#but i do love that spotty prick very much and i hope that came through

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

You know, sometimes I think - like, really think - about that fact that I helped pull together a fanzine for the best part of three years. And people apparently liked it??? That's completely potty.

[somedayonbroadway]

Hello! Could you please write some angsty Sprace? Thank you!

@badthingshappenbingo

Rock Bottom

Trope: Backhand Slap

Fandom: Newsies

Word Count: 2,634

Characters: Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon, Jack Kelly (mentioned)

Summary: Race was free falling. But the bottom had to be close. It had to be.

TW: Character Death (no one was supposed to die...), swearing, alcohol abuse, abuse

“You can’t keep doin’ this. You cannot keep doin’ this—“

“You don’t understand! You neva’ did!”

“So help me understand! I’m tryin’ ta understand!”

“You can’t—“

“Try me!”

“Could you stop trying to control me?!”

“I’m tryin’ ta save you from yourself—“

“I don’t need you ta save me!”

Once upon a time, they’d been the perfect couple. In fact, they’d been in love.

Sometimes they forgot what that felt like. They supposed that it was bound to be this way. After all, once they’d made it to the top, to the happiest part of their lives, things could only go downhill from there. The worst part of it all was, neither of them knew how much farther rock bottom was.

Judging by the backhanded slap that seemingly resounded off of every surface of their apartment, it was easy to have hope that they were close. They had to be close.

Race froze, standing in shock as he watched his husband’s face snap to the side, a big red mark beginning to swell on his cheek. The blond gasped, not moving, not even speaking. He just waited for the inevitable.

It wasn’t long before Spot recovered with a small, bitter laugh, grabbing his wrists and slamming him back against the wall. Race hardly felt it. The bottle was wrenched from his fingers and thrown across the room, shattering against the wall as some leftover beer dropped down onto the hardwood floor. Then Spot let go of him. They were still nose to nose. “You wanna fuckin’ hit me, Race, fuckin’ hit me!” the slightly shorter man dared, scowling and glaring daggers at the younger man who tried to stare back down at him angrily.

Silently, his mind reeled. This is what Spot said would happen. He couldn’t believe this was happening again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to. All he knew was that he was unmistakably, without a single doubt, completely and totally wasted. He just wanted to drink himself to sleep, maybe even further. It helped with the bad thoughts. It helped with the bad days. It just helped.

Except for when it didn’t.

The anger had worn off a bit. Honestly all Race wanted to do was cry. But he shoved those thoughts away with all the other ones that swirled around in his broken brain. “Get the hell offa me, Sean,” he growled, his voice slurring only a little.

“Make me,” Sean challenged, standing his ground. It was no secret that the man was strong, but even though he might not look it, Race was too. They were evenly matched. “I can’t keep goin’ through this with you Tyler— Tony— whatever the hell it is you wanna be called these days! You’re out of control n’ I can’t watch you keep spiraling!”

The blond growled a bit. “Then leave,” he spat.

The words hit Spot harder than Race ever could. He backed away, feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut as he forced himself to say, “Fine. I’m done.”

The world slowed down for a moment as Race watched the man he’d loved for so long walk away from him. Everything was a blur after that door slammed shut. All Race knew was that he had to get out, he had to do something. He couldn’t just stand there. Anger and despair rose up in him and the alcohol swirled it together before Race let out a bitter laugh.

He couldn’t remember what happened after that.

He woke up in a holding cell. It wasn’t the first time. If he did say so himself, he’d gotten very good at sleeping in the stiff benches that were built into the ground. It didn’t mean it made wake up any easier. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. He felt stiff and sore and nothing felt right.

Running a hand over his face, Race stared up at the ceiling. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut when he tried to move his gaze. The lights hurt. “Hey! I want my phone call!” he tried to yell, but his voice was coarse and his head was pounding. All that came out was a broken whimper.

“You already made your call, Higgins,” someone said. It was a vaguely familiar voice but Race didn’t care to look up to see a familiar guard.

“Does it count if I don’t remember it?” he groaned, knowing he must’ve screwed up big time.

No one answered him. So he let out a heavy sigh and just lay there, trying not to break at the bits of last night he did remember. His memories always came back in fragments. He ran a hand over his face and then dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He really didn’t want to remember.

Finally forcing himself to sit up, Race found that he wasn’t alone in the room. On the other side of those bars a man was staring at him, leaning against the wall and as much as Race wanted to cry right then and there, he didn’t. He just walked over to the bars that divided them. “Spottie…” he muttered, unable to look at his own husband.

“Asshole,” Spot shot back quietly, not moving from his place against the wall.

Race’s heart dropped when he managed to look up for just a moment. A bruise and a split lip was prominent on the man’s face. His gaze shot back down the second he caught a glimpse. “I’m sorry—“

“Bullshit, T,” Spot spat, still quite comfortable on the other side of those bars. “If you were sorry at all, this wouldn’t be happening again. It’s been goin’ on for too long, Race!” The shorter man shook his head, looking vulnerable for just a moment as he pushed himself off the wall and walked closer to the person he’d walk through hell and back for. “I’m tryin’ ta hold on for you, but I can’t do this forever n’ we both know it.”

Daring to look up when his husband came closer, Race felt the tears prick at his eyes but he refused to let them fall just yet. “I… I thought you were leavin’...” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cold metal that kept him contained.

Rolling his eyes, Spot shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah… I made it about halfway through packing a bag before I found out that you were trying to break into someone’s house.”

That’s when a few thin tears began to fall down Race’s face. “I-I didn’t call you, did I?” It wasn’t a question. He knew very well that he hadn’t called his husband. No, there was someone else he needed to talk to, someone else he had to hear from.

With a small sigh, Spot pulled out a phone that wasn’t his own and managed to find, through a cracked screen, a voicemail message.

“H-hey… l-look this time I knew he wouldn’t pick up… I just,” Race heard himself break off into a sob. “I just really needed ta hear his voice right now. B-but I know you’re there, Spottie.” Every word was shaken and squeaked and broken. Race let his tears fall listening to it. He just sounds so hopeless and desperate. “I… I… God, you’re probably gone already. N’ I can’t blame you f’r that…” he slurred a bit, clearly still drunk, but his mind was clear enough for him to think at least somewhat clearly. “I guess I just wanted to, uh, go home… I wasn’t thinkin’, Sean, I know I wasn’t I just wan’ed ta see him again.” Race was crying now. Both in the message and right there in that cell. He had just wanted to go home. “I’m… you don’t have ta come… but… if you’re leaving just know that I love you n’ that I’ll regret everything I did till the day I die…” The young man tried to make the tears stop, he scrubbed at his face. “Anyways… uh… goodbye, I guess…”

By the end of the message, Race could no longer lift his gaze from the floor. He felt so heavy, like gravity was pulling him down even harder. He didn’t speak. He had nothing left to say.

With a quiet sigh, Spot put the phone away, walking up to the bars. He wrapped his hands around them. “You wanna look at me?” he asked.

“No,” Race admitted, his voice watery and broken. He shook his head and pressed his forehead up against the cool metal in front of him. “No, I wanna stand here n’... realize for the first time that I’m only wearin’ one shoe,” he sniffled, almost laughing. That just made him want to cry even more. “Jesus, if he could see me now…” The words came in a breath followed by a bitter laugh. “I can already hear him—“

“‘Kid, you’re an idiot’,” Spot imitated. He used to do it a lot more often. Not so much anymore. “Yeah, I know that lecture.” They both knew that lecture. “Then he’d give you his shoes and take you home and make you breakfast but refuse to make you bacon because it’s the only thing you’d ask for n’ it’s the only way he knows how ta punish you.” It was true. That’s exactly what would happen.

The tears only fell so much faster down Race’s face as his throat tightened. He wrapped his arms around himself. He wanted to make a joke. It was his first instinct, even if they had gotten darker in the past eight months. He wanted to ask Spot if he was just going to leave him here, in this cell, just to get even, but words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t speak, all he could do was close his eyes and pray for shoes that were a size too big for him and a long lecture that would never end and a big breakfast with everything but bacon.

Swallowing hard, the young man raised his head to find the face of the man he loved with a handprint bruise on his cheek. “I-is this rock bottom?” he asked desperately, needing it to be over.

“Baby, you broke right through the floor,” Spot sniffled, looking right into those broken blue eyes.

They hadn’t been the same since the crash.

“I thought my back hurt,” Race tried to laugh, but he couldn’t. Not when he looked at Spot’s face. He reached out to caress his husband’s cheek. Spot only barely flinched. “I really am sorry,” he breathed. “I shouldn’t a’ said any a’ that… I shouldn’t a’ fuckin’ hurt you, I—“

“Shut up, Racer,” Spot sighed. “Just, shut up. You do this every time. You do somethin’ magnificently stupid n’ you think an apology will fix it,” he shrugged, only feeling slightly bad for being so blunt. “That ain’t gonna fix it this time. You need help. N’ you know it.”

Race shook his head. “You still don’t fuckin’ get it,” he grumbled, letting himself stumble back a bit until he slouched onto that bench.

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit anymore, Tyler!” Spot spat, making Race flinch a little bit at the name he’d been called. It hurt to hear. “You really wanna keep tellin’ me I don’t understand? Like I didn’t lose someone too?”

“You weren’t there, Sean!” Race cried pathetically, his voice breaking despite his attempts to keep it strong and together but it wasn’t working. All he sounded was broken. “You… you weren’t there…” He squeezed his eyes as he let his head fall into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. “You didn’t hear them tell you that it was him or me. You didn’t hear him begging me to let him go—“

“Race, stop,” Spot insisted. “Just, stop.” He’d heard it all before. So many times over again. “I know I wasn’t there. I know that. And I know that you somehow think this is your fault but it ain’t.”

Groaning, Race looked up at him, his eyes red rimmed and tired. “I don’t wanna do this right now—“

“Well that sucks, sweetheart, because you’re stuck in here right now n’ you got nothin’ ta do but listen, so ya better shut your mouth and chill,” the shorter man said, looking down at his husband. “What happened to Jack was not your fault.” Race twitched at the sound of that name. He could hardly say it anymore. Spot had never seen someone so deep in grief. It had been painful to watch in the beginning. He hated that it was so familiar now. “He wouldn’t have wanted this for you—“

“Yeah, well, he’s not here, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Race spat, glaring now. It was easier to be angry than to be broken. And damn it, Race was angry. Race was angry because there was no one left for him to blame but himself.

The words hurt to hear. “God, you don’t really believe that do you?” Spot breathed. “Tyler, I know that you think I’ll never understand. But I didn’t just lose my best friend in that wreck, I… I fucking lost my husband too…”

It was true. That day had changed Race forever and he knew it. All of it was so painful for him and the only thing the kid knew how to do was distance himself, even going so far as to change his name, try several times to change his look and refuse to visit his nephew who looked too much like a man who was never coming back for him. Spot watched as the boy he loved so much slowly faded away into a drunk, drugged up disaster.

Still, Race only scoffed. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he whimpered with a shrug. “That… h-he was my brother, Spottie. He raised me. H-he… he gave up everything he had for me n’ then he…” The blond shook his head. “N’... every time I think I can breathe again, I see it happening all over again n’ I just…”

“You need a drink,” Spot finished for him. He sighed, holding out a hand to the man he loved so much, waiting for Race to take it. When the blond did, Spot pulled him up towards the bars and guided his hand to his own swollen cheek. “I want you to get help, baby. Real help. Please.”

Looking down at his own handiwork was heart wrenching. Spot had been Race’s friend for nearly a decade. Race had watched him grow and get tougher and stronger and better throughout the years. Spot Conlon was the strongest person that he’d ever met and yet here he was, standing beaten because he didn’t hit back. He never hit Race back. Not really. “I need help…” the young man admitted, terrified, as was evident in his trembling voice. “Fuck, I need help.”

Spot nodded, clearing his throat before turning to the guard. “You can let him out now,” he supposed, watching as the guy went to unlock the door that held Race inside.

For a long moment, Race didn’t move. He just stared pathetically at his husband and shrugged. “What do we do now?” he asked.

The shorter man sighed and walked up closer to his husband, the man he adored above all else. He took his hand gently and looked up at him. “We take it one step at a time,” he breathed. “You ready?”

Race swallowed hard, nodding almost numbly as he looked past his love out into the cruel world before him. “Yeah… I think so…” he lied.

Still, Spot turned and tugged Race’s hand.

They walked out of that cell together and each step, still weary and uncertain, was easier than to one before.

Okay, before ya’ll come asking, I have no idea how Jack died. All I know is that it was some kind of situation where only Jack or Race could be saved, whether someone deliberately did that to them or they were in an accident of some kind where they were both gonna die but the EMTs got there and figured out to to save one of them, I don’t know. I’m not that medically creative, but there you have it. If anyone has an particular ideas, I’d love to hear them. 

I’ve really been beating on Jack lately. It’s oddly satisfying and so sad.

Anyway, let me know what you guys think!

Thanks for reading!

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 7

CW/TW: General Grief

The drawing room was quiet, far too quiet to be celebrating the birth of a child.

 Little Nikolay slept, swaddled in his blanket. Marya and Bourienne fussed quietly over him, remarking over his tiny hands, his little nose; anything and everything they could.

"Il est tres précieux! He will grow into a 'andsome young man, I am sure of it."

 While the two of them chattered on, Andrei and Y/N were much less involved.

 Andrei, while clearly enamored with his son, loved him in a more silent, personal way. He was never one to flaunt his affections. Whether that was due to his father, or simply his own nature, one couldn't be sure. But do not think that he resented his son. If anything, Lise had created such a sense in Andrei that he resolved to devote himself to raising his son, rather than giving his life as cannon fodder for some foolish war.

Andrei moved forward to take the child; his child, holding the small babe gently in his arms.

Y/N, on the other hand, could barely look at the child. She hadn't held him, in fact, she'd refused when asked.

She knew it wasn't his fault; he was a child, these things happened, Lise had already been at risk and she'd known exactly what it was she had been risking.

He looked so much like her. Too much for Y/N to bear. The curve of his petite nose, the cleft of his tiny chin, even his eyes. She had seen them open for a mere moment, it couldn't have been longer than a second, and yet, she couldn't bear it. The same soft, silky blue as his mother. As Andrei quietly soothed the now fussy child, Y/N's mind began to drift back to the week prior...

~

The very world seemed to mourn with the small procession; rain fell in torrents, turning the once-brittle earth into a thick, miserable muck. Armed with umbrellas, the attendees surrounded the twin caskets. The priest began to speak, prattling on about the tragedy that had befallen the family. First Lise in childbirth, then her father upon hearing the news. His heart finally gave out. This left Princess Y/N Zhudova as the sole heir to a considerable fortune.

Y/N stood nearest the caskets, arm hooked into Andrei's. Despite the Priest's speech, people continued to talk, muttering to each other. Y/N heard it all.

These things happen... poor thing was too young... it's a shame... I can't believe he left everything to his bastard...

With those words, the funeral, instead of honoring the dead, became about her. She was inheriting the entirety of the Zhudov estate. After observing the expected mourning period, she would have find a husband of similar, if not higher, rank.

 Already, she heard fathers and mothers telling their sons of the prospects such an influential woman would give them. All this power, this influence, were her's to wield. And wield them she would.

~

Y/N had left as soon as she could, desperate to get away from that tainted place. After saying her goodbyes, making them as brief as she possibly could, she'd all but fled the Bolkonsky Estate.

With the funeral and Nikolay's baptism out of the way, Y/N returned to the Zhudov household, not as a daughter, but as a matriarch.

Upon arriving to the house, she was greeted by the housekeeper, a woman she'd known her entire life.

"Madame, welcome back."

 "Thank you Yelena, I hope you've assembled the staff inside?" Y/N pulled her gloves off, adjusting her inky black traveling coat. Yelena nodded, thin lips pressed into a sad smile.

"Yes, Madame, they're in the foyer."

"Perfect, thank you." “Before you go inside, I have some concerns.”

“Oh?” Y/N stopped, allowing Yelena to lead her away from the driver. Her tight, lined face screwed up in an expression of concern and paranoia.

“Yes Madame… I fear that some of the staff may have complaints about you being the head of the household now. I’ve heard talk that some—I don’t know who—” she interjected before Y/N could ask, “Are being paid by young gentlemen’s families who wish for you to marry their sons. To my understanding, they each intend to ruin your reputation as a means to force you into a marriage with their sons to secure your fortune.”

“I see…” Y/N was silent for a minute; one could almost hear the gears in her head, turning as seamlessly as the gears of her father’s precious pocket watch.

 “... Madame, what-?”

“Yelena,” she turned back towards the matronly woman, eyes sharpened like the edge of an officer’s saber.

“Y-yes Madame?”

“I have a plan, but I will need your help in carrying it out, can I trust you?” Yelena, caught off guard, nodded vigorously. Y/N had known her since she was a little girl, ever since she’d moved to live with her father. “Good.”

 Y/N strode inside, scanning the small crowd of household staff, made up of about twenty individuals, each waiting.

"Good day, everyone. As I'm sure you're aware, I will be taking over for my father in heading the affairs of the household. As you know, there is a lot of work to be done. However," Y/N continued, "As unorthodox as it may be, I would like you all to take the rest of the week off. You'll return on Monday. If you have any questions, feel free to give them to Yelena, who can inform me if she sees fit."

There was silence for a few moments, then quiet whispers between the staff. Then, they began to disperse, talking amongst themselves. As they left, a few sent strange, questioning looks towards the new matriarch.

Y/N beckoned Yelena to follow her, leading her into her father's... her study. Y/N shut and locked the door behind her.

"I'm going to ask you to do one small thing for me."

"Yes, Madame, anything you need." Y/N paused for a second, before continuing.

"When the staff inevitably ask you why I've done this, I want you to give each of them a different reason. I need to see who is loyal to our household; to me. I don't care what it is as long as it can be easily disproved; give me a list of names with the lies so I can keep track. In a week's time, we shall know who I can trust. Once you've given them each their stories, you are free to go as well."

"I... yes, ma- I mean, yes Lady Y/N... I will do as you say." 

Yelena left, muttering under her breath. Once the door shut behind the retreating woman, Y/N sank in her chair, shaking violently. The tears began to prick at her eyes, exacerbated by the sharp, unrelenting pounding of her head.

How am I to do this? My god, I’ve barely taken the mantle and already people conspire against me… 

 She had hardly allowed herself the time to mourn at the Bolkonsky estate. With everyone bustling around, there hadn’t been the time for it. Not just Lise, but father as well. Her only remaining family had been destroyed in a matter of days. She still had the child, of course. Lise’s child. Her nephew; the one she could hardly bear to look at. Y/N nearly broke down there and then, but she managed to contain herself. Just until they leave, you can make it til then became her mantra, whispered ever increasingly under her breath. Before she knew it, the long case clock struck twelve, shocking her out of her obsessive reverie.

Looking up, she noticed a small piece of parchment, lined with Yelena's  meticulous script. She must've placed it there while Y/N was less than mentally present.

Skimming through the list, she noted a few familiar names; Alexandra, the young girl whose mother had been suffering from consumption. She was lucky enough to survive, but the disease had ravaged her body beyond repair. Anna, the maid whose sister had been ill and on her last weeks of her life, had passed some months prior while Y/N had been away. She recognized most of the names, able to link them with faces she'd seen around the house.

Standing from her chair, she walked out into the hallway, moving to her room. It was only when she felt warm rivulets of water travel down her neck did she become aware of the tears streaming down her face. Wiping them from her face, trying desperately to regain her vision, Y/N entered her room, all but ripping the heavy dress and stays from her skin. Now, dressed in just her chemise and stockings, her knees gave out. She fell. Hard. Knees smacking against the wooden floor. She was certain she'd bruised them, but she didn't care. 

 A wretched, choked scream escaped her lips, releasing all the grief she'd hidden for the past week. By the time she'd ran out of breath, her vision was spotty, her throat raw and painfully, desperately dry. It was on her fifth attempt to stand that she finally made it back on her feet, leaning heavily against the back of a nearby chair. Her breath came in great, gasping heaves, but she couldn't get enough. It was becoming harder and harder to see, her eyes wouldn't stay open. 

 She heard rapid footsteps, but she was sure all the staff had left. They were getting louder, more frantic with each second. Soon after, she heard her name. The door burst open, revealing the familiar figure of a young man, panting with exertion. Y/N, doubled over and leaning on the chair, couldn't make out his face.

 "Y/N? Y/N, what-" he rushed forward, catching her before she could fold to the floor again. "Are you hurt?"

No response.

"N/N please..." Finally, she looked up.

"P... Pierre..."

"Yes, that's good..." Pierre looked around; what should he do? She was clearly distressed and, at the rate she was breathing, she'd pass out, "Listen, N/N, please, you have to breathe, please..."

Her hand wound into the fabric of his coat, fingers trembling violently. "I.. I-I can't, I can't-" she gulped, gasping for breath.

"Alright, that's alright, you just need to try, please just-" Y/N's knees buckled again, slumping her against Pierre's chest. 

 He lowered her to the ground, leaning her back against the edge of the bed-frame. He placed his hands on her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"N/N breathe, you're alright, everything is going to be fine..."

Pierre wrapped his arms around her, feeling her hands grasp tightly at his back. Violent, heaving sobs shook her entire body. 

~

Neither of them were sure how long they'd sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, but, when they finally parted, it felt far too short. Y/N's face was splotched with red, tear-stained; she looked exhausted. Judging by the dark circles beneath her eyes, she hadn't slept in days.

"I... thank you, Pierre..."

"Y-yes, of course. I... I'm so sorry, N/N, about Lise, about your father... I'm so, so sorry..."

She smiled softly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"As am I..."

[scribbling-stiks]

AAR - IV - Soft Laughter

"You f***ing idiot. Why the f*** did you do that, you f***ing dumba**? F***!" New York mumbles under his breath, carefully examining America's wound.

"Hey, calm down York-y. I think he healed enough for us to just bandage this," California says quietly, putting a hand on New York's shoulder.

"I'll get them," Dixie volunteers.

"I'm going with you," Texas says. Texas leaves Russia against the nearby wall. New Mexico and Texas follow Dixie out, staying close to the ground. They slowly open the door and close it behind them.

'Is he gonna be okay?'

Russia waits for Dixie to get back.

'Are they okay?'

'Are there more soldiers we didn't see?'

'I hope they get back okay.'

America shakes against the floor, and Russia feels helpless. Canada slides over and pulls America into his lap. Canada strokes America's hair to comfort him, and Russia wished he could help. Help do anything. He opens his mouth to try to speak.

'It's going to be okay.'

"Is 'oin to ba ah-kay," Russia manages to mumble out.

'That was not what I was trying to say,' he thinks, frustrated.

"Russ?" America asks. America tries to turn to look at him but cries out in pain and recoils. His hands muffle his scream, and America just continues shaking in Canada's lap.

"Hey, you're gonna be okay. You're strong, eh?" Canada mutters in a comforting tone, "just stay awake."

Russia looks around at the kids around the room. The states and Philippines looked like they were about to cry, most of them stare with horror clear in their eyes. The provinces watch, uncomfortable and worried. Finland keeps watch, listening out the windows in case someone (or something)approaches them.

Russia hears footsteps approaching the cabin door. His breath stops. The door creeks open slightly, and Dixie skulks in. The states follow on his heels. Russia lets out the breath he had held. Dixie holds the gun, aiming it out the door, over Texas's and New Mexico's heads, dropping it only once the door was closed. Texas and New Mexico sheath their weapons and bring the first-aid supplies they had retrieved over to New York and California.

The two got to work, tightly wrapping America's back. Canada helps hold America upright.

The inside of the cabin slowly lights up, and the sunlight peaks through the window above Russia's head, casting spotty shadows along the walls of the cabin, lighting up the dirty floors and destroyed furniture in dotted, light yellow light. The colors are faded, and the interior looks much older than it had at first. He also spots some vials on the counter, and a few used syringes around.

His heart drops out of his chest, and his breathing stutters to a brief stop.

'Was anyone pricked?'

But he couldn't ask. He moves his arm to get someone's attention.  His movements weren't as coordinated as he would have likes and any movement made him sore, but he decided this is more important.

He gently pushes the arm of a nearby state.

"What's up?" Indiana asks.

Russia slowly raises his shaky arm, and with a half-closed fist, he tries his best to gesture to the countertop.

"What?"

Russia waves more frantically. Indiana gets up and walks over to the countertop, looking confused. Then, a panicked look passes over his face.

"Oh. Uhh, Dixie?" Indiana calls, a shaky tone to his voice.

"What?" Dixie snaps, and then he sighs, "sorry kiddo. Didn't mean to snap at you. What's going on?"

"I found what made them think we were just a bunch of druggys," Indiana says, pointing to the counters against the back wall. Whether it would be by luck or a pure choice of fate, they had avoided this wall, deciding to stay closer to the door.

Dixie goes quiet before standing and walking over. Once he sees what Indiana is talking about, he stiffens. After a moment, he walks into the middle of the room and clears his throat.

"Hey. All of y'all, this is very important," Dixie says, looking around at the occupants of the room.

Everyone looks at him, a little startled.

"I need to know if anyone finds anything on or near where you were sleeping."

The kids nod and begin searching around, and lucky, they came up short. They even throw up the blankets and help Russia move to check behind him, but they find nothing other than some broken glass under the blankets. Even still, the pieces are small, laying flat under a think quilt and the quilt doesn't have any visible rips.

Dixie looks tense and anxious.

"Was anyone pricked by anything? At all? Come 'ere, all of you. I'm checking y'all for any injuries. No exceptions," Dixie announces to the group, forcing them to line up, state, province, or country, to check for any sign of needle marks. Once Georgia was checked, she helps make sure none of them had a chance of being exposed to anything on the syringes.

Once everyone is checked and cleared, Dixie lets out a deep sigh of relief, and his knees visibly shake. Dixie stumbles for a second before regaining his balance. There is a moment of silence before America begins talking.

"Do you think we're safe to leave?" America asks, looking toward Finland, "I want to get out of here."

Finland nods.

"It looks clear. We should be safe. I'll scout around first, but we should be okay to leave." Finland confirms.

"Let's get out of here," Philippines insists. The others agree.

Finland walks around with Philippines to search for anyone who might be watching them. They come back a few minutes later and wave the others forward. Russia struggles for a minute while the others rush around, and manages to get to his feet. His legs shake violently, and he focuses all his attention to stay upright.

'I won't be able to walk, but this is better.'

Just as his legs are about to give out, Missouri and Rhode Island rush over. They grab his arms and help him walk to the car.

Russia tries to walk forward, but his legs feel as though they're made of Jello. Had it not been for the states, he knew he would've face-planted.

The numbness had faded, but his fingers and toes still tingle uncomfortably. He's helped into the car, and he sits upright against the window on the passenger side of the car. America is helped into the car next to him and buckled into the middle seat. Georgia joins them, sitting on the driver's side seat against the window.

When asked why, she shrugged.

"I don't want to be double buckling for the whole drive. Besides, Lulu can handle herself fine," she explained.

When Texas gets into the car after helping load the trunks with supplies, Kansas starts the car, but they don't go anywhere.

"Alrighty," Kansas says, looking over the seat at America, "where are we headed?"

"Somewhere we can hide and hunker down for a while," America replies. Texas hums in thought.

"Peaches, you got any ideas?" Texas asks.

"Y'all think that there are any other abandoned buildings or somethin'? We might be able to stay there," Georgia answers.

"As long as we can get there without anyone following us there, we might be able to have a base of our own," Finland says, thinking aloud.

Georgia shrugs.

"I don' know. I'm wonderin' what kinda stuff would be around here that we could hide out in."

Texas hums.

"Hey, I got an idea, why don't we call up the group and ask?" Arizona suggests.

"Yeah, go ahead," Kansas replies.

Russia's attention is taken away from the conversation by America leaning against him, head on his shoulder. He looks down and sees America just looking around, occasionally replying to the others discussing their next game plan.

Russia finds himself just admiring him.

'His face is pretty.'

Once Russia realized what he's doing, he zones back into the conversation.

"Idaho says there might be some places we could use in his state. There is also some tree cover to help," Canada says.

"We won't make it to Idaho on what's in the tank," Manitoba comments.

"Well, we'll have to go back and withdraw as much cash as we can before we take off. If they're tracking us by card purchases, cash might be the best option for now," America says.

"We should withdraw cash somewhere close to Denver," Finland suggests.

"Why?" Texas asks.

"It would get them off our trail. They'll think we are going to the city, and we can drive off in the opposite direction," Finland explains.

Russia doesn't like Finland too much but had to admit his respect for her idea.

Russia rides for hours back into Denver, and Dixie, New York, and many of the other states begin to withdraw as much money as the ATM would allow. They stock each of the cars with a few thousand dollars under the front passenger seat. The cars fill up their gas tanks, and they take off toward Idaho.

When the sun is high in the sky, they stop for a quick break, walking around, bathroom break, and just stretch out for a few minutes. With some help, Russia gets out, walks around briefly, and uses the bathroom before returning to the car. The others stock-up on snacks and bottles of water to have in the cars. Most of the supplies get tucked under the seats. America returns soon after as the states walk around and mingle for a few minutes, waiting for everyone to get back.

'He looks better,' Russia notes. He wasn't standing at his full height, but he could walk by himself. America made his way to his seat and pulls something out of the bag he held.

"I got you something," he mumbles, looking a little flush.

'Are you okay?'

"What is it?" Russia tries to ask. The syllables come out as a jumbled mess, completely unintelligible.

America giggles before handing him a little plush animal. Russia tries to take it but drops it due to his loose grip.

His cheeks grow warm.

America smiles before he carefully leans over to pick it up. He puts it into Russia's hands and wraps Russia's hands in his own.

"See, look. It's an arctic fox. I remember you talking about them at one of the World Meetings, so when I saw it, it reminded me of you," America admits, his face a little pink.

Russia feels his heart swell.

'I love it.'

"Thank you," Russia tries to say.

"You're welcome," America says through giggles.

America releases his hands, and Russia holds the doll close to his chest.

Then Dixie knocks on the window and opens the door.

"Hey Ruski, we found something of yours in the back of Bama's truck. Thought you would be interested," Dixie says, lifting his arm.

'My hat! I thought I would never see it again.'

Russia smiles, disbelieving.

Dixie grins and hands America the hat before closing the door. America smiles and puts it on Russia's head, partially covering his face.

Russia feels laughter bubble up from his chest, and he doesn't resist.

It sounds quiet, muffled almost. His throat feels funny.

America looks at him with a brilliant grin and embraces him. Russia tries to reciprocate. The best he could do is a loose hug in return.

America pulls back with a wide smile and misty eyes.

"I'm so glad you're getting better," America mumbles, holding Russia's hands to his chest.

Their alone time ends soon after, as everyone else gets into the cars. Georgia walks Louisiana to her car and then walks to Kansas's car with Texas and New Mexico.

"To Idaho, here we come!" Arizona cheers, starting the car as soon as the doors closed, and they speed off down the road, the sun hanging high in the sky, watching them as they rush up to somewhere they could hide.

~

Next

Previous

Table of Content

[turtle-steverogers]

Not Guilty- 2

murder mystery’s back! im having too much fun with this story guys

Link to chap 1 in case you need it

warnings: albert being a human disaster, abuse of the word ‘milk’

ship: ralbert, platonic spalbert

word count: 1680

editing: lmaoooo no

Chap 2

When Albert gets to the precinct the next morning, he’s wary to find a wrapped parcel on his desk that looks suspiciously like a sandwich.  He pokes at it, frowning when he sees a singular smiley face drawn on the underside in black sharpie.

 “Hey, uh, Spot?” He calls, looking up when he hears his partner’s chair roll out from his desk and subsequently poke his head around the low wooden wall that separates their cubicles.

“Yes, honeycakes?” Spot’s expression is the face of innocence and Albert’s stomach churns.

“Did you-” He stumbles, gesturing to the presumed sandwich, “Is this for me?”

“It’s on your desk, isn’t it?” Spot smiles, rolling back into his cubicle.

Albert sighs, taking off his messenger bag and jacket and sitting heavily in his desk chair.  He cautiously unwraps the white paper to find a loaded meatball sub sitting in the middle of a napkin.  There’s a sticky note placed delicately on the fluffy white bread and Albert plucks it up, squinting at the words:

Sorry you didn’t finish your sandwich xoxo Spottie

He laughs probably too loud and sticks the sticky note on his desktop, right next to the note from Jack that reads: ‘I’m sorry for stealing your pants, I had brains on mine’ after Jack had taken his extra pair of slacks from his locker when his got spoiled at a crime scene.

He takes a bite of the sandwich, pleased to find that he can still stomach his favorite Gianno’s special after yesterday’s events.  As he chews, careful not to get any tomato sauce on his shirt, he plucks a sticky note from his own pad and scrawls out: Thanks, Pop Spotcket.  Love u, dear xoxo and tosses it over to Spot.

A moment later, Spot snorts indignantly, “‘Pop Spotcket’? Really? Does anyone actually use those anymore?  The only person I know who has one is my niece and she’s eleven.”

Albert rolls his chair so he’s in Spot’s cubicle, sandwich still in hand, “I have one, asshole.  They’re useful.  Anyway, thanks for the sandwich.  How’s it looking at Gianno’s?”

Spot sighs wearily, placing a stack of papers down and turning from his computer to look at Albert, “Eh.  They’re closed today.  I stopped by this morning to pick up some evidence left at the crime scene and one of the waiters asked if I wanted anything and I remembered that you didn’t get to finish your lunch yesterday so…”

“Thanks, man,” Albert says, mouth full.  Spot wrinkles his nose and tells him not to speak with food in his mouth.  Albert rolls his eyes, “Anyway, evidence?  What’s new?”

“Nothing really,” Spot says, “Just Wiesel’s receipt from his last meal.  Wasn’t really much on it, but it gave us a sure timestamp that lines up with our original record, so at least that’s set.”

“Good,” Albert shoves the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, licking his fingers.

“Yeah.  Saw our boy there, though.”

Albert raises his eyebrows, “Higgins?”

“Mhm.”

“How’s he?”

Spot shrugs, “Didn’t talk to him.  Kid looked like shit.  Well, more shitty than yesterday if that’s somehow possible.  Kept sending cute little glares my way, fucking ray of sunshine, that one.”

“Christ,” Albert grimaces, “I’m convinced he’s a player in this debacle somehow.  I mean, he seemed genuinely surprised when he found out the vic was Wiesel, but too many strings lead to connections on his end.”

“Yeah,” Spot agrees, “I dunno, I say we dig a little into Wiesel’s other relations as well.  I feel like there’s a gap here somewhere.”

“Toxicology came back,” Albert says after a pause.

Spot looks at him, eyebrows raised, “And?”

“Sarin poison in the blood.  Stab wounds were post-mortem.  Someone wanted this shit to look messier than it is.”

“Interesting.  I wonder who’d go through the trouble of poisoning, then following up with a physical attack.  ‘Specially in a public place.  S’kinda risky.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but whoever it was, clearly knew what they were doing.”

“Clearly…”

XXX

Albert never understood why there was such a wide variety of milks in the world.  And why, in this moment, he can’t find any simple fucking 2%.  

He scans over the selection again, bypassing the almond and oat milks and skimming over the fritzy lactose free shit.  There’s strawberry milk and chocolate milk on display and even horrifyingly enough, mint milk, but no fucking 2%.  It’s not even like this fucking bodega is big enough to warrant having so many milks. 

He just wants some damn normal person milk!

“Excuse me, detective.” 

Albert doesn’t startle.  He doesn’t.  He’s a trained law enforcement officer and detective.  People like him don’t fucking startle.  But, he is on high, professional alert when he turns around to see Antonio Fucking Higgins standing behind him, eyebrows raised in what’s probably amusement and hands shoved in his pockets.

Albert makes a strangled noise, eyes working on their own accord as they trail down Higgins’ body.  He’s sweaty, looking like he just came from some sort of workout, and a pair of tight adidas running pants hug his legs in all the right places.  He’s in a tank top today, somehow doing his arms more justice than the grey shirt he’d been wearing yesterday.  A hat sits backwards on his head, doing little to tame the curls that are trying to sneak out of the stupid hole where the strap meets the fabric.  He looks hot and it’s unfair and Albert’s never been ashamed of his sexuality, but right now he’s wishing that he could reign in his gay ass a little bit because aside from the fact that Higgins is a bit of a prick, he’s also a suspect and that’s, like, number one in the Book of Nope for cops of any kind.

Higgins is still looking at him, but now there’s a small crease of concern between his eyebrows, “You alright, man?” He asks, “You look kinda like you’re having a heart attack.  Do you have any chest pain?  Your left arm feel numb at all?”

Albert shakes himself, morphing his expression into something he hopes looks less like Gay Panic, “Yeah, sorry, I-” He splutters a bit, then shuts his mouth with a click.  

Higgins scoffs, “I just need milk, man, you mind?”

Albert starts, hastily stepping out from where he was definitely blocking the milk selection and watching as Race grabs a carton of-- fucking 2%.  How did he find it so fast?  How did Albert not see it?  He’s supposed to be the one trained to look for details others don’t see!

Trying not to flush, Albert reaches out and grabs a carton as well and Higgins looks at him again, laughing, “You were standing here for a long time, dude, I thought you were gonna murder the milk for a second.”

“Couldn’t find the 2%.” Albert mumbles, blushing harder when Higgins laughs louder.

“Real good reconnaissance there, detective.”

When Higgins is laughing, his face changes into something a whole lot more pleasant.  Not that it was ever unpleasant (the dude’s got a jawline of a god), but some of the hardness in his eyes and shadows on his face go away and for just a second, he looks like the 25 year old he’s supposed to be.  It’s nice, Albert thinks, ignoring the way alarm bells are going off in his head.

“Shut up, Higgins, I’m tired.  Some of us have to read about murders all day, so excuse me if my milk finding skills aren’t the most refined.”

Higgins’ face softens and the smile in his eyes turns into something else that Albert doesn’t want to dissect, “Race.”

“What?”

“Higgins is my dad, not me.  And I don’t like the name Antonio very much, so if we’re gonna be talking more, be it over murder or milk, call me Race.”

“Race?”

Higgins--Race--winks, “That’s a story for level five amici.”

“Oh, okay.”

They pause for a moment and even though Albert’s not drunk, his inhibitions seem to flutter away from him against his will as he blurts out, “Drinks sometime? Would- uh- would you wanna get drinks sometime?”

And fuck-fuck- SHIT- what are you doing Dasilva? What the fuck?

Race considers him for a moment, “Not that I wouldn’t hit that,” he nods to Albert’s body and Albert flushes.  Damnit with the flushing!  He’s 26, not some flouncy high schooler, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea, detective.”

Albert nods, “No, yeah, honestly I don’t know why I asked- uh-”

“Relax, don’t have an aneurysm, it’s okay.  I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

“No no, you’re right.  Absolutely.”

There’s another pause, then Race smiles apologetically, “I gotta go get the rest of my groceries.  Take care.”

Albert cringes internally at how fucking painfully awkward this exchange has been, “You too,” he says, watching Race retreat to the wine aisle.  He takes another moment to gather himself, then goes to the checkout line.

XXX

Albert turns up the volume on his TV, pleased with the quiet solitude of his apartment for the night.  He doesn’t love living alone, but it’s been a long couple days and he’s been looking forward to a night to himself since he’d woken up that morning.  Just him, some thai, and the Animal Planet playing reruns of ‘It’s Me or the Dog’ all night.  Fucking self care.

He’s just yelling at some dog owner on the TV for feeding his pug 24 eggs a day and watching as Victoria Stilwell chews out the greasy fucker when his phone rings on the coffee table in front of him. 

Groaning, Albert mutes the show and chugs down a few sips of beer, before picking up the phone and answering with an annoyed, “Someone better be dying.”

There’s silence on the other end and Albert pulls the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID.  It’s Spot.  Shit, someone might actually be dying.”

“Spot?  Everything okay?”

Spot sounds sheepish when he says, “Well no one’s dying, technically…”

“But…”

“There was another murder.”

“Shit.”

-

Race went straight home after the bodega, right? RIGHT!??!? stay tuned ;)

thanks saph for ‘pop spotcket’

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[cilliansaccent]

The Peaky Designer - Cillian Fanfic, Chapter 2

Hello, welcome back. Below is the next instalment of my fanfiction!

Please leave a like or any comments below on ways to improve, please be kind but you are welcome to be critical! I’m open to ideas and fixing up mistakes. Also, sharing would be amazing!!

Note, PLEASE READ:

I will not be including Cillian’s family as it’s kinda weird since he has children lmao. Just a mention of his parents and a previous lover.

I will indicate in a chapter if there is smut in the beginning and before the actual scene!!

I will add trigger warnings if there is any!!

There is a variety of levels of swearing during a chapter, I will not hold back, everyone swears.

The timestamp for the Fic is now 2016 and onwards!!

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Background: Gabrijela Babic is a Croatian girl from Sydney, Australia. She is born in the year 1991 on the 24th of December. She studies a Fashion degree in a University with a major in Game Design as well. Her teacher in the fashion designer class managed to nail an Internship on the set of Peaky Blinders with the shows very own Costume Designer, Allison McCosh. There, she travels to London for under a year to learn how to be one, working alongside the actors as well the man she admires, Cillian Murphy. But, her platonic feelings for the man begins to grow into something more, and she wonders whether she should pursue them or let him go for fear of her strict parents and her three older brothers…

Characters:

Swantje Paulina as Gabrijela Babic (swalina on Instagram)

Cillian Murphy

Word Count: 5,265

!!Warnings!!: Small scene of sexual harassment after Gab leaves to go to the toilet when shes at the pub. 

Date: March 2016

Chapter Name: Dinner and a Gig

Brief Chapter Outline: Second day in, Gabrijela spends the afternoon with Cillian, getting to know each other better before he treats her to a lovely dinner and then to a gig of a local band Cillian attends for a buddy of his...

——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——-

The theme song of Game of Thrones blared in some faraway land. Gabrijela was sound asleep, wearing nothing but a singlet and lacy panties. 

She let out a sound when it finally stopped but it wasn't long when it started up again. She finally rolled on to her back and grabbed her phone on the bedside table. She hadn’t made it under the covers last night, she simply collapsed on top and fell asleep after she had dinner and wrote in her diary and updating her family again. 

“What?” She groaned, answering the phone. 

“Its Cillian,” the Irish accent made her skin prick and she sat up. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so rude.” She rubbed her eyes. 

“No worries. Did I wake you up?” He asked, there was a smile in his tone. 

“Noooo, I was getting up anyway. Let me open the door and you can come up.” She got up and pressed the button which unlocks the main door. “My door is unlocked so just come in.” She said. 

“See you then,” and he hung up. 

She was still groggy and sleepy as she rubbed her eyes again and knelt on the floor. She pulled out the drawers under the bed and looked for an outfit for today. It had rained overnight and it still was, it was cold. 

Cillian walked in, “I hope you have this locked when you--” He stopped when he saw Gabrijela on the floor, “Oh! Gab!” He covered his eyes, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Yeah? Oh right,” She laughed and grabbed a pair of blue jeans and a white knitted halter neck sweater. “Sorry. I forgot.” She scurried into the bathroom. “If you want tea or coffee, just boil the water.” She called out as she changed. 

“Sure. Did you want tea?” He asked. 

“Yeah! Just black tea with honey.” She said. She brushed her long, blond hair and braid it back. She washed her face and applied makeup, she looked dead and had bags under her eyes. So not a good look, she thought, making a face in the mirror. 

“It’s midday, by the way,” Cillian said after a bit. 

“Whoops.” She smiled as she came out. She looked fresher and felt fresher. 

Cillian was dressed quite casual, black jeans with boots, a white shirt and a denim jacket. The harsh haircut made it seem so at odds, she smiled more at the thought. 

“What are you smiling about? Tea is ready.” He handed her the spotty cup. 

She took it, “The way you're dressed, and that haircut. So strange. But definitely not in a bad way.” She quickly said. 

“You’re not the first one to say that.” He laughed, drinking his tea. 

“Oh? I hope it didn't offend you.” Her brows rose. 

“No, no. I just don't prefer to talk about work or much about my acting.” He admitted, taking a seat on the couch. 

"Oh okay, that's fine." She said as she came over and sat beside him, facing him. 

"So, it's really midday huh?" She played with the end of her braid. 

"Yeah." He showed her the time on his iPhone, "I knew you'd fallen asleep and wake up later." 

"Oh yeah, not because I had said I hadn't slept on the plane." She stuck up her nose, drinking her tea. 

"Definitely not because of that." He agreed, that same cheeky smile returned on his handsome face. 

It was so easy to play around with him despite meeting him just a little over twenty-four hours. She loved the playfulness, and always would be drawn to people who were able to tag along. 

"I think we should head off, nighttime falls quickly here so I want to use as much of the day as possible," Cillian said as he finished his tea. 

"Yeah, alright." Gabrijela got up and he cleaned up the cups while she pulled on her suede cream jacket. 

Boots on, she grabbed her bag and her phone, and together they headed out. She locked up and down the stairs, they went. 

They took the walk down the road together, a cool wind made her pull her jacket closer. It had stopped raining by now.

"In the coming months, it's going to rain like, almost every day," Cillian said, his hands in his jacket pockets. 

"Well, lucky for me I brought my winter stuff. I'll have to buy an umbrella that's all." She said. 

"Yeah, that's much needed. Always have one on hand to." Cillian nodded. 

"Thanks for the tip. I'll keep that in mind." She paused and took some photos of the area, "So pretty." She whispered as she checks her phone. 

"Can I see?" He peered over her shoulder. 

She showed him the photos, "I love taking photos. I brought my Canon camera with me, kinda an amateur photographer." She said shyly. 

"Huh, you might need to show me sometime. I saw a photo there, sorry to pry... Is that your family?" 

She flicked back on her phone to show him a group photo on a birthday a month back. It showed her parents, her three older brothers with their wives and their kids. 

"I'm an aunty to five kids." Gabrijela grinned, "This is Ante and his wife Louise and their five-year-old son, Caleb, and three-year-old daughter, Sasha. Ante is the eldest, then the middle boy is Dominik with his wife, Leah and their one-year-old son, Luca. And the youngest boy, Leo and his wife Tatiana and their one-year-old daughter, Tijana." 

"Wow, you got a big family. Names are fancy, what nationality are you?" He asked as they continued to walk. 

"Croatia. Both parents born there and as well as my brothers and myself. We lived there till the year two thousand and one before we all moved to Brisbane until two thousand and ten then moved to Sydney since my Dad had to move for his work." She explained. 

"Huh, that's a big move. Did your brothers meet their wives in Croatia or...?" He was curious and fascinated. 

"Ante met Louise in Croatia, they dated forever until they married about eight years ago. Dominik and Leo found their girlies in Sydney." She told him, then continued, "Dom married four years ago and Leo three years ago." 

"And you are the only girl, yeah?" Cillian asked they paused at a set of lights. 

"Yep. The baby of the family, it's tough." She said a little tentatively.

"How'd the parents feel about you coming here?" He noticed she didn't really want to elaborate on that subject. 

"Not happy. But I'm hoping it's only fear for me being here by myself rather than their eternal disappointment in me." She said with a trace of bitterness to her tone. 

Cillian looked over at her, seeing the cloudy look she had on her freckled face. He nodded, "But you look out for yourself, you do what you enjoy. Life is short, and you shouldn't let the opinions of others bring you down." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

"Yeah. I know that" She looked up at him, "But, my whole life felt like I just kept disappointing them no matter what I tried to do. They didn't, especially my mum, want me to pursue a fashion designer career. More with business and that crap. That's not me. I want to create, make things, design. That's why I've also picked up a major in game design." She gulped as they walked across the road, they came to a shopping strip after the walk. 

"Come on, this doesn't seem to be a happy subject. Look, there's a lot of boutiques here, a lot of famous people had once wandered the streets here." He said, changing the subject for her. 

She was grateful for the change and walked along the strip, looking through the windows. 

As they walked, he pointed out things of interest for her. She took photos of the buildings or the interesting architecture and even got him to snap a photo of her next to the red phone box. 

She wanted to ask him to join but thought otherwise, feeling a little embarrassed to ask. 

She weaved in and out of stores and he happily tagged along inside, not minding the feminine clothing that surrounded him. He even went as so far picking things out for her and they had a good laugh when she politely said it wasn't her style. 

After she bought some stuff and even snuck in lingerie or two, they headed towards Buckingham Palace and the park nearby. 

It began to rain once they reached there, and using her brand new umbrella they huddled very close under it as it was quite small. 

She giggled as they paused under a large tree, "So much for coming this far." She said. 

"You never know with London weather." He said, grinning. 

He smelled really good, like cinnamon and a hint of wood fire and luxury. 

They stood under the tree, and he had moved an arm around her to make more space for them both. 

She leaned into his body a little, his warmth transferred to her and she thanked him mentally for it. 

The rain let up, sprinkling now. "Should we go get coffee instead of standing here?" She asked in a timid voice. 

"That might be a good idea. I know one just around the block." 

They hurried across the road together, dodging puddles and mud. They scurried into the little coffee shop where she ordered an almond cappuccino and he had a black coffee. 

There wasn't any space in the shop so they stood outside under the awning, shoulder to shoulder, clutching their take away cups. 

Gabrijela giggled softly, she was cold but the warmth of the cup made it sort of bearable. 

Once they drank that, they came to the edge of the road but a car drove way to fast. 

Water splashed everywhere on them both, Gab taking the brunt of it. They turned to each other and looked at each other, then burst out into laughter. 

"Oh my god," She whined but had a big grin, "We definitely have to head home." She said. 

"Indeed! Before we catch a cold." He hailed a taxi and they got in with the bags that were still dry. "At least I got a new shirt in here, I can put that on." He mused. 

"Lucky. I'll have to get this all cleaned up." She pouted. "I love this jumper." 

They arrived back to her apartment and they headed inside. She set her bags on the bed and went through the dresser to find some fresh set of clothing for tonight. 

"May I pick you up around six instead?" He asked. 

"Sure, but that leaves us one hour to get ready now. You might as well stay." She said as she held her clothing in her arms. 

"I know. But I'll head home quickly, change and come right back." He said, she noted the slight nerves in his posture, especially in his eyes. Why was he nervous? 

"Okay. I'll be ready by then." She said.

He departed and she had a shower, reapplied her makeup and pulled on her new outfit for tonight. It was a black, blue and red checkered mini skirt with a white button-up blouse and a red coat that came just to her knees. She had thigh-high boots and left out her wavy hair. 

The bell rang and she let him up again, unlocking the door and he stepped in. 

Cillian was dressed very well. Black jeans with a nice pair of loafers, a white button-up shirt that was tucked in with a casual suit jacket on top. His cologne was rich and smelled good. 

She beamed, she spotted purple socks he wore, "Flashy." She mused, "You look good. And you smell just as nice." 

He looked at her, eyes darting up and down and his expression was bright and cheery, "You look... lovely." He said with almost a stutter as if he couldn't find the right words. That small intimate smile returned. 

She bit her lip and looked away, her cheeks heating, "Thank you." Her stomach was doing flips but in a good way. This man was really seeping into her heart, intoxicating her with his lovely smiles and cute accent. 

"Should we go? I-I'm ready." Gabrijela said she picked up her crossbody bag. 

"Lets." He held the door open for her, and place his hand on the small of her back as he guided her out. 

The pair left the building and drove off somewhere else in London. The area was named Covent Garden, he found some restaurant called the Ivy Market Grill. 

It had stopped raining thankfully, as Cillian had to park quite far from the place. "The only problem here is the shit parking." He cursed as he found a spot and parked. 

"So I've heard." She said as she got out of the car. "So why here?" She asked him as they walked along the footpath. 

"Its a bit pricey but the food is good, or so my friends have told me." He said, "Atmosphere is nice, comfy. The whole place is designed almost authentically, too. Wanted to bring you to a place which makes authentic food." He explained. 

"Okay. Sounds lovely." Gabrijela was eager to try some good food, she loved her food, and if it was local, even better. 

They arrived at the restaurant, and once inside she felt like she was taken back some decades. It was mostly brown, green, rust and cream colours, mixed with odd patterns and round lights. There was a large bar and the place was almost packed. 

Cillian spoke to a waiter and they were taken upstairs to the terrace, which was covered and was seated next to the railing that overlooked the piazza below. 

"It's really nice." She nodded, it was cosy and light, especially upstairs. 

"It is, it is. I hope the food is just as good." He said. 

The waiter came by after a bit and Cillian ordered a glass of red wine, she did the same, she liked red. 

"You're a red girl, huh?" Cillian sat back in the chair. He ordered a bottle instead. 

"Yeah, I don't mind it. I like having it with dinner mostly. White... Hmm, I like Moscato, I'm a sweet person. When I go out though with my friends, its either vodka or tequila, or a mix of both and various other killing kinda spirit." She laughed softly.

"That's alright, at least you like a wide range of drinks. I stick to my red wines or some good local ale." He replied, "You said you go out? Where to?" 

"Uh, well in Sydney, mostly night clubs or do a classic pub run with my best friend and her mate. I'm a single gal, so I'm hoping to find a man who is willing to uh, date me or something. I get dates but uh... It ends up in bed and no more after that." She blushed a little. 

"Really? You seem like a really smart and talented girl. Who wouldn't want to date you?" He asked, clearly shocked with his raised brows.

The bottle came and the waiter poured them a glass each, she took a sip of hers, "I guess Sydney boys don't like a smart girl. Only for a good fuck for a couple of times." She sighed, "I'm over that, those friends with benefits. I'm twenty-five, and most of my friends are getting married soon, three of them are next year. One already has two kids." She twirled the glass on the table, "Guys I meet are immature, or like I said want to just get laid, they don't want anything serious. I want something serious. But it seems like a turn-off." She whispered. 

"Well, if you want my honest opinion, I don't think its a turn-off. It's nice to hear a girl like you who wants something for herself. You want kids eventually?" She nodded, "Marriage?" She nodded again. "I can say the same for myself." 

She almost choked on her drink, "Ah, yeah. Yeah." She hastily wiped her mouth. 

"I-I mean, not with you- I-I mean unless- Ah- Fuck, sorry. Fuck." He let out a nervous and embarrassing laugh. 

"It's okay." She laughed, reaching over suddenly and took his hand, squeezing it. "No offence." She winked at him and it seemed to calm him down. 

A waiter came over finally and took their orders. It seemed to calm the air between them. Whatever it was. Her heart had skipped a beat when he spoked about how her needs and wants wasn't a turn-off. Was that a turn-on for him? She kicked herself mentally for thinking such an absurd thing. He was so way out of her league, and her parents would definitely not approve. 

Besides, she was here on an internship, not to find a guy. 

But she looked up and met those pretty baby blue eyes, and she could see something appear in them. Something. 

"So," she finally said after some seconds that passed once the waiter left, "Music. You were in a band. What do you like to listen to?" 

"Uhm, just to name a few, Daft Punk occasionally, Blur, or Nils Frahm when I need something to chill out to." He said. "I got some old records that I still listen to, helps me get into a good mindset when I need to act." 

"Cool. I'm pretty easy, I listen to whatever sounds good I guess? I love a bit of everything except like heavy metal or country. If you check out my Spotify its a mixture of music, old classic pop and rock, or today's music. Even got a Croatian playlist too." She shrugged. 

"Top favourite band?" He asked, "Or two." 

She thought for a bit, "Imagine Dragons and... Fuck, I don't know. I love a lot of bands. My top song is Live it Up by Mental As Anything and Born to Be Yours by Imagine Dragons. Even Radioactive, god, I could put that on so loud and I'd be so far away from this world." She sighed, smiling. 

"In what way?" Curiosity laced his voice. 

"I read a lot of fantasy books, young adult, paranormal romance. I like to envision myself in those worlds as the heroine, fighting monsters and... stuff like that." She blushed. "I daydream a lot, writing is another thing I do. Whenever I get the chance." 

"Brilliance of a creative person, so music helps you dream?" He seemed very intrigued, fascinated. And truly interested in what she had to say. 

So she continued, surprisingly, "Yeah. Sometimes the lyrics don't need to help me, but mostly the tune. So, like alternative, indie rock. I like that stuff, gets my mind rolling." She said, her eyes glittering with joy. He didn't seem afraid either, he spoke wildly and passionately about how music also affected him in ways that let him experience highs and lows. 

When their food came, it didn't stop their conversation. They chatted about music, about the changes in genres and all that. 

It connected them very well, and she felt so unafraid for the first time to open up about her likes. She was over the moon that he didn't judge her, he asked questions, genuine questions of herself. 

Even went into their dislikes, and they clicked through that. 

Their dinner was over and he was quick to pay despite her trying to offer money. 

"Keep it," He said as they walked out of the restaurant. He held her coat and helped her put it on. "Buy something for yourself. Tonight is on me." He kept his arm around her shoulders as he guided her down the street. 

"Where we going now?" She asked, sliding an arm around his waist. It was more comfortable to walk like that, not because she wanted to. Or maybe she did. 

"There's a pub here that has live music. Alternative rock. Haven't heard of the band before but thought it would be fun to go." He said as the pub neared. 

There was a shit ton of people, they all piled outside and drinking. Music spilled out in the night. It was a very good beat. 

"Ladies first." He said and gestured with a hand for her to go first. She did, and his hand found that spot on her back. 

Once inside the pub, it was fairly large and people were seated in booths or tables or gathered around the bar. 

She saw a bunch of people wave from a booth, "There. Come on." He took her arm instead and they pushed through the throng of people. 

"Hey, mate! Glad you could come!" A man rose up from the booth, shaking hands with Cillian. "Oh man, my friend is so stoked you could be here tonight. It means so much." The guy was grinning wide. 

Cillian smiled, "Yeah, man. No worries. You talked him up so much, so he better be good." He teased. 

"Definitely! Ah, and who's this pretty lady?" The man turned to Gabrijela. 

She could see him and his buddies were a little tipsy but she gave them a lovely smile either way. "Hi," She shook hands. 

"Gabrijela, she's come all the way from Sydney! To work with me and the rest of the cast." Cillian explained. 

"Oh! Lucky girl. I'm Joel by the way. Don't worry, Cillian 'ere is a fantastic man. He'll look after you splendid." Joel winked at her, picking up the subtle hint. 

She frowned a little but she was ushered to sit. She sat at the end opposite Cillian to some other man whose name was Lawrence. 

"I'm gonna get drinks, what do you want?" Cillian asked her as he knelt beside her. 

"Surprise me." She leaned in to speak into his ear. 

He nodded and stood up and disappeared in the crowd. 

"So," Joel leaned on the table, "How long are you stayin' in London?" 

"About a year. It's the length of my Internship with a month of free time in December." She explained. 

"Oh yeah? Neat. How you feeling? Are you by yourself?" Lawrence jumped into the conversation. He was uncomfortably close to her, especially his hand. 

"Uh... I'm feeling okay. Nervous." She said, not answering his last question. The situation made her on edge. She had been in this scene before. Cillian, she thought, where the fuck are you? 

"You looking for something here?" Leo hummed, giving her a once over. 

"No." She said, standing her ground. "I'm here for my studies. Nothing more." She gave him a pointed look. 

"I'm just asking, Miss. Usually, you girls are after more than just a job. I work for a taxi company that--" 

"Listen here, mate." She leaned over, slapping the business card out of his hand. She knew what kinda taxi driver this sick prick was, "I'm not here to fuck with men or women. I'm here to work, to get experience in a fashion career. And you fucker give me shit like this? You're sick." She spat. 

She'd walk, but Cillian had come over looking cheery as always. He looked at Gabrijela, seeing her posture of her crossed legs and arms. 

"Hey, we good here?" He asked as he set the wine glass in front of her and one for himself, and two beer glasses in front of his friends. 

"Yeah, mate. It's fine. Hey look they're about to get on stage." Joel nodded to the band setting up now after the first one finished. 

As the band fixed their gear, she felt a nudge under the table. She looked and Cillian mouth 'Are you okay?' 

She nodded, giving him a smile but it didn't reach her eyes. Cillian frowned sitting back before Joel sucked him into a conversation. 

Lawrence on the other hand, wanted to talk to her, "Is this your first time overseas?" 

"No," She said blandly, sipping her wine as she faced the rugged man. 

"Where did you go? If this isn't your first time." Lawrence continued. 

"Europe with family. I'm here-" She stopped herself. 

"By yourself? That's brave." He purred. 

Fuck. 

"Yeah. Very." She looked away, the band began to play. 

The night went on and Lawrence seemed to leave her alone and she began to feel a little better. The boys talked about work and whatever, and she listened to the band playing. 

They were pretty good and she bopped to it, even taped some of it as a memory. 

Then she spotted a photo booth, and a smile broke out, "Cillian." She said, bringing his attention to her. "There's a photo booth. Can we go to it?" She asked. 

"With me?" He asked. 

"Yeah, I love those things." She stood, holding out her hand for him. 

"Alright. We'll be back." He said to Joel and Lawrence. 

The pair went to the photo booth, and she paid for it. They took six photos together, silly poses and some serious or smiling ones. They looked at the photos and both laughed, there was one for her and one for him. 

"I'm gonna cherish this." She said to him, hugging him suddenly. 

He was taken aback but hugged her back, "Same here." He said. 

"I'm gonna head to the ladies room, I'll be right back." She said to him and pulled away to go to the toilet. 

Cillian returned to the table, tucking the photo into his pocket, "Where'd your girlie go?" Joel asked. 

"Ladies room," Cillian replied lightly before they went back to the conversation. 

Lawrence took a moment before he got up and went towards the toilet. 

Gabrijela was just walking out when she ran right into Lawrence. 

"Woah!" He gripped her arms. 

"Let go." She growled and pushed his arms away. 

"Damn girl. You are a feisty one." He smirked, cornering her. 

"You fucker. Let me through." She tried to get past him but he had her pinned. 

"Why you acting like this? Shouldn't you be happy? Getting the attention yeah?" He purred. His breath reeked. 

"Get off me!" She cried, but the music was so loud, and the area was dark that no one really paid attention. 

"Come on girl, I know you like this-"

No. She definitely wasn't. Before his hands could yank up her skirt or jumper, she brought her knee between his legs.

He gasped and fell to his knees, clutching himself. 

Gabrijela picked up her bag and tried to fix her jumper, tears began to fall down as she rushed through the crowd. 

When she reached the table she grabbed her unfinished wine and threw it on Joel. 

"Fuck you." She snapped, "How dare you. How dare you!" 

Cillian shot to his feet, "Hey! What's wrong? Gab?" He grabbed her arms. 

"Let me go!" She shook herself free from him. "That old pervert sent his cocksucker on me! He had his hands on me!" She was infuriated, humiliated in a way and frightened. 

She turned from Cillian and pushed through the crowd, and stumbled out of the pub as tears fell down her cheeks more freely now. 

She stormed down the street, she needed to get home, have a shower. 

"Gabrijela!" She could hear Cillian's voice call for her. "Gab! Wait!" 

He caught up to her and got her to stop by standing in front of her, "Gab, hey. Look at me, hey." His voice was gentle and soft. 

She couldn't look up, but his fingers took her chin and he tilted her face up, "What happened? Talk to me," He was seriously concerned and worried. 

She sniffled, she explained what happened and had clung to his arms. "I-I'm sorry I-"

"No. You're not at fault. I'm sorry, I should've picked it up sooner. God, I'm so sorry," He pulled her into his body, and she wrapped her arms around him. 

He stroked her back slowly and she found it comforting. "Let's go home, yeah?" 

"Yeah." She nodded and pulled away slightly. He kept his arm around her shoulder as they walked back to the car. 

He put on some gentle music and it eased her all the way back to the apartment. 

They silently walked up the stairs and he came in with her. She sat on her bed, sighing heavily. She tried to take off her boots but she couldn't. 

"Let me help." He came over and knelt in front of her. His fingers brushed her skin and watched him closely as he peeled off her boots. He set them aside and then helped her out of her jacket and hung it up for her. 

She flopped back on the bed, eyes shut. 

"Will you be okay? By yourself?" He asked her as he sat beside her. 

"I..." She opened her eyes, looking at him. Her heart melted at the sight. She didn't think she ever saw a man so worried like he did right there. She smiled a little, "I... Stay. Please." she sat up slowly, leaning closer to him. 

"Okay. I'll sleep on the couch-"

"No. Could..." she sucked in a breath, "Hold me? Please? U-Unless that's too much since we-" 

"Of course. Doesn't bother me." He reached up and brushed a knuckle along her cheekbone. "Get changed into something more comfortable though." He added. 

She nodded and got off the bed, she grabbed her singlet and the silky booty shorts she had and changed in the bathroom. She cleaned up her face and combed her hair before she stepped out. 

Cillian had kicked off his shoes and his jacket and was simply in his shirt and his boxers. 

"Someone's comfortable." She said with a smile. 

"Ah, I mean- I can put my jeans-" He stuttered and reached for them. 

"No," she rushed to him, taking his hands, "No, I was only kidding. It's fine." 

"I'm wearing underwear under them." He offered. 

She snorted, and then laughed, "It's fine. Really. Do I look any better?" She huffed. 

He looked her up and down quickly and his cheeks went a shade of pink. He didn't answer her. 

He got into the bed first and she went to the other side. 

Once they were in and comfortable, he held open his arm, "Come here." He said softly. 

She accepted the offer and rolled into his side, her hand resting on his chest, her head on his shoulder.

His arm came around her, his other arm was bent under his head. 

"I'm sorry for tonight how it ended. I had hoped it went better." Cillian said softly. 

"It's okay, Cilly. Dinner was wonderful, made perfect because of you." She looked up at him. "I will remember that most." 

He looked at her, and sighed softly, "Okay, but I will make it up to you." 

"Don't-"

"Shush," He said and she raised a brow, "I want to okay? Please. This was on me, and I should've been more aware." 

It was her turn to sigh, but she gave in, "Okay. Okay. Make it up to me." She whispered. 

They held each other gaze before he blinked and laid his head back, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow... who knows. We'll see." He said. 

She nodded and shifted a little, her leg brushed along his. "Goodnight." She murmured. 

"Goodnight." He replied he pressed a kiss to her head. His fingers slowly moved up and down her side, it made her body relax.

She listened to his heartbeat, letting it lull her into a dreamless sleep. Cillian held her the whole time, even after he fell asleep.