#both traumatized and/or grieving and barely coping together

[twilightkitkat]

Bitches say they have a new ship but it's the exact same "gay depressed losers who are cosmically intertwined" dynamic in a different flavor.

[testingcheats0n]

If it helps, I know you reblogged something about how Tubbo’s outpost arc doesn’t make sense, but it actually kind of does? The reason he made the outpost in the first place was because he was suspicious of how Foolish all of a sudden sold his house and left Snowchester (coincidentally shortly after Tubbo trusted him with the nukes and his trauma), then Quackity griefed him, and now he’s just tired of being walked over by everyone, because the last time he tried negotiation and compromise, it was with Dream and exile, and we all know how well that went. He doesn’t trust that Quackity won’t try and take more and more, and can you blame him? We know Quackity plans on expansion, and Tubbo knows Quackity enough to know how ambitious he is.

Is Tubbo morally perfect? Of course not. He hasn’t been since at least the butcher army. But he’s not out of character, and he still doesn’t want to actually go to war. He built the nukes to look scary, and so that’s what he’s trying to do: look scary enough that Quackity will leave him alone.

No, no, I can understand Tubbo's motives. I know why he did what he did. That's not under question- maybe under discussion, but never questioned. My problem is that I don't know where his character will go from this whole situation, because healthy coping mechanisms, fullfillment and peace are not on the table. It's basically: Character A hurts Character B during conflict, Character B starts a new conflict to hurt Character A, Character C gets hurt during conflict, Character A and C start a new conflict to hurt Character B- this cycle has happened three different times with at least 3 different characters at this point of the story.

I don't know where the story will go from here in general- at least in a satisfactory way. It's just a repetition of everything that's happened until now, and I can predict how things will go. Just more of the same with no happy ending- always leading to the next horrific trauma.

Option A: Tubbo dies permanently because of the obvious brewing conflict. And that's it, bye, bye Tubbo, Dream doesn't care about you + he's in prison so Ranboo is (maybe) going to get involved even worse than before to save you, doing horrific shit in the process. Ranboo gets traumatized trying to save him, and everyone else has to grieve for someone that might come back anyway. That's just Quackity's plot with Schlatt 2.0 + Tommy's return after the prison

Option B: Quackity dies and Las Nevadas is just L'manburg 2.0 with a discount Wilbur-Fundy trauma and everything + his poor poor substitute will try to keep the country Quackity made everyone's problem alive, and my guess is that the chances of success are a solid 0. Let's suppose that Tubbo does nuke Las Nevadas/Technoblade finally learns about the things (government) he should have known a long time ago/ Wilbur, uh. Does something eventually, and congrats that's just Doomsday 2.0 but with a different country.

Option C: Nobody dies and nothing terrible happens, but the trauma from previous events remains unchecked until the next time Quackity or Tubbo or someone decides they want to be ~bad~... why are we here again?

Option D: Both Tubbo and Quackity die. Cool, it's not like I was supposed to care about them or anything. Investment? I don't know her. Who is going to die next for shock value? Vote now. If they return, they'll be barely functional and probably will immediately try to start some new pointless conflict over again. Idk, something that just popped in my mind. They might do it for real too.

Option E: Snowchester is destroyed (lame and boring, but it's been dying for a while so *shrug* no stakes, no investment. Oh no it's another country... and now it's gone... cool...) OR someone (not Tubbo or Quackity) loses a canon life which- eh- they've all have 2-3 lives so 0 stakes OR Wilbur dies for the sake of torture porn and more trauma/misery- if Satan decides to prove he's real we'll get ghostbur again... isn't that great? Haha... OR Tommy dies (for some reason?? I see them making it happen.). If permanently yawn- he did it once Big bro Dre is there to save the situation, not that permadeath is the worse option- if not then 0 stakes. Prison Lockdown 2.0

Option F: Karl's storyline finaly connects to the DSMP? Somehow? That's the most fun option.

Option G: None of the things Tubbo, Quackity and Wilbur do matter because Technoblade frees Dream and they all- fucking- band together against the ~common enemy~ (Vault 2.0) and take him out. He goes back to the prison or dies. Very cyclic. I hope that's saved for the actual end of the series.

Option H: Dream comes back to fuck shit up- interrupting or making the conflict even worse ofc-, but no one bands together and Dream is free to get whatever he wants, but this time meaner because he was tortured. Ooooo. I wonder what terrible things he will do- especially to Tommy oh nooooooo~~~(I absolutely don't want to see that) (Pogtopia vs. Manburg 2.0)

Not death, cause that's fixable *shrug*

Option I: Dream just disappears from the public conscience and Technoblade is like 'hmmm? oh no no, governments? Existing AND fighting in MY server?' and just... kills everyone. Fun, lighthearted streams, yeah? If he's going to say he's an anarchist that wants to destroy countries, then he better act like it.

Option J: Someone from the previously involved cast reemerges and does something mildly impactful, like a betrayal- so original, or some spying- very original too. (Fundy, Foolish, Bad, Sam, Puffy, Charlie, Sapnap?) idk. Half of them need to end their own arcs first imo.

Basically this little war I'm seeing is happening between Las Nevadas, Snowchester, and whatever half-baked plan Wilbur and his new pet (ouchie, I spent months rooting for Tommy's autonomy guess that was a loss of my time) have going on, is nothing but a boring, violent repetition of previous conflicts that will do nothing but pile on trauma on already suffering characters. No resolution, no peace, no healing, just pain, more moral corruption, monologues and cookie stands.

At this point, I'll be very surprised if none of the options above happen, because I haven't been given anything to hold on for months. I'm sorry for being this negative- especially since you wanted to explain Tubbo's POV only- you can enjoy this story for what it is- that's perfectly fine, but I can't anymore.

Sorry for the unrelated (?) rant, and thanks for the ask.

[arofili]

some Turgon thoughts

so @siphilemon asked on discord for Turgon headcanons and I, a known Turgon apologist, was all too happy to oblige! I rambled for awhile and thought that maybe some other people might be interested in my thoughts, so I’ve gathered them here. under a cut because it’s a Lot.

General Turgon HCs

Turgon is fiercely devoted to his family, whether that's his siblings or his dad or Finrod or Elenwë and Idril...and he outlives. all. of. them. except for Idril and the Fëanorians, who he does NOT like

He's grumpy, more of an introvert than Fingon and Finrod are for sure, he was never really fond of the Fëanorians (esp Maedhros) but that was more because “someone in the family has to stand with Dad against them and it isn't going to be Fingon or Aredhel, so I guess it's gonna be me” and then add the whole thing with Fingon and Maedhros being in love on top of that...he's protective of Fingon

And then. things get bad.

There was never any question that Turno was going to follow his family to Middle-earth, he's devoted to them above everything - and I think he and Elenwë were very much in love and devoted to each other (some of my personal Elenwë hcs is that her parents weren't very excited about her marrying Turgon, and she kind of chose him over them, hence her being the Only Vanya who leaves with the Noldor) and he knew Elenwë would go with him

That's why Baby Idril went along on the Second Most Dangerous Road Trip In All Of Arda (which after the burning of the ships becomes the Most Dangerous Road Trip, surpassing the Great Journey)

but I don't think that (at first) Turgon was very excited about going to Middle-earth for himself? it isn't until Ulmo gives him the dream about Gondolin that he really gets the idea of creating a city of his own, a land of his own

And Gondolin is said to be Very Much reminiscent of Tirion - and Turgon is the one who keeps sending messengers back to Valinor - he missed his home

And he blames the Fëanorians for everything that went wrong. Morgoth too, but he's always kind of resented the Fëanorians, and then Elenwë died and it's all Fëanor’s fault but then when he arrives in Middle-earth Fëanor is dead so he shifts his anger onto Maedhros instead. Maedhros is a very sore spot between Turgon and Fingon.

And after Fingon dies.....well, Turgon blames himself, but he's angry with Maedhros. IMO Turgon is very much a hypocrite - he hates and hates and hates but does the same damn things he hates people for doing (i'm a sucker for Finrod/Turgon which is a juicy parallel to Idril/Maeglin...)

Turgon & Idril

Turgon is intensely protective of Idril, almost suffocatingly so

he was always kind of inclined to be an anxious helicopter parent but after Elenwë dies (it's fucking canon that both of them nearly die but Turgon has to choose between saving Idril or Elenwe, which fucks me up to no end) he's literally Never Letting Her Out Of His Sight

In the immediate aftermath of Elenwë’s death / the rest of the journey across the Ice, that's fine? it's a survival strategy, a coping mechanism, and Idril is traumatized and doesn't want to leave her dad

but then they get to Middle-earth (and Turgon loses his little brother, which makes him cling to his daughter even more) and Idril starts to grow up. IMO she was pretty young when they left Valinor, and she comes of age in Middle-earth. She can finally walk around barefoot in the grass again, and she starts making friends and learning to live without her mom.

which is something that terrifies Turgon, because he doesn't know how to move on without Elenwe, and he's always always looking back to Valinor but Idril barely remembers Valinor by the time she's older, and he's terrified she'll forget her mother

Idril loves her dad but he's very controlling and overprotective - and the dangers of Beleriand only make him more paranoid, even after the Dagor Aglareb ensures the Long Peace...

When Turgon builds Gondolin of course Idril is coming with him. He doesn't even ask her. She wants to go, she loves her dad even if she kind of resents that he still treats her like a child, but she wishes he'd asked her how she felt about the whole thing instead of assuming

(In general Turgon is really really bad at communicating. Elenwë was good at teasing out what he was feeling and getting him to talk but after losing her he shuts out the world. Finrod - whether we're going in a shippy context or not - is also good at understanding Turgon, and that night at the river they have an almost breakthrough together... but then Ulmo visits them and clouds their memories and they forget about it until way later)

But back to Idril: once they're in Gondolin and she can Literally Never Leave, Turgon relaxes a little bit, gives her some more freedom, because this is his city and she's safe here, right? But then everything happens with Aredhel and he's terrified again because if he can lose his sister what about his daughter---

Except now he has Maeglin to take care of too. Turgon is torn between parenting both his daughter and his nephew and ends up not doing a good job of either even though he tries...and Idril doesn't want to be parented at this point, she's a grown ass woman! Maeglin however does need a parent-figure and Turgon "Bad At Communicating" Nolofinwion horribly miscommunicates a lot of his intentions toward Maeglin

Anyway - I think Turgon is oblivious to Maeglin's feelings re: Idril? Until Tuor shows up and he can see "wait this mortal is in love with my daughter and is acting suspiciously like Maeglin...oh shit"

part of his motivation for letting Tuor marry Idril (aside from her being like "Dad I am gonna do what I want and you need to accept that") is fuck she can't marry MAEGLIN

Turgon & Aredhel

So I think that Turgon and Aredhel were the middle siblings who always kind of picked on each other in a loving sibling way? Like Finno is the Golden Child, the Responsible One, the Big Older Brother who adores them both - if they try to nag him it just bounces right off

but they know exactly how to push each other's buttons

and in Valinor that means they get into a lot of low-stakes petty fights that always resolve with them fiercely loving each other

after the ships burn Fingon is just...broken by Maedhros' betrayal. Aredhel, however, is fucking furious that Curvo and Tyelko would do this to her and she starts to channel that fury into hating them as much as Turgon does - which brings her and Turgon closer together

they forge a very deep bond on the Ice, especially with Aredhel kind of stepping in to help parent Idril after Elenwe dies

but unlike Turgon, when they get to Middle-earth Aredhel starts to heal (like Idril). she fights with C&C and then forgives them, and they go back to being friends. she gets to be carefree and happy again. and she'd still die for Turgon, she still looks up to him and loves him, which is why she follows him to Gondolin, but it was inevitable that she would get restless in Gondolin

Turgon resents Fingon for having Maedhros (i think he knows about their relationship and hates it but won't like, spill their secret bc he does love his bro) and he resents Idril and Aredhel for moving on from Elenwë & Argon's deaths because he can't do that, he feels like he's shouldering all the responsibility among his siblings

But most of all he resents himself for not being able to save them, and not being able to move on like a normal person (he's got some massive undiagnosed anxiety/depression). He kind of feels like he's suffering so his family doesn't have to, and since he loves his fam so much he thinks this is the "right" decision

(He's very hung up on morals for someone who is bad at following his own moral code)

So yeah he's angry that Aredhel wants to leave this safe place he created, but they fight and she pushes his buttons and he pushes hers except they're hurting still (aredhel is affected by everything that's happened, she just tries to focus on the positive) and they don't have time to makeup before Aredhel up and leaves

But he's not going to tell her she can't go because he does respect her decisions and her autonomy. and then when she disappears he's worried and then she comes back and he's overjoyed (and disturbed about what happened with Eöl) and then she dies and it's his fault and he blames himself....but Maeglin is also blaming himself and their self-pitying and grieving is magnified by being close together and they both come away worse for it. Maeglin thinks Turgon blames him, and Turgon thinks Maeglin blames him

And yeah, there is some I told you so in there, Turgon feels he was right, but he hates that because he'd rather be wrong than have his sister be dead

[dancingkirby]

New Short Story

In which Azula tries her hardest to be a good mother despite her PTSD.  WARNING: Reference to past traumatic childbirth and infant death.

“It would appear that you are all clean, Kazuo.  What do you think? Shall we prepare for bed now?”

Azula lifted her son out of the bathtub, making sure to keep a tight grip on his wet and slippery body so the little guy couldn’t squirm out of her grasp.  She shifted him into one arm, where he dampened the fabric of her tunic, although that was okay as the cloth had already been quite wet from Kazuo’s habit of enthusiastically flinging bathwater around.  He was nine months old, after all, and seemingly always in motion, reveling in his newfound mobility.  

He continued to wriggle and babble as Azula got him onto the changing table, toweled him off, and attempted to keep him still long enough to put a clean diaper on.   At the very least, she didn’t accidentally stick him with a pin this time…or get peed on.  After double-checking to make sure that cloth was folded and fastened securely, she began to dress Kazuo in his warmest set of pajamas.  (Even though his winter wasn’t nearly as harsh as the one prior, temperatures were supposed to be below average tonight, hovering just above freezing.)    They both loved this special evening time together, just the two of them.  Kazuo smiled up at her, showing the two new teeth on the top of his mouth.  

“Aaaaa!” he proclaimed.

Azula smiled back, but just then her son turned his face towards the lamp in just the right way to bring out the gold highlights in his eyes, and she was suddenly transported back through the decades to another pair of eyes gazing at her.  However, while Kazuo’s eyes were full of life, the light was rapidly fading from the other pair…

Azula let out a strangled gasp, forcing herself back to the present.  She briefly contemplated calling out for help from Tom-Tom or a servant; however, she decided she wanted to try to get through this herself.  She hurriedly did up the last couple of snaps on Kazuo’s nightwear, and quickly picked him up again, sitting heavily in the rocking chair and taking deep breaths.  Kazuo began to paw at her tunic’s neckline.  They were well into the process of weaning, but Azula decided to let him have his way this time, baring a breast for him.  

As her baby nursed, his cheek brushing the skin over her racing heart, Azula thought.  It had been months since she had a flashback to her first child’s birth and death; to be honest, she had assumed they’d stop after Kazuo was born.  It made no sense to her.  That hole in her life was now filled, so why did her brain continue to torment her so?  

Her little girl. She hadn’t lived long enough to be named, but Azula had been thinking of calling the baby Zaya after Fire Lord Sozin’s first wife if it was a girl.  What would she have been like had she been born whole and lived?  She’d be almost twenty now, and possibly even have a child of her own, although that was less likely these days due to Zuko discouraging teenage marriages at court.  Could she have been as good of a mother then for Zaya as she was now for Kazuo?  Probably not, the cold and realistic part of her said.  Zuko and Mai would have taken custody of Zaya, after all, and she was fairly certain that the mental institution wouldn’t have allowed much contact.  They would have stolen the experience of her child’s early years away from her, kept those precious memories for their own…

All right.  This was going nowhere.  Azula tried to remember her coping skills from therapy. Focus on the moment. Right.  She reminded herself that she was not actually in that horrible sterile basement room bleeding out; she was in her cozy apartments with her baby in her lap. Kazuo had been large for his age since birth, and his weight was solid and reassuring.  His skin was still rosy from the heat of the bathwater.  He had finished with his feeding, since Azula wasn’t producing that much milk anymore, and was sucking on his hand.  And of course, there were the ever-present dribbles on his chin, which she absentmindedly wiped away with one finger.  

“You know I love you, right?” she inquired in a hoarse whisper.  A couple of tears dripped onto Kazuo’s head before she could stop them. “Big lumpy head and all.”

In response, Kazuo removed his now slobber-covered hand from his mouth and reached up, giving her cheek a quite slimy caress.  

He knew.

Azula rubbed at her eyes, and tasted the salt as she kissed the top of his head.  “I thought so.”  She’d tried to bury these emotions for so long, but maybe; hadn’t even mentioned them to Tom-Tom since his initial attempt at proposing marriage.  Maybe now she could finally let herself grieve.

[kittensjonsa]

For @jonsa-creatives' Jonsa event of anniversary of Queen Sansa's coronation.

How could I miss out on my take on such an iconic TV moment? 👑

Summary: Jon returns to where he truly belonged.

Following a bit of canon verse, post S6 reunion by the fire, and scenes behind closed doors after Sansa's coronation.

Rated M for the obvious. *bows, from yours truly* 

(Note: I tried though I still cannot do/read canon verse fics because S8 was traumatically bad, I’m still grieving. Only great thing out of it was Queen Sansa and Northern Independence. Consider this a small fix it closure. :-/ )

The Return

Jon..

The wind chill remained deep in her bones. The leather of her makeshift cloak that draped across her chest callous and taut in her grip. She hears the cry of a wolf not far behind. Her legs, somehow still her own, plod heavily in the snow.

The true north.. The wildlands..

Jon had spoken of this place many times. How it was vast and cold, beautiful and free.

Come back. Come back to me. Come home.

As if the winds had heard her, it howled in response. Sansa hears howling and laughter, then came the screams. Screams that were familiar, she had heard them before. Screams that mirrored her own.

“Your Grace!”

Sansa gasped for air desperately, fearing it was her last. Beads of sweat pooled on her forehead as Sansa sat up from under the covers. The guards had burst through the door, faces fraught with concern and searched the room immediately.

“Are you all right, Your Grace? We heard.. screaming,”

The screams were hers, after all.

“I.. I am all right. A bad dream, is all.”

The guards looked at one another and retreated. “Shall I… call for the Maester?”

Sansa shook her head. It was another nightmare, just like the last, and no potion strong enough could make them go away.

They always return.

“No, no one is to bother the Maester. I will see him tomorrow morning. Please.. as you were.”

It all seemed so real. She was there, feeling the dampness sticking to her skin, soaked through her worn boots. The scent of snow, sharp and crisp, still deep in her lungs. The mind has a strange way of coping with pain, Bran once told her. I know why. Why she kept returning to those lands in her dreams.There was only one reason and it was because she wanted to look for him. To bring him back.

Jon..

Sansa laid down again. A bad dream. That was all. She sighed, raising her left hand again and stared. Sansa's eyes fluttered close once more, as her fingers brushed against the raised sliver of skin, tender as if it was still healing. It was a day she would always remember. How could I forget.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Sansa heard the door close from behind her.

Sansa placed a new bandage as another had soaked through. “Nothing. Just an old wound. Pay no mind to it. Although, could I have some water to wash?”

The splashing of water comforted her. As the footsteps that slowly approached. She was safe, finally. No one would hurt her here, for now.

“Here, let me take a look at it.” Jon's hands were warm as he reached out for hers. The tightening of his jaw tensed his grip.

“Did he.. did he do this?”

Sansa watched as Jon lightly ran his fingers along the scar. It was a deep wound and the slightest touch still burned, but the pain was nothing, remembering how she had endured far worse.

“No. From a piece of wood. In the river, when I..”

When I escaped. Ran as far as my legs could carry me through the woods past Winterfell. When Theon led me to the river.. where we decided we deserved better.

The pause was enough. Jon clasped her hands in his and with his other hand, seized a dagger from his side. Sansa watched on, curious and dazed but realised the moment he let go.

“Jon.. wait.. what are you doing?”

A grunt and a gasp as dark drops of blood dripped onto the floor, Sansa's hand was now wet with blood. Jon had her bandage removed and placed the bloodied hand over her own.

“Now, we both have scars. You... You're not alone.”

Sansa stared at their hands as their bloods mingled.

“Jon.. why would you do such a thing?”

Stunned, Sansa flinched slightly as he squeezed his grip and turned to her. His eyes were dark even against the brightness of the fire.

“You're here now.. and you're real. This will be ours to remember. Right now at this moment, that you've come here. To Castle Black. To me.”

Relief washed over him, especially now seeing his own blood, warm and wet. He was still bleeding, like before. He was still living, flesh and blood indeed.

“And you're right.”

Sansa's eyes finally met his, their hands still joined.

“About what?”

A deep sigh left his body, feeling the weight he had been carrying become heavier.

“We're taking back Winterfell. We're taking back our home.”

Jon…

The crackling of the fire was soothing to his ears but it wasn't enough. It failed along with the collective white noise of snoring and grunting of the wildlings he had grown used to. As well as Tormund's boisterous laughter and off key singing every once in while whenever they made camp. He hadn't slept for days and tonight in particular.

Sansa…

Jon rubbed his eyes, coaxing them to slumber - but a rough patch of skin brushed against his face, sending a tingle down his spine.

Sansa.

The mark was permanent, it had been years now and still it stood out, as the day he made it. It was still soft to the touch, a deep gash line now held together by new skin.

He often thought of her, of Winterfell. He missed his home and he missed her especially. He had left her one too many times and this time for good albeit against his will. He only wished her well and happy that she was home finally, safe and ruling in her rightful place.

“Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa.” 

He had said that once, to someone and meant every word.

Cousin Sansa. Ruling in the North. The best one yet. Winterfell was Sansa’s heart and soul and there was no one better than her to look after it.

Come back. Come back to me. Come home.

Jon blinked. He hears her, her voice a faint whisper as if she was sat next to him. He wanted to, with every fibre of his being. Winterfell was still home, even though he had lived many years away from it. And tonight, the need to return home was something he could no longer ignore, try as he might.

“The Queen in the North! The Queen in North! The Queen in the North!”

The chants were deafening as Sansa looked on around the hall. These were her people. People who loved the North as much as she did and fought for it. How could she not look after them? Father and Robb would've done the same.

The crown had rested heavy on her head. It was forged with care, with love and fealty from those who mattered. Sansa stared at the carved precious metal now in its place, sat on a pillow in front of her, resting for the night.

The moments replayed in her mind again. All of the North were gathered for her, to welcome their new Queen, of a free and independent kingdom. All but one. One she missed dearly, one whom she wanted so badly to be in the hall, seated by her side.

It was her wish to rule Winterfell together. As King he once was and her as Queen. She would not be here if it wasn't for him. The void in her grew stronger as the day went on.

“She's the best they could ever ask for.”

A flood of tears came over her without warning. Sansa clung on to her vanity for support.

“Oh.. Jon. Jon...”

Body wracked with sobs, Sansa peeled off her robe and crept under the furs for the night. Loud cheers and singing could still be heard down below, celebrating the North's freedom from the Seven Kingdoms.

She had truly done it. Truly free after centuries, no more heeding the call of any kingdoms, they were their own sovereign.

Sansa inhaled deeply as she blew out the last candle and shut her eyes. She would attempt to sleep once more. This time in peace.

Jon.. come back. Come back home.

A small creak. Sansa turned and thought she saw the door rattle in the dark. A silence followed and Sansa turned back again towards the window.

Drunk guards, maybe. Perhaps the ones she had released from their duties that night. They refused at first but it was an order from their new Queen that they dared not defy. There is no need for guards tonight, she was safe. This was Winterfell, her own Winterfell now. No one would dare. I’m their Queen now.

“Shhh..”

A hand clasped over her mouth. 

No. Oh Gods. No.

Sansa screamed. But only a muffled whimper escaped as the warm palm covered her face. All of the horrors that she once encountered, flashed before her very eyes. Sansa gasped for breath as she tried to scream once more.

But.. That scent..

It was all too familiar.

“Sansa.. shh. It's me.”

Sansa squirmed as another hand snaked around her back, enveloping her. The hold wasn't a firm one but tight enough that made her realise that somehow, she'd felt this before.

“Jon..?”

Sansa clawed aimlessly in the dark. Her hands finally found their bearings on a furry cloak, heavy and thick and as she went further up, Sansa could feel her heart almost burst.

The curls. Unmistakable. Soft ringlets filled her hands as she brushed against them and without a second to waste, hauled the body towards her.

“Jon...?”

A hand softened its grip and gently stroked her hair in the dark. 

“Sansa.. it’s me.”

Jon. He came back. Sansa pulled him closer again, tightly as she could against her barely clothed body.

“Jon.. I.. I called for you. Did you hear me?”

Jon took a deep breath, drinking in her scent as he held on tightly. 

“You did. I heard you.”

Warmth pooled at her neck, feeling his face nuzzling her skin. Sansa turned around, her hands still clinging onto fistfuls of his curls. 

“Let me see you.. Your Grace.”

Sansa did not want to let go but she needed to see him. Look and touch him, that this wasn’t all a dream. Leaping out of her bed, Sansa scrambled to light the nearest candle she could get her hands on.

And there he was. Standing right before her, in all his black leathered glory. Wearing the cloak she made him. He looked every bit like how she remembered him, as the day they said their goodbyes.

“Jon.. it really is you..”

Jon smiled, the pouty sad smile he was so good at and once more, Sansa fought back her tears.

Jon went on his knees and bowed his head. “Your Grace, pardon my absence on your coronation day. Will you forgive me?”

Sansa nudged him gently to rise. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Their eyes finally meet and it was a moment Sansa would treasure till the end. Though the chill filling the chambers was getting too cold to ignore once Sansa realised she was only in her nightclothes.

“Jon... you.. look the same. A little ragged perhaps.” How comforting, that nothing much has changed.

Jon smiled as he sighed. She was beautiful. More now than ever. And her hair, radiant still.

“Come here and sit with me. Tell me, how you've been? Are you well?” Sansa asked quietly as she led him back to the warmth of her bed.

“Aye, as well as I can be. Nothing's changed in Castle Black. Ale's still shite,” Jon chuckled, still holding fast onto Sansa's arm. His eyes stayed on hers, taking in every second at how they beamed beautifully with joy. Though for a second, they wandered further below as the small but bright light caught onto every curve of Sansa's. He hadn't seen her like this before and it embarrassed him - chastising himself for stealing into her chambers in the dark of night like a fiend. But there could be no decree, no law that would stop him from seeing Sansa. Not tonight.

Her special day. One for the history books. He had it in him well enough how he wasn’t supposed to be here. Banished into exile meant everywhere else, even the North. No one could know he was here, except Sansa. She called him to her, in the first place and he heard her. He needed to be near her. A need so strong, he'd risk his life. She was worth it all.

“I wanted you here. Oh I wanted you here so much.. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Sansa. I had to come.. and see you.”

“You did.” It was a joy Sansa could not contain, seeing Jon here in the flesh, though she could hardly believe it. Don’t be a dream.. please.

“Are you real? Are you really here? I've had so many nightmares lately… I just-”

Jon pulled her closer again once more, this time their faces almost touching, his hand cupping her face gently.

“It is me. This isn't a dream. I am here. And so are you.”

She had to know. Sansa needed it to be real. I have to..

“Jon..”

His lips were soft and warm. His tongue slick and welcoming as she pressed her open mouth on his. He is real…

“Sansa... You.. must-”

She wanted more. Yes, I must. Sansa's hands grabbed onto the straps of his cloak and coaxed his hands to her bosom, heaving as her mouth hungrily drank from his.

The small flame flickered as Sansa helped Jon remove his furs. The doublet was next.

Hearts racing, Sansa and Jon locked their gaze onto one another, both knowing already what will come next - ready to dive in head first into this debauchery.

Sansa tugged at the laces that held her nightclothes together. It did not take half a second for it fall off her shoulders, leaving her bare before him.

Taking off his under clothes in response, Jon sucked in a breath as they both faced each other, naked and wanting. Missing each other was too light a term, it was more of a deep, low burning desire that had grown more and more with each passing day of being apart.

“Sansa...”

Sansa reached out for Jon to come closer. “Jon... Hold me.”

Butterfly kisses peppered her shoulder. Slowly, Jon went lower and Sansa closed her eyes, committing to memory every touch lavished on her.

Sansa let out a small whimper as his lips nibbled on her belly. 

“Jon..”

His hands crawling up as his head lowered, grabbing a handful of her breasts, feeling Sansa quake from every graze of his fingertips.

“I need you..”

She hissed as Jon finally reached her spot, moist and waiting.

“Then.. have me,” Sansa whispered as Jon's fingers squeezed the insides of her thigh. So close.

Jon kissed and nipped at the ripe heat of her flesh, his fingers parting the tender folds of a place he never thought he'd be.

Another hiss and a soft groan. Soft, long legs gently closing in around his head as his mouth greedily laps up bits of her.

She tasted heavenly. Warm, wet and inviting. He would take his time, devouring her bit by bit, inch by inch till every part of her body was etched into the very depths of his soul. His teeth pulled and nipped, his tongue delving deep in and out of her folds, how he could go on forever.

How he wanted to take her. This could be his last day on this wretched earth and he would not change a single thing.

“Unnhh... Jon..”

Sansa bit down on the back of her hand, struggling to keep her cries down. Jon groaned, his hardness growing as Sansa quivered in his hands, writhing in his arms as the sharp volts of pleasure shocked her body.

Yes, this was exactly why he wanted to come home. They had taken far too long for both of them to get here but the wait has made it all the sweeter.

Jon crept up to Sansa, desperate to see her face once again, to watch her as he takes her, finally.

Sansa sighed as Jon's hard flesh rubbed against her bare thighs and rested precariously between her thighs. Her dripping entrance in wait of an embrace, a long awaited reunion she yearned for. It was time.

The pain of desire proved too excruciating.

Take me. Take me now.

“I've returned home for you, Sansa,” Jon whispered, his eyes focused and unblinking. Sansa could only nod. No words were needed.

“And now.... now I'm going to fuck you till kingdom come.”

[msjr0119]

A Second Chance

Prologue

Book: The Royal Romance

Series Pairings: Liam x Riley (Flashbacks), Drake x Hana (Flashbacks), Drake x Riley (Present Time- Friendship?).

*All characters belong to Pixelberry apart from Bethany Hughes-Rhys*

Please do not read this series if you are under 18 or if you are affected by any of the below trigger warnings. By doing so, you are consenting that you are over 18.

Warnings: Mention of suicide (past tense), Grief, Depression, Mention of two characters death. Slight adult language.

A/N: So this is a follow up to my ‘Hold On’ series. I was really confused when @kacie-0156 requested for me to do this as she is a Liam Stan. I still don’t understand 🤷‍♀️ but I’ll try my best! Thank you Kacie for the moodboard that you have provided. 💕❤️ The series takes part over two decades after ‘Hold On’ finished.

Song Inspiration: One Sweet Day, Mariah Carey Ft Boyz II Men

Word Count: 3,200

Tags, off the top of my head- as always if you want to be removed/added don’t hestitate in asking me: @pedudley @kacie-0156 @annekebbphotography @yukinagato2012 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @kimmiedoo5 @bascmve01 @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @lodberg @cmestrella @axwalker @hopefulmoonobject @notoriouscs @rafasgirl23415 @walker7519 @drakewalker04

*****

It had been six months since that day. The day that the Queen of Cordonia realised that her fairytale life had been snatched away from her in an instant. Today was the first day in which she had made an effort with her appearance. Upon her arrival she could sense that all her friends were eager to pounce on her, demanding to know that she was okay. Interrogate her. Keeping that stoic expression, she avoided conversations with her close friends- instead just remained civil with her children and people such as Francesco. Keeping a speech minimal, she thanked everyone for coming before returning to her quarters. Alone. This had been a common occurrence- keeping herself guarded. Not allowing anyone to break down the walls that she had built up.

Jackson noticed that his Auntie had been specifically quiet since that day six months ago. Walking over towards Princess Ayah and Prince Louis, they both smiled softly - however provided sorrow in their eyes.

“Is your Mom okay?” Ayah shook her head. Not really knowing how to explain the mask that Riley was wearing to hide her true feelings.

“She’s not coping, Jackson. I’m scared that she’s going to do something stupid. Before we existed, she tried to end her life in New York. My Father didn’t want to tell us about it, but he did one night to explain how much of a fighter our Mom is. She isn’t talking to anyone apart from us and her Godchildren. Whenever any of her friends try to talk to her, she shuns them away. Maybe Uncle Drake could try and talk to her again? Because you know....” Jackson didn’t need Ayah to continue that sentence, he knew full well what she was about to say.

“I’ll go and mention it to him. Don’t worry about Aunt Ri. She has everyone here, supporting her.” Kissing the Princess on the cheek, he scrutinised the room for his father. Jackson Walker adored his ‘cousins’ and ‘Auntie’- even though they wasn’t blood, he felt as if they were.

******

“Brooks....” Feeling like this was a waste of time, Drake decided that the best option was to walk away, as she wasn’t responding. Jackson placed a comforting hand onto his father’s shoulder, suggesting that Drake should leave. Feeling like a failure, to Ayah who believed that they would get her Mom to open up to them- Jackson decided to try himself. Listening to his son’s advise, Drake left in a swift motion- frustrated that he couldn’t persuade her to come out of her hovel and just talk.

“Aunt Ri?” Jackson said softly as he knocked on the door. Riley knew she was being stubborn whenever a visitor would knock on the door- but for some reason she could never ignore her children, or her friends children.

“Jackson.” Smiling at his Auntie, he pulled her in for a tight hug. “What can I do for you?”

“Have a walk? Or just a little talk with me? We all miss you, and we want to help you through it. Dad just wants to help too. You could help each other?”

“You’re only twenty one Jackson, you should be out with your friends- enjoying life. Don’t take a minute for granted. You should be living each day as if it’s your last.” Listening to her words, he knew what she was referring to. His heart sunk, the usual poised Queen stood in front of him was absolutely broken even if she tried to conceal it. “I miss him so much Jackson, and I miss your Mom too. Each day that goes by, doesn’t get any easier. I need to be strong for Ayah, Louis and Ellie but truth be told- they are so much stronger than I am.”

“Aunt Ri, everything will get better in time. Uncle Liam loved you- as did my Mom. They would both want you to be happy, being the strong woman that you are. Please don’t stay up here on your own. If you need anything, dont hesistate to let anyone know. Whether that’s to watch a film, or to go for a cronut, a walk in the maze? It’s Dad’s birthday party tomorrow night- fifty. The old fart. It would be good to see you there. Ayah is going with Louis, El, Uncle Leo and Aunt Beth.”

“I’ll see how I feel. Thank you for the talk Jackson. You remind me so much of your Mom, caring- thinking about everyone.”

“Shame I look like my Dad then.” Riley laughed as the young man winked at her. “I love you, Aunt Ri.”

*****

Drake woke up the following morning, not really in the mood to celebrate his fiftieth birthday. However he knew that he needed to make the effort. Mainly due to the blood, sweat and guts that Maxwell had put in to organising it. It had been six months since he had said goodbye to his wife and best friend- the King. The traumatic events from that night still haunted him- the grief was still lingering every second of each day that went by. But what was also breaking his heart was how Riley was coping with the loss of her husband and her friend. Ever since the funeral, the Queen had ignored her friends, barely acknowledged their existence- keeping herself to herself.

Making himself look presentable, he headed over to Ramsford with Jackson.

*****

“Speech, speech, speech....” Maxwell shouted, peer pressuring Drake to make a speech. The last speech was the eulogy he spoke at Hana’s funeral. He wasn’t confident when it came to speaking in front of crowds, but he believed the sooner he did it the sooner it would be over and done with.

“Well what can I say? I’m an old man now. I’d like to thank you all for coming today, drinking whiskey in honour of me... you all know me too well. I know it’s been six months, they say that time gets easier but it really doesn’t. I wish that three other people could be here by my side celebrating this milestone with me; my wife Hana, my best friend Liam and our Queen.” Lifting his tumbler of whiskey up into the air, the others followed suit. Drake closed his eyes for a brief second, imagining the happier times with Liam, Riley and Hana- imagining that this was just some awful nightmare that he couldn’t escape or wake up from. But no this was reality. He had lost his best friend and wife to a successful assassination. Opening his eyes, the room was mute- all eyes focusing towards the doorway.

“Brooks?” Riley raised her drink in to the air as she smiled softly towards him. Placing the empty glass on the table next to her, she turned around and headed towards the balcony needing a bit of fresh air. Following her, he just wanted to make sure that she was okay- that she was coping. Even though he knew that she wasn’t. He never imagined that she would turn up, due to her personality recently.

“Hey.” Drake nervously said, as he watched her staring up to the starry sky- her eyes fixated on the brightest one.

“Hey, old man. Happy birthday!”

“Less with the old man cheeky... you’ll be catching up soon...”

“Maybe, but you’ll still be older than me. I got you a present, I wasn’t sure if I was coming or not- it’s too predictable but I’m sure you’ll make use of it.” Handing him the bag, he shook his head whilst laughing. “I’m far too predictable, I’m going to be turning into whiskey with the amount that people have bought me. Thank you, Riley.”

“No need to thank me. Enjoy the rest of your party.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I’m going to mingle with everyone, I’ve not been myself- hiding away from everyone. Seen as though I’ve made the effort, I may as well make the most of it.” Drake smiled at her. Their past was complicated to say the least- but they had put that behind them. But now he felt the need to protect her, something that he didn’t do when they was together- he owed it to himself as well as to Liam.

“It’s good to see you out and about. If you need anything- just let me know.”

“I just need my friends and children. Which I already have. I needed my husband. I still do. I miss him so much.”

“So do I. You’re not alone. I miss Hana, I know you do too. You have myself and Jackson, your children- who aren’t children anymore. You know what I mean. Leo, Beth, the Beaumont’s, Liv.”

*****

Jackson, Ayah, Louis and Ellie all walked towards the balcony- Jackson put his arm in front of them all to prevent them going any further, noticing that his Dad and Aunt was too close.

“And what are you all doing?”

“Aunt Liv! You made us jump.” Ayah said, as she tried to catch her breath.

“Oh hell no.” Leo commented as he joined in spying on Drake and Riley. “Do you think they are going to grieve together and do more?”

“Uncle Leo! That’s our Mom and our Uncle that you’re talking about.”

“Oh kids, they were together well before they married their spouses. They were even due to have a baby until this jerk called Nate beat myself and Riley to a pulp.” Shrugging his shoulders, the young adults looked at other confused as to why this was such a big secret kept from them.

*****

“I know I have you all. I am grateful for that.” Pulling her closer to him, he held her in his embrace. Hearing her whimpers, and feeling the tears drip onto him- his grip became tight. Not in a hurtful way, more of a protective type of way.

“You are an amazing Queen, you are doing a fabulous job.”

“I’m stepping down, Drake. Louis is taking over from me.”

“Louis? Ayah is the Crown Princess. She’s the eldest.”

“History is repeating itself. She abdicated from her duties last week. Louis’s social season begins at the end of the week.”

“You’re putting him through a social season. Jesus Brooks why?”

“He decided it, not me. I didn’t want my children to go through what Liam- What we all went through. I can’t rule without Liam, and I’m not remarrying. Don’t tell anyone that I told you, I’m going to do a statement. I can trust you, right? You’re one of my closest friends.” What we went through. The social season of hell.

“Of course you can trust me.” Cupping her cheeks, he said this with sincerity surrounding his eyes.

“I.. I should go.” Kissing her softly on the cheek, she inhaled sharply. Her heart began to flutter, Drake wasn’t Liam- but having someone this close to her for the first time in months felt unusual. Someone who she loved once upon a time.

“Look after yourself, Brooks. We are all here for you. Always.”

****

Riley did Drake’s usual trick throughout the party- ‘people watching’. She had some conversations with her friends but kept it minimal. The common questions and phrases spoken in these conversations included Liam. Deep down she knew that it was good to talk about him, but for her it was still so raw.

Maxwell bounded up towards her, very intoxicated. “Your majesty. You look absolutely beautiful. I’ve missed you.”

“Thank you. I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry.”

“Blossom, don’t apologise.”

“I have to. I haven’t been myself since I - we lost Liam. And Hana.”

“Come on, lets get out of here for a bit...” Holding his hand out towards her, she remained standing dormant.

“I’m actually going to head to Valtoria.”

“Stay here. You still have a room here. It’s yours...” Pausing for a second, she couldn’t help but smile at the man stood in front of her with the goofy smile. “How is Drake coping?” Maxwell was unsure as to why she asked this.

“Erm, he has a few quiet days. The therapy is helping him though. He blames himself for what happened that night... but you know Drake, he always wears that scowl to cover his true emotions. I know you’ve probably heard this a million times, but Liam and Hana wouldn’t want either of you to be unhappy. A little birdy told me that Louis is beginning a social season. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have supported you!”

“DRAKE TOLD YOU?” Not realising how loud she was, Drake made his way over to them. Wondering why his name was mentioned. Wondering why Riley’s quiet tone of voice had raised all of a sudden.

“No, Louis did. Drake knew?”

“I knew what? Brooks, are you okay?”

“About Louis becoming King... I assumed you told Max. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” The two men pulled her in for a hug, as she eventually broke down uncontrollably crying. “Don’t apologise blossom. For anything.” Maxwell whispered.

“I’m going to go to my room. Thank you for inviting me, both of you.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” After Maxwell asked this, Drake decided to leave the two of them. Before he could escape, Riley grabbed his hand- forcing him to turn to face her.

“Drake?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk upstairs? Alone. I have realised that I should talk to someone. Someone who is going through the same emotions... I won’t keep you for too long, it’s your party. I just feel if I don’t do this now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it.”

“Of course we can talk. For as long as you need to.” The friends all overheard Riley’s request including her children. All smiling softly, knowing that this was the first step she was taking to get out of the depression. To grieve with some support. To move on from her husbands death but to keep his memory alive. Baby steps.

****

Drake sat down on the edge of the bed as Riley poured him a whiskey.

“Who’d have imagined we’d have been here, in this situation. Didn’t Kiara and Nate put us through enough shit?” Laughing nervously, she wasn’t sure how to begin this difficult conversation.

“But that shit, led us both to begin families with our loved ones. You have to think of it that way..”

“True.” There was an awkward silence due to Riley’s lack of response.

“Why have you been avoiding us all?” Not wanting to sound harsh, but he needed to know. Deep down he had an inkling as to why. He just needed this confirmation, so everybody could help in the best possible way.

“I couldn’t cope. I lost the love of my life unexpectedly. Seeing you all reminded me of him. I’d go to bed, holding my wedding photo- snuggling into Liam’s clothes. It still hasn’t sunk in. I’m so sorry that I’ve ignored you all...”

“We understand, we had just hoped that you would have let us help you. I’ve been the same. If it wasn’t for those morons downstairs, I think I’d have drunk whiskey all day every day to blank the pain.. we both loved Liam and Hana, and they both loved us dearly.” In sync, the two of them briefly closed their eyes- images of their spouses flashing through their mind.

“Louis suggested starting the social season to keep my mind off of things. But it’s just going to bring memories back. Of us. Of everybody.”

“It may be a good thing? We are all going to support you both.” Snuggling close to him, she felt his arm go around her waist. “Why did Ayah abdicate?”

“She’s... she’s... oh god, Drake... this is so embarrassing...”

“What?”

“She’s her father’s double. Insisting that she doesn’t want a political marriage, that she wants to marry for love. Ayah started a relationship with.....” Drake’s brain began functioning. His first thought was his son, Jackson. If it was Jackson, he knew that people would criticise her choice- due to his commoner blood that ran through his veins.

“Who?” He eventually questioned, not quite knowing if he wanted to hear the answer or not.

“Theo...” Riley shrugged her shoulders as his jaw practically hit the floor.

“You’re having me on... aren’t you?”

“No. I wish I was... honestly... I’m hoping it’s just a fling. But you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Looking down towards the floor, she bit her lip as she was referring to him. Referring to their past. Hoping that he wouldn’t realise.

“No you can’t help who you fall in love with..” Pausing, he decided to make a joke out of it. “You know if he hurts her- her Uncle’s won’t hold back. I’m pretty sure Liam’s spirit won’t either.”

“None of you will touch him. I’ll beat you all to it!” Providing that infamous cocky smirk, Drake shook his head- he hadn’t seen it painted on her face in what seemed like an eternity. Caressing her cheek, they both locked eyes.

“Of course you will... it’s good to see you smile.”

“I agree. Thank you. I should let you get back to your party.”

“I’m ready for bed, I can’t hack it anymore. I’m not a spring chicken anymore.” Standing up, he mimicked walking with an invisible walking stick- causing her to throw her head back laughing.

“No, you’re an old grumpy marshmallow now.”

“Queen bossy pants. Night, Brooks.” Turning to leave, it was a brief conversation- a conversation that everyone had wanted to start with all those months ago. Finally she had opened up, even if it wasn’t much. Hoping that this was the first move to gaining closure on Liam’s death.

“Drake, wait!”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thank you for the talk.”

“No worries. You know where to find me or any of us for that matter. I love you, Ri.”

“I love you, too.”

****

Once Drake had left, she got under the duvet- making a quick phone call. As soon as the voicemail message began, tears ran down her cheek like a waterfall. Unable to stop.

Hello. You have reached Liam, but I am unavailable at the moment. Sorry for my beautiful wife, my Queen- giggling in the background. If you need me, leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon.

Even though she was crying, she still managed to let out a little laugh- this was his personal phone for his friends, but now it was a regular call she made on a daily basis.

“Hey, handsome. It’s me again. The giggling wife. I’ve actually laughed for the first time today, Drake the old man turned fifty. Of course he was drinking whiskey. I know I say this everytime I ring you, but I miss you so fucking much Li. I love you so much. My biggest regret was not telling you that the day you left us. So I’m making up for it now. Now it's too late to hold you 'Cause you've flown away. But that doesn’t stop my imagination from believing that you are here. Never had I imagined living without your smile, and I know you're shining down on me from heaven. I hope you and Hana are celebrating up there. I know eventually we'll be together. One sweet day. Until we meet again. I love you, my King.”

[kenzieam]

Save My Life - Chapter One

@jewels2876​ ​​​​​ @moonbeambucky​ ​​​​​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ ​​​​​ @iammarylastar​@captstefanbrandt​ ​​​​​ @badassbaker​ ​​​​​ @pinknerdpanda​ ​​​​​

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Warnings: Definitely M. Language, violence, adult situations, graphic mentions of horrible things, traumatic death and descriptions.

************************************************************************

!!!!!TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!!

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Paramedic Bucky Barnes has seen it all and it’s definitely taken a toll on his mind and body, witnessing senseless death, all but wading through it at times as he is the first responder to so many ghastly accidents and mishaps. The widow of one of his former patients haunts him long after his brief, chaotic contact with her and destiny conspires to cross their paths again. Can the broken man and grieving woman find peace together?

Feedback is life, y’all.

***********************************************************************

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

With a growl and a groan, Bucky rolled over onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. His body throbbed in a way that, while unwelcome, was far from unpleasant and he reached down, palmed his aching cock through the plain black boxer briefs he usually slept in.

It was so much easier to stumble to the shower if he only had to tangle with briefs, not try to pull a t-shirt off his muscular frame, it wasted precious seconds that could be better spent gasping for breath under the spray, hands pressed to the wall and bowed forwards, water washing away the nightmares that had torn him from uneasy sleep to begin with.

The dichotomy wore at him, even as he relived the horrors of her husband’s messy final moments of life, his body yearned for her, his cock hardening while his mind played the reel over and over, the sightless eyes, the crunching of the man’s ribcage beneath his hands.

There was no use fighting it, he’d tried so many times, only to lose every battle.

His pleasure crested, peaked and he groaned in release, his cock pulsing thick ropes of his seed onto his heaving stomach but the physical gratification didn’t touch the emotional turmoil and he dropped his hand with another groan, squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth until the sensations faded, both the ecstasy and the guilt.

Finally, he moved, hauling himself off the bed, off the tangled, soaked sheets and grimaced; the evidence of his twisted mind drying on his belly. Stumbling over last night’s jeans he shuffled into the bathroom and turned the water to scalding, scowling at his face in the mirror, scrubbing a hand over his stubble.

Would he finally get his shit together today? What compelled him, day after day, to continue like this? Sure, not every call ended the way that one had, but the good ones had long stopped overpowering the bad, their shadows too dark to chase away.

His phone jangled, clashing with his already raw nerves. Would such a simple sound ever stop eliciting such a heart-stopping response in him? He reached for the receiver, his seed still painting his belly, pulling at the downy hair there as it dried and silently held it to his ear. The voice on the other end knew he was there.

“Hey.” Steve said quietly.

“Hey.”

“Is today the day?” The day you stop this, quit the job that’s slowly killing you and start putting yourself back together again?

Bucky exhaled, a harsh yet anemic sound. “No, not today.”

Steve, his partner of eleven years, the man who usually drove the ambulance while Bucky worked so hard in the back, sighed quietly. Closer than brothers, he could read Bucky like an open book, but it went both ways and Bucky could hear the small smile on his face too. Although it was slowly killing both of them, there was nobody they’d rather die beside.

“See you at the station?”

“Yeah, an hour.”

“Coffee.”

“Your turn.” Bucky grunted, slamming the receiver down. Their shorthand baffled most, pissed off others, but you couldn’t be stripped bare emotionally in front of someone for over a decade and not connect like that.

One last lingering glance in the mirror, a brief grimace at the haunted cast in his blue eyes, then he continued into the shower, letting the water wash away both the sweat and the tears.

**********************************************************************

“Still having nightmares?” Steve asked, glancing Bucky’s way before returning his attention to the road. On their way to a frequent flyer found semi-conscious and, no doubt, more than semi-intoxicated, sprawled on the ground outside a local McDonald’s, there was a mild sense of urgency but an even larger sense of ‘same-old, same-old’ weary acceptance.

“Never stop.” Bucky replied shortly, barely looking up from poking listlessly at the computer screen mounted on the dash.

“About her?”

Bucky exhaled, eyes falling closed until the pain, while by no means gone, diminished enough to allow him to draw the next breath. “Yeah.”

“Man, that was over a year ago and you haven’t seen her since. What gives?” Steve demanded, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand before cursing under his breath and hitting the sirens again to persuade a stubborn car out of their lane.

Bucky mused that he’d probably hear those god-damned sirens in hell.

“I don’t know-”

“Her husband died-”

“I know!”

“And I’m sure the last person she wants to see is the guy who was covered in his blood literally crushing the man’s ribs!”

“I know!” Bucky bellowed, slamming his fist on the dash then pulling it back with a grunt to cradle against his muscular chest. He’d need the full use of his hands, both massive paws that somehow could be so gentle and precise while intubating or placing an IV line, to deal with the patient they were now pulling up on.

“You using again?” Steve asked, voice low, bordering on a mix of angry and disappointed.

Bucky turned away, opening the door and jumping out before the bus had come to a full stop.

************************************************************

Lev glanced around briefly before dropping her eyes again. She felt supremely uncomfortable here, despite the fact that she was one of the more in-control attendees; she wasn’t weeping ceaselessly into a handkerchief, or burying her face in her hands while her shoulders shook, or muffling her wails on the shoulder of the person beside her. She was keeping it together.

Wasn’t she?

Eighteen months since Clint’s violent and unexpected death and this was her first meeting for grieving survivors, held in an aging school gymnasium that smelled like old socks and even older sweat, the wood floor marked and scarred with years of abuse.

Her friend Wanda had finally put her foot down, after a year and a half of back and forth, of, ‘I’m fine, just tired’ excuses and tearful limbo and all but dragged Lev to her doctor, where the kindly soul who may or may not be hiding pain just as visceral as hers and therefore knew what he was talking about had suggested this place, as an alternative to the pharmaceutical option that had been the first choice, and rejected so vehemently by Lev to warrant it’s proposal.

She glanced around. The middle-aged woman who’d lost her husband when he’d choked to death right in front of her during their weekly Sunday brunch, three chairs over in the large circle; the man who’d suffered through agonizing minutes of his wife pleading for help over her phone, then her final screams of terror as her car’s throttle had malfunctioned on the freeway and she’d careened at top speed into an embankment, instantly dying but taking with her his unborn son as well, five chairs over; then…. Him.

Lev startled slightly, dropping her gaze before it could be returned. Her memories of that time were so scattered and chaotic, stained with Clint’s blood and the sound of that goddamn siren, but she remembered him, or more accurately, the pain in his supernatural blue eyes.

Built like a marine, massive and muscled, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a loose bun, clad not in his uniform but a simple red long-sleeved Henley and jeans, hulking and intimidating until you looked closer and saw the anguish, was the paramedic that had tried so hard to save her husband’s life that lifetime ago.

Her heart sped up and she focussed obsessively on her cuticles. She wished suddenly for Wanda, but she’d insisted on attending tonight by herself and consequently was now alone as a tsunami of memories crashed over her. The incongruity of smells: bitter antiseptic, raw panic and body expulsions, warm male musk and blood; the duelling opposites that had all but torn her in half: frightening, in-your-face reality as Clint’s blood dried on her face coupled with the dream-like quality of the whole drawn-out nightmare.

How did that man cope? Dealing with that life and ugly death daily? Was that why he was here now, slumped in his chair and listening to other lambs to the slaughter open their veins in wretched attempts to assuage the pain?

She was called gently upon to speak, to give her name and reason why she was here; what screaming banshee howled unending torment in her ears, but she shook her head, burrowing further in on herself and muttering a vow to make herself talk next time, no matter how uncomfortable.

An eternity and an eye-blink later, the meeting ended, and Lev stood stiffly, her body raw and pulsating with fresh grief. For lack of anything else to do, she wandered to the refreshment table, knowing she was far too shaky yet to attempt to drive herself home and picked up a pre-poured paper cup of juice and pack of generic cookies. She’d just sat at an empty table and touched the cup to her lips when a quiet, tentative voice washed over her.

“Hi.”

She glanced at him, quickly back down again. “Hi.” Her voice was stronger than she felt, and she was grateful for the support of the table and chair.

“May I sit?” There was a puzzling hesitancy in his voice, as if he expected screaming rejection, but Lev was too tired to push someone else away, it was too wearying keeping her own mind and body quiet.

At her nod, he sat, picking at his own pack of cookies, seeming to be warring with himself about something.

“I remember who you are, you know.” Lev added, watched his shoulder slump with mingled relief and trepidation.

“I didn’t know… if you…. did or not-” He mumbled, trailing off uncomfortably.

“Hard to forget that day.” Lev whispered. She hesitated before adding. “I never got a chance but… thank you… for trying.”

He nodded, jaw tight, not lifting his eyes from the table.

“How do….” She didn’t want to ask, but God, she did too. “How do you manage to do that… as a job I mean?”

He smirke humorlessly, gesturing with one massive hand to the assembly around them.

“Does it help?”

He shrugged. “More than the company counselling. A friend of mine suggested it a couple years ago; I try to come when I can but….” He cleared his throat. “What about you?”

Lev dropped her eyes again, puzzlingly embarrassed. “My first time. My friend… she made me see a doctor-”

He held up a large hand. Say no more.

“How are you sleeping?” He asked quietly, lifting his hypnotizing gaze to hers again, which she quickly averted, in parts shocked and soothed by the tractor-pull that seemed to emanate from his supernatural blue eyes.

The question stung somehow, and it was so much easier to bite at that then lay bare the devastation beneath. “How do you?” Even as the question left her lips she recoiled, horrified with herself and pressed her hand to her mouth.

He flinched, barely perceptively, but the dark rings under his eyes answered her.

“God, I’m sorry-”

He shook his head, held up a massive hand again. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” What was wrong with her, biting the first hand that extended any type of friendliness? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“This place… feeling this way… it makes you raw.” He replied, glancing up at her before looking away and gesturing with a chin jerk to a nearby table. “Sweetest old lady you’ll ever meet over there, but once she comes here and starts remembering her husband’s death again, turns into an old hag.” He twisted the paper cup in his hands, completely engulfing it before taking a sip. “Later, she’ll sit there with a stunned look on her face, like she’s waking up from a black-out.”

“I don’t want to be an old hag.”

A faint smile touched his full lips, temporarily lighting up his unbelievably handsome face. “You’d never be.” A faint pink flush and he looked away again.

Lev suddenly couldn’t breathe. The room, the man across from her, were taking all the air and she stumbled to her feet. “I have to go.”

He watched her, face falling and tried to stand but Lev lifted her hand, an emotional traffic cop, and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and both knew it, but he only watched sadly as she hurried out the gymnasium doors to the darkness outside, head bowed.

**************************************************

“You never answered me.” Steve spoke suddenly, breaking the silence in the bus as they took a rare break between calls, sitting in the parking lot of a local coffee-shop, trying to wolf down their breakfast sandwiches before the radio blared and re-established reality.

Bucky grunted, knowing what his partner was referring to but hoping that he’d drop it if he played silly buggers.

“James.” Shit, he was serious, using Bucky’s given name.

Bucky sighed, staring out the windshield. “It’s under control.”

“Is it?” Steve all but shouted. “Shooting H? Seriously, man. How do you have that ‘under control’?! What the fuck, James!”

“I don’t do it all the time-”

“Once is too many!”

“Fuck you. You got someone to come home to-”

“DO NOT put that on me, asshole. You’ve had plenty of women hoping for your last name, what the hell are you always waiting for?”

“I’m-”

“Stop thinking about that girl, it’s never going to happen!”

A bitter retort stung Bucky’s tongue and he knew if he spit it out it would poison their enduring friendship, weaken it just when he needed it the most but he was saved from sabotaging himself by the damned radio itself, the dispatcher’s efficient voice relaying maximum information with minimal syllables.

Glaring daggers at Bucky, obviously having a damn good idea what he had been about to say, Steve snorted angrily and grabbed the microphone, snapping an affirmative before slamming the vehicle in gear and hitting the sirens.

************************************************************************

Levi was not at the next meeting and Bucky felt a curious mix of relief and disappointment. Steve was right, this was never going to happen and, even if it did, he had no right dragging this girl down into his shit, not when she was still trying to dig herself out of her own. But still, he was disappointed; she was the rare light in his darkness, had been since the moment he’d first seen her, even with all the chaos and horror around her, cradling her dying husband’s head in her lap, pleading with someone, anyone to help. When their eyes had locked, a visceral, physical jolt had shot through him, almost painful in its intensity and he’d become personally invested in doing all he could to help, if not the patient he’d been dispatched for, then her.

Anything for her.

He was a sad fuck.

He’d barely heard the meeting going on around him, the others whispering their shame and pain, the answering murmurs from fellow sufferers. He rarely spoke at these, was rarely called on anyway because the overseer, a thin, bantam rooster of a man named Tony, who still lost all confidence and swagger when remembering his dear wife, Pepper, who’d passed suddenly from an aneurysm a few years previous, knew who Bucky was and why he was here.

He had no personal stories of loss to tell, but shared the pain of every single death he witnessed, every patient he tried to save and usually ended up only managing to usher into the afterlife with some semblance of comfort anyway.

He left the meeting that night alone, curled up on the floor at the end of his bed and found a vein.

[snowylynxx]

hey so i love @10leftau and i wanted to give the myo 10 left thingy a try so heres mine!!!

ThunderClan survivors: Sandstorm, Lilykit, Firestar, Hollyleaf, Brightheart, Snowkit

ShadowClan survivors: Applefur, Kinkfur,

WindClan survivors: Kestrelflight, Nightcloud, Heathertail

RiverClan survivors: Petalfur, Curlpaw, Podpaw

i actually didnt expect to get firestar in here wow but uh Hey

so considering firestar is still alive, i feel like he’d still try and keep it together as leader. some survivors (mostly the thunderclan ones) have a lot of faith in him to keep the new clan safe, others are pessimistic. he is stressed by how the battle turned out, knowing that there would be bloodshed, but not expecting this much. sandstorm does all she can to support her mate, and even though they both think there’s little hope, she still encourages him. due to his age and the fact that he’s on his last life, however, he feels frantic to find a new deputy that will be a good leader for this new clan

kestrelflight is the only surviving medicine cat and he’s extremely distressed about this turn of events. i can see hollyleaf helping him pick up the slack with the little knowledge she retained from leafpool

speaking of hollyleaf, the battle was the toughest on her. she lost her brothers and both sets of parents. she feels incredibly guilty about a lot of things: that thunderclan has the most survivors, that she couldnt save ivypool from hawkfrost, that she couldnt protect her brothers or dovewing, squirrelflight or brambleclaw, or crowfeather or leafpool. it’s incredibly tense now since she has to learn to get along with her step mother nightcloud. heathertail is especially eager to know hollyleaf better, but hollyleaf’s remorse makes her distance herself, even from her remaining family

brightheart still takes care of lilykit after sorreltail dies, except now it’s only her and snowkit. she grieves heavily over cloudtail and whitewing, and its only strengthened by how much snowkit looks like his father and sister. she really warms up to kinkfur, who takes a sort of grandmotherly role to the two kits and helps brightheart cope, on top of nursing their newly formed bond from their injuries

curlpaw and podpaw are both mentored by petalfur because she’s the only surviving riverclan warrior who can teach them, although podpaw is also partially mentored by heathertail. curlpaw is especially traumatized as she experienced near death in the fight, and suffered the most serious wounds of the survivors and its a miracle she survived at all. petalfur and podpaw do all they can to help her recover as best she can. curlpaw trusts her brother more than anyone else

applefur, being a former dark forest trainee, is horribly distraught with guilt at what the dark forest warriors had done to the clans, how they barely survived. she mourns birchfall especially, since they were friends as kits and fellow dark forest trainees. even firestar, known for keeping the clans together in times of peril, is frayed by how unwilling to keep on going the clan cats are. this is when applefur steps up to the plate and pleads to firestar to let her be deputy for this new clan. firestar is hesitant, but low on options, so he agrees as long as she behaves herself. the rest of the clan’s reaction is extremely negative, but seeing as no one else is willing to take a shot at it, they allow her to remain deputy

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

the final chapter of Swept Away, my missing Caryl scenes fic for 9x15. you can find the first two chapters here

Swept Away: The Bond of Tragedy (also on 9L)

Daryl stood in the shade of the willow oak as Siddiq shared the last moments he’d spent with the ten.

The entire community, shaken, stunned, and fearful, had shown up, and he’d gladly taken a place in the back, away from the solemn hugs, the grieving looks, the small talk, and the overwhelming sorrow. He had enough of his own.

He tried to focus on Siddiq’s eulogy, but all he could see, all he relived, were his own final minutes with those they were laying to rest.

The hill. The discovery. The horror.

Carol.

She hadn’t wanted to leave Henry behind, and though he dreaded returning more than what he’d just had to do, he promised.

“We gotta go.”

She peered up at him, heartbreak written on her face as she wiped some of her tears away. His eyes pleaded with her, desperate to remove her from the horrific border behind them.

Tears still falling, she sighed and nodded, acquiescing. He supported her as she rose, the act so reminiscent from the first time they experienced this scenario together—though this time she clung to him instead of flinging his hands away from her—he wanted to scream until the heavens poured with the same grief they felt on this godforsaken hill.

“I gotcha,” he murmured again as Carol tried to regain her footing, his hands never leaving her arms, her back, her shoulders, trying to support her however she needed.

And what would that be? How would she ever move past this, not only the fifth—God, how…?—child she’d lost, but one she’d helped raise for a good portion of his life? One they’d left safely back at home, behind walls, at the fair, with his father, happy to be with the girl he’d too quickly fallen for? How would she cope with an empty nest now that she’d spent years building one?

It’d never be the same.

They’d always moved on, tiptoeing past grief like traversing the edge of cliff, and their nomadic life, from the quarry to the farm to the prison to the road, helped with that: they had to fight to live, move to survive, never able to work through all they’d suffered and lost, which he knew was both a blessing and a curse. But Carol had a life. A husband. A family unit. She’d have space. Time to think. An empty room. Memories to haunt every inch of the compound. Echoes of a life no longer.

He feared Carol’s kingdom would fall like she’d done moments ago in his arms.

His chest ached at the thought, at how much she was hurting…and how much more he believed awaited her on the horizon.

A quick glance over his shoulder told him Yumiko had grabbed up his crossbow from where he’d flung it when he’d run to Carol. Siddiq and Michonne, both looking ready to collapse at the slightest breeze, clung to and supported each other as they moved toward him.

Keeping an arm around Carol, Daryl guided them to the main road, trudging back to a fortress that would soon learn its limits, a haven that would no longer feel safe. A queen shattered by loss and a broken heart that no amount of faux grandiosity, fair, or fairy tale would heal.

Yumiko kept a lookout on their tail, and his eyes scanned their path, ever watchful for one of the walkers that wasn’t.

Carol leaned on him for a good portion of the trip, but the closer they came to the Kingdom, the more she pulled herself together. By the time they neared the gates, not a word spoken amongst the five of them, she’d wiped her tears away and stood straight, though she now had her arm linked through his.

The gate yawned open before them, and the guards’ faces fell as they saw their stricken looks. He knew they wouldn’t leave their posts to distribute the news that some of their fighting party had returned. He’d have to do it himself.

Daryl steered them away from the fair’s festivities to the first building on the left, a meeting hall. He moved to the closest row of chairs and eased down on one next to Carol. He barely noted that the others did the same around them.

Carol stared listlessly at the floor, lost in the shadow and the weight of the day.

He gently set his hand to her jaw and drew her face towards him. “Carol...” She lifted her eyes to meet his, and he waited until he knew she saw him and not the sight on that hill. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go get Ezekiel. Okay?”

Tears filled her eyes but didn’t spill over, and she nodded. He was loathe to leave her, but he’d be damned if he left her to tell Ezekiel all of the grisly details.

She suddenly eased her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. He cinched his arms around her, holding her as close to his heart as he could, eyes closed, heart thrumming, breath knocked out of him at how badly he wished he could take this pain from her.  

It was theirs. It was hers and Ezekiel’s too, but it was their shared discovery, their repeated tragedy, their thread of another time, another place, another life, their memory of everything and everyone they’d lost since the beginning. Their bond of tragedy no one else could possibly understand.

He couldn’t be this vulnerable with anyone else. She couldn’t describe what having him there, instead of being alone or with anyone else, meant. They could each break, but together they were unbreakable.

Daryl held her tightly, as he’d done so many times the past few months, a comfort he didn’t know he needed, until she eased away from him, wiping the tears from her face again.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, his throat swollen with unshed tears.

He stood up and cleared his throat, repeating it to the others. He eyed Michonne, who glanced at Carol and nodded, silently agreeing to keep an eye on her.

With a heavy heart and heavier steps, Daryl sought out Ezekiel. He found him laughing at something someone had just said to him at one of the fair tables, but when he saw Daryl, the smile fell from his face.

Daryl felt sick again, nearly ready to lose his stomach at the thought of speaking of the horror, and he withdrew into the closest building, Ezekiel close on his heels.

He swallowed hard before speaking, the anguished words leaving his throat sounding hollow. Ezekiel stared hard, the happy-go-lucky king long gone; before him stood a broken man. When he asked after Carol, Daryl told him where she was, and Ezekiel bolted out the door, leaving Daryl, solitary, sick, and traumatized, all alone.

He waited, unable to walk into that hall and watch Ezekiel comfort Carol in the early moments of their parental grief, a place he didn’t belong but something he felt all too keenly. Forcing himself to take deep breaths and try to calm his stomach, he finally, slowly, shuffled his way there and entered the hall again.

Ezekiel had sequestered Carol away from the others as they whispered in shock. The other three sat side by side, quiet, hollow, exhausted.

Though his eyes drifted to Carol, Daryl sat next to Siddiq and cleared his throat, even as he spoke in only a whisper.

“Where’re the bodies?”

Siddiq abruptly turned to face him, eyes wide and sad, and he shook his head.

He didn’t understand. “What?”

Siddiq leaned in closer. “They took them.” His voice, already low, cracked as he spoke. “I saw them cut…I…they took them out of the barn. I don’t think we’re going to find them.”

“Son of a bitch.” His head fell back, weary from the fight. He heaved a few ragged breaths, before shoving to his feet. “I’m going to get them.” He addressed them all but looked pointedly at Carol, determined to fulfill his promise to her, no matter what the task cost him. “Take a vehicle?” he asked the royal duo. “And one or two others with me. Be back before nightfall.”

He didn’t wait for a response, had instead bee-lined for the door faster than he thought capable with the sorrow that pressed in on him like a compactor.

And he’d done it. He’d brought back the only remains that he could of their group, of Carol’s child. Of the others who had all of them grieving the breakdown of the lives they’d known, the sanctuary they’d created, the confidence they’d built.

And he just stood back. Praying Siddiq’s words would inspire them to come together, even as they all fell apart.

[whereissora]

Sora’s Emotional Journey

This will be the second in a series of post’s analyzing Sora’s emotions throughout the kingdom hearts series.

The previous post can be found here:

https://whereissora.tumblr.com/post/182772262926/when-people-say-sora-never-showed-emotion-before

 Back when the final battle trailer was first revealed, I read many comments on youtube saying things like how people were happy to hear his scream because it meant he was “finally showing more emotions than just happiness.” 

 Now Sora is an optimist, but something I know about optimism from personal experience? It’s usually a front/attitude people choose to live by to overcome thoughts/feelings that would otherwise be too much for them. It’s a coping mechanism and a state of heart/mind. Of course, no one can be happy all the time. This is what the term “cinnamon roll” refers to: a kind person who has suffered more than they deserve.

 Not that all optimists are necessarily cinnamon rolls, but we can’t deny Sora is definitely BOTH.

 When Sora arrives at Castle Oblivion he is warned by Marluxia that its a place where things are forgotten to make room for older memories to be remembered.

 Sora could just turn around and leave, but Marluxia baits him with another lie: Riku and the King are also in Castle Oblivion. So Sora takes the bait and in doing so falls into an awful trap.

Eventually, Sora picks up on the fact that he, Donald, and Goofy are losing their memories and it causes him to hesitate.  If he forgets that he’s looking for Riku, and that he made a promise to Kairi, how will he ever find them again?

Sora is definitely the keep-forging-ahead sort. When he first got the keyblade, all he could say was “I didn’t ask for this.” But when he learned he may be able to find his friends by traveling to different worlds, he accepted his role and was able to move forward.

 Now the very existence of that role is threatened, and it worries him. He can’t help but doubt himself, and his mission here in Castle Oblivion. Maybe it would be a good idea to turn back--

But Goofy reminds Sora that, even as a heartless, Sora was able to hold on to the most important memories. So together, they decide to keep going.

What Marluxia said has some truth to it--as Sora starts to forget his adventures, his past comes to the surface. He tells Donald and Goofy that when he was very little, there was another kid, aside from Riku and Kairi, that he was always with. However, she disappeared one day, and Sora, who was only four at the time and unable to comprehend the situation, could only cry.

Can I just say this little story ripped my heart out, first time I heard it? This sounds like a seriously traumatic childhood memory, and I thought Sora had repressed it unknowingly because that’s what happens when a small, helpless child is forced to go through something they mentally can’t handle: they block it out.

Sora has said “my friends are my power!” (”connecting hearts is my power” according to @phoenix-downer’s analyses) and yet he still forgot an important, childhood friend. You can see on his face when he admits he “can’t remember her name” that the guilt is KILLING him, but Goofy reassures him that it’s sure to come back to him, like the other memories. 

As he struggles to recall the past, Larxene appears. She mocks him for forgetting and attacks him, knocking something from his pocket. 

And when Sora sees his friend’s good luck charm, he is finally able to recall her name:

Namine.

 Namine is the name of the friend Sora lost all those years ago. Namine went missing for reasons he didn’t understand, and in doing so, slipped through his arms and from his mind. Namine is being held captive by Larxene and Marluxia, and he must rescue her. And even though he’s happy to remember her name, Sora is frustrated that it was Larxene who made him remember. 

 He is soon reunited with Riku, who also remembers Namine. They clash a few times, each time ending in Riku disappearing somewhere within the castle walls. Sora does know that he must somehow save Riku and bring him home, even if he has forgotten Kairi and the promise he made to her.

Sora and Riku have been together since childhood--like brothers. They played, laughed, and ran together. Even though they’re so different, they’ve bonded, and Sora’s not willing to throw that away even if Riku is. Sora defeats Riku AGAIN (without hurting him too badly, too, which is impressive) and although Riku refuses to listen and runs off, Sora swears that Riku cannot “push him away.” It isn’t just to save Namine, and it was never just to fulfill his promise to Kairi. Sora wants to save Riku for his own sake, too. Even so, it must take tremendous determination and strength of heart to endure this--fighting Riku again and again.

 Later, Vexen appears and forces Sora to take a good, hard look at what’s really going on in Castle Oblivion. How real ARE his memories of Namine? Vexen tells Sora that it is his heart that remembers Twilight Town, and he’s right--Sora feels as if he has been to Twilight Town before, even though he KNOWS that isn’t true. This disturbs Sora so much that for a moment he almost believes Vexen, just as Vexen is about to tell him the truth. Unfortunately, Axel appears and puts an end to Vexen, shocking Sora to the point he actually appears grieved. 

His eyes widen in shock, his mouth opens and closes multiple times, he starts to shake his head a little--he’s in a state of denial. He knows the Organization is his enemy, but he can’t believe they would strike each other down like that. As someone who values his connections to others above anything else, he becomes so disgusted with Axel that he demands to know: 

He starts to say it but he has to speak up. He’s struggling to talk--he’s so shaken and repulsed that he can barely function. He’s truly, rightfully angry. On behalf of Vexen, of all people, because even if they were enemies, no one deserves that.

 Namine is still in danger, though, and Vexen, the one who claimed to be responsible for Riku’s strange behavior, is gone. When Riku reappears, Sora believes Riku is saved, But Riku still doesn’t want to work with Sora. Riku insists he only cares for Namine now, and he shares a little story: a memory he shared with Namine, when they were little children watching a meteor shower, where Riku vowed to protect her, and she gave him her lucky charm. Sora is confused because that’s his memory-- he promised to protect Namine, and in turn, she gave him her lucky charm. 

Donald and Goofy feel something’s amiss because it’s impossible for Riku and Sora to both have the same memory. Donald insists this is an important detail, and Goofy urges Sora to calm down and think things through, but this just angers Sora.

 He just saw someone die FOR NO REASON AT ALL  and all he wants is to save his friends and get out of here. He takes off, leaving Donald and Goofy behind, and refuses to listen when Jiminy tries to talk sense into him. 

With Axel’s help, Namine escapes and she and Sora are finally reunited. Sora is relieved to see her safe, alive, and right in front of him. But Namine has a terrible secret, and she urges Sora to remember the girl he truly cares for. Confused, Sora looks at Namine’s good luck charm, insisting he cares for her the most when--

Namine’s good luck charm transforms back into Kairi’s. When he looks at Namine’s silhouette in the distance, he sees her image replaced by Kairi’s.

 Still unable to remember, Sora runs to Namine to learn the truth. He’s devastated to admit it--but he now knows the girl he truly cares for, the one most important to him, whom he was always with, wasn’t Namine. He doesn’t understand how he forgot [Kairi] or why he can’t remember her name. Larxene appears and exposes Namine, right as she is about to tell Sora the truth: 

 Sora and Namine were never friends. Namine is “a manipulative witch” with power over memories. She’s able to rearrange them, even plant fake ones.  Everything Sora knows about her is a lie, and to make it worse, the Riku he met in Castle Oblivion was also a lie--it was just a replica, made to look and sound like Riku, whom Namine was forced to brainwash into thinking it was the real Riku. 

Sora’s in complete agony over this revelation. Everything he’s been fighting for has been a lie--Namine was just being used against him and Riku was never even there. His anguish quickly sparks, turning to hatred, and he warns Larxene “you’ll pay”--kudos to Haley, for this, because I CANNOT hear this line without getting chills. Sora is furious, but he’s also helpless, he can’t move well enough to stand up (or heal himself?) as shown in the scenes prior where he struggles and fails to get to his feet. I feel like he’s referring to Donald and Goofy here. He must feel terrible over not listening to them, and now its too late. 

 Thankfully, Donald and Goofy arrive in time to heal Sora and together, they put Larxene in her place. Namine tells them that she was forced to manipulate Sora’s memory by Marluxia, and Sora leaves with Donald and Goofy to defeat him. Once that’s done, Namine explains that in order for her to put Sora’s memory back to how it used to be, he needs to forget everything that’s happened in Castle Oblivion. 

This is not an easy decision for him to make. As I mentioned before, Sora values his connection to others above anything else. His friends are his power, and now Namine, even if he didn’t know her before, is definitely a friend. She told him --she called out to him because she was lonely, and she did what Marluxia said because she didn’t want to be locked away, alone in the castle forever. Sora doesn’t want to forget her, or leave her alone. But he knows that he must remember his past adventures and his real life.

 Sora chooses to forget Namine, and in so, chooses to risk their connection. However, they make a promise to meet again, face to face. 

 Sora has yet to remember any of this, and it was implied by Marluxia in Kingdom Hearts III that it’s impossible for him to remember:

More important still is Sora’s need to thank Namine. The precious note Jiminy made in his journal before their long sleep began was the first, and for a time, only clue Sora had that he had forgotten something--someone--very important. 

 Someone he insisted he thank face-to-face.

 Someone he has yet to be reunited with.

 And hopefully, we’ll see that soon. 

[dontcallmecarrie]

I went back to read through the LTTR shatterpoints, and I was wondering about the Maria wins the Winter Soldier fight one. There are two options where both adult Starks live and one where just Maria lives, but what would have happened if Maria died killing/driving off the Winter Soldier, and Howard lived?

O.O

wow you’re really gunning for the angst here aren’t you, ow

Answering this here, after finishing the fic, because…well, my thought process behind it’s pretty spoilery. 

Under the cut, because 1) spoilers, and 2) I get rambly.

The short version is: in the LTTR universe, it’s pretty well-established that Maria’s the power behind the throne, for the Stark family. Everyone knows Howard’s a pretty big deal, and he is a powerhouse in his own right, I’m not disputing that—but the man is never fucking home, so Maria and Jarvis have bonded over watching his back and holding down the fort while he’s out. 

In LTTR, Maria stepped up her game protecting her family; Howard’s doing his thing, but…um…let’s put it this way: he’s more of a support type, where Maria’s more like a tank in this analogy.  Howard’s powerful in his connections and what he can get done, whereas LTTR!Maria’s the Terror of the Time of Knives and can take out a room in like five minutes flat. 

That’s what I had in mind when mapping out how the ‘accident’ would go down.

My reasoning being, we’re going to reach canon somehow, and for that, the Winter Soldier can’t die. When I was trying to do the original ending, I was having a hard time grappling just how it’d go down [but couldn’t bear to go though with it] but the entire time I’d known that the battle between the Winter Soldier and the Terror of the Time of Knives would be epic. Because, I mean, legendary assassin, plus from the start I’d had the Desert Bluffs tie-in already set because of the brainwashing thing, and Maria’s…well, you get the picture. 

When looking at possible outcomes, I’d had the original ending in mind [which’ll go up as a separate fic once I flesh it out more, now that it’s not what really happened], but I’ll say that I’d never really considered only Howard’s survival an option. 

Because, again, Maria’s the heavy hitter of the two. If she goes down, Howard’s dead for sure, especially since the only way he’d survive afterwards would be if the Winter Soldier died as well [no way he wouldn’t try to complete the mission, is why], and I wasn’t about to kill off Bucky in any permutation of this [I like him too much, plus, again, I can’t even write canonical character death, so go figure]. So what I’m saying is, the way I’d mapped everything out, either they both survived, or they both didn’t, simply because Maria would die before letting her family get hurt.

but. 

Okay, hypothetical thought exercise time, let’s see how it’d look, if that happened. The circumstances involved, how that universe would look like afterwards, the works. 

Hmm…well, it’d be a darker AU, for starters.

So, the accident happens, but the wreckage got Maria even worse than it did in-story, she’s bleeding out too fast and wouldn’t have been able to make it even if she’d been rushed to a hospital after the fight.

Which she won, by the way.

Howard’s still in shock, for most of it, but seeing his wife raise hell fighting off their assassin is not helping at all. He’s in shock, and he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating as well, because his wife’s baring her teeth at their attacker, and chanting something that’s making the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He’s in shock, when, during the battle, she manages to knock the mask off their attacker’s face, only to see Sergeant Barnes staring back at them, and he’s in shock when Maria rips him back and slams her hand against the Winter Soldier’s temple with a grim look on her face, which Howard would later realize was because she knew she was dying. 

Now, there’s a few ways this could go. No matter what, Maria takes the Winter Soldier down with her, but as to how exactly that happens is anyone’s guess. 

Maybe he dies, here, Maria dragging him down with her. 

Maybe he gets thrown through a portal, crashes through space and time because Maria just wanted him away from Howard after breaking his conditioning but not trusting that her husband would be safe.

Maybe he collapses, and Howard’s helpless to do anything but watch Maria bleed out not long after. [Going with the last one, for the purposes of this thought exercise.]

So. In a way, Howard’s the sole survivor, and he’s traumatized af from the encounter. 

On a number of levels, even, because even if he’s dealt with quite a bit of this before, this hit way, way too close to home, this encounter shattered his perception of his family, because turns out he didn’t know his wife the way he thought he did, and that she died saving his life is just…well. It’s not pretty, is what I’m saying. 

Howard survives, and he’s in shock, and grieving, and so damn lost. He never knew Maria, as it turns out, and the ‘accident’ opened his eyes. 

He didn’t know his wife, and, as it turns out, didn’t know his son, either. 

Because he gets home, covered in blood, and Tony only gives him a glance before his eyes [his mother’s eyes] sharpen, and the shadows of the mansion still, as he demands to know where his mom is. When Howard can’t say it, his jaw clenches, because somehow he knows. His son skipped right over denial, straight into incandescent fury, and snarls at him even as he’s clearly a hair away from crying.

And part of Howard can’t help but wonder, even then, just how much Tony took after his mother. But one crisis at the time, he has a captured Winter Soldier to interrogate, to figure out why his wife was dead. His wife was dead, and Tony was…Jarvis would be of more help, there, since he was closer to his son than he was. He could always ask about it later.

Or, at least, that’s what he thought, at the time.

In one life, the Merchant of Death made his first appearance at 21, in the board room.

Here, Tony is seventeen, and  his mom died because Howard fucked up and bit off more than he could chew. Tony is seventeen, when he squeezes his eyes shut, and it’s the Merchant of Death who opens them, because Tony takes after his mother far, far more than he does his father, and Maria first became the Terror of the Time of Knives when she grieved.

Howard takes his eyes off of Tony, that night, subsumed in equal parts grief, shock, and his workaholic coping mechanisms. 

His mistake. 

Jarvis is the one to find the note, afterwards; Tony is nowhere to be found. The Winter Soldier is broken out of SHIELD’s custody two days later. The first base burns not a week after that, and the only survivors flinch at everything, are literally scared of their own shadows. Nothing explains the literal bloodbath found inside, nothing explains the chemical fire that burns a deep indigo, nothing explains why there’s not so much as ash left by the time it stops burning.

Howard is constantly on the back foot, from there on out: SHIELD is under fire, but it’s not the only one, and the body count steadily rises as time goes on. The ones that get off lightly are a hair away from nervous breakdowns, the ones higher up the chain either flat-out disappear or can only be identified through DNA testing, if that.

No one is safe; researchers who’ve been long-retired are as likely to get targeted as trainees, there’s reports of bases being attacked in Europe one day and South America the next, and it shakes SHIELD to its foundations. It’s not just them, either; politicians are going missing, and business executives, as well. 

Suffice it is to say, HYDRA burned. 

And Howard is seeing this all go down, and it’s…he’s…he’s stunned. The sheer magnitude of this operation is staggering, the brutality of the attacks is something else, and…it’s Tony. He knows it’s Tony, even if he can’t prove it because there’s no security camera footage since it becomes static once the attacks start, and that—he’d known his son was closer to his wife, but this was…he didn’t have words for it. 

Howard had thought he’d known his family. The discovery of how wrong he’d been was…he wasn’t sure he could handle it. 

Tony returns to the public eye nearly a year after the ‘accident’, and wraps up his doctorates in record time. Not that the world notices, as the posthumous discovery of HYDRA was taking up most of the headlines. Nobody makes the connection, as…well, who’d think a seventeen-year-old would be capable of such destruction?

So, no, nobody suspects. 

Nobody but Howard, Peggy Carter, and Nick Fury anyway, and they have no proof. Not when all records of the Winter Soldier have been systematically obliterated, outside the ones he got his hands on, alongside HYDRA’s fall. And apart from them, there are no living witnesses who can make the connection.

Tony re-enters the public eye, with a bodyguard in tow, and never speaks to his father outside of work-related matters again. Especially after their fight, right after he came back from burning HYDRA grieving his mom.

He’s still friendly with Peggy, though, and cordial with Nick Fury—but he ices over the instant Howard ever comes up. And he’s so, viciously protective over his “mysterious bodyguard”, it sometimes takes them aback. Any time the figure shows so much as a hint of discomfort, Tony’s there, all biting words and ruthlessness until onlookers are left wondering who’s guarding who.

Time passes, and Tony works for his father’s company, and as the mysterious-bodyguard-who-most-definitely-wasn’t-an-ex-Winter Soldier figures himself out, keeps in contact with the higher-ups of SHIELD, until the duo become nearly legendary. Especially after Agent Romanov sees them in passing, after she got recruited, because now that time’s passed people can start putting together the pieces, and even if there’s no proof, the fact that HYDRA burned just as the Winter Soldier reappeared hasn’t been missed.

Tony’s relationship with his father’s…complicated. 

Because Howard blames Bucky first and foremost for Maria’s death, plus he’s bitter about the secrets and has yet to get the significance of Night Vale, meanwhile Tony knows about the Smiling god’s influence and is frustrated that Howard doesn’t get it, plus he’s of the opinion that Howard had played with fire and Maria was the one who got burned [because really, Howard? Trying to transport the Serum at a civilian gathering? That’s like Operations Security 101] and he’s really protective of his people. And Bucky now counts, because he’d first stolen him away for any possible intel he could get but after he’d let slip that he was going after HYDRA, Bucky had gone “oh like hell you’re leaving me behind” and that was that. 

Everyone knows to not mention one where the other can hear, because of it. Tony just smiles whenever his father gets mentioned, meanwhile Howard gets very, very uncomfortable when Tony gets brought up, especially in the context of “you must be so proud to have such a genius as your son!”

And then they find Steve.

Tony, personally, wouldn’t have given a damn about Howard finding his true son. Not when it came at such a cost, not when he remembered seeing the resignation on his mom’s face as the years went by and Howard was out more often than not, not when—well. The list went on. 

But. Bucky’s ecstatic about it, so Tony’s happy for him. And he wants to go see him, so Tony grits his teeth and tags along, because he’s protective of his people and doesn’t trust Howard as far as he can throw him. 

Steve’s spending a lot of time with Bucky and Tony [because the two are inseparable], once he’s awake. At first it takes a while for Tony to warm up to him but he’s never less than polite to Howard’s true son, not when Bucky likes him. Steve also has his reservations about Tony early on, right up until he sees someone making Bucky uncomfortable only for Tony to rip them a new one with one of the most vicious smiles Steve’s ever seen. [After that, they get along a lot better. Though Steve could’ve done without hearing about the betting pool in SHIELD, about whether or not they’re sleeping together, does brain bleach exist yet?] 

Things continue in that vein, because Tony was never close to Howard before the ‘accident’ but afterwards there’s a constant tension between them as well, a “why, of the two people in the car, is it that you survived?!” that Tony had only voiced once right after Maria had died, because even if Tony knew Maria would’ve preferred it that way he still would’ve traded parents in a heartbeat. 

Because to him, for his entire life, Howard has been nothing but an aloof figure who’d never so much as said “good job” and had yelled at mom after dinner and sent him to boarding school when he was seven, but that, he could’ve put up with out of respect for Maria—but now she was gone. She was gone, and Tony was left with a gaping hole in his family and an even more pressing need to find Night Vale, now. If only to see it, if only to scatter her ashes in the place she’d never had a chance to visit again.

…I did say this was a darker AU, remember? Tony’s a tad more vicious, more bitter, pulls his punches less, here. Iron Man might come into existence later, once JARVIS gets wind of Asgard and Tony starts preparing for the Blood-Space War after finding Maria’s notes. [Thanos won’t know what hit him.]

[pandemicstress]

Grieving through the Pandemic

I interviewed my neighbor, Elsa in June 2020 about the story of her son’s death and how the lockdown affected her and her grieving process. Elsa has been exposed to a lot of stress in her life and she can bear a great deal, but his death was an intense trauma that she did not see coming. James passed away on 21 February 2020 at 30 years old. He was living in Dubai and working as a Regional Marketing Manager for a multi-national organization.

Elsa and her son spoke at least once a week on the phone and shared each other’s ups and downs. She was getting ready to visit James in Dubai as part of a trip. When they last spoke, James said he would be there to collect her from the airport. They were both so excited to see each other after about four months apart.

Elsa is a business owner and sells custom-made merchandise at markets in various cities and on her online store. A few days after speaking to James, she was finishing off packing for a market with a friend who was going to sell her products at three markets in her absence. At around 1:30pm on Saturday 22 February 2020, the phone rang and it was a Dubai number but the call dropped. Again, it rang and the call failed to connect. She stepped outside and answered. It was Ryan, James’ friend. She knew immediately that something was wrong. Ryan told her that her son had passed away. He didn’t know the details but he only knew that James was found dead.

Elsa screamed and collapsed. Her partner, Donald spoke to Ryan to elicit more information about what had transpired. The police did not provide any details of the circumstances of James’ tragic death. She phoned his father (her ex-husband) as well as her other son to tell them the news. She also phoned the South African embassy in the United Arab Emirates but they could not provide any information without his passport number.

It was the biggest trauma she has ever experienced in her life. Her other son and her own brother came over to the house to comfort her. Elsa called her friend Cathy who they referred to as James’ ‘Dubai mom’ to let her know. Cathy had seen him recently in Dubai and he was in such good spirits. At least she had her visa organized because of the trip she was planning. Elsa’s partner, Donald, booked tickets and her son’s fiancée helped her to pack. She also brought her a herbal remedy to help with the shock.

Elsa could not sleep at all on the flight. Cathy connected Elsa with Viv who was from an organization called Middle East Assist. While they were flying, he had obtained as much information as possible from the police. Viv offered to act as intermediary to make it more efficient for the authorities to communicate the correct protocols. Viv helped them to find out that the cause of death was a fall. They also needed to arrange for the expatriation of James’ remains.

They went to James’ office building and spent some time with his colleagues who were in shock from the terrible news. His peers respected him greatly and they had strong bonds with him. For two hours, Elsa sat in the boardroom where James’ colleagues showed her great compassion and all offered her messages of support and kindness. James’ manager flew out from India to meet with her. Her son was so valued and his organization and peers referred to him as a ‘creative genius’.

After the trip to the office, they went to James’ apartment. Elsa was very connected with James and she knew instantly what had happened. His death was recorded around dawn at 6:30am. He used to love sitting on railings and watching the sun rise. He had fallen, probably being distracted by something and slipping from the railing several stories to his death. It was completely heart breaking to think of this unnecessary tragedy that took James away from her and all those who loved him.

Elsa was putting together the pieces of what happened. He had a lunch appointment with a friend on the Friday he passed away, for which he did not show up. His friend went to his place and the security guard told her what had happened. She got in touch with Ryan who was able to notify Elsa directly.

On the flight back to South Africa, they had good Wi-Fi and Elsa started making arrangements for James’ memorial. On Tuesday, she went to Modderfontein, Johannesburg to make the plans and they held a memorial on Thursday with friends and family.

The church was full and many people spoke well of him. James’ father attended the service but could not say a eulogy. They didn’t have a good relationship and it must be very difficult for him to process the grief under these circumstances. It would be James’ wish to donate to his favorite charity, Pink Table, instead of sending flowers so the family asked loved ones to make donations.

Viv was arranging the cremation and autopsy back in Dubai. The following Thursday would be the cremation. James’ company wanted to hold a memorial service in Dubai. Elsa and James’ brother applied for urgent visas flew to Dubai for the memorial.

They had to identify James’ body. After forensics has been conducted, the authorities brought his body for viewing in an ambulance. Her other son was with her during the harrowing experience. She was coached not to be emotional and say ‘no’ because the authorities would interpret it as the body not belonging to James. I cannot imagine how a mother could endure such an experience and have to withhold emotion on top of it.

James’ brother did the talking and gave a positive identification to the authorities. Elsa cannot remember seeing James’ face as the incident was so traumatic. She only recalls seeing the back of his head. She collapsed afterwards and they bundled her into the car and back to the hotel. They held the cremation and thereafter, a memorial at the Catholic church. The priest was wonderful and they did not expect Elsa to say any words at the service but she insisted. James’ brother also spoke.

Many of James’ friends and colleagues in Dubai also gave her money for the charity that James supported. Elsa was touched by how many people thought so highly of him. After the service, the 80 mourners gathered at a hotel. Elsa remembered how James would light up a room. So many people said that he had taught them something. She got a personal letter from many of his close friends detailing the impact James had on their lives. Many of his friends had spent his 30th birthday with him and for a lot of them, this was the last time they saw him.

The following day, Elsa went to spread James’ ashes. Ryan and some friends suggested going to the Love Lakes, two heart-shaped lakes with swans and koi fish. The location does not allow public gatherings so they all had to pretend it was a picnic. Ryan and the other friends brought blankets and snacks along to support the illusion. Elsa peeped thorough a hedge and found a spot where they were building a new garden. The friends all put their hands on the urn and said their goodbyes before spreading James’ ashes on the foundation of future beauty.

Elsa also had to sort out James’ belongings in his apartment as part of this trip. She wanted to see where his body landed but about seven security officers surrounded her and she almost got arrested. Her friend Ryan took them to the airport. Donald was away for ten days when she got back from the trip which gave her some time to openly grieve. That time passed in a blur.

Elsa had to take care of James’ estate which was also a challenging experience. It meant engaging with her ex-husband on a few matters and making decisions for James about his belongings and his investments. It allowed Elsa to focus her attention on doing something which was helpful, but the activity was also a constant reminder that he was truly gone.

The effect of COVID-19 was mostly felt from the lockdown perspective. In March 2020, the South African government initiated a hard lockdown for three weeks which was extended to five weeks. It was extreme in that citizens were only allowed out of their property for food and medical supplies. Exercise outside or walking dogs was not permitted and even online shopping was prohibited at first.

For Elsa, it felt like being in prison at home with her intense grief. Donald had to work at home as his chain of stores were all closed during that time. This meant that he was in her environment at a time when she needed the space to show her grief and it was difficult with another person around. As a result, she internalized a lot. Her weight dropped significantly and she did not have weight to lose, being very skinny already. Elsa struggled to eat. Some wonderful friends called her daily to offer support and love. When they were able to, these friends brought her soups which were easier to consume.

Her spiritual beliefs help her to cope with the loss. She spots feathers everywhere which make her think of him. She collected them and put them between her phone and her phone case to feel closer to him. Elsa thinks of him first thing when she wakes up and when she’s cooking. James was an excellent chef and she would often ask him for help and send him a photo of what she made.

Elsa joined the compassionate friends on Facebook, an opportunity for her to be surrounded by a community of people who understand her struggle. It is common that people who experience a severe trauma have difficulty in connecting with those who have not shared the experience. That can be isolating especially in the midst of a pandemic where we are not able to easily connect with large groups of friends or travel to visit loved ones. Some parents on the group have not been able to identify their child’s body or hold a funeral due to COVID-19 so at least she was able to do that.

She recalls how she felt when she first got the news and how completely distraught she felt. For the first three months, she barely slept. She felt the pain physically in her chest - a broken heart that would take years to heal. It has been a long journey to feel almost human again. A journey that required great courage and healing thorough a variety of interventions and influences.

Elsa started journaling as a form of expressing the grief. She carried her journal around with her to capture anything that came up. She also read many books on grief including Permission to Mourn by Tom Zuba and On Grief and Grieving by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler. She also read A Soul’s Journey by Peter Richelieu to understand what happened to James beyond death and to find comfort in the fact that he lives on in another form.

She went to a psychic, an experience that provided comfort that James was okay and the insight that his death happened exactly the way she thought it had. It was a relief and it brought a sense of closure. James was always a free spirit so living in Dubai had been challenging for him in complying with the many rules and restrictions. He would not have enjoyed lockdown or any of the COVID-related rules. He’s free now. The psychic told her that James thanked her for all she did for him in his life. She is grateful for how she brought up her boys and she has no regrets.

Elsa embarked on a series of healing methods to support her as she grappled with not only the trauma on an emotional level but also on a physical level. She went for a multitude of alternative treatments such as reiki, kinesiology, acupuncture and shiatsu massage. These have eased her grief and allowed the trauma felt in her body to be released to a degree. She also went for a numerology reading for James and it was confirmed that he was in the house of death that February. It was his time to go and that brought some understanding and acceptance. Personally, I think some personalities shine so bright that they cannot sustain a full lifetime.

She is an achiever and has found it very difficult to allow herself the time to grieve and focus fully on her own well-being. It has been challenging to slow down and to listen to what her body needs. Being in lockdown meant that all the markets were cancelled, her primary mechanism to sell her merchandise. She wanted to throw her focus into work to offer distraction from the grief but she felt handicapped by the inability to sell her products. She spent some time on new designs for T-shirts and clothing and this was a productive way to use her creativity as a distraction. She has lacked focus at times which doesn’t feel like her usual self. She assisted her partner Donald in his business and even in her state of grief, she was able to help him with the many arrangements that needed to be made as part of the pandemic.

Elsa has struggled to give herself permission to grieve because it feels self-indulgent. She has always been very hard on herself and expects a great deal in terms of being productive, even at this time. Simply for her own sanity, she tries to do just three things per day. She planted a succulent garden and a vegetable garden which offered a rewarding distraction as she could harvest and use the produce at home. She made sure to plant bulbs that will flower around James’s birthday as a way to honor him regularly. Elsa also reached out to friends and spent time visiting others and inviting her friends over for tea to catch up.

Elsa remarked that James’ death offered her the gift of knowing who was really there for her. One friend of 30 years did not even contact her still up to a year after his passing. Others who she didn’t expect to care, were wonderful to her. It’s hurtful to deal with the disappointment on top of the grief, but it is helpful. Elsa is a warm and friendly person who cares deeply about others. She has a large circle of friends and has been very blessed to have many people visiting and dropping off food and checking in on her periodically. This experience has shown her that she was not truly there for some of her friends who suffered losses in the past. Only once we experience these things ourselves, do we know what others need. She feels guilty and grateful at the same time.

It has been hard for Elsa to get back into exercise, which she needs since she has osteopenia and needs to do weight bearing exercise to improve her bone density. She used to do a lot of yoga but the studio went out of business due to the pandemic. She was not inspired to walk at first but sometimes sat on her patio while reading just to get some sunshine and to be outside.  A few weeks ago, she started doing yoga therapy with a qualified teacher who comes to her house. This allows for the beautiful combination of exercise and healing.

James’ brother got married towards the end of 2020 which was a challenging experience for Elsa. Her grief made it difficult to fully celebrate in the joy of a young couple starting their lives together. The wedding was a beautiful intimate celebration and some of James’ ashes were included in a pretty flowerpot as a gesture of him always being with the family on their significant experiences.

Elsa mourns for not only him but for all the things he won’t get to do, for example getting married or having children. She shares posts on social media each day and is constantly reminded by the memories that pop up of all the trips and experiences shared. These are bittersweet in that she relishes the time she had with James but she still misses him every day and will do for the rest of her life.

She knows through her reading that the final stage of grief is to find meaning but she has not reached that point yet. As I release this story, James’ anniversary is approaching which creates a sense of dread and pressure for her. All international flights are still cancelled which is devastating because Elsa planned to visit Dubai and attend a memorial that his friends are hosting. They wanted to visit the Love Lakes to celebrate his life on the anniversary of his death. She will no doubt find a special way to honor him on this day and on his birthday each year.

Life is forever changed for Elsa and she will carry this grief with her always. She is a resilient person and will keep living and sharing her kind and caring nature with the world. Sometimes we are unaware of the enormous burdens people around us carry. Let Elsa’s story be a reminder to be grateful for each moment with our loved ones, even through the arguments and struggles, and to appreciate the people we love every day.

[spobyfanfictionarchive]

AN: Okay, first of all, if any of you are still reading this, I believe I owe you an apology bigger than I can even begin to write. I know I've apologized for not updating so many times before and I don't know at what point it becomes repetitive but I know I crossed that line a while ago so I just wanted to say I am truly sorry for as long as it's taken me to write this and get it out there. A big part of it had to do with what the show did when it returned. I don't think there was ever a worse season for Spoby than 7B. We had to go through a lot. Watching Toby be there, present, at another girl's bedside and not Spencer's. Having to watch Toby marry another girl. Having to watch Spencer behave in OOC ways and screw around with a random cop, for no apparent reason. Having to watch Toby grieve for another girl, as if she were the love of his life. Having to literally see the only two scenes we got that displayed a real romantic connection between our ship turn out to be a random twin we never knew about. I know the reason the writers held off on Spoby for the entirety of the timejump was so they could do the twin storyline but, honestly, I don't see how that was a necessity, unless they were sooo hung up on raping Toby twice, and I don't think the storyline was worth it, I'm sorry.

But the truth is, there was something that happened in 7B that directly changed how I felt about writing this fic. I'm going to try to keep writing it, but after 7B, I'm warning you, there is gonna be a plot-twist in this story that'll probably leave you all hating me, but it is essential to what this fic is about. It is part of the core of this fic and if I were to take it out, I probably wouldn't continue writing this story. I know none of that makes sense now but in hindsight, hopefully, it will.

Anyway, enough of the depressing and enough excuses hahaha. Thank you for reading this, even after all the times I've let you all down by promising to update and then not following through. I probably would have never decided to finish this chapter if it wasn't for the out-pour of reviews I've received since I last posted and the people who have messaged and tweeted me. Thank you to everyone.

Oh and look at that coincidence. Me updating on Spoby’s anniversary. It’s almost poetic.

(:

It was strange how time could pass and yet, in certain moments, moments of clarity, it was almost as if nothing were different.

There was a certain euphoria that overcame her whenever she was with the one man who she loved with every atom of her body. A euphoria that appeared when they were close, both physically and emotionally. When they were so connected, it felt like there was nothing in this life that could ever seep between them again.

It was moments like those that she was the most honest, the most uncensored, the most emotionally naked.

"You wanna know something fucked up," she murmured, her voice husky and quiet and honest as she gazed tranquilly into his eyes.

"What?"

"A part of me-a bigger part than I even want to say-was almost a little happy in the hospital. When my parents were constantly there," she owned. The cop's expression was so understanding, so insightful, grasping exactly what she meant without her even having to vocalize it. Even still though, she wanted to. "It's terrible and bizarre and really, really unnerving because of the reasons I was there but… I liked the fact that I mattered for once to them. I was finally was the center of their lives. They were there, every second they could be, worrying about me and not Melissa." She paused to chuckle humorlessly to herself, finally breaking eye contact and subsequently looking downwards, at the sheets they were tangled up in. "It's really fucked up that I feel like that, isn't it?"

"No." He laughed and shook his head, his eyes offering her only complete understanding. Too much to just be sympathizing with her. Enough that he had to be emphasizing. He took a small breath before opening up as well, their love making also bringing him a tranquility that brought on a new level of honesty. "I used to have this really awful fantasy about telling my dad what Jenna was doing to me," he admitted. "I would imagine him flying off the handle and telling my step-mom and flipping out on Jenna and. . . and, I guess, protecting me." The sensitive cop paused for a second, shutting his eyes and taking in a small breath before lamenting, "At first, I just did it so I could imagine it ending. As a coping mechanism to get through it. But then, I still sometimes imagine it, even now. Just so I can picture my dad actually knowing and knowing that I wasn't the culprit and that I'm not the screw-up he still believes I am. It's all a daydream but it's nice to pretend that he would actually take my side. That he would turn on Jenna if he knew what she'd done to me."

At his admission, the brunette stared at him, at loss for words. "Toby," she whispered, her eyes glued to his face. She wracked her brain for something to say but all that came out was, "I never knew that. You've never told me that before."

He offered her a somewhat forlorn half smile. "I've never told anyone that before."

She bit her lip and felt her body physically sag, feeling the same as she always did whenever the topic of Jenna and his sexual abuse came up. Powerless.

Probably, she realized, akin to how he felt much of the time when he had to watch her be tortured ceaselessly. "I'm never going to let her touch you again," she promised definitively.

He chuckled, leaning in closer to press a kiss to her soft cheek. "My knight and shinning armor."

She cracked then and wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling into his throat as he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him.

The subject of Jenna dredged up an even worse taste in her mouth than usual, her stomach twisting into knots at even the sound of the vile girl's name.

Desperate to rid herself of this feeling, desperate to bring back the sensation, the ecstasy, the euphoria and, more than anything, desperate to give the boy holding her tightly to his chest a million memories of making love to her to replace the traumatizing, humiliating recollections of being raped by his step-sister, she vigorously leaned in and pressed her lips to his throat, down his neck, onto his chest underneath her's, his weakest spot.

That was all it took for him to follow her lead.

X.

"I'm so scared," she whispered, minutes after they were finished, cuddled together, her legs between both of his, her head on his chest.

"Scared?" He prompted, his voice as loud as a breath.

"That this will change me. Forever." She bit her lip, digging deep inside, to the ugliest and most vulnerable parts of her. "After what happened in high school, I did pretty much anything and everything I could to, I guess revert back to who I once was. Who I thought I was supposed to be. And we both know that didn't work but…" She paused to look up at him, shrugging slightly. "At least I was able to get back some semblance of who I once was. I don't even know if that's possible now."

His large, gentle hands rubbed her back slowly and softly. "But I thought you didn't want to go back to who you used to be?" He questioned, confused. "That's what you said. That you wouldn't want to go back to the person you used to be, that you just wanted to be happy."

She was nodding before he was even finished. "I know," she admitted. "I know I said that but, after the dollhouse, everything was different. Everything was so dark and haunted and blurry and it took me more than a year to realize that… it wasn't anything but me. I was the one who was different and I just wanted everything to go back to the way it once was. When everything was easy and simple and I was in control. I just couldn't be the person I was when I entered that bunker."

He accepted her admission, allowing it to sink in. "Why did we never talk about this?" He finally asked, nearly inaudible.

To his surprise, she already knew the answer to that without having to think. "You weren't there," she explained. "You weren't there with me and I needed you. You grounded me, better than any drug or pill and without you physically there I had to find a way to cope. I guess I ended up shutting you out in the process."

She felt his Adam's apple bob against her head. "Why didn't you ever tell me that?"

She leaned upwards, peering into his eyes now, his sad, miserable blue eyes, offering him nothing but the small, knowing gleam in her irises. "Why didn't you come to Georgetown with me?"

It was her turn to be taken aback by the fact that he needed no time to think her question over either. "I thought I was doing what was best for you," he confessed. "I thought you wanted space. You always complained that you were too dependent on me and that you needed to learn to cope on your own. I wanted to help you so badly but-"

"I pushed you away," she finished for him, sighing as she laid her head back on his chest. "I made you think I didn't want you there."

"I just thought I was getting your way. I thought if I gave you space, I could save us." He paused, running his fingers through her hair, before musing dejectedly. "Somehow I ended up losing you anyway."

She smiled humorlessly against him. "For the record," she declared sincerely, "I'll always want you with me. You're my safe place to land. There hasn't been a time that I haven't wished you were there with me, by my side, since the day you kissed me in this parking lot."

"For the record," he repeated, a grin finding its way across his face, "there hasn't been a time that I haven't been completely in love with you, since the day I kissed you in this parking lot."

She smirked against his chest, pressing a kiss to his bare skin. "Good," she remarked lightly, running her hand down his stomach once again.

"Actually," he amended suddenly. "I should probably correct that. There hasn't been a time that I haven't been completely in love with you, since the day I woke up to you spooning me, in room 214."

She flew upwards, her eyes wide as he'd ever seen them. There was a slight twinge of embarrassment hiding underneath her shock. "You knew that?"

"Of course." He snickered not-so-subtly, pulling her back into the circle of his arms.

She squirmed, pouting bluntly. "You let me think you slept through all that," she mumbled.

The cop chuckled now, leaning down to press a kiss to the stitches in her forehead, brushing her bangs back. "You were so cute, trying to pretend you hadn't been cuddling me the whole night."

"Oh, yeah, coming from the guy who innocently asked if I had slept at all?" She shot back and was rewarded with a wide, abashed smile.

"Okay, you're right," he agreed, his hand tracing circles on her hip. "We're both liars."

She smirked up at him, suddenly liking the term that she'd been identified as for the last seven years, when it was partnered with him.

"What is it?" He asked, noting the look beneath her eyes.

"Huh?"

"Something else is on your mind," he insisted, completely positive of his assessment.

She caved easily, still finding it incomprehensible how he always just knew every inner working of her brain. It was something she never would get used to but was no longer marveling at. "I'm just worried, that's all."

"About not being able to put this behind you? Because, Spe-"

"No," she cut off, a faraway look taking over the gaze in her eyes now. "It's not that."

He waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he gently pressed, "Then what about?"

"Becoming too different from the girls." She rolled her tongue around the side of her cheek, realizing how juvenile all this sounded. But this was Toby. He'd adamantly told her once she could tell him anything. That she was his, that he'd never think she was ridiculous or overly emotional or redundant. She didn't believe it at the time or maybe she just couldn't comprehend the idea that someone loved her that much, but either way, she held a ludicrous amount of confidence when she was in his arms and before she had time to contemplate it in her brain, her mouth was pouring out words that she'd only ever thought to herself. "When we were in high school and our lives were complete chaos, we were so connected, it was weird. I got to college and everyone was almost glad to be rid of their high school friends but I had such a hard time letting anyone new in. You remember that. The girls used to be like my family. When we were in high school, all we really had was each other. But now," she trailed off for a moment. "Now we're so separate and it's strange. I don't rely on them like I used to. I rely on you. But then I remember that I always did and it's just, this whole thing makes me feel so different from them. Like they can't relate and they don't understand me anymore and like they're trying but suddenly I'm an outsider, looking in, at the people who I used to know inside and out."

"Babe," was the first word that slipped out of his mouth, his voice tender. His soft eyes searched her's, understanding why she felt this way but feeling his heart break for her anyway. He wracked his brain for a response, but all that came to mind was the blatant reality staring them dead in the face. "Honestly, Spencer? You might. You might grow completely away from them. We don't know the future. We don't know what might happen. But what I do know is those girls love you, more than anything. Even Ali. Alright, they will always be your family and they'll always be there for you if you need them. Trust me, I know it."

She nodded, absorbing his words. She'd always trusted his assessment of people even more than her own. To the point it was almost unhealthy.

Even when she was so far gone inside of her own head, whether it be to drugs or trauma, he was the one who showed her right from wrong. He was her voice of reason. Her conscience. The one thing she could trust, above everything else, when her world was falling apart and there wasn't a soul in sight to rely on.

The true definition of her safe place to land.

With that thought playing through her head, on repeat, she leaned upwards and connected their lips one more time, slipping her tongue into his mouth.

Her safe place to land.

Her fairy-tale, once upon a time.

Her entire heart.

Her everything.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, his eyes falling shut. His words were no louder than a breath and had she been deep in thought, she knew she would have missed his apology altogether.

"For what?" The brunette instantly perked up, moving upwards from her position against his chest.

"For not fighting harder on staying here today." He offered her a heartbreaking, dejected smile, the guilt in his water blue eyes growing more prominent by the second.

"Toby," she murmured, staring up at him, both perplexed and baffled. "What're you talking about? You did try to get us to stay in."

"Not hard enough," he disagreed, his voice beginning to shake.

"Babe," she sighed, dangerously close to rolling her eyes. She fought the action, knowing what he was feeling was real, genuine guilt and her exasperation would not help. She worked to change her tone to an even level. "You had no way of knowing what was going to happen," she assured.

"I had an awful feeling about going there," he maintained still. "I felt like something would go wrong."

"But it didn't," she pointed out, a small, ironic laugh ejecting itself from her throat. "It didn't go wrong at all. Not in the end. Me and you are closer than ever. That's a good thing, isn't it?" To emphasize her point, she leaned down and placed a kiss onto the base of his neck, curling back up against him.

To her astonishment, her kisses didn't work. Not in the way they usually did. They were such a physical couple. They expressed their love in actions more so than words. Until recently, their I love you's only came in rapid succession when they were geographically apart. Whenever they were together, they both found their love language in affection.

Her mouth being unable to provide him comfort meant that this was something really weighing on him.

"I still should have known," he whispered after a second, his voice diminishing in volume once again.

She sat up, meeting his eyes with a defiant, discerning look in her's. "Why?"

"Because I love you," he stated, as if it were obvious. In his mind, it probably should have been. "Because no one knows you like I do. Because I learned to trust my instincts a long time ago. When it came to you and in life in general."

"Yeah, well, I knew that you thought it was a bad idea to go and I still chose to, so I should share in this guilt you have decided to take all for yourself," she declared, her tone light. She traced her fingers in circles around his chest, attempting to relax him, even just a little.

He offered her a cheerless smile, dismissing her statement. "You didn't think it would end that bad though. I did."

Her face changed, morphing into a somewhat dismayed expression. "Actually, I did."

His head snapped towards her. "What?"

She swallowed, adverting her eyes before coming clean. "I thought about the possibility of it ending badly too. I just wouldn't let myself really consider it happening though. Not once I saw that you did."

It was his turn to look at her with quiet shock. "What do you mean?"

"I wanted to prove to you that you didn't have to worry about me," she admitted, feeling the same guilt he'd been displaying moments before. "I was determined to show you I was alright. That I was getting better."

His reaction caught her off-guard. He slowly shut his eyes, bringing up one arm to cover his face, groaning exhaustedly.

"Tobes?" She called softly, after moment.

"Promise me, Spencer, that you will never think like that again," he stipulated, clearly frustrated. But still, his tone was so calm and his eyes were so loving and it was all verging on the edge of an oxymoron but it was still so Toby and somehow she still felt so safe and so loved. Before she could defend her reasoning for why she did what she did, he continued. "There is no limit in my mind to what I think you can do. I don't get apprehensive about things because I think you're weak or unstable. But if there really is something that we both think could go wrong, don't decide to do it in defiance, because you think you need to prove you can."

"Don't you get it?" She pressed, attempting to get him to see things from her eyes. "That's what I do. That's what I've always done. I have always pushed myself through any obstacle in my way to show anyone who doubts me that I'm strong enough-"

"Spencer," he cut off, his voice even softer now. "I'm not your family. I'm not trying to challenge you or bring you down. And I know, baby, I know, that this is not easy to grasp because of how you were raised, but I would never do anything to try to make you prove yourself or challenge you. Okay, you don't have to prove yourself to me. We could be cooped up in this hotel room for the next ten years and you would still be enough to me. You are everything to me. And all I want is for you to be okay."

She shut her eyes to hold in the saltwater threatening to pour out, as he hit nearly every insecurity in her mind. "I'm sorry," she choked out, her already raspy voice hitting a new level of guttural. "I'm sorry," she repeated as she threw herself back against his chest with reckless abandon.

"I'm not mad," he promised, wrapping his arms around her the second she was against him. "I just don't want you thinking that you have anything to prove. Not to me."

"I know," she whispered, trying to calm her emotions once again as she felt herself getting choked up.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead and she knew it was a lost cause as the tears began to fall.

"Toby," she murmured hoarsely, as he rubbed her back.

"Hmmm?"

"If you had such a bad feeling, then why'd you even agree to come today?" She peered up at him, her eyes genuinely curious.

He gave her a look, as if it were obvious. "Because, Spence, no matter what happens, it's still your choice. It'll always be your choice. I'd give up a limb if it helped you but I'm not the one in control. And I don't want to be." He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You're still alpha. You'll always be my alpha."

She shut her eyes, his words eliciting a smirk now. "Yeah?" She prompted, her mood rising.

"Yeah." He nodded, returning her smile.

"Good," she quipped, her smirk growing wider as she climbed on top of his chest, pressing their bodies together suggestively. "I like being alpha."

His smile turned right into a smirk then too. Leaning up to kiss her, he whispered coyly, "trust me, I know."

"Tobes, can you get the door?" Spencer asked through clenched teeth.

He slowly got up from his chair, leaving her miserably sitting on top of the table, nursing her headache.

It was barely short of being a migraine, she concluded to herself, the pain too strong to be bothered to share her realization out loud.

She had woken up that morning with a pounding tension headache that relentlessly wouldn't let her go back to sleep. Laying there, passively, cuddled up to Toby hadn't forced the pain away and it hadn't helped with the ache circulating through the rest of her body either, as she was due for another over-the-counter painkiller.

She'd gone as far as to wake up her boyfriend and tried to kiss her headache away, but when the throbbing hadn't let up, she had to break off the kiss and resign herself to the misery.

The cop returned only seconds later, speaking in a gentle tone, as if her pain was caused by a loud noise. "Em's here to see you," he murmured quietly.

"I can see," she retorted flatly.

Her tone had little effect on him, aware that her irritability was solely about her headache. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, sweetly before sitting back down in his chair.

The brunette made her way over to her friend, not even bothering to hide her wretched expression, dragging her feet as she walked.

"Rough night?" The tan girl inquired when she was close enough, leaning in for a hug.

"Rough morning," Spencer corrected, her voice muffed by her friend's shirt.

"How are you?" Emily's eyes were filled with anxiety, clearly asking about more than the headache.

"Fine." The brunette nodded, her eyes shooting to Toby across the room, yesterday's events playing through her mind, everything he'd done for her flickering back to the forefront of her brain. She didn't quite understand how she ended up with such a selfless, compassionate, loving man, but she didn't care. He was her's and he was all she'd ever want.

"It's okay if you're not okay, Spence," her friend assured. "I can't even imagine how you must feel-"

"I'm fine," she insisted, realizing then that the last time her friend saw her, she was in hysterics, begging to be taken away. Working to liven up her tone, she attempted to force the frustrating ache in her head out of her expression. "Really, Em. I'm better."

The dark haired girl studied her for a hot second. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Spencer chucked slightly, sitting on the edge of the motel bed.

Emily took a seat next to her. "Does Toby have anything to do with your well-being?" She looked over her shoulder, peering back to the cop who was currently searching something on his laptop.

"Yes." The brunette nodded, smiling now in spite of herself. "Of course, he does."

Her friend returned the gesture. "He loves you a lot," she mused.

"I know. And I so don't deserve it."

Emily's expression turned south. "Spence," she nearly rebuked and for less than a second, it was reminiscent of Spencer's childhood nanny. "You, of all people, deserve to have someone who loves you unconditionally."

Spencer's smile turned into a grimace and her headache had nothing to do with it now. "I'm not so sure about that," she disagreed, almost inaudibly.

Seeing the brunette's stubborn streak beginning to resurface, Emily changed the subject without a segue. "Have you spoken to Aria?"

Spencer stared her, perplexed. "No? Should I have?"

"Oh." The raven haired girl's eyebrows pulled together. "No, I just thought she'd check in on you, at least."

The bruised girl still wasn't comprehending–and that was a foreign concept to her. "What's that mean?"

Emily looked like she wished she'd never even asked now. "Aria just got really upset after you left," she disclosed hesitantly, like she was telling her something she shouldn't.

Spencer blinked once, twice, three times, four. By the time she got to five, she pressed, "Aria got upset how?"

"She flipped out and started yelling at all of us, in front of what was left of that crowd. Said we were all at fault for what was happening to you. That if we hadn't always relied on you, maybe you wouldn't have been chosen to be kidnapped."

The brunette just stared at her for a solid minute on end, her mouth opening slightly. "What? W-why? What made her snap?"

Emily chose her words very carefully. "Aria had never seen you have one of your attacks before…"

The tan girl, quite obviously was trying to avoid upsetting her but somehow the words still managed to cut through her like a knife. Her stomach dropped before her brain could even catch up and it took her a minute to realize that it was culpability that was disturbing her. It was the fact that the girls who she even now still considered closer to her than her actual family, were falling apart along with her.

She felt like a drop of poison, slowly but steadily seeping into every single person she cared about's life and killing them, little by little. She felt like an awful friend, even if this was so beyond her own control. She felt like a terrible person for not even checking in on the girls, acting entitled enough that she expected them to come to her. She felt like a disaster for not even being able to keep her own thought process straight anymore, a feat that only had slipped away from her a number of times before in her life.

She felt like a murderer.

Emily interrupted her train of self-hatred. "I just came here to make sure everything was alright with you after yesterday. I was here last night too," she amended, glancing at the cop a few feet back, appearing seemingly oblivious to the girls' conversation. "But Toby said you were exhausted and passed out."

"I was," Spencer confirmed, as if she needed to prove that she wasn't avoiding her friends. Looking around, as if noticing for the first time the absence, the brunette asked, "Where's Hanna?"

"With Caleb, I think. I don't know really. I spent the night at Ali's. Hanna wasn't really in a great mood after Aria's tirade." Emily paused for a second before elaborating. "Aria sort of went off on Hanna especially. She said that if Hanna hadn't told you to date Caleb, we all would have been more focused on -A instead of relationship drama and you may have not been kidnapped."

Spencer bit her lip, knowing in that area, at least, she was guiltier than Hanna. "I'm really sorry," she whispered, her eyes falling into her lap. Shame overtook her body, almost overshadowing her headache.

The darker girl looked at her adamantly. "Spence, none of this is your fault. You're the one that we should be apologizing to-"

"No, Em, that's not true," the brunette cut off. "It's my drama and I have no business involving all you in it."

She meant it. This was her nightmare and her nightmare alone. She may not understand why she was chosen to be the one in the massacre, it may be a complete mystery what happened that night and, if she were being honest, a part of her didn't feel like she was going to get through this in one piece, but it was evident that her trauma was tearing her friends apart.

And she couldn't live with herself if she hurt them.

No matter what happened, no matter how isolated from them she may feel, she would never, in her right mind, allow herself to bring them down with her.

In the back of her mind, she couldn't believe she was really allowing Toby to suffer alongside her either, but she also knew, selfishly, that if he wasn't there, she would completely lose her grip on reality.

He was her lifeline, her light at the end of the tunnel, her fairytale and her safe haven. She didn't even know anymore where she ended and he began.

He was like her silver lining in this entire mess. The one thing that was still pulling her back when she felt like she was about to fly off the edge. The thing that still motivated her to get up in the morning, not matter what pain, physical or mental, undoubtedly awaited her that day,

"You should leave," the brunette murmured and she wasn't sure if it was the headache or the sudden insight of how many lives she was wrecking, but her stomach was cramping up and her neck felt hot and her vision was blurring and for the tenth time, she wondered if she didn't belong in a mental ward, more than Mona, more than Cece, more than Bethany Young.

"Spence," Emily called, her expression shifting to one of distress. Her head whipped around, searching for Toby in an instant.

He was already rushing over to them, not even meeting their friend's terrified eyes. "Spencer," he murmured, his tone even. Without an ounce of hesitation, he dropped to his knees in front of her, meeting her at eye level. "Breathe, Spence," he instructed, already knowing what was wrong.

When she didn't comply, he placed his hands on either side of her face. "Baby," he whispered, his breath hitting her pale skin. "Shut your eyes and breathe."

Somehow, peering only into his deep oceanic blues and nothing else, the wheels in her head turned and her brain kicked started back to life. Her eyes fell shut and she felt oxygen enter her lungs once again. Unconsciously, her body relaxed under her boyfriend's touch, as he ran his hands down her arms and back.

The first words out of her mouth weren't, surprisingly, to the man she loved and felt connected to with every ounce of her soul. They were to her best friend.

"This is what I was talking about, Em," she stated before her eyes were even open. Her tone now had gained a level of rasp that it didn't contain before.

The tan girl struggled to respond. "Spence-"

"I'm a disaster," the brunette stated, point blank, just as her eyes reopened, with a fierier gaze than even before. "I'm a ticking time bomb."

"Spence," Toby murmured, wounded by his girlfriend's words and the level of conviction in them.

She ignored him, knowing that if she let him seep in, if she acknowledged his tender words and his unhindered faith in her, she may never get what she needed to say out. "I'm going to blow up one day and I can't have you or any of the others standing too close. Go," she demanded, gesturing towards the motel room door. "Get out. Stop worrying about me, and take care of yourself. Tell the others to do the same thing. No, better yet, make the others do the same thing."

Now it was Emily's turn to speak, as there was nothing left for Spencer to say. But when she opened her mouth, it was obvious that words escaped her. "Spencer," the baffled girl whispered, her tone almost as dejected and insistent as Toby's. "I'm not going to do that. None of us are. We're going to all get through this. Together."

"Em!" Spencer snapped now, only stopping to catch her breath once again when Toby rubbed her shoulder gently. "You're not listening to me. I said-"

"Spencer, I don't think you're listening to me," Emily cut off and strangely, in the back of her mind, Spencer noted that it pleased her that her strong-willed friend still wasn't afraid to fight with her, just as intensely as she always had. Same as it brought her relief when her parents took Melissa's side back in the hospital.

Old habits die hard.

Old habits, even the most unhealthy ones, bring relief to the deepest pits of your soul.

"We're your friends and we're not going to leave you, no matter how self destructive you may feel," Emily insisted, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Her voice, dying down as the throb in her head began growing stronger, dully croaked out, "You have no idea what you're saying."

She met Toby's eyes just as the words landed on Emily and her chest hurt, at the unconcealed pain in his eyes. He hurt, seeing her like this, knowing this is what she truly believed was best, that her friends shouldn't be dragged down by her burdens too. He hurt, knowing what she was trying to do was to protect those she loved and yet, knowing that it would kill her if they actually did listen.

Before either of the girls could speak again, Toby was actually the one to end the conversation. "I think you should leave, Em," he suggested and his voice was not unkind. He sent Emily a sympathetic look and for a second Spencer wondered if she wasn't being entirely irrational, if he wasn't grasping their friend's point of view better than her's.

His hand rubbing her thigh alleviated her insecurity a little and stopped her from feeling betrayed, knowing that he was always on her side, against anything. Even if he didn't see things the same or understand where she was coming from.

"Toby," Emily gaped. "No, that's-"

"I'm not saying don't ever come back," he quickly modified and relief filtered into the tanner girl's expression. Somehow when Toby told her to do something, it held more merit than it would coming from anyone else.

Evidently, it wasn't just Spencer who trusted the cop to show her right from wrong, to guide her to good decisions versus the bad, self-destructive ones she was naturally attracted to. Evidently, it wasn't just her who trusted Toby, like a guardian angel, without reservations, without doubts or questions or fears.

He deserved to have so many more people look at him and see him as he was. A kind hearted, good natured, dedicated, protective, forgiving boy, who loved with every ounce of his being.

He deserved a hundred times better than her.

"I'm saying," Toby's voice pulled her back to reality, "this argument isn't helping anyone right now. Give it time and cool off and come back. Neither of you need a blowout fight right now."

Emily nodded, clearly persuaded by the cop. She stood up from her seat on the bed, next to Spencer. "I'll call you later, alright," she swore as she headed towards the door.

"Okay," was all Spencer offered in return, a small, abashed smile working its way onto her face.

It was a strange thing, to dread and fear pushing those you love most away, and yet, still actively do it. To have an unkindness inside you, an unkindness towards yourself, that lashes out towards those in your vision, towards those who want to help you, towards those you think you're protecting. It was a strange thing to love your friends and still, at times, wish they never saw you again, knowing that the less they did, the less chance there was of you hurting them. That every moment you were surrounded by people, was a moment you could ruin them. Your tragedies could drag them down, rip them apart, away from each other, show them every dark and disturbing thing lingering underneath your skin, show them exactly who they could be if pushed hard enough, show them exactly what they have been afraid of for all these years.

It was even stranger to know that there was someone out there, who loved her more than words or rationale or life itself. Someone who could look into her eyes and see every dark thought she'd ever had, and still call her their angel. Someone who loved her beyond reason and morals and truth.

Someone who would give up everything in their life to be with her, in spite of who she was. In spite of all she could turn out to be.

She was like a gun, spinning round and round in a circle, the trigger so close to being pulled, the kick just moments away. And whoever was in her path became her target.

Once again, her thoughts were interrupted by the boy with sandy brown hair, who was still kneeling in front of her. As their friend exited the motel, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, before pressing another an inch away.

"You know, I wasn't saying you were irrational?" He asked against her silky soft skin.

"I know." She swallowed visibly.

"I never want you to think that I'm insinuating anything." He pulled back to lock their eyes together, pressing his forehead to her's. "I just didn't want to see one more thing cause you pain. Especially after what you said this morning, about the girls-"

"Baby, I know," she reassured, her voice barely a whisper. "I know."

Her arms encircled his neck, burrowing her face in her shoulder, and she was surprised when she felt him pick her up.

He carried her, as if she weighed absolutely nothing, over to the chair by his laptop, sitting down with her arms still around his neck. "Does your head still hurt?" He asked attentively, moving one hand from around her narrow waist to massage her temple.

"Yeah," she confirmed, no point in even denying it. It was obvious from her still unhappy expression and tense body language that she was experiencing discomfort.

"Do you have any idea what could be causing it?" He inquired, his lips softly pressing against the stitches in her forehead.

"Brain tumor?"

"Spencer."

"I'm sorry," she sighed, giving him a small grimace. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

"Why do you look like that?"

"Look like what?"

"Ashamed," he murmured, his voice gaining an edge.

She shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder, her ears throbbing and her neck growing tired and the ache spreading to her teeth. "I don't know."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. Just because you're not exactly the person you were before doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. Emily knows that, Hanna knows that, Aria knows that. Even Alison knows that. No one expects you to be perfect right now, so stop expecting yourself to be miraculously better overnight."

She stared at him, his tirade catching her off guard. "They're snapping at each other because of me," she stated after a minute, though she knew that information was completely irrelevant to anyone but her. "Aria freaked out on all of them and they're not even speaking to each other now. They blame themselves for what's happening to me."

"That isn't your fault," he reaffirmed. "I get why Aria snapped at the others. I really do. But that doesn't mean it's up to you to fix it. It isn't up to you to still be their backbone right now."

Spencer snorted, closing her eyes against his shirt. "I'll always be their backbone." Before he could argue, before he could say anything else, she continued. "Just like you'll always be my safe place to land."

Smiling in spite of everything, the twenty-four year old whispered, leaning down to press his lips against her's. "Always."

"Babe," Spencer murmured quietly, soothed by the feeling of her boyfriend's hand massaging her scalp. Her headache remained persistent but he refused to give up. "Your phone's vibrating."

Shifting his leg from under her to pull his cell from his pocket, he causally took the call. "Hello?" There was a short pause before Toby's eyes widen faintly with recognition. "Oh hi, Martin," he greeted now, his voice only a little awkward.

Spencer couldn't help but smirk in spite of her pain. She loved him in every aspect, in every facet of life and in any situation, but she couldn't help finding him cute when he was forced to be, in any way, outgoing.

Already knowing this, already been teased about this a thousand times over more than half a decade, Toby didn't even look at her as he pinched her hip gently, upon seeing her grin out of the corner of his eye.

Before she could say anything or even wipe the smirk off her face, Toby's expression changed. "Thank you!" He murmured, his voice uncharacteristically extroverted. "I appreciate you calling me, sir."

As soon as he hung up, Spencer, still situated across his lap, deadpanned, "Sir?"

He gave her a look. "He's nearly double my age, Spence. I think sir is appropriate."

"Mmhmm," she hummed, pinching the bridge of her nose, hoping to end the throbbing in her head. "You're cute when you talk on the phone," she teased quietly.

Now it was his turn to deadpan. "Do you want to make fun of me or do you want to know why Martin called?"

Her muddled mind didn't make the connection until then. "Wait, is this about the apartment? Can we not move in now? The tenets changed their minds, didn't they? I swear, my luck is just–"

"Spencer," Toby interrupted, wrapping both his arms around her waist, pulling her tighter to him. Their noses brushed up against each other suggestively. "The apartment is ours. We can move in next week."

There was a beat of silence for approximately three seconds before the cop's throat was being strangled, his breath being cut off in her chokehold. She ejected something akin to a squeal, which seconds after was followed by a groan as the agonizing ache in her head intensified.

"Maybe we should get you to a doctor," he murmured softly, taking in his girlfriend's predicament for the hundredth time that day.

"I'm fine," she objected, but the ache did bring down some of her excitement. "Tobes?"

"Yeah?"

She opened her mouth before the words even formed on her lips, pondering for a moment. "Why are they letting us move in so soon?"

Toby blinked once before, very noticeably, masking some sort of expression. "People move into apartments quickly all the time."

She narrowed her eyes into slits, sitting up straighter now to peer over him. "I can tell when you're lying, Tobias."

He flushed slightly at his full name. "Alright, fine," he relented. "I don't know why the tenets are letting us move in so soon."

"Martin said at the open house it was going to be weeks, at least."

"I know." He nodded evenly. "But I really don't want to push our luck."

"Yeah, I guess," she agreed after a moment.

Already seeing where her mind was going, he disputed, "Spencer, you're not their charity case."

"Are you kidding me–"

"You're not," he promised, his eyes gaining a fiery adamancy she loved from the deepest part of her soul.

She rolled her eyes, her headache ripping a lot of the usual fight out of her. "If you're so sure, then call and ask why they're letting us in so quick."

Spencer knew in the back of her mind that really, when it came down to it, what truly bothered her about the idea of being someone's charity case, is the fact that it was a entirely foreign concept for her. She'd never really experienced people feeling pity towards her. Outside of the weeks following her abduction to the dollhouse, there wasn't a time she could recall when people weren't intimidated by her. She was Spencer Hastings. She was the bred to always be the best and the brightest, and when it really came down to it, as much as she hated to own it, as much as she prided herself on never being her sister, as much as she loved to claim she choked on the silver spoon, she had always been known as part of one of the richest families in town and that came with a certain confidence.

Even if she was the black sheep of said family.

She knew it made her self-righteous. She knew in a lot of ways, she hadn't entirely escaped the person her parents molded her to be. She was used to being powerful and sharp and bold and having that stripped away, having that taken from her in any capacity, no matter how much she tried to fight it, was a hard pill to swallow.

She could care less about the amount of money in her bank account. She had Toby and she had everyone she loved still breathing-at least, for the moment. Money didn't buy happiness, she knew.

But, in a lot of ways, it did buy confidence. It did create an aurora around her that she had barely realized, barely seen, as it had always been there. The way people regarded Peter and Veronica Hastings' second born, the way people saw the youngest Hastings daughter, the way people viewed her, had always been impacted by the rich and powerful family she was born into.

Even her friends realized it. Even the people she had lived through some of the worst moments of her entire life with said it, whispering in hushed tones under their breath, snickering and rolling their eyes while snapping back and forth witty retorts about the bottomless, Hastings bank account, all while fully realizing she was trailing right behind them.

"Well, it's the Hastings, so I'm guessing it costs more than your car."

"Not all of us have a Daddy that can write a check to make the boogeyman go away."

"You've never had to be charming. You get to act like a total snot-rag, 'cause Mommy and Daddy have a safety-net of cash to catch your fall."

"I told Yvonne that I was Green Acres and you were Park Avenue."

The last one, the freshest memory, the one of Toby and her and a girl who had invaded the sandy haired cop's pure heart, standing in the middle of the street, making small talk, snapped something inside of her. The memory stung her in ways she couldn't even articulate, especially now. Somehow the memory of that day, that specific moment in time, threw her stomach into tighter knots now, as she sat on Toby's lap, than it did as it was actually happening.

She never knew exactly what he meant by that quip. Whatever the meaning, it felt like a sharp stab in the gut and cracked Yvonne up like no other.

She remembered the words, "he's just kidding", which left Spencer with the impression that he wasn't just kidding and that the dark skinned girl worried as an afterthought that she would take offense to the phrase, and "we watch a lot of retro TV", which still made no sense to the brunette, whatsoever.

She'd never asked though and not even out of fear or embarrassment but because she literally hadn't even remembered it until this moment.

It felt like a different life, if she was being honest. But then again, five years ago in Rosewood also felt like another life.

Something about the memory shook her to the core. She'd been fine for all of four minutes-not counting the pounding, unrelenting headache-and now, she could feel herself slipping away all over again.

She supposed she should be happy because no memory from the massacre had come back yet today and at this point, after days upon days of repeated flashbacks, she should be counting her fucking blessings.

She wasn't. Because suddenly a memory of the boy she loved with every fractured piece of her heart, was forcing her neck to grow hot and her stomach to violently clench with a dread she couldn't will away and suddenly she felt an antsy trepidation, a harrowing scream buried inside of her, a fight or flight instinct yelling at her to choose.

"Babe, do you want to order in for dinner?" Toby asked gently, noticing instantly the change in her.

"No," she answered, her response quick and inattentive.

"Spence?" The cop murmured again, his concern rapidly mounting.

She refused eye contact, still trying to reconcile her confusion and the blind ache the comment sent through her with every single tender, loving interaction they'd shared since she woke up in the hospital.

It was ridiculous, she rationalized to herself, as she stood up from his embrace. It was ridiculous to feel so stung and so mortified and so self-conscious about an interaction that had occurred weeks ago, that was essentially null and void now, after everything that had happened since, after all they had been through again, after all that had been said and done.

Of course, if she were really thinking back to that day on the street, Spencer realized, with all consuming guilt and exhaustion, Toby had just been told the girl he still loved to his very core, was now officially with his best and nearly only friend.

Of course he had been angry. Of course he had been hurt. Of course he had been upset. He had every right in the world to be.

Maybe when you break up, you no longer owe each other anything. You don't have to be decent to each other. You don't have think of the other's feelings.

That all sounds so good on paper. But the truth is, how can you not owe anything to the person you said was your safest haven in this world? How can you not think of the feelings of the person who was your sole source of hope and understanding for years upon years on end? How can you not still try to do right by the person, who pulled you out of the deepest and darkest part of your life, who held you like a lifeline, who gave up everything for you to be alright, who showed you what it meant to love and be loved, unlike any other person in your life?

How could she really date his best friend and not realize the irreparable damage she was doing to their relationship? Whether they were platonic or romantic, how she not understand the repercussions of her own actions? Wasn't she Spencer Hastings? Didn't she meticulously plan out every detail of her life? Didn't she turn herself inside out for the people she loved most in this world? Didn't the pain she had inflicted, not only on Hanna, but also on the man she still loved with a stronger fervor than she could have ever conjured up for Caleb, ever drive home to her exactly what she was risking? Didn't it occur to her that her blonde best friend wasn't the only one she owed consideration to? More than a strangled apology–to which he'd instantly rebuffed–but a sincere heartfelt conversation?

She knew she would never have done that, under any circumstances under the sun. Because had she told him what she was about to do, had she ever sat down and talked to him about her feelings, had they ever discussed how it made them feel to see the other one move on, she never would gotten with Caleb Rivers. She never would have started the hurricane that threatened to rip apart everything. She never would have pushed Hanna to throw herself in the line of fire, the permanent wedge never would have been driven between the two girls, the fight at the party may have never happened.

And she may never have been kidnapped that night.

Handfuls of people wouldn't have lost their lives.

She wouldn't be a natural disaster, waiting to rain havoc everywhere in sight.

And all of this started with her.

Her and her, alone.

"Is it your head?" Toby asked, his concern for his girlfriend increasing by the second. "Is your headache getting worse?"

"Its fine, Toby," she assured, though her voice was flat. She hadn't looked him in the eye in nearly three hours, lying now in bed, with her back facing him.

"I don't believe you," he stated, his voice still kind, even when calling her on her bluff.

And she didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve to have someone like him love her.

And she didn't deserve to feel hurt or angry or betrayed, to hold him accountable for anything he thought or said while she was with his best friend.

But a small part of her couldn't completely let it go, couldn't entirely rationalize the hurt away and she didn't know if that made her angry with him or angry with herself.

"Let me give you a back massage," Toby offered desperately, being unable to see her suffering, feeling powerless, the same way he'd always had.

"Toby," Spencer murmured, her voice growing more and more stern by the second, only half focused on what she was saying to him. "I'm just tired."

"I can give you another painkiller," he insisted, his chair scooting across the carpet, already moving towards the pill bottle on the counter. "It's been a couple hours since-"

"I don't want one," she insisted.

"What about if we went for a drive?"

"I just want to stay in bed."

"I could run you a bath?"

"Toby-"

"I could-"

"I said I didn't want to!"

Silence filled the air, as her scream, her aggravated, furious, vulnerable scream, hung between them.

She hadn't yelled at him like that in years.

She had barely yelled at him like that in their first relationship. The notion that something was driving itself between them, that there was a gap forming in between their unbreakable bond, was both terrifying and heart-wrenching to both of them. It nearly brought the cop to his knees, she knew, to feel this wedge squeezing the oxygen out of the love that had sustained them through so much.

That was why he'd always ran away. That was why he'd always skipped town when they were about to hit the jagged, unforgiving rocks.

But, now, standing in the motel room with her, the notion that something was very, very wrong inside the girl he loved was even stronger, and it outweighed any other thing in his mind.

"Can I hold you?" He whispered after a minute of dead quiet, his voice inexplicably raw.

"Just leave me alone," she whispered, barely even looking over her shoulder to say the words.

She knew she was making it worse, cutting him deeper, selfishly causing him pain just because she hurt.

But after coming to the realization that all roads, roads that left almost everyone she'd ever cared about, heartbroken or shell-shocked, roads that got perfectly innocent strangers killed or kidnapped, led back to her, forced all other thoughts in her head to pale in comparison.

After remembering that day on the street, the singular thought that ignited all of this, Spencer just wanted to scream into her pillow and fall into a slumber in which she never had to wake up.

She realized then she was holding her breath and let out a violent exhalation, noting the lack of noise now coming from her boyfriend behind her. She heard him take his seat again before his laptop, but his eyes never left her back and she didn't dare to look at him now, knowing she had just driven a knife so deep into his stomach, driven a distance between them at record speed, destroyed probably any sort of trust he had in their relationship.

She knew if she looked at him, she would crumble. To pieces, bit by bit. Suddenly and all at once.

But when his eyes didn't leave her back, when she could feel his concern for her and his unyielding love and unconditional understanding, she could feel herself wavering, deep down wanting nothing more than to crawl back into his arms and tell him exactly what was going on in her head. To kiss him senseless, despite her headache–which was increasingly getting worse–and to make love like there's no tomorrow and they're the only people on this Earth and like a rapid fire explosion couldn't touch them as long as they were together, as one.

But she refused to allow herself to do that, to allow herself that reprieve, almost as if she didn't deserve it, didn't deserve to be happy when all she could feel inside was appalling and horrified and selfish and liable.

Almost as a distraction, acting entirely on autopilot, she grabbed her phone off her nightstand and yanked it off the charger.

She hurriedly fumbled to type into her search bar, Green Acres Park Avenue.

Instantly, the World Wide Web met her with several million results.

Green Acres Theme.

Green Acres Lyrics.

Green Acres! - Review of 1049 Park Avenue, New York City, NY - Trip Advisor.

Green Acres is about Oliver Wendell Douglas (Eddie Albert), an erudite New York City attorney, acting on his dream to be a farmer, and Lisa Douglas (Eva Gabor), his glamorous Hungarian wife, who is dragged unwillingly from an upscale Manhattan penthouse apartment and the city life she adores to a ramshackle farm.

The last entry, the one speaking on the premise of the show, clarified all of the brunette's questions and dug the pit even deeper in her stomach.

It didn't take much to put two and two together on the street that day, it didn't take a genius to figure out him referring to himself Green Acres and her Park Avenue together probably meant he was calling her a snob. He was taking a swipe at her. He, for a split second in time, took on the opinion shared with everyone else in town.

It shouldn't have been such a big deal. It shouldn't have dug so deep inside her. It shouldn't have made her chest ache as badly as her head and her throat throb, the way it always did when she suppressed tears, like she had to physically swallow them down.

But it did.

The second the first sob fell out of her mouth, Toby was already halfway across the room, done with asking permission to console her.

Both his arms wrapped around her and instinct took over as she flung herself entirely into his embrace, molding her body around his.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck, his face lingering there as another sob fell out of her mouth, her chest heaving violently.

This wasn't about the joke anymore, Spencer knew. It couldn't be. A stupid, petty inside joke couldn't wrack her to the core this way.

No, this was about everything surrounding that joke. About everything she'd done that led to that moment, standing there, with the man she loved and another girl who loved him. About the choices she made out of stubborn pride, that took her down a path that led to isolating Toby, that led to damaging her relationship with Hanna forever, that led to completely annihilating her once only male friendship. About the days that led up to the massacre.

About how if she'd done just anything differently, she may have never been kidnapped.

And if she'd never been kidnapped, she wouldn't be on the brink of insanity right now.

And all those people would still be alive and well. Half wouldn't be deceased, half wouldn't be assumed dead.

Toby was still holding her to him, rocking her back and forth as if his life depended on it. His fingers sifted through her messy curls absentmindedly, as he whispered in her ear, "It's okay, baby. It's okay."

But none of it was okay. Everything that had unraveled in their lives, every awful sensation they were experiencing, came directly back to her.

She may not have killed all those people but she was responsible for it. She could have stopped it. She could have changed it.

She could have saved them.

She could have saved that boy, lying on the ground, bleeding out in front of her. The nameless stranger that she was too afraid to acknowledge, too afraid that someone might know him if she told anyone besides Toby. Too afraid that knowing who he was might force her to come to terms with the fact that he'll never grow up into he was meant to be. He'll never get another chance to fulfill his dreams or right his mistakes or give his loved ones two more minutes.

All the things she still had, that she was still selfishly taking for granted.

She could have saved Eddie Lamb. The male nurse, that had been her only confident when she was lost to everything and everyone. Including the boy now cuddling her like no tomorrow.

Eddie had been one of the only people who consistently looked out for her mental wellbeing. Who cared to always ask how she was doing. Who cared to look her over and make sure she wasn't on her way back to the funny farm.

He had maintained being the sole male in power who refused to make a romantic advance, who refused to see her as less than a person who needed help, instead of a girl who's barely legal body was warm and soft and inviting and more than anything, as everyone had made clear as day in the past, easy.

"All the pain and disappointment and loss, because you were stubborn."

Mona had spoken the words, almost six years ago, not even realizing how true they'd one day be.

"Baby," Toby whispered into her hair after twenty minutes, when she still had made no move to let go of him, to explain what was so wrong with her now, to even wipe her face.

Pulling back a little, she felt her mouth contort into a soft, barely there smile as her boyfriend wiped underneath one of her eyes gently with his thumb.

She swallowed hard, rubbing her nose, with uncharacteristic haste.

When she still refused to meet his eyes, the cop spoke again, his voice still as gentle as ever, though his patience was starting to dissipate. "Spence, talk to me," he implored. "What's going on?"

She shook her head, at loss at how exactly to explain this. That one memory of him and his almost fiancé, triggered a mounting of self-hatred? That she suddenly realized the repercussions of dating his best friend? That she was a mess and felt like she was falling apart at the seams, and part of her, a tiny part that she pretended didn't exist, was screaming out in her head that she was losing it entirely. She wasn't sure how long she could keep going, how much longer she could last before she gave up or completely snapped or blacked out all over again.

She tried to remind herself that she was drugged the night of the massacre. She knew that now. She didn't just black out. Her memory didn't disappear and it wasn't playing hide and seek in her brain.

It was stolen from her, in one of the most violent ways imaginable, and now it was playing peek-a-boo whenever she, even for a split second, thought she could be alright.

"Spence, you can tell me anything," Toby whispered, alerting her out of her own thoughts. "If there's something new that came back and somehow I missed it, tell me. Tell me and I'll do anything you need, anything it takes-"

"Toby," she cut off, shaking her head. With everything inside of her, she wanted to reassure him that nothing was truly wrong.

He thought something traumatic and harrowing had come back. He was in his own personal hell, assuming the very worst, powerlessly watching the person he loved most fall to pieces one more time.

Wasn't he sick of this? Wasn't he done yet? How could he sit there and still love her with every atom of his body, without being utterly exhausted from all the drama she attracted? How could he not be seething with resentment for upturning his entire life, once again?

Did she ever even ask him how he felt? He wasn't a robot and he wasn't made to love her. He was a person, who deserved better than a half crazed girl, barely clinging to the sideline of sanity.

He deserved Yvonne, who was kind and sweet and pleasant and brilliant and had a family who loved and adored him, as if he was their own. Who didn't bring him down, who could be the loving, devoted girlfriend he needed. Who wasn't jaded or moody or nearly insane.

The brunette took several deep breaths, the thought of the dark skinned, raving beauty, almost forcing her stomach to upchuck all over the bed.

Yvonne always put a bad taste in her mouth now, and she didn't like to acknowledge it, even to herself. How could she be so jealous that she couldn't even bear the thought of another girl her boyfriend loved without feeling physically ill?

What was wrong with her?

Before she had the opportunity to say anything else, her cell saved her, ringing at the most opportune time.

Toby sighed before reaching for it, glancing at the caller ID. "It's your mom," he stated, clearly discontented with the abrupt ending to their conversation.

Taking the phone, caught completely off-guard by the call, she answered in an unsure tone. "Hello?"

"Honey," Veronica breathed, sounding like she wasn't sure if Spencer was alright before hearing her voice.

"Mom?" Spencer narrowed her eyes in confusion, peering at Toby who was as mystified as her. "What's wrong?"

There was silence on the other end and the brunette felt her stomach do a flip, anticipation churning inside her violently.

"Spencer, I heard about what happened. Both at that apartment and in town," Veronica finally stated, her voice now collected and level, though her daughter could feel something brewing underneath.

The twenty-three-year old bit her lip, unsure how to answer the elder woman. "Yes?" She finally offered, attempting to hold back the feeling of defiance building up inside her.

"That was one of the most irresponsible things you could have done," the woman scolded, sounding downright livid now. "What the hell were you thinking? The doctor told you to avoid big crowds and what did you do? Go seek them out-"

Spencer couldn't take it. Not now, not today. Not any day as of late. She couldn't handle being scolded and berated, for simply attempting to live. She went out into public twice. Only two attempts to do anything closely resembling a normal event and both had blown up miserably. Both had caused havoc and something deep inside of her shouted, through all the overwhelming emotions, through both the old and new scars, the pain and the anger and the resentment, something deep inside of her cried out that this wasn't fair.

She didn't deserve to be admonished because she chose to not hide out in a hotel room like a recluse.

She didn't deserve to be kicked out of society, for things she couldn't control. For PTSD she couldn't understand and that she didn't ask for.

And she didn't deserve to have to listen to this phone call, she decided.

Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it was downright selfish and compassionless. But she felt no regrets as she tapped the End Call button on her phone, cutting her mother off mid-sentence.

Witnessing the entire thing and sitting just close enough that he heard majority of it, Toby sighed deeply and reached to pull her closer.

"Are you still mad at me?" He asked as he wrapped his arms around her thin body, swaying her slightly.

Her earlier distress fled to the forefront of her brain at once. Swallowing hard, she murmured erratically, "I was never mad at you."

"Yes, you were," he corrected but his voice remained gentle. "I know when you're mad at me, Spence."

It was her turn to sigh now, willing herself not to get emotional. "It's stupid," she whispered as she pulled back.

"Nothing that upsets you could be stupid. To me, at least," he insisted but he could tell just by her eyes she wished he'd drop it.

"I know." She nodded, her eyes dropping to the bed underneath them.

There was a long silence that dragged on, straddling the line between awkward and uncomfortable and just downright unnatural.

Before either of them worked up the courage to break it, Toby's phone went off obnoxiously, screaming in contrast with the noiseless room.

Standing up clumsily, the cop narrowed his eyes as he took in name across his screen, just as Spencer had a few minutes prior. "Hello, Mrs. Hastings," he greeted, turning back around to face the brunette.

The second he said her mother's name, she was climbing to the edge of the bed, straining her ears to catch any of the conversation.

When she couldn't hear a thing, from the less than two feet distance between her and her boyfriend, Spencer's suspicions were peaked.

Since when couldn't she hear a phone that was barely two feet away?

Sensing her frustrations, Toby glanced at her and instantly obligated when she mouth 'speakerphone'.

". . .got to be rational about this, Toby. She isn't getting better. She's getting worse," her mother was saying and Spencer had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

It went deeper than just irritation at the fact that her mom believed so adamantly that she still belonged in the hospital. It was the fact that her mom heard everything secondhand and didn't even ask Spencer what had happened, from her own point of view.

The brunette had little doubts that it was her friends at the country club, possibly the same people who had actually been at Fiona's to witness her meltdown, that had filled Veronica in.

But how could her mother actually take their word at face value and not even ask Spencer why she went there? Why she was so tirelessly trying to suction her life back together? Didn't her mom care that she was searching for some semblance of normal? Or did the woman only care if Spencer made a public spectacle of herself?

Maybe she was being too harsh. Maybe she was on edge, for a million and twenty four different reasons. But whatever the motive, she felt like she was about to explode when Veronica kept talking.

"You need to get her to a therapist," the senator said. "A good one, that comes highly recommended." Toby glanced at Spencer, searching her face for her reaction. "Search for one in the area-"

"Mom," Spencer cut in. "I'm not going to a damn shrink."

"Toby, I called you," the woman reprimanded, her tone nearly one of betrayal, clearly taken aback to hear her daughter's voice.

"And you really thought you could have a private conversation with him, without my knowing? You overestimated the size of motel rooms," the brunette quipped, her voice without humor.

"Spencer-"

But she didn't give her mother a chance to finish. "You really thought you could go over my head? Tell my boyfriend to send me to a therapist, as if that'll solve all my problems? Is this your next step, after trying to keep me locked up in a hospital?" When her question, which was rhetorical, to be fair, was met with nothing but utter silence, she exchanged a confused glance with Toby. "Mom?"

"I think she hung up," the cop offered after another beat of silence.

"That's never good," she mumbled, too insulted to worry why the usually overly confrontational senator would end the call.

Toby's clear blue eyes watched her as she rolled onto her stomach again, burying her face inside one of the motel provided pillows.

Neither of them really knew where they stood at the moment. They hadn't had a fight—that almost would have been easier—but something went wrong and they still had yet to solve it.

Spencer sighed into the thin cushion, realizing none of her behavior had been fair to him and wishing more than anything she could shut off her brain for one day. Not receive any more flashbacks, not have self-deprecating thoughts that cause rifts between her and the man she loves most in this world, not have to deal with anything unpleasant. For once in her life she wanted to be happy and stay happy.

She didn't want to bring Toby down with her. She didn't want to hurt him or cause him this kind of duress any longer. She just wanted this to all be over and done with.

"I've had monsters under my bed for so long, that now that they're not there, I feel like I have to create them."

What she'd said to Alison still rang true and she wished more than anything she could change for Toby's sake, if for nothing else. She couldn't handle losing him again and she couldn't stand the hurt she was causing him.

She was so unfocused that she didn't even notice Toby had joined her on the bed until his hand began massaging the back of her head.

Groaning loudly, she peered up at him. "You should turn off your phone so my mom can't call back."

He gave her a look. "Spencer."

"If she can go days without checking in and then only bother after listening to a bunch of crap gossip about me, I don't think we're obligated to take her calls. Especially when she's acting like I'm insane and you need to get me under control."

"She's just trying to help," he murmured, sympathy for her mom leaking through. His hand found its way up her shirt and began massaging her bare back soothingly. "I know she sucks at showing it sometimes but she is trying her best-"

"Don't defend her," Spencer cut off, her voice not at all harsh. "Please, Tobes. Don't defend her right now."

"Okay," he said amicably, appreciating her softer tone after spending hours with her on edge. He leaned down to kiss her lower back before resuming the rubbing. "I love you. More than anything," he uttered after a moment. "You know that right?"

She chuckled indistinctly, thinking how ironic it was he was saying this even with no knowledge of why she was upset all afternoon. "I know," she whispered a moment later, because she did know. She knew that he must love her, a lot more than she'd ever truly been able to reconcile, in order to literally risk his life by running into that building, just to save her.

Just as it seemed he was about to say more, a knock interrupted them, much like the phone calls had too.

"Who is bothering us now?" Spencer complained through gritted teeth, as Toby peered out the peep hole.

A strange, almost comical, look cross his face before he turned back to look at her. "Your mother."

Before she could even process his words, there was another, more impatient knock, and acting completely on instinct, Spencer flung herself out of bed and tossed the door open.

"Mother," she greeted, looking at her, almost as if she were measuring her up for size.

Apparently the senator wasn't in the mood for greetings. "What is going on with you?" Veronica admonished as she moved her way into the room, as if she were entitled to their space.

"Excuse me?" Spencer shot back as Toby, in very much contrast with the two alpha females, shut the door quietly. "What's wrong with me? You haven't checked in on me once since I've been released and suddenly you think you have the right to scold me, like I'm six, for things I couldn't control?"

Guilt flashed across the senator's face for a split second before her eyes grew hard. "I had a lot of work to catch up on, Spencer. You, of all people, should understand that. You're in politics too. And your dad said he told you to call me."

"Dad told Toby that, not me, and last I checked, passing messages around secondhand doesn't count as caring."

"Of course I care, Spencer," the elder woman snapped, emphasizing the word like her daughter had become an imbecile overnight. "That's not the point-"

"What is your point here, then? To lecture me for having attacks in public? Is-"

"No," Veronica cut off sharply, and this time, her daughter waited for her to finish. "I'm here because clearly I'm not getting through to you over the phone and you need to see someone. Someone who can help you figure out this entire thing. Get the attacks under control. Help you get on with a normal, productive life."

There was a stretch of silence, where both Toby and her mother waited for her to say something, have some sort of reaction, relent or refute the suggestion but either way, do something.

Neither of them expected her to roll her eyes to the back of her head and mumble under her breath, "'get under control'", before breezing past both of them and heading towards the sink.

"Spence," Toby called as his eyes followed her movements. "What are you doing?"

"You were right, I need some fucking pills right now."

The senator's eyes widened with alarm and the cop couldn't amend her statement fast enough. "She's talking about over the counter painkillers for her headaches."

"She's having headaches?" Veronica repeated, somewhat baffled.

"She had them in the hospital too," Toby reminded, his voice reminiscent of Spencer's when she was talking down to someone. And then it become obvious she was starting to rub off on him when he couldn't resist adding, "Don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember, Toby," the elder woman quickly declared, shutting her eyes. "I just didn't know they were still occurring." Turning to look at the brunette, her movements slower now, Veronica stated, "This is even more of a reason you need to see someone."

Spencer took a deep breath before speaking. "Why?" She asked simply. "Because it would really do me any good or because you don't want the neighbors to talk about me anymore?"

"That is not the reason," her mother insisted sharply.

"Well I don't believe you really think it's going to improve my mental health or else you would have said it when I was in the hospital!" Spencer exclaimed, literally throwing her hands up. She may not have always had the best relationship with either of her parents but the one thing that had always been-and evidently still was-true, was the fact that she knew when they were lying. She knew when something wasn't right or when they had an ulterior motive behind their eyes. She knew that if her mom thought seeing a therapist was best for her, she would have thought of it a long time ago. "Mom, what aren't you telling me?"

"Fine," Veronica relented, her face still callous. "To put it blankly? If the cops come at you with any sort of allegations, it's not going to help your case that you have been a public spectacle and have reached out for zero help from any psychologist."

She knew it, she told herself. She knew that her mom wasn't pushing her to get help out of the kindness of her heart or out of motherly concern but for legal reasons. She knew it from the very moment the words left her mother's mouth.

But somehow it still stung and Spencer pretended to scratch at one of the cuts surrounding her eyes in order to hide the moisture, threatening to leak out.

Toby, though, recognized the cover up and moved right by her mother without a second thought. "Spence," he murmured, too quiet for Veronica to hear.

"I'm fine," she assured, her tone too quiet and too sugary to even begin to convince him.

Her mom didn't quite realize the depth of her daughter's emotions-then again, Toby's the only person who had ever realized Spencer's sensitivity-but still, her voice became considerably milder. "Honey, I told you once that most verdicts are decided in living rooms. I'm just thinking strategically. Take a preemptive strike. Avoid public places for a little while and see a therapist, and eventually we'll be able to put all this behind us."

"Us?" Spencer picked, her volume rising. "What do you mean, us?"

The senator looked taken aback by the inquiry. "I mean, all of us. You, me, Toby, your father and sister."

Somehow her frustration outweighed her self-preservation and she didn't try hiding any longer the crack in her voice or the wetness of her eyes. "We aren't going through this, mom. I am. You were not kidnapped and you have not been forced to live through flashes of that night. You're sanity isn't in question and last I checked, the cops aren't accusing you of anything, so don't act like we're all in this together, because we're not."

"Spencer-"

"I'm not going to see an effing therapist. Especially not to prove anything to the cops. So if that's all you came here for, the door is right there."

It was clear by the look on her face that Veronica wasn't used to being vetoed. For as long as Spencer could remember, what her mother said is what they did. Even with her lack of presence, she still controlled and dictated majority of things in both her daughters' lives.

Looking beyond her daughter, she eyed the cop standing behind her, somewhat warily. "You know, Doctor Barnes said it was your job to determine what was right for Spencer. Has the concept of therapy never crossed your mind, Toby?"

To both women's surprise, his response came out quick and even. "Not like this. I've never considered pressuring her into seeing someone to make her look better to a bunch of strangers. And I've never considered forcing her to do it unwillingly."

"Even if it were what's best for her?" Veronica pressed, her voice harder now.

"Do you know what's best for her?" Toby responded, his voice still just as gentle as before. It almost made it more difficult for the elder woman to swallow. Having a twenty-four-year old disagree with her and still keep his cool. "Honestly? Do you know what's best for Spencer or what's best for her case? Because I can promise you, forcing her to do something she adamantly doesn't want to do is the last thing that'll help her."

Oddly enough, as much as it baffled Veronica to hear him stand his ground, his words baffled Spencer more. How did he understand her better than her own mother? Neither Aria or Hanna could relate to this, as it was a no brainer that both Ashley and Ella understood them better than their respective guys. And that was fine. In fact, that was considered normal.

Males just don't get us, girls said all the time. No one understands me like my mom.

Somehow with Spencer, it was the exact opposite. And, for some reason, she felt lucky. There had been countless times in the past that she'd wished her mother was different. Countless times that she'd wanted to have the same level of connection and bond her friends all shared with their moms. Countless times she'd been overcome with jealousy when witnessing the relationship between her mother and Melissa.

How did Toby make up for everything she'd ever been deprived of, tenfold? How did he always manage to make everything feel alright, even just for a minute, even when she was so terrible to him? Even when she iced him out and punished him for things he didn't mean, for things he shouldn't be held responsible for?

How could someone love her so much when she felt like nothing short of an atomic bomb nearly every minute of the day?

"No one can guide us through this thing except Spencer," Toby was saying. "She is the one who this happened to. We have to trust her judgment. If we don't then she might as well still be locked up in that hospital."

She wanted to smack herself upside the head for snapping at him for defending her mom. He didn't deserve her irritation when all he'd tried to do was make things easier for her.

Apparently, Veronica had heard enough. "Alright, fine, Spencer." She shook her head, bordering on appalled. "You're an adult. You do whatever you like. If you say this isn't my mess, then I won't worry about it."

The moment her mom spoke, dread filled Spencer's stomach all over again and she suddenly didn't know how to feel.

How do you feel when your parent says they've thrown their hands up?

How do you feel when you essentially asked them to?

How do you feel when you realize that your own mother cannot figure out how to support you without controlling you?

How do you feel when you realize that the fault lines had been thrown around so many times, you don't even know who is to blame for how you got here?

She'd never been the ideal mother, Spencer reminded herself. Nannies had a large part in her upbringing and the only sort of affection she got was when she either was falling apart at the seams or when she proved herself worthy.

But at the hospital, after their heart to heart moment, she thought it might be different. She thought after everything, things might change. That maybe this tragedy would shift her mother's perspective a little.

It clearly had been in vain and as much as she would adamantly deny it aloud, Spencer couldn't help but realize that what she felt was crushed hope. She'd unconsciously let her guard down and hoped for once that things could change in a positive way.

She wanted to kick herself for allowing even an ounce of optimism to even form inside her.

As if he were a sign, Spencer felt a large hand come into contact with the small of her back, just as the door shut, signaling her mother's exit, and unconsciously she reached for him.

He easily lifted her up, pulling her tighter as her arms and legs both coiled around him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered as she buried her face into his neck.

"Spencer," he breathed, a slightly confused edge finding its way into his voice. "For what?"

"For taking you for granted. For not treating you the way you deserve." She allowed a couple of tears, more out of stress than anything else, to make their ways down her face and into the shoulder of his shirt.

"Oh, Spence," he chuckled, much to her surprise. His hand began rubbing from the middle of her back down to her thighs. "You don't get to apologize for anything right now. Not with the kind of stress you're under. I can't even imagine what this is like for you. I can't believe what you're going through and yet, you're still so strong. I am in complete awe of you, all day, every day. Okay, don't think that you need to ever apologize for having feelings."

It was her turn to laugh now. "I love you," she murmured, pulling back to look at his face. "You know that, right? You make me the luckiest girl alive."

And with her words, a light filled his eyes that led her to believe he knew what she meant. That he knew what it meant to feel that kind of love that changed even the bleakest circumstances for the better. That he loved her, just as hopelessly and selflessly and tragically as she loved him. That she was just as much as a part of him as he was her.

That he would love her no matter what else happened. No matter what the future held. No matter what else came to light.

No matter what she did.

[tap-dat-agent]

Who Knew? - Merlahad Fic By Me

Part 2 // Part 3

“John Denver.”

“What?”

Eggsy sensed Harry enter the room but couldn’t stop the tears just yet. What they had lost had finally gotten to him more so now than when he and Merlin had a sob in the tunnels under Kingsman.

“Sorry,” he whimpered, wiping at his eyes with aggression. “I got caught up for sec.”

“Might I join you?”

Eggsy watched the older man close the door behind him, draw nearer from the darkness, but he quickly glanced away to hide the red of his eyes in the light of a crackling fire. He snorted and blinked profusely, ignoring the weight of Harry’s presence as he sat in the empty armchair situated next to him.

“It’s alright,” Harry said, his voice a cultured utility of reassurance, and Eggsy almost believed him.

“No, it bloody fucking isn’t,” Eggsy said, dragging a hand down his face in the hopes of ridding all evidence of weeping. “I’m just…coping, I guess. We get to mourn now, right?” Eggsy slouched over, desperate for the heat of the fire to consume him. “Only after we save the world, yeah?”

“…Did Merlin tell you that?”

Eggsy shrugged, staring down at the floor, the mere mention of Merlin’s name causing the corners of his eyes to burn with a familiar prickly sensation. It wasn’t rare for him to cry. He cried epically, all the time, but the traumatic experience of growing up with a dick of a stepdad who liked to punch him in the gut and smack him about whenever he dared to shed a tear had trained him to hold back the waterworks in front anyone who wasn’t Mum.

That changed when Tilde came into his life, his newly-wedded wife, one of the only people he trusted enough with his feelings.

Then there was Harry who, given his resurrected status, remained to Eggsy a walking, talking, false sense of security, a constant reminder that all that was good in his life could easily be taken away just like that. Harry moved to rise and Eggsy felt a sudden pang of panic that he might leave.

“I believe the occasion demands a stiff drink, don’t you agree?” Harry mused, a trying but somber pep in his tone. “No offense to our American brethren but I’ve been looking forward to indulging in a fuller body only on offer at Kingsman.”

Kingsman…Eggsy couldn’t remember when last he hadn’t felt ache in his chest at anyone mentioning Kingsman.

Kingsman had just started to feel familiar, like his mates, like his mum and his sis. Apart from the professional zeal, the demands of duty, the Machiavellian façade, there was among them a common core of modern model gentlemen-like sensibilities about honor, bravery, and camaraderie that made the organization more like brothers-in-arms, like family, offering the kind of devotion and respect Eggsy had lived his whole life longing for but never got in an unstable home round a fuck-all stepfather.

“Cheers,” Harry quipped, handing him a two finger, neat, of an aged single malt Scotch whisky, before situating himself back down with a Scotch glass of his own in hand. “To life of holy matrimony,” he said, raising his glass in Eggsy’s direction, but Eggsy kept his own glass clutched in both hands, too despondent to drink to his own wedded bliss. “Alright, then. To the fact that, despite all odds, we have reached a full week of active duty, unscathed, secured in our finances, and at no loss for work.”

Eggsy watched in his peripheral as the glass in Harry’s hand inched its way toward the older man’s thin-lipped mug before its contents disappeared in one fell swoop.

“Right well,” Harry set the now empty glass down on an empty coaster on the small end table between them. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question was that then, Harry?”

“Did Merlin tell you not to mourn…not to show any emotion or feelings, or some other hogwash like that, until after we’ve fought the good fight and saved the world?”

“Yeah, he did,” Eggsy barked out, beside himself with grief. “What fucking of it?”

Harry remained unfazed by the outburst. He was the ever so patient and understanding parental figure Eggsy was too old to have or want at this point and yet there he sat, cross-legged, watching and waiting for Eggsy to rediscover some semblance of composure.

“Yeah, he did,” Eggsy repeated, an apology laced in the lowered tone of his voice. “Shit lotta good that did, too. After we went into Doomsday protocol, yeah, we got steaming pissed on a full bottle of Stateman’s straight bourbon.” Eggsy smiled at the memory, his eyes wandering to the Scotch in his hands. “We balled like dickheads, goin’ on and on about losing Kingsman, and Merlin insisted it was his fault but it wasn’t. It was my fault. It was. I let that Charlie fuck back in and now Roxy’s dead, my mate Brandon, J.B. …”

Fuck, Eggsy thought, and the lure of the clear caramel-colored liquid at his disposal finally overcame him. He downed it without a second thought, basking in the smooth burn it left in his throat. His eyes watered because the shit was truly strong and not at all because he couldn’t stop crying about all the good people in his life who were no more.

“That’s what he said.”

Eggsy all but slammed his now empty Scotch glass against the surface of the end table.

“What an absurd thing to say to someone who’s grieving.”

“Fuck no?”

“The man had cultivated quite the stony veneer, over the years.”

“Merlin grieved, alright? Kingsman keep their shit together but he fuckin’ grieved—that’s how it was,” Eggsy insisted, suddenly on the defensive. He glared at Harry, the older man’s unwavering one-eyed stare an aggravating sight. “Or did you forget? We had the mission.”

“Incapable of having a little cry while simultaneously doing what is necessary, are we?”

“Why are you riding this, man? We kept our head in the game, alright? Isn’t that what a good little soldier does? Fuck off, there’s nothing absurd about it.”

“Of course, there is,” Harry insisted himself, looking off into the fire. “I should know. Who do you bloody well think told him that?”

Eggsy didn’t know what to say to that but, at a loss for words already, he simply stared into the flames that danced in the fireplace before them. The snug room drew quiet and nothingness pounded in his ears. In the heat of their exchange, Eggsy had managed to replace tears with anger and do away with thoughts of loss and self-loathing.

Now he felt nothing.

“John Denver.”

“What?”

“I knew who his favorite singer was,” Harry said, as if it were the most blatant thing in the world, like that was at all what either of them had been on about. “I knew everything about that man.”

Eggsy looked over to Harry, his curiosity piqued, the drift of Harry’s voice sounding with some semblance of pain that Eggsy had never been privy to before now. Harry’s one visible eyes glazed over with certain memories, glistening in the light of the fire, and Eggsy found himself all ears to the regret lingering at the tip of Harry’s tongue.

“His favorite colour is green, like the sprawling Highlands of his motherland. He’s three years younger than I and yet held a place in the same year at boarding school. I was inconsolably miffed to find some young pleb had outdone my top marks and so I went to confront him. We ended up having it out like two common blokes outside a pub in Moss Side of Manchester.” A small but strange smile withered across Harry’s face. “We subsequently settled on an acquaintanceship.”

Eggsy eyed Harry with rapt attention. “Go on.”

“He had a flare for the dramatic, though, you wouldn’t know it at first glance. Before gadgetry it was painting—a technological genius and he wanted to be an artist. Then I enlisted, obligated by a sense of duty, but then he enlisted because I did. Kingsman had him on their radar before they ever gave me a fleeting consideration. We somehow managed to succeed in our respective candidacies and remained happily unforthcoming on how we knew each other. Mother…”

Harry fell silent, his dance down memory lane having stumbled upon a subject clearly hitting too close to home. Eggsy would swear he stopped breathing, in that moment, in fear of disturbing the aura of the man’s confessional state. Eggsy could barely get him to divulge a request when making a lunch run, so close to the chest did Harry play his cards. The only other time Eggsy had ever heard Harry mention his mum had been shortly after discovering he was still alive, when he told Merlin he wanted to see her.

Merlin knew his mum, Eggsy realized.

“Mother adored him,” Harry eventually carried on, “and he her. She took a disliking to me, in the advance stages of her condition. Confused me with my father. I asked him to look after her, when I was off on missions for an indefinite amount of time, and he relished in the excuse to spend more time with her. When she finally succumbed to her illness,” Harry paused again, lowering his gaze to the expanse of his immaculate apparel, and Eggsy waited on his every word, “it devastated him.”

The silence of Harry’s sadness felt like a sucker punch to Eggsy’s face.

“I was a coward. I was cruel. He needed me and I…I wasn’t there for him. I told him I didn’t want him, didn’t need him, and he adapted in time. I told him not to mourn, because I hadn’t. I swept it under the rug, insisted on the mission. We can feel when we’ve saved the world but the world is never truly saved, is it?”

“Harry?”

“I killed him,” Harry said, staring pitifully into the fire, a helpless but resolute inflection about him. “I’m the reason he’s dead.”

“That ain’t fucking true and you know it,” Eggsy urged. “I killed ‘im. Okay? Not you, me. He pushed me off that mine, not you.”

“He saved you because he knew that’s what I wanted.”

“What, for the mission?”

“I should think,” Harry breathed, sulking, and Eggsy shared in his angst. “I lied, Eggsy, before… Alone was not all I had. Alone was not all I ever was. I had him, Eggsy. I had him and I took that for granted. I miss her... I never told him that. I should have told him that. Why didn’t I tell him that? There was so much more I could have said…”

Silence again.

Eggsy fixated on the fire, afraid to look over. There were no sobs, no whimpers, not even the slightest movement of distress. Harry was ever the epitome of nobility, the kind of posh, yuppie, high class wanker Eggsy used to despise mainly because posh, yuppie, high class wankers usually despised him. Not Harry, though.

Harry treated him better than anyone.

Eggsy looked to his senior colleague, summoning the balls to acknowledge a grief beyond his own, the single tear trailing down Harry’s eye remaining unfettered in its descent. Harry’s face screwed up only slightly as he fought back the full extent of his emotions, and Eggsy didn’t press him for more than that.

In fact, Eggsy found himself doing one better. He clambered out of his chair to stand behind Harry and, before losing his nerves, wrapped his arms around the older man faster than he gathered Harry could protest. He latched on, unwilling to let go, burying his chin against the backrest for good measure.

Harry said nothing but didn’t push him away and, eventually, Eggsy felt the older man relax into the embrace. Eggsy had practice with consoling his mum on what used to be a daily, wrapping her up in his arms to relieve her of all her anxiety and grief and hopelessness. Of all Eggsy’s skillsets, both the bad and the good, looking out for the people he cared for was the only one that ever truly mattered to him.

They stayed like that for what felt like ages until Eggsy’s phone went off.

“It’s Whiskey,” he said.

“Any idea what she might want?”

“No clue,” Eggsy admitted, staring at his phone’s screen in surprise. “I’ll take this, yeah, and then will get right proper shitfaced.”

“I wager I should pass on the offer,” Harry lamented and, just like that, Harry sounded contained again. “I had a full bottle, already, before joining you.”

“You what?” Eggsy raised his phone to his ear. “Galahad.”

“Galahad,” Whiskey greeted, her voice urgent. “I’ve got news for Kingsman and it’s a bit shocking.”

“We’re all ears,” Eggsy assured her, placing her on speaker. “What’s up?”

“Galahad, we found him.”

“Found who?”

“On our last sweep of Poppy’s hideout, we discovered a secret lair among the temple ruins and he was there.”

“Who was there?”

“Merlin,” Whiskey said, getting to the fucking point. “He’s alive.”

Eggsy looked to Harry, the alarm and disbelief and hope in his eye as he unwittingly clutched the back of his seat fucking heartbreaking.

Eggsy’s gaping mouth grew dry.

“Fuck me, Whiskey.”

“Uh, no thank you,” Whiskey said, in polite dismissal. “Tequila’s on his way. We’ll have you guys back in Kentucky by this time tomorrow.”

“We’ll be ready,” Eggsy said, looking to Harry with careful consideration.

“Let’s go,” Harry said, rising to his feet, and the two shared a determined nod.