#end things simply because the worry grief and betrayal at being lied to is too much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 44 - Wasteland

Title: Irreverent Pt. 44 - Wasteland Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~12K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The door lies ajar, waiting for you. Aaron had disappeared past the threshold and out of sight, and your feet felt firmly planted to the floor, unwilling to move. The dread you're feeling about this upcoming conversation, overpowering everything else. You're not quite ready to talk to him immediately, the conversation with the team was still incredibly fresh as you try to make sense of the night's events so far.

John showing up out of the blue had been cathartic in a way, and you're not sure why you hadn't at least somewhat anticipated it. You knew you should've called him after your father's death, but back then you'd been so caught up in the torrent of everything else - with Aaron coming back and Emily being alive, the Senate hearing and you and Aaron not talking, mixed with the fear of the repercussions of you killing your own father. Reaching out to John hadn't been an immediate thought. By the time it occurred to you, it felt like it had been too late and you didn't want to stir up old wounds for no reason. You and John had done a remarkable job at a clean cut - you'd never once reached out and neither had he, respecting your decision.

Seeing him again - it was like your soul reuniting with its twin. Telling him everything had been so easy - he had been the one to see you through the worst time in your life. He had been the only other person equally devastated by Julian’s death. He’d been your friend and confidante. When you’d told him about your father, it had taken him a moment. A moment to process the gravity of it all. But then he’d looked at you and he was so proud. No one else had ever understood - not Aaron, not Derek, not Emily. None of them understood that you had executed the only option. If your father could get Doyle out of maximum security in the Balkans, there hadn’t been a hope in this world that he would be truly punished for his crimes. Simply seeing him arrested would’ve never been enough. The Bible says an eye for eye for a reason. You’d had no choice. John knew. Only he knew.

When he’d leaned down and kissed you afterwards, you saw it for what it was. It hadn’t been a resurgence of all of your old feelings for one another. It was new, hopeful - it had been the two of you how it was meant to be, freed from the shadow of Julian’s disapproval, family responsibility, and your father’s betrayal. But it wasn’t the same for you - not anymore. Not until Aaron had you understood the difference between a soul your own recognizes as its twin and one that it chooses as its partner.

John had taken it well, all things considered.

You could imagine after how you'd ended it, after the shock of it all wore off, how upset he must've been. The anger he must've felt. You'd ignored his feelings for the duration of your intimate relationship with him, finding it easier to shove them to the side in favor of keeping your head down and focused. It was only in the aftermath, after you'd removed yourself from the one track mindset you'd adopted in your charge towards bringing your father down, that you allowed yourself to really think about how badly you must've hurt him. You knew you had to remove yourself from his life in order to cause no further harm - for the both of you.

John would forever hold a place in your heart. No matter how much you’d tried to ignore it for the duration of your relationship with him, you had loved him. He had been your love for years and years - starting as a childish crush and morphing into so much more. There were days during your relationship with Matthew - early on - when you regretted not ignoring Julian’s ultimatum to John. You’d nearly had a moment of weakness at Dom and Katie’s wedding - nearly asked John to not only be your first kiss but to be your first everything. But you’d known that he wouldn’t have been content with just that. Not then. You’d been far too in deep with doing the right thing by your family then.

Of course it had come to a head when you’d realized that this could be your life - a life of being Matthew’s wife and being your father’s puppet. The Thanksgiving that Matthew had proposed, you’d gone home with the full intention of telling John you wanted out - out of Matthew, out of your father, out of everything. You wanted him. But then, he’d been with Cece again and he’d smiled when he spoke of her, his beautiful blue eyes twinkling with this happiness - that joy that comes from something new that is wonderful in the most unexpected of ways. You couldn’t do that to him then - not if he was properly moving on even when you’d been unable to after four years. Then of course Matthew had proposed and what else was there… You’d said yes because he’d asked.

After Matthew, after how he had treated you in the final months of your relationship, it was like you shut down. The number of times you left halfway with some guy, the number of times you tried to convince yourself to just close your eyes and do it with someone else, just once - just once to get it over with so you could move past the Matthew thing. You weren’t able to. Try as you might, Matthew had flipped something in you and you weren’t able to turn it back on your own. It would've taken a miracle for you to trust someone like that again. John had been your miracle. His grief-stricken face, his soft lips, his gentle touch. How could you not have trusted him? Even afterwards, when you realized that you needed more. More than was fair to ask of him. More than you could give back. He had given you everything. Done everything. Been everything.

That final time, you’d gone back to him thinking you could finally give him everything too. He deserved it. He deserved you at your best. Even when, afterwards, you realized how intricately linked he was to Julian - how you couldn’t separate the two of them in your mind if you tried. They were brothers. They were brothers far more than Dominic and Julian had ever been. John, however, even then, when you knew you were breaking his heart and yours, he had been nothing short of perfect. You owed him so much.

Getting over him was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do.

Your arm is throbbing once again, so you make your way towards the kitchen, the sound of your heels echoing against the marble flooring. You take a couple more of the painkillers, downing some water, as you continue to stare at the opening to the bedroom, one hand clutched around the pendant dangling from your neck as your fingers fret around it.

You feel as though you’re staring into a dark pit while you try to gather your wits about you for the upcoming conversation with Aaron. You know - so very completely - how hurt he must be. Seeing John kiss you and then subsequently learning that you'd told John one of the biggest secrets of your lives alongside the rest of the team - none of this was easy. You'd had a near meltdown when an intern had so much as flirted with him - and that was an intern who meant absolutely nothing. A stranger. He'd watched as someone who knew you at least as intimately as Aaron himself, kissed you. The two of them were probably the people who knew you best in the entire world and you'd always gone out of your way to not bring up John to Aaron. You know how you sometimes feel threatened by his connection to Haley - which is entirely irrational in and of itself, and yet it is there. You'd never wanted him to question his place and prominence in your life. John might know the old you, but Aaron knows you now, and no one could hold a light to him when it came to that. It's that thought - the belief that Aaron knows you even if he doesn't know everything about you, that gives you the courage to go to him.

You walk gingerly towards the bedroom, trying hard to tread softly so your heels don't hit the floors quite as thunderously as before. You're almost reluctant to cross that entrance. Only the dim lights around the perimeter of the room are on, casting shadows all around.

Aaron's seated at the edge of the bed, still fully dressed - sans jacket, which you'd left on the couch outside - feet resolutely planted to the floor, elbows rested on his knees and arms crossed loosely in front with his head bent downwards, staring at his own shoes. He doesn't look up as you enter, even though you're certain he can hear and feel your presence in the room. You carefully close the door to the room behind you, being deliberate to avoid anymore unnecessary noise in order to not bother any of the rest of the occupants.

"Aaron." Your voice comes out so low that for a moment you worry that you'd spoken only in your head and not out loud.

He doesn't even look up.

You falter. He's not even acknowledging your presence. The balls of your feet hurt while you stand near the doorway, thinking through your next step as you watch him sit on the bed, motionless.

He's entirely in the right to be angry with you, and you know you need to allow him to be upset. He can't be made to feel like he somehow has to console you. In that moment, you make a deal with yourself. You will not cry. Not a single tear will fall in front of him, because you know Aaron. You don't want him to feel manipulated or otherwise influenced by your feelings and your emotions. He is far too affected when you're upset and will do everything within his power to make you feel better. He deserves to feel through his emotions without putting his needs on the backburner for you.

Making up your mind, you move towards him, stopping right in front and lowering yourself to your knees at his feet. Your heels dig into your behind, which you ignore.

You look up at him, placing your hands on his knees and forcing his typically warm brown eyes to meet yours. "I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm so sorry you saw that. I am so sorry," you breathe out, trying to maintain your composure and keep your hands from shaking.

He looks up at you sharply, his eyes flickering over your face, trying to understand what you’d just said. "Are you sorry that it happened or are you sorry that I saw it happen?" he rasps out, his throat dry and scratchy.

You're taken aback by his words, unsure of how to respond, realizing your slip. It was John though, and as much as you love Aaron, you have a very difficult time saying no to John for anything. Four years ago, if he had asked you to stay, you would have done it for him. When he'd kissed you, you hadn't pushed him away, despite not responding in kind. You couldn't bear to reject him that way. When the two of you had both seen Aaron standing across the street, when you'd told him that you were with Aaron, John had been entirely contrite, apologizing profusely, offering to go talk to Aaron himself if that would help at all. But, you can't bring yourself to lie to Aaron, and your subsequent silence tells him everything he needs to know.

You can see the faint glimmer of tears in Aaron's eyes before he turns his head away from you and blinks. You have to bite your lip and force yourself to focus on the stinging pain from that in order to prevent your own tears. You promised yourself that you wouldn't.

"I think I need some space," he says turning back and looking at a spot on the wall above your head, his words a whispered sigh. He won't look at you anymore.

Your hands are tight fists as you take in what he'd asked for, your heart threatening to burst out of its cage as it dawns on you exactly how bad this is for Aaron to ask for space. The two of you have never done that before. Arguments get resolved by bedtime. You both stay in the room and you talk it out until either one person gives in or you arrive at a compromise. Never once have you gone to bed angry with Aaron. It might work for some couples, but that had never been the case for you. But, if that's what he needs, of course you'll give it to him. You'd give him whatever he asked for.

You exhale on a shaky nod, lips tight so as to prevent the choked whimper in your throat from materializing. Dropping your hands from his knees, you push yourself up on your own, wobbling unsteadily in the heels, your eyes trained firmly on Aaron as you slowly back away towards the bathroom. Maybe if you just took a shower and he had a chance to sit by himself and think, he'd be ready to talk.

You look at him a final time as he continues to stare past you, before closing the door to the bathroom behind. You don't lock it - you never lock the door when it's just the two of you.

You turn on the shower, letting the loud rush of water be your cover as you finally allow yourself to fall apart. Stumbling out of the heels, you sink to the floor, thighs meeting your chest as you drop your head to your knees, unable to hold in your tears any longer. You can feel yourself tremble as you're fully wracked by sobs - the overwhelming feeling of dread and impending doom taking over any rational part of you, as your breath swells and your lungs struggle to pull in any air at all.

Your mind is a swirl of the past week - of Aaron and you that first night in this very bathroom, of him holding you after you made the deal with Terry, the night up on the roof where he pledged forever to you, his face after the fire. On a loop - Aaron being giving and kind, Aaron comforting you, Aaron loving you, Aaron worrying about you. He was perfect. You were anything but.

At least ten minutes have passed, if the small clock on the counter is accurate, before you have enough control over yourself in order to stand up and slip out of the dress, resorting to yanking it off clumsily since you couldn't reach the zipper without help. You catch sight of your reflection in the mirror - your makeup had bled down your face and your previously sleek ponytail is held together barely after you'd run your hands through it only minutes ago out of frustration at your inability to stop crying.

You finally stand under the steady stream of hot water, letting it scald your skin as you try to burn away the memory of tonight - of John's kiss, of Aaron's face afterwards, of his unending silence and empty stare. You scrub your skin harshly and lather the shampoo vigorously through your hair - the disappointment in yourself for having been the cause of Aaron's pain, propelling you to take vengeance upon your own body as penance.

There's a part of you that expects him to enter the shower after you as he often has before. Slipping in behind you and taking you in his arms, telling you all is forgiven and that you're both alright, before meeting your lips and erasing even the impression of another's lips against yours to dust. What wouldn't you give for that to be the case.

Your fingers have pruned considerably and the steam in the bathroom is starting to suffocate you with its heaviness before you feel prepared to face him once again. You dry yourself off with a fair amount of trepidation, as the anticipation of speaking with him builds. You find an old pair of pajamas in the closet, foregoing grabbing the pair in your go bag so that you can emerge fully clothed, instead of appearing to be attemping some sort of cheap ploy for his forgiveness.

You steel yourself in front of the door, fully dressed, semi wet tendrils of hair falling down your back as well as by the side of your face. You open the door and exit back into the room, only to find it empty. You think maybe he'd gone to speak with Rossi or maybe even Emily - get some sort of outside perspective on the matter. You can't fault him for that. Either one of them would only help. However, as you make your way into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, you notice that his jacket that you'd set on the arm of the couch is also missing.

He'd left.

*------------*

Aaron had stared at the closed bathroom door after you'd disappeared behind it. He hadn't heard the clicking of a lock, so he knows you've left it open for him if he so chooses.

His mind is reeling from everything and he hates himself for acting so cold towards you while he processes it all. It's very much like how he was with Haley when they would argue - he'd shut down emotionally and take the time to process his feelings and then discuss them with her afterwards. While that wasn't necessarily unhealthy, it wasn't how things worked between you and him. You two talked. He explained his thought process to you because you would also at least understand his reasoning even if you didn't always agree with it. He could tell you why he was being a certain way or why he'd made a particular call and instead of getting upset with him about it or refusing to even consider his reason as valid - which was how it often went with Haley and ultimately led to him withdrawing explanations around his decisions - you listened. You gave him the time and opportunity to talk through his rationale and if you had logical or even emotional reasons for disagreeing with him, you'd explain too. Fights with you were nothing like fights he was used to in a relationship. With the pure standout exception of the time after you'd resigned, you'd never once raised your voice at him and he was cognizant of never doing the same.

His vision had blurred after you'd crossed the street and approached him. Things had felt hazy around the edges.

The walk back to the apartment had been miserably long despite being maybe only five or ten minutes. He finds himself shutting you out because that was an easier way to keep himself in check.

He hadn't expected to feel the rage that he did. Disappointment and sadness was one thing - hurt feelings, sure. But anger was simply not a feeling that he associated with you and he's not sure where it's stemming from exactly but he knows it isn't just about the fact that he saw someone else kiss you. It's not about the kiss because that's how he keeps framing it to himself - someone else kissing you. There had not been a single thing that made it seem like you had kissed back and in his gut he knows you hadn't. So it's not quite the kiss itself that he's angry about, but it is something.

Aaron had listened intently when you'd explained to the team why you'd told John about the Doyle mission. How he'd been the only person you'd had in the aftermath of Julian's death - how he was the only one that understood. That John deserved to know. Aaron wanted to challenge that - what exactly had John done that earned him that particular privilege? Not like he'd know even if John had done something especially remarkable - you'd never spoken to him about John. Not to him at least. Morgan apparently had known. Aaron hadn't. He has to wonder why that is. What is it about John that makes you not want to talk to Aaron about him?

He'd gone into the bedroom afterwards and waited for you, unsure of what to expect. His head feels heavy and he just slumps down as he waits, the coiling pit in his stomach feels like lead. He'd give just about anything for this entire week to have never happened. He should've just told you to stay home and enjoy your time off and none of this would've happened. If he could close his eyes and wish it all away, he would. In a heartbeat. He would.

You'd walked in and then before he could quite bring himself to look up, you'd crossed the floor and were right in front of him. The next second you're kneeling at his feet and that surge of panic he feels comes out of nowhere because what was this. He couldn't have ever imagined you kneeling in front of him in this manner, in such obvious repentance, and he doesn't want this. He doesn't want this at all but he's entirely frozen as the panic winds itself around his veins and squeezes tight, holding him in place. You tell him you're sorry - you're sorry that he saw. You hadn't wanted him to see. So, are you sorry that it happened or sorry that he saw? When he asks you, your silence seems to stretch out for an eternity as the panic gives way to the much uglier rage that he had pushed down outside the bar earlier. He can't possibly ignore what you said.

He needed space. He'd never quite needed that from you before, but right then he'd never felt more disconnected from you. He couldn't understand anything you'd done that night - from leaving with John, to telling him about Doyle and your father, to being kissed by him, to the apology you'd given Aaron. None of it made sense to him. He had to force himself to ignore the look on your face when he said he needed space. That entirely broken and confused look that would tell him you were in the same dark place he was because this wasn't you and it wasn't him and the two of you just…existed with one another so easily it was like there wasn't even another person there. So how could he possibly need space from you?

Before he could stop himself, he'd left the bedroom and was downstairs in front of the building. He had needed a moment to clear his head - fresh air - before he spoke with you again and he really didn't want to risk misspeaking and inadvertently making the situation worse. Hearing the shower turn on in the bathroom, knowing you'd left the door unlocked in the hope that he might just decide to let it all go - he couldn't just give in to that quite yet. He wasn't able to even if he tried.

Aaron could feel the rage boiling in his chest again as the scene of John kissing you plays over and over again in his head. You had allowed it. There was really no way around that. Maybe he hadn't known and maybe you hadn't reciprocated. Maybe. But you'd allowed it. You'd allowed him to get close. Allowed him to lean down. Allowed him to meet your lips. Allowed him the chance to linger. Allowed him to move away at his leisure. You'd allowed it. All of it. What the fuck was he supposed to make of that?

You were sorry that he saw - he can't help but repeat that over and over in his head. Did you even feel remorse that it happened at all? If your apology was to be taken at face value, then no. He can't help the rage that thought induces - the idea that you were perfectly alright with someone else kissing you. Not just someone else either - John. John whom you had gone with so willingly. John who you had gotten matching tattoos with. John who had known you in New York and likely knew all about you. John who had been there for you your entire life and had history with you that Aaron couldn't hope to compete with.

To top that all off, you had gone and told John about the Doyle mission. A classified mission. You hadn't even simply told him the high level details that he had carefully articulated in the case. You had told him everything - the cleverly disguised secret that he, Morgan, and Prentiss all kept for you. You had left them all open to implication and they'd all just trusted you. While he trusted you too, you could've at least asked him or talked to him about it beforehand? You could've run it by him and see if maybe it wasn't such a good idea. Yet you hadn't. You'd just gone off and told him and he was supposed to be alright with it. Accept it.

He walks a couple of laps around the block of the building, the night chill forcing him to burrow into his jacket further. It smelled like you - the scent of fresh pears and freesia mixed with the sweet vanilla citrus smell that seemed to always linger on you no matter what, invades his senses and he suppresses an audible groan at the memory of that scent wrapped around him. They say smell is the best memory agent and Aaron was very much struggling to repel the memories the scent of you carried with it. He didn't want to think of you in that way.

He'd walked a couple of blocks further and found himself back outside the bar the team had been at earlier. Wanting a reprieve from the chill and perhaps a drink to calm his nerves, he enters into the warmth of the bar, gratefully taking off the jacket as he goes. He finds a spot to one side of the bar top opposite from anyone else and waits for the bartender to notice him. The bartender appears to be engaged in a conversation with a regular and Aaron isn't immediately successful in getting his attention. Before he can attempt again, he feels and then sees from the corner of his eye, a body slide into the stool right next to him, despite there being quite a few open seats down from him.

Aaron turns to see the same man from earlier, his leather jacket in one hand and a crystal glass of amber liquid in the other, settle down next to him. He freezes entirely. Aaron had not prepared for this possibility.

He watches apprehensively out of the corner of his eye as John settles in, and then turns to the bartender. "Tom," he calls out in a familiar manner, "Can you get this man here a drink?"

There was an ease with which he carried himself, Aaron notes. He's a regular at this place too - likely had been with you. He's undoubtedly nervous, the slightly tensed shoulders and fidgety fingers giving him away. He hasn't quite looked in Aaron's direction entirely yet, and Aaron wasn't about to be the one to initiate whatever this was. He watches as the bartender - Tom - turns away from the other customers and grabbing a bottle of the same top shelf scotch you keep stocked at home, he settles a glass in front of Aaron and pours out two fingers worth. He also refills John's glass at his indication, before turning away.

Aaron stares at the drink in front of him, shoulders very tense, waiting. The drink was an obvious gesture of peace, but the loop of John kissing you earlier is on repeat with drums on in his head. His hands tighten into fists, resting on his thighs, jaw clenched tightly, the warmth in the bar becoming just this side of too much.

"We didn't get a chance to be properly introduced earlier," John says, finally breaking the silence, his voice a little heavier and his speech indicative of him having already had a couple of drinks prior to Aaron's arrival. "John Hawthorne," he says, pointing to himself, "and you're Aaron Hotchner."

Aaron blinks, entirely unsure of how to react, apprehensively looking up until he meets John's eyes. Aaron nods once, slowly, eyeing him carefully, trying to work out exactly what his agenda was. John was tense as well, looking at Aaron cautiously. It was a near bizarre situation to even be sitting here side by side with this person and Aaron felt wholly unprepared. He's not sure what life experience could possibly have prepared him for this - with Haley he hadn't even confronted her directly.

A part of him wants to just get up and walk away, but he feels compelled to stay - like no matter what happens next, he should see this through. He turns away from John and lifting the glass, takes a sip of the scotch. The familiar taste sits on his tongue and then rushes down his throat, leading to a pleasant burn in his chest that really warms him up. At least now he knew where you acquired a taste for good scotch from. He briefly wonders what else you'd gotten from John, before shaking that particular train of thought away.

John mirrors his action, as though drinking a shot of liquid courage, even though Aaron is quite certain by now that this is well past his first drink. However, he's a pretty large guy and it appears to have only loosened him up rather than making him drunk. Aaron is careful not to look too closely at the tattoo on John's wrist. It's familiarity serves only to cause a pang in his chest, a physical reminder of how very intimately he knows that date which he really didn't care for at the moment. It was a bit ridiculous how viscerally physical of a reaction he has to even memories of you.

Apparently having drawn the strength he needed, John continues. "I'm sorry," he articulates, "about earlier," undoubtedly referring to the moment when his lips had touched yours merely an hour or so prior. Aaron wondered whether the outline of the two of you under that street lamp was burned into the cement pavement underneath. His eyes had bored into you hard enough. It was a possibility.

Aaron bites his tongue to avoid reacting outwardly. It was an apology, sure. So far, a better apology than yours had been, discounting the fact that John hadn't gotten down on his knees.

"I didn't know she was with someone. I am sorry if that caused any problems for the two of you."

Aaron grunts, finally acknowledging that he'd heard and takes another sip, choosing to focus fully on savoring the taste of it on his tongue before allowing the burn to settle in his chest. He really had nothing to offer there - even if words were possible he wouldn't know which way to string them together.

"Though," John breathes out a humorless half laugh, "I guess it did cause problems if you're sitting here with me and not back with her."

Aaron's jaw clenches at the jab, whether intentional or not. Perhaps the two of you had gone to the same pretentious day school where they taught how to craft together not-so-great apologies.

John backs up a little, clearly picking up on how that had gone over.

It's quiet for a bit as the two of them drink silently side by side. Aaron has nothing to say to John. Yet, at least. His thoughts go back to what you'd said earlier to the team - how John had been all you'd had after Julian died and you learned the truth. He feels his intestines coil with the realization of how entirely alone you'd been then. You'd been twenty two years old, all alone, fresh out of an engagement with your entire world crashing around you. Julian's death was one thing, but finding out that it was your father who'd made the call was soul wrenchingly horrifying. You'd gone overnight from being a Harvard graduate with her entire life in front of her to questioning everyone and everything. John had been there - he had apparently been the one person you could bring yourself to put some faith in.

"She told me, you know," John says, his voice a near mumble that Aaron has to strain to hear over the noise in the bar. "About what you did for her - with her father...thank you."

Aaron finds himself nodding. Of course you'd told him that as well. He looks at the man next to him carefully. Seeing John sitting there - despite everything - that was proof that the two of you would seemingly do anything for each other. Aaron doesn't know if he could've sat there in John's place. But John had sat and apologized and that was a lot more than most people would be able to do. Aaron knows he's doing it for you.

"That vengeance, that drive to conquer him, for a while that was the only thing that kept her going - as ugly as it was, it was something," he adds. "The pain of losing Julian and finding out the truth about him, it was all too much for her." His hands shake a bit around his glass. "There was a time - back then - when I'd go to bed every day scared I'd lose them both."

There's something about John's words that prickles a thought in Aaron's brain and he turns to look at John, his eyes downcast, fingers fidgeting with the rim of his glass, shoulders hunched and turned ever so slightly away from Aaron. He was the picture of a man who had said too much, and Aaron finds himself going back and dissecting that confession. He'd been afraid to lose both of you…

It's quiet again while Aaron broods on what was just said and John sits stoically beside him, keeping him company in his meditations.

Aaron couldn't discount the importance - that position John held in your life. He was more struck by the fact that, despite the significance of John in your life, he'd hardly ever heard of him. He's left feeling like there were two versions of you - the one that you showed him and the real version. The version that had been systematically sequestered away in Manhattan these past few years as though it had no significance to the person you were today.

He realizes that was at least a large part of the anger. The entire week had been a walk down memory lane for you, revealing all of these parts of your life that he knew about in only the vaguest of senses. He had been led to believe that he knew everything there was to know about you and he was confronted with the reality that that might not be the case. It had all culminated with John, but truth be told, John had merely been the tipping point. He'd been feeling odd about this the entire week, from the moment you'd mentioned you still maintained a residence in New York.

He looks at John again, whose head is bent over, shoulders hunched as he focuses on the drink in his hand. Aaron can feel that your secret is safe with him, despite not knowing him at all. You trusted him. That's what mattered.

"She seems happy," John says, speaking up again as he turns to look at Aaron, having felt his gaze, a small smile on his lips in contrast to the sadness Aaron can see evident in his eyes. "I didn't really see her happy until that last time, and I know that you and your team are the reason for that happiness - that you especially are part of that."

Aaron has to suppress the smile that almost appears on his face. He covers it with the glass of scotch in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth once again. It was somewhat validating to have someone who knew you so well attest to your happiness - yours and his and your collective happiness. Aaron hadn't been around for your lowest points - he'd run when Emily died and in the aftermath of your father's death he'd been estranged from you. John had been there after Julian. Of all people, he had been witness to the wasteland that you'd inhabited in the aftermath.

John had been there. He'd been it for you.

Aaron thinks he finally understands what you meant when you said that you were sorry that he saw it happen - he's pretty sure it would've happened no matter what. He can't quite blame John for seeing you after God only knew how long, thinking you had finally vanquished the evil that was your father, seeing you happy - he might not be alright with what had happened, but he could follow the thought process.

The ill will Aaron had felt towards John was slowly lifting. The good scotch definitely helped.

"You know that last time, she seemed lighter and happier than I'd seen her in two years. She came for Christmas and it was like having her back - it was what I'd been waiting for that whole time. She told me about some kid's birthday party she was going to - we talked about what presents a two year old would want and it was funny because she had no idea," he said, a fond smile on his face.

Aaron chuckles, surprisingly even himself. "I'm pretty sure that was our son Jack's birthday," he says, before realizing his own words. He did think of Jack as yours - has forever. But it was one thing to think it, and another to verbalize it to a near stranger. Especially this one.

John seems momentarily surprised but takes it in stride, and Aaron can't help but feel his respect for this man grow. It would take a lot for someone in his position to not react to a statement like that.

"How'd he like the Lego Death Star?" John asks, remembering what the two of you had landed on as an appropriate present.

"We spent a few weekends building it. It still sits in his room," Aaron replies, allowing his shoulders to ease up.

John smiles. "Good. She would've never come up with that on her own, you know. She was looking up stuff online and was about to buy one of those little car things, but I figured not all parents want their toddler zooming around in a scale replica Lamborghini."

Aaron actually laughs at that. Of course that's what you'd thought to get for Jack, never being one to do anything small. As much as Jack would've loved that, him and Haley would've had their hands full running after him.

It was good to know that some things about you were still very much the same as they'd always been. That birthday party had been towards the beginning of you, him, and Jack hanging out together. In the early days, that’s primarily what happened. Aaron had been fresh out of the divorce with Haley and he was struggling with Jack. It made him feel like a poor father - one who couldn’t take care of his son by himself. Over time it had gotten a lot easier, but those first few months of his and Haley’s arrangement had only been bearable because of you. You’d helped make that transition so easy. You had such a natural and effortless relationship with Jack from the start - he’d envied it. Both him and Haley had struggled in the beginning, as he was sure that all new parents do. It’s likely a lot easier when the child isn’t entirely your responsibility. However, regardless of that, having you around with Jack had helped a lot. He remembers how you’d gotten him a Smithsonian family pass, and it had resulted in you being asked to accompany the two of them as the pass accommodated up to four people. In that time, he often fantasized about asking you out - just you. Without a Jack in one hand and a bag of snacks and juice boxes in the other. But he didn’t think it would go over well. You were there for Jack. Any friendship you and Aaron had was a byproduct of that. Over time, sure, things had changed. But there was always that nagging voice in his head that told him that you were with him because of Jack.

He’s driven out of his thoughts by a friendly nudge to his shoulder. Aaron shakes himself out of his reverie, a little surprised by how at ease he felt around this guy. He didn’t think that would have been possible an hour ago and yet here he sat beside him, having a drink together, sharing a laugh. It was truly a strange turn of events.

John nods towards the empty glass in front of Aaron, “Another?” he asks, eyebrow quirked up in a manner that feels far too familiar.

Aaron notes the time on his watch, realizing he’s been gone far too long - longer than he’d meant to be away for.

He shakes his head and stands, grabbing his jacket, before turning to John. “Next time,” he says with a slight uptick of his jaw, sticking his hand out.

John appears surprised by Aaron’s words, and it takes him a second to react. However once he does, his smile reaches his eyes and he shakes Aaron’s hand firmly.

*------------*

Realizing that Aaron had left had pushed you into a near panicked state, and you'd had to force yourself to not go to Emily’s or Derek's rooms and simply cry. He'd left and that was not something you'd been prepared for at all. If he'd left - he'd been unable to be around you for even a second more - that could only mean the worst.

He'd needed space. This night had been a lot - for both of you - and he had said he needed space. You'd thought that meant like half an hour so you'd taken an extra long shower. But now…did that mean more? Did he mean that he needed space from you entirely?

You do your best to control your breathing as your brain goes into overdrive. It was much harder without him there to help you, rubbing your back and whispering soothingly into your ear.

You needed something to focus on, so you decided to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer before doing another run through of the bedroom and closet gathering any remaining dirty clothes. You manage to sweep both the common spaces and the bedroom while you wait. Wait and think. There wasn’t much else to be done.

If Aaron wanted space - true space - if he wanted a break or even to break up (the thought alone made you want to curl up into a ball and lie on the floor again) - however if that was what he wanted, he was well within his rights to demand it. While you might not think you'd cheated, there was a possibility that Aaron had, especially after you'd admitted that you'd done nothing to stop the kiss, merely hadn't reciprocated in kind. But perhaps that was enough. With Aaron especially, someone who valued loyalty so highly, it might be enough.

There's always been a part of you that thought there was more to his and Haley's divorce and Aaron was never one to speak ill of Haley, but sometimes you wondered. Derek had told you that Aaron had requested a transfer at one point, which had somehow gone away very close to his and Haley's divorce.

Maybe it wasn't even the kiss though, but everything else around it. Bringing up all of the stuff with your father, John, Julian - stuff that for the most part is not brought up anymore. You've noticed - how could you not - that Aaron has struggled this week upon learning a lot of your past. You know the stalker thing bothered him even if he didn't vocalize it. You know the photographers bothered him even if he played along. John definitely was part of the reason for the upset currently, and in many ways John was periphery to everything else. You were the eye of the storm - your very presence brought with it chaos. It was too much. It was all far too much for any reasonable person to want to handle. You were too much.

It would be a lot for a normal person - someone with a laidback job who could afford to extend themselves to the specific brand of bedlam that you tried to sell in a pretty package. But for Aaron - the man who already carried the burden of the world on his shoulders - it was far too much to expect for him to bear this as well. You shouldn't. A better person - a good person - would leave him in peace. A peace that can't ever really be achieved when your mind itself is the source of tumult. Sure, you put on a good act, but Aaron can see through the cracks, you're sure. This week had given him a front row seat to exactly how fucked in the head you really were. Good girls, normal girls, they don't invite stalkers, they don't have paparazzi following them, they don't have ex-whatevers showing up just to be told about the secret mission where they murdered their own father.

Not for the first time, you find yourself thinking how much better off Aaron would be with someone else - someone sweet and kind whose hands were clean. You had far too much red in your ledger to make up for. Things he didn't even know about. Things no one knew about.

You try to do your best to compartmentalize. As difficult as it was in this case, you needed to separate your feelings from reality and manage them individually if possible. If Aaron's intention would be to end it, then what? You'd have to sit down and talk to Jack - hopefully together. Explain that things would be changing a bit, but that it wouldn't change anything between you and Jack. Knowing Aaron, by now, he'd want you to be in Jack's life still even if he might not want you in his. The primary goal for the both of you would be to ensure that Jack's life didn't lose the stability it had.

It would be easier for you to move out rather than to have Jack and Aaron move. But then Aaron would get all weird about staying in your home even though it's been his and Jack's home as well. But initially, at least, it would be easier for it to be just you - until you can help him find a different place. You could easily just stay in a hotel temporarily. You're away a lot lately anyways. Make things easier on Jack, Mrs. Avery - their routines didn't have to change. Speaking of Mrs. Avery, you'd need to talk to Aaron about working something out for her payment - right now Aaron paid for her but that was without rent and she wasn't exactly cheap. You could change the stipulations of the trust to cover any of Jack's expenses - assuming Aaron was alright with that.

Then there was the matter of the Christmas in Paris booking - you'd have to contact your travel agent and figure that out. Maybe you could rebook it and Jack and Aaron could still enjoy a trip, maybe even Europe still. Jack had been really looking forward to it. He wanted to have scones in England and croissants in Paris. That kid was just as much into pastries and dessert as you were. Aaron blamed you for that entirely.

But then - he'd promised he wouldn't leave you. Aaron was good at keeping his promises. He might also feel some sort of odd obligation to hold himself to that promise he’d made to you in the beginning. That he wouldn’t break your heart. In which case, maybe it was up to you to rip off the bandaid. Do what he couldn't. It would be less painful for you both in the long run. Cut your losses now, before too much was invested. You'd only moved in together and while there were days you felt like you were practically married, that really wasn't the case at all. He wouldn't have to wait as long as he had after Haley. It wasn't a divorce really. A breakup. A simple breakup. People breakup everyday. In a few months or a year he could find someone else. Jack was an adorable child. Anyone would love to be around him.

Breaking your own heart was allowed.

You would be alright, you told yourself. Eventually. You would have to work out some sort of agreement with him about Jack. Maybe every other weekend. But you would be alright. Eventually. It would suck of course in the beginning, but well, you were busy. You'd been debating the whole partnership with Clyde and telling him you were out after this assignment wrapped up, but that didn't necessarily have to be the case. You could transfer. You could move entirely. The world was your oyster. You'd just have to figure out something with Jack.

When it came to the team, McKinney's redesignation of you couldn't have come at a more opportune time. More likely than not this was one of your last cases with the team, so it shouldn't change the dynamics there too much. Emily and Derek would try to blame him, but you'd sit them down and explain that it was your fault. You were the culprit, the reason it didn't work out, not him. He had done his best to put up with all the baggage you came laden with and truly it wasn't his fault. It was just too cumbersome to help carry for any person. Especially if they came with heavy crap of their own.

The dryer beeps and you go to take out Aaron's load of laundry out and carry it into the room, dumping it onto the bed so that you can fold it while it’s still warm, to avoid wrinkles. He hates wrinkles.

It would be alright, you chanted to yourself repeatedly. Everything would be alright. He would end it, and you would survive. You could survive it. If he couldn't, you'd have to do it for him, and that would take its toll, but it was better for him and for Jack. It would be alright. You just had to keep telling yourself that. You've survived worse than being broken up with by Aaron Hotchner. This too shall pass and all that.

You get up to grab Aaron's go bag from under the settee so that you can put his clothes away in there. It feels empty save for one thing rattling around in there at the bottom, and you're about to unzip it and put everything away, when you hear the door to the bedroom open. You'd been so focused on the task at hand that you hadn't even heard the elevator come up.

You turn and see Aaron, who looks at you apprehensively. You feel your stomach clench at the sight of him. Setting his bag down you silently move out of the way, shifting towards the bed.

There’s a beat where he just watches you from the threshold and it is overwhelmingly tense. Then he enters, closing the door behind him silently.

Aaron proceeds to where his pile of fresh laundry sat on top of the ottoman and he starts changing, shedding his clothes. You avert your eyes, instead focusing on the pattern of the duvet cover, following the lines there instead.

Was he expecting you to speak? He'd been the one to say he needed space, and you weren't sure it was your place to be the first to speak up now. He had seemed to make it clear that he'd rather not hear what you have to say, and you can't blame him. You'd apologized and even that hadn't been quite right because you'd messed up and stated the truth.

"I'm sorry."

You look up at the sound of his voice. He's changed into his pajamas and for a second you find your eyes trailing over him entirely before you snap yourself out of it. This could be the last time you see him like this. You blink to refocus on him as he stands, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. At least he was talking to you. He doesn't seem angry really but you find yourself unable to otherwise read him.

You must look confused, because he clarifies, "I'm sorry for leaving."

You nod, standing up. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice incredibly hoarse, forcing you to clear your throat.

A large sigh leaves him as he shifts and begins to walk closer. You brace yourself. Here it comes.

"Y/N, this week - this entire week - I feel like there are so many things I don't know about you."

Suddenly all you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears, as you force yourself to nod. You have to ball your hands into fists to hide the shakiness, nails digging into your palms.

"I don't think it can go on like this."

Right - of course he's right. It couldn't. You can't expect people to be confronted by your past and all the weird, messy, ugly, scary stuff and want to stick around. Before, maybe, he'd thought of you - outside of the whole business with your father - as just that girl that works with him. Now, however, he wouldn't be able to look past everything as it confronted him too head on. So he was going to do it. He was going to end it. This was it.

You nod again, your vision blurring at the edges as you continue to stare at him. You can feel the air rush away from you and the walls feel like they're closing in.

I can't do this.

"I - I'm sorry," you manage, before quickly brushing by him and running to the bathroom, closing the door behind you, clicking the lock into place.

I can't do this.

I can't, I can't, I can't.

Your breathing becomes harsher by the second and the tears are there and your hands are shaking and it's really, really hard to think or stop. The blood was pounding in your ears and your heart was thudding loudly and you wanted it to stop. You’d give anything to make it stop. Silence. You need complete silence. How do you claw your way out of your own body to achieve it?

Your hands cup your face, feeling the tears there despite trying to stop. You can feel your nails dragging down your face, fingers trembling on the way down. Why was breathing so hard right now? You can feel your windpipe closing while simultaneously feeling bile in your throat.

On the other side of the door, Aaron's eyes had widened as you came towards him, and then quickly rushed to the bathroom. He worried for a second that you're about to be sick. However, he then hears the click of the lock behind you - that's when he starts to actually panic.

He tries knocking on the door, softly calling your name to avoid being too loud and waking anyone else. All he hears is the sound of you breathing far too heavily and he needs to get in there dammit. His knocks become more urgent the longer it goes on.

He has no idea what's going on. He'd anticipated a conversation with you - the two of you were good at that. You could talk things out. He was calmer now. He'd tried to talk and you'd been listening and then all of a sudden, he didn't know what happened.

It takes a couple more minutes for you to truly calm yourself down. You can't cry in front of Aaron. You’d promised. You can finally make out him calling your name from the other side. If you'd been trying not to freak him out, that had obviously not worked out too well.

Releasing a shaky breath, you wipe your face, splashing some cold water to hide the more obvious evidence of your little breakdown. You'd convinced yourself you could face him, but he'd surprised you. It was okay. You knew now, going in. You'd be ready. You can do it.

With a trembling hand, you unlock the door and turn the knob, nearly running straight into Aaron. He looks thoroughly agitated, as though he was minutes away from breaking down the door and you feel your heart clench. Even moments away from ending it, of course he’d still care so much. No. You will yourself to become numb to it all. Numb to him. That was the only way to make it through this. Feel. Nothing.

You take another deep breath as he backs away, allowing you room to exit the bathroom, and you close the door behind. You look up at him, immediately regretting looking into his overly concerned, warm brown eyes. Why did he have to look at you like that right now? He really needed to work on appropriately timing his concern for people.

You look away quickly. You nod at him shakily, half attempting a smile, but what even was a smile? "It's okay," you tell him, your voice nearly robotic, nodding again, unsure which one of you you're really trying to convince. "J - Just do it."

Aaron looks at you, a perplexed expression mixing with his worry as he stands incredibly close to you. Why was he standing so close?

"Do what?" he asks, reaching out towards you, his large warm hand brushing some of the hair away from your face, pushing it behind your ear.

You look at him sharply, trying hard not to lean into his touch. Something clicks in that moment as you watch him standing far too close to you. He's not moving away either. He'd just touched you. He wasn't…he didn't know what you meant when you said…

He wasn't.

But does that mean that you have to be the one to do it?

You shake your head, taking in a shallow breath as you try to wrap your brain around what was happening. Or not happening.

"I was trying to say, earlier," he starts, still looking at you apprehensively, as though he could see past your cover up job in the bathroom, "that I don't like feeling like there are a lot of things about you - about your life - that I know nothing about. While I understand th - that is something that happens over time, I just feel like there are some gaps that I would like filled."

You find yourself trying to comprehend what he'd just said, trying to rewire your brain from fight or flight mode to actually listening to him. He just wanted to…know things. He said nothing about the kiss.

"That's it?" You look up at him, certain that it could only be some sort of trick. A bait and switch. But that's not really an Aaron thing to do. So, if he was being sincere…

"I'm not thrilled about tonight,” he concedes, his lips a thin line. “But I understand how it happened. I get that John is important to you.”

You nod again. It feels like your brain is working only in slow motion because the simplest of things are taking a while to really work their way through the processing channels. He gets that John is important - he genuinely seems to believe that.

"Now I understand that filling in the gaps - that isn't an overnight thing. But over time, I would appreciate it if you could just be a little more upfront and tell me these things. Even if you think they don't matter. That they're in your past. Just tell me, please?" he asks, his eyes pleading with you.

You weren’t losing him. He wasn’t trying to end it. It didn’t feel like he was doing it merely out of obligation. So...that was good.

You find yourself nodding fervently, trying very hard not to cry. He just wanted to know things. Maybe it would be too much, maybe. But tonight had been a lot too, and he'd handled it well enough. Afterall, the two of you were standing there now. Together. That had to count for something. He said it didn't have to be immediately. You could tell him over time, everything. It was Aaron. He'd likely understand - he was good at that. Especially with you. And well, if it was too much, maybe you'd cross that bridge when you get there because at least for now, you'd have him.

It was selfish - delaying some sort of inevitable. But maybe it wasn't. You stood to lose a lot more if you didn't just take a leap of faith. Believe that he'd understand. If anyone could, it'd be him.

"Oh sweetheart, come here," he says, both of his hands reaching out towards you and wiping at the tears that had fallen regardless of any attempt on your part to keep them at bay.

"I'm sorry," you wept, letting him grab onto you and pull you closer. He was so warm. He was always so warm. He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed, sitting down with you in his lap, allowing you to calm yourself as he soothingly rubbed your back.

"I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't cry," you mumble against his neck, tightening your hold on him.

Aaron shakes his head, reassuring you that it is alright, and takes a deep breath that you can feel in his chest. His hands, soft, warm, and pleasantly calloused rub circles on your back under your shirt. You just want to melt into him, let the wax of your being meld with his.

You can feel his breath against your skin and you can’t help but press a kiss to the side of his neck while you continue to cling to him. It’s different with Aaron because with John, you’d never actually feared losing him. With Aaron, the thought of not having him one day eats away at you, constantly.

Aaron’s still comforting you and you can’t help but feel bad about it. Today was still your fault and you want to make sure that everything is truly alright. You want to be certain that he feels good about the two of you. That’s what was most important.

"Are you sure you’re alright with everything?" you ask, moving to look at him, your hand cupping his face, thumb rubbing over cheeks.

He nods, but you can see that there's something. Something else bothering him. Something that he seems reluctant to voice.

"It's okay, just ask. It's okay," you reassure him. It was better to just get it all out now. One fell swoop.

He worries his lip as he looks at you, as though wondering how to get it out properly. Swallowing, he asks, "Would we be together if it weren't for Jack?" He eyes you nervously, as though he’s afraid of the answer and even more afraid that he voiced the question as all.

Aaron doesn’t feel great about asking this now, but he agrees with you that it is better to get all of this out of the way so that the two of you can return to being on the same page. No matter what, he doesn’t think it will change much, but he wants to know for his own peace of mind - understand where he stands.

You still, your shoulders tensing and your brain going into hyperactive mode again. That wasn't what you'd expected at all. Did Aaron think that you were only with him because of Jack? Had you done something to make him feel that way? You know he's entirely serious about the question as he looks at you. You can see the insecurity and nervousness that had sat behind this question and you wonder how long he's felt this way. How long this has eaten away at him.

With a short sigh, you shift slightly. You want to be honest about this, because you know it's important to him. It’s important to you as well - for him to never question exactly where he stands when it comes to you.

"No," you reply. You can see him recoil almost immediately, so you're quick to continue. "But not because of what you might be thinking,” you say quickly, tightening your hold of him and forcing him to stay still. He pauses and nods, urging you to go on. “Aaron, I'm not playing house here. If I wanted a kid, there's other options. Adoption. Me not being able to have a kid - that's mostly speculation. It could still happen."

He nods, but you know that he's still focused on that No from a second ago.

"Aaron, before I joined the team, Emily had been there an entire year. How often did the two of you hang out together?"

Aaron looks at you, starting to piece together where you’re going with this. He shakes his head. They hadn't.

"Exactly,” you emphasize, cradling his face in your hands. “Because you don't do that, Aaron. You don't just let people in. I got in because Jack and I bonded first. You let me in because of Jack. You let me see you with the walls lowered - you let me see you beyond Agent Hotchner. You let me see you. That would've never happened without Jack. You keep your walls up at work so high that hardly anyone can traverse them. Jack was my ticket in. So no, if it weren’t for Jack, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be together. I would’ve always been Agent L/N to you,” you finish softly, looking into his eyes to make sure he understood.

He takes a breath, processing what you've said. You're right. He knows you are. It was silly to think you were with him just because of Jack. Jack isn’t even around and you’re wrapped up in his lap. He can’t help but feel a little stupid for even questioning it at all. However, part of him is glad he had. Even if he should’ve just known, it was good to have it confirmed nevertheless. Hearing you explain it that way made a lot of sense. Sure he was friends with the team, but he was really only good friends with Rossi. You were right - he didn’t go out of his way to have intimate relationships with his coworkers. Even now, all the parties and hangouts, he’s pretty certain you’re at the center of most of the team socialization. You’d bridged the gap between him and the rest of them.

"Anything else?" you ask somewhat teasingly, a soft smile gracing your face as you look at him fondly. He might be a bit of an idiot when it came to realizing that people loved him and cared for him with no hidden agenda, but well, he was your idiot. To think that you were with him because of Jack was laughable at best. You had Jack even before you and Aaron were together. It was about Aaron. About how his arms wrapped around you. About how he made you feel. About how simply being around him made your heart sing.

He shakes his head, a smile finally breaking out across his lips as he leans in to capture yours. It’s an affirming press of his lips to yours as he holds you to him as closely as possible. It feels like coming home.

Maneuvering the both of you around, he places you next to him on the bed, pulling the blanket around both of you. You curl into his side and he can feel your fingers run lightly against his stomach as you’re pressed against the length of him. He reaches for your hand, lifting it up and looking at you disapprovingly as he notes the indentations in your palm. You hide your face from him a bit as he brushes over the marks lightly with the pad of his thumb.

Something prickles at the back of Aaron's head as you snuggle into him. Something John had said to him at the bar. The way you'd responded to him taking space, how you'd planned to not cry in front of him, instead you'd done laundry and evidently cleaned. It was telling. You'd obviously planned out a contingency plan. An exit route for yourself. It was something that was most often seen in people who… The actual realization hits him - what John had meant when he said he'd almost lost you.

He looks down at your peaceful face, burrowed into him, your legs entangled with his as much as humanly possible. His breathing must've changed, because you look up at him curiously.

He shakes his head, trying to smile so as to not worry you. He couldn’t quite believe it and he definitely wasn’t sure he’d arrived at exactly the right conclusion. But he wants you to know…just in case. "My world wouldn't be the same without you in it,” he breathes out, looking at you with immense care and love, so that you know. So that you know that it won’t be easy on him if you weren’t around. So that you can’t rationalize away your absence. Because it would be felt. It would be felt harrowingly.

You smile at his words, entirely unaware of the intention behind them, reaching up and quickly pressing a kiss to his lips. He can feel your smile in your gesture.

Burrowing back into the warmth of the blanket, a soft laugh and eyeroll escape you and he looks down curiously. "Penelope was wrong," you shared, your words slightly muffled against his chest. "You're totally a Hufflepuff."

Aaron looks at you, his face marred with confusion. “What the hell is a Hufflepuff?" he groans, rolling over so he can face you and hold you tucked into him.

The only response he gets is a peal of laughter, reverberating through his ribs and the warm press of your lips to his chest.

*------------*

David Rossi woke up early the next morning. Clubbing and drinking till late at night was for children. He wasn't quite so young anymore, and instead of nursing a hangover, his body decided to be wide awake at an inhumane hour.

He gets dressed, and instead of trying to finagle your complicated coffee machine, he heads down to grab one from one of the street carts.

He's paying the man for the coffee, when his eye is caught by a photo in one of the papers. He leans in close, just to make sure he's not seeing things. But no, he wasn't.

There you were and there Aaron was, dipping you down, his mouth latched onto yours.

He laughs and looks back at the man, holding up the paper in his hand. "However many copies you have of this, I want them. I want them all."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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nikkyshows · 4 years

Text

Heart Trade

DISCLAIMER: reposted here to the new blog

So a while back I used an old caffeine challenge as a prompt and this is what came of it. I believe it was like #23 or something. First line and image prompts used (coffee shop).

I’m also like 93% sure that this only took like 45 minutes tops to write, with a bit of editing cause I had time. It was a productive session and fits in the hour mark that caffeine challenges are, even though this is an old one. It’s exactly 2k words which makes me happy.

Also, there’s no dialogue (which I didn’t consciously do), but I think it works??? Gives it a sorta distant, cold feeling that gels well with the tone of the story. Dashed lines equals a jump between the two time periods. Warnings for mentions of cheating and mention of past death. Enjoy!!

*****

His heart is still beating when you decide you’ve spent enough time with his blood on your hands. His love for you seeps through the soft edges, leaking onto polished tile.

You, unfortunately, weren’t new to heart magic, to the sacred ritual of trusting another with everything. That time, you’d been burned.

Now, new heart in hand, you decide that you won’t be the one left broken this time.

——————

It all begins (ends) on a normal Tuesday. All the terrible, tragic things do. It had been a normal Wednesday night when your life first crashed around you, but that’s not a concern. Not now. Now, it’s a Tuesday evening and you’re waiting for him to come home. He’s late.

It’s 6:34 when you notice the blotch on his heart. Years ago, on another heart, in another life, you hadn’t known what that meant. You had ignored it, had continued to love your counterpart.

Now, you know better.

You won’t make that mistake twice.

He comes home six minutes after the clock ticks 9. He’s three hours late and a part of you is surprised – you hadn’t been expecting him at all. He smiles sheepishly at you, still sitting at the dinner table with the plates still out. Your eyes search instinctively for lies, scanning the lines next to his eyes and the dimple in his smile.

If you didn’t hold his heart, you wouldn’t know that anything was different.

But you do and you don’t want to inspire suspicion, so you stand from the hard-backed chair you’ve been worrying in and fret over him. You push his jacket over his shoulders, onto the floor and you kiss him, pretending not to notice the peach-colored smudge on the curve of his throat.

Part of you expects this kiss to be different, for you to be able to taste infidelity on his tongue or sense guilt in the purse of his lips, but there’s none. He’s kissing you and it feels like any other kiss he’s given you before.

That stings a little, heart clenching in his suit pocket on the floor. Perhaps that was another sign, that he keeps your heart in a place where it is easily forgotten and left. But that’s how it goes. You don’t notice the red flags and warnings until it’s too late. It’s idiotic how that works.

The two of you head to the bedroom, both of your hearts laying carelessly on the lower floor. You have to lie when he sees the single tear slip down your cheek and your heart, discarded, bristles as you realize that you’re even in the lies you’ve told.

For now.

The kind of lies he’s telling always outnumber any other.

——————

Finger tracing the rim of your ceramic mug, you curse him for being late. There’s a difference between him giving you time to prepare and time to change your mind. You won’t, but your conviction wavers.

Then he walks in, smooth-gaited and as confident as the day you met him. Now, you think there’s a reason for that. He sits in the chair opposite yours and smiles as he takes a sip of coffee that he obviously doesn’t taste – it’s black and he takes his with sugar and a dash of hazelnut creamer. It’s another pointless test, but a part of you still hopes he’ll notice the rings you’ve been making him jump through.

He doesn’t and you promptly tell that part of you to shut up. (You don’t want this to end like last time, do you?)

He’s bubbly and animated but sobers when he sees your posture. Straight backed, lips pressed firm, eyes serious. You’re not usually this tense.

With his eyes on you, you consider letting the façade linger a little longer, wait a few more weeks before you drop the bomb. But you see a falling leaf out the window and remember November.

No, it’s best to do it now.

——————

The next morning you are praying that he won’t notice the change in your heart, the drop in temperature, but you are also hoping that he will. If he notices, he cares, but your phone sits silent in your pocket and his heart, still sitting on the table, blackens a little more.

Today, he’s home on time and you deflate a little. He’s not lost, he’s planning ahead. He’s in this for the long haul.

So are you.

That night, after he’s passed out in your bed, you take his heart and can feel his love pouring out. You lock it in a drawer in the kitchen and swear you won’t unlock it until the end, until your hearts break and your side of the closet is empty.

You never were good at keeping promises you made to yourself.

——————

The two of you chat for a while about nothing - the weather, his raise, your hobbies. You think maybe he knows.

But the way his eyes widen as you place his heart on the table, you know he doesn’t. He hadn’t even realized that you’d left it sitting in a locked drawer for five months before that morning, like he didn’t realize you knew yours was in a drawer in his office and that the heart in his pocket wasn’t yours.

He never held your heart in his breast pocket. It’s stupid that he thinks you wouldn’t notice. You did. Maybe it’s because of experience, from the bubbly, waxen burns present on the heart you gave him, but you knew.

You know this just like you know last time was a mistake, this — this is too big to be an accident. This is a web of lies, both yours and his. Talking about nothing, your eyes linger on his soft hair and you wish it didn’t have to be this way, that love didn’t have to end in tragedy and shattered trust.

But you’ve heard the quotes. A person burned is the next to start a fire. The next to search for a fire to start.

Five months of lying and one year of love in, you hate that the fire you chose had to be him. But you’re bitter and you think having someone else burn will lessen the sting on you.

(It won’t.)

——————

You’ve been burned before, have felt the backlash of a Heart Trade gone wrong and you used to think that made you clever, but two weeks after the lying began, you’re still dancing with him, pretending nothing is wrong. The fire only made you dumb.

Last time, you didn’t know. You were oblivious and you were pardoned, but that only works once. This time, you know. You know, but you want what you didn’t get at first, you want the happily ever after you’re supposed to have. What if you can change it? What if you can undo what he did and bring him back?

It’s not unheard of for one to heal another’s heart, but it is very, very rare and very, very taxing on the soul.

Two days later you decide he’s not worth it. You want him to suffer. It’s wrong of you, hateful and bitter and cruel, but the last time you’d been forgiving, you paid a toll much worse.

A monster isn’t the worst thing you could be.

You’ve been called worse things.

——————

He’s stunned, when he sees the splotches his lies and cheating have left. His shock appears genuine. He’s naïve, like most. No one knows the marks left on a heart caused by love lost until they’ve lived through it. His naitivity isn’t the flaw here, your knowing is.

You spill the truth and watch the weight of it sink into his bones.

(Lies are heavy, but the truth can be worse.)

The weight ages him, lines deepening as he begins to get the gist of where this meeting is going. He’s wrong. You haven’t told him everything. He knows you know he’s been lying, but he doesn’t know that you know who it’s been with, that you can only find one person who wears the shade of lipstick you’d found smudged on his neck that first day.

He doesn’t know about November and he doesn’t know that you’re still burning, still alight with the betrayal and loss and grief.

You won’t tell him. November is a secret that dies in your grave. You lied then, too. You also bought the plot of graveyard you will be buried in, beside the old heart you’d left. You’re too emotional, too attached to what you’ve lost, too poetic in how you’ll die, but there’s a kind of romance in it. A Shakespearean tragedy known only to one.

You spill a little more, that you know the nature of his lies. You explain the way of the Heart Trade. He doesn’t notice the long pause between tellings. He confesses his lack of knowledge, that he thought you’d never know. You stonily inform him that you would have, even without his heart in your hand. You’ve been through this before, remember. The heart is simply a screaming, neon sign that you can’t ignore.

Smiling, you crack a joke or two (maybe three) about the flaws of a Heart Trade. You don’t tell him everything, keep some secrets to yourself. You don’t tell him that you were doomed from the start, that one can’t really commit to a Heart Trade if they’ve gone through one already. You can’t give your heart away twice. A part of yours — the old heart, unblemished and unburned, lays in a cherry coffin.

It’s not for the best, but you know it’s a lesson best learned from experience. He wouldn’t believe you anyway. He’d probably spout some nonsense about never loving you and that’s simply not true. The Trade wouldn’t have gone through if it was. You loved him too, at the start.

Wearily, unknowingly, he laughs along. You tell him you’re ending it here. You push his heart across the table and he sees the watercolor staining your fingers. That’s what happens when you break a deal, you explain. The other is left marked, tattooed in his failure to love only one.

Another unfair deal. You had done nothing, yet you’re the one that can never escape. Reddish-purple blotches and separate locked drawers will always haunt you and that’s okay. They can get in line. You have other demons, far bigger and scarier than neglected hearts, lies, and the shadow of a coffin engraved in your head.

You stand a little less smoothly than you’d like and make your way out. You leave the coffee you didn’t really touch and walk into the chilly autumn air.

The shocked stupor you’d left him in with the unspoken promise of never seeing him again is another demon you’ll never outrun. Your things are already packed and gone from the house you shared. Packing had hurt and so had your meeting, but not all endings are bittersweet. Some are just bitter.

The chill makes you tug your sleeves down a little, covering some of the red splotch that runs down your wrists. You’d lied to him, sort of. The mark is as much on you as it is him. It appeared when you let him stray, when you let it bleed on your hands because damn you if you didn’t still love him.

But as you walk away from the crowded coffee shop where you broke your lover’s heart and left him reeling, you swear that you’ll never give your heart away again. You’ve lost twice. You won’t risk a third. (But things always come in threes, so maybe you will.)

This time, you swear you’ll keep your word. But a locked drawer is easy to unlock and holding his heart had made you feel better, like you weren’t about to lose him, like you hadn’t already lost him.

He’s lucky, at least. You’d given him back his heart.

You never had that luxury.

*****

@caffeinewitchcraft hope it’s okay that I did this and tagged you. Sorry if not, but I think this is a decent piece? I mean, I’m not too fond of parts of it, but as a whole, I think it’s pretty cool. Hope you liked it!!!

I think this is a pretty cool world. Maybe I’ll revisit it again one day, but its not a priority. The Soul Keeper world and Hero worlds have priority.

#my writing #prompt fill #writeblr #writers on tumblr #caffeine challenge #sorta #heart trade #love #heartbreak #breakup #tw cursing #heart trade world #im not a huge fan of how i gloss over and ignore their past #but at the same time #it kinda works?#idk #but I imagined that their old so had like a drunken one night stand #that was a mistake #and they came clean #made their apologizes and made up #but they died one night in a bad storm #with a bouquet of flowers or something addressed to 'my love' or smth #and they always wondered if it was for them or another fling they had #and no one knows about the cheating #so their heart was buried with him. an old ritual for only the purest most devoting of loves #their hearts never healed from that mistake #their lie was about forgiving their first so #they didnt #and that haunts them #sorry for rambling in the tags

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nikkywrites · 4 years

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Heart Trade

Summary: She shouldn’t have given her heart away. Not again.

Throwback to when I did a caffeine challenge for the fun of it. This is still something I like and am proud of. It’s still exactly 2k and that still makes me happy.

No edits. Also, there’s no dialogue (which I didn’t consciously do), but it works. Gives it a sorta distant, cold feeling that gels well with the tone of the story. Dashed lines equals a jump between the two time periods. Warnings for mentions of cheating and mention of past death. Enjoy!!

*****

His heart is still beating when you decide you’ve spent enough time with his blood on your hands. His love for you seeps through the soft edges, leaking onto polished tile.

You, unfortunately, weren’t new to heart magic, to the sacred ritual of trusting another with everything. That time, you’d been burned.

Now, new heart in hand, you decide that you won’t be the one left broken this time.

——————

It’s 6:34 when you notice the blotch on his heart. Years ago, on another heart, in another life, you hadn’t known what that meant. You had ignored it, had continued to love your counterpart.

Now, you know better.

You won’t make that mistake twice.

If you didn’t hold his heart, you wouldn’t know that anything was different.

For now.

The kind of lies he’s telling always outnumber any other.

——————

He doesn’t and you promptly tell that part of you to shut up. (You don’t want this to end like last time, do you?)

He’s bubbly and animated but sobers when he sees your posture. Straight backed, lips pressed firm, eyes serious. You’re not usually this tense.

With his eyes on you, you consider letting the façade linger a little longer, wait a few more weeks before you drop the bomb. But you see a falling leaf out the window and remember November.

No, it’s best to do it now.

——————

Today, he’s home on time and you deflate a little. He’s not lost, he’s planning ahead. He’s in this for the long haul.

So are you.

You never were good at keeping promises you made to yourself.

——————

The two of you chat for a while about nothing - the weather, his raise, your hobbies. You think maybe he knows.

But you’ve heard the quotes. A person burned is the next to start a fire. The next to search for a fire to start.

Five months of lying and one year of love in, you hate that the fire you chose had to be him. But you’re bitter and you think having someone else burn will lessen the sting on you.

(It won’t.)

——————

It’s not unheard of for one to heal another’s heart, but it is very, very rare and very, very taxing on the soul.

Two days later you decide he’s not worth it. You want him to suffer. It’s wrong of you, hateful and bitter and cruel, but the last time you’d been forgiving, you paid a toll much worse.

A monster isn’t the worst thing you could be.

You’ve been called worse things.

——————

You spill the truth and watch the weight of it sink into his bones.

(Lies are heavy, but the truth can be worse.)

He doesn’t know about November and he doesn’t know that you’re still burning, still alight with the betrayal and loss and grief.

You stand a little less smoothly than you’d like and make your way out. You leave the coffee you didn’t really touch and walk into the chilly autumn air.

He’s lucky, at least. You’d given him back his heart.

You never had that luxury.

*****

Yay! So relieving having something that I didn’t need to edit at all. Still love the sadness of this.

#writeblr #writblr #writing #creative writing #heartbreak #caffeine challenge #sorta #nikkywritesstories #my writing #love #breakup #heart trade #no rambling in the tags this time haha #just imagine your own backstory i guess since i glossed over it #and probably wont come back #repost from my old blog

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goldleafacrossyourlips · 4 years

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Uneasy Lies the Head - Dark Lord/OC - Chapter 4

Chapters - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13

Chapter 4 - Thyme and Glamour

Samara didn’t get to attend many weddings. She didn’t have many friends outside of her family. Any she had made during the Academy were lost when she began homeschooling. The Witch community in Vail wasn’t as large as the Greendale one and besides, Witch communities weren’t fond of bringing in outsiders. So as she sat amongst her former Coven members Samara faintly wished she was a part of a community as large as this one.

She tuned out most of what Blackwood was saying. He stood before them in his ornate robes and rambled on about their loss of the Anti Pope. Samara smoothed her black lace dress over her knees, picking off some stray fox hair as she went. She’d spent the morning getting ready and brushing Phlox. Her Aunts had been away at the Academy, Ambrose was still in hiding and Sabrina was with Nick. She had wanted to arrive at the Academy early and help her Aunt Zelda prepare but when she’d called she was told to simply arrive with the rest of the guests. So she’d busied herself at the Spellman house and waited until the time arrived to head to the Desecrated Church. It had felt odd to leave Phlox behind since he’d been stuck to her hip since she’d moved to Vail. She felt uneasy being alone but her Shadows were often to remind her they were still with her.

The deep rumbling of drums caused her to turn and look towards the doors of the Church. She felt her eyes prick and blur as she caught sight of her Aunt Zelda. Aunt Hilda was beautiful as she marched down the aisle in front of her sister, a grin gracing her face as she went forward. Samara was slightly confused as to why there was a strange girl walking in front of them but assumed she must have been related to Blackwood in someway to be a part of the wedding.

Aunt Zelda was a vision as she glided at the end of the small line. Her black and ruby dress accented her figure beautifully. The golden crown she wore was draped with a black veil both which caused slight want to well within Samara. Gold and black had always been her two most favourite colours. To see her Aunt adorned with them made her warm. Within her Aunt’s hands was the ceremonial blade. An intrinsic thing of beauty in and of itself. Never to be wielded for harm or battle, it’s sole purpose was for rituals like it attended now.

“In the name of Satan I call forth the demons who rule marriage and lust. Astaroth, Furfur, Hathor, and Ishtar. Saleous, Uvall, and Vassage. Be here and forge this union like fire forges the blade. Demons of the deep, accept this gift of blood.” For all that Samara hated the man, Blackwood could command his power like no Warlock she’d met. His voice reverberated throughout the Church and demanded unerring attention.

Samara kept her focus off of him and instead continued to look at the visage of her Aunts. Aunt Hilda stood proudly by Aunt Zelda’s side. She made eye contact with Samara and her grin grew bigger. Samara could tell she wanted to wave, but couldn’t break the ritual. Aunt Zelda looked regal and proud. Her head craned high and a pillar of beauty. Her gaze was locked ahead. Samara knew that her Aunt was nervous and this was why she refused to glance around the crowd.

She saw the girl that had walked up the aisle take the dagger from Aunt Zelda. Samara watched with dispassion as she slit the throat of a dead animal and let it bleed into the chalice below it. As she handed the chalice to Blackwood, his words once again rang through the air.

“My bride and I will fortify our physical bodies with the blood of this sacrificed being.” Faustus and Zelda each took a sip from the chalice. Samara held in a squirm at the thought of having to drink straight blood.

“The hand of my bride will now be sheathed with mine under the skin of a mortal. Hilda.” Samara’s Aunt Hilda wrapped the piece of flesh around Aunt Zelda and Faustus’ hands. Samara wrinkled her nose as she could hear the flopping and squelch of the flesh.

“Now, Sister Zelda, in the name of Satan, you shall respect me, obey me and submit to me. As Lilith served Satan, so will you serve me. You will forsake all others, lift me up and exalt me for all eternity. And now by the onholy power invested in me-” Samara felt her teeth grind at how misogynistic the vows were. But before Blackwood could finish his vows he was interrupted.

“Murderer!” Samara whipped around at the familiar voice that shouted. She felt all the blood in her body rush towards her feet and her chest seized with grief and disbelief. Her believed dead Uncle and Aunt, soaked to the core with water and faces pruned almost beyond recognition, stormed through the doors of the Church. She heard mutters of astonishment around her.

“It is I, Edward Spellman, returned.”

“And I, Diana Spellman, returned.” Samara once again felt tears threaten to fall as her hand rose to her lips. Their voices were just as she remembered, even if they held anger within them now.

“I accuse Faustus Blackwood, who brought down our plane that took our lives. I accuse Faustus Blackwood who killed the Anti-Pope while he slept under the very same roof. Confess Blackwood, or face my wrath!” Edward’s voice held just as much power as Blackwood’s. Samara could sense why her Uncle was held with such great esteem. The congregation murmured around them.

“Your wrath….Indeed. You forget girl. I knew your father. And whatever the circumstances, Edward Spellman would never disrespect our ceremonies and traditions as you do. And so this petty trickery comes to an end. Detegant istos ostenderet falsa.” Where Diana and Edward once stood, now stood Sabrina and Nick. Samara felt some betrayal cross her heart. Blackwood was right for once in his life. Even though Samara despised that her Auntie was marrying the worm, never would she think to sabotage the ceremony. To do so was to only invite in bad karma. Samara knew that Sabrina was raised with better judgement and respect than what she was currently showing.

Samara watched the shock cross her Aunts’ faces as her cousin was revealed. She too felt shock as Blackwood called for his lackeys to seize both Sabrina and Nick. Satisfaction curled within her at Nick warning the boys off to protect both him and his girlfriend.

“I am Sabrina Spellman. I shall speak and I shall be heard. You, Faustus Blackwood, are a fraud.” Sabrina’s voice rang through the Church. While Samara was irritated with her cousin’s actions, she felt a low sort of elation as her cousin called out the man.

“Sabrina, what are you saying?” Samara felt herself cringe at the barely concealed rage within her Aunt’s voice. She grasped her dress that laid against her thighs and held it within tight-knuckled fists.

“I’m sorry, Auntie. But it’s true. He killed my father and mother, and I believe he killed the Anti-Pope too.” Sabrina’s words only caused Samara’s thoughts from the night before to feel more solidified. Again the Church was a buzz with murmurs.

“And why would I have done that?”

“Because you were afraid His Eminence wouldn’t approve your repugnant, misogynistic reformations.” Sabrina spat her reply.

“Which you haven’t even read, have you? Hm. Let it be known there is no proof to any of this. Yet your very own cousin was covered in His Eminence’s blood.”

“Ambrose Spellman is innocent!” The shout echoed throughout the Church. The silence that followed was quickly cut short by the man in questions materializing on the altar himself.

“Die Blackwood! Die!” Ambrose looked like a crazed man with blood still saturating his clothes and a dagger in hand. The girl at Blackwood’s side froze Ambrose before he could commit the act he arrived to do. Blackwoods lackeys were quick to tackle and subdue Ambrose.

Samara jumped to her feet and began to stagger forward to help her cousin but Nick grabbed her arm before she could continue. She looked on helplessly as they escorted Ambrose out of the Church. She wanted nothing more than to free him, but his recent actions only confirmed many suspicions the Coven held. It would take an Unholy miracle to help him now.

Samara stood at her Aunt and Sabrina’s side as they sat outside the High Priest’s office at the Academy. Her black coat was draped over her arm as her other hand picked at the skin of her thumb. Her gaze was locked on the carpet before her. Her thoughts were lost in remembrance of what happened the last time she was near this office. She felt her Shadows nudging against her back that was resting against the wall. She splayed her hand against the wall in reassurance to them. Before she could get lost in thought again, her Aunt Zelda stalked out of the office.

“Congratulations. You ruined my wedding day, Sabrina.” Aunt Zelda’s eyes were full of fire. Samara felt herself shrink away and her Shadows rise to shield her. Samara never dealt well with reprimand from her family.

“Aunt Zelda-”

“A day of greatness for the Spellman family shall now, instead, go down infamy.” Aunt Zelda always held public image on a pedestal. She was constantly worried about how the Spellmans were perceived in the Coven.

“Where’s Ambrose, Aunt Z?” Samara kept her voice soft as she peered at her furious Aunt.

“Your cousin has been thrown in the Witch’s Cell for his treasonous crimes.” Aunt Zelda’s voice was steady but Samara could detect a small amount of sorrow for her nephew.

“No!” Sabrina cried out.

“What of Sabrina?” Aunt Hilda finally spoke. Samara stole a quick glance at her cousin before focusing back onto her Aunts.

“She and Nicholas have been expelled from the Academy of Unseen Arts. And they deserve it. It was all I could do to convince Faustus not to lock you in the dungeon too.” Aunt Zelda’s words held all the disappointment she surely felt. Samara could only imagine how upset her Aunt truly was.

“Well at least I stopped your wedding.” Samara closed her eyes at her cousin’s words. Some tact would’ve been nice at the moment but Sabrina had always been a bit thick-headed when other’s feelings were involved.

“Oh! Stopped it? Sabrina, Faustus and I were just married in his office.” Aunt Zelda stalked away to the office as she finished her sentence. Sabrina, Samara and Aunt Hilda all stood, shock freezing them from moving.

#caos #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #dark lord x reader #dark lord x oc #dark lord #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x oc #lucifer morningstar x ofc #lucifer morningstar #oc #ofc #spellman #sabrina #hilda #zelda #ambrose #still hate tagging #fanfiction #fanfic

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psyga315 · 4 years

Text

Fixing RWBY Volume 6

So, I decided to try my hand at rewriting RWBY. Though, I’m not gonna do the whole “rebuild it from the ground up” angle, but rather tackle one volume to try and have it tie its plot together a little better. In this case: Volume 6. As such, this isn’t “fixing” RWBY so much as tweaking it. So, for the most part, Volume 6 is mostly intact save for the scenes that were changed up.

The first thing we need to establish is the underlying theme. What is this Volume about? From the titles, it seems to imply that the story is about RWBY/JNR breaking away from Ozpin’s path and doing things their way, as most of their titles relate to this subplot. That said, the ending song, character short, and huge part of the climax have the theme of cutting out abuse from your life. Namely Adam.

So, we need to restructure the Volume based off a central theme of both subplots: how to grow past the teachings of your mentor. This can even tie in to the villains’ subplot. Now, it is worth noting that the increased focus on Adam throughout this tweak isn’t to “adambate”, but rather to add prominence to him in the same way Pyrrha was given prominence in Volume 3.

Let’s begin with…

Episode 1

This should pick up right where Volume 5 left off, with a brief montage of the fallout of the Fall of Haven (named such because despite the heroes’ best efforts, without the Headmaster, the Academy fell into disarray for a bit) followed by Mistralians welcoming the Menagerian Faunus with open arms. This is also where Qrow’s exposition comes in, though for a nice jab at the heart, when he mentions how Lionheart died a hero, it cuts to the little girl from Volume 5 (the one who asked “does he know where mommy is”) visiting her mother’s grave to show that something isn’t right with that story.

To further compound this, Sun brings up Lionheart’s betrayal before Blake cuts him off and reminds him of the consequences to the Faunus relationships should the truth of him conspiring with the villains slip out.

So we get the departure scene unedited, though with a scene where Blake tells Sun that, while she thanks him for his efforts, she realized in her separation from Yang that she has feelings for her rather than Sun. Sun, being Sun, is 110% cool with it and encourages her to go after Yang, though Blake mentions how it would be easier said than done given how she believes that she burned that bridge down when she ran.

Most of this episode remains unaltered save for the lamp exposition being done in this episode. The reason for all this exposition is to get them out of the way and to also mentally prepare people for what they expect to be another chat-heavy Volume, only to pull the rug from under them when the train suddenly gets attacked by Grimm. I feel like this might be a better way to poke fun at last Volume than have the characters lampshade it.

Obviously, Ozpin brings up that the Relic attracts Grimm, as that’s the very inciting incident that creates the lack of faith in Ozpin subplot, but Ozpin also brings up that the Relic’s attraction is faint. Jaune combines his Semblance with Ren and is about to cover the train when they hear screaming and a familiar laugh. JNR run to see what’s the matter. When the sound of fighting ensues, Blake is the first to investigate.

Blake goes out to see what’s going on and sees Adam tossing a civilian off the train and laughing about it. Naturally, she freaks out and cuts the connection of the train. She soon realizes what she had done (left JNR alone with Adam) and her fear and paranoia kick up into high gear, causing the Grimm to focus on RWBY’s train rather than JNR’s train.

This is where we see how, despite RWBY coming back together, they hardly are coordinated, especially with a panicking Blake and a twitchy Yang. We get to see this in contrast to JNR’s fight with Adam, where the group is in sync in handling Adam. I’m not gonna sugar-coat Adam’s power level. He’s weak sauce, plain and simple. The only reason he’s “strong” is his ability to gas-light people and trick them into getting angry. Given how Ren and Jaune both went through that ordeal, though, they handle Adam, though his Semblance does throw them off.

The only way they manage to get Adam off their back is Jaune realizing what his Semblance does and, in a scene that demonstrates his strategic mind, overpowers Adam’s Semblance to where his Moonslice pushes him away from the group and out of their sight for the time being, with the obvious note that, because he has a buffed Aura, he’d be able to survive. Just as JNR realize they’re stuck, they hear someone:

“Don’t fret, passengers. The glory of Atlas shall guide you to Argus!”

And we don’t see JNR until after the “Ozpin gets BTFO” Arc and the Apathy Arc.

The fight with the Sphinx and Manticore is the same with the aforementioned bumbling around, and we even see Weiss try to summon again before a Manticore pummels her, with Weiss just saying “screw it!” and using another of her Glyphs to pwn the Manticore.

Episode ends like usual.

Oh, and Ruby’s gift for Yang is explicitly shown to be the magazine she reads in the train because why show the bag if you’re not gonna reveal it.

Episode 2

This is kept the same, except the Cinder scenes are moved to its own episode.

Episode 3

This is kept the same, However, I will add in a detail that makes the God of Light much more benevolent (and nicer) than in the show. Namely, worshippers of the God of Light are the ones to try to talk to Salem about how death is natural and Salem only visits the God of Darkness. The God of Darkness agrees to revive Ozma, but she must do his version of bending the knee: take a dip into his pool. Doesn’t destroy her but instead make her an immortal lord of the Grimm.

God of Light comes in and goes “WTF!?” as the God of Darkness revives Ozma. This time, the battle between the two ends up destroying humanity (and broke the moon) save for Ozma and Salem. Ozma has no idea what happened and Salem kept mum on what happened. They settle down and have kids, but eventually Salem feels compelled to tell Ozma about what happened… and Ozma is devastated. And thus, he does the thing that causes Salem to forever despise him for the rest of his days:

He calmly walked to the pool of Light, left behind in the battle, and takes a swan dive into it, presumably killing him.

It doesn’t though, and instead makes him one with the God of Light, just as Salem became part of the God of Darkness. The God of Light laments in how the world he and his brother created was destroyed simply because humanity relied on them too much. And so, he asks Ozma to unify the world’s remnants, but he also gives him a stipulation: he must also gather the Relics and call upon the Gods when humanity is ready to be judged. If the humans learn to live with each other and not demand anything of the Gods, he will walk among them once again. If not, however aaaaand the world goes boom.

Ozma has his whole reincarnation thing where he finds out that Salem, in her grief, killed their kids and used the Grimm to attack Humanity 2.0, which are basically the Light Brother’s attempt to remake humanity, just that Aura and Semblance are his half-assed means to replicate his brother’s magic, with Dust being the remnants of the Dark Brother’s magic. There’s an implication she had a hand in making Faunus, but not in that “she made them” sort of way. Rather she caused some of them to have more violent features like fangs and stingers that caused humanity to fear them. This causes Blake to react with horror and anger at Salem.

While I was tempted to add a scene where Ozma has more to do with Salem’s fall from grace or give her a reason to hate him, like how the Maidens he gave magic to were Salem’s daughters, but I decided to keep his overall role the same and give the basic gist that he hates people finding out the truth behind his lies because it reminds him of what he did when he found out about what happened to his world. However, there is heavier emphasis on how he had led people to their demise against Salem. Namely how, when Ruby sees Ozpin’s many forms falling before Salem, she sees a flurry of Huntsmen… and a certain white-cloaked figure before it too scatters like a rose.

That and Oscar sees Pyrrha’s death and the whole Maiden thing that Ozpin did to her.

The other thing is that Ozma discovers Salem’s immortality because at one point he does kill her but she doesn’t die. Not because Jinn goes “lol, you can’t.” since I kinda want to make Jinn more benevolent like the God that made her and not somehow sowing the seeds of discord.

Episode 4

Same episode, but now Ruby’s pissed at Ozpin as well. Not enough to punch Oscar or even berate him, but enough to say “good riddance” or “coward” when Ozpin retreats.

The bit with Salem is still kept in but we actually get that scene where Salem wanted to have a word with Tyrian back in Volume 5 (remember that, V5?!). She explains to Tyrian that Qrow is still alive despite his efforts and he breaks down, apologizing to her and even offering to kill himself for her approval and how the only reason she didn’t let him is because he’s still of use to him. This is contrasted with Emerald’s fear of Salem when she talks with her about Cinder’s failure. This basically serves to show the full extent of just what Ozpin could have been but also show how Ozpin isn’t like Salem.

Episode 5

So, this is where a little bit of a change comes in. As the group stay at the Brunswick Farm and they settle for the night, every one of the characters gets an introspective of their developing apathy. In order:

Oscar is worried about being regarded as Ozpin and is even worried about how Jaune would react.

Qrow is depressed over Ozpin’s machinations and, as the episode ends, finds a stash of liquor.

Blake begins to berate herself about Adam and explains the reason of why she let Adam run (namely because of his whole “get inside your head” tactic she mentioned in the finale) to Yang.

Yang, much to Blake’s dismay, doesn’t blame her, but she doesn’t also forgive her either. Instead, she’s caught up in the thought of calling Ozpin out for omitting information about the Relic, only for herself to have omitted information about the Maiden. In short, she also feels guilty about what happened.

Weiss is upset about having to return to Atlas and is visibly shook over her near-death experience and how she was ultimately the one to blame for putting her guard down. Incidentally, she’s the only one who doesn’t feel tired, but that’s only because she’s mindlessly practicing the same fencing moves over and over until her body tires out for her.

Ruby’s the only person who is outright concerned about Salem’s immortality and how no one can beat her. Not just because Yang’s edgelord of a mom was correct, but how her own mother died and proved that statement. She talks to the only person who isn’t affected by the Apathy, Maria, that she just wants to bring the lamp to Atlas, go back home, and never go out again.

Maria eavesdrop to every bit of this, but gives Ruby the advice she needs to move on: “What do you think your mother would do if she knew the truth?” and we end with Maria asking Ruby: “My glasses are no good, but… what color are your eyes?”

Episode 6

Episode mostly remains the same, though with the explicit notion that the Apathy only fed on the negative emotions the group felt and didn’t amplify the doubts they had, thus they don’t go “lol, it was all the Apathy’s fault we were like that”. Probably also either drop hints about this being Adam’s place from when he was a slave there (even have Weiss notice a branding iron with the SDC logo on it and frowning to show foreshadowing) or it being Roman’s home (and it’s Ruby who feels upset with this revelation).

It’s also in this episode that we get a little exposition on the Silver Eyes (the whole “they only work on Grimm” thing and the fact that the Light Brother made them) and this causes Ruby to quickly utilize it when the Apathy attack them. Blake decides to try and sacrifice herself to atone for what she did to Yang, but Ruby’s eyes go off and you know the rest.

Episode 7

This is entirely Cinder’s episode, where she gets out of the Vault and gets the help of the Spiders. However, there’s a heavier emphasis that it’s Adam that was trailing RWBY the whole time and not misleading us by implying it was Hazel.

This also leads to the whole Neo fight and the whole “I was ordered by Salem not to kill Ruby” thing, but Neo gives a jab by implying “why didn’t you kill Ruby when you had the chance?”, as she had heard about the Fall of Haven and Cinder’s role in it, to which Cinder just meekly answers with “well I was going to.”

Basically, rather than sprinkle the Cinder scenes across the volume, condense them into one. We end on Adam recovering from his fall and tracking down RWBY, finding the house and scornfully growling before he kills a stray Apathy.

Episode 7

Basically the same, but heavier emphasis that Tock’s employer was Salem and that she has a connection to Tyrian.

Episode 8 & 9

Keep this relatively the same, but have Cordovin explain why she doesn’t let Weiss’s friends through. “Let’s see, we have an angry girl who attacked someone without their aura on live television, a drunken waste of energy who attacked an Atleasian general in front of a crowd, the team whose member utterly destroyed our masterpiece Huntress-in-training (cue a frown from Ruby and a scornful look from Jaune), and, of course, the Faunus.” She doesn’t even add any details, she just says “the faunus” for Blake. Weiss gets upset and that’s when she goes “we’re done here.”

Now, here’s where this gets the most change, because in all honesty, that whole “Oscar’s missing” thing was stupid cliff-hanger baiting. So, here’s how the change begins.

Jaune calls out Oscar like he did, but adds in one final hook: “Did Pyrrha know about this before you killed her!?” in the same venom that Hazel had. Ruby stops Jaune and tells her that Cinder killed Pyrrha. Jaune tosses Oscar aside and leaves in a huff. Ren and Nora are understandably pissed as well (please let them have more dialogue to address that Pyrrha was also their loss, RT) and it’s agreed that everyone needs to have some space, especially with what had happened at the farm.

And so, slowly and surely, we have our group split up to comfort each other. In order:

Oscar approaches Weiss and tells her about how he wants to help the team and atone for how Ozpin inadvertently hurt JNPR, feeling as though, if he is to become him, he might as well lay the groundwork for a better Ozpin. This naturally gets Weiss inspired to go clothes shopping with him, especially since they’re going to Atlas and if it was cold back there, it’s gonna get colder where they’re going.

Blake talks with Ren and Nora and talks about her experience with Adam. Ren is annoyed when she starts wallowing about him and asks her to get to the point. She mentions how Adam mentored her much like how Ozpin mentored them, but the difference was that Ozpin genuinely cared for them whereas Adam manipulated her. She comes clean about her past at the White Fang to them and expresses a small bit of regret in not letting Ozpin know about them, but that they need to keep moving forward for Pyrrha’s sake. It’d be a bit too cynical for Ren to go “we haven’t heard that one before”, but if we’re going in the tradition of lampshading Volume 5… I dunno, maybe a lighter version of that where it doesn’t sound condescending?

Yang goes out drinking with Qrow to confirm she’s old enough to drink. She hardly is able to talk to Qrow though because every time she does, she worries about slipping up and talking about how she hid the fact that Raven was the Maiden, only for Qrow to mumble out nonsense that ends up implying that he does know about that and knows Yang kept it a secret, but that in the grand scheme of things, there was nothing they could have done now that she’s who knows where. Though this further guilt trips Yang because she believes now that, had she not yelled at Raven and convinced her to leave the Relic back in the vault and closed it, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

Lastly, Ruby talks with Jaune in a scene that mirrors the whole Weiss/Yang scene in Volume 5 with a heavy dose of the Oscar/Ruby scene from the same Volume. Though now, with this line:

“I saw my mom die when Jinn told us the truth. She died the same way Pyrrha did. But she didn’t throw her life away. She fought and despite knowing she couldn’t win, she did it to protect the ones she loves. And I’m certain Pyrrha did the exact same thing.”

Jaune is moved by this and instantly thinks of how to get into Atlas.

Smash cut to a sobered up Qrow (with Yang there, she was able to get him sober before they returned) telling him it’s a stupid plan. Jaune explains the plan in the briefest detail he can and Ruby vouches for him. Basically, what happened at the end, but instead of “we didn’t need an adult to save us” it’s more “we tried the adult way back at Haven and all that did was make us fish in a barrel for Salem. Now, we try it our way.”, hinting to the finale’s title.

Emerald and Mercury have their thing, but at the end, they sneak out with Tyrian and Watts after the former tells them to do what makes them happy (they lampshade how odd it is coming from the crazy man), but the stinger of this volume shows they, on route, saw the Grimm be made with wings.

The Final Quarter

So, the heist goes like before, but with Cinder and Neo getting involved. Not by much, but they mostly just sneak in their airship by using Cordovin’s fight with Ruby as a distraction for them to slip by. We can even have the guys at Argus warn Cordovin about it only for her to brush it off.

The fight doesn’t change by much, but one should change it so that Ruby and the group are reluctant to destroy the mech because of Jaune bringing up how it’s used to protect Argus from big Grimm.

The big scene that changes, though, is Adam’s fight with Blake. It begins with Blake telling Yang that she’ll go to the tower alone, but Yang knows better. They both know Adam is following them and that Blake is aware that Adam is waiting for the right moment for him to strike. Now, this can go one of two ways. The Bumblebee route where they plan out the entire fight (right down to Yang feigning a panic attack in “Seeing Red”) or the Feels Route where the following happens:

Blake wants to atone for her misdeeds and she sees this as the best way to do it, telling Yang to go with Ruby and the others. Yang doesn’t have any of it, but as she grabs her, she notices it’s a shadow.

Blake confronts Adam without being scared. They both know that only one person will come out of this alive. And so, they fight.

As they do, flashbacks of Adam’s past comes to light, emphasising who he was prior to the character short: a scared slave who was purchased by Brunswick from shady Schnee Dust Corporation members whose pain (remember, they had the branding iron) attracted Grimm and prompted Brunswick to bring in the Apathy. From there, he joined the White Fang and made it his mission to oppose humanity for their crimes and we see his slow and gradual fall from grace to the madman that we know him today.

Adam’s reason for hating Blake is simple. She ruined everything. As soon as she ran during the train heist back in the Black Trailer, Adam was caught by the police (as Blake stole the part of the train that kept going) and were it not for Banesaw, he would have been arrested. At first, he wanted to leave Blake for dead, but as soon as he saw her being friends with not just humans, but a Schnee, he was furious and Cinder enabled him to want to destroy everything Blake loved.

Let me repeat this for clarity: Adam was always a manipulative gas-lighter. It’s that Cinder encouraged him to do the whole “I will destroy everything you love” thing.

Yang comes in and… Okay, I’m gonna address an elephant in the room.

Yang’s PTSD is a subject of controversy. You have Unicorn of War showing a person’s thoughts on how Yang’s PTSD is properly portrayed and then you have MuffinManDan making fun at how it wasn’t portrayed. Really, her scene can go either way, but in the spirit of what Adam’s true strength is, here’s how I imagine the rematch.

Yang fights Adam like how it happens, but you can see that Yang is acting purely on adrenaline. Adam notices this and starts to take advantage of it, taunting her about the events at Beacon. Yang begins to panic and Adam’s true strength, his gas-lighting, shines. For a good chunk of the fight, it looks like Adam has the upper hand, continually guilt tripping Yang and Blake and mocking their determination to protect each other.

“You humans are all the same! Nothing but squabbling idiots who are quick and easy to anger!” Adam lands the final blow on Yang…

CLANG!

“Yeah…” Yang used her hand to catch his sword. “Like you.” And her eyes flash red.

It turns out Yang had seen Adam for who he truly is and had no reason to fear him. Her freaking out was her fighting fire with fire and pretending to be afraid. She then lays into Adam and blows his every statement back with each hit. So basically, this is where that whole “she promised to stay by my side, too” “you mean the person she thought she promised?” “WHAT DOES SHE SEE IN YOU!?” exchange come in.

And then Adam is killed. He gets a bit of a better send off than what he got, but not by much. Basically, as he dies, we get a flashback to Adam and Blake working together for the first time and having a genuine scene where Blake bonds with him, as though to illustrate that, had Adam let go of his spite for humanity, he would have had a better life. Adam falls on the ground and dies. Blake breaks down, but Yang reassures her that it’s over and we get Bumblebee confirmed. No, they don’t kiss because kissing over a corpse is goddamned creepy and Bumblebee deserves better than reminding the audience about the Lannisters.

The Leviathan comes, along with the Grimm, but this time we get a bigger emphasis of Ruby realizing she fucked up as we see the Grimm attack civilians and even the Cotta-Arcs getting menaced by a Grimm (though not killed), though Jaune takes part of the blame as he’s the one who suggested it and even strategized how to disable the mech.

However, Ruby, in her culmination of her character arc, decides to do something about it rather than wait for someone else to help her. She has Weiss summon the Queen Lancer and fly off to confront the Leviathan. There, she tries to use Silver Eyes, but the doubts in her head cause the Grimm to nearly eat her had it not been for Jinn stopping time. Remember, in this rewrite, she’s pretty nice and not tearing the team apart with two words.

So Ruby gathers the courage to Silver Eyes the Grimm, Cordovin saves Ruby and the heroes head to Atlas, Bees buzzing with delight as we hype up Weiss’s inevitable reunion with her father and we get a scene where Tyrian rallys some Faunus who are in Mantle, telling them that “our Queen has proclaimed change. Atlas will fall!”

DVD Exclusive Episode Because $$$

This is basically expanding on the stinger that last Volume had, where Raven laments about the past life choices and we finally have that STRQ flashback episode we’ve been wanting, though it’s mostly Raven’s POV so we don’t get any juicy stuff aside from how she left Ozpin and became the Spring Maiden. This is probably the only wish fulfilment I would want out of this entire rewrite. Think of it as the “beach episode” of RWBY.

It ends with Taiyang asking Raven what she’ll do now that she’s realized what a coward she is. Cut to black, see you next Volume.

And that’s how I would tweak Volume 6. Not much except by the end, and even then, I tried to keep most of the scenes intact but reworked the context and made it more worthwhile. Unfortunately I doubt I was able to work in the theme I wanted to do at the beginning, but that’s basically the rough sketch I have for this tweak.

#Rewrite #RWBY #RWDE #RWBY Rewrite

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sweetscentences · 5 years

Text

Small Changes: Chapter 3

On AO3 here. Thanks for being patient with me formatting this for tumblr <3

The sun set, and Rosinante was getting worried. Law hadn’t come back yet. Rosinante knew that Law could handle himself, knew he told him to take as long as he needed. But an old paranoia was creeping up on Rosinante. It didn’t help that this was the longest he’d been separated from Law in over half a year.

Garp dragged him down to the docks to watch the sunset when Rosinante’s anxiety started to grate on him. But the sun finished sinking below the horizon, and there wasn’t any sign of Law. Rosinante gnawed, absentmindedly, on one of his nails.

Garp smacked his hand from his mouth and hauled him to his feet. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Rosinante asked, but followed after Garp.

“My grandsons stay with me when I visit. We’re going to go grab them.” There was an uncharacteristically soft smile on Garp’s face. “Besides, they know those woods better than anyone. Maybe they’ve seen your brat.”

Rosinante wasn’t sure if he would describe Law as any sort of brat, let alone his. He mellowed out while they traveled together- partly because he was dying, partly because he had someone to care about. But even when he first joined the Donquixote Pirates Rosinante would have described him as a homicidal little shit before he called him a brat.

He didn’t bother nitpicking though. Garp considered anyone younger than him a brat, and Rosinante…

Lying was his livelihood. Sometimes, it came easier than breathing. But calling Law his son was the easiest lie he ever told.

The best lies were the ones a person desperately wanted to be true.

Garp lead them through the forest confidently, even though they quickly deviated from the path. Before too long, they arrived at the base of a massive tree. A treehouse the size of a small cottage was braced in its branches, and the sound of young voices floated down from it.

Young voices cursing. In Northern. Garp shot Rosinante a look.

“What are they saying?” he asked, just as Law’s voice reached them. He was slowly working through the pronunciation of a particularly graphic threat involving ice picks and vital organs.

Rosinante heard it many times after he dragged Law away from the Donquixote Pirates. Back then, Law actually following through wasn’t out of the question.

Rosinante thought it best not to share that much. “Nothing good,” he said simply.

Garp looked like he might press for more information, when loud laughter from above them distracted him. Garp’s soft smile turned into something sharp.

“You brats!” he bellowed. Silence fell immediately, and three boys poked their heads out of the treehouse’s window. There was a mix of horror and excitement on their young faces.

“Hi Gramps!” the smallest one, with a straw hat balanced on his head, called cheerfully. Rosinante had seen that hat before, on wanted posters. Which meant this must be Luffy- Garp’s grandson who had been charmed by Red-Haired Shanks.

“Hey Gramps,” the only blonde of the group said with a wave. Garp regaled Rosinante with enough stories about his boys that evening for him to know this was Sabo- a street rat from the other side of the island who often served as a ringleader in the boys’ schemes.

Which meant the last boy, grinning sharply down at them, had to be Portgas D. Ace. Rosinante wasn’t sure how Garp handled two boys who inherited the will of D. He barely managed with one.

Then Rosinante remembered Garp was a D. himself. No wonder he wore Sengoku out so easily.

“Hey. Gramps.” Ace’s voice was more a challenge than a greeting. “Go fuck yourself.”

Rosinante fought the urge to choke on his own tongue. Garp’s face went red. Even if he couldn’t understand the words, Ace’s tone and smug grin were painfully clear.

Rosinante was distracted from Garp starting a tirade by a figure making their way down the treehouse’s ladder.

It seemed Luffy noticed the same thing. “Be careful, Torao!”

Rosinante’s hands twitched with the effort of keeping them by his sides. Law wouldn’t appreciate Rosinante stepping up to help him. Wouldn’t appreciate being coddled, even if Rosinante could see his legs shaking. But he wasn’t going to grab Law, not when he didn’t know if his touch would be welcome.

When he didn’t know if his presence would be welcome.

A few agonizing minutes later, Law was on solid ground and staring up at Rosinante. He scratched a faded pale patch on one of his arms- the only nervous tic Rosinante ever saw from him.

Neither of them knew what to say.

Law settled on saying nothing at all, instead taking a deep breath and opening his arms to Rosinante. He didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees and pulling Law into a fierce hug. Law’s arms wound around his neck, and his head tucked against the hollow of Rosinante’s throat.

Law trembled slightly, but Rosinante didn’t acknowledge it. His hands were shaking too, after all.

There were so many ways he could have lost Law. To Doflamingo. To the Amber Lead. To the fact that he was a Marine.

(There were so many ways he could still lose Law.)

“I knew for awhile,” Law admitted, his voice muffled by Rosinante’s shirt and the rounded shape of Northern. Garp somehow made his way into the treehouse to give them space, but Rosinante taught Law to be wary of prying ears. “I knew back on Minion. But I wanted to pretend I didn’t.”

“I wanted to pretend too,” Rosinante said, holding Law a bit tighter. The fact that Law allowed it, that he squeezed Rosinante back, told Rosinante more than words could.

“There are things I need to tell you,” he said. “About how I grew up. About being a Marine.” He hoped, desperately, that his birth as a noble wouldn’t be what drove Law away from him. He felt Law tense in his arms, and ran a careful hand up and down his back.

“Nothing like that,” he promised. “Never anything like that.”

For all that Rosinante had done for the Navy, lying and killing alike, there was never anything comparable to Flevance. He would die before aiding a genocide. Would die before killing children.

Law relaxed again with a shaky exhale. Nodded. His arms loosened a bit, and Rosinante took that as his cue to let go. Law stepped out of his arms, but didn’t go far.

“I meant to come back sooner,” he said. “I got distracted.”

Rosinante shook his head. “I told you to take as long as you needed.” He smiled at the treehouse, where Garp was herding his grandsons down the ladder, keeping a tight grip on Luffy. “It looks like you made some friends.”

Law shrugged and scratched his arm again. “They’re weird, but funny. Luffy ate a Devil Fruit too.”

“Oh.” Rosinante sat back and watched Garp try to corral his other two grandsons as Luffy wrapped strangely long arms around his neck. That explained some of Garp’s worry over the boys, as well as his resentment of Shanks. A Devil Fruit wasn’t likely to end up in a village as small as Foosha without a pirate’s involvement.

Garp successfully caught Ace and Sabo in something that looked half like a hug and half like a wrestling move. He straightened out and marched towards Rosinante as the boys resigned themselves to their fates and slouched against his chest.

“Let’s head back into town. Something tells me the boys haven’t eaten yet.”

Apparently food was the magic word with Garp’s grandsons, who burst into an intimidating round of cheers. Law shot Rosinante a helplessly confused look. Rosinante couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

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Law took hearing about Rosinante’s past better than he hoped. He half expected his childhood as a noble to be the final straw for Law. Instead, Law told him he couldn’t help where he was born, and that he didn’t act like a ‘complete bastard,’ so it didn’t matter.

They both knew it mattered.

Law traced the scars on Rosinante’s hands and arms with careful fingers and burning eyes. Rosinante wouldn’t be able to tell him they hadn’t hurt. Law understood the body far too well to believe that. Rosinante resolved, then, to never tell Law about his knees. Law would worry over them, over him, far too much. But there wouldn’t be anything he could do. Every doctor Sengoku took Rosinante to said the same thing: they healed wrong when he was too young, and his body developed around the mangled parts. Any surgery would be more risk than it was worth.

It wasn’t so bad, in the temperate East Blue. They didn’t ache or lock up the way they did in the Northern cold.

After a few minutes of cataloguing the wounds on Rosinante’s arms and grinding his teeth, Law softened.

“That language you whisper in sometimes,” he said. “What is it?”

Rosinante was surprised Law noticed. He either had incredibly sharp ears, or he wasn’t asleep half the times Rosinante thought he was.

Sadly, Rosinante was certain it was the latter.

“It’s the language of Marie Geoise,” Rosinante sighed. “The language of my family.”

All his family but Senoku, that was. Sengoku and now Law.

“Even Doflamingo?”

Rosinante tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Even Doffy.”

Law stared down at his lap. His hands squeezed Rosinante’s.

“Will you teach it to me?”

Rosinante’s eyes widened. An old taboo stole the breath from his lungs.

To the Celestial Dragons, teaching a commoner the Holy Tongue would have been the greatest sacrilege. A betrayal like no other. One so severe that even Rosinante’s parents never did it.

But Rosinante hadn’t been a Celestial Dragon in a very long time.

“I’d be happy to,” he breathed.

Law released his hand, only to shuffle closer and lean against his side. He even let Rosinante wrap an arm around him.

After that, Law took the news of Sengoku’s visit significantly worse.

He shut down, briefly, his breath catching and his hands curling into fists. He didn’t look up at Rosinante when he told him he needed to leave. Told him that Luffy and his brothers invited him to go fishing, and that he would be back after sundown.

It seemed he was trying to handle his anger, his grief, without lashing out. Rosinante wouldn’t stop him. Instead, he did his best to stay busy around Makino’s bar on the off chance that Law came back early and needed him.

It was a bit before midnight when Law returned, creeping into their room and pressing himself wordlessly against Rosinante’s side.

For awhile, the only sounds were the rumbling chatter of the bar below and the cricket song from outside.

After a few minutes, Law spoke. “He’s the Fleet Admiral.”

“He didn’t know.”

“How?” Law snarled, an old, familiar anger sharpening his voice. “How could the Fleet Admiral not know?”

“Because the government is corrupt and cruel,” Rosinante said. It wouldn’t be good to lie to Law here. Not again. Not about this. “There are people in power who know what Sengoku would never approve of, so they do it behind his back. They do it, and they burn records, and send bribes so he doesn’t find out.”

Few people knew how little Sengoku actually controlled. So much of what he did was standing as a figure-head.

Law made a pained sound. Covered his face with his hands and ducked his head to his chest. Rosinante pressed on anyway.

“I spoke to Garp about it. Sengoku tried to run an internal investigation, but with the ruling family dead there was no one to fund it. Not that they ever would have.”

He took a shaking breath. Reminded himself that not knowing would only hurt Law more.

“There were only a few, vague records left. As far as Sengoku could tell, all the others were burned.”

That, it seemed, was too much for Law. He started sobbing, curling in on himself and Rosinante’s side as Rosinante dragged him into his lap and against his chest.

“So that’s all it took?” Law hiccuped, one of his hands twisting to grab Rosinante’s shirt. Anchoring himself against Rosinante. “A few burnt papers and it- it never happened?! We never happened?!”

He made a sound like a dying animal, pressing his face against Rosinante’s chest and quickly soaking his shirt with tears.

Rosinante didn’t try to hush him, didn’t offer any meaningless platitudes. Law would never accept them, in the same way he would never accept pity.

“It happened. Nothing can change that,” Rosinante growled, fighting to keep his voice steady. He was angry, so soul-burningly angry about what Law was forced to endure.

It was the same anger he wielded as a weapon, when he wasn’t much older than Law. The same anger that drove him to burn the hospitals that turned Law away, that made Law cry.

The anger he wished he didn’t have. The anger he shared with Doflamingo.

“The people who did it will be punished. In this life or the next.”

Rosinante didn’t believe in fate as an unknowable, intangible force. He believed in fate as something that was made, something resting in a person’s hands. Something that depended on the strength of a person’s will.

Law was the most strong-willed person he’d ever met.

“What if I don’t believe in another life?” Law asked, breathless and horrible.

This was dangerous territory, Rosinante knew. But he promised himself he wouldn’t lie to Law again.

“Then we work to see them punished in this one.”

Law stilled for a moment. Took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I won’t ever be a Marine,” he said.

Rosinante ran a hand through Law’s wild hair. He didn’t take his hat when he left that morning.

“I wouldn’t ever ask you to be one,” Rosinante told him. He meant it too.

He knew Sengoku would want Law to join the Marines. Rosinante would make sure he never brought it up in front of Law.

Sengoku wouldn’t like it. He would think Rosinante was encouraging Law to be a pirate through inaction. But Rosinante didn’t think he was being that passive. Law would be whatever he wanted to be. Rosinante would watch over him as long as he wanted it.

Sengoku would just have to make peace with his grandson being a pirate.

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Rosinante sent Law off to Ace, Sabo, and Luffy’s treehouse the moment he spotted Sengoku’s ship on the horizon. (Apparently Law had been sparring with the boys. They showed their bruises off to Rosinante and Garp proudly. Law was a far gentler teacher than his were.) Law didn’t hesitate or complain, he only grabbed his hat, gave Rosinante a quick hug, and waved to Makino as he swept out of the bar. He wasn’t comfortable being around Navy ships. Wasn’t even comfortable seeing them.

Rosinante watched the ship approach from his window over Makino’s bar. When it docked in the harbor, he slipped out of the bar’s back door and into the woods, silencing himself as he went.

He trusted Sengoku, and he trusted Garp, but he didn’t trust the men Sengoku would be bringing. Not implicitly.

Not again.

He settled himself down on a fallen log and braced his head in his hands. His Observation Haki was good enough to cover the village and the nearby coast. He could recognize Law, a bright spot a few miles away, moving with Garp’s boys. Sengoku and Garp were forceful presences, making their way through the town to the woods. Closer and closer to Rosinante.

It was only a few minutes before Rosinante heard their voices.

“If this were anyone but you, I would be suspicious, Garp,” Sengoku said, his voice tense. The sound of it made a pit grow in Rosinante’s stomach.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Garp laughed.

“It’s simply a fact. You don’t have a scheming bone in your body,” Sengoku told him. “It’s a wonder where your son came from.”

With that they walked into a clearing, and Rosinante’s line of sight.

Sengoku looked tired. He had clearly lost weight, and there were bruise-dark shadows under his steely eyes. Rosinante never thought of him as an aging man. He held himself too proudly for that. But now his features were haggard and worn- grief etched into every line of his face Rosinante never noticed before. Garp held up a hand to stop him, and he nearly stumbled.

Rosinante ignored the way his hands shook. Ignored the way his stomach rolled. Ignored the horrible, choking lump in his throat. He let his bubble of silence grow to cover the clearing.

“Garp, what are you-“

Sengoku’s eyes landed on Rosinante.

His mouth dropped open.

Rosinante was up and crossing the clearing before either of them could blink, dragging Sengoku into a smothering hug.

“I’m sorry,” Rosinante said, and Sengoku’s arms snapped around him like a vice.

Sengoku held him bruisingly tight. It sent twinges of pain through Rosinante’s still healing wounds, made his ribs ache. He didn’t care. Sengoku had thought he was dead, and now he was crying against Rosinante’s shoulder.

Rosinante had never seen him cry before.

“How?” Sengoku asked, his voice shaking as much as his body.

“I don’t know,” Rosinante told him, just shy of hysterical. “I thought- I knew I was…” he took a deep, heaving breath. Pushed the thought of dying out of his mind. “Law saved me. I don’t know how.”

He knew, generally, that Law saved his life using his Devil Fruit, but he still refused to share any details. Just like he refused to tell Rosinante how he healed himself.

Law told him about Flevance. He wouldn’t say anything about this.

Rosinante wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If it was bad enough for Law to keep it from him, he didn’t know if he could stomach it.

“Doffy has spies in the Marines,” Rosinante said, before Sengoku could press about Law. There would be time for that later. He pulled back just enough to look Sengoku in the eye, but didn’t let go of him. “I don’t know how many, but at least one is a Lieutenant called Vergo.”

Sengoku’s teary eyes hardened. “Vergo? You’re certain?”

Rosinante wasn’t going to tell Sengoku any details. Wasn’t going to tell him how he was beaten. How many times he was shot. Wasn’t going to tell him how certain he was of his own death.

Instead he said, “he’s Doffy’s man through and through.”

“He’s been following me around lately, insisting on ‘supporting me through my grief’,” Sengoku snarled. Rosinante’s blood ran cold.

Sengoku saw the fear in his eyes and softened. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of Rosinante’s neck- a familiar gesture from a time that Sengoku’s hands dwarfed his.

“I haven’t let him anywhere near me,” Sengoku promised, and Rosinante could breathe again.

“He’s probably waiting to see if I’ll get in contact with you,” he said. “...Which means Doffy isn’t sure I’m dead.”

That was a terrifying thought.

Rosinante knew it would happen sooner or later. Knew that Doflamingo wouldn’t be able to write off his disappearing corpse as the work of wild animals for long. He was too paranoid for that.

But still, imagining Doflamingo tearing through North Blue looking for him, looking for Law, leaving his dog to follow at Sengoku’s heels…

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Rosinante said.

Sengoku laughed- a sharp, waterlogged sound. He cradled Rosinante’s face in his shaking, calloused hands. “You? I’m the one whose son has come back from the dead.”

Rosinante made a noise embarrassingly close to a sob. “I never meant for you to think I was dead,” he promised. “But it wasn’t safe to contact you. I needed-“

“You were looking out for more than just yourself,” Sengoku cut him off, idly brushing a tear from Rosinante’s cheek. “You were looking out for that boy. The one with the Amber Lead.”

“He doesn’t have it anymore,” Rosinante said, finally stepping out of Sengoku’s hold.

“The Devil Fruit?” Sengoku asked, his expression serious.

Rosinante nodded, trying not to tense too much. This would be the moment that decided if he would go back to the Marines, or be forced to run from two powers.

He didn’t want to lose a father again. But he would do it, he would walk away, if it meant saving Law’s life.

Sengoku sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He ground his teeth. Rosinante held his breath.

“We could spin it in Rosinante’s favor.”

Garp’s voice was an unexpected shock. Rosinante had half-forgotten he was there. Sengoku had too, if his widening eyes were any indication.

“What do you mean?” Sengoku asked, unexpectedly eager. The fact that he was entertaining the idea at all...

“The Donquixote Pirates stole the Devil Fruit,” Garp said, spreading his hands. “How could we know which member did it? Commander Rosinante had reason to believe he was compromised, so he escaped and took the kid and the Devil Fruit with him.”

None of it was even really a lie- Garp simply moved some things out of order. It could work, Rosinante realized, if people didn’t dig too deeply. There was only one problem.

“How do we explain the boy eating the Devil Fruit?” Sengoku asked, frowning the way he always did when he was deep in thought.

Garp grinned. “An accident!” he laughed. “The brat was too sick to realize what he was eating.”

Rosinante’s eye twitched.

Sengoku glowered at Garp. “Who would believe someone ate a Devil Fruit by accident?”

“My grandson did it,” Garp said with a shrug.

“Is your grandson an idiot?” Sengoku snapped. Rosinante burst out laughing as Garp’s face reddened.

“It could work,” he said, before Garp could start a fight. He didn’t think Foosha Village could survive one of Sengoku and Garp’s brawls. “Late stage Amber Lead poisoning can cause hallucinations. Who could know that it didn’t for Law?”

It was hard to mention that fact so casually. There was more than one time Law tugged at Rosinante, asking him to describe the world around them so he could be sure the poisoning hadn’t reached his brain. His mind was all he had, towards the end. He was so afraid of losing it.

Garp grinned, triumphantly spreading his hands. “There we go! An easy solution.”

Sengoku closed his eyes in a lightly pained expression. Rosinante chewed on his lower lip.

“I wonder if we even need to say that much,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Sengoku asked, his voice stern.

He was speaking as the Fleet Admiral, then. Not as Rosinante’s father.

Rosinante straightened up. “I took a sick child and a Devil Fruit away from the Donquixote Pirates. I was caught, and in that confrontation the Devil Fruit was lost. What more do I need to say?”

He didn’t want the Navy focused on Law. He didn’t want anyone in power focused on Law. It wouldn’t lead to anything good.

If it came out that Law was a survivor of Flevance…

(A memory came to Rosinante’s mind of the Ohara incident. Of a little girl’s face on wanted posters.)

“Does anyone but you know that Law had Amber Lead specifically?” he asked Sengoku.

Sengoku’s shoulders slouched. “I doubt it,” he said, dropping the authority in his voice. “Piecing together the boy’s origin was… difficult, to say the least. It’s unlikely anyone will investigate him to the degree I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought he might be the answer to what happened to you.”

Rosinante’s mouth went dry. His heart stuttered.

Sengoku smiled thinly. “If nothing else, it seems I was right about that,” he said. “I never recorded anything I found about the boy. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Sengoku closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grounding himself the way he taught Rosinante to.

“Could he keep up a lie you told him under scrutiny?” Sengoku asked.

Rosinante’s mind came to a screeching halt. He could barely believe Sengoku was considering this. That he was planning for it. Rosinante did his best to gather himself, and focus on the matter at hand.

“Easily,” he told Sengoku.

He decided to leave out the fact that Law would take any opportunity he could to spit in the government’s face. Lying would be nothing for him.

“What’s the plan, then?” Garp asked, a rarely heard seriousness in his voice.

“We’ll deal with Vergo first,” Sengoku said with a nod. “We’ll try to bring any other spies down with him. We can spin Rosinante not checking in as intentional rather than him going AWOL. The boy…” he trailed off with a sigh. “We’ll work the boy into it.”

“Law won’t go into Marine custody.” Rosinante decided now was as good a time as ever to bring that up.

“Why not?” Sengoku asked, his voice sharp. That commanding bark never intimidated Rosinante as much as it did Sengoku’s troops.

(Maybe it was because none of them ever found Sengoku sprawled out on their living room floor, singing nonsense songs to his pet goat as he fed her treats. That kind of thing softened one’s image of a man.)

“Flevance,” Rosinante said simply. “It’s a minor miracle that Law forgave me for telling him I wasn’t a Marine. Another miracle that he agreed to be civil with you.”

“Civil?” Sengoku asked.

Garp cut in. “Means the kid won’t pull a knife on you.”

Sengoku stared Garp down. “Did he pull one on you?”

“Nah,” Garp said. “Only ‘cause he didn’t have a knife to pull. But your kid gave him one the other day.”

Sengoku shot Rosinante a look. He raised his hands in defense. “I’m not leaving him unarmed when Doffy’s after him.”

“How many years has Doflamingo spent grooming him?” Sengoku asked, and Rosinante grit his teeth. “How sure are you that he won’t go back to him?”

“I’m very sure,” Rosinante hissed, his voice hard as he rolled his shoulders back and straightened up.

(Like a cobra rising to strike, Doflamingo laughed, once.)

He might not have been certain a few months ago, but any good will, any tolerance Law had for Doflamingo died when he shot Rosinante. He was probably higher than the average Marine on Law’s shit list, at this point.

Sengoku had never quite figured out how to deal with Rosinante when he was angry.

“I didn’t mean to… doubt either of you,” he said. The lie was so bad he flinched as he said it.

But Rosinante recognized the intention, and forced himself to let it go. “Just… just don’t say anything like that around Law.”

“I won’t.”

Garp grinned. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

Rosinante sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to admit out loud that Garp was certainly right.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Garp was mostly right.

Predictably, Sengoku had no idea how to act around Law.

Even more predictably, Law hated Sengoku on principle.

Rosinante was sure the only reason he didn’t bolt or try to attack Sengoku was because he attached himself to Rosinante’s side. He was intent on keeping his promise to be civil. Rosinante wouldn’t admit it out loud, Law would smack him if he did, but it was painfully endearing.

To Rosinante, at least. Sengoku looked just as ready to run as Law did.

The meeting was agonizingly awkward and stilted. Thankfully, Garp brought Luffy to ease some of the tension. He was currently chatting Sengoku’s ear off in barely passable Grand, telling him a story about almost being eaten by crocodiles.

Rosinante hoped it was just a story, but considering the alarmingly proud look on Garp’s face, it wasn’t.

Luffy was simultaneously providing a distraction for Law, having offered Law his hand when everyone settled in Makino’s closed bar. Law was carefully experimenting with seeing how far he could stretch Luffy’s fingers, and trying to feel the rubbery bones beneath the skin. He was clearly having a wonderful time with it, if the grin crawling across his face was any indication.

The light in his eyes visibly unsettled Garp and Sengoku. Rosinante knew Law noticed this, and was fairly sure he was playing it up.

“Luffy-ya, do you bleed?” he asked. Sengoku looked at him sharply. Luffy barely paused in his storytelling.

“Just if I get cut!” he chirped, before launching into another story of almost getting eaten- this time by a large wildcat.

Law only hummed, stretching Luffy’s skin and holding it up to the light to see the veins running below the surface.

Rosinante leaned down and whispered to Law in Flevean, “don’t be creepy on purpose.”

“It’s not on purpose. I’m just curious,” Law said, which was a weak defense, seeing as he stared Sengoku down every time he asked Luffy a strange question.

Rosinante raised an eyebrow at him. Law caved, and heaved the most put-upon sigh Rosinante ever heard.

“Hey, old man,” he called to Sengoku, which was hardly polite but definitely better than however Law was thinking of him. Sengoku’s eye twitched a bit at the disrespect, but thankfully he didn’t say anything about it.

“You raised Cora, right?” Law asked.

If Sengoku was confused by the name, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded. “I took him in when he was young.”

Law stared at him for an uncomfortably long minute. Even Luffy fell silent to watch.

“Then thanks,” Law said.

Rosinante wouldn’t have been able to stop his smile if he tried.

“I should thank you as well,” Sengoku told him, his lips twitching. “It’s my understanding that you saved his life.”

Law nodded, shifting in a way that made it clear he was uncomfortable. Not with the praise, Rosinante knew, but with the reminder.

“I’m a doctor,” he said, simply, and went back to playing with Luffy’s hand.

Rosinante shot Sengoku an approving look, both to thank him and to keep from pushing his luck. Luffy helped that as well, poking at Sengoku and asking him if he’d ever seen a Sea King. Garp took over answering that, tugging Luffy out of Sengoku’s personal space before he could start climbing on him.

“Are you doing alright?” Rosinante asked Law.

Law shrugged. “I don't like this. Or him. But I get to kill two birds with one stone.”

Rosinante did not get a chance to ask what, exactly, Law meant by that.

“Luffy-ya,” he called, waiting till he had the other boy, and everyone else’s, attention. “Does this hurt?”

He brutally bent one of Luffy’s fingers until it touched the back of his hand.

“No,” Luffy said, oblivious to the horrified adults around him. “Should it?”

“Yes.” Law smiled, all bared teeth. “Do your bones break?”

“I don’t think so,” Luffy shrugged. Law lit up.

Before anyone could stop him, Law braced Luffy’s arm and twisted his hand completely around. It was a clear, practiced movement that would break any other person’s wrist. Luffy laughed.

“Can you move your fingers?” Law asked, briefly meeting Sengoku’s horrified stare.

“Yup!” Luffy chirping, obligingly wiggling each one.

“That’s fascinating,” Law muttered. Luffy grinned at him, as if he understood the compliment. It absolutely was a compliment, coming from Law.

Law pinned Luffy’s wrist down and continued twisting it, like he was turning a corkscrew. Luffy went back to his conversation with Garp.

Rosinante looked at Sengoku. He was staring at Law, one eye twitching, with a concentration similar to when he was putting together a puzzle.

A slightly disturbing puzzle, in this case.

“Cora, do you have a notebook?” Law asked, finally letting Luffy go and watching his wrist spin back into place with an almost manic fascination. His fingers twitched lightly.

Rosinante knew all about Law’s hobby of small animal dissection. If it were anyone else Rosinante would find it unpleasant, but Law got so excited when he talked about veins, and nerves, and the way tendons strung a body together. It was a good thing Law had enough manners not to ask if he could cut Luffy open. Rosinante wasn’t sure Luffy was sensible enough to refuse.

There was a small notebook and a pen in Rosinante’s pocket. He pulled them out and handed them to Law, who started writing frantic notes.

“Is this… normal? For him?” Sengoku asked, watching Law write.

Rosinante wished he could tell him it wasn’t.

“Pretty much.”

It was better not to tell Sengoku this display was tame by Law’s standards.

But Law’s curiosity was satisfied. Sengoku was deeply unnerved. Two birds with one stone indeed.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“The boy is certainly… unsettling,” Sengoku said, staring up at the windows over Makino’s bar. Law went to bed hours ago, and Garp left with Luffy not long after. After that, Rosinante and Sengoku settled behind the bar, passing a flask of rum back and forth.

Rosinante looked at Sengoku, accepting the flask when he was offered it. He would wait to be offended. Sengoku might have a point beyond insulting Law.

He could almost see why some people thought Law was unsettling, but he didn’t agree. Law was too easily flustered, too easily riled. Too fascinated by the most surprising things. Too genuine in his rage and his joy. Too small. Rosinante struggled to see him as anything other than endearing.

“But he’s your son.”

Rosinante struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. “I don’t think he sees me as a father. I don’t think he could.”

From what he told Rosinante, Law’s father was an incredible man. A man that Law loved and admired. A man he had, at one point, wanted to be like. It wasn’t Rosinante’s place to compare himself to him.

“It’s obvious that he loves you,” Sengoku said. He snatched the flask from Rosinante before he could knock the rest of the rum back in an impressive display of self-pity.

(He knew Rosinante’s habits well. Half the reason they ever drank together was so Sengoku could be sure he didn’t drink too much.)

“He does.” Rosinante meant to agree, but the fear crawling up his throat turned the words into a question.

Sengoku knew Rosinante well enough not to call it out. Instead he stood and grabbed Rosinante’s arms to haul him to his feet, and into a hug. Rosinante melted into the embrace. He clung to Sengoku like he did as a child. It was difficult, now that he was taller than Sengoku, but they managed.

“I have a week in Foosha,” Sengoku said, his voice rough and unsteady.

Rosinante swallowed a sob. Nodded against Sengoku’s shoulder.

“We can make a plan in that time.” Sengoku squeezed Rosinante sharply, then pulled back just enough to cup Rosinante’s face in his calloused hands. Tears ran tracks down his face, even as his lips curved up.

“You’re alive.”

Rosinante hiccupped. He tried to bite down the feeling rushing up his throat before he remembered this was Sengoku. This was his father. Rosinante sobbed. He clung to Sengoku and wailed, breaking down in a way he hadn’t since he was a child. Since the first time Sengoku made him feel safe.

It had been too much.

Everything with Doflamingo. Living when he should have died. Law drifting every day between death and life. It was too much.

It was all too much.

Sengoku was steady as ever, holding Rosinante upright. Running a hand over Rosinante’s back, a hand through his hair. Taking clear, long breaths that were easy to match. Easy to fall into rhythm with, even if Rosinante’s chest rattled as he did.

Sengoku didn’t try to soothe him. To hush him, or promise everything would be well. It would only set Rosinante off again if he tried. Instead, he held Rosinante close for as long as it took his grief to run dry. For as long as it took him to gather the pieces of himself together.

When he straightened up, his hands stayed- balled tightly in the fabric of Sengoku’s coat.

Sengoku was wearing a smile Rosinante had never seen- the smallest tilt to his lips, his eyes pained and warm all at once. Rosinante untangled his hands from Sengoku’s coat, squeezing his shoulders before letting his arms fall to his sides.

Sengoku reached up to wipe the last tears from Rosinante’s face.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised. Rosinante could only nod and watch him leave, too choked up to speak.

Rosinante stood alone in the dark for a long time, breathing deeply and grounding himself as best as he could.

Once he felt he wasn’t about to start crying again, he slipped back inside. He made a bubble of silence around himself as he snuck into his and Law’s room. There was barely enough moonlight spilling in from the window for Rosinante to see where he was going. He used the small washbasin by his bedside to clean the makeup from his face.

He knew he should regret the tattoos. But instead he found, time and time again, that he didn’t. They were a reminder of something wonderful just as much as they were a reminder of something awful.

There was a rustling sound behind Rosinante. He turned to find Law sitting up in his bed.

“Cora?” he asked, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Rosinante said, stepping forward to ruffle Law’s hair.

He lazily slapped Rosinante’s hand away. “I was already awake. Mostly.”

Rosinante hoped Law would sleep better once he was cured, but he didn’t really expect it. Amber Lead was far from the only thing that plagued him.

“Insomnia again?”

Law didn’t answer. Instead he ducked his head, his clenched fists twisting the bedsheets.

“Law?” Rosinante prodded, kneeling by his bedside.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Cora,” Law snapped, so sharp that Rosinante flinched back.

“Wh-”

“You’re an idiot.” His voice was a hiss- sharp and cold. “You’re an idiot who’s so used to his Devil Fruit he can’t tell how damn loud his voice is.”

Rosinante’s mouth went dry. He took a shuddering breath.

He almost didn’t notice Law start to cry; his shoulders shaking, his small chest heaving.

“I already said we’re family, didn’t I?”

Rosinante’s body moved before his mind could catch up, opening his arms for Law to fall into.

“I’m sorry,” Rosinante breathed, as Law’s arms wound around his neck. “I’m sorry for not listening.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Law snarled, but the sound was softened by the way he clung to Rosinante.

He let himself relax into the hug. Let himself trust that Law wasn’t going anywhere. Wouldn’t be lost to him in the night- to sickness or to Doflamingo.

“I love you, Law.”

Law’s hold tightened.

Rosinante had a son.

#mine #halfway through yall!#small changes fic #this chapter is about 6.5k words #donquixote corazon #donquixote rosinante #donquixote rocinante #god what if i just started tagging him as clown man to save myself the trouble #one piece #one piece fic #trafalgar law #monkey d. garp #monkey d. luffy #sengoku #must a story have a 'plot'?#is it not enough to string together found family scenes in various locations?#because i think it is

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theguineapig3 · 5 years

Text

Chosen Week 2019 Day 1: “Festival”

“We Knew”

Characters: Zelos Wilder, Frank Brunel Words: 2416 Genre: Hurt/Comfort

At a festival celebrating the reunion of the worlds, Zelos slips away and gets the chance to thank Frank for being such a good father to Colette. But Frank reveals a darker side of his relationship with his daughter- not only did he send Colette to die, but he didn’t even believe it was possible for her to regenerate the world. So why did he do it?

(This is an idea that I’ve been toying with for a while, something I wanted to explore more but haven’t really had the time. I’d like to do more with it than just a oneshot- if only because Frank is such an interesting character to me- but for right now it’s enough just to get it written down.Thanks for reading!)

Zelos was usually the life of the party.

He was a fast talker, and could catch just about anyone’s attention with either his good looks or his witty banter. He had spent much of the evening in conversation with Iselia’s ladies, showing off his charm and worldly knowledge. With the commotion from the world reunion and the revival of the Great Tree having died down, the village of Iselia decided to take a much-needed break from their reconstruction efforts to throw a festival to honor Lloyd, Colette, and the Sage siblings. It was fun- for a little rural village in the formerly declining world, the people of Iselia knew how to party! But the more that people asked about their journey and the process they went through in rejoining the worlds, the less comfortable Zelos felt.

Would Lloyd and the others talk about his betrayal? His workings with Cruxis behind their backs and kidnapping Colette to hand her over? Maybe, maybe not. Lloyd and Colette would focus on the fact that he’d come around in the end, and while the others might not give him as much credit, they probably wouldn’t be too harsh either. The people of Iselia would never know how the harm that he did, the horrible impacts he could’ve had on his friends and the worlds themselves. And something unfamiliar, a sense of something akin to guilt, turned his stomach.

So he left.

He didn’t leave the village, of course, but he found a seat away from the commotion where he could sit and escape the noise for a little while. Zelos passed some time away looking up at the stars, enjoying the chance to see constellations that he normally couldn’t amongst the well-lit streets of Meltokio. He was so lost in it, that he didn’t notice another person approaching… that is, until said person tripped and fell.

“Agh- ow! Oops, heh, didn’t see that branch, there…” The voice was male, middle-aged, and unfamiliar to Zelos. He looked down to see the man standing up, brushing the dirt off the front of his pants. It was dark, but Zelos could see the man’s blond hair and facial features clear enough to notice the familiarities.

“You’re… Colette’s dad, aren’t you?”

Frank looked up and smiled. “Yes! My apologies, I haven’t had the chance to really talk with you yet. You’re the fellow Chosen, right? Zelos?”

Chosen. That was something Zelos couldn’t get away from, even in another world.

“Yeah, that’s me. What’s up? I doubt you came all the way out here just to find a stick to trip over.”

“Yes, well…” Frank allowed himself a small laugh. “...Colette actually asked me to look for you. She noticed that you’d disappeared, and was worried about you.”

Zelos closed his eyes and sighed. “Ah, my darling Colette. Always so considerate. Let her know I’m okay, I’m just taking a break from all the noise.”

“I will!” Frank chirped, his pleasant expression mirroring the one his daughter always wore. Zelos felt a pang of affection, the likes of which he might’ve once felt for his mother long ago. Realizing this might be his only opportunity without seeming awkward in front of the others, he spoke up again.

“Hey, uh, Mister Brunel… I don’t want to keep Colette worrying, but can I talk to you for a minute?”

Frank had already started back toward the center of the village, but he turned and moved back to sit down beside Zelos. “Sure thing. And you can just call me Frank, by the way.”

Zelos couldn’t help a grin. “Frank, huh? You sure are a nice guy, even to people you barely know. That’s- well, I guess that’s exactly the thing I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to say thanks.”

“Thanks?” Frank repeated. “For what?”

“For raising Colette the way you did.” Zelos shifted and turned so that he was looking directly at Frank. “I’m sure it was hard, being the father of the Chosen. Having the eyes of the whole world on you, managing the expectations of everything you know and love… it’s rough. My own parents couldn’t take it. My father ignored me and my mother resented me. Being told that Colette was the child of angels, knowing she had to die, you could’ve easily shunned her or treated her cruelly to keep from forming a bond that you knew would be broken someday. You loved her and raised her right. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Colette being such a wonderful person, I might not even be here today. She’s a good kid, and part of that is because she grew up knowing she was loved. So, uh, thanks for that. I’ve known some shitty dads in my time, so knowing that there are good ones out there… it’s a good feeling.”

Frank was silent, taking in what Zelos had said. He was staring at Zelos initially, but he covered his mouth and turned away. Zelos frowned, leaning forward.

“Something wrong?”

“I…” Frank began, his voice cracking a little, “...I appreciate you saying so. I do love Colette, and I’m glad that my love has reached her. But I’m no glowing example of a father. No good father would ever send his child to die.”

Zelos felt his stomach churn. There was genuine guilt in this man’s voice. It wasn’t whatever fleeting compulsion that passed for guilt in Zelos’ shameless mind- it was real, festering guilt that had been growing for a long time now. So… what could he say?

“You didn’t have a choice. As far as you knew, you were doing what was best for the world. After all, she was supposed to save your world from dying, right?”

Frank shook his head.

“No. That’s what was so bad. It would’ve been awful enough for me to have sacrificed my own daughter, even for the sake of the world. But I knew from the time she was little that she wasn’t going to save the world. At least, not in the way that the Church of Martel said she would.”

For once, Zelos was actually lost for words. He struggled to form a response. “But… you… how?”

There was silence for a long moment. The joyful sounds of partying in the village center sounded like a faraway dream, cold and distant from the conversation the two men were having. Frank finally let out a long sigh, exhaling a breath he’d been holding for too long. He looked back at Zelos with a melancholy smile.

“You know, I’ve never told anyone this before. Up until now, it wasn’t safe to do so. But my mother-in-law and I… we believed that… that Colette wasn’t a real Chosen.”

Zelos stiffened. “What do you mean, not a real Chosen?”

“My wife, Lucille, was the niece of the previous Chosen, so we knew it was possible that she would bear the next. But when she was pregnant with Colette, she told me- she insisted to me- that the child wouldn’t be the Chosen. She was sure the child was mine.”

Zelos raised an eyebrow. “So sure, huh? I guess you’re more of a ladies’ man than I first thought.”

Frank looked away with a nervous laugh. “Oh no, not me! I was a nervous, clumsy boy who was always better at talking to dogs than I was at talking to people. Lucille seemed happy when the Church chose me to marry her, so she must have seen something in me, but...”

“At the very least, she was right about Colette.”

The statement reminded Frank that he was telling a story, and his voice steadied again. “Shortly after Colette was born, the priests took her to be blessed at the Temple of Martel and I finally got to speak with Lucille again. She confided to me that Colette had not actually been born holding the Cruxis Crystal, as it was said all Chosens were. Lucille claimed that the priests had planted it on Colette and then lied to us about it. I tried to reassure her that they’d never do something like that, that she was just seeing things from the stress or the pain, but… I didn’t have a chance to convince her. That was the last time I ever spoke to her. She died that same day, supposedly of complications from childbirth. But she had looked so healthy…”

Zelos felt his fingers clench together into a fist. “You're saying you think they murdered her for knowing the truth about what Cruxis was doing with the Chosens?”

“I don't know,” Frank replied, shaking his head, “and may never know. I went first to my mother-in-law, telling her what Lucille had told me. She then recounted a story I had never heard- one of her own mother claiming on Aithra’s sixteenth birthday that she couldn't go on the journey of regeneration because she was a ‘false Chosen.’ Aithra and Phaidra’s mother claimed that when she gave birth to Aithra, she saw the priests plant a Cruxis Crystal in the baby’s hand. The priests said that she was simply hysterical and trying to make a scene to keep her child from going on the journey. They took her to the temple in order to ‘help’ her, but not even a week later, she mysteriously died. Grief, they said, and Phaidra had believed it up until that point.”

“But when Colette’s mom said the same thing…”

“Yes. We realized that the Church of Martel must have been trying to cover it up, and that our lives would be in danger if we tried to come forward.” Frank leaned over, resting his head in his hands. “We knew the world was dying and needed a Chosen. But if Colette and Aithra had not been born the way Chosens were meant to be, not really the children of angels, then they couldn't regenerate the world. The only explanation we could come up with was that the Church of Martel was designating fake ‘chosens’ in order to give the world hope while they waited for a true Chosen to be born. Aithra and Colette, we assumed, were just part of their plan to keep order and prevent mass hysteria over the worry that a Chosen would not appear in time. To us in our limited knowledge, that made the most sense.”

“Of course it did.” Zelos nodded his head in reply. “You had no way of knowing that the whole Chosen-lineage thing was just part of Cruxis’ genetic experiments, or that Cruxis Crystals come from Derris-Kharlan rather than being born with individuals. With the Chosens dying at age sixteen, the title couldn't pass on from parent to child like in Tethe'alla. So you relied on the Church to tell you who was who. And if you thought they were lying… well, you had to protect yourself. But did you really keep it a secret from Colette too?”

“Yes.”

“Why? If you thought she would fail- if you knew she really was your daughter- why didn't you tell her?”

The question brought Frank back up to a sitting position, looking back at Zelos with seriousness in his eyes. “All Colette ever wanted was to help people. More than anything, I wanted her to believe she could. How could I send my little girl to die for nothing? At least if she thought she was saving the world, she could be happy until the end. It was cruel of me to keep it from her, but-”

“No. It wasn't.”

Zelos had been making a point not to interrupt, but this time he felt it was important. His words brought a slight change to Frank’s expression, eyebrows raising and frown softening.

“You think lying my daughter was the right thing to do?”

“Eh, when you phrase it like that, it does sound kinda bad.” Zelos shrugged his shoulders. “But I don't see it that way. You loved your daughter. You wanted her to be happy. As far as you knew, she was going to die- whether by a failed attempt at regenerating the world or by the hand of the Church for defying them. So you did what you could to make sure she felt like her death would mean something. You could've taken that purpose away from her, but you didn't. You let her have it because you loved her and wanted her to be happy.” He closed his eyes and heaved a long, drawn out sigh. “My mother didn't lie to me. With her dying words, she told me the cold, hard truth. I wonder what would've happened if she had lied? If instead of saying ‘you never should have been born,’ she’d have said ‘I love you, Zelos.’ Would things have been different? Would I have been different?”

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments until he felt a comforting hand pat him on the back.

“I’m sorry.”

Zelos opened his eyes to look over at Frank’s soft smile. He responded with a smile of his own, though it was less genuine.

“Is that another lie to make a poor Chosen feel better about themselves?”

“No.” Frank’s response was quick and direct. “No, it isn't. I am sorry for you. I'm sorry for everyone caught in this system. I'm sorry that the Chosens have to choose between having honest parents that resent them or loving parents that lie to them. It isn't right and it isn't fair.”

There was another pause, and then Zelos pulled himself to his feet. He turned around and reached out to Frank, helping the man up as well so that the two of them were standing side by side.

“I don’t know what's right or what's wrong. But I know one thing for sure- if I were given the choice, I'd choose the lying parent any day.”

Frank smiled. “Is that so?”

“Lies? They’re a dime a dozen. You get them everywhere, from everyone. Parents lie to kids all the time. But love? That's special. It’s rare, at least where I come from. So don't beat yourself up over things you've done out of love. You have your daughter back now- back for good. You have all the time in the world to come clean and reconcile. So do it. This festival is all about reunions, after all. Don't squander this opportunity.”

Frank was still holding onto Zelos’ hand, and he squeezed it in appreciation.

“Thank you, Zelos. I… I will. I’ll tell her everything.”

#tales of symphonia #zelos wilder #chosenweek2019 #my fanfiction

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wellhellotragic · 6 years

Text

If Looks Could Kill 22/27

Summary: Emma Swan is a dedicated FBI agent getting over a bad breakup. When she and her partner, Ruby Lucas, are forced to go undercover as contestants on a reality show, Emma is forced to try and win the affections of Killian Jones, a man she despises. Killian Jones is a lost boy. Having recently been nicknamed the ‘Bad Boy of Boston,’ he’s been living up to his moniker using women and rum to avoid dealing with his dark past. When he’s forced to take the lead in a reality show, he encounters a gorgeous blonde who turns his world upside down. Miss Congeniality meets The Bachelor

Rated: M for language, violence, and smut.

Catch up here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Three weeks had passed since his world had fallen apart. Three weeks had passed since he had held her, tasted her lips, shared his body with her. Three weeks had passed since her betrayal and the hurt lingered on, festering within his very soul.

He should have known it was too good to be true. Killian Jones wasn’t the type of man to get lucky and find love. If anything, he was more likely to be smited by God for all of his sins. To make matters worse, all of his emotions were jumbled, vibrating under his skin and he wished nothing more than to claw them out. To be numb.

He’d spent the last few weeks trying to sort through everything, but every time he was left with even more confusion, and he wasn’t sure if he was more upset for how foolish he felt, thinking he had meant anything to her, or if it was the heartache that followed losing the woman he’d never really even had.

Everyone had tried talking to him about it. Robin had really gone to bat for Emma, but Killian wouldn’t have any of it. Will’s approach had been to simply tell him that he was being a child. And then of course there was Ruby, who hadn’t said anything with words, but whose looks said everything. The problem though, was that he wasn’t ready to hear any of it. Emma wasn’t the only one who had lied to him. She wasn’t the only one who had betrayed him.

It had been a group effort between his two best friends, his manager, a handful of other agents, and the woman he was now resolutely trying to forget.

There were a lot of questions from the remaining girls in the house about Emma's departure. They had seen Ruby box up Emma’s stuff, watched it being carried outside to a waiting car, but there were no signs of the woman in question. Eventually the rumor mill had become too much, and Graham had decided to get ahead of the situation. A house meeting had been called and Mary Margaret - no, Ava, he remembered - had explained to everyone that Emma had broken a house rule and had slept with one of the production crew members and had been asked to leave the house. Given her icy attitude against Killian in public, it was an easy idea to sell.

The lie had had to be believable so that Tamara wouldn’t suspect anything, and also so that no one would be suspicious of Ruby’s presence still in the house. It had already been decided on by the time he returned to the mansion after walking away from everyone. He’d found himself at a bar, because that’s what he did when life went to shit. He drank.

One, two, three tumblers of rum later he sat perched at the bar next to a very attentive brunette. It would have been easy to take her back to his place, or even to find a seedy little motel down the block. The buzz flowing through his blood was almost enough to make him do it, but as he threw some money down to pay for their drinks, and walked her outside, something stopped him. His heart wasn’t in it. It was battered and bruised, but it still worked.

And that was the problem, he supposed; for has much of a beating it had taken, it still craved for something. For her. So he walked the girl outside and closed the door behind her as she slid into the cab with a confused look on his face. He gave her a small apologetic smile and hailed down his own taxi, heading back to the house.

They’d been waiting for him, and as soon as he stepped foot back onto the gravel driveway, Ava was pulling him to the RV that had been their basecamp from the beginning. Regina had been there too, trying to explain her reasoning behind the secrecy. She had told him that she was worried that he’d drink himself into a stupor, or that he’d get himself killed somehow. She’d begged Robin to help her out and he’d agreed, wanting to keep his friend safe. She’d tried to take all of the blame, and while he knew she was largely at fault, he knew there was more than enough of it to spread around.

Slowly, more things started to come together in his mind. Graham - a normally laid back man - had been enraged that Emma had slept with him. At first, he’d believed that it had been just because she’d taken the assignment too far, but then his brain had focused in on a single memory of Graham kissing a blonde woman outside of the Rusty Anchor. Graham had been kissing Emma, and it all made sense. They’d been together, and once again Killian had been fool enough to fall for a taken woman.

He wondered what baggage the new blonde came with. Did Elsa have a hidden lover tucked away somewhere too? The date with her had been normal at least. There was lack of any definite spark, but she wasn’t a law enforcement agent as far as he could tell, and she wasn’t a homicidal maniac so she already had a leg up on the other remaining women.

Not that there was really much contest. After the rose ceremony the day before, only three women remained, and only one of them was an option. Ruby was only there to protect him from Tamara, who was still under investigation.

Six months. That how long he had promised to date Elsa for the sake of his contract with the show, then at the end of those six months, they’d break up and he’d fade into obscurity. At the time, any relationship he had with Regina, both personal and profession would end. He’d already made his peace with it, just as he had that Robin and Will were now nothing more that agents assigned to him.

He just had to make it through the next week without getting murdered, and then he could focus on surviving the next six months. Of course, that’s why he had picked Elsa. She seemed like the most normal of them all, and the one he had the most in common with. He wasn’t so much of a fool to admit that she was pretty as well, even if the color of her eyes seemed dull by comparison to those of another blonde.

There were a few times that he’d turn his head to talk to her, and find himself caught off guard when she wasn’t Emma. It had made this evening’s outing more tense for him. They had grabbed a quick bite to eat in the park as the crew filmed them. The conversation had steered mostly to her life. He’d already given enough of himself away, a mistake that he wouldn’t make twice. She’d grown up in a small town in Norway, but when her parents had passed away she had gone to live with an aunt in Toronto. It was her aunt that had encouraged her to take up music as a way to deal with her grief. She had asked him why he’d left the band and he had given her the most vague answer he could think of in an attempt to evade the question. Aside from Regina, Emma had been the only one he’d told about Milah and the stab wound that had ruined his career.

A fat load of good that had done him. If Regina hadn’t said anything to Graham’s team, he was nearly certain that Emma had. In all likelihood, his entire life story was scribbled away in the margins of some report somewhere, just waiting for the next agent to dissect and pick apart as part of the investigation. Even when his heart tried to tell him that she’d never betray him in that way, his brain reminded him that she already had. His life had been reduced to a file for anyone to read, and soon the rest of the world would figure it out.

The producers of the show had arranged for him and his new date to attend a rehearsal for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Occasionally the orchestra put on a themed concert, and currently they were running through sheet music for the Star Wars soundtrack. It had been nice to just sit and listen to music, something he hadn’t done in awhile. That night with Emma on his ship didn’t count anymore.

Ava had told them both that a surprise had been arranged for them near the end of the rehearsal, but she hadn’t explained what it was, and as he was still rightly upset with her as well, he hadn’t asked, not wanting to extend his time in her presence.

The last song dwindled down and the conductor turned around to make an announcement to the room, which was only filled with a handful of people.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been informed that we have a bit of a prodigy in our midsts.”

Killian grimaced, not wanting any extra attention focused on him. It had been for not though, as the conductor named the date sitting next to him. She adamantly refused though, and after some cheering by the small crowd gathered in the hall, she agreed only on the condition that Killian joined her.

He couldn’t though. Hand injury aside, there was an emotional barricade that prevented him. His hand cramped and a searing pain ghosted through his palm as all of the eyes in the room diverted their gazes from Elsa to him. It was too much, and he felt like he was being suffocated. He looked around the room, scanning all of the faces watching him. It was too much.

Without an explanation, he bolted from the hall, past the foyer, and onto the street. The cooling air that came on the cusp of autumn turning to winter bombarded his exposed skin as the double doors wrenched open in his wake, and he was glad for it. It steadied him somehow.

Ava came outside, followed by Elsa and the rest of the camera crew.

“So help me God if you don’t turn that thing off-”

Charming held his hands out in surrender, nodding to the other crew members. Something had shifted between the two men since the revelation, and whether it was fear or guilt, Charming had decided to give Killian a wide berth.

“Killian, what’s wrong?”

He found himself chortling at the question, at the obviousness of the answer. He wanted to yell and shout and read her the riot act, but Regina’s warning about the contract he’d signed kept reminding him to keep his mouth shut and to play along.

“Nothing, I just needed some air.”

It was Elsa that tried speaking next, in her small voice.

"Killian, you look pale. Are you okay? What can I do?"

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, and it took everything he had not to shrug her away. Even if the camera wasn't rolling, Elsa had no idea what was happening behind the scenes.

Walls up.

If there had been one honest thing about Emma Swan, it was that hiding behind her walls had kept her from getting hurt, and it could do the same for him. He just needed to remember who he had been before all of this. He needed to revive the womanizing jerk persona that he'd adopted in the wake of losing Milah. Besides, what had being the shy, respectful Killian Jones ever gotten him besides heartache?

Nothing.

He plastered a smirk on his face and raised one eyebrow, letting his gaze slide over her figure.

"Oh, don't you worry about me, lass. I just thought the faster we finished our date, ” he started, making sure to punctuate the last syllable, “the faster we could get back home and have some alone time."

He let his teeth dig into his bottom lip and watched as her cheeks flushed.

"Killian!" Ava admonished, but he chose to ignore her.

"So, love." It was the first time he'd used the endearment since Emma left, and it made him feel slightly dirty. "What do you say? Want to go back to my place?"

"Knock it off, Jones."

He turned to find Ava giving him a death glare.

"I'm just giving everyone what they wanted."

His head cocked to the side and his tongue flicked across his bottom lip wetting it, but Ava's facial expression remained unchanged.

“That’s enough. Elsa, could you be so kind as to join David inside for your date interview?”

Elsa glanced back and forth between them, obviously picking up on the tension between the two of them. Eventually she made her way inside, and once she was sure that Elsa was far enough away, she pounced.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“You’re sounding a bet repetitive there. You sure it isn’t you who has an issue, perhaps something memory related?”

He saw something shift, her face soften, and something close to pity seeped through.

“It’s not too late, you know.”

He barked out a laugh.

“I believe that’s where you and I have a difference of opinion.”

“Why? Because she didn’t tell you who she was? She couldn’t, Killian.”

“You think that’s the big issue? That my ego couldn’t handle it? This wasn’t a small omission. She lied to me over and over. She used me as a pawn. There is no me and Emma, never has been. So yes, it’s too late, eons beyond too late!”

His words were filled with so much contempt for the world and he was certain that spit was flying from his mouth with each sentence.

“It’s not like that-”

“This conversation is over.”

Her face fell, and he could tell she was fighting the urge to continue, but instead she dropped the subject. She nodded to him. Elsa and the film crew returned just as the town car pulled up outside the theater. The drive back was silent and the air was thick with ire from both he and the pixie. She was Emma’s friend; of course she’d defend Emma until the bitter end, no matter what she had done.

The car pulled up in front of the mansion, dropping Elsa off first. Killian exited before her and held out his hand to help the blonde exit the car. He kept his grip on her and placed a kiss on her knuckles, soliciting another round of blush from her.

He watched Elsa make her way through the front door before hearing Ava yell at him to get back in the car. He did as ordered, but made no apologies for his behavior that evening. The car stopped once again just outside of the property on the main road, where Will was waiting on a black SUV.

“Come on sunshine, we’ve got some stuff to show you.”

Killian had already washed himself of their friendship, but Will had refused to let him push him away, constantly brushing off his snarky comments and acting as nothing had happened. Will had been a right arse about it as well, telling Killian that when all was said and done he needed to pull his head out of his ass.

It only added fuel to his fury, as everyone tried to make light of the situation, to minimize his feelings about what had been done to him.

The trip to the FBI headquarters had been no different.

“So have you heard from her at all?”

“Will,” Killian warned.

“I’m serious. She was good fer ya.”

“Why the bloody hell would she contact me? When we parted there was nothing left to say. She’s probably off on another assignment anyway, showing another one of her marks the same special attention she showed me.”

He felt sick. The idea of her letting another man do things to her was horrible, but so was the idea that their night of lovemaking had been all an act on her part. A damn good act if the sounds he thought he had elicited from her were any indication.

“What are you talking about, you wanker? She’s not on any assignments.”

“Ah, so she’s out fucking your boss then.”

Will slammed on the breaks, nearly causing another car to slam into them.

“What are you on about?”

“Really? You think me so much of a fool as not to put two and two together? I saw her that night outside the bar, with his tongue down her throat. I’ll admit, it took me an embarrassing long time to fit the pieces together, but don’t you worry, I got there.”

“You blarmy git.”

Will had started the car back up, but spent more time watching Killian than the road.

“They were never together. Graham may have wished it, but she’s only ever had eyes for you.”

“The jig is up. There’s no need to keep up this charade.”

“For Christ’s sake, Killian. She quit the bureau. Did ya know that? Graham told her to go back to the New York office but she refused and turned in her badge instead.”

Killian understood what Will had implied, but he refused to allow himself to believe it, to be suckered into hoping again. She just wanted to be there, to take the credit when they made an arrest. She just wanted to boost her career.

“She left and no one has heard from her since, so I thought maybe she’d reached out to you. Listen to me, Jones. You may not believe in her, but for some reason known only to her and God, she believes in you, and she’s going to get herself killed trying to save you.”

Will parked in his assigned spot as he threw the shifter into park. He didn’t even wait for Killian to get out of the car before he started stomping off towards the building. Killian followed, allowing himself to lag behind a few paces. He was still angry with Will, but he never heard the man be so forceful before, never heard him filled with such conviction, and for the first time he felt a slight pang of guilt.

Once they were in the office, Will set a few files in front of him to review, to see if anything jumped out at him, but they had been at it for weeks now, squirreling away in the night hours while everyone else was asleep. Ruby joined them about an hour later, having waited until Elsa and Tamara were asleep.

Will left after Ruby claimed a stack of folders and spot at the table for herself. He was tired, and clearly annoyed by Killian’s mere existence at that point. It wasn’t until twenty minutes later when Killian caught Ruby watching him instead of the paperwork in front of her that either of them spoke.

“What?” he sneered.

“Nothing. I’m just trying to decided if you’re really as stupid as you look.”

“Excuse me?”

“She loves you. You know that right?”

This conversation topic was becoming a broken record.

“And you just tossed her aside. Didn’t even give her a chance to explain.”

“I’m fairly certain that walking in on all of you conspiring against me was self explanatory enough.”

He sat back in his chair and let his head fall back, exhausted from constantly having to defend his right to be angry.

“We talk. You get that right?” She started. “And it killed her having to keep the truth from you.”

Why was everyone so dead set on painting Emma as the victim in all of this?

“Stop. There’s a difference between keeping the truth and telling blatant lies. Lies like her working for a health magazine, or that she was adopted.”

“Okay, the job was one thing, but as far as the other part goes, she was. By the Swans when she was a teenager. Where do you think her real name comes from?

“And the part about her father being murdered?”

Ruby’s mouth fell open.

“Also true.”

“Fine then, but there’s no way the part about Neal was true. How long did you two spend concocting that story?”

Ruby was silent. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. He had her.

“She told you about him?”

Killian rolled his eyes at her attempt to cover for Emma.

Ruby stood and left the room and Killian knew he had won. He’d finally vindicated himself. It wasn’t until Ruby returned with a small stack of papers and tossed them in front of him that he saw the pain in her face.

“Read it.”

He rolled his eyes again, but picked up the small stack. It was Emma’s file, dating back to when she first started at the bureau. He didn’t want to know anything about her, he’d already learned enough, but after scanning the first page, he found himself enthralled in spite of himself.

There were a lot of redactions in the file, but he caught the highlights. She’d graduated top of class and received the highest level of praises and commendations, but suddenly something had happened. From what he gathered, she’d received a demotion, and her superiors had been less than enthused about her continued presence on their teams, despite her high case closure rate. The file ended with her recent resignation.

“And what is it that you expect me to take away from all of this?

“What did she tell you about Neal?”

His brain yelled at him to stop, not to let himself be fooled once again, but his heart spoke first.

“That he broke her heart, that he used her.”

Ruby nodded and sat back down across from him.

“That’s putting it lightly. He destroyed her. Neal was the worst thing that ever happened to Emma, and considering her childhood, that’s saying something. You read the file. I’m sure you saw her review records from the beginning of her career?”

He nodded, unable to form words just yet.

“And I’m sure you noticed how everything fell to crap pretty quickly after that?”

He nodded again.

“That was Neal. The thing you have to understand first is that Emma was very guarded, and very naive in many ways. The Swans were the first people to take Emma in and make her feel loved, but it was a parental love, not the type of love that comes in and knocks your world off of its axis.”

He had an idea of what she meant by that.

“So when Neal came into her life, he was the first man to ever make declarations of love. She’d been so focused on her career that she didn’t even give him the time of day at first, but he badgered her and wore her down. He was her first real boyfriend, her first love, her first everything. Things moved so quickly and before I could talk her out of it, he’d moved into her apartment.”

Ruby shook her head at the memory and he saw tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

“There was something off about him, I had a gut feeling, but she wouldn’ have any of it. Neal and I didn’t get along, and eventually Emma stopped talking to me, choosing him instead. She was head over heels in love with him, blinded by it, and so willing to look past all of the warning signs. He became her whole world, and he promised her everything. But it was all a lie. His father was being investigated on fraud charges for one of his American based companies, and Neal had inserted himself into Emma’s life, knowing that she and I were the lead investigators on it.”

She shifted and a single tear fell.

“One day she woke up and he was gone. All of his stuff had been removed from the apartment. No note, no explanation. He’d just vanished into the night. She’d kept a brave face, hoping that it was just a misunderstanding, but when she got to work that day and walked into her office, our supervisor was already in there waiting for her. And in a flash, ten agents descended on her, yelling at her to get down, training their guns on her. People yelled at her and called her names as they very publicly escorted her from the building. People who had been her friends, her colleagues. These were people whose lives she had saved and they just turned on her.”

Ruby went silent for a moment, and Killian could see her reliving everything.

“They locked her up in a federal prison, charged with treason. As it turns out, Neal had used her ID to log into her government account, and had purged a bunch of sensitive documents that were necessary for the case. Most of the people were certain that it was her, because obviously her password had been used to log in. Some believed that she’d just helped him, but everyone was certain that she was guilty.”

“Do you know what happens to law enforcement officers in prison? God, the first time I saw her I wanted to die. I don’t know how she survived that first beating, and they refused to move her or keep her in isolation. It was their own little brand of punishment before the investigation had even begun. I tried to bail her out, but they denied it. For two months she sat there, beaten and broken, and those were just the physical wounds. The rest she kept hidden inside. For two months she was the most despised person in our office and no one wanted to help her.”

Killian felt his stomach lunge. Vision of a battered Emma rushed through his mind. He wasn’t certain what to think. He’d been lied to so much in the last two months, he wasn’t sure if anything that Ruby had told him had been the truth, but his gut told him that she had no reason to lie, no reason to make up such an elaborate story.

“It took those two months for me to clear her name, and even then, people refused to believe in her exoneration. They tried to force her out, but she was tough, and refused. Instead, they transferred her, and she was stuck undercover playing the part of prostitutes. Another little brand of justice. It’s been years and people still consider her a pariah. And even worse, Neal’s still out there somewhere, walking around as a free man.”

He opened his mouth, willing anything to come out, but Ruby beat him to it.

“And before you start, she only played the part of a prostitute, she never actually did anything with any of them. You were different. She was engaged before all of this. Did she tell you?”

He nodded, again unable to speak.

“She wasn’t really into him though. He cheated on her and that was the end of that. He was just supposed to be a safe option though, but she never really felt anything for him. Not like she did for you. When it ended she was more upset as the embarrassment of being cheated on, than losing the guy she was supposed to spend forever with.

“You know, I was surprised. She’d put up these walls, and I never thought she’d let anyone in again, but then you happened and everything changed. Just the fact that she told you about Neal speaks to how much you mean to her.”

“How so?”

Ruby chuckled a little.

“She doesn’t talk about him. At all. In fact the last time I brought him up she didn’t speak to me for months. I told you, there are two topics off limit when it comes to Emma. One of them is August, but the other is Neal.”

Every emotion that the human body was capable of feeling swirled through him, overwhelming him, confusing him. He’d been so ready to remove her from his life before, and now, now he didn’t know what to think.

He thought back to those first few conversations with her. It was part of what had drawn him to her, the kindred feeling they shared. She’d known pain, and the longer he thought it over, the more likely Ruby’s story seemed.

“And whatever became of Neal?”

“Who knows. For all of the hours we’ve put in searching, he’s still a ghost.”

This man who caused Emma an immeasurable amount of pain, was just wondering around the city, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t torn her life apart. The same way she’d ruined him. He was still furious, but he felt the bitter cold wrapped around his heart starting to melt. Despite how angry he was with her, she deserved better. He told himself that it was because she was a human though, not because he was still in love with her.

He considered his options. He could keep his mouth shut, let fate take of things in it’s own way. Or he could intercede and give Emma some of the justice that she deserved. His mind and heart were at war, so instead he said the first thing that popped into his mind, letting his heart win for once.

“Would it help you to know that Emma told me that she saw him the night before she left. That she told me that Neal works for the catering company on the show?”

He wasn’t sure why, but as Ruby’s eyes widened, he felt relaxed for the first time in three weeks. Like something was finally going to go right.

“Just thought maybe you could use your own brand of justice.”

#If Looks Could Kill #ILCK #wellhellotragic #hellotragic #cs ff

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psyga315 · 5 years

Text

Tweaking Volume 6

Let’s begin with…

Episode 1

“Don’t fret, passengers. The glory of Atlas shall guide you to Argus!”

And we don’t see JNR until after the “Ozpin gets BTFO” Arc and the Apathy Arc.

Episode ends like usual.

Oh, and Ruby’s gift for Yang is explicitly shown to be the magazine she reads in the train because why show the bag if you’re not gonna reveal it.

Episode 2

This is kept the same, except the Cinder scenes are moved to its own episode.

Episode 3

He calmly walked to the pool of Light, left behind in the battle, and takes a swan dive into it, presumably killing him.

That and Oscar sees Pyrrha’s death and the whole Maiden thing that Ozpin did to her.

Episode 4

Same episode, but now Ruby’s pissed at Ozpin as well. Not enough to punch Oscar or even berate him, but enough to say “good riddance” or “coward” when Ozpin retreats.

Episode 5

Oscar is worried about being regarded as Ozpin and is even worried about how Jaune would react.

Qrow is depressed over Ozpin’s machinations and, as the episode ends, finds a stash of liquor.

Blake begins to berate herself about Adam and explains the reason of why she let Adam run (namely because of his whole “get inside your head” tactic she mentioned in the finale) to Yang.

Episode 6

Episode 7

Basically the same, but heavier emphasis that Tock’s employer was Salem and that she has a connection to Tyrian.

Episode 8 & 9

Now, here’s where this gets the most change, because in all honesty, that whole “Oscar’s missing” thing was stupid cliff-hanger baiting. So, here’s how the change begins.

And so, slowly and surely, we have our group split up to comfort each other. In order:

Lastly, Ruby talks with Jaune in a scene that mirrors the whole Weiss/Yang scene in Volume 5 with a heavy dose of the Oscar/Ruby scene from the same Volume. Though now, with this line:

Jaune is moved by this and instantly thinks of how to get into Atlas.

The Final Quarter

The fight doesn’t change by much, but one should change it so that Ruby and the group are reluctant to destroy the mech because of Jaune bringing up how it’s used to protect Argus from big Grimm.

Blake confronts Adam without being scared. They both know that only one person will come out of this alive. And so, they fight.

Let me repeat this for clarity: Adam was always a manipulative gas-lighter. It’s that Cinder encouraged him to do the whole “I will destroy everything you love” thing.

Yang comes in and… Okay, I’m gonna address an elephant in the room.

“You humans are all the same! Nothing but squabbling idiots who are quick and easy to anger!” Adam lands the final blow on Yang…

CLANG!

“Yeah…” Yang used her hand to catch his sword. “Like you.” And her eyes flash red.

DVD Exclusive Episode Because $$$

It ends with Taiyang asking Raven what she’ll do now that she’s realized what a coward she is. Cut to black, see you next Volume.

#RWBY #RWDE #rewrite #RWBY rewrite #volume 6

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