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discount-shades · 1 year

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Contract Spouse Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Interviews

A/N: I have no real knowledge of how the military investigates and prosecutes anything and google only gets you so far.

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning: Angst, allusions to child abuse

Length: 3000ish

Summary: They are interviewed.

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When you awoke the first morning next to Jake, he had still been clutching your hand. He placed a featherlight kiss on the inside of your wrist that had made your heart clench before he left the bed. But that was the only time it happened.

He rarely woke you up with his nightmares in the nights that followed, but you knew when he had them. Your internal clock would always wake you before the morning alarm and you could always tell how Jake slept based on his proximity to you. If he was firmly on his side of the bed it meant there had been no nightmares. He would be alert and well rested. The closer he was to you, the worse his sleep was. If he was touching you in any way you knew he had a bad nightmare.

When the alarm rang he would pull away. The hand that slipped under your sleep shirt, and was flattened to the skin of your stomach, would jerk from you like you burned him. The feel of his soft breaths would disappear as he moved his cheek from where it was pressed against your shoulder, and the warmth of his body would be gone as he immediately got up.

He ignored you on those mornings. He’d go on a longer run and use the excuse that he had to hurry so he wouldn’t be late to avoid your eyes. At this point a mumbled apology for touching you or a bad joke would be preferable. The conscious rejection of the unconscious moments of intimacy hurt worse than if he had never touched you.

– – –

You had insisted on hiring a lawyer and Jake had agreed. It was during one of the first meetings with the lawyer, Davis, that the second bombshell had dropped. “So you're telling me that in addition to having to prove our marriage is real, Jake is going to be dishonorably discharged over adultery?” You look between Jake and the lawyer incredulously. “Christ! What is this? Puritan England?”

With the interviews coming up you had finally found out who had reported you. A one night stand of Jake’s had been upset that he didn’t want anything serious and had broken into his house and found your marriage certificate in his office. She had reported the marriage and the adultery in revenge.

“Well for the American Military it still is,” Davis says, surveying Jake from behind his desk in his spacious office. “I understand you have a meeting tomorrow with your commander regarding the adultery accusations?”

You turn to Jake in surprise. “You knew about this?” He nods reluctantly.

“I knew about the law but I only found out about being reported a few days ago. Cyclone is a stickler for rules so I don’t know how it will go.” he says in defeat. “We might not know for a few days.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter pacing the room and the two men ignore you. A tension headache building.

“It is unlikely that they will be able to prove the third clause; that the… relations,” Davis awkwardly clears his throat when he looks at you, “interfered with you in a professional capacity, or the morale of your teammates.”

“Other than the clusterfuck her reporting you out of spite has caused,” you chime in.

“Well yes, other than that.” Davis agrees, “In the event that they can prove the third clause, you are more likely to be docked pay, demoted, or desk duty.”

You suck air in through your teeth at that and Jake doesn’t react beyond a defeated nod. Your heart sinks for him. Jake loved to fly. It was all he ever talked about, every time he would mention it his eyes would light up and his dimples would appear. You collapse into the sofa in the office and pull your knees to your face. Guilt overwhelming you. What was rule number one when you married Jake? Oh right, never negatively impact his life.

“Well we can’t do anything about that until we know how your commander intends to proceed so today we are going to focus on the questions about your marriage that the investigators will likely ask.” Slowly you rise and join them

– – –

“Why didn’t you tell me about the adultery charge?” you ask Jake as he drives you home.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” He reaches out and takes your hand startling you with the physical contact. He had been avoiding touching you since you started sleeping next to each other. “None of this is your fault. I knew what I was doing the whole time.”

“Then why did you stay married to me, Jake?” you feel like you have asked him this question a million times.

“I dunno, it was just easier and I liked the money.” He’s given you variations of this answer every time, and this is the first time you don’t believe him.

– – –

Your interview was to take place in a conference room at Davis’ office. You had not yet been charged with anything and your lawyer described it as more of a fact finding mission than an interrogation. Your bank and phone records had been subpoenaed and according to Davis, the interviews were likely to be the last bit of the investigation.

Despite all the coaching you fiddle with the pen in front of you. Hands trembling and unable to stay still. Davis leans over and gently pulls it out of your grasp. You are waiting in his office until they call you. Jake still didn’t know what would happen with the adultery case and everything being out of your control was getting to you.

Jake arrives and sits beside you, giving your hand a quick squeeze. When he goes to pull away you tighten your grip and cling to him. He gives your hand two short squeezes but does not try to pull away again. You revel in the feel of his hand, callus rough and reassuring. When his assistant comes to get you, Davis leads you to the conference room first, the warmth of Jake's touch lingers as you walk out.

The investigators are across the table from you and a recording device sits in the middle of the table. They hit play on the digital recorder and you all state your names for the record before they begin asking you questions. Their names escape your memory. One is in his fifties and balding and one has glasses, so you quickly dub them Glasses and Balding in your mind.

Most of the questions are ones that were expected but you can't relax. Your jaw clenching and your shoulders tense.

“Why didn’t you change your name?” asks Balding.

“Personal choice, many women don’t.”

“Why is this the first time you are living with your husband?” This question comes from Glasses.

“At first I was finishing school and I had my cancer treatment, plus Jake was still in flight school, then he had shore tour and I was in university, then he was deployed and it was just easier to be apart. Logistically.”

“What about emotionally?” asks Balding, writing something down.

“It sucked.”

“Why did you only choose to move in with your husband after you were notified of the investigation?” Glasses asks.

“Don’t answer that,” Davis cuts in and your nerves ramp up, you wish you still had that pen to fiddle with. “You are assuming the reason she moved is connected to the investigation.”

“I’ll rephrase: Why did you decide to move when you did?”

“Jake finally got a more permanent posting and my lease was up a few months later so we decided we could finally make it work living together, the letter was a coincidence.”

“Why not break the lease?” Balding asks.

“I couldn’t do that to my roommate.”

“Aw yes, your best friend is your husband's little sister, did she have an impact on your marriage?” Glasses says.

“She introduced us.”

“That’s it? She didn’t care that you were barely legal and married her much older brother?”

Davis cuts in and you fight to stay calm, “The age of my clients at the time of their wedding is irrelevant.”

“You share bank accounts with your husband and yet you never spend more money than you deposit. Why is that?” Balding asks, abruptly switching topics.

You frown at the ridiculousness of this question. “You are suspicious because I am financially responsible? Jake doesn’t spend more than he earns either.”

“You took out loans, scholarships, and used military spouse benefits to pay for university rather than ask your husband who sends his extra funds to his mother, rather than pay for his wife’s university.” Balding stares at you expectantly.

You wait and when he doesn't continue, you ask, “What's your question?”

He smirks. “I want to know why?”

“His father got sick and died, she has lots of medical debt.” You lean forward and clasp your hands in front of you. “I respect his mother greatly and completely support Jake financially helping her.”

The financial questions continue and the investigators circle back and ask earlier questions with different wording, like they hope you will give a different answer. They ask why you always talk on the phone and rarely text and a few other questions you had been prepared for.

“One final question,” Glasses says and you feel the hairs rise on the back of your neck in nerves at his tone. “Your husband is accused of having an extramarital sexual relationship. When were you told about his infidelity?”

Your stomach turns. Unsure about exactly how to answer the question. You settle for a carefully worded answer. “I was told when we found out who reported our marriage,” you say through gritted teeth. Technically it was true, Jake never told you about the other women, you just knew.

“Does it bother you that there was probably more than one woman?”

“Ok, we are done here.” Davis cuts in and you storm out of the room, brushing past Jake as you exit and flee to the end of the hall.

You stand staring out the window. Ashamed by how upset you are. You knew what your marriage was, and based on how Jake has been avoiding you, all it ever would be. The shame turns to anger. Anger at yourself for loving him and hoping for him to love you back, anger at the Navy, the government, but most of all angry at Jake. Angry he never divorced you. Angry at the fact he never told you about the adultery law. Angry about the other women. Angry that he would never look at you the same way.

– – –

Jake watches you brush past him with a mutinous expression and storm down the hall. He glances at Davis and follows you despite the fact the investigators are waiting. He watches you glare out the window for a moment before he softly calls to you. “Pip?” The look you give him is so full of rage he is taken aback. “Darlin’, are you ok?” Your face shifts to dejection at his words before you clear your throat and straighten your shoulders.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, nodding toward the conference room, “you should get back there.” Your expression doesn’t change and he can’t figure out why you are looking at him like that, like he hurt you. He curls his hand around your elbow to pull you into his arms and is surprised when you jerk your arm out of his grasp and shove his chest, rocking him back a step with a sharp, “Don’t.”

He stares at you in shock, still able to feel the warmth of your hands hitting his chest, while your face flickers between fear and guilt. “I’m sorry.” you whisper, folding in on yourself and turning away.

Davis appears beside you. “I think we should save this for after they leave,” he says in a harsh whisper. “Jake conference room. Pip, wait in my office.”

When you abruptly turn to go Jake reaches out and catches your hand, giving it a quick squeeze before you pull your hand out of his as you walk away, eyes fixed on the ground.

Jake's mind is spinning the whole interview. Answering questions automatically based on the lie you had concocted. Davis stepped in for many of the questions around adultery.

Your reaction baffled him. You had never rejected him like that, and the anger and despair was a look he had never seen on your face.

Everything had been going smoothly until you had to share his bed. He had been dealing with the nightmares on his own for years, and one night next to you and all his coping skills went out the window. After that first night when you had calmed him he had begun to seek you out when he woke in the middle of the night. On most nights it was enough to hear you breathe, feel the warmth radiating off your soft skin.

When it was bad he needed to feel you, feel the rise and fall of your stomach as you took each breath, feel your pulse beat under his fingers, feel the warmth of your skin directly. In the mornings the guilt of bringing you into his world of nightmares and shame would overwhelm him and he would pull away. But at night, with the images of death behind his eyelids, he needed to touch you. To know you were safe and alive and with him.

When the interview ended and he walked back into Davis’ office you were sitting in one of the chairs by the desk, your posture perfect, hands clasped together with no trace of your earlier emotions other than your brow slightly pinched with worry.

He sits down beside you, eyeing the difference in your demeanor as Davis walks around the desk and takes a seat. “Well it looks like your little fight might have helped your case, I overheard them whispering about a lovers quarrel before I went to separate you.”

“I’ll take whatever we can get,” you say with a tight smile. “What's next?”

“We wait to see if they are pursuing charges,” Davis shrugs, “They will review evidence, and will probably wait for what your commander will do with the adultery accusation. If you get disciplined on that accusation it will actually strengthen your legitimate marriage case.”

“Best worst case scenario.” Jake sighs and Davies nods.

– – –

Jake follows you in his truck as you drive home. His mind turns over the swings in your behavior and emotions the last few hours. First you were nervous clutching his hand, then there was the anger and sadness. But none of that unnerved Jake as much as your calm perfect posture in the office after.

When he follows you through the door you immediately start tidying up, taking the coat from the back of a chair and putting it in the closet, and stacking shoes neatly. He watches you move into the kitchen and wash your hands before emptying the clean dishwasher. “I’m going to make that stir-fry you like,” your voice is soft. “And saw a trick on TikTok to make extra gooey chocolate chip cookies that I was going to try tonight.”

“I’m on emptying the dishwasher, and dinner duty,” he says trying to get you to look at him.

“I just feel like I need to do something," you say with a smile that does not reach your eyes, handing him a beer from the fridge, “I’ll do the dinner dishes too, you get the night off.” You turn to go back to emptying the dishwasher.

Jake stares at the cold beer in his hand before putting it back in the fridge and sitting at the breakfast bar. “We need to talk about today.” Your muscles tense almost imperceptibly.

“Oh,” you say with a casual shrug, barely pausing in your task. “I’m not a good liar, and I was so stressed from the interview, I thought if I acted upset about the adultery question where they couldn't really see my face it would sell it. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you that I was going to push you.”

That could have been what you were doing but the look on your face had been so genuinely full of heartbreak, so real, that he wasn’t sure he believed you now. “Well you fooled me.” he answers to see your response.

Your soft laugh and the way your movements loosen slightly tells him the truth. You are a great liar. You lied your whole childhood and anyone who didn't know you would fall for it every time. But Jake knows you.

He knows your posture isn’t so perfect when you are relaxed, knows you do everything in your power to avoid dishes, and knows you like your cookies crunchy. He is the one who likes them soft.

As he watches you move around the kitchen he realizes what you are doing. “I’m not mad at you, Pip.”

“Well that's good.” You grin at him with that same smile, it even has laugh lines, but your eyes are hollow. It was killing him to see you ice him out.

“I can cook or do dishes.” Jake searches your face, speaking softly and trying to get you to stop trying to placate him. When you refuse his help again he drags his hands through his hair in frustration. “You are allowed to be upset Pip, you are allowed to be mad, mad at me, at the situation, at everything. I’m not your parents, I won't blame you for your emotions. I’m not going to be mad at you. I won’t hurt you.”

You are frozen in the center of the kitchen clutching a mixing bowl. “I know you won't.” Your posture is the same but there is a flicker of emotion returning to your eyes and Jake sighs with relief.

“Don’t cook tonight, I’m ordering a pizza.” Jake says with a soft smile trying to coax a real one out of you. “And you should make crunchy cookies.”

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #topgun #topgun maverick #topgun hangman #hangman topgun

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terrence-silver · 6 months

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Imagining high school sweetheart!beloved and Terry getting married before he gets shipped off to war and Beloved always sending letters to Terry while he’s away

Bonus: Terry comes back home after the war and finds Beloved’s unsent letters to him that were written when he was M.I.A. and sees how worried she was about him

---

I feel nobody would believe Twig is married because he's, well...Twig!

He's so young! So shy! So wide eyed! Scrawny! The idea of Privates infinitely more experienced and worldly than him only just being in the stage of sharing correspondence back home with their respective sweethearts and go-steady girlfriends while this kid here is already legally married is straight out of the Twilight Zone for most of his fellow soldiers who immediately wrote him off as a sore loser, perhaps with the rare exception of John Kreese who stands up for him and defends him when he's teased and called a liar who just about invented a full-blown Missus for himself to seem cool and less of a wimp in the eyes of everyone else, the letters he receives from beloved deemed fabricated one way or another even though they're actually entirely legitimate, the parcels bearing the seal of the military mail, arriving the same as everyone else's packages do.

''Did your momma write those?''

Someone might cruelly jest right before Kreese gives them a look, telling them to step off.

Gets slightly worse during POW captivity. All the members of Twig's platoon are in the same mess but it doesn't prevent in-fighting and the day-to-day cruelty and microaggressions from continuing even inside of a cage when validly, once communications are entirely cut off and they're trapped deep in enemy territory, there is no way for beloved's letters or anyone's as for that matter to come in and circulate, and the soldiers and even Twig's own Commanding Officer Turner never let him forget that like he's somehow to blame (And in their mind's eye, he is. They feel he's got them all captured through his negligence and incompetence. There will be payback for that. If the Vietcong don't do him in, his own will. For all Turner cares, Terry Silver got them here and pray to God, in the following weeks, he'll make this kid's life so difficult in this cage he'll wish the Vietcong ended him day one, bullet to the brain, same as Ponytail and what better way to utilize psychological warfare than to use the boy's own spouse against him the way he later tries with John and Betsy), finding it an apt pastime to pester one of their own even when facing death, torture and execution from the Vietcong that captured them. It's easier in a weird and very sick sense; poking and prodding at the weakest link in the hierarchy of things to better endure the gravity of the situation and just forget for a while.

You do some pretty awful things under duress.

''Guess the love letters stopped now, eh, Twig?'' Turner mocks.

''Momma back home ran out of ink?''

The older man laughs into his own chin as Twig scoots further back against the bamboo bars of their shared jail, missing beloved so badly he can feel the ache of it in his bones, loathing the fact he has no control of anything going on and John Kreese, witnessing the sight and having stood up for his friend countless times vows that one of these days, he's gonna give their Commanding Officer a piece of his mind even if he ends up court martialed for it after they're released seeing as how John can vouch that if the other soldiers are boneheads Captain Turner has enough intel on his own men to know for a fact Twig never lied and that he is in fact married back home. That beloved's real the same way his Betsy is real. Man has no excuse for the hell he's putting Twig through just because he can. John gets his chance to retaliate for the abuse a few weeks later once the Vietcong force them to fight over an open pit of snakes.

As for Twig?

Once they're rescued from the POW camp, he is finally reunited with the stack of letters beloved's been sending him back at base and it's like being reunited with a missing limb. When he gets home, beloved gives him a package of unsent mail just around the time he was captured and gone missing. Everything he's been made fun of entirely real and genuine; not one word of it a lie or made up. Everything right there, in black and white, written down with beloved's own pen. Every bit of concern. Fear. Care. Of course, it only serves to turn him a little more...well...Terry Silver as we know him. No point in being truthful if he won't be believed anyway, even when he is. Might as well fabricated. Might as well manipulate. Everyone who ever laughed at him died. And he's here. He survived. He is loved. He's won. And he'll keep winning and winning.

He hugs the stack of letters and beloved close to his chest with a vice grip.

The first seeds of something very dark have long been sown.

#high school sweetheart!beloved #terry silver #terry silver twig #twig terry silver #tw; vietnam #tw; soldiers #tw; military life #letters #tw; pow captivity #tw; vietnam war #john kreese #captain george turner #captain turner #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #fluff #dark fluff #angst #ponytail

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sixpennydame · 9 months

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Sailor my love, happy holidays! Hope you’re having a wonderful time!

How about 18 for the writing prompts with Erwin? 👀 or Jean if the commander doesn’t speak to you🙊

Dee, my love, my bestie...I saved yours for last. A special little NYE treat for you. ;)

(And technically, this is an Erwin drabble, not Levi, but I'd already made the banner ;))

DAY 7: Fake dating for a New Year's Eve party/ball

Erwin x fem!reader

"Let me get this straight: you want me to go on a date with you? On New Year's Eve?"

Erwin shifts in his chair and straightens his uniform jacket. "I know it's an...unusual request. But Premier Zackly is requiring all Branch Commanders and officers to attend a New Year's Eve ball in Mitras. Preferably with their spouses or partner." He looks at you. "As you know, I have neither of those, so I need someone who is charming and well-spoken to help gain support amongst the elite."

You scoff. You'd left that world behind long ago to join the Survey Corps. But Erwin always has an angle, a strategy to use his soldier's talents, no matter how small. "Think of it more as you accompanying me on an important mission."

This "mission" required you both to travel to Mitras, a city you swore you'd never return to; your allegiance to your family and their fortune abandoned after hearing a passionate speech by the new, 13th Commander of the Survey Corps. You'd never regretted your decision and you never looked back.

Even after your father disowned you for "lowering yourself and your status by becoming a Survey Corpswoman."

But you believed in Erwin's goals; you wanted to help him anyway you can.

You just never thought it'd be by pretending to be his partner.

Erwin waits for you in the lobby of the hotel in which you'll be staying and which is also the venue for the event. You spot him immediately; Erwin always has an air of authority about him, but now that he's switched his Survey Corps uniform for a black suit, he looks more relaxed and elegant.

He turns to you, takes your hand, and gives it a light kiss. "You look absolutely radiant."

His words immediately elicit a blush, then you remember: this is all an act. "And you look so handsome," you cup his cheek, "darling."

He smiles, then takes your arm in his. "Shall we?"

You both walk amongst the rich, powerful, and elite with an aura as if you are one of them. They stare and whisper, but it phases neither of you. You're ready to play the game.

It was easier than you thought. Erwin watched as you laughed and charmed your way with generals' wives; as you casually mentioned a need for the Survey Corps, their decorated faces nodding in agreement with whatever you said.

As you excused yourself from a group of Lords, one of them turns to Erwin. "Where did you find such an intriguing, magnificent creature? You are one lucky bastard."

"Yes, she is amazing, isn't she?" Erwin replied, raising his glass.

And he truly meant it.

"Everyone, it's almost midnight!" someone yells. You're back at Erwin's side as the crowd begins the countdown.

"3....2....1...HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

You turn toward your tall, handsome date. "Happy New Year, Er-"

The sentence is cut short when Erwin pulls you into him, pressing his lips against yours. Your eyes go wide. He pulls away then moves close to your ear, in a lover's embrace.

"We have to keep up appearances," he whispers softly. His low voice, his lips grazing your ear, it sends shivers down your spine and makes your heart skip a beat.

"Of course," you reply, before kissing him again, this time longer, deeper. When you pull away, he doesn't say a word.

It's the first time you've ever seen the Commander speechless.

--//--

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sjsmith56 · 4 months

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Two Steps to the Left - Part 4

Summary: As predicted, the Avengers are called to battle, alongside the Asgardians and Wakandans. Although victorious, they recognize the next fight will be close and prepare. At the end of the final battle, something strange happens.

Length: 3.5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Colonel Phillips, a cast of thousands, some characters from the TVA.

Warnings: none

Author notes: See after the story to avoid spoilers.

<<Part 3

🪖 👽 🛸

Three years later

Major Rogers and Captain Barnes stood on the platform as they waited for the portals to open. Other enhanced beings stood next to them, the Black Panther in his all black vibranium suit, backed by his force of men and women warriors armed with spears but with skills and tactics that rivalled the most advanced armies on earth. Next to him stood Thor, wearing his battle gear and cape, his hammer Mjolnir in his hand, then his brother Loki, wearing a black and green suit that seemed to flow with his lithe body, topped by a golden horned headdress, and their father King Odin, along with a sizeable complement of men and women warriors. They all looked out over the assembled force of human super soldiers, both men and women. Their Lieutenant, Isaiah Bradley, quickly checked they were ready then smartly marched over to his commanding officers.

"The troops are ready, sir," he said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," replied Rogers, noticing his wife, Peggy, and son at the back, as she stood with the General and Howard Stark.

Bucky's wife, Dot, was also there, her hand on her abdomen, as she was due to give birth in another month. Other spouses waited with them. Captain America stepped forward, making eye contact with as many of his team as he could.

"Today, we go forth into battle for the first time as a unified force, representing this universe. The threat against that universe is a threat against ours and we have vowed to join together as one, to fight Thanos. King Odin has fought similar battles before and will be leading our force once we get through the portal. Obey his orders without question. You will see other beings from other timelines in our combined forces, give them the same respect that you've already given to our force here. Good luck and may fortune be on our side."

Several large portals opened behind them, and the small army went through towards the strange light that poured through. Within moments they were gone, and the portals closed behind them leaving the others behind. All they could do was wait. With the General's invitation those left behind returned to the base and waited for the signal that would indicate a return. When it didn't come by nightfall, the spouses were assigned quarters as none wished to leave until their loved ones returned. Howard and the General sat up well into the night, putting quite the dent into a bottle of scotch talking of all that happened in the three years since they learned about the bigger threat.

Howard spent that three-year interval studying the properties of the remaining two vials of HYDRA serum, carefully decoding its secrets, so that they could continue creating super soldiers. Phillips, Steve, Bucky and the Howling Commandos continued the fight against HYDRA, destroying their bases, arresting their followers, and exposing their activities to the light of day. In the process they came across individuals, men and women, who showed their willingness to join in the battle against that darkness, while maintaining their humanity. When the first batch of the new serum was ready to test, several of those people volunteered to take it, putting their life on the line. They came through with flying colours, proving that the single most important quality of the serum was its ability to enhance that which was already present in the individual.

Rather than wait for Isaiah Bradley to be transformed without his consent, the newly promoted General Phillips located him and after getting to know the giant of a man, offered him the opportunity to join the Howling Commandos as a regular team member. Bradley was one of the first to volunteer for the serum. As part of a promise Phillips made to the soldier, the secret program he was in during the original timeline was exposed as a dangerous and criminal exploitation of black soldiers. The General used all of his power to shut it down permanently.

Thor arrived first on their world, less than a month after modern Bucky and Bruce left; the pillar of light from the Bifrost came roaring down from the sky, leaving an intricate design on the grass at the base. He waited to be approached by Steve and Bucky, who brought the flask of Asgardian mead with them, still enough inside for the three men to share a drink. The Demi-god recounted the visit of his future self, who apprised him of the threat of Thanos, then shared that information with Odin and Loki, informing the latter that he was murdered by the Titan. The news that Thanos was strong enough to kill a god, tempered Odin's original plan to summarily attack the Thanos of their timeline, agreeing to join with the other forces being assembled, ready to fight when they were needed.

King Azzuri the Wise, also known as T'Chanda, reached out next. Visited by his granddaughter, Shuri, he learned of the threat that they all faced and how his help would be needed. At first, he didn't want to expose Wakanda to the attention of the world, then Shuri showed him what the isolation of the country did in terms of how their resources became coveted over the years. Convincing him that an alliance with the Avengers would work in several ways he sent a delegation to them, inviting Colonel Phillips, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes to visit the country as his guests. Surprisingly, he found common ground with Phillips as the plain-spoken man impressed the king with his candour. Equally impressed by the two super soldiers who didn't like bullies, he accepted that Captain America was the owner of the shield that had been made with stolen vibranium, then gifted another one to Barnes, as well as presenting vibranium strengthened suits for them to wear that would protect them from weapons the western world had only envisioned in science fiction stories.

Before she returned to the future, Shuri encouraged her grandfather to reinstate the ancient tradition of the Dora Milaje, the elite women warriors that protected the kings of Wakanda for many years. Then she asked that he allow the super soldiers to train with them, reasoning that it would benefit all of humankind to have them allied together using common tactics. When he allowed Rogers and Barnes to train with them on their first visit, seeing how quickly the two men picked up the tactics, he agreed it would serve their combined forces well.

All of that was accomplished in the three years since they were apprised of the threat. When a portal opened in the middle of a training exercise just hours before, and a sorcerer stepped through to advise them it was time to go, Rogers immediately ordered everyone to prepare for battle. While they did so another portal opened with the Wakandan force, then the Bifrost appeared carrying the Asgardian force. They would walk through to the battlefield together, proof of the alliance between the peoples of two of nine realms. With barely enough time for whispered words of love and assurance to their families, the team now officially known as the Avengers, came out carrying conventional weapons, as well as modified HYDRA weapons, created with the reasoning that some good should come from the technology.

Two days later, a single portal opened to a sorcerer, looking a little disheveled, who announced the battle had been won. He advised General Phillips to get medical crews ready to accept the wounded. When questioned, he wouldn't say if there were any casualties. Ten minutes later a large portal opened, and the Avengers crew came through, as the other members of the force returned to their own homes. Although most came through on their own two feet, there were some that had to be supported, and others that were carried in on stretchers. Two stretchers had blankets over the person on them.

Peggy and Dot, grasping hands, moved towards those coming in, at first not seeing Steve and Bucky in the nearest rows of returning soldiers. As their faces became more desperate, they stopped, and looked at each other with a growing fear, then they saw their husbands, each of them part of those carrying the two blanketed stretchers at the back. General Phillips motioned to some soldiers to relieve the two men. Their wives ran to them, collaring them in a fierce embrace, while the two commanding officers took their muffled cries without words. Instead, they held their women tightly, as if they would never let them go. The General stood waiting, not willing to interfere with this emotional grounding that each man seemed to need. Then Major Rogers opened his eyes to General Phillips and pulled away from Peggy, saluting his superior officer.

"Sir. Our side prevailed and the Thanos of that timeline was defeated," he said, then looked at the soldiers around them. "We had two deaths, fourteen injured. We'll need a few days after debriefing. It was ... intense."

"Take the rest of today," said Phillips, saluting back. "We'll debrief tomorrow morning at 09:00."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

With their wive's arms around them, the two officers headed towards a jeep, it's driver beckoning to them. After seeing the two men and their unit in action during World War II and after, Phillips wondered how intense it had been to make the two men look like they had gone through an unimaginable gauntlet. He found out the following day, when the Major described the otherworldly foe they engaged in battle with. Even the Asgardians had been hard pressed to keep up with the alien beings Thanos brought to the battlefield. There had been no respite as wave after wave of nightmare creatures kept attacking. The final battle, where the strongest warriors went against Thanos himself found the being fully capable of defending himself against multiple adversaries at the same time.

"How did you defeat him?" asked Phillips.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other before the blond man spoke. "We managed to take his weapon from him, then used it to remove his hands. Then Thor finished him by using his hammer to remove the head. It was dirty and bloody, and it was the only way. The Bucky Barnes that was here before, was there and he called it a street fight without rules, as if a street fight ever has rules. I guess he meant that we have to consider everything when we fight Thanos again."

"Recommendations?" asked General Phillips.

"We need more enhanced soldiers," said Bucky. "There were thousands on each side, and it could have gone either way. Thanos has aircraft that I've only read about in science fiction. Stark needs to invent something similar, perhaps using the HYDRA aircraft we still have in storage. We need more allies from this universe. Our side did have people from other planets in that universe. Thor has promised to engage with those who live in the nine realms and bring others with them." He ran his hands over his face. "It's not going to be easy, sir."

That became an understatement as they were called again to fight just three months later. Although they had no deaths in this battle, there were more injuries and once again the same recommendations were made. More super soldiers were created, as they opened the process to other armies of the world, searching out those who fit the strict requirements. Azzuri agreed to Stark working with Wakandan scientists to come up with a standard issue weapon that would be more effective against the enemy. Thor recruited more participants from other worlds in the nine realms.

A year later they had a much more integrated force, along with several units of fighting aircraft from one of the alien worlds that agreed to create a space force to represent their universe. Shortly after this time, the people of Earth were informed of the threat of Thanos, after the being of this universe sent a scouting party to determine the strength of any potential defence against him. With the appearance of that party in the middle of New York which necessitated the intervention of the Avengers it soon appeared on newsreels, and the growing entertainment media, television, around the world. That scouting party never made it back, as they were engaged and defeated. Their technology was studied, reverse engineered and used to add to the multi-planet space force that now existed. It seemed like the whole world was now engaged in preparing for the day when Thanos would appear, and he didn't disappoint, arriving November 1, 1952.

The alarm was given, the sorcerers contacted all their allies, both human and non-human. The humans from other universes and timelines arrived first, then the others, multiple Asgardian delegations, multiple contingents from worlds that had never even been aware of a small planet in an insignificant solar system on the outer arm of a spiral galaxy that resembled so many others. But they came, and assembled in the desert, far from populated areas, a force larger than any other.

It was a brutal street fight, no rules, just survival of all of their species at stake. Because this time Thanos brought all of the remaining versions of himself together, determined to prove to all universes that he was the supreme being of all beings. It was a gamble unlike anything he had ever attempted before. All the various versions of him assembled in that dry desert, certain that nothing the humans and other species from other worlds tried would be unable to stop him from achieving his glory. When the last version of him was defeated and lay headless, bleeding his purple blood into the soil of a planet he had considered unimportant, his followers surrendered. A few of those still standing on the victorious side, gathered together, beaten but not bowed, satisfied but not gloating, and wondering what would happen next. Some, like the Asgardians, said it was a battle that would be sung of for millennia, describing how the brave underdogs rose as one to challenge the Titan who believed he was above time itself. Then one of the Loki beings, stepped away from the others and looked out over all those still alive and smiled. He glowed a rich green colour and if one looked at him in the sunlight a certain way it would seem he was holding tendrils of green in his hands, tendrils that whirled and grew, stretching out to infinity.

"You have done well," he said. "Now it is time to fix that which we broke to defeat the threat against all the universes and all timelines by Thanos. Live well, my children."

Then everything went black.

January 1945, on a train in the Austrian Alps

Bucky and Steve had little time to prepare for the HYDRA soldier coming into the train car until it was almost too late. His weapon discharged a powerful blue pulse that Steve barely managed to lift up the shield to protect them both. It deflected the blast to the side, blowing a massive hole into the side of the train car, while Steve lay stunned against the opposite wall. Bucky picked up the shield, determined to protect himself from the next blast and began firing the remaining rounds from his pistol. A sudden sense of déjà vu enveloped him as he felt the cold air of the mountainous chasm that flew past the gaping hole, grasping at his body as if it were preparing to haul him out of the damaged train car.

"Move, two steps to the left."

"What?"

He looked at Steve, who still laid senseless on the floor of the train car. It wasn't him who was speaking.

"Take two steps left, NOW!"

Without hesitating Bucky did as he was told then felt the brunt of the pulse emanating from the weapon, slamming him into the other side of the train car across and past where the hole was located. He landed on the body of a HYDRA soldier he shot earlier. Dazed, he watched as Steve picked the shield up, and threw it into the standing soldier, knocking him down and out. Running towards Bucky, the super soldier trained his eyes quickly over his friend.

"You, okay?"

"Yeah, just a bit banged up. Those things have a punch to them."

"Good thing your super soldier body can take it."

Bucky grinned. "You know, I heard a little voice in my head telling me to move two steps to the left. If I hadn't, I would have fallen out."

Steve's eyes twinkled. "Good thing you listened."

Without delay the pair of them made their way to the front of the train, easily dealing with the resistance along the way. Ever since Bucky had admitted that Dr. Zola had injected him with serum, the Colonel had insisted that Rogers take him under his wing and help him accept and use the changes that were going through his body. Even though he wasn't quite as strong, or as fast as Steve, Bucky had proven to be almost as effective.

Just before they entered the cab, they heard a gunshot and rushed inside. Gabe stood over the prone body of a little man. Kneeling down, Bucky turned him over and shook his head.

"What happened?"

"He fired a gun on me," said the shaken Private, rubbing his arm where the bullet hit. "I just shot back instinctively. I'm sorry, I know we wanted him alive."

"No big loss," grunted Bucky, standing up. "I doubt he would have said anything. He was a true believer in his work. The number of times he grinned as they cut me open then watched as my skin closed up and healed was proof that he was a monster."

As the engineer was instructed by Gabe where to stop, the two super soldiers sat on a pair of crates. With Zola dead, that should put a crimp in the Winter Soldier program that Dr. Erskine warned them about. The next job was to deal with Johann Schmidt, Red Skull. The Captain and his Sergeant knew what they had to do and would do it together.

TVA

"How did he restore all the timelines?"

Mobius looked at B-15. "I don't know but as soon as all the Thanos variants were defeated, he managed to get everything back to what it was."

"He's tweaking the same thing in all the variants of ...." Ouroborus peered closely at the readout. "A man named James Barnes. Most of the variants were forced into becoming an assassin against their will. Many of them were viciously tortured by an organization called HYDRA. He's making sure that organization is defeated in their timelines. Did he ever say anything about them?"

Mobius shook his head. "Must have been something from his original timeline that he felt compelled to repair."

The other man kept looking at the readout. "They were an organization that looked to slavery and genocide as a means of taking power. He's also making changes to the timelines of a man, Dr. Bruce Banner, something to do with a large green alter ego he takes on. The big green guy is being removed from the timelines and this Banner fellow just looks like himself. There's more."

B-15 sighed. "Print it out in a report and I'll have a look at it but I'm not going to second guess Loki. He saved the sacred timeline by sacrificing himself. If he can stop other genocides in multiple timelines I can't complain." She looked at Mobius. "Thanks for coming in. You knew him best and I was just hoping you had an idea of how and why he did this."

The blonde man stopped before the door that waited for him then shrugged. "He is a god, and gods are mysterious."

****

November 1, 1952 – The date of the first detonation of a thermonuclear device (hydrogen bomb). What if it didn't happen in this alternate universe?

So, why did I end this with a nod to Loki at the end of Season 2 of that series? Let's just say, he underwent such a transformation in that program that he felt compelled to change things in his original universe for the better. Thanos did threaten the sacred timeline as word spread throughout the multiverse that he had been defeated. His arrogance wouldn't allow him to accept that. Loki knew the best way to defeat Thanos was to get the cooperation of multiple timelines in multiple universes from multiple species. Once Thanos was out of the way he restored the timelines as if Thanos never existed, with a few minor tweaks (like letting Bucky have his life back, making sure HYDRA was defeated, and ensuring the Hulk never made an appearance).

Series Masterlist

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes au #thanos #tva loki #glorious purpose #fixing time

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roseharpermaxwell · 2 years

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Bite-Size Dramione - Under 5k (Part One)

These are your bedtime stories, your palate cleansers, your individual serving sizes of serotonin. It’s okay to enjoy these even if you only read slow burn 100k+ fics, I promise. Live a little!

This is a sampling of some amazing favorites, but I’m always reading new things and will add to it regularly. If you find something you love, I know the author would love to hear it, and so would I! Take a deep dive into their catalog to find other gems.

Part One below:

Only Dancing by @sunflower-swan. NR, 378 words. Hermione is only dancing. No harm in that. Draco can get jealous or go with it.

Give and Take by @ambpersand. E, 1k. The softness of her curls brush against his thighs, and Draco has just enough slack to widen his knees to get closer to her. She’s everywhere, and it’s still not enough. He needs her to consume him whole.

Indulge Me by @millennialgrandma. M, 1k. A little eighth year Veritaserum-fueled confession of feelings.

First Kiss(es) and the Path to Forgiveness by millennialgrandma. T, 1.2k. Returning to Hogwarts for an eighth year felt like penance. Kissing Hermione Granger felt like redemption.

You’re Older Now by @simplifiedemotions. T, 1.2k. “I don’t know how to do this,” he says, his breath coming out in harsh gasps. The only time Hermione remembers him being so harried was when she’d first woken up with no recollection of even her own name. She distinctly remembers his blood-shot gaze, the trembling of his limbs, when he asked her if she had remembered him.

Tentative Exporations by @dreamsofdramione. E, 1.2k. What Draco lacks in finesse he makes up for in enthusiasm.

a cure for headaches by @whimsymanaged. E, 1.3k. Hermione has a headache. Draco has a suggestion. (Hint: It's not a pain potion.)

Some things, however by @frumpologist. T, 1.3k. Officer Granger is annoyed with Commander Draco and finds solace in the ship’s library.

A Full and Careful Analysis by @eveningstruggle. M, 1.3k. “Truth or dare.” Hermione traced her fingers over Draco’s chest, trying to match the pattern he was tracing on her back. “Dare. Wait—no. I need a refractory period first. Truth.” “Hmm…what’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” “That's too easy; it was four minutes ago.” or: Draco and Hermione talk about their past romantic history.

This Singular Night by @misdemeanor1331. T, 1.4k. On their last night in Las Vegas, Hermione asks Draco an unexpected question. He gives her an equally surprising answer.

Love of My Life by @mykesprit. T, 1.5k. A surprising revelation at their anniversary party sends Hermione reeling.

Round and Fluffy by @caitybellfics. M, 1.5k. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter arrive at the DMLE to retrieve their spouses.

Jealous by dreamsofdramione and @inadaze22. E, 1.6k. Draco isn't possessive. In order to be possessive, one has to have some sort of attachment to another person. There is no such ‘attachment’ to Granger. Sure, he knows the precise way to move his tongue inside of her to make her moan, the shape of her hip under his palm when he fucks her so hard they both see stars, and the exact pitch of her voice when she comes, but he’s not attached to her. This is the lie he tells himself.

Write What You Know by @pacific-rimbaud. T, 1.7k. Prompt: Muggle University Student AU: studying Classics or MFA Creative writing

Counting Days by dreamsofdramione. E, 1.7k. Arithmancy was never Draco's strong suit.

What Was Lost, and What Remains by PacificRimbaud. G, 1.8k. My name is Monica Joan Wilkins. I am 57 years old. I live in Sydney, New South Wales. I share a dental practice with my husband. We've been married for thirty-two years.

What To Do by @willhavetheirtrinkets. E, 1.8k. "I can," she said, smirking at him. "I have that authority. Since you're always going at it quick and hurried, without the slightest attention to detail, I've been given the authority to make certain it's done properly."

Draco ground his teeth. "You can't tell me what to do, Granger."

You Owe Me by musyc. M, 1.8k. Hermione has an anniversary plan.

Mutually Assured Destruction… by @grangerdangerfics. T, 1.9k. As Head Girl Hermione Granger and Head Boy Draco Malfoy wage an escalating war of aggressive acts of kindness, will it spell ruin ... or romance?

Upper Body Injury by @provocative-envy. T, 1.9k. Hockey AU! "Careful," he says dryly. "Or I might think you're trying to flirt with me." "Oh, you'd know if I was trying to flirt with you."

"Maybe," he concedes, flicking his hair back with a practiced nod of his head. "But would you?"

Coming in for Landing by @sunlightdaydream. E, 2k. Draco loved flying when Hermione worked. She truly was the best flight attendant he knew. She followed directions to the tee on most days, but even better when she's on her knees before him. Or: It's cockpit porn and he is the pilot.

Inventory of Moments by optimise. T, 2k. Hermione makes a lot of lists. And a list of names just happens to be one of them.

My Brown-Eyed Girl by PacificRimbaud. M, 2.1k. Draco and Hermione have a lazy snuggle in the grass behind the Quidditch pitch.

The Dumbing Down of Love by inadaze22. T, 2.1k. Hermione is an expert at foiling Draco's plans.

Never Have I Ever by @niffizzle. M, 2.1k. With a bottle of firewhisky, a set of enchanted cups, and a game of Never Have I Ever, things turn interesting during one of the final days leading up to graduation. But just how much will be divulged? Maybe some things should stay private.

Two Full Inches Above Regulation Length by granger_danger. E, 2.1k. “Granger.” Malfoy’s voice was an ember in the dark corridor. He grasped her wrist and she almost dropped her jar of bluebell flames. “Your skirt’s not to the bottom of your knees. I may have to take points from Gryffindor.”

A Whole New World by simplifiedemotions. T, 2.2k. Draco takes Hermione out flying.

Passing Notes by @sodamnradd. T, 2.3k. D: Pay you 10 galleons to cover patrol tonight H: STOP throwing notes at me ferret. And no. D: 50 galleons? and so ensues a term of note-passing between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger

A Pretty Picture by @wickermayne. E, 2.3k. Draco wakes up with Hermione between his legs. Like a good boyfriend, he helps quench her thirst.

hands to myself by whimsymanaged. E, 2.4k. Every Friday night, Hermione goes to her favourite bar with her friends. One of the reasons this bar is her favourite is because she inevitably runs into Draco Malfoy. Tonight, all their flirting comes to a head.

Sucker 4 U by whimsymanaged. E, 2.4k. “You can’t just…casually talk about watching porn,” Hermione hissed, glancing around. “Why not?” Draco raised his eyebrows. “I’ve just discovered it, and I want to tell the world. Anyway, I saw a clit sucker in one of the videos, and I got to wondering how on Earth a contraption like that could feel like someone sucking your clit.”

This Time Tomorrow by sodamnrad. M, 2.5k. On the last night of school, Draco's unchecked feelings for Granger spill through the cracks.

A Different Kind of Magic by @canttouchthis87. T, 2.5k. Draco Malfoy watched Hermione Granger practice her Viola for six years. Returning to Hogwarts after the war, her music offers them both a place of freedom and sanctuary.

Shifting Perspectives by misdemeanor1331. E, 2.5k. Being a woman in a male-dominated profession is hard; being a woman and below average height is even harder.

Passing Notes by @shamione. E, 2.6k. Draco Malfoy has teased Hermione Granger for the last time, tucked away in an alcove with his fingers buried deep inside her.

Lessons in Darkened Rooms by @raven-m-3. E, 2.6k. Draco Malfoy's eighth year at Hogwarts should have been simple, if unpleasant. Instead he finds himself grappling with a Granger-shaped problem.

A Thousand Ways to Say Sorry by @wordswithways. T, 2.6k. Draco Malfoy goes on a gift-giving apology tour. But a crucial person on his list wants nothing to do with it.

How to Break a Curse by whimsymanaged. E, 2.7k. They only had a small window before the curse took effect. “Run me through it.” Granger swallowed. “We have thirty minutes to have sex that ends with you coming inside me.” Draco clenched his jaw so tightly that it cracked. “What are our other options?” She didn’t sugarcoat it. “Death.”

Caught Wet-Handed by millennialgrandma. E, 2.8k. “Did we not agree, sweetheart, that we wouldn’t?” “Yes, Draco, which is why-” “And were you not the one who suggested, no, insisted, we abstain until the wedding night?”

Draco’s Consolation Prize by emilyinwonderland. E, 2.8k. Head Girl Hermione Granger comforts a moody Slytherin Quidditch Captain.

Feeling This by @echoofpromise. E, 2.8k. The one where Hermione elbows Draco in the nose at a rock show and he likes it

Just Desserts by @thelashjedi. M, 2.8k. Why would you talk to me? Draco thought, behind a heavy wall of occlusion as he politely, but rotely declined the Head Girl’s offer to join her in the Great Hall, at the newly mixed tables set up in the wake of the war.

Two Dry Martinis by @darkofthemoonfic. E, 2.9k. “You’re brilliant,” he said, flashing those teeth again. “What did I do before you arrived? And what else might you teach me?” Hermione knew she was blushing so she took another sip of her drink. The gin crisp and just the slightest hint of vermouth — how she liked it. When she flicked her eyes back to the bartender he was watching her. “A fair number of things, I’d expect.”

Pin-Up by whimsymanaged. E, 2.9k. Hermione needs to raise funds for her non-profit. Putting together a calendar of naked Quidditch players seems as good a way as any.

Severn Way by @magicaltraveler3. E, 3k. Hermione didn’t know it but they weren’t going home. They were going to a log cabin far away from anyone that could bother them.

Taste of Affection by dreamsofdramione. E, 3.1k. “You’re doing so well, Pet.”

Savour by @mignon-chignon. E, 3.1k. Draco Malfoy had a dinner to savour, hopefully without any distractions.

Overtime by @scullymurphy. E, 3.2k. Draco and Hermione are working overtime. It's late, they've gotten into the whisky and Hermione's self-control is at an all-time low -- especially once Draco starts rolling his sleeves.

Triple Axel by @batmansymbol. G, 3.2k. “As I’ve said ten thousand times, Malfoy,” she says, unbuckling her helmet, still breathing hard, “you wouldn’t last a second in speed skating.” She tugs the helmet off and her hair springs free. She shakes it back with supreme disdain. “You know what, though? I’m starting to think I’d like to see you try.”

Deal by @its-banannaz. E, 3.3k. It was all a stupid deal, and why she made a deal with Draco Malfoy of all people? She had absolutely no idea. Suffice to say, she lost the game.

Good Girls Get to Sit on Santa's Lap by whimsymanaged. E, 3.3k. On a huge, plush red armchair that the Sigmas must have borrowed (they’re usually green and silver everything) sits a guy dressed as Santa Claus.

Well. He’s got the velvety red pants and the red coat, only the coat is open to reveal a hard, muscular, bare torso, and his Santa hat sits askew atop a pale blond fade.

Just Like the Ones I Used to Know by @acciomjolnir. T, 3.4k. It's 8th year, post war, and Hermione isn't feeling in the Christmas spirit. She's not the only one who has chosen not to go home for the holidays... and when they get into the eggnog, all kinds of things happen.

It’s Draco fucking Malfoy, bane of my existence.

*and it's followup: No Regrets for the New Year. E, 2.7k.

Where You Belong by @ecaworks, raven_maiden. E, 3.4k. When Draco Malfoy shows up at the Burrow over the holidays, Hermione learns she has a decision to make.

Third Time’s a Charm by @monsterleadmehome. E, 3.4k. Head Girl Hermione Granger has been hopelessly trying to seduce Head Boy Draco Malfoy all term, but he just won't get the hint.

Long story short (it was a bad time) by @ginnysocks. E, 3.4k. Were she and Draco currently shagging like rabbits every chance they got? Yes. Did they still utterly loathe each other? Also yes.

Flat(Mates) by WhimsyManaged. E, 3.4k. Hermione and Draco have been living together as platonic flatmates for years now. Neither have presented, so Hermione’s pretty sure they’re both betas. (Spoiler: they're not betas.)

Respite by canttouchthis. T, 3.5k. Hermione Granger is fine. Or at least there’s no reason for her not to be. But still, she finds respite under the stars, drawn to the night sky.

Mutually Assured Destruction by witchsoup. M, 3.5k. Hermione and Theo find ways to break it to each other gently... it's time to break up.

Continued in Part Two!

Give the authors some love! I also adore hearing if you found a new favorite fic or author.

I’ll be regularly adding to this, so if you’re seeing this as a reblog, feel free to check my Master List of Recommendations for the most current list. Lots of new tumblr users as well, so if you see yourself and you’re not tagged, let me know!

#dramione fic rec #dramione fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fic rec #draco x hermione

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rose-tinted-vision · 8 months

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Fic: The unsolved mystery of Qian Zhao's spouse

Relationships: (established, implied) Qian Zhao/Yu Shisan

Chapter: 1/3 |[read it on ao3]|next

3 years before canon

"Why did you reject such a good catch?” Sun Lang stares dreamily at the figure leaving the courtyard, “She's pretty, loaded, and kind-hearted! I saw her rescue a stray cat the other day!"

Qian Zhao ignored the question, shrugging off Sun Lang's arm slung casually around his shoulder as he stalked off to the training grounds.

He was defensive, Sun Lang notes, feeling a sly smile form on his face. This was something good, and he would get to the bottom of it.

But he would require more help to make Qian Zhao crack, if he did not want to give up such interesting gossip material, Sun Lang decides.

(“Yu Shisan!” Sun Lang bursts into the Asura Commander’s office later that day.

“What happened?” Yu Shisan’s head snaps up, worry clouding his face.

“Lao-Qian rejected Miss Jiang’s marriage offer earlier today!”

The worry eases from Yu Shisan's face, brows furrowing in thought before he shrugs, “not everyone wants to get married, you know.”

“But I mean, don't you think Lao-Qian has a lover or something, to reject the prestigious Jiang family?”

That gives Yu Shisan pause, and he finally looks up from his paperwork with an amused glint in his eyes.

That's more like it, Sun Lang thinks smugly).

—

It takes three days of Sun Lang bugging him before Qian Zhao cracks over lunch. There had been a lull in the missions for their respective Human and Heavenly path divisions, and there was nothing better to do than to continuously train, day in and day out.

(Nothing to do apart from trying to find out Qian Zhao's secret, that is).

"I'm married," Qian Zhao says, as casually as one would comment on the weather that Sun Lang nearly missed it.

As it was, he nearly choked on his rice at the sudden announcement, lamenting the fact that he was the only one here to bear witness to this news.

Where was Yu Shisan when he needed him? He silently curses the man, the most handsome always reaches the latest! what bullshit!

"Say that again?" Sun Lang demands, once he had gulped down enough water to clear his throat.

"I'm married, that's why I rejected Miss Jiang." Qian Zhao says slowly, as if Sun Lang were a particularly slow recruit that had just joined.

"But-but-to who?" Sun Lang splutters, mind still scrambling to catch up after the bombshell that Qian Zhao just dropped.

The man stares at him, unblinking, expression as impassive as ever as he deadpans, "None of your concern."

With that, Qian Zhao gets up with his empty bowl, and turns to leave.

—

Qian Zhao was swarmed the next day, the news of his marriage having spread like wildfire the previous night.

There was no shortage of people crying, some begging him to reconsider his life choices, others bemoaning that such an eligible bachelor had gone off the market. (He had, in fact, been ‘off the market’ for a year now).

His subordinates were unfocused throughout the day, their sword forms messy and uncoordinated.

Instead of correcting their mistakes, they pestered him relentlessly for details about his marriage, unsubtly asking for the lucky person's name, and what about them made their Commander willingly tie his life to theirs.

All that earned them was ten more laps around the palace, and they promptly shut up afterwards.

He catches wind of a betting pool opened regarding the identity of his spouse, the bets ranging from Ning Yuanzhou to Marquis Chen, their guesses only growing wilder as the betting pool grew larger.

(Though, no one has bet on Yu Shisan yet, he notes with no small amount of amusement).

—

“Chief, did you know about Qian-dage’s marriage?” Yuan Lu asked, tossing another pine nut into his mouth. The rooftop made for a good audience seat to the chaos that reigned below.

It was good to see Qian-dage getting all the love he deserved! Yuan Lu thinks.

Rarely did anyone express their appreciation for their Qian-dage, who actually did most of the work behind the scenes, such as making his medicine every week, for one.

“I…did not,” Chief Ning replies, his face strangely pinched. That was a new expression, Yuan Lu notes.

“Oh?” he teases, eyebrow raised, “there's something even the great Chief of the Six Realms does not know?”

“There are a lot of things I don't know,” Chief Ning counters, falling into their familiar song and dance, “matters of the heart are especially tricky.”

“There goes my chances at winning the betting pool,” Yuan Lu sighs wistfully.

“Betting pool?” Chief Ning asks, eyes narrowed, and-oh no, “You're fifteen! Why are you gambling?”

“I'm fifteen and I've been made commander anyway,” Yuan Lu counters, skipping off the roof with a cheeky wave.

—

Qian Zhao remains stubbornly tight-lipped about his spouse, which stretches it into a year-long betting pool.

(The betting pool remains strong even years after he gets transferred into the Palace's Yulin guards).

It turns into a tradition, a rite of passage for new recruits to bet on the identity of the legendary Qian-dage’s spouse).

#crack fic #qian zhao is a chaotic neutral gremlin #a journey to love #qian zhao #yu shisan #一念关山 #rose writes #i wanted to try making a gif but got too tired

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

Note

Hello Mr. Barber, I wanted to ask what are some qualities we ladies should look for as our deal breakers in finding a perfect match? I'm not very lucky in the dating sphere and I'm quite ready to give up. You and your wife are very lucky to have found each other and worked on your relationship. Obviously every person is different in what they look for in a partner, but do you have any suggestions or advice?

Summary: Andrew Barber returns to answer even more of your burning questions about love and marriage. Written from Andy's POV. Also check out Volume I and Volume II, as well as an Interview with Mrs. Barber.

Warning: the following response contains mature themes, including references to oral sex and cursing. Minors DNI.

A/N: For more insight into Andrew Barber and his Baby Girl, please check out my ongoing Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

___

Well hello again, everybody! First let me say that it’s nice to be back. My wife and I have really come to enjoy these questions. However, this time I felt the need to consult her as I wrote this response. This is in addition to letting her review my answers before hitting “publish”.

I just wanted to make sure that my answers made sense. Lucky for me, Baby Girl is a very honest creature. So, without further ado, here we go.

Allow me to begin by saying that there’s no such thing as a perfect match. Although I initially disagreed with this, my wife helped break it down for me so that I could better see her point. That’s one of the many things I love about this woman, you know? She’s willing to challenge me and the ways I see the world.

And sometimes that’s exactly what I need.

Now, that’s not to say there’s no hope of ever finding the yin to your yang. That’s absolutely possible. I just mean that perhaps you ought to consider tweaking your perspective a little.

Maybe reframe it in terms of you’re seeking a partner. Because that’s what you’re looking for, right? That’s the goal – the endgame. You’re searching for someone to do life with, together. Forever.

And in order for that to happen, you need an effective partner. Someone who sees you for who you are. Who loves you the ways you need to be loved. Someone who enhances instead of detracts.

You want someone who’s willing to meet you where you’re at with the intention of helping you grow.

With that in mind, I would implore you not to lower your standards. Maintain your values. Know your worth. Don’t ever compromise any of that for another person. I’d also advise you to be immediately wary of any man or potential significant other that ever asks you to do so.

One of things that really attracted me to my spouse is that she expected to be treated a certain way from the very beginning. She’s the type of person who commands respect from everyone wherever she is. She’s always been that way. And it’s because she knows her worth.

Case in point, when I almost blew it on our very first date. To this day, I’m grateful that I found the balls to chase after that woman when things went south at Cibo Matto. This man right here “ain’t too proud to beg”, I can tell you that much.

And yes, I know that’s a song by The Temptations. I was actually just serenading Baby Girl with it the other night. If memory serves, she was pissed at me for eating the last of her homemade cinnamon rolls. So, I did what any good husband would do when their lady threatens to run away to the grocery store and never come back. I swooped her up as she was stomping out the door and carted her off to my office so that I could apologize for my actions.

Besides, I’d much rather eat her any day. I mean can you blame me? My woman is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. The stories I could tell you about all the ways I’ve convinced her to forgive me for the stupid things that I’ve done…

But that’s not what this was initially about, is it? My sincerest apologies. Where was I? Oh, that’s right. Knowing your worth and refusing to lower your standards.

During our first date, my girl refused to settle for being treated as an afterthought. So she left. Just straight up walked out on me. Because she deserved better than how I was treating her.

That evening should have been about us getting to know each other better. Instead, I unknowingly allowed my ego to get in the way and almost derailed everything before it had the chance to start. Which meant that I almost lost out on something magical.

Which brings me to my next point. Everyone makes mistakes. This can be especially true when nerves are involved. I’m fortunate in that my Baby Girl eventually forgave me, and with that also came a second chance. But only because – and she explained this to me again last night – I had enough sense and maturity to apologize.

And fucking mean it.

So, I’m going to suggest that you be willing to grant any of your potential suitors some grace. But only if they’re worthy of it. Meaning that if he’s not willing to apologize – especially if he’s done something to accidentally hurt or disrespect you – then walk away.

Because that’s a sign that you’re dealing with a boy. Not a man.

The only other thing I would encourage you to do is to keep yourself open to love. Magic tends to find us when we least expect it. It likes to sneak up and knock you square in the face. And when that happens, I think you should embrace it.

Run with it. Cherish it. Be thankful for it.

Treat that relationship like a seed and water it daily. You’ve got to pour into one another and tend to that love. Cultivate it gently with tenderness and patience. And hopefully one day you and your partner will look up and be utterly amazed by what has blossomed.

Thank you for your question and never forget that Mrs. Barber and I are cheering you on from the sidelines.

Best Wishes, Andrew Barber

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pisupsala · 2 years

Text

Wish You Were Here [2] | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | Some things you’d rather not face alone.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings | swearing, explicit smut / 18+ only

Words | 9.4k

Note | Can be read as part of One For The History Books (takes place post-epilogue—chronologically the final part) but also works as a standalone. Read part 1 here.

Library

He shouldn’t be here.

For years, Bradley simply accepted that being shipped around the globe was part of the job and never complained. But now, the one time he really didn’t want to be away from home, he received special orders. The Navy required him, him in particular, to lead specialized training on low-altitude maneuvers. And when you get orders like that, directly from an Admiral, you can’t really say no.

Standing at parade rest, staring straight ahead, Bradley can’t help but notice it’s annoyingly hot in vice-admiral Beau Simpson’s Florida office, despite it being late January and not at all that warm in Pensacola. Bradley is itching to get out of there, but the admiral is taking his sweet time leafing through his file. It’s bordering on the absurd.

“You know I like to get to know the aviators under my command, lieutenant commander. Understand what makes them tick.” He begins, without looking up from Bradley’s file. “It’s important for team building and trust, even if it’s just a temporary assignment.”

“Yes, sir.” Bradley replies out of obligation rather than interest.

“I see you finally got hitched?” Admiral Simpson finally looks up from the file, smile on his face. Bradley, however, is in no mood to discuss his private life with Simpson. His home life with you is off limits as far as he’s concerned—especially since that’s where he should be, and not here at the behest of Simpson no less, hundreds of miles away.

He still likes keeping some aspects of his life private. Bradley proudly wears his wedding band everywhere he can, only slipping it on the chain with his dog tags when he’s out on the tarmac or in the air. But that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about everything that is going on the home front with everyone.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s been a while since I saw you at TOPGUN - how long are you married now?” Simpson continues conversationally.

“Just over a year now, sir.”

The admiral nods, studying the page with Bradley’s personal information.

“Spouse: Mrs. D. Bradshaw - Williams, Ph.D.” He mutters, before looking up again. “That wouldn’t be the Miss Williams that was at TOPGUN then, is it?”

“Yes, sir.” There’s no reason to hide it, although Bradley has to strongly fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“I remember her fondly, she did great work.” Simpson nods, and Bradley just about stops himself from shifting on his feet uncomfortably. “And I’ve read some of her articles from the senate committee—fascinating stuff—but is it true she hasn’t published anything lately?”

“That’s possible, sir.” You hadn’t mentioned writing new articles in a while, working on smaller projects instead.

“Miss Wil - that is, Mrs. Bradshaw hasn’t left her position at the DoD, has she?”

“No, Dr. Bradshaw still works in the Pentagon archives, sir.” That might be too petty.

“Of course.” Simpson just smiles, probably happy he got more than a two-word answer out of Bradley. “I’ve been thinking about putting my thoughts about leadership and strategy to paper for a while now,” He leans back in his chair, pressing his hands together. “For the next generation of officers, you understand, lieutenant commander?”

What the fuck?

“Anyway, I’d like to ask mrs- Dr. Bradshaw if she would look over some of my drafts.”

“You’d have to ask her directly, sir.” If this conversation was absurd before, it’s straight-up insane now. “But she won’t be available for the coming months.”

“Oh, how so, lieutenant commander?”

“She’s on maternity leave.”

Simpson narrows his eyes, before turning his gaze back at the file. Bradley already knows what’s coming: there is no mention of children, which means Simpson will put two and two together pretty quickly.

“How far along is Dr. Bradshaw?” Simpson’s tone conveys not casual interest, but purely a request for information —personal chat is over.

“38 weeks.”

“Will that pose a problem for your focus during these two weeks?”

Bradley’s fingers flex behind his back out of frustration, but he keeps his features neutral. He shared with his commanding officer he was not keen on leaving so close to your due date, but was told Simpson requested him personally, and not going was pretty much not an option.

Still.

He shouldn’t be here.

“No, sir.”

“Good. You have singular experience in low-altitude maneuvers, which is why you were selected.”

Bradley doesn’t say anything, but Phoenix and Bob, Payback and Fanboy—hell even Hangman—all have similar experience. Minus being shot down over enemy territory, he thinks bitterly. However, he is under strict instruction from his CO not to bring that up to Simpson. Part of him is itching to do it anyway and get sent home for it.

But that would be veritable career suicide.

“I appreciate it, sir.”

“Anyway, I suppose congratulations are in order, lieutenant commander.” Simpsons grins up at him. “To the next generation of TOPGUN candidates.”

Bradley has to actively stop himself from cringing. It’s probably meant well by Simpson, but can’t shake the intrusiveness of it all. He’s here to train recruits for two weeks, and that’s it. He’ll be on the first flight home, back to you, as soon as this assignment is over. In the meantime, he has zero interest in discussing this—if only for the guilt weighing on him for having to leave you and Bug now.

You took it well. Of course you did. You smiled up at him and said you would invite your sister to keep you company, so you wouldn’t be alone. But your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. This was the one thing you admitted actually terrified you. But you put on a brave face for him. And Bradley so desperately wished he didn’t have to leave you now.

“Thank you, sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are alone. Again.

Your sister left for a day out in D.C. with her family. Bradley is gone. Hell, if you could leave you, you would probably do so too.

Miserable doesn’t even begin to describe it. Irritable. Anxious. Fucking furious.

Your body barely feels like it’s yours anymore; it’s unwieldy and everything hurts. You don’t fit into any of your clothes, and your feet are so swollen you are relegated to wearing slippers most of the time.

The worst thing is since you’re on maternity leave, you are bored out of your skull. You thought it would be nice to actually relax, and catch up on your nonwork reading, all the shows on your to-watch list, but you had enough of it after one long weekend. Years of having your brain constantly engaged has worn you out—do you even know how to take it easy?

You have every checklist memorized, a birth plan written up, an overnight bag packed, baby clothes, and diapers by the stack. Baby nail clippers, snot suction thingamajig, stroller, car seat, and an assortment of stuff your sister convinced you were essential. Bradley wisely didn’t comment on the parade of delivery people dropping off packages almost every day, tacitly accepting that this is just who you are. You have everything. You think.

Even if you wanted to do more research, double, triple check anything, every time you sit down at your laptop, Bug quite literally kicks up a fuss.

Your poor ribs and bladder usually bear the brunt of the assault.

You smile despite yourself as you grab a handful of honey-nut Cheerios. Bug.

That sunny Monday in May, the night after Bradley made you throw up (which he never stopped bringing up), you promise you will call the doctor first thing. But when Bradley brews coffee for you both that morning, and you throw up from it again, he practically threatens he’ll call you in sick and drag you to the clinic if he has to, despite you insisting you are fine.

You insist it’s a stomach bug. You insist it all the way up to the doctor’s office.

“Do you think…?” Bradley is leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, watching over you as you brush your teeth.

“Nah.” You practically cut him off, knowing exactly where he’s going with that question. You’re absolutely refusing to even start to entertain alternatives because if you let yourself believe for one second that it might be something else, you will be utterly crushed if it isn’t. You rinse out your mouth. “It’s just a stomach bug.”

You’ll probably get some antibiotics or something, a few days of prescribed rest and you’ll be right as rain. But Bradley is looking at you penesivly, like he’s trying to figure the meaning behind your reaction. Except there’s no meaning. It’s just a stomach bug, and it’s really nothing to get bent out of shape about.

But because even brushing your teeth doesn’t help settle the queasy, churning feeling in your stomach, you decide to call in sick. Bradley leaves you on the couch with a mint tea and a kiss.

“Let me know when you have the appointment.” He pulls the fleece blanket over you as you lie back. You nod. First you just want to close your eyes for a few minutes. Just to rest. You feel like you haven’t slept in days, even though you got up just an hour ago.

No. Call the doctor first.

Bradley doesn’t get annoyed easily with you, but you know you have the tendency to push his limits with your rather blasé attitude to things you don’t like—like doctor appointments—and cruising along on the insistence it’s fine. You’re fine.

As someone who takes health quite seriously, he has admitted it grates on him because he worries about you, and doesn’t quite understand how you can worry about so many things in your life, sometimes to the point of tears, but when it comes to your health you take it all in stride.

Embarrassingly, you don’t really have an answer for him either.

Pushing yourself back up, you dial the doctor’s office—they can squeeze you in at 3 in the afternoon that day, which gives you plenty of time to rest. You text Bradley that you have the appointment, knowing it matters to him.

That afternoon you walk out of the doctor's office, thunderstruck and with a stack of papers and pamphlets in your hand. Bradley calls you shortly after. He mentioned he would try to check in with you if he had a moment after your appointment. It shouldn’t still give you butterflies when you think about how Bradley prioritizes you even on busy days, and you feel a little bit guilty again as it’s your fault in the first place he’s worried.

“So, what did the doctor say?” You can hear by the cadence in his voice he is walking somewhere, and he sounds hurried.

You open your mouth, thinking of how to explain it, how to somehow bring this life-changing news gently, in a way that reflects the gravity of it, the strangeness of it, the joy. Or should you wait until he gets home?

“Darlin’? Are you okay?” Bradley’s voice is urgent.

Shit.

“I’m pregnant.” You blurt out sheepishly. So much for subtlety.

“Come again?” Bradley has stopped dead in his tracks. He must have misheard you. Yes, he did seriously consider it an option, it made sense in his head, but you seemed so adamant that he never really allowed the thought, the dream, to fully take hold.

“I’m pregnant.” You repeat, more self-assured this time. “They’ve timed it around six weeks.”

“Wha- I mean, fuck -” Bradley is stumbling over his words, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “That’s great! Amazing even. Fucking hell, I’m so happy right now.”

You laugh, although you feel like you’ve barely had time to actually grasp that you’re pregnant now. But Bradley accepts it so readily, making it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, that—yeah, of course. It’s what you both wanted, what you talked about, and you agreed on doing. And now it’s happening.

“Me too.” You smile.

“So really not a stomach bug?” Bradley can’t help but tease you.

You laugh again, despite yourself. He’s never going to let you live this down. “No, very much not.”

“Just Bug then.” He says fondly.

“Just Bug.” You agree, not even questioning that it took Bradley less than 5 minutes to come up with a nickname for your unborn child. You feel giddy, strangely light, as a warm feeling spreads through you. Is this what it feels like to be pregnant?

If only. You shove another handful of honey-nut Cheerios in your mouth. Nothing and no one quite prepared you for the perpetual discomfort of pregnancy—it comes in many forms, but there’s always a new goddamn thing aching, a new way to feel sick, or just the plethora of tears you’ve been shedding because you feel like you’ve been losing your sanity at times, barely having a hold on your emotions.

Bug is especially restless today, like he’s picking up on your mood. You want Bug to be born already, but you don’t want to go into labor without Bradley by your side. Of the many things you accept, you’ll have probably to face alone in having a naval aviator for a husband, giving birth is just one thing you desperately don’t want to go through alone. It terrifies you beyond belief, almost irrationally so.

Music usually helps calm Bug down. While you try to stop yourself from building up unnecessary expectations in your head of what your child will be like (god knows you know what it’s like to grow up like that), you do allow yourself that Bug might take after Bradley that way. It would bring him a lot of joy, you know that for sure.

Scrolling through your Spotify, you rub your belly. “What would make you happy today, Bug?” You wince as Bug squirms. “Some Rolling Stones?” Quickly selecting She’s a Rainbow and connecting to the sound system Bradley had painstakingly installed, you gently sway to the music and start walking around. You smile to yourself as you think back about how Bradley had explained all the details and exact science behind the music setup he was getting, and how he measured every angle and talked excitedly about every aspect. You love him, but goddamn, you cannot tell the difference. It all sounds great to you, so you happily nod along and agree, enjoying his absolute passion for the subject more than anything coming from the speakers.

Bug is finally chilling out too. Closing your eyes, hands resting on your stomach, you feel the anger and anxiety finally ebb away. This is not so bad. It’s just you and Bug for now, and you’ll be fine. In a week Bradley will be back, your sister will be back in Colorado, and you can welcome Bug together, just as you planned before he was ordered to Florida.

You love your sister, you really do, but if she drains the blood from you under normal circumstances, she's insufferable now. Or you have become insufferable. It’s honestly a toss-up at this point, but you’ve been at each other’s throats even more than usual. You feel sorry for her husband, who probably thought he was coming over to Fredericksburg for a nice break, but instead has been trying to run interference between you two.

But they’re out for today.

You get to enjoy some peace.

Of course, it could never last long. The music cuts out harshly as your phone starts ringing.

Well fuck.

When you see the number, and you recognize it as coming from the Pentagon, you strongly consider just not picking up. But. You are also curious. Who is looking for you? What do they want? Did someone fuck up? Your brain is itching. Maybe it’s something you can kill time with. But you really shouldn't—you’re on maternity leave.

Against what is your better judgment, you pick up.

“Darcy Bradshaw-Williams speaking.”

“Good morning, Dr. Bradshaw,” A nervous voice starts at the other end. “I’m calling from Birch’s office.”

Why isn’t he calling you himself? Since when does Birch contact you through an assistant?

“Uh, okay.” You reply, not unkindly. “What is this concerning, as I am currently on maternity leave?”

“It’s uumh - well, there are some papers that you need to sign before the senate committee report can get archived.” The poor girl on the other end sounds terrified. You don’t think you’re particularly intimidating, but you don’t recognize her voice, so you surmise she must be new.

Patience. You were once the new girl doing the shitty jobs no one else wanted. Like calling the pissy pregnant lady on leave.

“Oh, well, email them to me, and I will sign digitally,” You reply easily. “That’s not a big deal.”

“It, uhm, can’t be signed digitally, it needs to be done by hand.”

“Then… what are you suggesting exactly?” You keep your voice light, but quite frankly, you are gobsmacked. Out of all the bureaucratic bullshit…

“So I’ve been asked to- well, ask you,” Her voice wavers. “If you’re willing to come in to sign those papers.”

Really?

“No.” You can’t keep the annoyance out of your voice. “Look here, miss…?” “Brown.” The reply comes in a half-whisper.

“Look here Miss Brown, I know you are only relaying the message, so please put Birch on the phone, I know he’s there.” Keeping your voice level and professional is becoming harder by the second.

“He can’t come to the phone.” Miss Brown supplies hurriedly.

Coward.

“I’m 39 weeks pregnant, are you actually suggesting I come down all the way to the Pentagon?” You ask much louder than is probably necessary.

“We-, I suppose, we could also fax you the papers?” Miss Brown tries.

“Where the fuck do you think I live? 1992?” The words come out of your mouth faster than you can bite your tongue. Oh no, you didn’t mean to have an outburst like that at the poor assistant. It’s all just so fucking absurd because of course, what does the digital era mean in the DoD? Showing up in person. Jesus Christ.

“I’m sorry Miss Brown,” You apologize, cringing at yourself. “That was not meant for you.”

“It’s okay.” A small voice on the other end replies.

“By when do you need this?” The wheels of the DoD turn slowly, after all. Maybe you can push it back until Bradley is at least back so he can drive you. Worst case scenario until your sister is back. But right now, you are standing in your living room dressed in Bradley’s old Navy shirt covered in Cheerios crumbs and a pair of old sweatpants. You’re really not wanting to go out today.

“Today,” Miss Brown informs you. “As soon as possible, really.”

“Today!?” You yell, knuckles white as you clutch your phone. “You have got to be kidding me!”

You take a deep breath. You have to keep your cool. Be professional about this.

“Put Birch on the phone.” You grind out, fist balled at your side.

“He - he says he can’t come to the phone…”

“Then I’ll come to see him in person.” You bite out, acid dripping from your words,, hanging up angrily. They want to play like that? Fine. You’ll play along, you fume as you stomp through the house up to the bedroom. You’ll go to the Pentagon, you’ll sign the stupid papers, and you’ll lob the whole packet at Birch’s head while you’re there.

Shit. Do you even have anything nice to wear to the office? Maybe you should just show up like this—although funny, you’re too self-conscious for that. Also, you still want to have a job to return to eventually.

Bug is mercifully calm, unlike you, as you dig out a knee-lenght skirt with an elastic waist. Shimmying it on, you’re glad to find out it still sort of fits, the waistband rest comfortably under your stomach. You end up slipping on a pair of nylons with it, not quite convinced you be able to pull up a pair of tights and afraid they might be too tight anyway.

Now for a top. You won’t try one of your regular button-up shirts, even as a joke. Even the loose-fitting ones won’t close over your stomach anymore.

That leaves Bradley’s closet.

You rifle through the shirts he neatly hung up on clothes hangers, taking care not to pick one that belongs to one of his uniforms. Settling on a soft dark blue one, you feel a pang of sadness when you slip it on. It smells of him. He’s only been gone for a week and will be back so soon again, but that doesn’t take away that you are alone right now.

“Daddy will be back soon, Bug,” You whisper softly as you button the shirt up, feeling the baby move. “We just have both hold out a little longer.”

Fixing your hair and doing minimal makeup, you quickly text your sister you have to run an errand and you’ll be back later, just in case she beats you home. You doubt she will reply to you any time soon though, she’s probably busy taking pictures or videos. For as much as you don’t understand how much your sister shares online, you are happy she’s doing something she enjoys and she’s good at it. Sometimes she even takes a nice picture of you.

You don’t text Bradley. For one, he’s probably busy, and two—you have a nagging feeling in the back of your head—you shouldn’t be doing this. Bradley would be rightly unhappy if you were driving yourself an hour up north, by yourself. But you don’t want to argue right now—you’ll argue with anyone, but you desperately don’t want to lose your temper with Bradley.

You said you were fine when he told you he had to leave. He was so unhappy, the pain in his eyes was burning a hole in your heart. So of course you said you would be fine. But you aren’t. And right now you are terrified that if you argue with him, that your stupid mouth will say something horrible, something you can’t take back, something like “well, you left again” because he did, and he’ll look at you again with that crushing guilt overshadowing him—and it’ll be because of you because and because you don’t actually deserve him. You hiccup as tears fill your eyes.

Shit.

Get it together.

The quicker you leave, the quicker you’ll be home and there won’t be anything to argue about.

Now. Is it a horrible idea to wear ballerinas in the middle of D.C. winter? Yes. But no other shoe will fit you, and your fluffy slippers are arguably an even worse choice. God, you can’t even button up your nice coat anymore either. Better wrap up thick with a good scarf.

You heave yourself into Bradley’s Bronco—you promised you would only use his car if you really needed to go somewhere—but it’s so goddamn high.

“I can’t wait until you can climb in yourself, Bug.” You joke. Adjusting the rearview mirror, you catch sight of the baby carrier affixed in the back seat, and your heart jumps. You pestered Bradley so much to put it in already.

“I fly million-dollar fighter jets for a living, darlin’,” He told you smugly. “Don’t you think I’ll be able to figure out a car seat?”

“Do it then.” You smiled back, handing him the manual, knowing he won’t back down from you goading him.

It took him a good twenty minutes and a lot of colorful swears to figure out how to affix the base properly, so it wouldn’t move. You didn’t say anything, just smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek as he shot you a venomous look when he was finally done.

Pulling out of the driveway, you turn on a calming playlist, hoping Bug will not decide to tap dance on your bladder while you’re driving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is all then, boss?” You groan as you sign the last of the papers. They could have really mentioned on the phone you had to initial about 50 pages too. Your hand is cramped, and the chair is uncomfortable and making your lower back hurt—you don’t even have the energy to give Birch a piece of your mind. You just really want to go back home now.

“Yes, Dr. Bradshaw.” Your boss nods curtly. “And thanks again for coming in on such short notice in your… condition.” He adds carefully, avoiding looking at you.

You wonder if your hardened former marine boss is scared you’re going to go into labor on his watch, because you have never seen him so awkward.

“Yeah, of course.” You reply, trying your best to conjure up a polite smile, but wincing slightly as you get up. “I’ll be taking my leave now.” You joke poorly, waving your hand trying to get the cramp out.

You bid goodbye to your boss and a few of your colleagues, but your prime motivation is to get out of the Pentagon right now and get home. You’re starting to feel weird, not in your stomach, but in your gut.

You shouldn’t be here.

As fast as you can, which is not very fast all things considered, you try to make your way back to the car. The pain in your back is getting worse, shooting down your sides. You need to sit down comfortably, you tell yourself, and then it will get better.

Why is the parking lot so far away? You waddle miserably. Your feet are hurting too now, your soles burning at every step in your too-tight shoes. Finally, you reach the car, panting by now. With a grunt, you clamber into the driver’s seat.

Finally you can relax. Bug is not having a good time anymore, squirming, probably as uncomfortable as you are currently. It’s making your stomach hurt.

“We’re going home.” You mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Just let me catch my breath, Bug.”

After a few minutes of sitting in the comfortable seat, the pain finally starts to subside. Starting the car, you hum to yourself to keep calm. Just get home.

You barely make it out of the city before you realize you need to pee urgently. There’s a mall just off the main street, as you remember, so you’ll just take an early exit there. You are nearly shaking in your seat as you park and snatch your purse out of the car.

You really think you’re about to burst, and it doesn’t help your feeling increasingly anxious.

You shouldn’t be here.

You need to get home.

Coming out of the bathroom, your back hurts worse than before, and it’s starting to spread to your stomach. Fuck. fuckfuckfuck. You try not to swear out loud and grimace too much as you wash your hands next to an elderly lady.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” The lady asks, her pearl necklace glimmering in the stark artificial light of the bathroom. Her light gray hair has a faint purple sheen that you are not sure you are imagining. From the corner of your eye, you can see your reflection—you look pallid.

“Ye- yeah, all good.” You force a smile on your face. At that moment, pain suddenly shoots through your abdomen with such severity, you nearly double over. It’s not even the worst of your problems, you realize quickly, as you feel a trickle run down your leg.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

This is not happening.

Breathing rapidly, you grind your teeth helplessly.

“Oh dear,” The lady immediately grabs you by the elbow, helping you upright again. “I think the baby is about ready, sweetie.”

“No.” You utter softly as tears spring in your eyes. “Not yet.”

“Come, let's find you a place to sit and clean up.” She probably didn’t hear you as she starts leading you outside to a bench by the bathroom entrance. “Where’s your husband, sweetie? He should come get you now.”

At the mentions of husbands, you just start pathetically sobbing. “H-he’s not here.”

“Oh dear.” The kindly lady hands you a tissue to dry your eyes.

“He’s in the navy, and he’s in fuck-fucking Florida until next week.” Your words are coming out punctuated by sobs. “S- so the baby can’t come yet.” You add, urgently, trying to dry your eyes.

“Who can I call for you?” She asks gently, as she rubs your back. You wince as another wave of pain shoots through you.

“My sister.” You say weakly, reaching into your pocket to dig out your phone. No matter how much you want to call Bradley right this minute, you also know that there is very little he can do all the way from Pensacola. Beth needs to come to get you. So she better pick up.

Every time the phone rings and Beth is not picking up, your anxiety ramps up further. The bench you’re sitting on is uncomfortable, the wooden slats digging into your sore back and you’re having trouble catching your breath as your shaking fingers nervously pluck at your unbuttoned coat.

“Why isn’t she picking up?” You breathe, bending your head forward. Black spots are appearing in your vision.

“You need to calm down.” A kind voice is telling you. You know. But you can’t control it. There is one thought permeating over everything else.

Not yet.

The lady’s voice sounds far away, as you clutch your head, trying to desperately not have your vision go completely black on you. But you don’t know how to reason yourself back from the edge at this point, not seeing a solution to your predicament or grounding yourself in logic and pragmatism to deal with the problem at hand.

You need Bradley.

“Sweetie, I’m calling you an ambulance.” The voice sounds like it’s on the other end of a bad connection. But you manage to nod.

You only sort of remember flashes of everything after that. Another person talking to you, laying down on a stretcher, clutching your bag, more voices, and then a silent room.

Bug is okay. That’s all you really remember, and it’s all you really care to remember right now.

If you just lay here, and wait, Bradley will come for you. You hope he won’t be mad at you for going to work so close to your due date, and then having a panic attack when your water broke. You’re already mad enough at yourself.

You asked to nurses to try and call him, but they keep telling you no one is picking up. They reached your sister at least. Oh, joy.

Beth of course comes in all guns blazing. You see her husband scurry away with little Emma in his arms after he says hi to you. Smart man. You wish you could hide under the bed.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Beth seethes. Jesus, why is she so angry? You sit up, sending her a withering look.

“What?” You reply curtly. The nurse implored you to stay calm so your blood pressure wouldn’t rise too much.

“What? What?” Beth stalks up to the foot end of your bed, pointing her finger at you accusingly. “Darcy, have you gone completely insane? Can you not be left unsupervised for one afternoon? Seriously, who are you, and what have you done to my sensible sister? Does Bradley get custody of your brain cells when he is deployed or something? Jesus Christ.”

You’re not going to get in a word edgewise right now, so you don’t even try.

“You nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack. What the hell am I supposed to think when the hospital is trying to urgently reach me? But what a fucking surprise! It’s a hospital in D.C.! A place my dear darling sister has no business being.”

Still not saying anything, you avert your eyes.

“What were you doing in D.C.? And I swear to fuck, Darce, if you say it has anything to do with work, I will not hesitate and burn your book collection.”

At that, you choke back a sob. You feel so guilty, it’s starting to consume you. If you had stayed home and relaxed like you were supposed to, you probably wouldn’t have gone into labor yet. Beth is right to be angry with you. Bradley will probably be. You promised you’d be careful, you promised you’d take it easy, you promised yourself you would hold out until he would be back.

“No, but seriously, have you lost all common sense? Do you need a -” Beth finally stops her tirade short as she sees you cry silently, not even bothering to defend yourself. She’s seen you cry plenty of times before, hell, she’s made you cry a lot of those times. But never like this. Never like you’ve given up. You always fight back, you are always doing something. Usually, it’s Beth who tries to stop you from completely overdoing things. But now you’re just sitting there crying.

“Darcy- Darce, what the hell?” She walks around the bed and sits down next to you. “You are freaking me out now.” She tells you seriously, as she grabs your hand. You just shake your head as tears stream down your face. “Have you reached Bradley yet?” She asks, her voice a lot softer.

You shake your head. “He’s still not picking up”

“And?”

“And what?” You sob softly.

“Since when have you ever given up at the first hurdle?” Beth pushes. “Really, you got married, knocked up and now you’re going to sit pretty? I’m disappointed, honestly.”

Something dangerous flashes in your eyes as you turn to look at her, drawing a shuddering breath. Gotcha. She’s going for the jugular now.

“No, really, I mean—you’re just going to wait around for your husband like this? I’m sure he’s appreciating all your efforts to get in touch with him as soon as possible.” Beth sneers at you.

“What the fuck, Beth?!” You suddenly screech, ripping your hand from hers. Fuck staying calm. You need to urgently throttle your younger sister. “You’re supposed to be on my side here! Can you for once in your life not antagonize the ever-loving shit out of me? I’m in pain, I already feel like shit, and I’m alone here! I know—I fucking know—it’s my screw-up.” Your voice is raw from crying. “Why are you so fucking hell-bent on kicking me when I’m down? Can’t you just be here for me, for once—just this fucking once?”

“Because you are being ridiculous, and no one but me will tell you that!” Beth matches your volume easily. “You don’t sit here just because Bradley’s not picking up his phone. Do what you always do. Do what do best, you dumb bitch. Organize a fucking solution.”

With that, she snatches your phone from the table next to the bed and pushes it into your chest. “I’m going to get a coffee. Let me know if you need help.” Beth cuts at you with an eerie calmness as she gets up and walks out the door without as much as a look back at you.

You sigh heavily, rubbing your stomach. “Let’s figure out a way to let daddy know you’re early, Bug.”

There are many things you didn’t anticipate about going into labor. How long it would take, how painful it would be, to name a few. But mostly, you didn’t anticipate having to argue and beg your way up your husband’s chain of command before you reach someone that could actually reliably relay the message to him, urgently.

For the last ten minutes, you’ve been arguing with Simpson’s assistant, who seems deeply unwilling to either put you through or to confirm he will forward the message to the admiral.

“He’s supervising training maneuvers now.” He tells you in a bored tone. “So it will have to wait.”

You push yourself off the bed, and start pacing. “Lister here -” you stop yourself before you call him a little shit. “Lieutenant.” You add after a suspiciously long pause. “I know he’s supervising the maneuvers. My husband is the one flying them.”

“Well, I can’t patch you through to the jet, not from a civilian phone.” He replies in the same bored tone.

“I’m not asking for that, am I?” You grind out as a contraction stops you dead in your tracks. Your face twists in pain and anger. “Tell admiral Simpson Dr. Bradshaw needs to speak to him urgently. He knows who I am.”

You are banking on Simpson actually taking the call based on what Bradley told you. If he actually gives Bradley the message, you will willingly edit any brain fart Simpson puts to paper for publication. You swear under your breath.

Finally you hear the hold tone. You let out a deep breath as much to steel yourself for hopefully the last leg of this telephone journey, as well as to help abate some of the shooting pain.

“Dr. Bradshaw!” Simpson is entirely too jovial for the current situation. Calm. You need to stay calm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Rooster, Rooster—this is tower, come in.”

“Come in, tower.”

It’s been an absolutely grueling day of flying. Bradley is tired and in pain and glad to be on the way back. He wants a shower, bed, and you on the phone.

Cyclone better not have him on paperwork or other stupid errands today.

“Rooster, this is Cyclone from tower.”

Fuck. Cyclone only calls in to complain or heap on additional bullshit to his day.

“Copy, Cyclone.” Bradley tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“Your wife called, Rooster. She’s in labor.” Cyclone’s message is wholly unemotional like he’s simply updating Bradley on changing weather conditions.

“Copy that.” It’s almost comical that that’s the only thing Bradley can come up with to say, more because it’s second nature, rather than him acutally parsing what was just said to him. But how do you react in a moment like this?

He needs to call you.

He needs to talk to you.

If he can’t be there physically, which pains him more than he cares to admit right now as his hands tighten around the steering, he wants to at least to be able to talk to you.

Shit.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He is supposed to be there with you. Bradley knows how scared you are and how much you tried to hide it.

He is not supposed to be here.

“Rooster, return to base urgently.” Cyclone orders him. Bradley replies affirmative, breaking formation and speeding up. He has no idea what is going on right now. A million things are running through his head, but most of all he wants to turn his jet around and blast north toward Virginia. Rationally, he knows that it’s out of the range a fully fueled F18 can fly, and his tanks are running near empty.

That feeling of powerlessness is creeping up on him again. You are almost a 1000 miles away, and he has no manner of reaching you, despite sitting in a fighter jet. The clock is running, you are alone, and he can’t do anything.

When Bradley touches down, he’s a good ten minutes ahead of the rest of the squadron, who were ordered to stay on speed and formation. As he taxis into the bay, he notices, to his utter confusion, Cyclone jogging across the tarmac followed by his sour-faced assistant.

Bradley has a sinking feeling in his stomach. This can only mean Cyclone is pissed about something that happened in the training, and Bradley is about to be dragged into a painfully long debrief. It’s just his luck today.

He shouldn’t be here.

“Rooster!” Cyclone is hollering at him and waving his arm frantically the moment the canopy lifts.

Bradley starts climbing out of the cockpit, bracing himself for the inevitable dressing down. The moment his feet reach the ground, he hasn’t even unclipped his helmet yet, Cyclone is yelling at him to hurry up as he is making a beeline towards him. Hurry up? For what?

Is there something wrong with you? Is that why he was ordered to land? Is that why Cyclone is running across the tarmac yelling? Is it something he absolutely could not be told in while in the air?

Bradley stands rooted to the ground as he watches Cyclone approach, who is now gesturing wildly at him to also start running.

“Rooster, move your ass already!” Cyclone yells so loudly, that several engineers look up in surprise.

Almost automatically, Bradley starts running in the same direction as Cyclone and his assistant, his muscles protesting heavily against the sudden motion.

“What the fuck is going on?” He blurts out, adrenaline rushing through his body, every sense in overdrive.

“There’s a transporter leaving for D.C. in -” Cyclone quickly looks at his watch as he tries to catch his breath. “Two minutes.”

The assistant trusts a paper in Bradley’s hands. “Emergency 48-hour leave.” He deadpans.

“Wha- what is going on?!” Bradley exclaims angrily, clutching the paper forcibly as he slows down his run. Emergency leave? A plane to D.C.? However, instead of answering, Cyclone grabs him by the elbow and practically starts dragging him along to the second taxiway.

“Your wife is in labor. You’re getting emergency leave.” Cyclone grinds out. “And a “thank you sir” would be nice.”

“Is she okay? Is the baby okay?” Bradley asks hurriedly instead, completely ignoring Cyclone’s comment about showing respect, because his need to know that you are both okay is really the only thing he really cares about right now.

“She sounded fine.” The assistant butts in.

Cyclone is now practically pushing him up the ramp of the transporter plane. The loader is waving at Bradley with hurried motions to get in.

Over the sound of the roaring engines, he hears Cyclone yell: “She’s at The Virginia Hospital Centerl!”

Bradley puts up his thumb. “Thank you, sir!” He yells back.

“And kindly remind Dr. Bradshaw she owes me one!” Cyclone adds, grinning, as the ramp is closing.

Owe him one? What? Bradley is even more confused than he was less than a minute ago. Why are you not at the hospital you had picked together in the first place? Isn’t VHC in D.C.? It doesn’t really matter right now. At least he knows you and Bug are okay, and he’s on his way to you.

However.

He doesn’t have his phone, he doesn’t even have his wallet. All he has on him right now is his military ID. How the fuck is he supposed to get to the hospital from the air base?

As he straps in, Bradley can’t help but wonder: did he just get washed up by the Cyclone?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You shuffle around your hospital room miserably, while your sister chills in one of the chairs playing with her phone. The nurses have been checking up on you regularly, but your blood pressure is pretty steady now and everything seems to be progressing normally. A particularly strict-looking nurse reprimanded both you and your sister quite harshly for making such a scene in the maternity ward. Honestly, she was right to do so.

The contractions are coming more often and more severely. Your lower back is killing you, but you’ve been told it’s still too early to give you any medication.

After you managed to get through Simpson, he was quick to promise to inform Bradley about your condition, but then promptly went on to ignore you were in labor and talked your ear of about something he wanted to publish.

Exasperated and in pain, you promised you would look over his writings at the earliest convenience, spelled out your email address between gritted teeth as a contraction thundered through your lower body. At this point, you would have probably promised your firstborn—well, no, not that, but anything else—so you could at least talk to Bradley.

So now you are desperately waiting for Bradley to call you. It’s been almost two hours since you’ve spoken to Simpson, surely he’s not still flying? When you try to call him, his phone just rings and rings before switching over to voice mail, like it’s been doing all day. Where is Bradley?

Unhappily, you push yourself to accept he won’t be here with you, but that you won’t even be able to talk to him? That’s cruel.

Waddling back to your bed, you slide in, pulling the cover over yourself. The nurse mentioned she would get you a hospital gown soon, since you had absolutely nothing with you. There are so many things you have to think about, but your brain is not cooperating anymore. All you can think about is how miserable you are—in pain and lonely. Beth keeps telling you to suck it up, but you don’t want to. You get to be sad if you want to.

Of course you are happy that Bug is coming. That’s not the point. But there are so many things running through your head, it’s hard to focus on the positive side of it all. You should ask your brother-in-law to drive down to your house and get your overnight bag. You need to figure out how to get back to the Bronco too, as that’s the only car with a baby seat. Personally, you think your brother-in-law is kind of a shit driver, so you’d rather not resort to him picking the Bronco up. Then there’s paperwork. Forms, informed consent, insurance—if you have to sign one more fucking thing today you will scream.

It’s too much.

Pulling the blanket over your head, you curl up, trying to stave off the pain in your lower body. Bradley’s shirt still smells like him. Sadly you consider if this is the closest he is going to be here today.

“Beth?” You mumble from under the blanket, voice thick with tears.

“Yeah?” Beth finally looks up from her phone. It’s concerning her how much you seem to be suffering from Bradley not being here—you were always independent, on top of everything, and you sure as hell didn’t mope around this much. You told her you were scared of going into labor alone, and Beth understands that. And she feels sorry for you, but never has she seen you behave like this, and it’s actually kind of freaking her out.

“Can you please ask Erik to get my overnight bag from home?” Your voice is quivering. “Everything is in there, it’s right by the door.”

“Yeah, of course.” Beth gets up and walks up to the bed. She gently lifts the cover to look at you. Your bloodshot eyes look back at her. “Do you need anything else, Darce?” She asks as she squats down, so she’s at eye level with you. You shake your head.

“We’re in this together, okay? I know I’m not the person you want here.” Beth tells you gently, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “But you can do this, I know you do. And I’m here for you.”

“Thank you.” You whisper. “And you are a close second, don’t worry.” You try to joke through your tears. Beth laughs softly.

“It’s okay, I’d pick your hot husband over you too.” She winks at you. You groan in disgust.

“I’m telling Erik you said that.”

“Too late, I already texted him to go get your bag.” Beth waves her hand dismissively. “He’s taking Emma with him, hopefully she falls asleep in the car for a while.”

It’s getting dark outside already. You sigh. This morning at home feels like a distant memory already.

Still wrapped in your blanket cocoon, Beth continues stroking your forehead and talking you through breathing exercises. It’s helping you relax finally. You close your eyes and just focus on Beth’s gentle voice. It feels like you're falling in and out microsleep, Beth’s voice becoming so distant at moments you cannot make out the words before a contraction pulls you back to the present. As the pain ebbs away, so does your consciousness.

It must be the third or fourth cycle of micro sleep you fall into, Beth softly humming now, when you swear you can hear Bradley’s voice. You cannot make out what he is saying, because it sounds like he’s in a different room, but it’s unmistakably him.

A warmth fills you. You missed his voice, and he sounds so close, like he can come in at any moment. Soon, another contraction will pull you away from his voice. You try to direct your sleepy brain to focus on Bradley to bring him closer. It’s working. His voice is becoming louder—he’s talking to someone. He sounds annoyed. There’s no reason to be annoyed, babe, you think. It’s all good. You’re here. Come here. I need you.

The door clicks open. It’s like the floodgates open. You can hear Bradley’s voice clear as day now—and he’s really annoyed. Seriously, the best your brain can come up with when you miss your husband is him being annoyed? Sad.

“What the shit?” Beth utters in disbelief, as she suddenly gets up, waking you up fully. You finally open your eyes, only to see Beth staring at the door behind you.

You can still hear Bradley talk, although you are now sure you are awake.

Shooting up, arms flailing, the covers slide onto the floor. Beth grabs your arm to steady you.

You’ve lost your mind.

Your brain is 100% broken now.

Did they give you morphine anyway? Are you fucking hallucinating?

Because in the doorway is Bradley, still in full flight gear—g-suit still zipped over his flight suit and helmet in his hand. His hair is messy and flattened at weird angles, like he only just pulled the helmet off. He’s towering over the strict nurse and arguing with her. She’s not giving him an inch.

“She needs rest! You can’t just barge in like that.” She’s admonishing him, pointing her finger in your general direction. “And only one visitor in the room!”

“I know she needs rest—that’s why I’m here.” Bradley bites back. “And I’m not a visitor, I’m her husband, and that’s my child.”

“What the fuck.” You don’t realize you say it so loudly, every falls silent and looks at you.

“I’ll wait in the hall.” Beth says hurriedly as she scurries away to the door, followed by the strict nurse, that throws one final venomous look at Bradley who is completely ignoring her now.

So others clearly can see him too, right?

You start clambering out of the bed as fast as you can, padding over to him barefoot, needing some sort of confirmation Bradley is really, actually here, and you’ve not finally and definitively cracked.

Your arms snake around his neck as you pull him close to you. He feels so real, he smells like jet fuel and winter air, but his skin is just as warm as you remember. Bradley doesn’t say anything, just wrapping you in his arms and pressing kisses along your jaw.

“What are you doing here?”

Bradley stops dead in his tracks. Not the question he was expecting. He pulls back, so he can see your face, but you cling to him, your fingers digging into his arms like you’re scared he’s going to turn to smoke in your arms.

“Didn’t Cyclone tell you he gave me 48-hour emergency leave and practically threw me onto a transporter headed to D.C.?” Bradley asks with a slight chuckle. “I had to pull rank on some poor private to drive me here from Anacostia-Bolling airbase—I don’t have my phone, wallet, nothing.”

You’re looking at him completely slack-jawed, blinking rapidly. Finally, the neurons in your brain start firing again.

Fucking Simpson. Figures.

“You know what?” You sigh, before smiling up at him. “Tell me another time. I’m just glad you’re really here. I need you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bug is born just after midnight. A healthy baby boy with all ten fingers and ten toes.

Bradley doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to hear a baby cry. And he’s never been so goddamn proud in his life: of you, of the little life you both created, and again of you because you did all the hard work. He’s half-sitting next to you on the bed when you collapse back on the pillows behind you, and he whispers to you how much he loves you, how proud he is, and how well you did.

You open your tired eyes for a moment. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” You breathe.

“Yes, you could have, darlin’.” He counters with a smile as he wipes the fresh sweat off your forehead.

“And here’s baby boy Bradshaw!” The nurse announces happily, as she gently pulls the top of your gown down and puts the baby against your skin before covering you with the baby blanket you and Bradley bought months ago.

You feel your heart soar. So small, so warm, and finally here. You tear your eyes away from your little Bug just for a second to see Bradley’s reaction. He looks completely awestruck, tears forming in his eyes. Tears spring in your eyes too as you watch his index finger run over your son’s cheek in a feather-light touch.

“Hey Bug.” He whispers. You never felt like your life was incomplete. But in a certain way, it feels like it’s naturally more complete now than it was before, like more puzzle pieces are sliding into place around you. “I’m so glad to see you.” You add softly.

It’s hours later when you are sitting up in bed, across from your sister, sharing a pile of snacks from the vending machine. Only the bedside lamp is on. You are not only starving, but also wide awake, hyper-aware of every sound and move Bug is making. Bradley is getting some much-needed shut-eye in the recliner with Bug sleeping on his bare chest.

You honestly didn’t think you could fall in love any more with that man, but the way he is gently cradling your son in his large arms, the way he looks at him like he’s the most special little thing in the whole wide world and how he keeps repeating how you made him and how proud he is of you is honestly messing with your head in the best kind of way. You feel like you’ve fallen in love with him for the first time, over and over again today.

“So, do you think all these nurses coming to check up on you all night are here because of your fancy insurance,” Beth asks, grinning as she pops an M&M in her mouth. “Or they’re just coming to gawk at him?” She jerks her head to the side where Bradley just fell asleep.

Bug is under his blanket, sleeping on Bradley’s bare chest, his fight suit tied around his waist. The blanket that had been draped over them has fallen off one of Bradley’s shoulders, revealing his muscular chest and the subtle movement of his abdomen as he breathes.

You snort.

“Well, he’s a good-looking daddy.” You shrug as you take a sip from your Fanta.

“Jesus Christ, Darce - TMI.” Beth guffaws. You shush her, unable to keep yourself from laughing too. There is something strange about having a girl’s night with your sister in a hospital bed when you’ve given birth just hours ago. But here you are, giggling like teenagers.

Bug starts squirming and softly crying, and while you both quiet down, Bradley wakes up right away. He starts shushing and rocking Bug, who’s not having it.

“He’s probably hungry, babe.” You say, wiping your hands on a tissue before reaching out to him. Carefully Bradley places Bug in your arms.

“How are you two not tired?” He asks, rubbing his eyes. You shrug, you are too full of wonder, too full of love—and actually just way too wired—to go to sleep.

“I have a toddler.” Beth laughs as she gets up from the bed to give you some privacy. “Do you really think I’ve had a full night’s sleep in the last three years?”

“Now’s not the time to regale us with your horror stories with Emma.” You warn Beth, still laughing lightly as you try Bug to latch onto your breast. Bradley sits down close to you on the bed.

“You want anything else from the vending machine?” Beth asks from the doorway.

“Nah, we’re good.” You reply absentmindedly, still focussed on Bug.

“We’re good, right?” You ask fondly, meeting Bradley’s eyes. You’re not even really asking about the snacks anymore.

“I think we’re great.” He agrees, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

note | oh damn, it's actually really done now :( I have no more stories to tell for these two. I hope you enjoyed this adventure, and that the ending didn't disappoint! (I tell myself it had to age a bit like a wine). If you'd like to read more of my stories, I'm currently working on a WWII AU called Of All The Stars In The Sky.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x reader

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deepspacedukat · 4 months

Text

The Defector (And His Doctor) - Part Two

MOAR SOUP FOR THE POINTY SOUL. I was a lil too verbose in this chapter (it's WAY longer than the first one), so there will be an epilogue, and FEAR YE NOT A LONG WAIT, FOR I HAVE ALREADY WRITTEN IT AND IT SHALL BE POSTED MERE MOMENTS (probably less than an hour) AFTER THIS. *ahem* Enjoy! 😇

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

Part 1 here.

~*~

Beverly Crusher (ST:TNG) x Alidar Jarok (ST:TNG)

[A/N: This chapter has smut/is smut adjacent, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Spoilers for ST:TNG S3E10 "The Defector", interspecies sex, Human/Romulan sex, implied Human/Romulan sex, non-explicit interspecies sex, innuendo, flirting, romance, angst, guilt, mentions of poison, if you've seen the episode then you know the ending gets a little dark, suicidal ideation, but there's a happy ending, Jarok needs therapy, and Bev is gonna make sure he gets it, confused/well-intentioned/trying-his-best Data, smug Tomalak.

~*~

**Day Two**

A day in the Reman mines would be less infuriating than this. Admiral Jarok, under the alias of Sub-lieutenant Setal, had battled back and forth with Commander Riker and Counselor Troi all morning with neither side making any headway.

"You're forcing yourself to hold back," the Betazoid counselor had stated with near-maddening calmness, and she hadn't been wrong.

"I have told you everything relevant about Nelvana Three," he'd fired back, but neither of the Starfleet officers had been convinced. The two had teamed up and pressed him on and on, until finally he'd snapped at them, shouting about how irrelevant their inquiries were to their current situation. "What a fool I've been to come looking for courage in a den of cowards..."

The interrogation had ended shortly after his biting remark. Jarok shouldn't have been surprised, but he really had thought that Starfleet would show a modicum of bravery in the face of impending war. Thus far, the only true fortitude he'd seen had come from the beautiful Doctor Crusher.

Ah, the doctor. Her smiles coupled with that fiery red mane made him wish that he'd had a reason to remain in the medical bay for much longer.

Just thinking of her as he strode back inside his quarters made the scowl melt off his features. Since he had effectively exiled himself from Romulus, he would have to make a new life. Maybe, if she was willing...?

No. No, he needed to temper his thoughts, at least until the dust had settled from this situation. But...he supposed it wouldn't hurt if he made his interest known. Nobody ever complained about a few extra compliments, so he could allow himself to flirt harmlessly with her.

He didn't even know if she had a mate. He really ought to check, first. If she had a partner, he would keep his flirtations to a minimum. After all, Jarok was here to stop a war, not disturb a family's peace. His own sham of an arranged marriage was not an excuse for him to cause unnecessary problems for others.

Pulling up the limited biographical profile that the computer allowed him access to, the Admiral sipped his replicated water and skimmed the information before him. Her age, rank, qualifications, and commendations were included, as well as a note that she had a son who was an acting officer onboard the Enterprise. When he reached her marital status, guilt wound its way through Alidar's heart.

She had been married, but her husband had died when her son was very young. She'd been forced to raise her child alone while also maintaining her career? He could tell from the moment he met her that she was a strong woman, but that particular revelation was one he hadn't expected.

Had he crossed a line when he flirted with her before? Jarok was aware that some people never pursued relationships after losing a spouse, either out of guilt or a preference not to risk their hearts again. Perhaps he should take a slightly more cautious approach to this...

Walking to the control panel that Riker had showed him how to use the day before, he opened a communication channel with the ship's first officer.

"What can I do for you, Setal?" He sounded purely professional. After the questioning session earlier, he was surprised that the Human sounded that unaffected. Reluctantly, Jarok admitted to himself that he was impressed.

"Commander, that medical officer who examined me yesterday - Doctor Crusher, I believe her name was - I need to see her, if you don't mind," he said trying to sound as casual as possible. "I feel as though I might be coming down with something."

"I'll ask her to come by your quarters at her earliest convenience." When the channel closed, the Admiral smiled to himself. Now, he would find out whether there was a chance of experiencing some small amount of joy in his exile.

After her discussion with the Captain the previous night, the request from Commander Riker to visit Setal's quarters made Beverly wish that she'd stayed in bed. The Romulan had seemed so charming when he was in sickbay, but as Jean-Luc had correctly pointed out, it was entirely possible that he could've given himself those burns and lied about everything.

Grabbing a medkit from their storage shelf, the Doctor straightened her blue lab coat and made her way down the corridors.

What could she say to him after yesterday's conversation that wouldn't make her feel conflicted? She knew it was her duty as a Starfleet officer to question his motives, but...after all, he had asked for their help. Would he really give up his home for a mere ruse?

Unfortunately, she didn't know enough about Setal or his people to answer that question with any sort of confidence.

Within moments she found herself outside his door, staring at the panel beside it as if it might bite her.

"Don't be ridiculous. He's just another patient," she murmured under her breath. Before she could second-guess the action, she activated the door chime and stood a little straighter.

When the door slid open at his behest, she stepped inside and found her one and only Romulan patient staring out at the stars with a glass of water in his hand. He turned to face her, and when their eyes met, a swarm of butterflies seemed to alight in her abdomen.

No. She couldn't do this now. He asked for a medical officer, not a schoolgirl with a crush.

"Commander Riker said you needed a house call," Beverly stated as she looked Sub-lieutenant Setal up and down. Whatever was wrong with him wasn't immediately evident, but maybe his injuries from earlier ached more than she'd anticipated. The Federation still knew so little about Romulan physiology that sight-only diagnosis was nearly impossible. "What are your symptoms, Sub-lieutenant?"

A smile filled with mischief stretched his lips.

"Loneliness, Doctor. One of the most painful afflictions known to sentient species across the universe," the Romulan answered as he took a few slow steps toward her. "I had hoped that the most charming Terran I've ever had the fortune to meet would give me the honor of a few moments' conversation."

Beverly's cheeks burned. She'd found Setal attractive from the moment he walked into her Sickbay, but she really couldn't afford such a distraction, especially with the threat of war looming over them.

"My, what kind words for someone whom you barely know. Do you speak to all Human women like that?"

"Truthfully, I have never spoken to a Human woman before you, and if I do in the future, it certainly won't be like this," he said gesturing to the couch.

Beverly hesitated. She really shouldn't allow a patient to speak to her in such a familiar manner, but...there was something about him she just couldn't resist. Eventually, she let out a quiet sigh and took a seat on the sofa, setting her kit and medical tricorder aside. The Sub-lieutenant sat a comfortable margin away, and despite her knowing better, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through his hair. The smattering of gray in his sideburns made him look quite distinguished. Whatever his age was, Setal wore it well.

"Your curiosity is practically tangible, Doctor. May I ask what's on your mind?" Her eyes flicked up to his, and the sparkle she found there drew an involuntary smile to her lips. She certainly couldn't tell him what she was really thinking about, so she settled for the next best thing.

"May I ask why you wanted to talk to me in particular if you wanted appealing company? There are undoubtedly much prettier Ensigns and Lieutenants aboard–"

"That is quite a subjective statement, and frankly, I find it inaccurate," he murmured, and she looked at him curiously. Beverly knew she was a decently attractive woman, but...really, why had he chosen her? "Speaking candidly, Doctor, I found it...refreshing that you were not intimidated by me while you were treating my injuries. You dared to request that I, a Romulan officer with three times the strength of a Human, remain still after making a joke about how I got those burns in the first place. And you did so without flinching."

She raised an eyebrow and tried very hard to ignore the little stab of fear in her gut.

"Are you telling me you got them some other way?" She hoped her probing question had sounded like she was teasing him rather than trying to discover whether Jean-Luc was right. A slow, appreciative smile stretched his lips, and he took a slow sip of his water before setting the glass aside.

"I didn't take a plasma torch to myself, if that's what you are implying, Doctor, though, I do thank you for assuming that I would have the strength of will to intentionally mutilate myself in pursuit of the Empire's interests," Setal said as he turned to face her more fully, draping his arm along the back of the sofa. His knee just barely brushed hers. "I would die for my people, yes, but I must admit that I am rather allergic to pain."

A huff of laughter bubbled up through her relief and slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

"It was an accident," he clarified. "I was attempting to complete multiple tasks at once - fly the ship, dodge phaser fire from the warbird, and repair systems before they could go down... There came a point where I neglected repairs long enough for the conduit next to my station to explode. Regrettable, but I considered that a small price to pay to save my life...and the lives of countless others, assuming that your people believe me in time to avert a war, of course."

She searched his face as he spoke, but he was either a very good actor, or he was telling the truth. Her intuition told her it was the latter.

"For what it's worth, I believe you." Beverly knew she shouldn't be admitting that, but she was inclined to tell him the truth. After all, whether she bought his story or not, it was ultimately up to the Captain to decide whether to pursue his leaked information.

Setal looked at her with a lopsided grin.

"Now, that is a pleasant surprise," the Sub-lieutenant began, "but I wonder, will your honesty still be present when we dine together?"

Beverly's heart beat an alarming rhythm in her chest at the presumptuous question, and she raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

"I don't recall receiving any such invitation, Sub-lieutenant," she murmured, and she was proud of how steady her voice sounded despite the excitement pooling within her. She really shouldn't be excited about dining with a Romulan, defector or not, she supposed, but then...he was extremely charming.

"Ah, my apologies for getting ahead of myself–" he didn't look sorry in the least "–but would you allow me to share a meal with you?"

"I'm on duty," Beverly pointed out, but Setal was not deterred.

"Surely, you are permitted to break for sustenance at some point? Or are all Starfleet Doctors required to starve themselves? How do your Vulcan friends put it, 'the needs of the many,' I believe...?" She contemplated refusing - surely there was a conflict on interest somewhere in accepting? The Sub-lieutenant's expression was hopeful and a bit playful, and mentally, Beverly acknowledged that she really shouldn't want to know him as much as she did. "If it makes you feel better, you may of course choose where we eat. I'm quite comfortable to bend to your whims. We can remain here if you are ashamed to be seen with a Romulan, if you are wary of being alone with one of my kind we can eat in your ship's mess hall, or if there is another place you'd prefer...?"

"The brig it is, then," she teased, but realizing how that might've come across, she winced. Damn her sharp tongue–

A low, rich laugh shook her out of her thoughts.

"If that is what you desire, I swear to be the most willing prisoner that you have ever had, Doctor." His good humor was infectious, and Beverly found herself smiling even as her combadge chirped.

"Crusher here."

"Sorry to disturb your appointment, Doctor, but I wanted to let you know that the patient requiring shoulder surgery is being prepped and should be ready for you in a few minutes." Nurse Ogawa was professional as always, and Beverly acknowledged the message before turning back to Setal. To her surprise, he was watching her with undisguised interest.

"Forgive me for keeping you here for so long, Doctor," he murmured in a softer voice than she'd heard from him before. "I am truly grateful for the company."

She knew it was wrong, but she smiled as she picked up her medkit.

"It's alright. You can make it up to me at lunch. Twelve-hundred hours," she said as she got to her feet. A look of delighted surprise crossed his features, and as she turned to leave his quarters, she smirked. "Come to Ten-Forward, though. Not the brig."

"I will, Doctor," he called, and without looking back, she made her way back to Sickbay.

Jarok couldn't wipe the smile off his lips after the Doctor's visit that morning. He was in a better mood when he strode off to Ten-Forward than he had been since he made the decision to leave Romulus.

Upon entering the recreational area, the Admiral was struck first and foremost by the view. Across the entirety of the far wall were viewports. Stars whizzed by as the Enterprise traveled through space, and he had to admit that he understood why this spot was apparently so popular.

"Hi. Sub-lieutenant Setal, right?" A cheerful voice sounded at his side, and Jarok turned to find a young man looking at him with typical Human curiosity. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

"I am. And you are?"

"Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher," the boy answered, and Jarok's eyes went wide.

"You're the Doctor's son."

"Yes, sir." No wonder the young man wasn't looking at him with suspicion like the rest of the crew - he had his mother's courage.

"And what is your specialty? Are you going to command a starship one day, or perhaps become a medical officer like your mother?"

"Oh, neither. Wes is bound to be an engineer," another voice called out, and striding over was an officer wearing a metallic visor. He clapped Wesley genially on the shoulder and offered the Admiral his hand in greeting. "Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge. Pleasure to meet you Sub-lieutenant."

Jarok shook the hand that La Forge offered him.

"Well, this future engineer obviously has a dash of bravery in him if he's not afraid to approach a terrifying Romulan," Jarok snarked, and the boy just laughed.

"Would you like to join us for lunch, sir?" Wesley asked, but before he could answer, a hand grasped Jarok's arm.

"Sorry, Wes. This gentleman already has an appointment." The Admiral's heart thudded in his side at the sound of his Doctor's lovely voice.

"Thank you for the offer, but perhaps another time," Jarok said before turning his attention to the woman at his side. "I'm all yours, Doctor."

The smile she gave him filled him with enough joy that he could have powered a thousand warp cores with energy to spare. A willing victim to the currents of her whims, Alidar followed her to a table for two near one of the viewports, ignoring the looks they were receiving. If the crew wished to witness their Doctor - the most beautiful of their number - choosing to spend time with him of all people, then they could do so. He just puffed up his chest slightly and basked in the warmth of her gaze as they took their seats.

Someone called Guinan came over and took their orders, tossing Beverly a wink. Jarok hoped that was a good sign.

The rest of Ten-Forward seemed to fall away as the pair talked. Even their food lay untouched for large chunks of their conversation. At one point, they both were so caught up in each others' company that they didn't even notice the removal of their empty trays.

This was so easy, so natural, that the Admiral knew she had worked her way permanently into his heart. Perhaps it was too soon to call this feeling 'love' but he knew it would end up that way eventually.

When the time came for Doctor Crusher to return to duty, Jarok managed to convince her that dinner together was just as good of an idea as lunch had been. She even went so far as to suggest that they eat in her quarters. She stood to take her leave, and the Admiral gave her a respectful bow and a flirtatious wink that drew a pretty pink blush to her cheeks.

Resuming his seat once she'd gone, Alidar looked up and found a golden-eyed man staring at him.

"I take it you have never seen a Romulan before?" He asked with a smirk.

"That would be an incorrect assumption," the oddly-pale officer replied.

"Then why do you invade my privacy?" A hint of irritation leaked into his tone, but Jarok didn't particularly care. The only Human's opinion he cared about was the Doctor's and she wasn't here. All he wanted to do was sink into the afterglow of the time he'd just spent with Beverly, but this person insisted on interfering.

"I was attempting to ascertain what my guts tell me about you," the officer said, and the wording was so strange that the man's identity struck the Admiral all at once.

"You're the android," he murmured. "I know some Romulan cyberneticists who would love to be this close to you."

After a second's consideration, the android tilted his head slightly and replied.

"I do not find that concept particularly appealing."

"Nor should you," Jarok muttered ominously. The android made some inane remark about this viewport being a favorite amongst various members of the crew, but all he could muster was a non-committal hum. He missed his own stars - he hadn't meant to actually say that out loud, but all of a sudden he found himself trailing after the android officer who'd said something about bringing Romulus to him.

After typing specifications into a computer panel against a wall, Data ordered the computer to run a program and gestured for him to enter a pair of doors first. Skeptical, Jarok forced his expression to remain neutral as he did so.

For all his mental preparation, nothing could have dulled the shock of the landscape laid before him.

"The Valley of Chula. I know it well!" He marveled, but something about being in such a familiar place, even if it was just a simulation, felt sour after what he'd done.

"You may stay here as long as you wish," Data offered, rather magnanimously for an android, but after allowing himself one last look at the world he'd left behind, Alidar shook his head.

"I no longer live here," he rasped. "Turn it off."

Once the harsh, cold lines of the hologrid were visible, Jarok forced himself to look hard at his surroundings.

"This. This is my home now. My future. I have sacrificed everything. It must not be in vain." Taking a deep, fortifying breath of recycled air, he turned to Lieutenant Commander Data. "Arrange a meeting between myself and Captain Picard. Tell him Admiral Jarok wants to see him."

"Ensign, will you wait outside?" Picard asked, and once the officer was gone, his eyes fell upon Alidar once more. He'd been delivered to the Captain's ready room with more haste than he'd anticipated. He assumed he was only delayed long enough for the Captain to confirm his identity. "Have a seat Admiral Jarok."

"Captain, there is no more time," he protested.

"Admiral, have a seat," Picard said a bit more forcefully, and because Jarok knew the man wouldn't get down to business until he'd complied, he finally sat in the chair across from him. The Captain seemed more stoic than he had before, more serious...harsher somehow. Jarok knew he would be. This was precisely the reaction he'd wanted to avoid. "You see, I'm just not convinced that you are telling the truth."

Oh, Elements! This again?

"What must I do?" The Admiral was beyond frustration, now. Could this Terran not see that their very worlds hung in the balance?

"You must convince me," Picard answered, and that unshakable calm was almost worse than harsh words and shouting. Was the man half-Vulcan? "If I had irrefutable evidence...but you did not bring irrefutable evidence. You brought no evidence at all. Now, here, you are not the man you claimed to be. Admiral, your credibility is stretched beyond belief. A Romulan defector is almost a contradiction in terms, but Admiral Jarok crossing the lines?"

"I explained my motivations to your interrogators," he rebutted, but the Captain brushed that aside.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. 'Peace in our galaxy.' Except, Admiral, you are not a man of peace. Your military record - what we know of it - is clear."

"Which is precisely why I chose an alternate identity here." Jarok would've thought that particular point would've been obvious, but...

"The massacres in the Norkan outposts, for example." Anger was finally edging into Picard's tone at that, but this was one argument for which Alidar was prepared. He explained briefly about semantics - massacres versus campaigns, butchers versus heroes - something the Federation should understand well given their own history with warfare.

Picard got to his feet, asked him some half-baked question about how he was to believe him when no evidence was available. He prodded him about classified information on Romulan tactical positions, fortifications, cloaking technology. The Captain rambled on about unbelievable circumstances and the difficulty of accepting his word on faith, and when the Admiral had the gall to tell him that he would not betray his people, that was when Picard chose to raise his voice.

"You've already betrayed your people, Admiral! You've made your choices, sir! You're a traitor! Now, if the bitter taste of that is unpalatable to you, I am truly sorry. But I will not risk the lives of my crew, because you think you can dance on the edge of the Neutral Zone." The Captain gradually lowered his voice to something calm again - something somber that felt like a vice closing around Jarok's throat. "You've crossed over, Admiral. You make yourself comfortable with that."

That little tirade cut deeper than Jarok had anticipated. The cold, harsh reality of the sacrifices he'd made were being forced before him yet again in startling clarity, yet...he knew that despite his own pain, he had begun the necessary tasks. Now all he must do was follow through on them.

Admiral Jarok took a brief moment, a steadying breath and played his last remaining card, his one vulnerability.

"Do you have any children, Captain Picard? A family?" The man in question looked exasperated and a bit uncomfortable as he answered negatively - so he'd struck a nerve, then. "Then you have sacrificed too much for your career."

"Yes, this is all very interesting–" The Romulan held up a hand to stop him, and to his relief, the Captain listened.

Impatient though he was, he did at least listen as Jarok explained about how his daughter, her future, and the futures of all children, were his motivation. He told Picard everything - how he attempted to persuade those in command that another war would destroy the Empire, his censure when they grew tired of his arguments, his reassignment to a distant sector, and how this was his final recourse.

By the time he finished, he was on the verge of pleading, because surely the Captain would see that acting on his information was necessary to save both their peoples. Just as he thought he'd succeeded, Picard's gaze hardened once more.

"I will not act. Not unless I have unequivocal cooperation."

Damn the man. One appraising look later, Jarok sat with a data PADD in his hand, inputting all the information he believed was relevant to their mission. When he was finished, Picard nodded his head and thanked him for the assistance. Taking that as the dismissal it was, Admiral Jarok strode from the Captain's ready room and found himself instantly flanked by two security officers.

"How kind of you to escort me back to my quarters, gentlemen," he teased as the three of them stepped into the turbolift. He was finally free to turn his attention to the much more pleasant task of preparing for his evening with the beautiful Doctor.

Beverly didn't believe it at first when the rumors began flying through the corridors and into Sickbay. Setal, a Romulan Admiral? She scoffed the first few times she heard it, but when Will Riker popped into Sickbay to retrieve a copy of the medical scans they'd taken of Setal and called him Jarok instead, a lump formed in her throat.

What a fool she'd been! As she handed over the records with a fake smile plastered on her face, she berated herself for falling for Seta– Jarok's charms. She really felt something for him, but obviously he'd been using her.

Practically falling into the chair in her office, she covered her face with her hands and took a steadying breath. She'd made it all too easy for him to get under her skin. A few sweet words, a few mischievous smiles, and she'd become putty in his hands. Maybe so many years without Jack had made her more gullible.

"Doctor? Are you alright?" Nurse Ogawa lingered in the doorway, catching the expression on Beverly's face before she had a chance to hide it.

"I'm fine, Alyssa."

"Respectfully, ma'am, you're not a very good liar," her friend said with a sympathetic smile. "If you want or need to talk, I'm here, okay?"

An announcement rang out over the Comm System for all Senior officers to report to the briefing room, and before she walked out, Beverly drew her friend into a tight hug. She'd take the support, but for now, she had duties to attend to.

The journey across decks was almost automatic for her, at that point, so she allowed herself to become lost in thought while the turbolift hummed along. Was it his real identity that she hated, or did she simply hate that he'd deceived her?

She didn't particularly care who he really was, and she wasn't exactly thrilled that he'd lied to her, but he'd done that to the whole crew, so...what was it that was really bothering her?

She walked into the briefing room and took her seat. As she settled in, a few of the assembled officers, Will, Deanna, and Geordi, looked at her with concern before the Captain strode in.

Oh. That's what it was. This felt like school. Beverly was always the last to find things out because she was always teased as a child. She was the last to find out about Alidar, despite the fact that he'd had lunch with her, complimented her, flirted with her... He'd treated her as though she was special - as though she actually meant something to him - but she was still the last to know the truth.

That was why she was so hurt.

But, what did it say about her that she didn't care whether he was a Sub-lieutenant trying to avert a war or an Admiral trying to trick them into starting one?

She sat up straighter in her chair, listened intently to Jean-Luc's briefing, and contemplated how she'd handle seeing him tonight. She had a few hours to think of what she could possibly say to him that wouldn't sound as though she was just some whiny, lovelorn teenager. 'I thought you cared about me' sounded far and away too desperate for a person she'd known for less than two full days.

When the briefing ended and the room began to empty out, Deanna moved to walk alongside the Doctor.

"Will and Geordi mentioned what happened. Are you–?"

"I'm fine." Her clipped tone betrayed exactly how not fine she was, but at that moment she didn't care.

"You know where my office is."

She did indeed, and when she was ready she'd talk to the Counselor about all of this. But, at that moment, all she wanted to do was prepare herself for what could be an extremely unpleasant evening.

The Captain had seen fit to lower the number of guards following the Admiral from two to one - much more tolerable than before, even if the one currently beside him was constantly scowling. He hadn't been stopped when he visited the Arboretum to obtain flowers for his lady, nor had he been deterred when the officer in question had chosen to stand uncomfortably close to him as he activated Beverly's door chime.

"Come in," she called, and as the door slid open, he was greeted with the sight of his Doctor out of uniform. A soft, green, knit sweater draped artfully off one shoulder to reveal a tantalizing bit of skin. She couldn't possibly know that Romulans used to mark their mates and be teasing him about that...could she?

He honestly wouldn't put it past her. She was clever and utterly devious, he was convinced of it.

A pair of dark lounge pants made her look elegant in her comfort - more formal than such an outfit had any right to be - and the Admiral suddenly felt decidedly underdressed despite the presence of his own uniform.

"Good evening, Admiral." Her voice was quiet and calm, but there was an underlying coolness that nearly stopped his heart. His smile drooped a fraction. He should've known that she'd find out before he had a chance to tell her. Looking over his shoulder, she addressed his guard. "Wait outside, please, Ensign."

The hiss of the door closing behind him sounded more foreboding that he'd expected. Neither spoke for a long moment. She looked at him expectantly, and he dared to take a few tentative steps forward to present the flowers he'd brought her.

"I visited the ship's Arboretum. I had not encountered these flowers before, but their exotic beauty reminded me instantly of you," he said offering the bouquet he'd put together for her. "I believe they are called roses."

She said nothing. She made no move to take them from his hand. The silence stretched long enough to make him wonder if he'd ruined everything.

"Were you even going to tell me?" Beverly's question was so quiet that had he not been Romulan, he would've been in danger of missing it.

"Of course I was. I simply... The moment never felt...correct for such an admission."

"What moment would have been better?" She asked, and for a split second, Alidar wondered whether all Starfleet officers, save Riker, had taken the same course of expressing anger with Vulcan-like calm. "Would it have been more appropriate in your eyes to wait until we were in bed together?"

He sighed. What else could he do?

"What you have to understand is–"

"Jarok? Admiral? What am I to call you now?" She asked, and she began to muse aloud. "'Jarok' conveys the wrong tone altogether, 'Admiral' seems too formal, and I assume 'Alidar' is off the table as it's too casual for a man with your reputation."

He took a deep breath and laid the flowers aside on the side table by her sofa.

"I cannot change what I have done in the past, nor shall I apologize for doing my duty as an Admiral in the Romulan military. This is precisely why I dreaded telling you," he muttered looking away. "Since my past obviously offends you–"

"Your past? I don't give a damn about your past," she exclaimed, stunning the Admiral into silence as he gaped at her. "I'm hurt, Admiral, not because of who you are, but because I was the last person on this entire ship to find out!"

They both looked at each other, quietly assessing the situation.

"The looks of...of pity that were sent my way just because everyone else knew and I didn't... Do you have any idea how that felt? Did you think I was an easy mark? That I was so blinded by my attraction to you that I'd never find out?" Her questions stung, but not because they were accusatory. They kicked him right in the chest because of the underlying assumption: that he would manipulate her in such a cruel manner because of how little he thought of her.

The opposite was true. He thought the world of her, and it was an injustice that he'd behaved in such a manner that the thought had even crossed her mind. Jarok took a single, careful step toward her.

"E'lev...I didn't tell you, because I was afraid that I would lose you if you knew who I was," he explained looking into her eyes. "You are the only bright spot in this entire ordeal, and I was certain that if you knew all the grisly things I've done for my people, all the terrible orders I've given, all the lives I've been forced to take, you would despise me or worse...fear me."

Looking up at him with those big, blue eyes of hers, the Doctor surprised him yet again by closing the distance between them, cupping his cheeks, and gently skimming her thumbs across his skin.

"Admiral, over the past day and a half, you've shown me exactly who you are. I don't hate you for the choices you've made, and I'm not afraid of you," she murmured. "I trust you...or at least, I hope that I can trust you."

Such an admission from a woman who really shouldn't be associating with him at all made him crumble. All he could think to do when he was this vulnerable was to close his eyes and lean into her touch as he nodded his head.

"You can. I will do all that I can to justify that trust." His voice came out as little more than a rough whisper. What had he done to deserve such mercy and understanding from her? What right did he have to even be in the presence of a lady of such mercy?

"Would you stay and talk with me, Admiral?"

"Only if you'll call me Alidar, Doctor," he stipulated as he opened his eyes once more. Truthfully, he'd have stayed even if she only ever wanted to call him 'Setal' from now on. He would gladly be anything that she wanted him to be. "I don't ever want to hear my title from you."

"I think I can do that, but I'll expect you to call me Beverly in return." The way her eyes sparkled up at him was utterly irresistible.

"As you wish...beautiful Beverly," he murmured, savoring the syllables as they flowed over his tongue. Willingly, he allowed her to grasp his hands and lead him over to the couch - he'd have done anything for her. This, of all things, was no trouble.

"Now, I want to know about you - the real you," she said, and Jarok smiled.

The pair talked for several hours. He answered every question she had, even going so far as to explain about Romulan customs regarding officers of his previous position and their marriages being arranged for political gain. At the first whiff of his dissatisfaction with the Romulan government's aggressive policies, his wife had seen no further advantage to remaining with him and filed for an annulment. His daughter and some distant relatives were the only people he'd left behind on Romulus.

"Speaking of children...your son, Wesley," he began, and Beverly's lips stretched into the sort of proud smile only a parent could manage. "He takes after his mother quite a bit, from what I can tell. I believe his father would be proud of the man you have raised him to be."

"Hardly any of that is down to me," she demurred leaning more fully against him. "He's more like Jack than he realizes - all duty and responsibility. You know, Wesley tried so hard to fill the void that I had to remind him he was a kid more than once just so he'd go have a little fun."

"Well, he certainly has your courage, e'lev," he mused, and she let out a quiet laugh, settling her head on his shoulder. The sensation felt wonderful, especially when paired with the knowledge that she was at ease enough to touch him so casually.

After a moment's comfortable silence, he looked down into Beverly's eyes, allowing himself to get lost in her gaze yet again.

"Alright, I'll bite. What's on your mind, handsome?" Jarok preened at her praise.

"The view. Even the heavens are different here on this side of the Neutral Zone. The stars are wrong," he murmured, "but perhaps..."

She tilted her head curiously when he trailed off, raising her eyebrows in askance.

"Perhaps your eyes can be my new stars." Gently, Alidar cupped her cheek, running the tips of his fingers down the softness of her skin. "Only if you're willing, of course."

He noted only a short moment of hesitation as she processed his words before smiling up at him.

"Why, Alidar, I'd be honored," she said just above a whisper, and he felt his heart speed up in his side. Before he could do anything about it, though, gentle lips met his.

This gesture was so open, so intimate, so...Human. Jarok melted against her, following her lead until they were both breathless and clinging desperately to each other. Somewhere in their haze, the Doctor had ended up wrapping her arms around his neck and straddling his lap. His hands had taken up residence on her hips, keeping her steady above him as they explored each other.

He knew that she could tell how hard he was. She wasn't some inexperienced virgin, she was a woman who'd had a child. As her fingertips skimmed through his hair and coaxed him into another kiss, Jarok couldn't help but marvel at her. She as such a force of nature! He couldn't deny her anything, even if he wanted to. He'd crumble after an instant if only to receive more of this wonderful, exquisite intimacy from her.

How had he fallen so far so quickly? He'd defected from the Empire, lost his home, his daughter – all in a single day. Now, less than a day later, he found himself hoping to make love to a Human and cover her in the evidence of his affection. If his people could see the way he hummed hungrily into Beverly's mouth, they'd sneer at him for allowing a mere hevam to affect him so.

They wouldn't understand her magnetism or her beauty, because they'd be too blinded by their prejudice. He'd always been different in that respect. Jarok had never seen Humans as lesser than Romulans. They were different, yes, but he'd always wanted to satiate his curiosity rather than scoff at their existence. He was beginning to believe that it was an impossible task, though, because every time he learned more about Humans from Beverly, he found that instead of being less curious, he was even more so.

Alidar wanted to know everything about her - what made her happy or sad, what made her moan with pleasure, what her beautiful red hair looked like when it was mussed after a good night's sleep... He'd never been so ravenous for answers before in his life!

He managed to pry his lips from hers and began kissing down that lovely long neck of hers. The whimpers she gave him were precious gifts to be treasured and savored on the tip of his tongue for as long as he lived.

And were those her pheromones? Intoxicating woman... Was nothing about her flawed?

She leaned away from him just long enough to tug her sweater over her head and toss it away. His mouth met the dip in her collarbones, and she said his name like a prayer.

But if anyone was the worshiper in that situation, it was Alidar. Every millimeter of her was precious and sacred to him, and he vowed to himself as she tugged at his uniform tunic that he would never treat her as anything but the blessing from the Elements that she was.

And, oh, they had crafted her perfectly. Fire ran though her veins and gave itself away in her beautiful hair...her passion...her devotion. He'd always enjoyed a fire's heat. Even when he got burned, his respect for it only grew.

She was his favorite flame.

Beverly's forehead met his when both their torsos were nude. Their chests pressed against one another as they fought a battle between breath and pleasure. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingers buried in his hair, and her quiet breaths mingling against his lips with his own.

Neither spoke - what could they say that was adequate in the midst of such affection? But, after a long moment, a small gurgling sound filled the air.

They'd completely forgotten about dinner, hadn't they? Their eyes met and both dissolved into a fit of giggles. Lifting her with ease, Alidar kissed Beverly's cheek and laid her on the sofa, taking a moment to admire the sight of her all flushed and vulnerable beneath him before walking to the replicator to get them both something to eat.

He'd save her for dessert.

The ship dropped to impulse a few hours later, and the pair of lovers who'd drifted off together after sharing a meal and a few more kisses finally got dressed once more.

Beverly reported to Sickbay, and Jarok was summoned to the Bridge not long after the ship reduced its speed.

It was time. Nelvana Three required his attention. Smoothing his hair in the turbolift and pointedly ignoring the disapproving glare his guard gave him, the Romulan reported as ordered only to find the Bridge crew in a state of agitation.

"Perhaps you'd care to explain why we're here, Admiral," Picard called out almost as soon as the turbolift door opened.

"There doesn't appear to be a base," Riker added sounding more than a little frustrated.

"I don't understand." Jarok said as he looked at the barren planet on their viewscreen.

"Nelvana Three, Admiral! No base, no weapons, no signs of any life at all!" The Captain exclaimed.

"But...I saw the tactical communiques...the records...timetables for completion," he said as he walked closer to the screen. "An entire legion was assigned to this sector."

"Is it possible they could have been feeding you disinformation? You said that you'd been censured, reassigned four months ago," Picard pointed out, and a buzzing began in Jarok's ears. "They knew of your dissatisfaction. Could all this have been to test your loyalty?"

"No. No, it's impossible," he protested, but a small, horror-struck part of his brain recognized that the Captain could be correct. Oh, Elements, if he'd been tricked–

"They let you escape with an arsenal of worthless secrets," Picard bit out. "What other explanation is there?"

The buzzing in his ears grew louder, and he gripped the wooden railing that surrounded the middle section of the Bridge as Picard's First Officer ordered them out of the Neutral Zone. His own people had deceived him.

Before the ship could run, though, two Romulan warbirds decloaked and fired on them. This couldn't be happening! Was Jarok trapped in some sort of nightmare?

The Romulan Commander eventually hailed them, and Picard engaged in a minor battle of wits with him.

Alidar barely heard a word until Tomalak's jab about Enterprise's broken hull being displayed as a warning to all other traitors who would dare defy the Empire. At that, he snapped.

"All the communiques...all the timetables, all the records. They were all fiction written for my benefit," the Admiral raged, but the smug Commander on the viewscreen merely looked smug as he continued. "A test... A test of my loyalty. And you used me to lure the Enterprise into the Neutral Zone."

Ignoring the accusations completely, Tomalak returned his attention to Picard.

"First, Captain, you will return the traitor Jarok, then you will surrender as prisoners of war."

The men went back and forth, trading threats, and with all the confidence of a man with an ace up his sleeve, Picard summoned two Klingon battle cruisers seemingly from nowhere.

But Jarok could not celebrate the fact that they were still alive. He could not find it within himself to be glad that he'd lived after being so thoroughly used and humiliated.

"I did it for nothing," he murmured, "my home, my family... For nothing."

In disgrace, with nothing left of his dignity, Former Admiral Alidar Jarok left the Bridge. Shame surrounded him like a haze. So caught up in his grief was he that he didn't notice the way Captain Picard's eyes followed his path to the turbolift.

In the middle of treating a few small injuries from the conflict with the Romulan warbirds, Beverly's combadge chirped.

"Doctor Crusher, I think it would be wise for you to visit Admiral Jarok's quarters, and...my instinct could be wrong, but you may wish to prepare for a medical emergency of some sort."

The Doctor paused as she set aside a dermal regenerator.

"Acknowledged, Captain, thank you," she replied. Picking up a medkit, she turned to Alyssa, but she was already waving her out the door.

"Go, we can handle ourselves. We'll cover for you as long as you need." With a grateful smile, she hurried out of sickbay toward her lover's quarters. 'Her lover'... What an odd sounding phrase after so long as a single woman.

But, what sort of injury could he possibly have that would drive him to his quarters rather than Sickbay? He would've known she'd be on duty, so why not simply come find her so she could help?

Activating his door chime, he shouted for whoever it was to go away. She hadn't expected to hear such anguish in his voice. She activated the chime again and this time she announced herself.

"Alidar? It's me, Beverly," she called. "Please, may I come in?"

A long, charged paused passed before he called for her to enter. When she did, she nearly fainted at the sight that greeted her. Tear tracks stained his cheeks as he stood by the viewport. He looked deflated, somehow...defeated.

"Please, let me see my stars one last time..." An orange felodesine chip was clutched desperately between his fingers. Beverly's heart sank. He wouldn't...he couldn't, not after all they'd been through in the last couple of days.

"Alidar...wait, please," she adopted the most soothing tone she could as she kept her eyes locked with his. Taking slow, small steps toward him, she tried to figure a way out of this. Setting the medkit aside as she walked, she tried her hardest not to spook him into anything rash like ingesting the chip. There was no reversing that. There was no antidote.

"Beverly...e'lev, I can't. It was all for nothing. My own people used me to get to the Enterprise. I nearly caused all of your deaths and started the war I was trying to stop, all because I couldn't tell the difference between fiction and fact." A tear rolled down the Admiral's cheek and his hand shook. "I will never see my baby girl grow up. I will not be there when she welcomes a child of her own into the world. I will never see Romulus again! I cannot face this alone."

"You aren't alone, I promise." She was almost close enough to touch him, now. "Alidar, for as long as you will permit me, I will stay by your side. I will help you through this to the best of my ability, but you have to be willing to give me a chance."

He started to shake his head, but she was close enough to caress his face and look deep into his eyes.

"Try...for me..." she begged feeling tears burning in the corners of her own eyes as she spoke. "Please."

After a long moment, there was a quiet 'clack' as the chip fell from his grip and landed on the floor. Almost before she could process that he'd moved, the Admiral grasped the Doctor's waist and caught her lips in a desperate, damp kiss which she returned just as fervently.

Relief cascaded through her. She wasn't going to lose him today.

Any remaining shreds of the decorum the two had maintained over the course of their two-day journey faded rapidly into nothing, shattered by the overwhelming need for both to hold and be held, to love and be loved.

Their aborted intimacy from before was not to be stopped this time. Clothing fell in crumpled piles, removed by desperate hands and delicate fingers, each on a quest to reassure themselves and each other that they were not alone.

With their uniforms stripped away, their duties cast aside, they were no longer Romulan and Human. They were merely lovers partaking of each other, filling the room with the sounds of their joining.

~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes

@emilie786 @groovyqueer @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @rookietrek

@slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

#deepspacedukat fic #Beverly Crusher x Alidar Jarok

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hangmansgbaby · 8 months

Text

Gunpowder & Lead O N E

Masterlist

Emory's POV is written by @mamachasesmayhem and Jake's POV is written by me.

Banners are POV changers.

"You can't be serious."

The look I sent my husband is lethal and would make lesser men cower. But not Jake. If anything, it amuses him. I swear the man gets off on trying to put me in my place.

A smirk crossed his handsome face, and I wanted to kiss it and slap it off when he replied. "Oh, but I am. Mayor Mitchell is throwing a banquet in honor of the task force in a few weeks, and all the beautiful spouses are expected to attend."

I'm damn near wearing a path in the dark concrete of the floor of The Underworld as I recount the conversation I had with Jake to the rest of the Furies.

"I'm not going. It's too close for comfort, we tempt fate enough as it is on a regular basis by being linked to these idiots! It feels like we'd be chumming the waters by going."

I stop pacing and place my hands on the stainless steel table in front of me, hoping the contrast in temperature helps me slow my breathing. Birdie's hand lands on my shoulder then pulls me upright and into a hug.

"Hey, it's ok, Em. Deep breaths," Her voice is soothing as she gently rocks me side to side. She's always been the voice of reason when I start to panic. "You don't have to go, it's not worth the stress, ok?"

Ever the realist and not afraid to give me the hard truth, Addie pipes in. "We'll support you no matter what, you know that. But it may not be the best look for the commander's wife to be missing from the event that is basically being held to celebrate his hard work."

I groan, realizing how bad it actually would look. I don't have time to dwell on it though, because the motion sensor for the front door of Cora's goes off. The live view of the detection pops up on the monitor on the wall and everyone's eyes snap to the screen. It's safe to say our jaws drop in unison when we see the panicked faces of none other than Penny Mitchell and her daughter, Amelia. A collective gasp leaves the group, and Birdie and I rush up to let them in, leaving Addie and Erin behind. It's our typical response in a situation like this, just in case it's a "married to a police officer" matter instead of a Furies one. We quickly push open the door, usher them inside, and lock it back.

"Oh my God, you two! What happened?!" I ask, wrapping Amelia in my arms and holding her close to my chest. She started working in the bakery part time last summer and she’s started to become like a daughter to me.

Birdie has an arm around Penny's shoulders as she guides her to sit in the cushy loveseat in the corner. Once the backs of her knees hit the chair, Penny collapses into it and begins sobbing. Amelia breaks not long after her mom and Birdie and I try our best to comfort them, something we've grown to be unfortunately good at doing. Once their cries slow to stuttered breaths, I offer to grab them some hot tea and they gratefully accept. When I return with two oversized mugs in hand, their faces are tear stained and swollen, but they each have a determined look in their eyes.

Amelia surprises me when she speaks up first. "We need a pomegranate scone, Mrs. Seresin."

If I wasn't already sitting down, I would have fallen flat on my ass at her statement. There's no way she knows about what really goes down in the Underworld, we keep it wrapped up tight during the daylight and are careful to make sure nobody overhears any conversations with potential clients. It takes a lot to fluster me, and I'm almost surprised with myself when I stumble over my reply. "Oh, uh...Mel...we don't have those available at the moment."

"Natasaha sent us," Penny's voice is rough as she replies. "She was dropping off something for one of the paralegals as a surprise from her boyfriend when she saw Amelia sitting in the car. I was inside, confronting Pete about his most recent affair, telling him that Amelia and I were leaving. I was so angry that the adrenaline presented itself as courage when I knew better than to speak out. My mom always said 'don't leave mad, just leave.' I should have taken that advice."

My brain buffers as I process what she's telling me. Why didn't Nat give us a heads up that they were coming like we all do with "direct referrals"?

"Miss Nat saw me in the car crying and tapped on my window. I was...I was the one who discovered dad was cheating on mom. I went into his office looking for a spare charger for my MacBook when I noticed his desktop was unlocked. I didn't mean to, but a notification came through and pulled his messages up. I took pictures on my phone and ran out like I was never there before he got back from the bathroom. I showed mom after dad had left for the day and we started packing immediately. I told Miss Nat what happened, that mom was inside telling dad we were leaving. She told me to tell my mom to bring me here and ask for a pomegranate scone. She said that y'all had a team that would hide us and protect us from dad. I don't know what happened after that, but she went inside and mom came running out a couple minutes later. Now here we are."

I'm blown away by how strong Amelia is, and my heart breaks at the same time as I watch tears steadily roll down her face as she explains what she knows. She curls further into her mom's side, finding comfort in the arms of her mom.

Penny clears her throat before continuing. "Pete had landed a pretty solid hit on me when we heard Natasha come in the door. He shoved me into the bathroom so she wouldn't see my injured face and I slipped out of the window and ran to the car while he was distracted. Nat saved our lives tonight..." she trails off, holding back more tears.

I move to wrap them both in a hug and Birdie does the same. "You're here and you're safe now. We've got you. Let's get y'all downstairs and into bed. You two get a good night's sleep and then we'll talk more tomorrow, how does that sound?" Penny nods her agreement, and we all make our way to the secret elevator leading to Safe Haven, the shelter we've put our hearts and souls into building. "Our operation is...a lot bigger than you think. You'll see some familiar faces around while you're down here, but I promise we'll keep you safe."

An hour or so later, the girls are settled into their apartment for the night and Penny has a burner phone on hand with instructions to call me when she's ready to talk. Birdie has filled the group in on the situation; Erin is dropping Penny's car off in the impound lot while Addie fiddles with the car’s tracking system. She'll make it look like they drove towards the border then disable the system all together. It's a wild goose chase we send the more...affluent offenders on. Most normal guys don't have the intelligence or the means to track the car of a runaway spouse, but Pete Mitchell has both of those things in spades. We quickly agree that no matter what Penny and Amelia decide to do, we will bring Mayor Mitchell to his knees. This is what we were made to do; remove corrupt men from power. Suddenly, I realize that the banquet is now a solution instead of a problem. As much as I hate it, I'll absolutely be going and using the opportunity to gather intel on who I now consider Public Enemy #1.

I tell everyone goodnight, then head home to see my husband. It's gonna be difficult keeping this one from him for now, but I've held onto bigger and badder secrets before. After learning about my alter ego, Jake has made it a point to wait up until I get home, refusing to fall asleep unless he's seen for himself that I'm home in one piece. He's barely keeping his eyes open, the exhaustion of the long day nipping at his heels, when I slip into bed next to him.

He immediately pulls me close and wiggles until we're both laid down, my cheek pressed against his chest and his chin resting on my head. "You always smell like cookies, smells so good," he mumbles against my hair.

I snuggle in closer, finding comfort in the warmth of his bare skin and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to flip out like I did."

His arm tightens around me and he leaves a gentle kiss on my temple. "No, Sweets. I'm sorry, I know it's a complicated situation and I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"I'd be proud to be your arm candy, Commander Seresin." I look up at him with a smirk on my face.

Jake groans at being called commander when he's too worn out to do anything about it. "That was mean, Mrs. Seresin. I'll get you back for it later." He pauses as he turns to bury his face in my neck, whispering a soft "thank you" before he slips into a deep sleep.

The next morning, I discreetly slipped away from the counter to check on the Mitchell girls. Penny and Amelia don't care what happens to Pete, so long as they're far away from it and can lead a somewhat normal life afterwards. This is their home too, after all. Penny tells us that her family has some property with a cabin that Pete doesn't know about up in Montana, so we make a plan to get them out there as soon as possible and they'll stay until this is all sorted out. The next few weeks pass in a blur as we make our plan for the banquet. It's been hell keeping it from Jake, but the less he knows, the better. A few days after the girls disappeared, questions about where they were started popping up around town. Conveniently, its summer break for Amelia and Penny is self employed, so Pete explains away the worry by telling everyone it was a spontaneous, open ended mother/daughter bonding trip before Amelia's senior year of high school began.

“How’s the security detail going Mr. Commander?” Nat asks, dropping a stack of files onto her desk across from mine. I groan, tossing my own papers down.

“Explain to me why we’re setting up security for an event we aren’t even working but being honored at?” I question, Nat laughs from behind her coffee with the logo of my wife’s cafe in clear view. “How’s Em this morning?”

“Dreading tonight.” Nat responds. “Are you really making her go?”

“Mayor Mitchell was very specific about bringing our significant others.” I state clearly.

“Let me correct myself.” Nat leans over the desk, lowering her voice. “Do you really want to bring your wife, THE Persephone, to a banquet honoring the task force meant to bring her and all of our significant others in for murder? Do you realize how many Furies are gonna be in that room?!” She shouts in a whisper.

I do realize how many will be there, all of them. Besides Bob and I'd wives there's still Addie and Erin who are dating Bradley and Javy, respectively.

“The girls are smart, Nat. No one will be the wiser to the Furies wining and dining under their noses.” I brush off her concern. I am fully aware of the abilities of my wife and her sisters. They’ll be fine, I know it.

“Well your wife isn’t entirely sure of that.” Nat states. “Perhaps you should talk to her.”

“We’ve talked, Nat. She’s going and everything will be fine.”

Birdie comes over a few hours before the banquet so we can get ready together. Usually, we'd have Attie with us, but she's tied up in a case that's in the middle of deliberation. I have a tendril of Birdie's hair wrapped around the barrel of the curling iron when she pins me with a look through the mirror.

I sigh, knowing something is on her mind and she won't chill until she tells me about it. "Alright, out with it."

"So you're really gonna do recon on the former police commander turned mayor at a banquet in his own home?" She asks, clearly concerned.

"It's the best opportunity," I shrug.

"That's not what I'm worried about," she says with an eye roll as I unwind her hair into the perfect loose curl.

"What are you worried about then?"

She raises her eyebrow in question. "Really?" She questions before sighing. "Hades isn't gonna like this."

I have no control over the scoff that escapes me, honest. "He doesn't even know about Mel and Penny. And what Hades doesn't know, won't hurt him."

"No, you idiot. He won't care that you didn't tell him about the girls. He's gonna be mad as hell if he finds out you're running an op as Persephone when you're supposed to be there as Emory Seresin. The wife of Jake Seresin, commander of the Spartans? The very same Spartans that are being honored at the banquet we're attending for their efforts to stop the Furies? Ringing any bells?" Birdie's hands flail as her voice rises to a higher pitch with each word.

Damn her for always being logical.

"It's gonna be fine, B. Like you said, I'll be there with my husband, Jake. Not my literal partner in crime, Hades." I continue curling her hair, acting like I've got it all under control and like I'm not freaking out on the inside.

She lets me sit in the quiet for a few minutes as I finish up, and I think I'm in the clear until we've slipped into our dresses and I'm buckling the clasp of my heels around my ankles. Jake and Bob, who had been at the Floyd home, drinking beer and watching football, come through the front door. Their boots are heavy on the steps as they climb up the stairs to make sure we're ready to go.

Birdie's eyes land on me once more, giving me one last warning in a low murmur. "It's not too late to call it off. You know Jake will lose his shit if he catches you, Em."

"Good thing he won't catch me then," I grin.

The boys step into the bedroom, looking dapper in their wife coordinated shades of green. Jake is in a sage green button up under a gray blazer that matches his slacks, with my favorite cowboy hat of his resting atop his head. If I wasn't in full Fury mode, we'd probably be late for dinner. Bob's wearing a mossy green button up with black slacks and his hair has grown out enough to curl behind his ears. They both let out whistles of appreciation when they spot us.

Birdie and I are both wearing white dresses, and the irony is not lost on us. I opted for more of a boho feel, a satin maxi dress with thigh high slits, cut outs around my ribs, and a shimmery ring that connects to a halter top. B looks like a modern-day Marilyn Monroe in a silky, cap sleeved, backless midi dress with her blonde curls. Thanks to smudge proof lipstick, both of the boys get kisses to return their appreciation. They're the epitome of southern gentlemen as both of their palms find their homes on the small of their wives backs, escorting them down the stairs. Each couple heads their separate way with plans to drive separately. Jake helps me into the passenger seat of his truck before climbing into the driver's side. As we pull out of the driveway, I notice that the brake lights of Bob's truck aren't illuminated and I chuckle.

Jake reaches across the console to grab my hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss before he asks, "What's got you giggling over there?"

"They're definitely getting a little carried away over there. How much you wanna bet they sneak off together before the fourth course starts?"

The laugh that leaves my husband feels like sunshine on my soul and the guilt for keeping him out of the loop comes creeping back in.

"I say they make it through the fifth. Winner gets to use the handcuffs?" His dimples are prominent when he grins, and I'm half tempted to make him pull over for a second so I can climb into his lap and put my thumbs in them.

Already slipping into my Persephone persona, I don't fight my smirk when I reply. "Game on, Commander."

Game on, indeed.

“You know, when I announced I was campaigning for Mayor, I figured most of Austin would laugh at me. I mean, I was the Commander who hadn’t ranked in 20 years and the minute I got the offer I retired to focus on my family. Not really a look everyone wants to vote for.”

Many of the fellow policemen in the hall laughed at Mayor Pete Mitchell’s speech, including myself and my team who have at one point or another worked directly under him at Austin PD.

“But look where we are! 5 years later and I am 3 months into my first term as Mayor and we have accomplished so much!” Pete continues, earning applause from his audience. “But today isn’t about me. No, today is about the men and women assigned to bring down the vigilantes of Austin. Known as the Task Force to policemen, the Spartans in the media and heroes to the citizens of Austin, I simply know them as my friends. Here’s to them, may they find victory in bringing Persephone and the Furies to their knees.”

I eye my wife beside me who barely lifts her glass as high as everyone else at our table. I know she’s uncomfortable with the Spartan/Furies talk, especially at my work events. It’s her livelihood, her creation. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She mutters, a soft smile graces her features.

“Make it through tonight and I’ll make it worth your while when we get home.” I whisper to her with a wink. Normally, Em would get THE look on her face and say something along the lines of ‘why wait?’ but tonight, her gaze doesn’t leave the mayor’s frame as he moves down to greet a few men in suits by the stage. “Sweets?”

“Can’t. Girls and I are meeting at the Underworld afterwards.”

Since when? They all agreed to take the night off. I literally just listened to Bob and Birdie make their own plans for when they get ho… oh. “Who came into the Bakery?”

“No one Jake, just a gloss over of expenditures.” She answers, eyes still glued.

“Then it can wait for tomorrow.” I say, resting my chin on her shoulder, kissing it as I come up. “Spend a night with your husband.” I almost plead.

“I can’t, Honey.” Emory replies more firmly, breaking her one way stare off. Erin Monroe chooses that moment to walk by from the other table and slips Emory a piece of paper.

“Oh we’re working early tonight now? ” I ask, my once soft gaze on her drops along with my voice. “I thought we agreed no Furies business.”

“It’s not.” She replies, tucking the paper into her clutch.

“You forget. I know when you’re lying, sweets.”

“I gotta use the restroom.” She suddenly stands, kissing my cheek. “I’ll be back.” She starts to walk away but I catch her wrist, standing so I can whisper in her ear.

“You wanna toe the line, Persephone?” I question, despite my low volume I can tell the words ring throughout her mind. My voice is deeper than normal, something I don’t do often.

“I’m not doing anything, Hades.” She stands firm.

“That's fine, but remember, sweets, even she obeyed Hades.” I nearly growl in her ear. Emory’s eyes widen as she looks up at me. “Don’t be too long sweetheart. Once you're done, we’re going to thank the Mayor and call it an early night, but neither of us are sleeping tonight.” I watch Emory trip over herself before she composes herself and quickly walks towards the restroom.

Bursting through the front door, I already have Emory pinned against the wall. Em groans as I attack her neck with bites and kisses. The sounds she lets out only spur me on.

“Jake.” She moans softly. “Please.”

“Now sweets,” I tease as my teeth scrape against the base of her throat. “You know good girls get what they want.”

She arches into my touch, moaning in frustration as I continue to kiss down her collarbone. I trail lower. My hand slips under her skirt. Her underwear is warm from her body heat. The soft silk feels so good against my calloused palm. Em gasps when my fingers brush against her clit. I smile into her skin as she tries to push my hand away. I don’t let up my assault on her neck. She bucks against me, trying to push me away. I growl a low warning into her ear before I take it into my mouth.

Her nails dig into my shoulder blades. I suck harder at her neck. A few seconds later, she starts to moan, her whole body arching into mine.

I feel her body tighten around me, her breath coming out in short gasps. It’s all the encouragement I need as I slip two fingers inside her. Fuck. She’s so tight. So wet. I start stroking slowly. I can see the beads of sweat building on her forehead. Her eyes are clenched shut. As I hit the right spot, she starts crying out.

“Oh fuck! Jake! Oh god! Please don't stop! I'm gonna come!” Her fingers tighten around my bicep as as soon as I can tell she’s ready to cum, I pull back making her wine as her orgasam becomes out of reach once again.

“I told you sweetheart, only good girls get to cum.” I grin down at her, leaning forward to give her another quick kiss but pulling away, just shy of her lips. “And you certainly were not one tonight. Now how about you race upstairs and show me how good of a girl you can be when you listen.” I chuckle as she shakes her head, grinning too. I slowly walk behind her as she runs into our bedroom. I follow her inside, shutting the door behind me.

Turning around she’s already laid out across the bed. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. I can’t ever truly punish her, especially with the way she’s looking at me. The pure love and adoration with a hint of lust clouding her eyes. My beautiful wife. “Fuck, Em.” I groan, stripping as I walk towards the bed. “You disregarded my one request for tonight.”

“I’m sorry! Fuck Jake I’m so sorry!”

“God I could never stay mad at you, sweets.” I grin down at her, climbing onto the bed. She wraps her arms tightly around my waist. “But you better make it up to me.”

“I will, I promise. I’ll do anything,” she breathes. “Anything at all.” She leans up to kiss me as we roll over onto her back. Our hands find each other immediately as I begin trailing kisses down her body. Her legs wrap tightly around my waist, pushing me even closer. God she’s so responsive. We fit together perfectly. I could spend the rest of forever doing nothing more than fucking this woman. She moans in response as I slip into her. I feel her pussy clenching around my cock. It sends a surge of pleasure coursing through me.

Sex with Em has always been amazing. It feels like every part of our bodies are working together perfectly. Her touch drives me crazy. She’s my everything, my life. And I’m hers. Fuck, I want to hold her forever.

My fingers dance along her skin while I thrust into her. Em’s face is twisted with ecstasy as she rides me. She’s breathing hard as her body trembles beneath mine. “Jake… please…” Her words are little more than an exhale of air, the sound muffled by our kiss. She pushes herself up, effectively flipping us to rock faster against me. “Shit… fuck yes! I'm gonna cum! Oh shit!” She yells as her climax overtakes her. l let out a deep groan as she continues to move her hips through her release, squeezing me as I finally reach my own. Emory leans down to lay on top of me as we catch our breath.

Minutes go by before I gently pull her up and lay her on the bed, moving to grab a washcloth from the bathroom. I return to the bed and clean her off. Smoothing her hair back, I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” I mutter, kissing her again.

“I love you too.” She smiles, moving to rest on the pillows once I was done.

“Do you wanna tell me what was going on tonight?” I can feel Em’s shoulders drop as I lay down next to her. “Em?”

“Penny and Amelia came into the bakery a couple weeks ago.” She answers.

“Well you pay Mel to be there most days, so I hope she was there.” I joke but when Em doesn’t laugh with me I know it was something else. “The girls aren’t on a mother/daughter bonding trip are they?” I ask and Emory immediately jumps up.

“He was so awful to them, Jake! Nat happened to show up the night they were leaving and Amelia told her everything. Penny got hit and immediately hidden in the bathroom before Nat could see anything!” She explains. “He’s been cheating on her for years!”

“Okay but putting a target on the Mayor? Em this is so much more dangerous than going after someone like a random ex husband.” I explain. “If word gets out, his security is going to double and Em, Chief Simpson will not let us rest knowing the Mayor is in danger. Our lives will be so much harder!”

“We can’t let him get away with it Jake! What if he killed Penny? What if he hurt Amelia?”

Amelia has been like a daughter to us ever since she started working with Em and Birdie. Emory has a point, I’d never forgive myself if Pete ever hurt Amelia.

“You stay out of sight no matter what, all of you. This is close to home, personal. He knows all of you. If you get caught, we’re all screwed.” I instruct.

“We know, honey.”

“And you keep me in the loop. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Sweets.”

“When have I ever not been careful?” Em laughs just as her phone starts ringing. “It’s Birdie, probably wondering where I am.” Em says after grabbing her phone.

“Lemme see.” I pull it from her, quickly making myself sound out of breath as I answer the phone. “She’s… she’s busy B.” I groan trying to contain my laughter.

“You’re sick. I know y’all ain’t still fucking! The curtains are open.”

“Well shit. Oh well, she’s not coming tonight.” I reply. “Also when did y’all leave?”

“After the third course.” Bob chimes in.

“HA! I win!” Em cheers.

“I hate both of you.” Birdie chimes. “I’ll let the girls know we’re meeting tomorrow instead.”

“You do that!” I say, “My wife and I are gonna be a little busy for the rest of the night.”

“Gross, I’m hanging up now.”

Emory and I both start laughing as I set her phone on the nightstand. Almost immediately Em gets up. “Where are you going?”

“Getting the handcuffs.” She smirks. “It’s Persephone’s turn to have a little fun.”

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