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athenasbloodyspear · 4 years

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Say Something to Stop Me: Chapter 4

Writing Master List | Say Something to Stop Me Master List

Please note: This fic describes depression, anxiety, panic attacks, past/referenced non con and domestic violence. Please read at your own discretion.

The drive to the dive bar down the road from the compound was short. Well, it was short when Bucky was definitely driving 100 miles an hour.

Your hair whipped in the wind behind you and you could feel the deep rumble of the bike underneath you.

“I didn’t think you’d be this scared.” Bucky yelled over the sound of the engine and the wind. “C’mon Doll. Open your eyes.”

You peeled your face away from his shoulder blades and opened your eyes. If you were being honest with yourself, you hadn’t kept your face buried in his back because you were scared. He just smelled so goddamn good. Like leather and spice. Clean. It had felt nice, to just feel the wind and him.

Now that your eyes were open however, you realized how gorgeous the tree lined road looked right now. It was just at the beginning of fall and the leaves had started to change into brilliant reds, oranges and yellows.

“Wow…” you muttered. The wind tore the words away as you breathed in the crisp air and looked all around you. “It’s gorgeous.”

You looked forward again and caught Bucky glancing at you over his shoulder. “Yeah. It is.” He murmured back. Just loud enough to be heard over the engine and the wind.

Bucky shifted the engine down as you approached the little dive bar that was tucked back in the woods. You hadn’t been here in over two years, but it was still exactly as you remembered it. Dilapidated old sign out front, mostly motorcycles and old pick-up trucks in the parking lot. There were a few groups of men standing outside smoking cigarettes.

Bucky pulled into the dirt lot and found a spot to park his bike. You stepped off, surprised at how your legs felt slightly like jelly after being wrapped around that rumbling machine for a while.

The men smoking outside the bar all seemed to be looking your way. Some discreetly, some openly staring at the two of you. Did they recognize you? You supposed two Avengers at the bar down the street from the compound were probably pretty recognizable. You resisted the urge to run your fingers through your hair self consciously. Who cares what these random men thought of your tousled hair, right?

Bucky stepped off the bike and threw his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. “Alright little lady, lets get some grub.”

He steered you straight through the crowd of smoke and men and opened the front door for you.

“Thanks” you mumbled and stepped into the dim light of the bar.

It smelled like stale cigarettes and old beer. There were pool tables to your right, and some low tables to your left with booths lining the left wall. Straight in front of you was a long wooden bar with two incredible beefy and tattooed men as bartenders. A jukebox near the back wall was playing old 70’s music. You loved it instantly. You took a deep breath in through your nose, relishing in the old school grunge of it all.

You walked toward a booth in the corner of the bar that had a good view of the door. You knew it was unlikely that anyone would try to attack the both of you at a bar down the road from your own compound, but you had a hard time feeling comfortable in public spaces unless you could see all the entrances and exits. You knew Bucky would feel the same.

You slid into the booth and grabbed one of the dirty menus that was tucked between the ketchup and mustard bottles on the table. Bucky slid into his seat across from you and pulled off his jacket. It was a damn shame that you couldn’t see his shirt rise up again from this angle.

“I’m going to order probably three burgers.” Bucky said “I’m starved after that giant beat the crap out of me this morning.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, he was so busy telling me about which members of the court had been keeping secret love affairs this afternoon I never got lunch.”

Bucky laughed “That’s right! How did face masks with the demi-god go this afternoon?”

“It was great.” You smiled. “I missed him.” You looked up from the menu and saw that Bucky was staring at you with a soft, almost melancholy smile on his face. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just nice to see you smile like that again. I’m a little jealous that the giant brute is the one who made you smile, but I’d let him beat the shit out of me every day if that’s what it took to see you light up again.” Bucky said this so casually, grabbing a menu to look at it, but your heart skipped several beats.

Bucky? Jealous? Of Thor??

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain if I had to watch the two of you go at it everyday.” You really wouldn’t. Seeing Bucky fight did have a strange effect on you. He was always so confident in his movements, never second guessing a punch or a dodge. Plus there was the bonus of seeing him all sweaty and panting. It really did something to you, not that you’d admit it out loud.

“Yeah. I bet you wouldn’t.” Bucky looked at you over the top of his menu and winked.

Again, what was it with every fucking room you were in together and it getting about 20 degrees warmer when he looked at you?

You forced your eyes back down the menu. You decided you’d get a burger too, and a side of fries, and maybe a beer. You plopped the menu down and looked around the bar. You took your jacket off as well. Your body temperature had risen and the last thing you wanted was to start noticeably sweating right now.

Bucky plopped his menu down too and folded his hands on the table top. You kept looking around the bar. You were still warm from his admission and couldn’t muster up the strength to look him in the eye.

“I missed you.” Bucky says suddenly. You whip your head toward him.

“You did?”

“Of course I did, you brat. I told you before. I had a lot of fun in Budapest. Going to those bars and sitting along the river. It had been a while since I had just enjoyed being somewhere without looking over my shoulder.” You flushed again. How could he sit there so calmly and say something like that to you? Did he know how hard your heart was beating in your chest? “Then I didn’t hear from you for a while. It freaked me out, you know? I started to wonder if I had imagined that whole trip.”

“Oh fuck, Bucky. No it was great. I had a really great time too. I’m sorry. When I got back things kinda… well shit hit the fan I guess…”

You got cut off by one of the large tattooed bartenders approaching your table. You turned to look at him, but Bucky’s eyes stayed on you.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender grunted.

“Um hey. Yeah. Can I get a double cheeseburger, a large order of fries and whatever lager you guys have on tap?”

The bartender just grunted again, scribbling on a tiny notepad. “And you?”

“Can I get three bacon cheeseburgers, a large order of onion rings and a jack and coke?” Bucky still hadn’t taken his eyes off you while he ordered. You were looking at the table, having a hard time looking him in the eye, but you could see him staring at you out of your peripheral vision.

The bartender grunted again as he walked away, seemingly undisturbed by the fact that Bucky had just ordered three whole cheeseburgers to himself. Maybe Bucky came here a lot and he was used to it? Your chest pinched a bit at the thought that you didn’t know if Bucky came here a lot or not.

“So, shit hit the fan?” Bucky prompted. You looked back up at him.

“Uh. Yeah. I came home to kind of a rough situation. I uh… didn’t handle it well. Then I was just sort of embarrassed and didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I think I created a negative feedback loop for myself. The more I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, the more I pushed myself away from you all and then I felt even less comfortable trying to talk to anyone.”

“I get it.” Bucky said. Finally pulling his eyes from you to glance around the bar. “I wasn’t exactly great at talking about things when I first got here either, you know.”

You tilted your head a bit as you stared at his profile. The soft colored light coming from the many neon beer signs hung above the bar cast shadows across his jaw and cheekbones. He looked like a greek god, or something out of an old movie from the 70’s. Maybe both.

You really thought about it then. Bucky was right. He had been pretty quiet and reserved when he had first gotten here, almost like he didn’t trust himself to speak in front of others. When he’d come back from Wakanda he had been a little more peaceful and talkative, but it had taken a few months for him to really open up.

When you two had been in Budapest was when you finally got to know more about him on a deeper level than before. It had been the first time that you had been on an extended mission just the two of you. A month, sharing a little safe house in a busy neighborhood of Budapest, tracking a few operatives for Tony. It was a little overkill to have you both there, but Steve had insisted it would be safer for both of you to be there since they didn’t have anywhere else to send people at the moment.

For a month you two had spent your afternoons tailing people around the city and your evenings sipping unicum while sitting at cafes along the river. You had talked about nearly everything under the sun. He had told you about his time in Wakanda, tending goats and reading every novel he could get his hands on. You had laughed at the thought of Bucky taking care of goats everyday, but he had said it was nice to get away from the world and just focus on taking care of something else for a change.

You had told him about how you started at SHIELD as a low level agent and filled in the holes of what he knew about your promotions and being added to the team. You’d commiserated about how painful the serum transition was, and how much you both loved that stubborn stick-in-the-mud Steve. He’d told you about when they were kids growing up in Brooklyn, about him being drafted for the war. He’d never enlisted because he didn’t want Steve to be left behind, but he was drafted anyway. (Steve still had no idea he hadn’t made the choice himself.) He told you about the adventures of the Howling Commandos and he even spoke a bit about his time with Hydra.

“I know, Buck.” You sighed, dropping your eyes to look at your hands. You started picking at your cuticles to keep your hands from shaking. You felt a small twinge in your stomach. Bucky had been so open with you in Budapest. Something he rarely was with anyone, and you hadn’t been in return.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Bucky murmured. You glanced back up at him. He was looking at you again. He didn’t have an ounce of judgement in his eyes. He was just there, allowing you space to be honest with him. Your heart clenched in your chest.

“He didn’t want anything to do with the Avengers.” You sighed finally. Your blood was rushing in your ears, it felt like a panic attack was coming on but you had a deep desire to finally say this to him. He had been so patient and honest with you, it was time to return it. “He hated you. All of you. So much. When I had first been moved to work more directly with the team was the first time that we got into a fight. Like a real fight.”

Bucky shifted a bit in his seat across from you, but stayed silent.

You continued. “He was always angry with me whenever I brought you guys up. Always saying things about how you were all superhuman and didn’t know how to be normal people. That you were all just meatheads with hero complexes. Whenever we would argue and I would happen to slip up and mention one of you he would lose his mind. Just screaming at me to stop comparing him to you ‘freaks.’” You took a deep breath. “So I just started to hide shit from him. When I kept getting promoted, I just told him it was in a different department, that I wasn’t working with the Avengers anymore. He never really asked about work anyway so it wasn’t that hard to keep it a secret.”

You glanced up at Bucky then. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, he was staring out across the bar with his jaw tightly clenched. His hands were fisted where they rested on the table.

“How long were you together?” Bucky asked through clenched teeth.

“My whole adult life.” He looked at you again, the smallest amount of surprise on his face. “We met in highschool. We were just friends until I went to college. He had just showed up at my dorm one day at Harvard and told me that he couldn’t stand the thought of me being with anyone else. We had been dating ever since. Right before I joined the Avengers as a full fledged team member he proposed and we moved in together.”

Bucky hummed in response to that information, tearing his eyes from you to look back over the bar. “So, why didn’t anyone know this?”

“Tony knew.” You responded. “Well… he knew enough. That I was with someone who wanted to be kept away from the world of SHIELD. I didn’t really tell anyone else because I knew if he found out that I talked about him to any of you he would lose his mind. It just kinda… got away from me I guess. One little secret or half truth just kept piling together until it felt like I was living a double life.”

It was silent for a moment. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you were still breathing. That was a good sign. “I’m really sorry Bucky. I never meant to hurt you or keep anything from you--”

“Stop.” Bucky cut you off, looking you directly in the eye again. It felt like he was looking at the very core of your being. “Never ever apologize to me for that. It wasn’t your fault. You were just trying to protect yourself.”

“Bucky… I--” you started, but you were cut off by the bartender returning with a tray loaded with food. He dropped all your food and drinks at the center of the table with a grunt and walked away.

Bucky reached across the table to squeeze your hand once. “Thank you for telling me.” He grabbed his first burger and dug in. You smiled at him across the table. Your heart squeezed again in your chest. He always knew exactly how to make you feel safe, how far he could push you without hurting you. It was amazing how light and warm you felt around him.

He looked up from his burger and mumbled “What?” through a mouthful of food. You dropped your head back and laughed. A real, warm laugh that bubbled up through your chest. You looked at him again and saw him break into a wide grin, his whole face lit up as his eyes scanned your face.

“Nothing, Buck. I’m just really happy I’m here.” You said as you picked up your burger to finally take a bite.

He swallowed and looked at you for a long moment before saying “I’m really happy you’re here too.”

~0~

You woke up the next morning feeling more refreshed than you had in a really long time. You stretched and smiled up at the ceiling, thinking over the night before.

You and Bucky had spent the rest of your meal chatting and laughing and enjoying each other's company. Bucky filled you in on some missions that had happened while you were away and told you about all the different books he’d read lately. You gave him a highlight reel of Asgardian court drama. He had the most intoxicating laugh. When you really got him going, his nose scrunched up a bit while he giggled and it made your heart flip in your chest.

Suddenly, Friday’s lilt broke through the fog of your daydreaming about Bucky’s smile above you, his chain dangling down from his chest…

“Tony is on his way to your room to discuss something. I thought you may want to get dressed before he arrives. You have approximately 3 minutes before he steps off the elevator on this floor.”

You groaned and shoved your face into your pillow. Both at the direction your thoughts had involuntarily turned, and Friday’s interruption of a wonderful daydream. “Thank you.”

You quickly rushed to your closet to throw on some sweats. You had just stepped back into your room when there was a knock on your door. “It’s open!” You called.

Tony swung open the door and leaned against the door frame “Morning kid.”

“Morning Dad. ” You chuckled, walking over to stand in front of Tony, crossing your arms over your chest. “To what do I owe this early morning honor?”

“First of all, I am not nearly old enough to be your father. Second, you up for a mission? We got a big one. Gonna need a whole team.”

You nearly jumped up and down with joy. Hell yeah you wanted to go on a mission. “First, you may not be old enough, but you and Steve definitely act like my fathers. And second, I thought you’d never ask.”

“Hey” Tony pointed at you. “Captain Righteous is nearly a hundred. He’s at least old enough to be your dad.” You cackled. “Alright suit up and meet us in the conference room. We’re gonna go over the plan and send you all on your way.”

“Right on. Who’s all on board?”

“Flappy bird, megatron, the queen of hearts, Mr. Righteous himself and Archie.”

You laughed out loud again. “Jesus Tony you’re snappy this morning. And you dragged Clint away from home? This must be a big job.”

“I just needed a sharpshooter on the outside to help Sam. It’s a tall building so cover up in the air is gonna be important.” He turned and sauntered back toward the elevator “You got eight minutes to be downstairs kiddo.”

“Aye aye Captain.” You called, turning to rush back to your closet to suit up. You heard Tony yell “I resent that title!” from the hall.

~0~

You hauled ass back down to the conference room, strapping knives to your thighs and guns to your hips as you went. You were in your signature tight kevlar black suit, with a cross body harness around your back with an M429 strapped across your back. You had a glock on both hips and a huge stash of ammo strapped across your chest.

It felt… amazing. It had been so long since you had suited up for real. You felt powerful. No one could touch you when you were dressed like this.

You stepped into the conference room. Just as Tony said, Sam, Bucky, Nat, Cap and Clint were already there, armed to the teeth and ready to rumble.

Clint called out when you stepped in the room “Hey! Long time no see superstar!”

You giggled. “Hey Clint.” You glanced around the room again. Bucky, in his usual mission armor of a thick kevlar jacket and combat pants, was sitting all the way across the room. Combat boots propped up on the conference table, leaning back in his chair.

He didn’t seem to be aware of the way that his eyes were scanning up and down your body, his tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip before his eyes caught yours. He flinched slightly, like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. You smirked at him and saluted before plopping down in the chair at the end of the conference table, adjusting the gun strapped to your back slightly so you could lean back in your chair.

Someone had to be turning up the heat in the compound. Why were you always so fucking hot?

“Alright assholes, here’s the plan. There’s a rumor that there’s some Hydra intel being passed around by a group of high class drug dealers in Croatia.” Tony started off. “And I need you to infiltrate their building and get it.”

“Drug dealers, Tony? You’re sending all of us after some dudes slinging cocaine?” Clint piped up from his spot to Tony’s left. “I am not missing my kids T-ball game for this.”

“Due to how loaded these dudes are, I don’t think cocaine is all they trade Clint. Plus, the building we need you to get in is a skyscraper that’s about 40 stories high and I need you in an adjacent building for cover.”

Tony then proceeded to cover the plan. Sam and Clint would offer cover from the air and nearby buildings. You and Bucky would be a battering team on the inside, clearing a path for Natasha and Steve to get to the main computer mainframe on the top floor. Then, you all would repel down the side of the skyscraper to a nearby helipad where the quinjet would be waiting for you. It was a relatively simple extraction, but Tony had a premonition that the place would be heavily guarded and well equipped.

“Get in, and get out. I’m not overly concerned with the status of any of the dudes in there. Kill if you have to, but don’t worry about bringing every one of them down. I’m more interested in whatever they have on their mainframe that’s making them guard it so heavily. Okay?” Tony finished.

Everyone nodded their affirmatives.

“See you tonight.” Tony remarked as he stepped out of the room.

“Alright everyone, grab whatever else you need. Meet on the jet in five.” Cap said, standing to walk towards the jet to prep for take off.

You all stood and began walking out the back doors to the landing pad where the jet was currently parked, all fueled and ready for your mission. No doubt stocked with any weapons that any of you may need as well as the equipment needed to repel down the side of the building after you’d gotten the information.

Bucky sauntered up next to you as you walked toward the jet and bumped your hip with his. “Nervous?”

You looked at him, feigning outrage. “Are you implying I can’t do my job Barnes?”

He laughed. “No. I think you’re one of the best of us. I’m just saying it’s been, what, a year? Since you’ve put on this tight little suit and shot some people.”

You blushed. “Kicking ass is kinda like riding a bike Bucky. You can’t ever really forget how to do it once you’ve mastered it.”

He let out a humourless chuckle. “Don’t I know it, Doll. Don’t I know it.”

You bumped your hip against his again. “C’mon Barnes. Let’s show these punks how it’s done.”

He looked at you again, a real smile on his face. “Welcome back, Y/N. It’s been a while.”

You just rolled your eyes and walked up the ramp to the jet, plopping into a seat and strapping yourself in.

~0~

After the approximately five hour jet ride to Croatia, you all got out of your seats and stretched a bit. No one chatted much in the flight over there. You all typically took the time to breathe and prepare for the mission, going over schematics and floor plans in your head.

Steve handed Bucky, Nat and you a harness for repelling before pulling one on himself. You stepped into yours pulling the straps up and around your hips, clipping it in front. You began to try to tighten the straps around your thighs when a hand brushed your lower back. Bucky leaned in, his breath ghosting across the back of your neck.

“Here. Let me help.” He reached around your back to grab the strap on your right thigh, his left hand went to the small of your waist to steady you while he tugged roughly, tightening the harness so it was snug on your right hip, then he switched his hand position to tighten the other side. You felt your whole body flush and your abdomen filled with fire. His hands rested on either hip from behind you. “That feel good?” He murmured.

“Yeah. Perfect.” You breathed out. You flushed instantly at how breathless you sounded. Bucky patted your hips twice before turning to grab a few more weapons to strap to yourself. You took a deep breath to try to steady your racing heart, and lifted your eyes. You caught Nat staring at you.

She shook her head softly and gave you a smirk that said “I saw that.” It was almost painful how much you wanted to cover your face with your hands. You had to get your head on straight. You were about to charge into a building where people wanted to kill you. You couldn’t be thinking about how warm Bucky’s hands had felt on your hips, how his chin had lightly brushed the shell of your ear, or the pulsing heat low in your abdomen.

Focus.

“Alright, turn your coms on. Everyone ready?” Cap called from the back of the jet.

You all grunted your affirmatives. You started bouncing on the balls of your feet to warm up your muscles, shaking out your hands.

“Okay. Sam and Clint, you all head out first. We won’t start in until we hear affirmatives that you’re in position.” Cap said. He threw a backpack at Bucky. “Here’s your repelling gear. We’re going in pairs. There’s a clip in there that will strap you to Y/N.”

You looked at Bucky. He just looked back at you with an arrogant smirk and strapped the backpack to his back.

~0~

After Clint and Sam had gotten into position, you and Bucky were up. You both walked down the ramp of the quinjet. Once Nat and Cap exited the jet, it would go into stealth mode and autopilot up to the helipad that you would meet it on, staying hidden from any onlookers.

You and Bucky started your route to the main floor of the building. You’d bust in the back door and clear the main floor of any hostiles, before heading up the east stairwell, keeping it clear so that Steve and Nat could head up behind you to the room with the mainframe.

You both snuck up to the back door, luckily thus far you hadn’t run into anyone. Bucky flipped around so his back was to the wall next to the door. He motioned for you to stand right behind him. He looked at you over his shoulder and whispered “Ready?”

You winked and whispered back “Always.” He grinned and turned back to the door, firing twice at each hinge before rearing back and kicking it in.

Phew. He is so damn good at this.

He pushed in through the door, his gun at the ready and scanned the room. You followed in behind him, your backs together to make sure no one heard his shots and followed in behind you.

“There’s easily eight on this floor. If not more.” He whispered over his shoulder. “You ready?”

“What did I say, Barnes? I’m always ready.”

He chuckled softly. “Alrighty then, sweetheart. Let’s kick some ass.”

You felt his back shift away from yours, you spun ducking behind a half wall and aimed around a corner. As soon as you heard his gun unload, you started picking off hostiles one by one. When you had fired at everyone in your line of sight you popped up to follow the path that Bucky had gunned down in front of you.

You stepped around a corner to get a better look at the open area of the main entrance. Suddenly two arms wrapped around you from behind. One coming to cover your mouth. You grunted and swung an elbow back into the gut of the man who had grabbed you, causing him to falter in his grip. You swung your head back to smash into his nose. You heard a nasty crunch and a scream come from your assailant. Your adrenaline was pounding. You felt so fucking strong.

You whipped around, swinging your M249 back across your back. You swung your left foot out to take out his knees. He collapsed in front of you. You brought your gun back around you and smashed the hilt against the back of his head to make sure he stayed down.

You sensed another assailant to your left and instinctively ducked as he fired directly at your head. You swung around and launched yourself at him, wrapping both legs around his neck and then letting your body fall heavily toward the ground, dragging him to the ground and flipping him at the last second so his body swung hard against the ground. You ripped a glock out of your thigh holster and fired twice into his chest. Breathing hard you looked up to scan your surroundings.

It was just Bucky, standing between two dead operatives, grinning at you. “How do you feel, princess?”

You smiled back at him, panting a bit. “I feel fucking amazing.”

He smirked at you. “That’s my girl.”

You blushed. The fire returned to your abdomen.

Dear fucking god.

“Nat, Cap, we’re clear. We’re going to start our trek up the stairs.” Bucky said into his ear piece. Then he smiled at you again. “Let’s go rockstar.”

You trailed him again, backs together as you moved instinctually against him toward the stairs. It felt so natural to be here. Back softly pressed against Bucky’s, huge gun in your hands, firing on anyone who entered the stairwell below you. Feeling Bucky’s back flex as he fired, and lunged and tossed hostiles over the railing of the spiraling stairwell.

It was like magic when you worked together.

You finally made it to the top level and Bucky kicked the door into a few men who had been blocking the other side. You both whipped through the door. You fired a few shots at a couple of operatives, then slammed the hilt of your gun into the throat of a man who had gotten a little too close for comfort before grabbing him by the front of his jacket and slamming a fist into his nose, knocking him unconscious.

You spun and caught the tail end of Bucky kicking a man in the middle of his chest, hurtling him back into the stairwell and down a flight of stairs before his head cracked against the concrete wall.

“You’re relatively clear.” Bucky called into the coms. “We’re gonna scope out this floor, but you should be good to come up.”

“On our way.” Nat said through the line.

Bucky looked at you and silently motioned for you to follow him through the hallway. You nodded and stepped over the body in front of you, taking up your position at his flank.

You snuck through the halls, peeking in doors and down hallways, but found no one.

“It’s a little too quiet up here.” Bucky whispered. You hummed in agreement.

“We’re in.” Cap whispered through the coms. “I’m gonna stand guard on Nat. You two find a good spot to repel.”

“On it.” You said to Cap.

Bucky spun around and you headed back in the direction of the computer database. You rounded the corner and stepped into a large L-shaped open concept office space with floor to ceiling windows on the back wall that looked out onto the building with the helipad. You couldn’t see the quinjet, but you knew that meant that the camouflage was still in place.

You both silently crept across the open room. There was something about the room that made your stomach turn. It was too open. Too quiet. “Bucky…” you whispered.

Suddenly he snagged you around the waist and hauled you to the ground, just as a few bullets ricocheted off the wall of filing cabinets behind you. Right where your head had been.

You were flat on your back, chests melded together. He was scanning the room in the direction of where the bullets had come from. “Stay down” He whispered before rolling off of you and crawling in the direction of the perpetrator.

You picked your head up and flipped over to your stomach, army crawling in the other direction. You had to be sure it wasn’t just a diversion, that there weren’t other men with guns on the other side of the room waiting for Bucky to get distracted.

You sat with your back against the wall of filing cabinets, catching your breath and listening for any movement. Bucky was out of your line of sight, he had to be crouched between filing cabinets, stalking his prey.

You suddenly heard a very small creak, coming from somewhere between the desks behind this wall of cabinets. You took a deep breath, grabbed both glocks from your hips, and whipped around the corner.

You saw two shadows move to your left and you let a smattering of bullets fly in that direction. Two bodies went down somewhere to your left and you spun to your right just in time to duck as a fist swung for your jaw. You bull rushed the guy, wrapping your arms around his waist and slamming your body weight into his gut, tackling him to the ground. Behind you, you could hear shots being fired across the room.

You sat up, straddling him, and with your gun still in your fist, punched him once square in the nose. He spat blood up into your face and choked out “Bitch.” You just smirked and slammed your fist against his skull again, this time knocking him out cold.

“Asshole.” You said down to his unconscious form. You hopped up, both glocks held out in front of you, but you had managed to down every agent on your side of the room. You spun, heading back in the direction that you heard Bucky’s voice alongside an unfamiliar one.

“Put your gun down. Let’s make this interesting, shall we?” The unfamiliar voice crooned.

“My pleasure.” That was Bucky. You heard the thud of what you assumed was his gun being dropped on the floor.

Are you fucking kidding me?

You began weaving through desks toward where you heard the voices, coming from around the corner of the large office space. You could hear grunts and the sounds of fists meeting flesh. When you rounded the corner you saw the unknown man had Bucky in a headlock, cutting off Bucky’s oxygen.

“Fuck me.” You groaned. Both of their heads whipped up to look at you at the same time. Bucky was pretty red in the face.

Without hesitating you lifted your glock and put a hole in the strange man's forehead. It was a pretty close shot, but you were a good aim and you weren’t overly concerned about hitting Buck in the process.

The man dropped to the floor and Bucky fell to his hands and knees, sucking in deep breaths. You stomped over to him, stopping a few inches from where he crouched, and put your hands on your hips to stare down at him.

“Thanks sweet-” Bucky had started to choke out.

“What the actual fuck was that James Buchanan Barnes.” You spit down at him. You were boiling with anger. How dare he? How dare he fucking try to have some macho fight and nearly get himself killed. You almost wanted to kill him yourself, just to prove a fucking point. You were seething.

He just coughed out a laugh and looked up at you with a big grin on his face. “You’re kinda cute when you’re angry.”

You spun on your heel and walked toward the wall of windows behind him. “And you’re kind of an idiot when you’re high on adrenaline James.”

He chuckled again, hauling himself to his feet. He snagged his gun and strapped it over his shoulder. He walked up next to you and punched his metal arm through the drywall of the wall next to the windows. You flinched and looked at him.

What the hell?

“Gotta find a beam to strap ourselves to, Doll.” He smirked at you. He ripped a piece of drywall out with his fist, revealing a big metal I-beam. “We’re set in the office space at the end of the hall whenever you two get your shit together.” He panted into the com.

Nat’s amused voice answered “We’re on our way, but it sounds like you’re the one who needs to get your shit together Barnes.”

You punched Bucky in the shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again you idiot.”

“I knew you’d get him.” Bucky responded, pulling the repelling cable out of the bag on his back and wrapping an end around the I-beam, securing it together.

“That was a pretty close shot Buck.”

“Like I said” he panted, as he clipped a hook to the cable, and then to the harness around his waist. “I knew you’d get him.” He turned to you with a big stupid grin on his face. “You know…” He started, stepping into you “I normally hate when people use my full name, but when it’s coming from your lips I kinda love it.” You were nearly chest to chest now. He flicked your nose.

“Fuck you, James.” You spit. He just chuckled and bit his lower lip. He extended the hook from the middle of his torso to clip into the harness in the middle of yours. There was now only about an inch of space between the two of you. You were sharing every breath.

Behind you, you could hear footsteps as Nat and Steve came running into the room. They made a beeline for your position, Steve ripped their cable from his backpack and began securing it around the I-beam and strapping himself to Nat.

Bucky started to walk backwards toward the giant window behind him. Nat fired her glock a few times at the glass above your heads, causing the glass to shatter and fall away leaving a big opening for you to repel out of. You closed your eyes as glass fell around you.

Bucky wrapped his right arm around your waist and you felt his metal arm pull slightly on the cable, checking for tension. You opened your eyes and found his blue eyes piercing into yours.

“Ready sweetheart?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes. “What have I been saying all day James? I’m alw--”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence because Bucky stepped backward off the edge of the building without taking his eyes off yours.

~0~

You free fell for a few heart beats before Bucky pushed his feet against the wall to slow your descent. As you repelled, you could hear the soft whistling of Clint’s arrows through the air and the shattering of windows around you as he picked off anyone who tried to stop your momentum.

When you reached the level of the building you were supposed to drop onto Bucky tightened his grip around the cable, slowing your momentum. You flinched a bit at the sound of metal scraping metal as the cable slid along his palm.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” You asked.

He shrugged. “A little, I can only kinda feel it. It definitely doesn’t hurt as bad as I’m sure Cap’s hand does right now, even with a kevlar glove.”

So that’s why they had wanted you to repel in pairs. So you and Nat wouldn’t have to get cable burns on your hands. Those two ancient men. Couldn’t get over their chivalry from the 40’s. You rolled your eyes.

“Sam, a little boost please.” Bucky called into the coms.

“Oh c’mon super soldier.” Sam crooned back. “Can’t swing over yourself? You’re looking pretty bad in front of the ladies.”

You giggled. “If you think this is a bad look, you should have seen the dumbass in a head lock up there on the top floor.” Bucky glared at you.

Sam just laughed. “I want to be clear, I’m only coming to help you because you’re strapped to that gorgeous woman with a wicked mouth. Otherwise you’d be on your own Tin Man.”

Sam swung around the building and snagged Bucky by the backpack, flapping his wings and yanking you both backwards so you were hovering over the edge of the building. Bucky quickly unhooked your waists from the cable. When Sam felt your weight drop, he let go of Bucky’s bag and flew back over to bring Nat and Steve over the edge as well.

You dropped straight down to the roof of the building. Bucky took the brunt of the impact, rolling when his back hit the concrete. You laid on your sides on the roof, panting together for a moment before he reached between you and unclasped the hook that connected you. You rolled over to your back, still catching your breath from the impact of hitting the roof.

Bucky turned his head to look at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You panted. Chest heaving up and down as you sucked in oxygen. “I feel fucking incredible.” You turned your head to look at him. He smiled at you.

“You look fucking incredible.” He said. Like it just slipped out before he could stop it. You blushed, your whole body going warm and gooey.

Before either of you could say anything else, you heard two matching grunts as Nat and Steve hit the roof and the mechanical sounds of Sam landing a little ways away. You both rolled to stand up.

Clint scaled down the side of a large water tank structure and started walking toward the jet. “Took you long enough.” He called.

“I blame this one on Barnes.” Nat called. “He was trying a little too hard to show off.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah Buck, it sounds like you got your ass handed to you up there. Little distracted buddy?”

Bucky muttered “Fuck you” under his breath as you all climbed back on the ship. You spun around to walk backward up the ramp so you could cock an eyebrow at Bucky, giving him a little smirk.

He just dropped his head to look at his feet as he stomped up the ramp. “Keep walkin, dollface.”

You cackled, and spun around to walk the rest of the way up the ramp. Dropping into a seat and strapping yourself in for the long flight home.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fic #bucky

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godlyborn · 3 years

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life is a highway. / elias & zoe.

date: october 1-3, 2021 summary: elias and zoe pull a hermes kid operation and break into his family home in alberta. trigger warnings: homophobia mention, child abuse mention

Elias put their bags into the trunk of the car as Zoe was saying goodbye to Brett. Elias couldn't deny that he was anxious about going back to his parent's house. He hadn't spoken to either of his parent's for two years, let alone possibly seeing them if they didn't time this right. Elias let out a breath, sitting in the car, waiting for Zoe to get in. Elias pulled at his fingers, a nervous tick he had. When Zoe got it, he looked over to her. "Thanks for doing this with me."

Saying goodbye to Brett was just as hard, if not harder, as she thought it would be. Pressing herself tightly into his side, she swore to update him on where they were and that yes, she was going to be safe before giving him one last kiss before finally stepping away from him and towards her car. Throwing her backpack into the backseat, she didn't look back before climbing into the driver's seat, knowing she wouldn't be able to resist running back over to him if she did. She looked over at Elias, giving him a warm smile, reaching over to cover his hands with one of hers. "You don't have to thank me, there's no way I was letting you do this alone. Are you ready?"

Elias shook his head, and then gave a soft shrug. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be," he replied, looking down at Zoe's hand on his. "I guess I'm just nervous about the possibility of my parents being there. I haven't seen them in years, and I don't really want to see them again."

Zoe nodded along as Elias spoke. "That makes sense. If they are, I can do most of the talking if you want? But, they're not what we're going for so don't worry. It'll work out, I promise." She gave his hand another squeeze before letting go. After double checking the address on her GPS, she started up the car to hit the road.

It was a few minutes of them sitting there on the drive before Elias spoke again. "I should uh, talk to you about something before you potentially meet them, and why I ran away."

Zoe’s eyes flashed over to her brother for a second before going back to the road. “Okay, sure. Take your time, we have a little bit before we have to stop for gas.”

Elias tapped his fingers against his knuckles anxiously. He wasn't sure why he was so anxious about this. This was Zoe, he was comfortable with Zoe. It was more of the, bringing up the past, that he was anxious about. "Uh, so, my parents, they're not really the best people. For lack of better words." Elias bit his lip. "When I was sixteen, my sister, Cassandra, she sat us all down, and she came out as gay." Elias gulped, he tried his best not to remember that night. "There was a lot of screaming, and things being said to hurt her, and then it ended in my parents kicking her out." He cleared his throat slightly. "And I kind of just sat there, as she looked at me to help her out, and I said nothing, did nothing. It was like I was paralyzed. I was scared to say anything, because I knew that it would turn on me. She always stuck up for me growing up, not afraid to scream at my Dad who was pushing me too hard, or scream at my Mom when she..." Elias didn't finish that sentence. He shifted in his seat slightly, looking down at his hands. "I haven't seen her since."

Zoe stayed silent as Elias made his way through his story. Her eyes flashed to his face on occasion, but mostly stayed focused on the road, though she did reach out to squeeze his hand in comfort before returning it to the wheel. The story made a flash of anger run through her, which was clear on her face. "Gods, that's awful." It didn't sum up her feelings properly at all, but it was all that would come out. "I'm so sorry both of you had to go through that, Eli. Parents that can just turn on their kids...." She shook her head, still clearly mad at the parents in question. "If they can't open their hearts, they don't deserve to be parents at all. But clearly both of you are in better places being away from that environment."

Elias shrugged in response to Zoe. It still hurt him that he knew Cassandra was out there, especially probably thinking that Elias didn't accept her, didn't care about her. Cassandra was the most important person to Elias, he wasn't there for her when she needed him the most, and now he felt like he was struggling through the same thing she was. When Zoe had said what she said, Elias felt slightly more comfortable with her now, and he could feel his body slightly relax. "I just, I don't want to see them at all," Elias replied. "I just want my sister to know that I'm sorry, and that she's safe."

"She'll know when we find her, then you'll get to tell her yourself." Zoe said confidently, fueled by the uncertain shrug to try and to make Elias feel more confident in this little road trip himself. She had no idea how long it was going to take, but she was determined to find her and keep her promise to her brother, something that she made sure Brett was aware of and okay with before she left.

Elias was silent for a few moments. During the silence he was going back and forth between thinking about telling Zoe. He knew she wouldn't leave him, hell she was coming to Alberta with him to find his sister. There was a part of him that was scared though, his parents kicked his ister out of it, and even though he knew that not everyone was like his parents, there was part of him that was scared. He finally cleared his throat. "Plus, part of me wants her advice, especially because she knows how I feel, and what it was like to grow up in our family and to find out you're gay. I, uh, Zoe, I think I'm gay." Elias felt his voice crack at the last word, it felt weird to say that aloud.

As the silence dragged on, Zoe's forced her eyes to stay on the road, though it was hard when she heard him struggling for words. She had always been very much aware that she didn't know too much about Elias' life before camp and never found the desire or heart to try and force some info out of the youngest member of the Poseidon cabin. Unlike her brother, Zoe had never had any issues keeping her past a secret, though she didn't exactly have any skeletons to hide. Elias knew pretty much everything there was to know about Zoe Fisher, something that she was okay with, knowing that if he was ever ready to share, he would tell her what he was comfortable with saying out loud.

These thoughts circled her brain, reassuring her through the silence, then more so as Elias seemed to find the words he was searching for. It took a beat or two longer for her to fully process what had ended his thoughts and when it finally clicked, it took everything for her to not to immediately slam on the brakes. With a small lurch, she let out an audible gasp in surprise, then quickly pulled over to the shoulder of the road, hazards flashing as she whipped her head to stare at him, eyes shining with the beginnings of tears. "Eli, what?" Her mouth instantly turned up into a smile, her hands reaching out for him to rub his shoulders soothingly. She had no idea what she was trying to say at this point, and after staring at him for a solid minute, just spoke the truth. "Oh honey, thank you for trusting me. When did you know?"

Elias shrugged in response. "I never really had a moment to actually think about it. Then when I did, all I could think about was Cassandra's face when my parents were kicking her out, and my parent's screaming. It was all too much. I tried to deny it for a long time, but I was just unhappy. I guess I never really had someone I could truly trust to tell, until now," Elias replied. "I know I haven't been entirely truthful when it came to my past before camp. My biggest regret has always been not doing anything when Cass left. I was just so scared, I've always been terrified of my parents. I don't know, I guess maybe a part of me is scared that I'll find her, and she'll be disappointed in me, or she'll hate that she left me with them."

Elias looked outside the window, watching the cars pass them outside, silent for a moment. He turned to look back at Zoe. "I think I knew when I ran away. My parents were talking about something, I don't remember exactly what, I just remember that it was pretty homophobic, and it involved Cassandra. I think I started questioning it then, because it was like I was a different person. It didn't feel like it was about Cassandra anymore, but it felt like it was about me. I actually screamed back at them, and if you ever meet my sister, I was never the one to do that. My Dad threw a glass in anger, he was always prone to these bursts of anger, especially when my sister and I didn't do what he wanted. A shard hit me below my eye," Elias felt his heart pound at the thought of that day. He couldn't remember what set him off, but he could remember perfectly the anger in his Dad's face, and how much it stung when his best friend was pulling the shard of glass from his cheek. He was reminded of it everyday when he saw the small scar it left on his face. "I packed my bags, and that was the last time I saw my parents."

Zoe stayed silent as Elias elaborated on his past, and her heart ached at the images he was producing in her mind. For as long as she knew Elias, he was nothing but a gentle and kind-hearted soul, so the fact that he had been subjected to this much anger and pain made her want to just hide him away from it all. However, it was clear that he still held a lot of guilt over everything involving Cassandra, and that pain in his voice was the only thing stopping her from turning the car around and going right back to camp, away from his parents. "I'm so sorry, Eli. I know you got hurt because of it, but I am so proud of you for sticking up for yourself. Trust me, I would do anything to try and take that pain away from you, but it gave you the strength to get away from them...there's no way Cassandra would be disappointed in you for having that strength."

"I just really want her to know that I'm sorry, she doesn't need to forgive me or anything, I just want her to know that if I could go back to that day, I would change how I acted. I would've fought for her. She is one of the most important people in my life, and she basically made me who I am. She deserves someone who would fight for her.”

In response, Zoe simply nodded. Gently tugging on his shoulders, she pulled Elias into a hug, pulling back only slightly to gently drop a kiss on his forehead before fully letting him go. "Alright then." She ignored the tears that were still welling up in her eyes, determination to help her brother once again settling in as she flipped the blinker of the car on. "Then let's go find her."

[[ time skip ]]

"It's right up here on the right," Elias said, pointing toward the white house down the road. "You can probably just park on the street behind the trees in the front." Elias scanned the driveway to his childhood home for cars, and found none. Just what he thought, they were both at work. "If they're still on the schedule from when I left, we should have a few hours."

Zoe's eyes darted around the white house, trying to see if any light was coming through any of the windows. Parking the car, she sat there for a few more seconds. observing the neighbor's houses as well before nodding at his words and undid her seatbelt. "Hopefully we'll be long gone by then."

Elias got out of the car, starting his way up the driveway. About half way up, he stared at the house, taking a shaky breath. He looked back at Zoe, and then back to the house. “There’s no going back now,” he said. He made it to the front door, searching for the key they used to hide underneath the one planter. “I was hoping that they had the key where it usually was, but we’re going to have to do Plan B. How’s your climbing?”

Trying to act casual, Zoe hung back and let her brother do the key searching, even though it turned out fruitless. Crossing her arms, she looked up at the second story of the house, then shrugged. "Well considering this wall isn't covered in lava like back home, I think I'll be able to make it." She took one last look around the neighborhood, content that she didn't see any curtains flapping shut as she did. "Lead the way, I'm right behind you."

Elias led his sister over through the gate to the back of the house. "There's a tree back here, it leads up to my sister's old room," he replied. "I used to catch her sneak out all the time. The window is jacked up, so it doesn't lock."

Zoe nodded as Elias explained their plan of entry, letting him climb up into the tree first before swinging herself up onto the branch behind him. “And they didn’t change the locks? How nice of them.” Moving slowly to plan out her steps, the siblings wrapped their way around the stronger branches of the tree towards the window in question, and Zoe once let Elias take the lead, not wanting to put too much pressure on part of the branch - with her luck it would just snap immediately.

Elias shrugged. "I'm pretty sure they never knew about this window. They cared more about who she was and how they controlled her rather than what she was doing," Elias said, more quieter than before. Elias popped open the window, lifting himself through it. Elias looked around at the room. It was so different, Elias remembered when they changed it after they kicked Cassandra out, they erased her so quick from their lives. Elias remembered the only thing that was left of her, was the lingering smell of her favorite perfume, though he was never sure if it was because he imagined it or if it was because she had spilled an entire bottle of it on her way out in rage.

The place no longer smelled of her, and it was frightening and sad how it was like their parents never cared. "This way," Elias guided, slipping into the hallway. Elias walked toward the office at the end of the hall. As he passed his old bedroom, he looked in through the open door. His room was the same as Cassandra's, erased, replaced by his mother's exercise equipment. Elias stood there for a moment, he expected this, but there was no preparation for him actually seeing it, and it hurt more than he thought it would.

Elias continued on, standing on his tiptoes to get the key above the doorframe and slipping it into the lock. Elias let the door open, staring at his dad's office, that room not having changed a bit. It sent shudders down his spine, remembering getting scolded and screamed at in this room whenever he was in trouble. Elias took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to shake it all off. "He keeps most of the important papers in his desk. Hopefully, that is where everything is."

Zoe followed in silence, keeping her eyes on her brother to gauge how much of a toll this was on him. Watching him pause outside a random doorway, she peaked inside only to see a mock up exercise room. However, little details - besides her brothers stiff shoulders, give her an idea to what it used to be. Leftover tape on the walls, probably from ripped off posters, the shade of blue that he still uses to decorate his room in the cabin. The annoyance flared up again and she placed a guiding hand on Elias’ shoulder, as if she could make him forget he was erased by just turning her brother away.

She didn’t rush him when they reached the office, despite the fact they had no idea how much time they had until someone came home. When he closed his eyes and spoke, she realized he was working on getting ready to step through the doorway. Nodding at his statement, she stepped around him and into the room, hoping it would make it easier on him. Pulling on the drawer, she started sifting through piles. “Well, let’s see what he’s got.”

Elias took a shaky breath, trying to relieve any anxiety that he felt, though the breath didn’t help much, or really at all, and the anxiety grew in his chest more as he followed his sister in. Elias pulled on the opposite drawer. He sifted through the files, his eyes spotting a file with his name on it and some notes in Greek. He had trouble reading the note, his father’s writing had always been horrid, and note in Greek were more messy than they were in English.

He took it out, looking through the file, his birth certificate, and other important papers that he had, and... a note about Camp Halfblood. Did he just read that right? Had they known he was at Camp Halfblood this entire time? “Zo? Do you think you can read modern Greek?” he asked, not knowing if the whole hard-wired to read Ancient Greek carried over. “I just, I want to know if I’m reading this right.” If they knew where he was currently, there had to be something about Cassandra in here, hopefully.

Flipping through files labeled about business expenses and the likes, Zoe was quickly coming to the conclusion that this drawer was most likely full of boring information that meant nothing to them or their search. It didn’t fully click in their brain that a majority of the notes and titles were scribbled in Greek until Elias spoke up again, holding another note out towards her. “Yeah, I think so. Let me see.”

It took her a few blinks for the words to slide into place, and another few to make sure she was reading the note properly. “Huh.” She answered vaguely, trying to figure out how long they’ve had this info on her brother. “Maybe Chiron sent it? Since you’re a minor and all?” There was no sender on the note, though she wasn’t really that surprised. Surely there must still be legal stuff that Chiron had to do to prevent a nation wide search for missing children. Zoe inspected the note again, then passed it back to be placed back in the file. “Hopefully that means we’re close, then.”

Elias nodded, putting the note back into the folder. He was silent for another moment, before whispering, “I didn’t think they knew where I was,” he replied, suddenly juggling if they cared enough to look for him, or if it was to just try and control him. That and if they knew, why didn’t they try to get him to come home. He wondered about their true motives.

He found Cassandra’s folder, also containing her important papers, and... nothing. He goes to pull it out and it snags on something. He pushed his hand back to try and get it out fully, only to find a note taped to the back of it. He pulls it out, reading it. It was an address and a date. It was dated a year back, “I think I found something,” Elias said.

It sounded like Elias was mainly speaking to himself, but Zoe nodded along anyway, choosing to stay silent instead of voicing her opinion. They knew where he was, yet made no attempts to make contact or pull him out of camp - at least to their knowledge, but she chose to believe that it meant it wouldn't be an issue anytime soon. Returning to her drawer, the two siblings flipped in silence before anything usual was found.

Pearing over his shoulder, her eyes scanned the address scrawled onto a small piece of paper, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of actually finding information. "That's definitely something, Eli." Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she turned it on and snapped a photo of the address before turning the device back off again. "Got it, let's get out of here." Returning any files she had pulled out of order back into place, Zoe was careful to not leave any traces that they had been snooping around the office, backtracking to Cassandra's old bedroom after the door was locked and the key returned to its place.

Elias for a moment thought about just taking all their important papers. They would need them, but that would mean possibly showing his parents that he was there. So with a shaky hand, he put the files back. He followed Zoe out, going down the tree, and his heart felt like it was pounding in his ears when his feet hit the ground. He felt as though he wasn’t in his body, that he was watching someone do all this. He took a breath, sneaking away with Zoe. He paused in his tracks when he heard a familiar woman’s voice say, “Elias?” Her Greek accent slipping out. He knew that only happened when she was surprised or concerned, two very different emotions he has witnessed from his mother.

Elias froze in his place, locking eyes with his mother from across the yard. The same eyes he saw when he looked in the mirror everyday. Anxiety coursed through his veins and he panicked as she started approached him and Zoe. His eyes spotted the water spout that usually had the hose connected to it. In fear, he let the water spray from it, using his hydrokinesis to create a barrier between him and his mother.

Elias turned toward Zoe again, grabbing her hand, slightly pulling her toward the direction of the car. “Run,” he said.

Zoe felt her body turn to ice when a voice call out towards them. She turned slowly, her eyes landing on a woman that she instantly could recognize as Elias' mother. "Oh fuck." She breathed out, feeling the panic bubbling in her chest. The woman's eyes flashed to her for a second, confusion seeping into her features before she turned back to face her son. The woman took a step, and then water was spraying everywhere - no doubt the work of Elias.

Zoe's eyes flashed to the source, then the pressure seemed to increase, drenching the two siblings as she felt a hand slip into hers. Taking control of the situation, she gripped tightly onto her younger brother's hand, taking off in the direction she parked her car. Not looking back, she let go of him at the passenger side, racing around the car to practically dive into the driver's seat to start the engine and speed off down the street.

The minute Elias got into the car, he could feel his breath pick up in panic. “Oh my Gods,” he said, putting his head in his trembling hands as the car began speeding down the road. He was speechless, and every part of him was tense. Elias swallowed, trying to clear the lump that felt stuck in his throat. He lifted his head, opening his mouth to say something, but never found the words. He returned his head to his hands, shaking his head once more.

Zoe drove for a while, her eyes continuously darting to her brother in the passenger seat. When she drove long enough until she felt like she could breathe again, she pulled over on the side of the road, put on the hazards and immediately turned her full attention on Elias. Her own mind had been screaming and had constantly felt like she was going to look in the rearview mirror and see his mother trailing them. Unconsciously, she did just that, and let out a sigh silent sigh of relief when all she saw was empty road behind them.

"Eli, breathe. It's okay." Her hands rested on his back, rubbing it in slow circles to help and ground him again. "Breathe with me, it's okay." She waited until his breathing seemed to calm, then reached into the backseat to get him a water bottle from the cooler they had stuffed back there. "Drink." She ordered.

Elias followed his sister's breathing, trying to focus on her rather than the events that had just unfolded. Elias let in a struggled breath of air, but after a while, he could finally feel his breathing even out, though his heart was still pounding in his ears, and his hands shook as he took a drink from the water Zoe has handed him. Elias wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about what they found, or if his brain was working too fast to even process words. After a moment, he finally spoke again. "I just want to go home."

Zoe kept a careful eyes on him as he drank, and let herself relax a little bit when she saw a decent chunk of the bottle empty. She didn't speak, unsure what she would even say after what had just happened. Her heart pulled in her chest at his words, but nodded and turned back to the wheel to get them back onto the road. "I know. We'll be home soon, Eli."

#d:elias #discord #eliaszoe #elias #d:eliaszoe

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k0gamis · 5 years

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Temptation ➝Shinkane Week 2019 Day 4 ➝WC: 7225 / Rating: explicit

Upon his return to the country, Akane visits an old friend to get drinks and catch up.

***

22:19

The mesmerizing lights of Tokyo are one of the things Akane loves the most about the city. At night, when the ink of night backdrops the towers and buildings that each forge a shape unique to every onlooker, she feels the lights are especially dazzling.

She’d been enamored with the faux magic since her first drive through the city at night, when a last-minute interview for the CID awaited her in the morning, prompting an unexpected trip from her home in Chiba. She remembers the long breath she drew as her eyes settled on the skyline for the first time, watching the buildings shift around each other as the car drove on. She remembers wondering which building would be her hotel and what excitement she had to look forward to once she moved to the city for good; it was not unlike now, except the hotel she searches for in the distance is not hers, and she finds herself admittedly far more nervous than excited this time around.

The car drives automatically, which is unusual for her; Akane enjoys driving and normally likes to switch off the auto-pilot setting. But from time to time, especially at times like these, where her mind feels somewhere else and her eyes wander aimlessly outside the window, she lets the car drive itself.

She approaches the hotel as the car pulls into the parking lot, and Akane’s stomach does a flip. Her gaze flits between lit windows, counting up the rows until she hits floor number six. One of them belongs to room #644, and knowing him the curtains are likely closed, drawn open only enough so that his eyes can briefly dart outside to watch cars zip by on the freeway in between paragraphs of the book he’s reading.

When she steps off the elevator onto the sixth floor, her heart beats with the rhythm of her footsteps--perhaps even faster--as she follows the signs. Her fist raises, clenching once to squeeze out the nerves, then knocks twice and takes an anxious step back when the door opens.

He’s wearing a black bomber jacket that covers a white collared shirt tucked into dark jeans, somewhat reminiscent of the casual style he donned his formalwear all those years ago. She relaxes the second she catches his eye, feeling her shoulders unclench and the corners of her lips turning up; what had she been so nervous about?

He doesn’t offer the greeting of a normal person, and instead steps to the side so she can enter.

“You’re a bit overdressed,” he says, his voice as rough and calloused as ever. She missed the sound of it. “But you look nice.”

“I came from a dinner party in Chiba,” she explains. Chiba was almost an hour away, leaving no time to change, though she would hardly classify a black pencil skirt and a white ribbed turtleneck as overdressed. She doesn’t argue, and lets him take her coat to hang it in the closet.

The room is small, contemporary, with one bed, a desk with a swivel chair, and a small black chaise in the corner where a paperback book sits open but facedown. The decorations are sleek and modern, brightening the space considerably. A mirror taking up the wall alongside the bed makes the room feel bigger than it looks. She was right about the curtains.

He seems uncomfortable the further into the room they venture. Or perhaps awkward was a better word.

“There’s a bar downstairs,” she says, and that’s all she has to say. Soon she’s back in the elevator and sitting across from him in a dimly-lit booth, ordering a margarita.

“This place seems a little fancy to be holed-up in,” she says casually. “It doesn’t really suit you.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” he says. “And you’re right. The room feels stuffy.”

She giggles a little to herself, as she was thinking he would say something like that. It’s nice to know he hasn’t changed.

“How do the scanners work?” she asks. “Has your hue…?” She isn’t sure how to word her question, how to ask if his psycho pass has improved at all, especially since she is doubtful that it has. But she can’t think of another explanation for how he’s able to be placed here and walk around unsupervised, or to enter the bar without flagging the scanners.

He points to his skull with a single finger, similar to the shape of a gun.

“It’s classified,” he says.

“You can’t tell me?”

“It means I can’t be scanned without permission.”

“They’re placing an awful lot of trust in you to not cause trouble,” she says. He chuckles.

“Still not holding back your harsh remarks, I see.”

Before she can think of a response, their drinks are set down in front of them, Akane’s margarita glass standing tall above his scotch. She takes a tentative sip, watching as he downs a couple gulps without haste, nor does he grimace from the sultry taste.

“How are you?” she asks, her voice lowering. He stares into the contents of his glass, held by his fingers at the rim. The last time she’d seen him he wasn’t terrible, satisfied with distracting himself amidst guerilla operations and tactical advising. But satisfied doesn’t translate to being well, and based on one of their final conversations, he hadn’t seemed all that well at the time.

“I’m alright,” he says finally. It’s hard to get a read on him, to see how much of him is telling the truth. He notices the look of concern on her face despite her attempts to mask it. “Really. I am.”

“Have you thought about receiving psychological care?” she asks, not yet sold.

“I’ve contemplated.”

“That sounds like a no, then.”

“I’m still exploring my options. I only got back in the country a couple days ago.”

“Yes, I’m sure Poe’s poetry has all sorts of resourceful information about your options.” He smirks at her remark over his glass.

“Are you familiar, then?” he asks.

She shakes her head regrettably. “Not as well as I should be. I do more tactical reading these days.”

“You can borrow it if you’d like.”

She smiles softly around the salt on her glass. “I’m tempted, but I’m not sure when I’d be able to return it.”

He shrugs. It’s not like she’d be on a deadline, since he isn’t going anywhere now. That much has yet to completely stick with her. It is almost too good to be true, that she has difficulty believing it at times. He had been away for so long, and even then she’d only known him for a few months prior to his disappearance. It feels unreal for him to be anything but gone.

Did she even have the right to think of him as much as she did all these years, when she’d only known him for such a short amount of time in comparison?

“Why Chiba?” he asks, breaking her from her thoughts.

“What do you mean” she asks.

“Your dinner party.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice turning surprisingly sour. “It was for a school reunion.”

“You don’t seem too thrilled to have gone.” He finishes off his drink and waves a bartender over.

“Well Chiba isn’t exactly nearby,” she explains. “And then having to explain the death of your best friend to everyone who hasn’t heard over and over and…” She pauses, mostly because the bartender steps into earshot near their table, but also because she needs to collect the rest of her thoughts. She hasn’t yet finished her margarita but asks for a second anyway while he’s there, and finishes speaking once he’s gone to prepare their order.

“Of course there were people who she knew who couldn’t come to the funeral, and some people who just didn’t know it happened at all, but there was an overwhelming amount of reactions that just seemed…” Her voice hangs in the air for a moment as she searches for the right word.

“Insincere?” he offers.

“Yes,” she says. “Exactly. It became all anyone wanted to talk about.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

The way she swishes down a few gulps at once rather than the polite sips she’d been taking told him he’s right. Then she continues on, mentioning how one of her old classmates in particular was someone she has the misfortune of knowing more than she’d like to. He watches her finish the rest of her drink and wonders what she means by that. An ex-boyfriend, perhaps? Or was he simply fabricating reasons to project onto his dislike of this individual, other than by the way she spoke of him?

“He dated Yuki for...I’m not sure, a month, maybe?” she says, immediately dissolving his hypothesis and leaving him feeling foolish. “They broke up around the time we took our placement exams. Back then he found it just intriguing how he and I were the only two to score an A ranking for the Ministry of Commerce, which he brought up again tonight and wouldn’t shut up about it. That, and his absolutely incredibly well-paying job as a financial consultant.”

She rolls her eyes and immediately reaches for her second drink once they’re dropped off at their table. He can’t help but feel amused watching her speak. It seemed his hypothesis wasn’t that far off.

She seems to notice his gaze intent on her but misreads it, by the way she suddenly sits up straight, as though she’s caught herself doing something she isn’t supposed to be doing.

“I’m sorry,” she says, giving him a bashful smile. “I’m blabbering on about it. I’ll stop.”

Kogami shrugs. He isn’t bothered. He’s the one who asked in the first place.

“If you need to rant about slimy bastards who can’t take a hint, then you should rant,” he says simply, flashing her half a grin. She lets out a curt, breathy laugh, though she still looks apologetic. “Dude’s way out of his league, anyway. Doesn’t seem like your type in the slightest.”

“And just what do you know about my type?” She narrows her eyes inquisitively at him over the rim of her glass, hiding her lips behind it.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I know you’re not into someone with a boring office job, or incapable of holding an even remotely stimulating conversation, and definitely not someone shorter than you.”

For a moment she looks puzzled, and then her face softens into a curious smile. “Your profiling skills are as sharp as ever.”

He can’t tell if she’s referring to herself or to Mr. Financial Consultant, or maybe both, but he shrugs off the compliment anyway.

“Anything else exciting or otherwise noteworthy?”

Her eyes roll a second time, like the mere act of giving thought to these previous events was as annoying as experiencing them.

“He invited me to his apartment so I could talk more about the tragedy if needed,” she says. The way her voice hardens on one particular phrase, coupled with the lingering traces of anger in her eyes, makes him want to subvert the topic.

“So how did you give him the slip?”

“I told him I had a date to get going to,” she says simply. He nearly chokes on his drink. The gentle rose rising to the tops of her cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed.

He doesn’t remember choosing to lean forward, but then his arms are crossed on the table in front of him and there’s noticeably less distance between them.

“Is that what this is?” he asks.

“Would you call it something else?”

He keeps his gaze fixed on hers, looking for any hints of hesitancy, uncertainty, or even a trace of humor, yet he finds none of that. She stares back at him blankly; it’s a genuine question, and she expects a genuine answer.

“I guess not.”

He studies her again, but differently this time--as though he’s letting himself truly look at her for the first time in a long time, which he is. Her face is no longer curved with juvenile softness like the first day they met; instead it’s been replaced with hardened edges, with stories he’s yet to listen to. Her eyes have grown more intimidating than ever, though she holds in them a gentleness that hasn’t faded in the slightest.

“Is there something on my face?” she asks. She brings a hand up to touch her cheek subconsciously.

“No,” he answers. Then he notices she is shivering. “Are you cold?”

Her composure shifts suddenly, like she hadn’t even noticed that she was, in fact, cold, until he said something.

“A little,” she says. She glances up to the ceiling, finding an air vent positioned directly above their table. Just her luck; purposefully picking the booth furthest off to the side had to have some sort of drawback.

When she turns her attention back to him, he’s shrugging out of his jacket.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-” But of course, because he’s him, he ignores her protest and passes it over the table. She hesitates, but takes it anyway, thanking him quietly. When she slips her arms through the sleeves, it’s warm and smells like his cigarettes. It’s surreal to find his scent somewhere other than her ashtray.

“Aside from all of that,” he says, referring to her less-than-pleasant dinner party, “how are you?”

“I’m doing fine,” she says. “Though I feel like I’ve talked about myself too much.”

“I don’t mind,” he says.

“I want to hear one of your stories,” she insists. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty to pick from.”

“You’re putting me on the spot,” he says. “Now it’ll be hard to think of one.”

“Did you meet anyone special?” she asks.

“What do you mean by ‘special?’”

“Like interesting, noteworthy, quirky, I don’t know. Someone with a story.”

He has to think for a moment, though it looks as though he’s contemplating what he wants to tell rather than searching for something to say.

First he tells her of the few temporary comrades he traveled with after leaving SEAUn, who were mostly mercenaries like him skating by and keeping a low profile. She chuckles to herself as she tries to picture him , of all people, keeping a low profile, which she then explains once he questions her reaction. He laughs along with her briefly, but it doesn’t last long.

His eyes change when his story shifts, and he tells her of a young girl he met named Tenzing. He doesn’t tell her much. His story focuses more on the act of saving a bus full of refugees from armed guerillas--which, to her, sounds a lot more like him than in the previous tale--and how he was followed by the young girl, who’d been on the bus, to seek self defense training.

He tells her she was a cheerful, enthusiastic child with a lot of passion and promise, and that he agreed to train her because she was an orphan of war, and that he felt sorry for her. He pauses there, and she can see the sadness hardening his eyes like steel. She can tell that there is more to the story, but he seems hesitant to continue. So she gives him an out.

“Sometimes I wonder if kindness is actually your true weakness,” she muses aloud.

That takes him aback. “As opposed to something else?”

“I would have said fear before, but now I might be thinking differently.”

He leans back against the booth cushion and studies her with a calculating eye, crossing his arms over his chest. “You must think you have me all figured out, then, right?”

“Is it rude of me to say that I think I do? To a degree at least?”

“It’s not so much rude as it is ballsy,” he says.

She laughs, but goes on to explain her reasoning. “I’ll admit, you puzzled me when we first met,” she says. “I couldn’t figure you out for awhile.”

“That’s funny,” he interjects. “I used to feel the same about you.”

“Do you think you have me all figured out, too?”

“More or less. To a degree,” he adds with a smirk. “Though I’m not as confident as you seem to be.”

“What it comes down to is an understanding of someone’s character,” she says. It took her a long time to figure that out, though she hadn’t figured it out all on her own. “When you understand their character, you can understand their reasoning behind most things.”

“And when you understand reasoning, you can make all sorts of inferences,” he finishes. “That’s what you were going to say, right?”

She nods. She gives him a curious smile, seeing the gears turn in his head. She wonders what he’s going to say next.

“Put your theory to the test, then,” he challenges, throwing back the last of his drink and setting the glass down at the end of the table. “If you have me all figured out, tell me what you think my type is.”

It’s her turn to be taken aback, and she feels her cheeks grow warm. She avoids his eyes, at first wondering why this prompt of all things, then supposes it’s his way of making up for poking fun at her regarding the same topic earlier. Either way, she decides to humor him.

“You’re similar to me,” she says thoughtfully, “you prefer someone intellectually stimulating. Monotony bores you, so you like someone who can keep you on your toes--but not someone too reckless, even though that’s rather hypocritical, if you ask me.” He chuckles at the abrupt drop in her tone, riddled with vexation, before she continues. “You have a very protective nature, so you prefer someone that you can easily protect. But you also like when someone has a strong sense of self and can be assertive when they need to be. There’s a complicated balance there, but the right person won’t make it complicated.”

He takes a long moment to consider everything when she finishes.

“I’d give that about an eighty-five percent accuracy,” he says finally. “Maybe ninety.”

“Did I miss something?”

“You didn’t mention anything about physicalities.”

“You’re not materialistic; you value intellect more than anything. I didn’t think things that are particularly important to you.”

“Not most things, but some things.”

Now she’s the one who doesn’t remember leaning forward. “Like what?”

He mirrors her instinctively, with a peculiar repressed grin on his lips--almost coy. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You’re the one who mentioned it,” she shrugs. She distracts herself by sipping on what was left of her drink.

“Was I?”

She backtracks when she pauses to recall the exchange just a moment before. “It was more of a group effort,” she decides. “But either way, I wouldn’t consider physical preferences as something that can be deduced by one’s character.”

“All right then,” he says. “I take it back. I’ll give you ninety-five percent accuracy.”

“What about the other five?”

“You really don’t settle for less than perfect scores, do you?”

She laughs, because he’s right, yet she fixes a look on him that tells him she isn’t backing down until she hears his answer. Always so persistent and thorough. He sighs.

“It would be inappropriate to say,” he says quietly, and he almost feels bad for the urge to chuckle he has when the rose hue returns to her complexion. She finishes her drink then scoots the empty glass to sit discarded beside his.

“Is it because you’re shy?” she asks. There’s a ghost of a challenge in her tone that he’s positive he isn’t imagining. He no longer feels bad.

He chooses his next words carefully.

“It’s...more of a conversation that would be better had upstairs.”

For a moment, the air between them is stiffer from his implications hanging heavily in it. It takes her a second to process his words, and then she seems to process them a second time to have them finally click, cued by her eyes widening just slightly. Before she responds to him, she checks the time via the terminal on her wrist. He’s surprised by how strongly he anticipates her answer, by how his heart beat with a more vigorous rhythm in his chest than it was just moments before.

“I’m tempted, but,” she says, following her words with a sigh, and he already knows what comes next. “It’s getting late, and I have plans in the morning. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, waving away her apology. Her unwavering sense of responsibility hasn’t changed either, it seems. His ego isn’t bruised by any means. The admittance of temptation alone is enough to satisfy him.

“Perhaps when you find time to return the book, you won’t be visiting too late,” he says.

“I’ll make sure to leave the following morning open, too,” she says, offering him a smile before she gets up to pay the bill.

Back upstairs, she swaps his jacket for her coat, and even though hers is thicker and more suited for the wintry gusts swirling outside, it’s not nearly as warm. She takes Poe from his outstretched hand and tucks it into her purse, and from there she isn’t sure how to bid him goodnight. She feels a desire to do something, but nothing fitting comes to mind. He doesn’t offer anything other than holding the door open for her.

As she steps through the door, she assures him she will call a taxi instead of driving herself home, and promises she will come say hello in the morning when she returns for her car--if he’s awake, that is--and then he returns her ‘goodnight’ as she makes her way down the hall.

She listens for the sound of his door closing as she approaches the elevator, but she doesn’t turn around even though she never hears it.

Once down in the lobby, she makes her way to the front door with a taxi service pulled up on her cell phone. On her way, she passes by the bar she was just sitting in a few minutes ago. A smile dances on her lips, warming her from head to toe. It may be the most recent, but this memory is definitely the one she’s most fond of, even if it was rather fleeting in comparison to the others.

And then something about that thought makes her stop in her tracks, just a short distance from the revolving door. Her thumb hovers over the button she’s just pressed, promising a momentary pick-up, but her eyes are fixed on the cancel button in the corner.

Does she really have to leave so soon? She hadn’t seen him in over two years, and she’s already leaving with no definitive plans to see him again after what, less than an hour? That hardly seems fair in comparison.

She turns back to the bar, and from where she stands, peering into the open space, she can see the table where they sat. The bartender is only just now collecting their used cups, preparing to wipe down the table, and she remembers the way his hand curled around the base of his glass when he drank, how his fingertip drew circles around the rim when he spoke, how his eyes shone in a way that matched his glass reflecting the light fixtures above when he gave her an implied invitation back upstairs.

Perhaps it’s the two margaritas to blame, but she quickly hits ‘cancel’ before she can stop herself. And then she’s walking back into the bar to the counter, and purchases a bottle of Cabernet while she types up a message to Kaori. She hits send, takes back her card and freshly unsealed bottle, and makes her way back to the elevator.

He’s just finished undoing the last button of his shirt when there’s an unexpected knock at the door, barely audible with the shower running. He leans past the curtain to twist the knob, shutting off the water. As he makes his way to the door, he wonders if it’s Akane, but he knows she didn’t forget anything; or maybe it’s a housekeeper, though it seems a bit late for that.

When he opens the door, he’s surprised to see Akane standing before him, holding up a bottle of Cabernet with a look of question in her eyes. They drop briefly to his midsection, then flit back up to his face just as quickly as they fell.

“This isn’t a taxi,” he says, leaning against the door frame. He can see her throat contract when she swallows.

“I don’t need one,” she asserts.

He suppresses a grin and steps to the side, closing the door behind her. She slips off her shoes and drops her purse to the small table next to the closet.

“What happened to your morning plans?” he asks, taking from her the wine bottle as well as her coat. He holds onto the back of the collar while she slips herself out of it.

“I pushed them back,” she says. “Did I interrupt something?” She gestures to his shirt, which still hangs open from his shoulders.

“Just a shower.” With her coat hung properly in the closet, he slides the door shut.

“Well don’t let me stop you,” she says, offering a kind smile. “I can wait.”

“You sure?”

She nods, then pulls the book of poetry from her purse as he turns and heads back into the bathroom, after tossing the bottle safely onto the bed. She can hear the water switch on through the closed door while she surveys the room, and reaches around her neck to remove her necklace.

A small stack of paper cups sit beside a coffee maker on the desk. They aren’t technically proper, but they work just fine for casually drinking wine. She pours herself a small amount, leaving her necklace and earrings on the desk, and curls up on the chaise with his book.

Kogami is quick; by the time Akane reads through only two pages, she hears the sudden absence of pouring water followed by the screech of shower curtain rungs being pulled to the side. She pauses her reading, sipping Cabernet from her paper cup, and decides to wait for him before she continues.

His hair is still wet when he sits down beside her, and he wears the same clothes as before, only his shirt is buttoned rather lazily. The top of his chest is exposed, and she has a nice view of his collarbone. She briefly wonders before deciding with suspicious certainty that he’s done it very much on purpose.

He glances down to read the page where she holds the book open.

“‘Annabelle Lee’ is one of my favorites,” he comments, before swallowing a rather generous amount of liquid from his own cup.

“Really?” she asks. “That’s a bit of a surprise to me.”

“What do you think of it?” he asks.

“I like it,” she says, “but I think I’d like it more if you read it aloud.” He gives her a perceptive smile, obliging, and he dumps back the rest of his wine impressively fast so he can take the book from her hands after discarding the cup to the floor. He invites her to lean into him, draping his arm behind her shoulders across the back of the chaise. She does, with a warm fluttering in her stomach, and curls her legs up onto the seat underneath her, resting her head comfortably against his shoulder.

As he reads, Akane finds that the poem is significantly better read in his voice, which is low and rough, compared to reading it in her head. Something about the rugged resonance of his voice telling the tale of a love so strong and intense that it makes angels envious, a love that ultimately suffers the tragedy of death, brings it to life, as though his voice alone could sculpt the tale into reality.

He turns the page and continues to read, and she listens. Her eyes follow along with the words as he reads them aloud, and she sips on Cabernet until her cup is empty and she holds it lazily with both hands in her lap.

Eventually, the sound of his voice coaxes her eyes to relax, and they flutter closed. Before long, Kogami notices, and he pauses, craning his neck forward to inspect.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” he asks. She hasn’t, and her eyes open. Having his answer, he pulls back.

“No,” she answers anyway. “It’s just nice to hear you read.”

“You didn’t come back just to listen to me read.” It comes out as both a question and a statement, but she stiffens nevertheless when she feels his breath tickle her ear. She can feel his eyes on her, studying her, reading her reaction, and she wants to return his gaze, but she can’t bring herself to look away from the book in his lap.

She can speak, at the very least.

“What did I come back for, then?” she asks. Her words come out sounding stronger than she feels. She wants to say more, to help steer the conversation like she had absolutely no problem doing when she sat across the table from him earlier, but the warm shape of his body against hers is incredibly distracting. Her eyes study the shape of his hand, the bridges of his fingers as they rest on worn pages. She wonders what they feel like.

“A stimulating conversation, maybe,” he muses. His voice is lower than normal, and she can still feel his breath on her ear, and his arm draped behind her edges noticeably closer until she feels it against her back and his hand cups her shoulder.

“You are good at those,” she says through a shaky breath. She notices a small movement in the corner of her eyes so her gaze flits to it, and she finds herself eyeing the zipper of his pants.

“So I’ve heard.” Her cheeks start to feel warm.

“I liked the one we were having downstairs,” she manages. Kogami slowly closes the book, but continues to hold it in his lap.

He hums with feigned confusion, and though she cannot see his face, she can hear the smirk he’s undoubtedly wearing. “You’re going to have to refresh my memory.”

“We were talking about weaknesses,” she says, and as she speaks he moves the book to drop on the floor.

“We never did talk about yours, did we?”

She doesn’t know why, but she laughs. Maybe it’s because she’s feeling on edge, anticipating what comes next, and didn’t think this would be it.

“I really don’t know what it is,” she says with uncertain honesty. She watches as his hand reaches for hers, plucking the empty cup from them and discarding it to join the book. “Sometimes I think I’m too cold-hearted.”

This time Kogami is the one to laugh. The sound of it bursting from his chest melts away some of the tension in her shoulders.

“What makes you think that?” he asks.

“Because my psycho-pass doesn’t cloud.”

“That’s the last word I would use to describe you,” he says, replacing the hole left gaping in her hands with his own. It’s big and warm and fits perfectly between hers, and holding it gives her a sudden rise of insurmountable courage, as though it were a chink in his armor that she can cling to for purchase. She turns her body just slightly so she can look up at him comfortably, and his hand moves from her shoulder to hover just over the back of her neck.

“How would you describe me, then?” she asks, hoping to turn the conversation to her favor. He mirrors her, pulling a leg up onto the seat so he can face her too.

Despite her effort, Kogami is impossible to catch off guard.

“Intellectually stimulating,” he says thoughtfully, and though he doesn’t smile, there is an unmistakable hint of amusement in the corners of his lips. “Maybe you can be a little reckless, but you work with caution. You’re careful and thoughtful. You’re small-” and when he says this, a charmed smile bleeds through his expression despite his efforts to suppress it, “-easy to protect. And you’re an independent thinker. You aren’t afraid to do things your own way. And you’re complicated, but in the best way.”

When he finishes, her cheeks are uncomfortably warm and he’s leaning a lot closer than he was before. She does, admittedly, feel touched upon hearing his words, but despite that, her eyes are wide and taken aback. It’s not verbatim, but he’s just repeated her words from earlier to describe her, and it’s a substantial pill for her to digest.

Still, brave words leave her mouth before she even realizes she is speaking.

“I give that a ninety-five percent,” she says, countering him, her tone incongruent with her demeanor. She’s tense, and she grips his hand to keep hers from trembling. He notices.

“That last five percent is making you nervous,” he observes aloud. His voice, though low and rough, somehow has an easing effect with an unusual gentleness. Maybe it’s the fact that he can read her like a book and she doesn’t have to say it that makes her relax, even if it’s only miniscule.

“A little,” she admits. He surprises her when he takes one of her hands and raises it, her eyes following out of curiosity.

“Don’t be,” he says to her skin. “It’s just me.” A kiss to the back of her hand sends an excited flutter rippling through her nerves, raising the hair on her arms as her heart leaps in her chest so loudly that she’s she he can hear it.

He is right, and she’s fully aware of it. She knows she shouldn’t be nervous around him. There exists nobody else in the world that she trusts more than the man kissing her hand, holding her in the ghost of an embrace.

“Although there’d be no hard feelings if you got that taxi after all.”

It is this moment that secures her in place. He’s giving her an out, before they walk over the line that cannot be uncrossed. A line of which she has never strayed across before, not with anybody, ever, nor has it even been as close as it is now, just under her fingertips, encircling her with a tempting hand teasing the back of her neck and a knee guarding her in place.

Perhaps what makes her tremble is the stark unfamiliarity of senses heightened contrasting with how drawn she is to him, how she longs for nothing but to undo the rest of his buttons and lose herself in what comes after.

It’s sweet, but the idea of leaving now is simply laughable. Her hand travels to his thigh, gripping it with silent reassurance.

Her eyes, wide and brown and eager, say it even louder. His are stormy, and in them she can see the way his heart pounds mercilessly just as hers does, and yet there’s a coolness smoothing his slate sky into something tameable.

Control, she realizes, and she wonders in an instance like this what he’s like without it.

His long hand finally settles at the base of her neck, warm and ever present through the thin layer of her sweater. Her own hand falls from his grip to melt into the crook of his elbow as he moves to capture her jaw instead, and she practically pulls herself towards him by his thigh as he leans into her, until their lips meet and she’s delighted to find his are much softer than they look.

She’s pulled into his lap within moments, his hand cradling her underside and trapping her in place, though she hardly minds. Her fingers fumble awkwardly with the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open as far as his shoulders will allow once she frees him of the garment, her polished nails grazing his skin as she drags her hands up his neck to cup his jaws, holding him close as he kisses her furiously.

He breaks the kiss only to slip her sweater up over her head, and the second she’s free he captures her lips again, forcing them apart with his. His tongue, she finds, is just as soft and inviting as his lips.

Distracted, she doesn’t take much notice of his collection of her wrists, as he gently pulls each of them behind her back until he locks one hand ensnared tightly around them. She jumps at this, faltering from his lips, and rests her forehead against his, still close enough that she can feel his sultry breath warming her face.

“Too forward?” he asks, and his rough voice is low and just as hot.

She shakes her head, and she can feel her cheeks glowing with heat; they deepen in color when his eyes narrow curiously and he asks if she rather likes it, to which she nods. And she likes it a lot more when he rewards her honesty with a kiss, but this time he is slower, and more gentle, and as he kisses her his free hand trails down the exposed curves of her body until he’s inching under the hem of her skirt and slowly hiking it up her thigh.

She shudders when his fingers finally forge their way between her legs, and as he strokes her softly he breathes in every single one of the faint cries that spill from her lips.

“Are you still interested in that perfect score?” he asks, muttering in her ear. To her credit, she gives him a playful smirk despite the distracting treatment he’s giving her in her willfully confined predicament.

“The gentleman would really reveal his secrets to me?” she teases. He pulls back to look at her, shooting her a self-depreciating leer of his own.

“I’m no gentleman,” he says.

“You are to me,” she counters, meeting his gaze firmly. Looking at her, he can’t say she’s entirely wrong. His hand retracts, and although she can’t see it beneath the fabric of her skirt, her eyes dart down instinctively as if looking to see why he stopped. But just as quickly, he tips her gaze back up to his by the gentle grip of her chin, and he’s smiling at her strangely.

“I wonder why that is,” he says. His stare is warm and inviting, and it leaves her heart fluttering as he leans in, closing the distance between them once more, only his lips are rougher, and more insistent. Then he releases her wrists silently, placing them on his shoulders one at a time, and then he’s standing, lifting her into the air with him.

He lays her back on the bed, and the lights automatically dim, casting a dull, white glow over them that leaves her bare skin radiant like silver.

Her skirt is too restrictive, and that’s a problem; before he crawls over her frame, he rids her of it entirely, slipping the black from her silky legs along with her tights. She parts her knees for him eagerly, her lips awaiting his return with heated fervor.

In the dark, it’s easier. Hesitation no longer exists, and neither does the past that kept them apart for so long.

He murmurs in her ear with his hand buried beneath her panties, his touches no longer slow and soft, but fast, and rough with need. She struggles to keep up with him.

“I like someone who wants me to take the lead,” he says gruffly. It takes her only a quick moment to figure out what he’s talking about. “Someone who likes to be submissive.”

She can feel the heat spreading across her face, like his rough voice melts into liquid that drips from his lips to her skin and ignites her all the way down to her core. He lets his words hang in the air for a few long moments, busying himself with leaving wet kisses along her neckline.

When her only response is nothing but breathy gasps, he turns the tables on her instead.

“Why don’t you tell me more about your type?” he goads. Being inexperienced, she doesn’t know how to answer, and his generous attention on her makes it difficult to think. But she likes this, more deeply than she thought she would, so that has to mean something, right?

She blurts it out without meaning to, but it’s not the wrong answer.

“You.”

By the way his lips freeze, lingering just above her skin, coupled by his fingers slowing inside her, she guesses that it was not what he was expecting to hear. For a second, she worries she’s said the wrong thing, came on too strongly, pushed herself too far forward on a weak limb.

Minute traces of panic creep through her fingertips as his hand slips from inside her, but are instantly quelled as he shifts his body completely over hers, and he cups her face with both of his hands. Cracks are starting to form in that smooth gloss masking his storm.

The next kiss is hungry, demanding. He’s quickly losing his will to hold back. His hands can’t sit still, and they trade places between holding her jaw, snaking into her hair, and gently squeezing the side of her neck, his thumbs tracing carefully over her trachea with restraint. His knees force hers apart, and she works on forcing him out of his shirt despite the mess of his hands, freeing his thick arms for her to grab onto appreciatively for purchase.

He moves back to her neck, twisting her face away with a firm grip of her chin, his palm daring to press deeper into her throat. She gasps at the feeling of his lips, enjoying the subtle pressure of his hand. Her hips start to move, seeking relief for the heated excitement flaring between her thighs, but as quickly as they start, she stops herself.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“It’s okay,” he says softly against her skin. “Don’t be shy. Show me how badly you want me.” His words of encouragement arouse a new layer of heat to her cheeks that she’s grateful he can’t see in the dark, but she gives in, letting her reservation melt away with the kisses he trails down to her collarbone. His hips meet hers as she grinds against him, and with it she lets out a pleased groan that curls his lips.

Soon after his hands glide beneath her shoulders, and she lifts herself to give his fingers room to slip off her bra. Her hands take root in wet clumps of his hair when he dips his head to her breast, taking the sensitive skin in his mouth and dragging his tongue around it until he’s pulling from her a light string of moans that grind his hips roughly against hers.

The tautness of her fingers alerts him of her growing impatience, closely matching his. His hands drift downward over her stomach, curling around the top of her panties and slipping them down her thighs, but then he freezes suddenly, cursing once he realizes he doesn’t have protection.

Luckily, she’s come prepared, and gestures for her purse on the table. He retrieves it for her, and jots down a quick mental reminder to stock up on his own supply, noting the exact brand labeled on the little square she produces triumphantly from her bag, holding it up in the air like a hard-earned trophy.

He takes it from her hands, then he steps off the bed to slip from the confines of his jeans, and she nudges her panties from her ankles using her feet. The dull light shining from above the headboard lights his skin aglow, and she watches the shadows of his large muscles dance along his arms while he unzips his pants and shifts to step out of them.

He moves at a slow enough pace that she can take in all of him with affectionate, sultry eyes, but not too slow so as to not waste any time. His patience is wearing dangerously thin, and from the gaping distance between them she can see the storm of his eyes threatening to break the glass that holds him back.

Eyeing her body while he rolls on the condom only makes him eager to ingrain the shape of her to his hands’ memory. She lays with her head propped up by pillows, and she watches him with parted, wet lips and a hungry stare. One hand rests above her breast, as though she were holding her heart in place where it threatened to burst from her chest, while the other squeezes the comforter in anticipation. Her legs are bent, her knees resting together, and he’s not sure if she’s fully aware of the intimate display she gives him or if she’s doing it on purpose, but either way, it’s hidden, cast in the shadow of her thighs.

His hands part them needlessly as he moves over her, and she melds her chest to his as he settles on top of her. She cradles his jaw between her soft hands as he lowers his mouth to hers. The kiss is rough and filled with need, and when he plunges himself into her that need isn’t sated in the slightest; rather, it intensifies drastically.

The first few thrusts are careful, calculating, ensuring she isn’t uncomfortable or hurt, but the way she throws her head back in relief, the intensity of her grip as her hands slide to his shoulders, the way her legs wrap tightly around his waist, all push him just over the edge of caution.

His hips pick up in pace and soon he’s snapping against her in a steady rhythm, and he’s grabbing her wrists to pin her hands just above her crown, their fingers lacing together as he crushes his lips to hers possessively, devouring her pleasured cries in his throat. He has to pull away after a moment to allow them to breathe, and he inches their hands higher above her head, caging her face between his arms. As his thrusts grow rougher and faster, he grunts into her shoulder, and her voice rises higher in pitch, chiming in the air like a blissful song floating through his ears. It only pushes him to move faster, harder, deeper into her to see just how much she can take, how much higher he can guide her cries, until her back is arching sharply and her chest presses roughly into his, and her head is thrown back in a final cry as her body convulses with pleasure beneath his, and he follows shortly behind her with a throaty groan into the softness of her neck.

He rests there for a long moment, holding himself up just enough for her to breathe as deeply as she needs to, to catch her breath while he catches his, taking refuge in her warmth. She pries her hands from under his to hold him. Her fingertips massage his scalp lazily, smiling gently when stray tufts of his hair tickles her nose.

Aside from the dim light above them, the window is the only other source of light in the room, and so her eyes are drawn to the open space between the drapes. The sky outside is darker than their room, illuminated by the very same city lights she tenderly watched pass her by as she drove to see him earlier in the night.

The bubbling nervousness she’d felt then, to her, is simply ludicrous as she lay beneath him now, happy and content and without a care in the world. This isn’t how she’d pictured the night to progress, and she isn’t normally one to give into temptations, especially if those temptations breach her responsibilities.

But as she looks back down at him, at the scruffy, damp mess of his unruly hair sticking out between her fingers, she can’t help but smile. He undoubtedly is, and always will be, an exception. And she is perfectly fine with that.

#i'm sorry if there are any typos i will fix them later when i upload to ao3 i promise (crying emoji)#meant to use the mirror mentioned earlier but forgot and now its too late. damn #my fics #shinkaneweek #shinkane #psycho pass #akane tsunemori #shinya kogami

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arukou-arukou · 5 years

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@katofrafters suggested: “Yo, I always endorse body swaps. Avengers clumsily attempting to fight some ridiculous evil while wearing each other’s bodies sounds spectacular, honestly.” and @musicalluna suggested: “body swap, Steve experiencing the arc reactor.” There’s a little more of the second prompt than the first, but here you go!

Rated T

Hints of pre-relationship Steve/Tony, but the focus is more on Steve experiencing Tony’s body.

Warnings: Some non-sexual nudity. Language.

---

Steve loves Thor, but some days, he thinks the trouble that comes with Asgardians isn’t quite worth the friendship. Not most days. But days like today, days when the Enchantress is rampaging through lower Manhattan flipping green sparks at anyone who catches her eye to disastrous consequences, these days he thinks he’d let Thor go if it meant he didn’t have to explain to the authorities that those dinosaurs are civilians and they are not to be shot. It would be one thing if she were only turning people into animals, but today it seems like Enchantress took a shot of extra spite with her morning coffee, because on the next block, she’s switched to mermaids. There are crowds of civilians flopping feebly on the ground, staring in disbelief at their fishy lower halves or begging for water. Some of the octo-people are more mobile and trying to help, but it’s not nearly enough. The block after that is what appears to be a rain of goo. And then after that is a plague of boils.

And worse, none of the Avengers seem able to catch up with her. She is at a fixed distance from them, always receding. Even when Tony deploys at Mach I, which he tries to avoid in the city, he doesn’t get any closer. Instead, they’re left with a rain of shattered glass and another massive bill in property damage that Steve is sure he’s going to love explaining to the mayor, the feds, and Fury. He’s really starting to lose his patience.

“Thor, could you maybe, I don’t know, think of something?” There’s not much of Manhattan left before Enchantress reaches open water and the idea of her getting away… Steve grits his teeth and pumps his legs harder, fruitlessly.

“Amora! Please, these people have done you no wrong! Your quarrel is with me! If you must punish someone, am I not the one who should bear the brunt of your wrath.”

Fuck, Steve thinks, even as Hawkeye says it aloud. Amora laughs, hair tossing in the wind. “Well, since you put it that way.” She flips her fingers at them and green light encircles, engulfs, consumes.

(THERE IS A READ MORE)

Steve blinks desperately to clear the spots only to realize he can’t clear away these lights. There are so many. Everywhere. All at once. And shouting in his ear. He’s so discombobulated and a bolt of fear jolts through him for the other members of his team. “Widow? Hawkeye? Does anybody copy?”

“Copy, Tony,” says Thor. Then, “What the fuck?” The swear jar is going to be getting a lot fuller soon, because echoes of filthy disbelief sound down the lines of the coms. Steve himself realizes his voice is off. And as he comes to his senses, he also realizes the lights blinking in front of him are the HUD from the Iron Man suit. And dead ahead is a building, closing fast. He has no idea how to steer himself, but if he doesn’t do something… He throws his hands forward and tries to swivel his hips into it, too, and that does stop him, but it also sends him twirling end over end backwards. The horizon line on the HUD spins wildly and spots dance in front of his eyes.

“Tony!” Too late. He crashes into pavement, the shock reverberating up and down his spin and ribs. Holy shit. Ears ringing, head spinning, body aching, Steve stops struggling and waits for it all to end. He has a sneaking suspicion about what’s happened, though he doesn’t want to believe it. He wants to wake up back in his bed at five in the morning and have this all have been a horrible dream.

But then there it is. His own face hovering over him. “Cap, I presume?”

“Uhhhhh.”

“Yeah. Thought so.”

There’s Thor, but his normally jovial face is pinched and hard, while Nat is looking bewildered and frustrated. Hulk is…standing with a cocked hip, idly tossing a stone the size of a human head, while Clint looks furious, teeth gritted and arms bulging as he flexes them.

“Amora’s gone,” Not-Steve says. “Apparently this was the icing on her little tantrum cake.”

“T…Tony?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Fuck me,” Steve groans, dropping his head back.

“Language,” they all say automatically, and he groans again. Yes. He would really like to wake up right about now.

After a tumble like this, Tony normally gets right up again, but Steve’s having a hard time figuring out how he gets himself up. His back is throbbing and the ringing in his head seems like it’ll be sticking around for a while. On top of all that, he’s still not sure how to operate the suit. He can feel what seem like little pads or buttons against his fingers and toes, and that’s a weird feeling, too, that neoprene jumpsuit Tony wears when he has time to suit up for a call. Steve feels practically naked, even though he’s in a 400-pound suit of armor. Tony takes care of it, though.

“Captain Handsome 11-22-33-44-55,” he says, and the HUD flashes blue and clears of everything but vitals and sight lines. JARVIS intones “Captain America override initiated. Awaiting further instructions, Captain.”

“Fly Iron Steve back to the tower and disassemble him in the workshop on the apparatus table. Wait ‘til I get there before you initiate disassembly.”

“Understood, Captain.” And without Steve lifting a finger, the suit begins moving around him. It’s disconcerting and painful, having his limbs shifted in ways he didn’t intend. He tries to fight it at first, but that only makes his back ache all the more. Or rather, Tony’s back. Even though everything in his being wants to fight it, Steve forces himself to relax and go limp, letting the suit move him as it will. It stands, fires up the repulsors, and charts itself a course to the Tower, all without Steve’s input. It’s terrifying. Does Tony ever do this? Let JARVIS take the wheel? How does he stand it?

In a matter of minutes, he’s through one of Tony’s workshop entrances, laid out on a table, waiting to be “disassembled.” He shudders at the thought. He’s still on coms, though, so he can hear the team as they figure out how to maneuver the jet back. Hawkeye would normally pilot, but hulks hands are too big to easily handle the controls and they can’t quite figure out how to shrink him back into being Bruce’s size. He’s not uncontrollably raging, after all, so what might the trigger be? Bruce has calmed back into himself, but he’s deep breathing, trying to keep himself from panicking and “hulking” out in Hawkeye’s body. That could result in serious damage for Clint, especially if Hulk punches anything he’d normally punch as his big green self. That mean’s Nat’s piloting, but she’s having trouble with Thor’s bulk, too, and apparently it’s slow going. Tony is uncharacteristically silent.

It’s another fifteen minutes before Tony makes it to the workshop, tripping over his own feet the last few steps. Steve remembers what that was like. Tony’s not as small as Steve was pre-serum, but he’s still smaller, and Steve’s feet are…big. All of him is big and awkward, and it takes a while to get the hang of all that extra mass taking up space. But Tony’s genius brain is still the same as ever and upon his arrival, JARVIS complies with the second half of his orders, freeing Steve from the suit.

“Don’t get up just yet,” Tony says, walking past Steve to the fridge in the kitchenette in the corner. He comes back with ice packs, ace bandages, and a first-aid kit. “What hurts the worst?”

“Uh, back.”

“Okay. Do you think you can sit up?”

“Think so.”

Tony nods and Steve crunches his abs, trying to rise out of the shell of the suit. Holy hell, that is painful. Three inches up, Steve collapses back down. Ow. Ow ow ow.

“Right. J, help him up?” The suit, still open, sits itself up, pushing Steve with it, and then collapses back down. It happens so quickly Steve’s head starts spinning again.

“Might have a concussion,” he mutters, hand going to his forehead.

“Symptoms?”

“Head hurts. Spinning.”

“Well, what else is new.” It’s not a question. Tony says it like a fact, not like the jibe Steve might have read it as when they first met. “Anything else?”

“Back. Especially the ribs.”

“Ribs appear to be fractured, Captain,” JARVIS adds, his voice now overhead rather than coming from the suit. “Significant contusions on the left shoulder. I believe that is where Sir came down first.”

“Not Sir, J.”

There is a pause uncharacteristic of JARVIS’ usual whipfast retorts. “I’m sorry, Captain, could you repeat—“

“Amora switched us. Tony body, Steve brain, Steve body, Tony brain. The other Avengers, too. Were you not paying attention on coms?”

“I was not activated in the jet.” Which made sense. Clint usually flipped JARVIS on for co-pilot, but Nat was more weary, even after all these months living with the AI. “I have made note of the change, Sir. Apologies, Captain.”

“No problem, JARVIS. You had no way of knowing.”

Tony is staring down at a tablet, and when Steve catches a glimpse, he sees several readouts of Tony’s body. JARVIS has highlighted the ribs and shoulders in question, as well as the head region. “Chest hurts, too,” Steve says, nodding at the tablet.

“Huh?” Tony glances up. “Oh. That’s probably not from the fall. Sorry. You’ll just have to…” He fiddles his fingers vaguely and then turns to the kit, extracting a bottle of pills. “One advantage? If you can call it that. Painkillers are going to work for you. Congratulations. Eat up.” He rattles the bottle at Steve until he takes it, staring down at the little white caplets through the orange plastic.

Steve is about to take three white pills when he feels hands on him. He hadn’t even noticed Tony circling around. Is he always that quiet? He, Steve, not Tony. Tony is usually not quite at all. But now… There an air of apprehension around them, and Steve is trying to figure out exactly why Tony is holding back. But first—

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting you out of the flight suit. It’s insulated. The ice isn’t going to help much if you’ve got it on. And the zippers and hooks are tricky if you’re not used to it.”

Steve nods stiffly. He hadn’t exactly imagined this would be how Tony would first disrobe him, but what can you do? There’s the long growl of a zipper coming undone, and then tension and release, presumably where the hooks are. The painted on suit loosens around the shoulders, though it still hugs tightly to the arms, helped by a layer of sweat build-up. Steve starts to peel it down, but Tony stops him again, this time with a sharp, “No!”

A raised eyebrow on Steve’s part has Tony grimacing while he circles back to the front. “Trust me. There’s a trick to this to. And you don’t want to get it wrong.” Tony, with Steve’s own fingers, rings the arc reactor, twisting and lifting until there’s a little pop. A metal ring around the reactor twists forward and away and the whole suit roles down to Steve’s waist, the sleeves still clinging stubbornly to his wrists. He slowly frees his hands, but his attention is now down on his chest. On Tony’s chest.

Somehow, he’s never seen this before. Not in photographs and not in person. It’s one thing to know in the abstract that the arc reactor is buried in Tony’s sternum, but it’s another thing entirely to see it without the barrier of a shirt or three in the way. There are keloid scars all over Tony’s torso, but the mass of scar tissue around the reactor puts them to shame. It’s built up in thick knots, spreading out like a sunburst. Steve takes a breath and realizes this is why his chest hurts. As his chest expands and contracts, the skin around the reactor pulls, going white with the inhale and red with the exhale. And if Steve concentrates, he can feel the slightest of grating of bone against reactor housing.

He wants to touch it, almost does, but one glance at Tony in Steve’s face stops in him his tracks. That’s fear. That’s very nearly panic. And with Steve’s super strength, any sudden move on Tony’s part could have severe repercussions. Steve drops his hand.

“It’s…it’s always like this?”

“What do you think, genius?” Tony snaps. He’s trying to make Steve forget, trying to draw him into a fight, but he’s not going to forget this. Not for a long time. It’s been three years since he last felt the pain caused by his scoliosis or the gnawing panic that comes from not being able to breathe, but he hasn’t forgotten for a second what it’s like. And he won’t forget this either. He stares up into Tony’s face, his own face, which is turned away and red with shame. Steve’s Irish skin isn’t as forgiving as Tony’s Mediterranean complexion when it comes to embarrassment.

Finally, Steve says, “I probably ought to shower before we get those ice packs on.”

Tony glances from the corner of his eye down at Steve. He recognizes an olive branch when he hears it. “Trying to get a free show, Rogers?” His tone is still guarded, but there’s a flash of gratitude as well.

“I mean, I’m not opposed to the idea.”

That makes Tony’s eyebrows pop, his eyes widening as he turns to look down at Steve head on. “Good to know,” he eventually chokes out. “Uh, you can use the shop shower. You…you know where it is.”

Very suddenly, Tony is across the shop, footage of their fight with Amora up on the screen. He’s studying it very intently, but Steve welcomes this kind of tension over the fear that had fogged the air just minutes before. With care, he kicks out of the suit, groaning with the pain of his back. He can feel those bruises purpling up already. The moment he stands, the suit shimmies all the way down his hips, which is how he discovers that Tony sometimes does not wear underwear in his undersuit. Free show indeed. Steve wriggles his toes free of the individual toe holes and steps free of the neoprene, shuffling to the shop bathroom like an invalid. Which he kind of is.

He leaves the door cracked, but can’t help pausing in front of the vanity mirror. It’s strange to see Tony’s face staring back, stranger still to see his jaw clenched in the way Steve normally clenches, his one eyebrow raised the way Steve normally raises his. And below it all is the web of scars, the glowing blue of the reactor.

“Uh, Tony? Is it safe to be wet?” he calls.

“What, you think I get electrocuted with every shower?” Tony shouts back.

That wry smile, now curling Tony’s lips. “Point taken.” His chuckle makes his diaphragm contract, makes the ribs around the reactor squeeze in, makes him ache to his bones. He doesn’t touch the reactor housing, but he does reach out and touch it in the mirror, tracing the circle of the reflection. He won’t forget.

#writing #fanfiction #katofrafters #musicalluna #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers #body swap

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riley1cannon · 5 years

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Presently Untitled Superbat Fic

Yes, so, I have been wrestling with this thing since July, with many starts and stops, and no title to be found (at this rate it really may end up being called “2 Idiots Sitting Around Figuring Stuff Out”), but there is a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, for this first half, Clark’s POV, anyway.

Anyway... It’s DCEU, post-Justice League, and really is just Clark and Bruce sitting around talking--about Harvey Dent, about how Smallville celebrates the 4th of July, with side trips into Alfred headcanon and references to recent JL undercover missions, and there will be a special cameo appearance at the end of part two. But this is part one, so it’s only Clark, Bruce, and Martha Kent. I don’t even want to contemplate the Bruce POV half right now...

“Clark: Chapter One”

He might not feel the heat and humidity like everyone else, but Clark could still enjoy a nice cool shower that sluiced it all away at the end of a long day. Now, if he could have a quiet night with no emergencies, no crisis anywhere, he would chalk that up as a small blessing. He knew better than to count on that, however.

He had changed into cargo shorts and a white t-shirt, and was weighing the pros and cons of rocky road versus Chunky Monkey, when his mom called.

“Clark! Clark! Turn on the Weather Channel!” she told him before he could even say hello.

“What?” He found the remote and scrolled through the channels, wondering what was up with the note of hilarity in her voice.

“Just turn it on, sweetie. You’ll see.”

He found the channel, tuning in just as a woman standing by a fountain in downtown Metropolis was saying, “Couldn’t he, like, tilt the axis of the Earth, or something?”

What? “Ma, what is this?”

“They’re asking people on the street what they think Superman should do about this heat wave.”

Oh for… Now a guy was saying he’d heard Superman had some kind of freeze breath, so why didn’t he just fly around and blow on everybody. Another was saying, “How about if he fixed the Moon so we always had a total eclipse going? That bleep’s bleeping cool.”

“Is this real life?”

“Guess it is, sweetie,” Martha said, laughter still running through her voice. “Guess you can’t blame folks too much. It’s a bad summer.”

Growing up on a Kansas farm, Clark was only too familiar with the weather as adversary. If it wasn’t too hot, it was too cold. There was either too much rain, or not enough. And if, for one rare moment everything was exactly right, ten minutes later a thunderstorm would come roaring out of Colorado to send tornadoes tearing across the landscape.

“Yeah, I don’t blame them,” he said. He did press the mute button before he got too boggled by the suggestions people had. “You know I’d do something if I could.”

“I do know, Clark. Don’t fret about it now.” She sounded like she was rethinking calling him. “I just thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

“Mom, it’s okay. It is funny. It’s just,” he shook his head, “I’m not sure how much good it would really do if I flew around blowing on everyone.”

Now she had a smile back in her voice. “Yeah, that does call up an interesting picture. So,” she let out a breath, “how was your day?”

He told her about it, the highs and the lows, most of it pretty routine. “Just a one thing after another kind of day,” he finished up.

“Uh-huh.” His mother had a note of skepticism in her voice now. “Bet those folks you rescued off that roller coaster didn’t think it was no big whoop. We watched it down at the diner. There were some mighty big smiles when you got everybody back down on the ground.”

“Yeah, that was pretty good,” he admitted, remembering the looks of fear that had given way to relief when he arrived on the scene. Moments like that were a joy. They were a huge help whenever he longed for the days he could help people and not have it be breaking news. There was no turning back time, though, and things probably never had been as simple as he liked to remember them. “Did you have a busy day at the diner?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Oh, smooth,” his mother teased, a smile still in her voice. He could hear her moving around, the creak of the screen door that told him she’d gone out on the porch, and a soft patter that sounded like rain. “Well, Pete Ross came in and said he felt like changing things up, so he ordered a club sandwich instead of his usual BLT.”

He laughed now and shifted the phone to his other hand as he went back into the kitchen. “Sounds like exciting times.”

“Oh, yeah, things are hopping here all right.”

“Is it raining?”

“Little bit. Supposed to be a cold front coming down from Canada. That’ll help.”

And it would soon be August, with the end of summer looming not too far off, and harvest time coming up fast. Clark already had time scheduled to get back home and help out with that.

“So,” she was patting the porch swing, calling the dog to her, “have you talked to Bruce?”

Oh boy. “I have talked to Bruce,” he confirmed as he opened the fridge. A BLT sounded pretty good, actually, and he checked to see if he had all the fixings on hand.

Infinite patience in her voice, his mother prompted, “About?”

“About…three days ago.” He got out the bacon, checked the lettuce and tomato was fresh. “He wanted some input on the Justice League logo. The headquarters is going to look pretty snazzy when he gets it all pulled together.” Ah, there was the mayonnaise, way at the back.

“Clark Joseph Kent, you know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Mom…” He sat down at his small kitchen table, white Formica trimmed in red, and wondered how hard he could bang his head against it without breaking it. “It’s not that easy.”

The pattern of rain sounded louder in the background as his mother said “Looked pretty easy when he was visiting us. Ask me, you two already went out on a couple of dates. You just need to make it official.”

Clark doubted Bruce would share that viewpoint. Then again, Bruce had been known to surprise him--on a pretty regular basis, actually. After all he hadn’t expected him to show up in Smallville to celebrate the Fourth of July with them. That had been one of a hundred things they had talked about during a stakeout on a rainy Gotham night back in March. He’d never thought Bruce would remember, let alone actually follow up.

He thought about that night a lot. He had been surprised at the invitation to join Bruce, and had been ruthless about clamping down on the thrill of excitement that shot through him. It was because his x-ray vision and super hearing made him useful, he reminded himself. Nothing more. If Bruce had occasion to stakeout an aquarium, he’d call in Arthur.

Although why Bruce would ever put an aquarium under surveillance Clark could not have said. Nor had he expected anything but the most cursory information and instructions about the current job. Sit, watch, listen, report what he picked up. He’d been proved wrong as soon as he located Bruce, parked across the street from the Iceberg Lounge.

Bruce popped the passenger door and waved him over. As always, decked out in designer duds, Bruce looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ. Even the top buttons of his shirt were artfully undone. Clark, in jeans and a plaid shirt from the Tractor Supply store in Smallville, had a brief thought of being that thing that wasn’t like the other. It was there and gone in and instant, though. All Bruce had ever said was to once inquire if he’d die if he didn’t wear plaid. When Clark quipped back, “Don’t know, maybe,” he’d heard no more about it--but he had glimpsed Bruce biting down on a smile.

“Don’t tell me: you’re thinking of buying it,” he said, looking over at the night club. Until recently the place had been the hottest spot in Gotham, and you had to be a Bruce Wayne or part of his entourage to get inside. Now, with Oswald Cobblepot locked up in Arkham--again--it was shut up and dark.

“Funny,” Bruce grumbled. “Is anything going on over there?”

As Clark checked, Bruce told him about information he’d turned up that Two-Face--Harvey Dent--might surface at the club to muscle in on what was left of the Penguin’s operation. That was unexpected. He had gathered Harvey Dent was an especially sensitive subject, and one that Bruce didn’t share easily. He wanted to read volumes into Bruce letting him in on this. Best to pare that down to Cliff Notes, though, he suspected.

“It’s quiet,” he reported, completing a scan of the club. “No signs of life to speak of.”

Bruce canted him a look, eyebrows raised. “To speak of?”

Clark shrugged, “Couple of rats in the kitchens.”

“Four-legged variety?”

“Yep.”

“Hhn. Health Department gave it a passing score on its last inspection.”

“And of course there’s no corruption in Gotham.”

Bruce’s only comeback was a grumpy look. He relaxed back into the driver’s seat and reached for one of two cups of coffee. He jerked his chin at the other one. “That’s yours, if you want it.”

Clark nodded his thanks and reached for it. He took a sip, savoring the flavor. Smooth and rich, not as sweet as he usually took it, but with plenty of cream. “It’s good.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

Clark smiled and took another drink, skewed in his seat so he could watch Bruce and keep on the eye on the club. “Do you do this a lot? Just sit and watch?”

“That is the definition of a stakeout.” Bruce took a long drink of his coffee, to all appearances relishing every drop like an elixir of life. Every drop that was likely strong enough to peel paint, and untouched by any taint of cream or sugar. Clark didn’t know how he did it.

He also didn’t understand his sudden fixation with that glimpse of Bruce’s throat, with watching the muscles work as he swallowed. Well, that was the story he was sticking with anyway.

There wasn’t anything sudden about it, either, if he was being honest. Clark had been struck by him that first night, at the library gala. Perry had meant the red carpet assignment to be a reprimand, and Clark had felt it. Bored out of his mind and chafing to be anywhere else, he had been ready to provoke more wrath from Perry when a sleek Aston Martin pulled up. Everything changed the instant Bruce got out of that car. Clark’s attention had perked right up and been riveted on the newcomer, the other man’s charisma sparking the atmosphere. It had called to Clark so strongly that, even without the Gotham connection, he felt he still would have sought Bruce out in the crowd.

He thought about that night sometimes. Now and then. Wondered about the what-ifs. Impossible to know if anything could have played out differently, let alone if it would have changed anything. What mattered was they were here, now, on this rainy night in Gotham, and this second chance eclipsed all the what-ifs. He wouldn’t trade this for a Pulitzer.

“Something funny?”

Clark dialed down his smile and shook his head. “Nope.”

“Hhn.” Bruce eyed him with a flicker of suspicion and set his cup back in its holder “It’s a longshot Harvey will show up,” he said, shifting in his seat. “The last solid intel on him was that he’d gone to ground over in Bludhaven.”

Clark nodded, careful not to betray any surprise that conversation had come back to Harvey Dent. Maybe he wasn’t meant to contribute anything, just be a sounding board. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, he decided. “You’ve known him awhile.”

Bruce’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Nothing else betrayed any sign of tension. Seconds ticked by and Clark was ready to accept that there would be no reply, when Bruce’s shoulders relaxed a fraction and he eased back in his seat. “We go back,” he admitted. “Used to paint the town together.”

Nostalgia whispered across Bruce’s face, caught in a wistful smile as he spoke. Clark knew the facts. How Handsome Harvey Dent, Gotham’s dynamic, young district attorney brought mob boss Sal Maroni to trial, and how Maroni retaliated by splashing acid in Dent’s face, scarring him physically. How the scars went much deeper, his mind turning on him so that he emerged as Two-Face, flipping a coin to decide if someone lived or died today.

Those were the facts, stark and brutal. Clark doubted they came close to conveying the impact of the tragedy on those had cared for Harvey Dent.

Offering his sympathy was feeble, he knew, but he had to say something. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce shrugged it off, tried to anyway. “It’s a long time ago now.”

“And you’re supposed to be over it?”

“So I’m told.”

Not by anyone who really knew him, Clark would bet. Not by anyone who had experienced the loss of a loved one. Almost twenty years had passed and he still felt the ache of his father’s death at unexpected time--while working on their old tractor, or watching Patrick Mahomes throw a game-winning touchdown for the Chiefs. He didn’t know how to begin to mourn for Krypton, for the mother and father he’d never know. One of his secrets was that he even grieved for Zod, for lost chances and what could have been if only Zod hadn’t been hellbent on annihilating all life on Earth.

Time did heal, but the memories were never far from the surface.

“Could you have saved him?”

Bruce sighed, fingers tapping on the steering as he aimed a pensive stare through the windshield. “Maybe not. I’ll never know for certain.”

Since he’d made it this far, Clark edged out a bit further. “Could you have guessed he’d become Two-Face?”

Bruce shook his head. “I knew he had some...anxieties, that he had that coin flipping fixation.” His hands flexed on the steering wheel. “Nothing that prepared me for Two-Face.”

“But you beat yourself up about it anyway.”

Bruce offered him a wry smile. “He’s my friend.”

Clark nodded. He didn’t miss the present tense wording, nor was he surprised by it. Not anymore. The contrast between when they believed the worst of each other and now, when they could sit and talk like this, verged on the surreal at times.

He shifted around in his seat and took another drink of coffee, starting to feel a buzz of his own anxiety. It had been there since he came back, a creeping unease that whispered the walls were too close and confining even in the middle of the Daily Planet bullpen. Distractions helped, and he reached over to scrub at the fogged up windshield, scanning up and down the street.

“Something?” Bruce asked, tensing as if ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

“No.” Clark shook his head, relaxed back into his seat. “Everything’s still quiet.”

Bruce gave a sharp nod, as if confirming something to himself. “I don’t think he’ll show,” he said, half to himself. Difficult to be sure if relief or disappointment threaded through the words. “We’ll give it a few more minutes.”

“Okay.” Clark watched drizzling drops of rain slither down the windshield, that random twinge of claustrophobia easing away as he concentrated on absorbing the cozy intimacy of the setting. Something else it would be best not to dwell on, and he scrambled for a new topic, prompted by a comment Barry had made in passing the other day. “So did Diana and Alfred really do the tango when you took down the Jade Jaguars?”

Bruce scootched around, eyeing him. “Someone’s been telling tales, I see.”

“Was it meant to be a secret?”

“Apparently not.” Bruce took another sip of coffee, pulled a face and put the cup down. “It was the foxtrot, not the tango, and it was part of their cover, not a celebration of the takedown…”

to be continued

Note: The idea that, in the wake of being dead, Clark might suffer bouts of claustrophobia was the inspired idea of @oneiroteuthis.

#superbat #superbat fic

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oforamuse · 5 years

Text

i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) chapter 2/?

mickey milkovich hasn’t seen ian gallagher in over 9 years, not since the day he broke his heart and they shipped him off to prison for a crime he didn’t technically commit.

the last place he expects to bump into him is new york fucking city.

or, the one where two broken puzzle pieces find a way to fit themselves back together.

au from 5x12/6x01 onwards.

read and comment on ao3 / CHAPTER ONE

Living with Mandy definitely isn’t like the fucking Brady Bunch, or whatever you’d expect between two siblings. They get by mainly because they stay out of each other’s crap and each other’s way. Mickey will go out if Mandy brings home some guy she wants to fuck (and vice versa), Mandy will leave Mickey dinner if she’s cooked enough and he’s getting in late from work, and they both surprisingly take turns in the cleaning jobs - it’s simple and it works. They operate more like convenient roommates than two people from the same childhood home and bloodline. They’ve never been particularly close and they don’t really pretend to be. Sure, they have their moments where they laugh and crack open a beer a few nights a week but they don’t come crying to each other about their problems. Mickey can count the number of times Mandy visited him over 6 years on one hand, which he pretends doesn’t hurt, but it does.

He knows he could've been a more supportive brother when he was younger too. They both kind of failed each other in that respect.

By the time Mickey pulls himself off the floor, the kitchen is dark, and he must’ve been lying on the floor hours. He thinks he fell asleep at some point but he can’t be sure, everything is confusing and everything aches.

He stumbles into his room and switches on the light, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He finds his phone on the side, still plugged in where he’d left it this morning on what he thought was a quick grocery store trip. His stomach swirls at the memory, which is quickly followed by an angry growl and Mickey remembers he hasn’t eaten anything all day. He checks his phone to see the time and there’s a text on the screen from an unknown number a few hours ago.

4:41pm: from UNKNOWN SENDER

‘Mandy gave me your number, I just want to talk.’

‘Fuckin’ traitor.’ Mickey mutters, weighing up whether or not to respond or to throw his phone into the East River. He can claim that on insurance, right?

His stomach growls again and his fingers itch to type out a reply.

Ian’s always been a persistent fucker. Unfortunately for Mickey, he's always ended up giving in to the younger boy. Whether it was putting up with him even when Mickey tried his hardest in the beginning to act like he didn’t want him around or suggesting community college or pushing and pushing and pushing until Mickey grew a pair and came out, Ian always seemed to be nagging about something. Up until those last few months where his mania was getting out of hand, he’d always been the one with the steady plan and expectations, or so Mickey thought. Reluctantly, he knows Ian won’t give up until Mickey gives him a straight answer or hears him out properly, his persistence used to be endearing but now it’s just fucking inconvenient. He sighs, the phone as heavy in his hand as the feelings in his chest and suddenly he feels 19 years old again.

They agree to meet an hour or so later at a bar Mickey frequents a few blocks down, a smaller slightly less sticky version of The Alibi run single handedly by this woman born and raised from Brooklyn. Mickey spent an embarrassingly long time choosing an outfit to wear (which he'd argue was because of having not done his laundry), swapping his shirts multiple times before he just gave up and chose something random. Heck, he even put some cologne on, though he’d never actually admit it.

When he leaves his apartment is tension is palpable and he's somewhat worried he might even break a sweat. Mandy didn't show her face for the rest of the evening, hr door remaining firmly closed, so luckily he didn't have to avoid any suspicious questions.

As soon as Mickey turns the corner and the bar comes into sight, his hands uncharacteristically clam up, instantly regrets giving into the Gallagher’s request. He stops underneath the Heineken sign in the window, basking in the green neon glow as he fishes out a cigarette. He’s already a few minutes late and he figures Ian can live with waiting an extra few minutes whilst he has a smoke to calm his nerves. Mickey had to wait 9 fucking years, the guy can deal with Mickey taking a minute. The smoke fills his lungs, warm and familiar, it’s the only thing normal about this weird fucking day. When Mickey Milkovich woke up this morning he did not expect to come face to face with the guy he’s spent so fucking long trying to move on from, it was absolutely at the bottom of the list of possibilities for the day. He smokes right up to the end of the filter, squeezing out every last moment of peace he can before he flicks it to the ground and stomps on it.

It’s now or never, Milkovich.

He takes a deep breath and pushes the wooden door open, stepping into the busy dimly lit bar.

‘Mickey!’ Rosa calls from behind the bar when she sees him, her smile huge and her hand is already pulling down a pint of Mickey’s usual beer.

Great, announce my fucking presence to the whole room.

He winces, maybe he does come here a little too regularly.

Mickey throws her a forced smile and scans the room for Ian, spotting him sitting in a back corner booth looking at his phone. As if he'd called his name, Ian's eyes flicker up just as Mickey catches him and they meet, Ian holding his hand up awkwardly in greeting. He takes a deep breath and goes over to the bar to get his drink, Rosa throws him a questioning look.

She gestures her head towards Ian’s table. ‘First date?’ She asks innocently, handing him his pint, ‘You meet him online? He’s hot.’ She wriggles her eyebrows suggestively and Mickey wants this all to be over.

‘Stick it on my tab.’ Mickey says steadily, swallowing down a biting response. He ignores her prying questions and chooses to flip her off as a thank you instead. He walks over to Ian’s table, his eyes pinned to a point on the wall above his head so he conveniently doesn’t actually have to look at the guy on his journey over.

His heart thumps. Thump, thump, thump.

He gulps.

There's a moment of blink and you'll miss it hesitation before he slumps down into the booth opposite, then Ian looks up from where he’s been fiddling with the label on his beer. His eyes get drawn to Ian’s slender fingers picking at the paper and he notes that the beer has an incredibly low alcohol percentage, barely even being able to call itself beer.

‘The fuck you drinking that piss for?’ He asks, unable to let the opportunity to poke at the other man pass him by. It's a good icebreaker apparently, because Ian smiles shyly. Mickey's never been one for small talk, especially not when he’s nervous.

‘My meds.’ Ian says simply, his forehead creasing ever so slightly, ‘It took a while getting used to it, but it basically tastes the same.’

He remembers the conversation they had with the doctor, Ian sitting opposite him with dead eyes and not saying a word. Falling further and further away from him with every single description of meds he had to take, or things he couldn’t drink or do because of his diagnosis.

‘Fuckin’ doubt that.’ Mickey grunts casually, taking a swig of his very alcoholic beer. He stares at Ian from over the glass. The other man shifts and reaches a tentative hand out on the table between them. There's a beat.

‘I-, uh, I’ve missed you.’ Ian offers hesitantly, his voice low and uncertain.

‘No you haven’t.’ Mickey says bluntly, his right hand gripping his glass tightly. Ian sighs, sitting up properly from where he’d been slouched over.

‘I have, Mick.’ Ian replies, and there it is again, that fucking nickname.

‘Miss me enough to come visit me, yeah? Or how about even a fuckin’ call?’ Mickey says bitterly, running a hand through his hair. ‘Miss me fuckin’ enough to leave me high and dry for 6 years?’

Ian scrubs his hands over his face, ‘I’m sorry’ he offers. ‘I shouldn’t have done that to you. I shouldn’t have left you there.’

‘Why did you?’ Mickey asks, and it falls out awkwardly. He's got to know. He's got to know why he wasn't enough.

‘I was a kid and I was fucked up.’ Ian says, pulling his arm back into his lap. Mickey is momentarily shocked at the honesty - he thought Ian would’ve put up more of a fight like he did when he was younger. ‘I was a kid in over his head and I thought I knew best…I thought you were better off without having to deal with me.’

‘Bullshit.’ Mickey spits, anger and hurt beginning to simmer in his belly. Nothing about what he had to go through left him better off.

‘I know that now.’ Ian says, meeting Mickey’s eyes. There isn’t a hint of blame in Ian’s eyes, but his face is held tight with regret. ‘It was bullshit.’

His words rolls over him like a cascading landslide.

God, Mickey can’t even count the amount of time he spent wishing those first few years of being locked up that he’d hear Ian say those words. Mickey rubs at his eyes, breaking their eye contact. He sits there for a second, letting his vision go black and spotty. It kinda looks how he feels. He wishes he could fall right into that dark pit and blink out of existence.

Ian pulls him back.

‘I wanted to come see you.’ Ian confesses and Mickey drops his hands. ‘I really did.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ He asks and Ian looks away, ashamed.

‘I figured you didn’t want to see me.’ He says, quietly, his fingers going back down the ripped up label. ‘It was hard picturing you there…’

‘Bullshit.’ Mickey repeats, this time with more obvious anger. Ian looks up at him, pained.

‘No, Mick, I-’ He stops and swallows. ‘By the time I had managed to sort my shit out, it had been a while. I figured you must’ve hated me.’

‘I didn’t.’ Mickey says firmly, his eyes threatening to well up with unwanted tears. He scrubs them furiously away.

The silence hangs between them, only broken by a bar full of bustling noise.

At least everyone else was having a normal night, Mickey thinks, at least everyone else doesn't have to deal with their entire everything being turned upside down and thrown out for the entire world to see-

‘You should’ve.’ Ian says, finally, breaking Mickey's internal dialogue.

‘Yeah.’ Mickey says, not meeting Ian’s gaze. ‘I probably should’ve.’

He’s exhausted, this is exhausting. He wants to tell Ian that he hated him, that he still hates him. Mickey knows it would be a lie. He wants to tell Ian to fuck off, to get the fuck out of New York and leave him alone.

He can’t. He won’t.

Because try as he might, and he’s tried so fucking hard, everything always comes back to Ian.

‘I’ve never hated you.’ Mickey says subconsciously, finally bringing his eyes up to meet Ian's desperate gaze, ‘Could never hate you.’

And it's true. He never could, never in a million years.

They look at each other. Their years and years of history spread on the table between them. Souls bared and vulnerable.

‘Why didn’t you come find me?’ Ian asks, so quiet Mickey almost misses it. Ian’s gaze shifts awkwardly as he explains as Mickey can feel himself scowl. ‘When you got out?’ Why didn’t you come find me?’

Ian looks at him so earnestly and Mickey almost bowls right over. He can’t fucking believe what he’s hearing.

‘Are you- are you fucking kidding me?’ He bites, jaw clenched so tightly he thinks he might break a tooth. ‘Are you seriously asking me right now, why I didn’t come find you after waiting six motherfuckin’ years for you to come find me?’

Ian shrinks back, ashamed and wounded. He doesn't even try to fight it. ‘I guess I deserve that.’ He says after a while and Mickey raises his eyebrows, surprised once again at Ian’s lack of self defence. ‘I know I fucked things up.’

‘Yeah.’ Mickey breathes, ‘You did.’

He puts his beer to his lips and drinks. It stings.

‘I’m on meds, have been for the last few years.’ Ian confesses. ‘It took awhile to sort out, I, uh, had a rough time at first, but I’m good now.’

Mickey’s heart twinges. He remembers Ian’s mania, him bringing in all kinds of shit into their home, running miles every morning and fucking Mickey long into the night. Fucking other guys between that too. He aches at the thought of Ian barely wanting to get out of bed, going days without food or showering. Not saying a word to anyone for hours.

Mickey runs a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say. He wants to take Ian by the shoulders and apologise for how he acted back then, he wants to slip his arms around his neck and breath him in, pull him close. He settles for a small smile.

‘Good.’ He offers, ‘Better than havin’ your crazy ass running around.’ and Ian laughs weakly.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth that’s not from his beer. It’s the realisation that Ian got himself better without Mickey’s help, that perhaps Ian was right after all and that one of them was better off without the other.

Fuck, he needs a smoke. His hand comes down to feel the packet in his pocket and he lets it ground him. He'll get through this, he'll get through this and go to the bodega and get his pack of smokes. He just needs to make it through this conversation without completely breaking down.

There’s a pregnant pause, neither man sure of where to step next. He takes a sharp breath and jumps.

‘What the hell are you doing here anyway? Didn’t think they let Gallaghers leave the fuckin’ state.’ Mickey says plainly, shifting the subject. It's been nagging on his mind since their first encounter - what the fuck is Ian doing in New York City of all places?

‘Didn’t think they let Milkovichs either.’ Ian quips back, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

Mickey rolls his eyes, ‘Fair enough.’

‘Fiona’s, uh, Fiona’s actually getting married here.’ Ian explains, ‘She met some rich guy from upstate a year ago and they’re tying the knot.’ Mickey snorts, remembering the string of guys Fiona would always have trailing after her like lost fucking dogs, it’s surprising that one has finally managed to pin her down.

‘She pregnant?’ He asks, both as a genuine question and a jab. Given the Gallagher parent’s rep for popping out a kid every other year or so, he wouldn’t be surprised.

‘Nah.’ Ian replies, ‘In love apparently.’ He chuckles wistfully before his eyes catch Mickey’s for a moment and they shift pointedly away.

‘Good for her.’ He says uncomfortably, and he somewhat means it. There’s a pause and Mickey wonders if it’s time to call it a night because he can not deal with this right now because God. fuckin’. damn. he needs a smoke. Apparently his mouth hasn't caught up with his nicotine addiction, ‘How’d she meet the dude?’ He finds himself asking.

‘He’s some business man or something, he was in town on some job and I dunno, they hit it off.’ Ian shrugs, ‘Lip’s got a kid now, though.’ Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. He knows that Lip used to be an important part of the Gallagher household but fuck, Mickey would never give that man a kid of his own.

‘Who the fuck gave him a kid?’

‘A broken condom.’ Ian says bluntly, ‘Debbie’s got one too.’

‘A broken condom?’ Mickey quips back, somewhere between confused and somewhat disgusted at the idea of Debbie actually having sex considering the last time he saw her she was practically an infant.

Okay, like 14, but whatever.

‘A kid.’ Ian rolls his eyes almost fondly and it throws Mickey back ten years, as if they were back underneath the bleachers at the dugouts. It’s easy to forget that literal years have passed between them.

‘Jesus Christ , you Gallaghers have been fuckin’ reproducing like rabbits. There’s enough of you in the world as it is.’ He swallows uncomfortably before continuing, ‘You got a kid hiding somewhere?’

‘Fuck no.’ Ian laughs and something uneven in Mickey’s gut he didn’t even know was there settles pleasantly.

He glances quickly down to Ian’s left hand, no ring.

Interesting.

No kid, check. No ring, check. Boyfriend?

‘So the entire clan is back in town then?’ Mickey asks in an attempt to distract his thoughts away from Ian and other people.

‘Yeah, we’re all here.’ Ian replies.

‘Fuck, I’m not gonna be able to leave my apartment without bumping into one of you goddamn Gallaghers.’ Mickey jokes, taking a swig of his beer. There’s a beat and Mickey takes a moment to simply enjoy being back in Ian's company. He's missed him so fucking much he feels like he could drown in it, it rolls over him like waves. Over the years he's barely let himself admit it - he's always gotta be the cool and unbothered one, never the one to harp on the past. He doesn't think he's even mentioned Ian to anyone except Mandy since moving to New York, his name always painful and heavy whenever he does rarely come up. Neither one of them mention the Gallaghers or Chicago really, for that matter. They both silently agreed to leave it behind them.

‘Come to the wedding.’ Ian blurts out. It slams Mickey right back into reality harshly and he almost falls out of his seat, his beer spilling everywhere. Ian looks at him uncomfortably, painstakingly waiting for a response. Neither man moves to grab a napkin.

Is he about to vomit? Are they both about to vomit?

‘What?’ He mutters, Mickey must’ve heard him wrong cause there’s no fuckin’ chance he just asked him to-

‘Come with me to the wedding.’ Ian breathes, offering a hand out on the table. ‘I can have a plus one, I mean it’s Fiona.’ He shrugs self consciously.

Mickey can’t actually believe the words coming out of Ian’s mouth right now. He just told Mickey that he’s on his meds right now, his mania should be under control, did he fucking lie?

He must be on crack, he’s drunk, he’s high out of his fucking mind. That’s the only explanation.

‘Are you-’ Mickey starts, but Ian stops him with a protesting hand. Mickey swallows hard, what the fuck is going on?, ‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘Hear me out, I know it sounds fuckin’ insane.’ He levels, his eyes pleading and is face so fucking earnest and open.

‘Yeah, it fucking does.’ Mickey says incredulously, really hoping that Ian his catching his clear message of what the FUCK.

‘It’s been years, Mick.’ Ian presses, ‘I’m sure everyone would be surprised- love to see you.’ He corrects himself.

Mickey literally has to hold himself back from laughing in Ian’s face, he barely succeeds and he knows his face must be a picture of absolute surprise. He takes a moment and regroups himself, all the humour gone. He knows why they'd be surprised to see him.

‘Years because I was in fuckin’ prison and none of those bastards came to see me.’ He bites, and Ian looks like he’s been slapped.

‘Mickey…’

‘Your family fuckin’ hated me.’ He states plainly, and it’s true, he knows they weren’t his number one fans. In their defence, Mickey found them fucking annoying too. ‘I ain’t wasting my time in a place where I ain’t wanted.’

‘That’s a lie!’ Ian protests, ‘Carl has always liked you, Debbie too, I know Lip can be a dick- and Liam you have to see Liam-’

‘You’re crazy.’ Mickey mutters in disbelief, but Ian holds up a hand in protest. The idea of being thrown back into that... It makes him feel sick.

‘I want you there.’ Ian admits, and it hangs there heavily as he tries to gage Mickey’s reaction. Mickey’s heart pounds inside his chest and he feels like he might vomit on the table between them. ‘I just want to spend some time with you Mick, it’s been…’

‘I want you there.’ Ian repeats, holding his uncomfortable gaze and Mickey really thinks he’s going to vomit this time.

‘You don’t owe me anything, Gallagher.’ He bites back stiffly, attempting to swallow down the lump that’s building slowly in his throat. His hands start to slightly shake and he wraps them around his empty glass to steady them. Ian’s eyes catch onto the quick movement. ‘And I sure as hell don’t owe nothin’ to you.’

This is too much, this is all too much.

‘I want you there.’ Ian says for a third time, his fingers coming to rest hesitantly on top of Mickey’s hands and Mickey surprises himself by not instantly pulling away. The touch blazes like fire, sending sparks through his hand and up his arm.

‘Heard you the fuckin’ first time.’ Mickey mutters, ‘Like a goddamn broken record.’

His gaze shifts down and fixes on their point of contact. Ian’s slim fingers lightly tracing the dark angry ink on his knuckles. He can feel his resolve chipping away, years and years of shutting everything out comes falling to the floor, like his heart is a fucking piñata. He always found it difficult to say no to Ian, even when he was a closeted asshole kid it didn’t come as easy as it must’ve seemed. Even in the most terrifying moment of his life, when Ian asked him to put everything on the line and jump quite literally headfirst out of the closet, he couldn’t say no.

‘Mickey.’

‘I, I just don’t know, okay?’ He pulls his hand away and pinches the bridge of his nose. He really should fucking run, go back to his apartment and book a flight to somewhere fucking far away. His breath hitches. ‘It’s been nine fuckin’ years, I can’t just…’

‘I know.’ Ian breathes, ‘and that’s why I want you there.’ Mickey looks up at him and his eyes are sad, his eyes are so so beautifully sad. ‘Please give me the chance to make it up to you.’

The brick fortress around his heart crumbles around him and comes tumbling to the floor.

‘When is it?’ He sighs, exasperated, and Ian’s eyes light up in disbelief, like he’s just handed the guy a million bucks.

‘Tuesday.’ Ian answers, grinning that same fucking smile. His fist bumps the air playfully, and Mickey’s heart clenches because he looks so young.

‘Tuesday? Tuesday like two days from now?’ Mickey says, scowling and he cannot actually believe he is buying into this shit. ‘You are giving me two days to prepare to see your fuckin’ family? I’m gonna need at least another five years.’ And he’s being 100% serious.

Ian laughs and something warm in Mickey stirs. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

‘It’s gonna be fine.’ Ian says, ‘once they get over the shock of seeing you again.’ He takes a swig of his piss beer and grins at Mickey from over the bottle.

‘Fuck off.’ Mickey says, but there’s zero bite behind it. It's casual and warm, like the old days. He flips him off, ‘I’m gonna get so fucking drunk.’

‘What else is there to do at a wedding?’ Ian says breathlessly, ‘You’re gonna get to meet all the kids!’

‘Whoop di fuckin’ do.’ Mickey sing-songs unenthusiastically, raising his eyebrows at the other man. ‘You’re supposed to be sellin’ this shit to me Gallagher, not makin’ me want to run for the hills.’

Ian laughs, throwing his head back which exposes his pale neck and Mickey gulps. The amount of kisses he has pressed into that very skin, he knows the exact point that drives Ian crazy. They used to spend hours just going at it, Mickey going to town on his neck, licking and biting. His hand comes down to shift himself uncomfortably in his pants as his crotch responds like an inexperienced teenage boy. He can’t fucking believe this is happening.

‘Fiona won’t mind?’ He asks, trying unsuccessfully to shift his focus away from the blood stirring in his groin. Thinking about Fiona Gallagher should definitely make him go soft. It works.

‘Nah’ Ian dismisses easily, ‘I’ll tell her beforehand, so there are no surprises.’

‘Good.’ Mickey finds himself saying, the last thing he wants to be is an unwanted surprise - much like the ones the Gallaghers have apparently been racking up. They find themselves, for the first time since they bumped into each other earlier, in a comfortable silence which neither one of them know what to do with.

‘I’ve missed you.’ Ian admits again, just as Mickey is about to open his mouth to say how he should go get more beer. He tenses, pressing his back into the booth. ‘I- I know I don’t get to say that.’

‘You don’t.’ Mickey mutters, his fingers reaching down to trace the seam of the booth’s fabric. Ian winces, but nods sadly.

‘I’m sorry.’ Ian whispers, ‘I-’

‘Ian.’ Mickey says firmly, and he takes a deep breath, he feels like he’s on the edge of a cliffside about to jump, ‘I’ve missed you too.’

They hold each other’s gaze. Now that’s out in the open. It’s heavy, daunting and too much to handle. His breath hitches and he feels like he could scream. Or cry. Or both.

‘I should go.’ Mickey says, cutting off their eye contact by moving to shift out from their table. Ian’s shoulders drop down.

‘Yeah.’ He says, bringing his hands down to wipe his palms on his thighs.

Is that disappointment Mickey can sense in his voice? Is Ian allowed to be disappointed?

Ian pulls himself out of his seat to meet Mickey standing, making them much closer now than they had been with the table between them. Without that safety distance, Mickey can smell his cologne, it’s not too strong and smells delicious. Mickey wants to bury his face into it.

Fuck.

‘Thanks.’ Ian says, awkwardly bringing up an unsure hand before deciding to place it on Mickey’s shoulder.

‘Yeah, whatever.’ Mickey says as he shakes it off, unable to deal with the closeness right now. ‘Text me the wedding details, if you still want me there.’ He waves his hand dismissively, unable to look Ian in the eye. His throat constricts at the thought of Ian changing his mind on him, again , and Mickey needs to get out of there before he really does scream.

‘Yeah, Mick.’ Ian breathes, ‘I do.’

Mickey nods, and steps backwards, ‘I’ll see you then, I guess.’ He says awkwardly, turning away quickly before Ian can respond. He walks straight out of the bar, onto the sidewalk and right around the block before he doubles over, attempting to get his wrecked breathing under control. He feels like he just ran a marathon or hiked up fucking Everest.

His breath comes out in shaky stutters, his chest hurts. He just wants to go to sleep, or drink, or find some twink to fuck. Anything to get his fucking mind off of the last hour’s conversation. He spits onto the sidewalk then leans his full weight against the brick wall as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

A shaky hand brings it to his lips, and he breathes it in.

#shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich fic #shameless fic

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hellyeahomeland · 5 years

Photo

An HYH Exclusive Interview with Dominic Mainl

[Over the last six seasons, Dominic Mainl has worked in the camera department on Homeland, working to get the shots you see in each episode onto your screens. For our “On the Record with…” series, Dom graciously answered our questions about what the Homeland experience has been like, including how he got started, what it’s like to work with cast and crew, and his most vivid memories. Thank you Dom for answering our questions! –the HYH team]

Hell Yeah Homeland: Your first Homeland episode was “Tin Man Is Down” in season three. How did the German guy become a part of the production?

Dom Mainl: Haha, pure luck? In 1998 I moved from tiny Bad Dürrheim, Germany, to Los Angeles because I wanted to work in Hollywood. I was already in the film industry in Germany and wanted to work with the best of the best and that meant moving to Los Angeles. It took a few years and a lot of hard work to “break into Hollywood” and yet another few years and even harder work to become established, but in the end it all worked out. I worked on the HBO show True Blood and met David Klein, ASC there. I really enjoy working with him and over the years we have become a good team, business partners and most importantly, very good friends. One day my phone rings and Dave said, “Hey man, I’m taking over as the Director of Photography on Homeland. Are you interested? I would love to have you on the crew” …. and I had no idea what Homeland even was! I had never heard of it! I said yes anyway because I love working with Dave and looked up the show online. So on my way out to Charlotte (where we shot season three) I started watching the first season and really, really liked it. So I was hyped about being part of the project after becoming part of the project.

HYH: What do you remember from your first day at set?

DM: Every project, whether it’s film, tv or commercials, I have butterflies in my stomach the night before day one. David Klein says, “if you’re not nervous before day one you are phoning it in,” and he’s right. We love what we do and there are so many things that can go wrong, so even after 20+ years I still get nervous. The first day on Homeland was really easy though because all the actors are sooo unbelievably nice. As a focus puller I am quite immersed in all technical things to make sure nothing goes wrong (especially on day one!), so Homeland was no different from other shows in that respect.

HYH: We know you can’t talk about season eight yet, but looking back at previous seasons, what scenes still stick with you? Why?

DM: This is going to explain a lot about why I love working with Dave Klein: there’s a shot in season three when Brody is brought back to the US and it's the first time Carrie and Brody meet since he was shipped off to Caracas. He’s laying on the bed and the camera is right in his face. Carrie steps into the background and has an emotional monologue directed at the sleeping Brody. Remember that?

So, my job as a focus puller is to adjust focus during the shot. And I felt strongly about keeping Damian sharp in the foreground although the #1 star of the show just entered our shot and she was the only person talking! General rule of thumb for focus pullers: make sure the person talking is sharp. If a lot of people talk, make sure the star of the show is sharp... So here I was, new to the show, and breaking all the rules at once. But, to me, it felt so damn powerful to stay on Brody’s face to see his reaction as he slowly wakes to Carrie’s words, until he opens his eyes and (eventually) turns around. So I discussed this with Dave and he brought this idea up with director Lesli Linka Glatter and the producer/creator Alex Gansa and we ended up shooting two versions of this scene, one with the focus shifting to Carrie as she enters the frame and one that stayed with Brody. To Dave's credit he fought for my idea and in the end they used my version. That shows you how amazing it is to work with Dave Klein--you’re truly a part of the team.

HYH: Thinking of some iconic Homeland scenes (pretty much all the scenes which left us heartbroken)--like Brody‘s death scene, Quinn driving into a lethal hail of bullets--how much time did you have to prepare these scenes? How do you in the camera and photography department plan for these scenes? How many times do you shoot them before you got the material we see in the final and aired cut?

DM: Brody’s death was rather emotional for the crew as well because that was the very last shooting day of the season. We were shooting all night in Morocco and we had to bid Damian adieu after we wrapped. It was almost the same with Quinn, although we had a few days of shooting left after we killed off Rupert’s character… But Rupert served the crew champagne after the day ended, still bloodied from the scene, which was very sweet…. plus the bubbly was rather good so I didn’t mind killing him off, haha. As far as preparation for these scenes go, it's the same as for any other shot--for me, anyways. I prepare the gear the same way I would for any other scene as reliability is key. The most important part is that the equipment is functioning flawlessly because, in the end, if the camera doesn’t record what’s in front of it… why are we there?

HYH: Homeland’s main cinematographer is David Klein, and you two have worked together on many episodes over the years. Can you describe the working relationship between the two of you?

DM: I was asked the same questions a few years ago and I have the same answer: it’s a privilege to work with David Klein because you get to work with him and not just for him. There is a fundamental difference. Of course, he’s the boss and all departmental decisions are his to make but he actively involves the camera operators and the focus pullers in the process and that’s what makes it so much fun! Sure, it really does take a while to establish such a good rapport and a working relationship like ours, because it is 100% built on trust. The example I mentioned [earlier] shows that we have each other’s back and that’s when you can get really creative…

HYH: Speaking of the art of cinematography and photography, how would you describe Homeland’s visual/photographic DNA?

DM: That’s a question for David Klein, haha. Of course I have my 2 cents but that’s not for me to answer…

HYH: What's your secret about taking the perfect shot?

DM: Generally speaking, preparation. Hard work beats talent unless talent works hard. The perfect shot is when all the elements come together in synchronized harmony. Think of it as choreography - the actors, the frame, focus and camera platform (hand-held, dolly or Steadicam, etc.)… everything that moves, everything needs to be perfectly in sync to achieve what the director or the DP had in mind and there is a lot that can go wrong. But when it all goes right, it seems effortless. What’s my secret? Easy: Don’t fuck it up. Don’t be the one element that blows the shot.

HYH: You’ve traveled with the Homeland production all over the world -- to South Africa, Germany, Morocco, and several locations in the US. Which trip did you enjoy the most and which one was the hardest work? Why?

DM: I really enjoyed Morocco. And I really disliked Morocco. For clarification, I met my wife in Morocco while shooting the finale for season three there and I will always have fond memories of that time. And I disliked season eight in Morocco, because even though my wife had become a member of the crew by then (she is the script supervisor for season eight), shooting there the second time around was unnecessarily complicated and frustrating for reasons I will not go into detail at this point…. but it really wasn’t much fun.

We loved South Africa a lot, too. That was probably one of my favorite seasons. Not necessarily the scripts but the location.

HYH: Compared to other jobs you did before, what’s different about working on Homeland?

DM: After 7 years (well, on and off) of True Blood I was happy I didn’t have to work with vampires and at night anymore. The spy game turned out to be fun and intriguing but you pay the price for getting to see the world. The biggest challenge was the constant shifts in location. One, because we ship a lot of camera gear around the world which adds a ton of work and stress (carnets, inventory, maintenance, etc.). Two, it’s really hard to find and keep a good crew around and given we were on the road for six years we had to start over almost everywhere we went and train the team to the workflow that Dave and I have had established. I admit, I am quite demanding and finding a crew that could do the job to my expectations in all those locations was not easy. But we ended up making some life-long friends… and probably a handful of enemies too, haha.

HYH: From what we were able to follow on social media, we got the impression that filming season eight has been a long and tough journey, much harder than previous seasons. Is there anything you can share about the reasons why?

DM: Well, if you go into Africa expecting you can shoot an American TV schedule with an international crew within the same time frame and on the same budget... you have to be crazy! But there isn't just one party to blame for the exhausting Moroccan portion of season eight but rather a combination of unfortunate misunderstandings paired with inexperience and a healthy dose of negligence. As they say, “everything that could go wrong, did.”

HYH: Was there ever a scene for which you had just one take to get it right? Which one?

DM: Let’s just say there is going to be an explosion in season eight and we only had one try at it. And we nailed it.

HYH: For the tech nerds among us, what's your favorite camera and objective and which scene you shot with it comes to your mind?

DM: Hands down, the ARRI Alexa Mini. Homeland is a predominantly handheld show in order to keep the tensions high while (subconsciously) keeping the audience always on the edge of [their] seat. If the cameras are handheld the image constantly moves. You can even see/feel the breathing of the camera operators. The Alexa Mini is lightweight yet robust and the sensor is the best money can buy. We used ARRI Master Primes for added sharpness for seasons five, six, seven, and eight, but sprinkled in a few Zeiss Supreme Primes this year to take off a little bit of weight. We also like to use Canon Cinema Zooms for their high quality.

HYH: Butter bei die Fische (Now’s the time for straight talk), why is Homeland still filmed in HD?

DM: Because Showtime wants it that way. I would’ve loved to shoot 4K or with a different aspect ratio or utilize a different sensor size but the people at the helm want to keep it “the way it was.”

HYH: Homeland’s eighth and final season is wrapping up and now airing. How does it feel that the show is coming to an end soon?

DM: It’s bittersweet. I have had some of the best and some of the worst moments of my career on the set of Homeland and I know I will miss it down the road but right now I’m happy that Carrie finally gets to…. Never mind, can’t tell you that, haha. I know I’ll miss it but we’re just exhausted right now.

HYH: What other projects are you working on after Homeland? Any plans yet?

DM: Vacation. No more jobs in 2019 and hopefully a good movie with a good script in 2020. I think after six years of spy TV I want to take a break from the small screen, if possible.

#homeland #homelandedit #on the record with #dominic mainl #dom mainl #interview #david klein #*

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frauleinsmaria · 5 years

Text

The Facebook Flub (4/4)

Summary: When Emma accidentally sends a friend request to the wrong person, she doesn’t expect much to come of it. But maybe this accident is the best decision she’s ever made.

Rated T

Part 1: AO3 | Tumblr

Part 2: AO3 | Tumblr

Part 3: AO3 | Tumblr

Part 4: AO3

A/N: This is it, folks! I've had so much fun writing this not so little story over the past few months, but it's time we bring things to a close. (Although I would be lying if I said I wasn't already considering revisiting this verse again in the future if that's something people are into because I'm such trash for these two.) A massive thank you to everyone for all the likes, comments, reblogs, kudos, etc. you've sent my way so far. The support has meant so much and motivated me to stick with this when I didn't always feel up to it. I so appreciate everything.

Thanks to @ultraluckycatnd and @thejollyroger-writer for looking over this chapter! Also thank you to my lovely shipmates on Discord and Tumblr for being awesome friends and cheerleaders, you all are fantastic <3

London was cold.

It was the first thing Emma noticed when she exited the plane at Heathrow that afternoon. That, and she’d never seen an airport so busy in her entire life. Not that she expected one of the biggest airports in the world to be quiet and idle two days before Christmas, but the sight of the crowd surrounding her was a bit overwhelming as she tried to navigate her way to baggage claim and then to the waiting area Belle was to meet her at.

Of course Emma had never met Killian’s sister-in-law before, but she’d seen enough pictures of the brunette on Facebook to pick her out in a crowd. Which is what she was attempting to do when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Startled, she let out a yelp and jumped. The strap of her bag fell off of her shoulder and it tumbled to the ground.

(Hopefully Killian reacted better to surprises than she did.)

Emma turned and saw a familiar looking woman smiling apologetically. “I’m so sorry! I tried calling your name, but I assume you couldn’t hear me over all the noise. I’m Belle.”

“It’s okay, really. You just caught me off guard a bit.” She leaned down to retrieve her bag from where it had fallen, then offered her hand to Belle. “Emma.”

Belle shook her hand, beaming. “Oh, I know. Liam and I have heard so much about you. We’re so glad you were able to come surprise him for Christmas.”

“Thank you so much for coming to meet me, and for being okay with all of this. I know you weren’t exactly expecting me to come hinder your plans at the last minute.”

“It’s no hindrance at all. I’m more than happy to have someone who means so much to Killian here with us. And I just know the kids are going to love you.”

“I’m so excited to meet them.”

Emma followed Belle out of the airport, fighting the urge to grab her arm and cling tight so she wouldn’t lose her in the maze of people. It was a relief when they reached Belle’s car in the parking lot. It was less of a relief when she attempted getting in the right hand seat the first time without thinking twice about it.

“You’re probably regretting associating with the American already.” Her cheeks burned as she walked around the car and took the correct seat.

Belle laughed as she sat down to her right. “It happens more than you think. Killian would probably never tell you this himself, but the first time he drove in the States on a trip with Liam a few years ago, he had no idea it was legal to turn right at a red light. He found out because so many people blew their horns at them when he would wait for the light to turn.”

She felt a bit horrible for laughing. American drivers were vicious on any given day. “I’ll remind myself to never let him drive in Boston if it can be helped.”

Seeing the way traffic operated in London was every bit as fascinating as Emma expected. Or maybe she just didn’t get out enough.

“I’m assuming Killian and Liam are working?” she asked as Belle drove. Killian hadn’t mentioned doing anything out of the ordinary today when they’d spoken on the phone last night. It had been so hard to keep her visit a secret from him since everything had been arranged a few days prior.

“Yes. It’s their last day until the first of January. I almost encouraged Liam to let them off since it’s already the twenty-third, but I figured him having Killian at the office would make it easier for me to pick you up without him finding out. I actually figured we’d go there for you to surprise him since it’s almost quitting time. That way you two can have the rest of the night to yourselves.”

Hearing that made Emma’s pulse do something she was convinced had to be borderline dangerous. She’d assumed Belle would take them to her and Liam’s house and give Killian an incentive to come over after work. But knowing she was potentially minutes away from seeing him, from throwing her arms around him and kissing him like she’d wanted to for weeks was almost overwhelming.

Belle glanced at her after a moment. “You’re being awfully quiet. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just...I really can’t wait to see him. I figured it would be at least several more weeks before we could make it happen again.” She felt tears prick her eyes and laughed as she blinked them back. “You probably think I’m kind of ridiculous.”

“Of course not. It’s like I said earlier, Emma: I’m thrilled that Killian has someone who means so much to him, and that he clearly means as much to you in return.”

The corners of Emma’s mouth turned up. “Oh, he does. He really, really does.”

The moments that followed went by in a haze as Belle parked the car and led Emma into an important-looking office building and onto an elevator that seemed to ascend at a snail’s pace. This was it, but she hadn’t expected to be so nervous. She resisted the urge to bite her nails while she waited for the light to flash on the button for whatever floor Belle was taking them to.

Finally, the elevator doors opened. Belle stepped out into a hallway and gestured for her to follow. It seemed to be a typical office space, all greys and whites in various tones with a few prints of ships hanging on the walls, but Emma was too focused on why they were there to pay much attention to their surroundings.

Belle approached a desk where a redhead sat typing away on a laptop. The woman glanced up and smiled when she saw them approaching. “Hi, Belle! I didn’t know you were coming by today. Would you like me to let Liam know you’re here? I expect they’ll be finishing up for the day soon.”

“Hello, Ariel. And no- well, yes, actually, but could you send a message to Killian first and see if he has a moment? I have a surprise for him.”

Ariel’s eyes shifted to Emma and a look of recognition crossed her face. “Oh! You’re the girl he’s been going on and on about for months! I remember you now from that picture he posted on your birthday when he went to see you.”

Emma didn’t have to ask to know which photo she referred to; it was the one Killian had taken of her in her excitement over the margherita pizza. She somehow hadn’t noticed he’d posted it until he’d gone back to London, and she’d missed him too much to be upset about it. Even if the photo was fairly embarrassing.

But embarrassing photos aside, she was more than ready to see Killian. She was finally in the same place with the man she loved again. He could post all the ridiculous pictures of her he wanted to and she didn’t think it would dampen her mood.

“I’ll see what he’s doing now,” Ariel continued, oblivious to Emma’s lack of response to her previous statement as she picked up her cell phone and typed out a brief message. There were only so many things Emma could focus on at once.

There was a ping when he responded to Ariel just moments later. “Okay! I told him you were here, Belle. He said to come on in his office.” She turned back to Emma, beaming. “I just know he’s going to be thrilled to see you.”

Even though she knew deep down that Ariel was right, Emma found herself second guessing the whole situation as Belle led her around a corner and down another hallway. Would Killian be annoyed that she’d flown over to see him and shown up at his office with no kind of warning? Her stomach churned at the thought. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.

But Belle didn’t give her a chance to reconsider the matter, stopping abruptly in front of a door with “K. Jones” embossed in the center. She knocked and his “Come in” was almost immediate. Hearing his voice in person rather than from a phone was almost enough to calm Emma’s nerves. Almost.

“I believe I’ll let you do the honors.” Belle gestured to the door, unaware of everything running through her mind.

Before she could second guess herself again, Emma opened the door and stepped inside the office. He sat in a chair behind a desk and had his back turned to her, going through what looked like a file cabinet.

“Give me just a moment to finish filing this paperwork and I’ll be done, love. Say, I’m not complaining, but what made you decide to come see me first? Is Liam in the doghouse?”

“I don’t think so.” Her voice came out a bit raspy and uneven.

Killian froze. He dropped the papers he’d been holding and spun around in his chair. She heard a sharp intake of breath and his eyes widened. Emma watched as he stared at her for a moment, likely wondering if what he saw was real. “Swan?”

“Hi,” she said sheepishly, a hesitant smile on her lips.

One moment he was in the desk chair, the next he was on his feet and kissing her for all she was worth. She swayed a bit from the sudden movement and fisted her hands in the fabric of his white button-down shirt, his hands cupping her face as he reminded her just what she’d been missing these past few weeks.

Emma broke the kiss to come up for air, both breathing heavily and Killian still wearing an expression of disbelief as he pulled her close.

“Swan, what- how are you here?”

“To make a long-ish story short, my friends were tired of hearing me talk about how much I missed you and decided to do something about it.”

Killian pressed another kiss to her cheek and laughed. “Bloody hell. Remind me to overnight your friends a Christmas gift.”

She heard another laugh and they turned to see Belle standing in the doorway with Liam behind her, grins on both their faces. Emma’s face flushed red with embarrassment; she’d forgotten they weren’t alone.

“Oi, something we can help you two with?” Killian scowled, but she could still make out a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Aye.” Liam stepped around Belle and entered the room. “I’d like to meet the lass who’s somehow considerate enough to give my little brother a chance.”

Killian groaned. “Is there any point in me reminding you it’s younger?”

“Nope.”

Emma pulled away from Killian and offered her hand to Liam. He took it but then brought her in for a hug instead. The close contact was unexpected, but it was also a relief. She’d worried for a moment there over what Killian’s brother would think about her coming to visit so last minute, especially when they’d only been together a handful of months and had met under unusual circumstances. Any anxiety she’d held over this trip was quickly being diminished.

Killian pulled her back into his arms as they talked to Liam and Belle for a bit. They discussed the arrangements behind her surprise visit and upcoming plans for the holiday, but she only half listened while Killian nuzzled her ear and kept pressing his lips to her cheek, now unconcerned that they had an audience.

Emma loved getting to meet his family, and she looked forward to spending more time with Liam, Belle, and their kids over the next few days.

But she also loved finding herself pressed up against the front door of Killian’s apartment (flat, whatever) less than an hour later.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered against her neck between kisses. “I can’t believe you’re truly here, Swan.”

She just hummed; since it was about the only noise she could make when he found that one spot behind her ear. “So you...were...surprised, huh?” Damn him and his ability to make her forget how to breathe.

“You have no idea.” He pulled back and paused like he was taking her in, making sure she was really there with him. “I missed you so much, my love.” Emma loved the way the lines around his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her. She wanted to make him smile like that for the rest of her life.

The idea didn’t scare her nearly as much as it would have in the past.

“Even though I don’t store my coffee mugs at a forty-five degree angle and leave my laundry in a heap on the floor until the last minute?” she teased. He’d been slightly horrified to learn the latter during his last visit.

Killian faked a look of disgust and then laughed. “I can’t believe I’m really about to say this, but you can wreck my flat from the inside out this week and I won’t care just as long as you’re here with me.”

“Careful, Jones. That’s a tempting offer you’re making there.”

“Aye. I’m a glutton for punishment, it seems. Shall I give you a proper tour of the place so you’ll know what you’re getting into?”

“Eh,” she sighed, running her hands down his chest. “Maybe later. I’d really just like to see your room right now if I’m being honest.”

“Hmm. What kind of fool would I be to deny such a nice request?”

“A pretty big one.”

Needless to say, the tour was quickly forgotten about. They had too much lost time to make up for.

Emma woke the next morning feeling like she’d been hit by a ton of bricks. She rubbed at her eyes and sat up enough to get a look at the clock on Killian’s bedside table.

8:43. That explained a lot- it was still the middle of the night for her poor, jet-lagged body.

Groaning, she flopped back down onto the mattress, rolled over, and buried her face in his chest.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Emma didn’t have to glance up to know he was smirking at her.

“It’s not even four a.m. in Boston. I deserve, like, ten minutes to be grumpy.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be timing you. You’ve got about nine minutes and eleven seconds at your disposal.”

Emma sat up long enough to lightly whack his chest with the back of her hand. “Smart ass. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Would I be even cuter if I brought you breakfast and coffee in bed?” Killian asked.

He knew her too well. “For that, Jones, you’d be down right adorable.”

After pancakes and coffee (among other activities that made jet lag more bearable), they dressed for the day and went for a walk. Killian showed her around his neighborhood, which was fully immersed in Christmas preparations. They passed a group of carolers on the street and a family building a snowman in their yard. This prompted him to share every possible Frozen joke he could think of, to which she rolled her eyes at but still laughed. Emma was so ridiculously elated to be there spending the holiday with him, he could share every snowman pun in the book if he wanted to and it wouldn’t change things.

They had been out for a while when snow began to fall. Emma shivered and pulled her thick coat tighter around her, thankful she’d thought to wear it instead of her leather one. What she’d seen of London was gorgeous, but she still stood by her first assessment of the city: it was freaking cold.

“What do you say we come in from the cold for a moment, Swan?” Killian asked. “There’s a cafe just up the road a bit with excellent cocoa and biscuits you might like.”

“You lead the way.”

The cafe was small and cozy, its warmth a welcome change from the bitter chill outside. Killian ordered them hot cocoa and shortbread cookies as promised and they took a table towards the back of the room.

Emma took a long sip of her drink, savoring the taste of the warm, rich chocolate. “So, tell me about this Christmas party. You said it’s at Liam and Belle’s?” They had mentioned something about it to her and Killian at his office the day before, but she’d been too distracted by him to pay much attention.

“Aye. It’s not a large get together, usually just us and a handful of friends. I should probably warn you that Will and Robin are coming.”

She paused, thinking back on a night several months prior. “Will- he’s the one I talked to the night of Liam’s birthday? The first time you called me?”

Killian rolled his eyes. “That would be Scarlet. Bloody wanker he can be. He teased me for weeks after about that, wanting to know who you were and how I’d become so far gone for a woman I’d never met.” His face flushed with color, and she knew it wasn’t because of the hot cocoa.

“I wonder what he’s going to say when said woman shows up at Liam and Belle’s with you tonight.”

He pursed his lips, considering the thought. “Well, my first instinct was to say that he’s going to love you as much as I do. But I’m not sure I truly like the idea of that now that I think about it.”

“Me neither,” Emma agreed. “I only have enough room for one British dork in my life as it is.”

“Hey! I resent that remark.” He tried to feign annoyance with a sour expression, but the hint of amusement in his voice gave him away.

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “That’s okay. Just between you and me, I think dorks are kind of hot.”

Killian’s answering smile only confirmed her statement. “And don’t you forget it, love.”

They arrived at Liam and Belle’s just before seven. Killian rang the doorbell, which was soon followed by the sound of squealing and several feet running in their direction.

The door swung open. Emma watched as Killian knelt and a little girl launched herself into his open arms. She had long dark curls that went in every direction possible and eyes that matched her uncle’s.

“Hello, Sophia. Where’s the rest of your crew?”

As if on cue, two more children appeared, a boy with similar features and another girl who shared Belle’s features and red-brown hair. There seemed to be a bit of a competition over Killian. Emma tried not to laugh while the three of them argued over which of them told her boyfriend about their day first and which one of them would get to sit next to him at the dinner table.

“Alright, that’s enough. There’s plenty of me to go around, eh?” Killian extracted himself from the tangle of limbs and stood. He placed a hand on the small of her back and beckoned her to step closer. “There’s someone special I’d like you three to meet.”

“Oh!” The boy spoke up and pointed at the two of them. “That’s right. Mum said you were bringing a girl.”

“Yes, well, your mum is usually right. Sophia, Jacob, and Lucy,” he said, pointing out the kids by birth order to her, “this is Emma.”

Admittedly, this was one of the moments she’d been most nervous about. Sure, she was close with Leo thanks to her being around well before his birth. But he was a toddler. Liam and Belle’s three were older and had a high opinion of their Uncle Killian. There was a chance the same could not be said of the stranger he’d just brought for them to meet.

“Um, hi,” Emma started. “It’s so nice to meet you all. Killian’s told me a lot about you.”

The kids were silent. Emma’s first instinct was to panic; had she somehow said something she shouldn’t have already?

Then the youngest girl, Lucy, spoke up. “You’re pretty. Do you like Moana?”

Okay, maybe this could be easier than she thought. “Thank you. And as a matter of fact, yes. I like Moana a lot.”

Lucy considered her response and nodded. Emma took this to be her seal of approval.

The kids led her and Killian inside, where Liam and Belle were already entertaining a few early guests. Soon, Emma was being led all over the house, first by the kids who wanted to give her the full tour, then by Killian as he introduced her to some of his friends and colleagues.

Meeting Will Scarlet was every bit as interesting and entertaining as she’d expected. The first thing he’d said when he’d noticed her was, “So, you’re the lass who’s made Jones light up like a Christmas tree!”

She couldn’t exactly object to that, especially when Killian’s face reddened just as he shot his friend a death stare.

“It’s okay, babe,” she whispered and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek when Will had his back turned to them. “Just between you and me, Mary Margaret told me after your last visit that she could tell you and I both were pretty far gone.” Emma wasn’t sure where the random term of endearment had come from. He had his fair share of names for her, ranging from “Swan” to “my love,” but this was the first instance she could remember addressing Killian by something other than his name.

If he noticed, however, he must have approved judging by his answering smile and how he kissed her back, not even caring when Will noticed and wolf-whistled at them.

Emma spent the evening getting to know Killian’s family and friends, being entertained by the three children, and eating her weight in the Christmas cookies Liam and Belle had made. (And earning confused looks from the kids every time she said “cookies” instead of “biscuits.” Some habits couldn’t be changed overnight.)

It was well after midnight by the time she and Killian arrived back at his apartment. Emma only had enough energy to trade her sweater and jeans for his faded Han Solo t-shirt before going straight to bed. She clearly needed more experience when it came to crossing time zones over the holidays.

The sound of Killian’s voice came far too early the next morning. “Rise and shine, Swan.”

Emma rolled over and snuggled into his side. “Mm. How long until we need to be ready to leave?” She and Killian were to have Christmas brunch with his family as Liam and Belle usually celebrated over dinner with her parents.

“A little over an hour. The restaurant isn’t far from here, so I assumed there was no need to wake you any earlier.”

“My hero.” She scooted up the mattress and pressed her lips to his. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

“Merry Christmas, my love. I know I’ve said it multiple times since you arrived, but I’m so bloody thrilled to be here with you.” The look on his face when he said the words, eyes soft and smile bright, made Emma think Will hadn’t been too far off with the Christmas tree comment.

“Me too.” She kissed him again, this time trailing her lips across his neck and jawline. “Although I do kind of wish you’d woken me up earlier.”

“And why is that?”

“Because now I don’t have time to show you just how thrilled I am to be here.”

Killian was quiet for a moment. “Eh. Perhaps it will be alright if we’re a few minutes late.” A few minutes turned out to be well over twenty. They showed up to brunch red faced, Killian’s hair messier than usual and Emma adjusting the collar of her blouse to make sure that one spot on her neck wasn’t visible.

Liam raised his eyebrows at the two of them when they took their seats.

“Traffic,” Killian answered the question not asked as he picked up a menu, he and Emma both refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

But of course eight-year-old Sophia was smarter than they gave her credit for. “What traffic, Uncle Killian? Your flat is only a few minutes from here.”

Neither he or Emma could think of anything to say until the waiter brought their drinks.

The rest of the day after brunch was spent like much of their time together, on Killian’s couch watching Netflix. She had chosen Jane the Virgin as their latest show to try a few weeks earlier. They were now about halfway into season two.

“I think this is a new record for us,” Emma told him. “I’ve been here almost two days, and we’re just now watching something.”

“Would this be an appropriate time for me to drop a cheesy pick up line and say you’re all the entertainment I really need?”

“That’s almost cute, but I’m pretty sure pick up lines aren’t all that necessary if you’re already dating the person you’re using them on.”

“I suppose you’re right, love. I’ll just have to save that one for the other women I’m trying to pursue.”

She should have known he would have a response that like that ready. “Huh. In that case, I guess I need to keep my options open. Didn’t you say Will was single?”

“Bloody hell. I take it all back.”

It wasn’t until later that night when they had started getting ready for bed that Emma remembered the small box she’d tucked away in her suitcase just before leaving Boston. “Killian?”

He glanced up from the bathroom sink where he stood brushing his teeth. How she could still be so attracted to a man when he had toothpaste on his mouth and chin, she would never know. “Yes, love?”

She sat down on the bed and turned the box over in her hands while she waited for him to finish up. “So,” she began when he took a seat next to her, “I know we unofficially decided not to do gifts since it looked like we wouldn’t be seeing each other around Christmas. But I’d had this for a few weeks and was going to give it to you the next time you came to Boston. And since I ended up coming to see you first, I figured there was no point in waiting.”

Emma placed the box in Killian’s open hand. She watched as he removed the lid and held up the small silver object, his brow furrowing before realization set in. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah. It’s for my place. I know it’s not much, but I thought it might be good for when you come visit and I’m working or something. You wouldn’t have to borrow my key or wait around for me to go out.”

Killian kissed her instead of responding. (He was good at that. And kissing in general.) He pulled her onto his lap and his hands went to her waist, holding her anchored against him as he chased her lips with his until she forgot how to breathe.

“I’m taking that as a good sign?” she panted when they were forced to come up for air.

“Bloody hell. This is incredible, love.”

She shrugged. “I mean, it wasn’t all that difficult. My landlord isn’t super picky or anything.”

“No, I meant the fact that you wanted to do this. It shows that you trust me and our relationship is significant to you. Which are things I knew anyway, but it means quite a lot to me that you’re willing to take a step like this, even if we are apart more often than not. So thank you, Swan. Truly.”

Emma didn’t think she’d ever be as adept at giving romantic speeches as him. “You’re welcome. So you’ll kiss me like that again if I get you a key to my car too?”

But sarcasm? Yeah, she had zero deficiencies there.

After Christmas, they had three days together before Emma’s flight back to Boston. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone so many days in a row without working, and her bank account would likely show the results of that when she returned home. But even if she had to work more and spend less on take out over the next few weeks, it was worth it.

Killian made it a point to ensure she got the full London tourist experience during her time left. This included visits to see Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Millenium Bridge (she couldn’t not see something that had been featured in Guardians of the Galaxy), Abbey Road, Platform 9 ¾, and at least a dozen other sites she’d lost track of by the time the week ended.

“I have to admit, all this makes me feel like I’ve done a poor job at showing you around Boston so far,” she told Killian on her last night in the city. He had taken her to Covent Garden, where they’d wandered around a handful of shops and eaten dinner in one of the pubs where she had her first experience with fish and chips.

Of course he objected to her comment. “Our time together in Boston has been a bit more limited so far. I’ve seen what’s truly important,” he said, shooting her a wink. “Besides, that just gives us something to look forward to next time.”

Next time. Emma had no idea just when that next time would be, but just hearing him mention it lightened a weight on her shoulders she hadn’t realized was there. Maybe they would get to see each other again sooner than she’d anticipated.

It took longer than usual to say goodbye at the airport. Every time she thought they were ready to let each other go, one of them would duck back in for another kiss that would be longer than the last. It wasn’t until a random passerby called “Get a room, lovebirds!” that Emma knew she really did have to go.

With a reluctant sigh, she pulled her bag onto her shoulder. “I guess it’s time to get this show on the road.”

“You’ll let me know once you’ve returned home safely?” Killian asked.

“Of course. I love you.”

“And I you, Swan. So much.”

Emma only allowed herself to give his hand a squeeze before turning to leave. She’d never make it on the plane otherwise.

The distance between them felt more bearable in the weeks following her visit. The time difference and their conflicting schedules were still hindrances at times; that was a given considering the circumstances. But thankfully, the first of the year brought a bit more predictability to Killian’s work obligations, allowing their nightly calls and regular Netflix marathons to resume with a bit more ease.

She’d insisted they not do anything for Valentine’s Day; the whole concept had become a consumeristic trap, and didn’t they know each loved the other without gifts and celebrating?

This didn’t stop Killian from having a box of her favorite bear claws delivered to her office that afternoon, though. And maybe she’d arranged for him to receive an apple pie at work she thought was comparable to Mary Margaret’s.

(Killian made the comment afterward that food and Netflix had all but become honorary members of their relationship. It was hard to disagree with that.)

He surprised her in early March by announcing via FaceTime that he had another business meeting in Boston at the end of the month if she would be up for a visitor.

“I think that could be arranged,” she’d told him. “I’ll have to remember to restock on baking ingredients. We never got around to making cupcakes the last time you were here. You know damn well what I meant,” she added when his eyebrows shot up.

Killian’s third visit was shorter than the first two; he arrived on Thursday evening for a meeting on Friday and would be flying back to London on Monday morning. She didn’t dare complain, though. Two full days with him sounded incredible after over three months had passed since she’d left London.

Emma couldn’t help but notice that he seemed antsy that Friday morning. In between getting dressed and ready for his meeting, he paced around her apartment in circles, and was so distracted that he put on two different socks but didn’t notice until she pointed it out to him.

“Everything okay, babe?” She paused in the middle of her own morning routine and walked over to where he now paced back and forth across the kitchen.

“Of course, Swan. Why do you ask?” He answered his own question as he asked it by tapping his right foot anxiously.

“Don’t give me that, Killian. I’m starting to think I need to ask who you are and what you’ve done with my boyfriend.”

“Saying I’ve had too much caffeine this morning won’t suffice, will it?”

“Not a chance.” She considered the brief amount of information she’d heard about his and Liam’s efforts to bring their company to Boston. Apparently expanding a business was much more complicated than it sounded, and things were still in the beginning stages. “Are you worried about this meeting?”

“Aye,” he admitted. “There’s just a lot we have to cover today- nothing bad, per se. I just know it’s going to be complicated and will take a lot of time to sort out.”

It was times like this that made Emma feel grateful that she was her own boss most of the time. “Well, I don’t know much about how business deals go. But I do know you’re going to kick ass just like you do with everything else, and then after, you get to be stuck with me for the next day and a half. We can finally get around to making those cupcakes.” She let Killian make his own interpretation on what kind she referred to.

This got a smile out of him. “Thank you for the reminder, love. It’ll do me well to think on that if things become tedious.”

“Cupcakes do make everything better.”

The meeting went well from what she heard. Killian wasn’t too concerned with discussing it afterward, instead wanting to focus on the time they had left together. After a weekend full of cupcakes (of multiple kinds), she dropped him off at the airport with a reluctant goodbye and a promise that he’d try to visit again soon. After all, that thorough tour of Boston she’d wanted to give him still had yet to happen.

But over the next two or three weeks, Emma picked up on a subtle yet noticeable shift in him. Their conversations and time spent together still happened with the same frequency, but he seemed more distant, only wanting to talk about what happened during her days and barely glossing over his own. Other than brief mentions of his friends or family when he spent time with them, she had little knowledge of what else he was doing.

“It’s not like I expect a full account of every part of his life,” she told Elsa over the phone after a particularly limited conversation on his part. “I know he loves me and wouldn’t do anything hurtful behind my back, but I just feel like there’s something he’s not telling me. It seemed like he was only half paying attention to anything on the phone just now.”

“Have you discussed any of this with him?” Elsa asked.

“Well, no.” She felt slightly immature for it, but she’d wanted another person’s input to see if she was just overreacting or seeing something that wasn’t there.

“He needs to know how you’re feeling, Emma. I know you don’t need me to tell you how crucial communication is in relationships, especially in circumstances like yours. You don’t want this to go disregarded and create a rift between you two when you’ve already got an ocean doing that.”

Elsa was right: everything she told Emma was information she already knew. But it took hearing it from someone else to get the boost of courage she needed to finally confront the matter.

She called Killian back not five minutes after she’d hung up with Elsa. It was late in London, but she guessed he would still be awake based on the brief time that had passed since their earlier conversation.

“Swan? Everything alright?”

“What aren’t you telling me, Killian?”

“I- come again, love?”

“There’s something going on I know you aren’t being honest with me about. I’m not accusing you of anything or saying you’ve lied to me, but you’re holding something back.”

A pregnant pause passed between them. Emma quickly wondered if she’d made a mistake by bringing any of this up.

After a moment, Killian sighed reluctantly. “Aye, love. You’re right. I haven’t been entirely forthright with you as of late. The truth is, there’s been some development since that last meeting I had in Boston that I wasn’t sure I should mention just yet, although you’re causing me to realize that was a mistake on my part.”

She wasn’t sure whether this was what she’d expected to hear. What would be going on within his job that he would be hesitant to talk to her about?

“It’s about the company’s expansion,” he answered when she asked him as much. “The first time Liam mentioned it, I thought he was joking, but I’ve been proven wrong. He’s suggested that, should everything turn out as we’re hoping, I consider taking over the Boston office.”

“Would that mean…?” she trailed off, knowing the question didn’t have to be finished.

“Yes, it would require me to move. The only reason I hadn’t discussed it with you yet was on the chance something fell through.”

“Do you know what the chances would be of that happening?”

“Honestly, it’s doubtful. Nothing has been signed or set in stone just yet, but Liam and his colleagues from Boston have already made their decisions.”

Emma struggled to find words. Part of her had always hoped something like this could happen, she realized. She just hadn’t expected for it to happen so soon. “And what exactly is your decision? You’d be leaving a lot behind, Killian.”

“I know. My family and friends are here. But you’re not.”

She recalled him saying on his first visit to Boston that he had little tying him down back at home. That still didn’t stop her from asking, “Are you really sure, Killian? I don’t want you to do something you regret on account of me.”

“Emma, I love you. You’re my best friend, you’ve brought me more happiness over the past year of knowing you than I knew was possible. Of course I like my life here in London, but I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I’m more than willing to take a chance on this if you are.”

If he were there in person, she would have thrown her arms around him and kissed him for all he was worth. “I think I would be crazy not to.”

Less than two weeks later, it was made official and papers were signed, making Killian the head executive for the Boston branch of Ship Shape. There was still a long road ahead of them- setting up the new offices and making his transatlantic move wouldn’t be quick processes- but it made little difference to Emma at the end of the day. They were getting closer to being in the same place, in the same time zone, and that was all either of them really cared about.

Killian’s birthday came and went in mid April without much fanfare. The legal and technical requirements he was trying to complete in order to move took up most of his time outside of work, and he seemed to be content without celebrating given the circumstances. Emma wasn’t thrilled considering he’d made such a big deal over her birthday when he visited, but he insisted it wasn’t worth being concerned about.

“Trust me, love, I’d much rather celebrate being on your side of the pond and knowing I don’t have to get back on a plane in three days.”

One of the biggest obstacles standing in the way was Killian finding an apartment in Boston. He’d looked at several buildings online and had gotten in touch with a few landlords to discuss technicalities, but all of them had fallen through for one reason or another.

Emma wasn’t eager to recommend her own apartment complex. The idea of having him so close was nice, but she couldn’t say the same for where she lived and was seriously considering other options herself once her lease ended in a few months. Still, it didn’t stop her from suggesting he stay with her until he found a place he was content with.

“There’s not a ton of space and I’m obviously not the neatest person in the world, but you at least wouldn’t have to wait until you found a place here to move.” It helped that he had already planned to sell his furniture rather than try to bring it overseas and could also avoid having to buy new things right away.

“You’re sure I wouldn’t be putting you out?”

“Of course not. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we get you moved the better.”

And that was that. A few short weeks later, Killian flew out to Boston, bringing his clothes and the handful of miscellaneous items he’d chosen not to sell or leave behind with Liam and Belle. Emma greeted him with a kiss that could only be described as PDA. Some moments were worth sacrificing her dignity for.

“Welcome home,” she told him in between kisses. His face lit up and made her heart do that thing it always did around him that she still wasn’t sure was normal.

“Swan, I think that’s my favorite thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Rooming with Killian came with a new sense of ease and contentment. It was the first time they’d ever been in the same place without a deadline when one of them would have to leave. That wasn’t to say things were always smooth sailing. She would leave her wet towels on the bathroom floor or he would want her TV remotes ordered by height on the coffee table and one of them would be annoyed at the other for it. But these adjustments came easier for them over time, so much so that Emma had all but forgotten he was still technically looking for his own place.

They discussed it one night after work when he’d been in Boston about a month or so. Killian had been to look at yet another apartment during his lunch break that afternoon with no success. Something always fell through with each he considered: the landlord wanted more per month than was sensible, he would discover maintenance issues with the building after doing further research, disputes with a lease.

“You could just stay here. If you wanted to,” Emma quickly added at the surprised look on his face. “I mean, I know this building isn’t the nicest and it might seem like too soon for me to be making suggestions like that, but you know I love you and things are good so far and- what’s so funny?” She felt equally amused and annoyed when he started laughing.

“Love, do you really think I wouldn’t want to live with you?”

“I dunno. My bookshelves aren’t organized and Pop Tarts make up, like, seventy-five percent of my diet, and I know how you feel about that.”

He considered this idea and then shrugged. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Pop Tarts could make up eighty percent of your diet and I’d still consider it the utmost privilege to live with you.

“Oh, great. Because I was definitely underestimating with only seventy-five percent.”

Things continued to fall into place with ease. The Boston headquarters of Ship Shape was soon open for business and Killian thrived in his position, just as Emma knew he would. He quickly grew accustomed to the city and fit in well within her family and friend groups, David soon becoming his biggest fan. (“I’m starting to wonder if you love him more than me,” she’d joked with Killian one night after they’d gone to a Red Sox game with him and Mary Margaret.)

Liam and Belle brought the kids to visit over the summer. They had a great time exploring the city as a family, and Emma got to know Killian’s nieces and nephew much better on the few instances they allowed their parents some time to themselves. It was hard for Emma not to imagine what their future looked like seeing Killian care for and entertain the three of them so effortlessly. She was nowhere near ready to consider becoming three instead of two, but the idea didn’t terrify her the way it would have at one time. It actually made her smile instead.

The lease on the apartment ran out in August. Emma knew as soon as she got the notice that they wouldn’t be renewing it. After all, she had planned to consider other options before she’d even thought about asking Killian to move in.

It took several weeks of searching to find a new place, but they soon found an apartment they were more than happy with and moved in early autumn, not long after their first official dating anniversary.

Emma was convinced things couldn’t get any better than they already were. And then they did.

She came home from work one afternoon to find Killian sitting at the kitchen table picking at his nails. He stood when he noticed her enter the room. “Hello, love.”

“Hey. How did the presentation go today?” She’d long since come to accept that she would never make sense of half the things Killian’s company did, but she tried to be supportive and keep up with his current agenda regardless.

“Quite well if I do say so myself. I’m assuming there’s one less bail jumper on the streets of Boston today?”

“You’d assume correctly.” She leaned up to kiss him before depositing her things on the table and walked over to the fridge. “I’m starving. Anything specific you want for dinner?”

“I thought perhaps we might go out tonight.” She saw him type out something on his phone just before hers vibrated from her purse.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” They had been making more of an effort to cook together since he’d moved in with her. Going out for a meal seemed odd without pretext.

“Check your phone first.”

“Huh?” He was only confusing her more.

“Love, I simply think you should consider checking your phone before doing anything else.”

Both annoyed and apprehensive at his behavior, she did as Killian suggested and saw a notification from Facebook Messenger. “New message from Killian Jones- what is this?”

“Just please read the message, Swan.”

Emma opened the app. The words on the screen were anything but what she expected.

Hey. Sorry if this seems weird, but I was wondering if you would marry me?

She looked up and gasped at seeing him on his knee beside her, holding up a ring box. “I know it’s unconventional, but so is the way we met. I thought I’d take a page out of your book since that worked out so well. What do you say, Swan?”

Emma knocked him over in her attempt to kiss him and they ended up in a tangled heap on the ground.

They had chocolate cupcakes at the wedding.

#cs ff #meredith writes #cs au #cs mc #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfiction

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phan-of-the-pen · 6 years

Text

what a plot twist you were

My last @phandombigbang fic is here!!! Enjoy you guys!!!

Thank you so so much @blockdedibujo for making the art to this fic! Reblog the art here!

Tags: fluff, angst, getting together, getting drunk, alcohol, minor swearing, bartender!Dan, implied/referenced cheating in past relationships

Word Count: 14.2k

Summary: Dan works as a bartender at nights to pay the bills. His night just keeps getting worse and worse however: some guy tried to grope him, he had three drinks spilled on his shirt so far, and he was tired as hell. But he manages to exit the fray with a new best friend, a man named Phil Lester who has had his heart broken one time too many and has sworn off love. What happens, however, when they fall for one another?

(ao3!) (check out my other fics!)

~~~~~~~~~~

Dan just wanted to go home and fucking sleep.

His day had been particularly miserable. He'd nearly lost all of his groceries and K.O.'d himself trying to walk up the stairs to his flat, he'd stubbed his toe not once, but three times on the same table corner, he'd lost his earbuds, and his laptop had a meltdown about seven seconds into Dan trying to actually use the ancient thing. So upon him coming into work, he already hadn't been in the best of moods.

But in Dan's normal luck, his day only got worse.

It was a Saturday night, so Dan had already been expecting a load of people, but tonight everyone and their mum had apparently decided to go out for drinks because Dan's bar was flooded with people. And all of them were seemingly seeking out to get absolutely smashed.

In translation, that meant Dan earned a shit ton of money, but his shift was hellish.

It was rounding eleven o'clock at night and he still had several hours left of his shift, which looked like he'd be spending in a tequila and margarita soaked shirt because he's had at least three drinks spilled on him so far. To make things better, he'd also had to practically scream for the club's bouncer because a guy drunk one vodka had nearly vaulted over the bar to grope Dan's ass as he was trying to keep up with the drink orders flying in.

So really, Dan was just angry and exhausted, and would probably saw off his arm to curl up in bed at this point.

"Rum and Coke," Dan called, sliding the glass down the bar where an older guy was waiting. He immediately started mixing another—this one a complicated but down-right delicious margarita—the front of his shirt plastered uncomfortably to his body and sticky with half-dried alcohol.

After about fifteen minutes of god-like bartending, a fair amount of the people had left to some other part of the club to dance or flirt, or whatever else anyone does when they're half-way between trashed and tipsy.

He poured the martini into it's glass, added a few olives, and handed it off to the woman waiting. She slipped him an extra tip and a smile after a sip. A man who looked a little older than Dan slumped into the seat of the bar farthest away from everyone else, shoulders slumped together. Dan made his way over when he had the chance.

"What'll it be?" he asked, keeping one eye on the drunk pair of guys practically making out on his bar counter. He'd have to call Al—the bouncer—if they took things any farther. "What?" He asked after he realized that they guy had answered him, but Dan hadn't heard a thing.

"A Black Sunday."

Dan almost asked the guy what he wanted to drink a third time. Surely he had to have heard wrong.

He served a lot of people in a night, sure, and while he was operating in a smaller-scale club, he still had a few people that were here for nothing but the chance to drink their worries away, not to pick up strangers and have fun that they wouldn't even remember the next morning.

The guy's voice was gruff and warbled, but Dan could tell that it wasn't from alcohol. He turned his full attention to the man before him. He was dressed in rumpled clothing that looked as if it had been what he'd slept in the night before and his pitch-black hair was pulled back in a messy quiff—if you could even call it that. There were dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and tear stains rolling down his cheeks. Regardless, Dan couldn't ignore his inherent beauty. His skin was that pretty pale you saw on Instagram, his face sculpted and angular. His eyes were a crystal-blue that reminded Dan of one of his specialty drinks—a fruity cocktail that was fairly popular.

"Okay," Dan said slowly.

A Black Sunday was a hard-core drink. The least potent ingredient was an ounce of 101-proof Wild Turkey Bourbon, and the ounce of 190-proof Everclear vodka added made it have a higher alcohol content than illegal American moonshine. The drink itself was sought after so infrequently, Dan could count on his hands the amount of times he had been asked to make one in all of his years of bartending.

Dan added the bourbon to the cocktail glass, followed by a generous amount of black cherry soda to keep it from tasting like antifreeze. He passed it to the guy who ordered it, and watched in near horror as he took a large gulp without even flinching.

Jesus, there's no way I'm messing with this guy. He's got some serious nerves to be drinking Bloody Sunday's like that. They’re almost straight fucking alcohol.

Dan's attention was called away by a group of people siding up to the bar, all talking loudly. Dan makes their drinks just in time for more people to come. The cycle continues like it normally does every busy night for a while—one order leading to another. The guy sticks around, not saying anything to anyone besides the one time he asked for a refill from Dan.

Eventually, the stream of constant people vying for a drink ebs a little before one in the morning, and Dan finally gets a chance to breathe. The alcohol that had been spilled on him early on had dried, leaving a vague alcoholic stench on Dan's being. His feet hurt a little, and he was starting to get tired of dealing with loads of drunks.

"Another, please."

Dan scooped up the empty glass, holding it for a moment and not immediately filling it. "You might want to slow down with these, mate, they can knock people out cold for like, a whole damn day if you have enough."

The guy didn't say anything back, just started with his red eyes, something hurt in them. Signing, Dan picked up the Everclear.

"I can't believe you've had so many of these, they taste like shit." Dan said simply, putting the bottles back where they went. He handed the now-full glass back to the guy, who nodded in appreciation, taking a large swig.

"They really do," He said, looking at the dark liquid in his hand as if it had personally offended him. Dan smiled and rolled his eyes.

"At least you know that you're torturing your taste buds, I guess."

The guy snorted.

"Yeah, a rude awakening from my normal fruity cocktails," he muttered, sipping his drink.

"Oh my god, there's no way that you drink stuff like that if you're here, on your third Black Sunday and still looking like you need about seven more to get smashed."

"Hard to believe, huh? God, if anyone that knew me could see me now. Or even if I just, I don't know, told someone they'd still never believe me. 'Phil, you cringe at gin and tonics there's no way that you'd drink that' is probably exactly what they'd say." Phil deflated a little, his lip pulling down like he just remembered something that he'd rather forget. "Well, I'd bet anything that it won't take me seven more, but if that's what I need to forget fucking everything," Phil downed almost the rest of his drink, the bottom of the cup clunking back down to the bar, "then by all means I'll do it."

Dan's anxiety spiked a little. He didn't really like it when there was conflict, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that this guy was going through some shit. He decided to change the topic.

"Phil, huh? I'm Dan," Dan said, throwing a glance down the bar, making sure that there still weren't any new customers.

Phil hummed in reply and swallowed down the last dregs of his Black Sunday.

"Another please, Dan. If you can't tell I don't even want to remember my own name."

Frowning, Dan complied, even if a little reluctantly.

"You know, it's probably really bad business, but alcohol is absolute shit for you," he said, passing Phil the cup. Their hands brushed.

"Is that like your doctor telling you that there's more side effects than actual things that help you in a medication?"

Dan laughed. "A little specific, but yeah, I guess so. Are you speaking from experience?" Dan asked, leaning on the bar.

"No, but I did have a really bad experience at the gym."

Dan snorted. Hasn’t everyone?

"No! Really, I did!"

"What'd you do, trip on the treadmill? I hate to break it to you, Phil, but everyone does that."

"I haven't! Besides, that's not what happened at all."

Phil launched himself into an in-depth story about how he'd hired a trainer to help him out, show him the ropes, give him something easy to do, and how it had gone horribly wrong. Dan listened in rapt attention, horrified at what had supposedly happened. In fact, he'd given Phil so much of his focus that when a younger girl asked for a drink, Dan had nearly fucked it up royally because he wasn't paying attention to the cocktail that his hands were trying to independently make.

They kept talking, and if Dan was honest, Phil was more than fun to converse with. They were able to trade stories and even a few jokes. The fact that Phil was extremely attractive even in his severely rumpled state was just an added bonus.

As it rounded three-thirty, there was a surge of people, anxiously drunk for a few last minute drinks before they stumbled their way home or into someone else's arms. The influx carried Dan away from Phil for probably twenty minutes, throwing a wedge into their conversation. Dan, for his part, tried to make the drinks as fast as possible because he wanted to continue where they'd left off—Phil trying to get Dan to believe that a stranger had once walked up to Phil and woofed in his ear.

When he finally returned to Phil, he could tell that it wasn't going to happen.

Phil was slumped over his drink, scowling and clearly buried in his own thoughts. There were tears brimming in his eyes, and the drink that he'd done less than look at in he and Dan's hour long conversation was almost gone. When Phil saw Dan approach him, he chugged the remainder and held it out for Dan to take.

"Another."

Dan's heart pained him.

"Phil…"

"Another." Phil said, his voice so hard and cold, yet so raw.

"No, Phil, I'm not serving you another Black Sunday. You've had too much and I won't be responsible for your liver committing suicide right in front of my eyes!" Dan huffed, his arms crossing. Phil's expression turned sharp, something in his eyes turning dark and jagged. Dan shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

He was unnerved, yes, but Dan stood his ground even if his insides felt like they were grinding together.

Lip curling up into the beginning of a snarl, Phil dropped his hand down, the cocktail glass coming down so hard and fast that Dan feared it would shatter.

"Love. The whole thing is fucked." Phil growled suddenly.

Dan knit his eyebrows. What?

"I mean," Phil said, glaring at his empty glass, "it doesn't feel like it at first. It's all fluffy and happy, skipping classes in secondary school to make-out and holding hands and just...love. And then, oh fuck, then it just gets better. You graduate, both go to separate uni's but out of some miracle you make it work. You move in together. And god, you're so in love it hurts. You spend all of your time together and you love each other and…" Phil drifted off, the knuckles on his wrist blotchy and white, but Dan was too drawn into the soft words Phil was speaking to fear for the safety of the cocktail glass. "And then, he leaves you for one of your friends. But not before fucking the other guy first, and ripping your heart out of your fucking chest and stomping on it." Phil was shaking by the end, a mixture of fire and endless pain in his eyes.

"It hurts so bad, having to try and pick your life back up again from where it was scattered into such small, jagged pieces. Nothing's right either because you're stuck in a constant state of missing. It's been you and him for years at this point—how the hell are you supposed to just move on?" Phil shook his head. "I don't even care. Love isn't supposed to reduce you to sobs, and I want no part of it for the rest of my life," Phil said, practically spitting the last few words, distaste clear on his face.

"Phil...I…" Dan started when it was obvious that Phil wasn't going to say anything else, but he didn't know what to say. Fuck.

With Dan's horrified words, the spell was broken. Phil's head snapped up from where it had been gazing at the table. He stared at Dan for a moment, all of his emotion sprawled out before it all melted away in a single heartbeat, smoothing out into an impenetrable wall. He stood so abruptly that in his intoxicated state, he nearly toppled over. But Dan didn't have a chance to help him before Phil was pushing and shoving his way through the crowd.

Dan felt something heavy settle in his heart. He'd been a bartender for a fair amount of time, and he's had more than his fair share of sob stories. He hated hearing them and knowing that people were hurting enough to fall down the horrendously slippery slope of alcoholism. But the reality was that he could only offer words of comfort, maybe a few free drinks and some advice, but that was it. He'd have to watch as they left.

"Can I get a goddamn drink?"

Dan ground his teeth, turning himself away from where Phil disappeared into the crowd. A thirty-something guy was leaning on the bar, obviously hammered. He carelessly gave his order, eyeing up a pretty blonde a little farther down the bar. Dan made it on autopilot.

The rest of the night was a blur. Business picked up in the remaining few hours, and Dan was working hard to keep up with the orders. Nevertheless, he did it, and even did a relatively above average cleaning job after Al threw out the last of the drunks passed out on the dancefloor.

The rest of the night, he didn't see even a glimpse of that messy black hair.

~~~~~

The next few nights business passed as normal.

Dan took his late shifts in stride, none of them sporting crowds near the likely record that there had been on Saturday. Wednesday, however, at what was an estimate of two-am, a sullen and melancholy voice called out behind him.

"Black Sunday, please."

Dan turned, unable to stop the twitch of his upper lip trying to form a smile when he saw Phil.

Phil was wearing a different button-up, and while he looked to have the same rumpled aura, the shock of black hair seemed to be not quite as tangled and his shoulders were not as drawn in.

Then again, Dan might have just been projecting his wish for Phil to get better onto the man.

"Back again?" Dan asked, sliding a cocktail glass off of it's rack. Phil tossed him the skeleton of a little smile. Dan handed the now-full glass to Phil, and not having a moment to stop and talk, turned back to the other waiting customers.

After a lull in customers opened up he took the opportunity to turn his attention back to Phil. It had been probably about half an hour since Dan had given Phil his drink, and the glass was empty in Phil's pale hands.

Dan frowned, reaching for one of the water bottles he kept behind the bar and setting it down in front of Phil. Phil looked up, confused.

"You're not getting another Black Sunday out of me unless you drink at least this whole thing."

"What? Since when is that a thing?"

"Since you had a billion of them the other night and they have enough alcohol in them to knock out a gorilla."

Phil's brow was still crinkled, but he didn't protest further, curling his hand around the bottle. He sat like that for a moment before looking back up at Dan.

"Are you calling me a gorilla?" he asked softly, confusion still on his face, head tilted. Dan's eyebrows shot to the sky and he swore he rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out of his head.

"Is that seriously all you focused on? Jesus, Phil."

"Hey!"

"Here I am, being all kind, giving you water-"

"Dan."

"-and looking out for you-"

"Oh my god, Dan."

"-and you ask me if you're a fucking gorilla?" Dan finished incredulously. Phil was laughing, his tongue poking out from between his teeth, the action making Dan's chest feel warm. Feeling inexplicably and suddenly giddy, Dan continued.

"You know, Phil, I expected better of you, really. Hydration isn't a joke and you of all people should have-"

"Shh!" Phil laughed, reaching up easily against Dan's frame leaning over the bar and clasping his hand over Dan's mouth. And, miraculously stunned, Dan shut up.

Normally, when a customer would touch Dan anywhere—arm, shoulder, waist, hip, or anything else outside of the route of possible and normal physical contact of handing off a drink or collecting a payment—Dan would either chew them out or call Al over depending on his mood that day.

But Dan couldn't tear his eyes away from Phil's clear blue ones, his face happy and giggling, cheeks dusted pink from the alcohol in his first Black Sunday. In fact, he didn't do anything but stand there with his upper body braced on the bar by his elbows, paralyzed by Phil's warm palm on his lips, his face so close, eyes so bright.

Phil pulled away after a second or two, and yet it still felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room.

Dan didn't really know what to do with the knowledge that a touch so casual and obviously careless by a man he'd just met could throw him off like this.

Pulling himself out of his head, Dan forced himself to act somewhat normal, looking behind him to partly look for if there were any other customers waiting, and partly to look like he was keeping an eye out for customers, but instead using the moment turned away from Phil to collect himself.

Dan brought his head back only for Phil's eyes to instantly lock onto Dan's. Phil smiled.

"Where were we?"

They got to talking, and just like the other night, everything just flowed. They even had a heated debate hours later on which Muse album was the greatest while Dan was mixing drinks for a group of college kids.

"No, it's without a doubt Origin of Symmetry."

"I'm not saying that it's a bad album! But The Resistance is easily the best!" Phil said excitedly. He took another sip of his second Black Sunday of the night. He had a certain slur to his words that pointed to his slowly increasing drunkenness, but considering how easily Phil had thrown them back last time he was here, Dan considered it a win. "James and I would always-" Phil stopped so suddenly that Dan's head whipped around, concerned as to what was wrong. Phil's eyes were wide and brimming with tears, a distressed look on his face. A sob escaped his trembling lips, and Dan heard it catch in his throat.

James and I.

It suddenly clicked in Dan's head, and he could feel his own eyes widen. He fumbled with the liquor bottles in his hands, trying not to drop them like his hands had wanted to a heartbeat ago.

"Phil, talk to me." Dan said, setting the ingredients onto the bar closer to Phil and working there, willing his hands to measure and stir and pour faster. Unfortunately, Dan was fighting a bit of an uphill battle with several people waiting for drinks.

Another sob escaped Phil's lips, and to Dan's horror, a few tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, dripping down his cheeks.

"One of Muse's songs, that was our song. We…" Phil trailed off, hiccuping, full-on crying now. Dan barely understood his garbled words. Phil dropped his face into his hands. Dan practically threw the drinks at the people as he managed to conjure them into existence, throwing himself headfirst into making the next one.

"What did I do wrong?" Phil sobbed. "W-we were happy and w-we loved each other and I was going t-to marry him! And he cheated!"

It felt like the carpet had just been yanked out from under Dan's feet. His heart ached in sympathy for Phil.

Fuck, they were going to get married and this James guy cheated? That's fucking horrible.

Some of the people waiting for drinks were casting glances in Phil's direction, and Dan wanted to scream at them to mind their own business. Moreso, he wanted to drop everything and wrap Phil up in a hug.

"Phil," Dan said desperately, throwing together a handful of shots in seconds, "I know it may not seem like it but this James guy is an arse. You didn't deserve to get cheated on, not at all. You deserve better than him." Dan looked over his shoulder, wanting to see if any of his hasty words made it through to him, but Phil's barstool was empty, and minus the empty cocktail glass, there was no evidence that Phil had even been there.

~~~~~

Phil didn't show up again for almost two weeks.

Dan would have liked to say that on the nights he worked the bar during those two weeks he didn't keep a constant eye out for the man with the sad eyes and hunched stature, but it would have been one of the worst lies he'd ever told.

When Phil did show on a lonely Tuesday night, Dan didn't know if he should be excited or not. On one hand, Phil finding his way back into Dan's bar meant that Phil still, on some level, wanted to be around Dan (or the drinks he made, Dan's subconsciousness helpfully provided. Dan told his subconsciousness to shut up). On the other hand, it could easily mean that Phil had just slipped far enough in his sorrow that he once again needed the company of alcohol, and the thought made Dan's heart throb in shared sorrow.

But as Phil flashed Dan a smile, the edges of his shy-blue eyes crinkling, Dan was hopeless to the grin that spread over his features as a result.

"Hey."

"Hey back. How's the world of Dan...what's your last name?"

Dan raised his eyebrow a little, but still responded. "Howell."

"Great. How's the world of Dan Howell, then?"

Dan snorted and shook his head, but the smile on his face didn't falter with Phil's quirk.

"Not bad. Today's kind of empty, so I've had more time to relax than normal." Dan pulled up his stool, sitting on his side of the bar, directly across from Phil. "How's the world of Phil?" Phil pouted, and it really shouldn't have been as adorable as it was.

"You aren't going to ask my last name?"

"I was counting on the fact that you'd tell me."

"Ugh, I can't believe I'm already the only one holding up this whole relationship." Phil whined. Dan didn't really say anything, but the word relationship threw him for a loop. It bounced around in his skull, making his thoughts sizzle to a stop for a moment before they limped back into place. Phil, however, being himself, didn't notice Dan's half a second reboot and just kept going.

"Anyways, since you won't ask, I'll tell you." Phil leaned forward, easily catching Dan's gaze. And fuck, this man shouldn't have this much power over him. "It's Lester. Philip Michael Lester," he said. Dan's attention didn't leave Phil's unearthly blue eyes, but he was all too aware at how Phil's lips were moving.

God, he needed to keep his shit together.

Dan hummed in response and swallowed, holding what was left of himself together with what seemed like only his bare hands.

Phil waited another moment before he pouted again, stronger this time.

"Dan! Ask me!"

"Ask you what?"

"You know!"

Dan leaned forward on the counter, and devilishly decided to give Phil a taste of his own medicine. However, Dan wasn't as effortlessly angelic like Phil, so he put in the work. He brought his chin down onto his hand and looked up through his lashes, making sure to soften his gaze. Dan let his shoulders relax and gave his head a little tilt, stretching his neck.

"Fine, how's the world of Philip Michael Lester?" he purred. It was obvious he was flirting. Obvious.

Phil's eyes widened, and Dan was close enough to hear the breath catch in his throat. He saw the way Phil's gaze drunk in everything Dan was offering.

And then Phil looked away, shattering the moment and bringing the reality of what Dan just did crashing down. He tried to hit on a guy who was dealing with a horrible break-up with the love of his life. God, Dan was so fucking stupid, and callous, and cruel—

"You, know, it's honestly going really, really good," Phil said, bringing Dan back to the present. Phil's gaze came back, and Dan was relieved beyond belief at it's warmth. He pulled himself back and schooled his emotions—not to mention getting himself in check.

(Dan ignored the flicker of disappointment that he swore danced across Phil's features. It was nothing but Dan projecting his own interests on the poor man.)

A couple walked up to the bar, looking expectantly at Dan, who stood as soon as they approached. He turned to Phil.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Phil smiled a little, resting his head on his palm like Dan had just been doing before. His posture was remarkably the same, but fuck with the dancing lights of the club floor highlighting his features and the downright ease at which he commanded all of Dan's attention, it was so much better than what Dan could ever pull off.

But once Dan felt his heart tug at his ribcage, he knew that he didn't really care if Phil was more attractive than him.

"Yeah," Phil said, his voice soft but still reaching Dan's ears effortlessly, "I'd like something light. I really want to remember tonight."

~~~~~

Maybe if Dan wasn't so drunk on Phil's company, he would have thought about how well they got along with each other was too good for reality. How easy it was for their friendship to click would have given Dan pause in any other frame of mind because all of his relationships with people were carefully cultivated after dozens and dozens of hours at the very least. But with Phil, Dan doubted that he could count all of the hours they had spent together on two hands. Yet, as Dan laughed at Phil's stupid jokes and their banter played off of each other effortlessly, it was easy to fall into the feeling that they had known each other for longer than reality.

Yet…

Dan wasn't paying any of that to mind.

No, right now, he was so immersed in Phil's slightly-tipsy attention that it seemed nothing but normal.

It was late—nearing three in the morning—and Phil had only had two weak drinks, good on his word. The whole night they hadn't stopped talking once. Even as Dan was mixing drinks for customers or taking orders, he was still listening intently to Phil ramble, or refusing to stop his little sarcastic interjections just because he had to do his job.

By the time Dan was nearing having to close up the club, he honestly felt that he knew Phil as well as other friends he had, if not better. No topic seemed off the table tonight, and yeah, Dan strayed away from asking stupid questions that would have obviously crossed a line or upset Phil. However they still bounced so freely from topic to topic that Dan felt he could name a thousand new things about this man who kept coming into his bar.

Video game interests, music, professions, where the hell they wanted to end up in life, what made them happy, the stars, a whole half an hour of Dan monologues about candles, different tragedies they've endured...and so much more.

The entire thing was insane. And good. It made Dan smile giddy and forget that he was a wreck.

And a hour later, as Dan wiped away the stickiness of dried alcohol on the many tables in the bar, he was left in what he could best describe as a state of awe. Never had one of his shifts passed that fast, and never has he ever enjoyed himself so much in one.

In his back pocket, Dan's phone vibrated. He slipped it out, and even though he had his assumptions as to who was texting him this early in the morning, the confirmation still made him grin wide enough to hurt.

>> From: Phil I expect you to finish that story about your piano teacher next time im there kay you left me on a cliffhanger, mate

He clicked back a quick-witted reply and pocketed his phone, continuing to clean up with a smile on his face. In the pocket of his jeans, Dan could swear that the plastic of his case was still warm from where Phil had touched it earlier—giving Dan the precious gift of instant communication to who was quickly becoming one of his favorite people—before waltzing right out of Dan's club doors, a bounce in his step and a swing in his hips.

~~~~~

>> From: Phil psst….

>> To: Phil psst

>> From: Phil work is super boring :(

>> To: Phil u were the one to pick a publisher as a prof. mate

>> From: Phil :(

I expected some sympathy and maybe a "phil you brave soul I'll come save you"

>> To: Phil *insert eyeroll*

Im in the middle of tesco and ur at work I cant just "save" u

>> From: Phil youre not going to try?

>> To: Phil whats in it for me?

>> From: Phil my time? my presence? my charming good looks? my humor??? me???

>> To: Phil ur not full of yourself at all huh

>> From: Phil :(

I need a new best friend *you* wont even rescue me :(((

~~~~~

>> From: Phil dan its 3am get off twitter

>> To: Phil phil its 3am get off ur phone

>> From: Phil dannnnnn

>> To: Phil :p

>> From: Phil come on you need sleepppp

>> To: Phil I could say the same for u

besides

staying up late is my job if anything this is training for work

>> From: Phil >:(

>> To: Phil why r u up anyways?

>> From: Phil I cant sleep

>> To: Phil James?

>> From: Phil … … yeah...

>> To: Phil dont apologize for ur feelings phil

…

idk if ur tired or not but do u want to watch a movie?

I mean

we would obvs watch it separately but we can text through it like we're sitting next to each other

…

that way ur mind can be off of James and we can keep each other company?

…

we dont have to

>> From: Phil that sounds pretty perfect

~~~~~

Over the following month, Dan and Phil spent an absurd amount of time texting each other. In the beginning, things were a little awkward with neither man knowing how to really proceed, but a week after Phil first typed in his number into Dan's phone and another in-person visit from Phil, things between them flowed. Not a day went by without at least a single conversation, even if it was nothing more than a dumb pun. Dan wasn't completely sure how Phil was faring with the new dependency on each other, but Dan knew that he had accidentally neglected a handful of customers this week because he had been typing out something to send to Phil.

And...the thing was...Dan was happy.

Now, it wasn't as if he had been upset with his life before per se, but more of like he had been merely content with it. He didn't jump out of bed, excited for the day, but he also didn't dread the thought of waking up again. Peculiarly, Dan found himself rolling over and checking his phone for a notification from Phil before he had even really woken up yet, already searching for that spark between them. He found himself smiling more, and more genuinely.

It was a good change.

Dan laced his fingers together above his head, stretching with a yawn. It was the early morning—around three—and he was tired. He couldn't wait to close up, text a sleeping Phil a story about one of the drunks tonight, and fall asleep.

When he spotted a familiar black head of hair, he frowned.

It was unbelievably late, not to mention that Dan knew that Phil had work tomorrow—what the hell was Phil doing awake, and hell, here?

Dan watched as Phil made his way through the crowd, and Dan's heart sank as the apparent reason why Phil had decided to show tonight made itself known.

He was disheveled, a large frown on his face, and a slump to his shoulders. His skin was paler than normal, yet there was still a flush dusting his cheeks, and Dan knew without a doubt that it was from alcohol.

Dan's heart throbbed painfully as he watched Phil stumble onto one of the barstools.

Dan stepped forward and automatically tried to reach out to offer Phil comfort, but the near complete lack of recognition startled him, making him suck in a breath. Could Phil have really forgotten him after some drinks? Dan had thought that their friendship had been worth more to the man.

He tried to get the thoughts out of his head. His hurt feelings didn't really matter right now. What mattered was that Phil was seemingly self-destructing. God Phil, how much alcohol did you have already?

"I wa't a vodka." Phil slurred, a spark finally lighting behind his eyes. "Dan!" He said, sounding cheery for a moment before his sour mood returned. "I 'eed a drink."

"Phil," Dan started, stepping as close as he could with the bar separating them, "how much did you drink before? You're already smashed I don't—Phil, no-!"

Phil frowned harder and tried to get up, the motion near unsuccessful on his uncoordinated and drink-heavy legs. Dan immediately lunged over the bar, grabbing Phil's sleeve and pulling him back onto the stool. He worked with drunks, so it was easy for Dan to tell that upon standing, Phil had more of a chance flying than trying to walk out the door. He most likely would pass out at this point.

"Look," Dan sighed, frantically thinking of a way to keep Phil here, "I'll get you a drink, okay? I'll get you one. Just...just don't leave."

Dan filled a shot glass almost all the way with water. He then threw in a dash of vodka—just enough to get the general taste of it. Phil was too far gone to tell that he was being tricked, but Dan wanted to make sure that the vague flavor of vodka would reach Phil's taste buds just in case Phil was a particularly adept drunk.

He set the glass down in front of Phil, and immediately Phil threw it back, holding it out in an unsteady hand for another. Dan compiled, however this time didn't put any vodka in, just water. He mimed pouring vodka in the glass with his back turned, put the unused bottle of vodka back, and gave it to Phil. Dan paid close attention to Phil as he drank it, but he showed no sign of knowing what he was drinking.

The last hour of Dan's shift followed a similar pattern—he gave Phil as many shots as he wanted, all of them water. Phil didn't say anything, didn't really show much evidence that he was comprehending where he was, and what he was doing, minus the occasional grunt to get Dan's attention for another drink.

The whole thing worried Dan to bits.

By the time Al was making his rounds, ensuring that all of the people had left, Dan had to stop him from tossing Phil out onto the streets.

"No!" Dan had said, panicked, almost dropping the bottles of alcohol he was restacking, "He's a friend, Al. I'll take care of him, promise."

It took a few tries to get Al to believe that Phil wasn't going to be a problem for Dan, but he eventually nodded, telling Dan to call him if he needed anything and walking out, his job done for the night.

Dan sped through the rest of the clean up, and sooner than expected he was standing outside of the locked bar, Phil half asleep and leaning all of his weight onto Dan who was desperately trying to hold him up. Dan paused for a moment, at a loss. He didn't know where Phil lived, let alone have a key to Phil's place, and wasn't sure if Phil could make it a whole night by himself in the state he was in—the last thing either of them needed was blackout-drunk Phil to accidentally hurt himself or decide to take a midnight stroll.

He glanced at the sleepy man in his arms and tapped his foot, weighing his options before letting out a huff and slipping his arm around Phil's waist, starting off down the block where Dan had parked his car. Phil tried to help, but he could barely get a step in with how uncoordinated his legs were. In circumstances other than trying to carry another man nearly as tall as him, Dan might have laughed, but Phil was heavy.

Through a lot of stumbling and a dozen almost-falls, they made it, and Dan was just barely able to get Phil into the passenger seat after ten minutes of Phil trying to move his unresponsive limbs in an effort to help, and Dan trying to stop him because it was only making things worse. By the time Dan buckled himself in and started the car, he was breathing heavily as if he'd ran the whole way to his car.

Getting Phil up to the floor of Dan's flat was simple enough due to the elevator, but getting him past the door was horrid. Phil was asleep and complete dead weight in Dan's arms, and Dan had to drag him through, nearly hitting his head on the doorframe by accident.

Once inside the flat, Dan didn't really make it very far. He rolled Phil onto the couch and collapsed onto the floor, his breathing labored. Did he sometimes have to lift heavy things while working at a bar? Sure, but that was nothing compared to an unconscious Phil.

Dan caught his breath and pulled himself back up on his feet—he couldn't rest yet. Dan removed Phil's glasses and rolled Phil onto his right side so he was facing away from the back of the couch. He then put the little trash can that he had had in his bedroom on the floor in line with Phil's head; that way if he threw up he would hopefully do it in that and not on Dan's floor. Once Dan was certain that Phil would be fine by himself for a little, Dan retreated into his bedroom and stripped himself of his bar uniform, putting on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. He thought about bringing something in with him to change Phil into so he wasn't sleeping in jeans, but decided against it—there was no way to know if Phil was comfortable with Dan doing that, and Phil's possible inability to sleep well with jeans was irrelevant when he was unconscious and drunk off his ass.

Dan threw his dirty clothes into the hamper, brushed his teeth, and pulled the duvet and the pillows on his bed off, piling them on the floor in the lounge next to the couch. He went right back to his room and pulled one of his fluffiest blankets out of his closet.

Once he was back in the lounge, he let the blanket fall so he could pick up the duvet and then draped it over Phil, tucking in the corners to keep him warm. Dan slid a pillow under Phil's head and pushed the coffee table away to make room for himself before caccooning his body in the blanket on the floor, facing Phil.

It wasn't the most comfortable of sleeping positions and his back would probably hurt tomorrow, but there was no way in hell that Dan was going to let Phil alone by himself.

It was a while before Dan's mind quieted enough for his eyes to drift closed, but the last thing he saw was Phil's peaceful face, lulled to sleep.

~~~~~

The night turned out to be more eventful than he had hoped, but no less than he had planned for, and Dan was glad that the day before he had had a good night's rest because his sleep turned out to be interrupted at best.

Phil threw up twice, and Dan both times Dan thanked his past self for putting the trash can down.

Phil hadn't been properly conscious for the first time, and it had taken Dan a half an hour to clean up a sleepy Phil and help him brush his teeth with a spare toothbrush Dan had found crammed under his sink. By the second time, Phil had sobered up a little (mainly because he had vomited up a large portion of the alcohol he had ingested). He had reached down, clutching at Dan's upper arm with one hand and the other yanking the trash can as close as he could get it. That time, Dan was awake in time to rub Phil's back and card his fingers through his hair, soothing him as he retched. Both times, while Phil went to sleep quickly afterwards, but Dan couldn't fathom another minute of sleep for at least an hour after. His focus was pinpointed onto the man on his couch and utterly convinced that Phil would need him even if Dan shut his eyes for a moment. Dan wasn't sure what the time was when he managed sleep, but grey morning light was already seeping into the apartment by the time his exhaustion had settled over him.

Dan roused close to ten in the morning, eyes heavy and body sore. His eyes fell immediately onto Phil who was still sleeping, his face peaceful and tranquil in unconsciousness. He watched Phil from his makeshift bed on the floor for a few minutes—was that creepy? Too much? If Phil was up would he be freaked out by Dan's stare?

The thought made Dan's eyes slowly shift away from Phil's pale skin. He ended up crawling out from under his blanket and finding his way into his kitchen where he had a bowl of cereal, rubbing at his eyes frequently. Since Phil undoubtedly needed his rest and was still sleeping soundly, Dan decided to just let Phil get up by himself.

Dan made his way to the shower, where he spent at least fifteen minutes on the floor of the tub, letting the hot water hit his curled up frame. It soothed the muscles in his body, acting like a balm to his overactive thoughts. All of which were about the man laid on his couch and the way his shoulders sagged with pain, the curl of his smile, and the starbursts in his eyes.

Dan didn't understand how there was someone out there who could give up a man like Phil, let alone cheat on him.

When he emerged from the bathroom, steam curling from the doorframe and his curls towel-dried on his head, Phil had switched positions. Instead of laying on his side like he had been all night, Phil was on his back, head turned to the junction connecting the armrest to the back of the couch. His mouth was parted and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, likely from a dream he was currently experiencing.

It should be illegal for someone to look that good sleeping, Dan thought, his feet pulling him closer on instinct until Dan was sitting on the floor with his back pressed up against the sofa and the blanket he had been using all night curled around his body.

He felt uncomfortable continuing to stare at Phil with the innate knowledge of his own personal attraction to the man and knowing how much Phil was falling apart with this breakup, so Dan pulled his ultimate social crutch out—his phone. With pink-dusted cheeks, Dan pulled up the first app his fingers found, and soon enough, he was forgetting all about last night and this morning.

When Phil stirred however, Dan's attention immediately snapped to him.

Phil was now in a similar position that he had been all night, rubbing at his eyes and yawning widely.

"Phil?" Dan asked, putting his phone onto the coffee table and scooting closer to where Phil's head was. Phil just looked up at him, eyes sleepy and expression tired.

"Dan?"

"Yeah. Do you remember last night?"

"Hmm? No, I don't think so…" Phil paused, his eyes falling to the duvet he was snuggled in, cold realization settling into his posture, "I got drunk, didn't I? My head certainly feels like I did" He asked in a small voice. Dan gave him a pained smile that he meant to be reassuring, but Dan had a feeling that it wasn't in the slightest. He picked up Phil's glasses from where he had discarded them when they had first gotten home and gave them to Phil, their hands brushing more than Dan was certain was necessary.

"You were absolutely smashed before you even showed up at my bar."

Phil groaned and covered his face with his hands, sighing so deeply that it sounded pained.

"God, I'm sorry."

"Phil…"

"I promised myself I was going to stop drinking my feelings away. Look how well that turned out," Phil said bitterly, frowning heavily. His eyes were wet, looking ready to cry. Dan wrapped his fingers around Phil's wrist to get his attention, not even thinking about the action.

"Phil, you've been through a lot, and you aren't dealing with it very healthily, but acknowledging that is the first five steps to moving past that."

Phil didn't look convinced, his gaze sliding back down to the blanket, shame and remorse in his eyes. Dan squeezed his wrist, willing Phil to still pay attention to him.

"You seemed to be doing really good with managing the want to get drunk for a while there, and I know that relapses are a very possible thing, but I think you should just do what you were doing before, you know? You seemed really happy when I saw you, and even texting you were so much more joyful than when we had first met. You were doing really good, and I think you can keep doing really good."

At this point, Phil's attention was back on the blanket.

"That...that's harder than it sounds. What I was doing...I don't know if I can keep doing it."

"God, Phil, were you on drugs?"

"No!" Phil gasped, looking up in shock.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Dan, I'm sure. I just...I don't really know how to explain it, but you know how sometimes you find something new, and it like, fills a hole in you that you didn't know existed? It's like that, but it just...scares me I guess. Because I don't know how to handle it? I didn't even know that I needed it until I had it but now I try to picture myself without this new...thing and I can't. And I don't know what to do, because I'm not supposed to feel like this."

"Who says you're not supposed to feel the way you do, Phil? You can't pick and choose what you feel—the heart doesn't work like that. It's like how you're hurting because of James and what he did to you; you don't have a choice in the matter of the pain or joy you feel, and you can't selectively mute the negative without obstructing the positive." There were tears in Phil's eyes, a few fat drops slipping out and sliding down his cheeks. "And," Dan said, wiping away Phil's tears with his hand, "I think that if that thing—whatever it is—makes you happy, it's worth a little bit of terror. You don't deserve to make yourself suffer more just by denying your feelings, Phil."

Phil was full on crying now, and the tears were flowing faster than Dan could wipe them away. But before he could disentangle himself just long enough to conjure up a box of tissues, Phil tugged Dan forward into a hug. Phil broke down, sobbing into Dan's shoulder, blubbering about James and how lost he felt and the guilt he had. It all just...tumbled out, and Dan wasn't sure if Phil even meant to be spilling everything, but Dan had a feeling that these were tears and emotions that Phil had never let himself have.

Sure, Phil had mourned the future he had lost, but had he let himself mourn the pain he was feeling? All of the trust he had lost as a result? All of the misery he had endured? Dan didn't think so, and the thought broke him.

And as Phil cried into his shirt, Dan just held him tighter.

~~~~~

Hours later, Dan was having more fun than he had had in the company of another person in a long time.

He and Phil were nestled together on the couch with blankets piled on top of them, cocooning them together. Phil had showered and called out sick for work for the day after managing breakfast and, at Dan's insistence, two big glasses of water to make up for the alcohol-induced dehydration he had endured last night. And as it was, neither of them wanted Phil to get back into his dirty clothes, so Dan let Phil borrow some of his and told Phil that he'd wash them. And when Phil had first emerged from the bathroom in one of Dan's soft jumpers, a pair of joggers clinging to his hips, Dan had cursed under his breath, instantly knowing that letting such an attractive man wear his clothes was a mistake.

Thankfully, Phil hadn't seemed to notice.

What either of them had also seemed to have failed to notice, was that Phil wasn't technically supposed to be in Dan's flat.

At first, it was 'oh, your clothes are still in the washer'.

Then it turned into 'well we might as well have lunch while you're here'.

Then it was 'hey Dan you have Mario Kart? I didn't know that—can we play?'

And now, well, now it evolved into zero space between them, Dan's heart seizing in his chest as they watched Wonder Woman together on Dan's couch.

Phil inhaled deeply as on the screen Diana ignored Steve's protests and ran across the battlefield, her shield in front of her.

"Oh my god," Phil breathed, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes wide. Dan, for his part, was happy that he had seen the movie already, because with Phil pressed to his side in his own clothes, he wasn't paying it any attention. The rest of the movie passed in a similar manner, and soon enough the credits were rolling and Phil was crying from the ending, still clutching onto Dan's arm where he had latched onto when the tension was running through the roof earlier.

"That was horrible! They deserved to stay together! How are you not crying?" Phil cried, looking at the credits still as if they would fade into a "jk lol that's not the real ending".

"Phil, I can't really change the ending of a movie. Also, maybe because I've seen it before?" Dan replied helplessly. He didn't really cry after movies. Phil just sniffled and wiped away the few tears that had leaked out of his eyes.

"I need a pick-me-up after that. Did you want to watch another movie? Though I have to put in a request for something that won't make me cry like a baby."

Dan looked at the clock in the lounge and frowned, disappointment settling heavily in his ribcage.

"We don't have time for another movie since I'm going to have to get to work soon," Dan started, and Phil's face fell, but Dan nearly tripped over himself trying to fix it, "but I can do pizza? That's enough of a pick-me-up, right?"

"Are you sure? I can leave, god, I didn't even ask if I could stay-"

"Phil," Dan interrupted, knowing where that train of thought was going and needing to stop it immediately, "you're fine, I promise. Today's been really fun and I'm glad you're here. C'mon, let's order pizza."

Dan watched as the frown that had been forming on Phil's face flipped instantly into a blinding smile, and he'd have been lying if he didn't say that the sight made the edges of everything glow as well.

And even hours later, when Dan was at the bar serving drinks to people, he couldn't stop the smile on his face—not when he was riding on the high of spending the day with Phil combined with Phil currently blowing up his phone with "I miss you" texts.

~~~~~

The golden feeling didn't even last a week this time though.

Things had been going insanely well. Dan and Phil had spent the next day—Dan's day off—together. Phil had called out of work once again, insisting that he made more than enough money and that he didn't need to be worrying about missing another day's pay when Dan protested. This day was one spent out and about, the two of them acting like absolute idiots together, window shopping and having too many snacks from food vendors.

Everything was perfect, and Phil was looking at Dan like that, and Dan wanted the whole day to be the rest of his life, because fuck they were so happy.

But the following night, when Phil stomped into Dan's bar at two in the morning, anger and pain in his eyes, Dan knew that the Phil he had been spending all of his time with recently was gone.

Phil asked for a drink, giving Dan less than a glance. He watched in horror as Phil threw back the shot without pause and asked for something stronger.

And goddamnit, but Dan wasn't working alone tonight, and before he could decide if it was better to confront Phil here and now or tomorrow after letting him get piss-drunk, his coworker had already given Phil what he was asking for and moved onto the next person.

The last two hours of Dan's shift ended up passing in a similar manner. Dan filled some of Phil's orders, trying to talk to Phil about how Dan was worried for him, but Phil would just ignore it. Other times, Dan was legitimately busy with other customers, and his coworker gave Phil the hard liquor he wanted without a second thought.

When Dan was clocking out at four-AM Phil was still there, holding out his glass as he waited for Dan's coworker—who was still working the bar—to fill it. When he saw Dan, he grunted and turned to Dan instead.

"'ere, Dan, 'ou can get th's," Phil slurred, drunk. Dan, who had been quickly put into a terrible mood at Phil drowning himself in alcohol, frowned and the glass out of Phil's hand. He left it on the bar counter with enough money to pay for Phil's tab. He grabbed Phil's arm by the elbow and hauled him up to his feet wordlessly, dragging Phil forcefully out of the bar. By the time they hit the cool night air Phil had recovered enough to protest.

"Dan, wha' the hell are 'ou doing?"

"My shift is done, Phil," he replied evenly, "You're drunk, once again trying to bloody kill yourself with alcohol, and I'm not letting you go home by yourself. That leaves you one option, and that's to come home with me."

It took Phil a few stumbled steps to make sense of what Dan said, but when he did he tried to pull back.

"Wha'? No, 'm going back," he mumbled, but Dan just tightened his grip and walked faster, Phil nearly tripping behind him.

"No, you're not. You're wasted and I'm not going to let you give yourself alcohol poisoning."

They were in Dan's car and speeding away soon enough, Dan's grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles a blotchy white.

Once they were inside Dan's flat he gave Phil his duvet and a pillow, and showed him the couch. When Phil tried to protest Dan gave him a firm "get to sleep, we'll talk in the morning" before he went into his bedroom and changed into something comfortable enough to sleep in. When he got back into the lounge with a blanket for himself, Phil was already unconscious. Dan sighed and started arranging himself on the floor, tired and angry and hurt. He fell asleep quickly, but when he woke up, his exhaustion didn't seem to have been satisfied.

He showered and cleaned up where he had slept by the time Phil started stirring. Dan took another sip from his coffee as Phil stretched, audibly wincing with a hiss of his teeth—it was probably his hangover, and judging at how Phil didn't have a sip of water last night, it was most likely remarkably worse than the last one. After a groan Phil propped himself up, blinking sleepily. His eyes landed on Dan sitting at his kitchen table, coffee in hand. Phil swallowed hard, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Morning," he said quietly.

"Morning."

"Was I as drunk as last time?" Phil asked after a moment, biting his lip.

"No," Dan replied quietly, "but nearly."

"I'm...I'm so sorry, Dan. You shouldn't have to cart me around and take care of a drunk me. I-"

"Phil, I'm your friend. I don't care if I have to support you and help you when you need it. But I'm not going to just sit by and give you alcohol whenever you want and take you home afterwards. Our friendship is worth more than that." The words made a defensive look cloud Phil's face.

"Didn't you just say that you would support me?"

"Yeah, and I also just said that I wouldn't enable your shitty choices, Phil." Dan bit back, properly angry all over again. Phil's face darkened, the former softness leftover from sleep gone.

"That's great support, Dan, thanks. Well, in case you haven't noticed, I've kind of been trying to handle things, alright? I have a lot of shit to work through. Sorry if a little compassion is too much for you to handle."

"You call drinking until you can't remember the day before handling things?" Dan asked incredulously.

"You call whatever this is supporting me?" Phil cried, his voice raised.

"I'm not going to sit back and watch you become an alcoholic, Phil!" Dan exploded. "And I'm certainly not going to help you become one! So, if you want to keep getting drunk off your ass because you're 'working through things' then you can go to some other bar because I'm not going to let you use me to self destruct! Do you know how many regulars I have at that bar? People with sadder stories than yours, who can't get by without at least a pint in their system at all times. People who are going to be dead by forty from liver failure. Do you want to become one of them?"

Phil was quiet for a moment.

"Do you really think that I'm using you to get drunk? What about two days ago, or the one before that? What about all of the texts?" Phil asked quietly. "You're my friend. You always come first over the alcohol."

"It doesn't always feel like that," Dan said softly, but no less harshly. He wasn't burning with anger anymore. He was tired. He just wanted to cuddle with Phil on the couch, but this was something that they needed to work through.

They both fell silent, unsure what to do, what to say, how to act. Phil sighed.

"It's never an intention. Sometimes it just...hurts to the point where all I can think about is a way to numb it. Sometimes I'm okay, like when we were out the other day together And other times I'm in my flat and I just get so overwhelmed that it hurts too much. I can't deal with it." Phil said, near whispering. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. "All I ever wanted was to be enough for him." Phil breathed, the tears spilling out of his eyes, crashing through the barrier that had been erected between them since the first drop of alcohol had passed Phil's lips last night.

Dan was up and out of his chair faster than he realized, nearly knocking over his coffee. They both pulled each other into the embrace, Phil gasping into Dan's neck through his sobs.

"It's okay, Phil, it's okay," Dan mumbled, clutching at Phil just as much as the other man did him. Dan desperately petted at Phil's hair and rubbed his back to comfort him. He ignored all of the emotions in his chest tangling together and simultaneously trying to force themselves out. Phil was more important right now.

"You're more than enough."

~~~~~

Phil ended up staying for the rest of the day like last time, but everything was just on this side of different. Both of their emotions were swirled together in a jumbled, confusing, unpredictable mess, which made for a few interesting interactions. There were several points in the day where one or both of them started crying due to one thing or another, and even more instances where one of them would snap at the other, sometimes sparking a quick spat before the inevitable rushed and sincere apologies.

Even more importantly, they patched all of the threatening cracks in their friendship and came to a greater understanding of each other. Their relationship was now one more attune to each other and less toxic for the both of them.

Dan pulled the blanket up higher over his body. It was late and the two of them had ended up on the couch, watching an absurd amount of Marvel together. Dan was sure that the blanket had essentially materialized, for he had no memory of Phil getting up to retrieve it and he was certain he hadn't. He wasn't complaining, however. The blanket quite literally softened the atmosphere around them and gave him an excuse to cuddle up to Phil's side.

Hours later, they were in the same spot. Phil however was out cold, his body half-slumped over Dan's, head on his shoulder. Dan didn't mind in the slightest. Phil was an incredibly cute sleeper, and being able to properly hold this wonder of a man was more than enough compensation for being his pillow.

On the screen, the characters were in the middle of the climax of the movie, fighting for their lives. Normally Dan got into scenes like these, but he was too wrapped up in soaking in all of the time with Phil he could get.

Dan knew that when the movie ended he'd have to wake Phil—he had work tomorrow and needed to get back home—but that was something he'd think about when the time came.

Dan watched Phil's eyelids flutter as well as his nose twitch, both by-products of whatever dream Phil was having at the moment. Dan smiled at it, an ache in his chest flaring at the sight of Phil so content. God, he was so whipped for this man.

Dan's hand settled in Phil's soft hair, running his fingers through it as he twisted his body to let Phil lay more comfortably against him. Dan settled back into the couch, letting the warm feeling in his bones seep through his whole body as he cherished the last few minutes he had with Phil before he would leave him.

~~~~~

It became a habit.

Whenever Phil would wind up at Dan's bar he would go home with Dan and stay the night. Even as Phil's self-destructive drinking habit started to shrink, and the need for Dan to make sure he lasted the night no longer became relevant, he still found himself waking up at Dan's the next morning.

A different product of their unspoken arrangement was that Dan's flat slowly became infused with Phil himself. He had a drawer in Dan's bureau, a toothbrush in the bathroom, and a permanent claim on the guest bed. But more than that, there were little reminders of Phil everywhere. A discarded shirt whose original owner had been long forgotten, a knick knack that Dan had no recollection of buying, an extra box of Dan's cereal for the mornings because Phil liked to snack on it and Dan was tired of having to run to Tesco's because he wanted breakfast. It was Phil having a key to the flat, and knowing how Dan made his coffee, and his lanky, relaxed form a regular and comforting presence in Dan's home.

It was so gradual that Dan didn't really notice the change until it had already happened. And by then, there was nothing he could do; Phil was properly rooted into his life and Dan was absolutely powerless to try and remove him.

Of course, Phil was over more than regularly without the assistance of alcohol. They grew awfully close with the sudden co-dependence and the company they provided each other. Dan didn't even want to know how many hours they spent together, nor the insurmountable number of texts they exchanged while they were apart.

Dan had even been around Phil's, but every single time they would gravitate back to Dan's. Phil said it had something to do with the "feel" of Dan's flat, something about energy, but Dan didn't really believe him. Judging from the lack of personalized decor Dan had seen, Phil didn't really spend that much time in his apartment. And knowing what he did, Dan easily knew why Phil tended to avoid his own flat.

Dan just wondered why Phil hadn't changed any of it yet for a fresh start. It had been quite a bit since the breakup, and all of the lingering memories had to hurt.

There was also something growing between them. Dan could see it in the unnecessary brushes of their fingers and the prolonged touch of a hand on the other's shoulder. How much they sought after each other clear as day in their glances and smiles as well. Dan tried to keep his hopes from rising too high out of the ashes—Phil was dealing with a harsh breakup, and there was no telling that Phil would even want to act on feelings (that might not even be there, Dan's anxiety reminded him)—but it was like fighting an uphill battle.

Dan was certain that he would be fine just as friends, but the guy had all but moved in and in the process showed them both what a domestic life together would be like, and it was so good it hurt.

Almost three months after Phil had last gotten properly smashed and broken down, he wandered into Dan's bar at around midnight. Dan hadn't seen him for a while, as odd as it was for them, and Phil coming around to Dan while he was at work had become even more rare.

He couldn't help but notice how good Phil looked with his hair quiffed, sleeves rolled up, the top button of his shirt undone, and his eyes sparkling. Dan was also extremely aware of how shit he himself looked.

"Hey," Phil said as he slid onto one of the barstools.

"Hi, stranger."

Phil grimaced. "I know, I'm sorry. But, the good news is that my department's work for the project is finished, so I should totally be working normal hours now."

"You're not going to leave me all by myself anymore?" Dan asked. He didn't even try to mask his excitement. It was lonely without Phil there to fill the cracks anymore.

"No, now you'll wish you changed the locks on the doors while you had the chance."

Dan laughed, but even to his own ears it sounded a little nervous and a little unsure. There was something glinting in Phil's eyes that Dan hadn't seen before.

"Can I get a drink for you? I doubt you came all this way to tell me that you were done being exploited by your company when you could have said as much through a text."

"Maybe I just wanted to see you." Phil said, leaning on the bar.

"Ha," Dan responded, copying Phil's movements, "don't make me laugh."

Phil leaned in further, close enough that Dan could smell the mint on Phil's breath and see the swirl of color in his eyes. The sudden closeness forced the air in Dan's lungs to freeze, and he was sure he was staring at Phil with wide eyes. Phil's eyebrow crinkled a little, and Dan knew it was because of Dan's self-deprecating comment.

"Would you like me to prove it?" Phil murmured, his voice an octave lower than before and fuck that made a shiver run down Dan's spine and his stomach drop to his toes. If he wasn't supporting himself on the bar Dan was sure his knees would have given out under his weight because jesus christ his legs felt downright weak.

Dan opened his mouth to try and respond, but the words didn't surface right away. He managed some garbled response, but what he even said he couldn't recall. Was it even English? He didn't know, but it made Phil laugh and lean back in the process, and with it their atmosphere from earlier returned—from wherever the hell it had gone, that is.

"I'll just have a beer, if that's alright. Nothing too fancy, please." Phil put enough money on the bar to cover his drink and Dan took it with a moderately shaky hand. He poured Phil one of the good tasting ones that people loved with his mind racing the whole while. Dan didn't know what had gotten into Phil, but he wasn't certain that he could survive a whole night of it, that was for sure.

Dan tried to pull himself together before turning back to Phil. He handed Phil the beer, determined to try to steer them both into a safer dynamic, but Phil reached forward and wrapped his hand around Dan's and the glass in the process. He held them both there for a heartbeat before taking the glass with his other hand, looking Dan in the eyes the whole time with an innocent smirk tugging at his lips.

I'm so fucked.

Phil took a sip of his beer, eyes shining, the whole interaction taking no longer than a few seconds, yet leaving Dan near floundering.

"Thanks."

"Yeah," Dan breathed, willing himself to get it together, damnit, "no problem."

~~~~~

Dan quickly came to the conclusion that Phil Lester was trying to kill him.

For one, the flirting had only increased.

Dramatically.

Dan lost count of how many innuendos Phil made, how many times he could feel or even watch Phil's gaze drag over him, all of the times that a touch lingered longer than strictly necessary.

It was confusing. Distracting. Completely...intoxicating.

He absolutely couldn't get enough.

Early on he gave up on trying to fight whatever game Phil was getting at and started playing along. He'd drop his own flirty lines and bend down a little further than necessary to reach the alcohol under the bar, fully aware of what it was doing to Phil.

They both knew they were in dangerous territory.

Did either of them care?

Dan at least didn't think so.

As people started to file out of the bar—Al herding them to the doors—Dan was incredibly aware of Phil still sitting on his stool, his chin resting in his hand so he could watch Dan as he cleaned up. They didn't talk, but it didn't feel like they needed to. The air around them was charged enough as it was; there was no reason to add fuel to the fire.

When Al was done he called his goodnight to Dan and Phil—who he knew by name at this point—and left.

Dan and Phil weren't alone in the bar for long. Or maybe they were, but Dan just wasn't paying attention to anything other than the presence of Phil.

They were outside before Dan even knew it.

He pocketed the key and turned around, all of his attention on how close Phil was and how the moonlight hit the pitch-black of his hair. For a minute they stood there, stuck by each other's gazes.

But then the spell was broken by Phil slipping his hand into Dan's and tugging him down the sidewalk in the direction of the parking lot that Dan always left his car in.

It was a miracle that Dan didn't suffer a stroke on that walk to his car, and it was even more of a blessing that he didn't crash because everything felt like such a fucking daze.

They'd never done anything like hold hands before, and Dan didn't know how to act, or what to say, or what the hell to even do.

He was completely powerless to whatever Phil had planned, and the shiver of excitement that kept running up Dan's spine made it clear that he wouldn't have it any other way.

Phil had been to Dan's flat so many times and so often that it was easier to count the times that he wasn't. He'd been there sober and piss-drunk and everywhere in between, and they all felt right. They all felt natural. This was no less right, but so much more unnatural. Here Phil was, the least drunk he'd ever been after leaving Dan's bar, standing in Dan's lounge and looking that fucking attractive, and gazing at Dan like he was that fucking attractive.

"Is this okay?" Phil asked, his hand lacing their fingers once again. Dan's mouth was dry and he felt overwhelmed, but he nodded. "How about this?" Phil questioned, his voice softening as he stepped into Dan's space, his spare hand finding its way to Dan's waist. The touch was hot, burning through the fabric of Dan's shirt and warming the skin underneath.

"Yeah."

Phil hummed in response and drifted closer until their faces were close, Phil's breath fanning out over Dan's cheeks.

"And if I kissed you, would that be okay?"

Would it?

That was a question that Dan felt like he knew the answer to, but now that it was being asked, he wasn't so sure.

On one hand, this felt like something that he had been waiting for ever since Phil had first walked into his bar. They had developed a healthy relationship over the months and months of knowing each other, and Dan loved having Phil as his best friend. However, as selfish as it was, he still craved something more. He wanted to know everything about Phil. He wanted to know what it felt like to sleep next to him, to kiss him, to wake up and see Phil right beside him, to spend their time together without worrying about if what they were doing was crossing a line or not. Dan wanted to support Phil and keep him standing when he needed it. He wanted to love him.

However, Dan had a nagging voice in the back of his head asking if this was actually right for them. Phil had been destroyed by his boyfriend cheating on him all those months ago, and he had made tons of progress, but Dan didn't want to be a rebound. He didn't want to be a fuck-buddy or a bit of worthless sex. He deserved better than any of that. He didn't deserve the heartbreak that would come with any of those options.

If this was going to happen between them, he wanted it to be real because these feelings in his chest were real.

Dan looked up, ready to push Phil gently away and whisper no, but he found that he couldn't because the look in Phil's blue eyes was the same one Dan saw in the mirror.

Dan didn't know if this was what was right for them. He didn't know what he should be doing, and he certainly didn't know if this would make or break them. But what he did know, what he was sure of, was that there was no more denying this thing between them; Phil wanted this just as much as he did.

"Yes."

Phil grinned before closing the distance between them and crowding Dan's space. Too many sensations were running through Dan's head for him to make sense of them all, but that didn't stop him from trying. He caught snippets of the feeling of Phil's lips, the heat of his body close to Dan's, the warmth of Phil's hand on Dan's hip, the texture of Phil's shirt under Dan's fingertips, and so many more.

He was incredibly sure however, that this was right.

All of the worries he had had about this thing between them were dissolving into bliss—how could he have ever doubted Phil when he was holding onto Dan like he was something precious?

Dan let his hands move from where they had been clutching at Phil's clothes to cup the sides of his face and pull him closer. That's all that Dan wanted right now—to be as close as they could.

The action brought a groan tumbling from Phil's mouth, the sound muffled from between their lips. Fuck, that was hot.

Phil's hands on his hips drifted a bit, the tips of his fingers pulling the fabric of Dan's work shirt from where it was tucked into his jeans and sliding underneath. It made Dan's mouth drop open a little, something that Phil took full advantage of. He coaxed Dan's mouth open the rest of the way and Dan let himself be utterly swept away at how good of a kisser Phil was.

"Come here," Phil murmured, pulling Dan backwards to the sofa. Dan just followed, his mouth seeking out Phil's.

Phil giggled at his antics and pushed Dan onto the couch. Dan let himself fall. Phil stood over him for a moment, just looking at Dan. The attention made Dan's heart race in a very good way, and he held his arms out, inviting Phil to join him. He readily went, their bodies slotting together in a delicious way. The weight of Phil on top of him was better than Dan could have imagined, and he let Phil steal his breath away with more kisses, their hands dancing across the skin of each other's sides.

"I'm going to tell you a secret, Daniel," Phil whispered as he kissed down Dan's neck. He sucked a deep hickey into the skin there which made Dan moan and buck his hips. Dan felt Phil's smirk.

"I've been waiting for this for..I don't even know how long at this point. You're so sweet, and caring, and attractive that you make me question my vendetta against love." Phil rocked his hips against Dan's, their clothed cocks brushing together. It made Dan gasp and let his head fall back. Coincidentally, it also exposed his neck completely for Phil. A hand slipped into Dan's curls and tugged with enough force that Dan's head craned back all the way. At the same time Phil brought his mouth to Dan's pulse point and sucked.

Dan moaned, a loud, proper one that had Phil groaning in response and pushing their hips together again. Dan's eyelids fluttered as the stimulus crashed over him in waves, and all he could do was desperately rock his hips in time with Phil and clutch at his shirt like it was his lifeline.

"Dan," Phil gasped, sounding just as wrecked as Dan, "I need to know how far you want to take this. I'll stop if you want, but I just—fuck!—need you to tell me how much of you I can have."

They were both rutting against each other, panting and sweaty and needy. Dan shook his head, trying to breathe in enough oxygen to actually articulate the half-baked thoughts running around his skull.

"All of me," Dan moaned, the words tumbling out, "you can have all of me, please."

Phil's hands gave up their timidness at Dan's words and pushed his shirt up and over Dan's head. The rest of Phil's body slid down so he could kiss up and down Dan's chest, swirling his tongue around his nipples.

"Good."

~~~~~

In hindsight, Dan might have been right to worry about things going too fast.

The next morning Dan had woken up first, his body tangled with Phil's in bed. He had also been quite sore—a bit of knowledge that made flashes of Phil above him and thrusting deep surface whenever he blinked his eyelids.

Dan blushed a little as he thought about how much they had properly wrecked each other in Dan's bed last night.

When Phil had woken up however, all of Dan's hopes for a soft and loving morning were dashed away when Phil took one look at Dan in his arms and panicked.

It took a bit for Dan to properly calm Phil down, and when he did Phil scooted far away from him on the bed. It broke Dan's heart, but he was more concerned with how Phil was feeling to address his own emotions.

Phil ended up confessing that he wasn't sure if he was ready for a relationship yet, but he wanted one with Dan all the same. He cried when he told Dan how much he couldn't stand another heartbreak like the one he'd had with James, and Dan could only hold him while he let all of his fears out.

After a few tentative hugs and a long conversation of establishing what they both wanted and figuring out boundaries, they decided to try.

They took things ridiculously slow at first, and only attempted cuddling for the first few weeks. Eventually they branched into soft, loving kisses when Phil felt ready, and stayed content like that for a while. Dan let Phil lead them into more flirty territories, and it was Phil who first instigated their first make-out session as boyfriends. They had been dating for about six months before they had sex again, but this time they were both completely sober and it was more like making love then fucking.

Dan was more than happy to watch as Phil slowly got more and more comfortable with him in a romantic sense and showered Phil in as much love and care as he could.

Phil also gave up drinking as soon as they had started dating, which was something Dan was so proud of Phil for doing. Permanently sober Phil was Dan's favorite Phil, that was for sure.

And even if their start was a little rocky they found their stride, and now they'd been dating for close to two years. They had their own apartment, and even with Dan's night shifts they found regular time to be together. Sometimes Phil would find his way to Dan's bar when he wasn't satisfied with their time together at dinner, and he would drink water or a soda and keep Dan company during his shift. Other times he would text Dan mercilessly no matter how many times Dan fondly told him that it was busy. Dan for his part would keep up with Phil while he was at the office, and had a bad habit of completely blowing up his phone when he was in an important meeting.

Neither or them would have it any other way.

Dan yawned and stripped himself of his work clothes in the dark. He had had to cover his shift for an extra hour because one of the other workers' car had broke down while they were on their way to relieve Dan, and he was dead on his feet. Dan flopped onto the bed and wrestled some of the sheets from Phil's sleeping grasp. He turned to his side and let his eyelids droop, but not before noticing Phil's arm snaking around his waist to pull him close. Dan smiled despite his exhaustion and snuggled close. Phil sighed in approval in his sleep and Dan giggled softly. He laced his fingers with Phil's and let his body relax into the mattress, content.

He really wouldn't have it any other way.

#phandombigbang #my fics #allyssaTM #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #fluff #angst #implied smut #implied/referenced cheating #minor past relationships #bartender!dan #au #tw minor cursing #there's a lot of fluff be warned #dan howell #phil lester #what a plot twist you were #waptyw

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ravenclawsjourney · 6 years

Text

the Draco x Harry AU we all need

pleasant visit

after hogwarts they lost sight, both have enjoyed the beautiful night together, but both also think it just isn’t meant to be. harry works at hogwarts as professor in dark arts and draco becomes a journalist, after his hard work in a small book shop in London. he wants to have a normal life, a life without magic where he can be judged by his cover, or recognized for “the-son-of-a-death eater”. nobody knows he really hadn’t had a choice in his quest for The Dark Lord, better away then. but after a while the past always catches up, as it always does. his face wasn’t unknown by the daily paper, and even though he tried his best, the gossip spread like the flu. and before he could try to undue the damage, he got a particular job. to go to hogwarts and gain information about the progress of wizards for the government. because he worked unpredictable hard and it could be his job on the line, he accepted to return to his youth. the youth that spit him out. the youth that he wouldn’t want to remember. the youth that connected him to Harry, the one man he dared to touch.

the trip with the Hogwarts Express presued smoothly. he chatted a little with the train operator, wrote some things down, but he couldn’t push away the shaking in his hands and the compulsion to glance at the door every minute to check for any students who might recognize him, but it stayed quiet. also, the heavy air of the machine made him think of his own trips here. the secret glancing at the blessed man, only a boy, then. the childish bullying, and turning around afterwards to spot him already looking. it wasn’t hunger between them, it never was. pure, it was, but they both didn’t dare to tag it. yes, some people might’ve called it love, but it never left their lips. frightened. frightened of what his family might think, what his mates would think, what he would think.

the Hogwarts Express arrived at the exact time, as always, and the children tall and short cheered out, ready for this school year. Draco never did such thing, he was spelled. spelled in the doomed world of Lord Voldemort, either called Tom Riddle. Voldemort always had a hand around his wrist, always pulling him in the dark, to later spit out, leaving him for nothing more than dust. luckily for Draco, a certain spark kept him away from the dark pit Voldemort called his heart. he used to believe the spark was himself, his better half, but it never really was. only Harry could’ve been that spark, and he prayed for so long for it to come back.

where the celebrated students go right, Draco turns otherwise, as he knows the way so well. the castle fooled him when he was younger, a student himself, with its changing stairs and misleading riddles, but not now. as the stairs change he gets reminded by the fact that the stairs represented his life, as it took many turns. harry wasn’t the first turn, not by far, but it made question every day since he felt his heart glow as the young Potter walked by. he never considered himself gay, but heterosexual wasn’t an option either. yes, he was gay, as hard as that felt on his chest. in 2018 it’s supposed to feel normal, feel good to be who you are, but Draco had been hiding for too long to unfold his true self. oh god, how bad he wanted to join those happy, living people dancing down the street with their rainbow flags and all kinds of statements, but he couldn’t let himself. it would feel like a sin.

the eagle connected to, if he was correct, Mrs McGonagall’s office opened up and he stepped into the still unsettled place. it’s been seven years since Dumbledore died, on his hands mostly, and the room was still full of closed boxes and unopened memories. the fenix still sat on his stick and the books still opened. like he left it a minute ago. Draco’s palm opened and closed roughly, twitching with sweat. his black suit creeped up and he loosened his tie, she wouldn’t mind.

she look formidable herself, not green this time, scarlet red with black accents. her wrinkles had deepened, grove into her skin and her veins stood up like straws, but her posture was the same. hands folded on her belly, pointy hat on her head and a serious look, even though she could do nothing better than smirk a bit at his sight. he pressed down the urge to hug her, “long time, no see”, and walked up to her and shove her his hand. she grabbed it gracefully, without breaking the gaze, and her lips pressed into a smile.

‘Draco, you look pleasant.” she told and she nodded at his closed fists. he immediately unfolded and smiled awkwardly.

‘it’s a surprise to be back.’ his answer was and she wrapped her second hand around his.

‘it’s a pleasure to have you back here, we’ve missed you.’

Draco smirked at the thought, nobody had missed him. he burdened all the teachers and caused trouble at school with his upened chin. he’s glad that attitude flew away when he became vulnerable, soft. obviously, the humans here did not know of any of this change. at the time he didn’t see it as a positive turn, turning soft was not what his dad has taught him, in difference, he hardened him every day.

‘what’s that?’ his old professor spotted and she raised her almost invisible eyebrows.

‘not to doubt you, but i’m not sure if anybody missed me here.’ Draco blushed, trying to sound as comfortable as he could.

‘he did.’

Draco first tried to confess himself “he” was not he, THE he, just a “he”. nobody special, maybe a professor or an old friend, reminding himself he didn’t have any long lasting friends here. or anywhere in that matter. but he didn’t work here, Potter probably did some highly interesting work. Draco doubted that Harry would go back to this place, ever, not after everything he went through. he had told Draco all about it, after Voldemort had been killed, in the library at night. they’d spread their thoughts and demons in the air and dug through them together. it could’ve lasted millennia for Draco’s matter, but his real friends Hermoine Granger and Ron Weasley had other plans.

‘i’m sorry, who’s he?’ Draco asked, perplex. McGonagall could only create a smile and tuck her grey, thin hair behind her ear.

‘Mr Potter’s in the great hall right now, you should go interview him, mr Malfoy.’

oh, many times Draco had wished to hear something from Harry, an owl or a call, it didn’t matter, just something. how many time Draco had looked back, how many times Draco “by accident” took a train to London, hoping to run into him. how many times Draco laid on his bedroom floor, wondering what would happen if Harry was here. how many times Draco had hungried to hold him. some moments he got sick in his stomach from such thoughts and hopes, other he prayed for them to come true with all his heart. and now, it came true. it has been seven years till they last saw each other and they never had a glance of one another after that, until now. he had to go. he had to.

‘go, Draco. go.’ McGonagall pushed and as rude as it must’ve been, he turned around and ran out of the room of a ghost.

the whole castle eyed silent, not a feather would go unheard. the only sound to drop, besides Draco’s rudely fast steps, tipped over the stairs, muted by hair. the known cat of this castle should be dead by now, so probably a animal of a student lost in the mazes. before Draco could take a deep breath and onverthink the situation, what to say, what to think, what to do, he opened the door to the great hall and with that about two-thousand eyes. two-thousand and one. even though he must’ve been fifty meters away, his eyes were impossible to miss. beautiful green, like a serpent. his hair still brown locks, lashing in the light of candles. he was taller, not much, maybe one inch taller than Draco now. he wore the same blouse as seven years ago, or Draco just imagined him that way. slowly, but certain, Draco nervoulsy walked through the hall of children, all’s eyes burning on him. He heard Harry catch his breath sharply, almost cutting.

oh, please, tell me you thought about me too, tell me you didn’t forget about me, about what we had, Draco thought, as Harry shifts in his seat to stand up. Draco is risking it all, no doubt people recognize him, no doubt people judge him, no doubt the news papers will tell a twisted story. and still, here he is.

like calming a wild animal, Harry stood up, still gazing at his old “friend”. Next to him Hagrid jumps in the air too, messy, grey beard holding its way. Draco feared he’d tell Hagrid to take him away, to never see again, but instead Harry walked around the long table with rich and tasty food, past the sorting hat, who looked at him coldly and stepped of the standard. There they were, eye to eye, like two ghosts. two man with a broken past and an unsure future, now more than ever. Harry must decide what he’d do now, Draco locked in his position. the air in the room muted most noise, accept some gossiping, obviously about their past. as much as they tried, some things can’t be hidden, not completely. as far as Draco knows, Harry hadn’t been active in his gay-ism as well, but how would he know? maybe the whole school knows and Draco imagined the very tension, or it was a secret he kept hidden at more costs. Harry mouth opened mechanic and a second before he spoke, he puffed out a short breath.

‘Draco.’ he breathed, echoeing through the room. his voice trembled a little, but it was the same voice Draco mused about many times. ‘What- what are you doing here?’

even though this wasn’t exactly how Draco pictured it, he took a deep internal breath and replied, almost self-assured:

‘Can i talk to you in private, please?’

Harry eyes widened by the invitation, but not fear or anger, pure suprise. he hesitated with his words, then swallowed them and glued his eyes on Draco. for a long moment, all Draco wanted to do was turn around and forget this ever happened. interview a few professors, make sure to avoid the green eyes, go back with information and go on with his life, his hidden, painful, normal life. yes, nothing was to lose here. Draco was about to embarass his ass when Harry jumped in.

‘Follow me, please.’

the invitation back sounded formal, like he didn’t recognize Draco or he planned to set the tone, to keep it on professional level. Draco realised he hadn’t thought over what he’d do when Harry didn’t feel the same anymore, if it was just a “one night-stand” as the muggles call it. for Draco it sure wasn’t. even though he didn’t agree with the tone, he obeyed when Harry guided him to the left, leaving the great hall in silence. the room was about the size of a common room and not close as high, like a hobbit house. seizes books piled on one another in different ways, messy as possible. it’s humid and warm, clumsy with dust. Draco had never been to this room, he didn’t even know it existed.

Harry closed the door behind him and Draco synchronic jumped around, facing the man he chased in his dreams. the formal edge of Harry’s proposal gets cut off with a single glance at his face. the brown hair is messy, like Draco remembered. his eyes don’t have a stern look at all, his eyes gleam of hope. his eyes brows curled up lazy on the inside, wrinkling his forehead and his lips smooth into a bright laugh. Draco feels his body change into the mood: eyes wide with excitement, teeth showing, hotness creeping up his spine.

‘Draco, i never expected you here!’ Harry said, his voice rich of enthusiasm.

‘I came for an interview with some professors, but i didn’t know you worked here.’ Draco replied, body showing his emotion better than his words ever could. the step forward and immediately backwards doesn’t go unnoticed and Harry’s smile fades when the silence grows.

‘I’m sorry, i’m not sure if i may do that or not.’ Draco stammered, frustrated by his terrible performance.

‘Why wouldn’t you?’ Harry asked and something in his voice sets of an alarm in Draco. ‘I mean, we have a past, a huge one actually. Draco, i’m sorry i never called, or texted, or send an owl. i guess i was scared of the consequences.’

‘We haven’t talked in a very long time, Harry. things have changed, some radically, but that doens’t change why i stand here right now.’

Harry was now the one to step forward, nearing the space between them. Draco considered grabbing him by the waist and kiss him, but the seven years of distance had its consequences. Harry is grown up, not out of his feelings for the old Draco, but what about the new one? the one who only exists for seven years? what if Harry morphed into somebody else too? what if they were correct so long ago. it doesn’t seem like it right now, but nothing is perfect. it’s about what you pick to be a problem.

‘things have changed, that for sure. we’re both different persons, but i’d like to get to know this Draco.’

all the nerves he had before, all the insecurities he had before splashed of him like a waterfall and the feeling he had been missing for some time, the feeling that his life was really about to begin, curved around him. this is it. the past that always catches up, and from now on it was the future. for a very long time.

‘I’d love that.’ he smiled and stepped closer, pressuring both their chests. if he’d want to, no, if he could, he’d lean forward and lock lips with his, maybe, former lover. but he didn’t. instead, he wrapped his hands around Harry, not able to resist. luckily, Harry already hungried the same and curled himself around Draco. Harry’s heart bounded fast, and sweat dripped of his neck. how long did he wait for this moment? Harry planted a long kiss on Draco’s forehead and Draco dreamed over the future like it was destined.

Oh my lord, thank you! thank you for reading this !!<3 i hope i did not dissapoint though :) their story is (obviously) not over, but i’m not sure if i’m going to do a serie or not, depends. anyways, can you, please, leave a comment 'bout your thoughts, good things about it, bad things, the loveliest is both <333 again, thank you and i love you and you can beat the world and believe everything those cringe quotes say. love ya.

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vagrantblvrd · 6 years

Text

Cat Scratch Fever (1/1)

Summary: It’s possible that Trevor’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor rolls his eyes at the goon’s delighted little chuckle. Such a clever joke, as though Trevor hasn’t heard it before.

Notes: Prompt fill for @rhinnie who asked for Alfreyco. (And also went and reblogged this and my brain was like "Oh, hey, Catwoman!Trevor" because those damn gloves.)

This is like. An alternate version of that AU we've been tossing back and forth, so yes.

AO3

It’s possible that Trevor’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor rolls his eyes at the goon’s delighted little chuckle. Such a clever joke, as though Trevor hasn’t heard it before.

There’s a burn in his thighs – he’s really let himself go, hasn't he? Gotten soft the last little while, and there was a reason he didn’t linger on his reflection in the mirror before setting out tonight. (The suit is skintight, after all, and offers no mercies.)

Soft or not, muscle memory is a beautiful thing and he’s not so out of practice that he doesn’t know what to do next. Flash drive of vital information tucked away safely in a compartment on his belt, sharp little claws that pop out when he flexes his hands just so, the right amount of pressure along the mechanism and he swings out of cover and starts his run.

Fast and light on his feet as he uses an overturned crate to launch him towards the goon. Big burly gentleman with questionable facial hair and atrocious fashion choices – those boots with that tactical vest? Appalling. (He knows it’s stereotyping, but he can’t imagine the brute has good dental hygiene when he looks like that.)

The goon starts to turn, and Trevor grins as he sees the flicker of surprise on his face before he strikes. Hand flashing out to the strap of the weapon, claws catching in the weave before he wrenches and they slice through.

Jerks, and the rifle goes clattering somewhere off to their left, and Trevor follows up wth a closed fist because the classics never go out of style. (That, and he doesn't want to maim the man. This isn't personal, after all.)

The goon grunts, staggering back a step and Trevor puts more of his weight behind the next blow, and the poor bastard finally drops.

Trevor pauses to check that the goon’s still breathing, not about to die on him and continues on his way out of the building quick as he can. The noise will draw other guards, and Trevor’s not stupid enough to stick around to see it.

Not when he’s gotten what he came here for.

Outside the city is loud and dirty and a jarring difference from the quiet confines of the office building. Disorienting, almost, but Trevor keeps moving. Passes by the little alcove where he left a folded up trench coat and trendy little fedora and strolls casually to a side street where the battered little car he’s...acquired waits patiently.

Beaten up thing, scratched and faded paint and a stubbornness to it he admires because it refuses to quit on him. Struggles up the slightest incline, gears grinding when he shifts gears, but by God does it keep trucking along.

========

Technically, Trevor’s retired.

Left the business a few years ago and settled down with a nice boy.

Trevor had his job working at an animal clinic (ha, ha, ha) and Alfredo worked for a security firm in the city. (Oh, the irony.)

They’d been happy, or so Trevor thought. Pair of idiots getting by best they could. Someone he played off perfectly, Fredo always willing to roll with whatever insanity Trevor got caught up and vice versa, but then -

Oh, but then.

Alfredo slowly pulling away, citing problems at work and Trevor hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. But then it got worse, to the point they rarely saw each other throughout the day. Phone calls went to voice mail, went ignored and he’d thought – thought -

Well.

He’d thought it was Alfredo losing interest, getting tired of Trevor and letting him piece it all together on his own.

This horrible feeling that that Trevor had been wrong about him all this time. His judgment flawed for not being able to see Alfredo as the kind of boy who’d just let things between them wither and die, and that had hurt far more than he expected it to.

Trevor muddling along like he wasn’t hurting, confused and stupid and naive for the first time in years.

And then he’d gotten a text from an old work buddy and an attached news article with a picture of Alfredo front and center with one of the biggest criminal names in the country.

One of many millionaires out west who lorded it over the city with his extravagant lifestyle and supposed stable of pretty, nubile things, and suddenly Alfredo in the mix.

Not exactly what he’d expected when Alfredo said he was headed to Los Santos.

And maybe there was some anger burning at the bottom of Trevor’s fragile little heart at everything that had happened.

So.

To Los Santos it was, that fire safe hidden under the floorboard in their bedroom closet cracked wide open and his old suit packed up along with a few essentials for the flight to the Golden State in search of answers he probably wouldn’t like.

========

Trevor’s not bad when it comes to computers, manages to get through the encryption on the files he’d stolen and sifts through them.

The motel room he’s staying in is small and dirty and cramped and he hates it. Hates this city full of people like him (worse than) and the fact that Alfredo is here.

He’s here and cuddled up to Ramsey of all people.

This respected figure in Los Santos with his millions sunk into a wide array of businesses and squeaky clean facade that falls apart the deeper you dig.

Goes by an old college nickname the journalists and bloggers of this city use fondly, something to do with his nautical-themed tattoos.

“’Corpirate,’” Trevor scoffs, fingers tapping out a restless rhythm on his thigh. “What a name.”

It’s the city’s worst kept secret that Ramsey is heavily involved in the criminal side of things in Los Santos. Operates out of the penthouse in one of the many buildings he owns in this city and shameless about it. All his wards in on things, helping him widen his hold on the city and so damn pleased with themselves.

Money and influence enough to keep him out of jail no matter how many times they go after him and his, and one of the reasons Trevor had made damn sure to avoid stepping foot in Los Santos before now.

But, Alfredo and Ramsey and answers Trevor needs if he wants any kind of closure at all.

He stares at the photos of Ramsey and his pretty little things.

The Brit he’d collected on his travels years and years ago, the first of many. The angry looking one from a business trip to the east coast that one time. The...well, there’s no readily available story for the one with the man bun, but rumors say he used to be a model in his youth, which could be more than enough explanation. The one with the beard is an old friend, confidant and supposed advisor and then Alfredo.

Newest addition to the fold, a quick blurb regarding his promising career in the military before a training injury landed him behind a desk counting down the days until his enlistment ended that fades into vague hand waving nonsense about his time in Liberty City.

“You always did look good in a tuxedo Fredo,” Trevor murmurs, and puts the laptop into sleep mode because he has work to do.

========

It’s a mystery as to how Trevor got the moniker he has when he’s working. There aren’t any adorable if impractical ears on his suit, no feline-themed gear he uses. (The claws are practical! They’re tiny little knives on the ends of his gloves that make climbing things a snap, and serve as useful weapons and tools in turn for his work.)

But such is man, he supposes, or something along those line because -

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor smothers a sigh in his hands, crouched low behind some hideous sculpture placed in an alcove in the hallway.

He’s rustier than he thought because so far he’s managed to trip several alarms and alert this annoying specimen of a guard.

Less brutish than the one at the office building, but only just.

To be expected, probably, because this is one of Ramsey’s little properties. Lovely little mansion up in the hills and a soiree taking place. Fundraiser for one of the charities he funds, the man himself glad-handing sponsors and critics alike and his pretty little things swanning about.

He’d meant to sneak in, get his hands on Ramsey’s personal files, but, again, rusty.

Too much time spent with his head in the clouds thinking he’d gotten his fairy-tale ending after all.

Trevor presses a button on the remote in his hand and a small explosive charge goes off down the hall. (Goodbye priceless vase, hello distraction.)

He waits a beat and creeps out, slow and careful. Quiet, quiet, quiet, and nearly has a heart attack when he hears a gun cock.

“Hands up where I can see them!”

Rusty.

Trevor complies, slipping one of his little gadgets off his belt as he raises his hands and slowly turns. Pasted a smile on his face and tries to remember that emotions get people like him killed, but it’s hard to keep in mind.

The goon with the gun blinks, genuine surprise on his face as he lowers it.

“Trevor?”

He really should think about reinvesting in a good pair of goggles, or a suit that covers his face one of these days if he’s going to come out of retirement.

“Hey, Fredo,” he says, all bright and cheery the way he used to before things turned Lifeinvader complicated.

Alfredo is staring at him in shock, and Trevor might feel a little bad about that if he wasn’t the reason Trevor’s here in the first place.

“I’d really love to stay and chat,” Trevor says, hooking the tip of a claw in the little pin and pulling just enough that the shink noise it makes when it disengages reaches Alfredo. “But I’ve got places to be.”

He sees Alfredo raise his gun and thinks, well, then, that answers that, doesn’t it? with this sharp little ache in his chest as he throws the tiny grenade as it starts hissing smoke.

========

This is a mistake.

The sort that’s guaranteed to get Trevor killed, but what’s a little risk now and then?

And besides, he doesn’t quite have his answers, does he.

Knows Alfredo is clearly working for Ramsey, running security or something else to investigate the disturbance Trevor caused at the party the other night. Seemed reluctant to pull the trigger on him, but perfectly able to aim a gun at him and -

The heat of the moment, most likely, or maybe Trevor’s just lying to himself. Making up excuses and clinging to them because he’s still in love with Alfredo even though it stands to get him killed, and yet here he is anyway.

“I’m an idiot,” Trevor mutters, flashes the poor woman sharing the elevator a reassuring smile when she inches away from the lunatic muttering to himself.

She doesn’t seem to buy it, but Trevor doesn’t push when he’s certain things are uncomfortable enough for her as it is.

Another night, another party for the filthy rich under the guise of raising money for charity. This time it’s being held at a swanky hotel and Trevor’s gotten his hands on an invitation.

Ramsey’s here with his “wards” and Trevor's an idiot.

Doesn’t know what the point of all this is, but it’s too late to back out now.

The elevator slows to a stop and Trevor lets the woman leave first, puts enough distance between them that it doesn’t feel like he’s following her and then he’s through the little security checkpoint outside the ballroom where the party's being helped.

He mingles, bright smiles and pleasant laughter at their terribly bland jokes. Delicious hors d'oeuvres and oh, dear, is that a gun in his back?

“You’re not on the list.”

Trevor turns, oh so slow and finds himself face to face with the former model. Perfectly polite smile on his face and gun digging into Trevor’s ribs, and maybe he’ll take a pass on that little bacon-wrapped bit of deliciousness on the refreshment table he’s been eyeing.

“This is true,” Trevor says, and smiles.

The guy, Haywood, raises an eyebrow and nudges Trevor away from the party and to a conference room down the hall.

Ramsey’s inside, along with his entourage, including Alfredo, who looks -

Not happy.

Ramsey’s watching him, hands in his pockets and this tired little smile on his lips.

“Never expected to see you in Los Santos,” he says, and of course he knows who Trevor is. (Was?)

Trevor shrugs.

“Times change,” he says, and looks at Alfredo in his sharp tuxedo. “People change.”

Behind him Haywood growls, and Trevor doesn’t roll his eyes at that bit of unnecessary drama, but it’s so very tempting.

“Yeah,” Ramsey says, glancing at Alfredo who’s got himself all locked down. “They do, don’t they.”

“Hmm,” Trevor agrees. “I don’t have a problem with your little operation out here,” Trevor says, because showing weakness here would be a major misstep, but he didn’t come this far to make enemies. “Just wanted to have a little chat with Alfredo.”

That sets off a ripple through Ramsey’s crew- that’s what they are, the truth the rumors don’t get close enough to. Not wards or bedmates (or at least not all of them, Trevor’s still not sure about Patillo), but his crew.

Operating in plain sight and the authorities helpless to do anything about it lest they show their own hand. All the dirty little secrets, the bribes and corruption and everything Ramsey and his have been slowly purging the city of so they can set up their own little empire.

Lets the rumor mill run wild as he goes around town with one (or more) of them on his arm and no one the wiser because they’re all old hands at this game by now. Give the public what it wants, expects to see and they don’t bother to look further.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Trevor says, unable to stop because there’s that little ember burning away in his chest. Anger and hurt and confusion. “Fredo, honeybun, how could you?”

Alfredo’s composure cracks, has him choking on the horrendous pet name Trevor’s only used to terrorize him in the past.

“Uh,” Ramsey says, not sure what to say. “What?”

“I’ve got this, boss,” Alfredo says, and bustles over to grab Trevor by the arm and drags him out of the room.

========

“Honeybun?”

Trevor shrugs, leaning on the balcony railing that overlooks the city streets below.

He doesn’t think Alfredo took him to this quiet spot to murder him, but if he did the view is spectacular.

“Would you prefer pumpkin truffle? Honey badger?”

Trevor has a list thanks to the dark corners of the internet where the tragically romantic reside with their heart-patterned backgrounds and flowery prose.

“Oh my God,” Alfredo mutters, helpless smile and odd little laugh like he’s trying not to laugh, indulge Trevor in this terrible thing. “What?”

Trevor shrugs, heartburn or something else acting up at the way Alfredo’s looking at him and looks back at the city.

“The internet is a strange and terrifying place,” he says, and leaves it at that, because it’s the horrible truth.

Alfredo mutters something Trevor doesn’t quite catch as he moves to stand next to him.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, sheepish note to his voice given the situation at hand. “Ryan and Jeremy tracked me down, asked if I wanted a job that would make a difference.”

That.

“And,” Alfredo says, because he knows Trevor. “I didn’t want to get you caught up in all this.”

From the corner of his eye Trevor sees Alfredo’s hand as he gestures at Los Santos.

Beautiful from up here, so far from the rot and corruption it’s built on. Easy to forget what the city is like when you’re so high above it that the details fall away.

Trevor snorts because that’s a convenient lie, isn’t it? Worry about little old Trevor, helpless damsel in distress and break his heart because that’s the right thing to do.

“The ‘right thing’”, Trevor says, and hates how bitter it sounds. Not sure if it’s directed at Alfredo or himself, because he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with his own little secrets, has he.

Figured it was for the best if Alfredo didn’t know about Trevor’s former line of work, and look where it’s gotten them.

“Ryan and Jeremy,” Trevor says, something about the names oddly familiar. Stories Alfredo used to tell him about his days in the military. “The ones - “

“The Battle Buddies,” Alfredo says, and when Trevor looks at him, he’s grinning. “Lost track of them after they, uh. You know.”

Faked their own deaths, seeing as how they’re both alive and committing crime here in Los Santos.

Trevor rubs his eyes, and wonders what kind of hole he’s fallen down looking into the mess his life turned into. Following Alfredo out there and picking up old habits he thought he’d shaken a long time ago.

“Ah,” Trevor says, and wonders where they go from here.

“I’m sorry,” Alfredo says, and he sounds it. Like the idiot he is, trying to be noble about things. Wanting to do the right thing by doing the wrong thing and Lifeinvader really does have it right, it’s a complicated thing, this. “I could have done it better.”

Trevor snorts.

“You could have not done it at all,” he points out, but there’s no heat to the words, just an observation. “And I could have told you about me.”

International thief, back in the day, and a damned good one. A little rusty nowadays, because he’d settled down, gotten soft. (That little ember in his chest fizzling out because he’s just as much to blame for this as Alfredo is, always suspected he’d muck things up like this.)

Alfredo’s acting shifty all of a sudden. Darting these little looks at Trevor, biting his lip to keep from blurting out whatever he’s thinking. This look like he has something he wants to say but might die of embarrassment if he does.

“What?”

Alfredo clears his throat, thumping his chest like that’s going to help.

“So,” he says, all casual and non-nonchalant, like he’s not a lech. “That suit.”

========

It’s not all roses and sunshine or however that particular little saying go because the ground between Trevor and Alfredo’s all broken up, footing uncertain.

Big lies that gave birth to little ones and sorting through all of it’s going to take some time, but they’re making steady progress.

No plans to settle down just yet because it takes a lot of work to build an empire and they’re busy, busy people these days.

Ramsey made the mistake of offering Trevor a job. Thought it would be a good investment on his part to have an in-house thief at hand, and Alfredo was good enough not to tell him the kind of trouble he was getting himself in for, which was a good thing, really.

Because this new life Trevor’s building for himself here?

A nice boy like Alfredo with the training he has, and a troublemaker like Trevor with all these tricks up his sleeve and this nice little crew of Ramsey’s backing them up?

Los Santos was made for people like them.

Belling the Cat

#alfreyco #ragehappy #prompt fills #rhinnie #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #<33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333!#Nine Lives

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quicksilversquared · 7 years

Text

How to Fake a Marriage Ch. 14

(AO3) (FF.net)

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The day before Christmas Eve, Adrien finally got enough of a break to be able to hang out with his friends- well, with Alya and Nino, at least. Marinette was still helping her parents weather the last of the holiday rush.

"Photoshoots all done, then?" Nino asked as they settled into a booth at a cafe. "Are you actually going to be free for the rest of your break?"

Adrien's nose wrinkled. "No such luck," he admitted. "The worst of it's done, since the rush photoshoots for the tight deadlines had to be all packed together and they figured that they might as well get most of the fittings done at the same time, but my father still wants some late winter-spring shoots done and there was no point in doing a rush job for them, so they'll be after the holidays are over."

"Dude."

"It'll only be a couple days, really," Adrien said quickly. "Because they will try to get as much done as possible, but for shoots with a completely different theme, it would be hard to get the make-up completely off everyone and redo it from scratch. It just takes forever, and it's easier to just have people in another day. That way, Father doesn't have to always have major set-changers on standby for the entire shoot and he doesn't have to pay the photographer for the time where he's just waiting around during make-up changes and set switches. He only does that when he needs shoots all done really fast."

"Like when you only come back home for a couple weeks," Alya filled in.

"Or when Hawkmoth was active, he just wanted to get things over with so a last-minute akuma attack wouldn't keep things from getting to press," Adrien added. He frowned over that for a second. "...actually, I think that was something Nathalie insisted on. She got tired of having to reschedule shoots in a really cramped time frame- y'know, because models are busy, and so are the good photographers and staff, so she couldn't just say 'Hey, show up tomorrow at two-fifteen' and expect people to actually be able to make it."

"I think a lot of people ended up shifting how they did things while Hawkmoth was active," Alya pointed out. "I've heard a lot of stories when I was poking around. And speaking of supervillains and superheroes- did you hear? Ladybug and Chat Noir were spotted last night!"

"Here in Paris?" Adrien asked, playing dumb. He had checked the Ladyblog this morning, of course, and had seen Alya's excited post and the links to some of the videos and pictures that people had taken of him and his superhero partner. But he had supposedly been busy in his father's presence the night before and he had had photoshoots that morning, which in theory meant that he shouldn't have a clue. It also meant that he had an alibi. "Really? That's great!"

"Yes! Here in the city! You guys were right, they did come back for the holidays. I need to see if I can flag them down before they take off again and see if they have any hints for my research." She looked determined, and Adrien suddenly guessed that she would probably be out trawling the city until she found and waved down the two superheroes.

Hopefully Ladybug would be able to go out that night so Alya wouldn't be trying to go out on Christmas itself. He could definitely sneak out- he would be expected home for a late dinner with his father, but then didn't have anything scheduled for after that. He could have a few minutes to sit down and interrogate Plagg more properly about some past users and where (and when) they had been active. His kwami hadn't been as forthcoming as he had expected during his first somewhat absentminded questioning, which was something Adrien had to figure out before he headed out to (hopefully) catch Alya.

Nino looked somewhat exasperated at the change in topic, which made Adrien guess that he probably was worried about Alya skipping out on their planned holiday activities to try to find the superhero duo. It was a problem the two of them had had when Hawkmoth was active and Alya sometimes was late to (or altogether missed) dates with Nino because of akuma attacks that she wanted to cover, and Nino had been thrilled when Hawkmoth had finally been taken down because it meant that Alya wouldn't be missing as many dates as before (and, of course, because she wouldn't be putting herself in danger on a daily basis. That was also a bonus).

Somehow Adrien suspected that Alya hadn't told her boyfriend about the potential six-month trip around the world to research past Miraculous holders yet. He wouldn't try to stop her, not at all- Nino wouldn't stand in Alya's way, and he was nothing if not a supportive boyfriend- but he would probably look a bit more apprehensive about the topic. Everyone in their group knew that if Alya was determined to do something- which, in this case, she definitely was- she would get to do it.

"I wonder if they'll still be doing their old patrol routes," Alya continued, apparently oblivious to the slightly wary expressions on both boys' faces. "I could find them super-easily then, but based on the photos I could track down from last night- I can't believe that Ladybug and Chat Noir were out for over an hour and I didn't catch it-they were just all over the place, but then they did spend a bunch of time at the Eiffel Tower. So maybe I could just, like, hang out there-"

"Babe, don't you think that Ladybug and Chat Noir might spend most of their time hanging out with their family on Christmas?" Nino pointed out. "I know they've shown up on Christmas in the past, but that was when Hawkmoth was still active and there was an akuma that they had to fight."

Alya pondered over that for several moments before letting out a long sigh as her shoulders slumped. "Okay, okay. If I don't find them tonight, then I'll wait until after Christmas is over to go out again. I just really want to catch them before they go back to wherever they've been again."

Adrien really hoped that Ladybug was planning on going out that night, because he didn't know how long she was going to stick around in Paris. Considering that she had a job that she, like Marinette, would have to return to, she might be heading back right away after Christmas, or maybe she would be sticking around until New Years, like Marinette was. If she headed back right away, Alya might not have the chance to talk to his partner.

...darn it, they definitely needed to get better at communicating.

"So, do you think that Marinette will get free soon?" Alya asked, glancing at her watch and then at Adrien. "I know the bakery is closed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but she's mostly been helping with baking and decorating. They finish up with that part of the work by early afternoon, right?"

Adrien checked his phone, but he didn't have any new messages from Marinette. "She might be helping with clean-up once the baking and decorating gets finished. And if there's a lot of customers, she might be helping her mother at the front counter. When I went past earlier, there was a line out the door."

"And didn't Marinette say something about an order for the mayor's holiday party? They might still be doing the work for that after they finish up with the normal baking for the day," Nino pointed out. "It would be hard to keep all of that separate during a normal day's operations. You've seen the inside of the bakery kitchen during the day before, right? The place is chaos. Organized chaos, but chaos."

"They probably have a couple orders," Alya admitted. "And yeah, I can see where they would want to get stuff from the daily work cleaned up first. Pretty much every flat space in that kitchen is spoken for during the day." She made a face, presumably at the thought of her best friend having to do so much work during what was supposed to be her vacation. "At least their workload will go back to normal after the holidays, right?"

"Not if they have New Years' parties to cater for," Nino pointed out. "Adrien, did Marinette say anything about that?"

Adrien could only shrug. He didn't know any better than they did what Marinette might be doing, right now or in several days. For all he knew, she could be buried under a mountain of pastries right now.

"But why can't we know more about past holders?" Marinette asked Tikki in confusion as she worked to decorate the veritable mountain of cookies and other pastries she was practically buried under. It was growing steadily smaller as she worked, but she still had a couple hours of work left to do before she finished up all of the orders for the holidays. "Should Chat Noir and I not be helping Alya?"

"It's not that I don't want you knowing about past holders, Marinette," Tikki assured her, even as she eyed the tempting pile of cookies in front of her. "But in the past, the Miraculous generally worked secretly, out of the public eye- and for good reason. We didn't want potential supervillains to find out about the powers we have at our disposal. Obviously staying completely secret isn't possible anymore. I'm just trying to determine how much I can tell you to pass on without giving too much away. I think I can give you locations and general times, but then it's up to Alya to research the rest. Then I'm not risking exposing more knowledge than the world already knows."

Marinette frowned, setting her icing piping tip aside for the moment. "But how is telling me just location and time any different than telling me who the users were?"

"Because sometimes the users were really good at blending in, and the only evidence that Alya would have would be your word. If she can find the users when she knows when and where to look, then that's one thing. I'm kind of curious myself to see what people noticed and remembered, or how much might link them with the Miraculous in hindsight. But too much guidance can sometimes be a bad thing." Tikki landed on Marinette's hand and blinked up at her. "I know you want to help Alya as much as possible, Marinette. But sometimes it's better if Miraculous users stay secret, or at least as unconfirmed users."

Marinette was still a little puzzled, but she shrugged and acquiesced. If Tikki said that she had reasons for not being specific about users, then she shouldn't push. Maybe she didn't understand fully, but she didn't know the situations that Tikki was thinking of. Maybe there were powers that the Ladybug and Chat Noir Miraculous had that past users had had but she didn't, and Tikki wanted those powers to stay secret. Maybe there would be some users that fought in a war and the Miraculous didn't want to seem like they were taking sides.

Maybe past holders fought some sort of Great Evil that Tikki didn't want Alya finding out about and spreading around, in case it caused some sort of panic in the general population.

Several hours later, Ladybug jumped off of her balcony and headed for the center of the city, list of time periods and locations clutched in her hand. Tikki had finally decided to scratch a couple off the list because of unrevealed reasons, but most of the past holders had stayed on. They were all Ladybug holders, because she and Tikki had decided that unless Alya discovered that there were other Miraculous out there, they weren't going to say anything else.

Tikki was guessing (and Marinette agreed) that Alya would probably figure it out, if not right away then eventually. The fact that Hawkmoth existed and was obviously another Miraculous user was a pretty good hint that she and Chat Noir weren't the only users out there, and apparently some of the historical Ladybug and Chat Noir duos had worked with other Miraculous users. Still, they weren't going to give Alya too much right away.

"I think Alya will feel a larger sense of accomplishment if she figures that out by herself anyway," Tikki had concluded when they discussed it earlier. "If you give her too much, there's not much for her to figure out. No big discoveries, you know. After all, most past users worked from the shadows."

"Will you tell me more about the users after I give Alya the list?" Marinette had asked hopefully. Now that Alya had brought the subject up and Marinette had had time to think about it, she was intensely curious. Were there any historical figures that she had heard of before that were Ladybugs or other Miraculous users? Had they changed history in big ways? She was curious, darn it.

Tikki had giggled and promised to fill Marinette in on more details as Alya figured out past users. Still, there were things that even Marinette wouldn't be able know unless a... situation arose.

Marinette hadn't asked, and Tikki hadn't elaborated.

It didn't take long for her to find Chat Noir once she got close to the Eiffel Tower. Her partner had apparently been waiting for her, since he popped out of the shadows he had been lurking in the second she got close. He bounded up to meet her and, without any greeting, announced, "The Ladyblogger is headed for the Eiffel Tower, I just spotted her three minutes ago."

Ladybug could have guessed that. Alya had texted her several hours earlier, informing her that until further notice, she wouldn't be available evenings except on Christmas. "Because I need to talk to Ladybug and Chat Noir before they go back to wherever they've been," Alya had texted. "So guess who's staking out at the Eiffel Tower until they show up?"

At least it was nice of Alya to make herself very easy to find.

"What did your kwami tell you to tell her?" Ladybug asked as they set off for the Eiffel Tower at a more sedate pace. She was curious about whether or not Chat Noir's kwami, who she had heard was a bit less cautious than Tikki, would have had the same concerns as her kwami. "Mine just gave me general time periods and locations."

Chat Noir looked surprised. "Really? Mine, too! He said that he didn't want to make it too easy for Alya, and then he snickered for a while. I told him to stop being a snarky ass, but he refused to give me any more. But I thought that you said that your kwami was more cooperative!"

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Chat Noir's kwami had probably had the same concerns as Tikki, but had decided to just give the same more information in a more flippant manner. "She is. She has some reservations about certain holders being found out, though, and she said that there really isn't much information out there about past holders- or at least there shouldn't be- so if I give Alya too much information, then there won't be anything for her to discover. Besides, Tikki said it was a good test to see how good Miraculous users were at blending in."

Chat Noir frowned. "Is she okay with giving Alya any information at all, then? Because if Alya finds something, she'll publish it. There's no take-backs then."

"She pulled a couple dates for users that she didn't want Alya digging around. The rest she said would be fine."

"We should double-check our lists against each other, then," Chat Noir decided, opening a pocket and digging out a sheet of paper. "I mean, I bet that was what Plagg was thinking, too, but he has a reputation as a uncooperative ass to keep."

Ladybug couldn't help the splutter of laughter that left her. "Chat Noir! That's no way to talk about your kwami!"

He laughed too, loud and deep. "Plagg deserves it, though! He's a little cheese-eating monster. He could have just told me that some users had to be kept secret and, y'know, the other stuff that your kwami told you, and he would have gotten out of a solid hour of interrogation. But noooo, he just had to make it difficult for both of us. You have no idea. I never told you about how he was trying to make things weird for my friend and I, did I?" One look at the puzzled look on her face told him that no, he hadn't ever said anything. "Right. We had to kiss each other once for this, ah, thing, and anyway, there were photos. And Plagg just had to go and blow them up and print a bunch out and hide them all over my apartment. They were under pillows, in the kitchen cabinets, in the freezer- it's been months, and I'm not even sure that I've found everything!"

Ladybug's shoulders shook as she tried to hold in her laughter and then she positively exploded cackling. She ended up sitting on the rooftop, snickering away as Chat Noir shook his head in exasperated acceptance next to her.

Of course Ladybug would find Plagg's antics funny. If the two of them ever met...

Well, if they ever met, they would either be best buddies or drive each other insane. She probably wouldn't find the kwami's stubborn attitude so charming if she was the one trying to reason with Plagg.

Ladybug took several minutes to calm down, and Chat Noir took the time to carefully tug the list she was clutching in her hand free and compare it to the one Plagg had given to him. All of the dates and places were the same, which made Chat Noir wonder if his kwami and Ladybug's perhaps had some way to communicate wordlessly when they were apart, or if whatever users they had excluded were somehow so very obvious for some unspoken reason.

"It looks like our Miraculous have always been active at the same time," he commented over the sound of a still-snickering Ladybug. "And it looks like my kwami excluded the same users that yours did. I wonder what made them so different?"

"From what I could tell, it sounded like we would only be told that on a need-to-know basis," Ladybug finally said, pushing herself to her feet even as a stray giggle escaped her. "Maybe it would be dangerous to know somehow, or maybe it would make us unnecessarily worried about an evil that's not even active right now."

Chat Noir grinned and extended a hand to help pull her all the way up. "Well, you know what they say about cats and curiosity..."

"That they need their inquisitive little noses squirted with water?" Ladybug asked teasingly, poking his nose lightly with a wide grin. He automatically wrinkled his nose and nipped at her finger. "Should we go find that Ladyblogger now?"

It really didn't take long. Even with the crowds out enjoying the holiday cheer, Alya was easy enough to pick out. Instead of admiring the holiday decorations, she was scanning the rooflines of the buildings around her. The superhero duo barely paused before bounding right through her line of sight and then heading for a quieter road. They knew full well that Alya would have spotted them, and then they could have their discussion in a little more privacy.

Sure enough, it only took a minute for Alya to come charging around the end of the block. She slipped a little on the ice but regained her balance almost immediately. True to character, she didn't let it slow her down at all.

"Did you know that I was looking for you guys?" Alya demanded as she skidded to a stop in front of them. They nodded, and she looked flabbergasted. "How?"

"Well, you posted something about wanting to do research on past Miraculous holders on the Ladyblog," Ladybug pointed out right away. "And we figured that we might be one of the first places you looked for information. So we did some poking around, and we came up with locations and general dates of activity. We just compared notes, and it looks like our Miraculous were always active at about the same time."

"But not always in exactly the same place," Chat Noir added, and Ladybug shot him a startled look. She hadn't really done more than glance at the sheet he carried so she hadn't noticed any differences, but if Chat Noir said that there were, then she trusted him.

Alya's eyes positively lit up and she reached for the sheets that Chat Noir was holding out to her. "Really? Oh, wow, this is- this is more than I hoped for! I wasn't even positive that you guys would know about past users, or if you did that you'd be willing to share since, y'know, you once claimed that you were 2000 years old." She gave Ladybug a look. "Which I believed for, like, two years, but then I got smarter."

"How did you figure that out, buy the way?" Chat Noir asked curiously. "We thought we were pretty convincing."

Alya gave them such a clear I-can't-believe-you're-this-dumb look so clear that even strangers couldn't have misinterpreted it. "Uh, you obviously got older. And you got older at a normal rate. I compared photos of you when you first started to ones that I had just taken then, and by comparing your heights to the grown-ups around you- you know, the mayor and the police officers- I could tell that you had gotten taller. Someone who had been alive since Ancient Egypt wouldn't be growing now."

"Betrayed by the meter stick," Chat Noir said with a exaggerated sigh. "Bugger. That probably means that everyone in Paris noticed too."

"Probably," Alya admitted. "...and I don't know how much it helps, but I did hide that video with the, y'know, the history book. Anyone who remembers it would probably be able to remember that the video was from your first year of crime fighting, but hopefully they wouldn't remember which history book it was or from what year in school it was from. And I looked for plagiarized versions of it too," she added hastily. "Just to make sure that it wasn't floating around. But that wasn't one of my best recordings of a fight ever, so no one really bothered ripping it off." She shrugged. "I just figured, if you guys ever have to face a supervillain that's, uh, more competent than Hawkmoth was, that maybe I shouldn't just leave a trail of crumbs online that would help them find you guys."

"Good thought," Chat Noir praised after a moment's pause, when Ladybug didn't seem like she was going to reply. He guessed that she was just as startled as he was- Alya, removing something from the Ladyblog? This wasn't something small like a troll's comment in the forum section, it was actual fight footage. She was all about reporting integrity and getting the truth out, and for her to think of how an old video could affect the superheroes in the long run was, well, new.

New and a very good sign. That meant that she might be more likely to edit out anything she discovered about past heroes that could be dangerous for the public to know.

"This is a really long list," Alya said a moment later, surprise evident in her voice. "Like...wow. Okay. Okay, I definitely have a lot of work to do."

"There might be quite a few of them that don't have anything recorded about them," Ladybug warned her. "Most Miraculous holders weren't as visible as Chat Noir and I are. Some might not have used their powers in obvious ways. Some weren't active for very long at all. So don't be surprised if there's nothing there to find."

"If there's something to find, I'll find it," Alya promised, the gleam of a challenge evident in her eyes. "Thank you guys so much, I would have had so much material to dig through otherwise. And I still have a bunch to dig through, but not, like, as much. And I can spend more time where I need to, so that's great." She gave the papers another gleeful look and then carefully tucked the papers away in her purse, latching it shut and double-checking that it was properly closed. Then she glanced up. "...I don't suppose you'd give me any clues about where you guys have been the past few months?"

The only reply she got was a dual snort.

By the next day, Alya was still running high on the excitement of having the superheroes giving her such good leads. She was practically vibrating still when Marinette arrived at the apartment Alya and Nino shared, and it took her nearly a minute to realize that her best friend had shown up. It looked like she hadn't gotten any sleep at all- which, Marinette soon learned, was not far off.

"Ladybug and Chat Noir gave her a list of when past holders had been active and she decided that she had to start research right away," Nino said, a hint of fond exasperation in his tone. "So she got maybe two hours of sleep last night, and she only got that much because she was so tired that she couldn't read the words on the page anymore. That, and the holders she decided to research first were British and so, y'know, all of the sources were in English, and it's harder to translate while tired and- why am I telling you that, you know that already. Because you've been living in London. Obviously."

Marinette smothered a laugh. It sounded like Alya wasn't the only one to not get a whole lot of sleep.

"That's great that they did that for her!" Marinette exclaimed, pretending that it was news to her. She mentally ran through the list that she had given Alya and wondered which of the British holders Alya had investigated first. There were a couple that she remembered, and there easily could have been a few more. "Did she find anything?"

Unsurprisingly, Nino shook his head. "Nothing concrete. I think she said that there were a few possible leads in the last thing she read, but she was so exhausted that she just decided to recheck them later, when she could actually understand what they were saying." He glanced over at his girlfriend, who was talking to a somewhat concerned-looking Adrien over by their kitchen. "...I think she might need a lot more sleep before she tackles it again, though."

"Weren't there any French users she could have started with?" Marinette asked, knowing full well that yes, there had been. There weren't many- holders tended to pop up when needed, not just willy-nilly- but there had been a couple other pairs that had been active in surrounding countries as well that could have easily gone through France at some point.

"Not super recently. Alya wanted to start with more recent users, since it would in theory be easier to find information on them." Nino glanced over at Alya again. "So far, not much luck. But maybe she's looking for the wrong signs. Like, with our Ladybug and Chat Noir- it's impossible to miss that they're superheroes, right? You can't just say that they're, say, normal people who are just super good at what they do. But I kind of wonder if most of the past users that just passed as just that- normal people who just happened to be super-good at doing something."

Marinette tried not to react to that too much. Nino had hit it right on the head, which maybe shouldn't have been as surprising as it was. Nino could be startlingly perceptive at times, probably because he tended to be able to get some distance from situations with his laid-back personality. Of course he would be able to pick out the reasoning behind why Miraculous users like Ladybug and Chat Noir had been active before but (aside from the Egyptian exhibit) never heard of. It was one of the (many) reasons why Alya and Nino worked well together- Alya had a tendency to charge into things, while Nino held back and got a better idea of what was going on first. He tended to join in wholeheartedly once he had gotten a better idea of what was going on, of course, but that pause had helped them on more than a few occasions.

And, it appeared, it would probably serve as a great help to Alya's research.

"So, have you guys run into any of your other friends yet?" Nino asked as Adrien joined them in the living room. "I mean, you haven't seen them since you pulled that wedding prank."

"I ran into Rose, actually," Marinette volunteered. The two of them had talked with each other for a while, actually- though perhaps saying that they talked with each other was a bit of an exaggeration. Rose had talked at Marinette for a while, cooing over the wedding prank and how cute Adrien and Marinette had been together. She had wanted to know if the two of them were dating, then why they weren't dating, then had tried grilling Marinette over whether or not she still like-liked Adrien before rattling off a whole list of reasons why Marinette and Adrien should be dating. Marinette wasn't exactly going to volunteer all of that, though.

Adrien grinned. "Let me guess, she just wanted to talk about how the wedding looked and she didn't even care that it was all a prank."

Marinette couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Rose is the best. You saw the comment she left on the initial post, right?" Adrien shook his head, smiling slightly to himself. "She totally believed us."

"Heh heh, yeah." Marinette's smile turned slightly strained. Had she seen Rose's comment? She definitely had, and she definitely remembered it. Rose had gushed about 'all of the signs!', and she had definitely referenced Marinette having liked Adrien when they were younger.

(Thankfully Adrien was apparently still somewhat socially clueless when it came to girls, because he had somehow completely missed that.)

"Well, you guys were very convincing," Nino commented as Alya came up to join them. "I mean, there was no other reasonable explanation for you doing a wedding that elaborate."

"Are you guys talking about the fake wedding again?" Alya asked as she finally set her laptop aside and joined them. "Nino had to keep me from flying over there and killing you guys for that stunt."

"So you've told us before," Marinette said somewhat dryly. "By text, and in messages on our phones, and when you visited before break. But I think you secretly found it funny."

Nino snickered. Alya tried to look disapproving, but even she couldn't help but smile and shake her head at the memory of the prank.

"But that's old news," Adrien said, thankfully cutting off further discussion of their fake wedding. "So...you guys said you had some holiday movies for us to binge-watch?"

"Yeah, if Alya can step away from her research for a bit," Nino joked. Behind him, Alya stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes before going over to shut her computer down as Nino stepped over to his own computer, hooked up to the TV so they could all watch. "So I've pulled up a few that I think we'll all enjoy, and then a cat-themed one for Adrien. I figured you might want to do something fun over your break, since you couldn't come to dinner with Alya and I's families."

"I wanted to, but I can't exactly skip out on my dad," Adrien said, sounding a bit regretful. Marinette glanced over at him in confusion- that was the first time she had heard about Nino and Alya's offer, and she had to wonder what Adrien had said to make Nino decide to invite Adrien over for Christmas dinner. "It really did sound great, but..."

"No worries, man," Nino assured him with a shrug. "I get it. Family dinner is family dinner. And I wouldn't want to upset your father, either."

"It's tradition," Adrien said with a sigh. "It's not that fun most years, but at least he hasn't invited business partners this year." He paused. "...actually, on second thought, that might make it more enjoyable. Then he wouldn't be able to grill me about how things are going in London."

Alya looked surprised. "He hasn't already done that?"

"I've been busy, he's been busy," Adrien explained simply. "...and I've been avoiding him a bit, just so he can't try to persuade me to drop things there and come back, but I can't exactly do that forever. And if I missed Christmas dinner, then he would be eating it alone and that's just...kind of sad."

"What about Nathalie and the Gorilla? Couldn't they eat with you guys?" Nino wanted to know.

Adrien shook his head. "Most of the household staff have Christmas off these days, so they both have gone back to join their families. Gorilla's sister has a family just outside of Paris that he joins, and Nathalie has some friends from school that invited her for dinner. I heard her saying that she was going to bring some side dishes, and then a day later she was complaining about everything burning. She apparently did a test run and it hadn't gone so well."

Marinette couldn't help but laugh. "So what is she doing instead?"

"She probably bought something from a store, just like she's done every other year that she's joined them."

They all laughed.

"She seems so put-together normally, so it's hilarious to think that she can't cook," Alya chuckled as they settled in on the couch in front of the TV. "How does she manage normally?"

"She normally eats at the mansion," Adrien admitted. "She might as well, she spends all of her time there anyway."

"All right all of you, pipe down now," Nino announced as the TV screen lit up and music started playing. "Let's have some Christmas fun!"

Adrien straightened his collar in the mirror and considered the tie sitting on the bathroom counter in front of him. He wanted to put his best foot forward, of course, but he didn't want to look too formal, even if it was Christmas dinner with his father.

Tie on...or no tie on?

"Do you have any holiday ties?" Nino asked, his voice coming over the speakerphone a bit scratchy. Adrien had called him for a second opinion since Plagg was useless, but he was fast finding that Nino wasn't particularly helpful when it came to fashion. He was much better at hosting holiday movie-watching parties, even if he had forgotten about the prepared refreshments until halfway through their movie-watching spree. "Maybe that would be the perfect middle ground."

Adrien snorted. "Holiday ties bring down the formality. Father considers them garish. I don't think I even own any."

Nino huffed. "Okay, fine. Don't listen to me, then. How-"

"Who're you talking to?" Alya's voice came through, a bit faint. "We need to leave for dinner with our families soon."

Nino's voice faded as he pulled back the phone to talk to his girlfriend. "Adrien. He wants to know if he should wear a tie to dinner with his dad."

There was a sudden shuffling, and then Alya's voice came clearly over the phone. "Are you going out to a restaurant?"

"No."

"Is it usually a formal meal?"

"Pretty formal, yeah." There were years when they hadn't even had the dinner- they had bypassed the tradition for three years following Adrien's mother's disappearance- but all of the other years, they had had a rather formal dinner.

"And what are you wearing right now?"

Adrien clamped down the snarky response that question immediately brought to mind. "Uh. Black slacks, green long-sleeved button-up. Black dress shoes."

"Maybe have a suitcoat but no tie," Alya suggested. "How does that look?"

"I don't know yet, I can't make suitcoats appear out of thin air," Adrien said dryly, picking up his phone as he headed back into his room to dig in his closet for one of his suitcoats. "But it should look good. Thanks, Alya. I don't know why I didn't think of that."

"No problem," Alya responded cheerfully. She paused for a moment, then added, "But I don't know why you didn't just call Marinette. Like, I love Nino and all, but even I know that my boy isn't the best person to come to for fashion questions."

There was a muted "HEY!" from the other end of the line. Alya ignored it.

"Or even better, you could have asked her to come over and dress you," Alya continued. "That way you could be sure to get it right."

"I can dress myself, thanks," Adrien said, letting his voice go dryer yet. His friends were just as bad as the tabloid reporters when it came to hinting that he and Marinette were more involved than just friends. Worse, even, because Adrien couldn't avoid them. "Been doing it since I was a kid."

Alya just snickered.

Ten minutes later, the suitcoat was properly buttoned up and Adrien headed down to the dining room. It really was ridiculous to dress up like this for a family meal- a meal with just his father, actually- but it was tradition. A tradition that had become more and more frustrating as he learned about how his friends and classmates spent their Christmas dinners. Most did dress up a bit more than usual, of course, just to get into the festive spirit, but none reached the level of formality that the Agrestes did even if they had rarely-seen family members over.

If Adrien wasn't still worried about his father changing his mind about helping him with tuition, Adrien would have been very, very tempted to dress up at Santa and stroll into dinner that way, just to lighten things up a bit. His father wouldn't be at all amused, though.

Gabriel Agreste was already seated at the table when Adrien arrived. The cook was setting out dishes on the table. While there was definitely enough for both Gabriel and Adrien, there wasn't a huge abundance. The cook knew from experience that while the Agrestes would eat leftovers once or twice, they didn't want to have leftovers every meal for a week. The cook would make just enough for two people to have two meals and that meant that, well...

The dishes weren't exactly heaping and they weren't really screaming Christmas feast. It looked tasty, of course- their cook was absolutely fabulous- but not that festive.

"Adrien," Gabriel greeted him. "Just on time. Sit, sit."

Adrien sat.

They both fell silent as they dished up their food. Adrien made sure to not pile his plate too much, since experience told him that it would just lead to stomachache and feeling ill, no matter how delicious the food was. Once he had what he wanted, Adrien dug in. It was tasty, but it was a bit awkward to eat in silence. He had gotten used to eating with Marinette, joking and swapping stories about their days. It could take them forever to eat with all of the talking they did, but it was fun. Comfortable. Relaxing.

Dinner with his father was none of those things.

"How are your studies going?" Gabriel asked after a few minutes of silent chewing. "Have you decided to continue for all three years, or will you be returning home at the end of the year?"

Adrien raised an incredulous eyebrow. Surely his father wasn't serious? "I'll be continuing, just as planned."

Gabriel took a small sip of wine. Adrien noticed, with no small amount of exasperation, that he had not gotten wine like his father; instead, he had water in his second glass. "Surely your business degree will be more helpful in the long run. There's more opportunities, and business has more potential for financial success."

"But I enjoy physics more," Adrien pointed out, doing his best not to snap back. "And doing something that I'm interested in and enjoy is more important to me than making a boatload of money. Money doesn't buy happiness."

"But money does prevent financial instability, which causes unhappiness," Gabriel retorted.

Adrien couldn't hold back the snort. While it was true, that was also a ridiculous argument. "You're acting as though positions in physics barely pay anything. That's hardly true."

Gabriel only shrugged, which made Adrien guess that he perhaps hadn't actually bothered to look up how much physicists normally made on average. He shouldn't have been surprised, really, since his father apparently was still under the impression that he would drop the Physics program, but it was still frustrating, to say the least.

A few more minutes passed in silence. Adrien tried not to fidget as he continued eating. The silence was growing increasingly uncomfortable, but his father didn't seem terribly concerned. Gabriel was probably used to uncomfortable silences, since he caused so many of them on a regular basis.

"I heard that you've gotten plenty of attention from the British tabloids," Mr. Agreste commented after another minute. "It seems like there's something new every other week."

"They're very persistent," Adrien agreed. It was frustrating to no end; it seemed that every time he and Marinette were seen out together was fuel for the fire, and then he had to give another interview saying that no, he and Marinette weren't dating, and yes, the constant questions about it were very annoying. The only upside was that in recent weeks, the hounding seemed to be dipping, just a bit. After all, there was only so many times that tabloids could try to use their supposed relationship as a headline (and subsequently have it refuted, again) before it stopped selling. "But I think they'll drop it after another month or so. They're trying to sell it as some big scoop and I think it's really falling flat."

"Very well." Gabriel reached across the table and served himself up more ham. "But this is why I've banned dating while you're abroad. The tabloids would sink their teeth into that, and if you were actually dating someone, there would be endless fodder for them."

Adrien hmmmmed in way of response, still dubious of his father's explanation. He was just a model, son to the founder of Gabriel or no, and most people didn't know him and didn't care about him enough to read articles about him and his boring, normal relationship week after week. Most of the tabloids had been more focused on the supposed "scandal" of a fashion designer's son "dating" an aspiring fashion designer, and if Adrien dated just an average woman off the street, there wouldn't be that so-called scandalous aspect to it. They might do an article or two about it, but then they would leave him alone. Of course, if he dated someone from London now they might eke out a few more articles claiming that Adrien had cheated on Marinette or spinning sob stories about Marinette being "tossed aside" for a new love, even despite all of their earlier interviews, but Adrien really doubted that news coverage was what had driven his father to banning dating.

"Nathalie reported that you said your apartment was working out well," Gabriel commented after another few minutes of eating. He didn't look particularly pleased, even though 'the apartment was working well' meant that Adrien could actually be a functioning adult. It was probably because Adrien might be able to live on his own once he got back to Paris. "I am... pleasantly surprised."

Yeah, you really sound like it's a pleasant surprise, all right, Adrien thought a bit sarcastically. He managed to swallow that particular thought back. "Yeah, it's going pretty well. Marinette helped teach me everything that I hadn't already known about living on my own. It's been really nice to have her nearby if I have any questions."

Gabriel's expression twitched; to anyone who didn't know him as well as Adrien did, it would have looked like a neutral expression. But Adrien knew that his father wasn't pleased. If Gabriel had his way, he would probably move Adrien to a different building away from Marinette so that Adrien might be more likely to move back to Paris. Thankfully, the apartment lease was in Adrien's name and while his father (well, Nathalie) was still paying the rent, only Adrien could re-sign or break the lease.

"And taking the bus to school?"

Adrien worked to school his expression. Surely his father wasn't going to try to revisit the possibility of trying to get a chauffeur? That would be absolutely ridiculous. "I enjoy it. I've had some very nice conversations with other regulars on the bus."

"It's not as convenient as having a chauffeur, especially if it or you are running behind schedule," Gabriel commented. "Are you sure-"

"It makes me more responsible if I have to keep an eye on the time," Adrien said firmly before his father could make his mind up to order Nathalie to look into private drivers in London again. "And I rarely take the bus late in the day, and if I do, Marinette is with me."

Gabriel snorted at that. "Yes, because that's definitely much safer, having a tiny girl that comes up to your shoulder with you."

Adrien frowned at his dismissive tone. "Marinette isn't that short. And she's fierce. Someone tried to steal her purse a few weeks ago, and they ended up unconscious on the sidewalk and missing a few teeth to boot. Marinette wasn't even ruffled."

Even Gabriel couldn't hide all of his amusement at that. His lips twitched, and he promptly sipped from his glass of wine to try to hide his smile. "Really."

"Yeah. I had turned around for a minute, and then next thing I know Marinette was kicking this guy, yanking her purse back from him, and then very thoroughly beating him up. Apparently she took some self-defense classes when she was in university." Adrien grinned at the memory. He had barely taken a step forward towards Marinette, ready to help, when the man fell to the sidewalk unconscious. Marinette had dusted off her shirt, scowled down at the unconscious form, and then turned to stalk off. She hadn't gotten far, though, before a policewoman trotted over, wanting to know what was going on. Adrien and Marinette had had to answer a few questions before they left, and the would-be thief was hauled away to the police station.

It had been quite the exciting evening out.

"And I've heard that you've been exploring the area with Marinette," Gabriel said after another few minutes. "How is that impacting your studies? I'm sure it's a bit of a distraction."

Adrien couldn't keep from frowning at that. If his father was seriously concerned about distractions from school, then he was hypocrisy central. "It's no different than having time taken up by photoshoots or other activities during the school year. I have all the time in the world to study during the week, and if I'm going to need more time to study for finals or something, then we don't do anything that weekend. It's good to have a break every once in a while, and if I'm gonna be over there, then it makes sense to explore."

"Wandering around the city for entire days at a time is hardly the same thing as an occasional photoshoot."

Adrien had to do his best to keep a lid on his temper, but his father really wasn't making it easy. "I am fully capable of managing my own time wisely. I got great marks last semester, all solid As. The professors used my work as examples several times throughout the semester." He had been rather proud of that, actually, and he had texted Marinette in glee every time it happened. She had made cookies to celebrate every time.

(Marinette was the actual best, and no one could deny that.)

"Just don't get too carried away," Gabriel warned, and Adrien only just refrained from rolling his eyes. If anyone was guilty of getting too carried away, it was his father. Adrien had had to get ask Nathalie to back off on the activities and photoshoots when he was in lycée so he could stay on top of his assignments, and he had had to do the same thing during his first degree when there were too many photoshoots right before finals. His father had questioned it both times, probably because he hadn't been pleased about having to reschedule photoshoots.

The rest of the dinner passed in a combination of awkward silences, the sound of forks and spoons scraping across plates, and the occasional attempt at conversation. Following dessert, they quickly exchanged a few presents before each retiring to their own rooms. Adrien slumped against his door and sighed as soon as it closed behind him.

"Long dinner?" Plagg asked from over on Adrien's desk. The kwami was flat on his back among the remains of a giant wheel of Brie and he didn't make any attempt to move. "You were gone for forever."

"Father was being ridiculous. He wants me to come back to Paris, so he complained about everything from me taking the bus to me daring to spend some time on weekends exploring." Adrien let out a frustrated huff. "...and I got a set of fancy pens as a Christmas gift. Yay."

"...didn't you get him a tie?"

Adrien pushed himself off the door and headed over to the desk to join Plagg. There was no reason to have to yell their conversation across the room, after all. "Yeah, but I didn't know what else to get him."

"Maybe he didn't know what else to get you," Plagg suggested.

"Maybe," Adrien agreed. "But he got me that scarf before, and that was the best gift he's given me in a while. I'd love another scarf, or maybe a coat or something. Anything but more pens." He huffed, tossing the package of pens onto his desk. "...I'm never gonna need to buy a pen in my life. I'm gonna have to start donating them soon."

There was a pause, and then Plagg spoke up. "Wanna go out and crash one of your friends' Christmas dinners?"

"Not as Chat Noir," Adrien objected immediately, frowning. "I don't want to have to interact with people as a superhero tonight."

"So just be Chat Noir to get out of your room and to their house, then." Plagg pushed himself off of the desk and lazily floated over to Adrien. "I'm sure they'd be happy to have you."

Still, Adrien hesitated. "But it would be rude to just show up. It's late, for one. And I don't think anyone really wants to answer their door when they're spending time with their family."

"So text someone and ask first, then," Plagg suggested, just as Adrien's phone dinged. "Maybe whoever just texted you."

"It might just be an email," Adrien pointed out, but he pulled his phone out anyway to check. As it turned out, Plagg was right. He did have a text. "Oh. Marinette wants to know how dinner with my dad went."

"Tell her it was awful. She'll probably invite you over and then you can join then and I can look for cheese bread while you play Mega Strike with them," Plagg suggested. He floated over to perch on Adrien's shoulder and watch as Adrien typed out a response. "I don't think you even need to ask if you can come over. I think your wife will just invite you on her own."

"She probably would," Adrien agreed, sending the text- an then he froze and turned his head to scowl at Plagg. "And she is not my wife. How many times do we need to go over this?"

Plagg just snickered.

Ten minutes later, Adrien found himself drowning in an oversized holiday sweater on the Dupain-Cheng's living room couch. as Tom offered his a plate of cookies. Marinette had invited him right over, just as both Plagg and Adrien had guessed she might, and her family was just as welcoming. Marinette even had a couple presents for Adrien that she had been planning to give to him when their group of friends got together the next day.

"You might as well open them now," Marinette had told him when Adrien protested. "There's no point in waiting if you're here and I have them- and no, I don't care that you don't have anything for me with you, Adrien! Just open the darn present already!"

Laughing, Adrien had opened his presents. Marinette had made a quilt for him and knit a lovely warm hat. He exclaimed over both, feeling warm and loved as he pulled the hat on and wrapped himself up in the quilt.

(Ten minutes later, he had to set both aside as he was feeling a little too warm. Marinette, who had warned him about such an outcome, snickered at him when he admitted defeat. He had pretended to complain about her being mean to him, but Marinette had only laughed at him more. Adrien couldn't do anything but smile at her amusement.)

As the night came to an end, Adrien headed home with full arms, a light heart, and a spring in his step, whistling Christmas carols all the way. It was a pity that he couldn't spend the entire break with Marinette and his other friends, but the time he did spend with them was great. He still had the next day's get-together to look forward to, where he and his friends would exchange gifts properly and he could give Marinette the present he had ordered just for her, and probably several other get-togethers before Nino and Alya had to go back to work and he and Marinette had to head back to London.

Maybe his holiday wasn't what other people would consider perfect, but for Adrien, it was enough.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #How to Fake a Marriage #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng

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differencesintheworld · 3 years

Text

A one shot of Kira and Keriahe in their past

(( A little piece of how Kira/Keri became a duo. Keriahe 15, Kira 17, before the murder. Daiko is Kiras boss. Please ignore the typos))

Kira walked into Daiko’s office with a deep sigh, tired. The first case was done and gone months ago, but work never stops and the bad guys don’t rest. She doesn’t even look up.

”Did you want to see me, Uncle?”

“Aaaaw great, you’re here…” a familiar voice rings out. Kira immediately looks up, to recognize the same redheaded brat she babysat. Keriahe glared her down through her furrowed brows, with a bandaid over her nose.

“God fuck, who did you fight this time to end up HERE?!” Kira exclaimed, already expecting Daiko to lay out what she needs to cover up.

“Girls, GIRLS!” Daiko interrupted. “Please behave, as you two will be working together from now on-”

“BULLSHIT-!” both girls yelled in unison, before glaring at each other.

“Uncle Daiko, this is unprecedented. I know that her parents worked for the agency way back when, but for crying out loud, she is a civilian! And a brat to top that off-”

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING A BRAT, YOU SPOILED BRAT!?” Keriahe interrupted Kira’s protesting.

Before the argument could continue, Daiko knocked on his desk with his cane as if it were a gavel.

“GIRLS, you two better behave before I have to put you in time out! Kira, as you might have heard, Keriahe has been working with Miles Smiley, and training under his command. I have a very special case for you, but you will need some additional muscle.” Daiko explained, as he rummaged among his papers, tossing the file closer to the two. “This case involves a specific couple of ex-mafia members. They have been messing in our area, and according to Agent Smiley, his men have seen them trying to sabotage cameras and other communication centers near police stations.”

Kira grabs the file before Keriahe can, skimming over it. Keriahe lets out a louder huff. “Isn’t this something you cops can figure out together with electricians? Like, why am I necessary here?”

“For once we can agree…. This looks open and shut, the perpetrators have been caught on cams, and their motives are obvious.” Kira muses, looking over the photos.

“Are they obvious?” Daiko teased, arching a brow. “Do inform me…”

Keriahe joined Daiko on the skeptical look. Kira glanced over the photos and reports one more time, before passing the papers to Keriahe out of courtesy. “The bags they have look suspiciously like they could have a bomb in them, and we have received multiple false alarm bomb calls from those areas. They are trying to set up a mess and a half, while everyone is scrambling to fix the cams and whatnot for someone to blow the place up.” she simply lays out, looking satisfied with her conclusion.

“Are you a dumbass or something? Why would they let themselves be seen then?” Keriahe asked, scoffing.

“They are decoys. It’s obvious they aren’t at the top of the operation, just acting like pawns in this scheme.” Kira proclaimed, sticking her tongue out at Keriahe. Sure the redhead is younger than her, but god did her attitude piss her off.

“Not bad..! But, this is exactly why you need back up. Corner them and get information from them. Who are they working with and why.” Daiko explained, walking around his desk closer to the girls, placing a hand on their shoulders. Keriahe immediately pushed his hand off with a growl.

“STILL doesn’t explain why Kitty cat over there is here! I can do this just fine by myself, or I can grab someone to join from our team!” Kira protested again, glaring daggers back at Keriahe, who was seething over the nickname, cursing her out under her breath.

“Because of her affiliation with Smiley. She would know how to find a common language with gang members, and a better way to intimidate them. She will be the bad cop to your good cop, so to say…” the old man explained. Keriahe sneered.

“Fair enough, most of those rat bastards still remember me as the teenage street fighter Feral Cat, so they know not to dick with me-” Keriahe proudly admitted only to hear a “HAH!” from Kira.

“Oh yeah, coz a 14 year old tiny delinquent is sooooooooo scary, oh I am SHAKING in my boots-”

“OH SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT?! You are only a year and a half older than me, you are a kid yourself!”

“I have proper military and police training, and I am taller and more mature than you! Maybe if you actually listened to the adults in your life you wouldn’t be in a gang right now…”

“OH YEAH, Coz being a pain in literally everyones ass is SO much better right?! I bet I could kick your ass here and now! Fucking go die-”

“GLADLY, but unfortunately, I have work obligations that won’t allow it!”

“Glad to see you two get along…” Daiko sighed, sarcastic. “LOOK! You two must come back alive and in one piece! Your assigned names for this mission are Midnight Wolf and Feral Cat respectively.”

“OI! Don’t go thinking I am joining this circus only coz I am helping out right now-” Keriahe interrupted.

“Of course not, but code names are necessary, so that you two can’t be tracked… Now, play nice you two~” Daiko wished to the two. The girls shot a glare to each other again, before Kira bowed to Daiko. “Whatever…” Keriahe scoffed, making it for the door, leaving Kira to catch up.

The two teens marched on through the streets, Kira taking the lead. As Keriahe trailed behind she kept shooting looks at the older one. The intense expression she caught on her face before was beginning to irk her, even more so because of what she said earlier.

“Can’t ya make a less stone face? It looks like you’re about to shit your pants or something…” she tried to chide her, only to get a huff.

“Oh, sorry, I guess I can’t help it with a pain in the ass trailing after me…” Kira grumbled back, finally shooting a glare over her shoulder. Keriahe stopped dead in her tracks at the stare. This sort of agression wasn’t common from Kira. Sure the insults and remarks were a daily routine for them, but something in those eyes didn’t look normal.

“Jeez louise, get that stick out of your ass- All I’m saying is that you look like you are about to fight a man…” Keriahe responded, catching back up. “What happened to ya?”

The sudden tone shift only caught Kira off guard as she snapped back from her own thoughts for a second. Sure, Keriahe wasn’t the type to never check in on her, after all they have known each other since the twins were born. The shift simply was too sudden. However…

“Must you always be so curious? Just a rough day is all it is, and let’s leave it at that.” she rambled off, trying to keep her cool. Though Keriahe couldn’t help but snort.

“You’ve always sucked at lying, you lanky bitch… Come on, cough it up..” Yup, there was the call out. Kira might have been trained well to read people. Yet outright lying never worked for her. She shuffled a little uncomfortably into her jacket, the readheads eyes boring into her, as much as she avoided eye contact. Keriahe got impatient, nudging her arm. ”Oi, ya deaf or somethin’-”

Kira cried out in pain, forcing Keriahe to step right back. She clutched at her arm where Keriahe nudged her, trying to regain composure.

“Okay, I know I hit hard, but that should NOT have caused that shriek-! Did you get hurt?” Keriahe questioned, trying to put a hand on Kira’s shoulder, only for her to move away.

“DON’T! Touch that side…. I.. I fell earlier… That whole arm is fucked up… I’ll be fine, I managed to finish training today even like this, I can keep working…” she explained, avoiding looking at Keriahe entirely. Yet still Keriahe knew something else had to be wrong.

Spitefully the redhead touched Kira’s shoulder, noticing the wince. “Yea… sure… If that’s a fall, I’m Saint Mary… Was.. was your stepdad back at it again?” she asked, her voice surprisingly softer. Kira however was not too happy to be figured out, looking over at her.

“It was mom… Is… Am I that obvious?”

“Not really… Working for Mister Smiley though taught me a bit… Ya know you can stay with my family if something happens right? Sure, I might hate your guts, but my siblings damn adore ya, and I guess I can suffer through a couple of days-” Keriahe tried to offer some support. As much as Kira was her rival, she still took care of her little siblings and helped them all with homework and other things where she could. Despite everything, she had to admit Kira isn’t just some asshole.

“That won’t be neccesary… If I try to run away or hide it will get only worse I recon… But… Thanks for the offer. I appreciate it.” Kira responded, looking away again. She couldn’t get choked up now, not on the job anyway.

The rest of the walk to the destination continued in silence. Of course Keriahe had more snarky comments up her sleeve, but right now they all sounded out of place. She nearly bumped into Kira as she suddenly stopped.

“Okay, so this is the crossroad they seem to target the most… Am I wrong or is there a metro nearby?” Kira asked, as she survayed the area.

“Yeah, I think so…? Onarimon station should be around the corner that way… This is Atago, right?” Keriahe mumbled, looking around further. “Yeah, there’s the Family Mart I stop by-!” suddenly she chimed out, pointing in that direction. “Wait… why are you asking?”

“Hmmm… Onarimon… that should be the Mita line…. Could the culprits be traveling along that line?”

“Thaaat doesn’t really narrow it down, does it? The line goes from Meguro to Itabashi, that’s like five cities through…” Keriahe huffed.

“You seem to know that line well. How so?”

“Me and the guys were trying to plan out a trip and one of the lines we needed was Mita, plus school stuff… What can I say, my memory serves me well I guess…”

Kira hummed in response. Keriahe observed her as Kira started watching people closely. She seemed lost in thought before she suddenly began walking again. “Wait, where are we goin’?” Keriahe exclaimed, running after her. Kira merely shushed her, seemingly following something. Keriahe furrowed her brows, looking up ahead. A few sharp turns, and they found themselves in an alleyway near the station. Only then did Kira’s phone ping with a new message. The two men they had tailed after suddenly looked up at the sound.

“Right, so that’s the notification for the damaged camera, the third time this week. Mind explaining yourself, gentlemen?” Kira asked, innocently tilting her head. Keriahe stared at the two men, already taking position next to Kira, blocking off the way if they tried to bolt.

“Huh? And what are you little girls doing here, hmm? In an alley with two old men, do you really want to test your luck?” one of the men tried to feign innocence. Kira sighed. “Tadashi Yashihiro, age 40, and Sugihara Keisuke, age 38. Ex-members of Inagawa-kai… To leave the third largest family in Japan, and do something petty like this… I wonder what the pay is…” she said, matter-of-factly.

“OI! How do you know-”

”Do you really think your criminal records don’t show this? Inagawa-kai might be huge, but they don’t bother erasing traffic violations for a couple of lazy idiots who don’t know how to park.” Kira inrerrupted. Keriahe snorted loudly. “Man- Imagine going under the radar for most of your crimes, but it’s a traffic violation that does you in, what losers…” she taunted. Both girls smirked to each other as the older men growled. “Alright you shits, what do you want?”

“It’s simple… Tell me who you are working for now, and I might let you leave…” Kira suggested.

”HA! Why should we tell you anything!? You are just some little teenage brat, bet you would sell nicely on the red light district!”

Keriahe’s eye twitched at the remark, feeling a growl grow in her throat. However Kira’s giggle interrupted whatever insult she was about to spew.

“Please, you two have been caught on camera’s and multiple police stations know I am on this case. If I were to go missing, do you really think they wouldn’t put two and two together? Or are you both truly so daft?” she asked, making small yet determined steps closer. “I should probably actually introduce myself. Detective Kira Tenkuu of Tokyo Private Agency. Now are we willing to-”

An abrupt stop as one of the men pulled out a gun, aiming right for her forehead. “Alright, enough jokes kids, get lost.” he growled. Kira however stared straight at him. Something about those piercing ice blue eyes and empty gaze made his hand shake. ”Glock 26…9 times 19milimeters… Good to conceal due to it’s small size, perfect for fast operations, and shoot up to 6 meters… We found rounds of this gun at a different location near Mitsubishi Ichigokan Museum… Still on the Mita line… So my theory was correct, your current group opperates in and around Mita station lines…” she spoke, her voice calm and clear, as if her life wasn’t being threatened right now. It sounded almost as if she were reading an excerpt from a book. Even Keriahe had to take a double-take at what was going on.

“I-I will shoot! Shut up!” the man shouted. A sudden cold enveloped the two men, a chill so strong that their breath was hanging in the air. His hands shook worse as he could have sworn the girls eyes were glowing in the darkness of the alley. ”Now now, no need for that… Even if you did shoot me, Atago station is nearby, and there are plenty of people in the street… The more of a ruckus you will cause, even if you get rid of me, you can’t get rid of everyone in the street… How about you put that down?” Kira responded, the emptyness of her voice making her sound less human. The man lowered his gun, hand shaking. This little girl was instilling fear in two grown men.

Finally Keriahe snapped out of her own shock, composing herself. “Alright, now that you two clowns have stopped causing a show… Who do ya work with anyway?” she asked, approaching them, still more cautious than Kira did. ”W-We won’t tell you brats nothing-!”

”Very few mafias function near this area you know… Simply process of elimination could work this out.” Kira suggested.

Keriahe grumbled. “Oi, what’s with the dragging it out, we can just beat the shit outta them for intel-” she argued.

“Really there is no need for that.” Kira huffed, glaring at Keriahe once again, this time in annoyance.

”Yeah, so instead we will start guessing every mafia on the fucking street, GRAND idea - do we start alphabetically or will you pull the order out of your ass?!” Keriahe barked back. Kira growled before turning back to the men, looking them over. It suddenly dawned on her.

“You two never left Inagawa after all, huh?” she asked, only barely letting the surprise come out.

”WHAAA-?! Bullshit—” Keriahe was about to argue, to be interrupted.

”H…how did you know?”

”You don’t JUST leave one of the three largest syndicates in Japan and JUST join a small gang that operates locally. Noone could pay the ammounts Inagawa do, and you have to be a complete idiot to just switch over like that. But this isn’t Inagawa-Kai signature at all, you lot work very quietly and even do charity work on the side. So what’s the deal?”

The men looked to each other, groaning. Kira looked to Keriahe, signaling something with a tilt of the head. At first Keriahe didn’t understand what she meant, before noting the phone in Kira’s hands behind her back. She took it from her, looking at the message discreetly.

”Co nt Act The Polive”

Horrid spell-check fail aside, Keriahe realized what she meant, staying behind her still.

It was in this moment one of the men suddenly came for Kira, grabbing her by the arm. “We’re willing to take our chances.” he growled, tugging her by the injured arm. Keriahe didn’t hesitate, running at the man and slamming him with all the speed and strength she could muster, knocking him back. The other man fired his gun, but luckily the girls were quick on their feet. A swift sweep to the mans ankles had him down as well. Keriahe roared as she pounced on the other man, forcing him to fall over. The police got there quickly.

“Hm, not bad, for a short-stack you hit pretty hard…” Kira praised Keriahe, as they were on their way back, after getting some taiyaki.

”Who ya calling a short-stack, Fucking weirdo!?” Keriahe yelled back. “I still can’t believe ya sussed them out like that… What gave it away even?!”

”Don’t yell… Well… Like I mentioned, Inagawa is the third largest family in Japan, they even function overseas, and hold too much power and are allied with THE largest syndicate in Japan, the Rokudaime Yamaguchi-Gumi… Splitting off from them would be a death sentence… I should have known though, that they were trying to cause mischief for antoher gang - the gun is not popular in Inagawa…” Kira began explaining, pulling out her small notebook from her pocket.

“Tokyo Washi, huh… Eagles… With a name like that they can’t be that big of a family yet…” she mused.

”Ya recon they work around this area?” Keriahe asked, peeking over at the notebook.

”Hmm… I might need to find a way to speak with them… Having Inagawa medle in their affairs must mean they are a threat to them… And a threat to them could be a friend to us.”

“Wha, ya thinkin’ of joining them or something? After giving me shit for Smiley?!”

“Oh no no no…. Simply to offer an Alliance is all… We will see~ Now keep up, I don’t want Felitzia on my ass for you getting home late!”

“ ‘tte OI! WHOSE FAULT IS IT THAT YOU TOOK YOUR SWEET ASS TIME!? …UGH WAIT FOR ME, DUMBFUCK!”

#Yin yang duo #Midnight wolf #feral cat #lurkers writing

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