#Just being nestled up against Bea in her loving arms...

[orionwhispers]

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence. 

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn���t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

[starfirette]

Every Which Way : Chapter Two

The Way To Nevarro

➡️a/n: a new series! Woohoo! Shoutout to  https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it.

➡️ prev chapter found on masterlist

➡️Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | attempted murder | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count: 7,237

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Mando’s only command is to stay with him at all times. 

He did not want you to wander or stray from his side.

You felt jittery with excitement. You agreed to all of his terms knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to survive without him. You can’t read, write, or even spell, so how could you make it on this planet? 

Mando explained before you two left the ship that Nevarro is a planet of a bounty congregation that calls themselves The Guild. You know that means at least one person here will have heard about the missing servant girl from Aniri. Mando explained further that while he is a member of the guild, he is first and foremost a Mandalorian warrior. 

You knew of Mandalorians, but not much else. 

Venturing out to the town, clad in the leather jacket (which Mando insisted you wear zipped over your plain shirt) and by Mando’s side, you asked him many questions. Where would you go, what would happen? You wanted to know. 

But mostly you wanted to talk. 

You’ve kept your inner dialogue “inner” for too long, now, and you’ve decided you will babble to your heart’s content. Mando didn’t seem to mind. He answered all of your questions truthfully and without judgment. He understands that you lacked a proper education and he doesn’t make you feel bad about it.

He’s easy to be around, despite his often awkward bouts of silence. 

His strides are a bit faster than you’re used to, so you catch yourself jogging just to keep up. 

Nevarro is very sandy, you have learned. At least it’s sandy out in the middle of nowhere . You wonder why Mando would have landed the ship so far away from wherever he’s taking you, but you don’t ask him to explain. He’s in charge, you tell yourself, and that’s perfectly okay with you. 

Your feet kicked up sand that irritates the back of your thighs. 

“We’re here,” Mando said. You’d stopped outside the entrance to the sandy village, guarded by two men in uniforms you’d never seen before. Mando exchanged a few words with them, explaining he had business with the guild. 

“Who’s the pretty lady?” One of them asked, pointing at you with a blaster. They have the same sort of modulated voice that Mando does. Your knees felt weak when you realized they’d been talking to you, looking at you. 

“No one you need to worry about,” Mando gruffly replied. 

Still, the man zeroed in on you. “Why don’t you let her answer me? Huh, gorgeous?” 

You are hardly able to stammer out a proper response. Your knees wobbled. Gorgeous. The word here is a compliment, but you’ve gone your entire life dodging compliments. Being ‘gorgeous’ wasn’t good, not ever, it only causes trouble. As the soldier’s helmet bobbed down then up, you could tell the rules of beauty might not be entirely different on Nevarro. 

“She’s mine,” Mando growled. “Are you letting us in or not?”

With a defeated shrug, the man let out both in. Mando ushered you with an arm around your waist, just barely there, not quite touching you, but enough to keep you safe. 

The Nevarro village is filled with the same sort of soldier who’d given you a hard time at the gateway. 

“Who are they?” You asked, careful to keep your eyes straight ahead. 

“Storm troopers,” Mando explained. “They’re all—,”

“Imperial?” You guessed. You tucked stray hair behind your ear. 

Mando made a confirming sound as he continued to usher you through the village. 

“I often worked events for the court when they entertained Imperial officers,” you mutter. “Are the rumors about the war true?” 

Mando nods. 

“Everything you’ve heard about the Empire is completely true,” he whispered in your ear. 

A sharp shiver rolled down your spine. You exhale a shaky breath. 

“Left here,” Mando instructed, taking you on a sudden turn. The alley slips into a steep slope, where at the end is a large dumpster positioned beside a little metal door. 

“Where are we going?” You finally asked, unable to contain your questions. 

“Just follow me,” Mando pressed as he kicked open the creaky door. 

You did as he asked, but with a sour feeling at the bottom of your stomach. 

Through the door is a tunnel that runs long with stone floors. You feel almost at home, in the most inappropriate of ways. 

“Where are we?”

“Underground,” Mando says. “I’m taking you to my people. They can protect you while I figure out what to do next.” He offers you a hand to help you maneuver between the jagged stone that scatters around the floor. 

The warm leather of his glove soaks into your palm as you squeeze his fingers and step over the jagged rocks. The darkness deepens the more you walk along. 

“How can you see?” You ask. 

He pulls you out of the way of a rock you can’t see, pulling you close to his body.  Nestled against his armor, all you can think about is the smell of his pillows. 

“My helmet does more than hide my ugly face,” Mando whispered, a lilt of amusement somewhere in his words. 

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh. So he does have a sense of humor.

“We’re here,” Mando eventually murmurs in your ear. His hand found your lower back and gently he pushed you forward. You step downward, onto a new setting of cobblestone that massages the arches of your feet. 

Light came to your eyes, blinding you momentarily as you stumbled back into Mando’s arms. He helped you stay upright while you rubbed your eyes. 

You’re standing amidst the underground world of Mandalorians. It’s a medium sized congregation of people wearing armor like your friend. The telltale sign is the helmet with the signature T visor and precise slopes around the jaw. Some armor gold, others blue, but all in all they are the same. Mingling into the crowd you feel unseen eyes on you. You curl into your Mandalorian’s side, heart beating painfully. 

“It’s alright,” he assures you. His helmet tips down as though he were looking straight at you. “You’re going to be safe here.”

You’d been under the impression Mandalorians had an entire planet to themselves. You can’t say you know much, if anything at all, about them, but the rumors that did manage to spread around the Anirian servants made Mandalorians out to be practically invincible. It is why your king and queen hired your Mandalorian to kill that man. 

Mando had delivered, and he’d done it in less than a day. You can’t imagine what a whole colony of Mandalorians can do. 

“Well, well, well, look who decided to pop back in, hm?” 

Mando stopped in his steps and groaned quietly. 

He turned to look at the largest man you’ve ever seen. Your eyes trailed up and up to finally see this man’s crimson helmet. How could anyone be so tall? You swallowed a lump in your throat as you inched closer to Mando. 

“Well, well, I see you didn’t do anyone a favor and abandon the planet,” Mando grunted. 

The other Mandalorian laughed, booming through his modulator as he bent over himself to pat his knee. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? And who is this?”

Your face burns as the Crimson Mandalorian inspects you up and down with an exaggerated nod of his head. 

“Djarren, aren’t you a bit old to be pickin’ up foundlings?” Crimson chortled. “She is pretty, but a little old to be a recruit.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Mando asked, in that same stoic tone. 

Crimson ignored him; you imagine he probably rolled his eyes, as he didn’t seem as intimidated by Mando as many others did. He held out an open hand in front of you. 

You flinched away, half expecting him to grab you or drag you down the hall kicking. Rather than that, he just waited for you to do something. 

“Don’t ya know how to shake hands?” Crimson asked. 

Mando knocked his friend’s hand away. “Leave her alone.”

“Smitten, are we?” Crimson mocked. “I’m not so sure how the others will react to you giving away the covert. Where’d you pick her up, eh? You a Hutt whore?” Crimson asked you with a jut of his chin.

“A what?” You asked. It didn’t sound like a good thing to be. 

“Leave her alone,” Mando grits out. “Let’s leave,” Mando says as he leads you away. “What’s a Hutt whore?” You asked Mando as you were escorted away. “Something you’re not,” he assures you. 

Many heads turned your way as you followed Mando through the underground colony. You earned the attention from every Mandalorian you walked by; you’re not so certain, anymore, that it’s your lack of armor as it is your presence beside your Mandolorian. 

“The Crimson Mandalorian called you Djarren,” you murmur, intertwining your hand with his. 

He quickly pulls his hand away. “That’s my name,” he says stiffly. “Din Djarren.” 

It’s a perfectly normal name but it somehow feels different. 

You want to tell him it’s nice; only thing is, you’ve started to realize he isn’t your friend like you’d mistaken. He didn’t hold your hand and he didn’t even want you to know about his name. You fold your hands behind your back as you follow Din into the first room you’ve seen in a while. A burning sort of stove pillar lights up the entire room from the center, where something inside boils. Weapons hang along the walls, sharper and made with more intricacies than you’ve ever seen on decor, let alone on weapons. 

Two Mandalorian women occupied the room, one donning gold armor and fur as she tended to the furnace; the other lounged in a chair, her legs kicked over a table with a sword strewn in her lap, which she sharpens at her own leisure. 

The Mandalorian women inside are muscular and beautiful, even with their masks covering their faces. Aniri required servant girls to wear makeup to hide their beauty, but now you’re doubting it worked at all. You can’t see their skin but you’re enamored by their beauty anyways. 

“Din Djarren,” the Golden Mandalorian says. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Din replies. “Hello, Wendi,” he adds to the Blue Mandalorian that sits. “Din,” Wendi replies, her voice smooth as butter. 

“I see you’ve brought a visitor,” Golden drawls. She sets down a large hammer on her work table, coming to examine you closeup. “I would suppose this is the girl you spoke of in your last transmission.”

“Yes,” Din replies curtly. “She was a slave in Aniri, condemned to execution.”

Wendi raked her stone up her sword with a sharp hiss. Sparks flew on her lap. “And her crime?” Wendi asked.

Three visors turned to you. You suddenly realized they meant to listen to you speak for yourself. 

You’d never gotten the chance to explain before. You spoke up best as you could with your chest tight with anxiety. “I tried to escape the palace while also abandoning my makeup.”

“Your makeup?” Wendi cried. A laugh escaped her modulator as she tossed the sword to the cobblestone floor that had begun to pain at your feet. You felt increasingly smaller by the minute, especially as Wendi took to her feet and made her own examination of you. 

“Awfully plain without this makeup, isn’t she?” Wendi drawled. 

At your sides your hands form tight fists. “On the contrary, ma’am,” you muttered while your nails bit your palm. “I was told to wear makeup because I am beautiful.”

Wendi sniffed behind her modulator. “And awfully sarcastic,” she snubbed. 

“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” you snap. Your heart jitters for a second, half expecting retaliation or punishment for speaking with such a tone. None came. You were in slight awe as you realized the extent of your freedom. “I only meant to answer your questions,” you added, softly now as you chew the inside of your lip.

The Golden woman lifted a hand to silence one of Wendi’s impending remarks. “I’m sure you’ve had a very exhausting two days,” Gold says smoothly. “Not to mention the complete and utter lack of proper clothing from Djarren.”

Mando remained totally silent, his helmet staring expressionless at Gold. 

“Yeah, it’s almost as if Din’s never had a girlfriend before,” Wendi purred as she elbowed Din on his side. 

Din tilts his helmet to her. “More than you have,” he says. 

You never heard such jokes from Din’s lips! He calmly explained everything in full detail, then, from his bounty Kais Korren to the number of ships that chased him off planet. 

“They considered Y/n property,” Din recalled, looking at you. You stared deep into the visor, unable to tell if Din is even actually looking at you.

“We have all heard of your stunt, already,” Wendi notes from her corner of the room. “As if we didn’t need anything else to be on the run for. I suppose now we’ll have to help fix your mistake.”

Gold made a fist, hitting it against her worktable, making Wendi jump in her blue armor. “That,” Gold says slowly, “is the Way. Mistake or not, Din Djarren is one of this clan and he will have help. Whether he asks for it, or not,” she adds. 

Wendi crosses her arms over the dented chest plate. “This is the Way,” she agrees, although begrudgingly. “—but we do have other pressing matters, like it or not. This little girl just adds to the mess.”

You hadn’t realized that was what you were til now. 

A little mess of a girl, as Wendi had so vehemently put it. You stub your toes against the cobblestone, feeling your chest pain grow as Wendi’s accusatory finger pointed you out. 

While you failed to speak up, Din’s leather bound hands clenched. “She needs our help,” Din growled. 

“Your help. You failed to think of your people,” Wendi snapped. 

“I wasn’t going to let an innocent woman die,” Din replies. To his credit, he remained calm and level headed, which was not the same for you. Tears gathered in your eyes as you realized Wendi meant you had put her and her people in danger. 

These people—these Mandalorians— all live underground for a reason. 

You’re an outsider. 

You quickly rub your tears away. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you clear your throat. “I’m truly sorry,” you choke out, “for the trouble I must have caused.”

“You have not caused any trouble,” Gold soothes. “There are many ways we can ensure your safety. Anirians are vicious and they use their laws as their weapons. You were born into servant ranks and thus are considered an object of the court. Taking you off planet is the equivalent of taking their money or jewels. Each day that passes wears their patience. They are more likely to negotiate today than they will be tomorrow.”

“So?” Wendi asked, circling her hands around impatiently, trying to draw a conclusion in the air. 

“So we don’t have a lot of time left for dallying about,” Golden concludes, her voice firm. “Before anything, Y/n needs proper clothing. Shoes even, if it’s not too much to ask for, Djarren?” 

Din stayed still for a moment longer than you’d expected. “…Fine,” Din says, flatly. “You’ll be safe with our Armorer,” Din says to you. His voice lowered as he stepped closer, looking down at you with what you hoped to be tenderness. “I’ll be back soon.”

You nod, releasing the tension in your hands. You didn’t want Din to leave you here, not with these strangers. 

You are sheltered, yes, but you are not stupid. You know you must remain unattached from Din Djarren. He saved your life without much thought; including the lack of thought concerning where you’d live and who you’d depend on. You don’t think Din had intended for you to be his friend at all. You’re actually not his friend in any way, shape, or form. So even though you felt ill at the thought of being left behind by Din, you did nothing to object. 

“Okay,” you murmured.

You brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. 

You tried not to watch Din while he exchanged hushed, last minute words with Wendi. Both helmets tilt to look at you. Wendi finally looked to Din and nodded. 

“Will you stay with her?” Din asked. 

The Golden Mandalorian nods. “She is safe here. This is the Way.” 

You’re not certain of what the Way entailed, but it evidently provided you with your own lodgings. 

You followed Gold out of the furnace room, struggling to not look over your shoulder and search for Din’s retreating figure. His armor blended with the rest, becoming lost in a sea of Mandalorians. You returned your attention to Gold. She doesn’t earn as many greetings as Din had on the way in; rather she got nothing. You couldn’t tell if she was disliked among her community or not. Given her well polished armor, you guess she could be in charge. It might be respect keeping her left alone; respect and maybe even some fear. 

The sway of her hips and the sword that bobbed with them left you a little bit speechless. You’d never seen such armor. Aniri forbade women from being much of anything aside from servants; women were fortunate to be born into the court, where they were treated equally as men just because they’d been lucky enough to be born into rich families. Even those women, however, were not allowed to do certain things. They could not join guardian ranks; they could not leave the planet. Seeing that Mandalorian women can be so strong willed plants the smallest seeds of hope inside you.

As much as you’d love to be as strong and capable as Gold, you still feel so small. After all, you fidget your hands, unsure of how you’re supposed to hold yourself together as you follow behind Gold. Surely the servant position isn’t expected of you, with your head tilted down and your hands folded neatly by your lap. 

You struggle to be comfortable in your own skin. You’re not entirely sure you enjoy living day to day without your makeup. 

On the ship, with Din, it was alright. Except now you’re off the ship, where people are able to see your face. It’s strange to think you’ve been given freedom by people that don’t show their faces to anyone, either. Perhaps it’s just irony you’re experiencing. 

Gold brings you to the end of the tunnel, which is just one stretch hallway. After all of the walking, you’re shocked to find that there is still more to the tunnel beyond the bedroom you’re being given. 

The wooden door creaks open. Before you is the best room you’ve ever seen, despite its lack of space. There is a wardrobe, a mirror, a single cushioned chair, and a bed. 

“This room will be yours until we have secured a home for you,” Gold says. She makes two paces across the room to the wardrobe. The old thing only has linens to offer.  

The room is a bit small; the new brick walls and cobblestone floors give off an even smaller illusion. 

“The covert does not conjoin for meals,” Gold continues, prim and perfect as ever. She puts the stack of linens in your arms. “There is a common room with food portions directly down this hallway. If you need anything, someone there can help. I am usually in the furnace. Din and Wendi have gone to collect for you clothes, shoes, and other such things. The women use the washrooms every night. Men use them in the mornings.” 

She almost left before pausing, then turning to look at you again. Her golden visor aimed at your eyes. She says, “There is one rule. Do not leave the tunnel. Above ground are Imperial guards. They will arrest you without hesitation. If you find yourself in trouble and in need of help then yell for it. Din will be back soon.”

Gold departed, shutting the wooden door behind her. You were tempted to follow, but she didn’t seem like the type that wanted company. It must be a Mandalorian thing. Sighing, you hugged the linens to your chest. You’re eager to make your bed, even if it was small and lumpy. It’s soft; above all, safe. 

Your linens smell old, but it’s a pleasant smell. It feels nostalgic of a time you couldn’t have known. You smooth the quilt over the mattress, trying to pat out any wrinkles with your fingers. It’s a bit strange knowing the bed is yours to really relax in. 

You aligned the quilt to the corners of the mattress. 

Satisfied with the work, you gladly crawled under the blankets. Cuddling into the mothy pillows, you lay on your back. 

The ceiling has a few cracks in it. 

How had this tunnel been built? Why did the Mandalorian people not have their own village? These questions you had no guesses for; the new world you’ve been invited into is curious, and becomes curiouser every waking moment. It frightens you but excites you all at once, a feeling you’ve never felt before. 

A knock on the door awakens you from your dreamless sleep. You sat up, vision blurry and mouth dry. Hours must have gone by. You stand, your bruised feet once more being pressed by the cobblestones embedded to the floor. 

Your hand stretched for the creaky handle. Beyond the door was Din. 

You didn’t know how to greet him. 

Awkwardly struggling for the right pose proved difficult. Would he expect respect? Gratitude? Would he want something in return for what he had done for you?

“Hello,” you murmured, averting your eyes from the T of his helm. 

“I woke you,” he said. 

“You did,” you acknowledged. You glanced into your small room before shuffling back. “Come in,” you said. 

Din entered. It must have been hours judging by the creakiness in your joints, but Din hadn’t changed out of his heavy armor. He set down a large laundry box on your lumpy bed. “This is for you,” he said. 

You peered into the box. You were confused to find rolls of velvet tightly wrapped and stacked on top of each other. It reminds you of birthday presents, of the neatly wrapped boxes the princes and princess would receive yearly. You’d watched the opening from afar, never once imagining you’d have the chance to do the same thing one day. 

With wary hands, you scooped up a roll of velvet, not looking at Din as you unfolded the cloth. 

Shiny cuffs of metal shone at you from their soft blanket. “It’s pretty,” you say, stunned by the perfect roundness of the cuffs. 

“They’re yours,” Din said, voice a bit stiff. “Armor.”

Puzzled, you cast a questioning glance. 

Din approached, his leather bound hands wrapping around the metal. He slid the first over your arm. The cuff fit perfectly around your forearm, casting upwards to your elbow and ending at your wrist. You stared at the piece of armor in shock. Your face looked back at you from the sheen of the heavy metal. 

“How does it feel?” Din asked, his hand still adjusting the cuff around your wrist. His fingers are warm even through the leather gloves. They rested on the inside of your palm as he examined the fit up close. Your ears burned at the feeling of his touch. Each little tap on the delicate skin of your palm tingled. 

“It feels nice,” you said. “This, I mean,” you add. 

Din notices you staring at his hands on yours, and he drags his hand away too slowly. The pads of his fingers left spots that burned on your skin. 

“There’s more,” Din added, tilting his head up to gaze at the ceiling. He looked around at your small room before cocking his head to you. “Are you comfortable?” He asked. 

“Of course,” you say, tucking hair behind your ear bashfully. A smile peeled over your lips as you glanced around your very own sanctuary. “I love it very much.”

“It doesn’t bother you how horribly plain and undecorated it is?” Din asked. He was clearly joking, but you became serious. “I have privacy and the luxury to do what I want,” you say. “That’s all I could have asked for.”

If Din was surprised, he didn’t say anything to display it. “I’m sorry,” Din finally let out. 

You had been pushing around the box for other goodies and upon hearing this, you became startled. “You’re sorry?” You guffaw. “I’m going to be eternally grateful for what you’ve done for me,” you continued. You clutched the other arm piece close to your chest, glad to have something physical to keep you down to the planet. 

“That’s just why I am sorry,” Din grunted out. “I’m not a good person to become attached to.”

You blink. Shocked, you slide the arm cuff off and set it loose on the bed. “I never meant to ‘attach’ to you,” you mumbled. “Thank you for the armor, and for everything else. I can sift through in private if you’d like to leave.” 

Din left as you’d suggested. 

Curious; Din is very curious. You wonder what he meant by the apology. Perhaps you had grown attached…it would be hard not to! After all, Din had saved you from Aniri. You’d only meant to show your gratitude. Like he had on the Razor Crest, Din once again rejected your gratitude. You suspected he would rather pretend nothing happened at all. He’d rather live his life without you in it. 

The thought slashed your heart in half. A world without Din? You’ve known him for four days and he’s taken such care of you. 

Being reminded of care, you returned your attention to the box on your bed. Enveloped in rolls of velvet were sets of shoes and new clothes. Among that, there were other pieces of metal formed in a way you could only imagine to be armor. Every piece shone and you suspected they were all brand new from the smell of slight smoke that lingered on them. But they were polished to perfection, allowing you to see every detail of your own face in them. 

The soft tunics and the fitting trousers were a miracle to receive. Comfortable and, dare you say it, a bit stylish. 

What truly took the cake were the pairs of boots. They rose above your ankles and laced up with red string that stood out against the black leather. You almost loved the shoes more than the socks! And the socks you immediately slipped on. They cushioned your skin against the cobblestone a bit better, but starting tomorrow you’d get to wear shoes like any other person in the galaxy. 

The next morning you rose early and dressed neatly. You’d missed your opportunity to use the washrooms last night. They were reserved for the men to use in the morning, so you’d have to wait until night came to shower. 

This did not worsen your mood, as you were very excited to wear new clothes for a change. You paired a baby blue tunic and plain trousers.

Wearing the cuffs and shin guards felt strange. You almost didn’t want to wear it as you feared the sort of attention it would bring, but you did remind yourself that the rest of the covert wore full body armor, including the helmets, on a daily basis. 

If anything about you was to be found weird, it wouldn’t be your outfit—it would be that you are an outsider. 

Over the tunic you shrug on the leather jacket, cuddling into the butter soft fabric. You stretch your hands through the sleeves, and the shiny cuffs are just barely visible from the cuffs. 

You venture out of your room with a heartbeat that thunders in your ears. Drifting along the tunnel path are Mandalorians who casually wield weapons like blasters and blades that are taller than even you. Cautiously avoiding their gaze, you creep along the walls in search of the furnace. You hoped to find Din among the covert, but he isn’t anywhere to be seen. A clock would be nice to have. You can only assume it is morning. When you’d entered the tunnel yesterday, the sun was on its way down. Would Din be sleeping now? Would he be out, above ground?

The furnace only housed Gold, who currently wielded a knife and cloth, with which she polished the blade so it gleamed brilliantly. 

“Good morning, miss,” you say softly. 

“Good morning,” she greeted. She didn’t turn to face you, but she did set down her work. She cleaned around her work space, and you simply stood by watching in awkward silence. “You can have a seat,” Gold suggests. “Unless you’d rather stand.” 

You took a place in the chair which Wendi had occupied yesterday, where she lazily played with her sword.

You shrugged out of your leather coat as you felt the heat begin to bother you. As you draped the jacket over the back of your chair, the Armorer glanced over at you. 

“Do you like them?” she asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“The armor,” she says, gesturing to your arm and leg plates with a heavy glove. “I made them the minute Djarren transmitted the message of your arrival. How do they fit?” 

“Perfectly,” you say. You look at the metal that wraps around your forearm. “What is it?” 

“Beskar,” she replies. “I do apologize for the lack of any other pieces.” 

“Well, I should thank you for what you have given me,” you say, as you tuck hair behind your ear. The locks of hair gathers sweat on the back of your neck. You dab your forehead with the back of your hand. “I am confused, though. Why did I get armor in the first place?” 

“You are in the care of the covert,” Gold explains. “This means we are responsible for your safety until you can be relocated. It’s only natural we give you a bit of armor to keep you safe. Although Wendi did give me hell for it.” 

You crinkle your nose. Wendi must not be happy about your arrival. You suspect many would not be. 

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Gold asks. You shook your head. “Would you like to join me in the meeting hall?” she then suggested. “It would give you a chance to meet the others.” 

You supposed it would have to happen eventually. 

Following the Armorer to the main hall, you fiddled your thumbs together.

Exposure to Mandalorians, to actual people, made you sick to your stomach. You’d never worn such tight fitting clothing. On Aniri you’d be called an enemy of the court, condemned to trial for indecency. It seems no one minds, though, as they all dress similarly. The Mandalorians that don’t wear armor wear trousers and tunics, often, however, donning some sort of safety plates on their backs or arms like you. While you feared being judged for indecency, the rational part of your brain knows you will be judged for the lack of a Mandalorian helmet. Every planet has those who fear outsiders. You don’t know the word for it, but it breaks your heart. The royal court hated outsiders. They joined forces with the Empire because the Empire feels similarly. How could someone hate another living being just because they were born on a different planet? You couldn’t understand, as you’ve never felt that way even after living your whole life on Aniri. 

The question really dialed down to this: would the covert hate you for being an outsider, or would they fear the trouble an outsider might bring? The difference may be subtle, but it’s there no doubt. 

The meeting hall did have several people filling it out. Most bore tunics and trousers like you, but still bore leather belts and cuffs. You recognized Wendi immediately from her helmet bobbing on the corner of the room. It had a delicate touch to it, the carvings of the metal curly and wispy. She didn’t have her blue armor on today, instead a black tunic with long sleeves and tight trousers that rose to her waist. You’d never seen such trousers before but you suddenly long to have simliar types. It was a marvelous outfit to wear, and the black danced with her gold wrist cuffs and knee pads. 

Din Djarren is nowhere to be seen. 

You wanted to see him and ask him what he meant, last night, about attachment. For some curious reason, the comment bothered you all night. It even haunted your dreams. Perhaps he rejects your reverence towards him. You couldn’t simply make the feeling go away. You’d feel that way forever, because Din had done something you could never do for him. You would never be able to repay him no matter how hard you tried. You want to thank him one last time, even if he didn’t want to hear it. He single handedly saved your life. Of course you’d want to thank him, right?

Gold offered you a seat at the main table. A large basket overflowed with food that made your mouth water. This differed much from the stale bread and leftover poultry you’d been allowed to eat back in the ranks. 

You reached for a block of white cheese, tossing it over in your hand before taking a deep sniff. It smelled delicious. You took a tiny bite and lo! how your mouth watered. You had never tasted such flavor in your life, and this had been a single bite of a single square of cheese. You anxiously nibbled around the edges, trying not to let on how impressed you were with just cheese. Embarrassing, really. You’d be bullied no doubt. 

The Armorer made conversation with the warriors around her while she supervised you as you ate. You were encouraged to eat as much as you wanted, but you hesitated to do that. Even when your belly felt filled, you wanted to keep on eating, half out of the fear you wouldn’t get an opportunity to again. 

“So,” a voice drew behind you. “This is her?” 

You froze. The hair on your neck prickled when Gold said, “Yes, although I believe she can speak for herself.”

You turned to look who had inquired about you. The Mandalorian that had given you a hard time yesterday towered over you in his crimson armor. As you looked up at him, he crossed his arm over his strapping chest. 

“So she’s staying?” He asked. 

The tips of your ears burned with embarrassment as Gold appeared to be glowering. “Ryder,” she snapped. “I’m certain that you were at the meeting last night. Don’t waste your breath with nonsense.” 

You swallowed back the anxiety that plagued your chest. “Ah, yes, the meeting,” he said thoughtfully, as if he had just remembered. Although you had a feeling he was being sarcastic. “Where we all voted on killing the little girl.” 

You buried your head down to your chest, chin quivering with tears as you felt guilt and overwhelming anxiety boil in your blood. 

“I’m not a little girl,” you muttered, just quietly enough that you hoped Ryder hadn’t heard. 

“What was that?” He mocked. 

Something savage spurred across your brain as you rose to your feet, the chair you’d been in falling to the ground. “I’m not a little girl,” you said again. The quiver in your mouth had transformed into a sneer as you kept your chin raised to look Ryder in the eye. Maybe the anxiety you’d been feeling wasn’t anxiety at all. 

It was anger. 

With no one to punish you for “stepping out of line” you could express said anger all you wanted, and you started with Ryder. 

A mistake, it might have been, as Gold had to use an hand to brace Ryder back by his chest plate. 

Searing across your body was the wave of regret and mild, mild fear; in that mixture was a pinch of satisfaction. Standing up for yourself felt good. But you imagined a punch in the face from Ryder wouldn’t feel as great. 

“Your vote was cast, Vizsla,” The Armorer reminded him. “I won’t remind you who the deciding vote was. You are obligated to follow your brethren in protecting Y/n or you can join Boba Fett and his fascist friends on Nevarro. This is the Way.”

Ryder seemed like he could be seething behind his mask, but you had no way of really knowing. “This is the Way,” he grit through his modulator. 

Anger issues, you think as he stomps away. To the Armorer you quickly apologized. “I’m very sorry, Miss,” you tell her with a bob of your head. 

“Do not be,” Gold said dismissively. “Vizsla needs to be put in his place, and you need to continue standing up for yourself. It is imperative if you want to survive.” 

Stunned, you nodded. You see the honesty in her words, and while she might have been blunt about it, she was very, very right. 

How curious the Mandalorians have turned out to be…

“I suppose now would be as good a time as any to walk you through our way of life here.” 

You held out a hand, though it wavered, to stop Gold from continuing. “Before that,” you stutter, “could I ask just what ‘meeting’ you refferred to with Ryder?” 

“Ah,” Gold hummed. “Last night the covert convened a meeting in which we all voted to keep you with us or to send you away. Ryder voted against it. The deciding vote was his elder brother, Paz. He voted for you to stay and I suppose Ryder didn’t like that.” 

You sighed. You looked down at yourself, at the baby blue of your tunic and how it splashed like the ocean against your beskar cuffs. “I ought to thank you again, Miss. I am forever indebted to the covert.” 

Gold tipped her helmet forward, leaving it inclined for a second too long. “This is the Way.”

The Way is what you will be grateful for even after life. Gold brought you along to the furnace after you grabbed one more block of cheese. She showed you the set of her metals. In sheets or in bars, she had a collection of beskar, palladium, ruthenium, and other metals you couldn’t keep track of. 

“You make the armor for everyone?” You asked. You grazed the metals with your finger tips. What does Din wear? You resist the question as you thank Gold for her help today. 

“I am grateful for the armor and for everything else,” you say, inclining your head the way she had done to you earlier. “Could I ask…where is Djarren? Din, I mean.” 

Gold, while taking a thick apron down from a hook, replied, “I am unsure. I think he might be asleep. I haven’t seen him since the vote last night.” “How did he vote?” you asked. You hated the question as soon as it left your lips. But you yearned to know. 

“He was very adamant that you stay,” Gold responded. “In fact he made a very moving speech. It’s the most I’ve heard him say all his life.” 

Your heart fluttered with assurance. “Thank you.”

“If there is anything else you need, you might find it from me or in the gathering hall. Good day, Y/n.” 

“Good day, miss.” 

Shyly stepping out of the furnace and back into the hall, you kept your gaze strictly on the floor. Mandalorians threw lingering glances your way, but they didn’t seem to last as long as you feared. A long table lined the eastern wall, and over it was a stack of books. You’d never seen so many before. You’d never actually held one, either. As much as you wanted to pick one up and read it, you couldn’t; you’d never learned to read before. From where you’re from it’s common to hear that, but you suspect it’s not so common amongst Mandalorians. Another factor for them to ostracize you for. You approached the table to get a closer glimpse at the books. 

Lingering around the book table was a taller man, in dark blue armor, and he inclined his head towards you as a greeting. 

“Hello,” you stuttered. Your intial reaction is always to bob a curtsey when someone greets you, but those days are behind you. 

“You’re Y/n,” the Mandalorian says, “aren’t you?” 

You nodded. “I am.” 

“It’s a pleasure,” he says in his deep voice, “to meet the famed madame. I am Paz.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Paz,” you returned his greeting. “Are you guarding these books because they might run away?” You asked. You half meant it, considering the heavy weapons the were strapped along Paz’s back and belt. 

“Something like that,” Paz said. He laughed. It was strange to hear it! Din hadn’t made such pleasant conversation with you in the two full days you’d been on the Razor Crest with him. The Armorer was very formal and upfront, so she didn’t seem like the conversational type. Wendi and Ryder? They’re non-starters. 

So you were sort of stunned to find that Mandalorians were, in fact, capable of laughter. 

“What do you do here?” you asked, feeling breathless. Finally, someone you could talk to. You’ve never gotten to truly talk to anyone, ever! You’re filled with questions and hope that Paz could answer some. 

“Among the covert we have our respective jobs. Titles, almost. I’m apart of the covert’s makeshift infantry. I usually guard and protect, that is.”

“And so the books are under your watch?” 

“Sure. Not as prisoners, but as…well, they’re a bit like you. I protect them.” 

“Why?”

“Because they were in my family for a long time. Most of them, anyways. Some have been bought by other Mandalorians here. Consider this the library of the covert.” He waved a hand across the table. “Would you like one?” 

Gnawing on your lip, you shake your head “no.” 

“I can’t read,” you admit. It was easy to say it to Paz. Paz did not laugh or mock the way Ryder or Wendi might have. Paz looked through the books on the table and picked one out for you. 

“This is generally for children,” he admits as he holds it out. “The first pages are the alphabet. Memorizing those letters is the first step to literacy.”

Bashful, you look to the floor. “Oh, thank you. I can at least know the alphabet.” 

Paz shakes his head. “If you’d like help, I will help. Before the covert I taught foundlings who were also illiterate.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t bother you,” you say, hugging the book tightly. 

“It wouldn’t bother me. But I won’t bother you,” Paz says. “You’re welcome to come here at nights, if you want. An hour each day would surely catch you up.” 

With a fuzzy feeling in your chest, you slowly nod. “I suppose it wouldn’t bother me if it wouldn’t bother you,” you admit. “I do want to learn.” 

“Learn, you will,” Paz promised. 

You could hear the smile in his voice. 

next chapter

[nelllraiser]

when the sun has set | felix & nell

TIMING: before bea’s ghost appeared. LOCATION: the common. PARTIES: @nelllraiser and @streetharmacist​

— when the sun has set, no candle can replace it.

Nell had told her friends about what happened to Bea. Well— some of them. She was still working her way through them, some being easier than others to impart the news to. But now there was the matter of Bea’s friends. A rock that had formed in Nell’s gut ever since Felix had messaged her seemed all too happy to continue its residence, weighing her down as she found Felix in The Common. As she sat, Nell patted the little square gift box that was nestled in her pocket, unwrapped, to make sure it was still there. How fucked would it have been to wrap a gift in a situation like this? That wasn’t the only thing she’d brought, though. Greeting Felix, she sat a little container of the bread Bea had been making out when she came to find Nell on the table, along with a jumbo bag of Takis. “Hey, Felix.” Her tone was much quieter than her usual, rather impassioned voice, far too tired to give him anything more at the moment. “There’s some bread, if you want it. Thanks for coming here.” Now what? Now she had to rip apart Felix’s world the same way her’s had been? Dive into his chest and tear out his heart with this news, leave him feeling as empty as she did?

His hands wound tightly together as he walked. Nervous energy coiled around his muscles and kept him from remaining still. It was hard to. Concern coated his tongue like absinthe. Something had come up. Sure, Felix could understand that. There weren’t any hard feelings about that. The nervous energy made its way to his stomach, though settled some as he approached Nell from the shadowed Common. He breathed out and the sound wavered as he smiled at her. Something seemed off and his head tilted. She had said she hadn’t been sleeping well and she looked it. She looked haunted, he thought. “Hiya, Nell,” he said, energy spared enough for the both of them. His gaze drifted to the bread and he picked up the tin curiously. “This looks like Bea bread.” He cracked open the tin and tore off a small piece to pop into his mouth. After he swallowed, he reached into his jacket pocket and held out the Aram. “Told you I’d be here. Keeping a word is a big thing to me,” he assured. “So, what’s going on? You alright? Is--” He shifted. Cleared his throat. His brow furrowed. “Is Bea? I know you said something had come up and that’s fine, I swear. Just concerned and all, y’know.” A nervous laugh followed.

Felix was... as Felix as always. Seemingly endless charisma and energy that Nell used to match with her own explanation points, and joking echoing of the funny little phrases he’d say. But that was gone at a time like this, when the only reason she seemed to be getting out of her makeshift bed in the greenhouse was Blanche being there to witness it, and the desperate need to find Bea’s ghost. “Yep- yep that’s- it’s-” she faltered, it hitting her all at once that Felix knew Bea well enough to recognize her bread on sight. “It is Bea bread.” Nell wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way they mooned after one another, danced around one another, practically all but professed undying love to one another. To think that they’d been so close, and fate had decided to tear them apart before they’d even gotten the chance to know how far they might go, to find out if they’d go anywhere at all. And she was the one who had to tell him this, to tell him that he’d never get to find out whether or not they would have gone that distance. “Felix…”she began softly this time. No matter how many times she did this, how many times she told people Bea was gone- it wasn’t getting any easier. “I’m- I’m so sorry.” Her face became tight, as if she were willing herself not to break here and now. Felix needed to hear this from someone who was calm, someone who could be the strong one should he shatter before her very eyes. “Bea didn’t show up- she wasn’t there because-” Spit it out. Spit it out and put the man out of his misery, or launch him into it. “She was killed. She’s- she’s gone, Felix. I’m so- so sorry.”

Something was wrong. Felix’s smile, his laughter, was pressed under the weight of it. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t chime in. But when she said sorry, of all words, his lips parted with a startled laugh. “What’s there to be sor--” His voice was quiet, confused, and then gone. Silent. Snuffed out as she continued. The container of bread slipped from his hands. Crumbs scattered. He stared at Nell through his blood-tinted glasses. Pain halved him. He didn’t bleed shadow. He bled human red. Red like her lipstick. Red like the heart she had shown him when he showed her the dark of his own. Red like the bloodshot of her eyes. He bled warmth. Nell hadn’t meant to wound him and he could see it in her eyes. The wound had been dealt to her the same, ten-fold. She had lost her blood. He saw truth in her too. His breath faded. To be mortal was to die. To die old yet so young without barely a century lived. That was their lot in life. It always had been. Time had not changed that. He had seen many lives come and go. Humanity was a blink, a whisper forgotten. Not Bea. She was a breath of life caught and held in between teeth. Warmth. Comfort. A candle that could not go out. It did not occur to him that it could. Or it had and the thought had been buried impossibly, foolishly, deep. A flame that had welcomed his shadow for all it was. Had welcomed many. Fates, she was loved. But Death had never stopped for such things. There was no dark he could stare into that would coax her spirit out. Three years. Three squeezes of his hands before they stilled. Darkness clambered up his skin as he faded into night, his horned shadow jagged like something shattered. Wet starlight slipped past the barrier of his glasses. It was Bea. Bea. Hadn’t it always been? He was not meant to grieve humanity but no matter how hard he tried to fight against it, his insides twisted. Blood gathered between his teeth as his jaw locked. He could not lie. He could not lie. Rage was a brother to sorrow, something fit to arm. Somehow, in stillness, he trembled. His voice tentatively rose from the quiet between. “How?”

The way the bread slipped from his grasp seemed to ricochet through Nell like a cannon, as if she could see the way his world had shattered before her very eyes. It wouldn’t be the same exact way her’s had broken into a million pieces, pointed glass cutting into her hands as she kept trying to pick them up in this aftermath and fit them back into a mirror, but she was sure it’d be just as painful, just as soul-numbing. Breaking was painful no matter which way the shards fell to the floor. The single word and question that finally fell from him was another stab of pain, guilt shooting through her now that she’d have to tell him, let it be known that she was the reason Bea was no longer here, that she’d had a hand in ripping this part of him away. “It was my fault,” she began in just as soft a tone, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “There was a hunter- I don’t know if he was a witch hunter, or Hunter hunter or- whatever he was- he was ready. He was going to kill me and- and-” Her throat tightened, the first tears since Bea had died gathering in her eyes and threatening to fall, as Bea fell in her mind’s eye. But she blinked them away. Felix deserved her strength in these moments. “I don’t even know where she came from. One second it was just me and him, and then she was just there. She was just there and put herself in front of the blade and- and-” It was done. She’d been gone. Whisked away in no more than a blink of an eye. “-it was done. I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, Felix.” Even now, she couldn’t stop apologizing, couldn’t stop trying to atone for what had happened.

The fae sat completely still, his eyes closed. With the illusion no longer maintained, the light would have been too much. Even if Felix had looked at Nell, he envisioned that there was no darkness he could send her to that would be worse than what sat in her hands. It was the nature of illusions to give way. Hindsight opened the door to clarity, sharp as the chill against once-kissed cheeks. But as he listened to Nell, fixated on her words to dull the light of his eyes, he did not dive into that chasm. If there was doubt in him at what she said, it did not linger. Nell would not lie. The same way he couldn’t. The pain of it alone would cripple the spirit beyond repair. He could doubt humanity but he could not doubt the bond of blood that cinched sisterhood. He thought of his own sister. His breath quaked, slipped through like thin smoke, as he looked at her. She had been fashioned into a death knell by a stranger, now meant to toll her sister’s passing. The chime echoed in his head, quieter than the way Bea’s laugh did. Would always. “Nell,” he said. His voice was a flat line. “Apologies are funny things. Over the years, I’ve found it’s the wrong people that utter them the most.” The tears did not stop, but they did slow as he found his voice. Every bit of him fumbled to stay together but he held. Not here. He would wait for the dark, even as he became it. “You are her blood. Her life. That’s where she came from,” he said softly. “You and Luce. And it’s where she remains even…” He stopped. She was in the chair beside him at the Stacked Deck. She was in her kitchen, Dia ever watchful. She was with Luce and with Nell, heads together. Her friends. She was not gone even if she was. His horned head bowed as his blood trembled with grief and a rage unfelt before. He was not meant to grieve humanity but it was not humanity that he grieved for. It was Bea. Bea, who had told him, called to him, to meet her eyes. Bea who could not be contained in such simple, archaic terms. Who could not be snuffed out by monsters. He angled his head toward Nell. “Is this hunter still alive?”

Nell let the momentary silence pass between them, unwilling to rob Felix of whatever time he may need to process, or do whatever it was that was running through his mind. At least he was asking questions she could answer, and the hardest part was over. Right? Telling him what had happened, and how it had happened— that was the focal point of the earthquake, shaking the world apart. Now they were caught in the aftershocks, trying to find solid ground in the wake of what had left them stumbling. As for his veiled denial of her apologies, Nell shook her head in response, knowing that she hadn’t been her sister’s killing blow. Still, it was undeniable that if Nell hadn’t been there, hadn’t put a target on her back...Bea would still be here. But she’d let Felix have this, for now. People always spoke about not denying someone their dying wish, but what of those that were left to deal with the dying? They were the ones who had to repair the fallout, to try their best to set things back into place, to shove square pegs into holes that no longer fit. Surely they deserved something of a wish as well? So she simply let it rest. Besides, she was getting tired of repeating it. As for blood— “There’s still parts of her.” Not so many that she could see in herself, but others in Luce, around the house, even Felix, little bits of light refracting off one another that held the same shine that Bea had. “I- brought something else, too. Something besides the bread, if you want it.” Now was the time to pull her the little box she’d stowed away in her pocket. Gingerly, she sat it on the table between them. “It’s not- I mean it’s nothing...huge. Just so you could have a part of her to keep.” Of course, there was no doubt in Nell’s mind that there were parts of Bea that Felix was already the keeper of. But this was something he could hold between his fingers, to touch and feel. It was one of Bea’s favorite rings, a daily piece of her ensemble that she never went without, always found on her thumb amongst her other twinkling pieces of jewelry. In the middle of it was a sun, as bright and warm as Bea had once been, the rays of it reaching outwards to pull in any and all around her. She wiped her hands as Felix asked his final question, the smallest hint of a smile gracing her lips. Of course he would want to know whether the killer was alive, and she could only guess as to why. No doubt he sought blood as well. “Yes. But not for long. I’ll make him pay for what he’s done if it’s the last thing I do.” There was no hesitation before she spoke, Nell knowing all too well the gravity of them, the words she’d chosen. “And I can promise you that.” 

Felix counted his breaths. It wouldn’t do much. Not for long. The parts of him that he did not cover with his suits and his glasses, the bravado, threatened to collapse. Mere moments without Bea to speak with, to look forward to, already seemed grey. The one sunrise that had not burned him. It was hard to think of her in the past already, even as stuck in it as he could be. The lampade slipped his glasses off and folded them neatly, the plastic clicking together double-time as his hands shook. He looked at the bread that had fallen to the dirty ground. His vision blurred as droplets gathered. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand like he was a child again. Maybe throughout this he had been a child, naive to assume that death did not extend its hand to all, even those he loved. Had she been screamed for? Surely, as night slid behind day, there were those that would. His voice came to him as soon as Nell quieted. “I do.” He had yet to see what the box held and tentatively, he reached for it. When he opened it, the sun greeted him. Slowly, he ran his thumb along its golden surface. He anticipated it to burn. To sear him. But it did not. It was cool against his skin until it accepted his warmth. What little he could give. “A ’ghrian nan làmhan,” he murmured, the words delicate on his tongue. The sun in their hands. His uncovered eyes looked to Nell, full moons that blinked slowly. The strange words came to him carefully. “Thank you for this, Nell.” She had given him something great, even as it sat small in the palm of his hand. A boon that could not be weighed. He traced the delicate lines as he listened to Nell. With his eyes on her, he did not miss the small lift at the corner of her mouth. Good. Blood would have blood and there would be no rest before. If the world went blind, so be it. His thumb stilled on the ring as she uttered the word. Promise. Just as before, he read the truth in her and did not doubt it. She knew what he was and yet, continued. He nodded once. “Will you give me his name when it’s done?” Ring in hand, he sat up straighter and lifted his head. If they were to speak of it, then they would look it in the eye and not falter. “Not before. I want to know the name that true death will have once the weeds claim his bones.”

It was strange for Nell to see Felix so detached from the man he generally seemed to be, glasses gone and all. But perhaps it was fitting. After all, she could only assume that he’d lowered the mask for Bea when she was around, been nothing more than himself when it came to her rather than things he might need to be, things he’d become. Reflexively, Nell twitched her hand in a Summoning motion, a little bag of tissues appearing in her hand from home. Wordlessly, she slid them across the table to the man before her, not wanting him to feel as if he had to use them or anything of that like. It was just a small, perhaps painfully human gesture as she gave this last little gift to him. “Of course- I’m sure she-” Nell had been avoiding her name for quite some time, now, trying not to say it unless she absolutely had to. But being here with Felix, sharing their grief- Bea deserved it, didn’t she? To be remembered properly, to be named. “I’m sure Bea would have liked you to have it- if she’d...known.” If she’d been able to predict her own death. “And you deserve to keep a piece of her.” A piece that was tangible, able to be felt and held in hand rather than the piece of his heart she most likely occupied. As for the killer’s name- “It’s yours once we’re done with him.” Her own gaze met his without hesitation, sheer determination behind her eyes, and a hunger that spoke of how much she craved Montgomery's blood, his pain, his death. “If we have our way-” and she was certain they would, “-there won’t even be bones left.” 

The corners of his mouth lifted some at the box of tissues. As much as Felix could disappear into the dark, he was still whole. As much as he wished he could not be. The night had made him real and all that it entailed. The initial shock gave way to a numbness that extended to his fingertips. As he ran his fingers along the ring, he hardly felt the metal. “I suppose she would.” He was quiet. Had it been him? Perhaps a half-moon, broken from the tips of his antlers. He could not reach to the sky and grab it himself. It would have been enough, maybe, but it was difficult to think of with the sun in his hand. The knowledge of how it had come down from the sky and into his hand picked at his heart. Or what he had in place of one. Whatever it was, Bea had curled herself inside of it. Even the warmth of that could not reach him. Not right then. Not as he looked at Nell and yearned to dig a grave for every person that thought to harm Bea or her blood. He slipped the ring back into the box and pocketed it. The fae took in a breath before he unfolded his glasses and set them back on as he stood. Red lenses in a sea of dark looked back at Nell, his expression muted. “I look forward to that,” he said. “Thank you for this. If you need anything, you or Luce, you know how to reach me. Goodnight, Nell.” As he turned, turned toward the dark that he stepped back into, he shut his eyes. Goodnight Bea.

[songbird-berry]

RACHEL AND QUINN HEAD CANON 

SUNDAY AFTERNOON MARCH SOMETIME

Rachel is actually terrified. She’s not seen her since high school and their relationship then was not that great or healthy

But she is taken away by how beautiful Quinn still is “my chariot awaits!”

I love that Q will, at least internally, just be like "I am genuinely A MESS why are you looking at me like I'm still in a cheerios uniform?"

Rachel just kind of looks down at the ground and focuses on her breathing for a moment “it wasn’t about the Cheerios uniform”

And rachel places her bags on the back and sits.

Coffees in a tray on her lap

Quinn just doing the eyebrow raise and driving up to the house without a comment. Probably doesn't talk at all until they get into the house.

“Are you up for eating?”

"Leftovers will last me for a few hours."

Breathes and makes herself at home placing coffee on kitchen counter and just placing the whole bag in the fridge. “Black coffee is okay I hope?”

"Yeah, it's easiest to drink coffee black on tour anyway."

“It’s nice to see you again Quinn.” And she just hands her the coffee and looks expectantly hoping she’d lead them in the direction of somewhere more performing then the  of the kitchen

Quinn just smiles awkwardly and takes the coffee before just leading Rachel to her bedroom. It's definitely a mess, but the bed is freshly made. She sets the coffee down on the side table and takes off the hoodie, tossing it on a chair in the corner and climbing onto her bed. She's probably wearing a tank top.

Rachel takes off her own jacket and takes a few sips of her coffee before placing it next to Quinn’s. “I’m going to sit down on the bed, okay?” And she does not too close to Quinn but close enough

Quinn nods, grabbing her coffee and taking a few sips, nestling it in her lap. She has various scars on her arms, all of different types.  "It's getting harder to detox. To come down. To be a person again.  And no one wants to treat the trauma without me clean and sober, but I can't do that. I tried once. I really fucking tried."

“Maybe don’t do it cold turkey.”

She reaches over to take her hand, giving it a squeeze

“Baby steps and accepting support “

She sighs. "It's getting harder because I'm giving up." Her words are quiet. "I've been doing this shit for over a decade now. I've tried stopping so many times, and I can do it for a few months at a time, but without a way to treat the trauma... I just go right back to it."

“You don’t have to give up or give in”

She scoffs, taking a long drink of her coffee. "I'm just tired of fighting it."

Rachel just kind of squeezes Quinn’s hand tighter gasping a little at that admission. “Being tired makes everything so hard but if you start accepting help for things. Even if they’re little. You won’t feel so alone. You’ll be able to keep fighting a little longer. You’ll be surprised what time can do even if it feels like it’s been so long already.”

Aka she wants to say “I am magic and you haven’t let me in your life before now” but doesn’t wanna scare her

"Everyone I know has their own fucking shit to deal with. They don't need mine too. Fucking Frannie it's finally healing from so much and I don't want to be why she stops or backslides. Pretty sure Liv is helping with that, though not entirely sure how. Bea is going through lord only knows what right now. There's not a lot of spare help to go around."

“If you’d let me...I can help.” She thinks it might even help her but it’s not really about that as much as it is wanting to help Quinn find what she needs

"You're out of here in what, a month? Besides, you have work. You don't need to be worrying about me too."

“You think transforming into Elphaba every night is work?”

"Legally speaking, yes."

Rachel laughs, “We have a month and I have very little to do outside of performing every night.”

"That doesn't mean you should be spending it worrying about a fucked up rockstar who literally made your teenager years a living hell, for funsies."

“I don’t believe it was for fun.”

Quinn shrugs. "I don't know, I got a kick out of it sometimes."

“And so do I but that’s besides the point.”

“I think you can trust me. I think part of you already does. Let me help you.”

"What happens when you're gone? What happens when the tour moves on and you go with it? Distance is the very reason I knew I could get away with drug usage without Frannie worrying. I can't imagine I won't be inclined to pull something similar."

“I don’t know.” And she just kind of let’s go of Quinn’s hand

“A month is a long time.”

She shakes her head. "No, it's not."

“So you just want me to give up then because you’re ready to?”

Groans. "No, I want you to be fucking realistic about it! You'll be gone in a fucking month and I'll still be here. Or I'll head back out to Cali. Either way, it's stupid to think I'll change so much in a month that I won't just go back to doing what I always do. Bury it, lie about, and get fucked up next chance I get."

“Then come with me and travel when work make you”

Crazy talk Berry

"Nope. No. Not happening. Bad idea times about a million."

“I have nothing else.”

Sighs. "You're not supposed to. I'm not your problem."

“I don’t see you as a problem.”

"That's your first mistake then. Because I am. I always have been."

“In your eyes maybe.” And she grabs her hand again to squeeze before excusing herself. Rachel makes it to the kitchen before the tears of frustration start creeping and she’s stuck breathing and fighting them before grabbing water for both of them and going back to the bedroom . She’ll drink a lot of hers before sitting back on the bed “let me lay with you”

“Please.”

Quinn just sits there, drinking her coffee really confused cos she really is just so used to people seeing her as the problem. Even if they don't mean to. She's fucked up and to everyone else it doesn't look like she's trying to change even if she is. Shit is just hard, but god forbid the pretty white girl with the rich family and the amazing music career have actual fucking problems. And I almost don't think she expects Rachel to come back, so when she does, she doesn't look at her. In fact she probably avoids the concept all together, even as she sets her mostly empty coffee aside and moves to curl up under the covers.

Rachel is aware she made the wrong move in walking away. That’s usually how it seemed when she took care of herself first. “I won’t give up on you Quinn. I never did.”

Probably just scoffs as she buries her head into her pillow cos she's definitely trying not to cry.

Rachel just kinda warns that she is going to hold her now and lies down and embraces her

She definitely like inches away at first, cos again weakness around people is not her forte but she does end up just crying, curled in on herself.

Rachel just moves with her. She’d move if Quinn like told her to but her inching away is a defense and Rachel knows it

Rachel is stubborn as usual

“I’ve got you”

She eventually rolls over and just buries herself against Rachel instead which I think is genuinely something she's only ever done to people like Frannie or Arin, people who she trusts wholeheartedly because they've been the only ones to ever hold her.

and rachel just holds her close rubbing her back and focusing on not just saying what her brain is yelling at her.  She just wants to be there for Quinn in the moment

“I’m here, okay?”

That definitely just makes her cry harder, honestly. She's so bad at being cared for but also physically can't stop if she wanted to. Like it definitely takes a really long time for her to stop crying and even when she does she definitely just stays buried into Rachel, cos I think some part of her is genuinely scared that if she lets go Rachel will leave.

I don’t think Rachel moves, she just holds her and rubs her back and like whispers sweet nothings into her hair or something cause she can’t help herself but doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable either

Quinn eventually calming down but her brain just refuses to function properly so she ends up saying, "You suck" even as she just curls further into Rachel, cos she definitely kinda blames Rachel for the crying so obviously it is Rachel's fault and thus Rachel is the one who sucks, but she really also definitely doesn't mean it.

“I know.” And she giggles a little, pulling her in tighter.

"You realize you didn't deserve the hand you were dealt either, right?"

"Now, sure. But over twenty years of abuse doesn't change the fact I treated other people that same way."

"You want to change. You have changed."

"Doesn't mean I don't owe you the apology anyway. That I don't owe you acknowledging what I did and that it was wrong."

"I forgive you Quinn. Okay?"

Presses a soft kiss to Rachel's neck. "Okay."

"Do you need anything?"

"Kinda feel like I need sleep again. But like, not really, no."

"Let me rub your back?"

"M'kay." Totally just has her face  buried into Rachel's neck, placing random soft kisses.

Rachel will just hum and rub her back until they fall asleep or Quinn wants her to stop

Quinn deffo falls alseep

rachel will too lulled by the sound of quinns breathing

how late do you think they should sleep LOL. I feel like at least a few hours have passed since rachel got there, like 11-1 range they fell asleep

I feel like Quinn set an alarm on her phone so that she knew Rachel would be able to get to the theater in time, which is probably and hour and a half before showtime, but whether they sleep that long or not idk

i can see it happening to be honest. rachel is tired. she sleeps a lot lol so shes pretty stoked quinn is so snuggly

They totally wake up to the alarm and Quinn just groans and buries her face into Rachel because she's comfy

I don't think Rachel realized how hard it would feel to wake up when this is like a dream come true, being held and in the arms of Quinn Fabray. But waking up is already so hard. "We can just roll  back over and go back to sleep."

"No." Grumbles but gets off her. "You have work. hat is the Rachel work alarm."

“I don’t want to leave this moment.”

"You have to leave soon, or you'll be late. And I will not have you be late. Not because of me."

“I need to shower.” And she’ll like sadly untangle herself and sit up

"Bathroom is over there? You can borrow some of my plainer stuff if you'd like to actually change?" Kinda just gestures to the en-suite, not really sure if that's what Rachel meant but also knowing that she didn't particularly factor THAT into her alarm.

“A pair of leggings and a tshirt of some sort would be great if it’s not too much.” She definitely didn’t think any of this through but she doesn’t mind it despite her heart beating fast “I’ll be right out” and she’ll shower and do all that

She’ll come out wrapped in a towel

Quinn just humming and going to dig through her closet. Rachel probably comes back to like ten different fucking options (because tbh if she's not hanging out in sweats she's hanging out in leggings cos bby likes to be comfy) and Quinn sat on the bed playing with a Switch or some other handheld gaming device cos it makes for easy entertainment on tour.

Rachel thinks it’s cute but just grabs a simple black pair and let’s say one of Quinn’s band shirts were in the mix and Rachel chooses that before going off to change

Q owns, and wears, entirely too much of her own merch. She just thinks they're comfy and why would she sell something she doesn't believe in?

Rachel will go into the kitchen once she’s dressed to dip up Quinn a assortment of the things she brought. “You’ll eat, right?” She says as she brings it in to the bedroom. “At some point while I’m gone at least?”

Quinn just smiles. "Yeah, I'll probably eat a little, shower, then finish eating. Then y'know go shopping."

“It’s the perfect plan. I need to call an Uber. I can come back if you need me.”

And there’s like

So much ache in her voice like please need me

"You're still coming over tomorrow, aren't you?"

“Is that still what you want?” And she’s dealing with the Uber now so she doesn’t have to look at Quinn when she answers.

“Like we planned?”

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Like she's probably hiding behind her switch so she doesn't have to look at Rachel.

“You might feel like changing your mind once I leave.”

"And why would I do that? I still haven't gotten to do with you what I want."

Rachel can’t help but flush, “I know where you live now.”

"That you do."

"What time do you want me?"

"Maybe around lunch?"

“Do you want me to dress up for you?”

"Short skirt, underwear optional, it'll come off soon enough anyway. Everything else is on you. Or well, it will be, for a while."

“I look forward to it Quinn.” And her eyes light up her whole face really does when she smiles.

Quinn smiles softly. "So do I." She climbs off the bed and pulls her hoodie on. "I'll drive you back out to the gate."

“The best ride in the city if you ask me.” And she’ll definitely like warn Quinn she’s hugging her when they get to the gate

Before doing it

Quinn just chuckles. "That's definitely not true." She definitely hugs her tight back and presses a kiss to her cheek with a quiet, "Thanks."

[georgesdarkhorse]

Fever- Part 1

Hi all! This is my new George fic, Fever, it will be told in four parts. Please leave a comment, like, or reblog if you enjoyed! Keep an eye out for part two, posted soon!

Part 1

Edie picked up her clipboard, and started checking off what had been completed in the past hour. 

Additional toilet roll- check Clean bar- check Setup ticket booths- Sandy took care of that Add towels, cups, water pitchers to dressing rooms….

Her brow furrowed, had she brought the towels? Glancing at her watch, there was only 30 minutes until the doors opened, the band would be arriving any moment for a brief soundcheck. For the past hour she could hear chatter outside of the venue as eager ticket holders queued up, ready to fight for a spot close to the stage. Edie could hardly believe they were here that early, but from what she’d been told, tonight’s group was a local favorite. They called themselves The Beatles, and last week when they were at the Majestic, they played a nearly sold out show. 

“Oi, girl, are you done? The boys are here.” Edie snapped her head up at the voice of the sound engineer, Bill. Though she had introduced herself when she got here, he apparently hadn’t taken the time to remember her name. 

“Yes, I just have to run towels down to the dressing rooms, that’s all.”

“Alright, let’s make it quick, yeah?”

Edie nodded in agreement before heading off to the storage closet behind the bar. She loaded up on an armful of mismatched towels and started to make her way down to the dressing rooms under the stage. On her way she noticed the back door was open. Peeking out she spotted a group or boys, no older than she, working to unload a car. Though she was new, Edie suspected that they were a little more rough cut than what usually came through the Majestic. With long boyish hair, drain pipe pants, and black jackets they looked more like greasers than musicians. Not wanting to waste any more time, she turned and thundered down the stairs. 

Noticing the closed dressing room door she let out an irritated sigh, silently cursing herself for not leaving it open. Shuffling the towels into one arm, she opened the door, only to be met with a shirtless man on the other side. His delicate eyes were wide with a surprise that mirrored Edie’s own. 

Without much thought, and a burning blush on her face, Edie started to back out of the room. “Oh, oh god I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. Sorry, sorry.”

The boy recovered in an instant, replacing with the shocked expression with a smile, “S’alright. No harm done.” He reached for a shirt, pulling it over his head. “Those for us?” He asked before Edie had a chance to fully escape. 

“Uh, yes, I forgot to bring them down. Where would you like them?” She hovered by the doorway, not knowing if it would be better to leave or stay put. 

“Over on that table is fine, we’ll find a place for them.” The boy, now dressed, leaned against the long vanity counter, facing Edie. “Say, you’re not from here, are you?”

Edie shook her head, turning to face him, instantly swallowing. God was he just the cutest. They don’t make them like that back home. His face was soft, yet inquisitive. His long hair, brushed forward, played upon the innocence that his wide dark brown eyes invoked. 

“No, I’m from New York. I’m only here for a few months visiting my Aunt and Uncle.” Over the past two weeks, she had repeated this same line day in and day out. 

“Really? Why would you leave New York City for Liverpool?” His eyebrows knitted together, disbelief painted his features. 

“Oh, no, I’m not from the city. I’m from New York State. The city is a few hours from me, Liverpool is actually much larger than where I’m from.”

His disbelief morphed into inquiry. “Really?” Edie nodded. The boy extended his hand, “Well, I’m Paul.”

She smiled, reciprocating his offering, “Edie.”

The sound of cases rolling across the stage rattled overhead. Soundcheck would begin in a matter of minutes. Edie was reminded of all that she had to do before the doors opened, but since she was standing here with Paul, she pushed it to the back of her mind.

“Edie. So when did you get here? I don’t remember seeing you last week when we played this hall.”

“About two weeks ago, but this is my first week working here. Back home I helped out at a dance hall and thought it would be nice to do it while I was here for the summer.”

“Mustn been hard to find work, there’s a billion little places around Liverpool you know.”

“Oh I’ve noticed, I applied to about half of them and this is the only one who would hire me.”

Paul pulled a face, but before he could answer, two other boys entered the dressing room. Edie recognized them as the ones by the car. 

“We’ve been here for five bloody minutes and you’ve already wrangled yourself a bird Paulie. Is that a new record?” A tall boy with a prominent nose quipped as he and the other set a few bottles of beer on the counter. Edie felt her face flush.

“Oh come off it John, she works here. She’s an American you know. Edie, this is John and George, they’re me band mates.”

John looked at Edie with a new kind of interest and a mischievous glint in his eye. “An American, huh? What brings you all the way to cold, grey, rainy Liverpool and not bright and shiny London?”

“I have family here.” Her answer was shortened, now feeling uncomfortable with three sets of male eyes taking her in. “Uh, well, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Not here, no.” John added, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. 

Edie answered his cheeky comment with a cold glare. “Have a good show boys,” she said before leaving the dressing room and heading back to the lobby.

As much as their last conversation left Edie feeling a bit miffed, she couldn’t deny that The Beatles knew how to play, and they sure knew how to work a crowd. The other acts that blew through there seemed bland in comparison.

Though Liverpool was far, far different from her small American hometown, she could find solace in the live music. American rock had taken over the youth of England, and for a moment, while they played a Little Richard or Shirelles song, she could close her eyes and be transported into the hometown dancehall where she spent so many summer nights. 

In late July The Beatles came to play again. This time Edie made sure to have all of her boxes checked before the band arrived, as she wished to avoid another conversation with John Lennon. From the dressing room conversation to his cocky stage presence, something about him made her uncomfortable. He seemed to be the type who loved to pick and get under one's skin. God, those were the worst type, weren’t they? Just down right arrogant.

A lot of local girls seemed to enjoy his crude behavior though, for reasons Edie didn’t understand. In fact, all of the boys seemed to be a bit of a local heartthrob among the ladies. From the moment they took the stage, the crowd was glued to them, calling their names and shrieking when they threw a wink into the crowd. Little did they realize that the boys couldn’t see much past the bright stage lights. 

Unfortunately, her plan for avoidance was short lived when one of her co-workers passed on that the band needed another pitcher of water in their dressing room. By now the doors, or flood gates as they should more appropriately be named, had been opened and people were milling about the ballroom. Edie let out an irritated sigh, maneuvering a full pitcher through this crowd would be a nightmare.

This time, when she reached the dressing room door, it was open. The boys were sprawled out in the cramped room, limbs overlapping the arms of chairs and resting atop of the coffee table. Guitars adorned their laps, cigarettes were in their lips, and beer bottles were placed about. There was a jittery calm hanging in the air. 

“Ah, Miss. America!” Paul greeted as Edie stepped into the room. 

“The water you requested, can I leave it here?” She stepped over to the vanity counter, setting the pitcher down. John seemed to be preoccupied with his acoustic, picking away with the other guitarist, George.

“Sure, sure, you enjoy the show last time?” He asked, removing the cigarette from his mouth and flicking his ashes into the tray. 

“Sure from what I heard. I don’t really get to watch that often, but I like how you played a lot of American tunes.”

“You didn’t watch?” John asked, still focusing on his guitar.

“No, not really. I’m too busy making sure people don’t sneak in.” John smirked. 

“Well, why don’t you come to one of our other shows? We play a lot at the Cavern downtown,” Paul offered. 

“Get acquainted with the riveting nightlife of Liverpool,” George added, and for the first time Edie actually saw him. She took in his sleepy brown eyes, sharp jaw, and thick eyebrows. He held a lot of the same innocence that Paul did, but his seemed more genuine, more pure, whereas Paul wore the innocence like a mask. 

“I tend to busy here most nights. I’ll have to see what my schedule allows.”

Edie wished them well and politely excused herself from the dressing room. Since arriving in Liverpool, she hadn’t done much else other than work. During her first week here her cousin Charlie, by a strong suggestion from his mother, took Edie down to one of the local pubs. It wasn’t much fun though, as the bar was filled with Charlie’s shipyard mates.

The men were rough and handsy with their women, or at least ladies she suspected were their women. They had thick accents and smelled crude. Edie ended up keeping to herself, nestled in the corner of the bar feeling out of place, on edge, and homesick. Since then she has refused all Aunt Bea’s attempts to get her to tag along with Charlie. 

But there was something exciting about the prospect of going to one of The Beatles shows. They seemed to have a hold on the Liverpool music scene at the moment, judging from the crowds here at the Majestic. Being a part of that energy would be something else. She would have to go alone of course, she didn’t really know anyone who would want to tag along. But at a concert that didn’t really matter, there was plenty of entertainment to divert your attention. How could you feel alone when you were sharing that same moment with countless others?

[lengiesofrps]

The (Not-So) Lost Files: File Three

Merry Christmas @ravenswoodofrp!! This year, you get not so much a lost file as a possible file for the future. That name didn’t work as well though. I hope you’ll forgive me, since this year’s installment isn’t as festive as one might think. It’s something close to your heart though, so I’m sure you’ll give me a pass.

Love you!

The steady beat of the pulse monitor probably should have been reassuring, a reminder that Alex’s accident could have been a lot worse. Given the fact that he had fallen off of a horse, the injuries could have been catastrophic, but the cacophony of noises that were emitting from the hospital only served to remind Clara of the night she had spent here, sore and scared to death that something had happened to the babies. To their babies. The people might have been different, they might have been on a new floor, but it was still the same noises: the whirling and beeping of machines, the metallic clang of food and laundry carts as they went from room to room, the faint cries of people in distant rooms as they worried about loved ones, the nurses chattering unconcernedly in corridors, and, despite all of the noise, the stale kind of stillness that seemed to permeate the entire hospital.

Her own stay in the hospital had been hell to get through, but at least Alex had been by her side the entire time. At least Alex had known what they had together. The last few days… Not so much. When Alex was awake, he seemed lucid. He knew who he was, who Clara was. He even knew that they were a couple. But when Clara had shown up with Connor and Bea, Alex had been puzzled and questioned who she was babysitting for because, in his words, they didn’t know anyone with twins. Or any babies for that matter.

It wasn’t like in the movies, when someone got a head injury and simply forgot years of their life. Alex remembered stuff. Still, the doctors told her that between the concussion and the swelling that Alex had mild amnesia. Retrograde amnesia, they called it. Apparently, the movies only portrayed head injuries with years lost and personalities changed for the drama of it all.

Who knew?

The current situation almost made Clara wish that Alex had forgotten everything, instead of just the last couple of months. Somehow, it would have been easier if he didn’t remember their history. It would feel more forgiving. She wasn’t sure how recent Alex’s memories went, but the last two months were apparently unclear, and it was probably further than that, since he also didn’t seem surprised by the lack of her gigantic, twin-laden stomach. Was is possible to get amnesia and literally only forget the fact that you were a father?

Clara rubbed her hands over her eyes, trying to wipe away the exhaustion of the last few days, thinking that that was exactly what this felt like. He didn’t seem surprised by the fact that his mom was now living in New York or by his parent’s divorce. The long hours spent by Alex’s side could have made her overtired mind play tricks on her, but Clara was pretty sure those things had happened after they had found out that she was pregnant. Maybe even after they had decided to keep the babies. So, why couldn’t he remember the fact that they were parents? She couldn’t blame him for the fact, but she knew Alex would blame himself when the memories came back to him. If they came back to him. The doctors had said there was a chance that the forgotten memories would stay gone.

With a heavy sigh, Clara stood from the window bench that had been her home for three long, tiresome days. She paced the length of the room, the soles of her Doc Martens squeaking loudly in the open space. It only added to the rest of the hospital noise but being able to move made Clara feel like she was doing something. Not just waiting for a death sentence or another doctor to come in and say more words that she didn’t want to hear.

She didn’t want to worry about whether their moms were okay with the babies. Or if Alex was ever going to remember that he had babies. She definitely didn’t want to consider how she was going to explain to Alex how a faulty condom and lack of birth control in Italy had led to them being parents. If it came to that, Alex was sure to want to know how the pregnancy had gone. How they had come to decide that having babies was the right option for them. How was Clara supposed to describe all the in-between stuff? How they had jumped from being set on abortion, to changing their minds, saying they were going to put the babies up for adoption, to almost losing them due to preeclampsia and finally realizing that they didn’t want to give the babies up.

It was a lot to explain.

It was a lot to forget.

Just as Clara had decided that she was going to go down to the cafeteria, just to get out of the room, there was rustling behind her. Alex was struggling to sit up, looking unfocused and sleep worn. Or as sleep worn as one could be while staying in the hospital.

“Hey,” she said, hurrying to his side to help. “Take it easy before you rip some of these tubes out.” She slipped her arm around him, helping him to lean more securely against the pillows. As she tried to slide out from under his arm, Alex’s grip tightened around her.

“Stay.”

The doctors had scolded her before for sitting on his bed. All in all, Clara was getting tired of doctors saying things to her. She figured this was the one thing they were wrong about though; if Alex wanted her to sit with him, she was going to do it.

Carefully, so that she didn’t jostle any of the various wires and tubes that were attached, Clara slid herself into the hospital bed. It took careful maneuvering but, finally, she was able to squeeze herself into the space between the side of the bed and Alex’s side.

Nestled against him, feeling, rather than seeing, his heartbeat was the best feeling Clara had had in days. It was almost possible to forget all of the machinery and pretend that they were back at the apartment, catching a rare moment when Connor and Bea were both sleeping, and Alex and Clara were both at home. They didn’t get a lot of quiet moments together anymore. Not between Alex working two jobs, going to school, their friends and family showing up at all hours of the night, and Clara’s general state of mind since the twins had been born. She wondered if leaving them with Alex’s mom for three days was only going to add to the guilt she had wracked up in their honor.

“Hey.” Nimble fingers tucked Clara under the chin, pulling her face up so that she was looking into Alex’s face. Apparently, he’d been watching her as she continued to be lost in thought. His blue eyes were full of concern. Ironic, since he was the one in the hospital bed. “Don’t do that.” There was barely a second for the confusion to seep in before Alex clarified. “Don’t think about what might have been or what we did or didn’t do.” He paused and took a deep breath. “The GoGoghs are here and safe. That’s all that matters.”

Suddenly, her chest felt a lot lighter and the corners of her eyes prickled. “You remember?” Her voice was no more than a whisper and it became clear just how scared she had been that Alex would be stuck in a permanent state of not remembering. That she would have to be a parent on her own, when she’d barely been able to be a parent even with his help. Their moms had more-or-less assumed her role and, yes, she was in therapy for it and getting better, but she still didn’t want to do the parenting on her own. “I thought you’d be…”

“Upset?” Alex smiled down at her, trying to maneuver himself so they were closer, but he had to settle on simply moving his hand in place on her leg. “I remembered last night while you were sleepin’, but I didn’t wanna wake you. Had myself a good cry while the doctors were asking me questions. I’m surprised all the commotion didn’t startle you.” He laughed but it was clear that he was still feeling the effects from having his memory all come back to him at once. Worry had etched fine lines into his forehead and there were bags under his eyes.

Clara’s heart clenched painfully. “You shoulda woken me up, Huckleberry. You didn’t need to deal with all that alone.”

He shrugged, looking away. “Figured you needed the sleep. Every time I wake up, you’re up too. Didn’t want to give you something else to worry about.”

“You’re my business to worry about. It would have been nice to know you were healing.”

Alex was silent for several beats, gazing in the opposite direction, as if the plaster walls were the most interesting things he’d ever seen. “I guess…” She heard him swallow hard and then he turned his attention back to her. “I guess it was just getting a taste of what you’ve been goin’ through. You keep talkin’ about all the guilt you have for the decisions we made while you were pregnant, even though you were makin’ the best decisions you could in the moment and you couldn’t control none of it…”

“You couldn’t control losing your memory either,” she pointed out.

He made a noise of assent. “I know. That don’t make me feel better about forgetting the fact that we have kids. Kind of sucks that brains are capable of forgetting such important stuff. How can you have such an unforgettable life experience and then… Not remember?”

Clara shifted slightly so that she could take his hand in his. “Maybe the universe just wanted to give you the ability to know you had kids for the first time twice… Or maybe the universe just sucks.”

Alex laughed, for real this time. “For a second there, I was worried you were gonna go all fortune cookie on me. You got a tendency to do that.”

Rolling her eyes, Clara elbowed him gently in the side. “I saved it in the end.”

“You think they’re gonna forgive us?” As quickly as the humor had come, serious Alex was back. He gazed at her hopefully, as though the world depended on her answer.

“I think they aren’t even gonna know about it. They’re two months old and they don’t understand things like postpartum depression or amnesia, so I doubt they’re at home judging us over anything. Your mom is takin’ care of them, so we know they’re in good hands. And then my mom will take over when her shift at the diner ends and your mom has to come in here.” Clara tucked her head against his shoulder and regarded him seriously. “We should tell them in the future though. When they understand words and emotions. Here we are, thinkin’ that we’re fucked up for feeling these things. I don’t want them to have to go through similar stuff and not know that they’re normal emotions.”

Maybe if they’d had some kind of examples in their own lives, they would have handled the whole North Carolina situation better. Maybe Clara wouldn’t have spiraled when faced with liking the same boy that Tess did and maybe she wouldn’t have entered a crappy relationship with someone she didn’t really like as a form of escape. Maybe if Alex had had better ways of dealing with his own emotions, he would have punched less people as a result.

Her own relationship with the twins was strained at the moment, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about them. Didn’t mean that she didn’t want them to have a less stressful life than hers if at all possible. She loved them and wanted them to treat themselves better than she and Alex had done to themselves.

Alex was silent for a long while and Clara thought she’d offended him, but finally, he smiled at her. “I think that’s a good idea. Maybe even bring them to therapy with us when they get older.”

“That’s a good idea,” she echoed. “You know, the twins are really lucky to have us.”

He laughed, about to say something, but a doctor came into the room. “Ma’am, you can’t be in the bed with him.” Clara was really tired of doctors telling her stuff, but this time she left his bed in good graces, winking at Alex as she moved back to her own seat.

[leigh-kelly]

Pride and Joy

[idornaseminary]

Chapter One-Hundred Twenty-Five: Beatrice/Calix

“I don’t understand, dad. Why are you angry with him? He’s done nothing wrong.”

Little Calix had wrung his small hands raw, nervously staring at the rug where his father paced. The heavy boots, caked in dry mud and dragon scales, sounded like thunder every time they hammered the floorboards beneath the worn mesh of woven fabric.

The singing of ice and crystal rang above Admon Galen’s cursing and muttering, dense cigar smoke swirling in threatening clouds above their heads as Calix’s father smoked and drank to drown his sorrow in whatever he could.

Calix resisted the persistent urge to cough and splutter - his father was angry and he did not want to draw that rage closer. But, he couldn’t understand what Ryker had done to upset his parents.

“There is something wrong, Calix. Alright?” Admon sneered, unable to keep the searing anger from his bile-coated voice. “There is something wrong with him. I know it. Your mother, bless her, knows it. Everyone knows it! And, you… you’re just too young to understand it.”

“But…”

“But, nothing!” Admon roared, turning on his heels to point the burning cigar at his eldest son, “Do you hear me, Calix! Do you! He’s a squib, a mistake, an utter mistake! We, Galens, have a squib as a son! A fucking squib!”

Admon let a guttural beast-roar from his chest, flinging his amber whiskey violently to the floor. The glass shattered, coppery shards of crystal erupting into the air and littering the sitting room with innocuous, skin-splitting spikes. Calix cowered backwards, abruptly catching himself as the jingling Christmas decorations rocked cradle-like on the tree behind him. His bare toes curled, a fear of being cut spreading through his body.

He slowly looked up, finding it hard to breathe. Admon was pinching the bridge of his nose, cussing louder.

“Dad?”

“No, Cal, no,” Admon said, roughly, “I need time to think.” He grabbed his coat from the armchair, and without looking back at his terrified son, left the Galen house for the last time.

As the early morning light filtered into Calix’s bedroom, Beatrice stifled a yawn, not wanting to wake him where he lay beside her, curled up under a well-loved quilt that had faded and worn in some places, though still provided plenty of warmth on cold Irish nights. She smiled softly in the dazzling light that radiated off the glittering snow outside, little rainbows cast all over his room from icicles hanging on the tree outside his window, and admired the peaceful, angelic look he had about him as he slept. Being home with him was something out of a dream. She loved his family, though the tension between his mother and his brother sometimes filled the whole house with an awkward atmosphere which made her feel helpless. But the land was stunning and she couldn’t help but stand enchanted under the fairy lights strung up over the roads running through the town, awestruck in the tranquil silence that settled in at night, making the holiday season more magical for the newcomer. Beatrice shivered as a chill grazed her uncovered tan skin, forcing her back under the warm blankets. She smiled and sidled up to Calix, glad for an excuse to snuggle up as she draped one of her short, bare legs around his, her cold hands sliding under his shirt for added heat.

A cold dagger pierced Calix’s blood-filled heart, like the Christmas he’d cut his feet on whiskey-glass. It was a sharp, freezing pain, a dulling sensation that woke Calix from his restless slumber.

His eyes slowly peeled open, cracking at the edges as the sand shifted and the nightmare faded to a tight feeling of breathlessness. He glanced down at his chest, wondering why he could feel gooseflesh rising when he was warmly wrapped up in his bed.

He chuckled softly, the sound groggy and masqueraded behind closed teeth, as he saw Beatrice’s small hand sneak beneath his pajama top.

“Christ, your hands are freezing.”

“Sorry, Cal,” she giggled, batting her long eyelashes at him. “You know it’s always freezing in here when we wake up?” She pressed closer to his warm body, waves of heat radiating off his lean form, drawing her closer like a moth to a flame until her chest was flush with his.

“That’s just you,” Calix mumbled sleepily, wrapping a strong arm around Beatrice’s slender shoulders. “You Samoans simply aren’t built for the Irish weather.”

“Why do you think my Welsh grandmother purchased all my winter clothes for me?” she asked, nestling her face into his freckled neck, his skin finally returning to its natural paleness after nearly three weeks back home. “How the heck am I supposed to warm up when it’s this cold in here?” she asked somewhat innocently.

“It’s not that cold, it’s barely chilly,” Calix whispered in sultry tones, bundling his girlfriend close to his chest. He pulled the worn blanket around them tight, enveloping their intertwined bodies in a cocoon of softness. “But, if you’re really that cold, my love, I have a few ideas to warm you up.”

“Oh really?” she purred, waggling her eyebrows back and forth playfully, drumming her fingers on his chest. “What did you have in mind?” she asked. Beatrice smiled up at her boyfriend and peppered a string of kisses up from his neck to his earlobe, nibbling softly at the tender skin, the tips of her fingers sliding into the waistband of his trousers.

A small gasp brushed Calix’s lips, turning to a low, growling rumble as the last fragments of sleep were driven from his mind by the tongue across his earlobe and the southern rummage: “Oh, I think you’re on the right track there, babe.”

Calix rolled over, pressing down against Beatrice as his fingertips glided along the sides of her neck and knotted in her dark curls. He took his time admiring his girlfriend’s beauty, visible even in the morning shadows: the arch of her cheekbones, the pout of her lips, her gorgeous eyes and the sweet smell of cinnamon that clung to her sallow skin. Calix lifted her chin and moved their lips together. Soft and sweet turned to fast and frenzied, the featherlight touch transforming into an ardent lover’s desire, communicating with their mouths what they physically craved.

“Warming up?” Calix teased, catching Beatrice’s ruby lip between his teeth and pulling it towards him.

She moaned softly, and ran her fingers through his long brown hair, chuckling as it fell into his face. His bright grey eyes shining like starlight down at her, she grinned and flipped them over, straddling his waist. “Maybe a little bit,” she whispered, pushing his shirt up his toned chest, tugging it off with a small flourish. “I don’t know though, I’m still kinda cold,” she breathed, flipping her bouncy curls over her shoulder.

“Then why are you so far away?” Calix asked, sliding his hands beneath the light top she wore and around the small of her back, her hips dancing against his. He pulled her down, slipping his tongue past her lips again with ravenous intent. She had mocked him about tiring out the first night she had arrived: so far, neither had been successful in breaking the other’s stamina.

“That’s better,” Calix groaned, remembering the loud and feral sound that vibrated through their lips as their breath was shared. “I can’t have my little starlight cold, now can I?”

Beatrice laughed and shook her head, cupping his cheeks in her hands, the short hair growing along his chiseled jaw rough beneath her soft fingertips. “Oh, no, we wouldn’t want that,” she purred, grinding her narrow hips against his in a slow, languid movement mimicking the tide rolling in.

A provocative mewl slipped from her bruised lips, spilling over Calix’s mouth as she kissed him again, her fingers hitching in the elastic waistband of his pajama pants, starting to tug them down when the door opened up, an amused Ryker standing in the doorway. Quickly tossing the blanket over her half-naked body, Beatrice squeaked and rolled off of Calix, burying her face in the pillows.

As the door opened, Calix flicked his wrist quickly. A shimmering screen formed in front of the bed, momentarily blocking the lovers from the rest of the world, as Calix pulled a blushing Beatrice under the covers and towards his firm chest.

“Knock next time, you git,” Calix hollered, sticking his tongue out and giving his younger brother the finger, the barrier of light twinkling out of existence.

Ryker, despite a huge grin, had the good grace to look away, mumbling an apology: “Sorry. I just thought you two might like some breakfast?” He raised the little, wooden tray in his hands, the smell of a traditional Irish fry wafting across the room.

Calix looked down at Beatrice, his stomach murmuring quietly, and wandlessly transfigured her clothing into something less revealing: “Thanks, buddy, that’s really sweet of you. Just next time…”

“Knock,” Ryker muttered, scratching the back of his head, “Yeah, sorry.”

Beatrice, a bright shade of red, previously only seen on Calix without sunscreen in Samoa, smiled politely at his brother and stood up to go get the tray. “I make one hell of an impression don’t I?” she joked weakly, unable to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, y-y-you do,” Ryker blushed, his skin turning cherry-red as Beatrice climbed over Calix, cheekily putting subtle pressure on her boyfriend’s stomach and waist. He stole a piece of toast from the tray as Beatrice took it, tactlessly plopping down on the end of Calix’s bed. “So, eh, do you guys have any plans for the day? Ones I haven’t fucked up.”

Calix scoffed, sitting up on the bed and throwing one of the pillows at him: “We do actually. We said we’d go into town today, didn’t we Bea?”

“Yeah. Get some last minute Christmas shopping out of the way,” she said, draping her legs elegantly across Calix’s lap, blowing the tendrils of steam off her coffee before taking a sip of it.

“Can I come with! Please!” Ryker begged, throwing puppy eyes at Calix and Beatrice. “I promise, I swear, I won’t bother you. Please?”

Beatrice looked over at her boyfriend with a small shrug, taking a bite of some oatmeal. “I don’t mind, if your brother doesn’t. But I was hoping to get you a gift, and I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” she said with a genuine smile.

“A gift?” Ryker asked shakily, his pleading glance recasting as a shocked look of confusion. “You’re getting me one? Why… No one other than Cal or Cass ever gets me gifts…”

“Of course you can join us,” Calix said quickly, attempting to lighten the mood, stabbing one of the rashers of bacon with a fork. “We’ll just have to charm you blind or something, so you can’t see what Bea’s buying, yeah?”

Ryker nodded timidly, throwing a grateful glance at Beatrice: “But, you’ll have to go blind when I go to get yours. Deal?”

She held her hand out and beamed at the younger wizard. “Absolutely,” she said, tugging the quilt up over her bare legs, tucking into a plate of poached eggs. “Would you terribly mind if we finish breakfast and meet you downstairs in like half an hour?” she asked, washing the delicious food down with her coffee. “I just need to eat and get changed.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll see you downstairs, okay?” Ryker said, smiling happily to himself. Calix could almost see the gears turning inside his head, thinking of a present for the witch. It hurt Calix to see his brother so moved by simple gestures.

When Ryker left the room, Calix turned towards Beatrice and softly kissed her on the cheek: “You’re amazing, you know that? Thanks for letting him tag along. You’re after making his day.”

“You know you don’t need to thank me for being a decent person,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder, wiping the crumbs off her upper lip. After watching his mother dismiss Ryker for the past few weeks, ignoring his existence in the household entirely. Though he was a pureblood squib, he didn’t deserve to be treated like a waste of space, and if all that she could do to help was to treat him like a human being, she would happily do so. “I just want him to be happy.”

“Decent people who want others to be happy are hard to come by, sometimes,” Calix mumbled, happily laying his head against Beatrice’s black curls. He wonder how he’d gotten so lucky, what strange astronomical event brought his starlight into his arms. He stretched out his hand for his wand, his fingers gripping the smooth wood. He raised his wand and silently cast colloportus on the bedroom door. If his girlfriend was getting changed, he wanted no more intrusion.

But, before that.

“By the by, just so you know, we’re finishing what we started.”

“Oh, are we?” she teased, wetting her lips down as she carefully set the tray of empty plates down on the floor beside the bed. It wasn’t like she was opposed to the idea, but Ryker walking in could have ruined the mood, though she was glad he didn’t.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” Calix smiled, shuffling lower in the bed. He softly placed his lips on Beatrice’s neck, nibbling gently on the skin above her collarbones, a trail of sweet, loving kisses tracing the curvature of the bones and the beating pulse. “Unless you want to do something else?”

She shook her head and smiled, knitting her fingers into his thick mane of hair, gently scraping her nails over his scalp. “I mean we do have half an hour to spare,” she breathed, arching her back off the bed. Closing her eyes, she chewed on her bottom lip and cast a quick silencing charm on the room before she got too involved. “There’s nothing else I’d rather do right now.:

“Let’s say three-quarters of an hour,” Calix growled, reversing his transfigurative magic and kissing downwards, “Ryker can wait a little.”

Calix pulled the soot-black coat over his shoulders, devilishly missing Beatrice’s warmth against his skin. Thoughts of an early night poked at his mind as he childishly came down the stairs, all smiles, and stepped into the sitting room. He looked around, the house eerily quiet the days Cassandra took his mother to St. Sorenson’s, spotting Ryker by the Christmas tree, staring blankly at the space beneath the bottom branches.

“Hey, buddy,” Calix said cheerfully, clapping his brother on the shoulder, “All set?”

Ryker flinched, a weak smile-twist to the corners of his mouth. He rubbed his hands together, unable to meet Calix’s eye and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m ready to go. Is Beatrice ready?”

“She’s just getting changed,” Calix chuckled, thinking their lateness was partly his fault and partly hers. “She shouldn’t be long, though.”

“Cal?”

“Yeah?”

“I am really, really sorry about this morning,” his brother sighed, “I really should’ve knocked.”

“Yeah, you really should have fucking knocked,” Calix laughed, his arm wrapping around Ryker’s thin neck and pulling him into a headlock, his knuckles tousling through the boy’s hair. “But, stop beating yourself up about it. It happened - move on, okay?”

Ryker struggling against his brother, a traitorous smile taking hold despite the embarrassed rigor: “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s her.”

“Alright, alright, look, it happened, it’s not like it’s a big deal. It could’ve been a lot worse!”

“Cal, I flung the fucking door open and…”

Calix silenced his brother with a stern glare and a stern word: “And now, we’re all going to town. The three of us. Ry, you need to stop freaking out over it, okay? It was only a mistake.”

“I’ll try,” he mumbled, running his fingers through his mop of brown curls, “I know I fucked up and I’m sorry, I really am. But, can I ask you just one question?”

“Sure, Ry, anything. What’s on your mind?”

“What do I get her for Christmas?” Ryker queried pleadingly, his eyes falling back to the barren space awaiting the arrival of brightly coloured presents, “What do you get someone like Beatrice? Cal, I’m worried I’ll get it wrong! I can’t think of anything! She’s getting me something and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“Woah, take a chill pill. What did we just say about freaking out?” Calix smiled, “We’ll think of something. I actually think I know exactly what you could get her.”

“Do you?” Ryker asked excitedly, before taking a deep breath, “It’s not expensive, is it? You know I don’t have a lot of money to spend.” “I’ll go halves with you, yeah? Just pick something small up as well, something that you thought of yourself. She likes you, buddy. And she’ll be thrilled no matter you get her.”

Ryker kicked his feet off the carpet, burying his hands in his pockets. “You think so? I’ve just been a thorn in your side since you came with her. She probably thinks I’m an annoying idiot like mom does.”

Knocking on the wooden white washed door frame leading into the living room, Beatrice smiled as she poked her head around the corner, having missed the discussion between the brothers while she got ready for the day. After things got off to a rather interesting start, she was excited to go out and finally get the last of the Christmas presents, having already sent her family’s out a week in advance so they would arrive in time.

“Everybody ready?” she asked, picking one of her long, black hairs off her creamy white knit turtleneck jumper, sequins sewn in the pattern of a reindeer with fairy lights bedecking its antlers glittering under the warm lights of the chandelier hanging overhead. She tugged at the collar of her jumper, pulling it up until it sat still under her chin, carefully covering up a few love bites she wasn’t able to charm away and that her makeup did a poor job of masking, a demure blush coating her cheeks.

“We’re good to go,” Calix smiled, looking down at his brother, who was blushing scarlet and nodding his head quickly up and down. He placed a strong hand reassuring on Ryker’s back, pushing him forward. “Go get your coat, Ry. You’ll need it in this cold.”

His brother didn’t move at first, his heels firmly rooted into the floorboards. The gentle insistence severed his connection though and Ryker stepped quickly past Beatrice, politely complimenting her jumper. Calix, protectively watching him slink away into the hall, beckoned Beatrice to his chest, her obvious attempts at subtle discretion not lost on him.

“I can make those go away if you’d like,” Calix chuckled, gently stroking her cheek and slipping his fingers inside the collar. “Then again, they are cute on you.”

She swatted his hand away playfully and smiled bashfully. “Then leave ‘em. At least for today. Tomorrow it’d probably be nice not to have to worry about Cass or your mom seeing anything,” she whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the end of his nose before pulling away, lacing their fingers together as she stepped towards the front door. “Now, c’mon. We should get going before all the shops close today,” she teased, following after Ryker.

Calix held Beatrice’s small hand tight, his fingers eclipsing hers and his thumb rolling over the knuckles. He placed a warm kiss on her cheek, a cheeky nibble of agreement. “Might leave them till we get to school.”

Ryker was zipping up his jacket when they joined him, a woolen hat devouring the top of his head and gloves covering his slender fingers.

“So, do you want to walk there? Or apparate to McCarthy's?” Calix asked, looking between Beatrice and Ryker. “It’s completely up to you two.”

The Samoan witch smiled kindly at Ryker as she took her cloak down off the coat rack, wrapping the warm fur around her shoulders as she looked at the two Galen men. “I don’t mind either way. Up to you, Ry,” she said, hoisting her purse onto her shoulder beneath the black fabric.

“I suppose we can apparate,” he shrugged, “It’ll give us more time to shop around.”

“Alrighty,” Calix said, stretching out his hand for his brother to hold. Ryker took Calix’s free hand, his slender fingers clasped around his brother’s like a vice in fear of slipping loose during apparition and being splinched en route. Calix would never allow something like that to happen, but it’s hard to keep those thoughts at bay.

Holding hands, Calix closed his eyes and imagined McCarthy’s Magical Mysteries, a small shop tucked away in the back of a long alley, hidden from the Muggle world by charms and shields, a point of apparition for most wizards and witches. He imagined the vanilla-like smell of the old books, the leaves of paper yellow and spotted with age, imagined the ringing of the silver doorbell and the high, mahogany shelves filled with oddities and marvels from the four corners of the globe.

The air popped and fizzed as he concentrated, Calix’s ears ringing loudly as they landed softly in the shop. Calix slowly opened his eyes, checking Ryker first, then Beatrice, both looking comfortable by his sides.

“Let’s go!”

Grinning madly, Beatrice slipped away as soon as they were all clear. “I’ll meet you back here in 45 minutes,” she said, blowing a kiss at the handsome brothers before skipping away, her wild black curls bouncing with each jolly hop. She wandered close to the door and glanced back over her shoulder, checking to see if either of the mischievous and nosy men followed her as she chewed on her lip and debated whether or not to quickly duck out and try her luck shopping elsewhere. Though when looking outside at the arctic tundra the street had become, gales of freezing snow carrying a light snowdrift into the town, Beatrice swallowed tightly and looked up at the upper floors of the shop, thinking she might have some luck up there as she tip toed up the creaky wooden staircase.

“We’ve forty-five minutes, buddy,” Calix said, leading his brother out of the shop and into the blizzard of numbing wind. “That’ll be just enough time to get what we need for Beatrice and get back, then we go for lunch or something.”

“Sure,” Ryker nodded, pulling his hat down further as the biting wind snapped at his ears.

After a solid ten minutes browsing around the magical shop, Beatrice decided she might fare better elsewhere, having a good idea of what she’d like to buy Ryker, which she realized couldn’t be found there in town. I’ll only be a few minutes. Closing her eyes, she quietly blocked out the dusty shop she stood in and focused on the loud cacophony of noises, smells, and enchanted toys from her favorite store in Diagon Alley. With a loud pop, she disapparated across the pond to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes in search of the perfect Christmas gift.

“Where is she?”

Calix looked around McCarthy’s worryingly, his grey eyes scanning the quiet rows between the shelves for the sight of his girlfriend’s black curls.

Nothing. No one.

“I’ve no idea, Ry,” Calix said, “She should be here. We did say forty-five minutes?”

“Yeah, we did,” Ryker nodded, clutching a small bag in his hands, his fingers agitatedly drumming on the brown paper and rattling the two gifts within. “What if she’s lost?”

“It’s Beatrice, Ry, she’s just apparate here or maybe home.”

I would hope.

Where are you, Bea?

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, the silver doorbell proclaiming two arrivals:

“Well, my, my, look who it is!”

Calix’s breath hitched in his throat, his blood running colder than the blustery wind laying frozen webs on the shop’s windows as the colour drained from his face. The voice, sickeningly sweet, called to him like siren-song. A song he wanted to ignore so badly.

He glanced over his shoulder towards the entrance. Ad, there she was. Standing in the doorway, her arm linking a young man Calix thought vaguely familiar, was Athena Millions, smiling like she always did.

“What are you doing here, handsome?” She asked, her blood-red heels clicking against the solid wooden floor with every pretentious stride, as she crossed the room, dragging her partner to her side. “It’s been so long. Last I heard, you’d gone away. Been away a lot recently, haven’t you, Calix? And Ryker! How’s the little squib?”

Ryker blanched, cowering behind Calix as his brother pulled him close, a fiery defense consuming his chest. Ryker feared her, for good reason and past experience; it was people like her, like his father, that branded him different.

“We’re all fine, Athena. We’re just waiting for someone,” Calix said through clenched teeth.

Beatrice reappeared with a loud pop, a wide grin on her winter kissed face, the chill bringing a lovely rosy color to her cheeks in the warm store. She smiled thoughtfully at Calix and slung an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close for a kiss, blissfully unaware of the bothersome couple stood in front of them. She grinned and shifted the weight of her numerous bags on her forearm, trying to redistribute the weight more evenly as she stood beside the Galen brothers, sneakily hiding the bag from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes at the back of the bunch far away from Ryker’s prying, curious eyes.

“Hey, honey, I’m sorry I’m late! I kinda lost track of time. I ran into Lysander and Lorcan Scamander out with their parents and I had to stop and say hi,” she babbled, her thick, dark eyebrows knitting together in concern when she saw the harsh glare in his eyes and felt the tenseness of his muscles beneath his jumper.

“What’s wrong, pele?” she asked, turning to look at the handsome blonde duo in front of her, her blood running cold when she set eyes on Athena’s companion who smirked playfully as he took his time looking her over. “Thought that was my name, luv,” Cedwyn purred, winking playfully at the Samoan witch. “Or, at least it was until about a month ago.” The chiseled Welsh wizard narrowed his eyes at Calix, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he pulled his new girlfriend closer, his leather jacket strewn with white flurries melting in the warm shop glistening in the low lights.

Beatrice’s tight grip on Calix’s shoulders, and Ryker’s soft tug at the back of his coat, a small plea falling on deaf ears, stopped him from doing something he would regret. Cedwyn’s face incredibly looked punchable.

“Your name? A month ago?” Calix demanded, his sharp eyes fixating on the blonde wizard like an owl locking onto prey. The cruel smirk on his lips and the grating annoyance of Athena’s laughter, her red lips leaving a mark on the man’s cheek, brought the dark bile from the depths of his chest to the back of his throat, dragging with it an anger suppressed since Idorna.

“Are you saying this is what’s his face? You called him that a month ago?”

“‘What’s his face?’ Isn’t that a little harsh, Teuila?” Cedwyn asked, poking his tongue against the inner wall of his cheek in a highly suggestive manner that made Beatrice’s blood boil over, blue sparks of electricity crackling in her loosely wound coils of hair. She ground her teeth together and whipped out her wand, pointing it viciously at the man in front of her.

“You have no fucking right to ever call me that again, Cedwyn,” she hissed, a cloud of hexes swirling around inside her head, each one demanding attention as the opportunity presented itself to her. “And no, Calix, Mahana said that. My mother said that. Keise said that,” she listed off, her nose wrinkling with fury as she kept her eyes trained on the man who instinctively took a step back, having first-hand experience of her full wrath. “I do not dain to speak of somebody I’m more than happy to say is no longer a part of my life,” Beatrice said calmly, taking in a deep breath of air as she slid her wand back into the sleeve of her jumper when she heard the shopkeeper clear his throat.

“That’s a good girl, why don’t you put that little wand away before someone gets hurt,” Athena purred, snaking her arms around Cedwyn’s waist, “I mean, you did already hurt my little Ceddie so much. That letter of yours was nasty, wasn’t it, pet? You could’ve at least had the common decency to break up with him in person. But, no, you got your father to give him a letter - that’s sadistic isn’t it, Cal?”

“Cal, can we go, please? Please?” Ryker begged, pulling harder on the tail of his brother’s coat.

“I’m really not in the mood for your games, Athena,” Calix spat, taking Ryker’s hand reassuringly in his and mollifying Beatrice with a gentle glance, a cautionary look. He looked at Cedwyn, finally recognising the blond wizard from his year in Hogwarts. You’re the one I’m being compared to? Huh, if they could only see you now. “We were just leaving. And, I doubt Ceddie knows what you’re capable of yet. Almost feel sorry for him.”

“I just feel sorry for you, Cal,” Athena smiled, “If things go south here, you and I, Ceddie and Beatrice, we can take care of ourselves, but, poor little Ryker - would the squib be able to do anything? I mean, what if he got hurt in the crossfire. Not that we’d ever do something like that, would we?”

Beatrice swallowed a guttural growl and put on a sickly sweet smile, her common sense taking a back seat to watch though it tried to chime in with the voice of reason. Can’t we just leave? Do you really have to get the last word?

“And you’re calling me a sadist? I’m cruel for doing the right thing and breaking it off with a man I cared for so he could go be happy elsewhere and I could truly be with another whom I love with all my heart and soul? I’m a masochist for showing kindness to those who are weaker than I am?” Beatrice asked, taking a menacing step forward, the heel of her thick leather boots clicking against the wooden floor, watching with a sort of sickening glee as Cedwyn tried to pull Athena back. “Out of the two of us, you’d have me believe I’m the evil one?”

“Oh, honey,” Athena mewled, licking her red lips and winking at the Samoan witch who’d risen all too easily to her ministrations. “You did him a favour. He got away just in the nick of time.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Calix spat, catching Alistar McCarthy’s eye, the shopkeep raising his wand from behind the counter. “We’re leaving. Now. It’s an utter displeasure seeing you again, Athena. I hope you and this little jumped-up scarecrow will be happy. Watch your back, Ceddie, she likes to stab people.”

“Ceddie’s doing all the stabbing, if you catch my drift, Cal,” Athena laughed, a wicked sound that Calix remembered as once being blood-music in his ear. He wondered how he ever found her attractive, how he ever found a single redeeming quality in Athena Million’s corrupted soul. “Give my best to your parents. Oh, sorry, I meant just your mother.”

Beatrice cleared her throat and gently gestured for Ryker to leave the store after his brother, staying behind a second to gawk at the devilishly attractive couple. Running her tongue over her teeth, she nodded slowly and offered a small smile to her former lover. “It’s really wonderful to see you again, Cedwyn. And, Athena?” she took in a small sigh, the winter air fortifying her nerves as she drew back her hand and slapped the bottle blonde demon parading around in a pseudo-Greek goddess’s body. “It’s been truly terrible.” She smiled and stepped outside into the winter wonderland, listening to the high pitched screeches as Cedwyn attempted to restrain the harpy with the imprint of a bright red hand seared onto her cheek, watching with a small twinge of sadness as Beatrice waltzed away after the two brothers.

Calix, biting down hard on his tongue, snapped his fingers as they walked away, a glittering barricade forming in the doorway to McCarthy’s Magical Mysteries. He firmly guided Ryker away from the shop, stopping after a short distance to wait for Beatrice to catch up.

“Did you really just hit her?” Ryker asked, staring up at Beatrice.

The Samoan witch nodded and smiled simply as she caught up, walking at a leisurely albeit brisk pace. “After everything, I’ve heard about her, and my own experience back there, I can honestly say she had it coming,” she said, shaking out her stinging palm.

Ryker bounced on the balls of his feet, rushing across the snow-covered cobblestones and throwing his arms around Beatrice: “Thank you! She’s had that coming for years, didn’t she Cal? But, who was the other guy?”

Calix watched Athena pound at the shimmering shield, Cedwyn trying to restrain her fury. He had no idea what he was getting himself into, Calix thought. And, Beatrice, wonderful Beatrice, had just drawn the fury of his ex-girlfriend kicking and screaming back into the light of day, for not only her but Calix and their families. “She might have,” Calix mumbled, “But, let’s just get home, okay?”

Beatrice nodded and patted Ryker on the back, smiling up at the cheery, gangly boy beside her, joining up with Calix across the street, wrapping her arm around him as well as they strolled back towards Appletower Row. “Well, you see, Ry, once upon a time, I used to date that arsehole, but much like Athena, he wasn’t a great person who didn’t really deserve me or my time. So, when I met your brother, I knew he was a good man who was more than worthy of spending his life being cared for and loved by somebody who could actually do so,” she said, wistfully recounting the early days of their friendship and eventual romance like a Christmas tale befitting of the season. “And we will all live happily ever after.”