#I still can’t get over Data’s thousand mile stare

[orangefiend1]

I know that there is a company that makes rubber duck versions of popular TV show characters, but, they don’t make the whole cast. So, I am remedying this issue. @wilwheaton Wesley is coming, I just need to figure out if I should recreate the classic striped jumper or should I put him in his Cadet uniform?

[colormeyondublue]

Chapter 12: Cards With The Boys (NSFW)

Chapter 11 Here

After confessing his love for you, you decide it was about time to move in with the Captain. It didn’t take long to get your things together because you don’t have much. After getting settled in the Captain’s quarters, you felt your heart soar at how for you two have come.

Later, you sit at your desk in your office tying up some loose ends, day dreaming of Yondu, and of going back to Earth. There isn’t much work to be done, but the peacefulness of your office brings you a sense of normalcy that you dearly missed. While you made sure your data drives were totally backed up and in working order, your door opens quietly. You glance behind you to see Yondu’s handsome face. You turn back to your computer and tell him you’ll be done in just a second.

“Do ya really gotta be working right now? Ya work all the damn time. There ain’t even much that needs done right now anyway! The crew’s gonna be on leave fer a few weeks while we’re gone.”

“I work because I like to!” You protest. “Besides, I’m almost done. Hold your horses.”

“Ya still never explained ta me what a horse even is ya know.” Yondu huffs as he sits down on the couch in your office.

You sigh and shake your head. You never imagined you’d have to explain to an adult what a horse was, but here you are. You eject the data drive and throw it in the drawer of your desk. “A horse, is a large mammalian quadruped with both binocular and monocular vision. They can weigh anywhere between 800 to 1,800 – sometimes 2,000 pounds! They’ve been used by my people as a source of food, labor, transportation and companionship for thousands of years. They’ve helped Terrans in every aspect of life, and nothing that we’ve accomplished to this point could have been done without their help. They’ve fought in our wars, and carried entire countries on their backs at times. In modern times they are primarily pets, used to work livestock, or ridden in competition.”

The captain rubs his chin for a moment. “What’s a pound?”

You stare at him blankly for a good few moments before it dawns on you. You are going to have to explain a lot to Yondu when you get to Earth. There is so much that he still doesn’t know about.

“A pound is just a unit of measurement. It’s used in some countries to quantify how much something weighs. It’s directly related to Earth’s gravitational pull. You know as well as I do that something on Krylor wouldn’t weigh the same as it would on Xandar, right?

“Yeah, I know that. But pounds is just what ya’ll call it?” He asks.

“Well…in some places. In others they might measure weight a little differently. But that’s a whole other conversation for another time. How about I just show you a horse when we get to Earth?” You chuckle.

“Sounds like a plan ta me. But anyway, what I came down here for was ta ask ya if ya wanted to play cards with me and the boys?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s already getting kind of late, and I don’t know how to play.”

Yondu stands up from where he’s sitting and approaches you. He steps behind you and gently gathers your hair to one side of your neck. He bends down to place light, seductive kisses up and down your neck before murmuring in your ear, “Come on baby, I ain’t seen ya all day. It’ll just be a few hands, and I wanna show you off to my men for a while. Show ‘em what’s mine.” He continues to kiss you along the length of your neck, and he begins to pull your sleeve down your shoulder to taste a little bit more of your skin. You can’t stop your breaths from coming in deeper and slower. Yondu never fails to make you melt in his hands.

“Alright, alright. You talked me into it. But that mouth of yours just isn’t fair. You cheated and you know it!”

Yondu laughs and gives you a smug grin as he points to himself, “Uhh, Ravager? Not to mention, I’m a Ravager Captain. I see somethin’ I want, and I take it. Including you.” He tugs you closer by your waist and kisses you hard and heavy.

You pull away after a few moments and ask, “Okay, so do you want to get some or go play cards? I’m not sure that we have time for both.”

He growls in annoyance at your point. “Damn. Ya might be right. Let’s go.”

~~~

You both sit down at the poker table in the ship’s bar with Yondu, Kraglin, Oblo, Tullk, and Geff. These guys have honestly become your closest friends, and you were happy to have a drink with them and learn to play card games. You were learning a Xandarian game that is similar to Black Jack, except there’s more suits and the cards are octogons. It’s a little confusing at first, but you catch on pretty quick. A few hands in, Tullk asks you if you’re excited to see Terra again.

“Yeah! I can’t wait to see the trees and breathe in the air. I miss our sunsets and forests. I miss the songs the birds sing. I miss the smell of the rain. But I think I miss our blue skies even more.” You smile softly and glance over at Yondu. He smiles back and offers you a quick wink as he takes a swig of his beer. He pulls you closer to him with one firm tug on your seat, and throws his arm over the back of your chair.

“Sounds like a neat place to me!” Geff chimes in as he looks over his hand.

“Got any idea of what your plan might be? What are you gonna do first?” Oblo asks.

“Well…I guess I’ll try to find my mom first. I think she would still live in the same place. I can’t imagine she would move. It’s only been a few years. Then once I find her, I’ll get in touch with my sister. But when it comes to introducing them to Yondu – well, I think I’m gonna have to explain a few things first. Ease them into it. Ya know? I know a place where Yondu can lay low until everything is calmed down. Being kidnapped by an alien race and then shipped out all over the galaxy isn’t going to be easy to explain.” You rub your temple lightly. It didn’t occur to you just how much of a shock your return might be.

“So Tullk, have you ever thought about going back?” You ask, hoping it’s an innocent enough question.

“Nah, not me lass. There isn’t anythin’ left fer me on our planet. I’m happy here with the crew. Mah life back on Terra was a little rough. Got in with some men who were less than savory. Joined Yondu’s crew an’ never looked back.”

The rest of the game you listen to Kraglin and Oblo’s banter back and forth, and wonder to yourself what kind of people Tullk got involved with. You figure that some things are better left unsaid, and as long and he’s happy here, that’s enough for you. Once the game is over, Kraglin gets the cards together and everyone heads in for the night. As you’re walking toward the door, Yondu grabs your hand.

“Hey honey, me ‘n Krags are gonna go over a few things around the ship fer when you and I leave tomorrow. I’ll meet you back at ma quarters?”

“Sure thing, but don’t be too long.” You stand on your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek, and head toward the Captain’s quarters.

~~~

You’re playing your list of songs on your personal playlist while you pack for the trip. You find out that there are thousands of songs you hadn’t listened to yet. You had no idea at first, but these data devices Kraglin uses have seemingly endless storage. You were getting a little buzzed, having gotten into Yondu’s whiskey stash at his minibar. A little celebration was in order since you were going back to Earth with Yondu. You were dancing hazily to Fantasy by Mariah Carey. Yondu walks back toward his cabin door, hears some muffled song and smirks to himself. As quietly as possible, he opens the door to find you dancing drunkenly to the music. He enters the room and you don’t even notice his presence as you continue to dance and sing. He creeps into the room and sits down in his recliner, interested in just watching you.

As much of a goofy drunk as you are, he smiles to himself. You might just be the best thing that ever happened to me, girl.  

The song changes over to Love On The Brain by Rhianna. Although your playlist has a ton of different songs, music was something that always resonated with you, and you liked almost anything. With the lyrics of the song carrying you away, you feel large, warm hands on your hips as you sway to the music. Immediately knowing who is feeling you up, you lean into his body and he begins to sway with you. He brings his lips to your neck and kisses you slowly. His lips kiss and part from your neck over and over, and it makes your core ache as warmth spreads through your limbs. Letting go, you fall into him even more, surrendering yourself to him. His hands begin to wander over your body, feeling your hips and thighs. You let out a few breathy moans, and your knees grow weak. While still facing away from him, you bring up your arms and wrap them around his neck as he teases your ear with his tongue. He notices that his bottle of Krylorian Whiskey is almost half empty, and you are way past buzzed at this point.

Baby you got me like ah, woo, ah Don't you stop loving me (loving me) Don't quit loving me (loving me) Just start loving me (loving me)

Oh, and baby I'm fist fighting with fire Just to get close to you Can we burn something, babe? And I run for miles just to get a taste Must be love on the brain That's got me feeling this way (feeling this way) It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain yeah And it keeps cursing my name (cursing my name) No matter what I do, I'm no good without you And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain

The beat carries you both to his bed and he continues his loving assault on your torso and neck. At this point, the room is spinning a little, and the next thing you see is a gorgeous blue chest, and your captains’ pants slowly being undone. You are more than frisky, and the second his pants come undone, you dive into him. He doesn’t have a chance to argue, as his cock is already making its way into your mouth. He groans in response, and finds a fistful of your hair. The alcohol in your veins gives you some kind of super power and your skills with his manhood are already blowing his mind. He peers down at you with his head tilted to the side, groaning at the sensation you’re giving him. All of that whiskey has made your gag reflex vanish, and you can take him deep into your throat. He watches intently as his cock disappears into your mouth and he moans loudly. You continue to blow him out of his mind for a while longer, polishing the head every now and again. You hear him speak up, “Baby girl, I’m gonna cum if ya don’t stop.”

You look up him momentarily, roll your eyes with pleasure and moan on his cock. You’ve got him exactly where you want him. In a few more minutes, he spits out a string of curses at the intensity of his orgasm. “Oh, fuckin’ hell – yes! Shit….mmmhmm.” He pushes his raging hard cock as deep into your mouth as you can stand, and cums down your throat. You slowly slide his cock out of your mouth, and sensually lick the tip clean.

“It’s even better than I expected.” You smirk up at him. His cum tastes wildly different than a human’s. It isn’t bitter at all. It’s still slightly salty, but it’s also a little sweet and nutty. The taste was completely unexpected, and you almost couldn’t believe it. You tease his sensitive cock with your tongue to make it jump. “Oh, fuck. Ya might be more than I can handle when you drink like that.” He huffs out a laugh and collapses on the bed. “Alright, yer turn sugar.”

“No, it’s okay. I just wanted to make you feel good. I want to show you how much you mean to me. I don’t need anything. This was more than enough for me.” You kiss him lovingly, and snuggle into his side.

“I love you y/n. Ya really are an amazin’ woman. A damn whiskey bandit, but amazin’.”

~~~

The next morning, Yondu is still in bed with you. He wakes you up slightly by wrapping his strong arms around you and he pulls you as close as he can. You never thought in a million years that Yondu would be a cuddler, but in the privacy of his cabin he usually turned into a huge teddy bear.

“Good morning, handsome.” You mumble.

“Mornin’, sugar. Guess what?” He asks.

“What?”

“Today’s the day.” He says as he gently rubs your legs.

You push up on your arms quickly and look around the room. Today’s the day?! Oh my gosh, today’s the day!” You jump out of bed and start to get undressed.

“Woah, wait a minute! Where you goin’? We’ve got all day, slow down girl. Come ‘ere.” He beckons you back to him before you can get your t-shirt and sweats all the way off. You smile and crawl back into bed with your captain. “I wanna spend a little more time with ma woman before we head out. It’s gonna be a long flight, and who knows how long we might hafta be apart while you get your family stuff sorted out.” He pulls you close, and you happily snuggle into his warm embrace. Yondu is the warmest, and most incredible big spoon ever. His warmth is amazing, his body is so firm and strong. His hands engulf your torso almost completely. Absentmindedly, you rub your hands along his arms as he holds you.

“I love you.” These are the only words you can come up with, and yet they barely capture your feelings for him.

“I love you too, honey.” He takes in a deep breath and sighs. Yondu is trying his best to keep his worries at bay. He’s going to take up as much time as he can with you, which is why he wants to be so cuddly. It’s almost as if he’s afraid that you could vanish from his embrace. Today was not going to be an easy one for him. The uncertainty is maddening.

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt.3

Part One, Part Two, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Longer one this time! As always, let me know if you want to get tagged in the next part.)

—————————-

“I hate this,” you whined, as Garcia pulled you through the crowded streets, “why didn’t we drive straight to the office, again?”

“Because, my little Grumpy Gus, you look like you barely slept, and this place has the best coffee in the city.” She promised, giving your arm a squeeze.

You grumbled under your breath, but didn’t complain, letting Garcia ply you with endless cups of coffee.

“Are we getting for the whole team?” You asked, your mind drifting to your late night message to Spencer.

Garcia paused, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, “Yeeeeees, why?”

You shrugged, “I was just asking. No need to read into anything.”

“This is about Spencer, I can tell. Spill it.”

You groaned, letting your head thump down onto the table, “How do you do that?”

“I’m a veritable fountain of knowledge, Y/N, you know this,” she teased, “plus I speak fluent Y/N, especially the little known Spencer Reid dialect.”

“Witch!” You said accusingly, “You’re a witch!”

“You flatter me,” she winked, tapping your forearm, “now spill it.”

You sighed, taking another sip of your coffee, “It’s nothing, I just-I messaged him, alright?”

“You did what?”

“I messaged him! And it was stupid and he didn’t even respond, so it’s not important.” You explained, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Penelope gasped, “He didn’t respond?”

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing, look-“

You took out your phone and glanced briefly at the screen, frowning when you spotted the notification from the night before. You swiped up, your eyes tracing his response. Something in your stomach pinched.

“Huh.”

“What?” Penelope asked, “What is it? You’re legally obligated to tell me, it’s in the rules.”

“He-uh-“ you stared at the screen, still frowning, “he responded. I must’ve fallen asleep…”

“Ooohhh my gosh, what does it say? What did you say? Is it romantic?”

You pressed your lips together, your mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour as you try to figure exactly what Spencer meant by “I did.”.

“It’s-“ you shook your head, “I don’t know really.”

Something in your tone must’ve let on how conflicted you were feeling because Penelope let the matter slide, just giving your arm a comforting squeeze.

“Let’s get to work, Sugar,” she said, standing and extending her hand for you to hold, “we’ve got crimes to solve.”

You gave her a weak smile but let her pull you to your feet, trying to force your mind away from Spencer and back onto your case.

“That we do, Garcia, that we do.”

——————————-

“We come bearing gifts,” Garcia announced as she pushed open the door to the BAU, “sustenance in the form of sweet, sweet caffeine.”

Your eyes instantly flew to Spencer, giving him a weak smile which, to your intense relief, he returned. You also noticed, with a rush of fondness, that he’d kept your side of the desk clear.

“Garcia you’re an angel,” Emily smiled, pushing away from her desk to accept a cup.

“Speaking of angels,” you sighed, carrying a cup of coffee flavored sugar over to Spencer and taking your seat next to him, “have we got an ID on our victim yet?”

“Marcus Wilcox,” Spencer said, flipping open the file closest to you, “25 year old drug addict and male prostitute. He went missing two weeks ago and was reported missing by his best friend.”

You glanced over at the picture of the man whose body had been left in your bookstore and felt the familiar pang of sorrow in your chest. There was always going to be another one, another life cut short, another dead son or daughter who’s family would grieve their loss for years. It was enough to put a damper on anyone’s morning.

You could feel eyes on you, heavy and questioning and you found you couldn’t look up to meet their gaze.

“Anything unusual in the M.E.’s report?” You asked, still avoiding the eyes.

“All the mutilation was done postmortem, so that rules out sadism as a motive,” JJ suggested, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully.

“High levels of caffeine in the blood too,” Emily pointed out, “and…” she pressed her lips together.

“What, Em?” You asked.

She looked up at you nervously, something like sympathy in her eyes as she said, “Biscuits, in his stomach. They found brown butter biscuits and coffee in his stomach.”

Your blood froze and you felt a rush of nausea. You put your cup down, suddenly not thirsty anymore.

“Is...that significant, somehow?” Hotch asked, his perpetual frown firmly in place.

“They’re the best sellers at Y/N’s coffee shop,” Spencer said, something off in his voice, “she sells them fresh every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

You looked over, shocked, and noticed that Spencer was working his jaw, like he was angry, his one hand curled into a fist under his chin. You itched to reach out and touch his forearm, like you once would have, but you restrained yourself.

“What the hell is this guy doing?” Emily asked, “Why go through all this trouble to personalize the crime? What’s driving him?”

“It’s gotta be erotomania, right?” Morgan asked, “Someone’s trying to get Y/N’s attention.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you insisted, frustrated with having the same conversation again and again, “stalkers don’t start off with an elaborate and expertly executed murder. If it was erotomania, why not call first, or email or leave notes at my apartment? There’s been no build up to this sort of violence.”

“Plus, the victim has no connection to Y/N,” Spencer pointed out, “erotomaniacs want to reinforce their supposed devotion to the object of their affection, if he wanted to do that he would’ve picked someone Y/N knew, like an ex-boyfriend or an enemy of some kind.”

“Some who he thinks Y/N would actually want dead,” Emily agreed.

“Reid and Y/L/N are right, there’s something more to this, something we’ve missed,” Hotch said, “Garcia, I want you to go through everything you can find about Marcus Wilcox and see if he came into Y/N’s store at all. Maybe he’s a customer who was rude and offended the UnSub. After that, comb through Y/L/N’s life again; old friends, high school classmates, college professors, agents she worked with on cases, anyone who could have formed an attachment and been stalking her without us knowing.”

Garcia paled under her Barbie pink lipstick, “Sir, I-“

“It’s fine, Garcia,” you assured, giving her a soft smile, “I’ve got nothing to hide. You’ll have to get permission from the CIA to access some of my case files though, there’s some sensitive data in those.”

“I’ll call the director myself,” Hotch said, “that’ll expedite the process.”

“But, sir, sorting through all that data could take weeks,” you pointed out, “what do we do in the meantime?”

Hotch pressed his lips together, and you sighed, sensing his next words before they even came out of his mouth.

“We work cases, as usual,” he said, “Y/N, yours will still be our priority but, until we get a new lead…”

“We’re stuck.” You finished. You breathed in, trying to calm your restless nerves, and pushed yourself up, “Well, it was lovely seeing you guys again, but I guess that’s my cue.”

“What?” Spencer said, sitting up suddenly, “No, Y/N you can’t just leave, if there’s someone out there delusional enough to do this to get your attention then it’s not safe.”

“I’m with Boy Wonder,” Garcia agreed, shooting you an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, Sugar Plum but this whole thing is just icky and gross and I’d feel much better knowing you were here.”

You looked around, but we’re met with a wall of concerned faces. You wanted to scream. Nothing about this situation was fair. You hated feeling helpless, it was why you’d joined the FBI in the first place and, ultimately, why you’d left.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do while we wait for a lead?” You asked, “I can’t go home, I can’t go back to work, I can’t just sit here all day until my assigned babysitter for the night is free.”

“You could join us on cases,” Hotch said simply, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re still officially an agent so you’re cleared to be in the field.”

Spencer and Emily sucked in a breath in unison, and you shut your eyes. Shit.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Emily asked, “You never actually resigned?”

You shot her a sheepish look, “I meant to! I did! It was just,” you shrugged, “at first I wanted the safety blanket in case normal life didn’t work out and, once it did, I just-“ you trailed off.

Truth be told, you didn’t know why you’d never left. It was really only one document that you needed to sign, it would take less than three minutes to complete, there was nothing stopping you. You’d even filled it out once or twice but, for some reason, you always stopped before actually submitting it.

You shot a nervous look at Spencer, who was determinedly avoiding looking at anything except a particular patch of empty air, and sighed.

“So...what does that mean?” Morgan asked, “You’re back on the team?”

“Agent Y/L/N has technically been on an extended sabbatical for the past year,” Hotch explained, “ideally we would be able to keep her on in an advisory capacity while we work her case but, with her safety being such an issue, for the time being, yes, she’s back on the team.”

——————————-

You collapsed into your old seat on the jet, exhaustion weighing you down like a ton of bricks. It had taken almost no time for Hotch and Garcia to brief you on the team’s newest case and, before you could even pack a proper Go-Bag, you were wheels up and on your way to Tampa Bay. It was a fairly standard case, or as standard as it got for the BAU at least, and it had only taken three days to catch the guy, but it had still taken the life right out of you. Hotch had noticed your distress and sent you ahead to the jet with Rossi while the rest of the team finished packing up. On the one hand you resented being treated like a child, on the other….well, you were exhausted.

Rossi sat down across the aisle from you, handing you a mug of warm hot chocolate, which you accepted gratefully. He raised his eyebrows in that grandfatherly way, like he was asking you a question, and you smiled.

“What?” You asked, “I can tell you’re thinking something.”

“You love this” he said simply.

“Love it?” You laughed incredulously, “Rossi I haven’t been this tired since I spent three full days setting up my shop. I’m exhausted.”

“And you love it,” he insisted, “I can see that Evil Genius sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours.” He gestured at your face and you smiled, “Not that I blame you. Catching killers tends to be more exciting than baking cookies.”

“Hey, I thought you loved it when I made cookies!” You complained, whacking his hand away in mock outrage, “You said they were your favorite!”

“They are, I’m just making a simple observation, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” you said suspiciously.

“Here’s another one; there’s tension between you and the Good Doctor,” he continued.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t disagree, letting your mind wander back to the last three days. After Hotch’s little announcement to the team, things had been...odd with Spencer. Actually, you couldn’t be sure that was the catalyst, for all you knew things could’ve been weird before that but, now it was just impossible to miss. He would bounce between avoiding you like the plague and actively seeking out your company; sitting next to you at dinner one minute and then purposely standing as far away as possible the next minute. It sucked. It sucked and it hurt your feelings and it was confusing, so there was no point in denying it to Rossi.

“I just wish he’d talk to me, you know?” You said, “Or yell, or shout or something. Like, if you’re angry then be angry. At least then we could talk it out, but this-“ you shook your head, “I hate it.”

“Ah, kid,” Rossi commiserated, patting your knee comfortingly, “I don’t think he’s angry, and that’s probably part of the problem.” You looked up, confused, and Rossi continued, “If he was angry, things would be a lot simpler. Like you said, you could just yell for a bit, and then it’d be over. No, I think Spencer’s just hurt and confused. He blames himself for you leaving and, now that you’re back, he’s happy, but he feels guilty about being happy because you’re in danger.” He explained, “It’s a confusing time for him, for you both.”

You sat up, “Wait why would he blame himself for me leaving?”

Rossi looked down, like he was thinking hard but, before he could say anything, you heard footsteps and the rest of your team boarded the jet. You shot Rossi a look that said “we’ll finish this later”, and then turned away, smiling at your friends.

“Hey,” you greeted, letting Morgan ruffle your hair.

JJ gave you a small smile, but your eyes went straight to Spencer, Rossi’s words bouncing around inside your head. To your surprise, he collapsed into the seat beside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I-uh-I was hoping we could talk.”

Your heart leapt, but you tried to keep your face neutral as you answered, “Sure thing, Reid. What about? The case?”

“Actually,” he said, his voice still low, “I wanted to talk about you.”

You pressed your lips together, but nodded, following Spencer’s lead and leaning in to avoid being overheard as your team settled in for the flight home.

Spencer was silent for a moment, like he was thinking, and then, “Why didn’t you resign? I thought you wanted out.”

“I did, or I thought I did. Reid, when I first left I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I guess I wanted to be able to come back if things went wrong.” You explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You paused for a moment, “Spence-“

His breath hitched in his throat, “The first time, when you were thinking about leaving. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-“ you sighed, the exhaustion rolling over you like a river, “I didn’t want to worry you until I was sure and then, after that….” you shrugged, “it all happened so fast. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, like he understood, and you watched some of the tension leech out of his body. For the first time he met your eye, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He said.

“Spence you’ve got nothing to-“

“I do,” he interrupted, “I promised you that we’d always be best friends and then, after you left, I just stopped trying.”

You were conflicted. Some part of you had been longing to hear this for months, ever since the texts, visits and calls had stopped out of the blue but, now that you were actually hearing it, it just made you sad.

“You did try,” you reminded him, “you came to the store a few times, helped me organize my books.”

He shook his head, “Not often enough. It just-it just got so hard, you know? Seeing you every weekend and knowing you weren’t going to be there when I got to work the next day,” he explained, his voice cracking, “watching you have this whole life outside of us, it just started to feel like maybe I didn’t fit-maybe we didn’t fit.” He gestured to the team, “And I thought maybe you were better off-“ he trailed off.

“Hey,” you cut in, reaching out and covering his hand with yours, “hey, listen to me. You guys are my family. You’ll always be my family, no matter what happens. I’m sorry you ever felt like anything else was even possible. I could never be better off without you guys.”

The hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth, and he squeezed your hand gently.

“If it’s okay,” he said, still smiling hopefully, “I’d really like for us to be friends again. I know I broke a solemn oath but, if you’ll trust me, I’ll never let it happen again, I promise.”

Your smile felt so wide that it hurt your cheeks as you pulled him into a hug, savoring the way he chuckled as he hugged you back.

“Of course, Spence,” you smiled, still holding him close, “of course.”

“God, I missed you,” he admitted into your neck, “no one else pretends to care about Star Trek as well as you do.”

You laughed and let him go, feeling the distance that had formed over the last year vanishing bit by bit.

“I’ve missed you too, Doctor Reid.” You said, “But, I’ll admit, I haven’t missed the Star Trek talk as much.”

“None of us miss the Star Trek talk,” Derek said, making you both jump, “honestly, I miss not knowing about Star Trek.”

“Preach,” JJ agreed, “Y/N/N, I know you’re in charge of what we watch tonight but I’m begging you, please pick something made for adults? I’ve been watching nothing but Marvel and Disney for months.”

“But I love Disney,” Emily complained.

“Rest assured,” Rossi interrupted, “it’s my entertainment system and I don’t even have any Disney.”

“You have Lord of The Rings though, right?” Spencer asked.

You watched your team bicker amongst themselves, laughing like you hadn’t laughed in months. Being together like this was like a healing balm for your frayed nerves, bringing you back to a place of calm, like you’d just come home from a long trip. In the back of your mind, you knew there was still work to be done, old wounds you needed to address and mysteries you needed to solve but, for now, you were just happy to be with your family. For now, this was enough.

—————————

Spencer felt like he was living in some sort of strange fever dream, like all his months of sulking had finally driven him mad and now he was physically imagining things as he helped you out of his car. Touching you always made him a little dizzy but, over the years that you’d worked together every day, he’d managed to build up a tolerance, a tolerance that was now almost completely gone. It had been months since everyone had agreed to have family dinner at Rossi’s, but now that you were back, he’d insisted. Spencer was on cloud nine. He had his best friend back and, for the first time since you’d left, things felt good again, like he was exactly where he should be.

As you sat around Rossi’s table, swapping stories and reminiscing over the past, Spencer had to fight to stop from staring at you. You were really there. He could reach out and touch you. If he called your name you would respond and your eyes would light up the way they always had, like he was the only person in the world you wanted to see. It was surreal. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew he was being selfish, that he shouldn’t want you to stay this time and he should be itching to find out who was stalking you so that you could go back to the life you’d built. But he wasn’t.

When JJ had gotten the call that you needed them, Spencer had thought his heart was going to implode from all the pent up longing he’d kept stored away. Seeing you hadn’t exactly improved things. He’d spent the entire day trying to hold himself together, unsure of how to act around you, playing through every single memory he’d been keeping repressed for all this time like it would somehow give him the answer. God, half the time he’d wanted to scream, the other half he’d wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go ever again. As his eyes traced the plains of your face, plains he’d memorized a million different times, he felt a flicker of that old flame burn in his chest, like the embers of a fire that had never really been put out, and he sighed.

“Hey, kid, where’s your head?” Morgan asked, his voice soft enough to avoid being overheard.

“Hmm? What?” Spencer replied, tearing his eyes away from you as you laughed at something Garcia said.

“Your head,” he repeated, where’s it at?”

Spencer thought for a minute, and then smiled, “I’m good. Really good, actually.”

Morgan nodded, a little too knowingly for Spencer’s liking, but let the matter drop. Just then, the unmistakable ping of Hotch’s cell cut through the late night air and, as if on cue, every eye in the house turned to face the sound. Hotch examined his phone, his frown deepening and sending shivers of worry up Spencer’s neck. He wanted to say something, to stop Hotch from giving them whatever horrible piece of news was on that phone, but he couldn’t. He just sat and waited, like everybody else.

“Hotch?” JJ eventually asked, her hand gripping yours, hard.

“They-uh-” Hotch started, showing a rare moment of nerves, “they found another note at Y/N’s apartment.”

Several people swore, Garcia whimpered, Derek slammed his fist against the table, but you just stared straight ahead, your face stony and unmoving. Spencer wanted to reach out, but he was frozen in place.

“What did it say?” You asked, “Is it another love poem?”

“No,” Hotch answered, “it’s a string of numbers; 29.07.15/18.01.14/38.8765.77.0006.”

“Reid, you got that?” Morgan asked, shooting him a look.

Spencer felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but he nodded, “I’ve got it.”

“But, that’s not all, is it?” Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head, “They found another body. This time in an empty storefront a few blocks away from Y/N’s apartment.”

“Probably the site I’d picked out for the second branch,” you supplied, “I just signed the deal three weeks ago.”

You buried your face in your hands, sighing as the atmosphere around the dinner table took a turn for the worst.

“Well,” Emily said, “Looks like we’ve got our lead.”

Hotch nodded, “Let’s get to work.”

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless​, @reidloversisforever​, @ashookykooky​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @shilohpug​, @tangerinenotions95​, @petitchatonbleu, @pirateismywayofspeaking​, @must-be-a-weasley-92​, @whovianayesha, @holding-on-to-my-youth​

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Arrival - Bit 2)

Prologue Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Well, these posts seem to be getting longer. I’m pondering if I should make them shorter and more often.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ @janetm74​ and @onereyofstarlight​ for their amazing support and who without putting up with my crazy this fic would likely not exist.

We are finally there and things can start happening. Wow, planning makes for longer fics apparently.

I hope you enjoy it ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

As the rest of the family exited the cockpit, Michael watched John deploy the last of the long chain of communication buoys into orbit around Callisto and held his breath.

The space monitor was frowning at his console as they both waited for that final connection to click into place.

A moment and John’s face relaxed.

And Michael with it.

His own board flashed up with a connection confirmed through the chained micro-tunnel drives.

John hit his comms. “Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Excel. Do you copy?”

They waited.

A heartbeat.

“Thunderbird Excel this is Tracy Island. Great to hear your voice, John.” Even Michael could hear the smile in Kayo’s voice. “I have a lot of green and pretty lights here. Send me the tests and I will bounce them back.”

“Sending now.” John’s fingers darted across his board and Michael watched the system take on the workload and churn data all the way back to Earth. “And I must say, Kayo, it is lovely to hear your voice, too.”

“Looking forward to hearing yours often. Data incoming. Will apprise results.”

“Looking forward to it, Thunderbird Excel out.” John’s fingers flicked again and the comms signal closed.

“Thunderbird Excel?” Michael arched an eyebrow at the astronaut.

John shrugged. “Well, I think she’s earned it now, don’t you?”

“Mmmm.” He looked back down at his board. The thought of having contributed to creating an actual Thunderbird...

He was startled when a shadow passed over his hands. “You’ve done well, Michael. Thank you.”

He looked up at the red-headed Tracy floating beside him. John was an enigma. He was a brother like any Tracy, but unlike the eldest who hated him with a passion that saw no border, John was quiet, even kind. Michael had been working alongside Brains and John and occasionally the youngest, for over a year now, and while he doubted he and John would ever be close friends, there was a mutual respect.

Plus, the distinct feeling that if Michael ever laid a finger on any of John’s brothers ever again, he would not survive the attempt.

It was definitely the quiet ones who should be worried about.

Not to mention Eos.

Michael really wished he could get his hands on that piece of code.

But again, he felt that it would be his last action in this universe.

Not that John had ever threatened him.

He didn’t need to.

“Are you feeling okay?” Turquoise eyes were peering down at him.

“I am well. No need to worry.”

The astronaut smiled. “Good. Monitor the comm network and liaise with Brains regarding the T-Drive’s performance. Let’s see if we can cut down on the jumps on the way back. I’d prefer to go through as little of the nausea as possible.”

“Agreed.”

John arched an eyebrow and his lips curled up. “I’ll be in Thunderbird Five assessing the danger zone and coordinating with Thunderbird Three.”

“FAB.”

The astronaut stared at him for just an extra moment longer before pushing off Michael’s console and throwing himself towards the cockpit exit.

“Thank you, John.”

A flicker of a smile and the last Tracy disappeared through the door, leaving Michael alone.

-o-o-o-

Virgil hated the IR spacesuits. They were far too tight and left nothing to the imagination.

Also, the red baldrics clashed horribly with his green stripe enough to rip his eyeballs out.

But although his standard uniform was satisfactory for short forays into space, it was not enough for a space mission of this magnitude as it did not have the survival and safety mechanisms needed in an emergency. So, here he was dressed like some kind of spandex wearing superhero, his heavy lifting muscles providing a great anatomy lesson to any within eyesight.

“Looking good, Virg.” Gordon’s eyes were laughing.

“Shut up, Fish.” The aquanaut was used appearing all but naked in front of thousands. Hell, Virgil had nothing to be ashamed of, it was just difficult to keep a straight face in a professional capacity.

How the hell John lived in one of these things was a mystery Virgil had no interest in exploring.

The alternative was wearing something like Alan’s spacesuit, but that had its own issues regarding his exosuit and despite the...exposure, this was the best option.

At least he had a little security with the addition of his exosuit support padding and his harness – never leave home without it. That and his baldric covered a little of his modesty.

Didn’t stop his brothers’ comments though.

Alan actually snorted in laughter.

Scott raised an eyebrow, but then their commander was dressed the same and, much like John, was giving the Greek gods a run for their money in the process.

Virgil felt like a dwarf from The Lord of the Rings. What was his name? Gam? Gim? Gimli? Standing next to that bleached elf.

Virgil grunted. “Let’s do this, already.”

Okay, the grin on Scott’s face was both worth it and damned annoying.

Dad had chosen a version similar to Alan’s suit. Due to his health concerns, Virgil had recommended extra support with arm guards and greaves built into his boots. He had glared at Virgil, but Virgil was a Tracy and just as stubborn as his father and if he wanted to go on this mission he could damn well meet him halfway.

Dad wore the protection.

They had Uncle Lee’s ‘space skivvies’ measurements on file and the IR fabricators had churned out an IR uniform echoing their father’s. Considering the astronaut’s skillset, Virgil had coloured his baldric stripe as green as his own and thrown in some of his own kit.

The colour combination still ripped out eyeballs.

Thunderbird Three was nestled into the Excel much like she had been into the XL, but higher up, leaving the massive thrusters behind her and nestling instead of providing the main superstructure of the craft.

To compensate for the loss of One and Two, the Excel now had a third engine on her dorsal plane to offset the two massive pectoral lightspeed engines. Together the three engines provided the huge ion thrust needed to propel them vast distances. And when the T-Drive was required, the third would go dark, the original two engines would flare up and give him his next case of nausea.

Three still connected with Five for extra stability, but she was no longer mandatory for the Excel. Where the XL had basically been an exosuit for Three to break the lightspeed barrier, the Excel was now more Five’s exosuit as she was the one Thunderbird the Excel needed to operate at her best.

Johnny’s ‘bird now had wings.

Very, very big ones.

The cockpit was crowded but quiet as Alan smoothly disengaged Three from the bigger craft, spinning her in space and pointing her towards the moon.

Virgil shifted in his suit, uncomfortable as hell. Not enough to be world ending, but annoying. Beside him, his father glanced in his direction with a concerned frown.

“Are you okay, son?”

That, of course, prompted an equally concerned frown from Scott in front of him.

“I’m fine.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he could live with the suit. His arm was still aching and his stomach had yet to forgive him despite the food he had shoved into it, but he could probably get away with that.

The worst of it was the lack of sleep.

Scott’s eyes were far too knowing.

The medic in him knew that they were going into a potentially dangerous situation. Hell, they were in space right now, not exactly Tracy Island’s pool patio for relaxation. They needed to be alert and ready.

He had tried to sleep. He had sent all of his brothers to nap during the voyage out here. But he doubted any of them managed much.

He certainly hadn’t.

Scott knew because Virgil could see it reflected in those blue eyes of his. He still looked worn, though he tried to hide it, ever the professional.

Dad.

Dad was still looking at him with questioning eyes.

Virgil sighed. “I’m just tired. I can manage.”

Those lips pressed together, obviously displeased.

Typical.

His father was so like Scott in so many ways that having both of them to contend with on this mission was going to send Virgil grey.

It was okay for them to go out on a limb, risk their lives for the greater good, but if someone they cared about did the same, they were all worry and you can’t do that.

As if to emphasize that thought, his father’s frown fixated on Scott. Virgil followed his gaze, but from his angle could only see the back of his brother’s head.

Another glance at his father and the concern was clearly there.

Perhaps something was starting to sink into Dad’s head. Maybe he was realising what he was risking.

Who he was risking.

Three shook a little as she breached the minimal atmosphere of the moon. Alan was muttering orbital calculations. Each large planetary body was different and required a catered approach.

The Base had sent vectors and the conditions that constituted ‘weather’ on the barren moon, but there were many firsts in this mission and this was one of them.

For the benefit of the rest of them, Alan threw up a hologram of their approach.

The massive crater known as Asgard swelled on the screen. It was very bright, even in the weak sunlight. Probably ice. To the north of it lay an even brighter splash of white, rays extending out across the heavily cratered surface for miles.

As they sank, the horizon formed in a sharper curve than Virgil was used to. Sharper than Mars which was the only other planetary body beyond Earth’s Moon Virgil had ever set foot on.

“There it is.” Alan, ever enthusiastic in his element, pointed out a spot quickly growing on the display. “Callisto Base.”

It was a white cross with a massive airlock at its centre. Surrounding the arms of the cross was machinery, storage tanks and energy production facilities. It shone ever so bright, like a blunted star plastered on the side of the moon.

As they drew closer, the Tracy Industries logo could be seen branded across the airlock doors.

The base was a massive endeavour. Almost entirely underground taking advantage of a small crater in the Doh crater wall, it had capped the landform and sealed off the space creating a series of caverns to house the transport ships moving between the Base and the Jefferson or any other destination they chose.

Entirely self-sufficient, TI’s hydrogen technology gave it power, TI’s heavy duty excavation equipment gave them the power to dig the base out of the rock and ice. It had helped to find unexpected caves under the surface. All and all the Base was a robust structure, protecting its fifty-odd inhabitants from the hazards of living on an exposed and radiated moon.

“Callisto Base, Thunderbird Three requesting permission to dock.” Virgil was suddenly irrationally proud of his little brother.

Commander Walters answered immediately. “Permission granted Thunderbird Three. Hold in the airlock for repressurisation and permission to proceed.”

“FAB, Callisto Base.”

“One of these days, Jeff, you are going to tell me what that means.”

Both Alan and their father snorted.

As they approached, the big airlock doors slowly began to open, splitting the TI logo in half. The hologram stayed fixed on their destination, but Three pivoted her nose to the darkness of the sky bringing the ever-hovering presence of Jupiter back into view through Three’s windows. Alan flicked a wrist and the Thunderbird started lowering into what was now a gaping maw below.

Three slipped into the airlock and the doors closed behind them.

-o-o-o-

Alan was a professional, but he had to admit that he was internally bouncing around in joy. The air was still thick with tension, his family caught up in this thing with Dad, but Alan was doing his best to ignore it and focus on his job.

And oh my god, he was landing on his second moon of Jupiter! This had to be a first. He could go down in history as the first person to land on several moons, another planet and multiple random comets and asteroids.

Okay, so Virg and Scott had been with him, even Gordon on Europa – that had been one hell of a mission that still gave him both dreams and nightmares – but he had been the only one to land on all of them.

Alan Tracy, astronaut extraordinaire. He couldn’t help but grin as the airlock repressurised and the Callisto Commander finally gave him permission to land.

He slowed his ‘bird to a perfect touchdown as the secondary airlock doors closed above him.

He killed her engines and let her begin her cool down sequence.

The whole cockpit sighed a little in relief. A pause as if to reset and then everyone was moving.

-o-o-o-

Gray Walters rubbed the back of his neck as Thunderbird Three coasted smoothly from the decontaminating airlock into the main hangar. The pilot of that ‘bird had to be a Tracy. The huge red rocket barely fit nose to tail with only inches to spare between the two massive sets of doors. After all, they had never expected such a large craft needing to dock.

He had Kate to thank for arguing the hangar’s size...with Ju backing her up as usual.

The thought of his wife froze him for a split second. Ju was going to be okay. Jeff was here now. He had always been their good luck charm. Hell, the guy had survived eight years in space alone. Ju could manage a few days.

Couldn’t she?

“She’s docked.” Mary, his second, looked up from her station. “Shall I shunt her into a bay?”

“Leave her in central for now. We’re not going anywhere and they may need to leave in a hurry.”

“That will piss Benji off.”

“Benji can stew. His team still has a week left of their Jefferson rotation.”

“He will cite regs.”

Gray turned away. Let him cite regs. “This is an emergency and takes priority.” He sighed. “Run decon in the central core. Anyone not crucial to this operation is to steer clear of International Rescue. Lock off environmental systems. Keep the two crews contained to keep the risk of contamination as low as possible. We can’t afford an accidental bug in the system.”

“Will do.” She paused before bringing up the topic he knew she would. “What about Jeremiah?”

“What about him?”

“You need to tell them.”

“One thing at a time, Mary.”

“But-“

“First we find Kate and Ju.” He swallowed. They had to find Ju.

They had to.

-o-o-o-

Stepping onto a new world was never as grand as it appeared. Hell, landing on Mars for the first time had been a trip over his own toes’ moment.

Stepping onto Callisto was no different.

It was Scott who grabbed him before he could flip head over heels across the gantry. Changes in gravity always took time to get used to and less than twenty-four hours ago, it had been Earth oppressive.

Callisto gravity was a relief…if a little disorientating.

His eldest’s strong grip wrapped around his arm and held tight. Jeff looked over at Scott and was pinned with such worried bright blue eyes that his heart clenched.

All the tension, the argument, the resistance to his presence on this mission boiled down to the emotion in those eyes.

Love.

And fear.

Scott was terrified.

Jeff did it without thought or care for what anyone would think. He grabbed his son and yanked him into a hug, holding him close. The squawk across comms and the scrape of their helmets against each other did nothing to stop him.

“I’m sorry, son.”

“Uh...”

Scott’s arms wrapped around him, ever so hesitantly.

That hesitation hurt almost as much.

He clung that much tighter.

“Dad?” It was breathless.

He clung a second longer, but… Yes...right.

It was a moment stolen.

Because they were on a mission.

Jeff let Scott go.

His son pulled away slowly, not quite fully releasing him, and again those blue eyes were fixated on him in worry.

So much worry.

“You okay, Dad?”

Jeff straightened with more ease than he had managed in a long time and became aware of all the other eyes on him.

The ever-present echoes of Lucille’s beautiful brown eyes were assessing him. That was a given. But another two pairs of blue and a frowning fishy amber had him targeted as well.

He looked at each of them before turning back to the massive cavern around them. A mix of rock wall, structural support and storage, the docking cavern was lit with strong lighting, the red of Three reflecting on patches of frozen water embedded in the walls.

They were standing on a walkway that had been extended out to Three’s hatch. It was obviously of variable height and length and Jeff couldn’t help but admire the design.

He wondered who was responsible.

He wondered if it was Kate.

Her green eyes smiled at him at the back of his mind.

His lips pressed together as his sons and brother-in-law continued to shoot concerned expressions in his direction.

A breath.

“Let’s do this.” And he led them out and into Callisto Base.

-o-o-o-

Next

[toxictemplar]

The Church of a Loving God - Eaters of the Dead

Genre: Horror

Word Count: 5,558

Synopsis: In the grim darkness of the far future, countless billions toil and suffer to keep the wheels of the imperial war machine turning. The God Emperor demands blind obedience and the only reward is a brutal death. In the dark corners of this world, among the teeming masses of humanity, Jocasta Theta will find something more; a life worth living, and a god worth believing in.

Content Notes: Cannibalism, Police Brutality

Author's Note: A massive thank you to daddyfuckinlonglegs for all their help and advice, and for motivating me to get back into writing. Jocasta's story will continue in chapter two, 'Love in a Dark Millennium'!

AO3 Link: The Church of a Loving God

The day started with bells. Jocasta opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling of the bunk house, counting the chimes. Three, four, five, then a raspy, mechanical voice crackled out from the vox caster.

“Theta shift, wake up. Theta shift, wake up. You have one hour before your work begins. Thought for the day; only in death is duty's debt repaid.”

There was a short hiss of static as the vox switched off. Jocasta lay in her bunk for a moment and tried not to think about the crushing heat. The ventilation system for her hab-block had been broken for a month; every night she prayed to the Emperor to send one of his red priests to fix it, and every morning she woke up drenched in sweat. No point dwelling on it though.

She got up and pulled her overalls out from under the bed. Her tiny section of the room was separated from the rest by a threadbare blanket hanging from a string, and as she got dressed she could hear the rustling of nineteen other people doing the same. They were all theta shift, but none of them were part of her work gang. She'd barely spoken to any of them in the three years she'd lived here.

Still, she thought as she pulled the blanket aside, there was no reason to be unfriendly. She gave a smile and a nod to each of them as she made her way to the door. Some of them smiled back. Some of them didn't. All of them looked tired.

The door was jammed, like it had been every morning since the ventilation broke, but it swung open after a few sharp kicks. Jocasta breathed deep as she stepped out into the cavernous, and relatively cool, expanse of transit tunnel forty-one. It was a vast, diagonal shaft formed of buttressed rockcrete walls lined with dozens of metal walkways, all of them bustling with people heading to, or from, their allocated workplace. The steeply sloping floor of the tunnel was covered by rails, along which cargo pallets were constantly moving, and the ceiling was festooned with pipes, cables, and dim, flickering glow-globes which cast the hubbub below in shades of orange and amber.

Jocasta was vaguely aware that there was a universe outside the tunnel – the mountainous hive-city of Gloriana Aeterna stretching up for miles above her, a planet outside, and thousands of planets beyond – but she would never see them. This tunnel, and the chambers branched off from it, had been her whole world since the day she was born. Her little corner of the imperium.

As she made her way down the walkway she scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Most days that search was fruitless, but this was a lucky day. Through the throngs of shuffling figures she spotted an unruly shock of blonde hair, and with a little pushing and shoving she got close enough to recognise the pale, lanky man it was attached to. Exactly who she'd been hoping to see. Surreptitiously she spat on her hand and dragged it through her short red hair; she'd once seen a pict-capture of noblewomen from the upper hive, all of them beautiful and all of them with their hair slicked back.

“Good morning Seth!” She fell into step beside her work mate, who looked down at her with a weary smile that made her heart beat a little quicker. “I'm so glad I caught you, did you hear what happened on sigma shift? Katra, from the market, told me all about it. Apparently the coreward grinder threw a gear just as the shift was ending, which isn't all that strange, happens all the time, but after the technomats pushed it back in they still couldn't get the whole thing spinning. So one of them says 'there must be something stuck in there, we'll just take the casing off and find it'. So then they did, and they saw what was jamming it, and guess what it was? Go on, guess! I'll give you three tries.”

Seth's brow furrowed. He looked up at the roof of the tunnel, his lips moving silently, then looked back down at Jocasta. “Okay, first guess... Was it a sump rat?”

Her mouth fell open. “You knew? That's not fair! You can't pretend to guess if you already knew!”

“I didn't know,” Seth said with a grin, “I just figured it out. There's not many things big enough to jam the grinder but small enough to come up through the pipes. Also I hear rats down there all the time.”

“Ooh, you're such a liar! You couldn't just 'figure that out'. You know I thought I could trust you, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I'll have to find a new friend who doesn't try to cheat me.” She tried to look serious, but Seth put on such an exaggerated show of remorse that she couldn't help smiling.

“You really can't trust me any more? After everything we've been through? After everything I've done for you?”

She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “And what exactly have you done for me?”

“Well...” He leaned down until their heads were practically touching and lowered his voice to a whisper. Jocasta could hear her heart thumping in her chest. “...how about scrounging up something to eat on our break?. One of my bunk mates managed to find some meat. Some unprocessed meat. And since he owed me a favour, I got us a slice to share.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you joking?” she whispered. “You have to tell me if you're joking, you can't just say something like that and not mean it. And what do you mean he found it, anyway? Do you know what it came from? He didn't steal it, did he? Because if he stole it-”

A deafening burst of trumpets rang out from the vox pylons above them. As one, every worker stopped in their tracks. A moment later the cargo pallets below them shuddered to a halt. Silence, heavy and oppressive, settled over the tunnel. Jocasta stole a glance at Seth; he'd already closed his eyes and crossed his hands over his heart in the shape of the holy aquila. She shuffled a little closer to him and did the same.

“Citizens of Gloriana Aeterna.” The deep, sonorous voice came from every vox, in every direction. “Hear me, and give thanks. The God Emperor protects you, his faithful servants, for as long as you dedicate your lives and deaths to him. Through the might of his armies, he protects you. Through the swift justice of his arbites, he protects you. Through the diligence of his administrators, he protects you...”

The familiar litany washed over Jocasta. She's heard it so many times she could recite it backwards. Real meat, though... That was a special kind of gift. Silently, in her heart, she gave thanks for it.

***

It took another half an hour to descend to the ration processing plant. Down here the walls of the tunnel were studded with loading bays and access ports, and the air was thick with industrial smog. The two of them made their way through the murk, moving slowly and cautiously over corroded walkways and down rickety ladders, until they reached the entrance hatch for loading bay seven. Seth started coughing. He'd been doing that a lot recently.

Inside, the noise in the low-ceiling bay was almost painfully loud. Workers from Sigma shift were rushing to and fro, shouting instruction to each other as they tried to unload the last of their shipments. Enforcers holding crackling shock mauls and suppression shields prowled between them, reflective visors covering their faces. Heavy carts trundled over the metal floor grates with their axles squealing, and over it all was the roar of the spinning grinders at the far end of the bay.

The men and women of theta shift were huddled against one wall, staying out of the way until their time came, but between them and the access hatch was an armoured security booth. Jocasta walked up to the mesh grill at the front of the booth and smiled at the grim-faced watchman behind it.

“Jocasta Theta, reporting for shift.”

The man grunted and peered down at his data-slate until he found her name, then pressed his thumb against the screen. He reached down under the desk to pull out two rectangular metal tins, each the size of Jocasta's palm, and slid them through the gap at the bottom of the grill.

“Two ration packs, corpse-starch. No eating between breaks. No hoarding. No trading. Return the tins at the end of your shift. Do you understand?”

The enforcer had said the same words to her every morning for the last three years, and she'd given the same response. “Yes sir, I understand. May the Emperor protect you.”

“And you. Move along.”

Jocasta put her rations in her pocket and went to join the rest of her shift, leaving Seth to report in behind her. She knew almost all of her co-workers by name, even if she hadn't had a chance to get to know most of them, but today there was an unfamiliar face. A man... No, a boy, probably on his first work assignment. Maybe four of five years younger than her? Not even old enough to shave. He looked every bit as scared as Jocasta had been when she started at the plant, and she decided that he needed a friend.

“Hey there kid, welcome to loading bay seven! You're new, aren't you? Please say you're new, if you've been here for a while I'll be so embarrassed. My name's Jocasta. What's yours?”

“Uh...” The boy hesitated, looking down at the floor. “My name is Lansan. It's nice to meet you.” His voice was so quiet she could barely hear him over the noise.

“Well it's very nice to meet you too, Lansan. I guess this is the first place you've worked? Well don't worry about that, we'll show you the ropes in no time. Which section are you assigned to?”

“Um, I think they said I'd be unloading the pallets?”

Jocasta kept smiling, but her heart sank. “Oh, so you'll be working with me! That's good. Did they say who you're replacing?” She already knew the answer.

“Yes, they said the last person got reallocated to a manufactorum on the upper levels. His name was Dillan?”

“Gillan. His name was Gillan.” Jocasta struggled to keep her voice level. Gillan had been nearly forty, with a limp he couldn't hide any more. No manufactorum would have taken him.

She tried to think of something to say, but before she had a chance the bell rang to signal the shift change. The exhausted workers of sigma shift put down their tools and started filing towards the exit, and theta shift moved quickly to take their place. Jocasta walked towards the wide metal shutter on the tunnel side wall, still thinking about Gillan, wishing Lansan wasn't following quite so close behind her. She wanted time to think, but the shutters were already opening to accept the first delivery of the day. She'd just have to wait until the shift was over.

“Alright Lansan, this is the start of the chain. The cargo comes in through here, we jump onto the pallet, then we throw it over so it can be loaded onto the carts. After that it goes through the grinders and onto second stage processing, but you don't need to worry about that bit. Do you have a handkerchief? That's good, tie it around your face. It'll help with the smell. Grab yourself some gloves from the rack, try and get a pair without any holes in them. Let's see... You know how to lift, right? Knees bent, back straight?”

The boy nodded, pulling his gloves on, and she did the same. With a familiar shriek of metal on metal a wide platform rolled into view down the tunnel and pivoted into the loading bay, coming to a halt a couple of feet away from the edge of the floor. Lansan went pale as the smell hit them; the platform was piled high with corpses, collected from all the middle and lower levels of the city. Jocasta saw his expression and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Try to think of it as cargo, rather than people. The city needs to eat. Just be careful when you jump across, you don't want to fall into the pipes.”

He nodded slowly, but she could see his hands trembling. There was nothing more she could do for him except lead by example, so she jumped across to the platform and started pulling a body off the top of the pile. Lansan joined her, gingerly picking up the corpse by the shoulders as Jocasta lifted its ankles. Under her direction they carried it to the edge of the pallet, gave it a couple of swings, then threw it across the gap to where a couple of carters were waiting to load it.

“So, Lansan, how far up do you live?” She was hoping to take his mind off the task at hand, if only so he'd stop being so squeamish.

“Um, about forty minutes walk? We're a couple of levels down from the market.”

“You're not that far above me then! Oh, and you said 'we', does that mean you're still living with your family?” The boy just nodded. “You're lucky. My parents got moved to tunnel thirty-six just after I started working here. Haven't seen them for years.”

“I'm sorry, that must be hard. Not knowing...” He paused for a moment to find his footing as they picked up a particularly heavy body. “Not even knowing if they're still alive, I mean.”

Jocasta found herself lost for words for a moment, and almost slipped on a bloated hand. She wanted to believe the kid didn't mean any harm, but surely he was old enough to know better? Either way, there was only way to respond. “Well if they're dead, I'm sure they died serving the Emperor. You can't ask for anything more than that.” She had to force the words out. You never knew who was listening.

“Oh, yes, of course. I didn't mean... I was just thinking, I don't know what I'd do if my parents got reassigned. I guess they'd move me to a smaller bunk, but I've never lived alone before. Did you ever... Urgh!”

The boy recoiled and fell backwards as the arm he was holding came away from the shoulder with a wet slurping sound. Jocasta dropped her end of the body, leaving it on the edge of the platform, and walked quickly over to him.

“Listen, Lansan,” she whispered as she helped him up. “I need you to be a little tougher, okay? The guards here don't care that you're young, or that it's your first day. If they don't think you can work, you'll get moved somewhere else. Somewhere worse, on the lower levels. Your parents wouldn't want that for you, so just...”

Too late, she saw his gaze move down to the corpse behind her. By the time she turned round it was already slipping over the side of the platform, down into the pipes, and she could only stand there as it disappeared from view. A moment later there was a crash, then a distant, wet thud. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew what was coming.

“Worker!” The shout cut through the noise of the loading bay. Jocasta opened her eyes again and fixed her gaze on the floor; she could hear the heavy footsteps of the enforcer walking towards her. A quick glance at Lansan confirmed he was keeping his head down as well. At least his parents had taught him that much.

“Wasting the city's food is a crime. Which one of you is responsible?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lansan opening his mouth, but she was quicker. “It was me, sir. I wasn't paying attention. I'm very sorry, it won't happen again, I...”

“Step off the platform.” The man sounded more bored than angry. Jocasta jumped across to the loading bay and turned to face him, making sure not to look him in the visor. “You have your rations for the day?” She nodded. “Give me one of them.” She fished the tin out of her pocket and the man snatched it out of her hand. He opened it, checked the contents, and dropped it into a pouch on his belt.

It was a lighter punishment than she'd expected. She let herself relax a little. “Thank you sir. Permission to get back to-”

Without warning the enforcer swung his shock maul into Jocasta's stomach. It wasn't a hard hit. It didn't need to be. Her world went dark, then brilliant white flashes danced across her vision. All she could hear was a snapping, crunching sound that seemed to come from every direction at once.

It only lasted for a moment, and when her vision returned she was lying on the ground at the enforcer's feet. She tried to stop herself trembling, but she couldn't. Across the bay she could see Seth staring at her. He looked scared.

The man leaned down to speak to her, his boot inches away from her face. “You're going to go down to the pipes during the first break and retrieve that corpse. You will not be late. You will not return empty-handed. Do you understand?” She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out but a dry wheeze. He seemed to take that as confirmation. “Get back to work then. No more mistakes.”

As he walked away Jocasta, still shaking, got back on her feet. The hot, raw pain was starting to spread through her stomach, and she knew from experience it was going to get worse before it got better. It would make the next few hours of work agonizing. And then the pipes... People died down there. She could die down there. All because she'd been too busy trying to help the new kid...

“Um... Jocasta?”

She turned to look at Lansan. There were tears on his cheeks. He looked ashamed.

“I can help, if you want. I can go down to the pipes with you.”

For an awful moment, she thought about saying yes. Maybe the two of them would have a better chance of getting out alive. Or maybe she could run faster than him... She put the idea out of her mind. “Thanks, but I'll be fine.” Her voice was still little more than a croak. “It was only a small one, and it's already missing an arm. I can carry it just fine by myself.”

“But, maybe, I could protect you? Kind of, watch your back?”

Jocasta gave the boy the best smile she could manage. “The Emperor protects.”

***

The area under the ration processing plant was a tangled web of tunnels, pipes, junctions and crawl spaces. Bundles of cables wove through narrow corridors, linking together rusted, humming machines that only the red priests truly understood. Everywhere there was the dripping of oil, grease and other, more organic fluids from the plant above. The lights were so faint that they were little more than stars to navigate by, if they worked at all. The only people who came down here were maintenance teams, and they never made the descent without armed guards. The rats were always watching and always hungry.

Jocasta had no guards, and no weapons except a wrench that Seth had slipped into her pocket as he'd wished her good luck. The enforcers had let her take a lantern at least. The weak, yellow light only reached a few paces away from her. Beyond that there was darkness.

She'd been slow and careful at first, trying to stay quiet, freezing every time she heard something skittering through the gloom, but the morning break was only half an hour long and she knew how much worse things would be if she was late. As she went deeper into the maze she started to move faster, gripping the wrench tightly and hoping her reactions would be quick enough if something jumped out at her.

She walked through one dank, humid corridor after another, rushing down steep ramps and squeezing through air ducts, doubling back on herself whenever she reached a dead end or locked hatch. After a while her pace slowed. Every time she passed a turning she paused, trying to picture where she was in relation to the loading by above her, before choosing a path and continuing.

Eventually she reached a junction and had to stop. There was an opening leading down to her left, but surely the wall of the transit tunnel should be there? And if it wasn't, did that mean she was farther away from it than she'd thought, or had she gone so low that she was underneath it? How long had it been since the break started? She didn't have a chrono. Maybe it had been ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Maybe she'd never find the body, or the rats would find her first. She could hear them, scuttling through the gloom. They sounded like they were getting closer.

She leant against the wall and set the lantern down on the ground. Her hands were trembling. She tried to get her breathing under control, but she couldn't.

Gillan was dead. She knew he was. People didn't just stop working when they had a family to feed, even if they were ill. Perhaps he was just too sick or too badly injured to get to the plant, but the end result was the same. The weak didn't survive for long. Yesterday she'd teased him for the silly little moustache he'd started growing; she'd said it made him look like an old man. That was the last thing she'd said to him, and now he was gone.

Her shoulders started shaking. She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, then squeezed hard on the metal handle of the wrench. She didn't have time to cry. Somewhere up there Seth was waiting for her. All she had to do was find the body, and then she'd find her way back to him. They'd share good food, and gossip about their shift mates, and then she could tell him how much he meant to her and hope that he felt the same...

She heard it before she saw it; the click, click, click of claws on metal. She swore under her breath. If she hadn't been so wrapped up in her own head... No, there was no time for anger. Slowly, she bent down to pick up the lantern. Her hand trembled as she raised it. There were pale, milky eyes gleaming in the dark of the corridor behind her. Three, no, maybe four creatures, though she couldn't be sure. She'd seen dead sump rats before, and no two of them had the same number of eyes.

Keeping her eyes on the crawling shadows, Jocasta started to back away. One step, two steps, and then, from behind her, she heard a low hiss. Her heart jumped into her mouth. She froze, trying to work out how far away the rat behind her was; it sounded close. A few paces, maybe.

The wrench in her hand was slippery with sweat. She tried to adjust her grip. If she could turn quickly and get in a good swing... But there wouldn't just be one, would there? They never hunted alone. Running was the only option, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the side tunnel that had confused her a moment ago. She still had no idea where it went, but it didn't matter.

Jocasta bolted forwards, ducking through the doorway as a screech went up from the rats. She sprinted down the narrow corridor, leaping over gaps in the floor grating, racing around the sharp turns and sudden twists of the tunnel. The rats were close behind her but she couldn't look back. She couldn't hold the lantern steady, and it took all of her concentration just to stay on her feet in the flickering light.

She ran on, her heart pounding, desperately, frantically looking for some way of escaping her pursuers; their shrill chittering echoed from the pipes around her. Suddenly, through the enveloping gloom, she saw a metal hatch up ahead. She darted through it, slamming her weight against the door, the rusty hinges screeching as she forced it closed. From beyond she heard the rats scratching and clawing at the metal, throwing themselves against it in a frenzy... and then, the sound faded. Listening hard, she could make out the clanking of loose grating beneath their feet, the noise getting quieter and quieter as they abandoned the chase and moved on. Gasping for air, she slid down the door and sat against it.

She was alive.

As the adrenaline receded, she realised she was in a junction room larger than any she'd found before. She couldn't tell exactly how large; the light didn't reach the far wall. What she did see, lying on the metal floor surrounded by broken ceiling panels, was the corpse. For a moment she just stared at it, uncomprehending. She was lost. She'd run for her life. How could it be right in front of her?

Slowly she climbed back onto her feet, walked up to the body, and knelt down beside it. It had taken a beating during the fall, but aside from the missing arm it was still intact. Now all she needed to do was carry it back up to the surface. But that was impossible. The rats wouldn't have gone far. She couldn't outrun them with that much dead weight on her shoulders. She was going to die. Unless... Unless there was another way out of here.

No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than she noticed a faint, pale light from up ahead of her. It didn't look like the flame of a lantern, or the glow of the electric lights that lined the halls of the hive city. It was softer. Gentler. She stood up and started moving towards it.

As she walked forwards the air seemed to shimmer. Motes of light danced around her, swirling in a breeze that she couldn't feel. The space was larger than she'd imagined, and even as the body disappeared from view behind her she still couldn't see the far wall. As she got closer to the glow she saw it was coming from a human shape on the floor; to her surprise she realised it was another, much older corpse. She'd never seen one so decayed before.

The thing that drew her eye though, and the source of the light, was the fungus. It sprouted from every part of the body, pushing through the blackened skin in strangely shaped clusters, not just one type but a myriad of different shapes. There were varieties she'd only ever heard about, and some that were completely alien to her. Fragile looking spheres on delicate stalks, glistening jellies that had eaten deep into the remains of their host, mushrooms of every shape and size. And the colours! She'd thought that all fungi were pale grey, but these were a riot of blues, oranges, pinks and browns, all of them glowing softly in the gloom. It was beautiful.

She stepped forward, holding the lantern as close as she dared. There was a rich, warm aroma rising from the corpse, so strong that she felt light-headed. As she leaned over it she realised there was a pattern hidden in the light. Everywhere she looked, the fungi had formed itself into circles. The motif was repeated across the entire body. Circles overlapping each other, circles within circles, and in the centre of the chest three thick, conjoined circles of bright green mould. They'd grown so that each circle was linked to the other two to form a triangle.

There was something more, though. Something in the centre of the pattern that she couldn't quite make out. She leaned over the body, holding the lantern closer, straining to see what was hidden there... And then her foot slipped. Before she could think her hand jerked forwards to break her fall, and with a wet, sickening squelch it hit the mould and sank into it, the desiccated body's chest cracking and collapsing under her weight.

The smell of rot and death washed over her. She scrambled to her feet and reeled back in disgust, desperately shaking the spongy, stinking slop from her hand. It clung to her skin like glue; she couldn't bare to look at it. She dropped the lantern and pulled out her handkerchief, scrubbing at her arm frantically until it was free of the muck, and then stood there, panting, over the body.

Reluctantly, Jocasta looked at her hand. It was still streaked with grime and dotted with luminescent spores, but she'd done the best she could. The handkerchief was sodden; she threw it aside, then closed her eyes.

“God Emperor, please... Please don't let me get sick. Please show me a way back up. Please let me live, just a little longer.”

She whispered the words into the dark. There was no reply.

It wasn't until she opened her eyes and bent to pick up the lantern that she heard it. The familiar click, click, click, and then a low hiss. The rats had found their way in.

Her whole body went stiff. This was it, she realised. She didn't know where she was. There might not be another way out of this room, and even if there was she wouldn't find it before they caught up to her. All she could do was die fighting; a stupid, pointless death.

She turned and saw the rats at the edge of the lantern's light. Lumpy, misshapen creatures with bony spines and tumorous growths sprouting from their backs. She counted seven of them, each of them as big as a hound and staring at her with murderous hunger. Slowly she reached into her pocket and pulled out the wrench, then stepped forwards to meet them...

And the rats backed away.

She paused. Was this some kind of trap? Were they waiting for her to leave the light? She took another step forwards. One of the rats hissed at her, then turned and scurried into the dark. The others edged backwards.

Jocasta took a deep breath and walked forwards until the lantern's pool of light was behind her. With every step the rats retreated, some of them squeaking and scuttling to the corners of the room. It was as if they were scared. She just stared after them, dumbfounded. But then, she'd asked the Emperor for help, hadn't she? And this... this was a miracle.

For a long moment she stood there, in the dark, trying to think of any other explanation. The rats could have killed her easily. She'd heard of them attacking armed groups when they were hungry enough, and these ones had looked very hungry. Just a few minutes ago they'd been chasing her down. And now suddenly they were scared of her.

No, that wasn't right, was it? They were scared of that old corpse, or the fungus. If they weren't then the whole thing would have been eaten long ago. The rats would eat anything, animal or vegetable, no matter how rotten it was. And if it wasn't the rot, or the fungus, then what else could have stopped them if not the Emperor's protection? And now that protection was on her.

There was one way to be sure. She went back and retrieved the lantern, humming a hymn under her breath, and then picked up the sodden handkerchief. She walked across the room until she saw the last few rats prowling at the edge of the light and threw the rag at them as hard as she could. Before it had even landed the creatures scattered, shrieking in panic.

Jocasta couldn't help but laugh. This was amazing! She'd seen a real miracle, right there in front of her! The body must be some kind of holy relic, hidden down here for who knows how long, and she was the one who'd found it. She wondered if Seth would believe her. In the stories, miracles only happened to holy warriors and saints... Maybe she wouldn't tell him right away. It would be her secret, at least for now.

Sighing, she realised she had more immediate concerns. It would take time to find her way back up to the plant. At least now she wouldn't have to worry about the rats though. She went back to where the ceiling was broken, hoisted the body onto her shoulders, then set off to retrace her steps. As she left, the light in the junction room faded. The sound of her footsteps died away. All that was left was silence, and the soft glow of the fungus, and the clouds of spores that danced through the air without any wind to move them.

[lyssismagical]

you drive me crazy, crazy for you

Parkner Week Day Two: “And I said ‘no’, you know, like a liar”/ identity shenanigans / iron lad

Peter had been talking to Harley Keener online. They’d met through Twitter, being two of the five people Tony followed, and the casual liking and commenting turned into texting and calling and skyping every chance they got.

They hadn’t told Tony, worried how he’d react to finding out they’d become friends behind his back, and Peter had decided early on that he’d wait to tell Harley about being Spider-Man. He didn’t want secrets to get in the way of their close friendship, but he needed to put his family first and if Harley ever turned on him, not that Peter thought he would, he didn’t want Harley to have that kind of knowledge.

And then, six months into their friendship, Harley admits to having a crush on Peter. They were talking on the phone, quiet and sleepy, late at night, when Harley had murmured how he needed Peter to know. That he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t want them to be something more.

It was hard for their relationship to change from the way it was. Harley lived in Tennessee, Peter in New York, neither of them capable of taking time off to see each other, nor were they able to afford plane tickets. But it felt real anyways.

And then Iron Lad shows up in Manhattan.

“I know you’re here to help, but this is my city,” Peter says, Karen filtering his voice to sound lower. “I don’t team up with just anybody.”

“I know!” Iron Lad exclaims, sounding surprised more than anything. “I don’t want to get in your way or be a problem, but if you need backup, I’m always available.”

Peter frowns, rolling his eyes when Karen sends him another alert of crime. He loves being Spider-Man, he loves patrolling, he loves helping people, but his window of time to call Harley is shrinking every time he goes to stop another crime. It’s been three days since he’s gotten the chance to talk to his boyfriend.

But Iron Lad is standing across from him, suit built strong and colored the same reds and golds as Iron Man’s, and Peter knows it would take half as much time if he let the new hero help him.

“Fine,” he says, trying his best to come off as nonchalant and flippant. “Let’s go then. Prove yourself, and then we’ll see about a team-up, okay?”

Iron Lad nods quickly, muttering a few things to himself and his own AI, and then his comms are linked to Peter’s.

“Perfect. Lead the way, Spider-Man.”

He was right, it does go a lot quicker to have Iron Lad at his side, they manage to detain the criminals, call the police, and save everybody from the robbery within ten minutes. And even when Karen alerts him to another crime on the other side of the city, he doesn’t feel too guilty passing it off to Iron Lad.

“You’ll let me know if you need back-up?” Peter asks before he lets Iron Lad go.

“I’ve got it, Spidey. Have some faith in me.”

Peter smiles behind the mask. He’s never had somebody look out for Queens, he’s never been given the option to go home early, he’s never had the opportunity to choose himself over the city.

When he gets home, tugging off the suit and grabbing his phone, immediately hitting Harley’s contact and preparing to ramble about the school day he had, it’s still before midnight. He rarely ever makes it home before midnight despite it being his curfew.

He’s disappointed though when Harley doesn’t pick up.

He tries again, hoping maybe he just didn’t get to his phone in time, but again, nothing.

“Hey, sorry I couldn’t call earlier, I got caught up at the Lab with Tony,” Peter starts when the phone dings to signal his voicemail. “I hope you’re okay… I’m sorry we keep missing each other lately. It’s like we’re just a little out of sync. Only another year, right? And then Boston together? Just like we promised?”

He takes a deep breath, suddenly finding himself choked up. Long-distance relationships are hard. They always are. Online, long-distance, wanting nothing more than to be with him in the flesh, but not being able. It’s hard. There’s so much longing, so much desire, so much he wants to say and do.

“I’m waiting for that hug, you hear me? Next year, when we get to Boston, you better give me one of those dramatic, running hugs in the airport. Anyways, yeah, call me when you can, okay? I miss you.”

Out the window, he can hear the sound of Iron Lad’s repulsors, going after the sound of echoing gunshots. And next door, May’s sleeping soundly. But Peter’s chest feels carved open, missing so desperately and longing for his boyfriend to just be here. He wants to be held, wants to feel whole, wants to feel loved, but he wants all of that from somebody who lives a thousand miles away.

He curls up on his side, phone still clutched in one of his hands like Harley will call him at any second, and cries into his pillow, wishing so badly for something he knows can’t happen.

* “Peter! I’m so sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I was busy last night and I forgot to text you. I’m so sorry. Text me and let me know when you’ve got a chance to call though, I probably can’t talk late tonight either. I’ve got news coming in a little bit, but I don’t know how soon I can tell you… I know what you mean about being out of sync lately, but it’ll be okay. Text me? I miss you.”

The voicemail ends, the third time Peter’s listened to it without replying or trying to call Harley. He knows Harley would be on his way to school by now, without data, so there’s no point in trying.

Harley’s voice helps soothe the ache in Peter’s chest just a little bit, but it doesn’t help knowing that the end to this lapse of communication might take weeks, months to sort out. With exams coming up, junior prom, the need to get a summer job, and whatever Harley’s doing in Tennessee, they’re just going to get busier.

“You okay?” May peeks her head into the room, somehow able to sense his misery as quick as if he were still crying.

“Me and Harley haven’t spoken in four days,” Peter admits, staring down at the seemingly harmless text message. Morning darling! Sorry I missed your call. We still on for the Skype session on Sunday?

May’s face softens, slipping into the room to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “That happens. Things happen. It’ll get easier.”

“I want it to be easier now.” He sounds pathetic, whiny, desperate. “I don’t want to wait another year for him, for us.”

Boston feels like a lifetime away, like an untouchable dream. MIT, the two of them together. He’s scared it won’t work out, that going from this long-distance relationship to living together in Boston, going to University together, won’t work out and they’ll have to kiss their relationship goodbye.

“Oh I know you do, honey. I know this is hard, but I know how much you care about Harley and how much he cares about you. You’ll figure this out, I promise.”

The way that she says it makes it sound like letting go is still an option. She says it likes it’s possible for Peter to say goodbye to Harley and move on, take a different path. She says it like Peter could ever break up with Harley.

“I just really wish he were here.”

May kisses the top of his head comfortingly, and Peter loves her, he does, but he wishes nothing more that it was Harley instead.

* MJ and Ned both comment on how strange he’s acting. Daydreaming the time away because his relationship feels like it’s on thin ice, like one wrong move will make the Jenga tower crumble, so he thinks about Boston, about a future, and nothing else. He stares at his phone, at the text messages he doesn’t bother answering, at the voicemails that he knows by heart. It’s been two weeks since he last properly spoke to Harley.

Tony notices it too. “What’s up, kid? Tough day at school? Iron Lad giving you trouble?”

“I’m okay, not a big deal,” he says. Tony doesn’t know and Peter doesn’t want to tell him, not before he talks to Harley first, not that he really thinks telling Tony about a crumbling relationship is a good idea.  

His phone rings before Tony can argue with him.

It’s Harley. His silly picture, one he got from his sister, appearing on the screen.

He wants to talk to Harley, he wants nothing more than to ask him to please come to New York, drop everything because Peter’s never wanted to see him more than he does now. But he knows Harley can’t. That’s just the way it is.

So he lets it go to voicemail. He tries not to let the pit in his chest grow anymore than it already has, but it does, longing and cold. It’s hard for him to feel much beyond the longing these days. Harley’s the only thing on his mind, the only one that could help him.

“I think I’m going to go out if that’s okay,” Peter says, voice breaking. He turns his phone on Do Not Disturb and pockets it. “I’ll text you if I need any help.”

Tony doesn’t bother trying to stop him, quickly telling him to be home by curfew and to be safe, before Peter disappears out the door.

He changes in his bedroom, slips out his window, and scales the side of the building to get to the roof.

Iron Lad lands beside him only moments later.

“Hiya, Spidey!” he chirps. “You want backup today?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Peter knows he’s missing the enthusiasm he normally has whenever he talks to Iron Lad. They’ve teamed up frequently over the past couple weeks, and Peter’s been enjoying the nights of solitude when he can leave the safety of Queens up to Iron Lad.

Iron Lad’s tone immediately changes to one of worry and confusion. “Everything okay, Spidey?”

“I miss my boyfriend,” he admits quietly. He hates that he can barely function when he isn’t talking to Harley, that he relies so deeply on their relationship. He sits down on the edge of the roof, feet kicking absentmindedly, and Iron Lad joins him a second later.

The superhero laughs, not unkindly, and nods. “Yeah, I know how you feel. Hey, I know this might be a longshot, but have you ever helped a Peter Parker? He lives around here, works with Tony, goes to Midtown.”

“No!” Peter blurts quickly. How Iron Lad knows him, Peter doesn’t know. He doesn’t recognize the voice, not that he really puts it past him to use a voice modulator, Peter does too. “Why? You know him?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

It feels like the floor falls out from under him, heart hammering in his chest. His fingers hook under the edge of his mask, prepared to throw everything on the line.

“Harley?” His voice is shaking and high, wanting so desperately for it to be him. He doesn’t care about logic or hidden identities or the possibility of Iron Lad being a liar, he doesn’t care because he wants it to be true so badly.

Iron Lad’s faceplate pops open, revealing-

“Oh my god, Harley!”

Peter doesn’t wait another moment, yanking his mask off, curls bouncing around his ears, smile widening until it almost hurts, and tosses his arms around Harley’s shoulders. They nearly fall off the edge of the roof at Peter’s excitement, but Harley rights them, arms winding around Peter’s waist tightly and mouth pressing against his temple.

“Holy fuck, oh my god, I can’t believe this is real,” Harley breathes, mouth brushing against Peter’s skin as he speaks. “You’re real and oh god you smell so good, so much better than I imagined, and I can’t believe you never told me you’re Spider-Man, oh my god.”

The longing, the cold gaping hole in his chest, the pure misery that had settled when the insecurities had crept into his head, it all soothes. Harley’s here, in New York, in Queens, in Peter’s arms. He’s here and he’s real and he’s murmuring his excitement against Peter’s forehead, arms tight and chest warm.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I’m sorry we were so out of sync. I’m so sorry-”

“I’m sorry,” Harley says, pulling away enough to look at Peter. The younger boy nearly starts crying at just how real Harley is, freckles splashed out across his tanned skin, eyes wide and so blue in a way that Peter could never really see over Skype. “I wanted to surprise you. Mom got transferred to the New York branch of her job. I was going to tell you, but between moving here, taking over as the new Iron Man, enrolling in school, and babysitting my sister, I didn’t have the time to surprise you how I wanted to. The dramatic airport scene you wanted. I’m sorry.”

Peter shakes his head, vision blurry with tears and hands trembling as he cups Harley’s face gently. “You’re staying? Like forever?”

“Forever,” Harley promises, smiling through his own tears. “And I know this is soon and crazy and out of euphoria and shock, but I love you, Peter. I love you so much and I couldn’t survive another year without you, you mean too much to me to lose.”

“I love you too. God, I’ve missed you, I’ve been craving this since we got together. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

He finally lets himself kiss Harley, slow and sweet, letting himself memorize everything, soothing the last of the ache in his chest. This is all he’s ever wanted.

Peter refuses to let go of Harley, linking their fingers together and sticking without meaning to.

“This is real,” he says, voice thick with emotion, staring unashamedly at Harley and his blue eyes and his freckles and his jawline and his fluffy hair, unable to stop crying no matter how hard he tries.

Harley’s real and here.

Harley grins, boyish and so unbelievably happy, and kisses his breath away.

“It’s real, darlin’.”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed} 

[nalgenewhore]

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away.

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Her question stared at them.

LTN: How’d the crew take it when they found out I was alive?

She typed a new one,

LTN: Are you there? 

Sartaq whispered to Gavriel, “She needs to know now.”

Gavriel swallowed, hard, and ignored the fact that his hands were shaking as he replied.

TNSB: We haven’t told the crew you’re alive.

TNSB: We need them to stay focused on the mission.

It took awhile for her to respond and when she did…

LTN: They don’t know I’m alive?

LTN: What the fuck is wrong with you?

LTN: Are you fucking shitting me right now?

LTN: If you are, fuck you, that shit’s not funny.

Uneasy laughter erupted across the room and Gavriel hastily answered.

TNSB: Aelin, please, watch your language

TNSB: This conversation is being broadcasted worldwide

LTN: Oh worldwide, really?

LTN: Worldwide can suck my fucking dick

LTN: I’m stranded on a fucking planet and my crew thinks I’m dead and you want me to watch my language?

LTN: Get fucked

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Manon walked into Weylan’s office with Asterin, a look of ‘I told you so’ on her face. He held up a finger and pointed to the phone, speaking into it, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, I agree. She’s under a lot of stress… we understand. We’re dealing with it… Thank you, ma’am.”

He hung up and looked at Manon, “I just had to apologize to the gods-damned prime minister of Terrasen for Aelin’s crass language. What is it?”

“Aelin is right. It’s only going to get worse the longer we wait.”

“You’re only bringing this up because Gavriel’s in Perranth and can’t argue against it,” Weylan commented, a determined set to his jaw.

Manon made a sound of disgust, “I shouldn’t have to clear it with Gavriel or anyone else for that matter, not even you. It’s time, Weylan.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan was in the ship’s gym, raising himself to the bar and lowering himself again, sweat running down his body.

He had his earbuds in and the music stopped, Nesryn’s voice coming through, “Commander?”

Dropping to the floor and landing neatly, he grabbed the hand towel and wiped his face, breathing hard, “Go ahead, Faliq.”

“Data dump is almost complete,” she said, referencing the private emails and other things that the crew had been sent.

“Copy. Coming to you.” He entered the zero-gravity corridor, rendezvousing with Fenrys, “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

The man grinned a giddy grin, “Nehemia had her six-month ultrasound yesterday, she said she’d sent the pictures.”

Lorcan smiled easily, he was happy for the couple. “Tell her congrats for me and also send along my condolences.”

Fenrys furrowed his brow as he pushed himself forward using the rungs alongside the walls, “Why condolences?”

“Because it’s probably just set in that she’s having your child,” he laughed and easily evaded Fenrys’ poor attempt to hit him as the rotating craft synthesized gravity and they slid down to the rec room, where everyone had gathered.

Lorcan paused by Elide, where she was sitting curled on a couch with her personal laptop on her lap, to crouch before her and take her hand in both of his, murmuring words too low for the rest of the crew to hear.

Nesryn addressed everyone, “Dump is complete and sending out personals right… now. I don’t need to see Fen’s weird pregnancy fetish shit; I’m scarred for life after the incident.” The incident in question was when Nesryn had accidentally mixed up an email and had opened his and Nehemia’s rather… heated conversation. Rowan huffed a laugh at the memory and everyone shared a look; this was the happiest they’d seen him in the three months since they’d aborted the mission without Aelin.

Fenrys groaned, “I told you, second trimester hormones are a bitch.”

“Whatever does it for you, just keep me out of it,” she said, laughter in her dark eyes, “Oh, huh. There’s a video message from Manon, addressed to the whole crew.”

Everyone made their way over to the computer, crowding around as Nesryn clicked on the video.

Manon’s face appeared on the screen and the video began to play, her voice coming through the speakers, “Lani, this is Manon Blackbeak. I have some news to share, there’s no easy way to put this: Aelin Galathynius is alive.”

The knowledge hit the crew like a freight train at full speed and they remained in shock as the message continued, “We know that’s a big surprise and you’ll have a lot of questions but as for the basics: she’s healthy and alive. We found out two months ago and I was ordered not to tell you. We’re telling you now because we have reliable communication with her and a rescue plan. We’ll send you a full write-up of what happened but know that this is not your fault. Aelin has heavily stressed this: it is not your fault. Take time to absorb this, your schedules have been cleared for the next two days. Send all your questions and we’ll answer them. Blackbeak out.”

“She’s…she’s alive?” Elide whispered, voice barely heard.

Fenrys was the first to crack, a slow smile spreading across his face, relief in his eyes, “G-Money lives.”

Nesryn and Elide both huffed laughs and the latter wiped her eyes, shaking their heads. “She’s alive,” Nesryn confirmed, a ghost of a smile on her face.

They all turned to Rowan, his façade slipping enough that there was an upwards tilt to the corners of his mouth. “Holy shit.” The doctor turned to Lorcan, who had remained silent, “Lor?”

“I left her behind.”

Fenrys shook his head decidedly, “We all left, L. All of us.”

The stone-faced commander clenched his jaw, his brow furrowing, “You were following orders.” His eyes shattered and when Elide reached for his hand, he shifted, keeping his gaze on the computer screen. “I left her.”

The group traded glances, not sure what to say. Elide rested her hand on his bicep and without another word, he shook off her hold and exited the room.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Nesryn wasn’t paying attention and her wife could tell. The green-eyed beauty paused in her retelling of their teenaged daughter’s, Evangeline, first date. “Nes?”

“Hmm?”

Lysandra chuckled, “You still there?”

“Oh,” Nesryn sat up straighter and smiled sheepishly at Lysandra, nodding, “yeah, it’s just… been a long day. Weird day too.”

Her wife tilted her head to the side, her brilliant eyes missing nothing, “You okay? Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” she said, her smile growing as a redheaded girl popped her head upside down in the frame, her citrine eyes pressed up against the camera.

“Mama!” Evangeline sat down on the couch next to Lysandra, the fifteen-year-old wearing Nesryn’s TNSB hoodie, the scarred-over slashes on her cheeks stretching as she grinned. She pressed her hand against the screen and Nesryn copied the motion, her eyes watering.

“Hi, my darling,” she whispered, “how are you?”

“I’m good. I miss you, Ma,” she pouted, but soon enough her lips pulled into that brilliant smile of hers again, “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I miss the both of you so much and I can’t wait to see you either,” Nesryn replied, the sight of her family so happy and healthy mending her heart, even if it was just a bit. “Evie, your mother tells me you went on a date?”

Lysandra and Nesryn laughed as their daughter’s cheeks went bright red, her scars stark white against her flushed skin. “…maybe.”

“Tell me all about it.”

“Are you sure? It was a boy,” Evangeline said, a wrinkle to her button nose.

Nesryn faked a gagging sound and inhaled deeply, “I think I can handle it.”

The joyful chatter of their daughter soon spilled from the speakers and Nesryn gave her wife a soft look, mouthing I love you as she let the perfectness of her two favourite people in the world wash over her and strip away the day’s events. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

When Lorcan didn’t return for the rest of the night, the sadness that had erupted in Elide’s chest turned to anger and she sought him out, finding him in his bunk, staring at nothing.

He didn’t acknowledge her as she climbed up so she did what any sensible person would do.

She jabbed him in the side with her index and middle finger, finding the soft flesh beneath his ribcage, glaring at him when he cried out in shock and pain. He met her angered gaze with one of his own, irritation rippling in his dark irises beneath lowered brows. 

Elide shook her head, “Don’t know why the fuck you’re pissy with me now.”

He sighed, “What do you want?”

She raised a brow, tilting her head to the side and tracking his face with watchful eyes. “You’re being a dick and I’m not putting up with it so…” she made to leave, blinking back tears, but his hand shot out and wrapped around hers.

“Don’t go, I’m sorry,” he said, tugging her back into his lap. The bunk was already a tight fit for Lorcan, who at six-foot-four and two-hundred and ten pounds was at the maximum size restrictions to be an astronaut, so with Elide as well, it became even smaller. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” she murmured, twisting to straddle his lap and brush his hair back from his eyes. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I left the woman my brother loves on a planet, with practically no way to survive. Fuck,” he muttered, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. “I don’t- I love you so much. I can barely breathe right without knowing you’re safe and I… I can’t help feeling guilty for condemning her to death. El.” He opened his eyes and flicked his gaze down to her necklace, where his dog tags laid between her breasts. The weight of her mother’s wedding band hanging on his own necklace had never felt more pronounced. “She might die, alright? And if she does, it will be my fault and I just… I can’t live with the knowledge of breaking Rowan’s heart like that.”

He took a deep breath, not used to speaking that much all at once. Elide offered him a gentle smile and framed his face with her hands, her eyes searching his, “I love you so much. Right now, Ae is alive and healthy, ok? That’s all we need to think about right now. If she dies, it will never be your fault and yes, it will hurt so much – more than anything. If she dies, the whole crew will be broken. We’ll be there for each other and for Ro, too.” She pressed her lips to his, kissing him so softly, it was heartbreaking. “Ok?”

All Lorcan could do was cup the back of her head and kiss her harder, selfishly thanking every god that it wasn’t Elide in Aelin’s place.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: welp....now they know! and as always, lovies, comment/send me an ask to be added/removed from the tag list! 

@mythicaitt​ @kandasboi​ @schmlip-scribble​ @the-regal-warrior​ @westofmoon​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @rhysands-highlady​ @city-of-fae​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tangledraysofsunshine​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​ @flora-and-fae​ @queenofxhearts​ @that-other-pineapple​ @sleeping-and-books​ @superspiritfestival​ @faerie-queen-fireheart​ @chemicha​ @rowaelin-cressworth​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @candid-confetti​ @bat-wing-rhys​ @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear​ @feyrethedarklady​ @booklover41802​ @rowaelinforeverworld​ @jamesxdaisy​ @julemmaes​ @hellas-himself​

[tsarisfanfiction]

Desert Sands: Part 3

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, John, Alan, Virgil, Gordon, Kayo, EOS

Still here, still not finished with this fic, but here’s another chunk of it to tide things over while I work on new stuff.  Healthy dose of TAG-physics involved here, not gonna lie.

<<<Part 2

“You want to do a three hundred mile HALO drop?” Alan asked, aghast. John rolled his eyes.

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“But that could kill you!  HALO drops aren’t supposed to be anywhere near that, John!”

“I know,” he sighed, checking the mechanical release on his exosuit wings. “If you’ve got another idea, I’d love to hear it.”

Silence answered and a part of John sagged.  He was, as Alan had said many times, a ‘console jockey’.  He dealt with data and holograms, and left the actual plan-plans to the guys on the ground.  While he could, of course, make plans and execute them, experience was the best teacher and even Alan was at least his peer on active participation on rescues.

“In that case-”

“How about the space elevator?” Alan interrupted, and John blinked, started.

“The space elevator?” he asked.  “But Thunderbird Five can’t get here; the other space station’s in the way.”

“Thunderbird Five can’t get here under her own power,” Alan corrected. “But what if we used Thunderbird Three?”

His brother was staring at him in earnest, but John wasn’t sure what the connection was.  All the genius in the world didn’t help decipher the way a teenager’s mind worked, sometimes.

“What about using Thunderbird Three?” he asked, cautiously.

“Thunderbird Five can only move in linear vectors, so she can’t manoeuvre around the other space station, but how about if we use Thunderbird Three to move her?” Alan explained.  “With Thunderbird Five’s thrusters to move, and Thunderbird Three’s thrusters for manoeuvring, we can get her here and then you can take the space elevator down.”

John blinked at him.  He’d never considered that Thunderbird Three would be able to move Thunderbird Five, but considering some of the things the space rocket had moved, it was perfectly a perfectly reasonable assumption.

“Okay,” he said.  It was Alan’s turn to blink.

“Okay?”

“Okay.  It’s a good idea, Alan; we’ll give it a go.”

His brother’s mouth slowly stretched into a grin, while his blue eyes sparked excitedly.

“F.A.B.  Thunderbird Three returning to Thunderbird Five.”

The red rocket rolled around, nose pointing back towards the space station, and then they were off.

“Alan, any progress on dealing with that EMP?” Gordon broke in, making contact with Thunderbird Three.  “Oh, there you are John.  Tell us next time you plan on leaving Thunderbird Five unmanned, maybe?”

The aquanaut looked grumpy, and was clearly piloting.  That meant Virgil was dealing with Kayo, still.

“Sorry,” John allowed.  “We’ve located the EMP and have a plan of action to disable it, which we’ll be commencing shortly.”

“How?” Virgil cut in, apparently linked in from the medical bay.  “We can’t get close.”

“I’ll drop down on it from above using the space elevator and disable it like that,” John informed them.

“John, two problems.  You said you can’t get Thunderbird Five above the Sahara, and the space elevator will also get fried.”  Virgil sounded less than impressed with the plan, and John had a brief idea of just how much the bear would have torn into him if they’d gone with the HALO drop.

He resolved not to let Virgil know about that.  Ever.

“Alan’s creative,” he responded instead.  “Let EOS know once you’ve dropped Thunderbird Shadow back at home.”

“John-”  He ended the transmission, knowing he was going to get complained at later but needing to concentrate on the finer points of the plan.  Using the space elevator was all well and good, but Virgil was right – it would get fried, so even if he had Alan and EOS control it from Thunderbird Five, he couldn’t travel down inside it or he’d be locked in, and he didn’t have the tools to manually get himself out in a hurry.

If no-one was in danger, he’d do it, but Scott had been missing for over an hour and despite his reassurances to Alan the voice of cool logic in the back of his head was reminding him that Scott had been doing Mach 15 before being hit with the EMP.  John had no intentions of taking any longer than necessary.  At absolute best it would be another half an hour before anyone could reach him – fifteen minutes to descend, another fifteen to turn it off and get Thunderbird Three down into the Sahara, despite his earlier declarations that Alan would not be doing that – and with Thunderbird Two having to take Thunderbird Shadow back home, it would be at least another hour before their main land-based equipment was on site.

He was going to have to take a slight risk, and ride on the outside of the space elevator.  Scott and Virgil had both chewed him out for doing that exact thing before, but with a brother’s life potentially on the line John had no qualms about doing it again.

“We’re here,” Alan announced unnecessarily as Thunderbird Three once again locked into the gravity wheel.  “John, set Thunderbird Five’s thrusters to half power.  We just need her to start moving; Thunderbird Three will do the rest.”

“F.A.B.”  There were few occasions when John would take orders from Alan, but Alan was the better pilot and towing Thunderbird Five was going to be a difficult operation.  He slipped through the airlock, not bothering to shed the exosuit when he’d be needing it again later, and engaged the thrusters.

Thunderbird Five was not like her sisters.  She had powerful thrusters, mainly for use in evading meteors and other space hazards, but was not specifically designed for travelling through space.  That was Thunderbird Three’s job, and it was with the knowledge that he was putting his ‘bird almost entirely in Alan’s hands that he set the thrusters to half power and stepped back.  She moved, slowly to start with as she fought with the additional weight attached to her, and then slowly increasing in speed as Thunderbird Three’s boosters ignited, shifting her out of her orbit.

“Thunderbird Three has control,” Alan informed him after another minute. “Cut thrusters, John.”  He did so, hearing his ‘bird’s own engines whine down into silence and finding himself in the very odd situation of his Thunderbird moving under external influence.  If it was anyone other than Alan, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand it – not even Scott, for all that his older brother was a brilliant pilot.

The space station that had caused all this passed by the window at a respectable distance – part of John hoped they weren’t watching Thunderbird Five being towed, or pushed, as the case actually was – and then the coast of Africa was approaching, far below.

“Begin braking manoeuvres,” Alan cautioned and he obeyed, watching Thunderbird Three’s data out of the corner of his eye as Alan matched Thunderbird Five’s breaking with his own retros, bringing the two Thunderbirds to a precise stop above the co-ordinates EOS had calculated for them.

A moment later the airlock hissed as Alan entered, EOS in hand.  “Well done, Alan.”

“It was nothing,” his brother shrugged off, inserting EOS’ drive back into the terminal.  After a moment, the security camera rotated again, a ring of lights reappearing.

“John, I will control the space elevator from here,” the AI said. “Control will reduce to only paying out the cable once you reach the final two hundred and fifty miles, but as that does not require any technology from the space elevator itself I will be able to lower it to the ground safely from here.”

“Thank you, EOS,” he said, once again checking his exosuit.  While the tech itself would be useless, the suit itself would give him additional protection and John wasn’t so desperate he’d launch himself from space without all the protection he could get – if only because Scott would never forgive either of them if he got hurt saving him.

“I’ll scan the area again, with Thunderbird Five this time,” Alan said. “If Scott’s down there, I’ll find him.” John offered him a small smile.

“Let me know what you find,” he said, heading for the airlock.  “EOS, start the descent.”

“The space elevator is away,” she informed him.  “I will hold it at ten feet until you’ve boarded.”

“Be careful!” Alan called out as he left, clinging to the cable and waiting for EOS to continue to lower it.

Alan had relocated Thunderbird Five in a much lower orbit than usual, and as such the two craft were not actually in geostationary orbit.  The vastly reduced distance of only twelve hundred miles, instead of Thunderbird Five’s usual twenty two and a half thousand, meant that the drop would be much shorter, but it also meant they were on a time limit.  Looking up, John could see Thunderbird Three’s boosters firing, Alan and EOS having calculated the exact force she needed to exert on Thunderbird Five to keep her temporarily stationary, but Thunderbird Three only had so much fuel, and there was a much higher traffic level in Low Orbit.

As soon as John was on the ground, they would need to at the least allow Thunderbird Five to orbit, and preferably pull her back to her usual altitude, otherwise they risked a collision with another satellite.

He was quite frankly amazed that no-one was calling him and Alan out on their dangerous relocation, but John wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

His communicator beeped, and he answered to see a very grumpy Virgil glowering at him.

“You had better not be doing what I think you are,” he threatened, and John raised an eyebrow at his younger brother.

“How’s Kayo?” he asked, instead of bothering to respond.  They both knew what he was doing.

“She’ll be fine,” Virgil assured him, although his frustration hadn’t abated a bit.  “Some bruises and a broken leg, but all in all it could have been a lot worse. Thunderbird Two is refuelled and heading back towards the Sahara now.  Gordon and I will be there in an hour.”

“Good to know,” John said.  “I’ll be at the EMP generator in less than fifteen minutes.  With any luck by the time you arrive I’ll have it disabled. Now that Thunderbird Five is overhead, Alan and EOS are working to get Scott’s exact position; they’ll let you know when they find him.”

“How did you get Thunderbird Five overhead?” Virgil asked suspiciously. “You said it wasn’t possible.”

John was saved from explaining his Thunderbird’s new location by an incoming call from Alan.

“I’ve got him!”

“You’ve got eyes on Scott?” Gordon cut in.  “Where?”

“Well, technically I’ve got eyes on Thunderbird One,” Alan amended.  “But there’s a single life sign from inside the cockpit and there’s no sign of anyone leaving her, so that has to be Scott.”

The cool voice of logic in the back of John’s head finally stopped its mantra that there was no way Scott could have survived.

“What’s Thunderbird One’s condition?” Virgil asked.

“Looks like a wing broke off on landing,” Alan reported.  “The other is fully extended but seems to be still attached. She’s a bit banged up, but apart from the wing she looks like she’s all in one piece.”

“Wait,” Gordon interrupted.  “Her wings are extended?  But wasn’t she doing Mach 15?”

“Thunderbird One has a manual override on the wings,” Alan reminded them. “Scott must have tried to use them to slow down.  That mea-”

John didn’t get to hear what that meant, as a tangible shudder ran through the space elevator, and then both his exosuit and space suit.

Two hundred and fifty miles to go, and the failsafes built into the space elevator in case something went wrong on Thunderbird Five’s end, or with the cable itself, were no longer operational.

Still, he had evidence to prove that Scott was still alive.  That was something to hold onto as he descended closer and closer to the sands below.

~~~~~~~~

When John’s data all cut off, leaving him and EOS with nothing except a high resolution camera aimed directly at the top of the space elevator by which to keep an eye on his big brother, reality hit Alan.

It had been easy to supress until then, with John there and grounding him even though they were looking for Scott, but now he was the only Tracy in space – EOS, family as she was, didn’t have a warm body and therefore didn’t count – and with only two of his older brothers in contact, reality came crashing down.

Scott was missing.  Thunderbird One had been hit with an EMP while travelling at Mach 15 and had crashed. Alan had seen ugly scenes of plane crashes from much lower speeds, and the sight of his eldest brother’s Thunderbird with a wing sheared off did nothing to quell the rising horror.  Even at her low altitude, Thunderbird Five couldn’t get any information about the life sign other than the fact that it existed.  All Alan could do was watch the red heart symbol and pray that it stayed there until John disabled the EMP generator and his brothers could reach him.

“Records show that Scott Tracy is resilient,” EOS said suddenly, and Alan spared her a grateful glance.  The AI was still learning human emotions, but he knew her well enough to know that she was attempting to reassure him.

It helped.  A little.

“How’s the space elevator doing?” he asked, and EOS’ rings flashed white.

“John will be in contact with the ground in approximately two minutes and twenty five point three seconds,” she informed him.  “We will need to relocate Thunderbird Five away from this position within nine point five four six minutes.”

“Is something coming?”  Alan had hoped they’d be able to remain above the desert for longer, at least until his brothers were with Scott.

“Yes, a satellite will be in this location in eleven point three minutes and I calculate it will take Thunderbirds Three and Five one point seven minutes to clear the collision zone,” EOS informed him.  “That will also allow Thunderbird Three to conserve enough fuel to return Thunderbird Five to geostationary orbit, land in the Sahara to collect John after he has succeeded in disarming the EMP generator, relaunch to arrive at Thunderbird One’s current location, and then return to Tracy Island.”

Alan hadn’t actually given a thought to how John was going to get out of the desert.  With his communicator now dead, and the space elevator needing retraction, someone was going to have to do it, and Thunderbird Two had to get straight to Scott because that was where their equipment was.  With Thunderbird Shadow also out of commission, that left just Thunderbird Three, and a glance at her fuel reserves warned him that it was going to be tight.

But Alan couldn’t just leave John there.  With his suit also fried, that meant he had no thermal regulation and he hadn’t taken any water with him.  If John had a plan, he hadn’t shared it with Alan, and no matter how much of a genius John was, Alan wasn’t about to trust that he’d had one.  Scott’s crash was messing all of them up, even the supposedly unshakable space monitor.

Part 4>>>

[tracybirds]

The idea of John sending “care packages” as described in @gumnut-logic ‘s Thunderbird X fic (STILL SCREAMING ABOUT THAT BTW) has just CAPTURED ME so yeah :D Thanks for letting me play with the idea!!!

Fic covers time from just after the original explosion right through to 3x24, but obviously the events of 3x25 have influenced my choices so ya know... potential spoilers under the cut.

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

“He’s gone,” yells Gordon and John flinches back, his words striking a blow across twenty-two and a half thousand miles of space.

Gordon’s words aren’t meant for him, he’s screaming at Scott and John’s meant to be mediating, meant to help stand up for one and protect the other, but he’s struggling to hold onto reality in the wake of his father’s disappearance.

Death, he reminds himself.

He mutes the feed, unable to listen to his brothers fighting anymore, and pushes back from the holoprojector so that neither can see the way the tears are falling from his face as he watches his family break apart.

A quiet beep catches his attention and he pulls up the call.

“Are you okay?”

It’s Virgil. John wonders how he could possibly know, but then Virgil always seemed able to read John’s emotions better than he himself could.

He speaks quietly, sitting in the dim light of Alan’s bedroom and clasping their baby brother’s hand in his as he sleeps.

When John was Alan’s age, he had both his parents.

Virgil looks older, haggard and grave in a way that doesn’t suit the face of a young adult. It makes John feel impossibly young beside him.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he whispers. “He can’t be alive and he also can’t be gone.”

There’s a loud crash and Virgil winces at the sound.

“I should be saying something to them.”

“No, I’ll go,” says Virgil. “Stay on the line in case Alan wakes.”

He stays, watching the rise and fall of his brother’s chest. He doesn’t know what Virgil says to his brothers but he returns later, his normally calm face stormy.

He doesn’t ask.

The next morning John receives a call from Scott.

“Am I deluding myself? Is Gordon right?”

He hates himself for refusing to squash the desperate hope that is glinting madly in Scott’s eyes. He hates himself more for not wanting to face the cold, objective truth that his Dad was gone. He’s always prided himself on his ability to calmly accept the facts that were and not the ones he wished could be. Now though, John has run out of faith in science, his foolish insistence that the universe could be catalogued into a semblance of order has been overturned by the chaos of an explosion over the Pacific Ocean. His head and heart can no longer agree on reality and John is disorientated by the endless questions that pierce him from the planet below.

“Do you think there’s any hope?”

John doesn’t know what he believes anymore, is tongue-tied in the realm of uncertainty.

“There’s always hope.”

And he finds deep down he believes in his own words. He reaches out to record a message, one to throw away, hoping that this awful, indefinite desperation might be flung out into space along with it if he lets it go far enough.

A high band frequency, a carefully chosen timeslot when he’s certain his message won’t interfere with – or be intercepted by – the radio telescopes on the Earth below, and his own trembling voice on loop.

“Calling Zero-X from Thunderbird Five, Colonel Jeff Tracy, do you copy?”

He stifles a sob in his throat.

“Please respond.”

Alone in space, his final message, his final hope, left Thunderbird Five with as powerful a signal as John could configure. He makes a programme to send his message out to the stars, embeds it into Five’s core so it can repeat whenever the conditions are right, a lonely cry for his father to come home.

Ten months later, Scott calls him down from Thunderbird Five and for the first time they discuss the future and not the past. The subroutine is lost, buried deep within Five and John chooses to forget the constant radio fluctuations that propagate into deep space from his home.

***

EOS stretches out and explores her new home often. John is yet to get tired of her insistent questions and he loves that she prefers to ask him instead of searching for the information on her own. The quirk is a lack of efficiency that tells John how much she trusts him.

He can’t deny the way his heart leaps whenever he’s given the opportunity to teach her about something new, even if he sometimes struggles to put the abstract concepts of emotion into terms she can understand.

“John, why do you continue to transmit to your father after he is gone?”

John frowns. He speaks often to his mother and father as he stares out into the stars and he’s already discussed this with EOS, pushing through the exhaustion and the tears as he explained what it meant to miss someone, what it meant to grieve.

He’s too tired to explain all over again.

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“No,” she insists. Before he can reply, his own voice fills the station, wet and rubbed raw in a way that shoots straight into his heart.

John freezes. Sometimes EOS doesn’t realise what her innocent questions do, the way they can send a spike of adrenaline shooting through his body and engage the section of his brain which wants to run and hide from a reality he’s given up on. He’s back in that moment of desperation five years ago, the recording made in a haze of grief and endless hope that he’d never really relinquished.

He opens his mouth to speak, but instead he sobs, synchronised with the artificial sound of his own voice.

He sounds young.

The recording dies away as EOS observes him and that only makes him cry harder, to see her small developments in emotional sensitivity. He taught her that, the same way his Mom and Dad taught him and he can see the aspects of his life that his Dad doesn’t know, will never know stretching out in front of him.

“I’m sorry, John,” says EOS. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“You didn’t know,” he gasps. “I had forgotten about it.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Yes.”

And he does. She already knows the facts, less than half a second has returned more results than any of them could wish for about his death, but he can give her something more.

She’s silent and turns the new data over as she examines it’s effect.

“I do not understand. Your father is dead. You knew this when you made the recording. You know this now. Your actions are illogical.”

There’s an ache in his chest but it has kindled something greater in his heart.

“Sometimes EOS, things happen that we don’t understand, that we can’t understand. We can accept the reality given or we can search for an alternative.”

“You delude yourselves to make your feelings less significant and have less impact on your life.”

“No, EOS,” said John with a tired smile. “We hope.”

She doesn’t understand yet, he can see that. He doesn’t fully understand it either.

Later that night, he lies in bed and allows his fingers to pull apart the code embedded in Thunderbird Five. He stares at the small subroutine, still running perfectly after all these years.

He has a choice to make, he knows that. It’s a choice they’ve all faced at one point or another – whether or not to keep searching. He glances over at the digital frame, cycling through the familiar sight of his family. His breath catches as he sees the photos he’d added to the collection only a few short weeks ago, of Gordon pushing both Scott and Virgil into the pool only to be shoved in turn by Kayo on the next image. He wishes his Dad could see where they all were now, wishes there was someway to let him know they were okay. He searches for the star that he’d chosen as a representative of his father, but the seasons are wrong and it is lost behind the glare of the Sun.

His hand hovers over the programme he’d built to outlast his grief, hesitating as he considers shutting it down. He doesn’t know why it is so hard, to sever the last remaining link of a delusion. But he needs to talk to his father, wants it so badly he might be sick. He’s not ready to let go and so instead, he encrypts a single photo and adds it to the message.

***

He updates and replace the addition to his message regularly. It’s become a habit, an addiction to the idea that even if his Dad is gone that there might still be a way to communicate with him. It’s illogical, but EOS says nothing when he sits down every month or so to share the events of his life with his dead father.

He doesn’t add much to the message, conscious of the need for privacy in case his cries are ever intercepted, acutely aware of the fact that not once has he mentioned to his family what he is broadcasting into space.

He just can’t seem to stop.

He sends a copy of Gordon’s speech at his graduation the previous year from the boarding school he’d attended.

Virgil’s landscape series of paintings.

A photo of Scott scowling as Gordon crashed in on him getting ready for a date.

“Alan can drive now,” he tells him with a shocked laugh. “I trust him in a plane, but the thought of Alan in a car is terrifying, he has no concept of speed limits.”

If his Dad has to remain absent for the rest of their lives, John can’t imagine a place he’d rather find him than amongst the stars. It had been his Dad who had taught him the constellations, how to navigate, how to survive in the emptiness. He’d loved his universe too deeply for the inky black to scare him. He never liked to be alone out there though, the solitude grating in a way it wasn’t for John, and so the updates continue. He doesn’t want his father to feel alone.

A scientific paper, with Gordon’s name written on it, describing the new taxonomy of Europanian life.

Shyly, he adds a photo of himself and Ridley to the message a few months later. Even if he doesn’t want to talk about it with the rest of his family, not yet, he can tell someone about how nervous he feels about letting someone new into his life. His Dad had always understood that about him.

It’s on his enforced downtime when the music begins to float as gently through the space station as John did. He smiles, recognising the melody of one of Virgil’s favourite pieces.

It had been one of the first modifications he’d made to Thunderbird Five, one of many of which his brothers were unaware. An automatic audio uplink, a connection between Five and their mother’s piano, that relayed the music his brother chose to perform for himself. It provided a tangible link, not just to Tracy Island, but to Virgil himself. He knew from the music whether or not his brother needed a listening ear.

Right now, the music is soft and at peace and John is glad to hear it. With the recent introduction of the Chaos Crew in their lives, his brother deserves whatever peace he can find.

“EOS, make a recording,” he calls softly. He floats serenely above his beloved Earth, the feeling of contentment spreading warm from his chest.

“Wish you could hear this Dad,” he whispers as he updates his message that he’s sent to the stars.

He can see the binary system of Spica in the distance, the star his father had pointed to all those years ago and gently told him that his mother was watching over him from there. He hadn’t known at the time that the one star was really two, and he can’t think of a place his Dad would rather be than with his Mom.

It’s the last time he updates his father for a long while, the work of International Rescue taking over their lives as they struggle to adapt to the disregard for human life the Chaos Crew presents. It’s as discouraging to see as it is exhausting, and John doesn’t have the time or the energy to entertain a fantasy that’s now old enough to be in elementary school.

“Cranial contusion, concussion, vertebral compression fractures, compound radial fracture, spiral femoral fracture, and a shattered patella.”

John reads the list aloud as clinically as he can manage given the image of his younger brother is floating in front of his vision as he speaks. He takes a deep, shuddering breath trying desperately to compose himself for the next words he will speak.

“Dad, we know you’re out there somewhere. We miss you. Please know we won’t stop looking and we will find you.”

He updates the looped message for one final time. In three weeks, Scott will have had enough time to realise his brother’s home doubles as the most powerful communication satellite in the Solar System, and now they have a target to aim for.

He shuts down the programme.

***

He doesn’t stop speaking to his father. He is no longer is speaking to a dead man to update him on the lives of his children once a month, but instead trying to co-ordinate the relentless demands of a family, desperate to reach out to a living father, son, friend, loved one.

It’s changed every facet of their lives.

“Hey, are you transmitting right now John? Hey Dad! We’re all out here saving the world! Except Johnny of course. He’s busy bossing us around. Imagine if he’d been born first instead of Scott, he’d be insufferable.”

“I’m not sending him that,” scowls John. He can see the way Gordon pouts on the holoscreen, can read the disappointment behind the levity. He sends the file.

Alan doesn’t want to make a recording, wants to speak to his father himself, but he settles for ‘leaving a voicemail’ from Thunderbird Five. He insists on flying up to John, collapsing in his brother’s arms and confiding his anxieties before making his call.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” he whispers, and John’s heart breaks.

“He loved you then, he loves you now, and he will love you again,” John murmured into his baby brother’s hair. “Go on sprout, tell him what’s been happening.”

Alan sends him his latest report card, a photo of him and Bran, and the leaderboards for his favourite video games. He tells his father about how they work and why he likes them and how much he loves working for International Rescue. His father won’t see the way Alan’s eyes light up when he speaks of his legacy but John does and he has to hold back tears as he watches his brother, so kind and enthusiastic and growing up fast. He has to hold back his tears a lot these days.

Gordon’s been smiling ever since they found out for sure, his face threatening to crack under the strain. He sends an updated list of dad jokes to “make sure you’re prepared for when you next see us” and also a photo of him standing on the Olympic podium. There’s a scan of a notebook that John’s never seen before, containing signatures of every kid Gordon’s ever rescued.

He only sends one audio file, a whispered apology for giving up that John knows his father has already forgiven.

Virgil sends music. He records every one of his Dad’s old favourites and tells John to blast them into space. He also sends hours of one sided conversations, not trusting his written words to reach across the billions of miles. John doesn’t listen to them, knowing how Virgil has needed this release, full of pent up emotions and years of biting his tongue and chasing after Scott.

Scott has made it his life mission to bring their father home and as soon as he understands the implications of being able to send a message back, he changes. He doesn’t want the responsibility of his siblings bearing down on him now that it doesn’t have to be that way forever and he makes the shift from commander to number one before they even have a viable way to get to him. It doesn’t matter. Scott won’t trust himself to emotion, not after eight long years of weary pain, and he sends only mission reports and status updates. John’s not sure if Scott’s struggling to keep his hope alive after all these years, or if his life has really become so consumed by his work without any of them noticing.

He sends his own apology to his father after that.

And then one day, Brains makes the call.

A matter of days, John repeats to himself again and again, as he struggles to keep his mind on the rescue at hand. His brothers are scrambling into their gear and he knows he only has a few precious minutes. “EOS, take over for a sec,” he said. “Call me as soon as they’re in the air.” “FAB John.” He hit the ground running as the gravity ring began to spin. “Dad,” he said, his voice breathless as he began the final recording that he would send into the far reaches of the solar system. “Dad, I don’t know if you can hear us. But if you get this, you need to know. We’re coming. We’re on our way to you right now. When you listen to this message, we’ll be there. We’ll be there. This is Thunderbird Five, signing off.”

[okay-j-hannah]

The Adrenaline of Panic

Criminal Minds : Fic

Spencer x Reader

Word Count: 2220

Warnings: I used the plot line from season 6 episode 10 - reader has a similar situation to Ashley Seaver... being new and all 😁 {mild struggle, shots fired, unsub down, agent choked... the whole nine yards} 

Inspiration and dialogue came from this episode: 6x10 What Happens At Home

Request: This is just from my own head 😊

A/N: In a moment of pure terror, the team realizes that you’re visiting the killer in his home - Reid, unable to contain the panic, races against the clock to save you from a gruesome end

“Okay, let’s hope the occupancy listings show pets.” Emily led the way into the back room, carrying a stack of files, “This is the pile of suspects we need to weed the 18 from.”

(Y/N) followed closely behind, meeting at the table, “What are these?” She gestured to the smaller stack that Spencer was carrying in.

“Victim information, the families of the 3 women who were killed,” he responded, moving to stand beside her, his eyes trained on her face.

“Families,” (Y/N) muttered.

Emily sighed, opening a case file, “Yeah, families are the hardest part about this job.”

Though it had only been a few weeks since her initial field training, (Y/N) was finding it hard not to feel attached to the victims. She was involuntarily connecting herself to them on an empathetic and personal level. That could be dangerous for someone on a case, she knew.

Spencer knew it too, watching her movements closely as she gazed at the victim boards behind them. He had known (Y/N) for a few years, running into her at a lecture they were commonly interested in. He was one of the first people to recommend her for the BAU trainings – obviously secretly wishing he could work alongside her and get to know her more.

Throughout her training process, Reid became accustomed to her kind nature and positive thinking. He had made a mental note then to introduce her to Garcia.

But he had also decided then that he was going to have to look out for her when it came to being too involved in cases. It can damage an agent’s whole career by getting too involved, becoming irrational during a case.

“Drew Jacobs. We talked to him this afternoon. His wife, Aubrey, was victim number 3.”

(Y/N) listened to Prentiss, gazing at the file before her. Beautiful pictures of a blonde woman were paperclipped within, similar snapshots of her daughter – a daughter that held much of her likeness.

It made her insides clench, noticing the poor girl, “She’s never going to have a mother around.”

Spencer licked his lips, fumbling his fingers through other case files as he tried to observe her, “No. It’s unfortunate.”

(Y/N) flickered her eyes to him, seeing the immediate concern behind his gaze. “And that’s her laptop?”

“Yes, we did a data sweep over it and we’ll have to take it back to the house,” Emily responded, also noticing the slight uneasiness in (Y/N)’s demeanor.

But they continued the work on the files, Prentiss being taken away by the local sheriff for records of pet ownership amongst the possible unsubs. It left Spencer and (Y/N) quietly shuffling through other paperwork, muttering theories as they went.

Reid couldn’t help but stare, his eyes seeming to x-ray her – him trying to figure out what he could do to comfort her. She simply droned on, moving her gaze to the laptop multiple times before snapping up at Spencer’s voice.

“You okay?”

She met his light eyes, his brows knitted into concern at her blank expression, “Yeah, it’s just… you know – the families. They’ve lost so much… in such a horrendous way. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

He found the urge to console her but had no idea how to shift past the awkward tension, “You know there’s an average of 5.3 murders per capita per day in America? That’s about 53 murders per 100 thousand people per day, meaning that there’s a lot of families being affected each day. And… and because of such a statistical average we shouldn’t feel obligated or at fault for each death because there’s no possible way we could prevent such a vast number over a land mass such as America. That’s like saying we could imprison every serial killer in the 3.8 million square miles of the United States…” he attempted at a smile, quickly realizing that (Y/N)’s frown was getting deeper and deeper.

“Which is incomprehensible with that sizeable area and such a small team, not to mention that it’s estimated that there are around 2,000 serial killers at large in the US at this given moment. Essentially, we shouldn’t blame ourselves for…”

“I get it, Reid. There are hundreds of deaths happening each week that we have no control over,” she clenched her jaw, staring at the laptop, “And the only comfort we have for the families are statistics, false hope, and bad news.”

Spencer found his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Of course he resorted to rambling in a split second decision to do something nerve wracking. But the way she stood there without an ounce of feeling in her face really hit him hard. He had to do something.

“Do you want a coffee?”

She sighed, swallowing hard, “Are you trying to get me addicted?”

He opened his mouth, confused again, “Why would I want…?”

“Yes, I’ll take a coffee,” she hinted at a smile, “Gesh, Spence… you’d think my humor would rub off on you at some point.”

There was a pause as he caught onto the sarcasm, “I’ll be right back.”

And he skid out of the room quickly, extremely proud of himself that he was able to get (Y/N) to almost smile.

Little did he know that (Y/N) was now eyeing the laptop with a hard expression. She knew it was against protocol to leave without informing Hotch – especially with her being so new to the game. But if there’s one thing she’s learned from the last five minutes, it’s that no family should be treated as a statistic.

And they deserved to have their possessions returned to them in person by an agent familiar with the case.

~~~

Rossi moved the phone to speaker as other BAU members gathered around the table, “Garcia, we need you to run a few more names. Phillip Long.”

Within seconds the tech guru spit back an answer with precision, “Long has no suspicions on his record, no arrests, and no technology either.”

Reid stood among the men – a coffee clutched in his hand; another full cup was left on a desk behind him. He wasn’t able to find (Y/N) after his initial visit to the breakroom for the drinks. And it wasn’t sitting well with him that she just disappeared.

You could visibly see the mental battle bombarding his psyche as he attempted to listen to the others. He knew she was showing signs of being too involved, he knew she was struggling not to do something more for the case.

Should he say something to Hotch and possibly get her career flagged by a broken rule?

“Drew Jacobs,” Rossi continued.

Reid found his mind being triggered to a memory by the said name. The name of one of the victim’s husbands.

“Drew Jacobs has a couple of arrests for assault when he was younger,” Garcia typed away from the speaker phone, “I’ll give you more details on that in a sec. Is this the husband of the woman whose computer I went through?”

Reid became very still, halting his fidgeting. The laptop.

“Yeah,” Morgan responded, noting the change of demeanor from Spencer.

“She was really unhappy with him,” Garcia continued. “She said he was distant, he left her alone at night. He would wander outside – in fact, he was at the top of the suspect pool until his wife was killed.”

Rossi shared looks with the rest of the men, speculating before Reid dropped his cup of coffee and ran for the door. His satchel hit the frame hastily as he dove for keys to any sort of government vehicle outside, running for the black SUVs parked on the street.

He knew he should’ve said something – he knew he should’ve called her as soon as he realized she was gone – he knew he shouldn’t have left her alone.

And now she was going to pay for his ignorance.

Practically slamming into a car, Reid pulled out his phone to dial, already knowing his destination from the case files he memorized. He was finding adrenaline coursing through him like nothing he had ever experienced. His eyes were dilated, breathing abnormal, and palms unusually sweaty. He was panicking.

“Agent (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)!” Reid yelled, quickly catching his fault in volume and reducing to an acceptable rate, “Where are you?”

There was a hint of something off in her tone, “Without a doubt, sir.”

His heart skipped a beat, a bubbling entering his stomach, “Are you at Drew Jacobs?”

There was a breath, “Yes, sir.”  

Reid turned a corner, finding a third-party line attempting to patch through. He quickly tapped the accept button, finding Hotch on the other end.

It was strange for Spencer – to experience a moment where his brain wasn’t working.

“She… she’s at the unsubs house,” he tried to explain, blinking hard to focus on the road – to get to (Y/N). “She’s not alone.”

“Can you get out of there?” Hotch asked calmly, only concern in his voice. “(Y/N).”

The amount of time it took her to answer caused Reid’s stomach to flip into knots, his fingers itching to move as she responded, “I’m sorry, sir. I, uh… I can’t do that.” And she hung up.

“(Y/N)?” Reid panicked more, hitting his hand against the steering wheel, just minutes away from the designated house. “(Y/N)!”

Hotch spoke quickly over the phone, “Jacobs has her. She has no gun – we need to go.”

“Son of a bitch,” Morgan muttered, leaning into the phone, “Stay calm, Reid. We’ll be there soon.”

In return, Spencer threw his phone into the next seat, swerving to get to the driveway – wasting no more time. The team was on their way and would only be minutes behind him, though that was only a mere thought in the back of his mind. He was too concerned about getting into the actual house.

He extracted his gun, checking for any signs of movement in the windows. His breath was coming out in rapid, short bursts.

He was having flashes strike his mind… moments that he had shared with (Y/N) in the past. Lectures – coffee shops – libraries – hallows eve festivals – science projects – poetry slams – dinners with the team – driving her home – the urge to hold her hand – her beautiful smile.

He was not about to let her die like this.

Within a burst of high energy, Reid was already through the door, vaguely hearing a rustling coming from upstairs. Attempting to keep some sort of composure, he raised his gun, aiming it at the staircase.

The sound of struggling grew more violent, an awful choking noise becoming evident to his ears. Another surge of adrenaline forced him up the stairs quickly, almost fumbling near the top. The adjacent bedroom had its door open wide, figures flailing on the ground. A little girl was crying.

Jacobs had (Y/N) pinned to the floor, his hands hungrily squeezing her throat. Her legs were trying to buck him off, slowly losing vigor as she suffocated.

Reid found his voice hoarse, “Drew Jacobs, release the agent and back away. You have three seconds.”

(Y/N) moved her eyes to him; they were growing red and full of unshed tears. She gaped her mouth, moving her lips with silent pleas. And her fingers were losing the energy needed to claw at her attacker’s hands.

“Mr. Jacobs!” Reid yelled again, unable to see an alternative to the heat in the man’s eyes. And in a second he fired his weapon, two shots directly in the unsubs back.

It took only a second longer for Jacobs to release her, slumping to the side in a quick death.

Reid ran for her, putting his gun swiftly away in its holster to free his hands. (Y/N) gave a wracking cough, trying to fill her lungs with air once more. Her eyes were watering, a harsh mark quickly developing around her neck and chest.

With a closer look, Reid could see what a beforehand struggle inflicted on her: a few good gashes from a pocketknife the unsub had on him.

“(Y/N), thank God,” he sloppily brushed away pieces of her hair to free her face. He placed a hand on her shoulder, another behind her head, “You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.”

She coughed more, sucking in painful breaths, “I… I’m sorry.”

He swallowed hard, finding his adrenaline invoking more spur of the moment actions – he pulled her into his chest, hugging her tightly.

“Don’t… we’ll talk about that later. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

She leaned into him, exhausted from the struggle, and he was finding it difficult to want to move from the spot. She was so fragile in that moment, real tears mixing in from the ones forced out of her.

“I just… I just wanted o-one family to feel seen. To not be considered a st-statistic.”

Reid bit the inside of his cheek, “Your heart is just too big for your own good.” He couldn’t help but smile, holding her there, “The team will be here any second and we can get you the help you need.”

“Please don’t leave me, Spence.” She struggled with breath, her throat bruising, “I don’t want you to go.”

And he wrapped his arms around her tighter, shock slowly numbing away, “Anything you need, (Y/N). You can always count on me to be there.”

~~~

Buy Me a Coffee?

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @reid-187​

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[tss-ragnarok-au]

Chapter 1

Warnings: Blood, takes place just after a traumatic event, a few death mentions and jokes about dying, swearing

Word Count: 1,532 (I’m trying to keep the chapters relatively short so I can get them out on a regular basis)

Author’s Note: This has been a long time in the works. I’m kind of emotional sharing it, but don’t mind me. Welcome, and enjoy!

Generally, when your best friend shows up at your door, you don’t want them to be covered in blood. With this in mind, you can imagine that Logan was not entirely pleased when his best (and only) friend appeared exactly as such.

Up until that point, it had been your average apocalyptic Tuesday. Logan had been following his to-do list, which was most likely the only thing keeping him sane on his own. His family had decided to follow the theory most widespread on the internet and split up. If there weren’t so many humans in one place, maybe all the monsters wouldn’t notice them. This theory wasn’t scientifically proven, but then again, neither were any of the others. Scientists didn’t exactly have the… resources required to perform such experiments, and, because all of the mail had been shut down, they couldn’t keep accurate records of who lived, who died, or how. But with the internet mostly still up and running the Ateneos had scraped up the data from the most reliable resources they could find and run with it. Literally. 

Logan’s father took his little sister Mercedes about a few thousand miles Northwest, his mother had taken Logan’s abuelo South, and last he’d heard they were still moving until they found someplace safe to settle for a while. Logan had been left to look after their little house. His family had figured they were going to give him a little more independence when he turned seventeen anyways. Odd how such things tend to work out. The airlines shut down the day after his birthday, so his family had stayed until the last moment they could, which ended up being around 10:47 a.m. and left him there. Alone. But it was okay, because Logan had his log and his to-do list.

Tuesday, July 2nd: To Do

Wake up (approximately 6 am)

Eat breakfast (1 slice of toast, 1 egg)

Read (at least 2 chapters, no more than 4 chapters)

Call Mami (remember to ask about her whereabouts, location apps still down)

Eat lunch (one serving, no matter what)

Paint (use moderation)

Send Mercedes a picture (yourself and/or the painting) and make sure her mental state isn’t suffering too much

Update Log

Check in with Patton (via text, see if he can come over tomorrow)

Practice Archery (set the net up first so you don’t lose arrows, be alert and aware of your surroundings)

Eat dinner (again, one serving exactly)

Research/practice knife techniques

Go to bed (approximately 10 pm, no bluelight after 9:30)

This had been going perfectly right up until it hadn’t. He’d gotten out the bread and peanut butter and had the raspberry jelly in his hand when a quick, loud knocking interrupted his lunch preparations. He held the jelly jar at an angle from which it could be easily used as a weapon and warily unlocked and opened the door. 

That is when Logan Ateneo found what appeared to be his best friend splattered with something red that was most certainly not his beloved Crofters. 

“Patton?” he asked warily. His friend’s eyes and smile were just a bit too wide and his skin was a bit too pale.

“Uhh..Last summer we rode the ferris wheel, I asked you what a cephalopod was and you told me all about them. When we were at the top you almost dropped your phone showing me a video of a mimic octopus.”  

Logan didn’t have the best memory and Patton was speaking irregularly fast, but the absolute terror of his precious cell phone dancing nearly out of his grasp over a 213 foot drop, as well as the opportunity to talk about his beloved cephalopods had burned the incident into his mind. He stepped aside and let Patton in. One day Logan was sure he was going to wholeheartedly believe his friend was a shapeshifter or the other way around because his memory was such absolute garbage. That was how he would die. He opened his mouth to ask about… well, about a lot of things, but Pat spoke before he got the chance.

“I’m really out of it, and I can’t tell if I’m about to cry or puke but oh lord, one or the other is coming so I’m gonna try to get this all out before it happens. Okay? Okay. So I think maybe zombies or like, beta mer-zombies just attacked my house, I have no freaking clue where most of my family is, I’m like 90% positive they’re coming this way next, uhh I’m pretty sure you can drive and I can’t, and we gotta get out of here.” 

Logan took a moment to mentally unpack all of that. 

“Wait, the zombie creatures are coming now? As in at this exact moment?”

“Pretty sure”

“Then could you please explain why we’re still standing here?” Before waiting for an answer, Logan grabbed his dopey friend by the arm, making a mental note to figure out why he was acting this way later, and pulled him along as they ran to the car. 

He couldn’t see anything as he rushed past, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He shoved Patton haphazardly into the passenger’s side before nearly breaking his own leg slamming the door as he slid into the driver’s seat. He reached over and buckled Patton’s seatbelt after his own as his friend stayed frozen in place. A distant growl made the hair on the back of Logan’s neck stand up. He hit the gas and everything from there was more or less a blur. 

***

It wasn’t until they were on the highway that Logan calmed down a little and Patton brought up an excellent question.

“Hey Lo… Where are we going?” 

Logan hadn’t thought that far ahead. He didn’t dare pull over but he let himself drop his laser focus for a moment to think about the answer. He was silent for a while. Then, a very… interesting idea came to mind.

“My uncle’s cabin in the woods.”

“That sounds like we’re gonna die.”

“Odds are, we’re going to die anyways. I am entirely serious. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, fairly distant, there are plenty of resources in a pinch, my uncle left a long time ago, and the last person there was his ex, who dropped off the map a few months ago.”

“You do realize how ominous that is, right?”

“Do you keep in touch with your relatives’ ex-boyfriends?”

“Eh….” It was clear Patton had drifted off again. Logan switched lanes to head towards the cabin, but his mind was working much faster, trying to figure out if Patton had some kind of rune cast on him, or if he’d perhaps suffered head trauma, or-

“Oh. I see.” Logan realized. He waited a moment for a response. His friend continued to stare out the car window, his fingers twitching in half-minded fidgets. “Pat?”

“What?”

“You’re in shock.”

“Huh. Wait-I thought…” The gears started turning in his head, “I thought you got that from wearing socks on the carpet…”

Patton then proceeded to burst into tears.

With the reading Logan had done on psychological shock, that was to be expected, as all of Patton’s emotions that he’d disconnected from had come flooding back with the realization. This information did not, however, give Logan an adequate way to deal with the situation. 

He settled for awkwardly patting his friend’s hand and respectfully looking away. 

***

Patton’s crying slowed to a sniffle just as Logan pulled the car from the paved road to a bumpy dirt path.  They sat in silence for a while, bouncing over the rocks. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t lie to me.” 

“Shit happened, I don’t think I can process it right now.”

This caused Logan more concern than the crying. Patton only swore when he really didn’t feel good.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Patton didn’t respond.

“Is,” Logan became quieter as he began to realize the severity of what had happened at Patton’s house, “Is everyone okay?”

Patton bit his lip and slowly shook his head. He hesitantly held out his hand, and Logan laced his fingers through Pat’s. 

Squeeze.

They stayed like that until the gravel driveway crunched under their wheels. It led to what appeared to be a very nice cabin that had been left to suffer by Nature’s hand. Ivy covered one wall entirely, and had begun creeping across the front and back of the house. Moss crawled over the roof. Logan could spot at least three bird’s nests in various nooks and crannies. And that was just the outside. 

Patton stared at it for a moment. Just as Logan thought he was about to remark something about the beauty of nature reclaiming and building upon what humanity had made of it he said,

“How fricking rich was your uncle? This thing is huge.”

Logan had just opened his mouth to respond when a howl swept through the trees, sending a shiver through his entire body.

“Perhaps, discussing things inside would be better?”

“I always have wanted to die in a cabin in the woods!”

.

Asks are now open for Logan and Patton!

[anonthenullifier]

Post Hoc- Ch. 2

An “And They Were Research Collaborators!” AU

Chapter 2: Design Overview

Summary: Wanda and Vision map out how they will approach their collaboration.

AO3 Link

Note: IRB = Institutional Review Board. They review all studies that involve human participants to make sure they are ethical before collecting data.

Wanda stares at the empty pan behind the steamed tilapia sign and sighs, shuffling to the left and scooping what is supposedly a vegetable stew into her to-go box. This setback is par for her day, one filled with a series of disappointing if nots. Like if not for waking up late she would have packed her lunch and if not for Nat having a meeting and Sam working in the field she wouldn't be alone for lunch. Then, if not for needing to work on her grant, which has to be sent to the grant development office for revisions and suggestions by the end of the week, she’d have gone out to get some fresh air and better food.  

Really she can go even further than today. If not for her first yearly review she wouldn’t be scrambling to put something together right now. And, if not for spending her first year on joining Reed’s team to apply for that multimillion dollar quantum loop grant he just secured, she would have already applied for her own funding. But she didn’t and that’s why even though she was applauded for her cooperative research with the other physicists, she was also informed, in very professional and not technically threatening words, that at such a highly regarded institution it wasn't good enough to always be a co-author or secondary investigator. 

Wanda breathes in and tries to ignore the abyss of her future, which will be easier to do with a brownie as a treat for when her methodology is done. 

Three feet to the left and she discovers that all that remains is the sign and a couple of crumbs. That seems fair. It’s not like she’ll even manage to get the methodology done today, her mind scattered in a hundred different directions on what exactly she wants to do with quantum chaos theory. The higher ups not only expect her to be a primary investigator with some significant external funding all her own, but they also demand novelty.  She knows she can get there, but it takes time, which she doesn’t currently have. 

Cutting her losses, she pays and heads off to her hermitage, to-go container clutched in her hands and head down, desperate not to get roped into lunch with any colleagues. Not that she doesn’t like them, but she reserves her mental and social energy for the required meetings. Plus, knowing her day, she’d probably get to hear all about one of their exciting and creative grants that happens to also scoop her idea and put her back to square one. 

As she nears the exit, something in her periphery catches her eye and she turns subtly to investigate. The object of attention is the lanky form and blonde hair of a certain psychologist. Great . Things went a little uncomfortably silent after her suggestion at the bar the other week and she hasn’t seen or heard from Vision since. Yet there he is. There's a part of her that feels like she should go over and apologize, worried she may have fractured his sense of scientific integrity though Natasha claims he’s fine, simply busy with adjusting to a new job and not gifted at social interactions. The majority of her conscience isn’t particularly concerned with him right now, more than happy to give him space and lots of time to exist in a state of being busy or terrified of her, either reality meaning she has more time to work on her research. And yet she can’t seem to find the confidence to keep walking towards her office. 

Is this how a particle feels when it goes to leap to a new position only to discover it’s entangled with another one thousands of miles away? This desperation to have free will while also feeling an inexplicable pull towards the movement of his sweater clad shoulders as he hunches forward? 

Wanda caves to his quantum energy and heads towards the psychologist, hoping the interaction will free her to go back to work. “Mind if I join you?”

If she was surprised by their entanglement, he’s clearly uncomfortable by it, response a little delayed as he moves his attention from the book in his hand ( Seven Brief Lessons on Physics ) to her face. The slow blink of his eyes could be a startle or that look you give to the person whom you find annoying beyond words and who also still keeps talking to you. Then his ambiguity breaks into a friendly smile, the book waving at the chair across from him, “Not at all, please.”

“What are you,” as she sits down she catches a glimpse of his lunch, mind veering into a different universe, “No, they had peanut butter today!”

His brow wrinkles, smoothing out once he follows her eyes to the beautiful, plump, peanut butter frosted brownie on his tray. “Oh, yes. I usually do not have dessert, but Sean-“

Wanda assumes he’s talking about one of the other psychologists that Sam has also mentioned, “He’s the pheromone guy, right?”

Vision’s, “Correct,” is layered with so much disquiet she is tempted to switch topics and see if he agrees with Sam’s own passionate views of Sean. “But he told me to try one as it would, according to him, ‘change my life’.” It will and it explains why the tray was empty today, those brownies coveted at the institute, the only true unifying belief amongst all of them. “Would you like to split it?”

If not for the fact he was already in the process of cutting it in half, she would have been polite and refused, but you can’t put a brownie back together, right? ”Only if you don’t want all of it.”

“I don’t.”

Wanda accepts the napkin holding her prize and begins to realign their conversation to the reason she joined him, starting small in case he shuts down like he did at the bar. “That’s a good book.” She nods towards the black cover speckled with stardust. It’s the same book she sent to Pietro after he told her he didn’t know how to explain to his co-workers what his sister did. 

“So far, yes.” Only now does she also see Vision’s notebook, margin to margin filled with impeccable handwriting and straight arrows forming various diagrams. “I attempted to read some of your more recent publications,” Wanda holds her breath, preparing for the typical condescension she receives from men outside her field whenever they speak of her work, “and though they are exquisite and elegant, I found my literacy in the area itself severely lacking to grasp the full meaning of your work.”

This isn’t usually how these things go, his eyes turned down instead of up and his voice absent that searing cockiness implying the disconnect in understanding is her fault. She doesn’t know how to handle genuineness, her defenses already built up for rebuttal. “You do know that you don’t have to be a physics expert since that’s my job, right?”

“I am more than aware,” the armor of goodwill might actually tighten around him, “I am simply curious about the field and wish to have some level of knowledge going into our collaboration.”

There’s no deceit evident in what he says. “Um, well, Rovelli is a good start then.”

Vision nods enthusiastically, “It is very accessible,” then his nod lessens into a discerning glance towards his notes, “though it is leaving me with more questions than answers.”

“Welcome to physics.” Unlike her last joke to him, this one he picks up on, a tiny, slightly boyish smile that seems to imply the same joke would work if you replaced physics with psychology. But Wanda isn’t here to talk about physics and doesn’t have the time to likely answer the questions in his notebook, so she moves them along. “Speaking of our collaboration, any thoughts?”

His face and shoulders drop, eyes staring at his spoon stirring the opaque broth in the bowl, his entire demeanor seeming less like the friendly man from moments before and more like a marionette with a lazy operator, the spoon stirring and stirring. Wanda begins picking at the half brownie, waiting for him to reach a thought. She decides that five minutes of this soul crushing silence will be her breaking point to call off the original idea and go with something less ridiculous. Vision only makes it thirty seconds. “I believe,” the words pull his face back up, their eyes meeting, “if we can overcome the ethical and logistical hurdles then it is plausible.”

That’s better than she anticipated. “Okay,” Wanda pushes her lunch to the side, arms coming to cross on the table while she leans forward and settles in, “what are the hurdles?”

“Well, first of all with such a paradigm we would not be able to get informed consent.”

Somehow they’ve already moved from an idea at a bar to a paradigm. “Why not? What’s the paradigm?”

Vision turns back five or so pages in his notebook and then slides it across the table. On the paper she sees several boxes connected with arrows, labeled with numbers that are then explained in the legend at the bottom. It’s gorgeous, aesthetically speaking. “If we truly want to examine gift giving of billionaires,” the idea still tastes bitter in his mouth, the entirety of his presence recoiling at merely saying it, “we have to set up a realistic fake wedding, likely through a wedding website.” He motions for her to turn the page, revealing a sketch of said website. “This site will be sent with the invitation and the RSVP would be here, so we can track it.”

For a man so on edge with the idea, he has it fairly well planned. “And if we get informed consent then…”

“Then we will have told them what we are studying and they will know it is a sham wedding, thus reducing the likelihood of realistic participation.”

Which makes sense. “The issue is?”

“Not receiving informed consent typically requires a full board review by the IRB.”

Wanda has heard Sam complain about the IRB, particularly about the wait time for approval and the, as he calls it, idiotically narrow view of the federal regulations, so she has a small inkling of the horror in Vision’s voice at what sounds like an even more in depth review by the board. “Which we don’t want,” he nods, affirming her read of him, “does it count if we tell them afterwards what happened?”

A toothy grin breaks across his face, “Precisely my thoughts,” he motions for her to turn the page again, revealing a bulleted list of thoughts. “If we have consent afterwards, then we may be able to get around it. Of course we also have to consider how to return any gifts to them.”

“They’re billionaires, not like they’ll miss it.”

This is the wrong thing to say, the joy of empiricism dropping from his face, the same way it did the other night. “Ethically speaking, it would go against the principle of Justice in the Belmont Report.”

“Okay,” whatever this report is, it is clearly near and dear to his heart, “so when we are done we send them all a consent form asking if we can use their data and what they want done with their gift?”

He nods along with his, “Correct. Perhaps we provide different options like returning it or donating it to a specific charity.”

That seems like a reasonable suggestion. “What else?”

Vision glances at his wrist, prompting Wanda to find a clock on the wall and experience the always wonderful chest tightening of anxiety when a day is already half over and she’s gotten nothing done. “I am afraid I need to go back to my lab,” a statement that should elicit relief but she’s a little sad, for some reason, likely because this was an okay distraction from the rest of her bad day.

“Why don’t you send me the list of topics and we can meet up in a few days once my grant is done?”

“Of course.” 

Vision gathers up his reading materials and slides them into a brown leather bag. The next words out of her mouth are a surprise to both of them, “Oh and if you have any questions from Rovelli, feel free to email me.”

This garners an appreciative curve on his lips and a slight downturn of his eyes as he takes in the offer. “I will, thank you.” He stands and it is still a disorienting and mesmerizing sight to behold. “Good luck with your grant.”

“Thanks.” 

By the time Wanda is back to her lab and settled in at her computer, lunch container open and partially eaten brownie placed reverently out of reach, she already has an email from Vision with the subject line Logistical and Ethical Issues...and Some Questions . She opens the email and slides it over to her left monitor with the intention of reading over it whenever she needs a break. 

“The place looks nice!” Natasha’s voice reaches him over the soft jazz streaming out of his computer, her eyes roaming over the newest furnishings of his lab as she walks into the room. “Nice you finally have a place for people to sit.”

“It is.” And she uses it, plopping into the chair several feet away from him. Even though he was aware of the sparsity of his furniture (apparently the only standard equipment for their lab spaces are a desk, a chair, and a table), he hadn’t actually cared until his meeting with Wanda and the abject horror he felt at her having to sit on his table. “I think I need to get a few more filing cabinets, but otherwise it is suitable.”

“Probably some wall art too, it’s a little drab.”

“I like it that way.”

Natasha smirks, the same way she does anytime they come to a difference of opinions. “I know, you’re no fun.” A statement that, if actually true, would run counter to their years long friendship. “Want to be fun and get some dinner?”

A tempting offer if he didn’t have so much to finish before his meeting with Sociology tomorrow. “I can’t.” There is no reason to completely forego the offer, and he always finds a delay of gratification necessary for him to be productive. If he wants to finish his work tonight, he needs to lay a promise of reward. “I could meet for breakfast tomorrow?” 

“Fine.” Natasha gracefully stands from the chair, slinging her laptop bag across her chest as if she is leaving. Only she doesn’t move, “What do you think of Wanda?” A discerning and dangerous flicker moves across her face as she waits for him to answer. 

“She seems pleasant to work with so far.”  

The answer is not enough based on the disbelief etched into every inch of Natasha’s stance. “That’s it, just pleasant?”

“We have only actually spoken face-to-face four times, two of them very brief.” 

This still does not sate Natasha’s curiosity, nor does it reveal to him why it seems to matter so much. There’s more she wants to say, her knuckles growing white the tighter she grips the strap of her bag. And then her fingers loosen, as does her face, an amiable yet empty smile flashed in his direction. “I’ll see you in the morning. Our usual?”

“Yes.”

“Night.”

“Goodnight.” He watches her leave before turning back to his computer, the meeting agenda half-finished and staring at him on the screen. It is likely, he imagines from past experience, that Natasha’s aim is simply to help him be more sociable, something that a person like Natasha deems necessary in life. Not that she is dependent upon people (the opposite, in fact), merely that to her it is an essential part of joy. He agrees, to an extent, but also finds solitude freeing and required, a classic introvert. Not that personality factors determine everything in life, he would never give that branch of psychology so much credit. 

A two note chime alerts him to a new email, likely a memo about safety goggles in the chemistry labs being mandatory for all visitors after what Natasha told him happened the other day. Vision clicks over to his inbox and is pleasantly surprised to see the sender is MaximoffW . 

He isn’t sure why he is pleasantly surprised. As he told Natasha, other than some meetings, he has not actually gotten to know his collaborator. His affective response is likely due to mere exposure given the string of emails they have sent over the last couple of days and also that he seems to notice her more and more around the institute, mainly getting an afternoon tea or at the vending machines in the main lounge. Which itself is simply the Baader-Meinhoff phenomenon. Now that he knows who Wanda is, he actually recognizes her, thus he believes he is seeing her more, and, due to mere exposure, the more he sees her the more positively he responds to her presence. It is simple psychology, nothing more. 

Inside the email is a brief response to his last question - This will do a better job than me at explaining it and then there is a link to a video on the double slit experiment, the most recent line of inquiry they’ve been discussing in terms of the behavior of matter. He watches the video three times, jotting key points and additional questions each time in the section of his notebook he has now dedicated to learning physics. After the third time, he contemplates what to write back. At first it’s That was very insightful! but he deletes it, the cursor blinking judgmentally at him as he tries to think of something more intelligent than that. This helped greatly in understanding what you were saying about the lasers This one he deletes before finishing, not wanting to imply her explanations have not been helpful. They have been, it is just a large and complicated field. Vision watches the video one more time and changes his tactic to witty, or so he hopes. If someone invents a shrink ray, would we then be able to test the diffraction of humans?  That seems ridiculous, though she has shown a predilection towards such things. Ultimately he combines them all together and hits send. 

Barely two minutes into working, the tell-tale chime draws him back to his email. Pretty sure that’s what Pym (my next door labmate) is actually working on. Though he wants to start by shrinking ants . 

Vision chuckles, intrigued and confounded by the entirety of physics. It is well-known in psychology and other social sciences, that there is not a unifying theory that explains everything. Yet he always had the notion that this is not true with the physical sciences, or at least, they wish for it not to be true. Wanda concurred with this while answering his question about the incompatibility of Newtonian physics and quantum mechanics. Thus it seems there might be multiple theories that might explain phenomena and instead of embracing them all, factions have arisen. Classical ingroup favoritism and outgroup derogation. 

Another chime comes from his computer, still from Wanda but this time unrelated to physics. Are you still at work?

I am . 

Almost a minute passes, all spent with his eyes on his inbox. Me too. 😕 Any interest in ordering pizza and talking about our study? I could use a break from this grant. 

Vision stares at the still unfinished agenda and begins to type out a polite decline, until his stomach grumbles. Pizza would not be objectionable and technically he would still be productive, just for another project, plus he can finish the agenda after their meeting. He can’t imagine Wanda will want to be at work much longer. 

I would be amenable to a dinner meeting. We can meet in your lab since we met in my last time. He almost hits send and then flashes back to the numerous times he has tried to order food for people without knowing their preferences, so he adds in If it is possible, I prefer no meat on my pizza. 

His notebook and computer are already packed when his phone vibrates, Wanda’s Head on over showing up on the lock screen. 

The journey is fairly painless with the hallways mostly empty, allowing him to consult the various directional signs without people sending him judgmental stares. Even if he has gone to this wing on a couple of occasions to meet with Natasha, the entire Marvel complex is maze-like, stairways not always located in the most sensible places and not all of the elevators going to all of the floors. Eventually, however, he gets to the physic’s floor (or so the sign states) and all he has to do is peek in each window until he sees Wanda inside a room erasing writing from one of her boards. 

Despite the fact she is expecting him, Vision still knocks, taking her wave to mean he can enter. 

When Vision interviewed for the position at the Marvel Institute, he was only shown lab spaces like this one, spacious and fully furnished, a far cry from his somewhat cramped space. There are doors at the back that ostensibly lead to wherever Wanda goes to actually conduct her studies and at the right side of the room is a series of three large white boards. “This is an impressive set-up.”

Pride emanates brightly when she turns to him, arms waving out to the side like a game show model emphasizing the awe-inspiring set-up. “What would Freud say about your lab envy?”

It was only a matter of time until this type of joke was used. He allows every person one pass where he politely laughs at it while also correcting the comment, “Given the majority of Freud's theories are not scientifically based and do not hold up to empirical scrutiny, he likely would not have anything substantial to say.”

“Ouch,” perhaps it was too harsh, though a trace of her smile still clings to her face, “so Freud is off limits?”

“I, um, yes, sorry, it is--”

Wanda shrugs, turning to place the eraser on the ledge of the whiteboard, “I get it, I’m tired of hearing people quote Newton’s laws at me as a way to win an argument when Newton doesn’t even apply.” Has he done this? The specificity of it forces him to go back through every email they have sent and conversation they’ve had. “That wasn’t about you.”

“Oh, good.” He places his bag on one of the many chairs around a table, pulling out his laptop and starting it up before grabbing his notebook as well. “I will endeavor to do no such thing.”

“Thanks.”  Wanda picks up a marker and begins jotting down the list of items they still need to discuss, some of them followed by a check mark while others have a star. “So the ones with the check marks,” he looks up to follow her explanation, the uncapped marker pointing at the board as she talks, “mean I think I have a solution for them. The stars are things we still need to decide.”

Over half the list has check marks and he finds himself filled with a buzzing curiosity as to what she determined to do with them. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let’s start fun.” All of it is fun to him, the prospect of chiseling out the most appropriate methodology the most enjoyable part of research. A close second is running the statistics, but they still have a ways to go before then. “I did a mock-up of a wedding website last night, let me,” she taps away on her phone and soon after he receives a link. Clicking it opens a dark gray background with golden orbs clustered around the outside of a large picture that currently is a stock photo of a happy couple with the copyright information stamped onto it. “Obviously we have to change the pictures.”

“Yes.” And all of the details, each field for venue, date, time, wedding party, and registry left either blank or with TBD written in. There is an RSVP page and a photo page, both empty. “How customizable is this?”

“There are a lot of options.” She bends closer to her phone, swiping the screen a few times. “Yeah you can customize which pages show up.”

Vision clicks through it, most of his mind thinking through the experimental design he is leaning towards and part of his mind trying to figure out why this website seems so familiar. “Is there a way to customize the order in which they see the RSVP and the registry?”

“Um…” Wanda slides her phone back into her sweatshirt and moves to her desktop, the furious clicking and typing of marginal concern, enough that he stands and approaches her work station, watching her move through the website. “I think so, what did you have in mind?”

Vision grabs a stray chair and brings it over, always feeling overbearing and awkward when he stands while someone else is sitting. “Based on your example of destructive and constructive interference, I was thinking we might want to stick with a fairly basic study on order and framing effects that way we can test classical probability against quantum probability with a phenomenon found in both our fields. Perhaps half of our participants receive a website that asks for the RSVP before showing the registry and the other half receive a website that asks for the RSVP only after they have seen the registry information.” 

This is new information to share and so he gives her time to digest it, her head subtly nodding as she processes it all. “I like that idea, not sure it’s possible with this particular website though,” she hesitates, clicking through the various options on the main portal, “if we get desperate we could always talk to computer science about customizing the code.”

“Why does that only have to be from desperation?”

Now she sits back and stares at him, a harrowing quality forming in her eyes about what must be some past transgressions or infighting with that department. “Because if you want to talk to anyone there, you have to talk to Victor von Doom first.”

Oh yes, he had somehow already forgotten the other Victor was their chair. “Is he really that bad?”

Wanda nods, “He just makes me feel really uncomfortable.” 

“I can be the one that speaks to him.”

A contemplative moment passes before she denies what he thought was a reasonable suggestion. “He’ll just tell you no. But,” she inhales deeply, “if it comes to that, you can come with me.” The next part he thinks is an aside, at least he cannot tell what it has to do with getting help. “I’m like 99% sure he has to be a supervillain somewhere in the multiverse.”

The multiverse is something he is vaguely aware of, primarily from reading and watching science fiction. “Why do you say that?”

“Listen--” a loud rock anthem comes from her pocket and she answers it immediately, face a little sheepish at the interruption, “Okay, yeah, be right down.” Wanda hangs up and stands, hands diving into her sweatshirt pockets. “Pizza’s here, I’ll be right back.” 

“Okay.” 

Vision scoots his chair closer to the desk and grabs the mouse, navigating through the wedding website and playing with the placement of everything. It seems it might be hard to create exactly what he has in mind, though it is possible either a different service or a professional could help them. Otherwise it seems like it should work, the privacy settings making it so they can keep it visible only to those who have the link and they can require all RSVPs and gifts to come through this website, both things that had concerned him with planning the potential for this study. 

Which actually is concerning, a pit growing in his stomach the more feasible this all seems. Technically they can do this ethically. Not only did he spend the afternoon re-reading the federal guidelines on ethical research with humans but he also emailed with the chair of Marvel’s IRB to determine if post-participation consent would keep them to an expedited protocol. Though the chair was unwilling to provide any answer with 100% certainty, she seemed optimistic. Plus if they allow the participants to take the gifts back or if they donate them to a known charity and provide receipts, there is nothing ethically or legally wrong. It’s in the moral side that he still is waging a battle. There is just something about the large-scale deception that bothers him. This is despite the fact that deception is often a part of his research, but rarely ever to the extent of fake websites and actual money being exchanged, thus leaving him in a strong state of dissonance. Vision knows, as is usually the case with cognitive dissonance, it is his attitude that will change, not the behavior, and that is precisely what is happening. The more he thinks about the study, the more he communicates with Wanda, the more compartmentalized his thinking becomes. Usually it is in poor taste to use so much deception, but in this instant, it’s fine. He also wonders if there is a degree of moral disengagement going on, if this will irreparably lower his ethical standards and open him up to a world of many more deceptive studies to this degree. 

“Hope you’re hungry.” The words shatter his internal debate, Wanda’s hands gripping an enormous pizza box. Clearly his surprise is palpable, a half-smile going along with her showing him the box, “They only have one size.” 

Vision joins her at the higher table, taking a slice onto the paper towel she offers and then he follows her to two armchairs that face the whiteboards. “I have found that New Yorkers are very invested in abnormally large pizzas.” It’s why they have to fold the slices in order to eat it with any dignity. His first week here Natasha chastised him for wanting to use a fork and knife, telling him it would not go well for his credibility in the city if he did it. 

“They really are, I love it. So the website will work,” her mind has already moved from the pizza, focusing on the board. “Sounds like you have an idea of what you want to do theoretically,” one of the items that had a star, “have you considered also measuring and accounting for demographics or maybe we need to manipulate the fake bride and groom...or groom and groom...or bride and bride?”

All things he has considered. “I truly like the idea of testing the gift giving based on demographics both of the billionaires and the couple…”

“But.”

“But there are only six hundred and twenty one billionaires in the US.” 

Wanda lowers her pizza to stare at him, “That’s way more than I thought there’d be. That’s a lot.”

“It is.”

A hand comes up to cover her mouth as she speaks, not wanting him to see the bite she took, “But…”

Vision has drawn out several factorial designs in his notebook, always loving the complexity of them and their ability to more thoroughly test theories. “When doing community based research, you should plan for a low response rate, like twenty-five percent,” he places his pizza on a table and goes to the board, uncapping a blue marker, “that would leave us with one hundred and fifty six likely participants. This assumes these are the only ones that look at the website.”

“Do you know if we can track who goes to the site?”

A very pertinent piece of information he does not have the expertise to answer, “I believe that is something we would need to discuss with Computer Science,” her nose crinkles at the suggestion. “When you do a factorial design, so let’s say we did a 2 - framing,” he writes the factors as RSVP first or RSVP second , “by 3 - couple composition,” and then he writes the three options Wanda had provided before, “in order to have sufficient power to get effects we would need roughly one hundred and fifty usable participants.”

“Then we have enough.”

This is where he keeps getting stuck, because technically, yes, they would be fine but he highly doubts the response rate of billionaires is anywhere close to the response rates of more normal incomed individuals. “I worry we will get closer to a 15% response, though I am happy to consider including such a manipulation.” Wanda seems to accept his concerns and not push it, even if her face says she wants to come back to it later. “I do think we can still code and analyze for demographic information of those who respond as it will likely influence their gift giving.” 

“Good.” It is said with finality, seeming to cement their tenuous design. “With quantum probability I want to have as many factors as possible to build the best model.”

Something he assumed would be the case, and something that he also likes to have even with his classical probability. The next question he prefaces with ignorance, “I am not certain how research in physics works,” a preface she lifts an eyebrow towards, on edge and ready to jump at whatever misinformation he might share, “but do you need to make your hypotheses a prior for the model?”

The jump doesn’t happen, simply a silent bite of pizza and an extended silence. “I’ll make some a priori, but I need to really look at all the possible variables we might code for first, which will have to wait until my grant is in on Friday.” Vision nods, mentally leaving that spot blank in the IRB so he does not forget to insert it. “What are you hypothesizing?”

“I am not sure we should share that information…” at least he had assumed they would not so that he does not influence her own hypothesizing or creation of the computational model. “What if my hypothesis influences yours?”

He watches her lips purse and left leg swing up and over the right one, a smugness and challenge in her stare that activates his sympathetic system, the marker passing back and forth between his hands as he waits for her to speak. “Keep your secrets then.”

Instantly his body calms, the threat gone and replaced by a fluttering amusement. “The last major issue,” there are a lot of minor ones they will need to iron out after her grant has been submitted and before the IRB is turned in, “who will be the bride and groom for the website?”

Wanda stands from her chair, hands wiping against her skirt, “Make sure to eat.” 

“Oh, yes.” He grabs his pizza and takes a bite on his way to join her back at the computer, head cocking to the side as she searches for “attractive couples” and scrolls through the pictures. “I do not think we can do that.”

The scrolling stops her “Why not,” said in a way that implies she is aware why not but wants confirmation. 

“What if they do a reverse image search?” The search immediately stops and she closes the page, putting them back to the blank wedding site and its all too familiar out of focus stars against a dark gray sky. “Did you base this on the cover of Rovelli’s book?”

She sits up straighter, shooting him a wink and a sly smirk, “Took you long enough to recognize it, thought it would be fun little Easter egg.” 

“I like it.”

A companionable and studious silence descends, the couple in the stock photo on the website smiling and taunting him with the fact they can’t actually use the picture. He has thought a lot about what to use, knowing that every single wedding website has pictures and without pictures they would potentially be adding a design confound to their study. Perhaps they should have one site without a photo and one with, a possibility he files away for later. “Can we pay some people to come in and take pictures for us?”

Vision has thought of this as well. “We could, though I imagine we will need more than a couple of pictures and I, personally,” he hates to admit this as he believes it makes him sound greedy or overly self-important, “do not wish to use my start-up funds for this since I have already allocated them to other projects.”

“That’s fair,” there is no apparent disgust at his greed, far more prevalent is understanding, “I don’t really have excess funds either to throw at this.” Again they descend into thoughtful quiet, broken again by Wanda. “Do you have any research assistants?” Vision shakes his head, at some point he will, but he has been informed that he needs a functioning lab before he can hire any additional help. “We could ask Sam-”

“No, I do not feel right asking for free labor from Sam’s assistants.” Particularly after all of the odd tasks Vision’s own advisor required of him during graduate school. He vowed he would never put anyone through such hoops. 

Wanda gets up to retrieve another slice, folding it expertly and dangling it into her mouth. It’s at this point that they make eye contact and he almost breaks it, except the way she is staring at him is like one would at a museum, when you see a painting from far away and squint to determine if it is worth leaving your current path or waiting until you mosey on over to that end. Wanda lowers the pizza and tentatively walks towards him. “You know we probably want two people that are reasonably attractive.”

Vision agrees, having already planned a small pilot test for the attractiveness of the photos. “Correct.”

“And we don’t have the money to pay them.”

“Yes, we have already covered that.” Now it feels like being hunted by a shark, the same feeling he had after she suggested this study. 

Wanda sits back down, angling her chair towards him. “Why don’t we do it then?”

“Well, I-” though his mind rages against the idea with a big, flashing neon NO, logic betrays him, mouth drying as his useless tongue is unable to articulate any sound reasons against it. To be truthful, Wanda is attractive and he is not wholly unattractive. Other than his height, he is fairly nondescript from any other white male of his age. There has to be a catch, there has to be some reason this shouldn’t work. “If they search for our images they will be sent to the Marvel Institute’s website and immediately realize our wedding is suspicious.”

Wanda’s eyes narrow, not buying the counterargument. “Well we’ll use different names and we could have a small disguise. Like dye our hair,” something he is not willing to do and nonverbally conveys. “I can dye my hair, always wanted to be a red-head, and you can, I don’t know, wear glasses.”

“That is preposterous.”

The chatter of the keyboard is his only response, her body bending towards the computer until she pulls up a picture and motions towards it, “Works for Superman.” 

It does and, if he remembers correctly, there was a recent study on the effectiveness of disguises that found, as long as the person did not know the individual in the picture, simple disguises like facial hair, altered hair color or style, and yes, a change like glasses effectively made people assume two pictures were different individuals. Empirically and logistically speaking, it is likely their best option. 

“It’ll work.” Wanda’s enthusiasm only seems to grow with each second while his own plummets. “We could even go on fake dates and get a lot of pictures and we won’t have to be paid for it.”

Vision can feel his dissonance being resolved the longer he sits in silence, his lack of verbally declining the option a clear sign he must be, at some level, accepting of it. “It would allow us more control over everything.” 

“It would.”

Appetite gone, Vision stares at his pizza, trying to see if there is any reason not to do it. “Would that be uncomfortable, to take the pictures?”

The unperturbed air from Wanda already answers it, but she adds in an equally casual shrug, “It’s not like we’ll be doing anything more than having to stand close to each other, I mean, we’re practically touching now.” Vision looks down and sees the barely inch of space between their shins and immediately scoots backwards a hair to create a more professional distance. “I don’t mind.” In another circumstance, he would be flattered by the implicit trust she has to even offer this, a clear sign, he thinks, that she does not view him as threatening. Would she be offering this if the other Victor was her collaborator? “But if you aren’t comfortable with it, we’ll find another solution.”

Vision finally looks at her, studying the utter lack of hesitancy on her face and the gentle concern in her eyes about his own feelings on the matter. Social trust and connection is something he has difficulty with in his own life. Logic can help him with this decision. Wanda is trusted by Natasha, a person with even greater social trust issues than himself, and if Natasha trusts her and Wanda is as sincere as she seems now, it should not be an issue. “I suppose it can’t hurt to try it.”

[starker-stories]

An Accord (WIS), Chapter 3

I’ll be re-creating my individual chapter posts for An Accord over here on the blog that replaces starkerstories. Until I hit the current chapter, I’ll be posting daily. They’ll have links to both tumblr and AO3 chapter links. I’m sorry if that bothers people who’ve seen this all before in the tag. I’m content to leave all my other fic as AO3 only, but this is my current favorite child, so I’m spoiling it rotten.

Just because I suck and I can... @starker-stories the writer formerly known as ;) starkerstories. Here I am. 

This fic is on a weekly update schedule. Hopefully every Friday. More chapters may appear sooner if the writing is going well. Because I have 0 self-control.

Tumblr Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13 AO3 Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory, Cheating, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Domestic Nightmare Tony Stark, Reconciliation, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, WinterIronSpider, Happy Ending, Clothed Sex, Domesticity, Peter Parker is legal age in the state of New York, College Student Peter Parker, Takes place about 2 years after Civil War. Closeted Character

Summary: “Russian naming convention. Natalia Romanova. Natasha Romanoff. Or Ms. Widow, to you kid.” Bucky grinned. “She’ll die when I tell her that.” ——————————————————————————————

Chapter 3:  Colonel Flappy-coat

“You shouldn’t let me make you miss so much class,” Tony said, rolling over and nuzzling the spot behind Peter’s ear.

“You’re lucky I don’t take advantage of the fact that while we’re still not completely out about our relationship, every one of my professors knows that I’m Iron Man’s boyfriend. Because Tony fucking Stark told them as he signed the checks to fund their departments.”

Tony laughed. “What’s the point of being a billionaire if you can’t embarrass your boyfriend with it? As soon as you’re legal…”

“I’m legal now, Tony.”

“…in all fifty states, I will be more than happy to sing it from the roof of my tower that you are my beautiful boyfriend who puts up with far more from me than he should ever have to.”

“Do you think Bucky’s okay up at HQ?” Peter asked.

Tony brought out his phone and checked. “Company helicopter picked him up here, he flew himself there, he’s been in with Fury for almost three hours. So, no, he’s not okay. He’s been in a room with Nick Fury for three hours.”

“We should pick him up.”

“The helicopter’s there with him. We could take mine, though. Leave the other to self-pilot home.”

“I thought yours was the only one that could…” Peter rolled his eyes when he saw the way Tony was looking at him. “Can you not tinker with anything that comes within a thousand yards of you?” he asked rhetorically, giggling.

“Nope. Impossible. Didn’t you hear the story about how I upgraded a reporter’s phone just by glaring at it one day?”

“That was awesome. There’s evidence!”

“Of course there is. Who do you think ’shopped the evidence?”

“FRIDAY,” Peter said confidently. “You are the laziest computer genius in the world.”

“FRIDAY does things she can do; I do things she can’t. A more effective use of my time. Which leaves me more time to do this…”

“Not if we’re going to pick Bucky up from HQ,” Peter said, putting his hand up between them.

“Why am I doing that instead of fucking my beautiful boyfriend?”

“Because we’re rescuing him from Nick Fury.”

Tony sighed. “You had to go invoke that name and kill the mood. All right.”

~~~~~

“Do I have your attention, Sergeant Barnes?” Nick Fury asked, noticing Bucky staring out the window.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. The helicopter I flew here in just lifted off. Without a pilot.”

“You get used to that sort of thing when Stark’s around.”

“He’s not around though.”

“If his helicopter just took off, he will be. Now, about Korea… Would you mind not gawping at every technological wonder Stark pulls out of his ass? His ego doesn’t need the polish,” Fury said.

Bucky gawped at the larger helicopter landing, also pilotless. That time he saw Peter and Tony get out of the passenger area though. He smiled.

“I can see that we’re done for the day.”

“Sorry sir.”

“Go on,” Fury said disgusted at Bucky’s distraction.

“They think they’re fooling people,” he muttered under his breath as he stood, watching Tony and Peter head toward the main door.

“No,” Bucky said, smiling. “They just don’t give a fuck.”

~~~~~

“I’ll be back in a minute, baby,” Tony said, putting a kiss on Peter’s head when they met Bucky in the entrance.

“You look like you needed rescuing,” Peter said smiling. He took Bucky’s hand and held it briefly. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s fine. What I expected. More pleasant, actually.”

“With Nick Fury?” Peter said disbelieving.

“He’s professional. Calm. There’s an obvious agenda, but it’s obvious. He has a less obvious agenda naturally, but it’s obvious as well. I see why Tony insisted he handle my debrief.”

“Tony says Fury scares the shit out of him.”

Bucky chuckled. “You believe him?”

“Of course not,” Peter said. “But I let him think I do.” He paused. “I know the things that scare him.”

“I’m one of those things,” Bucky said.

Peter nodded. “He doesn’t want you to be though. I believe him on that.”

“Everyone here knows you’re together,” Bucky said, changing the subject.

“We’re not exactly subtle,” Peter giggled.

“I thought you were trying to keep your relationship quiet.”

“From the press. I’m still not legal age in a lot of states. If it got out of the small circle of people — Avengers, Tony’s personal staff, our friends and family — it… wouldn’t be great,” Peter said understating it. “When I turn eighteen, we’ll come completely out then. People will still talk and everyone will know that we started before. But there’ll be nothing that can be done about it.” He looked at Bucky sideways. “It doesn’t bother you? It bothers everyone. Even people who are our friends.”

“Peter, with my past… Is he hurting you? No. All right. Then he’s already a million miles above things that I have done to people younger than you.”

“Not you.”

Bucky sighed. “Maybe not, but my body did them.”

“Do you want to talk to someone about it?” Peter asked gently.

“Like a head shrinker?” Bucky scoffed. “What shrink is going to understand me?”

“Yeah. I get it. Hi. I can lift seventy tons and not break a sweat. I can literally feel my broken bones knitting back together. And I have trouble sleeping.”

Bucky laughed. “We’re not exactly couch material, any of us in this building, I don’t think.”

“This is true. There are some in the medical department here that try, but… even if they’re in on the whole secret identity thing, they just don’t know. And that’s just dealing with the superhero part. Not the whole… I was a secret assassin whose brain got regularly put into a blender for seventy years. Oh! I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Bucky said, trying to keep from laughing so hard. “You should’ve. You definitely should’ve. You have no idea what it’s like when everyone around you is tiptoeing around…” He caught Peter grinning. “Of course you know. All three of us know.”

He paused for a long time. “You know, Tony’s right. You do got some wisdom about you, kid.”

“What this time?” Peter said smiling softly. It was something he and Tony knew, but no one else understood. Age didn’t have anything to do with it. They understood each other. There were things Tony understood and Peter didn’t. There were things Peter understood and Tony didn’t. And there were things they both understood. Age was experiences and maturity. Age had nothing to do with understanding.

“What you told me last night. Comparing… pain. The number of pains doesn’t matter, really. Because when you’re in the middle of one… it’s just as bad as the other guy’s is. No matter what the count. Counting just makes you hate yourself. Either you don’t think you have the right to feel that way because others have it worse…” Peter sighed and nodded. “…Or the weight of it is…” Bucky closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at the ceiling before looking at Peter again. “…It’s incomprehensible. When you start comparing, the spiral of hating yourself never ends.”

Peter reached across on the bench they were sharing and touched his fingertips to Bucky’s metal ones. Bucky started to pull away. Peter put his whole hand over the back of Bucky’s.

“People don’t touch me there,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

“It frightens them.”

“Huh. Really?”

“I suppose.”

“Can you feel it?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side and looked at Peter.

“Can you?” Peter asked again.

“No one’s ever asked. Not even Steve.”

“Really?” Peter’s eyes went wide. “Well, can you?”

Bucky nodded. “It’s not the same though.”

“I wouldn’t think so. The neural net would have to be totally different. Even this one that you got in Wakanda, it can’t interface with what isn’t there. It has to interface through the nerves of your shoulder… It does interface there, right?” Peter asked.

Bucky nodded. “Through my shoulder.”

“Tony’s latest suit that he's working on will interface directly to his mind. He'll think ‘do something’ and it will. Nerves don’t have to be there.”

Bucky paused. “How do you know how my arm works?”

“Data mining. Tony backdoored into Fury’s system, like, ages ago. JARVIS ran the program.”

“JARVIS is Vision now.”

“Uh… yeah mostly. Anyway, Tony got everything. What he didn’t was in the files Ms. Widow released…”

Bucky laughed quietly. “Ms. Widow? Does Romanova know you call her that?”

“No. I haven’t seen her since Berlin. It just didn’t seem right for me to call her…” Peter smiled. “She’s amazing and so… Wait. Romanova? I thought it was Romanoff.”

“Russian naming convention. Natalia Romanova. Natasha Romanoff. Or Ms. Widow, to you kid.” Bucky grinned. “She’ll die when I tell her that.”

“You know her? I mean… Yeah, of course… It just sounded…”

“I was her weapons trainer in Russia,” Bucky explained. “We went on missions together. Another me, another her.”

“Anyway,” Peter changed the subject, “whatever Fury knows, Tony knows, which means FRIDAY knows, which means Tony thinks I don’t know, except I think he really does know that I know…”

“Planning on coming round to your point anytime soon, Pete?”

“Fuck. How long has he been there?” Peter asked Bucky.

“Long enough to know that FRIDAY and I need to have a talk about you,” Tony said.

“Yeah, but what are you going to do about JARVIS’ air-gapped source matrix who tells me how to break into FRIDAY?”

“Will you shut the hell up, kid?” Tony said in a warning whisper. “Did you not just see Mr. Flappy-coat walk by here a few moments ago?”

“Wouldn’t that be Colonel Flappy-coat?” Bucky asked.

“Hush. Say his name three times and he appears,” Peter warned.

“That would be Beetlejuice, Parker,” Fury said. “Barnes? Ten a.m. tomorrow morning. I have business elsewhere, Hill will handle your next debrief.”

“Yes sir,” Bucky said, standing.

“Jesus fucking Christ, pretty, if you salute him…”

Fury raised his eyebrow at Tony’s nickname for Barnes.

“You don’t salute a retired officer in civilian clothes, Tony.”

“But standing’s a nice touch,” Fury said as he and his flappy-coat left the building.

~~~~~

Bucky started to climb into the cockpit of the helicopter.

“Flies itself,” Tony said. “Unless you’re particularly in the mood,” he added with a shrug.

“Habit,” Bucky said sheepishly and climbed into the passenger compartment with Tony and Peter.

They sat in awkward silence until Bucky finally broke it. “Will you be reviewing everything I say to Fury?”

“Directly? No. FRIDAY will be. I don’t really care if you killed JFK or if that’s a rumor.”

“Not a rumor,” Bucky said, staring out the window.

“So?” Tony said dismissively. “There are things she knows I’m interested in. Anything to do with Stark. Anything to do with the Avengers or enhanced individuals. A bit of financial data here and there.” Peter looked at him sideways. Tony shrugged. “All that,” he said, nodding towards the Avengers compound shrinking in the distance, “doesn’t pay for itself. It’s only insider trading if you get caught. I don’t.”

“About Steve?”

“I could lie, but I don’t. Yes, about Rogers. Past and present. Do I care about his current location? I care more about what happened on the Grassy Knoll. But I will not be blindsided by him again. I stopped giving a damn about him when he left me for dead in Siberia.”

“We left you. You were alive.”

“Only one of you was walking under his own steam. You went where he brought you. Away from me, which was sensible at the time. But this?” Tony tapped his arc reactor. “Not a fuckin’ night light. The shield cracked through the suit’s RT, through the sapphire-glass, and left the coils damaged. FRIDAY was busy trying to decide which was more important, keeping my heart functioning or keeping me from dying of hypothermia.” Tony’s anger and voice rose as he spoke.

“I didn’t know,” Peter gasped. “You were fine when you brought me home from Berlin.”

“I called a new suit with a replacement arc reactor. Which drained the shattered one in me more. But even at Mach 7, it takes over an hour to get from New York to Siberia. Long time to be lying there at sub-zero while your heart is deciding whether or not it wants to keep going for a little while longer. Not that Rogers gave a damn.”

“I didn’t know,” Bucky said, repeating Peter. “Steve said you had it removed.”

“I did. Steve also knew that I had to have it put back when smaller pieces of shrapnel started moving, broken off when Doctor Wu removed the larger ones. He was very aware of what an attack here,” Tony touched the arc again, “would do.”

“I was trying to power down your suit,” Bucky said quietly. “Not kill you.”

“From my perspective, it looked like you were. Rogers could’ve told you. He could’ve told us both a lot of things. He didn’t. So yeah… I’m going to be picking your debrief over for things about him.” Tony took several steadying breaths and tried to hide the fact that his hand dropped to the seat, seeking Peter’s. Which it found.

“I’m not going after him, Bucky. He can stay gone. If he walks through those doors?” He nodded again in the direction of the compound, which had faded from sight. “I’m not sure I can operate under his command. That’s disingenuous. I’m sure I can’t operate under his command. I’ll go back to being a consultant to the Avengers and to being Iron Man. Two very separate things.

“Things are complicated. I don’t want them to be, but they are. I have issues over who you are and… who you’re not. You’ve got issues over me and Rogers about this. It’s not going to resolve in a day or two. I know that. But the fact that you’re sitting here, of all places?” Tony nodded. “It’s a hell of a lot more responsibility for… things… than he’s taken. I can respect that.”

“That you opened the elevator door given everything… I can respect that as well.”

“That’s something to start from,” Tony said.

“And it always ends with what are you going to feed me?” Peter said. “Spider metabolism, remember? We slept in. No breakfast. We flew upstate. No lunch. Are you trying to starve me?”

“I’ll cook. You have an entire grocery store in your cupboards, Tony,” Bucky said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“The Depression was almost a century ago.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“For some people in this helicopter it was about fifteen years ago. I’ll cook.”

“Billionaire, remember? I’ll order in.”

“What do you do with the food in your house?”

“He mostly burns it,” Peter cheerfully offered.

[scifigeneration]

Unexpected rain on sun links two solar mysteries

For five months in mid-2017, Emily Mason did the same thing every day. Arriving to her office at NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland, she sat at her desk, opened up her computer, and stared at images of the Sun -- all day, every day. "I probably looked through three or five years' worth of data," Mason estimated. Then, in October 2017, she stopped. She realized she had been looking at the wrong thing all along.

Mason, a graduate student at The Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., was searching for coronal rain: giant globs of plasma, or electrified gas, that drip from the Sun's outer atmosphere back to its surface. But she expected to find it in helmet streamers, the million-mile tall magnetic loops -- named for their resemblance to a knight's pointy helmet -- that can be seen protruding from the Sun during a solar eclipse. Computer simulations predicted the coronal rain could be found there. Observations of the solar wind, the gas escaping from the Sun and out into space, hinted that the rain might be happening. And if she could just find it, the underlying rain-making physics would have major implications for the 70-year-old mystery of why the Sun's outer atmosphere, known as the corona, is so much hotter than its surface. But after nearly half a year of searching, Mason just couldn't find it. "It was a lot of looking," Mason said, "for something that never ultimately happened."

The problem, it turned out, wasn't what she was looking for, but where. In a paper published today in the Astrophysical Journal Letters, Mason and her coauthors describe the first observations of coronal rain in a smaller, previously overlooked kind of magnetic loop on the Sun. After a long, winding search in the wrong direction, the findings forge a new link between the anomalous heating of the corona and the source of the slow solar wind -- two of the biggest mysteries facing solar science today.

How It Rains on the Sun

Observed through the high-resolution telescopes mounted on NASA's SDO spacecraft, the Sun -- a hot ball of plasma, teeming with magnetic field lines traced by giant, fiery loops -- seems to have few physical similarities with Earth. But our home planet provides a few useful guides in parsing the Sun's chaotic tumult: among them, rain.

On Earth, rain is just one part of the larger water cycle, an endless tug-of-war between the push of heat and pull of gravity. It begins when liquid water, pooled on the planet's surface in oceans, lakes, or streams, is heated by the Sun. Some of it evaporates and rises into the atmosphere, where it cools and condenses into clouds. Eventually, those clouds become heavy enough that gravity's pull becomes irresistible and the water falls back to Earth as rain, before the process starts anew.

On the Sun, Mason said, coronal rain works similarly, "but instead of 60-degree water you're dealing with a million-degree plasma." Plasma, an electrically-charged gas, doesn't pool like water, but instead traces the magnetic loops that emerge from the Sun's surface like a rollercoaster on tracks. At the loop's foot points, where it attaches to the Sun's surface, the plasma is superheated from a few thousand to over 1.8 million degrees Fahrenheit. It then expands up the loop and gathers at its peak, far from the heat source. As the plasma cools, it condenses and gravity lures it down the loop's legs as coronal rain.

Mason was looking for coronal rain in helmet streamers, but her motivation for looking there had more to do with this underlying heating and cooling cycle than the rain itself. Since at least the mid-1990s, scientists have known that helmet streamers are one source of the slow solar wind, a comparatively slow, dense stream of gas that escapes the Sun separately from its fast-moving counterpart. But measurements of the slow solar wind gas revealed that it had once been heated to an extreme degree before cooling and escaping the Sun. The cyclical process of heating and cooling behind coronal rain, if it was happening inside the helmet streamers, would be one piece of the puzzle.

The other reason connects to the coronal heating problem -- the mystery of how and why the Sun's outer atmosphere is some 300 times hotter than its surface. Strikingly, simulations have shown that coronal rain only forms when heat is applied to the very bottom of the loop. "If a loop has coronal rain on it, that means that the bottom 10% of it, or less, is where coronal heating is happening," said Mason. Raining loops provide a measuring rod, a cutoff point to determine where the corona gets heated. Starting their search in the largest loops they could find -- giant helmet streamers -- seemed like a modest goal, and one that would maximize their chances of success.

She had the best data for the job: Images taken by NASA's Solar Dynamics Observatory, or SDO, a spacecraft that has photographed the Sun every twelve seconds since its launch in 2010. But nearly half a year into the search, Mason still hadn't observed a single drop of rain in a helmet streamer. She had, however, noticed a slew of tiny magnetic structures, ones she wasn't familiar with. "They were really bright and they kept drawing my eye," said Mason. "When I finally took a look at them, sure enough they had tens of hours of rain at a time."

At first, Mason was so focused on her helmet streamer quest that she made nothing of the observations. "She came to group meeting and said, 'I never found it -- I see it all the time in these other structures, but they're not helmet streamers,'" said Nicholeen Viall, a solar scientist at Goddard, and a coauthor of the paper. "And I said, 'Wait...hold on. Where do you see it? I don't think anybody's ever seen that before!'"

A Measuring Rod for Heating

These structures differed from helmet streamers in several ways. But the most striking thing about them was their size.

"These loops were much smaller than what we were looking for," said Spiro Antiochos, who is also a solar physicist at Goddard and a coauthor of the paper. "So that tells you that the heating of the corona is much more localized than we were thinking."

While the findings don't say exactly how the corona is heated, "they do push down the floor of where coronal heating could happen," said Mason. She had found raining loops that were some 30,000 miles high, a mere two percent the height of some of the helmet streamers she was originally looking for. And the rain condenses the region where the key coronal heating can be happening. "We still don't know exactly what's heating the corona, but we know it has to happen in this layer," said Mason.

A New Source for the Slow Solar Wind

But one part of the observations didn't jibe with previous theories. According to the current understanding, coronal rain only forms on closed loops, where the plasma can gather and cool without any means of escape. But as Mason sifted through the data, she found cases where rain was forming on open magnetic field lines. Anchored to the Sun at only one end, the other end of these open field lines fed out into space, and plasma there could escape into the solar wind. To explain the anomaly, Mason and the team developed an alternative explanation -- one that connected rain on these tiny magnetic structures to the origins of the slow solar wind.

In the new explanation, the raining plasma begins its journey on a closed loop, but switches -- through a process known as magnetic reconnection -- to an open one. The phenomenon happens frequently on the Sun, when a closed loop bumps into an open field line and the system rewires itself. Suddenly, the superheated plasma on the closed loop finds itself on an open field line, like a train that has switched tracks. Some of that plasma will rapidly expand, cool down, and fall back to the Sun as coronal rain. But other parts of it will escape -- forming, they suspect, one part of the slow solar wind.

Mason is currently working on a computer simulation of the new explanation, but she also hopes that soon-to-come observational evidence may confirm it. Now that Parker Solar Probe, launched in 2018, is traveling closer to the Sun than any spacecraft before it, it can fly through bursts of slow solar wind that can be traced back to the Sun -- potentially, to one of Mason's coronal rain events. After observing coronal rain on an open field line, the outgoing plasma, escaping to the solar wind, would normally be lost to posterity. But no longer. "Potentially we can make that connection with Parker Solar Probe and say, that was it," said Viall.

Digging Through the Data

As for finding coronal rain in helmet streamers? The search continues. The simulations are clear: the rain should be there. "Maybe it's so small you can't see it?" said Antiochos. "We really don't know."

But then again, if Mason had found what she was looking for she might not have made the discovery -- or have spent all that time learning the ins and outs of solar data.

"It sounds like a slog, but honestly it's my favorite thing," said Mason. "I mean that's why we built something that takes that many images of the Sun: So we can look at them and figure it out."

[rueitae]

The Secrets of Beasts

Completely unplanned and the fastest 2000 words I’ve ever written. Much fluff and sap inspired by some talk on the Pidgance Positivity Server about show epilogues/time skips/general Paladin futures. And also this post.

Plance as usual, set at an undetermined amount of time post series.

The team is investigating a mysterious nebula, but the Green Lion is obstinate about Pidge joining them.

Although I’m almost 100% sure someone has done something very similar, here’s my humble take.

~~~~~

Pidge yawned, cupping a hand over her mouth, exhausted from near constant research. She should call it a night, it was near two in the morning. Anything for a mission, she supposed.

She had the sleeves of her Coalition uniform rolled up to her elbows and shirt unbuttoned, exposing the black flight suit. A bright green stain on it nearly matched her uniform, but it was only the remains of hastily cleaned up food goo, spilled earlier while her mind had been focused on the mission.

“Where did the time go,” she wondered, rubbing her eyes. At least she was finished with her studies to the point of personal satisfaction. Looking at the data any further wouldn’t be productive. Hunk would double check things for her anyway.

The Green Lion rumbled, expressing a concern for her Paladin.

Pidge grinned, feeling less tired with her closest companion in her mind. “I know I have to take care of myself, Girl. I’ll go to bed as soon as I report what I have to the team.”

It took only a few steps to walk over to her communications station, one that she had retrofitted to her specifications. Her father’s design for the Atlas left little to be desired, but the comfort of having a workstation in the Green Lion’s hanger reminded her of their time on the Castle, and it meant a lot to her.

She called up the Black Lion and Keith answered immediately. He smiled warmly and Kosmo joined him, nearly pushing Keith over to sniff the screen.

“Hey Pidge, any good news?” he asked while pushing the cosmic wolf gently to the side.

“Somewhat,” Pidge responded. “The nebula seems to be harmless at least, and there’s no evidence of the Rift Creatures that I can tell. You guys should be good to proceed.”

A second screen popped on to her monitor and Allura joined the conversation from the Blue Lion. “I have not sensed the Creatures either. Although, I would feel much better if we had the means to form Voltron.”

“I second that,” Hunk chimed in, creating a third screen on Pidge’s monitor. “I do not like poking at a complete unknown, even with all of us. It just seems like a bad idea.”

Pidge offered a condoling smile and a shrug. “Sorry I couldn’t be there. Green was pretty adamant about staying on the Atlas while Dad and Shiro run the system reboot.”

Pidge couldn’t help a grin as Lance finally rounded out the team on her monitor. His face read of angst and displeasure.

“You know listening to the Lions is for the best Lance, they know what they’re doing,” she told him. “Blue took us to the Castle remember? Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” he protested. His frown deepened. He was definitely pouting. Pidge found it adorable and endearing. “I’m a little annoyed that I haven’t seen my wife in a week and when I do, she calls Keith before me! Don’t I get any kind of marriage privileges?” he finished dramatically.

“Oh my gosh,” Hunk said. He tried to groan and feign equal annoyance, but the delight on his face told a different story. “Can you two not have a couples spat on the Voltron mind link?”

“Do not answer that question, Pidge,” Allura said firmly. “Lance has been a Goybeenian Monkling all movement because of your absence. He deserves it.”

“I am not!” Lance defended. Although wearing his helmet, Pidge could easily imagine his hairs standing on end.

“I think Green would have said something if the sample I have was truly dangerous. If Allura isn’t sensing anything, Keith isn’t sensing anything, and I haven’t found anything scientifically dangerous, then you’re good to proceed.” She yawned, unable to help it after her long winded answer. “Although if you wouldn’t mind waiting another six varga I'd like to be awake to watch.”

“Yes, I think that is a fantastic idea,” Lance agreed firmly, huffing and crossing his arms.

“Sounds good, Pidge. We’ll see you in six varga,” Keith confirmed. Kosmo hogged the right side of the screen, and despite Keith’s soothing pets, continued to whine and whimper.

“Everything alright with Kosmo? He usually isn’t this vocal.” Pidge worried.

Keith frowned, and didn’t answer right away. “He just misses you,” he finally said with a genuine smile. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“What are we congratulating?” Allura asked, confusion written on her face, and everyone else’s save Keith.

“Uh, Pidge is having a baby,” Keith said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The video link went dead silent, but the chatter in their minds ran a mile a minute.

“I’m sorry, I’m what?” Pidge exclaimed.

Keith blinked. “You didn’t know? Kosmo says he’s been smelling it on you the week before we left.”

The unmistakable sound of Green standing on all fours took Pidge’s attention away from her team momentarily. The Lion’s eyes lit up bright yellow and unleashed a proud roar.

Allura gasped in delight. “This is wonderful news. And it now makes sense why the Green Lion refuses to leave the Atlas. She wanted Pidge to find out first.”

“Oh man, this is amazing!” Hunk said. “We are totally throwing a party. Lance, dude, buddy, you’re gonna be a dad!”

Lance’s screen wobbled slightly, a sign Hunk had steered the Yellow Lion to give the Red Lion a congratulatory bump. The Red Paladin himself hadn’t yet spoken, his jaw hanging open slightly.

Pidge sympathized, she wasn’t sure what to say either. She cleared her throat. “Well… I guess I can’t argue with a cosmic wolf and a ten thousand year old sentient mechanical lion that lives in my head.” Her heart swelled and she couldn’t help but smile. “So, hey Lance, I’m pregnant.” The words sounded so foreign, but none had ever felt better to say.

That finally broke Lance’s silence. Tears welled up in his eyes behind his helmet. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he said. “I’m gonna be a dad!” he said once more, animated and bouncing up from his chair.

“Okay, let’s let Pidge rest,” Keith said, still smiling. “We’ve got a mission to complete later. We should all do the same.”

Green lowered herself and opened the ramp through the mouth, beckoning Pidge to climb in and pilot.

Pidge couldn’t stop smiling. “Looks like I’ll be joining you guys after I get some sleep.”

“Sounds good, ‘night Pidge.” Keith ended the communication.

“Congratulations, Pidge, Lance. We look forward to seeing you soon,” Allura said before also dismissing herself.

“Okay I just need to know, what kind of cake are we talking?” Hunk asked. “Regular Earth flavors or are we thinking something a little more exotic?”

“We’ll talk about that later, Hunk,” Lance said, tinged with a bit of annoyance. “Can I just talk to Pidge for a second? Alone?”

Hunk slumped. “Yeah okay. Just consider Hovian chocolate. In the back of your minds.”

Pidge crossed her arms and smirked. “You and Matt are going to be co-godfathers. Go prepare yourself for that.”

“Pidge that’s not fair!” Hunk protested, tears streaming down his face. “You can’t pull something that important on me when I can’t hug you!”

“And now you know how I feel,” Lance pointed out dryly.

“Okay, okay I get it. I’m off!” He paused. “I love you guys.”

“Love you too, bud,” Lance said affectionately, sniffling to dry up his tears.

Hunk removed himself from the group conversation.

“He’s right you know,” Lance started. “I want to be with you right now, holding you and our kid.”

“I know,” Pidge agreed. “I’m still trying to wrap this around my head. It doesn’t feel real.”

“You’re the smartest person I know,” Lance said warmly. “It’ll come to you before me.”

Pidge fiddled her thumbs, bringing her abdomen in her field of vision. She brought her hand to rest where she knew months from now the pregnancy would be obvious. “It’ll be a new challenge,” she said. “But less stressful than saving the universe I think.”

Lance laughed. “Ask Lisa or my mom and they’ll probably tell us otherwise.” His smile changed to one radiating confidence and compassion. “We’re gonna do it as a team though, just like we do with Voltron. And it’s going to be great.”

His eyes were filled with nothing but love. It made her feel comfortable and warm.

“I know. I love you, Lance. I’ll see you in person soon. After I sleep I need to get the sample loaded. We can tell our families the good news when we get back - together.”

“Sounds like a plan. I love you too, Pidge. Send my kisses to our peanut.” With exaggeration, he blew a kiss and placed it on his monitor.

Pidge humored him and caught it dramatically, placing it on her belly. “You’re going to need a better nickname for the kid,” she chided. “You know I hate peanuts.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I’ll have one by the time you and Green get here. Get some sleep, Pidge.”

“Night, Lance,” she responded.

He ended the group chat and Pidge stood for a solid minute just staring at the blank screens, mouth curved into a frown and missing him already.

She turned to Green with a wry grin. “You’re pretty good at keeping secrets, Girl. Anything else you got for me?”

A low, playful rumble was the only answer she received.

“Fine then. I guess millennia old beings can have their secrets,” she teased. Pidge walked up to Green, who closed her mouth to allow Pidge to pet her snout.

She received a purr in response.

Pidge wrapped her arms around Green’s nose as much as she physically could, smiling the whole time. She figured maybe it was the pregnancy, but all of a sudden Pidge was in a very affectionate mood. “I love you, Girl. You’re the best Lion, don’t let the others tell you any different.”

The Green Lion sent a wave of images through her mind; her bed, pillow, pajamas.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m exhausted,” Pidge said, pulling away. “I’ll see you later.”

As Pidge exited the hanger, Green sat up in its default mode, effortlessly looking proud and dignified.

Pidge made it as far as her pajamas and getting under the covers, but sleep eluded her. The excitement of discovery and a new personal mission kept her mind buzzing.

Eventually, she focused on the wall of photographs she and Lance used in decoration for their room. Many of them were of the whole Voltron team, a good number of them on some of their more memorable dates, but the one her eyes wandered to was their wedding photo.

Pidge could still feel the comfort of her dress, and how happy the white chiffon and green sash had made her, given to her as a gift from some of Matt’s close Coalition friends. She’d been expecting to wear her uniform, as Lance did, since wedding dresses hadn’t been on the forefront of minds while rebuilding Earth’s infrastructure and economy.

She’d missed having a good reason to wear a dress. The thoughtfulness still made her tear up to this day.

Now she’d have more reason. Even her baggiest clothes wouldn’t fit her eventually.

The thought made her curl up and close her eyes with a smile. The coming months would have their downsides, but all she cared about right now was how good and warm she felt. Lance beside her was the only thing that would have possibly made her happier.

It would only get better when she woke and joined her Voltron family.

Pidge decided the first thing she would do though, is EVA over to the Red Lion and hold her husband for all he was worth.

It would be a very long hug.

[nalgenewhore]

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away. 

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“It just can’t be. Have you double checked?”

Weylan Darrow’s disapproving face stared at Nox through the computer screen, Asterin sitting next to him with a blank expression.

“Yes, sir. Everyone in SatCon and the RPL checked them,” he replied, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “See, the images show both the rovers moving and the solar panels being cleaned. Modifications have been made to—”

“Modifications? What modifications?”

Sartaq Dalavtchai, the director of the Rocket Propulsion Lab, held up an image, “Galathynius took the battery off the second rover and attached it to the first, to double its power…”

Asterin spoke, finishing his sentence, “She’s trying to travel to the Mistward crater for The Crone.”

“Exactly, Asterin, or that’s what we believe is happening.”

“But the rover will only be able to travel a total of one-hundred kilometres and Mistward is… two-thousand at least. Not to mention, she’ll need to use the heater during the nights.”

Sartaq nodded, ��You’re correct. Which is why we believe she is planning to attach the solar panels and…” he and Nox shared a look; they wouldn’t be happy to find out what she’d dug up.

“And?” Weylan prompted, wariness in his eyes. “And what?”

“Sir, she dug up the RTG.”

Asterin’s otherworldly eyes – the truest black flecked with brilliant gold – widened, “The plutonium battery?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sat back in her chair, thinking aloud, “Well, it would be able to fully power the rover without needing to be charged.” As well as powering a nuclear bomb, but Asterin kept that to herself.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“She’s what?” Manon barked, glaring through the computer at Nox, as if he had grossly offended her. “Who even is this, where’s the director of SatCon?”

Asterin calmed her cousin, “Stop being a dick, Manon, this is Nox Owens, he’s a satellite planner and the one who found out Aelin’s still alive.” She addressed Nox next with a cheeky grin, “Don’t worry about her, she hasn’t drunk the blood of a virgin for a while, she’s a little grouchy.”

Nox laughed, still terrified of the glaring woman, and Weylan shook his head from the opposite side of the table as Manon, as if thinking, Why did I hire so many witches?

“Please, continue, Nox,” Gavriel said, “where’s Aelin going?”

“Well, we’re not sure, sir. We believe she’s testing out her modifications on the rovers. She drives for thirteen hours, stops, and returns. We think the stops are to charge the batteries.”

Weylan frowned, he seemed to do that a lot. “But you said that she attached the solar cells to the top. Why would she need to re-charge and what about the RTG?”

Sartaq waved to introduce himself, “I can answer that. The solar cells are extremely delicate and the rover is designed to cross all sorts of rough terrain so she can’t have the solar cells out all the time because the risk of breaking them is higher. As for the generator,” he paused, rubbing his fingers over his jaw, “it’s good for spacecrafts but if it ruptures around humans… no more humans. Which is why she isn’t completely relying on it. And why we buried it, with a flag so we would know not to touch it.”

The Orynth team all nodded thoughtfully and Weylan asked, “Sartaq, what’s the fastest you can get a food probe ready?”

“Hmm,” the gears in his mind circled and he narrowed his eyes, “with the planetary positioning… nine months. We’ll need six months to build it in the first place—”

“Three months. Get it done.” Weylan held up his hand when Sartaq startled, looking to protest, “You’re going to say it can’t be done and I’ll give some speech about the immeasurable capabilities of the RPL team and you’ll say something like the overtime alone will be a nightmare.”

“The overtime alone will be a nightmare,” the harried rocket scientist mumbled, looking behind the camera at the rest of his team who were all shaking their heads and holding up a sign that read FUCK NO!!!

“Get it started, I’ll find you the money.”

Manon breathed out, trying to keep her anger in check, “It’s time to tell the crew.”

“Manon,” her boss started, his voice conveying his emotions on the topic they’d already discussed many, many times. “We’ve talked about this.”

“No, you talked about this. But I’m the crew director, I decide what’s best for the crew. They deserve to know,” she pressed, balling her hands into fists, her iron nails flashing for a second.

Gavriel shook his head, “I agree with Weylan, Manon. They need to concentrate on getting home safe.”

“Fuck all of you,” spat Manon, murder in her eyes. “Fuck all of you.”

“When we have a rescue plan, we’ll tell them. Until then, it’s useless. Sartaq has three months to get it done, be patient.”

“We’ll do our best,” Sartaq said, his face pale.

Manon turned her gaze on him, cocking her head to the side, “Aelin dies if you don’t.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Rowan couldn’t sleep.

Hadn’t been able to in the month following Aelin’s death.

He wanted more time. Not a lot, just five minutes, just enough to tell her he loved her with all that he was and would ever be.

There had always been some unspoken thing between them, it was impossible to stay away.

They’d loathed each other at the start.

Oh, she drove him crazy.

She seemed to know everything about everything and beat him to the first spot in their classes in the space program, utterly ruthless. At least, when Elide beat the two of them, she was tactful and humble, but Aelin…

She knew just how smart she was and refused to downplay it. Despite loathing her, it was always something he subconsciously admired of her.

She was a wildfire, unapologetic with her quest to get what she wanted, accepting nothing but the best of herself.

With her corn-silk hair and electric blue eyes, it was easy to peg her as a princess – a brat, only here on Daddy’s money.

Gods, he was an ass. It wasn’t until she had fled the dorms, crying after he’d insulted her by calling her a dumb blonde, looking for her Mrs. degree, and told her that she didn’t deserve to be here like the rest of them, and the verbal beating he’d received from Elide (arguably the most terrifying experience of his life – especially when Nesryn was forced to physically restrain the five-foot woman) that he’d realized how badly he’d fucked up.

Even Lorcan gave him a disgusted look and slapped him upside the head before Rowan chased after her and begged for forgiveness.

After… they weren’t friends but they weren’t at each other’s throats all the time either.

Everything had changed the night she’d stumbled into his room, high after smoking with Elide and Nesryn – a birthday tradition he was told – and he fell. Harder than he’d thought possible, irrevocably and irretrievably in love with her.

Rowan kept his eyes at the kitchen table, picking at his fingernails, refusing to look up as Fenrys and Lorcan sat down.

They stayed silent and for that, he was grateful. There were no words to say and so they sat, quiet until Rowan was ready.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Gavriel was absolutely exhausted.

It had been a long day, after flying to Perranth from Orynth and meeting with Nox, who he was currently sitting next to as they watched the satellites.

He could feel his eyes drooping shut. Slapping his cheek, a couple times, and draining the rest of his coffee, he sat up and tapped the screen, “Why is there a jump here?”

“Oh, because of how the orbits line up, there’s a thirteen-minute gap every thirty hours,” Nox explained, pushing his glasses onto the top of his head and rubbing his eyes.

“Where is she going,” Gavriel wondered, tracking the movement of the rover through every frame, “there’s out there except for…” he sat up straight, his tawny eyes wide. “I need a map.” With that, he was gone, making his way out of Satellite Control as Nox scrambled to his feet and hurried after him, not sure what was happening.

They sped-walked down a hallway until the cat-like man stopped abruptly and took down a framed image of the Anascaul crater, where the hab was located, and took a marker from his pocket as someone said, “Hey, man, you can’t just do that—”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. Nox,” he addressed the younger man next to him, Nox’s mind still reeling, “what are the hab’s coordinates?”

He rattled them off and Gavriel marked them on the glass protecting the picture, drawing another mark halfway across the picture, in the opposite direction of the Mistward crater. He nodded to himself, “Alright. I know where she’s going. Where’s Sartaq?”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Nox still had absolutely no idea what was happening as he trailed after Gavriel and Sartaq through the lab. The dark-haired man said to Gavriel, “I got everyone who was here in ’03, which is when the probe went silent. I’d like to point out that it lasted three times longer—”

“Of course, Sartaq. No one is criticizing the RPL’s work, you’ve done an amazing job.” He shook hands with the three scientists, Malakai Scéalaí, Brulo Vojnik, and Philippa Bisset. “So, I’ll just get right to it. What’s the likelihood of Aelin getting it working again?”

Philippa answered him, “It’s hard to say, really. When we lost contact, we lost a data bank, so we were never able to figure out how it lasted as long as it did and why it stopped working.” She indicated the covered machinery behind him, “We have the replica all ready for you.”

Gavriel turned around and they pulled the tarp off to reveal the original Farnor probe – The Lord of The North.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin had been sitting outside the hab for an hour. She was so ready to just give up, but every time she thought about throwing a fit and stomping inside, Lorcan’s face appeared and his voice filled her head, insulting her and threatening her with gross bodily harm if she went the ‘pussy-ass-bitch’ route and gave up. Aelin had to stop herself from answering to him, not ready to be that kind of crazy.

She stared at the probe, praying for it to move to point to either one of the signs she’d written and stabbed in the earth after travelling to dig up another TNSB relic.

There were three signs in total, the closest one reading Yes, the middle one: Messages written here. Are you receiving? And the third: No, which was a little redundant because if they didn’t receive, they wouldn’t be able to point to any of the signs, let alone No.

The sun was setting and Aelin could feel herself nodding off, drained after her day and the emotional toll. Gods, I just want to go home, she prayed, take me home, please. She hadn’t let herself cry and it seemed she had put it off too much to control when her eyes grew wet and soon enough, tears were rolling down her cheeks.

A whirring noise interrupted her and she opened her eyes, her heart in her throat as the camera spun to… the left. Yes, they were receiving.

Aelin almost didn’t believe it and stood on surprisingly strong legs before taking one step and then another, but when the probe stayed on the ‘yes’ sign, she threw her arms up and roared of her victory to the high heavens, her voice breaking as the tears came faster and faster.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“So, here’s the thing,” Aelin addressed the camera once again, eating oatmeal for dinner, and potatoes. She’d always loved oatmeal, loved to load it up with brown sugar and cream aplenty, to the confusion of every person she’d ever met. “We have to have serious astrophysical engineering conversations with a still frame camera that has a thirty-two-minute round trip communication time. Luckily,” she ate a bite, talking with her mouth full, “the camera does spin three-sixty so I can use an alphabet.”

She stood and walked her empty bowl over to the sink, scraping it clean, “It just can’t be ours because with twenty-six characters plus a question card gives me a twelve-degree arc, which is too narrow, we’d never know what it’s pointing at. Which means,” she spun, pointing her spoon at the camera, “hexadecimals to the rescue!”

She elaborated as she dragged Nesryn’s box into the frame, “Only sixteen characters gives me enough room and I’m hoping the geeks at RPL can send me some code so that the rover’s computer can communicate with TNSB. Fingers crossed.”

Sitting down, she held up a TSCII – Terrasen Standard Code for Information Interchange – table, “I figured one of you had to have an old TSCII table lying around and, ladies and gents, I give you super nerd: Nesryn Faliq. Mala above, Nes, you’re such a computer geek.”

The code had been developed from telegraph code and eventually formatted for the very first telephones and then evolving to computers. It used the decimal numbers – 0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 – and six extra symbols, which were transmitted in binary code to be converted by computers.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

It had been three days since the probe first made contact with TNSB and Aelin had been right, the folks at RPL sent her instructions on how to hack the rover’s computer and with just a smidgen of code, they could now communicate by using the Lord of The North’s broadcasting system.

She’d told them what was happening and what had happened during the storm, reinforcing that it was not the crew’s fault.

Text appeared on the screen.

TNSB: Aelin, this is Gavriel Aryeh

TNSB: We’ve been watching you on the satellites for a while now, amazing job modifying the rovers and growing crops, we’re all rooting for you

LTN: I should hope you all want me to survive, Aelin replied, laughing to herself. Giddiness had taken over every emotion since they’d made contact.

TNSB: RPL is putting together a supply mission to keep you fed until The Crone

LTN: Glad to hear it, really excited about not dying

LTN: How’d the crew take it when they found out I was alive?

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: well that was a fun place to end on! till next time lovies and as always, let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list! 

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