#but see you gotta rustle the pod first

[snowshinobi]

if u were a song where in the album would u be

[peachysdmn]

stranded

part one of the “deceptive” series

this picks up where season 2 left off at. the pogues are stuck on the island while rafe, rose, ward and wheezie are on their way to the bahama house in nassu.

summary: when the pogues are on new land, they seem to be alone until a certain someone shows up and surprises them with a little bang.

warnings: swearing, mentions of a gun

pairings: pogues (includes cleo) x pogue!reader (from another island)

words: 1.2k

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when the pogues first arrived on the small island, they assumed that they were alone.

they spend their first night eating the fish they were able to catch by some newfound luck.

pope, being the brains of the friend group had started a fire that would help during the cold night that was rolling around as the run went down.

it also helped them cook their meal for the night, which was not the best food but no one complained as it was all they had to eat - well expect for jj.

“there gotta be some coconuts or something ‘round here man” he whispered to pope while they walked along the beach, trying to get away from the rest of the group.

these two were like brothers, two peas in a pod.

pope was the brains and jj was the was one up for anything. they might seem like an odd duo but the dynamic was perfect.

“maybe we should just wait until morning before we go looking” suggested pope. truthfully he was scared of the dark and the more the sunset, the more afraid he got. he didn't want to be exploring somewhere new in the pitch black.

“I'm hungry dude” jj replies back grumpily obviously not happy despite eating the most out of the group.

“jj, you had 5 fish!” exclaimed pope, he only had 2 and was shocked as he watched jj keep going in for more.

“yeah ok and?... fish are good for eyesight or something...arent they brainiac?”

pope knew jj would keep pushing so he followed along with the boy in front of him, regardless of his own thoughts which told him this was an awful idea.

as the two boys walked off into the trees, the rest of the pogues were setting up for bed.

as pope and jj explore the newfound land, they wandered deeper and deeper into the trees, unknowingly trespassing on someone else’s property.

“is that a light” jj pauses before walking closer to the white gleam.

“get down idiot!” pope pushes jj into the sand by his shoulders.

“this is technically private property so they have the right to sh-”

“hey!...anyone there?” suddenly yells jj

“shut up jj!”

jj pushes pope off him not wanting to miss out on the opportunity of an adventure, he didn't have anything to lose and wasn't already too curious to back out now.

the closer he got to the light, he realized that it was a porch light to a house.

“oh, shit” he mummers “pope, get over here!” eyes fixed forward

still scared and not wanting to be shot pope follows jj’s lead to see what's got his interest this time round.

“that's someone’s house we need to leav-”

“shut up, pope” seems like jj was not listening to anything pope was saying tonight.

both the boys freeze up when they see a figure step out on the porch.

they were unable to see what the person looked like besides a silhouette.

popes gazes over the figure and lands on whats in their hands, his eyes widening once he understands what he's looking at “jj i think they've got a gu-”

suddenly a loud gunshot lets out, leaving both boys turning towards each other before sprinting back to the group.

when the other pogues are within sight again, the boys start screaming “guys...guys..we've gotta leave”

“what was the sound?” questions john b

“dude, there’s some crazy person here with a freaking gun” breathly replies pope.

“g-gun?” kie stutters out

“yes, kie, come on let's go!” exclaims jj

before any of them have the chance to get on their boat to leave, the sound of rustling through the trees has them frozen in place.

“whos there?” shouts a voice, still hidden in the trees

“look..we were just leaving, we don't mean any trouble” shouts back john b

the figure steps out of the shadows, and a young girl about the same age as the rest of the group is revealed.

“we ain't scared of you” cleo speaks holding out her knife straight at the unnamed person.

“no cleo don't” sarah attempts to stop her from doing anything that might end badly.

cleos normal life would probably consist of her fighting the armed person but this was a completely different situation

“look i don't want to shoot” speaks the girl, her voice much softer than the rest of the group anticipated.

“how’d you find this place?” she questions since no one besides her and her father have been here in over 4 years.

“well it's kinda a long story, there's this guy r-”

pope cuts jj off knowing he will go on about all of their drama.

“we're happy to explain if you just put the gun down...”

slowly the girl lowers her weapon, still gripping it by her side in case she “needs to pop someone off” as her father would say.

john b approaches the girl with caution, taking slow steps not wanting to alarm her or make any unexpected moves.

“we just got lost out here...ok?” there was uncertainty behind john b’s voice which everyone else besides the girl sensed due to her lack of human interaction in many years.

her eyes narrow at john b before she speaks

“I'm mia” her breathing is jagged from the fact that there were 6 strangers on her island.

“hi, mia..my names sarah, this is cleo...and that's kiara” adds sarah

the other two girls give mia an unfazed gaze, while kie crosses her arms over her chest showing she was not intimidated by the weapon in mia’s hands.

cleo stayed silent staring mia down with her dagger still in her stands as she spun it around her fingers.

“I'm jj” inserts the blonde boy, walking up to the girl without hesitation. ignoring the fact she has a killing machine in her hands.

“nice house by the way” he adds pointing towards the trees where her dwelling was located.

“wait...you have a house out here?” speaks kie finally

“um yeah, i live here actua-”

“no freaking way! you? all alone out here?” says jj as if she was living the dream.

“well most of the time, my dad only shows up once in a month to drop off groceries and other things, he works a lot...” she trails off

“wait so...why do you live on a...deserted island? asks pope before realizing he has yet to introduce himself

“I'm pope by the way” raising his arm slightly waving

“I've lived here for a while now, my dad says its better like this” she scoffs

“whatever that means” she mumbles under her breath.

looking at the teenagers before her, mia remembers not being a part of any group close to what they have.

she feels tears well in her eyes but then remembers her father's words -

“never let people see your weakness, or they'll use it against you”

although she doesn't want to show her weakness in front of the group of strangers, mia feels herself throwing her only means of protection on the ground.

this could be her chance to make some friends and a gun isn't the best first impression

so she asks what none of the pogues were expecting

“wanna see my place?”

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my god, i have so many ideas...

should i make this a series lol?

[rory-for-short]

New Crossings New Horizons: Part 3

TELL ME WHY I DECIED TO MAKE PART THREE THE START OF A SLOW BURN PLOT WITH NOOK AND THE READER I HATE MYSELF BUT ALSO IM HAVING FUN. 

So the plan is to make a community out of this island over the span of one summer and a fall semester. Nook had explained that there were more generators arriving in the nest few days. It was up to you all to figure out how housing would work. The list went on and on from pod homes, tiny houses, campers, and prefab homes. Tiny homes won. With a stipulation. We would start with them, then upgrade to prefabs later on. It would be easier to run tiny homes with the starting generators until we could figure out an electricity grid, and work on a plumbing/ well system for now. Nook seemed happy with this decision, and in the meantime, you and Cherry went out to collect wood and supplies while Apollo and Bob offered to find food.

“Hey imma trap some bears maybe there will be a zoo eventually,” announced Timmy jokingly.

“You and what bear trap,” Tommy snickered.

“I have several yards of rope, that's all I need,” Timmy smirked, uncoiling some thick rope from a knot.

“You kids be careful and stay close to camp. Me and Y/N are going south to find some wood,” Cherry informed.

You had already gotten some rope and packs yourself so that you could tie up logs into a bunch for easier carrying.

“Me and Bob are setting up snares to the west. All for small game but still, watch your footing if you are going up our way,” Apollo warned before everyone parted ways. You and Cherry managed to not only find wood, but also collected a tote of wild strawberries. Soon evening was upon you. Cherry mentioned heading back now before it got too dark, so the two of you started heading back. You were walking in front of Cherry leading your way back to camp when you lost your footing and found yourself stepping in a snare. Apollo and Bob must have really covered their ground, because you two were nowhere near the west of camp. Yet here you were, dangling and suspended ten feet off the ground from a tree.

“Y?N! Are you alright?” Cherry exclaimed as she ran for you dropping strawberry filled tote and running towards your dangling form.

“Yeah, I think I’m good...Just hanging around,” you smirked half expecting a rim shot. “It looks like the guys had covered more area than we thought,” you reasoned. Your current position was impressive, and uncomfortable. There was currently a rope around your arms and torso that made moving your arms impossible. At least you weren’t hanging by the neck. You could deal with some rope across your chest and restraining your arms as long as you could breath. You counted that as a blessing.

“Do you see a place to cut me down?” you called to her. Cherry began to scurry around the base of the trunk and nearby trees.

“I don't see any rope down here. It’s like it's on you and the branch and just nothing. There should be some rope down here for easy release right?,” the small girl panicked as she darted to and fro, hurriedly searching for the end of the rope to cut you down. Yet nothing was found. Great. You sighed in frustration. As cool of a trap as it was, you could feel your arms being construed and knew you’d have bruising from the rough rope.

“Go get the guys at camp. They can get me down, they set the trap afterall. But be quick it's getting dark,” you warned. Cherry nodded and sped towards camp. Hopefully she could get to them fast and not leave you dangling all night. Not five minutes after she disappeared, you began hearing rustling in bushes. The hairs on your neck stood up.

“ah-Apollo? That you?” you asked meekly. No reply. To be fair it was a bit windy, and you reasoned that you being alone at night with visibility getting lower, you were starting to be on edge. However, that didn't keep your eyes from darting to every little sound. Ten minutes in and your arms really started to hurt. Not to mention it was getting dark-dark, not just late-evening-dark. Just then, you saw a flashlight coming from the direction of camp moving steadily towards you

“Y/N! Kid! Where are you?” called the voice of none other than Tom Nook. Well thank you for the backup, Cherry, but what luck would Nook have at figuring out an Apollo snare?

“Over here Mr. Nook!” you call meekly from the tree severely doubting Cherry’s judgment at the moment. His flashlight beam landed on you and you squinted at the sudden change of light.

“Oh thank god! I'll have you down in a minute kid, don't you worry,” he said voice dripping with concern. You weren’t really worried about being stuck up here all night, except for the fact you had no idea where the rope release was.

“Cherry couldn’t find the release. I doubt you'll have much luck in the dark Mr. Nook” you reasoned.

“Who do you think taught Timmy to set a trap? Don't worry, the end of the rope should be about shoulder height on one of these trees behind you.” he explained as he disappeared into the shadows behind you.

“Timmy?! I thought this had to be Apollo’s handy work,” you were slightly impressed and it was notable in your tone..

“Don’t tell Timmy that. I’ll go straight to his head. Okay Y/N, get ready and brace yourself,”

“Do wha-” and at that you were crashing down ten feet to the ground. You landed awkwardly on your heel at an angle and yelped a bit in both pain and surprise. Tom Nook was beside you in a blink.

A look of worry stained his features as he knelt near you. You were trying to shrug off the now significantly looser rope. Red marks and bruises were already forming on your upper arms and forearms.Pain surged through your foot. A look of horror washed over your face as you feared it might be sprained, rolled, or worse, broken.

“Sorry that landing sounded rough. Here, let me help you up. Your arms aren't looking too good either,” he noted as he scanned your bruised arms. He extended his hand to help you on your feet when pain shot through your leg, calf and foot. You winced and your step faltered. Tom noticed and held your arm a little tighter.

“You landed bad didn’t you? You think you can make it back to camp on that ankle?”

You hesitated a moment before answering.

“Uh, ye-yes I’ll be fine,” you said through gritted teeth as you tried to adjust your steps to be less painful. However, your attempted step caused another shrug of pain all the way from the heel of your foot up your calf. You suppressed a yelp. Your eyes, now watering from the injured muscles that betrayed you, met Nooks and you could tell he knew you weren’t actually all that fine.. You sheepishly looked down and away.

“You can’t walk back, can you?” he sighed. It was more of a statement than a question. A beat of silence fell between you and he finally resolved.

“Alright, I’m too old for bridal style so you’ll have to get on behind me,” he reasoned.

“What? No,- come on we can try walking-” but the ankle was already starting to swell and Nook gave you that Dadtm look that stopped you dead in the middle of your sentence.  A look he probably mastered by practicing it on Timmy and Tommy. The kind that said ‘I’m not arguing kid, do as I say’. You sighed as he crouched in front of you. You reached your arms around his shoulders and despite claiming to be an old man, he lifted you pretty effortlessly. Which should have taken more effort, you were a full grown woman after all. You, at this point, were red in the face and you knew it. It was a pretty embarrassing predicament, having the decider of your future employment carry you on his back through the woods like some kid that scraped their knee. How were you gonna hide the red face at camp? You didn’t know, but hoped everyone would be in bed already.

“Sorry Mr. Nook, I should have been more careful,” you muttered into his shoulder. You felt his chuckle resonate through his back and into your chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I was the one who dropped you too suddenly after all… and everyone calls me Nook or Tom. You don't have to call me ‘mister nook’ you know,” he answered softly.

You nodded into his shoulder and you both approached the camp. You saw everyone waiting on the two of you sitting around the fire with cooked fish and rabbit.

“Oh great. Looks like he managed to break her further,” Timmy laughed, elbowing Tommy. Nook shot Timmy a glare.

“I got her out of the “bear trap” YOU set. Really Timmy, if you are going to set snares, annonce them to the general populace so no one gets hurt,” Nook scolded with you still on his back, as he walked over to where everyone was sitting and eating. Red face was a go, but you could probably blame it on the injury and fire light. Nook helped you to sit on the log seating as Bob handed a plate your way. AT\t that moment you realize just how hungry you were.

“Catch of the day, besides you of course,” Bob snickered and you gave a light laugh.

“First I gotta splint up this ankle,” you explained.

“Ill get the first aid kit,” Cherry offered and scampered towards the main tent. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Nook a few inches from Timmys face, looking like he was hardcore chewing him ou in a hushed tonet. Now it was Timmy's turn to be embarrassed.

[val-aquenta]

So hey y’all. Remember me talking about that au yesterday where Anakin leaves the order and Obi-Wan and Anakin just drift apart. Well it’s here for the prompt: “I’m right here where you left me.” Anyways. This will be my last piece for angstpril for this year as I want some kind of break before Mace Windu appreciation to plan or stuff. So yeah. Thank you for coming on this journey, it’s been fun.

Here on ao3

Obi-Wan watched him walk away just like Anakin had once watched Ahsoka walk away and down. His heart broke just a bit then, seeing the broad, robed shoulders dip past the line of the stairs, the blonde curls disappearing as he walked down. Mace, strong and unmoving, laid a hand against his shoulder as he swallowed, a suspicious lump in his throat. He inhaled sharply, standing straight. The hand remained, a warm pillar that he could lean on should he wish. He didn’t.

The quarters were empty. Just him and the remnants of the past. He sighed, he should probably get to cleaning. Mace, he’d almost forgotten. He turned around, facing the taller man. “Mace, I should…”

“Take a break, Obi-Wan.” He said, a grim sort of smile on his face. “Force knows you deserve it.” 

Obi-Wan nodded and bowed. “I will.” He promised softly, not fully trusting his voice not to break. “May the Force be with you.” 

Mace bowed back, “And with you, Obi-Wan.” He turned and began walking away down the hallway, just like everyone else did. However, Mace turned around at some point, something desperate shining in his eyes and bleeding into the Force. He wanted to help. Obi-Wan just didn’t know how to accept it. “You ask if you need anything, alright? We’re all here for you.” Obi-Wan could only find it in himself to nod shakily, thanking the Force for blessing him with Mace. Mace seemed to want to say something before smiling ruefully and turning down a corner, waving behind in farewell.

He closed the door behind him, hand raising to his beard, absently stroking it. There was… too much here. A Temple room which had housed Qui-Gon and him, then Anakin and him, then Anakin, Ahsoka and him, and now finally just him. It was large, enough room to have two and a half people living comfortably. Anakin only stayed with them half the time. It felt strangely empty. Four generations of Jedi growing up here and now the only remainder of this lineage, just him, still lived there. The throw blanket, Anakin’s because he had simply been too unused to Coruscant’s climate, still laid half open from where Anakin had used it recently. His belongings, at least what little remained in the quarters after spending half his time apparently married to Senator Amidala, had been hastily packed away and taken to her apartments, Anakin’s new one. No doubt, he would have left a few things which he would either comm for or would simply be returned to him. 

Obi-Wan sighed, folding the blanket and throwing it over the back of the couch. It was ridiculously soft, comfortable for curling up with. He made his way to the kitchen, opening the cooling unit and seeing it still filled with Anakin’s favourite sauce, Anakin’s special juice (probably with alcohol. Obi-Wan hated it with a passion,) Anakin’s favourite everything. He sighed and shut the door quickly. Tea, he decided, would be able to be made with little memories of Anakin. Ever the odd one out, he had not enjoyed the intricacies of tea like Yoda, Dooku, Qui-Gon, Ahsoka, and himself had. Instead he had drunk caff, violently sweetened and strong enough to rouse a slumbering Krayt dragon with solely it’s scent. Cup fresh in hand, he moved to Anakin’s rooms where he could begin cleaning the reminders of Anakin away. Begin the process of truly becoming himself once more. 

He sees Anakin three weeks later. Predictably, there had been quite a few things left over. Obi-Wan, whenever he found one had placed it in a box, waiting for Anakin. “Hey Master!” Anakin greeted, dressed in fancy garments, very different from the leather tabards, perhaps not as traditional as Obi-Wan’s cream robes, but still rather traditional. They suited him. Perhaps more than Jedi robes ever did, Obi-Wan mused quietly in the pits of his mind.

“Hello Anakin. Come to retrieve your items?” He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the haircut, more like a trim. Anakin had been growing it out, ends raggedly poking out where they wished. It looked tamed, coiffed in a fashion that Obi-Wan began to recognise as Nabooan. He moved from the corner, inviting him in. He’d never done that before. Anakin entered awkwardly, quickly making a beeline from the rather full box of assorted materials. “You left behind quite a few items. Tea?” He offered, hands tucked into his robe sleeves.

“No thank you… unless it’s floral.” Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in surprise, sending a silent question at Anakin. “Oh. Padmè, she’s got this blend in her rooms from Naboo. Really delicate and sweet.”

“Interesting.” Obi-Wan tried not to be bitter over the fact that despite over a decade of his efforts to get Anakin into some kind of tea, Senator Amidala had done it in less than a month. “I did not think you would ever willingly drink tea.” He murmured, somewhat idly bustling away to prepare his most floral, and sweet tea. 

Anakin chuckled, hoisting the box in his hands. “Yeah… er, Master? I know I said yes to tea, but Padmè has this function thing she wanted me to go to soon. So…” He trailed off apologetically. Obi-Wan stopped where he was rifling through his canisters of tea, plastering an easy but false smile onto his face. Anakin could only tell the difference sometimes. Hopefully he was distracted enough not to. 

“Of course. No worries. I’m sure you’re busy.” Anakin did not notice it. That stung. “I’ll just…” He bustled to the door, clicking it open. Anakin followed, box easily balanced with liberal use of the Force. 

“Well…” There is a silence, pregnant and uncomfortable. Obi-Wan shifts slightly. “Are you busy too? With relief missions and stuff?” Obi-Wan wonders what he can say and what is confidential. Once, he would have shared almost everything, but Anakin isn’t a Jedi anymore, isn’t here… with him. 

“A lot to do, as I thought, but it is relieving to do something that is not fighting anymore.” Obi-Wan admits easily. No specifics, just vague truths. “Being at peace, it is a good feeling.” Indeed. There is a lightness in the Force that he hasn’t felt in a while.

“Yeah. The Force is… warm. Light.” Anakin nods in agreement, items in the box clinking as they move against each other. There is another silence, deeply uncomfortable. Obi-Wan’s cheeks colour. He has been coined the Negotiator but he can not even speak with his own former Padawan now. The rift is just… wide now, in ways it was not before. 

“Yes. Well… your function?” 

Anakin startles, as though he’s forgotten which… is not exactly unlikely. “Oh yeah. Sorry Master, gotta go.” And, just like before, Anakin moves away, walking down the hallways for the exit. Instead of robes shoulders and unruly hair, Anakin is now all fancy fashionable clothing and perfectly done hair. Obi-Wan slumps against the doorframe, waiting until Anakin turns a corner before returning back to his quarters. It feels like a cruel mirror of the day Anakin first left, except Mace is not there and his room is even emptier, the few knick knacks of Anakin now gone. He sighs. He’s prepared water for tea, might as well use it and make himself a cup of tea. 

There is a long period before he sees Anakin again, just a glimpse of him in the corner of his eyes as he steps out of the Senate and into a speeder, Senator Amidala visibly pregnant. They don’t notice him, but he supposes that it is only a short moment, hardly their fault. The speeder emits a low hum before pulling away and racing for the speeder lanes. He hopes that Anakin is driving more cautiously with Padmè because of her pregnancy.

He sees Anakin a handful of times as Padmè's pregnancy continues, standing next to Senator Amidala in holo’s, Ahsoka sometimes with him, or on the other side of a function he’s been invited, or in the Senate pod for Naboo. There is no real talk, and their meetings become few and far between. The distance, not consciously done by either of then, begins to feel insurmountable. The handful of moments grow further apart. 

Obi-Wan catches him with Senator Amidala as they leave a function, no doubt returning to the newborn children they now have. The two are dressed wonderfully in a matching outfit, cool blue and green. Their hair is done up. Obi-Wan notes how sharply they contrast him and his cream robes and short hair.  “Congratulations. I heard you had twins.”

“Master Kenobi, what a surprise!” Padmè says, smiling at him. “Yes. Luke and Leia. Ani named them.” She tugs Anakin’s arm a bit, adoring eyes turning in his direction, a wide smile on her face. 

“Yeah, Master. They’re the cutest. You should see them!” Anakin says excitedly. “Padmè can he…?” He trails off questioningly, eyes pleading with her. 

“Of course, of course.” She says. “I know how important he is to you.” Her voice is soft, only loud enough for Anakin. She looks at Anakin before turning to Obi-Wan. “Of course, only if you want to.”

“I would love to, but I… actually have something to do.” He says sadly. “I only came to offer congratulations.” He feels guilty at their twin expressions falling into a light dejection before Padmè is tugging at Anakin’s sleeve. 

“Well, Ani, we just have to invite him when he’s not busy. In… two years? Three?” She jokes lightly. The three chuckle softly before there is a pause, awkward and full of the gentle rustles of fabric as they shift a bit. 

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan finally responds, an easy smile lighting his face. “I’ll just call you when I have free time. I would like to see them.” He leaves soon after, the two bidding him a fond farewell. He never has time to make that call, he hardly ever has free time with all the relief missions going on. Mace says that he’s drowning in work to avoid his problems, but Obi-Wan would disagree. By the time he thinks he’s free enough to visit them, Obi-Wan spends ten minutes staring at the contact on his comm. Shame rises, it has been years since the function and it feels too late to call them to ask to see the twins. The meetings between then and now have been formal, in events where Obi-Wan wore dress robes and represented the Order officially, or they have been fleeting, glimpses across the Senate or on opposite ends of a transport.

Obi-Wan and Anakin meet in the hangar of some backwater planet by pure coincidence. It is one of the first times he’s seen Anakin without Padmè at his side. Obi-Wan is leaving his ship as he spots Anakin walking up, his back turned away. Anakin feels him in the Force and turns instinctively, eyes locking with his. They stare for a moment, just a second, before Anakin turns, not even waving or acknowledging him, and climbs up the ship. Obi-Wan finds himself watching the ship lift off and disappear into a small pinprick of light amongst millions, feeling an acute piercing sense of loss. His mind replays sparse moments of connections. He does not know exactly when, but Anakin’s been slipping away for a while. It is only now that Obi-Wan is realising it. 

Obi-Wan and Anakin. Kenobi and Skywalker. The names once only ever used in tandem. Each one following the other into battle and in space, to the ends of the world. Once as close as brothers, so in tune with each other. Some starships still bear the symbol that would showcase their connection to each other. Two halves of a whole. Now… little connects them. Obi-Wan has not even seen Anakin’s children save for small snapshots of their lives from the other end of a fancy dress party, and some footage of them on a holonews report about a break in. He had not even messaged or called Anakin to ask about his health after that. Simply looking at the contact made him almost want to throw the device at the wall, but that would not help. The problem wasn't the device, it was just them and their lives falling apart from each other. No, they are not close. Not at all. Obi-Wan looks at Anakin no. the new Anakin. He’s changed a lot. The scar still cuts his face roguishly, accentuated by subtle makeup. His hair is long, braided and pinned into an elegant style on his head. His robes, a riot of colour, mostly warm orange tones. Little reminds Obi-Wan of the Jedi knight, recklessly driving forwards with his blue blade raised high, let alone the young Padawan he had once held so dearly by his side. He has let Anakin walk away and Anakin is not his Anakin anymore. The lump of emotion, a solid block laying in his throat threatens to choke him. 

“Hey Master, or should I say Grandmaster Kenobi?” There is that teasing tone, strangely stiff yet still familiar. The motion is familiar, ingrained after there decade of companionship, but rusty with disuse. Yoda had stepped down, age forcing the green troll to spend it in easy meditation with younglings and Masters alike. Obi-Wan finds Yoda’s shared meditations a highlight of his week. Lately, though, he has an inkling that the little Master is falling asleep during meditation. He doesn’t have a heart to point it out, not when the wrinkled clawed hand will reach for his after and lightly squeeze, a soft smile curving the wrinkled face when Obi-Wan responds similarly. He’s also pretty sure Yoda knows he knows.

Obi-Wan quirks a smile at Anakin’s quip. The smile feels formal and stiff. When had their easy camaraderie turned to… this. “Hello Anakin, or should I say Senator Skywalker.” Anakin had become Tatooine’s first Senator, notorious for starting revolutions and rebellions on planets as well as causing problems in the Senate. There is silence, not the easy silence they had in the calm before a battle. It is uncomfortable, glances shared between them awkwardly. Obi-Wan both wishes and does not for those times before Anakin left. “Well, perhaps I should g-”

Anakin speaks in tandem, “Master I-”

“Oh… sorry, go on.” Obi-Wan gestures a bit with his hand in a waving motion. 

Anakin pauses for a moment, hesitating before speaking, something flashing in his eyes and in the Force, some kind of desperation for something. Closure, perhaps. “Obi-Wan… we hardly ever talk. Like we used to, you know?” Obi-Wan nods, his hands clasped respectfully in front of him under his robe sleeves. “We almost never see each other. I never see you around anymore.” There is a hint of accusation as if it is Obi-Wan’s fault that they never see each other. Anger flares softly before it is controlled, accepted and let go. It is not his fault, nor is it Anakin’s. They have simply… drifted apart. It has happened naturally over the course of years. The bonds that had once bound them tightly together had loosened with distance before fraying completely. 

Obi-Wan feels obligated to answer, though. “I’m still here. Right where you left me.” He says, softly, feeling his eyes sting. “I never left really, just tried to move on.” He tacks on after a moment. “You left. I let you go, and you bloomed far away.” His hand gestures absently at Anakin’s getup. Anakin makes an aborted move to speak, stopping as Obi-Wan lifts a palm, asking for silence. He needs to say this. “You’ve changed. It’s not bad, but you have. You’re not the Anakin Skywalker I knew, and I don’t think I’m really the Obi-Wan you knew.” The tear slips and falls, cleaving a warm trail down his face to his beard. He sniffs, wiping it away absently. “We’re not the same as we were before you left. This… rift, it is not your making or mine, it just happened over time. A product of it.”

“But I don’t want it to change!” Anakin protests loudly, voice raising. Even his voice has changed. It  is no longer just an outer rim accent, but it’s also mixed with the formal tinges of Coruscanti “I wish it wouldn’t.” His voice is a bit softer, but the vindication is still evident.

“And I wish I still knew you the way I did.” Obi-Wan agrees easily. The tears fall easily, mourning the man he’d known before, lost to the sands of time. He misses his Anakin like a limb cut off, but he knows better than to think it can still come back. He will take what the Force gives him and will accept what it takes.

“You do!” Anakin said, moving forwards slightly. "You do know me." Obi-Wan steps back and blink up at the perfectly coiffed hair and colourful intricate robes. “You do.” He repeats again, softer and less certain.

“Do I?” Obi-Wan inhales sharply, his chest hitching. The tears fall quite freely now, wamr trails sinking into his beard. He doesn't sob, it is not his way, but his hcest does rise in aborted sobs. “I don’t think I do.” He looks up at Anakin. “I knew you in one chapter of your life, Anakin, but now you are not him.” His face turns to the ground, hiding the fact that he’s desperately scrubbing at his face. “I miss him.” Obi-Wan admits readily, letting out a tired breath. “I miss the Anakin I used to know, but I’ve let him go. Long ago I watched him walk away forever. I know he’s not coming back.” He finishes softly, tiredly.

“Master…” Anakin doesn’t say anything. Anakin doesn’t sob, not anymore. HIs tears are silent little streaks of water glinting in the light as they fall down his face, still smooth like it was before. They take some time to compose themselves, Anakin bringing out a tissue to dab his eyes while Obi-Wan simply uses his robe sleeve. “I don’t think you changed. Not really. Already too old and set in your ways.” Anakin smiles grimly at Obi-Wan’s wet chuckle. “I think it’s just me.” Obi-Wan’s silence is almost an answer by itself. Obi-Wan’s silent sobs start disappearing, replaced by a numb, emptiness. He finally looks up at Anakin. “I just wish things were different. If I’d visited…” He trails off.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I don’t think that would have changed much.” He swallows, smiling softly. It juxtaposes the tears that still run freely down his cheeks. He mourns the Anakin that was a Jedi Knight, the Padawan who had eagerly asked him for answers to his infinite questions. This Senator Skywalker is little more than a stranger. The realisation hurts. “I’m sorry. For taking your time and all that.” The smile is hesitant, soft and unsure of how it will be received by his once-brother. 

“No, no. I’m sorry.” Anakin smiles, the response thawing Obi-Wan’s heart just a bit. Anakin looks down at his wrist, a hum going off. “Oh, Force, the time. I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, but I have to go.” 

“No worries. Just… stay safe, Senator.” Anakin nods in acquiescence before bowing respectfully and turning around. Obi-Wan watches him go, the sun lighting his back and, for the first time since Anakin left the Jedi, Obi-Wan does not exactly feel the rift between them grow as Anakin walks away.

[parvuls]

fic: in the space between (2/2)

word count: 6.6k

rating: teen

tags: space, science fiction, enemies to friends to lovers, pre-relationship

notes: due to length and tumblr's formatting, reading on ao3 is recommended

(part 1 | part 2 | read on ao3)

-

    “Just a month till we’re home, boys,” Holster announces as he climbs into the bottom bunk across from Eric, addressing the dark room at large. Eric can hear him shift around in his bed, sheets rustling with his movements. “Can I get a hallelujah?”

“You can get pizza,” Ransom replies dreamily from the top bunk above him. “Because Holtzy -- The Real fucking Pep God. You and me, Matty Matheson pepperoni. One month.”

There’s one month left until landing back in Houston and disbanding for three weeks of leave. It’s been creeping up in conversations for weeks now, nestling itself in crew breakfasts and mission briefs and downtime. Shitty waxes poetry about things like dipping his toes into the ocean and breathing that sweet Terra air as often as he talks about smoking three joints at once the moment they set foot on the ground. Holster and Ransom talk about the heaps of food they’ll be shoveling to compensate for a year of outer space cuisine. Jack doesn’t talk about much other than the missions, and Eric thinks about organic chemistry and molecular modeling on good days, thinks about crying on bad ones. He talks about almost anything else to distract himself and hopes to Jesus that no one can tell.

The picture frame on the shelf by his bunk wobbles on its back stand as the ship tips into Krer orbit for the night. Krer itself is dim and murky, obscuring the shining lights of its neighboring planets and cloaking the crew quarters’ portal window in darkness. Jack said that the last mission of this tour should be coming in from Flight Director Hall sometime during the night.

Eric sighs quietly, turns onto his side, and stares blindly at the blank white of the wall as he mentally runs through the primary structure of proteins once more. Holster and Ransom are arguing about the best Toronto pizza in the background, the sound of their voices weaving in with the beeps of the ship’s machinery and the creaking noises of it when in motion.

“You gotta come too, Bittle,” Holster says, drawing Eric’s attention. He rolls his head to the other side, watches Holster’s blurred figure move in the dark to lean over the edge of his bunk. Eric must’ve missed a change of conversation. “Getting together over leave? We spend the last day before launch together, all of us. Y’know, hitting some bar, maybe watching a game, then catching the plane to Texas in the morning. Last time we went to Shitty’s -- man, that was fucking wild sauce.”

“And you gotta meet Lardo,” Ransom adds. “Crew bylaws. Sorry, rookie, everyone’s in.”

There are ten densely-printed pages about prokaryotes crumpled in the back of Eric’s personal locker, that he’s riffled through maybe twice. Eric chews his lip raw, tries to think of a carefully-masqueraded way of brushing the invitation off, but Holster grumbles lowly before he can. “Well, not everyone.”

“Right,” Ransom says, his enthusiastic tone turning slightly hesitant. “But. Us and Shitty and Lardo and probably her trainee Ford. It’s almost everyone.”

It’s almost everyone, plus ground team. “But not Jack,” Eric concludes, unintentionally dismayed. He should know better by now than to be disappointed, probably. He should, but doesn’t.

Holster sighs and throws himself back onto the mattress, bed springs groaning loudly. “Jack doesn’t really do social things. He’s too cool for them. Which -- whatever, man, who cares, it’s probably more fun for us that way. So you in?”

What Eric’s in for is a world of trouble. Eric’s in for the sweltering heat of the Texan desert, he’s in for submerging in textbooks all the way up to his ears, he’s in for never being quite enough for this world. He turns his head back to the other side, facing the wall, and stifles a sigh.

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, and knows that he will, also knows he’d never be able to say yes. He doesn’t leave them enough time to round up on him before he adds, “Now shut your pieholes, gentlemen, some people need their beauty sleep. And by some people I do mean y’all.”

“Really, he means you,” Ransom tells Holster, and there’s the distinct sound of Holster reaching up and whacking the top bunk with a pillow. Eric buries his face in his sheets and tries to think distracting thoughts loudly enough to drown out the constant screeching noise of his worries. That, at least, is something he’s an expert at.

.

Eric wishes he could say that he spent his entire life looking up to the stars. That would be a lie.

He spent most of his childhood looking at the ground, instead. At the toe picks beneath his feet; at the dough rising in the oven; at the floor of his school’s hallways, trying to avoid eye contact. The sky in Georgia was ordinarily clear, stars blinking in and out of view, but they’d never held much of Eric’s interest. He wouldn’t have known what to search for even if he’d tried.

Eric, aged eighteen, went to college mostly for the going and less for college. New England was as much an escape as it was a destination. He liked some of his classes, didn’t like others -- remained undeclared for most of junior year, bouncing around between classes about food and culture. He put off doing his work for too long and preferred baking to writing essays too often, but it was fine, most of the time. His days were filled with more people than papers and he found that it was exactly the way he liked it.

College was the point Eric realized that, once he’d stopped being too afraid to try, he was really good with people.

“You could charm mountains into moving for you,” his sophomore year roommate told him, not without a hint of exasperation, when Eric fretted about meeting his first boyfriend’s parents. “Literally everybody likes you.” 

And Eric laughed nervously, said, “Come on now, that is certainly not true,” because he couldn’t charm thirteen year old bullies out of forcing him across the state, couldn’t make small-town Georgia like him for who he really was. Those seemed a lot like immovable mountains to him.

But people flocked to his vlog, kept telling him he was so charismatic, and his hockey team kept turning to him for advice with their problems, and in November of junior year he reviewed his credits, expecting to see every food class his college had to offer, but found Populism and Norms and Deviance and Inequality and Social Change, instead.

He got his B.A. Got his master’s, too, not particularly fond of academia but not too keen on leaving the shelter it provided, either. He accepted an offer to work as a consultant for a big company right after grad school, spent a year expertly tailoring trade relations and marketing techniques to partners and customers from foreign cultures. He understood people, liked people, and people, apparently, liked him. It wasn’t the job of his dreams but it was a decent start, and once the one year mark came and went he began considering PR work, maybe putting his people skills to a smaller-scale use. He was twenty-five and definitely not unhappy and his eyes were, always, firmly on the ground.

And then -- well. Then, one day, NASA called.

.

Jack gathers the four of them outside the flight deck to inform them that their crew has been tasked with the last Human-Islik Intergalactic Treaty info exchange of the quarter, in time for the summit meeting at the end of August. He tells them Flight Director Hall is counting on them, tells them to wear clean suits, and when Holster and Ransom begin chanting last mission, last mission, last mission, he sternly reminds them that being assigned to the Treaty IE is an honor. Still, when they all scatter and the two of them practically skip down the bridge, Eric thinks he sees the corners of Jack’s mouth twitch.

The mission takes four days, requires a series of security checks before entering each room and short transmissions to Houston for green lights at every step. Islikaru has the largest concentration of humans outside of Earth, but protocol must be followed nevertheless. Eric shakes hands, shakes paws, shakes tentacles, makes pleasant small talk and smiles brightly and lets Ransom ramble about science and Jack deal with bureaucracy. It feels at last like a familiar dance, and Eric tries not to think about how much he doesn’t ever want to stop dancing.

By dusk of the fourth day Shitty convinces Jack to wrap it up at a local eatery, the crew crowded around a small table in a pressurized O2 pod with their helmets thrown on the seats by their thighs. Eric finds himself squeezed between Jack on one side and Shitty on the other, a cool syrupy drink emitting translucent wisps of steam in his hand. Holster orders for all of them in rusty Isli that may or may not actually result in food, but they’re all just too jubilant to care.

“Alright boys,” Shitty hollers, banging his coaster on the table several times for effect. The glass containers holding all of their drinks jiggle with its force, creating a cheerful ringing sound. “A toast to this fucking beaut of a year. Being stuck in a cramped metal case floating in nothing for three hundred sixty-five days has been a great pleasure with your rockin’ bods for company. Fucking cheers!”

Ransom whoops, Shitty pretends to wipe a tear, Holster belts out the chorus of Cheers’ theme song passionately. Eric watches them, helplessly indulgent, and thinks: he’s actually making a home here. 

On his other side, Jack shoves one of the food baskets towards Eric with his knuckles and says, “You should try the octo-bacon, if you haven’t.” His eyes meet Eric’s for a brief moment, make Eric’s lungs expand in his chest. He can’t remember the last time Jack spoke to him for no good reason. 

Jack’s face is uniquely relaxed, his jaw convulsing as he fruitlessly tries not to laugh at something Shitty says, and Eric’s former thought continues, completely unbidden: gracious, I’m going to miss these boys so much. Their bickering and their worst habits and their dumbest moments. Holster’s booming voice, Ransom’s midnight thesis writing, Shitty’s insistence on nudity, Jack’s continual ability to confuse him. 

“Holy shit, man,” Ransom says, slamming his emptied drink onto the table and staring at its last drops in awe. “What the fuck is this shit. I need another one ASAP.”

“Not it!” Holster calls, and then stretches his arm across the table, fingertip of his index finger pointed mere inches from Jack’s face. “But I just know our commander would love to buy his best crew another round. Right, Zimmermann?”

“You’re my only crew, Birkholtz,” Jack rolls his eyes, mostly good-natured. Holster’s wiggling finger and Shitty’s foot kicking at his shin beneath the table must goad him into action anyway, because he puts his helmet back on, disappears out of the pod and towards the service counter without further protest. 

While Eric watches him go, Shitty slides closer in the booth and flings his arm around Eric, tugs him right into the crook of Shitty’s body. 

“This is it, Bittle,” he sighs, eyes closing dramatically. “Once this tour ends, you will no longer hold the title of rookie. Finally, you will graduate to the same titles everybody else gets -- mainly bro, or fucker, or, if I’m spectacularly schwasted, yo, what’syourname. This is a monumental day for all. You might even get a nickname. Are you appropriately emotional?”

Eric is emotional about many things. He can't stop thinking about this crew and what they've come to mean to him, can't stop hating keeping secrets, can't stop dreading the moment they cross back into Earth. Eric is emotional about the possibility of seeing his mama again, and what it'll mean if he does; Eric is emotional about life in general, right now, so he says, “Sure thing, Shitty,” and shoves a ring of octo-bacon into his mouth. It seems, for lack of a better option, like the smartest response.

From above Ransom’s head, Eric spots Jack reappearing just beyond the glassy walls of the pod, carrying a tray with four containers between both hands. He then keeps watching, helpless and open-mouthed, as another astronaut rises from a nearby booth and slams into Jack shoulder-first, tipping the entire tray sideways and nearly knocking its contents over and to the floor.

“Oh shit, sorry mate!” the man exclaims, immediately reaching out to catch Jack’s hands and help stable the tray. His Australian accent is thick, the ASA pin decorating the shoulder that knocked into Jack glinting under artificial lights. The two of them grab the tray with three hands, containers sliding back into place still intact, before the man’s eyes flick up and catch on Jack’s face. He then jerks back, his eyes widening and his hands yanked away from Jack like he’s afraid to catch on fire. “Fuck, Zimmermann! I didn’t see it was you! Fuck my life, uh -- here, I’ll pay for the drinks --”

Eric watches, crestfallen, as Jack’s previously relaxed expression gradually darkens back into his usual scowl, lips disappearing between his teeth. “It’s fine, don’t --”

The other astronaut shakes his head vehemently, shoving his gloved hand into his utility pocket and fishing out some local coins that he then throws onto the tray haphazardly.

“Fuck no, mate, I’m not taking risks with you,” he hurries backwards, flat palms raised up, like he’s under some kind of threat Eric can’t read in Jack’s distressed body language. “For real, it was an accident, don’t get your dad to kick me off the program, yeah?”

The man backs off, scurrying back to his pod and to his whispering crewmates. Jack remains standing, shoulders rigid and tray held in clenched white knuckles, vacant stare fixed on the floor. Eric glances away from Jack for the first time since he saw him approach and notices that his whole table is silent and tense. He catches Shitty’s furrowed eyebrows and Ransom’s worried look, and becomes slowly conscious of the fact that unlike him, everybody else already know what just went on in front of them. 

Jack’s mood seems to fracture, then. He steps through the pod’s sliding sealing and sets the tray down on the table too forcibly, glass containers knocking together. He doesn’t sit back down. Shitty parts his mouth to say something, but Jack latches his helmet closed before he can, muttering, “I’m done for tonight. I’ll see you guys back on the ship.” 

His face is almost blank, valiantly trying for imperviousness, but Eric has never seen him look so decidedly miserable before. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab Jack’s wrist; he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what just happened, but he does know that Jack shouldn’t leave like that. He manages to stammer out, “...Jack --” before Jack tears his hand away from Eric’s grip with the same excessive aggression that rattled the drinks, and says curtly, “Excuse me.”

Eric stares at his back stalking off until he's entirely out of view, feels unjustly hurt and primarily very confused.

.

Jack Zimmermann is --

Jack Zimmermann is one of NASA’s Arctic Project’s best pilots and ship commanders, Eric learned his first year in the program. He’s exceptionally committed to his job, loyal to his crew, unwaveringly focused on the mission. He’s direct, sometimes brutally so. He’s good at following orders, makes tough decisions under pressure, and never takes the opportunity to rub elbows with the higher ups. He just loves what he does, and does it notably well.

The name and the legend is a lot to live up to, but when Eric met Jack he realized that the man is exactly as he’s advertised. Jack, in the role of Jack Zimmermann, is straightforwardly that: an amazing astronaut, an amazing ship commander, an amazing pilot.

It’s unfortunate, then, that Jack in the role of a human being is sometimes an enormous asshole.

.

The ship’s lights are all off when the boys straggle themselves back on board later in the evening, their boots dragging sluggishly against gravity. When Jack left, the celebratory mood followed his footsteps out the door; no one seemed the least bit inclined to talk about it, so Eric didn’t ask. Though the four of them did their best to recover, cracking halfhearted jokes and staying for another couple of rounds, even Shitty’s mustache seems to droop lower than normal by the time they finally find their way back to the ship. 

Shitty passes airlock and walks straight towards the pilots’ quarters without saying a thing, so Eric wordlessly follows Holster and Ransom into their own quarters, brow still creased with puzzlement. He watches as Holster starts stripping by the door and Ransom sits down on the bottom bunk to take off his gear, and waits, and waits, until the silence is just too strange to handle.

“Alright, can anyone tell me what in the deep-fried hell was that?”

Holster glowers, rips off his support strap with gusto. He doesn’t answer, so Eric turns his frown at Ransom, who sighs as he removes the tough overshoe off his boots. “Ignore him, Bittle. Jack just gets real bitchy when people mention his dad. Which happens pretty often because, you now, his dad.”

“His dad…?” Eric prompts, desperate, because it seems like he should know something that he doesn’t. It’s not in the least a foreign feeling these days, when concerning space and science and always, always Jack.

Ransom looks up at him, one boot dangling from his left hand. “Yeah, you know, his dad. It’s a lot of pressure, living up to that. It’s probably most of why Jack is how Jack is.”

Eric doesn’t believe daddy issues are any excuse to be so surly, and he thinks, rather bitterly, that he would know something about the matter. But he pushes, still, because it’s always one step forward and three steps back with Jack, and any scrap of information making his commander seem a little more human could go a long way right now. Or even not human; Lord knows Eric can figure out nonhums just fine. “What does he have to live up to?”

Holster pauses peeling off the suit’s hard upper torso to squint incredulously at Eric. The lower torso assembly of the suit pools around his thighs. “You don’t know who Mad Bob is?”

“Uh,” Eric deflates, taking a tentative step back, the crown of his head hitting the frame of the top bunk. The tone of conversation begins to sound a lot like the time he disclosed that he doesn’t really know the periodic table or has, at any point of time, known it at all. “No. I don’t.”

Ransom throws his other boot to the side and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and face contorting into an expression that closely mirrors Holster’s; surprised, scandalized, disbelieving. “He’s like -- Mad Bob. He was the first commander in the original Avalanche Project. He was the first pilot to leave the Solar System and come back alive?” 

“They say he was the first to meet extraterrestrial life!” Holster gestures grandly with his hand, yanking off the EV glove to have free use of the other hand as well. 

“That’s actually not true,” Ransom clarifies, “No nonhum races were recorded until almost a decade later --”

“Not the point, dude,” Holster waves him off. “The point is, Mad Bob is a legend. His ship nearly burned on the way back to Earth and he totally saved everyone on board. Made the first round trip, you know? He’s a big fucking deal. Can’t believe you’ve never heard of him.”

Eric blanches, digs his nails into his skin to hold his instinctual reaction at bay. Eric spent the first twenty-five years of his life with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his eyes never straying upwards. Later, Eric spent every moment of his time at Houston scrambling to prove his worth in an environment so wholly alien to him that the irony in the metaphor was no longer funny. Eric wouldn’t be able to tell Neil Armstrong from Adam, just like Eric can never really remember the difference between Newton’s and Einstein's theories, doesn't know the primary structure of proteins even now. Eric doesn’t belong here, and he’s quickly running out of time to pretend like he does.

“Oh,” he says finally, weakly. Holster and Ransom haven’t looked away from him yet, so he averts his eyes, turns to face his bunk. “Must’ve just missed it somehow.”

He can almost hear Holster and Ransom hem and haw for a few long, silent moments, before the sound of nylon rustling resumes. Eric takes a deep breath, and does his very best not to regret ever asking. It’s made worse by the fact that this hasn't really helped him understand Jack any better than before.

.

So Jack had spent most of Eric’s first few months on the ship treating Eric like an inconvenience. That was okay -- it hadn’t been the first time he’d been perceived like that, and it wouldn’t be the last. He hadn’t been a fresh-faced teenager from the South in a long while; he’d been older, tougher. He’d been places and had met people, nicer people and smarter people and even meaner people than Jack Zimmermann. He hadn’t really needed a pat on the shoulder or an encouraging smile, just the opportunity to do his job, and do it well.

The real problem was that Eric had always been good at his job because he understood people. And Eric, despite his best begrudging efforts, cannot make sense of Jack.

Jack, who clearly had not understood Eric’s job at all until, suddenly and out of nowhere, there was Evor. Jack who, after Evor, told Eric good work and sounded like maybe he even meant it. Jack who, after Evor, was sat by Eric when Lardo radioed to tell them that Jack’s report had made the deputy administrator call to congratulate Eric specifically. 

Jack who, also after Evor, stopped meeting Eric’s eyes unless absolutely necessary. Jack, who Eric sometimes caught staring from the corner of his eye, looking lost in thoughts. Jack, who roughhoused with Shitty in the flight deck, and arranged Holster a private DSN connection for his mom’s birthday, and listened to Charlie Rich on late night piloting shifts -- but whose glimpses of personality disappeared the moment Eric tried to study them for too long.

Missions transformed into something different in the aftermath of Evor. A month after the crew’s return to action they were sent to do testing on the magnetic field of Pladora, and Jack put Eric in charge of communication with the local scientists without preambles. Eric choked, floundered, but grabbed the opportunity with both hands; he still couldn’t shake the weight of Jack’s gaze on his shoulders whenever he spoke with the Pladoran team.

Later, Jack pulled him aside and asked, “Are you capable of confidently explaining to me the exact kind of testing we’re doing here?”, stared at Eric until he was fidgeting uncomfortably in place. “It’s important that you can do that,” he added, like Eric didn’t already know, like Eric didn’t think about it every night before he fell asleep, like he needed Jack’s eyes on him for that, making the nape of his neck burn and his palms tingle with sweat. But Jack frowned at him, then, took a step back, like he didn’t understand why Eric was flushed with embarrassment. It almost seemed for a moment like he wasn’t actively gunning for humiliation.

And then it happened again. Two weeks after that they were helping ESA fix a satellite on a German space station, and Jack left Eric to discuss mission parameters unattended, but also ordered him to watch Shitty install a new GPS chip for three hours. During the strategy session for a recon mission in the Austra System, Jack insisted on hearing Eric’s opinion, but also accosted him after it to demand that Eric read about the complication with the wavelength disturbance. In a charged encounter with destitute merchants from a dead galaxy, Jack remained two steps behind Eric’s right shoulder and let him conciliate them, but when Eric later babbled about the civil turmoil caused by the demise of the galaxy, Jack asserted that he should understand the astrophysical process leading to such death.

So Eric generously thought: maybe Jack was trying, poorly. But three months after Evor the two of them returned to the ship frazzled and peeved, had spent most of the day wrangling with diplomats on Uzeru, and Eric scrubbed a hand over his face, resolved to try one more time. He offered Jack a friendly, tired smile, and said, “Wanna share bad coffee in the kitchen to drown our sorrows?”, but Jack only shook his head once, sharply, before immediately walking away.

The inability to make any sense of it consumes Eric's thoughts for much longer than he's comfortable with. Jack pushes and then pulls, hovers over Eric professionally but disappears the moment it’s interpersonal. A week before they're off for leave Eric looks up from his plate to see Jack taking his dinner into the flight deck, ignoring Shitty’s offer to join him, and thinks that maybe he can never peek past Jack's mask because Jack makes sure to turn away whenever it comes off. He thinks that maybe this is what loneliness looks like, thinks that he should still know better than to care, thinks for the first time that maybe Jack’s silent treatment is nothing more than not knowing what to say to Eric after Evor. Thinks that maybe Jack’s inept solution to not knowing what to say is to just say nothing at all.

.

The impact crater chipping Vylos’ surface is visible from two-hundred thousand miles out. It’s the nearest planet to the jumping point back to Earth, and its crater serves as a parking lot for all ships on their way to or from there. Its chaotic layout strongly reminds Eric of the QuikTrip station just north of Atlanta, but he bites his tongue and keeps that to himself. Jack and Shitty have probably never seen a QuikTrip, anyway.

Jack grumbles about finding a parking space on the night before leave, body curved over the control wheel and eyes squinted at the windowpane. Shitty leaves him to it, drapes his legs sideways on his armrest to tell Eric about the long claws of capitalism stretching into the cosmos, and how this has resulted in Vylosian beer being the best there is this side of the Milky Way, “Even though it’s like, totally not a real beer, dude, but -- marketing ploy!”, and how its atmosphere was chemically engineered, “To be breathable for all us Earthly suckers passing by ‘cause of the jump point. Filthy fucking marketing plot, I tell ya -- and the beer costs like my goddamn kidney.”

“Your goddamn kidney’s not worth much with the amount of Vylosian beer you regularly consume,” Jack interjects, lowering the ship into a vacant spot skillfully. Vylos’ terrain, reflected at Eric from the three surrounding windows in the flight deck, is grainy and blue.

The Vylosian bar Shitty buoyantly pushes them into is decorated in mismatched memorabilia, posters of Uma Thurman and Justin Bieber and a life-size stormtrooper suit personally signed by George Lucas looming by the wall. The AI pouring the drinks is a hologram in the shape of a Western saloon bartender, the beer is thick and neon green. Eric’s been outside the Kármán line for nearly a year and feels caught by surprise, still, almost daily; but tonight he gets to wear denim shorts instead of nylon spacesuits, gets to clink his glass against Ransom’s, gets to pretend that tomorrow isn’t possibly the end of it all. It has to be enough, he thinks, and takes a determined drink.

Their group starts out leaning against the wooden countertop, skin sticking to its surface. Later, Holster and Ransom chat their way into the table of two local girls, and Jack disappears from view. Eventually, their group winds up scattered across different corners of the bar, red-faced and loose. Eric catches himself repeatedly looking up from the bottom of his glass to the open door, at the pale glint of the sky just outside it, and after a thorough sweep around he takes his drink, gets up, and starts walking.

.

The bar overlooks the vast expanses of the crater sprawling beneath it, and Eric finds himself sitting outside at the edge of the cliff, thighs bare over the rough azure dirt and beer glass tilting in his hand. Vylos’ three moons are out of sync, rising and peaking and setting in a simultaneous cycle, and Eric is busy watching them when he hears heavy footsteps coming up behind him.

He’s surprised to find Jack standing there, suspended in motion with his hands deep in his pockets and his hair windswept, figure backlit by the lights of the bar twinkling behind him. He seems just as startled to see Eric; his expression wavers out of its usual stoic façade to betray some semblance of emoting.

“Oh, Bittle, I -- I thought you’re inside with the boys,” Jack blinks, a hint of a frown wrinkling his forehead. 

“No,” Eric blinks in turn, unsettled by this strange creature wearing the face of his commander. He looks so different in jeans and an AsCans training program t-shirt, out of the bulky spacesuits they spend most days in. “Uh -- no. I’m not.”

“Right.” Jack nods stiffly, glances at the ground and then at a spot somewhere over Eric’s shoulder. His body language is guarded, and he looks misplaced, painfully awkward. They still haven’t exchanged more than two or three sentences in private since Evor and Eric, typically the chatterbox, wouldn’t even know where to begin. “Well, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll go.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Eric says, before he can think too carefully about why the heck he’d say such a thing. Before he can recall the snapshot memory of Jack turning to eat dinner in the flight deck, alone. “I mean. I’m just sitting here. Drinking alien beer,” he raises his glass, the bright green liquid sloshing around, leaving traces of neon on its rim. The ridiculousness of the situation may be slightly lost on Jack, but not on him. Space still is, and probably always will be, kind of weird.

“Right,” Jack repeats, the line of his back tightening and his eyes narrowing at Eric. “Be careful with that. Don’t want you to throw up during descent tomorrow.”

Dear Lord. One step forward and three steps back. “Yes, Commander,” Eric sighs, swallowing the chagrin out of his voice. His shoulders sag as his body curls towards the view, away from Jack. God forbid Jack Zimmermann think about anything other than the mission for a single flippin' moment. Eric should know better than to be disappointed, but the sour churn of his stomach is unmistakable. Eric should, but doesn’t.

The footsteps behind him pick up again, and he expects to hear Jack walking farther and farther away. Instead, he’s shocked into silence by Jack sliding into his peripheral view, sitting down beside him on the cliff. His shoulders are rigid, his mouth pressed thin. His expression looks like he’s as bewildered as Eric by his own actions.

“Are you excited to go back?” Jack asks after a long, uncomfortable minute, during which they both sit mutely and watch the pits of Vylos before them. Its second moon has finished a full rotation and is now shining down in soft lilac beams. Jack’s voice is tense, flat; this boy, Eric thinks almost pityingly, really is terrible at small talk.

He’s been asked this question a dozen times that month, but mustering his practiced fake enthusiasm now seems hard. Maybe it’s the alien alcohol; maybe it’s that Jack could regress into not speaking to him again at any moment. “I guess so. Home sweet home, ‘m I right?”

Jack shrugs one shoulder, a short and angular movement. “It doesn't feel like going home to me,” he says, honest and plain. “I spend most of my time out here. It’s more like -- a summer vacation. Some people go to the Caribbean and we go visit Earth.”

Eric nods, absently, unsure of how to respond. He brings his glass to his lips and takes a long swig of it, tastes green all the way to the back of his throat. It’s almost impossible to imagine that in twenty-four hours he could be drinking locally-produced white wine in the Washington Corridor. Earth feels so darn far away.

“What’ll you do on your vacation, then?” Eric asks after another long stretch of silence, mostly out of politeness that his mother persistently lectured into him over years. 

Jack’s attention is fixed on the moons, his profile sculpted by the sharp lines of his nose and cheekbones and chin. His eyes are so pale under the lilac moon -- big, slanted, annoyingly beautiful. He remains quiet for a moment, leans his weight on his palms and considers Eric’s question. His gaze is still flickering over the view when he says, finally, “I usually go see my parents. Read. Buy groceries.”

Eric snorts inelegantly. If he didn’t know any better, didn’t know Jack any better, that could almost be mistaken for a joke. “Buy groceries?”

“Yes,” Jack says, perfectly serious. His eyes flit over to meet Eric’s, and Eric holds them for only a moment before quickly looking away. His cheeks grow inexplicably warm. “I don’t really miss anything when I’m up here -- I mean, not really -- but I guess sometimes it’s nice to remember people. Stupid human stuff, eh? Supermarkets. Banks. I always think I'd catch a movie in the theatre but somehow I never do.”

He appears to be uncomfortable with his admission, face closing off once the words are out of his mouth. The sharp lines of his features twist back into a familiar scowl, but Eric watches them, him, thoroughly transfixed. The authentic snippet of personality cannot disappear under the reapplied mask this time; Jack has put something truthful on the table, a hint of something charmingly sentimental. A mundane humanity space can't recreate, newspapers and laundromats and coffee stands and taxes. Grocery shopping. Eric doesn’t know if the fast, erratic beating in his chest is at the sweet tinge of it, or the mere thought of Jack paying attention to such things.

“You should,” Eric finally finds his words somewhere in his strangled windpipe, slowly facing forward. Jack, and his continual ability to confuse. He can see Jack from the corner of his eye, turning his head to subtly raise both eyebrows at Eric. “Go to the movies. You should do it this time.”

“Yeah. Maybe I will,” Jack says after a long pause. “I'll tell you how it went when we’re back here.”

“If I come back,” Eric sighs before he can catch himself, and then freezes, fingers clenching around his glass. Dang it. Dang it all to hell.

“What?” Jack asks, confused, and when Eric refuses to meet his eyes, shoulders squaring and chin dropping to his chest, Jack’s voice sharpens and he repeats, “What? What do you mean? Bittle. What do you mean.”

Eric exhales unsteadily, rubbing his forehead with the back of his free hand. He thought he'd have more time. He thought -- like he always does, and is always wrong -- that he’d successfully outrun his problems by denying their existence. He could try shoving those four incriminating words back into his mouth, but Eric can feel Jack’s intense attention focused on the side of his face. Once Jack stepped back into the professional boots of Commander Zimmermann, no denial will make him let this go. 

“I’m spending all of my leave in Texas. I gotta pass evaluation for the clearance to come back here with y’all. These past six months were my test run -- I’ve never passed the written exam.” Eric drags his shoe through the sandy ground, watches as the grooves he makes are swept away. “Y’all know I’m no good at the sciency stuff, Jack, alright. I don't need to hear it from you as well. If I don't get an adequate score I'm off the program for good.”

Eric chews the inside of his cheek and chances a side glance. Jack looks outraged, his thick brows drawn down and his entire face devoid of color. Eric’s immediate reflex is to flinch away, but Jack speaks before he can make a move. “What subjects?”

“What?” Eric asks, thrown completely off-balance. He was expecting a thundering reprimand at worst, an indifferent dismissal at best. He doesn’t know what the quiet, heated response he's gotten even is. 

"What subjects are they testing you on?”

Eric hesitates, body still braced for the blow that isn't coming. “Uh. All of the introductory subjects. Basic physics, geobiology... mostly modern astronomy. But I swear --”

“Alright,” Jack cuts him off with a single sharp nod, his chin sticking out slightly, like Eric has somehow pushed him to make up his mind. His expression, typically impassive, is now staggeringly transparent. “I’ll help you study for the written exam.”

“What?" Eric blinks several times, glances down to see if he's had more to drink than he thought, but the glass is still half-full and Jack's figure is still corporeal by his side, intense expression still in place. He doesn't fade away like the hallucination Eric is so sure he must be. "Jack -- what --?”

Jack doesn't seem to pick up on the astonishment that has Eric stumbling over his words. “We’ve got two and a half weeks, right? You need entry level stuff to pass that exam. If we study hard, you can do it.”

Eric thinks he might be gaping, his mouth hanging open and growing dry in the arid air, but he apparently isn't capable of collecting his jaw off of Vylos’ ground. “But… what… but you’ll be in Canada…?”

“I’ll stay in Huston,” Jack looks determined. “Bittle, we're a team. You should’ve told us before and we would’ve helped you. You’re a strong crew member, you’re smart, you’ve got an edge that none of us has got. If that’s the only thing holding you back we’re going to get you over it. Study clinic, day and night.” He pauses, the self-assurances faltering for only a moment, and the lines of his mouth soften somewhat. “Just trust me, okay?”

Eric is absolutely floored. The only foolish thing that manages to leave his mouth is, “What about going to the movies?”

Jack almost smiles. Eric has spied that expression on rare occasions before, but never directed at him, and never from up close. It does something to Jack's face that Eric can't put in words. “I’ll catch one on the next leave. Which you’ll be taking as well, ‘cause you’re not leaving the program. We've got each other's backs, Bittle.”

Under the moonlight, purple shadows carving his face from marble and a mellow half-smile twisting the corners of his mouth upwards, Eric could almost let himself admit how handsome Jack is. Jack rubs the dirt off of one palm and slowly curls his fingers, holds them up in a silent offer. Eric can see the thin veins beneath the surface of his skin. He looks at the hand, looks up at Jack, and lets a tentative smile blossom on his face. He brings his clenched hand up to meet Jack’s, and bumps his fist.

[spaceskam]

our fainted thrill carries on (1/13)

and the season 2 fix it is here! warning for anxiety, ptsd, canon referenced violence (aka mentions of jesse), etc!

ao3

Michael watched Isobel drag Max’s body across the ground.

She was yelling at him to help, Liz was arguing with her, Kyle was trying his best to subdue the situation, and Rosa had left the cave pretty much the moment he entered to get away from Isobel. It was all too much for him on top of all the other bullshit he was already feeling.

His hand throbbed, aching with a dull handprint with nothing on the other side. He was attached to nothing. He supposed this was the true feeling of emptiness. The worst part was that he was still pissed at Max. He was pissed at him for being selfish, for shooting at him, for healing him, for acting like his problems didn’t matter. But wasn’t he the dick for hating a guy who was dead in front of him?

“Michael! Help me!” Isobel spat.

“That pod’s broken,” he offered limply. They all gave him their attention for some reason.

“What do you mean it’s broken?” Kyle asked. He seemed to be the only one with a level head which made sense. He was a doctor and all. Plus, he’d been slightly less likely to die in the last 48 hours than the rest of them. Felt fair that he played the calm guy.

“You put him in that thing and he gets fucked up like Noah.”

Isobel gave an irritated, mournful whine and then started tugging Max’s body in the other direction. How much did Max weigh? Over 200lbs? Probably. He was tall and he worked out, so over 200 made sense. How did alien BMI work? 

“Michael! Why are you just staring?! Help me!” Isobel spat, dragging him out of his thoughts. Or, kind of. He tried to focus, he really did. It didn’t seem to work, his mind drifting away soon after she got his attention. 

He didn’t like this feeling, this emptiness. It brought him back to nights alone in the airstream when Max was always busy being a cop and Isobel was always busy with everything she could get her hands on. Bringing him back to those moments brought him back to missing Alex. It ripped that band-aid off, pushing him towards that crash landing like always. He hated it. But in the moment? In the moment it felt good. Maybe he could figure out a way to have both…

“Guerin,” Kyle suddenly said, right in front of him. He genuinely looked concerned which was strange. “Are you alright? Are you in shock or are you having a panic attack? Or something else? Are you sleep-deprived?” 

Michael blinked a few times and then looked around. Liz and Isobel had gotten a blanket and were in the process of getting Max’s body in that blanket to make him easier to carry since Michael was useless.

“I’m fine,” he said. Kyle gave him a look. 

“Go home,” he said. Which didn’t sound right and apparently his face betrayed that. “You’re not in a good state of mind and you’re not going to help anyone, especially not yourself, if you stay here. So go home and get some sleep. Can you drive?”

Michael nodded, “I can drive.”

And drive he did.

-

Alex eventually gave up waiting outside Michael’s trailer, realizing that he wasn’t coming home.

He tried not to jump to conclusions about why. He knew Michael had to be going through some shit on top of what happened the day before if that little moment he’d seen him said anything. He could give him some space until he was ready.

Or, at least that’s what he thought until he entered his cabin and found Michael sitting on his couch in the dark.

“Hey,” Alex said when he saw him, locking the three locks on his door behind him. Michael didn’t look up at him, face just so painstakingly sad as he stared at the coffee table. Alex dropped his keys in the bowl beside the door and just waited for him to say something or do something.

“Max is dead,” he whispered, voice breaking, “My mom is dead and Max is dead and Isobel told me I need to move on and I tried, but I… I don’t know why I’m here.”

Alex slowly walked towards him, deciding the best option was to treat him like a wounded animal. He didn’t ask any questions as he made himself known by stepping in his line of sight. He wasn’t sure if he could actually see him, but he was trying his best. Alex noticed his hand was no longer scarred, a glowing layer on top of his skin. He ignored the mixed feelings that stirred in his stomach at the sight.

“You’re always welcome here, okay? No questions asked, no matter what you do or need,” Alex promised. Michael blinked slowly and his eyes drifted slowly to meet Alex’s, his current state of mind portraying how much he didn’t believe him. “I’m not going to be another person you lose, alright? It’s not happening. Tell me what you need.”

Michael was silent for a moment and then another before Alex realized he didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know what he needed. He wondered if anyone had actually ever asked him that before. So, he stepped a little closer and slowly but surely pulled him into a hug. They didn’t hug often, but he needed it. Honestly, they both did.

What Alex didn’t say was that he was thankful he was here. Caulfield was all too fresh on his mind and, even someone as great at compartmentalizing as he was, it was hard when it involved someone he loved and that someone was not doing well in its aftermath. It was just more shit and he knew if he felt like that, Michael must’ve felt it even more. So he wasn’t going to add to it, he was going to take some away.

“I’m gonna go get you a blanket and you can sleep on the couch. I’ll call Liz or Kyle and have them fill me in, you sleep,” Alex whispered to him, trying his best to be some form of comfort. Michael held onto him for a little bit longer before eventually letting go.

Alex did as he promised, fetching a blanket from his bedroom as well as a pillow. Michael pulled off his boots and curled up on the couch while Alex covered him up. He watched him for a moment, watched him cocoon himself for some semblance of comfort. Alex’s heart ached for him, but he couldn’t just watch him all night, so he went to his room and got his phone.

He called Kyle and grabbed a notebook, taking notes as he got filled in so he’d be able to order his thoughts better. Max was dead, Rosa was alive, Isobel had insisted they work on bringing Max back, and Liz was refusing to acknowledge the facts. 

“Okay, what do you need me to do?” Alex asked, drawing a line under the top half of his notes and starting his first bullet point.

“Um, I-I guess we’re going ahead and trying to fix Max,” Kyle said, his voice hesitant and unnerved. Which made sense. In the margin of the page, Alex scribbled ‘make Kyle talk about Caulfield’. “So if you can help me find a space to make a lab, I guess?”

“I can do that,” Alex agreed, “Guerin’s here by the way. I know you don’t care, but I figured Isobel might.”

“Okay, good, good. I’ll tell the girls,” Kyle said. Some rustling sounded on his end and then he spoke again in a hushed voice, “I, uh, also need to talk to you about your dad.”

Alex sat up straight, his eyebrows furrowing. His heart skipped a beat involuntarily and he grabbed the remote on his bedside table, turning on his TV that showed a screen of all the cameras he had around his house. No one was trespassing outside, the doors were all locked (though he’d double-check before he took his prosthetic off), and Michael was still in a ball on the couch.

“He tried to shoot me,” Kyle said, voice still soft but he was clearly on edge.

“Excuse me?” 

“I was wearing a vest and I put him in a medically induced coma. I just got him in the hospital when Liz called me, so I know where he’s at and he’s incapacitated as of right now, but this isn’t forever. We need to move Project Shepard headquarters soon or it’s going to get bigger than this,” Kyle warned. Alex decided not to tell him that it already was bigger than this.

“Okay, I’ll work on shifting everything I’ll work on finding a lab space. Hopefully in the same building and we’ll see what we can do. We can talk more about the specifics tomorrow, I guess. Are you good, though?” Alex asked.

“I’m as good as I can be. Sore, a little confused on how to be a brother all of the sudden,” Kyle sighed, “Look, I gotta go. Liz is trying to fill Rosa in on a decade of information, so I’m gonna try to help or something. Fuck.”

“Okay, take care of yourself. Call me if anything goes bump during the night,” Alex told him.

“I will.”

They hung up without saying goodbye.

-

“Michael.”

Michael sighed and looked up from the car he was working. Isobel stood a few feet away, face cleaned up and dressed almost regal as if that would cover up the fact that Max died last night. He was dead. Dead, dead, dead. 

“What?” he asked. She scoffed, shaking her head.

“What is going on with you? That was so uncharacteristic for you to just leave and then I find out you went to Alex’s? After everything you said yesterday?” she laid out, not wasting any time. He didn’t respond right away. He didn’t really know how to. There wasn’t much to say. He’d hit his limit.

“What do you want me to say, Isobel? Nothing happened between us, I just ended up there because…”

“Because you love him,” Isobel filled in. Michael turned his focus back to the car. “And I know nothing happened because there’s something wrong with you and I don’t know Alex that well, but I know enough that he wouldn’t do anything when you’re... like this. You were off before Max decided to play martyr. So, what happened? Tell me.”

His jaw clenched, gripping the hood of the car until his hands ached. His left hand had a glove on it, hiding the handprint that felt like a taunting reminder of everything, but it still seized up far too fast. It’d been hurting all night and now all day and Michael had to wonder what exactly Max did to him if he didn’t heal it.

“Michael,” Isobel said firmly.

“What? What do you want me to say?” he demanded, “If you knew I was so off, why didn’t you say anything when we were talking yesterday? I thought my relationship problems weren’t that big a deal compared to yours?” Her eyes narrowed at him.

“This isn’t a relationship problem,” she said, scoffing, “It feels closer to the way Max felt after he brought back Liz. Like something is literally wrong inside your head, you’re on edge.” Michael scoffed, slamming the hood and turning to face her. “I didn’t say anything then because I didn’t feel it as strong until Max’s went out. Liz thinks that since my connection to him is shut down, the one I have with you is stronger.”

He felt something hit him deep in his gut. How was she doing that? How was she talking about Max dying as if it was just a small inconvenience? Hell, he barely even liked Max half the time and it felt like much more than an inconvenience.

“Okay,” Michael said, waiting for her to go on. Waiting for her to give him more of a reason to speak.

“What is wrong with you?” she said, ordering him like always.

“Honestly, Iz, none of your business.”

He pushed past her, heading towards the airstream so he could try to order his thoughts. But she followed because of course she did.

“I reported Noah missing this morning,” she said, dropping the subject of him. That got him to stop walking. This was too much. As many times as they’d been involved with a murder, they never had been so close to that person when they were alive. Reporting him missing meant it was real, meant they were going to find him, meant they were on the radar. Isobel stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I did it so I wouldn’t be as suspicious, I need to play the part of a grieving widow and I need your help.”

“Need my help? For what?” Michael sighed. He was tired again. He’d slept so hard at Alex’s, how was he so tired already? 

“Liz is going to be working on the science-y part of bringing Max back,” she said. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“What does that have to do with you playing widow?”

“I need you to help me work on my powers and work on the science part with her,” Isobel said. He still stared at her, wondering how overworking him meant helping her play a role. “But, when the time comes, I need you to be on your best behavior, okay? People know I’m friends with you and I don’t need them thinking one of us killed Noah to be together.”

Michael stared at her for a little while before nodding. What else was he supposed to do except agree? Still, she took it as a positive and hugged him.

“Also, I think I’ll have to keep some space from Liz and Rosa. Rosa kind of wasn’t happy about me staying at Max’s last night and looking at Liz kind of pisses me off right now.”

“Iz…”

“I know, I know. It’s not her fault Max did what he did, but I’m still working on that, I’ve only had a few hours,” she said. Michael nodded and she again gave him that look. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen, okay?” 

He wasn’t sure if he could believe that.

-

“So Rosa’s good and my dad’s stable?” 

“Yeah, I did tests on both of them. Max literally healed her completely, like any sign that she’d ever abused narcotics are gone. Guy gave her a brand new brain,” Kyle said, rolling his eyes. Alex couldn’t help but give a little smile. “And, like I said, I’ll make sure to keep your dad under until you’re ready for it. It’ll be hard since Flint is technically his medical power of attorney, but I’m already breaking rules for worse shit, so.”

“Thank you, man, I really appreciate it,” Alex said, sipping on his beer. Kyle gave a warm smile.

“Rosa said she wants to see you, by the way,” Kyle said, sipping on his beer. Alex tilted his head. “Yeah, she told me she asked Liz to tell you, but I honestly don’t think Liz is on par with where Rosa is. Like, Rosa isn’t really adjusting to having everyone back in her life, just the time jump, so she wants her friends around and Liz is… struggling.”

“I mean, I don’t blame her. It’s gotta be hard,” he agreed. Kyle gave me a look that said ‘you have no idea’ and then took a large swig of his drink. “But, yeah, I’ll make time and I can go see her tomorrow morning.”

When Alex had woken up that morning, Michael wasn’t there anymore. However, his dirty clothes were and he’d stolen some of Alex’s because they were apparently on the level of relationship where he did his fucking laundry. Besides that, though, he made a pot of coffee before he left and Alex was content enough.

“Speaking of, uh,” Alex said, eying Kyle, “Are you good? It’s been a rough couple days. Where’s your head at?”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Alex Manes, are you trying to talk about feelings with me?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, I’m trying to be a good friend or whatever the fuck. Nevermind.” 

With a laugh, Kyle said, “I’m okay, I’m just a little more paranoid which isn’t a bad thing considering. Are you okay, though? You and Guerin cut it close getting out of there.” 

Alex shifted in his seat. He’d slept twice since Caulfield, but he could already tell he had a brand new shade of red added to his nightmares. Hell, the only thing that got him back to sleep the night before was seeing that Michael was safe on his couch through the cameras. Part of him wanted to ask Guerin to keep coming back every night, but he didn’t want to sound needy. 

“I’ll be okay. I’m more worried about him though,” Alex admitted. Maybe he had too much to drink or too little to eat or both. Kyle didn’t say anything. “He was so shaken up.”

“Where’s he at now?”

“Knowing him? Drinking and fucking with shit to pretend like he’s fine,” Alex sighed.

“Pretty sure Liz is doing the same,” Kyle said, tilting his beer bottle behind him. Sure enough, Liz was a few seats away talking to Maria and taking shots. She didn’t seem to notice that they were there.

“He did what?” Liz said, her face twisted in response to the tequila and doing a fantastic job at hiding the fact her boyfriend just died and that she was harboring a zombie.

“He just left without telling me why and now he won’t respond!” Maria groaned, rolling her eyes, “Boys are so stupid.”

“I can’t believe he was even here yesterday,” Liz laughed. Alex couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows, listening a little closer. 

“Yeah, it was honestly kinda romantic before he left. He came in after the storm and just kissed me then played guitar for me, we kissed some more,” Maria said, giving an overexaggerated pout, “But then he ruined it by ignoring me, so.”

“Give him some time. I’m sure he had a good reason,” Liz said. Maria leaned a little closer.

“You know what was weird though? I noticed when he was playing‒his hand was healed. Like, I know it wasn’t like that two days ago, that’s weird, right?”

Alex felt his heart drop, confusion tying knots in his stomach. He kissed Maria. He went to Maria after he promised he would meet Alex, but then chose to go to him after Max died. What the hell did that mean? Was he too embarrassed to be sad in front of her? And to think he almost bought that she would actually step away.

But they weren’t together. Even if Caulfield happened, even if he tried to get his point across, even if he threw his dirty jeans in with his uniform that morning. They weren’t together.

Alex cleared his throat and tried to focus back on Kyle who was already watching him.

“You wanna go?” Kyle asked before he could even try to act like that hadn’t thrown him for a loop.

“Yes, actually.”

“Got it.”

-

“Oh, shit, you got buff.”

“Don’t tell him that.”

Alex grinned nonetheless, rolling his eyes as Rosa felt his biceps during their hug. He’d forgotten how much he missed her. It felt weird, hugging her and being reminded that she had been his idol back in the day. He’d wanted so badly to be like her when he was young, but now she was still 19 and he had grown out of everything she taught him.

“He already thinks he’s hot shit,” Kyle added once they pulled away.

“As if you don’t think you’re hot shit,” Alex shot back.

“Boys, boys, don’t fight, you’re both pretty,” Rosa insisted. They both let out soft laughs, sitting on the couch of Max Evans’ house like it was normal. But he supposed it would have to become normal.

“Where exactly is Liz?” Kyle asked, “I mean, I know they found Noah’s body this morning, but I thought she’d be here with you.”

“She left this morning to go to work and I think she has plans to meet up with the aliens to discuss what to do with the white savior,” Rosa explained. Alex snorted, folding in his lips to suppress a laugh. 

“So, just a question, who all knows about this alien bullshit? Like who am I allowed to talk to?” Rosa asked, “Because the idea of being stuck here forever with just Liz and Isobel Evans dropping by kinda makes me want to scream.” Alex laughed, rubbing his leg mindlessly as he readjusted on Max’s stiff couch. 

“Um, I think you’re all caught up on who knows. Me, Kyle, Michael, Isobel, Liz. That’s it, I think,” Alex said. He was technically leaving out a couple people, but that was territory he wasn’t in the mood for. Besides, those were the only people that mattered.

“What about Maria?”

“What about Maria?” 

“Why do you know, but not Maria?” Rosa asked, gesturing to Alex. That confused him and he looked to Kyle as if trying to understand why that had anything to do with anything. However, it became a little more clear when he remembered just how much of a package deal they’d been at one point in life.

“So, I don’t really wanna get into all the gritty details, but my dad was involved with alien shit. I found out through that and I’ve been using my military clearance to make sure no one gets caught when they do things like resurrect dead girls,” Alex pointed out, giving a teasing smile. Rosa snorted.

“You went into the military?”

“Air Force,” he said. She scoffed and leaned back into the couch, shaking her head at him.

“No wonder Liz thinks you’ve changed.”

Alex cocked an eyebrow. “She said that?”

“I mean, yeah,” Rosa said, “I asked if you could come over, but she acted like you weren’t the same person that you were when I saw you last and I had to ask Quarterback here to even get in touch with you.” Alex tried to not let that hit so hard. It made enough sense. It must’ve been hard to like him now that he wasn’t so nice, right? He shifted in his seat and Rosa, of course, spotted it immediately. “But fuck that, you know? I know Alex and you still own a room, so you’re still there.”

“He definitely does more than own a room now though,” Kyle jumped in. Rosa made a face like she didn’t have to be convinced to believe that.

“What about your music, though? Or boys? C’mon, give me all the gossip, I’ve missed out on a decade of boy drama. Spill.”

“Okay, I can’t really help on this topic, so I’m gonna raid the kitchen,” Kyle decided, earning laughs from both of them as he exited. But Rosa just leaned forward, eager for whatever he had to say.

“I don’t have much boy drama, sorry to disappoint,” he said, smiling sweetly. She rolled her eyes.

“Bullshit, you’re a fine piece of ass and you always have been,” Rosa insisted. Laughter bubbled out of Alex easier than it had in weeks. “At least what about Michael? He’s still around, so, like, something happened.”

Alex smiled a little sadly as she brought him up. He’d almost forgotten that she was the only one who knew, mainly because she was the only one who could see it from a mile away. He didn’t have to tell her anything, she just knew. She felt like his only safe space for so long and it was strange to remember that maybe, just maybe, he could have that back.

“Well, to shorten a long story, we’ve been kinda on and off since high school. We’re both just… It’s hard to be with someone when their family literally hunted your entire family, you know? I don’t blame him for not wanting me anymore,” he blurted. Rosa tilted her head, looking at him without a single ounce of pity. He loved her for it.

“Alex, fuck that. You’re a good person and if he doesn’t get that, then fuck him,” she said. He smiled and tossed his head back on the couch, groaning slightly.

“No, no, it’s just a lot. We keep just fucking up around each other. I push him away, he pushes me away, we never seem to be on the same page,” Alex tried. 

“Then get on the same damn page,” she insisted. He looked over to her.

“How?”

“Alex, I know this sounds scary, but you speak to him.”

He huffed a laugh, glossing over how terrifying that actually sounded.

Talking with Rosa again felt like a certain type of therapy he didn’t know he needed, even if it was weird to throw Kyle in the mix. She was always able to unscramble things in his brain in a way that he understood. Even if right now, they were simply talking about what she’d missed over the last decade and they were skipping the serious stuff. This felt good.

A few hours passed and they’d agreed to hang out more until they could figure out what they were actually going to do about her. Honestly, it felt like the first conversation Alex had had in a while that wasn’t life or death. It was casual. And you know what?

Alex felt better.

-

The night before, after Alex had gotten back from the bar, Michael had shown up and let himself inside. 

He was wearing his own clothes, the ones he stole from Alex nowhere to be seen, and crawled onto the couch without a word. Alex had watched in silent amazement as he re-locked the door without looking. He hoped one day he wouldn’t be so impressed every time Michael used his telekinesis. It would have to happen one day. Today wasn’t that day, though, and they shared no words as Alex let him sleep there. As confused as he was, he promised him a safe space and he wasn’t going to take that away.

If he slept a little better that night having Michael so close, no one had to know.

Tonight, Michael did the same thing. Alex, however, feeling a little more confident after his talk with Rosa, walked over to the back of the couch. With a mug of tea in his hands, he peered down at the man he loved more than anything in the world. He looked rough and sad, but equally adorable as he had the blanket pulled up to his nose. Eventually, he felt eyes on him.

“Is this your way of telling me to go?” Michael asked, his voice set like he expected this to happen despite the fact he never opened his eyes. Alex shook his head.

“No, I said you’re welcome and I meant it,” Alex told him, “But I do want to make it clear that I meant what I said before that too. I want to feel like myself and I want to stop fighting stupid battles and work on separating myself from my father. That means if we’re going to be around each other, things have to be different. We can’t repeat. We need to be completely open with each other so I can help you and your siblings.”

Michael opened his eyes, looking up at him with skepticism. He was always so skeptical of Alex unless they were fucking. What did that say about them as people?

“What if I don’t want your help?”

“Well, too bad. I’m doing it for more than just you. Which means I’m re-enlisting and I’m finding a space for you, Kyle, and Liz to use as a lab while working on whatever the hell Isobel is trying to do with Max that’ll be under military-grade protection,” Alex said honestly. Michael sat up so quick he almost fell off the couch. “But that being said, I would like your permission to look into your mother for just you.” 

“Alex, I can’t let you‒”

“I want to.”

They stared at each other for a moment, letting the words sink in. 

“Okay. Only if you want to,” Michael said, clearly still processing everything despite his words. Alex licked his lips and took a sip of his tea. 

“And I know that you kissed Maria the other day,” Alex said boldly. Michael’s eyes flickered back up to him, frozen like he expected that to be the moment he was kicked out. “We’re not together, so I can’t be mad. But I’m letting you know I know.”

Michael just stared at him, not knowing what to say. That felt good. No wonder Michael left him speechless all the damn time. The power that held made him feel like he had control for once in his damn life.

“You’re still welcome here,” Alex told him before saying his goodnight and letting him curl back up on the couch.

Because, as honest as Alex was feeling, he couldn’t tell him how much he needed him only a few feet away.

[mysterioh]

Saajan Ji Ghar Aaye - Chapter One

Bucky Barnes x Desi!Reader

Synopsis: After a brisk romance in London, Bucky follows you back to your home in Upstate New York where the preparations for your marriage to the son of a family friend are well underway. As the inevitable countdown to your wedding begins, Bucky remains optimistic in his pursuit of your love and your family’s acceptance.

Arranged Marriage/Forbidden Lovers AU

“Saajan Ji ghar aaye” means “your beloved has come to your home”.

Masterlist

I. Koi Mil Gaya

Koi Mil Gaya. Mera Dil Gaya. 

There’s a peculiar charm to airports. The continuous hum of cheerful chatter, luggage wheels rolling softly on shining white tiles, and cell phones ringing create a lively atmosphere. The pungent aroma of coffee beans wafting from cafe stalls brings the comfort and warmth of home to a junction where different parts of the world connect.

It’s late in the afternoon. The sun pours through the large ceiling to floor windows that curve around the place.  Streams of people flow through the terminal building while others sit in the lounge, either excited or bored.

"Oho, Ummi, I'll be fine,"  you groaned on the phone, pulling your carryon as you made your way to the gate. "I've been on a plane before.”

Ummi replies with a snarky remark, but you know she's just worried underneath it.

“Okay, maybe not alone, but how hard can it be? I’ll be fine. Stop worrying,” you replied. Ummi releases a deep sigh and hands the phone over to your father. "Hello? Abbu?" you said, "Hanji, main thik hu. Hanji, hanji, sab kuch meray paas hi hai.”

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"  Abbu asks one last time just to make sure.  

You sigh deeply. "Yes, I promise. I’ll be fine. It's a direct flight to London. I just have to get on the right plane. That's it.”

Unfortunately, your word wasn’t enough for him. He goes on to lecture you about the dangers of the airport with the classic “young girls shouldn’t be traveling alone” spiel.  After hearing the very same lecture for years, reiterated with a new subject matter so many times, it automatically goes through one ear and out the other.

You knew he meant well. He always did. Every step he took had the wellbeing of his family in mind. But sometimes he overdid it; and it was those certain moments that made you cringe.  

Your ears perked up when the PA system spoke overhead. “Passengers for Flight 9B4 to London, please go to Gate 36.”

"Abbu, I’ll talk to you later!” you exclaim. “They're calling my flight. I gotta go. Bye!"  You hang up on him before he can say anything with a mischievous grin. 

You speed walk down the terminal, using the overpass with directions as a guide. Another announcement has you running through the crowds, slightly pushing and whispering sorries as you do. By the time you get to the gate you’re a heaving mess. You give your boarding pass to the gate agent while bending over to catch your breath.

“Made it just in time,” she chirped with an amused smile.

You reply with a breathy laugh, unable to say a word.

Damn, I’m out of shape.

She verifies your boarding pass and hands it back. “Enjoy your flight.”

You thank her before entering the air bridge and into the plane. A gorgeous blond attendant at the door greets you warmly then guides you up the aisle towards the first class seats. You find your seat by the window. Slipping your carryon into the overhead compartment, you take your seat then pull out your phone to message your dad about successfully getting on the plane.

From the corner of your eye, you see a guy lifting his bag to place it in the compartment above. The hem of his shirt hovers just above his waist as he stretches, showing the band of his Calvin Klein boxers and a teaser of what seems to be a very sculpted torso.

You whip your head towards the window, embarrassed by yourself for looking at him.  You hear the seat next to you dip and groan inwardly. You give him a side glance as he rustles through his backpack for something.

His side profile is gorgeous. Short, fluffy brown locks just begging your fingers to run through them. A perfectly straight nose and a sculpted jaw.

A phone notification forces you to look away. It's a message from Abbu wishing you safe travels. A grin spreads on your face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Flight 9B4 with service from New York to London," the head attendant announces.

"Mind if I squeeze this right here?" he says, already pushing his bag between your legs and his.

I mean you already did?

"Yeah, that's fine," you reply.

"Thanks," he grins.

"We ask that you please fasten your seatbelts at this time and please turn off all electronic devices, including laptops and cellphones," the attendant drolls. "Thank you for choosing British Airways. Enjoy your flight."

You listen to her directions and securely strap yourself in. You take a deep breath and relax into your seat as the plane begins to move.

"Nervous?"

You turn over to find the guy looking at you with a goofy smile.

"No," you replied, a bit harsher than you intended to.  

"I was just asking," he chuckles. "I'm nervous."

"First time?" You asked.

"No," he denied with a shake of the head. "I always get nervous. You never know what can happen y'know? Like what if the engine bursts when we're over the ocean? We're all fucking screwed."

He had a point and it was a plausible fear, but what decent human being would actually come out and say it while the plane was taking off?

You look at him completely dumbfounded.

"Didn't mean to scare you."

Your lips contort into a pout. "I'm not afraid."

He shrugs. "Looks like you are."

"Well, I'm not," you affirm.

"Alright, so when the plane takes a nosedive into the ocean, I'll count on you to save me 'cause I'm going to be scared out of my mind."

"I'm not going to save you," you reply flatly.

"Ouch," he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he does. "Whatever happened to being a Good Samaritan?"

"We'd both die instantly. There's no point in helping."

"Geez, you're depressing."

You fall back into your seat as the plane begins to rise.

"Oh, this is it," he announces with exaggerated excitement.

"Can you please be quiet?"

"Sorry," he whispers apologetically.

You look out the small window, watching the plane lift off the ground and rise into the sky.  Even as the engines rumbled and the ringing in your ears grew irritating, the scenery through the little window made your heart feel at ease. The clouds flowed constantly like sheets that stretched to the horizon.  As the wings sliced through the dense layer, a brilliant evening sun scattered a hazy pink over the clouds, leaving you in awe and admiration. The plane levels and sets on a steady course over the clouds.

You reach down into your handbag and pull out the novel you've been trying to finish.

"Is that the Kite Runner?" he asks.

"It is," you reply with a smile. The first time you've smiled in your short time with him and he has to admit it's a pretty one.

"That's a great book! I finished it in three days."

"Oh wow," you exclaimed, slightly embarrassed that it was taking you weeks. Not your fault though. You were busy.

"Yeah," he sighs, reminiscing a good memory. "I don't read many books, but that one," he points at the book in your hand. "It moved me to tears."

Your hand brushes over the cover. "Yeah, I like it so far. I love how flawed Amir is and how he strives to be better. It's so relatable."

"Yeah, it's so realistic," he replies. "I cried when he found out Hassan died."

"Hassan dies?" You gasped.

From the dumbfounded look on your face, he realizes that he's committed one of the greatest sins. "What? No!" He laughs nervously. "I meant Baba dies."

"Baba dies too?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Nobody dies. They all live—happily. They all live a happy ending."

He can feel a thousand curses shot in his way just by the way you're glaring at him.

"Aha," he laughs awkwardly. "I'll just shut up now."

"Good idea," you mumble.

"Would you two like anything?" The flight attendant asked.

"Uh, yeah I'll have some water," he replies then turns to you. "Do you–"

"No thank you," you replied curtly, opening up your book to where you left off.

Bucky takes the bottle from the attendant with a sheepish smile. He decides not to bother you anymore and pulls out his air pods to listen to some music that would hopefully lull him to sleep. He puts on his slow playlist then shifts into his seat until he feels comfortable. He closes his eyes, allowing the music to relax him and just as his consciousness begins to ebb, a heavy thud on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

He turns to find you fast asleep with your head resting against his shoulder.

Bucky couldn’t stop his lips from stretching into a wide grin. There's just something so intimate about someone —stranger or not— falling asleep on your shoulder that makes your heart flutter. It made his insides flip and a light blush scatter on his cheeks. He sits quietly, making sure not to move too much so he doesn’t wake you.  

Wide awake, he twiddles his thumbs, wondering what to do. He sees the book in your lap and slowly slips it out from underneath your hand. You wouldn't mind if he borrowed it. He flips to the first page and starts to read, delving deep into a distant world that rested in his hands.

As Bucky travels back to 1970’s Afghanistan through the memories of his flawed storyteller, Amir, a brilliant idea pops in his mind.

It's a stretch, but it might just work.

All he needs is a piece of paper and a pen.

"Farhan!" You wave in excitement.

"Y/N!" He shouts back, weaving through the crowd to get to you.

You jump into his arms and give your brother a tight hug.

"I've missed you so much!" you whined, shaking him from side to side.

"I've missed you too," he says, a chuckle coloring his words. You push him back to have a good look at him.

"You look kinda skinny," you comment, "have you been eating?"

Farhan rolls his eyes. "You sound like mom." He takes the suitcase by your side and pulls it along. "Now come on, let's get out of here."

Farhan was your mother's pride and joy. She loved all her children, but she loved him just a little bit more.

He was the trophy child of the family, and as the heir to one of the largest enterprises in the world, he had to be. He was the best in school, the best on the field, and had a magnetic personality that attracted crowds from miles away. If it wasn't his personality that attracted others it was his looks. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome with the most gorgeous hazel eyes that fringed with smooth green under the right light. You can't recall how many times your friends asked if he was single. As if you'd actually give them a chance with your brother.

After graduating from Oxford with an MBA degree, he decided to stay in England and work at the London branch of the company, honing his skills before he took his throne.

Farhan was perfect in every way and your parents wouldn't miss a chance to boast about him. He was the envy of the elite. His name was clear of scandals and only marked with achievement after achievement, raising the family name to soaring heights.

Only problem he had was that he refused to get married. He wouldn't even look at the pictures of girls your mother offered him. When she'd asked him why he didn't want to, he always had the same answer.

"They don't want me, they want my name."

Sometimes, you wished you had his boldness.

"How was the flight?" Farhan asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Good," you replied. You cringe from embarrassment, remembering how you slept on that guy's shoulder the entire flight.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you turn to look out the window, watching raindrops racing down the side of the window. "It's kind of weird sitting on this side of the car," you laugh.

He chuckles. "It is, but you get used to it after a while. How's the wedding going?"

You exhale deeply while leaning against the window. "I don't know, ask Ummi."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Ummi does everything. I just sit there and look pretty."

Farhan laughs from his stomach. "Why not tell her to ease back a bit?"

"I don't mind it,” you explained. “Honestly, I'm grateful. I can't plan shit, but I just wished she wouldn't talk about it so much."  

Farhan’s brows crease in confusion. “You’re not getting cold feet are you?”

“N-no!” you stammered. “It just gets me anxious, that’s all.”

He sighs, waiting at the light. “You bring it on yourself, Y/N,”

Your head whips towards him. “And what do you mean by that?”

“You try so hard to please everyone else, that you end up not caring for yourself."

“That’s not true—”

“We both know this wedding is only to please Abbu," he interjects with a sad chuckle. “You’re only marrying Ayan for him.”

You scoffed. “I’m marrying Ayan because I want to," you counter. “He’s sweet and really nice—”

“But do you love him?”

You fall back against the window with a sigh. “Farhan I don't want to talk about this," you mumbled.

"But don't you think you should?" He questions.

“Yeah, Abbu picked Ayan for me. So what about it?" you lectured, waving your hands around. "He's always done what's best for us. So what’s to say he won’t pick the one that’s the best for me?”

“But shouldn’t you be the one who knows what’s best for you? Not Abbu?” he contended, eyes fixated on the street. “You say you’re an independent adult, Y/N, but you’ve never stepped out from underneath his wing. You've never tried anything for yourself, it's always what he wants," he jabbed, hitting you harder than he had intended to.

You retreat to your window in defeat and shame.

“Hey," he whispers, shaking your arm. You don't look at him cause you might just cry; and that's one thing you'd never do in front of him. At least not anymore.

"I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I just worry about you sometimes," he confesses. "I want you to be happy doing what you want to do and not what others want from you."  

You turn just a little to peek over at him with a quaint smile. He smiles back, holding your hand tight. “This is what I want. Really it is. Don't worry."

He laughs in defeat. "Whatever you say, Aloo."

You smack his arm. "Don't call me that!"

You plop onto the bed after unpacking your bags. Farhan had to take a business call, leaving you to your own devices. You scroll through different apps, bored out of your mind and a bit sleepy.

A notification drops down.

Ayan

Have fun on your trip! Call me when you get the time. 😊

Your insides twist at the message and not in the excited, butterflies in your stomach kind of way. It’s more like a dreadful duty that you don’t want to do right now.

You swipe the notification away, promising yourself that you’d call him tomorrow, and decide you should go to sleep. You reach over for your bag on the bedside table to get your phone charger. You pull out the novel you quickly shoved inside before leaving the plane, and notice a paper sticking out at the top of the book. You raise a brow in confusion. You never had any bookmarks, and just folded the corners to save the page. You pulled it out and weren’t expecting a message.

Sorry about spoiling the book. Maybe I can make it up to you? If you’re staying in London, hit me up.  

917 - 569 - 2156

- Bucky

Translations:

“Hanji, main thik hu. Hanji, hanji, sab kuch meray paas hi hai.” - Yes, I’m fine. Yes, Yes, I have everything with me.

Aloo - Potato ( a nickname)

Taglist: @anjali750​ @desibarnes​ @regainedworld​ @saintsebastian-stan​

[charles-among-us]

Story was written by Ellis Skylar on Quotev {Mentions of Death} I'm a Valiant Hero?▼ "Stop running away from me!!" The Toppat mook I was chasing sneered. "Stop chasing us then, Charlie," he taunted. "Why would a cat chase a mouse with a teleporter?" "Oh no you don't!" I drew my pistol and picked up speed. "You're not getting away from me again! Victory is mine this time, Toppats!" The mooks shot at me a few times, forcing me to dodge (and therefore slowing me down). This gave them them time to call on their teleporter and blip away just as I caught up. Aw, crud. Sighing, I glanced up at the sky-then froze for a second. Was that my imagination, or did I just see... "Henry?" My old friend smiled and nodded. I grinned and practically ran over, stumbling slightly in the snow. "Henry, I heard you died!" Henry shrugged in response, then motioned to the bar behind him. "Why don't we get caught up? I'll try and explain everything." "Hey, anything to get outta this cold!" Henry laughed a bit and led the way inside. I couldn't bouncing a little as we went. Henry and Charles, back together! The troublesome duo, as the general liked to call us. Or...He did. Back before Henry was...Well... Henry whistling snapped me out of my thoughts before they could go any farther. He held up two fingers when the bartender looked over before turning to look at me expectantly. I got the hint pretty quickly. "The Toppat Clan's been causing a bunch of problems for me lately," I started. "Yeah, ever since they got that orbital station set up, they've been suuuper strong." Henry tilted his head slightly, giving me a sympathetic look, though I'd stopped paying attention. I think I have another plan. "Now that I think about it...You and I made a pretty good team in the past." I put my hand on his shoulder. "I bet we could take 'em out. It's starting to get personal." Now Henry looked a little taken aback. I guess I looked angrier than intended, but it was true. They even know my last name now for crying out loud! I pulled my hand off him and tried to lighten up. "Well? Whaddya say? You wanna help me take 'em out for good?" There was no hesitation. Henry gave me an evil grin and a thumbs up, making me break into a smile. I missed that look! "Awesome!" I stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling him along. "Follow me, I have a way we can get into space!" The drive to the main base was quiet...Quieter than usual. Henry didn't usually say much-he could go through missions without saying anything at all, if you can believe it-but this was...Different. Sadder. Like he was holding something back. I'm not about to let my friend be blue on our first mission back together! "What's up, Henry?" I lightly punched his shoulder. "You look like you wanna say something." Henry started to speak, then seemed to change his mind and shake his head. I gave him another playful punch. "Come on..." He gave me a glare. I went to slug him again before he shoved my hand away, making me laugh. "Okay, okay, I won't push anymore." He gave me a thankful smile and looked out the passenger side window. I watched him for a moment before turning back to the road. It just crossed my mind that it was never really said how he died. "Escaping the Complex" is all they said about it. What happened between the last time I saw him and now? "Henry?" He flinched a bit and looked at me. I gave him a little smile. "It's good to be by your side again." He's staring out the windows again. Well-window, I should say. It's more like a dome instead of a window, too. "Secret government prototype," I called back to him. "Whaddya think?" He gave me an excited grin in response. I don't blame him-it's not often you get to take a ride in a perfect replica of a UFO. I'd be elated too if I was in his position. But I'm in an even better position. I'm flying the thing! The urge to go into hyperspeed is overwhelming but I can't risk drawing attention to myself. Not with no backup plan, at least. A satellite-looking spaceship finally came into view, making me slow down my UFO. "There it is," I said aloud. "How do you want me to bring you in?" I heard rustling noises as Henry did something in the seats behind me. I couldn't help starting to wriggle. "Ahahaw, this is so exciting! It's just like last time!" Someone tapped me on the shoulder, making me look up. Henry shook his head. I pulled my headset back a little. "What, you can't think of anything?" He shook his head again. I spotted a big green ball of something and had an idea. I pushed him back towards the seats and flew the UFO over to the ball a little faster than I probably should have. It's a ball of trash. 'Perfect.' I dug around in the area behind my chair for a moment and whistled to get Henry's attention. He looked over at the same time I finally freed the space suit tucked away. "Put on this space suit and hide inside the ball of trash!" Henry looked at me like I was nuts. "What?! It's a good idea, trust me." He shook his head rapidly. I tossed the suit at him. He rolled his eyes and finally put it on, then gave me the thumbs up to open the hatch. I watched the green ball of gunk (now with Henry in it) float over to the space station undeterred. None of the Toppat's sensors even gave it a passing glance. I waited until I saw the figure of a person on the station before cheering. "YES! See?! I told you it was a good idea! The Toppats have no clue you're there now." "I'm gonna stick back here though so they don't detect me," I went on, leaning back and popping my feet up on the UFO dashboard. "Should still be able to help you get inside from here though." I watched the figure of Henry from afar, then my eyes drifted back towards the button for hyperspeed and my fingers started getting twitchy. It's so enticing. I've always wanted to help out by ramming something with a vehicle, it sounds like so much fun... But I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. Besides, who knows how much gas it could use? If we get stuck with no way to get home it's all my fault. But this is just a prototype and barely has any gas anyways. So I should save it. But it'd be so much fun. But I'll get in trouble. But I think Henry's stuck. "Y'know what? Naw." I pulled my feet off the dashboard and dusted off the dirt left behind. "This calls for some bold action. I'm the bold action maaaaaaan~!" I slammed my hand on the hyperspeed button and held on tight. The UFO shot off so fast I almost missed the space station. Luckily for me, I had a target. Unluckily for Henry, it was him. I hope I didn't hit him too hard. We smashed into the core, if the robotic voice that started talking is anything to go by. I dropped to the floor harsher than intended and coughed to get smoke out of my lungs before looking up. "I've always wanted to do that." Henry rolled his eyes slightly and we both stood up, my friend pulling off his spacesuit as he did so. (It looks like it's padding took most of the ramming damage. Phew!) I fixed my headset to avoid looking him in the eye. "Anyways, should probably find a way off this spaceship before it explodes..." I led the way down the first hallway I saw. Henry and I were stopped immediately by a door that was half open and half closed. I pressed the button on the number pad next to it and got an "ERROR" message on the screen. "Looks like the door's jammed. This is the only way through." I stepped back to let Henry have a look at the keypad and flinched when I backed into one of the hallway vents. I knelt down and found it opened easily. 'Aha!' "Hey! Henry!" I waved to get my friend's attention. "I bet this vent leads somewhere...On the other side." Henry brightened up and joined me again. I took the lead again and started crawling. An explosion happened not even halfway through and made me grind my teeth. "Oh man. We're running out of time." For some reason, this was enough to make Henry speak up. "Charles?" "Yeah, buddy?" "I, um..." Henry coughed a little. "Sorry. I wanted to ask you something." "Ask as much as you want, as long as you keep moving." "What happened to the, er...The diamond and the ruby? After people thought I was dead?" I shrugged, then remembered that he couldn't see me with how dark it was. "I dunno. I think the diamond was returned and the ruby auctioned off." "Aw, mother..." "Yeah. Sorry." He was quiet for a bit. I saw the other end start coming up and was about to relay this to him when he spoke up again. "I'm sorry." That caught me off guard. "What?" He didn't answer. I decided to drop the subject and ask him about it later on. A group of Toppat mooks ran by the opening when we arrived, making us have to wait for a second. There was a body out in the hall when I checked the coast after they passed, but that was it. Another muffled boom made me shiver. "We've really gotta move!" Henry took the lead this time, running down the hall and following the arrows guiding us to the escape pods. The question of his apology came back to mind. "What're you apologizing for?" He gave me a curious look. "You know, in the vents! You said you were sorry! For what?" "Oh." He flinched a little at the question. "For...A lot. I keep betraying your trust and you keep coming back to help." "Aw, hey, it's noth-" "Why do you come back?" I shrugged. "Usually it's timing, usually it's coincidence, usually it's a bit of both. I never regret running into you again, though. Even if you're a 'wanted criminal'...I like you." That got him to smile. I grinned back and we dropped the conversation in favour of running for our lives. We eventually came across the escape pods' hallway just as a few members of the Toppat Clan rushed inside one of the three pods left. The other two were one marked "LUXERY" and one with a cracked window. Henry went for the one with the broken window, for some reason. After he karate-chopped the stuck open button, we were in. I slumped into the bench across from him. "Ah...Well that was intense." Henry nodded in agreement. I crossed my arms behind my head and settled in. "I can't wait to go ho-" Someone suddenly grabbed the front of Henry's shirt and yanked him out of the pod. I followed the two out, shoved the Toppat mook off Henry and pushed him inside before the escape pod door closed. The mook almost went for the door opening button again before I grabbed him and pinned him to the door. "Don't worry about me!" I shouted to Henry. "I'll find another way!" The pod zipped off before he could respond. The Toppat mook nailed me in the gut to make me let go and watched in despair as his escape sailed away. "NO!" He screamed. "That's my way home!! Now I'm stuck here!!" "You and me both, pal!" I snapped. "We both could've come out of this alive had you not tried to kill my friend!" "I'll kill YOU INSTEAD!!" He jumped on me with that, trying to get me on the ground. I'm not a trained fighter but I'm proud to say I stayed on my feet and even nailed him a few times before the gravity of his situation sank in and he broke down crying. I pushed him off me and rested against the wall for a moment when I realized Henry must be panicking. Smacking my headphones to see if that would make them work again, I turned them on. "H-Henry? You there?" "I'm here," he said, his voice shaking. "Man, that roughed me up." I slid down the wall to sit down as I spoke. "Got 'em, though. Gotta be another escape pod around here somewhere..." The ship started shaking as the alarm blaring stuttered. I knew I wasn't going to make it but I gotta try to save face. "We did it though," I repeated. "We got 'em. It was the perfect plan." "Might even say it was the greate-"

[mewnihistorian]

CCA S1E1

It was the middle of the night and Comet heard rustling down stairs. He grabbed his sword and walked downstairs. “Hello?” Comet said as he walked downstairs. He heard sloshing sounds and saw a cauldron in the fire place, with a tiny person stirring the pot. “No way... that looks like...” Comet said. The person turned around, the same person he’s seen in his dreams before. “What do you think Comet?” She said holding the wooden spoon. “More salt, less salt?” She said. Comet screamed as he put his hands on is cheeks. “AAAAHHHHH!” He screamed, then she had the spoon shoved in his mouth.

Comet woke up with his blanket in his mouth, he then spit it out. “What does that lady WANT?!” Ever since he turned 15 two months ago he’s been seeing images of that lady in his dreams, though that was the first time he saw her clearly. He saw it was morning and decided get ready for school. He put on his red jacket and picked up his shoes when he saw some kind of gunk on the bottom. “What the?” He said as he rubbed his finger on it. “I swear I’ve seen this before.” He then put on a different pair of shoes and headed down stairs. “For the love of-“ Marco stoped when he saw his son. “Corn.” He said. “Your sister ate the whole box again.“ “Um, it could be mom. She’s addicted to that cereal too.” Comet said, entering the kitchen, grabbing a waffle. "No. Oddly when your mother’s pregnant Sugar Seeds revolt her, it’s the only thing she won’t eat.” Marco explained. “Where are they anyway?" Comet asked. “Your sister’s in the living room and Star is in the bathroom.” Marco said. “She’s morning sick again?” Comet asked. “Oh yeah. With Angel not so much, but you... that’s how we learned... so much for the first three days we thought she had some soft of bug..” Marco chuckled. Star then came down stairs, moaning. “Morning all...” She said. “Wow mom, you look awful.” Angel said, popping her head over the couch. “Watch it...” Star said, looking at her daughter. “Bean juice please...” “Come on Star, you know it’s just called coffee, and you know you're not supposed to drink it while pregnant.” Marco said, moving the coffee cup away from Star. “Ugh! Fine...” Star said. “But I do have some good new about our baby, I know what it’s gonna be!” “Come on Star, that is ridiculous.” Marco said. “No it’s not!” Star rebuttaled. “What is mom talking about?” Angel asked, climbing on the back of the couch. “Back on Mewni mew-woman would have a dream that would tell them the gender of their baby, but that’s just an old wives tail.” Marco said. “Is not! I had a dream predicting this one was a girl” Star pointed at Angel “and this one was a boy.” Star pointed to her son. “All dreams have meanings Marco. You should know that.” Star winked at him. “Yeah... dreams have meaning...” Comet said, looking at his waffle. “Um Comet, is there something you want to tell me?” Star said, noticing her child’s face. “Um no. I’ve gotta get to school early!” Comet grabbed his bag and dashed out the door, forgetting his waffle. “Do we believe him?” Marco asked. “Absolutely... not.” Star said. “But if he’s hiding something he has a good reason. How bad could it be anyway?” “He’s our son. Think about it.” Marco said, grabbing the waffle. ……… Comet was walking in the locker area of Echo Creek Academy when he felt something tickling his left shoulder. Comet turned and saw nothing. “Boo!” Solaria said from Comet's right, making him jump. “Ha! You always fall for that!” She said, retracting her tail. “You know you only use that tail for pranks right?” Comet said, painting. “Yeah, and I love it!” She chuckled. Comet headed over to his locker when he was his ex, Rasticore Jr. standing by it. “Hey Rasticore.” Comet said. “Hey Comet.” He said, then handed him a silver spiked bracelet. “I found this at Rex's house. She said you left it after her party last month.” “Thanks. Wait, why did she never give it back?” Comet asked. “I don’t know. She's a Raptorix, they horde things.” Rasticore said. “Well thanks. Hey, were still on to see Eclipsa’s rock show next Saturday?” Comet asked, putting his bracelet away. “Of course!” Rasticore said. “Anyway, later man.” He said, throwing a peace out sign. Comet smiled and turned to see his Solaria smiling. “What?” “You two are so cute together, why did you break up?” She asked. “Because we didn’t make a great couple, okay? Seriously, it just didn’t work out between us. Nobody dumped anybody.” Comet said aggressively. “But we’re still friends.” “Hey, I’m not judging! I’m in love with the spawn of a homicidal genocidal psychopath! Specifically one who wants to kill my family most.” She said. “Yeah I guess so. I mean-“ “But I will judge you for dating Sol's sister. Seriously she tried to behead us all!” “Hey!” Comet said. “You met her too and you had no idea she was planning on axing us! So don’t judge me on her.” Comet then opened his locker. “Yeah, I guess she did seem normal. I mean she looked nothing her mother, but she shares the same beliefs as that fried chicken brained... sociopath!” Solaria ranted. Comet then closed his locker and saw Ashly on the other side. “Someone say fried chicken?” She asked. “We were talking about Mina Loveberry.” Solaria said. “Oh. Well if anyone wants any I have some.” Ashly said. She then pulled her hand from behind her back, revealing a meat leg, she then took a big bite out of it. “Wait, you have fried chicken, but you’re eating a megafowl leg?” Solaria said. “For breakfast?” Comet added. “Hey! Do you know how many calories I burn a day?” She then smacked them on the head with her megafowl leg. “Ow!” They both said. “I need to eat right.” She then took a bite out of her meat. “So why talk about Mina?” “Just talking about my ex.” Comet said. “Oh the one who tried to behead you?” Ashly asked. “Yeah, she definitely takes after her mother. You lucked out with Sol.” She said, pointing at Solaria. “Oh don’t I know it.” Solaria smiled. “What about you Ashly? Aren’t you dating someone from Silver Hill Prep?” Comet asked. “Oh I dumped him. He was a major jerk.” Ashly took another bite. “Wasn’t that like the second one this month?” Comet chucked. Ashly growled and devoured the rest of the meat and hit him on the head with the bone. “Ow!” He said, rubbing his head. Solaria chuckled. “You know you two would make a great couple!” Solaria said. “WHAT?!” They both said. “How could you think that?!” Comet said. “She just wacked me with a bone!” “I know but still, you two just seem like the kind of people who would click!” She giggled. “You two should just give it a chance!” “Solaria, are you sure your brain grew back when your body did after your last shrink?” Ashly said. “Relax guys I’m just joking. Mostly.” Solaria smiled. “Anyway, I’ve gotta met Sol before class. Later.” She then walked away. “Man, can you believe her?” Comet said. “Thinking we you be a couple...” He then put his hand on his stomach as it growled. “Sounds like you need some breakfast. I’d offer you the marrow, but it’s the best part.” Ashly dug around in her bag and pulled out a bag or ribs. “Oops, that my lunch.” She dug around some more and pulled out a bag of chicken patties. “Here.” She handed him a patty. “Thanks.” Comet took a bite of the patty. “I’ll see you later.” ……… It was afternoon and Comet was sitting on his bed listening to his Mirror Pod when he felt something sharp puncture on his leg. “What the-” He looked and saw it was Max. “Dude, what the corn wad?!” He said rubbing his leg. “Would you rather I lick your face?” Max smiled. “Anyway, it’s Friday night! Come on, let’s party!” “I don’t know Max, I just don’t really feel like it tonight. I didn’t sleep well last night...” Comet said. “Oh come on, it’ll be fun!” Max scrounged up next to him. “Come on!” “Max no...” Comet said, lying back down. “Fine. You leave me no choice.” Max said. He hovered over Comet’s desk, specifically his mirror phone. “Max...” Comet said. “Don’t you-” Max then touched his neck to the desk, and floated up with the mirror phone gone. “You’ll get it back after we go clubbing.” “You know your evil, right?” Comet said, sitting up. “Actually the correct term would be ‘devious’.” Max corrected. He then picked up a hat with his horn and tossed it at Comet. “Now geto you butt up and let’s go!!” It was midnight and Comet was heading back into his room, and planted his face on his bed, the light turned on and he growled. “Comet!” Star yelled. “Do you know how early it is? It’s Friday!” She said. “I just needed to come home. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Comet said. “I know.” She said, pulling off his hat. “I heard you screaming. I was already up because this one is already using my bladder like a squeeze toy.” She put her hand on her stomach. “If there’s something wrong, you can tell me.” Comet then stat up. “Fine. Do you regret destroying it? Magic I mean?” He asked. “Oh.” Star said. “Well, there are times I wish I could still narwhal blast. And maybe I was a little hasty, but I still stand by my decision to destroy the magic. Why?” “I don’t know, it’s just my dreams might have something to do with magic.” Comet said. “Maybe. Magic was a pretty big part of our family’s history, and your were raised in a time without magic. It’s only natural you would wonder about it.” Star said. “Yeah, I guess.” Comet said. “But are you sure you destroyed it all? I mean Toffee-“ “Toffee wasn’t four magical Butterflies.” Star said. “It’s gone Comet, all of it.” Star said, then got up. “Now I’ve gotta go pee again. Six more months of this and you’ll get a new brother.” “Which will make Angel the middle child, I heard they can be nasty.” Comet said, then chuckled. He took off his gloves and boots and just went to sleep in his clothes. ……… ……… ……… “....the bond...” A female voice said. Comet opened his eyes and saw nothing. He felt he was in some kind of liquid, and started moving around. “...sew the...” the voice said. Comet continued to looked and saw nothing. “...Cleave the...” ‘That sounds like the Whispering Spell.’ Comet though unable to open his mouth. He then saw a glow coming in from behind him. He turned and saw a small yellow flickering light, moving closer to him. “Start the magic.” It said clearly. Before he even realized it he was putting his hand out. He then grabbed it, and it burned. Comet screamed an bubbles flew out of his mouth. He then felt himself become weightless, and then he head was above whatever he was in. He took deep breaths realized where he was... the Pit. He swam to the edge and climbed out and spat out the goo. He turned and saw the remains of the old Britta's Tacos hut, where the old Earth Well was. “This wasn’t a dream.” He looked closer at the goop and realized it was the same as the stuff on his shoes earlier. “I must have come here... before...” Comet put his hands on his cheeks and started to panic. “I can’t tell mom and dad... or anyone...” As he pulled his hands away and the goo was removed from his cheeks, and slightest of glows was fading away. He then got up and ran off, not seeing a slight glow rising then fading away from the center of the Pit.

[littlewhitetie]

In Loving Memory

“Just a little further,” Lance says. “We’re almost there. At least, according to Hunk’s geiger counter thing.”

Keith is too busy trying to stay upright to respond with words as he drags his feet across the jungle floor. Sweat drips from the bangs plastered to his forehead, stinging as it falls into his eyes. He’s exhausted. The nausea that’s been building since they got to this damn planet is reaching a point where it might make good on its threat soon.

Lance eyes him with concern. “Do you want to take another break?”

“No,” Keith says. “Let’s just hurry up and get this over with.”

The Xanorian jungle is creepy as hell. It’s far too quiet, especially considering all the movement in his peripheral vision. Vines creep and slither, ready to ensnare. Tree branches sway without wind; their cloud-shaped clusters of leaves should rustle but don’t. Flowering plants turn to face them, tracking their movements with invisible eyes as they get deeper and deeper in.

And yet Lance seems to think the place is perfectly lovely. It’s so calm and peaceful, he says. The plants are so pretty, he says. Nothing’s watching us, he says.

So either Keith is seeing things that aren’t there, or Lance is just oblivious. Really, it wouldn’t be the first time for either of those options, but given his climbing fever, Keith is willing to admit it’s probably the former.

Keith keeps his eyes on the ground, focused on keeping one foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left…

“Hey, look,” Lance says, pointing through the trees. “There’s a clearing up ahead. That’s gotta be where the ygdranite is.”

“Mm,” Keith says, not looking up. He’ll take Lance’s word for it.

They get a little closer, and Keith almost runs smack into Lance when he comes to an abrupt halt.

Lance looks ahead, then down at the pinging geiger counter, then back ahead. “Uhhh, okay, so… we found the Xanorians…”

Keith steps out from behind Lance to get a better look. Ahead of them, the trees open up, replaced by rows and rows of glass coffins erected as far as the eye can see. A shudder rockets down Keith’s spine.

“Apparently, it's this way,” Lance says with a grimace, leading them forward into the graveyard.

The Xanorian corpses all around them are humanoid, each with dark hair and pale skin. They all look the same. Exactly the same. This place, it's almost like…

 Keith pauses, gags.

Lance puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Seriously, man. We can take a break,” he says. “The ygdranite can wait a few doboshes.”

“I just want to get out of here,” Keith says, past the point of trying to put up a front. Lance might not know exactly why this place is so horrifying—Keith hasn’t told anyone about the clone facility beyond its existence—but he’s well aware Keith has been on edge since they set foot on the soil.

“Fair enough,” Lance says. “Just let me know if you need to stop.”

They walk past row after row until a towering stone statue comes into view, a scaled up version of the bodies in the coffins. The geiger counter leads them right to the base of the statue.

“Coran said the stuff would be pink, right?” Lance asks.

“Yeah.” Keith’s head spins as he looks around them. The only pink around is a magenta stone embedded in the crown atop the statue’s head, glittering from the centre spoke.

“So I guess we’re, like, grave robbers now?” Lance says.

“Not like they’re getting much use out of it,” Keith says.

“True.” Lance looks up and down the statue. “I’m guessing you’re not feeling up to pulling your super ninja moves to go get that crown.”

Keith frowns. “My what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance says. “I got this.”

Keith takes a seat and rests his back against the base of the colossal statue while Lance circles around, muttering to himself as he surveys it from different angles. Keith’s teeth chatter. He’s freezing. He hugs his knees in against his chest in a feeble attempt to warm himself, and closes his eyes.

He doesn't fall asleep, but he must get halfway there because he startles out of something when Lance calls his name. His eyes snap open, and the sight of the rows of glass coffins hits him all over again. He struggles to fight back a wave of nausea.

“We’re good to go,” Lance says, waving the glittering, baseball sized gemstone in his face. He frowns as he takes a closer look at Keith. “You really don’t look good, man. We can see if someone can come get us. They might be able to land a bit closer than we did.”

Keith shakes his head. “They have other things to focus on. I’ll be fine.”

Lance purses his lips. “If you’re sure. Just let me know if you need to stop to rest.”

He helps Keith to his feet, and they head back the way they came, back through the rows of preserved corpses.

Lance prattles on about something or another—probably recounting how he managed to obtain the gemstone—but Keith’s too exhausted and distracted by their surroundings to actually focus on what he’s saying.

It’s slow going, and by the time they’re back in the thick of the jungle, Keith is barely standing. Lance ducks under Keith's arm to bear some of his weight. It helps, but only for so long.

“Lance,” Keith slurs, vision blurring past the point of recognition. “Think I… need a break…”

Lance starts to say something in return, but Keith passes out before he can make sense of the words.

... 

“Hello, Keith.”

Glass pods flicker and light up all around him. They cradle cold bodies, all wearing Shiro’s face. Unscarred, dark-haired, two-armed. They’re younger, softer than the Shiro standing before him, the one awaiting Keith’s arrival with a predatory gleam in violet-infested eyes.

Keith’s heart hammers in his chest; he’s been afraid of this moment for two years. Still, he tries to keep his voice steady. “Shiro, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Yes. I know.” Shiro’s voice is wrong, all wrong, sucked dry of any semblance of warmth or kindness.

“We just have to get back to the Castle.”

“We. Are not going. Anywhere !” Shiro snarls, charging forward. Keith barely has time to throw his shield up before he’s slammed into the wall, air knocked from his lungs.

Shiro doesn’t let up. There’s no holding back; he's aiming to kill. His attacks are relentless, lethal strikes that leave rubble in the wake of his fist.

Keith tries to get away, but Shiro comes after him. His Galra arm shifts and forms a pink plasma blade, extending his range. There’s no escaping. Keith has no choice but to fight back.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” Keith vows.

Shiro’s lips twist into something vicious. “Actually,” he says, “neither of us are leaving.”

Something overhead activates, and violet lights turn fuchsia. Shiro falls to his knees, crying out in pain as his Galra arm comes alive. It tears its way up his arm, metal and cracks of pink light devouring the flesh of his shoulder. The new monstrosity forms a laser cannon that obliterates everything in its range, breaking the facility to pieces. Massive chunks of the structure fall around them.

“Keith?” A panicked voice comes from somewhere behind him—Shiro’s voice, muffled by glass. “Keith!” an identical voice says, this time on his left. “Keith, please!” Another joins on his right. “Keith!” And another, and another. Hundreds of voices all around him converge in a desperate chorus.

Keith takes his eyes off the fight for a half-second to glance at one of the pods. The Shiro inside has his hands pressed to the glass, eyes wide. He’s alive, and terrified.

“Keith, please, help!”

A laser blast fires, and on instinct, Keith dives out of the way. The blast hits the pods he was standing in front of instead. The clones inside scream as they’re incinerated.

“No!” Keith cries out. “Please, stop this,” he begs, but his words have no effect. Shiro raises his arm again.

Another blast. More screams. The Shiros around him are crying, pleading, they don’t want to die, but there’s nothing Keith can do. He can’t protect them.

“Keith! Keith!”

Keith just barely manages to avoid the blasts head on. Shiros are killed, left, right, and centre, in his stead. Some are hit directly, some crash to the planet below as the structures supporting them are destroyed. Eventually, every single pod is decimated.  “I’m sorry,” Keith gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

Shiro switches weapons, drawing his plasma blade once again. He circles in and lunges. Keith can barely move, but a burst of adrenaline at the very last second gives him enough strength to reach for his blade and parry.

“Shiro, please,” Keith begs. He’s in there. He has to be. “You’re my brother. I love you.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, and he falters for a fraction of a second, but it’s not enough. He pushes down harder, and Keith’s vision goes white as the plasma blade sears his cheek. The scent of burning flesh fills his nostrils, and the pain only gets worse. The blade’s about to melt straight through his face.

It’s hard to focus—everything hurts so much— but he manages to summon the black bayard, forging a sword strong enough to cut through even the strongest of metals. Keith takes a desperate swing. It slices through metal—

—and flesh, and bone. Shiro lets out an agonized scream as blood gushes from where Keith has severed his arm. More pours out from between his ribs, where the sword’s trajectory continued deep into his side.

“Shiro!” Keith scrambles to his knees and presses his hands to Shiro’s gaping wounds in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding. That—that wasn’t supposed to—

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, resting his remaining hand over Keith’s. “You know that won’t do anything. You’ve already killed me.”

“No, just—just hold on—”

Shiro smiles. It’s a touch bitter, mostly sad. “I thought you loved me. But I guess when it comes down to it, you always put yourself first.”

“No, no, Shiro, I— ”

“How many times are you going to let me die?” Shiro asks.

“I-I’ll get you out of here somehow. I’ll find a way to save you, I just—”

“Goodbye, Keith.”

“No, I can’t— Please, don’t leave me—”

The floor gives way. Keith reaches for Shiro, but his blood-slick hand slips out of his grasp.

“No!”

Shiro plummets toward the planet below. Keith dives after him, but he can’t catch up. Everything goes white as they enter the atmosphere and burn, and burn, and burn…

 ...

Keith wakes with a strangled cry. He’s choking on air—too much, not enough.

He can’t—can’t breathe. He doesn’t know if he’s just gasping for air or full out sobbing, but the animal sounds tearing their way from his throat refuse to be suppressed.

His skin is on fire; he’s being burned alive. The scar running from his jaw toward his eye throbs with remembered pain, and he claws at the wound with desperate, shaking hands.  

Something in the distance calls him—no, some one . A familiar voice guides him back with strings of soft words: Shh, Keith. You’re okay, you’re okay.

Gentle hands pry his fingers away from his face— let’s not make that worse —then slide beneath his shoulder blades to pull him up to sit. Dizziness rushes him, but the hands don’t let him fall. One hand holds his upper arm at the junction where pauldron meets rerebrace; the other snakes around his shoulders.

They stay there, just like that, until Keith comes down from his panic enough to form words. “L-Lance?” he rasps, between ragged breaths.

“Hey,” Lance says, tone gentle.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps. “Shiro, he’s… I-I couldn’t…”

“Shiro’s fine,” Lance soothes. “You were having a fever dream, but you’re awake now. Everything’s okay.”

“Just a… just a dream,” Keith says, shakily.

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Is your face okay? You were...” He makes a vague scratching gesture at his own face. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s—it’s fine now,” Keith whispers. “It just comes back sometimes when I… have dreams about…” He shudders, wrapping his arms around himself. Tears lick his cheeks, his scar.

Lance holds him tighter. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here to listen.”

“...Thanks,” Keith utters, voice hoarse.

When it becomes apparent Keith doesn’t have anything further to say—he appreciates the offer, but reliving it is the last thing he wants to do right now—Lance asks, “Hey, do you… want to talk to Shiro?”

Just his name sends a surge of fear through Keith’s veins, but that wasn’t real. It was just a dream. Keith shakes his head. “I-I’m fine.”

Lance’s face is a gentle mix of disbelief and pity before he rearranges it into a smile. “Maybe. But it might be nice to check in with him anyway, yeah?”

Keith grits his teeth. He can’t bother Shiro, not with this . Shiro’s busy, and Keith’s not a little kid anymore. “It was just a… just a dream.” A dream rooted in a very real memory, one branded into his cheek. A memory of a fight that could have ended very differently.

A surge of nausea hits Keith hard. He pushes Lance’s arm away from his shoulders as he leans over and retches.

Lance holds Keith steady as he vomits. The act leaves Keith panting for breath and shaking all over again, but Lance doesn’t let him collapse. He helps Keith back to a seated position, letting him lean against him, and runs a steady hand over his back.

It’s unusual, having someone here with Keith like this, comforting him when he feels downright awful. There’s only one person who had ever done anything like this for him before, back when he’d gotten sick at the Garrison. “Shiro,” Keith whispers.

“I’m gonna call him,” Lance says.

Keith snaps his head up. “N-no, don’t. He has more important things to worry about.”

“More important than you? I don’t think so,” Lance says.

“I—I’m fine. I’m fine .”

Lance tries a different tack. “I’ll just call to let him know where we’re at, alright? Update him on the mission.”

“...Okay,” Keith relents.

Lance flashes him a smile and opens up his wrist console. Soon enough, Shiro’s face appears on the screen. “Lance? What’s going on?”

There’s no trace of malice or pain or despair in Shiro’s voice. There’s no purple in his warm, grey eyes, no Galra arm crawling up his shoulder. He’s alive. Breathing. He’s okay, just like Lance had promised.

Keith lets out a choked sob in relief.

Shiro’s brows furrow in concern. “Keith?” Shiro’s eyes widen as Lance tilts his wrist to fit Keith in the frame. “Keith! What’s wrong?”

“You’re… you’re safe,” Keith breathes, forgetting to answer. Shiro’s safe, in both senses of the word. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Keith’s sick,” Lance explains. “He’s got a pretty high fever.”

“Keith, I...” Shiro pauses to shift the concern in his face to something gentler. “Yeah, I’m safe. You always make sure of that.”

“We got the ygdra-whatever,” Lance says, holding up the pink stone for Shiro to see. “Is anyone available to come get us?”

“I’m on my way,” Shiro says.

Keith shakes his head. “No, I’m—I’m okay. You don’t have to.”

“But I can, and I want to,” Shiro says, calmly.

“But…”

Lance turns to Keith. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“I… I don’t want to be a burden,” Keith says, quietly. Shiro’s gone out of his way to help him more than anyone should ever have to.

“You will never be a burden, Keith,” Shiro says, with enough conviction it’s impossible not to believe him. The way he says it is so typical of him, so Shiro , that it makes Keith’s heart swell with relief all over again. “Hang in there. I’ll be there soon, alright?”

“Thanks, Shiro,” Lance says. “See you in a bit.”

The video screen closes. Lance gives Keith a gentle nudge and a soft smile. “See? Shiro’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, quietly. He’s no less sick, but he does feel better. He presses his cheek to Lance’s shoulder. “Thanks, Lance.”

“Just rest up,” Lance says, bringing his head to rest against Keith’s crown. “I got you.”

“I know,” Keith murmurs, and lets himself fall back asleep.

[This fic was originally written for @vldwhumpzine! The zine features some brilliant artists and writers, and there are a few extras for sale! Check out their page for more details.]

ETA: Check out @zharpzhooter‘s GORGEOUS art that accompanies this fic!! It’s incredible! I’m so glad we got to work together for this zine! :) 

[badolmen]

@billy-hoepe @bonniebunz @softupshur, everybody else who liked/reblogged the first installment: holy heck y’all are so nice, your tags and comments made my day! Now, chapter 2 my friends!

As an investigative journalist, Miles had encountered his fair share of near death experiences. Shadowy threats, an alleyway beatdown, and being shot at had always been fair game in his line of work. He knew what it looked like right before someone fired a gun in his direction.

With a heave he pushed Billy out of the line of fire, behind a stack of blue containers. They wouldn’t protect him for long, but it was better than nothing. But Miles was off balance, arms open, asking for a bullet. 

It hit hard and true, knocking him to his knees.

The pain burned, the bullet buried deep in his shoulder, wedged between his joints. The blood spilled quickly, soaking through his thin shirt and puddling on the icy tile floor. The wind was knocked out of him, shock and adrenaline choking agonized gasps.

He looked up at Wernicke and the soldiers. Miles hoped he would die fighting, with a dying expression of anger and spite. But he was afraid. Terrified. And it showed in the flash of his eyes, shining with fresh tears of pain and panic.  

This was how he died.

But the room had gone cold. His could see his breath, steam shimmering off his blood and sweat frozen to the back of his neck. His pain was replaced with pins and needles, physical static invading every sense and thought. The Walrider.

The soldiers raised their weapons again, bullets spraying the air above Miles. He stayed low to the ground, stealing a glance to Billy. His eyes were open, but glassy, breaths shallow and short. He had stopped shivering.

The Walrider above shrieked and charged, but floated harmlessly over Miles, tearing into the soldiers. Blood drenched everything, spilling thick and heavy from the doorway as the nanite swarm ripped the soldiers and Wernicke to pieces. Miles stayed frozen to the ground, the pain in his shoulder receding to the throbbing ache of being smashed with a sledge hammer rather than fire and sulfur imbued in his flesh.

The blood spatter stopped, but the screams, though distant, continued, echoing above and around the hallway until they faded into the din of the electric lights. He sat up slowly, hands sticky with blood that wasn’t his own, chest soaked with blood that was. The camcorder was coated in the red slick, but still operable. There wasn’t much left of the men that had blocked the doorway, even their guns shredded beyond recognition.

A whimper to his right.

“Billy,” Miles breathed, scrambling over the blood stained tiles to where the smaller man cowered behind the containers, a small square of blue packaging and white tile saved from the massacre of red. His eyes were still glazed and icy, pupils too large to be seeing more than a blur as Miles inched closer.

Miles reached out a hand, but stopped himself. 

“Hey, Billy, can you hear me?” No response. With a shaky sigh, Miles crawled beside Billy, keeping pressure on the bullet hole in his shoulder, and waited. 

---

“I’m here, I’m right here Billy,” Miles said, voice weak and vision fuzzy as he felt Billy shift beside him. He blinked a few times, forcing himself to lucidity. It might have been a few minutes, or maybe hours. Time was slipping from Miles’ consciousness, hands and clothes tacky from coagulated, drying blood.

Billy gasped for air, as though he hadn’t taken a breath since the Walrider left, his skin pale and lips blue. The smaller man seemed dwarfed in Miles’ jacket, curling in on himself and nearly swallowed whole by the fabric. His eyes were shining with tears, sharpened with fear, but they softened at Miles’ voice. His lips twitched to form a word, but his voice was strangled in his throat.

“It’s okay, I’m – we’re good, we can leave this hellhole,” Miles said, dragging himself to his feet and extending a blood slicked hand to Billy. “We’re good to go now,” Billy was hesitant, but his grip was firm as Miles pulled him to his feet as well.

It was slow going, Miles weak and Billy shaking like a leaf, but they made it. The exit.

---

The sun was warm, the wind sweet. Birds – a vireo, a jay, a warbler – all sang in a discordant symphony of morning. The leaves on the trees rustled, shaking morning dew and drops of last night’s rain to soft grass and dark dirt below.

Freedom smelled like spilled gasoline and engine oil from the overturned armored trucks at the back of the asylum.

Billy’s thoughts were scattered, fragmented by bright, golden light and harsh, sharp sound. Sights and sounds that were familiar, yet so alien. Everything was louder outside of the pod, no longer muffled by liquid and glass.

Instead of only his own heartbeat and the hum of the Engine, everything made noise. The sound of Miles’ shoes as they limped through the woods, the wind rustling through the branches above, the buzz of insects, the sound of the jacket’s zipper jingling against itself – things that Billy hadn’t heard in years, stirring some frightful recognition in the pit of his stomach.

How much time had passed? What had happened? Was mom okay?

…

Mom.

He opened his mouth to speak, but still found the words gurgled and tasting of blood. Miles stopped walking, giving Billy a look of concern. His face was streaked with dry blood, eyes dark but soft, cautious but curious.

“You good there?” His voice was rough, deep, by far one of the most alien sounds Billy was getting used to, but that didn’t make it unpleasant. Billy motioned to his throat, weak whispers the only sound he could manage as he swallowed back a mouthful of blood. “I know I know,” Miles muttered, head swinging side to side, eyes distant with pain and exhaustion. “We just gotta make it to the highway. Hitchhike. Probably a trucker, keep a low profile. I know someone in Denver, they aren’t cheap, but they trust me, and they’re our best bet if we don’t want to have Murkoff on our ass-”

Billy shook his head violently, gasping for the words that were trapped in his throat.

“You, you don’t want to go to Denver? Or something?” He nodded. “Okay so you’ve got a better idea?” A single word clearly mouthed. “Mom? You want to go home to your mom?” Billy nodded, but recognized the crease in Miles’ brow, the apprehension in his eyes. An expression pleading for understanding.

Billy whimpered.

“I’m, I’m sorry Bill, we need – first, we need to not die, okay? Make sure we’ll live long enough to get you home. We gotta be safe about this, we don’t want those Murkoff fucks hurting your mom, right?” Miles gave a half smile, the bordered somewhere on nervous and genuine. “But once we’re under the radar we’ll get you back to your mom, ‘kay?”

Billy nodded, swallowing another coppery mouthful. Get safe. Then find mom.

---

The freeway was hot, asphalt burning Billy’s bare feet. Something about the smell reminded him of the Engine, flickers of phantom afterimages from the Morphogenic Engine burned into the background of his vision as he watched and waited with Miles.

They were watching where the horizon met the mountain edge in the distance, a shimmer where the sun had blurred the distinct lines of reality with its warmth, for any movement, any sign of a vehicle unassociated with Murkoff.

Miles was tired, too tired to stand. He sat in the gravel at the edge of the road, blood soaking down his arm to drip over the grey stone. The longer Billy was on his feet, mind soaking up every old sight and smell and sound, the stronger he felt. But Miles only seemed to whither, paling, shaking, and exhausted. Billy let him sleep, the hot sun drying the worst of the blood.

There was a rumble in the distance.

Billy shook Miles’ shoulder gently, the injured man blinking away sleep with wild, panicked eyes and a gasp for air. Billy stumbled back, feeling a breath of cold air across his shoulder as Miles’ frightened eyes sent a shiver of fear down his spine. 

But it passed, Miles shaking himself awake with a groan and pulling himself to his feet. There was truck headed north to Denver.

Miles stood out in the road, waving his arms. Billy felt fear prickle at the back of his neck again, the near suicidal reporter standing with his arms out as the truck thundered forward, until the brakes squeaked, and the vehicle decelerated rapidly, stopping long before it reached where Miles stood.

Miles limped to the driver’s side of the truck, the thundering engine left running. Billy did not like the memory of that sound, the engine humming, loud. Incessant. Like static, invading every corner of his mind. He could feel it. That pressure just behind his eyes, pouring coppery blood down the back of his throat. A breath of ash heaved from his lungs, the flickers of afterimages growing more intense.

The horn honked, loud, clear, and startling. Billy looked up, to Miles waving to him, to his hands. The black dust drifted away. A few deep breathes, and he walked towards the still growling truck.

“This is Marcy,” Miles said, gesturing up to the driver. The noise from the engine seemed to obscure her face, the way the heat blurred the horizon of the road, but Billy could make out her black curls and square jaw. “She’s gonna give us a ride to a nearby truck stop. She isn’t going to Denver, but there’ll be someone there who will be,” Billy nodded, barely hearing Miles’ words against the engine’s roar.

“C’mon, if ya want a ride you better get in,” Marcy said from above, voice soft but strong over the engine.

Billy followed Miles around the nose of the tractor trailer to the passenger side door, climbing up into the vehicle. The seat was wide, but just a little too small for two men to comfortably sit. Luckily, Billy was small and thin, and Miles didn’t mind having some of his personal space invaded for a relatively short trip to the truck stop.

It was somehow quieter inside the truck than outside; the engine’s roar muffled, even as the heavy vehicle picked up speed. Marcy smelled like flowery deodorant and lemons, the cab infused with the sweet, alert smell. Rosary beads clinked together, wrapped around the handle beside the door, a bobble head hula girl dancing on the dashboard.

“So, I gotta at least ask, what the hell happened to you two?” Billy, so close to Miles, could feel him tense, mangled hands curling tighter around the blood stained camcorder. “I know you said, ‘No questions asked,’ and ‘low profile’ and all, but you two are the most…” She stole a glance from the open road to her bloody, half naked, and exhausted passengers. “…Roughed up hitchhikers I’ve given rides to, and I’ve picked up some sad girls and poor kids pretty banged up, but at least they asked for hospital or police, y’all are a little more than strange.”

Miles was silent. Billy looked up at him, the dark, soft eyes closed and breath slow. Asleep, after a night in hell. Marcy gave a sigh, accepting she wouldn’t get a satisfactory answer.

“You can get some rest too, darlin’,” She said, hand reaching for the cross around her neck. “We’ll be at the truck stop in a bit, but you’ll least have till noon,”

Billy closed his eyes, head resting on Miles’ shoulder, the one that didn’t have a bullet buried in it. But he could not sleep. The flickers of the Engine were persistent, a heartbeat beneath his eyelids that flashed with every turn of the truck’s engine pistons.

He did not sleep, but he listened to the truck’s radio. Insect swarms. Overly warm temperatures for the autumn. Storms destroying crops. Economic and political predictions. Not pleasant news, but mundane. Normal. More normal than the muffled, robotic voices from Mount Massive.

It wasn’t quite sleep, eyes cracked open to stave off the flickers of a still too real nightmare, but it was rest. He hadn’t walked so much or so far in years. How many he wasn’t sure, maybe it hadn’t even been that long, but it felt like it. His feet hurt, bare and covered with dirt and pricked by gravel and spruce needles, but sitting there, listening to the radio, Marcy’s quiet humming, and Miles’ ragged breathing, he felt safer than he had in far too long.

Get safe. Go home. Go back to mom. Mom.

She would be so happy to see him again.

[atanearerdistance]

Islands Between Us

Click here to read on AO3.

Summary: "By some mystery of the universe, I end up back here again. Suddenly those ghosts I’ve been pretending not to have on my shoulders for most of a decade are walking and talking in front of me, and everyone else that matters to me won’t be born for centuries. And somehow, I'm just supposed to deal with it." 

Kara finds Mon-El alone at the bar. She may be the worst person to attempt to make him feel better, and it's for that reason she may be the only who can.

It’s half past three in the morning when Kara enters the bar. It’s a Wednesday night and mostly deserted, though a group of five purple aliens are playing ping pong in the corner and there’s a Orandonian couple arguing with each other in one of the booths. Another alien posing as what looks to be a teacher sips some kind of clear drink while examining the selections on the jukebox. She’s never been to the bar this late before on a weeknight, wouldn’t have tonight either if the echoes of Julia’s pleas weren’t bouncing around her brain. She nearly hit a building twice on the flight over to the bar. She’s just about to turn around and leave the bar when she notices a fur-lined jean jacket up at the bar.

Mon-El sits alone at one end of the bar, his eyes fixed on the almost-empty cocktail glass in front of him, tilting it back and forward with one finger. The bartender is giving him a strange look, as if he knows that this man was working behind the bar less than a year ago and has suddenly aged to appear thirty. Mon-El is tense, as if he feels the eyes on him, but refuses to give any other sign of acknowledgment. “Mon-El?” Kara says softly as she approaches the bar. She places a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t move.

She reaches to take the glass away from him, but he grips it tightly with his left hand. He starts smacking his tongue to the roof of his mouth in a soft rhythm, moving his lips back and forth and open and closed. “If you add it all up,” he starts speaking, slowly, carefully. “If you add up the days- the days with the legion and the days since I’ve been back here- it’s one thousand, three hundred and twenty-nine days. Pretty close to four years. One thousand, three hundred, twenty-nine days since I last had a sip of alcohol, alien or otherwise.”

“Mon-El,” Kara says again, frowning. She’s nervous and her feet move back and forth so she’s bouncing slightly. “What happened?”

He ignores her, finally letting go of the glass. Kara immediately whips it away from him and sends it flying into the sink on the other side of the bar. He won’t look at her, instead pushing himself away from the bar with both hands and leaning further over towards his lap. Kara doesn’t need superpowers to hear the splintering wood of the bar beneath his grip. “You don’t have to do this,” he says in a low voice. “You shouldn’t have to fix me. You never deserved to have to fix me.”

“What are you talking about?” She asks, worried. She reaches automatically to scratch the back of his head like she always did when they were on the couch together before, but she snatches her hand back at the thought.

Before.

“You don’t need to be fixed,” she says in what she hopes is a soothing voice, choosing instead to pat his forearm in what she hopes is a reassuring manner. She decides to avoid the subject. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. The sun was still out. The Orandonian couple were still acting like they liked each other.” It’s February in National City, and the sun sets just before six. He’s been at the bar for hours, alone.

She reaches over to pat him on the shoulder again, and he cringes away from her touch before she can get closer than a few inches. She tries to ignore the sting in her chest. “Do you want me to call Imra?”

“No!” He snaps, his eyes finally flickering up to meet hers and they stare at one another. She doesn’t know what to say to him, and sighs, her heart twisting up in her chest. He’s a completely different man than the one she fell in love with, but still so overwhelmingly the same, and she doesn’t know how to talk to him while maintaining the delicate working friendship they’ve established since his return.

She studies him instead. His mouth is swollen as if he’s been biting his lip constantly, and even his powers can’t prevent the bags under his eyes as if he’s lost sleep. His whole body is trembling, and she can hear how his pulse has slowed as a result of the alcohol. His bloodshot eyes, though-

“You’ve been crying,” Kara stammers, backing two steps away from him. His eyes darken, and he turns away from her. “Mon-El, what happened?”

“Brainy and Imra knew something I didn’t know about the past.” His voice is higher than usual, and he stares at a beer-themed clock on the wall keeping Martian time. “I thought I knew what was going on, but I didn’t.”

“Is it something you can tell me, is it my past too, or…” His shoulders visibly tighten, and she lets her mouth drop slightly. “It’s in my future, isn’t it?”

His silence is answer enough. “Shango,” he calls over to the short, dark-haired humanoid behind the bar, “can I get another ale?”

“No,” Kara interjects. “You may have lost this battle, Mon-El, but you are not losing that war. Not while I’m with you.”

His eyes bounce back to hers again, and he laughs, a particular chuckle that Kara’s never heard before and immediately knows is fake. “While you’re with me. Is that now, or seven years ago, or when I go back to the future and you’ve been gone for hundreds of years? Because I’ve got to tell you, Kara,” He stops while blinking his eyes slowly, still heavily inebriated- “I’ve gotta tell you, I don’t know how long I can do this. On one side, we have everyone I ever met here, who I’ve been treating like dead for years because I was never going to see them again. Then, by some mystery of the universe, I end up back here again. Suddenly those ghosts I’ve been pretending not to have on my shoulders for most of a decade are walking and talking in front of me, and everyone else that matters to me won’t be born for centuries. And somehow I’m just supposed to deal with it.” His voice breaks near the end, and her heart with it.

She ponders her next words carefully. “You know, whatever happens to me, or to any of us- we chose this life, Mon-El. We know that it’s dangerous, we know the risks. If we don’t get to live forever, it’s okay. I know that a mission could go wrong for me. I’m okay with it.”

He jumps off of the stool, stumbling as he stands up. “Well I’m not, Kara. You’re going to live to be 150 or however long Kryptonians can possibly last on Earth. You’re going to live next door to Alex and her family and you’ll all raise superhero children to save the world with you, and then grandchildren and greatgrandchildren because that’s how it’s supposed to be,” he enunciates as he takes a step towards her.

Kara backs away again, because he’s leaning over her now, so close that she doesn’t know if she’s imagining the feel of his soft beard against her forehead or not. He still smells the same way he did when she first opened his pod when he was so much younger; like fire and earth and the stars, and he’s looking at her with desperation that she knows deep down goes so much further than just to her.

“Shango,” she says finally, turning back to the bar, can you call us a cab?” Shango nods, giving her a curious look. She ignores it, placing a hand on Mon-El’s upper back to guide him out of the bar. Outside, the night air is unseasonably warm, and the dew resting on surfaces all around them makes the world seem pure. He’s still stumbling, though his movements have become slightly less erratic. When Kara leans up against the outside wall of the building and slides down it, sitting on the concrete, he repeats her actions.

They’re silent for a minute, both staring through the fence opposite them at the world beyond. There are car horns off in the distance, and what sounds like a firetruck ten miles away that is beginning to race towards their side of town. They hear the snores of elderly National City residents, the rustle of sheets where children are climbing into bed with their parents after a nightmare. Kara can hear Winn’s heartbeat among the twisting and turning sheets- he can’t stop worrying about Alex after how shaken up she was from her run-in with Purity. All around them, life is beating on.

“I have to die, Mon-El,” Kara says softly. “We all do. We all have a timeline, even if some are less linear than others.”

Mon-El shakes his head, more intentionally now. “I just- I just lived in the future, for years…and I never wanted to look, never wanted to know….and then Imra told me we’d have to go through time for our mission, and she just lied to me. I worked so hard to keep my promise to you, Kara. I’ve tried so hard to protect Earth and its people, and my team, the Legion…I don’t know if I can keep losing people, Kara, I lost Garth because I wasn’t careful enough and the idea of losing you, you’re- you’re the root of everything I am.” He reaches inside his shirt, pulling out their necklace and clenching the pendant into his fist.

Kara bites her lip, her mind searching for a response, before the truth hits her like a punch to the gut. “This isn’t just about losing people, is it? You’re hurt because Imra lied to you. She’s your wife, the one you should be able to count on more than anyone else in the world, and she hurt you.”

He sighs, looking away from the street and adjusting his torso to face Kara. “Kara, Imra and I, our marriage is not exactly the fairytale of legends, we…”

“Do you still have feelings for me?” Kara interrupts. As soon as she poses the question, she regrets it. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t move, and eventually he nods, resigning himself to the truth. Kara exhales, trying not to let the words affect her, but she knows that he can tell that her heartbeat is thrown off from it. “You still have feelings for Imra, too.”

This time it’s not a question. “Of course I do.”

“Do you still love her?”

He’s frozen then, and his eyes turn glassy. He stares at her almost as if in disbelief, and Kara suddenly has the urge to shrink away. When he speaks, it’s so soft that even Kara strains to hear it, but she knows him, and she knows it's the truth. “Of course I do.”

Kara leans her head back against the wall then, her head racing at the conflict in the man beside her. They’re both quiet for a while. “I’m sorry,” she says, cautiously placing a hand on his own resting on the pavement. “You never asked for any of this. If I hadn’t pushed you so hard when you got here…”

“Don’t ever, ever apologize for that,” he replies, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “Having you here when I was a stupid kid fresh off Daxam was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Ever. And I’ve never forgotten that, even for a day.”

He pauses, his eyes searching hers.“You know, there’s one more question you should probably ask.”

She knows the question, knows it deep somewhere inside her soul, and even though she probably knows the answer already she can’t bring herself to ask it, can barely think it. Because if she knows the truth and he vocalizes it to her, it will change everything they’ve worked so hard to protect. It will absolutely shatter this fragile island on which they’ve marooned their thoughts and feelings towards one another, and she doesn’t think either of them would survive it. “Does it matter?” She offers up ultimately. It feels like a lie.

He’s still looking at her. His eyes have finally returned to their normal blue, and she knows he’s okay again. He takes a few, steady breaths before responding. “I guess not.”

And the island gets bigger.

[ernmark]

fic prompt where juno and peter try roleplay and juno is very bad at it

It’s embarrassing how long it took me to realize that you probably meant in the bedroom.

My mind was still very firmly planted in this post over here. 

“Alright,” Rita declares from behind her screen. “You hear rustling from the trees. Before you know it, the gibbons have you surrounded.”

“Did you mean goblins?” Alessandra asks.

“I meant what I said. Have you ever seen gibbons? Those little monkeys are terrifying. Roll for initiative!”

“That’s the twenty-sided one, love,” Peter says when Juno hesitates over his pile of dice.

“I’ve got it,” Juno says defensively, and gives the d20 a roll. “So that’s an eighteen plus… three? Twenty-one.”

“I’ve got an eleven,” Alessandra says.

“Fourteen,” says Peter.

“And the noisy little bastards are all under ten,” Rita cackles.

“Okay, so what does all of that mean?” Juno asks hesitantly. All eyes are on him.

“It means you go first.”

“Oh…kay…” He skims his character sheet, trying to make some sense of his options. As usual in this game, Peter comes to his rescue.

“Right here.” His fingers skate over the row of long rectangles indicating the weapons. “You have a broad sword, your spiked knuckles, and a crossbow.”

Juno remains nonplussed. “I know that part.”

“You need to decide which one to use against the gibbons.”

Juno’s stare takes on a disbelieving edge. “The monkeys?”

“That is what we’re going with,” Alessandra says.

“You can’t honestly expect me to shoot a bunch of monkeys, can you? I mean, they’re endangered, aren’t they?” 

“Are they endangered here?” Alessandra asks Rita. Their Dungeon Master stares blankly for half a second before she makes a quick recovery, along with a couple of quick rolls.

“They are… yes. Very endangered. So endangered, in fact, that these might just be some of the last gibbons anywhere. And good riddance.”

Juno shoves his sheet away. “I’m not shooting them.” 

Peter leans in. “Juno, perhaps you’d like to delay your turn until a better plan of action presents itself?” 

Juno eyes him warily, but nods. Even when they’re a dwarf and an elf, he trusts Peter Nureyev.

“My turn, then,” Peter says with a grin. “I take off my cloak and use it on the monkeys.” He gives his dice a roll. “Given the penalties for an improvised weapon… does a sixteen hit?”

Rita frowns at the dice. “Wait. What are you doing with it?”

“I”m using it as a net, of course. To catch the monkeys.” 

“Wait,” Juno says. “You can do that?”

“But of course.” Peter glances at Alessandra, a faint suggestion in his eyes. She catches on instantly.

“I’m making a handle animal check to see if I can tame them.”  

“You can do that?”

“I got an 18,” she says. “What does that get me?”

Rita hunkers down, already rolling with it. “William Zircon caught three gibbons in his cloak, and they’re confused and trying to figure out why the sun suddenly turned off.” She rolls. “Two of them have decided to try going to sleep. Boudicea makes herself all big and scary lookin’, because she knows you gotta be the dominant monkey to make the others get into line. It works on…” Another roll. “Ten of them. But there’s another four who aren’t havin’ any of it.”

“Well, I’ve got some trail rations left, right?” Juno says. “I guess I take my turn and start feeding the ones who are being stubborn?” 

“That’s enough to win them over,” Rita says. “So now you’ve got a pod–”

“Pack?” Peter asks.

“I think it’s called a troop,” Alessandra says.

“A whole freakin’ bunch of gibbons,” Rita says impatiently, and then turns up the dramatics again. “The last gibbons anywhere. Which leaves you all with a question to answer: What are you gonna do with ‘em all?”

[amerart]

“Alright Ada, let’s try THIS one on for size.” The scrap of notebook paper rustled as it was unfolded; me and the other girls crowded in, eager to see this foretelling of my future.

“Lucky you, you got an Oldsmobile!” My friend, whose name was Ferngully, announced.

“Noooo!” I clutched a stuffed giraffe close for support, feigning agony.

“And you’re going to live in a hunter’s shack in the woods. In Canada. With your ten kids AND your mangy old dog.”

There was a chorus of giggles; attempting to join them, I made a strange, mechanical chortling sound.

“And lastly- oh Ada, this one’s SO unfair I might just cry!” Ferngully grabbed a box of fairy-scented tissues and pretended to dab at the edges of her eyes.

I raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”

“You’re going to marry…an ultra-romantic BILLIONAIRE!”

The other girls burst out clapping; as I lacked the capability of blushing, I just felt a weird heat rising around my face.

“What kind of idiot marries an android in the first place? That’s like, marrying your toaster.” I muttered, stuffing my face with a few leftover Valentine’s Day chocolates.

“ADA!” Ferngully scolded, smacking me with a frilly pink pillow and causing chunks of chocolate to spill out of my mouth. “Don’t say mean things about yourself! I’m sure you’ll find a nice, rich, robot-loving man EVENTUALLY… And when you do, I expect you to invite us all over, all the time, for sleepovers and parties!”

I sighed, putting my arms behind my head and leaning against an enormous fluffy dog plush. “When android-human marriages become a thing, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, time for the next game!” Ferngully announced, clapping her hands. “Let’s play... Truth or Dare! Ada, since you got the best deal out of the last game, we’re gonna ask you first. Truth, or Dare?”

“I pick Truth.” I said, wary of the wild dares the girls were bound to come up with.

“Ada haz chosen ze TRUTH!” Ferngully shouted, and the girls put their heads together, whispering and trying to make sure I didn’t overhear, which was kind of pointless given they were well aware of my enhanced hearing abilities.  

“Alright, here’s your question…” Ferngully cleared her throat. “What do you wish for?”

I blinked at her, feeling the gears whirr slowly in my mechanical head. “There’s my Prime Directive, if that’s what you mean… I thought I already told you guys all about that?”  

“Not that, you silly ‘bot… I mean, what’s your WISH? What do you want out of life? Do you wanna like, kiss a cute boy? Or go skydiving? Or go swimming in a pool of sharks or what?”

I made a totally grossed-out face. None of those things sounded appealing in the slightest, especially the bit about swimming with the sharks. Then my expression softened. “I mean, there’s this one thing, but it’s like, super personal.”

“Come on, now you GOTTA tell!” The other girls insisted.

“Yeah Ada, it’s truth or dare! You HAVE to tell!” Ferngully said.

“Alright, I guess…” I grabbed another pillow, this one white with a unicorn stitched onto it. “But you can’t make fun of me, okay?”

“We won’t, we promise.” Everyone agreed.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, I really, reaaaallly want to win the school beauty paegent. Like, I don’t just want to be IN it, I want to WIN it. Sorry it’s kind of a stupid wish, they probably don’t even let androids into stuff like that anyway, and even if I did there’s no way I could win ‘cause my skin is all weird and sometimes I just straight up forget how to move…”  

“Omg Ada, that’s the most amazing wish ever!” Ferngully beamed.

I looked up from the pillow I had buried my face in. “Really?”

“Totally! And according to the Android-Amendment law they just put in, they HAVE to let you join or else its unfair and the school could get sued.”

“We can help you find a dress and help you with your makeup and everything!” Another one of the girls said, and the others nodded along.

I felt the weird burning sensation again, but managed to smile weakly. “If you say so…”

And that was how, one month later, I found myself wandering the aisles of the biggest department store I had ever seen, nearly in tears (androids can’t actually cry, but at the moment I sure felt like I could). “Stupid robot, you should have just let your friends help you like they wanted to.” I muttered to myself. “But no, you gotta go do it ALL by yourself.”

Pop music was being piped in through unseen speakers; more than one person was unconsciously mouthing the words or moving to its rapid beat. I spied several lemon-scented candles hidden surreptitiously throughout the store; I’m sure they would have smelled wonderful, if androids had only been gifted with the ability to smell.

In two hours I had examined at least ten, twenty different dresses, but found some deal-breaking flaw in almost every single one. Too long, too short, too much glitter, not enough glitter… The only one I HAD liked ended up not even fitting. Not for the first time, I cursed my ungainly, mechanical body, and immediately felt horrible.

How would my Maker feel, if he knew I was thinking such terrible things about his most exceptional creation? I fingered my communication pod through the pockets of my time-thinned jeans. Should I go home? No. Not yet. Just a little longer- I was sure I would find something soon.

           “Welcome, shoppers!” I jumped as a Vision Screen, one of at least thirty scattered around the store, flashed on in front of me. “We’ll get you looking from DRAB to FAB in ten minutes flat, or it’s on us!”

I watched, mesmerized, as every screen changed in perfect sync. The next commercial was some kind of advertisement from a local pet store; squirming puppies, mewling kittens, and even a sullen-looking baby hedgehog all filled the screens with their pitiful whining. I smiled to myself; being an android did have its perks after all, and immunity to cute animals was one of them.

Nearby, a group of girls, high schoolers by the look of it, stood fawning and squealing.

“Awww, look at that puppy, I could just eat him up!” One of them swooned.

“Look, they’ve even got little baby mice!”

I froze, my gaze locked on one of the screens.

“Awww they’re so tiny and cute!”

Had I been human, surely at the moment I would have retched all over the polished marble floor. Mice… Why did it have to be mice?

I began to feel dizzy, a lifetime of horror stories and panic attacks coming into my mind. Tiny mice with their sharp teeth, chewing up circuitry and defecating inside mechanical hearts; mice, tunneling through paper-thin synthetic skin, turning stomachs into nests; and the worst vision of all: a hoard of mice that had overpopulated and now poured out of their victim’s mouth like some kind of sick, twisted beehive.

I fished my communication pod out of my pocket, and dialed a number.

“I need you to come get me. Please.” I sounded hysterical and hated myself for it, but I couldn’t help it right now.

“I’m on my way, Ada.” My Maker’s voice was gentle, though with a curiously flat air that only a scientist could possess.

The advertisement on the Vision Screens had changed by now, but the images of the revolting rodents continued to run in the wheel of my mind, their menacing, squeaky voices forming a disconcerting harmony.

When my Maker messaged me that he had arrived, I bolted out of the store, ready to be free of that horrible place.

“So was your acquisition of finery a success?” He asked, once we were safely strapped inside our electric travel vessel and hurtling down the expressway.

 I leaned my head against one of the cool glass window. “Nope.”

“Aw, sweet, what’s vexing you?”

I debated whether or not to tell him; it wasn’t that he wouldn’t listen, it was just that I wanted my feelings heard, not psycho-analyzed.

“It’s just that…” I fumbled with a stray wire sticking out of my arm. “Nothing fits me. Not clothes, not school, not anything. It’s like I don’t even belong in this world.”

“Oh sweet, you know that’s nothing but nonsense, mere balderdash.”

I lifted my face from the window. “Oh yeah? Is that why I always get picked last for kickball, and why I can’t find a single dress that fits, and why I flip out every time someone mentions the word ‘pool’? Is that all nonsense?”

My Maker sighed a deep, long sigh. For a minute, he dropped the scientific edge that tended to flavor his speech. “Oh Ada… Don’t you know that all of us feel like that sometimes? Everyone, whether human or android or somewhere in between, is going to feel out of place at some point.”

I made the robot equivalent of a sniffle. “Even batty old scientists?”

My Maker nodded. “Even batty old scientists. You’ll figure it all out, sweet. I promise.”

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, as I contemplated his words. Upon arriving home, I stumbled out of the travel vessel and headed for my recharge chamber.

“Hold on Ada, there is something I must show you.” My Maker said, unlocking the code-sealed door to his lab. I followed him inside, not hesitating as a red line scanned my face and two more lights scanned the rest of me.

It wasn’t especially large as far as labs went, but every inch was covered with a mix of papers and loose mechanical parts.              

I plopped down in one a battered swivel chair, feeling it pop and squeak as I spun around and around. Quickly growing bored, I turned and viewed the huge, lightning-blue screens that dominated one full wall of the lab. On it was something like blueprints, with the outline of a human figure drawn in smart white lines. I read the captions, though I knew them all by heart.

Ada Atmore, Version 13.5. Hair color: Platinum. Eyes: Copper. Height: 5’’1. Weight: 115 lbs.

I spun in my chair, tasting the labels that gave me being. There was a bunch of science-y stuff on there too that I didn’t really get, but I figured it was probably important.

“Ada!” I spun to face my Maker. “Activate the light for me, will you sweet?”

I raced for the switch, and saw that it illuminated a faceless, me-sized mannequin, upon which sat the most beautiful dress I had ever seen.

“Is that… for me?” I whispered, staring at it.

“I was going to conserve it for your next upgrade day, but given the circumstances regarding the shopping event, I postulated it would be best to give it to you now. My Maker sounded very pleased with himself. “It is composed of a special nanotechnology involving mechanical spiders, snakeskin, and good old fashion cotton.”

I could care less what it was made of; I was just happy that it existed.

“Thank you, Maker, thank you!” I squealed, embracing him in an awkward hug (scientists, as a rule, would rather have the plague that be hugged, but at the moment I didn’t care.)

“I am glad you like it, Ada. Now, go to that pageant and make me proud!” He said, in a sudden moment of almost fatherly pride.

I grinned and agreed with him. Before I knew it, another month had flown by, and suddenly the big night had arrived.

We joined the stream of people filling the crowded auditorium; I was quickly herded off backstage by a chaperone, while my Maker waved me off and took a seat.

Having already prepared hours beforehand, I stood around uselessly while everyone else made last minute applications of make-up and hairstyle changes. The air was a thick haze of hairspray and anxiety; I heard a few people sneeze. In one corner, two figures sat huddled by an outlet, frantically waving a decrepit hairdryer.

“ADA!” I heard Ferngully’s voice, and suddenly I was being bowled over in a hug.

“You came!” I said.

“Don’t sound so surprised!” Ferngully chided playfully. “I could be DEAD, and I would still come to my best friend’s big night.”

“I don’t think you’re even supposed to be back here.” I laughed, though secretly I was glad for her presence. The two of us made our way to the big, thick curtain that was the color of India Ink and peeked out, scanning the crowd.

“There’s a lot more people than I thought there would be.” I confided to Ferngully.

“Omg Ada, is that your dad?” She asked, elbowing me. It took me a few seconds to spot my Maker, but there he was in the front row, wearing the most hideous outfit I had ever seen.

“May Asimov have mercy on his soul.” I muttered, closing the curtain again.

“Looks like they’re calling lineup.” Ferngully said, giving me an inspiring shoulder punch. “Now go out there and SLAY!” She then disappeared, headed to her place in the audience.

“First up, we have Katie Abbot!” The first girl in the lineup scurried forward, and vanished to the other side of the curtain.

Somewhere behind me, the people with the hairdryer had turned it up to maximum power in a last-ditch effort to make it work.

I turned my attention back to the curtain as the second name was called. I felt my heart quicken. It looked like they were going in alphabetical order, which meant my turn wasn’t far behind.

“Hey, does anyone else smell something burning?” One of the other girls said, but her concern went unnoticed.

“Next up, we have Vernelle Allgood!” One more, and then it was my turn. I picked at my dress, then picked at my synthetic skin, realizing just how many tiny flaws it contained.

Apparently the burning smell had intensified, as a few people were actually starting to cough. Its source wasn’t hard to find- despite being unplugged, the hairdryer was now issuing copies amounts of acrid smoke.

“And now we have our very own Ada Atmore, Android Extraordinaire!” I cringed; I hadn’t wanted to put that in the program, but my Maker had insisted. I slipped out from behind the curtain, feeling extremely self-conscious and having more than a few second thoughts about this whole thing.

“GO ADA! WE LOVE YOU!” My Maker shouted from the front row, surrounded by a number of his scientist friends whom had had dragged along.

I stepped to the front of the stage and smiled as broadly and naturally as I could manage. “Tonight, I will be singing Porter Robinson’s Goodbye to a World.” I said, hating the tremor in my voice but plunging on ahead despite it.

It wasn’t just my voice that trembled; my whole being felt like it was going to fall apart from the shaking. Yet as I began to sing, something changed. My voice became louder and louder, my hands more steady; every insult, every self-deprecating thing I felt about myself began to fade.  

Halfway through the song, a metallic ringing sound reached my ears. Someone’s cell phone, perhaps? Surely they would notice and turn it off, sooner or later. But it continued, and with a jolt, people began to get up from their seats. The smoke, the ringing, the sound of something hissing overhead, could only mean one thing, something I feared even more than mice.

I kept singing, even as the deluge of water from the overhead sprinklers hit me. Even as my body crackled and collapsed, and electricity turned my voice into a mechanical mess, I kept singing. I had to do this. I had to finish the song.  

Only when my Maker rescued me from the sopping stage did I finally stop.

“Did I win?” I gurgled, water filling my mechanical lungs.

“Of course you did, sweet.” I felt him press the first place medal into my hand. “Just like we knew you would.” Through rapidly fading vision, I saw Ferngully whisper anxiously in his ear.

“She is not unfixable.” He said. “Though she certainly won’t be the one we knew before tonight. That Ada is gone.” He hefted my falling-apart body as though were light as air. “In her place, a new Ada, a brighter and bolder Ada than we’ve ever seen before.”

And together, the three of us made our way out of the soaking auditorium, to a world made brand new.