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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

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To be Her O.A.O. (one-and-only)

written by: @noneyabidnes

Rating: Mature (in future chapters)

Prompt 73: Katniss marries Gale before he’s sent to fight WWII. Gale sends home his buddy Peeta to break the news to his wife and family that he’s fallen in love with someone else in Europe and is staying there after the war… Peeta is under the impression Katniss is a cold woman that only married his friend out of obligation but finds out the other side of the story soon enough. [submitted by @alliswell21]

Tags: era-appropriate derogatory terms for Axis powers, amputation, angst

A/N: I got permission from @alliswell21 to shift from Europe to the Pacific Theater of Operations, since I geek out over that side of WWII history (my Pop was in some of the places mentioned in this story.) This was intended as a one-shot. I didn’t want to commit to chapters, but it’s spiraled out of control and now I can’t stop myself. I’ll cross-post it on ffnet (ryebrewster) and hopefully will find some closure. If you find some of the language awkward or somewhat un-PC, I was attempting to be era and region appropriate, but it’s hard to write an Appalachian and a Philly accent without both coming across pretty hick. Guess I never listened to myself talk before. -rye

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Chapter 1

At the moment, I can’t believe this road ever ends. It rolls away from me, ever higher, ever rockier, taunting me with each uneven step I take. Foolish me had thought I would just hitch a ride. I should have guessed from the name that it would be a ‘road less traveled by.’ Rocky Ridge doesn’t exactly sound welcoming, but Gale had always made it sound like the closest a man could get to heaven. At least, until he met a certain honey-tongued Polynesian girl whose hips swayed like the island breezes. Then heaven made a quick detour to places on her that we best not discuss in public and I definitely won’t be discussing whenever I find the end of this infernal road.

I pause, resting on a particularly large boulder off the side of the narrow road. Hard to believe any car could make it up the path. Certainly not my Dad’s old Tudor, scraping its fenders on each slight turn to avoid the next large rock too heavy to move, and barely jeepable given how narrow. Briefly my inability to drive doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, but then the throbbing in my left leg reminds me that walking isn’t a great alternative either. I’m still getting the hang of my prosthetic, despite all the weeks (oh God, it’s been months, hasn’t it) spent in rehab in San Diego.

Gazing around me, I can begin to see what Gale always beat his gums about. These forests are beautiful, and so peaceful. Such a shift from the tropical forests in which we stewed. The proximity of my memory is enough to shake me from enjoying the moment. The color green took on such an ugly connotation during the war. Sitting on this boulder, I feel like I want to reclaim the hue and give it back its fresh and lovely place in my mental palate, but I do wonder if there will ever be a time when I won’t associate lush forests with machine-gun fire and jungle rot.

As the leaves flutter in the breeze, I catch a brief glimpse of metal roof in the distance. Finally, I may be making progress. Once more I pull the wrinkled and cracked photo from my pocket. Katniss. Her scowl hasn’t changed since he first handed me the image three years ago. At the time, it was to boast about the girl waiting back home. When he handed it to me again five months ago, it was to beg me to explain to her. To get her forgiveness, if not her blessing, for him not coming home. I hope the lump of cash in my rucksack would help to secure it, but her scowl challenges me each time I look at it. He’d said she was an easy woman to love, but an impossible one to live with. I can only imagine how she’ll feel about a crippled stranger appearing on her doorstep.

Righting myself again, I’ve renewed hope that the distance isn’t much farther. It’s as I round another bend that I hear the arrow whizzing past and striking a tree several feet to my left. My gaze slides to my right as I’m reminded that I’ve no firearm.

“I don’t miss twice,” the voice growls from the foliage. It’s feminine and angry, a combination I’ve been warned about but didn’t think I would confront quite so soon.

“I don’t intend to be aimed at twice.”

“Could hear you coming from a mile away. What business you got up Rocky Ridge?”

“Gale sent me.”

I can hear the air sucked out of her lungs despite the distance. The silence stretches on before she quietly emerges, her bow lowered at her side. Immediately I know it’s her. I’ve stared at her picture long enough that I would know those high cheekbones and quicksilver eyes anywhere. Her braid is loose with fly-aways and her neck shows the proof of a battle with some clawed creature. For a moment my memory jumps back to Philadelphia and the unfortunate circumstances of my own childhood, but I think these scratches aren’t human. Katniss clearly is of the forest, part dryad, part fairy, Artemis herself standing before me, at home in nature in a way I’ve never been.

“Gale? Is he…?” she breathes out, fear seeping into the short syllables.

“He’s alive.” It’s all she needs to hear for now. Her head drops and she lets out another long breath.

“I guess you’ll be wanting something to drink. Doesn’t look like you packed for the hike.”

“I am a bit parched. My canteen dried up two clicks ago. You’d think I’d be better at rationing, but I had no idea the road was this long.”

“Clicks? You talk funny. Where you from?”

“Philadelphia, ma’am, but clicks is how we measure distance in the Marines. Kilometers. Gale never mentioned you guys live so far out of town.”

She just nods, turning her back to me and heading off through the greenery, on a path only she sees. I follow her on the assumption that it must be a short-cut to the house, not because I’m keen to test my prosthetic out over the exposed roots and downed branches.

“I can’t walk as fast as you, ma’am. The Japs took my leg along with a bunch of my friends.”

She stops and slowly turns back to face me. “And you walked all this way? Why didn’t you catch a ride in town?”

“I didn’t realize no one would be coming out this way. Like I said, I grew up in Philadelphia. There’s always traffic everywhere you look. Never occurred to me that I might walk out of town and never pass another car.”

“I can walk slower. I’m not getting any hunting done with you making all that racket. My sister’ll check your leg when we get up there, then I can give you a ride back.”

“I did come to speak to you.”

She nods again, turning away from whatever I might have to say. Silence descends upon us. Normally I would fill it, but I’m struggling enough just to stay upright, that I don’t bother to engage her, and I figure her for the quiet type anyway. She’s alert, taking in the sounds of the forest around us, and I find myself remembering following Gale in much the same way through the mountains of Okinawa, the resemblance both eerie and comforting.

After longer than my leg would prefer, a clearing opens up before us with a handful of houses and barns dotted across the ridge. Sheep and goats graze below me in a field while a couple horses stand in the shadow of the closest barn. It appears to have seen better days, needing a fresh coat of paint, but it’s obvious that someone has been attempting repairs on it from the ladder propped against the side leading to relatively fresh boards. She catches me staring at it as she turns around to check my progress.

“We had a bit of a storm a couple weeks back. Some branches took out an old window. Took forever to clean up all the glass, but at least none of the goats ate any.”

I take it that she performed the repair herself, a fact that would surprise me if she were any of the women I grew up around, but seems perfectly normal given what I’ve already learned of her. I search the hillside for any sign of a man, young or old, and come up empty.

“Do Gale’s brothers help you out at all?”

Her eyes narrow at me, clearly not suspecting I had knowledge of the younger boys. Her scowl settles as she explains, “Rory’s taken up working for the lumber yard in town and he takes Vick down with him. Vick runs deliveries for the grocery. They both pull their weight around here. We all do.”

She’s offended, that much is clear. “I would never doubt that you do, ma’am. From everything Gale told me, you’re all a well-oiled machine up here. I just don’t think he knew the boys had taken up jobs while he was gone. I think he hoped his pay was enough to keep you all afloat, along with your hunting of course.”

Her scowl deepens as she steps closer to me. “You say he’s alive but you keep talkin’ bout him in the past tense. You gonna tell me what you’re doin here, soldier? You seem to know an awful lot about my business.”

I can’t help but stumble back at the intensity of her ire. It draws her attention to my leg, still unstable on the steep ground. Her face softens briefly before the scowl returns. “Let’s get you inside and off that leg.”

The house is just a handful of rooms lumped together with a porch across the front. It’s clear at a glance that as space was needed, they just built on with whatever materials were available, but there’s a pride that’s been taken in the appearance nonetheless. Flowers bloom along the front of the porch and herbs hang drying from the rafters. Two rockers with flowered cushions are tucked against the house, sheltered equally from the sun and any rain that might roll through.

As we step through the door the only light filtering through comes from a handful of windows of varying sizes. Gauze curtains blow gently at the open panes, reminding me of mosquito nets. I shake the memory off before it drags me down, instead turning my attention to the closest chair quickly being vacated by a young woman with delicate features similar to Katniss’s.

“Prim, let him sit. He’s a bad leg. Might need you to look at it. Walked all the way up here.”

“Why didn’t he ask Haymitch for a ride? Not like the man has anything better to do.” The young woman I’m guessing is Prim glances at me with equal parts scowl and concern as she makes room for me to sit.

“Not from around ‘ere, so he doesn’t know Haymitch from Adam,” Katniss offers. “Says he knows Gale.”

Prim halts in her movements as she takes me in. I’m dressed in my civvies and my hair has grown out a bit from my time in San Diego, but the duffle on my shoulder gives me away.

“You were with him? Is he okay? Where is he?”

It strikes me this is the first time the question has been asked and the unspoken one that follows. Why isn’t he here instead?

Katniss slams a tea kettle down on the fire box in the corner, breaking the tension with the clatter. “Prim, can you grab some of the tea from over there? I’m steep up some sweet tea quick while you check him out. Then I can give Mister—” she cuts off, realizing she still hasn’t asked my name.

“Mellark,” I supply, rising out of my seat to stand at attention. “Corporal Peeta Mellark, 3rd Battalion, 14th Marines. Pleased to make your acquaintance Mrs. Hawthorne, Miss Everdeen.” I nod to each in turn. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer it up sooner. I was with Gale for a good chunk of my tour. We made it through Guam and Okinawa together. Even ended up side-by-side on the USS Hope being ferried back to Tongatapu after our artillery backfired. I promise you, he’s alive Mrs. Hawthorne.”

She had turned back to face the kettle, but with my final announcement, I can see her shoulders have risen to her ears.

“Please don’t call me that,” she mumbles quietly, and I strain forward to hear her.

“Katniss,” Prim begins to scold.

“No, Miss Everdeen, it’s okay. Actually, it makes the rest of what I have to say easier.”

Katniss turns and I can see for the first time that tears line her eyes, just waiting to fall.

“He’s not coming back, is he Corporal?” she whispers, as though saying it too loud will make it true.

I shake my head slowly, wishing all of this had gone differently. “He doesn’t want a divorce. He figured you’d prefer it that way. But no, he’s not going to coming back to Virginia.”

“So there’s not another woman?”

I glance at Prim, unsure of how much Katniss wants me to reveal in front of the younger woman, but it’s clear the two are close.

“Um, I’m afraid to say, there is. She’s from the islands, Tongan, a sweet girl. He…” I stumble, unsure of whether I should finish the thought, knowing it might cause her more pain. “He said what was between the two of you was a partnership. That you had always said he deserved someone who loves him. She loves him plenty. He’s going to go back there, to Tongatapu, as soon as the clean-up is done in Japan and his tour is over. So, whether you get divorced or not doesn’t really change things for him. He still wants most of his pay to come here. He knows you’re looking out for his family.”

She nods at what I say and sinks into a chair by the stove. “He had stopped sending letters after Guam. I didn’t…I didn’t even know he’d been injured. Did he…? Is he okay?”

“He didn’t lose anything important, if that’s what you mean. Lost a little chunk of his ear. His hearing’s not so great, not that it ever was.” She chuckles lightly at my jab. “I’d still be out there helping with the clean-up if it wasn’t for my leg. They had to send me stateside to learn to walk again. I last saw him in Tonga when he was shipping back out.”

“And he asked you to find me.”

I nod though I know she’s not looking at me. Her gaze is out the window, toward the houses down the ridge, where I presume the rest of his family lives.

“Said he couldn’t write you a Dear Jane letter. He wants me to write him when I know you’re okay.”

She stiffens at the sentiment. “Okay? As though I’ll be perfectly fine with a complete stranger just showing up and telling me my husband has abandoned me for another woman?”

I can’t help the lump that forms in my throat, but I cough to try to dislodge it. “Pardon my forwardness ma’am, but was he ever really your husband?”

At that her eyes snap back to me. The pot behind her is obviously boiling so she stands to move it off to the side of the stove and sets about putting tea into cheesecloth. “What Gale was to me is really none your business. Seems like he must’a told you an awful lot though, you coming here like this. What’s in it for you?”

I sigh, knowing this was coming. “He saved my life on Okinawa. He realized the ordinance was about to backfire and tackled me out of the way. If he hadn’t, I would have lost a lot more than just my leg. I don’t really have a home to rush back to. I promised I’d check in on you and his family. Make sure that you understood it wasn’t anything you’d done wrong.”

The pot slams again and before I know it Katniss is out the front door. Prim watches her stomp out, but makes no move to follow her. I take my cue from the younger woman. I’m in no shape to chase Katniss across the hillside anyway. Prim shifts her gaze to me and tentatively starts asking me questions. Where am I from? Where did I fight? What was it like? Some I can answer easily, others leave me speechless. For all the rehabilitation they did for my leg in San Diego, no one ever really talked to me about how to deal with coming back home. No one talked about the nightmares we all wake from at night—or the ones that haunt us throughout the day. I fall silent eventually, when it gets to be too much, but in my focus on all her questions I haven’t noticed how she’s lifted my leg and been examining the spot where my prosthetic rubs against the stump, just below my knee.

“I’ve had miners who’ve lost hands and arms come through here. Mining means workin’ with TNT and it doesn’t always turn out s’good. I haven’t had any legs though. You’ve got your stump mighty irritated. I’m gonna clean it up and wrap it for you. You need to stay off it a coupla days to keep it from gettin’ infected. You can take my cot here in the living room. I’ve been sleepin’ in Katniss’s room most nights anyways s’as we don’t have to heat the whole house.”

She bites her bottom lip as though she’s said too much. I can’t fight the questions swirling around in my own brain.

“Did Gale ever live here?”

Her eyes widen as she takes me in.

“What did he tell you about the two of them?”

“That she’s easy to love but hard to live with.”

Prim lets out a soundless laugh. “He would say that. He thought it was love but she always knew better. They were great together—as hunting partners, as friends. When our Pa’s passed away, it was just us and two other families up here on the mountain. We had to band together to get through it all. My ma, well, she just couldn’t handle it. She was a nurse down at the clinic in town, but after…we couldn’t get her to leave the house. Gale’s Ma, she’s tougher. She buckled down and started taking care o’all us kids, but there were six o’us and only one of her. Wasn’t long before Gale and Katniss stepped up. They already knew how to hunt, had been going out in the woods together for years. Ma and I used to go out and pick herbs—we use them down at the clinic to help out people who can’t afford the expensive medicines. But I knew there were others that were edible, that we could live off of. I took Rory with me. We sold the goat and sheep’s milk down in town, though ain’t many people got a taste for it since they can get cow’s milk at the grocery for cheap. We make cheese out of it too.”

She peters out, unsure where her train of thought was going, and focuses to gently wrap my stump having already cleaned it. In a moment, the thought returns to her.

“He asked her to marry as a matter of convenience. He was shippin’ out and knew that if they were married it would be easier on his ma—and frankly I think he trusted Katniss to take care of all of us more than his ma. The woman is amazing, but she’s got a bit of a weakness for the drink, but then, most of the folks ‘round here do. They never stopped moonshinin’ ‘round these parts.”

She glances at the pot on the stove. “She never finished makin’ the tea, did she? You want something stronger? We have a little ‘shine around. Ma and I use it for our patients, but I’d say you fit the bill.”

I consider the offer before shrugging her off. I’ve never had moonshine, but there was some camp swill that would get passed around whenever we stayed too long at one post. Didn’t take much to get things to ferment in the jungle. Would rot your gut, but took the edge off the misery of sitting in a swamp day and night. And then there was the hooch at the clubs. Enough to make every Jane look like a pinup but all it took was one tale of Cupid’s Itch to scare us young GIs away from the women who hung around. Well, most of us anyway.

“I should stay sober. I don’t know what state she’s gonna be in when she gets back here and I can’t imagine she’s gonna be too pleased with you telling her I’m staying the night. I’m about the last person she wants to see.”

I find the thought makes me sad. I’ve been carrying her picture so long, there’s a part of me that feels like I know her. I’ve traced her scowl with my finger. I’ve practiced what I would say, though it didn’t come out that way. I’ve tried to imagine her smiling. Gale made it sound like an impossible feat, but I have a feeling there has to be a way to bring out that side of her—not that it’s my job to do that.

Prim’s voice cuts through my silent misery. “She’s not angry at you. She’s not even angry at him. And you seem like a nice guy. I mean, if Gale trusted you enough to send you all this way, you have to be a good guy. Usta be he’d kill anyone that came close to Katniss.” She pauses for a moment before looking me straight in the eye. “You don’t think he’ll ever come back?”

I shake my head. “I honestly can’t be sure. I don’t know that he’s thought it all through, but this girl of his is pregnant and his tour’s up in another month. He’s already gotten approval to stay in Tongatapu. They can’t live together on the base since they aren’t married, but he’ll be part of a skeleton outfit that maintains the place until the Navy decides it doesn’t need it anymore. By then, he’ll be through his commitment so he could go anywhere, but after all the things he said about him and Katniss fighting about having kids, I can’t imagine he would just take off if there’s a little one in the mix.”

“He’s like a big brother to me, y’know? After Pa died, Gale did a big part of raising us. I’m gonna miss him.”

“He talks about you guys all the time. He didn’t just carry Katniss’s picture, he carried all of yours.” I pull the well-worn photo of Katniss out of my pocket and her eyes widen in recognition.

“Why do you have that?” She snags it out of my hands.

“He gave it to me. Has your address on the back, or at least you used to be able to read it. It’s been through some things. He wanted to make sure I found her.”

“’Easy to love but hard to live with.’ That’s what he says?”

“Yep.”

“Well, she’s not going to get any easier now.”

With that, Prim straightens up and tosses the photo on the table, and begins re-organizing her supplies from cleaning my leg. My fingers itch to reach out and reclaim the picture. I’ll never admit it aloud, but that photo means something to me. The stories Gale told and the ones I’ve created in my own mind, the happy world they’ve built on this mountain despite all the hardship. I’m not ready to let that go. The door slams behind me before I find the courage to grab for it though.

“We need to go tell Hazelle,” she tosses the words at Prim, ignoring my presence completely. Prim acknowledges her but continues putting away her supplies.

“Peeta’s gonna sleep out here for a coupla nights while his leg heals up. He can’t be walkin’ on it til it’s calmed down some.”

I can feel Katniss’s glare on my cheek but can’t peel my own eyes away from my hands, still fighting to resist the urge to grab the photo.

“I could give him a ride into town so he could find a room to lay up meantime. Why’s he gotta stay here?”

Prim’s tone allows for no discussion. “He’s Gale’s best friend and he’s my patient. He ain’t gonna hurt us. You wanna kick him out on one good leg? God have mercy on your soul, big sis. It’s my bed I’m offerin’ up. He’s stayin’.”

I can feel the blush building up my neck at the insinuation that I might want anything untoward from them. Prim’s right. I would never want to take advantage. After all Gale has told me about these women, I could never, but another part of me is happy at the thought of being here—in a place that sounds more like a home than anywhere I’ve lived.

Katniss takes a step in front of me, forcing my attention up to her cold stare. “Don’t know what Gale was thinkin’ sendin’ you instead of a letter, but you best be on your Sunday behavior. I know how to skin a stag. You ain’t much of a challenge, Marine or no.”

Instinctively I know I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t fight it no matter how hard I try. “Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ll be a choir boy just for you.”

She smirks slightly before returning her attention to the forgotten tea. “I don’t need no choir boys ‘round here. Gale certainly ain’t one. But if you can carry a tune better’an him, that would be much appreciated.”

Prim’s smiling at me from across the room, so I know the awkwardness has passed, at least for the moment.

“And please, stop calling me Mrs. Hawthorne. Ain’t nobody ever called me that. No point in startin’ now when we all know what Gale is up to.” She pauses in her work before turning back to me. “There’s a baby.”

She states it as fact. She’s not looking for confirmation, but I nod nonetheless and watch as she swallows a lump in her throat before continuing.

“Yeah, he would never abandon a kid. Posy’s the only one on this mountain that we still have to worry about and he knows Hazelle and I won’t let that little girl down.” She shakes her head, as though to remove the thought. “ So, do you sing, Corporal Mellark?”

“Peeta, it’s Peeta. And to be honest, not very well, but I can play the guitar and the harmonica okay. My talents lie more with wrestling, baking…and painting.”

“Seems like an odd combination for a Marine.”

“If any of those islands had been a giant cake, I coulda taken out the Japs with some fancy frosting tricks. Instead I was just the guy everyone came to for their camouflage. Guess I’m good at making people look like mud.”

“Don’t think that would take much talent, no offense.”

She’s poured me a glass of sweet tea and I lean forward to claim it. “No, I s’pose not when you’re surrounded by mud and can just smear it all over yourself, but the guys seemed to prefer when I did it.”

“You must have a gentle touch.” As soon as the words are out her mouth, the blush begins. “Not that…oh hell, nevermind. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

I let the chuckle rumble out of my chest. The hospital in San Diego wasn’t exactly a cheerful place with most of us still fighting phantom limbs and shell-shocked from being sent home. And it’s as I’m enjoying the first laugh I’ve had in months that I finally see it. She cracks a smile, small, secretive, and the single most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. It takes my breath away so quickly I feel light-headed. And now I can see why Gale found her so easy to love.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #noneyabidnes #Alliswell21 #prompt 73

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formerlyrunephoenix6769 · 6 years

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Shattered: Chapter 9

(AMELIE)

High up in the French Alps, Amelie carefully eased the light sports car round the airpin bend, navigating the twisting and turning roads that often gave way to sudden steep drops offering her breath taking views of the sweeping countryside of Annecy. As she eased the car down a sudden incline that looped back on itself, descending to the lush valley below, she tapped a perfectly manicured finger nail against the screen of her scroll,

“Angela, can you hear me?”

A voice like one of earlier Omnic models replied, accompanied by the tell-tale crackle of static feedback. As she continued to descend, the doctor’s voice began to come through clearer,

“… ould have come wit.. busy here.. accident..”

Crinkling her brow, the ballerina tapped the screen again in frustration,

“I cant hear you. The reception has always been crap up here. One second.”

Placing both hands on the wheel, she concentrated as a smaller car began to approach from the opposite direction. Normally this mountain pass would be backed up, a sluggish snail snaking down the mountainside but thankfully the busy season was beginning to wind down and the ‘pearl of the French Alps’ would return to its quiet and peaceful existence.

It had only been a few months since Overwatch’s great technological triumph had resulted in disaster, the highly specialised aircraft had phased out of existence and fallout around the accident was astronomical. Every newspaper and TV pundit speculated to the exact nature of the ‘Slipstream Incident’.

Was it an accident, or was it sabotage?

One publication had gone so far as to have a small tally, counting the number of days the pilot had been MIA. Others had reported every minute detail of the young woman’s stellar career in the RAF, hailing her an Omnic Crisis Hero cut down in her prime. A King’s Row street rat done good.

Nobody had known where the leak to the press had sprung from, but the speed and the intimate details of it fueled paranoia in the ranks of Overwatch.

In a bid to plug it, all none personal had been asked to leave the bases and all Senior Members had been recalled for the unforeseeable future in an attempt to enact damage control and not allow other agendas to fall by the way side.

All the while, no matter what they tried, Overwatch’s best and brightest couldn’t find the answers to the most burning question.

What had happened to Lena Oxton?

At the news that the higher ups were winding down the search and allocating resources elsewhere, Gerard had been beside himself. He had parted that Lena had told him that something hadn’t felt right but he had pushed her, brushing it off with bravado and schnapps. He talked of personnel claiming to have seen his protégé’s ghost on the base and the Gorilla had taken to cloistering himself in the hanger where the accident had occurred, not surfacing for days at a time.

In a bid to get to the bottom of it, Gerard had taken on yet another away mission that only served to drive the wedge further between him and his wife.

Amelie had admonished that she understood, but she felt that he was pushing himself, and Gerard had snapped uncharacteristically, demanding,

“What could you possibly know? You’re a dancer for christ’s sake! - ” He had taken to pacing, his eyes taking on a wild look, “- So you took a few classes. You have no fucking clue what this entails, that someone could have done this deliberately, snuck in and took one of our own, from right under our noses! -” In a rising rage, he had thrown his clothes in his mission bag, “- If it was me, I’d want my mates to get to the bottom of it and bring those fuckers responsible, to heel!-” He had poured himself a lavish dram of expensive whiskey as he continued on his angry tirade, “- If it happened to me, is that what you’d want, me to be left behind, forgotten? Why don’t you stick to what you know, Amelie, and let me get on with my job?”

Gerard’s dismissal had felt like a slap in the face. That he deemed her attempt at improving herself and taking an interest as nothing more than a flight of fancy that he indulged. Placating her rather than listening to her grievances or realizing that she was becoming increasingly unhappy.

That she did in fact know what it felt like to be constantly reminded that in a blink of an eye a loved one could be gone forever. That she lived it every time he walked out of that door without a backward glance, instantly forgotten.

He had spent the next few nights in his study on the chesterfield, whilst she had made arrangements to begin renovating her families ancestral home. With an appointment to keep with a surveyor, she had risen with the sun, leaving him a note before setting off on the long drive towards Chateau Guillard in the South of France.

Hitting the valley floor, her scroll crackled back to life,

“Amelie? Are you still there?”

Coming to a T junction in the valley floor, Amelie leaned forward checking both left and right,

“Oui, Angela, I’m still here.”

Her best friend continued,

“I was saying that I would have joined you, leibling, but everything is up in the air right now.” There came a pause of indecision, “-How long are you planning on staying for?”

Satisfied there was no on coming traffic, Amelie took the left turn that would gently snake along the lake side, away from the nearby village, and up through some trees towards the driveway that led the boathouse and only point of access to the grandiose Chateau,

“As long as it takes to make good headway on the renovations,” She gunned the engine, her beloved sports car purring as it began to eat up the tarmac with ease, “ It is far easier for me to co-ordinate from here than back in Paris.” In the distance she could make out the tip of the north bell tower, the rest of the property obscured by the hillside and heavy forest, adding sourly, “-I am ‘sticking to what I know’ and being a dutiful housewife.”

“Amelie, “ On the end of the line there came another pregnant pause, as if Angela was carefully choosing her words, “- I’m … I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.”

Amelie sighed, maybe she was over reacting and choosing to quite literally run for the hills was petty, but she had no intentions of rattling round their Parisian home with Gerard’s words echoing off the walls, mocking her and calling out her already felt inadequacies, for however long his chosen mission took. And neither could she ignore the anger that during the long drive had fashioned itself into a dull rage sitting in the pit of her stomach. No, she would be much better off throwing herself into a project and far away from the continuous press cycle that didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.

“I don’t care what he meant, it’s the fact he said it in the first place.” Either side of the road the trees were struggling with their Spring plumage allowing shafts of morning sunlight to break through the branches dappling the road ahead, as Amelie pressed on, the speed of the car matching her mounting frustration, “-I’m sick and tired of being side lined, Angela. All I have ever done is support him and now I just feel like …. Like I’m being taken for granted.”

The ballerina slammed on the brakes so as not to over shoot her turn off. Peering through the rearview mirror, Amelie slowly reversed back before carefully easing the low sports car in between two beautifully sculptured gateposts with her family crest intricately engraved into their surface.

“I know he’s stressed and I might sound like a spoiled bitch but…. I need some time alone… I need time to figure out what I’m going to do with myself.”

As the car slid down along the smooth driveway, a break in the trees offered an unadulterated view of the sweeping turrets and stone verandas that made up her idyllic childhood home in the centre of the lake, Amelie pressed a button to roll down the window and let in the fresh spring mountain air. Far off in Switzerland, Angela’s voice full of concern filled the small sports car.

“What are you saying? …. Are you thinking about getting a divorce?”

“What? NO! God no… I’m furious, but I’m not ‘that’ furious…-” She continued to leisurely cruise along the driveway taking in the way the sunlight twinkled off the waters of the gargantuan lake that skirted her lands and the village that hugged its shoreline on the other side. “- I meant, what I’m going to do with my career, continue with ballet, or quit and find something else?”

The doctor asked, perplexed

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.. No.. Maybe? ..-” Gripping the steering wheel tight, Amelie took in a huge lung full of air, “-I need to clear my head.”

“How about this?” Another pause, “How about… I finish up here. Twist Jack’s arm into making an exception, and I come down an join you? End of this week, beginning of next week or when ever I can?”

Approaching the boat house, the French woman spied an unfamiliar green car parked to one side of the closed gate that would lead into the boatyard, and a white workman’s van on the other.

“Oui, that sounds perfect!” Slowing the car to a crawl, she peered out of the driver’s side window, as a man dressed in a suit, a hard hat and high vise jacket alighted from the car. Distractedly, she added, “Angela, I think the surveyors here early. I’ve got to go.”

“Alright leibling, I’ll call you as soon as I have news. Love you.”

Her scroll let out a high pitched whine,

“Love you too, cherie.”

Canceling the call, Amelie pulled the sports car up along side the man who waited patiently on the side of the drive way, clipboard in hand.

He broke into an easy smile,

“Ah, Mrs Lacroix, I presume?”

Leaning slightly out of the window, Amelie looked up returning his smile,

“Oui, oui, am I late?”

“No,-” He laughed, “I am early.”

Using her scroll, she typed in a code and waited for the gate to begin to painstakingly slowly slide back.

“Oh thankgod, traffic was a nightmare coming out of Paris.”

He gestured with the clipboard,

“Quite a difficult place to reach and surrounded by a lake no less. I can see why you asked for a surveyor.”

The gate slid back fully and Amelie carefully slid the sports car into the wide boatyard and into one of the waiting garages. In the rearview mirror, she watched as from the white workman’s van, two men got out wearing navy blue boiler suits and carrying work bags.

Unclipping her scroll from its snug on the dash board, she stashed it in her hand bag before pressing her thumbprint to the ignition starter and alighting from the car. In the early morning sun, the three men waited taking in their surroundings. Approaching her as she exited the garage, the surveyor asked,

“Would you have your I.d?” He pulled out a device from the depths of his pocket, “It’s so I can scan it and start the clock.”

The french woman blinked,

“Yes, of course.” Pulling out her purse she teased her national identity card from its snug, “There you go.”

Gently taking it from her outreached hand, the surveyor gave it the once over, inspecting the card and looking back at her, before swiping it along the device.

“It’s policy,-” He kindly offered, “Stops people like this lot,-” Tipping his head towards the workmen, “-Fudging the numbers.”

One of the workmen came to casually lean against the wall to the left of her,

“It’s a grand place you got here…” He slowly began to roll up his sleeves, “- Boats the only way to get there, right?”

Taking back her i.d card and slipping it back into her purse, Amelie nodded,

“Oui, I’ve been coming here since I was a child, so I handle the boat usually.” Turning her back, she leaned up to activate the garage doors and the locking mechanism. “- If you are worried about access, the village on the other side has a much wider marina and much larger boats for hire. The cost is of no object. I’ll get a good deal.”

The workman let out a whistle through his teeth,

“Lucky for some, eh?”

Amelie attempted to humbly wave him off,

“No, no. My relatives left me .. shall we say.. comfortable.”

He gave her a lopsided grin,

“Is it true you’re a Countess?”

Amelie crinkled her brow in confusion, stammering,

“What.. what ever gave you that idea?”

His workmate gave a mirthful shake of his head,

“What he means to say is. . When we heard of the job.. we.” He gestured with his hands, “- researched the place. It’s got a rich history.”

Rudely butting in, the first workman continued,

“So are you?”

She opened her mouth, gawping like a fish for a few moments taking in both their eager expressions, before laughing,

“I ,” She gestured to herself, “- am not a Countess per se. But… there is an old defunct title attached to the property , that would, if such things were important in this modern era…, make me a Countess.”

The first workman turned to his colleague,

“You owe me 5 bucks!”

“God damnit!”

With a small shake of her head at their antics, she finished checking that the security was locked down on her beloved car.

As she made her way across the courtyard, the three men followed close behind, nearly bumping into her when she stopped at the door that led into the boat house. Her fingers tapped danced lightly across the keypad, with a click the door opened and four entered the gloom. With a brittle bark of laughter, the surveyor patted his pockets,

“One sec, I forgot something. Be right back.”

The other began to rummage in his work bag. On the side wall, Amelie flipped open the electric box to activate the winch that would slowly lower the sleek looking speed boat into the murky water. She turned round, surprised to find the first workman so close. He shot her a grin as she sidled past him to the safe box where the speedboats ignition key was kept. The remaining workman flanked her on the other side, so close she could almost feel the breath on her skin, the tiny baby hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle as she hesitantly reached up a finger. Trying to keep the shake out of her voice, she shouted over the screeching of the winch,

“A little room gents.”

The second workman grinned at her wolfishly,

“Oh Amelie, where you’re going there is gonna be no room at all.”

He made a lunge at her. Instinctivly, she thrust up the heel of her palm connecting with his nose, as she has been taught to do in her self defense classes. He staggered back, gargling and cursing as the other workman grabbed her in a choke hold from behind. She tried to scrabble into her hand bag in an attempt wrap her fingers round the pepper spray she kept there. As she struggled to breath she remembered Ana Amari’s words, if ever grabbed by a bigger opponent relax into it and throw them off. Amelie dropped her hand bag, pushing back into him, using her strong legs from years of ballet throwing them both off balance. He staggered back, the sudden loss of opposing force adding to his momentum, crying out as he collided with one of many winch handles that aligned the wall. The loss of grip on her windpipe gave her much needed inches to turn her head and sink her teeth into his muscular arm, causing him to scream in agony. She kicked out with her feet at the nose busted workman, who dodged to one side, his feet knocking her handbag into the water.

“Get the fuck hold of her!” He yelled.

Trying to shake her off only caused Amelie to grind her teeth down, filling her mouth with flesh and the metallic taste of blood. He let go shoving her away from him. The surveyor came through the boathouse door for a split second distracting her. She didn’t see the south paw closed fist that collided with her jaw causing her to reel and her vision to blur.

“Go down, you fucking whore!”

A second swift punch hit hard in her gut knocking the wind out of her and caused her to collapse onto the wet stone floor.

She thought she heard the surveyor say,

“Dont break the merchandise!”

“Cunt broke my nose!”

“Yeah well the fucking bitch took a chunk out of my arm.”

Amelie spat the contents out of her mouth, trying to suck in huge lungfuls of air. If she could just get into the water maybe she could swim to the castle like she had plenty of times as a teenager or when the boat was out of gas. She made as if to crawl.

Someone caught her by the hair,

“No, you don’t.”

She felt a sharp prick in the back of her neck and she was left to flop on the slick flagstones. Someone turned off the winch, and the only sounds was the water lapping against the stone work.

“She’s a god damn wild cat. Thought you said she was a dancer?”

Her vision began to swim with black and purple dots and her tongue felt flaccid and swollen in her mouth. She attempted to move but her limbs refused to her obey her. The surveyor rolled her over onto her back, crouching down to inspect her.

“Ballerina, to be exact.”

Wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve, the workman with the broken nose peered over his shoulder,

“She’s a fucking ballerina??”

With soft, gentle fingers, the surveyor examined her jaw, turning her head this way and that, regarding her thoughtfully. As Amelie slipped into unconsciousness, she heard him say,

“She’s the wife of THE target, what else did you expect?”

https://formerlyrunephoenix6769.tumblr.com/post/182608876761/ithought-it-would-be-much-easier-to-make-a-post

Link to the whole “Shattered” universe and full story.

#overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #widowtracer fanfiction #widowmaker #widowtracer #tracemaker #amelie lacroix #tracer #lena oxton #pharmercy #pharah #fareeha amari #mercy #angela ziegler #formerlyrunephoenix6769 shattered #formerlyrunephoenix6769 overwatch fanfiction

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braindamageforbeginners · 6 years

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Ice Floes

Quickly, before we begin: 1. this is a mostly-true anecdote that ties together several different, ideas I’ve had in the last two-ish days, including... 2. There are no ice floes here, it’s a reference to senecide in certain cultures (rarely practiced in Norhern Tribes and never practiced in the usual, “Send Grandma floating away on a chunk of ice!” way).

So, the first concept idea for this pieces my younger brother, Andy, who is working this summer s a fire-spotter in Idaho and/or Montana (he’s stationed in a national park that covers really big portions of both states). This is a cool, Norman Maclean manly-man style job for a grad student, and we were all fairly certain Andy would like his job (which, as a per-diem, is hard to beat, I’ll admit), and we’d all love to drop in and say hello, except I’m in very specific chemo ward 3-4 times a month (and that last week when I don’t have chemo, I still have to get them to draw my blood and run labs), so my schedule’s a little hard to work. And I started joking that, with our family’s luck, Andy would wind up in someplace with a name like ‘Dead Man’s Gulch” or “Rattleasnake Ridge” (remember that line) that we’d just as soon not bother with. Well, parents won’t be discouraged, so Dad’s thinking he might scratch off a bucket list item AND visit Andy... by backpacking to him (or near him). Which, even though he’s a nut for the treadmill, is not exactly the first phyisical task you’d nominate Dad for if you saw him in person. However, he’s decided to start training to address that very problem. Also, Andy’s fire station is somewhere in the Rattlesnake Mountains. I’m absolutely not making that up, Also, since my more-twisted jokes are apparently reshaping reality in their wake, I’d like to joke that I’ll be a multi-gabillionaire in a few years after someone reclassifies these scribbles as science-fiction.

One of the issues/questions I’m faced with all the time (aside from, “Why did we catch you tying truck nuts to Deputy Pierson’s police vehicle*?”) is how much of my time I really do devote to staying healthy and managing your disease/prescriptions/insurance/appointments. The short answer is, almost all of it. I know I spent a post last week essentially boasting how healthy I was, apart from having Stage IV cancer. What’s important is to know is that I take a weird sort of pride in that, and, as Dad has pointed out, in most cancer cases, the death/survival rate refers to elderly people who have other diseases or health issues in addition to cancer; he hasn’t heard of patients who get chemotherapy, then go for a 3-hour leg day the next day (I’d point out that having a pediatric cancer - as I did, sort of (another brain tumor) has serious long-term health implications for survivors, and now that I’m having toxic sludge pumped through me on regular basis has a few more long-term associated-problems that I’d like to avoid. The point is, it is slowly starting to dawn on me that he might have a point, and I’m definitely doubling down on that bet, too. Which Dad knows, and knows I’ll be up for any dangerous stunt, as long as there’s even a minor probability of increased healthfulness. Which is why Dad and my step-mom invited me on Dad’s inaugural training hike; The Path of Pain (that’s not the official name, but it’s more accurate than the real thing). Now, bit of context; it’s not true that the Inuit would kill people by putting them on an ice flow and then sending them off. What is accurate - from my sources - is that in times of famine, some Northern tribes (probably including the Inuit) would suddenly decamp in the middle of the night without telling Grandma and Grandpa. effectively leaving them to the mercy of the elements and luck/fate (to be fair, if the grandparents made it to the new camp, they were honored and informed of all future camp locations). So, I was aware of this when the following conversation occurred: SELF: This hike isn’t one of those obscure traditions where you’re going to leave the sick, infirm, and old - the societal deadwood, if you will - out in the elements to save the rest from starvation or something, is it? DAD: No. Why, are you worried we’d leave you behind? SELF: Nope, just stating - on behalf of the ill - that I have absolutely no intention of being out-distanced by the old just so I can be dire wolf bait. Also, I am absolutely prepared to lie and cheat in the name of that goal. Other people probably have better father-son chats. Other people are boring.

So, before I start describing the festivities - which involve a severe and horrifying betrayal - I might need to describe my disability status, and disability as it stands. GBM diagnosis is an automatic disability according to social security, because of that whole “really, really, high fatality rate and incredibly fast progression (although I’m okay now - I think, maybe - when I fist met Radiation Oncologist, she said the tumor had a 20% growth rate, which means it would double in size every five or so days - I shudder to think how bad, how quickly that could’ve gotten). And, even though I’m mostly-fine at the moment, for the first two weeks after my neurosurgery, I couldn’t walk. This was because I was completely numb on my left side for that time. Remember the last time you got a cavity filled and the dentist used novocaine? Imagine that sensation - or lack thereof - throughout your left side. Walking was a problem because I had no idea where my feet were (unless I was looking). I’ve come a long, long way since then, but that was not even eight months ago (before anyone asks, after a rather dismal showing by the physical therapists at the hospital, I haven’t been doing anything special to recover, other than exercising like my life depends on it). So, testing it on a steep, dangerous slope seemed bright.

Those of you who’ve been hiking with me probably have no trouble picturing the image. I don’t exactly skip up paths, but I do power through them the same grim, pig-headed determination that I’m bringing to the rest of this damned disease. The peak in question is about 1500 ft - not a prize-winner, to be sure, but it’s not a bad accomplishment for someone who couldn’t even go 150 feet not too long ago.

Now, with that smirking sense of triumph and gold star accomplishment, imagine my dismay when my wicked step-mother announced that this wasn’t the goal of the hike, the actual peak we were looking for was... 22 miles away. Okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration, the sum-total route was six miles, all on difficult trail. Greek heroes in classic tragedies endured less betrayal.

Now it would’ve been well within my power to request to go back; but, at that moment, I was feeling physically good at marching a mile in less than an hour, and that sensation somehow fused with testosterone, the Stetson, and male vanity, so, even though I knew at the time it might not be a good idea, all I could do was just grimly forge on with a few complaints. Good news, after a severe challenge to my dexterity, balance, and endurance, I’m still mostly-intact. I’m painfully sore from the waist down (I’ve said before, I’ll say it again, why isn’t codeine OTC in this Godforsaken country like it is in every civilized place on the planet). Left leg (and side) are not too bad, but the right foot’s killing me (I’ve tried stretching and rolling it on my yoga roller, which helped, but it’s still not up to snuff) - when I first got out of the car after arriving home (it’s a California thing; we drive for an hour to walk), I couldn’t, because that stupid right heel was too tender, And after all this, my reward to myself was an extra beer and another Tylenol. What have I become? Anyway, Dad and I have quietly agreed that sitting up and getting out of bed should definitely count as a trip to the gym (he’s also ordered a tree that’s sitting by the garage, so there’s a distinct possibility he has darker plans in store for me), and I’m personally going to try and keep my step-mother from any and all topographic maps. Still, you can’t outpace time and you’ll die if you ignore new constraints placed by disease, so I’ll look into some sort of walking stick (I spent the first five minutes back in the car slumped in the driver’s side because that’’s how achey/creeky I felt all on the left) before attempting anything that stupid and arduous again *I’ll credit Dad with this joke when he discovered that you can get a discount on these items if you order them online in bulk

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