#as he works on digging some bit of shrapnel out of the works. it’s dark save the desk lamp he’s brought over that lights his face from

[trollbreak]

All the fuckin motivation and ideas for bladed art when I have negative energy to sketch it, truly tragic

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

We Should Just Kiss Like Real People Do

Yes, Hozier is my go-to artist when I write, the man knows love. As always, I love comments, I'm so f---sing bust right now, and they make me super happy despite the stress. I'm thinking there'll be another two or three chapters plus some in universe one-shots.

Part 1, part 2, part 3 part 4

Part five of The Way the Stars Love the Heavens series.

Contains: Violence, gore, death, Graves being a creep, non-sexual bathing, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort.

Follow #the way the stars love the heavens for updates

3.5K words

In the low lamp light I was free, heaven and hell were words to me - Hozier.

He knocked on the door like it was any other day and put as much Southern gentleman into his tone as he could. "Hello, little mouse, it looks like I've finally found your hiding spot." 

Moving the steal table hurt with your injured arm, but even through the throbbing, you were grateful you could hide behind it. All Graves had to do was open the door, and he'd get a face full of shrapnel, and you'd be safe behind half an inch of steel. 

He knocked again, and you could hear the fake smile as he spoke. "Just open the door darlin', I'm not going to hurt you." 

You believed that, he needed you alive and well to get out, but there was no way you would let him get his hands on you without a fight. "Fuck off. Fuck off, you traitorous piece of shit." 

He sighed, big and dramatic, like your refusal hurt him. "Come on now, don't be like that." Something nasty crept into his voice, and it made your skin crawl. "Open the door now, and maybe I'll let you live once we walk out of here."

Your reply was the same. "Fuck you."

His fist slamming into the door made you jump, and it felt like there was a clawed hand digging into your back as the last of your adrenal supplies were dumped into your blood.

"I'm gonna make you regret that."

****

Ghost used the darkness like a shield as he stalked through the base. Graves' men didn't die easy, but between the rest of the squad at the gates and air support, they were dying fast. His hands were sticky with blood, having favoured his knife over his gun so he could stay silent. 

He crouched by a humvee and waited for a Shadow on his way to the gate to walk by, and the second he was in cutting distance, Ghost lunged out, took him in a chokehold, then slit his throat. It was a precise movement, he drove the blade into his flesh and then pulled it across, a spray of blood going outwards while the rest poured into his dissected trachea. 

He moved on without a thought, taking cover and waiting for another round of tank fire before taking out the two guards at the dorm's entrance. There were almost no Shadows around now, he'd be able to drop those with his gun. It happened fast, one after the other, his amour piercing round making quick work of their vests and the flesh beneath. 

His radio crackled, and Soap's voice filled his ears. "Alright, brother, I'm in the service tunnels. You better let your girl know so I don't get my ass blown off when I come to give you back up." 

Ghost chuckled and keyed his radio to your signal, hoping with every bit of him that you'd pick up. "Johnny's on his way in love, you hold tight." He knew someone would get to you, Soap would give his life just like he would have, but he was hoping he'd be the one to kill Graves. He rushed to the door and then waited for your reply, knowing that more Shadows would be waiting in the hallway for him when he burst in. 

"Tell me to use the north door, it's the only without something nasty across it." There was a pause as he heard a shout. "Fuck you pig, you can ram into it all you like, it won't fucking open." 

He swallowed his fear as the sound of someone bashing the closet door came over the line but he had bigger things to worry about. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. I'll let him know." 

He did just that, Soap giving a hearty laugh as his gun went off, then Ghost changed his magazine and breached the door. With Soap watching his six, he'd be by your side in no time. 

****

Price smiled as the last tank went down and the choppers landed, now it was just a matter of picking off the rest of the Shadows as they cleared the base. He waved Gaz down, his face coated in blood and his chest heaving as he stood beside his captain. "Can you reach y/n?" Gaz nodded. "Good, let her know that the base is back under control."

Gaz smiled. "With pleasure Cap."

****

Despite the indescribably horrible feeling growing in your chest, knowing that the end was finally close gave you the motivation you needed to give Graves that last push. "I don't know if you heard that, but you're done, the 141 are back through the gates and all your tanks are dead."

"Yeah, well this is your last chance to open the door or you will be too." He sounded so angry that it made your bones shake but the false charm was back as you heard him start to rattle the handle, he must have gotten it through his head that he couldn't break it down. "You know y/n, I've seen your personal file, you're a very pretty woman."

The threat was clear but you knew you had him when you heard the bullet zing off the lock. "Haven't you worked it out yet? I'm sitting in a pharmacy, that door won't move unless you have the key."

He chuckled and removed something from his vest before sticking it in the keyhole. "Well darlin, I might not have the key but I've got something just as good." He grinned wide as the lock pick gun did its work and the click filled his ears but his smile vanished fast when he looked down.

"FUCK."

You pressed your hands to your ears as the grenade went off. The whole room shaking as dents appeared in the table. It felt like hours, but Graves' voice was back, and if you thought he was pissed before, you were sorely mistaken. "You fucking bitch. I'm going to fucking kill you slow for that."

You didn't have the chance to run, Graves was in the room, making his way to your hiding place with murder in his eyes. Half his face was covered in blood, he must have had time to duck behind the door frame before the explosion went off.

He ripped the table away from you and grabbed a fist full of hair in one hand and your injured arm in the other, his glove pressing the ripped shirt into the wound so hard you sore you could feel the texture of the fabric. The pain made your vision darken as he dragged you out of the room and into the hallway, yelling threats and obscenities all the while.

You tried to twist out of his grip, but all you succeeded in was getting a swift kick to the ribs, and then you saw it, a large flash of black coming up the hallway. Graves must have felt you relax before he followed your eyeline, then went stiff.

It was Ghost, marching his way toward you with his gun raised. "Oh shi.."

Graves didn't have time to drop you and lift his gun, and you had lost the ability to flinch as two shots rang out, and Graves' body dropped down next to you. Your ears were still ringing as you watched blood pour from the fist-sized wound on his head, and despite the pain radiating down your arm, you used both hands to push yourself away from the spreading gore.

You didn't get far because Ghost was already at your side, bending down and wrapping one of his massive arms around your body to lift you to your feet and away from the mess. He pressed his finger to his headset as he went. "Graves is KIA. Y/n is safe."

It didn't feel like it was real until you got another look at the body and then it all hit you. You were covered head to toe in blood, you were pretty sure there was brain matter in your hair, and then you suddenly couldn't breathe.

You barely registered the two hands on your face as Ghost shielded you from the scene. "Love, love, look at me."

It was like you couldn't hear him, but his eyes still came into view. "This blood isn't mine." You weren't too sure of that, every muscle in your body started aching all at once.

He removed one hand from your face and ripped off his radio and then his balaclava, and you came face to face with him, his expression filled with worry. He was there, but the edges of your vision were greying as your lungs refused to work and your legs began to tingle. "I need to sit down."

You instinctively reached behind you to grab a wall that wasn't there, and Simon supported your weight as your legs gave out. The voice that came into your ears was much firmer this time. "Y/n, you're going to shock and if you don't listen to me you're going to pass out and I don't want that." He took your hand in his and placed it on his chest before taking a deep breath. "Like this love, you're going great."

It was hard, the more you breathed, the more the smell of blood and torn flesh washed over you. You managed to swallow down the bile and stand up on shaky legs, holding onto Simon all the way up, your hands still shaking so hard that you couldn't even move them. "I need a shower."

He chuckled and waved towards your bleeding arm. "You gotta see the doc first."

You wanted to protest but the look on his face told you not to, and before you could agree, Soap came around the corner. "Nice to see you in once piece y/n. Nice work on Peters by the way." His only acknowledgement that Simon was without his skull mask was a nod and a smile before he shook his head. "Laswell was able to recover the whole two hours of camera footage, you won't need to give a statement until the morning."

You blinked and reached up to touch your face before Simon stopped you with a gentle hand on your wrist, his thumb trying and failing to soothe the shaking away. "It's only been two hours?"

Simon gave you a soft smile. "Two hours can feel like a long time when you feel like you're going to die."

He placed a warm hand on your back and smiled to his friend. "I'm gonna head to the med bay, you right to debrief everyone?"

Soap nodded. "Hell yeah Lt."

****

"You are very very lucky that I can put this together with glue, stitching it would have been a bitch." You did your best not to flinch as the medic cleaned the wound. And the expression on Simon's face told you that it was as nasty looking as you thought it was.

Simon took your hand and ran his thumb over your fingers, sensing your frustration at their continued shaking. To make matters worse, your legs had started twitching the moment you climbed onto the bed, and he took his other hand and placed it on your knee. "It's just the adrenal love, it will stop soon enough."

You blinked back tears, if someone had paid you, you wouldn't be able to describe your current emotional state. "I really just want to have a shower."

The doc cleared your throat and pointed over to the medicine cabinet. "I'll cover this in a waterproof bandage and then give you some of our good painkillers so you can sleep. I'd ask you to come back here to spend the night before you take them but I don't think I need to worry about you not having someone watching over you."

Simon smiled softly. "Her room's next to mine, you got nothing to worry about."

****

Simon had been kind enough to walk you to the showers, his face still awash with concern as you got everything out of your locker so you could finally get clean but it was clear when you lifted your still shaking hands to your buttons that you'd need help. You went to apologise but he shook his head and placed his hands over yours. "It's nothing love, you don't need to be sorry." He paused and let out a chuckle. "Did I tell you about the time that Soap strained his back and I had to do this for him?"

You shook your head and he smiled. "You're going to have to wash my hair too."

He looked over the strands, and a slight sadness filled his face. "I'm not going to lie to you, love, this is not how I pictured getting to do that."

That painful quiet was back and the realisation that you were about to be naked in front of him hit you like a train. Simon, always the observant one, seemed to pick up on your hesitation because he took your chin between his fingers and met your eye. "You tell me if you're not comfortable with anything, yeah?"

You nodded. "Of course."

As he removed your clothes, his eyes never drifted, no matter how much skin was revealed. He followed his hands as each article fell to the floor rather than your bare body and before you knew it, he was pushing you into the shower.

He was stripped down to his shirt and pants, free of his vest and weapons, without a care in the world that was fully clothed and soaking wet. He washed your body with immense care and a gentleness you didn't think a man his size was capable of. When it came time for your hair, he waved to the pile of products in the corner and smiled sheepishly. You're gonna have to give me some pointers, love, I don't have a fucking clue what I'm going."

You giggled and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's easy, don't worry."

He treated every stand like it was made of something terribly precious, washing the sticky chunks of blood and brain down the drain while carefully removing the knots from Graves' earlier treatment. When it came time to shampoo, his fingers rubbed the sting from your scalp as the scent of it filled the steamy air.

You fought the urge to rest your back against his chest as his fingers combed in the conditioner, he spun you around to face him. "You need me to do anything else while we wait." You shook your head and took a deep breath as more silence filled the room and a sudden wave of emotion hit you but before you could act on them and kiss him, he stopped you with a gentle hand on your face. "Not like this lovely, I'm gonna feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

The look on his face told you all you needed to know and you pressed your head against his chest for a moment, uncaring about his shirt. "Thank you."

His hand stroked your hair and he chuckled. "Come on lovely, before we both turn to prunes." He washed the conditioner from your hair then placed a hand on your bare back as you walked from the cubical. He helped you dry off, dressed you in your most comfy PJs and finished your hair before depositing you on the bench so he could have a quick shower. When he came out, he was already dressed in his boxers and you averted your eyes as he threw on a pair of sweats.

Helped you up and pulled you into his arms, his bare chest warm against you. "You feeling any better?"

You nodded. "Much."

His hand stayed on your lower back the whole time as he walked you to your room. Your hand paused on the handle and you turned towards him. "Can you stay with me tonight, please?"

He gave you a soft smile and nodded. "You heard the doc, I was planning on it." He pushed open the door as you turned the handle and he led you to the bed.

You thought the shakes and termors had faded, but as the quiet of your dorm room pushed at your senses, they were back, and you huffed in frustration and clenched your hands, hoping they would stop. "What the fuck is wrong with me, I should be over this by now."

Simon filled your glass from the water pitcher on the table, then handed you the small plastic medicine cup of pills before sitting down next to you and placing a hand on your jumping knee. "Take those and we'll talk while they work." There was no way you were going to argue, every part of you hurt and you longed for the rest that would come when the chemicals hit your brain.

He took the empty glass from you and threw the used medicine cup in the trash before taking you in his arms and lying down, the pressure of his body on yours easing some of the twitch in your body. "Now why do you think you should be over this by now?" He tried to keep the displeasure at your lack of self-compassion out of his tone, but he didn't do too well.

You took a deep breath and resisted the urge to wave him off as his hand started to run your back soothingly. "Because, you guys do shit like this everyday and I don't see you shaking like a leaf."

"We're trained for this, and trust me love, we all shake like this the first few times." He could remember how it felt to kill for the first time, his first firefight where he was sure he was going to die. He knew exactly how you were feeling.

You took a deep breath as you continued. "I killed two people tonight. The guy I stabbed and I heard over their radios that the Shadow that caught the door blast didn't make it. That wasn't spur of the moment, I could have chosen non-lethal methods. I made the choice to try and kill Graves. Logically I know I had to do it but still, there's something wrong because I don't know how to feel about that either."

The warmth of Simon's chest made it easy to talk, and his gentle responses eased the worry from your mind, but his was a stirring mess. He knew what he was, he was proud of himself and what he had done with his life, but his reiteration of how your feelings were normal echoed back something else for him, that he wasn't the normal one, that there was nothing wrong with you, but there was something wrong with him.

And yet, the way you pressed yourself to his chest in low lamp light chased all those feelings away because someone as wonderful as you wouldn't love him if there was something truly wrong with him. And that was just it, despite the fact that you had never said it to each other, you did love him and he loved you. Nothing else mattered, not the blood on his hands or the shake in yours.

He felt your warm hand on his cheek and he looked down at your face, your eyes staring into his with blatant affection. "What are you thinking about?"

The rush of blood in his ear was like a swarm of hornets, and their flicking wings overwhelmed his senses as he mirrored your hand and placed his on your cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth as he leaned in. His lips brushed yours, and your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed you. He pulled back after bumping your nose with his and took a deep breath. "I love you y/n."

You kissed him again, your hand moving behind his head to hold his lips to yours. You pulled away enough to speak, his breath beating against your skin as you returned his proclamation. "I love you too Simon."

Sleep came easy that night, for both of you.

Part 6

@chaos-4baby

[philtstone]

Your choice of FATWS characters, “feeling their temperature”

They're in Bucharest again, which would've been bad enough on its own. Sam figures if Bucky can manage to not bleed out within the hour, then they'll all get out of this one alive.

He mostly has faith in his partner. The mostly is there because Sam remains nothing if not a resolute pragmatist where neo-HYDRA ambushes and large explosions are concerned. On the other hand, the alternative is straight up unthinkable; Sam's operating on adrenaline alone, and he needs Bucky's help figuring out how to un-fuck this mess, thank you very much. 

Bucky bleeding out is not at all conducive to that need being fulfilled.

"Shit, shit, shit," Sam chants, mostly just for something to do, as he and Torres shoulder their way in through the peeling safehouse door. Joaquin is carrying the prototype metal briefcase they managed to abscond with, which is in turn carrying half a wall's worth of blown up, sharded glass and aluminum in its outer casing. Sam isn't quite carrying Bucky, but it's a near thing. Bucky's carrying the other half of that wall.

"Joaquin."

"Yeah!"

"Medical kit's in the bathroom, under my civvies --"

"Got it!"

Bucky groans a bit as Sam eases them onto the threadbare couch and assesses the damage. 

Bad. Like, objectively, bad.

But all the pieces seem to be fairly big -- or at least, they are from what Sam can tell. Bucky's shirt was dark already, and is darker now, pretty much all over.

"Don't tell me those old bones are actin' up now, old man," Sam says, pulling his gloves off with his teeth. He shucks his grimy jacket, washes his hands in the sad kitchenette sink, and drops to his knees. He doesn’t have a whole lot of close-up experience with serum-enhanced healing, but he can tell the blood’s been doing its damnest to congeal around the bits of shrapnel that are using Bucky’s upper right torso as a pincushion.

Sam, unsuited because of the covert nature of the op, would have been torn to shreds. Bucky had been halfway on the other side of the room as him. 

He does not think about this. They need good disinfectant . Meds will be useless. Does he still have his goddamn tweezers in his kit?

"Very funny, Sam," Bucky says, belatedly, and it is concerning only because the words are no longer coming out through harshly gritted teeth. Sam jerks his head to look back at him midway through digging through their lame supply of antiseptics. Buck’s started drooping -- wilting, or whatever. Sam can see his chin dipping into his chest and his eyelids fluttering.

It took them over two hours to get to someplace with cover. Sometimes these things cannot be helped. Sometimes it is nobody's fault but the bad guys'.

Doesn't mean Sam has to like it.

"Okay," Sam says, "time to take your shirt off."

"Doesn' ev'n buy me dinner first," Bucky mumbles, as though that's not the most cliched joke in the book. Joaquin skids back into the room with the med kit and Sam gets to work, familiar motions embedded in memory that's both muscle and personal. He focuses on the feel of the sheers Joaquin hands over against his palm, the tensile pressure of slowly-darkening gauze against Bucky’s twitching muscles. The cutters aren’t sharp enough to go through the sodden t-shirt, so Sam abandons them, and fumbles around beneath them before tugging out the switchblade he knew was there from the inseam of Bucky's left boot.  

He doesn’t really carry guns anymore, but that knife is always there. It tears in a clean line down the front. The rip is satisfying.

"You know anything I cook'll be better than a restaurant," Sam says, as he begins mopping up some of the blood for better visibility. 

"D'batable," Bucky slurs.

His breathing isn't properly shallow yet, but getting there. This is not doing anything to help Sam's mood. He uses gentle movements to lift Buck's right arm and get the last of the shirt of.

"Sam, scanner says we've got less than an hour to get out of here before we have company."

Sam puts pressure on the first entry point, gauze in hand, antiseptic burning his nose. Bucky's skin is warm under his hands. He starts on the smallest piece.

"You got any ideas? I'm all ears."

"Military," says Bucky. His eyes are still open, which is good, Sam thinks.

"What's that?"

"They were military," Bucky repeats. His head's fallen back against the couch now; his left hand is gripping the edge of the seat, hard enough that Sam can hear the springs bending and creaking beneath the stained taupe upholstery. He's breathing harshly through his nose.

Joaquin has scrambled back towards the window and is keeping an eye on the street below. He says,

"He's right -- they had insignias, those two weirdos who greeted you guys at the door, remember?"

"Yeah? You catch a rank and status?"

"Rank ..." The words peter out; Sam pulls the second piece out, drops it with a tinny clunk into the plastic cup Joaquin found in the motel room's kitchenette. He lines up the tape, lays down the gauze. Bucky inhales, sharply.

Sam starts again.

"Bucky."

"Nuh huh. Rank -- 'm, fuck."

Why are Sam's hands so warm?

"Torres," Sam says, "I need you to check him for fever. C'mon, Buck, talk me through this."

"Thought tha's what you were -- fuck --" Sam bites down hard on his cheek and twists his surgical pliers -- "doin' for me."

Bucky’s expression flickers into something resembling a grimace when Torres's dry hand presses lightly against his forehead -- of course they don't have a goddamn thermometer in this place, Sam thinks -- but he doesn't seem to be cognizant enough to react when Joaquin makes a small noise of dismay and turns down to Sam, wide-eyed.

"He’s burning up, Cap."

"Shit," mutters Sam. Of course; even with super serum, the human body's natural reaction to unattended, unwanted intrusions is to overheat. He’s never had reason to worry about how Bucky handles fevers before this. Sam, personally, handles fevers poorly. The extended logic is unwanted and frightening, so Sam refuses to acknowledge it. "Uh huh," says Sam, to Bucky, counting himself through the motions. His watch, close to his ears as works around a particularly finnicky bit of glass, ticks steadily. Clunk. "Keep going, man, we need ideas here."

But there's an indelible reality to the fact that his partner’s lucidity is doing its damndest to jump out the window. Uncoordinated breathing, eyes slipping from Sam to Torres to the ceiling to back again, and a slow-building, jittery twitch to his knee that Sam feels is racing him and the clock at once -- it’s useless, to try to figure out if it’s the temperature or the bloodloss or the fact that for the last twenty minutes, Sam’s had pokey metal things digging around Bucky’s chest.

The one and only time he pushed Bucky about going to a hospital, the guy didn't speak to him for almost three days. Sam doesn't want to think about it.

"Bucky, I need you to focus."

"Un huh."

Sam's hands work in fast, assured movements.

"Focus. C'mon, baby, eyes on me. What was their rank?"

"Higher up. Lady with ..." A loud breath -- "with th' hair..."

"Yeah," says Sam. He shakes his shoulders out, cranes his neck back and forth. Got almost got all the shit out -- there's maybe one or two pieces left, one large and angry, the other a smaller shard just barely clinging to the surface of Bucky's collarbone. "They could just be independents," Sam coaxes. "Probably just a handful of crazies."

Inhale, pressure, dig the tool in ...

Bucky's fully hyperventilating now.

"Sam --" This is Torres, from the window, eyes wide.

"Fuck," says Sam. "Bucky? Hey. Look at me.”

The reality of being the person in charge creeps up on Sam sometimes, out of the blue, breaking his heart. They need to get out of here, and fast. He doesn’t know where they’ll go -- how they’ll get there. His head is ringing from the explosion, and there was a part of him, larger than he’d come to anticipate, that Sam realizes was fully expecting the easy support of Bucky’s presence at his side: not taking charge, no, but backing him up -- hearing him out. 

He’s known, intellectually, that he will have to call the shots without that sometimes. It’s harder to contend with that fact when his t-shirt’s staining red and he can’t get Bucky to meet his eye.

“Hurts,” Bucky mumbles. His head has lolled over, cheek pressed into the gross couch, sweat lining his brow.

“Torres,” Sam says quietly, hands working faster, “I need to you start tryin’ to chart our exit.”

“But --”

“I know we don’t have a lot of options.” Bucky makes a small, inarticulate noise, as Sam dabs alcohol on the small cut on his collarbone -- “Start with what we know. There’s a shipyard two clicks away from us. That could serve as cover while we figure out the next step.”

“Okay. Okay, okay, yeah.”

Sam moves the pliers around the last, largest piece and nearly bites down on his tongue; Bucky’s left hand has jerked up to wrap around his wrist, stopping him, chest heaving enough that Sam can see with a wince one of his smaller bandages rip open. A couple bones shift in his wrist. Sam ignores this.

“Look at me,” he says, in a clear voice he doesn’t feel. “It’s Sam. You know Sam.” Bucky’s eyes are wide. Sarah joked once they were Bambi eyes, couldn’t figure out how someone supposedly so dangerous could’ve gotten away with being intimidating if he went around looking like that. Something about the memory breaks the intensity of the moment, grounding him, muting the knee-jerk urge to pull his hand away. He sets the pliers down, breath overloud in his own ears, and slowly brings his free hand to cover Bucky’s wrist. He squeezes twice. 

“You’re okay,” Sam says loudly. “I need to get this out and then your fever’ll go down. You gotta breathe with me. Can you do that?”

Bucky stares at him. Tick, tick, tick. The bones in Sam’s wrist groan, just a little. They breathe.

“Sam?” he chokes out.

“You back with me?” Sam says. It comes out more gentle than he means it to.

Maybe there is a mutual fear, there, he thinks -- of needing and not having. But then, has anyone ever gotten through this world all on their own?

He watches Bucky breathe again, on his own this time, shaky, one inhale and one exhale.

“Back,” he slurs. “Take it out.”

“It’ll hurt like a bitch,” Sam apologizes.

“Trust you,” Bucky says, and it comes out almost like an echo. Sam gets back to work.

[sorry-apsalar]

Everything's Going to be Okay

First off, this fic contains temporary character death. Everything's going to be okay though, don't worry.

Second, I've been sitting on this fic for months, like half a year maybe. I wanted to write more but this was the only part I was actually interested in writing. I've tried several times to continue and do a more complete thing but it wasn't happening so I've decided to just post this because it's complete enough even if it's not the full story of events following this.

~

Fry really didn’t want to wake up but the cold metal hand patting his cheek was insistent in drawing him back towards consciousness. “Come on Fry, I know you ain’t dead yet so hurry up and open your eyes already. It can’t be that bad, can it?” There was an odd note to his voice, an emotion Fry couldn’t quite place, especially since he was fairly sure he’d never heard it in Bender’s voice before. Meaning it was probably a good idea to wake up and see what he was upset about.

With a groan, Fry forced himself to open his eyes. He was leaning back against an uneven wall. Bender hovered over him, one hand out stretched to tap Fry’s check, the other held a lantern, its light dim and lens cracked, it was seemingly the only source of light in whatever space they were currently in. A large splotch of something wet and red was smeared across Bender’s front, it looked an awful lot like blood but that didn’t make sense because robots didn’t bleed.

“You’re awake,” Bender said as he withdrew his hand from Fry’s face. He sounded… relieved? “That means you’ll be fine, right?”

Fry wanted to push himself up a bit further but… the fact that everything seemed to hurt told him not to. “What happened?” They’d been going into a scary looking cave to deliver a package to the client who’d ordered it who was supposedly inside. Presumably they were still in that cave since they certainly weren’t outside. So… what had happened? A cave-in perhaps? That would explain why it was so dark and perhaps why Fry had been unconscious.

“It was a trap. Those bastards tried to kill us. They failed though, look see, even the lantern survived.” Bender gestured with it, making it sway back and forth a bit harder than Fry was comfortable with given how it was their only source of light.

“Why’d they try to kill us?”

“How should I know? It doesn’t matter though because they blew the fucking cave up on top of us and now we’re trapped behind a damn wall of rocks and dirt. I’d tell you to dig us but uh…” he looked Fry up and down a grimace, “yeah. That means I have to though. Ugh, I hate manual labor.”

“What?” Fry’s brain seemed to be running slow and the pain made it rather hard to think. Why had Bender been looking at him like that? And why did everything hurt so much?

Bender said something in response but Fry missed it as he looked down at himself at last. He clothing was soaked in something warm and red… blood, he was covered in blood. It was impossible to tell where it was all coming from in the in low light of the damaged lantern but surely it couldn’t all be his, could it? But then where else would it have come from? And further down, his leg lay twisted an odd angle that no human leg was supposed to bend and it might’ve just been his imagination playing cruel tricks on him but it looked like part of his bone was sticking out as well, covered in more blood.

“Fry!” Bender snapped in a tone that suggested he’d been trying to get Fry’s attention for a little bit now. The ‘wet red stuff’ on his front made more sense now; he’d moved Fry to lean him up against the wall. “You hit your hit too or something?”

“Uh… I don’t know.” He honestly had no way of knowing anymore. “But what… how’d this… happen?” He gestured vaguely at himself.

“The explosion and shrapnel and stuff turned your soft meaty body into swiss cheese. It didn’t do much to me for obvious reasons.” He hit a fist against his chest, making a hollow clang. “And a big boulder landing on you fucked up your leg. You were lucky though because it probably would’ve killed you if it had hit you somewhere else. But you’ve survived some pretty bad stuff in the past. Even if that was with immediate medical assistance, which we don’t have down here, you’ll still survive this, right?” That odd note was back in Bender’s voice as he finished speaking

“Uh… I don’t know.” He certainly didn’t feel like he was going to be all right after this. Though he hadn’t felt that way during all the other times he’d taken serious bodily harm either. But unlike those times there weren’t any doctors nearby with their nigh-on magical healing technologies. They were trapped in a cave on a planet in the middle of nowhere without even basic medical supplies which didn’t bode well for him. But… “I hope so.” Hoping was all he could really do.

A few seconds of heavy silence went by in which Bender was still as a statue before he jerked out of it. “Well, I’m going to get to moving boulders and stuff. Those punks are so going to pay for this as soon as I’m out and uh… I guess after I take you to a doctor too. Call me if you need anything, okay?” He placed the lantern down on the ground next to Fry before turning to leave, presumably heading in the direction of the cave in.

Fry watched him disappear into the darkness, wanting to call him back but… as much as he didn’t want to be alone, his only chance of surviving this was Bender getting him out and to a doctor. So… “I love you,” he called after him instead just in case this was his last chance to say that.

Bender’s footsteps paused. “Is now really the time for being all sappy and stuff?”

“I don’t see why it’s a bad time for it.”

“Fine, I love you too so don’t you dare fucking die or I’ll never forgive you.”

Fry’s small laugh quickly petered out because it hurt too much. “I’ll try my best,” he forced out in a weak voice.

Without Bender there to keep him focused, Fry quickly started having trouble staying awake. Even with the pain every tiny movement and even breathing brought, sleep seemed to beckon him. If he fell asleep now though would he ever wake up? So he fought it. … It was a losing battle though.

It was awfully cold too. So much so, his hands and feet soon began to grow numb from it. Which was odd because hadn’t the planet been rather warm, even inside the cave? He’d complained about it to Leela before heading off with Bender while she stayed back to refuel the ship, using the ship’s backup fuel canisters; she’d told him to suck it up and deal with it. So why did it feel so cold now?

He didn’t want to die in the cold, especially alone. … More like he didn’t want to die at all, there was still so much to see and do. He still hadn’t mastered the holophonor. And there were still so many TV shows left to watch with Bender and video games to play on his phone while avoiding work. And so many other things too. He couldn’t die yet, not like this, he wasn’t ready. … But he’d never would be ready, huh? And he didn’t really have a choice in the matter; he was dying whether he liked it or not and… he didn’t want to do it alone.

“Bender,” he tried to call out but his voice failed him and it came out rather weak instead.

Despite that, the sound of Bender shifting rocks stopped. A few seconds later, he emerged back into the weak lamplight. “What?” The annoyance in his voice and stance were forced. “I’m trying to get us out of here which you should be grateful for since I don’t normally do that type of thing.”

“I… I’m dying,” Fry choked out. “I’m… not going to make it.”

“Nonsense, you’re still breathing so it’s fine. You said so yourself… sort of.”

Fry whimpered as he shook his head. “I’m cold and numb and… it hurts so much. But… I just want to sleep.” He didn’t even have enough energy to be as panicked as he should be. “I don’t got much time left.”

“Well… I’m trying to get us out as fast as I can, what more do you want from me?” Lacking any real energy, Bender’s attempt at callousness failed. He had to know that even if the way to the ship was clear, getting to anywhere with proper medical facilities would take a couple hours at least. Fry was growing increasingly certain he didn’t have that long, let alone however long it would take to dig out of the cave too so…

“I don’t want to die alone.” That had always been one of his biggest fears, that he’d die alone and no one would care. He didn’t have to worry about the latter at least but the former was still scary. “Please Bender I… I… just please… I don’t want to die alone.” That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

Still as a statue, Bender stared at him, his expression unreadable, for several seconds before he jerked back into motion. “If that’s the case then I guess I just got to use this sooner than I thought I would.” As he spoke, he opened his chest compartment and reached seemingly all the way to the back to pull something out. A small black metal box. He flipped that open to pull out a rectangular object with a switch on it and wires coming out either end of it. One of which ended in what looked an awful lot like the brain scan caps in science fiction movies.

“What’s that?” Fry asked as Bender leaned over to put it on him.

“Don’t worry about it. Just… trust me when I say everything’s going to be okay, all right?” Bender secured it in place under Fry’s chin, tight enough to be uncomfortable. Fry didn’t trust himself to be able to loosen it though so he let it be as Bender sat down to lean back against the wall next to him.

“I love you. You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had or could’ve ever asked for and the best…”

“What did I just say?” Bender’s annoyance was real this time. “As much as I like it when you acknowledge how great am I, you’re talking like you think this is the end.”

“But… it is.” And Fry was struggling to even stay focused enough to say the things he wanted to say, how much longer before even that was too much for him?

“I told you, everything’s going to be okay so just trust me and shut up already, talking’s a waste of energy.”

Fry did trust him but… he didn’t seem to know what was going on. Was it denial or him not understanding how death worked? Couldn’t be the latter, not solely anyway. Maybe a little bit of both then? Fry didn’t have the energy to explain though.

Bender was fiddling with the wire coming out of the other side of the rectangle thing. It split off into two plugs. One of which Bender opened his chest compartment to plug it into himself or into something else inside him. The other he stared at for several seconds, seemingly unsure what to do with it before shrugging and pulling it into his chest compartment too. He went much deeper with that one, his arm stretching up inside himself.

“What is it?” Fry tried again, having to force the words out. Perhaps if his mind didn’t feel so cloudy he’d be able to come up with even guess but… he had nothing.

Bender didn’t even glance his way as he instead pressed the switch on the box connecting them. A strange hum filled Fry’s head, loud but not unpleasant, especially since it seemed to lessen the pain a little, making it even harder to focus and think.

Bender said something that Fry couldn’t quite understand for some reason as he leaned back against the wall and took Fry’s hand into his own, intertwining their fingers. His tone was reassuring though, which was rather unlike him but… it was nice.

Fry squeezed his hand as hard as his failing strength would let him. He wasn’t dying alone or unloved and… that was enough right now.

~~~

Fry came to slowly. Something was off though. He opened his eyes to the sight of a cave wall several feet away. It didn’t look normal though, it was like he was looking at it through a night vision camera. Why was he even in a cave? … Right yeah, the delivery mission and then waking up in pain… he’d been dying and now wasn’t? He certainly didn’t hurt anymore which was a huge plus all on it own.

“See? I told you everything would be okay,” Bender said, sounding rather pleased with himself. But when Fry turned his head to the left to look at him to ask what exactly had happened, he wasn’t there. Hmmm… weird.

Fry turned his head to look to the right next and was met with the rather peculiar sight of himself. But everything about that sight was wrong. He was unnaturally stiff and covered in blood, the latter of which made sense based off his recollection prior to waking except for the fact that it looked mostly congealed now. … Dead was the only word that could describe it, he was looking at his own corpse.

He yelped as he pulled away because what the actual fuck? But the corpse – hiscorpse – was holding his hand and wouldn’t let go and… Suddenly he was holding still and looking away, though not by his own volition.

“This is going to be a lot more troublesome than I initially thought,” Bender said, the location of his voice indiscernible

“Bender? What’s going on?” Fry didn’t like whatever it was. But then again he was still here while his body was very dead. Was he a ghost?

“I guess I didn’t exactly tell you what I was doing. But I’m sure even you can figure it out fairly quickly.” Bender’s hand, that was also his own somehow, rose in front of his face to give a small finger wave. Things just kept getting stranger but one thing was pretty clear, he seemed to be in Bender’s body somehow, looking down at himself and seeing Bender’s open chest compartment with the two wires coming out confirmed it.

“I’m a ghost possessing you?”

“Close but not exactly. I downloaded your mind onto my hard drive” As he spoke, Bender carefully pried his hand out of corpse Fry’s stiff grip. It was coated in a thick layer of congealed blood.

Fry shuddered in disgust, looking away again as he tried to shake it off. It didn’t work though; despite being made of metal he could still feel it clinging to him or… more like to Bender.

“Stop that!” Bender reinserted control and tried to wipe it on Fry’s jacket before Fry pulled it back.

“Can we please not touch my corpse? It’s weird and… I don’t like it.” Touching one’s own corpse was not a thing anyone should ever even be able to do, let alone actually do if given the chance.

“It’s not really you anymore so why does it matter? But fine, whatever, if you insist. Let me take this off though.” Bender at least had the kindness to let Fry continue to look away as he reached over to take off the wired cap off Fry’s corpse. He then unplugged himself from the device, a rather odd feeling sensation, before putting the whole thing back in its box and then that back in his chest compartment.

“Why didn’t you tell me that that thing was going to download my mind or whatever?” Fry asked as he wiped off what could of the blood on Bender’s hand onto the rocks making up the floor – which wasn’t as effective as he would’ve liked but what else could he do? “That would’ve been a huge comfort, you know.” Knowing he wasn’t going into oblivion would’ve made the whole dying thing a lot less scary and upsetting. And it’s not like Bender didn’t have enough time to explain, he’d had plenty.

“In case you refused.”

“Why would I ever refuse?”

Bender shrugged as he stood up. “Humans and other living things are peculiar about their bodies for some reason. I’ve heard of instances where your kind have refused stuff like that in the past so I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Well, those people were dumb.” Fry would’ve never even considered refusing such a thing even if sharing a body with his boyfriend was really weird and seeing his own corpse was all kinds of horrible that he’d probably have nightmares about later. “Is this like a permanent situation though? Are we going to be in the same body forever?”

“Fuck no. As much as I love you, I need me time sometimes too so I’m transferring you to your own body as soon as possible when we get home.”

Good, Fry wasn’t a huge fan of sharing a body either. He wanted his own body, preferably the one he’d had before. That wasn’t an option though so he’d take what he could get. … But then again, he’d presumably be uploaded into a robot, basically making him a robot, right? That would be pretty awesome. Heck actually, he was technically a robot now, wasn’t he?

“Can I bend something? … If that’s all right with you?” It was Bender’s body and he really didn’t want to impose, especially since taking on Fry like this was probably not his idea of a good time but he’d always admired Bender’s strength and now that was kinda his so… he really badly wanted to bend something just because he could now.

Bender sighed and fondly shook his head – conversing with him when they were in the same body was really weird. “Sure, if there’s something around here to bend, you can bend it.”

Fry looked around, carefully avoiding glancing at his corpse. Unfortunately, they were in a natural cave and thus the only thing around was rock wall and the boulders and stuff, making up the cave-in, nothing all that bendable. Well, there was the lamp, its battery had run out while they’d been ‘sleeping’. Still careful not to look directly at his corpse, Fry located it and snatched it up off the ground.

Its already cracked lens shattered as he bent it with ease. It was only a small lantern but it was still made of pretty sturdy metal and he could bend it all out of shape in any and every way he pleased. It might as well have been putty in his hands.

Bender kindly let him play with it for a while before interjecting. “As much fun as this is, we really need to get out of here.”

“Right uh… yeah.” Fry opened Bender’s chest compartment and quickly placed the mangled, unrecognizable remains of the lantern inside. That was another something he’d always wished he could do. It was like having a giant pocket, one he didn’t have to worry about stuff falling out of or being pick-pocketed. “How do we get out?”

“I don’t know, maybe the same way we came in.” Bender turned to face the rockslide. In hindsight, that had been a rather stupid question. “So get to digging meatbag. … I guess I can’t really call you ‘meatbag’ anymore, huh?”

“Nah, you can still call me that if you want to.” It would be weird if Bender didn’t occasionally call him that after all the years he’d been doing it.

“All right then meatbag, get to work.” Bender pointed to the cave in but made no move to start digging them out himself. “But then again, you doing it would technically be the same as me doing it and you’re already dead so there’s no need to rush anymore. So, actually let’s just wait for Leela to come save us instead.”

Under normal circumstances, Fry would’ve been more than willing to go with that plan. Even now it was tempting but his corpse was only a few feet away and he’d rather not think about that or the fact that it would probably start rotting soon and that was not something he wanted to see any part of. With all that hovering over him like an oppressive cloud, he wanted out of here as soon as physically possible. So, he stepped forward to start of the rock pile. “I think I’d prefer to dig out.”

“Really?” Bender groaned. “Fine, whatever, I’m not helping though.”

~

Bender’s initial attempt at digging out had cleared only about enough to be noticeable. Despite how long it had felt to Fry at the time, he clearly hadn’t been long at it before Fry had called him back. But Fry was making good progress. Up until he started to feel dizzy anyway, messing with his coordination and balance. It was almost like he was starting to get tipsy or something.

“That’s enough,” Bender said, breaking his silence as he took back control of his body. Fry’s instinct was to fight that because he wanted out of here but it was Bender’s body, he was just a temporary passenger.

Bender stepped back from the cave in but thankfully didn’t turn around. He opened his chest compartment and somehow knew just where to reach to pull out a beer. He downed the whole thing in one go and instantly Fry felt better. Right yeah, because robots ran on alcohol. After tossing the empty bottle aside, he pulled out another and down that one too, finishing with a flame belch.

“And that’s the last one,” he said as he tossed the bottle off somewhere too. “So no more digging or we’re going to run out of fuel faster.”

“I thought you always carried a lot of extra bottles though, especially when we go out on missions.” They’d all been in enough crazy situations by now to bring extra everything they needed when going out. Especially when it was to a particularly distant planet as this one had been.

“Yeah, I do, but do you have any idea how much power it takes to upload a human mind into anything, especially when it needs to be done quickly? And it’s not like there’s an outlet anywhere nearby so all that power had to come straight from me. So you better be grateful, especially since I have to put up with you in my body for who even knows how long.”

“Oh uh… I guess that would probably take a lot of power, huh? Thanks, I… really appreciate this, like a lot.” More than he knew how to put into words; if Bender hadn’t done this, he’d be… who even knows what or where, probably oblivion would be his guess. But instead he got to continue to exist after death. This didn’t count as being alive anymore though, did it? He was still dead, his corpse was mere feet away, just not gone. That was… creepy to think about so he wasn’t going to anymore. “You’re really awesome for doing this for me.”

Bender chuckled smugly. “Yep, I’m great and awesome.”

Fry wanted to hug him but… well actually he could sort of. So, he did, he was hugging himself too but it still counted, right? Especially since it was Bender’s body.

“This is really weird,” Bender said but didn’t put a stop to it. When Fry got his own body, he’d be sure one of the first things he did with it was give Bender a proper hug, for now though, this would have to do.

~

“What if Leela assumes we’re both dead and thus doesn’t even try to dig us out?” And thus they would be trapped in here until Bender ran out of fuel and then what would happen next? … They’d die, right? Meaning Fry would die again. He wasn’t ready to face death again, not so soon after the first time.

“Yeah, no, that’s not going to happen. She’ll know I survived so she’ll at least want to dig me out.”

That was a fair point actually but it only calmed Fry’s nerves for a short time because… “What if the assholes who attacked us went after her too and now she’s also dead or dying and…”

“This is Leela we’re talking about here. You really think she’d let those chumps get the best of her?” Another good point.

“But… but…” On top of not wanting to potentially die again Fry also really wanted out of here. He wasn’t normally plagued by claustrophobia or anything like it but the longer he spent in the presence of his slowly rotting corpse, the more he wanted away from it. Refusing to look in its general direction didn’t make him any less aware that it was there. “Look at how much progress we made? Surely we’re almost out. I bet if we cleared just a few more rocks we’d begin to see…”

The ground shook beneath them accompanied by a loud but muffled boom. Whatever it was also raised a cloud of dust from the cave-in as it shifted, most of it collapsing outward away from them. It didn’t clear it, not even close, but it did make as sizeable hole in it through which light could be seen. Not sunlight but a lantern, its light growing stronger as the person holding it stepped into the breach. It was Leela of course.

“See I told you,” Bender said smugly before starting for her. “It’s about damn time you showed up. We’ve been trapped for ages.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I kind of had to deal with an army of aliens trying to kill me and steal the ship. And then I had to steal some explosives because the ones we have the ship were too powerful and probably would’ve made the cave in worse and possibly crushed you guys. All that kind of took a…” Leela paused as Bender pulled them up onto the rock next to her. “Is that blood on your chest?”

“Yep, and hand.” Bender lifted the hand still coated in Fry’s dried blood. “I need a shower.”

“Where’s Fry? Is he okay?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘okay’.”

Leela stepped past them to jump off the rock. Which unfortunately was far enough into the cave to allow the circle of her lantern light to reach Fry’s corpse. She gasped and presumably ran over based off the sound of her footsteps but Fry didn’t see because no way was he looking in that direction anymore. Instead he focused on the cave wall on the other side.

“He’s dead.” Leela’s voice was full of grief and shock. Fry truly hadn’t died unloved, he had friends who cared about him too.

“Yep,” Bender said, “but don’t worry, he’s…”

“How can you be so indifferent to this?” Leela was almost yelling. “I thought you loved him. How can even you be so…”

It was Fry’s turn to interrupt now because the last thing Bender deserved was Leela’s ire. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Well… I guess that does depend what your definition of ‘fine’ is because I am still dead which is… pretty awful and disturbing and scary. But… other than that I’m fine.”

There was a heavy beat or two of silence before Leela found her voice again. “W-what?”

“This is what you get for not letting me finish Leela.” Bender crossed his arms and tapped his foot in annoyance but thankfully respected Fry’s desire to continue to stare the wall and not look in that direction. “Before he died, I uploaded his mind onto my hard drive. So he’s basically sharing a body with me now.”

“Oh uh… but how? I thought the technology to do that kind of thing was super expensive and not portable.”

“Well, I stole a prototype portable version.”

“Wait, that thing was only a prototype?” Fry had assumed it was tested and safe. “What if it hadn’t worked?”

“You wouldn’t be here right now, duh.”

“Well uh… I guess that’s good,” Leela said. “Why’d you put him into your body though? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to carry something else around for that purpose?”

“I did but I didn’t think I’d have to use it any time soon and filled that flash drive up with porn. So when he was dying I had to decide if I wanted to delete all that porn or delete a few extraneous things from my hard drive and deal with sharing a body for a little while. It’s a lot of porn, most of it good too, so it wasn’t really a hard decision.”

“What’d you delete to make room for me?”

“The last traces of the code meant to make me follow the Laws of Robotics and a few other things so unimportant I don’t even remember what they were.”

“What’s the Laws of Robotics?” Fry was pretty sure he’d never heard of such a thing before.

Bender shrugged. “How should I know? I just deleted everything having to do with them other than the name. There’s no way I ever followed them though so it doesn’t matter. Now let’s get out of here, I’m so done with this cave.” He turned and started for the exit.

“What are we going to do about Fry’s body though?” Leela called after them. “Is okay to just leave it?”

Fry halted, earning a small annoyed sound from Bender but this was important. He still didn’t look over his shoulder at Leela as he answered her though. “Burn it and spread my ashes on the moon.”

“Why?” Unsurprisingly Bender didn’t understand. That was fine though, he didn’t need to, to follow Fry’s wishes.

“Because the very few times I thought about what I wanted to have happen to my body after I died, that was what I decided I wanted. It’s in my will.”

“All right Fry. We’ll burn your body. Bender and uh… Fry let’s go get some stuff for burning from the ship.” As she spoke, Leela climbed back up onto the rock next to them and led the way out.

“What else is in your will?” Bender asked as he followed.

“All my stuff is supposed go to you, except my space heater and all my food, that goes to Leela.”

Bender chuckled. “Sounds good to me, we don’t need the heater anymore anyway, especially since I still have the one installed in me. I don’t know what I’ll do with any of your junk but it doesn’t matter.”

“Wait what? No! I’m still here so my stuff going to you doesn’t really count.”

“Nope, too late, you died and already brought your will up for this weird moon thing of yours so all your stuff’s mine now.”

In hindsight Fry probably shouldn’t have even said anything about that part of his will but it was too late now. Though, it didn’t really matter much anyway, Bender had always had a ‘your stuff is my stuff’ attitude that had only grown stronger since they’d started dating. So really, Bender being the legal owner of all his stuff probably wouldn’t change much. … Sharing a body for however long they would have to probably would though. Being transferred to his own robot body would certainly change stuff too. In how many different ways though? … That wasn’t something he needed worry about yet. For now he was just glad to still exist.

[illogicalpunkwrites]

The Cave

Long time no see! Sorry it’s been a while. I’ve been in grad school and it’s pretty much sucked the life out of me. But I really missed writing so I figured I could write for my favorite character. Thank you so much for reading! Pairings: Leonard McCoy x Kirk!Reader

*Part two is here

Words: 4.8K

Warnings: injury, fluff, angst (?), swearing, badly written fight scene, Leonard and Reader being stubborn shits, Spock being a cocky shit

Tags: @bloodangelballerina @theweepingvulcan91​ If anyone else would like to be added let me know!

“Captain.” Spock greeted as he caught up to his friend. Jim clapped him on the shoulder. “I must commend you and Commander Kirk on your success in Nuvaruta. Not many would have been able to complete that mission.” 

“Eh, nothing we couldn’t handle. I’m just surprised she didn’t drop the artifact when she got hit!” Jim laughed. 

“Well, it was only a flesh wound. A woman of her position is surely used to it by now. No need to worry about her.” An ensign brushed by Jim, yelping out an apology. 

“She’s still my sister, Spock. Head of security or not, I always worry about her.”

“And captain or not, she will always worry about you.” 

“Well-” They both got quiet when they reached medbay, hearing yelling and seeing Nurse Chapel waiting outside the door, acting like nothing was happening and playing with her nails.

“Nurse Chapel, is everything alright?” Spock asked and she looked up at the science officer. 

“Oh, just the same thing every time Commander Kirk comes back from a mission.” Jim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“How many times are you gonna be in my damn medbay! I swear you get hurt more in a day than an ensign does in a whole year!” Leonard bit and you rolled your eyes. 

“How many times are you gonna complain every time you see me? I said thank you!” You replied. “You act like I’m ungrateful!”

“No you’re just stubborn as a bull!”

“Pot calling kettle black!” You laughed incredulously. “It’s in my job description to get hurt, it’s in yours to patch me up! But you can’t do that without henpecking at me every damn time!” 

Jim, Spock, and Christine all waited outside. By this point in the mission, they all knew that it was better to just wait it out than to break it up. 

“Henpecking?”

“Yes! I swear you like it when I come in because it gives you something to gripe about!”

“No because you coming in pushes me that much closer to an ulcer! Just get outta my medbay, I got work to do!”

“Gladly!” You walked out of medbay, looking to see the three waiting outside. “Hey.”

“Alright, c’mon. I need your report.” You and Jim walked away, leaving Christine and Spock near medbay. They walked in to see Leonard sitting at his desk with his forehead in his hand. 

“Doctor, are you alright?’ Christine asked and he sighed. 

“Yes, Nurse Chapel. I’m fine.” He replied. “Whaddya need, Spock?”

“I came here with no intention to talk to you, but now it seems I have. I would like to talk to you about Commander Kirk. Why is it that you two argue so much?” The vein in Leonard’s forehead seemed like it was about to pop as he turned to face the Vulcan. 

“Because she’s stubborn and reckless, that’s why!”

“As are you.” Christine looked at Spock with her eyebrows raised and stepped back a bit when Leonard stood up.

“I am not!”

“You are, which is why I am confused. Of course, you are not as reckless as Commander Kirk but you are as much if not more stubborn. You both share a drier sense of humor, both care a great deal about those you work with-”

“What’s your point, Spock?”

“I believe you become irritated when she’s hurt because you care for her. The more she gets hurt, the more irritable you become. There’s a remarkable amount of tension between you two.” Spock clasped his hands behind his back as Leonard walked up to him. “You are simply worried about her and are too stubborn to admit your feelings for her. Meaning it comes out in irritation and rage, making her angry and irritable.” 

“I don’t like her.”

“I think Commander Spock has a point...Doctor.” Christine interjected. “I think you’re also frustrated because you feel like you can’t like her. She is the Captain’s sister after all.”

“Good point, Nurse Chapel.” Spock commended. “It seems that she might be forbidden to our doctor.”

“A forbidden fruit, if you will.” Christine offered and Spock raised an eyebrow at her. Leonard rubbed his temples and she tried to hide her smile from him. 

“Spock, aren’t you needed on the bridge?”

“Oh no, not for some time.”

XXXXXX

Crew-

We are headed down to the planet of Thurilia. It is a barren planet that has not been inhabited in over 100 years but it carries another artifact integral to the Nimbus mission. Don’t mistake it’s barrenness for peace, there are hostile Romulans also looking for the artifact. We must also be wary of dust storms and flying debris from crash landed ships. For this mission I will require Commander Kirk, Commander Spock, and Doctor McCoy.  

“Got everything you need, lass?” You finished attaching your phaser, communicator, and collapsible kali. You missed your regular uniform, all of you required to wear a more suitable and impenetrable to the suffocating dust. It was too bulky for your liking but you knew it was more practical. 

“Ready, Scotty. Just make sure to remember to beam us up.” You clapped his shoulder and jogged over to the teleporter. Of course, the only spot was next to Leonard. “Dr. McCoy.”

“Commander.” You noticed Spock looking over at the two of you and you furrowed your brows at him. 

“Ready, Scotty.” Jim stated. You would never get used to the tingling of the teleporter. It would always be a strange sensation no matter how many times you used it. You all landed on the planet and you wondered if it made Spock feel the least bit homesick. It was a desert, but the sand was purple and the sky always dark. 

“Alright, everyone make sure your masks work. We’ll only have a little bit of warning before a storm kicks in. Lieutenant Uhura will be watching that for us. It gives off a a chemical signature but that’ll be hard to pinpoint with the dust and the crash sites. If you spot any romulans, call for backup and don’t fight them alone.”

“Should we go off in pairs, Captain?”

“I think we should. Might attract less attention and we might find it faster.”

“I shall go with you then, Captain.” You and Leonard’s heads snapped up from your tricorders. 

“Of course, Mr. Spock.” 

“Jim are you sure splitting up is the best idea?” You replied and Jim patted you on the shoulder. 

“Of course. I want you two to go northeast towards the strongest signature. Spock and I will go southwest towards the strongest signature.” The two walked away, leaving you and Leonard standing dumbfounded. 

“That green blooded hobgoblin.” Leonard muttered under his breath as you started following the signature. 

“You comin’ or not?” You called over your shoulder. He jogged up to catch up with you and pulled out his own tricorder. You were both silent, the only sounds coming from the wind and the robes you were wearing flapping. 

“How’s your shoulder?” He asked and you looked over at him quickly.

“It’s much better now, thank you.” He nodded. However, he wasn’t looking where he was stepping and felt his foot sinking down quickly. “Leonard!” The sand felt like it was grappling him, staining his robes a deep purple against the brown. You grabbed his arms and started to pull him out, your feet lacking traction and eventually you resorted to digging your knees in and pulling him along as he kicked. The grip loosened and he fell on top of you, pushing you into the sand. He quickly rolled off of you and panted like a wild dog. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, this is why I hate space.” He replied and you chuckled. 

“Welp, gives you one more thing to complain about.” You stood up, dusting off your robes and offered your hand to him. “Watch where you’re stepping.” 

“Yeah, yeah, got it.” He took it and you helped him up. “This place is a death trap.”

“I dunno, I kinda like it.” You responded. “If you look closely, the sand sparkles a bit.”

“I just got a close look, or have you already forgotten?” You rolled your eyes and kept following the signature. 

“You could’ve gotten a closer look had I not been here.” The two of you were silent save for the wind and the beeping of your tricorders. It was so peaceful yet destructive at the same time. No one could possibly live there, it had claimed the lives of so many and had become a resting ground for pieces of space travel. But the silence, the stars, it was beautiful in a way. 

“Commander, Doctor, I’m picking up a storm. Might want to head for cover.” Uhura informed over your communicators. 

“See any structures?” Leonard asked. You squinted down at your tricorder, the sandy wind already picking up. 

“There’s a cave near us, if we hurry we can get there before it gets too bad!” You called back. As you traveled, it became increasingly difficult to move or see. You had to trust your tricorder and stick close to Leonard.

Suddenly, something whizzed by in front of the both of you. 

Then another.

“Hurry!” You called back and grabbed his hand. From what you can guess, pieces of a nearby ship had begun to fly off. Each piece nearly missed you by mere feet. At least for a little bit.

“Ah!” Leonard cried and faltered a bit.

“We’re almost to the cave! I can see it!” You pushed him into the cave and looked to your left. A large piece of metal was bounding right towards you. You yelped and jumped in, right before the metal buried itself in the sand. You stared blankly as you realized it had blocked the entrance save for a small corner at the top. You turned around when you heard Leonard hiss in pain and saw blood soaking his robes. A piece of shrapnel had impaled itself into his side. “Leonard! Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine!” He snapped and you sighed, pulling back the robes and mask from your face. 

“You lay down, I’m going to get some light in here.” You pulled out your phaser and luckily found a pile of rocks. You shot at them, making them burn a bright red and give off some light. “Where’s your med kit?”

“What?”

“We gotta fix that up. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Where’s your medkit?” you unwrapped part of your robes and made a makeshift pillow for him as he pulled out his kit. 

“You sure about this?”

“You got a better idea?” He laid down and rested his head. You cut away at the fabric on the robes and he jumped when it pulled at the piece of shrapnel.

“Be careful!” 

“I’m trying to be, you mule!” You snapped back and he stared at you.

“Did you just call me a mule?”

“A mule that’s gonna tell me how to stitch it up.” He sighed and prepared himself.

“Alright, hit me with the hypospray on the furthest right. That’ll numb it.” You did it quickly. “Now turn whatever’s in there.”

“What?” You yelped. “Turn it.” You did as he asked, wincing as it spun through the flesh slightly. He could still feel a little bit it wasn’t that painful. “Okay it turned, it’s just in my flesh, not a rib. Now pull it out.” “But that’ll make you bleed more.”

“Just do it.” You prepared yourself and quickly yanked it out. He jumped again and winced. “Third hypospray from the right!” You quickly injected it and the bleeding immediately slowed. “Take the device on the top left and do a criss-cross on it.” You did it, watching as the material tightened up and closed the wound. “Now clean it and let’s hope we’re found before it’s infected.” 

“You don’t have a hypospray for that?” He just looked at you, making you roll your eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” You pulled out your communicator.

“Kirk to Kirk.”

“Kirk here.”

“Doctor McCoy and I are trapped in a cave by a piece of a ship. I’ll send you our location so that you two can come get us when the storm’s over.” “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Doctor McCoy got hit by a piece of shrapnel.”

“I’ll be fine, Jim.” Leonard called out. 

“You two hang tight, we’ll be there as soon as we can.” You took off the rest of your robes, leaving you in a black top and pants. 

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine.” Leonard replied. 

“How many of those numbing hyposprays do you have?”

“One more. I’ll let you know if it gets too bad.” He replied and you nodded. You were both silent as you took inventory of what you had in the cave. You had some emergency stuff but if the storm lasted a while there might be trouble. 

“Thanks.”

“Huh?” You spun your head around and saw Leonard looking at you.

“Thank you, for fixing me up. You did a pretty good job.”

“You’re welcome. I think that’s the first genuine compliment you’ve ever given me.” You smirked and he chuckled. 

“I guess I’ve been a little rough on you.” You sniffed in laughed and sat down next to him, getting close to him and the rock for warmth. 

“A little?” 

“Alright, alright, I get it.” He replied. “I guess I can be a little to hard on you.” You hummed in response. “Y’know you’re not that much of a peach yourself.”

“A georgia peach?” You replied and he rolled his eyes. “Look, I know I’m not the easiest person to work with but you’re not either. And we’re stuck in this cave together until they come and get us. So all we have to do is not kill each other until Jim and Spock come or something comes to kill us.”

“Comforting.” He replied.

“I try.”

XXXXXX

You were busy going through your logs on your PADD, sneaking your eyes over to Leonard every now and then to make sure he was alright. To make the time pass by a little faster, you played music lowly. Of course you two had to argue about what kind of music for a little bit before you just put on some Tchaikovsky. You had some spattered communication with Jim and Spock but the dust storms had picked up too much to the point they had to hole up somewhere too. Last you checked, they were still okay and the doctor had taken his last hypospray.

“So, why did you join up?” You were broken out of your thoughts to see Leonard messing around with a small rock in his hands. 

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on Jim, might as well be me.”

“That’s it?”

“I don’t really have a more noble or complicated reason. I didn’t really have any other place I wanted to go. Plus I didn’t want to stay in one place too long, I get too antsy. My parents did it, George joined up, Jim joined up, then I did. I get to strategize, protect, travel, and be with Jim at the same time.”

“So it was just the right thing to do?”

“In a sense. I mean, it’s always been me and Jim. I couldn’t imagine not being able to see him for five years. Jim always kept me out of trouble, I kept him from flying too close to the sun.”

“So you’ve always been a pain in the ass?” You genuinely laughed at that. 

“Yeah, I’ve always been a little shit. But I’ve put that energy towards keeping people safe and annoying you. Now I’ve told my story, spill.” He sighed and adjusted himself a little against the ground. 

“Eh, not much to tell. Wife left, I was a doctor that needed to get away, and found myself at star fleet.”

“I’ll never Jim calling me that day and telling me about you. He said you were some hypochondriac that nearly threw up on him in the plane.”

“And Jim told me you were his hot headed sister who couldn’t keep your trap shut.”

“And look where we are now: trapped in the same cave.” You mused. “Wanna play 20 questions?”

“What?” “I don’t know how long we’re gonna be here, might as well pass the time. I’ll go first if you want.” He sighed and nodded his head in agreement. “Alright, what do you miss most about Georgia?” You leaned against the cave wall on the other side of him, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“I know I’ll sound like an old southern gentleman but sitting on a front porch in a rocking chair.” You sniffed in laughter and he looked over at you with an annoyed look.

“Hey, I’m not judging. It does make you sound like an old man. Ask me a question.” He thought for a moment or two.

“What are you afraid of? There has to be something.” You groaned and covered your face. “C’mon!”

“No, you’ll laugh!”

“I won’t laugh, I promise. With what you’ve seen and done, it has to be truly scary.” He reasoned and you shook your head. “Then what is it?”

“It’s...birds. I’m afraid of birds.” There was silence between the two of you. 

“Are we talking geese or-” “Doesn’t matter. I’m deathly afraid of all birds.” When he didn’t say anything else, you looked up from your palm to see his body shaking with laughter. “Hey! You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“With everything we’ve seen!” “Alright Hercules, other than space what are you most afraid of?”

“Flying.”

“Man you chose the wrong job.”

“Come over here, I can barely hear you.” You rolled your eyes but made your way over to the wall next to him, resuming you previous position.  “What do you miss doing that you can’t do on the Enterprise?”

“I miss cooking. I love to cook and it sucks that we only have replicators. I’m a pretty good chef if I do say so. I make a mean skillet pot pie.”

“That sounds dangerous. I do miss home cooking.”

For the next fourteen questions, you found out a lot about each other. You both enjoy reading in your spare time, both think Jim and Carol should suck it up and go out already, you had the same favorite old tv show, and generally had a lot in common with each other. You told stories about your youth like when you fell of the roof of your grandfather’s barn, when you rescued a stray dog you found in some cornfield in Iowa, and how your father had raised you to become an old movie buff. He told you about med school and the time that he accidentally ate a hallucinogenic plant and was tripping for three days. It seemed like he could be just as reckless as you sometimes. He told stories of before you joined up and the adventures he and Jim were on, how many times he had pretty much saved Jim but didn’t think he did anything special. You would’ve hated to admit it before but you were enjoying getting to know him.

“After Starfleet, what do you want to do?” He asked. At this point, you were laying down next to him, sharing your robes as a pillow. 

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t cop out now.” He chuffed and you shook your head.

“I really don’t know, McCoy. This i pretty much all I’ve ever known. You can go to a hospital or clinic, I don’t know where else to go. I don’t want to be a civilian officer, don’t want to be a body guard to some stuffy politician.”

“You can settle down?” You snorted. 

“Yeah, me, settle down.”

“You don’t want to?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. Yeah, I want to be married and have kids one day but I just don’t think it’ll happen. I have a difficult job where I get hurt on a daily basis. Not a lot of people can handle that.”

“You’ll find somebody, Kirk. You’re a catch.” You looked over at him with a smirk. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that.” You laughed and propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at the open area at the corner of the cave.

“Last one, what’s one thing you wish you had known more about before today?”

“You.” He answered and you looked down at him. “I used to think you were the most annoying person on the ship. I was always too hard on you and didn’t even try to talk to you without Jim there to keep us calm.”

“Why did we both decide to hate each other?” You laid back down next to him. “Seems like if we weren’t on that ship we would get along well.” You were silent for a little while. “Perhaps we’re both stubborn. I didn’t like you because you didn’t like me. From the first time I got hurt-”

“You’re Jim’s sister. Jim’s my best friend. The first time you got hurt, I felt an even more overwhelming sense of duty. I had to take care of you even more so than my other patients. Not only are you his sister, you protect us with little regard to yourself. You’re only afraid of birds, not death. I know this is all jumbled but...I think I was scared to get to know you because-” You noticed how his speech was becoming slightly slurred.

“That sense of duty would be even stronger.” You were both silent again. “I’m sorry, Leonard.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“How about when we get out of here we share a drink. I’ve got some damn good whiskey I think you’d enjoy.”

“Sounds like a deal.” You shot up when you heard banging at the front of the cave and grabbed your phaser. You slowly made your way to the large piece of metal and heard some talking on the other side. 

“Romulans.” You muttered and hurried back over to Leonard. You cursed when you saw that he had begun sweating again, his skin pale and clammy. “Leonard, listen to me. I have to move you behind the rocks alright?” He nodded as his head lulled to the side. You grasped underneath his arms and began to drag him, noting that the piece of metal was moving slowly in the sand. “Don’t make a sound, alright? I’ll take care of them and we’ll get back to the Enterprise.” You turned to go away and find some cover but her grabbed your hand.

“Wait, Kirk.” You looked back down at him and he squeezed your hand. “Don’t make me patch you up again.” You smiled softly.

“I’ll do my best.” You hurried to a rock on the other side of the cave and waited for the Romulans to breach. It took them a little time but they finally moved the shrapnel enough to get through. You weren’t well versed in linguistics so you couldn’t make out what they were saying. They came over to the rock serving as heat and light and muttered amongst themselves. They knew someone was there. You could hear them growing closer and heard their phasers click off, presumably not to stun. You looked over at Leonard and saw his shaky breathing, you couldn’t let them find him. As they got closer to you, you finally popped over the rock and shot one of them in the knee and the other in the shoulder, stunning them. You sighed and almost went over to Leonard before a shot rang out and grazed past you.

There was one more waiting outside the cave. 

You hurried back behind your rock and thought about what to do. You could try to get some shots out but he had you cornered, he’d easily hit you first. If he got you, then he would get Leonard. He could also easily ambush Jim and Spock. You decided your best option was to wait and try to get the upper hand if he decided to move closer. 

You listened for his footsteps, grating the sand underneath him. If you could disarm him then you would get your chance. He wouldn’t wait for you to surrender, you didn’t wait for them. He was calling out something to you and even with the language barrier you knew he was cursing you out. As soon as you heard him close enough, you leapt over the rock and tackled him. You rolled to the other side of the cave and you tried to smash his hand against the wall so he would drop his phaser. You felt him kick your shin, then kneeing your hip and you cried out. With one last hit, he dropped his phaser but before you could get your shot, he punched your jaw and flipped the two of you over. You tried to shoot again but the shot just went to the rocks above. He now held your wrists in a crushing grip, willing you to let go. You did the only thing you could do and kick for some sort of advantage. You went for his knees, his stomach, any place you could think.  He was starting to get irritated, he was starting to get desperate. He let go of your unarmed hand to grab the knife in his belt and your eyes went wide. You had to act fast. You grabbed the only thing you could, a rock, and hit him in the side of the head. He finally let you go and you scurried away from him, training you phaser on him. You didn’t realize how hard you had hit him and realized he wasn’t going to move any time soon as blood came from his temple.  You hurried back over to Leonard to see that his eyes were drooping. 

“Leonard! Stay with me!”

“Are you hurt?”

“Just bruised, I’m fine. Hang in there, alright? We’ll figure this out!”

“Commander!” You heard a familiar voice call. 

“Spock!” You cried out. “Hurry, we need to get Dr. McCoy out of here.”

“On our way!” Jim yelled back. You looked back over at Leonard and held his hand. 

“C’mon Leonard, we’re almost there.”

XXXXXX

The events on Thurilia changed a lot of things. It was noticed immediately that you and Leonard weren’t bickering as much. Nurse Chapel noticed that the vein in his head wasn’t ready to pop at a moments notice anymore. It didn’t seem as explosive. Of course, there was still an argument after he quickly recovered about her almost getting stabbed but it wasn’t nearly as tense as the others. 

However, that wasn’t the only thing that got the crew talking. 

Leonard was no longer in his uniform. Instead, he was in his civilian clothes that he usually wore once the day was done: a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt from his college days. He walked down the halls of the enterprise late in the night to get to your door, two glasses in his hands. He knocked and the door soon slid open to reveal you in your civilian clothes with a smile: a fleet sweatshirt and a pair of shorts. It was a little shocking for you to see each other out of uniform but it was oddly comforting. It had shown that the time in the cave had done a lot of good. You two visiting each other for a nightcap had become a regular occurrence.

“What movie did you pick?” He asked as he walked in. 

“Princess Bride. It’s a movie from the 1980s.” His eyes widened, still shocked about your movie collection. “It’s got fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, escapes, true love, miracles!”

“Sounds surprisingly sappy for you.” He chuckled as he poured the drinks. You sat down on your bed with the remote in hand and rolled your eyes. 

“Did you not hear the first part of that?  What with all the violence?” He offered you a glass and you gladly took it. 

“Yeah, yeah I heard you. It sounds great.” He sat down next to you against the headboard and you started the movie. It was a little off-putting how grainy it was but you insisted it added to the charm of the film. The movie continued and Leonard looked down to see the stars in your eyes as you watched. You were absolutely mesmerized by the story and kept telling him facts about the film. He noticed the tightness in his chest and coughed a little, hoping it was just the burn of the whiskey. 

But it didn’t go away. 

XXXXXX

Spock and Uhura watched with wide eyes as they rounded the corner to see Leonard smiling with two glasses in his hand as he walked into your room. 

“Spock, tell me I’m not hallucinating.”

“I believe, ashayam, we are witnessing what you humans call a miracle.” 

[fific7]

Velvet

Billy Russo x Reader

@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: This follows on from That Swept-Back Hair, approx 8 months later. Things have changed.

Warnings: TBI, memory loss, mentions of sex, angst/fluff mix.

A/N: Loosely based on S2 Billy Russo, but this is non-canon and exists solely within my imaginary Punisher AU. In fact, who is The Punisher? It’s really just The Frankie & Billy Show!

(The little double blink he does as he’s drinking gets me right in the 🖤)

(My GIF)

Your hand glided across the top and then back over Billy’s shorn velvety head, feeling the soft prickliness of the short hairs against your palm. They’d shaved his head when he’d arrived at the hospital prior to surgery.

You still weren’t totally comfortable with the new look, however you knew it’d been unavoidable, and that was that.

It had started growing back a little, and you didn’t want to think about why they were still keeping it short.

His eyelashes fluttered but his eyes remained closed; you sighed and settled yourself back against the uncomfortable seat, ready for another hour’s silent visit.

The sunlight stealing through the venetian blinds threw highlights and shadows onto Billy’s face, and you felt a sudden need to touch his skin. Your fingers ran over his face, feeling each ridge of his scars.

How was Billy going to react when he saw them, you wondered. Let’s be honest, he was a vain man and his good looks had made up a large part of his persona. You didn’t think he was going to take it very well.

It takes a lot of courage for people with disabilities, burns and scars to brave the stares and whispers of others, when all they really want to do is to hide away. The world can be a cruel place, and they have to dig down deep within themselves to find the strength to deal with it.

As you sat there with Billy’s unresponsive hand clasped in yours, your mind drifted back to an awful day, two months ago.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Two short months. How quickly everything can change in a heartbeat.

You and Billy had made a go of things after the Firefighter Affair, as Karen called it. During the six months following it, you’d found yourself in an actual, real-life relationship with Billy, much to your surprise - and intense pleasure.

He’d still spend long hours at Anvil, he had to keep building up the business and you understood that. What you weren’t so happy about was that he was still very much ’hands on’ with the assignments, as if he didn’t want to let go of the reins to a large extent. Inside, there would always be a piece of Lt. Russo, right alongside CEO Russo.

On the other hand, he had to get used to you jetting round the globe on short trips for your new job, which you were loving.

To begin with, there were sulks and jealous outbursts mainly about ’all those foreign guys’ but he chilled a little after you reassured him you had no interest in hooking up with any of them. “Better not, sweetheart,” he’d growled, dark eyes staring you down.

Both of you had made sure you spent time together in between your busy schedules; breakfasts, lunches, dinners, movies, walks and picnics in the park. Taking turns at staying over at each other’s places.

Yes, you’d breached the panther’s den, a huge victory in your mind as none of his other women had ever set foot in it. Hell, some of your clothes and toiletries had made their way into his wardrobe and bathroom, and vice versa.

And, of course, the incredible sex.

Billy was as energetic, sensual and inventive between the sheets as ever. And sometimes he was just pure caveman. You’d be showering in the morning, Billy would strut naked into the bathroom, and you’d hear, “Showering without me, sweetheart?” Hands grabbing you, arms going round you, and you’d be laying on the bath towels on the floor in an instant.

Billy, hovering above you, his body pressing down on yours, eyes gazing at you, “I think you need a little disciplining, angel,” his mouth and hands all over you. You’d thread your fingers through his hair, giving a not-so-gentle tug, there’d be an answering grunt, Billy revving up, ready to give you the best time you’d have that day.

Things were going really well, much better than you’d expected. At first, doubts had still clouded your mind about Billy’s ability to stay faithful, but... there was no evidence to the contrary, he was behaving himself and nothing but very attentive to you. You were now on his arm at every event he attended.

Then, an unexpected phone call one morning as you were getting ready for work. A hospital administrator, who said that you were receiving the call because your name and number were on Billy Russo’s emergency contact list.

Everything stopped, frozen in the moment, as you automatically assumed the worst.

Your brain finally kicked in and began to filter some of what she was saying back to you. Eventually you gathered that Billy had been caught up in an explosion and had been badly injured. Like, really badly injured. She wouldn’t give you any other details over the phone, but agreed when you asked if you could visit him. She did warn you, however, that he wasn’t conscious.

You were scrambling round your apartment, looking for jacket, shoes, bag, when your phone rang again. Karen. You picked up, and heard her trembling voice saying your name and spilling that Frank had been injured in an explosion. Again, you stopped in your tracks.

It dawned on you now why you got the phone call from the hospital, as you were sure Frank would be at the top of Billy’s contact list.

You hadn’t even thought about Frank, that he could’ve been injured too. You felt a stab of guilt.

Agreeing to meet at the hospital, you hung up, dropped a quick explanatory text to your boss, and rushed out to begin your trek over there.

You met up outside the main entrance and stepped into the chaos of the ER. Eventually you were led to a small side room and informed that the attending doctor would come and find you as soon as they could.

Both of you sat and speculated on the severity of their injuries, and what the ‘incident’ could have been. The guys didn’t discuss the nitty-gritty of their work with you, due mainly to the sensitive nature of the assignments.

Karen called into work, firstly to explain her absence and secondly, to ask if there was anything being reported as a major incident, but there was nothing.

A couple of days later, she’d managed to discover that Anvil had got a contract to bodyguard a government official from a Middle Eastern country, and dissidents from there had ambushed him on his way from the airport into the city, slamming their SUV into an escort car and causing its gas tank to explode a few minutes later. That’s what Frank and Billy managed to get caught up in.

The doctor came and collected Karen, saying that Frank was conscious but dazed, and she’d give her more details about his injuries as they walked to his room.

Once you were left alone, the wait began to feel endless. Your mind was circling like a washing machine stuck on the spin cycle; Frank was conscious, Billy wasn’t, Frank was conscious, Billy... why wasn’t Billy conscious?

Eventually, the doctor returned for you, but sat down on one of the plastic hospital chairs rather than leading you to his room. She had that sympathetic but business-like look on her face, the one medical people seemed to adopt when they had bad news to impart.

You found yourself thinking that they had to maintain a bit of distance, otherwise they probably wouldn’t be able to do their job.

She started speaking, telling you that Billy had received his injuries in an explosion, and had sustained lacerations from shrapnel, a dislocated shoulder and a broken foot. But the most serious one had been a substantial concussion which had caused a small bleed on the brain, and this had required immediate surgery.

Swelling of the brain had also caused complications, and Billy had been placed into a medically-induced coma.

She’d stood up then and you’d followed her along several corridors, repeating ‘shrapnel’ over and over in your mind. The doctor had stopped outside a door with a small rectangular window inset above the handle, turning to face you.

“He’s suffered quite a lot of facial scarring, and is quite heavily bandaged... I just wanted to warn you.”

You felt tears stinging your eyes.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Karen had texted you about 30 minutes later, asking if you wanted to stay or go.

To be quite honest, you’d be glad to leave the oppressive little room; the beeping of the machines and rhythmic clicking of the ventilator had been making you feel tense, and a headache was forming behind your eyes.

And Billy’s bandaged head and face - you felt guilty for thinking this - looked like something out of a horror movie.

The two of you met outside the main entrance and headed to a coffee shop you could see on the opposite corner. You had no idea if it had decent coffee but it surely couldn’t be any worse than the dishwater the hospital passed off as a drinkable beverage. Karen caught you up on Frank’s condition as you walked over there.

He had a couple of dislocated joints, two broken fingers, cuts and bruises. Where he’d lucked out - so to speak - was that he’d avoided getting concussed.

Once you’d got your distinctly average coffee, you relayed the details of Billy’s injuries to Karen, and she’d been shocked that he was in such a serious condition.

There was going to be a long old journey ahead to get Billy back on his feet.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

They brought Billy out of the induced coma just short of three weeks later. The brain swelling had definitely been a worry, but they weren’t keen on keeping him under much longer. However, more concerning was the fact that he didn’t wake up of his own accord once the medically induced coma was reversed.

The mummy-like bandages had been removed at the same time, revealing angry-looking red scars. The nurses had been applying oils and balm to them several times a day, and this had helped to calm them quite a lot. But you knew they were still going to be a big shock to Billy.

Frank, out of hospital by then and keeping things ticking over at Anvil, didn’t say much - as was his way - but you knew that both he and Karen were as worried as you were about this unsettling turn of events.

You tried to maintain a positive front, but on occasion found yourself literally sobbing on Karen’s shoulder when it got too much to handle.

You fell into a strange kind of half-life; working as usual then heading out to the hospital each evening to sit and talk to Billy, holding his hand. You ate at odd hours, slept erratically, disturbed by bad dreams, usually about Billy never regaining consciousness.

And so it went; work, hospital, eat, sleep, repeat. Day after soul-destroying day.

Today, at lunch-time you were on your way out to grab something to eat when your phone rang, an unknown number. Praying it wasn’t some annoying cold-caller, you picked up to find yourself speaking to a doctor from the hospital. You stopped walking; you usually didn’t hear from them, they usually had nothing new to tell you.

Three minutes later, you were running back up to your office, to let your boss know that Billy was awake and you had to get to the hospital. “Go, go, Y/N,” he said, “and keep me posted!”

In the back of an Uber, you texted Frank and Karen to give them the good news, saying you’d be in touch later once you’d been able to see him.

You really hoped the traffic wouldn’t be too bad, you were majorly anxious to get to Billy. In case he lost consciousness again before you saw him.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your feet took you through the entrance hall, into the lifts and up to Billy’s floor without any conscious input from you, as you’d taken the same route so many times. You waited impatiently at the nurses’ station, your head whipping round as you heard your name.

The doctor took you into the small side room again; so, a chat before you got to see Billy. The doctor had that same look on her face.

“Billy’s awake, but he’s a little disorientated. Y/N... he’s experiencing some amnesia. From what we can gather, he thinks he’s still a serving Marine in Afghanistan.”

Your heart sank; you supposed it had been naive to think he’d wake up and things would magically be back to how they used to be.

“But that’s normal, right? After a head trauma.”

She nodded, “Yes. And all or some memory can be recovered. But as you probably know, there are no hard and fast rules about if or when that will happen. There are no guarantees when it comes to amnesia.”

You gulped, nodding to show you understood.

The doctor reached into her top pocket, bringing out a card and handing it to you. “We have a psychotherapist affiliated to the hospital, a Dr Dumont. In fact, I think she was planning to assess Billy in the next day or so. She’s got several vets on her books, I’m sure she’d be happy to take him on.”

You handed the card back to her. “Thanks, but we’ve already got counselling set up for Billy. An ex-Marine buddy of his, who supports and counsels vets. He’ll be a lot more comfortable with Curtis. Please thank her but let her know we don’t require her help.” The doctor looked a little sceptical but nodded and tucked the card away.

She stood up, waiting for you to do so and then walked with you along the familiar corridors to Billy’s room. “Has he mentioned anyone’s names when you’ve talked to him? Me, Frank, Karen?” A shake of her head, “No, sorry. As I said, he’s quite disorientated.”

You nodded, asking, “Has he seen his scars yet?” Again, she shook her head, “We thought that might be a bit too much for him on his first day awake. If he’s run his hand over his face, he’ll have felt them of course, but there are no mirrors in the room or bathroom.” You nodded, “Thanks, Doctor. I think that’s for the best. I won’t mention it unless he asks me directly.”

She left you outside the door, and taking a deep breath, you opened it and went in.

The figure in the bed had wrapped his sheets round him, right up to his neck. He was curled up on his side, facing away from the door, a defensive position it seemed. You approached the bed, feeling that he knew you were there, but there was no movement.

“Billy?” you said quietly, “it’s me, Y/N.” No response.

Then his head turned towards you, and you had your first sight of his dark eyes in a long time, gazing at you over his shoulder. But you saw instantly there was no recognition in them, and you had to look down to hide your disappointment.

He began to sit up, struggling against the sheet cocoon he’d created, and you leant forward, reshuffling his pillows. He sank back into them, still staring at you. You drank in the sight of him, awake; you’d really begun to think that he’d never regain consciousness.

“We know each other, then,” he suddenly said, a statement, not a question. Voice low and raspy, no doubt due to the recently-removed ventilator.

“We do, Billy,” you replied, “we’ve been seeing each other. An item, as they say.”

He nodded slowly, “For how long?” You pulled up a chair alongside the bed, “Six months.”

He gave a low chuckle, and now his eyes flickered up and down your body as you sat down next to him, before returning to meet your eyes. His had a slight glint in them.

“So we’ve slept together. We have good times?”

You smiled, nodding, “Very good times, Billy.”

He gave you the Billy smirk, and you knew that your Billy was definitely still in there somewhere.

His demeanour suddenly changed, he looked worried. His eyes dropped down onto his hands.

“I don’t know who you are.”

The flat statement took your breath away. You knew he didn’t recognise you, but hearing it said straight out like that hit you like a slap in the face.

He stared at you again, while you tried to arrange your face into a neutral expression. “Sorry,” he mumbled, one hand gesturing in the air at nothing.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted his hand and entwined your fingers with his, “It’s OK, it’s OK,” you said, although truthfully it wasn’t.

It hurt your heart that he didn’t recognise you, but the amnesia was to blame, and you couldn’t lay a guilt trip on him about it.

He was still gazing at you, and you continued, “I’m here, Billy and I... we.... are all here for you.” Squeezing his hand, “Me, Frank, Curtis, Karen, we’ll get you through this, I promise.”

Tears welled in his eyes, and his fingers gripped yours.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Once back in the privacy of your apartment, you filled in the others on a group call. Frank rumbled down the phone, “So he thinks he’s still serving?” “Apparently so. That’s what he told the doctor. I didn’t want to push it on my first visit. I’m heading back later and I’ll try to talk to him a bit more.” Karen asked if he knew about the scarring yet, and you said no, he’d admitted he was in quite a bit of pain, but all over, not just his face.

Curtis butted in at that point, saying that some of his guys had mentioned this Dr Dumont you’d told them about. “Yeah, she’s got some... weird ideas, they said. Masks and shit.” What? You asked him to elaborate and he’d told you the little he knew. “Well, I’m glad I kicked that idea into touch,” you replied, “none of that stuff is gonna help Billy get better, I’m sure of that.”

When you got back to the hospital, Billy was sitting up in bed, and spent the first five minutes you were in the room just staring intently at you. You’d gently questioned him as to how he was feeling, was he eating, drinking, sleeping, but got no response.

Then he’d shaken his head, as if trying to clear it, and asked, “Am I still in Afghanistan?”

You and he then spent a little time talking about what he remembered, probing to see how far back his memories went. He did think he was still in the Marines, thought he was on a tour, but couldn’t remember who he was serving with, could see some faces but didn’t recall names. You were keen to get Frank and Curtis in to see him, maybe it would help if he was face to face with them.

You could see he was getting tired, so you pushed your chair back, about to stand up, when his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. It was such a Billy thing to do, you heard yourself gasp.

He looked at you, then down at his hand on your wrist, “Shouldn’t I have done that?” You smiled, “It’s just such a normal thing for you to do it took me by surprise, Billy.”

“I’m always grabbin’ your wrist?” You laughed out loud, “Amongst other things!”

He laughed too, and you were so happy to hear that sound.

“We need to be talking about all-a that.” He tugged on your wrist, “And I reckon I need a kiss.”

You shook your head, smiling, “Maybe soon, Billy, right now you need to concentrate on getting better.”

“But I think it’d help!” giving you a sly side-eye, “jog my memory.”

You leant in, “How can you think about kissing when you’ve been through a major trauma?!” but you were craving the closeness with him, after weeks without it.

His hand suddenly went from your wrist to the nape of your neck, pulling you half on top of him, and you were thinking that some things didn’t change when his lips met yours.

You’d been imagining a fairly quick, chaste ‘getting to know you again’ kiss, so you were surprised when you felt his tongue sneaking past your lips, his other hand moving smoothly onto the swell of your breast, massaging firmly, and you could feel his arousal under you.

You pushed back, looking at him with a smile.

“Marine! Stand down.”

It was a stupid cheesy thing you’d always said to him, even before you were properly dating.

He stared at you, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, “That.. what you just said. It feels familiar.”

You nodded, “That’s good, Billy... I’m happy about that, I say it to you all the time. It’s our little joke.”

He lay back on his pillows, mood changing suddenly, staring at you. “Why d’you shove me away? I was kissin’ you, had my hands on you, wasn’t that familiar to you, Y/N?”

You stroked his arm. “Billy, I didn’t shove you away. I just need you to remember that you’ve suffered a major trauma, you need to be calm, concentrate on getting better...” He was looking tired, head nestling back into his pillows.

You stood up, picking up your bag, “I’m gonna head home now, let you get your rest. I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” You leant forward and kissed his temple, “Sleep well.”

His eyes were already closed as you pulled back from the kiss.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The four of you met up at the hospital mid-morning the next day. Karen and Curtis sat down on chairs in the corridor, while you and Frank headed into Billy’s room.

You stopped in your tracks in the doorway, Frank bumping into you. There was a small, dark-haired woman sitting on a chair, side on to the door, with a clipboard on her knees.

But what had you both frozen to the spot was the sight of Billy, dressed in a tracksuit, sitting on a chair opposite her. He had a pure white mask on; two eye holes, a fully-formed nose, small slit for the mouth. It was damn scary-looking.

You took a few steps into the room, “Who are you?” you challenged the woman, although you had a good idea already. “And why is my boyfriend wearing that weird mask?”

She stared at you, “Boyfriend? Oh.. I didn’t realise...”

You decided to drop the innocent act. “Are you Dr Dumont? Because if you are, you can take your clipboard and your mask and get out of here. I asked the doctor yesterday to tell you that we already have counselling in place for Billy.”

“Well, yes she did, but about that... to be honest that’s why I decided to..” she looked over at Billy, “assess him in any case. I don’t feel that the counselling you mention would be right for...”

“Doctor!” you hissed, and she stopped talking. “You are treading a very thin line here. I haven’t asked or authorised you to see Billy, so I will ask you again, please take your theatre props and go.”

You’d walked over to Billy as you’d been talking, and stripped the mask off him, holding it out to her. Billy’s wide dark eyes were gazing up at you.

She stood up and snatched the mask from you, placing it on top of her clipboard. With a very condescending smile, she said, “I’m telling you, you’re making a big mistake.”

“Get out! Now,” you said, glaring at her.

The door banged shut behind her, and you said as Frank walked over to you, “Unbelievable! Billy’s had a lucky escape from that quack, I reckon.”

Frank nodded, placing his beefy paw on Billy’s shoulder. Billy’s eyes were searching his face.

“Bill,” Frank growled, “‘s me, Frankie. I’m here for ya.” He tightened his grip on the shoulder under his hand. “I got your back, bud.”

You could both tell that he didn’t yet recognise Frank. But he did recognise the comfort the words gave him.

“Frankie,” he murmured.

Then he looked to you. “Y/N?...right?” You nodded, fighting to keep your expression blank. Still not sure of you, even your name. You caught Frank sending you a sympathetic glance.

You took his hand, rubbing your thumb over his skin. Billy had a puzzled look on his face as he looked up at you.

“Why’d she put that mask on me, Y/N? My face hurts. Don’t I look good?”

Your mouth drew into a line, and you quickly glanced at Frank.

“Billy, you look as good as you always did.”

“Did I look good?”

“Yes, you looked so handsome,” you replied, “a beautiful man.”

That small smile, dark eyes sparkling at you.

“And do I still look good?”

You ran your hand down the back of his velvety head, feeling him shiver as your fingers trailed onto his neck, pleased with his response to your touch.

“Yes, you do, Billy,” you answered honestly, because as far as you were concerned, he did.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Additional A/N: DUMONT 🥊 POW! 🥊 how it would’ve gone down if I’d written S2 😉 And thank you Tumblr for totally eating the draft of this last night, really enjoyed re-typing it.

[minimitchell]

callumhighwayweek day 1 - “I still think about him.” (ao3 link)

(tw scars, callum talks about how he got injured in the army)

.

The room surrounding Callum is dark; the only source of light coming from the beam of a street lamp outside, shining through a crack in the curtains. He’ll have to get up and draw them close before even attempting to go to sleep - he needs the room to be completely plunged in darkness to fall asleep - but for now he’s content with just lying here like this, the bright light creating a bright streak across the bed.

It’s chilly in the room; the October weather harsh and unrelenting, cooling the flat down to low temperatures. It doesn’t help that the covers are pooling somewhere around his waist, his naked chest otherwise exposed to the cold inside the bedroom.

Ben is dozing next to him, head half resting on the pillow half on Callum’s shoulder, one arm slung heavy across Callum’s chest. He isn’t asleep yet, Callum can tell from the way he keeps grumbling and burying his nose in Callum’s arm from time to time or pressing kisses against his skin.

Callum thought he’d be overwhelmed or scared at the prospect of being intimate with a man, for real this time, but it isn’t like that at all. The nerves and fear were still there, of course they were, but Ben does his best to ease him into everything with so much patience and understanding.

They haven’t done much yet, just friction or their hands from time to time, slowly trying to work up to more Callum’s comfortable with. It’s still good though; it’s really good to be honest. They’re not just getting to know one another in mundane ways but also more intimately and Callum feels the trust between them build with every moment they get to spend with each other. And while he definitely feels ready to do more soon, right now this is all he needs.

Ben’s fingers begin to dance over Callum’s chest, careful fingertips gliding up and down and from left to right, alerting him that Ben’s completely awake again.They’re lying in comfortable silence for a while, just touching and feeling and being in each other’s orbit; the sole focus of the other’s silent attention.

Goosebumps are breaking out on Callum’s arms as Ben’s fingers continue to run over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He almost wants to put his shirt back on, pull the covers up around them, but he doesn’t want Ben to stop touching him. He never wants him to stop.

“Can I ask you something? About your scars.”

Ben’s voice is soft and careful and the slight clearing of his throat he does to get rid of the scratch that comes from lengthy disuse perfectly masks the slight intake of breath Callum does at the question.

They’ve never talked about them. Ben hadn’t asked any questions when he’d first seen Callum without a shirt on, he had only glanced at them briefly before focussing back on Callum’s face, watching out for any sign of discomfort or unease. At the time, he had been thankful if a little surprised about it; he hadn’t been ready to talk about all that with Ben just yet.

Taking your clothes off in front of someone else is different than being naked on an emotional level.

Since then though, whatever this unlabelled thing that’s going on between them, has changed. It has become deeper and more meaningful. They have spent a lot of time talking about his childhood, about what made him feel like he had to hide himself away for this long. He told Ben about Chris and Ben in turn opened up even more about Paul. But the Army, especially his last tour, still felt too raw, too hurtful, to get into.

Ben had seen some of it, had seen him at his lowest that day in the rain on the swing, bottle poised to bring only temporary relief, but it’s still hard to open himself up to him fully. To tell him about the other demons haunting him.

It’s nice the way it is right now, getting to know each other without the looming threat of someone finding out or shame burning in the back of his throat. It feels good; right. And Ben doesn’t put any pressure on him to say or do anything he doesn’t want to. He seems to be content in just being with Callum, listening to him ramble on about whatever and share his life with him as well.

It’s what makes him certain he can trust Ben with this as well; that he can be honest about what he’s been through and not have Ben feel any differently about him afterwards. Ben understands him so well, understands a lot of things Callum never thought someone else could, and he just has to look down at Ben’s side to see that circular wound that tells him he’ll understand this as well in some way.

Looking at Ben always makes him remember he’s not alone in the world anymore. He has someone by his side who makes him not feel so lonely anymore.

“Okay.”

The word rushes out of his mouth in almost a whisper. The world around them feels so delicate encased in darkness and silence - the right atmosphere to spill secrets to your lover. He doesn’t want to break the spell around them.

“Are they from your time in the Army?”

Callum knows it’s just a question of courtesy, an easy way to lead into this heavy conversation. Ben knows a lot about scars, he has a lot of them himself; visible and hidden underneath, he can definitely tell they’re not old enough to stem from a turbulent childhood.

He subconsciously tightens the arm he has around Ben’s body and he gets a response in Ben digging his fingers into his chest, blunt nails pressing against his skin in silent reassurance.

He feels good around Ben and Ben has never told him he’s anything less than beautiful, but it takes time to believe it; to unlearn the harsh voices in his own head and accept kindness when it’s given to him.

“Mhm. I got hit with shrapnel from an explosion. I- We saved this boy but we couldn’t save his mum. I still think about him, that boy. It’s all I think about when I see this.”

He vaguely gestures down to his stomach, expecting Ben to follow his hand with his eyes, but he stays focussed on Callum’s face, listening intently. Callum can’t bear to keep their gazes locked though. It’s too much right now. Those old doubts keep streaming back into his head; the voices telling him that he isn’t worthy of all this softness and support from Ben.

“They just remind me that I’m broken, you know. Damaged goods.”

Ben’s hand leaves the skin of his chest and runs up to his face, his other one joining to turn Callum’s head down towards him, forcing him to make eye contact.

“Hey. They don’t make you damaged, they make you brave. A survivor. See, this?”

Ben’s hands leave Callum’s face to come together between their bodies, balancing his weight on his elbow to remove the big, clunky ring sitting on his left ring finger. He turns his hand around, the back facing up at Callum, pointing at the scarred skin where the black ink of his tattoo used to sit.

“This don’t mean I’m broken beyond repair. This means I survived the worst thing that ever happened to me. There’s proof of it, inside and out, yeah, but I’m still here. Our past doesn’t have to define us; we can just accept it and learn to live with it.”

He pushes the ring back onto his finger, his hand running back down Callum’s chest, a smooth fingertip gliding gently over the elevated skin and harsh lines lining his stomach; never prodding or pinching, only feather-light brushes against tissue.

He’s always so careful with Callum. Whether it’s his feelings, his boundaries or his body, Ben treats them like they’re precious things not to be disturbed. Like priceless treasures in a museum. It makes Callum breathless sometimes; the realization that he has found someone who makes this whole process of finding and being himself so easy and without any pressure sending his already too-attached heart into a wild rhythm.

“These scars don’t make you any less beautiful, you know. Don’t be ashamed of them.”

Ben’s voice is unwavering; tone sure and steady. Callum believes that every word he says is true to him. He might not believe it himself, but he’s sure Ben does.

He’s never had this. Sure, Whitney’s complimented him from time to time but he’s never had someone so openly tell him he’s pretty on the outside, not just that he’s a nice guy or that he has a good heart.

More than that, he’s never had a man tell him this. A man, he’s so interested in that it makes him dizzy with it sometimes. Dizzy and brimming with barely suppressed want. He’s never gotten the fascination before. He wasn’t one of those teenage boys who kissed a girl for the first time and never wanted to stop doing it afterwards - in hindsight, it’s blatantly obvious why as well. But with Ben it’s exactly like that. He wants to kiss him all the time. He wants to be kissed by him all day.

“Thank you. For saying that, for understanding.”

“No need. I’ll always be up for complimenting your bod, babe.”

Soft laughter fills the quiet air around them, Callum squeezing the skin of Ben’s neck where his hand is running up into his hair. As nerve-wracking as it was to open up to Ben that bit more, he’s glad he did it.

Ben is special. What they already have is special. Callum is sure of it.

He can’t wait to see where this goes.

[jeongyunhoed]

8 Stories, 8 Movies from the Golden Age (1930s to 1960s).

It’s the golden age and 8 men are the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. Ateez, but make them Old Hollywood, basically. Lights, camera, action!

Member: Yunho

Genre: Murder mystery, a little bit of comedy, a little bit of romance and fluff

Warnings: Murder (as it is a murder mystery), mentions of it including suicide, death, blackmail, alcohol drinking

Things to note: Set in the 1930s, established marriage

Will have OCs

As with the rest of the stories in the AU, there will be other idols mentioned, most likely NCT but may have some of my other faves (EXO, etc.)

A/N: This is the third and final part of Yunho’s story. Coincidentally, this is also the last of the murder mystery-genre in this au. We’re going screwball comedy next with Wooyoung’s!  

Masterlist

Former private detective-turned-society man Jeong Yunho is brought back to sleuthing when an inventor goes missing and his mistress is murdered. With a little help from his wife, and from a martini or two.

The Thin Man

tag list: @minervaaaaaaaa , @closer-stars

Part 3 (final)

The taxi pulled up in front of a dark and deserted laboratory that Yunho knew was Park Junho’s shop that he closed down. With Asta on a leash, he got down the car and paid the driver, the driver being a little too eager to leave as the place gave him the creeps. Yunho couldn’t blame him, it was late at night. “Come on,” Yunho whispered to the dog, who seemed hesitant to follow him as they approached the building, the two of them skidding to a halt when he saw that a familiar figure was waiting for them. 

“Hey darling,” Juhyun waved them over, her voice low. She looked excited yet concerned at the same time. 

“Juhyun! What are you doing here?” He pulled Asta along up to her. 

“I beat you down here, I decided to come with you after you left so I got dressed and went to where you said” She said with an air of confidence. 

Yunho gave his wife a look. “Now listen, Juju-” 

“No,” She cut him off, placing a finger to his lips. “You’re not going in this place alone and that’s that. Get that skeleton key out of your pocket and open the door.” 

“Alright, alright, as you wish, my darling,” Yunho opened the doors of the place and they stepped inside. 

“It’s a nice neighborhood Park Junho’s picked out for his shop. I can almost hear the chains rattling in the distance,” Juhyun said quietly as they crept inside, careful not to make any noise. “Do you believe in ghosts, Yuyu?” 

“I don’t, but shh,” Yunho whispered as they walked. 

“It’s so dark in here,” Juhyun mumbled, her arm tightly linked with her husband’s. 

“I’ll get a flashlight on, let me get my arm back, my darling,” Yunho pulled his arm back and closed the door behind them, taking the flashlight out of his coat pocket. The sudden light made Asta whimper. “Shh, Asta,” He whispered as they walked on, Juhyun being extra careful, noticing how her heels would catch onto some cracks in the floor here and there. 

“This place looks awfully big,” She whispered. “You can’t even see the corners.” 

“Don’t let the shadows frighten you, Juju,” He said, pointing to a silhouette that was of a machine. 

“Who’s frightened?” Juhyun asked, glancing at him only to bump into something hard. “What’s this?” 

“It looks like Park Junho’s work table,” Yunho shone the flashlight over the entire surface in front of them. 

“Looks like a slab in the morgue to me,” Juhyun muttered, seeing more details of the space they were in illuminated. By the light clicking her heels made, she realized that she was standing on cement. “Cement.” 

“Come on, dear,” Yunho beckoned her to come closer while he approached what he realized was the work desk. The two of them froze when they heard a creaking. “It’s just us in here, Juju, it must be a loose floorboard or something.” 

The two of them stopped again when they heard something scratching. “What’s that now?” Juhyun asked. 

“It’s Asta, he’s scratching at the cement, shh! Asta! Shh!” Yunho tried to yank on the leash but to no avail. “Stop it, Asta! Stop!” 

Juhyun observed the way the dog was frantically scratching at the cement. “Yunho, he’s after something! I’ve seen him scratch the ground like that when he was looking for-” 

“Asta! Shh! Look over here!” Yunho tapped his foot on another cemented part of the floor. He paused upon hearing the sound and tapped his foot on the floor again. “Wait a minute, this is hollow, I wonder if there’s something around here I could use to dig this up.” 

“I saw an iron bar over there, it might be a shovel,” Juhyun pointed to the other side of the room. 

“Good, good,” Yunho shone a light over the shovel and quickly picked it up. He handed Juhyun the flashlight. “If I can dig a hole in one corner of this part of the floor, we can find out what’s buried under here.” 

“Yunho, I’m getting scared,” Juhyun said as she watched him. “Asta! Come here!” She called out to the dog, who was now watching them. 

Yunho broke through the cement and started digging through the corner he broke into, coming into a layer of dirt. “Asta! Shh! Get back!” He tried to push the dog away, who was also trying to dig into the dirt. 

“What is he after?” Juhyun asked, keeping the light on them. 

Yunho carried the dog off the ground, realizing why Asta was so determined to dig into the cement. There was a skeleton and some clothes buried. “There’s a body. It must have been here for weeks. We have to get Lt. Song over here right away.” 

~ 

The lieutenant and his group of police officers arrived shortly after they discovered the body, some taking photos of the skeleton including the clothes that it was buried with. The building was also surrounded by reporters looking to get information on what they found. 

“These reporters are enough to drive a guy insane,” Mingi huffed as they examined the clothes and the skeleton on the workdesk. “Well, you were right, Yunho. It was a body, a skeleton rather, buried in limestone. I wonder what Park Junho had against this one.” 

“What about the clothes?” 

“Well there’s that too, the clothes aren’t touched but there’s hardly any identification on them. Just a silver belt buckle with the initials CS on them.” 

Yunho looked up in thought. “CS? Who was that?” 

One of the police officers stopped to hand him a cane. “Here’s something else that was found in there. There’s a rubber tip, the guy must have been walking lame or something,” Mingi said. He turned back to the belt buckle. “Wait a minute, that case you worked on, with the guy that threatened to kill Park Junho, what was his name?” 

“Choi San,” Yunho replied. 

“Could this be him? Didn’t Choi San say Park Junho tried to steal one of his inventions?” 

“I never saw him. I don’t think anyone saw him,” Yunho shrugged. “But at the time we figured it was just blackmail.” 

“It’s just the same, Park Junho wouldn’t mind having him out of the way, would he? And according to the medical examiner, the body’s been here at least a couple of months.” 

“That’s just around the time Park Junho closed the shop,” Yunho pointed out. 

“Right!” Mingi said. “The way I figure it is, he kills this guy and plants him here. Woo Jaekyung knew about it so he killed her. Kang Yeosang caught him at that so he had to bump him off too. Well, I think we’ll get going now. You wouldn’t like to pay me that hundred thousand won now, would you?” He grinned. 

“Just wait until you catch Park Junho. Did you put the skeleton through the fluoroscope yet?” 

“Yeah, half an hour ago, we did. We found the bullet he was killed with and there was something in the leg bone too, an old piece of shrapnel-” 

Yunho stared at him. “Shrapnel.” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“He must have limped, which explains why he used a walking stick,” Yunho said. 

Mingi looked confused. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh nothing, nothing. So long, Lieutenant, I’m going to pick up my wife and take her home. It’s been a long night,” Yunho waved at the officer. 

“Good night! Give my regards to the wife!” 

~ 

Their discovery at Park Junho’s shop made headlines in all the newspapers the next morning, and soon enough their suite was filled with reporters and photographers, holding cameras and asking them to stop and pose for photos. “Have the police any idea where Park Junho is?” One reporter asked. 

“No,” Yunho replied. 

“Do you think they’ll find him?” Another reporter spoke. 

“Oh I know they will.” 

“Anything else to say about the case?” Said a third reporter. 

“Yes, it’s put me behind my drinking,” Yunho padded towards the mini-bar to pour himself a glass of gin. 

“What about this Choi San?” Said the first reporter. 

“Sorry, I don’t know anything else,” Yunho took a long drink. 

“What’s your next step, Yunho?” They asked this time. 

“Right back home where we will rest from this vacation that we’ve had,” Yunho took another drink. The reporters bid the two of them goodbye, closing the door behind them. Juhyun put Asta down, the dog running towards one of the rooms. 

“Back home, hmm?” Juhyun raised a brow at him, sitting down on the couch. 

Yunho put his glass down and playfully sat on her lap. “If you insist-” 

“I don’t insist-” Juhyun groaned, pushing him off, making him sit down on the floor in front of her. 

“My soul, woman, I give you three murders and you still aren’t satisfied” Yunho rested his chin on her knee. 

“I want you to stay and find Park Junho!” She ruffled his hair. 

“I did find him.” 

She stared at him. “What do you mean by that, Yuyu?” 

“He was down in his shop!” 

“Yunho.” 

“It was his body that was buried down there.” 

“Yunho, you better lay off the liquor-” 

“That’s a fact,” He pointed out. 

“Park Junho’s body?” She asked. “But they all said it was Choi San’s-” 

“That’s what they think. Mingi and...all of them. They take it for granted that it’s just another one of Park Junho’s victims. Mingi’s hot footing it around now, looking for Park Junho. That’s all that troubles him,” Yunho mumbled. 

“What makes you so sure it was Park Junho’s body?” She raised a brow. 

“Several things.” 

Juhyun rolled her eyes. “Yunho, you’re driving me crazy with all the suspense. What things? What things made you so sure?” 

“Well, the clothes for one. They were carefully preserved and the body was just as carefully destroyed. The person who killed him counted on one thing...the skeletons all look alike.” 

“Well don’t they?” 

“Sure, but then I remembered that Park Junho had some shrapnel in his shin, it bothered him. They found it under the fluoroscope,” Yunho recalled. 

“How long has he been dead?” 

“A couple of months?” 

“If that’s the case, then he couldn’t have committed those murders,” Juhyun deduced. 

Yunho smiled. “Smart gal.” 

“Park Junho dead. Does Sungyoung know?” 

“No. Nobody but you knows. I didn’t even tell Mingi.” 

“Why not? Why won’t you tell Sungyoung what you know?” 

“Because I want to lie low until I get the whole dope,” Yunho knelt down, arms on both sides of her legs. “I don’t want to go off half-cocked.” 

“Then what are you planning to do?” 

“I’m going to get the real murderer, and I’ve got an idea. Do you want to see me take him?” Yunho leaned closer. 

“Yes!” 

“Do you have a nice evening gown?” Yunho asked. 

“Yunho, what’s that got to do with-” 

“I said do you have a nice evening gown?” He repeated. 

“Yes, I’ve got a Lulu! Why?” 

“I’m going to throw a party and invite all of the suspects.” 

“The suspects? They won’t come.” 

“Oh they will. I’ll get Lt. Song to issue the invitations.” 

“Who do you think did it?” 

“Yang Hyomin…” 

“Hyomin!” 

“Yang Hyomin, Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho,...” Yunho picked up the phone. “What were you doing on the ninth of June?” He grinned. 

~ 

They reserved a private dining room later that night. A string quartet was playing in one corner of the room that was almost as big as a small ballroom. Some of Mingi’s police officers were disguised as waiters serving cocktails, with the lieutenant himself dressed for the occasion along with them. Yunho and Juhyun were placing name cards on the table. “Let’s see, you at the head,” She placed his name card on the setting. 

“And you on my right,” Yunho placed her name card down. “Hongjoong on my left, Seonghwa, Sungyoung’s brother Sungmin, next to Jongho. Mingi will sit on the other end of the table and on the other side, is Jung Wooyoung.” 

“Hyomin’s next to Wooyoung-” 

“No, let’s leave that seat vacant. I have a feeling he won’t come alone,” Yunho said. “Put Hyomin next to Hongjoong instead.” 

Juhyun followed suit and once she was done, she approached the lieutenant. “They’re going to come here, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah, some of them are already here, I got my guys to bring them up.” 

“I wish I have you at all my parties,” Juhyun chuckled. 

The doors opened and in came Seonghwa, just as dressed yet looking worried. “Is Sungyoung here yet?” He asked. 

“You can put your hat and coat in the room and we can talk about it,” Yunho assured him and he walked off. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” They heard Hyomin say as she was escorted inside, with her son. “Yunho! What’s this about? I said we were busy and we were going to the theater!” 

“We just wanted to make sure you’d attend, Mrs. Jung,” Juhyun said. “Ah, Mr. Jung, you’re here,” She gestured to Wooyoung, who was with another woman. 

“Wooyoung, I swear I had no idea what this was-” Hyomin grabbed his arm. 

“Hey, take your hands off him,” said the woman with a stern expression. “...Do you hear me?” 

Hyomin stared at her, and then at Wooyoung. “I-Wooyoung-What does this mean- Wooyoung-Wooyoung!” She looked taken aback as they were brought to the table to be seated at their places. “Yunho, why are we being brought here like common criminals?” She skidded to a halt when she saw the woman sit next to Wooyoung at the table. “But I’m Mrs. Jung.” 

“Put it over there, sister. I was Mrs. Jung before you were,” The woman replied dryly. 

“Your name card is there, on my right,” Yunho gestured for the seat next to the woman. Hyomin huffed as she sat down, glaring at the woman from time to time. 

“You give such charming parties, Mr. Jeong,” Juhyun eyed him as all of them sat down. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Jeong,” Yunho smiled. “Now we’re all ready to begin-” 

“Good, you can tell us why we’re here in the first place,” Hyomin spoke. 

“I’ve invited you all here because I’ve got some very important news,” Yunho looked at all of them. “I’ve seen Park Junho.” 

All of them gaped at him. “Wait a minute, you saw Park Junho?!” Mingi asked, almost indignantly. 

“That’s nothing, I saw him myself” Hyomin scoffed, looking down at the appetizers that were being served to them. 

Yunho and Juhyun exchanged looks. “You did? Where did you see him?” He asked. 

“Last night, he came to see me at my apartment.” 

“Oh did he? What did he say?” 

“Oh nothing much, he wanted to know how I was and how the children were.” 

Yunho shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re lying, Hyomin. You see, I really did see Park Junho last night.” 

“Are you kidding?!” Mingi remained bewildered. 

“No.” 

“Then what’s the idea of holding out on me?” the lieutenant asked. 

“Because I found out for certain that he didn’t commit the murders,” Yunho said. 

Sungyoung stared at him. “Yunho- He didn’t do it?” 

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong looked confused. 

“Jongho,” Yunho said, making him jump in surprise. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You knew Woo Jaekyung, right? Was she...swindling Park Junho?” He asked. 

“She didn’t say she is but I figured she is,” Jongho sounded relieved. 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Once I wanted five million won, she gave it to me in cash.” 

“Thank you, now I’ll tell you why I know Park Junho didn’t commit those murders,” Yunho gestured for the servers to go ahead with the main course. “Three months ago, Park Junho found out that Woo Jaekyung was cheating him and was splitting with some man. That man was... Sungmin,” He stopped, noticing that he nearly spilled his water over. “Oh, I’m so sorry, don’t you want some wine?” 

“No, no, Mr. Jeong, no thank you,” Sungmin shook his head. 

Juhyun rolled her eyes at her husband. “You’re driving me crazy!” 

“Anyway, Park Junho went to find the man and he did. That man was desperate. He knew he was caught dead to rights, and with prison staring him at the face he took the only way out -- He killed Park Junho,” Yunho recalled. 

“Yunho, you mean- My father-” Sungyoung stared at him in shock. 

“Yes, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Sungyoung, but your father is dead, he’s been dead for three months.” 

Sungyoung broke down in tears in her seat. Seonghwa leaned over, wrapping an arm around her. “Darling, don’t cry. Please, I know it’s terrible, but isn’t it really better this way?” He whispered. 

Juhyun approached them. “You’d better take her home, Seonghwa. Back to your home,” She said to him, and he nodded, arm still around his fiance as he brought her out, Mingi quietly signaling the officers at the door to open it. 

“But this is absurd! How can Junho be dead! You said yourself you saw him last night!” Hyomin turned back to Yunho. 

“So I did. I saw him lying buried in his shop,” Yunho replied nonchalantly. 

“You mean that body-” Mingi caught on. 

“Was Park Junho, yeah.” 

“Perfectly absurd,” Hyomin shook her head. 

“And the murderer is right here in this room, sitting here at this table,” Yunho looked at all of their expressions. 

“You’re not going to keep us all in the dark aren’t you? Who is it?” Sungmin asked. 

“You’re not going to pin this one on me!” Jongho slammed his spoon on the table. One of the officers approached him. “What am I the fall guy?!” He was pushed back down on his seat. 

“This is the best dinner I’ve ever listened to,” Juhyun side-eyed Yunho. 

“Well, I have no idea who it is, but I thought if we had a little get-together we might be able to find out. I’ll tell you as much as I know. This murderer is a very clever man. He studied this thing out very carefully. You’d understand that, wouldn’t you, Sungmin?-” Yunho turned to him. 

“Yes...no!” He shook his head profusely, everyone else beginning to look at him suspiciously. 

“He planned this thing out beautifully. After he killed Park Junho, he wired Hongjoong, using Park Junho’s name and told him to close up the shop. He destroyed all of Park Junho’s clothes except his watch chain because he figured that someday that might come in handy. Then he took Park Junho’s body and buried him in the shop with another man’s clothes to throw us off the track. He even put a belt buckle with a “CS” on it, hoping that we’d think it was Choi San, an old enemy of Park Junho’s who dropped out of sight years ago,” Yunho explained. “Jongho, would you mind holding your chopsticks the other way, you’re worrying Sungmin.” 

Jongho looked down at his hand and put his chopsticks down. Sungmin stared at him and at the utensils in his place. “If those chopsticks are missing, I’ll look for it somewhere on you” Juhyun nudged her husband. 

“After our hero killed Park Junho, he had an idea. He realized that he and Woo Jaekyung could still collect money. Park Junho was supposed to be on a trip, no one knew where -- so our hero wrote letters to Hongjoong, signing Junho’s name, so that Hongjoong would continue to send the money to Jaekyung. He even telephoned Hongjoong, do you remember?” Yunho turned to him this time. 

“But it must have been Junho. I should have known if it wasn’t his voice,” Hongjoong replied. 

“Oh he was clever about that too. He called when you were out,” Yunho explained. “That same afternoon, Jaekyung called him. She said that you were coming, Hyomin, to ask about Junho. So he got terrified. He was afraid that Jaekyung would break down and tell, so he went to Jaekyung...and killed her. He left Junho’s watch chain in her hand too.” 

Juhyun stared at him. “Is that true?” She whispered. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Then why are you saying it?” 

“It’s the only way it makes sense,” Yunho muttered to her. “His plan was still working beautifully. Junho was established as being in town, the watch chain was handed over, but with slight delay, to the police. The only snag was a man named Kang Yeosang, who found out something. He was there at Jaekyung’s apartment. He heard the shots, he saw the murderer leave. He knew who did it,” He said to everyone. 

“Our hero paid Yeosang once to keep his mouth shut, but when Yeosang threatened him again, he bumped him off. But our hero had just one weak link in his chain. The telegrams, the letters, the calls were all very well, but no one had actually seen Park Junho, so our hero picked on poor Hyomin here to strengthen his case. Hyomin is the only one at this table who can tell us who the real murderer is,” Yunho turned to Hyomin. “Hyomin, who was it that told you to say you saw Junho?” 

“Nobody told me, I did see him!” Hyomin replied, evidently getting flustered. 

“What did he pay you, Hyomin, to stick to that story?” 

“It isn’t a story, it’s true. I did see Junho, he isn’t dead!” Hyomin was picking at her food. 

Yunho watched her reaction as he pressed on. “You’re lying, Hyomin, of course you’d do anything for money. You’re getting a good price for saying that you saw Junho and you figure you won’t get anything if he’s dead.” 

“I’m not going to stay here to be insulted!” Hyomin was about to leave, only to be pushed back down to her seat by a nearby server. 

“Hongjoong, you drew up Junho’s will. Hyomin was cut off, wasn’t she, if she remarried?” Yunho turned to him this time. 

“I have no right to answer that.” 

Yunho rounded on her again, Hyomin looking more and more horrified. “You shouldn’t let that keep you from telling the truth, Hyomin. Mrs. Jung,” He turned to the woman next to her. “Were you ever divorced from Jung Wooyoung?” 

“No,” the woman replied. 

“So you see? Under the law, you haven’t remarried, Hyomin. You’re still one of the heirs!” Yunho stared at her. “So what are you holding out for? A few crummy thousand won that the man gave you when you can get the whole estate? Remember the other two that were with him on this, Jaekyung and Yeosang. When he thought they might spill something, he bumped them off. You ought to know damn well he’s not going to take any chances on you. What do you want to do? Be next on his list?” 

Hyomin glared at Hongjoong. “Why you dirty-” 

Yunho was quick to punch Hongjoong in time, a shot firing to the floor as he was knocked unconscious. Mingi got out of his seat as everyone was gaping at what just happened. “There you go, Lieutenant. Kim Hongjoong is the murderer.” 

“Yuyu!” Juhyun wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. “I was scared you would’ve gotten shot! But you took him! I knew you would-” 

“Yeah, another case like this, and I’d have thought I was in a prize fight,” Yunho wrapped his arms around her. 

“Aww, Yunho, you’re swell, darling,” Juhyun beamed. 

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Yunho smiled as he kissed her.

[amymel86]

Gentle Hands

A late entry for yesterday’s prompt ‘Changes’. This is a continuation of my au ‘The Outside’, you’ll need to have read the previous instalments to follow this one I’m afraid...

@jonsadungeonsanddrabbles

It certainly hadn’t hurt as much as when he’d died – but back then there had been a sort of numbness. After he’s accepted what was happening there was even peace within his body before his mind slipped into the wolf. He couldn’t allow himself the same peace when he’d carved out his tracker using a knife. His mind was as sharp as the pain. It reminded him of the time a piece of shrapnel had lodged in the meat of his thigh during blast. He still has a scar from that.

This will scar too, Jon thinks as he clutches the material of his t-shirt onto his wound. The pristine white was bleeding redder and redder.

“C’mon,” Sansa whispers, leading him towards a long abandoned building. She’d woken to him gritting his teeth, blade slicing skin, digging into flesh, blood dripping on the stone beneath them. They’ve been walking in the grey dawn light for about two hours now.

The building looks as though it had some sort of commercial use before The Invasion, though quite what it traded in, Jon could only guess once they were safely inside. There were empty metal rails and human models made of plastic. He thinks it may have been civilian clothing supply. “This place is empty,” he says, watching Sansa as she seems to be searching for something.

“I’m just...” she’s running her hand over the counter. Jon thinks this would have been the area that the civilians would have handed over their currency in exchange for their chosen clothing. “It’s got to be here somewhere...”

“What?” The balled-up t-shirt clutched to his arm is now a deep, rich red all over.

She ducks under the counter but comes back up looking frustrated before she notices the thing with buttons beside her. “Ah-ha! Here we go. Look,” she says, beckoning him closer, “these missing buttons here – “ Jon moves closer, suddenly very aware that Sansa is still wearing his jacket and that he has no shirt on. He’s not sure why his mind should fixate on that. “They usually scratch it into a piece of furniture or something – that’s why I was looking all over the counter. But I think they’ve done it with the missing buttons of the cash register here.”

“Done what?...and who?”

Sansa turns to him, a smile as bright as the sun on her lips. “The Resistance,” she beams, dazzling him, “they hide supplies in places like this. These are clues on where to find them.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “You’re... with The Resistance?” That particular group of civilians-turned-rebels had been plaguing The Watch’s operations for a few years now.

Sansa’s grin grew wider. “My brother is The Resistance.”

He was left to ponder that for a second or three. The Resistance was his enemy. But that was when he was a Crow. He doesn’t know what he is now.

“The missing buttons are T, C, 4 and 7.”

“What does that mean?” Jon was starting to feel a little lightheaded from his blood-loss.

Sansa taps at her lips with her forefinger as she thinks. Jon’s mesmerized by the action. Oddly, he can feel the rhythm of her taps in his veins as his pulse starts to feel thick and loud. She’s staring at nothing at all before her gaze refocuses and darts around the area. Jon watches her sky eyes look upward.

“It’s not T-C! It’s C-T!” Sansa exclaims, excitedly. “Ceiling tiles!” She starts pointing and counting up at the ceiling but Jon’s mind is too foggy right now to follow her meaning until she stops and spins, facing him again. “It’s either the fourth along and seventh down or seventh along and fourth down. Can you give me a boost up so I can look?”

She’s light – how is she so light? – and Jon is thankful because giving Sansa a boost up to stand on his shoulders damn near makes his wounded arm feel like it’s burning right through. He grits his teeth to hide his pain. He’s done training where he had to carry one of his brother’s on his back through the obstacle course and Jon can safely say that he would much rather be carrying Sansa, searing arm pain or not. He reaches up, steadying her by holding her calves and making sure to plant his boots square and sturdy. The first ceiling tile she tries to move doesn’t budge. She asks him to move slowly to another while keeping her on his shoulders. She has surprisingly good balance for a civilian.

The next ceiling tile shifts at her touch and her head soon disappears into the dark cavern that it reveals. “Here we go,” she says before Jon watches two large black bags fall by his feet. She wobbles a bit on his shoulders.

“Jump back. I’ll catch you,” he says.

She follows his command, pushing off from his shoulders. His arms circle tightly around her with a grunt before she hits the floor. He’d managed to catch her around the thighs but this then meant that her belly and those special curves on her chest were so very close to his face. She felt soft – how does she feel so soft?

He needed to put her down.

But he didn’t want to.

“Let’s see what’s in the packs,” Sansa said gently. Jon met her eyes, swaying a little on his feet. He swallowed thickly and put her down. “Hopefully there’s a first aid kit,” she said, tucking her nice hair behind her ear. Her cheeks look a little pink.

Jon liked that pink.

There was more in the bags than he had anticipated; warm clothing, food, a hunting blade, maps and most importantly, medical supplies.

Sansa had quietly cleaned his wound. He liked her touching him – even if it was just for medical care. Jon wonders if she had been in the medic unit back at The Watch, how many Crows would force an injury just to be cared for under her gentle hands. He already knows that he would.

The stitches sting some, but he doesn’t mind.

“I didn’t trust you before because...” her voice is quiet and she’s concentrating on her work and his flesh, but Jon can’t see anything but her. “... well, I thought maybe you helped me escape so that I would take you to my brother and tell your Crow friends where to find him.”

Jon is quiet for a while as he thinks that over. It’s a solid tactic, albeit an underhanded one. “And you don’t think that anymore?”

She finally looks up to his eyes. She’s so close to him now, she makes his heart hurt a little just by being near. There’s a smile on her lips when she says, “no, I don’t think that anymore.”

[harcourtholmesii]

Lost in the Fog

Tumblr Request by: Der-Mottenmann

Request: Ok so can I kinda request a Jason Todd and Cheryl mason pair up. Like Jason goes in the entitiy realm and there they meet?

Notes: Admittedly, I was not expecting a crossover as my first request, but I was excited to give this one a shot. Not once has it ever come to my head to write a DC x Dead by Daylight crossover before. It was tricky, but I do hope you like the story!

Words: 2102

 Warnings:

-          Swearing

-          Disturbing Imagery

-          Blood and Gore

-          Implied/Referenced Death of a Main Character

-          Death

-          Violence

-          Vomiting/Sickness

Enjoy!

His head was pounding. Blinding white light filled his vision, and the heat produced burned through Jason’s senses. His nerves were on fire, and standing was an unimaginably painful ordeal, akin to only one previous experience. The acidic burn of the Lazarus effects ran rivers through his veins, as if reminding him of that horrid experience. It seemed almost fuelled by something.

 Standing, Jason was surrounded by dark woods in every direction, his vision framed by twisted oaks and pines with outstretched, groping branches. Lifting his eyes to the sky, he could see a shine of moonlight, but the pearl was hidden by thick blankets of cloud. This whole place… it didn’t make any sense.

He had last been in Gotham, leaping from rooftop to gargoyle, grapple hook and gun in hand. He had been hot on the trail of some drug traffickers; some new group that thought they were hot shit. He knew the Bat would be on it, but he wasn’t about to leave these guys unpunished. He still had the photographs of those teenagers; young and callous, all just wanting to experiment. The gang made quick work of them when they didn’t pay up.

 There was a crack of a twig underfoot, and Jason was on edge. He turned, realising his helmet’s in-built monitoring systems were fried. They sparked around his head, and the feeling burned. He smacked his metal hood, but it did little to fix the picture.

 He moved forward, on edge and prepared for anything. Take it slow, be methodical. He couldn’t afford to be injured now or caught off guard, especially since he must have been before when someone had abducted him and dumped him out here. His breath heaved deep within his throat, far too loud for Jason’s liking. Perhaps he had suffered from an injury he was unfamiliar with. Apart from the Lazarus’ acidic heat and the pain behind his eyes, he didn’t feel much different.

 He had reached the path where he had heard movement. He found the stick, broken in half, and half a footprint in the dirt. The sole of some sneaker or boots. It was a light form, that much he could tell, and rather small. He followed it closely, and from here, he scanned the surrounding area. The mainframe sparked.

 He could just barely make out a hand, resting lightly against the wood of a tree, bloodied and bruised knuckles on display. Pale skin and a frail arm from what he could determine. He approached, and that hand hurriedly removed itself from the tree trunk. He could just make out the shape of a body behind the tree standing from a crouched position.

 A head of straw, blonde hair had turned the tree, but Jason only got a good look at their grey-green eyes, pink around the edges as if they had been crying. Those eyes had widened at his notice, and suddenly, the girl was running in the opposite direction.

 ‘Wait!’ He called out. He could barely understand himself through the damaged helm. His voice was warped; a mess of a human cry and a deep reverb from the whirring of the helmet’s struggling functions. She didn’t wait. If anything, she picked up the pace.

 He didn’t wish to cause her further alarm, but she could probably tell him where he was. He didn’t much care for children, but he didn’t want to scare her. He was on her tail in a moment, coming up on her quickly. They were coming upon some damaged, brick ruins when she passed through a gap. His hand was out, reaching for her. If he could just stop her, he could talk to her and explain himself.

 There was the sudden pain of something striking him across the head. Splinters of wood and nail flew in an arc above his shoulders, as a haphazardly crafted pallet of sorts came down upon him. Okay. He was getting a bit pissed now. He raised his right leg high in a strong arc, bringing it down and destroying the pallet in a single kick.

 He looked about the ruins, wondering for a moment as to where she could disappear to. A red locker stood to his right, but he couldn’t hear any breathing or creaking wood. She wasn’t there. He stepped forward, until he came to an open window space. He reached down suddenly, gripping a head of blonde hair in his gloved hand and pulling the child up into view.

 Confusion struck him immediately upon realising that this was a teenager or young adult. She was holding her head, trying to relieve the pain his grip had on her scalp. She was panicked, chest rising fervently. He let her go, climbing through the window carefully after her. She stepped back, nursing her temples, eyes wide and watching his every move.

 ‘Who are you?’ Again, his voice was a confused mess of sound, the volume apparently louder than she would have like. Her hands were to her ears, and she was stepping back away from him.

 ‘D-Don’t come any closer!’

 ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

 It seemed that she thought differently. She was turned away and running at full tilt in the opposite direction. He just didn’t understand it. How had he grown, and how on Earth was his helmet this damaged? He felt sweat building under his gloves, and gave himself a moment of reprieve. However, Jason was astounded by the sight of what lay underneath.

 His hands were their pale white, but his veins were alight, bright green and seemingly shifting underneath his skin. What the fuck was this?!

 A scream cut his thoughts off. Then the sound of a chainsaw.

  ~X~

  It was a new one. Another one! She had to inform the others. She didn’t understand why it didn’t give chase, but that thing watched her leave. The sparking of that red, metallic mask and the pulse of green veins on the neck made her sick. Cheryl had no idea what that thing was, but like Hell was she going to wait for an explanation.

 She was running blindly through the woods, she had almost completely forgotten what she had been hiding from in the first place. That was, until she stumbled upon that freak’s handiwork. She tripped over an obstruction in the dirt, peering down to the sight of Jane’s top half. She was missing part of her midsection, where a chainsaw’s blade had rattled through and split her down the middle.

 The red seeped over Cheryl’s legs, dying them that awful colour. She was on her feet, struggling to hold in her stomach’s contents. She held her hands tight to her lips, trying to prevent sick or a scream from passing them. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She screamed.

 ‘Shshshsh-Shush!’ It was Dwight, in her face and holding a finger to his lips. His glasses were broken, but it was the pool of scarlet in his shoulder that concerned her. ‘W-We need to go!’ His voice was hushed; frantic. Cheryl nodded.

 ‘T-There’s another-’

 ‘Don’t worry about that one! Worry abou-’ There was the telltale rattle of a chainsaw’s engine. They ducked down behind a few bushes, looking up in time to see that face with taut skin pulled across svelte muscle. The sunken, dark eyes stared at them, and there was that growl deep within its throat. The chainsaw swung high above their heads, just grazing Cheryl’s shoulder. She cried out.

 ‘Run!’ Dwight didn’t have to tell her twice. She was back on her feet and racing to the nearest bricked gym. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She vaulted through a gap in the wall, cringing at the sound of metal shredding through brick. Red dust swirled into the air and sparks flew high at the collision.

 He climbed through the wall after her, and though she was ahead, the revving chainsaw grew louder in her ear, until he was upon her. She felt it imbed itself into her back, and was removed just as quickly. It always astounded her how the hillbilly managed to remove it before permanent damage was done. It was almost a sick and twisted form of art.

 She raised her head, looking around for Dwight. Where was he?! Her voice was weak. She cried out when those unwanted arms reached down and around her. Through the pain, she only just realised that piece of shrapnel Laurie had given her earlier fell from her pocket. There was no getting out of this.

 ‘H-Hel-!’ Her voice cracked. She could barely think through the pain. That arm pulled tight over her back, and no matter how weakly her fists pounded against flesh, he wasn’t letting go.

 ‘Help!’ She tried again. A little louder.

 Suddenly, there was a roar from her captor, and she was on the ground. She whipped her head around, in time to see that freakish monster from before standing between her and the hillbilly. Knife raised, she could see those acidic green veins pulsing on his hands. She didn’t understand.

 There was a bellowing reverb from behind that mask, and suddenly they were clashing. The hillbilly’s arms swung a wide arc with the chainsaw, and the red hooded creature leapt back. He leapt forward, striking with the blade until the hilt dug deep into the right shoulder. Cheryl noted a gun on its right hip; it was removed from its holster and hastily, three shots were fired.

 There was another roar from the hillbilly, as a bullet shredded through its cheek, a bullet digging deep into its eye and the hand that gripped the chainsaw. He dropped it. Cheryl scrambled back and away from the two giants as they did battle. She had never seen this before. It was… unprecedented.

 The hillbilly pulled up his hammer, dropping the chainsaw and starting on wide swings of his weapon. One collided into the ribs of the second monster, and there was a warped cry through the scratch of metal. The hillbilly’s taut skin pulled back around his mouth, as if laughing. Suddenly, that laugh was cut short by a crack of a gunshot.

 The hillbilly dropped, a single, explosive bullet hole leaving behind an opening the size of Cheryl’s fist in the monster’s forehead. Skull fragments and brain matter had spread about in all directions. This time, Cheryl did throw up.

 She felt her body wretch and force up the few things she had eaten in the last day, and through it all, one of those large hands rested gently upon her back. Once she was finished spewing, she raised her gaze up at the red hooded creature, and felt those strong arms gather her up, cradling her.

 There was a bellow of sound, and she rose her hands to her ears, desperate to shut out the reverb and shrieking metal. It stopped as suddenly as it started. Through the damaged helm, she could see one, burning green eye. Unlike all the other killers, masked or otherwise, she could see those eyes held something she had never seen before. At least, nothing she had seen in a killer’s gaze.

 ‘Cheryl!’ Dwight’s voice echoed out from his position, and he exited from a locker. He was panicked, watching her with wide eyes. He kept his distance, but she could see how he was trying to get the creature’s attention.

 ‘Stop! Dwight, please!’ She looked up at the creature. Those eyes that had shifted to the injured Dwight had returned to her. They were patient.

 ‘A-Are you going to hurt me?’ It shook its head.

 ‘Cheryl, you know we can’t t-trust it!’

 ‘Shut up!’ She barked back. She soothed her temper with a deep breath, looking past his broad shoulders and down at the collapsed body of the hillbilly. She knew he would be back. They always were. But for now… The monster was gone.

 ‘Are you g-going to help-p us?’

 He nodded again, and started walking forward towards Dwight. When Dwight skirted away, Cheryl threw the cowering man a threatening look. The man held his position, though it seemed like he was about to piss himself. She turned her eyes back up to the creature.

 ‘O-Our hideout is t-t-that way.’ She said, gesturing past Dwight and deep into the trees. The creature didn’t pay Dwight much mind as he passed him, and headed deep into the woods. He did slow down so the man could catch up, but he kept Cheryl tight in his arms. He didn’t let her down for a moment.

 And yet, Cheryl never felt safer.

[amillionmillionvoices]

#32. “You could have died.” - River Song & the Tenth Doctor

The message comes with coordinates, and a customary x: Need a lift.

He’s tempted to ignore it. It hasn’t been so long since he first met her, and all he can think about is the haunted look in her eyes, her tears, her final whispers. It terrifies him—she terrifies him—and he wants nothing to do with her and whatever future she may hold; and yet, there’s something else, something shadowed in the back of his mind, something drawing him to her, pushing him closer. She’s a mystery, and he’s never been good at resisting those; that, and she knows him, and clearly, frighteningly, loves him, and he’s never been good at resisting that, either.

This time, he waits until Donna is asleep before keying in the coordinates. He doesn’t recognize them offhand, but he knows they’re somewhere in the Ellemede Galaxy, a planet. He isn’t certain what he expects when he opens the door, but it isn’t this:

A war zone, in the aftermath, deathly quiet. There are fires blazing in the distance, people huddled under tarps, bombed out buildings. There are people, humans, wandering the streets, ash and blood and the whole place smells like gunpowder, smells acrid.

The Doctor resists the urge to turn back around, to get back in the TARDIS and fly away and pretend he’d never come at all. As if in retaliation, the psychic paper burns against his chest, and he thinks of her again: crying, and so, so brave.

Closing the door, he carefully makes his way along the road. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he helps who he can along the way—helps people find water or food or shelter.

He tries not to think about Gallifrey, but there are children in the streets, crying, and he hears the echoes of them all, his people.

It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s in what used to be a warehouse, he thinks, barking orders to some and gently reassuring others. There’s a blaster strapped to her hip and ash in her hair, and he wonders how long she’s been here, her face streaked with dirt and her hands bloodied.

“River,” he manages, and she looks up, and for a moment, he expression crumples—her eyes flicker with fear and doubt and all the horrors and her guard falls and there’s relief there and gratitude and that same love he saw before and he has to steel himself against it, just for a moment. And then she settles, a calm mask in place as she straightens, hiding a wince as she does so.

“I called you two days ago,” she says, but there’s no malice, just exhaustion.

He swallows and tamps down a sudden rush of guilt. “What happened here?”

She sighs, pushing her hair back from her face. “What always happens in a war.”

He winces, but she doesn’t notice, having stopped a young woman passing by with blankets. She gives her instructions, and the woman nods before looping an arm around River’s neck, hugging her tight but brief.

River nods, forces a smile and squeezes the woman’s arm before she turns back to the Doctor, her voice too light.

“Relief efforts are on their way; they should be here within the hour. There’s nothing more we can do here. Shall we?”

He wants to protest, to stay, but when she steps towards him he notices her leg buckles slightly, and there’s a tremor in her hand she tries to quell by pressing it flat against her thigh.

He nods. “TARDIS is this way,” he says. She follows, and the walk back is slow and quiet and he wants to help—she’s clearly injured, he knows that much, but can’t see where or how. Her clothes are dark, and the only sign she gives is the barely noticeable limp, the pallor of her skin, the tension in her shoulders that relaxes somewhat when the TARDIS comes into view.

Once inside, he takes off immediately, sends them into the vortex, and River brushes a hand so lightly over his arm.

“Thank you,” she says softly, and then, before he can ask, “I need a shower, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You’re hurt,” he says, against his better judgement.

“I’ll be fine.”

He hesitates. “Let me help.”

River stares at him for a long moment, uncertain. “You don’t have to do that.”

He opens his mouth to protest, and she shakes her head.

“Early days, yeah?”

He nods.

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

The Doctor tries not to think about that, tries not to think about an iron crown and a bright white light.

“I’m offering,” he says instead, and River pauses, then,

“Alright.”

He leads her to the med bay, watches with faint panic as she sits on the bed and begins to unbutton her blouse.

“Relax, sweetie,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I barely have enough energy to undress, let alone anything more lecherous.”

He huffs out a laugh, but his mind stays there for a moment, brief flashes of her innuendo that make him swallow tightly and turn away, rummaging in drawers for whatever he thinks she might need.

When he turns back, she’s discarded her shirt, and he thinks he’d be dry mouthed and a bit overwhelmed at the sight of her, if it weren’t for the enormous bruise on her side and back, faint at the edges and near black at the center, scarred over.

He stares, horrified, but when River catches his gaze she merely shrugs one shoulder. “Shrapnel gun,” she says carelessly. “Nasty things.”

Moving closer, the Doctor sets down the items next to her and bends down for a closer look. There’s something embedded in her skin, and the wound itself is infected by the looks of it, and he feels his hearts pick up, beating more rapidly.

“I can handle it if you—“ she starts, but he shakes his head and clears his throat and gets to work, anesthetizing the area before he removes the shard and cleans the wound and stitches her back up. It’s slow work, though River doesn’t move, barely flinches, looking straight ahead, her only sign of discomfort her hand that curls and flexes against her leg.

The wound is bigger than he first thought, wide and deep and she would have lost a lot of blood, too much blood, and he doesn’t understand how she’s still sitting here, breathing. He voices the thought, but River only smirks, no hint of an answer in her voice.

“I’m virtually indestructible.”

He tries not to flinch at that, how he knows that virtually doesn’t mean entirely, doesn’t mean she could have survived, somehow, the last time he saw her. Doesn’t mean she isn’t dead, however many years from now.

“How did it happen?” he asks instead.

River breathes out slowly. “Oh, you know,” she says, “Got caught between a rock and a bad guy.”

He glares at her for her flippancy, and she huffs.

“We got pinned down. My blaster died and it was either me or one of them.”

He remembers the woman in the warehouse.

“You used yourself as a human shield,” he surmises.

River huffs. “Don’t make it sound so noble.”

He pauses, watches her face, how uncomfortable she is. “It was, you know,” he says. “You could have died.”

“We all die eventually.”

“So why not let someone else?” he counters.

River glares. “Would you?”

He thinks of her smile, so sad, the handcuff digging into his wrist.

When he doesn’t answer, River sighs. “It was a child. Even I’m not that heartless.”

Finishing the last few stitches, the Doctor dresses the wound and hands River a warm, wet cloth to wash her face and hands.

“I don’t think you’re heartless at all,” he says finally. River blinks up at him in surprise, and he forces a smile, shoving his hands in his pockets.

River smiles back, tiredly, beautifully. “You never have,” she says softly, and the Doctor knows, somehow, that she’s telling the truth.

[evangeline-of-montfort]

ash garden (iii)

chapters 1 & 2 read it here on ao3

The bison, freed from Atara’s control, whip around in wild fear. They charge blindly, knocking raiders aside like bowling pins. I see a blur of black as Tana evades one with lethal grace. She ducks to the left and spins around again, pulling the trigger and taking the beast in the heart. It collapses, a two thousand pound deadweight, and I can practically feel the ground shudder.

“Those are a protected species,” Davidson gripes under his breath. 

Despite the circumstances, I smile. “Given that they’re trying to kill us—” Someone raises a gun, and I make a fist, squeezing his weapon into a crumpled ball—“I don’t think they give two shits about bison.” 

“You have a point,” he concedes. 

A raider takes advantage of our brief distraction to attack. Davidson reacts before I do, tossing a shield in front of himself like a grenade in a blinding flash of blue light. She slams into it with a sickening crunch. 

He staggers back a pace from the effort, and I move to catch him. “Are you okay?” 

Davidson throws out his hands. A flickering glow appears between them before blinking out again. “Ability exhaustion. I’m out.” 

“I can cover us,” I say, widening my focus. Every bit of metal in the vicinity sings in my perception. My ability envelopes us like a protective bubble, sending enemy bullets flying back towards their owners. 

He smiles grimly and draws a gun from his belt. “In that case, we’re about to see how good of a shot I still am.” 

We wreck havoc together, covering each other as we push forward. The premier’s aim is steady and unerring. Every time he pulls the trigger, a raider goes down. I’ve never encountered a better shot, barring my Samos cousins.

“I used to be one of the best snipers in the Nortan army,” Davidson says as I wave away another round of bullets. “Not proud of it, but the skill does come in handy.”

A greeny thrusts out her arms, and a tree erupts from the ground a hair from my face. Vines snake from the branches, as fast and agile as a pit viper. 

With a burst of concentration, I rip a gun out of a raider’s hand, turning it into a dual set of blades. The vines rip at my skin and hair, regrowing as soon as I cut them. It feels like I’m fighting an entire forest. Everywhere I turn, there’s another one, writhing in my vision until all I see is a blanket of verdant green. 

A gunshot rings out, and the vines wilt instantly without the power of a greenwarden. 

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Davidson says. The raider topples over behind him, dead before she hits the ground.

“There’s plenty to go around,” I point out, sidestepping the tree. “As I recall, you seem to be the one that keeps saving my life.”

His easy manner disappears, and he looks me square in the eyes. “I consider that a duty, Evangeline. That’s why I’m here.”

Warmth blooms in my chest like a firework. Over the years, I’d worked closely enough with the premier to know that he’s fiercely protective of the people he loves. I’d just never stopped to consider that I had somehow become one of those people. 

The last two raiders back into the cover of a pine tree. One is a stoneskin, pebbles and earth sloughing off her rocky flesh. The other is a blood healer, probably a member of the former House Blonos. His face is unnaturally smooth, skin stretched tightly around his skull like a morph suit. I’ve never fought a Blonos son before, and Lord Arven didn’t have much to say about them in Theory. I wonder how hard they are to kill—or  if they can be killed. 

Before either of us can attack, the Nortans take us by surprise, and they both lunge at Davidson—the weaker target, with his abilities exhausted. He fires reflexively, taking the stoneskin in the shoulder, but she brushes it off with a snarl. 

Blonos is on him before he can do anything else, landing a kick to the gut. The premier gasps, doubling over. The gun clatters from his hand. 

The feeling that erupts in the pit of my stomach is similar to my reaction at seeing Tolly in danger. Red-hot anger surges in me like a torrent, and I unleash the energy with a shout. 

Guns and bullets shred under my wrath like paper. With another burst of willpower, I create a whirlwind of shrapnel, sending it swirling around the Nortans in gales of copper, gusts of steel.

The stoneskin falls under my onslaught, bleeding from countless wounds, dozens of projectiles buried like splinters in her gray skin. I swallow a bolt of nausea and look away. It’s not the worst way I’ve killed someone, but it’s pretty close.

Blonos heals just as quickly as he bleeds. A million cuts open on his too-perfect skin, here one second and gone the next. He curls his lip, utterly unaffected by the maelstrom. “Is that the worst you can do?” 

I sneer in response, but I can feel my energy waning already. A metal tornado is not sustainable for long periods of time. 

Blue energy flickers suddenly between Davidson’s hands. It’s weak, a shadow of his usual power, but it’s definitely  there . Then it flickers one last time and disappears.

Blonos turns to him, his expression still dripping with contempt. The last cuts on his face close over as my whirlwind slows and stops, metal projectiles dropping harmlessly to the ground. “My, how the mighty have fallen. Is this what Montfort is? Runaway Silver daughters and–”

He doesn’t get any further before I spear him in the chest. The lance goes through him like a knife through butter, in and out before he can blink. It’s a clean shot to the heart—one of the only ways to kill a blood healer. 

A part of me thinks of Corvium, of how my brother killed Mare’s the same exact way. Some scars never fade. 

Blonos falls slowly, as if through water. His frame seems to shrivel as his skin wrinkles and his hair turns gray, decades of anti-aging reversed in a single second. When his body finally hits the earth, it is surprisingly quiet, even somber. 

The silence that follows is almost deafening. 

It’s over. We’re alive. 

We’re alive. I take a deep breath, the first in what feels like hours. 

There was a time today when I thought that I wouldn’t be going home to Elane. That perhaps my intended fate was inescapable, and I would end up tethered to a throne after all. Relief washes over me—waves and waves of it, cold and sweet. 

“Thank you for showing up,” I manage to say, turning to Davidson. “And for that last distraction.” 

“Least I could do.” He frowns at the back of his hands. The tiny shield flickers more violently between them before blinking out again. “I pushed myself a little hard with the bison.” 

“The other option would’ve been dying, if you prefer that,” I remind him. “Now, let’s head back, before Elane and Carmadon go–”

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. A sixth sense, honed over years of arena battles and courtly intrigue, tells me to stop. Something is wrong.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement—a shadow ghosting from the trees—and a glint of white as the sun flashes off her teeth, bared in a triumphant smile. 

Tana Iral draws a dagger from her belt and throws, moving so fast my eyes can’t follow her movement. But I was trained in a hard school, trained to be faster than even the silks of House Iral. I barely blink as I push outwards with my ability. 

I’ve done this so many times that I see it in my head without even trying. The tiny resistance as I stop the blade in midair and turn it back. The shocked look on Iral’s face as her own knife sinks into her chest and she crumples to the ground.

But that isn’t what happens.

In fact, nothing happens. My ability meets nothing, and the blade keeps coming. 

Time hangs suspended—half a second stretching for an eternity—as I freeze, too surprised to react. I don’t understand. This isn’t physically possible.

Sunlight gleams through the dagger: not off, through, and I want to scream. Tana’s wolfish smile makes sense now. The dagger is glass. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. 

My mind flashes to Elane, Ptolemus, Carm and Davidson, even Mare and Cal—everyone I thought I would have more time with. Everyone I thought I could make amends with. I’m so sorry. 

And then the moment ends, the blip in time brushed over. Someone—Davidson  —shoves me hard to the side, out of the way of impending doom. I hit the dirt and roll, springing to my feet in anticipation of a fight, but Tana has disappeared into the gathering darkness. Coward. 

“Thanks for the save,” I gasp, turning to him. “I thought I was–” 

My heart stutters midbeat. 

Davidson staggers, clutching his stomach. Scarlet seeps through his fingers, as red and inexorable as the dawn. 

He pushed me out of the way and took the knife himself. Shielding me even without his ability. 

“No.” I run to him, lowering him to the ground as his knees buckle and his legs give out. “No, no, no.” This is not happening. 

This cannot be happening. 

“I’ll get you to Carmadon,” I hear myself saying. “We’ll find a medic. Skin healers—they can fix this. They can fix anything. Do you hear me?”

Even in this state, his composure doesn’t fail. When he speaks, his voice is calm and measured. “Yes, Evangeline… I hear you.” For a second, if I close my eyes, I can pretend that everything is alright; that I am nineteen again, and the premier is chiding me for an impulsive decision. 

But I have to open them again eventually, and I come face-to-face with cold reality—Davidson slumped on the ground, crimson still seeping through his shirt. My hands curl uselessly at my sides. I was raised on a battlefield with skin healers in the wings, ready to treat anything. I don’t know what to do in this situation. 

Maybe there’s nothing I can do, and that’s the worst truth of all. 

The long shadows and mountain air chill me to the bone as I kneel at his side, my knees digging into the freezing earth, but I refuse to move. “They—they can fix anything,” I repeat again, robotically, but this time even I can hear the denial in my voice. 

Davidson shakes his head, his gold eyes piercing me to the bone. “Not… this,” he rasps, and blood flecks his lips. I don’t want to think about the way the glass probably shattered and cut up his insides. “There’s no way back, Evangeline.” 

My brain refuses to comprehend his words. Dane Davidson was—no,  is —a visionary, rebel, fighter, and leader. A man who escaped from Norta’s Silver boot to crush kingdoms to dust. He couldn’t possibly be brought low by an assassin’s dagger. 

He couldn’t possibly be brought low saving me.

I’m not worth that. 

He grips my hand with surprising strength. His breaths come shallower, and his chest rattles as he fights for life. Despite my denials, I’ve seen enough battlefield deaths to know what will happen next.

The inevitable.  

I swallow, surprised to feel tears streaking down my face. Tears I never wept after the death of my father, five years ago on that cursed bridge in Archeon. 

But I cry them now. Davidson was the father of a country, an entire dream made reality. And more than that, he gave me advice, mentorship, a new life in Montfort. He was more of a father to me than the man who married my mother.

His life prevented the death of millions, and now, because of me, it’s about to end. 

“Why?” I find myself asking. “Why did you just… trade your life for mine?” 

“You are worth it—worth dying for. We have more important things… to talk about.” He clutches at the collar of his shirt with trembling fingers, and for a second I think he’s struggling for air. Then Davidson produces a thin chain, and my breath catches when I see what’s on the end. 

The ring glints in the waning sunlight, still untarnished after decades. It is identical to the one his husband wears: silver for the color of Carm’s blood, gold for Davidson’s burning gaze.

“Give this to Carmadon,” the premier whispers, Something in my chest shatters at the way he says his husband’s name, the way he pores slowly over each syllable. Carmadon. Car-ma-don, like he doesn’t want to let it go. “Tell him I am sorry. He—he will understand.” 

I can only find it in me to nod wordlessly. My vision blurs as Davidson’s fingers slacken, still holding the ring, clasping it to his chest as it rises and falls. “ I am sorry,” I manage to stutter. “I should’ve done more—should’ve—”

“Rage and guilt destroy lives brighter than yours,” he interrupts with surprising force, suddenly gripping my fingers. His hands are callused, still warm, and I take this feeling, this moment, and bury it deep in my chest. Willing myself to never forget it. “You hold your emotions too tight, Evangeline. Please, don’t let this be the case with me.” 

“Still giving advice, still trying to better someone else,” I say quietly, but I know he’s right. Ice-cold anger already whispers through my veins, trying to eclipse the sorrow in my heart. Anger at Iral, anger at the Silver Secession, anger at myself most of all. “Some things never change.”

His voice is getting softer, but it is no less assured. I should’ve known a flame like Davidson’s would burn until the end. “That is who I always have been. My entire life. I’m… content with that.”

“That is good,” I whisper. Every other word that has ever existed fails me. They don’t come close to describing the gravity of this moment. There’s nothing else to say.

“But now,” Davidson breathes, “I am done. But you—” He squeezes my hand again, weakly, and with an awful finality—“carry on. Have strength, Evangeline.”

The rise and fall of his chest slows and stops.

I kneel there, my hands still gripping his, my chest hollowed of all emotion as I keep vigil in the bitter cold. 

The sun dips below the mountains, gold fading to scarlet fading to deep blue.

I do not move again until the scarlet returns in the east.  

~~~

taglist: @freaky-freiday @evangelineartemiasamos @farleydiana @fuvkingmagnus @folkoftheair @lilyharvord @scarletbarrow @gansey-just-gansey @glossy-vanilla

[yodawgiherd]

Scars that time can't heal

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Rating: M Setting: A modern AU, an Ex-Soldier Mikasa dealing with her inner demons.

I've got this idea to do a short story in what is basically the setting of my main fic with just a few modifications. It's something new, and I would really love to hear what you guys think about it. If you like it, I might do a continuation, as this thing could certainly be expanded. Thanks a lot and Enjoy! :D

Lights. Voices. Pain.

Every breath Mikasa took prompted a thousand needles inside her to prick and tear, to create more and more of the suffering. She would cry if she could. She would scream if she could. But she couldn’t.

Mikasa couldn’t do anything.

They were taking her somewhere, formless faces and blurred figures, talking in voices that were drowned in the rush of blood in her ears. It wasn’t that hard to realize what was happening to her. Mikasa was dying, plain and simple.

A figure appeared to the right of her, catching up to the others, a face that seemed somewhat familiar. Could it be… ?

“Jean?”, Mikasa rasped, every syllable dearly paid for by more pain.

The figure leaned closer, revealing its face.

“Mikasa! Mikasa can you hear me?!”, his hand grasped hers, tightly squeezing the numb fingers, “Hang in there!”

She wanted to tell him to shut up, to just let her die in peace, but another coughing fit overcame her. The movement stopped. Hands lifted her for a moment before depositing the hurt soldier on a proper hospital bed, already smelling of someone else’s blood which soon mixed with the stench of her own, still gushing from the wounds on her body, leaking through the impromptu bandages. Mikasa could see Jean’s head moving from left to right as he looked around, desperate to find someone that would help her, but to no avail. She wasn’t that surprised, the sudden attack took them completely by surprise, catching the US military with their pants down. There must have been dozens of dead, hundreds of wounded, and Mikasa wasn’t that important anyway. Soon, she would be just another casualty of war.

Out of nowhere, another shadow fell over her, as gentle hands ghosted over the bandages.

“What happened?”, a new voice asked.

“A grenade, we didn’t see it coming. Exploded right next to us and….”, Jean’s response was rushed, but quite accurate, “Shrapnel tore into her, fragments…”

“God damn it,”, swore the new voice, “I’m not qualified for this, someone else has to…”

“I’ll take care of her.”

A new voice, young but somewhat rough. Mikasa couldn’t see the speaker, the only thing she could see was the burning tip of the cigarette in his mouth.

“You? Didn’t you hear the captain?”, the unqualified medic cut in, “You’ve been awake for over 24 hours, get some rest before you kill someone!”

“I said I’ll take care of her,”, said the cigarette, “Now either help me or get out of my way.”

The first shadow still lingered, not ready to give up.

“Listen, there’s no one else available to help her. Look at those wounds, if we wait, she’ll die.”, the rough voice dropped an octave, pleading, “Please, help me save her.”

“Fuck. FUCK. Fine!”, the first guy finally gave in, “What do you need me to do?”

“Take off her clothes, get some local anesthesia…”

“Local?”

“We can’t put her under, if she goes to sleep…”

“I won’t wake up.”, Mikasa finished for the rough voice, weakly.

Her head was swimming at this point, the only thing that was keeping her anchored in reality was Jean’s grip on her hand, feeling so warm against the coldness that began to spread its fingers through her body. The second shadow leaned over her, the burning cigarette tip bright as a sun.

“Hey there marine.”, said the rough voice, accompanied in the background by snipping of the scissors, as the other guy was working on removing the ruined remnants of Mikasa’s uniform, “What’s your name?”

Even saying her own name was a task that felt impossible.

“M-Mik…Mikasa.”, she finally pushed out. So tired.

“That’s a beautiful name, soldier. Can I drop the formalities and call you Mikasa?”

She nodded, her bloodied lips turning slightly up. It was funny, being talked to so formally at her own deathbed, but she really liked the way the cigarette pronounced her name. He didn’t choke on the second syllable, as a lot of people do, even Jean had trouble getting it correctly at the start. Not this guy though, whoever he was, he aced it the first time around.

“All right,” he continued, “Now do you know what’s going to happen?”

She swallowed, the coldness spreading further from her wounds. They used to burn, just fifteen minutes past, but the agony was gone, replaced by cold numbness. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on.

“I’ll die.”, she stated.

The burning tip swung left and right, as whoever was smoking it shook his head.

“No, you’re not going to die, I won’t let you.”

There was a sharp smell of disinfectant in the air. A snap of latex, as the cigarette guy pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, saying something to his assistant before turning back towards her.

“I’ll pull those fragments out of you, sew you up, and you’ll be better than ever. All right?”

“You can’t… there’s too many.”

The rough voice didn’t even waver as he replied.

“I can do anything I want.”

The cigarette disappeared, replaced by a surgical mask most likely. An instrument exchanged between the two shadows, and a gleaming point neared one of the deep cuts on Mikasa’s body, ready to dig in in search of the invading metal. But before it could make contact, she spoke up again, in a small voice, the fear and lightheadedness taking over.

“Is it going to hurt?”

The instrument stopped, and even when Mikasa couldn’t see his face very clearly, she knew that he was looking straight into her eyes when he replied.

“Like hell.”

Then, the former cigarette smoker pushed the thing in, and the agony returned, most of the world disappearing behind the veil of Mikasa’s pained scream.

Eyes shooting open, she sat up, heart beating wildly in her chest. The way it hammered against her ribs was soon joined by the well-known hammering of a hangover, making Mikasa groan and massage her temples. Well, she wasn’t falling asleep again, that was for sure. Standing up from the bed her foot nicked the bottle next to the bed, empty thank god, and it whirled away before hitting the wall and remaining there, glistening in the moonlight. She could hear music, coming down from below, a certain disadvantage of living above a bar, but hey, she didn’t have to rent. Worth it. Hoping that the headache will recede soon, Mikasa set out for her bathroom, carefully finding her way between the heaps of clothing, empty bottles and other trash that she had to finally get rid of. Reaching the sink, she splashed her face, taking a moment after to look into the mirror.

A visage stared back at her. Pale skinned, boyish short dark hair matted by both sweat and water, dark circles underneath her eyes. Goddamn it, she really did look like shit. The nightmare still lingering in the back of her mind, she inspected the old scar beneath her eye, frowning at it. Everyone said that she was incredibly lucky, if that particular shrapnel fragment flew just a tad bit higher, she would have lost the eye. Lucky huh. Taking a step back, Mikasa knew what she will see but it was still a bitter pill to swallow.

What was merely a nightmare now was a reality, just a few years back. The scars were there, spread across her body, reminders of all the places where the fragments cut into her. She should have died there, on the table, bled out or something, but whoever that cigarette guy was saved her life, pulled her back from the dead. He was no magician though, and making the scars disappear was impossible. They were forever etched into her, a web across her skin, spread everywhere. Mikasa was not scarred only on her abdomen, but over her chest too, and the metal even cut into her legs, grazing the thighs. She liked saying that she came to terms with her injury, but sometimes it still saddened her, the permanent reminder of the explosion, destroying what could have been…

With a sneer, Mikasa turned away from the mirror. What a crybaby she was. Why would It matter that her body was scarred? It was only cosmetic, none of the fragments hit any important muscles or organs, her body was still in peak condition, if not too pleasant to look at. There was no point if thinking about it, she reminded herself, for what felt like a hundred time. It didn’t matter. It didn’t.

Returning to the bed, Mikasa checked the bedtime clock, seeing that there was still plenty of time before her training session. But as sleeping was not an option, she decided to just say fuck it and go anyway, get in a few hours of her own training before Louise comes in. After all, she did have the keys to the gym. Grabbing her leather jacket from where it lay on the only chair in the room, Mikasa took her bike keys and made her way out of the door. Passing the bar, she saw Jean leaning over the wood and talking to some girl with a huge grin on his face, handling it perfectly as usual.

It was a risky idea that they had, pulling all of their money together and buying this place after leaving the army could bite them in the ass, and it was purely Jean’s doing that it didn’t. While Mikasa was only the initial investor, she didn’t do shit for the bar, while Jean was the owner, barman, waiter, accountant, and everything that the establishment required. He handled it all on his own and literally carried the place on his back without a word of complaint. Honestly, he was the best business partner Mikasa could ever ask for.

The gym was exactly as dark as one might expect at three in the morning, and the parking lot in front of it nicely empty. Stopping her bike at the best one, closest to the entrance, Mikasa once again realized that there were still no designated places for the staff. She really should talk to Levi about it.

“You were so amazing! You did like boom, left hook, right hook, and that kick!”

“Louise, please, can you focus on your set?”

“Oh, right sorry!”

Rubbing her forehead, Mikasa watched the younger girl struggle with the weight, doing her best to push it upwards. Being a personal trainer to Louise could be mentally taxing, but she paid so well that Mikasa was willing to put up with it. They came into contact in the weirdest possible way too. After coming back from the war, scarred in both mind and body by the experience, Mikasa had certain anger inside her, one that desperately needed to be let out. And punching the bag didn’t quite soothe her. Yet before she could do something she would come to regret later, Levi approached her with a proposition. There were underground fights taking place in the city, mafia organized, where anyone could enter and beat his opponent nearly to death. Levi took part in those too, back when he was younger and desperately needed the cash to keep both himself and Mikasa out of poverty, and now offered the same chance to his sister. In short, she took it.

Mikasa was doing martial arts basically ever since she learned how to walk, desperate to protect her remaining family after the tragic demise of her parents. Under her brother’s tutelage, she became quite the menace, a fact that came in handy during the fitness tests in the army. Now in these illegal fights, she could finally fully unleash herself. They kept coming at her, because who could ever lose to a girl, right? And she kept beating them, one after the other. It felt great, it allowed her to let out some steam, and it paid well. The dream scenario, really. Those fights were also where she met Louise, her adoring fan.

Louise was a spoiled rich girl desperate to keep herself entertained. She tried everything, every drug, every kind of alcohol, every guy or girl that would go to bed with her. But none of these filled the void inside her chest. That was until she caught wind of the underground fights and went to see them for herself. As luck would have, right the first fight Louise attended was Mikasa’s, and ever since the girl saw her knock the lights out of a hulking beast of a man about three heads taller than her, she fell in love. First thing in the morning, Louise tracked Mikasa to Levi’s gym where she trained and begged her for so long until the former soldier caved in and agreed to train her. That was their partnership. Louise attended all Mikasa’s matches, tirelessly cheered her on, and had personal training sessions with her, endlessly talking about the fights her idol won.

“Do you have any action today? Or tomorrow? Or this week?”, Louise was basically bouncing on her toes with excitement, her sweaty face giving away just how much she loved watching Mikasa fight.

“I don’t think so,”, the raven shrugged, “Gotta check my email after we’re done here and…”

“You have to let me know if there is anything. You will, right? Please?”

She sighed.

“Of course I will, don’t worry. If it wasn’t for you, who would hand me my towel after a match, right?”

How such a simple compliment could make Louise smile so brightly was a mystery to Mikasa, but she had no intention of bursting her trainee’s bubble of happiness.

The bar was basically empty when Mikasa came back from the gym, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. Most of their business happened in the late hours anyway. But how Jean managed to look so rested and ready while being up to the early hours of the morning, now that was not normal. He greeted her with a radiant smile, moving behind the bar with practiced movements. Jean made it look so easy.

“How was your fan meeting today?”

“Grand as always. How’s the bar holding up?”

“Well, I don’t mean to alarm you, but there’s someone special today. Your six .”

Carefully, Mikasa turned her head to the indicated direction, seeing a man sitting by himself. She couldn’t see much of him, just a long hair tied back into a ponytail and his broad back. Looking back at Jean, Mikasa raised an eyebrow.

“And he’s special because….?”

“Because I believe he’s just your type.”, the barman gave her a wink, “Why don’t you head over and talk to him, he looks so sad, sitting there all on his own…”

“Jean.”, Mikasa sighed, “Could you stop trying to hook me up with people?”

“Why should I? Mika, you’ve been alone for years, why don’t you live up a little?”

She frowned at him.

“I do live it up.”

“Getting drunk by yourself every night doesn’t count.”, Jean reached over the bar, putting a hand on her shoulder, “You’re my best friend, a great girl too, and it would make me so happy if I’d see you smile for once.”

“Jean…”, she drawled, but he didn’t let her finish.

“I know a girl who needs some fun when I see one and take this from a guy you used to date, you definitely do.”, he squeezed her shoulder, “Just go talk to him, okay? And if he’s an asshole, then well….”

Letting go of her, Jean flexed his impressive musculature.

“I’ll set him right.”

Mikasa couldn’t help but giggle at that.

“You think I can’t handle him on my own?”

“Please, I’ve seen you fight. I know that you can kick anyone’s ass.”, he said, “I’m just saying that should you need backup, I’ll be right there.”

She knew that Jean wouldn’t stop nagging at her until she gave in, so Mikasa decided to just skip the persuasion phase and do it. Pushing back from the bar, Mikasa smiled at him.

“Thanks, Jean, I appreciate it.”

Walking over to the guy, Mikasa felt a tingle of nervousness up her spine. How does one flirt again?

“Hey.”

Nailed it.

The man looked up, his startlingly green eyes boring into her.

“Hey yourself.”, his gaze traveled all over her, settling back on her face, “Can I help you?”

Riiiiiight.

“I… Uh… I mean….”

You know what, Jean was an asshole. Luckily, before she could embarrass herself further, he offered her an out.

“Can I buy you a drink?”, he asked.

Accepting the invitation, Mikasa sat down, finally taking a good look at him.

“Name’s Eren,”, he said, “If you care to know.”

That made her smile.

“I do. Mine’s Mikasa, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Mikasa.”

He had a nice way of pronouncing her name, the way it rolled off his tongue reminded her of someone, but for the love of God couldn’t remember who. With one shot inside her and one more on the way, Mikasa once again picked her brain for a line, something that would say that she’s interested in the guy. She was, to be honest, he had a nice face, pleasing if a bit raspy voice, and from what she could see he was rather well-built too. And the eyes, Mikasa really liked the eyes, the emeralds made her feel all giddy inside.

“So…”, she cleared her throat, “What’s a good-looking guy like yourself doing here all on your own?”

Eren’s face split into a huge grin.

“The delivery of that was amazing, you do that often?”

“Eeeh, not really…”

The bastard had the audacity to be smug.

“Oh? I couldn’t say.”, he said, the irony oozing from his words.

No matter how awkward she was, however, Eren didn’t seem to mind, and their conversation flowed. Somehow, they managed to completely avoid talking about themselves, and even when it was dark outside and the bar began to fill, the only thing they knew was each other’s names.

“I hate to be that guy,”, Eren said, looking over her shoulder, “But I have to ask, is the barman your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?”, following Eren’s gaze, Mikasa saw Jean cleaning the glasses with the most innocent expression he ever had. “No, not that. He’s my ex.”

“And you parted on good terms?”

“The best. Why?”

“Well, he keeps throwing glances our way, so I’m just wondering if I’m not hitting on someone’s girl.”

“Oh, so you’re hitting on me now?”

A small smile appeared on Eren’s face.

“What if I am?”

Instead of an answer, Mikasa returned his smile, downing her shot right after. The place was popular, and they were quite a few drinks deep at this point, so it was getting increasingly hard to understand what Eren was saying. It was annoying.

“How about we take this upstairs.”, Mikasa suggested, “I live right above the bar and…”

The realization of what she just suggested struck her, and she was left staring at Eren’s face, who looked back at her with an unchanging expression.

“Are you sure about that?”, he said, slowly, making sure that she understands.

She did, but no reason why to back down occurred to her. Jean was right, after all, she would like to have some fun.

“Yes.”, she held his gaze without flinching, “Yes I am.”

Seemingly on board, Eren nodded, finished his drink and stood up.

“We better get going then.”

It felt rather unreal, leading him up the stairs. The last glimpse of the bar showed her Jean, who was giving her a thumbs up, making her frown at him. The key jingled in the lock as Mikasa pushed the door open, silently cursing in her mind the fact that she still hasn’t cleaned up her apartment. Luckily, Eren didn’t seem much interested in the place, as his hands almost immediately found her hips and then he was kissing her, her lips hungry on hers. Judging from how quickly he coaxed her mouth open, Eren was an experienced kisser, and his tongue knew what to do. Mikasa moaned weakly, her legs feeling like jelly, drunk on both alcohol and him. Fuck, she really wanted this, needed this. But when Eren’s hand went to her shirt, trying to lift it up, the sirens went off in her head.

No, she couldn’t let him remove it, he would see the scars if he did. And there was no way he wouldn’t get disgusted by what she was hiding. With a shove, stronger than intended, Mikasa pushed him away, much to Eren’s surprise.

“What is…?”

She didn’t let him finish, turning around instead and bending over the foot of the bed, offering him her backside. Face down, ass up, that’s what men liked anyway.

“Do me like this.”, she ordered, looking over her shoulder, “Come on.”

It was a damn sexy ass, Eren had to say.

“Yeah…”, he nodded, quickly catching on “Okay…”

With their combined efforts, they undid Mikasa’s belt pushing down her pants and underwear just enough. After that, Eren was quick to find a condom in his wallet, pulling down his zipper and putting it on with practiced movement. He really was no beginner in this. Not that Mikasa cared, however, all she craved was to feel that nice, big cock inside her, so wiggling her hips, she all but purred at him.

“Are you gonna stare all evening or are you finally going to fuck me?”

Eren chuckled behind her, his hand moving over her exposed firm flesh.

“With an ass like this, only a fool wouldn’t take that invitation.”, the thrust took her by surprise, as Eren buried his whole impressive length inside her in one move, forcing her to cry out. His mouth at her ear, he growled.

“And I’m no fool.”

Quickly overwhelmed, Mikasa couldn’t do much, only moan and fist the bedding as Eren fucked her, hard and deep, her eyes rolling back. It was too much, too much, and her world was coming apart at the seams. Demonstrating a surprising amount of self-control, Eren always slowed down when he was close, mindful of her pleasure, a trait not that common during a one-night stand. It gave her ample time to build herself up, writing around on the bed while he kept thrusting at a steady pace, fully in control.

“You’re so fucking tight, it feels so good,”, he whispered into her ear, his voice deep and primal, “I love the way your pussy massages my cock, baby.”

His tempo sped up again, the sound of skin slapping skin mixing with the increasingly loud moans he forced from her. Muscles winding tighter and tighter, Mikasa was on the brink, just waiting to be pushed over.

“That’s right..”, he growled, pinning her down to the bed, “Cum for me! I want you to squirt all over my cock.”

As if her body followed his orders, Mikasa came, muffling her scream into the bedding. And still he wouldn’t stop, fucking her through her orgasm, milking all the pleasure from her quivering, dripping pussy. She was completely done, feeling fucked beyond imagining when Eren couldn’t hold back anymore, coming inside the rubber with another groan. Quick to pull out, Mikasa whimpered a bit at the sudden feeling of emptiness. She was slumped on the bed now, nothing holding her up, warm and completely satisfied, much more content than she felt in a long, long time.

Eren was moving around, discarding the condom and zipping up his pants, suddenly restless. If Mikasa didn’t have her face squished in the bed, she would see that his face was filled with something close to regret, a clarity that wasn’t there before.

“I… I think I should go..”, he said, eyeing her fallen form.

Mikasa shrugged, not really caring anymore. Tired, exhausted by his intensity, by how well he fucked her, she was sure that this night’s sleep would be peaceful, the nightmares wouldn’t come. Mikasa got what she wanted, and the desired fun was much, much better than she ever expected, positively blowing her mind. She used him, more or less, used this random guy for her pleasure, and now that he’s done his thing the fact that he was leaving on his own was amazing. Didn’t even have to throw him out.

“Just close the door behind you.”, Mikasa yawned, turning around on the bed and pulling the covers over her body. She could remove her clothes later, once she will be alone and there would be no chance of Eren seeing her scars. No need to scare the guy, he served her well.

“Right… I…”, a sigh, followed by silence. Whatever he wanted to say, Eren ultimately decided against it, and hearing the click of the door, Mikasa knew that she’s alone.

Again.

[carringtonblackwood]

Blood & Bone || Cari & Dewey

Dewey comes to Carrington’s aid after he has an unfortunate encounter with a pack of alghouls moonlighting (pun intended) as squirrels. 

@deweythedew

Carrington’s phone slipped from his hand and onto the bathroom counter, leaving a slash of red along the white marble. He’d managed to rinse off most of the blood - both his own and the thick, dark substance that was the alghouls’ - in the shower after the creatures had attacked him in the attic. Half a dozen of the bastards, scratching around, unable to get out because of the locked door. That he had opened like an imbecile. But he had been telling the truth when he’d told Dewey he suspected squirrels. And now he was paying the price for such an amateur mistake. It had to be this endless night, emboldening the necrophages and making Carrington’s good sense take a half-step back. But he had managed to kill them. All but one, that is. It had escaped into the house, and was still missing. Though the fucking devils had left Carrington’s body - mostly his torso and back - a mass of lacerations and teethmarks. Some of which were already healing, but others of which were not. Not when there were broken teeth and talons embedded in his flesh. Hence the need for the forceps to pull them out. But of course he couldn’t find his. So as much as he hated to ask Dewey for help, he knew he needed it. And there was no one else he trusted - save perhaps Arthur or Nadia, but he didn’t know if they had the skill - to dig out the festering leftovers. 

So when he heard the doorbell, he picked up the phone and texted Dewey that it was open, and he could come in, but to be cautious since there was an alghoul still on the loose. He also warned him of the mess on the upstairs landing, and in the bedroom and bathroom, though he had no doubt the other man would be able to smell it before he saw it. There was… quite a lot of blood. 

Dewey would have been lying to say that the drive to Carrington’s was anything short of frantic. The moment he’d gotten his hands on a pair of forceps, another smaller pair, and an entire medical kit brimming with various items necessary for a proper patch up, he was off. Of course Carrington likely wouldn’t need everything inside, considering that any wounds vampires sustained would heal over time. But based on what the other had asked for, he assumed there might be… well, shrapnel, for lack of a better word. Which only served to tighten the coil of anxiety winding inside of his gut. Alghouls. Nasty little buggers. And terrible to deal with on one’s own. 

Soon enough he was making his way up to Carrington’s door, and not a moment after pressing the buzzer, received a text. One that did little to allay any of his worries. Still, he hadn’t come unprepared for the worst, and so he cautiously opened the door, made his way into the house - all but ignoring the stains of red here and there - tunnel-vision leading him straight to the bathroom entryway. “Oh, your poor thing…” Dewey’s voice echoed the concern etched into his features as he settled the med kit onto the counter, immediately guiding Carrington to lower himself onto the toilet seat. “Look at you - I told you it was-- Oh, never mind, we’ll worry about scolding you later. Goodness, what a mess,” He wasn’t even aware of how similar to a fussing mother he sounded, simply opening his case and taking a roll of instruments out and placing it onto the side of the counter. “Alright, are your towels in the hall closet? We don’t need to stain anything more in your home, and this is going to be quite… Mm, well, we’ll need towels.” 

Dammit, but he hadn’t bled like this since Japan. He’d managed to get his fingers around a few of the longer pieces and pull them out, but they were slippery, and the last thing Carrington wanted was to break them off. Still, the sink was full of broken teeth and bits of talons. A right mess. Just like he was. If Carrington had been human, he’d have likely passed out by now, or at least been light-headed. He’d need to feed after it was all said and done, in order to heal properly. It would still take a day or two, and a few of the deeper laceration might even scar. 

But what was one more. His body was littered with them already. From broadswords and glaives, to bullets laced with vampire poison, four centuries of battles, both human and hunter, had left a map across his skin. A map he wasn’t proud of. A map he rarely let anyone see. But he had no choice. He could only hope that Dewey wouldn’t think him horrible to look upon. Still, when he heard the other man on the stairs, Carrington sighed in relief. 

He glanced up as Dewey entered, giving him a slightly sheepish look that was only partially forced. “You should see the other guy,” he said flatly, wincing as he let himself be sat down. He sat quite still as the other man fussed and sorted his things, unable to remember the last time someone had cared enough to fuss. He confirmed the location of the towels, and waited on Dewey to return, all the while trying not to think about how the other man’s presence already made him feel more calm. Less agitated. It didn’t lessen the pain of the wounds - even as a vampire, injury still hurt - but it lessened the anxiety of dealing with it alone. Especially with one of the creatures still loose in the house.

“Thank you,” Carrington said quietly after a moment. “For coming.”

Towels in hand, Dewey returned to the bathroom and set them down beside his tools. A litter of forceps in varying sizes, tweezers, scalpels and two sets of scissors. Perhaps he had overpacked, but one could never be too certain when it came to Alghouls. He hadn’t personally dealt with them himself, but he knew enough from those who had. “Actually, I’m quite sure I don’t want to. Though I will cleaning up the product of your little scuffle later on. I’ll rate your effectiveness based on the state of them,” He offered the blonde a wry smile, though his eyes still held that wealth of concern and worry. 

Carrington’s next words had the furrow in his brow deepening, gaze flitting to him in-between placing a small oval steel bowl on the counter. “Why wouldn’t I? Work has been a veritable hell since this darkness. But even if that wasn’t the case, I would have come,” It just seemed to be the simplest of concepts to Dewey. Carrington had been there when he had fallen to pieces, had held him together and made him feel more whole than he had in years. They were… friends. Wasn’t this what friends did for each other? 

“Alright then,” Lowered onto one knee, he positioned the blonde so his back was facing Dewey, who couldn’t help but wince at the shredded state of the pale flesh. “They certainly didn’t hold back, did they? Awful creatures. Now, keep still,” He selected what appeared to be the largest talon, delicately closing the silver around it before carefully easing it out. His other hand laid on Carrington’s hip, hoping to ground him a bit against the discomfort. 

“You said there was still one left, yes?”

Carrington huffed. “I’m afraid my methods were a bit sloppy this time, considering I had a filet knife instead of the usual.” Meaning the katana he kept on the wall in his bedroom. It was still in its place, while the bloody knife sat in the sink with the rest of the leftovers. He glanced over his shoulder at the other man. “Precisely. You have more than enough on your plate. The last thing you need is my stupid mistake taking you away from actual patients.” He was quiet for a moment. “But I’m still glad you’re here.” 

At the very least, they were certainly friends. Anything more than that was… yet to be seen. But regardless, Carrington would’ve done the same for him, had the situation called for it. Without question. He turned back to stare at the floor, closing his eyes as Dewey started to work. “No, they didn’t. But I’ve had worse.” As could be seen by the scars that littered his back. But he didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t say a word as Dewey pulled the first long, sharp bit of talon out of his back. It hurt, certainly, but moving would only impede Deweys progress. The press of his hand along Carrington’s hip provided the older vampire with a focal point, one that he took hold of gladly, if only in his mind. 

“Yes.” The word was said quietly, but heavily. “The largest of them.”

“Well, you could have been wounded far worse. That’s what I’m mainly concerned with,” The image of Carrington being swarmed by a multitude of alghouls was enough to turn his stomach inside out. He truly didn’t want to think about what might have happened had the other not been so adept at fighting. If it had been himself, well… Quick reflexes were one thing. Dealing with another predator never encountered prior was another. Still, the worst hadn’t happened, and Dewey would only be feeding into his anxiety if he continued to think of what might have been. He huffed out a laugh. “Compared to the hospital, this is a respite. And currently you are an ‘actual patient’, Mr. Blackwood. One I happen to be quite fond of,” A small smile worked its way onto his features; bemused, fond. Gentle.

“Mm. I’ll see about finding it once we’re done here,” A smaller pair of forceps were used to grasp at the end of the cartilage, ensuring nothing snapped off or slipped during extraction. Once out, Dewey deposited it into the bowl, settling with a tiny ‘clink!’ against the bottom. 

“Right then. One down…” And so it had begun; piece after piece removed carefully, set into the bowl, a dampened towel catching the blood that trickled out afterwards. Dewey’s hands were sufficiently coated, but that hardly occurred to him as the process chugged onwards. Another scan of the vampire’s back showed that he had sufficiently vacated it of remaining talons and teeth. He warmed the towel with a bit of hot water, gently applying pressure to the slowly healing openings. “Alright, anywhere else I’m not aware of? I see at least two in your arm,”

Carrington could only nod at Dewey’s assertion. Alghouls, while not large creatures, were savage ones. Even in small groups they could tear a much larger creature apart. Even a vampire, if they were enough of them and the vampire was unable to escape. Carrington had encountered them before, so he knew the dangers, but caught mostly unawares had left him a bit down for the count. As evidenced by the current situation. Carrington felt a small smile of his own creep onto his face at Dewey’s words, despite his discomfort. “You’ve a good heart, Dr. Foster,” he said softly. 

Carrington closed his eyes after that. “I’ll be fine to sort it…” he said of the remaining alghoul. It was just one, after all. He frowned a bit as the talon was pulled out, but didn’t move. He turned off the part of himself that felt pain after that. It registered, but in a numb sort of way. He mentally recited the alphabet backwards. In Greek. And when Dewey was done, Carrington pulled himself out of the trance-like state and waited for further instruction. He blinked, completely awareness always taking him a moment afterwards. “Um… no. I… think all the worst damage was on my back. I’ve got some lacerations across the front, but… no. No, I think that’s the worst of it.” 

He turned a bit so Dewey could see his arm, and he tried not to think too much about the image of Dewey’s hands covered in blood as they came into view. The way his fangs pricked at his lips. Or the images it conjured up in the back of his mind. Images that Carrington pushed deep down… and locked them away in the dark. 

A good heart. Dewey wondered about that more often than he cared to admit. Wanted to believe it despite an overwhelmingly berating voice that assured him that was not the case whatsoever. Hearing it from Carrington caused a sort of emotionally charged warmth to bloom inside of his chest. Pausing in his work, he leaned up to brush a gentle whisper of a kiss behind the blonde’s ear. “Take one to know one, doesn’t it?” 

And as for the remaining Alghoul… “You most certainly will not. As soon as I’ve finished here, you’ll need to feed and then rest. I can take care of one, large or otherwise,” He hoped the firmness of his instruction showed just how adamant he was about this course of action. This wasn’t a one-sided arrangement; he could take care of Carrington just as much as being taken care of by him. Soon enough, he’d removed the leftovers from one arm, then moved onto the other. The front of his shirt was speckled with a bit of blood, but he could always drive home and change before heading back to the hospital. 

Then it was on to the chest. For the most part, it just needed to be wiped down. There were a few claws stuck in one side of his breast, and one in the abdomen, but they were easily plucked and joined their siblings in the now half-filled, bloody bowl. It looked almost like a gruesome excavation dig. “Alright, I believe that just about does it,” After warming a fresh towel, he set about soaking up any remaining blood on the blonde, peering up into those lovely blue eyes with a satisfied smile. “If only all my patients were this stationary. You’ve been practically perfect. I’m afraid I’ll have to substitute a lollipop for something a bit more substantial, however. How… Or, what I mean to say is, ah, where do you… feed?”

Carrington felt the pause, but thought nothing of it. Not until his eyes fluttered shut of their own accord at the brush of Dewey’s lips behind his ear. He turned just a fraction towards it, and his body remembered what it was like for his breath to hitch in his throat, even if he had no breath to give. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being told he had a good heart. Because did he? Or was he, in reality, a monster? Perhaps not for his supernatural nature, but for the other things he had become. A killer. A taker of life. A taker of trophies to remind himself just what it was he was doing. Or perhaps what he was. What would Dewey think of the things he’d done? Of the atrocities he’d committed in the name of preserving life? 

Carrington found he didn’t care to find out. 

He also didn’t care to find out if Dewey was capable of handling the alghoul that he had let escape. Like an amateur. But Dewey seemed set in his decision. And a part of Carrington wanted to let him. Just as a part of him wanted to let him take the reins of… of everything… if only for a little while. So he was quiet for a bit, watching the other man with weary but no less observant eyes as he moved to tend Carrington’s torso. Again, he tried not to focus on the red that stained Dewey’s hands and shirt. He closed his eyes and leaned back a bit, to give Dewey more room to work. “Have you ever killed one before?” he asked, not in a condescending way, but in an earnest, need to know way. “If you haven’t… you told me not to go alone, hm? And look what happened when I didn’t listen?” 

He only opened them as Dewey wiped the warm cloth down his bare skin. The wounds still hurt, but the pain would ease soon enough as they healed. It was hard not to smile though, as Dewey looked up at him. So Carrington let himself, but resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. As tired as he was, it might be his undoing. “It’s not hard to sit still when someone is doing such good work.” It was a compliment on Dewey’s own skills. For as still as Carrington could be, someone that knew what they were doing made quite a bit of difference. Dewey had a gentle hand along with his good heart. But then reality slithered back in. But there was nothing for it. “Just downstairs. It’s… I keep it refrigerated. Behind the winerack.” Several bags of blood, a pint each, were in the small space. “I um… I just… I’ll have to show you.” And hope Dewey wouldn’t think him a monster trying to be civilized. 

The short answer? No. Never. And he knew exactly where Carrington was going with that question, so Dewey simply continued tending to his wounds as he talked. Damn him for turning those words around just to make his own point clear. But... he was right. They knew so little about each other still, but he wondered if Carrington could sense that Dewey wasn't exactly a fighter. He wasn't blind, either - the blonde's torso, his arms, back, shoulders, the entire expanse of skin held a myriad of stories carved into the flesh. Carrington had fought more than his fair share, he reckoned. It'd be impossible to think otherwise. Nobody who cowered could sustain so much pain and still continue to stand as tall as he did. Or perhaps he was being presumptuous. He wouldn't dare ask about them now, though. 

Not yet.

"Now you listen,” He made a soft ‘tch’ sound, attempting to appear annoyed but failed spectacularly, a mild worry settling in place. For as sound advice as it was, that had been given before Carrington was nearly slashed to pieces. Still, he didn’t want to come off as a hypocrite; and they were both vampires, taking on one Alghoul really couldn’t be that daunting of a task, right? 

Dewey exhaled a sigh, before giving Carrington a reluctant nod. “Alright. But, you let me handle the heavy lifting. Deal?” 

The compliment caused Dewey to tense for a moment, though his movements still remained as precision sharp as ever. He never knew how to take compliments on his skills. Did he even know how to take them outside of that? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, he only acknowledged it with a small, bashful smile before clearing his throat. “Whenever you’re ready. Shall we take care of your uninvited house guest first?”

Carrington knew when to use words to his advantage. And it wasn’t to be stubborn. Not in this instance at least. It was simply to bring his point across. Look what had happened to him, after all. And he wasn’t new to this. Though he had little doubt that Dewey thought he was. His discretion was appreciated when it came to the old wounds that marred Carrington’s body. Not that he wouldn’t answer any questions the other might have, but he didn’t know if he could without being overly cynical at this point. Later perhaps, he’d be able to discuss them a bit more objectively. 

Dewey began to protest again, and Carrington was about to shake his head at the other man’s stubbornness. But logic seemed to rule out, and when Dewey asked for a compromise, Carrington could do nothing but agree. “Deal.” The slight tension was noted, but not commented on. And when Dewey prompted him, Carrington nodded. “Likely it’s downstairs, away from the bodies of the others.” He stood, taking a moment to steady himself - and give Dewey’s arm a thankful, a slightly longer than necessary, squeeze - before padding cautiously into his bedroom. He took the katana off the wall and unsheathed it, leaving the scabbard on the bed. Carrington handed a shorter blade in a matched setting to Dewey if he wished to take it. “Stick it with the pointy end,” he said with a wry smile, unsure if Dewey had ever used a sword before, but not wanting to assume either way. “And aim for the neck.” Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, but best to be prepared. 

Carrington also grabbed a torch from his nightstand. It had a powerful beam that should blind the creature if it set upon them again. Padding out into the hallway - Carrington barefoot and in nothing but his blood-stained jeans, Dewey likewise spattered with red - they made their way downstairs to the foyer. There was a scritching sound from the room on the right, and Carrington flicked on the torch, beam down for now, and approached the threshold. “I’ll go in to flush it out, then-” A black streak launched itself from behind the sofa, straight at Carrington’s head. “Watch it!” he said, crisp and short, trying to slice the creature with the blade in his hand. But it was fast, and made it past, slipping and clawing it’s way across the foyer, squealing and yowling and swiping at whatever was within it’s reach. 

Did the idea of facing the remaining, and largest of Alghouls that hid in Carrington’s attic sound daunting? Absolutely. He wasn’t an expert in supernatural creatures by any means. At best, he had a general understanding of a few, the base knowledge required to get by without too much incident or injury. And why had he learned as much in the first place? Besides protecting himself, to ensure that nobody else would have to suffer from his own mistakes, so he could pass along the lore to others, and so on. Or, as was the case now, to protect someone he cared for. He wished, selfishly, that Carrington’s hand would have stayed in place a moment longer, but felt himself filled with renewed vitality when they entered the bedroom.

The doctor promptly snorted at the advice, grasping the blade with a huff. “The pointy end, indeed. Quite cheeky for someone still in the recovery stage,” Though it was all light and teasing, the corner of his mouth quirked up as he balanced the weight of the tool in his grasp. Not terribly heavy, but with enough force behind it, could definitely be enough to take out a creature at least half his size. Perhaps larger - he wasn’t an expert on swords or wielding them. He would simply do his best and avoid impaling himself or anything else aside from the Alghoul. Following alongside Carrington, he wanted to protest the idea of him entering first, still mindful about his injuries. 

But neither of them got the chance to finish their thoughts; the thing had gone straight for Carrington, and Dewey gasped as he slammed into the wall behind him. A shiver ran down his spine from the gruesome noises it emitted, but he forced his nerves down and made a grab for the flashlight in Carrington’s grasp, flicking on the high beam and pointing in the creature’s direction. It gave an especially wretched screech, immediately trying to back itself away and ran into the foyer wall. Dewey didn’t wait for it to make another move. He lunged forward, ramming the blade into it’s neck. Still it writhed, the last of it’s fight, and managed to get in a few clashes at his exposed forearm before he twisted the blade with a sharp grunt, keeping pressure until it eventually went limp. 

He heaved a sigh, grimacing a bit at the dark blood splattered on his clothes and, although he couldn’t see, a fine splattering on his face. “Well,” He found his voice, slowly standing up and glancing back to Carrington with a small, anxious smile. “Told you I could handle it. Apologies for the mess…”

Carrington had educated himself for many of the same reasons Dewey had. To both protect himself against the creatures he might encounter, and so that no one else needlessly suffered because he had been unprepared. Four centuries was a long time, as he thought quite often, and in his quest to keep those like himself - and other innocents, supernatural or otherwise - safe from those that wished them harm, alghouls were only one piece of a constantly expanding and changing puzzle. 

Dewey was also proving himself to be quite the mix of pieces as well. Such a gentle hand wielding the tools to heal only a moment before, he now held a tool that was meant to do the opposite. Carrington gave Dewey a teasing huff of his own, wishing for a bit more contact himself. But they had pressing matters to attend to. “Perhaps I should be prescribed bedrest then. Doctor’s orders.” A teasing smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and Carrington looked as if he wanted to say something else. But he refrained for the moment. 

They moved downstairs, Carrington mindful of where Dewey was in regards to the sweep of the blade in Carrington’s hand. God forbid he harm the other man accidentally. But all those thoughts raced from Carrington’s mind as the alghoul screamed and jumped out of the darkness towards them. The next few seconds happened almost in slow motion. The torch was out of his hand and the alghoul was screaming it’s pain and rage as Dewey blinded it. It made to back away, and Carrington was about to move in and dispatch it, but his blade wasn’t needed. 

He brought the strike up short as Dewey drove the shorter sword into the creature’s neck with almost - no pun intended - surgical precision. It wailed and writhed, clawing at the vampire’s arm with it’s razor-sharp claws, but Dewey held it beneath the blade until it was dead. If Carrington’s heart was still capable of beating, it would’ve been thundering in his chest by now. And his breath would’ve come in short, ragged gasps as he watched Dewey stand and back away. He glanced at the other man’s face, splattered with blood - Christ Almighty… - before stepping close and - before he could think better of it - slowly raising a hand to lightly brush the blood from Dewey’s cheek with his thumb. It left a small streak of dark crimson across his skin. If not for the fact that it was alghoul blood, and didn’t smell all that nice, the visual itself would’ve been enough to make him think indecent thoughts. Even now they brushed against the back of his mind. But he pushed them down as best he could and returned the smile, also small and slightly anxious. “That was… brilliant,” he said, trying not to sound breathless, but afraid he was failing miserably. 

Well, Dewey would definitely have to change before going to work now. No doubt about that. Still the resulting mess was well worth the effort, knowing that there were no longer any of the nasty critters lurking in Carrington’s abode. Or, at least he hoped not. Should they check the attic again? The thought became faint as he realized Carrington was approaching him, and vanished in an instant as the blonde’s digits brushed against his skin. Oh, he must have been such a sight - why was Carrington touching him? 

Though the initial surprise gave way to a very familiar ease; shoulders sagged, his grip on the darkened blade loosened, and Dewey found himself leaning into the whole of Carrington’s hand, nuzzling the pale fingers. “I’d… I’d hardly call that ‘brilliant’,” he countered quietly, gaze slowly trailing up the other’s bare chest until nearly coal-black eyes settled on that striking blue. Such a gorgeous color. That was brilliant. The sudden lump that appeared in his throat threatened to choke off any more words, but was that necessarily a bad thing? 

Lips pursed, a kiss pressed against the pale digits. “We need to get you something to drink, before I can clean up this mess. You said you would show me where?”

Dewey was a sight. And Carrington had to  remind himself to mind his manners and not simply… well. They weren’t quite there yet were they? But Christ Dewey made it difficult. Especially as he turned his face into Carrington’s touch, his weight settling gently against his palm. His fingers flexed ever so slightly, wanting to curl around the nape of Deweys neck and pull him close. It would be so easy, Carrington knew. A simple movement, barely taking a thought, and just the right tilt of his head… 

Carrington swallowed. It was almost unfair. Especially when the other mans dark eyes held his own. Carrington thought he could easily lose himself there, in those deep, obsidian pools. And then Dewey was kissing his hand… and Carrington couldn’t stop the flutter and flex of his fingers against his cheek. His thumb made another soft swipe, and he might have tipped his head the tiniest bit closer. But then he remembered himself again. And though he didn’t snatch away - God why would he? - he did stand a bit straighter. “Yes.” Another shared look, a pointed brush of his fingers as they reluctantly pulled away, and Carrington led the way into the kitchen. The blood was in a small, refrigerator behind the wine rack. The rack opened up to reveal the second bit - a modification of Carrington’s- and he reached in and pulled out a small unit of blood. 

Giving Dewey a slightly uncertain look, Carrington lifted the bag in a small gesture. “I don’t use these often, in case you’re wondering. I know the hospital needs them more than I do. I purchase them. And the money is supposed to go towards the children’s wing. A donation. Of a sort.” He gently took the blade from Deweys hand and set it on the counter next to his own blade. It would all have to be cleaned anyway. “Your arm needs tending,” Carrington said as he pulled out a small saucepan and filled it with a bit of water. He set it on the range and turned the flame to low before setting the small pouch in the water to warm. 

He had been. Wondering, that was. Dewey was loathe to admit to his curiosity regarding where his friend procured said blood - the one thing he did not want to do was judge. It would have been far too easy to do so, to assume, and to place Carrington in a box that he had stored away for every other vampire whom he had seen with a blood bag. Yet it wasn’t so easy because it was Carrington that he was potentially implicating. A man he knew so little of but was still willing to place a large portion of trust into. 

So when faced with the idea that Carrington did in fact purchase from another seller, an outside party who was getting his supplies from… somewhere. God forbid an actual hospital, Dewey simply nodded, offering the blonde a fairly weak smile. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. But I appreciate the fact that you did,” His gaze flickered down towards his lips and, without hesitation, he closed the distance between them. Pale lips upon pale lips, soft, sweet despite the hint of alghoul blood that streaked the corner of his mouth. But he didn’t care about that. Not at all, in fact. Nor his arm. They could tend to it in a moment.

To say he was taken by surprise would have been an understatement. At the very best, Carrington had expected a polite acceptance on Dewey’s part when it came to the very real aspect of having to feed on the blood of other living creatures. At the very worst… Carrington didn’t wish to think about that at all. But all those thoughts and potentialities rushed from his mind, scattering to God knows where as Dewey leaned in and pressed his lips to Carrington’s. The sensation was… Christ but it made his knees weak. He sucked in an unneeded breath, but the next moment it was forgotten as well.

Everything was forgotten as Carrington raised his hands to Dewey’s face, cupping it ever so gently. He didn’t care about the alghoul blood that coated them both. Or the swords dripping with gore on the counter. He only cared about remembering the softness of Dewey’s mouth, his gentle acceptance, and the way something so sweet and simple could quiet the world. 

If only for a little while. 

end.

[elizabeth-234]

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Twelve: The President, Shrek, and Sweater Vests

Next chapter filing day 12 of whumptober: broken trust.

Chapter Thirteen: Trust in me

Winter, 2017. Five weeks into escape.

They were in the kitchen, Tony leaning against the cabinets watching as Peter and Rhodey made dinner.

“Okay, Peter. Now we have to knead the dough for about ten minutes before letting it rest for an hour.”

Rhodey scraped the dough, flour bits and all onto the floured cutting board and motioned for Peter to begin. He shifted but didn’t move.

“Peter?” Rhodey said.

“What’s wrong kid? Never made homemade pizza before?”

Peter turned to glare at Tony. The way his arms were crossed over his chest as he watched them of the work of making dinner.  He smiled back.

“Alright. No worries, I’ll show you.” Rhodey took the dough in hand and pressed the front of the doughball down with his palms before folding it up and turning it 90 degrees. “You just repeat this over for the ten minutes. Good for the arm muscles and all though. You try now.”

Peter bent over the board and stared at the dough before digging his palms in. Rhodey was there to help if needed but soon Peter got the hand of it. The monotony of it left his mind able to wander. Rhodey and Tony were bickering quietly behind him. It was gloomy out today and Tony was in a mood. Rhodey was trying to snap him out so the whole evening wasn’t full of snide remarks. He smiled to himself and the dough, pizza was sure to help.

“Come on, Peter.” Tony said from behind. “I’m starving…”

“I’m going as fast as I can!”

Another minute passed and Tony complained again. Peter’s forehead wrinkled. Would he never cease to complain?  He decided no answer was the best response and folded the dough with vigor. Another minute and another complaint had Peter’s temperature on the rise.

He scooped some flour out of the bowl and hid the full palm behind his back. Peter turned around the face them. Rhodey smiled with a certain tightness to his eyes. Tony frowned.

“I’m just giving you a hard time.” He said with a shrug. Rhodey threw his arm around Tony’s shoulder and it was then that Peter struck. He curled his arm back and flung the flour across the kitchen. Specks and clumps like confetti landed everywhere, but Peter’s mouth fell open when he realized most had settled on Rhodey’s arms and head. He backed up into the counter.

“Oops, I wasn’t aiming at you.” “Is that so?” Rhodey said with a glint in his eyes.

“You’re in for in for it now.” Tony laughed.

Rhodey reached behind him and grabbed the bag of flour. His eyes never left Peter as he grabbed his own handful, a dangerous smile on his face. He reached back, aiming ahead, and then turned and dumped it on Tony. A giggle escaped Peter at Tony’s fallen jaw.

“What the hell?” “You looked down in the dumps and kneaded some self-raising up.” Rhodey chuckled to himself along with Peter who fell against the cabinets and clutched his side.

They were covered with flour. The floor was covered. Bits were floating in the air. The whole scene caused Peter to lose it. He hadn’t felt this good, this free in such a long time. Whether they knew what they were doing or not Tony wasn’t the only one in a poor mood that day. Peter had seen the darkened sky, looked out at the lake, and lingered in his room staring out the window at the frozen tundra for far too long. It had been happening with increasing frequency of late. The pale ice drawing in his stare and he was captive to it and his increasingly dark thoughts.

But Rhodey had knocked and beckoned him out with a promise of pizza. He had led Peter to the kitchen talking about what movie they would watch and a new job he was looking forward too. Mundane things Peter could listen to but not focus on. But this caught him off guard. Their slacked faces filled with surprise and the chaos of the room. He laughed so hard a tear gathered in the corner of his eye. He tried to catch his breath, turning back to face the dough and missed the conspiratorial look between the other two. Peter sighed and was turning back when it started snowing.

Rhodey and Tony were on either side of him. His arms were covered in white and with caution he looked up. The bag of flour was dangling over his head, turned over and emptied on his person. It was their turn to laugh as Peter sputtered and tried to wipe away the flour only managing to get it on the many surfaces in the kitchen.

It was with surprising luck dinner managed to come together. They had to break for showers, flour still reigned powerful in the kitchen when they returned, but Rhodey managed to get the dough into shape. They loaded it with their toppings and set it in the oven while they cleaned. Everyone pitched in and though Rhodey flicked some spare dust on Tony and Peter, it eventually was returned to its normal state.

The pizza was gooey, warm and delicious. Peter scrapped a spare pineapple chunk off his plate.

“This was delicious. Thanks, Rhodey.”

“What about a thanks for me?”

“You didn’t do anything besides distract.” Peter grinned at Tony who was about to answer when the alarm, the ones invisible in the walls, began to ring. They both stopped what they were doing and turned to face the front door. Tony was out of his seat and racing down the hall. Rhodey kept staring like he was listening.

“What is it? What does it mean?” But no one answered him. Tony came back with a thick phone to his ear and a large bag around his shoulder. His words were harsh and loud. They were going into lockdown.

“Rhodey?” Peter whispered. He knew what was happening. Of course, deep down he knew, but he realized he didn’t want to believe. He didn’t want to leave.

They had found them.

Rhodey turned away and gripped Peter’s hand.

“It’s going to be okay, Peter. We won’t let them take you.”

The building rumbled and Peter clutched his hand.

“Rhodey, I don’t want to go.”

Gun shots and loud booming noises echoed in the kitchen of the apartment. Peter thought he could see dust coming in through under the door.

“Rhodey! We need to leave now. It’s time.” Tony yelled and slammed the phone on the table sending parts flying through the air. Peter’s heart was going to burst, he was sure. If only he could be like the lake, frozen exterior hiding all the chaos underneath, like he was in the past. But he’d thawed too much with these two people. They had changed him too much and his panic was apparent on his face.

The door fell of the hinges at the arrival of men burst into the apartment clothed in all black. He couldn’t see their faces but the guns pointed at their heads was enough to flinch back. Rhodey pulled him up from the table and pushed him behind them.

“Get back!” Tony yelled and stepped in front of both of them. Somehow along the way he pulled out the same metal device he had in that place but it was a pitiful attempt at intimidation. Four men armed versus them, two semi-adults and one teenager. Peter’s stomach cramped as the blood pounded in his veins. He could save them if he tried, he could do it.

But before he could leap forward Tony was running toward them. He disarmed one and smashed the machine into the neck of another before he was hit. One of the two remaining clocked him across the face and he fell to the floor.

Rhodey cried out and ran forward, grabbing a chair. He swung it over his head and cracked it over one of their heads knocking him down and leaving one left. Peter took a deep breath and ran forward. The man shot but Peter ducked in time. Distracted as the man in black was, Rhodey was able to come up behind him and lock him in a chokehold until he slumped forward. Rhodey dropped him onto the ground and they ran over to help Tony up.

“Why wasn’t there more of them?” Tony asked while rubbing his head. They limped over the front hall behind the broken off door for cover after Tony checked the downed men’s’ pockets. He picked up one of the guns.

“They’re loaded with tranquilizers.” Tony and Rhodey shared a look.

Peter surveyed the apartment. The fight took almost no time at all but the damage was more than he thought. The dining table was in pieces. Pizza slices scattered on the floor and the corners of the walls were crumbled.

He brought this on. Once again people he cared about were in danger because of him. He had hesitated when the first wave came, had instead worried about his secret and how to keep it. If there was more and by the looks of Tony and Rhodey conferring there was, he would not worry anymore. It wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t stop staring at Tony’s swollen cheek.

Rhodey turned to face him and placed his hands-on Peter’s shoulders. Loud noises overlaid his words from the rest of the building. “Okay, Peter, we have to move before more come.”

“Why weren’t there more?” Tony muttered.

“Doesn’t matter for now. Time is almost up and they’ll be back.” Tony staggered up and grabbed the bag along with one of the guns. Peter asked if he was okay and he replied: “I’m fine, kid. Takes more to knock me down.”

“Get down!” Peter yelled when he heard footsteps from down the hall. The alarm was still blaring and it was a miracle they acted in time. Peter threw the door up. It shook as the tranquilizers rained down on it.  “I think it’s too late, Tony.”

The man shrugged and they staggered back as the door split in two. Shrapnel and pieces of wood flung toward them littering them with cuts and scrapes.

“In, in, in! Surveil and grab inmate 214.”

Rhodey and Tony surrounded him and Peter wanted to scream. Why were they protecting him? Since they met him and Peter had a feeling before then, they had tried to protect him even if it went against his wishes. They took him away from that place, were there when he had nightmares, and dragged him out of his bad moods. Now, they stood between him and an enemy. It made Peter’s heart clenched.

Rhodey grabbed his hand as Tony yelled for them to escape down the hallway. He watched as they ran further away from him. He watched as Tony was surrounded by the enemy. Their blows knocked him back and then they shot him. Tony turned toward them, screaming for them to run as he crumpled to the ground. Rhodey swore under his breath but didn’t let go of his hand or stop moving. They ran down the long hall until they came to the blue room.

Peter collapsed on the bed and heard the door shut and locked.

“Rhodey, what are we going to do? What about Tony? We can’t, we can’t just leave him!”

He pulled on his hair. Rhodey opened the curtains and then the balcony doors. The cold, winter air filled the room and helped grounded Peter. He could breathe easier when the pins and needles prickled his lungs. He stared at Rhodey who was calm in the face of everything. Peter could hear the yells and tactics from out the door. He could hear the steps down the hallway coming closer.

Rhodey knelt in front of him and took his fingers in his hands. There was some warmth in his eyes. Peter was surprised how nice it made him feel, how used to it he was beginning to be.

“You have to trust us, Peter. This will all be okay. We will all get through this.” They were banging at the door now. Peter’s heart thumped along with each of the attempts to knock down the door. Rhodey’s face lacked the calm he wore before. His lips were pulled in a tight line and there was a wild panic in his eyes. “You have to run, Peter. They want you. We’ll take care of everything here but you have to run.”

“I can’t leave you both.” Peter cried out. Rhodey held his shoulders and squeezed.

“You have to. Trust us. Trust me.”

Peter nodded through the tears. Rhodey pushed him up and out the balcony door. Wind whipped around him. He turned around when the door finally came down. Rhodey held his own against them but Peter could tell it was a close fight. Rhodey yelled at him to jump and Peter finally listened. His hands gripped the railing and he jumped over the edge, the last glimpse was Rhodey falling to his knees.

Peter hit the ground below and fell to his knees. He sobbed into his blood and dirt encrusted hands for a moment. He allowed himself to mourn and then stood up. Peter took a deep breath in and began walking.

Pain emanated from his torso and he finally noticed a large chunk of wood sticking out of a wound. He winced as he pulled it out and blood spurted down his shirt. He had to trust them. He had to run and find a place to hid. He would listen to Rhodey and he would run.

-

Winter, 1992. Four days in hospital.

Peter swung his feet back and forth on the bed. He was still in the stupid hospital gown and couldn’t wait to get back into real clothes. He was also still in hiding. Tony said he was going to one of the hospital appointed therapists and then he would take care of his little situation. What he thought was Peter’s situation.

The situation provided too big to tackle at the moment, given Peter’s limited knowledge of what Tony was going to do, so he decided to think about the other mystery plaguing him at the moment.

The man who had been locked away in Peter’s original time was now in the hospital as a 20-something-year-old. His weeks in the apartment ill prepared him for this new revelation. They didn’t talk about the past much in his time there and Peter, still cautious, didn’t pry. It wasn’t his place to pry even if on occasion he was curious.

What he knew as fact: Tony was in the hospital and he had a presumably mandated meeting with a therapist. His parents were also passed, though Peter wasn’t sure how or when.

This fact separated from the rest. Tony’s parents were gone just like his. It didn’t change anything about his current troubles but it brought Tony into a new light. He felt an understanding of the man of his time now because of it. Peter was sick to think like that but he couldn’t help it. Growing up all of his schoolmates knew their parents even if they were divorced and his life was filled with constant reminders of that fact. Parent teacher conferences, career days, bring your child to word day, and even field trip permission slips. All of these were built around the assumption your parents would be there, but Peter didn’t fit into that mold. He was deficient in that was.

May and Ben were his family. They were an integral, vital part of his life and he clung to them, grew with their help and loved them. It was everyone else who had a hard time recognizing them.

Did you hear he’s an orphan?



Well, they’re not your real parents. 



Do you remember your mom and dad?



They were whispers and questions poised innocently but they weighed down on him. Made it hard to breathe easy with each pressing day. Highlighted the deficiencies inside him until it was like it was carved in his skin.

But here was someone who knew what that felt like. His heels hit the underbelly of the bed and stopped swinging like a pendulum that ran out of energy. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Knew.

They knew!


Did they know?

There was almost no way they wouldn’t have known.

Peter tried to recall every singular word they’d ever said to him. He tried to recreate every expression on their faces and how they looked at him. Anything that would prove him wrong.

Why was Tony in that place to begin with? Why did Rhodey know his favorite cereal?

The kidnapping. Their words. That familiar glint in their eyes. The cryptic words they said to him. How accepted he felt when he was with him. The homey feeling of their tiny apartment.

He wanted to scream or break the window or knock over the bed. But he couldn’t lose control over this.

It was fine.

He could feel the hate red in his heart but it was fine. He could trample it down and find a way back to his time. The changes wrought in him could be changed back. Peter could go back to that place and back to his well-deserved punishment. His softened edges could be cracked and made jagged again and if his heart’s hurt was soothed through the weeks he was in the blue room, now it came roaring back in force. His chest felt torn again, raw from invisible wounds. He ran his hands down his torso to make sure nothing had attacked him without his knowledge but they came away clean.

He just wanted the pain to go away and when his heart skipped a beat at the thought, he ignored the weakness. He wanted to go back to when they didn’t know him and he didn’t know them. It was a betrayal Peter had never experienced before. They knew he would leave them and did nothing to stop it. They knew Peter would be hurt and let it happen anyway. Every look, every word had a duality he hadn’t realized. Was any of it real? Was the comfort he had begun feeling all a façade?

Someone knocked on the door. Peter didn’t run to hide but continued to wallow where he was. It didn’t matter who caught him now. Let the hospital staff find him and take him back to his room for more unimportant questions.

Rhodey walked in. Young and smiling. Peter frowned but it did nothing to deter his expression.

“Peter, right? Tony said you would be here.”
He stuck out a hand which Peter did not take.

“Like you don’t know.” He said in a sarcastic tone. Rhodey did frown then but then he shook his head.

“Tony also said you weren’t in the best of moods.” Peter stuck his tongue out. Rhodey laughed and tossed him the parcel he was holding. “Get dressed. We’re lucky Tony finally cooperated with the doctors to get his evaluation. I have you to thank for that. We’ve… I’ve been trying to get him to go to that stupid doctor for so long.”  He stared at Peter like he should answer but took pity on him. “I’ll be outside, get dressed and we’ll meet Tony down in the lobby.”

Peter threw the clothes on the ground. He stared at them for a moment and then hurried to pick them up. If they had known all this time Peter had to figure out why they didn’t do anything. He shoved the clothes on and sure enough Rhodey was waiting outside the room.

“Ready?”



“What’s happening? Where are we going?” 



Rhodey smiled and waggled his eyebrows. Peter had to stop himself from staring at his face. He looked so young it almost hurt.

“We’re kidnapping you from this stinky old hospital.”

“Again?” Peter whispered.

“What? Well, it’s not really kidnapping. All the paperwork’s in but it’s more fun to say it’s an escape plot or something.”



“Right.”



“Anyway, I realized I never introduced myself. I’m Rhodey.” His hand hung in the air again. Peter was aware this interaction could shape the future. His next movement could change the future. He could shun them or hate them. He did in a way for what they were going to do, but this Rhodey also knew nothing of him yet. “Trust me, Peter.”

This Rhodey was a whole different person than the one before. He was a young man trying to help some random kid. And so, Peter shook his hand. The Rhodey in front of him wasn’t the one who betrayed his trust and Peter decided to extend his hand, reaffirming times path and starting the beginnings of a friendship.

Thank you!

Next Chapter Fourteen: Moments in Time 

[summahsunlight]

Good-Bye, My Love

Rating: T

Word Count: 2413

Summary: Letting go is the hardest thing to do. Tony centric, other characters mentioned/present. Written January 2014

Characters: Tony--but all others are mentioned, or appear at least once

Warnings: Tony centric, not Tiva, angst

It was late. Almost three in the morning and Tony was still awake. He didn't care about the fact that he had to be back at work in four hours or that his stomach was wildly protesting that he had not eaten in about six hours.

Tonight, however, he could just not turn his brain off.

He fiddled with his cell phone. Keeping his hands busy was in a weird way helping him think, while his eyes were posed on the screen of his laptop. Had it really been almost eight months since he had stared at it in May, willing it to tell him where Ziva had disappeared too? A lot had happened in those following months. Not all of it was good. Some of it had been, but after the attack at the gala, well, the blood of the wounded and the six dead had just stained that good. And there had been so many times in those months that he had sat in front of that computer, writing email after email to the woman he'd left behind. There was never any response, he didn't expect one, but he liked to imagine that Ziva was at least reading her emails.

So, here Tony sat at three in the morning, a blank screen in front of him. He had started this email at least a hundred times but quickly erased it. He knew, deep down inside that this was not something that could be written in an email. He thought about calling her but didn't know if she would be receptive. At this point, he'd come to the conclusion that he should just send a text asking if it was okay to call her. What would the harm be in that? A simple text asking if he could call, that he needed to talk to her.

Tony found himself playing a game of roulette—the odds of her answering his text was probably astronomical, but he had to send it. So, with slightly shaky fingers, he carefully wrote out, Ziva—I need to talk to you, please let me know when I can call. He hit send, slammed his laptop shut, drowning the living room in darkness and laid down on the sofa to finally fall asleep.

He must have checked his phone at least twenty times before getting off the bus. Even though it was on he was afraid that he'd miss her text or perhaps her phone call. He kept telling himself that she was going to answer him this time. She had to answer him this time.

"Oh, hi," Bishop's voice cheerfully greeted him when he strolled into the squad room. "Gibbs called to say he won't be in today but rule 3 still applies—what is three again?"

"Never be unreachable," Tony rehearsed monotonously. He put his badge and weapon away in the top drawer, resisted the urge to open the other to look at her necklace.

"I'm not even sure how you guys keep up with all the rules. I mean…there are sixty-two of them."

Tony sat down in his chair and glanced at his phone once more, even though he knew it had not vibrated to indicate he had a message. "Guess it's just a part of the job."

Bishop wasn't taking the hint that he wasn't in the mood to talk. He liked her. She was smart. But she definitely could not read people socially, and it wasn't like she did it on purpose after all. "He doesn't have them written down somewhere? I mean that would be really helpful. And I tend to get things to stick better in my head if I read them so, I'd really enjoy a Gibbs Guide to the Rules or something similar."

"They're not written down anywhere to my knowledge. His job is to teach them to you," Tony mumbled, rifling through his paperwork to dig into reports and requisition forms that he was severely behind on thanks to their hunt for Parsa. "Any more questions, Bishop?"

"Nope," she said with a smile and a shake of her head. With that she went back to work.

Something else he liked about her. Despite the fact that she wasn't the best at reading subtle hints, she did know that when the conversation was obviously done, it was done and she didn't push. Kate had pushed him, Ziva had pushed him, and to extent at times McGee had pushed him. All to the point where he'd found it difficult to open up to his team—Tony was trying to change. Hell, he'd made that damn casserole for McGee after all. Which reminded him, when he'd gone to drop it off the night before Tim had not been home. He'd left it on the doorstep with a note. Hope he got it. Damn, I should have called.

Thinking about this now, he glanced at his phone again. Tim was probably at the hospital with Delilah who was still recovering from her injuries. He wouldn't answer his calls, but he would answer a text message.

In no time his partner had responded thanking him for the casserole and that it was a really nice gesture, and Tony felt a sharp pain in his gut. Ziva still had not responded to him. Again he found himself typing a text to her, Please, Ziva, there's something…there's something important I need to talk to you about. Can we chat? Tonight maybe?

With a sigh, Tony put the phone back into his pocket. It was going to be a long day of paperwork and waiting for her to answer. At least it couldn't get worse.

It got worse. It got much worse.

Tony came back from lunch to only be called into the conference room. Bishop, Abby, Ducky and Jimmy were already there waiting. Tony glanced around the table at them and his nerves suddenly were on edge. "What's going on?"

"We don't know, Anthony," Ducky said, gesturing for the SFA to take a seat at the table. "Jethro called twenty minutes ago and asked that we meet him here."

"Last time we had a covert meeting I ended up loosing my badge," Tony snarked as he sat down.

"I highly doubt that if what Jethro had to say to us is confidential, then he'd be meeting us in here, where there are cameras," Ducky said with a smile.

Tony felt very little ease at his words. Something was obviously wrong. Gibbs would not have called to gather them all here, in the conference room, at the same exact time if something was not wrong. His fears and worries were justified when the team leader opened the door and walked in, McGee slowly walking behind him. The probie looked defeated, he did not look fine like he had suggested the day before. And Gibbs, while his body posture was the same as always, Tony could tell by the look in his eyes that the news they were about to share was not good. And for a fleeting moment Tony feared that Delilah had succumb to her injuries and passed in the middle of the night—it would explain Gibbs' absence this morning. He'd been with Tim, helping him mourn. Right? After all we've been through Tim has to lose the best girlfriend he's had in years, what more can you throw at us, God?

Gibbs shut the door and nodded towards McGee. "Tim has something he wants to tell you."

Tim. He used McGee's first name, Tony noted, Gibbs very rarely used the younger agent's first name. Tony's fists clenched nervously underneath the table. He felt the cold dread that he felt in the orchard at the first moment he knew that Ziva was not coming back with him.

"I…I haven't been very honest with you," McGee began with a heavy sigh, "everything is certainly not fine."

"Oh my God, McGee! Did Delilah need to have another operation?" Abby squeaked, her eyes welling up with tears. "What haven't you told us?"

"No, there are other operations planned," McGee assured her. "It's just…her injuries, well…they're more critical than I let on."

Ducky nodded his head. "Understandable, Timothy. Miss Fielding had numerous pieces of shrapnel removed from her body and that alone would cause trauma to vital organs in her body—oh my, I did not realize until now. I apologize Timothy."

Tony noted the sudden change of tone in his voice but he didn't need the medical examiner's tone change to let him know what Tim was trying to say. He was a trained investigator after all. "She's paralyzed," he simply stated.

"Y-yes. A piece of shrapnel transected her spinal cord," McGee stammered.

Silence fell into the room like an anvil. Tony suddenly felt so small and helpless—and stupid for pining away for Ziva to call him. McGee had a real life problem, with real life consequences and all the emotions that came with it. He should be the one falling apart, not Tony. "Aw, McGee, I'm sorry," the SFA whispered, sounding so terribly cliché to his ears.

But it was all that needed to be said. In an instant Abby was on her feet engulfing McGee into one of her hugs, Ducky and Jimmy were offering any medical advice that they could. Bishop bit her lower lip and glanced at Tony. And he knew—she felt as helpless as he did. Delilah and McGee had a long, painful road a head of them, and his probie was going to need him to hold him up, look out for him and he couldn't do that if he couldn't stop himself from running around in circles. Suddenly, his whole life the past six months had been shoved into perspective. Only he could end this misery he'd put himself in.

It was time to move on.

Arriving home after what was arguably one of the worst, case-less days of his life, Tony shoved his way into his apartment and slammed the door shut. He'd spent the rest of the day going through his paperwork as if he was a robot, all the while thinking about how McGee must be feeling. Bishop had talked his ear off, nervously, for the rest of the afternoon—citing articles and research about people who had suffered traumatic injuries rising above the challenge and living a normal, happy life.

What is normal? Tony asked himself as his back pressed into his apartment door. He had no doubt that Delilah had the determination to rise above, after of course her grieving process. But really, what was normal? Wheelchairs and doctor's appointments and whatever else accompany a person who has no use of their legs.

"Be happy you're goldfish," he mumbled to the two white and orange fish swimming about in the bowl. "Your life is so much easier than mine."

Tony put his weapon and badge away, hung up his coat, and went into the bedroom. He flicked the light on and looked around. Since returning from Israel he'd made some changes in his apartment. Maintenance had filled in the bullet holes and painted, replaced the glass in his window. Tony had bought a brand new, state of the art stereo. But the biggest change had come in the room that hadn't been touched by bullets. If he wanted to change, if he wanted to let people in—if he wanted to let a woman in—he needed a bigger bed.

Yanking his tie loose, Tony tossed it on that bigger bed now before he discarded his suit coat. Finding his sweatpants and a tee shirt, he changed, knowing that tonight, with half of his team at the hospital with McGee they wouldn't be called on a case. He was glad for this, because, frankly he was exhausted. Parsa was Homeland's problem now and the MCRT could recover from another one of his blows.

So, for the second night in a row, Tony found himself staring at his computer screen. This time he knew what he had to do. He found his cell phone and dialed her number, the landline number she had given to him just before disappearing. It rang a few times but then a machine picked up and her voice could be heard asking the caller to leave a message.

Tony took a deep steadying breath. "Hello, Ziva. If you're there, pick up or even if you are but just can't come to the phone—at least listen to me. Parsa struck again, gala in DC—Delilah was hurt, badly. Tim is fine. I'm fine and so isn't Gibbs. I just…I just thought you should know. We miss you Ziva. But I didn't call to beg you to come home—you made your decision. I hope your clean break, fresh start, whatever you want to call it, is treating you well." He paused for a slight second trying to gain his line of thought. Calling her at this number had been so impulsive. "We're…well Homeland is still looking for Parsa. I hope someone has your six over there, Ziva. Parsa…he isn't the only reason I called. We got a new team member. She's NSA, on loan really, but I'm starting to warm up to her. I think you would like her. Anyways, you don't have to call me back. Just felt like you'd…be interested in what's going on. And don't think that it's all bad news—cuz it's not. I, um…I met someone."

It seemed like the perfect time to pause. He wasn't sure why. Maybe to give her some time to process. He took another deep breath. "Nothing…nothing's happened between us..yet. I've been so confused, Ziva. About whether I should wait for you or not. But then…I remembered something you said to me. You told me that I had to let you go, that this clean break was not just for you, it was for all of us. It's just taken me longer to make the break I guess…and…and I'll always hold you in a special place in my heart, Ziva. Shalom ahuvati."

Holding back his tears, Tony hung up the phone and felt the weight lifting from his shoulders, the freedom letting go had offered him, even as halfway around the world, she sat next to her phone crying—not for them, or their opportunities lost, but for their clean breaks finally coming to fruition.