip around my waist.

He murmurs at my ear.

Gavin: There’s no need for a guarantee. Your existence has always been the most brightly-coloured flower in my memories.

[ MOMENTS ]

Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.

MC: In order to clear the existing stock in the fridge, it’s time to have supper!

Gavin: Pick between mala crayfish and barbecue?

-

Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.

MC: Soda is always the best!

Gavin: Although that’s true, it’s best to drink fewer cold beverages.

-

Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.

MC: Pick between white peach and tangerine!

Gavin: I’ll pick the one you like less.

☕ Call: here

☕ Support the café (not the one mentioned in the date) by dropping by the tip jar!

[cheelduh]

How to get your crush to walk you to the nurse’s office (Highschool AU)

This is part 3, but it can be read alone!

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of a monster schlong, and unedited.

Parts: 1 2

Synopsis: Childe offers Lisa a shady deal to yet again sit next to you. However, all his efforts are in vain after he makes a complete fool out of himself by tripping over literally nothing because of a stupid cold. Maybe getting a cold isn’t so bad if he gets to be escorted to the nurse’s office by none other than yourself.

Note: Pure unedited crack luvs. Can’t wait for Childe rerun tmr I hope I get the ginger and the emo nun! 🥲💖

The eyes on you are suffocating, to say the least, enough for you to consider peeling a layer of your own skin off just to breathe. Every now and then, you get a teasing glance from a classmate, and you're sure you'll be an entire puddle of guts on your desk before home room even gets a chance to begin.

There's no doubt it's Signora that spread the news of your date yesterday as a means to some sick revenge. Knowing this was going to happen, you packed some salt in your backpack to cancel out all her evil. Now all you need is a chance to knuckle ball it in her face.

Fingers crossed, you pray to the archons that Childe didn't slip anything about your...brick slip yesterday. It's a good thing you weren't in a school uniform yesterday because that would've been the end of your high school life right there.

Thinking back to it, you collapse into your open hands. How could you have beaten a bunch up losers up...risking your flawless reputation for a sadistic ginger with an affinity for chaos? And worst of all, why did you care about them shit talking him in the first place?

"You okay dear? Something you want to tell me?" Lisa feigns concern, already knowing why.

With a sigh, you blink an eye open through the gap in your fingers. "Doing just fine."

"Oh it couldn't have been that bad." Her eyes shine in mischief. "I bet Childe was a real gentleman."

"He sure was." Kaeya pipes up from the back, leaning in to show you the image on his phone. It's a picture Childe took of you absolutely oblitering an ice cream cone.

You groan and slump deeper into your chair from embarrassment as Kaeya and Lisa engage in chatter, mostly revolving around your date.

Ignoring them completely, you start to ponder about Childe. Where is he? You were sure he'd be here bright and early to reminisce on your eventful date yesterday, which mostly consisted of a competition of who could win the most stall games at a local festival.

Maybe he'd even tease you about the Monoceros Caeli keychain attached to your phone. The very one he'd won for you, and the reason that started the competition in the first place.

Your cheeks warm when you fidget with said keychain, and you can't tell if the fast pace of your heart is because you're nervous to see him or because of the biology quiz you have second period.

So wrapped up in all these foreign emotions, you fail to notice the shadow that looms over you, a glittery finger guard tapping at your desk.

The student council President, Ningguang, plops down a stack of budget files on your desk during homeroom. She's gives you a light smile, and you know what's coming when you meet her alluring gaze.

"Be a dear Y/N," Ningguang smiles, tight lipped, all pretty with her hair pinned back to crown her face. "Even with all hands on deck, i'm afraid the student council's efforts will not come to ripeness concerning all of this paperwork."

This isn't the first time you've done her a favour by becoming the president's personal accountant, and it definitely isn't going to be the last.

Ningguang is powerful, with wit like no other, and you want to be able to call in a chit when the time comes.

"Of course," You reply with a smile that rivals her own. "I'll have them done by the end of the day."

"Excellent. I knew I could count on you, Y/N." She departs elegantly, probably opting to sit next to Beidou and bicker.

You're halfway on the third sheet for total income, a minute before class starts, when you're interrupted. Childe stumbles through the door quite noisily, a shitstain of a grin plastered on his face that is directed at you.

You sigh and shake your head as he approaches you. Thankfully the seat next to you is occupied by—

Shit! Where's Lisa?

Across the classroom, Lisa gives you a thumbs up with a bar of vending machine chocolate in her hand. You should've known she'd betray you yet again.

Childe slides in smoothly after bumping fists with Kaeya, and he falls short of containing his giddy nature.

"Hi Y/N." There's something weird about him today, because you're sure you haven't seen his cheeks so flushed ever. His eyes land on your phone, which is splayed on the desk, and the keychain widens his grin.

You snatch your phone and hide it in the middles of your thighs, but the damage is already done. The urge to shrink against the wall has never been as strong as it is in this moment.

"Hi." It's a miracle you haven't combusted on the spot. Is it usually this awkward? Everything went so fine yesterday, so why can't you ease into it today?

He takes that as a go ahead and instantly reaches for your hand on the table, but you retract at the speed of light.

"Don't even think about it." You're ready to connect the tip of your trainers to his bleached asshole, nose crinkled at his behaviour.

Kaeya whistles lowly, leaning forward for the HD show that is your life.

Childe's smile is sheepish as he's scratching the back of his head. "So we're not on that stage yet huh? I seriously thought you had a change of heart after you beat up those high schoolers for m—"

You muffle his statement with a hand on his mouth, and send a pointed glare to Kaeya. "You didn't hear shit."

The Captain of the skating team nods innocently, and salutes. "Yes boss."

Returning your gaze to Childe, who looks like he's having the time of his life with your small hand on his mouth, you narrow your eyes. "Stop trying to spread rumours."

He can only hum in reply, but you feel a weird pressure on your palm and—

The smug asshole kisses your palm.

You pull back your hand and wipe at your pants, full of disbelief. "Did you just??? Did you just? Kiss my hand???" Mouth twisted, you have no idea what to think.

Childe's throws his head back, and his laugh rings in your ears. You hate yourself for wavering slightly at the sound before smacking his arm. His laughs turn into coughs, probably because he may have swallowed his saliva down the wrong pipe. Charming.

Where the fuck is Zhongli? It's already been five minutes too long into homeroom.

Rolling your eyes, you opt to continue and scribble down budget numbers and add sums up or whatever you were doing earlier after Childe pipes down, choosing to admire you quietly by leaning his weight on one arm. It's enough to make you squirm, face flushed.

"Can you not?" Clicking your tongue in disapproval, you don't look up as you speak.

"If you give me a kiss, then maybe." Childe's cheeky, ridiculously so, and he points a finger at his cheek.

"I don't negotiate with terrorists." You deadpan, fingers itching to choke something or rather...someone.

Childe pouts, and then his eyes close for a second, almost as if he's exhausted when he gives you a sort of smile. With how he's leaning in so close, you can easily spot the swelling in his eyes and the paleness of his face.

For the first time today, there's no bite in your tone when you ask with a slightly raised brow. "Are you okay Childe?"

"Yeah!" He's quick to answer ecstatically, snapping out of his tired haze by straightening himself up. "Better more than ever now that I've seen you, girlie."

You blush madly, the compliment enough for you to drop your pen on the ground. It rolls over beyond your reach.

"I'll get that." Childe jumps out of his chair and you're unable to stop him as he goes to go fetch your pen like the chivalrous idiot he is. There's a slight pause in his movement, his body taking longer to process the messages his brain is sending.

He recovers from the muddle in his cognition by shaking his head, and casually goes to pick up the pen, then ends the move by falling over backwards in unconsciousness.

"Childe!" You lunge for him, managing to catch him a second prior to his ass hitting the floor with the help of Kaeya, who somehow looks like he's expected this outcome from the very start.

The entire classroom clamps up and turns to look for the root of all the commotion.

"Don't just sit there and watch!" You hiss angrily, waving them off. "Someone get Zhongli!"

Aether doesn't need to be told twice as Venti and him race down the hall together. Venti probably just to use this opportunity of sudden chaos to skip homeroom.

"Looks like a fever." The Captain accesses the situation as a small crowd forms around you two. "There's no way he didn't feel it in the morning."

"The absolute idiot." You groan at his words. "Of course he'd try to have a pissing match with a cold."

"I'm still here you know." Childe slurs, leaning into you for warmth, chest rising and falling softly. "Just a...a little sleepy. Am I dreaming angel?"

You roll your eyes, but don't make any moves to lean away from his touch. "Anyone got a water bottle?" Curling your hands around his shoulder, you shift your gaze towards the crowd.

Somebody passes you an emerald green water bottle with dandelion charms that clink against the hard plastic handle from a nearby desk. It screams stupid, but you don't have time to judge the owner.

Opening it up hastily, you're about to let Childe take a sip until it's snatched away from you at the speed of light.

"Hey what gives!" You call out to Kaeya, who inspects the bottle closely with his one eye. He then nods in affirmation as if his suspicions are confirmed.

"I wouldn't recommend it." Is all he says when he motions for you to take a whiff, which you do so reluctantly, eyes closed.

The scent hits you all it once. It's watered down vodka, except without the watering down. Tears form from the intensity.

"The goddamn bard." You choke out, and it earns you a drained chuckle from the ginger that has his head situated on your forearm.

He has half the mind to nuzzle in further, but the position is convenient enough for you to crush his skull if you wish to do so. So he refrains, albeit reluctantly.

Zhongli manages to make it in less than two minutes, sipping on a cup of steaming tea as he breaks apart the crowd to crouch down. "Is everything alright? I came as soon as I could after I made this tea. I assumed it was just another prank."

Everyone in the room shakes their head incredulously.

"Unfortunately it isn't a prank. Childe fainted briefly." You tell him politely despite the urgency, since you're whipped for all your teachers.

"I didn't faint!" Childe groans, exasperated. "Got a little dizzy s'all."

"Yeah," Kaeya cuts in to summarize the situation. "I'll be happy to take him to the nurses office with Y/N—"

Zhongli clears his throat. "You won't be going anywhere Mr.Alberich. I'm sure you have five overdue assignments in my class. Y/N here can walk him just fine." He then attempts to wink at Childe secretly like the wingman he is, but everyone in the classroom and their grandma notices.

The facepalm you do is not enough to render you brain dead.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh for the nth time today, and it's only eight thirty in the morning. "No worries, Lisa can help—"

"Sorry cutie. I'm manifesting for the biology quiz." Lisa deflects, lighting three candles on her desk unceremoniously with her eyes closed.

You don't understand why no one has confiscated her box of matches yet. This entire school is a law suit waiting to happen.

You succumb to the team effort everyone is trying so hard to display. "I guess I can go." The hall pass is already written, signed, and neatly folded into the chest pocket of your uniform. "How did you even..."

You don't even get a chance to finish before both you and Childe are whisked away to the outside of the classroom, the door shutting behind you with a slam. Your ears perk up at the sound of a lock clicking in place.

"Looks like you're stuck with me." The smug bastard still has the audacity to beam even when he's pale in the face. "Might have to hold my arm. If I fall and crack my skull—that wouldn't look too good on your record." He makes grabby hands, like a toddler.

The smile you give is unnerving, and with the speed of a snail, you manage to loop in your arm with Childe's. "Another word and let's move on to how your hospital record is going to have more than just a cracked skull."

"If you'd nurse me back to health, it'll all be worth it." The quip he sends without a beat lacks its usual goof, but it does manage to get some sort of reaction out of you.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

—

Childe's busy thumbing at his phone while you pace at the foot of the bed, arms crossed with a frown etched on your features. You hope you don't look too worried, don't want to give him the wrong idea.

"Can we just get this over with?" He wails uncharacteristically from his spot on the white sheeted bed after ruling out everything he wanted to do on his phone. His hair is tousled more than usual, as a by-product of his constant restlessness.

"Shut up." You answer monotonously, arms crossed as you lean against the wall. "Let her finish her tiktok."

Barbara—the daughter of the school nurse, has her phone on the window, lip syncing and dancing to some music on beat as she films a tiktok with the utmost of important.

It's concerning that her father isn't here to tend to your needs, but apparently he's in the middle of a meeting with principle Varka. Said meeting had been going on for the past few months, but this school is devoid of logic anyways so nobody really questions anything.

"I'm literally dying here."

"Archons you're such a baby," Shaking your head, you approach his bed with a newfound annoyance. "Barbara has to create a tiktok at least once every twenty four hours or her fan club goes feral and..."

"Tries to jump off the roof as the ultimate sacrifice to her majesty." Childe sighs, and for the first time you sense his irritation. "Got it."

Just in time, Barbara finishes her cute little dance and comes over to where Childe is laying.

Childe doesn't miss the way your scowl has dissipated, and you give Barbara your undivided attention, hearts in your eyes from all the adoration. He has half the mind to call you out on it, no doubt a little jealous over how the young highschool idol can get you to show more emotion than him.

"I'm so sorry! I started those tiktoks out of mild interest but now I have an obligation to my fans." The younger apologizes profusely, getting to work almost immediately.

"No worries." Childe starts, staying still as the blonde examines him. "I'm sure it's nothing too serious. Y/N here is being dramatic, she probably just wants to spend some alone time with me."

You inhale sharply, turn to Barbara, and ask. "If I jumped out of the window right now from this floor, would it be a quick and easy death?"

The younger girl's eyes widen, and Childe stifles his snort.

"Kidding." You raise your hands up to cease her worries, and then motion towards him. "Common cold?"

"Yes," Barbara moves on and writes down something on a slip. "We'll just keep him here until his parents can pick him up."

"My parents can't pick me up." He asserts in a casual tone. "Don't call them."

"We still have to call them. If they don't come, you're to stay in this bed all day." She hands you the note, which is a viable excuse for all the classes he'll miss today. "Give this to his homeroom teacher. You'd also better get to class, your hall pass is about to expire."

"Hold up." You remark, barely paying attention to the note that you've shoved down your pocket. "I'm not leaving him here alone." There's no room for argument, your decision is firmly stated.

Childe hypes you up in his weakened state, disoriented. "You tell em girlie."

"He won't be alone." Barbara flashes you a reassuring smile. "I'll be monitoring him until his parents get here."

"No, no, you don't understand." You argue, inquiring all the doubts you have. "He's gonna try to pull some shit and I'll have to be here to stop him."

"Ease up babe." Childe tries to calm you down, despite the giddiness in his chest at the realization that you want to take care of him.

His subconscious begs him to let you stay, to let himself be doted and cared for the way he's always wanted you to, but he knows he can't let you skip class. Not when you've worked so hard and come so far. "I'll be okay for a few. You can go back to class and then visit me during break."

You bite your lips, head jumbled with all the different possibilities of how shit can hit the fan. "I can't! What if Signora shows up? She'll poison you in this weakened state to get back at me for trying to exorcise her." The hesitation in your features gives away everything.

Childe's eye twitches at the thought of Signora out of all people getting the best out of him, and also the absolute audacity you have to be calling him weak. Clearly all his efforts towards the little shows of dominance (e.g. Shoving Pallad against a locker, spraying a hefty amount of cologne on, being an asshole in general, etc.) have not bore fruit.

"You tried to exorcise her?" Barbara gasps, momentarily reminding the two of you that she's still present.

"Her evil has no bounds." Your expression is hard to read, dead serious. "I do not regret my attempt at cancelling Satan's hell spawn."

Childe himself has been cancelled hundreds of times over the span of highschool because of all his problematic traits (e.g calling Venti a twink) and it is not a pleasant experience.

Though it does give him a sense of comfort, knowing that arrogant bitch Signora is finally getting what's coming to her, even if she is one of his friends.

Serves her right for trying to Pavlov her stupid Chihuahua into biting the closest human being just by the snap of her manicured finger. As if it's persistent yapping and tendency to run in front of cars isn't enough torture to deal with on a daily basis.

Childe's yanked out of his thoughts rather forcefully at the sound of the door opening abruptly, the handle crashing into the wall, shocking Barbara's attempts to reassure you.

He knows who it is because of his top tier gaydar, dreading what's to come.

Scaramouche is a morose son of a bitch with a mean streak that hasn't been broken since he was an itty bitty shit in the fourth grade.

"I can't believe you let yourself get sick!" The navy haired boy exclaims in disbelief, doubling over with tears, clapping his hands to add on some extra effects. "Natural selection finally decided to stop pussy footing around your primate-looking ass."

You press your lips together. "Isn't he supposed to be your best friend?"

Scaramouche sputters violently, using the wall as leverage to hold himself up. "You told her I'm your best friend? Oh fuck. Oh this is good. What else did you tell her huh? That you have a monster cock?"

"First of all, you make me reconsider my opinion on the death penalty, dickhead."

Barbara is mortified. Childe continues on anyways.

"—and I do have a monster cock. But why are you so interested in my monster cock huh?"

Scaramouche scrunches his face up in disgust, amusement nothing but a distant memory. "You don't have a monster cock you plebe."

Childe has an awfully scandalized expression on his face, but smoothly enough it transitions into an unsettling grin that you're all too familiar with. "You didn't deny not being interested in my monster cock though."

It's your turn to be mortified, shaking your head at the banter that goes on back and forth.

"How did you even know he was in here? We aren't even in the same class."

Scaramouche raises a brow as if you're some sort of toddler that's babbling out a mixture of Cheerios and spit, maybe a few digested strawberries here and there. He waves his phone in front of you, "posted it on his story."

"What the—give me that!" You snatch his phone right up, staring at the screen in bewilderment.

There's a video of you doing trick shots with your tech deck on the ledge of a nearby window with a pressed expression while waiting for Barbara to finish up, captioned with: "In the nurses office rn pray for me 🙏, there's this cute girl in front of me should I ask her out?"

You check the poll and ninety five percent say yes. Scaramouche voted no. You have mixed feelings.

Shaking your head, you give Childe, who's unable to sit still, a look of pure exasperation.

Scaramouche claws his phone back from you rather harshly, the bells on his hat jingling, making it hard for you to take him seriously when he sneers your way.

"You should be thankful you're the lover of my comrade." He shivers slightly at the word comrade. "or I would have obliterated you on the spot for that little stunt."

Childe doesn't even pretend to look fazed at the older's threat when he says  "as if I'd allow a kumquat headass like you to touch my girl."

You and Barbara hastily jump in to stop the bloodbath that is seconds from happening. "No!"

Luckily, no limbs are teared apart.

[princesssarcastia]

the republic shatters, but it does not Fall. and its not Ahsoka’s goddamn job to pick up the pieces, actually.

GUESS WHO SPENT ALL OF THIS WEEK HAVING LOTS OF STAR WARS FEELINGS.  GUESS WHO JUST WROTE AN 8K+ WORD FIC ABOUT THOSE FEELINGS.

definitely haven’t been subsumed by thoughts of the Fall Of The Republic as a proxy for all my anxiety about the election, no siree. 

anyway.  In which Ahsoka takes Maul’s hand, convinces Anakin to sit his ass down, and then has to learn how to hand the fate of the galaxy back over to he people who fucked it up in the first place.  And in which the author acknowledges Barris Was Right, Even If Her Methods Were Radical and Flawed, And Ultimately Detracted From Her Message.

will probably call this, “had we but world enough and time,” on ao3. edit: here it is on ao3, if you prefer.

—

Maul smirks and the feeling of it lingers in the wider office, grating.

But that doesn’t mean she’s wrong.

Her breath comes and goes in quick bursts, montrals shuddering lightly with exhaustion.  The enormity of what they’ve done has started falling on her; the enormity of what she’s done, by the Force.  But her hands are the kind of steady earned through a crucible of three years of constant battle.

Too much battle, Master Windu thinks, and Ahsoka narrows her eyes at him when she catches it and presses closer.

“You don’t lay a finger on him; none of you get to do that, not now.”

“Now that I’ve—” Maul starts to drawl, but Ahsoka cuts him off.

“Not helping, Maul,” she spits without taking her eyes off the threatthreathreat she can feel from Master Windu.

Ahsoka showed up out of nowhere with the enemy she was meant to capture as backup—or, she was his backup, they hadn’t quite straightened that out on the way.  But it’s also that Anakin has—Anakin was—Anakin is—and Ahsoka was his apprentice for three years.  

And whose fault is that? Ahsoka thinks desperately, and Windu catches it, and it’s getting harder and harder for them to keep their shields up, keep their minds from meeting in the Force; Master Fisto lies dead not ten feet from her, and she’s used to dead bodies, she is, but dead Jedi still feel anathema and the violence of it lingers in the Force here even though they’ve been dying in droves in the last stages of this pointless conflict all this pointless death she is a solider not a Jedi what was it all for?

“Come now, Lady Tano,” Maul says, an undercurrent of pleasure at the chaos he can sense from her—not that he’s any better, he likes chaos.  It’s what he’s good at.  But she’s not, and it dulls her keen edges.

She forces a slow, full breath in, and out, and her hands stay steady.

“This is not the Jedi way,” Master Windu says like it matters.

“No?  Maybe not.”  Ahsoka draws in another breath.  “But I don’t think that means anything, anymore.  There have been too many compromises in this war, Master Windu, for you to tell me here and now that Maul deserves to die for winning it.”

“Obi-Wan would agree with me.”

“Obi-wan isn’t here, master,” Ahsoka says like an accusation.  “And can you honestly tell me you were going to do anything different? Why were you here in this office?”

“Arresting him, so he could be brought to justice,” Master Windu bites out, and Ahsoka knows she’s won, because it’s a lie.

That’s not what this was about. 

This was about millions of dead clones and thousands of dead Jedi and hundreds of years of steady decay disguised as peace.

Another lie.

Master Windu sighs like the weight of the galaxy is pressing it out of him.  And maybe it is; destiny fell hard on their shoulders today. 

Now, they find out if they can bear it.

“Fine.  We’ll do it your way, Lady Tano,” he capitulates, using Maul’s title for her to make a point.  “For now.”

—

 “How did you get away with being pregnant for so long?”  Ahsoka asks hesitantly, as they wait together.  “I mean, your gowns make a good effort, but…”

Padmé hums.  “They weren’t meant to convince anyone I wasn’t pregnant; it’s,” she taps her armrest, “it’s a cultural thing.  Padmé Naberrie is pregnant, but Senator Padmé Amidala isn’t.  Our private lives are sacrosanct, on Naboo, and with Palpatine,” her voice breaks, and she clears her throat.  “With Palpatine being the Chancellor for so long, Naboo culture was something most of the Senate understood.”

“Ah,” Ahsoka says, and it almost makes sense.  “We never had a lot of privacy in the Order. Or in the GAR, but that was different,” she adds, shaking her head.

“How so?”  Padmé asks, her eyes brightening the way Master Obi-Wan’s did, those rare moments in between battles when Anakin and Ahsoka could be lured into debating philosophy.

“I mean, we’re all Jedi, we all grow up together, learn together, live together.  We’re Jedi,” she repeats, “and we—it’s—we blend together in the Force.  There are things we just knew about one another, unless someone made an effort to hide, but then we knew that, too.”  She makes a frustrated noise.  “It’s not bad, though, it’s comforting.  Usually we didn’t feel the need to hide anything from other Jedi, and it was comforting, to know that you could just be in the Temple, without any pretenses.

“Whereas the GAR,” Ahsoka twists her lips wryly, “the lack of privacy stems from the close quarters and the constant battle and movement.  There’s no time for privacy when every second wasted means someone else dies.  And a lot of the regulations meant there were things we had to report to our superiors. Everything, basically, because some senators who helped draw up regulations thought that our use of the Force meant our every thought and feeling was pertinent to the war effort.”

“I see,” Padmé says, and they sit with these things they’ve said, and all the things they haven’t.

Ahsoka can feel the question in the back of their throats, and she can’t tell if it’s coming from her or from Padmé, but Padmé is the one who gives it life.  So kindly that it almost doesn’t feel like the dagger to her gut that it is.

“Is it still like that now?”

“I don’t know,” Ahsoka whispers, finally, because this isn’t something she can say loudly; not yet. “I don’t—not for me.  It isn’t like that for me, anymore.   But for everyone else?”  She asks.  “I can’t tell the difference between trauma and classified information and loss of faith in other Jedi, in the others.”

Or in herself.

—

When the find the chips—

Little gods and all the Force, too.

Anakin felt like he could have torn all of Coruscant asunder, and Ahsoka knew she wasn’t far behind him.  A lot of the other Jedi weren’t far behind him; Aayla Secura and Plo Koon and Depa Billaba and the others who lived and died by thousands of brothers for three years.

But Rex isn’t surprised. That’s what finally breaks Ahsoka: the lack of surprise on Rex’s face and the grim way Cody asks if these chips really change anything.

She leaves the now-chaotic debriefing room and hurries blindly through the halls of the Senate, grasping at the Force for a safe place to land and fall to pieces.

 She stumbles into a large set of offices, meant for a senator, maybe, but Ahsoka can’t quite grasp the lay of it with her montrals vibrating like they are; with her eyes so full of this last shattering betrayal, the final throw of earth in its burial.

“Master Jedi?” Someone calls sharply, but Ahsoka can’t answer them before she backs into a corner and sinks to the floor.  Can’t correct them, say, I am no Jedi, because she doesn’t know truth from lie anymore.

“Master Jedi,” that same voice repeats more calmly, right in front of her and vaguely familiar. “Ahsoka, right?”

She desperately trills some affirmative, and it must be within their range of hearing because they say, “Okay,” and nothing else.

Slowly, in fits and starts, the physical creeps into her awareness.  This is a senator’s office, and if she’s not mistaken, it’s the office of the man crouching in front of her.  She recognizes him, vaguely, and might be able to name him with another minute of study.

“Do you know where you are?” He asks, radiating calm like a Jedi master without any of the awareness in the Force.

“Your offices,” Ahsoka bites out lowly, starting to feel a low burn of embarrassment.  “Sorry, I’m—sorry.  I’m sorry.  I was just—”

“It’s fine, Master Jedi. There’s a lot of that going around,” he jokes lightly, except for how it isn’t a joke at all.

“The debriefing,” she says, the debriefing, because there’s only one, and if Ahsoka can recognize him then he’s definitely important enough to sit in on it.  “You weren’t there,” she adds questioningly.

“Ah, yes,” he says mildly. “I’m afraid I’ll need to be briefed on the debriefing later by one of my colleagues; Senator Amidala, perhaps, her notes are usually impeccable.  I was unavoidably detained by the Queen.”

“The queen,” Ahsoka repeats back to him, like Hondo’s stupid monkey-lizard. 

“Queen Breha Organa,” he responds, and she’s grateful that still, all he radiates is calm, because her embarrassment now is strong enough to rival her desperate horror.

“Your wife,” she says like an idiot to Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan, one of the leaders of the delegation of 2000 and main architects of the Republic’s efforts to rebuild.

“Yes,” he says.  “Do you drink tea?”

She takes a deep breath in, forcing her heartrate to slow.  “I do,” she replies.  You can’t spend any time in proximity with Master Obi-Wan without it. 

“I would be honored if you would join me, then,” Senator Organa says, rising and extending a hand to her in one smooth motion that belies his heavy robes.  “I think your perspective on these proceedings may be invaluable, if you’re willing to offer it.”

Ahsoka grasps it and pulls to her feet.  “It’s the least I can do,” she says.  “Seeing as I just had a panic attack in your office.”

“Wonderful,” he smiles at her, not denying it, and leads her away.

—

A galaxy cannot stumble up to the edge of oblivion and then step back gracefully, kindly, simply, easily, just because they notice it’s happened.  An end is inevitable.

The Republic fell three years ago, thirteen years ago, seventeen years ago.  Now the work is sorting shattered remains to see what is worth preserving, and what can be thrown out wholesale.

Saving isn’t on the agenda.

—

There are so few Jedi left, now, compared to what they were before.  Perhaps half the Order has died, in three years of relentless violence, and those who remain feel brittle in the Force.  The very young and the very old alone remain whole, and the disconnect is stifling.

Not all of those who remain stay.  Entire lineages depart from the Temple, unable to contemplate trying to live as they had before.

Trying, and failing.

Tholme and T’ra Saa depart for parts unknown to the Order at large as soon as the last battle fades into armistice.  Years of intelligence work and corralling those brave few Jedi who were willing to let the darkness swallow them whole have left them closer than the Code can abide. And Quinlan Vos follows soon after, to no one’s surprise. 

Aayla…she stays.  She stays, for now, but it’s a tenuous settling. As long as Bly is with her, she will endure.

But if she has to choose between the Order and Bly, or the Order and seeing her master again, the Order will lose.

—

Calling them Senate hearings would be a misnomer; the Senate doesn’t really…exist, anymore. With Palpatine gone, a crippling power vacuum sits at the heart of the Republic, leaving them, somehow, even more ineffective than they were before.  No system trusts any other system well enough to vote someone else into the Chancellorship that, all of a sudden, seems too powerful for any one being.

But their bylaws are still legal.

If not for the Jedi’s efforts to negotiate armistices with the Confederacy, they would be completely unable to negotiate or sue for peace, left mired in a thousand little wars, shards of the larger conflict that shattered with Dooku and Grievous.  The Jedi hold the peace of hundreds of worlds in their palms.

No one is particularly happy with this state of affairs.  Not even the Jedi, though some of Bail’s colleagues doubt that to the point of insult.

This particular briefing is in one of the lesser chambers, with perhaps only two hundred key systems directly represented.  A dozen Jedi and half that many clones have joined them to provide information and counsel on military matters, and all of their agitation is more palpable by the moment.

Master Windu, as Head of the Order, has spoken before the Senate many times; but today, he remains quiet and stone-faced, his hand pressed against his mouth as if to remind himself of his silence.

Master Kenobi, on the other hand, has exhaustedly pulled and pushed at conversational threads the entire time, lambasting falsehoods and correcting ignorance and on one very startling occasion baring his teeth at a senator who suggested—demanded—the Trade Federation be allowed a voice in these proceedings. 

That motion died swiftly.

The famed negotiator is seemingly at the end of his rope when it comes to these proceedings, and Bail can’t blame him.

After the very first of these briefings, the one Bail missed, Master Skywalker was not allowed to attend, and the look on Ahsoka’s face when they learned of this made him think it’s for the best. 

No Kaminoan representative has appeared after Halle Burtoni was swiftly recalled just before Master Shaak-Ti revealed what had been done to the clone troops, which Bail thinks is also for the best; if only because their safety could not be guaranteed.

—

Mace doesn’t understand it until he meets Padawan Vrosch.

Barely Padawan Vrosch; if not for the war, this little nautolan would still comfortably be an initiate, but needs must.

Padawan Vrosch is a padawan of the Temple. ��Masterless, and left that way too long because no master could take up their training after…after what always happens to Jedi in wars. 

Padawan Vrosch’s master died very early on, after taking a padawan very young on both ends. They went to their master’s funeral, when they were still affording every Jedi lost in battle their own funeral, their own pyre and remembrance.

Most Padawans their age would have been at odd ends; but Vrosch quietly took up their own education, signing up for and attending classes as they came, joining initiates in their saber training, and patiently waiting for the day someone noticed them again.

They also found purpose in these intervening years, a much harder task: attending all the funerals held for fallen Jedi at the Temple.

“I was the only one there for my master,” Padawan Vrosch speaks solemnly up to him.  “When he died.”

Mace settles down next to them in the gardens—still too quiet, too empty, too devoid of the sparks of brightness that made it easy to just be in—and waits, patiently, for what the Force is telling him he needs to hear.  

Not just the Force.  Mace has trained one Padawan to Knighthood already.  A youngling alone shouldn’t stay that way.

“I know the war was important,” Vrosch continues.  “The Jedi wouldn’t fight in it if it wasn’t.”

Their faith stirs some inkling of wonder and shame from Mace; he finds he isn’t so certain.

“But we’re Jedi,” they say insistently.  “We’re all Jedi.  We shouldn’t die alone, and we shouldn’t pass into the Force alone, and we shouldn’t be remembered alone.

“I can’t fight very well, Master Windu,” Vrosch whispers, their tentacles twitching listlessly, like this is a failure on their part.  “But I could do this.  We aren’t mean to be alone, Master Windu.”

Mace sighs and looks out over too-quiet gardens.

“No, we’re not, Padawan.”

—

“Where is he?”

Ahsoka has been avoiding Obi-Wan for this exact reason. 

“I don’t know,” she says quietly, looking back at him steadily.  Steady, steady, so, so steady; Ahsoka is steady because if she isn’t then it all falls apart.  She’s certain and resolute because if she isn’t then she was wrong, and they Fall.

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair, pulling too-long strands out of his face.  He’s eroded to the quick.  They all are.  But leaving on what should have been the last mission of the war, only to return to find the Republic and your padawan on the brink of collapse, your oldest enemy free and your former grandpadawan responsible for freeing him…

The one thing he could still be sure of had been Cody, and even that was taken from him.  Now, he has only himself.

“He pulled us back from the Fall, master, and left without taking advantage of it.  I don’t think we can ask more from him than that.”

Welcome to my world, Kenobi.

None of their shields are functioning anymore.  Ahsoka gets Obi-Wan’s full impression of Maul, his sense of Maul’s whole self, and accepts it as another burden on her shoulders.  She knew the second she took Maul’s hand that Master Obi-Wan would never forgive her, would never understand, and she did it anyway.

Before he can work through to quiet acceptance of another grievous wound from someone he didn’t expect—a burden that might finally break her—Ahsoka untangles them from each other in the Force and walks away.

Infinite sadness, the Force murmurs to her, but she doesn’t look back.

—

It’s like they hit the Republic and the Order and the Galaxy over and over and over and over and over again until cracks spread into their very foundations—and then each took the finishing blow inside themselves, in place of the things they all bled and died and Fell for.

And they all shattered instead.

—

When Ahsoka tells Rex what she wants, he drags her to Cody—who gives in with surprisingly little resistance, and then lets her watch his comm to Commander Fox and the face that he makes, because Cody outranks everyone, and Fox can’t say no.  It almost makes up for stifling-fear-anger-betrayal from her time in Fox’s custody.

Sometimes, Ahsoka forgets that Anakin spent half a year serving with Cody the same way Ahsoka served with Rex.

They try to take her lightsabers at the last checkpoint, but she hands them off to Rex to safely hang from his belt.  Not a single one of the men here can be trusted with them in her mind, even though that’s not fair. 

The hard part of being self-aware is knowing you’re being irrational with no way to stop.

She waves the escort off, and to her surprise, they leave, though she can feel them linger just around the corner.

One beat, two beats, three beats of silence.

Fine.

Ahsoka settles onto the durasteel floor, lets the cold seep into legs and work its way up her lekku and down her montrals.

In, out, in, out, in…out…i n… . . o u   t . ..   . …….

Her-not-her-other expands and contracts in time with her lungs, and she becomes grassland; wind whips across the plains and she is the predator at the center, low to the ground, tasting the breeze and aware of every creature, every hidey-hole, every current. Daughter, the wind murmurs, and a convor’s cry echoes across the endless sky.

In the place between them, grassland and frigid desert meet, warm and cold winds mixing to create something more.  Something terrible.  They are not the same winds; the predator snarls, for it knows death rides on the cold.

Death and betrayal.

Barriss stiffens in her cell, and Ahsoka sighs.  As it should be, she thinks, but also, that’s not why I’m here.

But also, Barriss, is that true? and justice is merely the construct of the current power base.

Barriss’ eyes fly open at that.  “So, the rumors are true.  You did help him,” she says dully.

“He helped me,” Ahsoka fires back.  Sighs again. “But maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh?” Barriss raises an eyebrow cooly. 

With your help, the Jedi can stop Sidious before it’s too late!

Too late for what? The Republic to fall? It already has, and you just can't see it!  There is no justice, no law, no order, except for the one that will replace it!

Energy crackles between them, and Ahsoka bites her lip.

“I think…” she hesitates. “I think he was right, Barriss,” she whispers.  “I think you were right, too.”

Barriss’ breath catches in her throat, her eyes snagging Ahsoka’s until they’re caught in a deadlock and warm and cold winds rise, rise, rise together, and a squall erupts in the Force.  At the edge of it, the clone troopers shift, discomforted. 

“You can feel it, too?” Barriss asks desperately, and Ahsoka catches flashes of Master Luminara sitting where she sits now, beaten and drawn and blind.

In, out.  Ahsoka expands the grasslands and points out the guiding winds to friend-not.  These aren’t Master Windu’s shatterpoints, but they are everywhere: in the Senate, in the Temple, on the Star Destroyers, in the Jedi and the people and the clones. The Republic has shattered already. It just hasn’t fallen to pieces.  The Republic is failing!  The Republic is Falling.

Tears slip down Barriss’ face, relief-fear-sadness-righteous.  Ahsoka trills, acknowledgement-soothing-fear-anger.

“What are we doing? What are we going to do?”  Barriss throws out.

“What have we done?” Ahsoka counters.  Blasters-energy-darkness-death-dying-agony-conflict-violence-pain-destruction-death-war-war-war-war.

In, war, out, war.

“It didn’t die with Sidious. I thought—but Maul was right, you were right.  It’s all of us.  And I don’t know how to fix it, Barriss, and I don’t think anyone else does, either.” She shifts, hugging her knees to her chest.  The predator morphs, uncertain, into prey, akul-scented on the wind, nowhere to run; they can only face it.

“That’s because it’s not our job,” Barriss says, face darkening.

“Why not?  We are j—” Ahsoka swallows the word.  They aren’t.  Barriss, expelled.  Ahsoka, lost.

Barriss shakes her head sharply.  “No, that’s not what I meant.  We should never have—we—we’re peacekeepers!”  She says indignantly.  “And that doesn’t mean pacifist, but it also doesn’t mean warmonger.  The jedi lost their honor the second they put us on the battlefield.”

Blasters-energy-darkness-death-dying-agony-conflict-violence-pain-destruction-death-war-war-war-war.

Death Watch surrounds her, too close, and it damns them; her lightsabers whirl out and catch all four of them in the neck at once.  And on to the next before their heads roll to a stop.  Bloodless, cauterized death-wounds, but the smell of it….

The grasslands are set ablaze, and the predator learns to run with the flames, instead of from them.

Barriss’ hands are never fully clean.  Mud and viscera stain her skirts as she lashes out at the Umbarans to protect her men, and then drops to hold the men she couldn’t protect together in the Force, desperately failing to hold them all together, Master Luminara isn’t here no one is here it’s just Barriss and Death nipping at her heels.

Desert sands whirl and whip like glass shards, higher and higher and colder and colder until all that lasts is the storm.

And….and….

Anakin, only seven years older than Ahsoka is; Master Obi-Wan hadn’t even been knighted yet at his age. Ahsoka thinks about being thirteen and missing Temple classes for battles.  Thinks about being fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and feeling death emanate from her lightsabers in the unifying force, stronger than any other feeling. 

Thinks about being knighted at seventeen.  Thinks about Barriss alone on the battlefield.  Thinks about Katooni, and wonders if she’s a Padawan yet. 

Thinks about half of the Jedi Order, gone.

When the guards come back for her, Ahsoka stands and works the kinks out of her muscles ruthlessly fast, too used to her surroundings shifting on a credit to let that kind of weakness linger.  Barriss stares after her with water and hope in her eyes, because they both know Ahsoka is coming back.  More questions lie between them than answers, now.

—

The debriefings turn into hearings, public ones.  Ahsoka’s shoulders tense every time she sets foot in the Senate, feeling the searching-grasping-angry-false atmosphere.  As inaction continues to dominate their government, some senators have started making noise about someone to blame for all of this.  Like Sidious isn’t to blame; like they all aren’t to blame.

Whenever the noise overwhelms her, the directionless anger prowling for an easy target, she finds her feet taking her back to Senator Organa’s offices, again and again.  It’s the will of the Force that he’s always there when she does, always with tea already waiting for them.  The unifying Force swirls lazily in the space around them in a way Ahsoka can’t interpret; like the future has its eyes on this moment in its past.

They talk about the proceedings.  About the war.  About the peace talks some Jedi are still presiding over without any authority to back them.  Ahsoka discovers that she has opinions about these that are uniquely her own, ones Senator Organa finds fascinating in a purely kind way.

Senator Organa opens up about the troubles Alderaan’s relief missions face, without proper authority and with the Republic forces’ attention off some of the usual hyperspace lanes.

Frustration is a bonding emotion between them.  But the time they spend together is the only peace Ahsoka’s life affords her. 

—

When Ahsoka left the Jedi Order, she felt the weight of all the work she wasn’t doing press hard on her shoulders, guilt twining between her legs and tripping her up every time happiness or contentment seemed in reach.  It made it so easy to take Bo Katan’s hand when she reached out; so easy to take on Mandalore’s battles as her own, because it felt like war and inaction were her only options.

Ahsoka was decisive. Her actions determined the course of so many lives.  So many troopers under her command, so many citizens depending on their victory; and for those brief, too-long hours with Maul, the whole Republic balanced on their backs.

Now, inaction has descended again.  The weight of roads not taken and guilt encircle her throat like a collar.  With Master Obi-Wan and Commander Cody and Captain Rex in the Senate every day, with Padmé and Senator Organa, the future of the Republic doges her every step, but she’s nearly powerless to help.

And it doesn’t help that her future with the Order is still up in the air.

Master Windu seems to have set her brief partnership with Maul aside until they know whether the Republic will fix itself, but having the threat of his disapproval hang over her head is worse than any swift punishment he could have devised.  Like, for instance, barring her from rejoining the Order.

The Temple is her home. The Jedi are her people.  Ahsoka knows she doesn’t want to live without them anymore.

But the Order has ground to a halt, and Ahsoka doesn’t know how to be still, anymore; her waiting is purely predatory, a simple watching for the next moment to strike. 

Meditating has never been her strong suit, but she takes it up again anyway.  It’s supposed to afford her clarity, if not peace. 

In, out.  In, out.

In, out.  In, out.  In, out.  In, out. In, out.  In, out.  In, out.

Ahsoka lets out a frustrated huff.  It’s so easy when she slips into the grasslands and the desert with Barriss; the both of them searching for answers no one seems to have, answers to questions too many people aren’t asking.

But on her own?  For herself? 

Not a damn moment of clarity.

She lets out another frustrated huff and pushes to her feet. Fine. Moving meditation, it is.  In, out.  Rise.  In, out.

In, out.  Left foot back, right foot forward, arm across the body. Ahsoka automatically pulls her empty grip in front of her face, instead of at her side, and lets her other hand act as both counterbalance and guard behind her.

In, out.  In, out.

Forward, back. 

Parry, attack, defend.

Deflect.  In, out.

 In, out.  In,    out,   In….. out…. …. ……….

 She alternates slow and fast repetitions and allows the living Force to flow through her, abandoning all thought toward the future.

In out forward back parry attack defend deflect in out; In, out, forward, back, parry, attack, defend, deflect, in……out……..

“Always in motion, the future is,” Master Yoda says from where he’s settled into the grass across from her.  “Always in motion, you are, Ahsoka.”

In, out.  The grasslands recede, leaving only Ahsoka.  She dashes the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and falls into slow, easy stretches, letting the moment extend between her and her oldest teacher.

When they’re both ready, she releases a last breath and lowers herself in front of him.

“Happy here, you are not.” His ears dip low.  “Happy here, many are not.  Leaving, many are, to find themselves outside the Jedi Order.”

Ahsoka says nothing, content to wait for him to ask, not sure she has an answer to offer.

He sighs.  “Leaving, are you, Ahsoka Tano?”

“I don’t know, master. I don’t know…what I’m supposed to do now.”

Yoda offers no answers, either. 

“Jedi, you are,” he says, but it feels like a question.  He feels…uncertain, and it strikes Ahsoka like a blow.  Yoda isn’t supposed to be uncertain; he’s supposed to be…Yoda!

We’re peacekeepers! Barriss’ voice says in her mind, and he and Ahsoka flinch as one.

But…

“Yes,” she mulls, “I am a Jedi.”  In, out. “But I don’t know what that means anymore.  What we stand for.  What we’re supposed to do,” she repeats her earlier refrain.

Yoda hums.  “Neither do I,” he says, full of mischief and sorrow for not having the answers younglings always expect from him.

“Jedi, you are; in the Temple, Jedi, you are.  On Mandalore, Jedi, you are.  And on Felucia, Alderaan, Naboo, Tatooine.

“Jedi, you are, always.”

 It rings out in the Force. Daughter, it murmurs to her, and the cantor soars over the grasslands, free once again.

Her breath shudders out of her, leaving tears in its wake.  She shudders, and cries, until it turns into great rolling sobs that wrack her whole body and seep into the Force around them, sinking into the grass and plants and trees.

Relief.  It flows openly between her and Master Yoda. Relief-identity-purpose-forgiveness-Jedi.

“Searching, you are, for answers none have yet.  Find them for ourselves, we must.  Yes,” he hums again.  “Find them for ourselves, we will, and then, know them together, we will.”

She wipes uselessly at her face, still crying.  “But what about the Senate, the armistices, the clones—”

Yoda shakes his head. “Your job, this is not.  Jedi, you are.  Jedi Knight, I name you, Ahsoka Tano; now; always.  But young, you still are.  Heavy burdens, we have placed on the shoulders of all our younglings.”

 “But you just said I was a Knight,” she protests, and he smiles at her.

“Younglings,” he grumbles playfully.  “Younglings you all are, to me.  Even Master Windu.”

A beat.

“Youngling you were, when sent into battle, you were.  When send you into battle, the Council did.”  He sighs heavily.  “Great things, you have achieved, on the field of battle.  Under Master Skywalker’s tutelage,” he emphasizes Anakin’s new title.  “An exaggeration, it is not, to say that saved the Republic, you have, Ahsoka Tano; even if with the unlikeliest of allies, you did.  But had to, you should not have.”

Half the Order, gone.

Fresh tears flood her eyes, and the beginnings of a dehydration headache start to throb. 

“Many things, we will have to consider.  What we have done, for the sake of this war.  What we will do, for the sake of our future.  Easier it is, for myself and other masters, to contemplate these things here, in the Temple.  Easier it is not, for you.”

In, out.  She breathes easier now than she has since the Temple was bombed months and months past.  Now that Master Yoda…he…. Force, his approval still means so much to her.

“Need my approval, you did not,” Master Yoda chides gently.

“I wanted it, though,” Ahsoka realizes.  In, out. With his approval, so much of her uncertainty is gone, the things that temper her will to act dissipating with the knowledge that she isn’t alone anymore.

Jedi aren’t meant to be alone.  

 A breeze winds through the physical world around them, and Ahsoka tilts her head up to feel it better.

“Here we will be, when ready you are to return.”

—

Unsurprisingly, she finds Skyguy at Padmé’s apartment.  The two of them kind of abandoned any pretense when the war ended and he got to stay on Coruscant for more than a week.  When his troops—and the Republic, nominally—didn’t need him on the field of battle anymore.

“I have something to tell you,” they say at the same time, awkwardly sitting across from each other at Padmé’s kitchen table; Padmé herself having retreated to her—her and Skyguy’s? —bedroom with her handmaidens to keep packing.  Ahsoka doesn’t know everything about human reproductive cycles, but it doesn’t seem like Padmé can get much bigger without literally bursting, so she must be preparing for the end of it.  She’ll be on Naboo for a few months.

Or at least, that’s what she says.  Ahsoka suspects she may be back on Coruscant sooner, given the state of the galactic government.

They both gesture for the other to go first; they both pause awkwardly, waiting each other out, and Ahsoka rolls her eyes at them internally.  Little gods, really?  This is what they’re reduced to

And then they speak at the same time again:

“I’m rejoining the Order.”

“I’m leaving the Order.”

“What?”  They yell, together, and Ahsoka growls at the both of them.

“You’re leaving the Order?” Ahsoka demands, finally speaking on her own.

“I,” Anakin blinks, and rubs the back of his neck like she’s blindsided him.  “Yeah.  I don’t think I can stay, Snips, not with the way things are.”

She raises her brow.  “And how is that?”

He rolls his eyes at her, externally.  “I’ve never exactly been a model Jedi, Ahsoka.”

“Banthashit.  Everyone says you’re one of the best Jedi in the Order.”

“No,” he counters, “they say I’m one of the best Generals in the order.  One of the best warriors.  And now,” he turns to look in the direction Padmé went and his whole being softens in the Force, “I want to try and be one of the best husbands.  One of the best fathers,” he grins, and it strikes Ahsoka that he’s so young.  He’s so young, to have done the things he’s done.  So young to be a father.

Holy kriff, Anakin Skywalker is gonna be a dad. 

Visions of him jumping off of cliffs and being electrocuted run through her mind.

He catches the memories and grumbles at her.  Sighs.

“I don’t think I want to try and be a better Jedi, is the thing.  There is no try,” he says bitterly.  “Only do or do not.”

“And you…do not,” Ahsoka says hesitantly.

“I love my wife,” he says. “I love my children.  I love you, and Obi-Wan, and Rex and our men.  But I don’t love the Jedi Order anymore, if I ever did.”

Ahsoka thinks she loves the Order as much as it’s possible to love something so integral to who she is and who she wants to be.

Were you not cast out of your Order?

I left voluntarily.

Yes, but you were motivated to leave by the hypocrisy of the Jedi Council.

Many things, we have to consider.

“So, what are you going to do now?  If you’re not a Jedi.”  Ahsoka asks.

Anakin leans back in his seat, crosses his arms.

What do you want with Anakin Skywalker?

 He is the key to everything.  To destroy.  He has long been groomed as my master’s new apprentice.

 The Force roils as he sees what she has seen, hears what Maul said to her; it’s always so responsive for him.  Anger. Hate.  Disbelief. 

Yeah.  Ahsoka didn’t believe it either, until Maul told her who Sidious really was.  Until they got to Coruscant and Ahsoka could feel Anakin, his rage and fear and uncertainty. They barely got there in time, and the galaxy hung in the balance between Anakin and Ahsoka.  He pulls the memory of that from her too, and visibly brings himself back under control.

“I’m going to Naboo with Padmé.  And maybe,” he hesitates.  “I think I’ll help Rex and the other troops out, too.  With whatever their plans are.  Some other Jedi are helping, too.  Aayla, for one,” he adds when he sees her twitch in curiosity.  “Padmé’s been helping them fight the Senate for citizenship rights, and they’re just starting a search for places to settle down.

“It’ll calm a lot of anxieties in the Senate when they find it,” Ahsoka says, mulling it over.  “Having a standing army makes everyone nervous.”

Anakin snorts.  “Sure.  But it’s less that and more that they deserve it.  They always deserved it,” he says lowly, the seeds of a greater anger taking root.  “And if we tried to frame it like that, then some senators would say the troopers shouldn’t be able to leave until the Separatists decommission their droids.”

Something doesn’t quite make sense about that.  Ahsoka thinks about what she’s caught of the recent debriefings, and can’t remember any of the senators talking about this as anything more than a distant possibility.

“Hang on,” she says, the pieces coming together.  “What exactly are you planning, Skyguy?”

He grins, sharply this time. “Yeah, don’t go spreading it around. We, uh, requisitioned some medical droids and started removing their chips weeks ago.  There’s nothing stopping them for doing whatever they want, now.”

“Holy kriff,” Ahsoka breathes, eyes wide.  “How is this even going to—they’re still members of the GAR, can’t they get court martialed?”

“Not if all of them leave,” he smirks.  “There’s no law or force in the galaxy that could tell them all what to do, anymore.”

She thinks about Anakin and Rex, Master Obi-Wan and Commander Cody, Master Windu and Commander Ponds.  “Not even the Jedi.”

“Which you’re going back to.”

“I am a Jedi,” she says, and the Force winds around her like a satisfied lothcat.  Anakin senses it and purses his lips.  “A Jedi Knight,” she adds, and his shoulders sag in defeat.

“It suits you,” he admits, and leans back toward her over the table. 

“Just because I’m a Jedi doesn’t mean I’m staying here, though.  I’m not just gonna sit around, anymore, even if the Order isn’t assigning missions.”

He hesitantly reaches for her hand.  “So, you’ll come to Naboo to meet the twins, when they’re born?  It won’t be long now,” he says, not meeting her eyes.

She reaches back, leaning closer to snag his prosthetic hand, too.  “I wouldn’t miss it, Skyguy.”

A beat.

“Hang on, twins?  Two of them?”

He bursts out laughing, and the whole apartment brightens with his delight.  “That’s exactly what Obi-Wan said!”

—

Ahsoka walks into Senator Organa’s offices on purpose, for once, and he looks up at her in surprise.

“I see I’ve finally caught you off guard,” she grins.  “I was starting to think you had foresight, the way you’re always ready for me.”

“Well,” he smiles warmly and gestures for her to sit, “perhaps you’ve finally done something unpredictable, Master Jedi.”

He’s called her that this whole time, oddly enough, from the first moment she burst into his space in a panic.  Always certain of who she was.  It’s pretty telling in retrospect that she never corrected him.

“What brings you to me today?” He asks.

“You’re still having trouble with your relief missions,” Ahsoka states.  “I want to help.”

Senator Organa’s brow furrows.  “I was unaware the Jedi Order has started assigning missions again.  Or the Senate, for that matter.”

“They haven’t,” Ahsoka grins.  “But as a fully-fledged Jedi Knight, I’m allowed to offer my services as I see fit, even outside officially sanctioned missions.”

“That’s a very generous offer.”

“I want to help.”  She repeats plainly, but it means something different this time.  “And I know you want to help, too.  I trust your judgment; and,” she shrugs, “Alderaan’s judgment, too.”

“And what kind of help is that, exactly?”

“Whatever kind of help is needed.  Diplomacy, piloting, negotiating.”  She grins again.  “Aggressive negotiations.”

Senator Organa studies her, his hand coming up to his chin in a contemplative gesture.  “I trust your judgement as well, Master Jedi.”

Ahsoka sighs in relief. “Well, that’s good.”  Her backup plans if this didn’t work were pretty, uh, nebulous. 

“You’ve been very occupied by the Senate hearings and the armistices; I suppose,” he says slowly, meeting her eyes directly, “I’m surprised at this decision.  I thought you would remain on Coruscant until matters were settled.”

She tilts her head to the side and considers it.  “Maybe, in another life.  But I think I’m ready to let other people decide the fate of the galaxy again,” she says like it’s a joke, but feels relieved when Senator Organa doesn’t take it like one.  “I think,” she continues tentatively, “I can finally trust that everything will still be here when I return.  And in the meantime, there are people who need my help, and I need to help them.”

“You’re in luck,” Senator Organa says, pulling one datapad of many off his desk and thumbing it open. “Queen Breha just finalized the details of a joint relief mission with Chandrilla to Ryloth.  They only accept aid now when it isn’t the military delivering it, but the hyperspace lanes between there and Alderaan are still tumultuous.  And to be honest,” he admits, “we could use some help smoothing the transfers over with local officials, too.”

Ahsoka breathes out, and feels this mission sink onto her shoulders, displacing the greater weights that took up that space before.  Greater, but not more important.

“I’ll put you in contact with the mission lead, they can give you details about departure times and what exactly they’ll want you to do.”

“Thank you, Senator Organa,” Ahsoka says as she pushes to her feet.

“I think you can call me Bail,” he says, extending a hand.

“Then I think you should call me Ahsoka,” she replies, taking it.

—

Anakin drags Rex and Kix and Jesse and Cody to Naboo with him, when it’s time, and Padmé thanks them quietly for bringing him back to her, more whole than he’s been since they rode into an arena chained together.

Time away from the politics of rebuilding a government and the Jedi Order—and the relationship between the two and the larger galaxy—has been so good for him that she can’t begrudge personal opportunities lost.

At least now, she knows he’s safe in more ways than one, working for something he really believes in.

—

Ahsoka meets Luke and Leia ten days local standard after they’re born at Varykino on Naboo, and loves them instantly.

A Feeling strikes her as she stares down at the pair of them, utterly enchanting and more powerful than anything she’s ever seen before.  “Oh, they’re going to be trouble.”

“You think?” Anakin grins at her.

—

Barriss can feel it, somehow, when Ahsoka finally leaves Coruscant again.  Like their increasingly frequent joint meditations have bound them together.

Her strength in the unifying Force has only ever brought her pain; foresight in the middle of a war is nothing but death and darkness.  But as Ahsoka leaves, more settled than she’s been since Barriss utterly destroyed the trust between them, and between them and the Order and the Republic, the Force seeps into her vision once again.

Desert winds swirl, sweeping aside too-familiar sands to reveal what potential lies underneath.

Growth.  New beginnings.  Life.

Barriss sees:

Her hands sweeping over the head of an anxious youngling, murmuring sweet nothings as she applies bacta patches to the saber burns the little Twi’leck who slipped during their first training class, completely accidental.

“It’s going to be alright,” Barriss says with a smile, and she believes it.  And the youngling believes her.

 Barriss s e e s:

 It is not so easy for the scars of war to fade.

We are not soldiers; but we used to be; but we shouldn’t have been.

When the Jedi Order shouldered the burden of galactic war for the Senate, their lauded foresight didn’t reveal the perils of the aftermath.  What the real cost of war is for the soldiers who fight it: the ones who die for it, and the ones who have to live with it.  Live with what they did in the name of something that was truly corrupted.

Too late for what? The Republic to fall? It already has, and you just can't see it!  There is no justice, no law, no order, except for the one that will replace it!

The temple of the New Republic is not a sanctuary suffused with the warmth of a thousand years of brotherhood that they once lived in.  It reflects its inhabitants in more ways than one.

It is an alert place, the tension of a thousand survivors of Civil War trained to be on their guard, always.  At once a more insular place, disillusioned with the government they’re re-learning how to serve, even now, years after the fact, and a more connected place, with the Jedi more aware of the people themselves by necessity.  There are some who will always be more comfortable in a battle than out of it, no matter how long it’s been, because they came of age in battle after battle after battle.  But there are others who are finally growing up without a war nipping at their heels, corrupting them.

Jedi come and go more frequently than they used to.  There are more Rangers and Watchman than there have been in hundreds of years.

But they are. And they will be.

 Barriss sees:

 Ahsoka climbs the steps to the Temple, her home, completely at ease, the echoes of her descending them in anguish and uncertainty long faded.  Returning from a long, satisfying journey.

Barriss is waiting for her just inside the Temple walls and falls in step next to her.  They make their way through the Temple together.  

Younglings and Padawans and younger knights and older masters alike whisper in Ahsoka’s wake, as they always do; things they once whispered about her Master, and his Master before him: one of the greatest Jedi of the era.  Sith-slayer.  Negotiator. Warrior.  Her adventures are easy stories to tell in creches, ones where the Jedi triumphs over many different types of evil.

The reality of them is more complicated, of course, but that is something saved for people who can bear it and learn from in; not fear it.

“She’s waiting for you,” Barriss says calmly.

Ahsoka groans.  “Barriss, I haven’t even been home five minutes, can’t this wait?”

“You’re ready.  She’s more than ready; she’s been waiting for you.”

“Am I?  Ready, I mean,” Ahsoka says uncertainly.

They pause in the hallway, passersby parting around them without protest because it’s clear to everyone that the pair of them must stop here.

“Are you?”

She heaves a long, heavy sigh that slides into another groan.  “To train a padawan?” Ahsoka hesitates.  “Or to stay in the Temple again?”

Barriss says nothing, projecting the serenity she feels every day in the Temple; the serenity she feels when she’s with Ahsoka; the serenity that emanates from their current topic through the unifying Force.

“Because I won’t train a Padawan the way we were trained,” Ahsoka says harshly.  “Always on the move.  No solid ground to fall back on, no peace.  That’s not who we are.”

“Not anymore,” Barriss replies, with that same hint of bitterness.  In, out.  She releases it as quickly as it appeared.

“I want her to know peace, Barriss.  And love,” she adds petulantly, still stinging from her last debate with some of their elders over the Skywalker Clan, the one Barriss suspects played no small part in sending her back out of the Temple again.  “Safety.”

“Well, you have your answer, then.”

Ahsoka looks at her blankly. 

“Who better to provide those things than you?  It’s not like you’d trust anyone else with her, at this point.  Still ready to take the fate of the whole galaxy onto your shoulders, Knight Tano,” Barriss teases, gently, because that weight still aches for her friend even now.

“And you’re still ready to take its wounds onto yours, Healer Offee,” Ahsoka returns.

“It’s not like you’ll be alone,” Barriss says with exasperation, starting through the Temple again.  Ahsoka keeps to her side automatically, her ‘sabers swinging at her hips.  “You’ll have me, and Master Kenobi, and Knight Katooni, and even—Skywalker,” she settles on delicately.  “Even if he should never be allowed near our younglings.”

“Maybe we can share her,” Ahsoka muses lightly, still protesting Barriss’ decision not to take an apprentice. Barriss lets it go for now, because she just won the argument.

They slow to a halt outside the Bear Clan’s quarters, and Ahsoka curses.  “C’mon, I haven’t even showered yet!”

“You’re no good to anyone putting things off.  Always on the move, that Ahsoka Tano.  Always looking forward.”

Ahsoka sighs again, with a touch of finality, and relents.  She turns to Barriss and tilts her forehead to bump into her friend’s.  “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Barriss says, and presses into Ahsoka’s touch for a moment, before giving her friend one final push.

“Hey!”  Ahsoka exclaims as she stumbles through the Clan’s doorway, but Barriss is already halfway down the hallway, her lingering amusement in the Force the only sign she was ever there.

—

Barriss sits in her cell and weeps unabashedly, full of relief for this gift the Force has given her: a future. 

For her people.

For herself.

—

fin.

[tobswrites]

Shut Up, I’m not Scared!

Hey! I just finished, a certain part of School Briefs, (pretty sure it was Chapter 13 in the way the site I use is formatted) and turns out, Bakugou hates scary stories, or so it’s implied, so I wrote this real quick! 

“She dropped me off just at the end of the street,” Mina continues with her storytelling, or for that matter, an actual ghost story that has been following her for years now.

Usually Bakugou wouldn’t be one to join shit like this, he won’t admit to himself, any less his friends, but fucking stories like this, scary ones, horror and ghost a like just didn’t suit well with him. They always gave him an unwanted thrill, a fear that prickled him.

But he stayed goddammit, first it was for that shitty red head, who begged for Bakugou to come join the rest of the ‘Bakusquad’ in the lounge area, using those famous puppy eyes of his, like what the fuck. At times those eyes of his reminded him of a Shiba Inu, a little dog with little eyebrows just like Kirishima’s own.

Kirishiba, he huffs, laughing at his own pun.

That’s beside the point, Kirishima had stuck to his side for the beginning of the night before he scooted closer to Mina to hear her story better, so there was no real reason for him to stay since his only incentive had left him.

Though if he walked out now, he would probably be called a sacredly-cat for leaving in the middle of Mina’s stupid story. Sure, he could always act cold, brush it off, but he was sure that Kaminari would mention it, and fuck that idiot knew his weakness, he’ll tease him and try to do that reverse psychology shit.

“As I passed the first house, the darkness seemed to get thicker, heavier even, it felt like I could climb on top of it, walk on it.”

He had no real reason to be afraid, a lot of the shit they were spewing was load of bullshit, exaggerated to make the story more enticing.

They pull all the tricker, using the fact they’re all going to die one day, darkness, even fucking shit like bugs are enough to pull anyone to fear and anxiety. They use the darkness, something that relates the brain to rest and sleep, relaxation, using your comfort against you. Throwing you into the unimageable in pure darkness when you’re greatest sense is gone, sight.

“And I could feel like someone was walking behind me as soon as I passed the second home, I did the trick with the makeup mirror, opening it up and looking at the reflection behind me. And there was no one, not a single person, but as soon as I was about to close the mirror, I swear on my life a black shadow moved.”

“It was just your fucking shadow.” Bakugou comments, stiff in his words as he was tensed.

Mina shakes her head rapidly, “Na-uh, I swear, there was no lamp post or anything, but I swore there was this like, black mass or something.”

“Someone was pulling a fucking prank on you with their quirk.” He says next, trying to calm his own nerves.

“What a shitty person.” Jirou says, calmly as she twirls one of her earlobe jacks.

“Guys!” Mina pouts, crossing her arms, “Let me finish!”

Bakugou groans, but waves his hand nonetheless, letting her finish as he falls back on to the sofa, looking at Kirishima who looked completely entranced with this sort of shit.

“Anyways!” Mina quickly says before anyone else has anything else to say. “I was almost home, I could see my neighbor’s house, so I started to walk faster, taking larger steps and all, I was practically running.”

She fastens her speech, like she was losing her audience and wanted to get the story to end, which thank fucking god.

“And as soon as I got to my doorstep, key out and all, I felt safe, I made it, I remember thinking but as soon as I entered the key into it’s whole, I felt my entire body freeze up, chills on my spine, and for a second I swore I could feel a hot puff of air on the top of my head.” Mina gives the audience an example, puffing once before continuing on.

“I shrieked and swung a fist, uppercut style,” she says proudly, but soon slumps her shoulders, “but there was no one.”

“Please tell you had it all video tapped.”

“Yeah! Security camera’s bitch!” Mina snapped her fingers, “it even records a separate video using infrared! You know, for those invisible using quirks? Well guess what? There was absolutely nothing caught! No body, no heat signature! No nothing!”

“Not even the puff of air on your head?” Kirishima as, flattening down a hand on the newly washed hair.

But Mina shakes her head, “None, I thought for sure I would catch something…but holy shit I thought I was gonna die, because the next thing I knew, I felt…” she shrugs her shoulders, “I don’t know, I felt free, the darkness didn’t look to dark anymore either, and that feeling of being watched? It was gone.”

“It was your brain cell kicking in.” Bakugou jokes, which Mina simply glares as Kaminari and Sero were the only one’s snickering.

“Sorry about that, I was sure it was my day to use it.” Sero joins in, causing Bakugou to even snicker.

“Okay, okay my turn!” Kaminari stands up, shooing Mina from her original seat.

“What? Go tell it from there!” She points from where Kaminari came from, but the blond wasn’t having it, pushing Mina causing her to fall to the side.

“My turn.” He says, plopping himself down while Mina whined about being injured, Kirishima gave her a smile of reassurance before the girl decided to take a seat next to Bakugou and away from the other idiots.

“Kaminari this better not be I thought I was home a lone but guess my mom was there story.” Jirou leans back, arms behind her as she smiles at the blond who only pretends to laugh at Jirou’s joke.

“Very funny, but no, okay, get this guys, I was visiting my gramps on the country side,”

“Oh hell no.” Mina says, shaking her head and throwing her arms cross one another several times.

“What?” Bakugou glances at her, confused.

“That’s where all that real shit is, tell him Kirishima, tell him that’s where the real shit is at.”

“That’s where the real shit is at.” Kirishima confirms, nodding his head in affirmation at Bakugou, and soon after smiling at the blond with a quick wink.

“Well, then buckle up Mina, because you know this shit is about to be even more real.” Kaminari says, looking stupidly serious.

Bakugou then tenses, already feeling the fear from the hype the two were giving it. Fucking shittt.

It was during the summer, so the nights weren’t as cold as they usually were. Crickets and frogs could be heard left and right, yet not one in sight to be seen.

He was a kid, he explains that it was late, but his mother, auntie and cousin had stayed up to talk, play and keep them entertained since they, the kids, were having a hard time sleeping.

“Then out of nowhere, I got hungry,” he laughs, patting his stomach, “And I begged my mom over and over to take me to the kitchen to get some food, since we lived in those separated room homes? Where the bedroom was it’s own building…”

“Like fucking courtyards? Open air yards?” Bakugou comments, not realizing that he’s speaking more often than usual.

“Yeah!” Kaminari smiles in graditide, “Well anyways, my mom told me to shut it but my auntie felt bad for me, and told me she’ll take me. So she picks me up.”

“Wait hold are you?” Sero stops him, creating a curious crowd.

“I was like, uh, probably seven? Six?”

“This could have been a dream!” Mina groans in annoyance, “are you sure this is real?”

“Yes! Yes it’s real!” Kaminari says, irritated now, “guys come on! I didn’t interrupt you Mina!”

Mina hums, asking for forgiveness and as soon as Kaminari accepts, he continues on.

“She was holding on to me, and as soon as we walk into the pathway to the kitchen there was this little thing by one of the walls. Just standing there, looking at us. It had a little ball on his hands, I’m pretty sure it was a football my cousin and I were kicking around earlier that day!”

The creature was hunched, or so says Kaminari, looked at both him and his aunt with a looking spooked like it didn’t expect either of them to come out so late. Before Kaminari could even figure out what he was looking at, his auntie had grabbed a baseball bat, another toy the kids had left around and started swinging it, yelling out words Kaminari couldn’t understand.

The creature then straighten it’s back, looking even more shocked than before, but the ball was still in their hands, holding it tightly, just a moment away from popping from it’s sharp claws.

Kaminari’s badass aunt had started marching towards it, Kaminari’s young brain still not yet comprehending what he was seeing, or even understanding why his aunt was so scared as she started swinging harder and faster.

It seemed like the creature finally got the hint his aunt was gonna beat his ass, as it turned around and started the attempt of climbing what Kamanari said was a concrete wall. The ball was now passed in one of his hands, trying to climb with it, but when it realized it couldn’t he had to let the ball go.

It climbed to the very top, turning back around on it’s fours to look at the two before jumping to the other side.

“After that, I got my snack and we made it back inside no problem, turns out my mom had her own adventures too! Said they found a nasty looking spider, like good thing I wasn’t there! I would’ve passed out!”

“Wait,” Bakugou backtracks, not at all noticing he was holding in a breath before talking, “what the fuck was the thing?”

Kaminari took a second to think before shrugging his shoulders, like it didn’t matter. “I dunno.”

“Dude!” Kirishima pipes up, “how could you be so chill? That’s creepy!”

“Hey man, it was years ago, and I haven’t seen or experienced any weird shit since then!”

“It could have been a hyosube.” Jirou had her phone out, the only light source causing her face to be luminated. “You could be cursed for life buddy.”

Kaminari playfully plays her off, “Come on Jirou, don’t say that.”

“Fucking stupid is what this is, I’m going to sleep.” Two scary stories were enough right? He doesn’t need this shit, and he’s sure if he hears another one of those fucking stories, he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

Kirishima nods in affirmation, “Yeah guys, Imma call it a night too!” he hops up from his seat and trails behind Bakugou.

The remaining four watch the two go, and as soon as they walk into the elevator close, Mina quickly whips her head back to the other three.

“Tots saw how Bakugou was hella tensed right?”

Jirou hums in confirmation, “Dude wouldn’t stop talking, he was totally nervous.”

“Come on guys leave him alone, the dude can’t be all perfect.”

[windstormwielding]

Slipstream

「 ...Hatchling. 」

“...haven’t heard your gruff old voice in some time.” Kōtarō’s posture straightened when he heard his blade address him. For an instant, it felt like the old shack that made for his childhood home and present surroundings blinked out, and he found himself pulled back into the sea of clouds that made for his inner world.

It was only for an instant, but the sight stuck with the Lieutenant all the same: the sky above him there wasn’t a clear, sunny blue. Clouds, ones at his feet and ones on high, were a charged black, threatening to burst with lightning and roar thunder at any given moment, and moving overhead and below with speed.

「 11 years will have passed soon. 」

“...yeah.” Now that was a comment from his projected instinct Kōta felt he could have done without, leaning back against the old wall and letting out a huff that came out more tired than he intended. It was one thing that he already trained himself ragged, with newer, deeper scars torn into the earth and cliffside alike outside proving as such, but while he would’ve appreciated hearing the often silent Hai’iro Ranmaru speak, it was another to be casually reminded of the looming anniversary of the Great Soul King Protection War.

Reiō, he always hated that name for it. They were more fighting for their own lives, their survival as a collective, than that of a faceless, nameless lynchpin. While Kōtarō found it easier to process those events in the decade-plus since, remembrance still stung. Fear and helplessness unlike anything he felt. Losing too many relationships in one fell swoop than can ever be counted. The death of the one man he respected and looked up to most, whom he only wanted to make proud one more time before his untimely demise. Oh how distraught he had been, in repressing the resulting despair as much as he could and sinking himself into his work, into bettering himself in case-

「 Why? 」

“W-why what?”

「 Why do you remain grounded? 」

“Ranmaru, we’ve been at it here since morning,” the windstorm wielder pointed out, even going so far as to jab a thumb toward the sunset-hued sky outside for his mentally aboding partner. It was rare that he had an entire day to himself, and of course he spent it dedicating in refining his skills and abilities with nigh bullheaded obsession, but he intended on returning to the Seireitei once he recovered enough of his strength. “We can get back into it later in the week, can’t we?”

「 That is not what I meant. 」

Oh here we go with the cryptic gotchas. Returning his thumb so that he may drag his hand, palm and digits, down his face, Kōta paused before he opted to take the bait: “So if it’s not me taking a break, then what?”

「 Why are you not honest? 」

“Wh- Excuse me?!” Maybe it was the exhaustion talking when his own voice rose, but those words still touched on a nerve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

「 You first chose to carry this burden in the name of a man who has not walked among you, not for the last 11 years. 」

“Okay, don’t you dare bring Captain Ukitake into this.” His tone turned as sharp as steel at the comment, and his reiatsu threatened to flare in turn. It was not long after Aizen’s arrest that Kōta made such a pledge to his late commander, to be of better use to him and the 13th in the future, but it was the absolute last thing he wished to recall.

Still, as bitter as he felt, he knew Hai’iro Ranmaru was correct.

“Shit.” How cruelly that memory aged, from an ignorant and hopeful 4th Seat who saw not the storm on the horizon. Hell, none of them saw it coming. The shinigami in question felt his back ease against the wall he sat against, all while mulling over bygone times.

「 So what reason do you have to still seek such power now? 」

The answer to that is obvious, no?

“Rukia... She’s going to need me to back her up. I have a whole Division to look after now as Captain Kuchiki’s right hand. The newest Captain and Lieutenant pair. All eyes of the Gotei 13 will be on us. I can’t afford to slack off just yet.

“...I’ll need to be at my best.”

And for his answer, all he received was a dismissive scoff from the elder voice in his mind.

「 You lie to yourself. 」

“Lying to myself?” Here Kōtarō thought he was being forthright, yet his blade’s accusation came with a gale creaking the wood of the hut from the outside, as though wind itself was objecting to his questioning.

「 You pursue power because you are afraid. 」 

The claim spurned the Lieutenant into trying to deny it, but however he tried to raise his voice, any attempt at a sentence died almost as soon as it left his throat. What could he say to convince his own id otherwise? Not five minutes ago, his thoughts still lingered on a conflict over a decade past; Hai’iro Ranmaru naturally would have thought it too.

“Well don’t you have me all figured out, jī-chan,” he finally answered, letting a defeated smile sit on his countenance.

「 There is no shame in such an act. 」

“In what, pursuing power out of fear?”

「 In figuring you out. 」

A snort broke from the swordsman at the bluntly delivered remark, and with it, so did the tension between himself and the spirit of his weapon.

“Pfeh. That too, then.” 

With that, the pair allowed silence to reign between themselves. The clouds hanging high over Kusajishi seemed to rumble, ready to dispense with rainwater it had built up for several days of aridity with the coming summer season.

It only took moments for the first droplets to fall, pelting the roof little by little until a full shower began in earnest. A satisfied sigh left the soul reaper as he closed his eyes and focused on his other senses, taking in the soothing sound of rainfall and the building smell of petrichor from the outdoors.

Ranmaru’s presence, meanwhile, still lingered in his mindscape, seeming to enjoy the outside weather along with his wielder.

“...it’s been fun, though.”

「 Fun? 」

“Hm.” Kōta nodded to themselves as he sought to piece his thoughts together, while reflecting on more recent history for a change. “Over the last several years. All those techniques and manoeuvres? I wasn’t capable of half of that before we started training so seriously.”

「 Getting stronger... brings you pleasure? 」

“If you want to put it so starkly, then sure, I guess.” A low chuckle broke from Ryōhei younger before he continued. “It also means I understand you—and us—better in the long run, doesn’t it? I’d call it fun.”

「 Hm... I suppose it does, hatchling. 」

“I don’t know, I just... I want to keep flying. Higher, and higher still, until I can’t see the earth at my feet anymore.” He didn’t realize he started waxing poetic, but he remembered that wish well from when he was a little young soul: a great yearning to stand above any and every trouble on the earth, and equally untethered to the forces of gravity – freedom unlike anything he’s ever known. “That’s... just how it always felt like to me, I guess.”

「 Yet you ground yourself. Fear has locked you within a gilded cage, all while the clouds above call for you to ascend to their heights. 」

“Is that right?”

「 Of course. I am the wind at your back, the air in your lungs, and the sword by your side. I know when fear takes hold of you, even should you attempt to deny it. 」

“...it’s not like I’m afraid of death or anything. Kinda grown numb to that sort of thing after this many years on the job and all,” Kōtarō opined, feeling that a shinigami in his position would not last long in their duties if they weren’t used to putting their life on the line. Ranmaru hummed in affirmation in turn, wishing to hear his wielder speak his mind more. Anxiously, the man rested his hand on the back of his weary neck as he went on. “It’s just... back then, with the Quincy...?”

For a moment, he fell quiet.

“...they fucking steamrolled us. Slain us by the thousands. Hardly took them any effort, at that.”

As for the words he did not say aloud, though his zanpakutō understood as though they were spoken? None of us should have survived the war, least of all me. We got off lucky.

However, it was more than just fear. More than just helplessness. Hopelessness. Despair. Desperation.

「 ...so what do you intend to do, the next time your world threatens to fall around you? 」

There was one more feeling that took root in his soul, though buried within the chaos of the last day.

Memories of his own last stand proved... hazy, given he would only remember waking up in the 4th Division barracks after the dust settled at last. But, Kōta did remember the Seireitei, though ruined, returning in front of his eyes after days spent skulking, fleeing, hiding, and fighting within the city of shadows.

Then lights fell from the heavens, by the dozens, and from their descent rose those... things.

「 The next time providence itself chooses to become your enemy? 」

Squawking, shrieking, swearing vengeance in the name of their perfect, almighty god-king. Threatening to raze the one relief he found in his home materializing before him to ashes, after he thought it truly lost forever. After he finally had a moment to breathe—let alone recollect himself—when he reunited with those who still remained from the 13th. After they already took Captain Ukitake from them.

It was coming back to him, albeit in pieces, that those bird-beasts were so. Fucking. LOUD. Like a sickening cacophony of dissonant trumpets gleefully tearing into whatever peace of mind he still held on to, blaring into his ears lest he turned deaf.

The spark of hope he felt that that some of the normalcy he loved could return at all, only for someone to dare rip it away from him again, ignited something else.

「 The next time someone dares to stand in the way of your peace? 」

WRATH.

He stopped caring about power gaps.

He stopped compromising on what best approach there was to take.

He stopped worrying about whether he and his own would live to see tomorrow.

All he wanted was to see those Quincy bird things dead. Rally whoever among his men could still fight, and order the remaining ones to safety.

So, he brandished Hai’iro Ranmaru.

He saw Kira Izuru, a man who inexplicably stood while half his own torso was missing, going in as the vanguard against those lording, sanctimonious monstrosities.

Thus, Kōta summoned his cavalry.

Charged like a roaring typhoon, with a great fury he had not shown again since.

Fought until he could stand no longer, having slain one beast after the next with only red in his eyes.

The wrath he felt in those memories of the past simmered under his own skin in the present.

「 The Ryōhei Kōtarō I saw that last day, who did not let such fears hold him down... 」

Kōtarō was not alone in the cabin anymore. Not there one moment, there the next he blinked. It was enough to jolt life back into the shinigami, but he showed no fear before the intruder, for there stood the one same hermit he saw countless times within his inner world, now far and away—or a mere five steps away?—from the cloud sea it inhabited.

The same priestly kimono, with the same yuigesa. The same hauchiwa fan at his hip, with black feathers from the same black wings folded at its back.

Although, it was not the familiar face of a wise old bird Kōtarō would see. No, that mask fell away when Hai’iro Ranmaru made himself corporeal.

“...would break free from his cage, by tempering that same rage worthy of my power.”

Even his voice had changed with his younger, more human-like appearance, sounding smoother than Kōtarō had ever recalled hearing, almost melodious in his chiding. Next to one another, one could swear they looked like twins. The swordsman himself would have realized it as well, had he not sat there on the floor of his childhood home, looking shellshocked.

It did not immediately sink in that, at long last, his zanpakutō spirit materialized before him.

“If you can confirm to me you are worthy?”

It did not yet click that, indeed, he proved to possess the aptitude for Bankai after all.

“If you can show me you can rise above that fear?”

It did not come to mind that his years of training have finally, against all the odds, paid off.

“If you can prove that by besting the hells of yesteryear once again?”

No, above all else...

“Then I will gladly bend the knee to you...”

...what really stood out to the soul reaper was...

“...so that, as my master, you may soar to-”

“What the fu—YOU WERE YOUNG THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

“THAT IS WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO FOCUS ON?!”

[dusky-dancing]

The Prince and the Pirate - CH 2

For SoKai Week - Day 2

Story Summary: Sora finds himself far away from the walls of the Radiant Garden he's known his whole life, kidnapped by a rowdy group of pirates whose captain is as alluring as she is mysterious. What he thought was a simple hostage negotiation turns into an adventure that Sora couldn't have anticipated. He doesn't know which is worse, not knowing what's up ahead, or liking it that way.

Rating: T

Genre: Romance, Adventure, Pirate AU

Length: ~ 2k words

——————————————————–

Links for story navigation:

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

——————————————————–

"Kairi…"

He involuntarily breathed her name, and a playful smile grew across her face.

"That's my name," she nodded.

Despite the authority she obviously possessed, she remained kneeling at his eye-level. A show of acquaintance and equality. If she wasn't trying to intimidate him, then what could she possibly be after? Maybe she didn't want anything malicious from him, and this was nothing more than a hostage-for-money negotiation.

Or maybe it was all intentional. Nothing more than a trick, a warm and smiling cover to weaken his defenses.

"Who are you all?" he asked. "What do you want? Why me?"

"All questions I will answer in due time," she said. "What do you say we move this conversation somewhere more comfortable?"

"What, you have a cushier prison cell?"

She laughed, "Do you want to remain a prisoner?" Before he could respond, she turned to her two subordinates. "Take him to my quarters."

They both turned in surprise. "But captain-"

"It'll be fine," she nodded.

It wasn't until they hoisted him up, hands still tied behind his back, that she herself stood and led the march up the stairs. Her graceful steps didn't cause a stir from the worn wooden steps, but they creaked endlessly under every other boot.

"Don't try anything funny," Jessie mumbled in his ear.

Biggs laughed. "Where's he gonna go anyways? Swim all the way back?"

Clear blue skies soon greeted them, and the ocean air hit him in full force, not that the sensation was unwelcome.

Though Sora knew what a pirate ship was supposed to look like from stories, the true scale of a pirate ship surprised him. He craned his neck in order to see the sails, and even then he couldn't find the top of the mast from his position. The creaking and groaning of the ship were drowned out by the crew's work on the deck and the wind flapping the white sails.

All active work within Sora's eyesight, however, ceased once he emerged from his makeshift prison cell. He felt their eyes on him. Eyes of strangers, possibly more of his assailants. The bright sunlight kept him from taking in too many of their details, but he made out another woman and a few other men of varying sizes.

Sora must have been standing frozen for too long, because Biggs pushed him along. To the back of the ship they walked, where large wooden double doors stood decorated with plain glass. The Captain's quarters, where Kairi wanted to talk. Alone.

More questions clouded his mind as she pulled open both doors and disappeared into the room. It was comparatively dark inside, much easier on the eyes than the raw sunlight he'd just endured.

The room resembled less of a captain's living quarters than a decorative dining room. A single large table stood in the very center, enough to seat a dozen people. Various shelves, plants, and decorations filled the room comfortably, but Sora found himself too distracted to notice their details. The woman who'd ordered his kidnapping stood opposite of him, framed by a large glass window that put the entire ocean on display for him.

Again, she never held herself too high or with too much authority. Everything about her welcoming posture seemed intentional yet natural.

Biggs secured Sora in the chair across from her and left. Not a moment after her door closed did he begin unleashing his thoughts.

"What do you want? Why me? Is it money? Resources? Do you have any idea who you're messing with?"

Kairi held her hand up calmly. If his bombardment of questions annoyed her, she didn't show. Her dress pooled around her hips as she slowly took her seat opposite of him.

"Money is of no interest to me. I chose you, Sora, because you're the only one who can help me. Help us." She gestured around her whole ship.

"How?" he asked.

"I know who you are, Sora," she smiled. "You're the key to our success."

Her subtle emphasis on the word 'key' sent a shiver up his spine. It'd been years since he'd publicly called upon his abilities. His father had done well to keep them a secret from the outside world, but it was inevitable that someone, either the dark forces that plagued the seas or a hiring mercenary group, would find him eventually. The woman before him seemed to occupy the later group, though her methods were a bit more forceful than that of a simple business negotiation. On the off chance she belonged to the former motive, however, he instinctively scooted back. His hand twitched within his restraints.

"Don't be afraid." She said, and he was inclined to believe her despite his earlier instincts. "Our goal is for the good of everyone who lives on the ocean. You must understand that some missions don't allow the luxury of asking for help."

"What's this goal?" He thought back to rumors he'd heard within the kingdom. "Is this about the monsters in the ocean?"

She hummed, placing a finger over her lips. "I'll tell you more when we arrive at our destination, I promise."

Sora relaxed a bit in his chair, taking his eyes off of the woman before him to examine her quarters. Like the rest of the ship, the room had been carved entirely from wood, though its polish was much finer than his previous holding place. Naturally, the large window framed so intricately behind her drew his attention first. Scattered among the many shelves were various trinkets: a jewelry box, carved or sculpted animal figurines, atleast half-a-dozen plants he didn't recognize, nothing violent or overly extravagant. A small desk facing the window held an open ink well and dozens of papers secured under a large seashell weight. A discreet door off to the side likely led to her bed chamber.

The way natural light reflected off of the crystal chandelier above them made the chamber appear much brighter. It was...welcoming.

"So if I'm joining you on this secret mission, do I get a cool pirate code name? Or a pirate hat?"

He turned back to her, only to find her patience waning.

"This is serious, Sora," her eyes narrowed. "If you're to treat this like a fairytale, then it is clear you're not ready to know what we're after."

"I won't have to know," he said, "because the navy will find me first. They've got the fastest ships, you know."

Impatience gave way to a playful smirk as she leaned forward and rested her chin on her fingers. "Your naive overconfidence precedes you, Sora, but I wouldn't worry about them," she winked. "We've got a couple of tricks up our sleeves."

Sora sensed the pleasant tone leaving their conversation. "Don't hurt anyone," he pleaded. "We haven't done anything wrong to you."

"Relax, Sora. Our tricks are evasive, not confrontational. We won't hurt anyone who doesn't get in our way."

"And if I get in your way?" He smirked.

A soft playful smile pulled at her lips. "You are our way, Sora. None of this can be done without you."

Sora avoided her gaze. He was inclined to believe her again, though he didn't have much of a choice.

"What about after? When I've helped you with whatever this quest is."

"Well, we can return you safely to your castle be long gone before anyone notices. But I sense we won't be doing that, Sora."

"Why not?"

"Because I think you're not satisfied as being a trophy for your king, playing a hero prince but with nothing heroic to fight for." She leaned forward intently. "I understand, because I too have a gift."

Sora straightened, his heart stuttering. "You mean-" he looked to her hands, picturing her wielding a magical sword herself. It would explain why she hadn't carried one on her hip like the rest of her crew. "I thought I was the only one."

She shook her head and laughed, "You are one of a kind, Sora, that much is true. While your gift is more combative, mine is more…" she glanced to the side in thought, "elemental in nature."

Sora remained still, taking her and her words in. Even if their magic was the same, to meet another with an unnatural gift felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps that was why he'd been drawn to her from the start, how she'd found him in the first place. Had she been like him, kept within the confines of some kingdom or government, or used as a show of power?

He relaxed in his seat before meeting her gaze again. She watched him, waiting for an answer or a reaction.

"Well," he said, "you can't just drop that bomb on me without atleast showing me."

Her smile brightened. "I was beginning to fear you'd never ask." She then rose from her seat, made her way to the door, and gestured outside. "You'll see soon enough."

At her command, Biggs stepped through the doorway and lifted Sora to his feet.

"Is this really still necessary?" Sora asked. He looked towards Kairi, sure that she'd order his hands freed, but she'd already made her way to the deck.

"For now, it is," the man said as he led him along.

On the upper layer of the deck where the helmsman was positioned, The full size of the ship revealed itself. About half-a-dozen crew members, both men and women, worked away all around the deck. Sora's eyes followed the central mast to the crow's nest, where another man focussed through a looking glass out to sea.

"Are we all set, helmsman Wedge?" Kairi asked, though it was more of an affirmation than a question.

"Aye, Captain," the man nodded.

Just on cue, the man in the crow's nest shouted, "Captain! Kingdom ships in sight!"

She quickly shot Sora a knowing glance. "I guess you weren't bluffing about your navy." Her playful smile and wonder-filled eyes held no hint of fear or worry. "What say you to a little demonstration?"

Every crew member around them jumped, and they soon filled the air with excited cheers. Biggs patted Sora's back and said, "This never gets old."

Kairi made her way to the railing that separated the two levels of the deck. Meanwhile, several crew members began loosening the lines to close the sails.

"Wait," Sora said. "I don't know anything about sailing, but aren't you supposed to, you know," he gestured wide with his hands, "expand the sails to move quickly."

Jessie joined his other side. "Aye," she said and held up a finger, "if you're using the wind to move."

Sora raised an eyebrow. "But what else would you-"

His voice caught in his throat when a sudden swell in the gentle waves rocked the ship with more force than usual. After catching his balance, his attention turned back to Kairi.

She stood tall with her hands outstretched to either side, palms facing up. Her eyes remained closed, but the rest of her face expressed pure bliss. The waves seemed to follow the direction of her hands, and Sora thought he'd begun to understand her gift.

Mine is more...elemental in nature,

When the ocean felt calm and steady, she slowly brought her palms forward. Sora was too mesmerized to notice the rest of the crew bracing against whatever they could hold onto.

In one fluid motion, not unlike the very waves she commanded, she thrust her arms behind her, and Sora went flying onto his back.

The sudden speed of the ship would've sent Sora back into the captain's quarters if it weren't for Biggs and Jessie stopping him. The embarrassment tempted him to stay hidden and red-faced, but his newfound fascination with the captain won out. He stood to look over the side, and sure enough the navy ship pursuing them was now a shrinking form on the horizon.

Kairi was focussed, though he swore she shot him a side-eye smirk. Jessie stepped in his way and broke the trance.

"Okay, newbie, enough staring. Let's put you to work?"

——————————————————–

A/N: Thank you for reading! We've reached day 2 of SoKai Week, and I hope you're enjoying it so far.

Kairi's design, abilities, and motivation were inspired from a number characters, including Avantika from Critical Role, Captain Amelia from Treasure Planet, and the historical Irish figure Gráinne Ní Mháille (Grace O'Malley), 'The Pirate Queen'.

[sagiow]

Auld Lang Syne

Happy New Year, Mercy Street fandom! A week late (an unplanned getaway prevented me from finishing it in a timely manner), but have some final Holiday mostly-fluff as you get back to the grind.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319599?view_full_work=true                                                                                  

"Happy New Year, soldiers! May 1863 bring us resounding victory over the Rebels, and may we celebrate the next holidays as heroes in our homes!”

“Hear, hear! Three cheers for Doctor Hale! Three cheers for the Union!”

With a magnanimous smile, Hale raised his glass to his bedridden yet cheering troups, to the orderlies and doctors joining them with enthusiastic claps. No Hastings to glare at him disapprovingly for some obscure reason, no Foster to steal his thunder, no Diggs to wordlessly remind him he did not deserve it in the first place.

There could be no greater company, no sweeter music to his ears to ring in the new year.

- 2 -

“I cannot believe you’re making me stay up until midnight,” scolded Mary as she stifled a yawn.

“And let you miss the beginning of the new year?” Jed replied. “That would be a poor omen indeed.”

“As if you gave any credence to such foolish superstitions,” she scoffed.

“I do not, but I’m neither fool enough to risk it, especially in such cosy company.”

He gently replaced the Paisley shawl that covered her shoulders, its colorful pattern shimmering as he softly rubbed her arm in the process. He had gifted it to her for Christmas and she had gasped upon receiving it, calling it an extravaganze he could not afford, money that would have been better spent on food or supplies for the soldiers or the camp, and he had shushed her with a kiss. Her convalescence progressing slower that he would have liked, she often suffered from the cold, especially in the evening, and he argued there could be no better use of his money than ensuring her comfort with only the finest that could be found. She had finally accepted it relunctantly, frowning and warning him that it would be their secret, and admonishing him against ever buying her such lavish presents again. As he often did these days, he laughed it off merrily. However, she now smiled at him and wore it happily, eyes bright despite the dark circles that lined them, and covered his hand with hers, nestling closer to him. The fire crackled brightly in front of them, sitting comfortably on chairs they had placed as close together as they could, the door to his office firmly locked against any wayward intruder.

Finally, the clock on the mantle struck twelve. Jed brought her hand to his lips and placed the softest of kisses to her knuckles. “Happy New Year, Mary. May it bring you back your health and strength, so we may spend many such late evenings together.”

In answer, she reached out to stroke his cheek, and kissed him fully, tenderly at first, but with a growing intensity that betrayed a much stronger desire. “And may this wretched war end, and the work here with it, so we can finally start our life together.”

He shook his head. “You just say the word and we will be married. Tomorrow, if you wish it. God knows I most desperately do,” he added hoarsely, pressing his forehead against hers.

She sighed and closed her eyes, taking in his scent, his touch, his warmth, his love. “We both have yet some healing to do. May 1863 bring us patience and fortitude, my darling Jed. Our reward will be sweeter still.”

- 3 -

“Happy New Year, Miss Jenkins! And to you, Dr. Diggs!”

Every man, woman and yawning child shook their hands as they left the decorated classroom to return to their beds, their modest party at an end, but with no shortages of smiles, filled bellies and good wishes.

“Their first year as free folk,” Samuel commented. “What do you think they all wished for?”

“For Alexandria never to fall into Confederate hands,” Charlotte replied, busying herself with tidying up the room. “Or for a safe place to go to from here where their former masters won’t ever find them.”

“Ever the romantic, Charlotte.” He dropped to a chair, stretching out his legs in front of him. “Hey, will you quit cleaning up and be still for a moment? You haven’t stopped all night.”

She straightened up, kneading the knots at the nape of her neck. “I’m afraid that if I stop, I won’t be able to get back to it afterwards.”

“So what? You deserve a break after tonight’s success. Come, sit with me for a bit. Tell me what you’re wishing for this new year.”

She hesitated, taking in his eager expression, his earnest interest. “Not sure you’ll like what it is,” she warned him.

“Now you got me real intrigued,” he replied, patting the chair next to him. “Fire away.”

Almost reluctantly, she took the offered seat, pausing an instant to weigh her words. “I wish the people weren’t wrong in calling you Dr. Diggs.” At his frown, she added, as blunt as she could be: “I want you to go to medical school, Samuel. Become a real doctor. It was foolish of you to let that opportunity pass you by.”

He exhaled and leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Well, we all do foolish things for what we believe to be good reasons.”

“What could be a better reason than going to university to learn medicine?”

He stared at his hands, debating the best way to deliver his oft-delayed confession. “You. This.” he answered finally, simply, with a playful nudge of his elbow. “I wanted to do this with you.”

It was her turn to be silent. His words were not unexpected, nor undesired, but to hear him utter them did not bring her the joy she had thought it might. Not when it turned out she was the chain keeping him from flying, soaring and reaching the highest pinnacles any of their people might ever dream of.

“You know what my wish for this year is?” he continued, breaking the silence and interrupting her mental debate. “That you’d give me a fair chance.”

“A fair chance at what?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“At being your man. Standing by your side. Making you happy.”

She sighed; there it was, but it could not be. Not now, when more important callings beckoned. “Nothing would make me happier than to see you become a doctor, Samuel.”

Resigned, he nodded. “Well, that’s that,” he said glumly and moved to stand. It was the right thing to do, and to say, but it hurt Charlotte more than she would have expected. Sensing the door closing on any potential future they might share, she reached out impulsively to touch his thigh.

“If you go, I’ll wait for you,” she blurted out. “I’ll be with you when you come back… That is, if you’ll still want me when you’ll be the famous Dr. Diggs and have the whole world at your feet,” she added self-deprecatingly, as to soften the blow of her fall.

A smile slowly broke across his face, and he took her hand in his. “There’s no fair chance of that ever happening, Charlotte, but I think there very well might be one for both of us to get our wish.”

             - 4 -

“Happy New Year, my Belle,” George crooned as he wrapped his arms around Belinda. She huddled closer into his embrace, kissing his cheek, and pulled the quilt to cover them. The small fire kept the alcove that served as their bedroom barely warmer than cool, but they did not mind it in the least. They had a comfortable bed, plenty of blankets, and each other. And all belonged only to them.

“Happy New Year, Husband Dear. What do you hope for this year?”

George pondered this, rubbing her back. “That it’ll be the first of many. That our age won’t rob us of the long and happy marriage we always wished for.”

“Life owes us decades; she’ll let us have at least one,” Belinda affirmed. “Besides, we’re fit as fiddles, strong as oxen, and our wits are still sharper than those of the whole Green family put together.”

He laughed loudly at this. “Shush, woman. Don’t invoke demons in this hallowed place of ours.”

“Not that they’d stoop so low as to come in,” she retorted. “But you’re right. This haven is only for you, me and God. Now let’s say our prayers before we turn off the light and you kiss your wife.”

“Amen.”

The candle was blown out, and cheerful laughter resounded in the dark.

- 5 -              

“Happy New Year, my love,” said Jane from her upholstered armchair, as she gazed wistfully at the few futile attempts at cheerful decorations, the silent piano, the empty room.

“Happy New Year, my dear,” James replied, offering her a glass of spirits. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but brandy seemed more of circumstance than Champagne this year.”

She accepted it gladly and took a sip, swirling the amber liquid around the crystal balloon. “I’m just relieved 1862 is finally over. What a terrible ordeal it has been for our family… I do not think 1863 could ever be worse.”

“Well, it’s off to a poor start,” sighed James bitterly as he leaned against the mantle. “Our business ruined, and two of our children as well with their dim-witted “contributions” to the glorious Cause.”

“They are not ruined yet!” she cried. “Jimmy has gone out West to escape Pinkerton’s investigation, he may yet make something of himself out there. Alice is at my cousin’s in Savannah, surrounded with proper Southerners; she will not come close to any Yankee officers there.”

“Which is precisely where that other daughter of ours is right now, preferring to greet the new year in a Union Army hospital rather than with her parents. I don’t know whether to take that as outright treason or finally some sensible self-preservation in our offspring.”

Jane slammed her glass onto the table, drops spilling onto the rich mahogany. “At least Emma is safe there! Surrounded with people who mean her no harm and even respect her! And I’d rather have her marry a Yankee than see her exiled like our other two, or worse, buried next to Tom Fairfax!”

Stunned, James turned to face her, and was met with intolerable anguish, his wife’s precarious health further slipping away from her.

“I just wish for our children to be safe, James. I don’t care anymore if we lose everything else, our fortune, our house, our name, but God, not our babies…” At this, her voice cracked, and she buried her face in her hands.

He quickly crossed the room and knelt at her feet, gathering her in his arms as she sobbed violently.

“So do I, sweetheart. So do I.”

- 6 -            

“Nurse Hastings?” Matron Brannan greeted Anne as she entered the kitchen, hoping for a morsel to eat after a late night in the ward with the heavier cases. “Would you care to share a drop to welcome the new year? I got me some whiskey from the boys in the Irish Brigade.”

“Truly? After the heavy casualties they received in Fredericksburg, I’m surprised they would be willing to share it.”

Bridget shrugged. “They’re good lads. We prayed, sang a few tunes for their fallen brothers. Some said I reminded them of their home, of their ma’s.”

She said so with a detachment quite unlike herself. Her spirit, typically so spry and sharp, was dulled by a half-hidden sorrow. Anne did not speak, but only reached out to touch her shoulder, supporting her silently to go on.

“It mostly feels odd, really,” Bridget explained after some time. “The first holidays without any of me sons. They hadn’t all been home for Christmas since they were wee lads, and his brothers breathed their last before he did, but Declan always sent a card, sometimes even a nice long letter. I keep expecting it in the mail, or have him just appear round the corner. He always enjoyed surprising me.”

Anne swallowed, remembering her short dalliance with the man, the pain delivered by the brusque army letter informing his mother of his disgraced passing. She thought of her own mother, gone for many years, of her sister she had received no news of in many months, of the few precious Holiday memories of them all together she still cherished more than any present ever received. “Matron, I’m so sorry. I know how difficult it can be, to be without family on days such as this. Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes,” Matron replied curtly, drawing herself back up. “Have that damn drink with me.”

“Of course,” Anne stammered, and took a seat at the table.

Bridget poured them two glasses, and they raised them. “I know an Irish toast,” Anne offered.

“An Englishwoman toasting the Irish? That’ll be a first. Go on then.”

Anne cleared her throat and took a moment to recall the words from memory: “Always remember to forget

The things that made you sad.  

But never forget to remember  

The things that made you glad.”

Bridget smiled and pursued. “Always remember to forget

The friends that proved untrue.  

But never forget to remember  

Those that have stuck by you.”

They clinked their glasses and downed them in one swig. “That was well spoken, and deserves another toast,” Matron said, as she refilled the tumblers, and raised hers. “Here’s to family: to the one we’re given and the one we make our own,” she concluded with a wink.

Moved, Anne touched her glass to hers. “To family, and a happier 1863.”

They drank in unison, and again until the flask was empty, but their hearts felt full with the shared laughter and tears of their impromptu late hours together.

- 7 -

The soldier had died with the old year, and they began the new with heavy hearts and the small comfort of well–known Psalms. Henry had closed his prayer book, Emma had pulled the sheet over the man’s face, and they had nodded to the orderlies that still remained in the ward. One last bed to free before they could retire, one last trip to the morgue below. The new year did not care: it was just as ruthless as the old.

Weary, Emma and Henry left the sleeping ward, thinking solely of their own rest and comfort. They rounded the steps on the dark landing, lit only by the flickering lamppost outside the window, when she stopped in her tracks.

“Is it wrong of me to find it becoming easier?” she asked, point-blank. “Watching men die?”

Startled, Henry turned back to look at her, and pondered her question. “No, I think it’s only natural to grow used to sorrow that becomes common place. We humans are quite resilient creatures; we have to be, to survive in the midst of unspeakable horror. Unless you mean death no longer moves you at all…?”

“No, of course not; I still find it incredibly tragic for young men to have to die so unfairly, but in most cases, I no longer lie sleepless at night over it. They are soldiers, after all, and we did all we could to help them… oh, you must think this so very callous of me!” she fretted, twisting her hands.

“Miss Green… Emma, I think you know “callous” is probably the last word I’d ever use to describe you,” he replied with a hint of a smile.

She furrowed her brow, her interest playfully piqued despite her trouble. “Is that so? What word would you use instead, Chaplain?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” he made a show of deliberating, as he approached her. “Kind. Able. Brave. Stubborn. And… absolutely enchanting,” he concluded, halting within a foot of her, an adoring expression unabashed on his face.

“Do stop, you’re making me blush,” she scolded, with no visible flush to her cheeks, as she reached up to link her hands behind his neck.

He did not move away, but rather gently wrapped his arms around her waist. “If it will stop you from worrying, I shall continue all night long. All this new year, if I must.”

“That will not be necessary. This is doing nicely. And this will do nicer still.”

She drew herself up and brushed his lips with her own. She felt him hesitate before returning the kiss, betraying his still baffling awkwardness with the new stage their relationship had entered.

“A brand new year,” she sighed, after pulling away. “May it bring us peace. To our country, and to that conflicted soul of yours, Henry, so you may finally stop seeing me as your weakness, and welcome me into your life.”

“And may it bring peace to your troubled heart, Enchanting Emma. Please rest assured that you as my weakness was very much last year’s struggle. Now I know you can only be my greatest strength. I will strive to be worthy of it.”

He kissed her once more, and there was no trace of awkwardness left to be found.

[glaivenoct]

Heroes Never Die Ch. 3

Chapter 3/3: The Safest Place

Words: 5184

(ao3)

its about damn time. sorry, friends

“Hey Noct, wanna go for a round of King’s Knight when you get your phone charged back up?”

Noctis yawns as he enters the Leville with Prompto. “Could use a nap first.”

“Dude, you were out for half the ride back from the tomb!”

“It wasn’t even a long drive. You think it’s enough for me to sleep off a whole day in that place?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Prompto grimaces. “So many flans… Ooh, I hope Gladio hasn’t beat me to the shower yet!”

Noctis chuckles, bumping shoulders with him as they head up the stairs. “You shouldn’t have let him and Ignis go on without us then.”

But Prompto was so eager to stop by one of the food carts when they got back to Lestallum. Some were offering free samples as it was, and none of them had a proper meal the day before. Noctis was more than happy to grab a sample with Prompto. He just didn’t realize they were in line at the skewer guy’s cart until he got up close.

The sign on the cart advertised Galahdian style skewers, but Noctis knew before a single bite that it wasn’t authentic. The spices he smelled while waiting in line weren’t quite right. They smelled like cheap substitutes that were similar enough to fool anyone who didn’t know better. It wasn’t terrible, but the meat didn’t sit well in his stomach. The kick of heat in his mouth was weak. The sauce was a bit too sweet, not enough sour.

Worst of all, it brought a familiar ache back to his heart.

Noctis could easily imagine arms snaking around his waist from behind. He could imagine being pulled close and smiling while Nyx whispered, “I’ll show you the true Galahdian way,” in his ear. The phrase came up now and again when Noctis started becoming exposed to the culture. It was only fitting when he determined Nyx would never be impressed with these skewers.

Prompto, not realizing the sign until the last second, asked if he was okay when they were halfway to the hotel. He wasn’t, but Noctis liked to believe that he could fool anyone with a front of perpetual drowsiness. Whether Prompto bought into it or not didn’t concern him too much.

For a whole day he managed to ignore everything by cutting down daemons left and right. A whole day he convinced himself everything wasn’t a mess through team work and friendly banter. Now he’s back to square one doing everything in his power not to break under the pressure of his “calling” as Cor called it. He was trying to push past his grief. He was trying not to lose hope like Ignis advised.

So far Noctis is finding it more difficult than ever to heed those words.

“We should go back later to check out the other food carts.” Prompto says when they reach the top of the stairs. “We haven’t tried those ones in the center of town. Maybe they’ll inspire new recipes for Iggy!”

“The market’s close too if he gets excited about it enough.”

“Exactly! Oh hey, speaking of…”

Noctis follow his stare down the hall, slowing in stride. Ignis is emerging from their room at the very end of it. Gladio’s right behind, huddling close to him and crossing his arms. He speaks in a hushed tone and raises one brow in concern. Ignis strokes his chin, contemplating while he replies. Noctis shares a suspicious look with Prompto.

“Is it me or is something up?”

Whatever it is, Noctis is already dreading it. He scowls and proceeds forward. “Better be another Nif base I can blow up.”

“Guys?” Ignis and Gladio jolt at Prompto’s voice and straighten as they approach.

“Took you two long enough.” Gladio’s tone is as teasing as Noct would expect, but he can tell there’s something hiding behind it. Something important.

“Everything alright?” Noctis is sure to make his suspicion clear.

“Yeah, fine. Just…” Gladio looks at Ignis like he’s expecting him to finish the sentence. The advisor stiffens and gives him a subtle, irritated look.

“What’s up, Specs?”

Ignis gives him his full attention but the silence makes Noctis feel the need to brace himself for bad news. The only thing he can take solace in is that the worst has already happened. No matter what it is, it can’t be worse than Insomnia. Ignis relaxes his shoulders and takes a deep breath, keeping his expression as unreadable as possible.

“You have a visitor.”

“A… visitor?”

“Yes, journeyed all the way from the Crown City.”

“Whoa,” Prompto interrupts, eyes wide. “A survivor?”

Ignis nods at Prompto. Noctis means to ask who this survivor is, but he can’t quite spit out the word. There’s a name on his tongue, a name he could think of mere minutes ago, but it’s lost to him as his heart beats faster and faster.

“One hell of a survivor.” Gladio wears a blatant smirk and cocks his head to door. “Guy’s pretty eager to see you, Noct. He��s waiting inside. You should go say hi.”

The thoughts are rushing into Noct’s brain faster than he can process. He blinks and looks to Ignis for reassurance. Ignis would never let him get his hopes up for nothing, right? He gets nothing but another nod. Face still unreadable. Lips pulled together tight in secrecy. It’s an answer in itself… but Noctis isn’t ready to give into his hopes just yet.

He nearly stumbles when he slips past his friends. The door is already cracked open when he reaches it, so he enters inside without a sound. He can’t shake the sudden nausea building in his gut.

The visitor waits ahead, oblivious to his presence and leaning over the balcony to stare out at the plaza. Noctis freezes at the sight of him, nausea turning into something akin to butterflies.

The uniform—it’s not the coat with the distinct fur and purple ribbons, but it’s the uniform. His uniform. His hair. Him. It must be. Noct’s breath catches in his throat, voice failing him. All he can think about is the nightmares that have plagued him recently. He can’t give in to another illusion. He can’t melt into the safety of those arms just to get ripped away from them in another second. He needs this to be real.

Noctis shuts the door behind him and the click of it makes the man whirl around. His heart stops.

The scars on Nyx’s face stagger him before he concludes that his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. They’re eerily reminiscent of one of the nightmares and, for a second, he expects fire to engulf everything around him. Nyx cracks a smile and huffs in relief instead, reviving Noctis’ heart so it can dance in his chest.

“Hey,” he says. His eyes look tired, but his smile stretches enough to reach them. “Kept you waiting there, didn’t I?”

Noctis takes a cautious step forward, lips parting.

“So… should I run to you or do you want the honors? You can warp if you want. I’ll catch you.”

But Noctis’ legs move before he thinks to pull a weapon from his arsenal. He’s almost running the short distance between them and Nyx meets him halfway with open arms. In one swift move, Nyx is stumbling as he lifts him off the floor. Noctis steadies them by wrapping his legs around his waist.

Nyx presses his face into Noct’s neck, laughing and embracing hard enough to bruise. It’s never felt more right. Nothing’s felt this right or real in days and it makes Noctis coil himself around the glaive even more. He locks his arms around the back of his neck, fingers tangling into hair to find familiar braids.

Tears prickle at his eyes and blur his vision as Nyx sways in place, slow and from side to side. Noctis is shaking, but Nyx is the right amount of warm to thaw the tension out of him. If he could hold onto him like this forever, he would. He’d never let go and he’d never feel so hopeless and afraid again.

When he’s eased down to his feet, he cups Nyx’s face to trace over the white scars with his thumbs.

“I thought…” The tears start to fall and the only thing that can stop them is Nyx’s fingers wiping them away. “I thought –”

“I know. I thought I was too for a moment back there.”

“Cor said a lot of glaives were dead… and that Drautos was unaccounted for. I called... When you didn’t answer I thought something might’ve happened to your phone. I didn’t want to think you were- that you…” he shakes his head. “I hated it. I hated not knowing and –”

And Noctis is losing control of his own breath the more he rambles. Nyx leans towards him with a sad smile, resting their foreheads together.

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m here, little prince. I’m right here.”

There was love behind each precious affirmation as they left his mouth. Noctis could feel it as much as he could hear it. He exhales, bowing his head while his teeth clench behind quivering lips. Then Nyx is propping a finger under his chin, tilting his attention back up. He’s smirking this time.

“How ‘bout a kiss to make it all better?”

“Please.”

One tug of a shirt and they’re lost in each other in no time. Noctis presses his lips more insistently with each kiss, urging Nyx not to hold back. He’s longed so much for this for the past week and he has no intentions of being subtle about it. Once Nyx catches on, he’s picking up the pace and Noctis is accepting his fervent kisses with frantic need.

He doesn’t realize he’s backing Nyx towards the bed. Not until the back of his legs hit the edge of it. They’re topple into the mattress, Nyx breaking Noct’s fall for him with a simultaneous yelp.

“Shit,” he laughs. “Missed me that much, huh?”

Noctis eyes fall closed, a single tear trickling down. He trembles with silent laughter as he lays his forehead on Nyx’s shoulder. “I thought you were dead, idiot. Dead. What the hell do you think?”

“I think I missed you too… a lot. And that I need another kiss. Quick, my life depends on it.

“Is that so?”

“Sometimes heroes need saving too, y’know.”

“Well when you put it like that…” Noctis dips down to grant his hero one deep, languid kiss.

“Gods, I missed that. I missed you.”

“Missed you too, hero. More than you know...” When Noctis notices Nyx’s scars again, the questions begin surfacing past the happy fog of their respite. “Nyx… what happened? I know the gist of everything but… what happened to you?”

Nyx remains grimly quiet, avoiding his worried stare. Noctis can see the exhaustion coming back into his eyes, can feel him tensing. He should’ve let the relief last longer because there’s no doubt Nyx went through hell. To survive that and to journey all the way here on his own… He should’ve given it more time. The second Noct’s ready to change the subject, Nyx is propping himself on his shoulders and pushing to sit up with a pained grunt.

“Are you hurt?” Noct asks, rising with him in his lap.

“Nothing I can’t sleep off. As for the city…” he takes Noct’s hand into his. “Almost feels like it happened to someone else.”

“You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have asked so soon. I –”

“No, no. It’s okay. I want to tell you what happened. I just…”

There’s a haunted look lingering in Nyx’s eyes, something he doesn’t seem ready to say aloud yet. Noctis squeezes his hand for encouragement and tilts his head at him. He’s given a weak smile before those arms wrap around him again. He understands it as soon as he’s brought close and feels fingers digging into his shoulders.

They just need this moment a little longer. After almost losing it, they need to soak in each other’s presence. Ignore everything else outside of them like before. Cherish the opportunity to touch, kiss and hold.

Noctis rests his head on Nyx’s shoulder, closes his eyes and hangs onto him for dear life.

-

Nyx dreamt of a moment like this back Hammerhead, but nothing compares to the real thing. They lie snuggled under the covers, Noctis’ head on his bare chest, ear pressed over his heart to listen to it beat. Here in the quiet of the cozy night, things feel a little more normal.

It was after his shower and during a meal that he was reacquainted with Ignis and Gladio. He was introduced to Prompto, too, and everything was much less awkward than Nyx anticipated. They welcomed him with kindness, hospitality, and some occasional stammering from Prompto. Nyx figured that last part wasn’t out of the ordinary given the stories he’s heard from Noct.

He was mostly relieved he wasn’t the one that had to explain a year of secrecy to the three. Not that it needed much explaining, but Nyx noticed them watching him closely as he spoke about his journey to Hammerhead. It never seemed hostile. Rather, curious, and he was quick to decide that it was fair. He could tell they were sitting on a thousand questions.

There was plenty of time for them to be answered and for them to get to know him better. There were more pressing things on his mind at the time, though. Like telling Noctis about the city.

He waited until they retired to a separate room for the night. Even then it was hard to get past the initial giddiness of crawling under the covers together. They could hardly manage to keep their hands and lips to themselves for five minutes.

When they settled down, Nyx told him everything short of putting the ring on. Even hearing it recounted from his own mouth, some things still made little sense to him. It made talking about the friends he lost hurt more. It made him angrier about the betrayal when he mentioned the reasons Luche and Drautos gave him for it. The only thing that kept him from losing it altogether was how tight Noctis held his hand through it all.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper against Nyx’s knuckles. “I’m so sorry…”

Their roles gradually switched when Noctis asked about his father. Once Nyx heard that first shaky exhale, he secured his arms around Noct completely and let him cry. Between snivels and hiccups, it was Nyx’s turn to whisper sympathies to him. With each one, Noctis would only bury himself farther from the world and further into him. All he could do was make sure he felt safe in his mourning.

“It’ll be okay, Noct,” Nyx said when once the sobbing subsided, “but when it’s not, I’ll be right here. I promise.”

They’ve been in a comfortable silence since then. With the hardest parts being over for now, Noctis’ breathing is normal, he isn’t trembling, and there’s no more tears wetting Nyx’s skin.

“So how long before your friends give me The Talk?”

“The what?”

“The Talk. The one where they pull me aside and politely tell me they’ll bury me where no one will find me if I ever do anything to hurt you.”

Noctis chuckles sleepily. “Dunno. I just hope they don’t intimidate you the way my dad did.”

“No one will ever intimidate me like your dad did. In fact, I’m having intense flashbacks as we speak so we should drop this subject immediately.”

Noct’s laughter vibrates against Nyx’s skin and it’s the sweetest sound to his ears. It’s the gracious remedy to his tired soul, keeping him sane and distracting him from the ache of his muscles.

Noctis lifts his head and props his chin on Nyx’s chest, curling closer to him. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy from crying earlier, but they’re searching Nyx’s aimlessly. Tentative fingers reach for the marred skin on his face, touching light as a feather.

“Do these scars make me look hideous or what?”

“No. I think you look like a hero. A rugged, handsome hero.”

“So I don’t need to wear a bag over my head whenever I go out in public with you?” He laughs when Noctis smacks his shoulder. “Ow! Babe, I’m still sore.”

“Shit, sorry! I’m so sorry.”

Nyx chuckles, tugging him closer till their faces are inches apart. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing a little kiss couldn’t fix.”

“How long are you going to milk that line?”

“As long as I can. I did almost die, after all.”

Noctis sighs, laying soft kisses to Nyx’s shoulder, neck and cheek. “Don’t remind me. Do remind me to call Cindy tomorrow and thank her for helping you out.”

“Mm, remind me to call Libertus.”

“You think he’s still with Luna?”

“I don’t know. If he’s not, we know where she’ll be waiting.” He frowns. “Ooh… how disrespectful is it to bring your secret boyfriend to your wedding?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but the way those brows crease in deep thought make him regret bringing it up. The word seems to startle Noct, as if he’s forgotten that the wedding’s been the reason for this trip all along.

“This wedding was a political branch for peace, but that treaty never got signed.” His brow remains creased, but a newfound resolve fills those pretty blues. “Nifilheim destroyed my home. They sent their spy to kill my father and they stole the crystal. As far as I’m concerned, that means the wedding’s off.”

There’s no sorrow left in Noctis’ voice. No tears left to build in the corners of his eyes. He was so apologetic that first night they talked about the wedding… so unnerved and torn in his emotions. A significant change to the bitterness in him now.

“Wow… you sound serious.”

“I am serious. They took everything from me, Nyx. Luna too. She and I deserve to choose love on our own… and I choose you.”

“Noct…” Nyx blinks, but Noctis grabs his face before he can say anything else, claiming his lips.

“I love you,” Noct runs his thumbs over the scars again. “I love you and I don’t care what anyone says or expects from me. I love you.”

It’s the first time either of them uttered the phrase today, but the sentiment’s been an unspoken presence since the second Noctis jumped into his arms. Even so, there’s a flutter in Nyx’s chest like it’s the first time he’s heard it all over again.

“Love you too,” he smiles and claims his lips right back. “Love you too…” and again. “Love you too.” And again.

-

For the first time in days, Noctis goes to sleep feeling safe. It’s the sound of Nyx’s steady breathing that helps lull him there. It’s the strong beat of a heart that drives away the irrational doubts. His dreams don’t taunt him with illusions morphing into nightmares. It’s the best rest he’s gotten in a while.

Yet, a couple hours later, he rouses with the distant feeling that something’s wrong. His eyelids flutter, but he can’t even open them halfway. When he’s conscious enough to register the ragged breathing next to him, they open fully. The breathing stops, and Noctis ponders for a moment if he imagined it.

But then it starts again. It’s louder than before and Noct realizes it’s a bit too hot underneath the covers. The memory of fire floods his mind along with the agonizing scream of “Please! Noctis please!”

Noctis is wide awake, sitting up and turning the other way. Nyx is on his back, a sheen of sweat over his neck and forehead as he whimpers between his breaths.

“Nyx?” He grips his shoulder to try and shake him awake. “Nyx, hey! Wake up, hero! Wake up.” The only reactions he gets are groans and the pained twisting of features amid restless writhing. “Nyx –”

“No!” Nyx sits up so fast it’s startling. His chest heaves erratically, eyes expanded in fear, tears streaming down his cheeks. “No… no…”

“Nyx?” He says it softly, but it still makes him flinch. He scoots forward and reaches for his hand. “Hey, breathe. Breathe. It was just a dream, okay? You’re here with me in Lestallum. You travelled a long way to get here, remember? Whatever you saw doesn’t matter because you’re safe. We both are.”

Nyx’s breaths slow with every word. His teary eyes are fixed on Noct like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, but when it doesn’t, he exhales. The distraught look on his face eases away little by little, and soon he’s lowering his head, squeezing Noct’s hand so hard it almost hurts.

Nightmares were a common enemy between them, but it’s been a long time since Noctis has seen Nyx suffer from one this intense. He’s seen it twice, at least, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so terrified before.

Nyx sniffles and covers his face with a hand to rub at his temples. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Hey, we have a rule. No apologizing for nightmares.” He moves until he’s flush against Nyx’s side, nudging him with his shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Just go back to sleep, Noct.”

“I can’t until I hear the word no.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not a no.”

Nyx’s sighs, revealing red rimmed eyes when he lowers his hand. Noctis gives him all the time he needs to consider the offer. Despite nightmares being a common enemy, they didn’t always talk about them. Sometimes they put on cheesy movies instead or talked about the simplest things until neither of them could keep their eyes open. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. One time they even slow danced in Nyx’s apartment to the chirp of crickets.

Other times they talked about their fears and daemons until the sun rose. They did it the first time Nyx experienced a nightmare like this, and Noct’s prepared to do it all over again if he must.

“I died.” The raspy confession makes his heart sink.

“What?”

Nyx looks away, down to their locked hands and shakes his head. “I was back in the city. Everything was going to hell all over again and I was helpless. I couldn’t save anyone. Not even Libertus or Lunafreya…” he gives Noct’s hand another squeeze. “And then I heard you. You were calling out to me for help, so I ran all the way to Citadel.”

Noctis can see it in his face when their eyes meet again. The worst part’s coming. Nyx takes a deep breath.

“You were at the top of the steps and you looked hurt. I ran as fast as I could, but you kept getting further away…” his voice grows tight. “And then this voice boomed around me. It said that I needed to pay the price. That I needed to burn…” he almost chokes on the word, “and I did. I was on fire and you were screaming… it was the last thing I heard before I woke up.”

“Nyx…”

“I died.”

“No, you didn’t. That wasn’t real.”

“I could feel it! I could… feel myself dying!”

Meanwhile Noctis is certain he can feel his heart breaking. He moves so he sits directly in front of Nyx, taking both hands into his own, looking deep into those pale blues.

Nyx grits his teeth and lowers his head, huffing through his tears. “I didn’t want to leave you behind…”

Noctis leans forward to press a kiss against his sweaty forehead. “Look at me, babe. You didn’t leave me. You went through hell, but you came back to me.” He cradles Nyx’s cheek with his palm. “Feel this? This is real. You’re here. You’re alive and with me. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

This time Noctis is the one wrapping his arms around Nyx, pulling him close and letting a weary head drop on his shoulder. In no time, Nyx is unraveling in his arms, muffling broken noises into his shirt. Noctis guides him to lie back down and cards fingers through mussed strands of hair.

He loves and comforts him till there’s no tears left to shed. Nyx did the same when the subject of his father came up, and now it’s Noctis’ turn to do the same. By the time Nyx is calming down, he appears to be half asleep. His face isn’t hidden away. He’s not sniffling or hyperventilating. He looks peaceful curled up next to him.

Noctis notices a braid tucked behind his ear that should’ve been taken out before bed. He takes great care in undoing it, setting aside the cord entwined in it once he’s done. He then lies flat on his back and checks on Nyx one last time before he tries to sleep.

“Rest, hero. I’ll be right here.”

Nyx makes the softest noise but doesn’t stir.

-

The sun peeks through the balcony’s shutter doors, casting patches of light throughout the room. In the fragile grasp of consciousness, Nyx can hear birds cooing at each other outside and the faint patter of footsteps down the hall. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking through the glare of sunlight in his line of vision.

He takes a deep breath when he’s fully awake. If he wasn’t so lazy, he’d get up and open the balcony doors to see the sky. He’d soak in the beauty of it, clear, crisp and blue opposed to the dreary smog that surrounded him for days. He never did get the chance to appreciate it after he got after the city. He was too busy sweating, and aching, and coping with the aftermath of Insomnia. All that mattered then was getting back to Noct.

Noct.

He turns his head to the warm body next to him. Noctis is sound asleep, facing him with arms tucked under his head. His still features are highlighted under the light of morning, exposing him for all that he is: Captivating. The sweetest tranquility. The safest place no matter how many times that face threatened to make his heart erupt. Nyx smiles. He didn’t need to look at the sky just yet. He had all the beauty to appreciate right here.

He didn’t dream again after his nightmare last night. He doesn’t even remember when he fell back asleep. All he remembers is the tears and a comforting hand playing with his hair. Noctis gave him the exact sense of security Nyx always strived to give him. Gods, he didn’t realize how much he missed it.

Nyx brushes Noctis’ fringe aside for a moment, paying close attention as the shadows near his eyes and the bridge of his nose disappear. He’s picture perfect and Nyx is a little mad he doesn’t have his phone on him.

Right when he considers borrowing the phone on the nightstand, Nyx catches a flicker of those pretty blues. He draws his hands back, fighting a chuckle when Noctis flinches at his own hair tickling his skin. The prince groans his way into consciousness, glaring at Nyx between his rapid blinking. It’s incredibly adorable.

“Aw, you’re usually such a heavy sleeper. What the hell?”

Noctis squints at him. “Is there a reason you’re touching my face?”

“Does there need to be? It’s a nice face. Dare I say gorgeous. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Shut up.” Noctis hides his face in his arms, concealing what Nyx is sure is a cherry blush and a bashful grin.

“Hey,” he whispers, invading his personal space to nip at his jaw and ear. He persists more when Noctis tries squirming away from him. “Hey, psst!”

“What?!” Noct reveals his face again.

“Morning.” Nyx turns his giggles into happy hums by cupping his face and showering him with sweet, short kisses.

“Morning.” Noctis gives him dreamy smile, eyes still fighting the fuzziness of sleep. “Missed waking up to that.”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it on the way to Hammerhead. This is all I wanted to come back to.”

“I’m glad you did. Don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t…”

“Lucky for us…” Nyx tucks the hair framing his cheek behind his ear, “we don’t have to think about that. This is all that matters, right?”

Noctis is smiling again, grabbing his wrist before he pulls it away. He presses the back of the palm against his chest. “Yeah, it is. Feeling better today?”

“Much. Everything might still be a mess, but…” he nods. “I’ll be okay. Thanks, Noct.” The kiss to his fingers prompts Nyx to use his other arm to hug Noctis against his chest. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Gotta talk to the guys,” he says, tucking his head under Nyx’s chin. “What time is it? I’m used to ignoring Ignis’ alarm at an ungodly hour.”

Nyx reaches for Noctis’ phone on the nightstand. “It’s almost ten.”

“What?” Noctis lifts his head. “No texts or missed calls? No one knocked on the door?”

“Pretty sure I would’ve heard someone knock. Maybe your friends are being considerate in light of me, well, not being dead.”

“Huh… if that’s true, we might have another hour to kill before someone comes to check on us.”

“Oh really?” Nyx smirks playfully and rolls on top of him. “Do you have any idea how many times I could kiss you in an hour?”

Noctis’ eyes light up with glee and desire, stirring something in Nyx when he bites his lower lip. “Why don’t you show me, hero?”

And Nyx does with undying fervor, feeling more alive than ever in recent days. It’s never been clearer to him than in this moment—this is where he’s meant to be. Not buried under the rubble of Insomnia. Not disintegrating under the break of dawn. He’s only meant to be here, kissing Noctis breathless every morning before they faced the world together. He’d never lose sight of that again.

Every content noise out of Noctis’ mouth elates him, makes him feel lighter and lighter until part of him wonders if they’ve drifted off to another universe. He puts his love into each wandering kiss, muttering sweet nothings against Noctis’ skin to make him shiver. When Nyx finds his way back to his lips, he pauses.

“What?” Noctis asks, using the opportunity to catch his breath. His eyes are curious and beautiful.

Nyx takes hold of his wrist, laying it against the pillows, lacing their hands together. “Just thinking about how lucky I am… how much I love this this… how much I love you.”

“Getting sappy on me again, Ulric?”

“You love it.”

“I do…” Noctis smiles, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Me either, little prince.” Nyx nuzzles the scruff of his beard against Noctis’ neck – just the way he knows he likes it – before meeting his lips again with a tender kiss. “Me either.”

[allyinthekeyofx]

Affirmation 1/4

Series of post eps starting with Orison that are my take on the path to ‘All Things’

Post episode ORISON

I stare into the mirror, my reflection vaguely distorted by the lingering condensation on the glass, the usually sharp, well-defined lines of my face turned bleary, non-descript.

The shower has done nothing to ease either my aching body or my aching heart, and even though my skin is suffused with a rosy glow from the heat, I am still cold, shivering like a day old infant ripped from its mother’s comforting embrace.

The woman who stares back at me is not the woman I know. She has changed irrevocably, never to be the same again, sullied, cheapened by a single act of vengeance.

Today, I killed a man in cold blood; took away his life almost on a whim. I watched him squirm, saw the fear in his face as he realized what I was about to do. And I revelled in the power I had over him, rejoiced as I applied pressure to the trigger, the sound of my partner’s voice coming at me from far outside myself as I watched the bullet tear in to Donnie Pfaster’s flesh.

And just for a second it had felt so right so just.

But the feeling was fleeting, quickly replaced by a spreading numbness as Mulder reached me and gently loosened the gun from my grasp.

I couldn’t speak, could barely stand to look him in the eye as it slowly dawned on me that he had seen everything. He had seen his stoic by-the-book partner lose control in a way I had vowed never to do.

And yet he hadn’t flinched; he had simply taken control as he always did, speaking soft words of reassurance as he helped me through the next few hours.

I had packed a bag under his ever watchful eye, knowing I had to leave the apartment to allow the forensics team to do their work but at the same time not wanting to go; knowing that when I returned, things would never be the same again.

I wanted to stay, to roll up my sleeves and scrub every inch of that monster from my home, from my soul.

Mulder had wanted to take me back to his place, to allow him to take care of me, to make amends for not being there for me - for allowing Pfaster to get to me once again. He didn’t say as much of course, but his expressive hazel eyes eloquently begged me to please let him do this.

Of course I refused him.

Directed him instead to drop me at the nearest Motel. He opened his mouth just once to argue, but something in my face caused him to abruptly shut it again as he nodded sadly, knowing that nothing he said would change my mind. And all the while my heart was screaming out to just let him take me away, away to the only place I might find some semblance of peace. Wanting so much to step in to his strong embrace and let him soothe away the tears that prickled at my eyelids like a thousand needles.

Instead, I had simply turned away from him like I always did. Feeling my walls go up as surely as if I had been armed, not with a gun, but with bricks and mortar, filling in the cracks as they appeared.

I had felt my resolve weaken as he had stood beside me watching me trying to make my shaking hands co-operate sufficiently to unlock the door leading in to the tiny cinder block motel room that was to be my home for the next few days.

Finally, he had put one warm hand gently on the nape of my neck, whilst the other had taken the key from me and deftly succeeded where I had failed.

"You shouldn’t be alone right now."

He had spoken the words with such gentleness, a final attempt to break through my walls, and I had so nearly crumbled, wanting nothing more than to cling to him and never let him go, to breath in the scent of him that so often invaded my dreams.

"I’m fine Mulder."

Of course I was. Wasn’t I always? Seven years of sharing everything with this man except my emotions. How many times had I said those words to him? How many times had I lied?

Just like I had lied then.

He had dropped his hand away, leaving me feeling bereft once more. The connection between us broken, shattered in to a million pieces by the utterance of three little words, just as I had known it would.

And of course he had left.

Just as I had wanted him to.

Because once again, I had pushed him away.

How many more times would he allow me to do that before he stopped caring?

Right now, I don’t have the strength, either physical or emotional to question it. I stand here, shivering, rapidly cooling water beading my skin and wonder instead just what the hell I’m doing.

Why am I like this? Why can’t I for once admit that I need him?

The face of the woman I used to know, crumples before me, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she slowly traces a finger along the misty glass of the mirror, lingering on the livid purple bruise just above her cheekbone. Another bruise to add to the multitudes already etched on to her heart.

So many injuries over the years, but the physical challenges are the easy ones, easily healed, easily forgotten.

The real pain comes from inside.

Seeing the first tear finally escape its confines, I angrily swipe at my image with the palm of my hand, obliterating the delicate patterns forged by the steam filling the small room, and turn away from all that I see.

Out of sight out of mind

If only that were true.

The light in the bedroom is muted, curtains tightly drawn against the outside world. A small, inadequate desk light throws out a weak glow that only really brightens the area immediately around it.

But that’s fine.

My head hurts - stress induced, the doctor inside me supplies helpfully - and I am afraid that to turn on more lights will make the pounding inside my skull intensify to a point I will be forced to acknowledge it fully.

For now, it is simply another cross to bear.

I deserve it. Call it penance.

I have no idea what the time is right now. Time stopped for me when I pulled that trigger. But I am tired and to crawl under the covers and go to sleep has an undeniable appeal.

But I fight the urge for a short while. Even turn on the TV, try to lose myself in the trials and tribulations of the characters who live their lives within that little square box, and for a scant few minutes I actually succeed. I stop thinking.

And then the scene before me changes.

Stupid really, the interior of a church fills the screen.

Candles burning.

Candles

Oh God.

I make it to the bathroom just in time before I lose the last remnants of my hastily consumed dinner down the sink, trying to control my breathing as I retch and retch, soon bringing up nothing but acrid tasting bile, and then nothing at all.

But still my hands grip the slick porcelain as my body is wracked with painful spasms, no longer in my control, I feel the tears streaming down my face as I wait for it to subside.

I’d forgotten just how much throwing up really hurts and I feel something below my rib cage tear through the strain.

I haven’t thrown up like this since I was first diagnosed with cancer, but somehow this is worse. Back then, the nausea was something to be tolerated; a direct result of the drugs being pumped in to me to prolong my life.

But this?

This is as a result of something evil.

And the knowledge I have brought it on myself makes it a thousand times more painful.

Finally, the spasms are replaced by the sound of gasping as I try to breathe and cry at the same time. My freshly washed hair hangs around my face, the honeysuckle scent mingling with the acrid stench below me and I straighten up abruptly.

The sudden shift makes my now pounding head spin, and my legs cease to be co-operative, buckling suddenly to deposit me in an ungainly heap on the cold tile beneath me.

I don’t try to move. Pressing my uninjured cheek against the floor I revel in the delicious coldness that replaces the heat in my body.

I close my eyes, and mercifully see no images behind them as I am dragged away from conscious thought.

XXXX

"Scully?"

I hear his voice from far away, unsure as to whether I am imagining it.

I’ve imagined him so many times in my dreams, always disappointed when I open my eyes to find myself alone and I refuse to acknowledge that this time is any different.

"Scully wake up. You’re freezing."

Freezing? I’m not cold. A little uncomfortable sure. This damn bed is as hard as stone and about as giving to my tired muscles.

And then I remember, I am not in a bed.

Normal people sleep in beds. I sleep on bathroom floors in low budget motel rooms.

The realization is enough to force my eyes open, blinking them rapidly as I focus on the figure above me. He is silhouetted by the harsh glare of the fluorescent strip light, but shadowed or not, I would recognize that profile anywhere.

He shouldn’t be here.

Go ‘way Mulder. I’m trying to sleep.

"Scully, wake up......I have something to show you."

I try to ignore him and fail miserably as usual. Mulder is impossible to ignore, I learned that early on in our partnership.

The last vestiges of sleep fall away as I shake my head irritably and drag myself up in to a sitting position, a frown furrowing my brow as I realize he isn’t beside me anymore.

Mulder?

"In here Scully. You won’t believe it."

His voice sounds weird, strained, like he is forcing the words out, and suddenly, my senses are on full alert as I command myself to stand. My muscles ache from a combination of fatigue and from forcing them to stay confined in the small space I had chosen for sleep.

I obediently follow his voice in to the bedroom to find him standing in the corner beside the TV that still played happily to itself, oblivious to the fact that no one was there to watch.

What is it Mulder? What do you want? I’m tired and.......

The words die in my throat as he grins at me.

Mulder never grins, at least not like this.

I must be tired, because the expression on his face seems.....

Evil

I almost laugh out loud at the word that popped unbidden in to my mind.

Evil? Mulder doesn’t have an evil bone in his body.

But something is wrong. Very wrong...and suddenly my heart stops. I actually feel it cease it’s steady rhythm in my chest and for long seconds I feel like it’s never going to start up again.

Because the man facing me isn’t my partner.

I take a step backwards, colliding hard with the bathroom door I can’t remember closing behind me, frantically feeling along the wood for the handle, Instinctively needing to put something solid between us. My terror intensifies as I realize that my fumbling is in vain. My fingers trail along the surface. A surface hard and cold and bare.

This has to be a nightmare.

He isn’t really here,

I have to wake up.

I squeeze my eyes shut and start to count.

1

2

3

"Open your eyes Dana. Look at me. Look at what you did to me."

4

5

"DANA"

6

Oh God.......I feel him close to me. I can smell him.

I cry out as fingers curl around my arm, bruising the tender flesh beneath and I can’t deny it any longer. Despite what my rational scientists mind is telling me, the pain is real.

This is real

I open my eyes, my vision blurry from the pain still being inflicted from his steel grip and I find myself looking deep in to his eyes, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

He holds up his free hand, palm outwards and it glistens wetly in the light of the single lamp I left illuminated.

And then I realize that it is covered in blood. His blood. Blood I spilled.

I shake my head from side to side, denying even now what in my heart I know to be true.

No .I killed you. This isn’t real....

He seems to find this vaguely amusing, and just for a moment, the sound of his laughter assails my senses, replaced almost immediately with the feel of his free hand enveloping my face, his fingers pressing cruelly in to the bruised flesh beneath. Worse though, is the cloying stench of his blood, smeared now on to my own skin. It attacks every part of me, and I feel my stomach somersault, the bile rising once again to burn my throat.

He has come to kill me. To finish what he started, and I am powerless to prevent him.

And then, abruptly, he releases me and steps away.

"I have a gift for you, Girly girl. Something to remember me by when I’m gone."

I stand there stupidly, unsure as to how to react. There is no threat in his voice now, and inexplicably, this only frightens me more.

I flinch as he once more raises his hand, holding my breath as I wait for the inevitable, an inevitable that never comes as I realize he is pointing toward the bed.

A box sits upon it, roughly the size and shape of an old fashioned hat box, tied up with wide velvet ribbon.

And I have never been more sure of anything in my life than I am at this moment. I do not want or need to see the contents of that box.

"Aren’t you going to open it? I went to such trouble on your behalf to get you something you really wanted."

I shake my head numbly. I am crying now. I’m not sure when I started. I don’t think I really care anymore.

He shrugs nonchalantly and heads past me, making for the bed.

I know what he is going to do, and once more I clamp my eyes shut.

I hear a rustling sound. Tissue paper I think, maybe plastic. I can’t be sure.

"Surprise!"

He is close to me again, the knowledge of this is enough for me to almost give in to reflex and open my eyes again.

Dontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlook

The reflex is stronger than the mantra I am chanting, though and against my will my eyes snap open.

Like a manifestation of my worst nightmare, my partner’s once beautiful hazel eyes stare back at me, fixed in a startled look of horror, rolled back up in to his head that has been roughly severed at the neck.

His thick, dark hair has been cut jaggedly in places, reminding me suddenly of that ridiculous buzz cut he adopted after our incarceration in Antarctica.

*Joining the army, Mulder?*

**Why? Does the thought of me in fatigues turn you on Scully?**

And then I start to scream.

XXXX

I am still screaming when someone grips my shoulders.

No Please, no more, I can’t take anymore

"Scully...sssssshhhhhhhhh it’s ok."

and still I scream, the sound terrifying in its sheer volume. I can’t stop. It’s like something inside of me has snapped, finally succumbed to the pressure that has been building for so long.

The hands are pulling me in to sitting position, clawing at the thin material of my oversize T-shirt in an effort to manipulate my body. Still gripped by the nightmare I resist with all the strength and determination my lithe body allows me, lashing out blindly, feeling one of my fingernails connect with soft, pliable skin.

"Jesus Scully.......wake up."

Mulder?

"SCULLY STOP!"

The naked fear in his voice is enough to make me do just that, and slowly, painfully slowly, I become aware of where I am. The scream dies in my throat, only to be replaced with a drawn out cry, so anguished in its delivery that for a second I have no idea of its origin.

And suddenly, out of the darkness, he is there, in front of me, on his knees, arms straight out before him, gripping my shoulders.

I wonder suddenly if he is really there at all, whether he will suddenly dissolve before me in to the form of Donnie Pfaster, whether this is just another cruel trick of my tortured mind.

Then I allow myself to really look at him and I know for sure that this is real.

"Muh.........muh........muh"

My lips refuse to co-operate, but as always he understands my need and for once I allow him to gather me to him, clinging on to him as though for life itself. I feel his hands on my back, in my hair, hear his whispered words of assurance as I finally let go and weep on his strong shoulder.

And all the while he rocks me gently, giving me what I need.

I have no idea how long we remain there. My only conscious thought is that he is with me. I don’t question the hows or the whys. They will come later.

I cry like I’ve never cried before, purging my battered body of its inner demons, until all that is left are dry, wracking sobs that make my chest ache.

And still he holds me.

Seemingly unwilling to let me go for a second, until finally his soft voice reaches me once more.

"C’mon Scully. Let’s get you out of here. You’re ice cold."

His words trigger a wave of trembling in me as I become conscious for the first time of just how cold the floor beneath me really is.

"Can you stand?"

I nod shakily against his shoulder, but my confidence is misplaced. Mulder helps me to my feet, relaxing his grip slightly as we both reach a standing position, and without him to prop me up, my knees once more begin to buckle. Before I can fall though he wraps one arm around my waist and another under my knees, hoisting me easily in to his arms as though I weigh no more than a feather. Suddenly conscious that I am clad in nothing more substantial than thin cotton I squirm in his arms, embarrassment flooding my features with hot colour.

Blushing. The curse of the red head.

Stupid really. Mulder has seen me buck naked before now. I know that, but this is different somehow. More intimate

"Mulder....there’s no need....I’m Fi........"

"Don’t Scully. Please."

I realize that I have said the wrong thing and I feel him tense as he waits for me to argue.

But not this time. This time I won’t push him away, and he nods, satisfied as I drop my head to rest on his shoulder.

I am still shivering despite the warmth I am stealing from him, and it comes as no surprise when he heads for the Queen size bed, still holding me whilst somehow managing to pull back the sheets and blankets covering it.

Instead of depositing me under them though, he sits carefully on the edge of the mattress, sliding his arm out from under my legs so that I end up perched on his knee, my body curled foetal position against him and then I feel his hand on my hair again, his fingers ever so softly teasing out the tangled strands. Hair I never bothered to comb after my shower.

"Want to tell me what’s going on with you Scully?"

He slips the question in casually, without warning, carefully working on my hair at the same time, as though that is taking up his entire attention, and his enquiry in to my precarious state of mind is a mere trifle to pass the time whilst he frees the strands from the tangles that bind them together.

I feel him pause momentarily in his ministrations though, as without warning, another shudder courses through my body. I feel the goose bumps rise up on my exposed skin as I remember the cold grey eyes of Pfaster as he came at me.

Inhuman eyes; windows to a soul that did not belong on this earth. I will never forget those eyes if I live to be a hundred years old.

My throat closes up on me once again, and, not trusting myself to speak, I simply shake my head, praying that he won’t push the issue.

Later Mulder I promise with my mind.

Maybe he hears me, I don’t know, but he falls silent once more.

And I lay my head more firmly against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, a combination of the light cologne he wears and his own unique male muskiness.

The scent of Mulder.

For the first time all day, I begin to feel something akin to peace as I listen to the steady beat of his heart directly beneath my ear.

That, coupled with the gentle stroking of his fingers in my hair, along my arm, is lulling me to sleep. My eyelids grow heavy, and I don’t even attempt to fight it as exhaustion washes over me.

I should feel awkward, lying as I am in my partners comforting embrace, and maybe in different circumstances I would.

But I need this. I need him to be here. And I know that in allowing him to heal me, I am in a sense also healing him.

And then, I finally fall in to dreamless sleep.

XXXX

My first conscious thought on awakening is that Mulder's arms are no longer around me. And despite my best intentions I feel bereft, incomplete somehow.

He is still in the room though, of that I am certain.

I feel his presence, feel him watching me; watching over me.

Right on cue, I hear his voice from across the room

"Hey, look who’s awake."

Blinking sleepily, I automatically follow the sound of his voice and my gaze settles on my partner, stretched out on a chair far too small to comfortably accommodate his lanky frame.

I realize immediately why he has chosen it, and not it’s larger, more comfortable counterpart.

From his vantage point, he is able to keep an eye on me while I sleep whilst still following the football game that is playing out on the small screen TV beside him.

The other chair would have given him a clear view of the TV but not much else.

I stare fuzzily at the game, trying to determine the players by their colours before dismissing the notion as being irrelevant.

"You’ve been out for hours. How are you feeling?"

I simply shrug non-comittally in response, because the truth is, at this precise moment in time, I don’t really know.

"What time is it?"

"Late. You should eat something."

I feel my eyebrows raise, almost against my will.

Aahhhhhhhhh Typical Mulder. I know how his mind works at times like this.

Scully sleep, Scully eat, Scully talk.

He doesn’t usually deviate much from his game plan.

Unfortunately for him though, I have a much more pressing need.

Wrinkling my nose like a kindergartener I drop my gaze to the crumpled T-shirt I am wearing. I can still smell the fear that drenched me earlier, manifested now in unpleasantly dried in sweat.

"I need a shower"

Mulder crosses one leg languidly across the other, hazel eyes twinkling suddenly at me from across the room.

"Need me in there to help at all Scully?"

I almost laugh at this typical Mulder quip, but the truth is, that there is nothing I would like more than to reach out my hand to him and lead him in to the small room with me.

It’s a fantasy I have played out in my mind a thousand times.

But a fantasy is unfortunately all it is.

"I think I can manage just fine by myself thanks." I assure him as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, heading for the bathroom. Mulders voice follows me inside.

"Hey.....if you change your mind............"

My third shower of the day is wonderful. After washing and shampooing, I simply lean against the tile, the jets of hot water turned up high drumming against my neck and shoulders as effective as any massage I have ever had and slowly, slowly, I feel the tensions of the day disappearing from me.

This evening in my apartment, the nightmare that found me lying in a crumpled heap on this very floor, all now seem so very long ago.

And while I know I will have to deal with them at some point, for now I can place them at the back of my mind.

Harder to forget though, is the memory of Mulder cradling me in his arms after I collapsed against him, and despite the hot water, I shiver as I remember how it felt to be held so close to him, feeling his hands on me, his warm breath tickling my cheek as he gave whispered assurances that everything was okay. That I was okay.

I close my eyes against the visions inside my head.

To think like this is dangerous.

Forbidden.

And yet, I acknowledge, even if only to myself, that I love him, am in love with him.

I have been for as long as I can remember.

I can’t imagine a time in my life when I haven’t loved him.

He feels the same way. I know that just as I know that the sun will rise to greet another dawn tomorrow. I see it in the way he looks at me, feel it in his touch, hear it in his voice.

But at the same time, we both know that to succumb to that knowledge would only spell disaster for both of us.

Mulder and I have chosen to walk a dangerous path, and while we walk that path holding tightly to one another, we know that ours is a love that can never be.

Our choices were made so long ago, our paths forged by unseen hands, and we are destined to walk those paths for the rest of our lives.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing.

We do not have the luxury of living normal lives.

I realized that early on in our partnership.

Despite this realization though, I feel the tears that rush to my eyes as I once more mourn for all that can never be, and angrily I swipe them away.

These are dangerous thoughts to be having right now. My emotions are still raw. Too close to the surface, and I am afraid that I might betray myself.

Clamping down on myself, I turn the faucet to off with a quick savage flick of my wrist and step out of the cubicle, reaching out blindly through the steam as I search for the Motel towel.

And then I freeze as realization hits me.

Shit.

I neglected to bring a change of clothes in to the bathroom with me, and my favourite blue flannel pyjamas are still sat atop the bed where I threw them earlier. To retrieve them I will have to step out of this room, with only a woefully inadequate low budget motel towel covering me as I negotiate my partner to reach them.

I don’t normally display such modesty around a man, who, let’s face it, has dragged me half naked through the frozen wastes of Antarctica.

But that was different. For one thing I was half unconscious throughout the experience.

And then there was the shower incident, kindly provided by Diana Fowley, because the wall separating us offered no protection since my partner could see right over it.

But he didn’t see anything right?

Yeah right I believe that in my dreams.

The bathroom is not heated, and I am beginning to shiver as the steam around me rapidly disappears, replaced instead with the cool air from the air con unit set high upon the wall.

And my subconscious makes the decision for me as I reach for the door handle.

After all, it’s not like I’m naked or anything.

The minute I step out the door, I realize my fears have been for nothing. Mulder has abandoned his position by the TV and is now stretched out atop the bed.

Asleep

And even though I know it is foolhardy, I allow myself a minute or two to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes.

I love to watch my partner sleep.

In sleep his handsome face relaxes, taking on an almost boyish naivety that I simply don’t get the pleasure of seeing during the course of our normal lives together. No conspiracies, no betrayals, no hurt. Just Mulder.

How he should look

In many ways, he has been cheated out of so much, and while he is without a doubt, the most handsome man I have ever seen, every line on his skin has been etched from blood and tears and pain.

It’s a pain he carries round with him every day of his life.

A pain I stopped trying to heal a long time ago.

A few strands of his dark brown hair have fallen over his forehead and I can’t resist gently brushing them away, settling them once more where they belong, my fingertips trailing the length of his face..

I have no idea what possesses me to do what I do next.

Holding my breath, I bend over my slumbering partner, closing my eyes tightly as my lips make just the gentlest contact with his smooth, warm skin. Careful not to wake him I remain there, savouring the moment.

I’ve kissed him like this before of course, but those times have always been in response to a need to comfort, to reassure.

This kiss is a stolen kiss.

A kiss just for me.

Allowing me to say all the things to him I need to.

Sentiments I keep locked away inside myself that I would give anything for him to hear.

I am also aware of the risk I am taking by even doing this, and reluctantly I pull away, opening my eyes and feeling them widen in the horrified realization the Mulder is staring straight back at me.

He’s awake. He’s been awake the whole time.

"Trying to turn me in to a frog Scully?"

I don’t answer him, feeling the burning humiliation flooding my cheeks as one hand instinctively grips the edge of my towel tightly. I feel like I am about to disintegrate before him, the sound of my increased heartbeat reverberating in my ears.

All I can think about is my need to escape, and I take one stumbling step backwards.

In response, Mulder sits up and curls his long fingers around the wrist of my free hand. His grip is loose and if I wanted to I could easily shake him off.

But I don’t. Because he opens his mouth to speak, pleading at me with his eyes.

“Don’t."

The word is whispered, barely intelligible, and something in my heart shatters as I hear the painful yearning in his tone, and I can’t, can’t walk away from him; at least not like this.

Instead, I allow him to pull me back toward him, easing me down until I am seated, barely an inch away from him on the bed. I shiver as he releases his hold on me, sliding his hand up my arm and tracing a finger the length of my collar bone.

The sensation is electric and I feel a line of goose bumps break out to follow in his wake and I know, that I have to stop this now, while I still can.

"Mu......"

He realizes my intention, and the words die on my lips as he presses the errant finger against them, and I am suddenly struck by the realization that I don’t want him to stop, that this is exactly what I need right now.

I finally turn my head, locking my eyes with his and I realize that we can’t lie to each other any longer.

Almost against my will I inch closer to him, dipping my head until I am right there in front of him, and I do what I have wanted to do for so long.

The kiss is innocent, chaste almost, not unlike the night not so long ago when, at the stroke of midnight, Mulder allowed his barriers to come down.

My hands snake up to cup his face, deepening the kiss, moistening his beautiful lower lip with my tongue before gently pulling it in to my mouth, and I am lost in the feeling of him and he groans as I open my mouth, allowing him entry and I feel his tongue slide in to greet mine, breath mingled as we explore what has up until now been forbidden fruit.

He tastes just like I always imagined him to; a delicious combination of citrus and peppermint. I know this taste as though it is a part of me, and I can’t get enough of him.

I run my tongue along the hard ridges of his teeth, the velvet softness of his cheeks and tremble as he slowly draws his lips from mine and gently nibbles a path down my neck.

My hands are in his hair, teasing, burrowing, holding on to him as though he might, at any moment, disappear as he has done so many times in my dreams.

The reality of it though hits me like a bullet as his hands go around my back, loosening the excuse for a towel I still wear, so it falls forward, leaving my back exposed.

He seems content to languidly explore every inch of me, but I need more, so much more than he is giving me right now.

Closing my eyes, I reach around and grasp his wrist, sliding his hand along my ribcage, settling it atop my  breast and his eyes widen as the towel slips even further, exposing me.

"Oh God Scully......."

And he suddenly backs away, pulling my hand with him and bringing it to his lips where he kisses it gently, settling his hazel eyes on me which at that moment are a confusion of arousal, sorrow and concern.

“We can’t do this. Not now. Not like this.....”

His voice is barely audible, but the softness, the respect in his tone is lost on me as each word slams in to me just as though he has raised his palm and delivered each one with a stinging slap to my face.

Because he doesn’t want me; because whatever drove him to instigate this has somehow passed and I am suddenly mortified that I even allowed it to get this far, that I allowed him to go so far; I killed a man tonight. Took away his life in cold blood and instead of getting down on my bended fucking knees and asking forgiveness, I am allowing my partner, my best friend, to put his hands all over me and even worse, I am allowing myself to enjoy it.

No wonder Mulder can’t bring himself to keep touching me; I am unworthy of him, perhaps unworthy of anyone and right now I am shaking with a combination of shame, regret and a burning humiliation that causes me to stumble backwards even as I snatch my hands from him and clutch the towel against myself.

“Scully....”

“I think you need to leave Mulder.”

I can’t look at him now and I turn before he can witness the tears that begin streaming down my face, snatching up my earlier forgotten pyjamas as I escape to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me before I collapse to the floor for the second time that evening, wishing that I could just sink through it and never have to face him again. Because I know him and I know he won’t leave me like this; that he will wait all night if necessary for me to exit this room, to affirm that I am okay, that we are okay and while a part of me wishes he wouldn’t, the part of me that is terrified to be alone right now is praying that I am right, that he will stay.

 I can’t say for sure how long I remain there in a crumpled, sobbing mess, but slowly I am faced with the realisation that the floor is no less unforgiving than it was earlier and I feel myself begin to shiver against the harsh cold of the tile. It’s enough to bring me slowly to my feet, gritting my teeth against the sudden wave of dizziness that thankfully passes fairly quickly, allowing me to dress myself in the soft flannel warmth of the pyjamas. And then I clean my teeth, fighting back the tears once more as I replace the taste of Mulder with the far more benign taste of spearmint. It’s enough to almost make me unravel once again, but I slam a lid down on my emotions, refusing to let him see me break down once more.

I am unsurprised to see him still there when I finally open the door. In fact he hasn’t moved an inch other than the fact his head is now bowed, eyes on the floor, defeat and uncertainty radiating off him.

“I’m okay.” I manage, my voice sounding weak and brittle and far away somehow. “I’m sorry Mulder...I shouldn’t ha....”

But I don’t get a chance to finish before he is on his feet, reaching me in just a few short strides before he pulls me roughly against his chest, encircling me with his strong arms, holding me there, denying me an escape.

“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare apologise Scully.”

His words are sharp, harsh almost, but the way he drops his lips to the crown of my head belies his tone. And then, slowly he slides the palms of his hands up my back, across my shoulders and tracks them upwards until he is cradling my face, forcing me to finally meet his eyes.

“Because I’m not sorry” he continues, his eyes intense, dark green and gold as he holds my gaze in his. “But we can’t make this about what happened today in your apartment. We can’t make this about him.”

And deep down I know he is right. That absolution can never come at the expense of what we share, of what we can be, that if tonight, we had answered the need that has burned inside us both for so long, the memory would forever be tainted by the evil that had sought to destroy me; a man intent on capturing me, of raping me, of killing me and then carrying out his last sick, twisted defilement of me before leaving me for my partner to find.

The realisation brings a wave of fresh trembling that even with Mulder right beside me I just can’t seem to still and I bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist even as he pulls me tighter against him, letting me ride it out, holding on to me just as he always does.

“Please don’t leave....please stay with me....”

I am appalled at how fragile I feel, ashamed of my vulnerability, wanting to be strong but not knowing how and I am terrified that he will refuse, that he will simply drop another kiss on my forehead and then he will be gone, leaving me to face this alone, penance for all the times I have pushed him away.

But of course he does none of those things. He just holds me even tighter, his muffled voice slicing a path right through my desperate fear.

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.”

And even though it’s anything but okay,, right at that moment I know that it will come......eventually.

End of part one

[too-young-to-die-blog1]

See you at the Crossroads

Bei: Bei hadn’t talked to Maxine for an extended period of time, but she seemed nice enough. And he hoped this quest wouldn’t require a whole lot of fighting, so having someone inexperienced shouldn’t be too much of a detriment. He waited quietly outside the Elemental City for the young woman to meet up with him.

Maxine: Maxine was slightly out of breath when she finally made it out of the city. Her group had been late to begin with and getting lost in the Elemental City didn’t really help with catching up, forcing her to run when she didn’t want to leave Bei waiting for too long. “Sorry,” she huffed when she finally reached their meeting point. “So sorry, really. I kinda got held up.”

Bei: “No apologies needed.” Bei assured, shaking his head as he offered her a soft smile. “I haven’t been waiting long, and it gave me a bit to look over the map while I waited.” He managed, nodding his head. “I see you’ve found people in game? I assume only because it seems you participated in the last quest, yeah?”

Maxine: She gave a small nod, obviously relieved at his calm reaction. “So, you found anything interesting?” Suddenly Maxine felt stupid for not coming up with the idea to do some research herself. “Yeah, I did actually.” Mustering a small smile, she nodded again. “I didn’t really expect to find a party. I mean, I started pretty late. But they seemed sweet. It wasn’t too bad.”

Bei: “Hey, starting late is better than not starting at all.” Bei teased, winking at her playfully before he cleared his throat and shook his head. “Nothing yet. I mean, this area of the map over here…” He gestured vaguely to the south west corner. “I’m pretty sure that’s the least explored portion of the map. So maybe whatever the ‘crossroads’ are can be found here?”

Maxine: “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said with a light smile and an affectionate eye roll. “I just don’t want to fall too far behind, s'all.” Giving a small shrug, she peaked over at the map, nodding. “Method of elimination? Sounds good.”

Bei: “It’s the best option we’ve got, I’m afraid.” He hummed before he closed the user interface then swiped away from himself to discard the screen. Once it disappeared, he straightened out and glanced to Maxine with a smile. “Alright. First thing we need is a boat. Because everything here seems to require trekking cross water for some reason.”

Maxine: “It’s better than nothing, I guess.” Her last quest really lowered her expectations when it came to planning, so she’d gladly take whatever Bei came up with. “Oh, great. What’s better than sailing right?,” she said sarcastically, chuckling sightly. “So, how do we do this? Last time my party pretty much hijacked a boat and sailed it ourselves. Turns out my sailing skills are pretty much non existent.”

Bei: “Not a fan of sailing?” Bei countered, looking at Maxine with amusement before he shook his head and cleared his throat. “My charisma is fairly high… I’m sure I can talk someone into helping us. Besides, the island we’re heading it is literally a quick jaunt over. Like, we shouldn’t be on a ship for more than a couple of hours, if that.”

Maxine: “Not at all,” Maxine replied, pulling a face. “That’s a thing? Just convincing people to do what you want?” This question alone would probably be enough to show that she didn’t take just as much time reading up on the different stats as she probably should have. She gave me small not, the plan sounding solid enough. “Go ahead then. Teach me your ways.”

Bei: “If you’re charisma and luck stats are high enough, yeah.” Bei nodded his head. “Your stats determine a lot for how you interact with the game.” He added then gestured. “Alright, come on. Let’s go find us a ship. We aren’t that far from the harbor.” He murmured and turned to head off through the streets.

Maxine: “That’s amazing,” Maxine blinked, wondering how she didn’t even notice until now. Falling into step with Bei was easy and the walk to the harbour really wasn’t too far. “Which one?”, she asked, gesturing towards the abundance of ships.

Bei: “How about… this one?” Bei gestured vaguely. He lead Maxine up to the ship, and after a bit of sweet talking, they were seated comfortably on the ship. It didn’t take long to make it to their destination, and when they did they made their way off the boat and down onto the shoreline.

Maxine: “Well, that was smooth,” Maxine admitted with a appreciative nod as they made their way down the shoreline. “I almost expected this to be unnecessary complicated,” she said with a shrug before focusing on the way ahead, stretching her hand out and pointing forward when she spotted small puffs of green in the distance. “You see that? I think this is where the jungle starts.” They quickly made their way to where the forest grew thicker, big trees blocking out the sun, presenting all kinds of monsters with perfect hideouts.

Bei: Bei nodded in agreement at Maxine’s assessment. “I agree.” he breathed out. “I guess this is where we bite the bullet and just go for it, huh?” he glanced at the young woman before he quickly equipped his stave. “let’s go fight some monsters.”

Maxine: “That’s the plan,” Maxine agreed with a firm nod, grabbing her stave as well. Making her way into the woods, she tried her best to stay alert, to watch her surroundings as best as she could. Her attacks didn’t do much damage on the high level monsters, but at least it bought them enough time for Bei to finish them. “How much further?” Huffing, she rested her hands on her knees after they killed another monster.

Bei: Bei’s magic, while maybe not the most potent given his level, seemed to work well enough. He dispatched monster after monster with Maxine’s help. Her paused after their most recent victim and pulled up his user interface, daunting at the map. “should be just through these trees here.” he hummed before he glanced up. “you know, for an inexperienced gamer, you’re fairly good.”

Maxine: “Sounds good.” Straightening up, she wiped a few little sweat droplets off her forehead with the back of her hand. Giving Bei warm smile, she tightened her grip around her stave. “Maybe hold back with the compliments until we finished this? You wouldn’t want to jinx this.” She gave a small wink to make it sound like a joke, but she was actually a strong believer in Murphy’s law and really didn’t want to challenge it. “Okay, let’s get this over with,” she said before she made her way through the trees.

Bei: “I believe in positive affirmation.” Bei replied with ease as he leaned his weight on his stave for a moment. “It boosts people’s confidence.” he added before he breathed out and nodded. Once she began to move, Bei quickly followed after. They hadn’t taken but 10 steps before another monster came at them from their right. Bei dispatched of it quickly before they were engaged in a flurry of attacks from various sources. Once they seemed to dispatch of the last enemy, Bei let out an exhausted breath and shift. “I don’t think I took too much damage. How about you?”

Maxine: “Oh, just don’t boost it too much. I can be quite cocky,” she half-joked. Sure, in this reality she was far from it, insecure and scared of almost everything. But back home? Back home Maxine knew her strong points and always made sure everyone else did, too. If Bei hadn’t suddenly attacked the monster, she wouldn’t even have noticed it creeping up on them, but now she was in the middle of another fight. “I think I’m good,” she huffed, patting herself down as if to make sure that all her limbs were still in place. It was then that she noticed what they were standing on. “Bei?” She asked, pointing at the ground, following the coursw of what looked like an old road with her eyes before looking over to her party partner, surprise heavy on her features, but not heavy enough to weigh down her wide grin. “We made it. This is it!”

Bei: Bei glanced back at machine before slowly nodding hours head. “that means the dungeon for has to be around here somewhere. Right?”

Maxine: “Right,” she nodded before she started walking down the road slowly, coming to a halt not long after. A few meters down the road, the path was blocked by a huge stone gate, an eerie atmosphere radiating off it. “This is it,” she wondered aloud, scanning over it before looking over at Bei. “You ready?”

Bei: Bei started at the gate for a long moment before he breathed out. “maybe we should call in a few other people first. We have no idea if the gate will slam closed after us and lock us in.”.

Maxine: “Good call,” she nodded, plopping down on the floor with a sigh. “Let’s wait then.”.

Bei: “I’ll make a post on the message boards and see who we can round up. Why don’t you take a health potion and get a quick nap, yeah?”.

Maxine: “You shouldn’t worry so much.” Actually she was glad he did. It made her feel somehow safe, so when she picked the potion from her inventory, she hesitated before drinking it, giving one more smile and saying a quick “Thanks.” before fixing up her health.

[avidbeader]

Voltron fanfic: “Scattered” Chapter 9

Season 2 AU. No ships, K+ to T rating. Begin at the beginning here. Pidge woke early the next morning. She dragged a sturdy table out into the sunshine and set the solar cell and power source there to charge. The Altean drive with all the downloaded information drew power from an Altean source she had found in the Green Lion and she began sifting through the information it contained. Hopefully today she would find definitive information on the whereabouts of her father and brother.

Around her, the Arusian village began stirring. Pidge looked up for a moment, taking in the villagers as they started their day. She spared one happy glance at the Galra power source as purple light brightened and dimmed within.

<> <> <> <> <>

A steel-gray sentry monitored signals at a tiny station far to the side of a bridge. One signal caught its attention—it was out of normal parameters. The sentry performed according to its programming and sent the information to the scouting drones near that sector. The drones would continue on their routes but pay close attention when they passed the planet in question.

The sentry flagged the planet’s name—Arus—and continued to monitor.

<> <> <> <> <>

He did not trust them. This man had come in with Darzi and had waited almost too late to intervene when he was attacked. Just because he was being aw-shucks friendly did not change the fact that he did not remove Keith’s bonds. All the ‘sons’ in the galaxy would not balance that.

Keith refused to speak and avoided meeting Perkins’ eyes while he puttered around. He left at one point and Keith made a futile effort to work his way free of the straps.

Perkins returned with a tray and set it down. He selected a small bottle and leaned over Keith. “I’m going to put some drops in your eyes to help soothe them. You have a lot of burst blood vessels in them from trying to get air when Darzi was smothering you.”

Keith’s eyes widened involuntarily at that. The last thing he expected was someone to admit that Darzi had tried to kill him.

Perkins blinked, startled at something. “Look at me, please.”

Keith did and Perkins looked closely for a moment. Then he picked up an instrument. A bright light shone in Keith’s eyes and he realized the man was looking through a scope to examine them. After several uncomfortable minutes, the light vanished and Keith squeezed his watering eyes shut.

“You, son, are a very fast healer. Your eyes were full of blood not two hours ago and now they look perfect. That shouldn’t happen for over a week.” He put one hand on Keith’s chin and shone the light on his skin. “Bruising’s almost completely gone. Anything happen to you recently to explain this? Did the aliens who made those flying lions inject you with something?”

Liters of warm liquid splashing over him as the container behind him broke. His hand, nearly crippled by burns, straightening and healing before his eyes.

Keith shook his head.

<> <> <> <> <>

Hunk led the others back to the Metreans’ camp. “Luvixx, pass the word. The Galra have been taken care of for now and I have reinforcements for us.”

“That is outstanding news, Hunk! Thank you!”

“We have two more Voltron Lions and a support ship. We’ll land on the north side, outside the perimeter.”

“Acknowledged. We’ll meet you there.”

They were already within visual range and Hunk led everyone to his chosen landing area. The Lions touched down and the Paladins exited.

As they waited for the Castle-ship to land, Shiro moved over to Hunk. “I just wanted to say, well done. You did an excellent job here.”

Hunk felt his face grow hot, hearing their leader’s praise. “Thanks, Shiro, but I just did what had to be done.”

“You supported these people, protected them. It sounds like you held them together and kept them from panicking. Don’t be so modest.”

“Yeah, Hunk. If you’ve got it, flaunt it!” Lance looked at the group of people just coming into view. “So, any pretty ladies around? Does Shay have competition?”

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Use the magnification in your visor.”

Lance grimaced in concentration, jumped slightly when the view shifted, and looked. The resulting “EEEEEEEEE!” had Hunk wishing for a camera for blackmail material. It looked like Lance might be afraid of spiders and he would hate having Keith see his reaction.

Shiro zoomed in for a look as well and nodded.

“Seen them before?” Hunk raised an arm and waved as the Metreans drew closer.

“Possibly. They look a bit familiar.”

A pod emerged from the landed ship and sped over to them. It paused beside them and Allura hopped out. “Lance, would you please go help Coran and Dr. Holt? We need to keep the former slaves patient and you’re the familiar face. I need to convince the Metreans of my plan so we can be on our way to Arus as soon as possible.”

“Plan? What plan?” Hunk looked from one to the other as Lance leaped into the pod and raced away.

Allura talked as they moved to meet the Metreans. “Obviously they can’t stay here. We must assume that the Galra had time to report at least an attack by the Yellow Lion, if not the presence of the colony. I’m going to suggest they follow us via wormhole to Arus. According to what the Arusians told Pidge, the Galra have shown no interest in their planet since we left. There are plentiful resources for the Arusians, the rescued slaves, and the Metreans.”

Hunk pondered that for a moment. “The biggest objection they might have is that Arus is really far away. There might be more survivors who haven’t made it here yet.”

Allura’s face fell, showing her desperation to move as quickly as possible to reunite all the paladins. Shiro thought for a moment, then turned to her. “Princess, do you think we can use the Castle to boost communications and locate any other Metreans? If we can get their locations, we can coordinate rendezvous points and help get more of them to Arus on our way there, or help them after we get Pidge and Keith.”

Allura beamed at that. “That’s a perfect suggestion!”

Hunk grinned and ran ahead to Luvixx and his entourage. “Hey, we have more good news!”

<> <> <> <> <>

Once the power source showed a steady purple light, Pidge disconnected it from the solar cell and brought it inside. She continued to sift through the database, flagging every bit of information that she saw as potentially useful and color-coding it toward offensive strikes, guerrilla tactics, and large concentrations of prisoners.

“Hello! What is it?”

“Breakfast?”

Pidge had been too busy working to realize the passing time, but now her stomach growled loudly. The little Arusian’s eyes grew big at that and Pidge laughed. “Yeah, I guess I should eat. What’s your name, by the way? I’m Pidge.”

“Sofee.”

“Hi, Sofee. Thanks for coming. Where do I go to get some food?”

Sofee led her to one of the two larger buildings in the village. One was a communal kitchen and the other a bathhouse. Both were designed for the generally warm climate so there was less need for fires everywhere creating excess heat. She watched as Pidge grabbed a wooden plate and helped herself to some fresh fruit and roasted roots. Pidge noticed the little alien looking longingly at some bunches of yellow berries and grabbed a couple of handfuls.

They returned to Pidge’s hut and she fished a disembodied sentry head out of the salvage pile to poke at while she ate. “So, I’m looking to see if I can adapt the communications technology in this sentry into some kind of link that we can use to talk to each other when we’re not wearing our helmets or in the castle. I might even be able to rig it so we can listen in on Galra chatter! Can you imagine the tactical advantage we’d have then?”

Sofee watched her with wide eyes. Pidge slid the plate of food toward her. “I think I got too much food. Want something?”

Sofee’s eyes lit up and she snatched the yellow berries eagerly.

<> <> <> <> <>

They sat around the conference room, waiting. Most were men but a few women were in the mix. Some read tablets while others shuffled paper. Two of them, a Garrison commander and a lieutenant general, kept glaring at one another across the table.

Finally, two more people entered and everyone stood. The military saluted as General Benítez entered, a man in a white lab coat behind her.

“Perkins!” Darzi burst out, turning red with anger. “What are you doing here? You said you wouldn’t report on it!”

Perkins sighed in resignation as Benítez fastened her gaze on first Darzi, then Perkins.

“Lieutenant General, you will be explaining that statement to me immediately after this briefing. In the meantime, sit down, everyone.”

Once everyone was situated, she sent handfuls of printouts down each side of the table. “Everyone take one. These papers will be gathered and destroyed immediately after this meeting. Is that understood?” At the chorus of affirmative responses, she continued.

“So far we have had a battle of jurisdiction over former Galaxy Garrison cadet Keith Kogane. One the one hand he is from the Garrison and reported there willingly after he crashed in an alien ship at Mount Rushmore. On the other hand, Earthforce is the body to assess threats on an interstellar level. I will state that I am not pleased at how this has been handled so far. Iverson should have been given the chance to talk to Kogane before any aggressive action was taken and the leap to trying to force information from him happened much too soon.

“However, we have new information that absolutely requires Earthforce involvement as well as the executive branch and almost certainly a number of civilians from the scientific community. Please look at the results of a blood test that should have been done immediately instead of nearly two days later.”

Eyes looked down and read. Some faces showed confusion while others reacted in shock.

Iverson was the first to break silence. “How is this possible? He was part of the Garrison for two years. He had to have a physical as part of joining up. Why wasn’t this spotted then?”

“It explains everything,” Darzi growled. “The resistance to the drugs, the mental control, the enhanced physical skills—”

“Oh, no. You don’t get to blame all of it on this test.” A blond man in the uniform of a Garrison faculty member spoke up. “Kogane was always a stellar hand-to-hand fighter. Especially with that knife he kept around.”

Benítez took the reins of the conversation again. “So, it’s quite possible that the test results indicate something that happened to him since his disappearance.”

“I asked,” Perkins interrupted. “He had…injuries that healed within hours when they should have taken days. All he did was shake his head ‘no’ when I asked if anyone had injected him with something while he was out in space.”

Iverson fixed his good eye on Darzi, even though he addressed Perkins. “Wait, what injuries? He was in perfect health when he stepped out of that ship, I’ll swear to it!”

Darzi paled under Iverson’s glare and Benítez’ suspicious glance. She leaned forward. “Enough! Now, this is the plan going forward. Mr. Kogane will remain under sedation while we get the best experts in theoretical xenobiology here. Then we will repeat the blood test and add a cellular analysis. Armed with that information, we will invite Mr. Kogane to give us a little more information. Kindly and gently and politely. For all we know, this was something that was done to him and he could be as much a victim as anyone. His records show that our social systems and the Garrison failed him, badly. I refuse to do so again.”

<> <> <> <> <>

Tovak sifted through the reports from the monitoring sentries in their fleet, scanning screen after screen of boring reports.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, noth—

He paused. One of the sentries had flagged a signal, the pulse of a Galra power source coming from an area of space that the Galra had no interest in now. Commander Prorok had ordered the pullback after Commander Sendak’s disappearance. The last known reports had described a completely destroyed warship and a defeated beast of the Komar.

But if someone on that planet was repairing or repurposing Galra tech…that must not be allowed. A lesson must be taught.

Tovak put the information on a chip and went to find his commander.

<> <> <> <> <>

Hunk, Allura, and Shiro sat down with the Metrean Representors. Allura immediately began speaking. “Your Excellences, I believe you all are in danger if you stay here. We must assume that the Galra communicated the attack from the Yellow Lion the moment it happened. They are certain to come and investigate more thoroughly. I would like to offer you passage with us to a planet called Arus. There are inhabitants already there, but they are peaceful and the resources are plentiful. We can use the Altean wormholes to have all of your transports there within hours. I also offer the Castle’s resources in trying to locate any other refugees from your world and assisting them in joining you as soon as we have reunited the Voltron Force.”

The Metreans looked at one another, afraid to believe that such offers could be true. Luvixx turned to Hunk. “Honored Paladin, is this all possible?”

Allura drew breath to object to this questioning of her word, but Shiro reached over and put a hand on her knee. She frowned at him, but bit back her words.

Hunk didn’t notice. “Yes, Luvixx, it’s all possible. Your transports can fly through the wormhole right behind the Castle. And Arus is a nice place, a bit more mountain-y than here, but if we scout we can probably find just the place for your people to settle. And once we have Pidge back on board, she can do all sorts of things to isolate your communication channels and boost them so we can find more of your people.”

“And you will help bring any other Metreans to us?” Now Luvixx addressed Allura.

“Yes. As soon as we have our missing Paladins back we will return to this sector and scout for any other Metrean survivors. I recommend leaving some kind of message here for any who find their way here, but not giving your destination in case the Galra find it first.”

Luvixx looked around at the other Representors, all of whom raised their middle left arms in a sign of agreement. “We accept your offer with full gratitude.”

“How soon can you all be ready to move?” Allura got to her feet, ready to sprint to the Castle.

“We should be ready by the time the sun sets.”

Shiro looked to Hunk, who checked the sky. “That’s probably about seven hours.”

Allura glanced back at the Castle. “We have a number of people who could assist you?”

Luvixx looked back to Hunk, who looked puzzled. Shiro explained, “Lance found a slave camp and took out the Galra who were running it. We’re relocating the ones who can’t return home on Arus as well.”

“Ah. Well, Princess, I think the Metreans have everything under control. Let’s let them get started.”

As the three of them walked away, Allura turned on Shiro. “Why did you stop me? He should have addressed me as the leader and a royal personage!”

“In a formal situation, I might agree with you. But these people clearly look to Hunk as a hero figure and trust him a lot. Letting him back what you said was much faster than mucking through protocol and negotiations.”

Allura thought about that for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She turned to Hunk and in a much calmer tone, asked, “And not using the former slaves to speed things up?”

“Well, from what I understand the Metreans were fully aware of interstellar travel, but happy enough to stay in one place until the Galra came. I wasn’t sure that having a bunch of aliens all over their camp would be a good thing. I get the feeling that they trust me in spite of me being different from them.”

“I see. I do wish we could get them to move faster.”

“Still no word from Keith?”

“No.”

Shiro laid his hand on her shoulder. “Keith can handle himself.”

Allura spun around, her tension level back up. “Really? You were the one who wanted to get him next after we located you!”

Shiro’s expression darkened at that and Allura locked eyes with him. They were almost to the Castle-ship and Lance came out to meet them. “We’ve managed, Allura. Coran’s got them all going through the storage areas of the ship and cataloguing what’s in there.” When no one thanked him, Lance looked around. “What’s the matter?”

Shiro replied, “We were discussing the fact that we haven’t heard from Keith yet. I hate this. I hate that he’s going to be the last one back, especially with Red nearly inoperable when we went into the wormhole that scattered us. Without communication, poor Keith’s probably climbing the walls waiting for us.”

Hunk snorted. “Poor Keith? You mean lucky Keith! He’s back on Earth, seeing everyone, eating pizza and burgers and milkshakes—”

“What the quiznak are you talking about?” Lance’s voice rose an octave. “Why are you assuming that Keith’s okay? Remember how they reacted when Shiro crash-landed in an alien escape pod? They had him strapped down and unconscious and refused to listen to a word he said!”

Shiro looked up at that, blood draining from his face. “Oh, no.”

<> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <>

Next chapter