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apuckishwit · 2 years

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Pining!Eddie and Wingman!Gareth

A preview of chapter 25 of Rolled a 1 on the Check, Rolled a 20 on the Save by APuckish_Wit on AO3

Eddie is awoken by sharp rapping on his front door, at an hour that is entirely too early to be conscious when he has nothing scheduled for the day.

He groans as he rolls over in bed, dislodging Gandalf from his back with a grumpy mrrow. He runs his hand over the cat’s head in apology, grabbing his phone from his nightstand and squinting at the screen. “The fuck?” he mumbles.

“Eddie! Eddie I know you’re in there! Open up!”

Gareth.

“The fuck,” he mumbles again, with more feeling this time, rolling out of the bed and not bothering to throw on a shirt over the boxers he slept in last night. If Gareth wants to bother him at ass o’clock in the morning, he can damn well deal with Eddie not feeling like getting dressed just yet. Smacking his lips and grimacing at the sticky crust of drool at the corners, he pads out to his living room and opens the door, scooping Gandalf off the floor with practiced ease when he makes his predictable break for the freedom of the hallway.

Why he wants to get out into the hallway is anyone’s guess, as he always immediately starts scratching and yowling to be let back in if Eddie closes the door behind him, but he tries every time.

“Dude, seriously? You couldn’t put some clothes on?” Gareth scoffs as he shoves past Eddie, not waiting for an invitation.

“You have literally seen me naked,” Eddie says, shutting the door and letting Gandalf slip from his arms.

“Not willingly!”

Yeah, it was kind of hard to get privacy in a studio apartment with a postage-stamp sized bathroom…but Gareth had been letting him couch surf there for free, so he hadn’t exactly been able to complain.

“So, not that I’m not happy to see you, but what errand is so momentous that it requires you to come knocking on my door at this obscene hour?” He shuffles into the kitchen and hits the switch on the coffeepot, before pulling the fridge open and examining the contents. “You want a bagel?” he asks after a moment, digging a bag of poppyseed bagels, some cream cheese, and strawberry jam out.

“Nah, I ate on the way over,” Gareth says. He’s making himself at home at Eddie’s small kitchen table, pulling notebooks, pens, and highlighters out of his messenger bag. Eddie raises an eyebrow, propping his hip against the counter while he waits for his bagel to toast.

“Are we doing homework?”

Gareth spins a pencil in his fingers the way he used to spin his drumsticks, stabbing it towards Eddie with a determined glint in his eye. “Yes. We are coming up with a gameplan to figure out if you have a shot with Steve.”

Eddie blinks. “We’re doing what now?”

“You heard me. You’re pining, Munson. Like, I haven’t seen you down this bad for someone since Jackson.”

Eddie winces at the mention of his ex—his longest relationship to date, the man he’d been considering introducing to Wayne. He’d been ready to talk about moving in together, maybe even getting engaged, when Jackson had blindsided him by taking a job overseas. Hadn’t even talked to him, first, hadn’t even told Eddie he was considering it. He’d tried to spin it as not wanting to be influenced on such a big decision about his future. His future, not their future.

Yeah, they hadn’t lasted long after that.

Gareth’s face softens a little. “Sorry,” he says, voice sincere and contrite. “But the point stands.”

“Gar,” Eddie sighs, raking a hand back through the tangles of his hair. “We’ve talked about this. He had a long-term girlfriend—like, high school sweethearts shit. He hasn’t said anything, but I’m pretty sure he’d have married her if she hadn’t broken it off with him.”

“Valid data, but not conclusive,” Gareth counters. “Jeff had a couple long-term girlfriends too, and he and Aidan are going strong. Also bi people exist, Eddie.”

“I know that! And Jeff was so far in the closet before he met us, he was having tea with Mr. Tumnus,” Eddie says with an affectionate laugh. “Steve does not give me that vibe. The closet vibe or the bi vibe.” He fixes a couple of coffees to his and Gareth’s liking, and then sits down across from Gareth with his breakfast. He takes a couple morose bites of his bagel. “Dude, look. I appreciate it. I really do. But I did the whole ‘falling for straight boys’ thing in high school and it never brought me anything good. Steve’s a really great friend. I’m fine with that.”

Gareth tilts his head, staring at Eddie with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Anyway, so Jeff, Aidan, and I went back and watched all your streams with him. Side note, Aidan thinks he sounds hot, is he hot? I don’t care, but Jeff and Aidan really wanted to know.”

“So hot,” Eddie sighs, though he doesn’t mention how he knows. That video was public knowledge, but he doesn’t feel like getting teased for cyberstalking. “Like…he’s beautiful, man.”

“Mmhmm,” Gareth hums, making a notation on his notebook. Eddie huffs, reaching across the table to grab the top of his pencil.

“Gareth, seriously. I love you so much for what you’re trying to do, but there’s no point. I’ll get over him, eventually.”

“Ah, but you haven’t heard my rationale, yet.”

“Oh, there’s a rationale? Do tell.”

“I will. And that rationale is…we think he’s flirting with you, too.” It’s not quite a record-scratch moment, but it comes pretty close. Eddie freezes, staring at his best friend. Gareth smirks at him, leaning back in his chair. “Yup. All three of us. We watched all the streams you’ve put up, and we each wrote down any time we thought Steve was doing something we’d interpret as flirty and when we compared notes, they were almost identical. And that’s not even counting all the people in your views who think there’s something going on between you two.”

“You…you guys ran an experiment about this?” Eddie asks slowly, unsure if he’s grateful or horrified that his friends care so much about his (non-existent) love life.

Gareth waves him off. “Sort of. Point is, as two men in a committed relationship and one man who spent a not-insignificant amount of time in high school trying to sus out if people were serious or just messing with you when they were making eyes at you—we think this bears further investigation.”

Gandalf curls around Eddie’s legs, meowing pitifully until Eddie picks him up and swipes a smear of cream cheese onto his thumb for Gandalf to lick. “I don’t know,” he says, voice wavering even to his own ears. “I feel like I would have noticed if Steve was flirting with me.”

Gareth snorts into his coffee. “You absolutely would not. You put the moves on anything with a pulse, but you’re always shocked as fuck when anyone reciprocates.”

And that’s…okay, yeah, that’s a fair point. Still, Gareth doesn’t have to say it out loud and shit. “Rude,” he mutters, taking a drink of his coffee.

“But accurate. So, how ‘bout it?” Gareth hovers his pencil over the notebook, waggling his eyebrows. “Even if we’re wrong, at least you’ll know.”

Eddie gnaws on his lip a moment, scratching behind Gandalf’s ears. There are a myriad of reasons not to rock the boat—not least of which is the fact that he’s still not convinced Steve is anything but straight. That—that would’ve come up in their conversations at some point by now, wouldn’t it? And even if he’s not, how compatible are there lives, really? They live on opposite sides of the country, and Steve seems pretty set on building a life in Chicago.

Not that—not that Eddie’s, like, super invested in Seattle. He can do the work he does anywhere, really, and Chicago is a hell of a lot closer to Wayne. Not that…whoa, not that he needs to be thinking in those terms right now. Or ever, really.

Just…

He thinks of how easy it is to talk to Steve. How much he likes reading to him, listening to him ramble about how his favorite teams are doing in their playoffs as he putters around in his kitchen. How much Steve seems to like listening to him go off on any of the subjects that have caught his attention, asking thoughtful questions and remembering important points weeks later. They are so, so different, but they just mesh, making room for each other in their lives and being happy with the space they each take up, and all without ever having met face to face.

He shouldn’t encourage Gareth. He is rapidly realizing that Steve is pretty much everything he’s ever wanted in a man, but he is not lucky enough for life to have just dropped someone like that in his lap and have an actual chance with them. Life only works that way in his stories and games.

Still…would it hurt to know for sure? If—if there is a chance that Steve would reciprocate his feelings.

Oh holy fuck, if he did reciprocate…

“What do you have in mind?” he asks, leaning forward as Gareth’s grin turns as pleased as a cat who’s caught the canary.

#my writing #Rolled a 1 on the check Rolled a 20 on the save #steddie #snippets #Oh I'm having fun with this chapter

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thatsgoodsquishy0 · 10 months

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Pairing: F!Reader x Ranger!Sam Coe Rating: M+ Bio: Set during Sam’s younger years working as a Freestar Ranger alongside his wife, Lillian Hart. Whether circumstance, or impossible luck, you're given a second chance at life, ultimately growing close to The Coes. You take a shine to Cora, but the family dynamic is something else entirely, albeit a little overwhelming, as you realize the toll Lillian's absence has taken on the family, but more specifically, her husband. Sam Coe is witty, charming, and ambitious; a man who knows what he wants and stops at nothing to reach his goals, but when his wife seems to prioritize her career over her family, it's hard not to notice the strain growing inside him. Your friendship may be just the support Sam needs, even if the temptations for something more linger, and when your past threatens your future, where will your morals lie? Will you end up back where you started? Chemistry is a cruel mistress chapter i: Bound cross-posted to AO3 credit of course to the lovely @seraaphiel for keeping the Ranger!Sam spirit alive & @cafekitsune for the divider. special thanks to @fangbangerghoul and @bearlytolerant for literally hyping me up every day to write this fic. your endless support and love inspire me more than you know. and THANK YOU to the readers who've enjoyed this journey so far!! <3

i listened to this song from the Red Dead Redemption II soundtrack pretty much on repeat while writing. it fits the vibe of the chapter, and if you'd like a little extra immersion, feel free to play it whilst reading.

ii. MAN OVERBOARD

You stood beneath the torrent of water, your skin gently scalding as you waited for your body to adjust to the temperature. When it did, you sighed and stared at the shower wall, gaze blank. Your hair felt heavy, weighed down by the stream and caked with blood that was slowly breaking away. You looked down at your feet. Grime and gore snaked through the grout of the tile floor, slipping into the holes of the drain, gurgling as steam enveloped the shower.

Minutes passed. You waited for the water to run clear. Streaks of diluted red flowed down your chest, past your stomach, and in between your legs, reaching the bottom. You lifted your hands, eyes glaring at the bracelets of purple and black wrapped around your wrists. You turned your palms towards the ceiling assessing the rest of your injury, only to find your hands trembling; inflamed with anger. A scream simmered in your throat, ready to boil over. Whether the heat of the water or justified wrath seething within, your face reddened and nostrils flared. Your lips curled as you parted them, ready, but then, you drew a steady breath instead; a warning to yourself to behave, be civil, because this was not your space.

You were a trespasser.

You quickly grabbed for the nearest shampoo bottle and squeezed a handful into your palm, lathered it up, then rocked your hands back and forth against your scalp. Frothy bubbles of red poured down and settled between your toes. You swiped your foot towards the drain, flicking away the bubbles, splashing your soles against the floor. You shivered as the water devolved to luke-warm, and frantically, you scrubbed your skull raw. You closed your eyes. Rinsed. Grabbed another handful of shampoo. Lathered. Scrubbed. Rinsed.

By the time you finished, you felt as though the nerves in your wrist might snap. Your vision blurred by a mix of water and tears, your legs buckled as if they were jelly. You slid back against the wall and curled your legs into your chest as you rested your forehead against the fresh bruises on your kneecaps. Underneath the water with your lips locked, you allowed yourself to cry, tears streaming into the rushing cool. If no one heard you, it would be okay.

You were owed this, and with time, vengeance against him would owe you, too.

Sam

The mission was straight and narrow, albeit improvised, but when it came to the badge, Sam was no stranger to unscripted moments. Hell, he enjoyed spontaneity most of the time, but when an innocent’s life entered the picture, there were strict rules he followed – a code to adhere to; be on the same page. Disagreement was a form of arguing, and arguments led to distractions, and distractions got you killed. Sam lounged back in his chair, his feet propped on the desk and arms crossed against his chest as he waited for Lillian to finish her debriefing with the Marshal. He knew this was coming, still he bit the inside of his cheek. He had every right to that conversation, yet she kept him on the sidelines, as if he were a witness, but maybe it was best that way. Lillian’s memory was exceptional and she’d have a thoroughly combed-through report for Marshal Blake, all the while Sam brushed past details he thought were trivial, like what time the ship was ambushed.

But there was nothing in that report about Sam recognizing the rescued woman.

Weeks ago, he was sitting at the bar nursing his second thumbs worth of whiskey, his attempt at unwinding from the day proving idle as he drank. His hat was warm against his head, the beginning thrums of a migraine settling in. He shut his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. Cora was just getting over a fever, which meant she’d spent more than enough time with Jacob.

He counted — four days. Four days without her. He was stir-crazy, his father’s intuition scratching at his bones as every waking thought flashed to the Coe Estate, little Cora putzing around and Jacob’s manipulative eyes beaming upon her as he planned her entire future. Bet that just got his bastard heart beating with pride thinking she’d carry on the legacy someday -- the dreaded Coe legacy, at least, the one Jacob twisted to fit into his narrative.

Sam’s lips grimaced against the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

His absence was justified (warranted, at least, by his leaders), but one day without his daughter was tough enough. Four days was agony, and Lillian wasn’t much comfort considering the only conversations they seemed to share were Ranger-related.

The Rangers could wipe out every single drug lord in the Settled Systems and Sam still wouldn’t sleep a wink – not without twinges of guilt stabbing him through the night.

He signaled for a third glass of amber liquid, and for a fleeting second imagined the opportunities of fatherhood and marriage away from the Freestar Rangers.

As soon as his drink manifested in front of him, he tabled the thought, thanked the bartender, then lifted the edge of the glass to his lips. He took a burning swig, familiar heat landing in his stomach as he wiped his mouth, and then, he saw her; face plastered on the tv screen, a lifted curve to her lips and a gleaming kindness in her eye — a complete departure from the woman Sam would later carry out of a fried spaceship filled with dead bodies. The camera focused on a plaque sandwiched between her and another adult, some official maybe, outside a storefront.

… but which store was it again?

Sam shook off his recollection, his focus turning to Lillian’s chestnut brown ponytail as it swung to the side as she spoke. Her hip jutted out just a tad; one of the few mannerisms Sam picked up on over the years. His gaze lingered with anticipation, tracing modestly all the ways the ranger’s outfit hugged her body. Some days, he couldn’t believe they were a young married couple fighting the good fight, and other days, it was suspicious; this future he never conceived for himself, laid out by a woman who shared his last name, and was the mother of his child.

Sam guessed she was wrapping up her conversation; the body cue being a slight turn away from the other Ranger, as if her mind were there, but her body was ready to leave. She caught his stare, but offered little more than a cocked eyebrow and neutral gaze. Sam gifted a smile, teeth and all, to his wife as she traveled closer.

“Feet down,” Lillian said, her southern drawl popping out.

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam uncrossed his arms as he sat upright in his chair, adjusted his hat. “So, what’d the Marshal have to say?”

“You’re gonna love this. Turns out that ship we ambushed? Stolen. Reported weeks ago. We’ll have to notify the owner of its condition and locale, which unfortunately means more paperwork on our end.”

“I don’t think they’re gonna want it once we tell’em, well, whatever it is we’re gonna tell’em.”

“That won’t be our problem. Marshal said if that woman was found on that ship alive, chances are she’s involved.”

“You don’t think, wrong place, wrong time? Sort of thing?”

Lillian shook her head. “I get the sick feeling they were keeping her for something.”

“Which means there was some serious illegal shit happenin’ on that ship,” Sam stated, his mind recalling what lined the path to the cockpit; dead bodies, ecliptics, … cases of harvested organs.

His stomach churned.

Lillian grabbed a slate from her pocket, pushed a few buttons, then brought the screen closer to Sam.“These were the ship’s last inputted coordinates. I had them downloaded before we left. Once we crack this, we’ll know where they were headed. Hopefully that, plus any information this woman is willing to spill, should give us enough of a lead.”

“You really went the extra mile, Mrs. Coe.” He stood from his chair, closing the distance between them. He traced the outline of her lips, his eyes noting the divot on the top in the middle. He could kiss her now, hell, he wanted to, if not for the active duty reminder on her chest.

“Oh, Sam. I’m just doing my job.”

“And you do it so well,” he replied.

Her smile beamed, as if that was her favorite compliment to hear from him. Sam leaned his palms against the desk, and dropped his head forward, stretching out his neck. “Should I grab us some Terrabrew?” A longing in his heart guided him closer, practically breathing her own air as the gravel in his voice barely whispered. “Could be a long night.”

“I’m alright, thanks.” She grabbed his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Shouldn’t be a long night if she cooperates,” Lillian said.

Sam’s hands itched to grab her waist, but his restraint knew better. “And if she doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll have to use oppressive measures.”

He pressed his lips together immediately, words backpedaling against his tongue.“I — um, I thought we weren’t gonna go that route. She’s been through enough, don’t you think?”

“That was before she became a possible suspect, Sam. Don’t go soft on me now.”

“Ain’t going soft on you, but we gotta look at it differently. If we go in there yelling and screaming at her, she’s gonna clam up, then we’ll absolutely get that long night.”

Lillian paused, grazing over his innuendo as she pursed her lip. “If that’s what you think we should do.”

Instinct nudged at Sam’s subconscious. He’d done this before; hell, he was an expert at this point. The only achievable method towards controlling the unattainable was befriending the impossible; becoming a false ally. The Coe name wouldn’t work in this scenario, he knew that, but the skills collected throughout his years as a rebellious adult taught him a thing or two about word play, specifically, verbal disguise — manipulation.

“I mean … if that’s what you think would work,” he double checked. “I just think if we get her to trust us, she’ll lay her cards out on the table.”

Lillian cocked her head, arms crossing in front of her chest as she stifled a frown, leaned back against the desk. “It could work, and it could not. We can’t risk this plan failing. What if she refuses to tell us anything at all?”

“She won’t.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Cuz even if she was involved, nearly getting shot by ecliptics wasn’t part of the plan. If we didn’t show up when we did, guns ablazin, she’d be dead.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

Twice. She disagreed with him twice, now, which was conventional and always came from a place of concern, but even something as routine as administering a trauma pack to a survivor shouldn’t have been a slippery slope, yet the argument steamed up a train of thought that chugged at his brain. Comparatively, Lillian’s motives centered around the heart of what it meant to be a Ranger; Frontier Justice — protecting and preserving the best interests for the Freestar Collective, but her experience with the seedy Underbelly of the black market was only surface level. Sam didn’t write the book when it came to smuggling, but he definitely had his hand in a few chapters. He recognized his talents, beyond piloting a ship. Lillian was due for that reminder.

Down the hall, the woman waited in the room. Confidence swelled inside his chest. He was capable of making Lillian and The Rangers proud.

He met Lillian’s eyes, speaking directly into them as not only her partner, but her husband as well.

“Let me talk to her.”

The Ranger’s interrogation room consisted of three gray walls with an accent brick wall mixed in, a table and a chair, and a single two-way mirror. Sam had listened to many culprits inside the square asylum, a place he’d heard justifications ranging from misunderstandings in a bar to cold-blooded murder. Innocent until proven guilty was an old earth law, but credibility lurked within the ancient rule still, even if the Ranger’s didn’t out rightly practice it. He’d give this woman the benefit of the doubt until his morals persuaded him she was liable enough for arrest.

But that’s if he could get her to speak.

Lillian’s focal point consisted on cracking the coordinates for the ship’s final landing, as well as finding the owner of the stolen vessel. Sam knew she preferred to have her hands full rather than empty, sometimes taking on more than he thought she could handle, but he respected his wife’s decisions, knowing her ambitions meant new leads for the Rangers to follow, and he snatched up any opportunity to assist where he felt the most helpful.

A rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins as he took a breath, remembering the mission, remembering what Lillian expected, what The Rangers expected. The door creaked mildly as he pushed it open.

If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he entered the wrong room.

She appeared human; a near perfect clone of the woman he’d caught a glimpse of on TV. The air smelt of dust and earth, but there was a trace smell he could only describe as the planetside scent of a descending waterfall. Sam met her anonymous stare, his own nameless as he sat down and cleared his throat.

“Do you remember me?” He asked.

She nodded her head. A flatness to her eyes.

“How are you, uh, feelin?”

“Fine.”

Was she already lying? How could he be so sure? What answer did he expect to hear the moment the question left his lips? He asked out of courtesy, a spark to break the ice, but it felt out of place, like forced small talk, but fact of the matter was she didn’t weep or fold into a blubbering, nonsensical mess, like he predicted.

Strangely, a sense of reverence led Sam forward.

“Can I get you some water?”

“No.”

Her composure remained as stiff as her back against the wood slats of the chair. Whatever her angle, he had to play his hand logically. Stamp the obvious on the forefront of his brain; she was here for a reason.

“Alright. I’m gonna ask you some questions. I know you’ve been through hell and back, but I need you to answer them honestly, okay? We want whoever did this to you to face severe punishment. I’m sure you want that, too … you do, right?”

In that moment, it was as if the gears stuttered within the mechanism of her brain as her face hid any indication of an answer. Sam waited, greatly anticipating her response, his elbows propped on the table and folded hands inches away from his chin. He tilted his head, and when she still didn’t speak, he verbally poked her. “Ma’am? Do you want justice against the one who did this to you?”

Her face shot up, eyes cold. “I do.”

“Alright then,” he began, leaning forward, his hands dropping onto the table. “We’ll start from the beginning, ease ya into it. What do you remember before the events of last night?”

Her hardened persistence remained, but he noticed the small lax in her shoulders as she took a breath. Her eyes closed. “I was at my friend’s apartment, just needed a box of my things that I’d forgotten,” she recalled, opening her eyes, her hues connecting to Sam’s. “I couldn’t just leave it there, but I thought about it. I thought about turning around and going back home, but I didn’t.”

“Must have been important to you — whatever was in that box.”

“I – I like to collect old Earth books. Sinclair’s pays me to refurbish them as best I can, and then I donate extra copies around the Settled Systems.”

Sinclair’s. That was the storefront she posed in front of on TV.

He leaned back against his chair, his cowboy hat tipped gently, shadowing his forehead under luminescent ceiling lights. “My daughter? Loves books. She just goes crazy for them. Of course, she can’t read them yet, but when I read to her, she giggles her little head off.” He offered a lightness in the room, sharing something normal, something friendly, something … definite, as the real questions simmered on the tip of his tongue. “Did you ever get your books back?”

“No.”

Sam frowned. “I imagine those books took some hard work to find. When this is over, would you like us to help track them down for you?”

She smirked, thinly, neither coy nor aggressive. “You won’t find them. They were jettisoned into space. Besides, it’s not that important.” She averted her eyes. “Not anymore, at least.”

He could hear the subdued ache within her words, but he still wasn’t pushing her enough.

“How did you find out your things had been scrapped?”

“I just … sort of assumed.”

“You assumed?” Sam repeated.

“Well, I … I really don’t remember.”

“Could you try?”

“I am trying, sir.”

“It’s Sam. Just Sam is fine.”

“Okay, Sam,” she said. “It’s all just … I don’t know. Blurry.”

“It’s common for foggy gaps in the memory when you’ve gone through … everything you’ve gone through.” He switched directions, like a sly fox cornering his prey. “Those assumptions you felt, they came from somewhere, and you didn’t leave the apartment. Did your friend ever come back?”

“No, I never saw him,” she said, an unusual rise in her vocal tone.

“If you never saw him and you don’t remember what happened last night, then how did you get on that ship?”

“Sir — Sam, I – I don’t know –”

“ – cuz that’s a large chunk of time not accounted for, and suddenly you just, don’t remember?”

“Like you said, brain fog and —”

“No, your selective memory’s not adding up, and I’m willing to bet credits you've been lyin’ for some time now.”

“No I’m not lying it’s just — fuck,” her voice cracked on the swear, her hands quick to cradle her head. Sam stared at the deep purple and blue bruises bound around her wrists. His throat burned. He twisted his focus elsewhere. “Look,” she started, “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, okay? I’m just – so fucked.” Her breaths shortened, raspy and thin as her forehead met the table with a thunk, arms barricading her face.

Inside the small of the room her confession lingered. The air was flexible now, much to Sam’s chagrin, knowing that whatever, or whoever, possessed her to lie to his face still controlled her thoughts even after all the nightmares she endured.

But lying to a Ranger — that was a punishable offense.

Muffled sobs clogged the room. An ache of sympathy lumped in Sam’s throat. He knew his duties, abided by them each time he fastened his badge to the uniform, but something about her confession pulled on his judgment. No moments of clarity graced this woman as she continued to wail, her pain amplified by what Sam could only imagine was the threatening fear of fate now that she’d confessed.

He swallowed. “I, um, uh … well, I appreciate your honesty, and if you could continue to give me that, I’ll … I’ll try and help you as best as I can.” He paused, quickly adding, “I can’t promise anything, but, if you tell me the truth from here on out … you have my word that I will try. Alright?”

She sniffled, her eyes slowly poking out from the crevice of her forearm, cheeks dampened and lips swollen. She considered him with a long pause, and finally, as silence embraced the room again, he watched her sit up. “I don’t know how you could help me.”

“We’re reasonable,” Sam encouraged. “And what we do holds alotta weight, being the law and all.”

“No, you don’t understand. There’s nothing the law can do.”

He stifled a chuckle. “You’d be surprised.”

“I would be, actually, considering — fuck, okay.” She inhaled, long and purposeful, as if bracing herself. “I just don’t know, Sam. I’ve backed myself into a corner here and —”

“Then let me help you get out.” He tugged his body forward, catching uncertainty in her eyes as her gaze shuffled around the room, before finally attaching to his. “What are you scared of?”

“Everything.”

The room seemed to shrink. A sparseness filling Sam’s lungs as he breathed the gravity of her response, and the strain of it all – organs, murders, human smuggling, unbridled fear. His morals never disobeyed him, but the law … the law had its limits.

The Ranger pored over the suspect sitting across from him, and for a moment, her visage morphed to the woman he regarded on TV. The brightness in her eyes, her strong posture, and a smile that stretched across her face. No blood. No bruises. No tears.

“You were on SSNN, weren’t you?”

“Yes .. I was.”

“I saw you. In front of a store – Sinclair’s maybe? You were smilin’ and holding a plaque of some kind.”

Her eyes bulged, almost as if she’d forgotten as she touched her throat. “My citizen’s award.”

Sam nodded, a thin smile of respect growing on his lips. “Tell me how you got that.”

“... I traveled to a LIST settlement that specializes in fostering families affected by the Colony War. On my trip back, a reporter for SSNN took a seat next to me and … I guess the rest speaks for itself.”

“That’s really amazing. I’m sure those families really appreciated your doing that.”

She gave a half smile; humble but acknowledged.

Sam continued, “So, how does someone like you end up mixed in with the garbage of this mess?”

She faintly shrugged, shaking her head. “How do any of us end up in the messes we make?”

“Dumb decisions, not thinking about the consequences, … trusting the wrong people.” Sam observed her cadence, gauging any type of reaction that might reveal the rest of her; a twitch of the lip, an averted gaze, something.

“Was your friend involved?”

Nothing.

“Maybe they bit off more than they could chew? Ran into the wrong, very wrong, crowd? And now you’re payin’ the price because you … you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, too?”

He caught the clench of her jaw.

“Hell, maybe your friend doesn’t even exist.”

Her face flushed a bright red. “No that’s –”

“Not what? The truth? The truth that’s gonna be your saving grace if you just cooperate with me?”

“Fuck! I’m trying! Okay?!” She slammed her palms on the table, alerting Sam’s trigger finger as his hand flinched to his sidearm, but he didn’t retrieve it as she bellowed. “You think this is easy for me? Huh?! My life is on the line here. Again! And he’ll do much, much worse to me now than whatever those ecliptic fucks were paid to do!”

Sam raised his hands, his voice calm and diffusing. “Easy. Just — take a breath, and tell me about this he.”

She laughed, a frown etched across her face as she ran her fingers through her hair and held her head. “Might as well, right? I’m as good as dead.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Sam said.

“You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with death. Try me.”

His challenge left her rigid, or so Sam thought, until she regarded him earnestly, the whites of her eyes growing pale as she spoke. “How can you be so sure I’ll be safe?”

That damn question again; poking and prodding at his abilities as if his intuition was nothing but a fluke, as if his experience was nothing but fictional. For god sakes, he wouldn’t be alive if it were and he wouldn’t be the man he was today without it teaching him, guiding him, encouraging him.

As long as this woman revealed what she knew to Sam and The Rangers, he would do everything in his power to make sure she didn’t suffer at the hands of this — this tormentor. Sam was a man of his word.

“I just am.”

The woman lowered her head, eyes low as if reflecting on what’s to come. Defeated, but not hopeless.

“Now, can you tell me who he is?”

“He is … a plague. A disease. The cause of so much suffering across the Settled Systems, and he is … everywhere.”

Sam cocked his eyebrow. “Who?”

“Медведь. The Bear.”

#oooooh new character on the rise? most definitely #heavy dialogue woohoo!#also where are my blink 182 fans the title is for you #anyways i sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter!#sucks i'm sick but oh well more writing time #starfield fanfiction #coemancer #sam coe x reader #reader x Sam Coe #seriously thank you for the support it pushes me to remember to have fun cuz writing is fun

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