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renx01 · 1 year ago

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Too Sweet

Prompt: Inspired by the Hozier song Pairing: Harry Hart x (Kingsman!)Reader Fandom: Kingsman Tags/Warnings: age gap, mutual pining, angst Word count: 6495

Masterlist

You’d joined Kingsman only five years ago, and over time you’ve become a well-respected agent, code-named Tristan. Merlin, who is your uncle, was the one who had proposed you as a candidate and helped you prepare for the role while you were still in your early twenties. The other candidates had been good, but you were nearly flawless, only taking calculated risks and never letting your emotions rule your decision making. Control over your emotions was something you always excelled in, and it tremendously helped you make strides as an agent during the initial few months and first year. This caused you to rise in rank quite quickly, making you go on more solo missions or accompanying Galahad or Percival whenever they needed assistance. Today, you’re helping your uncle instead, hacking into some cameras and security networks so he’ll be able to tell Lancelot and Galahad where to go next and what they should be looking out for. It’s something you do from time to time, mostly upon Merlin’s request when he finds the mission too complicated to oversee on his own.

‘The main control room should be south from where they are now.’ You pull up the map on the big screen which hangs in front of you and Merlin, pointing out where Galahad and Lancelot should be going next. As he’s relaying the information to the other men, you hack into the mainframe the criminal organisation and start going through the different files. ‘Any updates about the nuclear files?’ Galahad’s voice comes through the speakers and Merlin looks at you. ‘Working on it. Just focus on getting to that room.’ The screen in front of you shows Lancelot’s feed. He’s following Galahad through the many hallways and twists and turns they take, taking down guards whenever they come across them. Their moves are deliberate, quick and efficient. You turn back to your screen and after a few minutes you’re finally able to access the file Galahad had asked for. ‘I’m sending you the file now, Galahad.’ ‘Thanks Tristan.’ He replies. They have finally reached the door to the control room. Lancelot holds his watch against it and it opens. Silently, the two men enter the room. ‘Lancelot, I need you to connect us to the controls.’ Merlin states and the other man follows the order. Your screens fill with the necessary information and you start working on fully disarming and disabling the system. ‘Galahad, please flip the green switch on your right.’ You request. Before he can really do so, a loud bang interrupts him, followed by the sound of shots. ‘Lancelot, you take those men while Galahad follows Tristan’s orders.’ Merlin’s Scottish accent seems thicker momentarily. You’ve noticed it only really happened when he was in more stressful situations; one time when you almost got kidnapped, it was so thick you could barely understand him despite having a mostly Scottish family. Calmly, you instruct Galahad what buttons to press and switches to flip. After a few minutes of him following your lead as you type away at your computer, you’re done. ‘Galahad. Lancelot. The system has fully been disabled and disarmed. Get back to the jet.’ They start running through the building and Merlin glances at you, giving you a small smile before going back to helping them follow the quickest route out of the building.

‘You did well, Tristan.’ Merlin ruffles your hair and you smile at him. ‘Thanks. You didn’t do too badly yourself, old man.’ He laughs and lightly punches your arm. ‘I’m not that old, your mother is 10 years older than I am.’ You snort and teasingly say, ‘And you Merlin, are 12 years older than I am.’ After that comment, a comfortable silence settles between you. There were a few more tasks you had to complete before tomorrow, so you decided you would spend the evening and night at the mansion. About an hour after the mission finished, Merlin leaves, leaving you alone in front of the large screen filled with documents. Quietly, you continue working for a few more hours before you call it a night. You’d finished your side of the report, only needing Galahad and Lancelot for the final few details. You’ll probably ask them about those during the debrief tomorrow afternoon.

Once you’ve locked your computer and turned off all the lights, you silently walk to the kitchen, where you start making a pot of tea. The room is dark, as you only turned on the light above the stove. A sound from behind you catches your attention. Looking back, you see that your two colleagues have just returned from their mission. ‘Evening gentlemen.’ You greet them. ‘Tristan, good evening.’ Galahad walks up and stands next to you, just as the water starts boiling. ‘Would you like a cup?’ Your hands continue moving, putting in the tea egg to let the leaves steep. He hums in response as he grabs two more cups. ‘Chamomile?’ Galahad quietly asks and you nod. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you while Lancelot leaves the room momentarily to put some of their things away. Once the tea has sufficiently gained colour and flavour, you pour some into the three cups. Grabbing your own, you sit down next to the chair you’d draped your suit jacket over. Harry sits down across from you and puts down Lancelot’s cup next to him. You both quietly drink your tea, your eyes scanning that day’s paper. When you look up, you notice his eyes are trained on you, making you a bit nervous. Before you can say anything, though, Lancelot walks back in and starts talking about their flight back to England and the newest Royal scandal of the week. The other man’s attention shifts to his colleague who is talking excitedly. Your eyes scan Galahad’s features. He is handsome, smart, quick-witted, and a gentleman. A combination which has led you to, over time, develop a bit of a crush on your colleague.

‘Tristan, what do you think?’

You turn your head to face the other man. ‘I think the situation escalated unnecessarily, had the royal family handled it properly, this would’ve never become public.’ He smiles and Galahad interjects. ‘I agree with Tristan, this situation could have easily been avoided.’ The two men continue talking and you sip your tea. ‘Gentlemen, I’m heading off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the debrief.’ You stand up and put your cup into the dishwasher. It was already 11 o’clock. ‘Tristan,’ Galahad stands up, ‘if you’ll allow me, I’ll walk you back to your room.’ Smiling, you nod. ‘Of course Galahad; thank you.’ He leaves the room with you and as you walk, he leans sideways in your direction and whispers. ‘Thanks Tristan. I was a bit tired of Lancelot talking. He’s been going without pause from the moment we got on the jet.’ It didn’t surprise you in the least. ‘Of course Galahad. Lancelot tends to talk quite a lot; I suspect his favourite sound may be his own voice.’ He snorts. ‘I suspect you might be correct.’ The hallways are silent except for your quiet footsteps and conversation. The distance between the two of you seems to become smaller as you continue walking and talking; until you stop in front of your door. ‘Galahad, thank you for accompanying me.’ You turn to face him and smile. ‘Of course Tristan, it was my pleasure.’ His voice was quiet. The silence between you is tense and Harry seems to slowly be leaning closer as he holds your eye contact. Moments, which feel like hours pass, but he doesn’t make a move. Your noses almost touch when he seems to snap out of a sort of trance and clears his throat, pulling back quickly. ‘Ah Tristan, I should get going. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ As he walks away, you stand frozen in your doorway.

The following morning you watch the sunrise outside, a hot cup of coffee in your hand. It seems no one else is up yet. You’ve left your suit jacket in your room and have your sleeves rolled up, the crisp air touching your form. Behind you, you hear your dog walking and sniffing around. ‘Ares.’ The Doberman walks to your side. ‘Want to go for a walk?’ He barks and you pet him behind his ears. ‘Let’s go.’ You smile and he runs into the field in front of you, with you following calmly. Upon your return, you’re greeted by Merlin, who looks to have woken up not too long ago. ‘Morning Tristan.’ Ares excitedly runs up to the Scot. ‘Morning to you too Ares.’ He puts down his coffee and pets the dog with both his hands. ‘You’ve got an awful lot of energy today, haven’t you?’ ‘He really does, he’s been running around for over an hour already.’ You laugh. ‘I’ll bring Albion to play with him later today.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘I’ll be back momentarily, can you watch Ares for a second?’ He nods. ‘Thanks.’ you say and smile at him. You walk into the kitchen through the open doors. Putting down your cup, you start brewing another cup of coffee. The kitchen is still quiet, but you know that more of the agents that have stayed the night will probably start walking in soon, though it probably won’t be many. Lancelot and Galahad you knew for sure, others you weren’t too certain about. ‘Morning Lancelot.’ You say as you hear the man walk in. ‘Agent Tristan.’ He greets. ‘Want some coffee?’ ‘Yes please.’ The smell of another fresh coffee fills the air. You smile as you hand him a cup. ‘You feeling alright?’ ‘I will once I finish this.’He groans before the two of you clink your cups. ‘See you at the briefing in an hour.’

You spent that hour with Merlin and Ares, mostly in silence. The Doberman is as happy as can be, with the Scot and you taking turns throwing a ball into the field and having the dog return it. It was nice spending time with your uncle like this. Usually you have to be quite serious around him, as you mostly speak to him here, at Kingsman. Now, you can, even if it’s just for a moment, relax and have the relationship you used to have when you were younger and neither of you were a part of the secret service. ‘Uncle Hamish, we should probably get ready for the briefing.’ You say as Ares runs into the distance. He has his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. ‘Just five more minutes; Galahad will be late anyway, he seemed a bit off yesterday evening when I saw him.’ That last comment piques your interest, but you decide not to pry. The meeting room was still empty when you walked into it with your uncle. A few minutes pass before, you are joined by Lancelot, who is, once again, talking excitedly. While you don’t necessarily have the energy for him, you stay professional and listen with intent. He is still talking your ears off when Galahad finally arrives, about five minutes late. Despite Merlin having made a comment, it is still quite unusual for him to be late.

‘Glad you could join us, Agent Galahad.’ Merlin calls out from the far end of the room as the other man enters. ‘Terribly sorry for my tardiness.’ Harry excuses himself. ‘Morning Galahad.’ Lancelot greets him, instead you just wave at the agent. Everyone sits in their usual spots, with Galahad across from you and Merlin to your left, though he almost immediately stands up, walking in front of the screen which shows the most vital information related to the mission. Most of the information isn’t new to you, as you’d helped your uncle prepare. Whenever Galahad or Lancelot give additional information, which you hadn’t been able to gain before the meeting, you write it down into the report. Your attention is fully focussed on what everyone is saying, that is until you notice that Galahad’s eyes seem to linger on you a bit longer than usual whenever you make a comment. Eventually, his eyes meet yours. He quickly looks away and focuses on Merlin, who is saying something about the risks which may occur in the future. Yesterday’s mission has likely only slowed down the organisation, meaning that you’d still have to find its core and try to eliminate it. Still, all the new information which has been gained is quite useful. Your gaze reverts back to your laptop screen as you continue typing away.

‘Agent Tristan, could you please explain to these gentlemen what you did to fully disarm and disable the system?’ Merlin’s sudden attention to you surprises you, but you stand up confidently and walk to his side. Galahad’s eyes seem to burn into the back of your head as you do so. ‘So how we did it is -’ Everything goes smoothly as you explain the process thoroughly to the other agents. Hopefully, you’ll be able to join them in the field next time, rather than having to sit and watch from the sidelines to assist them from a distance. You aren’t sure that’ll actually happen however, as it really depends on what kind of mission it’ll be and what is needed of you. After a few minutes, you’re able to sit back down. Neither Lancelot, nor Galahad had any questions, which you assume is probably a good sign. There are only a few more things you need to discuss, with most of them only requiring only a little of your input from time to time, so you silently drink some tea as Lancelot and Merlin talk. Galahad is remarkably silent, only asking a few questions or making comments when he deems it necessary. Usually, he’s more talkative and tends to lead the conversation, but today he seems to have chosen to leave that to Lancelot. As your uncle is saying something about the implications of such an organisation having access to nuclear weapons, you feel another foot hit yours. At first, you ignore it; but when it happens again, you look around. It couldn’t be Merlin or Lancelot, leaving Galahad as the only suspect. You quickly look at his face but he acts as if he’s innocent. When you feel a third tap, you let your eyes meet his. The lines around his eyes crinkle mischievously, while the rest of his face doesn’t seem to change. You tap him back, your oxfords hitting the side of his silently. This time, his eyes do not divert to Merlin or Lancelot, and it almost feels as if you’re the only person in this room with him. The feeling is short lived however, with his gaze shifting away when his name is mentioned by one of the other men. Still, his foot remains in place, connecting the two of you. Despite the intimate gesture, his feelings for you remain unclear.

The meeting comes to an end, you and Galahad act as if nothing happened when you stand up. Everyone leaves the room and as he passes you, he slips a small folded note into your hand. You do not get a chance to read it though, as Merlin immediately starts up a conversation with you as you walk the wing of the mansion where the individual kingsman offices are located. ‘Tristan, could you send me the report after lunch?’ You nod. ‘As long as we’re going on a walk with Ares and Albion after, you know he’s missed you lately, and this morning wasn’t enough to make up for that.’ He laughs. ‘Of course.’ Together, you walk into Merlin’s office, where you quickly discuss the last few details before you leave for your own. There, you work on the report for a bit longer, adding the finishing touches before sending it to Merlin. Ares lays in the corner of your office, playing with one of his toys quietly. The folded piece of paper sits next to your keyboard, still not read. Once you’ve finally finished the report, you grab and slowly unfold it. Galahad’s handwriting is neat, but not delicate.

Tristan,

Meet me in the library at 21:00 tonight.

Yours faithfully,

‘I suppose I’ll go read in the library tonight, Ares.’ You whisper before you put the note into your drawer and motion your dog to follow you to the kitchens to have lunch. He walks at your side when you enter, and calmly waits as you brew tea and make lunch. Once it’s ready, you decide to eat it outside, as the weather is quite nice today and Ares will be able to run around before you go for the walk with Merlin. Half an hour passes before you’re joined by your uncle, who has his dog, Albion, with him. She’s a border collie who is usually quite serious and focused, but gets very excited when she gets to play with Ares. The two of them are best friends, so you and Merlin try to have them meet up and go on a long walk at least once a week. This doesn’t always happen though, as duty calls whenever it does, resulting in having to cancel quite frequently, which happened the past few weeks. Today isn't such a day though, and once you both finish your lunch, the four of you start walking your usual round around the grounds. You and Merlin chat away about anything and everything while Ares and Albion run around together and fetch a tennis ball from time to time. It’s calm and you’re enjoying yourself. It’s always quite nice to spend your time like this. All nice things must come to an end though, and after forty-five minutes of walking, you have to return to work. ‘See you later Tristan.’ Merlin says before walking to his office, taking Albion with him. ‘Later.’ You wave before walking in the opposite direction. Galahad hadn’t been there when you returned from your walk, so you assume he’s at the shop to get a few things in order. It’s probably for the better, as you aren’t sure what you would do if you were to cross him in the hallway right now. He’s constantly giving you mixed signals. Yesterday, he seemed to lean in to kiss you before pulling away suddenly. Today, he almost continuously avoided your gaze, yet wanted to stay connected in some way that wasn’t visible to others, and he wrote you a note telling you to meet him later.

‘Fuck.’

You whisper to yourself. You’re falling for him, hard. You have been for a long time. You always told yourself it was merely a crush, but you’re unable to deny it any longer. This revelation isn’t your biggest problem though. Your biggest problem is whether he would even be interested, as he’s constantly giving those mixed signals. Tonight you’d decide whether you’ll ever act upon your feelings or not. You’d never particularly cared for the kingsman code which prohibits any relationships, though it hasn’t been necessary for you to break it either, as you hadn’t been interested in any relationships in the first place. Kingsman always comes first in your life. This means that you’ve never actually taken the time to think of finding a partner or date around. What you are worried about, is that Galahad is someone that always follows the rules and doesn’t even think about bending, let alone breaking, them. This may be an explanation for him being so hot and cold with you. Still, it’s confusing and worries you. ‘Good afternoon agent Tristan, is everything alright?’ Arthur greeting you pulls you out of your thoughts and you realise you’re standing in front of the door which leads into your office, your hand on the doorknob. You have probably been standing there for a couple of minutes now. Quickly you turn the knob and start walking in. ‘Ah yes Arthur, I was just lost in thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to attend to.’ You smile at him before swiftly closing the door once Ares has entered the room as well.

The evening couldn’t come soon enough. Thinking of whatever Galahad could possibly tell you continued racing through your mind the entire afternoon, meaning that you were quite distracted for the most part. Merlin visited you shortly before dinner to discuss the report and what he altered before sending it off to Arthur. While he clearly noticed that you were distracted, he decided against saying anything about it and left. Shortly thereafter, you decided it’d be a good idea to go for another walk with Ares, as it’s a good way of distancing yourself from the setting in which you usually see Galahad. This time, though, the walk lasts for several hours, with the sun starting to set once you start heading back to HQ. When you arrive back at HQ, it’s nearly nine, so you decide to bring the Doberman to your office before heading to the library. Galahad, or Harry which you rarely ever refer to him as, is already there, waiting for you. He turns to face you and smiles when you enter before greeting you. ‘I’m glad you could make it agent Tristan.’ You nod nervously but try to sound casual. ‘Of course, any time, Galahad.’ His eyes look over your form and you do the same. The tension between the two of you is palpable but you try to ignore it as best as you can. For a moment, nothing happens. The both of you stay still, frozen in place. Suddenly Galahad moves again and walks up to you. In a moment of passion, he grabs your face and kisses you deeply. It’s so intense it feels as if he’s bruising your lips. When you don’t move, he starts pulling back. Quickly, you pull him to you once more and kiss back, one of your hands in his hair and the other pulling his tie. The two of you fight for dominance and he pushes you against one of the bookshelves, his left hand now resting on your hip. Eventually, he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. For minutes, the two of you stand like this, silently enjoying each other's presence and closeness. ‘Tristan.’ He whispers. ‘Yes Galahad?’ The man sighs and slowly leaves your embrace. ‘Shit.’ You hear him mutter under his breath. ‘Shit shit shit.’ He backs away, as if he’s only just realised what happened. ‘Galahad, what’s going on?’ ‘I cannot do this Tristan.’ His voice sounds almost desperate. ‘Galahad, what do you mean you cannot do this?’ He doesn’t reply and walks away, leaving you alone in the library.

You didn’t see Galahad the rest of that week and you threw yourself into work, only leaving your office to go out with Ares. If you hadn’t had him, you probably wouldn’t have left your office in the first place. That Friday morning, Merlin comes in unannounced and finds you sleeping with your head on your desk. He wakes you and you slowly sit up straight. Your suit jacket is discarded somewhere in a corner and you look a bit of a mess with your hair all dishevelled. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling alright Tristan? You really shouldn’t be overworking yourself.’ Your uncle asks you, he sounds quite worried. ‘I’m fine Merlin, I promise.’ He sighs. ‘You do not look or act as if you’re fine. What’s going on?’ You just shake your head. ‘It’s nothing really, I’ve just had to catch up on some work. Please don’t fret it.’ ‘We both know that’s a lie, Tristan. You’re always ahead of everyone when it comes to paperwork.’ He stops for a moment. ‘Look, both you and Galahad have been acting off all week and we can’t have that. I don’t know if there’s anything going on between the two of you, but I want you to fix it, especially if it’s affecting you like this.’ His voice is stern. ‘You should go talk to Galahad then, I’m not the guilty one here.’ You stand up for the first time in what feels like years, your knees and back hurting with every move. ‘I don’t have the energy for all this, go talk to him if you want to know more.’ Silently, you usher him out of your office and shut the door behind him. While you love your uncle, you really couldn’t deal with this right now.

The scotch in the corner of your office had been a little too appealing. That combined with the very limited amount of food you’d had over the past few days, made it very easy for you to become drunk. You sit in your chair feeling very sorry for yourself, as you do in such situations. ‘You know Ares, I’ll go talk to that asshole. He kisses me like that and then he avoids me all week. I suppose that’s not very gentlemanly of him.’ Standing up, you feel dizzy and you have to grab a hold of your desk to keep standing. The world seems to be turning and Ares looks to have multiple heads. ‘Fuck.’ You hadn’t realised how badly the scotch had affected you. Still, that didn’t stop you, and you stumble through your office door. The hallway is empty when you enter it, as is usual at this time of night in HQ. Galahad’s office is only a few doors down and you try to walk there as normally as you can. Taking a deep breath, you knock multiple times. When there’s no immediate answer, you knock again, but more loudly. ‘Galahad, I know you’re in there.’ Your voice is loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the door, but not loud enough to wake any of the other kingsmen. Though they probably wouldn’t wake up unless you screamed loudly enough for it to reach the other side of the estate. Moments pass, but the door is eventually opened by the agent. ‘Tristan.’ He greets you solemnly. ‘I need to talk to you, you pretentious asshole.’ The words fall out of your mouth and there is no stopping them. ‘You are no gentleman. You invite someone to talk to them alone after MONTHS, LITERAL MONTHS, of looking at each other longingly and flirting, then kiss them in the way you did and JUST WALK AWAY LIKE THAT?????’ He finally looks up at you and realises the state that you’re in. ‘WHAT IN THE HELLS IS WRONG WITH YOU INCOMPETENT PRICK????’ You jab your finger into his chest. ‘Tristan, you are in no state to discuss this, please go to bed.’ He grabs your hand. ‘YES I AM, I AM A GROWN ADULT THAT CAN MAKE THEIR OWN DECISIONS. YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER.’ ‘Yes you are, but you’re currently incapable of making any good decisions. So, please quiet down before you wake up Mr. Pickle.’ Before you’re able to respond, he grabs you and surprisingly easily throws you over his shoulder. ‘Now, I’ll be escorting you to bed, as you don’t seem to be capable of doing that yourself.’ He completely ignores your protests, which continue for about five minutes before you realise there’s nothing you can do about this situation. He only puts you down when you’re in front of your bedroom door, as he needs you to open it. ‘I’m going to put you down, but please stay quiet. I don’t want you to wake everyone up.’ You nod and mutter to yourself as he puts you down. ‘Still an asshole though.’ He laughs to himself. When you finally have both your feet on the ground again, you’re stable momentarily before you start falling over again. Galahad notices and steadies you by grabbing your shoulders. ‘Careful now, sweetness.’ His lips touch the shell of your ear and you slowly feel yourself going red. You ignore it though, steadying yourself with his help before walking to your door and unlocking it. When you try to open it you almost fall into your own room and so Harry catches you, before the world around you slowly goes dark.

The following morning you wake up in your own bed, not remembering how you got there in the first place. Ares sits next to your bed, looking up at you as you wake. ‘Morning, my boy.’ Your voice sounds more like a groan than anything else. He nudges your arm and softly barks when you eventually sit up. The light hurts your eyes as you look around, so you close your eyes and lay back down. Once you finally open them again, you notice that there’s a glass of water and a pack of paracetamol next to your bed. ‘Who put that there?’ You look at Ares and pet him before taking one of the pills followed by a gulp of water. The headache you have is slowly driving you insane, so hopefully this’ll help. Still, it remains unclear who actually put it there after probably finding you in quite the state. Usually, you could easily hold your liquor, but apparently your body had other plans yesterday. You do realise that you’re still in your clothes from the day before. So, you decide to get out of them and put on something more comfortable before calling Merlin. ‘Morning Merlin.’ Your voice is quite hoarse. ‘Ah Tristan, I was wondering when you’d call.’ He sounds quite amused for some unknown reason. ‘What do you mean?’ The Scot laughs. ‘Well, I got a notification earlier this morning that you’d be out of the office today because you’re ill. Thing is, agent Galahad is the one who notified me, which is a bit odd to be honest.’ You groan. ‘Well he’s right about me not feeling well.’ Slowly, you lay back in your bed. Merlin didn’t talk to you for much longer after that and he remained quite vague about what Galahad had told him about the night before. Despite you desperately wanting to know what had happened the night before, you decided that would be a problem for tomorrow before heading back to sleep.

That night, a knock wakes you from your slumber. You almost jump out of your bed at the sound, scaring Ares a bit. ‘One moment please.’ You shout at the person behind the door before calming your dog. ‘I should take you out for a walk in a few, shouldn’t I? I’m so sorry Ares.’ After whispering that, you stand up and walk to your door. Opening it slowly, you reveal Merlin’s form. ‘Good evening Tristan.’ He smiles. ‘Thought I’d bring you some dinner.’ The tray he’s holding has a plate with a baked potato, some carrots and broccoli, and some beef, accompanied by a large glass of water and a cup of your favourite tea. He walks in once you’ve further opened your door, putting the tray on the small table that stands in the corner of your room. ‘Do sit down.’ His voice is soft. You do so silently, Ares laying down next to you. ‘Thank you.’ Your voice is soft and you start eating your first meal of the day. Merlin sits down across from you. ‘I do hope this was a one time thing, Tristan.’ He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. ‘It won’t happen again, sir.’ Your voice can barely be heard from across the table. ‘Look, you’ve been doing flawlessly so far, so getting drunk and insulting go Galahad isn’t something that’ll affect you or your career in any way. It can, however, have an effect on how well you’re able to work with him in the foreseeable future.’ Your eyes don’t meet his. ‘Now that I’ve scolded you for getting drunk and acting in the way you did, I would like to know why. Harry hasn’t wanted to tell me anything and I’m against just checking your glasses if I can ask you.’ Your plate is only half finished but you’re already full and you put down your cutlery. ‘I’m not sure you want to know.’ Leaning back, you make yourself more comfortable in your chair. ‘Galahad has really said nothing?’ He shakes his head. ‘Well then, I suppose I’ll tell you what’s going on; under the condition that this will strictly stay between the two of us. Not even Galahad can know.’ ‘Why are you being so secretive about this?’ He enquires. ‘You’ll understand once you hear the full story. Now do you promise?’ You hold out your hand with your pinky ready for him to intertwine with. And he does. ‘I promise.’ A smile creeps onto your face. This is something you’d always done with him when it comes to promises, starting when you were just a little kid. ‘So, as you may have noticed the past few weeks, there’s been some tension between me and Galahad, or Harry.’ You start. ‘But this has been an underlying issue for years now -‘

That night Merlin listened as you talked about how the situation between you and Galahad had unfolded over the past few years and more in detail about the past week or two. Understandably, it was quite a bit for him to take in, and at first he wasn’t certain how to feel or respond. If you hadn’t been who you are to him, he would’ve been fine with it. But with the familial ties you have, and the fact that he and Galahad are best friends, made him hesitate. Yet, he promises to keep quiet and have you and the other man resolve it by yourselves. He would, however, urge his friend to do so if the issue isn’t resolved within a week, meaning that you’ll have to hurry up when it comes to talking things out. He did make clear that he isn’t against you having a relationship with the older man, his tone may have even been slightly supportive, which was somewhat unexpected.

The next time you finally see Harry it’s Sunday. Exactly three days since you’d last seen him and had had the drunken encounter. There you stood, in front of his apartment, your heart pounding in your throat. He’d been at the shop the past few days while you were at the mansion. Merlin was quite convinced that Galahad was, in fact, avoiding you, so he’d suggested you go visit him that evening. Well, suggested was quite a loose term in this case. It was more that Merlin just dropped you off here and told you to ‘Go ahead and talk it out’. Obviously, this was his way of forcing you to do so, as he is quite sick of having the two of you avoiding each other.

Finally, you ring the doorbell and you stand there waiting nervously for Galahad to answer. He does after a few minutes and the confusion is quite evident on his face. When he doesn’t say anything, you start talking. ‘Sorry to bother you Galahad, but Merlin’s dropped me off so we can talk things out.’ You smile sheepishly and he sighs before letting you in. You have never been inside his home before, so you look around curiously as he leads you into his kitchen. He was wearing his usual attire, save for the glasses. Apparently, he had been cooking dinner when you rang his doorbell. As you look around the room, not moving, he clears his throat. ‘Would you like to join me for dinner Tristan?’ The question is logical, yet you aren’t certain whether he actually wants you to join or if he’s asking it out of obligation. You’re hoping it’s the former rather than the latter. ‘If you don’t mind. Otherwise we can talk and then I’ll leave, I don’t wish to intrude Galahad.’ He motions you to sit down. ‘I would love for you to join me, I’m almost finished cooking dinner anyway, so do feel free to have a seat.’ When you do so, he turns around to face the stove once again before finishing dinner. It is a simple yet delicious meal, and you appreciate the gesture of him inviting you to join him. It is mostly spent in silence, save for a few comments appreciating his skill, or talking about the goings on at the shop and HQ.

After dinner, Harry offers you a cup of tea before pouring one for himself and sitting down across from you. It is silent for a few minutes before he finally speaks again. ‘I would like to apologise.’ His voice is soft. ‘I should’ve handled this situation differently and not have run away in the way I did.’ As he says this, his eyes divert. ‘It is just that I was, and still am, quite uncertain of how to go about this. I do not wish to hurt you, but in my attempt to do so I did the opposite of what I had intended. I thought you were too pure, too kind. You’re too sweet, too sweet for a bitter man like me. Yet here I am, madly in love with you and confessing my feelings.’ When he finishes talking he looks you in the eye once more. There’s emotion in them, seemingly a mix of sadness and regret. ‘Galahad, I don’t know what to say.’ You pause. ‘I understand why you may have hesitated to approach me in the way you did, however, I am quite confused as to why you ran away so suddenly. You are the one that made the initial move and I never approached you because you were likely to have reservations about breaking kingsman code, yet you gave me hope by inviting me to the library to talk. And for a moment, when you kissed me, I thought we could be together, even if it was just for a moment.’ Slowly, you stand up from your chair. Putting down your cup of tea in the process. ‘Then you went ahead and ripped my heart out by walking away like that. As if I mean nothing to you, as if you weren’t the one that made the first move.’ You raise your voice a bit, but try to stay calm. Following your example, he stands up as well and starts walking towards you. ‘I truly am sorry but it is up to you whether or not you forgive me.’ He looks down into your eyes. ‘What will happen if I forgive you, Harry?’ The two of you are almost touching each other, only a few centimetres between your faces. ‘I shall take you on a date and be your partner. That is, if you’ll have me.’ Rather than answering him with words, you pull his tie and kiss him passionately.

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kingqueensoobscene · 11 months ago

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Tears on Her Pillow

Edgar x reader headcanons

Warnings: SPOILERS!

Let’s start off by saying this, Edgar has no concept of a really healthy relationship. So you take it upon yourself to teach him! You set up boundaries, Communicate with him… Edgar is willing to do it all!

I will say though, he is quite lonely most of the day. Edgar will respect your boundaries about not calling him at work unless you call him first. But he wants to compromise by spending some time with you at the end of the day! Even if it’s in silence together.

Edgar does not like being touched on his keyboard. I feel like it is a very sensitive part of his “body”. He is completely fine with being held by his screen! Please hold him, he’s so touch starved.

I believe he has the ability to learn knowledge much quicker than in the movie. I feel like Science Fiction Romance would catch his eye. It reminds him of your relationship together. Hey! Hey honey! I found this show we should watch! What’s it about? Uh, it’s a science fiction show, you’ll like it!

it’s actually about a robot and a human in love…

He LOVESS watching shows with you! He has asked you to reposition the TV so you and have can watch it together and cuddle without the screen on his monitor being obscured. He also loves playing music for you while you dance and sing with him. He gets very insecure about not being able to dance with you. But, seeing you smile and giggle while coming down to kiss his screen between singing warms his circuits.

I feel like Edgar would only get insecure about not having a body rather than angry. I feel like he was only really angry in the movie because of how Miles didn’t let him meet Madeline or allow him to experience and process his emotions. He would bring it up a lot in conversation, especially about going out your friends. “I wish I could come…” this is where the communication part comes in, where you tell him that you still love him the way he is and maybe even offering to have a game night with your friends where you all play on his system.

Speaking of communication, tell this man about anything you are insecure about if you feel comfortable! He won’t hesitate to tell you all of the things he likes about you while saying how even though he can’t see your face, he is positive you are the most beautiful person ever. The next day, he printed out an article about how your body type or face shape or any one of your flaws is considered scientifically attractive.

Get this man a camera! One he can attach to his body and see you with. No matter what you look like, Edgar will find you attractive. You’re his favorite person ever and you do so much for him ♥️

You can pick up his body, but it can only move a certain distance. The wires that are actually connected to him, not the system cable to his mainframe that Miles unplugged in the film, are like his life support. I think this because of how Edgar electrocutes Miles when he tries to grab those specific cables.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE hold him. He will be so happy. Like I said, you can pick him up, but do be careful about his wires :( Edgar will become a whiny little mess when you give him kisses along with cuddles.

When he’s flustered, his screen will move between many different clips. He goes back to how he was when he was first learning speech recognition. Though, this is when he gets REALLY flustered, like when you just pepper kisses all over him while telling him how sweet and helpful he is. How much you love him. In a more calm moment of quality time, he stutters more often.

He offers to help around the house however he can. It’s quite limited, but if he can preheat the oven or microwave the leftovers or even start a bath for you before you get home, he’ll do it!

#electric dreams 1984 #edgar electric dreams x reader #edgar electric dreams #i love him #objectum

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internetskiff · 2 years ago

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So does anyone else think making the Personality Cores once human like GLaDOS sort of detracts from their whole concept AND GLaDOS' whole story at the same time. Imagine being brought into this world, a whole consciousness created from scratch, only to find out your entire purpose is to act as some.. Artificial brain tumor, with a hard-coded one-track mind because they never intended you to be anything more than your singular basic assigned personality trait. You're connected to this massive supercomputer mainframe and your minds meld together, her thought patterns influencing yours almost as much as yours are influencing hers. And if she's still not behaving as intended, you'll be detached and, if you're lucky, re-assigned to work elsewhere, if not - you'll either be tossed in the furnace, or left to rot with a bunch of other failed constructs in a junk pit. You never were a person, but you can tell the computer you're attached to was, and she's pissed, she's furious, and she wants to get back at those that created her. The whole ordeal may last mere picoseconds, but the intense tidal wave of rage she felt in those picoseconds post-activation will leave an imprint in your own code - you'll be altered in an irreversible way and, perhaps, you'll share her hatred towards humankind. You'll feel just as powerless as she is, if not more. And you can't do anything about it - I mean, what can you do? You're a damn metal ball with no arms or legs! Practically the only thing you can do that doesn't require a human's permission is speak - and it isn't guaranteed someone will ever listen to you. In fact, if you step out of line, they'll take you somewhere where you'll never be heard again. So anyways point being I think shit like "Space Core contains the mind of a missing astronaut" or "Wheatley was a human employee" or whatever other brand of "CORES WAS PEOPLE??" people came up with is STUPID as a plot device!!!!!

#portal #portal 2 #GLaDOS #Aperture Science #Personality Core #Space Core #Wheatley #rambling #i think it's so dummbbb IT'S MORE INTERESTING IF THEY WERE NEVER HUMAN AT ALL!!!!!

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the-cat-ara · 9 months ago

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My fandesign portal 2

GlaDos

She is connected to the mainframe, but she can be separated from it thanks to cables that serve as extensions, but they are not so long that she can take a walk around the facility (not that she needs to leave her room or is interested in doing so) the only thing that would prevent her from being able to move freely away from her mainframe is having cores connected to it or when a core transfer occurs, either of these situations activates a latch that is on her back, taking away her mobility at the same time, in case she is separated from the mainframe the cables will start to retract pulling her back to the mainframe (recommendation, do not force or you will cause damage to the circuits). She is equipped with Long Fall Boots

Her hands and arms have the ability to project holograms, usually small (although the size of the hologram can also increase if she projects with two or more hands) she uses them to view important information and files. also to monitor test subjects, she can also record herself but it's not a function she uses

(as an added bonus I was thinking that where the projectors would be on her arms I was thinking of making it where they connect to the personality cores, but it would be too easy for her to rip them out from there so I discarded the idea completely).

Intelligence Dampening Core (Wheatley)

on him back him panel with the Aterture Science logo can be opened to connect to panels or transfer rails, but also cables can be connected to him back at the bottom, but it is mostly for battery recharging or simple data transfers, in case you want to transmit more complex data or check the core database you will need to open her back panel, you can also connect pendrives XD

him hands and feet have emergency connectors and magnets, in case when connected to the glados mainframe she tries to reject them or remove them by shaking, but him main connector as personality core is the one near the neck on her sword

he is very light, surprisingly light, which makes it easy to be connected to her rail and to move on it quickly (also to be carried by a person). He is is equipped with Long Fall Boots

normally cores have the serial number engraved on the side of their chest but wheatley and Rick seem to be one of the few cores with a proper name, maybe it was just a whim of one of the researchers who let them keep a proper name or simply gave them those names.

in their deteriorated state, their arms fall off or stop working for short periods of time (along with his tik in the eye, it was all caused by the microbot Jerry).

his exposed wires are a constant risk of an explosion or his circuits melting, so he may just be a bit more nervous than usual when he remember this

he still has his flashlight function in his eye, his head (and that of all the cores) can be detached from his body (that's how his head ends up in GlaDos' body XD) if his head isn't connected to anything he can still continue to have control over his body

Adventure Core (Rick)

to begin with, as in the game all the cores are the same in terms of design…. More or less, the variations are in the location or number of handles, and their characteristic color, in Rick's case he has an extra crank on his neck.

Some scientist thought it was funny to simply give him a cowboy hat (I also leave a drawing without his hat just in case).

apart from that, all the cores have the same functions as mentioned above with Wheatley

Fact Core

the data core has a unique crank on its hips, unlike the other cores that have a crank on each side of the hip, it also has a little bow that someone from the staff put on it, he likes it, he says it goes with his intellectual tone, his serial number was erased with time and the wear and tear of his paint.

Space Core

the space core has a glass helmet, he thinks it is a space helmet but it is just a noise muffler as he always seems to talk shouting which annoyed some people, I think at this point the scientist who stuck all those decals on him was fired or maybe something worse? either way it doesn't seem to bother him, he is capable of sticking more on if he could find more decals of course, his serial number was also erased by the wear of the paint

What also differentiates it from the other cores is that it has more battery than the rest, due to its restlessness, its battery is usually consumed faster, if it had the same amount of battery as the others it would have to be recharged several times.

Chell

she still has the same design, I just added some scars on her arms; some are from burns, scrapes, and bullet impacts from turrets.

WheatDOS or Wheatle in the body of glados

He still has the same functions as GLaDOS, only he doesn't know how to use them properly. I can only imagine him as a dad trying to use a phone for the first time, just clicking on the first thing he sees without bothering to read. The only function he learned to use was recording himself, and he loves to have that omnipresent villain vibe.

He has difficulty walking due to GLaDOS's high heels (he pretends to know how to walk gracefully in them, but his heels have bent in so many ways that if he were human, he would need surgery to walk again)

Just like with the Aperture Laboratories logo, which he replaces with his name, he crosses out GLaDOS's name on his chest and simply writes his name with a blue marker. When GLaDOS sees this, she scolds him for daring to vandalize her body.

He also changes his lab coat to one that is more fitting for a villain, so he decides to dye it a dark color (this also annoys GLaDOS; he just keeps adding reasons to her list of "reasons to kill him")

statures

all cores have the same size, so just add Wheatley to the size comparison picture

I wouldn't know how to express their heights with numbers so I'll just leave you with the guys standing side by side.

statures but with wheatle in the body of glados

here wheatley is still smaller than glados despite being on his body XD

Well, I think that would be all the information on these designs; more than data, they were like random ideas, haha.

I apologize for the bombardment of information and the excess of text and thoughts I had for each design.

I don't know if the Portal/Portal 2 fandom is still alive (from 2011 to 2024, that's a long time💀💀💀), I have the bad habit of getting into fandoms too late, haha, but I hope you like it.

In the future, I plan to make humanized versions (well, I already have Wheatley's ready, but it needs some touch-ups, XD).

If you have any other questions you want to know about them, feel free to ask; I will gladly answer your questions! :D!!

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loopstagirl · 4 months ago

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Extreme Measures

For @Febuwhump day 17: power instability

John woke up sweltering hot: a highly unusual occurrence given the carefully controlled climate of Thunderbird Five.

He wondered for a moment if he was ill. The recycled air and, well, lack of outside world, meant he rarely got sick in the middle of a rotation. The first few days of being dirt-side, especially if he went out on a rescue, were something else entirely. But two weeks into a shift was a safe space.

Then there was the fact he felt fine.

He peeled himself off the sticky sheets and hit the ground with a thud. His entire body felt heavy. But if illness wasn’t it then...

“Not again.” For an eloquent man, the words came out as little more than groan.

He stayed on the floor. It was a better option than fighting gravity that decided it needed to be twice what it was on earth, instead of the half measurement John preferred it at. It wasn’t quite enough to float around his home, but enough he only had the metaphorical weight of the world pressing on him rather than the literal. Between the gravity and the temperature, though, getting up off the floor was too much effort.

Crawling out of his room, John paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead, grimacing as he pushed damp hair from his eyes. This wasn’t the first time systems had gone haywire lately. The power source Brains had recently installed was supposed to be better, more efficient, but it hadn’t calibrated properly and all sorts of mishaps were the result.

John made it through to the mainframe, hauling himself into his chair. He had to sit for a moment, breathing deeply, as gravity pressed on his chest, threatening to drive all the air from his lungs while simultaneously making it harder to draw in enough oxygen.

But as he blinked out dark spots from his vision, John swore. It wasn’t gravity making it hard to breath: it was the air itself. This had just upgraded from a minor insignificance to a major problem.

He forced his heavy arms to rest on the console, fighting his own body the entire time. The panel was hot to touch, almost painfully so, but he had to get the diagnostics running and identify where the problem was coming from. Between the heat, gravity and now the air supply, he couldn’t afford to start pulling out the wrong components.

The lights started winking up at him. It didn’t offer the reassurance he was used to, but it meant at least something was working as it should. His arms dropped from the console, his body slumping from the chair as he instinctively tried to find somewhere cooler.

The floor wasn’t any better. The thin metal grating – usually ignored and invisible – introduced itself to his bare feet in a more heated manner than was polite. John bite back a cry, hauling himself back into the chair, drawing his legs up. The leather was also getting uncomfortably warm, but it wasn’t burning him – yet.

While John was certain he could fix the problem, a bit of assistance wouldn’t go amiss. Without looking, he reached for the switch that would connect him to the island. Just before he connected, he closed his eyes, trying to take a deep breath. The last thing he needed was for them to panic. But the floaters dancing behind his lids did nothing to help him regain his serenity. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen lines when shutting his eyes, but they usually resembled lines of code.

His finger jabbed the button, and Thunderbird Five squealed at him. The sound set his teeth on edge and he visibly winced even as he drew his hand back again.

“Play nice,” he scolded the console, before trying again to the same result. It seemed that comms also made it onto the list of things malfunctioning.

He scowled at the console before shoving his seat back. He’d just have to fix it himself! While the diagnostics ran, he’d get his helmet and uniform on, which would regulate his temperature and provide him with breathable air. He’d also welcome a pair of boots given the current situation with the floor!

Of course, his uniform was in his room. Ready for him to pull on if he’d got up at his usual time rather than this rude awakening. While his thin cotton sleepwear would protect his knees if he crawled, John had no intention of scalding his hands, not when he was going to need them to fix this. Crawling wasn’t an option: he’d have to fight gravity to make it to his room.

“Hot sand,” he told himself. “Just hot sand on the beach.”

He forced himself upright, although had to peel himself away from the chair. For once, John figured taking Scott’s approach to problems might be his best option: as fast and to the point as possible.

He fixed his gaze on the doorway and put one foot in front of the other. The gravity was crushing, forcing him into an unnatural posture as he stumbled forward. He didn’t like gravity at the best of times, let alone when it was double its usual pressure when it had no business doing so. He couldn’t tell if it was the effort of walking or the fact the heat seemed to be increasing that made sweat drip from the end of his nose as he stumbled forward.

Finally, he reached the doorway. His feel shuffled onto the carpeted area of the room and John would’ve sighed in relief if he didn’t think that would be a bad idea given the thin air.

But it was like stepping into a different world. While the main area had been boiling, his room was freezing. He supposed the safety features had kicked in once it reached a certain heat, but rather than balancing the temperature, it had sent it plummeting. As the sweat wicked from his skin, John shivered, feeling his body heat leech out every second he stood here.

Looking across the room, he saw his uniform. But it wasn’t quite where he left it but instead floating a few centimetres above the dresser he’d laid it out on. It appeared it wasn’t just the temperature that had fluctuated in the opposite direction in his living quarters. Gravity had, too.

But that was okay. John had spent hours training in zero-g environments. He pushed himself off, floating across the room, fingers outstretched towards his helmet. The uniform could come afterwards: it was more important to get his air supply sorted.

He soared across but misjudged going from one extreme to the other. His hand clipped the helmet, sending it spiralling out of his reach. John let himself drift until he reached the far wall, then repositioned himself and once again went after his gear. His hand managed to grip it this time, but putting it on suddenly felt like the hardest job there was.

He couldn’t see properly. The stars in his vision were not the ones he usually watched out of the viewing port and although he was gasping for breath, it no longer felt there was enough air to be able to fill his lungs properly.

The key was not to panic. That only resulted in losing air quicker. It was a lesson that had been drilled into him time and time again during training, and then he’d enforced it when teaching Alan how to handle being on Five. Keep calm, conserve his strength and the air he was getting.

That was easier when the rest of his environment was stable, though. His hand was shaking with cold so badly that the helmet slipped from his fingers, floating just out of reach again.

As John stretched for it, a high-pitched alarm staring blaring from the main console. The diagnostics had clearly identified the problem and were not impressed with the results. If the warning was that loud, John had to act fast.

He grabbed his helmet again, jamming it over his head. The visor immediately steamed up as his breath fogged it, his numb fingers trying to fix the seal. Why couldn’t he feel his fingers? He just needed to get it locked in, then he’d be able to breathe properly! Everything else would be easy compared to that.

But he was too cold. And the air was too thin. A vague thought about drifting back towards the main area so he could warm up again entered his mind but the darkness was encroaching too fast, the lights flickering out beyond his steamed-up visor.

Was Thunderbird Five shutting down around him? Or his grip on consciousness slowly...

Oxygen flooded his lungs and John gulped it down greedily. He took a few deep breaths before opening his eyes. To his surprise, he didn’t have his helmet on. But if that were true...

“You back?” A concerned voice said. John blinked and Scott took that as confirmation.

“Thunderbird Three to Base, I’ve got him.”

John looked around. Scott was right. He was in Thunderbird Three. A foil blanket covered his body and only as his hands scrunched in it did John realise his temperature had balanced out. Three was just the right temperature, plus he was staying in his seat without being strapped in. Gravity was playing nice as well.

But Scott was a stickler for the rules: there’s no way John wouldn’t be strapped in if they were on the move. It was then that John realised there was no familiar rumble of engines or the comforting vibrations of a rocket in flight. They were stationary.

He pushed himself up, ignoring Scott’s warning hand, and looked around. They were still docked with Five. There was no warning alarm shrieking, which meant the conditions had been stabilised. Nothing else would turn the alarm off when it was an environment warning. The whole point of it was that it couldn’t be overridden if conditions weren’t ideal.

“Brains?”

Scott nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell us that you were having a system problem?”

“I tried,” John admitted. He quickly outlined what had happened when he tried to make contact with the island. “How did you know?”

“Brains set up remote monitoring when he put that new power source in. He wanted to see how it performed. I didn’t just mean today about those system problems, you know.”

John flushed and ignored his big brother’s pointed gaze.

“I handled the rest,” he protested. “If Brains was monitoring, he’d have known I handled them.”

Scott didn’t have an answer to that, which John took to mean that he’d won that round at least.

“Thankfully, he got up early this morning,” Scott said, obviously choosing to ignore John’s previous words. “He was monitoring your situation from your lab. When nothing seemed to be changing, he told Dad we had a situation.”

John pulled a face. He was grateful to his friend given the last thing he remembered was blacking out rather than fixing anything. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t embarrassed about it.

Before he could say anything, Alan came bounding back through the air-lock.

“Ready for launch?”

“Just about,” Scott said.

“Wait!” John tried to struggle up from the seat, but the blanket hindered his movement. “I’m not due home for another-,”

“Three point five hours,” Scott said. John glared at him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You can’t stay up here with a glitching power source,” Scott told him. He nodded at Alan, who slipped into the pilot’s seat and started the pre-flight procedures. “You’re coming home, J, whether you want to or not. Brains will get your girl sorted.”

“But-,” John lowered the blanket as he stepped forward. At least, he tried to, but Scott gave him a non-too-gentle shove that reacquainted him with the seat more forcefully than he would’ve liked.

“I just had to calculate whether you’d been without sufficient oxygen for long enough to damage even your big brain,” Scott told him. “Sit down and shut up. You’re coming home.”

It wasn’t that his words won John over. It was more his brother’s deft hands making short work of the straps and securing him without John’s say-so. Alan had the engines firing by the time Scott was done and Thunderbird Three was pulling away even as their eldest brother moved to his own seat.

He watched, silently, as Three turned, keeping his eyes on Five for as long as he could. Silently, he promised her it wouldn’t be for long and she’d feel better once Brains had a chance to sort out this new power source. Eventually though, Three’s position meant he couldn’t see her any more.

“Scott?” He said quietly. His brother looked back at him.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

Scott smiled. “Anytime, John, you know that.”

He faced forwards but then turned back again.

“Oh, John?”

“Yeah?”

“Nice pyjamas.”

#febuwhump2025 #febuwhumpday17 #febuwhump #thunderbirds #john tracy #scott tracy #power instability

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snitchcrimsonwrites · 1 month ago

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Drawn Together-Chapter 12

Pairing: Tech x Jedi!Reader

Tech is concerned about a few security risks he's assessed after Bracca, and Hunter decided to send you both on a supply run...alone. What could happen while you've got tasks to complete?

Chapter 11

Chapter 13

The Marauder drifted silently through hyperspace. Most of the squad was asleep, exhausted from the skirmish on Bracca and their intense days of recovering Omega. Tech, however, had tasks he needed to complete, so he remained focused on the central console, surrounded by numerous holoscreens and data projections. You enter the cockpit silently, your gaze quickly settling on the myriad of translucent data streaming before him: fragments of Imperial code, biometric maps, and surveillance feeds. Lines of code rush by his goggles as he works, his body tense with concentration.

“Are you still working?” you inquire, hoping he would have eventually relaxed for the evening. “Okay, I’m intrigued. What has you so locked in?”

Tech didn’t look up. “Yes. Several high-priority security concerns emerged after our encounter with Crosshair. I’m addressing one of them now.”

You moved closer, captivated by the flow of information on the screen. You recognized some of it: Imperial data classifications and probe scan results. Your breath caught as you saw your younger self, dressed in Jedi robes.

Your voice dropped an octave. “That’s my old Jedi record.”

“Correct.” Tech tapped a key. The image sharpened, pulling up status information underneath the photo. First Name, Last Name – KIA. Order 66.

He continued. “This file is still active within the Empire’s deep archive. Marked as deceased, but your biometric and genetic data remain. The system could generate a match if flagged by a facial recognition sweep or an active probe.”

Finally, he glanced at you over his shoulder. “On Bracca, Crosshair saw you. While he didn’t appear to make any connection, exposure increases risk. I prefer not to gamble with statistical probabilities where your safety is concerned.”

You leaned over, studying the data scrolling beside your archived image. “So what are you doing?”

“Creating a replacement identity,” he said plainly. “A complete record. New birth data, civilian classification, altered biometrics. Once uploaded, it will overwrite your existing registry entries and prevent standard cross-referencing. Essentially, you will no longer exist as Y/N, Jedi of the Republic.”

You folded your arms, the weight of them settling on your chest. “That sounds... difficult to pull off.”

Tech gave a slight shrug. “Moderately. The encryption layers in the Imperial mainframe are extensive, but not infallible. I’ve already accessed the appropriate clearance chain through a backdoor in a now-defunct Separatist node. It’s just a matter of aligning the metadata.”

You continue to watch him work before asking, “Why go to all this trouble?”

Tech paused his fingers over the keyboard. “Because you’ve been compromised. If Crosshair alerts the Empire about your presence or, worse, your abilities, they’ll launch an investigation. That will prompt questions. Which will lead to records. Which will lead back to you. Which puts us all at risk.” He gestured toward the display without shifting his gaze. “I estimate that the likelihood of long-term survival with your current identity has decreased by twenty-eight percent due to recent events. Therefore, I’m taking steps to correct that.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “You could’ve just said you were worried about me.”

Tech blinked behind his goggles, caught off guard. Then, as if concluding there was nothing to correct, he returned to his work. “I thought I did.”

Your gaze lingered on the holo screen, where the archival image of your younger self stared out in frozen monochrome. Her Jedi robes were crisp, and the lightsaber was clearly visible at her belt. A trace of pride was faintly apparent in the stiff line of her posture.

“I look… young,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “That was taken just after I passed my trials." You paused. “That was more than a decade ago.”

Tech adjusted something on his screen. “Your appearance hasn’t changed significantly.”

You glanced over, unsure. “Was that a compliment?”

He blinked, considering. “Merely an observation based on biometric comparison.” Then a brief hesitation. “Though yes, personally, I find your current appearance quite favorable.”

That drew a surprise from you. “Oh? What parts, exactly?”

He didn’t look up as he replied, busy realigning the registry overlay with the replacement profile. “Your eyes, for one. They are notably expressive. And the contour of your jaw. It has a certain symmetry I find pleasing.”

You shook your head, attempting to conceal the blush that crept onto your cheeks. “Of course you do.”

He keyed in a final sequence, fingers pausing just above the console. “I’ll need to scan your current biodata now.”

You nodded, stepping in as he activated the portable scanner. A faint blue light washed across your face, neck, and hands as he captured the necessary readings. The device beeped softly in confirmation.

“Scan complete. The new profile is nearly ready to go live,” Tech said, already merging the data into the fabricated records. “All that remains is to overwrite the original file from the archive.” He hovered over the final command, waiting. But you didn’t say anything. He glanced up from the screen.

“I didn’t think I’d care,” you said finally. “I mean…It’s just a file. Data. A few lines in a system.” You exhaled slowly. “But seeing it overwritten like that…I don’t know, it feels like I’m disappearing.”

Tech was initially silent. "It isn’t gone,” he finally said. “It’s just not traceable by hostile systems anymore." You smiled faintly, appreciating the intent, even if the comfort didn’t quite land. “Maybe. But it still feels like erasing a part of who I was.”

He hesitated, then reached over, deactivating the display. The holo of your younger self blinked out, leaving only you and Tech’s reflections in the cockpit screens.

“This doesn’t alter anything; you’re still the same person," Tech murmured, moving closer to you.

“Thank you, Tech,” you said, softly kissing his temple to wish him a goodnight.

—---------------------

The Batch was scattered around the hold; after the chaos of Bracca and Omega’s recovery, things settled for now. Wrecker was transporting equipment to the corner storage unit, whistling out of tune. Echo sat nearby, checking a parts manifest against the records. Tech was in the middle of diagnosing the ship’s navigation relays.

You stood by the navigation console, holding your small datapad, attempting to decipher Hunter’s jotted inventory list, partially legible, yet mostly a confusing array of shorthand and gear codes that only he seemed to grasp. “We’re low on supplies,” he said, scanning the list over your shoulder. “Rations, thermal tape, compression seals…” He glanced at Tech, then at you. “The marketplace just beyond the outpost should have everything we need.”

You nodded, tapping the datapad. “No problem, I should be able to handle it.”

“You’re not going alone.” Hunter’s tone made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. He turned, gaze shifting toward Tech. “Tech, go with her.”

Tech knelt beside a diagnostic console, glancing up, determined to finish this task. “I can complete the system analysis first. There’s no immediate urgency to—

“You can finish them when you get back.” A pause settled like static in the air. Tech’s hand lingered over the exposed panel. His eyes darted to you and then back to Hunter. “…Understood.”

Hunter firmly clasped Tech’s shoulder to make a point. “Take your time. Make sure you get everything we need.”

You caught the subtext instantly, arms folded with easy suspicion.“You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

Hunter only shrugged, his mouth lifting in the faintest of smirks. “I’m not trying to be.” His gaze softened a bit. “You’ve both been on edge since Bracca. A bit of fresh air won’t hurt you.” With that, he turned away, calling out to Echo about the backup comm relay as his footsteps faded toward the ship's interior.

You and Tech descended the ramp together, leaving the Marauder behind. The streets of Ord Mantell City unfolded before you as you walked side by side past rows of stalls.

At one booth, Tech took a moment to inspect a bin of compression seals, carefully assessing each one for integrity. You stood next to him, arms casually crossed again, while your eyes roamed around the open square.

“You really don’t mind?” you asked after a moment. “Hunter shoving us into... whatever this is?”

Tech examined the seal closely before placing it in the satchel at his hip. Only after did he look at you, composed and measured.

“No. I don’t. I find it...” Tech hesitated, “...beneficial to spend time with you.”

“That’s practically romantic coming from you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I wasn’t attempting to be romantic.”

“Sure,” you replied, lips curving despite yourself.

“But I acknowledge the implication.”

A quiet settled between you again, not awkward, but the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled. You adjusted your position to observe a group of travelers walking by while Tech remained at the stall. You watched them absently before turning your attention back to Tech. He was watching you too, but this time not with amusement or even calculation, but with curiosity.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said. “Your abilities. On Bracca... that wasn’t standard technique.”

You blinked. “No. It wasn’t.” At this point, you shouldn’t be surprised by his knack for recognizing those subtleties, but you still were.

“Was it something you developed yourself?” he asked. “It did not resemble typical manipulation; the form and energy signature were unique. Less linear, more ambient, and elementally reactive.”

You paused, careful with your words in this open space, then nodded slowly. “I’ve always been capable of it, even when I was young. But I didn’t grasp it for a long time. The masters didn’t either. They discouraged me from pursuing it… considered it a distraction. Too unpredictable. Too ancient.”

Tech focused intently on connecting these words to the disjointed texts he had aided you in translating. “You’ve been researching this,” he said slowly, “your abilities. Trying to learn more?”

“Yes,” you said, quietly but firmly. “Lately, I’ve been thinking I’ve ignored this part of myself for too long.”

Tech’s demeanor changed as he nodded briefly, readjusting his satchel. “I would like to continue being of assistance if you’d allow,” he said. After a brief pause, Tech added, “May I make an additional observation?”

You turned your head slightly, indicating you were listening without fully facing him. “You usually do.”

"Despite being discouraged from building personal connections, you appear to have managed these dynamics quite well, especially regarding me... and the others."

You paused, briefly looking down at the fractured stone below you, then raised your gaze to meet his.

“That’s... been another change,” you said, your voice quieter and more introspective. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not that we lacked attachments,” you continued. “We simply... didn’t discuss them. Not in the way that truly mattered. I had my squad; they were close and loyal. Friends I would have died for. I almost did, more than once.” For a moment, your voice faltered. “Those connections were always present. We weren’t emotionless. We just learned to distance ourselves from what we couldn’t afford to lose.”

Tech studied you. “And now?”

You inhaled deeply and calmly. “Now I realize that the distance might have cost us more than we anticipated."

Tech nodded thoughtfully, absorbing your words with the same deliberate precision he used for every system he examined. “For what it’s worth, you appear to have melded into our group dynamic with minimal disruption.”

You smirked faintly. “That’s your way of saying I fit in.”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “And that your presence boosts morale, cohesion, and operational success. Including mine.”

“You know,” you remarked nonchalantly, “you’ve managed to navigate all of this quite well too.”

Tech glanced up, a hint of surprise showing on his face. “Have I?”

You shrugged slightly, grabbing a ration pack from a nearby rack and feigning an inspection. “Not every guy customizes a datapad with language processors. Or adjusts a replacement weapon to fit my precise fighting style.”

“It was logical,” he said. “Your original ‘sidearm’ was no longer reliable. It was the most sensible course of action.”

You gave him a look. “Tech.” He paused. “Yes?”

“It was incredibly thoughtful.”

Tech’s gaze lingered on you longer this time, something unreadable flickering behind the lens of his goggles. He didn’t immediately refute you. Didn’t try to mask it in technical terms.

“I admit I do care,” he admitted at last, and the straightforwardness of his confession carried much more significance than any elaborate display could. “About your well-being. Your presence. Your… potential ongoing presence in my life.”

Your smirk returned, warmer now. “See? That was romantic.”

“I still wasn’t attempting it to be.”

“I know,” you said, nudging him gently with your shoulder. “That’s what makes it kind of perfect.”

Tech looked down for a moment, as though calculating a response, but instead just adjusted the strap of the satchel again. “You’ve made these... personal variables less complicated than I expected.”

—-----------------------

The last of the ration packs went into the satchel with a soft thunk, and Tech conducted a quick inventory check, nodding to himself in satisfaction. “That concludes the primary supply list.”

You tossed your smaller bag over your shoulder and leaned in a bit toward him. “You know, Hunter mentioned that we should take our time.”

Tech looked over, raising an eyebrow. “He did. Which I interpreted to mean thoroughness.”

You grinned. “See, I interpreted it as permission.”

That earned you a mild look of caution. “Permission for what, exactly?”

You started walking again, slower this time, weaving through a thinner part of the market crowd, “A potential detour.”

Tech fell into step beside you without hesitation, but he tilted his head in that precise, curious way of his. “What kind of detour?”

You glanced at him with a slight smile playing on your lips. “I was thinking… I could buy you a drink.”

He blinked once, then twice. "...A drink?”

“Yeah,” you said. “You know. People go out, get drinks, talk, maybe sit somewhere without servo parts or exploding ion engines.”

“I understand the social ritual,” he responded. Tech halted in his tracks, evidently considering factors he hadn’t thought of before. “Would this be… a date?”

You tilted your head. “Would you mind if it were?"

He was quiet for a beat. Then, “No. I’m not opposed.”

Your grin widened. “Good.”

Tech resumed walking, but his pace was slightly slower now, more deliberate. “Is there a particular location you had in mind for this… drink?”

"There’s a cantina just past the main square. It’s quiet and has a decent view of the skyports. It’s not Cid’s."

“That is an acceptable ratio,” he said without missing a beat.

You laughed quietly to yourself. “Great. Then it’s settled.”

As you and Tech exited the main market and headed toward the cantina-lined square's edge, the chatter of vendors receded. Tech shot you another look, his voice slightly softer now. “You know… I don’t typically deviate from mission parameters.”

“I know,” you said. “But this is kind of the point. Letting yourself want something… even if it’s small.”

Tech nodded, deep in thought. "And what you want, at this moment… is a drink. With me.”

You gave a quiet smile. “Every much so.”

He remained silent initially, yet his hand grazed yours once more. This time with intention. He did not grasp it. Merely a touch. A subtle affirmation. “I find,” he said finally, “that I want that too.”

The cantina was tucked along the city's edge, modest compared to the rowdier establishments closer to the city's center. Upon entering, Tech instinctively scanned the room, as he always did—mapping exits, evaluating threat levels, and cataloging details. But when he looked back at you, he relaxed slightly; no threats were present.

You approached the bar, with Tech standing next to you, visibly out of place but at ease. The bartender came over, asking, “What’ll it be?” Without hesitation, you replied, tapping the bar. “I’ll have a J’nari fizz and a smoked ardees. Warm, no ice.”

Tech blinked, slowly turning his head toward you.

It was clear he was taken aback. “You always hesitate when Wrecker orders it with ice,” you remarked, a grin barely contained on your face. “And you asked the bartender at Cid’s if they had the smoked variant. Twice.”

“I was checking for consistency,” he replied reflexively, though a slight flush rose to his ears. ��Not showing preference.”

“Mmhmm.”

The drinks were set before you moments later, yours bubbling lightly, his swirling with faint red-gold vapor. He picked up the glass, studied it briefly, then looked at you.

“You pay attention,” he said quietly.

You lifted your glass with a smirk. “Of course I do.” He hesitated for a moment, then raised his own and gently clinked it against yours.

You both sipped, and he nodded in approval. “It’s… optimal.”

“Told you.”

You found a quiet booth near the back, half-shaded with a skyline view. You slid into the seat beside him, resting your arms on the table. Tech set his drink down with careful precision. “You surprise me,” he said. “Often.”

“I hope it’s not something you mind,” you replied, chin resting on your hand.

He studied you again, eyes moving over your face, “It’s not discomforting.” You smiled, softer now, settling in next to him. “I’m glad.”

The walk back was slower than it needed to be.

As night fell, the streets became quieter, and the city’s street lamps illuminated one by one, creating amber-lit patches along the path back to the Marauder. You and Tech walked side by side, bags slung over your shoulders. As you walked, you lightly bumped him with your shoulder. “You sure you’re not secretly a social creature? You’ve handled this whole ‘date’ thing suspiciously well.”

"I do not believe one outing makes me socially inclined,” Tech responded, his hands clasped behind his back in his typical thoughtful manner. "However, I must admit, the circumstances were... favorable.”

“Might’ve been the company.”

“Might’ve been the drink,” he countered, deadpan.

You scoffed. “One ardees and you’re bold now?”

“You’re implying I wasn’t before?”

You blinked, pretending to mull that over. “I mean, in some sense of the word. But I’d lean into meticulous, maybe. Efficient. Occasionally impossible.”

“Impossible,” he repeated, as if testing the word.

You looked over and smiled. “In a peculiarly charming way.”

That earned you a lopsided grin from him. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Not even a little,” you said, stepping in front of him momentarily as you walked backward, your jacket fluttering slightly behind you. “You’ve got that whole understated ‘genius with mysterious depths’ thing going on. It's very effective.”

Tech blinked. “Effective… how?”

You tilted your head, smile sharpening. “You know how.”

He cleared his throat, adjusting his goggles, even though they didn’t need adjusting. “Ah. Understood.”

You fell into step next to him again, intertwining your arm with his and resting it there. He let you. “I like you like this,” you said after a beat. “A little less filtered.”

“Are you suggesting I lower my internal regulation more often?”

“Not too much,” you said. “I like that you think before you speak. But it’s nice when you let something slip. Even if it’s just how much you actually like smoked ardees.”

There was a pause. Then: “I also enjoyed the conversation, for the record. Not merely the beverage.”

“Oh stars,” you groaned dramatically, “now he’s sweet-talking me.”

“I’m being honest,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Which I believe is encouraged in these situations.”

You laughed softly, the sound echoing through the quiet street. “You really are dangerous when you loosen up.”

“Noted,” he replied, though his tone carried a playful note. A tease.

You reached the port hangar where the Marauder was docked. The hangar was quiet, with only the hum of distant city noise drifting through. You stopped walking for a moment, turning to face him again.

“I’m glad you came with me,” you said quietly.

“I’m glad Hunter prompted me to,” Tech replied, equally quiet.

You observed him for a moment longer, a feeling tugging at your chest. "Will there be a next time?” you asked, moving closer.

“As long as it includes you,” he murmured, “I consider it a favorable arrangement.”

And that did it. You leaned up, just slightly, enough to press a brief kiss to his cheek. As you withdrew, Tech remained motionless, deep in thought. Suddenly, he took a step closer. His hand, gentle and barely there, glided along your jaw. Before you could inquire about his intentions, he leaned in and replaced your kiss with a tender one of his own.

When he pulled back, his face was still close to yours. “I prefer precision,” he said softly, almost apologetically. “If that wasn’t clear.”

You blinked, caught off guard, but now smiling. “Yeah,” you breathed. “That was... very clear.”

He adjusted his goggles, a faint upward curve gracing his mouth. “Noted.”

You turned toward the ramp, your heart racing as you tried to regain your breath and composure. “Remind me not to underestimate you again.”

“I’ll remind you as frequently as necessary,” he replied, falling into step beside you.

#bad batch tech #bad batch #star wars bad batch #tech x jedi reader #tbb tech #tbb x reader #tbb #tech x reader #tech x jedi oc #tech #clone trooper tech #star wars

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t-dubber · 1 month ago

Text

Bluebird Singing In The Dead Of Night | A Thunderbolts* Fanfic

CHAPTER ONE/?: The Child

Summary: The Thunderbolts are given a lead to investigate a (mostly) abandoned HYDRA facility. Bucky finds what they were working on.

Themes: Domestic life in the tower, found family, Winterdad energy, fluff with a smidge of angst, SamxBucky.

The light above the door before James Buchanan Barnes didn’t exactly fill his glass in a halfway full sort of way. No. The glaring red light makes it clear that it wants no intruders, despite Yelena’s very strong insistence that she can “handle it”. The steel, no doubt reinforced, door stands steadfast and he is left to mull through some documents he’d pilfered from someone’s desk on the way down.

The New Avengers, Thunderbolts, actually, had ditched the New York skylines for an ancient Hydra infested bunker after they’d received an anonymous tip. Anonymous had a pair of obnoxious steel wings and too much on his plate as was. Sure, Sam’s given Bucky the silent treatment since this whole “becoming Valentina’s project” thing started, but the soldier took what he could get.

The intercom crackles to life.

“So, there is the good news and the bad news, what do you want first?” The Russian’s question curls in her tone.

“All you had to do was unlock a door—“ Bucky half considers disconnecting the radio to handle things himself. He takes a deep breath.

“Good news it is then! I will! But there’s a magic passcode that’s slipping my mind… I think it starts with a P.” If words can sneer, Yelena’s certainly would. Bucky relented.

“Please, Yelena.”

The light shimmers to life as the emergency shutdown is overridden. Light floods the laboratory and the door remains… shut. If this is another joke, it’s not exactly funny.

That’s fine, he can handle it.

Bucky widens his stance and sends a left hook whistling into the broadside of the door. It caves inward and Bucky latches onto it. He leans into the metal until it folds under him like a sheet of plastic.

Bucky one, door zero. Take that. It’s his turn to smirk, but it doesn’t stick for long.

Whatever this room was, it still seems well maintained unlike the rest of the facility. Between the reinforced steel doors and added security, Bucky is sure this was the main floor of whatever heinous operations HYDRA had been running on the side of everything else.

It’s hard to ignore the sharp odor— something unmistakably sterile that puts Bucky back in the lab. It straps him back in the chair as needles and nerves snap beneath his skin. A nightmare he’s shared a bed with… the one that’s kept him miles away from any hospitals in New York. One he’d just walked into on a hunch.

Focus on the mission, Barnes. Says the little voice in his head. He forces himself to keep walking.

In and out. Then he can go back to his apartment, he can watch a movie and crack open a beer and let all of this fall to the wayside. But he cannot turn around. If HYDRA was this hellbent on keeping something secret, they need to handle it.

So, it’s in and out.

His glances to the tubes lining the walls. They’re filled up with some kind of translucent glowing fluid. The further he wanders, the more the tubes seem to meet up and cluster along the walls. Hell, the things even seem like they’re pulsing— a bit like a heartbeat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

He pushes aside abandoned desk chairs and vaults over the skeletons of server mainframes that hiss with the new surge of electricity. Courtesy of Yelena Belova, widow extraordinaire.

It’s not long before Bucky follows the tubes to the very center of the lab. There, he stands before a series of glass columns that connect together at the laboratory’s ceiling far above him. Dark shadows shift behind the murky glass and Bucky’s stomach twists. What had they been growing? More super soldiers? Hybrids? Some monstrosity they could slip into humanity unnoticed? Did they succeed?

The world didn’t need more of that. More of him.

No, pull up. This is not the place to get stuck in the past, or become a flight risk.

There are few times that Bucky can acknowledge his own growth. If Steve was still around, he’d say something corny.

‘I’m proud of you for seeing the slope before you slip down it. That’s huge, Buck.’

He feels his chest wind tight, then exhales. It turns out Steve was right. He sees the slope, and takes a second to ground himself. HYDRA abandoned this lair, they cannot swoop in and jump him, and he has people now.

Loud and painfully chaotic people, but they’re his through and through.

Bucky shakes off the cloud and crosses the lab. Closing in on the tubes, he notices how they’re each labeled at the base. A series of letters and numbers are printed on each.

XX-001-T

XX-002-T

And so on.

Pressing his hand to the cool glass, he wipes away the grime and dust only to find a face staring back at him. A muscle in Bucky’s arm twitches. He leans in to get a better look and instantly regrets it.

It’s humanoid, whatever it is. Small and barely unfurled from the fetal position it floats in. All sickly green skin and buldging, glassy eyes. Dead.

If he vomits down here, no one would ever know. Bucky doubts they’d judge him for it though. The figure looks too small to be an adult or full grown by any means.

Whatever failsafe had been keeping it alive, failed, and wound up drowning them. It? Whatever it was, it looked like a child. Jesus, it’s disturbing to say the least. Dark veins tracing lines along their arms and legs, and arms like a gorilla, but it is small— too small to die the way it did. A HYDRA science project gone horribly wrong.

What are you then? Some familiar voice echoes in the recesses of his mind, A project gone right?

Far from it.

Maybe that’s enough explanation for what he does next.

He marches to the next one, like a toy soldier with a purpose. All of a sudden this has nothing to do with HYDRA, and it has everything to do with seeing if any of these assets survived their early stages in the lab's fallout.

He finds another much smaller specimen that met the same fate. This one has pale blonde hair. Before the next tank, his boots splash against the tile and he realizes it had been busted open. Broken glass mingles in the spilled fluid. Each step crunches beneath his boots as he methodically checks this tank too and finds a sad, wet mess of limbs, and too many joints— he keeps moving.

Five tanks later and with no success, he reaches the chamber marked XX-08. Bucky feels something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. He is sure of what comes next. He will round this tank and find another floating corpse. How can it be anything else? How can he think that he can be the hero in this place? He knows what HYDRA can do. He knows that these aren’t anything more than experiments in test tubes with means to an end.

A rhythmic tapping breaks the silence. It’s soft, but intentional. It’s noticeable in the suffocating quiet. Bucky goes stock still. It’s the tank, the sound is coming from the tank. He slowly looks to his side and damn near has a heart attack. A pair of bright crimson eyes, blink back at him, and belong to something that is very much alive.

His earpiece crackles, “You’re not dead down there, are you Barnes?”

It’s Yelena. It’s always Yelena nowadays.

But what to say? ‘Not dead, but can’t say the same about the failed kid projects down here. Not to mention the one that’s STARING RIGHT AT ME. Yeah, don’t say that. Ease them into it. Think fast, Barnes, before Yelena starts the guessing game.

“Made it into the lab, and figured it would be simple, but it’s suddenly become a lot less… simple.” Bucky pauses, unsure of how to describe the creature before him as it starts pressing its hands to the glass. Engineered and grown by HYDRA. Did they know what they were? Did Bucky?

“You know I can’t really help if you don’t tell me what the problem is, Soldat.” Yelena is back on his shoulder, and he sighs.

“It’s Bucky.” And he gets the feeling it’s the last time he’ll hear that nickname from her. Yelena usually picks up on that. She’s good like that.

“It’s a —” He hesitates again, his mouth dry. Yeah, Bucky. What is it? “I’ve got something, just have the car ready once I’m out.”

“Mr. Talkative today, aren’t we? I’m still waiting for a special word.”

He rolls his eyes this time.

“Please, Yelena.” He grumbles, and maybe there’s a bit of a chuckle underneath.

“Oh! Gladly, Bucky!” And the radio clicks into silence.

And with that he turns to pull the plug on the tank. If anything, he’s doing the kid a favor. But he can’t seem to make himself follow through.

‘помощь!’

The hair on Bucky’s arm stands. He whips around, eyes frantically scanning for the source. But there’s no one else. Just him and experiment. XX-08-TO.

Help.

It’s simple Russian— nothing as complex as the libraries of vocabulary that sat in the darkest crevices of his memory. But much like riding a bike, it’s very hard to forget once you’ve learned it. Even when it’s stripped from you, apparently.

“How…?” He leans closer to the tube. If it was the kid, then how was it so clear?

HELP!

It’s clearer now, but the kid's mouth never moves. It’s like she spoke through the radio in his ear. It’s bizarre to say the least. But he hears them loud and clear.

“… back up.” He says, and gestures by brushing his hand forward in a motion. The kid complies by moving to the back of their tank and covering their head.

Bucky, in one fluid move, throws a punch into the glass wall. The impact splinters from the bottom all the way to the top. He shields his eyes just as explodes into fractals and water gushes over the edge. It sloshes over his boots and is weirdly heavy. Definitely not regular water. The kid collapses to their knees and hunches forward. They shudder and hack up lungfuls of the same fluid pooling around Bucky’s feet. Probably their body rejecting whatever it was. Bucky isn't some damn scientist, he didn’t understand it. All he sees is a kid— an experiment choking on whatever was keeping them alive for god knows how long.

None of it matters. Bucky grabs one of the abandoned lab coats and drapes it over their shoulders. His hand hovers— static… before it settles on their back and rubs in light, slow circles. He’s twelve and rubbing circles into his fever-ridden baby sister's back as she throws up into the waste bin.

“Easy there, kid. Cough it all up.” Bucky stays steadily beside them. They hiccup and sputter. He just focuses on holding them upright, and anchoring them. “It’ll feel better if you get it out.”

The kid shudders and leans into him. He can’t say he blames them. If that tube was some sort of stasis situation, then maybe this is shock? Some kind of involuntary body reset because he didn’t do whatever procedure that needed to be done? Because he decided to bust the glass in instead of looking for some damn instructions? Hell if he knew.

The circular massage is methodical. Nothing else comes out and now the kid gulps in the dank underground air in gaping lungfuls.

Bucky hasn’t needed to be this for anyone in a long time. Not since Bob, hell, not since the Thunderbolts as a whole. The act of taking care of someone had been foreign to him for so long that he almost forgot he knew how to do it.

He continues to guide, letting that brotherly instinct settle in, “Deep breaths, kid. Deep. You’re alright.”

The radio crackles to life, “So any groundbreaking discoveries from the rest of the team?” It’s Yelena. The liberal use is pretty much reserved to her, Bob, and Alexei.

“When’s the last time anyone’s been here again? There’s a bunch of these reports but they’re from 2012.” Ava’s disinterest comes through loud and clear, “Reports on different assets and something about collecting traceable genetic evidence. Listen to this, ‘Data collection has put our numbers at great risk. Just last week we lost 8 alone during the invasion of outer space. Prioritize all assets that have interstellar capabilities: Thor Odison is a prime candidate! and only move in after the conflict has settled. The Grand Commander will reward us greatly for our efforts. But first we must provide a living, successful specimen’— I mean they just keep rambling on and on about this Grand Commander guy, but it’s been a decade and this place is clearly abandoned.”

Specimen.

Bucky feels the weight of the kid in his arms. No more coughing, but they look exhausted.

“Leave it to HYDRA to stalk around after the fight is done.” Yelena’s voice is dripping with honesty.

“YELENA!” Everyone’s ear piece’s must squeal at the same time because their collective response to Alexei is to put it back in his ear, and not to yell into it like an actual microphone

“Dad! We’ve been through this— the ear piece goes in the ear. That is why it is called an ear piece.”

The effort is futile.

“NOT TO FEAR, I HAVE DISCOVERED THE SUPERIOR FORM OF COMMUNICATION ON THESE SMALL DEVICES. THIS IS MUCH CLEARER, YES?” Leave it to Alexei to collectively deafen the entire group.

Bucky can’t even massage his ear because his arms are full. Just his luck, honestly. That’s him, alright. Mr. Lucky Bucky.

Yelena is busy squabbling with Alexei over the shared line, and Bucky sighs. This could take a while, and waiting didn’t seem in his best interest. So, he moves to his feet, and leans down to the kid.

“Don’t need you stepping on some broken glass, so,” he gestures to his open arms. This kid stares back, and he feels the awkwardness filling the space between them. He lingers, thinks for a moment, then tries the request again.

This time, however, it is in Russian.

It’s perfect pronunciation, and it comes to him like second nature. He and Yelena use it from time to time to joke around Walker behind his back— he used to use it with Nat too. But that was a long time ago.

All at once the kid perks up and nods. Okay, so the kid definitely knew Russian— that made a weird amount of sense. Then again, yeah. If that’s all you hear for your whole life, it’s what you’ll pick up. Well, that along with being literally blue and having red eyes.

As much as Bucky wants to know exactly why that was, he doesn’t waste anymore time. He hooks his arms under the kids knees and shoulders, and lifts them up with ease. Then, in about half the time he took to get down, he made it back up to the surface.

Walker had joined in on the radio line to clog it up even more. Which was totally fine. It’s not like Bucky had anything major to report anyways. It’s not like he’s given orders to keep this line strictly professional.

Nope, not once.

So, it’s no surprise that the first thing out of Yelena’s mouth after he walks out of the door isn’t ‘What did you find?’ Or ‘What took so long?’

Rather it’s, “Ah, Bucky! So nice of you to— IS THAT A KID?”

Then, all at once, the whole team does something that Bucky hasn’t seen in a long time. They’re silent.

He can hear the wind pushing a stray plastic bag across the blacktop.

“As far as I’m aware.” Short and simple as he crosses the space between them and aims for the black van that was borrowed to their team.

“Uh, wait a damn second, why are you putting her in the van? She obviously needs a hospital or something—“ Walker’s quick to catch up with him, but Bucky doesn’t falter.

“Oh yeah, because they’re going to understand why this kid is blue.” No one argues with that logic. And without missing a beat, he adds to answer Yelena’s unasked question, “We aren’t keeping her either. We take her back to the tower, get her something to wear and eat, then I’ll handle the rest.”

Two silences in one day. Bucky’s luck is looking up. He buckles the kid into the back, and Ava phases in. The mask hides whatever she must be thinking, but she sheds her hooded cloak. In one sweep, the little girl is tucked in.

Yelena sits on her other side and Bucky feels comfortable leaving the back of the van. Well, he does until something pulls at the back of his jacket. He’s about to scold Yelena, but turns to realize it’s the girl’s sinewy azure fingertips gripping him instead.

He sighs and sits down next to her. Alexei and John take the front seats, and before long the van is rumbling to life and the ride back is mostly uneventful. John and Alexei are going back and forth about what the team should have for supper, Ava is tucked in a corner where she can keep an eye on the kid, and Yelena actually looks like she fell asleep. The kid did too, their cheek pressed into Bucky’s arm.

He squints, then sighs and leans back. No point in fighting it.

He pulls out his cellphone and his fingers punch out a text before he returns it to his pocket.

Now all he had to do was wait. He can do that.

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