#because I looked up the record of biggest nose out of curiosity and I dig that too

[longagoitwastuesday]

I must admit reading Cyrano de Bergerac gets a little funny at times as someone who has a hard time considering people pretty if they don't have an enormous or crooked nose

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Maybe We Meet Again

My Masterlist

In Another Life (prequel to this)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: The first part (of two) of the sequel of In Another Life, set in a Modern!AU.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Mentions of death, descriptions of violence and death, major character death (past), nothing else I can think of.

A/N: Hi, idk what you guys were expecting when it came to the follow up for In Another Life, but I hope you like this. Thank you so much for your support in that work and all the others, none of this would be possible without you guys keeping me sane motivated. Love ya.

Taglist: @1950schick @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​

Ivar’s gaze is focused on his phone, awaiting his brother’s answer to finally know how much longer will it be before he gets to the café, but something makes him lift his gaze, looking out the window.

He sees you looking positively overwhelmed on a street corner, eyes squinting at a sign, trying to read the name of the street.

Ivar doesn’t know what it is that makes him adjust the crutch in his left arm and stand up to approach you. He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t deny the pull, the whisper that if he doesn’t at least learn your name he will regret it.

“Do you need help?” He asks as pleasantly as he is able to, and based by the grateful smile you offer, even if twinged with embarrassment, he isn’t quite the mannerless grump his brothers make him out to be.

“Is it that obvious?” You huff a laugh at yourself, and continue, “I’m trying to find…”

Your eyes lower to your phone, and with an adorable frown in your nose, you give up on whatever it is you must say, and just show him the screen. The name of the university is familiar, but you are very much lost, it seems, for it is almost on the other side of town.

He tells you that, and tries not smiling at the expression on your face. Gods, you are cute.

“You are not from here.” He states, and you shake your head.

“Here on a scholarship, I’m going to be an assistant investigator in…” Your words die again, as you seemingly try to remember the name of the place you are supposed to be at. But you shake yourself out of that soon enough, and offer a smile, “I’m Y/N.”

The name makes something in him react, awaken. For a moment he tries to remember why, to understand, but it feels like trying to run in a dream, in feels strange and hopeless and out of his reach.

Before you can think him too strange, he tells you his name, and desperately tries thinking of something to say in the awkward silence that follows.

He finds himself asking if you have time for a coffee, motioning absently to the shop behind him, and by some turn of his luck, you say yes.

Ivar finds out soon enough that it is incredibly easy to get you to talk. It works for him, he doesn’t always know what to say, and he knows to most people he seems cold.

But you, you are warm and alive and expressive, and soon enough you are moving your hands excitedly, speaking of finally being granted the opportunity to assist in a dig on a ship burial site. Ivar frowns, and interrupts you with a mumble of your name, still not over the strange thrill that goes over him when sounds out the syllables.

“There’s no sea nearby, how w-…”

“A ship burial doesn’t mean one at sea,” You interrupt softly, eyes shining. After a breath, where it seems your smile trembles on your lips, you add, “Things are not as literal as you think they are, Ivar.”

He tries returning the smile, but his lips part and his breath stutters out.

Why does it feel like he’s forgetting something?

He shakes himself out of it, and leans forward on the table, resting his elbows on it and looking into your eyes.

“So, why all this? Why chase a love story all the way to Bække?”

You shrug your shoulders, a smile that Ivar tries not finding devastatingly adorable playing on your lips, “I don’t like secrets.”

“I don’t think they are keeping it particularly from you.”

“Still. I…it’s a story no one else knows, something that can change how we see the world.” Your eyes are shining in a sort of wonder, of excitement, he has never seen before.

Still, because he cannot help it, he reminds you, “How we see one man.”

“A man that changed the world,” You argue without hesitation, gesturing with your hands as you continue, “Strip away the atrocity, the cruelty, the…otherworldliness of those who are remembered as monsters, and the tale we tell changes, the world changes.

You place your hand over the worn book he saw you carrying, that when he asked you told it was your favorite copy of historical and archaeological records detailing the last years of the Golden Age for Vikings, your eyes fiery as they meet his,

“All we have to remember him by is the legend, the war stories, the chaos he sowed and the death that followed. Even his grave is one of magic, of superstition.”

“But not this one you are working on.”

“Not this one. If I can prove that she was his wife…” A breathed laugh leaves your lips, and Ivar clings to the sound. You bite your lip before insisting, “I just need her name to be the right one.”

“The right one?”

You shrug your shoulders, moving both hands so they are wrapped around your cup of coffee, though your fingers are anxiously tapping at the plastic covering. “His last breath was a whisper of a name. It may not mean anything, but it’s the one lead I have. He may have been a monster, but…he died with a name on his lips.”

“The name of his wife.”

You correct with a shake of your head, “Presumed wife, Rus records only speak of a shieldmaiden that was found dead in his room, before he tore the Rus apart from the inside. Sentimentality makes you think he was avenging her. Logic, on the other hand…”

When your words die with a gesture of your hand, Ivar finishes for you,

“Makes you realize he killed her.”

You nod, a twitch of sadness, a shine of grief in your eyes, before you shake your head at yourself with a sigh.

“The night the world ended.” You quote with a smile that trembles on your lips.

____

If someone were to ask him how life turned out this way, how he got to be here with you and have you love him and let him love you back, Ivar wouldn’t know how to answer.

He’s told you before that maybe it is Fate, that maybe, just maybe, you two were meant to be. Each time he speaks of it, you smile softly, usually shaking your head or kissing him to shut him up, but he sees the tremble in your smile, the curiosity in your gaze, the wondering.

Regardless of how he got here, he for once refuses to overthink this, refuses to let himself be twisted into knots by his own thoughts.

So, because he finds himself missing you -because he wants to, because he can, because he asked you to move in and you said yes- Ivar goes in search of you.

He finds you on the couch, your eyes closed and breathing deep even if your laptop is still open on the coffee table, expecting you to continue work you probably fell asleep doing.

More than a year you’ve dedicated to this dig of yours, this investigation. More than a year, you’ve A part of him torments him with thoughts that you may look elsewhere -both when it comes to a home and when it comes to him- when it is done, but he tries not dwelling much on it.

He whispers an endearment as he presses a kiss right under your ear, a gesture and softness a year ago he never would have believed himself capable of.

“C’mon, wake up, Princess. I can’t exactly carry you to bed.”

“There’s a…bed right here,” You make a vague gesture to the tiny space you leave for him to apparently sleep in, “And there’s a me, and a you.”

Ivar tries replying with a whisper of your name, but Gods, you have him wrapped around your pinky, and your smile stops whatever he was going to insist with.

With a sigh, he sits on the small space you leave, and discards the crutch on the floor at his side. Trying to move you so he can lay down and have you rest on his chest, he once again meets resistance.

“No, no, no,” You mutter sleepily, and stiffen so he can’t maneuver you. “I’m comfy. You leave me be, Lothbrok.”

Our arms lift weakly, inviting him to lay partially over you with his head on your chest. It is inviting, especially with the promise of your fingers running through his hair.

So, he desists and settles in place, pressing a kiss to the center over your heart and laying his head on your chest, his arms going underneath you and wrapped tightly around you.

Ivar closes his eyes, and he can hear it beating under his ear, can hear its rhythm as if he could know it by memory.

He turns his head, and presses another kiss to the skin over your heart.

What he wouldn’t do for that heartbeat.

____

You wake him in the early morning whispering excitedly about the chance to finally go to the site, and insisting that he has to come with you.

“It’s her.” You whisper, and your smile is fucking blinding. When he apparently dwells too long on the warmth of that smile, you insist with an excited pitter-patter of your feet that he gets up.

He does, and gets in the car with you, around curses about the cold that you giggle at, an annoyed furrow in his brow you kiss away, and grumbles about how far away it is that you soothe away with soft kisses.

You get ahead of him when you walk towards the stones embedded on the ground you said are in the shape of a ship, and Ivar limps behind you as you approach the biggest of the stones.

Your hair flows everywhere in the wind, and your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself to ward off the cold.

“The one thing that made him human is here,” You say, and he watches as your left hand raises as if to press your palm against the old stone, before you stop yourself. “The one proof that he wasn’t a…a monster. Just a man.

You chuckle, but it is bitter, sorrowful, pained; and your gaze lowers to the ground.

“Or…he was, until he killed her.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, to that look in your eyes, to that pressure he feels deep in his chest. So, Ivar grabs on tighter to his crutch and moves closer to the pillar.

“‘She will return victorious’.” Ivar reads slowly, feeling a pit of dread at the base of his stomach, like he’s at the edge of a cliff and about to fall, like he knows what it feels to have the world end, like…like he-…

Those that followed him, those that chose their Viking roots over Oleg’s Christian ways, stay quite a distance away, they know better than to approach.

Ivar doesn’t know how much time he has spent sitting on this cold grass engraving with shaking hands the words he tries remembering how to spell.

He knows he’s lost a lot of blood, can feel it, sticky and colder by the minute, pooling underneath him. The one blow that managed to land on him, he wishes he could remember who it was, how it happened.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened between your lips breathing a last kiss over his and the light dying in Oleg’s eyes as his body surrendered to the torture.

Even his hand is bleeding, Ivar notices. He remembers faintly of holding on to a small statue when he was told his father died, he remembers the feel of it breaking the skin.

He could die here, he knows.

If he doesn’t let them approach him, if he doesn’t let them stop the bleeding, he will die here, tired and worn and alone, under a pool of his own blood before a monument of his worst mistakes.

He can close his eyes and he can still feel the fathom touch of your hand on his cheek, can still taste the warmth of your smile pressed against his own lips, can still see your gaze filled with love and the promise of forever.

He can still hear your voice, soft and gentle, the whispered hope that maybe Valhalla is another chance to meet again, that maybe in another life there’s hope for…hope.

He finishes the last of the letters, and he sways forward, brow resting against cold stone.

It would be easy, he gathers, to close his eyes and give in to the lull of the memory of your voice, your touch.

But he refuses to.

Because he can also feel your hand giving one last caress before you sentence you both to die, can still taste the tears in your lips as you promise only death will stop you against his own, can still see your dead eyes staring back up at him, his knife deep in your heart.

And so Ivar drops the blooded iron tool before the words he will pray to his very last breath are true: She will return victorious.

He vowed once he would make the world remember him, but the world ended the night he put a knife through your heart. The world -his world- ended, and he finds with cruel clarity that he wants them all to know what it feels.

He will still be the most famous Viking who has ever lived. He will make them all suffer and pay and die. And they will remember the pain and death and chaos. And he will be a legend, if only one they will whisper in fear for the rest of time, if only the legend of a monster in a man’s skin.

Ivar crawls away from the boat made of stone, certain many will try to stop him, even more will try to kill him. Certain they will fail.

They can’t kill him, don’t they know who he is?

“Are you okay?” Your hand on his back, touch making him realize how quickly his breaths are coming out of him. Bu the can’t-…he can’t get his breathing back under control, he can’t…

He moves back, away from the stone -the monument, the grave- and his hand doesn’t grip correctly at the crutch on his side. Almost all his life with these things, he’s never failed to use them, they work as an extension of him by now.

And he realizes with dawning horror he wasn’t reaching for the forearm crutch he’s used to, he was expecting to find a rougher one, wooden and metal and…Gods, he can feel the pain of those iron braces, he can feel the pressure of the bones that try to break under unfitting contraptions.

He cannot keep the scream from leaving his lips when they set the bone back into place, the pressure building from the inside of his leg and the pain threatening to pull him under.

He feels faintly of your hand on his face, trying to help him feel anything other than pain; hears choppily of your voice by his ear, trying to drown out the beat of his own heart.

He can’t tell how much time passes, all he knows is that your touch and your voice prove to be the only thing keeping him conscious.

“I hate those things.” You mutter sometime in the night, and he opens bleary eyes to watch you gritting your teeth at the iron braces that lie somewhere on his left.

“Necessary.” The word leaves him in a gasp, and is all he can say. Still, the Gods would sooner sew his mouth shut for him to refuse arguing.

You have the look of wanting to argue, he knows it, he knows that fire like he knows himself; but you say nothing.

The fire is a different one, but still scalds, when you press your hand over his chest.

He hears you say his name, or…or he thinks he does, and when he looks at you, your eyes are the same. And…how didn’t he know?

His lips form the shape of your name, but he only rasps out grief, horror, regret, his regret.

Your expression falls, your eyes fill with tears. He knows that look, that shine of devastation in your eyes.

You look at him and he sees it written in your eyes, the plea that he doesn’t ask you to make this choice.

But he cannot go on while the threat of them taking you away from him looms over him. Either he loses you for good now, or they do.

A part of him dreads your answer, and another is already certain what your choice will be.

“I’ll stay,” You sentence, and it feels like breathing for the first time in a century, when he fills grateful lungs with air. “Out of love for you, not for the world you want to build.”

But he cannot keep the coldness of his voice, he cannot keep the venom from his lips. Because even if your choice was to stay, he wants to punish you for even thinking about leaving him behind.

“A world where you happen to be one of the most powerful women. Convenient, isn’t it?”

But even as ice cuts and bruises and breaks the skin, your smile is warm.

“I choose this world not for power, but because I cannot fathom a world without you in it.”

“You remember.” Is all you whisper. And he recognizes that expression in your face too, all he knew was the feeling behind it once. You have the look of someone whose world just ended.

____

Sooooo, what do you think? I’m sorry there isn’t much fluff, I’m not good at it. And I’m sorry it ends in a cliffhanger, that isn’t nice, but the last part (which takes place from the Reader’s perspective) will hopefully come soon.

Thank you so much for reading, I would love to know your thoughts on this one!! Love you!!

Maybe Death Gives Up On Us (sequel to this)

[tackyink]

The only reason I've decided to post this is that I think unless I do I won't stop anxiety-editing it and I'd like to move on to something more interesting. And maybe pick up Veleta again, because I had written more than what I posted here and I want to keep working on her.

I can only offer for context that I hail from real life Dressrosa and one day someone asked me what, as a historian, I would do if I ever came across a Poneglyph in the OP world.

— — — — — — — —

Chapter 1

In a remote corner of Paradise, outside of the main travel routes, there was an autumn island called Harlun, and on its shores there was a place called Duster Town, remarkable if only for the fact that every day was exactly the same and nothing of interest ever happened.

Duster Town was acceptably hot in summer, relatively cold in winter, and unavoidably wet and muddy the rest of the year. This had been a big reason for Alex’s stay to last as long as it had: five years and counting. She was fond of the weather because that was what living in summer islands for nearly twenty-two years did to a person.

She had been working in Duster Town’s old, old library since she had arrived there, having secured the job through contacts she had made while studying. Alex was a historian, and there weren’t a lot of secure jobs for people in her field unless one wanted to work under close supervision of government officers. She had never liked research that much, anyway – or rather, she had liked sticking her nose in archives for the sake of it, but the actual process of searching for documents, putting the pieces together and then writing papers sucked. Learning to satisfy her own curiosity was fun, being forced to share that knowledge was not. Besides, if there was an area of research that grabbed her attention more than anything else, it was that conspicuous century-wide blank in human history, and everybody in her profession knew what happened when someone tried to look too closely into that. Ohara was the biggest ‘accident’ that came to mind, but it wasn’t the only one. Things happened to people who knew too much. Everybody was aware of it, but complicit silence was a healthy tactic that her sensible colleagues employed.

Alex had opinions on that, as, admittedly, did most historians she had met, and since opinions were like assholes, she wasn’t going to be the gross weirdo showing hers to other people. Figuratively speaking or not, it was liable to get her in trouble with the law, and that was the last thing Alex wanted.

She liked her library, and even though she was incredibly disappointed that she’d never be able to set foot inside the Tree of Knowledge due to the unfortunate circumstance of having been born too late. Her job was quiet; since she wasn’t a librarian proper, they had put her at the entrance desk to check out and retrieve books, and she handled the petitions for documents researchers sent to the library. The building in which she worked dated back to several centuries, and the foundation upon which it was built, and which housed the local archive, suggested an even earlier date. It contained one of the biggest and best preserved documentary collections in that half of Paradise, so she spent a lot of time digging inside the archive to fulfill the researcher’s requests.

All in all, she thought she had had an amazing run so far, lending books, persecuting tardy neighbors to retrieve them, memorizing catalogs from too much use, and sending informative material to researchers who were actually doing important things with their lives, unlike herself. Her coworkers were few and not very nosy, which she appreciated, because she loved her time alone and wasn’t too fond of talking about the past.

She could see herself growing old in there and getting cobwebs, if sudden changes in the town hall didn’t run her out of the island, and the way things worked in moderately small towns like that, where everybody knew everybody and keeping a job was more a matter of knowing the right people and having been there for a while than being actually competent at it, meant that her position was likely secured in the long run. That said, the local mushrooms by themselves would have tempted her to stay, even without the rest of advantages. Not many of those in her hometown or Sabaody. Lots of heat and not nearly enough rain.

The sun wasn’t yet up when she woke up with an itchy nose in the small apartment she lived in, and a flurry of sneezes alerted her that she should have taken her allergy meds the night before. Navigating the place with closed eyes, she threw on the same skinny jeans and oversized sweater that she had left on a chair two days ago for yet another day at work. It took more effort than someone who had slept so many hours at her age had a right to. Like nearly every morning, really.

The last remaining days of winter had brought the cold in full force, at least for her summer island sensibilities, and after having a steaming cup of red tea that fogged up her glasses, she bundled inside her black coat and red scarf, put on a pair of burgundy gloves, and headed for the library with a thermos full of more tea, making the usual stop at the nearest bakery to buy a croissant. Her hands ached with the chilly breeze.

(She kept a kettle in the library, but there was never too much tea, in her humble opinion, and the thermos kept her freezing hands warm on the way.)

The sun had barely risen when she arrived at the building, an old stone structure that casted its shadow over a private square, though the tall iron fence was open at all times so the people of the town could use the benches and the fancy stone fountain in the middle of it. According to the records Alex had read, the whole area was built four hundred years back or so as the private residence of some rich family that eventually lost its fortune. The basement that doubled as the archive, though, was considerably older, but records stopped around 700 years back, like everywhere else, and so she couldn’t tell how old the foundations were, or what sort of building used to be there in the past without digging a trial trench in the square, something the town hall had been vehemently against when she suggested it. The refusal only made her want to do it more.

She crossed the fence and was halfway through the square when she saw someone in front of the library’s massive oak doors. That was so unusual it made her stop in her tracks. She wasn’t ready to interact with human beings this early in the morning. In fact, the baker was so used to her being absent at that time of the day that the only things she needed to say when she picked up her breakfast were ‘good morning’ and ‘thank you.’

She repositioned her glasses to peek above them and tried to focus her teary eyes on the figure before approaching it. It belonged to a man, obnoxiously tall as many in these seas had a tendency to, who wore a long black coat with a yellow pattern around the hem and a fluffy spotted hat that looked quite ridiculous but also warm, so she wasn’t going to judge in a morning like that. Since he seemed to be looking for something and having no luck, she did what she was paid for, though she was still off the clock, and approached him.

“Hello,” she said to catch his attention. Her voice came out raspy because this was only the fourth word she had uttered since waking up, so she immediately wanted to jump in one of the flowerbeds and melt into the muddy soil. She cleared her throat softly. “Is there anything you need?”

He turned around to look at Alex. He was in his twenties, and his face was kind of familiar. His earrings caught her attention, but then again, she had a bad tendency to not pay much attention to people’s faces and fixate on irrelevant details. This individual’s entire ensemble and circumstances, though, made him difficult to forget overall.

“Do you work here?” He asked.

She barely registered the question, because it was about then that she noticed the smiley yellow faces on his coat and the long-ass sword he held against his shoulder. She hadn’t been able to see them from behind, and if she had, she sure as hell would have kept her distance until he left.

That… had the potential to be really bad.

“Yes,” she said, thinking she should have not, but it was stupid to deny it when there was nowhere else to go in the plaza, she had offered to help, and the only place she could hide in was inside.

After she unlocked the building.

With the keys she was carrying in her hand.

Yeah, honesty had been the right move.

“What are the opening hours?”

That was also unexpected. “Nine AM to eight PM. It’s on the plaque—” She pointed to the side of the door, and she saw someone had vandalized it with rude graffiti. “Not again,” she sighed to herself, and then back to him, “Nine to eight.”

There were still thirty minutes to go, and she hoped to god that he didn’t plan on sticking around until it was time to open.

“I see,” he said, looking pensively at the door. “I’ll be back later, then.”

“Of course,” she replied, smiling, relieved, and then panicking inside because there was a pirate planning on coming to her workplace that morning and this was an anxiety factor she hadn’t asked to be burdened with. He had to be dangerous. People who weren’t dangerous didn’t carry swords around. Not that people who were dangerous sometimes didn’t carry weapons, but at least those had the grace of not putting every stranger around them on edge. And wait a minute, were those tattoos on his fingers? She couldn’t see all the letters, but she could guess, and after she did, she wished she hadn’t.

When she thought he was already done and about to go, she made her even more nervous by saying, “Just to make sure, I heard you have a sizeable medicine collection.”

Ah, so he was looking for something specific. It made more sense than him simply waltzing in for some light reading, she supposed. “You heard right. It’s not updated often, but it was until ten years ago or so.” Then they ran out of funding. “If you’re looking for recent studies, you may not be in luck.”

Medicine. Why medicine? This man was a pirate. Was he a doctor in his ship? She regretted more than ever having such a bad memory for names and faces. She should take a look at the newspaper archive when she went in, just in case.

“Lucky me, then. What I’m looking for is older than that.”

She noticed a bit of a northern accent. He sounded… not quite polite, but not aggressive, either. Clinical. At the same time, it made the innocent statement sound vaguely threatening. She was curious now about what he wanted to read. What if he was one of those weird pirates? There was a chance, she supposed. Like winning the lottery twice, which she didn’t count on.

“That’s good,” she replied awkwardly, and then added in a valiant effort to be left alone, “There’s a café around the corner that’s already open, if you need to kill some time.”

He looked slightly surprised at the courtesy, and nodded before going off.

And when he was far enough to be a very stupid but not totally unsafe to say, she spoke a little louder to tell him, “Excuse me! Weapons aren’t allowed inside the library!”

The dude seemed amused when he looked over his shoulder to look at her, and he didn’t say anything as he walked off.

Nobody could say she hadn’t tried.

❦

Unbearably jittery after the encounter, Alex went on to switch on the lights of the entire building, put the last few books she hadn’t returned to the shelves the day before in their place, and picked up the day’s newspaper to sit down at the front desk to scarf down the croissant and hopefully wash down all that nervous energy with a cup of tea.

If her first encounter in the morning was a sign of what was to come, she could tell her day was going to be shit. She should have known when her own sneezing woke her up.

Alex wasn’t sure when or how her anxiety had started. It just had, a few years prior, seemingly unprompted, and though it wasn’t severe, thankfully, it had a tendency to assault her when she least expected it. Like a pirate. Pirates did that, right? Not all of them, but according to her limited experience there was a fifty-fifty chance that he would, at the very least, turn out to be a pain in the ass.

Still, without any additional intel, she couldn’t think of any ulterior motives for the guy to come to the library. Since she couldn’t do anything to stop him, for her peace of mind, she decided to be willfully optimistic and believe.

Or at least she could try. She had never been too good at this denial thing.

A several bites into her pastry and a few pages into the newspaper, she came across an article about a sunken Marine warship by a pirate submarine, and she choked on her tea when she saw the same smiley face on the picture that accompanied the article. On said submarine. Accompanied by the word “DEATH.” Good on her for guessing what was on his fingers. At the same time, a coworker arrived, and blanching, she said good morning, got up from her seat and made a run for the newspaper archive, where they also kept in storage a copy of every bounty the Marines distributed with the World Economic Journal.

She didn’t have to look too far to see that yes, the face was familiar because it was supposed to be. She had classified it a few times in the last months – every time the guy got a bounty raise.

Surgeon of Death. Heart Pirates. Captain of one of the several rookie crews that were stirring up trouble that year. Those were the worst, they thought they were at the top of the world just because they had made it into the Grand Line. She could deal with older pirates, but she had yet to come across a newbie that wasn’t an unrestrained asshole.

She thought she saw something about dismemberments in the poster, did a double-take because she had surely read wrong, and by the time she was done with all the crimes attributed to the guy she just put the bounty back in place, went to the front desk once again, and told her concerned coworker, “A famous pirate will probably show up today. Don’t mind him. Let’s hope he just wants to read.”

She looked a little frightened. “Should I call the Marines?”

“If worst comes to worst. Let’s try not get involved if we can. He didn’t seem aggressive.”

“Okay,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Good luck out here, I’ll be in the back tagging the new arrivals.”

“Some people are lucky.”

She sighed and turned the page. Sipped on her tea. It was getting cold. Sipped on it again. She just had to play it cool. She was a professional. The guy had been okay to her.

She just hoped he would come soon, because she wasn’t so sure she could drown her nerves in tea anymore.

It was okay.

Everything was surprisingly okay.

The pirate, the day, the lunch she had at the café around the corner – waitress said the guy even tipped – but yes, everything had gone fine.

Alex didn’t move a lot from the lower floor because she often had to come and go from the front desk to the archive, but she made escapades upstairs to make sure everything was still standing.

She had seen the pirate sitting next to a window in the medicine section reading one of those thick tomes that looked very interesting but made her dizzy because she suffered from having a very graphic imagination.

Her coworkers, who roamed up there more often than her, gave her periodic reports, and one of them remarked that he was kind of hot, didn’t she agree?

No, she did not. The radiator was hot. The kettle was hot. The adjective could hardly be applied to a man unless he was on fire.

Though perhaps he was not a human man, because he had spent all day long sitting in the same position, staring at that book. She had to admire that attention span, if nothing else. She was pretty short on that, lately.

And so, having avoided any type of incident during a day in which she was very tense for no reason after all, it came time to close shop.

The pirate was still there.

Her coworkers were, very conveniently, not. She was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that someone had to remind the wanted man that it was late and he had to go.

As much as she wanted to go home and have dinner, the temptation to stay in her post so she didn’t have to interact with a criminal that hacked his victims to pieces was strong, and no one could blame her for it.

But then he appeared.

The massive door in front of her began to open, and Alex thought it was one of her treacherous coworkers returning to pick up something until a head peeked inside the hall.

“Hi?” The newcomer said shyly.

Alex wasn’t sure if the gross amounts of tea she drank every day had finally caught up to her and were making her hallucinate, because she was seeing a polar bear’s face.

“Hi?” She replied, to busy processing what was in front of her to come up with words of her own.

It seemed that that was enough for the bear, because it – no, not it, he? She? How deep was a female bear’s voice anyway? – pushed the door open some more, becoming more visible. A bright orange jumpsuit was not what she was expecting, but the smiley face on its chest and the sight of the sword the pirate had been carrying that morning didn’t leave a lot of room for imagination.

The creature in front of her eyes was a bear walking on two legs. A pirate polar bear. Probably a boy, with that size. Was he a mink? She had never seen one so up close.

“I’m looking for my captain,” he said, clutching the sword against his body. “Is he around?”

Words decided to come back to her, although in a rather clumsy manner. “Oh. Yes. Yes, I think so. He should be upstairs, reading.”

The bear smiled and she melted at the sight. “Can you… tell him to come?”

“Sure,” she said, sealing her fate. She had to face it sooner than later, she thought as she rose from her seat. The bear was still half-hidden by the door, his boots barely touching the tiles of the library. Curious. Was he that shy? “Why don’t you step inside?”

“I thought you can’t enter the library with weapons.”

His reasoning hit her in the solar plexus with the force of a herd of rainbow ponies. “Right,” she breathed out, wondering how something in the planet had managed to be so big and cute at once. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll go get your captain.”

“Thank you!”

Alex walked as fast as she could towards the stairs until she was out of sight and covered her face to keep her reaction under control. So. Goddamn. Cute. Was that how those pirates lived? Trying not to squeal whenever the resident polar bear was being sweet?

Steeling herself, she walked up the remaining steps, hoping the captain had somehow vanished while she wasn’t looking.

No such luck.

She stepped a little more forcefully than necessary as she approached him from behind a shelf, always staying at a safe distance, to try to catch his attention, but he didn’t move.

(The annoying voice in her head told her that the only safe distance from that man was a sea away.)

Could he have been asleep? That would have explained things. What was his name again?

“Mr. Trafalgar?” She tried. She wasn’t sure if she should have made known that she knew who he was, but the deed was done. He looked up. “It’s about time to close and… there’s a polar bear looking for you in the reception hall.”

“Bepo’s here?” He looked in confusion at her, and then at the window. It was dark outside. “I hadn’t noticed it had gotten so late. Eight, right?”

He stretched in the chair. Between the movement and the spotted hat and jeans, he reminded her of an overgrown leopard.

“Almost,” she offered.

He glanced at the book, frowning. Granted, his face seemed to be stuck in a perpetual frown and he didn’t sound angry. “Do you have the same hours tomorrow?”

“Oh, no, we don’t open on Sundays,” she replied, wondering if this was the exact point where the conversation would go downhill. She attempted to make it better. “But you can come on Monday if you want to keep reading.”

He grimaced, this time for real. “Can’t do. We leave on Monday morning.”

“Oh.” A quick stop, then. It was a thing that happened often. The recording time for the Log Pose was less than a day in Harlun. “Well, we could make some photocopies, but…” The book was way too long for that, and he seemed to be about halfway through.

“Can I take it out tonight and give it back to you sometime tomorrow?”

She appreciated wholeheartedly that he wasn’t getting mad at her, but the thought of the book going out of the library like that made all her alarms go off. “Not without a library card.” Which was only for residents, obviously.

She braced for retaliation, but it never came.

The pirate looked kind of conflicted. She didn’t know what was so interesting about the book that he couldn’t find it in another island, and she didn’t need to know the options that were crossing his mind to realize that she probably wouldn’t like them.

Since idiots had to find ways to console themselves, she would tell herself during the following hours that the only reason she made a tremendously stupid offer was to avoid the much worse alternatives.

“I’ll actually be working here tomorrow. The library is closed, but if you’re really that interested, I can let you in.”

Or maybe she was a fucking bleeding heart who couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make someone’s day better for free. But ironically, at what price.

She recognized the emotions on his face. First surprise, then suspicion. “Why would you?”

Because she really was that stupid, she wanted to say. “You’re a doctor, right? I don’t want a dead patient on my conscience because you couldn’t finish a book you needed. Anyway… you’re free to come tomorrow.”

And she left him there, quickly making her way down to retrieve her stuff. The bear had come inside, at last, and he looked up from the documents on Alex’s desk. She would have been surprised if he could read that handwriting.

“He’s coming,” she said with a small smile, but she didn’t know if it showed. She had, on occasion, been asked why she was angry when she tried to smile. “I’m going to pick up my things inside.”

He looked pleased, though. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She went into the back room, taking extra long on purpose until she heard movement outside and the sound of the door closing. By the time she found the courage to crawl out of her hole, the pirates were nowhere to be seen.

She left a note in her desk’s drawer, just in case, saying that if she disappeared under mysterious circumstances, Trafalgar Law was to blame. She had thought about phoning a coworker to alert her, but she wasn’t supposed to let anybody in on Sundays, much less a wanted man, and she didn’t want to risk this incident reaching the ears of the mayor.

For the first time in years, her stomach couldn’t handle the tea and she had to throw most of her cup down the drain. Damn nerves. Her hands were acting up more than usual, to the point where the warmth of the thermos wasn’t doing a lot to soothe the pain. She would have worried about that if it weren’t because of more pressing matters.

❦

Even earlier than the day before, he was already waiting for her at the door when she arrived.

Alex would admit without missing a beat that she had been an idiot for offering – never mind the very real possibility that the guy could have broken in to retrieve the book and left damages the library couldn’t afford to repair – but he was either equally dumb or exceedingly confident for having shown up. Alone. Alex could have called the Marines, for all he knew.

She didn’t miss the sword he was carrying, this time around.

She put two and two together then. Of course. He had appeared before the hour to check that the surroundings were safe.

“I didn’t expect you to actually show up,” he said as a greeting, and she reached for the key in her pocket. His tone was impressed with a good dash of mockery. “Do you know who I am?”

He already knew the answer, since she had called him by name the day before. With only two sentences, he demolished most of the halfway positive impression he had made the day before, and Alex, already predisposed to think he was a dick, decided he was exactly that.

She was tired and anxious, so she couldn’t muster up any facial expression as she said, “Should I care?” Upon noticing that had sounded even worse than she meant to, she added in a hurry, “I mean, what’s the point of asking that? Do you want me to turn around and leave the door locked?”

He didn’t seem to take it badly, thank the heavens. He looked a bit amused, in fact. “I don’t need you to unlock a door.”

“I’m well aware,” she replied in a monotone. “I appreciate you had the courtesy of waiting.” The budget was tight and changing the lock would have been a royal waste of money.

She opened the door and went in first to turn on the lights. He closed the door after going in, and she would have usually locked it again, but she really did not want to be stuck alone inside of a building with a stranger, even if the state of the lock wouldn’t make much of a difference.

“I’ll be working downstairs.” She pointed to an old, reinforced door on the wall behind the front desk. “Give me a heads up when you’re done.”

That sword was making her unnecessarily jumpy. He didn’t need to have it with him.

“Alright,” he said, glancing at the staircase to the second floor, and then he must have noticed that she was giving the sword the stink eye, because he tapped it against his shoulder and smirked. “Got a problem?”

Yeah, one about two meters tall. “None as long as you don’t use it.”

“As long as you don’t give me a reason to.”

She wanted to say a lot of things. That they were alone, that he was kind of a dick, that yes, she was as dumb as he was thinking, and to please leave her alone until he was done and only then appear to say goodbye and thank you.

Instead, she picked up a folder from her desk drawer and a lantern from the wall and left it at, “Enjoy your reading.”

He took the hint and left, and so did she.

The door to the archive closed behind her with a heavy thud, and she lit the lantern.

It was a fire hazard in a library, but it was inevitable, because the basement didn’t have electricity. After many years of pressuring the city hall for a budget increase, the council had seen fit to make renovations and extend the electrical installation to the basement. She just had to keep herself from setting the archive on fire for a couple months and the risk would be no more.

She went to the farthest area from the entrance and set the lantern on an ancient wood table. The basement was pure grey stone from floor to ceiling, making it permanently cold. She hadn’t bothered to take off her coat and scarf, but the gloves had had to go and she wasn’t happy about it. She had icicles for hands as every winter, and this year they had begun to hurt earlier than usual.

Alex had decided to put in some overtime that week because she was researching a family tree that a cousin of the mayor, a pretentious git that paid very well, had commissioned. Something about proving a blood relation to a noble family from a nearby island to have a claim to somebody else’s lands. Alex didn’t care. She had been trained for this thing, a job was a job, and she was going to do it to the best of her ability. Even if she had absolutely loathed genealogy back when she was still a student.

She didn’t think her employer would be too happy with her findings, though, because so far she’d only found a mess of marriages that didn’t bring her any closer to the neighboring island. She even found some records of a family branch that had one of those pesky Ds in the name and then disappeared from record. She supposed they just left the kingdom. She had noticed that every D. that rose to prominence was an outright weirdo, and she wasn’t sure if it was just confirmation bias because boring people didn’t make the news, but damn it they didn’t seem to crop up in the most outlandish incidents. There was the infamous Monkey D. Dragon, his father Garp, who she had seen a couple of times in person and seemed frankly overbearing, the guys in Whitebeard’s crew… And the biggest weirdo of all, of course: the King of Pirates. She’d heard from an acquaintance funny stories of him to last her a lifetime. A lot of the mystique around his figure was lost, but that was one of the things that made history interesting, in her opinion.

Sitting down on the floor to open the cabinet on the lower part of a bookcase, she took a look at the bundles of papers there. It was a seriously old part of the archive, housing documents from six hundred years back, but thanks to the cold and darkness, they had stood fairly well against the tide of time.

She reached inside and pulled out the dozen of tomes at the forefront to make sure noting was trapped behind. That part of the archive had been catalogued way before Alex’s time, after all, and not every archivist had been as careful as they should have. She had learned that the hard way, finding folders that didn’t match the catalog and misplaced pages centuries into the future. Whenever that happened, she passed the mess to her coworkers, the actual archivists, who had a tendency to curse her incessantly until they fixed the issue, but it was all in good humor.

Very carefully, she took the lantern and approached it to the cabinet. She looked inside and stared at the darkness. In fact, she had to stare for a very long while before realizing that she wasn’t looking at the back of the cabinet or even the wall.

There was an empty space there.

A secret compartment?

Work forgotten, she had a good minute of doubt, sitting on the floor. She was severely allergic to dust mites and exploring further was a health hazard. There could be spiders or rats or fungi or lethal mold. She could wait until the next day and ask a coworker to check it out in her stead.

But the temptation. There was only so much willpower she could exert in less than twenty-four hours until she ran out.

Please let it not be rats or fungi, she thought as she peeled off her coat and scarf to avoid getting them dusty, and dived in.

❦

It had been eleven years since he had any anything to remember his parents by other than the bitter memories of how Flevance had gone up in flames.

If someone accused Law of dwelling too much in the past, he would have denied it with full knowledge that he was a liar. But there was a hint of truth in that, and that was that he didn’t think of his dead family often. It was another particular piece of past that haunted him.

There was nothing left of Flevance but ashes and ruin. He knew it well, and that was why he avoided revisiting those times.

And yet.

He closed the book he had just finished, running a finger over the cover. He remembered the nights his parents spent locked in their study, writing the results of their investigations in order to share their knowledge, hoping that a cure could be found in time.

He had spent the last two days reading every word in their voices, surprising himself when he could still recognize in the wording which parts had written who.

He’d been thinking from the moment he’d found the book, the first time in over a decade he had found a copy of it anywhere, that he’d have to let it go, but he wasn’t willing to. He had considered offering to buy it from the librarian, but given she hadn’t even let him take it out the day before, he had a feeling that she would refuse. She was understandably wary of him.

Well, he was already going to hell, so proving her suspicions right wouldn’t make a difference.

He slipped the book inside his coat and went downstairs to find her. He’d at least say thank you before she could find out what he had done. He was mildly curious about her reaction, but he’d make sure to miss that.

He opened the door to the place where she’d said she’d be to be greeted by darkness and a faint light, and he immediately tumbled down half a set of stairs when he set a foot down and only found air.

Cursing under his breath, he fought against the urge to leave unannounced and, going against popular advice, he followed the light at the end of the tunnel. It got increasingly brighter the more he advanced, passing bookcase after bookcase. The way they were set made the basement somewhat labyrinthine, and he was unsure he’d be able to find his way upstairs again if he had to follow the same path he was taking.

And right as he reached the source of light… it disappeared. Briefly. As did half of the librarian’s body inside of a low cabinet in which there was no human way an adult’s torso could fit.

How interesting.

He cleared his throat, and she visibly jumped, hitting her head with a resounding plunk and an ow. She pulled out of the cabinet, looking pretty embarrassed when she faced him.

“Um, oh—Are you heading out?”

“That was the plan.”

“Okay, then,” she said like nothing had happened. Her hair, brown and chin-length, was covered in dust bunnies, as was her sweater. She took off her glasses to clean them with her clothes, revealing a set of dark circles under her eyes that could rival his. When she noticed she couldn’t wipe anything with what she had available, she discarded the glasses on top of a nearby table. “The door’s open, so—”

“What’s in there?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing important,” she said calmly, and rubbed her nose with the back of a hand. “Just old registries.”

She watched her watch him. She wasn’t budging under his stare, but Law could detect lies from miles away. Also dust allergies. He hoped she was getting medicated for those, because this town was supposed to be a quick, relaxing stop, and he wasn’t in the mood to get the corpse of a librarian added to his list of crimes. “Inside the wall?”

“I guess someone saw fit to build a compartment in the cabinet?”

“A compartment where an adult and a lamp can disappear into?”

She spread her arms, as if to make a point. “I’m fairly small.”

“Don’t you say.”

Her expression went from neutral to mildly annoyed as she dropped her arms and the pretense altogether. “You really don’t have anything better to do in town?”

The question would have been fair had there been anything out there other than mud and the tavern his men had occupied since the day they arrived. “Any suggestions?”

She conceded the point. “No, not really.” With a sigh, she nudged her head towards the cabinet. “There’s no wall. I think there’s a hidden room in there. Too wide for a passage.”

“Is this something common in libraries?”

“No, but it is with old buildings, to an extent. And these shelves may be old, but they sure as hell aren’t as ancient as the basement.” She knocked on the wood. “Someone hid that room when this basement was repurposed as an archive.”

Consider his curiosity officially piqued. “Any idea of what’s inside?”

“I was about to find out.”

“So?”

“You want to check it out?” She sounded confused and like she didn’t want to hear the answer to that question.

Too bad he wasn’t feeling charitable. “Sure. You never know where a treasure may be hiding.”

If she had been tense until then, at that moment she looked ready to shove him out with her own hands. “Any objects that may be in there could be historical artifacts and need to be treated as such.”

“And are you going to stop me if I decide to take something?”

Her frown deepened, but there was little else she could do. She had to know that, even if he left just so they wouldn’t have to put up with each other any longer, he could come back any time he wanted, key or not.

There wasn’t as much bite in her voice when she relented. “Be my guest,” she said, offering him the lamp and gesturing towards the cabinet.

“Ladies first,” he replied, which didn’t win him any points, going by her huff, but she didn’t waste more time arguing and headed inside.

And then he was left without any light on his side.

“Well?” She asked, sounding a bit nervous.

“Are you in a hurry?” He said, feeling his way down the cabinet until he found the opening. There. He saw a faint light on the other side.

“Do you enjoy making people uncomfortable?”

“It’s a job perk, so might as—” Thud. His hat fell off his head and rolled to the other side. “—well.”

“…Did you hit your head?”

“No,” he lied, crawling out of the cabinet and picking up his hat.

“That’s why I tried to give you the lamp,” she said with obvious satisfaction, ignoring his reply, and holding the lamp higher to cover as much terrain as possible with the light. “The floor and walls look the same as outside. This is an extension of the basement, built at the same time as the rest of it, by the looks of it.”

“Why do you think someone would block the entrance?”

“To hide something or someone, so there’s a good chance there’s going to be a corpse instead of treasure. In fact, I hope it’s a corpse,” she sentenced.

“You have strange hobbies.”

“You wouldn’t try to steal a corpse. At least I’d avoid a pointless argument.”

Well, that depended on its state. He was bored, and it couldn’t hurt to take a body part back for closer inspection.

“…You wouldn’t, right?”

“Technically, it wouldn't be anyone's property.”

“Just saying, you have no right to judge anybody else’s hobbies. Hm?” She walked forward a few steps, and the light revealed something square standing in the middle of the room.

“Doesn’t look like your corpse,” he said.

“Doesn’t look like your treasure, either,” she replied, but she seemed to tune him out as she approached the object, and by the time she was standing in front of it, her eyes were wide open and her mouth fell a little bit.

Law waited for her to say something, but she was too caught up inspecting the thing. He took a few steps forwards and saw a perfect stone cube with etched inscriptions that covered one of its sides completely, and whatever it was, the librarian must found it fascinating. She was running her free hand over the symbols, leaving trails in the dust, and looking at them so up close that she may as well have been head-butting the stone. He was fairly sure that he had forgotten he was there. And that had to mean something, since she had made clear that she didn’t want him there.

“What is it?” He asked. There wasn’t anything interesting to him about that stone, and the fact that she had the lamp he had refused to take just to be a smartass meant that he couldn’t inspect the rest of the room while she did her thing.

She wasn’t brought out of her reverie right away. When she finally spoke, she took a couple of steps back to look at the entirety of the cube. “It’s a Poneglyph. It makes no sense, but it has to be.”

That didn’t answer anything. “And what’s that supposed to be?”

“A Poneglyph’s a… a record of sorts. There’s an indeterminate number scattered across the world, and they contain… well. Historical records.”

“So something that makes sense to have it in an archive.”

“Well, yes, but no. Poneglyphs contain forbidden knowledge.” Her stare could bore a hole in the stone if she kept it up. “You know the Void Century? Have you heard about the tragedy of Ohara?”

“On passing.” He recalled the news about the Tree of Knowledge burning and the scientists being declared enemies of the World Government. “One of the people involved has joined a pirate crew recently, hasn’t she? Devil Child, they call her.”

“Do they?” It seemed to come as entirely new information for her, and that made her look at him, at last. Without the glasses and under the light of the lamp’s flame, her eyes looked yellow. “I don’t pay that much attention to pirate news. No one ever comes here.” The question of why was he there was left unspoken, and thus unanswered. “Anyway. They are the only remaining records of the Void Century, and its study is prohibited by the World Government. Rumor goes that Ohara’s experts were working on them.”

“World Government covering up stuff then. Nothing new.”

“Indeed.” She switched the lamp to her other hand and glanced back at the Poneglyph. “I wonder why there’s one here. They are supposed to be extremely hard to find.”

“What does it say?”

“I don’t know. Nobody can read them. Maybe the people of Ohara could have, but…” She shrugged. “We’re twenty years late.”

She stared pensively at the Poneglyph, the lines of frustration etched on her face showing more emotion than anything he’d seen so far from her. Then, unexpectedly, she offered the lamp to him. “You want to take a look around, right?”

Their hands brushed for a moment when he took it by the handle, and she turned again towards the stone and crossed her arms.

He was still curious.

“What are you going to do?” He asked.

“Hm? About what?”

“What do you think?”

“The Poneglyph? Did you not hear what I said? Its study is prohibited.” He tone became despondent. “And… the city hall is going to know it’s here in a few months.”

“Why?”

“Renovations. We’re supposed to get electricity in the basement. Lamps are a fire hazard.”

“So it’s your only chance. Could you decipher it?”

“With years of work and research, maybe. But that’s—nah, no way, they reduced an island to bits because of this. It’s not worth the risk. I couldn’t do it anyway.”

“Sounds to me like you’re just making excuses, but what do I know? I’m just a pirate.”

And he started walking around the perimeter of the chamber, in hopes of finding something. After a few minutes of continuous disappointment, the librarian spoke up, and she sounded oddly polite.

“Could you wait here a moment? I want to pick up some material from outside.”

It was his turn to be suspicious. “Won’t you need the light?”

“No, I can navigate this place in the dark. I’ll be right back.”

He supposed that this was too convoluted to be a trap, but he felt kind of naked having left Kikoku in the archive. He didn’t feel uncomfortable for long, though, because true to word, about a minute later and after bonking her head on the way back in, she reappeared in the room with large sheets of paper and several other packs that she stacked up in front of the stone.

“Is that carbon paper?” He asked as he approached her. He hadn’t found anything else in the room, but damn if the library’s resident gremlin wasn’t a welcome entertainment.

“That’s right.” And she climbed on top of the unstable pile of papers and started to smooth the carbon paper over the stone. “I’ll transcribe it back home.”

This was a turn of events he hadn’t seen coming. “What happened to ‘it’s forbidden?’”

“All the good things in life are unhealthy for you.” With one hand, she pulled out a roll of adhesive tape and cut a few pieces with her teeth to stick the carbon paper to the Poneglyph. “Besides, fuck the government.”

Law couldn’t help but smirk at that. “A commendable sentiment.”

“Why, thank you!” She beamed at him, whether sarcastically or not, it was hard to tell. With considerable effort, she kept sticking pieces of carbon paper to the surface. He guessed the plan was to cover it entirely.

“Do you need help?”

“Are you offering?”

For someone who had been so wary of him a few hours earlier, she was a bit of a smartass, herself.

“Good question.”

He thought he heard her snort, but he couldn’t tell if it was because she was annoyed or amused. Probably the former.

“That stack of papers looks very unstable,” he commented.

“Yes, thanks for mentioning it.”

“You aren’t tall enough to reach the corner of the Poneglyph.”

Silence, resignation, and the telltale look of someone who was looking at an infestation beyond the capabilities of pest control. “I don’t suppose you would help me?”

“If you asked nicely.”

She looked at him with a strange face, one that indicated many thoughts and the inability to pick a single one and answer accordingly.

“No?” He tried.

Her eyes narrowed as she motioned to one of the papers. “Can you hold this up for me, please?”

His reply, however, was immediate. “I’ll think about it.”

She sighed, determined to ignore him, and returned to her work like she hadn’t expected anything from him at all, which he thought was a great attitude to have. But again, because he didn’t particularly care to see her slip and crack her head against the stone tiles, he did the tremendous effort of lifting up an arm to hold the paper in place.

She paused to look at him. Stone-faced as she was, it was hard to tell if there was any surprise in there or just mere curiosity, but she smiled a little when she said, “Look at you. Maybe the real treasure was the friends we made along the way.”

He let go of the paper, but since she didn’t stop chuckling to herself, he nudged the stack under her feet to remind her who was in control here.

❦

Alex said goodbye to the pirate that had managed to surpass her admittedly low expectations, but not before filing him under the pain in the ass category. Her classification system stood the test of reality so far.

Relieved at being alone again, she locked the door, did a few stretches, and decided that she’d had a lot of emotions that day and deserved another cup of tea.

One hurdle overcome. The pirate had seemed a way bigger problem before she’d found a fucking Poneglyph in the basement. Now she had no clue what to do with the new one.

It didn’t take her long to realize that she was fucked, no matter how she looked at it.

She felt oddly calm about it at that moment. She supposed it had something to do with the shock of the discovery and that the danger was still nebulous, if certain.

She sipped on her tea.

She was the only person that ventured regularly into that art of the archive, but alerting about the discovery herself was out of the question. If they knew she knew, they’d probably make her not know anything anymore.

The problem was that the construction workers would surely find the door, and now that she and Trafalgar had been walking around the room, there was obvious tampering. Cleaning the dust would get rid of the footprints and marks on the Poneglyph, but the lack of dust would be as suspicious as the sets of footprints.

The next gulp of tea scorched her throat.

So, only two options remained: stay, wait patiently and leave up to chance whether an accident happened to her, and probably the whole library with its workers, or quit her job, take a boat somewhere else and drop off the radar. The first one wasn’t worth the risk.

Two things to take into account with the remaining option: anybody with half a brain could suspect that her sudden departure had something to do with the Poneglyph, and in that case, all suspicions would fall on her. The plus side was that her coworkers would probably be spared.

What to do? It was a long way to her hometown. She could settle back there if she was spared from the government’s suspicions. If not…

Well. There was Sabaody.

Which was stupid for several reasons, the main one being that it was on Marineford’s and Mary Geoise’s doorsteps.

The ache in her hands felt especially acute, even through the heat radiating from the cup.

It would come down to luck, no matter what she did. Maybe she was overthinking the situation and nothing would happen. Workers would move the Poneglyph in the middle of the night, or seal it away while no one was looking, and that would be the end of it.

But assuming a best case scenario would most likely spell death in this situation, and she’d like to avoid that. She may not have had a super interesting life, but she was quite fond of having it.

Reality started to sink in then. Oh, god. She had to make a run for it, didn’t she?

She left the cup aside on her desk and started pacing around and up the stairs to burn energy. She could tell the city hall that a family member was ill and she needed to go back home. That would be sensible, but all the paperwork and finding a replacement for her would take weeks. At least one month would go by before she could leave the island without raising suspicions. Being able to cross the Red Line depended entirely on travel time and the wait for permissions to traverse the Holy Land, both of which would take money she didn’t have. She could probably cover the expenses to get to the Red Line, but not the rest of the way.

She’d need to pick up a quick job in between to replenish her wallet, then.

Why couldn’t she go work to a normal library? Why had this happened to her?

She hurried towards the medical section to put the book back in its place, and when she didn’t find it in the cart, she went to check the desks. All empty. Maybe he had put it back in place?

But all there was where the book should have been was an empty space, and a nervous heat started to rise to Alex’s cheeks as she realized that she had been duped and the son of a bitch had stolen her book after she’d had the generosity to open the door for him on a Sunday so he didn’t have to break and enter.

She was too full of anxious energy, with all that had happened, to sit still and fume silently. She’d never been prone to resignation where there were still options left to try, and if what her near future held for her was a one way trip to Impel Down, getting murdered by a pirate wasn’t the worst that could happen.

Harlun wasn’t big, and it was muddy outside. Very much so. Enough that Alex picked up her belongings, went outside, and, for once, was grateful that the roads were made of dirt and not pavement.

She hurried through the private plaza, carrying her bag on her shoulder, boots stomping on the cobblestones until she reached the road and saw a recent pair of shoe imprints that headed down the street.

With her black coat open and billowing in the wind, she went on Trafalgar Law’s pursue and, to her relief, his trail didn’t lead to the port, but rather to the tavern where every single sailor that stopped in Harlun seemed to spend their days in. Not like they had much of a choice.

A friendly face saluted her from behind the counter as she crossed the door. “Long time no see, A—”

“HiAl,” she said to the bartender so fast that she wasn’t sure if the words came out properly, but she didn’t care, because the bastard she was looking for was sitting on a barstool right in front of her. She couldn’t interpret the look on his face, but what she could tell for sure was that she wanted to deck him in it. “You,” she said, accusatory.

He smirked, and her irritation only grew. “What a coincidence. Here for a drink?”

She inhaled deeply, angrily, walked up to him and dropped her bag on the nearest barstool. Damn, he was tall, and so was his seat. Even sitting down, he towered above her. Not that it mattered, because most people tended to be taller than Alex, so this didn’t register as an intimidating factor. “You know what I’m here for.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You stole my book.”

“Your book?”

She had come here to embarrass herself, hadn’t she? Too late to turn back now. “The library’s book.”

“What makes you think I did?”

Oh, he was insufferable.

“Do you take me for an idiot?” She retorted. “You’re the only person who could have taken it.”

“How so? The library’s closed today.”

Alex’s mouth fell a little bit open at Law’s flippant answer under the curious gaze of Al. “Really?” She said, unimpressed. “I can’t make you return it even if I try, and that’s how you’re going to play it?”

He wore a self-satisfied smile, and he wasn’t even looking at her. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She considered what to say for a few seconds. “Okay,” was the best she could do. She didn’t know why she felt so disappointed. It wasn’t like she had expected anything good from him, from the start. He was right if he thought she was an idiot. “Serves me right for trying to help,” she said, yanking on her bag to retrieve it and turning around without facing him. “Bye, Al.”

Being taken advantage of was the worst feeling.

She hadn’t taken a second step away from him when a hand grabbed her by her left arm and pulled her back.

“Wait,” she heard Trafalgar say. When she turned around, he wasn’t smirking anymore. “What’s the name of the book?”

“You know the name,” she said irritated, confused, and offended that he was invading her personal bubble.

“Do you?”

“Effects of heavy metal poisoning on the cardiovascular system, I think?” She said, punctuating the sentence with a tired sigh. “Do you need the reference too?”

“No. The authors.”

“Are you getting at something or are you just laughing at me?”

He let go of her to search for something in the coat he had discarded on the barstool to his other side. The book she was looking for. He held it up for her, but didn’t offer it, and Alex didn’t try to take it by surprise because there’s no point in stealing when you can’t make a swift escape with the loot.

She looked at the names written below the title. “Doctor…” She muttered, and then she read the surname, and the surname below it, and she blinked a couple of times before redirecting her attention to Law. “You aren’t old enough to have written this book.”

It said Trafalgar. Twice. Family? Was this a con? Did he come from a line of doctors?

“Obviously.”

“A parent?” No, there were two. “Parents?”

“Bingo.”

Alex’s indignation and disappointment fizzled against her will. He was a thief, he’d taken advantage of her good will and was waving the prize in front of her face, she should’ve been furious!

And yet, she had to be a bleeding heart again. “And I don’t suppose you can ask them or the printing press for another copy?”

His response wasn’t immediate, but when he gave one, it was silent. He opened the book from the back, and showed her the words printed behind the back cover:

Printed in Flevance.

That was a resounding no if there ever was one. But did that also mean…? No, he couldn’t have anything to do with that incident, there wasn’t anybody left from Flevance. Perhaps his parents had been working there when war broke out. It was safe to assume that the son of two doctors wouldn’t become a famous pirate if he still had a family to fall back onto. This was a huge can of worms that she had no intentions of opening, though.

“If you’re a liar, you’re a very convincing one,” she admitted. She couldn’t even get rightfully enraged without the universe throwing her a curveball, huh? “All right, keep it. Not that you need my permission.”

With a satisfied smile, he put away the book. “Will you get in trouble?”

“Why do you—” She cut herself short. Not worth asking. “No, I’ll blame you if anybody notices,” she replied. “Al—”

“Not a word.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, and then looked at the pirate once again. “Well, Mr. Trafalgar, it’s been…” Not exactly a pleasure. “Interesting.”

A short laugh escaped him. She had to wonder if it was the alcohol what had him in such high spirits. “Leaving so soon?”

“What, you steal from my workplace and want me to stay for the party?” She asked with incredulity.

“Is it theft if you’re allowing it, though?”

The gall of this dude. “No, thank—”

Suddenly, a red haired man wearing sunglasses indoors and a white jumpsuit entered the scene, putting an arm around Law’s shoulders. “Hey, Captain! Who’s the girl?”

“She’s…”

“A librarian,” she offered. “Just a librarian.”

“Oooh, the librarian!”

“…What—”

“Penguin, come here! It’s the librarian!”

His friend, who wore a cap with the word ‘penguin’ on it that concealed his eyes, but otherwise was dressed exactly like him, walked up to them, “Nice to meet ya!” He wave at her. “You’ve got guts!”

She sensed her chance to make a swift exit was gone. “I think I’m a little lost.”

“Captain said you opened the library just for him.”

“Oh. That.” She was still regretting that. She should have never woken up. Sundays were meant for sleeping. “That’s not guts, it’s being a dumbass.”

The two men laughed, and the first said, “Aren’t they the same?”

She tilted her head, conceding the point. The tilt of their voices was similar to the captain’s, she noticed. Northerners, too. She felt small thinking that they had travelled from practically the opposite side of the world until she remembered she had done the same. The difference was that she had managed to make it boring.

“So what brings you here?” Penguin asked. “Come for a drink after work?”

“No, not really, I was just about to—”

“Come on, have a drink with us!”

“Um, I should really—”

“You live here for long?” The redhead intervened. “I wanna hear about this town. Is it as boring as it looks? Because we’ve been trying to find something to do since we got here.”

“There has to be something.”

Alex smiled a little despite herself, feeling their plight until she remembered the Poneglyph in the archive. “There’s nothing at all.” She turned her head to look at the tables for a moment, hopefully find an excuse to escape. As expected, she saw about a dozen people dressed in the same kind of uniform as those two, but she did a double take when she saw someone clad in orange.

There was the polar bear again, toasting with his friends.

“Is he a mink?” He asked the guys, who grinned at her. She saw Law hide a smile behind his glass before returning his attention to the bear.

He was laughing as he lifted a companion from a chair one handed. Everyone looked so… happy.

“Woah!” Penguin exclaimed. “Second person—”

“Third.”

“Right, third – third person who’s realized what he is since coming to the Grand Line!”

Not surprising. She had never seen any so far from the Red Line. “Is he part of your crew?”

“Yeah, Bepo’s our friend.”

“And our navigator,” Law added.

Aw. Oh, she was getting soft with age.

“Wait here,” said the redhead, “we’ll introduce you!”

“Oh, no need, we already—”

But the two were gone before she could finish her excuse and leave. She supposed there wasn’t any harm in staying a while. She had already demolished her life in a matter of hours, and she didn’t see how this could make it worse. They seemed friendly people, even if their captain was kind of an ass.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” she said quietly, more to herself than anybody else.

Law replied, though. “There aren’t many of them around.”

“No, I’ve seen minks before. I meant a free one.”

Law regarded her with a brand interest that she hadn’t received from him yet. “Are you talking about slaves?”

“You’re headed to the Sabaody Archipelago, right?”

“Eventually.”

“Be careful. Minks aren’t safe there.”

He snorted. “I assure you Bepo can take care of himself.”

Raising her eyebrows at her dismissal, “Don’t underestimate what those people are willing to do to get their hands on a novelty slave.”

“How do you know? Have you been there?”

For longer than she had ever expected to. “Some time ago,” she replied noncommittally. “And it’s dangerous enough for boring people with the kidnapping crews, the human auction, the Celestial Dragons and the Marines so close. You already stand out, but your friend? Keep an eye on him.”

He sounded disgruntled when he said, “You don’t need to tell me,” but it sounded as close to a concession as she thought she was going to get from him.

“Coffee?” Al interrupted to offer one to her. He already had a press in hand.

“Sure,” she said, giving in. She wasn’t going anywhere soon, it seemed, so she climbed on a barstool. “How did you even meet him?” She asked Law, who seemed amused by her interest in his friend. “Don’t they live in the New World?”

“North Blue. We met eleven years ago.”

That was about the last answer she expected. “He’s been with you all along? Wow.”

She felt kind of jealous. She didn’t have any friends from when she was a child. She knew people, sure. A lot of people. Some she liked, many she’d rather not have met at all. A couple of true friends here and there, but no one close by. As much as she enjoyed being alone, and she couldn’t recall a moment in her life she’d felt lonely, she had to wonder how it was like to have such good friends around all the time. It sounded exhausting and fun.

“Yeah,” he agreed, though she hadn’t expected him to, and the admission made her smile a little. “My thoughts exactly.”

[conner-grace]

The Detective and his Little Assistant (part 4)

(Part Index)

Chapter 3: The Plot Thickens

*Warning spoilers if you haven't gotten through 6/13 in the game*

A/N-Before the chapter starts, I want to explain a couple things. First, I chose to make Kaito a witch because I identify myself as a witch, and yes, I do mean witch, not warlock, because witch is, in fact, a gender-neutral term, also due to me being a witch, everything Kito does involved with witchcraft will be based off my own experiences, knowledge, religion and opinions, so please don't tell me I'm wrong unless you can cite a reliable source for your info. Second, for those reading this, who don't know Japanese culture very well, calling someone by their first name without an honorific (-san, -kun, -chan, ect.) unless you know them very well, or they've given you permission, is highly offensive. Please remember these for future chapters :) .

Now to the story.

~~~

Monday, June 13th, After School

*Akechi's P.O.V*

I was listening to the audio data from the pen I downloaded to my phone on the way from the station to work. I was quite happy to see that it hadn't been accidentally turned off throughout the day, despite the likelihood for it to have. I was actually skipping past a bit that seemed to be a personal conversation between her and her friends, though I seemed to be the topic of their talk. If it weren't for my current opinion of Yuno, I might've even blushed at the direction the discussion was going, however, I was disgusted and just trying to get past it.

"Finally." I sigh, getting past it, not surprised that it took up all of lunch. Listening as she head's to pe. "Hmm, who should I ask for help on my homework today?" She either wonders aloud or asks her friends, judging by the steps I heard around her. Her friends offered up names. I quickly realized all the names were all from the top 10 students in the first and second years, 'but most of those kids would never-oh, yeah, blackmail'  I think, my gritting my teeth. 'Wait, thinking about it, not even Kaito-kun would've taken this lying down, so what's she got on him that he doesn't want me to know?'  I knew it as a little self-centered to think I'm the only one who mattered, but it Kaito had in fact told me that my opinion was the only one that mattered to him, and the teachers would never believe any bad rumors about him since he was the star student of nearly every class he was in. He also never cared what any of the students around him thought of him, except, after we became friends, for me. In fact, a couple months after we became friends and before I knew he considered himself a witch by his religion, a kid that that seemed to a rather bad opinion of Kaito-kun and said something about my friend cursing him or something like that. Kaito-kun seemed to not have even heard him, but then froze quickly looked to me, fear flashing through his eye like lightning before he hid it. I realized later he’d been worried about my reaction and trying to hide it. I'd ended up asking if he'd cursed our fellow student, and he'd replied he never cursed anyone, I'd then asked why out of curiosity, and he'd told me it was because cause he was selfish, and since he believed in karma, he didn't want the negative energy of a curse coming back to bite him later.

I felt an earbud pulling me out of my ear, snapping me out of my small trip down memory lane. "Oh don't worry, I've got something special planned for-" I heard through the other earbud as I paused the recording, knowing I'd have to relisten to it later after, hearing an annoyed sigh next to me that I knew belonged to Sae-san.

"Oh, sorry Sae-san. I got lost in thought it seems." I say with a practiced sheepish smile, pulling out the other earbud.

"I hope you know you were so lost in thought you nearly walked into the door." She smirks teasingly. "Maybe you should keep the music for your work-outs only."

"Guess so." I chuckle, remembering the few hours of music Kaito-kun had given for my birthday as well, that I'd put on my phone and started listening to during my early morning runs, and noticing I’d been only a couple steps from walking into the door.

"Well, let's go in then, we've got cases to get to." She smiles.

"Indeed." I smile, opening the door for her.

"Always the gentleman, thank you." She sighs with a smile, walking in.

"Of course, you're welcome." I smile, following in after.

***

Deciding not to listen to the recording until I got to my apartment, considering how I nearly walked into a door the last time I listened to it on my way somewhere. I was heading back to my apartment in the evening light, hoping Kaito-kun had actually taken the advice of my pre-scheduled messages telling him to go to bed…. even if I wasn't following my own advice. I smile, remembering where my mind had wandered before Niijima-san, and how it had ended. My mind started to drift back down memory lane, remembering how after he'd explained why he didn't curse people, he told me he'd actually reported the student for harassing a female classmate. He ran off to the bathroom after telling me that and it took a little while, however, over the next three days the problem student kept having the worst luck. One of the biggest scenes that spread around the school like wildfire, was the when girl he'd been harassing, who was actually quite sweet and quiet for the most part, slapping him across the face before admitting he'd been harassing her, causing him to get suspended. When he came back, he ran towards Kaito-kun and I at lunch, nearly falling on his face in the process, and yelled about Kaito-kun cursing him again, my friend seemed completely surprised and a little lost. Though after he left a sly smirk pulled at Kaito-kun's lips.

"I don't curse people, but I can enhance one's karma." He smirked under his breath, causing me to look at him questioningly.

"So, you had something to do with this?" I asked, though not quite believing he could.

"I'd like to think so. I mean, I did use a spell to make all he's done come back to him three times three." He smirked, snapping his fingers while saying the last word, the problem student tripping over his own feet and falling at the same time, causing his smirk to grow. "I was gonna leave it at the report and try helping the girl, but...he just kept pushing." He sighs.

I learned two things that day; 1: don't piss off the witch; 2: Kaito-kun wasn't all rainbows and shy smiles like I'd seen till that point and I'd even started putting a little more stock in mysticism and such. "I could report you." I smirked, mostly curious to see how he'd react, though not quite sure how that'd go. His reaction surprised me, his face fell slightly, though he tried to hide it as he looked down to his food and started playing with it rather than actually eating it. I'd expected him to just laugh it off, as he did with most things.

"I'd like to see how that goes down, with your rep, it might actually go a bit differently than the 20 or so other accusations." He smirked, though his voice was a little harsh.

"I-I said could, not would." I quickly stated, trying to back peddle out of this point in the conversation.

He’d pinched the bridge of his nose with an annoyed sigh. "Sorry, I'm overreacting, but you wouldn't be the first to report if chose to." He murmured.

"That's a bit obvi-"

"I meant the first I considered a friend to do so." He specifies with a sigh, making me freeze, realizing what the statement meant, 'he's...used to being betrayed, so when the possibility of it happening comes up, he immediately goes on the defensive'

***

I went straight to my computer after locking my door, hooking my phone up to it so I could better analyze and actually edit the recording so I could only keep what was actually important and discard what wasn't, 'like the first disgusting 30 minutes' I think, deleting that time from the file. Starting back at the beginning of Yuno's talk with her friends. "Hmm, who should I ask for help on my homework today?" I knew whoever she asked for help, probably didn't have an actual choice They talked for a few minutes, before settling on a female student who was 2nd place to Kaito-kun in his class, however one of the other friends piped up. "What about Kaito?" I froze, my worries confirmed that he was a target. I could feel my jaw tighten at the insult of them using his first name, especially without an honorific. "Oh don't worry, I've got something special planned for Kaito today." Yuno giggles, the rest joining her. My hand starts curling into a fist 'what the hell did you do?!' I mentally growl before skipping past, and deleting most the silence of the pe class until I heard Yuno talking to the girl she chose for helping with her homework. Judging by the girl's voice, I was right in assuming her victims at least don't feel like they had a choice in helping her. While she was heading to her next her next class, she told her friends about taping notes to Kaito-kun's locker 'so that's why he seemed a little off after school' I think, feeling the leather strain around my fist. Skipping past and deleting her silent work, stopping when I heard them starting on the notes for his locker, saying what they wrote mostly stupid shit, that had me grinding my teeth and wanting to punch them like 'fag', 'looser', 'freak', then I barely stopped my fist from hitting the desk with the last one, "you're lucky we're not dealing with Salem trails stupid witch". Forcing my hand to relax as I buried my head in my hands, knowing if I hadn't been wearing my gloves, my fingernails would be digging into my scalp right now as they continued.

"If that bitch used my pen to write that." I hissed, ending with a growl that many might've described as murderous as I continued listening, not even wanting to think about what else they might’ve done to him.

"Why not just go ahead and tape a picture of a vase of flowers to his locker Yuno-chan?" One of the friends snickered. "I can't do that, Kaito might freeze long enough for Goro-kun to see, or he might actually tell." Yuno giggled.

*SLAM* my hand hits the desk hard enough I might have actually bruised it hearing that. "Do. Not. Use. My. First. Name." I growled, wishing she could hear venom dripping from every word, wishing I could throttle both of them for that considering doing something like that was a way of telling someone to kill themselves.

"Why didn't you use his pen?" One of the friends smirk, causing me to sigh in relief. "Cause if he manages to find out, he'll never forgive me." Yuno sighs.

'Oh-ho-ho, we're way past no forgiveness bitch' I think with a dark chuckle, getting the last bit of evidence and wishing I had a punching bag in my apartment, as I get up and head to the bath to try and calm myself down enough to go to sleep.

 *Akira's P.O.V*

I had just got back to Lablanc after talking with everyone at the dinner, Makoto-san, third-year, and the student council president had figured out who the phantom thieves were.

"You're back-whoa, you look tired. Long day?" Sojiro-san asks from behind the counter.

'You have no idea' I think with a sigh, nodding my head to my caretaker while I was on probation. "Your day any better?" I ask, deciding to strike up some conversation.

"If slow is better, then yes." He says with a slight smirk.

"Heh, well then, guess I'll head up." I say, not having much else I could say to him.

"Actually..." Sijiro perks up slightly. "Do any students from Aoyama use the station as you?"

"Uh, yeah, Akechi Goro, we actually talked a little this morning too." I say, though figuring that wasn't who he was wondering about.

"No one else?" He asks, trying to seem disinterested...and failing.

I thought for a moment, before remembering the smaller boy that ran over to Akechi-senpai. "Yeah, actually, a boy, around my age, but a bit shorter." I answer, I definitely had Sojiro-san's attention, even if he was trying to hide it. "Akechi-senpai introduced him...Sasaki, Sasaki..." I trailed off, trying to remember his first name.

"Sasaki Kaito, he's short and rather shy?" Sojiro-san offers.

[nvya-s]

Pendulum

KEITH/LANCE / EXPLICIT / READ ON AO3

3. EARTH YEAR 3021.1.26 / 1409 HOURS

“Keith—”

“Not now, Lance.”

So there’s this thing Lance never talks about, even though Lance always been that person. That person who throws all his cards on the table because it’s easier than dealing with the awkward quiet that’ll follow the inevitable revelations about exposing those embarrassing secrets. Even Pidge knows most of his more unconventional fantasies, whether she asked for the details or not, and Hunk’s nosiness about Lance’s personal business was a big part of how they became friends in the first place. But this? Nah, this is off-limits. His sexual cryptonite. And you just don’t go around broadcasting your biggest weakness. That’s self-preservation 101.

Because when Keith is mad — like actually punch you in the face, knock you off your feet, break your nose mad — he’s kind of hot. To be more specific, Keith is the kind of hot that makes Lance’s toes curl on suggestion alone. He’s the kind of hot Lance thinks about at night, when he’s left alone with nothing but the company of his right hand. He’s the kind of hot that sticks to your skin and nothing short of an ice-cold shower at three in the morning can cool you down.

You see, Keith is the best wet dream Lance never had. When he gets, like, real riled up he does this thing with his mouth that’s stuck between a frown and a snarl. His lips curl and he shows his teeth and his eyes narrow, and it’s all weird, feral and predatory. Probably the Galra blood, Lance reasons, and that’s a whole other side of the fantasy. And yeah, maybe Lance needles Keith harder than he should, screws with his head just for the sake of it, but it gets his motor running every time.

“Keith, buddy, seriously—”

Lance makes a grab for his arm and he spins around with a harsh glare, seething, “I said not now.”

“No. Nope. Not doing this. Not gonna let you go run off by yourself to go pout in a corner. If you got something to say, you say it to my face.” He digs his fingers into Keith’s forearm and feels the tendons contracting just below the rough fabric of his flight suit. Size can be deceiving; Keith is crazy strong. But instead of answering to Lance’s pestering, he locks his jaw in frustration and pins Lance with a furious stare. And yeah, maybe Lance is a little pissed too because Keith’s a goddamn fucker.

Three years since Lance flew them straight into an intergalactic war and Keith is still too much of a stick in the mud to relax on a subdued mission. Or let anyone else have fun for that matter. Fighting had been messy after all, but it was also simple, and for the longest time that simplicity was the bulk of their job as Defenders of the Universe. They knew how to fight. With the Galran Empire overthrown, however, instead of warriors with guns and swords, the paladins are intergalactic diplomats. To make sure all these newly freed worlds are on the same page, they attend stuffy meetings and balls and all that dull shit. Any reasonable person can only take so much.

So, yeah, maybe Lance had made an inappropriate pass at the chancellor’s daughter, but it wasn’t like Keith never screwed up these peace-keeping excursions either or that he didn’t suffer from excess adrenaline the way Lance did. Forgive Lance for being a little sexually frustrated on top of everything else. He was bored and he missed shooting stuff.

Keith's irritable voice breaks him from his musings, voice low and dangerous just the way Lance likes it, “Why can’t you just listen to anyone?”

They’ve got thirty ticks, give or take a margin of five, ‘til Shiro gets antsy, marches over and breaks them up, which is always a waste. Lance needs to seal this deal fast. “You wanna burn some steam? Forget the Sim and give me a go.” He pauses, knowing he runs the risk of overshooting, but old habits die hard. “Unless you’re scared.”

Keith’s nostrils flare and he twists his arm out of Lance’s grasp. He snaps without breaking any eye contact, “Yeah, Fine. I'll play. I’ll knock you flat on your lazy ass in thirty seconds.”

Shiro clears his throat on the other side of the locker room but Lance doesn’t bother to look over. Keith is right where he needs him and Lance can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face, even while Keith scowls at him. They’re safe. Hook, line, and sinker. Lance is a tactical genius, underappreciated in his time.

They make quick work changing out of their flight suits and into training sweats in silence. Lance catalogues what he can in the flash of Keith’s bony knees, round calves, taut thighs — Lance was always a leg guy — and he itches with anticipation. It won’t go anywhere, it never does, but the chase can be good. The chase can be real good.

By the time they make it to the training deck, they’re taking the typical jabs at each other. This is all familiar territory. Lance forever dreams of besting Keith at something but what that something is becomes blurred with time. And they both know Keith is fast, quicker than Lance even on his best days and Keith’s worst, but Lance is wiry enough to out-maneuver him if he doesn’t lose focus.

They don’t waste much time. They’re awkward when they train together and Keith never goes as hard against Lance as he can. But Lance isn’t thwarted and he goes in for the kill, tripping Keith up and shoving him to the ground.

Keith gasps when Lance grabs a fistful of his hair, shoving his face against the ground. “So you like it rough, beautiful?”

“Cut that shit out,” Keith hisses, breath puffing loud against the cool floor as he strains to sneer at Lance over his shoulder. “Did you want a fight? Or are you tryin’ to get me in bed too?”

Ah. Well if that’s not the million dollar question, huh. Lance licks his lips and cocks his head with a sly smile. If he’s gonna drive them down this dead-end road then he may as well go full throttle and enjoy the lights before they crash. Keith is pretty into all that high-risk shit anyway. “Mm. I’m pretty down for either, you know? What’s your preference, pretty boy?”

“Ugh. You’re so gross,” Keith grunts, a flash of white teeth before he swings his left arm back against Lance’s elbow and easily breaks the hold.

Lance scrambles back to his feet fast enough but catches Keith grin at him, a cocksure tilt to one corner of his mouth. Lance hesitates at the sight of that smile, as he’s prone to do, and that’s all it takes. Keith strikes him with a sharp elbow to the chest and he hits the ground hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. He’s wheezing as Keith straddles his waist and shoves his forearm hard against his throat, face hovering just inches above. They stare at each other for a minute or two and Keith is dead serious, his face a tight line and eyes flashing with fury, and Lance loses it.

“God you’re so hot,” he blurts out as soon as he can speak. Because fuck dignity. Fuck common sense. Fuck Keith for God’s sake. Lance just wants him, wants him, wants him and he’s tired of waiting for Keith to make the first move. If Lance gets punched in the face for this, then at least he’ll know where he stands. Either way, his cards are just gonna be thrown all over this god-forsaken table.

But Keith doesn’t hit him. He just stops dead and a line of sweat beads above his brow, falling down his face with a glistening trail. Pieces of his bangs are matted to his forehead and his whole mess of hair curls at the ends, in that cute way it does every time Lance catches him after he’s been rolling around on the training deck. He opens his mouth and closes it again, panting heavy straight in Lance’s face. He finally chokes out a strained “What?”

Lance squirms, suddenly awkward, struggling beneath the weight of Keith’s body still firm against his chest. He swallows, puffing up with all the confidence he can muster despite how red he knows his face is. Clearly, he’s an idiot. “I said you’re hot. Like, your flight suit is way too tight and you have a really nice butt hot. Like, I want to bang you in the showers hot. I mean, dude, I get half hard just watching you go after the gladiator.”

Keith’s faces shifts from bewilderment to interested curiosity before it lands on confusion. Lance opens his mouth to say something else, maybe even take it back because this idea is sounding worse and worse by the minute, but Keith makes his move. He yanks Lance up by his shirt collar and kisses him open-mouthed, hard, eager, and wet. Lance goes pliant, letting Keith settle the rest of his weight on top of his chest, laying there and pinning Lance down like a lead anchor.

Lance swears his body will burn a hole right through the ground.

1. EARTH YEAR 3016.8.13 / 1203 HOURS

“He’s staring again.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re cute,” Hunk offers.

“Dude,” Lance whispers, leaning over his tray. He gives a perfunctory glance around the room at the sea of uniformed cadets lost in their own conversations. Lance’s first semester was going swell for all of two weeks. “Did you see him on the Flight Sim? He is obviously a demon, sent from the fiery depths of hell, and he’s after my soul.”

Hunk is kind enough to look mildly alarmed, tossing a wary glance at Keith on the other side of the mess hall. He tilts his head in, dropping his own voice to whisper with Lance. “You think?”

“He beat Shiro’s record,” Lance hisses, waving his hands for emphasis. “Freaking Shiro. He can’t be human.”

And that jerk, with that stupid mess of bad hair, is still staring at Lance like an idiot. Well, that’s just perfect isn’t it. Lance puts on his most charming grin and winks in his direction, mouthing suck my dick before plopping an indistinguishable piece of dehydrated fruit in his mouth.

Keith scowls and flips him off.

4. EARTH YEAR 3021.1.30 / 0842 HOURS

Three agonizing days come and go in silence after Keith feels Lance up in the middle of the training deck. It’s one day, Lance thinks, for each year he’s spent in space convincing himself he hates Keith. It’s one day to consider each misstep that left him tumbling down this staircase. It’s one day to consider each new and strange tilt to their rivalry. Falling in love with Keith is a lot like a slow descent through the seven circles of hell.

Things are kinda starting to feel like old times when they run into a minor scuffle on a former Galra outpost and a underground group of loyalists scale an attack. They fight hard because they always do and by the time they go to level Voltron, their enemies know they’re done for. They win easily and make quick work but for the first time in months, they return to the castle bruised and dirty but still hyped up on adrenaline. Lance is overcome with the need to work the last of that energy off on Keith.

“You alright, man?” Hunks asks, tired and relieved as ever that they made it back in one piece.

“Never better. You know I always bounce back.” Lance answers with a lazy grin. He stretches his aching shoulder until the joint pops. It’d been a ground fight for the most part and Lance was covered in ashy alien soil, which felt like engine grime and smelled like exhaust fumes. “Gonna go hit the showers though.” He glances around until he spots Keith pulling off his helmet and chatting with Shiro. “Did’ya hear that — I’m gonna go hit the showers.”

Keith blinks in his direction and tilts his head, like he has no idea why Lance is yelling. So, he’s either screwing with Lance or is just being an idiot. Both possibilities are equally plausible, and when it comes to Keith it’s impossible to tell the difference.

Innuendo out the window, Lance gives a long-suffering sigh. This is what he has to work with. Maybe in another reality he’d take Keith on an actual date, get to know him the regular way, and they could go to movies and share an ice cream sundae. And they’d hook up because Keith would actually understand what the heck Lance was saying at any given time.

Then again that’d probably be weird too because it’s Keith and even though his tongue has literally been down Lance’s throat, the idea sounds ridiculous in any reality.

By the time he makes it to the showers, his energy has tumbled and he’s willing to admit that he actually hurts. That’s usually when he starts to forget how far they’ve come and he feels again just a little like a scared kid trying to make a name for himself against all odds. As he pulls off his flight suit he looks at the splotches of red and purple scattered across his skin. He remembers when violence became a routine part of his life but not when he started to enjoy it.

Lance wonders if this is normally how it feels to grow up, or if this is wrong.

2. EARTH YEAR 3018.7.19 / 0221 HOURS

The hangers are always too cold. Being down there makes you feel small.

Keith speaks in a hard, chilled voice. “I still think about leaving."

Lance stays quiet and lets the soft electrical buzz of the Black Lion punctuate the silence, watching Keith out of the peripherals of his vision. Back in flight school, they trained them for the worst-case-scenarios in combat. They talked about losing members of their squads and how to maintain morale, recognize the signs of grief, that sort of thing. Lance never thought to liken it to losing a limb, but when Shiro disappears he watches Keith thrash around like a shark that’s lost it’s fins.

It’s been three months, which is a long time to miss someone, but a short time to grow up as much as they have. Lance certainly feels older, but that’s sort of what makes it so weird. He’s old enough to acknowledge and accept this responsibility with little regret, but young enough to mourn for the life he didn’t get to have. In that other life, perhaps, he’d be normal college student who’s plans and worries only went as far as his next big exam. It’s easy to feel young when you don’t have to think too hard about the future beyond a single semester.

“And just because, you know, I’m not cut out for this,” Keith continues, talking more to himself than Lance. “I don’t want this. I never did. But I can’t ask this of of anyone if I’m not willing to do it myself, right? I can’t be that person.”

“Nah. You’re a good leader,” Lance says with a yawn, trying his best to sound casual. He leans back against the metal railing, shoves his hands down his pockets, and stares up at the open hatch above his head. He wonders why he crawled inside in the first place and why Keith didn’t ask him to leave.

“No,” Keith says, because he’s awful and an ass and can never agree with a single thing Lance says. “I’m not.”

5. EARTH YEAR 3021.2.7 / 1908 HOURS

“Shut up.” Keith half-pushes him into the mattress, palms gliding over his waist and down his hips. He kisses Lance, rough and needy, just like the first time. Just like every time. “We need to talk.”

Lance would like to point out that’s hard to do when Keith has his mouth otherwise occupied, but he’d also just as soon ignore those ominous words. Here, in his bedroom they are as secluded as they can be and even a fight feels uncomfortably intimate. Keith has an odd way of handling things.

“I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else,” Keith mumbles against his lips, a strange desperate tinge to his voice. “I don’t care about the flirting, but don’t mess around behind my back.”

"Yeah, cool. We're exclusive. Got it," Lance huffs. His voice trails off into a moan as Keith snakes a hand between them, trailing his touch all the way down to fondle Lance's balls through the fabric of his pajamas. Turns out Keith also has an odd way of punishing him. “Had no idea you were such a — Ah — r-romantic.”

A knee wiggles between Lance’s thighs and the bed creaks. Keith bites down on his collarbone, teeth a tad sharper they probably should be, and Lance squirms. It’s a stupid request, like sex with anyone else would ever compare to this, but Lance supposes he dug his own grave by propositioning an attractive sentry on their last mission. He doesn’t even mind so long as Keith is the one to bury him alive. How’s that for militant fatalism?

Hard to believe they still haven’t progressed far beyond awkward post-battle make-outs, poorly timed kisses in dark hallways, and some heavy petting, but it’s a work in progress. Keith leaves bruises all along Lance’s thighs and Lance presses his fingertips into the shallow spaces between Keith’s ribs, those spots where splotches of purple skin aren’t always bruises.

They suffocate each other with truths between all their old lies.

3. EARTH YEAR 3020.12.24 / 0900 HOURS

Winning wars isn't as simple as it sounded back in Lance’s World History classes. Overthrowing an empire is the easy part, believe it or not, because it’s easy to recognize pure evil. All the gray that falls between gets real fuzzy and there is still so, so much work to do. Allura proclaimed that she'd pick up the remaining responsibilities herself if that’s what it takes as the Altean heir. And here Lance is back on Earth, shoes sinking into real dirt, surrounded by real grass, hearing real cicadas buzzing in the trees, and breathing air that smells so much like home it brings actual tears to his eyes. He’s going back up, he knows it the moment he steps outside, even though he doesn’t have to.

They don't say how Allura and Coran don't have anything else, unlike Lance, Hunk, and Pidge who forever have pieces of their lives scattered on Earth. A nagging thought eats at his core.

And it’ll be hard, especially when his mother is holding him and who knows what they’ll say not knowing where he’s been all these years, but Lance knows he’s going back up. It’d be pretty boring up there without him after all.

“You OK?”

Lance glances toward Keith behind him, as he leans heavy against Blue’s frame. He’s been quiet since they landed, hanging back with Allura while the other paladins talk and laugh about their homes, their former schools, and families. Lance feels heavy and tired, a little mad at himself for not thinking about it until right then. He smiles, chest tight with the words they don’t ever say. “You wanna come with me?”

Just like Shiro, Lance won’t push it and he knows the answer won’t be any different for him. But Keith wavers and and his eyes dart to the ground. Just for a split second, he thinks of saying yes. He almost, almost says it and Lance’s heart screams.

“Nah, I’ll pass.”

6. EARTH YEAR 3021.2.14 / 1524 HOURS

The Red Lion likes both of them. Well, at least Red likes Lance in the same way you like your in-laws. They’re there and they’re technically family but if push comes to shove you’re not really on their side. It’s cool though. Lance flew with her when Shiro was still missing but she was never really his. It’d always been a tad unnerving, being able to feel the residuals of Keith’s energy in there but he also figured it was a hundred times worse for Keith in the Black Lion. He’d missed Shiro so, so much.

Those memories tug at Lance now, despite the years that lay between them. Although everything is fixed now, Lance still remembers how it felt to hold the broken pieces. And now Keith is here, careful, drawing maps across Lance’s body just in case he ever forget the way home, because he feels it too.

Lance forces himself back to the present, here in Red's cockpit under very different circumstances.

At least they’re getting better at this. The slide of their tongues remains clumsy and raw - moving both around skin and their words and maybe that’s just them - but practice is helping. As much as Lance loves the thrill of their hurried makeout sessions after space excursions and halfhearted arguments, this is nice too. Keith kisses rough but his hands are soft, those divergent layers of his personality coming full bloom right through his touch.

They grind against each other and Lance’s back presses hard against the hull and he shoves back against Keith, bodies reaching for as much pressure as possible. They’re off the back of the hull, grasping and tugging at each other and the energy shifts.

“Gotta say,” Lance licks his lips, groaning into another wet kiss. “Always thought my first time would be in a car.”

“Classy,” Keith mumbles, shoving him down into the pilot’s seat.

He straddles Lance’s lap, knees squeezed snugly on either side of his hips, and his mouth is back hot against Lance’s lips. Who knows where this started and the possibilities flash behind his eyes. He thinks of running his mouth on the training deck but thinks it was it long before that. Did Lance fall in love with Keith the night he chose a life with him over a life on Earth. Was it the day he sat with Keith for hours in the hull of the Black Lion. Or did Lance love him the moment he saw him, dark eyes and messy hair, untouchable on the other side of a school cafeteria.

It’s all a blur now, lights on the side of the road. They hit the ground and they accelerate.

Keith’s palms find their way beneath Lance’s shirt and he shoves against the skin, finding all those soft points that make Lance moan. This is going to come back to screw them both over the next time they’re on a mission and all they can think of is their heavy breathing over the comms — and fuck does that turn Lance on — and the memory of being all over each other. This is a bad, bad idea and Lance loves it. It was his idea, of course.

And Lance doesn’t ever go down without a fight. He tugs Keith’s shirt over his head and grapples with his belt until it clanks to the ground. Keith pushes him back down and Lance’s back arches in the chair. It’s not exactly comfortable, and there’s not nearly enough room for both of them, but the welcoming slap of skin makes up for it.

“S’ I sorta like it when you’re rough.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Keith hums, giving Lance that cocksure grin that makes him spread his knees. They grind against each other and Keith undoes the button of Lance’s jeans, leaving the motion frustratingly unfinished as his cock strains against the denim.

“Dammit Keith. I’was thinkin’ ‘bout this all day when we were runnin’ drills and I could hear you panting into the comms. Y’always get so worked up. Can’t stand it.”

Keith growls a reply against his skin, whatever he says lost in the vibrations on Lance’s throat, but it’s something filthy and guttural that warms Lance to his bones. “Show me,” he says, breathy but clearer as he backs off to look Lance in the eye, “Show me how much you wanted it.”

Eyes hooded behind dark lashes, Lance smirks up at Keith to hide the small pathetic noise in his throat. “Don’t — Don’t stop talking, ‘right?” He trails a hand down his bare stomach and slips his fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, lust-filled gaze focused on Keith as he pulls himself out. He gives a tentative stroke and Keith takes a sharp inhale. “Like it when you watch too. S’hot.”

“Yeah. Good,” Keith mumbles. He balances himself with one hand digging into Lance’s shoulder so his other is free to lazily rub himself through his pants.

Lance continues, more confident, as he twists his wrist and gives a playful flick to his cockhead. “Like that, babe?”

Keith’s mouth twitches. He likes to pretend he hates the pet names — Lance knows better — and that frustrated line appears between his brows. “Hold up. I gotta—”

Keith climbs off to kick off his boots and shimmies out of his pants and boxers. He has no qualms about being naked, and Lance had seen him more than a dozen times even before they started messing around, but it never gets old. The soft red glow of the cockpit accentuates each curve of bone under taut skin, peppered with tiny scars and old, fading bruises. He’s fully hard — worked up indeed — and the way his cock curves makes Lance squirm in anticipation.

“C’mere,” Lance lets his left hand fall back down to fondle himself and he motions Keith forward with his other hand, grabbing hold of Keith’s hip as soon as he’s close enough. “You still wanna do this?”

“Of course I do,” Keith huffs, shoving Lance’s shoulders back down into the seat. “Are you backing out?”

“No way!” Lance digs into the pocket of his loosened jeans and pulls out the bottle of lube — a prize won only through an infinitely awkward and scarring conversation with Coran — and unscrews the lid. He lowers his voice, serious, “But if you change your mind…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. But, sometime today Lance.”

If you’d told Lance, at any point in his life really, that he’d be fingering Keith Kogane in the hull of a giant robot lion he’d never of believed it. Reality is weird. His life is weird. And Altean lubricant comes out of the bottle much warmer than KY brand — something Lance only knows from the masturbatory curiosity that came with being fifteen — and yeah, this is weird. But it’s also really nice as he eases his middle finger inside and watches Keith’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth fall open.

Lance intends to move slow but Keith urges him on, rocking his hips back against his hand, demanding a second finger, and then a third, and everything starts to blend together. Every now and then Lance hits something that makes Keith’s legs squeeze on either side of Lance’s hips and then with another turn, Lance makes him moan.

The rest happens in a daze. Keith shoves Lance’s hand away and poises himself above his cock. He eases down and Lance’s toes curl. Blunt nails dig into Lance’s arms and Keith’s breath is heavy on the shell of his ear. Up, and then down, back up. Lance matches Keith’s rhythm with his hand. They’re not going to last long and in the recess of his mind, Lance can feel his orgasm building strong and steady. “Why—” he chokes. “Why haven’t we— haven’t we been doing this— Th’whole time.”

“I— Dunno.”

“Ugh. Keith. I could’a been fucking you for years. Why didn’t you tell me?!”

"You're so embarrassing," Keith laughs, the sound light and cool, just before his breath hitches. He’s glossy eyed and flushed, more beautiful than Lance has ever seen him, and he’ll immortalize this scene forever. Keith dips his hand lower and fondles his balls, jerking himself faster with the other, and Lance steadies him with firm hands on his hips. Keith groans, wrecked and callous.

“You coming yet?” Lance’s voice is low. He digs his heels into the seat and squeezes Keith harder. “C’mon. That’s it.”

Keith’s hips snap forward and Lance loses it, coming inside Keith with an unbidden string of obscenities he doesn’t think he’s ever said out loud. Keith whispers his name, a tender and delicate sound, and spills onto Lance’s stomach with trembling legs.

They come down from the high in bleary awareness and the soft electrical buzz overcomes the sounds of their breathing. Keith presses himself against Lance, managing to squeeze their bodies together in the chair being mindless of his own come making their bellies stick together. Lance threads his hands through Keith’s hair and exhales. They kiss one more time, slow and breathless. Lance doesn’t remember feeling this close to another person, ever.

Beneath that unexpected wave of emotion — and the looming threat of naming that emotion with far more perilous words — Lance suddenly laughs. He pulls playfully on a lock of Keith’s hair. “Hey look, man, we fogged up the windows.”

7. EARTH YEAR 3022.11.26 / 1142 HOURS

They are both liars. This is their common ground. Keith's altruism, heroism, and inherent goodness is everything that made Lance want to dissect him from the beginning. It was all a facade. Beneath that mask is the same sinking mud Lance is made of. What Keith doesn't realize is that the thing he believes makes him a monster is exactly what makes him human.

Survival is not the objective of soldiers. Finding the strength to push their own humanity down for the sake of the greater good - that is the objective of soldiers. Neither of the were made for this. They just want to live for themselves.

Now, they sit on the shore of an alien ocean and the salty air smells familiar enough to overpower three moons in the lavender sky.

"So, why'd you join the Galaxy Garrison anyway?"

Keith is quiet for a minute and Lance swallows. It's a rhetorical question. Lance knows, no matter what Keith says, the answer is Shiro. It doesn't bother Lance like it used to.

"I wanted," Keith's gaze is set on the sky, eyes glassy and clear. "I just... wanted to be someone."

Funny, Lance thinks. He'd give the exact same answer and it'd be just as untruthful as it coming from Keith.

But Lance doesn't mind Keith's flaws. He doesn't mind those painfully human traits. He understands the need for self-preservation and pride. They're honest with each other even if they're not with themselves, and Lance loves Keith's ugliness as much as Keith loves his.

The funny thing about falling for someone is you don't realize you're falling until you hit the ground.