#I’m making eye contact with ao3 with true genuine fear in my soul

[lesbian-jack-barnabas]

So. Tmagp 6 huh

[nat-20s]

We Don’t Need No Mournful Sounds

fuck it! *writes a fic based on my own textpost about Oliver briefly joining up with JMART post death* i don’t even generally think they died i just was plagued by Thoughts and Images

Read on Ao3

~*~

Jon wakes up.

This is unexpected. It had been hoped for, dreamed of, in his final breaths, but unexpected nonetheless.

What’s less unexpected is Martin’s hand in his own. Jon had known, with an aching deep certainty, that if he were to end up anywhere at all, Martin would be there with him.

Martin gives his hand a squeeze, breaking the stillness of the moment enough for Jon to let out a stuttering breath and finally look at the man he loves.

All of Martin’s edges are singed, previously white hair blackened with soot. His eyes are bloodshot, face is red, and hands are stained with blood. He looks terrible and broken, and he’s the most beautiful thing Jon has ever witnessed. Looking closer,  he finds that there are still tears silently making tracks down his face, and Jon assumes that he’s much the same, but no amount of tears can counteract the small smile blooming on his face. Squeezing Martin’s hand back in the hope that he can express even a fraction of the endless love he’s feeling right now, feeling forever, he manages to whisper out a. “Hi.”

The haunted expression of Martin’s face breaks with a laugh, or a sob, or perhaps some combination of the two. In less than a blink, Martin wraps his arms around Jon, pulling him as close as two people who remain separate entities can be. Face buried in his neck, Martin lets muddled words spill out of him, a messy inanity of I’m sorrys and I love yous and Never agains, making for a symphony of anger and agony and care. Jon rubs circles on his back, matching Martin’s frantic words with calm, gentle ones, mostly consisting “We’re okay.” Because it’s true, isn’t it? Wherever they are, whatever happens next, there’s still a something, and they’re in that something together.

Some unknown amount of time later, maybe minutes, maybe centuries, they reach some sort of stability. Martin pulls back, though he doesn’t let go of Jon’s wrists, and Jon is infinitely grateful for the continued contact. As he’s a little more able to process external stimuli, Martin blinks at their surroundings. Not much to see, if he’s being honest. It’s similar to the nondescript blankness of the tunnels, though they can make out any texture of stone, and their environment shifts and swirls in a familiar way, though where the familiarity comes from, he couldn’t say. Voicing Jon’s thoughts out loud, Martin asks, “Any idea where we actually are?”

“I, uh, don’t know.”

“Don’t know or don’t, y’know, Know?”

“Either. Both. I…,” Jon reaches out, just to confirm something he’s known since he opened his eyes, “the Eye is gone. Or at least, any tether I had to it is. There’s..there’s just me left. More intact than I would’ve expected, honestly.”

One of Martin’s hands slides from Jon’s wrist to his hand, lifting it so he can kiss the knuckles. “That’s..that’s good, yeah?”

Jon presses their foreheads together, deciding even the foot of distance between them is far too much. “It’s wonderful.”

The moment to bask in the joy of that freedom is quickly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Fear grabs a hold of both of them, their tensions indistinguishable from one another, but as Jon squints into the distance and the figure becomes clear, he lets himself relax.

“Hello, Oliver.”

Oliver catches to them near instantly, despite his seemingly leisurely pace.  He gives them both a pleasant enough smile, despite the fact that Martin has turned his head just enough to glare daggers at the man. “Jon. Martin. I would say it’s nice to see you two, but I find that’s rarely true in my line of work.”

Voice dripping in venom Martin grits out, “What do you want?”

Before Oliver can answers, Jon gives a gentle but chiding, “Martin.”

“What, Jon? Excuse me if I not exactly thrilled by his presence.”

Dropping his head onto Martin’s shoulder, Jon tells him, “Martin. We didn’t make it.”

“Wh-,” Martin’s glances back and forth between Oliver and Jon, before finally settling on, “Oh.”

After this revelation, Oliver adds, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I was hoping that by being unable to see your fates that you would outlast me.”

While Martin mutters a “That’s not worth much of anything” under his breath, Jon more audibly replies, “Thank you. We appreciate it. I..suppose you’re to escort us to whatever’s next, then?”

“Not exactly. More like I thought it might be nice to have company before our paths finally diverge. I am here for my end, not yours.”

“So, after the world was restored, you were-?”

Oliver holds up a hand to stop him. “No, no, not exactly. Benefit of belonging to the End, anyone that might have a desire to revenge themselves upon you is already gone. Well, except for Martin here, though I hope we can manage some level of civility.”

Oliver levels what some might consider a smirk at Martin, to which Martin gives a sneer before conceding, “Whatever,” before giving Jon a slight tug for them to get a move on. Jon, however, could never resist satiating his curiosity, and this seems relatively harmless to pursue, so he doesn’t let himself move with the tide that is a determined Martin. “So, wait, what happened to you then? If it wasn’t an automatic effect of the fears leaving or- or someone coming after you?”

“When the fears were taken elsewhere, I was given a choice much like your own. I could follow their lead, I could try the world without them, or I could walk along my own root. There’s every possibility that I would’ve survived the new world, but I was ready for my own walk through the final doorway.”

Jon studies him, trying to use intuition rather than raw power once again, but can detect no hint of sadness on the man’s features. Jon wishes he had that same level of peace, but while he can’t quite obtain, that primal fear of death still lingering, he thinks that having Martin with him even through the end, that he can at least understand it.

The three of them set off, simply picking the direction that most feels right on an instinctual level. They walk with the silence of people that are headed towards something both inevitable and inscrutable, before finally some of the curling void pulls away to reveal a door.

It is a deeply ordinary door. It is made of a whitewashed wood, and somewhat resembles the door to the safe house. In an actual location, it would be unsuspicious, even to the paranoid. Here, it makes fear course through him. Trying to keep the tremble out of his voice, Jon asks, “Is this for us?”

Oliver replies, “For you two, yes. I have a different destination.”

Martin chimes up, sounding much more resolute out of the two of them. “Well? You’re the ruler of the dead or whatever, got any idea what’s on the other side?”

Oliver makes a considering hum, then tells them, “I can’t be certain, that was never an insight I was granted. However, I know that your souls are so inextricably bound that whatever is there, is there for both of you. If I were to make an educated guess, I would say that my end will grant me rest, and for you two, time.”

As soon as he says this, they can hear noises from the other side of the door. Laughter and conversation with words that can’t quite be made out, but the voices behind the words, he recognizes. Tim and Sasha, the real Sasha, the one he can finally, finally remember. Martin gasps, and Jon knows he remembers too.

Oliver gives a wave and a very final, “Good luck.”

Jon replies with a genuine, “You too,” while Martin replies with a surprisingly cordial, “Uh huh.”

They watch until Oliver fades into the blankness. As soon as he is swallowed up, Jon pulls Martin’s hand to his scarred over heart and asks, “Ready?”

Martin huffs out a watery laugh and says, “Not even slightly.”

Together, they open the door.  

[fheythfully]

TITLE: oh i beg you, can i follow (AO3 link) SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SHB The true question lies on the tip of her tongue, unwilling to be spoken: Is a tempered, light filled girl still mortal, Thancred? . . . The Crystarium is celebrating the return of darkness, but the guest of honour is nowhere to be found.

She’s nestled between a shipping crate and the cold steel of a resting cannon when the footsteps come to find her. Thancred’s, going by the purposefully heavy tread; there may be a gunblade on his back now but he was a rogue first, and his loudly telegraphed steps are an easily recognizable offer: withdraw further into her hiding spot and he will pretend to have never seen her, or remain as she is and make due with his company.

It’s a tempting thought, to be left alone in the night with only herself and her troubled mind. Her body tenses and she almost does it, but Ardbert’s face flashes before her eyes. He wouldn’t have wanted her to be alone in a time like this. He would have remained stubbornly at her side, staring out at the same scenery she was and offering his words of support. She can’t have him with her, not anymore, but she can easily imagine his disappointment if she were to push away the Scions after everything they had been through.

Her heart still hurts any time she thinks of the other Warrior and the hole he’d left behind. She feels both bereft of a dear friend and warm, an aching gap in her soul that is empty yet mended at the same time.

The footsteps draw closer and Lia forces herself to relax and remain as she is, sprawled out under the clear night sky blanketing the Crystarium. Out of the corner of her eye she watches Thancred make the corner and she turns, greeting him with one brow raised. It is a silent question of why he’d felt it was necessary to leave the on-going festivities of the Crystarium to come seek her out. Undoubtedly, there was much drinking and merriment to be had below; she had partaken in it for a bell or two before retreating to her spot. And after everything that’s happened, she had not expected to see Thancred until well past the dawn, and probably nursing a killer hangover to boot.

“Quite the place you have here,” he says in lieu of answering her. He glances about him—she’s hidden away at one of the highest points in the city accessible, unless one decided to scale the towering pillars and crystalline roofs. There is faint music from the markets and the Wandering Stairs where the heart of celebration is, but other than that, there is only the silence of the glimmering stars and the distant mountains on the horizon. 

It is both peaceful and lonely here in equal measure.

It is precisely what she’d wanted.

Lia remains silent but shifts to make room for him. “Why’d you come?” She asks the moment he’s settled down. At some point in the night he’d lost his coat (possibly to Ryne; she wouldn’t be surprised to find the girl snoozing on a bench somewhere) and the bare skin of his arm brushes up against hers. She can’t help the shivers that come across her body at the thought of someone touching her so casually after she’d nearly become a Warden. The body Thancred now so casually allows beside him had nearly twisted into a cruel mess of limbs and flesh and light, eager to turn them just the same. 

The thought of it makes bile rise to her mouth and her heart skips beats, terrified and distraught and ashamed.

She’s withdrawn into herself before she can even acknowledge the motions, body chasing her own warmth in lieu of someone else’s. It makes her wish once more that Ardbert yet remained with her, untouchable yet relentless and comforting.

There had been no running away from the man dogging her steps. It had irked her plenty when he first appeared in her inn room, and then again the second time; but as the weeks passed she had grown to accept it. She had grown to expect it, even; glimpses of him out in the field, and their conversations in the safety of the Pendants’ apartment. Unlike with the others, speaking with Ardbert did not make her feel judged or as if she was in danger of disappointing their perception of the vaunted Warrior of Light. When she spoke with Ardbert it was with a man her equal, one who had been just as responsible for his world as she has been with the Source. 

By the gods, she missed Ardbert. She’d last seen this view of Lakeland with him at her side and now she was alone and one shard closer to a whole. It did not seem like a fair trade: a friend for a fragment of her soul. She would choose the former in every choice given, in every life lived. 

“Well, when the guest of honour disappears from the reveleries, the attendees are bound to notice.” Startled, Lia drops her gaze from the horizon and to Thancred’s face. But he only smiles at her, amusement clear in his eyes. “I kid, I kid. We noticed though, and grew concerned.”

Ah. Y’Shtola must have sent him then. “Sorry to hear you got babysitting duty,” Lia grumbles, drawing her knees up close to her chest. She rests her chin on them and gazes once more out into the darkness of the distant mountains. Has Bismarck returned? She cannot help but wonder. Her mind does not let her rest from that time in Amaurot, of Emet-Selch and Hades and Ardbert. She knows that things are meant to be over, at least for now—but they never truly were . Somewhere, Elidibus was no doubt growing stronger in his hate for her; somewhere, the Empire was making ready to march. 

And the Warrior of Light was sitting here, not even on her own planet , brooding about things she could not change. Things that had been left out of her control when she should have been down there celebrating her victory with the rest of them, instead of caving to her own fears and misgivings and grief over a man who had been both her and not. 

She flinches in surprise when an unexpected hand makes contact with her arm and turns back to Thancred. “I’d volunteered,” he corrects her. The lingering smile on his face is soft in the starlight cast above them, and she’s almost managed to forget that his real body still rests in the Source. Too long hair and a face in need of a shave, with a bandana the others had teased him over; that is how she remembers him and had seen him last. But for him, it had been five years since he’s seen her last—and on the First his body had reformed alongside his soul’s image, in which he was young once more and untouched by the hands of Lahabrea or his trip through the Lifestream.

It was like looking at a memory with the First-hardened Thancred imposed over it. It was strange, but then again, what hadn’t been lately?

The hand on her arm sets Lia’s teeth on edge, having someone touch her so casually only days after she had white ichor running through her veins, burning up marble and wood whenever it spewed forth from her lips. She itches to shake it off. 

“Did Ryne go to sleep?” She asks. The girl had energy aplenty in the wake of their success, but she was still young and tired from all she had done. The healing she had done on Lia alone, prior to their trip to the Tempest, had left her pale faced and sunken-eyed and the guilt and gratitude both bubble within Lia’s chest, adding on further to the maelstrom of emotions swirling within.

The hand is withdrawn as Thancred chuckles. His eyes find the stars above them and his posture is as relaxed as Lia’s seen him since—well, since a very long time. “She did. Fell asleep right next to the twins, though thankfully not for the same reasons.” At her pointed silence, his smile notches up into a grin. “I’m afraid those two are nowhere near as close to holding their alcohol as well as they think they are. Out like babes, and now safely in their rooms for the remainder of the night.” 

“Where you should be,” Lia is quick to point out. “Your injuries from Ran’jit were surely strained in—well.” She trails off, unable to say the name dancing on her tongue. Hades . She has not finished processing yet, has not managed to file away the ghostly recreation of Amaurot or Emet-Selch’s genuine request at the end of it all. It will all fall away somewhere within her in time, laid to rest alongside all the other bones of things she does not wish to think about. 

If Ardbert were here, he’d tell that she should. That it was unhealthy to bury them under the earth of her thoughts, where she only encountered them in the grips of a nightmare.

“I’m faring fine,” Thancred replies and she can feel his eyes on her again. His gaze feels just as heavy as his hand had been. “It is you, my dear, that should be the one taking her rest. It’s well-deserved, wouldn’t you say?”

The endearment is old and familiar and makes her want to curl up even further into herself, build walls of Garlean steel outside her body so as to not let anyone in. It reminds her of a hot desert too long ago, of a smile she hasn’t seen on Thancred’s face since. Of a camaraderie they haven’t had since she carried his limp body on the back of a stolen magitek from the blazing, crumbling ruins of a Garlean stronghold. 

It’s enough to break her, out here in the lonely night with the both of them staring at the same stars and the faint sound of music coming from below. For so long she had managed to fare alone, to rely on no one but herself to shoulder her hopes and fears, and then Ardbert had come along and it was as if her soul had recognized its missing part, even before the mysterious words of the long-dead Amaurotine in the long-dead city. It had made her want to actually open up herself to someone, made her heart in her chest flutter with desire to not be alone, not anymore. For so long her mantra had been that the Warrior of Light does not get lonely, especially not in the wake of her victory; that the Warrior of Light is a woman of force and steel, of victory and surety. 

And the deepest secret she’s been holding for days now, close to her chest and barely even shared with Ardbert—

That the Warrior of Light assuredly, did not, for the briefest of hours on a long, light filled night, wish to run away and die in peace as a monster. 

“Is it?” Slips out from her mouth. The music from the markets has struck up a cheerful tune in stark contrast to the turmoil she struggles to contain from leaking into her words. “I nearly killed you all. Nearly became a monster myself. It was only luck that led to the light within me settling.” 

Luck , by which she means, of course, the death of Emet-Selch. The moment between her last thought on him and the one right now has not afforded her the clarity she seeks on how it makes her feel. There is no satisfaction in it, not like there had been with Thordan or Zenos. 

There should be. He wanted to Rejoin the First to the Source through genocide, she knows this, and yet.

Yet . 

Something sad and old within her that she has no name for is grieving.

The hand on her arm is back again and she tilts her head to peer at Thancred. “Hey,” he says quietly, the smile gone from his face. In its place is an earnest appeal, a trust she feels is undeserved considering she was moments away from eating them all. “But you didn’t turn. You’re still mortal. You’re still you .” The hand on her arm moves to cover her hair in a move similar she’s seen both Urianger and him do with Ryne; a motion of comfort, and for a brief second she’s bitterly amused at being comforted like a child. But Thancred’s fingers do not linger in one spot and he smoothes back the flyaway strands around her forehead, then runs them gently over the thin skin of her ears. 

For a heartbeat, she looks at him and lets herself be swallowed by the tidal wave of fear that has been cresting at the edges of her sanity. “Am I?” she asks. Uncurling herself she faces him fully and brings the hand he’s laid upon her to her face, not bothering for once to hide the trembling in her limbs. “Am I mortal, Thancred? Or am I—” the words tangles on her tongue, sharp and painful. “—Ascian? Lightwarden? Do I still look mortal to you ?”

The world has thrown so many things at her and she had bested them all, had overcome their attempts at taking her life. She’d chalked it up to Hydaelyn’s blessing before, but now with the knowledge that her Mother was a primal —and she’d believed Emet-Selch on this, the truth settling in her breast as if she’d always known—then what did that make Her Warrior of Light? 

The true question lies on the tip of her tongue, unwilling to be spoken: Is a tempered, light filled girl still mortal, Thancred?

She’d only taken his hand in a moment of uncertainty, in a desire for someone else to feel her skin and tell her that the blood within was warm and not the sizzling heat of light. But he moves his fingers over her cheek and then to the corners of her eyes, gentle in a way she’s never seen before. “You do,” he says quietly. She’s trembling before him, heart beating like a bird’s and pupils blown wide in fear. “You’re still you, Lia.” 

His fingers ghost over her lips and for a second it feels as if time stops, as if they’re the only two in the world awake in the new-old and brilliant night. She doesn’t remember the last time she’d let herself be this vulnerable with another, had let them see the fears which drew breath within the pit of her stomach and crawled through her bloodstream. It almost makes her sob in inexplicable relief—she swallows down the feelings rising in her chest and closes her eyes as a few tears fall anyway, caught only by Thancred’s other hand rising up to sweep them away. 

He lets her collect herself in silence, until her eyes are open again and she’s staring into his own. Lia’s lips part beneath his feather-light touch and she can’t help the shaky inhale, the feeling that gets stuck somewhere between her lungs and her tongue. “Promise, Thancred?” She whispers against his skin, the calluses on his fingers rough against her lips. “Do you promise me that I am me ? That you won’t ever let me become a monster?”

She hadn’t had to speak the words with Ardbert. He had already known, had seen the thoughts through the emotions grappling on her face when she had woken up blinded and in light-fuelled agony. But Ardbert was gone—had never really been there—and she cannot expect those not of her own soul to recognize what she needs, to know the things to say when she hides her fears so well.

If she wanted the weight on her shoulders to lift—truly, eagerly wanted it—then she had to be the one to reach out. To bring down the walls of stone and steel around her heart and recognize the figures of the Scions burning bright around her, willing to walk with her until her last breath.

In the darkness and the starlight of the night, the expression on Thancred’s face shifts. He looks as serious as he did before they braved the fires of the ghostly Amaurot, when he thanked her for all she’d done for him and vowed to always have her back. “I promise,” he says and sweeps the pads of his fingers over her bottom lip, before moving to gently cradle her chin in a reassuring grip. “And if you ever doubt it—if you ever think that you are anything but the kind, brave person you are—then look to me.” His other hand cards through her hair now and the tears are coming again, falling fast over her cheeks and onto the stone beneath them. 

“I will be right there at your side, reminding you again and again.”

Something in her chest breaks and she exhales, leans further into his warmth and grip on her. “Okay,” she says, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall freely now. “I will. I will .”

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 14 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: I think this is the longest chapter yet; there was so much I wanted to see through Kenzie’s eyes here. For those of you who live for tiny details like I do: this is Duncan’s pepper mill. These are his glass coffee mugs. This is his beard oil. This is the dress Kenzie wears on this day. Harris is an Axeman/Danny Huston AU; mostly a Danny AU, as I promise he is not an axe murderer in this universe. I just love Danny and thought he’d make a perfect bodyguard, he’s huge and he will lay hands on anyone who tries to touch Kenzie, amen, Expect him regularly for the rest of this story. Duncan’s grandmother Adelaide is a Fiona Goode/Jessica Lange AU. Here’s WHATEVER LOLA WANTS. Here’s the photo of Carrie I based the one in Kenzie’s bathroom mirror on; her clothing is different, but that’s the expression I imagine she has in it. Golden Pothos look like this and make good indoor plants as they need very-little-to-no sunlight. Nancy Pearlstein’s boutique relish is real, but I took some creative liberties (the back room where Nancy put the rack for Kenzie is made up, and I have no idea what Nancy is like in real life; I made up a personality for her here, though her appearance is genuine) and found the model clothing for Kenzie’s shopping on Neiman Marcus’ website--her comment that Kenzie’s like a little piece of cake I borrowed from a similar line in Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. This is the dress Duncan and Kenzie ultimately decide on for the dinner with Annette (soon to come); here are the others Kenzie liked the most: 1, 2, 3, and the red one that sends Duncan over the edge (don’t worry, she’ll get a chance to wear it soon): 4.  The way Kenzie hoists herself onto the counter to reach the cabinet is the way I hoist myself onto our counter to reach the extra coffee k-cups at the top of the cabinet. Here are Duncan’s champagne coupes. Kenzie and Claire dancing to Seven Wonders is obviously a nod to Stevie’s iconic music video towards the end of Coven. I wanted to mention that I plan to upload the entire fic to AO3 when it’s finished; Tumblr’s tags algorithm is absolute shit when it comes to fics, and this one continually will not show up under them for whatever godforsaken reason, so I’ve kind of given up on reaching a wider audience for it here, but I also feel strongly that I want it to be done before I put it up there so as not to be influenced too much by other people’s thoughts or desires regarding my story; I love all the feedback I’ve gotten from those of you who are following along, but I do want to stay true to my own objectives. Those of you who continue to shower it with love: I see you. You are absolutely the best. Mackenzie and Annette will finally meet in the next chapter. 

“You should put something up on this wall,” Kenzie said, staring at the blank stretch along the corner where the boxes of her belongings were neatly stacked in Duncan’s room (my room, I can’t believe it yet, my room too), sitting cross-legged on Duncan’s bed (my bed), her back to him. Duncan’s left hand was falling along Kenzie’s back, gently rubbing, feeling the rise of her under the tee-shirt with the tips of his fingers, his face turned down to his phone’s glowing screen in his right.

“We should. You live here now, baby, this is your space too.”

Kenzie swung her legs down and went over to the boxes; she was wearing the Led Zeppelin tee again (mine now, smiling to herself), her damp hair, brushed out, over her shoulder. She leaned down and opened one, looking for the telltale greenery of her little plants and succulents; this box had some of her jewelry boxes and lots of pairs of socks and stockings in it. She moved to the next one, letting out a little delighted “aha!”, pulling out one of her falling sedum morganianum in its little terra cotta pot from the box, cradling it in her hands, standing, gazing down at it happily for a moment.

“I didn’t tell Momby I’m moving in here,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to Duncan, who was propped up against the slats of the headboard with his black pillows between his back and the wall, one of his bare legs outside of the cover up to his thigh, slightly raised, his chest bare and rising slowly, contentedly, damp hair on his forehead. He was still looking down at his slender black iPhone, smiling at something now. He looked up at her, the smile playing there still. So beautiful. Archangel. Hades. My dark Prince.

“It’s fine, baby. You’ll tell her when you feel ready to tell her. I understand. Everything is going to be fine...because we’re together, and that’s what matters.”

Kenzie smiled across the room at him; then she shivered a little, cheeks warm, remembering the flashes of thought she had imagined she heard from him before and during their passionate fucking; If I’m a Prince, you’re a Goddess, and I will go to your temple to lay down all my sorrows and my sins and my fear, and all my devotion...

How could I have heard his thoughts, though, she wondered again. Could that have been me pretending to hear his thoughts? Why would I do that? Why would I call myself a goddess?...are we really hearing each other’s thoughts? How the fuck is that even possible? I can’t even think about this right now, I don’t understand how that could happen...that’s just...impossible.

“What are you looking at, baby?” She asked him, pushing the thought away, stepping to the bed on her bare feet. She set the succulent carefully on the nightstand on her side (my side, my fucking side, my side of the bed, oh my god) of the bed, and Duncan pouted a little at her, his mouth turning down at the corners. “I want one on my side too,” he said, his voice sweet and low and tingling at the back of her head. She leaned down over the bed to kiss him; he lifted his mouth up to her, hand falling into her damp hair; then she picked the succulent up and walked around to his side, setting it carefully next to his smooth alarm clock. “There, no more whining.” He laughed a little, reaching out and brushing the succulent’s spindly, bulbous leaves gently, then lifted the screen of his phone up to her eyes.

Duncan had the Instagram app open on it, and on his profile he’d just posted a photo: oh my god, a photo of me, Kenzie gasped a little, snatching it out of his hands as he continued to grin at her with his perfect teeth, a misbehaving sheen in his blue eyes. Yep, that’s me. Duncan had clearly taken it a moment ago when she’d been looking at her succulent; her head was turned down and her damp hair fell around her face, a little smile around her mouth, her eyes gazing at the plant clutched in her hands, the big Led Zeppelin shirt falling off one of her shoulders, its hem at the middle of her thigh, bare legs stretching down out of the photo. My love @kenzielouwho and our little plant baby, he’d typed, adding the little sprouting green leaf emoji at the end and the double-pink hearts.

“Oh my god, baby,” she breathed, unable to conceal the grin that fell across her face, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, gazing down at the photo, dazed. He’d posted it only a moment ago; it had already racked up 1,200 likes and hundreds of comments...that she dared not look at. “Everyone is gonna freak the fuck out. Your mom is gonna kill you.”

“I guess I’ll die happy, then,” he answered, and reached for her, grabbing onto the hem of the tee-shirt, pulling her against him, burying his face in the space between her little breasts through the fabric, wrapping his long arms around her. “...I just want everyone to know.” She felt his lips press against her as he murmured the last part into the fabric, his eyes closed, breathing her in, and Kenzie was filled to the brim with a delicate tenderness for him, terrible in its softness, bringing a lump into her throat. “Oh, baby,” she whispered. “I do, too.” They stayed that way for a moment, his arms around her, his face pressed into her body, her hand coming up and falling through his hair, still holding his phone in her other one; I love his hair, I love it so, like the sheen of coppery autumn leaves, the warm, dark embers of a fading fire, the way he smells, like wood and jasmine soap and musky smoke...

After the quiet stretch, Duncan lifted his eyes up to her; they were like the sky after a storm, gray shot with bursts of brilliant blue. “Should we get the rest of your things tomorrow? I can clear my schedule. I don’t want you to go to your apartment alone, bodyguard or no. I want to help.”

“Okay. I’ll email Candice I need to work from home tomorrow. My article’s done anyway. I was thinking we could have Claire over for dinner--I miss her, and I’d love for her to see the penthouse.”

“That sounds perfect.” He let go of her and she slipped his phone back into his large palm, sliding the underside of her hand against his, his eyes flickering over her face. “I already contacted the security detail service, they’re sending someone over here tomorrow morning. If you don’t like them, we’ll find someone else, okay? We’ll find the perfect person. And it’ll only be for a little while, this will calm down soon--I’m sure of it.”

“You making Instagram posts like that isn’t going to calm anyone down anytime soon, babe.” Kenzie grinned, though, feeling the smile dissolve down into her body, making her shiver; she picked her phone up from the nightstand (it was on his side) and opened her email, sending a few lines out to Candice, setting the phone down again, willing herself not to look at Instagram. “...But I do want everyone to know that you’re mine. Prince Duncan Shepherd and his pauper mistress.”

“Kenzie, no. Don’t call yourself that.” His eyes went dark, a frown creasing his beautiful face, a shadow falling across him. “You belong here. You, beside me. This is your world now, too. Everything I have is yours. Anything you want. Everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Kenzie said nothing, suddenly feeling frozen under that gaze; so sure, as definite as the expanse of some ancient wilderness, some high mountain peak, the depth of some unutterable ocean. You truly are my Dark Prince of the Underworld, she thought. You have such depth, a well of hidden light, but you can be terrible, terrible in your beauty, terrible in your resolve, terrible in your determination, and in your will. Like a King. Like a God of Hidden Places, a God of Gold, the God of a Shadowed Realm, your crown heavy, your eyes like blue flames.

“I was telling Madeline something important tonight, Kenzie, while you were in the bathroom.” Duncan planted his feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing the cover off him, bringing his hands down to the edges of the mattress at his sides, looking down at the floor. His gaze floated up, to her feet, her legs, the tee-shirt covering her little body, the incline of her arms, up into her face, her eyes, down the fall of her hair. “I’m going to tell you now, too. My Uncle Bill is sick. He has terminal malignant prostate cancer, and his diagnosis at this time is six months...and that’s with chemo. When he dies, my mother is going to make me her partner in the company; I know she’s going to do this, for absolute certain, regardless of what my Uncle ultimately wants. That means all of my Uncle’s shares pass on to me. 65% of the company will be mine...billions of dollars, ten different major publications, a major television outlet, a foundation pulling in massive revenue, an accredited dance school that will soon expand into four new sectors, a public investment firm, twenty of the largest manufacturing companies in the United States…” Duncan trailed off, and Kenzie realized she’d stopped breathing.

“I plan on consulting with your mother regarding how best to proceed with this new responsibility ethically, Kenzie...and with you. I want to shift the direction and objectives of Shepherd Unlimited. And I plan on attempting to build a bridge, an understanding, between the company and President Underwood. And...I want to buy the Post, the better to protect it...and to protect you.”

“Duncan. Oh, baby. I…I--” Kenzie didn’t realize it, but her hands had come up to her mouth, covering it, her eyes wide and stunned. I knew the Shepherds were rich...I guess I didn’t really understand what that meant, though. Not really. I guess I still don’t, but I’m getting an idea.

“And I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Because your joy is my joy, and your happiness is my happiness now, and...only your contentment will make me content. Only your light--”

Kenzie rushed into his arms--she stopped his mouth with an urgent kiss, not being able to bear the quivering edge in his voice. “I am happy, baby, because I found you, I found you, my dearest love--” she whispered this into his mouth, and his eyes closed, and Kenzie felt she could feel the wave of relief that flooded off him, down through her body; a wave like the slow passage of time all at once, the eons of ages condensed into the relief of one moment, and he brought his arms around her and pulled her down to him, tossing her into the bed, and his kisses rained all over her face and her neck and her hair, her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth.

“I think we should get a mirror for this room,” Duncan whispered into her as he pressed the fervent, warm kisses into her. “I wanna see us when we fuck…you’re so beautiful, I just wanna see every inch of you, I wanna see your face when I’m fucking you from behind--”

Kenzie blushed, biting down hard on her lip, lifting her neck the better to feel his mouth there, sending little pinpricks of sensation up and down her skin. His hands (those hands) were flitting down to her thighs, pressing, hot and so soft, suggesting their desire and promising all they could do to her, I was thinking about that tonight, how did you know, I thought that when I was in your lap and I was forcing your head back and gripping your throat because telling you what to do thrilled me and I wanna do it more and I wanna be your Goddess who you lay down your devotion to, baby, I wanna see us fuck, too-- “Fuck, baby, shhhh, don’t talk that way or you’re gonna make me want you again--”

“I always want you, since I saw you standing on that balcony all I’ve wanted is you, all I can think about is you, you looked like an angel and you are an angel, Kenzie, how did I get so lucky, how am I so blessed to be near you--” Duncan brought one long-fingered hand to the side of her face, into that crook of her jaw and ear, his favorite spot, to hold me. She leaned into his fingers, closing her eyes, overwhelmed by the wildfire in his, the coiled brightness, the depth of him.

“We must have done something really good in the life before this one...or something really hard. Or something...painful. And this...is our reward for all that suffering.” Kenzie’s voice began to drift, to rise and fall--as soon as she’d closed her eyes she realized how tired she was, how sleep was pushing at the corners of her mind; and a wave washed over her, one that wanted nothing more than to sleep in the arms of her lover, held under the shadow of the night--there was a new moon tonight, the new cycle, the new beginning, a new doorway opening--a time of change, auspicious, and our new destiny falling into place, the wind of Fate pushing us on into this new life…

“Baby, let’s go to sleep,” Duncan brought his hand down her arm, to the dip of her waist, his nose pressing into her long golden-brown hair, breathing her in. “Sleep, and no alarms for tomorrow.”

“Yes, please,” Kenzie murmured, and her voice sounded tiny and far-away to her. She felt Duncan get up beside her for a moment, his hands pulling away (“come back, hold me,” she heard herself say, and he replied “I will, baby, I will”) and the lamp on his side of the bed switched off, darkness falling behind her eyelids, and they were bathed in thick shadow, only the vague glow of the city somewhere behind them giving the room any iridescence. Kenzie opened her eyes a little, and could see the outline of Duncan (tall, standing in just his black briefs, hair over his forehead, long arms reaching down), plugging her phone into the charger beside the bed (I’m always forgetting to do that, he’s so thoughtful) and he turned to her, his eyes glowing in the dark, as if they were truly made of blue flames, lighting shadowed places, like Hades on his throne of bones, staring down his dark hall.

“I keep imagining you have flowers in your hair,” he said to her softly, climbing in beside her, pulling the blanket and sheet over them, his hand coming up to tuck strands of hair behind her ear, resting his fingers in that little space again for a moment. Kenzie turned her back to him so she was nestled into the crook of his body, his form, much larger than her, enveloping her like a cocoon, his chest pressed into her, his face coming against her hair, his arm, crooked, coming to the center of her body, his hand reaching between her breasts, possessively. “So many flowers, like a crown, petals drifting down through the waves of it...I keep seeing you that way, and you look so beautiful...Kenzie, I love you...”

“I love you too, Duncan, I love you…” And Kenzie felt herself drift away, her fingers twined through his between her breasts, into the shadow of sleep.

------

Kenzie woke to soft sunlight falling over the bed, and Duncan’s spot empty beside her, her face buried in the pillow, her head foggy with the depth of her sleep. As soon as she lifted it up, though, she could hear soft strains of lo-fi electronic music coming from the kitchen and front room (call your friends, I’ll call mine...we’ll head out for a long ride...sun is coming out now...it all feels right), and smell the savory, dark sweetness of coffee and butter and fat in a frying pan. Kenzie rubbed her eyes--in her dream she’d been leaning over Claire, who was unconscious, on the white floor of some gigantic house. Claire had been choking...and Kenzie had leaned over her and opened her and pulled the piece of food out of her neck that had been choking her. What a strange dream, Kenzie thought, shaking her head back and forth, locks of golden-fawn hair falling over her shoulder. That dream didn’t make any sense. How could I open Claire’s skin that way? Ugh, weird. The dream had already begun to slip away from her, and Kenzie was glad to let it go. The dream had left her with a funny, sour feeling in the back of her throat, and she swallowed, willing the taste away.

Kenzie lifted her legs onto the floor on Duncan’s side of the bed, reaching for her phone, opening her email. Candice had replied; Everything’s all set for your article. Good luck with everything, let me know if you need my help with anything. Ben won’t stop talking about getting an interview with Duncan. Make sure he knows what he’s getting into there!

Kenzie went out of her email, to her text messages; Clairebear. Mom.

Clairebear: Oops, I was so bothered about those BPF links that I forgot to reply to your request to have me for dinner! OF COURSE I WANT TO SEE DUNCAN’S FUCKING PENTHOUSE, what should I bring tonight? How did everything go with your Mom?

Kenzie typed. Bring your beautiful self only!!! You should see how much wine Duncan has, and every bottle is probably worth hundreds of dollars. It’s insane. We’ll order takeout or something, I need to make sure Duncan eats regular human food, not just foie gras and shit like that all the time, and this is a good litmus test (I’m kidding, he loved my chicken and dumplings and ate salmon last night, but still). EVERYTHING WITH MOMBY WENT SO WELL, I honestly can’t believe it, she loved him so fucking much??? She’s ready to marry him herself, I think. She hugged him and they drank each other under the table. Clairebear, it made me so fucking happy.

Kenzie looked at the other text, this one from her mother.

Mom: I love you so much, sweet pea. I’m sorry I doubted you. Duncan is a dream, but you knew that. Your safety and your happiness are at the center of my world. Steel yourself against Annette. I worry she won’t be as easy to convince as I am. Duncan knows her; he’ll know that, too. Be the brave Kenzie I love so well. Love you to the moon and back. Give Duncan a squeeze for me.

I love you too, Momby, so much. I’ll put on my journalist poker face for her. You know the one, Kenzie typed, standing as she did, softly stepping out through the living room to the kitchen, looking up. Duncan was at his slick silver electric stove, gently pushing at two eggs sizzling in a shiny copper frying pan. He heard her; or sensed her, Kenzie wasn’t sure--he glanced over his shoulder, smiling immediately as he met her eyes.

“Good morning, baby,” he said. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mmhmm,” she smiled back at him, clutching her phone. “Weird dreams, though. What time is it?”

“Ten after 9.”

“Wow, I can’t believe I slept so long...Momby was texting me. She said I need to give you a squeeze.” Kenzie padded to him on the balls of her bare feet, wrapping her arms around his back to his stomach, and clenched them. Duncan’s hands were still at the frying pan, but he reached his neck around to bring his face to hers, lips falling into her hair, then to her cheek, then with aching softness to her lips, lingering for a moment, then turning back to the eggs.

“Tell her I said hello, I hope her ride with Samuel went well.”

Kenzie let go of Duncan reluctantly, adding these things to the end of the text, then hitting send. She turned towards the long black obsidian island in the center of the kitchen, glancing up at the diamond-drop chandelier, glinting in the early sunlight, then back down; on the table was a carton of fresh strawberries, two coffees, and two orange juices, and two plates with slabs of crispy turkey bacon, waiting quietly for the eggs he was making. Kenzie reached out and grabbed one of the strawberries, bringing it eagerly to her mouth, biting into it so a stream of juice fell down her chin. Ugh, this is the best strawberry I have ever fucking had, she thought. Everything tastes better lately. Everything looks brighter, more beautiful, music sounds better...Kenzie sat at the island, turning back to look at Duncan at the stove, admiring the fall of his hair in the sunlight, the concentrated look in his blue eyes as he flipped one of the eggs over with a deft flick of his wrist, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

“Claire texted me too, about coming over for dinner later. I can’t wait to see her…what time should I tell her? 7?”

“7 sounds perfect, we should be done with finding your escort and coordinating with the movers by then. I’m looking forward to spending more time with her. I know she’s important to you.  ”

Duncan was still looking down at the eggs, but Kenzie could hear the tender tinge in his voice; the sweetness extending out towards her. He means it. His sweetness takes my breath away. I wonder if the other people in his life see that sweetness, or care about it.

“Thank you for being so wonderful, Duncan.” Kenzie looked up into Duncan’s face as he came around her side, sliding the eggs onto her place deftly, lifting the hot pan carefully away from her. Dark stubble rose along his cheeks; Duncan wore a soft black tee shirt and black sweatpants, and he looked far too beautiful at this early time of day to be real, his hair slightly mussed in sleep but still looking deliberately styled, somehow, his tall form leaning down to kiss her forehead. He smelled like musky sleep and coffee and the smoke from the stovetop and Kenzie wanted to pull his neck into her face and breathe deeply, like he was oxygen.

“Baby...I’d do anything for you. I told you that, and I meant it, and I’ll say it as much as I need to, I’ll do everything I can, until you believe me.” Duncan said this so matter-of-factly, one would think he had been commenting on the weather, the bright May morning, the temperature outside, the driving conditions. He was looking at her, the frying pan still in his hand, a spatula in the other. Kenzie was struck again by an enveloping tide of affection for him; she felt suddenly unable to speak, mistiness coating her eyes as they stared at each other; she grabbed a piece of the turkey bacon instead, lifting it into her mouth, lowering her gaze away from him, too overcome to stare into his piercing blue gaze any longer. It was perfect; just a little bit burnt, just how she liked it.

She could feel Duncan still staring at her for another moment, then he turned back to the stove, cracking two more eggs into the pan with one hand, carefully discarding the shells in his steel sink for now, twisting a smooth, coppery pepper mill that was sitting on the counter beside the stove over the eggs. “The service detail is sending their candidate at 10:30, baby. I know I said this already, but if you don’t like them, we’ll find someone else. We’ll find someone who makes you feel comfortable, no matter what.”

Kenzie shoved the rest of the bacon into her mouth, fighting off the urge to cry. No crying today, Kenz, she scolded herself. Today is good vibes only. “Okay, baby,” she murmured, grasping the handle of her coffee cup (it was made of glass, the most beautiful coffee cup I’ve ever seen, she thought, how did I not notice these cups the first time I drank coffee Duncan made me, that first morning, I was in a daze), sipping carefully at the steaming liquid. “I feel nervous about it.”

“I’m here. Everything is gonna be fine. These people are the best at what they do. The absolute best. They’ve been protecting my mother for decades, her mother before that. My grandmother, Adelaide Shepherd, she was an absolute force of nature, but she needed a detail, too. Once, a man tried to blow her up with a pipe-bomb he’d hidden in his sock.”

“Oh my god, really?”

“Yep. And that was in the ‘60’s, when that sort of thing was less common.”

“Was she okay?”

“Oh, yeah. She refused to cancel any of her schedule that day, so the story as told by my mother goes. And her detail was unharmed, they managed to wrestle the pipe-bomb away from him and throw it out of range of any civilians. And that’s the same service that’s sending someone for you today. They are truly the best...almost uncannily so.”

Duncan came back over to the island, sliding his own eggs onto his plate (done over medium just like mine, that’s such a stupid small little thing but I love that he likes his eggs the same way) and walking back over to the sink to place the scalding pan into it.

“When we go to your apartment, Kenz, there are going to be paps there. They’re going to shout questions at you, and you’re going to want to answer them. I know the feeling. Sometimes I reply when I really shouldn’t. Do whatever you need to to ignore them. I’ll be there right beside you. They want to get a rise out of you, piss you off enough that you’ll say something. Don’t give them the satisfaction.” Duncan had come back around behind her, his arms coming down over her shoulders, his lips pressing into her hair again, his mouth moving against her head. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks or says. I love you. Please remember that.”

Kenzie nodded under the pressure of his touch, still feeling too overwhelmed to speak beyond a trembling “I love you too, baby”, stabbing her fork into the eggs. She noticed her phone light up with another text; Mom. Samuel is an angel from the highest heaven, I loved him immediately.  Kenzie smiled widely and held her phone up to Duncan’s eyes so he could see. Duncan grinned. “Absolutely true.”

He sat across from her, pushing one long hand through his hair, picking up a slab of the bacon between two fingers (oh thank god, Kenzie thought, you don’t use a fork for your bacon, because that’s just wrong), ripping it hungrily with his teeth. His eyes came up to her, into hers, around the oval of her face; Kenzie was struck for what felt like the thousandth time by the beauty of his eyes, sapphiric in this light, glittering with depth and emotion. She reached her hand out, almost involuntarily, and Duncan twined his fingers around hers, his expression one of open affection and happiness. I wonder if the other people in his life get to see this Duncan, she wondered again. This open, loving soul. I want to hold it, hold him, with gentle hands.

“I love this. Eating breakfast. With you.” Kenzie bit her lip, the words drifting across the island towards him, over his skin. Duncan was silent for a moment, a little nod cascading down his head. Then he said, “I’m happier than I have ever been in my entire life, here, with you, Kenzie.” And she knew he meant it. She lifted the glass coffee cup to her mouth again, blowing carefully, too speechless to reply, so she sipped again, her eyes lifting up to him over the rim. Duncan had brought his hand to his chin, along the bottom of his lip, glancing back and forth between her and his plate now, and then over to his phone as a text lit up the screen. Kenzie peered. Mom. She couldn’t make out the message.

“Mom wants us to meet her at a bar called Plume tomorrow, around 6,” Duncan said, turning his phone over, not looking at the text. “It’s inside the Jefferson Hotel. Kenzie...Annette can be...very particular about appearances. This is a first impression, so she’s going to be particularly critical of you. You were blessed with a warm mother, but my mother is...a politician and a businesswoman, first and foremost. It’s made her inclined to be cold.”

Kenzie reached for another strawberry, pushing the hair that had fallen into her cheek behind her ear. “Mr. Shepherd, are you saying you need to approve of what I’m wearing?”

“I love your clothes, Kenzie. They’re a part of you, and I can see that. But my Mom doesn’t know you yet. She will judge you immediately, and I just want it to be fairly. I was thinking we could go to the shops after we’re done coordinating with the movers and find you a dress that will satisfy her. And I have my own selfish reasons…” Duncan turned her hand over gently, and dragged a thumb down her palm, suggestively. “I’d love to see you try things on.”

“Normally, Mr. Shepherd, if you were anyone else, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”

She could see Duncan trying not to smile, his thumb still pressing into her hand, achingly warm.

“But seeing as I do want to make a good impression on your mother, and you’re suggesting you’re buying me more clothes...if you insist.”

“I do insist, Miss Stone.” He pulled her hand towards him, leaning to her over the island, his energy suddenly hungry, but not for food, longing and intense. Kenzie hovered up for a moment, dipping her mouth down to him, her lips sucking at his bottom lip for the briefest moment, falling away as she leaned back into her seat. He tried to come after her, his head arching into the space where she’d been a moment before, and Kenzie giggled with delight. I could kiss him all fucking day, forever and ever, and he’d still want more. How fucking wonderful is that. Duncan went back to his seat, reluctant, eyes roving down her hair to her bare shoulder peeking from the shirt. Kenzie glanced behind her at the clock over the stovetop. “Oh, fuck, it’s 10 already, we should get dressed, baby.”

“Or I could just watch you get dressed…” Kenzie had jumped up from her seat, a strawberry clenched in her teeth, trying to skirt past him towards the bedroom, but Duncan’s hands grabbed her at the waist and pulled her against him, lips at her neck, and she yelped, hand coming up to the strawberry in her mouth and bringing her hand to his cheek, pressing it into his lips instead. Duncan bit at it and Kenzie brought her mouth against his again, loving the sweet taste of the fruit lingering there, the wetness of his mouth, his hand coming up to cup around her breast, possessive. “Or I could undress you…”

Kenzie twisted out of his arms, (fuck, I love teasing him this way), smiling at him over her shoulder as she slipped away. “I’ll just go to dinner naked, your mom will love that.”

“Fuck, baby…” Duncan stood, his eyes clouding with lust, coming after her as she ran into the bedroom, into the closet, purposefully trapping herself in the corner as he advanced on her; Hades takes Persephone down to the Underworld, she thought; it flickered through her mind, then was gone. Duncan pressed her into the corner, near where his leather jackets hung in a pristine, dark-smelling row, his arms coming down around her waist to her hips (he’s so much taller than me, fuck, I’ll never get over it) and lifted her up into his mouth, his hands coming around the back of her thighs, the shirt riding up so her bare ass pressed to the cold plaster there. “I just want to kiss you all day, all day, baby, I want to go back to bed all day with you and worship you…” His murmurs slipped between his kisses, like smoke around her mind.

“Duncan, we really do need to get dressed,” Kenzie whispered into him, elated, between his lips. “Put me down.”

“No.”

“Do as I say, baby.”

Duncan let out a little whine of protest, but lifted her down with aching softness, so she stood, trapped in his arms in the corner of his walk-in closet, her head barely reaching his shoulder, looking up into his eyes.

“Later. I promise. Later, you can worship me.”

He pressed his head down against hers, hair falling across his forehead, arms holding her with coiled, hungry strength. Kenzie’s heart fluttered wildly between her breasts; that’s all I want too, to stay in bed with you and fall into your eyes and disappear into you, the world to fade away in your arms, my beloved, the only One.

“Okay, baby. Okay.”

--------

Today Kenzie had chosen one of the dresses Duncan had retrieved from her apartment yesterday to wear; I’ll have to move everything into Duncan’s closet later, she thought, slipping the rust-colored, long-sleeve shirt-dress over her head, pulling her hair out of the collar, straightening the skirt, buttoning at the torso. The bodyguard is gonna be here soon. God, I hope they’re not horrible. Duncan was in the bathroom, and she could hear the water running, the soft sounds of him picking things up and putting them back down, using the bottles around the sink. She’d already brushed her teeth, standing next to him as he stared down at his phone, typing rapidly (Annette), his own toothbrush dangling from his mouth, his eyes concentrated. I’m sure he’ll tell me, don’t be nosy, Kenz. She ran the cold water into her hands, sucking some into her mouth, gurgling it, her eyes dancing at him. He glanced up and grinned at her; “you are so cute,” he murmured and she jiggled her eyebrows, cheeks bubbled out from the water swirling in her mouth. She spit into the sink. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. Mom’s angry about the Instagram photo. She’s trying to control the access the media has to...us (me and you, baby). But the sooner everything is out, the sooner it calms down. That’s how it always works. She needs to get used to us and I’m going to do what I can to help speed that along.”

Kenzie couldn’t help but feel little waves of satisfaction; she felt them still as she had slipped on her dress, felt pinpricks of them as she went to the walk-in closet where the Tiffany moon necklace now rested on one of the rising shelves, some of her other necklaces lined carefully beside it (the quartz cluster, the inverted moon choker, memories of the past few days, like the best dreams she’d ever had). She picked it up carefully, unhooking the clasp and closing it around her neck. She gazed down at the moon pendant, fingering it affectionately, then moved to the bathroom; Duncan was rubbing some sort of balm into his jaw, and it smelled wonderful, that woodsy, cedar smell that she was beginning to tie to him so innately. Kenzie was thrilled to see he hadn’t shaved this morning, and the stubble still lined his jaw, darker than yesterday. “I love your stubble,” she said softly, rubbing her kohl pencil under her eyes, just a little, staring at him through the mirror, reaching for the square jar of her perfume, spritzing it around her neck and behind her hair, onto one wrist, rubbing them together.

“I love your perfume. I love your hair and your eyes and your mouth--” Duncan turned to her, reaching for her. She leaned into him, his head falling down against her, eyes closing, arms cradling her. Kenzie looked into the mirror for a moment; her breath caught at the reflection they cast, his much larger, much taller form encompassing her small one, his dark gray high-collared shirt pressing into her rust-colored dress, his dark hair falling into her golden waves, brushed out, falling down her back, his wildly handsome face, almost angelic in this light, leaned against her little one, his full lips next to her slender ones. We look so beautiful together, fuck. He is so beautiful, it makes me want to die right here. My One. My Prince. Beloved. How is he mine.

The bell rang at Duncan’s front door; it was a cadenced chime, a lilt of a doorbell, and it fell over them with a pointed urgency. The world is expecting you. Duncan lifted his head, opened his eyes. “That’s the service.”

“I’ll get it,” Kenzie said, slipping out of his arms, running on bare feet through the bedroom, before he could say anything. She wanted a first impression of this bodyguard without Duncan there; she needed to know how this person would behave around her when he wasn’t around. She stopped, breathless, at the door, pulling it open with a jerk. A handsome, middle-aged white man stood there; he was quite tall, taller than Duncan, Kenzie thought, and broad-shouldered, his eyes bright and sepia, with eyebrows that arched, giving him a mischievous, friendly appearance. His hair was salt-and-peppered, but he wasn’t balding at all, some falling over his forehead, and he wore an immaculate black suit with a crisply pressed white shirt and thin black tie, his long legs extending down to highly polished Oxford shoes; his hands were behind his back, and he towered over her, looking down at her expectantly. The man grinned at her; his smile was wide, open and kind, and Kenzie liked him, instantly. She could see a thin wire extending around the curve of his ear, with a black, rounded end inside his eardrum.

“Thomas Harris, a pleasure. You must be Mackenzie Stone.”

He extended a large hand (he could break my hand off with one jerk, easily, Kenzie thought) and Kenzie slipped her small one into it; his hand was cool, and she could feel the callouses that lined the inside of his palm. This man knows how to hurt someone with his hands, Kenzie knew, immediately. If he has to. But his grip on her was delicate and careful.

“I am. Are you my bodyguard, Mr. Harris?”

The man laughed a little, showing two rows of very straight, very white teeth. “I suppose I am, Miss Stone. I daresay I could easily hoist you over my shoulder and run if need be, also.”

Kenzie grinned. I really like him.

“Most people call me just Harris, Miss. Do you have a preferred title?”

“Mackenzie. Or Kenzie.”

“Very well, Miss Mackenzie.”

“Come in--please.”

Harris stepped through Duncan’s tall doorway, and Kenzie sensed Duncan coming up beside her, his arm snaking around her back for a moment, giving Harris an appraising gaze. He stepped up to the taller man and extended his hand.

“Duncan Shepherd. I heard you were an escort for Adelaide, for a time. Before she passed. I would have been only eight or nine, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

“Oh, Adelaide. A firecracker of a woman. A very fine woman, indeed. I still think of her sometimes...I miss that smile terribly some days.” Harris nodded in deep recognition. “I always thought she was far too great a woman to die. I’m still surprised she isn’t here. Thomas Harris, at your service.” The two men shook hands; Kenzie saw Duncan stretch his fingers as he lowered his hand back to his side, as if to bring feeling back into them. This man is fucking strong.

“Thank you for saying that. I feel lucky to have known her for a short time. There’s another woman in the Shepherd family now, in need of your assistance.” Duncan’s hand came around Kenzie’s arm, his fingers warm and heavy. “It would mean a great deal to me if you would consider this job your most important yet.” Oh my god, in the Shepherd family. Duncan’s phrasing made Kenzie’s heart rebound in her chest, a cool sweat break out at the back of her neck. In the Shepherd family.

“I think I can see why that’s so, Mr. Shepherd.” Harris’ warm gaze fell on Kenzie again, and she smiled at him, shyly. “What a bright soul you are, Miss Stone.”

“Mackenzie, Harris, please. What a lovely thing to say,” she replied, blushing. “I’m so grateful for your help...this is all so new to me and I have to admit, I feel strange about it. It’s comforting to me that you looked after Duncan’s grandmother, though. I wish I could’ve met her.”

“She would have liked you very much, I think, Miss Mackenzie. And it’s perfectly understandable, I think, to feel strange about needing protection in this way. But we live in strange times. I vow to do my utmost to keep you safe. I’ve been doing this job for almost thirty years, and I take great pride in it, if I do say so myself.”

Duncan’s hand was still carefully around Kenzie’s arm; she could feel him gazing at her closely, gauging her reaction to this very tall man who was meant to be her buffer between the outside world and her safety. Kenzie looked up at him, into his storm-colored eyes, and smiled, nodding. He’s good, baby. I like him. I trust him. She hadn’t said it, but somehow felt that Duncan heard her anyway; his face relaxed, and he smiled back at her.

“I understand I’ll be escorting you to work at the Post regularly, and for other activities as you and Mr. Shepherd see fit,” Harris said to Kenzie, looking down at her, attentively; “If you ever feel as though you’d rather do without my presence, I won’t take it harshly--this is your prerogative, of course. I am your escort when you have need of me, and my contract is per-day. Also, I’m required to note that only in the case of a direct threat to your physical safety am I allowed, legally, to use physical force. But I will not hesitate, Miss Mackenzie. You have my word on that.”

Duncan nodded at Harris, gratefully. “Thank you, Harris.” Kenzie bit her lip; a direct threat to your physical safety. She had to admit, the idea of having someone trailing after her constantly was unnerving, but at the same time, the idea of someone protecting her from any unwanted attention was an attractive one. Being a woman is often so scary, and nobody is gonna fuck with me with this gigantic dude next to me, I can’t deny that. And obviously; Duncan couldn’t always be with her. Not that I want that...being away from him makes me miss him, and I like that, too. Those reporters scared the shit out of me, and it would be nice to use the front entrance of my work again. Go with it, Kenzie. Fate is trying to give you a sign again. If this man looked after Duncan’s grandmother, he’ll look after you, too.

“Harris, do you need anything? Water? A coffee?” Kenzie said, moving toward Duncan’s espresso machine.

“Thank you, Miss Mackenzie, but no. I’ll wait for you outside. I see I’ve interrupted your breakfast. I look forward to this partnership, and hope my service to you, Miss Mackenzie, will be satisfactory.” Harris glanced down at the island in Duncan’s (our) kitchen, still littered with the plates and glass coffee cups and orange juice glasses. Then he nodded to them, smartly, and stepped out, the door snapping shut with a clean sound behind him.

Kenzie went to the mat by the door where she’d discarded her shoes last night (running to Momby), picking up one of the brown leather Reagan boots and pulling it onto her foot, then the other one. She felt Duncan come up behind her, his soft hands enveloping the middle of her waist, the incline of her abdomen. “I love him already, baby,” she said, righting herself, turning in his arms. “I didn’t know he was going to be one of the bodyguards your grandmother had.”

“I didn’t know either, honestly, until the detail service texted me this morning. It makes me feel so much better, especially after having met him. God, I feel so relieved.” Kenzie wrapped her arms around Duncan’s neck as he spoke into her, consumed with the tenderness that floated into his eyes as he pressed the incline of his nose and lips into her forehead, picking her up just a little, so her feet lifted off the floor and dangled in midair. “Let’s go get your other things, okay?”

“Yes,” she breathed into him. “Yes, baby, yes, I’m so happy, I’ve never been so happy--” and he spun her around in his arms and pressed his face into her neck and she could feel his smile there, feel the heat coming off his body in a wave that felt like summer sunlight.

------

Harris had sat in the front passenger seat of the BMW, next to Samuel; the two men seemed to hit it off instantly, grinning at each other and delving immediately into a mutually interested conversation about their pasts as escorts, drivers, and military servicemen. “Army,” Harris had said to Samuel as soon as he sidled in next to the Nigerian. “I bet my life on it.” “Right you are, sir, in my native Nigeria, that is. And you are Navy.” How they could tell these things about each other Kenzie had no idea, but their exchange made her smile widely; I love Samuel so much, and if he loves Harris, I know I can trust him. Duncan grasped her hand loosely, languidly, his thumb trailing down the dip of her index finger, into the crook of her skin; he was looking down at his phone, his eyes dark.

“Baby, what is it?” The partition floated up; they were alone, shielded from the eyes of Duncan’s chauffeur and Kenzie’s bodyguard.

“Someone took pictures of us last night at the restaurant,” he said, holding up the open Instagram app on his sleek black iPhone. “I guess...I’m used to people taking pictures of me, but I don’t like them taking pictures of you and Madeline that way.” Kenzie looked down at his phone; the shot was the three of them at their corner table at Busboys last night, a side-view, Madeline holding her Jack and Coke and gazing at Duncan with a bemused expression, Duncan saying something animatedly, Kenzie gazing at him with a small smirk.

“You have to admit, this is a nice picture, baby,” Kenzie said, looking up at him. I love this photo, she thought. I love him and Momby talking together this way. I love them both so much.

“It is. I had a wonderful time with you and your mother last night. I’m so glad she...I’m so glad she likes me.” Duncan’s eyes went into hers, soft, and Kenzie was overcome with the need to hold him, clutch his face in her hands. She gripped his hand, and he held hers tightly in turn. “Of course she does, baby. You’re lovely, and I love you, and I knew she would.”

“I’m sorry right now, Kenzie, if my mother isn’t as lovely to you. Please know, Mackenzie, how much I love you.” Duncan leaned over the seat to her as the BMW travelled towards Dupont Circle; his hand fell down to the moon necklace at her throat, his fingers trailing down its circular diamonds, down between the space of her breasts, to her waist, down the pleats of her long skirt, the lift of her thigh and the space behind her knee. He gripped her at that juncture; he pulled her legs softly into his lap, and Kenzie’s skin broke out into goosebumps at the force of the his gesture, the subservience and desire of it. The car was smooth, low strains of Sarah Vaughan floating through the speakers today (whatever Lola wants, Lola gets, and little man, little Lola wants you...I always get what I aim for, and your heart and soul is what I came for); Kenzie reached into the pocket at the side of her dress, pulling her phone out, opening the Instagram app as Duncan gazed at her in open lust, his hand falling up and down her smooth calf, lazily. The icons at the bottom of the tool bar flashed: 20562 new followers, thousands of new comments and mentions. She went to her most recent post, the one of she’d taken in the office in her moment of abandon, her eyes downcast, fingers on the moon necklace she now truly held her fingers against. He gave me the moon on a string. Over 15,000 likes. And now all of you know he’s mine. Kenzie raised her eyes to Duncan; his hand was on his jaw, thoughtful, pensive, his eyes unwavering from her. Somehow she knew he was thinking about putting a mirror in the bedroom again; a mirror and a hook extending from the ceiling, a hook to extend that long black velvet ribbon from, to tie her up again...

Nope, this is never getting old.

------

As Samuel pulled up to Kenzie’s apartment building, her eyes went wide with disbelief. A huge crowd of paparazzi were milling around outside the buzzer-locked entrance; there were at least ten different cameras and dozens of reporters with microphones and recorders, and they had clearly noticed the BMW coming down the drive; several of the microphones turned eagerly; a crowd of people rushed towards the car.

“Kenzie, stay calm, baby, be calm,” Duncan said to her quietly. She had pulled her legs off his lap immediately, her heart catapulting into her mouth, her phone forgotten, her eyes going wide, clutching his arm. “Duncan, fuck, what the fuck,” she breathed. “How are this many people here, holy fuck, holy fuck.” The partition rolled down. “Miss Mackenzie, I’m going to get out first and check the perimeter, and then I’ll give a nod; an okay to proceed. Is that acceptable?” Harris looked over his shoulder at her through the window, his sepia-toned eyes waiting for her go-ahead. Duncan clutched her hand softly, staring at her; you’re in charge, baby, you got this. Be calm. Kenzie took a deep, shuddering breath, staring out the window at the reporters pressed against the BMW; “okay, Harris, okay,” she said, and he opened the door; reporters immediately started to shout questions to him, “Are you with Duncan Shepherd and Mackenzie Stone? Is this Miss Stone’s current residence? Are you aware of the ongoing relationship between Shepherd and Stone? What is your relation to Miss Stone?” Kenzie noticed Harris ignored them as though they weren’t even speaking to him; his eyes scouted the sidewalk sharply, through the crowd pressing towards them, and then he nodded at the window. Time to move.

“Come on, baby, I got you,” Duncan gripped her hand, looking into her eyes; his were clouded, dark, but determined, and Kenzie felt suddenly full of determination, too; fuck all of you, she thought. Fuck you people, let me in my apartment. “Ready,” she breathed, grabbing the handle of the little black convertible bag she’d picked out a few days before, having switched to it from her Margaux satchel before they left the penthouse earlier. Ready as I’ll ever be.

Duncan opened the door, Harris standing near it, his back to the reporters as a buffer; Duncan exited the car, standing straight; the paps immediately swarmed around him, shouting, though they didn’t get too close; Harris gave one man a particularly dark look when he tried to shove a microphone under Duncan’s chin (Kenzie watched, worried, as Duncan’s head came back a little, involuntarily, his expression dazed for just a moment), and the man scurried back. Duncan leaned down, reaching a steady hand out to Kenzie where she still sat in the BMW’s backseat; Kenzie grasped his hand with tight fingers, and let him help her out of the car, their eyes locked; trust me, she knew he was thinking. “Trust me,” he mouthed, and she bit her lip, and nodded. The shouted questions around the car suddenly reached a crashing crescendo as Kenzie stepped onto the sidewalk beside him, Harris shielding her from behind; Kenzie felt as though she could no longer make out phrases, just words; “MISS STONE, DUNCAN, MISS STONE, MR. SHEPHERD, MACKENZIE STONE, YOUR RELATIONSHIP--DATING--SHEPHERD UNLIMITED--POLITICAL OPPONENTS--RESIDENCE--A STATEMENT--” and the clashing of a dozen cameras clicking at once.

“Come on,” Duncan said into her ear, and he pulled her hand gently but firmly towards the building entrance. Kenzie could feel Harris’ forearm gently pushing into her shoulder blades, his tall form hovering behind her, protecting her from the back. Kenzie couldn’t help it; she looked down at the sidewalk, her head pounding with the noise, an overwhelming nausea washing over her; a sudden claustrophobia set in as the reporters closed in around them, still shouting. “Jesus, step the fuck back,” she heard Duncan say, his voice clipped and demanding, and he pulled her through the flapping suit jackets of several reporters who had gotten unnervingly close; they dispersed as Harris came through, his arms coming up as a shield around Kenzie’s body. Then, mercifully, they were inside her apartment building; several men were standing inside the doorway, each wearing a polo shirt with Moving Unlimited sewn into the breast. Duncan nodded at them, while Kenzie stared out the glass window, dazed, at the reporters and camerapeople, still snapping pictures of her. Is all of this really for me? Harris stood at the door they’d just entered, holding it shut as paps crowded against it, attempting to get inside.

Duncan pulled the keys Kenzie had given him days ago from his pocket; the silver crescent moon charm glinted at her as he turned it in the door, snapping it open, and she suddenly felt grateful at his speed; her keys were still buried somewhere at the bottom of her bag, and she noticed her hands were shaking badly. Duncan pulled her gently, still grasping her hand tightly, into the hallway; the movers came behind her, and Harris followed them, carefully checking the door was securely shut behind them.

Duncan was at her door now; the gold moon she kept hung there was winking at her. Strange times, Kenz. He used the second silver key, this one slightly smaller, to unlock her apartment door; “Come on, baby, we’re here,” he said into her ear, softly. Kenzie stepped into her apartment (my little, shitty apartment); there were empty spots here and there where Duncan had gotten her things yesterday, her plants along the windowsill gone (now sitting in Duncan’s bedroom; they’ll go on his windowsill now, our windowsill), about half of her clothing gone off the standing rack against the wall (now hanging in a neat row beside Duncan’s--our--bed). Kenzie looked around, still feeling dazed. There was a stack of unbuilt boxes on the floor next to the front door, left from the day before. Her bed lay undisturbed, though; Kenzie remembered in a wave how she and Duncan had fucked on it after he came to her so breathlessly, after that long day, such a long day, seeing Momby, telling her; the last time she’d slept in it. What a wonderful night to be my last in this bed.

“I just remembered my lease doesn’t turn over until August,” she said aloud, as if to herself, her voice quiet, sounding like it belonged to someone else.

“That’s not important, baby, I’ll have our lawyers talk to your landlord. We’ll pay off whatever you owe for the rest of the lease.”

“Duncan, I--”

“Kenzie, please let me do that. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

Duncan looked at her; his eyes were warm, soothing, open. She met his gaze for a moment, then looked behind him. The movers and Harris still stood in the hallway; the movers looked bored and impatient, but Harris was calm and collected, looking carefully back at the doorway where several paps had now gone inside the entranceway. He said something quietly, as if to himself, and Kenzie couldn’t make it out; then, she remembered the thin wire extending into his ear. He seemed like a lion to Kenzie; a lion, or a giant leopard, the predator, not the prey, not concerned about his place on the food chain. She had no doubt he wouldn’t hesitate to remove someone from her path, as he’d said to her so calmly. The paps had parted for him like he was Moses parting the Red Sea.

“All you need to do, baby, is tell them how you want them to pack up your things. Then we can go and they’ll take everything to the penthouse.” Duncan spoke to her carefully. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?”

“Yes, please,” Kenzie said in a small voice. She breathed in, deeply, and sat on the edge of her constellation bedspread. I can’t believe all of that was because of me.

“I think it would be best if we left from a back entrance, Mr Shepherd,” Harris said to him from the doorway. “There are too many people for me to properly cover Miss Stone on the way out. I’ve called for backup; they can act as a distraction if need be until we can get her back into the vehicle.”

“That sounds fine, Harris. Kenzie, is there a back entrance?”

“Y-yes. Down the hallway, another right. There’s a patio area and a gate to the side-street.”

“Very good, Miss Mackenzie. I’ll go check the perimeter.” Harris moved down the hallway briskly, his Oxford shoes quiet on the carpet. Kenzie breathed out as Duncan handed her the peony glass, half full of water. Kenzie swallowed a mouthful, reaching for his hand; he wrapped it around her fingers, and the warmth of his touch filled the pit of her stomach with a blooming flower of calm. “Baby, everything is going to be fine. I promise.” His expression was so tender; it made her cheeks hot, her lip tremble. She handed him the glass back with a shaking hand; he grasped it, his hand steady, brushing her fingers, his hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at her, patient, calm.

“Let me get something,” Kenzie said, standing, letting go of him, moving into her tiny bathroom, pushing aside the long lunar tapestry that covered the doorway. Duncan didn’t follow her; he seemed to sense that she needed a moment alone. She moved against the sink, grasping the edge tightly to steady herself; stared for a long moment at the photo of Momby, when she was young, that was tucked into the mirror; the one of her in the bell-sleeves and very short cut-off shorts and flat sandals, leaning against a brick wall, smiling at something or someone unknown to the side of the unknown cameraman, her body and face in profile, her teeth visible, her eyes sparkling, her hair falling around her shoulders and forehead. I need to keep this safe, Kenzie thought, and tucked it carefully into the little black bag at her hip. She breathed again, once, twice, three times, staring at her tiny bathroom, thinking of Duncan’s huge one, so pristine and beautiful and big, with its marble countertop and silver-gilded mirror, the clawfoot bathtub (full of roses), the shower where they’d fucked that morning after, where last night they’d held each other so tenderly. Your new bathroom, Kenz. No more balancing your speaker on the toilet. She went to the corner where she had a small shelf with toiletries stacked in its cloth drawers beneath the tiny window; on top of it was a Golden Pothos plant, its leaves climbing down around the legs of the shelf, growing wildly. “You need a bigger pot, baby,” she whispered to it, and picked it up, gently, bringing her face down to it, pressing her nose into it for a moment. Then, Kenzie turned; Kenzie, you are brave, and you can do this, you can be this brave person, this fearless person, you can pretend she is you, that you are golden, you can see yourself the way you know Duncan sees you, because you can see into his heart, somehow, you can see into his thoughts, somehow, and you know he believes in you--you know he thinks you are golden, and so you must believe in yourself, believe you are golden, too, and make it so. You have to, Kenzie. You have to be her now. You have to believe you are her. Only you can bring her to life.

Kenzie looked down at her Golden Pothos again, pressing one foot against the other; circling her foot out, pointing it from front to back. Then, gripping the plant in her arms still, she moved out of the bathroom, pushing the tapestry aside with her shoulder.

“Okay,” she said, looking up at Duncan, who had sat quietly at her little round, wooden dining table, his hand against his chin; that telltale sign of his concern. He met her gaze, and nodded. “Let’s do this.”

------

It was about an hour later when Duncan and Kenzie moved quietly through the gated backyard of her apartment complex; Kenzie still held the Golden Pothos tenderly in her arms; Duncan had offered to carry it, but she shook her head. “I want to hold it, I need to hold it right now.” He’d nodded, his hand trailing gently down her arm, protectively. The movers had almost finished packing everything into neat boxes (her clothes were kept on the rack, but they’d tucked vinyl sheeting around it, covering it from prying pap eyes as they pushed it into the moving truck on the curb--several cops and other men in dark suits had arrived about fifteen minutes after Harris had placed his discreet backup call, and they were keeping the paps quarantined a few yards from the entrance of the building); Kenzie had insisted on lifting her wind chimes down with a chair and tucking them, inside her constellation bedspread, carefully into one of them herself; she placed a few of her other plants that had been left behind yesterday on top of the spread to cushion them. Duncan had personally, carefully carried the box into the truck, writing HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE on the side with a sharpie, ignoring the paps who shouted at him (even when one of them called out “how’s Annette feeling about you fucking Madeline Stone’s daughter, Duncan?”). Kenzie was having her furniture moved into Momby’s storage unit in Arlington, though she wondered, absently, if she’d indeed ever end up using any of it again; Duncan’s things are so much nicer, why would we use mine? She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness; it’s not that I even love my furniture. The change is just...so abrupt. My life changing so quickly, so utterly. It feels so soon, and yet, it feels like the right thing. It feels like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. It feels like the new moon. Duncan was right; this is our destiny. But nobody told me finding your destiny would feel so strange.

Samuel was idling the BMW on the back stretch of the side-street, and Harris was closely behind Kenzie again, his eyes, hawk-like, scanning the backyard for any stray prying eyes. Duncan held her arm, gently, pulling the rear door open, gripping her carefully as she leaned down into the seat, the plant still clutched in her arms; Duncan slid in beside her and and Harris shut the door behind him with a firm click from the sidewalk, moving quickly to the front seat and shutting the door as he scanned the area again; he spoke low, pressing the earpiece, as he settled into the passenger seat, and Samuel accelerated, the BMW quietly leaving the curb and turning toward Georgetown. “Samuel, drop us off at relish, in Cady’s Alley, thank you,” Duncan said, reaching for Kenzie’s hand; he pressed the button for the partition. He turned to her as the privacy of the backseat enveloped them. “Baby, Kenzie, are you alright? Can I do anything?”

Kenzie turned to look at him; oh, Duncan, I love you so. His eyes had that same tender expression as when he’d handed her the water glass, the clarity of their blue like a clear sky; she felt as though she could somehow sense the drifting color of his emotions, seeping out of him and enveloping her like an embrace, golden and bronze and delicately soft, sunlight and warm sand. “I’m okay, baby. I’m going to miss my apartment. It’s the first place I ever lived alone; I lived there for three years. And I’m going to miss living so close to Emissary...I’m okay. But I am a little sad. Just a little.”

“Do you want to cry? It’s okay if you want to cry, baby.”

Kenzie shook her head, biting her lip, clutching the Pothos.

“No. I don’t want to. Kiss me, okay? Duncan. Kiss me.” She turned her head up to him and he was smiling and his lips fell on hers and his hand came around hers where they clutched the terra cotta and he felt so warm and he felt golden and in his embrace Kenzie thought I don’t want to cry, I want to laugh; you make me feel golden, I told myself I am that girl you see inside me, and I feel her there and I know she’s there, I know she’s in me, and you’re bringing her out, bringing me to myself, in you I’ve seen the reflection of my own self, and in me the reflection of you.

-----

Duncan stepped out of the BMW, reaching for Kenzie’s hand, where Samuel had pulled up in front of the stony facade of the boutique; Kenzie gazed up at it, curious. She still held the Golden Pothos in her arms; Duncan reached down to her arms, gently pulling it away from her. “Is it okay if Samuel takes this back to the penthouse, baby? You know you can trust him.”

“Yes,” Kenzie breathed. If only this dazed feeling would fade; this feeling that I’m suddenly in someone else’s story. Harris was getting out of the passenger seat, buttoning his suit jacket, his hawkish sepia eyes scanning the area carefully again. I doubt he ever misses a thing, Kenzie thought. I wonder if he ever deviates from being extremely calm. Samuel leaned down from the driver’s seat to peer at her. “I will protect this small creature with my life, Miss Mackenzie,” he said as Duncan tucked the potted plant into the seat Harris had just vacated, pulling the seatbelt around its wide pot with measured gentleness. “Thank you, Samuel,” Kenzie replied, her voice sounding small in her ears. “Can you give it a little water when you get back?” “Of course, Miss Mackenzie.” Duncan shut the door and Samuel pulled away; “I’ll text him when we’re done,” Duncan said down to her, his hand finding the small of her back, his long fingers pressing gently down to the incline of her hip. Kenzie nodded up to him and grasped his hand as he pulled her into the shop; its interior was very cool and very quiet, the walls calming white with wooden dais raised here and there, shoes and accessories carefully and meticulously arranged, minimal racks against the walls, some clothing displayed on mannequins, red summer dresses and black pea coats and crisp white blouses. Harris hung back by the door as Duncan pulled her further into the shop, his eyes lighting on a woman approaching them, and he smiled at her, brilliantly.

“Nancy, how are you? It’s wonderful to see you.”

“Duncan, darling, I’m well, and you--you look wonderful, god, absolutely luminous.” The woman was middle-aged with an open, makeup-free face, round glasses perched on her nose, frizzy curls falling around her face, her smile genuine and unpretentious. She wore a long tartan skirt that fell to her ankles in navy and gray, and a mock neck top, darker navy, with pointed sleeves that went to her elbow. A golden-yellow argyle scarf was tied around her neck. She stopped in front of them, reaching out to Duncan, pressing her cheek against his, for a moment. “You smell lovely, as to be expected.” She turned to Kenzie, her expression friendly and curious. “And you must be Mackenzie. Madeline and I have brushed shoulders at parties in the past, but I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you, my dear. I’m Nancy Pearlstein. Duncan tells me you’re meeting Annette tomorrow and need to look a part she’ll be...gentle with.”

Kenzie felt heat seep into her cheeks, and smiled a little. ”It’s nice to meet you.”

“What a doll,” Nancy said, eyes falling down Kenzie’s small form, from her strawberry-gold hair to the pleated dress, lingering on the moon pendant for a moment, then to her dark brown leather boots, glancing at Duncan approvingly, then back to her. “You make quite the striking couple, it’s no wonder the media is losing its collective mind; and you, my dear, you’re like a little piece of cake. We must give you the proper frosting. Come.”

Nancy led them up a smooth staircase of wooden slats; around more displays, tasteful racks, and mannequins on the second floor, and through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY around a corner. Here there was a wide white room, painted similarly to the rest of the store, warm light streaming in from two high windows against the far wall facing them, some empty mannequin stands in one corner and a curtain pulled over the opposite one as a makeshift dressing room, with a mirror so long against the wall to their left it reminded Kenzie of one in a dance studio; to one side of the mirror there stretched another long clothing rack, this one stocked with at least twenty different dresses of varying colors and styles.

“So, I brought together some pieces I think would suit you based on the pictures of you Duncan sent me. If you don’t like them, we can find more. Take your time. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything at all.” Nancy nodded back and forth between Duncan and Kenzie, her smile clearly delighted at the two of them; she pressed two fingers to her lips, as if lost in a private thought, then left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Duncan turned to her, smiling. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“She is. You know so many lovely people, baby.”

“She and my mother have been friends since high school. Nancy helped her dress for her first TV appearance, back in the late 80’s. Her store has been here for over twenty years. She’s the best...baby, try something on for me?” Duncan stepped close to her, his arms snaking around Kenzie’s waist, his face coming down to the side of her face, lips trailing down her neck. “I wanna see you in every single one of these. Please?”

Ugh, baby, you’re so gorgeous, you smell so fucking good, Kenzie thought, unable to stop her eyes from closing as he pressed into her, his much larger form enveloping hers in an achingly strong embrace, his hair against her mouth, its woodsy smell making her heart fall into her stomach and fly back into her mouth. I want your hands down between my legs where they belong. As if he heard her, Duncan moved one long-fingered hand over her thigh, but Kenzie pulled away, teasingly, before he could reach down further, her lips hovering achingly close to his for a moment, eliciting a moan from him that reverberated against her, his desire palpable in the quiet of the early afternoon.

“Sit down, baby,” she commanded, and his gaze was heavy with lust for a moment as he stood very still, almost touching her but not quite, his hand hovering up, fingers extended towards her. Then, he turned to where some folding chairs were stacked against the wall; he pulled one with ease over to the center of the room, opening it with a snap, setting it firmly down, and sitting, crossing one leg against the other in a lazy, low crook, hands settling into his lap, his eyes steady on her.

Kenzie turned her back to him, setting her convertible bag on the floor; she went up to the rack lined beside the mirror, and began to push through the dresses carefully, mentally selecting five or six she liked immediately, and a handful of others that struck her for one reason or another. She lifted one up to Duncan; it was black tweed with tiny, tasteful sequins and a boat-style neck, and sleeves to the middle of the lower arm with slit cuffs. “This seems like an Annette Shepherd dress to me,” she said, and he nodded, his eyes shifting over it with a confident look.

“It is. I think that might be the one. Try it on?”

“I will. Be patient, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Yes, Miss Stone.” She felt his eyes on her back, falling down her wavy hair (golden and soft as silk) along her hips and over her ass (thinking about your beauty last night, baby, fucking you with that plug, fucking you, tied up, my come dripping down your leg, riding me so hard into that oblivious ecstasy…) and Kenzie blew her breath out, trying to calm her racing nerves, am I imagining this again, or is that really what he’s thinking, but pushed it away from her mind, trying to clear it. She opened the makeshift curtain, and stepped behind it, easing her dress off over her head, slipping the first of the dresses Nancy had picked for her on; it was black and tiny, hem high on her thigh, with two dual strips of fabric that covered her breasts. A va-va voom dress, as Momby would call it. He wants a show, so I’m going to give him one.

“What do you think,” Kenzie said coyly, pushing the curtain aside. She twirled as Duncan’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward, eagerly, her gold hair tossing over her shoulder.

“We are definitely going home with that one, angel.”

Kenzie grinned and stepped up to him, leaning down, pressing her mouth eagerly down onto his, standing between his legs; Duncan tried to put his hands around her, but she pulled away before he could. “I’m busy, baby,” she said, turning her head up, swinging her hips as she walked away from him. “You need to wait.”

“Ughhh, Kenzie, baby…”

“Shhhh.” Kenzie pushed the curtain closed again, her nerves thrilling under her skin. This was fun. When she opened it again, she was wearing a long-sleeved crewneck black dress with white lines around the waist and through the flaring skirt. More of an autumn dress than summer, she thought, but definitely something I’d wear.

“I like this one,” she said. Duncan smiled and nodded. “As many as you want, baby. I think my Mom would like that one, too.” Kenzie made a little face and went back behind the curtain. She tried on several other dresses; one that was a tawny color that didn’t seem to fit her correctly around the shoulders (not this one) and another, a black mini-dress with flowers embroidered along either side. “I love that one,” Duncan said, his eyes flickering over her little breasts, the curve of waist, and the incline of her thighs in its form-fitting confines. “I love you in flowers.”

“I like this one too. It’s summery. But maybe not right for dinner with your mother.”

“Still, if you like it, we’re getting it.”

Kenzie smiled at him; fuck, baby, this is so much fun. His hand was on his jaw, trailing along his bottom lip, and his eyes glittered at her, full of affection and adoration. Just look at me, baby, she thought. Just look at me like that always and I’ll never be sad again.

Kenzie opened the curtain again a minute later; this dress made Duncan’s eyes widen and his mouth fell open, his hands coming out, resting on his knees with urgency.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” he whispered. The dress was long, lacy and red, with a fitted bodice and two tiny straps over her shoulders; the lace was transparent around her legs, exposing her skin, extending up to a very short flesh-colored slip around her hips, the neckline low, her back exposed, her hair brushing against her shoulder blades as she turned around for him, heart beating against the moon pendant around her neck. Kenzie smiled at him over her shoulder; I want you so fucking bad, baby, his thoughts seemed to drift towards her again, his eyes roving up and down her body, hungrily, achingly; I want you right now, I want your clit in my mouth, I want your neck under my fingers, your hair against my skin, your mouth against mine. Goddess, angel, my Kenzie, most divine--

Kenzie moved up to him, close, between his legs again, and this time, she let him press his hands into the lace around her, let him press his mouth, achingly soft, into the skin just above where the moon pendant lay against her. “Kenzie, I want you so bad, baby, you’re so beautiful, so fucking beautiful--”

“We can’t, baby, not right here--” but her mouth was opening to him and he was pressing one of his beautiful hands between her thighs, pulling her into his lap, fingers flitting under the hem of her underwear into the wetness spreading from the gathering heat there and she arched into his hand, their tongues coming against each other, and his thumb brushed up and down along her clit, making her shudder; Duncan worked his index finger up, rubbing it into her, the hardness at his crotch grinding up into the emptiness between her legs, and he said “I can make you come, though,” and he brought his finger down to the moisture at her cunt and brought it up to her clit, soaked in her arousal now, and he bit softly into her neck, once, twice, three times as he ground all of his concentrated devotion into her and she arched on his lap and he said “Kenzie, baby, fuck, I love you--” and she shuddered into his hand, her release abrupt and achingly hard and dizzying, and he brought his other hand up to her mouth and she stifled the scream of her orgasm into it, lips wet and kissing his palm.

“We are definitely getting this dress,” he murmured into her ear as she gasped against him, coming back down to earth.

Kenzie stood, wobbling a little; she could feel the wetness stuck against her panties now, and Duncan slid his finger away, still glistening with her; he pulled a tissue from his pocket, wiping her release onto it from his hand, bringing it to his nose for a moment (oh my god, baby) and tucking it back into his pocket. “Bad, bad baby,” she whispered as he grasped her hips to steady her. “Bad boy.”

“Uh huh,” Duncan said, flashing his beautiful smile at her, burying his face against her bare skin again. “I need to be punished, I guess.”

Kenzie gazed at him; he looked up into her face (blue like summer seas), mouth pressed into her with open devotion, wanton need. “Oh, you do, do you?” Kenzie whispered.

“I think so. If you want to. I think I’d like that. I think I’d like it if you tied me up.”

Oh my god, fuck yes. A shiver ran down Kenzie’s spine, cool air touching her bare shoulders in the red dress. “Okay, baby. I will. But you need to be patient.”

Duncan let go of her, but his eyes glittered still, and his smile was suggestive, a promise of things to come. “Okay, baby. I’ll be patient.”

“Good boy.” Kenzie stepped away from him, back to the curtain.

------

Kenzie tried on several other dresses, but the one they decided on for dinner with Annette was the first one Kenzie had laid eyes on; the black tweed with tiny sequins, a dress that looked like it belonged on the body of a Congresswoman having a tasteful lunch at a bistro. It’s not really a Kenzie dress, Mackenzie thought, but I’m terrified of this dinner tomorrow, and every little bit helps. I just hope she isn’t planning on dressing me all the time. Kenzie remembered the appointment she was supposed to go to with Annette on Saturday morning, to fit a dress for the Gala. Yep, 100% dreading that. In the end, they left Nancy’s boutique with five of the dresses that she’d hung on the rack for Kenzie; the tiny black one with the plunging neckline, the one with flowers embroidered along the sides, the black dress with white stripes, the lacy red dress that he made me come in with just his hands, Kenzie thought, good thing we didn’t get anything on it, her cunt twinging as Duncan grasped her fingers at the counter, and the dress she would wear to their dinner at Plume tomorrow. Kenzie dared not even look at the bill; she turned away from the register as Nancy and Duncan conversed pleasantly and nonchalantly, Nancy slipping them into vinyl hanging bags, wheeling a rack around to take to the BMW, Samuel already having driven back around to pick them up, Harris watching carefully from inside the doorway of the boutique, his expression relaxed and neutral. I guess thirty years of being a bodyguard makes you extremely patient. Kenzie felt dizzy and tired again; I can’t wait to see Claire, she thought. Claire always makes me feel like myself again, and I want her and Duncan to like each other so much.

“Sweet Mackenzie, it was lovely to meet you, I’m so glad I could help with this.” Nancy pushed the wheeled rack towards them and Duncan grasped it from her, carefully.

“Thank you for everything, Nancy,” Kenzie replied, blushing, remembering Duncan’s hands between her legs in the room upstairs, a short while ago. He looked at her, his smile sly, a promise to her that he was thinking about the same thing. Harris came up and pulled at the other end of the rack, bringing it out the door, carefully pressing the vinyl bags into the trunk of the BMW; he opened the door for Kenzie, smiling at her.

“Today has been so long,” Kenzie said, looking up at his friendly face, “But meeting you has made it wonderful. I’m so grateful…” She grasped the large man’s calloused hand for a moment as Duncan watched them from the opposite side of the car before he got in, his blue eyes full of affection as they fell over her gesture.

“Miss Mackenzie, I am grateful to have a charge who is so lovely in every way. The pleasure is mine. Today is one of many where I will be faithfully at your side. I look forward to this partnership.”

Kenzie slid into the seat, and Harris closed it behind her. Duncan laid a hand on her thigh, his face falling down to his iPhone for a moment, and Kenzie closed her eyes, tiredness washing over her; when she opened her eyes again, Kenzie noticed he’d had it raised up in front of her and was lowering it now, smiling at it. “Oh no, Duncan,” she murmured, “did you take another picture of me?”

Duncan bit his lip. “You looked so lovely.” He held it up to her; he’d already posted it on his profile. In the photo, Kenzie’s eyes were closed and her face was serene, the late afternoon sunlight falling over her cheek, the moon pendant glittering at her neck, golden waves thrown down her shoulders, a little pout at her mouth. “Oh no, ugh,” Kenzie complained. “Blackmail.” Sleepy angel. With the beating pink heart and ZZZ emojis. 800 likes and it’d only been seconds. “Fuck, people do not waste time on your photos, baby,” she murmured. But Kenzie felt too tired to care. Let them look. Her eyes drifted closed again, and her head fell onto Duncan’s shoulder, though she didn’t realize it; Kenzie felt the soft brush of Duncan’s lips in her hair, then she remembered nothing until the pulled up in front of the high-rise a few minutes later, the setting sun streaming against its glistening surface, Duncan shaking her awake, gently, his fingers on her cheek.

-----

“Let’s just get takeout for dinner,” Duncan said, and Kenzie grinned at him. Oh, thank god, you are an actual human being. “Ugh, yes, baby, definitely.” She was standing in the bedroom, surrounded by boxes, bringing her plants out one by one; Kenzie was still in the long-sleeved pleated dress, but her feet were bare, and Duncan had peeked his head into the room from where he’d been typing at his Macbook on the coffee table, deeply immersed in emails. “I’ve been dying for Chinese food, do you people eat that?”

“You people,” Duncan mimicked, making a face. “Are my horns showing again?”

“Yep, they’re glorious and terrifying. But I know I can defeat you with tickles.”

Duncan laughed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She wiggled her fingers at him and he disappeared from the doorway in faux terror. “Oh, wouldn’t I, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Please tell me Claire likes eggrolls, because I’m ordering like, at least ten.”

“Of course Claire likes eggrolls, she’s not a monster.”

“What a relief.” Duncan appeared in the doorway again, throwing his phone lazily onto the bed; he gathered her up in his arms. “I love those little plants you put in the kitchen, it looks like you now, like you and me, together. I love it so much, baby.”

“Mmhmm,” Kenzie sighed into him; when Duncan held her, it seemed as though every ache, every drop of tiredness floated away from her; I feel alive in his arms. Truly alive. She kissed him; “I love kissing you,” he said into her mouth, their lips parting then meeting again, and she nodded up into him as he lifted her, his body enveloping her, his hands at the back of her neck, the dip under her arm, threading through her hair. “I know today was a long day for you--you were so wonderful, so kind and lovely, and you always are--”

“Not always, baby,” she whispered into him. “I’m human too, I can be a cruel mistress.”

“But I’m yours, and I will forgive you every time.” His words fell against her and Kenzie felt her heart shake; she was struck again by the heavy hand of Fate, merciful, having brought them together. Please be with us tomorrow, I beg of you, for I am fucking terrified of Annette Shepherd. She went to speak; but the doorbell chimed again, for the second time that day.

“Claire!”

Kenzie ran to the door, jerking it open, and throwing herself into the arms of her Clairebear, Claire’s blonde shag bouncing back and her mouth shrieking into Kenzie’s ear as they hugged each other tightly. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you, bitch!” Claire pulled Kenzie back to look at her, then wrapped her arm around the back of Kenzie’s neck, tightly, squeezing her again. Kenzie dragged her inside the penthouse, grinning so widely she worried her face would split. Duncan came up behind her and Claire yanked him into a hug. “Get used to this, Duncan, I’m a hugger.”

“I could use more hugs, so that’s fine.” Duncan put his arm around Claire’s back, smiling at Kenzie over her shoulder.

Claire patted his cheek, pulling back. “I brought some really fucking good weed from Colorado.”

“Fuck yes!” Kenzie hopped up and down, her bare feet bouncing against the smooth marble kitchen floor. “Get this, Claire, Duncan eats Chinese food, I’m so fucking relieved.”

“What am I, a science experiment?” Duncan was smiling, though. “What kind of wine do you like, Claire?”

“Pfft, every kind, what kind of question is that, honey.”

“Every kind it is, then,” Duncan went into the fridge (it belongs in the future with the toaster, Kenzie thought), and brought out a bottle of vintage Moet, opening it deftly, the satisfying pop of the cork reverberating off the crystal-drop chandelier. “Champagne glasses?” She asked him, her eyes falling into his with desire. 

“Right side cabinet, top shelf, but how are you gonna reach them, baby?” 

“I have my ways.” Kenzie hoisted herself up onto the counter so she was kneeling on its smooth black surface, and she reached up carefully, bringing down three beautiful Waterford champagne coupes. “A lifetime of shortness has made me crafty.”

“Kenz, be careful.”

Claire was watching them with bright eyes; Kenzie looked back at her, and Claire shook her head. “You two are so stinkin’ cute, it’s pretty disgusting.”

Kenzie lept down from the counter and brought the glasses over to the island. Duncan poured the icy champagne into the first glass, cordially handing it to Claire; she smiled, delighted. He handed the next one to Kenzie, fingers lingering on her skin; and lastly, poured one for himself.

“To all the happiness in the days to come,” he said, his eyes shining at her, raising his coupe.

“To your mother not murdering me tomorrow,” she countered.

“To this fucking great weed we’re about to smoke,” Claire added, and clinked her glass against them both.

After they’d shared a bowl, Kenzie had dragged Claire from room to room, watching her friend’s face with delight as Claire gasped at Duncan’s rooms, at The Youth of Bacchus, at the wall-long window gazing down on the city, 30 stories down and a mile away; our rooms, she corrected herself, our apartment, my apartment, my penthouse, god, so fucking weird, but get used to it, Kenz, he’s yours and so is this, so is all of this. The weed crashed through her in a wave, down the base of her skull into the pit of her body and through her limbs, and the champagne was the best she’d ever tasted, heady and bittersweet and high. Music drifted from the overhead speakers, a hard drumbeat with a playful guitar twining around it (looking out for love, in the night so still / oh I’ll build you a kingdom, in that house on the hill); Claire stared at the window in awe, coupe clutched in her hand, and Duncan was stretched out on the low leather couch, Kenzie leaning against his feet and the crook of his bent knees, her hair falling down his thighs into his crotch; Duncan’s hands fell through it, his eyes fascinated and mesmerized.

“This is the most amazing place, Duncan,” Claire said, turning back to them. “Like, wow, the energy here is special.”

“It’s because Kenzie’s here now,” Duncan replied, matter-of-factly. “She’s the gold.”

“The gold?”

“Yes. Kenzie is gold.”

Kenzie laughed a little. “You’re high, baby.”

“So what. You’re still gold, angel. Gold forever, gold divine, gold of mine...”

Another song drifted from the speakers; strains of electronic chimes, ethereal and full of magic. So long ago, certain place, certain time…

“You touched my hand, all the wayyyy, all the way down to Emmeline--” Kenzie clear voice burst out into song towards Claire, and Claire grinned.

“But if our paths never cross, well you know, I’m sorry, but--”

Kenzie jumped up, Duncan’s hands slipping out of her hair, grabbing Claire’s hand (Claire set the Waterford coupe down carefully beside Dike’s scales, laughing, “Kenzie, jesus, watch out!”), whirling her around as the music pumped out of Duncan’s speakers, and he gazed at her, a serenely happy expression in his eyes as the light faded and the city came up through the window. If I live to see the Seven Wonders, I’ll make a path to the rainbow’s end, I’ll never live to match the beauty again, the rainbow’s end...

[todotodorito]

Soukoku Week Day 2- Scarcity

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya

Other Characters: Oda Sakunosuke

Warnings: Alcohol Usage Inspired by Hotarubi No Mori E and Pushing Daisies( @zellyfishnaaa saw a thing on Oz’s BSD Discord server and asked me to write it for Day 2 uwu)

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845580

Enjoy~

The first and last time Corruption spoke to him, he swore he'd never activate it again.

~

The words flowed from his mouth, so naturally Chuuya wouldn't have noticed them if it weren't for the fact that the voice wasn't one he recognized.

“O grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again.”

He hadn't the slightest idea what happened afterwards.

The true form of his ability had manifested itself deep within Chuuya, and for a split second after being touched by Dazai Osamu, Chuuya thought he was dead.

That is, until the voice appeared again.

“I am you, and you are I, without the other, we are nothing but dust.”

He saw Dazai through the red haze of his mind, and choked out a whisper before surrendering to darkness.

“Don't… touch me…”

~

The first two days after he'd woken up, he shook uncontrollably. He'd refused to speak to anyone, not even Kouyou, whom he'd grown to be exceptionally close to.

Everyone left him be.

Poor thing, they said when they thought he wasn't listening. He must have been scared out of his mind.

Yes, he was scared. But not of Corruption, the entity that had been part of him for as long as he could remember. Not of how much pain he had to go through in the process of its activation.

No, fifteen-year-old Nakahara Chuuya was afraid of something else.

~

There wasn’t an inch of ground around them not covered in blood. Even they, themselves, were clad in metallic crimson, from their fallen opponents. Silence reigned and bloodlust hung in the atmosphere, sending out a grave warning to whoever might dare to cross their paths.

Soukoku was here.

Chuuya looked over to his right, where Dazai stood unmoving. Dark shadows reflected in hazel orbs that stared down at long-dead enemies. Chuuya counted to twenty before his partner snapped out of his reverie to revert back to his usual annoying self.

“Ah, Chuuya, they were strong, weren’t they?” A smirk was apparent on his sculpted face. “Too bad they had to meet us.”

Easy enough for him to say. Dazai had left him to handle most of their targets, only stepping in once in a while when he saw Chuuya was struggling. In fact, while Chuuya had gotten several vicious slashes to his side and his coat ripped to shreds, the only visible injury on Dazai was a slight gash on his cheek. Chuuya was already used to it.

Rolling his eyes, he made for his exit. The cleaners would arrive to clear up the mess afterwards. His job here was done.

“Wait for me!”

There was a sudden flurry of movement. Chuuya’s breath hitched, and he jerked aside, just barely missing Dazai’s outstretched hand.

Both froze.

“Chuuya…”

Dazai’s voice broke. He lifted his head to meet Chuuya’s soft gaze. The expression on the brunette’s face was almost unreadable, but it pained him all the same. The redhead braced himself for the tremendous guilt that was bound to follow the impending question, the very same one he’d been constantly asked the past three years-

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

~

It never stopped hurting. Chuuya was enchanted by Dazai’s sharp features, captivated by his fluid movements, enamored by his rare, genuine smiles. He longed to be with him, cherish him and it drove him mad with frustration being so close to him, yet never being able to make physical contact with him. He wanted so many things- to love him and have his feelings reciprocated in return. To have his world no longer scarce of the touch of his beloved. But their abilities created an allegorical barrier between them, a line Chuuya could toe, but not cross.

That’s why, when he arrived at Lupin’s that night, it was with the intention of drinking his sorrows away. He waved the bartender over and ordered a glass of Beaujolais.

“Nakahara-San, fancy meeting you here.”

Chuuya turned away from his wine and saw a tall figure wearing yellow coat.

“Oda-San, hello.”

Oda Sakunosuke, the mafioso who didn't kill.

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

Chuuya nodded his head towards the vacant seat beside him, and watched as the older man settled down comfortably before ordering a drink.

Silence fell upon them as the two took sips from their glasses.

“Dazai talks about you a lot.”

Chuuya merely bit back a retort. What else would come out of that shitty mackerel mouth other than words that spoke ill of-

“He tells me you have beautiful eyes, I can see why he’s head-over heels for you.”

Said eyes widened. Under different circumstances, Chuuya would have thought Oda for a fool.

But the latter wasn't lying. Every feature of his face portrayed a look of honesty, through and through.

The whole truthfulness of the matter was almost enough to break him down.

“But he’s always wondered why you wouldn’t let him beside you.”

Chuuya buried his face into his arms, leaning his head against the cold wooden table. Clumps of long, fiery red hair settled around him. His plan on drinking himself silly had evidently backfired. He doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand…

“He doesn’t know how much I want him too, doesn’t know how much it hurts being with him every single day, yet unable to reach for him,” Chuuya muttered with just enough volume for Oda to hear him.

Perhaps it was under the influence of alcohol, but Chuuya can’t remember when he started spilling everything to his companion: Corruption’s words, mixed emotions of love and fear, powerlessness and loneliness he could not help but feel.

“I see,” Oda offered, none of the half-hearted sympathy Chuuya hated, and was bound to receive if he hadn’t been conversing with Oda. The stoic man was quiet, deep in thought.

Chuuya could tell why Dazai adored him so.

“Nakahara-San, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you afraid of?”

Death? That wasn’t it. Working in the Mafia, he no longer felt the urge to flee from the unforgiving clutches of death. He’d learnt to embrace it, be one with it.

Leaving his family? Well, he’d come to care for those of the Port Mafia as his family the past three years he’d been working with them. It would be sad to have to part with them, but he was sure they would do fine without him.

His voice grew soft.

“I'm afraid of losing him.

“Even if he loves me back, everything would've been for nothing if- when- I'm gone.”

The climax of the moment passed quickly, and Chuuya released the breath he’d been subconsciously holding in. Facing the harshness of reality, opening up about the fear he’d been trying to hide for the past three years, it made his eyes brim with warm tears.

“Well I think…”

Chuuya glanced in Oda’s direction.

“The fact that you two love each other means that it won’t be for nothing.”

They fell silent once more, letting the soft melody of the music in the background bring them back to their train of thoughts.

And when Oda stood up to take his leave, Chuuya spoke up.

“Oda-San? Please, call me Chuuya.”

~

He’d had the whole of the night before to ponder Oda’s words. And throughout it all, his heart palpitated wildly, reminding him that he was alive- and very much human.

All humans fear, do they not?

That night, Chuuya made a decision.

~

“Hey Dazai? Meet me by Yokohama Bay tonight…”

~

Would he show up? If he did, would he be surprised? Would he feel anything at all?

As Chuuya waited, he thought back on the call he’d given Dazai that very morning. It was the first thing he did when he woke up. He could not- would not- keep running away anymore. He would not keep Dazai waiting anymore.

And when the brunette finally appeared, he knew he’d made the right choice.

“Oda-San spoke to me,” Chuuya started, looking into Dazai’s pupils. The bandage over his right eye had been removed, and Chuuya saw, for the first time in what seemed like forever, a pair of hazel staring back at him.

“He did me, too.”

His lips trembled ever-so-slightly. Chuuya felt his own two feet quaking.

“You know what will happen.”

It was coming, the moment Chuuya had been preparing himself. The moment that would pass as quickly as it came…

“Are you sure about this?”

And when Chuuya nodded, Dazai smiled.

He ran into those wide, welcoming arms.

And for the first time, he felt warm.

It enveloped him in its kind embrace, sheltering him from the bitter cold of reality. Chuuya wrapped his arms around Dazai’s neck, pulling the latter closer to him. Dazai cupped his cheeks and hummed his name.

“Chuuya, Chuuya…”

And the two knew nothing but love and happiness.

The tears slid down his cheeks when the tingling sensation started. Light-headed, he pulled away, smiling and crying, drunk on the touch of Dazai’s fingertips, the feel of lips on his…

Bathed in shimmering shards of gold and silver, Chuuya leaned towards his partner for the last time in this life.

“I love you…”

~

They parted and, for a split second, Dazai saw stars in his eyes and happiness in his smile.

Then he was gone.

It wasn't as if he hadn't expected it to happen. He'd suspected it would've ended like this, but he knew Chuuya wouldn't have it any other way. And Odasaku’s last words merely confirmed his hunch.

“Chuuya… loves you so. I’m sure you understand everything…

“Leave me, and go be with him…”

Yet now, tears fell from his face and onto the smooth cloth of Chuuya’s coat, soaking it with physical embodiments of his pain and sorrow.

An envelope peeked out a pocket. Dazai knew, without a doubt, that it was addressed to him. He choked back a sob and pulled it out.

It read:

‘Dear Dazai,

The day I found out about this side of my ability, I'd already accepted my fate. It was only a matter of time, but knew I would meet my end in your arms- the way I wanted it.

I'm sure you've figured it out already, but this damned ability of mine is the only thing holding me together. Without it, I am but soul without a shell. Without it, I would disappear to nothing at all.

But despite that, I longed for your touch; the feel of your skin on mine. And I loved every moment we shared. Even if it’s just once, but once is more than enough.

That's why I hope you forgive me for leaving. I regretted none of it, and I hope you felt the same.

Thank you for being mine.

With love,

Nakahara Chuuya.’

Dazai fell to his knees.

He clutched his clothes and screamed his name.

The world stilled.

[onebatch2batch]

Three Steps Ahead

Seriously guys, thank you so much to everyone who has liked, reblogged, and commented on my fics. You really serious make my day. 

I tried to write from Frank’s perspective this time around. Hope you enjoy it!

Kastle, post-The Punisher, 1725 words

AO3

When Frank was in the Marines, he was always thinking three steps ahead. He had to, to survive. The instinct to think ahead was instrumental to his survival, and  that instinct followed him back to the states. It was especially useful as the Punisher; evading the police, escaping Red’s lectures, and taking out those responsible for the death of his family, he was always three steps ahead. It came naturally to him, now. He even utilized the skill when doing the mundane; grocery shopping, getting coffee, taking a cab. He never put himself in a situation he couldn’t get out of.

Except when it came to Karen Page.

Sometimes it made him wonder, the way she could break down his walls and bring out the man in him, rather than the monster. He never had to be three steps ahead of her, couldn’t if he wanted to. She was too fuckin’ smart for that. It was one of the reasons he admired her, among many.

That’s why when he came through her door on a cold Friday night, he wasn’t expecting what he found. Usually when he arrived for their biweekly takeout dinner, she’s already got her flannel pajamas on, two glasses of wine deep. Frank pocketed the key she had made him (“I’m tired of you climbing through the window, Frank. Integrating back into society means we use doors.”) and looked around, bewildered. It wasn’t like her to miss something like this, and he almost panicked until he realized there was a soft light coming from the bathroom. The door was propped open just enough that he could hear her humming from where he stood. Frank hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.

She was just changing into pajamas, he decided. Sometimes he arrived just moments after her, so she must have disappeared immediately into the bathroom to change after coming home from work. Frank set the bag on the counter and walked over to the cabinet to retrieve some plates and utensils. He set them down and began to scoop out the food when he heard it. Accompanying her soft humming was the gentle lapping of water against the tub.

The sound stopped him in his tracks, and the plate nearly slipped from his hands.

She was taking a bath. Karen Page was naked in the next room, completely unaware of Frank standing in the darkened kitchen not 50 feet away. His mouth dried and his heart dropped into his stomach—and he wasn’t entirely convinced it was due to the fear of her suddenly realizing someone was in the apartment with her. Frank shut his eyes and considered his options. Three steps ahead.

His first thought was simply to leave. Put the food in the fridge and come back in an hour. Let her relax, and chase away the thoughts in his head. Take a walk and get some much-needed fresh air.

He tried hard to force himself to put this plan into action, but he felt as if the floor had grown vines, rooting him to the spot. All he could think of was Karen, soaked to the bone and blissfully happy in the next room.

Frank never, ever imagined he would feel for a woman what he felt for her. Not after Maria. It scared him how much he caught himself thinking of Karen from day to day, and how much he missed her after being away for an extended period. From that first moment in his hospital room, Karen Page had been his lifeline. She had centered him, woken him up from the stupor he’d put himself in. And since then they had only grown ever closer, culminating in that fateful day in the hotel almost six months before.

He thought about the elevator constantly, despite wishing he wouldn’t. Karen was the one good, bright thing in his life he hadn’t managed to fuck up. The degree to which he wanted her, wished to keep her close, terrified him. He did everything to pretend like his feeling weren’t real, like they would go away if he ignored them hard enough.

 Now, listening to her oblivious humming, it was getting harder and harder to pretend like his feelings weren’t genuine. 

Frank swallowed hard, forcing down every thought that entered his brain. Start over, he told himself. Start the conversation over. Three steps ahead. What is step one?

 Step one was to leave. Frank took a deep breath and began to put the food away, slowly. He tried to ignore the voice in his head.

Wasn’t this what he wanted, though? Wasn’t there a second option? He’d be trying to live a normal life, a healthy life, for almost half a year. He’d been going to group, he had his friends, and he’d gotten a job. Wasn’t this the next step…to be happy? Shouldn’t he lay it all out for her, offer her everything he had, and let her decide? Tell her that sitting around every other week, catching up and eating shitty takeout, acting like she wasn’t the best thing in his life was slowly driving him mad?

Frank knew he had to decide. He hesitated, then stepped forward and flipped on the light, casting the living room into light.

“Karen?” he called, forcing himself to be casual. There was a pregnant pause.

 “Y-yeah! Give me a—shit—...” The sound of water sloshing met his ears, “...fuck, hang on! Stay in there!”

Despite himself, despite the anxiousness twisting in his gut, Frank felt himself smile, resuming his job of scooping food as he waited.

--

Karen walked out of the bathroom wearing her traditional flannel pajamas. She had her headphones in her hand, and her hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head. She smiles at Frank apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, Frank. I totally forgot what today was, and just needed to relax.” Her cheeks were still flushed from the bathwater, and he forced himself to smile back evenly. “Bad day at work, you know.”

“Want me to go? Reschedule?”

“Don’t be silly. What’s that, Thai? Great, I’m starving.” Karen grabbed the plate he offered and a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Grab some glasses?”

When they had settled into a mildly comfortable silence, Frank felt her eyes on him. For a while he could ignore it, but when he finished his first glass of wine, she spoke up. “And I thought I had a rough day.”

Frank shot her a puzzled look, then chuckled awkwardly and set the glass down on the coffee table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve barely said anything since you got here. You mad I forgot about our date?” He knows she calls their dinners a date. He knows she does it to rile him up, and she’s done it numerous times. Usually she laughs at his expression afterwards. This time she wasn’t joking, and she was watching him carefully. Those blue eyes stared right through him, challenging. Waiting.

Frank set his plate down carefully. He knew this was uncharted territory with them, and he wanted to do it right.

“I’m not going to be enough for you.” It was a warning, a pre-emptive strike. He was trying to be three steps ahead of her, but she only stared at him incredulously.

“…what?”

 Frank rubbed his neck, and then turned to look at her. He was a goddamn soldier, and he was taught better than to not keep eye contact with a woman when talking to her. But God, she looked fucking radiant; it was hard to keep his thoughts straight. Her mouth had fallen open in surprise, and her cheeks were flushed with color. Her eyebrows were drawn into a small v that he wanted to smooth out with his thumb. He stared into her eyes, the color of the ocean, and felt like he was drowning in her.

 “I’m not going to be good enough for you. Karen,” he repeated. “I just—I just never thought I would feel…anything. Again. Not after Maria. Not after the kids, and Billy, and this fucking shit storm that’s been my life. And then there’s you, yeah?” Frank balled his hands on his thighs to keep from touching her. This was her choice. He would lay everything out for her, and then she got to choose. “And you came in and you, you turned my world upside. Made me look like a fucking idiot. Made me remember. And I can’t ever--…” Frank cleared his throat, voice growing rough with emotion. “I can’t ever thank you enough for that. And I’m not telling you this because I expect anything from you, you hear me? You kick me right out on my ass if you wanna. And--…”

 Karen’s hands found one of his fists and she pried open his fingers slowly, carefully. She watched him, waited for him to take a breath.

 “Tell me what you’re telling me, Frank. No bullshitting. Just tell me.” Softly. Gently.

 Frank met her eyes, and was reminded again that he could never be three steps ahead of this wonderful, intelligent, considerate woman. She was too smart for him, and he was some fucking idiot that was head over heels for her. He swallowed thickly and placed his hand on top of hers, bracing himself.

 “I’m never going to be good enough for you…but I’m going to try.”

“Are you sure?” Frank licked his lips, feeling her stare etching itself into his soul, dissecting him, mulling through his words and reading the meaning underneath. He tilted his head in quiet acquiescence, and she leaned forward to meet him halfway. “Tell me you’re sure, Frank,” she whispered, and he felt her breath ghost across his lips.

“Never been more sure of anything,” he told her softly, and like a bolt of lightning he knew it to be true. He knew, as she finally pressed her lips to his, that she was the most solid thing in his life. He knew, as she fisted her hands in his shirt, that he would do anything to keep that promise to her. He knew, as he slipped his arms around her waist, and she murmured his name into his mouth, that no matter what came next he would be by her side.

She’d stayed by his, after all.

[tiaraofsapphires]

Apoptosis- A Mass Effect Andromeda fic

Everyone wants human/angara babies after this fic but instead I wrote this...

Read on Ao3 here!

-runs for the hills-

Summary: Something goes wrong during a mission and Sara is left with a choice

Sara’s mouth tasted like copper. Someone—Cora?—was dragging her backwards out of the room, arms hooked around her armpits.

People were yelling. Angry, afraid, primal. She understood why, but couldn’t comprehend.

“He didn’t mean it—he didn’t mean it,” Sara muttered.

She could barely hear herself over the yelling and the ringing in her ears but she repeated it over and over, as if it would make it true.

It wasn’t his fault. It was hers. It had been a mistake going into the holding cell. It had been a mistake to go into that wing of the Nexus in the first place.

Everyone—literally everyone, even her own brother—told her to stay away. Eyes always soft, pitying.

It had been a day and the Tempest’s crew was in various states of recovery after the battle and Sara needed to make sure it wasn’t a dream. That it wasn’t some terrible nightmare or SAM’s idea of a cruel joke, forcing her to watch a simulation of what could happen. So she could be prepared.

But, gods help her, she could’ve sworn she saw Jaal in the kett’s eyes for a moment as the creature hunched in the corner of his cell. That flash of particular softness that he always reserved for her. The light she saw was like the one she’d see when he would stare at her when he thought she wasn’t noticing. It was a sad light, mournful. As if conscious of what he had become.

She had approached, closer, her mistake, heedless to the people at her heels telling her to stay away.

He was right there. She could see the light in his eyes. He was still there inside that shell.

Then a bony hand caught the side of her head, snuffing out that hope in an instant.

Jaal would never hurt her. This wasn’t him. It wasn’t right.

Cora finally released her in a deserted hallway. They both could hear the faint sound of a scuffle, of an unnatural and garbled voice.

The door to the cell would be shut again, likely not to be opened. They would throw food at him, likely. They didn’t know if kett could survive without food and Sara didn’t want to find out by accidentally starving him.

Cora was watching her.

Sara didn’t want to look at Cora. The older woman already thought her impulsive and immature even after the Archon. This incident was only another bullet point on the growing list of Sara Ryder-related screw-ups.

“Ryder—Sara. Go back to your quarters. Clear your head. There’s nothing you can do,” Cora insisted, all but shoving her in the direction of her quarters.

Sara’s throat worked around a lump. She wasn’t going to cry. She cried enough on the ride from the mission back to the Nexus.

Nothing she could do. That was the nth time she heard that and, even then, it didn’t make it any easier. She wasn’t going to cry in front of Cora, not again at least.

“Don’t let them hurt him,” Sara said, unsuccessful in keeping the waver out of her voice.

She wasn’t sure what she’d do if she came back and one of the Initiative had executed Jaal—what was left of him at least—without her knowledge. Tann knew there would be hell to pay if anything happened to Jaal on his watch, but would that be enough?

The memories of slaughter and battle were still fresh in everyone’s minds. There was no love for the kett on board, no matter who the kett used to be.

Cora smiled, but it looked forced.

“Got it.”

Sara turned on her heel and marched to her quarters. One foot in front of the other. Ignore the ringing and the swelling and the limp and the way each breath felt like cinders were floating in her lungs. She should’ve stayed in the medical bay for at least another hour before she left for the containment cells. The medi-gel was doing its work on the burns and lacerations, bandages sticky to her skin. She should probably go back to get her head checked out.

No. Stay the course.

The people she passed eyed her strangely. She wasn’t sure if she saw pity or fear or a combination of the two.

The lump forming on the side of her face and the bandages slapped to her neck and chest made her look like she got in a fight and lost.

She did, didn’t she?

Stay the course. She bound the shattered pieces of herself with glue and tape and pride.

In a span that seemed like an instant and an eternity, she was back in her temporary quarters.

The door slid shut behind her and she leaned heavily against it.

Alone. Alone, again. Even though SAM was in her head and Scott was awake and ever-concerned about her well-being, she was alone.

She had watched a thousand paths and a thousand futures burn to one. Jaal was kett. There was no future.

Her stomach lurched and she stumbled to the bathroom, gagging into the sink.

Sara wanted to break something. She wanted to rip and tear and burn until the whole damn galaxy felt even a fraction of the pain she was feeling.

She sobbed, eyes and throat burning.

She should have killed him outright, the moment the Exaltation had taken hold of him. All of the color and light on his body had been corrupted and destroyed before her eyes, as she screamed from where she watched.

Drack had Jaal pinned to the ground before she could think to move, towards or away from him. He had also killed the kett who had Exalted Jaal. She didn’t know when he did that, but black blood dribbled out of the blistered corpse. For a bitter moment, Sara had wished the kett had lived so she could’ve killed him slowly, bit by bit.

Shaking steps had brought Sara closer to Drack and Jaal. Her hands were tight on her rifle and her knuckles cracked. Jaal struggled under Drack. He cursed and yelled, the beautiful lilt of his voice gone.

Sara knew she should have killed him. A quick shot to the head and what was left of his soul would be at peace. Or perhaps he would be reincarnated. She knew that if he was reincarnated, he would be turned into something beautiful, just as he was as Jaal Ama Darav. And then, maybe, they could find each other again.

But she gave the order, locking Jaal in the tiny holding cell on the Tempest and not listening to anyone who told her that it was futile. And she wept.

She wasn’t sure if keeping him alive, dragging him to the Nexus, was an act of mercy or weakness.

What could the Initiative do for him, except keep him in a cage? He couldn’t hurt anyone, or himself. For all she knew, he could be trapped in his own head, slowly suffering and burning as his cells died and morphed and were corrupted.

“SAM, did I do the right thing bringing him here?” Sara asked aloud.

What kind of answer she was expecting out of the AI, she didn’t know.

“I do not know. My understanding of human emotion tells me that this was the correct course of action. Killing him would have caused an immense amount of emotional damage.”

Sara nodded at nothing.

Emotional damage. Yeah. She felt broken up enough while Jaal was still alive, technically. Guilt, grief, anger. All in one roiling mess.

How would she have felt if she had to kill him herself? This kett didn’t look like Jaal. The beauty of him had been destroyed. It would have, should have been easy, killing a dead man.

Her mouth shook.

It wasn’t fair. He sacrificed so much to get them to where they were, only to be turned into a kett soldier. Because she got to close, put him in the firing line.

The kett already knew that she was unfazed by the idea of her own death. She faced death three times, one time entirely voluntarily, and still marched on.

So, what did they do, but take someone she loved and irrevocably stole him from her. That was her punishment for what she did to them. For killing the Archon. For taking Meridian from them.

It wasn’t fair. This war took and stole from her. Her father, almost her brother, now her love. Hero, savior, with nothing to show for it.

Gods, how was she going to tell Jaal’s family? How was she going to explain this to Sahuna?

Sahuna treated her like a daughter despite the difference of species, and Sara couldn’t help but regard her as someone like a mother.

“What do I tell her?” Sara asked.

“The truth would be the wisest course of action. I think it would be cruel to withhold this information from her.”

Objective. Pragmatic. Two things that she really didn’t want to be at that moment.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Would you rather Director Tann tell her? Or perhaps Director Addison? Or one of their secretaries?”

Sara almost punched a hole in the wall at the thought.

She could almost hear the stiff-voiced message, a flat and empty message of condolences. An offer for monetary restitution—a small one at that—and a delivery of Jaal’s personal effects.

No.

“I am activating the vid-com,” SAM said, ”Will you contact Sahuna on Havarl?”

She swallowed, regretting bringing up Sahuna in the first place with SAM. But she knew that if she didn’t do it now, she would avoid it until Sahuna was the one contacting her.

“Okay. Call her,” she muttered.

She wiped her face and walked back to the vid-com in the center of the room.

Dread and panic grew like tumors in her stomach, choking the life out of her.

She wasn’t ready. But she never would be ready. SAM knew that. He was buried so deep in her mind that her thoughts might as well be his.

Time passed, sluggish. For a moment, Sara thought she wasn’t available and wasn’t sure to look forward to or dread that fact.

Her heart dropped the moment she saw Sahuna’s image. The fresh wave of grief almost bowled her over. She hadn’t realized the similarities between them, the angles of their faces, their smiles. Not until Jaal—until…

“Sara! How nice to hear from you? How are things? Is my boy treating you well?”

Sara never hated and loved that voice more in her entire life. The lilt and the genuine happiness clearly passed from mother to son.

She wanted to die. Anything to keep her from saying what she had to say.

“I’m sorry.”

The words escaped Sara’s mouth in a fractured squeak. What more could she say but to apologize?

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, shaking her head, eyes trained to the ground. “Jaal—he—I couldn’t.”

The kett had pinned him, overwhelmed him. Sara had been too far away, but she had the perfect view, just enough so that she was in Jaal’s field of vision.

They probably meant it that way. They wanted her to watch the starry light in his eyes and the kindness of his face be destroyed.

“My son—is he dead?”

Sahuna’s voice wavered and splintered.

Sara covered her face and started to cry. Big, heaving sobs. Her hand went up to her chest, where a large bandage covered medi-gel and burn wounds. She pressed, pain threading through pain.

“No! They turned him! They fucking Exalted him. Now he’s one of them!”

She couldn’t hear Sahuna’s grief over her own. Sahuna wasn’t there during the fight. She didn’t see Jaal fighting and struggling to break free. He hadn’t been in a trance. He had fought every moment before the injection took hold of him.

He had called out Sara’s name. It was the last thing he said. Only love in his eyes, love for her, as his skin cracked and blistered.

“It was my fault. I should’ve protected him,” Sara cried.

Everyone told her that there was nothing she could have done. There were too many kett, too few Initiative. The kett had a plan, executed to near-perfection.

It all felt like a lie, a bunch of excuses. Sara was Pathfinder. She should’ve been better and guarded her own. She never should’ve let the kett separate them. That was when everything went wrong.

The one time she failed to be able to coordinate and organize, Jaal was lost.

“Where is he?” Sahuna asked.

Her voice sounded thick with tears.

Sara wiped her eyes, forcing herself to look at Sahuna’s image. The angara looked like she aged twenty years in 2 minutes.

How unfair it was to Sahuna. She lost her husband to the kett, now her son. Even with an extended family, it would be lonely.

Sara couldn’t fill that void. She wasn’t angara.

“He’s on the Nexus. In—in a containment cell. They wanted to kill him but I couldn’t do it. I threatened to quit and take SAM with me if they did anything to him.”

She tore into Tann the instant he suggested ‘putting down’ Jaal. In fact, she was probably an inch away from strangling him if she didn’t feel so tired and deflated.

If it was fear of bodily harm or fear of losing their human Pathfinder that stayed his hand, Sara didn’t know. She didn’t care.

As long as Jaal wasn’t harmed. Even though it wasn’t Jaal. The pieces of him that she touched and loved were gone.

She wasn’t even sure if she would have followed through with the threat of leaving. Without her rank as Pathfinder, what was she, now that Jaal was gone?

“I want to see him,” Sahuna said.

Sara immediately cringed. She didn’t want Sahuna anywhere near the Nexus or the cell. Sara knew what was there. It would do them no good.

“He isn’t there anymore, Sahuna. It will—you won’t see your son.”

There was no closure to be had, surely. Who they knew as Jaal wasn’t accessible anymore. The co-opted and reanimated corpse was only to be destroyed.

The two of them cried together for a long time, few words exchanged. There was nothing more they could do at that moment. They could only cry.

The tears abated after a while, enough for them to catch their breaths.

“Sara, my daughter,” Sahuna began.

Sara hiccupped. The question that seemed to repeat itself as they cried together was brought to the foreground: why was Sahuna being so kind to her? Sara got Jaal killed, at the end of the day that was the truth. To not be yelled at, to be treated to a soft word, to be still treated like family even though the link between them had been severed.

It was more kindness than she deserved.

“I will come to the Nexus.”

“Sahuna—,” Sara started, only to pause when Sahuna raised a hand.

“I will come to the Nexus. Not to see Jaal, but to see you. Angara—we comfort each other during times of loss.”

Sara opened her mouth to argue and then let it close with a click.

“Okay.”

She felt small, smaller than she ever felt before. She stood against monsters and among the traces of gods with a stiff spine and all it took a grieving mother to bring a Pathfinder to her knees.

Sahuna nodded. There was a ghost of a smile on her mouth. Sara wondered how long it would take for Sahuna to truly smile again.

“Stay strong and clear, my daughter. I will contact you soon.”

Sahuna’s image blinked out of existence and Sara wanted to call her back.

She wanted Jaal back, alive and whole. She could return to the holding cell and watch the kett pacing the cell and try to find Jaal somewhere. She could sit there and watch and watch. She could let herself waste away watching him.

“How do I find a cure?” she whispered.

Sara kept asking that question to anyone who would listen. And those were few.

How? How could she cure Jaal from this affliction?

Lexi had pushed that cold, hard idea—Sara couldn’t call it a truth—that Exaltation was permanent. She had told Jaal this, that his people couldn’t be restored after being Exalted. Sara knew that if she went to Lexi, she would receive the same answer.

But Sara couldn’t bring herself to accept it.

There had to be some way to bring Jaal back. Death didn’t stop her the three times it tried to touch her. Why was this any different?

What was all that different from Exaltation and death?

“How do I find a cure, SAM?” she yelled.

An answer. She needed an answer. SAM killed her and brought her back from the dead. Threw her into an unknown abyss attached to thread and yanked her back in the name of the Initiative, of survival.

She remembered death feeling like falling, but that was all she could remember. Maybe people aren’t meant to, aren’t able to remember what happens after one dies. SAM experienced death too, that day. SAM was becoming more human-like by the day. If he felt what she was feeling now, the gnawing ache of sorrow, maybe he would regret sinking so close to his human symbiont.

“I don’t know,” SAM answered.

His voice offered no emotion, as usual. That was one thing that the AI lacked.

For an instant, Sara was angry. That wasn’t a good enough answer.

But, ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t ‘there is no cure’.

There was some hope to be found in that. A flickering, weak hope at that, but still hope.

Sara wasn’t sure if SAM truly understood what love was or if he could experience it.  He had been in her head through it all. When she met Jaal, when she first kissed him, when they first made love under the waterfall. SAM was there during the confessions, the kisses, the sex, everything. It could just amount in his databank as a series of memories, unattached to trivial human emotions. Or maybe he learned something that no computer could teach it.

Regardless, Sara had a feeling that he would help her get Jaal back. Help her find and exhaust every possibility.

“Do you know where to start?”

“I have a few ideas, Pathfinder.”