#and if he did manage to extricate himself somehow without injury

[dailyayao]

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 8

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí, Su She | Su Minshan, Madam Jin, Jin Zixuan, Wen Qing

Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals, Near Death Experiences, Attempted Murder, Eventual Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Siblings, Protective Siblings, Soup, Triggers, Protective Lan WangJi, Protective Lán Qǐrén, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Bad Parent Yú Zǐyuān, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: Lan Qiren wakes them to let them know of Wen Qing's arrival and her desire to ensure Wei Wuxian's meridians are healing.

Notes: See end.

Warnings: Reference to poisoning, infanticide, assassination, and chronic illness in this chapter.

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

AO3 link

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Wangji woke, warm and comfortable, to the sound of shufu’s throat clearing, and sat up to find he had fallen asleep with Wei Ying curled close, both the Jiang siblings also asleep, Jiang Wanyin curled at the foot of the bed, Jiang Yanli seated on a chair, but with her upper body on the bed, one arm around Wei Ying.

He had the wherewithal to be careful extricating himself from Wei Ying so as not to disturb his much-needed sleep, and stood to bow to his uncle.

“Shufu, Wangji apologizes for his conduct.”

“No need,” Lan Qiren replied, looking uncomfortable. “Last night was fraught for you all.”

Jiang Wanyin was the next to stir at the conversation, and he also greeted shufu politely before moving to gently wake Jiang Yanli.

“Wen-zongzhu has arrived,” Lan Qiren informed them. “His niece would like to assess Wei Wuxian’s recovery. I did not… inform them of the stress that he has faced.”

“The healer said his meridians seemed unharmed,” Wangji said, troubled.

Shufu favored him with a gentle look, one likely meant to calm, but it raised his anxiety over Wei Ying’s condition.

“Likely they are correct,” he said. “But Wen Qing is the foremost medical cultivator and would be able to assess him with more expertise.”

Wangji felt frozen, uncertain as to whether he should wake Wei Ying, but Jiang Yanli decided the matter for him. She murmured softly to him, tousled his hair gently, easing it out of the braid she’d put it in the night before.

Wei Ying looked beautifully disheveled when he did sit up, eyes half-lidded as he murmured questioningly at his sworn sister, his words barely recognizable—something unsurprising after the late night.

When he saw shufu, he jerked awake more fully, attempting a bow that unbalanced him and would have sent him off the bed, had Jiang Wanyin not grabbed his arm.

“None of that, Wei Wuxian. Wen-daifu wishes to check on your progress while her uncle discusses trade matters with myself and Xichen. Aside from that, a day of rest is in order for you all. We are investigating matters.”

“Lan-xiansheng, do you know if Wen Ning came with?” Wei Ying asked, sounding hesitant. 

Though Wei Ying had befriended him at the competition at Nightless City, Wangji knew he hadn’t been able to see the boy since, with Wen Qionglin’s weak constitution. They had exchanged letters, prior to the incident at the Lotus Pier discussion conference. Wei Ying had not written, or at least sent, letters since his arrival at the Cloud Recesses, though.

“He was not fit to travel,” shufu told him softly. “But you can ask after him with Wen-daifu.”

Wei Ying nodded, disappointed. 

Shufu excused himself to see to Wen-zongzhu, letting them know Wen Qing would be by shortly. 

Wen Qionglin’s illness was well-known, the injury suffered when Wen-furen and her newborn, Wen Chao, were poisoned. Their firstborn, Wen Xu, had died under mysterious circumstances that had also left Wen-furen weak to the point of often being bedridden, and so Wen-zongzhu had called upon his cousins in a medical branch of the clan to attend her second pregnancy personally. 

As it had turned out, the firstborn had been murdered, Wen-furen’s illness the result of poison. Unfortunately, it was only discovered when Wen-furen, her newborn, and Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing’s parents were dead, little Wen Qionglin, barely a toddler at the time, himself poisoned. Wen Qing had been lucky, at a lesson at the time and thus untouched. 

It had obviously been foul play, and an investigation revealed that a secondary branch of the family had been behind it, seeking to usurp the sect leader through assassinating his heirs in infancy. 

After having the ringleaders executed for high treason, Wen Ruohan had exiled every man, woman, and child from that branch of the clan to Dongying. It had been considered mercy, as he could have instead determined justice could only be served through miezu. He had announced that he did not believe justice would be served by executing or enslaving children for the non-crime of being born to a family and did not believe creating more orphans by executing only the adults would be just, either. The alternative of exile had been graciously accepted by the secondary branch. 

He had never remarried, nor sought to have more children, instead taking the orphaned Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin into his household, naming the former his heir and ensuring her sibling received the best care available.

Wen Qionglin’s illness left him often bedridden and weak like his aunt had been, though he was quite kind and soft-spoken, and painfully shy. Wei Ying had met him on a rare day when he was feeling better and practicing archery, having gotten lost in the area around the tournament. He had given him tips and encouraged him to enter the tournament, at least to show his skill in the segment that involved stationary targets.

With his coaxing, the boy had scored several bullseyes in front of the crowd, increasing his standing among his peers despite his illness. Where previously the cultivation world had looked upon Wen Qionglin with pity, it was now impressed that someone with such a difficult chronic illness had become an accomplished archer. 

“I am sure Wen Qionglin would enjoy hearing from you again,” Wangji said softly. “Perhaps his sister can bring him a letter if you wish to write him before she leaves.”

Wei Ying nodded again, frowning slightly. 

“I’ve been a terrible friend.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Wei Wuxian,” someone said from the hallway, and Wen Qing entered the room a moment later. “You’ve been ill. A-Ning understands.”

That elicited a deeper frown from Wei Ying.

“I haven’t been sick,” he objected. 

Wen Qing snorted. 

“Maybe not physically, but I’ve been receiving regular updates from the healers here. You suffered a traumatic event, and it injured your mind. Illness comes in different forms.”

Wei Ying looked away, frowning—it seemed he hadn’t considered his struggles an illness, despite being treated by healers in the Cloud Recesses.

“Honestly, Wei Wuxian… A-Ning really understands. He misses your letters, but Lan-zongzhu and the healers have kept me apprised, so he knows you’ve had difficulty. Stop being so fucking hard on yourself.”

If Wangji hadn’t met her at several points during his life, her profanity might have surprised him, but instead he was simply glad it made Wei Ying smile.

“Ah, Wen Qing, your bedside manner is refreshing,” he said lightly, and she rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion.

“I overheard that there have been… issues,” she said after a moment.

Wei Ying’s jaw clenched, a slight tremor running through him at the reminder.

“Some asshole put lotuses in his quarters, and then ours,” Jiang Wanyin supplied. “On purpose.”

“That’s why A-Xian is in the infirmary,” Jiang Yanli added softly. “He was ill when he saw them.”

“And smelled them,” Wei Ying said, his voice catching.

“The healers were concerned about his meridians and… the possibility of qi deviation,” Wangji said, nearly choking on the last part.

He kept his eyes on Wei Ying so as to stave off the image of him bleeding from his eyes and nose and ears and mouth in the mud.

Wen Qing looked almost murderous for a brief moment before her face smoothed.

“They induced a flashback, I’m assuming, to what occurred,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice level and calm. “Not surprising.”

“Seeing lotuses on clothing and ornaments, and in food, too,” Jiang Yanli offered. “A-Cheng intends to go through Wei Ying’s belongings to remove anything including the lotus.”

“A-Jie and I ordered clothing from Caiyi to be delivered when it’s complete, so he won’t have to see lotuses on our robes.”

Wei Ying looked surprised, gratitude and denial warring on his face. His eyes flitted to Jiang Wanyin’s crown, and Wangji’s followed. Instead of his typical silver lotus with amethyst stones that announced his station as Jiang sect heir, he was now wearing a simple unadorned jade guan. Jiang Yanli, who typically wore a lotus hairpin, had replaced it with a golden peony, clearly a courting gift from Jin Zixuan.

“You didn’t have to, A-Cheng. It’s stupid, just—”

“Is your fear of dogs stupid?” Wen Qing cut in brusquely. 

He flinched, and her voice gentled. She sat beside the bed in the chair vacated by Jiang Yanli. 

“Wei Wuxian, you’ve been through a trauma, just as you were when you were on the streets after your parents died. It’s not stupid. It’s your brain seeking to protect you.”

“But they’re just flowers,” Wei Wuxian muttered. 

“They remind you of fighting for your life, just as dogs do,” she said. “It’s a natural survival response, whether it’s rational or not.”

Wei Ying looked frustrated but nodded. 

“I know you hate it,” Wen Qing told him. “Maybe it’s a trauma that can be worked through. Same with dogs. The mind healers can help you when you’re ready, but it’s not easy work.”

She reached forward slowly and patted his shoulder, clearly giving him time to acclimate. Wangji knew he also hated that he sometimes panicked if he was touched without warning, as well. They all wished it was easy for him to go back to being relatively carefree. 

“I don’t need to use my needles to check your meridians for any disruption or damage,” Wen Qing said, breaking an uncomfortable silence that had fallen among them. “I may need to if you need treatment, but I’ll let you know, okay?”

Wei Ying simply nodded again in acknowledgement, and Wangji realized with a little bit of horror that he had grown accustomed to his quiet. He longed for the chatter and noise that had once accompanied him, but he had spent so much time locked in his own head in the last year, it would probably take more to break him of the habit. 

“Lie back and relax,” she ordered gently. “And tell me what you’ve been up to of late, so I can let A-Ning know.”

Once Wei Ying was situated, he spoke hesitantly, starting with Wangji writing him a song and feeling like a fog had lifted.

“I don’t really remember a lot before that,” he said. “It was like I was under… underwater.”

His voice broke at the word a little, as though he realized the implication of that word after what he’d suffered at the hands of Madam Yu, and Wen Qing’s movement checking his meridians hesitated slightly before she continued.  

At first it was just information, but by the time he reached their outing to Caiyi, the details were leaking in to make it a story. The purchase of Tang became a rescue, with perhaps unconscious undertones of Wei Ying’s own—unconscious because he didn’t seem aware of it, though the Jiang siblings exchanged heavy looks. 

He largely skimmed meeting Madam Jin, only commenting that she wanted to let him know she had dissolved her sworn sisterhood. He was taking her request for confidentiality seriously—Wangji didn’t know if he had told his siblings, even, though it was possible Jiang Yanli knew from Jin Zixuan. 

Wen Qing finished her examination before he was finished, but let him keep going, smiling when she learned of their betrothal, of his ribbon, of the swearing of brotherhood to make true in the eyes of the cultivation world what was already true in the hearts of Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Ying. 

She sobered when he recounted returning to his rooms after having his sister’s newly-reformulated soup, and finding the lotuses inside. 

“And then A-Cheng went to their quarters later,” Wei Ying started, then stopped, his jaw tightening, his breathing quickened with distress.

“I heard what occurred,” Wen Qing said softly. “You have many people who wish to protect you, Wei Wuxian. Let them.”

“Is he… are his meridians okay?” Jiang Yanli asked, the words bursting from her as though she was no longer able to wait. 

Wen Qing nodded. 

“His pathways and meridians are much better than they were last I examined them. There is no lasting damage.”

The last time she had examined him had been shortly before they had undocked from Lotus Pier on the way to Gusu, but she was careful in her wording. 

“You had a panic attack last night,” she added. “Obviously staying calm and feeling safe is important moving forward, but your meridians and qi were not disrupted.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying murmured. 

“Take it easy today, though. Doctor’s orders. You didn’t have a qi deviation, but panic attacks take a lot out of you.”

“I—I should greet Wen-zongzhu and thank him, though,” Wei Ying said as he sat up, sounding stressed at the very idea. 

Wen Qing snorted. 

“Nope. You don’t need the stress of having to greet anyone—you’ve had enough of that lately. My uncle understands, and you’re not expected to do anything but focus on your recovery.”

When he looked like he might argue she frowned at him. 

“Wei Wuxian, you aren’t to concern yourself with whatever idea of propriety you’ve got in your head you need to observe. It’s largely a bunch of bullshit, anyway. If you want to do anything, take a bit of time and write A-Ning a letter. He really wished he could come see you.”

That got a little smile from Wei Ying, likely happy that his friend wanted to hear from him. Wangji resolved to let him use his desk in the jingshi if he was uncomfortable returning to his quarters yet—chaperoned, of course.

“You need to return to a healthier weight,” Wen Qing said as she left. “I’ll arrange for breakfast to be sent.”

They took turns behind the screen dressing in the clothing retrieved the night before. Jiang Yanli insisted on combing Wei Ying’s hair, refreshing the citrus scent in it, before she tied his ribbon and arranged his crown with the gentian guan, his red ribbon, and the jade plum blossom hairstick.

The delivery of breakfast was accompanied by Jin Zixuan, who had brought his own tray to join them, and he was welcomed without fanfare in a way that implied he’d been accepted by Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying. Likely, his honorable and kind conduct yesterday at both the banquet and after the lotus incident had helped matters.

Wangji hoped the day would be quieter and less stressful than the preceding one.

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灭族 (mièzú) is “family extermination” and was used as a collective punishment. There’s a lot of interesting meta on this in the fandom, regarding the extermination of the Wens not as genocide, but as an idea of retributive justice. There’s a wikipedia page on the nine familial exterminations; the children under a certain age would usually have been enslaved rather than killed, but not always (like, it isn’t light reading). There have been similar ideas of collective punishment in some Western cultures, as well. Famously, the Nazis used Sippenhaft.

I wanted to explore what might have prevented Wen Ruohan from becoming a megalomaniac at least briefly, and decided on this scenario. Tragedy changed him. I’m largely going with novel canon for this (not that it really matters since it’s a no war AU).

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Id-'utnu Zaram'itnîn

Part 38 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Link to Series Masterlist.

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count:  2,419

Warning(s): Graphic description of a wound, implications of a character being sexually trafficked.

Translation(s): Id-'utnu Zaram'itnîn: The man of Laketown

~~~

The ride down the river was relatively uneventful. The orcs had been driven off by the Elves--specifically Legolas and the auburn-haired she-elf whose name I had learned during our incarceration was Tauriel--allowing us to drift unhurriedly with the current.

But I still couldn't help sneaking glances over at Kili; watching as the colour reluctantly returned to his face. Fear gnawed at the pit of my stomach as I ran over possible scenarios in my head.

Arrowhead driven deep into his flesh, possibly poisoned, the shaft was obviously broken off... Could we even get it out? How much blood loss had occurred? Type of barbing on the arrow, which would determine how easily it could be removed... The possibilities were endless.

"Estel, Kili will be fine. He's a strong young lad; an arrow is nothing more than a bee sting to him." Thorin's deep voice interrupted my thoughts and I glanced incredulously over my shoulder to look up at him as he balanced himself behind me in the barrel.

His indifference over Kili's injury was astounding and I was shocked at his attitude. I knew that his sister-sons meant the world to him; they were the children of his sister and closest relatives. Eru, Fili was even the Crown Prince! The next in line for the throne after him! His typical attitude was that of complete concern if they were hurt or in danger. Not solid indifference.

"Anything behind us?" Thorin called out, twisting as best he could in our cramped quarters to look behind us as we bobbed down the river.

"Not that I can see." Balin replied, to which Thorin breathed a quick sigh of relief. I relaxed slightly, allowing myself to notice the trees hanging over the banks; limbs dipping down into the water.

"I think we've outrun the orcs." Bofur piped up, but Thorin shook his head, his sopping wet hair brushing lightly up against my cheeks. The sensation sent a chill down my spine and I involuntarily shivered.

"Not for long, we've lost the current." Thorin muttered, drawing my attention to how our pace had slowed.

Maybe I should concentrate more on my surroundings rather than how it felt to have Thorin in such a close proximity to me.

"We're almost half drowned!" Dwalin exclaimed in exasperation, beginning to paddle his barrel forward in an attempt to move faster.

I couldn't disagree with him honestly. I was soaked to the skin, cold from the wind that blew over the water, and stiff from holding in the same position for over an hour. Oh, and I was tired as well; sleep had not come easily to me in the dungeons of Mirkwood.

Just then, we turned around a bend in the river and a wondrous sight greeted our eyes. Solid, unmoving, firm, ground.

"Oh thank the Valar..." I murmured; my voice drowned out by Thorin's loud command.

"Make for the shore!" He called out, leaning over the side of our barrel and paddling vigorously. I did the same on the opposite side, trying to balance out our weights so we didn't tip the barrel over. "Come on, let's go!"

After a few minutes of sustained efforts, we reached the shallows and began the difficult process of extricating ourselves from the barrels.

The combination of wet, heavy clothing and sturdy Dwarf made it difficult for everyone to get out of their barrel and get to the shore. Although, I believe Thorin and I had it worse because we were somehow--truly, it was a miracle--wedged inside the same barrel together. This was saying something because Thorin was easily the second biggest Dwarrow on the quest other than Bombur.

Well, maybe Dwalin.....no, Thorin definitely was bigger.

Anyways, I squirmed my way out of the barrel, somehow managing it without seriously injuring Thorin or myself. Thorin himself followed in a moment, struggling to stand up under the weight of his soaked clothing.

I still splashed in the shallows, fighting against the current as I tried to get my feet underneath myself.

"Need some help?" Thorin's teasing voice rumbled above me, and I felt a strong pair of hands grasp me beneath my arms and pull me upright.

"Thank you." I gasped out, squeezing the excess water out of my hair and then tossing my head.

Thorin just grinned at me for a fleeting moment before he scanned the rest of our company. I looked around for Kili and found him sitting on a rock that jutted out of the ground, Fili beside him. He had a hand pressed tightly to his right thigh and his features had a tense, pinched look to them.

"On your feet." Thorin called out, making Fili and Kili glance up from their examination of the latter's wound. I shot Thorin a look of shock, wondering if he knew the extent of Kili's injury.

"Kili's wounded, his leg needs binding." Fili called out, his blue eyes watching Thorin with a hardened determination. When it came to Fili and his brother, blood was much thicker than water.

Abandoning Thorin as he began to speak with Balin over where we would go next, I made my way over to Fili as he did his best to patch up Kili.

Kneeling down at Kili's side, I grimaced as I took in the angry red flesh that surrounded a broken off arrowhead. "Eru, that looks like it hurts, Kili." I muttered, and he let out a half-hearted laugh.

"It does a bit." He shrugged, and I rolled my eyes at his dismissal of my words.

"The arrowhead is going to need to come out, you know that right?" I asked, and Kili nodded hesitantly.

"Aye, and I'd appreciate it if you were the one doing it instead of Fili. You might be gentler."

Taking another look at the grotesque sight, I bit my lip. "I don't think it's going to matter much who removes it; it's going to hurt either way. Eru, I think Thorin should take a look at it too... You shouldn't be walking on a wound like this..." I suggested worriedly, but Kili shook his head vigorously.

"No, no, no, don't tell Uncle. I'll be fine, promise. Uncle doesn't need something else to worry about, Estel."

I gave Kili a dubious look and would have responded, only Thorin interrupted me--something he was getting rather good at doing. "Bind his leg, quickly. You have two minutes." He called towards us, and Fili let out a long breath.

"Alright then... So are you removing the arrow, Estel, or am I?" He asked, and I shrugged.

"I honestly would prefer it if I didn't have to..." I muttered, and Fili nodded.

"That's fine. Kili, I'll try to be gentle, alright?" He murmured to his brother, and Kili responded with a nod, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes.

"Yeah, let's just get it over with, okay?" He hissed through clenched teeth, and I took that as my cue to leave.

Blood and gore were not my forté.

Meandering over to Thorin, I shivered as a gust of wind cut straight through my wet clothes and raised up goosebumps on my skin. Rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm myself up, I approached my husband who was quietly conversing with Dwalin.

"Thorin, can I steal away your coat for a while? I'm--” I cut myself off as Thorin turned to look at me, realizing for the first time that while we entered Mirkwood with all our things, not everything had made it out with us.

Thorin's coat unfortunately being one of the casualties.

"Nevermind..." I whispered, hunching my shoulders as another gust of wind seemed to seep into my very bones.

Dwalin motioned towards me with a knowing look on his face, and Thorin gave him a narrowed glance before turning his full attention to me with an apologetic look marring his features.

"I'm sorry, Estel, the Elves took my coat in the dungeons of Mirkwood. I would gladly give it to you if I had it, Amrâlimê." He rumbled gently; brow furrowing as he watched me shiver. "Mahal, you will catch your death of cold standing out here in wet clothes.... I wish I had something dry to offer you..." He muttered, grimacing as he found himself helpless in this situation.

I smiled through chattering teeth. "Well, warmth would be a welcome option." I suggested, and Thorin grinned at me.

"I do believe that is something I am able to supply you with. Inkhi yadi, Estel." He invited, opening his arms to me and motioning me closer with a jerk of his head.

I gladly entered his warm--and slightly wet--embrace; fidgeting until I stood with my back to his chest, and he held my hands within his; gently rubbing his thumbs across the tops of my hands. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself a moment of complete relaxation within the security of my husband's arms.

That's when all hell broke loose as a dark-haired man appeared atop the hill and attempted to shoot Ori. Dwalin blocked the shot and Kili raised a rock in preparation to throw it at the man, only to have it shot out of his hand in the next second. The moment Thorin caught sight of the man, he quickly shoved me behind him and stood ready to defend me.

"Do it again and you're dead." The man growled, aiming another arrow at us. I swallowed hard, wondering how in the world we were going to get out of this mess without any weapons.

That's when Balin--our resident diplomat--stepped in. He managed to secure us passage into Laketown on the barge the man owned. We got to ride out on the deck until we reached the outskirts of the town.

As we traveled through the mist, I tucked myself up close against Thorin's side, trying to glean as much spare heat as I could from his broad frame.

"Now this is a strange thing... You have a woman of your kind along with you." The bargeman murmured from behind me, and I turned to look up at him. Thorin moved to wrap a possessive arm around my waist, watching the man closely with a guarded expression.

"And what of it, Bard? Our business with women of our kind is our own." He rumbled in a low voice--drawing the attention of the rest of our company on us--and Bard raised an eyebrow.

"I meant no insult with my words, Master Dwarf. I was merely curious." He murmured passively; gaze still lingering on Thorin's arm around my waist. "I would just warn you to watch your lover closely; the people of Laketown are not used to seeing Dwarves, and I know the sight of a Dwarf woman would be something of an oddity."

Thorin huffed and turned away, looking back out across the water of the lake. I glanced back at him, indecisive over whether or not I felt like joining him.

"Are you being held hostage?" A soft whisper from the man who had taken a quick step closer under the pretense of adjusting a sail caught my attention.

"Excuse me?" I hissed, unsure if the comment was directed towards me or was just an offhanded joke.

"Is this Dwarf holding you by force as his female companion?" Bard asked again, this time clarifying his words.

I eyed him suspiciously. "Absolutely not... I joined this quest by my own free will and by my own free will married this Dwarf."

Bard looked surprised, shooting a look over at Thorin who stood in the prow of the ship with his back to us. "Are you sure?" He asked quietly, and I refrained from rolling my eyes.

Humans... You had to appreciate their stubbornness sometimes... Just not when it involved a matter that really didn't need their attention.

"Absolutely. Now if you'll excuse me, Bard..." I brushed past him to walk over to where Kili sat hunched beside Fili.

The youngest Durin prince looked absolutely miserable with his half-dried hair and wrinkled clothing; not to mention the continued pinched look that creased his features.

"Can I take a peek at your wound?" I inquired gently as I knelt beside my nephew; raising my gaze to his soft brown irises that looked dull and far away.

"Sure..." He grunted, shrugging his shoulders. I noted with concern that all the usual merriment was gone from his voice, and he sounded worn-out.

Dropping my gaze to the rough bandage that covered his injury, I gently pulled it back. Unsurprisingly, I was greeted with an angry, gaping hole where the arrowhead used to be. Cautiously, I lightly touched my finger to the edge of the wound, and Kili flinched in response.

I glanced up at him with a furrowed brow. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you." I apologized, but Kili only shook his head.

"No, it's just that your finger is freezing cold." He muttered, managing a tight smile. I breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn't hurt him and once again dropped my gaze to the traumatized flesh. Little red streaks were reaching out from the wound and spread down the length of his leg I guessed, and I eyed them anxiously.

That didn't look particularly good...

But there was nothing else I could offer to help Kili's condition; he needed rest, the attentions of a qualified healer and good food--things that were in short supply on a quest.

"The money, quick. Give it to me." Bard demanded suddenly, and I whipped around to look at him as he stood before Balin.

Thorin strode quickly over to stand beside him, glowering up at Bard. "We will pay you when we get our provisions, but not before." He stated in a low voice, but Bard didn't bat an eye.

"If you value your freedom, you'll do as I say. There are guards ahead." He warned, staring down at my husband.

That's the moment when Bard put his plan to smuggle us into Laketown into action. This seemed like a good sign to me until I found myself staring down into the last empty barrel on the boat; Thorin right beside me.

He let out a short laugh, glancing over at me. "Apparently fate has decreed that we ride together today, Estel."

I managed a tight smile in response. Eru, I was NOT looking forward to another long, cramped ride in an accursed barrel.

Tags:

@kumqu4t​​ @pixierox101​​ @elvish-sky​​ @ladylouoflothlorien​ @vicmackeybullshxt @lothloriien​ @shadowhuntyi @hellonogblogstuff​ @justfollowtheroad @fizzyxcustard @thewhiteladyofrohan @xxbyimm @legolasbadass @elles-writing @lathalea @saltstatic

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 6/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Martin considers the repercussions of their argument, and he gets "his" stuff back from storage.

New chapter of my post-canon fix-it!

Read on AO3 above or read here.

Tumblr master post with all chapters is here.

***

The only word Martin could think of to describe the way he felt that morning was hangover. He woke up even earlier than usual and extricated himself from beneath Jon, who was entirely oblivious to the outside world. At least they had managed to communicate something, although it wasn’t the way he would have preferred to do it. At least they had made up, although he knew the actual fallout likely remained to be seen; arguments like that always seemed to twist their way back around.

Some of what Jon had told him was disturbing. He wished he knew what had come from Jon on that last day, and what had come from something that wasn’t Jon. Martin still couldn’t picture him willingly destroying the world. The idea that everything might have been different, that he might have been able to save Jon from that decision if he had just woken up that night, was hard to process. On the other hand, now that they were here, he had a new appreciation for Jon’s insistence on not letting the fears out. It was bad enough that they were responsible for the end of just two people in one dimension. The damage wasn’t just theoretical, and of course Jon had likely understood the possibilities in a way Martin couldn’t have before.

If he was being very, very honest, though, the thing that hurt the most was what Jon would have been willing to do to him. Before, it had felt like abandonment; Jon had been willing to leave him. It was that simple, and that selfish. It wasn’t that he didn’t rationally understand how it could be reasonable, or even an act of strength, if Jon really thought it was what he’d needed to do. It was that he himself could not have been that reasonable or strong about it. He didn’t believe he could have made a decision that would have led to them being apart, and like he’d told Jon—it had hurt that Jon could.

Now, though, he realized Jon had never seen it that way. Jon had sincerely believed that becoming the pupil of the Eye would not have changed him. He had believed he wasn’t sacrificing himself, that they could have still been together. He’d said that. Martin had almost forgotten, because he’d been trying so hard to tell Jon that Melanie and Georgie and Basira had been on their way to blow up the gas main, but now the words came back to him: We can be together, here. Until it’s over. And then—when that had failed—Jon had tried to send him away, but Martin understood now that even that hadn’t been a separation. Not for Jon, the way he was then. Jon would have kept Martin living in that world, whatever the cost, while he tortured himself driving it to its end.

Of course, it was also possible that the Eye had such a hold on Jon at that time that none of those thoughts had really been his—but if that was the case, there was no way Martin was going to allow him to do anything that would help him reconnect to it. He wouldn’t help Jon lose himself again. Whatever he wanted to do here, there had to be another way.

He had no idea how to approach any of this, and he certainly didn’t want to confront Jon with it when he woke up, so he decided to focus on something else instead—like his neck. It hurt. He supposed that made sense, given how he must have slept. After an unsuccessful attempt to stretch it out, he moved on to pick up the papers that were still on the floor. It hadn’t felt right to pick them up while Jon was gone; he’d wanted the reminder of why Jon wasn’t there, so maybe he wouldn’t let things get so heated the next time. He’d told himself he’d pick them up later, but then he’d fallen asleep and Jon had come home and it just hadn’t happened.

By the time he needed to wake Jon, Martin had decided that, for now, he was going to continue to do whatever Jon would allow to support his efforts. He didn’t imagine there was any chance Jon would slow down of his own accord, and at least that way he could make sure he was ok. The worst-case scenario would be if Jon started keeping secrets.

Jon was tired that morning. Martin could tell Jon had the same emotional hangover that he did, but it seemed like more than that. He occasionally stopped to stare distractedly into nothing. He took so long in the shower that Martin had to check on him twice, and ended up finding things to do in the bedroom until Jon was done. He was worried when Jon slipped his arm through his on their walk to work. That wasn’t a normal thing; Jon seemed to be relying on him to keep walking. Martin asked if he was ok, and Jon nodded absently in a way that wasn’t particularly comforting.

The fact was that he seemed to be getting worse, not better.

***

They were somehow only a little bit late, not that anyone was paying attention. Martin had to enter some updates in their online system, so he spent the morning at his desk. Tim was back from his investigation and Sasha was in her office, and despite his worries about Jon it was almost a nice morning with the four of them together. That concerned him; it meant he was getting too comfortable.

As he worked, checking records and following up on notes he’d made the previous week, he discovered another reason for concern. He realized for the first time that some memories of this world had blurred into others, his real memories, with no specific moment of revelation. He very clearly recalled several weeks spent tracking down some files that had been returned to the main library instead of the archives, and he didn’t realize until he was shaking his head over the enormous waste of time that it had only happened here.

Although it was an unimportant memory, it brought up a lot of questions. They still didn’t know exactly what had happened to the Jon and Martin from this world, and clearly they were connected somehow. What if Martin stopped being able to tell the difference between memories from the two worlds? Or worse, what if memories from this world were replacing memories of the one they came from? What if that was why it was so easy to feel occasional moments of contentment—because he was actually forgetting what had happened?

He automatically began to run through his memories, just to see, going backward from the moment they had arrived here. The tower, the panopticon, Annabelle Cane; his slowly expanding terror as Jon had grown more and more drawn to it all. The fear domains, all of them, but especially the corpse roots and the apartment fires and the domain that belonged to him—where people suffered without even the comfort that another living being knew or cared for their existence.

The cabin in Scotland, where everything had gone irretrievably wrong. How had it happened? He had left Jon alone, for one thing. Maybe he should have stayed, but he couldn’t have known. Jon had been trying not to know things, which should have been right. Avoid using evil powers. It still seemed like it should have been right. That was the worst part, wasn’t it? Every wrong decision looked like the right one. It had been so much worse for Jon, of course. If Peter Lukas had been able to see into him like Jonah Magnus could—if he had not pushed it just a bit too far—Martin could have very easily been the one to set off an apocalypse. Instead, he was thrown into the Lonely, unwittingly sealing Jon’s fate in the process. He wondered if he had—

An upsettingly familiar voice broke through his thoughts. Martin was so deeply distracted that at first, he thought he had manufactured it himself, out of his memories. When he looked up, though, he was met with the site of not only Peter Lukas, but also Elias Bouchard, and it took him a second to remember where he was. He started to stand up, but somehow had lost track of his physical surroundings, and managed to get tangled up in his chair. He ended up on the ground.

He could feel the entire room focus in on him, but he couldn’t look away from the two men in front of him. Peter was almost exactly as he remembered him, while Elias could not have been more different—it was hard to believe he was the same person. Of course, in most ways, he wasn’t. Peter chuckled uncomfortably while Martin continued to stare, and turned to the man standing next to him. “It seems we’ve disturbed your assistant.”

“Martin.” His name, spoken nearby, finally brought him out of his stupor. He looked up expecting to find Jon, but found Tim instead.

“Martin,” he said again, “are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He looked around. Sasha had come to the door of her office to see what was going on; Jon had gotten up too.

“I keep saying we need to replace that chair.” Tim laughed nervously and reached to help Martin to his feet. It felt like it took forever to stand up.

“Yeah. Yeah, that chair, it’s, um…” Martin’s words were swallowed up by silence as he turned his eyes to the floor.

“Looks like we’re ok here, then.” Elias clapped his hands and turned back to Peter. “Shall we continue?”

Peter took one last discomfiting look at Martin before they continued into Sasha’s office. She gave Martin a concerned glance as she ushered Elias and Peter in, and pursed her lips as he shook his head. She closed the door behind them.

“Martin, are you—” Jon started to ask.

“I’m fine.” He really was more embarrassed than anything, and set about righting his chair so he could retreat back into his data entry as quickly as possible. “I—I’m sorry.”

Jon started to say something else, but was interrupted as Elias came back into the room, setting Sasha’s door against the jamb. “Everything all right?”

“Yep.” Tim patted Martin on the back, just hard enough to startle him again. “Everything is perfectly fine.”

Elias nodded, looking curiously from Tim to Martin to Jon. “Well, in any case, I want to apologize. I meant to come by last week to see how the two of you were doing, but, well… as you all know, I hate this place and avoid being here whenever possible.” He spoke the last part under his breath and grinned, the sarcastic sort of grin that doesn’t reach the eyes. It was a look Martin could not recall ever seeing on Elias’s face before in his life, but somehow it fit. “Still, I should have checked in. I’ll catch up with you soon. And Martin—get a new chair? That’s embarrassing.”

And with that, he disappeared back into Sasha’s office.

“Well,” Tim said as he leaned back against Martin’s desk. “I’ve seen some reactions to Peter Lukas, but I think that is my new favorite.”

“Sorry.” Martin could feel how red his face was.

“Martin, are you—are you really ok?” He looked over to see intense concern on Jon’s face, and he knew Jon wasn’t asking about his fall.

“Yeah,” he replied, as reassuringly as he could. “I—I really am.”

Jon didn’t seem convinced, but Tim got Martin’s attention again. “Let’s get lunch. You need a break.”

“Oh, I—I would, but I brought mine today.” He gestured toward the paper sack on the corner of his desk. “I have to leave a bit early, so I thought I’d work through lunch.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I have to go pay some fees and pick up some stuff my old apartment building put in storage.”

“How are you getting there?”

“I was going to take the tube out,” Martin replied, realizing he hadn’t thought it through entirely. “I guess I hadn’t planned for getting back, but it’s just going to be some clothes and stuff for now… I can get a cab if it’s too much.”

“I’ll drive you,” Tim announced.

“Oh, no, thanks. I appreciate it, but—”

“It’s really not a problem.”

Martin considered; having a car really would be a lot more convenient. He didn’t know how much stuff was in storage, and he definitely didn’t know how it had been stored. Maybe it wasn’t even packed. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Besides, I want to talk with you.” Seeing the look on Martin’s face, he added, “No more questions. Mostly, I want to apologize properly for last week.”

“Well… yeah, ok. If you really don’t mind.”

“Nope. See you after lunch.” Tim headed for the door.

“Thanks,” Martin called after him.

As soon as Tim was gone, Martin turned back to Jon.

“You said you didn’t need help.” It was a statement, not an accusation, but Martin felt like he had to defend himself.

“I don’t! You heard him—he was really insistent. And he does have a car.”

“I can still go,” Jon said.

“It’s not a big thing.”

Jon bit his lip.

“Jon, you’re not feeling great, and I know how important it is to you to—to do your work. It’s fine.”

“You’re important, too.” Again, this was merely a statement, and again, it provoked too strong a reaction from Martin. This one, though, he tried to cover up.

“Yeah, well—I know that. You don’t have to prove it. And… if you’re not busy, or sleeping, you can help me put stuff away when I get home. Deal?”

Jon sighed, but agreed. “Deal,” he said, before turning back to his desk.

***

Martin ended up being very thankful for Tim’s help, and especially for his car. After they stopped by the rental office and he paid his fees, the storage lot was farther than he had imagined. Additionally, while most of his things were in bags, they were heavy contractor bags and there didn’t seem to be any logic as to what had gone where—if he’d come on his own, he would have had to spend a lot of time dumping things out and rearranging all of it to make it manageable. It would have been a pain, even if he had ended up calling a cab. As it was, though, Tim was able to help him with the heavier bags, and he didn’t have to sort everything out on the spot, so they finished with plenty of time.

“Let me get you a drink on the way back,” Tim offered, as he closed the boot on the final bag. “I still owe you an apology.”

“Tim, you just did me a huge favor. You don’t need to—”

“That was helping a friend. Apologies are measured in drinks.”

Martin considered. He did want to go. “Do you mind if I check on Jon?” he asked.

“Go right ahead,” Tim said. “I’ll wait in the car.”

Martin pulled out his phone, and thought about texting, but decided to call. Jon should be home, and that meant there was a good chance he was asleep. The phone did ring a bit long before he picked up.

“Everything all right?” Jon asked, and Martin thought he did sound like he may have just been roused from a nap.

“Yeah. I was actually just calling to ask you that.”

“Well, I’m home.”

“Good. Um… We got done a bit early, and Tim was asking if I wanted to grab a drink. Would you mind if I did?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you sure? Did you eat yet?” Martin asked. He kept his voice low so Tim wouldn’t overhear, although he didn’t exactly know why.

“Not yet.”

“I left one of those frozen meals on top in the freezer for you. Will you eat it?”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Martin cringed at what he was about to say, but did it anyway. “Would you make it now?”

There was a pause. “Martin, are you serious?”

“Yes? I mean, you don’t have to, but I’d feel better if—”

“Fine.” Jon sighed, and Martin heard the sound of the freezer door opening a few moments later. “I’m doing it. Stop fretting and go have a drink.”

“Ok.” He was relieved. “Jon—thanks.”

“Go.” The call ended, and Martin couldn’t help but smile.

“OK, we’re good,” Martin told Tim as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Sure you won’t let me get it, though?”

“One hundred percent,” Tim answered. “How’s Jon?”

Martin debated whether he should give the polite answer or the real one, and went with something in between. “He’s… ok? To be honest, I’m a little worried about him.”

“Me too.” Tim started the car. “He wasn’t looking good last week when I was around.”

“Yeah?” Martin asked.

“He just seems tired,” Tim continued. “I mean, he’s always tired, ever since I’ve known him, but this is different. Tired and… distracted, I guess. Not like him.”

Martin nodded in agreement. “I’ve been trying to get him to take it easy, but—”

“He doesn’t care much for that, does he?”

“No. No, he does not.” Martin snorted, and Tim gave him a little grin as they headed out.

Soon they were sitting together at a table with a couple of beers in front of them.

“So,” Tim began, “I am officially apologizing for how I acted last week. I was a dick.”

Martin sighed. “No, you weren’t. You were worried, and Jon and I haven’t exactly been easy to—well, easy to anything.”

“Forgive me anyway?”

���If you insist,” Martin replied. “I forgive you, I guess.”

“Thanks. Cheers,” Tim said, holding up his glass. Martin obliged with a clink, and took a polite sip while Tim gulped down about half of what was in his glass.

“And for the record, I still don’t believe that you’re telling us everything, but—well, I imagine you have your reasons. I got to thinking over the weekend,” Tim said, after he had wiped his mouth off with his arm. “Sasha asked me not to say too much, but you know I was looking into some police records last week.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah, did something turn up?”

“Sasha was right. There was more. More than people had come to talk to us about.”

“For instance?”

Well… for instance, there was a kidnapping case about a month back. It turned out to be related to this cult that’s apparently been around forever, but never really done anything before. Not anything worth anyone’s time, anyway. I won’t get into details, I promised Sasha, but some of the officers thought they saw some things that… just shouldn’t have been possible. Not one or two officers, like a lot of them. And they lost some people.”

Martin wanted to ask questions, confirm his suspicions, but after what had happened with Oliver Banks, he didn’t want to push it again. “That’s horrible.”

“And here’s the real kicker.” Tim stopped to take another big drink. “There have been enough of these incidents that they’ve started asking the officers to sign a form saying they won’t talk about it. There’s been sort of an upset over it, actually. It’s all got lots of them pretty nervous, but no one is willing to make any outside statements, either. Not officially.”

Martin nodded again. This was really bad, but if it was happening, it was better that he know. He would tell Jon too, of course.

“Well, anyway, the point was I got to thinking—I know you and Jon disappeared around the same time all of this started. I’m not sure what to make of any of it, but whatever is going on… whatever you went through or feel like you went through, I understand why you might not want to talk about it.”

Martin knew he should say again that couldn’t remember, that he was sure it was nothing like that, it was probably completely unrelated—but he couldn’t. For one thing, it was a terrible lie. Everything Tim had witnessed—the way they had disappeared, the time they were gone, the way they had shown up again—it all fit together. For another thing, he knew he’d already said too much the last time they were out, and if he kept trying to lie he’d just look like an ass. Mostly, though, Martin hated lying to friends, and he couldn’t pretend anymore that this Tim didn’t feel like a friend.

So instead, he just nodded again, and took another sip of his beer.

“Well, if you need anything, I’m here.” Tim finished the remainder of his glass. “Speaking of which—where are we bringing your stuff?”

“Oh.” Martin realized he and Jon had never actually explained their living situation, and he felt the color rise into his face. “Jon’s flat?”

“I figured as much.” Tim leaned toward him. “So is that a long-term situation, or—?”

Martin didn’t know how to answer that, because he realized he didn’t know the answer. When they’d first gotten here, of course, they had just needed somewhere to go, and Jon had clearly wanted him there. Since then, he’d been so worried about Jon that he hadn’t questioned whether or not he should stay; it had just felt obvious that Jon needed him there. He had never actually asked him though, had he?

“I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “I guess we hadn’t talked about it.”

“Oh, god, relax,” Tim groaned. “If Jon didn’t want you there, you’d know. Subtlety is not his strength.”

“Sure.” Tim was basically right, of course. Still, they had been operating in survival mode for so long that maybe Jon hadn’t even realized not living together was an option. Mostly, though, it just wasn’t how people were supposed to move in together. They weren’t supposed to do it because they were scared.

Martin took a much longer sip of his beer, and was grateful when Tim changed the subject.

***

Miraculously, Jon was awake when they got back. He offered to help carry the bags upstairs from the car, but Tim and Martin both insisted he should let them take care of it, and he did seem relieved once he realized how heavy they were. Martin thanked Tim profusely for the help—it really would have taken a lot longer without him—and Tim said again he was happy to do it, and that he was looking forward to getting drinks with both of them sometime soon, when Jon was up for it.

“What did he mean, when I’m up for it?” Jon asked, after he was gone.

“Jon, everyone can tell you’re…” Martin considered what word to use. “Tired.”

“Is it really that bad?”

Martin wanted to ask Jon if that was a joke. Instead, he went with, “Yeah. It is.”

“I didn’t realize.” Jon was nervous. “Do you think Tim suspects anything?”

He decided not to mention that Tim very definitely did; it would only add stress, and that was not what Jon needed right now. He took a different route.

“Tim’s concerned, that’s all. You’re his friend and he’s worried.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You are. I know there are a lot of complicating factors, and no, he’s not our Tim”—Martin stumbled a little over those words— “but in the simplest terms, he is Tim, and he is our friend.”

Jon sighed. “I’m not sure how friendly he would feel toward me if he knew what I’ve done.”

“What you—” Martin started to protest, but he reconsidered. He’d had enough arguing last night, and as obvious as his own responsibility for everything seemed to him, he doubted Jon would agree. “Never mind. How are you doing?”

“I’m all right,” Jon answered. “Good enough to help you sort through some of this.”

“Oh, Jon, I was just talking, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Then, with a slight smile, he added, “I certainly can’t let Tim take all the credit.”

“Right.” Martin shook his head, but also ended up smiling. “So, I’ll warn you—there’s not been a lot of organization. I maybe had to grab a little more than I actually intended.”

Ultimately, they dumped most of it onto the sitting room floor and began to sort everything into piles. Clothes Martin needed, things that could go to the office, some things they could use in the kitchen, stuff to go back to storage. As they sorted, Martin told Jon what he’d learned from Tim, which he suspected was related to the People’s Church of the Divine Host. He also told him about the police officers who had recently been sectioned. Jon nodded in concern while he spoke, but didn’t say much.

Before long, they had sorted out most of the obvious things. Martin was left going through a few boxes that had come along, containing mostly papers and legal documents and breakables and other things that couldn’t easily be thrown into bags.

“Want me to put some clothes away while you’re going through that?” Jon asked.

Martin cleared his throat. “Actually, it kind of came up when I was talking to Tim, and um—well, I realized we never talked about how long I would be staying here.”

“What do you mean, how long?” Jon seemed completely confused.

“Well, I kind of just… moved in. And we never talked about it.”

“What?” Jon asked again.

“You know, normally people talk about this. Moving in together.” Martin shifted uncomfortably in his spot on the floor.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jon asked.

“I mean, this is your place. I know I lost mine, or he lost his, or whatever, and this made sense when we got here, but—”

“Do you not want to be here?”

“What? No, I do, of course I do, but I just assumed it was what you wanted, too.”

“Because it is what I wanted.”

“I just hadn’t asked, that’s all.” Admittedly, Martin was relieved, but it still didn’t feel quite right. “I mean, we kind of had to be together before, and we have more time now to think about things, and I want this to really be a choice going forward because I do want to—well, I know I’m already on your nerves with the—”

“Stop. Listen to me,” Jon said. “I want you here. As long as you want to be here. I choose this.”

“Ok.” Martin stopped trying to explain himself, even though he wasn’t sure Jon really understood. He wasn’t trying to convince Jon he should move out, after all. He just wanted a sense of normalcy, to stop feeling like they were hurtling toward some inevitable doom. He didn’t want every moment to count; he wanted a future. He wasn’t sure how to put that into words, though.

“Can I help pay rent, at least?”

Jon got to his feet and grabbed a stack of shirts that were closest to him. “I really don’t care. At this point, money seems so… mundane.”

“Definitely in the shaving and eating category,” Martin agreed. “Still…”

“If it makes you comfortable, yes, of course.” Jon headed toward the bedroom, and Martin turned his attention back to the boxes in front of him.

He made it most of the way through with no trouble. Most of the things in the boxes could go back into storage; a few things, like his birth certificate, he would keep. And then he found a copy of his mother’s death certificate. He didn’t even have to look at the date to know; he remembered. It had happened here on the exact same day it had happened for him. Everything about it had been the same, actually. Not just when she passed, but all of it; everything about his relationship with her had been exactly the same. He didn’t understand why he felt so much disappointment.

“Martin?” Jon touched his shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” Martin glanced back and up at Jon.

“It’s just—you’ve been looking at it for five minutes. You haven’t moved.”

“Oh. It’s, um—well, look.” It was easier than saying it. He held it up until Jon recognized it.

“Ah.” Jon set down the clothes in his hand and sat down next to Martin.

“I guess—” Martin sighed. “I guess it was all just so—maybe I’d hoped that they had something to do with it, you know? But they didn’t. They weren’t here then. It was just how she was. And maybe it was how I was, too. Maybe I—”

“No.” Jon leaned against him, and gently rested his hand on the back of his shoulder. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Do you know what Elias showed me? Or Jonah, I guess? While you were—”

“I heard the tape, yes.”

“It was true, wasn’t it? She hated me.”

“She—she was ill, Martin. She loved you when she was well.” Martin nodded, and Jon leaned in even closer. “But just because she loved you doesn’t mean she was a good mother.”

“No. She wasn’t, actually.” Martin closed his eyes, and tried to just appreciate Jon’s presence, his warmth. “She was awful.”

Jon nodded.

“You know, I’ve never told anyone that.” Martin already felt ashamed. “Well, anyone except me.”

“Oh—right.” Jon knew what he meant.

“But it wasn’t her fault.”

“Does it matter if it was?”

“Yes. It does.” Martin tried to ignore the tear that squeezed its way out through his eyelids, because trying to stop them only ever seemed to bring more of them. “Jon—was the other part true too? Do I really look like my—like him?”

Jon hesitated, but eventually answered. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean you’re anything like him.”

“Do you know what he was like?”

“Yes. It was an accident, but I—” Jon paused. “I thought I needed to know what Elias could do, and, well… I couldn’t control it that well then. I saw more than I meant to. Is there anything you want to know?”

Martin felt another hot tear slide down his face, and tried to ignore that one too. “Am I like him?”

“No,” Jon said quietly. “Not at all.”

“Then I don’t need to know anything else.”  A third tear fell, and a fourth, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He raised his arm to wipe his face, but Jon stopped him.

“Sorry. It’s been a long day,” Martin mumbled. “I’m—”

“No.” Jon turned Martin’s head toward him, and wiped his cheek with his thumb. “Don’t apologize.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you cry once, and it was because—”

Jon kissed him.

“Jon—”

“Hush.” Jon crawled over Martin to straddle his lap, and kissed him again. Everything that had been swimming around in Martin’s head—their argument, Peter, his mother—it fell away, and all that was left was Jon. He let himself really breathe for the first time that day, resting his face against Jon’s shirt as they held each other.

“I love you,” Jon told him, when Martin looked at him.

“I love you too.” He turned his face up so Jon could kiss him again.

They stayed there until Jon’s hand gradually dropped from Martin’s face to his neck, and eventually down his arm, and Martin realized he was falling asleep.

“You awake?”

Jon didn’t answer him, and Martin didn’t particularly want to let go—so he picked him up, shifting Jon’s arms to his shoulders and then wrapping his own arms around Jon’s waist. He’d never done it before, but it was surprisingly easy; Jon was disturbingly light. Jon woke up enough to have a moment of panic when Martin stood up, and tightened his grip on Martin’s neck, but quickly relaxed and let himself be carried him to the bedroom.

“You all right?” Martin asked after he set him down on the bed.

“Mm.” Jon turned to lie on his side, and Martin brushed back the hair that had come loose.

“Jon, I’m really worried about you.”

“I’ll be ok,” Jon replied, catching Martin’s hand as he closed his eyes again. “I have you.”

[eastasianfeelings]

an oppa vs. your boyfriend: Hyuk

—a follow-up to how not to say oppa

Summary: How were you supposed to know that the CF shoot your ex invited you to was the same shoot Hyuk was promoting? You couldn’t. There was no way you could have known. It’s a situation right out of a romance drama. ...And yet here you are.

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: possessiveness, making out

*

So here’s the situation:

You’re on the set of a CF shoot for some soft drink. On your left, Hyuk stands. He’s the celeb face for the product. On your right, it’s good ol’ Jinseok, your ex-boyfriend from over a year ago. He’s an extra in the shoot.

You’re an extra too, because Jinseok called you up that morning and begged you to come in last-minute to replace the partner who bailed on him for a shoot. And hey, the two of you had parted reasonably amicably, you knew how rare of a chance this was, and Hyuk had plans anyway. 

How were you supposed to know that his plans were the same shoot that Jinseok was in? How were you supposed to know that your roles as extras were to play one of the three lovey-dovey couples brought closer together, literally, by the drink Hyuk was promoting?

You couldn’t. There was no way you could have known. It’s a situation right out of a romance drama.

And yet here you are, standing under bright lights, listening to Hyuk try and convince the director that you and Jinseok shouldn’t kiss.

At least, you think to yourself, he doesn’t know that Jinseok’s my ex. Yet. You’ll tell Hyuk afterward, of course. When he's nowhere near Jinseok.

“Wouldn’t it seem over-the-top if the two of them kissed right after receiving the drink?” Hyuk’s arguing. “It’s not realistic.”

“I hear you, Hyuk-ssi,” says the director placatingly. “We are going for a fantasy-like atmosphere, though, so you don’t need to worry about that aspect—”

“But the company is aiming for a younger audience, right?” Hyuk steamrolls right on. “It’ll be a turn-off for them to see a kiss out of the blue.”

As the poor director takes a calming breath before responding, Hyuk darts a side-glance at you. Quickly, you point your gaze the other way. Though you can obviously see why he’s not interested in having his girlfriend kiss some other guy, you’re getting nervous about his behaviour. People are going to start suspecting something; you can see the other two extra couples glancing over.

Your eyes meet Jinseok’s, and he leans in and speaks in an undertone: “Y/N-ah. I think he’s complaining because we don’t look comfortable enough together before we kiss.”

Um. “Really? I’m not sure I got that sense,” you say carefully, keeping your voice low.

“Trust me.” Jinseok nods. “We have to look natural enough to blend right into the background. There’s no room for awkwardness.”

“...If you say so.”

“I do.” He pats your shoulder, a familiar patronizing gesture that you always disliked, and repeats, “Trust me.”

You look away so he won’t see you rolling your eyes, and see Hyuk staring at the two of you.

More like glaring, actually. His whole body has stiffened up, and his gaze is directed a little to your right. You look to see the offending target: Jinseok’s hand on your shoulder. Oh.

To mitigate any drastic action on Hyuk’s part, you pretend to cough a little and use the movement to shrug Jinseok’s hand away. When you straighten, though, Jinseok pats your back, asks if you’re all right, and then keeps his hand there. Seriously?

“...so I appreciate your creative input, Hyuk-ssi, but—ah, Hyuk-ssi?”

At the director’s questioning tone, you look round to see Hyuk marching away from him and almost straight toward you. “Can we take a five-minute break?” he tosses over his shoulder, and doesn’t even wait for the director to respond. He brushes by you, whispers, “Follow me. Change room,” and then strides right off the set.

Welp.

The director’s left blinking at the air, nonplussed, while Jinseok shakes his head. “Idol actors,” he says knowingly. “Consistency is hard for them.”

“So… are we taking a break?” you check with him.

Jinseok gestures at the crew around you, who have all paused their activities. “We can’t do anything without the star.”

“I see.” You hesitate. “Then, I’m just going to check my phone real quick,” you say, and speed off toward the dressing rooms.

There’s a sign right outside that says “Closed for maintenance”. You almost turn around, but then you realize that Hyuk is totally the type to haul that sign out just so he can have the space to himself. So you edge inside, hoping nobody sees you.

There’s Hyuk, pacing up and down the long mirrored counter. He spins around as you enter, face still dark. “Noona,” he says. That one word is loaded with angst already.

“Hyuk.” You scurry further inside and launch into the explanation you’ve prepared. “Hey, look, I had no idea this was going to be your shoot, seriously. Jinseok just called last-minute and said they needed an extra—”

“Jinseok?” He latches onto the name as he moves through the scattered chairs toward you. “That dude you’re acting with? You know him?”

“Well, yeah.” You work up a smile to get him into a more amiable frame of mind. “How else would I get a gig like this? Working with the famous Hyuk of Vixx?”

Hyuk scowls and shoves another chair out of his way. “Is that why he’s being so friendly with you?”

“He’s acting. Just like you are, right?” You try once more to deter his mood. “When you think about it, it’s kinda fun. What are the chances that you and I would be in the same commercial?”

By this point he’s close enough that you have to tilt your head up, and it’s clear that your efforts to appease him aren’t working.

“I don’t think it’s fun that you’re pretending to be another man’s girlfriend.” He walks you backward step by step until your butt hits the counter.

“I had no idea we’d be acting as a couple, honestly.”

He leans in, plants his hands on the counter on either side of you and just stares.

You squirm back from his intense gaze. “Don’t be like this, Hyuk, if someone catches us they’ll talk—”

“Y/N-ah?”

Both of you jump.

You peer around Hyuk and, to your horror, there’s Jinseok goggling at you from the entrance of the dressing room. Quickly you lunge out of Hyuk’s arms and distance yourself, even though you know it’s too late.

“What’s going on?” Jinseok demands, hurrying toward you with a frown. “Are you okay, Y/N-ah?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine—”

But he comes barrelling into your space, clasps your shoulder and starts looking you over as if for injuries. “Did he do something to you?” he asks, not very quietly.

You cringe, because oh boy is Hyuk going to get offended at that. “No, Jinseok-ah, he didn’t—”

“Excuse me.” Here he comes. “We were talking.” Hyuk takes your wrist, hauls you back toward him and pins his gaze on Jinseok. “And we weren’t finished.”

Jinseok clears his throat and straightens. “Hm. Well. I’m just looking out for Y/N-ah, you understand.”

“No,” Hyuk says baldly. “I don’t understand why you need to look out for her.”

Cringe cringe cringe. You can’t even signal to Hyuk to tone it way down, because that’ll make Jinseok suspicious too.

Jinseok looks taken aback by how confrontational Hyuk is being, and you honestly can’t blame him. “She’s my dongsaeng.”

“Your dongsaeng.”

“And my ex-girlfriend. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Slowly, slowly, Hyuk swivels his head to look at you.

You gulp at the outrage that’s forming on his face. You’d really been hoping to keep that fact on the down-low until the shoot was over.

“He’s your ex-boyfriend?” he asks you, enunciating carefully.

“An old ex-boyfriend,” you manage to squeak out.

“Old?” Jinseok frowns.

Hyuk’s looking very pissed. “One of those exes that you called oppa?” He drops his tone at the last word.

Oh my God. “Is that really the point right now?” You tug your wrist against his grip.

He lets go only so he can slide his entire arm around your shoulders and squash you to his side. “Why does he still have your contact info?” he says, voice dropping even lower.

“I don’t know, ask him. I deleted his, obviously,” you add hastily. “A long time ago.”

“Y/N-ah.” Jinseok’s tone is pure bemusement at this point. “What’s going on?”

Before you can deflect, Hyuk turns back to Jinseok and demands, “Take out your phone.”

“Huh??? What?”

“Take out your phone,” Hyuk repeats.

“What do you want with it?” Jinseok asks warily.

“Show me your contacts.”

“Why?” Jinseok asks, eyebrows diving. “Why do you need to see who I know?”

“I don’t care who you know. I just need you to delete Y/N-noona’s contact information. Right now.”

“Hyuk, seriously?” You squirm in his hold.

“What’s it to you?” Jinseok doesn’t take out his phone.

“What’s it to me?” Hyuk scoffs. “Noona, tell him.”

“Hyuk-ah, let’s talk about this later, okay—”

“If Y/N’s your noona,” Jinseok notes, “I’m older than you.”

Hyuk glares. “So?”

“So, maybe you shouldn’t be throwing banmal around.”

Count on Jinseok to focus on the wrong things at the wrong time, seriously. “Well everyone, I’m pretty sure five minutes is over, so—” You push at Hyuk’s forearm, which is close to crushing your windpipe. “—why don’t we go back to the set first and talk later?”

“Jinseok-ssi has to delete your contact info first.” Somehow Hyuk makes his jondaemal sound extra snide.

“Why should I??”

“Look, Hyuk-ah, I’ll just change my number, okay?” You switch from pushing to swatting.

“Y/N-ah,” Jinseok says with a frown, “you don’t have to do that, why would you—”

“Because I’m her boyfriend!” Hyuk bursts out.

In the ringing silence that follows his proclamation, you suddenly notice the director standing in the entrance of the dressing room, mouth hanging half-open.

“Director—” You try to bow on instinct, but Hyuk’s arm catches you and you nearly choke before you manage to extricate yourself.

“What? Oh.” Hyuk spots him too, and he releases you.

Jinseok turns last. “Oh—Director—hello.”

“We were just coming back to the set,” you say hastily, sidling away from Hyuk. You’re not sure how much the director heard; time to go into damage control mode.

“Right.” Jinseok clears his throat, shoots Hyuk a side-glance and then turns to you. “Y/N-ah, let’s go.”

Hyuk makes a sound that’s nearly a growl, grabs your shoulders with both hands and yanks you back a foot as though you weigh nothing. “She’s not going with you.”

Your back is now plastered to Hyuk’s chest; he’s got an arm wrapped possessively just under your breasts. If the director was uncertain about your relationship before, he probably isn’t anymore. So much for damage control.

“Hyuk-ssi—!” You pry his arm away, then face the director and bow again. “Director-nim, I’m so sorry for the delay. And for all… this.”

“Right,” says the director. It’s the first word he’s said since entering the room, and his tone matches his sky-high eyebrows.

“It isn’t her fault,” Jinseok jumps in. “It’s her first time at a shoot, Director, I apologize for her inexperience.”

(Well, that’s not exactly flattering.)

“You wouldn’t have to apologize if you hadn’t asked her to come,” Hyuk snips.

Jinseok turns to glare at Hyuk; he hates when others make him look bad in front of higher-ups. “I’ll keep that in mind, Hyuk-ssi.”

While the two of them are glaring at each other, you take the chance to back away and beeline for the exit. “I’ll see you on the set, then, Jinseok-ssi, Hyuk-ssi, Director-nim,” you say loudly, and flee the room.

*

After that, the shoot rolls on non-stop, and you don’t get the chance to talk to either of them. Every time there’s the smallest break, Hyuk’s standing nearby talking loudly with the make-up noonas or the props guy or whoever else he can drag over so that you and Jinseok aren’t alone. Meanwhile, Jinseok’s pointed looks of disdain grow more and more pronounced as the time passes, and you just know that he’s going to lecture you about this whole situation the first opportunity he gets.

The director, for his part, seems focused on wrapping this whole thing up as fast as he can. He barks orders left and right, takes no shit from Hyuk or anyone else, and avoids addressing you directly at all. He agrees tersely with Hyuk’s suggestion to scale up the intimacy per couple, starting with you and Jinseok at the very beginning of the scale, which means all you have to do is stare into Jinseok’s eyes and smile.

Under the sheer force of the director’s will, Hyuk finishes the rest of his scenes mostly without a hitch, and you’re finally freed from the cold metal patio chair around 7 PM when the director calls the final cut.

“We’re finished here,” is all he says before heading straight to the crew’s office, looking absolutely done with everyone.

Noise and chatter spread as the crew starts disassembling equipment, taking down the set and putting away materials. You stand and stretch, feeling your muscles ache from being seated for so long.

Opposite you, Jinseok stands as well. “Y/N-ah,” he starts.

“Jinseok,” you cut him off. “I did this as a favour to you, but let’s not repeat it again, okay?”

He frowns. “I’m not planning to. But you should really think hard about this relationship, Y/N-ah. It’s not right—”

“And you probably shouldn’t contact me in the future,” you interject again before he can really get going. “Let’s just make a clean break of it.”

“Look, I’m not interested in hanging on to you or anything,” he defends himself. “I’m just looking out for you, this kind of relationship isn’t healthy.”

“You know what isn’t healthy?” Hyuk plants himself beside you, keeping enough distance so as not to draw attention. “Calling up your ex-girlfriend a year after you’ve broken up to ask her to a CF shoot together.”

Jinseok huffs. “It was a last-minute, urgent request.”

“And you’re not going to ask her anymore in the future,” Hyuk replies. “Because you’re going to delete her contact information.”

Scoffing again, Jinseok looks at you. “Y/N-ah, you really want a controlling guy like this? Someone you have to change your number for?”

Hyuk bristles, but you take charge. “I’m not changing his number because of him,” you state. “I’m changing my number because of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s make a clean break,” you repeat, and then stride away.

You manage to gather your things and leave the filming area without running into either of them again. Jinseok’s pride is hopefully wounded enough that he won’t bother you anymore, and who knows what Hyuk has next on his schedule.

You’re about to head outside to get in line for a taxi when someone grasps your arm. “What—”

“It’s me.” Hyuk’s face is wrapped up in a black scarf, scant protection from being recognized as he leads you back inside. He pulls you down one hall and then another, and finally herds you into a single-stall bathroom.

“Hyuk, seriously?” You shake free and stare around the beige tiled walls. “We’re going to talk here?”

Hyuk unwraps his scarf, drapes it over the doorknob and conveniently takes the opportunity to lock the door. When he turns back around, you can almost hear the emotions roiling in him.

“Noona, tell me honestly.” He walks forward into your space as if he doesn’t even notice how he’s twenty centimetres taller than you and a lot broader, too, and stares down at you like he’s trying to read all your secrets. “Are you getting back together with your ex?”

You splutter out a laugh. “What? No, no way.”

“Then why is he still calling you to go to photoshoots with him, huh?”

“I don’t know, Hyuk-ah.”

Hyuk’s disgruntled expression tells you he’s not taking that for an answer.

“I mean, my best guess is that he was going to be kicked out of this shoot if he didn’t have a partner. So he called up all the women he knew.”

“That’s not how being an extra works.”

You hold up your palms. “Hey, I don’t know how any of this works. I was just trying to help him out.”

“Don’t.” The one word is loaded with feeling.

“I won’t anymore. Like I said, I’ll change my number.” You try a gentle, reassuring pat on his arms. “It’s not like I want to keep in touch with him, okay?”

He stares at you some more, then abruptly steps in and folds his arms around you. You’re crushed into him for the third time that day; it’s the first time you get to enjoy it. With a sigh, you reach your arms around him in return.

“Okay, Hyuk-ah?” You stroke your hands over his back.

“Okay.” The surliness is almost all gone from his voice; it’s uncertainty that remains. He eases you back, brushes your hair from your face. “Noona.”

“What?” You reach up and take his hand in yours.

“Am I really being controlling?”

There’s a tiny waver in his voice that makes you stretch up to peck him on the lips. “No, Hyuk-ah.” He lowers his head eagerly to meet your kiss. “Maybe a little too jealous, yeah. But not controlling.” You settle back down on your heels and give him a cheeky smile. “It’s not like I’d let you control me.”

“You don’t have to change your number.” He’s still searching your face, looking for confirmation of your words.

You nod. “I’ll decide later, okay? In the meantime, I don’t think Jinseok’s going to be reaching out anytime soon.”

At the name, the grouchiness returns to Hyuk’s face. He reaches out to take you in his arms again and grumble. “And I don’t think not wanting to see your girlfriend kiss another man is being too jealous.”

“I mean, I get it, but also, it’s acting. You act all the time.”

“I don’t have a hundred ex-oppas inviting me to romantic photoshoots.”

You muffle a laugh in his shirt. “I don’t have a hundred of them either.”

Hyuk pulls back, a frown on his face. “Then how many?”

“Ah—” Faced with the unexpected question, you stall. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

He struggles with that for a moment. “I guess not,” he says reluctantly. “But nobody else better come calling.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not going to happen.”

“I never thought you calling me oppa was going to happen,” Hyuk shoots back, “but it did.”

You stifle your chuckle and lean back against the counter, his hands trailing over your hips. “Hyuk-ah. I already promised I won’t ever say it again to you. And I won’t.”

“But you said it to other people.” He takes a step forward, sliding a leg between yours, and you straighten instinctively in self-defence. “You said it to him.”

“I won’t anymore.” You squirm a little as he casually leans his weight on his leg, pushing his thigh into you. “Okay? Never again.”

“Never,” he repeats, voice dipping. He places a hand against the counter beside you and leans in some more.

“Hyuk-ah—” You lift on your tiptoes to avoid the friction and cast about for some topic that will stop the impending makeout session he apparently has in mind. “Hey, what are we going to do about the director? He knows about our relationship now. Isn’t your manager going to flip?”

“Manager-hyung already talked to him.” Hyuk’s looking at your mouth.

“Oh, really? Wow, well, that was fast acting on his part,” you say quickly. “Then, I guess we can go home now, right? Unless you have something else to do here?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, “you.”

Then he kisses you, which saves you from having to think up a response to that. You probably wouldn’t be coherent anyway, not with his thick thigh pressing into your groin and his body braced over you and his hand cupping your jaw so he can kiss you and kiss you.

Your breath escapes in a pant when he releases your lips after several long seconds. “Hyuk-ah.”

“Mine.” The word slips out a bit roughly, and he kisses you right after, hot and intense. “It’s mine.” He kisses you again.

“What? What is?” Your head is spinning, but you know you’re not an it. Hyuk’s not the type to go all caveman over you, anyway.

“This.” He nips at your mouth this time, teeth leaving a tender sting behind. “Your kiss. Mine mine mine mine.” He punctuates his words with another devouring kiss.

...Okay. Maybe he has a little caveman in him.

“Not his.” Hyuk draws back, and your eyes flutter open to find him staring at you with his burning gaze. “The whole time Director was trying to make you kiss him… that’s what I was thinking. Not his.”

“Um.” You gulp in some air. “Well. We’re in agreement on that.”

“But you were going to anyway.”

“It’s not like I wanted to, okay.”

“I know.” He leans in again to hover his mouth over yours. “But you were going to.”

“But… I didn’t.” Your eyes close instinctively. It’s almost too overpowering, being surrounded by him, feeling so wrapped up and caught in the rushes of emotion that he triggers in you, these feelings you didn’t know existed.

“Yeah. You know why?”

With effort, you open your eyes again. He’s looking at you like you have the stars in your eyes, like you have his song in your soul, he’s looking at you like he’s in love.

“Because you’re mine,” he breathes, and then presses the words into your mouth, a promise.

[punkpoemprose]

Comatose- Kristanna Bodyguard AU

Hi @frenzy5150! I’m your secret santa! So sorry I’m a wee bit late on the posting! I’ve been having an... interesting weekend to say the least. You said that you wanted some hurt/ comfort and some Kristanna being loving dorks, and I intended fully to deliver on both counts. I wrote this in the universe of my bodyguard AU X X which I hope is alright! I hope you like it!

Now with Art by the lovely @epbaker

Universe: Modern Royalty/ Bodyguard AU Rating: T (Teen & Up) Length: 3226 Words

Kristoff combed his fingers through Anna’s hair as Elsa left for the night. They’d said that they would take shifts, but really it was more that they both sat at her bedside all day and well into the night, only taking breaks for the two hours in the day where nurse rotations and other hospital policies asked respectfully that they wait in a room other than Anna’s. They had, however, made the agreement that it made much more sense for Kristoff to stay with Anna between the hours of midnight and 9am as, despite the fact that the hospital had excellent security, particularly in the royal wing, Kristoff was her bodyguard after all. He was also her fiancé, although no one outside Elsa and a handful of others were aware of that.

“I miss you Anna,” he whispered, tucking bits of hair back behind her ear. “Wake up soon, okay?”

Her car had been struck by a drunk driver while she had been returning from a visit to a children’s hospital, and while she’d been able to walk away from the crash, she’d been on the ground by the time Kristoff could extricate himself from the security car following hers. He’d been the one to hold her until the ambulance arrived. He was always the one holding onto her after something awful happened and it made him ill. He’d wanted to be her in car security, but she’d insisted that she didn’t need him there.

Of course, it was because they’d had an argument that morning about when they should be going public with their engagement, and she hadn’t wanted him so close by until they’d both cooled down. He’d expected to find himself in her bedroom before the end of the night to talk things out and work off their stress and anxiety in the way they usually did once her heavy soundproofed bedroom door had closed.

It was four days after that now, and he hadn’t even been able to tell her that he was sorry for asking her to wait, and for presuming to know what would be best for her. The doctors said that she would be waking up “soon” and “any time now” for the last few days, but the tabloids were already running half mad stories such as “Arendelle’s Princess on Deathbed! Queen Silent on Sister’s Condition!” and “Assassination Attempt on Crown Princess??? Palace Insiders Confirm!”. Kristoff frankly, didn’t care if it was all some kind of PR nightmare, or if people in their tiny kingdom were wondering what was going on. He only cared about Anna.

The doctors were optimistic that she’d make a full recovery, but the longer she stayed comatose, the less certain anyone felt. Of course he wasn’t a stupid man, he knew that she must have hit her head fairly hard in the crash, but when people tossed around phrases like “possible traumatic brain injury” and “uncertain recovery period” he felt less confident.

He let his hand shift, trailing his fingers gently over her arm. The doctor had told them that keeping her stimulated would help. It felt strange to touch Anna so openly, and technically without her consent. There’d never been a day that had gone by where she’d objected to his touch, and in fact she was often the one to initiate contact when he didn’t instantly do so. He liked the way she looked at him when he was touching her the way he was now. She’d give him a conspiratorial smile and lean into him, her eyes pleading with him not to stop. He’d thought a couple times since she’d been admitted that maybe she was smiling when he spoke to her or when he touched her, but he couldn’t be sure.

He wasn’t even sure that she’d want him there when she woke. They hadn’t been on particularly good terms before the crash, and it made him wish that he’d just taken the time to talk with her about the reasons why he was worried about making a public announcement of their engagement. He wished that he’d been in the car with her when it had been hit, not that he had any certainty that it would have made any difference, but if nothing else he would have liked to have been there for her when it happened instead of being there seconds after.

The only thing he was certain of was that he loved her very much and that the doctor had said to keep her senses working, and so at least for the next hour that’s exactly what he planned to do.

He held her hand and shifted so that his other hand could trail slowly up and down her arm.

“Do you know how many deliveries of flowers and chocolates I had to send elsewhere today feisty pants?”

He paused, as if she would answer, and was only slightly disappointed when she didn’t.

“You wouldn’t believe how many gifts people are sending you. You’re very popular my Princess. I keep telling the delivery people that we can’t bring the gifts into your room because it’s a safety concern, but I keep having the guards safety check all the sunflowers first. You should see it in here Anna, it’s like the fields we used to play in as kids, you can’t turn without bumping into a sunflower. I think the doctors are going to tell me any minute now that I need to get some out of here because they can hardly make it to your bed.”

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile cross her lips but he couldn’t tell for certain. He had toyed with the idea of kissing her. She’d loved fairy tales when they were young, and it would be just like Anna to wake up to true loves kiss. He didn’t want to test the theory, not only because kissing her lips while she was out felt uncomfortable to him in a way it never had before when she’d simply been asleep, and also because he knew that there would be nothing more disappointing to him than her not waking up if he did so.

Instead he settled for kissing her forehead. He leaned in close to her, just looking at her face for a moment, taking her in, noticing the lack of expression on her face, like a baseline from which he might determine if she was cognizant at all of what he was about to do. He pressed his lips to her forehead, just below her hairline, and let his lips rest there for a moment. He tried to be gentle, he wanted her to feel his kiss, but not any pain on her nearby bruises.

“When you wake up,” he muttered against her skin, “I’m going to beg your forgiveness and kiss you senseless if you’ll let me. Then I’ll go check through all those gifts and let you eat as much chocolate as you want, hell I’ll have some sent over from the castle or that fancy chocolatier you hire for all the parties if you want.”

He pulled back slightly and noticed no changes on her face, something that he had half expected, and yet something that still disappointed him more than anything.

“I hope you can hear me Anna, because I love it when you hold me to a promise. I’d be happy to hear you yell at me about the engagement or about not being in the car with you. I just want to hear your voice baby.”

He shook his head, “You know they don’t want me to keep Sven here with you, but I think I’ll bring him tomorrow. Maybe dog slobber is just what you need, yeah? If you don’t mind being covered in dog hair I’ll fight someone on the rules, I know he misses you and I’m sure you miss him too. He’s just moping around according to everyone else on staff and I think maybe you’d do well to have him around.”

When she still didn’t respond he sighed and readjusted his gun belt and turned his walkie down to just audible. He wasn’t on the clock, he hadn’t been since the accident, but he was still prepared, even as he was about to fall asleep in the chair beside her bed.

“Please wake up Anna,” he said again, this time softer, “Or just give me a sign you hear me please. I’m going crazy missing you.”

He closed his eyes, and almost swore that he felt her hand make the tiniest squeeze against his own.

***

Anna blinked against the light. It was harsh and fluorescent, and it hurt her eyes. They stung anyway, like they were too dry, and her head felt like it was full of rocks. She felt like she was suffering through the worst hangover she’d ever had in her life, but she couldn’t quite recall drinking anything. She only remembered being in a car and now she was somewhere with a strange ceiling and her limbs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each.

She couldn’t really even move her head though with a little bit of effort she managed to roll it to the side slightly as she blinked her eyes again and again, trying to remoisten them even slightly. When she managed to make a somewhat full head roll to the side she felt the crick in her neck begin to abate and saw a bleary eyed Kristoff looking at her.

She opened her mouth to speak but found her throat too dry to produce much of anything for noise. Her “Kris?” came out like something more of a squawking sound than any real word.

He was off his feet in an instant, calling for someone to come into the room, and just as quickly as he’d moved, there were dozens of people around her, there were lights in her eyes, someone scratching notes down on a clipboard and while Anna was somehow tangentially aware that this was all somehow important, it was also all rather annoying to her, particularly because she couldn’t see Kristoff anymore and she didn’t know any of the people around her.

She opened her mouth to speak again and she, this time with a bit more concentration managed to call out his name somewhat satisfactorily.

Then he was there, on his phone, but there, with one hand extending toward her. She saw the worry in his eyes, the bags under his eyes and his mussed hair. He was usually so put together and calm, so prepared for the worst, so to see him that way caused her great concern. Her arms still felt heavy, but she managed to reach her hand up, albeit shaking as she did so, to take his hand. Everything was too loud or too quiet. She knew people were talking but she couldn’t quite hear what was being said, she was mostly watching their mouths move and listening to her own heartbeat above the din of everything else.

Kristoff squeezed her hand and said something to one of the people scurrying around her. She couldn’t figure out what he had said, but she calmed at the sound of his voice. If he was there things were going to be alright, whenever Kristoff was there everything was alright.

Soon enough the crowd of noisy people left the room, and Anna was quite embarrassed with herself that it was only when the last scrub wearing nurse left that she realized that she was in the hospital. Kristoff was seating himself, once again next to her bed when she started working through the fog in her head to figure out how to ask him how she’d ended up there.

“What the hell?”

When he started laughing she smiled.

“You’ve been in a coma for five days and the first thing you say to me, other than my name is ‘What the hell’? The doctors were worried about you being yourself when you woke up,” he said with a grin that lit up his whole face, erasing the look of exhaustion and replacing it with more of the exasperated look she was familiar with.  “But sounds to me like you’re fine.”

Anna shook her head slightly, it still felt heavy and she had a headache, but it was bearable. It took her a little longer than usual to process what he was saying, but she knew he was teasing her just from his tone, and that was good. She liked it when he teased her.

“I’ve been…?” She was still having some difficulties responding, but she could feel words coming back to her, and her throat, while still scratchy, was no longer at odds with her tongue, allowing things to come out of her mouth more or less as she wanted them to.

“In a coma. Anna you’ve been in a coma. The doctor said you might not remember what happened. Do you remember why you’re here? Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” she replied quickly, having already had the thought, “No. I don’t know. Well you said coma, but why?”

He frowned then and she immediately pouted in return. She didn’t like it when he frowned.

“We were on the way back from the children’s hospital on the other side of the city and we got to an intersection and there was a crash. You walked away, then fell unconscious.”

Anna frowned then fully, “Oh no! Was anyone else hurt?”

He shook his head, and a ghost of a smile returned to his lips.

“Just like you to come out of a coma, find out what put you in it and ask about everyone else.”

She nodded, because yes, it was like her, and she knew it, and that felt good.

“No,” he added, “no one else was seriously hurt, just some scrapes and bruises, you took the brunt of the crash. The driver walked away too. He’s in a cell somewhere waiting for a court date.”

She didn’t like the sounds of that, “It’s not serious is it?”

“Drunk driving,” he said back, “And he went through a police barricade to get into the intersection in the first place, so yeah, pretty bad.”

She frowned again and teared up a little bit, “That’s so sad. Does he have a family?”

He rolled his eyes but scooted closer to her bed and leaned in close, “I’d say you hit your head too hard, but no. It really is just like you to start worrying about the family of the drunk driver that put you into the hospital.”

She smiled and made the effort to put her arm up to pull him in closer. She wanted a kiss and she would have one.

“I’m the Princess. It’s my duty to look after my people, even when they make mistakes.”

Kristoff sighed and kissed her. She knew that he knew that arguing with her was futile. She was still a little confused and it was taking her a little longer than normal to think about what she wanted to do or say, but Kristoff knew her and she knew him.

She also knew that she was supposed to be mad at him. Or at least she was pretty sure that she was much earlier in the day, before the crash. He’d made her take the ring he’d bought her off before they went to the hospital. He didn’t want people to know that they were engaged until they made the official announcement, and she’d been ready to go tell the world since he’d popped the question. It seemed silly now, for them to have fought about it. She had wanted to announce it to the world, but she should have been ready to give him a little more time before he had an even bigger spotlight placed on him. She should have been more willing to be flexible.

“I’m sorry we argued,” she said just as the thought came to mind. “But I’m glad you weren’t in the car.”

He huffed, “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“I remember everything important.”

He grinned slightly and gave her another kiss, this time on her forehead, “So the car crash isn’t important?”

“Not as much as arguing with you,” she said in return, confident in her answer despite the look he was giving her over it. “I’m sorry, we can wait before we say anything.”

He grinned, “Well it’s a little late for that,” he said gently, “I had to tell the hospital staff I was your fiancé for them to let me stay in the room instead of outside the door and when they didn’t believe me your sister confirmed it. While they’re supposed to be quiet about it, but you know someone will overhear something and it’ll be front page news any day now, if it isn’t already.”

She smiled, “Does that mean I can wear the ring?”

He leaned back and picked up her hand in his own before placing a kiss on her knuckles, “You already are.”

She glanced over to see that she was in fact wearing the ring he’d given her just a few weeks prior. The stone didn’t glitter quite so much under the fluorescents as it did in the sunlight, but it was absolutely her ring.

“I kept it in my pocket after we fought, and I put it on your finger after the doctor’s gave me permission. I hope you don’t mind.”

He seemed almost sheepish, but she was grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t mind as long as you don’t mind the fact that I’m never taking it off again.”

She felt more awake now. Things were making sense, her brain was getting up to speed and she was able to move a little better.

He chuckled, “Even in the shower?”

She grinned, “Especially in the shower. You never know, some water droplets in the kingdom might not know I’m a taken woman.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, this time letting her take her fill of him. She relaxed into the mattress and sighed against his lips, her hands, while still heavy, moving to card through his hair. They only broke apart when a nurse came in and coughed politely. She needed to check some kind of level and informed Anna and Kristoff both that her royal majesty had just arrived again to check on her sister.

Anna had a feeling that it was less of a notice to her than it was an indication to Kristoff that he might want to unmuss his hair. When she left to fetch Anna a pitcher of fresh cold water, Anna giggled.

“We were caught! So much for constant vigilance Mr. Bodyguard.”

He smiled and leaned back down to kiss her again, “Oh I knew we were getting caught,” he said before resting his forehead on hers, “I just didn’t care.”

Anna giggled again and did her best to straighten herself before her sister arrived. She felt like she needed a shower, and maybe also a tray of chocolate cookies, and also maybe for Kristoff to take her back home as soon as possible and give her some specific affection that she knew neither of them would like very much to be caught in the act of.