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wkemeup · 5 years

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The Witness (10)

series summary: After witnessing a Hydra hit and the handsome, borderline endearing cop who had become a regular at your bar takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.

pairing: detective!bucky x reader

word count: 9k

warnings: little bit of angst, little bit of fluff, little bit of violence

author’s note: I almost split this one into two chapters too, but ugh idk i didn’t want to disrupt the flow of the storyline and i have zero capacity to write short fics im sorry

series masterlist // previous chapter

An hour had passed without word from the surgeons beyond the double doors at the end of the hall. The nurse Sam had been bothering finally agreed to come look at you, though when she laid eyes on the light red stains upon your hands and the knife wound along your cheek, she perked up immediately, calling for another nurse as she passed by. She had chastised Sam for not telling her the state of your condition and he all but threw a silent tantrum behind her as she spoke to you, causing you to bit on your lip to suppress a laugh.

A nurse by the name of Sharon knelt in front of you, her blonde hair curled in gentle waves over her shoulder and a sweet look in her eye as she gestured for your hands. You set them in her palms, appreciating that she hadn’t bothered to ask you to follow her to an exam room. Steve sat next to you the whole time, his knee touching yours ever so slightly, but enough to keep you grounded. Sam slumped into a chair across from you as the older nurse returned to the desk, grumbling under her breath and sending a glaring look in Sam’s direction.

Sharon reached over for a cart on Steve’s left and he helped her swing it around. From the bottom drawer she pulled out a series of white clothes and a bottle filled with a clear liquid. She sprayed some onto the wipes and offered you an encouraging smile.

“This may be a little cold but it’ll get the dried blood off your skin,” she said softly, watching you for recognition before she began to run the cloth along your arms. You flinched at first, surprised by the coolness of the damp wipe, but you settled quickly. Sharon was as gentle as she could be, pressing a little harder when a patch of dried blood didn’t want to wipe away on its own. It stuck in the hair of your arms and cracks in your knuckles.

Once she was finished, she threw the red stained rags into the disposal bin on the side of the cart. Then she pulled out a new set of bandages and began wrapping the burns on your wrist without another word. There was some kind of cooling gel underneath that made the ache in your wrists a little less noticeable. She affixed the clips on the ends of the bandage, securing them with just enough pressure to protect it while giving it room to breathe.

Then, she took a seat next to you, dragging the cart closer as she pulled out a cotton swab and dipped it into the clear bottle she had used on your arms.

“This may sting,” she warned, holding it up against your face. You nodded and you felt Steve’s hand sitting over yours. You turn your palm and let him grab your hand. You squeezed it and Sharon pressed it to the cut. It left a burning sensation behind as she cleaned the wound and you clenched your jaw. She muttered an apology under her breath as she continued to work. It was over quicker than you anticipated. Steve released your hand.

“Good news is it won’t need stitches,” Sharon smiled at you, disposing of the swab. “I’m just going to put some surgical glue on and you’ll be all set.”

The glue didn’t sting the way the clear liquid had and it was over before you had time to wince at the tingling sensation of it. When she was finished, she set the materials back on the cart and set her eyes on Sam.

“You know you’re still in trouble for running out on us,” she smirked, folding her arms over her chest. Despite her light pink scrubs and the teddy bear sticker adhered to her ID badge, she had an intimidating aurora you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of, even if it was in jest. Sam sunk further into his chair, grimacing.

“Sorry about that,” Sam apologized weakly, eyeing Steve for support who only shrugged and looked away.

“I suppose if your stitches held together in your escape, you should be fine,” Sharon conceded, though there was a laugh on the end of her words. She set a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “I know you’re waiting on news about the officers down in surgery. I’ll do my best to get an update for you.”

You exhaled, a moment of relief as you nodded. “Thank you.”

She smiled sweetly before she turned towards Sam with a teasing glare and jogged down the hall and through the double doors.

“You’ve gotta stop pissing off the nurses, Sam,” Steve laughed.

Sam shook his head, grumbling under his breath, “they started it.”

***

Sharon came back twenty minutes later. Nat was out of the OR and in the ICU until further notice, and no—you couldn’t see her just yet. Peter was still in surgery and they had successfully removed the metal chunk in his leg, though they ran into a few close calls. Plastics had taken the lead to start removing the burned skin while General closed up his leg. No end in sight for now.

Dr. Palmer was currently working on Bucky down in OR 7. Everything was going smoothly so far, but they were spending more time than expected on the stab wound in his stomach due to the serrated edges of the knife having ripped his skin and internal organs to shreds. It was apparently a miracle he survived long enough to get into the OR in the first place. You winced as Sharon told you so and she immediately bit down on her lip, having realized the way it came out. She went on to inform you that the cuts along Bucky’s left shoulder were proving difficult to stitch up. The scars it would leave behind would be unavoidable.

You nodded as she spoke, trying to breathe through the anxiety tingling in your skin.

An hour later, you met Steve’s wife, Peggy. She had come storming through the elevator doors, heels clicking on the tile flooring as she rushed to Steve. A million questions a minute rambling from behind bright red lipstick and a thick English accent, she started to direct her attention to the nurses when Steve couldn’t get the answers out fast enough. The older nurse who had become rivals with Sam was happy to update her.

After several minutes, Peggy fell down in the chair next to Sam with a huff. She blew a dark brunette curl from falling into her face. Then, her eyes fell on you and a smile so wide lit up her features. She quickly moved to the chair beside you, grinning ear to ear.

She told you how much she had been hearing about you from Steve – your name redacted until now to preserve your identity, of course – and from Bucky as well in their weekly Sunday night dinners. You smiled at that, thinking of Bucky spending his Sunday evenings with a married couple, sharing a meal, probably watching a movie and having a decent liquor for once. It was the kind of normalcy you didn’t have growing up.

“I’m so happy he found you,” Peggy concluded after a long ramble about Bucky’s apparently uneventful romantic history outside of the ‘ghastly’ woman named Dolores who had broken his heart a few years prior.

“Not sure he’d say that right about now,” you sighed, eyes glancing down towards the double doors. “Meeting me brought him a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe he needed a little more excitement in his life,” Peggy shrugged, her hand snaking into yours. Soft skin brushing gently over the dried cracks on the back of your hand. Red nail polish against paled skin.

“He lost a lot of blood. You didn’t see him, Peggy. He might not make it,” you whispered, finding yourself slumping down to lean against her shoulder. Peggy nodded, bringing your intertwined hand into her lap.

“He’s stronger than he looks... and he looks pretty strong,” she reminded you softly, an airy laugh in her voice. “He’s got something to fight for out here. If I know anything about that man, it’s that he’s about as stubborn as his best friend and he won’t let you go for anything.”

***

Sharon came by twice more with updates and you had lost track of time. The sun had risen enough to fill the waiting area with a glow of light through the windows. Sam was hiding from it beneath his jacket draped over his face as he curled up against the wall. These chairs didn’t allow for comfortable sleep, but it seemed like he was doing just fine. His light snoring was evident of that, at least.

Peggy and Steve were talking quietly with one another; everything from what was on the grocery list for the week to when they’ll find time to visit England to see her parents. Peggy led the conversations, asking the questions. She must have known that Steve needed a sense of normalcy. Even a police captain had best friends he was terrified of losing. It was nice to know he had someone looking out for him. This petite, brass, charming Englishwoman took care of him as if he weren’t twice anyone’s size and standing a foot above the rest.

The soft buzz of the tv filled the otherwise tensely silent room. A blonde news anchor dressed in a sharp red blazer sat behind a desk with several sheets of paper ahead of her, a pen twirling in her right hand. To her left was an image of the intersection where the crossfire took place, followed by Rumlow and Ward’s mugshots. Then, the screen changed to a video of Sam’s impala flipped on its roof, flames bursting from the engine. It appeared like it was shot on a cell phone from the vertical alignment and the blurred shakiness of whoever was recording it. The screen rushed between glimpses of Sam dragging Peter out from inside the burning car to Nat firing shots at the Hydra men. It switched to a scene of Bucky, Nat, and Sam slowly lowering themselves to the ground as you were held hostage, gun pressed to your temple.

The anchor came back on screen, a solemn look on her face as the small image on her left showed the front view of the hospital. You gritted your teeth and turned away.

After the news had transitioned into a cooking show and then into a morning talk show you’d never heard of, a few officers you hadn’t seen around the station had begun to straggle into the waiting room.

Detective Clint Barton, the one you had learned from Sam had arrested Rumlow and Ward, was currently sitting in the corner of the room with his feet kicked up, watching the mid-afternoon talk show on the small, grainy tv screen bolted to the wall. He was on his second bad of chips from the vending machine.

Dr. Bruce Banner, the one-four's forensic psychologist, was pacing back and forth by the windows. His messy curls bouncing with each step. Peggy had whispered to you that he and Natasha had a bit of a history, which surprised you for only a moment before you remembered that beneath her hardened exterior was one of the kindest, warmest people you knew.

Peter’s Aunt May was sitting by herself, hands in her face, for the last hour. She brushed off anyone that came near, claiming she just knew he’d get himself into this mess and she didn’t want comfort from those who got him there.

You’d learned Bucky’s sister, Rebecca, was out of state for college and his mother had broken down completely on the porch of her house when the officers arrived to inform her of his condition. She couldn’t leave her home in that state, so Steve had them track down a cousin of hers to stay with her until they had more news.

You’d met Thor and Loki, an odd pair who claimed to be brothers despite their polar opposite appearance and general demeanor in which they carried themselves. They called themselves private investigators but Sam grumbled something about them being ‘amateur Nancy Drews’ under his breath.

Even Tony Stark was standing over in the corner, talking quietly into his cellphone.

Then, a woman who demanded the attention of the entire room when she walked through the elevator doors took a seat next to you. She gave you a knowing smile before settling in. You’d later learn her name was Carol Danvers. She was a Sergeant at the one-four and despite her small frame, much like Natasha, she carried the energy of a someone twice her size. She nudged your shoulder lightly, grabbing your attention.

“Barton handed Rumlow and Ward over to me for processing,” she started, a smirk upon her lips. “Just thought you’d like to know that I roughed them up a bit in the interrogation room. Those Hydra scum will turn on one another real quick if they figure they can get one in for themselves. Idiots. Can’t believe they thought we’d actually cut them a deal.”

You laugh slightly behind pressed lips, lifting your head from Peggy’s shoulder. There was a strain in your muscle in the movement and you reached up to massage it.

“So, they’re secure where they are?” you asked apprehensively, stealing a glance back at Steve, who nodded slightly for you, indicating Carol was safe. “One of their moles can’t just let them out while we’re here?”

Carol smiled, shaking her head. “I locked up their cells myself and took all the spares with me. Plus, I’ve got a guy standing guard. Pietro Maximoff. He may be a rookie, but nothing gets past that kid. Too quick.”

You nodded, feeling slightly relieved and a bit satisfied to know Rumlow and Ward had been on the end of Carol’s bad side. She started to tell you stories from the one-four, ones where Bucky and Steve had gotten in serious heat with the previous captain, that made you smile despite the exhaustion. Your eyes glanced down at the double doors a little less often now that she was around.

***

A light tap on your shoulder woke you carefully. You lift your head to find you had fallen asleep on Peggy’s lap. Her hands were running softly through your hair and she offered you a smile as she gestured across the room. You lift your head from her thigh, combing self-consciously through your hair with your fingers as your eyes narrowed on a woman emerging through the double doors at the end of the hall.

Light teal scrubs and auburn hair drawn back away from her face in a ponytail. She discarded her plastic gloves at the edge of the door and you tried to ignore the blood that covered the blue material. She pushed through the doors, eyes scanning the room until she landed on Steve.

“Captain Rogers. You’re Detective Barnes’ emergency contact, is that right?” she asked, weaving through the dozens of officers and members of the one-four who had come to sit in wait for their colleagues.

Steve stood quickly, wiping his hands on his slacks. “Dr. Palmer?”

She nodded. “Detective Barnes lost quite a lot of blood and it was a challenge to piece together his internal wiring from the intrusive trauma, but we managed. He’ll be in the ICU for a while, but he’s tough. I expect he’ll make a full recovery.”

Peggy squeezed your hand and you nearly burst into tears.

“He’ll have significant scarring,” Dr. Palmer went on to add. “There wasn’t much we could do for that I’m afraid.”

“When can we see him?” Steve asked after considering what she said.

Dr. Palmer looked around the room. “While I’m sure he appreciates the turnout, I’m afraid we can only allow immediate family right now. He’s not stable enough for much else.”

Your heart dropped. Steve glanced down at you, unsure of what to say.

“We are his family,” Steve pressed, shaking his head, at a loss. Dr. Palmer pressed her lips together into a thin line. The regret was evident on her face.

“Ms. Barnes?”

Your eyes snapped up to find Sharon jogging in from behind the double doors. She smiled softly at you, sending you a wink before she came up to stand next to Dr. Palmer.

“I can take Ms. Barnes back to see her husband, now,” Sharon offered.

“Oh, I didn’t realize Detective Barnes was married. I must have missed that in the chart,” Dr. Palmer said, nodding her head. The knowing look in her eyes made you wonder if she knew exactly what Sharon was doing. She smiled at you then and you knew she did.

“He’s still under the anesthesia but he should wake soon,” Dr. Palmer said, directly to you now. “I’ll let Sharon walk you back. Once he’s stable enough, I’ll be sure to let your crew know. We’ll have to sort out a shift system. Don’t want to overwhelm the poor man.”

Steve smiled at that, sitting back into the chair as Peggy ushered you to your feet. She urged you on, waving at you to follow Sharon, but your legs felt like jelly. You clenched your jaw, staring down at the double doors.

Sharon offered you her arm for support and you took it graciously. She led you through the mass of officers and they backed slowly to the sides, allowing a passage through. Once the double doors closed behind you, you glanced over your shoulder to see Steve giving you a slight nod, half of an encouraging smile lifting his cheeks. You exhaled and continued on.

“Now, I want to prepare you,” Sharon began and you could already feel your stomach dropping. “The bruising is darker and more spread out than when he came in, so don’t be alarmed. He’ll have some bandaging on his right hand, his left shoulder, and around his waist. Someone will be by to change those once every few hours. We’ve already removed the respiratory tube from surgery, so don’t worry about having to see that, alright?”

You nodded, trying to take in her words the best you could. Then, she pulled you to a stop outside room 1189. Bucky’s name was scribbled in messy handwriting on the whiteboard underneath. Someone had thought to write “NYPD” just below his name. Somehow, it brought you comfort.

“I’ll work on getting someone in to see Detective Romanoff as well,” Sharon added. “She’ll be waking soon and our staff hates this ‘family only’ rule just as much as you all do.”

She smiled at you, nudging your shoulder. A semblance of a smile pulled at your lips, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. She reached forward and turned the knob to Bucky’s room, stepping aside to give you the space you needed and disappearing back down the hall.

Slowly, you stepped inside the room. It was brighter than you imagined, light seeping in from the massive windows giving view to the towers across the street. White walls, beige tile floors, the faint smell of fresh sheets and sterilized surfaces. The soft beeping of a machine with a red line ticking up and down and it ran across the screen. Wires connecting down from the monitor to the bed where Bucky laid.

Yours hands reached up to cover your mouth as you finally took him in. Stumbling over to the chair by his bedside, you collapsed into it, shaking hands reaching to grab his. A thick plastic clasp sat over his pointer finger, wires connecting it to the monitor above you. You brought his hand to your lips and kissed his still broken knuckles.

Bandages covered his left shoulder, one wrapped around his stomach, another encasing his hand furthest from you. Broken pieces tied together with gauze and thread.

Your cheeks were wet with tears as you glanced over at his face. His lip was busted down the middle. Blue and purple covered more of his skin than not. Swollen eyelid and cheekbone, angry blue veins protruding to the surface. You tried to imagine he was only asleep, that is wasn’t just the anesthesia keeping him sedated, but you knew better than this. You’d seen the peaceful way he lied on his bed in the early hours of the morning, the almost boyish look in his face as he scrunched his nose in his sleep, the endearing mess of bedhead he’d wake up to. It wasn’t the same.

Exhausted, you leaned forward until your forehead rested against the bed. It was so soft, almost like a pillow and you could feel yourself giving into it. You wrapped your arms under your head, hunching over the bed as you dragged the chair closer with a hook of your foot. Gripped Bucky’s hand in yours, you let yourself find rest.

What felt like only seconds later, but had likely been almost an hour, you hummed contently as a tender pressure ran over your scalp, running through your hair, and lulling you back to sleep. You nuzzled in closer, shiftily slight to lean into the feeling. As raspy chuckle fell on your ears and you sprang up, eyes wide only, heart pounding, only to be met with the most beautiful shades of blue you’d ever seen.

You froze completely, just staring at him, petrified that if you even blinked, he’d disappear. Having noticed the fear etched in your features, he offered you a sad smile. You could practically feel him scanning you for further injury, eyes falling over the cut on your cheek for a moment too long. He licked at his lips when he met your eyes again.

“Hiya, doll,” he exhaled, his voice coming out in only a whisper but certainly the loveliest sound you’d ever heard. He started to cough abruptly and you lunged for the water at his bedside, pouring a glass for him and holding it up to his lips. He took a small sip, nodded that he was finished, and you pulled it away.

He sighed, glancing around the room. “I hope us being here means Hydra didn’t win this round.”

“Rumlow and Ward were arrested when they showed up at the bar,” you confirmed quickly and his eyes narrowed quizzically. You continued, “Steve has the chip from my necklace, too.”

Bucky shook his head, leaning back against the pillow. “It’s too easy.”

A humorless laugh escaped you. “That’s what I said. Sam thinks I should work on accepting good things when they come.”

“Yeah, well, Sam’s too optimistic for his own good,” Bucky grumbled, though he raised a genuine smile for you despite the crack in his lips. It made your heart flutter. He sighed, trying to adjust himself on the bed but winced at the effort. You rushed forward to help him, though you found your hands hovering over him, almost afraid to touch him. If he noticed your hesitancy, he didn’t say anything.

Once he settled, he let out a heavy exhale. His eyes fell on you as you pulled his hand back to your lap, drawing patterns in his palm. Several moments of comfortable silence passed, save for your soft humming. He watched you carefully, almost like he was studying you, trying to memorize you, before he spoke again.

“Are you okay, doll?” Bucky asked cautiously and you could practically hear the guilt beginning to build in his voice.

“We’re here and they’re not,” you shrugged, pulling to press a kiss to the back of his hand. You set your intertwined hands into your lap and slowly met his eye. “That’s all that matters right now.”

He didn’t seem convinced, his gaze caught on the scar running over your cheekbone. “Y/n, I’m so--”

“Don’t do this again, please,” you sighed. When his eyes fell away from you, you reached forward to brush his hair from his eyes, tracing your fingers carefully along the scruff of his beard. He leaned into it. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’ll deal with the trauma later, alright?”

Bucky chuckled softly at that though when a silence took over again, it took a minute before he looked up at you nervously. “So, there’s a later, huh? Now that this is over?”

The way he asked you, trying to cover his fretfulness through the banter in his voice, made your heart ache. He wasn’t asking to tease you. He was sincere in his uncertainty and that, above all else, hurt more than anything.

“Did you think I’d leave once Hydra was no longer a threat to my life?” you asked, watching the way his eyes flickered down to your intertwined hands, then to the door.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Bucky shrugged shyly. “Adrenaline can be a hell of a drug. Not to mention, you’re pretty hard to read, sweetheart.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” you replied quickly, kissing his hand. You brushed his knuckles over your cheek and his opened his palm to rest against the side of your face. You held it there, leaning into him as his thumb traced delicately under the angry red scar.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bucky,” you reminded him, more serious this time as you said it. You needed him to know, to understand that there wasn’t a single thing on this Earth that could take you from him now. Bucky nodded, a smile curving at the ends of his lips as he sighed, seemingly content to just watch you.

You kissed the inside of his palm, drawing his hand from your face and pulling it to sit in your lap again. You flashed him a smirk and he raised an eyebrow playfully.

“I suppose you should get used to your shitty bourbon, Barnes.”

He let out a laugh-- a genuine, boisterous laugh-- and the sound alone made your heart swell. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to that. You hoped you never did.

***

With the help of Sharon, Bucky’s room had become a revolving door of visitors. You kept his hand woven in your own as you sat next to his bed side. He had requested to see Clint and Carol first, after you informed him that they were the last ones to have contact with Rumlow and Ward since the arrest. He grilled them for almost an hour before he finally took a breath and relaxed, accepting that maybe they’d finally won a round against Hydra for once.

Clint, you found, was somehow more of a sarcastic shit than Sam was, and you grew a liking to him quickly. Carol took Bucky’s questions in stride, replying in quick, short responses, just enough to get to the point. She barely even batted an eye.

Then came a steady stream of the officers you’d hadn’t met before. Men and women in blue uniform, some from the one-four, others from different precincts over the city. It seemed the NYPD showed up for one of its own regardless of district. They only stayed to wish him well or bring by flowers to sit on the windowsill. Tight lipped smiles and nervous glances in your direction and then they were out the door.

Almost two hours later when Steve and Peggy finally walked through the door, hand in hand, you slumped back against the side of Bucky’s bed in relief. Peggy scurried over quickly to give a light hug to Bucky and an aired kiss to his cheek before she pulled up a chair next to you. Steve hung behind in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he looked Bucky over. He shook his head, pursing his lips into a frown.

“You gotta learn to stay out of trouble, punk,” Steve chuckled under his breath.

“Only if you do, jerk.” Bucky smirked, eyes on his oldest friend until he walked the room to reach out to shake his hand. Steve was cautious as he gripped Bucky’s hand and Bucky must have noticed it because with one hard yank, he pulled Steve down into a hug. A wince passed over his face as he patted Steve’s back, likely from the heavy weight of the captain, but he didn’t complain. Steve laughed, pulling himself up and moving to lean against the wall.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Steve teased, the relief on his face as evident as you felt.

“Is someone making fun of Barnes? I want in,” Sam’s voice called from a few paces beyond the door, but he wasn’t the next face you saw come through the frame.

“You’re all insufferable. Just so you know,” Nat rolled her eyes, leaning on the armrest of the wheelchair Sam was pushing. Her leg was propped up, held at a ninety-degree angle, with heavy bandages and splints holding it in place. Other than that, you never would have known she had just come out of surgery; gorgeous without even an ounce of makeup and soft fiery hair that never seemed out of place.

She winked at you as Sam locked the wheels on her chair next to Peggy. You reached over her and gripped her hand. You wanted to tell her you were sorry she ended up in the crosshairs of a Hydra stand off for you and that you were thankful she was alive. You wanted her to know that even when this was over, you still wanted to be friends. You hoped she felt the same way. Natasha had the uncanny ability to read minds with a single look. She nodded, a knowing smile on her lips, understanding perfectly.

“Gang’s all here,” Bucky chuckled to himself, squeezing your hand. A silence fell over the room and you lowered your head. You could feel Bucky eyeing the room and no one dared to speak. “What?”

“Parker’s still in surgery,” Sam finally said. Bucky’s lips parted in shock. “He got the worst of the explosion. Burned pretty bad and his leg got impaled with a piece of the car door. He’s got a long road ahead of him, but I hear the doc’s optimistic about his recovery.”

Bucky nodded and you could feel his heartrate picking up beneath his pulse point. “He’s just a kid. We never should have let him get involved with this.”

“Parker is a fully trained officer,” Steve said, serious enough tone in his voice to remind you that he was still the captain of this precinct. “He looks young and he’s got the energy of someone half his age, but he’s qualified and capable of doing his job; a job he volunteered for, by the way. You didn’t force him into this. He knew exactly what he was signing up for.”

Steve reached out to put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder but withdrew quickly when his fingers brushed over the series of bandages. Steve swallowed, folding his arms over his chest. Bucky let out a heavy sigh, pressing his lips to a thin line. He stole a glance at you, the tension falling from his face. He pulled your hand to his lips and kissed it.

***

As the hours passed by and the sun began to fall over the city line, the small, white hospital room echoed the sounds of laughter down the hallways and hushed snickering under breaths when the older nurse from the front desk hushed the room. No one showed any signs of leaving, despite the visiting hours closing in the next hour.

Sam had taken a seat at the end of Bucky’s bed, rolling his eyes when Bucky tried to swat him away and saying something like ‘I got shot for you, move the hell over’. Nat was sitting comfortably in her wheelchair, resting one foot on the edge of the bed as she listened intently to Sam and Bucky’s constant bickering, a sly comment said under her breath every once in a while that always got you laughing before anyone knew what was happening. Steve had taken a seat on the windowsill, his feet still touching the ground and you caught him watching Peggy with the kind of gentle bewonder you often saw in Bucky’s eyes.

“Sam, that’s the third time I’ve heard your stomach growl,” Nat observed in a flat toned comment, raising in eyebrow when his hand began to pat at his stomach.

“Damn, I don’t even remember the last time I ate,” Sam said and the grumble of his stomach rang out again.

“I’ll go get some stuff from the vending machine,” you offered, rising quickly from your chair. Bucky squeezed your hand as you tried to pull away. You glanced back at him and the apprehension on his features was enough to tug at your heart.

“Let Sam go,” Bucky urged and Sam narrowed his eyes as if staring darts.

“Sam’s got a stab wound in his forearm and a bullet in his shoulder,” you teased light-heatedly.

“Ok, what about Steve?”

“Sure, I can go,” Steve agreed, jumping off from the window ledge.

“Guys, stop,” you laughed. “I can handle it myself. Just relax. I’ll be back in five.”

You sent Steve a playful glare when he didn’t back down and he eventually sat back on the ledge. Bucky sighed and you could see the concern behind his eyes. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling him instantly relax against you as your hand ran gently over the back of the short hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Five minutes,” you reminded him again. He nodded slowly, though it looked like the very idea of being away from you for even a moment was agonizing.

You squeezed your way past Peggy’s chair and around Nat’s leg propped up the bed. As you turned down the hall, you could still hear Sam’s boisterous laughter until you passed through the double doors.

The older nurse was standing at the front desk, the corded phone sitting between her ear and shoulder as she scribbled on a notebook, nodding her head and rolling her eyes with each ‘uh-huh.’

As you approached the vending machine in the far corner of the room, she slammed the phone on the receiver and quickly stormed to the back room. You chuckled under your breath, shaking you head. You pulled a few tens from your pocket and eyed up your choices for dinner. Doritos, cheese crackers, potato chips, trail mix, chocolate bars, Cheetos. Sounded good enough to you.

“Not the most nutritious of meals, don’t you think?” a man’s voice said from behind, startling you enough to whip around and clutch at your heart, hand searching instinctively for the necklace you no longer wore. When you saw a black suit-jacket affixed with gold buttons and a shiny NYPD badge with a series of colorful badges pinned on his left breast pocket, you began to relax.

“You scared me,” you exhaled, laughing to yourself.

“My apologies ma’am,” he said, offering you a pleasant smile as he removed his rounded glassed, wiping them on the edge of his jacket before he set them against the bridge of his nose. His sandy blonde hair swept over to the left in short wisps. Over his shoulder an officer you didn’t recognized emerged from the elevators.

“Commissioner Pierce,” the officer greeted, removing his cap in a nod before moving to stand by the double doors. Something about the way he stood guard, his back to the doors, facing you, made you feel uneasy. If he was guarding the commissioner, shouldn’t he be facing potential entry points?

The man in the suit jacket, Commissioner Pierce, pressed out a smile at you as you turned back to the vending machine. Something was wrong. You could feel it in your bones. He cleared his throat behind you and you clenched your jaw, turning to face him again.

“Actually, my dear,” he began and the tone in his voice made you shiver, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking a few moments to speak with me about the last twenty-four hours. I’ve been made aware that you haven’t given a statement yet and I’d like to make sure we have it on the books before your memory becomes… unreliable.”

“That’s a little below a commissioner's pay grade, isn’t it?” you asked slowly, careful to keep your voice light as not to cause suspicion. You eyed the officer standing at the double doors. His hand held steady on the firearm attached to his hip.

Pierce chuckled to himself, head bowing for a moment before he met your eye again. “I take initiative on the ground every once in a while. Keeps me humble. Especially in cases such as yours. With one of our own feeding information to Hydra, we must stay vigilant. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course,” you forced out a smile, clenching you jaw to hide the influx in your heart rate. You turned back to the machine, watching Pierce’s reflection in the glass. “I’ll be sure to let one of the officers know as soon as I bring back some food. They’re expecting me back any minute.”

As you slid the first bill into the machine, you felt a sharp, solid pressure jab into your lower back. Eyes closed as you exhaled; some kind of twisted acceptance washing over you. Pierce leaned in close enough to feel his breath on your ear.

“I tried to make this easy for you, Y/n,” he tsked, pushing the barrel of the gun hard enough into your side to elicit a wince. You took a deep breath, ready to scream and damn the consequences when Pierce clamped a hand over your mouth. “If you make a single sound, I’ll have of the nurses on my payroll shoot up your precious detective with Fentanyl.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat. From behind the desk, a nurse you didn’t recognize was pulling a syringe from the drawer. She eyed you with a wicked kind of smirk before she walked over to the double doors, standing next to the officer as if on guard, awaiting orders. Pierce slowly lowered his hand.

“Good girl,” he praised against your ear and you recoiled away from his touch. He chuckled under his breath at your reaction, clearly amused. He then nodded for the officer at the door to follow as he put a hand on your shoulder, gripping hard enough to draw bruising. He led you towards the elevator doors where the officer had already tapped the now illuminated arrow pointing to the floor.

You glanced down the window through the double doors after the nurse retreated back to her station, twirling the syringe in her hand. The hall beyond the doors was entirely empty. Steve was the only armed officer without a major injury and there was no way you’d be able to call for him before Pierce could get a fatal bullet in you and that nurse could dose Bucky amongst the chaos.

This was it.

You should have known better than to trust things would end so easily for you. Your life had never bene easy so why would this? The moment it crossed your mind you might actually have a happy ending to this nightmare of a chapter in your life, you should have known it was too good to be true. You’d gained too many friends, learned to find a family again amongst the late nights at the bar and 24/7 guard duty. And Bucky ---

Bucky was too kind, too loving and sweet and reassuring. He treated you with a gentle kind of sincerity you hadn’t known in years and a constant unbreakable need to keep you safe from harm. You’d let yourself grow to love him in a way you’d never loved another person. In such a short period of time, you’d happily given a piece of your heart away with the assured trust that he’d handle it with care.

You realized suddenly you already said your last goodbye to Bucky, to the makeshift family at the one-four who adopted you so willingly. You’d already poured his last drink, had your last walk through the city in the early hours of the morning, shrugged off his last flirty comment that got your heart racing, and seen his last smile. You’d already kissed him for the last time, already squeezed his hand for the last time, touched him for the last time, told him you --

Well, you’d only told him you loved him once, hadn’t you? It felt like centuries ago. Did he still know? Would he still know once this was over?

You weren’t sure.

You supposed you’d never find out.

The elevator dinged and the metal doors parted. Pierce shoved you inside with the brunt of the gun and you stumbled into the small space. He pressed the button for the ground floor as the officer stood on your other side, hand still on his weapon as if he expected to use it.

A lifetime seemed to pass by as the red LED numbers at the top of the wall counted down. Your focus blurred on the silver doors, studying the ticks and scratches amongst the metal as you tried to avoid your own reflection.

When the doors slid open, Pierce shoved you forward into what looked like the parking garage under the hospital.

“Get her in the car,” Pierce ordered the officer, sliding his gun back into the waist of his suit pants. The officer grabbed a tight hold of your arm, enough to hurt as he yanked you towards him.

There was no use fighting him. You weren’t physically strong enough to overpower him, especially not with a gun in his hand. Pierce gestured toward a black car sitting just a few spaces away. You nearly tripped over a stray rock in the pavement and the officer cursed at you under harsh breaths, raising his hand as if to strike you when --

“Let her go!”

The officer hulled you to his chest, your back slamming roughly against him as the gun pressed to your side. God, this was familiar, wasn’t it?

Steve stood by the exit to the stairs, panting heavily as he aimed his weapon at Pierce. Pierce slowly turned around, a laugh on his tongue, almost as if he was expecting this.

“I know who you really work for, Pierce!” Steve shouted his voice echoing through the garage. “I know where your allegiance lies. I’ve seen the file. It’s over! Turn yourself in while you can!”

“Frankly, Rogers, I’m a little surprised it took you this long,” Pierce replied smugly, not even bothering to deny it. Steve’s eye glanced at you, flickering over for only a moment, just long enough to catch your nod, signaling that you were okay, before turned his attention back to Pierce.

“Let Y/n go and maybe we can arrange a deal,” Steve bargained. An angry tension carried in his tone and you wondered if he was sincere in his words. The sharp narrowing of his eyes suggested otherwise.

“I don’t want your deal, Rogers,” Pierce spat, swatting his hand in the air at Steve. “You know nothing of Hydra if you think we care for anything but the bigger picture. I am willing to sacrifice my life for the cause. Are you?” He glanced over towards you, a smirk on his face as he turned back to Steve. “Is she?”

“Ward and Rumlow turned on each other pretty easy.”

“They were henchmen at best,” Pierce dismissed, rolling his eyes. He was pacing freely, walking casually as if he wasn’t in the middle of a hostage situation.

“You have nothing!” Steve shouted. “The Hydra informant list was sent to the station hours ago. It’s over, Pierce. You have no reason to take her.”

“There’s still revenge, isn’t there?” Pierce shrugged, whipping out his gun in one smooth movement and aiming it in your direction. There wasn’t enough time to close your eyes before a loud ringing echoed through the garage, but it wasn’t any of the weapons’ discharge.

You looked towards the source of the noise to find the stairwell door slammed against the adjacent wall and a fuming Bucky Barnes racing through the frame, clad only in the light grey sweatpants Peggy had brought for him, bare feet, and bandages covering most of his torso. Sam rushed in behind him.

Bucky was panting heavily as he exchanged a look with Steve who only shot him a warning glare in return. He faltered slightly in his stance and Sam quickly ushered himself under Bucky’s good arm, keeping him steady.

“Great,” Pierce mumbled. “Now that everyone’s here…”

Pierce continued talking but you could hear much of it. It was clear none of the three men standing just fifty feet away from you were either as they talked amongst themselves quickly, eyeing one another up between glances back to Pierce. Pierce was pacing, monologuing about the ‘glory of Hydra’ when you notice Bucky gesturing for Steve’s gun. Steve shook his head, retuning his gaze to Pierce, the barrel of his gun swaying back and forth as the man paced.

Bucky gritted his teeth, his eyes falling on you. There was a determination behind them you recognized from the intersection the last time a Hydra agent held a gun to you, though you could tell with a single glance that he wasn’t getting on his knees. Not again.

He held your eye, mouthing something to you that looked a little like ‘it’s gonna be okay.’ You scanned over at Pierce who was still managing to talk without any prompting. The officer holding you seemed to be getting a little bored with his commissioner’s speech because his grip slowly started to loosen.

Then, all at once, Bucky snaked his good hand around Sam’s waist and pulled the gun from the holster, barrel aimed directly at you. Pierce froze, shouting something you couldn’t quite understand as a deafening shot rang out in your ears. You yelped and a wet substance splattered over the side of your face, soaking into your hair. The officer fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Another shot echoed through the garage and Pierce let out a shriek, his gun falling from his hand as he gripped at the now bloody surface of his palm. You looked over to Steve, who was holstering his weapon, pleased with his aim.

Bucky was sprinting towards you; Sam close behind. Their footsteps were muffled by the deafening ringing in your ears. You glanced down at the officer, his eyes wide, unstaring, as a bullet sat wedged between his eyes. Without thinking much of it, you bent down, and picked up the handgun that he had held against you. It was warm to the touch.

“Y/n,” Bucky panted, reaching quickly to gather you in his arms when you abruptly snapped your attention to Pierce, aiming the gun at his chest. Pierce held his hands up in surrender, though he kept them clasped together, blood dripping down his forearms from the bullet that had ripped through his palm.

“Get on your knees,” you growled, a snarl twitching at your upper lip. Pierce’s eyes fell on Bucky, then Steve as he ran up to stand next to you, almost as if he was begging them for interference. It riled up a kind of anger in you too difficult to control.

“Don’t look at them! Look at me!”

Pierce’s gaze snapped back to you in an instant.

“Y/n,” Bucky’s voice called softly behind you. “Doll, please, give me the gun. You don’t wanna do this.”

“No. I do,” you nodded your head frantically, tears welling in your eyes. “He’s behind all of this! He gave the order for Charlie’s death. He sicked Rumlow on us. He’s the reason Sam and Nat were shot and you were tortured for information I didn’t even know existed! Peter’s fighting for his life because of this asshole! He deserves to die!”

Pierce winced as you stepped closer. The sharp click of the safety as it unlocked was thunderous.

“I know,” Bucky admitted, a hesitancy behind his voice. “You’re right, but please, not by your hand. It’s not something you come back from. Doll, I’m begging you. Don’t let him take anything else from you.”

You clenched at your jaw, willing yourself to not cry as you stared down this man. He wasn’t as powerful as he made himself to be when he was staring down the end of a gun. He was a weak, pathetic, feeble man and he was at your mercy alone. You met his eye, providing nothing for him but the cool numbness he had forced onto you and then, you fired.

Two shots.

One at each knee cap.

Pierce cried out, dropping to the ground and rolling onto his side. The garage echoed with his pained shouts, but you couldn’t hear much of it beyond the ringing in your ears from the discharge of the gun. You stepped backwards, bumping into Bucky’s chest.

His hands brushed over your arms, holding you steady. When you didn’t flinch at the touch, he skimmed his hand down to yours and gingerly pulled the gun from your hand, passing it off to Sam. You let it go willingly. Steve had meanwhile rushed forward and yanked Pierce’s hands behind his back, cuffing him, before he pulled out his phone to call for reinforcements.

You could vaguely make out Bucky calling your name softly but you couldn’t seem to bring your focus away from Pierce. This man, this insignificant man, who hadn’t even existed in your life less than twenty minutes ago had spent the last few months upending your entire world. From behind the shadows, he stood, watching, waiting, for the prime opportunity.

Dark red pooled around the concrete around him and he was complaining to Steve that he needed a doctor. Steve grunted, rolling his eyes, and told him something you can only assume was ‘you’ll live.’

“Sweetheart,” Bucky’s voiced ached, his hand tracing over the line of your jaw. “Please, I need you to look at me.”

You blinked a few times in a row. When did he move in front of you? He was watching you with those careful blue eyes of his, drawing and scanning over every ounce of your face in hopes to find some sort of sign that you were in there somewhere. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. You looked down, focus caught on the red stain growing upon the thick bandage wrapped at his waist.

“You tore your stitches,” you commented meekly, eyes finally reaching up to his. A sigh of relief pushed up the corners of Bucky’s lips and he nodded, glancing at the stain himself.

“Wasn’t gonna let some Hydra asshole take my girl again,” Bucky shrugged, his thumb brushing under the scar on your cheek. You leaned subconsciously into the touch and he smiled sweetly at you. “The second Steve took off runnin’, you should have seen the trail of nurses behind me after I ripped out my heart monitor and the IV drip. It’s a good thing my legs still work, huh?”

“’Good thing’, my ass,” Sam grumbled behind him, shaking his head as he holstered the weapon Bucky had confiscated in the chaos.

You chuckled under your breath as Bucky shot Sam a glare over his shoulder. You tiled your face slightly, just enough to kiss the inside of his palm. He turned back to you upon the feeling.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” you asked carefully, glancing over at Pierce for a moment before returning to Bucky. He nodded, pulling you into his arms. The gentle touch of his lips pressed against your forehead as you wrapped your arms tight around his waist. He held onto you like you were his only lifeline.

“Yeah, doll,” he sighed, his breath warm over the crown of your head. “It’s over.”

He didn’t let go of you even as the siren’s wailed throughout the garage and the blue and red lighting illuminated the dingy underground lot. You stole a glance over at Pierce, ear pressed to Bucky’s chest and listening intently to the sound of his heart beat to keep you grounded, as Steve ushered him into the back of the police car. The door slammed behind him and a wave of relief washed over you.

Once Steve jumped in the driver’s seat to escort Pierce and the line of four other cars back to the station, the garage had fallen silent.

“So, now that I have a moment with you alone,” Bucky smirked, pulling back a moment to get a better look at you.

“Oh God, please spare me,” Sam grunted from a few paces behind Bucky’s shoulder and your cheeks flushed red. He was leaning against a car that clearly didn’t belong to him, good arm folded over his chest as he shook his head. “You just tore open that nasty stab wound the good doc spent hours piecing back together. If you drop dead because you bled out in some disgusting parking lot for a kiss, I will lose my damn mind. Need I remind you, I got shot for your sorry ass.”

Bucky was staring at you the whole time Sam spoke, biting on his lip to keep himself from laughing, though the subtle shake in his shoulders was enough to alert Sam.

“Fine!” Sam snorted, “You got five minutes before I sent the brigade after you. It better be one hell of a kiss, Barnes!”

Sam’s heavy footsteps echoed in the garage as he made his way to the elevator. You were watching him wait rather impatiently for the doors to open when you felt Bucky’s fingers under your jaw drawing your attention back to him. He set his both his hands against your cheeks and you could feel the soft bandage wrapped around his palm where the knife had pierced through. He exhaled, big blue eyes staring down at you as his lips curved ever so slightly.

“It will be.”

epilogue

tags 🐣: @sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @lumar014 / @alohafromhell1 / @bucksandroses / @teardropcup / @beautiful-aravis / @me-chi / @somewereinthegalaxi / @marvelfansworld / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @yourwonderbelle / @fairislesheets / @brokeinflight / @verygraphicink / @lollipopdomination / @emotionallysalty / @forsaken-letters / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @ashlieadelia / @kasimagines / @ladymelissastark/ @panic-naran / @pinkisokay / @jsmith509 / @hennessy0274-blog / @littlemsrantsalot / @bucky-rrogers / @the-wayward-robot

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #reader insert #my writing #bucky fic #the witness

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 years

Text

A Different Kind of Hell (a Supercorp post reveal ficlet)

When the Legends ask Kara for her help, she gives it gladly. She only balks when they also ask for Lena. By name.

"She's important to the timeline," Sara says, in that patient way she has when she knows she's touching on subjects too mindboggling to fully understand. "All of them."

Alex calls it fortuitous-- there's been a flood of death threats since Lex's arrest/takeover, and they're having difficulty investigating them all. Lena vanishing for a few weeks could only be a good thing.

So Supergirl and Lena board the Waverider, and Kara resigns herself to two weeks of nothing but Supergirl.

She can do this, she tells herself, even with Lena looking like she can barely stand to look at her. Kara suspects it's the result of her role in Lex's death. Family is a tricky thing, and Lex was still Lena's brother. And Kara is the only one left standing that Lena can blame for losing him.

When the Legends split up for missions, Lena ensures she's wherever Supergirl isn't. But the danger follows Lena to Earth-1, and when Kara returns from helping Sara retrieve John Constantine from a demonic cult, she finds the Waverider empty and Lena gone.

Gideon confirms the worst-- the same cult infiltrated the ship, and took Lena instead.

It takes too long to track them down. The Legends bust into an empty warehouse to find Lena's body in a spell circle on the ground-- breathing, but empty. Her soul is in hell, for some purpose they aren't privy to.

She's gone, and in a few days, her body will die too.

Gideon puts Lena's body in stasis to give them more time. It takes weeks for John to recover enough to open another portal, but the moment he does Kara steps in without a single ounce of hesitation. She'll save her best friend, or die trying.

But hell is bigger than she anticipates. It takes too long to realize she doesn't know how to find Lena. When she starts asking, most shy away from the mention of Lena's name. Finally, a particularly brave soul points to a nearby mountain, looming on the horizon.

Only now that Kara looks at it, she realizes the hulking shape is a fortress-- one that has a tower that looks remarkably like L-Corp, even from this distance.

Sure enough, when Kara enters the fortress, she does so on the ground floor of L-Corp-- if L-Corp were eerily empty and devoid of life, halls echoing with the cries and pleas of damned outside.

Kara heads to the executive suite, and finds Lena precisely where she expects: seated behind her desk, hard at work.

Except Lena is gaunt and shaking, her eyes fevered as her pen scratches continuous, neverending lines of nonsense onto paper.

"Lena?"

The pen stutters, but doesn't stop. Lena looks up briefly before returning to her work. "Supergirl... you shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you. I'm here to take you home."

"You can't help me," Lena returns, distracted. "I can't leave. I... I have to--"

Suddenly, the cries of the damned grow deafening, filling the office with the sounds of their agony. Kara slams her hands over her ears, and Lena's eyes pinch shut against the cacophony, spilling tears down her cheeks. It feels like it takes hours to pass. When it does, Lena's shoulders slump.

"Lena, please, you don't belong here. We have to go home--"

"I can't!" Lena's voice cuts sharply through the dim light. She rises, and Kara hears an ominous clink of metal chains. Just the act of standing seems to sap her strength, and she sags against her desk, breathless.

"You don't understand," she pants, as Kara crosses around Lena's desk. "I've tried, and I-- I can't."

Kara sees the chains shackled around Lena's ankles, tethering her to the desk. She can stand and she can reach the filing cabinets against the window, but that's it. She can stand or she can sit but she can't leave.

"Lena..."

"You should go--"

"Not without you." Kara forces a smile. "And it's your lucky day, because chains mean nothing to the girl of steel."

Her laser vision doesn't work in hell, but enough of her strength remains for her to snap both chains in her bare hands.

As her bonds give way, Lena seems to get a rush of energy. Her eyes brighten, and she stands a little taller, receiving Kara's smile with sharp focus.

"Let's get out of here," Kara urges.

She grabs Lena's hand and bolts for the door. She can barely grasp the handle before Lena is yanked from her grip with a sharp cry.

Kara whirls, and realizes the chains have reattached themselves to the manacles around Lena's ankles, and are pulling her back towards the desk. Lena claws and scrapes at the ground, trying to keep herself in place, but the chains don't care. They only fall still once more when they've returned to their original length and Lena is left shaking at the foot of her desk, helpless.

"Lena, it's okay, I'm still here..." But this time, no matter how hard she pulls, the chains don't break.

"Don't waste your strength," Lena pants, breaths sharp and ragged in her chest. Tears gather in her eyes, and the press of her hands against her temples is desperate.

The cries of the damned grow louder.

"Nothing ever works twice. The chains always reconnect, and I-- I'm still here."

Kara can hear the defeat in Lena's voice, and the acceptance she detects in it chills her very soul. She grasps her friend's face in both hands, forcing their eyes to meet.

"You do not belong here, Lena Luthor," Kara tells her forcefully. "Don't you dare for one second believe that. Do you hear me?"

"Don't I? I killed my brother-- I have failed everyone I've tried to help. NOTHING I do helps. I hear those voices and I try to help them from here but nothing changes. They hate me. Fear me..."

"This is hell, Lena. You don't want these people to like you. But you have people waiting for you in the real world. People who need you. *Those* people trust you--"

"But you don't!!" Lena cries. The force of the shout roots Kara to the spot, a bolt of lightning arcing from the top of her head to the bottom of her stomach.

She stares, as Lena finally opens her eyes and looks tearfully up at her.

"You don't, Kara."

Even in the pits of hell, Kara feels the world shift under her feet.

"Lena..."

"A-a-and you know what?" Lena laughs tearfully. "I get it. I do. I hurt everything I touch. I sit up here in this office while the world burns and I try to help but nothing works. I can't-- I can't even free myself. Every time I think I've broken free I'm right back where I started. Nothing's changed, and it never will."

Lena swallows, tugging her hands from Kara's. "So, you don't have to pretend anymore. I'm not your friend. And I understand why."

"No," Kara says, tremulously. "No, Lena, you don't understand anything."

Lena blinks.

"Look around you," Kara continues, gesturing at this dull, smudged version of Lena's office. "I followed you to hell, and I'd go farther than that to save you if I had to, because I can't imagine a world without you in it.

"I've been a bad friend to you, Lena. I know that. You've deserved better from me for a long time, but I've been so selfish, and so afraid of losing you that I couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth. But it was never because I didn't trust you."

Their eyes lock, and for a moment hell falls away, and it's only them. It's Kara, and it's Lena, and nothing else.

"It was because I couldn't lose you."

Kara's fingers find Lena's once more, and squeeze them tightly.

"I won't let my mistake be what keeps you trapped here. I won't! It was my fault. I almost told you a year ago, when James told you he was Guardian. But I didn't. Because I was scared--"

Suddenly, the world blinks, and after a heartbeat of darkness Kara opens her eyes to the ceiling of the Waverider medbay.

"Hey! The spell worked!" Ray Palmer chirps.

Kara rolls off the gurney, staggering to Lena's side. "Lena..." she groans.

Sara meets her eye. "No change yet. But sometimes it takes a sec--"

Lena stirs then, eyes blinking open in much the same way Kara did. There's a single moment of coherency when Lena meets Kara's gaze, before her eyes roll back in her head and her body starts to shiver. Hell takes its toll, body and soul.

Gideon gets Lena comfortable, and then the Legends let her rest. Sleeping it off proves to be a reliable cure all when it comes to Gideon's prodigious abilities, and Kara remains with her through all of it, not once letting go of her hand.

Lena sleeps for days, the hollows beneath her eyes dark with exhaustion and the trauma of the weeks trapped in hell. Kara's grateful for her rest, and the measure of peace it affords Kara herself-- the eye of the storm, spawned from the reveal of her identity. An identity Lena somehow already knew, and never mentioned.

The hurrican, when it comes, is quiet.

Bruised green eyes open, blinking sluggishly at the ceiling for long moments. Then her head turns, and her gaze falls to Kara.

There's a long beat, and Kara can almost believe they'll be okay.

Then Lena's fingers tug from hers, and Lena turns her gaze away.

Emotion claws its way up Kara's throat and lodges there, no matter how many times she swallows against the sudden burn.

"Lena..."

"Don't," comes the reply.

A single word, cleaving Kara's world in two.

#supercorp #post reveal confrontation #legends crossover #the idea of hell is deliciously angsty #even more than the black mercy #sure hope you guys didnt think i was joking about the hell locked room idea last night #i never joke #angst angst angst

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darcypalmer · 4 years

Photo

After a long day od questioning and interrogation, @diegojaimechavez surprises Gen with a phone call and spend the night chatting

It was a long, never-ending day. Gen was ushered into an interrogation room the moment they stepped into the building and not so long after the FBI showed up too, and it had begun. She thought she was tired before, but dealing with the FBI sucked every bit of remaining energy out of her. It wasn't the same as the interrogation all those years ago, but the feelings were the same - the extreme tiredness, both emotionally and physically, feeling like she was the shittiest person, the confusion and the knowledge that she was missing so much, even now she was missing so much information, the emptiness and weirdly feeling dirty to her core. She was sure there were moments when the FBI looked at her as a potential ally to Vivien and the syndicate, that was inevitable, but she wasn't sure what made them realize that wasn't the case, or even if they realized it or if they still considered her another suspect.

They barely took breaks, but during one of them Al brought her a cup of coffee, which she was more than grateful for (though she really wished it could have been Diego who brought it, just seeing him for a few moments would have been nice, but she assumed that he wasn't allowed anywhere near her during the interrogation, not that it would have made any difference). While Al brought the coffee to her, she quietly ask him to make sure some kind of medical professional would check out Diego and his injuries, and he promised her with a look that Diego most likely would have recognized, but to Gen it was just a kind face agreeing to what she asked.

She lost her sense of time completely by the time the FBI released her that night with the promise that they'd be contacting her about any questions they had so far and that in the next couple of days she would be informed about the next steps and what would happen to her from here on out. She felt like a washed rag as she finally headed out of the interrogation room, and to her surprised her eyes immediately found Diego. She expected him to be home, or at least out of here already. "Hey, what are you still doing here?" she asked him once she headed over to him. "You're not in any trouble, right?"

_______________________

Diego expected Gen to be whisked away for processing, and then questioning once the FBI arrived, he recognized a couple of the agents, but merely nodded at them. He knew he had to let them conduct their work, just as much as he had to conduct his. But Gen was his work, and so once Gen was taken away, Diego went to locate Al. He spoke extensively with his boss and with the North California Director as well, about Gen's well-being, her state of mind, her situation. About Vivien showing up without anyone expecting it. And reluctantly he even brought up Tyler Ellis, knowing Al was already familiar with the trouble-maker from their past. He told them Rita should be coming soon, to share what she knew as well.

Everything seemed to be going well - although there was only so much that Diego could do about how the FBI spoke with Gen, at least Al offered to take her in some coffee at one point.

"And about those kids from Sunnymead-" Diego started in immediately after Al returned. His boss held up a hand.

"In due time, Di, you're going a mile a minute. And you look like shit. You sure you don't need anyone to take a look at that mug of yours? It's even uglier than usual, no wonder you scared those kids."

Diego gave his boss a wry look and waved off the concern. Al opened his mouth, looking like it was going to say something - but instead, he changed his mind and said something else. "I talked with Agent Karmeni. She said your girl's gonna be staying here in the city for a couple of days, while they get things sorted. And yeah - don't worry, you'll be staying with her."

On the brink of insisting he should, Diego relaxed when Al assured him that he'd be there. "I want to stick by her to the end. After all this shit that's happened, she needs someone around who she can trust. Or she'll go rabbity, Al. She can't just get shunted around again like a pawn on a chessboard. Not after all this."

Al looked at Diego carefully, and Diego avoided his boss' eyes, knowing that look. He knew if he made eye contact, then Al might feel responsible for saying something that Diego didn't want to hear, not right now. So he kept his eyes steadfastly focused on middle-ground, not filling up the silence but also not allowing Al to see any vulnerability in his eyes, no softness. He knew Al could read him too well. And he also knew this wasn't the first time Al had seen him like this, about a woman he was assigned to protect.

Finally with a sigh, Al spoke, raising his hands to his eyes like horse blinders. "Without addressing the elephant in the room - yet - we'll see what we can work out, Diego. Based on what the FBI need from her - and she's gonna have to go through another psych eval as well. So we'll consult with the experts and then go from there. But if you want me to support you in staying on as her handler then....I'll do that. But that elephant's gonna come charging over sooner or later, and when it does, Di, we're gonna have to talk about it. You hear me?"

Diego finally looked up at his boss, giving Al a squinting but appreciative smile. It was small and tentative, but Al knew Diego well. "Crystal clear. Al - thanks."

Al pointed a finger at him. "To be continued, son. Now it looks like they're releasing your girl. Go on."

Diego didn't hesitate, because he saw the door opening too through the glass walls of the office building. He nodded at Al once more then crossed the halls until he got to Gen and the FBI agents. Diego restrained himself long enough for the FBI agents to get out of earshot, but Gen apparently didn't bother with restraint as she floated right over to him, surprise in her exhausted eyes.

"I'm fine, just went through a lot of paperwork while you were in there." He gave Gen a huffy look. "Where else would I be? C'mon. You're done for the day, and you gotta be back here bright any early tomorrow. We're going. You need food and a shower. And maybe some ambien."

_______________________

Diego reassured her that he was doing just fine, just working on paperwork and a huge relief flooeded through Gen's body. For a moment she was worried that the FBI took him, too, and tried to twist the narrative in a way that was more than negative towards Diego. That was the last thing she would have wanted, but thankfully it was just some paperwork. Well, probably an extreme amount of paperwork, if he was still here, so long after they've arrived to the offices.

But then Diego asked where else he would be as if it was stupid of her to even assume he would be anywhere else, and it staggered Gen for a moment because... well, she knew he said he would want to stick around for all of this, but she also assumed that meant he would come to New York, make sure everything went down smoothly. Not, say, wait for her for hours without end while she was sitting in an interrogation room, the FBI drilling her. She figured he'd get some rest, she was certain he needed it, she would get escorted to some motel or something and then they'd meet and talk the next day - if she would be allowed.

So she just stood there, kind of confused for a few moments while Diego was already moving towards the exit and she had to shake herself out of her surprise and rush to catch up with him. "Yeah, sure, all of that sounds really good." She would have killed for a shower, anything to wash off all the dirt she felt on herself, and now that Diego mentioned food, she felt like she could actually properly eat, as for the sleep... god, a full night's rest possibly without nightmares was a dream.

"Actually, do you think we could get some burgers on the way to-- where are we going exactly?" she asked, frowning as they exited the building and headed for Diego's car, which felt like the most welcoming sights she's seen in hours, for sure.

She looked at him for a few moments after they settled in before she said, "Thank you. For helping me and sticking around. Really can't thank you enough."

_______________________

"We can get whatever you want," Diego said, although the generousity was mostly in sentiment than action. If she wanted to go back to Sunnymead, for example, he would've refused. They had to stay in the city, close to the offices. But really he could tell that Gen just seemed too exhausted to do much but follow his lead. Ironic, considering how she'd pushed and resisted and challenged him constantly, for nearly a year now. He almost wished for those old days of arguing, if only because she was safe and comfortable in Sunnymead.

But Diego also had to remind himself that progress and change was uncomfortable and disturbing, but that didn't mean it was bad. Vivien Salazar was arrested, Darcy Palmer was no more. Wasn't that a good thing? Or wouldn't it eventually be a good thing for Gen? If, by some miracle, it was determined that she wouldn't need to stay in witness protection, then she'd be free. Wasn't that what she wanted? Even more importantly, wasn't it what she deserved?

He stopped at her franchise restaurant of choice, parking so she could go inside and order whatever she wanted. Diego gave her $20 and told her to get him something too. By now, after months of serving him, Gen knew what sorts of things he liked to eat. As he waited, watching her closely, he made one more phone call to Al. This would be a huge favour, but surprisingly it took little convincing of Al for his boss to say he'd see what he could do.

After Gen gathered her feast, Diego took her to a drugstore to pick up some toiletries, and some fresh clothes. After that it was checking into the designated motel. It wasn't anything fancy or special, but it was spartan and clean. The clean was the most important part. It was a motel used by the authorities enough to know that it was secure, and had good vantage points and escape routes. Diego cased the room first before he let Gen settle in.

"Go take a shower, then you can eat afterwards, hm?" he suggested, because he believed food always tasted better when one didn't feel dirty and grungy. "I can take a shower afterwards, don't worry." Once Gen agreed, Diego sighed and inspected his face in the motel mirror, then gently pressed his fingers between his legs. Jesus, that still hurt. Vivien had quite the high kick, and he'd probably be feeling it right into tomorrow morning. But he didn't linger on his injuries when All called him again, and gave him the information he wanted to get.

It was maybe just a minor thing, but Diego was elated that it could happen, and so fast. Al could sometimes work miracles, and Diego always appreciated it. "Damn, thanks," he exhorted, hanging up just as Gen came out of the bathroom. She still looked exhausted, but at least she looked clean.

"Hey, come over here for a second." Diego sat on the edge of the bed, letting her sit next to him. He showed her his phone. "In a few minutes, I'm going to get a call. That's it, just a call, no video - er, facetime - or anything. But the call's going to come in from your brother, Benji. Just so you guys can finally talk, hm? I thought - I figured maybe you'd want to hear a familiar voice right now and...ah..." Diego scratched the back of his neck.

"If you don't got it in you to talk to Benjamin right now that's fine. Totally fine I understand maybe I was just getting a little ahead of myself with setting this up, hm? It's fine, just lemme know now, because I can tell his handler not to call. Just - I thought it might help if - if you heard...if you got to talk to...ah...."

_______________________

Gen just sank into the car seat and spent most of the car ride in a comfortable quiet with Diego as she was looking out the window and barely taking in anything she saw. The city was dark, the lights periodically lighting up parts of the streets and it probably looked beautiful and interesting, but Gen barely saw any of it. Her brain was running the events of the last day of loop, hyperanalyzing everything Juliana and Phoenix told her, and all the different questions the FBI asked and how her answer must have come across, if she could have given a better answer to any of them.

She quickly got them some food, not needing any sort of direction from Diego about his order either - she saw what kind of food he prefered and kept going back to in the Grub, it wasn't hard to figure out what he would like the most, and then they hit up a drug store and got some basic supplies and she really hoped she could just burn everything she was wearing in that moment. She never wanted to lay eyes on those clothes ever again, let alone wear them.

She was mostly operating on instinct and her body automatically taking her where she needed to go. She felt the exhaustion in her bones. She was sure once she hit the bed, though, she wouldn't really be able to fall asleep, not without at least some sleeping pills, and for once she was going to take them happily because she needed that release that a hopefully dreamless, full night's rest could offer for her. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she had that. Probably before everything turned to shit all those years ago.

After they got everything, they finally headed to the hotel, and she just nodded along to everything Diego was saying as she set the food on the small table and headed right into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water pouring onto her skin offered such relief she didn't even realize she needed and for the first few minutes she just stood in the shower cabin, letting the water run on her without her doing anything. And once she managed to get herself to move, she spent at least fifteen, maybe even twenty minutes just scrubbing at her body because no matter how many times she washed herself, she just didn't feel clean. It didn't feel like she got all of Vivien off of her and she compulsively wanted to get rid of every bit of that woman from her skin, from her memory and her past and present. But since that wasn't possible, she would have been happy with just washing away everything that happened.

Even though it never felt enough, eventually she stopped and got out of the shower and got into the pajama (one that included a plaid short and a loose tank top with some kind of drawn figure, it was the first thing she could grab at the drugstore when they were there) and with her wet hair falling all over her shoulder, she headed back out. "Sorry, I kind of took my time, but you should still have some hot water."

Instead of taking a shower himself (it didn't even fully register for her at that point that he would be taking a shower in the same place, which meant he didn't have his own room and they would have to share that single bed he was sitting on at the moment), he called her over to sit down next to him, and her mind immediately jumped into alert mode. "What happened? Is everything okay?" She was already imagining the worst possible scenarios - Vivien escaped, Phoenix and Juliana in danger again.

He quickly started explaining to her what was going to happen in a few minutes, though, and Gen went quiet in just a few moments, her hearts beating faster and faster, running her fingers through her hair to at least do something with her hands suddenly this felt like a dream all over again. Did she pass out in the car and now she was just dreaming about what she wanted so desperately to happen? She reached over and pinched her own wrist - but no, it hurt, this couldn't be a dream. Diego was telling her that she could talk to her brother.

She could talk to Benji.

Gen could feel her hands starting to shake and tears brimming in her eyes for the first time in a really long time not because she was scared or stressed or on the verge of a break down, but because she was elated. She couldn't put it into words even if she tried to, but if she wasn't in love with Diego already, she would have fallen in love with him for this. She couldn't imagine just how much pull he had to make to make this happen and she could never thank him enough for this.

And somehow he managed to read her quietness as something that she might not like his gesture and he turned sheepish and started reassuring her that it wasn't required, she could postpone it for later too and fuck, she loved this man so much it felt like she might just burst and she kept meaning to say something because really, she can't stay silent forever and she needed to convey just how grateful and happy and joyful she felt in that moment for this but no words seemed to be enough, no words could ever be enough for this, and she just wanted to lean closer and kiss him, but that was not possible, she couldn't screw things up for him in the same moment when he's doing something so important for her, so instead she ended up just leaning in and throwing her hands around him, hugging him close and hard and tight, burying her face into his neck for a few moments and hoping that he understood everything she couldn't find the words for.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much. I just-- thank you," she kept saying over and over again because what else could she do than hold onto him and thank him for all of this.

_______________________

Gen was so completely still and quiet, Diego was fairly sure he'd done it this time. He'd sent Gen spiralling into some sort of catatonic state of shock. He really should have known better - after everything she'd just been through in the space of 12 hours, after losing two people she cared about, and finding her ex-girlfriend alive only to realize Vivien was a bad person, and destroying an identity she'd cultivated for four years...now this? Spring a phone call to her brother, after she'd been beaten up so thoroughly both emotionally and mentally? He realized then that he was a fool to think it could help her. All this offer did was probably terrify the poor thing that she'd fuck this up as well and ruin her relation with her brother now too.

"Dar - Gen, I'm -" Diego started to say, wanting to shove the phone into his pocket so Gen wouldn't have to look at the accusing object. But then suddenly her arms were around him, and her face buried against the crook of his neck. For a moment Diego braced himself, thinking she had turned to slap and smack at him in frustration and hurt. He was expecting her to yell at him for putting her through this new fresh torture - but she wasn't slapping him. Or yelling. Instead, she just held him close.

And eventually Diego relaxed, and slid his own hand across her back. She was hugging him. God Jesus above, she was happy. He could've kissed her then if it wasn't for the fact that his face hurt, and he had stale cigarettes-and-coffee breath while she was clean and minty. But he held her tightly, and gingerly pat her back.

"Of course, of course..." he muttered, feeling suddenly awkward. She was so happy, and it made Diego's heart ache for so many different reasons. Fortunately, his phone rang then, and Diego had to let her go to answer it.

"Yeah. Okay, sure," Diego said over the phone. "Alright, put him on." Diego held the phone out to Gen then, and he spoke gently to her. "He'll be on soon. I'm going to take a shower, give you two a bit of privacy, hm? Take your time, his handler will keep a track of the phone call for us. You'll be alright?"

_______________________

At first it was like hugging a dead piece of wood, Diego was just sitting there, unmoving and Gen was about to move back, not wanting to force her touch and embrace on him when he finally wrapped his hands around her and give her a sheepish pat on her back. In any other situation she would have probably over analyzed that pat and came to the conclusion that it was even further proof that he didn't want anything from her, they've been in each others arms plenty of time before after all, and now he could barely hug her back along with that pat? It surely would have been clear signs in her mind. But now aside from the sheer gratitude she felt towards Diego, her mind was hyper focusing on Benji and the fact that just in a couple of moments she could finally talk to him, hear his voice, make sure he's okay. Diego couldn't have given her a better surprise for the end of the day. Or for any other time, really.

She pulled back when the phone rang, pulling her legs under her, her eyes immediately focusing on the phone and Diego, her hands shaking a little bit from excitement. It felt like it took forever for Diego to hand the phone over to her and it felt like no time has passed at all, and she kept nodding to everything Diego was saying. "Yeah, I'll be fine, I promise. Thank you so much," she said again with a smile and waited for Diego go into the bathroom before she scooted up to the end of the bed and leaned against the header.

Suddenly she was nervous, not really sure what she would even say. If Benji would even talk to her. Maybe she'd pick the phone up and his handler would be waiting for her, telling her that he didn't want to talk and she couldn't do a single thing about it or even blame him for it. All kinds of different scenarios flooded through her head and overwhelmed her and she had to force herself to push all of them out of her brain because anything, even if it was just a simple hello from Benji, would be amazing at this point and she knew she could be happy. She just wanted to hear his voice.

She took a deep breath and put the phone to her ear, listening for a few moments before carefully speaking, "Hello?"

_______________________

It hadn’t been long since Benji had fallen asleep when he heard a knock at the door. He decided to ignore it. The few people he was close to - which he thought was a relative term - knew that he wasn’t ever up late. What was the point in it? It wasn’t like there was much that he liked to do outside of the house. Staying in with Finley was ideal to him. He pressed his face against the pillow again. They’d leave eventually.

... except, they didn’t. Each time there was another knock at the door, he swore his pulse kicked up a beat. Was he going to die? Was he seriously going to die as a math teacher in Texas? He moved to grab his phone so that he could call someone in case of an emergency when he realized how many missed calls and unread messages he had from the agent working his case. The last message said that he needed to open the door immediately. Throwing a pillow across the bed at his sleeping husband, Benji sighed. “Why does my ringtone wake you up every time except for the time it needs to?!” Finley mumbled something which Benji wasn’t sure was in English. He climbed out of the bed, looking back to make sure that he was being followed and walked over to the door.

Pressing his palms flat on the door, Benji decided to look through the peephole. There were so many things which could go wrong and... nope. That was definitely Abigail. Opening the door slowly, Benji didn’t bother trying to make eye contact with her as she stepped inside. “In... uh, in my defense, this usually doesn’t happen. I’ve - we’ve - answered your calls later than this. What’s - what’s so important though?”

Once his sister’s name came from Abigail’s lips, Benji wasn’t sure what was happening. He was hearing bits and pieces, words like Gen and Vivien, but didn’t hear the rest of it. He couldn’t even say how he’d ended up seated on the couch with Finley’s hand on his knee. For a moment, he thought that she had to be dying for any of this to be happening. She couldn’t be, right? There was only one way to find out. Truthfully, he hadn’t felt present in his body until he noticed Abigail thrusting the phone his way.

Fumbling with the phone, Benji held it up - mindful of the fact that it was on speaker so that the handler would be able to hear what was happening in the conversation. The moment Gen’s voice came through the speaker, he started crying. “Genevieve... Gen... what the fuck is going on?!”

_______________________

The moment Gen heard Benji's sporadic, worried voice, she burst into silent tears while a grin spread across her face. It really was Benji and he sounded distant but so close at the same time, and worried about her and it didn't really hit her until that moment that he must have been scared shitless if his handler just burst in through the door and gave him the phone with little to no explanation, but that was okay because he was on the other end of the phone and they were talking and she could reassure him all by herself.

"Benji, hi. On my god, it's so good to hear your voice. I-- I'm okay now," and for that moment she was and felt like she could take on the world all by herself even if the next day all of that might be gone. "A lot of, well a lot of things are happening, but I'm okay, you don't have to worry about me. I'm safe and I'm good and-- are you okay? How are you doing?"

"Gen, we got the gist of what happened, but I doubt your brother heard any of it past your name, so could you maybe...?" A different, familiar voice came through the phone, and Gen breathed a sigh of relief. Finley was there with Benji, that was good, that meant he was not alone completely. When the FBI placed her in Sunnymead she tried to figure out if Finley was allowed to go with Benji or not, but everyone refused to tell her anything. "Really glad to hear you are doing okay, though."

"Finley, really glad to hear you too. But okay, Benji, I swear I'm okay. It's just-- don't freak out but turns out Vivien is alive and she found me, but she's arrested now and I'm okay. I spent the day talking to the FBI and they're gonna figure out what's next in the next few days." She tried to keep it as short and to the point as possible both because she didn't want to worry Benji more than necessary and because she didn't want to sound her time talking about Vivien and what happened, she wanted to hear from Benji.

"But none of that matters, are you okay, are you guys are okay? Happy? How's your life? Tell me something, tell me anything."

_______________________

To hear that she was safe sent a wave of relief over Benji. Still, he began to bite at the bandages wrapped around his fingers - an attempt to keep him from biting his nails. It was attempt number 500. It might as well be anyway. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. There would be more details because he didn’t know how long he had to talk to her. Whatever stubbornness he was trying to hold on to could only go for so long before he spent the whole call being angry with her.

He had lost so much. He might have Finley, but he also needed Gen and Olivia... Olivia who had passed away as a result of this whole mess. His parents had never been people he was close to and he doubted he would talk to them much if they were around. How many nights had he cried and wished he could talk to his sister. Bitterness wasn’t going to ruin this chance.

“She’s alive?! And don’t tell me not to freak out because you know me! I’m not going to keep calm about this!” He glances up and saw Abigail staring at him. She certainly wasn’t one of the people with whom Benji was totally comfortable with. She’d never seen him like this. “So you’re... what now? Did you talk to her? Where are you? What have you been doing?!”

And Gen had questions of her own. Benji sighed softly. “I — yes. We’re happy. As happy as can be expected. Um, married? Also they made me be a math teacher! Someone asked me what 12 times 12 was the other day and it took me a good thirty seconds to figure it out!”

_______________________

Benji's reassurance came quietly and not with the most positive tone of Benji's voice, but Gen didn't care in that moment, she was just happy to hear her brother confirm he was okay. Or, well, as okay as he can be. She doubted either of them would fully be okay like they used to be after all of this.

Gen couldn't help it, she let out a small, quiet chuckle at Benji's frustration about her trying to calm him down. She could tell that Benji was angry, probably holding back all the hate he had in him for her over everything that happened, but even that anger was welcomed because at least they were talking. At least she could hear him being angry. And really, it was kind of stupid of her to tell him not to freak out, he was already in the middle of freaking out.

"Yeah, okay, that's fair. Just-- don't stress over it too much, please? Finley, please make sure he isn't losing sleep over this."

"I'll do my best," he interjected.

"But yeah, apparently somehow she survived, I'm not exactly clear on that front. She showed up at my apartment and we talked a bit, yeah." Could have spent more time talking, but she did some stupid things instead, not that she was going to get into that. "Not a lot, she wanted me to go with her, thought we could go back to how things were. I told her no. And I'm in a motel right now, I don't think I'm allowed to say more on the where."

"I'd prefer it if you kept quiet on that one, Genevieve, the least all of you know about each other's locations, the better, at least until further notice," a woman confirmed in a stern, matter of fact voice - probably their handler.

"Alright, so yeah, just a motel. Far away from where I was originally placed. And uh... fuck, suddenly I can't think of anything I did. I have a diner! Well, more like ran a diner, still not sure how that will go now. Honestly, I had a really boring life until now." She stayed quiet for a moment before she added. "I really missed you."

Happy and married. That was the best news Benji could have possibly given him. It calmed and relaxed her, and made her happier than she thought could be possible a couple of hours ago. There was an underlying sadness added to it, though - she wished she could have been there, wished she could have seen Benji and Finley get married, and more than anything wished Olivia could have been there too.

"Married? Congratulation, guys, that's so great! When did it happen? How did it happen? I'm so sorry I missed it. Did you guys manage to have a good celebration at least?" She frowned when he mentioned being a math teacher. "Why would anyone make you a math teacher? Did they know you have no clue about numbers? How are you even doing it properly? Do they give you an earpiece and whisper help you through it?"

_______________________

Benji would stress over it. He knew Gen was safe now, but he also knew it wouldn’t be the case forever. He could fixate on the good, but Vivien’s arrest wouldn’t make everything go back to normal. Things were never going to be normal again. This was their new normal.

“Finley isn’t going to know if I’m losing sleep! He sleeps like a rock!” Benji insisted. It wasn’t a lie either. They would end up in bed and, the first moment they laid in silence, Finley would be out like a light. Benji was bad about sleep though. He’d lie there and looked up at the ceiling.

He shook his head. “At least you told her no. You’ve never made the best choices with her. You know she made me uncomfortable!” It had been easy for Gen to write that off, however, because a lot of people made him feel that way. “Are you sure that’s all you did? Because if you - if you did something which might put me or god forbid Finley in danger, that’s on you. Just like with Liv.” He said it harshly bur the look on his face was more sad than it was angry. The thought had been running through his mind over the past few weeks and he wasn’t able to let go of it. He knew, logically, that she wouldn’t have done anything to hurt the people she cared about. There was no way she could have known what Vivien was up to... but someone had to be blamed and she was on the receiving end.

“A motel? Are they - do you think they’re moving you? Or is it... over now?” His brows were furrowed. That certainly couldn’t be the case. Didn’t she have associates involved? Logic wasn’t always his strong suit though. Benji led with his heart.

He shot the agent a dirty look, but knew she could end the call the instant he stepped out of line. “A diner? You weren’t... you weren’t by yourself, right? You have people? God, I hope you have people.” If Benji couldn’t be there, someone had to be for her. The level of closeness that he had with her was irreplaceable, but there were women in his life who he was... relatively close to. (For Benji, that was good.)

A soft laugh left him. The whole thing had been an ordeal and involved a lot of arguing with people they shouldn’t have in a million years. It worked out for the best. “They said they were going to split us up because we weren’t married so... I said we were engaged.” He had blurted it it out without any plan whatsoever. It wasn’t a romantic, yet it wasn’t something that he regretted at all. “Um, not really. We kind of got married legally then we kind of... celebrated privately?” It could have come out wrong, but it also seemed like exactly the right way to describe things. And he was happy about that. A large party would have only bothered him and raised his anxiety.

It was difficult not to grin at this point. “There are a bunch of little booklets that I have filled with notes and equations and formulas. It’s all Greek to me. I don’t... I’ve been trying with this for years and I’m still just as lost!” The students learned things though. He’d had some of them say that he was their favorite teacher. He figured it was the confused looks on his face. “I mean, kids finish it and do well the next year. I’m pretending pretty well! You’d think I would have learned, but...”

_______________________

"I can stay up long enough to try and see if you can sleep, come on!" Finley grumbled in the background, and Gen smiled a little. They were doing okay. They set up a certain kind of life, they adjusted and they stayed strong together. She assumed there were bumps on the road, but she hoped it only made them stronger, and that Finley was there to help Benji through it all. He's always brought the best out of Benji and she couldn't even imagine how Benji would have been like if Finley couldn't went with him.

"Come on, you've always had difficult time getting used to new people," she couldn't help but counter, even though looking back now she wished she would have listened to him. She wished she would have been less blind, maybe all of this could have been avoided.

She dropped her head, running her fingers through her hair as Benji asked if she really only just talked to her or did something else, memories of Vivien and her entangled in her bed flashing in front of her eyes. Fuck, she hated so much that she's done that, that that was her first reaction. It probably only made things worse. maybe if she could have just used her brain and turned Vivien away, just sent a 911 text to Diego and they caught Vivien by surprise, Juliana wouldn't have been taken, they could have avoided everything that happened. Maybe Diego's face wouldn't have looked the way it did. So many what ifs that would keep running through her head and fill her up with guilt for endless nights, she was sure of it.

"Yeah, Benji, we only talked. I was in shock, I couldn't really do anything else." Well, at least she was good at lying and Benji couldn't see her face. She was sure if he could, he'd know she was lying, but through the phone, she could pull it off. "And I swear you guys are okay. It's not gonna be--- nothing's gonna happen to you, okay? She's in custody along with one of her friends and everyone's at the FBI and the US Marshall's are working on this. You're going to be fine. You're going to be fine." They had to be, she could not survive losing Benji too.

She shook her head at his question and it took her a few moments to realize that he couldn't see. "I don't know. I'm not sure if even the FBI knows so far. Or maybe they do, they're just not telling me. But I'm guessing it depends on what kind of information they can get out of Vivien and her friend and what they can do in the next couple of days. But honestly, I have no idea how all of this works."

At the question of whether or not she had people, she rubbed her face, remembering Phoenix and Juliana. She had people, and then she screwed it up. Really, she could only blame herself for that. She looked over towards the bathroom door. She did have one person left, though. She was still baffled by it, especially after everything that happened recently, but somehow Diego was still on her side and there for her, and she couldn't help the small, soft smile that crept up her lips. "Yeah, I-- it's a bit complicated right now, but I have somebody. Not like that, it's not like that," she quickly added before Benji misunderstood, "but I have somebody I can count on. And I had people. I'm nowhere near where I was now, though, so who knows what's going to happen there."

She let out a chuckle when Benji told her how the proposal happened. "And all of this while I had a ring hidden in our bedroom! You know that, Gen, you helped pick it out, and he still beat me to it!" Finley fake complained and it almost felt like she was in the room with them in that moment, just telling stories and reminiscing about the past. "Can you believe it?"

"At least you guys didn't have to worry about things like rings or tradition or planning," Gen chuckled, shaking her head. "And either way, big or small wedding and celebration, I'm just really glad you guys are okay. That you guys are happy and safe and together. You guys deserved to have your happily ever after, even if it didn't exactly go as you guys planned."

"At least they helped you out with those booklets." Seemed toe FBI gave both of them the starting help. They gave her some money so she could start renting the Grub, and they helped Benji out to make sure he didn't fail during his very first class. They did help at least a little bit, even if mostly they probably ignored Benji and only cared about Gen long enough so that she would one day testify in their case. "And I'm not surprised you didn't pick up anything, but I'm proud of you for pulling it all off."

_______________________

Diego took a long shower, even if the hot water did taper out towards the end. But it still felt good, and Diego found himself wishing he could hit a pool and just swim until his limbs gave out. Typically when he had this much exhausted energy, he'd either swim until his brain shut off, off fuck someone nameless for the same goal. But both were out of the question. And the latter not just because he didn't want nameless sex anymore - not with that woman out there, who he loved so much - but also because his junk was still a little too tender for anything strenuous like that. Dammit Vivien Salazar.

Eventually he couldn't dawdle any longer, so he rinsed off and washed his mouth as well, before putting on some clean clothes as well. Drugstore underwear and cheesy-logo t-shirt and jogging shorts. He looked a mess, but he'd also looked worse. Toweling his hair, Diego emerged, knowing Gen was still on the phone. He gave her a half-wave, motioning for her to talk as long as she wanted. He knew Abigail was keeping track of everything, and Abigail got a little testy whenever Diego questioned her. They didn't really get along, even though Diego did highly respect Abigail's work ethic.

He sat at the front of the bed, opening the food bag up and pulling out his own burger and fries. They were still a little warm, which was nice. He settled back against the bedhead, flicking through his phone and chewing his dinner like a cow chewed cud.

Eventually though, he couldn't help listening to what Gen was saying. His gaze was drawn to her like a magnet, watching the defeated slope of her back, her stubborn shoulders still straight. As if she was trying to still hold it all together, for the sake of a brother who couldn't even see her. Her dark golden hair fell over her face, in that way where Diego wanted to tuck it behind her ear. He wanted her to feel good, just for a moment. Hopefully, she did. God, he hoped.

_______________________

Benji rolled his eyes. “You’ll never be able to stay awake that long,” he said before laughing a little bit. “No, but we’re good, Genny. Like... I’ll stress, but I’m not alone.” If he could have her as well, things would have been so much better. There had to be a loss though. He wasn’t going to get everything which made him happy. Honestly, he was lucky his life was at least the way which it was.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying. I was right about this one!” It had to happen some time. He hate that he was this time. It was easier when people would tell him that none of his anxieties were going to come true. It certainly wasn’t any help when the time it was had ended up with their family torn apart.

That was a relief. He knew how much his sister had loved Vivien. “I don’t know if I would be able to do that if it was me,” Benji admitted. Gen was stronger than he was, that much was clear. He thought he’d have done anything to get Finley back if he lost him. Letting Vivien go must have been hellish for her. “I’m proud of you,” he said softly then left it at that.

“You can’t promise that though. You can’t. Try - trying to promise that is going to won’t make things any easier for either of us.” He didn’t want to say it meant things would hurt more for both of them if something happened to the other with that reassurance.

He nodded. Things wouldn’t go instantly back to normal on the very off chance that they might. There was a lot of work which needed to be done on the side of FBI and the associated agents. “I want to see you,” he said softly. It didn’t seem like it was ever going to happen. He would give anything to hug his sister again though. “It’s not really fair. I don’t... if I don’t see mom and dad, I don’t mind, but you telling me that you’re fine doesn’t make me feel much better.”

It hadn’t struck him that it may have been like that until his sister was denying it. If she could see his face, she would have known how little he believed that. “Are you going to tell me the truth or are we going to have to pretend that I believe you? I’m hoping for the former.” Though he was counting on the latter to be true. There was a reason she was lying about this. It was difficult for him to figure out what it was.

There was a story there. He knew there was one. He attempted to think of the reasons which would cause her to lose people who cared about her. It wasn’t as if people grew tired of Gen. That made it clear there was, yet again, more than she wanted to let on.

Smiling at Finley, Benji shook his head. “Do you know how many times he’s complained about that? A ridiculous amount of times! I don’t think he’s going to let it go!” He didn’t mind if Finley did though. It made Benji feel special and everyone deserved to feel a little special sometimes. She was correct about that though. They hadn’t had to worry. “We got rings! I was okay skipping parties and ceremonies, but I had to have a ring.” It might be a simple band, but he wasn’t going to trade it for anything. He sighed. “Yeah. It would’ve been nice if you were there though. I didn’t think I would ever get to even tell you.”

It was true. He wouldn’t be able to do this without the help. “At least you can cook though. Diners.... you’ve always liked diners.” When they were younger, the three of them - including Olivia, of course - would go off to diners whenever they had the chance to. Was that gone now? Shit. Change the subject, Benji! He cleared his throat. “I’m not a good teacher, but I could be worse. That’s what I tell myself.”

_______________________

Hearing Benji say that he was proud of her because Gen didn't do anything other than talk to Vivien felt like a punch to the gut, but she didn't want to go back and explain herself, not now, not after this. Even if he said he might have not been able to do that, she felt like he would have been disappointed and angry at him if she actually told the truth and really, she didn't want the rest of their conversation to be about her mistake. So she just buried her face into her palm and tried desperately to not make a sound that suggested anything was up or that she was feeling extremely guilty on that moment.

She instead focused on what she said next. "Okay, that's fair, I can't promise you that, but I can promise you that I would try my best. How's that sound, hmm? I will try to do my best to make sure I don't do anything to get you or me in any kind of trouble or hurt. And in return, you do the same?" She doubted he could ever actually do anything to get himself in trouble, though. It was her who kept finding trouble wherever she went.

I want to see you. Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of that. "Yeah, I want to see you too." She wasn't sure if it could ever be possible, but she also wasn't sure if talking to Benji could ever be possible, so maybe with time it could happen as well. "I am not sure how all of this is gonna go, what's going to happen, but maybe if everything goes okay, I could go visit you guys? Or you could come to me wherever I will end up being? If the people who decide what happens to us deem it safe to do it, of course."

God, he saw right through her. They haven't spoken in years and they were who even knows how many hundred miles apart, and yet he still knew her, he still saw right through her and it warmed her heart to know that it wasn't something that could be lost. Sometimes she wondered if it was possible, if you could unknow a person if you don't see them long enough, but it felt like Benji just proved that theory wrong in a way.

If she would have been fully alone and knew Benji was alone as well, she would have probably talked to Benji about Diego, too, but with Diego coming out of the bathroom this very moment (how did he have such impeccable timing?) and knowing that the other agent hearing things could get Diego in trouble, she opted to say, "can we go with the second one?" And because she didn't want him to feel like she was trying to keep something from him, she quickly added, "it's a bit complicated and a really long story, so I don't wanna get into it over the phone. Maybe next time?"

She knew offering this was wishful thinking, more of a hope than a sure thing, but she also felt like treating their conversation as a once in a lifetime opportunity would have only turned this entire conversation into something even sadder and more tragic than it was, and neither of them needed that for a moment.

Diego got his foot and sat down next to her against the headboard and Gen scooted over a little bit to give him more space, crossing her legs under herself as she shifted position and got herself more comfortable. She shot a warm, happy smile towards him while she was listening to Benji talk about their wedding, and then she couldn't help but reach over and steal a few fries from him and pop it into her mouth after mouthing an apology and a thank to him.

"Yeah, I wish I could have been there, but I'm just glad to hear about it too. Nobody told me whether Finley was with you or not, so it's just nice to hear and know that you haven't been alone all this time. And-- well, I don't know, maybe one day you can show me some pictures. Or just show me those rings yourself. Maybe." It felt so surreal to sound so optimistic or hopeful, but if a call could happen, why couldn't anything else, right?

She chuckled slightly. "Yeah, sure, I can cook, but I got a cook who was 10 times better than I was, people loved his food. Well, they still love it, that just sounded like he died when really he didn't, nothing like that happened, just bad word choices. And now i'm rambling, sorry. Anyway, do you guys have any pets? Did you ever get a dog?" They spent their entire childhood wanting a dog but being told they can't by their parents, and she knew Finley and Benji were thinking about adopting one before everything turned to shit. It would have felt natural for her that after a while they went back to that route and found a sweet puppy for themselves.

_______________________

Their best was the only thing they could offer one another. It was fucked up. Benji hated this situation. He had settled into a sort of compliance. He hadn’t liked it, but he’d grown used to it. Now, there was this. He was actually able to communicate with one of the people who mattered most to him in the world. He had Finley, of course, and he loved him with his whole heart. But it wasn’t the same. His family was gone and... then the one person that he still held in that regard was on the other end of the line for however short of a time period this would be. He wished there was a way to prolong it.

“Of course I’m not going to get either of us in trouble. Well, the three of us.” He shot Finley a gentle smile. “If you thought that I was cautious before, you should see me now.” It wasn’t always a good thing. It was probably helpful for Abigail though. He figured working with himself and Finely was an easy job.

Benji bit his lower lip. For a moment, he considered breaking the rules. He could find a way to contact her outside of this... there had to be a way. Perhaps he could convince Abigail to - no. She was more staunch on the rules than he was. Before meeting her, he hadn’t thought it possible. “I don’t know. I just - I know that you’re safe. All I want to do is see you. I just have to see you. Hug you.” That way, he could make sure that she was really there. It might not make sense to a lot of people, but it made sense to him.

Complicated? Most things with Gen were complicated. She was a bit odd in a lot of ways, but so was he. They had that in common. He wanted to point out that there was no guarantee for there to be a next time. He almost did. Instead, he simply sighed. “Fine, but next time, I’m going to lead with that. I’m just gonna ask you to promise that you didn’t fuck someone you shouldn’t have again. I had build my life up twice. I’m not going it a third.” The subject could be dropped there. Benji held up his hand. “But it’s done. It’s over. There’s no going back.”

He smiled, knowing that she wanted him to be truly happy more than anyone else would. “Yeah. It would have been much better if I threw up on your shoes rather than a member of the FBI, but...” he trailed off and laughed. “Maybe. And you know what I’m going to want you to do if we’re ever able to see each other again -“ It sounded a lot more realistic when she said it, “- which is that you make a grilled cheese because nobody can master it the same way you do.” He paused. “I also want to see you smile.” For as much as Genevieve wanted him to be happy, he wanted it for on the very same level.

“Your diner, what’d it called. Tell me all about it. Don’t spare any of the details.” There was no way he was going to hear everything about the past few years. If they focused on one thing, however, they would never make any progress. “Any - anything that’s good. Tell me about the good things.”

The mention of a dog had Benji looking over to the one curled up in his husband’s lap. “Her name is Missy. I don’t know what her breed is... other than small. What about you? Are you a parent?” He paused. “To a small furry animal because if there’s a human child in your life and you didn’t choose to lead with that, I might have to kill you.”

_______________________

Diego tried not to listen too hard in on the conversation. It was technically his right as Gen's handler, but he didn't want to make it seem like he was eavesdropping, after he told Gen he'd give her privacy. When she scooted next to him though, he figured she didn't mind him picking up the conversation here and there if it happened. It struck him, suddenly, how...domestic this was. Both of them relaxed back on the same bed, having dinner, Gen chatting on the phone with her brother while he checked his own phone. It would've been almost normal, if it wasn't for the fact that they were hiding out in a motel to protect Gen from possible attacks, and her brother was in a secret location, hidden for the same reason.

Diego took out Gen's food for her, and laid it out on the paper bag. She could take as many fries from her own pack as she wanted, but she wasn't getting any more of his.

When she asked about her brother's pets, it reminded Diego again - damn. That hedgehog. He knew Gen asked Flo to look after it but he really should drive into town tomorrow and pick the thing up, as well as his remaining belongings and some of Gen's - Darcy's things. First he'd talk to Al to inquire about the fate of the diner and if there was anything to be done about it.

_______________________

"Good. All three of us should be good then." Gen didn't doubt that Benji was sticking to all the rules and keeping everything in order. In that regard, Diego might have been luckier if he was assigned to her brother instead of her. He wouldn't have had to deal with things like her running off to LA without a word or warning. A lot less headache and a guns pointing at his face. Would have been a real treat.

"If it's ever going to be possible, we'll make it work however we can and then I'm going to hug the shit out of you. You'll be complaining and asking me to let you go," she joked. "But until then, Finley, would you give him a hug for me?" She could hear some rustling of clothes and moving on the other side of the phone and she smiled to herself for a moment. "Done." "Thanks."

Promise that you didn't fuck someone you shouldn't have. Right in the middle of it. It was like Benji just knew what went down for a few months between Diego and her. And then it hit her. Again. She did it again, she fell in love with somebody she shouldn't have. Did she have a type? Did she somehow draw in people that she shouldn't have and get attached? Granted, she couldn't have possibly known that Vivien would bring such horrors into her and her family's life, but she did in fact know Diego and her probably shouldn't have done what they did, she just didn't care, because no matter what Diego says about it being wrong, it wasn't. It couldn't have. Not after everything that happened and everything she felt.

(It was interesting how out of the two of these relationship, one of them looked so perfect, so right in the beginning only for the holes to show up and reveal just how wrong it was, while in the beginning it felt like there was nothing but holes between Diego and her that they needed to patch up and work through, but in the end it turned out to be so good and so important. For her at least. And even if it was only important for her, she still cherrished every memory, every moment.)

Through all of this she was watching Diego move back over to the food bag and take out her dinner too, probably glad to see her trying to actually eat without nudging after she stole some of his fries and wanting to make sure it wouldn't disappear or she wouldn't end up eating his food instead (she mouthed a quick thank you to him once he settled back onto the bed), and really, maybe according to the rules of his job, what they did was wrong, but she didn't regret any of it. She just regretted that if any of it got out, she could get him in trouble with it.

She was definitely not going to say any of that to Benji, though, not with Diego hearing it and definitely not with Benji and Finley's agent hearing it. She just replied in a cheerful tone, "I promise, I promise. You won't have to rebuild your life again, I didn't do anything stupid." Partial truths, they could work wonders.

She let out a small chuckle. "I would normally not approve of you throwing up on my shoes, but yeah, I would have preferred that scenario over anything else. And of course I'll make you all the grilled cheese you want, but only if you won't leave my side cause I won't be willing to stay too far from you." Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but even if it was just a small dream that wouldn't happen, it was nice to be able to talk about it with Benji.

"Hey, I smile!" Gen objected and purposefully did not look at Diego because she didn't want to see him look at her skeptically. Sunnymead and the townsfolk had that effect. When she first arrived, she didn't think she would ever smile again, but they worked their magic and changed that. They helped her a lot, without even realizing it. "Not all the time, sure, but there are moments. You can't see it, but I am smiling right now. Your voice kind of has that effect." In that moment it felt like if she could only keep talking to him, she could smile forever.

"No diner names, or any other location names that could be followed up," Gen heard the woman interject sternly when Benji asked about the Grub and she cleared her tone. "Okay, okay, no names, I promise. Good things - I got it on a lease, I fixed it up when I got there originally and somehow it became the town's staple. I heard so many rumors and gossips there, you have no idea. Got some really good people working for me. I also live above it. Well, lived. I keep forgetting to use the past term."

She was glad at least one of them could finally get the dog they've always wanted. "I'm sure she's the cutest of the cutest. And no, I don't have a kid, don't worry, I'm not holding out on you," she couldn't help but laugh at his suggestion of having a kid, even though a part of her heart was bleeding over it, knowing that for such a long time that hasn't been an option for her. "But I do have a little animal, though she's not so furry. It's a hedgehog and her name is Vex."

_______________________

As far as Benji was concerned, he wasn’t going to complain about her hugging him when (if) they saw each other again. He’d done so in the past, but this was different. There hasn’t been the constant contact which had been present in the past. Even then, he hadn’t done more than dramatically sigh and make a bigger deal of it than it truly was. He’d be far too busy taking her in were they to get that opportunity.

Leaning into Finley, Benji shook his head. “Oh, come on. I’m not going to complain. I know I... kind of complain a lot, but I’m going to probably cry if I ever get to see you again...” He wasn’t counting on it, but Abigail wasn’t objecting so it might be possible.

There was a pause before she answered and Benji could feel his anxiety rising. He knew his sister well. This seemed to mean that she was hiding something. Interrogation wasn’t the move though. They had limited to communicate. If all of Benji’s time was spent doing that, he would kick himself.

He hummed nonetheless, an even tone which made it perfectly clear that he didn’t believe her. There was no pushing though. He didn’t want to stress her. “Alright. Consider the subject dropped. No more discussions of your sex life in front of all of these people.” Which didn’t mean it was truly dropped, simply (hopefully) pushed off to a later date.

“Trust me. Do you honestly think that I’m going to go anywhere but where you are? No. I’d hole up wherever we were and here every detail about your life while I gave you every detail of mine.”

Benji laughed. “Remember how Mom used to joke that me and Liv were the only ones who could get you to smile?” It was an exaggeration, sure, but it was fun to joke about... even if the mention of their sister made him feel like there was a hold in his heart which would never be filled. “I’m smiling like an idiot. I’d say Finley could confirm, but he’d argue that I wasn’t an idiot like he always does.”

Furrowing his brows, Benji stared at Abigail. He had never argued with her in the past. It wasn’t in him. However, this? This was grinding on his last nerve. He couldn’t hear most of the things about his sister’s life and he hadn’t asked to. He just wanted to know the name, so that he could picture in his mind. There were so many gaps which he wanted filled. It was a small one, but it seemed there was a problem with that.

“Yeah, Abigail. I know. It’s the one diner in the whole country which has that name. Hearing the name of a diner, would put us both in imminent danger! I forgot that I didn’t have any control over my life!”

The outburst was uncharacteristic of him, but he was realizing now how over this he was. He missed his sister. Was the conversation allowed any depth? He sighed. Perhaps he should apologize to Abigail. He didn’t.

He nodded. “So was it like an HGTV show? The ones we used to get wine drunk and say we were going to do? You did that!” Benji frowned. Though he didn’t have to rebuild his life again, Gen did and he hated the concept of it. She’d had a good life then... it got fucked up. This time, he couldn’t even rationalize it in his brain as something that she had done. It was all one big mess. He could hardly understand that. “Are you at least allowed to tell me about the gossip?” A hedgehog? “Like the tiny porcupines?” he asked.

_______________________

Gen let out a small chuckle. "Alright, we'll be attached at the hip and just talk through every little detail we missed. I like the sound of that."

Her smile softened at the mention of Liv and her heart ached a bit at the thought that she couldn't be in this call, that they could never see her again. "Yeah, and Liv made those badges for it after and you guys wore it everywhere for like a week." They would have to talk about Olivia at some point. They probably should be talking about her and what happened now, if she was being honest, but this felt too good, too nice to go down that path. Maybe if they could ever meet and get drunk together. That was the kind of conversation that would require a lot of alcohol.

"He really isn't an idiot, but he is smiling like one," came the confirmation from Finley and Gen smiled. They were both smiling and happy to enjoy a simple phone call, even just a couple of hours ago it didn't feel like it could be possible, so it was great to know that there could still be happy moments amidst all of this. Well, thank to Diego. All of this could only happen because of Diego and she wasn't sure how she could ever thank him for this. She'd need to figure something out.

Gen winced at the sound of Benji snapping at the handler, but even more so when he said he didn't have any control over his life. It wasn't life him, to snap at people like this, but it also hit her that it has been years since she's seen or talked to Benji and she couldn't possibly know what kind of changes he went through. And being forced into a situation like this... it would have made sense, if Benji snapped at people more. But even if this was just a one time thing coming out of frustration of how the two of them couldn't even have a simple conversation without somebody else butting in and telling them what they can and can't talk about... she did this to him. She caused him to lose complete control over his life and it was sheer luck and persistence that they allowed Finley to be there with him instead of dropping him off somewhere else and leaving her brother completely alone.

Fuck, she hated how much pain she caused him, how much she ruined his life.

She rubbed her face, feeling the tiredness and the guilt creep in, even though she was trying to not think about it. At least until they had to hang up, she wanted to enjoy just talking to Benji without feeling horrible, she could do that later.

Unfortunately, it came earlier, way too early than how she would have liked, because when Benji brought up the gossips, she could hear some movement from the other side of the phone and then the handler's voice came, "Alright, if you want to hear about gossip, I think it's time you two wrap it up. The call already went longer than you two were originally allowed, so say your goodbyes. We don't want anyone accidentally tapping into these phones and track either of you."

"Fuck," she muttered and she could feel a panic rising inside of her because she didn't want to hang up, she wanted to keep talking to Benji and with not knowing when or if she could ever talk to him again or see him again, this felt a little bit like losing him all over again. But she also didn't want to push the boundaries because this has already been more than she could ever imagine and now she knew that he was okay. She knew he was good and happy and safe and this was not enough and more than enough at the same time.

"Fuck, okay, Benji, I love you. I can't believe I didn't start with this, but I love you so much and I'm really sorry for all of this and I am so happy you're doing okay and just-- fuck, I miss you and I love you. I don't know what else I could say."

_______________________

It was likely exactly what Benji should have expected given his reaction earlier, but it didn't make hearing that their conversation was over now. He clenched his jaw and was refusing to make eye contact with Abigail. He felt like he was going to cry and he would be damned if he did it in front of her. It wasn't her fault, not really, but he needed someone to blame she could take the heat of that.

He felt like he was going to vomit. Running his fingers through his hair, he let out a shaky breath. "I love you too. More than fucking..." he paused, to try and get as much control over his voice as possible. Though, Benji knew he hardly had any time to do. "More than anything. I miss you and I don't know if it's better or worse now," he had to admit. "But I wouldn't trade this for anything. I love you, Gen. This is so fucking unfair."

With that, he got up and left the room, knowing that Abigail would hang up the phone and Finley would see her out. He didn't want to deal with a second more of this.

_______________________

Gen could hear Benji's voice shaking and fuck, she wished she could be there to comfort him and hug him and make sure he was okay, but then if she was there, they wouldn't be in this predicament either. And it hurt, having to say goodbye because she wanted to keep talking, but at the same time it felt like the entire conversation filled her up with a new kind of energy she didn't think she could have. So she listened to Benji and nodded and she could feel the tears brimming in her eyes, but at the same time she was smiling.

And then the call was over and she just sat there for a few moments, staring at the now dark phone in her hand and didn't have the faintest clue what to do or say after this. The conversation kept replaying in her mind and she hoped Finley was already there for Benji and helping him and more than anything she hoped this wasn't the last time. Vivien was arrested, they had to be slowly getting out of this, right? There had to be an end to this somehow.

Then again, maybe in two days she would be told that she would need to get relocated once again and she would become Jenna Sills or some other random person next. She wished she would have even the slightest bit of control over her life and she wouldn't be in the dark constantly.

She took a deep breath and shook herself out of these thoughts, even if just for a few moments, and finally turned to Diego with a small smile and handed the phone back to him. "Thank you, seriously. This... I don't think thank you si really expressive enough to emphasize how much this meant to me, but nothing else really comes to my mind, so just thank you."

_______________________

One thing Diego didn't take into consideration was the possibility that allowing Gen a phone call meant that it could end up making her even more unhappy, after the initial elation of speaking with her brother. He watched her carefully, gauging her quiet devastation that she was so good at repressing. She'd been practicing it for four years now, of course it was like second nature to her. He said nothing until she spoke first, and then he just listened.

Granted, she didn't talk about herself, but then that was so like Gen, wasn't it. Both Gen and Darcy - they both put people before themselves, thought about other people first. Not in any sort of self-sacrificial way, but in a way that just meant her heart was full of others. She was used to thinking about other people, being empathetic, taking care of them. It fulfilled her to help, as much as it helped others. Even her thank yous to him were kind and considerate. When she wasn't yelling at him for some indignity or the other, she could actually be quite generous with her kindness.

As if he didn't know that already.

A smile tugged his lips, and Diego moved the food between them to reach and arm around her shoulders. He tugged her to lean against him, and he pressed his mouth against her damp hair on the crown of her head. She felt fragile and birdlike right now, so small and broken.

"So...he's got a - a - a husband? Is that what they call 'em? Husband and...what, husband?" He asked, awkward, ignorant, and curious. "I didn't really realize that the both of you were like, y'know. I didn't realize more than one sibling could be, uh..." But even as he said it, he was pretty sure it was a stupid thing to say.

_______________________

It was a new kind of torture to have Diego pull Gen close against him, knowing it was just to comfort her after the emotional rollercoaster that was the last 24 hours and especially after the call just ended. She knew she was a mess and she knew that Diego could see it all over her face. She didn't even try to hide things from him anymore, there didn't seem to be any point. He seemed to have learned how to read her like an open book. So even if the memories of the times they've spent in each other's arms flashed back in front of her eyes, she knew this was different. She also knew she should pull back and not let herself enjoy it, it wouldn't end well for her emotionally, but she also couldn't just entangle herself from Diego somehow, so she just closed her eyes and try to forget about everything around them.

It didn't last too long, however, because then Diego started talking awkwardly, and Gen's eyes grew wider and wider at what he was saying. She pulled away and fully turned towards him, frowning in confusion and surprise. "Jesus Christ, Diego, you are so painfully straight," she couldn't help saying, her face still full of disbelief. He didn't say any of it with malice, he didn't intend to hurt anyone, and it wasn't about him being against it either, he just asked something he didn't know about because he never needed a reason to learn and get to know more, and it showed in his question. A lot.

"I don't even know where to start." She picked up her burger - it was cold at this point, but she didn't really care, she was just glad she could eat something. She took a bite to have at least something in her stomach and then started munching on her fries while she started talking. "Yes, they are husband and husband, unless they prefer something else, I'm not sure, I didn't ask them. All of the marriage and proposal happened after... well, sort of during the beginning of the relocation process, so I wasn't there for any of it. Not that any of that part really matters in the whole family question that you just..." She let out a sigh, she was rambling and she didn't even know where to even begin, it was such a surprising thing in that moment. Then again, maybe that was his goal with this, to get her out of the stupor and get her to think about something else, even if that something else was explaining to Diego that more than one person in the family could be part of the LGBTQ+ community.

"Okay, so there aren't any genes or rules or laws of the universe that say that only one person in the family can be non-straight. It just... happens. Sort of like how sometimes a family has three boys and no girls, and then another family has one girl and a boy and the mix could go on and on. It depends on the person and not the family."

"Also, you can say the word gay, it's not an insult. You can also say queer, to me at least, it generally stands on shaky legs, some people love it and embrace it, some people take it as an insult, so don't throw that word around before making sure the person you're talking to is okay with it. But it's okay with me."

_______________________

Diego held Gen and what was more important, Gen didn't resist him. It seemed like all the animosity and frustration that had built up between them over the last few weeks had dissipated completely. It made sense in a way - after dealing with the insanity that was Vivien Salazar showing up out of nowhere and kidnapping poor Juliana, a spat over something that was no longer relevant seemed...well. No longer relevant.

And then there was the matter of Gen sleeping with Vivien. Given that Diego was a king of making poor sexual choices throughout his entire adult life, he'd be a hypocrite to feel angry about that. Plus, while he and Darcy had been cooling their heels, he'd slept with Rita. Maybe in some weird, twisted way, Darcy sleeping with Vivien was just tit for tat. Granted, sleeping with Vivien was a disastrous choice, but not something that Diego had to deal with. That was something Gen herself would have to deal with - emotionally and mentally.

So it felt calmer, watching Gen eat the cold burger, and then sit up to give him one of her patented annoyed and slightly pitying looks. He blinked back at her, stealing some of her fries now, and eating them. "What? You say 'straight' like it's an insult," he said, using the most stereotypical hurt-feelings comeback that straight people used, when queer people called them straight.

But he did listen attentively when Gen explained, with the patience of a saint, about how it all worked. There was very little he knew about Benjamin Soto's casefile, other than the basics. It was all in the name of protecting, and keeping the Sotos safe. So he didn't realize Benjamin swung that way, and he really didn't realize that the 'husband' had been put under witness relocation as well. Truth was, Diego had completely forgotten that gay marriage was even legal, and he had to remind himself at this point. He could only imagine how loud his nieces would be berating him right now for being so clueless. They'd be saying similar things to him as Darcy, only with more 'oh my god, Tio, you're so dumb' thrown in for good measure.

"Hunh," he grunted, but squinted in amusement when Gen gave him permission to use such verboten (in his mind) words. "I dunno, honey. In Texas, 'queer' is still used like an insult. But...I guess that's mostly just among us straight people, huh." He didn't sound angry or anything, just wry. As if he was making some sort of point (he wasn't; or rather, his point wasn't interesting). "I guess...well I guess it'd be like having three kids, and all of 'em are straight, huh? No one ever points out how weird that is, do they."

_______________________

Gen let out a long sigh and tilted her head at Diego as she gave him a look. This wasn't the first time she's heard this response, though given how the last couple of years have been going, she hasn't heard it in a while. "I don't say straight as an insult, Diego, I say it as a fact. Cause you are one. Which is showing a whole lot right now."

He listened to her, though. It was one thing she could never say about him is that he wouldn't listen. He was ignorant and he happily lived in his own heterosexual bubble because it was easy, but when the topic came up and she tried explaining something to him, he always listened. Back when she told him she was pansexual, and now too. He was trying to understand, he just didn't really go out of his way to do so when he didn't have to or it didn't come up.

"Yeah, well, straight people like using these words as insults way too often, if you ask me. So if it's an insult in your mind, then definitely don't use it, everyone will be able to tell you're using it as such. But at the same time you should just accept them and think of them as not insults. They are just the people's sexualities, nothing else."

"You said one of your nieces was on the spectrum, right?" she asked. She thought she remembered Diego mention it to her during their last similar conversation, but she wasn't sure if she remembered wrong. "Do you talk about these things with her?"

She ate some fries as she thought of Benji and Finley. They are what started this whole conversation. "I didn't know they got married, by the way. My brother and his boyfriend. Well, husband now. Finley - that's his husband's name -, asked me to help look for rings not too long before everything happened, but I wasn't sure if he got put in the witness protection, too, and if they got to stay together or not. But this was the best-case scenario. At least they were together and they could help each other through it."

_______________________

Diego grinned then and shrugged. "I gotta be me...which I suddenly get now. The ga- the people who aren't straight gotta be them too. My nieces would be so proud of me now." He seemed contented at Darcy's advice to not try and use the words she used so freely. From her, 'gay' and 'queer' sounded free-flowing, comfortable. Coming out of his mouth, he knew it would just sound unnatural, borderline insulting. He laughed lowly when she asked about his nieces.

"On the spectrum..." he said, once more a term that was very novel to him. Sex was a big part of his life, and the idea that there was a spectrum applied to it? His poor straight mind boggled at the concept. "Jesus christ, are you kidding me? I'm their Uncle, Gen. Kids don't want to talk to their uncles about that sort of shit. And frankly I don't want to hear about it." Before Gen got that tight disappointed look on her face, he raised his hand to add, "What I mean is, I stay clear out of their entire dating and love lives and all that...grown-up stuff, as much as I can. They might technically be adults now but they're still little girls to me. They got their own friends to talk like that." He huffed.

"The only time they bring it up is just to make me and their mother all huffy. For their own entertainment." He didn't seem particularly bothered about this, though. That was what nieces did - they poked fun of older family members for, well, being older. Curiously, he asked, "Do your folks know? About you, or your brother? Did you have to..." Diego searched for the term. "Come...out?"

He supposed there was no harm now in Gen knowing that the brother and his...fella were married, or whatever. Everything had to be so hush-hush for so long, it was good she got a few factoids to feed off of for the next few months of hell. And Diego realized then, how much it sucked that she missed the wedding. If there even was a wedding.

"That's true," he conceded, finishing up his food and then exhaling slowly. "C'mon, let's go have a smoke out on the balcony." He stood up, grabbing his pack of smokes from the desk. "Also I just realized there's only one bed. And I didn't ask if you'd be okay with that."

_______________________

The big grin plastered on Diego's face as it all seemed to click for him was cute, even if all of this was a ridiculous conversation that Gen did not think they would be having this night out of all of it. But he was trying and he seemed to be taking small steps towards the right direction, which was definitely a good start. Gen let out a small chuckle at his indignation that he would be talking about his nieces sex lives with them. "I didn't mean about their sex lives, Diego, obviously you wouldn't wanna hear about that, I meant..." But she shook her head with a small smile. "Nevermind." She meant more about what it meant not being straight, but this was probably best to just let it go.

"Yeah, they know," she nodded as she ate the last of her fries. "I didn't really have a typical coming out experience, though. Benji had it all figured out a lot faster and a lot younger, I needed more time figure all of it, all of me, out, and by the time I got there I also realized just how little my parents were present in our lives. And to be fair to them, they did what they thought were best for us, which was work their butts off and provide us with financial security, but it meant they weren't really around, so I didn't really feel like I was required to have that proper sit down where I told them I was pansexual. I didn't lie to them, I just didn't openly tell them. They figured it out when I brought Vivien home for introductions."

It was more like when she announced she was bringing her home, which was probably for the best because a huge fight broke out after it that came down to 'why did you lie to us for years and years about this?' as if they were entitled to something so personal. She didn't really care about their reactions, but she remembered that she was glad Vivien didn't walk into that fight when they went over for a family dinner and she did question back then if not openly telling her parents before that was a mistake or not. And then she didn't see her parents for months after that dinner like it usually went, and she decided she probably did the right thing.

"Oh, god, yes, I'm in," Gen said as she pushed herself up from the bed at the thought of a smoke. "I'm guessing asking for some whiskey along with it would be impossible, right?" she joked, but that would have probably helped a lot with her mind in that moment, even if she knew unless Diego snuck in something under his coat, they wouldn't be drinking tonight.

And then he pointed out that there was only one bed for the two of them, which really should have registered for her sooner - he was spending his time here with her, he was taking a shower in this room's bathroom, of course this was both of their rooms and they would have to share it, what was she even thinking? But somehow she was way too occupied to notice and process any of this information, and she stopped for a moment as she heard those words because really?

Really?

It already felt like some kind of torture, the way he was being so nice and he was trying to comfort her through all of this, and now sleeping in the same bed together? The last time they were in a bed together, they fell asleep in each other's arms after spending a really long time ravishing each other and chasing the same pleasures, and now... fuck. She was fucked.

And she couldn't show any of this because he would offer to just sleep on the damn floor and then she couldn't ever convince him to come sleep on the bed cause he was stubborn like that.

So after the momentary freezing she quickly pulled herself together. "We're adults, right? And it's a big enough bed, anyway, there's enough room for both of us." They headed outside and Gen leaned against the railing and while Diego lit both of their cigarettes, she took the sight in - which was mostly the motel's weirdly lit pool and the buildings around them -, and then pushed herself up onto the railing. They were on the first floor and the railing was wide enough, she was good.

"Unless you would feel uncomfortable, in which case you are taking the bed and I'm taking the floor. And before you object, your face has a whole different color now and I'm pretty sure your dick suffered even more so, while the worst thing that happened to me is that I got a little scared. You don't need back pain added to the list of shit that happened to your body."

She was quiet for a few moments, taking a couple of drags from the cigarette and listening to the sounds of the city around them before she asked, "Do you ever think about what's the whole point of all of this? Everyone suffers through so much bullshit in their lives just for a few fleeting moments of happiness, and then all of it becomes pointless because you become nothing in the end anyway."

_______________________

Diego was about to ask how Gen's parents took it, when she brought a woman home for them to meet. But although it seemed like Gen was able to bring up the mention of the memory with not too much issues, this was definitely not a good time to make Gen think even more about her past with Vivien Salazar. It could too easily spiral into Gen feeling guilty and stupid for being duped by Vivien for all that time, blaming herself for everything that happened to her family.

So instead, he just nodded in understanding. "Parents can be tricky," he said vaguely. A moment of silence and then he added, "I suppose we have that in common, sort of. I'm closer to my sister than I am to my mother. Or father, when he was alive." It wasn't always the case, but Diego always considered his childhood to be complicated but completely normal at the same time. He said he loved his family - he was Latino, of course he loved his family - but it hadn't been difficult to move into law enforcement and travel for work.

Getting up (and minutely thrilled that Gen was going to join him for a smoke), Diego chuckled as Gen asked about whiskey. "I don't think the motel stocks a minibar, no. We'll have to make do with sobriety." In the dimness of the room, he didn't notice Gen's apprehension about the one bed, or he didn't read into it too deeply. Perhaps because he also felt someone antsy about it, if only because they'd been fighting before Vivien showed up, and technically had called their whole...sleeping-together thing off.

Hadn't they? Everything had changed, when Vivien showed up. The reasons for Diego's anger no longer mattered. Did the reasons still matter to Gen? He wasn't sure how long she could hold on to old fights, but he supposed he'd know by tonight.

Fortunately it seemed like Gen chose to take the high road, and Diego was more than fine with that. He handed her one lit cigarette and leaned against the corridor railing,. "Okay. That sounds fine," he said, when Gen laid it out so reasonably. He puffed, wondering if he should mention assurances that he wouldn't touch her or try to make any moves on her while they were in bed - god, he felt so confused about where they stood on their...thing together. But it was hardly the most important problem that either he or Gen had right now - but then Gen kept talking. Or rather, in her trademark way, she started overthinking it.

He choked on his cigarette when she casually mentioned his dick, and Diego coughed indignantly. "My bit and tackle are in fine working order, thank you very much, madam," he said huffily, his manhood clearly feeling threatened (albeit in a comical way). "It just ain't gonna be directed at you, is all." He winced when he said that last bit. He'd meant it to mean he wasn't going to try and get frisky, put Gen in a position where she felt she had to reject intimacy. Which would be understandable and her right. But it just came out weird and petty.

He leaned his back against the railing to face her. "What I mean is, I'm fine. I can sleep on the floor if that's what you prefer. No way in hell I'm letting you sleep on any fucking floor, and don't argue with me about women doing what men can do or whatever. This is simply because - because maybe I got beat up on the face...and other parts of me. But you got beat up inside, and in your head. And you know what doctors always say - internal injuries are worse than external ones."

Of course, Diego took that out of context, since he didn't mean Gen's internal organs, but rather her emotional and mental beatdown. "So that hurt head of yours deserves a nice...creaky, springy, misshapen bed more'n I do. No argument, Gen, I mean it."

Gen's questions turned philosophical then, and Diego welcomed the change of pace. He smoked slowly then. "This is a conversation best had over a bottle of whiskey," he said. "But since we don't have a whiskey, then...I think what you've gone through is extraordinary, Gen. As in, I don't think it's what most people have to deal with. Not to downplay other people's shit - I know you wouldn't like me doing that - but I'm just saying more people's ups and downs at least have context and they can reference the same shit around them to know how to deal with their own shit. You? What on god's green earth would ever prepare you for your girlfriend turning out to be a crime boss? That's not normal shit. That's one in a million. That's extraordinary."

He stubbed his cigarette out. "Guess you're just special that way, honey."

_______________________

Gen watched Diego with careful consideration as he mentioned that parents could be difficult, and then mentioned his dad. She could only remember him mentioning him once before, and it was in not so positive light, and she wanted to ask about him, see if she could get Diego to talk about his family and his parents a little more, understand where he was coming from better, but then decided to go into a completely different route. "You don't really talk about them," she said. "Your parents, mainly, but your family in general either. Is that because this is a job and you don't want to let too much information slip out, or you just don't like talking about them in general?"

She was expecting Diego's reply about the whiskey, but she was still disappointed he wasn't hiding even just a little bit of alcohol somewhere hidden on him. If there was a night to get drunk and try to forget everything, it was this night for sure. "The motel should definitely think about it. The minibar is one of the easiest way to overcharge the customers, and I assume a lot of their customers would be delighted to splurge on the cheapest thing they could possibly find." It's probably for the better, though. She wouldn't need a headache the next morning - either the FBI would have more questions and dealing with them with a hangover would be a bitch, or some other official business that she'd need to do that she would be better for sober.

She chuckled at his indignation and him calling her madam, but her smile didn't last long. It just ain't gonna be directed at you, is all. He needed to make sure she knew just because they were sleeping in the same bed potentially, nothing changed between them. And in general, she respected him for it, not wanting to betray Rita like that. But on the other hand, the reminder was like a cold bucket of water being suddenly poured all over her body. For a few moments she could just forget about it, but now she was painfully brought back down to reality and she didn't know how to react. Except for the annoyed, quiet muttering that she couldn't help letting slip out from under her nose, "Don't worry, I wasn't planning on jumping you or anything," and then took a long, hard drag of the cigarette.

Thankfully he kept talking, though, and so she focused on that instead of the stupid way her heart panged and how for the first time she wondered if maybe Diego not sticking around and not being there for her through all of this would be better. She would miss him, Jesus fuck she would miss him, but at least she wouldn't be reminded constantly of what she fucked up and could never have.

She tilted her head, giving Diego a look. "You know that's about internal bleeding and my organs, not my mental state, right?" Her voice was just a touch bit sharp and annoyed. She didn't mean to carry over the annoyance that she felt after his comment, but she couldn't help it, it just came out. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to get her shit together. "And when have I ever not argued with you? Really, Diego, you are not sleeping on the floor, I'm not going to let that happen. I will kick you up onto the damn bed if I have to," she said, the last of her words more teasing than anything else.

"So you won't let me sleep on the floor, I won't let you sleep on the floor, we're back to being adults and sleeping in the same bed, huh?" It was going to be a torture and she felt even more grateful for the possibility of a sleeping pill. She could just take it and push through the time while it hits and then she wouldn't spend the entire night not only reliving everything that happened in the past 24 hours, but also over-analyzing Diego sleeping a few inches from her.

"See? I told you we would need whiskey," she joked but she listened to Diego quietly while smoking, purposefully ignoring him calling her honey again. She was wondering how long she could take it. She already just wanted to snap at him and tell him to stop calling her that because it was messing with her head. "I don't wanna be special like this. But I guess nobody would. It's funny, though. I used to want to be special. And I don't mean that I wanted to be a princess when I was four, even though I did, but I-- I wanted to be that one in a million. I wanted to prove to everyone around me that I could be that one person who just rises and rises and rises to the top and becomes outstanding." She let out a bitter chuckle. "I guess I became outstanding in a very different meaning of the word. And now all I wanna be is normal, and that's the one thing that isn't in the cards."

She shook her head. "Fuck, my head is full of... all of this bullshit. I can't-- I just can't. Tell me something fun. Something good that made you happy or made you laugh or something. Anything that isn't related to... all of this. Please."

_______________________

"A little of both, I suppose," Diego replied with a half-shrug. He'd never really had friends, ergo he never really talked about his family. Even when it came to falling in love - with Helena - she'd known him growing up, and when they met as adults, they were in a situation far too dire to reminisce about their pasts. "You're the first person who's asked so many dang questions." He said it gruffly, but not meanly. He gave a low laugh when she tried to lighten the mood, talk about profit for the motel via minibars.

"Maybe the rooms usually do have minibars. But this motel's used a lot for federal business, so I'll bet you they remove the minibar whenever they know a fed's taking up the room. Too many of us are alcoholics and your tax money shouldn't go to pay for our drinking problems." He was teasing lightly of course, just going off of Gen's own riffing.

Because what she said next (completely due to his own faux pas) made everything feel tense again. "That's not what I --oh forget it. We should just - right. Yea. Let's just be adults and sleep in one bed. Jesus, it's no big deal." Cigarette break over, Diego headed back inside, to brush his teeth one more time.

He started to brush, then came out of the bathroom to talk to her more. Granted he was talking around his toothbrush, but he didn't seem to notice. "You always argue with me, but I keep hoping in vain that this ONE time you'll actually listen to me. That's what crazy people do right? Repeat the same thing and hope for different results? You drive me crazy." In more ways than one, but regardless, Diego pointed at the side of the bed that was closer to the exit door. "That's my side." he told her, before going back into the bathroom to spit and rinse.

She was right - no one who didn't ask for that life, should be considered the type of special that Gen currently was. But Diego returned, wiping his face with a face towel as he listened to Gen talking. Revealing something about herself that to Diego sounded so profound and deep. He was struck by how vulnerable it seemed. And she was sharing this with him, out of the blue.

"It's not bullshit," Diego was quick to respond. "It's not bullshit at all. It's...it's fine. I can't say I understand, but at the same time...I dunno. It's fine, Gen, you're..." He wanted to reach out to her and hold her then, but something made him resist. Everything just felt too prickly then; and an embrace might be taken the wrong way. So instead he maneuvered past her, to get to his side of the bed.

"Me? You want me to tell you something fun? You do know who you're talking to right?" Diego joked, sitting on the edge of the bed, but turning to look at her. "Mr NoFun Guy here. But listen - just, go brush your teeth and...whatever else girls do in the bathroom before bed. I'll find us some nice movie or fun tv-show to watch before we pass out, hm? That's as much fun as I can do. Oh - and I got a bottle of painkillers, they're on the sink. Feel free to help yourself. Might help you get to sleep."

_______________________

Gen quickly finished up the last of the cigarette and then headed back inside after Diego, settling down onto the bed while she waited for Diego to finish and suddenly feeling a whole new kind of awkward and unsure of what to do with herself. She agreed with what she said, they were adults and the bed was big, they could spend the entire night never touching, but it still felt... well, it felt like too much. Maybe because of her newfound realization (it felt kind of insane that she barely realized her feelings for Diego less than 24 hours ago, the last 24 hours felt like a week, maybe even a whole month instead of just a single day), maybe because so many things happened she just felt emotionally drained and this was just the cherry on top, maybe because the last time they were in the same bed, things between them were a whole different situation, but it just felt a lot and she didn't know how to really handle it.

Thankfully Diego was here, though, acting like it was the most normal thing on the world and making it seem like they did this every single night. (Which was a whole kind of weird in her mind, but at least it was something she could roll with.)

When Diego came out of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth while he was talking around it, she couldn't help a half snort, half chuckle that escaped her. It was cute. And amusing. And more domestic than she'd like to think, so she pushed that part to the side. "Isn't there like a rule that you can't be crazy if you are aware that you're crazy?" she mused aloud, teasing. "Or that might be just Catch 22. Not sure."

She nodded to the declaration of the side and when he came out and babbled a bit, trying to comfort her. He was trying, she could tell, and she appreciated it, but he wasn't really able to say anything helpful either, not that she expected him, and she gave him a small, appreciative smile before heading into the bathroom herself while he was talking about just how unfun he was and the plan for the rest of the night.

She quickly brushed her teeth and washed her face again and took a painkiller, hoping it would actually go to sleep. By the time she got back to the room, Diego found something on the tv and she climbed into bed next to him, making sure to keep the distance. The moment her head hit the pillow, it was like her body finally caught up to everything that happened and she felt nothing but sheer exhaustion. And even though her brain started running like it always did, maybe the painkillers were working, maybe everything that happened was too much even for her, but she fell asleep relatively quickly compared to how long it usually took her.

#——diego chavez (024)#——phone call in a quiet night in

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stillthewordgirl · 5 years

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LOT/CC fic: (I Don’t Believe in) Destiny (Ch. 2 of 11)

Leonard Snart is back, finally pulled from the timestream where he's spent the last four years. But he wasn't alone, and the repercussions of that will echo through the Legends, the Time Bureau, and beyond.

----

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

Title: All the Stages We Passed Through

Present

“You haven’t seen her at all?”

Mick Rory folds his arms and scowls at the woman on the Waverider’s main screen. “Answer ain’t changed in the past minute.”

Ava pinches her nose with her fingers, looking like he’s making her headache worse. Mick feels victorious.

He figures that if that’s the most he does to Bureau Chick considering that she’s talking about bringing back the same damned thing that killed Snart—well, she’s getting off easy. (And he doesn’t believe for a second that Sara’s gonna let her get away with that, or he’d be doing a hell of a lot more. He’s already decided he’s going to kill Druce. Again. The question is simply when.)

But Bureau Chick really doesn’t seem aware of any of this. Which seems kinda odd, because Mick might not like her, but she’s not stupid.

“Well,” she sighs, as Mick hears at least one of the others—Haircut, he’s pretty sure it’s Haircut, and probably Pretty too—wander on to the bridge behind him. “If…when…you see her. Tell her… it’s not what she thinks.”

Mick doesn’t ask. “Got it.”

The screen turns blank, and Mick turns around, noticing Haircut’s frown and Pretty’s look of confusion. (So what else is new?)

Ray stares at the screen, then looks back at Mick. “She’s looking for Sara?” he asks. “But…Sara went to the Bureau, to try to get a time courier. Hours ago. What happened? Do you think she’s OK? Should we go looking for her?”

Mick sighs, put upon. “Tell ‘em, Gideon,” he instructs, leaning against a jumpseat.

The AI speaks up promptly. “Ms. Lance has been in contact with us, Dr. Palmer,” she says. “A while ago. However, she asked that Mr. Rory and I not tell Director Sharpe that. She said just to wait, and she’d be back in touch.”

Haircut looks confused. “You lied?”

Mick rolls his eyes. And Gideon’s silence is the sort that he knows could easily be translated as “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“I obeyed the command of my captain, Dr. Palmer,” she says finally. “And you may wish to consider why she asked me to do so. Especially given recent events.”

When Sara had first started visiting the Time Bureau in this time and place, the dynamic had been so contentious that it’d seemed only practical to figure out a safehouse of sorts nearby. She’d found a place—a former office building in an unlikely section of town, unlikely to be sold or rented to anyone new—and set it up, figuring it was better to have a bolt-hole than not.

She’d never expected to be hauling one Leonard Snart in there.

Leonard seems…dazed. Far from his usual sharp intellect and gaze. He just stares at Sara as she gently pushes him down on the battered secondhand sofa there. And then she sees his wrists—and the ragged, raw wounds around them.

“What the…” She takes a deep breath, holds it a moment, then lets it out slowly. Her first thought, running into Leonard in the Bureau hall, had been that they’d found him after all, and that Ava had lied. But it’s not adding up, none of these little details, and she needs to know more.

Especially just who or what Snart this is.

And so, she sits down opposite him, trying not to hope, and tries to sound like the businesslike captain and not a woman who…who…

“I need to know,” she tells the man, trying for calm. “If you’re the Leonard Snart from this time and this Earth, tell me something only I would know.”

Leonard’s brow furrows as he looks at her. “This time?” he murmurs. “This Earth?” But then he shakes his head roughly and focuses, blue eyes intent in a way that does things to Sara’s stomach.

“You kissed me,” he says quietly. “At the Oculus.” He looks down at his arms. “You had to pull yourself up, and I couldn’t let go, but…”

It’s enough and too much. “OK,” Sara says abruptly, getting up as quickly as she’d sat down. “You’re you. OK. I’ll be right back.”

Because this safehouse is meant for the Legends, of course there are plenty of first-aid supplies. Sara fills a basin with warm water, and takes that, a soft cloth and some disinfectant back to where Leonard is still sitting, brow furrowed, a rather distant expression still on his face. A variant of shock, she thinks, barely willing to truly accept that it’s him now, really him.

Sara puts the basin down next to him, then wrings out the cloth, reaching out tentatively to take his left hand. Same callouses, she notes. The very same.

Leonard doesn’t flinch or pull away. Shock, Sara thinks again. She gently starts wiping at the raw wounds, and he still doesn’t move, despite what must be considerable pain.

“Did the Time Bureau do this?” she asks quietly, after a moment.

It takes Leonard a long minute to respond.

“I don’t know what the Time Bureau is,” he tells her, sounding just a little more like the sardonic Len she knows…remembers. His lip curls. “Sounds annoying. But, no, that rat bastard Druce did this.”

Sara freezes, then keeps working. “But…”

Leonard doesn’t seem to hear her. “One minute I was in…in the same nothing I’d been in since the Oculus blew up, then I’d landed hard on the floor.” He shakes his head roughly. “He’d been ready, and I…I wasn’t in good shape. Next thing I knew, he had me bound, and…that was it. Not sure how long.”

“How?”

Leonard manages to focus on her, and he seems to realize what’s behind the intense question. “He has this watch gadget,” he mutters. “It opened some kinda portal. Boom.”

No doubt what that is. “Druce has a time courier? But…” She stops. It doesn’t matter right now. The water in the basin is pink, and she starts on the other wrist, letting Leonard rest the other on the basin rim.

“Sara,” he says after a moment, roughly. “How long?”

She’s not going to pretend. “About four years,” she tells him, feeling his flinch then. “A little less.”

“Mick?”

No other words are needed in the question, but Sara’s pleased to be able to give good news here. “Mick is fine,” she tells him, eyes on her work, trying to remove ground-in debris without causing more pain than she has to. “He’s good. He’s still a Legend, and he…did you know he writes? He’s published now. He’s OK, Leonard.”

She’s sure it’s not her imagination that a little tension goes out of him. Then: “Lisa?”

Now Sara hesitates. “You have to realize…” she says carefully, “we all thought you were dead…”

“And you told her.” Leonard’s voice is calm, more accepting than she would have thought. “But…is she OK?”

As OK as she can be. “Yes.” Sara wrings out the cloth again. The water is a much darker pink now. “She is. Cisco keeps tabs on her. She’s traveling, checks in from time to time.”

Leonard sighs. He’s quiet as Sara carries the basin back across the small room, and quiet as she sits down again, taking his left hand again and starting to wind some gauze loosely around his wounds.

After a moment, Sara starts talking again, just to get it out. “Rip’s gone,” she tells him, eyes on his wrist. “Presumed dead.” A pause. “Martin…he died.” She really doesn’t want to go into it more, not at the moment. “And Jax left the team. So did Kendra and Carter—yeah, that’s a long story—after we defeated Savage.” She finishes that wrist, lifts her eyes to his. “It’s just me, Mick, and Ray left, of the original eight.”

Leonard’s gaze is steady. “And you’re captain.”

“Yes.”

She waits for more questions, but in vain. He’s silent, and so is she, as she wraps his other wrist, securing the gauze with a clip.

“There’s a shower,” Sara says after a moment, “and there are some shaving supplies in there, if you want. I kept this place stocked up for any of the Legends who might need to use it.” She glances up at him. “I mean. If you want to.”

Leonard smirks, just a little. “What,” he drawls, and oh hell, she’s missed that drawl, “you don’t like the beard?” He reaches out to touch it, as if he doesn’t remember just how long it’s become, then frowns and glances in the mirror to their left. “Gray,” he mutters.

Sara almost smiles at his vanity because, well, it is—though not unattractive. But she also can’t avoid noticing just how thin he looks.

“Food?” she asks. “I can go get some kinda takeout.”

Leonard’s eyes flicker. He understands what she’s not saying.

“Wouldn’t say no,” he says, and they’ve both won another brief reprieve from feelings.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Charlie shouts, turning and scowling at them all indiscriminately. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!

The Waverider’s bridge is in an uproar, but Mick is just standing there, staring at nothing in particular and letting the chaos wash over him. He’s still digesting this, trying to figure out how he feels, if he believes it. Sara…Sara wouldn’t tell him this, of all things, without being sure, but…

“Snart,” Constantine muses, leaning against the holotable. “Leo’s doppelganger here? Presumably without the guy at home?” He nods, once, smirking. “Sign me up.”

“Leo’s his doppelganger,” Mick mutters, but not loud enough for anyone to hear him. He turns to face the others, still unwilling to chime in more…yet.

Zari rolls her eyes at British. “I don’t think that’s the part of all this that’s got everyone upset.” She glances at Haircut. “He was one of the original Legends? The one you all thought died at the Vanishing Point?”

“Yeah.” Haircut looks upset. Well, Snart had taken his place—or, Mick’s place, after everything. “Sara doesn’t think the Bureau knew Druce had him…but we can’t be sure, not yet. She said they’re gonna lie low, in case the Bureau is watching the ship, and we can pick them up tomorrow.”

Charlie folds her arms, still scowling. “I don’t know why any of you lot, with what you told me about this Oculus thing, are giving those wankers the benefit of the doubt at all,” she points out. “They want to control people, to control time. Your boy Snart was being held captive there and from what Sara said, he was a bit the worse for wear. They have this Druce character, the one who was your real big bad back in the beginning. What else is there to know!?”

“This is also the one that was part of the Legion, though,” Pretty points out, looking a bit uncomfortable as he glances at Mick. “Are you sure…”

But Haircut glares at his friend before Mick can. “That was an earlier Snart. Right, Mick?” He looks earnestly—well, he does almost everything earnestly—at Mick. “Before the Flash, before the Legends. And the Legion kinda lied to him. That wasn’t the Snart we knew.”

Mick still thinks there was more to it than that, but… “Yeah.”

And Sara would know, he thinks. She’d know. He’ll still feel better when Gideon confirms it, but she’d know.

He doesn’t pray. He hasn’t done that since before his mom died. But he hopes.

He really, really hopes.

The man who walks back out of the bathroom, more or less clean-shaven and scrubbed, looks far more like the Leonard she remembers, except for the odd tentativeness in his eyes where there used to be snarky confidence.

And the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt. Yeah, that too.

Sara rips her gaze away from scars and skin to focus on the gaze again, registering the mix of amusement and awkwardness there. Leonard lets the black leather jacket in his hand fall to the floor by the door and shrugs, folding his arms.

“There weren’t any shirts in there,” he says, with a quick glance down at the borrowed sweatpants that are both a little too big and a little too short. “And I’ll be damned if I’m putting the…the dirty one back on.” His shoulders hunch, and Sara wonders just how long he’d been trapped. “Prefer to save the jacket, if I can. But…”

“It’s OK,” Sara tells him quickly. “I think there are a few out here.” She gets up, waving a hand at the take-out boxes on the table. “Um. I didn’t want to go far. Chinese OK?”

Leonard takes a step forward, eyebrows lifting. “I’ve been getting Druce’s leftovers, if that, so…

It’s an opening, but Sara chooses not to take it. Not yet. She doesn’t want to think of Leonard at Druce’s mercy, because Druce isn’t anywhere she can make him pay right now—and she’s very, very sure she’s going to want to.

Instead, though, Sara just turns away, clearing her thoughts, going to a battered dresser and pulling out a blue T-shirt in approximately the right size, which she tosses his way without looking. “If you want,” she says, staring briefly at the cabinet and thinking of the tracery of pale scars before turning around. “Just…if you want.”

When she does turn around, Leonard has pulled the shirt on, giving her a brief smile as he reaches for a carton of kung pao chicken. So Sara smiles too, and grabs another container, and that’s enough seriousness for now.

“What are we going to do about Druce?”

Haircut’s voice is low and serious. Mick looks up from his typewriter, ready to protest this intrusion into his quarters, then sighs at the look on the other man’s face.

He’s changed, he thinks. Snart wouldn’t…won’t recognize him. But he knows, he knows how Haircut’s feeling, given that Snart had ultimately taken his place and his death. (Mick’s place. Mick’s death.)

“We kill him,” he says shortly. “One way or another. I don’t care what Bureau Chick says. He’s trouble. More than trouble. Disaster.”

Ray perches gingerly on one of Mick’s chairs. “You think Sara will be OK with that?”

“Don’t care.” But Mick sighs. Haircut is the last one, besides Sara, who really gets this. “Well,” he says, taking his glasses off and putting them aside, rubbing his forehead, “yeah, I do.” They’re the only three original Legends left, he thinks with a pang. He hadn’t really wanted to come on this wild ride—that’d been Snart, and he’s still not sure ultimately why—but he had, and he’d changed, and that was how it was.

“I think…” he says, choosing his words carefully—and that’s a big difference too, a huge one, “I think that Sara’s gonna want to do the killing herself. An’ if anything, we might have to stop her from doing it too messy.”

Haircut blinks at him. “But,” he says slowly, “the Bureau…”

“Won’t matter.” Mick hesitates again. This ain’t his story to tell, not really. And frankly, he’d only put a lot of pieces together afterward.

“Won’t matter,” he repeats, looking down at the keys. “Blondie’s gonna want to off him herself. You’ll see.”

Leonard, after eating a fairly decent amount of spicy chicken, has put his head back against the armchair and closed his eyes. Sara watches him for a while, still amazed at his presence, but eventually rises and moves quietly into the space that passes for the bedroom.

She rather wishes that there’s more than just a mattress on a rudimentary frame there, but it’s a king, and it’s comfortable, and that will have to do. She grabs clean sheets and makes it up, adding pillows and an old but soft quilt, then goes back to the main area.

Leonard opens an eye and regards her as she approaches him, but Sara can see the weariness in his face. How long has it been since he’s had a decent night’s sleep? Does the time in the Oculus even count? It certainly doesn’t seem, from the little he’d said, that it was very restful.

“There’s a bed…well, a mattress, in the other room,” she says, jerking her head in that direction. “Not much, but comfortable. I’ll stay on the couch. Sleep as long as you want.”

Leonard opens his other eye, watching her, then gets to his feet, moving in a way that shows Sara just how stiff and sore he is. He hesitates, then glances toward her, then away again.

“I…wouldn’t mind having someone nearby,” he mutters, not looking at her, “I mean, there. In the same room.” A pause, and he wipes a hand over his face while Sara realizes he must mean in the same bed, too. “It was…I couldn’t tell how long it was, in the Oculus, but it was kinda like…maybe sensory deprivation. Sometimes I wake up, and I still…”

He pauses another moment, then gives a thoroughly humorless laugh. “What’d you say? More than three years ago now?” Another pause. “Lonely. Like everyone I….everyone was a million miles away.”

He lifts his gaze and meets her eyes. “I’m not talking about…more, just…stay? I…please.”

It’s a plea, from a man who’s always made a practice of being cool and needing no one. Sara pauses just a moment, then nods.

“Sure,” she says, just as quietly. “Of course I will.”

#captain canary #legends of tomorrow #LOT fic #sara x leonard #I Don't Believe in Destiny

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auckie · 5 years

Text

I apologize, but this response will be long. It actually reads more like a short story, so feel free to skip it. I wanted to clue you in on as much of my experiences as I can.

My first husband (who crossed over in 2005) was totally blind since birth. We met at a church that we were attending, and I was the keyboard player. He was also a musician, and asked someone to introduce me to him.

I spent about 3 hours with him at a Memorial Day picnic in 1986. We had a lot in common as far as music was concerned, since we were both composers and enjoyed the same type of music. He took my phone number, and said that he would call me on the following Friday at 10 p.m. (I had a job where I worked until 9).

So all throughout that week, I was obsessing about this interesting man, Michael, who happened to be 3 years younger than me. I was 24 at the time. When Friday night came around, he called me at 10:01 p.m! Now, he only lived about 10 miles from me, but this was back in the day before there were cell phones, and we happened to live in a different time zone from each other. So, he kept the call short, but asked me to come to his house the next day to play some music together.

When I went there, it was so much fun, jamming with someone who understood music like I did. We both were into progressive rock, jazz, and jazz fusion. I also had brought some albums of mine, like Yes and Emerson, Lake and Palmer, and it opened up a new world for him musically. We started hanging out a lot, and became good friends.

On the 4th of July, we went to a park and sat up on a hill. We didn't actually go see the fireworks, but it was thundering and lightning outside, and he enjoyed just listening to the sounds. I described lightning to him as best as I could, and we called it “God's light show.”

It was that night that I shyly told him that I liked him more than just a friend, and he said that the feelings were mutual. We began dating, and became engaged in March of the next year.

We had a very strong relationship, and ended up having a sort of marriage ceremony in November of 1988. At that time, if we legally got married, his Social Security benefits would be taken away because of my income. He did become gainfully employed as a telemarketer in 1991, and we legally got married then.

Dealing with the daily living skills of someone who has never seen anything.

Michael had a mobility instructor, who would meet with him weekly and take him through the neighborhood, helping him to navigate his way around town with the use of a cane. He never had a dog; he didn't want the hastle of cleaning up after it. But when he was me, I always had him take my arm and I would guide him around. I probably was detrimental to him in this regard, because it was easier to just lead him by the arm rather than spend the extra time watching him fumble his way with the cane.

Me being “blind” for a weekend

One year on my birthday, Michael accidentally poked his finger in my eye, and I ended up with a corneal abrasion. The doctor said that I needed to rest both eyes for a couple of days in order let the injured eye heal better. So here I am, wearing a scarf around my eyes, and asking Michael for help! This actually was pretty comical. He led me around the house all weekend, and I got a taste of what he lived through on a daily basis (though sometimes I cheated, and peered through the opening at the bottom of the scarf).

9/11

On September 11, 2001, about 8 hrs. after the Twin Towers collapsed, I was at work. He called me from a hospital and said that he was in a burn unit in a hospital about 30 miles away from home. Apparently, he had lit a cigarette, and his beard caught fire, and the fire spread to parts of his face and chest. Instinctively, he knew to roll on the carpet to put the fire out (he was an Eagle Scout!) Well, he needed Flight For Life to come and get him, but they had to have authorization from President Bush, and have military planes accompany the medical helicopter to the hospital. He was in so much pain, and I spent every free moment with him. Luckily, he healed pretty quickly, but needed a skin graft which they took from his leg. At that time, 9/11 was the farthest thing from my mind.

Unfortunately, this story doesn't have a happy ending.

Michael began experiencing severe pain in his muscles in various parts of his body beginning in 2003. We went to the ER several times, and to family practitioners, who kept giving him pain medications, but didn't know what the cause of this was. He sometimes would fall down for no apparent reason, which wasn't due to obstacles that were in his way that he stumbled upon because of his blindness. He was referred to a neurologist, who ran a battery of tests, and was diagnosed with Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy. It is a syndrome stemming from the autonomic nervous system. Anyway, we had to have a home health care practioner come every day because he was going downhill rapidly, and I couldn't take care of him properly.

Final stages of Michael’s life in a nursing home

He was put in a nursing home for this horrible, progressive illness. I watched him succumb to a wheelchair, but for awhile he could still play his keyboard. His entire body became red, stiff, swollen. One day when I visited him, I was all excited because I had figured out how to play a very difficult Genesis song on the keyboard, so I played it for him. Usually, he would compliment me on things like this, but not this time. He had completely lost the usage of his right hand.

June 30, 2005

I spoke to Michael that night on the telephone. It was a Thursday, and I was planning on coming to see him the next morning at 10 a.m. I was working as a custodian at the time, and a funny thing happened that day at the school that I was working at that I told him about:

There was a baby swallow in one of the nests on the outside the building. Somehow, this poor thing got one of his feet tangled up in the nest, and couldn't fly away. So I grabbed a ladder, a pair of scissors, and a wash rag and climbed up the ladder. I gently spoke to him, put the rag over his body, and clipped what was entangling his foot to free him. He then flew away. When I told Michael the story, he said, “ that bird is probably grateful now that he is free.

I was going to take him to Wendy's, and he was looking forward to it. But he said something in a strange tone of voice that still haunts me to this day: “I'm declining.” It wasn't really a complaining tone of voice; when I remember these words in hindsight, it was just sort of a resignation. I really didn't think much of this at the time, because I just focused on our upcoming visit. I told him, as always, that I loved him.

The Jimi Hendrix “Experience”

Michael and I had always been fond of the song “Angel” by Jimi Hendrix. I know this post is very long, but maybe you can listen to the lyrics some time. Hendrix wrote it in July or August of 1970, shortly before his death in September of that year. He wrote it about his mom's death, but he puts the song as his own experience. It's basically about two visits on two consecutive days that he receives from an angel; on the first visit the angel says that she will come back for him the following day. She ends up coming back, and the listener is left assuming that the angel takes Hendrix with her “ forever.” I went to the grocery store in plenty of time to be at the nursing home by 10 the next day, and at about 9:30 I turned on the car radio and that song was playing.

My Arrival At The Nursing Home

I don't know, but when I got there, there was an ambulance outside, and I just had a weird feeling. I said to myself, “ Oh, fuck.” I went inside the nursing home, and when I got to Michael’s room, I was confused because I thought that I was lost. So I asked the nurse if he had been moved to a different room, and she told me to sit down. She took my hand and said, “ Michael passed away this morning at about 9. I felt this rush of blood in my forehead, started crying, and just said, “ No. No.” She said she called me and left a message (I still had a landline). The cause of death was a severe bowel obstruction from complications of the Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy.

Aftermath

Living with Michael taught me a lot about patience, and about loving someone for who they are on the inside. I actually composed a musical mass in his honor.

#found

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shy-violet-soul · 6 years

Text

The Box in Room 11

Characters: Sam & Dean Winchester Rating: E for everyone Warnings: bittersweet fluff Word count: 1,600-ish A/N: I think the first time I fell in love with these brothers’ history was 1:18, when Dean gave up his Lucky Charms for Sammy. His too-grown-up sacrifice broke my heart. Baby Sammy’s smiling, innocent offer of the prize in the box melted the broken heart pieces. And that moment kickstarted the muse.

A huge thank you to the awesome SPN fic writers who showered some beta magic on this! Thank you, thank you @crispychrissy and @thesassywallflower!

Supernatural characters belong to CW and their creators. This is a work of fiction. Please do not repost without my permission.

Dreamstime.com by Kjrstudio, & creators (I searched & couldn’t find owners, sorry!)

There’s a box in Room 11 that is precious to both the brothers.

One of them knows about it. One of them doesn’t.

While scrounging the nooks and crannies of the bunker, Dean found the old trunk in the storage room. Sturdy, sizeable, it smelled soothingly of cedar as he centered it carefully at the end of his bed. In one corner sat the old baseball glove Bobby gave him as a boy. The leather was scuffed, worn shiny in some places, a bit cracked in others. Tucked underneath it was the only yearbook he ever got - junior year, 1995, Shadyside Tigers. His dad’s US Marines cap lay upside down, a medal engraved with ‘New York State Youth Association - Wrestling Champion’ inside it with the red and blue ribbon carefully folded. His first fake ID’s rubberbanded together - ‘Brian Wilson, Bikini Inspector’; ‘William Greer, IRS’; ‘Robert Palmer, CDC’. The antique pocket watch Pastor Jim gave him when he turned eighteen, the 1988 ‘Sports Illustrated’ with Elle McPherson he stole from a guy’s locker in the 5th grade, a handful of prize tickets from a county fair he’d taken Cassie Robinson to rounded out the collection of mementos from his younger years.

And there was the box.

The old ‘Bank Note’ cigar box looked ordinary. Unremarkable. If you lifted it to your nose and sniffed deeply, you could still catch a whiff of bitter tobacco. It had been carted around for twenty-odd years, shoved under dirty socks, ammo, and a crumpled sandwich bag of matchbooks. The odd scratch here and there, the ragged corners spoke of long handling. As beat up as the box was, it held Dean’s most priceless treasures.

Nestled dead center in a place of honor lay the very first treasure from decades past. Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. Nine or ten year old Dean, already a world-weary parent. Another night of dad leaving them alone. A dumped out bowl of Spagetti-o’s, and the sacrifice of the last bit of Lucky Charms he’d saved for himself. And Sammy’s first gift - the coveted prize in the box.

To anyone else, the little plastic car meant nothing. To Dean, it meant the world. Their childhood didn’t include many frivolities. Crayons weren’t allowed in the backseat after the melting incident; their dwindling plastic soldier army had seen some troops go AWOL; and the Legos not in the vents had been lost in dribbles in countless motels and fast food stops. The boys knew better than to ask for anything. But Dean had watched Sam stare at the Hot Wheels cars and super hero action figures stacked up on the endcaps of Gas n’ Sips across the entire midwest. At his young age, he couldn’t name the feeling that put a knot in his belly at the sight of little Sammy going without even a toy. So, a car, hot rod red, with wheels that shot it forward when you rolled it backwards? A prize of the highest degree. And little Sammy had given it to him. So, it had been the first treasure in the box.

A few months later, he’d been ready to pound on his baby brother when he’d come out from showering to see every bowl, cup, and plate in the puke-green kitchenette filled to overflowing with Corn Flakes from the brand new box. As Dean drew in a breath to threaten the little runt’s life, Sammy had smiled with dimpling delight as he trotted to him with outstretched hands. His pudgy little fingers offered up a genuine Starbot robot, complete with punching arm.

He’d tried to insist Sam keep it, but the little twerp turned those puppy dog eyes on him and he caved. He covered up his true pleasure by gruffly ordering him to clean up the mess. Too grown-up to show how happy he was over a toy, Dean waited until Sammy was asleep before carefully placing the little grey plastic robot in with the red car.

Months passed, filled with shorter pant legs and outgrown, too-tight shoes. The collection in the box grew, too. A color-changing spoon from a box of Trix. A yellow, rooster-shaped bike reflector from another box of Corn Flakes. A box of Rice Krispies produced a baking soda submarine. And, their personal favorite, a ghost detector courtesy of Apple Jacks. He couldn’t remember how many days they’d spent laughing over that thing.

But Dean never forgot the unabashed joy on his little brother’s face whenever he presented him with a new gift.

Every once in a while, when Dean reorganized the chest contents or was searching for the beef jerky, he’d open that cigar box. One long finger would stir through the trinkets, mouth quirking in a soft smile. Each one held a memory that he hoarded up selfishly. But one - one was particularly special.

Sam had just turned ten. He could remember the glint of the dollar coins in the sun as Bobby flipped them to him, one right after the other - five whole dollars for a birthday gift. Even now, he smiled again as he remembered the excited astonishment on his little brother’s face. After hours on the road and a stop at Gas n’ Sip, John had installed the boys in a motel room before leaving to chase down a lead. Dean had kept his shower short, hoping to see if this motel had cable before bedtime. The scene that greeted him at the wobbly kitchen table gave him pause.

Six boxes of Cracker Jack sat scattered across the dented, scratched surface. The caramel-popcorn treat had been poured into an elephant-shaped cookie jar from the counter. Dean stepped closer, popping a few pieces into his mouth as he glanced at his brother. He and his dad were big fans of the sweet & salty snack, but Sam - not so much. Dean took in the tiny plastic bags and scraps of torn paper strewn about the boxes, a couple of plastic bead necklaces, a sparkly pink hair clip, and a couple of rub-on flower tattoos scattered about. Sam, studiously wiping at something over the sink, still hadn’t noticed his brother.

The gangly kid had nearly jumped out of his skin when his big brother asked what in tarnation he was doing. His smile had been all triumph and glee when he’d presented the object: a metal badge pin, etched with ‘Special Police’.

“It’s for you! Here!” Sam chirped. Dean blinked at him in confusion.

“Do you mean that you bought six boxes of something you don’t even like for this? Where did you get the money?” The dimples disappeared as Sam stood wordlessly. That knot in his stomach, now familiar after years of it, hit Dean anew. “Your birthday money. Sam, Bobby gave that to you for YOU, you beanpole!”

“I know that, Dean. And I spent it how I wanted to.” Again, he offered the pin to him. “Here. I had to get more than one box because my odds at gambling suck, remember?”

Dean didn’t move, couldn’t move. This small gesture made his birthday gift to Sam seem small and worthless; what normal ten year old kid wanted a three-pack of Bic lighters, anyway?

A deep sigh from Sammy snapped his attention back to the present, and he watched as his little brother dropped his hand to his side.

“Look, Dean. I saw this little kid at that last diner wearing this pin. When I went to the john, I stopped and asked him where he got it, and he said from a box of Cracker Jack. You’re always talking about how Dad’s a hero, better than a police officer. And, well - you’re MY hero. Better than dad.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Well, it’s true. You’re the one who’s always looking out for me. And I really wanted you to have this. So, when Bobby gave me the five dollars, I wanted to try to get this for you. Please take it.”

Dean stared at the shiny pin, carefully taking it in his hand. Mistaking his reserve for disgust, Sam hurried to speak.

“I know you’re a grown up, it’s dumb, you don’t have to keep it -” he blurted out, moving to snatch it back. His big brother leaned it out of his reach, smiling past the lump in his throat.

“Thanks, Sammy. I love it.”

The ten year old returned his smile, relief relaxing his shoulders. After a moment, his grin widened.

“Besides, let’s just look at this as birthday cake! I can use one of the lighters as a candle!” he chattered out as he waved a hand at the overflowing cookie jar.

Dean could still see Sam’s smile in the wavering glow from the lighter, and him always having one of those birthday lighters in his pocket weeks later. He could hear the laughter from both of them as they gorged themselves on the Cracker Jack. He remembered making his dad turn around because he was sure he’d left the can of salt on the nightstand when really he went running back to get the badge pin he’d accidentally left in the drawer.

After a childhood lived out of duffel bags and a crowded trunk, the Winchesters still struggled with the concept of personal possessions. Even after living in the bunker for some time, it was hard to break a decades-long habit of living ‘temporary’. Most of their favorite belongings still ended up centered around the hunting life. That life had taught painful lessons about loss that would have sent stronger people running for a hermit’s existence, decrying any and all reminders of a past overrunning with tragedy.

But not the Winchester brothers. They still relished their happier memories. Little bright gleams scattered like lucky pennies amid the darkness of their years, giving them something to hold on to and drive from.

Some of those memories lived in a box. A box that one of them knew about, and one of them didn’t.

A box in room 11.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam and dean #dean one shot #sam one shot #weechesters #young winchesters #spnfanficpond #bamby0304

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eafsegse · 3 years

Text

He leaned close

As this population becomes more numerous, it becomes less productive. It was often his hands that hurt the worst, especially his missing fingers. Was too busy trying to cover my man. Two sellsword captains were on hand as well, each accompanied by a dozen men of his company. “Never a morsel of anything could I put into my mouth. Credit to Doug (future Long Jump champion) and Sugi (windswept after a Malaga five hours a day Yoga retreat) on the left for their pace getting back, staying strong and breaking fast. Involuntary and abrupt contractions of the diaphragm leads to hiccups. Connor Washburn is a big play threat out wide as well. "Immediately you say, 'What's this song about?'" Eriksrud said. One skull was larger than the rest, grotesquely malformed. Such a ting as dat, Missis, tetch your heart so, ef you don’t mind, ‘t will fret you almost to death. I do not view this accident as some sort of virus infection that's about to run through the entire Concorde fleet. “Where is she, Lord Snow? Have you galeb spodnjice moved her to one of your other castles? Greyguard or the Shadow adidas fgTower? Whore’s Burrow, with t’other wenches?” He leaned close. Yet when they parted, Jon Connington did not go to the sept. One day you will know.”. How I’ve been missing you all this time! But there it is! I couldn’t help it! I wasn’t able to manage it, my darling! You look a little thinner, you’ve grown so pale . The deadline is the Friday before you would like the event to appear in the next Friday's calendar of events. My name. She should never have been nominated. He kissed her hands, her feet. And this is the one we set this week.. They won't be perfect for every single cyclist no shoe is or can be but it's an impressive debut. He gazed up at Old Fishfoot with his broken trident. CO2 belching volcanoes failed to keep pace, so the atmospheric level of the gas slowly declined. The first definite mention of cricket in Sussex was also in 1611 and relates to ecclesiastical court records stating that two parishioners of Sidlesham in West Sussex had failed to attend church on Easter Sunday because they were playing cricket. Then one of the

Mens ADIDAS ORIGINALS

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erhiem · 3 years

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Hey Millennials: This Year Was Started no statement made Reboot makes you feel old? Maybe it feels like only yesterday that you were hooked up with Nickelodeon Drake and Josho; Today, Drake Bell Making headlines for allegations of endangering children. Or maybe it’s hard to believe Jamie Lynn Spears– known as high schooler Zoey Brooks – is the mother of two children.

Which is to say, we can’t believe how much time has passed since we first met these child stars. And it’s equally unbelievable that after all these years, they continue to make headlines (some for better reasons than others.) Take a trip down memory lane and find out where all your favorite exes are. Nickelodeon Stars are now.

Victoria Justice

(s_bukley/Shutterstock.com, Ron Adar, Shutterstock.com)

what are they most famous for

Victoria Justice made her TV debut in a 2003 episode Gilmore Girls, but children’s channels are where he got fame. after three seasons Zoey 101 and appearances on shows like Zack & Cody’s Suite Life And no statement made, Justice earned top billing in sitcoms victorious. For four seasons, she won over millions of teens with her role as aspiring singer Tori Vega. The series earned two consecutive Kids’ Choice Awards (2012 and 2013) for Favorite TV Show.

what are they doing now

Now 28, Justice is an all-around entertainer who divides her time between singing and acting. One of her major projects included starring alongside Laverne Cox in 2016 The Rocky Horror Picture Show: Let’s Do the Time Warp Again. She also self-released two singles this year: “Stay” and “To F-Kin’ Nice.”

She has not forgotten her roots either. In 2020, he hosted a virtual edition of the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards.

Drake Bell

(Featureflash Photo Agency / Shutterstock.com, David Livingston / Getty Images)

what are they most famous for

Drake Bell was 13 when he first appeared on Nickelodeon amanda show; Five years later, he and co-star Josh Peck earned their own spin-off. Drake and Josho. NS odd Couple-esque sitcom ran for four seasons between 2004 and 2007 and spawned three full-length TV movies. Bell also found success as a musician, writing and performing the series’ theme song, “I Found a Way”. His role helped him win several Kids’ Choice Awards for Favorite TV Actor and Favorite TV Show.

what are they doing now

Bell had a successful career following Nick, voicing Spider-Man in various TV series: Avengers Assemblehandjob Hulk and SMASH . agent of, And ultimate Spider Man. They have also released a total of five studio albums, including one in the U.S. Board 200.

But recent legal troubles have put his career and reputation at risk. In early July, Bell pleaded guilty to charges of attempt to endanger a child in relation to an incident involving a 15-year-old girl. He was sentenced to two years’ probation and 200 hours of community service.

Jennette mccurdy

(Tinseltown / Shutterstock.com, Janet McCurdy / YouTube)

what are they most famous for

Janet McCurdy is best known for playing Sam Puckett no statement made. After running for five years, she starred in two seasons of the spin-off Sam and Cato. He also showed promise as a musician, landing on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart for the 2012 single “Generation Love”.

what are they doing now

But McCurdy didn’t capitalize on his teenage fame the way his fellow Nickelodeon peers did. He eventually quit acting and also recently declined the opportunity to appear in no statement made reboot.

Earlier this year she said, “I’m annoyed with my career in many ways.” “I feel so unfulfilled by the roles I played and realized it was the sweetest, most embarrassing.”

McCurdy revealed that his acting years had hidden personal traumas, including a history of eating disorders and a toxic relationship with his mother. Today, she has changed her life and focuses on work behind the camera. She has written and directed three short films since 2018 and currently hosts the podcast empty inside.

Keke Palmer

(Jaguar PS/Shutterstock.com, Theo Wargo/Getty Images)

what are they most famous for

Keke Palmer was a promising star with an impressive resume (akila and beehandjob Tyler Perry House of Payne) long ago Nickelodeon scooped her up to play the lead True Jackson, VP. Palmer’s role on the sitcom made her the fourth highest-paid child star of 2010; She also linked her success to a fashion line she runs at Walmart.

what are they doing now

True Jackson, VP lasted three seasons and ended in 2011, but Palmer continued to work on other projects for Nickelodeon, including voiceover work. Winx Club and a starring role in the film rags. However, she didn’t trust the teen demographic forever. In 2019, he co-hosted the daytime news program GMA3 (Or Strahan, Sara, and Keke) with Sarah Haines and Michael Strahan. She also had a role in Lorraine Scarafia hustler.

Palmer, who has one studio album and four EPs, has also continued to pursue music. (The Twitter controversy doesn’t seem to have affected his career.) In 2020, he hosted the MTV Video Music Awards, where he performed the single “Snack”.

Jamie Lynn Spears

(s_bukley/Shutterstock.com, ViacomCBS)

what are they most famous for

Jamie Lynn Spears was not one to live in the shadow of her older sister, Britney. From 2002–2004, he starred in episodes of the sketch comedy show all that. The following year, she created her own show, Zoey 101. The series ran for three years and was one of Nickelodeon’s highest-rated shows of the 2000s. In 2006, Spears won the Kids’ Choice Award for Favorite TV Actress.

what are they doing now

Spears became pregnant during the final season of Zoey 101 And is currently the mother of two children, Maddie Brian Aldridge and Ivy Joan Watson. She dropped out of the limelight for a few years to focus on motherhood, but in 2019 she was cast in the Netflix series sweet magnolias. The following year, he confirmed that a Zoey 101 Reboot in progress after cast reunion all that.

All eyes are currently on Spears as her older sister is fighting for her independence. Perhaps she will provide more details in her memoir, which is set to be released in January 2022.

Amanda Bynes

(Featureflash Photo Agency / Shutterstock.com, Instagram)

what are they most famous for

Amanda Bynes was Nickelodeon’s golden child in the 1990s. His natural comedic talent in sketch shows all that Make your own popular variety led series amanda show. From there, he spent four years starring in the WB comedy what I like About You While working on his budding film career. with positive reviews for she’s the Man And spray, fans and critics see a promising future for Bynes.

what are they doing now

In 2010, Bynes announced his retirement from acting after filming his final film, easy a. After a string of disturbing and controversial behavior, in 2013 her parents for stereotyping. She turned a new leaf as a student at the Los Angeles Fashion School, graduating in 2019. Bynes continues to struggle to restart a stalled career, but worried fans on social media are in favor of a comeback.

Miranda Cosgrove

(Everett Collection/Shutterstock.com, Paramount+)

what are they most famous for

Miranda Cosgrove Showed Promise Ever Since She Played Sassy Little Schoolgirl Summer Hathaway school of Rock. But it was his lead role on Nickelodeon no statement made Which made him a household name. In addition to starring in six seasons of the teen sitcom, she also starred in other shows for several channels (Drake and Joshohandjob Zoey 101handjob all that) and had a starring voice role in despicable Me film series.

what are they doing now

Cosgrove releases studio album Sparks fly in 2010, but it seems she prefers acting over music. Most recently, he received two Daytime Emmy nominations for his CBS series Mission Invincible with Miranda Cosgrove. And earlier this year, he starred in the reboot of iCarly on Paramount Plus. Cosgrove also served as an executive producer on the series—a reminder that she’s come a long way from being a beloved child star.

josh peck

(Featureflash Photo Agency/Shutterstock.com, Matt Winkelmayer/Getty Images)

what are they most famous for

Like Drake Bell, Josh Peck Got His Start amanda show Before transitioning to my own sitcom Drake and Josho. Since then, his varied career has included indie films, voice roles for the Ice Age animated film series, and primetime network series. His role on the short-lived Fox comedy grandfathered He even received a 2016 People’s Choice Award nomination for Favorite Actor in a New TV Series.

what are they doing now

In 2017, Peck made an unusual transition from acting to vlogging. He started out as a regular member of David Dobrik’s vlog squad and then set up his own YouTube channel.

But he has not stopped acting completely. In July, he returned to the screen as the star of turner and hooch on Disney+. He is also currently filming 13: musical, co-starring Peter Hermann (Small, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit) and Rhea Perlman.

Devon Workheiser

(s_bukley / Shutterstock.com, @devonwerkheiser / TikTok)

what are they most famous for

Devon Verkheiser came to the senses of children after playing Ned Bigby in the popular Nickelodeon sitcom neds declassified school survival guide. The series ran for three seasons between 2004 and 2006, after which the young actor started working in musicals. Between one-time spots on various TV shows (2 Broke Girlshandjob Greekhandjob criminal mind), they released their 2016 studio album Proposal and three EPs.

what are they doing now

In 2019, Werkheiser appeared in the film crown vic, starring Bridget Moynahan and David Krumholtz. The following year, he starred in 10 episodes of the Twitch original series. Synthetic. He keeps his fans busy these days on TikTok, where he has 1 million followers.

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in-the-bookish-dark · 4 years

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Trinity Bluffs - Chapter 1 - RL

From the small bay window at the front of my office, I could see everything worth watching on my block, which wasn’t much. Off to the right, a couple had just come into view, in the middle of an argument. At first, I thought he was going to slap her – right out in the open, right out in the street, just yards from the theater they’d walked out of only a moment earlier. Then I thought maybe she was going to slap him, just barely out of the shadows of the Majestic’s marquee. Neither of them were acting violently, no flailing of arms or even yelling, but there was a wiry, fluid tension between them. It was a steel cable they were both tugging on, one that had been taut for years, and I had no way of telling from my vantage point how many strands had already snapped. I usually get called into a case just before or just after the cable snaps, so I tend to keep my eyes peeled for such things.

They argued briskly with each other, like alternating gusts from a chill January wind, despite it being a particularly warm early June day in Fort Worth. The man’s arms were crossed; the woman’s were clasped together in front of her, gripping her clutch tightly. They stood at the corner, waiting for cars that weren’t coming, waiting for the pedestrian sign to change and allow them across to the far side of Main Street. I guessed that the same thing was restraining all their behaviors. Maybe their respect for rules, which kept them from plunging into the street without official sanction, despite the lack of traffic, was also keeping them from plunging daggers into each other. The crossing sign changed, but they didn’t notice immediately, being so wrapped up in their acrimony.

Aside from their tension, the view from my window was calm and quiet. In 1875, the struggling former Army outpost picked up the nickname “Panther City” owing to a report that the town was so inert that a panther was found sleeping in the street up by the old courthouse. Even nearly 75 years later, at least at that moment, a passing panther could easily have taken a nap in front of my building on the far south end of downtown.

It was too hot to sit in my office, waiting for nobody to walk in and nobody else to phone. I decided to escape. I’m versatile when it comes to that; I can be ignored anywhere, and preferably in a cooler locale. I grabbed my hat, gave a dismissive shake of my head to my two oscillating fans. They were fighting the good fight, but all that effectively meant was rearranging the hot, stale air and annoying the flies. I closed my window half way, and trudged down the stifling stairs to my air-cooled backup detective office. I knew it was air-cooled because it said so in blue, cursive letters shivering atop ice blocks on the pharmacy sign.

Back then, my office was a barely furnished second floor walkup at the front of a short hallway right above a drugstore. The three story building was only slightly older than me, but looked and creaked like it was older than my grandfather. The cornerstone said 1896. I’d have believed it if it had said 1846, except for the fact that the indoor plumbing seemed mostly intentional, and not an afterthought. At any rate, in my backup office, I can sit at the soda fountain almost directly beneath my desk and hear the phone ring through the tin ceiling. As for visitors, unless they’re ballerinas – and I was never so lucky – they’d have been hard put to get five feet up the stairs without me hearing. Even so, through the drugstore window, I could watch them walk right up to my door.

Bob Wills greeted me as I walked in. He and his Texas Playboys had the Cotton Patch Blues. Third time this week they’d come down with them. Jerry always had the radio on WBAP, except if he was there at nights cleaning. At night, he could pick up WGN from Chicago and listen to the Cubs play.

“Jerry – some lemonade when you have a chance – with a splash.”

Jerry leaned his broom against the marble counter delicately, as though the wooden handle might mar the stone. After rummaging about with the lemons, sugar water and ice, and a brief dip behind the counter for a discreet splash, he slid my lemonade down the black and white marble to me. In the weak light, mostly reflecting in off the sidewalk, my eyes couldn’t tell the color was off, but my tongue told me the truth.

“Damn, Jerry, what’s the idea of putting bourbon in this? It tastes like horse piss.”

He shrugged and reached for my glass, but I pushed his hand back.

“Worse than abusing alcohol is wasting it, my friend. You never know when a drought is going to come on. Next one tequila, right?”

He bobbed his head up and down then turned to the back counter, forgetting his broom, and began wiping the soda spigots with a damp rag. He was a good-natured kid, albeit kind of slow, and in the way that never really speeds up. I doubt if he’d have gotten a job if his uncle hadn’t owned the drugstore. He’d have ended up the world’s oldest paperboy, throwing the world’s oldest news. So, his uncle gave him a job cleaning and serving sandwiches and sodas, and asked him periodically about visitors the druggist might have. The last guy there was running a booking joint out of the shop, and he wasn’t having a repeat. He was skittish enough renting an office to a private investigator, but I’d been fortunate, and hadn’t ever dragged any of my messes into the building.

I’d known Jerry maybe three years and for the first six months of that, any time I spoke to him, he flinched like his dad, his mom’s second husband, was about to smack him around some. His dad has since been taken care of by people much worse to cross than me, and with better reason than me, but Jerry still flinched around fellas he didn’t know.

Swirling his rag over the back counter, he lurched to a halt, gave out with a quiet “Oh” and just froze, facing away from me.

I gave him some time, but he stayed frozen. No wiping; no talking; no nothing.

“Jerry - what is it?”

Only then did he turn and with his eyes anywhere but my face, ask, “Uh, did he find you?”

“Tell me who, buddy.” Thinking it might help, I shifted my eyes to the same phone pole his were latched onto. No pressure. I waited.

Once he’d played the “who, what, where and when” again through in his head, he started up again.

“A man, a driver in a uniform and a big car come by before you got here –“

“A cop?” I cursed myself for interrupting. I didn’t care one way or another if the guy’s a cop. I had no particular beef with them at the moment, or vice-versa. I just know better – usually know better – than to mess up Jerry’s concentration when he’s trying to focus.

And then I had to wait for it while he rewound and restarted the reel …

“A man, a driver with a uniform in a big car like a chauffeur, come up this morning. Pulled up right by your steps. Goes up your stairs with an envelope; doesn’t even take off his gloves. I hear him up there, but he just comes back down, which is how I know you wasn’t up there. He comes back down and goes to drive off which is when I see he has a lady in the back seat. She looks at me looking at her and hits the seat in front of her and he stops again. He comes back around and stands by her window and she gives him a note. Then he comes right up to this window and walks in.”

“He asks about you, and alls I say is I don’t know, like you said to.” He smiled at this and I realized he was waiting for me to smile back.

I cut in with a quick “Good boy” which wound him up a bit, and for a moment, I was afraid he’d start back at “A man …” again, but after an extra beat, he went on.

“He don’t like it, but when I tell him how I’m your buddy and how you know you can trust me not to blab things, he figures maybe I’m alright. That’s just what he says, ‘Maybe you’re alright, you and your buddy.’” He practically glowed, repeating it.

Having someone else call us buddies got him cranked up again, so I just nodded like it was a good thing, which it was, and he went on.

“He hands me a folded piece of paper and says the missus would like Mr. Dixon to get this note.”

I gave him time to decide he’s done with the story, then asked, “That’s aces, Jerry, but where is it?”

He looked down in a panic, then slapped the pocket of his apron. “Right here, Dix.”

Relief flooded his face like the Jennings underpass in a storm.

After another slow count, I ask if I could have it. He flushed red and fished it from his pocket.

The half piece of cream colored stationary was engraved ELC in blue flowing script, with Mrs. John C. Conklin printed beneath in black. It held one line of handwriting, a perfect example of the Palmer method. “Please meet with me at my residence at your earliest convenience.”

Being only the upper half of the sheet, the note was missing its address, but everyone knew which house on Quality Hill belonged to John and Evelyn Conklin.

A meeting meant a possible job, however small, and I wasn’t about to balk. A visit could mean anything. Not that I had any illusions about Evelyn Lambeaux Conklin courting me behind her husband’s back. Even if I did, those musings were more for after hours, so I shut them down as fast as they came up.

Anyway, I’d been spending too much time lately tailing dirty husbands or wives, and it was starting to leave a permanent bad taste in my mouth. What I didn’t need was to raise my cynicism up to a new permanent plateau. With the Conklin woman, there was a shot at a change of pace. There was no telling what it might be, but at least there were more options out there than the same old dirt. Maybe some domestic was pinching silver or making long distance person-to-person calls..

I checked my watch as I asked Jerry, still standing in place, “What time, Jerry?”

“Nine … no … nine-thirty. Around there, anyways.”

Three hours. A reasonable delay. I’d appear ager enough for gainful employment, but not so eager as to invite being pushed around. Especially in this business, I don’t know if first impressions can make you, but they sure as hell can break you.

I fitted my hat on my head and pocketed some mints. Bourbon breath might pass for some of my clients, but not the Conklins. Hell, compared to some of my clients, I’m still a kid with my knickerbockers buckled above the knees, but compared to the Conklins, I pretty rough around the edges.

I slipped off the stool and waved back as Jerry called out “See ya, Dix!”

I was half way down the block to my car when I remembered. I turned and trudged back up to the second floor. I stepped down the hall to the second office on the second floor and slipped my head around the half-opened door. Alice was on the phone and fanning herself to beat the band. I pointed down at the floor and made a driving gesture. She nodded and waved me off. Alice didn’t work for me, but for some decrepit insurance shill who officed next to me. He was seldom around, so if there was nothing going on, from time to time, if she was talking to me that week, she’d run down and grab my phone if I was out. Her pay? Dinner now and then, with any stories I could make up about my exciting career as a detective. Sometimes it was actual local gossip, or a slightly harrowing encounter with a poodle. Sometimes it was a story I picked from radio shows and reworked to fit Fort Worth. It was a fair exchange. My phone didn’t ring that often, so I didn’t have to make up that many stories. Cute kid, but a little straight-laced for my tastes. More important, all her cuteness aside, I was all full up on ex-wives at the time, so I was eager for things to stay calm and copacetic with Alice.

Three blocks west on 7th, I decided on one quick diversion.

I whipped right around the next block, up a few streets and around another corner and parked kissably close to a hydrant. All the better to encourage me to keep the visit short. ELC’s invitation was to meet with her specifically, which made me curious about her husband’s participation, primarily whether it was welcome or not. Two minutes of reconnaissance would tell me all I needed. I was on a nodding basis with Conklin, principal managing partner of the Worth National Bank. He recognized me and was known to sometimes nod at me in passing. I was known to sometimes appreciate the gesture. A quick stop at the bank would doubtless tip me to whether he knew of his wife’s invitation.

The nods would end, however, if I simply showed up at his bank to get nodded at, so I came up with a pretext. As the story would go, I was out yesterday evening with some research and saw what appeared to be his very recognizable town car sideswipe a parked car. Before I went to the police, I wanted to stop by and find out whether his vehicle might have been making unauthorized visitations to Como. In reality, I just wanted to read his body language and see if he showed any sign of impending connection. If he knew of my meeting with his wife, he’d mention it in our encounter. His way of staying in charge of all he surveys. One of the ways a man like him stays a man like him. Plus I was going out of my way to show concern for one of the gentry without costing myself too much pride. Just a typical transaction we small businessmen make every day. Sell a little subservience now and maybe get to sell a little business later.

Three steps up to the revolving door, and I was in the ornate lobby surrounded by marble columns topped by Corinthian capitals. The lobby said cattle money every bit as much as the stuffed longhorn tucked away in Conklin expansive office.

“How do, Dix?” Trent, loan officer and my inside man at the bank glanced up just as the slapping-sucking sound of the door died down.

“Trent, pal, how goes it?” I folded myself into the chair opposite his. His feet were up on his desk; mine stayed on the floor.

“Good, if I can sell you some money. Business has been dry and dusty the past month.”

I smiled with half my mouth, and that was all the answer he needed.

“Aww … damn, Dix, you’d think I had teats, as often as you’ve been in to milk me these days.”

“Don’t get your udders knotted up, Trent – just a quick question and I’m gone. The old man in?”

“Conklin, Barlow, or VanTafel?

“Conklin”

“He’s been down in Austin two days now, putting lipstick on some state senator before he screws him.” He ducked his head and glanced around, suddenly realizing how well that last comment had carried in the cavernous lobby.

“… coming back …?”

“Dunno – tomorrow, day after. Based on the size of the stack of movie tattle rags on his secretaries’ desk, I’d have to guess he’s got at least two days to go.”

I nodded, taking the info in, watching his face as he made silent guesses. Eventually, he gave up on silence.

“She call you?”

“Dame Conklin?”

“No, Bess Truman.”

“Might have.”

“On a case for them?”

“Her? Not yet, but that’s my guess. She doesn’t usually have me for tea.”

“Any idea what?”

“Utterly clueless.”

He studied my face, trying to see if it looked like the face of a man foolish enough to cuckold a bank partner, civic big-wheel, and prominent former Klansman. Taking everything he knew about me – which was a lot - into account, Trent couldn’t decide one way or another, so he shook his uncertainty out of his head and moved on.

I fitted my hat to my head, then tipped the brim to him, saying “I think I just paid you back for the info.” He might disagree, but I’d just given him something shiny to play with, which would distract himself for the rest of the afternoon.

He tried to object, but all he succeeded in vocalizing clearly was his sigh of resignation.

I waved; he harrumphed; I was out the door again.

Maggie, diligent and methodical meter maid, was still a full block away up the street. She made me just as I spotted her, and I knew the fist she waved in the air was for me. She told me once how she knew I was up to something – “Dix, if you’re standing upright, and not flat out on a slab in the morgue, you’re up to something.” At the moment, all she could do was watch as I whipped out of the parking spot, abandoning my hydrant-side mooring for more adventurous seas.

My eight-cylinder carriage pulled up the circular drive to the Conklin house at 1:45. No liveryman met me, but then, even in the Conklin’ circles, liverymen had been extinct two generations. I half-expected a prissy and officious butler to meet me at my car and rigorously dust the commonness off of me before permitting me across the threshold. I was disappointed, but not enormously. Such imagination is the result of having spent too many Summer evenings inside refrigerated theaters, hiding from the heat, but simmering inside someone else’s fantasy. A few drinks beforehand in Hell’s Half Acre didn’t hurt that imagination.

A butler did greet me once I reached the door. No, greet is too warm a word. I was there; he was there, and by his intervention, the door ceased to block my entry. He, however, effectively blocked further ingress. I stood in the foyer while he stepped into the parlor on the left to skeptically deliver my tale of having been invited.

While I waited, I glanced around the oak-encrusted foyer and thought of what I knew of the Conklins – more specifically, what I knew of Evelyn Conklin. Her family was fairly recently arrived from New Orleans, recently being last generation. Her father was something in the cotton trade down in the port, but ran into a bit of trouble with a combination of alcohol and someone’s husband. The Lambeaux family moved up here post-haste while Evelyn and her mother were on a tour of France. Evelyn mostly had her Irish mother’s looks, or at least an updated version of them. Definitely not Irish Channel Irish – Doherty or O’Connor or some such name with a little weight was her mother’s family name. Evelyn Conklin had, as best I could recall, red tresses curling down past her shoulders like smoke, grey-green eyes, pert nose and a pointed chin. Her skin was more like Lambeaux skin, clear, but with a touch of olive from his mixed Acadian and Provencal roots. She was a few years my junior; her husband a few my senior, and then a few more after that. Two kids. Boy off at military school; girl somewhere close to graduating TCU.

He returned twelve minutes and thirty-five seconds later. “Missus Conklin asked me to tell you to please join her in the parlor.” Listening as he inflected the verbs left no doubt in my mind as to the social order. He was “asked;” I was “told,” even if “please” was attached to the telling. It was a cordial directive.

I could certainly take a cordial order on the chin if there was the soothing poultice of a job behind it somewhere. Even on a good day, the thing a private dick sells most often is a little slice of his pride. The results we produce are the gravy in the humble pie we eat, making it more palatable and less likely to choke us than failure and the barrel of our own hand guns.

When I breached the double doors of the parlor, her head tilted, and from over her shoulder she said, “Please, join me over here, Mr. Steele.” Her voice was violets and gardenias with a hint of molasses and mint. She curved her “R’s” inward, like a true daughter of New Orleans. I stepped around the room to the horseshoe shaped cluster of armchairs and chaises in front of the hearth.

She was dead center. She set a saucer and cup of tea in front of the chair just to her left. Clearly, that was where I was expected to sit. I sat, but didn’t enjoy it. My hackles were already rising. I have very sensitive hackles. They do that. At first, I perched, then decided “to hell with it” and sat back, teacup and saucer atop my knee.

Her one raised eyebrow suggested that I might have actually muttered the words aloud, rather than just thinking them. For every job I ever won with my tactical obsequiousness, I lost three times as many with my impromptu coarseness.

I raised my eyebrows back. I decided to let her decide on her own if I was doing so in anticipation, curiosity, or impertinence. As I waited, I couldn’t help noticing the way her neck curved down from her jaw and flowed into her shoulder. Like a swan. Once I let myself be aware of that, it was a very slippery slope downward. She was neither buxom nor scrawny. Everything about her body seemed to be moderate, save the glow she gave off. Tough men with guns gave me fewer butterflies than I had in my stomach at that moment. Not all of them, of course, but enough of them.

“You have to be wondering why I asked you to come.”

I nodded into her eyes, then grew very interested in the painting just over her shoulder.

“My husband – who happens to be in Austin at the moment – would never engage an investigator for this, so I feel I have to. As a banker in our recent hard times, he found himself with many enemies, as you can well imagine.”

I nodded my head, as if that were what I was currently imagining.

She went on.

“My husband arises earlier than me, normally, and one of the things he enjoys doing before the day becomes active is strolling our grounds. He says he enjoys the contrast between the tall buildings downtown and the natural beauty of the Trinity down the bluffs.” A belle of the Garden District doesn’t run to conclusions, whatever the tale and whoever the audience, so I listened slowly as the story trickled out.

I flicked my eyebrows to suggest that I thought she had a point somewhere in the distance. Perhaps a point visible from our lofty position atop the bluffs.

She continued.

“Two weeks ago, after a rain, he found tracks around the house – mud from the flower beds tracked onto the sidewalks around the house. He mentioned them to me. Actually, he mentioned them to me in a very accusatory fashion, if you must know.”

Clearly, she was of the opinion that I must know. I was less certain, but at that moment, I was willing to leave the question to her. My brow furrowed as it does when I’m working to focus on troubled words, instead of the heaving bosoms they tend to cause.

“After that morning, he had several other episodes where he felt he’d seen tracks in the dew on the lawn; mud on the sidewalk; a face peering in a window, a wrong number …”

She paused. I stared.

“He suspected me of indiscretions.”

She paused again. I stared some more. It’s handy sometimes, just waiting for the other person to grow bothered by the silence and try to fill it with information they hadn’t intended to share.

“He suspected ... accused … me of indiscretions that I’m innocent of.”

Interesting phrasing, I thought, wondering if he had ever suspected-accused her of indiscretions she was guilty of. While I suspected that she indeed had some indiscretions in her portfolio, I wasn’t there to accuse her. I might be thick, but even then I knew that much about fishing for a job.

She continued as I mulled over the possibilities. I blew on my tea. It wasn’t the nape of her neck, but it would do in a pinch like this.

“He wanted to put off this trip – ‘get to the bottom of things’ – he said, but there were too many appointments set up and too much riding on the trip, so he went on.”

“And?” I asked after her next sad and soulful pause.

Her eyes flitted around the room, alighting here and there on things that needed to be cleaned or straightened. I couldn’t help thinking that her mind was doing the same thing with her narrative.

“And … I wanted someone who could get to the bottom of this. I don’t know if he actually saw someone, or something. I don’t know if someone is actually a threat to us. I don’t know if I understand what is happening. I do know I am already quite tired of him mistrusting me.”

It still didn’t sound like a protestation of innocence to me.

“For my sake; for his sake; for our sakes, this needs to be resolved. I don’t know anything about you, aside from acquaintances who’ve told me that you make things happen.” Acquaintances. She knew someone on her social level who knew someone one level down who knew someone on my level who’d heard of me.

I watched her face, waiting to see what would take its place when this expression of domestic concern and anguish grew passé.

“I want you to make things happen.”

I was sure that she did. At the same time, I doubted everything about her story. Nothing unusual there – it’s part of my job to doubt everything about a client’s story while pretending it’s gospel. I’d sort things out myself once I had a retainer in my pocket.

“That’s a compelling tale you tell” I responded, without elaborating. I also didn’t elaborate on what I felt compelled to do at the moment.

“My rates are twenty-five a day with a five day retainer to start – for work like this.” I lied. My rates were usually fifteen a day, and if I got a retainer, I felt blessed by the gods. This crowd wouldn’t settle for anything that seemed underpriced, however, so I had to make it look good. Twenty five a day and a $125 retainer looked good to me.

“I’ll find out what’s actually going on.” That was a variant on what was normally my first nod to candor when speaking with a client. “I’ll do everything I can to bring it to a resolve that’s acceptable to you.” My second nod. If I can keep the client clean without running myself afoul of the law in the process, that’s my job. If I can’t, that’s their problem.

I emphasized “acceptable to you.” I might find out things she didn’t want found out, but as long as I was getting paid, I’d do what I legally could to work it out for her.

“So – tell me more about the comings and goings here – anyone in residence, etc.”

“We have three people on staff. Holst tends the grounds and drives me where I need to go.”

“He’d be the fella who drove you to my establishment earlier today.”

For some reason known only to her, this statement took her slightly aback, but she nodded to the truth of it. My eyebrows invited her to continue, and she did.

“Malcolm takes care of the house and the staff in general. He has a room here, but also lives elsewhere. He’s always on hand for guests and events. Minnie came with the house. She cooks, does laundry, and cleans.”

“Three people, only one of whom overnights here.”

“Minnie does now and then, when we have an event that runs past the last streetcar, but that’s not but about twice a month.”

“Does your daughter, young Miss Conklin, live at home?”

She shook her head. “Not as anyone would notice. Belinda is Chi Omega at Texas Christian, and spends most nights there. We do keep her room, however.

“House guests, frequent visitors?”

This got a cagy smile out of her, even as she shook her head. “No nothing of that sort, Mr. Dixon.”

“Steele”

“Pardon?”

“Steele. Dixon Steele.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “A good name in your profession. Who would hire a Mortimer or a Clarence?”

“I once knew a private di~ I mean an investigator … his Christian name was Clarence. Davenport was his last name. Sadly, both names fit him. He was a davenport through and through, if you take my meaning.”

“I do, Mr. Steele. And you?”

“Me?”

“Does your name fit you … through and through?” One corner of her mouth turned up at her own cleverness.

“I like to let people make up their own minds, though I can’t say I’ve had complaints …” I wasn’t sure what I meant by that, but it gave me a little distance while allowing me to play along with my brand new client.

Here eyebrows rose slightly. I’d say they were bemused. She was too old for the gesture to be coquettish and too many social steps above me for it to be playful. Or so I thought.

At the edge of a slippery slope, it was time to get back on the rails.

“The … uhh … staff. Any issues? Disgruntlement, unreliability, shenanigans, disloyalty?”

“They’re all quite loyal to me.”

“And Mr. Conklin?”

“He’s dreadfully loyal to me.” There was impatience in her voice and weight to the ‘dreadfully.’ It left her mouth coated with Mississippi mud, and the corners down-turned. Though that wasn’t the question I was asking, I noted the word choice and the tone. The implication was unavoidable.

“What I mean is the staff and him.”

“I have a rapport with them. With my husband out of the house as much as he is, the relationship is different.”

I waited for her to elucidate. I waited in vain, as would often be the case with her.

Wanting to fill the hanging silence, she added, “It’s just different. I’d never say they were disloyal to him. Also, Mr. Steele, there are no shenanigans to speak of amongst my staff.”

I pondered a moment, tugging at the cuffs of my trousers to straighten them, then spoke.

“One of three things is going on, Miz Conklin. The first, maybe your husband is letting his imagination embarrass him. It wouldn’t be the first case of a man with a very attractive younger wife doing so. The second, you’re stepping out and have gotten noticed. Also not the first case of this happening with a man and his very attractive younger wife.”

Her face reddened on cue, and due to no embarrassment on her part. I’ve had innocent, rosy cheeks pulled on me by the best in town before, by some smooth operators, even though as a private dick I can usually spot them a mile off and manage them. I continued.

“The third is that someone is actually stalking you or your house and has slipped up. So, it’s only a matter of time before he’s dealt with. And let’s add a fourth – someone’s playing games with you or your husband. That’s easily the least likely, for what it’s worth.

“And what’s your current theory?”

“I don’t have a current theory, currently. Not about the particulars of this particular case.”

“About anyone involved in the case?”

“I’ll keep those to myself for the present, if you don’t mind.”

She started to pout, then decided to tuck it back away for later. On and off like a light switch.

“What are the odds of any of the four, Mr. Steele? You’ve been doing this kind of thing a while.”

“Well, I avoid these cases whenever I can, but for all the ones I’ve seen, by the time a husband or wife gets suspicious and calls me, it’s already a fact.”

“But I called you myself.”

“That you did, and it muddies the picture. Not beyond resolution, mind you, but it gives me more to think about. A smart chess player might call it a gambit. A smart poker player might call it a bluff. Do they play much of either down in New Orleans, Miz Conklin?”

“Lord, in the middle of summer, that’s about all some folks have the energy to do, Mr. Steele. Though I dare say, I never got that good at either – too many other distractions. Speaking of distractions, I wouldn’t like to think you’re taking my money and not attending to things at hand. Will you be pondering me and my situation, Mr. Steele?”

“That I will, Miz Conklin. That I will.

Then we sat there, neither of us wanting to be the one who blinked.

“And what will you be wanting from me, Mr. Steele?”

I paused too long – long enough for the corners of my mouth to curl. She read me like a pulp magazine.

I didn’t even try to make excuses for what she was now perceiving. The best I could do was redirect. I squinted. It didn’t help, but it’s what I do.

“A retainer will start me off. I’m sure I’ll have questions. Considering your caution about getting this taken care of without your husband’s involvement, we may need to speak at odd hours. You might consider how best to accomplish this, before it becomes necessary.”

We both paused. We stirred our own teas. We peered into our cups.

“I’ll do that.”

I gave a tight smile, stood, and brushed my trousers.

“I’ll be in touch. My girl will bring you a copy of the contract, and can take the retainer when she comes.”

She nodded. I nodded. That was the safest thing to do.

I left. Also the safest thing at that point.

Contrary to my impromptu posturing, it occurred to me when I reached my car that I didn’t have “a girl” to send. I’d come up with one. Alice could be reasoned with, particularly if it meant even a moment’s entry into the Conklin home. She always got a special sparkle in her eye when Quality Hill was mentioned. I don’t think it was the money or power so much as fairy tales her mother indoctrinated her with. Like I said, she’s a good kid, but definitely on the innocent side of my tastes.

“Same old stuff,” I moaned to myself as I flung my suit coat onto the passenger seat of my car and started around the grounds. More who’s cheating on who or whom or whatever. Thirty seconds out of the house and my refinement vanished like a summer shower.

There wasn’t any sign of tracked mud on the sidewalk at that point. The help had probably vanished it the very next morning. Lazy servants don’t find permanent positions on Quality Hill.

Tracks in the dew would be impossible to discover. I figured maybe a couple of stops on mornings when I was actually out of bed close to sun-up would turn something up.

I’d made one loop of the house and found myself on the north side near a recent planting of hawthorns next to the cellar doors. I was all set to walk the fence line when a divot in the hawthorn bed caught my eye. It wasn’t exactly a footprint. There was an old root sticking up an inch, and from the look of it, someone had caught a heel on it and taken a tumble, maybe planting one hand in the dirt about three inches deep. One of the hawthorns looked like it could have been disturbed, so I shook it. The whole plant shifted left to right. Definitely disturbed.

I had on the shoes folks typically refer to as their church shoes. Since church was a purely hypothetical construct for me, I call them my client shoes. I cursed as I stopped in the middle of the shrubs for a better view.

It was nothing a judge would pay a lick of attention to, but I was ready to bet a fiver that some peeper had taken a fall there since the last rain two weeks ago.

It was dry enough not to make a big mess, but nothing looked to be eroded, and that was a good rain we got.

As I was coming back out of the bed, I realized I was being watched. I glanced up, and there was the lady of the house peering down at me from a second floor window. I couldn’t quite make it out from the angle and the glint from the sun, but it seemed more like a dressing gown she was wearing, and not the peach colored dress she’d worn during our meeting.

Her face was blank. I felt like a dull exhibit from some detective museum. The closeted warmth from our recent encounter seemed to have entirely faded.

The only reaction I got from her was when I touched my hat to acknowledge her. She seemed to start, looked like she was going to bolt, and then settle back as she was.

I turned away and smiled to myself, not because of her, but because I’d just caught the butler scowling at me from what might have been a library window, just under hers.

His expression was much easier to read. If I had a shot or two of bourbon in me, I’d have likely stormed back in and one or the other of us would’ve wiped that dark smirk off his face. Even so, it didn’t seem like something I wasn’t quite ready to put out on the table with her yet. I wanted a better idea of what his game was – and to make sure that it wasn’t simply a ruse of her making. Back to the first rule: look like you’re trusting your client, but don’t be crazy enough to actually do it.

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