#do you think for a brief moment he thought William had escaped his prison and was back to take his own form of revenge

[driftingvoid-155]

Henry who wasn’t all that close with the Aftons after Charlie’s death or really before either. He worked with William and knew he had a family consisting of three kids but rarely ever saw them, especially not after his own child’s passing. So least to say, when he sees Michael show up to apply for the position of night guard in fnaf 6, for a brief moment, he thinks it’s William from the past back to haunt him again. This zombie version of his old friend here to put an end to him once and for all.

[riversofmars]

New chapter as I’m on a bit of a roll, yay! Please enjoy more questions and very few answers :)

Chapter 6: When Good People Go To War

Space, 52nd Century

“So the Library…“ Yaz crossed her arms in front of her chest feeling uncomfortable. She didn’t like not knowing what she was in for. “What are we going to find there?“

“A Library is a collection of books.“ Strax retorted matter-of-factly as he set the course. Even with hyper speed travel, it would take them a while to get there.

“It’s a planet.“ Vastra answered as Strax’s response was not very helpful. “A planet that has been turned into the biggest Library in the universe. At its core, the greatest computer and hard drive ever built, to store a copy of every book ever written… and after the Doctor left, also the consciousnesses of those who lost their lives there.“

“That must be really weird, people coming and going, checking out books and they’re there, watching it all?“ Yaz frowned, trying to wrap her head around it.

“Well, not quite like that. The Library isn’t actually being used anymore.“ Vastra smiled, though for a moment, the idea was a pleasant one. It certainly would make the Professor’s fate less lonely. “The Vashta Nerada have taken over the Library so no organic being would be safe to enter.“

“The what?“ Yaz asked, confused.

“The Vashta Nerada, shadows that can kill. Piranhas of the air, people like to call them, nasty things.“ Dorium threw in, shuddering at the thought.

“And Professor Song, her consciousness is in that computer?“ Yaz clarified and there were nods all round. “So, like… can we turn on a computer screen and talk to her?“ She was still struggling to imagine how they would go about this.

“If we can get past the Nashta Nerada first…“ Vastra nodded.

“It will be no matter, I shall take great joy in obliterating them.“ Strax announced.

“You do realise you can’t shoot shadows, Strax.“ Jenny pointed out with a roll of her eyes.

“I have brought UV grenades.“ The Sontaran grinned with excitement.

“We shall assess the situation upon our arrival, Strax.“ Vastra decided to put an end to the conversation before it would turn into a presentation of weapons equipment and engagement strategies.

“You wouldn’t mind… dropping me off somewhere first, would you?“ Dorium piped up. He wasn’t exactly eager to be part of this expedition. “Keep the shuttle as my contribution to the cause but I’d really much rather…“

“No, you played a large part in creating this mess. You can see to it being resolved.“ Vastra retorted curtly.

“It’s just, last time I was made to sign up to one of the Doctor’s causes, I lost a lot of… myself as it were. And all of you were there, too, so I’m not taking this for a good omen.“ Dorium tried to reason but Vastra wouldn’t hear of it.

“None of this is good, Mr. Maldovar.“

“Then, perhaps you wouldn’t mind clarifying something for me…“ He sighed, realising that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this that easily.

“What’s that then?“ Jenny asked.  

“You spoke of a child. Not the Timeless Child, the message I gave to the Professor, but an actual child… the Doctor’s child?“ Dorium said slowly, making sure he had heard them right. It shed a completely different light on things if it were true.

“The Professor was pregnant when she left Darillium chasing after the information you provided.“ Vastra replied pointedly. It didn’t serve to keep him in the dark but she also didn’t feel like sharing the Doctor’s personal affairs with him in great detail.

“The child was kidnapped. That’s why we’re here.“ Jenny explained more patiently than her wife.

“And you believe the same person that had me pass information to Professor Song is also behind the kidnapping.“ Dorium frowned, connecting the dots.

“The Master, yes.“ Yaz put in. That subject, at least, was one on which she could speak with some authority. She had met the Master and he seemed cruel and clever enough to be behind this, should he really have escaped death.

“And you’re sure of that?“ Dorium retorted with a frown.

“You yourself gave the description of the man.“ Yaz retorted. “And it sounded an awful lot like him.“

“It’s just… the last time a child was kidnapped…“ Dorium glanced to Vastra who lowered her gaze, recalling what he was referring to. “Am I the only one who feels like history is repeating itself?“

“How so?“ Yaz asked, looking around the room.

“The day Mr. Maldovar lost his body was the day that Doctor went after another stolen child. The child of their best friends…“ Vastra took it upon herself to explain. It was about time the caught Yaz up on key events of the Doctor’s past.

“She’s not dead, you know, Madame Kovarian.“ Dorium threw in.

“She has no power now. The Order of the Silence has disbanded. The Church stood with the Doctor at Tranzelore.“ Vastra shook her head, refusing to believe what he was inferring. Madame Kovarian’s plan to kill the Doctor had failed and the Order of the Silence hadn’t been heard of in a long time.

“A fanatic like Kovarian doesn’t just go away. Her obsession and anger just festers…“ Dorium carried on. “And what better way to take revenge than by taking the child of River Song herself…“

“I’m afraid you will have to fill me in on this…“ Yaz felt at a loss again. “Does the Doctor really have so many enemies?“ Having enemies seemed to come with the territory for the Doctor but neither the Cybermen nor the Daleks seemed the type to kidnap a child. The Master seemed to fit the brief a lot more but Yaz hadn’t considered that there were any number of past foes of the Doctor’s that could also be involved.

“There are a great many people out there who would do unspeakable things to hurt the Doctor.“ Vastra retorted bitterly.

“But to use a child…“ Yaz shook her head. The Master was without a doubt a lunatic so she could imagine it, but any sane person would surely draw the line at using someone’s child.

“It’s Kovarian’s modus operandi.“ Dorium couldn’t help but point out.

“A long time ago, the Doctor travelled with Amy Pond and Rory Williams. A lovely couple. Kind. Courageous…“ Vastra gave a little smile as she remembered the Ponds fondly. “The Doctor’s greatest weakness have always been the people they love… Amy was pregnant and the Order of the Silence kidnapped her, lead by the fanatic that is Madame Kovarian. The Doctor raised an army to get her back.“

“You were part of that army?“ Yaz looked to Dorium who gave a wary smile.

“We all were.“ Jenny interjected.

“A glorious battle! I very nearly met my demise.“ Strax stated, gratified at the memory. “What a disappointment when I woke up two days later…“ He added grumpily.

“I can see why you feel like history is repeating itself…“ Yaz nodded slowly. “Did you succeed?“

“Amy had her daughter while imprisoned by the Silence. Melody, she called her, Melody Pond.“ Vastra carried on. “And there was a battle: the battle for Demon’s Run.“

“Demons run when a good man goes to war.“ Dorium mumbled, the words still haunting him.

“The Doctor is a good man… woman, I mean…“ Yaz felt the need to point out.

“No doubt about that.“ Vastra nodded but with a bittersweet smile. “But their hubris got the better of them. Kovarian tricked them. We saved Amy but the child remained with Kovarian and they took her away…“

“What happened to her?“ Yaz’s eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t imagine the Doctor failing to save the child.

“She went to prison.“ Strax announced.

“Strax.“ Jenny shot him a glare and he huffed:

“Sorry, I got ahead of myself.“

“She was raised by the Silence and trained to be an assassin, her one purpose was to kill the Doctor.“ Vastra revealed.

“They raised a child to be a weapon?“ Yaz shook her head in disbelief.

“A most effective one.“ Vastra gave a sad smile.

“And did she…? I mean… the Doctor is still alive so… what happened to Melody? In the end?“ Yaz wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know the answer. She so badly wanted there to be a happy ending to the story but it seemed unlikely.

“She grew up and instead of killing the Doctor, she fell in love with them. Melody Pond became River Song.“ Vastra smiled at how wonderful a turn of events it had been. Tragic yes. And it didn’t undo all the pain any of them had been through, but something good had come out of it in the end.

Yaz didn’t know what to say. That was not the answer she had expected but somehow, it seemed to make perfect sense. River was a time traveller, too; and the Doctor had said how their timelines were running in complex patterns. Of course the Doctor’s wife was something extraordinary in herself. They seemed to suit each other just fine and despite everything, Yaz smiled at how extraordinary a tale it was. The lost child, the would be assassin, to become their wife. In many ways, it seemed like a fairy tale.

“She did go to prison though…“ Strax huffed, intent on making his point.

“She took the blame for the Doctor’s supposed death and went to prison but that’s just one of the examples of the length to which they will do for each other.“ Vastra conceded.

“But her parents… did they…“ Yaz couldn’t imagine what the parents must have gone through.

“They didn’t get to raise their child, no. They came to know her well and spent a lot of time with her but at the end of the day, they still lost their child…“ Vastra gave a sad smile.

“We can’t let that happen to the Doctor, we can’t!“ Yaz exclaimed, as she understood. The Doctor had seen the pain at the loss of a child in her best friends, it was no wonder she couldn’t think clearly. She was beginning to understand why the Doctor was acting the way she was. History was repeating itself and they couldn’t allow that to happen.

“I fully agree.“ Vastra nodded, as did the others.

“But you can see why taking their child would be the perfect revenge for someone like Madame Kovarian.“ Dorium mused.

“We can’t discount that possibility…“ Vastra admitted thoughtfully. So far, they had no evidence one way or another. All they could do was follow all possible leads until one paid off.

“I shall make some enquires…“ Dorium decided. He knew she wasn’t going to be let of the hook so he might as well get on with it. “If you wouldn’t mind getting me a neuro transmitter to pair to the shuttles communication equipment, in the drawer to your left…“ Strax followed his instruction and retrieved the item. “So annoying, I was gonna have the chip for instant control of this ship implanted next week…“ Dorium sighed. Dreadful timing.

“I shall leave you to make your enquires, Mr. Maldovar. I fear I may require a lie down, I don’t think I’m quite myself yet…“ Vastra nodded and stood slowly, feeling exhausted.

“This way, Ma’am.“ Jenny looped her arm around her and lead her further into the shuttle.

Strax supplied Dorium with a little chip that he attached to his temple before returning to his apparent favourite activity: searching the shuttle for anything that could be used as a weapon. There was no way of knowing what might come in handy, he’d insisted.

They left Yaz to ponder what she had just learned. She found a seat by the window, stars rushing past so quickly she couldn’t make them out. So she stared into the emptiness of deep space. Learning about the Doctor’s past was painful. She couldn’t even begin to understand what she had been through. It certainly cast her behaviour in a a different light. She could only hope they would succeed where the Doctor had failed in the past.

——

The TARDIS

The TARDIS landed on Gallifrey with it’s usual wheezing and groaning and somewhere in the back of the Doctor’s mind, River scolded her for leaving the breaks on. Thousands of years worth of habit weren’t corrected as easily as that. The memory made her smile, despite herself. She flicked on a monitor and scanned the outsides to see whether the death particle had rendered the planet uninhabitable or if its effects had dispersed. It appeared to be the latter as the TARDIS couldn’t detect anything that would be harmful to her.

She didn’t step outside straight away. She wasn’t quite prepared to face Gallifrey again just yet. It wasn’t just the destruction she had left in her wake, or the prospect of finding the Master - dead or alive. It was the painful memories of both the recent and the very distant past. Stalling for time, the Doctor decided to put on a fresh shirt as she was starting to feel uncomfortable in her sweaty, sticky clothes.

The Doctor hadn’t used her bedroom in over nineteen years, since before her imprisonment by the Juddoon. She hadn’t exactly had time for a lie down whilst fighting the Daleks upon her return. She’d barely had had a moment to breath, let alone sleep. Thankfully, Time Lords didn't require much sleep as she used to point out to River. She corrected herself in her own mind. It wasn’t that Time Lords didn’t require much sleep… whatever species she was didn’t require it… Or should she continue referring to herself as a Time Lord and just adjust her viewpoint that the people of Gallifrey weren’t? Had they just been poor imitations of what a Time Lord should be? She shook her head to herself, clearing her mind. She was distracting herself with things that were entirely inconsequential.

She found her bedroom the way she had left it: A mess. She stepped over books, clothes and empty custard creams packets on her way to the wardrobe. The content of the wardrobe itself was the oddest collection of clothes one could have imagined. There were shirts and jumpers dotted with question marks, various three piece suits, capes, leather jackets and blazers, long coats in all shapes and sizes, scarfs, bow ties, hats, braces… The Doctor stalled her flicking through when she found a green dress. They weren’t just her clothes. The Doctor pushed it aside and carried on, but there was the suit she’d worn on Darillium, the Stetson River had put a hole through, River’s Melody Malone trench coat… Tears blurred the Doctor’s vision. She had kept her emotions concerning River locked away so neatly all that time and everything was boiling to the surface. She missed her so much. She was furious with her for leaving Darillium when she did, particularly keeping the secrets she had, but there was so much love too. So much longing. The had worked through her grief in the years since Darillium. She had locked the painful feelings away, and now, the loss of her love hurt more keenly than ever before.

The Doctor took a deep breath and grabbed a change of clothes. Her emotional state would only get worse if she delayed.

The trousers were a bit long, but she stuffed them into the tops of her boots. The shirt fitted surprisingly well, she had been stick-thin a few regenerations back, all she had to do was turn the sleeves up. Braces were braces, they didn’t get sweaty so she kept them. She contemplated the bow tie but decided against it. Perhaps that would be going a bit far. She took comfort in the familiar clothes. The shirt she’d worn the first time she had met River in the Library, the trousers that still had sand from the beach of Lake Silencio in its pockets… She was just about to grab what River had like to refer to as a magician’s coat when the TARDIS interrupted: It came to life around her, humming and wheezing, demanding her attention. Colour drained from the Doctor’s face as she bolted from her bedroom, down the corridor towards the control deck. She had made a grave mistake.

——

Sheffield, 2021

“Did we really have to go right now?“ Graham looked to Kate who was driving. She had insisted they pack the essential right away so they could get going.

“Well, it’s a four-and-a-half-hour drive and I would like to sleep in my own bed tonight. Well, I say my own bed… it’s been home for a few months now.“ The former UNIT chief answered as she indicated and pulled onto the motorway. “But we really can’t take the risk of hanging around. We don’t have time to lose.“

“Where are we going?“ Ryan asked looking out of the window, well-lit Meadowhall shrunk away in the distance.

“UNIT officially doesn’t exist anymore so we can’t use their bases or equipment, it would be too easy to find us if activity was detected, but we can’t do completely without resources. There have been other organisations dealing with the extraterrestrial that have closed down as well, there are bases all over the UK if you know where to look.“ Kate explained focusing on the road ahead.

“Four and half hours… London?“ Graham asked, looking outside as well. That wouldn’t be right. They were heading north on the M1.  

“No, other direction, we’re going to Glasgow.“ Kate revealed with a smile.

“Okay, this is not what I expected…“ Graham looked out of the window as they pulled up at their destination. It was the middle of the night but it was a clear one. The moon provided enough light to outline the surrounding area.

“You should know not to judge a book by its cover by now.“ Kate smile, amused, as they got out of the car. They found themselves in a parking lot not far from the River Clyde. The area seemed rough, there weren’t any people around. “This way, gentlemen.“ She called over her shoulder as she marched up to an abandoned warehouse and opened up a rushy looking panel on the wall.

“That’s a bit more like it.“ Ryan mumbled to Graham as he spotted the hand print reader that didn’t look rusty at all.

“Nothing like a good disguise. It’s not a chameleon circuit but it does the trick.“ Kate pressed her hand to the pad and the door slid opened. They stepped into what looked like an empty warehouse and this time, Graham and Ryan knew not to comment until Kate had revealed the next level of security. “Just over there, the elevator.“

“You have to be kidding me.“ Graham shook his head to himself. The elevator, if it could be called that, was a metal cage that looked a good fifty years old. It didn’t exactly look safe.

“I’m sure you’ve experienced worse with the Doctor.“ Kate pointed out as she got inside.

“I suppose that’s true.“ Ryan huffed. The got in the lift and Kate pressed the button to send them down. Wherever down was. The elevator stuttered a little, then it went through what looked like two rings of light and suddenly, the brittle metal around them transformed to sleek carbon alloy. The warehouse disappeared from view as they sped towards their destination.

“Woah…“ Ryan didn't know what else to say as the cart ground to a halt and they found themselves in a sort of air lock. This was not what they had expected to find below a riverside warehouse in a dodgy area of Glasgow.

“Where are we?“ Graham asked as the airlock opened, rolling aside to grant them passage.

“This, gentlemen, is Torchwood Two.“ The stepped into what looked like a vast laboratory. It was like a whole building under ground. There was an entrance area, a corridor with rooms shooting off it, most of the walls were made of glass and allowed them to scan the impressive underground structure. There were stairs going downward too and some more leading up again. It wasn’t unlike stepping out of the TARDIS and finding yourself on an advanced alien planet.

“Torchwood? Isn’t that where what’d-his-face used to…“ Ryan started but was interrupted:

“Welcome home, Chief!“ A voice boomed down the corridor as none other than Jack Harkness stuck his head out of what appeared to be the kitchen. He saluted, as he always did, with great enthusiasm. “Oh, I don’t know which one of you to kiss first, come here you two, I’ve missed you!“ He grinned at Ryan and Graham.

“Steady on, Captain.“ Kate smirked and Jack settled for tight hugs.

“Careful with the wandering hands.“ Another female and distinctly Welsh voice sounded rather amused.

“You obviously know Captain Jack Harkness.“ Kate chuckled. “And this is Agent Gwen Cooper.“ She gestured towards a brunette that made her way towards them. Gwen gave a little wave.

“Nice to meet you.“ She greeted them with a warm smile as she joined them at the entrance. “Glad to have all the help we can get.“

“This is awesome, I had no idea we have places like this on Earth.“ Ryan was still in awe, looking around.

“No-one is supposed to know. UNIT has several places like this but they would be too tightly guarded. The Torchwood Institute disbanded quite a long time ago now.“ Kate explained patiently as they started making their way down the main corridor. “With Torchwood One and Three destroyed and Four missing, Two was our best bet. It had been shut down but we’ve done our best to revive it.“

——

The Library, 52nd Century

“What are you doing here?“ Anita found her voice and she addressed the woman who had appeared with the child. The woman didn’t respond, she didn’t seem to have heard her at all, she just carried on with her work. “Hello?“ Anita walked around them and waved her arms but no reaction from either her, or the child.

“This is a memory.“ River realised as she looked around. She watched, fascinated and horrified in equal measures as time seemed to skip ahead. The examinations, experimentations and tests continued but the child changed!

“Are they experimenting on children?“ Anita exclaimed in shock but River started to slowly shake her head. As they watched, things were started to make sense to her.

“Not children… child. It’s all the same child, just regenerated…“ Her Time Lord like senses told her as much.

“The Timeless Child?“ Anita felt like she was finally catching on.

“I was wrong, I was so very wrong.“ River mumbled feeling incredibly stupid all of a sudden. “We’re not talking about my child, not at all. This is the long distant past on Gallifrey, this…“

She watched mortified as the woman injected herself with the result of her work and suddenly, she regenerated. She had created the ability to regenerate, using the child!

“River, what is happening?“ Anita stepped closer to River again. Why were they seeing this?

“I saw glimpses of this when I was in the Matrix.“ River realised. “This is a Time Lord’s memory. A very old and most likely very well hidden memory…“

“But what is it doing here?!“ Anita’s voice was turning more anxious and River could feel it too. Something was very wrong. Were they still in the Library computer or had they been transported somewhere? Surely, they had to still be in the computer, they had no bodies in the real world; but something was very wrong indeed. Maybe some sort of virus? But why was it reflecting her own memories. Was she making it happen? “River, what’s going on?“

“I don’t know…“ River admitted weakly, her head spinning.

“River?“ The looked around to see CAL who had suddenly appeared inside the lab with them.

“What is it, CAL? Did something happen to the core, is there a malfunction or…“ River felt better for seeing her. It confirmed that they were still in the Library but the look on the young girl’s face was disconcerting. “Are you creating this?“

“No.“ The girl shook her head. “Are you?“

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about this but… everything that’s happening now, I didn’t see before. It’s new.“ She turned back to find the scene suddenly paused. They seemed to have reached the end of the memory.

“You said the Matrix was similar to this computer…“ Anita seemed to feel a little better when the memory stopped playing. “Maybe that’s why…“

Suddenly, CAL went very pale. She looked around, her eyes staring into nothingness, like she was looking beyond the artificial world they were in.

“Someone is in the Library.“ She said fearful. She had noticed too late, she had let her guard down in the peaceful world she had created.

“Are you sure?“ River didn’t know whether to be unsettled or excited. Who could have come to the Library? Who would have known to come and where to look and how to get in? As curious and disturbing the change to the virtual reality was, she couldn’t help but hope that maybe, the Doctor had come to find her. “Who is it?“ She asked quickly. “Is it the Doctor? Did he do this?“

“Oh no, actually, that would have been me.“

The voice was unfamiliar and yet, somehow, River recognised it. Regeneration could be funny like that.

[one-leaf-grimoire]

chapter 7

chapter 7 of my medieval AU fic. Things are about to go down uh oh 0.0

Ft. my friend @fuegoleonvermillion 's OC Sei!

AO3 link

Eventually, Lisa pulled herself back out of bed and to the bathroom, where she splashed a healthy amount of water onto her face. She didn’t want to look at her reflection, so she just hoped that her eyes weren’t too red before turning to leave for dinner. Her mind was still swirling with troubled thoughts, although by now the crescendo had dwindled down to a dull, bitter tang on the back of her tongue.

I hope to god I’m just overthinking all this, she thought to herself, wiggling the fingers of her encased arm as she walked. I probably just need to eat. And anyway, I get to see Julius again tomorrow. It’s the perfect time to bring up that sort of worry…

But at the same time, what if addressing the matter just brought the end along more quickly? That was the last thing Lisa wanted. With a groan, she paused outside the mess hall, squeezing her eyes shut briefly in an attempt to recenter her emotions. For now… just don’t think about it. Try and have a relaxing night, and look forward to tomorrow.

With that, her eyes popped back open, her usual smile on her lips. With a newfound spring in her step, Lisa used her shoulder to push the door open, ready for dinner.

That’s right… I get to see him tomorrow!

Lisa’s eyes fell upon the occupants of the mess hall, and for some reason, she stopped walking. Fuegoleon was there, Sei by his side as usual, with a few other squad members huddled around them. Standing before the Captain was a knight, wearing the cloak of the prestigious Golden Dawn squad. Huh? What is he doing here-

“What do you mean, the King is missing? Explain!”

Fuegoleon’s demand cut Lisa’s thoughts off.

The Golden Dawn knight, panting and clearly out of breath, sucked in air through his nose before repeating his message for the whole room to hear.

“King Julius was kidnapped about an hour ago! Enemy intruders were spotted in the castle, but it was too late; he was taken! We think they headed northeast!”

Lisa didn’t move, she didn’t really react either. She just stood there, silently, the color slowly but surely draining from her face.

“Dear god…” Fuegoleon looked around at the other Crimson Lions before turning back to the messenger. “You’re positive?”

Sei’s gaze landed on Lisa for a moment. His eyes didn’t narrow dubiously like they often did; Lisa could pick up flecks of sympathy in their golden depths.

Oh… oh god…

“Sei!” The vice-captain’s attention was pulled back to Fuego, who now had a resolute expression. “Gather our best knights, we’re going to go find these enemies and get King Julius back!”

“Wait! I have orders from Captain Vangeance!”the messenger piped up. “He sent me to bring you and your men to the castle; he wants to devise a plan.”

“A plan? But, we should strike now!” Fuegoleon objected. “You said the enemies headed northeast? That would lead them close to our squad!”

“I can’t allow you to do that,” the messenger insisted, looking a bit scared. “You can take it up with Captain Vangeance when we reach the castle.”

After a long, intense moment, Fuegoleon let out a sigh. “Fine. Sei, come on, gather the senior knights.” There wasn’t much they could do; William Vangeance, being the leader of the best squad, was the one who led the military when Julius was unable to. And this was one of those times. An order from him was as powerful as an order from the king himself.

“Right.” Sei turned to leave, noting that Lisa was no longer standing in the doorway.

A few minutes later, the party was suited up, heading to the stables to ride to the castle. They’re having us wait all this time before even beginning our pursuit? Fuegoleon thought to himself, furrowing his brow. It seems unwise… it may already be too late. Who knows what brought this abduction on, but Lord Julius is a good man! I won’t let anyone harm him!

He was suddenly distracted as he noticed that Sei had stopped walking, lagging behind a bit. “Sei? What’s wrong?” Fuegoleon turned to look at him, concern on his face.

Sei pointed at one of the stalls. Normally, there would be a horse there, but it was empty. Realization hit Fuegoleon all at once. “Hold on, that’s-”

“Lisa’s horse. It’s gone.” Sei gulped, furrowing his brow before turning to Fuegoleon. “I’m going to have to split from you guys… I can’t explain now, but I think Lisa might have done something supremely stupid.”

Fuegoleon was confused, and now fear struck in his heart at Sei’s words. Lisa? In danger? What is she doing that’s so stupid? I don’t understand! He wanted nothing more than to press further, but he knew Sei well enough to read his tone of voice. Gulping nervously, Fuegoleon gave his husband a nod. “Alright… I trust you. Whatever she’s doing, get her to safety.”

“I will, don’t worry. Don’t get too bored at that ‘meeting.’” Sei leaned up just enough to press a kiss to Fuegoleon’s cheek, a quick yet reassuring gesture. I’ll take care of it. Worry about yourself, my love.

……………………………..

The first sensation to register in Julius’s mind was the sound of crackling flame. It was dull at first, but grew in intensity along with a piercing pain in his temples. With a groan, he shifted, hearing dirt grind under his uncomfortable body.

… where am I?

Slowly, his eyes blinked open, revealing the hazy world. It was dark, the only light coming from a campfire a few meters away. People were huddled around it, as if it would protect them from the forest surrounding them.

… that’s right… I was kidnapped… that waiter looked so familiar…

It was all coming back to him now. Panicking, Julius sat up, only to realize that his ankles and wrists were bound tightly. He strained for a moment, wincing as the rope rubbed painfully into his skin.

“Ah, look who’s awake! I forgot how badly you snored, Captain.”

Captain?

Julius looked up to see a figure approaching him, their face shadowed. They came to a stop a few feet away, their golden eyes glinting in the firelight.

“You slept like a baby. And I wouldn’t try to escape those bindings, I’m pretty good with knots.”

“Who are you? And what do you want?” Julius asked, keeping his voice level. He was scared, yes; anyone would be in this situation. But he was very good at keeping calm in the midst of fear, as he faced many treacherous situations on the battlefield years ago.

The figure chuckled. Recognition flickered in the back of Julius’s mind. “I’m hurt, captain… I looked up to you so much, and yet you can’t even remember me? That’s sad…”

Captain? Should I recognize him?

Julius narrowed his eyes. At that moment, the fire flared up a bit, casting light onto his captor’s face. It was just a moment, yet it was enough to pour the memories back into Julius’s mind

“...P-Patri?!”

The man’s smile fell, but Julius knew he was right. Despite everything that was happening and the danger he was in… Julius couldn’t help but feel a resounding relief in his soul. Patri narrowed his eyes. “What are you smiling about?”

“Oh…” Julius shook his head, blinking a few times as everything sunk in, “Nothing… just… I’m glad to see you alive, Patri.”

The annoyed look on patri’s face quickly morphed into one of rage at Julius’s statement.

“...how DARE you!”

Without warning, the man yelled his words, as if he were hurling knives at Julius.

“After everything you’ve done, you’re glad to see me alive?” Patri gave a half-hearted, mirthless chuckle. “Well, I wish you cared this much when I was kidnapped off the battlefield! But you didn’t give half a shit then, did you?”

Julius winced, the details of their shared past coming back to him more clearly now. He didn’t know what to say to his former comrade; whatever he thought about the situation, Patri was clearly more upset than he could imagine. And probably rightfully so.

“Patri… I thought you were dead. We all did. I mean- When someone goes missing on the battlefield like that-”

“Julius, we both know that the Diamond Kingdom doesn’t kill their prisoners of war. At least not quickly. You… you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

The fire flickered again, those sitting around it absolutely silent as Patri continued to speak. Julius’s eyes widened as, for the first time, he saw Patri’s whole face. It was familiar to him; a face he had first seen when Patri was just a boy, joining the squad along with William, Yami, and all the others. Julius had been proud to call himself their captain, and when they lost Patri, he was devastated.

But… I didn’t lose him, did I? I gave up on him…

He could still remember William’s plea.

“Please, Sir Julius… please let me go save him!”

One of Patri’s sclera was black, burned by some painful means. The fire died down, casting the man’s face back in shadow.

Julius’s shoulders slumped, and he could no longer look Patri in the eye. His gaze fell to his feet, his eyes dulling.

“....I’m sorry. I truly am... “

Patri shook his head a little before backing away towards the campfire again. “In any case, that’s not why I’m here… not entirely. Despite being unable to save little ol’ me, you, the elite Mighty Stag, managed to decimate many of the Diamond Kingdom’s best forces. They hold a grudge as well, so in exchange for my freedom, I promised to bring you to them.”

Julius’s blood ran cold. Shit! That’s not good. “Wait! Patri-” Julius called out before he could leave. “You’re already safe here; I can protect you!” He gave the younger man a smile. “Let me make up my sins! I promise-”

“No.” Patri smiled to himself, glad to see Julius shut up. “I made a promise too.”

“Yes- a promise to the kingdom who captured and tortured you!” Julius cut in. An emotion Julius couldn’t quite place flashed through Patri’s eyes. “If not me, come back for William! For yami! For everyone who cares about you! We’ll protect you!”

“NO!”

Patri whipped back around angrily, but the look on his face, although brief, was unmistakable:

Fear.

“I can’t go back on this promise. I’m not a spineless lier like you. So… just wait. We’ll continue our journey at daybreak.”

Without another word, Patri stalked away to his new comrades, leaving Julius alone to curl up and try to sleep in the dirt.

…………………………………………….

Daybreak came quickly. The forest was quiet, unfortunately, the only sounds being that of the birds’ morning choir.

“Come on… there has to be something… some kind of clue…”

Lisa’s eyes darted around the trees as she trudged through the undergrowth, one hand holding onto the reins of her horse and the other fidgeting uncomfortably within her cast. She had a feeling that she would be able to take it off any day now. It was getting too itchy to bear. But in a pinch, she knew she could throw it off and charge into battle if needed.

So far, her search had yielded no clues. All she had to go on were her own instincts and the directions given by the messenger yesterday. The night had been a long one, and eventually she got so tired that she was forced to tie up her horse and curl up in an uncomfortable patch of weeds. Even then, she found it hard to sleep.

Julius…

Lisa’s hand had tightened on the handle of her Rapier.

I have to save him… I have to! Even if I’m the only one fighting, I’ll save him!

She didn’t know why Julius was taken, or who she found be fighting, but the mere thought of never seeing him again made every bone in her body hurt.

I can’t… lose him…

Her feet hurt, her head throbbed, and her horse was getting more and more resistant to her lead. But Lisa pressed on, determined to find Julius.

“Hey. Fancy seeing you out here.”

Lisa screamed in surprise and whirled around to see none other than Sei a few meters away. Despite being on his own horse, he had made virtually NO noise when he approached. Lisa gulped, coming down from her shock. “Sei! W-What are you doing out here?”

“I should be asking that to you.” Sei came to a stop next to her before gracefully dismounting. “Seriously… are you in a hurry to die?”

“...no,” Lisa mumbled, looking away awkwardly. “It’s just- no one else was going to do anything! I thought it would help if someone went ahead to scout out the trail, even if it was just me-”

Sei rolled his eyes. “Cut the crap Lisa… we both know that’s not true.”

Lisa blinked a few times, her heart pounding faster and faster. What? What does that mean? Sei-

“You and Lord Julius… you’ve been seeing each other ever since he showed up at our celebration, right?”

The words hit Lisa like a freight train. Her face immediately heated up, turning a shade more befitting of a tomato. “HUH?! Er- Sie!! Why on earth would you think that- haha- I don’t even remember that night!!! Me and the KING?! That’s dumb and stupid! Poo poo! AHAH uhh yeah that’s not what’s happening-”

“Ah, I see. I’m right.” Sei smirked to himself, Lisa immediately shutting her mouth and glaring at the ground. “I can’t say I approve… but we can’t change anything now. Come on.”

Lisa looked up as Sei brushed past her, pointing up ahead.

“I smell a campfire. It’s been out for an hour at most. Who would be camping way out here?”

It took Lisa a moment that Sei wasn’t going to press the issue any further. She turned to follow him with her eyes for a moment. Wait… is he…

“You’re helping me?”

Sei paused, then looked back at his junior with a determined smile on his face.

“Of course. I’m out here anyway, and you’re right, it’s best to scout this area for clues first. Come on, let's save the King.”

Lisa quickly matched his grin, picking up the pace to walk by his side and press ahead into the unknown.

[saiilorstars]

Dare To Forget Me

Ch. 26: Playing the Game

(Previous chapters)

Fandom: Law & Order SVU

Pairing:  Rafael Barba x OFC

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel​ [If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ` 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: Declan Murphy has taken over at SVU and not a lot of detectives seem to like him. It leads to a night of drinking and flirting...

Montserrat walked into the SVU bullpen with half her things in her hand. She was digging through her purse, searching for her chapstick. She seemed out of it, which was why when she heard all the significant noises from the bullpen she quickly looked up and found quite a busy scene in front of her.

Desks had been rearranged so that there was only one row where the familiar detectives were huddled at. To the left was a young UC pretending to be a 14 year old for, what Monsterrat imagined, were live cameras.

"Welcome back," she mumbled to herself as she dropped everything from her hands into her purse. At Olivia's request, and partially her own idea, Montserrat had taken a week off from SVU. It'd done her some good to be away from work and just everything in general. After things with Jonah...a break was needed. Montserrat felt rejuvenated and ready to go back to her world.

She just had no idea what she walked into.

"Ah, redhead, you must be Detective Novak," a man - who hadn't been sitting like the rest of the detectives - said as soon as he spotted Montserrat. He had shaggy brown hair with obvious signs of gray streaks.

Montserrat's dark eyes were wide from utter confusion. "Aha…" was all that came out of her mouth as the man shook her hands.

"Declan Murphy, acting commander of SVU" the man introduced himself then swiftly turned back to the scene like Montserrat had never even come in.

"...how long was I gone?" she said louder than she had wanted to. Her eyes immediately began to search for Olivia. When she didn't find her quick, Montserrat had a brief panic attack thinking Olivia had quit or something. "What the hell is going on here!?"

"Welcome back, Novak," Rafael came to stand beside her, holding a cup of coffee in his hand.

"I am so confused," she passed a hand through her hair. "Why do we have a new commanding officer? And where's Liv?"

"You didn't hear, did you?" Rafael asked after taking a moment to study her blissful expression. He almost didn't want to tell her what she missed out on.

"Hear what?"

"William Lewis escaped from prison. There was a whole manhunt for him," and yet as Rafael explained this, he could easily tell this was the first time Montserrat was hearing any of it, "He took Liv and held her hostage."

"Oh my God," she blinked. "I didn't - I shouldn't have left."

"You had nothing to do with it. Liv is...better, but 1PP thought it was a good idea to put Murphy in charge for a while."

"And yet you don't look like you think it was a good idea," Montserrat said soon as she caught him giving Murphy a glance.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're doing that thing where you crinkle one side of your nose."

Rafael blinked at her when he saw her pointing at him, specifically his nose. His own hand moved up just slightly until he caught himself. "What thing!?" he demanded.

"That thing you're doing right now! You always do that when you're annoyed."

Rafael dropped his hand on his side. "Welcome back, detective," he muttered and turned towards the others. "Liv's getting coffee, by the way."

Montserrat nodded. "Thanks." She hurried to leave things at her desk and find Olivia. She could not believe she missed so much. "Olivia! Oh my God! I am so sorry for being away!" she burst into a fit of rambles when she ran into the break room.

Olivia seemed to have been expecting that sort of thing from the detective because all she did was smile and nod until Montserrat ran out of breath. "You're good, Novak. You were on a much needed vacation-"

"-but you were held hostage!"

"I'm good," Olivia reassured while languidly mixing in the sugar into her coffee. "And there were no charges filed against me anyways."

"Charges?" Montserrat gaped. "What charges!?"

"Never mind."

"Wait, what hap-"

"-c'mon," Olivia brought the woman out of the break room. "Did you meet Murphy yet?"

"Sort of. Seems kind of curt…"

"He's new-ish, but he's the one who helped Amanda out."

"Oh, he's that Murphy!" Montserrat made that connection fast. "Well, he can't be that bad, then." All Olivia did was hum in return. "So what exactly is going on over there?"

Olivia followed Montserrat's gaze and nodded. "Undercover string for any online pedophiles."

"Oh. Welcome home, I guess," Montserrat concluded. Secretly, she wasn't upset. Being away helped finalize where she was in her life. Plus, putting some distance might have been a good idea for...other reasons.

Their operation, while successful, only left SVU with one perp in their district. And that perp wasn't exactly what SVU had been looking for when they thought of worldwide operation.

Gordon Montlieff wasn't going to lead to a huge discovery. That much they got from 5 minutes of observing his interrogation with Fin and Amanda.

"Why are we talking to this guy?" Montserrat tore her gaze away from the interrogation and gave Murphy side-glance. It was getting tedious watching the interrogation get nowhere. Rafael and Nick seemed to share the sentiment by their similar irritated looks. "We can just charge him and lock him up already."

"Detective, you've been gone for a while so you might have forgotten how things need to run here," Murphy's words already moved Montserrat further into Nick's corner. Within the hour of her arrival, she could tell that Nick didn't really like this guy. "This squad needs to evolve. Little cases make big cases."

"I may have been away for a week, but I know exactly how this place runs. You, on the other hand, have only been here for how many days?" Montserrat found herself saying in response. Behind her, those who shared her feelings smirked.

Murphy seemed surprised at her snap but, with his experience, he had an easier time ignoring what he looked at as disrespect with commands.

"Look, lieutenant, we're not dealing with a mastermind here," Nick stepped up to back up Montserrat.

"We don't know what we're dealing with," Murphy insisted. "TARU still working on his computer?" All the detectives nodded their heads. "Find out where they are. Meanwhile, Fin and Rollins will walk him up the ladder, see where he leads us."

"You're the boss," Nick sarcastically said and turned to leave. He prompted the others to follow him.

"Is it too early for me to say I don't like him?" Montserrat asked quietly and quickly in case Murphy re-opened the door behind them.

"Nope," went Nick who made a direct beeline for his desk, though probably not to do as Murphy asked.

"Just give him a chance," Amanda said. "He's not what we're used to but he is a good guy."

"No one's debating his morals, Rollins," Sonny began, but Rafael had to chime in.

"Some of us are. I've done my due diligence on this guy and some of the things I found have left me… quite perplexed." Rafael had a mini-stare down against Amanda, but eventually the blonde detective looked away.

"Let's just go," Amanda muttered to Fin before taking the lead out.

"What things did you find on Murphy?" Nick had to ask Rafael after the other two were gone.

"I'd rather not say," the ADA cleared his throat and looked, clearly, uncomfortable.

"He's speechless?" Montserrat pointed his way. "It's gotta be bad. Why can't Olivia just take the lieutenant's exam and be the official commanding officer here?"

"Because that would be too easy," Nick begrudgingly answered.

After getting nothing from Gordan, Murphy decided to up the game. He passed himself off as another pedophile caught by SVU and practically scared the crap out of Gordon which motivated him to talk. And when they found what he led them to...they really wish they hadn't.

But their job required not only to them to see it, but their ADA too as well.

"I would brace myself, Councilor," Sonny patted Rafael's shoulder once the latter had sat down at the conference room.

Rafael rolled his eyes at the detective but did notice the others' uncomfortableness while Amanda pulled up their evidence. Even Fin looked rather shaken and he hardly showed any shock after his time at SVU.

"Kids without shame?" he read off the bold title of the web screen.

"It's a chat room for pedophiles. So here's the guy that Gordon tipped us off to," Olivia motioned Amanda to move down the screen from her laptop. "He calls himself 'Erastes."

"I see him from my window playing in the P.S. 27 school yard…" Rafael started reading from the screen when he heard Montserrat clear her throat.

She was looking quite pale. "I wouldn't read that out loud…"

Rafael gave her a look but, as he was meant to, he kept going and soon realized what she meant. "Sweet faced, chubby. I imagine stringing him...up…" he swallowed hard, "...hearing him squeal. How long do you think it would take for the blood to run out if I hung him upside down?" He had to take a moment for himself and shake that off. "That's horrifying, but-" and he really hated having to point this out, "-but it is on a site that explicitly says it's fantasy."

"He's talking about a real boy that he's seen," Nick countered.

"And you know this how?"

"We're giving you a heads-up, counselor, not asking for your blessing," Murphy declared and outright ignored Rafael's sharpened look. "I'm talking about one undercover meet. If it's just a fantasy, we walk away. And if it's not, do you want to be responsible for missing this?"

Oh, great, so now it was on him. This squad really liked squeezing him until he gave into whatever the hell they wanted. "Fine," he spat and got up from his seat. "One time. And you better get something good out of it."

There was an immediate debate about who would be going undercover and what the ruse would be. And some of them disagreed with the way things were chosen and handled.

"I need some drinks," Nick spat once Murphy, Amanda, Fin and Olivia had gone off for the undercover gig. He had complained about the entire gig to the remaining, including Rafael who had stuck by to listen to Nick's complaints. He sat at his desk and was practically ignoring the pile of work in front of him.

"You mean bottles?" Montserrat countered since she knew his mood stemmed from the one and only Declan Murphy.

Nick side-glanced her with a 'stop it' kind of look. "On me. Anyone?"

"I'll take some," Sonny rose from his chair with a finger raised in the air. He didn't complain out loud but he wasn't entirely devoted to Murphy's way of leading. "Councilor?"

"Sure," he gave in pretty easy, prompting the last detective to remark about it.

"Wow, you all will look lovely complaining about one Lieutenant," Montserrat smirked from one man to the next.

"You're free to join too," Nick gestured. "I know you don't like Murphy either."

"I didn't say that," she corrected but instead of believing her, all three men scoffed one after the other. "Oh shut up."

"C'mon, Montse," Sonny moved to her side of the desk and smiled down at the woman. "We can call Kara and make it a nice night out."

"Alright fine, since my presence is so desperately needed," she dramatically sighed and got pushed herself up from her seat. She grabbed her coat and purse and walked out with the trio.

~ 0 ~

Kara was ecstatic to have a night out. She was front and center even before the others arrived to their usual place.

"You look lovely," Sonny complimented her as soon as they met her outside. She was dressed in a nice tight, red dress.

"Thanks," Kara gushed and accepted his chaste kiss on her cheek before greeting the others.

"That looks familiar," Montserrat made a languid point at the outfit. She tilted her head and stared at it for a second before her eyes widened. "Hey, wait a second - that's my dress!"

Something akin to a snort came out of Nick's mouth. "You own that?"

Montserrat glared at him. "Not a word, Amaro."

"Oh don't argue," Kara hushed them both. "I just thought it would look nice. And it does."

"Here's to having that self confidence," Montserrat muttered and followed inside.

They found the bar counter empty towards its end and gladly took those seats. Kara, Sonny and Rafael ordered their drinks first whilst the remaining two deliberated on their choices.

"I just want to try something new," Montserrat shrugged after being practically commanded by the others to stop being so picky. She was not, in fact, going to end up picking the same thing she usually did as stated by Kara.

"Try this one," Nick said before clearing his throat and calling to the bartender. "Mojito, please."

It was safe to say Montserrat had no idea what that was. "What...what did you order?"

"Something new," Nick smirked all too proudly.

"Am I going to get drunk in two sips? Because that's not what I was going for."

"Relax, it's a Cuban drink. It's literally just rum and lime juice."

Montserrat gave Nick a long stare before flickering gazes to Rafael for some extra confirmation. He gave a silent nod but it was good enough for her.

"Fine. But next time give me a heads up. I have no idea what's in your people's type of drinks."

"My people's type of drinks?" Nick laughed. "What does that mean? That I'm Cuban?"

"And you drink. And so does…" Montserrat made a not-so-subtle nod at Rafael. The man in question narrowed his eyes on her but rather than being offended, he seemed amused. Where she was taking this, he had no idea.

"Now you're just being purposely mean," Kara was the one to say.

"You know they say the same thing about Slovaks?" Nick countered. "You guys drink way too much."

"Point taken, but it's not true."

"Mm, I've seen you drown scotch," Rafael spoke up only to get a glare from Montserrat.

"Yeah, every time you offered some. You own the bottle."

"And yet you drank most of it."

Montserrat glared at him for a full minute before uttering, "Oh, shut up."

Rafael smirked, and soon did the others. Montserrat just settled into her seat and waited for her drink to come by. Luckily, it did along with the others'.

Montserrat picked up her glass and eyed its flashy green contents. "It just looks like a bunch of leaves."

Her complaint made Nick smile after taking a sip of his own glass. "It's good, just try it."

"I wouldn't try it," muttered Kara who then received a jab from Sonny. "What? He's poisoning my friend-"

"-I resent that," Nick pointed at her. "I'd do a much better job if that was my intention."

"Oh, well, thanks," Montserrat huffed.

"Just take the damn drink, Montserrat," Rafael was close to groaning in annoyance with her. "If anything, it'll be weak."

Montserrat raised her glass again and peered over its top. She shrugged in the end and took a big drink. Her face immediately scrunched when she tasted the acidic lime. And she shivered. "What is that!?" she put her glass down and refused to touch it ever again.

"That is a Mojito and you are wasting it," Nick promptly responded with.

"Uh, no," Montserrat cocked her head to the side. "That is overpriced lemonade. And it's not even good."

When Rafael thought Nick had gotten enough of her scolding, he chimed in for Nick's sake. By now, he had a pretty good idea of what Montserrat would like for drinks. "Would you like some of that scotch now?"

Montserrat smiled sweetly in a sarcastic manner, one he came to like admittedly. "Yes, please."

"The whole bottle?" and he gave her that smug face she pretended to hate but secretly craved more for.

"Shut up and order me my drink." Montserrat pretended to huff and look away while Rafael did order for her.

"Que débil eres," Nick's mock, though in a foreign language, pulled Montserrat's deadpanning glance.

"Nu-uh, don't you start using Spanish on me to mock me." Montserrat meant to sound offended, but after trying to be the bigger person she found herself uttering something else, "Ty hlupák."

Nick paused just as he was about to drink and thought of what he heard. Even Rafael and Sonny were having trouble making out Montserrat's words. The only one who seemed unsurprised was Kara.

"What…" Nick lowered his glass and turned to face Montserrat, "...what did you just say?"

"You moron," Montserrat said proudly. "Anyone else have something to say in a foreign language?"

"If I say something nice in Spanish, will you say something nice in Slovak?" Nick flashed her a smile that elicited a laugh from her.

"Alright, I'm gonna need y'all to stop flirting," Kara's remark affected Montserrat more than it should, and perhaps Rafael too. The latter stayed quiet but he was watching Montserrat's every movement. Who knows...it's almost as if Kara planned such a comment.

Judging by Sonny's disapproving glance, she just might have.

"I-I wasn't," Montserrat shook her head. "...just playing a game."

"Aw, and here I was hoping for something," Nick smirked and leaned closer to her. It was just too much fun to stop, especially since half of what he was doing was pissing Montserrat. "La pelirroja más ardiente que he conocido."

Montserrat raised an eyebrow at him, unable to keep a blush from reaching her face. "Goddamn you, Amaro. Is this how you pick up women? Because if it is...well done." She raised her hands, indicating he definitely won.

Nick couldn't help the big grin that took over his face. He really was just playing a game too and it got even more fun when it made an actual effect on her.

"A ty si ten najhladší muž, akého som kedy stretol," Montserrat returned, her Slovak tongue sounding far different than what everyone was used to hearing from her. There was a sharpness in her words, yet something...alluring about it. "And you are the smoothest man I have ever met," she repeated her words but translated.

Least that's what Rafael thought and figured Nick did too. It was ridiculous how angry he got in such a short minute, but it was real. He hadn't even realized how tightly he was gripping his glass, but Kara did. And she elbowed Sonny so he could see the same.

"Get your flirty friend out of here before your other friend commits murder and has to try his own trial," Kara told him in a hushed tone.

"Well, actually, he wouldn't be able to try his-" but Sonny stopped on account of Kara's hardened gaze. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Mhm," she said with a straight face.

"You gotta stop playing this game," Montserrat was telling Nick. "Save the Spanish and the looks for a woman who doesn't know you're as stubborn as a mule."

"Scotch?" The bartender stopped by with a glass for Rafael. He pointed the drink was for Montserrat and so the glass was slid down to her.

Just as she took it, Nick's cell phone started buzzing in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw it was his ex-wife, Maria. "Gotta take this. Be back in a bit."

"Oh, we got lucky," Kara said in a dramatic relieved tone.

"Oh, c'mon, you can't be taking this that serious," Sonny gave her a look. He of all people knew how badly Kara wanted things to work for Montserrat and Rafael, but she also failed to take in what reality had done. "It's harmless flirting."

"Well, it looked like Rafael wanted to inflict some real harm on Nick," Kara said quietly. "And you know, just because he's not a cop like you guys doesn't mean he can't make things look like an accident. If anything, being a prosecutor means he's seen exactly how to do it."

Sonny rolled his eyes at her and reached for his drink. "You're being over-dramatic."

"Am I?" Kara let a humorless laugh slip from her lips. "Look at that," she nodded ahead.

Without being interrupted by flirts or friendly banters, Montserrat and Rafael had found a moment to start conversing. At some point, the two had scooted closer to talk better.

"No, I'm serious. He's 7 months and he already had his two front teeth very much present," Montserrat was saying as she took drinks from her glass.

"So your vacation consisted of you visiting the family you were a surrogate mother for?" Rafael's strange look wasn't the most inviting but Montserrat just nodded her head.

"Yeah. I hadn't seen Leah or Michael in a while and I wanted to see Andrew too. He's 7 months, almost 8." Montserrat's face softened the more she talked about Andrew Saunders. She'd pulled her phone out and revealed some of the pictures she'd taken while she was away. "Leah and Michael moved to Brooklyn and they showed me around the city. It was a win-win."

"I can't believe that's really where you spent your vacation," Rafael continued to disbelieve and shake his head.

"You're one to talk. When's the last time you had a vacation?" Montserrat raised an eyebrow at him and didn't waver in her stare until he smiled in defeat. "That's right. Now c'mon-" she held her phone between the two with a picture of Andrew and herself on the screen, "-you're going to tell me this little guy isn't worth visiting?"

A pout. She was actually giving him a pout. It was a sarcastic pout, but a pout nonetheless. She could be such a child and yet...so goddamn attractive. Captivating.

Rafael resisted the urge to touch one of her ginger curls framing the side of her face. Instead, he focused on what she was showing him. It seemed like she'd gone to a park with Andrew and no doubt his parents. She held Andrew on her lap, looking down at him with a laugh. Andrew seemed ecstatic being given her absolute attention.

"Sounds like fun," he found himself saying. "...he has red hair," he noticed after a moment's watch.

"Michael's a redhead," Montserrat said dismissively. "Anyways, glad you see my point. We don't always have to bicker, you know."

"That's a choice? I have a choice?"

Montserrat deadpanned his sarcastic surprise.

From her spot, Kara saw Nick returning after finishing his call. "Oh no, he's not ruining this. He can flirt with me if he needs to!"

Sonny's face scrunched at that idea. "N-n-n-no, wait a minute-" but he was too late because Kara had already gotten up from her stool to retrieve Nick before he could reach his seat.

"Sit with me flirty detective," she cheerfully pulled him to the empty stool on her left.

"O-okay," Nick could only blink as he was sat down in his reassigned seat. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know," Sonny answered while giving Kara an unamused look.

"What?" she looked between the two detectives oh-so-innocently. "Feel free to speak in Spanish and Italian to me. Take turns, even."

"Kara," Sonny shook his head disapprovingly, but Kara could care less.

Something funny had been said between Rafael and Montserrat because the latter was laughing hard. She leaned her head back on his shoulder in the process. Rafael stopped for a second to look down at her, but she was too busy laughing to notice. He couldn't even remember exactly what he'd said to make her laugh so much, but he wasn't complaining.

[kitty-chan17985]

Again. It just had to happen again, didn’t it?

She already lost him years ago when he went back to the restaurant in a fit of rage, not thinking about what consequences would come to him, only wanting to take it out on the machines that once brought children and even adults so much joy. Not thinking about his wife, his five-year-old daughter, his sons, his oldest son’s partner...none of them. None of them were in any part of his thinking process as he destroyed the machines, setting their souls free...hiding away, he thought he could escape, not knowing that his already greatly emotionally damaged wife, still recovering from brain trauma from Foxy’s bite years prior, had followed him there, only to watch him be torn apart from the inside from the same incident that permanently scarred and damaged him for the rest of his life.

She was still recovering from the sight when she found work at the horror attraction. Years of silence on her end as she could never talk to anyone about her late husband, not even her therapist, not even her own son or his partner, not even her own daughter, brought her there. She’d been advised against it by Michael’s partner, who had still been recovering from the disappearance of his husband at the time. Still, she went anyway. She still remembers how William acted so much differently; driven mad by obsession, left as nothing more than emotions left behind by his monstrous side...she still remembers how it felt when two boards fell on her, breaking half of her ribs, nearly shattering her spine, breaking one of her arms and her nose, how it stung to not even be able to see her husband before she was yanked out of the destruction and fell unconscious for a week. She was hardly able to recover, hardly able to do anything, before Michael was scooped, before he went to work at the new place. She remembers running in there, having a brief heart-to-heart with a very dead but somehow walking and talking Mike about her being there being dangerous before being taken out, only to be confronted by her daughter after she found out about what her father was truly like. Of course, Skylar had insisted that Penny not push it, considering their mother’s sensitivities.

Then...it all burned. Again.

Letting the remaining kids mourn for a bit with each other, the completely emotionally ravaged woman wails into her pillow, letting out nearly two and a half decades worth of tears as she digs her nails into it. By now most of her face is wet, the room seeming even more glum than before. She never let herself sleep anywhere but their room...she was always so protective, selective over who came in and who didn’t. She only ever allowed the kids to come in, but anyone else received frantic screams to “just go away”. While the still living children try to find a way to calm their shattered mother down (with scoldings from the older brother, insisting that they not ask anything more about William’s past until their mother is okay), she pushes herself up and away from her pillow, her chest aching from the remaining soreness in her ribs and heartache she never knew could be so deeply painful. She curls up on the bed, her even longer brown hair an absolute mess, her eyes red and puffy from sobbing, her nose red from sniffling, her face pink from so much stress. She pulls her legs in tighter, her hands reaching under her mess of tangled locks. She had put on her usual yellow sweater, a white skirt, pink stockings, a pair of white flats, and her blue butterfly hairpin...the outfit she wore when they first got together...the first time she felt okay, the first time she felt truly happy and satisfied with life in years. She sobs as her throat had gone raw from wailing and screaming. She can’t stop the tears anymore. She’s been crying for over forty-five minutes and she hasn’t stopped...at this rate, she’ll be too dehydrated to eat anything. It’s not like she’s been especially good about eating since William died anyway.

She opens her previously squeezed shut eyes as she shakes violently, gripping at her cross and rings tightly. She falls quiet for a moment, thinking that maybe she’s finally done...but another burst of emotion runs through her as tears run down again. Throwing herself back down onto the bed, she pulls the covers up over herself, unable to handle the amount of grief she’s having to let out. She’s never cried this much...not since the incident with Fredbear, not since she woke up from that coma, not even since William died. She’s crying harder than she’s ever cried before, and she isn’t sure exactly why.

Why does grief hit her so hard specifically?

She winces and coughs as she keeps a grip on the covers with one hand, the other arm still stuck in a cast, unable to help the searing pain that goes through her sides now, a harsh reminder of this horror story’s beginning. She tries to settle herself down enough to stop crying, but she can’t now. Nothing can keep her from relentlessly sobbing, no matter how much she wants to stop. She feels a chill centre itself on her uninjured arm’s shoulder, her hand moving to it as she forces herself to sit up. That chill then centres itself on her hand, which she tries to think nothing of for now. She felt a similar chill when she went to the horror attraction, a similar chill when William died...a similar chill when she went to the now burned down restaurant. She sniffles as she lowers her head, her hair covering most of her face as she tries to settle her breathing.

“It’s okay, love...I’m right here,” an all too familiar voice sounds from behind her, startling her a bit. She gasps softly, wincing before looking behind her...only to find someone she ever expected to be there. A much younger looking version of her late husband, looking down at her, smiling at her. A see through copy with shorter hair, the old rectangle glasses he wore so long ago, still retaining the scars from the first springlock incident from so many decades ago, his once silvery blue eyes back to a much more vibrant blue colour, though still slightly greyed.

The hazel-eyed widow can’t help but go wide eyed from shock, the spectre still smiling at her as a see through hand rests itself on her cheek. She feels like her heart stops as she feels the chill move to the same cheek, staring in disbelief. She thought she had run dry of tears, but an even bigger stream of tears runs down her already tearstained face, her eyes narrowing as she tries to wipe the tears away, not wanting to lose sight of him. How...? Is...is his spirit still trapped here? If so...why is he so much younger?

“My, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he jokes, giving her a slightly concerned smile as she reaches up to where she feels his hand is, though her hand goes right through it. She sniffles a bit as she slowly works up the ability to speak.

“...h...h-how...a-are you still...t-t-trapped here...?” she asks. God, she sounds so pitiful. She sounds like a terrified child. His hand moves away from her cheek briefly, much to her displeasure as she tries to grab at it, forgetting that she can’t touch him. He moves to sit next to her on the bed without phasing through it.

“You don’t need to be worried about that, love,” he replies. “I’m not trapped so much as I am...wanting to stick around a while longer,” he explains simply as she bites at her lip, trying to keep tears from flowing so much, not wanting the sight of him to leave her. She doesn’t want him to disappear ever again...she doesn’t want him to leave. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it wasn’t fair to him to have her want to stay with her even after he’s been laid to rest, finally at peace with himself...but can one blame her?

“I...I-I’m so sorry, W-W-William...” she whimpers, her breathing shaky as she covers her eyes with one hand. “I-I’m so sorry...I-I-I...I-I wanted to h-help you...I-I-I wanted to keep y-you away from F-Freddy’s after you and H-Henry c-c-closed it down, I...I-I knew you’d...you’d go back, a-and...i-if I had just gotten th-there sooner, I–”

“Angel, please...stop blaming yourself. I went back because I was furious. I went back because I wanted to vent my anger. I wasn’t thinking about you, Penny, Skylar, or Michael...it’s not your fault I made a selfish choice,” he argues, though he keeps his tone calm as he rests a hand on hers. “I don’t hold any of it against you. There’s nothing you could have done in that instance. Even if there was...in all honesty, what happened there was deserved. I know you’ll disagree with me–”

“Y-you never deserved th-that...”

“–but I assure you, it was necessary. The suit became my prison, and for the longest time I turned into nothing but the monster I had become. But when you came back...something in me found clarity. The recent fire at the now destroyed Freddy’s...it freed me, it freed Michael, it freed Charlie, it freed my Elizabeth. The real versions of all of us finally have closure...and the monster that started all of this is finally where he deserves to be,” he says, his brow furrowing. “He is now in purgatory, but...I’m still here,” he finishes, smiling at her again. “I wanted to at least say a proper goodbye to the wonderful woman that showed me how to be me again,” he adds, cupping her cheek once more, planting a chilled kiss to her lips.

“D...d-does...d-does that mean...y-you’re leaving me soon...?” she asks, a pained look on her face as she asks that. She sniffles a bit, squeezing her eyes shut. “P-please...f-for as long as y-y-you’re comfortable w-with it...j-just...stay with me...” she begs quietly, whimpering softly. “I-I’ve...recently f-f-found that...A-Alzheimer’s runs in m-my family, and...I-I-I’m terrified that...in the n-next twenty or so y-years, I...I-I’ll forget everyone...I-I don’t want to...I-I-I never want to f-f-forget you, o-or Penny, or...or Skylar, o-or Michael...” she cries, her chest heaving as she starts to break down again. “P-p-please, just...s-stay...e-even if you can’t f-for long, I just...I-I never want to f-forget you...” she whimpers, her voice breaking as she squeezes her eyes shut. She feels the chill suddenly wrap around her, causing her to look up. His spectre wraps his arms around her for a hug as she moves to wrap an arm around him, though it’s more like her having to hold an arm up in an awkward place. She feels like she’s just hugging air, but she knows he’s there.

“I’ll be here for as long as you need me...but please, try to take care of yourself. And...be kinder to yourself. You’ve held a grudge against yourself for so many years. It’s time you let it go...”

She can hardly muster a response, just staying in place as he holds onto her. How he can hold her, she’ll never know, but she isn’t going to complain. Even if she can’t touch him, she’s glad he can still touch physical things...she’s needed this closure, or at least a goodbye. She never wants to lose him again. She knows he can’t stay forever, but she hopes he can pop in every so often...not just for her own sanity, but she’s sure he’d want to see his little girl again. For the first time in a little over two decades, she feels...okay.

“Don’t worry about me, love. I’m here.”

“I-I-I love you, W-William...dead or alive...”

“I love you too, Angel, so much more than you know.”

[calimera62]

[Fanfic] Curiosity, Makai Ouji

Archangel Michael is in hiding at William's manor. Isaac is fascinated. Michael is not amused. Post pillar 79-81.

AO3 | FFNET

William watched as Michael awkwardly settled himself into an armchair, taking note of the room in sharp, clever glances. His hands tightly held the armrests as he winced from pain.

Despite having slept for hours, he still didn't look so well – he never did, at least not since both he and Kevin crashed down on Earth. It wasn't difficult to see why: their arrival on Earth had been quick and violent, to say the least, and Kevin told him about he conditions he had been in, before he freed him and they escaped Heaven.

Kevin was optimistic about Michael's state. “He's mostly very tired, he avoided sleep longer than he should have had, but he's still very alert and awake!”. Then, he added in a suspiciously cheerful tone: “And he's not brain-dead, at least!”

William wasn't surprised. Michael struck to him as a mule headed one.

He supposed, as he watched Michael, that he once was bright and vital, like the fierce and proud archangel statues and paintings portrayed in churches.

For now, he couldn't deny the haunted look in Michael's eyes, neither the exhaustion that followed the former Archangel like a spectre.

He didn't know what the future had in reserve for them. For now, all that mattered was that they needed to hide Michael and nurse him back to health, while hoping this Metatron guy wouldn't find them.

Isaac found the situation to be extremely exciting. He feared only one thing: waking up and realizing it had been a dream.

“He is less ruder than he was before.” Isaac noted with a hopeful smile, looking at the former Archangel with bright eyes.

“Maybe he's too tired to throw insults at us?” William suggested.

“Don't be like that William! I like to think Kevin has been a good influence on him!”

William reluctantly agreed. Kevin was a good influence upon everyone… well, except when it came to gambling! Kevin had this soft and gentle aura that drew people to him, and he had a sympathetic character and friendly smile that made people want to trust him. William, of all people, knew this better than anyone.

Yet, he was unsure. He knew that Kevin and Michael had been at odd, and that Michael used to be harass him because Kevin wanted to protect William. It was strange, yet so like Kevin to go and help him. Since Kevin risked his life and wing to save him and break him from his prison, William thought the least he could do was to help Kevin nursing the angel back to health, and try to be civil with Michael.

Even the worst angel of Heaven didn't deserve to suffer and be alone, William supposed.

Still, it was not going to be a cup of tea…, William thought.

“You're so lucky, William,” Isaac said, starry-eyed. “I would love to have two convicts angels in my house.”

William chose not to comment on that.

They were all settled in the living-room. William was reading the newspaper, while Kevin was upstairs, preparing the room for their unusual guest.

Michael was settled on an armchair, near the chimney, looking contemplative. A few meters away from him, Isaac was staring at him with a fascinated look on his face that bordered on admiring.

Oh, here we go…, William thought as Isaac slowly made his way toward the angel.

William wondered if Michael noticed Isaac moving toward him. Judging by the look on his face – slightly irritating, as if an annoying fly was flying around him – he did.

When Isaac was near enough, staring at him with a hopeful smile, Michael slowly opened his eyes.

“… What is it?” He asked, his voice hoarse with tiredness.

Isaac jumped excitedly at that, as if Michael's voice was the most amazing thing he'd ever heard, which was ridiculous in William's opinion.

“Lord Michael, it is such an honour to meet you! My name is Isaac Morton!” Isaac said, half-happy, half-nervous.

Michael regarded him for a moment, then he said: “… I suppose just “Michael” will do, here.”

“Of course, Lord Michael!” Isaac replied, causing Michael to roll his eyes. “I was wondering if you would be willing to sign my book?” He added.

Oh dear, William thought.

“… Your what?”

Isaac shyly showed him a book that furiously looked like the book about Archangels Isaac once gave Kevin, months ago after a mass, to sign, in William's opinion.

Michael looked up at Isaac as if he had two heads.

“… No.”

His refusal did nothing to erase Isaac's smile. “Well,” he said. “It was worth a try. Maybe later, then?”

Michael's face wasn't looking very engaging.

Well, William thought, it's Isaac's problem, not mine!

And he returned to his newspaper.

“So, where did Kevin put him?” Isaac asked him later.

“In one of the guest's chambers on the first floor.” William answered.

It wasn't a fancy room, but it had all of the basic necessities: a four-poster bed, a bathroom and a chimney. It was close enough to Kevin's room, so the butler could keep an eye on him.

It had only been two days since Michael was here, yet for William it seemed like forever. He barely adjusted the fact he was sheltering an angel in his home. While Kevin himself was an angel, it was different because he was Kevin, and despite his angelic nature, William had always seen him as the family butler and the one who raised him and took care of him.

Granted, Michael wasn't a difficult guest. Most of the time, he was resting in his room and Kevin was taking care of him. William barely saw him, which was fine to him because he didn't quite know how to interact with the former archangel yet.

It was another story with Isaac. William wasn't really surprised.

There was something sympathetic, and definitely curious, in the way Isaac saw Michael. The angel was an oddity, much like many other things in their life, and Isaac seemed to appreciate him, this odd, stoic looking archangel who was so distant.

Most of all, he was an enigma and Isaac wished he could ask him about his past, about life in Heaven and other angels, all the things he saw and all the great characters he met through History.

“How is Michael doing today?” Isaac asked.

“Same as usual,” William casually replied. “At least, he seems less hostile and grumpy than before.”

“I hope he doesn't get bored.” Isaac said worryingly. “I've been trying to keep him company, but he seem to be avoiding me these days.”

“I can't imagine why.” William said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“I'll try to speak to him again!” Isaac said, eyes full of determination. “Think about it! An Archangel here, with us! What a fascinating situation!”

“He might end up ignoring you.” William pointed out.

“Maybe he's just shy or hesitant? He had to leave Heaven and got himself on Earth, maybe it will take time for him to get used to this new situation?” Isaac suggested. “We need to make him understand that he can trust us and that he's safe with us. I can't blame him for being mistrustful. It's a whole new world for him, it must not be easy for him...”

“I'm sure he's just misunderstood,” William said sarcastically. “Beside, you would be pretty upset too if someone tried to put you to sleep against your will and planned behind your back.”

Isaac stared at him, shocked. “You… you're right!” he said, horrified. “Oh, the poor thing! I bet no one's ever shown him any love in centuries!”

“I wouldn't exactly say that, nor that he's to be pitied...” William tried to say, but Isaac continued on:

“Think about it! Archangels are seen as the ultimate weapon of divine justice! Just look at Kevin, demons call him a sadist! People in the Bible tend to scream or run away from angels because they're seen as terrifying. I bet Archangels don't have a better reputation. This is really sad, they're really misunderstood...”

“That's why people think you're crazy, Isaac.” William muttered.

And so, the idea for an Association of the Better Understanding of Archangels (or ABUA for short), was born, in Isaac's mind.

William suddenly felt very tired.

“Hello, Lord Michael!” Isaac greeted. “How are you today?”

“As weak as before.” Michael plainly replied.

Isaac chose to ignore that comment. “I was wondering if you needed anything?” He asked.

“Metatron's cold, dead body. That traitor will need to pay for his cri – ”

“I'm afraid it won't be possible for now.” Isaac said, stopping the angel before he would continue into a full-fledged rant. There was no stopping him some days. “I was thinking to go to the library and bring you something. Is there a book you would like to read?”

For a moment, William thought Michael was going to ignore Isaac. He was genuinely surprised to see the angel thinking about Isaac's proposition, then tentatively reply:

“… Do you have Darwin's The Origins of Species?”

Isaac was about to answer, when he realised he didn't know what kind of books William had in his library. He turned to William:

“Do you… ?”

“Yes.” William answered, who prided himself to have a vast library and of course he would have Darwin in his library. Science was his domain, after all!

“Great!” Isaac cried. “I'll bring it to you at once, Lord Michael!”

In his excitement, he almost run into the door, then laughed sheepishly as he left the room. Michael's eyes were wide.

“Is he…,” he paused, trying to find the correct word to define Isaac. “Is he always like this?”

“Isaac is… ah, he is certainly something.” William said, not sure what to say about his crazy friend.

For a brief moment, they looked at each other, caught for the first time in an agreement. Then, Michael looked away and William quickly left, suddenly finding himself embarrassed by this strange moment they shared.

Moments later, he walked toward the kitchen, hoping to see Kevin so they might spend tea time together.

Instead of Kevin, he found Isaac. And a dirty, messy kitchen.

The clean and tidy kitchen was no more. William watched in bewilderment as there were multiples cups and spoons and plates all around the room.

“What happened to the kitchen?” William asked in horror.

“I made tea for our guest!” Isaac cheerfully said.

“You made a mess in the kitchen just to make tea?” William asked in disbelief. “I thought you were going to the library to bring a book to Saint Grumpiness up there.”

“Well...” Isaac paused, looking ashamed. “I did find the book he wanted! Then, I realized that nothing was better than reading a book with a cup of tea, and biscuits. But… I wasn't really sure which tea he would like best, so I might have prepared everything that was available here! Lemon tea, herbal tea, green tea, black tea, Earl Grey, white tea, … ”

“I didn't realise we had so many different varieties of tea...” William mumbled.

In the end, Isaac had to bring a dozens of cups, a tea-pot, a sugar bowl and a plate of biscuits on a food tray to Michael's chamber. Michael was definitely not amused.

“What is this nonsense?” Michael gestured at the food tray in front of him.

“It looks like a food tray to me, but if you want to call it nonsense, that's up to you.” William replied.

“… Why is there so many cups of tea?” Michael asked suspiciously.

“Don't ask me to tell you how Isaac works, I'm still trying to work him out.”

Isaac laughed sheepishly. “Well, I thought you would appreciate having a cup of tea and biscuits with your book, except I didn't know what kind of tea you liked, so I bought you some of everything.”

“Some?” Michael asked in disbelief, staring at the multiples cups in front of him.

“Be glad he didn't bring all the books of the library.” William said with a smirk.

Michael didn't bother to answer him, and glared at him instead. William glared back. Then, realizing that William would prove to be as stubborn as him, he gave up.

“Alright...” He sighed. “What do we have here, then?”

Isaac's face lit up. “There is lemon tea, then black tea, also herbal tea, ...”

“Isaac, there's no need to list them all.” William interrupted.

“… And scones, to go with the tea.” Isaac said. “Oh, there's your book too!” He added as he placed The Origins of Species on the bed-table.

Michael gave them a measuring glance, then his face softened. “Thank you, I guess.”. Then he took a cup of lemon tea, and a scone.

Isaac beamed.

From behind the door of the room, Kevin was listening, not daring to go though the door and disturb the peace of the moment.

“He is eating?” Kevin asked, quietly as William rejoined him.

“Not as much as we would like, but yes. Isaac is making sure of it.” William softly replied.

“Isaac certainly became very intrigued by Michael.” Kevin noticed with a teasing smile.

“Oh, don't remind me...” William sighed.

Kevin let out a small laugh at that, and William relaxed upon hearing the familiar, comforting sound.

“Still, this is good.” Kevin said, with a small smile. “I can't thank you two enough, for I do worry for him, and it is great to know that you are both looking after him.”

“It's not as if Isaac is leaving me a choice.” William mumbled. Thought, if he were honest with himself, he would say he too was curious about their strange and silent guest.

William couldn't exactly figure out his feelings towards Michael. They have only known each other for brief months, before the Archangel crashed back down in his life again, this time weak and hurt.

He still was wary of him, considering their history and what he did to Kevin. He wasn't feeling anger or hatred or bitterness however. Whatever he was feeling toward Michael, he couldn't quite name it yet. All he knew was that there was a sort of… pity, sympathy for what he suffered and the state he was currently in, and exasperation toward the angel's stubbornness.

Michael was slowly becoming something. William didn't know what yet, but he definitely was something. Something strange, familiar. Not exactly a friend, but no longer an enemy…

Only time would define who exactly Michael was to him, to them.

“What about flowers to brighten up his room?” Isaac proposed the next day.

“Isaac, no!” William said immediately.

“But the turnips from your garden would look lovely in the ro - ”

“I said no!” William interrupted him.

“But William - ” Isaac pleaded.

“No Isaac, you are in no way putting flowers in his room!” William snapped, closing brutally his book to mark his point.

“… No fun.” Isaac whined.

“… You know, Young Master, it's not really a bad idea! We could - ”

“Not you too, Kevin!” William cried out, scandalized.

Only Kevin's laugh answered him.

“Lord Michael, may I ask you some questions?” Isaac asked the next day.

Michael grimly looked at the teenager in front of him, and stayed silent. He seemed to be pondering whether letting Isaac asking questions would be a good decision, or if he should just ignore him. At least, that was what William thought.

The angel seemed to think he had no choice in the matter, as he finally answered:

“What do you want to know?”

Isaac gave him a wide smile, before asking: “I was reading a book about Le-Mont-Saint-Michel. The book said you appeared three times before the bishop to order him to build an oratory on the Mont. Did you really pierce his skull with your finger because he didn't believe the vision was real?”

“… Yes, it is true. Saint Aubert didn't believe the visions to be real, I had to convince him.” Michael replied.

“That's so cool!” Isaac said, with stars in his eyes. William thought it was unsettling to think of the piercing on the skull of a living being as a “cool thing”, but it was just his opinion. “I didn't know angels could do that!”

“Our powers are great. There are few things we aren't able to do.” Michael replied.

“That's so amazing, Lord Michael! No wonder you're known as the Defeater of Evil, the Prince of Angels as well the patron saint of many things, such as chivalry, police officers and the military!” Isaac cried in enthusiasm.

Michael smiled at that, a small, humorless smile. “A shame I am not this angel anymore… Now, I am nothing, barely an Archangel.”

The red of his eyes became veiled, like he was reminiscing. Isaac and William shared a look in silence and William knew they were both agreeing on the same thing: they didn’t like the haunted look on the angel’s face.

“Don't say that! You're a great angel! My family and I have a lot of respect and admiration. When we feel down or in need of protection, we always make sure to pray to you.” Isaac assured him.

Michael huffed, then shook his head. “Your words are comforting, but it will be difficult for me to be that angel again… Now I am just a weakling, a burden.”

“Get a hold on yourself,” William admonished. “I understand your current situation is quite difficult, but being pessimistic isn’t going to help. It never did and never will. Don’t forget you’re not in this situation alone!”

“William is right.” Isaac agreed. “You'll become strong again, just like before. It's only a matter of time, I'm sure of that! Beside, we don’t think you’re a burden. In fact, we are glad to have you here.” Isaac told him, kind, enthusiast, and he smiled.

Michael hesitated for a moment then, slowly, tentatively, he smiled back. It was a strange and novel thing to see. Yet it was there, small and unsure but honest.

“I am… glad to be here as well.” He carefully replied.

Isaac smiled a bright smile at that.

Yes, William thought, they all would manage just fine, with time...

English is not my first language, so please be indulgent. If you notice any mistake, please tell me in a private message so I can correct my text.

This story is more "crack-ish" than I intended it to be, still I hope you'll enjoy it :)

While the focus of the story is mainly Isaac and Michael, I think I’ll write something about Michael and William (and maybe also Michael and Uriel) in the future, their dynamic can be interesting to explore!

Thanks for reading, feel free to tell me what you thought of it ;)

[beemichelle7]

Later

Felicity nervously chewed on her fingernail as she watched the live coverage of the prison break. The names of the escaped convicts had yet to be released. Her eyes were glued to the screen and she kept the volume low in the hope that William wouldn’t wake up and start asking questions she didn’t have the answers to. Morning would be here soon enough, however, and she needed to be prepared for the inevitable conversation. Felicity grabbed her tablet and weighed it in her hands thoughtfully. How many times had she thought about hacking into the prison’s security system over the last 6 months? This time there was no choice to make… she had to know. Felicity swiped her finger across the screen to unlock the tablet and dropped onto the couch. Balancing the device on her lap and pulling her lip between her teeth, she began typing furiously. A soft knock at the door startled her so intensely the tablet tumbled off her lap and on to the floor. Felicity paid it no mind as she stared at the door. She must have sat there longer than she realized because the knock came again. Her legs shook as she slowly rose to her feet and crossed the room. She laid a trembling hand against the door and leaned down to check the peephole. A sob escaped her throat and she threw open the door. Frantic hands grabbed his shirt and drug him into the house before shutting the door tightly behind him and twisting the lock into place. She kept one hand fisted in his shirt as she furiously looked from the TV to the peephole and back again; she’d barely glanced at his face. “What happened? Are you alone? Did anyone follow you? How did you get out? Do they know you got out? We have to hide you. We have to run… I have papers…” She started to walk quickly towards the office but, unwilling to let go of him, her progress was stopped short when he didn’t follow. When her arm reached its full extension, her body came to an abrupt halt and pulled her back around to face him again. Her put his hand over the one still white-knuckling his shirt and his other hand went to her face. “Breathe, Felicity. Look at me.” She sucked in air and for the first time since he’d walked through—well, since she’d drug him through the door—she let her eyes lock into his. “Oliver.” She whispered. But the moment came and went quickly as her instincts took over. “Oliver, please. We have to go.” Her eyes pleaded with him. She’d prepared for this moment. She’d prepared for every possible scenario she could think of. “I know you have a lot of questions, hon… I will answer all of them. I want to explain everything to you. But right now, I just need you to trust me. Everything is fine. No one is coming; not tonight. We have time.” She stood in front of him, chest heaving, eyes frantic, hands shaking and tried to comprehend what he was telling her. Tried to comprehend that he was here, standing right in front of her. She reached out and touched the long goatee growing where his short beard used to be and she shuddered slightly. Six months was a long time. What had he seen and experienced? Was he still the man she remembered? Felicity took a step back and cleared her throat. “The master bed and bath are through there,” she pointed to a door on her right. “There are clean towels under the sink and you have clothes in the bottom drawer of the dresser.” “Felicity…” she shook her head just slightly. “Get changed. Clean up if you want and then we’ll talk.” He nodded reluctantly when she shifted back again and after letting his eyes linger on her face a moment longer, he turned and walked into the bedroom. Felicity took a deep breath and blinked away the tears that threatened to spill from her watering eyes. She could hear the shower running now, so she headed into the bedroom and changed into her pajamas just to give herself something to do. She pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and one of Oliver’s Henley’s just like she had every night since he’d left. But now… she nervously tugged at the fabric over her stomach and wondered if she should change. The water shut off and her eyes were glued to the bathroom door. She stood frozen in place, except for the fingers absently plucking at the fabric of Oliver’s shirt that was covering her body. Her feet were suddenly moving before her brain could catch up and she pushed through the bathroom door. She was greeted by a cloud of steam and the sight of her husband hunched over the sink. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, his hands were clutching the counter and the muscles in his arms were bunched as he held himself in a position wrought with exhaustion. His head was hanging, but when he heard the door he immediately turned his face towards her. He raised himself up and turned his body to face her as well as she slowly approached. She let her eyes wander his body from head to toe, cataloging his new scars and his leaner physique. Her eyes flickered over his face, but only met his own for a brief moment before moving on. A fresh wound on his arm caught her attention. “What’s this?” she whispered. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, pulling his arm gently towards her. “It looks like you cut something out of your arm.” She felt him shiver almost imperceptibly as she ran her fingers over the skin of his forearm. “It was a computer chip.”

“They injected you with a Parallax Device? Is that how they keep the prisoners in line?”

“Yes.” Despite the unpleasant memory, the corners of his mouth tick up. He’d missed his genius wife. He could see her brain working as she studied his wound.

“This needs medical attention.”

“Later.”

She finally met his eyes fully, giving him a disapproving look. He chuckled softly. “I promise to let you play doctor later.”

She brought her hands up to his face, feeling the unfamiliar beard under her fingers. His eyes slid shut as he leaned into her touch. She scratched it experimentally and her touch felt heavenly, but he missed the way her fingers caught on his stubble. Her hands tightened on his face as she pulled herself up towards him. “Oliver,” She whispered his name before pressing her lips to his cheek. The hair of his beard between her lips and his skin frustrated her. It was a physical representation of the 6 months between them. As if he could read her mind, he murmured “Help me shave it?” She nodded and gave him a small push towards the tub. He situated himself on the side while she grabbed his bag from under the sink. She set the bag down next to him, pulled out a pair of small scissors and stepped between his legs. His hands clutched the side of the tub to keep himself from wrapping them around her. He was doing his best to let her lead, despite the fact that all he wanted to do was wrap her tightly in his arms and never let go. She cut away his goatee carefully before pulling out his shaving supplies. She leaned around him to turn on the tub and he automatically raised his hands to her waist to hold her steady. When she didn’t oppose the touch, he left his hands there… pulling her in a little closer while she lathered his face. As she stretched his skin tight with her left hand and swiped carefully along the grain with the razor she held in her right, he tightened his hands and swiped his thumbs gently against her waist. When she’d walked into the bathroom surrounded by steam and dressed in his shirt it had almost brought him to his knees. He was thankful to be sitting now as he took this quiet moment to drink in his wife. Her hair was longer and hung in soft waves around her shoulder. Her tongue rested between her lips as she concentrated on her task. His shirt engulfed her small frame and he gripped her waist tighter, feeling the changes in her body. He heard her breath hitch, but she stayed laser focused on her task. Yet with every swipe of the razor it felt like she was removing the barrier between them. Her body was slowly relaxing more into his. When she was done, she wiped his face with a cold washcloth and then framed his face in her hands… she tipped his chin up, then to the left and then the right. She smiled as a tear streaked down her face. “There you are,” she whispered. The six months without her, the things he’d been through, the stress of the day and the emotion of this moment compounded on top of him and his breathing became harsh. She pulled him to her and he buried his face in her stomach. She gripped his back with one hand and his hair with the other. Holding him, she murmured words of comfort. After a few minutes his breathing started to even out. He moved his hands from her waist to around her back and slid his hands all the way up his Henley until he could tangle his fingers into her hair. He nuzzled into her stomach and then placed a kiss on the soft slope. She trembled. “Oliver…” her hands moved to his face again and tugged, bringing his gaze up to hers. She bit her lip and shook her head slightly before taking a shuddering breath. “I’m so mad at you.” Her whisper was accompanied by two more tears escaping down her cheeks. “You have every right to be. There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

“Later.”

“What?”

She leaned down towards him until their noses bumped affectionately together. “Later,” she whispered again before pressing her lips to his. “I missed you so much. I’m so sorry. I love you, Felicity.” He mumbled the words against her lips. “I will always,” she kissed the corner of his mouth, “always,” and the other corner, “always love you,” she breathed, her lips back against his. He captured her top lip in-between his and kissed her deeply, with all the want and love that had built up in their six months apart. She moaned and then pulled back suddenly with a gasp, “Wait! We need to bandage your arm,” she said breathlessly. “Later,” he growled before wrapping an arm around her waist and standing up. She lifted her legs around his waist in a move as familiar to them as breathing, looped her arms around his neck and went back to kissing her husband as he carried her to bed.

 ____

**I wrote this fast and there are probably a ton of mistakes. Sorry!**

[imagineclaireandjamie]

The Warden: Part 2

anonymous asked:

Trying to find a fic. Think it could have been posted here a few weeks back. It involves Claire finding out she’s pregnant and tells Jamie after he rescues her from Black Jack as the group overhears below. -- You Mean this one: but it’s complete now, I hope a Part 2 of The Warden will be a good compromise :) - Mod MBD

--

Part One: HERE.

Her next visits were brief and silent. Her patient remained in a similar position with only the addition of tight irons wrapped snuggly around his wrists and feet in order to stop any further escape attempts. She did as she was bid by Randall; caring for Mr Fraser daily with fresh bandages and water in an effort to get him as healthy as possible. He remained silent, despite her at times desperate attempts to have him at least acknowledge her. The part she had played in the ruination of his escape played heavily on her mind and conscience, holding her from the comforts of sleep for nights on end.

A week later, he remained as annoying silent as he had the first time she had left him.

"How do you feel?" She inquired, her fingers running across the tatters of his back. The fierce cuts in his back still bled, though many had begun to heal slowly. The welts that had marred the areas uncut had lost their violent redness, though heat still radiated from his back.

Again, he spoke not a word.

"The fever has gone, you're healing."

Still, nothing.

Claire sighed. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why Fraser was different, why she felt so drawn to him. Maybe it was Randall’s strange inclination to the lad, her understanding of Fraser’s likely fate was certainly cause for compassion, but no, it wasn’t that. It was something more. She wouldn’t be as irked by his silence if it was just sympathy she felt for him.

“What if I said I could get you out of here...unscathed...and back to your friends?” She piped up, her heart overruling her head just for a moment and taking control of her words. In the spur of the moment she’d made a split decision that she could not take back. Her heart pounded mercilessly against her chest as she waited.

“...And why should I trust ye?” He answered, finally. “After last time…” A noise of dismissal came from his throat and Claire knew he had just cause for disbelief. Why should he trust her? If she’d cared about his life she should have stood aside and let his friends take him. But she hadn’t.

“What makes you think,” she said, agitation evident in her tone, “that it isn’t an opportunity for me to escape also?” There was a challenge to her words that made Fraser smile. Claire could just see the twitch of his cheek from where he lay.

‘Yer a woman no’ to be crossed, matron. The guards are scared of ye,” he said, turning to sit and look at her for the very first time. It gave Claire the chance to see his face properly and she stood still as he took her in as well. “But yer not sae heartless wi’ me. Why?”

Cut to the quick, Claire was rendered speechless.

Fraser seemed pleased with himself and his irons clinked together as he sat upright, steadying himself with awkward movements.

Jamie’s shirt, soiled from his time here combined with his severe wounds, slid off his broad shoulders but it was his face that really caught Claire’s attention. His rich auburn hair was tousled and sat askew on the top of his head, but the rich red held the promise of finesse. Thick, almost black, eyelashes lined his cat-like aqua blue eyes and above those sat strong arched eyebrows - a similar colour to his distinct hair. It was his eyes that drew her back in, so vivid Claire felt as if it were possible to drown in them. Jamie stood stock still, letting her take in the high peak of his chiselled cheekbones before watching as she licked her lips, wetting the dry skin as she noted his angular jaw. Even through the filth, dirt and blood that coated his flesh he was almost devilishly handsome. 

Usually, so adept at hiding her shock, Claire slipped her hands into the soft flow of her skirts and gripped tight to the soft material. She should have better tried to hide her assessment of him lest he get the wrong idea about her prolonged gaze. 

Incapable of an answer, Claire plunged a cup into the clean water and passed him something to drink. Fraser took it gratefully, sipping noiselessly at the drink as though it were nectar. His gaze remained pinned on Claire suggesting that he was still waiting for an answer.

“Honestly?” She said, a hint of shyness in her tone.

“Aye, o’ course.”

Twisting the material of her skirts between her fingers, she blinked rapidly as she tried to bring forth the answer. One that would, at the very least, satisfy him.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, eventually, a softness appearing in her tone and expression as she spoke. “All I really know is...I can’t let him touch you again.”

They both fell silent once more, letting Claire’s words settle between them.

“Ye ken what he asked of me, then?” He muttered, worry covering his face for the first time. He might not have been afraid of the lash, but he was scared of Randall’s other threats.

“Yes,” Claire said, the muscles of her cheek trembling a little as her eyes filled with a fine mist. She wasn’t about to cry, but her clouded vision was enough to show Fraser that she understood, fully, the dire hand he’d been dealt. Prisoners were not often given a deal by the devil, but when they were desperation usually won out.

“What should I call ye then?” Fraser asked, his voice low but kind as he twinned his hands together, “If we’re to be allies I dinna want to just call ye matron.”

“Claire,” she said, using her first name with a prisoner for the first time in her entire career here. Fraser saw a look pass across her face and Claire could knew he’d caught her lapse.

“Nice to meet ye, Claire. You can call me Jamie, aye. I’m only Fraser when my Da is upset wi’ me.” He held out his hand to her as he introduced himself and Claire took it immediately, stopping just to wipe her dirty hand before taking his.

“Nice to meet you too,” She hesitated for a mere moment before allowing his name to fall from her tongue for the first time. “Jamie.”

---

For the next few days, Claire stayed out of the way of Randall as she prepared to fulfill her promise to Jamie Fraser. She’d told him she would ensure his survival and see him free of Fort WIlliam and Captain Randall’s threat - and she meant it. Claire Beauchamp Randall did not make idle promises.

“Is he healed yet, Claire,” Randall spat as if the mere thought of him had conjured him up in front of her. “Or are you slacking? It’s been over a week now and I’m sure that your powers of healing aren’t that inept that you haven’t cleaned him up properly by now.”

Claire looked at Randall with unimpressed contempt as he stood impatient and looming. Though he wasn’t afraid of her, he certainly held in high regard. A very valuable piece of information she planned on making good use of in the coming days.

“Are you suggesting that my ability to ensure your victims are ready for utter destruction by your hands isn’t up to scratch?” She leveled the accusation at him with clear, concise language. Pursing her lips, Claire had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying anything too derogatory. She needed Randall to know she wasn’t messing around whilst keeping his opinion of her high enough that he didn’t suspect her dissent. Risking putting herself, and by extension Jamie, in danger would be foolish in the very least.

“You have two days.” Randall’s eyes burned furious under his deeply furrowed brow. “After that, his fate is sealed.”

Claire felt her shudder under the tone of warning in his voice. It was now or never.

---

Shoving as many of her belongings into one small pack, Claire brushed the sweat from her brow. She’d hoped to have had more time to plot hers and Jamie’s escape, but Randall didn’t make idle threats and if he’d said two days that is what he meant - down to the precise hour.

Having made sure that Jamie was comfortable enough to make a rather long journey, Claire had left that evening with the promise of her return. She had spoken with landowners not far from the prison, and with a little coaxing she had two proud stallions waiting for their imminent departure. All she needed now was for the night guards to swap with the day guards, leaving a few of the doors clear for a quick exit.

The route was planned. Jamie’s cell was in the middle of the lower dungeon sections. If she took him left out of the prison and along that corridor towards that end of the fort she could head through hangman's gate.

Claire gulped, remembering all too well the sinister nature of that area in particular. An exit through the hangman’s gate meant an exit through a graveyard of inmates bodies piled high, rotting amidst the brush. Her stomach churned at the prospect.

As grim as it might be, that was the least guarded of all the gates that lead towards the external walls of the fort. It was that or nothing at this point.

Outside, the barely audible stomp of boots signaled a changing of the guard. Claire’s heart skipped a beat and she tied the thin lace at her hip. She had plenty more she wanted to bring, but there was no option to carry it. Sighing, she crept through the door, closing her past behind her, hopefully for the last time.

Carefully, making sure nobody waited around any of the sharp corners, Claire made her way back, the keys to Jamie’s cell door and his manacles gripped tightly in her fingers to be used as a weapon if necessary.

Fortunately, she’d left at the right time and the prison corridors were desolate. Clearing her head, Claire hovered outside Jamie’s cell. That was the easy part. Getting around Fort William alone wasn’t the issue, stealing Jamie away without anyone spotting them and raising the alarm would be.

Taking one last deep, steadying breath, Claire clicked the key into the lock and opened the door.

Jamie lay in the same position, his back to the door, curled up on the floor. His chains didn’t allow for much movement as it was, but Claire assumed he would feel far safer with his face hidden.

“You came,” he whispered with relief and disbelief. Jamie hadn’t turned to face her just yet, but having visited him every day, he’d obviously picked up on the tenor of her approach. “No’ that I wasne sure,” he quipped, tilting his head to the side so that she could just make out his profile.

“Don’t fib, Fraser,” Claire joked, “you don’t trust me as far as you can throw me, I can see it in your eyes.”

Jamie snorted, his bare back hunching as he tensed with the laugh. “Yer a funny one, Claire,” he chuckled, “and I like ye just fine. Though I think I’ll like ye more when you get me out of these irons and on a horse out of here.” The dull clatter of his bonds rattled off the stone beneath him as he uncurled himself and sat up eagerly.

Taking that as her cue, Claire swapped the door keys for the fetter keys and began to free Jamie from the confines of the chains that bound him to the floor. Rubbing the sore spots, he twisted his ankles and wrists a few times before crawling from the ground to stand. The popping of his joints was only too audible in the space.

Taking a step backwards, Claire reached for the shirt she’d stashed in her belongings, her eyes wide at the size of Jamie. He was still in pain and it caused him to lean forward a little, his shoulders bent forward as he held the weight of the agony in every unabused sinew. Either way, once he was healed Claire knew he would be well over six feet tall and as imposing as an oak.

“C-can you walk alright?” She asked, convinced now that she would be of no use to him if he wasn’t mobile. Claire was strong, but not strong enough to carry the weight of a massive Scot.

“Och, aye, o’ course I am. Do ye think I’d ask ye to carry me?” Jamie slid the shirt over his head and shuffled cautiously towards Claire. “Nay, I would have said if I thought I wasna fit enough to make my own way out.”

Nodding, Claire peeked her head around the door, looking left and right to make sure there was nobody around. Certain that their path was clear she reached backwards, taking Jamie’s hand in hers as she guided him forwards. She locked the cell door back up again. If luck was on their side, Jamie’s room would remain unchecked and his absence wouldn’t be noticed for a long while yet.

“Not a word, understand?” Claire said, seriously, as she led them away. With the blackness of night cloaking them and the prison cast in the shadows of lamps long since extinguished, Claire and Jamie silently made their way toward hangman’s gate. Claire hadn’t told Jamie the plan, nor the name of the door to which they would hopefully make their exit. Partly this was just in case they didn’t make it this far, if anything Jamie was safer not knowing the minor details. Partly it was to keep him buoyant. He was such a jovial prisoner, even in the face of adversity but Claire didn’t know when that humour might break.

Seeing the door appear in front of her, Claire made a few quick strides, looking around her for any signs of redcoats before slipping the small metal bolt from the latch.

“We’re to go through here?” Jamie whispered, breaking his silence as Claire ushered him down and out, her heartbeat thumping in her ears.

“Yes -now hush and walk.” Pulling a lock and key from her skirt pocket, Claire bolted the door shut from the outside, her hands shaking a little as she clicked the lock into place. Reaching around her, Jamie turned the key, his head coming dangerously close to hers.

“Yer shaking like a leaf, Sassenach,” he whispered, pulling back a little as the slipped further under the fort.

“Well,” she quipped, “all of this sneaking around, springing criminals from jail is jarring you know, Mr Fraser…”

“Aye,” he sighed, his smile dropping a little as the distinct stench of death began to penetrate the clean air like a sickly specter. “I have to thank ye, Claire--”

“Not yet,” she whispered, her hushed tone making him stop dead in his tracks as the distinct sound of footsteps echoed loudly above. “We’re not out of danger.” Claire’s heart was pounding so hard now, the increase of voices sending a chill through her whole body. “We should keep going, though,” she said after a little while, her impatience getting the better of her. Whether or not they’d been discovered missing, standing in a dank underground passage wasn’t going to get them any closer to freedom. In fact, it was more likely they’d be found if they didn’t scarper soon.

Moving silently once more, Claire hunched her back, her fingers clutching frantically at Jamie’s as they stumbled closer towards the unnerving stack of bodies that lay between them and freedom. There was a solidness to him, a sturdy nature that would hold her up while she walked through the valley of death. This was for him, for them both she knew - and she would give him the freedom she had taken from his grasp.

“If they catch us, Claire,” Jamie whispered, coming up directly behind her and placing his mouth right over her ear, “yer to tell them I forced ye, are we clear?”

Claire held her breath, gooseflesh rolling over her frigid skin as the sudden prospect of being caught in the act washed over her. “What?” She questioned, knowing full well nobody would believe such a ridiculous thing. “No! Jamie I can’t --”

“Ye must,” he urged. “You have risked yer position here for me. He would ha’ hung me anyway, Claire, aye? So let me do this for you. If it comes to it you must save yourself.”

Claire could hardly believe what he was asking of her - no demanding. After everything; the pain, the fear, the mistake she had made… She couldn’t just abandon him. And yet he would not be moved. Claire relented, nodding her head as the dim light of the passages end came into view. The sounds from above, thank goodness, had disappeared and a dull quiet had settled over the place as the sight of decomposing bodies came into view.

“Ah dhia,” Jamie cursed, his steps faltering just a little as he saw body after body, their unseeing eyes melting into the skulls of those who’d been strung up before him. The stench heavier in the air, strangling them like the cold hands of Death himself.

[from-the-das-desk]

Ghostly Writing - Chapter One

word count: 2,290

warnings: none

summary: Y/N, District Attorney, watch as your mirror is sold at an Estate Auction, and have a brief conversation with a curious young man who purchased the mirror you’ve been living in.

"Here is the first piece of furniture that we are selling - now I know that the cracks in the mirror are one of the reasons why it is the first piece that we would like to sell. It's unfortunate, but with a little bit of love, this mirror will be a fine addition to any home that it inhabits." The auctioneer loudly proclaims, gesturing to the mirror that you currently inhabit, trapped within the space, and staring at the sea of eager faces, trying to decide whether or not you wanted to walk fully into frame. It wasn't as if any of them were close enough to actually see you - except for the Auctioneer. You might be able to give them a pretty good scare but... 

What would the point of that be? You've been betrayed in a way that you hadn't been aware was even possible until... You think weeks, possibly months ago? You have been trapped in this void since your friend (and new boss) had cast you into this mirror, as he had apparently decided that sharing your body between the two of you wasn't enough for him. Or something. You struggled with the bitterness and pain that the betrayal still left in your mouth. Then again... Any time that you tried to relax enough to fall asleep, you found  yourself in a yawning, pitch black void that pressed down on you from all sides - so you tried not to let yourself go into a restful state, terrified that you would lose yourself entirely. Still... There had been times when you had found yourself forced into that horrible blackness, and you had to claw your way back to the mirror.

 You were never sure how long that took, so perhaps it had been longer than the weeks (months?) that you had tried to count, based on the passing of days and nights that you could see, from the play of sun and moonlight on the floor, that the window close to where this mirror had been hung in Markiplier Manor. Now, you were on display in the front room, or rather, your mirror was. You were hiding at the edges of the mirror, trying to figure out who was selling the furniture and anything that wasn't tied down in Markiplier Manor - and why they thought that they had the legal right to do so. 

From what you remembered, Markiplier had been quite wealthy still, and had no outstanding debts - but then again, there were always those opportunistic enough to take advantage of the deaths of the rich and famous to sell their stuff in order to rake in some cash. Usually the estates of said rich and famous people stopped such nonsense from happening when it wasn't them... But you knew that anyone who would have been chosen to execute Mark's last Will and Testament was dead. Mark had contacted you, after you had helped him finalize the divorce with Celine. He had been distraught and miserable, but grimly determined to make sure that he wouldn't be taken advantage of. Which was why you had helped him change his will - everything  was supposed to go to Damien when he died, the manor, his wealth and anything else that Mark possessed. The actor had also set aside a very generous sum for you, in the event that you survived his death - something that you had told him was thoughtful, but wasn't what you'd been angling for. 

Mark had smiled kindly at that, gently patting you on one of your shoulders, saying that "I know that you aren't after me because of my money.  You took my case because Damien asked you too. I can tell that you are a loyal person, and I am beyond grateful for all the help that you've been in this... This absolute mess. I want to be able to give you a gift, upon my death, as a thank you." 

You found that you couldn't argue with that, and had graciously accepted his gift rather than continued to try to argue with him out of gifting you that money upon your death. But the state wouldn't come in to sell his things for years and years... Unless Damien had taken possession of everything and was selling  his old friend's things off in order to wash his hands of the whole affair. Or... You supposed that Mark, pretending to be Damien, pretending to be overcome with grief, wanted everything sold so that he didn't have to be reminded of where his old friend had been murdered. Although how Damien or Mark was explaining  your disappearance, or Celine's or the Detective's for that matter, you couldn't guess. 

Maybe he painted one of you the killer of the other two - and Mark. You wonder bleakly which one of you had been named the murderer. You flinch as you think you could hear an echo of thunder, and remind yourself not to think of that awful word while still trapped in this house. You wonder how long it will take for this mirror to get sold - or if it would even get sold. Given the obvious and ugly damage done to it, you wouldn't be surprised if no one bid for it - not when there was so much more for them to purchase that was unbroken... Not that anything in this cursed place wasn't tainted somewhat by what had happened... And the evil that his manor or whatever horrible presence inside of it had thrived on for so long. You can feel it's attention on you sometimes - it's what drags you kicking and screaming back into that black void of nothingness, and part of you wonders if the house is playing with you, when you manage to break back into the mirror, your prison and place of safety. 

What does it stand to gain, by having your soul trapped within it's walls? You can't even begin to guess, and you fervently hope that someone, anyone will pay for your mirror, so that you can escape this dreary, cursed place. You haven't heard William's voice since that first night - it seems as if either Mark or Damien found him. You wonder if William is dead, or if whoever found him has let him live, sanity fractured and possibly irretrievable as it is.

 The Auctioneer is visibly wilting, even as he continues to babble at high speed, trying to get the crowd interested in your cracked and broken mirror. No one raises their hands, as the price continues to go further and further down. The price is set at ten dollars, before a hand shoots into the air, a numbered paddle nowhere in sight. The Auctioneer gratefully latches onto the single bidder - trying to get someone else to become interested in your mirror... But no one so much as twitches, apparently uninterested in fixing up the ornate, broken mirror, perhaps wanting the baby bed, or the dozens if not hundreds of other things that they could spend. 

"Sold to this young man right here for ten dollars! Please come up, pay and take your purchase, unless you want to buy anything else?" The Auctioneer asked, looking at the person who had bought your mirror. 

A clean shaven, short dark haired young man who looks startlingly like Mark, Damien and William comes forwards, a ten dollar bill in hand. He shook his head, his voice even sounding similar to theirs - rich and warm. Though there seems to be a playfulness to him that you hadn't seen in any of the three of them - perhaps because this young man looked no older than twenty "No, all I want from here is this mirror. Thank you." He handed off the money, before carefully grabbing the bottom edges of the mirror. 

The moment his hands touch your mirror, an electric current passes through you, causing you to yelp "Ah!" in shock. You hadn't felt anything in months (weeks? Years? You can't tell. You've lost track of time,  much as you tried to keep track of the days and nights that have passed you by).

 A soft "Shh." Leaves the young man's lips, as if he'd heard you. He hitches the mirror up higher - perhaps to hide his lips as he carefully makes his way through the crowd of people. You can see their avaricious or bored or curious faces painfully up close, and you press closer against the side of the mirror you've been hiding in, hoping that none of them spot you and panic. "I mean you no harm. Although I've never encountered a talking mirror before."

 Indignant, you can't help but sputter, hissing back at the young man "I'm not a talking mirror! I'm trapped in the mirror." 

"Oh?" The young man breathes, and you can hear the curious lilt to his voice. You can almost imagine a quizzical expression on his face - not unlike Damien's, the first day that the two of you met at university.

 You shake yourself mentally, angry and upset that you would allow your mind to wander like that. You are curious as to why his touch allowed you to speak - perhaps it was because he was alive? But there seemed to be a curious sort of power to his voice... Something compelling and powerful, but not like Damien - who could talk bees into giving him their honey nor Mark, who could hook a stadium full of people into whatever character he was playing. You couldn’t guess as to what it could be, but whatever it was, you weren’t sure you wanted to know. Not that you had a choice, given that you were trapped in this mirror. You had tried to leave this mirror, precisely once. You had been trapped so deeply in the all-consuming black void for so long, that you had been frightened that you would never escape. 

You’d managed to get back to the mirror... But that had only been a few hours (days?) before this auction was to begin. You hoped that leaving this miserable place would allow you a small measure of freedom, or at last the chance to allow your soul to fade into the next life or whatever afterlife might be waiting for you. You were pretty sure that even Hell - if there was a hell - would be preferable to being trapped in this mirror, the pitch black void waiting for you on the edges of the mirrored world that you’d been living in for... Some time now. You say quietly "I don’t want to talk about why I’m trapped in this mirror - especially not here.”

 "Very well... Although since I’m to have a roommate, I would very much like to know more about you, once we are back to my home.” The young man responded, voice still barely above a whisper. You had to strain your ears to hear him speak.

 "... Alright.” You acquiesce, though you’re not entirely thrilled about spilling your tragic death to anyone - then again, you supposed that you didn’t strictly have to tell him what all had happened to get you in this miserable situation. It wasn’t as if he would be able to know whether or not you were keeping some of the sordid details of your death and what really had happened at Markiplier Manor, the evening that Markiplier had been killed.

 The young man nodded, humming a little in contemplation as he walked out of the manor, bringing you to a small, slightly beaten up car, carefully sliding you into the front passenger seat, buckling the mirror in and saying “I have quite a few questions to ask you, though if you cannot answer some of them, I understand. The first is a rather simple one. May I see you, if you have a form inside this mirror?” 

You somewhat reluctantly nod, stepping into the frame of the mirror and looking up at the young man, once again, rather strongly reminded of Damien and Mark. “This is what I look like - and I looked like this while I was alive.” You look down at yourself, and you were still wearing the work suit that you had worn to the poker game, straightening your jacket a little. “What’s your name? I’ve been calling you... Someone in my head, but I’d rather not associate you with any of those three people, since you’re rescuing me from that... Place.” 

“I hope that you’ll tell me about these people I remind you a little of. My name is... Arthur. What is yours?” Arthur asked, though the young man said his name a little strangely. 

It wasn’t as if you could do anything about it, so you just nod and respond “It’s wonderful to meet you, Arthur. I’m Y/N.” 

“The former District Attorney? The one who was appointed by Mayor Damien before you were killed at-” His eyes seem to light up in intense curiosity and fascination “... Markiplier Manor. As promised, I won’t ask any more questions until after I bring you home, Y/N, but I do find myself with more questions than before.” 

You nod, feeling your throat tighten a little nervously. But it was nice to finally tell someone your story. 

[anodyne-sunflower]

Rust to Gold (Part 1)-Jack Jackson series

A/N: Guys!! It’s finally here. Not sure how many of you have actually seen PotE but, regardless I hope y'all enjoy. I really love the idea I came up with for his series. While I’m sure it won’t be my popular one, again because I believe not many of you actually know about Jack lol I still adore writing it! Few notes before you read on: I’m using the tv series timeline not the book. I won’t go into too much detail with her father, but you could say it’s Louis VII of France since he reigned at the time. This starts in 1138 like the show does. I am skipping Jack and Tom’s introduction because that’s not really needed for reader and Jack’s story. However, Tom is obviously in this and it will contain and follow the majority of the characters and story lines. And yes, some of history will be a little tweaked if for creative purposes. But, since this is mainly on reader it’s not like I’ll have her interfere entirely with history. It’ll be very very minor. Enjoy!

MOOD MUSIC: Throne for the game ft. Bradley Hanan Carter by Ramin Djawadi

***

The dictations of one’s future was a concept you had grown agonizingly familiar with. Being a woman, your father had every right and determination to choose every aspect of your life for you. No matter the cost of your relationship with him. It was a constant reminder of your duties as princess, to blindly follow those demands of your king. With or without hesitation. And yet, in spite of all that you could not bring yourself to obey him this time. There was moments in your life where ignoring his shouts for proper conduct became a habit, except you often caved to his whims by the end of it. After all, a threat to your life was something you couldn’t bear. Now, however, you found the ounce of strength in you to resist his plans.

“You would deny me? Deny your kingdom?! You ungrateful child! I have given you everything! And you disobey me at every turn!!”

Your father’s hands slammed onto the arms of his throne, making you flinch slightly at the loud sound. But, you held your head high tightening your jaw in order to remain the very picture of calm. It was not easy to defy a man like your father, especially when he ruled all of France.

“I would deny you the pleasure of marrying me off to the first man who comes with a bag full of coins and promises of expansion!”

You spat back, breath heavy with contempt for the man who raised you. If that’s what you could call his lifelong lessons in court. It was a risky move, one that you knew deep down would not end well for you. But, you could not bring yourself to marry just anyone. Your heart was not a bargaining tool, no matter the person wagering it.

“What you speak is treason.” His voice grew soft, though the bite behind it was all too clear. “Defy me now, and I will have you hang for this. Do you understand me?”

“I-”

“Do you understand me?!”

Every word sent chills down your spine, and flattering was the only option your mind wished for. Yet, you could not betray your heart of that you were certain. With every courageous spark in you, you straightened up. Rising on your feet again as you clasped your hands in front of you and stared your father, the king, down.

“Then I shall hang.”

If there was ever a time you saw any hope of pride in him for you, it was oddly now. Perhaps it was the bravery you displayed, but for that brief second he smiled. It was altogether shocking and disgusting, but a man’s honor was everything. And proud of the courage you had or not, he’d still move to execute you.

“You play a dangerous game, child. Take her to the dungeons.” He waved his hand away, not looking at you anymore as the guards neared you. But, you held a hand up keeping your pride about you as you turned away and led yourself down to the bottoms of the hellish castle prison. The guards stuck by you, one hand held above the pommels of their swords and the other holding a shield. You knew if you ran they wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. A prince was an heir, a princess was expendable.

As you stepped down the large stone stairs into the dungeons, your heart began to sink. Knowing that every second that went by was bringing you closer to your last breath. Many children would think their father’s loved them, no matter their rebellious nature. Yours was not that father. If you slandered his name, you would pay, and denying his pick of a suitor did just that. It was an embarrassment, and now you were going to pay with your life.

“May I ask a favor of you?” A sigh left your lips, eyes staring into the dark prison you would soon be housed in. The floor was a mess, hay and water scattered amongst the stones. And only one tiny hold of a window that could bring daylight in. “Will you fetch my handmaid for me?”

The guards stood quiet at first, both of them looking to one another for an answer. And if only for the reason that they watched you grow from child to woman, they agreed.

“At once, your highness.”

It was a needless courtesy on their part, calling you by your title. Because, you knew their allegiance was to the king and only the king. But, you thanked them all the same, following their orders as they gently pushed you into the dungeon. The door behind you slammed shut, the sound of them locking the wooden door only causing your heart to sink further into despair. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but the reality of your refusal was now before you.

Time ran slow inside here, you could only count yourself blessed that the sun was still out. It allowed a sliver of light to bathe across your skin, warming you under the dress you wore. A nice comfort in the cold of the prison.

“Your highness!”

The sound of your servant caught your attention, and you rushed to the door to see her through the small bars at the top. It was the first time you get a semblance of joy today, and you reached over the small window to grab her hand.

“Matilda, I’m so glad you came.

“Why on earth wouldn’t I?” She smiled, though you could see the concern she felt for you. She was always a loyal one, a very rare thing in these times. And her friendship meant a great deal to you. She was originally your playmate, a gift from your father when you were 7. She grew alongside you, and you had come to see her as a sister. She was never a birthday present in your eyes, but always family.

“I fear I’ve made a foolish mistake.” A small laugh left you, but the obvious anguish behind it was evident. Something Matilda easily caught on to. But, ever the sweet one, she brushed her thumb over the back of your hand and shook her head.

“I’ve always admired your will, and even now I still do. You cannot marry that awful man. The rumors around him are numerous, and I believe your fate would be the same no matter what you choose.”

She was not wrong, you had heard your fair share of rumors surrounding William Hamleigh. The son of a lord who likely had the archbishop on his purse strings. He held no title to him, but his family was still rich enough and had powerful connections that your father was positively mad for.

“I think you’re right…” You held her hand tightly, leaning your forehead into the door as you whispered your heartache. “It’s pathetic. I stand by my choice then, but all the same I do my wish for death.”

Matilda was silent, and you thought perhaps she was sharing in your current state of depression. Instead, she released your hand and patted softly on the door.

“I promise, you will not die today.”

It was the last thing she said before running off, leaving you confused and lonely in the growing darkness.

***

Hours went by, and you began to grow nervous for your friend. Whatever she was planning was likely going to cause trouble, but you’d rather take the fall than have her life forfeit on your behalf. You tapped impatiently at the floor, heels digging into the straw as you say against the floor. By now you must’ve looked a mess, as the winter winds grew strong at night and snuck into the lower parts of the castle. If your father waited anymore days, you were likely to succumb to the elements as opposed to the gallows.

A soft knocking gained your ear, and you quickly turned your head towards the door thinking they had come for you in the dead of night. It was an odd choice and time for execution, but perhaps your father was eager to be rid of you.

“Your highness?”

The whisper of her voice made you relax back into the wall, and you smiled as you warned Matilda of her dangerous intentions.

“I know what you’re up to, and it’s too dangerous.”

“Nonsense. Just trust me, the perks of being a servant, I know every part of this castle better than you. How else would I sneak food?”

You laughed heartily at that, knowing fully well that she had done so quite often. Not that you could blame her, under your father’s rule everyone was likely to starve if he saw fit.

With a click and screech of the lock the door slowly drew open, and you scrambled up to your feet. Matilda stood at the doorway, joyfully smiling as she hugged you to her. The reunion could not last long, because you were sure the guards would catch on quickly.

“You’ve gone mad. You’ll be killed for helping me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Ever the optimistic one, you thought. And while you didn’t want harm to come to her, she seemed so sure of herself that you willingly followed her down the dungeon halls. Every time you turned a corner you glared both ways, heart going wild in your chest as fear and doubt took over. People rarely escaped from here, and when they tried the end results were far worse than the original sentence.

“This isn’t-”

“Shh.” Matilda hushed you, not bothering with a torch as it would prove too risky a move and alert the guards to your locations. She grabbed your hand, nearly running down the halls and under a large gap in the stairs. It led directly into the waterways, and you were slowly realizing just how knowledgeable the servants likely were. It was almost a miracle that none of them had been bribed to assassinate the king with all the secret passageways they knew.

Your dress soaked up the water, making you more than uncomfortable. You were not dressed for skulking about castles, and thankfully she had thought of that.

“Put this on, hurry!”

She shoved a bag of clothes towards you, and you sifted through the bunch. It was not something you would’ve ever worn around here, and frankly from the looks of the brown robes they belonged to a peasant.

“What is this?”

Matilda sighed at you, keeping an eye on the exit of the tunnel as she rushed you.

“Your highness, if you are to live tonight it is because you leave here a commoner. Not a princess of France.”

Her words filled you with a sense of sadness. As much as you despised the man on the throne, this was your home and you loved it. But, there was as always truth to her statements. You reluctantly nodded, allowing her to help you get out of your current attire and into the simple robes of your new identity.

“Come on then, your highness.”

Matilda led you out of the tunnel, her eyes scanning the open field in your view for any sign of possible danger. She pointed towards the hill that led deep into the forest where your father hunted, and with a solemn smile she hugged you.

“You are meant for great things, Y/N. And it is because of this and our friendship that I happily risk my life for you.”

You dug your fingers into her back, gripping her close to you in a goodbye that would no doubt last forever. You couldn’t bear the thought of not having her around, but you couldn’t let her help go in vain.

“I’ll miss you.”

Matilda smiled at that, kissing your brow before cupping your cheeks and fighting her tears. “And I will miss you, my friend.”

She shoved you out of the tunnel, frantically moving her hands for you to get going and leave. You stared back at her every step, only stopping when you were at the edge of the woods to bid her one last heartfelt farewell.

***

You fell forward onto your horse, barely holding the reins as you felt your exhaustion settle in. It had been days upon days since you left France. Traveling on foot for so long before taking a ship to England. The people you met along the way had been decent enough, save for those who desired to rid you of every coin you had. There wasn’t much Matilda could give you, but what she had was kind enough. It helped you gain passage along the sea, before you managed to settle a bargain and take a man’s horse. But, your journey was tiring and with no plan on where to go or settle you were left lonesome and nearly poor.

Your stomach grumbled, once again alerting you to your starvation. You couldn’t even remember the last time you ate, but every minute reminded you of that painful feeling.

“Just a bit more…” You patted your horse, trying hard to stay atop him as he traversed the forest paths. It was still winter time, which only proved harsher to your travels. The cloak you wore hardly contained your body heat, and the biting wind hurt far more than you ever imagined. But, you had to force yourself to keep moving on. Hoping at some point your new home would make itself obvious.

“Just a little….more…” Your eyes drifted shut, your mind fighting against sleep until every ounce of willpower you had drained from your body. With a groan of discomfort, you slid sideways falling roughly from the horse and onto the cold ground of the forest. And all at once everything went black.

***

Soft hums and murmuring could be heard somewhere in the endless corners of your dreams. A woman’s comforting tone beckoning you to wake, though you weren’t sure if it was real or not. But, it was soothing, reminding you of your mother who had passed so long ago you barely remembered her features.

“Mother…?”

The woman laughed, making you slowly open your eyes to the sound. She was a blur to you, but you could faintly make out the reassuring smile she held. She patted a cloth to your forehead, parting your hair so she could have better access. She was still humming something, whether that was a song or a spell you weren’t sure. But, you were still grateful to be here in the warmth of a fire.

“Easy now, you hit your head hard.”

“What?” Your voice was hoarse, no doubt from the weather. But, she still understood you and she offered you a cup of water that you were forever thankful for. You drank eagerly from it, almost choking when the soothing liquid ran down your dry throat.

“Ahh, careful.” She took the cup from you, placing it aside and patting your cheek. “You will recover. You must rest though.”

“Who are you?” You forced out, groaning when you turned onto your side. The woman just smiled again, putting some bowls down that contained some sort of salve.

“You can call me Ellen.”

You nodded in thanks, finding the strength to sit up. You held your arm over your stomach, leaning back into the cave walls and examining the area. It was no doubt this was her home, and while you couldn’t exactly believe living in a cave was ideal there was something oddly wonderful about it.

“Hungry?”

You glanced towards her, watching her stir a pot of stew on the fire. “Oh yes, please.”

Ellen just chuckled again, pouring some food into a bowl and handing it over to you. She walked on her bare feet to the small stool in the corner, continuing her work.

“Thank you, for the meal. And everything else…”

“You are welcome. We need to take care of each other, yeah? I could not leave you to freeze out there.”

You nodded gratefully, taking a spoonful of the meal and delighting in the warmth of it. It was the first time you had decent comfort since you left France, and you didn’t want to leave anytime soon.

“You live here?”

“Yes. There is a village not far from here, my son lives there. He’s a sculptor, a great one.”

She had this grin on her face when she spoke of him, and you believed it to be the pride of a mother. But, you felt there was more to it than that. As if that grin was meant for you as well.

“A sculptor? That’s magnificent.” You glanced around the cave, taking note of the faces carved into the stone of the walls. It brought a smile to your face, now that you knew the source of the beautiful work. “He’s very talented.”

“He is.” She watched you carefully, following your gaze as you took in her son’s work. “You should go there. Kingsbridge. They are building a new cathedral there, there’s work. I’m sure they will take you.”

The first thing that arose in your kind was your father’s words, about princesses never needing to work besides providing heirs. You wondered what he’d think now. There was no doubt he had already sent party after party searching for you, but chances were high he had no idea you could make it so far from France. That made you feel safe.

“Work?…I wouldn’t even know what I could do? I don’t really possess any skills.”

You hoped that hadn’t given anything away, because aside from needlework, and basic royal skills nothing of the common folk made sense to you.

Ellen just smiled, mending the fire as she spoke. “You can learn.”

It made you smile, because she sounded just like Matilda. Always believing in you when you least expected it. You made to speak, moving the bowl to the side as you pulled the blanket over you tighter. But, as the words left you the sound of footsteps cut you off.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Mother. Philip was in a mood today.”

A young man with the brightest red hair you had ever seen entered the cave, a small bag of things over his shoulder as he removed the hood of his cloak and reached towards Ellen. He pulled her into a warm hug, kissing her cheek and smiling. You watched the entire exchange curiously, feeling very much out of place.

“My boy, Jack.” She laughed joyously, cupping his cheeks and not wanting to let him go. But, for his sake she let him take a seat, before she moved to fetch another bowl for him.

This Jack didn’t seem aware of you at first, his green eyes following his mother’s movement until she waved towards you.

“Say hello to my guest, Jack. Don’t be shy.”

Jack looked towards the direction she pointed, his eyes widening when he set his gaze on you. It was the first time you ever saw a man flustered, and there was something endearing about it. Most men at court took it upon themselves to leer at you, or even touch what they believed to be theirs. But, this Jack fellow just blushed softly, averting his gaze several times before giving a smile.

“Morning.”

He simply spoke, looking back up at you with mild interest. You returned the gesture, holding your hand up in greeting.

“You’re the sculptor. It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”

***

A/N: I knowww, not much in the way of Jack this part, but I had to set the stage ;) Feedback highly welcomed!!! And appreciated. ❤️

[hamil-garbage]

Reflections (part 2)

A/N: Alright so I couldn’t think of who would be a good right hand man for Lafayette, so I just made up a character because I needed a secretary/Mushu character. Also, I’m going to alter history a bit(or, a lot) to work for the story. Sorry!

Blog tags(if you want to be tagged to get a notification for the next(maybe final? idk) chapter just message me!): @neaeri , @superwholockbooknerd526,@jantales, 

Word count: 3925

The laps were pure torture. You didn’t realize just how out of shape you were until you made your last round back to the tents, nearly collapsing at the passing. Lafayette just spectated, watching from his own tent with his feet up and eating grapes as if he were king. You would punch him, if he were not your commanding officer.

You were panting, leaned over with your hands on your knees, sweat dripping down your face, and your stomach rolling. No one else seemed to be in such awful shape, but then again, no one else was a noblewoman. Your eyes looked up to your captain, glaring daggers as a smirk slid across his lips. You stood up, tall and proud as if the last laps had not happened. You could vomit later. He stood up, setting the vine down and walking over, hands hooked behind his back. As response, you gave him a sloppy salute. He chuckled, patronizing your presence.

“Tell me, enfant. Why did you even come?” He cocked a brow, and your blood began to boil.

“My name isn’t enfant, sir, it’s-” you hissed out, before cutting yourself off. You couldn’t give your real name, it’d be a dead giveaway of your sex. “William, sir.” You said the name slow and careful, as if trying to remember if the name was called. He scoffed again, making your anger rise.

“Let me see your credentials, William.” The way he said your name cause a chill to crawl up your spine, and you couldn’t tell if it was a sensual chill or an irritated one. You handed him your envelope, and he pulled out the letter, his brow narrowing. “Y/F/N Y/L/N?” He asked, looking to you and cocking a brow. You heard steps come up behind you, and a chuckle.

“I didn’t know he had a son.” You gulped hard, digging your nails into your skin. He doesn’t have a son, only you. You turn behind you and see a man come up to Lafayette, a man you saw stand next to him earlier. He seemed like a secretary of sorts. His tag read “Johnson”.

“Well, sir, he doesn’t talk about me that much.” You looked to the man beside your captain, looking over his shoulder and down at the letter. He was lean, maybe twice as old as you, and not nearly as handsome as the obnoxious man reading the letter given to your father.

“I can see why.” He spat out, pushing the letter back into your chest. You grabbed it, wide eyed and angered as he disrespected you. You gulped softly, lost for words as he began to walk away. He had made up his mind about you. You knew you’d prove him wrong.

Nothing else happened the rest of the night, dinner was uneventful despite the glares that were cast your way from around the tent. It was demeaning, and the food was less than appetizing, but with the way the day had gone, you were starved.

It wasn’t until you had escaped to your tent that you were able to relax. You released your concealed breasts, noticing a bit of bruising along the edge. Nothing you weren’t used to, considering the corsets. You let out a sigh, laying on the ground and staring at the long point of your tent. Distant voices were heard, but since you had set up your tent so far away, you couldn’t understand anything. It was easier this way, in case they did a random check, you wouldn’t be able to hide your deadly secret.

The floor was cold, and you missed your bed. More importantly, you missed your family, but that was the reason why you were here. This was hard, but it would be harder than getting a letter telling you that your father had died. That thought alone was enough to make you stay, and you accepted that. You hadn’t realized how tired your day was until you were incapable of keeping your eyes open.

A trumpet disrupted your slumber, distant, but definitely obnoxious enough to startle you awake. Still, darkness surrounded you, before dawn. Did people really get up this early just to train? You thought. An annoyed groan passed through your lips as you stood up, forcing the bandage around you before anything else. Your vision was blurry with fatigue, and you weren’t sure if you were putting on your uniform quite right. However, that didn’t matter, if you didn’t leave now you were in for an earful from an annoying Frenchman. You parted the tent, hair dangling loosely from your messy ponytail as you look out at the barely lit field. The men were already in line. Your eyes widened in frustration as swears passed through your lips. How could men get ready so quickly.

You stumbled down the hill, finishing tying up your boot as you did so, shuffling behind a few men and coming into the commander talking mid sentence. Unlike the rest of the shoulders, his shirt was off, showing off every tanned, toned muscle that he had. A gulp lodged in your throat as you collected yourself and stood in line. If you were lucky, he might not have seen you come down.

“- for the day.” He turned his body to look to the end of the line. “Thank you for joining us, L/N. I hope your beauty sleep was worth it.” Unfortunately, you weren’t that lucky.

“Sorry, sir...” you started, but chuckling beside you caused your to trail off and heat to touch your cheeks.

“Alexander, thank you for volunteering for my next subject.” You looked towards the man who chuckled, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. He looked at Lafayette wide eyed, opening his mouth to coming up with an excuse, but shut it the second he realized it wouldn’t help. Instead, he just grumbled and moved towards the captain. Lafayette wrapped an arm around Hamilton, who looked less than happy to be a volunteer.

“Laf, is this really-”

“I want you to climb up that pole,” he gestured to a pole at least 30 feet tall and had quite a bit of girth as well, enough so that you couldn’t wrap your arms around it, “and retrieve the American flag. Do you understand?” He asked, cocking a brow, smirking down at him. Hamilton rolled his eyes and walked over to the pole. From the pale light now peaking over the mountains, you could see it was most likely a log, a blunt ending just above

“Yeah, I can. And I’ll do it with my shirt on.” He chuckled, preparing to climb the intimidating pole.

“Hold on, amie.” Lafayette cut Alexander’s movements off, and walked over to Johnson who was holding a box. “You didn’t think I was going to let it be that easy, did you?” He chuckled as Laurens’ shoulders fell.

“No, of course not, cap’n,” he mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. You could tell that the two, as well as Laurens and Mulligan, were all friends and allies. If anyone else were to sass Lafayette, they’d get scolded. Instead, he walked over with two spheres in his hands, leather straps dangling down. Once he was beside Hamilton, he lifted one up and rested it in his hands, still holding on.

“La vaillance. Valor, courage.” He said, his accent thick and beautiful. He finally dropped his hands from Hamilton’s grasp, watching the large bronze disk drag him down. There was chuckling from the group. Once Alexander had regained his composure, Lafayette handed him the other disk. “Le puissance. Power, strength.” Again, Alexander nearly collapsed, and the irony caused more chuckles to erupt among the crowd. He stood up with a blush, sighing and looking to the pole, one disk for each arm.

“Watch and learn boys!” Hamilton called out, cocky. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He lept on the pole, lacking grace, and tried to shuffle up. Without the weights, it would’ve been easy, but they began dragging him down, making it difficult to lift his arms above his head to grab further up. He began sliding down, until his butt hit the ground with a thud.

This process continued, including you, it all ended with a thud on the ground and an inability to reach the top pole.

But things weren’t always so equal.

Training was beyond intense ou fell behind on running hikes, you had probably caught yourself in barbwire more times than you can count, and for someone who was fed a silver spoon her entire life, building up stamina proved difficult. The three men, Hamilton, Laurens, and Mulligan, continuously made your life difficult. Sometimes, your failure was their fault, other times, you were just inept.

Lafayette condescended you. He repeatedly insulted the entire group, but you seemed to be his least favorite. He’d say you were hopeless, and there was no way to make you into a man. About a month had passed when his patience war thin, and you were sitting on a log, taking off your shoes to tend to your sore feet. His shadow loomed over you in the light of the pale of the moon, and his hand wrapped around your horse’s rein.

“You aren’t suited for the rage of war. Pack and go home, before you get yourself killed. How could I make a man out of you?” He said, his face stone cold as he dropped the rope in your lap and walked away. Your shoulders fell as he said the harsh words, and for a brief moment, you knew he was right. Would it be easier to go home, to face your family after you betrayed them? Your home would be a prison, and a temple to mock by the neighbors since their daughter ran away and didn’t do anything when she returned.

No, that wasn’t fair.

You stood up, determination in your eyes. The stress of the day evaporated instantly as you looked at the unyielding pole, the flag flickering with the gentle wind. The disks sat at the bottom, people occasionally trying again and again, but never succeeding. You stood at the base of the pole, staring up the long shaft and grimacing. It was so tall, you shook your head and grabbed the disks, noticing that despite your failed efforts at training, the disks were still easier to lift. It gave you satisfaction to say the least.

Again and again,  you climbed up the pole with your arms secured around it, but again and again, you never got passed ten feet before sliding back down to the cold ground, chilled by the night. You let out a hushed, aggravated sigh as you looked at the disks, the main reason for your failure. For a moment you just sat there in defeat, trying to think of an alternate way. Your father would say that the definition of insanity is doing the same exact thing over and over again, and expecting a different result.

So, why not try something different?

A smile slid across your lips as you stood up. “I’m thinking about this all wrong,” you mutter, lifting up the disks and looking at both of them. “They’re not an obstacle…” you swung the disks around the thick log, and they easily wrapped around each other and clanked as they settled. “They’re the solution.”

Tugging on the ropes to make sure they were secure as you began to climb the pole, one foot at a time. It was rough, god it hurt every muscle in your body, but you were getting farther than you had the entire night. Mountains surrounded you, but you could feel the tickle of the sunlight peak up above the horizon. Did the bugle blow? You couldn’t tell, all you could hear was subtle ringing, and what sounded like cheering. You didn’t dare look down, you were so close to the top. All you had to do was sit, unhinge the flag, and you’d be done. You’d have proven yourself.

As your thoughts raced, your foot slipped, causing your body to slam into the pole. Your grip tightened, making sure not to fall from this height despite the shaking in your hands and the white of your knuckles. You kept going, just five more feet. Beads of sweat had trickled down your neck just like so many other times this past month, but none were more satisfying than when you realized that you were now sitting on top of the log, looking down at the cheering men. Quickly, you grabbed the flag, waving it around.

At that time, you saw Lafayette emerge from his tent, confused as to why his soldiers were causing such a commotion. You let the flag fall from your hands and fall onto his head before he could look up and see who retrieved it. The disks sat on your shoulder, and you have never felt prouder than when the Marquis himself smiled proudly up at you.

It was that moment of confidence that allowed you to continue with ease. The group of boys were decent to you, in fact aided you in some cases. You grew stronger, faster, smarter. You even were able to take down Lafayette in one-on-one combat training. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good to kick him in the face. After the pole, he never disrespected you again.

While all was well and good, nothing could beat swimming in the pond about a half a mile from camp. Just because you looked like a man didn’t mean you had to smell like one. It wasn’t too deep, maybe 7 feet, and it was heated from the blistering sun’s rays on the surface all day. It felt nice on the sore muscles. Your horse was there as a place to put your clothes, so you didn’t have to put it on the ground. He was tied to a tree as you dived into the water, revelling in the feeling of being clean. You let out a long sigh, feeling the freedom of your chest relax on the water. By now, your breasts had gotten used to the bruising, but it still felt good. Like taking off a corset after the end of a long day. This was utter bliss.

Of course, that didn’t last long. Ripples disrupted your balance and your body collapsed into the water, looking up and seeing Lafayette’s secretary, Johnson, staring at you with a surprised look, before it relaxed. You were speechless, wide eyed, nervous.

“I-I…” You stuttered out, your cheeks bright red and covering your chest, even though the murky water hid it. He of course, saw, since you were on the surface. He just held up a hand.

“I know why your father never talked about his son, because he always boasted about his daughter.” He walked in further, causing you to shrink away. “I wouldn’t worry about it, I don’t exactly prefer women.” He scoffed, and that alone allowed you to relax. He was in the same boat as you, if the general found out, you’d both be hanged for joining the army. He wouldn’t tell because you wouldn’t.

“When did you figure it out?” You asked, cocking a brow as you sat in a more shallow part of the pool.

“The second you created an alias. I know everyone that comes in and out of the army, every noble and their immediate family.” He looked over at you calmly, washing himself. “The captain is clueless, don’t worry.” You nodded in response, rubbing your arms a bit to get rid of dirt.

“Thank you…” You said, feeling better about the situation. He nodded, turning around and looking at the scenario.

“You’re either brave, or stupid, Miss Y/N L/N.” he scoffed as you glared at him, shaking his head. “Either way, you better stay underwater, because I know there are a couple of things they’ll be bound to notice.” He gaze shifted to the trail as three men, three very specific men, stripped as they ran and jumped into the water. You felt yourself heat up as you swam to the center, using a lilypad to guard yourself from their gaze.

“William!” Hamilton called out.

“H-hey guys, how’s it going?” You asked, your voice deepening once more. Johnson just sat around idly, the boys didn’t even know it. “I was just washing up, but I’m clean now, and I’m going to go, bye bye.” You dipped behind the rock to hide.

“Oh come on, don’t be shy!” he continued, watching Alexander swim over with Hercules. He draped his arm around you. Instantly, you sank away, swimming behind the rock.

“We’re sorry bout the way we treated you, but we can chill now, right?” He asked, wiggling his brows and laughing as they waded over. “How about we start over. I’m John Laurens,” he shook your hand and afterwards you pulled away, smiling awkwardly as you ran right into a large form.

“And I’m Hercules Mulligan.” He said, mimicking Laurens’ tone. An awkward laugh escapes your lips.

“Hello, Hercules Mulligan.” you repeated, feeling heat return to your cheeks as you realized you were against a very, very naked man.

“And I’m Alexander Hamilton, king of the rock.” You gaze looked up at the boulder you were hiding behind to find Alex standing tall and proud of what he had. You immediately looked down as Mulligan pulled away. “And there’s nothing you princesses can do about it.” You muttered a prayer as you made sure to keep your gaze overt. Laurens just laughed.

“Oh yeah?” Laurens boasted, laughing and nudging you. “Well I think Will and I can take you down!” You gulped and swam away, looking to Johnson for help. He was holding back laughter and you wanted to smack him.

“I really don’t want to take him anywhere.” You replied, gulping. Laurens began to swim after you.

“What? But we have to fight!” You held up a finger as you kept moving away.

“No, we don’t. We could just… close our eyes and… swim around!” You suggested, offering a smile as John grabbed your arm.

“C’mon, don’t be such a-”

“Snake!” Johnson shouted, stumbling out of the water in a beautiful dramatic display. While you knew what he was doing, the others didn’t, and began yelling like children and climbing on the rock. You took this opportunity to walk back on shore and grab your towel from your horse, wrapping it around you. You let out a sigh, rubbing your arms.

“Boy… that was close.” You said, Johnson already having his clothes on.

“You can say that again.” You offered a smile as thanks, gripping the towel tighter as you began to wring out your hair.

“I never want to see a naked man ag-” Before you could finish speaking, what seemed like the rest of the camp came running past you, all men, all naked. You felt violated. Johnson, who has yet to give his first name, chuckled.

“Come on, get dressed.” He said, using himself to let you do so as he watched the men, what seemed to be one specific man , swim around. You didn’t inquire, but found it charming that he had a crush. You slipped on your tunic and tights, wrapping the cloth more loosely since the tunic was blocky on your form anyways.

“Thanks Johnson.” You said, tying your hair back.

“Adam, you’re welcome.” He smiled back as you began moving down the path.

The walk started out silent, a simple walk back to camp under the moonlight of the evening, you’ve been in similar position, except you were in ornate attire and the man walking with you was definitely straight. Adam cut the air with his sigh.

“So, why’d you do it?” He asked, cocking a brow and looking at you. For a moment you hesitated, but decided you needed someone to confide in.

“My father isn’t…. He’s sick. He was going to force himself out here and I can’t…” Your voice faded, but he didn’t need clarification.

“That’s selfish, don’t you think?” You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. He was right. It was selfish of you to leave your family and worry about your wellbeing, but…

“I have way more of a chance than he could, and that’s enough for me.” You concluded, raising your head up and seeing the tents. Adam chuckled.

“Well, they may not be there physically, but you certainly have the balls to be a man.” You both laughed, and it made you realize that a month ago, you would’ve been repulsed by such a comment.

“William,” you heard a French accent interrupt your laughter. You looked over to see Lafayette standing outside his tent with the flap open. His expression was stoic. You glanced at Adam briefly, before walking toward your captain. Adam mentioned he had patrol anyways. Lafayette held the flap open for you as you walked in.

“Is something wrong, sir?” you inquired, looking at him with a furrowed brow.

“On the contrary, I called you here because I wanted to formally, well, informally praise you.” The stoic expression broke as he shook your hand. It was warm, callused, large in comparison with yours. It caused your heart to skip a beat. A gulp lodged in your throat as he pulled away suddenly, only able to nod before swallowing.

“Thank you sir, but I don’t understand.” You muttered, watching Lafayette sit at his desk. His smile remained as he watched you, scanning your features.

“Well, enfant, I almost sent you home. In the matter of two week after, you became on of my top soldiers. I’m glad you’re stubborn.” He chuckled leaning back before standing up again, he seemed as though he was fidgeting, as though a thought was crossing his mind that he didn’t want. He let out a sigh, “I’m worried about the front lines,” he admitted. “General Washington said he’d write as soon as they reached camp, and that should’ve been two weeks ago. I have to wondered if maybe something happened or he’s given up on me, I-”

“Pardon me, sir but that’s a load of crap.” You blurted, interrupting him. The comment shocked him, as well as yourself, but you continued. “If it weren’t for you, sir, I wouldn’t have had the ability to overcome my weakness and be the wo.. Person I am today.” You said, a soft smile touching your lips. “I couldn’t ask for a better captain.” He looked at, an expression that you couldn’t read crossing his sharp, handsome features. You’d add that he was also beautiful to look at, but that might not work out well. He took a couple steps toward you, opening his mouth to say something, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you watched his eyes in curiosity.

“Captain!” Adam burst into the tent panting, and holding a letter. You were broken from your trance as both you and Lafayette looked at his secretary. “Urgent news from the general!” His expression returned to its stiff nature, grabbing the letter as his eyes glazed over it. He looked up to you, and then to Adam.

“He wants us on the front lines,” He said, almost in shock. You felt your gut tighten in unwanted fear, but shoved it down as you looked at him and drew in a breath.

“Well, looks like we’re going to war.” You said.

[jeichanhaka]

And Carried Me Away: Ch. 10

Chapter 1|| Chapter 2|| Chapter 3|| Chapter 4|| Chapter 5|| Chapter 6||

Chapter 7|| Chapter 8|| Chapter 9|| Chapter 10|| Chapter 11|| Chapter 12||

Chapter 13|| Chapter 14|| Chapter 15||

Chapter 10: Spencer hissed in pain as he hit the floor, his elbows taking most of the impact. Though it stopped his head from hitting the floor, his left elbow hit the floor in just the right spot for the impact to be excruciating. He grimaced and cursed, distracted by the pain just long enough for Alsie to straddle him. Feeling her weight on top of him, his cheeks immediately flushed, his eyes widening and locking on Alsie. "Al..."

His sister's burnt sienna eyes stared down at him, familiar yet the gleam in them wasn't. It was cold, calculating. Not at all like Alsie, nor like her alter Ana. He swallowed, wondering if he'd triggered Emmie and thinking up how he could de-escalate things so Alsie could regain control.

"Um, Al...Emmie? I'm not a threat to Alsie. All right?" Spencer spoke softly, not moving anything but his eyes and lips. He glanced towards the bed, feeling relieved that Jemma was still sleeping. "I'm not going to do anything, Emmie. Alsie is safe, she is safe."

"...hm..heh." His sister smirked, her eyes narrowing. An uneasy feeling welled up in Spencer's gut, fighting against his certainty. It wasn't until Alsie's hand was wrapped around his throat that he realized it might not be Emmie staring down at him.

"A..." Spencer instinctively grabbed for the hand at his throat, alarmed though its owner hadn't started squeezing yet. She just held it there, threateningly.

"I thought you said you wouldn't move." His sister chided, leering down at him. Her thin lips pulled into a wry smile. It was evident, based on the tone, that this personality was testing him and his word.

Spencer paused, confused and fearful. His hand stopped midway on its way to grabbing the hand around his throat. He blinked, his brain whirling as he thought of who this alter was. Not Emmie, not Ana, certainly not Alsie herself. "I...Leigh? Are you Leigh?"

"Hm." The thin lips twitched, and a dry chuckle escaped them. "Yes. I am. And you...are a liar." Leigh glanced at Spencer's hand, her own still at his neck. Her lips twitched again as Spencer dropped his hand back to the floor.

"No. I'm not. I'm not a liar. You can trust me. I won't...I won't move." Spencer replied, his heart thumping. He tensed as Leigh tightened her grip slightly around his neck, not enough to be dangerous but enough that he questioned his resolve. If Leigh tightened her grip any further, he knew he'd break his promise and grab her arm. He also knew, going by the sinking feeling in his gut, that doing so would make things much worse. "Leigh, I...Let me talk to Alsie. Please. I'm not a threat. I..."

"Of course not. You're terrified." Leigh scoffed, her eyes recognizing the fear in Spencer's eyes. She frowned, removing her hand from his throat. "...you're nothing like James. Or Peter." Leigh muttered, shifting herself so that she was sitting on Spencer's stomach, her legs still straddling him.

"Wh..." Spencer took in a breath, relieved that Leigh hadn't decided to test his resolve. It wasn't himself getting hurt that had frightened him, but rather concern for Jemma's safety. As well as a reluctance to hurt Alsie. He took another deep breath, Leigh's mumble echoing in his thoughts. His eyes widened. "...What?"

Leigh stared down at Spencer, not bothering to respond to the single word question.

"You...James? Did you...do this to James? You..." Spencer asked, his brain running through a gauntlet of implications and likelihoods dependent on Leigh's answer. He didn't know much about James, but he couldn't imagine the older man to allow Leigh to choke him with impunity. Or to threaten him. Both which could only have meant terrible things for Alsie, things she may not remember.

"...heh. Don't worry." Leigh mumbled, touching Spencer's cheek. "He didn't mind it. At least, not enough that he'd hurt Alsie. Though..." She paused, moving a few stray strands of hair from Spencer's face. "...that has as much to do with his fear of Emmie." Another pause. "She broke his wrist once. And his fingers a few other times. Despite that, he just kept coming back. Almost like it was a sort of game. Or competition. Or maybe he just liked that Ana always appeared afterward."

"Leigh..." Spencer interrupted, not wanting to hear anything more especially not about what went on between Ana and James. "I..."

"Do you want Ana?"

"No. No." Spencer shook his head, grimacing at the thought and implication. "No. Leigh, I...I want to talk to Alsie. I need to talk to Alsie. About taking Jemma out for icecream and to the park today. She's been looking forward to today, and spending time together with her mom. Please."

"A...um. Hm." Leigh mulled over Spencer's words, her piercing eyes staring down at him. She licked her lip, considering him. Before she could say anything in response, the sound of the bed creaking drew their attention.

"Mahma? Unc' 'encer?" Jemma mumbled, staring down at the two, a loud and adorable yawn escaping her mouth. "Mah...awh. Icce ice...wan' icce c'eam."

"Jemma, hey." Spencer smiled at his niece, hiding his concern about her mother as he started signing. His eyes flitted to Alsie's face, hoping that seeing Jemma awake would trigger Leigh to switch back to Alsie. His stomach somersaulted when he saw his sister's face, the look in her eyes. "...Jem, why don't you go find auntie Joy?" Spencer signed his question, his gaze locked on his sister except for a few brief glances at Jemma to make sure his niece understood him. "Your cousin Kai would love to play with you."

"Buht..." Jemma pouted, almost whining when her uncle repeated his request. The expression on his face stopped her - and she crawled of the bed and toddled into the hallway, searching for her auntie Joy.

She completely missed the way Spencer suddenly grabbed her mother's hands, and the serious glare he gave his sister.

"Leigh." Spencer scowled at his sister, searching her face at the same moment he pushed her off of him. He squeezed her hands, his stomach twisting. The coldness - the loathing he saw in his sister's eyes as her alter Leigh stared at Jemma, horrified him. It had sent a chill through him. "...I need you to let me speak to Alsie. Leigh..."

Leigh simply glowered at him, attempting to wrest her hands out of his. His grip, however, was too firm.

"Leigh."

0Prison:

"All right. Thank you." Hotch said to one of the correctional officers as he entered the next room. His expression remained stoic even as William Reid noticed him and approached. The door shut behind him.

"Agent Hotchner...I..."

Hotch shook his head. "I understand your reason for wanting to talk with James, Mr. Reid. You needed to know about his relationship with Alsie. About..." The agent paused, deciding to move on to his next sentence. "It doesn't surprise me. What does surprise me is how you convinced the warden to let you."

He didn't elaborate, though the other man understood what he meant. Pretending to be representing James as a lawyer just to get to question him was dangerous. If the prison or law board found out, it was likely to have ramifications for William.

William Reid simply gave Hotch a look that said that he didn't and wouldn't regret his decision despite whatever consequence. It was an expression Hotch quickly and quietly profiled, meshing it with what else he realized about the man over the past couple of months. How doting and protective he was of his daughter.

"...Alsie asked you to visit him." Hotch stated, not needing nor looking for a response. Instead he glanced around the room, his expression shifting a bit. It was slight surprise and slight confusion. "Where's James? Didn't you manage to convince him to agree to answering my questions?"

"Yes. He just needed a bathroom break. The guard should be bringing him back soon." William replied, his thoughts on James. He grimaced and sighed, irritated. "...just so you know, James agreed to this interview only if I sit in as his lawyer."

"But...that..." Hotch started to reply, only to be cut off by the sound of the prison door opening.

"...oh." James smirked as he entered the room, his attention shifting from the guard escorting him to the agent. His eyes gleamed as he recognized Hotch. "Hello. I didn't think you'd get here this quick."

"James, if you'd sit so we can start..." Hotch replied. His eyes narrowed as he noticed James shake his head while smirking.

"I want something first. Then I'll answer whatever you ask." James demanded, his dark eyes lingering on the agent's face. He practically ignored William, though the man studied him curiously. "...Deal? No deal?"

"This isn't a game, James." Hotch said, irritated by the thirty-six year old's smirk.

"...No. It's not." James replied after mulling silently a moment. He moved towards the table to sit, his foot hitting the leg of the table on the way. "...uck!"

"James, are you..."

"...I'm fine." James spat, sitting down quickly after recovering. He scowled at the two men, his glare especially livid when alighted on William.

Hotch paused before sitting down himself, not from hesitance but from curiosity. His profiler eyes hadn't missed the glare the younger man gave William. It was different than the one James gave him. The one he received was simply anger while the one William had received was more of a warning. Or an unspoken demand. More baffling was the curious and concerned look William returned.

The unit chief made note of both, then sat down. "All right. First..."

"...I want to see my daughter." James interrupted, glancing at his hands before shifting his gaze to Hotch. "I want to see Jemma."

0Elsewhere:

The first thing Melissa Joyce noticed was the damp scent emanating from somewhere towards her right. It slowly expanded throughout the room but it was stronger in that direction. She swallowed, noticing then how dry her lips were; though she could smell a damp scent entering the room, the room itself felt so dry. Her head pounded, and she instinctively reached out to search for her walking stick.

She froze when a metallic rattling sound filled her ears and her reach was hindered by something wrapped around her wrists.

"No. No. Please no." She gasped, her lips trembling as she tried to wake herself up. It felt so real, this nightmare, so like the others she'd suffered through. Yet...her nightmares never had such a stench in them and the room was usually cold. And she could see in them...

Melissa trembled, becoming more worried the longer her blindness remained - evidence that it wasn't a nightmare. She was, somehow, trapped again with the psycho. He must've gotten out and come to finish her. He was supposed to be in prison for life, but somehow he'd to have escaped or...

"Where are you? Please...just let me go. Please!" She cried, and reflectively moved her arms what little way she could to block her stomach. The sound of a scuffling foot or bag could be heard across the room. "Please just let us go..."

The scuffling stopped, replaced by the sound of a sure footstep approaching. She realized the truth from the stranger's step even before he spoke, the voice not the same one as the man's who assaulted her in Western New York.

"...us?" The unknown voice asked, and Melissa tried to cover her stomach even more protectively. Her heart thumped terribly beneath her ribcage, fear enveloping her more firmly than before. "Us?"

The man repeated, what he was doing unknown to Melissa, though she sensed he was staring at her closely. She tried to squirm away, an useless endeavor because of the chains binding her ankles as well as her arms.

"Please..." She cried as strong, furious arms pulled hers away from her abdomen. "Don't...don't hurt..."

"...you..." The man growled, his glare on the just noticeable baby bump.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Fast-Forward: Part 2

Find part one: HERE.

Bright light flickered above her as she shifted underneath the heavy quilt. Claire was hot, warmer than she’d ever been in her life. The heat stifled her as she tried to dig her way out.

Seeing her distress, Jamie gently pried the duvet from the sides where Jenny had tucked it in tight. He’d been with her all night, watching and waiting as if to assure himself that she was safe.

Jenny and Ian had been raging when he’d driven home, his sister’s face alight with fury as he’d pulled his car to a stop in the drive. Rushing from the porch, Ian had tried to pull her backwards, his gaze apologetic as she’d waggled her finger at her wayward brother.

But upon seeing the small ball curled on his backseat, Jenny had stilled.

“What on earth, Jamie Fraser,” she’d whispered, opening the door and peeling back the furry blanket to reveal the tiny slip of a girl dressed in funky 18th century clothes.

“I found her. She just appeared up at Craigh na Dunn…” his voice petered out as he reached out to run a single finger along her exposed cheek.

“The fairy hill?” Jenny gasped, her eyes flickering from Jamie to the girl. “Very strange, and ye thought to bring her here...why?”

There was nothing unkind about her words, more a lilt of morbid curiosity. But as Jamie carried her from the car to the spare room, the Frasers began to feel a strange camaraderie with the stranger.

She’d slept for almost a whole day, barely moving an inch. She had been vocal though, crying out as if to quash the demons that rose behind her eyelids as she dozed.

Jenny had forced Jamie from the room as she’d stripped the lass down, removing her grubby clothes in favour of something altogether more comfortable.

Jenny’s cry had brought Jamie rushing back into the small box room just moments later as the pair looked over their new guests mangled back.

“Who would do such a thing?” Jenny gasped, holding her hands over her mouth as if to stop herself from vomiting on the spot. Jamie and Jenny swallowed simultaneously as Jamie reached forward and ghosted his hands over the deep welts. Not physically touching the wounds, he traced the lines with his fingers, his mind trying to conjure a reasonable explanation for the violence that had so harshly been leveled against her.

“She’s been thrashed,” he whispered, wishing he didn’t have to vocalise these particular notions, “wi’ a whip. Cat o’ nine probably from the look of her. There are still wee patches where ye can see how the lead balls hit her.”

“Poor thing,” Ian replied from the doorway, his eyes catching his wife-to-be’s as she ran her shaky hands through her loose hair. “Can you aid her?”

“No’ likely,” Jenny scoffed, her throat clenching painfully at the thought of having to stitch the poor creature back up again, “she’ll need to be admitted. I’ve seen them fix up men on the battlefield wi’ shrapnel wounds similar, but the chance of infection and death is still high. She’s already bordering fever as it is.”

Jamie had convinced Jenny that above all else, the wee thing needed sleep first and foremost. Doctoring could wait a day or so, and it was likely the hospital would put her to rest before any major surgery as it was.

Hovering behind the closed door, Ian held Jenny’s hand as tightly as he thought reasonable. He could see the anguish in her eyes as she shuffled her feet against the thick wooden floors.

“What are ye thinking, love?” He whispered, pausing as he listened out for Jamie mumbling over his sleeping patient.

“What if the person who hurt her is...well, ye ken verra well. If he’s her husband, we’ll have no choice but to send her back.” The words stuck painfully in Jenny’s throat as she spoke. She’d been training as a nurse before the war had started. Back in those early days she’d seen many a battered wife, all of whom had no escape from the brutality of their spouses. She knew here, at Lallybroch, they could protect her if that was the case. But only if the man responsible for her injuries didn’t catch up to them.

“Dinna werrett too much, Janet,” Ian soothed, rubbing her arms as he pulled her into his chest, “our Jamie’ll protect her...as will we.”

Feeling her limbs freed of the constraints that had held her through the night, Claire scrunched her shoulders and curled her legs up to her chest. She felt something light touch her forehead, a brief lingering whisper of contact that brought conflicting feelings to life beneath her skin. The bed beneath her was too soft for a jail cell, her surroundings too warm to be Fort William’s dank dungeons. But she knew she hadn’t been in her right mind, and the last memories she had were of the harsh ring of the British army right behind her, ready to drag her back to her hellish prison. It was entirely likely that her mind was cushioning the blow, allowing her a minutes peace before the imminent torment began again.

Sensing her reluctance to wake, Jamie busied himself. Tidying here and there, he made sure her feet were still covered as he waited for her to open her eyes naturally. Eager as he was to unlock her secrets, he also understood that employing any force in the matter would be detrimental to her recovery.

“Where am I?” Pushing herself up, Claire blinked, her pupils pained by the brightness of the room as she tried to move without disturbing the welts on her back. Her voice cracked as she spoke, her throat raw and dry from disuse.

Jamie turned, holding his hands behind his back as he took a step closer to her, his fingers fumbling in the back pockets of his trousers.

She eyed him with some trepidation as she took in his appearance. He could see the shock as her eyes darted all over the room, analysing every little fixture and fitting as if seeing it for the first time. There wasn’t much to the attic bedroom, which was one of the main reasons Jamie had for putting her up here. One small lightswitch and only a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. The fireplace was stacked with logs but the heat rose from the floors below rendered it mostly useless.

Gripping painfully onto the bedsheets, she caught sight of the light. Swallowing audibly, she sat up straight, her spine going rigid at the sight.

“W-where am I? Please…” she repeated, not looking at him as she spoke.

“Yer in the highlands, miss,” Jamie replied, dragging the wooden chair from beside the fireplace so that he could sit beside her once more. “Lallybroch to be precise, it’s near Beauly. But I found ye at Craigh na Dunn, nearer to Inverness.”

“D-did you see the soldiers...the army?” She choked, almost buckling under the pressure of the words as she stumbled as she spoke.

“Nah,” Jamie chuckled, without humour, “ye willna find the British army up there now, lassie. The ones left in service are all in Coventry, Manchester and London if no’ scattered about the places that need them the most.”

Flicking her eyes from the bulb back to Jamie, her posture seemed to loosen at his statement, the worry fading from her face as she leant sideways against the ancient headboard. The wood creaked as she did so, startling her for a split second.

“I canna keep calling ye lass though, aye? Will you tell me your name now?”

Shuffling her backside against the bed, she dragged the sheet up to cover her chest as she tilted her head to the side. Appraising him, Jamie could tell she was assessing the immediate danger, ensuring that she wasn’t about to land herself in hot water if she revealed who she really was.

“Claire,” she finally replied, obviously making her decision as she nodded her head once, “Claire Beauchamp.”

“Nice to meet ye, Claire, Claire Beauchamp,” Jamie returned, smiling as he repeated her name exactly as she’d given it to him but with a lighter tone. He hoped that injecting a little humour might relax her some.

Forgetting herself for just a moment, Claire leaned back further, flattening her back against the intricate patterning on the headboard. Gasping she reeled forwards, the sores blistering painfully as certain parts of the masterfully carved wood stuck into the semi-healed slashes that ran along the middle of her spine. Tears sprung to her eyes as she remembered the lash hitting her over and over, the merciless slap of the leather tearing chunks from her thin flesh.

Jamie stood, the legs of the chair scraping along the floor as he dashed forwards.

“Don’t...please!” Claire cried, one hand held up in surrender as the other clung to her middle as if holding herself together. “Don’t touch me.”

The words triggered distant memories and Jamie stumbled backwards, his cheeks flushed as the rage simmered beneath the surface.

“I willna touch ye, I promise, Claire. No’ if you don’t wish me to. But we have to get you seen to. If you don’t get those...wounds,” struggling to find a neutral word to describe her injuries, Jamie paused for a moment before continuing, “seen to, they’ll get infected and you’ll be verra sick.”

“I-infect?” She questioned, her damp eyes catching Jamie’s as she tried to understand his strange speech.

“Aye,” he returned, his brain working overtime to try and come up with another word for it. Maybe, he thought, looking her up and down for the millionth time, someone had kept her hostage. It had been known. Solitary men taking weans and locking them away from the world so they had no notion of...well, anything much upon their release. “They’ll become red and sore, ye ken so far?” Claire nodded.

“Dirt that’s already in yer...cuts...will linger there and cause you to become sick.”

“Does that mean you know what to do about that?” She asked hopefully, her fingers loosening their hold against the cotton fabric as she bent closer to Jamie.

“I don’t, no. But my sister does. She’s a nurse. We’ll get you to Inverness, to the hospital…”

“No!” Claire all but yelled, jumping to her knees as fear took a punishing grip on her once more. “N-no. Not Inverness.”

Jamie waited, but she didn’t qualify her statement. Instead she shifted her knees against the soft mattress and shook her head wildly, her eyes wide as saucers as her chest rose and fell at an excruciatingly fast pace.

“Claire--” he began, hoping to assuage her fears. But he could already see the cogs turning. He knew in that moment that it would take something incredibly powerful to change her mind. “Alright,” he submitted, backing up a little more as he held eye contact with her, “I willna force you to go. But,” he continued, waggling a finger in her direction as he spoke, “if Jenny’s skills dinna heal you properly and you get fever, ye have to promise you’ll let me take you to someone more senior.” Seeing her ready to argue he held up a hand to stop her, his eyes serious as he finished. “I will protect you, Claire. But that can only happen if ye let me help you too, aye?”

Nodding, Claire felt the fight leave her as she exhausted the last of her energy. Squirrelling back under the blanket, she lay on her side, eyes open and focused only on the window ledge as she tried to comprehend her new situation.

Seeing her calm *distress*, Jamie slid alongside the bed and tapped on the glass filled with water that he’d left on the bedside table.

“Drink something, Claire. For me. I’ll leave you be for a wee while, just while I go and fetch Jenny and her medical kit. Rest up.”

Closing the door softly behind him, Jamie bent his head against the door, closing his eyes as he exhaled loudly. His fists balled at his sides, he fought against the urge to throw something, deciding instead to put his anger to better use.

Stomping down the stairs, he went in search of Jenny and Ian, desperate to begin proceedings as soon as possible.

Claire listened as her savior's footsteps vanished, the sound of his footfalls disappearing as he wandered off.

Breathing in through her nose, she climbed from the bed and silently made her way to the tiny window. Sounds of whooshing had disrupted her conversation with Jamie and her eyes had glazed at the sound. Unable to place such a...racket, she’d shaken off the uneasy feeling that had taken root at the base of her spine in favour of listening to her host.

Running her fingers over the chipping wood of the windowframe, Claire looked below, her eyes catching the shine of the large blue object hidden in the shed opposite. Its black wheels gleamed in the sun, the silver metal of the rims reflecting the yellow light as midday approached. She had never seen anything like it. It *looked* like a sort of posh carriage, but there was nowhere for horses to be attached.

Odd.

Glancing to the left, she could see the windy drive as it faded beyond the tree line but nothing more *irregular* appeared, for which she was grateful.

Stepping backwards, Claire viewed the sill below her, her eyes catching the indentations that lined the old wood. Just as she was about to turn back, something twinkled, catching her gaze as she slowly stepped forwards once more.

Her fingers reached forward as her breathing began to hitch.

Jamie’s name was carved first. It was crude and jagged, as if it’d been done with a dull blade. Next to it sat ‘Jenny’, written in slightly neater font with a little more flair. But it wasn’t the names that caught her attention. There, next to the ‘e’ in Jamie was carved a date.

Trembling, the tips of her fingers traced the number over and over, her mind reeling at the digits as she tried to make some sense of it.

Finally turning her back on the facts, she stumbled back towards the bed and slid herself under the sheets. Ignoring the water, Claire pulled the duvet over her head and sunk deeper into the mattress, her whole body shaking as she muttered over and over, her words inaudible to human ears as she tried desperately not to pass out once more.

“19--46…1-9-4-6...1946.”