#but i would for sure have to cap it at like four or five chapters max like i don't need another scourge sessions lol

[stormfet]

Might do a little vrisrezi nun au now that I've hit the inflection point of scourge sessions

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part two | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture, death. chapter word count: 12,000 words.

-

B E F O R E

Felix is wearing itchy civilian clothes, the jeans distractingly stiff.  Regardless of how many field missions he is assigned, he never gets used to undercover disguises.     

“Look what I found,” Chris says, dropping into the seat beside him. 

Chris looks marginally more at ease in his baggy basketball shorts and baseball cap, passing for a teenage boy on an afternoon train with his friend.  They are in the passenger car outside the first class cabin, a compartment that should contain their mark but presently sits empty. 

“Uh, the target?" Felix asks.  “You know, the thing you just went to find?”

Chris giggles like the whole situation is funny.  Felix is far less amused.  This should have been an easy job: get in, kill the mark, steal back the data he took from Miroh, and get out.  But so far it has been tedious. 

Felix can’t even blame Chris this time.  For some reason, Chris has been more accommodating lately.  Chris is fifteen, almost sixteen, and Felix is twelve.  They have both been active in the field for a couple years. Felix is not sure why Chris has opted for sudden compliance.  He does not necessarily volunteer for jobs but he accepts them without much grudging reluctance.  He will occasionally voice his worser grievances but for the most part he is keeping his head down. 

Maybe it is the result of all those punishing sentences in the Cell.  More than once he has been shoved down there, sometimes alone and sometimes with Miroh’s daughter.  Felix would not want to spend any isolated time with her.  But maybe she is intimidating enough to get through to Chris.

Whatever it is, it is working.  Excluding moments like this when Chris is giggling and distracted and doesn’t seem to care about the job at all. 

“Relax, Felix,” Chris says.  “It’s a train.  There’s only so many places he can be, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one place he’s supposed to be but he isn’t there, is he?” Felix says.

“Lighten up, mate,” Chris says.  “We’re supposed to look normal.  Normal kids have fun.”

Chris dumps a candy bag in Felix’s lap.  Felix looks at it like it’s a bomb.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Felix asks.

Chris opens his own bag and starts eating the candy. 

“That,” he says.  He tosses a piece in the air and catches it in his mouth. When he tries to do it again, Felix snatches it mid-air and throws it on the floor.  This makes Chris laugh.

“He was in the dining car,” Chris relents.  “Four security officers.  Ex-military.  Piece of cake.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Felix asks, annoyed.  He starts to stand but Chris yanks him back into his seat. 

“The hell, man?” Chris says.  “You gonna go ventilate the guy while a bunch of civilians are having afternoon tea?  Ya think that might blow our cover?  Just a bit?” 

Felix frowns but he knows Chris is right.  Miroh does not like a public mess.  They will have to wait until the mark returns to the privacy of his cabin.

Felix does not like waiting.  It is a part of a soldier’s training, but his least favourite part by far.  He prefers action.  With the quiet stillness comes fear, doubt.

The latter makes him sweat.  He tries not to think about it.  His life is his mission.  Through Miroh, Felix has contributed good things to the world.  Lately, it just seems like no matter what he does, the world does not stay good. 

The Enemy has been dead for two years.  The new enemy, his idiot heir, has holed up like a dragon guarding his hoard.  He has built defences so high that not even an army like Miroh’s can breach it.  There has been no retaliation, no offensive strike like the old enemy, but these deep roots are almost more sinister.  Felix is starting to think this might be hopeless.  That maybe Miroh is wrong.  That maybe some things cannot be saved. 

Felix crinkles the candy bag in his lap.  He gathers himself and exhales. 

“Fine,” he says.  “How long do you think he will be distracted?  Enough time to get the data?”

“If it’s in there, yeah,” Chris says.  “Might as well check.  He just started eating so we should have some time.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”  

Chris frowns like Felix is inconveniencing him with the job they were sent here to do.  

Felix is not in the mood to argue.  He shoves his candy bag in his back pocket and pushes past Chris.  They make their way down the aisle.  No one lifts their head, the two boys disappearing in their inconspicuous disguises.

They pick the lock to the first class cabin.  Felix opens the door and looks around the room, for a moment a little stupefied by the luxury.  It is all deep mahogany and gold trim.  Their target is an engineer who stole designs from Miroh to sell to the enemy.  The wealth of this cabin exemplifies that corruption, surely. 

Felix tells himself that as he rifles through the luggage.  He finds a laptop and tells Chris to stand guard while he collects the data.  Chris is the better fighter but Felix is better with technology.

The laptop loads.  The home screen is the mark with his family, three smiling, sunny-faced children, all younger than Felix.  It gives him a queasy, uneasy feeling, a feeling that should be long scrubbed out of him by now.

He blames it on the rocking of the train carriage.  Physical sensations can manipulate mental energy. 

He searches through the computer storage for the stolen designs.  Both Miroh and the enemy are chasing government building contracts, tying their businesses irrevocably to political power and pursing relationships therein.  These plans will cinch the deal for whichever party has them.  The engineer who betrayed Miroh masqueraded as a potential recruit before stealing the plans.

There is only one problem; Felix knows how to read metadata and he cannot find anything that was once on Miroh’s servers.  In fact, some of these designs go back years, well before Miroh even considered pursuing these contracts.

“What’s taking so long?” Chris asks, poking his head in the room.  “You’re usually a computer whiz.  Is something wrong?”

“The files aren’t here,” Felix says.  For the fifth or sixth time, he opens what looks like the plans.  Everything except the metadata matches the description.  But that metadata does not lie.      

These files do not belong to Miroh. 

Chris double checks the corridor before joining Felix.  They look at the files together. 

“Isn’t that it?” Chris asks.  “It looks like the right thing.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not,” Felix says, his eyes darting frantically all over the screen.  “Or it should be.  But these, uh, these files aren’t Miroh’s.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy stole the plans from Miroh.  But all these files are original.  They were never on Miroh’s servers.”

There is a moment of quiet.  Chris is not famous for reservation so Felix looks at him.  He is embarrassed to find a pitying look on Chris’s face. 

“Felix,” Chris says.  “Come on, man.”

It is not exactly a condescending tone, rife with too much sympathy to be so cruel, but It sounds like Chris is saying, don’t be stupid.

Felix swallows.  He looks down at the plans.  The realization hits him and the words come to his mouth, rising like bile.

“We’re not stealing back the plans,” Felix says.  “We’re just stealing them.  Aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says.  “You didn’t know that?”

“How did you know that?” Felix snaps back, embarrassed and upset and very, deeply confused.   

“It wasn’t exactly a stretch,” Chris says.  “It’s what Miroh does.  It’s what they all do.  You haven’t figured that out yet?  You?” 

Felix, who has done the most assignments.  Felix, who is the most successful agent in the special-ops program.  Felix, who is the best only because the real best refuses to be.

He studies Chris, this older boy who seems so confident he has all the answers.  Felix does not even know all the questions.  He feels that weakness and vulnerability he so hates, the entirely world suddenly unfamiliar enemy terrain. 

“Look, it’s fine,” Chris says.  “Just take the data and we’ll leave.  We’ll tell Miroh the mark got away.  He cares more about the plans anyway.”

“Lie,” Felix says.  “You want us to lie to Miroh?”

“It’s not a lie,” Chris says.  “It’s just protecting the truth.”

Felix stares at him.  Chris, on steadier feet than Felix, sighs and pushes Felix out of the way.  He loads the data onto the external hard drive himself.  He then makes a show of ejecting it and putting it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Chris says.

Felix does not get a chance to protest because the door opens.  They have no time to react.  In seconds, they are joined by the mark’s security team. 

Felix knows how to fight.  It is second nature to him.  He should not need to think.

But he does.  He overthinks.  He gets a look at the mark before a bodyguard whisks him away.  Felix thinks of the smiling faces on those children.  He thinks how he is not much older than them.

There is a growing pit of anxiety inside him.  It swallows him whole.

Felix and Chris fight to get away.  Chris could take all these guards on his own but he is trying to avoid severely hurting them.  That distracts Felix too.  Suddenly, Chris’s refusal to fight does not seem like cowardice but instead it is something Felix cannot name. Something he once saw in Miroh but doesn’t anymore. 

Distracted, Felix does not fight like he usually does. 

The first class cabin is a private attachment at the back of the train.  The fight lead onto the outside landing at the end of the car.  A guard dislocates Felix’s shoulder.  The next thing Felix knows, he is tumbling over the railing.  He manages to grip with his good arm, holding all of his body weight to avoid getting snagged and ripped along the train tracks. 

But it won’t save him.  He’s going to die. The realization hits him like any other calculation in a fight, when he measures his odds and deduces his best move.

He has none.  The train is moving too fast and he is at a bad angle to jump.  He has one good arm keeping him alive and no way to fight the approaching guard.  Chris has taken out his own adversaries and should be retreating with the data.  That is what they are trained to do.  The job is more important than the soldier.  In a crisis, you leave the weak behind. 

Felix braces himself to let go, hoping the above-average strength in his body can also withstand slamming into railroad tracks at high speeds.  He suspects even if he does survive, he will be severely injured, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and dead to the only place he has ever known.

But the guard falls back. Chris knocks him out with sharp efficiency.  He then lays the unconscious man down with almost comical gentleness.

Chris runs up to Felix.  Felix wants to shout at him – everything from go away and finish the job to my shoulder hurts and I need you to save me. 

Chris gives no opportunity for argument or acquiescence.  He shouts, “Hold on!”  Then he swings himself over the railing.  He wraps an arm around Felix and hauls him into his side.  Once secure, he carries them back over the rail and onto the landing. 

“What are you doing?” Felix asks.  He cannot slow the race of his heart, seemingly tethered to the thunder of the train car against the tracks.  He is not sure it will ever slow again.  He thinks he might remember this moment forever.

“What am I doing?” Chris asks.  He laughs for some forsaken reason.  “Just doing this, mate,” he says.

He seizes Felix by his injured shoulder.  Felix winces, having only seconds to brace himself before Chris shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place.   Agony washes over Felix, hot and sharp, the pain rattling him worse than the actual dislocation.

“Sorry,” Chris says.  “Sometimes getting better hurts more for a bit.”

The rest of the mission is a blur to Felix, lost to the throbbing ache in his shoulder and a similar pain taking root inside him.

They make it back to Miroh’s facility.  Chris hands the hard drive off to an upper level agent while Felix sees a medic.  The bag of candy is still in his back pocket.  He sits in the infirmary a long time, just crinkling it between his fingers.  He feels like his world is crashing around him. 

It is days before Felix has an opportunity to see Chris again.  They are in different barracks because of their age difference, the soldiers grouped by year.  When Felix finds Chris in the corridor, Chris is talking to Miroh’s daughter who lives in the barracks too.  They are on their way to their bunks. 

Felix taps Chris on the shoulder.  Chris looks at him, his laughing expression faltering when he sees Felix.  He must see something in him that Felix cannot even recognize in himself. 

Chris turns to Miroh’s daughter and says, “I’ll catch up, yeah?”

She spares Felix a glance and Felix feels an unusually panicked skip in his blood.  It feels like she can see his mental turbulation the way Chris can.  But unlike the rest of them, she has a direct line to Miroh.  She might live and act like a soldier but she is more and always will be.  Felix balks under her scrutiny, worried she will see his doubt and report it right back to Miroh.

Felix is grateful when she leaves.  But when Chris looks at him so expectantly, Felix no longer knows what to say. 

It takes a moment.

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Felix finally says.  It comes out as instinctively as a punch.  “I wouldn’t have saved your life.  I would have just finished the job.”

Chris blinks at him.  He exhales on a laugh.  Then he claps Felix’s good shoulder, a touch of clear camaraderie. 

“I know, Felix,” he says.  “I didn’t do it so you would pay me back.  I didn’t do it because I thought you would do the same.  I did it because it was the right thing to do.” 

Felix thought he was speechless before but now he is truly at a loss.  Even his long engrained instincts fail.  He is out of punches. 

Chris just smiles at his confusion.  With one final nod, he turns and retreats to his bunk. 

Felix stands in the corridor, wounded but bandaged.  He stares at the place where Chris stood, like if he looks long enough then Felix will understand what Chris understands.  That maybe there is a right and wrong outside of what they have been taught.  Maybe things exist outside of this place. 

Maybe some things can be saved. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

“Ah, it’s the classic story,” Changbin says with a sigh.  “A boy and a girl, forced to share a bed.  He is her bodyguard.  She is an heiress.  Should we kiss on the lips?”

You whack him in the gut with a pillow and he erupts with giggles.

Changbin has been your so-called bodyguard for a few weeks now.  It has changed little in your daily routine as your father had assigned Changbin to your department sometime before that.  The special-ops program was written off as an experiment with potential for future development, though that development has long sat arrested.  Bang Chan is in your father’s direct employ while Changbin has been on different teams fulfilling different missions.  When you started taking the lead on projects, he served under your direction. 

It is why your father is not happy.  The bodyguard arrangement was meant to assert his control over you, using an agent as his eyes and hands.  Miroh is not good at relinquishing power, not even to someone like him, or maybe especially to someone like him.  You have always been a good, loyal, obedient soldier and daughter.  Taking over projects and assuming command was inevitable.  Somehow you have wronged him by doing everything right. 

Lately, your work has been meagre clean-up duty.  Miroh has been accruing assets and terrorizing his way into the mess left behind by his late enemy.   It is making Miroh’s paranoia even worse.   He has seen for himself how this powerful house fell apart just because its patriarch died.  The business was left in shambles, underlings squabbling like helpless children.  It was ripe for picking. 

You have been cleaning whatever mess is left behind.  This week you have been cleaning out some old office buildings, primarily sifting through abandoned storage for anything useful that might have been sequestered.  You are spending the night at a nearby safe house, sharing a room with Changbin.  The rest of your team is scattered around the house. 

Seeing as your father has relegated you with menial tasks, you have taken it upon yourself to conduct your own investigations.  Your findings have been on your mind all day.  It is why you do not respond to Changbin’s joking with your usual wit. 

“You’re quiet, murder princess,” Changbin says.  “Should I be worried?”

He drops his mask on the nearby desk then unholsters his gun.   He places it beside yours.  It is a testament to your dynamic that you feel comfortable disarming around each other.  You would certainly never do it around your father.  But Changbin is different.   You are not someone who seeks true friendship but you acknowledge the necessity of teamwork especially in times of crisis.  You do not fully trust Changbin as you do not fully trust anyone, but he is loyal and you reciprocate that dependability.

It is why you beckon him forward.  You are sitting on the bed, feet on the floor.  Changbin pulls up a chair to sit in front of you. 

“The enemy had a multi-level security system,” you say.  “Physical in some capacities, digital in others.  My father has always been more preoccupied with offense than defense, so in that regard they were always a step ahead of us.  That is the part my father is interested in.  That is all he sees.” 

“And what do you see?”  Changbin asks.  His disposition changes with the severity of your words, joviality replaced with equal seriousness. 

“I don’t see anything,” you say.  “That’s the problem.”

He lifts an eyebrow, curious.  You show him the image on your tablet, then swipe to the next one. 

“The security log is missing information,” you say.  “There is no trace of anything unusual transpiring the day they were all killed.  No breach, no shutdown.  Everything is normal until everything is gone. Someone scrubbed every last second of data from the digital system.  Someone who knew the system well enough to not just delete the surface files but to clean the server entirely.” 

“So what are you saying?” Changbin asks.  “You think it was an inside job?”

“I know it wasn’t us,” you reply.  “I know it wasn’t any of the usual players.  This family had enemies in every market.  If it was one of them, you’d think they would have stepped forward to assert themselves by now.  Whoever it was had no interest in taking over company assets.  No interest in even sticking around.  Someone went to great lengths to make the entire thing look ambiguous, to leave everyone asking more questions, to turn our heads in one direction while they disappear in the other.  Someone professional.  Someone technologically capable.  Someone whose only motivation was escape.” 

His jaw is clenched as he stares at the images, but you can see the gears turning in his mind.  When he meets your gaze, you sit forward.

“Changbin,” you say.  “What happened on that mission?”

He does not need specification.  Changbin is usually like you, pragmatic and realistic.  He does not dwell in his emotions and never for so long.  It has been well over a month now but he is still rankled by that warehouse confrontation with Lee Felix. 

“Ah, Yongbok,” Changbin says wistfully.  His eyes are downturned but his thoughts are somewhere else.  “You remember him.  He always needed a fairy tale to believe in.”    

That much is true.  You and Changbin have always been simple soldiers manoeuvring through the morally complicated world around you.  You never had any delusions that Miroh was better than his enemies, simply that one or the other was inevitable.  You knew you could make a bigger impact in the fight than watching from the sidelines. 

Felix was competent but naïve.  He believed in Miroh unequivocally which is why he blind-sided them all with his betrayal.  To this day, you do not know why he joined the enemy, nor why he stayed. 

It makes sense he might have naively devoted himself to a different cause. 

“What fairy tale was that?” you ask.  “The enemy?”

“Chris.”  Changbin looks at you beneath the sweep of his dark bangs.  His smile is wry.  “He asked me about Chris.” 

You blink back at him, surprised by the answer.  After stumbling over any number of replies, you say, “That wasn’t in your initial report.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Changbin says with a shrug.   

“You have a responsibility to report back everything—”

“Yes, commander,” he says dryly.  He slumps in his seat and crosses his arms.  “Does it matter now?  I told him Chris was dead.”

Not a lie, in a way.  Bang Chan was a rebellious subject in his youth, nothing like the merciless soldier he is now.  The inhuman machine was wrought through inhumane treatment.   You were not privy to the grittier details nor have you ever felt an inclination to investigate.  You do not need knowledge of the gruesome torture that was administered.   The results are the same: the rebellious boy died.  He has been gone ever since he was dragged into a basement room for correction. 

“Chris,” you say.  The name sits heavy on your tongue.  “Why would he want to know about Chris?”

“The better question is, why didn’t he want to know about me?” Changbin retorts.  It sounds like a joke, his tone jumping back into comically exaggerated hysterics.  But there is a tension in his shoulders that was not there before.  “You know he didn’t even recognize me?  Ah!  The little brat!  I knew him too!  I wasn’t Bang Chan, no one was … But I was there.  Forgetting me… We’re all that’s left!” 

You tilt your head and study Changbin, as if there are more answers in his face than in his words.  Your gaze drifts to the scar by his eye.   He got hit today, taking a swipe meant for you.  Other adversaries have sent agents to scour the late enemy’s business remains, but they are no match for soldiers of Miroh.  

Changbin joked he was being a good bodyguard.  In truth, he is a good bodyguard.  Your security team is competent but nothing compared to him.  It has made a difference, having someone so reliable at your back, even though it has painted a target on his.  Your father is not happy Changbin outsmarted him.  Changbin jokes about it, as he is wont to do, claiming he can’t wait for a pummelling of his own.  He is probably right.  Miroh has been quiet about the bodyguard assignment but that does not mean he has surrendered.  He is a strategist.  He is patient if it means results. 

Raising children into soldiers is a testament to that patience.  You look at Changbin, arguably the last true survivor other than yourself.

We’re all that’s left.  

You find yourself reaching for him.  It is not like you, but lately everything seems out of character.  You touch his face, drawn to that scar, a scar that should be yours.  You touch it very lightly. 

When you meet his eyes, he is looking at you strangely.  You are not a famously affectionate character, not even with him.  You rip your hand back and shake your head. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, more curious than accusatory. 

“Nothing,” you say.  “I mean – well.”  You scrub a hand over your face.  The weeks have healed the worst of your injuries, but it is still littered with scars, including the ones Changbin gave you. 

His eyes linger there before he sighs and drops his head.  He rubs his face too. 

“We’ll talk later,” you say, suddenly feeling the weight of today, not to mention the accumulative exhaustion of the days before.  “It’s been a long day.”  An understatement.   

Changbin doesn’t argue.  You separate to use the facilities and dress down for rest.  You sleep in sweatpants and a t-shirt, your weapons and shoes not far.  The one bed has plenty of space.  You lay down first, certain that your mind is running too fast to rest, but all that exhaustion catches up to you. 

You wake some time in the middle of the night.  When Changbin gets out of bed, the dip and rise of the mattress stirs you.  You blink awake, watching him amble over to the window.  There is a cushioned seat and he plops down, his arms crossed and his eyes on the stars.

You wonder if you look that young out of combat clothes.  His hair is ruffled and the black t-shirt and pants are comfortably fitted.  His face looks vulnerable and open as he stares into the night. 

“You’re awake too,” he says, not looking at you. 

“Obviously,” you reply.  You push yourself upright.  “You woke me.”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to flash you one of his jovial grins but barely managing. 

“You look tired,” you say. 

“Thanks,” he replies with a laugh. 

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m on bodyguard duty,” he jokes, gesturing to you.  “I need to make sure no one murders the murder princess.” 

You give him a dry look that makes him giggle.  Naturally his humour returns at your expense.  He really is the little brother you never had. 

You slide off the bed and join him at the window seat.  You shove and kick like bickering children until you are comfortably settled.  You sit with your legs curled up to your chest, mirror images of each other.  He looks out the window and you look at him. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.   

“Nothing,” he says, an automatic response.  Then he shakes his head and sighs.  “I don’t know, princess,” he says.  “I don’t think you’ll understand.” 

“What makes you say that?” You cannot help but feel offended even if he is probably right.  You do not have heart-to-hearts, which is what this feels like, a quiet moment carved out of chaos.  If everything was different, you would just be two friends talking about your normal lives. 

Your life is anything but normal. 

“I know you,” he answers, simple and confident.  “I know who you are.  Even when – well, no matter what happens, I guess.”

“Well,” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “that makes one of us.” 

You swallow your thoughts quickly.  Your innermost turmoil cannot be entrusted with anyone.  It is dangerous to even think such weakness, never mind vocalize it.

Changbin looks at you with a pinch in his brow.  You look away, up at the sky.  You wonder about the vantage from the stars, seeing the bigger picture of your life.  Your pain and sacrifices have to be worth something.  Miroh always said the world was full of shadows, dark spots no regular person could clean.  He was right about that.  He is definitely one of them, but sometimes only darkness can fight darkness.  Or so you thought.  All this business with the enemy has changed things.  That darkness collapsed in on itself like a black hole, taking everything with it. 

“It used to be easier, didn’t it?”  Changbin asks.  “Just doing what you’re told… You can tell yourself it’s not your fault, that it would have happened anyway… Maybe I was believing in fairy tales too.” 

You look at each other.  He just sighs. 

“A part of me feels like I never grew up,” he says.  “I’ve always been what I am.  Maybe it’s time to stop.” 

“That sounds a lot like treason,” you say, realizing how dramatic it sounds after the fact. Miroh is a businessman and this company is not a country.  And yet treasonous is what it feels like, a deep betrayal to the place that raised and shaped you into what you are.  It feels like treachery to even think about abandoning it after everything. 

“Maybe it does,” he says.  He gives you another wry smile, flicking his bangs out of his face.  “Does it matter?  He already wants my beautiful head off its beautiful shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be saying this to me,” you say.  You’re Miroh’s daughter.  Your relationship with your father might be fraught, but your loyalty is to this house and always has been.  It is the only constant in this tumultuous, violent world. 

“Are you gonna tell on me?” Changbin teases, so unserious on such a deathly serious matter.  He just laughs at your silent but intense stare.  He shakes his head as he looks out the window.  “I don’t worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You telling on me.”

That stops your heart faster than the treason. 

“Why not?” you ask slowly, as if you are wary of a trap about to spring. 

Changbin puts a hand in his hair, shaking out his ruffled bangs.  He looks normal but also not, his strong body so clearly built for violence.    It is why you are shocked when he reaches out, when he touches you like you touched him, an undemanding press of his fingers along a scar.  

Your startled eyes find his.  It splits your focus.  You see Changbin right now, older, stronger.  You also see him younger, thinner, looking at you with concerned eyes as he wipes blood off your brow. 

You blink again and it is just him as he is now. 

He drops his hand. 

“You don’t trust anyone,” he says.  “I know.  Ha!  I really know.”  He swings around, planting his feet on the ground.  He reaches into his pocket then flicks open a pocketknife.

It should make your heart palpitate, a soldier with a weapon in your proximity, especially when you are unarmed.  But there is no rush of blood, no fear, no worry.  You just look at him, seeing all of him, young and old.  You realize there has been more than one constant in your life. 

The knife catches a glint of starlight, a flash of light in the darkness. 

“You and I are the same, aren’t we, murder princess?” he says.   “But also not.  You were raised in the pen with us but it was never the same.  We’re just animals to him.  Raised to the slaughter, ha!  But not you.  One way or another, you’re going to be someone.” 

You watch as he lifts his hand. He curls and uncurls a fist.  He looks down at his palm. 

“When it happens,” Changbin says, “Because it will happen, tomorrow or in a month or a year or whenever Miroh decides… But when I go like the rest of them… When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…” 

He draws a slow slice across his hand, not so deep to be detrimental to his grip, but enough to draw blood in a long, thin line.  You look at this small scar as if it the deepest wound you have ever encountered. 

“Just… remember me,” he says.  “I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh.  I’m your soldier, not his.”

You are at a loss for words.  You do not think there are any words, none that you were raised to know.  You can only stare at the little trickle of blood as it runs down his wrist and drips onto the floor. 

You have always felt very alone.  You learned to thrive in that solitude.  Even clinging to the hope of your father’s approval proved exhausting and useless.  You accepted your high promontory was a lonely one.  

Not even that solitude compares to the idea of Changbin gone.  Even if you go weeks without seeing him, he is out there somewhere.  You both keep your heads down, get the job done.   Not the best soldiers, not the worst, but the ones still here. 

You let instinct override your senses for the second time that night.  When he makes to stand, your reflexes snap into action.  You grab him by the arm and snatch the knife.  He has no time to respond, watching as you slice a similar scar on your own palm. 

Your eyes meet.  You are unflinching, more resolute than ever.  You clasp his hand and the blood smears in a signifying pact that needs no other words. 

Only when the moment settles do you say, “You’re not a half-bad bodyguard.”

His laughter comes to him slowly, none of that empty joviality but a genuine burst of it.  His eyes crinkle and his smiles widens and the laughter bubbles out of him. 

“I’m the best bodyguard,” he says.  “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.” 

-

In the light of day, last night’s whirlwind of dramatic emotions feel tempered.  You and Changbin are able to conduct yourselves with a proper degree of soldiership.  Though his words and your promise are in the back of your mind, you put it away for now.

You dress in combat gear and pack your bags for another day of infiltration, investigation, and clean-up.  It is hard to say how easy or difficult the day will be.  If you encounter other agents, the confrontation could complicate things, but sometimes that is better than a long day with no interesting discoveries at all. 

The enemy had properties scattered all over town, some active and some not.  This particular office building is a very old one, seemingly long since abandoned and turned into company storage.  Some of these boxes have not been touched in decades, perhaps remnants of the business as run by the previous generation. 

A thick layer of dust coats the desks and boxes.  At least your masks are put to work, filtering the dusty air as you trail through the building. 

“Yahhh,” Changbin whines, flicking some papers off a desk.  “Today’s going to be boring.” 

“Yup,” you say in accord.  There is no way anyone else will be here.  You doubt there is anything of value to be discovered, but Miroh will harass you if you do not complete his missions as outlined.  With so much tension between you already, it is better to keep your head down and complete the menial tasks, even if it is blatant busy work. 

A few of your officers are sent ahead to sweep the building.  It is not a towering skyscraper but several tall floors nonetheless.  Your subordinates take different floors while you and Changbin take an upper level.  You begin the tedious task of rifling through the abandoned documentation.

“I’m a supersoldier, not a secretary,” Changbin gripes, moving boxes with more force than necessary.

“You’re not a supersoldier,” you say without looking up from your work.  “There’s no such thing.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, flexing and kissing his bicep. 

“When you start flying, maybe I’ll consider it,” you retort, dryly.

“All right, I’m not a supersoldier,” he says.  He takes off his mask to grin at you.  “But I am super good looking.” 

You take off your own mask to throw at him like a projectile.  He squeals and ducks, then proceeds to cuss you out for the next few minutes while you smile. 

Eventually he takes a seat.  He props his booted feet up on a desk while sorting through some papers with absent-minded perusal. 

“So tell me again about the security log,” Changbin says, evidently growing bored within minutes. 

You can hardly blame him.  It is why you are about to reply, but your thoughts are quickly obliterated.  Gunfire reverberates in the nearby stairwell, followed by shouting and thumping.  Seconds later, your warning pagers are vibrating.  Your officers’ voices come through the communications software.

“Hostile enemy agents breached ground zero,” they say.  “Be ready for confrontation.”

You and Changbin spring into action.  Your masks are unfortunately abandoned, too far to grab in a rush thanks to your shenanigans, but your bags and weapons are within reach.   You swing them on and arm yourselves, racing into the corridor to join the rest of your team. 

It happens very fast.  One moment, this ancient building is nothing more than a dilapidated office from a bygone era, brimming with useless nothings that no one would want.  The next moment, it is overflowing with enemy agents, pouring in one after the other. 

You and Changbin join the other officers in the stairwell.  None of you are prepared for the sight that greets you, the sheer number of adversaries that come streaming into the building at rapid speed.

“What the fuck,” you say, realizing far too late you cannot take this many agents.  You have not had anything near this problem before.   

You look at Changbin, both of you shooting uselessly to stop the encroach of hostiles. 

“We need to retreat,” you say in unison.  You nod at each other. 

The message gets passed along the communicators.  There is no way to escape through the ground floor, the enemy agents chasing you up the stairwell.  You take out your phone to call for back-up, relaying the message directly to Miroh’s team leaders. 

“Can you at all identify the hostiles?” the man asks. 

“Do we know who they are?” you shout at Changbin over the gunfire and chaos. 

“Ah, well they’re not friends!” he replies.

You pause in your ascent to squint down at the approaching horde.  The uniform colours are familiar at a glance, but the dog tags confirm your suspicions.  It locks you in place with shock and confusion, because there is no way that makes any sense. 

These agents belong to the enemy.  The enemy.  It explains the numbers, as only that house could rival Miroh in terms of size and numbers.  But it is not possible he is conducting an offensive attack because he’s dead and his business is in shambles.  There is no one to conduct an operation on his behalf.  It makes no sense. 

Changbin grabs you by the back of the neck, hauling you up the stairs with him. 

“Not the time to stop and smell the flowers, murder princess,” he says. 

“It’s the enemy,” you say.  “I don’t know how or why, but it’s them.”

“We’re sending a back-up team straight to you right now,” Miroh’s leader says. 

You end the call to focus on your surroundings, confusing and chaotic as they are. 

You watch as several of your officers are taken down.  You wince at each reverberation of a gunshot that kills them.  A dozen more faces flash in front of your eyes, every child in that program with you, every enemy you have killed on Miroh’s behalf.  Chris.  Felix.  Changbin, young, small, looking at you with concern.

The reign of fire follows you.  You think you will be hearing gunshots for days. 

“Get her out,” one of your officer’s says into the comms, directed at Changbin.  “Leave through the roof.  We’ll hold them off.”

You trip running up the stairs. 

You never trip, far more coordinated than the average soldier.  But you hear your officer say that and your mind’s eye is overwhelmed with the image of them dying.  Because that is what will happen.  You should not be bothered by it.  You can train a new security team.  They exist for this exact reason. 

But all their faces are flashing in front of your mind.  Your team, the program soldiers, the First Guard.  A thunderous pain rattles down your spine, a cry leaving your lips as you are inundated with visions of death that you suddenly cannot shake. 

“Up, up!” Changbin shouts, hoisting you onto your feet.  “You’re better than this!” 

He’s right.  You are a soldier.  You trained for this.  You were made to fight. 

You push through the pain and thunder.  You get your feet back under you.  You race with Changbin to the roof and trust your team to do what is best. 

You slam and bolt the door behind you.  You look around for something to barricade it but there is nothing.  Changbin meanwhile opens his pack and takes out the rappel line and harness.  You have had little use for it on most of the assignments, but it is standard tactical gear when assigned any investigation or clean-up work, as it can require getting into locked areas through sky access.   You almost left them behind today, knowing the building was abandoned and you would have no difficulty getting in.  You are glad you decided against that. 

“Here,” Changbin says, handing you the harness.  “Put this on.”  He ducks back down to finish securing the line on the edge of the roof. 

“They’re not gonna be able to hold them,” you say, fitting the harness around yourself.  It is second-nature.  You hardly need to think, fastening every buckle as you stare at that closed door.  “They’ll be on us in seconds,” you say.  “They’ll just follow us over the roof on the line.”  You grant your odds are better on the street, that you can endeavour an escape, but that is only if you get that far.  Those enemy agents are going to blast down that door like it’s made of cardboard, then they will be on you. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your adrenaline propelling every breath.  You do not have time to think twice.  It is why it takes you so long to notice that Changbin has not put on a harness. 

“What are you doing?” you ask when he stands, completely unprepared to rappel down the building.  “We have to go! Put your harness on, idiot!” 

He takes the hook and locks it onto your harness, fastening it with a few skilled flicks of his fingers.  You grab his hand, stopping him. 

He takes a breath and finally meets your eye.  The wind blows his dark bangs across his face, opening up his expression to you.  You can feel the furious scrunch of your own features go lax.  Just like that, your adrenaline dwindles, all that heat turning to an ice cold block in your chest.  It drops to your gut.

“Changbin,” you start. 

“You’re going to go down that line,” he says.  “When you’re at the bottom, I’m going to cut it so they can’t follow you.  It will buy you time to get to the vehicles and get away.”

“Absolutely not,” you say.  “What the fuck are you thinking?  You—”  

“I’m your bodyguard,” he says with that wry smile.  “This is my job.  Let me do it.” 

“No,” you say, struggling against him.  You try to unhook the rappel line but he fights back, not your usual play-fighting but deadly serious.  “You can’t be serious!” you shout.  “We’re the same thing!  If you’re staying and fighting then I’m joining you!”

“We’re not the same thing!” he shouts back.  “You’re a Miroh!  You need to get out of here!”

“You’re right, I am a Miroh!” you say.  “It’s me they want anyway!  You put on the harness!  You can still get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving here without you!”

You want to reply.  The words are right on your lips: I’m not leaving here without you either. 

But before you can say them, all that thunderous pain fractures your vision again.  Your focus splits.  You see Changbin in front of you, dressed in his combat gear with the wind in his hair.  

Then everything changes. 

The sunny sky darkens and the rooftop disappears.  You see the colour grey.  It is all around you, halfway blinding you, filling your lungs so you can hardly breathe.  You blink rapidly, as if that will clear your vision, but it is just more grey and the sound of faraway voices. 

Then you see Changbin again, in his combat gear but years younger.  Just a teenager, all skinny cheeks and sharp angles.  There is no wind in his hair.  There is no wind anywhere.   He is bleeding profusely from a head wound, a stark slash of red in the middle of so much grey.  He says your name.  You hear your own voice but it is a foggy, faraway thing.  You cannot make out what you are saying.  When you look down, you cannot see your body.  You can only see him.  You can only hear him.    

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he says.

Then you are abruptly yanked out of that grey.  You are back on the rooftop in the sunshine. Changbin has his hand planted on your chest, securing the last piece of the harness.  You hear the thud of someone kicking at the bolted door.  You look there frantically.  Changbin does too.  Then you look at each other. 

“I told you I was the best bodyguard ever,” he says, smiling.  

He whips off his glove, revealing his freshly scarred hand.  He grabs your bare hand, the one with the still-tender scar.  He clasps your hands together and looks at you with a desperation you have never seen before, like he is trying to tell you a thousand things with just a glance. 

Then he slowly lets go of your hand. 

“Sorry I can’t fly,” he says. 

He shoves the middle of your chest, hard.  You go tumbling over the edge of the roof just as the enemy agents break the door down. 

There is nothing you can do mid-air.  You can only shout his name, terrified and furious and desperate all at once.  You scream your emotions out until the line comes to an end, a few feet from the ground.  You unclip your harness and drop to the ground smoothly. 

“Can anyone copy?” you speak into your comm, looking up at the roof helplessly.  You watch as an enemy agent swings over and starts to climb down the rope.  You draw your gun and brace yourself.

Then Changbin’s head pops over the edge.  “Copy,” he says, then cuts the line. 

You jump out of the way.  Seconds later, the enemy agent comes careening into the ground.  The pile of rope lands on top of him.

“Fuck,” you say.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Changbin!” you shout hysterically into your comms.  “Changbin, can you copy?”

He doesn’t answer.  You run over to the body, searching for something.  You don’t even know what, you just know that this whole situation is wrong. 

It does not take you long.  You roll the body over.  Though his neck is now twisted at a fatal angle, you recognize the agent.  He was standing in your father’s office just a few weeks ago.  His name was Agent Slump.  You shot him through the shoulder. 

These are not enemy agents attacking the house of Miroh, they are your father’s men attacking you.  

You push away from the body, looking frantically up at the roof for any sign of further commotion.  You see nothing from this vantage. 

You run back into the building.  You let adrenaline and instinct carry you up the stairs, taking a few at a time and ignoring the burn in your thighs.  This is Miroh, you keep repeating to yourself.  Your father has done this.  Sending fake enemies after you.  Teaching you yet another lesson.  You said you could handle yourself.  You said your security team could protect you.  Now you are running past their dead bodies, your chest heaving from exertion and emotion.  You find yourself blinking back tears.  You cannot remember the last time you cried. 

“Changbin,” you say into your comm, tripping on another step.  Your voice comes out of the comms on your dead officers.   It echoes in the empty stairwell.  “Changbin, answer me, please,” you say.  “It’s not the enemy.  It’s my father.  It’s Miroh.  Changbin.  Changbin.”

You are halfway up the building when you hear voices below.  You stop to listen.  Your vibrating phone makes you jump. 

“Miss Miroh?” comes a voice, then you see one of your father’s officers at the bottom of the winding stairwell.  This one is not playing a part.  He is in the standard uniform.  There are more officers behind him.  The back-up you called like an idiot. 

You do not go back down.  You drop your phone and race to the roof.

“Get her,” you hear the officer say, then the stairwell is thundering with footsteps as they chase you. 

You no longer know what you are doing.  You do not know where you are going or what you will find.  A part of you is unsurprised when the rooftop is empty, that they got away, that now your father’s men can come in and play hero. 

You look around for Changbin but you cannot find him anywhere.  You try to tell yourself that is a good thing, that it could be worse, that he could be as dead as your security team, just a body on this roof.  You try to tell yourself that he is safe.  It was just Miroh.  They are probably taking Changbin back to the main facilities right now.  Everything will be fine. 

Deep down, you know nothing will be fine.   Everything has changed. 

You hear the officers behind you.  You look around.  The building next door is too far for a regular person to jump, potentially too far for you to jump.  It will be cutting it close, but it is all you have.  At this point, you halfway hope you’ll fall and your father’s men will be forced to report they let you die. 

You shed the top layer of your combat shirt, getting down to the tank top underneath.  You are not sure it will make a difference, but every bit counts.  You back up and count a few seconds, then you take a running leap off the roof.  You get a grip on the next one, though not without a lot of pain.  You grit your teeth and hoist yourself up, ignoring your scraped arms as you take off running.  You open a skylight and drop into the building.  Another empty corridor stretches in front of you. 

You decide your objective it to escape.  You can confront your father after, but right now you need to prove you can handle yourself.  You can get out of here. 

You are certain your father’s men will have the vehicles locked in.  Once you escape this building, you will have to find another—

A window behind you shatters.  You duck and cover your head as glass explodes around you.  You roll to get away, though your limbs are shaky from everything.  When you get to your feet, it is more unsteady than usual. 

You turn around.  You feel that sinking feeling in your gut again.

“Oh my god,” you say.  “Of fucking course it’s you.” 

Bang Chan stands there, cold and ungiving like the living shadow he has become.  Your father likes an agent that can both disappear and intimidate, so Chan somehow feels like a terrifyingly huge figure, looming over you, despite the fact he is not much bigger or taller.  His presence is hulking, as deadly and awful as you remember.  He stares at you with those dark eyes over the half-mask.  He is not breathing especially hard despite the fact he just took a running leap from the opposite building and smashed through a window.  His body is as steady and ungiving as his gaze. 

You do not waste any more breath cursing.  You turn and run. 

You know it is useless but you have to try.  In your head, if you get away, that is a bargaining chip.  You can talk to Miroh, you can show him that you were right, you can have Changbin back, and Changbin will be fine and—

You let out an aggravated cry when Chan grabs you.  You manage to rip away after a few good kicks.  It is amazing what hidden strength lies in adrenaline.  Your heart is pumping even faster than your last fight with him. 

You duck into a stairwell and jump over the railing, landing a couple floors below.  You keep doing that, ignoring the fact you can hear him copying you.  If you look back, it will slow you down.  You keep jumping until you hit the bottom floor. 

You make it a few steps before he grabs you again.  This time he is relentless, a big gloved around wrapped around your throat. 

That adrenaline betrays you.  It is like all your training abandons you as your terror and fury rips through you.  You struggle against him, your motions jerky and frantic and poorly strategized.  He pins you to the wall, using his whole body to lock you in place so you stop kicking him. 

“Let me go,” you say, barely above a whisper.  It makes him tighten his grip on your throat.  You twitch helplessly, gripping his arm uselessly, your face pinched with anger.  

You are swiftly joined by the other officers.  You glare at them, still digging your nails into Chan’s arm.  He does not soften his grip until he is ordered, then he puts you on your feet.  You stumble, your vision covered in black spots as you suck in deep, gasping breaths.  It was not even just the choking, as he did not squeeze hard enough to fully incapacitate you, but as your adrenaline dwindles, your strength does too. 

You trip for the third time.  Someone grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back up.  You are not sure if you are more surprised or terrified to find it is Chan, looking at you with calculating eyes.  You stare back at him, this manifestation of your father’s worst, most inhumane actions.   You are torn between apologizing to him and kicking him again. 

Then another officer grabs you.  You watch with alarm as he puts you in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?” you ask.  “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“Miroh always, of course,” the officer says.  “This is for your own good.  You are behaving erratically.  Don’t be scared.  We will inform your father that you tried to flee from your own protective officers.  I am certain he will do everything in his power to ensure you cannot put yourself in harm’s way again.” 

You have no more words.  An animalistic cry escapes from your chest, ripping through you.  Even with your hands cuffed behind your back, you dive at the officer and take him down.  You bite down on his ear until you taste the metallic tang of blood.  He screams under you until someone rips you off him.   They hold you by the back of the neck like a poorly behaved puppy. 

The officer gets to his feet.  Blood is pouring down the side of his neck, part of his ear torn.  You spit blood at him.

He raises his hand as if to strike you.  You stand there, chin jutted forward, ready to take it. 

Then you realize it is Chan holding you.  When the officer brings his hand down, Chan moves you.  He steps in between you and catches the officer’s wrist. 

Chan says nothing.  He does not need to say anything.   He looks at the officer and the officer swallows. 

The officer snatches his hand back and straightens his clothes. 

“We’re leaving,” he says.  “Guard, take your charge.” 

You are looking smugly at the officer.  That cockiness dissipates when Chan turns around and looks at you.  It has you immediately shrinking away, then flinching when he grabs your arm.    

They take you to a truck.  It is one of the holding trucks, the kind they use for transporting undesirables.  It is obvious they always intended to lock you in chains.  You have been in metaphorical chains your whole life, and it is only taking this to realize it. 

You try and slow your frantic breathing.  You cannot have a breakdown right now.  It will only make it harder for you when you confront your father.  You are already at a disadvantage, being dragged to him in literal chains.  You will be completely at his mercy, and Miroh does not have mercy. 

You sit on the bench in the back of the prison truck.  You expect to be alone with an officer, giving you time to strategize and think, but then it is Chan climbing into the van and sitting on the bench across from you.  All the hairs on your body stand up.  You cannot concentrate on anything with Bang Chan in close proximity.  He moves like a wild animal, something predatory and swift about him.   When they close and lock the door, your heart skips beats. 

Chan says nothing.  He never says anything.  On the rare occasion you have been in contact, you have not heard a word out of him.  You seldom have anything to do with the missions he runs.  They are above even your paygrade, the worst of Miroh’s work. 

You swallow.  He is not speaking but he is staring.  He does not remove the mask.  You have not seen him without it in years.  He is nothing but a soldier.  An army unto himself. 

Your heart skips another beat.  An idea slowly forms in your mind. 

You are better than average.  Chan is better than you.  You cannot take all these agents on your own, but you could definitely take them with his help.   Of course, that is an entirely hypothetical thought.  It would be absolutely, completely, severely ridiculous to even try.   You are certain the best reaction you will get out of Chan is nothing, just a penetrating stare and silence.  The worst would probably be a snapped neck. 

You curl your hands behind your back.  The scar on your palm stings.  You clench your jaw.

You have nothing else to lose. 

“You’re not a soldier, you know,” you say. 

Just like you suspected, he says nothing.  He just stares at you.  The truck rattles along, jostling you so your handcuffs jingle.  He moves with the sway of the vehicle, hardly affected. 

Your fear turns to frustration.  You heave a breath. 

“Did you hear me?” you ask.  “You’re not a soldier.  You’re a prisoner.  You’re not who you think you are.  Miroh has you under his control, but it’s not real.  The real you is in there somewhere.  And the real you—”  The words come rushing up, slamming into your furiously clenched teeth, “The real you hates Miroh almost as much as me.” 

Chan stares at you.  That is expected.

What is unexpected is the slow tilt of his head.  It makes you shiver, instinctively cowering as he studies you.  His brow slowly quirks, a questioning expression.  You did not know he could make such an expression. 

“Are you… listening to me?” you ask.   

He straightens, but he still looks questioning.  It is enough for all your desperation to rush to the surface.  You fall forward, slamming on your knees in front of him.  You are so scarred and bruised, it hardly matters.  More important is the fact he looks down, as if he is more concerned by it, though you cannot read any more expressions on his stoic face. 

“Chan,” you say.  “Chris.  Whatever you want to be called.  If you’re in there, then listen to me, please.  I know you don’t know me.  We hardly knew each other at all growing up.  But we did grow up together.  Miroh is controlling both of us.  He is going to use us to do things.  He—”  You curl your fist behind you, needing to feel the sting on your palm.  It brings a tear to your eye. 

Chan is looking at you, expressionless again, but it doesn’t matter.  You have to try.

“It’s not just us,” you say.  “This is bigger than you and me.  I have a—I have a friend—my friend, you understand, and I—”

The van comes to a stop.  Chan grabs you by the shoulders and puts you back on your bench.  You screw your eyes shut and shake your head.  You want to scream. 

When you open your eyes, you pour all your anger in your glare.  It is not directed at Chan, though he is the one to catch your gaze and hold it. 

You are still looking at each other when the door is unlocked.  There was only a small window providing light in the cabin of the truck.  A bigger slash of golden light has you wincing. 

Chan is unaffected, still staring at you.  An officer opens the door wider and nods to him. 

“Let’s go, guard,” he says. 

Chan gets up.  You watch as he struts past.  He jumps out of the van and lands smoothly on his feet.

Then he reels back and punches the officer.  It is quick as a snap, the unconscious body hitting the tarmac in a flash.  It makes you jump, the bench rattling underneath you. 

You sit, petrified, confused.  Chan slowly turns.  You blink at him.

He holds out his hand. 

“What?” you say.  It comes out a rasp.  You cannot manage more words.  There is no way your frantic, barely coherent pleading got through to him.  This man has been tortured into compliance.  There is no humanity left in him, no memories, no emotions, no hopes.   He does not feel anything.  He does not understand anything.  He is a weapon.

He is still holding out his hand. 

There is nowhere to go but forward.  You get to your feet and shuffle towards him.  He still does not speak, nor does he look at you with any particular expression.  He just holds out his arms and lifts you out of the van.  When you are on your feet, you stare at each other.

He spins you around.  A gust of breath whooshes out of you.  You panic for half a second, then you realize he is unlocking your handcuffs. 

Never mind.  He is breaking them with his bare hands.  You watch as they hit the ground in a mangled heap.  You turn around slowly, your knees still shaking. 

Chan is calm as the other officers approach.  Someone asks why you are out of your handcuffs. 

Chan looks at you.  You do not know why or how, but he nods. 

You nod back.

You are a soldier.  You trained for this.  You were made to fight.  It is time to remind them of that. 

-

Your father is in his rooftop garden.  Miroh has a few soft hobbies like that, gardening among his favourite.  He sees himself as a cultivator as much as a green thumb, bringing more life into the world despite what life he takes.  It balances for him.  The ends always justifies the means. 

You walk into his garden.  It is obvious he is not expecting anyone, much less you.  He does not have time to hide his surprise.   You just fought your way through all of his security measures, battered and bruised and beaten.  You have not seen yourself, but you are certain your body is a canvas of violence right now. 

“Hello, father,” you say. 

“Go to my office,” he replies without hesitation.  “We will talk there.”

“No,” you say calmly.  “We’ll talk right here.  Right now.” 

He is holding a watering can.  He puts it down without looking and it tips over, splashing everywhere.  Neither of you look at it.  Your eyes are locked on each other.  You both know what he did today.  He is smart enough to work that out. 

“Where are my men?” he asks. 

“Detained,” you answer.  Chan is holding them off somewhere.  You still do not know why or how, but there will be time for that later.  You have to solve one problem at a time. 

You have no real plan.  You are making it up as you.  All you know is that scar on your hand is throbbing.

I’m not leaving here without you. 

You touch your palm, running your finger over the scar.  You do not look away from Miroh as you approach him.  Your legs are weak, your knees shaking, your body in agony, but you take one step after the other.  Given the stricken look on his face, you think this might be more disturbing than if you were healthy. 

Your injuries might have made you equal fighters, but his arm is still in a cast, weakening him too.   He will not win in a one-on-one fight.  He is smart enough to know that too.  It is why he takes a careful, calculating step back. 

“You’re injured,” he says.  “Go to the infirmary.  We can talk after.”

“We can talk now,” you reply, taking another step forward. 

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says. 

“Where is he?” you ask. 

You are both speaking calmly, moving slowly.  The watering can is slowly leaking water, gurgling in the background.  Wind moves through the flowers.  You hear birdsong in the sunshine.   Still, in the background, it feels like the world is screaming, the high-pitched whistle of that pot at a boiling point. 

“Who?” your father asks. 

“I’m not playing any more games,” you say.  “I’m not playing dress-up with any little secret agents.  I’m not getting in any rings and playing made-up fights with your silly toy soldiers.  No more lies.  No more games.  No more secrets.  Seo Changbin is my best officer.  I want him back.  Tell me where he is.” 

“His time as a soldier has run its course,” Miroh says.  “His body is more useful than him.  The initial special-ops experiment was a failure.  His genetics might unlock the key to replicating the medicant.  We can try again.  You should want to help me.  You would know better than anyone what worked and what did not.” 

Your exhaustion and emotion nearly gets the better of you.  You almost hurl right in front of him, imagining all the horrifying implications of genetics and keys.  You imagine them taking Changbin apart, piece by piece, experimenting on him like a slab of meat. 

You keep your disgust and horror down.  You take another step forward. 

“Give him back to me,” you say.  “Right now.  I told you already.  I’m not playing any games.” 

“You are deeply unwell,” your father says, his tone changing as he looks at you with more scrutiny.  His whole face seems to darken with the furrow of his brow.  “This is not like you.  Go to the infirmary.” 

“I’m not asking again,” you say.  “Give him back to me.” 

“Why?”

Because you’re my father, should be a good enough answer.  You know it will not work.  You know he does not care.  Miroh hates you because you are his daughter.  Miroh is not scared of anyone because he knows he is the best.  He is scared of himself in you.  You never stood a chance. 

“Because he’s my friend,” you say, because that is the only truth that matters anymore. 

It makes your father laugh unexpectedly.  You do not break. 

“Your friend?” he asks.  “Oh, well, my dear, if he’s your friend, then of course I’ll suspend all my plans and operations!”  He continues to laugh.

“I already told you,” you say.  “I’m not asking again.” 

You fly at him without further warning.  He has a half-second to react, his eyes widening as he side-steps clumsily.  With your mutual injuries, it is not much of a fight.  After a short scuffle, Miroh kicks at your legs, your weakest point, and you double over.  He swings his knee up into your stomach and it makes you fall, curled protectively over yourself.  You plant your forehead on the ground, arms around you, breathing hard. 

“That is how a daughter should be before her father,” he says, looking down at you in your broken little bow. 

You look up as he reaches into the lapel of his coat.  He has kept his gun in the same place for years.  In the same place you always keep yours when you wear a long coat. 

He puts his hand there and finds nothing. 

You uncurl, showing the gun in your hand.  You point it, cock it, and place your finger on the trigger as you stand. 

“If the next words you speak are not his exact location, I’m killing you,” you say. 

“Then kill me,” he says. 

He must know you are running on fumes and a half-baked plan that you did not believe would work.  He is calling your bluff, knowing you like he knows himself.  You will drop the gun and concede.  Miroh wins.  Miroh always wins. 

But you are gripping that gun with your scarred hand.  It sends a twinge of pain shooting up your arm.   You hear Changbin’s voice in your head.

You pull the trigger. 

You are not sure who is more surprised.  You can feel it on your own face, dripping with your sweat and blood.  You lower the gun and watch as Miroh stumbles backwards, frantically patting his chest.   You wonder if he is wearing any protective layers.

It doesn’t matter, in the end.  You spent the last few minutes walking him backwards.  If you couldn’t get the gun, you were going to grab him and threaten him with the edge of the roof. 

When you shoot him, he stumbles.  He falls back.  He goes right over the edge.

You stand there for a long minute.  The watering can has emptied.  The wind has gone still.  The whole world seems to stop.  When you drop the gun, it hits the concrete with a clatter.  It feels very strange that the sun is still shining. 

You walk to the edge of the roof.  You look down.  Your father has loomed over the world from this perch for years, looking over the things he has so meticulously grown. 

He is laying in a broken heap at the bottom of it now. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  The wind begins to blow again.  You feel it on your face. 

Then you hear a voice.  It nearly makes you jump. 

“What now?” it asks. 

You turn around.  Bang Chan is standing there in his dark combat gear, that half-mask still fastened in place. He has finally broken a sweat, his hairline damp, and his chest is moving a little faster with breath.  He is human somewhere under there.  Deep, deep down.   You have no idea what to do with that human anymore than the soldier. 

One problem at a time. 

A few more officers appear on the rooftop.   Chan turns.  You approach him. 

“What now?” you repeat.  You scoop up the discarded gun and point it at the officers.  Chan draws his own and does the same.  You stand side-by-side, arm-to-arm, eyes on your adversaries.  “Right now,” you say, “we fight.” 

You pull the trigger. 

The fight begins. 

[firewasabeast]

Uncle Eddie (part 5)

Our Juniper is growing up 😞 You can read this chapter below, or on ao3. All parts can be read together or as individual stories.

Eddie was pretty sure that this was the most nervous he'd been in his entire life.

Standing on the Buckley-Kinard porch, flowers in one hand and a poorly wrapped birthday present in the other, he let out a deep breath as he waited for someone to come to the door.

When the door finally opened and Tommy stood in front of him, he felt about two feet tall.

“You are in some deep trouble, Man,” Tommy said, shaking his head.

Technically, he deserved it. It was all his fault.

Juniper's tenth birthday was the first time she would have both parents, and her Uncle Eddie, off work for the whole day. Everyone was going to be at the party, even all of her very annoying ten year old friends, but she was most excited to show off her firefighting family, which very much included Uncle Eddie.

Except Eddie, after a very long and exhausting forty-eight hour shift, was asked by Smith if they could trade shifts. “I only have a twelve on Saturday, and I'd be willing to take your twenty-four on Sunday.” And damn if that didn't sound like a good bargain at the time.

It wasn't until he got back from a call on Saturday and checked his phone to see three missed phone calls and five texts from Buck that it hit him.

He was supposed to be at Juniper's party.

He was an idiot.

And should probably get his brain checked for forgetting the one thing she'd reminded him about over and over to the point of Eddie having to beg her to please stop reminding him.

So now he stood at the door with apology flowers and a present that would have been awesome yesterday, but would probably mean nothing today.

“Am I even allowed in the house?” Eddie asked, Tommy already moving to the side to let him in.

“Well, technically Evan was closer to the door when the bell rang, but he went out back instead of answering.”

Eddie stepped inside but stayed in the entryway while Tommy closed the door. “How mad at me are they? How mad are you?”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed, thinking it over. “I'm down to about a four, but that's because of all the downright pathetic texts you sent me yesterday after Evan wouldn't respond to you. Juniper is probably a nine, but I think she's more sad than mad. Evan is... Well, Evan is Evan, so.”

“So I'm in really deep trouble.”

Tommy nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“I guess I should get started on my apology tour then.”

“Good idea. The five apology texts you sent last night are enough for me, by the way. I'd start with Juniper today if I were you. Evan won't forgive you until she does.”

A sigh. “She in her room?”

“Yeah. Good luck.”

*****

Eddie knocked on the open door, standing in the doorway until Juniper hopefully gave him the all clear to enter.

She was facing away from him, sitting at her desk and carefully applying polish to her fingernails. The knock caused her to swivel in her chair, but the smile she had faded quickly when she saw Eddie there. She turned back around.

“I thought you were Papa,” she grumbled out.

“No, just me. Can I come in, Chewy?”

She shrugged. “Free country.”

For all the ways she was turning into her own person, she still contained so much of her dads attitudes.

Eddie walked into the room and over to her desk, setting the flowers down beside her. “That's part of my apology,” he explained, then he set her gift on the other side of her. “That's for your birthday. Your nails look very nice, by the way.”

It was something she had been getting into lately. She loved trying new polishes. Right now she was applying a shimmery blue, and she had done so almost perfectly. She practiced on Tommy a lot. His toes had a new color every week.

The present Eddie had gotten her was a new polish kit that had come out. It was apparently a huge deal with tweens... and she was supposed to have it yesterday so she could do all her friends nails.

“I don't know if- if you know this,” she said, twisting the cap back on her polish, “but my birthday was yesterday.”

Eddie went over to her bed, tossing some stuffed animals to the side before he sat down. “I know, Juniper,” he started, hoping she'd eventually look his way, “and I'm sorry. I made a stupid mistake, I know I did. There's no excuse, but I am sorry.”

Juniper sighed. She stared down at her nails, watching them shine as she moved them around. “Papa told me I should forgive you.”

“That's nice of him.”

“Daddy told me it was, um, it was up to me.”

“That... sounds like your dad.”

“Then Papa told Daddy that people make mistakes, and a- as long as people really try to do better and mean that they're sorry, we should forgive them.”

“That's good advice,” Eddie agreed.

“Then Daddy told Papa that certain mistakes shouldn't be made in the first place and people should make an- an effort to show up.”

“Well, everyone has the right to feel however they feel,” Eddie reasoned.

“Then,” she continued with an exasperated breath, “they kept talking back and forth so I just came in my room.”

Sometimes Eddie wished he could be a fly on the wall to see what kinds of conversations happen in this house.

This was not one of those times.

“Well, Chewy, I- I hope you do forgive me, but I understand if you need more time, okay? I'll make it up to you however I can, but if you want me to leave you alone for a while I will.”

When Juniper didn't respond, Eddie got up and started for the door. “I'll see ya, Juniper.”

“Wait.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to see that Juniper was facing him now. “Yeah?”

“Are you really sorry?”

“I'm really sorry.”

“And you promise you won't do it again?”

“I-” Eddie paused, “I promise I will do my best to make sure I never make you sad again.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That is- is not the same.”

“It's the best I can do, Kid.”

She eyed him for a minute before seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Fine. I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. You said you'd make it up to me, right?”

There's always a catch.

“Yes... Yes, I did.”

She smiled brightly, folding her hands together. “Can we go to Fun Zone today? It's a trampoline park and it's like th- the best place to go ever! Can we go?”

Well, that didn't seem like too much of an ask.

“Sure,” he replied. “Let me clear it with your dads first, but I'm sure it'll be fine.”

She clapped excitedly, her nose scrunching up with her grin. “Yay! I'm gonna get ready!”

Eddie glanced at his watch. “We'll head out in a few minutes, okay? I gotta talk to your dad first.”

The look on Juniper's face changed. “Ohh,” she grimaced. “I think Daddy's more mad than me. Here.” She hopped off her chair and picked up the flowers Eddie had given her. She pulled out one of the miniature roses and handed it to him. “Give this to Daddy. It might help.”

Under any other circumstance, Eddie might have laughed at the serious expression on her face, but not this time. After all, Juniper got her stubbornness from somewhere, and that somewhere was definitely Buck.

*****

Tommy was on the couch reading a magazine when Eddie came out to the living room. “How'd it go?” he asked.

“I've been officially forgiven,” Eddie informed him. “Although it did take a bit of a bribe. We're gonna go to some trampoline park thing after I talk to Buck.”

Tommy perked up at the mention of the park. “You mean Fun Zone?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Tommy snorted. “Oh, she's good. She is good.”

“What?” Eddie asked nervously. “Why?”

“On Sunday's kids get endless free ice cream. Endless ice cream, trampolines, they've got zip lines, obstacle courses, rope climbing, stuff like that. Add it all together and-”

“And she's gonna vomit in my truck.”

Tommy nodded. “I'd take a bag.”

“She's punishing me, isn't she?”

“We must all pay for our sins, Eddie,” Tommy replied, dramatically flipping the page of his magazine.

“Is Buck outside still?”

“Mhm.” He nodded toward the rose in Eddie's hand. “Flower for him?”

“Junie's idea.”

“Hm. Probably should've gone for the whole bouquet.”

With a roll of his eyes, Eddie turned for the sliding doors and headed out back.

Buck was sitting on the porch, staring out into the backyard ever so solemnly.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie began with a slow approach toward him.

Buck said nothing, turned slightly to fix his gaze further away from Eddie, toward one of their trees.

“Just letting you know, I already talked to Juniper and cleared everything up.”

Still no response.

Eddie sighed. He scooted a chair beside Buck and sat down. “Buck, I'm sorry. I was overly tired when I took that shift and the party slipped my mind.” He held the flower in front of Buck's face so he couldn't avoid it. “Juniper accepted my apology. Can you?”

Buck stayed unmoving at first, but after a few seconds he took the flower from Eddie and stared down at it. “You only brought me one flower?”

“Buck.”

Finally, Buck turned to him. “That was a really crappy thing to do, Eddie. Junie looks up to you, she'd been telling all her friends about her Uncle Eddie. Told them you were the cool uncle that taught her Spanish, and then you didn't even show up.”

“Buck, I-”

“And I worked on that damn party for two months. You remember all the clipboards.”

“I do.”

“A vintage, early 2010's birthday party? That was the theme I was given! Whatever the hell that even means! Tommy and I spent two months figuring it all out, but all she'd ever talk about was the fact you'd be there. Tommy and I are just her dads, Eddie, you're the special, cool one in her life. You let her down.”

As if Eddie didn't feel bad enough already. “I know, Buck. I know I let her down, and let you guys down too. I'm sorry.”

“You should be,” Buck replied, face tense.

They were both quiet for a minute, until Buck's posture slowly relaxed.

“You know I wouldn't care so much if it was just me, but you hurt Juniper,” Buck explained. “She still enjoyed her party, but she was really upset you weren't there.”

“I know, Buck. I really am sorry, okay? I'm gonna take her to Fun Zone today for a few hours and- and maybe we can have all her friends come to the station sometime soon? Give them a class on fire safety and show them what we do.”

Buck thought for a moment, twirling the rose between his fingers. “And you'll be the one giving the class,” he replied. It was less of a question and more of a command.

“Yes, I will give the class.”

Buck sighed. “Fine. You're forgiven.” He pointed at Eddie, “Never do it again though.”

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “Wouldn't dream of it.” He groaned as he stood, his bones creaking in ways they never did when he was younger. “I gotta see if Juniper's ready to go. Mind if I steal your kid for a few hours?”

Buck shook his head. “No, but... Wait, did you say you're going to Fun Zone?”

“Yeah.”

“She's gonna puke in your car.”

Eddie closed his eyes, bracing himself for whatever he had just gotten into.

“Yeah, I... I know.”

[mediumgayitalian]

previous chapter

———

The sunlight disorients him.

Usually, he wakes to a blaring alarm. If he has no alarm set, nothing planned for the day, he wakes when he cannot physically stand the taste of his own breath anymore, stumbling out of bed and ambling like a zombie for the nearest toothbrush. (On rare, rare occasions, he wakes to humming – low, drawling, lilting, floating around his darkened room, brightening it. He dreams about those mornings.)

He cannot remember the last time he woke to gentle sun.

Stretching, he takes a minute to catalogue the space as he wakes up, noticing the light curtains over wide windows, small TV tucked in between two double beds, and a desk, larger than he would have expected, taking up the far right corner.

Will is nowhere to be found.

“Jogging, mebbe,” Nico mumbles to himself; tiny, forgotten accent slipping out before he can stop it. Gingerly, he peels off the blankets and pads to the bathroom. Will’s blue-capped toothbrush sits next to the sink, quelling Nico’s ridiculous anxiety that Will, actually, has never been here at all, and Nico dreamed this whole thing up. He smiles slightly at the dorky stickers plastered all over the handle, colour mostly worn away, and the watch forgotten next to the soap dispenser. 

He hears a heavy door open and shut, pausing to make out quiet footsteps over the running water. Quickly rinsing the suds off his face, he towels off and steps back out into the hotel room, watching his friend.

Will has his back turned, hunched over the desk. He wears a hoodie, blue with big white clouds all over it – his favourite – and, of course, horrible cargo shorts. Nico counts seven pockets, and that’s just what he can see from the back. There is a book shoved in two of them, keys hanging out of a third, and an apple bulging from the pocket near his hip.

“Morning.”

Will jumps, whirling around. 

“You scared the shit outta me!”

“Sorry,” Nico says, not sorry. He’s grinning. “Were you out for a run?”

“I was out for a run hours ago, yes. It’s, like, ten-thirty, dude. You’ve been sleeping for eight hundred years.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” They’ve had this argument more times than he can physically count, he refuses to have it again when he doesn’t have the upper hand. He’ll bring it up again when Will’s sleepy again at nine o’clock. “Where were you?”

Will steps to the side, revealing three separate heaping plates of food on the desk, piled high with eggs, toast, a muffin, bacon, and, of course, an entire plate devoted to fruit. Nico descends upon it like a swarm of seagulls upon a terrorized child’s ice cream cone – with fury, insatiable hunger, and endless hubris. He makes sure to ignore the fruit.

Five minutes later, he’s satiated enough to turn a percentage of his attention away from the food. He spins the desk chair halfway to face Will, instead, curled up on the bed with one knee pulled to his chest, watching him fondly.

“How many times did you almost drop this on the way up?” he asks around a mouthful of bacon.

Will’s smile drops, eyes narrowing. “Shut up.”

“Four floors, and there’s a good chance you took the stairs to keep the elevators for ‘someone who needs them more’, so –”

“I hate you.”

“– I’m guessing one time per flight of stairs? Oh, wait, there are three plates, definitely more –”

“I’m never doing anything nice for you ever again.”

“– and you have a new band-aid on your knee, so you definitely tripped and dropped it at least once.” He pops the last of the bacon in his mouth, smiling wickedly. “Twice? Three times? If you don’t tell me I’m going to assume six and move on.”

Will’s glare intensifies. He mumbles something.

“Hm?”

He mumbles again. Nico doesn’t even pretend not to be delighted. He knows the smile on his face is wide enough to make him look deranged, he simply doesn’t care. Opportunities to press Will’s buttons this beautiful do not show up every day. He must treasure them.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“Hadtogoback.”

“Gonna have to speak up, bud.”

“I had to go back!” Will explodes, hands thrown in the air. “I fuckin’ – I dropped the stupid plates, the first time, so I had to fuckin’ – clean it up and – two stupid trips, you jerk, you better appreciate this –”

Nico almost bites through his lip. “You dropped it?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Will says defensively. “I was concentrating really hard but –”

Nico loses it.

“– my shoe got caught on the last step and I didn’t have any hands to catch myself.” He scowls. “Three people saw.”

He can’t breathe. There are genuine, actual tears streaming down his face, burn in his eyes almost as bad as the burn in his lungs, the ache in his belly. He wraps his shaking arms around himself in an attempt to hold himself together, laughing so hard he feels like his muscles might actually rip themselves off his bones. Every time he tries to calm down, he pictures Will, in his dorky flip-flops, egg in his hair, half a muffin crushed on his cheek, bright red, sprawled on the ground, food everywhere. If he could think of literally anything else, he’d be worried about his heart straight-up failing. 

“I hate you. Actually.”

“I’m – oh my God,” he wheezes. He manages, finally, to get an actual breath in, desperately trying to think of literally anything else to calm down. Fucking – bumper to bumper traffic. Bedbugs. His father’s frowning face. That always works. “Holy shit, Will.”

“I should’ve just woken your ungrateful ass up.”

“Probably.” He flicks a grape at him, smiling. Will catches it in his mouth, rolling his eyes but smiling back. “Glad you didn’t.”

“Whatever.”

Nico finishes the rest of his breakfast in relative peace, managing to turn away if his mouth threatens to betray the tentative truce they’ve negotiated. He even eats one entire peach when Will starts pelting him with tiny hotel soap bottles and listing side effects of cholesterol-induced heart disease.

The second he finishes the last bite, Will orders him to clear off the desk. Nico mutters about bossiness and how Will is most definitely not in charge of him, doing as he asks. When he comes back – took him a hot second to shove the paper plates into a small enough ball to fit in the garbage can – Will has dragged the desk over to the bed, sitting criss-cross next to it, examining one of the many papers he has covering it.

“So,” he says, gesturing next to him. Nico dutifully sits, peering at the various maps and markings. “We gotta plan part two.”

“Didn’t we already do this?” Nico asks. “Back at Dunkin’s?”

“Not this far. I wanted to Preserve the Spontaneous Road Trip Spirit.” Nico can hear the capitalization.

“So, planning, then.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Nico smiles. “Brief me, captain.”

Will jumps right in, pointing and gesturing and every once and a while catching Nico’s eye to ask, right? Sound good?

Nico just watches him. 

The midday sun shines directly in his face, catching and reflecting on his pale eyelashes, making his eyes go squinty. His excitement is obvious, in his chattering, his waving hands, his bouncing curls; every part of him moving. Even his stupid cargo shorts look endearing, every other pocket bulging, filled absentmindedly with slips of paper or pens or bandaids or granola bars. Nico watches him and feels he might burst.

“You’re not listening,” Will accuses.

Nico jumps back into focus. “Yes I am.”

“What’d I just say?”

“‘You’re not listening’.”

WIll cracks a smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Run over that again,” Nico answers, and grins devilishly when Will does. Not funny his ass.

He listens, though, through Will’s second explanation. It’s not too hard – Will’s always been organised. The wide penciled circle around their location in Atlanta, outlining the area they can drive before their next fuel stop, is pretty wide. But the options are limited, in Nico’s opinion – while he’s sure there is indeed something to do in South Carolina, there’s nothing to do for him, specifically. He’s cool with skipping it.

“There is one place we can go,” Will says. His voice has gone oddly quiet, and after at minute he glances over at Nico, like he’s waiting for his permission.

“Your road trip, dude,” he murmurs, nudging their shoulders together. “I’ll even go to South Carolina if you want to, but no promises that I won’t complain about it.”

That, thankfully, draws a huff out of him, some of the tenseness fading from his frame. 

“South Carolina is beautiful, you know.”

“Says the boy who is currently visiting his third state ever.”

“...Touché.” He taps his pencil on the map, pink eraser thunking somewhere in the Bermuda triangle. “I was thinking – we could try Nashville? Music Row, or Broadway?”

Nico groans. “Oh, of course you wanna go hang out with all the goddamn hillbillies, you fuckin’ country boy –”

“It’s good music!”

Nico groans louder. Secretly, though, he watches his friend out of the corner of his eye, watches as his shoulders slump, relieved, and he knows he’ll spend as long as he needs in lasso-slingin’ Tennessee, following Will in and out of – barns and ranches and cowboy boot shops, probably. Are saloons still a thing?

He has a feeling that there is more to Will’s hesitance than a fear about being judged for his Marty Robbins obsession. If Tennessee is where he’s gonna get answers – well. He’ll brave the goddamn sea of cowboy hats.

A knock at the door startles them both. A voice calls hesitantly through the door: “Mr. di Angelo?”

“Wrong door, probably,” Will whispers after a moment. He looks to Nico. “Right?”

There’s another knock. “Mr. di Angelo?” 

“Yeah.” Nico rolls of the bed, landing on the floor with a grunt. “Another room with a Mr. di Angelo.”

He creeps towards the door, keeping low as if whoever’s outside can see him. After a moment, the bed creaks, and Will’s quiet footsteps pad behind him. 

“You think it’s room service?” Will whispers, plastered to the opposite side of the door. Even ducking, his hair brushes the edge of the peephole. 

Nico shoves his head down, pinching him when he squawks. “Be quiet, tall person, I need to see.”

“Get a stepstool then, jerk! Stop using my neck as a lever!”

“What part of be quiet are you missing! God!”

“Mr. di Angelo, please open the door.”

The voice on the other side of the door sounds amused. Face flaming, Nico shoves Will somewhere behind him, still bitching, and swings open the door. 

“Good afternoon,” says the man in the hallway. He’s dressed very smartly in a tailored black suit, nametag reading Eric. “Are you Mr. di Angelo?”

Nico clears his throat, trying to stand taller. “That’s me.”

“Good. I’m with Hotel Administration. We received a fax for you this morning?” He hands Nico a manilla folder. “First page says confidential, so we put it in the envelope. We tried to call this morning but didn’t get any response.”

Vaguely, Nico remembers a ringing phone. He also remembers yanking the plug out of the wall in sleep-deprived rage.

Oops.

Ignoring Will’s snickering, Nico thanks the man, closing the door and sitting on the nearest bed. Will scooches over to make room for him, tossing and catching a pillow. Nico leans back against the headboard, crossing his leg over Will’s.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“Checking now.”

The envelope is the cheap kind you get in a box of fifty; speckled brown, thin, machine-cut. It’s not sealed and so Nico flips it open easily, sliding out a small stack of papers. The first is a huge CONFIDENTIAL, printed diagonally across otherwise blank paper. The second is a bank statement. 

Nico shoots upright.

“What? Nico, what’s –”

“Mr. di Angelo, we regret to lose your business,’” Nico recites in a shaking voice, “‘but appreciate your time with us and wish you all the best with your future banking.’”

Frantically, he scans the document again. Successful cancellation. Expedited closure date. Transferred affairs to –

– parent account. 

“–co? Nico? Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

The air pushes out of Nico’s lungs like a crushed balloon. “Fuck.”

“Nico.” Warm hands press on his bloodless cheeks, fingers sliding in his hair. “Nico, look at me.”

He gasps. Will squeezes gently, eyes dark and stern and kind, thumbs callus-rough and dragging across his cheekbones.

“Good. Again. There you go, you got it.” 

Nico grabs his wrists when he tries to pull away. Will takes the hint, sliding his hands under Nico’s free one and knocking their shoulders together.

“What’s wrong, Nico?” 

Instead of answering, Nico sets the papers on the bed between them. Will squints, and for a second Nico prays that he’s wrong, that he’s mixed up the words. That it doesn’t say what it knows it does.

Then Will inhales, quick and sharp, and the hope is dashed.

“Your card…”

“Next page,” Nico says softly.

Niccolò,

The papers rustle as Will flips them, and this one he takes much longer to read. 

Vorrei sapere che ho fermato un caso di frode alla radice.

After a minute, he holds it out, shaking his head.

Un criminale ha rubato la tua carta di credito, e l’ha usata per comprare una stanza d’albergo in Georgia. Qualche spacciatore, non ci sono dubbi.

“It’s a little formal, I can’t –”

Ho disattivato la carta, naturalmente. Ti darò quella nuova appena ti vedrò.

Nico takes the scanned letter. Vaguely, he registers Will’s hands brushing up his arms as they move two wrap around his face again, this time forcing his jaw to unclench.

“Power play,” Nico snarls. His clenched fingers wrinkle the pulpy paper.  “He knows exactly where I am. If he wanted to drag me home, he could drag me by the fucking –”

“But instead he’s forcing you to call him,” Will says softly. “Oh, Nico, I’m so sorry.”

The hands drop from his face again. It knocks the cloudiness right out of Nico’s head, and he snaps up, frowning at Will’s crooking fingers, the bitten lips. He won’t meet Nico’s eyes.

“Why are you sorry my father’s being a haughty jackass who suddenly cares what I do with my time?”

“And his money.” Will picks up the bank statement, reading over it again, and again, like it might change. Like Nico’s credit card will magically become un-cancelled, like they will suddenly become un-stranded. “This whole stupid thing is my fault. I never should have dragged you into it, Neeks, I’m so –”

“If you apologise again I’m going to push you off the bed.”

“– sorry.” 

“Will.” Nico snatches back the statement, shaking his head. He waits until blue eyes meet his then smiles, as reassuringly as he can with such a pit in his stomach. “My father is –” He sighs. “It’s not about the money. You know he doesn’t care about the money.”

Will shrugs. It’s true – Nico has made dumber purchases. When he was twelve, he bought a trampoline, just to see if his father would say anything. Fifteen, marble statue. Sixteen, a car.

Then he stopped trying.

“How far can we go, on the gas we have? How many miles?”

Will shrugs. “Three and a half hours? Four, if we push it?”

“And on a full tank of gas?”

“Almost six.”

“And then we’re stuck.”

“And then we’re stuck, yeah. Unless you got Greyhound money hidden somewhere.”

Nico sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s what he wants, Will. He doesn’t care about the – about the stupid money. He wants me. He wants me to ask, rather, to pick up a phone and beg him to come get us ‘cause we have no other options. He wants me to admit I need his help.”

The first time he ran away, he’d had to avoid every cop car. He knew he was being looked for, he saw his own face plastered on news screens. It had only been a matter of time. The second attempt was – easier. Much easier. He’d hardly even had to hide his face. By the third time, he’d waited a week, waited almost a month, before he was cold and hungry and walked to the nearest social services building himself. The car ride home, the humiliation so potent he could taste the bitterness of it, had made the cold, rainy nights with nothing but the same ratty hoodie he’d worn when he left worth it. He swore he’d never subject himself to that again. 

And yet here he is. 

Out of options. 

“You know what? No.” In a swift, unstoppable movement, Will snatches the stack of papers, ripping them into four pieces faster than Nico can reach an arm out to stop him. “We’re not doing this.”

“Will – what –”

He throws himself off the bed, stomping over to his backpack. A folded pair of socks goes flying over his shoulder, a book hits the ground with a heavy thunk. His muttering grows louder, cursing interspersed between every word.

“What are you –”

“We are not dealing with this right now.” With a frustrated finally, Will yanks a bag of something out of his backpack, stomping back towards the bed. He throws a Ziploc bag onto the duvet, and it bounces once, twice, three times before splitting open and spilling quarters everywhere.

“What the hell is –”

“You already payed for the room, right?”

Nico snaps his jaw shut. “Yes.”

“And it’s Saturday.”

“I – it is, yeah.”

“Not a business day.”

“No.”

“Well.” Will nods. “Bank’s closed. Hotel can’t process anything, and they have no reason to suspect your card, which worked just fine last night, is gonna bounce. We’ve got a day of breathing room, at least, and I don’t want to think about it.”

He holds up a hand when Nico starts to argue, grim set to his mouth giving way to something a little sharper, a little more dangerous. 

“We might not be old enough to gamble, but when you’re in Atlanta, you do as the Atlantians do.” He meets Nico’s eye, grinning. “You still any good Street Fighters?”

———

next chapter

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Pan Says... (13/13)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: We've made it! The final chapter is here. Thank you all for going on this journey with me! I hope is does not disappoint!

Much love to my @kmomof4 and @ultraluckycatnd for being amazing cheerleaders and betas! A shout out to all of you who sent me prompts. This fic would not exist without y'all!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six  / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

“There has to be a way out of here,” Killian grumbled as they hit yet another dead end.

Never had he been more eager to get his Swan to safety. Sure, the man who’d been tasked to eliminate her may well be dead, but that didn’t mean she was out of danger. Cassidy was still lurking somewhere within the maze and Killian didn’t want to take any chances of him getting his hands on Emma.

“Killian?” Emma whispered softly next to him, both of them trying to draw as little attention to themselves and their position as possible. “What do we do if Neal finds us before we make it out of here? Assuming there is a way out.”

“There has to be,” Killian replied, bypassing her initial question and leading them down a new corridor. Or had they already been down this way? “Pan can’t trap us in here forever.”

“Sure he can.”

Killian and Emma spun around, stunned to find Neal Cassidy making his way around the corner they’d just turned. Where had he come from? That way had been a dead end. Hadn’t it?

A baseball bat was firmly gripped in one hand as he menacingly tapped the cap of it in the other. No need to guess the weapon he was meant to use in order to complete the grizzly task Pan had assigned him.

“Looks like Emma already took care of your dear old dad,” Neal commented, his eyes taking in the blood soaked into Killian’s sweatpants and smeared across his bare torso and chest. Shifting his attention to Emma he added, “I knew Pan would give you Brennan, leaving Killian and I to duke it out to the death.”

Killian let the man keep his wrong assumptions and tightened his grip on Emma’s hand, hoping she would do the same. Having his focus on Killian as both his target and would-be assassin allowed them the upper hand, even if they were both loath for Emma to be in a position to have to take the man’s life. Neither of them wanted it to come to that, but Neal seemed not the least bit concerned with the idea of cold-blooded murder.

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” Neal murmured darkly, continuing his advance as Killian and Emma both crept backward down the corridor, unwilling to take their eyes off the danger in front of them. “Do you know how often I’ve dreamt of killing you? How many times I begged Pan to let me be the one to punish you?”

Arriving at a T junction, Killian signaled for Emma to go to her right, hanging behind for a moment to ensure Neal did not lunge at them unexpectedly. She’d only just rounded the corner when a panel slid out from the wall, cutting him off from her completely. Forgetting about Neal, Killian spun around and yelled Emma’s name, desperately feeling his way along the panel for a way to remove it.

“Swan!” he hollered, but was unable to determine whether or not she could hear him. Her name had only just left his lips when a whooshing sound gave him a mere moments warning of Neal’s attack. Ducking out of the way, Killian nearly had his head taken clean off by the swing of Neal’s bat, which instead collided with the solid panel separating them from Emma.

“Quick bastard, aren’t you?” Neal muttered, taking aim once more.

His next swing was stalled when Killian demanded to know, “Where’s Emma? How did you manage to separate us?”

“Don’t look at me, pal,” Neal scoffed. “Haven't you noticed the walls moving before now? Hallways seal themselves all the time, creating new dead ends. It’s all part of Pan’s genius.”

“Awfully enamored with Pan, aren’t you?” Killian stated derisively.

“Pan is my family,” Neal shot back. “He’s always looked out for me.” Cocking his head to one side, a sneer crept over his lip as he taunted, “Unlike your own father who left you and your brother to rot in foster care. Left you to the mercy of someone like John Silver.”

Killian tamped down the anxiety and panic the mention of his abusive foster father’s name brought up. He could not afford to let Neal rile him up or make him lose focus. In fact, perhaps it was time to turn the tables.

“Always looked out for you?” Killian countered. “Was he looking out for you when he brought Emma here? When he let me have her instead of you?” Neal’s knuckles turned white as he clenched the grip of the bat tighter in his hands, his teeth grinding together in anger and rage Killian hoped he could work to his advantage. “Tell me, Neal,” Killian continued to taunt, “How was Pan looking out for you when he let me pleasure Emma? Let me caress her body and taste her cunt before fucking her to heights of ecstacy you were incapable of giving her?”

A guttural roar of rage preceded the wild swing of Neal’s bat, but Killian managed to side-step it before it made contact.

“Or was he looking out for you when he forced Emma to her knees to suck me off?” Killian said, throwing another barb at the man who was growing more and more unhinged by the second. “Or when she washed me, or kissed me, or fondled me, or rode me like a bloody goddess?”

Another savage swing broke the air, but when this one also missed its target, Neal, in a rage, rushed at Killian, nearly knocking the breath out of him as they both landed on the ground.

“You think any of that meant something? You think it means she’s yours?” Neal bellowed, striking Killian in the jaw with his fist when he attempted to get up, landing him flat on his back once more. “She’ll never be yours!” Neal roared. “She’s mine!”

Crushing the bat against Kiliian’s windpipe, Neal continued to rail at him. Perhaps he’d done too good of a job riling the man up in the hopes he’d make a mistake. It was clear, however, that Killian had been the one who’d made the fatal error. Frantically, he clawed at Neal’s hands as the man continued to spit vitriol at him, not that he heard a word of it, the sound of his blood thundering in his ears as a ringing began to swell from the lack of oxygen effectively drowned the murderous man out.

No! He couldn’t let the man win. He couldn’t leave his Emma at the mercy of Pan and Neal. He couldn’t… he had to… he must…

Killian’s vision began to tunnel, the black edges of oblivion quickly creeping in as the pressure in his face and head continued to build and his lungs screamed from want of air. With the last of his strength he tried anything and everything he could to dislodge the man from his chest and bat from his throat, but it was no use. Neal would not be moved.

The last vestiges of consciousness began to leave him, his final coherent thoughts of his Swan and the grief he felt as he mourned the life they could have had together. He wished he could see her one last time. Hold her. Kiss her. Tell her he--

Killian jolted from the blast of gunshots that rang out and his lungs suddenly opened, allowing him to draw in a much needed breath. His eyes, which he hadn’t even realized had shut, flew open in time to see Neal Cassidy being propelled backward by the force of the bullets hitting his chest, blood splatter from his wounds erupting in the air and hitting Killian in the face as he continued to choke and gasp for breath.

“Killian!” Emma screamed, her footfalls rushing towards him as he rolled over onto all fours in an attempt to get up. She practically knocked him on his back again, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“Careful, love,” he choked out, settling back onto his heels as he knelt before her, threading his fingers through her hair and holding her as close to him as he possibly could. Once he was able to breathe again without a choking fit, he pulled back and looked over at Neal’s prone body.

“Is he… dead?”

“I unloaded the clip on him,” Emma told him, her tone giving away none of what she might be feeling over the matter. “So, yeah. He’s dead.”

“Good.”

She released a heavy breath in response, tears pooling in her eyes as relief seemed to engulf her. Cupping her cheek, Killian nuzzled his nose against hers and affirmed, “You did what you had to do, Swan. You saved me.”

“I tried to hurry,” she told him in a slightly hysterical tone. “I knew there had to be a way back around to you. I’m sorry it took me so long to find it.”

“Shhh, love,” Killian soothed, pulling her back into his arms and cradling her head against his chest. “It’s all right now.”

Emma’s eyes fell shut and a tear slipped past her lashes. Before Killian could wipe it away they were both startled by the sound of more panels closing in around them. Getting to their feet they frantically looked about for a means of escape, but there was none. All access points had been closed off to them.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Killian hollered, grabbing on to Emma’s hand for fear they might get separated again. “It’s over! We completed your tasks and survived! We won! Why have you trapped us in here?”

“Yes, yes,” Pan said in an unenthusiatic tone with a half-hearted slow clap accompanying his words. “You’ve won. Congratulations.”

“That's right!” Emma chimed in. “We won, so let us out! You said we’d earn our freedom if--”

“And I am a man of my word,” Pan replied, though there was clear reluctance in his tone. “Even if letting you go will end up costing me dearly. Think of the revenue I’ll lose from my guests when they discover their favorite playthings are no longer available to them?”

“Forgive me if I don’t lose any sleep over it,” Killian grit out through clenched teeth. “Something tells me you’ll manage just fine without us.”

“I suppose,” Pan sighed. “Part of the fun was watching your father and Neal suffer and stew while I played with you. Now that they’re gone…” Another heavy exhale filled the corridor as a panel slid open. “Well, I suppose a deal’s a deal. Pan says, follow the corridor.”

“Wait!” Emma called out, clearly unconvinced that he meant to make good. “This is really it, right? You’re letting us go? We’re free? Forever?”

“Of course,” Pan replied. “Unless you would wish to stay and remain a part of my--”

“Fuck that,” Killian said, pulling Emma along the corridor with haste, ready to be done with this god forsaken place once and for all.

The path led them back to one of the rooms they’d started in and a cold stone of dread dropped in Killian’s stomach when the door shut behind them.

“I knew it!” Emma exclaimed. “I knew it was a trick! I knew he never meant to--”

Her words were cut off by the hissing sound of the fog filling the room. Terror filled green eyes caught his own as they stared at one another in fear.

“K-Killian?” Emma stammered. “Do you… do you think he means to--”

“Relax,” Pan’s voice exasperated from the speaker. “It’s only going to knock you both out. I can’t have you remembering any details that might lead the authorities back here, now can I?”

A shuddering exhale of relief left Killian’s lungs, but it was replaced with a fresh breath of panic. Where did he mean to take them? Would they remain together or would he dump them back where he’d had them grabbed that fateful night?

“Swan,” Killian said desperately. The air around them was already filling with the noxious choking gas and he knew they didn’t have much time. “I’ll find you,” he promised. “If when we wake we aren’t… I swear I’ll find you.”

“I know you will,” she said, clinging to him as she nodded furiously. “Or I’ll find you. We’ll find each other.”

“Aye.” Pressing his forehead to hers, he lowered them to their knees, not wishing for either of them to become injured when they eventually lost consciousness and fell to the floor.

“Killian, I…” Emma gazed up at him, a sentiment he’d longed to hear swirling in her jade depths as the words began to form on her lips. “ I lo--”

“Don’t,” Killian said, cutting her off. “Not here. Not like this.” Taking her face in both hands he pleaded with her, “Tell me when we’re free. Tell me after… after you’ve found me or I’ve found you. Please, love.”

“As you wish,” she slurred out, her body becoming too heavy for his weakened arms to hold. Together, they collapsed to the ground, their bodies entwined with one another as darkness pulled them under.

~/~

A horn blared from the street outside the window jarring Emma awake. Bolting upright, she was stunned to find herself in her apartment, the air thick with two months worth of dust collecting on the surfaces. Glancing down to assess her physical state, she was again taken aback. Someone had dressed her in the very clothes she’d been wearing when she’d disappeared. The same tight jeans, the same gray tank top, the same red leather jacket, the same tall boots, even the same ponytail, she realized, reaching back to run a hand over her hair.

Out of instinct she called out for Killian, hoping against hope he might be somewhere in her apartment as well. After a very short, quick search - her place was tiny with only an open concept living and kitchen area, a bathroom, and a bedroom - she was devastated to discover she was alone.

Patting at her pockets, she found her phone tucked away in one of the interior ones of her jacket. A curse fell from her lips when she tried to unlock it. The thing was completely dead. Rushing to her bedroom, she started tearing it apart in search of her phone charger, all the while trying to decide who she should attempt to contact first.

Obviously, she needed to find Killian, but there was also David and Mary Margaret to consider. They’d been through hell and she didn’t want them to suffer a moment longer than they had to. Not to mention, the police had to be notified, she was probably gonna need a good lawyer, she was desperate to find out if Henry had indeed been returned to his mother, it would probably be a good idea to have a doctor check her out, but out of all of the concerns and worries spiraling through her brain, the thing that continued to drive her as she searched for her damn phone charger was Killian.

She had to find Killian.

Someone started pounding on her front door, causing Emma to freeze. As the assault against her door continued, Emma realized there was one thing that had not been returned to her from the night Pan had her taken.

Her gun.

Looking about for something she could use as a weapon, Emma froze again when a voice began to accompany the banging.

“Killian?” Sprinting to the door, she didn’t even check the peephole before throwing it open.

Hand still raised, ready to set another round of knocks on the surface of her door, Killian stared back at her with equal disbelief and elation.

“Swan,” he breathed, barely able to complete the exhale before Emma launched herself into his arms.

He struggled to keep hold of her and make his way into her apartment as she wrapped her legs around his waist and peppered his face with kisses.

“How… How are you here… How did you… find me so fast.”

“It was Pan,” he muffled against her lips, causing her to flinch back.

“What?”

Setting her back on her feet, he reached into the pocket of the jeans he wore - tight fitted jeans paired with an equally tight black shirt, charcoal colored waist coat, and a black leather bomber style jacket - and produced a familiar looking folded piece of paper.

Closing the door as she took the message from him with trembling fingers, Killian recited the words as Emma read them.

“Pan says… find her.”

Included on the paper was her full address.

“Well,” she said, wetting her lips and handing the note back to him. “Good thing you did, because tomorrow I’m moving to an unregistered address.”

Killian chuckled and they were back in each other’s arms, lips sliding and tongues tangling as their hands clung to the fabric of the other’s clothes.

“You’re alright? Truly?” he murmured in the space between them when they broke apart for air.

“Yes,” she assured him. “But I’m not sure how long I was out. I only woke up a few minutes before you arrived.” Pulling back further, she gazed up at him and asked, “How did you get here so fast?”

With a stunned expression, as though he himself hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of what he was about to relay to her, he said, “I live just on the other side of town.”

Emma was struck by the fact they never once talked about where they lived. All of his stories had been of his life back in the UK, having only mentioned once in passing that he’d moved to the US for a fresh start after his court martial.

“After I woke up and saw the note, I raced over here. Breaking several traffic laws in the process, I’m sure.” Taking her face back into his hands, he caressed the apples of her cheeks with his thumbs. “I had to see. I had to see for myself that you were alright.”

Reaching up, she placed her hands over his and closed her eyes, letting his touch and the comfort of his presence wash over her. When she opened her eyes again, she led them to her sofa, asking, “What about Liam? Or the police? Have you--”

“I called Liam on my way here,” he told her. “He’s booking the first flight out.”

“I guess I half expected him to already be in the States, working with the police or at least connecting with David and Mary--”

“Aye, he did all that,” Killian added, cutting her off so he could relay what Liam had told him over the phone. “After our phone calls to them, Liam and David and Mary Margaret were in contact with one another immediately and he came here to help them convince the police to take up the case again. Unfortunately, his leave ran out and he had to go back, but he said he would reach out to David and Mary Margaret, as well as the detective that’s working our case, to let them know of my return.” With knitted brows he looked around and said, “I’m surprised they aren't blowing up your phone or already at your door.”

“My phone is dead.” She nodded at the coffee table where the useless device was still laying, then glanced around once more as she said, “I was looking for the charger when you…” Emma returned her gaze to his, not wanting to take her eyes off him for fear he might simply disappear. Shaking off the absurdity of that feeling - while trying to convince herself it was absurd - Emma cleared her throat and informed him, “David and Mary Margaret live more than an hour away, so… we have a bit of time before they come barging in.”

“Aye,” Killian acknowledged. “And Liam asked that I wait to go to the station until after he arrives. He uh… he wants to be here. To support me through…”

“Of course he does,” Emma said, running her hand up and down his arm in a supportive and comforting manner. “He’s your brother and he loves you.”

Killian stood and started to pace, his hands sweeping through his hair over and over again. “I’m not sure what I’m going to tell him,” he confided. “About what we’ve been through. About what we… what I had to do in order to gain my…” Stopping dead in his tracks he looked over at Emma with mournful eyes and asked, “How am I going to tell him about Brennan? How do I confess to him that I killed our father?”

Emma sprang up for the couch and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. “You didn’t kill him, Killian. You weren’t the one responsible for his death. And regardless, you won’t have to face it alone. You won’t have to do any of this alone.” Craning her neck, she captured his gaze and reminded him, “We will get through this the way we’ve gotten through everything else. Together.”

“Aye, love,” he expelled on a relieved breath, crushing her to him. “Together.”

After a few more minutes of simply holding one another, Killian loosened his grip and chagrined, “I’m sorry, Swan. I know I’m not the only one facing a daunting amount of trauma to work through.” Taking her hands in his, he brushed his thumbs over her knuckles, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily before he spoke. “I know now that my father sacrificed everything to protect Liam and me. That he gave up his life to ensure I had a future.” Gently, he placed her hands against his chest and cradled them there, flicking his gaze up to meet hers, the intensity swirling in those forget-me-not depths nearly drowning her. “And I damn well intend to have one,” he murmured fiercely, their lips now only a hairsbreadth apart. “I know you must have your own trepidations about entering back into the world, but I want you to know that I will be by your side. For all of it. Always.”

“I know,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his and losing herself in the fervor of his kiss and the promise it left simmering between them.

After taking a much needed breath, Emma burrowed her face into his chest, refusing to let go as she tightened her arms around him. “For now though?” she implored. “For the little bit of time we have before David gets here and goes all Nolan, or before the police descend with their questions and interrogations, or before your brother arrives and I have to worry about earning his approval…” Killian chuckled at that, giving her a comforting and commiserating squeeze. “Can we just… do this? Can we just… be? Can we just leave the world outside for a little bit longer? I just want you to hold me. Can you just hold me and let me forget about everything else for a while?”

“Aye, love,” he murmured into her hair. “I can do that.”

The tightening of Killian’s arms around her alerted Emma that there was something she needed to do first.

“Um… actually,” she said apologetically, wiggling out of his embrace and shooting him a slightly embarrassed look. “Real quick, I need to um… use the restroom. Sorry.”

Killian chuckled again and fully let her go. “Go,” he said in an amused breath. “Take care of necessities while I make myself useful and get us some tea.” Waggling his brows at her he added, “Then we can cuddle up with a cuppa until the masses arrive.”

Emma smiled and threw out instructions of where to find things as she made her way to the bathroom. When she reached the door, she paused and turned back.

“Oh, and Killian?”

“Aye?”

Drawing in a cleansing breath, she declared, “I love you.”

He whirled around from the cabinets and beamed at her, elated. “And I you, Emma,” he murmured back, clearly torn between taking her in his arms again and letting her continue on with what she needed to do. “And I you.”

“Hold that thought,” she told him with a coy smile, her hand pressed against the bathroom door while her attention remained focused on him for a second longer. Watching him smile that adorable boyish grin as he went back to puttering around her kitchen, Emma placed her other hand over her chest. Her heart was full and feeling as though it might burst from relief and joy and hope and a certainty that settled deep within her.

They were going to be okay. There was a lot for them to face and get through and overcome, but… he loved her and she loved him. They were going to be okay.

Swinging the door open, she stepped into the bathroom, then stopped short with a gasp falling from her lips that took her elated smile with it.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed before clamping a hand over her mouth.

Killian’s rushed footfalls were accompanied by his frantic tone as he demanded, “What is it? Swan, are you--”

She flicked her gaze up to the mirror, her face white and her eyes wide as saucers. When he joined her his attention was on her reflection, but then followed her gaze as it returned to the counter, and the note laying there.

A note she somehow had not seen earlier when she’d quickly checked the bathroom for Killian.

A note that was sitting atop a very distinctive object.

“Is that…”

A pregnancy test.

Emma nodded and they both leaned down to take a closer look. Hands shaking, Emma picked up the stick and a shuddering breath left her lungs as Killian read the scrawling words that had been penned on the paper.

Pan says, congratulations are in order.

The End

(cue evil laugh)

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[cellythefloshie]

;; The Shallow End Chapter Four of Cool for the Summer

Table of Contents Chapter Three «« 🤍 »» Chapter Five

Summary: Harper spends her weekend by the pool. TW: No triggers apply. Word Count: 4k+

This series to be read in conjecture with @hockeyboysimagines I Loved You Three Summers.

The car at the end of the driveway turned wasn't one she recognized, and it left her blood to run cold. It had her foot hovering between the gas and the brake, unsure if she should pull into the driveway or drive to the nearby park and call her dad. Any other day, Harper wouldn't have been worried, but she had spent the half of morning speaking with officers from the domestic violence unit regarding harassing text messages she had been receiving from Darren. And the other half she had spent at the mall changing her cell phone provider and number. 

Was it Darren's car? No. Was it above him to get his friend to drive him to her place once he realized his messages were no longer being delivered? Also no.

Her nerves left her hands sweaty as they gripped at the steering wheel, her toe easing closer to the gas pedal, ready to speed off until she saw a familiar face leave the front door of the Jarvis home. 

Harper let out a sigh of relief, yet her heart continued to pound too hard in her chest at the sight of him, Andrei. Her hand slipped down to the horn, honking it twice to get his attention before she reached her hand out the window to wave at him. She needed to make sure he saw her, and he did. Andrei's face lit up as he looked up from his phone, a protein bar hanging from between his teeth. He bit down on it so hard it fell to the ground, but he didn't seem to mind. Andrei looked excited to see her, and in a way, Harper was excited to see him, too. 

Pulling into the driveway, Harper didn't even think to look at the unfamiliar car. She wouldn't let her mind register the make, the model, or even the color. And she refused to look at the driver, fearful that it would be her ex that was looking back at her. So she fixated on Andrei, and only Andrei. 

He was wearing a black baseball cap turned backwards, sending his slicked back hair to hang down the back of his neck. It kept it out of his face, showing the definition of his jaw more noticeable as his lips pulled back into a toothy grin. It was one so wide Harper noticed that one of his teeth was missing, one she hadn’t cared enough to notice before. Then there were his eyes, the deep warm brown that brought her a certain semblance of comfort as she got out of her jeep, grabbed her bag and moved to stand with him in the middle of the driveway that he was walking down right towards her. 

“What are you up to today?” Harper didn’t know why she asked Andrei that. She wasn’t really all that interested in what he was going to do, and she had no intention of inserting herself into his day beyond the interaction there in the middle of her front lawn. But she’s friendly, pleasant, as if they were long friends rather than practically strangers. 

“Training,” Andrei’s quick and simple answer was jarring, and sent Harper’s neck snapping to look at the car that was parked by the curb as he nodded towards it. 

It was only then she let herself look at who the driver was: a man who looked so much like Andrei, albeit a little older, his hair slightly redder and his front tooth so obviously missing as he smiled at them both and offered her a subtle, casual wave. 

A wave of heat washed over Harper’s face, her jaw slacking in the embarrassment of her overreaction. She should have known better. Not that she knew Andrei had a brother. She just should have known he and Seth wouldn't be cooped up in the house all summer. Seth liked to party, she should have assumed Andrei would join him for a wild night at the Howden house or one of the bars Harper herself hadn't frequented since her early twenties. And she shouldn't have forgotten about training. Of course they would be training. When you played hockey it took over your life. She had watched it all happen first hand with Seth after all.

“You?” Andrei countered, stepping in slightly, his head cocking to the side as he looked down at her. 

“Just finished up errands,” Harper sighed, holding up a single shopping bag like the smallest, lamest trophy. “I know, very exciting. Are you coming back later?” 

Harper bit down on her lip. Hard. She didn't know why she asked that. 

“Yeah,” He nodded, taking a stride towards his brother's car, turning slightly so that he was still facing her, “I'll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you later,” she took a step back as she spoke. Then her hand raised up to give Andrei and his brother a wave before she, and her embarrassment, went inside. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Droplets of sweat spilled down over the angle of Andrei's brow as he stood hunched over after a heavy circuit that ended in a sprint. It had been a race of sorts, Evgeny coming to a still beside him as he reached what was their finish line. His brother halted and hunched over just as he had, and offered a large, toothy grin. Andrei cocked his head in return, sweat dripping down his nose and down over his lip. His tongue darted out, licking it away quickly, and tasting its salt. Then he smiled, a hand reaching out to shove at Evgeny playfully as he jested; 

“Old man.”

Evgeny shoved him back, a low laugh shared between them as they walked off the course and towards their water. 

“Winnipeg,” Andrei sighed after a moment once he had caught his breath. “You going to stay?”

His brother shrugged, his head tilting back as he squeezed the bright green Gatorade bottle and flooded his mouth with water. Evgeny's contract was up, Winnipeg his home for only a mere season and as a free agent, he could end up anywhere. That was, unless he fought to stay. 

“It's not all that bad, yes?” Andrei questioned his brother as he ran the back of his hand over the sweat on his brow. 

He could practically feel the rumble of Evgeny’s laugh as he shook his head slowly, “You say that because of the girl. The pretty one.” 

Andrei looked away. His hand ran along the angle of jaw in an attempt at being coy, but his boyish smile betrayed him. 

“When the summer is over, you will go back to Raleigh, back to hockey,” Evgeni reminded him, “and she will stay here. You will need to be ready, and she is a distraction.” 

Andrei did what he always did when his big brother had some advice to offer. He listened, even if he didn't like what he was hearing. In some ways, Evgeny was right. He was only going to be in Winnipeg for a short time, and he chose Winnipeg to train. To train with Seth and his brother so he would be ready for the next season. To chase a cup and avoid injury. But Harper, she wasn't a distraction, not in his mind, anyway. What she was, though, he didn't exactly know, but he wanted to find out. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A single finger trailed over the bottom of the bowl, where nothing but salt seemed to remain. She traced the bottom in a blind search of one last chip as she held her new phone in the other hand, casually settling up a new background and lock screen with the touch of her thumb. Harper swung her leg off the bar stool of the kitchen counter lazily, her finger leaving the bowl as she accepted defeat and brought it to her lips to suck it clean, only to perk up as she heard the click of the front door. Someone was home. 

Looking up from the phone wallpaper she hadn’t decided if she loved or hated yet, she watched as Maddie made her way inside with her arms full of groceries. Carefully, Harper put her phone down on the counter - she would be extremely careful with it until it’s first big drop that would either leave her reckless or with a broken phone screen, and she moved to take a bag from her sister's arms, but Maddie had yet to meet her gaze. 

Something happened. 

“You didn't hit another car in the parking lot, did you?” Harper teased, doing her best to keep her tone jovial just in case she was right. 

Maddie shook her head, her gaze rising to meet her own as she cleared her throat. “I ran into Darren while I was at the store, I was just grabbing,” a sigh interrupted her words, “nevermind, when he approached me, he acted like he happened to be there at the same time, which was fine, until he started looking around, waiting, as if you were just going to walk up to us right there in the store. And when you didn’t, he got really…” 

Harper placed the grocery bag down onto the counter, her hands dropping to her sides and flexing into fists as her sister tried to find just the right word to say. 

“Angry. He started asking where you were, how he could contact you. If I could give him a message-” 

The strain in Madison’s voice leaves Harper’s stomach heavy with the threat of puking. Darren crossed a line by approaching her sister. She knew it; he knew it too. She cut off all contact with him, and what better way to draw her attention back to him, then to confront her baby sister. It left a foul taste in her mouth. Harper didn’t know how to react. She wanted to scream, to laugh, and to cry. Yet, all she could manage was an empty stare just to the right of her sister, where there was a blank space on the wall. She fixated on it as she let out a heavy sigh that rocked her shoulders and carded a hand through her hair.

“He knows where I am,” she sighed. “He’s just too scared to come here.”

Harper’s eyes found her sister again, her lips coming to mimic her sister’s smile as they both spoke one word: “Dad.”

“Exactly, I can be safe here-” Harper bit down on her tongue, regret flooded her the moment she said what she did. She could see a flicker of worry in her sister’s eyes. “Hey,” Harper spoke, her confidence returning as she reached out for her sister’s arm and held it carefully, “he never hurt me. Not in the way you think. And he didn’t hurt you, right?”

“I would have cut his hand off if he had touched me,” Maddie was quick to counter, her words putting Harper at ease enough to manage a laugh. 

Then Harper drew Maddie in, her arms wrapping around her into a tight embrace. The last thing she wanted was for Maddie to feel unsafe, and she couldn't help but feel heavy with guilt that she put her in the position she did. She didn't know if Maddie needed the hug, that she felt that same rush of her heart deep in her chest at the very prospect of having to deal with Darren, but Harper knew she needed the hug. 

She held her tight, her eyes shutting briefly before her arms fell away from her little sister. 

“You still going out with your friends?” Harper asked. 

Maddie nodded, and Harper stepped back to turn her attention back to the groceries Maddie had brought in. 

“Good, you go get ready. I'll put the groceries away. Before you go, my new number is on the fridge and if you need me and I'm not here, I'll be by the pool.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The sun was still hot even in the early hours of the evening when there was a calm between the bustle of the day and what would be dinner time. It beat down on Andrei, his body still hot and sticky with sweat from his workout as he pulled his bag from the backseat of his brother's car and sent him off with a wave. They would see each other again tomorrow for an on ice session, but until then, Andrei needed three things. A shower, a beer, and to relax. 

He walked along the driveway with his head down, dark eyes fixated on the weeds that grew between each crack and framed the concrete where it met the grass that was threatening to pale from the heat, from the drought that took the Canadian Prairies leaving Andrei hotter than he was at the gym. He felt the sweat drip down his back and soak into his shirt as he approached the house, as he tried to avoid looking next door. The possibility of Harper being a distraction from his training, from his career, still weighed heavily on his mind. Andrei had to consider that Evgeni could be right. 

Even with how excited Harper seemed to be when he saw him earlier that day, he didn’t dare look toward her home. That was until he heard the whiz of the water hose come to life. His head couldn’t have turned any more quickly towards the front garden of the home where a man he hadn’t seen before knelt in the dirt, with his sleeves rolled up as he worked in the garden. 

Andrei’s steps hesitated, his foot slipping over the edge of the driveway clumsily. His skin burned hotter and redder than the sun could ever make it. He hoped the man hadn’t noticed. But the half glance and low grumble of a chuckle told Andrei that he had. 

“Which one are you looking for, Harper or Maddie?” he asked him. 

Andrei stiffened, his hand flexing around the strap of his duffle bag as it hung off his shoulder. This had to be their father. Seth had spoken fondly of him, as had his parents. And if Andrei wanted to get to know Harper more, he needed to make a good impression. But that seemed at a loss already, as he had already stumbled onto the man’s lawn. Literally. 

“Harper, Sir.”

He didn’t even look back at him as he spoke, his hands still working steadily in the garden. “She's out back by the pool. If she tries to fight you on it, tell her I told you that you and Seth were welcome to it.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Andrei smiled.

Andrei cut across the law and entered the Jarvis' home through the front door. His duffle bag slipped from his shoulder in the entryway, coming to rest on a cluttered bench among Seth and his brother’s equipment. Andrei smiled to himself. He had made himself right at home among the Jarvis siblings, and Seth’s parents had treated him the same. Which made him feel all the more comfortable as he moved through the home. He felt more like family than a guest. 

His first pit stop was the fridge, where he grasped two beers by the bottleneck in one fist. Then he followed the narrow hallways to the guest room that would be his home for the remainder of the summer. He had yet to unpack more than his training gear, so he dug through his suitcase with one hand until he pulled out his pair of swim trunks. The bottles clamored on the bed as he put them down, his free hand feeling his sweat drenched shirt from his back and tossing it aside before he pushed his shorts and boxers down his legs. They stayed in a heap on the floor as he stepped into his trunks. When he secured them low on his hips, Andrei snatched the bottles up again and backtracked towards the front door. 

He was stepping out the door when his head shook slightly. He should be inviting Seth. It would be weird to go without him. So he shouted, “Going for a swim next door!”

Andrei only knew Seth heard him because he heard a clamor from Seth’s room upstairs, but he didn’t stick around long enough to know if Seth was going to join him. The feeling of grass between his toes greeted him as the screen door rattled into place behind him. He walked across the front lawn with quick strides that carried him to the gate of the Alexander residence backyard. 

He entered slowly, cautiously, not wanting to startle Harper wherever she might be in the sprawling backyard. Andrei paused just inside the gate, looking along the bright green lawn and the patio outside the backdoor. Harper was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t in the pool either, the clear water all the more inviting as he moved to walk along the pool’s edge. It was there, his gaze following the water from one end of the pool to the other, that he spotted her curled up on one of the sun chairs. Her lean body stretched out over the chair, one leg bent while the other hung off the end at the ankle. There was no stopping her eyes from tracing up the length of her leg up to the distressed denim shorts that were left unbuttoned around her waist where her bikini bottoms played peekaboo. His breath hitched as his eyes continued to travel up. Up over the plains of her stomach that were bare, strong and lean and to the swells of her breasts as the hold of her floral bikini supported them. It was colorful and left him staring far too long at her cleavage. Which he regretted the instant his eyes found her face. 

She looked tired - no, sad, her cheeks glistening with the wetness of tears as she looked away from him. Harper brought up a single hand, running the back of it over her brow before she ran it over his cheeks and chin as if she was wiping the sweat of the heat from her skin instead of her tears. His stomach sank. Whatever she was feeling, Harper was trying to hide it and he only hoped he could make it better with ah… a bottle of beer. 

He approached her slowly, his smile small and soft as he extended an arm out, offering her the cold bottle that had already begun to condense beneath the heat of the sun. 

“Are you even old enough to drink that?” Harper asked, her hand reaching out to wrap around the neck of the bottle. 

Andrei let it slip into her grasp, his smile spreading as he let his head shake. He didn't understand her constant need to remind him of just how young he was. Maybe he would get tired of it in time, but at that moment, it humored him. So he played into it. 

“Here I am.”

Andrei watched as Harper leaned her head back against the headrest of her chair. Her blonde hair splayed out against the surface, other strands spilled over the side. Her body stretched out, her hand with the beer dropping down so low it almost brushed the ground, while the other raised to rest over her face as she muttered just loud enough for him to hear, “You're a literal child.”

She punctuated her words with a long sip of her beer. It was then, when her mouth was full, that he pretended he hadn't heard her. 

“What was that?” 

Her gaze rose up as her lips pursed. She couldn't tell if Harper was trying not to smile, laugh, choke, or maybe all three at once. But she managed to swallow, and her face softened with a smile. “Thank you.”

“That's what I thought.” Andrei's words were a pleasant hum as he brought the cold lip of the beer bottle to his mouth. The chill refreshed him, and it tasted just as good as the satisfaction he felt. But Harper didn't seem to feel the same. 

She slumped low in her chair as she nursed from her beer bottle. Her gaze didn't rise to meet his, and she didn't even seem to notice how he stood there in nothing but his swim trunks. Any other woman would have been staring. It was a cocky thing to think, but it was true and had been true or as long as he could remember. He was fit and sculpted in how all women seemed to like, but Harper she didn’t treat him like other women did. She didn’t fawn. She didn’t stare. Nor did she act like he was god's gift to hockey. Sometimes, she treated him like a mosquito, a relentless pest that couldn’t quite catch the hint that she didn't want it around. Mostly, she treated him as if he was just a normal, average guy. 

He liked that. 

Sipping his beer, Andrei contemplated sitting back in the lounge chair beside her. But then his curiosity would get the best of him. He would ask her something stupid, like if she was okay. A question he was sure she would answer or want to talk about. Especially with him. So he would be all he could be for her. A distraction. 

“You swim?” He asked slowly, drawing her attention back to him. 

“It’s my pool,” she spoke pointedly, sending a hum of laughter through him. 

Right. 

Beer still in hand, Andrei carefully took the short ladder into the shallow end of the pool. He lingered there, the water up to his hips as he leaned up against the side of the pool. He stayed there, hoping some sort of conversation would blossom between sips of cold, refreshing beer. But the silence hung, leaving his chest tight and his grip on his beer tighter as his mind raced as he tried to think of something, anything, to say. But he only found a single word, “wow,” as Harper placed her beer bottle down on the ground with a hollow clink and stood up. Harper shimmied out of her shorts before reaching her hands up to knot her hair at the top of her head. 

The sight of her left his tongue feeling swollen in his mouth as she climbed down the same ladder he had just moments before. Her body disappearing beneath the water and distorting beneath the ripples. She was submerged from the neck down in the shallow end; her back pressed against the side of the pool beside the ladder, but just out of his reach. But she was in there, with him, and there was no stopping the large smile that grew over his features at the sight of it all. Andrei smiled so wide it hurt, and it didn’t go unnoticed. 

“What?” Harper cocked her head as she spoke, the corner of her lips curling up into a soft smile. 

“You’re complicated,” he answered slowly, and she just stared. Almost as if she doesn’t know what to say. “I think you don’t want anything to do with me, then you smile.”

Harper looked away, as if she could hide what had already been seen. It was a coy sweetness she had, maybe even a little of embarrassment if he looked hard enough. But why? What about him was so bad that she didn’t want him to make him smile? 

Andrei reached a single arm out, placing his near empty beer bottle down to rest outside of the pool. Then, with his hands free, he sank down to her level in the water and with two careful strokes; he was right in front of her.

The mere proximity of Harper sent Andrei’s stomach into his throat. One wrong move and their bodies would collide. 

“I like when you smile,” he told her, his words drawing her gaze back to him, as if she were startled by just how close he had gotten to her in the pool. Her full, pouted lips seemed to fall apart, the ghost of words on her lips as she couldn’t find the words to say. Or maybe there was nothing to be said. They could just simply be-

A wave of cold water hit Andrei quickly and hard. He felt the wave before he could hear the splash that rippled through the swimming pool. It left the taste of chlorine in his mouth, and his hair stuck to the back of his neck. Which all didn’t bother him, not really. It was refreshing after a long day at the gym. What bothered him was that with the hurricane that was Seth who cannon balled into the deep end, his alone time Harper was over. 

Andrei wasn’t the only casualty of the storm warning. Harper’s face was peppered with droplets of water. Her once dry bikini top was heavy with water, and her nose was wrinkled with her pursed smile. Eye narrowing, and body colliding with Andrei’s for a mere moment that left him holding his breath, she pushed against the resistance of the water and sent a splash back at Seth, who had surfaced with his dark black hair hanging down into his face. 

“You haven’t grown up one bit, have you?” she laughed at him. 

“Not one bit. It’s worse now, really. Because now I can drink too-”

“Grown up enough to be good to my sister?” Harper challenged him with a sense of seriousness that even had Andrei feeling as if he needed to retreat. Her head cocked, her messy hair falling into her face as she and Seth exchanged a look. Both seemed surprised, as if they each knew something they didn’t know the other would know - and Andrei did retreat. He swam to the poolside and took a long sip of his beer as he watched what could be peace or chaos unfold. 

“Ah, yeah,” Seth spoke slowly, his dark eyes darting over to Andrei as if he were going to help him if Harper decided he didn’t like what was being said, “Always the best for Mads.”

“You know I’ll hear if you treat her otherwise,” Andrei didn’t know if Harper’s words were teasing or a caution as she turned her back to Seth and began to wade towards the ladder of the pool. She was getting out. 

“Best behavior, Harper,” Seth grinned as he lay back in the water and simply floated. 

“Good, you two have fun,” the water crested around her ankles as she climbed up the ladder and out of the pool, “towels are in the sun room if you need.”

She didn’t stop to dry off. Harper only gathered her things from where she left them in a pile on her chair and left a wet trail of footprints that lead to the back door. Andrei watched her until she disappeared behind the sliding glass door. It was only then he let out the groan that he kept contained in the depth of his chest as he sunk down into the water to float, just as Seth had. 

It was there with the water lapping into his ears that he heard Seth mutter, “shit, my bad,” as he realized just what he had interrupted. 

Taglist: @starshine-hockey-girl @wingedwheelprxncess @mp0625 @misunderstoodwerewolf @callsign-denmark @puckmaidens @xciciix @cixrosie

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 17

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 4K

Warnings: Mentioned character death

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha​ @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos   @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions

Masterlist

A/N: Let's pretend like this isn't a million months late and let's pretend I didn't suddenly forget how to write during my time away.

Day 201

Fifteen days. They were getting fifteen whole days home. They’d just landed in North Carolina and from there, each soldier would head their separate ways. Unfortunately, Leah’s flight to Denver wasn’t until the next day. She would have driven home if the drive wasn’t actually longer than simply waiting sixteen hours for her flight.

She’d planned on spending the night waiting around at the airport but a few men who were in the same situation as her had found a motel for the night and she had to admit that having a place to shower was a big enough appeal to cancel out sleeping in a cramped room with three of the men.

Had their overseas flight not been delayed, Sy would have driven straight down to see his folks. As it was, it was already getting late and he didn’t want to make the five hour trip in the dark. Besides, no one would be awake if he showed up after midnight.

After taking a cab to retrieve his truck where he’d placed it in storage, Sy made his way back to the motel. The men had already made themselves at home and were sharing a few beers on the plastic chairs that surrounded the empty pool.

“How can I help you, dear?” the woman behind the desk greeted him.

“I’d appreciate a room for the night, if ya have one. Just one bed’ll do.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, we’re full up. I assumed you were with all the other boys.”

“Well, ma’am, I am. I just hadn’t planned on stayin’ in town tonight so none of them saved a bed for me.”

The woman looked through the hand written registry again but Sy already knew the answer wouldn’t change from the empty peg board behind her.

“I wish I could help you out but a lovely young woman just checked out the last room. We normally have a four person per room policy but I’ll look the other way if you want to squeeze in with any of your fellow soldiers. The least I can do is make sure the men who serve our country get a roof over their heads when they are back home.”

Sy tipped his head in thanks and walked out of the little office. He pulled the cap down over his head though it didn’t do much to protect him from the light of the setting sun.

It looked like he was going to have to ask one of the boys for a favor. The question was, who did he want to bunk with for the night? On the flight over he’d heard them talking about hitting the bars tonight. Sleeping on the floor might land him in a splash zone if he didn’t choose wisely. He didn’t trust any of them to drink in moderation. Not after that last op.

Garrett had flatlined on the chopper while being transported. They somehow got him back but when they finally got him into surgery, it was already too late. Of the other two that were evac’d, one was expected to make a full recovery and the other would most likely walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

Then there was LT. He had a half dozen broken ribs, a concussion and a collapsed lung but he was also expected to make a full recovery. His injuries were mild all things considered and Sy had almost left him there to die.

“I thought you’d be halfway home by now,” a sweet voice spoke from behind him.

Sy was shocked when he turned to find Leah, who had apparently showered and changed into a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt she’d tied into a knot at her hip. Her hair was still damp but she’d left it loose around her shoulders to air dry. It was his first time seeing her out of uniform and her casual outfit might as well have been expensive lingerie if his dick’s reaction was any indication.

“Didn’t want to drive in the dark. Starting to regret it though. They’re full up so I either bum a spot on someone’s floor for the night or I call around until I find a place with a vacancy.”

Leah made a face like she understood how unappealing both of those options were.

“Well… I’ve got a king bed all to myself.”

Sy swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Was that an invitation or was she just stating a fact? Not that Leah was the kind of person to add salt to a wound but surely she wasn’t implying what he annoyingly hoped she was implying.

Leah pulled on an old USMC crew neck, causing her shirt to lift up and expose the skin of her stomach. The sweatshirt was well worn and the tip of the sleeves were frayed where she rolled them up. The state of the fabric made Sy believe that the shirt had most likely belonged to her father and he decided to forgive the insult of wearing something meant for a jarhead.

“I was going to pick up some snacks and juice from around the corner since I hadn’t planned on going out. I think there was a liquor store too.” Leah reached into the pocket on the side of her leggings and handed a small key ring to Sy. “How does pizza, beer and half a king bed sound?”

It sounded like perfect bliss and asking for trouble all wrapped into one.

Sy took the key, seeing a small number twenty etched into the plastic. He looked back at the motel, studying the numbers on the doors.

“It’s the room above the office. The stairs that lead to the door are on the side since it’s a separate structure from the rest of the rooms.”

That was good. If Sy was lucky, no one would notice that he was sharing Leah’s room.

And no one would hear her scream his name if he fucked her into the mattress.

Shit. Not a good train of thought if he wanted to make it through the night in the same bed as Leah. 

“I’ll order while you’re gone. Unless you want me to drive?”

She shook her head, her dark brown locks moving in the breeze.

“I need to stretch my legs after that flight. I’ll be back in forty-five, maybe an hour tops.”

With that, Leah was off. Sy hurried to his truck for his duffle then up the steps to the room. The first thing he needed was to clean the twenty-some-odd layers of dust and dirt off his body. After placing a quick order with a local pizzeria he found in the phonebook, he stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower.

The bathroom was still humid from when Leah had been in there earlier so he didn’t shut the door all the way. The fan was on but Sy was pretty sure it’s only function was to make noise.

Thirty minutes and half a tiny bar of soap later, Sy deemed himself as clean as he was going to get and switched off the now tepid water.

He was in the process of drying himself off when the hotel room door opened and shut with a slam. He hadn’t left it unlocked, he hadn’t left any door unlocked since he left his parents’ house at eighteen which meant Leah was back and she’d let herself in with a second key.

Scrambling to cover himself up, Sy realized he hadn’t taken his clean clothes out of his pack. He wrapped the towel around his waist but it was too short to stay put on its own, forcing him to hold the ends together. There was no way he could walk out like that. 

“Coleman?”

“Yeah, it’s just me.”

“Would ya mind bringin’ me my bag?”

At the same moment a knock sounded from the door.

“Fuck. That’ll be the food.”

Leah came into view through the crack in the door, setting Sy’s bag by the ground.

“It’s fine, I’ll get it.”

“No, you paid for drinks, I’ll get the food, just let me find my wallet.”

Another, more insistent, knock came from the door and Leah ran over to open it, exchanging a short greeting with the delivery man.

Sy crouched by his bag, pulling the door open another few inches as he rustled through the pockets. He was getting nowhere with one hand, eventually pinching the thin cotton of the towel in the crease of his hip to free up his left hand.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he grumbled when his hand wrapped around the worn leather of his bill fold. He pulled out three bills, holding them up for Leah to take.

Leah made a choked sound when she caught a glimpse of Sy’s body only shielded by a barely there towel. She snatched the money from his hands with a mumbled thanks before averting her eyes and running back to the door.

Sy dressed in thirty seconds flat, exiting the bathroom right as Leah opened a bottle of rum and poured a generous amount in one of those individually packaged plastic cups that were as small as the soap. She lifted the drink to her lips, downing the whole thing in one go before filling it again.

“What are we drinkin’?” he asked as he came to stand a little too close to Leah.

“Beer or rum.” She cleared her throat, putting some distance between them as she opened the pizza boxes. “What are we eating?”

“Meat or meat.”

He really hoped she didn’t have anything against pepperoni, sausage or bacon because he had gotten one deluxe and one four meat pizza. When ordering, he hadn’t considered that she might follow a specific diet when was home.

His worries were abated when Leah opened both boxes on the dresser, dexterously swapping half of the deluxe pizza for half of the all meat one before closing the box again and taking the other over to the bed. The room didn’t have a table or chairs so it was as good a spot as any to sit and eat.

Sy took over making Leah’s rum and coke, which she’d abandoned when Sy’s closeness had made her brain malfunction, then opened a bottle of beer for himself.

“So, where are you headed from here?” Sy asked, handing Leah her drink then taking a massive bite of the deluxe pizza. It looked like he barely chewed it before he went in for a second and third bite.

“I’m going to stay at our old house. My brother decided to move into an apartment after receiving his residency match to be closer to work so it’ll just be me, myself and I for the better part of the next two weeks.”

She tried to hide it, but Sy could tell she was disappointed. Who could blame her? Caleb was the only family she had left and she would get forty-eight hours with him after so long apart.

“What about you? You mentioned your siblings and your parents… is there an ol’ lady somewhere in that mix?”

Sy’s head snapped up, pausing halfway through chewing his bite. She wasn’t looking at him, instead keeping her eyes on the drink as she swirled the contents around her cup.

“What makes ya think I have a wife or even a girlfriend waitin’ back home?” His tone was harsher than he’d intended but he was a little offended by what she was insinuating.

She kept her eyes downcast as she shrugged. Her lips were pursed from the way she nervously chewed the inside of her cheek. Maybe it wasn’t so much an accusation as it was her way of tiptoeing into the subject.

“Hey…” Sy waited until Leah dared to look up before he continued. “I’m no saint,” he admitted, his voice soft, “but I ain’t a cheat. If I had someone waitin’, she’d be it for me.” Not everyone considered kissing cheating but his ever growing feelings would definitely constitute infidelity. Leah’s eyes flickered from left to right, studying his face as she considered his words before finally giving a little nod of acceptance.

There was a tense silence as she picked up another piece of pizza, leaving her crusts in the box. Had Aika been with them, he would have given them to her as a treat. He was surprised how much he found himself to be missing the pup.

He’d found a shelter that helped send strays overseas for them to be adopted. They’d been willing to look after Aika until they returned and he’d arranged for them to give her all the shots she needed to keep her safe and eventually allow her into the States. They’d asked if he wanted them to help get her home right away but he couldn’t imagine going back to a life on base without his four-legged shadow.

Watching from the corner of his eye as she ate, Sy went over the speech he’d been preparing in his head the whole flight home. He knew what he wanted to say but for some reason the words kept getting caught in his throat. They had expertly avoided the subject the last two months on base but it was time for him to suck it up and say what needed to be said.

“I never apologized.” Leah’s head tilted to the side as she looked at him. She was still working on a mouthful of food but the little motion was enough to convey what she was thinking.

“For kissin’ you,” Sy clarified. “It should never have happened. You were hurt and vulnerable then I went and put ya in a position where ya probably felt like ya couldn’t say ‘no’. I let my personal feelings get the best of me and I accept full responsibility for that. I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, staring down at her drink.

Noticing her glass was empty, she moved off the bed to the improvised bar. She appreciated Sy’s apology. The circumstances under which he had acted were indeed quite poor, but at the same time, she understood what had pushed him to act—it was the same instinct that had pushed her to go after Niki, career be damned. It was terrifying to think that Sy felt so strongly about her, but it was even more terrifying that she desperately wanted him to.

She took her time fixing her drink, using the break in conversation to gather her courage.

On the bed, Sy was beginning to grow anxious. With her back turned, he couldn’t tell what was going through Leah’s head as the silence stretched on. He foolishly hoped she was gathering the courage to ask for a repeat but for all he knew, she could also be gathering the courage to ask him to leave.

It didn’t go unnoticed that maybe it also hadn’t been the best of plans to apologize when the two of them were stuck in a room with only one bed but it was already well overdue.

He also probably shouldn’t have agreed to share the room in the first place.

What had he been thinking? Even if his head knew to keep his hands to himself, the brain between his legs had a completely different idea of how to spend the next ten hours. He probably wouldn’t sleep a wink out of fear that he would drift off, roll over and grind his dick right into her ass.

He was just about ready to go spend the night in the bed of his truck when she spoke in a soft, unsure voice. He’d never heard her sound so meek.

“When you kissed me, there was a second there where I didn’t really understand what was happening. Everything was a little foggy, like I was in a dream.”

It no doubt felt like a dream because of the concussion. He hadn’t even considered how confused she must have been in addition to being tired, in pain and in a closed room with her superior who was suddenly getting handsy.

“But it wasn’t a dream," Leah finally said. “You were really there. Really holding me. Really kissing me.”

It was his turn to stand, coming to a halt a safe distance behind Leah. There was a small mirror on the wall which now allowed him to study her face in the reflection as she peeked up and did the same.

He’d replayed their kiss in his head so many times since that night. He’d begun to question whether he had only imagined those few blissful moments when Leah had kissed him back before she got spooked.

“A part of me was ecstatic,” feeling hopeful, Sy took a careful step forward and Leah turned to face him, “but another part of me was terrified.”

Shit. “Why?”

“Well, you’re my superior. I don’t need to explain why that’s a horrible idea.”

No, she didn’t. He’d thought about that every day since he’d first met the feisty young woman. But he had the feeling that was not the only factor. Sy took another step, making Leah’s breath hitch from the proximity. “And?”

Leah went back to chewing the inside of her cheek, looking away. Suddenly losing his nerve, Sy moved back, clearing the empty paper plates and pizza box from the bed. He wasn’t sure he could hear her reasons for not wanting him.

“It’s okay, ya don’t have to tell me. I’ll get outta here and let ya get some rest.”

He was disappointed, but what had he expected? That she would confess her undying love for him and that suddenly everything would be all fine and dandy?

Sy moved to his duffle, packing up the clothing items that had fallen onto the floor of the bathroom as he’d dug through it.

The sudden fear of watching Sy walk away was enough to convince Leah to speak.

“Please don’t go.”

Sy froze, surprised by her rushed plea. He slowly straightened, making his way back to Leah where she dropped onto the bed, hugging herself tightly. Sy longed to be the one to comfort her but he didn’t want to risk pushing her too far. Again.

“I really wanted to kiss you but then I started to worry that maybe you were expecting… more.”

That made Sy pause, crouching in front of Leah. “What exactly did ya think I was expectin’?”

“I— I don’t know.” She sniffled, shaking her head before wiping her cheek on the back of her hand. “It seemed like every time I got hurt I got a bedside visit from you and that night… You had this look in your eye like you thought you’d never see me again. You can’t blame me for thinking that there was something more than kissing on your mind.”

Just like that, Sy was back on base, reliving the most terrifying events of his life. Whenever he thought back to that night he’d been so focused on his stupidly impulsive decision to kiss a soldier under his command that he had almost forgotten about the op. Or maybe he’d just had a selective memory that preferred to remember the softness of her lips over the way she’d been so completely still when he found her unconscious.

“When I walked in and saw ya on that floor, I was convinced that I’d lost ya. I kept thinkin’ of all the things that I wished I’d said then, when ya woke up, I still couldn’t speak a single fuckin’ word so I— I didn’t think, I just acted.”

“Can you... tell me now?”

Sy swallowed the lump in his throat feeling his palms start to sweat. All the stress was coming right back but this time, he was determined to make it through. He took Leah’s hands in his.

“You’ve been on my mind since the first moment I saw ya. I liked that you didn’t take any shit from anyone. And since then… Fuck, I’ve just been falling hard. You make me feel understood in ways I've never experienced before. You make me feel like— Like I’m good enough.”

Leah looked down at their joined hands. “What if I can’t be enough? What if I can’t give you what you need?”

At first Sy thought she meant a relationship but when she unconsciously glanced down to the bed, Sy began to put the pieces together.

“Leah,” it was still foreign to use her first name, “does sex make ya uncomfortable?”

“Sometimes.” She tried to pull away but Sy didn’t let go. He caught her eye, giving her a look that clearly meant to cut the bullshit. “Okay, a lot of the time. Even if guys are willing to wait, they tend to expect sex at some point down the line and I can’t guarantee that I’ll ever be into it.”

“And ya think that’s a deal breaker for me?” He had to admit that, although he was used to going long periods of time on his own, he’d assumed sex would be on the table when he was home.

“Well, you are Captain ‘Pussy-is-on-the-food-pyramid’ Syverson.”

Sy winced, running a hand over his cropped hair. He hadn’t meant the question as an accusation but her defensiveness was understandable. 

“Yeah, okay, I can see where you’re coming from but it ain’t like that. There’s no fun in it if my girl don’t like it.”

Noticing she was still skeptical, Sy lifted the hem of his shirt. When Leah didn’t make a move to stop him, he guided her hand to his chest, holding it flat over his scar. “I learned the hard way that thinkin’ with my dick gets me nowhere good. I’ll give all that up in a heartbeat if it means I get a shot at somethin’ real.”

Leah traced the lines of his scar. She remembered it perfectly though she hadn’t dared ask about it when they’d been in his room on base.

“You think I’m something real?” she whispered.

Releasing her hand, Sy brushed Leah’s hair out of her face and kissed her temple.

“Yeah, I do.”

It was obvious that Leah was still scared of the possible repercussions. After all, she had every reason to be worried about the impact a relationship could have on her career. Leah was still young, she had a lot to learn about what she wanted in life and a lot to lose should anything go wrong. As much as Sy wanted to pull her to him and kiss her until she couldn’t think of anything else, Leah needed time to make a decision.

Looking at her more closely, Sy took in the dark circles under Leah’s eyes and the way her cheeks looked more sunken than ever before. She’d been a wreck after Niki and with good reason. The caveman in him felt better knowing that he’d fed her but she was still in desperate need of a good night’s rest.

He would have to put a pin in the conversation until they got back to base.

“What time’s your flight?”

“Eight.”

“Then you need to get some sleep.” Sy stood, pulling Leah up with him. She didn’t argue, simply grabbing her pack and heading into the bathroom. Meanwhile, Sy cleaned up the leftover pizza, managing to fit the box in the mini-fridge. He shut the curtains and switched off the main light, leaving only the bedside lamp on. After a moment of hesitation, he removed his shirt, keeping his shorts on, and climbed into bed.

Leah joined him a moment later, and to his surprise, she wrapped herself around him from behind. She’d changed into something sleeveless and the feeling of her bare arms over his skin nearly made him groan.

“You’re warm.”

“Na Sugar, your hands are just freezin’.” He intertwined their fingers together, happily sharing his body heat.

Leah smiled to herself at the easy way the endearment fell from his lips. Just for one night, she would let herself enjoy Sy’s company. For one night, she would pretend that he wasn’t her captain. For one night, she would pretend she wasn’t terrified he would eventually get sick of waiting for something that might never happen.

Sy woke the next morning to a shiver running down his spine. He sensed Leah’s absence immediately and he didn’t need to look around the room to know that she was gone.

Chapter 18

[timetoletmyimaginationfly]

Our Love Story

Nanami Kento x Reader

Part 8: Celebration!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

(Song Inspiration: Love Her by Jonas Brothers)

The spring weather was in favor for your graduation. The cherry blossoms were blossoming. The weather was warm, with the help of the sunlight keeping everyone warm. The crowd watched as the graduation caps were thrown up in the air and their cheers heard throughout the arena.

“Kento-kun!” you yelled excitedly and ran to him. Nanami held a large bouquet of red roses and sunflowers.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” he said happily and hugged you tightly. The tears that you never thought would come started to flow down your eyes.

“Shoot, I’m crying…” Nanami chuckled and kissed the tears away.

“That’s good though. You finally did it, love.” You nodded in his chest. You heard your name loudly. And then you felt your body being pulled away from Nanami. You were in a bone crushing hug from Gojo.

“My hardworking girl did it!!!” He cheered happily.

“Satoru, you’re gonna crush her to death,” Geto said.

“Good job, girl,” Shoko said happily. Gojo finally put you down and you went over to hug Geto and then Shoko. “So what’s the plan?”

“I’ve been wanting to go back to the bbq place and then we can go out to a bar,” you said. “Is that okay, Kento-kun?”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” Nanami held your hand and squeezed it tight with reassurance.

The five of you migrated to a bar that Geto suggested after eating. Shoko ordered five celebration shots.

“To your graduation!” Shoko exclaimed excitedly.

“To graduation!” Everyone raised their shot glasses and took their drink.

“What do you like to drink?” he asked you.

“I want…” you paused for a while. It was your first time going to a bar with him. “What do you drink, Kento-kun? It’s whiskey right?” He nodded. “I’ll drink one with you. I never had it on the rocks before.” Nanami nodded and ordered two glasses of whiskeys. “You don’t mind if Keiko, Hana, and Yumi stop by?”

“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll celebrate for all four of you.” You smiled. Your drinks arrived quickly. The two of you picked up your glasses and clinked in celebration. You took a small sip and made a quick face. Nanami chuckled. “You don’t have to finish it.” You shook your head.

“I can do it,” you said. “It has a different taste. Compared to vodka and rum. Geto-san! Have a drink! Here let me pay for you! What do you want?” Geto chuckled.

“Get me a Manhattan,” he said.

“One Manhattan please,” you said. The bartender nodded and prepared the drink. You searched for your wallet and remembered that Nanami was holding it since you had a dress on. “Kento-kun, can I have my wallet please?” Nanami shook his head and gave the bartender his card. You pouted but Nanami just gave you a peck on your pouty lips.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

An hour passed and your friends arrived. You happily introduced them to Nanami’s friends. And you were relieved that they all got along. Hana grabbed your wrist, dragging you to the dance floor. Yumi and Keiko followed.

“You’re so good to her, Nanami,” Shoko said. “Can you buy me a drink too?” Nanami nodded, ordering her favorite alcoholic beverage. Shoko happily thanked him and gave him a hug. “Get me a few more, I want to join them.”

“I’ll join them now!” Gojo said happily and danced his way to you. You laughed when Gojo held your hand and twirled you around. Nanami could only smile at you. Shoko chugged her drink before joining them. Geto chuckled as he took a seat next to Nanami.

“I’ll be honest, I never thought you two will get along,” he said. Nanami took a sip of his whiskey.

“I didn’t think so either,” he said.

“She balances you,” Geto said. “Almost like Haibara. Those two would’ve been the best of friends.” Nanami smiled a small yet sad smile. He can imagine it. He could see you and Haibara treat each other as if you two were truly brother and sister.

“At least I know for sure that Haibara would’ve loved her.” Geto nodded, watching the group dance.

“You don’t want to dance?” he asked. Nanami shook his head.

“You ever see me dance?” he questioned. Geto shrugged.

“How would I know? I’ll dance with them.”

He sighed in content as he sat there alone. But he didn’t mind it. He loves watching you have fun. When you turned to look at him, Nanami raised his glass out to you and your face brightened. You waved him over and he knew he couldn’t ignore it. He stood up and walked up to you. You held his hands, swaying them from side to side. You could only laugh at his awkwardness. Nanami blushed.

“Kento-kun, thank you,” you said. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“Buy me another drink?” Nanami nodded, holding your back as you two walked back to the bar.

The two of you stumbled back inside his apartment. You leaned on him as he kept you balance with your arm around his shoulder. You laughed when Nanami bumped into the wall.

“That was so fun,” you said and held on tightly to your flowers. Nanami brought you to the couch and put the bouquet on the kitchen counter. “Kento-kun, let’s go on a vacation soon. Where do you want to go?”

“Malaysia,” he answered as he sat down. You sat close to him, your legs on his lap and your head resting on his shoulder. “By the beach.”

“I like the sound of that,” you said softly.

You felt him hold your chin and you were looking at him. Nanami leaned in and kissed you passionately. You moved to sit on his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands caressed your sides while you played with his hair. You felt something hard against your inner thigh, making you blush yet also heated. Before it went any further, Nanami hesitantly pulled away.

“I want our first time to happen when we’re not intoxicated with alcohol,” he said softly as he caressed your cheeks. You nodded.

“I’d like that too,” you said. “Let’s head to bed?”

“Okay, my love.”

[shrenvents]

The Element of Surprise

Chapter four of the Miracle Aligner series

Alex's POV

It didn't take me long to arrive at the pub. Practically sprinting in, I spot Mickey raising a chair off a table. "Mickey?" I call with uncertainty. His head shoots in my direction. Upon seeing me, a blinding smile envelops his face and I nearly spin back out the door. "Alex Turner!" He shouts and I immediately recoil. Realizing his mistake of announcing my name, he slaps a hand over his mouth. "Sorry," he apologizes in a muffle, stalking towards me. "It's alright mate." We both then stand there awkwardly, unspeaking. "The guitar Mick," I voice plainly, snapping him out of whatever trance he's in. "Shit sorry!" He gestures widely, pivoting away from me.

When he returns, handing me the guitar, I don't move. Mickey gives me a once-over quickly. "Uh- can I have your number?" "No." "Thought so." He pouts. "So why're you still here?" I frown at his words and he lifts his hands in protest, waving them. "Not trying to be rude, just like, why?"

"Is Jennie here?" I pronounce while looking over both of Mickey's shoulders. He stares at me, looking puzzled, before clearly grasping my motives. He smirks. "No. Should I leave a message for you?" I ignore his mocking tone. "When's she in?" His face twists, "Not sure I can give out that kind of information buddy." His previous smirk creeps onto his face, "Unless there was a specific reason I should?" Mickey states suggestively. I roll my eyes and click my tongue. "No reason," I spit out.

Obviously regretting his decision to provoke me, Mickey sighs deeply. "I'm joking." Patting my forearm he admits, "But seriously, I legally can't give out staff member��s information to customers, even if they're Alex Turner." My temper eases when I survey his honest and sullen expression. Thinking, I rotate my head, taking in the pub's interior. Did I really come to this shithole last night?

"Does this place sell anything edible?" I doubtfully ask. Mickey visibly loosens.  "Yes, we do." He pulls out a chair for me, "Take a seat and I'll fetch you today's special." I barely nod in affirmation before he speeds off to the kitchen.

...

Two days later

Growing tired of checking my phone's clock for the seventh time tonight, I shove it back into my jacket pocket. Rising from my chair, I adjust my cap, dejected for the third time this week. Red was a no-show again.

"Leaving so soon?" Mickey exclaims from behind the bar. I swivel my neck and reply with a shrug, "I'm not really interested in finding out Friday's special, sorry Mick." He snickers. "It's not like you to give up so soon. I almost have the urge to give her a call." At this, I nearly flung my body over to Mickey. "You would do that?" I ask in disbelief.

"You've been here for the past three days." He laughs, "Some may find it creepy, maybe she'll find it charming." "Why haven't you offered to do this before?" I snap back.

"You never asked." He states plainly. I almost lay one on him then and there, but the promise of a call stops me from punching him. "Well?" I implore him, clasping my hands together in a plea. He nods meekly. "My phone's in the locker room, wait here if you can," he teases, making his way to the back room.

Five minutes later he returns, phone in hand, ringing her up. I glance at the screen which reads Rogen. "Rogen?" "Last name." He replies fleetly before the ringing ceases. "Heyyy J." The compulsion to snatch the phone from his hands rises expeditiously when he has the nerve to look at me and grin. "Yeah. He's here, again." He taunts. I nearly snarl.

Thousands of thoughts fizzled in my head. "Yeah sure," he babbles before delivering his phone to me. I hesitantly clutch his phone, mumbling, "Hello?" "Alexander?" "Alex." I correct, sighing with relief at the sound of her melodic voice. "Have you been coming to my place of employment for the past three days?" She questions me like I'm a toddler who got caught drawing on a plaster wall. "Yes I have, thank you for noticing," I retort humorlessly. Her laughter echoes through the phone.

Now smiling, I glance at Mickey, who carries the same look, and I spin away from his gaze with a sneer. "Sorry I've just been busy, and I like to stay as far away from that nasty place as I can." She states matter-of-factly.

I chuckle till my smile withers. "You left, without leaving your number Jennie." I resist reprimanding her, and she sighs quietly. "I know, sorry." She pauses. "I can be such a guy sometimes." I snort at her words. "May I have your number now Red?" I look to the ceiling for help while awaiting her answer. After a beat, she replies, "Hand me over to Mickey sweetie." My face flushes and I distractedly hand the phone to Mickey who looks equally confused. His expression then resolves and he states, "You might wanna get out a pen and paper sweetie."

...

"Get your head outta your arse Al! Focus." Zach demands with a shout. My eyes lift from my phone screen reluctantly.

Texting back and forth with Jennie had become a weekly habit. Two weeks to be exact. With my album's writing, recording, and everything in between, we haven't had the chance to connect properly. The desire to see that red hair once more was becoming overwhelming, so, my latest text entailed a "will you" and a "go out with me?" Said text also had yet to receive a reply for the last three hours.

The anticipation was killing me and I could hardly focus on my bandmates. "You disappear for days and come back with incredible songs, but somehow have lost the ability to count." Zach bellows in anger. "You missed your bit again Turner!" I stare blankly at Zach after his outburst, causing both Jamie and Miles to erupt with laughter. "Mate, what is wrong with you?" Miles questions while laughing. "Nothing," I grumble. They all give me a look of skepticism.

"Well snap outta it, we just gotta finish this last verse." Jaime dumbfoundedly shakes his head. Embarrassed, I plunge my phone into my jeans pocket and place my fingertips on the strings of my guitar.

...

Six hours later, our second song is finally done and I head out towards my hired car. At that moment, an incoming text staggers my step.

11:43 p.m. Jennie "Red" Rogen: Did you just ask me on a date Alexander? May need to think this one through XXX

Entering the car, I religiously read over her text. Feeling both rejection and bliss was a hell of a lot for one man alone. What's she playing at? All week we've been flirting, and now she's refusing me, sending kisses via text.

I'm at a loss for words and clearly hard of hearing as the driver repeats "Where to." His voice carries more of an edge the second time 'round. "Sorry mate," I pause, rethinking my destination while the driver's eyes leer at me through the rearview mirror. "Take me to Les Cactus." He nods a huff and instantaneously hits the gas.

...

As soon as we reach the curve, I hop out the vehicle and march towards the pub's entrance. I was done messing around. Now, a rather witless decision to confront Red head-on has become my top priority.

Beelining towards the ever-present bartender, I freeze. Red's back faces me and her scarlet lips brush Mickey's ear lightly, whispering. Her side presses against his while her hand clasps his shoulder. Stunned, I simply watch their interaction, scrutinizing the smile that consumes half of Mickey's face. My fists and jaw clench as various speculations of their conversation adorn my thoughts. I didn't like a single one of them.

Suddenly, Mickey detects me, eyes widening. "Alex?" As soon as my name leaves his mouth, Jennie's hand drops from his shoulder and her body whirls around. Like Mickey, her eyes enlarge and fill with confusion. Composing myself, I continue forward.

Confidently striding to her, I get close enough that I have to peer down quite a bit. Maintaining eye contact I assert, "I did, so what's there to think about Red?"

I clock how she tenses, face unreadable. I audibly gulp. It's strange seeing such a woman speechless. But that silence didn't last long. "How bold of you to assume it would be so simple Mr. Turner." A sly smile grows on her face. I blow out the wind stuck in my lungs. "Nothing seems to be simple with you Jennie." I'll never get enough of saying her name, though, I like how calling her Red seems to rattle her.

A grunt is the only reply she gives before speaking again. "I don't even know you," she giggles. "Don't you think it's a little late to worry about that Red?" I clap back with humour, to which she grins knowingly. "How do you know I don't regret that?" Her question nearly makes my assured demeanour falter. "I know you don't regret that night Red," I state with indifference. "And why's that?" "Because I was there." She stills, again, left speechless.

"Tomorrow night, I'll text you when and where," I mention nonchalantly before turning towards the exit. "Goodnight Red," I chuckle over my shoulder, glancing back one more time to drink in the priceless look on her face.

Chapter Five

[ohforficsakelibrary]

You Brought Me Poison Flowers

Chapter 4: Echinacea - Echinacea was used by American Indians* as an offering to spirits to ensure and strengthen spells.

prev / series masterlist / masterlist

Series Summary: Joel and Ellie settle into life in Jackson, one more easily than the other, until Joel is reminded of what normal feels like. The kind of normal that he perhaps never had. A series of one-shot glimpses into a relationship (no true plot here, people.) Soft!Joel. Two touch-starved babes. Slow-ish burn.

Chapter subtitles taken from Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs by Scott Cunningham. Although herbal preparations are consistent with historic uses, nothing herein is to be construed as medical advice.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Herbalist!OFC (age-appropriate age gap)

Word Count: ~6.9K

Rating: Explicit 18+ overall, no smut in this part, but if you're a fan of the one sleeping bag trope you may enjoy this. Minors DNI.

A/N: Of snake bites and chilly nights and subconsciously cradling someone in your sleep.

I know next to nothing about horses and my apologies if anything is off on that front. Again, get thee to a doctor or a vet and don't rely on fanfiction you read one time. You live in a world with antivenom.

I think I've messed with the timeline of Tommy's arrival in Jackson a bit, so your squinting and ignoring that is much appreciated.

*Cunningham's original terminology, not mine

Joel decides to swing by the shop in the late afternoon when he's back from patrol.

He has to return the book he finished, he needs more coffee, and he found real yarrow today to trade for it. He’s sure this time.

You know. Lest anyone think he's here because he spilled all over himself thinking of her last night.

“Hey, Joel,” Lennie calls from where she’s bent down to better see the level of liquid she’s pouring into a brown dropper bottle. Mrs. Spencer stands at the bar and throws a wave at him over her shoulder that he politely returns as he takes a seat at the large table.

Lennie mixes two more liquids into the jar and turns it over.

“Four to five drops, four times a day. Throw it in a glass of water if the taste is too strong. If he’s not feeling any better in three to four days, swing back and I’ll see what I can do.”

Mrs. Spencer accepts and passes over three beeswax taper candles in return before her absence sees the two of them alone in the shop again. 

Joel crosses the floor with flowers and book in hand as Lennie caps and returns jars to the shelf behind her.

“I got it right this time,” he says, self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“So you did,” she grins.

“But I will need some more of your coffee in return.” He sets his empty jar in front of her.

“Done.” 

She makes quick work of refilling the jar. Too quick.

Because now they’re done here and his brain is dancing through excuses to stay. 

“Hey, Joel?”

He looks up from where he’s been watching her fingers bind yarrow with twine. 

“Yeah, Lennie?”

“Would you consider, maybe, ha…”

Ellie bursts through the front door, breathless.

“Lennie, Tommy’s horse got bit, they need you.” She sucks in gasps of air. An emissary sent to deliver bad news.

They both tense.

“Where, Ellie?” Lennie finds her wits before Joel.

“Out by…”

“No, where on her did she get bit?”

“I dunno exactly…”

“Face or legs.”

“Face, from the sound of it.”

“Ah shit.” Lennie drops behind the bar, filling the air with the clank of clattering metal and scraping wood. “How far behind you are they?”

“Maybe five minutes.”

“Ellie, is Tommy ok?” Joel pipes up. He’s not sure what exactly did the biting, but he has an idea. Rattlers aren’t uncommon around these parts. 

“Yeah, he’s fine,” she has her hands on her knees now.

Lennie reappears and swings around the bar, two clear tubes in her hand.

“Ellie, remember that plant I showed you? Broad leaves, grows in a rosette?”

“Plantain, yeah.”

“I need you to gather as much of it as you can,” she tosses a canvas bag to Ellie, “the biggest leaves you can find, rip the whole thing out if you have to. Do that now, go.”

Immediately, Ellie is out the door.

“Joel, grab me a pint jar and lid off that back shelf,” she cocks her head towards the sink as she pulls a massive half-gallon mason jar from a shelf above her head.

“I got it,” Joel picks up on her train of thought and moves behind the bar to decant the brown liquid into the smaller jar while she grabs scraps of cloth and a spoon and stuffs them into the pockets of her jeans.

There’s a commotion outside and she grabs the tubes. Joel grabs the jar and follows her out the door. 

“Where’d she get bit, Tommy,” Lennie asks, taking the horse’s reins from him. It’s redundant, she can see the swelling already beginning on Gloria’s muzzle. 

“Her nose, we were out at the dam on foot, had the horses tied up, and we think it took her by surprise in the grass.”

“You bring it?”

“In my bag, she stomped it real good.”

“Alright, you know what I’m gonna ask for when this is over.” 

“Get my girl through and it’s all yours.” 

“You okay?” Joel nods at Tommy.

“Yeah, man.”

Tommy is concerned, but calm. Something about it tugs at Joel but he doesn’t have time to register why.

The rest of the patrol team has closed in now and townspeople are beginning to filter into the street, whispers of what happened pinging through the crowd. Maria emerges from the laundromat, baby strapped to her chest, and comes to stand near them.

Lennie absently hands off the tubes to Joel.

“Okay, okay, hey sweet girl,” she coos as the horse flares its nostrils in an attempt to suck in breath. She immediately starts unbuckling the bridle and hands it to whoever takes it, Tommy this time. “It’s okay momma, I’ve got you.” She presses her forehead to the white star between the horse’s eyes and pauses for a moment. 

Joel swears Gloria relaxes and presses her head back against Lennie.

“Ok, G, this is gonna suck, but I have to put these tubes in your nose, ok? We have to make sure you can breathe, sweet girl. Joel, let me get those,” Lennie gestures to the tubes. 

“Tommy, Joel, hold her steady, yeah? She goes to strike, back away. She goes to rear, let her. She’s gonna toss her head a bit, that’s fine, let her do what she needs to.” Lennie holds one tube between her teeth and rubs her free hand under Gloria’s chin.

Joel hands the jar of liquid to Maria and positions himself against Gloria’s left shoulder, one hand in her mane, the other around the front of her neck, while Tommy moves around the opposite side to mirror his pose, grabbing the saddle horn. Lennie stands first on Joel’s side, gently passing her fingers over Gloria’s right nostril, telegraphing what she’s about to do. 

“On three, boys,” it’s muffled through the tube in her mouth as she braces one leg behind the other. “One, two, three.”

Lennie passes one tube cleanly up Gloria’s right nostril before the horse has time to react. All three of them manage to get clear while she tosses and shakes her head at the intrusion.

“Okay, one more.” They each take their positions again and Lennie moves to stand on Tommy’s side to repeat the process. Everyone manages to get clear before Gloria strikes and stamps as she shakes her head. 

“More sensitive on that side, hold on to her,” Lennie nods at Tommy who again grabs the saddle horn. She’s left an inch and a half of tubing protruding from each nostril and Gloria snorts a few times before her breathing evens out.

“I got it!” Ellie comes running out from behind the laundromat and straight to Lennie, thrusting the canvas bag into her hands.

“This is perfect, Ellie, thank you,” she rips off a handful of leaves and shoves them into her mouth. “Find me two or three of the biggest single leaves you can out of that,” she mumbles through a full mouth and hands the bag back over. “Joel, soak two strips of that cloth in tincture for me.” He takes the wad of linen from Lennie and the jar from Maria and returns soaked fabric.

“Hold her, Joel,” she tips her chin towards the horse and Ellie takes the contents of his hands before Joel again presses his chest to the horse’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around her neck.

Lennie squeezes liquid from one cloth into the horse’s mouth and gestures to Ellie for leaves, which she arranges on the wrung out cloth. She spits into the leaves and squeezes the fresh cloth into the poultice. 

“Alright, sweet girl.” Lennie gingerly wipes the bite down before pressing the poultice against it.

Gloria again relaxes into her hand.

Maria makes eye contact with Tommy as the baby starts to fuss. He nods and Maria slips away.

“Okay, sweet girl. Okay. Let’s get her back to the stable.” She keeps her hand over the poultice as she and Tommy guide the horse back home, Joel and Ellie following close behind.

When she’s settled back into her stall, Lennie applies more tincture to the cloth to keep the poultice in place.

“I’ll have to re-dose her every hour and refresh the poultice at about the same. It’ll be a long night, but she’ll be just fine, Tommy.” Lennie reassures. “You all should head out to Mess before they stop serving.”

“You should go first, I’ll stay with her.” Tommy chimes in.

“Tommy, you know I can’t leave her.”

He searches Lennie’s eyes. He’s known her long enough to know that she cares too much.

“Alright, alright ok. I’ll bring dinner back for you.”

“Show me her feed too, I’m sure she’s hungry.”

Tommy and Lennie abscond to another part of the stable leaving Joel and Ellie to exchange looks.

Neither of them have any idea what’s going on, and yet both can see that Lennie knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Plantain soothes and repairs tissue,” Ellie offers, echoing what Lennie had taught her. “By the way, why were you in the shop today?”

“I needed more coffee.” 

Ellie nods in a way that tells him she doesn’t fully buy into his story.

“Alright, Ellie, you come with me, we’ll go get dinner, Joel, you don’t mind staying to help Len, do you? We’ll bring food back for you both.” Tommy directs. 

Lennie glances quickly at Joel and then at Tommy. She knows what’s going unsaid.

“Yeah. Yeah of course.” Joel says.

“Bring extra apples.” Lennie calls after them and runs a hand through her hair.

Lennie and Joel work in comfortable silence to remove Gloria’s saddle and feed her dinner mixed with tincture by hand to keep her from upsetting the tubes in her nose. When they’re through, Joel brushes her down as Lennie refreshes the poultice.

Tommy and Ellie return an hour later with two trays of beef stew and bread, apples piled on each. After Lennie reassures Tommy that there’s nothing he need do here tonight, he stretches and rubs the back of his neck before pulling Joel aside.

“Hey, uh, I hate to put this on you, but are you good to stay with her tonight? Here, to help her? I don’t want to leave Maria to take care of the baby on her own for too long, otherwise I’d do it. If not, it's not a problem, knock on my door when you tap out and I’ll come down…”

“Tommy, it’s fine, whatever you two need. I’ll stay and help her out, it’s not a problem.”

“Alright. Alright, ok,” Tommy scrubs one hand down his face and claps Joel on the back with another.

“Ellie, you should head out too,” Joel tosses his head in Tommy’s direction. 

“Are you kidding me? Len’s treating a fucking rattlesnake bite, you think I’m gonna miss that?”

Joel glances at Lennie, who shrugs and takes a seat on the floor to start on dinner. 

“Alright fine. You can stay through the next dose but then you have to head home to bed. It’s getting late.”

“Deal,” she gently strokes Gloria’s back before moving to her face, whispering soft sweet words to the horse.

With that Tommy excuses himself to home to help Maria with the baby. 

Joel takes a seat on the floor next to Lennie to start on his own dinner. She slips her hunk of bread onto his tray.

It feels blissfully intimate in the moment. 

Comfortable.

Normal.

“So what’s in that?” Ellie points at the jar of liquid laying nestled in hay next to Lennie.

“Echinacea tincture," she says between bites. "Rattlesnake venom causes tissue necrosis.” Ellie squints. “It eats away at tissue, killing it off. That contains a compound that stops the reaction. It also increases white blood cell activity, helping the body to heal itself,” Lennie answers between bites of food. “And plantain…”

“Heals tissue.” Ellie finishes

“You got it,” Lennie’s smile is bright.

“And you chewed them up and spat them out because…”

“Breaks down the plant,” Joel chimes in. 

“Yeah, I know how chewing works…”

“No, he’s right. It breaks the plant down and makes beneficial compounds more accessible.”

“Spit poultice," Joel mumbles through a mouthful of bread.

“Oh. Cool. Then what are the big leaves for?”

“Holds everything together, keeps the cloth from absorbing liquid out of the poultice. Want that juice to stay on the bite.”

Ellie has moved to Gloria’s face now, “and the tubes are because… her nose swelled up. These keep her airway open if it swells more.” She cuts a glance down at Lennie who nods, and then sneezes.

Ellie and Joel both give their blessings, while Lennie answers, “sorry.” 

“And you’ve done this before?”

“Maybe…twelve times on horses?”

“On other things too?” Ellie arches an eyebrow.

“Three goats, four sheep, one dog, two cows,” Lennie squints one eye as though it helps her remember.

“Any people?” Ellie comes to sit beside her.

“Nah they probably save the antivenom for people.” Joel chimes in.

“There is no antivenom, Joel.”

“What.”

“There hasn’t been for fifteen years. It’s incredibly unstable as it is and has to be kept refrigerated which, there goes most stock after the collapse. What survived went to the QZs in areas where it made sense and even then, it has a short shelf-life. Plus, no one wanted to use horses to make more, they became too valuable.”

“So you’ve done it with people,” Ellie leans to look across Lennie’s tray at Joel.

“Two people have been bitten in my time here. They’re both still here, no lasting damage,” Lennie grabs an apple and unsheathes her knife.

“That’s amaz…” Joel starts.

“Fuckin awesome!” Ellie finishes. “How did you learn all of this?”

“Books, mostly. And desperation, probably,” Lennie answers as she slices, arranging the cut pieces on the side plate where her bread was. “Hand me that, Ellie?” This about the jar of tincture. She uses her clean spoon to drip liquid onto each slice before handing the plate to Ellie. “Wanna feed her those?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Careful of the poultice,” Joel calls after Ellie as Lennie sneezes again, twice this time. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m allergic.”

“To horses.”

“Horses. And dogs. Cats. Cows.” Lennie smiles and reaches into her pocket for a brown dropper bottle to place a few drops under her tongue. “I’ll live.”

Joel cannot help but smirk.

“So what would you use for a bee sting?” Ellie hands the plate back to Lennie and Joel collects the trays.

“Bee balm.”

“Okay. Fine, makes sense. A sunburn?”

“St. Johns Wort.”

“Broken bones?”

“Jane down at the hospital would set them, and then boneset and comfrey all day, internally and externally.”

“Boneset.” Ellie is struck by the simplicity of it. “Okay, chicken pox?”

“They still have that?” Joel returns to the stall.

“Yeah it went around FEDRA school when I was like eight.”

“Safflower, black cohosh, plus probably some other things externally for the itching. Calendula, chamomile. It’s a virus, so something like yarrow wouldn’t hurt.”

“Constipation.” Ellie draws out each syllable with an arched brow, earning a scowl from Joel.

“Slippery elm, marshmallow root, that one depends on what caused it.”

“Stinky feet.” She’s getting more ridiculous in an effort to trip Lennie up.

“Oak bark.”

“Syphilis.”

“Ellie!” Joel barks.

“Haven’t encountered that one yet but there’s an old sailor’s remedy of burdock, yarrow, parsley, comfrey, and yellow dock that I read about once. Thistle was also used in these parts.”

“Wow.” Ellie seems to have run out of random medical conditions, and leans back against the wooden walls of the stall.

“Back pain?” Joel offers from the corner.

“Nerves or muscles?”

“Uh. Muscles?”

“Arnica,” she makes note to pass him some oil tomorrow.

“So you have to be here all night?” Ellie says.

“In the first few hours, the frequency of dosing helps. That swelling hasn’t gotten worse, and by tomorrow it should be reduced if we keep this up until morning. Horses are sturdy, she’ll bounce back just fine.”

“Is there anything you need? From the shop? I can run and grab it for you?” Ellie offers.

“Actually, a coat would be great if you don’t mind. Grab one for your dad too.”

Ellie doesn’t correct her and Joel notices.

In the commotion of the afternoon Lennie had run out into the street in a Rolling Stones t-shirt and jeans, and the setting sun had taken its heat with it. The barn was still warm, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. “And if you could lock her up for me? The bigger brass one is the deadbolt.” Lennie passes Ellie a ring with three keys.

When Ellie slips out, Joel realizes he feels like an idiot for not having a flannel to offer her. He had been similarly stuck with just his t-shirt and was grateful she had the foresight to consider him as well.

“I can grab a blanket if you’re…”

“I’m okay for now, thanks.” She offers him a soft smile from across the stall.

Joel moves to sit near her, offering his heat in lieu of fabric.

“Did you break this at some point?” Lennie points to his right hand, “I noticed you clench and shake it sometimes.”

“I uh. Think I might have. Like a year ago, thought it was a hairline. Still bothers me when I use it too much–probably didn’t heal right.”

“May I?” He nods and she shifts to face him, taking his right hand between her palms and he hisses a sharp inhale. Her eyes jump to his, searching them for signs of pain. “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

Being touched and being burned just have the same effect nowadays.

“Do you get tingling? Pins and needles?”

“Not, not really.”

“Okay, tell me if any of this hurts, yeah?” Joel nods and she feels around, applying deep pressure down into the bones of his hand and then up through his wrist before lacing her fingers through his and putting her other hand on his elbow. “Relax, Joel,” she shakes the hand that’s entwined with his and angles big eyes up at him, noting his features are wrought through with tension. She takes him through a full range of motion, feeling how the bones shift under muscle.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He doesn’t realize how tight his features are. 

“No. Sorry, I’m just not used to…”

A soft “yeah,” falls from her lips. 

She unlaces her hand from his and he very nearly reaches for her again, but luckily she returns contact, palm to palm, supporting his hand. “Tell me if there’s anywhere you have diminished sensation?” She taps around, just behind the knuckles of his index finger, then behind the knuckles of his pinky, just above the nails of his index and middle finger, then strokes feather-light over areas of the back of his hand before flipping his hand over and repeating the process. 

“All feels the same, I think.”

“Okay good. No bad nerve damage. Your wrist and thumb are jammed up though.”

“Great,” he huffs, thinking it’s yet another thing he can thank getting old for.

“Can I adjust it for you?”

“Do what?”

“Adjust it. Definitely won’t fix it entirely, but might help.” 

“I mean, I guess, yeah. If you can.”

“Stand up for me?” They both do, and Lennie takes his left arm and guides his hand to rest just above the ditch of his right elbow. “Hold that there and relax your arm.” She holds his wrist with both hands, shaking it out before giving it a quick, controlled jerk, pressing down with both thumbs.

There’s a crack and Joel moans.

“Umm, what the fuck’s going on here?”

Ellie’s rounded the corner, jackets draped over her arm. Joel and Lennie look up. He’s sure he’s red in the face but to his own surprise, he doesn’t make a move to yank his hand back. 

“Your dad has an old hand injury that I’m adjusting. Wanna see?” 

“Yeah,” Ellie drops the jackets and Lennie’s keys on a square bale of hay and comes to stand with them both. 

“I’ve just done his wrist where one of the bones was jammed up, and his thumb is a little out of whack, so I’ll do that now,” she looks up and searches Joel’s eyes.

She swears there’s less tension knotting his features. Joel offers a small nod and bites the inside of his cheek lest he make another obscene sound. 

“Alright, deep breath, three, two,” on “one” she applies pressure at the base of his thumb and there’s another smaller pop. “See how that feels?”

Joel flexes his fingers and rotates his wrist before shaking his hand out and repeating the motions. 

“It’s actually. A bit better.”

Lennie smiles as she makes her way over to the coats. Ellie brought her sweatshirt as well and she slips it on before taking a seat. 

“What is that, how did you learn to do that?” Ellie plops down next to her.

“I traveled with a chiropractor for about a year and she taught me a few things. It’s subtle manipulations to encourage bones back into their proper positions.”

“No shit. Were you a doctor before this?” Ellie’s eyes go wide.

“Very much not, no,” Lennie almost smiles.

“What did you do before?”

“Ellie…” Joel softly chides.

“No, it’s okay,” Lennie rakes a hand through her hair. “I was a lawyer.”

“Like Maria?”

“There are a few of us here. And yes and no. I wasn’t the kind of lawyer that goes to court. ”

She leaves it at that and Ellie doesn’t ask because she’s not really sure what it is that lawyers do that’s not putting people in jail.

“Is chiropractic something you do here?” Joel changes the subject, joining them on the floor, still flexing his hand in the way you do when you’re suddenly too aware of one part of your body.

“Only in extraordinary circumstances. Don’t really like touching people.”

Says the woman who pressed her ear to his bare chest when he might have been dying. 

“Hands and feet are usually okay, but spines get pretty, physical. That’s where I kind of tap out. Adjusted plenty of animals though. Actually did Gloria a few weeks ago.”

“Speaking of,” Joel starts, “I think she’s due for a poultice change, and then you need to get off to bed,” he nods at Ellie.

“Can I do it?” Ellie asks.

“Of course.” Lennie guides her through the steps, but she’s been watching closely and picks it up with ease. When she’s done, she puts up a fight about leaving.

“Ellie, I’m not gonna ask again, that was the deal.” Joel is kind but firm.

“Fine.” Ellie kicks at some hay, “but come sunrise, I’m coming straight back.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Joel accepts the hug Ellie gives him and he kisses the top of her head. She spins on her heel intending to give Lennie one too before remembering.

“Hugs are okay, Ellie,” Lennie smiles and Ellie obliges.

Joel notes how Lennie still holds her breath.

“Remember what her nose looks like, yeah? We’ll be counting on you to give us your honest opinion on how it looks in the morning.” 

“I only do honest opinions,” Ellie winks as she backs out of the stall. “You two have fun.”

Lennie sneezes twice again when she’s gone and Joel smirks.

“Bless you.”

“And what exactly about that amuses you Miller?” Lennie teases.

“You’re basically the town vet and you’re allergic to everything with four legs.”

Lennie laughs. “Needs must,” she manages before another sneeze and she digs into her pocket for the dropper bottle again. 

Lennie checks on Gloria’s breathing, holding her hands in front of the tubes, feeling each strong, warm breath against her palms, then feels around for her heart rate with fingers pressed under her jaw. Joel watches, arms crossed over his chest, less looming and more a protective presence.

“She’s all good,” Lennie concludes, making her way over to the coats. It’s probably down to forty outside and it’s only gone ten o’clock. “Might want to grab her blanket, though.” She says handing the larger coat to Joel, who gratefully accepts.

He does wonder why she has a coat that seems fit for a man much taller than him, but thinks better of asking, opting to pull a blanket from the shelf across from the stall.

She dons her own coat and helps him buckle Gloria in.

Lennie shoves her hands in her pockets when she’s through, and the ring on her pinky clinks against something metal.

“Ooohhhoho yess,” Lennie pulls out a flask with bright eyes and grins.

“Fancy some gin?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Joel sits, back braced against a bale, legs outstretched and Lennie sits in front of them, her back against the stall wall as the flask passes between them.

“I still can’t believe you make that.”

“Yeah, swing by and I’ll show you some day,” she lets her head fall back against the wood and breathes deep. 

Joel’s eyes trace the column of her throat and he opens his mouth before his staring gets him in trouble.

“So— a lawyer?”

“Yeah,” the word comes out on a sardonic laugh. “Could not have picked something more useless,” she looks over at him with a smile.

Joel returns her mirth. “What kind of law?”

“Corporate,” and they both smile again. “Mergers and acquisitions. Did it for a year and a half out of law school, absolutely fucking hated it. Like, seriously questioned if I even wanted to be in the profession any more.” She takes another sip and passes the flask to Joel.

“Yeah that sounds,” he pauses trying to be polite, “pretty fuckin dismal.” He can’t.

“But then the world fucking ended, so. Kind of made that decision for me.” Joel holds her stare, a smile playing on his lips as he takes another sip.

“Where’d you go to law school?”

“No, you’re gonna laugh.”

“Don’t say Harvard.”

Lennie presses her lips together and scrunches her nose.

“NOOO,” Joel rumbles, brown eyes open wide as they both erupt in a fit of laughter.

“Didn’t have to worry about paying back student loans though,” Lennie lifts the flask in a kind of salute to the universe.

“So how the hell did you end up doing this?”

“Don’t really know. Had a passing interest in it and an undergrad in biology. Kind of made sense, I guess. I read fast and retain stuff pretty well, so I guess I can thank law school for that much.” Lennie passes the flask back to him and lays on her side at Joel’s feet, propping her head up on crossed arms.

“What about you?”

He hesitates for a moment and she sees something flash in his eyes.

“It’s okay, you don’t…”

“I was a contractor. Never finished college,” he takes a swig.

“You did something useful then.”

“Yeah. Yeah I guess.”

It’s sore here, and Lennie moves on.

“So what does Joel Miller like to do for fun?”

He holds her gaze and pauses a moment, fingers fiddling with an engraving on the flask—he can’t tell what. And he can’t remember what fun is.

“It’s a weird question, I know.”

“Used to like swimming, I guess. Hiking. Playing guitar,” he considers carefully before the next word, “singing.”

“No shit. I'd love to hear that. At some point. I won't put you on the spot now.”

“Yeah, alright,” he smirks and stands, handing the flask back down to her as she sits up. “I got the next dose,” he grabs an apple from their stash and cuts it up and she brings the jar of tincture to dose the slices. Joel handles changing the poultice and returns, sitting next to her this time.

They fall into easy conversation as they split the remainder of the gin. Favorite movies, sports teams, music. All the beauty of before and none of the baggage that crowds the room whenever he and Tommy try for the same.

They manage one more change before sleep starts to creep in.

“She’s doing well, we can probably push it out to two, get a little bit of sleep. It’s midnight now.”

“Yeah,” Joel scrubs a hand down his face, “yeah that’s a good idea.”

Lennie sets an alarm on her watch and Joel takes the other side of the stall. He watches as Lennie curls up into the hay, resting her head on her arms, legs pulled up tight to her chest. He watches as her breathing evens out to slow deep lungfuls. Watches as her features relax, eyes tracing her brow, where her eyelids flutter, the soft part in her lips because her nose is stuffed up, down to where the curve of her hip only just peeks out from underneath her jacket.

He flexes his hand again not out of pain, but longing to trace everywhere his eyes have just tread. He mirrors her pose and drinks her in, her wild halo of dark curls the last sight he remembers before sleep takes him.

_____

There’s a soft chime creeping in on tendrils of consciousness two hours later, and he wakes with a start. Lennie quickly gets to her feet and she’s cutting an apple by the time Joel brings her the jar of tincture. 

At some point she’d piled more hay up around her. It’s sticking to the corduroy collar of her coat. Strands of gold grasped in the tendrils of her black hair.

“Thanks,” she sniffs, congestion a little worse than before.

They work in silence, he starts chewing plantain as she feeds Gloria slices wet with medicine. As he finishes refreshing the poultice he hears Lennie’s teeth clack. He looks over and realizes she’s shivering. 

“Lennie,” Joel clasps the hand that’s not holding the tincture jar in palms that dwarf hers. She’s ice. 

“You’re fucking freezing.”

“It’s fine, Joel,” she leaves the jar in his hands and her fingers tremble as she sets her watch alarm again, digits nearly too numb for the buttons.

“No, no it’s not,” he storms out of the stall to raid the pile of blankets, settling on a waxed cotton one that wouldn’t hold on to horse hair.

“Lay down, Len,” he nods at her little hay pile when he storms back in.

“At least buy me dinner first,” she quips followed by a sniffle. She takes a few more drops of whatever she’s been using for allergies before complying.

Joel waits for her to settle into a comfortable position before gently placing the blanket over where she’s cradled in hay.

He grabs whatever’s on the top of the blanket pile for himself before settling in to his spot opposite her again.

He can still hear shuddering breath.

Fuck it.

He stalks over to her and mumbles “scoot.” She sits up and shuffles away from the wall and he unzips the front of his coat. “Flip this,” he pulls the zipper on her jacket and helps her put her arms through it backwards before folding himself in behind her so the heat from his chest can warm her back. 

He’s careful, however, to keep his hips well away. 

Joel pulls the canvas blanket up over them, suddenly unsure of where to put his arms. He extends one above his head and lays the other awkwardly along his side.

“Thank you,” she whispers. It takes two minutes for shivering to slow and another three for her breath to even out.

He knows because he’s counting the fucking seconds. He hadn’t thought this through.

She was cold and he hadn’t thought this through.

If last night knew what today was.

It’s torture, this frigid lover’s embrace.

_____

Two hours worth of seconds finds him molded to her in slumber. One arm has snaked under her to support her head, right through the gap where her neck meets her shoulder. Hips are pressed flush, one of his legs tangled between hers. One massive palm splays against her stomach. 

His nose is buried in her hair.

Soft chimes wake him to the smell of cedar, lavender, hay, and her.

He breathes in deep and reflexively pulls all of her in before she tenses against him and he springs away.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he’s on his feet as she blearily props herself up to sitting.

He’s already chewing plantain and hacking away at an apple with his knife when she brings him the jar of tincture, jacket still on backwards.

She’s not speaking.

Fuck, why won’t she say something.

She helps him in silence, capping the tincture jar when it’s through and taking it back to her nest with her. Gloria is too close to the stall wall now for him to slip through on the side opposite Lennie and curl under his own blanket where he actually belongs.

He has to pass her.

And so he holds his breath as he does.

“Where are you going?” She mumbles when it’s clear he’s not returning. 

It’s soft. Innocent. 

It’s afraid.

What he can’t know is it’s four-in-the-morning fear of never being held like that again.

He opens his mouth and “my side,” comes falling out.

Lennie looks up at him with big, sleep-glassed eyes.

God, he wants to kiss her. 

In her backwards jacket, hair full of hay, stuffy fuckin nose and all.

He wants to wrap himself in lavender and redwood and never be free of that scent on his skin again.

“You’re warm,” is what she says in lieu of begging him not to take his heat from her.

She gives him the out of “and now so are you.”

The out of “I’m glad you’re not freezing anymore.”

She gives him the chance to escape her and take his touch with him.

And instead, he brings it back.

Crawling back under where she holds the blanket up, arranging himself with all of his prior awkward angles. 

How he was before they found each other in their sleep.

She can feel him holding his breath.

Because she’s not breathing either.

Lennie doesn’t want to bring baggage to this. Doesn’t want to let slip that she hasn’t been held like that in years—not since the him whose jacket Joel is wearing and whose boots still sit in her hallway and whose wedding ring she keeps around her neck threaded on a chain alongside her own. 

She doesn’t want to tell him with her words that he’s the first man who makes her feel again and she can’t fucking explain why because she doesn’t know him, except she does. 

She doesn’t want to give weight to the fact that he’s the one who moved in the night to fold himself around her.

Doesn’t want to tell him how frightened she is that he doesn’t find this as maddening as she does.

And she’s terrified to move lest this shatter.

But she can’t do this for another second.

“Joel.”

“Yeah.”

“Before was—okay.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about that, Lennie.”

And she starts to fracture thinking he’ll say that it won’t happen again.

“You said you don’t like it, and I…I…I just kind of moved and I’m sorry I got way into your space and I didn’t mean…”

“Move again.”

“What?”

“Move. Again.”

Joel’s breath hitches and he curls tentatively against her, chest to her back first before the line of his body follows, finding her form. 

Her waist with his hand.

Her hair with his nose.

And she melts back into him.

And finally they both breathe.

And sleep comes easy. Tangled like this.

_____

“How’s she doing?” Asked in Ellie’s voice the next thing he hears.

He sucks in a sharp breath with a start and prepares half-true excuses.

But when he opens his eyes, Lennie isn’t there.

Instead, she’s stroking the star on Gloria’s forehead, back-lit by rising sun filtering in through curls that shape the morning light like cut pieces of stained glass.

“Come and see.”

He sits up and watches the way she smiles when Ellie’s face lights up in disbelief.

“It’s gotta be down by what? At least half?”

“I’d say about that much, yeah.”

“Joel, look at this!”

And he does, leaving the warmth of the questionable bed they never should have shared.

He’d say it’s about that much.

“You did it,” Ellie gives each of them a high five and they pause just short of high-fiving each other.

Live wires thrumming with a need one spark short of exploding.

“I can take over for the day, if you want?” Ellie offers. 

“Yeah, yeah, actually. That would be great. I think we’d both appreciate sleeping in our own beds.” Lennie says it without bitterness, eyes locked on Joel for the slightest reaction.

She gets it in a minute tic of his brow.

“How often should I give her medicine? Still every hour?”

“Can probably knock it down to every three, actually. No signs of necrosis, and I doubt we’d see any now. Three should be good. And we’ll get these tubes out too.” 

Joel gently guides Ellie out of the way and moves to stand at Gloria’s shoulder to steady her. Lennie gently wiggles each tube, testing for internal inflammation before sliding each free in turn.

Gloria snorts and tosses her head, nearly knocking Lennie into him.

Even the horse is sick of their shit.

“How’s my girl?” Tommy appears now, glass tupperware and something wrapped in paper balanced in his hand. “Brought you both breakfast.”

A wrapped breakfast sandwich goes to Joel and the container of bacon and eggs to Lennie.

“She sailed right through the worst of it. Ellie is going to take over dosing every three hours, but I’d say we’re just about there.”

Tommy moves to take a look for himself, gently pressing a kiss to the horse’s forehead before reaching out a hand to Lennie.

“You did it again.”

“Happy to help,” she smiles as Tommy claps Joel on the back. 

“You two must be wiped, come on, I’ll walk you back. Ellie, you good?”

“Yeah, I got this.”

“Anything changes for the worse, you come straight by, yeah?” Lennie nods in her direction. 

“I know where to find you. But we’ll be alright, won’t we girl?” She strokes the horse’s cheek before cooing soft words of praise.

They hit the shop first, Joel clenching his hand out of habit now more so than discomfort.

“Hey, um, thanks for your help last night, Joel,” Lennie meets his eyes as she fishes her keys from her pocket. 

“Yeah. Yeah it’s no problem.”

She offers him a tight smile before opening the shop door. “Hold up for one.”

She slips through the door and reappears with his jar of weird coffee. “You probably need that.”

“Thanks,” he offers her a grin and holds the jar up with his sandwich, “I cannot tell you how much I’m gonna enjoy this.”

He’s sleep deprived, sore, and probably delusional, but her answering smile is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a long time. 

“Mornin’ Joel.”

“Mornin’, Len.”

It snags in his throat, but he makes his way through.

He and Tommy nearly make it to their street before Joel’s curiosity chews all the way through his filter.

“You knew she didn’t need my help last night, but you asked me to stay. Why?”

“Yeah, we uh…we don’t like Len going anywhere alone.”

“You what?” 

Hackles are up.

“We don’t…let her alone. Comings and goings during the day are fine, she’s never far from anyone, but with the stables on the edge of town…” Tommy trails off before stopping his brother. “She’s too valuable to us, Joel. To the town. I mean you just saw it with your own eyes.”

“So she’s a prisoner here.”

“Man, come on, it’s not like that. We protect her. Always make sure someone capable has her back.” 

Joel snorts and keeps moving.

“Because we almost lost her a few years back.”

And at this, Joel turns.

“She was out beyond the wall. Gathering something with her husband. He wasn’t a patrolman. Wasn’t a fighter, he was a farmer. And a musician. It wasn’t his job. Raiders came through, caught them by surprise. Thank God she had a sickle on her.  And she got ‘em good, I mean real good, Joel. But Andy didn’t have much more than a small knife."

"He uh. He didn’t make it.”

Joel’s eyes are burning.

“She was covered in blood when we found her. We couldn’t tell what was hers and what wasn’t. And screaming. So loud. Just holding him, she wouldn’t let go. We had to get Jane out there. To give her something to calm her. Just so we could move them back inside the wall.” Tommy’s voice cracks as it plays back behind his eyes. 

“You could see the moment it happened, Joel. Written on those bodies. Just. Rage. She nearly took someone’s head off, man.”

He clenches his jaw, tears threatening to spill because Sarah’s smile is here. Trying to quell the rage that rises up in his own breast at the state of the world that someone else has been here before. Felt this same bile and burn. 

And for a moment he allows himself to think of Tess.

“This is his coat, ain’t it,” Joel croaks.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take it back to her this afternoon,” he grits out and turns on his heel.

“You should. So to answer your question, no. She’s not a prisoner.” Tommy calls after him as his boots hit his front porch.

“She’s just seen enough.” Joel finishes, throwing a wave behind him and disappearing through the front door.

And for a moment, he wishes for nothing more than to hold her again.

Because now he understands.

She understands.

next

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me over there for future updates.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[final-girl96]

Killer Geek Chapter Ten

The Weekend

It was finally the weekend and I couldn't wait for us to get the hell out of the small little town for a while. It was a long day at school. Parker would glare at me every time he saw me. He wasn't happy about what happened last night. “Hey,” I jumped at the sudden voice beside me. “Jesus, Randy, warn a girl first.” He chuckled, “Sorry. I just wanted to know if you'd like to ride with me up to the cabin.” He was leaning on the locker beside mine, looking me up and down. I felt my face flush and I hid behind my locker door. “Um…sure. That'd be great,” I said, smiling.

After the last bell rang we got in our cars and headed for the cabin. I told Billy I would be riding with Randy. I was grateful for that too because he begged Sidney to ride with him so they could talk and have some alone time. That would have been an awkward ride. Sidney didn't seem to really want to ride with him but Tatum encouraged her to. “Come on, Sid, it'll be fine. He's your boyfriend, he's not going to do anything to you.” Sidney sighed and finally agreed.

Casey was, of course, with Stu and Tatum was with Eric. It didn't make sense to have four cars going up there, but the couples wanted to have some “alone time”. That made me even happy that I was riding with Randy. No awkward situations. “So, how was your date last night?” I turned my head to look at Randy and shrugged. “As you would have expected. He was nice and relatable up until we went to the drive-in movie.”

“You went to the drive-in?” He asked.

“Yeah, in a few towns over. He took me to this fifties style drive-in diner. Like, the waitresses were on roller skates and everything. Then we went to the drive-in theater a little ways down the road. They were playing the second Friday the 13th. He figured since he bought me dinner, took me to the movies, got me a slushie, popcorn, and snacks, that I owed him something in return.”

“He touch you?”

“I mean, he tried. He put his hand on my thigh and I pushed him away. He tried again and I went off on him, then Billy took care of the rest.”

“Billy was there?”

“Mmhm. He and Stu followed us. Billy is an asshole, and we fought a lot. But no matter how pissed off we are at each other, he'll always be that protective big brother. I mean you know how it is. You'd do the same for Martha.” Randy nodded his head, “Yeah, Yeah, I would. I'd kill a guy if he hurt my little sister. She gets on my last fucking nerve but i love her.”

We drove in silence, only the radio playing on a low volume. We were the last car, driving behind Eric and Tatum. It was a good three hour drive up to the cabin and we still had two and half hours to go, that doesn't count if we stop somewhere to eat. Another twenty minutes of driving we were pulling over at a gas station. Billy pulled up to a pump and got out, Stu pulling his jeep I behind Billy's camaro. Randy pulled into a parking spot in front of the store, not seeing gas. I got out and walked over to my brother.

“Hey, we should stop at a grocery store once we get closer and get some groceries. We probably only have water up there,” I told him. He grunted as an answer, pulling the nozzle out and putting it back, and screwing the gas cap back on. “Whatever.” He walked past me and into the store. When everyone was done and back in the cars we got back on the road. “We need to stop at a grocery store. There's one that is about five miles from the cabin.”

Randy looked over at me, “Alright, we can do that. What about the others?” He asked. I shrugged. “I don't know, I told Billy about it but I don't know if he'll stop or not.” He nodded his head slightly, “We can still stop if he doesn't.”

Like I had thought, Billy just drove past the grocery store. Randy pulled in and found a parking spot. It was a good thing dad gave me his credit card. “Alright, let's go grocery shopping,” Randy said, getting out of the car. He jogged around to the passenger side and opened the door before I had a chance to even try to. “Thank you,” I whispered, feeling my cheeks get hot.

We walk into the grocery store, grab a cart, and start at the first aisle we come to. “So, what should we be getting?” Randy asked. The aisle we were in happened to be stuff like toilet paper and paper towels. I grab a pack of toilet paper and paper towels, because God only knows if we have any. “Food, ya know, like eggs and drinks, and shit. We don't have anything up there.” We walked around the store and grabbed whatever we thought the whole group would eat.

I was looking at the snacks when two arms wrapped around my waist, making me freeze, panic slowly crawl up my body. “It's me. Just relax. There's a group of assholes who have been staring at you for a good five minutes. I heard them talking when I walked by, and I didn't exactly like what I heard. So just relax and pretend.” I found it extremely easy to relax back into Randy. “What kind of snacks should we get?” I asked.

“Definitely popcorn. I brought a bunch of movies with me for us to watch.” Of course he brought movies. “What movies Did you bring?” I asked. “Terror Train, Halloween 1-5 plus the new one Curse of Michael Myers…” I cut him off, “So anything that has Jamie Lee Curtis,” I said. “She's the scream queen!” He argues. I laugh and shake my head, grabbing popcorn and throwing it in the cart.”Can you go get ice cream please?” He sighed, “Yeah, sure. I'll meet you up at the register.”

I walked up to the register and started to put our stuff up in the belt when someone behind me said something. “Hey, there sexy. You new around here?” I tried to ignore him and watched the cashier ring up the groceries as I put more up. “Hey I'm talking to you.” I sighed and turned around, giving him a one word answer. “No.” Turning back to the cashier I set the last few things up on the belt.

“Well, I've never seen you around here. So you must be new. And in that case…” the guy moved closer, leaning on the cart. “How about you let me show you around?” He licked his lips, looking me up and down. I could feel my skin crawling. “I'm fine, thanks.” Before the guy could say anything else Randy came up beside me. “Sorry, I couldn't decide what everyone would like.” Randy set the ice cream down and a set toppings to go along with it.

“You okay?” He asked, wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and kissing my temple. My skin was now on fire. I nodded my head. “Yeah, I'm now.” The cashier told us the total. “You got my card?” I looked over at Randy in confusion. “Huh?” He just smiled and gently pulled the credit card out of hand. “You sure you're alright?” He swiped the card and signed. “Yeah, sorry.” I took the receipt and Randy put everything in the cart.

“Alright, we better get to the house before everyone wonders where we got off to. Last thing I want is your brother and his lap dog coming after me.” I laughed at that and hit his arm. “Oh, my god, stop.”

When we got to the car we put everything in the trunk and Randy took the cart back up. I could feel eyes on me from across the parking lot but didn't dare look. I knew it was those guys. Randy jogged over to me, opened the door, and I got in. Then he jogged around the front and got in the driver's side. “Did that asshole say something to you?” He asked, starting the car and pulling back out onto the road. “No, just asked if I was new around here.” He hummed, “They couldn't keep their eyes off of you. I was five seconds away from saying something to them.” I shrugged, “I'm fine. Really. Let's just get to the cabin.”

[mangoshorthand]

Before A Fall [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch 4 (Hard Feelings Part 2)

SUMMARY: As your life begins to grow around Five's, his attitude becomes a little sinister. When does protection become suffocation and when does taking matters into your own hands become betrayal? (weekly updates) Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

Five is buzzing at the hint of a mystery, but your feelings are becoming more complex.

Smut below. Proceed at your own risk

Chapter 4: Socialist Sesame Street

The other adults have mixed responses to Five upon seeing him again, leaning against one of the many LEDs screens, eyes scouring the ingredients on the back of a can of JUICED. Some tsk in disapproval, most ignore him but the odd person tries to talk, worriedly. These he shuts down; politely but firmly. One man approaches him with aggressive swagger, presumably the same man who had objected to his interruption back in the auditorium. 

“Hey, son.”

He’d hoped the diminutive terms of address would be gone by now. Apparently not. He looks up at the man. He’s solidly built with a cap pulled down tightly on his bald head.

“You made a real ass of yourself in there.”

Five returns his eyes to the ingredients list, one hand falling naturally into his pocket, “I wasn’t craving your opinion on my behavior but thanks for the feedback I guess.”

The man bristles, “You got a kid in second grade? Got a girl pregnant when you were a freshman or something?”

“I’m in loco-parentis."

"What?"

Five sighs, "I'm Santiago Pitts-Hargreeves' uncle. I'm in charge while his parents are away. Now, can I help you?”

“I’m just telling you." he gestures to the can in Five's hand, "My Sean drinks it every day and he ain’t got cancer. You one of them conspiracy nuts?” 

“Depends on the conspiracy.”

This answer clearly doesn’t put this Dad's mind at rest.

“Listen, you’re crazy bastards, you’re scared of everything. First the soda gives kids cancer, then they faked the moon landing-"

Five speaks as if to finish his list, “-then there’s widespread pedophilia cover-ups in the catholic church. Not everything that sounds crazy is false.”

The guy reverts tactic:

“Like I say, JUICED is all my kid drinks. Nags and nags until he gets it. If it caused cancer, he’d for sure have it.”

“Well,” says Five, inclining his head and raising his eyebrows with a hint of sardonicism, “then I'd suggest you get him tested. Just in case.”

You and Santi watched and enjoyed the latest Pixar offering and he laughed at you when you’d left the theater with tears in your eyes. You’d decided to spoil him tonight; this kid was having the toughest of tough times. After the email Five mentioned to you, at least half of you is convinced that you’ll arrive home tonight to learn that Alyssa has died.

Partly due to this preoccupation, you’d allowed Santi to spend an inordinate amount of money on movie-theater candy and he's still riding the sugar high. 

He sits, swinging his legs at your McDonald’s table and chatters happily about how fries taste a jillion times better if you dip them in ketchup and then barbeque sauce but not the other way around. You, of course, try it both ways and pretend to taste a difference in the result.

“Wow you got a real sense of flavor. You think you’re going to be a chef?”

“Nah. I got to use my power. I can save the bees and maybe one day pandas and tigers and everything.”

“Cool” you say. While you have your doubts about the long-term genetic stability of duplicated creatures, you run with it anyway, “I bet you will."

You pause a second, your mind flashing back to his conversation with Five. Is there an opportunity to be a different voice?  

“That’s a really kind thing to do for the animals. How else might you save them?”

He looks a little confused.

“I’m asking because when there aren’t enough animals it’s usually because of something people have done accidentally or on purpose. You can duplicate animals, but if people have built on their homes, then where will they live?”

“I get Uncle Luther to knock down all the buildings!”

“I don’t think Uncle Luther would do that,” you laugh, “he’s too nice. What about the poor people in the buildings? Where will they live? It’s not their fault.”

“But the animals?”

“I know Santi. I think we need to stop the builders building there in the first place…but maybe the builders only built there because people needed to live somewhere.”

“Maybe the people go someplace else?”

“Mm-hm. But what if they don’t have enough money to go live somewhere else?”

“We give them money…or we give them houses. We got lotsa rooms at home.” He chomps his hamburger.

“That’s a nice idea,” you look at him, thoughtfully, “but isn’t it crazy how animals not having enough places to live can be sorta linked to some people not having enough money?”

“Yeah,” he chews thoughtfully. He looks troubled by this, so you lighten up this cursory glimpse down socialist Sesame Street.

“Don’t worry about it now. There are lots of kind people who work together to make sure everyone has a home. People and animals. Maybe one day you could join in?”

“Yeah!” 

He's smiling in that way that reminds you of Lila- chubby cheeks pouting outwards. 

“I think you’d fit right in. You’re kind too. And if a lot of people are kind together and care an awful lot, they can fix stuff.”

“Like the Lorax?”

“Yeah, kinda. Do you want an ice-cream?”

In the semi darkness on the Academy steps, you sit down and gesture for him to sit next to you. He does and you take both of his small hands in yours.

“Santi- before we go in, how are you feeling?”

“Happy,” he smiles.

“Yeah? I’m glad to hear that. How are you doing with the mean people at school?”

“They mostly been off school so it’s better.”

Well…it works on a temporary basis, you suppose.

“Who have you played with at recess?”

“The bugs,” he grins, “I made four HUGE spiders today.”

You shudder, “Oh no- that sounds like my worst nightmare!”

He laughs, an infant-like squeak creeping into his voice. When all is said and done, he’s still just a baby.

"It's ok, I make them disappear too, you know." 

You smile, “Tomorrow, can you do something for me?”

“What?”

“At recess, if you see someone who looks lonely, can you see if they want to play?”

He pulls a face but doesn’t really respond.

“That would be a kind thing to do,” you prompt.

He hesitates, “I’ll try.”

“Perfect!” you raise your arms in exaggerated joy.

“But what if they say go away?”

“Then you’ll have been kind anyway and I’ll be proud of you. Maybe they're feeling sad. And...some people are mean, but that's their problem; it's nothing to do with you really.”

You hold out your arms to him and give him a tight hug. You feel a sudden rush of affection. You've been in this little boy's life for a significant portion of it. It's a responsibility you don't take lightly. 

He yawns.

“Come on, sweetie,” you say, “it’s late. Let’s get you to bed.”

Almost as soon as you step into the entrance hall, Five blinks into existence in front of you with the familiar ffssht and flash of light. He drops to his haunches and grips both of Santi’s upper arms in his:

“Santi! DON’T drink the soda.”

“Wh-what?"

"Five?"

“JUICED. Santi: never drink it again. You gotta promise me!”

“O-ok.”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

“You’re scaring him.” 

You put your hand on Santi’s shoulder and steer him out of Five’s grip.

 “What’s happened?”

“I think it’s poison.”

With Santi calmed and sound asleep, you’re sitting on the bed while Five stands, his arms folded and toe tapping. 

"You can’t tell Diego and Lila until you’re sure.”

 “Yes. I’d come to that conclusion.”

“But what made you think-?”

“Can you be quiet a moment? I have to think."

You stare, hurt.

He blinks across the room, pulls an ancient typewriter out of the bottom of your wardrobe and slams it on the table. He looks around madly, opening draws and ducking his head under the desk. You cross to the bookcase and extract a sheet of paper from the ream stored there.

He takes it wordlessly, threads it onto the roller and types smartly. You move as if to read it over his shoulder but he waves you away gruffly. You step back, perplexed.

He stands quickly, tears the paper from the machine and rolls it into a tight cylinder.

With that, he blinks away.

In his Dad’s old office, he crosses to the fireplace, glancing disdainfully up at the painting on the wall, (What sort of pathological narcissist has an oil-painting of himself behind his own desk?). The green-tiled surround is flanked by two carved volute pillars, ostentatiously holding up the equally ostentatious mantelpiece. 

Beside the right-hand pillar on the swell of the chimney breast is a hidden compartment that opens only for his hand. Inside is a tube-shaped capsule and a pipeline disappearing upwards- it's a founder's privilege. He stuffs his note into the tube, the tube into the pneumatic pipeline and slams the lid shut.

He backs up, the back of his legs coming into contact with Reginald’s desk. He sits there silently, listening to a fly buzz somewhere in the room. His leg shakes restlessly for a moment until he can’t stand it anymore. He’s up and over at the glass-doored cabinet to his right. He pulls out the decanter, two glasses and pours a generous amount into each. Then, he takes up the slightly larger of the two and sips.

The fly stops buzzing. The air’s thicker. It’s a state Five remembers well. Time has been paused.

“Hello Number Five,” comes Herb’s friendly voice, “long time no speak.”

“I was kinda hoping to finally knock my time with the Commission on the head... yet here I am.”

Five turns and sits behind the desk. With a gesture, he offers Herb the seat on the other side.

“Bourbon?”

Herb accepts, taking his seat and placing his briefcase under the table. Five passes the other glass over the desk.

“How’s Dot?”

“Well, thank you,” Herb smiles, “and your lady?”

A slight shadow passes Five’s face, which Herb doesn’t miss.

“She's well.”

Wisely, Herb decides not to pursue this line of enquiry. Instead, he gets down to business.

“Now, how can I help you today?”

“It's small fry from your perspective but I got some suspicions, Herb." 

He leans back in his father's chair and crosses one leg over the other before continuing.

"Holbrook Elementary school in the city. Four kids in one class have developed cancer and it’s too unlikely to be a coincidence. There’s no atmospheric reason that I could place and yet they’ve got this corporate sponsorship with the soda company JUICED....and the stuff is all over the school.

Herb nods, smilingly, “You trying on the old superhero cape again?”

“It’s my nephew’s school Herb.���

“Ah.” Herb takes another sip of whiskey.

“Now, I’m hoping you’ll be able to run some numbers and help me out here. Give me something to go on.”

Herb looks pained, “Er- you know that I can’t-”

“Yes, I know you can’t just tell me the answer but can you at least indicate the path to finding the answer, or maybe tell me if I’m way off base.”

Herb considers.

“Give me,” he checks his watch, “until tomorrow on my end but I can make it five minutes for you.”

“Thank you.”

With a nod, Herb picks up the briefcase and vanishes.

The fly resumes its buzzing, the air clears. Five massages the pressure points at the bridge of his nose in an effort to clear the slight build up in his sinuses that always results from the pausing and unpausing of time. He finishes his drink and pours another, containing one restless leg’s desire to shake with difficulty. He checks his watch.

The fly appears before his face, he lifts a hand to waft it away just as it freezes in mid air. Herb, wearing a different shirt and tie, is again before the desk, holding a thick file.

“Hello.”

“Thanks again Herb.”

 Five plucks the static fly from mid-air and positions it out of his eyeline before continuing.

“What have you got for me?”

“It’s as I thought. I can’t give you much because you’re integral to working it out.”

“Ah shit.” Five leans back into Reginald’s old desk chair, “you mean, the old fashioned way? Like, chemistry?”

“Afraid so.”

He sighs, “So I’m reading up on chromatography?”

Herb gives him a little shrug and jerk of the head as he takes a sip of his whiskey, his face seems to say: Maybe, but I can’t tell you.

“Is there anything, anything at all you can say?”

“I can put your mind at ease: Santiago does not have cancer.”

Five lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Five seems too wired to sleep. He has the bit between his teeth and can’t let go. He told you that Santi’s fine but nothing else. It’s like trying to sleep next to a coiled spring. You turn over to face him.

“You don’t seem tired.”

“I need a good night’s sleep. I just can’t switch off.”

“Want me to help?”

"It's not really your area." 

It’s not really a dismissal, just a statement.

"Maybe I didn't mean like that."

His eyes dart towards you. He thinks he knows what you’re getting at, but after skating on thin ice over the last week, he doesn’t want to assume.

“I’d be…grateful.”

 For your part, you’ve been noticing him this evening. His eyes look bright, hard, intense. All his mannerisms became more pronounced as his inhibitions were swept away in the greater current of his roiling mind. His hands were shoved so deeply in his pockets that you were sure they’d rip. His characteristic forward lean had been so pronounced it was almost a bow. 

He attracts you more than you’d wish considering his attitude right now, but now you’re willing to forget everything, even his caginess, just to be able to pleasure him. You don't want to think too hard about the implications of this.

Pushing down your conflicting feelings, you kiss his neck softly, burying your nose in his lower hairline and breathing in his smell. It makes your stomach flip; familiar, but intoxicating. You creep your mouth up to his ear and blow softly into the shell. When he still seems distracted, you glide the back of an idle hand down his naked chest and over his stomach as you run your tongue along his helix. This always makes him shiver and today is no different.

Having captured his full attention, you return your mouth to his neck and raise your hand to his nipples. He sighs, vocalizing a small moan as you stimulate the sensitive buds- rubbing first one and then the other to hardness. You switch your mouth’s focus, tongue coming instead to rhythmically flick each nipple with its tip while your hand caresses his neck. 

His breathing becomes more expressive as your hand comes down beneath the sheets and beneath the sweatpants he sometimes likes to sleep in. He lifts his hips and pulls them down for you as you give his rapidly hardening length a gentle stroke, redoubling your efforts on his chest to get him there faster.

When he’s fully hard, you pump him softly, occasionally stopping to just stroke the head between your thumb and other fingers in the way that he likes, spreading the leaked precome over his swollen glans. When his little sounds of enjoyment become needy, you speed up. With a little hiss, he thrusts upwards, the muscles in his lower body flexing invitingly into greater prominence.

Before you can get him there, you know you want to taste him. You burrow under the sheets and take the head into your mouth, teasing the rim of his glans with the warm-wet pressure of your lips. He lets out a moaning sigh. You don’t intend to draw this out, but you can’t resist inching your mouth slowly down his length, making sure he can feel every moment before you take him to completion. 

He throws the sheets back to look down at you with his whole dick in your mouth. You look up at him with the eyes that had first attracted him; their doe-like innocence in stark contrast with the situation

"Haaah…” he whispers, “make me come, you little cocksucker." 

His hands come to the sides of your head, fingers as usual tangling in your hair.

Now you bob your head, focusing the flat of your tongue on stimulating the head while he’s inside you. You look up at him again; his eyes are half-lidded and mouth agape. Your mouth is making sloppy, wet sucking noises as you go down on him, your saliva leaking down his shaft. You can tell the sound and sight is turning him on just as much as the feeling. 

"Fuuucck. You look so good down there. So good. You gonna swallow what I have for you?"

You want to swallow it. You don't care about anything else- not his disregard, not his dismissal, nothing. His moans become grunts and his hips rise off the bed. You add a hand into the mix, stroking the shaft in time with your mouth, now concentrated on the head. As your eyes meet his again, his hips jerk spasmodically and his grunts become a sustained roar. You keep it up as you feel him douse your waiting tongue with his milky-sweet seed. 

The taste of him makes your nipples harden. You slow down slightly, knowing that his most intense orgasms become too much if you attempt to go hard with direct stimulation. With his voice subsiding into gasps, you milk and swallow all the come you can from him, greedy for it. 

“Ah…stop”

You remove your mouth and give him one final, long stroke, just to make sure you got it all. You lick the last little bead from his opening- not willing to waste the tiniest drop. He sighs contentedly.

Is there a hint of smugness in his look, or is it your imagination?

"Mm. Thank you, dear one." he mumbles, rolling onto his side and enfolding you in his arms. As he strokes and kisses you, you come down from the high and stare into space. He rubs your hip.

"Can I...do you?" 

"It's fine." you murmur. 

"If you're sure?"

He sounds surprised, but only slightly.

In response to your confirmatory nod, he kisses you with lithe-lipped tenderness, stroking your cheek with light, loving fingers. He breaks the kiss slowly, looking at you with adoring eyes. Then he holds you to him again and relaxes into his post-orgasm euphoria, eyes closing.

"I love you so much." he whispers, sleep beginning to overtake him.

"I love you too." 

He doesn't notice the slightly bewildered tone to your voice. What happened to your self-respect?

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh,@nevbrooke-555

Masterpost Alternatively, join me on AO3.  Here is a link to the whole series

[anyseany]

1. Intro

Author's note : I'm so with our vote, 112 votes? I didn't expect this interaction, I thank everyone who participated and voted <3 Not all chapters will be like this, short or focused on thoughts, but this one in particular, I couldn't imagine it in any other way

Explanation: Briefly explaining the concept of this series, they will be fics based on Ari's eternal sunshine album. Each episode will be a completely different story, and may or may not connect, it will be turned to the old racha (Chan, Bin, Minho and Hyun.) With chan in emphasis on why I'm Channie utted, it's inevitable.

About the warnings, I prefer to put it by chapter, since they will be different stories.

About this chapter: almost established relationship, chan and s/n idols, secret relationship, fluff, romance, sweet nonsense.

🎂 ˖ ࣪ ‹ bang chan ☁️⁺˖ ⸝⸝

How do I know if I'm in the right relationship? Okay, feeling things and smiling at nothing seems like the sign, but… How do I know if I'm not going to get hurt once again?

I should be afraid to risk myself once again, even worse, risking our careers, but I can't care like anything else if it's not the two of us.

Watching christopher work brought me this feeling, we are moving towards a relationship, adjusting our lives succinctly and without the other noticing, it's been months since we met as mutual friends, we got closer, more intimate, more comfortable with each other, and today we are in this cafe, he worked eagerly on something on his notebook while trying to have time for me, and I didn't hear anything he was talking about. Shouldn't I know that kind of thing? Feel it right in the background and accept it? Just give me up?

I don't know

But we kissed, like, five weeks ago, and that didn't come out of my head, I wonder if when he thinks about it, it makes him smile like he does me. He seemed to want it as much, just as he wants now, he wants me to be in his life.

"So what do you think?" He asks as he smiles under that black cap, that damn smile. "Does a movie night sound good?"

"We can do it, you know, after some adjustments to my schedule." He smiles once again and goes back to the computer, I sigh thinking about how inspiring he has been, I had already composed four songs just this month, and it still seemed so little. "But where would it be?"

I really think I don't mind being the only one in love among us, as long as someone loves. "Don't worry about it, leave it to me." He goes back to typing on his computer, and I love how I don't have to worry about anything while I'm with him. "Only be beautiful, not that you need to." He raises his sharp eyes quickly and laughs when he sees me blewing hard. I'm glad I ordered iced coffee.

I would love to be who he thinks of, but I must be, after all he comes to me whenever we have a day off or a day off, today is a clear example. He could very well be with his members somewhere nice, but he passes them with me.. should that mean anything? Isn't that right?

For the first time I knew how to be loved, even if I don't know for sure that he loves me. Does it make any sense?

"Please choose a good movie this time." I say taking another sip of my drink.

"Hmm, I don't know if I want you to pay attention to the movie, or to me." He says thoughtfully, and aimda looking at the notebook screen, I feel his hot hand covering mine that was on the table.

After so many frustrations and loves that went wrong for me, I wanted this one to work out, if everything ended today, I wanted to be the one he thinks of, if the sun didn't shine or the moon forgot to come, I wanted to be the one he thinks of. Because I know that the woman he loves will be the happiest person in the world, and I would like it to be me.

[thecoffeelorian]

The Transport On The Left, #5

Title:  The Transport On The Left

Chapter:  Five

Genre:  Drama/Mystery

Word Count:  1.1 k.

Characters Included:  Wrecker, Captain Rex, and Commander Wolffe.

Brief Description:

"Does it make him a giant nerfherder to wish for something else besides working for scraps from others who don’t exactly enjoy his company, let alone having to stare down the barrel of what’s left of his life and spend it in total maddening silence?

Or should he just swallow all these feelings down like they’re a tasty milkshake from Dex’s Diner, force a smile, and go on doing whatever Hunter wants…?"

AO3: Link Here

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@i-dont-know-how-this-site-works @moonstrider9904 @yeehawgeek and anyone else looking for a story where nobody dies.

Special Notes: This divider was created by @djarrex , and so I give all credit to her. :)

One // Two // Three // Four // Five// Six

Five

They’re gonna yell at you for stormin’ out like that.

Let ‘em yell all they want.

Hunter doesn’t like it when you do your elopement thing.

Hunter can deal with it just like everybody else.

Wrecker’s steps echo a bit too loud in the station’s corridor as he walks, a somewhat achy reminder that this station has, unfortunately, lost its purpose in life. Once, it held the solid position of tending to the wounded of the G.A.R., and as such could see up to two hundred Troopers a day if the fighting grew that heavy.

Nowadays, however, even though it’s got enough supplies for the welfare of around two battalions, it’s lucky to see a grand total of ten Troopers or less. Maybe that’s the amount of people in here right now, because even with his bad ear, Wrecker hardly hears anyone else out here besides himself. That’s got to be a good thing, then, because it means less chance of discovery and attack by any unwanted visitors, sure…but then again, it also means there’s almost nobody to talk to.

Especially not when the good Captain’s team of rescuers delivered Crosshair into their hands one minute; then had to go off to a different area of the station the next. Not when they’re still waiting for the grand return of AZI-3, as well as the chance of putting at least one unsolved mystery to rest.

Still…would it really have hurt Cap so much to stick around for more than a few minutes?!

Wrecker lets out a loud sigh and plops himself down in front of the nearest skyhole, his annoyance fizzling up ever so slightly. Okay, so he DID lie about going to find Fireball, but then again, he could cut the tension in that hospital room with a lightsaber, so he had to get out of there FAST. After all, he needs more to do lately, even if he won’t say such things out loud.

On the one hand, yeah, he IS happy to do other things besides fight and blow things up all the time. He’s finally bought his own paint set with the credits Cid managed to toss his way, so obviously, he’s learnin’ how to use ‘em. Already he’s tried his hand at painting a few tookas on the walls of the Marauder—red and black, of course, although he won’t exactly say no to the other colors as well—and so far, everyone seems to approve. Kriff, even Tech got so excited over his new talent that he almost dropped his datapad to get a closer look, and Tech NEVER puts that thing down. That has to count for SOMETHING.

On the other hand, though…painting and scrapping for barely fifty credits apiece seems to be ALL that he’s good for lately, because not only has he NOT had a good brawl in ages, but unfortunately, there’s been almost NO explosions whatsoever…and honestly?

The lack of any real action is becoming just so…BORING!

And if he has to be honest with himself, which he WILL—Wrecker really and truly MISSES IT.

He misses the way he and the rest of the boys could push their way through enemy lines with nothing but sheer determination and a really big ship door.

He also misses how, even though some of the locations they were dispatched to looked nothing but impregnable, they always managed to find their way in and out with barely a scratch gained in return.

And third, but certainly not least, he misses—other people. Other Troopers who not only could back his squad up in times of trouble, but also WOULD lend a hand without ever thinking twice about it. Is it SO wrong of him, then, to want SOME part of this to come back in his life?

Does it make him a giant nerfherder to wish for something else besides working for scraps from others who don’t exactly enjoy his company, let alone having to stare down the barrel of what’s left of his life and spend it in total maddening silence?

Or should he just swallow all these feelings down like they’re a tasty milkshake from Dex’s Diner, force a smile, and go on doing whatever Hunter wants…?

It’s about a minute or two later when Wrecker starts hearing voices coming from down the hall, two in total, and they sound kinda annoyed with each other. Does this mean Captain Rex is circling back around…? It might be great if he did! At least he might have somebody to vent to about his thoughts, then—that is, if Cap isn’t too busy with anything first!

“—don’t understand why—have commed—while, SIR.”

“We’ve—through this, Wolffe—utmost secrecy…”

And that’s just without the added bonus of getting to hear something, ANYTHING, about all of the Trooper rescue efforts going on behind the scenes. How wizard would THAT be if he did…?!

“I am sorry—Venator disaster, don’t get me—but it’s better if—things are kept—”

“—Who’s. There.”

All three of the men in this hall—Wrecker, Captain Rex, and a second Commander who also looks like he’s missing one eye—immediately fall still and silent, their respective focus turning to size the others up.

“Excuse me, sir, but I don’t believe we asked for eavesdroppers.”

Wrecker himself suddenly gets the feeling he’s standing before that nexu back on Saleucami, only this time, it’s learned to take on Trooper form so that it can catch human prey ten times easier.

At least, that’s the way he reads the room until Cap steps forward, one hand raised in a calming gesture.

“Easy, Wolffe, he’s a friend.”

“You’re SURE.”

“Yes. Wrecker’s—friend of Echo’s, so by association…”

“…He’s a friend of ours.”

“Correct. Now, could you PLEASE stand down…?”

Wrecker swears that he sees Wolffe’s mouth twist into a downward turn of disapproval, a lot of Troopers had done that to him before—yet, thankfully, he also must have thought things over as well, for the next thing he knew, Wolffe had let some of the tension out of the room by taking two steps back.

“There we are...thank you, Commander.”

A collective sigh spreads around the little gathering there, and Wrecker can’t help but grin a little in relief. Things are tense enough everywhere, he knows, so obviously he doesn’t want to make any rough situations even worse.

“Yeah…thanks, Commander! Er…d’ you want me to go back with the others?”

“Well, I’m afraid that depends, Trooper. What brings you out here?”

The time has come, he thinks with a little shudder, taking in a quick breath and then breathing it out again. It’s now or never, Master Billaba give me strength...

Wrecker stood up straight, made eye contact, and began to speak his peace.

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 9

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: none for this chapter

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha​ @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos  @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper

Masterlist

Day 108

Eating in the destroyed hamlet had become a repeated practice for Leah and the team after their second visit. They had volunteered to perform biweekly sweeps to confirm no enemy elements had returned but they also stopped whenever they could get away with it. If anyone found out they’d repeatedly broken protocol, the team could be in serious trouble.

The boys never came in but the pup could always be found in the shed where it had made its den. After the third visit, the pup had stopped growling at Leah. By the fifth visit, the poor filthy thing willingly approached Leah, sniffing her pockets and hands for food. On the tenth visit, Leah managed to coax it into the humvee.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ethan’s alarmed voice boomed from behind her.

“Ingratiating myself with the Captain.”

“Is this bitch for real?” Jeremiah stage whispered to Ben, earning himself a middle finger from the woman in question.

For a moment, the four boys stood unblinking. They were in a sort of five way staring contest with the canine invading the backseat of their humvee.

“Fuck it, we could use a happy face around base.”

Ethan gaped at Benjie, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Benjie just shrugged, as if to say “why not”. From the look on Leah’s face, he had a feeling Sy wouldn’t be the only one to benefit from having a dog around. If he was honest, he dreaded every time they came to the hamlet because he always feared that this time would be the one where Leah came back from the shed in tears. He didn’t know how the dog managed to scavenge for food but he was damn glad it did.

“Fine… but I sure as shit am not getting anywhere near that mini wolf. You take back the turret and I’ll ride in the truck with Jer.”

Leah snorted in amusement, leaning her weight on one leg and crossing her arms. Ethan had a bit of a fear of animals. He was a big city boy through and through. Leah was pretty sure he would duck if a fat pigeon flew too close to his head. It was going to be fun watching him squirm whenever the “mini wolf” licked his hand or jumped up to ask for attention.

“So, if Coleman’s busy smuggling in the dog,” Rohan jumped in, “who’s gonna tell Cap?”

Shit. She hadn’t thought of that.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Sy demanded when Ethan and Jeremiah reported to his office for debriefing. “We expected you back over an hour ago and your sergeant was exceptionally vague as to the reason your ETA was pushed back.”

He’d been stuck with a desk full of paperwork since he’d gotten up that morning and it had put him in a particularly sour mood. There was a reason desk duty was used as a punishment around base.

“Coleman needed us to stop off on the return trip, Sir.”

The Captain’s face immediately changed from stern to worried, his head shooting up from the after action report he’d been reading. “Is she alright?”

About a million thoughts were suddenly running through his mind. Was she sick? Hurt? Had it come on out of nowhere or had he sent her out while she was feeling unwell?

“Oh, yeah, Coleman is fine,” Jeremiah said dismissively which did nothing but make Sy more concerned. He had the distinct feeling that they were hiding something.

“So the supply run went well?” Sy asked, attempting to get some sort of clarification from the two men.

It was Ethan who answered his question. “Of course. You know us, we handle our own even when things get a little rough.”

Beside him, Jeremiah choked down the urge to laugh.

Sy frowned at both men, beginning to lose his patience with their roundabout method of answering questions. Which was it? Had things gone well or had they been rough? He wasn’t in the habit of complaining that people didn’t talk enough but in this one instance, he would have appreciated a more detailed answer.

“Where is Sergeant Fuller? He should be the one debriefing.”

“He followed Coleman to her bunk.”

Sy stood from his chair, resting both hands on the desk. “You just said she was alright.”

Something was definitely wrong, why else would Ben be in her room? Ever since Nielsen had given her a hard time about seeing Sy go into her room, she never let anyone in there.

“And she is, Sir,” Jeremiah repeated. “We may work ourselves to the bone but we take care of our teammates.”

“I ain’t got time for this shit." He was just going to have to get the full story from Leah and Ben directly. “You’re dismissed,” Sy grumbled, pushing past the boys towards the door but they followed close behind.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sy, you’re in for a treat!”

“I’d ask what’s going on with you two knuckleheads but I’m not sure I really wanna know. Now get your asses outta here and go unload that truck before I write you boys up for whatever the hell this is,” he called over his shoulder.

“You may say that, but you’re all bark and no bite.”

At Jeremiah’s comment, Sy froze, finally catching on to their little joke. That couldn’t be right, could it? Instead of pressing them for further information, Sy sprinted up the stairs three at a time then down the hall until he finally reached the door to Leah’s room where he found Rohan standing guard.

“Are you gonna be the one to finally tell me what the fuck is going on?”

He just needed to hear someone say it—to know for sure.

“All I can say is that I’m under strict orders to not let anyone but you in.” Rohan looked down, digging through his side pocket. “And to give you these.”

Too shocked to form words, Sy remained completely silent as Rohan dropped the items in his hand before he disappeared. For a long moment, he simply stared at the half dozen peanut butter packets before tentatively pushing the door open. With one hand still on the doorknob, Sy’s gaze locked with two big brown eyes.

“Coleman…”

When he’d first seen it, Sy had thought the dog was just under a year old. Now, however, he could see that his guess had been way off. There was a dirty towel in the corner that Leah must have used to clean its fur, revealing the tan color on its face, chest and belly. He’d seen enough K9 units in his day to know that was a german shepherd staring back at him. A very young, emaciated german shepherd puppy.

Sensing he was no longer needed, Ben stood from the floor where he sat next to Leah. “I’ll go help the boys unload the supplies,” he said, sneaking past Sy.

“Don’t just stand there, Cap, shut the door.”

Moving like he was in a trance, Sy slipped into the room and leaned back against the closed door.

“Good, now sit down, put the peanut butter on the palm of your hand and try to ignore her.”

Sy fell to his ass, keeping his gaze on the pup. “Explain. Now. What the fuck is he doing here?”

“She,” Leah corrected. When Sy remained frozen, still awaiting an explanation, Leah slid closer, tearing open one of the packets and squeezing the contents onto Sy’s open hand. “We’ve sort of been sneaking to the village over the last few weeks. I got her to trust me enough to come back by training her to recognize peanut butter as meaning ‘good’.”

Slowly, with her body low to the ground, the puppy ventured out of the corner, her wet, black nose twitching as it followed the scent of the tasty treat in Sy’s hand.

He should have given her shit for sneaking around and being so reckless but he was more than a little distracted by a certain four-legged creature.

He was sure that the only reason she had survived was because Leah had cared enough to go back and take care of her. It made Sy hope that maybe it wasn’t only the dog that Leah cared for.

He couldn’t help but remember that Leah had gone looking for him that day. That she’d stayed with him to feed the pup even if they both knew she would most likely not survive.

“Try not to look at her, it’ll keep her from feeling threatened.”

He pried his eyes away, his gaze shifting to Leah. It was funny, there were only two things he wanted in his life—two things he wanted but wasn’t allowed to have—and both of them were in that room with him. Despite knowing it was wrong, it felt so right.

After what felt like forever, the pup’s tongue darted out, hungrily lapping at Sy’s ticklish palm. He tried to hide it but Leah didn’t miss the fond smile that pulled at his lips.

“You know we can’t keep her here.” It broke his heart to say it but it was the truth.

“Why not? It happens all the time on bigger bases. There are stories all over the Internet about soldiers befriending dogs in war torn countries and finding ways to bring them home. The biggest problem is that you can’t move the dogs if you move bases.”

That was true. As far as he knew, they weren’t going anywhere any time soon. He wanted to let Leah keep her so badly that it was hard to be the voice of reason. It was especially hard knowing that, if they put her back onto the street, she would either get shot, blown up, or starve. Unfortunately, he had to be a captain first and a dog lover second. Even if she was currently crawling on his lap and sniffing every part of him she could reach.

“I can’t let you keep a stray as a pet. You know damn well all the others will be tryin’ to do the same just to one up you. What do we do when the camp is overrun with litter after litter of stray puppies?”

Dammit. Apparently the pup had finished exploring and had decided that his lap was a good place to nap. Why did she have to be so cute? It would almost have been better if she’d turned out to actually be feral. Then he wouldn’t have been the one to cause her death by releasing her into the town.

“That’s why you should keep her. Everyone already knows you like dogs, just say she snuck in to search for food and that you wanna keep her within the camp gates.”

That… wasn’t a bad idea. No one but him and Leah had gotten a good look at her all those weeks back so no one would know the difference between her and any other stray around. Well, besides Leah’s team but those guys would go to the ends of the earth for her. If they kept the pup within the gates it would keep her from being mistaken for wild and it would prevent anyone from shooting her by mistake.

“How did you manage this anyway?”

Sy needed an extra moment to think everything through.

“My dad, he used to bring dogs home to foster. He always said we couldn’t have our own but every few months the shelter would give him a call. My dad was especially good with the aggressive ones so when they got dogs that were considered unsuitable for adoption, my dad would put in the ground work and see if we could rehabilitate them enough to give them a fighting chance.”

There was a hint of something sad in her tone as she stared at the scrawny shepherd. He could imagine that an endeavor like that didn’t always end well. It was really admirable though. It took a special kind of person to give an animal one more shot when everyone else was ready to give up and put it down.

“He sounds like my kind of man.”

Leah swallowed thickly, pulling the tie out of her hair and brushing it out with her fingers. He’d seen her do that the last time he was in her room—well, closet. She was always pretty but having her hair down gave a certain softness to her features that he rarely had the chance to see.

“Yeah, I bet he would have been.”

Fuck. That was why she was sad.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

She shook her head, not looking up from where she still played with her hair.

“Don’t worry, it was a long time ago.”

“Don’t mean it don’t hurt.”

It was his turn to look away. He slowly moved his hand over the pup’s neck. She was going to need a bath if she stayed with them. Her fur was still dusty and matted in some places. When she didn’t react to the touch, his hand slipped lower, resting on her chest. The slow rise and under his palm as she snoozed felt oddly comforting.

“Who was it?” she whispered.

“Every soldier I’ve lost who was under my command.”

He’d never lost someone close—thank whatever god was out there—but he did lose good men and it never got easier. There were always those nagging questions: Could he have done something more? Should he have done something differently? Was it something he did that caused their death?

He cleared his throat. “So, she got a name yet?”

Leah was as grateful as Sy for the change in topic and gladly turned the focus back to the canine.

“Nope. You got any suggestions?”

He did. He had many of them in fact. When his sister had first gotten pregnant she’d bought one of those baby name books. He’d once stayed with her while he was on leave and one night, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d picked up the book and read through each page until he was bored enough to let his eyes fall shut.

“Aika. I’m callin’ her Aika.”

Chapter 10

[elisysd]

12. You could be my luck even if the sky is falling down

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Safe and Sound - Capital Cities

Julia woke up early the next morning, too excited at the prospect to spend a whole day with her family. It had been so long. Sure, it would not be just her family as the Verstappens would join them but it was a detail. She was so happy when Louis said that he would come, something she had never thought he would, especially since it would be a loud place despite having privatized the whole thing for the day. WHen she asked Louis if he was sure he would like to come, he had told her that he wanted to see Ethan more. That he wanted to be a good brother to Julia and try to be a friend to Ethan. He didn’t know how and he didn’t really find a tutorial on the internet on how to make friends but Julia was his favorite person on this planet and he wanted to make an effort. For her. And Julia had almost cried. A mix of feeling her heart swell at his words, and a pang of guilt that she hated.

She expected to be the only one awake at this hour but her mom had beaten her to it. The usually neat and clean living-room was filled with red and yellow flags that Julia was quick to recognise, caps, t shirts and other accessories belonging to her dad ack when he was racing. Soon, Lyanna came back from the kitchen, wearing a full red outfit in clear support of her husband. Julia noticed her top with the name and number of her dad and laughed slightly. Her mom had always been Charles’ number one supporter.

“You go all in, for today.” commented Julia.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had the occasion to cheer on your dad. I missed it.”

“You know, you should come to one or two races. We are soon starting the European ones. I’m sure dad would love to have you there. And I do too.”

“I’ll be in Monaco, as I do every year. For other ones… I can’t leave your brother alone.”

“Maybe Louis could come?”

“You know how it would be, Ju’. The noise, the crowd… it would be too overwhelming. And he is not that interested in racing.”

“You should let him decide by himself. And I’m not so sure he would say no… Maybe if Ethan manages to befriend him, Louis would go.”

“That would be funny. Do you know how many times your dad asked Louis if he wanted to come with him on race tracks and Louis said no? And there would come around Ethan and Louis would agree. I can’t even imagine how your dad would feel.”

“Yeah, another reason to add on his list of ‘why Ethan is bad for Julia’.” She sighed as her mom served her a cup of tea.

“Your dad loves to tease you but he likes Ethan. He always liked him, it won’t change now that you guys are dating.”

Julia drank her tea in one gulp, avoiding her mother’s glance. She felt the liquid burning her tongue and throat and almost spitted it out. Her mom was too busy preparing everything to notice her daughter’s pain as she took out some cardboards and felt tips from a cupboard.

“Do you want to make some to cheer Ethan and your dad?”

“Mom… I’m not four anymore.” complained Julia.

“Come on, it will be fun!”

Julia rolled her eyes and was thankful when she saw Louis' silhouette emerging in the kitchen, his brown hair all over the place and his eyes behind his glasses barely open. He high fived his sister as usual. It was their own way to say good morning to each other, and let his mom kiss his cheek before taking place on the kitchen stool. Lyanna was quick to serve him his breakfast as he was looking at the mess on the kitchen counter.

“Do you wanna make supportive cardboards for dad and Ethan?” asked Julia.

He shrugged but actually took a pen and a cardboard before silently starting to draw some lines that Julia quickly recognised as a helmet. As she thought Louis was about to aim for the red color, she was surprised to see him take the navy blue and color his drawing.

“I bet Ethan will love it.” she said.

“I watched some videos of him. Did you know that he had the belgian flag and the netherland one on it? He said because this way he always has a piece of his dad with him when he is racing and it gives him strength.”

Julia didn’t know. She never really paid attention to Ethan’s helmet and she didn’t feel like pretending she knew about it.

“Did you watch a lot of videos about Ethan?”

“Some. It helped me to make a list of questions I can ask him and topics we can talk about, so I don’t feel weird. It’s doctor Rinaldi who told me that it could help me, especially in situations where I could feel anxious.”

“I’m sure Ethan will be happy to see you supporting him. It will help him beat dad, you’ll see. You’ll be his lucky charm.”

“Who will be a lucky charm?” asked Charles, entering the room, all ready to race.

He had a bright smile on his face and Julia could see the glimpse of excitement he always had in his eyes whenever he was about to be near a racing track.

“I’ll support Ethan.” Louis simply explained.

“I’m wounded, Louis. Deeply. How dare you betray me like that?” feigned Charles, a hand on his heart.

“You are fine. And I’ve never really supported you, so you can’t feel betrayed.” stated Louis making Julia laugh.

“Yeah, that’s true, munchkin. And you are right, Ethan will need every little bit of support he can get because I won’t go easy on him.”

“The opposite would have been surprising.” told Julia, nibbling on a lemon cake.

“What about you? Who are you supporting?” asked Lyanna.

“Whoever will be in front at the first corner.” joked Julia, standing up and leaving the kitchen to prepare herself.

They finally arrived on the karting track where the Verstappens were already there. Ethan was already in his racing suit and was sitting on a picnic table, on his own, playing on his phone. As her family was making its way in the building after saying hello to Ethan, Julia stayed behind and sat next to him.

“How do you feel?”

“Good. I didn’t go back to the penthouse after yesterday. I didn’t want to see anyone. Or to speak to my dad. Didn’t even say anything to him this morning when they arrived. I don’t want to end up saying something that I will regret and I don’t want to fuck up my race and give him a reason to criticize me again.”

“Max didn’t really criticize you… I do think he just wants what’s best for you and he just doesn’t know how to show it.”

“Yeah he does a pretty bad job. But I don’t want to think about it. Do you want to see something?”

“Depends…” she said suspiciously.

Ethan scrolled down on his phone before showing her a picture. It was the cactus, proudly sitting next to a little replica of his helmet on his bedside table. Julia laughed. She found that as weird as it was adorable.They talked for a bit about how Ethan was going to manage the race and if he was anxious. He was not, he was excited and determined to win. That would be something he would brag about for a long time. Soon, Louis came to them a bit shy.

“Hey… dad is ready. He is waiting for you.”

“Let’s go then.” said Ethan.

“Ethan, hey? I just want to wish you good luck.” said Louis, avoiding Ethan’s gaze.

“Thank you, buddy. It means a lot. I’m sure it will make a difference on the track!”

Louis smiled at him and they all headed to the track. Max and his wife were talking to her mom, laughing together. Julia and Louis joined them as Ethan was making his way to Charles that was already in his kart, ready to go. It didn’t take long for Charles to take the lead as Ethan was trying his best to catch up to him. Julia found that funny. She couldn’t help but think that it would be a nice bruise to Ethan’s ego but she didn’t really want to hear her dad bragging about it all day long. So when Ethan was about to be overlapped by her dad, she started to scream his name as loud as she could to support him. But still, Ethan was pretty pissed off when he crossed the line almost a minute after Charles who was still in the kart but had taken his helmet off.

“Well, I have to admit it was fun,” said Charles.

“Fun wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe it. Humiliating would be much more fitting.”

“Maybe Max can join us for another round, what do you think?”

Ethan tensed up. Sure he would love to race against his dad but he didn’t want him to have another reason to say how he needed to work on his trajectories. But he didn’t have much time to explain it to Charles as he was slowly driving to the grandstands to talk to Max.

“Hey, Verstappen? A little race to remind us of the good times? You’re up for it?”

Max looked to Ethan who had still his visor on and was not moving.

“I don’t want to give Ethan another reason to hate me.”

“I’m sure he would love that actually. He just wants to bond with you. With his dad. Drop the World Champion act for a race, would you.”

Max looked at Charles and then to Louis who was busy talking with Julia who was explaining something to him.

“If you want to make this race a bonding moment between father and son, maybe Louis could join us as well.”

“Louis doesn’t like karting. I don’t want to force him.”

But Max didn’t really care and walked to the brother and sister.

“Louis? Would you like to try karting later? Julia, you are welcome too.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it. I don’t know how it works.” replied Louis.

“Ethan could show you! I’m sure he would like it.” said Julia. “It could be a team race. You could be with dad and Ethan could be with his dad? What do you think?”

“I’ll think about it.” replied Louis but Julia saw a spark that was not there a few minutes ago, as if being treated like a normal teenage boy was something he was not expecting to happen.

It took a while before Max joined them and this time the race was not as easy for Charles. He was busy trying to defend against Max who had not forgotten anything about being ruthless on tracks but their little fight allowed Ethan to not get distanced easily. It was his time to prove to his dad that he was underestimating him. As Charles managed to put a little distance with his rival, Ethan was now battling against his dad and didn't hesitate to bump into him. It was a petty move from him, he had to admit, but it cost his dad his trajectory and allowed Ethan to put a few meters between them. And Ethan was so happy to cross the line before his dad that seeing Charles winning once again didn’t bother him much. As Ethan took his helmet off, his dad came next to him.

“That was an ugly stunt you pulled out there but well done.”

“You would have done the same thing.”

“Yeah, it’s true. But I had fun. What do you think about making it a new habit? Everytime you come back home we take one hour to ourselves to go karting together.”

“I would actually love that.”

In the meantime Louis was trying to make her mom let him try racing to which Lya was worried. After all, he still had his ankle in a cast and Lya was scared he would get hurt even more.

“I just want to try normal stuff and have fun like a normal boy, mom! I don’t care if it hurts after. I just want to try.”

“Louis… I just want you to be sure. You hate feeling trapped, you will have seatbelts on and a helmet. And it will be loud. You can’t have your noise canceling headphones, darling.”explained Lya.

“I know and maybe it will be just a one time only but, I want to try. Please, mom.”

Lyanna sighed and looked at Julia in the hope that she would pick her side. The brunette just shook her head in order to make her mom understand that it was something she would not interfere in. Finally, seeing her son so excited and genuinely happy to participate in something, Lyanna abdicated and let Louis go to Ethan who proceeded to explain everything to him. Next to her mom, Julia was observing the scene. They were cute. Louis seemed to really like Ethan and it was one of the first times that she was seeing Ethan smiling so carefreely. He looked younger and Julia found herself thinking he was really cute when he was not serious or behaving like an arrogant prick. She liked this version of him and she wished she would see it more often. As Ethan was helping set Louis up, he looked over to her and winked at her as he gave her a slight thumbs up to tell her that all was well.

Of course, the race was different, slower as no one wanted Louis to feel humiliated. Ethan ever slowed down enough to let Louis overtake him and at the end, Louis snatched the third position, in front of Ethan but behind his dad. As Louis was trying to leave the car, Ethan went up to him to help him.

“Hey, buddy! That was a nice race, right? You were good.”

“You let me overtake you.”Ethan could hear the anger in his voice.

“I mean… I wanted you to have fun, not to be last.”

“I don’t like that. I want to win fair and square, I don’t want to be helped or to be advantaged or to be treated like a kid. That’s not nice.”

Ethan could see him struggling to get out of the kart. He offered him his hand to help him get out of it, to which Louis refused, saying that he would be fine by himself. On the other side of the room, Lyanna was helping a very struggling Charles get out of the car, without trying to get noticed.

“My back… fuck it hurts.” he complained.

“Told you, honey. You are not twenty anymore. That was a stupid idea.”

“But it was worth it. I won, and I had a very nice moment on track with Louis. So I don’t care about the pain. Could you maybe give me a nice massage tonight, you know to ease the pain? And maybe a few kisses would help.”

“Just a few?” teased Lyanna.

Soon everyone was out of the building and ready to leave. Ethan was chatting with Louis who was, no doubt about it, telling him anecdotes about silly things. If it could be boring for most people, it was not for Ethan. He liked Louis and Louis liked him. Not once did he mention that he was autistic or asked questions about it. And it felt good for the teenager that, for the first time in a long time, felt like he was not treated differently, that he belonged somewhere. Julia joined them after helping her mom by putting all the cardboards and flags in the trunk of the car. They were laughing so much that she was scared to interrupt, but the warm smile of Ethan and his hand offered to her made her relax. She took it as he pulled her against him and her head found naturally against his chest as he draped an arm around her shoulders.

“Can Ethan come eat at home? I don’t want him to leave and I want to show him my comic books collection, he says he wanted to see it. Right, Ethan?”

“Well, I don’t want you to feel forced to do anything… maybe you are tired and I would understand if you wanted to go back to your place to rest.”

“I would like to spend more time with you both, actually. And with your parents as well. You dined at mine, it’s only fair that I dine at yours. But I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t. My mom will love it.”

And indeed Lyanna was over the moon when Julia asked her if Ethan could come for dinner, and to her surprise, Charles was happy too. Ethan was a little scared, he had to admit, at the idea of dining to Julia’s parents. All of that was making the lie all too real and he understood Julia better when she had told him that Louis could never know the truth about them. He was a nice kid, full of life and so intelligent. And he never stopped praising Julia. It was like she was holding the sun, the moon and the stars for him. He was looking up to her so much. Ethan found it sweet and it made him regret a little to be an only child. He would have loved to have someone like Louis alongside him. And deep down, he made the promise to himself that no matter what would happen between him and Julia, he would always have a place for Louis in his life.

As Lyanna was preparing dinner, helped by Julia, Louis almost took Ethan by the sleeve to show him his room and his comic books. Nothing could have prepared Ethan for what he saw, with all the books that were there, Louis could easily open a bookstores or a library. Louis carefully explained how everything was organized and what books he preferred and why, it could have lasted hours if Julia had not come to interrupt them and as Ethan was walking away, Louis made him promise to come back soon so he could show him what he had not the occasion to.

“Louis adores you. I’ve never seen him open up so easily to someone.”

“It’s not hard to love him.” shrugged Ethan as they were taking place around the table.

The dinner went well, full of laughs and for once, Louis didn’t put his headphones on and participate in the conversation that revolved mainly around Ethan, before moving to Ethan and Julia.

“Do you still have Julia’s bite mark from preschool?” asked Lyanna.

“I do, actually. Your daughter left her mark on me. I was hers from the very beginning. It just took us twenty years to admit it and find our ways to each other.”

“It has to be like that sometimes. It’s all about timing. The right time at the right place. It just nice to see her so happy around you.”

“Mom…” complained Julia.

“It’s true. I’ve never seen you smile that big and that much. You’ve always been so closed off, not letting people come near you. So focused on your studies and career. It’s your biggest strength but also your biggest weakness. I’m just happy you let someone like Ethan get through you.”

“Don’t think it was easy, Mrs Leclerc…”

“Call me Lyanna, Ethan please.”

“Lyanna, right. Julia knows what she wants and doesn’t settle for less than what she deserves. As she should, by the way. I just had to prove to her that I was what she needed.”

“That’s very arrogant of you to say.” replied Julia.

“You will learn that the Leclerc women are hard to get, Ethan. Her mom was the same. But once you have them, they change your life for the better, right love?” said Charles, looking tenderly at his wife.

“I’m just so happy for you darling. You have no idea.”

Julia could see her mom almost crying and it was like a reality check of the pain that she would inevitably cause her, whether she would learn the truth or not. Julia faked a smile and excused herself. Ethan noticed the subtle change in her attitude and stood up as well, following her to the garden.

“Julia? What’s wrong? Did I say something that I wasn’t supposed to?”

“No, you didn’t. It’s just that… When did it become so easy to lie to them? The more we talk, the bigger the hole we are digging for ourselves becomes. It will end up in a mess Ethan. If the truth comes out, it will destroy everything. My parents, your parents, our careers, our friends, Louis… oh gosh Louis. He loves you so much, he is already so attached to you. I can’t do that. He can’t know. Never, you hear me. Never. I…” tears were falling down her face and her breathing was erratic.

“Julia… hey. Look at me. He won’t know. I don’t want him to know either, I like this kid, okay?”

“I hate that. I hate this situation. I thought it would be harmless, that it would only be a little lie, but now everyone is involved and we are both too deep into it. I’ve never imagined that faking a relationship with you would make me feel like that…”

“Faking? You are not really in love with my sister?”

From behind a bush, Louis appeared, his mouth agape and tears rolling down his face and Julia felt her heart shattered in a million pieces.

Author's note: Well, well, well... it seems like the secret is out...What do you think will happen next? Let me know your theories, I love to read them.

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