#and this jacket with different patches on it... she never thought she'd be the kind of girl to like shopping but she's so excited

[the-lark-ascending69]

I loove the android robin au it's really one of the most interesting au I have seen in a while.

I am always happy to see new post abt it

Also making my favourite characters go through hell and then receiving comfort from their people is like the best thing ever for me so every time I see a whump!Robin post I like automatically

People loving android!Robin makes me so happy anansnssndsnsns she's curious and excitable and full of wonder and the world keeps punishing her for simply being alive. Sometimes it's too painful even for me, big whump lover 😭😭 though seriously, there is not enough Robin whump, and while all the characters in the show are very whumpeable, hurting my little blorbo Robin feels special because... she's just so deeply lonely. She's lonely and she thinks she deserves to be because of something wrong with her (pulling this interpretation from Surviving Hawkins lore which is canon to me 😭). That was a big idea I had when I first came up with android!Robin... that there is something wrong with her. Broken. In this AU she's literally broken in a lot of way (battery and memory problems, weak joints in her lower half, etc), but that's all within the range of normal robot problems. The real issue with her is that she's sentient. It terrifies people because it really brings out the existencial horror of... well, existing. It terrifies Robin most of all. She is the problem. She is what's wrong with her. She shouldn't exist.

But at the same time, she loves being alive so much! She doesn't understand it and doesn't know how it happened, but it happened, and now she's real and wants to experience life and the world and know people like human beings do. So it's her constant battle to become human despite humans having hurt her so much in the past... only for Nancy to already see her as human. Just one made of metal and plastic, but human nonetheless. She's the first person to see her that way and maybe everyone else thinks she's crazy, but Nancy is used to that. She's so sure of this, though, of Robin's self-awareness. She trusts her so blindly. She doesn't even need proof. And not only does she believe her, but she defends her humanity in front of her friends and family so ardently, fighting so hard for Robin to be aknowledged by everyone else as human. Fighting so hard to give her a home and family for the first time in her life.

Nancy has it bad for Robin, really. She's just so in love, even if everyone else thinks she's crazy for falling in love with a machine (no one thinks she is, though, because they all know Robin, and once you know Robin, it's impossible not to love her).

[aparticularbandit]

imagine your favorite fashion guru on tiktok/instagram/youtube. very good about giving all the tips, about explaining things in a way that you can follow. shows cool ways to do make-up, how to sew missing buttons or replace zippers, to add patches to punk jackets, even hair dye tips - and the best brands for your buck! and very good about stories during the whole thing; you never get bored!

then you hear about something really bad happening in her country, and the videos stop for a while. you miss her, of course, but you get it. you wouldn't upload under the circumstances either. of course, you and a bunch of her other followers leave a lot of positive comments on her last video - the one that explains why she might not be updating for a while.

months pass. every now and again you check on her channel. you're subscribed, so you'd get an email for a new video, but. just in case, you know? and sometimes you go through the old videos. they're just so comforting. you wonder how she's doing. you hope she's doing okay.

one day, you get the email that she's been active again! you automatically check it out. looks like she and a bunch of her friends from school have decided to take shelter in an abandoned school building. they've completely locked themselves in, but she assures you that everyone is going to be just fine! it's just kind of boring in there and everything. but the headmaster has given her permission to do videos again; he doesn't think it's a threat at all!

so now you get a lot of videos. daily content. not just your guru giving her normal tips and tricks, but more real life stuff. she brings in some of her friends, and they all seem really sweet. they livestream video games every now and again, and sometimes she ropes them into doing jackbox stuff so even the viewers can get involved! it's entirely different, but you're addicted. especially when she has a set time every day for her streams and then others around that! and of course, it's so great to leave comments to make everyone feel better, what with everything they're going through.

sometimes, she cries on camera. it's really, really rough. but she thanks you - all of her viewers - for being there for her through everything. it's so nice of all of you. she'd thought you would leave after everything or that the abrupt change of content would cause her to lose viewers. then she says that, you know, given everything, viewer count's not so important to her anymore. she just wants you to know that she's still here, she's still alive, and that they're all going to try and do their best to survive together.

it feels like everyone you know is following her now, tuned into her life, the lives of her friends, their struggles. it's a weird sort of thing; you all have your favorites, but you don't really hate anyone either because...those are real people on the screen. you love all of them. but you love your girl the best. she was the first. of course, you love her.

one day, the live stream starts, and it's...different.

there's a bear? and something about murder? and none of your comments are getting through to anyone anymore. and it's just the bear playing moderator? and the headmaster is...gone? and so is one of the students?

only you look closer - you know what your girl looks like, you know - and that's...that's her sister dressed up as her, you're sure of it. which means your girl is missing.

something's...something's wrong. it's weird. you don't like it, but you can't stop following it. because...well.

there's a bunch of theories. maybe it's like when markiplier did one of his movies or whatever. maybe they were just so bored that they decided to do a movie series or something like that?

and then you see one of the students murder another one on screen.

and then the bear kills your girl's sister.

and you can't look away.

(junko enoshima trends on twitter for over a month, even through the other murders.)

[liannelara-dracula]

Laito sakamaki soft relationship head cannon and he’s actually trying to be a good boyfriend

Srry about sending the ask to the wrong account😬

-Thanks sm

Hi Love, no it's okay. Gosh, I'm sorry this has taken so long. It's just something I have a hard time thinking about. I'll do my best but tbh I can't see him as a fluffy person.

-Liannelara

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Prompt

Requests are open

Rules

Warning:

*certain words have been censored for Tumblr guidelines.

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So if I was being realistic about this we know he's basically incapable of loving or at least believes love is nonsense.

Anyhow let's say he loved and has an actual interest or whatever in a girl and it's not some game to him, things would be different.

I think he'd take the relationship a little slow because he really wants to understand and focus on what he might be feeling.

So I mean there are a lot of rough patches with you.

And tbh if he's gonna be with someone they might have to go through similar things with love and so on but just with a different outcome and take on it so that she could help him mend that a little (hopefully).

So he'd need someone who kinda knows what that's like, to be used and mislead about love and how to do it.

Laito needs someone who could show him what love means but I wouldn't say it'd be someone like Yui, this girl would have a similar past to him, not completely the same but there are aspects that tie them together.

It's what makes them go together.

She'd have to be someone who's unphased by a man's manipulation, which can only be possible if she's experienced in this.

It's the kind of person who doesn't feel powerless just by some words. So she has to be a hard shell to crack, kinda like him.

Anyhow when there are not arguments or disagreements he is working towards being with you and understanding you.

He's still a p*rv but less of one because it's not what he's mainly focused on.

But he does like to lean on the romantic side of things and bring you flowers sometimes.

He especially does it at school.

And he especially likes it if you say he's too bold and that you don't want him to be as open.

He likes to tea$e you about it.

Laito gives you his fur coat when you're cold.

Diva Laito- change my mind

This is a big step for him.

I know that sounds crazy bc it's just a jacket but he wears it all the time and like never takes it off!

So I highly doubt any girl has ever worn it.

So if he gives a girl that jacket, this is very serious moment.

I mean the regard he had to give it up without thought says a lot.

His brothers are shocked.

It was mentioned in a drama CD by Ayato that Laito does love his clothes so I think that bc he gives her his coat it is obviously something special to him.

Anyhow, I don't think he'd ever give up his hat, although he does like it when you take it off him.

And if you run off with it, he likes the chase.

He would literally tackle you down for that dumb hat of his and tickle you until you'd give it back to him.

I notice that throughout the manga and other things Laito likes to be under the moonlight and look at the scenery when he's talking to Yui so it doesn't surprise me if he likes to take late-night walks with his s/o.

And that's where he's most open and honest with her.

It's usually his most softest moments bc he's not being watched and he can be honest with you 100%.

So you have a lot of different conversations. They lean more towards the serious side of things.

He does like to open you up to new things so usually, he will try to coax you into doing something with him.

"It'll be fun, I promise."

He DOES NOT call you b!tch.

Like no, your partner should say good things about you, not mean things. It's already enough that there are people who put you down so would want their lover to call them that??

So yeah no he just doesn't do that.

I know it seems like he'd use nicknames (I'm tempted to say that) but I honestly think he sticks to your real name with no shortening to it.

Unless you really hate it or something.

Like if your name was Elizabeth but you don't like it he would call you Lizzy, in his carefree voice. (example ofc)

I know it's said that it's scary when he's mad, ngl, but his s/o likes to take his hat and where it and he either finds it a turn-on or something he needs to chase after you about.

Which is kinda funny.

He loves to abruptly k!ss you especially when you are separating from periods at school.

It's his way of saying "see you later"

He does pull you out of class randomly sometimes and makes an excuse to the teacher.

That is why he can take you out on dates or whatever.

He likes sharing things with you so like if there's a sweet or something he eats it with you.

And he likes to do crossword puzzles so you usually sit on his lap and he asks you what you think the word is.

He usually showers you with k!sses at this time.

And you hardly finish the crossword puzzle because you end up in bed with him.

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˗ˏˋ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ˎˊ˗ ©𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔~Present

[karahalloway]

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 9 - Edge of the Night

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: Drake locates Christian... but that doesn't mean his night's over.

Word Count: 6,600

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Apologies this took sooo long to get out! I started working on this chapter back in November, but I got stuck several times, then I went to chase the shiny butterfly that was Polo!, and then I was busy collaborating on the Mardi Gras Mayhem fic. But... after much ado, here is the (long-awaited!) chapter! Hope it meets expectations!

A/N2: A day early, but this is also my submission for the Choices April Challenge. This chapter would fall under the ‘Just want to be with you’.

Chapter 9 - Edge of the Night

Ten minutes later, I'm standing at the St. George Ferry Terminal on Staten Island, wearing a standard-issue NYPD leather jacket (courtesy of O'Sullivan), scanning the disembarking passengers, on the lookout for Chris.

I chew the inside of my mouth nervously as I feel my foot tap against the polished concrete floor.

Time is everything right now, and unfortunately, I don’t have much of it in the bank.

I can only hope that Hayley hasn’t had a chance to post the photo yet. Because if she has, then it’s only a matter of time before someone recognises Chris and blows up the carefully faked narrative of his whereabouts.

And then all bets are off...

Because even if we manage to make it back to Cordonia without any nasty surprises, chances are good that the paps will twist even the most innocent selfie into some kind of dig about Chris and his fitness to rule. While a snap of him getting kissed by an American girl days before the start of the social season where he is supposed to choose a wife...? There’s only one way that’s gonna end. With him smack bang in the middle of a scandal that we definitely don’t need right now.

And hence my one rule for this trip — no fuckin' photos.

Not that anyone ever listens to me...

Thankfully, I don't have to wait long. At this time of night, the ferry is basically empty and the terminal deserted.

The automatic doors in front of me whoosh open and I catch sight of Chris, holding hands with Hayley, laughing at something she'd just said.

My gut tightens.

I've never seen him happier.

But unfortunately for my best friend, this impromptu escapade's about to get shut down.

"Pleasant trip?" I ask, striding up to them.

Chris throws his head up in surprise. "Drake?"

"You're a cop?" gasps Hayley in disbelief.

I follow her gaze to the NYPD insignia patched onto the jacket's sleeve. "Heh. No. This ain't mine."

"Then how did y—?"

"Put two-and-two together?" I ask dryly, deliberately sidestepping the question she’s actually asking. "Simple maths."

Chris' shoulders drop as he lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I guess I am rather predictable..."

"Good thing, too," I drawl. "Otherwise I'd've had to call in the cavalry, and then we'd be having a very different kind of conversation."

Hayley's widen. "The caval—? You mean the FBI? Is that what you are?"

I suppress a snort. Seriously? The second time in just as many nights? Maybe I should drop my resumé off at Quantico...

"No," I reply simply before shifting my focus back to Chris.

"I am sorry," he sighs, catching fully onto my meaning. "I didn't intend to cause a ruckus. I honestly thought we could get here and back before anyone noticed."

"You know you could've just said the word, and we would've made this happen, right?" I ask. "There was no need for you to cut and run like that."

"To be fair, this was all quite spur of the moment, wasn't it?" he admits, sneaking a glance at Hayley, who blushes in response. "We were just talking back at the club, and I happened to mention that we never got to see the Statue of Liberty this morning... To which Hayley admitted to always having wanted to take a night-time ferry tour... And all of a sudden, one thing led to another, and—"

"Yeah, I get it," I interject. "And I don't blame you for doing it. But next time, leave your phone on. Regardless of whatever kind of BS Leo tries to sell you." I fix him with a pointed look.

Chris has the good graces to flush embarrassedly. "Duly noted."

Hayley shakes her head. "But his phone was—"

"And speaking of phones..." adds O'Sullivan, strolling up with a half-eaten Boston Cream donut in his hand, "I'm going to have to ask you to hand yours over, ma'am."

Hayley's mouth drops open. "My phone?"

"Yes, ma'am," O'Sullivan affirms, popping the rest of the donut into his mouth.

"What is the meaning of this, officer?" demands Chris, moving in front of a shocked Hayley.

"Chris..." I warn in a low voice. "Back off."

He throws me a disbelieving look. "But—"

"We have reason to believe that the device contains information pertinent to a matter under investigation," O'Sullivan clarifies.

Chris reels back. "What investigation?"

"A joint investigation," comes the stone-faced reply.

Hayley's face drains of colour.

I shake my head. Christ, O'Sullivan can be a bastard when he wants to be.

But the situation can’t be helped.

There are sensitive pictures of Chris and Hayley on that device that cannot be allowed to see the light of day. And despite the fact that O'Sullivan’s skirting a very dangerous line right now, we have to sacrifice one form of privacy to protect another.

Because even though O'Sullivan’s an NYPD officer, sworn to uphold the laws of the Empire State, he’s also duty bound to look out for his principle. So, he offered to play bad cop. In part because he actually is a cop.

He turns back to Hayley. "Were you aboard the recently docked Staten Island Ferry?"

Chris heaves an exasperated sigh. "How is that—?"

O'Sullivan ignores him. "Answer the question, ma'am."

"Yes," squeaks Hayley.

"Damn it, Drake!" snaps Chris. "Do something!"

"Can't, buddy..." I inform him flatly. "Don't have jurisdiction here, remember?"

"So, you're just going to let him—?"

"Impeding a police officer from carrying out their public duties is a criminal offence," I point out, folding my arms. "So, I suggest you let the man do his job."

Chris glares at me.

But he’s gonna have to suck it up.

Because he got himself into this avoidable mess as a result of his impulsiveness and complete disregard for our standard security protocols. So, now it’s my job to clean up after him.

Regardless of how it makes him — or Hayley — feel.

"While onboard, did you take photographs with a cellular device?" continues O'Sullivan.

Hayley's basically quaking in her boots. "Yes, but—"

"And in the course of taking such photographs, did you—?"

"—but, I didn't use my phone!"

The intensity of Hayley's outburst catches everyone off guard.

I shake my head. "Then what—?"

"She used my phone," explains Chris tersely. "To take a picture of me with the Statue of Liberty in the background... so I could commemorate the once-in-a-lifetime experience."

"But she—"

"—may have taken a few additional pictures as well," admits Chris with a self-conscious smile, as his eyes finds Hayley again. "Somewhat spontaneously, I'll admit, but—"

"None on hers?" I press.

Chris lifts his eyes to mine steadfastly. "No. Her phone stayed in her purse the whole time. So, whatever it is that you are accusing her of, she did at my behest and therefore should be relieved of any and all responsibility."

I feel the tension in my shoulders unwind slightly. Some goddamn common sense, at last!

But Chris isn’t off the hook yet...

"Did you share any pictures with her?" I ask.

"He tried," Hayley admits. "But for some reason, there was no signal on the ferry."

I let out an explosive breath. Thank Christ for that signal jammer!

Never thought I'd actually be thanking Leo for anything. But here we are...

Hayley is still glaring at us. "Well, aren't you going to ask to see his phone, then? Seeing as you're so concerned about... whatever it is that you're concerned about?"

I glance at Chris. She's got a point...

He pulls out his phone with a nod of acknowledgment, knowing we have to continue playing this game for the sake of his cover. "Here you are, officer."

Taking it, O'Sullivan makes a bit of a show of flipping through Chris' camera roll before handing the device back. "Thank you, sir. Looks like we got bad intel. None of the images contain anything pertinent to our investigation." He throws me a dirty look.

I shrug. Shit happens.

But the important thing is that we’re in the clear... and my ass is no longer on the line.

"So... that's it? asks Hayley cautiously. "We're free to go?"

"Not quite," I admit, meeting Chris' eye.

He drops his gaze in resignation before turning to Hayley. "As delightful as this spontaneous outing has been, I am afraid we must call it a night."

Her mouth falls open. "Just like that?"

"Unfortunately so," he confirms, lifting her hand gently to his lips. "But believe me when I say that you made my night, Hayley."

A blush rises to her cheeks. "I don't know about that..."

"Truly," he asserts, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. "I am forever grateful..."

"Jesus, I'm about to get diabetes..." huffs O'Sullivan under his breath.

I elbow him in the ribs.

"...and as a small token of my appreciation, I hope you would allow us to escort you home," finishes Chris with a meaningful look in my direction.

I can't help but scoff. Well played, buddy. Well played.

But I guess I owe him one after gatecrashing his date the way I have. And let's face it — we can’t exactly leave the girl stranded on the wrong side of the Hudson without a safe way to get home. So, we might as well kill two birds with one stone.

"Sure," I concede. "She can ride back with us."

"In your drea—"

O'Sullivan grunts as I nail him in the side again.

"Oh, you really don't have t—" demurs Hayley.

"But I want to," insists Chris, turning the full force of his emerald gaze on her.

She wilts under his sincerity with a blush. "Well, in that case..."

"What the hell, Walker?" hisses O'Sullivan under his breath as Chris offers his arm to Hayley to lead her from the ferry terminal. "Finding your missing prince is one thing, but you can't just go around handing out free rides to civilians like—"

"Trust me," I reply quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'll make it worth your while."

He snorts. "I already paid for the donuts."

"This is a bit more substantial than some Dunkin's," I assure him.

"Better be," he declares. "Kerosene ain't cheap, Lieutenant."

I throw my head up. "You've done your homework."

"What can I say?" he shrugs with a smirk. "I'm good at my job."

"And if you've read my file," I reply, recovering quickly, "you'll know that I am too."

"Seeing is believing, Walker," O'Sullivan reminds me as we exit the terminal hot on Chris and Hayley's heels.

I roll my eyes. "Hardass..."

But, I can understand his scepticism. This is the first time the two of us have officially worked together, and in this job, trust doesn’t come easy, or cheap.

So, I’m gonna let his attitude slide.

Hayley stumbles to a stop in front of us. "Why is there a—?"

"Had to get here somehow..."

Her jaw drops as she turns to gape at me. "So, you flew in a helicopter?"

"Faster than swimming," I tell her with a shrug.

Hayley stares at me like I was insane.

"And it's not waiting for stragglers, so if you want a lift, you'd better move it," prompts O'Sullivan, striding past her towards the idling chopper.

"Hold on. He's coming with us?" asks Hayley in disbelief.

"It's his bird," I shout over the roar of the rotor blades. "So, yeah."

"His—?" Her eyes widen. "Wait. Are you guys... arresting us?"

I fix her with a pointed look. "See any handcuffs?"

"Then why are we getting into a helicopter with a cop!" she demands, stubbornly throwing the breaks on a few feet from the aircraft.

"Because he's doing us a favour," I explain with a sigh. "So if you—"

"No!" she protests. "Not until you tell me who the hell you are! Because if you're not cops and you're not FBI then—"

Chris steps assuringly up to her. "Hayley. There is nothing nefarious underfoot. I promise. We are simply—"

"Diplomats," I interject quickly, not 100% confident that Chris won't choose this moment to come clean about who he really is. "From Europe."

"Diplomats?" queries Hayley, eyeing the two of us uncertainly.

"Here on an unofficial, turn-and-burn visit," I confirm. It’s basically the truth. The best lies always are.

"Unofficial?" she frowns. "You mean secret?"

"You make it sound much more suspenseful than it in fact is," chuckles Chris, holding a hand out to help her into the ‘copter.

"But we are trying to keep a low profile," I remind them.

She mulls over our responses. "So, that cop—?"

"Doing us a favour, like I said."

"What's the holdup, boys?" shouts O'Sullivan from the cockpit.

"Nothing!" I holler back over my shoulder as Hayley finally climbs in...

...while simultaneously throwing a hand out to intercept Chris as he's about to follow suit.

He meets my eye quizzically.

"Not with that kit in your pocket, buddy," I tell him. "I've had more than enough excitement for one night."

His brows furrow. "Isn't it just—?"

"It can down the chopper," I reply flatly, holding out my hand.

Chris pales. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he quickly palms me the signal jammer without further protest.

Killing the power to the device, I pocket it and hop in after Chris.

"'Bout time, Walker," observes O'Sullivan dryly as I pull the door closed.

Securing the hatch, I flick my middle finger 'round, giving O'Sullivan the go to take off while simultaneously flipping him off.

He throws his head back with a laugh as he relays the instructions to Hendricks.

The pilot revs the throttle, and we start to lift into the air.

Dropping into the seat across from Chris, I pull the seatbelt on as I fire off a quick text to Schweitzer to let him know that we were inbound back to the hotel. Stowing the device, I pull the headset on just in time to hear Hayley's gasp over the intercom.

Glancing up, I see her latched onto Chris, eyeing the rapid retreat of the terra firma with a confused mix of emotions on her face.

Chris's voice crackles over the intercom. "Exciting, isn't it?"

She swallows hard, tightening her hold on his arm. "You... you could say that..."

His face clouds with concern. "Do you... suffer from acrophobia by any chance?"

"W-what?" she stammers, glancing back at him nervously.

"Acrophobia," he repeats. "Fear of heights."

She shakes her head. "I... I've just never flown before."

"Ah," nods Chris in understanding. "Some trepidation is perfectly understandable, then. But, as someone who has been flying since infancy, I can assure you that it is quite safe."

"Promise?"

"Solemnly," he assures her, covering her hand in his. "I wouldn't dream of putting you in harm's way. And, if it helps at all, you are welcome to focus your attention on me."

I scoff under my breath as Hayley lifts her gaze to Chris' like clockwork.

Guy’s slicker'n a greased pig on ice...

But I can’t really blame him. It’s his last shot at freedom before the start of the season, so he’s entitled to bring his A-game...

...even if his play had cost me mine.

I give myself a mental kick.

Quit it, you ass.

This is Chris' time. Not mine.

And I’m not gonna let some misplaced sense of resentment fuck up what’s left of this trip.

Especially since I only have myself to blame.

For dragging my feet around Gale. For second-guessing myself... and her. And for letting myself fall for her in the first place.

I heave a breath as I stare out of the cockpit.

I fucked up. Big time.

Don't get hooked.

That’s my number one rule.

Because I have no time and zero interest in anything resembling a serious relationship. It’s too distracting, too much work and I probably wouldn't be able to sustain it anyway. At least not without a level of disclosure that’s way higher than what I’m prepared to give after just a handful of dates. And even then there’s no guarantee that all the late nights, erratic schedules and constant jet-setting won’t drive a massive wedge between whatever promises we make to each other.

Hell, this life literally destroyed my family.

Yet, here I am, despite everything, wishing it’s Harper that I’m sat next to right now, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine, smelling the honey scent of her hair as we whip over the city.

Would she be clutching my hand nervously, like Hayley is Chris'? Or would she be pressed up against the window, hazel-green eyes sparkling with excitement as she sought out each famous landmark? Or would she be on my lap, taking me for a very different kind of ride 2,000 feet over the city, the view outside forgotten?

I swallow a groan as I shift uncomfortably in the hard seat.

Christ, I’m in trouble...

Not only had I torpedoed my own rules like a bull in a china shop, but I've decided that it'd be a great fuckin’ idea to fall for a girl who lives literally on the other side of the world, and who I have no chance of ever seeing again.

Because the social season is starting in a few short days, and it’s going to eat up literally all of my time. In part because the season’s a mess of high-profile public engagements across disparate venues around the country, and in part because Chris is now the Heir Apparent and that means that I’m going to have to be even more on the ball when it comes to security arrangements.

So, there’s no way in hell that — even if I want to — I’m going to be able to hop back over the Pond and find Gale, much less spend any kind of meaningful time with her.

And I want to. Desperately. Beyond the fact that I have an incurable itch in my pants from having failed to close the deal.

Because no girl has ever had such a lightning bolt effect on me. And I can’t ignore the lodestone-like attraction that went beyond anything I've ever felt before.

But life obviously has a malicious sense of humour when it comes to throwing curve balls, because short of giving Bast — and Chris — the finger and resigning, I literally have no cards to play.

And I’m not gonna leave my brother or my commanding officer (who’s also my uncle in all but name) in the lurch during one of the busiest periods of the royal calendar, just so I can chase after a girl who may or may not actually want to see me again.

Especially after the way I walked out on her earlier...

I shake my head morosely as we begin our descent onto the hotel roof.

There’s no two ways about it. Because regardless of what’s happened — and didn't — I’m going to have to accept that I've been dealt a shit hand and the only available option is to cut my losses and fold.

Because me and her? Not gonna happen. On any level.

So, if I’m to have any hope of extricating myself from this irrational infatuation that I've inadvertently thrown myself into, I know that I’m just gonna have to pretend that the past two nights never happened...

...and maybe that way I can salvage some semblance of sanity before I lose my mind completely.

The chopper touches down.

Yanking my headset and seatbelt off, I immediately set about throwing the door open and helping Chris and Hayley disembark.

Because if there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s that I have two options for pulling myself out of my ass: getting physical, or getting shit-faced drunk. And since alcohol’s not a possibility right now — at least not until Chris is safely back in his hotel room and the door has been locked for the night — I’m going to have to keep moving and keep myself busy.

"Get her inside," I shout to Chris. "I'll be over in a sec."

With a nod, he wraps his arm around Hayley to help shield her from the worst of the down draft as he begins leading her towards the hotel-access door on the other side of the roof.

Turning back towards the chopper, I yell up O'Sullivan, "Thanks for the assist!"

"Any time, Lieutenant," he winks back at me as I shrug out of the loaner jacket. "You Cordonians sure know how to make a guy's night interesting!"

"Yeah," I scoff, tossing the heavy leather up to him. "A little too interesting..."

"Beats sitting at a desk all night," he grins, deftly snapping the jacket out of the air... until his expression changes as he clocks the added weight. "You leave your Tic-Tac's in here, or something, Walker?"

"Nope," I reply. "That lil' keepsake's for you, Deputy Inspector."

O'Sullivan frowns as he reaches into the inner-left pocket... and blanches as he pulls out the signal jammer. "You've got to be shitting me!"

I catch his eye with a level look. “Told you I'd make this trip worth your while..."

"Yeah, when you said that, I thought you were talking about a case of Bud, or something," he admits dryly, inspecting the jammer. Looking back up, he adds, "You realise this isn't some rookie tech off Amazon, right?"

I nod. "It's why I figured you'd want it off the streets."

Leo'd probably filched it from the Guard armoury, the sneaky bastard. Which means it’s military-grade and has no place in a civilian setting.

O'Sullivan chuckles. "You figured right. This bad boy could've landed your Prince Charming with a hefty fine... or some serious jail time if he'd been caught with it."

"Trust me, I know," I grunt. "But at least this way you have a plausible story for commandeering the chopper."

"Not to mention a shit load of paperwork," he grumbles with a sour look. But I can see that he's not that begrudging of the situation.

"Yeah, well," I shrug, "no pain, no gain, O'Sullivan. And speaking of, I should get going before Chris blows up all our hard work by disappearing again."

"No sweat, Walker," grins O'Sullivan. "Like I said, it's been interesting."

"Glad to’ve been of service," I smirk in reply as I yank the chopper door closed again.

From behind the cockpit window, O'Sullivan lifts two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute before turning back Hendricks.

As the rotors start to pick up speed again, I quickly vacate the landing circle. Loping across the roof, I catch up with Chris and Hayley just before the stairwell door slams shut behind them.

"Everything alright?" queries Chris as the motion-sensitive lights flicker on overhead in the tight space.

"Yup," I confirm, quickly moving to the front. I’m not expecting any nasty surprises on our way down, but you can never be too careful. "Just had to square a few lose ends."

"What happened to your shirt?" exclaims Hayley, suddenly catching sight of my bare chest.

"Functional breakdown," I mutter, yanking the wayward front panels together as I start making my way down the steps.

"He means it ripped," clarifies Chris wryly in response to Hayley's confused silence.

"Yeah, I can see that, but—"

"It ain't important," I cut in gruffly, picking up the pace.

It’s bad enough that I can’t get Gale out of my head. I don’t need the remnants of my unfulfilled night with her turning into a conversation piece.

Because the last thing I feel like doing — after everything that’s gone wrong tonight — is talking. About any of it. As it sure as hell isn’t gonna change anything, and it’s definitely not anyone’s business but mine and Gale's.

Reaching the landing, I divert towards the nondescript door that’s our gateway back into the hotel proper. Cracking it open, I do a quick visual sweep for potential threats before opening it more fully to let Chris and Hayley through as well.

Hayley frowns as she surveys our surroundings. "You brought us to... a gym?"

"It's the fastest way to the elevators," I tell her, striding past the glass-encased room that houses the top-of-the-line fitness equipment. "Unless you want to tackle a dozen flight of stairs in those heels?"

"No, thanks."

"Yeah. Didn't think so."

"Is he always so grumpy?" whispers Hayley to Chris... loud enough for me to hear.

"Only on Thursdays and Fridays," replies Chris in equally (un)hushed tones.

Hayley snorts in response.

I feel my jaw clench.

But we’re two yards from the elevators and the end of this fucked up night.

So, I don't let myself rise to the needling, and focus instead on the task at hand, which is making sure that Chris got back to his room without incident.

Arriving at the metal doors, I press the button to call the lift. One arrives almost instantaneously and we file in, Chris and Hayley trying and failing to hide their conspiratorial sniggers as they cast me sidelong glances.

I roll my eyes, but otherwise remain silent.

Just have to drop Chris off, and then escort Hayley down to the lobby and into a cab.

Then I’m done.

Luckily, the well-greased elevator ride is mercifully short, and we arrive on our booked-out floor within seconds.

The doors ping open.

I open my mouth...

...but Chris is faster.

"Could I tempt you with a nightcap?" he asks Hayley, extending his hand hopefully down towards the end of the hallway. "My room has quite an impressive selection of refreshments."

"Sounds like being a diplomat comes with perks," she observes with a smile.

"Absolutely," agrees Chris, placing a hand in the small of her back to guide her towards his room. “Especially when you have a beautiful companion to share them with.”

I slam my mouth shut as I step out of the lift after them.

So much for that plan...

Chris obviously isn’t ready to call it a night. But who can blame him? He has a hot girl hanging on his every word and gesture, who just agreed to come back to his hotel room. He'd be a fool not to take full advantage of the opportunity.

And honestly? With the way they’re looking at each other, I'll be surprised if they even made it to the mini bar (let alone to the bed) before they jump each other like a pair of horny jackrabbits...

...Christ knew Gale and I hadn't.

I shake my head. 

Put a sock in it, Walker!

Yanking my phone out of my pocket to distract myself from the relentlessly graphic memories, I send a quick sit-rep to Schweitzer to let him know that we've made it safely back to the hotel, and everyone can finally unclench their sphincters.

That said, I have no idea what Leo, Max and Tariq are up to… or where the hell they even are. But they’re not my priority. If they got themselves lost, locked up, or killed, that’s their problem. Not mine.

I've had enough of running around the greater New York metropolitan area for one night, praying and hoping while chasing down partial leads and best-guesses. And I’m not gettin' paid to stress about nobody but Chris, so everyone else can fall down an open man-hole and break their neck for all I care.

I’m fuckin' done with this night.

"Care to join us?"

Chris’ voice jars me from my thoughts. Glancing up, I can see him standing in the doorway of the Carnegie Suite, looking at me expectantly.

"Huh?"

"For a drink," he clarifies, no doubt catching the dumbass expression on my face. "Seeing as I ended up pulling you away from... whatever you were doing—" his gaze flicks pointedly to the ripped buttons of my shirt, "—I feel I should offer you at least some recompense. Even if it is just a late-night libation."

"Nah," I say with a shake of my head, slotting my phone away. "I'm beat. I'm calling it a night."

"Well, if you change your mind..."

I scoff. "Trust me, I won't. You don't need me crashing that particular party."

I nod my chin towards the inside of the room where Hayley is already in the process of shrugging out of her sparkly jacket as she stands silhouetted by the glow emanating from the Manhattan nightscape behind her.

Chris glances briefly over his shoulder with a wry grin. "No, I suppose not. Rain check?"

"Rain check," I agree, bumping my fist against his. "On the condition your ass stays in that room 'til departure time. And you don’t take or share any photos with her. Including the ones from the ferry. Otherwise you'll be owing me a helluva lot more than a fancy, overpriced drink.”

Chris cracks a laugh as he pulls the door around. "Duly noted! 'Night, mate! I owe you one!”

"Damn right you do!”I reply with a smirk, pulling my own keycard out. "Play safe."

"I always do," winks Chris, reaching around to slip the 'Do Not Disturb' placard onto the door handle.

A low exhale escapes me as the door — at last — clicks softly closed.

Christ, what a clusterfuck...!

Had I known that this day’s going to devolve into a never-abating conflagration of wildfires, I'd've probably got myself hammered before breakfast.

Because getting though the past 24 hours even partially sober has tested every one of my nerves. And given the fact that I've gotten basically no sleep the night before, I’m near about past going.

Which is probably why I can’t think one straight thought without tripping over Gale.

I clench my eyes shut. Definitely time to clock out...

Opening my eye, I slide the keycard into the reader with a chirp. Pushing the door handle down, I step into the darkened room.

Not bothering with the lights — given that the curtains were still open and the background glare of the nearby buildings provided plenty of illumination — I punt the door shut behind me, and head straight for the mini bar.

I may have turned down Chris's offer for a late-night drink, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna crash out sober. If anything, after the way this trip has snowballed into the definition of 'fucked up beyond all recognition', I’m in half a mind to straight up kill my liver...

...I just don’t want to do it while playing awkward third-wheel in the other room.

Arriving at the fridge, I yank the door open and survey the cop-out offerings of water, soda, beer and champagne.

I heave a breath. Well, ain’t nobody getting drunk off of this shit...

Still. It’s better than nothing.

Grabbing two bottles of beer out — because no way am I touching the champagne... even if it's Krug; the last thing I need right now on top of everything else is a motherfuckin' migraine — I pop the cap off one and take a hard swallow.

The cool malt hits the back of my throat, and I chug the rest of it down greedily, suddenly realising how parched I am.

Dropping the empty bottle back on the bar top, I’m reaching for the second when I catch sight of my reflection in the large mirror sitting behind the shelving in front of me.

Sweet Jesus, I look like death warmed up...

My hair looks like it's been chewed up and spat out by a yak, my skin’s ashen, my eyes tired and bloodshot, and I have a large, blueish welt on my jaw from where Tattoos had decked me, in addition to the claw marks that the asshole’s girlfriend left on my face.

I pull a face as I untwist the second cap.

I haven’t looked this much like buzzard bait since the literal beating I received during — and after — the one and only polo match I ever subjected myself to.

And it was clear that — just like then — I’m in desperate need of a shower.

Draining the second beer, I quickly draw the curtains before resignedly turning back the way I'd come.

Dropping my keycard into the holder on the wall to turn the lights on, I kick my boots off by the door and trudge into the bathroom.

Grabbing some towels, I throw them onto the floor and shove the faucet of the glass-panelled shower onto the hottest setting.

While waiting for the water to warm up, I bend down to pull off the ankle holsters that held the Sig P365 and tactical knife that I never go anywhere without.

Placing them carefully on the vanity, so they remained within reach, I proceed to strip off the rest of my clothes. The ruined shirt ends up on the floor, followed by the clang of my belt buckle as my jeans and boxers hit the ground.

Pulling my socks off and throwing them on top of the pile, I step into the now rapidly rising steam. A low hiss escapes me as the scalding water hits my chest. But rather than flinching away, or turning the temperature down, I lean into the spray, letting the hot water beat down onto me, like a hammer on an anvil, working the tension out of my muscles.

I have no clue how long I stand there for, head hanging down, hands braced against the wall, just soaking.

But eventually, I force myself to blink my eyes open. Because the hour’s already late, and even though I can probably stay under the spray all night, I know I need to catch some shut eye before the inevitable morning scramble to get everyone back home in time for the Masquerade Ball.

So, reaching for the travel-sized bottle of three-in-one wash that I brought with me, I proceed to lather myself from head to toe. Once done, I rinse myself off, letting the water pummel me for a few more minutes before reluctantly turning the spray off.

Unfurling one of the towels, I drop it on the marble floor so I can step out of the shower without breaking my neck. Grabbing the other towel, I run it over myself to get the worst of the moisture off before wrapping it around my waist.

Moving over to the vanity, I lift a hand to wipe the condensation off the oversized mirror and note that the hot soak has managed to bring some colour back to my face... albeit at the expense of my bruise, which has grown more pronounced as a result of the prolonged heat treatment.

Oh, well. Shit happens...

It's not like I’m a stranger to bruises. Growing up, I collected plenty of them from all the stupid shit I got up to, climbing up rickety ladders, falling out of trees, off my bike, not to mention off horses that were unquestionably too big for me.

And the hits only intensified as I got older and tried my hand at pretty much every type of sport imaginable — most of them in the contact category. Soccer, basketball, rugby, water polo, judo... I've done it all. Including American football, which Dad had begun indoctrinating me into since before I could even walk, and which I actually got a chance to play at uni as a running back.

So, a black-and-blue shiner on my face isn’t gonna faze me.

Badge of a battle well-fought, Dad always used to say.

Plus it's not like I’m reliant on my looks to get me through life. I’m not constantly in the limelight, being forced to present some kind of idealised image to the world. That’s Chris' lot. Not mine.

Thank fuck...

Though if I actually want to be able to eat anything tomorrow that’s more substantial than a milkshake, I probably should ice the bastarding thing down.

I feel a wry smirk pull at my mouth as I reach for my wash bag. 

That bottle of Krug might get a lease on life, after all...

Quickly brushing and flossing my teeth — wincing a bit at the growing tightness in my jaw — I gather up my discarded clothes (as well as my holsters) and make my way back into the room.

Placing the weapons on the bedside table — contrary to what pop culture may have you believe, it ain't a good idea to sleep with a loaded gun beneath your pillow — along with my phone and wallet, I set about sorting out my threads.

A quick once-over reveals that after all the literal running around I ended up doing, the jeans probably could do with a wash. But I only brought the one pair, so they’re going to have to do for tomorrow. The socks and boxers are unquestionably dead, so I roll them up to stow away in my duffle.

That leaves the shirt.

Grabbing either end of the split yolk, I bring the busted button-down up to eye-level to determine it's fate.

All in all, four buttons are missing, so the damage isn’t as bad as I—

From beneath the lingering hum of stale sweat, old leather and jet fuel, I suddenly catch a whiff of her honey-camomile scent, soft and sweet, like a half-remembered dream... and I nearly choke.

Goddammit...

I launch the cotton across the room with a growl of frustration.

As much as I like the shirt — it’s one of the few dressier ones that I own — there’s no way I’m gonna be able to salvage it.

Because even if it hadn't still smelled like her, the mere sight of it had been enough to throw me back into that cramped apartment... and the litany of missed opportunities that had preceded it.

And, even if I do fix it back up, I'll never be able to wear the damn thing without a stark reminder of the cold, hard fact that that's all Gale is now — a memory.

So, the sooner I burn it, the better.

Along with the shirt.

But, since I don’t have a blowtorch with me — and, in any event, setting fire to the highly flammable material in the hotel room would definitely cause a building-wide evacuation — I’m going to have to make do with simply stuffing the rag in the trash.

Heaving a beleaguered breath, I force myself to march around to the other side of the bed and pick up the shirt again. Balling it up, I dump it in the bin next to the desk.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Dropping the towel from my waist, I shuffle over to my duffle to stow my dirty clothes away and grab a fresh pair of boxers out.

Pulling the underwear on, I do a final sweep of the room before hitting the lights, grabbing the Krug to serve as an impromptu ice pack, and crawl beneath the cool sheets.

But instead of passing out as soon as my head hits the pillow, I find myself lying awake, staring into the darkness.

...fuck's sake.

The story continues in Chapter 10 - Darkfall

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Sleepless in New York only

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Picture Credits

Staten Island Terminal - Shower - Drake - Statue of Liberty - Hayley & Chris - NYPD - Helicopter - Night