#hes that one clip of agent washington where he just starts screaming

[incendiaryrequiem]

i can be called a loen enjoyer

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter one: principium

(or: the Red, White, and Royal Blue TRC AU, but no knowledge of the book is needed to read this! ao3 link in the rb)

Adam knew he was in trouble when he found himself covered in cake, champagne, and shattered glass while clutching onto someone’s sleeve.

Admittedly, the memory of the night as a whole is a bit fuzzy around the edges, softened by jet lag and overwhelming anger and a few flutes of champagne worth more than the house Adam grew up in. But he remembered enough to recall some key details: one, it was no ordinary reception, it was the royal wedding; two, the cake covering him was the 75,000-dollar royal wedding cake; and three, that he clutched onto His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Lynch-Mountchristen-Windsor, while covered in the remnants of his champagne flute.

It was an international relations nightmare that a rational Adam Parrish, the first son of the United States, would pay to avoid at all costs. Even the slightly-inebriated Adam could feel a distant spark of fear over what Maura and Calla were going to say to him once he was not covered in frosting and brawling with a treasured member of the English monarchy. (Well, “treasured” was a relative term. Prince Ronan was more of a recently-reformed scandal than a treasure.)

But as he caught a glimpse of Blue’s expression, a carefully constructed mask of surprise for the cameras that only those who knew her personally could read the amusement behind, Gansey’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked Adam off of the ground. 

He must have abandoned his conversation with Roger Malory to come and bail Adam out; deep down, beyond the adrenaline and anger and alcohol pumping through his veins, Adam was touched at the gesture. Guilt also hit him with the knowledge that Gansey hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malory since he left England as a teenager and now Adam had ruined that, but he tucked it away to examine at a later moment.

Adam thought he might have heard Ronan mutter “Oh my fucking Christ” from somewhere behind him in his stupid posh accent. Slinging an arm around Adam’s frosting-coated shoulders to steer him towards the Secret Service Agents already surging forward, Gansey leaned his head towards Adam’s and whispered around a smile, “What the fresh hell did you do?”

And, well. It was a good question. He glanced back at Ronan where he lay on the ground, already brushing off the help of the royal guards and climbing gracefully to his feet, the bead of blood on his cheek sparkling in the majestic royal lighting. Just a few minutes before, the Prince had stood by himself, a dark contrast to the pristine tiered cake and tiny buttercream flowers and gleaming champagne fountain behind him. And Adam, who was rarely angry over anything but could easily go too far when provoked, decided to engage.

“If it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Adam had said, drawing Ronan’s eyes to him. He could see the moment Ronan realized he wasn’t himself, taking in the curled hand and slightly flushed cheeks. Adam was a convincingly sober drunk, and something about Ronan being able to see through it pissed him off. And the fact that Ronan had spent more than half the night hiding away from the cameras and drinking himself didn’t help. Adam would’ve expected to find him dead on his feet and barely standing, but clearly Ronan was less of a lightweight than he was.

Ronan’s lips curled in what might have passed as a smile but looked a little too much like a predator baring its teeth. “Mr. Parrish,” he said, all clipped vowels and stiff politeness that made Adam want to scream. His lips lingered on the ‘h’ shape for a moment too long. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me.”

Honesty was the last thing Adam had expected. “Why, because you monopolized Blue and treated her like some kind of...toy to ignore?”

His nostrils flared suddenly. “No, I do not... use people. But you have been avoiding me all evening when I’ve done my best to be civil.”

Adam laughed too loudly at that. “Civil? Yeah, okay,” he said, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most civil member of your family, I’m sure. Declan and Ashley would agree.”

Ronan went silent, swirling his champagne around in his hand and raising an uncoordinated hand to run over his shaved head. When he spoke, he grit his jaw as though holding back some impulse like the good repressed English boy he was. “I’d suggest you to go drink some water and find your way out before you do something you regret.”

“Or what?”

Ronan stepped closer to Adam so that they were nearly chest-to-chest, his two-inch height advantage only pissing Adam off more. “I said I’d advise you to stop.”

And Ronan, so subtly that he doubted any camera could pick it up, pushed Adam away with one hand. It would have worked splendidly had Adam not back-tracked and grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, sending them both falling.

And now they were both covered in frosted roses and shame, Adam stuck with Gansey’s voice on the plane saying please table your rivalry for one night reverberating in his head.

What the fresh hell, indeed.

***

Silence hung over the West Wing briefing room like a wet blanket. Maura Sargent stared unblinkingly into Adam’s eyes from where she perched on the edge of the table. Adam, from his seat at the head, stared back with every ounce of courage his mother’s PR campaigns taught him. Maura seemed to be studying him, and Adam simply didn’t know how to look away.

“Blue,” Maura said finally. On Maura’s other side, Blue wordlessly handed over a stack of newspapers, her gaze shifting from Maura to Adam as though watching a ping pong tournament. Adam knew of Maura’s “no restrictions” policy at home with Blue, but everyone knew this policy in no way related to her work life. Still, Blue watched attentively with knitted brows as though trying to guess the outcome or will a better one into existence.

“Gansey?” Maura asked, all without removing her eyes from Adam’s. The touch of anxiety in Blue’s expression didn’t even begin to reach the anxiety in Gansey’s face, as he stared at Adam like he was a lost puppy. Still, Gansey had more poise than most politicians did, and he managed to smoothly relinquish a stack of magazines into Maura’s free hand. Maura combined the stacks into one in her right hand before dropping them into Adam’s lap with a dull thwap.

“These are just the ones being sold outside this morning, not to mention what’s circulating in the British tabloids,” she said, finally turning away and reaching for a mug of coffee. “Read them.” She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus, but Adam didn’t try to discern it. He went for the stack instead, glossy pages almost slipping through his thin fingers.

    THE $75,000 STUMBLE greeted him on the front page of The Washington Post.

    BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Ronan and FSOTUS Come To Blows at Royal Wedding

    CAKEGATE: Adam Parrish Sparks Second English-American War

Everywhere he flipped, images of he and Ronan covered in sparkling broken glass and frosting assaulted his eyes. The images and headlines blurred together, and he flicked his gaze back up to Maura. All he could see for a moment was Ronan’s rumpled suit and the sliver of red on his cheek. He blinked three times in rapid succession and Maura returned, her brown eyes cool and calculating over the rim of her travel mug.

“Isn’t this a topic for the Situation Room, Ms. Sargent?” He asked. His mother, seated across from him, and Blue both pursed their lips, although for entirely different reasons; Blue appeared to be holding back laughter while his mother must have been holding back something else. Maura narrowed her eyes, oblivious to Gansey’s tightening expression behind her.

“Don’t Ms. Sargent me,” she replied, her tone cool. “I knew all your secrets, kid. I’ve been watching you since you were five. The sass will get you nowhere.” She snatched the Sun article from out of his hands, flipping it open to the correct page and hiding Ronan’s buttercream-smeared frown behind her fingers. “‘Sources inside the royal reception report the two were seen arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe. But royal family insiders claim the First Son’s feud with Ronan has raged for years. A source tells The Sun that Ronan and the First Son have been at odds ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics--’” here Adam made an odd, strangled noise -- “‘and the animosity has only grown—these days, they can’t even be in the same room with each other. It seems it was only a matter of time before Adam took the American approach: a violent altercation.’”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey at the last line, watching Gansey’s lips thin just as he felt the blood drain from his own face. His eyes slid over to Blue, who yielded much of the same reaction. His mother, surprisingly, didn’t change her posture. If she was thinking of Robert Parrish like the rest of them, she had a better poker face.

“They’re blaming this on Ana’s administration,” Maura continued, pushing on through the stony silence. “Please, explain the joke to me.”

“He started it,” is all Adam was able to say, which was probably one of the worst ways to defend himself. Sounding like a petulant toddler helped nobody, but he had made his bed and so he would lie in it, too. “He shoved me and I grabbed his sleeve to-”

“Adam,” his mother said, raising one hand to cut him off with the smooth, brown skin of her palm. He quieted at once, recognizing her demeanor as half-presidential and half motherly. Ana’s voice was caught somewhere between the sugary drawl that lulled him to sleep as a child and the All-American southern twang that helped win her an election. “You know I trust you, sweetheart, but the press sure as hell doesn’t give a fuck about the nitty-gritty of who started what.”

“Ronan definitely touched him first,” Gansey said, his voice unhurried but his face clearly eager to shift some of the blame off of Adam. Maura shot a cool look in his direction.

“He-said, she-said, that doesn’t matter. The press thinks and we can’t change their mind, we can only prove them wrong.” She held out a hand again, and with a sigh Blue acquiesced a new, thick file. Maura dropped it in front of Adam like a hot potato. “Here’s damage control. This rivalry with the prince of England ends now.”

“It’s not a-”

“Rivalry, we know,” his mother interrupted wryly. The tone was odd from her president-mode self, her wayward curls tamed into a perfect ponytail and her face made up instead of the more casual expression she normally had when joking. “But, sugar, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. You can call it whatever you like, but it’s always gonna be seen as a rivalry.”

Adam sat silently, flipping through a section entitled TERMS OF AGREEMENT. Maura continued. “You’re flying to England on Saturday and spending the weekend with Ronan.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did he couldn’t stop thinking of them. Dread settled just below the surface of Adam’s skin. He looked at his mother. “I’d prefer to fake my death, actually. Or just really die. I know Calla would be willing to help with either, and Persephone is good with that stuff, right? Death of a son should boost your polling. The voters love a sympathetic case.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. She looked to her watch with a heavy sigh and leaned over to kiss him on the head. “I’m too overscheduled for this. Adam, listen to Maura and don’t ignore her plan. You two,” she gestured vaguely at Blue and Gansey, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything irrational while we’re wrapped up.”

Blue lazily saluted while Gansey nodded reassuringly. With one last glance at Adam, Ana was gone, her heels clicking away from the heavy doors. She slipped away from being Ana Parrish, Adam’s mother punishing him for stupid behavior, to become President Parrish, leader of the country. Adam envied her compartmentalization.

Maura leaned over the table, flipping pages in the file. “We’re releasing this statement in conjunction with the Crown as soon as they approve. It was an accident, no harm was intended, all that jazz-”

Adam lifted one eyebrow. “So the truth?”

“Call it what you’d like. And we’re clarifying that you and Prince Ronan have been close personal friendships for several years despite conflicts in schedule making it difficult to appear publicly.”

Blue laughed out loud at that, clamping one hand over her mouth. Maura didn’t even look over to her, but Adam’s expression must have been similarly dumbfounded because she sighed resignedly, taking another sip of coffee. “Look, it’s better for all sides if your tussle just looks like some...frat boy joshing.” Blue’s laughs crescendoed louder, and Maura shot her a cool look. “If you need to step out, please feel free to, Blue. I’m sure Gansey will fill you in later.” Adam looked to Blue and her wave of dismissal, gripping onto the wrist of Gansey’s blazer to steady herself. Maura turned back to Adam.

“I know he’s difficult. You can hate him for all I care. In privacy, feel free to construct intricate arguments for his removal from this earth. Fantasize about dumping yogurt on his head. Compose songs to drive him insane. But, for the love of God, you will act like he hung the moon with nothing but yarn and a sewing needle whenever there’s the slimmest possibility of a camera or another living being witnessing it. Kapeesh?”

It wasn’t like he was allowed any true reaction, but he nodded all the same. His powerlessness was because of his own actions, not Maura. It was his own fault, and he would own up to the consequences. Even if the thought of willingly spending time with Ronan made his stomach turn.

“Your job is to not piss anyone off and to gush about Ronan. You’ll memorize this fact sheet-” she slid another page from the file and tapped it, “-and be prepared to answer any question with these as an answer. Your deal includes a minimum of two social media posts a day about Ronan and your visit. On Sunday, you have an on-air interview with ITV This Morning, and you’ll be fresh as a daisy with nothing but sunshine to say about Ronan’s competitive yachting hobby. There are only two photo ops, one in private where you can bitch and one charity appearance. That’s it, you’re free.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Maura said before Adam could make a noise. “You ruined the Royal Wedding and a cake that’s worth a year of college tuition. He’ll attend a state dinner in a few months for his part, and you will pay your penance now.”

Adam nodded slowly. He gathered the file in his hands along with all the decorum Gansey taught him over the years. He smiled a small smile at Maura. “Well, it will be an experience, won’t it?”

“I’d expect it, yes.”

“Thank you, Maura. And I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your apology will be not screwing this up even more.”

“I’ll try.”

Adam rose, Blue and Gansey following his lead. As he turned to walk away, Maura spoke again. “Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she looked younger, somehow. Almost amused. Guilt panged in his chest at the thought that he’d caused the tiredness on her face before. “Try to have a little fun. It’s a trip to Europe and you’re not even missing class.”

He paused, thinking of Ronan and his shaved head and cruel smile in front of the wedding cake. He tried to imagine what fun might be for him - whether to trust the fact sheet proclaiming fencing and yachting as Ronan’s pastimes or the tabloids that traded stories of illegal drag racing and getting black-out drunk. He wasn’t sure which version of Ronan sounded worse. “Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I will.”

***

Those who work in the White House know a few things about the First Family’s habits, but they never know the full truth.

They can observe things the average citizen would die to know; they see staffers pacing the halls and tearing their hair out over Instagram captions, overhear expletive-laden and fond familial conversations, and occasionally see the pristine members of the executive branch with dark crescents burning under their eyes and old high-school sweatshirts adorned like the newest fashion. But none were more elusive and two-sided than the White House Trio.

In their case, two-sided didn’t necessarily mean something bad, only something drastic. Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey, and Adam Parrish presented the perfect dynamic for the press to eat up: three attractive early twenty-somethings inside the White House who were notoriously open to the public about their lives. There were veneers crafted and stories concocted every day, all designed to get the perfect media response without sharing too much. There was Blue, the Indigenous American daughter of a single mother and prominent staffer, barely five feet tall but laser-sharp with any numbers you threw at her; there was Richard Campbell Gansey III, better known as the single-named Gansey who came from the billions that funded the Vice-Presidency but wanted nothing more than to give it all away, always ready with his winning charm and a new polo shirt to distract the press from his scathing op-eds; and there was Adam Parrish, a true American Dream born from a father from the Heartland and a mother from Mexican immigrants, a single First Son set to graduate valedictorian from Georgetown amid a political campaign with an ease most of the country only wished to possess.

Together, they hit every demographic that they could without even trying too hard. Their progressive politics were helped along by their identities, and so they aided their parents by nature of existing within the White House walls. White House staff saw these versions of them, but only glimpses of what lay beneath - Blue wandering the halls in self-created shirts and dresses with stacks of newspapers clutched in her arms, the scent of mint clinging to Gansey everywhere he went at all hours of the day, Adam’s frequent requests for coffee at midnight and propensity to wear coca-cola tee shirts.

They all knew very well that no one really saw the full picture of them, but that was how the White House Trio liked it.

The three of them spread out in the music room, one of their only haunts where they could be truly alone. For once, they weren’t a marketing ploy of their own creation or a group of kids on a pedestal; they were just Blue, Gansey, and Adam. After that meeting, they had to be.

Adam sprawled on the couch, laying exactly horizontal, flipping over the HRH fact sheet.

“You’re on the cover of Us Weekly, Blue,” Gansey called across the room, undoubtedly fulfilling his guilty-pleasure hobby of obsessively tracking their tabloids. “Full portrait of your Royal Wedding outfit.”

“It’s about time,” she responded from her perch on the windowsill, a bottle of red wine and a bottle opener in her hands. “I wore that lace to catch attention, thank you very much. It’s been at least four months since a solo cover.”

“Well, they do mention the cake-tastrophe in the corner.”

Blue waved her hand dismissively. “That was bound to happen. Scandal sells, but so do I.”

“Okay, ew,” Adam said flatly.

“They’re speculating about you two again, you know.” Gansey scrolled to a new part of the magazine, lifting a thumb to rub against his lower lip. “‘Tryst with a mystery brunette: Heartthrob First Son Adam Parrish caught sneaking back to the W hotel for an amorous rendezvous in the Presidential Suite. Sources say the brunette is none other than Blue Sargent, the twenty-two-year-old member of the White House Trio.’”

“Less than a month!” Blue exclaimed, popping the wine open. “You owe me, Gansey. Pay up.”

He ignored her, dropping the hand from his face. “You didn’t really…”

Neither Adam nor Blue responded. Gansey knew very well that their short-lived relationship on the campaign trail was due to die a quick death, but something - perhaps the lingering stares he seemed to throw Blue more and more often - was making him touchier to the subject of their former relationship. Of course, Adam and Blue did nothing of the sort, only watched the West Wing and made sex noises at young Rob Lowe with a bottle of champagne passed between them. Confusing the tabloids was an added bonus to their game. Blue took a swig directly from the bottle of red.

“You’d think they’d be talking more about your spat with Ronan than your possible sex life,” Gansey said, returning his focus to Adam. Adam finally looked away from the HRH fact sheet and towards Gansey’s squinting eyes. He really needed to put his glasses on, but far be it from Adam to mother Gansey. It had to be the other way around.

“No one cares about what happens over the pond.”

“Don’t they?” Blue said, scrunching her nose in a similar fashion to Gansey. “They seem to follow the royals pretty well. Tabloids were in a tizzy over the Prince’s lack of date.”

“In a tizzy,” Adam mocked. From where she sat on the floor, Blue stretched her short frame as far as possible to nudge Adam’s leg with the toe of her socked foot. “Why does anyone care? It’s not like he’s, you know, interesting.”

Blue and Gansey were staring again, he could tell. “Adam, honey,” Blue started, her southern accent heavy and thick. Gansey reached for the bottle and she relinquished it easily. “I know you hate him, but he’s probably the most interesting royal out there.”

“Wasn’t he caught in a club with his underage brother right after their father died?” Gansey asked, taking a prim sip from the bottle of wine.

“Apparently has a huge sucker of a tattoo on his back, too.”

“Isn’t that against royal etiquette or some shit?”

“Probably.”

Adam waved the fact sheet around, spinning himself so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. “Explain this, then. He’s more wonder-bread than Gansey, and that’s saying something.” Blue spluttered out a laugh, and Adam slung an upside-down apologetic glance at Gansey. “Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gansey said, reaching for the fact sheet and plucking it from Adam’s grasp. “What’s wrong with these? Charles Dickens as a favorite author? What do you have against Charles Dickens?”

Adam and Blue exchanged a glance. “Nothing in theory. It’s just a bunch of garbage I don’t need in my brain.”

Blue snorted. “No thoughts, brain full of GDP calculations.”

“You know I just finished my macroeconomics midterm.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, snatching the bottle back from Gansey and peeking at the sheet. Her nose scrunched again, squinting her eyes as she always did when drinking. “Mutton pie? Who loves mutton pie?”

“It’s a very versatile meal,” Gansey defended.

“I mean, sure, these are boring as hell,” Blue conceded, ignoring Gansey’s scandalized look. “But this is clearly slapped together by his PR team to make him look like the perfect prince.”

“So?” Adam said, unimpressed.

“It’s not a reason to hate him.”

“Oh, I know. I hate him anyway. But I have better use for my brain space than facts about His Royal Dick.”

“That just sounds like you’re talking about Gansey.”

“To be fair, Adam,” Gansey said, “it’s your fault. You fought him.”

“What happened anyway?” Blue asked. He knew the question was coming, but all the same, he didn’t want to answer. “He was fine when I danced with him.”

“Fine,” Adam said curtly. “Cold and severe sounds more like it.”

Blue’s eyes scanned over him with an uncanny feeling she could see into his thoughts. “So you were...defending me? God, please don’t blame me for this.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, Parrish.”

“No,” Blue interrupted, a hard edge to her voice.. “Not if he does stupid shit because of it. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I know!” Adam rushed to say. “Believe me, I know. It was…” he withered under her look. “...An excuse?”

“Look at me,” Blue said, voice firm. He did. Her lips were thinned with seriousness. “Don’t protect my honor again, please. It’s a weird-ass fishbowl world we live in, but if you do, I will leak to the press that your favorite song is Africa by Toto.”

“Please do,” Adam said, scoffing. “It’s a bop.”

“And do you want it dogging your every step?”

“Maybe I do.”

Blue shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“This is quite Shakespearean,” Gansey said, most likely in hopes of interrupting their budding argument. He gestured grandly to the gaudy tapestry-ridden walls and golden tassels on the furniture, although Adam imagined that Gansey thought it would look more impressive in his head. “Two sworn enemies forced into friendship for the sake of tension between their countries.”

“We’re not enemies,” Adam said. “That implies we’re...on the same level. Have actually spoken.”

“Exactly. Shakespearean.”

“Then let’s hope I get stabbed at the end of this. Blue, will you do the honors? I know you’ll do it mercifully.”

“Oh, cheer up now,” Blue said in a false British coo. “You’ll be the darling of England before Sunday even rolls around.”

“What does it matter?” Adam said, not lifting his gaze from the fact sheet. “They just think I’m another violent American over there.”

He could feel the weight of Blue and Gansey’s stares above his head. No one needed to say the words themselves to invoke the double-wide of Adam’s earliest years, where blood covered most of the carpet. “They don’t mean it like that, Adam,” Gansey said finally, breaking some of the tension with his reverberating voice. “They mean it like… UFC fighters, or rioting after the Patriots lose the Super bowl. Or win.” Gansey’s frown deepened. “I can never figure out how they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, lips twisted downwards. He regretted bringing it up. “I know.”

Blue nudged him again with her foot. “Want to watch Parks and Rec and make fun of the Prince’s fact cheat-sheet?”

“God, yes.”

She snatched the sheet from Gansey, reading it over again. “Drinking game: drink whenever Prince Ronan’s interests are laughably terrible.”

“Counter-offer: drink whenever Adam overreacts to his interests.” Gansey offered. Blue passed him the bottle to reach for her laptop instead.

“Either way, we’re getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We’ll quiz you,” Gansey offered Adam, just as Blue pulled up an episode of Parks and Rec. “Not season seven, Sargent, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Season seven can be great!” Off of Gansey’s glare, Blue complied, clearly not wanting the fight. “Fine. Season three?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Blue balanced her laptop on an old piano bench and joined their huddle near the couch, beckoning the bottle back.

“Alright,” Gansey began, eyes settled on the top of the sheet. “You better be ready to learn something, Parrish.”

***

None of them succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but they did learn several facts about Prince Ronan.

There was the basic information, things Adam knew already: his mother, Queen Aurora, took the throne with a dreamy demeanor and high hopes at the age of 19 after her parent’s untimely death and her twin sister’s abdication. The year before, she married Niall Lynch, an Irish actor, and practically upset the whole place. Niall died in 2015, not too long before the Rio Olympics, and Aurora’s public appearances had dwindled ever since, leaving the press to have a field day with rumors of illness and mental breakdowns. Ronan had a raven (why, Adam could not fathom) named, of all things, Chainsaw. His best friend, Henry Cheng, was heir to Cheng Industries and managed their charity branch.

Gansey actually knew both Cheng and Ronan, having spent a year at Eton in high school, and Adam just rolled his eyes at Ganey’s relentless knowledge of every human person.

His music tastes were listed as baroque, death metal, and Irish jigs, a combination that left Blue wheezing. “His Royal Highness may be my new favorite person,” she insisted, leaving Adam scowling.

The week came and went, and Adam found himself on a private tarmac following a trans-Atlantic flight with a man in an impeccably pressed suit and a cup of tea nestled into his hands. Calla, one of Blue’s pseudo-aunts and a secret service agent accompanying him, pressed forward to shake his hand and exchange a few words under her breath with him. He almost pitied the man. Calla, with her high bun of perfectly-contained curls and steely gaze, oozed intimidation out of her very being. But to his surprise, Calla actually smiled at the mystery man. She wasn’t quite warm, but he received considerably kinder treatment than everyone else subject to Calla’s jurisdiction. When she stepped back, the man turned his gray eyes on Adam. He smiled without any mirth.

“Mr. Parrish,” the man said, reaching out his free hand. Adam shook it, trying to keep it short and firm as his mother taught him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in England. I’m Mr. Gray, Prince Ronan’s equerry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for the turn of events that led to this weekend.”

“Well,” Mr. Gray said, turning and beckoning Adam to an Aston Martin with blacked-out windows, “once you reach my age, Mr. Parrish, you’ll find that these matters are quite simple to see coming.” Adam barely had a chance to blink in response before he was sliding into the back seat of the car, the rumbling of the tarmac shut out succinctly with the door’s closure. A lull in conversation settled around them; Adam, after clicking his seatbelt in, favored looking out the window to London’s scenery over making conversation. The blur of grey and white passed for a few minutes before Mr. Gray finally informed him of his role.

“There are a few matters of paperwork to go over before entering Kensington Palace. They’re currently next to you, and signing them is of highest priority before we begin this weekend.” Adam was no stranger to non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork; he’d expected the practically novel-length stack. By the time he’d finished signing on all the correct lines, the car slowed to a crawl. “Prince Ronan has just finished his tennis practice, and we’re here to escort him to our first activity.”

“Splendid,” Adam whispered under his breath, unconsciously mimicking Mr. Gray's crisp voice.

The English countryside hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped from the car; fresh air, the kind you never find in DC, welcomed him like an old friend, and though the English air was nothing like the air he remembered growing up with in Virginia, it felt nostalgic all the same. He suddenly wanted to be back there, in the home he remembered so well. He wanted to be anywhere but England with the goddamn Prince of Wales loping his way towards him in an all-white outfit, a racket swinging in his hand.

Jesus, how pretentious could he be?

Annoyingly, Ronan was not sweating and not fatigued looking in the slightest. He actually looked incredibly refreshed, the harsh lines of his face softened and a flush under his cheeks, his blue eyes charged and alight. Looking into them, Adam felt startlingly as though he was staring out at the horizon on a cloudless day.

“Parrish,” Ronan called, jogging the remaining distance quickly and closing the gap between them. “You've found the directions, I can see.”

“It’s difficult to miss,” Adam replied tightly, holding out a hand for Ronan to shake. “Extensive wealth tends to smell for miles around.”

Ronan took his hand, and his smoothed palm slid uncomfortably against Adam’s calloused hand. An unpleasant jolt started in his stomach. Ronan affixed his same unkind but not terrifying smile to his face, looking ridiculously like Declan for a moment, before continuing their conversation. Both knew to disconnect their words from their faces, conscious of the photographer unsubtly circling them. “It’s a rather pleasant odor, yes? I prefer it to fried food and pollution.”

“London, known for its fresh air, right?” Adam laughed, the charming laugh that beguiled TV hosts and entranced his mother’s constituents. “Excited for the days ahead?”

“I’d rather lie on the NASCAR racetrack, or even concede an argument.”

Adam slipped his palm from Ronan’s, choosing instead to slap him jovially on the arm. “I never thought I’d see the day where we agree on something, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, the words slipping through his unkind but certainly camera-friendly smile with practiced ease, and oh, there was the difference between this weekend and all their other interactions: Adam couldn’t speak of their interactions at all, locked behind an NDA. Ronan could swear as much as he pleased and not face retribution from his family.

“Gladly,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“The car is ready if you’re ready, then,” Mr. Gray said from behind Adam.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, any hint of his bleached teeth disappearing. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”

And they set off, side by side, for the car.

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 2 Review/Rundown

Cr

I feel like this about sums up the general reaction after this week. So let’s dive into how it got out of hand so fast.

We open, a little surprisingly, on a shot we saw at the end of last Volume: Qrow looking at Clover’s bloody badge in his hand. We hear Robyn ranting and raving at someone about how this situation is all their fault, how all she wanted was to bring people together. She’s pacing in her cell, and at first you worry she’s turned on Qrow and hates him for fighting Clover and getting them both arrested, but no. She’s berating Jacques, and thank god someone is. He quotes his daughter in Volume 1 and claims he is a victim, but it was more endearing and memorable coming from the Ice Queen. He continues to assert his innocence, saying Watts used him and his power for diabolical purposes. Sure, he is guilty of many things, but he should not be held responsible for this. And at least his charges don’t include murder. That gets Qrow’s attention, since it was of course a dig at him. That quells Robyn’s fury rather quickly, and she does defend Qrow’s innocence. But she hops right back on the flame train and (while wonderfully insulting his mustache) says she’s not about to agree with the words of an accomplice to Watts’ sins against Mantle. Sure enough, the man of the hour is also in an adjacent cell, and he’s resigned himself to being stuck here like the rest of them. We get a look at where exactly “here” is, a 2 by 2 grid of square cells whose walls are Hard Light Dust shields. It’s a room that’s otherwise rather empty, and the Dust walls seem to be the only source of light. A very makeshift appearance, all things considered, and I worry about Watts being in a cell surrounded by Dust tech he might be able to manipulate. Then again, they took his rings, but he’s got to be pretty resourceful. Meanwhile, Jacques has all the confidence of a spoiled rich brat put behind bars for a misdemeanor. He’s quite sure Whitley will be rushing to get the family’s legal team on the case, and he’ll be out within... well we don’t know exactly how short he thinks his incarceration will last because Robyn gets pissed and punches the wall dividing them. That shuts him up rather well. And really, Jacques-ass? You’re putting your faith in a teenager to help overturn alleged war crimes? What an out of touch prick. 

All four of them are shaken from their particular trains of thought by an alarm buzzing and the door opening. Three guards file in, disengage one of the walls of Watts’ cell, and go inside to smack him with the muzzle of a gun and drag his ass outta there. Jacques cringes at the sight of such sudden violence, and Robyn looks momentarily surprised before seeming to accept this. Guess she didn’t expect Ironwood to be so ruthless so soon. She sits back on her bed, which looks like its just a hard slab, and laments being unable to do anything. But Qrow says there is something they can do: kill the man who put them here. To paraphrase Agent Washington, that has got to be the worst plan ever. Of all time. You’re already in jail on murder charges, and now you want to actually cross the line and kill THE LEADER OF A KINGDOM?!?!?! I realize that Ironwood has gone of the deep end and needs to be stopped, but this is not the way to do it. This will only lead to failure, I’m sure of it.

Meanwhile, we cut down to an Atlas news reporter doing a story in Mantle. He’s doing his thing, talking about the unprecedented Grimm hordes and Ironwood not doing anything about it yet. But just as he’s going on about the dedication of his station, the Atlas Eye, Joanna comes up and swipes his microphone to deliver her own message to the people. She tells it like it is, saying that the Happy Huntresses are here to offer aid when Ironwood will not, and spreading the word for people to gather what supplies they can and head for the crater. We see one of the kids from Jaune’s crosswalk scene, and thank goodness his mom is still alive. Joanna talks about all of Mantle coming together to hold the line against the coming Grimm, otherwise the storm at their gates will sweep in to wipe them all out. Yang’s group get into Pietro’s pharmacy, and open the door to the backroom to discover something that makes them very happy. As we saw from the promo clip several months ago, it’s three hoverbikes which we then see them riding through the streets. Yang’s a natural at it, driving up a ramp to do a cool flip off a wall much to Oscar’s panic and discomfort as some of her hair gets in his mouth. Jaune and Ren are... adequate by comparison. Noticing the purple glow of what I presume is Gravity Dust propelling them and allowing the bikes to hover, I wouldn’t be shocked if Yang gives hers a paintjob to be the new Bumblebee: Now with added shipping material! What’s far less pleasant to notice is the Grimm squatting like a gargoyle on the bridge they drive under. We see this thing on the rooftops in a few more shots and then... whooo boy. But we will get there. For now, the biker gang finds more people to protect and help on the journey through town to the crater. One of the Real Thirsty Moms has armed herself with a snow shovel and isn’t totally sure if the crater will be a safe place, but Yang puts on her bravest face to reassure her... just before the screams of people being chased by Grimm get her attention. It’s only two Sabyrs, and Jaune stops their progress by throwing a Hard Light shield spawning grenade that we can assume was with the stash of new gear earlier. Ren drops down to stab both Grimm to death and kicks the quickly deactivating grenade back to Jaune who uses the Gravity in his shield to draw it to him. Very handy with all the tools, bud. Oscar is worried the Grimm Salem has brought with her have already gotten this far into the city, but Yang rationalizes they’re stragglers from the big attack last night. Cuz yeah, we’re still only 12 hours or so removed from the climactic latter half of Volume 7. She doesn’t wanna take any chances though, and asks Ren if Jaune can amp his Semblance up so he can mask the whole crowd for the trip. Ever the realist, he gives a less than encouraging answer, but Jaune sees how badly these people need some hope and comfort. So he makes it into a reassuring promise that the trip will be totally safe and Grimm free. Good job, man. But in every crowd of people, there’s always... a Karen. In this case it’s a grandma who doesn’t want to go stay in the slums among the “animals”, she wants to go to Atlas dammit. But Yang has been waiting to berate someone after the morally grey argument with Ruby last episode, so she takes full advantage of this. This lady might want to be in Atlas, but it’s become clear that Atlas doesn’t want her or any of the other people in Mantle, whereas the Faunus in the crater are showing more kindness than she deserves and giving her a warm place to stay amid all these Grimm. That shuts her up quick, and her daughter (one of the Real Thirsty Moms!) nervously butts in to say that yeah, they’ll accept the offer and she’ll go get their stuff now. We fade to seeing the greyed out crowd walking down the street with Yang giving frontal support, Ren riding on Jaune’s bike in the midst of the crowd to mask outwards in a radius, and Oscar guarding the rear. Grandma Karen is still whining about having to go to the crater, but her daughter is trying to get her to pipe down.

Oscar laments how hard it’s been to get folks to cooperate, with Ozpin chiming in to say he’s preaching to the choir on this one, and that he’s becoming increasingly concerned about that challenge. Oscar grumbles about the unencouraging internal peanut gallery, and Oz gets right to the point. The teens all have every right to be mad at him for dipping on them in Mistral, none more so than Oscar himself, but that’s not what Oscar’s beef is about. He’s mad that he gave him false hope, that in the time Oz was gone Oscar was able to really start coming into his own as a fighter and a member of the team. But now he’s back and Oscar will go back to just being the vessel for the guy everyone really cares about. Oz acknowledges and validates that, but admits that he was never really gone at all so... the merging is still going. Oscar is gaining deep memories and what magic Oz has left, so it’s closer than ever. Neither of them want this to happen, but what can they do? Further up, Ren’s cloaking flickers for a second and Jaune checks on him. He’ll be fine, he’s just got a lot to focus on. Jaune tries to give him a pep talk, but silence is more needed here and Ren is a little snippy in saying so. Jaune seems pretty bummed that Ren is in such a state, but I can’t really say he’s mad at him. More upset with himself and his leadership. One member of his team left to do something else, and the other is in a mental funk he has no clear idea how to help him out of. That’d bum anyone out. Let’s talk about Ren for a moment, actually. I think part of the reason his semblance is working at less than 100% is the same reason he’s pissy with Jaune. He has too many emotions bottled up and he’s trying to ignore them for the sake of staying neutral and calm to be at his best. But if you force yourself to always be neutral, it becomes that much harder to shift into the zen needed for this power. He needs to let himself have emotional highs and lows so he can transition naturally into the middle ground. In other words, TALK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS, BUDDY!!! It’s also been theorized that his semblance can work for more than just neutrality and he might be projecting his inner turmoil onto the crowd. But that’s yet to be proven. Oz appropriately closes out the scene by saying that they ALL need to figure out a way to work together, but something tells me that’s not coming for another 8 episodes at least.

Changing locales, we see Penny outside of a building with a puffing smokestack on the edge of the city. Turning around, we see where the city of Mantle ends and the slums of the crater begin, and how many people are making there way down from one to the other. But quickly look back, as Blake has just cut off the lock on the chain link gate to the building and May is leading our girl squad inside. That’s right, the one and only May Marigold is coming along on this mission so we get a chance to see her really show her stuff! Nora is grateful for the assist, but May assures her this plan would have definitely gotten Robyn’s backing judging by how much she talked about Amity Tower once she was in the know, so she’s all too happy to help get it up and running. And the Happy Huntresses can afford to be sending her for this, since Fiona has the rest of the team helping her out. The reminder that their partners are off doing a separate mission dampens Blake and Nora’s smiles though... Ruby worries about the safety of going into this place, but once inside Weiss gives the rundown. This is a subsidiary of the Schnee Dust Company that specializes in shipping packages of refined Dust from the mines up to various areas of Atlas through pneumatic tubes. And since it’s a small side business, the worker robots have no direct chain of command to Ironwood, just the Schnees. And Weiss’ grand plan for transportation up to the Atlas military base is something Ruby jokingly suggested back in Volume 2... mailing themselves to their destination. You’re becoming more like that dolt every day... and as a White Rose shipper I love it~ Blake takes this opportunity to rain on Weiss’ confident parade with a dig at the high percentage of buildings in Atlas the Schnee family must own at this rate, and Weiss refuses to comment on how many they actually don’t own. Glad to see Blake being playful like this, shows she’s really comfortable being back with the group again. Everyone spreads out to look for the tube they need, and Penny finds the one for Atlas Academy instead. It reminds her of the confrontations that were had there last Volume, and it clearly still bothers her. Ruby comes over to check on her, and incorrectly assumes Penny’s lamenting about friends fighting is regarding her and Yang. You may be the protagonist, but not everything is about you Ruby. Penny meant Ironwood, Winter, and the Ace Ops, the people Team RWBY had become such fast friends and trusted allies with in Volume 7. The people who are doing and saying such unkind things now, like Ironwood telling her people will die unless she does as she says. Maybe that’s why she’s lingering at this terminal, she’s debating giving herself up to him for the sake of others? 

Ruby is having none of this self blaming talk though, and turns Penny around to look her in the eyes as she assures her that no, that isn’t true at all, Ironwood was just saying it to hurt her and make her feel bad enough to come back. Penny admits that she misses the days when she was just the Protector of Mantle, that she now has so much heavy responsibility and duty thrust upon her as the Winter Maiden and she wishes she did not. She was struggling enough to find an identity as a normal girl, now she has a whole other identity to grapple with, it’s all truly unfortunate and sad. Holding her hands in a very similar way to how she did back when she first found out Penny was an android, Ruby assures her that she is still very much the girl she once was. She protected Mantle by taking the Maiden powers so they wouldn’t be misused to hurt the city. This seems to cheer Penny up a bit, and she thanks Ruby for it. The two have another nice hug, before Nora calls out that she’s found the terminal they need. Blake notes that this is the point of no return, and May asserts her confidence that between Penny’s capabilities with the computers they’ll encounter and her own invisibility Semblance they’ve got this in the bag. Penny doesn’t like being referred to as a secret weapon, or a weapon of any kind, but she says nothing about it. For now, let’s praise May for being sassy and cool and doing a cute little curtsy for style. Nora asks the important question of how the heck they’re gonna use this thing, and Weiss goes into tutorial mode again. Just lie back into the tube and hit the launch button, easy enough. Except she was sitting on the edge of the tube for a visual aid and Nora got bored. So ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM goes Weiss up the tube with a frightened screech. Everyone just watches in slack-jawed shock and confusion, but Nora immediately goes giddy at what has just happened and what will soon happen to the rest of them. I can’t imagine what Ruby and Blake must be thinking, not to mention what’s going through May’s mind with this being her first exposure to Nora being... Nora.

But that’s all we get of them for this episode, so Weiss is Schrodinger’s Heiress for the next week. We go to the crater as Joanna heads into a tent where Fiona is hunched over a map coordinating over comms with someone we’ve yet to meet named Crimson. As she finishes the call and whines over how stressful this all is, Joanna drops a small crystal of fire Dust into a sort of furnace and assures her that she’s doing a great job. Fiona absorbs the map into her hand of infinite holding and says Joanna’s big display on the news makes her more qualified for this job. Joanna laughs that off and says it was necessary to spread the word, which seems to be working judging by how many folks are arriving. The group they’re now noticing come in is the one Yang and her squad have just arrived with from Sector 7. The happy lamb does a happy hoppy dance hearing that they’ve already cleared out that sector, and admits her previous doubts that they could manage this much with only half their team. This hits a sore nerve for both Ren and Yang, and the former stomps off while the latter gives a passive aggressive response. They really need to address this soon or it’s all gonna explode in their faces... Oscar wisely changes the subject to ask how they’re managing to house and provide for all these people, and the two Huntresses give a rundown. They’re doing what they can with houses and shelters, and a lot of people are trying to make old mineshafts into someplace livable, and they’ve been looting SDC refineries for Dust to keep everyone warm. Unlike our own society, no one is getting arrested amidst the end of the world. But they substitute that with the terrifying dread of not knowing when the majority of the Grimm will finally attack, what they’re all waiting for. We and the teens know they’re waiting for Salem’s command, for an opening to cause the most damage. And the longer they wait the more the negative emotions build to draw them in. Clever clever, you old witch you. The ominous mood is interrupted by the badger guy from episode 1 running up to inform Fiona that another fight has broken out among the people. He’s voiced by RT founder Gus Sorola, and apparently he’s Fi’s uncle! She seems bummed about having to go break up another fight, but Joanna’s got this one covered. But problems keep coming, and Crimson reports in that there’s a group of Grimm coming in from the east that he can’t handle while transporting civilians. Yang and co are all to ready go get this off Fiona’s plate for her, and we cut to Yang being pursued by a Teryx. We soon see she’s leading it into an ambush, as Ren and Oscar come riding in at an intersection to toss a grenade baton beneath it which presumably contains air/wind Dust because it gets propelled upwards to crash into a bridge and fall back down stunned. Yang gets out of the way and Jaune charges in for the kill. With that job done, Fiona immediately has a new group for them to clear out on the west side. The kids are getting real tired of this constant rushing around killing Grimm, but its part of the job they made such a fuss about going to do so they gotta do it. Oscar points out what I mentioned before, the negativity from everyone worrying when Salem will strike is luring in the stragglers amongst the Grimm. Speaking of stragglers, three Sabyrs come charging up the street much to Ren’s annoyance. But before they can make contact, something gets their attention and they turn tail to run. This puzzles and concerns the team, since Grimm have never retreated before. Before they can finish asking themselves what the Grimm were running from, they get an answer. A large dog-like Grimm pounces on Oscar and starts mauling him and thrashing his body around. He tries to fight back, kicking at one of its legs, but it is unfazed and keeps hitting him until his aura is gone. We see this thing has no eyes to speak of, but it soon gains apposable hands and hind legs capable of bipedal movement. All the better to carry Oscar away with, and shockingly enough, all the better to hold him in front of it as a human shield when Yang comes charging in to try and save him. She has to swerve and avoid hitting the kid, but gets grabbed by the head and tossed against a wall. Ren is the next to attack, but his bullets do jackshit to its back and his “grapple into the enemy and pull myself at it for a kick” has never worked before and continues to not work now. The Hound, as it is named in the credits and in concept art, stretches out its arm much like the Nuckelavee back in Volume 4 and swats Ren away. Jaune is about to charge in too, but Yang warns him about the Hound’s shield tactic. He’s in disbelief, because they may have seen old Grimm that have gained beastial sentience but never this kind of sapience and creative thinking. Ren grabs his guns but the Hound holds Oscar up again to stop him. Ren, naturally, yells at the Grimm to give their friend back. 

But the Hound just stretches its neck with a few cracking sounds, and says “No”.

This leaves the huntsmen and huntresses in a silent stupor of shock and fear, and I would not blame them. If all of my world’s history has been telling me that the monsters I hunt are mindless beasts of violence and destruction, nothing more, that’s one thing. If I learn they were created by a deity solely for the sake of destroying my civilization and are nothing but his avatars of darkness and wreckage, that’s a big theological pill to swallow but I still know how these things always tend to act. If I am on 6 hours of sleep vs 28 hours of being awake, just had a big personal argument over what our job should be amidst the apocalypse, and now my entire understanding of the monsters I at least thought I knew how to handle is thrown out the window?????? Yeah, I would need a goddamn minute before I could think rationally and quickly again. So you’ll excuse me for giving Yang, Jaune and Ren a pass as they just stand there and watch the Hound grow bat-like wings in a very painful and goopy transformation that gets some goo on Oscar’s unconscious face and then climbs up a building with Oscar in its mouth to fly away. When they do recover their senses they hop on their bikes and chase after the beast at full speed, giving a hasty and vague apology to Fiona for having to go handle this emergency that she wouldn’t believe even if they told her. And that’s it, we have to wait a week or longer to find out if they catch this thing and get Oscar back. Judging from the intro, I’d say they won’t and he will be brought before Salem for torture. Fun!~ This definitely opens the door for brand new possibilities of what Grimm are capable of doing or being, and lots of people are theorizing the Hound is so intelligent because Salem stuck a person in there, possibly someone we thought was dead but perhaps isn’t? Who knows, we’ll have to wait and see.

Sorry it’s so late, but hope this is a good review.

[thisonesforfanfic]

Light in the Dark (7/?)

Bucky x Reader

A/N: I do not know if I should put any warnings, please let me know if you think any are needed

Summary: After being captured by Hydra, you were made into an assassin, but the powers they gave you were their control’s demise. You were planning to make an escape when your past came back to life

Word Count: 2.3k

Torture. Shock. Blood, everywhere.

Simply chaotic

In the same way, everything was a blur in your mind, you could barely remember what seemed to have been a couple of months. However, things were slowly starting to come back to you.

Those strange men that took you had then injected you with a burning substance, as if every inch of your body was catching on fire, you learned how to fight like an expert, pretty much anything could be a weapon on your hands, anyone who got close was soon knocked out.

You were still taking care of people as some sort of nurse, but bandages were now useless on small injures, you could heal yourself or anyone really, just by concentrating on it, feeling nothing but a sting. Bigger ones would usually make you feel weak, but you could usually handle them. A sheer green light would surround you when you used the inexplicable ability. 

You noticed the words they used, how they made no sense, how an insane rage took over you when you heard them, as if you were a string puppet. The things you had done were also coming back to you, and they were horrifying, it was all mind control, and it made you a healer and an assassin for Hydra, the same organization that your brother had died trying to destroy, the same people who probably killed Bucky, and maybe even Steve.

Quickly realizing what it all meant, you tried healing yourself, over and over, until the words were meaningless. The agents were furious, and once they found out your mind was no longer controlled, their way of keeping you in line was brutal. Whenever you refused to do a mission, they'd shoot you in the leg, make you heal yourself, patch whatever was left of the injury and go into the mission to heal their wounded. After they started doing this, you mostly cooperated, if attacking anyone wasn't required.  Once they gave up using you as a weapon, being solely a healer to them, you realized that the more you obeyed, the more liberty you had while on the mission, that is, no more rifles to your head.

It was harder and harder each time to keep saving them though, they were after all responsible for the death of the most important people in your life. On top of it, you realized you weren't just going to sleep, everything around you was evolving too fast, you were put on some sort of hibernation. That's when you decided you'd leave, next time they used you on a disaster, you'd use the chaos to your favor and escape the organization.

It didn't take long for that day to come, you were set on an alley in Washington D.C. when all hell broke loose, you had to pretend to try healing at least some of them before making a run for it. After a while, there were just too many bodies, and a couple of explosions had gone off, enough for you to pretend as if you were in one of them. Throwing you transmitter away, you started to run towards the buildings, away from the streets, but a familiar voice made you freeze on the spot

"Sam? Are you alright? Nat, copy!" 

There's just no way

"Steve?" You screamed, the man turned to you with his guard up, since you still had your mask on "Steve!!! You're alive!" You uncovered your face and rushed to his side

"Y/N?? Wh- How are you here??"

A new explosion pushed you to the curb, and as the smoke settled, the menacing figure of Hydra's biggest assassin was walking towards Steve 

He had seen that machine in action before, he was pretty much unstoppable. His metal arm was one of the most dangerous things you had ever seen in action, and also on a hospital bed, whenever you had to heal him, that thing was always trouble. The mask made him look like even less of a man, just pure danger, you had never seen him without it

"Get back Y/N"

"I've got this, I've seen him fight" before he could say another word you were gone, sprinting behind cars to take him down from the back

The surprise attack provided Steve with the distraction he needed. Your grip on the man's neck lasted for a while, but he soon threw you over a car like a piece of paper. It was just long enough for Steve to hit him on the face with his shield, causing the mask to fall to the floor. Shock and confusion took over you as you saw Bucky's marble eyes overflowing with anger

What the fuck?

"Bucky?" Steve was just as confused as you were

"BUCKY!" you screamed your lungs out in pain, but all you got was the sight of him charging at you in fury

"Who the hell is Bucky? Let's go healer" Before he could get any closer, someone that you assumed was on Steve's team landed on his head, making Bucky fall to the floor

A sudden blast made your senses numb, and even though you couldn't see straight, you tried walking in the direction of where Bucky was just standing, but a red hair agent knocked you down before getting far

"And where do you think you are going?" she had her arm out, pointing some sort of electric bracelet to your face "I got the healer"

"He is alive, Bucky is- They are.... STEVE!" You couldn't care less about the threatening woman over you at that moment, your mind was racing, your heart nearly escaping through your mouth

Is this even happening? How?

"You know this one?" her grip on you was still firm as she talked into her transmitter, but after the response she received, the woman got up and offered you a helping hand to stand "I'm Nat"

"Y/N" you stood up, looking around for any signs of your boys. Though Bucky was nowhere to be found, Steve walking towards you made your eyes fill with tears, way too many feelings surfacing at once, as you buried yourself on his embrace "Am I dreaming?"

"I hope we are not" Steve cupped your face on his hands to take a good look at you "Are you okay? How are you even here?"

"Uhm, guys" a man landed right next to you with silver wings clipped on his back "I feel like we should get somewhere safe before this whole... catching up thing" Screaming tires could be heard all around, but the four managed to escape through the sewer before being surrounded.

A long run later, you reached a safehouse, and all that you had seen was finally being digested. You and Bucky had been working side by side this whole time, Steve was right there with you, nothing made sense, but it was all there.

While taking care of some scratches on Sam's arm, you told them all that you remembered. The night they captured you, how they trained you to be deadly and still be able to heal them, how you were trying to get out, but mostly how frustrated you were you hadn't recognized Bucky before.

"I took care of him multiple times, and I had no clue! When they went to the bar... They said he wasn't in one piece when they got to him and I assumed they killed both of you" your eyes were locked on Steve's, his baby blues just as conflicted as your Y/E/C ones. "I have to save him"

 "Y/N, you need to rest" Steve was right, it had been quite the day, but the thought of Bucky being tortured as you were was making you sick "We have to prepare, we can't just go find him wherever he is"

"I know what he's going through! The mind control thing is fucking unbearable!" You turned around to grab some gear and leave muttering "I can't let it keep happening Steve", but his grip on your arm held you in place "Let me go! I don't want him to suffer" you shook your arm up and down unsuccessfully

"And you think I want that?" His words were loud and cold, echoing in your head. You realized how selfish you were at that moment, Bucky was his best friend their whole life "I wish I could have him here right now, but if he's being used as a weapon against us, we can't just go on and hug him" his tone was dead, but knew he was feeling the same pain you were, if not a worse one 

"I didn't mean to.." you looked down at your feet, shaking your head for not remembering how important their relationship used to be "Forgive me, Steve"

"I don't want you to apologize, Y/N" his grip turned into a soft stroke on your arms "I want us to be prepared, okay?" You nodded

"We'll bring him home"

---

"Who were they?" 

Strapped on a chair, he talked to the commanders who had sent him on that mission. His mind was fuzzy, the way the pair had looked at him, how they called him Bucky.

"You've been hunting him down for a while now, that man always ends up escaping, we should definitely not put you up against him, you're no match" Their try to make Bucky associate Steve as an enemy was not very successful, he could recognize the face of the man, he just didn't know how. "She's a traitor, she used to go on missions with you when medical assistance was needed."

That can't be all

"I knew them" the conflict in him was evident, and it made commander grind his teeth

"Wipe him off, start again" 

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

"We need you on standby if anyone is hurt! Why do you have to be so stubborn?" The brunette agent was absolutely mad at you "Is it so hard for you to understand this is a suicide mission? Do you want all of us to fucking die without any support on the outside? Plus, you don't know anything about the building, and we only have one person that can fly from one hover to the other, he can't extract two of you at the same time if it all goes wrong" 

"I'm not just gonna stand around while you save the word! And we all know he's gonna show up, I won't let him slide again" Your fists were firmly closed and your jaw was clenched as Agent Maria's face stood inches from yours, both of you would clearly already be on top of each other if Steve hadn't had his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place

"Maria has a point Y/N" you turned to Steve with fiery eyes, ready to call him out "Although I also think we could use more strength on the inside, I can't risk losing you to them now, Hydra is pissed for you being here, and they won't let you go easily" you frowned, he was right, you had a huge target on your back right now, and God knows what they would do now if they got you

"And where should I stay?" your voice was low and angry, not wanting to accept your surrender

The Shield building was enormous, you couldn't cover the whole perimeter, specially on foot, and trying to stay hidden

"Just about anywhere on the river bank" Natasha was creeping you out as she turned on a weird tech mask "It's full of trees and you can hide a motorbike easily since there are no hiking trails around it"

Without your protests, the conversation ends as everyone makes their way to their positions, you borrow Nat's bike and drive off to the closest hidden spot you can find.

 It works. It all kind of goes to shit in the process, but they manage to take down the corrupted director, and shoot down the aircrafts. You heard Steve's voice on your ear, saying there was no time for him to get out before it all exploding, so you were flying through the trees to get as close to where it would crash as possible. You never had to save someone from drowning, but saving Steve was really the only option at the moment.

Bucky must be there too. Just the thought of them both crashing down was making your heart pound, you had to make it. 

I will save you, no matter what it takes

Getting closer to it, you saw Steve's body plunge into the river, abruptly stopping the bike and rushing to the water, you hesitated as Bucky's body perfectly dived right where Steve was, bringing him back to the surface and dragging his old friend to the river bank. It took all you had to stay out of sight, approaching him now could mean never seeing him again later, Hydra was in pieces, they didn't have a hold of him anymore, tracking him would be impossible.

Bucky heard ruffling after putting the familiar soldier down, squeezing his eyes to find whatever was there with him, but all the fighting and memories flowing through him made it pretty hard to concentrate. 

After standing there for a moment, he slowly headed into the woods to disappear. You wanted to follow him so bad, but you had to check on Steve

"I have him" you whispered into the comm "I can't do much about water but I think I can stabilize him"

"We're almost there Y/N" Sam spoke back to you "go get him" his words froze in place for a second, quickly checking Steve again.

"If our plan to make him remember anything worked, I know where he will be" placing your hands on his wounds, a light green glow travelled to them, making your stomach ache as you tried to make it less painful for Steve

#############

Thanks for reading!

[forever-more-never-again]

Daughter of a Singer (Part One of Two)

IT’s a what!? Another Supernatural FIC! YAY! This was just gonna be one part, but the word count got carried away. Whoops! And so now it is a two part fic.

*I do not own Supernatural*GIF not mine* 

Platonic Dean and Sam X Reader

Word Count~2300

Warnings: Supernatural gore. Swearing. Cancer. Family death. 

Summary: What happens when you find out that everything you thought you knew was actually wrong? You decide to find your biological father, even if it means leaving the white picket fence life behind for good.

THIS WILL BE A TWO-PART FIC. THIS IS PART ONE.

Silence. That was the one thing you craved more than anything in this moment. Stuck in grim Eastern Washington, in the middle of nowhere in a middle of a rundown barn about to fall over, surrounded by screaming people and snarling Vampires, the noise was overwhelming. But you couldn’t focus on that, you had a job to do.

Swinging your machete around, you sliced off another head. “Hurry! Get out!” You shouted at the terrified hostages that the Vampires had been using as blood banks.

The civilians ran past you, helping each other get out of the rundown barn. you kept your focus on the enraged Vampire nest that was trying to take off your head.

“You took away our meal. Now you’re gonna have to pay Hunter.” You grinned darkly as the Vampire tried to threaten you. You were too hardened to let it get to you.

“Bring it on, Twilight.”

In a matter of minutes, the fight was over. The last of the Vampires ganked. You stood panting over the last body, covered in blood and dirt. As you walked back to your 1968 Pontiac Firebird you thought back to how you ended up embroiled in this supernatural life.

*2 years before*

“Mom..? Why are you crying?” You walked into your mother’s room, seeing her sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to dry her tears.

She gave you a watery smile before beckoning you over to sit next to her, “Honey, I love you so much. I tried my best to give you a normal life and all that you could need to survive in this world.”

You reached over and squeezed her hand, “Mom, you’re scaring me.” You knew she had been going through a rough patch. You had noticed her lack of appetite and she had been having more accidents, running into things and bruising easily.

Your mother looked down, fresh tears trailing down her face, “Honey, I have cancer.”

Cancer, Cancer, CANCER!

The world froze as the word thundered through your head. Had you heard her right? “Mom?”

“Oh Honey, come here.” She pulled you in for a hug, as you broke down sobbing. She rubbed her hand on your back, pressing kisses into your [h/c] hair, “Shhh. I know honey, I know.”

You pulled back, “Isn’t there something? Chemotherapy?”

Your mother smiled gently at you, reaching up to wipe away a few tears, “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. At this stage of Ovarian Cancer, there isn’t much they can do for me.”

You jumped off the bed, suddenly angry at your mother, at the world. “No! You can’t leave me! You can’t! You’re all I have!”

Your mother watched you pace, patiently, hands folded in her laps. Her tears were silent as she watched you battle with yourself and the world. Finally, she stood up as well and caught your arms with her hands. You couldn’t help but notice how frail her grasp was.

“Honey, I don’t want to leave you, believe me, if there was another way. But God has decided that it’s my time and this is the way I make my exit. But I did everything I could to prepare you for the world by yourself.” She wiped a tear away, her eyes the same color as yours, catching your gaze, “All those karate classes, hunting trips. Survival training sessions. You are ready to face this world.”

You were confused, “What do you mean? How did those activities prepare me?”

Your mother let go and lowered herself to pull something out from under her bed, sighing she handed you an old worn oak box. “There are several things I have kept from you through the years. Your father,”

You interrupted, giving your mother an odd look, “He died when I was little in a fire.”

“No [y/n]...he’s alive. He’s a hunter.”

You gasped, looking down at the box in your hands. Your father was alive? “A Hunter? As in deer?”

Your mother gave a heavy sigh, sitting down on the bed again. Her skin was becoming very pale and you could see the weight on her shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me right now mom, you need to rest.”

Your mother pushed your hands away as you fretted over her, setting the box on the bed. “No, [Y/n], I’m fine. I need you to know this before I leave you. Your father is a hunter of the supernatural.”

You laughed, “What? That’s not a thing.” But your laughter faded and your smile turned into a frown the longer your mother stared at you in all seriousness. “Wait...really?” You whispered.

“Yes honey, there are things out there in the dark. All those stories about things that go bump in the night...they aren’t stories, they are really out there and they are dangerous. That’s why men like your father dedicate their lives to protecting the rest of us.”

You were numb. It was so much to take in. Your mother was dying, your father was alive and there were monsters in the world. “Why wasn’t he apart of my life then?”

“That was my doing in part, his line of work is dangerous. Anyone connected to him is a target to those monsters. He and I thought it best if we separate ways once we realized that I was pregnant. It’s been years since I saw him.”

You stared at your mother with new eyes. “So all those lessons growing up, you were preparing me to protect myself from those monsters, weren’t you?”

Your mother gave a weak laugh, “Even though your father wasn’t around, I was not about to let my only child go out into the world defenseless.”

“Why. Why tell me about the monsters at all?”

Your mother dropped her gaze to the box that was next to her now. “Because once I’m gone, I want you to have some family left. And I want you to know what you will be against in finding your father.”

“Where is he? What’s his name?” You shot questions at your mother.

“Look in the box, it will give you some answers, I’m really tired Honey.”

You immediately felt sorry for pushing her, you helped her climb into her bed, “Okay mom, I love you.”

“I love you too sweetie.” And with that you took the box and walked back into your bedroom.

*Present Day*

Your mother had passed away a week later. The box had revealed an old black and white photo of a young man with a name written on the back in your mother’s handwriting. Robert Singer. Your father’s name. There were also several newspaper clippings of news from around America. You had looked over them trying to see the significance before realizing that they all were about a mysterious stranger saving people from various accidents. You deduced that the accidents were actually monster related.

Once your mother passed and you took care of her affairs. You had packed up a duffel bag and hit the road. Over the next couple years you had learned how to track and kill various supernatural creatures. Keeping a journal filled with notes about each one that you encountered.

All the while tracking down your father. Every Hunter’s bar you asked about a Robert. But no one knew anything.

All this played in your head as you drove back to the closest city, to the motel you had been staying in while tracking the Vamps.

Pulling in to the parking lot, you were surprised to see a nice looking car parked in front of your room number. You cautiously pulled up, staying in your car, you looked around. There were two guys sitting in the car, talking.

Still wary, you climbed out of your car, fingering the gun you kept tucked in a holster at your hip. You walked to your door, opening it while keeping your ears open. You heard doors open and slam and footsteps coming up. You opened the door, took a step forward, quickly spun and grabbed the closest man, that happened to be the shortest and pinned him up against the wall while pointing your gun at the giant man behind him.

“Woah, easy there.” You continued to apply pressure with your arm against the man’s throat, catching his bright green eyes.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

The giant brown haired man who you had your gun trained on him, raised his hands and answered, drawing your attention, “I’m agent Osborne, that’s my partner, Agent Zepplin. We are looking into the disappearance of the residents of this city, we were told you were a newbie, blown in a few weeks ago.”

I laughed, bitterly, keeping my gun trained on the guy, “Try again, Hunter.”

I felt the man under me tense up at that word. “Wait, are you a hunter?”

I reluctantly let go of the short green eyed man, but kept my gun at the ready. I pulled them both inside my motel room, closing the door.

“Okay, you guys want to tell me who you really are now?” I jutted out a hip, not in the mind frame to play games. Still covered in splatter of blood from the Vamps.

The green eyed one stepped forward, “My name is Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam. We came to deal with the Vampire Nest we heard was setting up camp here.”

You chuckled, finally putting away your gun. The Winchesters, you had heard about them in your travels. The brothers were a beacon for trouble and monsters. You walked past them to the small sink and mirror. Wetting a wash rag and starting to wipe away the gore from your face and arms you looked back at the brothers. “You boys can just turn back and go home now, I already dealt with the nest. Trust me,” I smirked at their confused looks, “They won’t be bothering anyone anytime soon.”

The tall one, Sam, managed to look impressed, “You took on the nest by yourself? How many Vamps were there?”

You thought back, “It was hard to keep track while fighting for my life, but I figured about fifteen. The largest nest I’ve ever come across.”

Dean whistled low, “Wow, and you took them on all by yourself. You are an impressive woman.”

You didn’t miss the gleam in the Winchester’s eyes. Rollin yours, you hopped up onto the counter, “So you boys can run back home now.”

The brothers glanced at each other and you frowned at the silent communication they seemed to share. Why weren’t they leaving?

Sam looked back over at you, “You are fairly new to the hunting gig aren’t you? We haven't heard about a lone woman hunting. Mind telling us your name?”

You sighed, of course, they didn’t think you could handle yourself. Being a weak woman. You snorted, flipping your hair over your shoulder you glared at the pair of grown men in your room, “My name is [Y/n]. And that’s all you need to know. I can handle myself. As proven.” You gestured to your bloodied shirt. “So don’t feel like you need to get protective. Bye bye boys.”

You made shooing motions with your hands. But they stayed put. Dean tilted his head, squinting at you, “Sam doesn't she..?”

“Yeah I thought so too.”

“What do you think is the reason?”

“We can ask.”

You interrupted their weird conversation, “Woah hold on, what are you guys talking about?”

Sam sighed and turned back to you, “You look a lot like a friend of ours. We’re trying to figure out why.”

You jumped down and walked over to your duffel bag, “You know you could just ask me. Instead of speaking in code right in front of me.”

Sam stared into your [e/c] eyes and said softly, “Do you know Bobby?”

You tilted your head, did I know a bobby? I heard about a hunter by the name Bobby, but never met the man. “I’ve heard of him. But I’ve never met him. Why? Is he the guy I look like?”

The thought crossed your mind that he could be your father, but you shook it off. Your father’s name was Robert and as far as you were aware, after looking for him the past two years, the man was either dead or hiding in a hole somewhere.

Dean finally spoke up, from his place near the window where he was peeking out at your car, “So that Firebird is yours?” He sounded arrogant so you decided to let him have it.

You cocked a hip, duffel bag over your shoulder, “As a matter of face its a 1968 Pontiac Firebird, all original parts. And you drove here in a 1967 Chevy Impala. By the sounds of it, the engine has been tweaked slightly, so I would say not all original parts, but rather scraps put together. Am I right?”

You glanced between the brothers, feeling pleased as Dean looked awed and Sam looked puzzled.

Dean seemed to get something in his head and he bounced towards you as you headed out the door, “Hey why don’t you come with us to meet Bobby. He runs an auto parts yard and I could show you some more classics.”

You thought it over as the brothers followed you out of the motel room. You opened your trunk, displaying your array of weapons, throwing you duffel on top. Slamming the trunk closed, You leaned against your car, eyeing the two hunters.

“I guess. I don’t have another hunt lined up anyways. I’ll follow you guys then?”

They nodded, the one called Dean looking way too excited for a road trip. Taking a deep breath you climbed into your car, starting it up, wondering what the hell you had just agreed to.

[shirtlesssammy]

Wishful Thinking: The Teddy Bear Doctor Recap

Guys! Guys!! We made it to one of Boris’s very favorite episodes. I’m overjoyed that we’re finally recapping it!

Then:

UST all over the place.

Now:

We open to a woman showering, when a creeper kid wanders up to the shower behind her. Just as she finishes and turns to exit, he vanishes. As the woman towels up, a ghost hand print streaks across the shower condensation, and foot prints pad across the bathroom floor. The woman senses the ghostly presence, and calls out, to no response. She then throws her hair towel aside, only for it to land 6 feet in the air. The jig is up for the apparition. “Um, hello...Mrs. Armstrong.” COMPLETELY JUSTIFIED UNCONTROLLABLE SCREAMING.

Sam and Dean are at a bar. Dean is enjoying his post-Hell coping shots, while Sam pesters him about why Uriel would tell him that Dean remembers Hell. Dean is still denying any knowledge of his time there. They also have one very enthusiastic server. Dean is not impressed.

Sam kind of has a case. He tells Dean about the ghost sightings in women’s locker rooms, and Dean’s throwing cash on the table so fast, Sam can hardly keep up. “Women, showers. We got to save these people,” Dean insists. Oh Dean, you opportunistic, sublimating unicorn.

Sam and Dean roll into Concrete, Washington. Dean drops Sam off at a Chinese restaurant where Sam interviews the woman from the cold open. He’s writing a book called...Supernatural. As she’s telling her story, Sam get distracted by a couple kissing in the corner. The woman tells Sam that the apparition knew her name, and she fell --she wasn’t pushed, which kind of unravels her story of a vengeful spirit.

Sam meets up with Dean, who did a check on Mrs. Armstrong’s house, coming up with nothing but disappointment. As they head to the car to leave the town behind, a child, chased by a group of other children, runs in front of their path, and they notice a local vehemently arguing with the police that Bigfoot attacked him. FBI agents to the rescue!

The brothers head to where “Bigfoot” was last seen, and Sam informing the audience that hunters already know that Bigfoot is a hoax. Only, they find imprints in the ground, and Sam observes, “That is a big foot.” They follow the tracks to a liquor store, door ripped off.

Once inside, they find the place trashed. Dean surmises that Bigfoot is a “girl drink drunk” with all the amaretto and Irish Cream bottles broken on the ground. And then he nabs himself some Hunters Helper. Smooth Dean. In addition to all the booze, Bigfoot also grabbed all the porno in the shop. The boys are beyond baffled, and hilariously take a silent moment to sit and ponder the absurdity of the situation. Dean’s mind wanders to comparing Bigfoot to David Duchovny. His little guilty face from thinking about Mulder is just too cute.

Just then a little girl on a bike rides by, dropping her Busty Asian Beauties mag, as one does. She was returning all the booze and porn, so they follow her to her home. They knock and the little girl answers. Sam asks to speak to her parents, but they’re not home. Dean then asks, “Have you seen a really, really furry…” and the girl quickly responds, “Is he in trouble?!” No! They just want to make sure he’s okay. The girl admits that “he” is her teddy bear and that he’s sick. It’s a good thing Sam and Dean are teddy bear doctors! They agree to take a look at him.

And then instantly regret it when he yells at them to “Close the friggin’ door!” Audrey, the little girl, explains that all she ever wanted was a big teddy, but something is wrong with him now. Dean asked how the teddy became real, and Audrey admits to wishing for it at the wishing well. Dean heads back to to the teddy bear, and gets hit with a load of existential pain.

In an aside, the brothers wonder how they take care of a stuffed teddy bear. Figuring this is just a small part of the larger mystery, they tell Audrey that the teddy bear is suffering from lollypop disease, and she should find a neighbor to stay with.

We cut to the little boy from earlier tossing a coin into a wishing well at the Chinese restaurant. He leaves just as Sam and Dean walk up to the well. Dean tests the well with a wish of his own. Two seconds later a sub arrives. Stellar service sub shop! The boys surmise that the wishing well is legit --the teddy bear, the sub sandwich, and they both see the couple again. Apparently a nerdish dude and an attractive woman make no sense. (Natasha: I know, right? Eyeroll.) As Dean eats his very delicious sub sandwich, a waiter informs him he can’t eat outside food, so the brothers show their health inspector badges to shut the restaurant down to investigate the wishing well better.

They share a BM scene, discussing what Sam would wish for. Dean seems to want him to wish for a life without the supernatural in it. Sam disagrees with it. It’s not what he wants anymore. “Well, what would Sammy wish for?” “Lillith’s head on a plate, bloody.” It’s that moment that Dean notices a strange coin, one that won’t budge from the bottom of the well. Armed with a crowbar and hammer, Dean gets nowhere with this magical coin. Sam takes an etching, tells Dean to look into it, and takes off.

Invisible creeper boy heads once again into the women’s locker room. Sam follows him him, confronts him, and shocks him into turning visible once again. 

“Don’t worry ma’am,” Sam says to explain his presence. “I’m with the health department.” Sam, you beautiful, magical dumpling. (I do love that Sam got this job instead of Dean.)

Meanwhile, Dean witnesses a young boy chasing after several much larger boys. “You got a problem, mister?” the boy asks when he notices Dean staring. No, man, no problems here. Dean is quickly distracted by indigestion, however.

Sam arrives back at the hotel room to hear Dean throwing up. “The wishes turn bad,” Dean warns weakly between vomiting spells. Urg. “The coin is Babylonian,” Dean says before he boomerangs back to the bathroom. He’s been doing some research (in between vomiting spells?) The coin is cursed and while it grants wishes, the wishes turn on the wishers. While this may seem like a lighthearted chuckle, the coin has torn entire towns apart. The only way they can stop it is to find the first wisher. That person can pull out the coin and reverse all the wishes.

Meanwhile T. Bear writes a tearful suicide note, lifts a gun to his mouth, and shoots a hole in his head (Boris: complete with stuffing!). The camera pans back and our bear is still alive! “Whyyyyyy,” he shouts in existential horror. 

Back at the hotel room, Dean’s sleeping off the bad sandwich special. He twitches in his sleep and we see flashes of Hell before Sam yells at him to wake up. Dean pops up and immediately settles on the side of the bed so he can lean over and grab the bottle of booze on the floor. He takes a swig. He’s good. Yeah. He’s good. (Boris: Man, I am so looking forward to season 13! Dean is going to be in so much pain, but if his Mary confession helped at all, he’s going to be processing Cas’s death so differently.)

Sam calls bullshit on his affected indifference. He insists that Dean remembers Hell and begs him to confide in him. “Can we stow the couples therapy?” Dean asks. He’s ready to work. Sam rattles off his list of wishers so far: the girl and her teddy bear, lottery guy, “invisible pervert guy”...

Dean, who’s been perusing the paper, finds a potential wisher that goes back one month. The surprise engagement of one Wesley Mondale and Ms. Hope Lynn Casey - aka the nerdy dude with the hot chick.

At the Mondale residence, Hope brings in “a snack” on a tray. It’s a whole roast chicken piled with a ton of other food. She loves him like crazy, scary banana cakes. “Are you happy?” he asks her, worried.

“I love you more than anything,” she replies, eyes wide. Eesh.

Wesley asks her to do things that “made her happy before.” She starts to break down into tears, worried that she’s disappointing him. He tries to reassure her when the doorbell rings. It’s Dean and Sam! This time they are the world’s surliest florists.

Wesley recognizes them as health department. Oh yeah, agrees Dean. And florists. “Plus FBI. And on Thursdays, we're teddy bear doctors.” They spot Wesley’s coin collection mounted on the wall and grill him about a certain ancient Babylonian coin. They’re interrupted from escalating their interrogation by Hope’s arrival with her wedding planning book. She manically flips through magazines and clippings while Dean and Sam ask her about their impending nuptials.

“One day last month, it’s like I just saw him for the first time.” Caught up in memories, she starts to kiss him and uuuuuuuuugh I am so uncomfortable right now.

Wesley tells him that the wish-granting coin was given to him by his grandfather. The Winchesters tell him that he’s got to unwish his wish. Dean pulls his gun out of his belt. “We really wish you’d come with us.” (Does his gun have a name? I would like to call it The Persuader. And one day Dean will be fighting a murderous debate team and pull out his gun, then say “Debate this” before killing all the monsters.)

Wesley is slumped in misery in the backseat. He’d wished that Hope would love him more than anything and he doesn’t want to take it back! It’s not fair! Pout. Pout. Dean tells him that he’s not supposed to get what he wants. That’s not how the world works. And. Okay. I mostly really, really love this episode but one thing that skeeves me out every time is that Wesley’s wish is framed as an unfortunate thing that will backfire on him. When the Winchesters talk to him about his choices, that’s how they frame it. But man. Nobody thought to just bluntly point out the horrifying consent / rape issues with Hope? I realize that robs the episode of a great deal of comedic tone, but it makes me feel gross to just gloss over it like it’s not a big deal.

Anyway, Wesley remains unconvinced and asks them to prove that his town is tumbling into insanity.

Cut to the gaggle of bully boys. The little kid knocks over an SUV holding the other terrified kids and then shouts to the sky, “Kneel before Todd!”

Sam and Wesley head off to the restaurant while Dean talks to Todd. Dean tries to give him the Spiderman “great power, great responsibility” line and Todd decks him one. 

Outside the restaurant Sam is suddenly struck by lightning. Wesley finds Hope standing over the wishing well and reveals that she wished Sam dead so he wouldn’t undo the curse. Wesley is horrified to learn that Hope wished a man dead. She loves him more than literally anything. He hugs her, reassures her, then leans over and picks up the coin.

Dean tries to control Todd but gets caught in a chokehold. Sam lies dead outside. But when the coin gets picked up Todd loses his strength and Sam revives. Dean, because he’s a good bean, acts scared in front of Todd’s bullies and the bullies flee, scared forever of the wrath of Todd.

At the restaurant Wesley tries to talk to Hope but she doesn’t know him at all. She walks out in a fog and heads back to her regular life again. Wesley mopes his way out of the restaurant and turns the coin over to Sam for safe keeping.

All the wishers are back, consequences mostly mitigated. Sam melted down the coin and the town is safe once more. Dean pauses for a super quick BM moment (away from the car! GASP!) (Boris interjects: Second one for the night! Do we even know this show?!?)

Dean tells him that he remembers everything from Hell. But he is one billion million percent not willing to talk about it. He’s deeply, deeply scarred. “You wouldn’t understand,” he tells Sam. They both choke back EMOTIONS. (And so do we.)

KNEEL BEFORE QUOTES:

Dessert time? Amirite?

Every hunter worth his salt knows bigfoot’s a hoax.

He's some kind of a alcohol-o-porno addict. Kind of like a deep woods Duchovny.

What's this, like a Harry and the Hendersons deal?

We are teddy bear doctors.

Careful what you wish for.

People are people 'cause they're miserable bastards, 'cause they never get what they really want.

There’s a bigfoot out there, and he’s a son of a bitch!

Not ‘ouch’ sad, but ‘ouch in the head’ sad.

“Why am I here?” “For tea parties!”

[kateyes224]

A Preponderance of the Evidence: Prelim (Part 3 of 3)

Author:  KatEyes224 Rating: R (For adult themes) Timeline: Post-ep for Never Again and Memento Mori.

A/N: @piecesofscully, you are the peanut butter to my jelly, and I love you more than you know.  If you missed it, read part 1 here, read part 2 here.

Mulder tosses and turns as minutes trickle into hours, entertaining himself by memorizing the way shadows dip and swirl across the ceiling to the sound of traffic gradually overtaking the steady metronome of Scully’s breathing.  He kicks the sheets off at one point, frustrated when they cling to his legs with a crackle of electricity, his body still charged with the current of all the things he hasn’t said.  

Morning finally comes.  

The late winter storm has retreated overnight, leaving the sun and blue sky to glare into the room as if demanding the two of them acknowledge that day has dawned.  They’ve ended up facing one another on their respective beds, and Mulder is watching Scully’s face when her eyes snap open seconds before the alarm goes off.  He sees her focus as the haze of sleep retreats, and doesn’t bother to look away when she finds him staring at her.  

Slipping past one another in the bathroom and their room, they’re comfortable enough with the dance of the other’s morning routine that they don’t even need to speak.  Mulder shaves while Scully showers; Scully leaves the water running when she steps out with a towel wrapped securely around her body.  She finds that Mulder has wiped the fog away from the mirror in a perfect circle where she can stand to apply her makeup; Mulder discovers that Scully has hung his suit and tie from a hook on the back of the bathroom door.

They catch a cab to the courthouse and arrive almost half an hour before they’re supposed to meet with ADA Venegas.  At a small coffee cart out front, Mulder buys them both coffees and wordlessly hands a banana nut muffin to Scully.  He frets until she rolls her eyes and eventually nibbles the top off before handing him the rest.

They’re sitting outside a long row of courtrooms when Scully makes eye contact with a young woman in an impeccably tailored grey skirt-suit who’s speaking animatedly to a uniformed police officer.  The woman nods at them, and they both stand.

“Agent Scully?”  

Clicking her way towards them in towering high heels, the petite brunette smiles and extends her hand.  She’s even shorter than Scully by a good two inches, although her shoes bring them almost eye-to-eye.  

“I’m ADA Regina Flores-Venegas.  Thanks so much for coming down on such short notice.”

Scully nods and takes Venegas’s hand, shaking it firmly.  “This is my partner, Fox Mulder.”

Venegas looks up at Mulder and her lips quirk into a bashful smile.

“Ah, Agent Mulder.  Nice to finally meet you.  Sorry for being so curt with you on the phone the other day.  I was...a little stressed out.”  She shrugs and holds her hand out to him.

Mulder grasps it and narrows his eyes, frowning at her.  “Not a problem, I understand.  If you could get Agent Scully on the stand first thing, we’d really appreciate it.  She has a doctor’s appointment back in Washington this afternoon.”

Venegas looks back to Scully, curiosity flashing in her eyes as they study one another.  “No problem.  I can call you out of order and get you up on the stand first thing.  Have you had a chance to review your report?”

Nodding, Scully sips her coffee and waves a few stapled sheets of paper up as proof.  “Yes, I have.  I’m good to go.”

Venegas glances over her shoulder as the bailiff steps out of their courtroom and catches her eye, motioning to her.  “Great.  That’s me.  Just have a seat in the hallway where I’ll be sure to see you, and I’ll have you in and out of here in a jiffy.  You’re free to go once you’re done with your testimony.”  Tilting her head in close to Scully, she lowers her voice so that Mulder has to crane his neck to hear over the din of the hallway.  “And Dana, remember what we talked about on the phone.  Expect some pretty...intimate questions from defense.  I’ll be doing my best to make sure they don’t overstep their bounds.”

With a toss of her long, wavy brown hair over her shoulder, Venegas clips away and disappears into the courtroom.

Scully sinks back down onto one of the benches that line the hallway.  “Jesus, I forget how nervous this part makes me,” she mutters.

“No need to be nervous,” Mulder says, sitting down next to her even closer than he usually would, leaning in so that he can feel the heat radiating from her.  Draping an arm behind her, he lets his thumb swipe a few circles on her shoulder blade.  “You’ve testified for prelims before.  And you’ve got your report there if you need it.”

“It’s not the testimony I’m worried about, Mulder.”  In the bustling courtroom hallway, Scully’s eyes look everywhere but at him.  “I haven’t seen him, not since…” She trails off and stares down at her hands as she starts to fold her report into smaller and smaller squares.

Mulder swallows a tennis-ball-sized lump in his throat and unconsciously tightens his arm around her.  That’s what she’s nervous about.  She hasn’t seen Jerse since the line-up at the police station, when she’d identified him as both her attacker and her one-night stand.  Yes, that’s the man who took me home and fucked me.  Yes, that’s the man who tried to kill me.  

Jealousy and wrath burn like wildfire in his chest as he stares at her, unfiltered light streaming in through the windows from behind them to set her profile aglow. Mulder quashes the urge to shake her, to scream at her, to demand answers from her.  He wants to tell her that whatever happened the night before Jerse tried to kill her doesn’t matter; but he’s not sure if he means that it doesn’t matter to him, or that it doesn’t matter to the court for the purposes of a preliminary hearing.  He thinks he’d be willing to lie to her, either way.

But he’s only able to get out a strangled, “Scully, I-” before Venegas pokes her head out of the courtroom and beckons Scully in.

Scully stands and straightens her suit jacket.  With one brief, searing look back at him over her shoulder, she’s inside the courtroom with Venegas following close behind as the door eases shut behind them.

Mulder stands and rakes a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle before he strides towards the door and grabs the handle just before it closes completely.  

Slipping quietly inside, he surveys the courtroom and settles himself in the back row of the gallery.

“The People call Special Agent Dana Scully to the stand.”

Venegas is standing just behind Scully where the bailiff has stopped them at the bar’s swinging door.  The clerk asks her to raise her right hand and swear an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help her God.  As if she could ever do anything else.  Scully is nothing if not brutally, wonderfully honest.  

“I do,” comes Scully’s response, clear as a church bell on a cold winter morning.

Rounding the defense table, Scully climbs the low stairs to the witness stand beside the magistrate and eases herself into the chair.  She casts one quick glance around the courtroom, assessing her surroundings, before her eyes find Mulder’s, and her tongue darts out quickly to trace the edge of her upper lip before it disappears.  It’s a tell he recognizes.  

Scully adjusts the microphone down with a harsh squeal and looks directly at Venegas.  She has not once looked at Jerse, who Mulder notices has been staring intently at Scully since she walked in.  

The court clerk clears her throat and drones, “Please state your full name and spell it for the record.”

“Dana Katherine Scully, D-A-N-A K-A-T-” Scully spells, her voice unwavering.  “-U-L-L-Y,” she finishes.  She turns her head from the clerk to Venegas.  

Venegas takes her time flipping through a couple of pages in her binder, and the deliberate pause allows Scully to take a few deep breaths before Venegas looks up from the podium and throws a quick, encouraging smile at Scully.  Scully, remaining stoic, simply blinks back in response.

“Ms. Scully, please tell the Court what you do for a living.”

“I’m a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“And how long have you been a Special Agent?”

“About five and a half years.”

“What kind of training do you undertake to become a Special Agent?”

“I attended a 16-week training course at Quantico, Virginia, that included classes in preservation of evidence, self-defense, forensics, behavioral science, and procedural criminal investigation.”

“And are you required to maintain certifications in these various areas of expertise?”

“Yes.  Periodically we are required by the Department of Justice to attend classes that keep us abreast of changes in the law, department-wide procedural changes we need to be made aware of, advances in technology, and then those courses that are required to keep all of our certifications up to date.”

Venegas nods, adjusting her glasses.  “And do you hold any other degrees or certifications that the FBI does not deem to be a requirement or necessity?”

“Yes.  I’m a medical doctor.  I completed my degree in medicine at Stanford University and was recruited by the FBI just after I completed my residency and fellowship in anatomic and clinical pathology at Johns Hopkins.  I am also a board-certified forensic pathologist.”

“And how does a forensic pathologist end up working for the Department of Justice as a special agent?”

“I was recruited by the FBI just as I was completing my fellowship.  I found that I had a…” she breaks off and her blue-green eyes flash over to Jerse for a split-second before she juts her chin back to Venegas, “...a passion for criminal justice.  I felt I could distinguish myself there while serving my country.”

Venegas smiles serenely, nodding along.  “Fair to say you wanted to make a difference?  Help put the bad guys away?”

Mulder’s eyes slide over to Jerse’s defense attorney, a bearded, grizzled hulk of a man with a gleaming shock of blue-black hair, who is hunched over his legal pad furiously scribbling.

“Yes,” Scully answers.  “That’s fair to say.”

“And where are you currently assigned in your capacity as a Special Agent?”

“To a division of the FBI’s Violent Crimes Unit called the X-Files.  My partner and I investigate cases that have been deemed by the Bureau to be unexplainable, or that may have a paranormal element.”

At that, the defense attorney stops scritching on his legal pad.  He glances up at Scully and seems to study her for a long moment before he lowers his head and goes back to writing.

Venegas marches on.

“Agent Scully, I want to draw your attention to February 26, 1997.  Where were you on that day?”

“I had been asked by the supervising agent in my division, my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder, to pursue a lead in an open investigation here in Philadelphia.”

“And did you pursue that lead?”

“I did.”

“And where did that lead take you?”  

“To a small neighborhood in the Little Russia area of the city, northeast Philadelphia,” Scully replies.  

“And what type of lead were you pursuing?”

Scully glances up at Mulder for the first time since she’s taken the stand, a questioning look in her eyes.  He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.  

“I’m not at liberty to reveal that information as the investigation is still ongoing.”

Venegas flips a page of her binder.  The defense attorney keeps writing.

“And on February 26, where did you find yourself?”

“On the northeast side of the city, in Bustleton.  I was staking out the lead that my partner had requested I follow up on when I saw my mark enter a small convenience store on Hendrix Street, just east of Barlow.”

“And what did you do next?”

“I followed him into the convenience store, where he stayed for only a moment or two.  I observed him speaking Russian to a woman I believed to be the shop owner before he left and crossed the street into a tattoo parlor.”

“Do you recall the name of the tattoo parlor?”

Scully’s brow creases for a moment before she answers.  “I believe it was Svo’s.”

“And then what happened?”

“I followed him from the convenience store into the tattoo parlor, but at that point I’d lost my visual on the lead.”

“You didn’t see where he’d gone?”

Scully shakes her head.  “No.  At that point, I knew he had entered the tattoo parlor and that he hadn’t exited through the front door because I’d been able to maintain a visual on the front door the entire time.  But I didn’t know whether he had escaped through the rear of the shop or through some other exit.”

Venegas nods and checks off a few things from her binder.  “So you entered the tattoo parlor.  Then what happened?”

“I went in and didn’t see the man I’d been tailing right away, but I did encounter a white male, mid-30s, engaged in a discussion with a man who appeared to work at the tattoo parlor.  The white male was complaining about a tattoo he’d gotten there recently.”

“And do you see that man here in court today?”

Scully closes her eyes, takes a slow, deep breath, and as she exhales she looks briefly over at the defense table.  “I do.”

“Can you describe where he’s sitting and an article of clothing that he’s wearing?” Venegas asks gently.

“He’s seated at the defense table and he’s wearing an orange jumpsuit,” Scully says, her voice wavering almost imperceptibly.

“May the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant?” Venegas asks, looking up at the magistrate, who nods before intoning, “The record shall so reflect.”

“Agent Scully, you said the defendant was complaining about a tattoo he’d gotten recently?”

“Yes, he was arguing with someone who appeared to be an owner or manager of the tattoo parlor, I’m not sure which.”

“What was the nature of the argument?”

“I’m not sure exactly.  I wasn’t paying complete attention to the argument, as I was still looking around the shop for the person of interest I’d been tailing.  It wasn’t until I was brought into the conversation that I started to pay any attention to it.”

“How were you brought into the conversation?”

“The owner, or manager, I believe his name was Svo, asked my opinion about the quality of the artwork of defendant’s tattoo.”

“And what did you say?”

Scully finally looks over at Jerse, who is still studying her intently, before answering a moment later.  “I said I thought that it was beautiful.”  Mulder glances back and forth between Scully and Jerse, a cold sweat ripping through him the longer the two maintain eye contact.

Venegas clears her throat slightly, then asks, “And then what happened?”

Scully seems to remember herself and closes her eyes again, shaking her head slightly.  “At some point, I saw my lead open a door at the rear of the tattoo parlor and catch the owner’s attention.  The owner left the defendant and I on our own in the shop and we struck up a conversation that eventually led to him asking me out to dinner.”  The skin on Scully’s chest starts to flush scarlet and the color creeps its way up her neck until it stains her cheeks.  

Mulder chews on his bottom lip and looks over at Jerse, who has sunk down in his chair.  

Venegas flips to the next page of her binder and starts thumbing through some photos.  “And what did you say?”

“Since I didn’t know if my lead was still within earshot and I didn’t want to blow my cover, I told the defendant I was visiting an aunt but that I was supposed to leave town that night.”

“So you declined his invitation for dinner?”

“Yes, initially.”

Mulder closes his eyes and exhales heavily through his nose.  

“But you did end up going out to dinner with the defendant that night, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us how that came about?”

Scully clears her throat.  Her voice has dropped an octave when she answers.  “Mr. Jerse had given me his number.  Since he seemed like a nice enough guy, when I was back at my hotel room that night and I’d had a chance to think it over and reflect on my encounter with him, I decided to take him up on his offer.”

Venegas taps her pen against the podium to punctuate her next question.  “And why did you do that, Agent Scully?”

Scully’s eyes lift from Venegas to Mulder, and she holds his gaze as she answers.  Each word slices through him like he’s being flayed wide open and disemboweled on one of her autopsy tables.  “It had been a long time since someone had seen me as anything more than a badge and a gun.”

Mulder’s eyes slide shut, breaking contact momentarily with Scully.  They’d always managed to have entire conversations, arguments, theories bandied about and shot down, with their eyes.  Today, he reminds himself, he needs to hear what she has to say.  All of it.  Even if it hurts.

“So you agreed to go out to dinner with someone you’d just met, someone who seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be normal, correct?”

“He did appear to be a perfectly normal, nice man, yes.”

“Did he appear to you, when you first met him, to be suffering from any auditory or visual hallucinations?”

“No, he did not.”

Venegas nods and checks something off in her binder.

“Then what happened?”

“I called Mr. Jerse later that night and told him that I’d changed my mind, and that I would like to go out to dinner with him.  And I believe he said his car was being worked on, so I told him I’d pick him up from his apartment.”

“And did you pick him up?”

“Yes.  He invited me in, as he wasn’t quite ready to go yet, and said something about having made dinner reservations somewhere.  I noticed that he was bleeding through his shirt near the area of the tattoo I’d seen earlier that day.  I asked to take a look at it to be sure it wasn’t infected.”

The defense attorney’s head jerks up and he takes a hard look at Scully before he scribbles something on his notepad.

Venegas crosses her arms and starts pacing behind her podium.  “Did you make it to dinner, Agent Scully?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Scully again looks directly at Mulder when she answers.  “I asked the defendant to take me out for drinks instead.  At a bar across the street from the tattoo parlor where we had met earlier.  I believe it was called The Hard Eight.”

“And why did you decide to go out for drinks instead of dinner?”

Scully licks her lips and shrugs slightly.  “I don’t know.  I guess part of me was thinking it would be easier to get out of drinks than dinner if it ended up being awkward.”

“So you went to the bar.  How much did you have to drink?” Venegas asks.  She had told Scully over the phone that she was going to ask this question in order to, as she put it, ‘jump on that grenade before defense has a chance to blow us up with it.’

Scully swallows and ducks her head, staring at her folded hands.  “At least three.”

“Do you usually drink alcohol while you’re actively investigating a case, Agent Scully?”

Scully bristles, but just barely; Mulder reads it in the subtle way she straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin a bit higher.

“I was no longer actively investigating a case.  When I’d returned to the Philadelphia field office on the evening of February 26, I’d handed the case off to another agent, effectively turning it over to them for further investigation as they saw fit.  I’d notified my partner over the phone that the case agency had been transferred, and that I was officially off the case.  I was just awaiting a flight out the next morning.”

“So you weren’t violating any internal policies and procedures when you agreed to go out on a date with the defendant and have a couple of drinks with him?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Okay, so you had a couple of drinks with the defendant.  What did you talk about?”

Scully shifts in her seat and a pained look crosses her face, like she’s suddenly discovered a pine cone underneath her rear end and she needs to sit comfortably in spite of it.

“I don’t- I don’t recall the specifics.  I remember making small talk, about the bar we were at, how he’d come to find it.  And about how…” her brow furrows, “about how I felt like I was caught in a circle...”

Mulder’s heart starts to thud in his chest.  Caught in a circle?  

“At some point,” Venegas interrupts, jarring Scully from what she was remembering, and Mulder curses under his breath, “did you and Mr. Jerse decide to leave the bar?”

“Yes.  We got to talking about his tattoo.  I noticed that it had started to bleed again, so I asked him if I could take a look at it, and he, uh...he d-declined.”  Scully’s eyes drop to her hands clasped in her lap.  

Mulder’s ears perk up at the slight stumble and her sudden lack of eye contact, and he notices that Venegas also leans forward on her podium, sensing something more that Scully wants to say.  Mulder watches Venegas watching Scully.  She’s incredibly perceptive, reading Scully’s cues almost as well as he’s able to.

“What do you mean he ‘declined’?” Venegas presses.

Scully licks her lips and continues to stare down at her hands as she fidgets with them.  “The same way when I had asked to see his tattoo back at his apartment, thinking it was possibly infected or not healing properly, he brushed me off.  This time, when I asked, I, um...I tried to roll his sleeve up to see it for myself, and he, uh, grabbed me.”

Mulder feels his temperature start to rise, and he unbuttons the first button of his dress shirt and loosens his tie as he glares at the back of Jerse’s head.  Jerse stares down at the table in front of him.

“He grabbed you?” Venegas asks.

“He was trying to stop me from touching the tattoo,” Scully explains quickly.  “I don’t know if it was painful, or if he just didn’t want me to see it, but he grabbed my hands to keep me from touching it.”

“Agent Scully,” Venegas starts to pace again, “was this a violent grab?”

“Objection, your Honor,” Jerse’s attorney speaks for the first time, and his voice is deep and mellifluous, tinged with a genteel Southern accent.  “As far as I’m aware, as pertains to Agent Scully, my client is only being charged with the one count of assault and one count of attempted murder, and I’m not sure what Counsel is trying to get at here.”

Venegas whirls and faces the magistrate.  “Your Honor, if Agent Scully was assaulted not once, but twice, then I’m perfectly willing to amend the charges if necessary.”

The magistrate looks back at Jerse’s attorney for a response, who shrugs.  “Overruled.  You may answer, Agent Scully.”

Scully contemplates her answer carefully before responding.  “It was forceful, yes.  But not violent.”

Venegas pauses and turns towards her again.  “Did you fear for your safety when he grabbed your hands?”

Scully stares at Venegas.  “Uh...n-no.  Not at that time.”

“Why not?”

“He, uhm...he didn’t appear to me to be dangerous at that time.  I just thought that maybe he didn’t want me to touch the wound.  That it was tender or inflamed, and maybe I’d unintentionally hurt him when I’d touched it.”

Venegas’s lips purse and she’s silent for a long moment before she nods, appearing to be satisfied.  “So what happened next?”

Scully speaks down into her lap, so that Mulder has to strain to hear her.  “He said if I was so curious about his tattoo that I should get my own.”

Venegas perches once again over the podium on her elbows, leaning towards Scully.  “Did you have any tattoos at that time, Agent Scully?”

“No.”  

“Do you now?”

Scully swallows hard.  “Yes.”

“Did you get a tattoo that night?”

“Yes.  We went across the street to the tattoo parlor where we’d first met.”

“Did the defendant convince you to get a tattoo?”

“No, he did not.  It was my decision.”

“How long did the process of getting the tattoo take?”

“About an hour.”

“What happened after you got the tattoo?”

“We went back to the defendant’s apartment.”

“Did you keep drinking once you got back to his apartment?”

“No.”

Boring twin holes in the back of Jerse’s head with his eyes, Mulder leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers over his mouth.

“But were you still feeling the effects of the alcohol, Agent Scully?”

“Yes.”

“Did the defendant ask you to spend the night?”

“He offered for me to spend the night.  The weather was especially bad that evening, and he said he’d feel better if I stayed there, and that he would sleep on his couch.”  

Yeah, I’ll just best that would make you feel better, you sonofabitch, Mulder thinks venomously at Jerse.

Venegas has started pacing behind her podium again.  “And did you spend the night at the defendant’s apartment?”

Scully lifts her head and looks directly at Jerse, who is staring intently at the table in front of him.  Mulder’s breathing has become shallow, like he’s sucking oxygen through a straw instead of his nose.

“Yes.”

“Agent Scully, did you have sex with the defendant that night?”

Oh, God.  

Scully’s chest rises and falls slowly, once, twice, as she breathes deeply through her nose, her gaze shifting from Venegas to Jerse to Mulder.  Mulder finds that he can’t blink.  He can’t think.  He can barely breathe.  

It doesn’t matter, Mulder reminds himself.  Whatever she did with Jerse that night, whatever her motivations, it was her choice.  It’s her life.  She doesn’t owe him any answers.  Not now.  Not ever.  He needs to tell her now, needs her to know that whatever happened with Jerse that night, it doesn’t matter.  And they’ve always been more fluent in body language, always been able to convey more with their eyes than their words.  

Without breaking eye contact with Scully, Mulder rises from his seat and sidesteps his way across the row of seats towards the door.  Scully’s brow furrows slightly in confusion, and her lips part as if she wants to say something, to stop him from going anywhere.  It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, I love you, it doesn’t matter, he telegraphs to her on an endless loop, praying she understands.  

And now that he’s seen the man in the flesh, been in the same room with both Scully and Jerse, Mulder realizes that he truly doesn’t care what happened between them.  All that matters is that she’s alive.  He needs her to know that whatever the answer to this question is, he loves her, regardless.

The reality of it hits him like a ton of bricks.

He loves her.  

Regardless.

His hand is just touching the cool wood of the door of the courtroom, a whoosh of air sliding past him as the door cracks open to ruffle his hair and whip at his tie, when her answer comes.

“No.”

Scully’s strong, clear voice stops him, and he turns to find her looking directly at him.  

Venegas flips a page in her binder.  The defense attorney keeps scribbling on his notepad.  The bailiff whispers into the phone at his desk.  The court reporter types away on her stenograph.  

But Scully just keeps looking at him, and the rest of the courtroom fades into the background as Mulder stares back at her.  She shrugs almost imperceptibly and for a fraction of a second, the ghost of a smile washes over her face before it disappears.

“Why not, Agent Scully?” Venegas’s voice brings the two of them back to the present.

“I think we had both had a little bit too much to drink,” Scully answers slowly, and she turns to face Venegas again, her demeanor and inflection switching easily into clinical doctor mode.  “We weren’t able to have intercourse that night because the defendant wasn’t able to sustain an erection.”

If it’s possible, Jerse slumps even lower into his seat and covers his eyes with one handcuffed hand.  

Scully glances at Jerse for a brief moment before she lifts her eyes again to Mulder’s.  He hasn’t moved, hasn’t stopped staring at her since all of his air left his lungs.  

xxxxx

Venegas finishes her line of questioning over the next hour, painstakingly going over the events that unfolded the morning after Scully’s date and failed sexual encounter; how Scully learned from detectives that knocked on Jerse’s door that his neighbor had gone missing and two separate blood samples had been collected; how one of the samples yielded an abnormality that she’d been able to determine from the toxicology report was ergot, a parasite that potentially caused auditory hallucinations; how she’d confronted Ed with this information when he’d returned with breakfast before he’d assaulted her and wrapped her in the same sheets they’d been tangled in the night before and almost thrown into an incinerator; how Jerse had roasted his arm.  

Scully testifies with conviction and doesn’t even have to look at her report when asked about the minutiae of the case.

Mulder is even more impressed with Venegas.  She’s precise and thoughtful in her questioning, skillfully skirting the potential pitfalls of Scully’s testimony to build her case against Jerse.  What’s more, Venegas is able to read Scully like she’s an open book, sensing when Scully is willing to say more but needing time to formulate her answers.  Mulder has to hand it to the fiery prosecutor.  She’s good.  

But the morning is far from over.  

After a brief morning recess, Scully is back on the stand and it is the defense attorney’s chance to cross-examine Scully.

Judd Wilkinson, Jerse’s privately retained defense attorney, is tall and imposing; he’d spoken and objected little during Venegas’s direct examination, busy taking notes on his legal pad and studying Scully intently during direct.  

At points during Scully’s testimony, Jerse had leaned over to whisper into Wilkinson’s ear, gesturing wildly as far as he was able to with his hands still cuffed to his chair.

When Wilkinson finally stands up, he cuts an imposing figure in the courtroom.  Broad shoulders, a slight paunch he covers with a navy double-breasted suit, slicked-back jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Agent Scully, I’m going to show you a series of photos that have been premarked as Court’s exhibits one through five and I’d like you to take a moment and look over them for me.  Just look up when you’re done, alright?” Wilkinson says, and he ambles up to the witness stand and hands a stack of photos to Scully.

Mulder notices that Scully’s eyes darken as she flips through them, and her nostrils flare slightly.  By the time she’s done, two flaming spots of color have appeared on her cheeks.  

“Have you had a chance to review those photographs, Agent Scully?” Wilkinson drawls, rocking back on his heels and linking his hands behind his back.

“Yes.”

“Do you recognize what you see in those exhibits?”

“Yes.”

“What do those photos depict, if you don’t mind telling the court?”

“Injuries I sustained at the hand of the defendant.”

Wilkinson suddenly stops the slow swaying he’s been doing and he tilts his head to zero in on Scully.  “Well, now, Agent Scully, are you certain that those photos depict injuries you sustained at the hands of my client?  Doesn’t Exhibit 1 show bite marks on your neck?”

Mulder watches Scully blink slowly at Wilkinson.  “Yes.”

“Was that an injury, Agent Scully, or was that a love bite?”

Venegas almost catapults out of her chair and leans over her table.  “Objection, your Honor, argumentative as phrased, vague as to ‘love bite’.”

The magistrate looks over his glasses at Wilkinson, raising a bushy eyebrow at him before turning to Scully.  “Did you understand the question, Agent Scully?”

Scully’s jaw clenches visibly before she responds.  “Yes, your Honor.”

“Then you may answer.  But tread lightly, Mr. Wilkinson,” the magistrate warns.  “I don’t think I like where this line of questioning is going.”

“Understood, your Honor,” Wilkinson smiles through large, square teeth.  “Please answer the question, Ms. Scully.”

“Those bite marks were the result of our consensual sexual encounter the night before the assault,” Scully says tightly.

“And what about the bruises on your back pictured in Exhibit 2?”

“Well, that depends, Mr. Wilkinson,” Scully responds icily.  “If you’re talking about the finger-shaped bruises on my lower back, those were also the result of our sexual encounter.  But if you’re talking about the bruising along the T-10 and T-11 vertebrae, then no, those were the result of your client throwing me against a wall.”

Mulder has to quell the urge to stand up and cheer.  

Undeterred, Wilkinson crosses his arms and starts pacing behind the podium.  

“And what about the bruising and the scratches that we see depicted in Exhibit 3, Agent Scully?”

Glancing down at the photo, Scully lifts her head up and answers again in a clear, tremorless voice.  “The bruising and scratching on my thighs and buttocks were from our failed attempt to engage in intercourse.  The rest of the injuries pictured in that exhibit were the result of our physical altercation the following morning.”

“And how do we know, Agent Scully, that your ‘attempts to engage in sexual intercourse’ didn’t continue that following morning?”

Venegas stands again.  “Objection, that’s argumentative as phrased, your Honor!”

“Your Honor, I fail to see how I can determine exactly when this consensual sexual encounter, which was already apparently consensually painful and resulted in physical demarcations that Agent Scully obviously had no problem with when they were inflicted upon her, stopped being consensual unless I follow this line of questioning,” Wilkinson said, his voice smooth as molasses.

“Probably right about the time the defendant threw her up against a wall and she lost consciousness, Judd!” Venegas practically shouts.

“COUNSEL!” the magistrate yells, staring down at the two of them sternly.  “Sidebar, both of you.”

Venegas crosses her arms and brushes past Wilkinson, who gestures grandly with an ‘after you’ sweep of his arm before following her to the magistrate’s dais.  The judge bends down and the three have an animated conversation in hushed tones and sharp whispers.  Venegas pinches the bridge of her nose over her glasses and glares up at Wilkinson, whose smug smile has started to widen as the conversation progresses.

Eventually, the two attorneys retreat from the magistrate and resume their position, Venegas sinking into her chair and Wilkinson returning to the podium.

“Now, Agent Scully,” Wilkinson continues, “you say that by the morning after your encounter with my client, you already had sustained quite a few bites and bruises, is that right?”

“Yes.”  The slight bob of Scully’s throat as she swallows is the only indication Mulder can see that she’s uncomfortable.  

“And you didn’t mind those bites and bruises when they were being inflicted upon you, did you?”

“I didn’t know until the next morning that the defendant had left contusions.”

Wilkinson smiles broadly.  “You didn’t answer my question, Agent Scully.”

Scully closes her eyes for a moment, sighing audibly.  “I’m sorry, what was your question?”

“I said, you didn’t mind those bites and bruises, did you?”

“No.”

Wilkinson waves hand through the air and gestures between Scully and Jerse as he asks the next question.  “In fact, Agent Scully, didn’t you, at one point, tell my client during your consensual encounter to ‘make it hurt’?”

The furious blush that Scully has been maintaining throughout cross-examination drains rapidly from her face, leaving her shockingly pallid.  The air leaves her lungs and her gasp is amplified by the microphone so that it echoes in the courtroom.

Mulder silently begs Venegas to object, but Venegas just licks her lips and looks down at her table.  Their sidebar must have gone worse than he’d thought.

Scully’s breathing is labored now.  She sways slightly in her seat.  “W-What?”

Wilkinson smiles again, and looks at Scully with all the innocence and charm of a snake-oil salesman.  “Did you or did you not tell my client, Agent Scully, to ‘make it hurt so I know you’re not him’?”

Black spots swim before Mulder’s eyes as his heartbeat skids out of control and when it restarts it seems to be beating at triple time.  He vaguely realizes that he’s hyperventilating.  A fine sheen of sweat has broken out over his face and neck, but conversely a chill shudders through him.

Scully’s lips open and close wordlessly for a moment before she gulps and responds.  “I- I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember,” Wilkinson repeats slowly.  “Well, when exactly did the pain stop being consensual, Agent Scully?”

Scully’s eyes dart to Mulder’s, and he lifts a shoulder, trying to belie the naked astonishment that he knows must be written all over his face.  He shouldn’t be surprised; he’s a trained profiler.  He reads people for a living, has learned to see past the constructs and facades that they erect for one reason or another.  He’s adept at breaking them down to study the cracks and demons hidden within their foundations.  

For reasons he’s tried not to examine too closely, he had stopped himself from doing the same thing to Scully, in part because he’d needed to believe that she was the capable, detached hardass of an equal she’d projected herself to be.  He knew if he didn’t take her at face value, his twisted psyche would somehow find a way to make her a surrogate for Samantha.  Another kid sister.  

Lucky for him, Dana Scully was all of those things she projected: Capable.  Efficient.  The equal he’d been waiting for.  

He had always figured that when it came to the tightly-wound woman underneath the Kevlar, the woman who’d gradually been pared down to the essentials of herself since being partnered with him, she’d need to lose a certain amount of control in the bedroom.  But that was another thing he’d tried not to think about, for obvious reasons.  Scully in the bedroom was not a place he needed to be thinking about her.

But, Jesus, he’s never dreamed that she’d flirt with masochism so brazenly; that the line between pain and pleasure would all but disappear for her.  

And then this...this encounter with Jerse and how it had come on the heels of their argument in the office.  

I wish I could say that we were going in circles, but we’re not. We’re going in an endless line - - two steps forwards and three steps back. While my own life is...standing still.

How he’d voiced his disapproval of the way she’d handled the Pudovkin case.  How angry he’d been, how he’d scolded her over the phone.  

What, you don’t think I’m capable?

Mulder starts and his breath hitches when the pieces of the puzzle click into place, like the last few twists of Rubick’s cube.  

I’ve always gone around in this, uh...this circle. It usually starts when an authoritative or controlling figure comes into my life. And part of me likes it, needs it, wants the approval. But then at a certain point, along the way, I just, you know...

Mulder looks up at his partner, pale but strong on the witness stand, and remembers where she came from. Her Navy captain father, who had been loving but had no doubt run his household like a battleship, doling out stern words and corporal punishment; her strict Catholic upbringing that had included knuckles rapped bloody with a yardstick; how she had continued to wear the remnants of the plaid uniforms of her grade school days, even as an adult, in the shapeless, boxy suits that she’d just recently started to leave behind, right around the same time she’d stopped going to mass.  How pain must have become synonymous with punishment.

When she’d slept with Jerse, she hadn’t just been punishing herself, she’d been lashing out at him.  Reminding him, reminding herself, that she wasn’t a moon orbiting him, lost forever in his gravitational pull.  She was her own person. 

Scully pulls her shoulders back a few notches, lifts her exquisite jaw.  Some color has returned to her, though she’s still a shade too pale.  But the audacity of Wilkinson’s line of questioning has fortified her.    

“Since you seem to be having trouble understanding this, Mr. Wilkinson, let me make it perfectly clear for you.  At no time did I consent to the defendant’s actions the morning after our consensual encounter.  Any time he touched me after I’d woken up that day, he did so against my will, and I believe with the intent to harm me, or kill me.”

The smile disappears from Wilkinson’s jowly face, and he returns to his table and grabs his notepad before circling back around to the podium.  Mulder is weak with relief when Wilkinson moves to his next set of questions.

“Agent Scully, isn’t it true that you believed my client to be acting under the influence of a toxin known as ergot, which is known to cause auditory hallucinations and even psychosis?”

“Objection, your Honor,” Venegas speaks for the first time in what feels like hours.  “Total lack of foundation at this point for this line of questioning.  Agent Scully’s qualifications as an expert as pertain to the defendant’s reaction to this alleged toxin have not been established.”

“Sustained,” the magistrate nods.  “Next question, Mr. Wilkinson.”

Wilkinson looks like he wants to belabor the point, but Mulder knows it’s a losing battle.

“Isn’t it true, Agent Scully, that rather than inflict further harm upon you down in the basement, my client stuck his own arm inside the incinerator of his building?”

Venegas stands again.  “Objection, calls for speculation as to defendant’s intent and frame of mind.”

“Sustained,” the magistrate agrees.

Wilkinson tries one last time.  “Well, didn’t he have the opportunity to inflict further harm upon you, Agent Scully, and instead he chose to inflict harm upon himself?”

Scully answers before Venegas is able to object again.  “He could have killed me.  I believe he would have.  I don’t know what made him stop.”

Tapping his finger to his chin, Wilkinson leans over from the podium and whispers into Jerse’s ear.  Jerse shakes his head and looks down at the table.

“I have no further questions at this time, your Honor.”  And with that, Wilkinson sits back down.

Scully looks at Venegas, who stands and says, “No redirect, your Honor.”

The magistrate peers down at Scully and says, “You’re free to go.  Thank you, Agent Scully.  Ms. Venegas, please call your next witness.”

Looking like she’s about to wilt with relief, Scully stands and takes a shaky breath.  She steps down from the stand and walks past Jerse, who follows her with his eyes.  Mulder thinks he hears Jerse say softly, “I’m sorry, Dana”, but he can’t be sure.  And he doesn’t care.

His focus is on the woman who is striding past the bar.  She pauses long enough for Mulder to stand, and he murmurs into her ear as he opens the courtroom door for her, “You did a good job, Scully.”

Scully ducks under his arm and looks up at him as they walk down the hallway.  “Take me home, Mulder.”

He hesitates only a moment before letting his hand settle softly into the sway of her lower back, the place she’s reminded him is only his because she allows it to be.  Mulder releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when she leans into him.  

As they walk out of the courthouse and into the sunlight, he adds the slightest bit of pressure, curving his fingers around her so that he can feel the dip of her waist and she can feel the weight of his hand.  Her hand covers his as he touches her gently.  

Reverently.  

Softly. 

So she knows it’s him.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

half-light chapter 8

one /// two /// three /// four /// five  /// six /// seven

eight.

1996

“Your hair is longer,” he says.

She makes a mismatched picture, in pajamas with her hair twisted on top of her head and glasses sliding down her nose as she works on paperwork. “It wasn’t much shorter than this in 2016,” she says, not looking up. “It was longer than this when we were living in West Virginia.”

“It's longer than it was in 1996.” He kisses the space below her earlobe. “The first one, I mean.”

She shrugs. “I like it long.”

He kisses her hairline. “Me, too.”

She twists her head to look down at him. “If you like it, then why are you saying anything?” she asks. The sudden motion jars thick hair loose from her clip, hitting Mulder in the face.

He shrugs, pushing the strands behind her ear. “It's just different,” he says, because it's better than saying your hair is shorter in the flashbacks.

“Not for where we came from,” she says.

“No, not there,” he agrees, tugging the laptop back onto his lap to resume the report. Scully offers him a smile before resuming their work, folding her leg underneath her.

Their caseload has been relatively light lately (Scully's insistence, following a two week trek in Washington State in search of Bigfoot that had been ridiculously rainy). Their flashbacks have also been relatively mundane lately, based off the lack of anything major happening in the early days of 1996. It's almost nice, this sequence of near-normal life.

(Mulder knows it won't last. He's trying not to dwell too much on that fact, but he knows.)

***

Vera Worth calls in a panic a few days later, because Jimmy has been abducted again. “He said something about a puppy down the street and took off running,” she says, near sobbing. “I ran after him and… I saw it. I saw the lights.”

They drive down there immediately, but Jimmy’s already been returned when they arrive, sitting on his mother's lap even though he seems a little too big for that. Scully checks him for any injuries while Mulder asks him questions about what he remembers. “All I remember is the puppy,” Jimmy says. “And then the lights, and then I was back here.”

“No… weird looking creatures or anything?” Mulder tries. Jimmy shakes his head solemnly.

It seems like a dead end, but Mulder tells Vera to call him if it happens again. “I'd try to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't go off on his own,” he says. “Maybe avoid the park where Jimmy was abducted?”

It's raining, lightly, and Vera clutches the stem of her umbrella so tightly that her knuckles turn white. “How do I make this stop?” she asks softly. “How do I prevent it, Agent Mulder?”

“I wish I knew,” he tells her, just as softly, just as regrettably. There is no way, at least not one he knows won't be fatal. If there is, he would've used it years ago.

***

She’s trying to tell him not to shoot at Modell, but he can’t stop himself - not that he’d particularly want to. However the gun reacts to the pure oxygen, Modell is what scares him more in this room.

The chamber clicks. No bullet.

“Piece of cake,” Modell says. “Your turn.”

He can distantly hear Scully protesting through the rush in his head, calmly talking to him, trying to convince him not to. It’s easier than it should be. He wrenches the muzzle towards him and hears the same empty click against his skull.

“No!” Scully screams, somewhere out of his line of vision. “Damn you! You bastard!” She reaches for the gun. “Mulder, hand me the g-”

He grabs her wrist and holds it back as he moves the gun back towards Modell. The other man looks at him funnily, like he can’t believe that Mulder thought he had the game figured out. A thought flies through his head, unbidden, and he tries to hold back from it even as he swivels the gun around to point at her. A small sound escapes his mouth, the only indication of how hard he is fighting this.

Scully looks hurt, extraordinarily so. Where her voice had seemed muddled in his head before, like he was underwater, he can hear her clearly now. Modell is playing with him, twisting the knife so it hurts a little more.

“Mulder, you don't have to do this,” she says. He’s still holding her wrist, unable to move his hand, and her pulse is a wild, live thing under his fingers. “You're stronger than this.”

“Your turn, Scully,” Modell says. “Got to play by the rules. Pull the trigger, Mulder.”

His finger tightens a little on the trigger against his will.

He wakes, gasping, from the dream, unsure if he’s actually fired the gun or not, until he sees Scully asleep beside him, hair hanging over her face as she sleeps. She’d dreamed the same scene the night before and woke up shouting his name.

Mulder rolls out of bed, pressing his palm into his forehead to remind himself that it wasn’t real. He’s awake now. Scully is fine. He brushes some hair back from her face as he tries to even out his breathing, remind himself that it was a nightmare even though he can still almost feel the cold sweat, the gunpowder on his hands.

“Pull the trigger, Mulder.”

He startles, reaching for the drawer in the bedside table where he keeps the gun immediately. The room is empty, quiet except for Scully’s breathing. He must still be asleep.

“Come on,” says the voice, a voice that is unmistakably Robert Patrick Modell, from somewhere in the room. “Pull the trigger, Mulder. She shot you, I read it in her files.”

Mulder scans the room frantically, finding only eerie shadows in the corners. He can't find the source of the voice. “This is a dream,” he says softly. “I’m hallucinating, I’m hearing things. This is not real.”

“Mulder?” Scully mumbles beside him. “What’s going on? Are you having a flashback?”

“Payback time... shoot the little spy!” Modell hisses, voice echoing off of the walls.

“Scully, do you hear that?” Mulder’s still frantically searching the room, looking for the source of the voice. No, this-this is the real world, he tries to tell himself. Modell doesn’t exist here. We’re safe here.

“Hear what?” Scully sounds concerned, sitting up and pushing her hair back. “Mulder, are you okay?”

He turns to look at her, and Modell is standing right behind her, grinning at him. “Scully!” he shouts frantically, turning away for a second to grab the gun. It seems too risky to turn away, like she might be dead or gone when he looks back, but she’s still there, staring at him with concern, when he turns around with his gun in hand. Modell is gone instead. Like he was never there.

“Mulder, what? What is it?” Scully is checking the room herself, looking in every direction, hand moving towards her own bedside table drawer.

He lets the gun drop on the sheets. “You didn’t… hear?” he says in disbelief.

Her hand goes to cup his face, thumbing his cheekbone. “Mulder, what is it?” she says again, softly.

“I saw Modell. Heard him talking to me.” He’s still scanning the room, not entirely sure Modell’s not going to appear out of nowhere. “I mean…” He breathes uneasily. “I dreamed that we were back in that room,” he says. “Another flashback. But when I woke up, I could still hear Modell. I saw him… here, in this room. Standing behind you.”

She whirls, tensing defensively. Nothing.

“I think…” she says finally. “I think it was just a flashback. A powerful one. Worse than usual.”

“I… yeah, you’re right. That’s probably it.” Mulder leans forward and kisses her forehead gently. The small reminder that she’s still here is comforting.

“We’re okay, Mulder,” she whispers. “We’re safe here.”

They may be okay, but they both know that they aren’t particularly safe. He sleeps uneasily that night: tense, worried, hand straying towards the drawer once or twice during the night.

The next day in the office, he looks up Robert Patrick Modell and finds a man living in Alexandria. He ducks out during lunch without telling Scully where he is going and goes to pay him a visit. But the man who opens the door looks and sounds absolutely nothing like the Modell he knew, the one he saw and heard in their bedroom. Some kind of bizarre hallucination is the only reasonable answer, and that's probably what scares him the most.

***

Things almost go back to normal in the subsequent months. There are flashbacks but they are fairly mundane, if not slightly ridiculous. (“Remember the case with the cats?” “Yeah. Why the hell did you take that case again?”) Life is almost normal - or as normal as it can be for them, at least.

Mulder being the eccentric investigator that he is, the phone has a tendency to ring in the middle of the night. When it does one night, Scully gives him a look strong enough to melt metal when he looks at her expectantly, so he sighs and answers it himself. “Mulder.”

Vera Worth is on the other, voice tight and terrifying. “You lied to me, Agent Mulder.”

He blinks in sleepy confusion. “Vera? What happened?” he asks, sitting up in bed and kicking at the covers.

“You told me you would help my son, and then your people took him!”

He almost drops the phone. “Wait, wait, Vera, what's going on? Was Jimmy abducted again?”

Scully is fully awake now. She lifts her head from the pillow, mouthing what's wrong?

“Yes,” she near-growls. “I didn't call you, since you didn't find anything last time and he was returned within the hour. I took him to the hospital after, just to check, thought maybe there was something you and your partner couldn't see, and your people came in flashing their badges and took my son away from me!” Her voice cracks, and she starts to cry softly.

Mulder is frantic, shoving the sheets aside to get out of bed. “I had nothing to do with that, Vera, I swear. Did they say where they were taking him?”

“No,” she whispers brokenly, voice cracking on a sob. “They said he needed to go into quarantine. They said he was a danger to the population, that he was sick and I couldn't see him. They wouldn't answer my questions.”

He yanks open the dresser too hard, almost sending the drawer sprawling on the floor. “I'm going to find him, okay? I'm going to bring him back to you.” Whatever has happened to Jimmy Worth, he probably isn't sick. That much seems clear.

“You son of a bitch,” Vera snaps, tears leached out of her voice. “You're the reason he's gone! How the hell can you help?”

“I promise I'll bring him back,” he repeats before hanging up and dropping the phone on top of the dresser with a clatter.

“Mulder?” Scully asks. She's already out of bed, sitting on the edge of it. “What's going on?”

“Jimmy Worth was taken into quarantine after his latest abduction,” Mulder says, shoving his feet into shoes. “By the Bureau.”

She gets to her feet and heads for the closet. “Do we know where? Or why?”

“No,” he says. “I'm calling Skinner to find out.”

“Mulder, they'll never be convinced to let him come with you,” she says.

“I wasn't planning on asking.”

She looks at him, blue eyes firm. “You'll be arrested.”

“So I'll be arrested. That's not more important than keeping a seven-year-old boy from a life of experiments. No, wait - eight. He'd be eight now.” He tries not to note the similarities, but it is impossible. Scully’s already noticed it, her eyes turning soft. “I don't think he's sick,” he adds. “There's been no previous occurrences of viruses, not during my time on the X-Files. I think this is a very professional kidnapping.”

“I think you're right,” Scully says softly. “But how are we going to save him?”

“Break him out,” Mulder says firmly, grabbing his gun from the bedside table. I'll go in. You wait outside in the car, in case I don't come out.”

***

Mulder's broken into enough places with the Gunmen to be able to do it well. He sneaks in the fire exit of the government facility where they've taken Jimmy by wedging a rock into the door before it closes and steals down a near-empty hall, ducking around corners and jumping at sudden sounds. (The Gunmen had managed to get the information on Jimmy for them, and are constructing false identities for the little family now. Scully had called Vera back and managed to convince her to bring Miles to the Gunmen’s and wait for them there, that she could trust them.) There's a set of keys hanging on a hook near the end of the hall. Mulder finds the room number that matches the one Langly had given him and tries the keys until he finds one that fits.

Jimmy looks incredibly small curled in the corner of the room they have him in, a hospital gown hanging off of his bony frame. “You're the FBI agent from before,” he says when Mulder enters, curling further into the corner. “With Mom. At my house. Who asked about the lights.”

Mulder nods, shutting the door gently and crouching in front of him. “I'm going to get you out of here, okay?” he says. “I’m gonna take you back to your mom.” Jimmy looks eager at these words, scrambling to his feet. “Okay,” Mulder says. “We're going to have to run, okay?”

Jimmy nods, nibbling at his overlong nails. “Will you have to shoot your gun?”

Mulder gulps, getting to his feet. “No, I don't think so, buddy.” The boy nods, looking nervous. He clamps onto the tail of Mulder's shirt. “Stay behind me, and don't stop running no matter what,” Mulder says. “There's a woman waiting outside who will help us. She's the FBI agent who came with me to your house before. Remember her?”

“I do, but… you're gonna stay with me, right?” Jimmy asks, looking worried. “I don't wanna go out by myself.”

“I'll do my best, but I want you to keep running even if I don't. Look for the woman outside. She has red hair. She'll keep you safe.”

He nods, twisting the hem of Mulder's shirt in his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You ready?” Mulder whispers, and Jimmy nods. Mulder counts off in his head before shoving the door open and sprinting down the hallway.

To his credit, Jimmy manages to keep up with his long strides fairly well, hands slipping on the edge of his shirt as they run. Someone tries to step in front of them, and Mulder shoves him hard, hitting him in the face. Jimmy makes a small squeaking sound behind him, but they both keep running. Mulder shoves a door to the outside open roughly, a combination of cold air and an alarm blaring shocking him into focus. The fire alarm, dammit, he'd forgotten. The keys are still in his pocket, jangling together; he keeps them to avoid leaving behind fingerprints. Scully is waiting by the car anxiously. The driver's door is hanging open. When they get there, Jimmy breaks away from Mulder and throws his arms around Scully. He's probably tired and scared and wanting his mother. Scully smooths his hair a little. As Mulder rounds the car to climb into the driver's seat, he can hear her talking to Jimmy softly: “It's okay, sweetie, it's okay. We're going to get you back to your mother and brother, okay? But you need to get into the car.” They both climb in the back, Jimmy huddling close to her in fear. As soon as the door closes, Mulder hits the gas, the alarm’s beep still echoing in his ears.

***

As soon as they get past the Gunmen’s security system, Jimmy breaks away from Scully to hug his mother, who is waiting with Miles just inside the door. She kneels on the ground to embrace him, tears spilling over into his hair as she rocks him back and forth, chanting: “You're safe now, baby.” (Scully has to blink back emotional tears of her own. Mulder reaches down and squeezes her hand.)

Vera finally stands, holding her son's hand and extending her other towards Mulder. “You said you'd bring him back,” she says. “I didn't believe you. Thank you, Agent Mulder. Agent Scully. For… all of this.” She waves her hand at the three IDs sitting on top of the hastily packed bags in the corner.

Mulder shakes her hand. “You'll need to lay low,” he says. “Remember my number and call me if anything goes wrong. Me or Scully or the guys will do our best to help you.” Scully nods her affirmation from beside him. “I'm so sorry for everything that's happened,” he adds.

“You don't owe me an apology, Agent Mulder. You saved my son, my family… we owe everything to you.” She wipes tears away with the back of her hand, and Jimmy hugs her around the waist. Miles scrambles over to join in the hug, looking cautiously between Mulder and Scully and the trio in the corner.

All that Scully can say is, “Good luck.” She's been on the road before, understands the weariness and the fatigue and worry it brings. She's wondered, before, how it would've been different if William had been with them. Much of the stress would've remained, she's sure, but she thinks she would've been happier. If she'd been able to save her son along with Mulder the way that Vera Worth is saving hers.

Jimmy gives them both a hug before they leave, squeezing her tightly. “Thank you,” he says shyly. Mulder offers him a smile and tousles his hair.

The Gunmen order pizza after the Worths leave, and they stay to eat while Scully tries to lower her frantic pulse. The sound of the alarm is still echoing in her ears, egging on her panic. She has to remind herself that they are out of danger.

Of course, she is immediately proven wrong.

They drive home a couple of hours later, both exhausted and on edge. As soon as they step out of the car, headlights light up out of nowhere, creating a white space in Scully's vision. Behind the light somewhere, a voice shouts, “Federal agents, put your hands up!”

She looks up at Mulder in panic as she raises her hands slowly. He is pale,chewing his bottom lip nervously, looking ahead at the agents running towards them instead of her. They are routinely handcuffed as someone reads off their rights. One of them is a panicked young agent she recognizes from a larger assignment she and Mulder had been put on; he mutters, “Sorry, Agent Scully,” before leading her gently to the car. Neither of them put up a fight. Her stomach is churning hard enough to make her want to vomit.

They are put in separate cars, which only makes her anxiety increase. The feeling of having her arms pinned behind her again is verging on more flashbacks, and she cannot have a flashback now. She bites her lip, hard, and tries to focus. Skinner will get us out, she tells herself. And then she remembers Jimmy Worth, Duane Barry, and the fact that they are federal prisoners. The conspirators inside the government can very easily make them disappear. They have them. She and Mulder can't escape.

***

She's not allowed to see Mulder.

She wouldn't be so panicked if she thought this was a normal stay in prison. When she'd been sent to prison to protect Mulder, it'd been different. She'd felt safe then, at least - concerned, on edge, irritated, but safe. Now all she can think about it what comes next. The likelihood that they'll “disappear”, that their pictures will make the rounds on the news as federal fugitives again and will fade out eventually. In the meantime, they'll be taken again, by the people who sent Duane Barry for her and someone else for Mulder.

Skinner visits her. “Agent Scully, this is all a misunderstanding,” he tells her. “I'm trying to clear this up.”

“With all due respect, sir, you're fighting a battle you can't win,” she snaps, slouching in the hard plastic chair, very near defeat. “They're going above our heads. I can verify that the boy Mulder and I broke out was the victim here. There was no reason for him to be in quarantine, and yet they separated him from his mother and brother.”

Skinner chews his lip nervously. “That may be true, but if it is, you and Agent Mulder completely took the wrong approach. You should have…”

“We had no other approach to take. Sir, if I know these people, I know that they weren't going to let that boy go. And no matter how hard you try to get me and Mulder out, they're not going to let us go either.” She lifts her chin in pure, unadulterated defiance. Skinner nods once like he understands. He looks troubled.

“I want to see Mulder,” she adds, softer. Moment of weakness. Skinner nods again and smiles shakily at her before he leaves.

They're allowed to see each other the next day - in a private room, even. She supposes there isn't much chance of them escaping. As soon as the door is closed, they wrap themselves around each other. “Miss you,” Mulder mumbles into her hair.

Scully doesn't say anything, just presses her face against his scratchy, drab prison clothes.

“Skinner thinks he can get us out,” he continues.

“We're not getting out,” she says. “They're going to take us, Mulder. It's the perfect setup, they'll send us to another prison and release some bullshit statement about how we were murdered because of our background as FBI agents. Meanwhile, we'll likely be taken to wherever Duane Barry was planning on taking us, wherever Jimmy Worth was supposed to go.”

He just holds her tighter. “I'm so sorry, Scully.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” she whispers. “This is their fault, not ours.”

“It's a little bit ours. When you play with fire, you expect to get burned.”

The guard on the other side taps at the door. “I love you,” Mulder says softly, almost unintelligibly, against her temple before letting her go. Scully watches him leave, something cold rattling loose somewhere inside her chest. How long do they have left?

***

The memories come back in flashes: Mulder and Duane Barry's voices somewhere above her, Mulder with the smoking man, Mulder's face in the bright white place she associates with pain. Her mind is muddled with the images, head buzzing. Her mother doesn't look like she believes her when she tells her that Mulder has betrayed her, and that's probably the most insulting. “But Fox didn't…” she tries.

“He killed one daughter, Mom. Are you going to let him kill another?” Scully bites out, hands clamping around the butt of her gun.

This shakes her mother, shifting something on her face. “He's looking for you,” she says softly. “He's concerned…”

“It's an act,” Scully insists. “He'll kill me, Mom.”

Someone is insistently knocking on the door, repeatedly. Her mother strokes her hair. “I need to go see who that is, Dana,” she says. “You stay here and try to calm. I won't let anyone hurt you.” She tucks the knit blanket around her daughter's shoulders before leaving the dark den.

Scully presses her forehead against the upholstery, trying to make the onslaught of images stop. They keep coming, more and more aggressive. She's so confused, so erratic.

Her mother's voice blends with another as background noise. It's suddenly familiar - the cadence, the tone. She doesn't know for sure until he says, “I need to see her.” It sounds sincere, but she's sure that the sentiment behind it is entirely insincere.

She can hear her mother's pleas for Mulder to go away as she creeps towards the lit front of the house with her gun drawn. She's doing this for herself, for Melissa. For her dog, absurd as it sounds.

“Where is she?” Mulder asks, and Scully rounds the corner and aims the gun at him.

Scully jolts awake, banging her head against the small room's concrete wall. It takes her a minute to remember where she is, and she burrows into the corner of her bed with the thin blanket around her. Not real, she reminds herself. But this nightmare of being stuck in a prison cell is entirely real.

“Fuck,” she whispers, huddling against the wall. Even sleeping doesn't feel safe anymore. Nothing feels safe.

***

Mulder wakes from a sequence of nightmares: his mother nearly dead on a hospital bed, the screams of his sister's clone as he faded into unconsciousness, X’s blood on his apartment floor. He stands shakily and starts for the door before remembering where he is. There's nowhere to go to walk off a nightmare - or a flashback.

The images of his mother after her stroke are especially daunting. There is no guarantee it hasn't happened again, and there is no way he can check on her. Not while they're stuck in here. It's several steps up from the military prison he'd been in, but it's still prison. And Scully's fear that this is a well-masked essential kidnapping hangs over him like a dark cloud. They are more or less trapped, unable to do anything or help anyone. If Samantha is alive, he won't be able to find her.

The door creaks open suddenly, startling him. “Rise and shine, Agent Mulder,” the guard says. “You're free to go.”

Mulder sits up on the bed, shoving the thin blanket aside. “The charges have been dropped?”

“Reexamination of the security footage shows that you weren't the one who broke the kid out after all.” The man sounds almost bored. “You'll be returned to your position at the FBI with a slap on the wrist. We apologize for any inconvenience this might have caused.”

“And my partner?” Mulder blurts.

The guard nods.

His relief is palpable - they’re getting out, they’ll be okay. He steps outside the cell uneasily, unsteady on his feet. “Sir, could I ask a favor and borrow your phone?” he asks. He wants to check on his mother.

***

They immediately go to the Gunmen’s after, having figured out who would have the capabilities to alter the evidence. Scully full-on hugs Frohike. “I'm not sure how the hell you guys managed that,” she says, “but thank you.”

Frohike looks bewildered. “Can't reveal trade secrets.”

“Trade secrets or not, we definitely owe you,” Mulder chimes in, clapping Byers on the shoulder.

Byers manages to look modest and slightly embarrassed. “We figured that, based on the information you've given us, they had more nefarious plans for you than federal prison,” he says. “And there wouldn't be any way of proving that the little boy was unlawfully detained. So we figured an altering of the evidence would be a good approach.”

“I've been wanting to try that for a while, actually,” Langly says proudly.

“Although I doubt we would've gotten away with it if your boss hadn't pushed to review the tapes,” Frohike adds. “He filed for an appeal to get you guys out, according to our sources.”

Mulder and Scully exchange a look. “So Skinman’s on our side,” he says with a grin. “That's a relief.”

“Mulder, we can't treat him any different like we…” She stops herself before she says like we did in the other place. No one knows about it, and they'd like to keep it that way; it sounds absolutely crazy even to them sometimes. “It could be a trick,” she says instead. “We need to be careful.”

Mulder nods. She suspects they'll both be a lot more careful after this no matter what the situation.

“So!” Frohike says loudly to break the mood. “Shall we celebrate release from incarceration? Langly picked up a couple six packs when we heard the news.”

“Thanks, but I'm ready to head home and sleep in my own bed for once,” Scully says. It's been long enough that she is craving home desperately, the way she used to after long and exhausting cases. Who knew she'd ever call Mulder's rattly little apartment home?

They're home within the hour, sleeping through the next day, both laden with exhaustion. Mulder mumbles some things about his mother and Samantha and Jeremiah Smith in his sleep, but it is otherwise peaceful.

Scully wakes sometime in the evening and heads for the kitchen to find something to eat. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees a peeling cardboard box sitting on the inside of the door, on the mat she'd bought herself after moving in. It is addressed to Dana Scully in black Sharpie, her former address written below and neatly crossed out in a way that leaves it legible. Horror runs cold through her blood as she flips open the lid and rummages through: it's a box full of the false reports she'd made on Mulder. It sends a clear message: you got away this time, but we know where you are and we know what you're doing.

She rides the elevator down to the basement and tosses the box into the furnace, feeling absurdly like Phillip Padgett as she watches the entire thing smolder.

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Tavares, Stamkos, Murray, Campbell, Dahlin, Barn Burners, & College Signees (March 26)

​

    Monday’s schedule was chalked full and Pittsburgh and New York got things started in an early affair. The lottery-bound Rangers jumped out to a 2-0 first period lead off the sticks of Brendan Lemieux and Vinne Lettieri.

  That was all the waking up the Pens needed as they rattled off five straight to take this one 5-2. Matt Murray stopped 33/35 for his third straight victory, and fifth straight quality start. The 24-year-old limped through the first 11 contests of the campaign with an 0.877 save percentage. Since that time, he’s 23-7-4 with three shutouts and a 0.931 save percentage mark.

  All is well with Murray.

  Jared McCann grabbed an assist on the fifth goal to give him 13 points in his last 15 contests. The 22-year-old former first-round selection is on his third organization but appears to have found a fit. McCann has great wheels, a heavy release, and loads of tenacity. He’s finally cracked the second power-play unit, but 31 of his 34 points have come at even-strength or while shorthanded.

  There remains some intriguing upside with this player, especially if he maintains his space in the top six moving forward. He skated alongside Phil Kessel in this one 

  **

Freddie Andersen has been an unmitigated tire fire during much of the fantasy hockey playoffs. Monday night’s games represented either the first or second week of the Championship matchups. Freddie owners were praying to the Hockey Gods to get their number one netminder back.

  The Leafs took on a flailing Panthers squad with hopes of righting the ship. They scored two goals on their first four shots and chased Samuel Montembeault. The first frame in this one has been clipped and sent to Webster’s Dictionary to be placed next to ‘firewagon hockey’. It wrapped with the Leafs up 4-2.

  If either coach gave their dressing rooms an earful after 20 minutes to get back to some tight-checking affair, it didn’t work. The final result was a 7-5 victory for Toronto. Andersen stopped 31 of 36 – not exactly the result that was hoped for.

  John Tavares owners weren’t mad though. The first-year Leaf scored four goals for the first time in his 10-year career. His 45 goals on the season trail only Alex Ovechkin. His 86 points are one behind a career-high. 

  Not a bad first act.

  A trio of goals plus one for the road.

What a game and @Enterprise hat trick for @91Tavares! pic.twitter.com/eVv7ZLVIzE

— NHL (@NHL) March 26, 2019

  **

Jonathan Huberdeau tallied two goals in this one to give him 19 points in his previous 10 contests. He’s just three goals away from setting career-highs in goals, assists, points, shots, power-play goals, power-play points.. you get the point.

  **

If the Leafs-Panthers game was a barnburner, the Bruins and Lightning were must-see-tv. The top two teams in the Eastern Conference met in Florida on Monday and got at it.

  Steven Stamkos scored two first period goals sandwiched between a Brad Marchand tally. The Bruins then scored three second period goals to head into the final 20 minutes up 4-2. Seems like a fairly safe lead, no?

  No.

  Victor Hedman brought the Bolts to within one, and then Nikita Kucherov did was Nikita Kucherov does. Absolutely snipe one while coming down the off-wing.

  Snipe. @86Kucherov pic.twitter.com/QkVxTxbIDw

— NHL GIFs (@NHLGIFs) March 26, 2019

  That tied things with seven minutes left to play. All that remained was an Anthony Cirelli tally with under a minute remaining to steal win number 59. That places them as the third-most prolific team in NHL history. One win away from the 1976-77 Montreal Canadiens, and three shy of the 1995-96 Red Wings.

  Granted, the Bolts have had the benefit of overtime and the shootout but their 53 regulation victories would still put them as a top-15 club. They have five games left on the schedule to push for history.

  Stamkos added two assists in this one as well. He’s now up to 93 points on the season, and the Lightning boasts three players with at least 90 (Stamkos, Kucherov, and Brayden Point). It's been seven long years since Stammer has been in the 90-point zone. It's good to have him back. 

  **

The Bruins top line each contributed two points in this one. Despite the loss, that trio is as deadly as they come.

  **

Another start and another victory for Jordan Binnington as the Blues defeated the Golden Knights 3-1 on Monday. The 25-year-old stopped 24 of 25 to improve his record to 21-4-1 with a 0.930 save percentage. This is some crazy mumbo jumbo that going on in Missouri these days.

  I’m up on back-to-back ramblings this week, so expect a bit of dive into Binnginton tomorrow attempting to evaluate him heading into drafts next fall.

  **

The Kings left Ilya Kovalchuk at home to work with the skills coach but brought their game with them to Calgary. LA knocked off the Western Conference leaders 3-0 with Jack Campbell grabbing the shutout with an impressive 42 stops.

  Campbell hadn’t posted a victory since February 5th, but that’s not such a damning portrayal of him as it is the Kings in general. The 27-year-old has outplayed Jonathan Quick despite receiving some of the worst run support in the league.

  Campbell: 8-13-1 0.926 SV%

Quick:  15-21-6 0.891 SV%

  It’s not as if the Kings are throwing softballs to Campbell. His last five starts have been against Calgary, Winnipeg, Arizona, Tampa Bay, Washington, and Boston.

  Who knows where the Kings go from here (they’re hoping right into welcoming Jack Hughes), but the crease situation is a clear as mud heading into 2019-20.

  **

Cory Schneider made a season-high 45 saves, and Pavel Zacha scored a goal an added two helpers as the Devils defeated the Sabres 3-1.

  Rasmus Dahlin grabbed a primary assist at even-strength to improve his total to 41 points in 75 contests. That ties him with Bobby Orr for the second most points by a U19 blueliner in the history of the NHL. He trails only his coach, Phil Housley’s 66.

  It’s been a remarkable season for the youngster. I’m not sure many people will be betting against him breaking the 50-point plateau next season. Maybe we should be talking about 60?

  **

Juuse Saros made 29 stops, Ryan Johansen scored a shorty, and the Pred blanked the Wild 1-0 to clinch their fifth consecutive playoff appearance.

  The Wild are digging themselves a hole. With five games left on the schedule, they sit two points out of the final wild-card spot. They’ve also played more games than Arizona and Colorado – the two teams they trail.

  To give some positivity to the realm, I’m quite enjoying the trio of Jordan Greenway, Luke Kunin and Ryan Donato. Those three have been lining up together at even-strength and on the team’s second power-play unit.

  All three possess decent multi-category upsides.

  **

Tyler Seguin and Radek Faksa each scored two goals as the Stars beat up the Jets 5-2. Dallas was the better team in this one – which unfortunately has been something of a common theme for Winnipeg’s opponents of late.

  Connor Hellebuyck made 32 stops – a few bell ringers to keep this one ‘close’. Jacob Trouba continues to be leaned on heavily on a backend that sorely misses Dustin Byfuglien and Josh Morrissey. Trouba logged a game-high 26:37 while chipping in an assist, two shots, two hits, and two blocks.

  Of note, Byfuglien took part in the morning skate on Monday. He was wearing a non-contact sweater, but it’s a good sign. He’s apparently closer to returning than Morrissey, but it’s difficult to imagine the coaching staff rushing either back. Perhaps a game or two before the playoffs would be ideal, but they need them at full health for the second season.

  **

Despite controlling much of the play, the Sharks continued their recent slide by falling to the lowly Red Wings 3-2 in the late affair. That’s six straight losses for San Jose – four of which came at the hands of non-playoff teams. They're missing Joe Pavelski in a big way, and we haven't heard much on his condition. 

  Brent Burns was a minus-one but peppered nine shots on goal over 29 minutes. 

  Don't look now, but recently signed college free-agent Taro Hirose has four assists in his four NHL games while bouncing around the bottom six. He's been seeing a few seconds of second unit deployment as well. The 22-year-old tied for the NCAA lead with 50 points in 36 games this season, so he knows how to find the scoresheet. 

  He'll be an interesting one to watch in camp next fall to see if he can plant himself a secure job in the top nine and maybe even push for top six opportunities. 

  **

Some prospect talk:

  Tis the season for university squads to say farewell to their top prospects. Most schools hope and expect to hold onto a real asset for two seasons – three if they’re lucky. But every now and again, we see the one-and-done kid.

  That’s exactly what happened on Monday when Flyers’ top prospect, Joel Farabee signed his entry-level contract. The most recent 14th overall selection is expected to rehab an injury in Philadelphia before heading to the AHL for the Phantom’s playoff run. His NHL deal will kick in next fall.

  Farabee had a tremendous freshman campaign, taking home Hockey East Rookie of the Year honours after producing 36 points in 37 contests. That mark was the third highest for any first-year skater. He also led all freshman in shots (131) and shorthanded tallies (3).

  Making these totals even more impressive was the fact they were accomplished on a Boston University squad that struggled for most of the season.

  Those in keeper leagues should have Farabee firmly on their radar. The 19-year-old is already an accomplished two-way player which should allow him to see NHL ice quickly. His upside screams productive, top-six winger.

  Joel Farabee, ladies and gentlemen! Wow. #GoBU pic.twitter.com/qeeAol3ebX

— BU Men's Hockey (@TerrierHockey) March 3, 2019

    **

  Farabee wasn’t the only Terrier to exit BU today. Dante Fabbro (NSH), Jake Oettinger (DAL), and Chad Krys (CHI) all signed pro deals.

  Fabbro signing in Nashville is big. Rumours had long swirled that the 17th overall selection from 2016 may consider playing his senior season and opt for unrestricted free agency rather than attempt to climb the gauntlet that is the Predators’ backend. Nashville is sure happy he didn’t.

  Oettinger, the 27th overall pick in 2017 wrapped up a junior season where he stopped 92.6 percent of the shots he faced over 36 games. He’s the clear option for the Stars long term and has definite upside.

  Krys, a 2016 second-rounder is an offensive, left-shot defender who will try and navigate the Hawks’ depth chart. He needs a good amount of seasoning.

  **

  Follow me on Twitter @Hockey_Robinson

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-tavares-stamkos-murray-campbell-dahlin-barn-burners-college-signees-march-26/

[oselatra]

It's the Best and Worst 2018

Our annual salute to weird, worrisome, wonderful Arkansas. Christmas is almost here, and that means it's time once again to open the Arkansas Times' annual regift of highly questionable taste and quality: The Best and Worst issue, our yearly salute to all the news items you tried like hell to forget. Yeah, with Donald Trump in office, it might seem like 2018 lasted a nice, round 29 months or so. But we can assure you that, based on the little hashmarks we've scratched into the wall of our dank and windowless cell here at AT HQ, it was only 365 days, just like every other year. That said, our cup did truly runneth over in 2018, and we were taking notes! So read on, if you dare, for tales of Baphomet barnstorming, the burning hole of Midway, pit bull purloining and disguise, and how Twitter came to be Rapert-free for 12 blessed hours. It's all here, served up with a heaping dose of love. So, Merry Christmas to you, and the happiest of New Years, Dear Reader. And above all: Unless it's saving a litter of puppies from a burning building or something, don't do anything that'll land you in Best and Worst 2019. Nobody wants that.

Best win

Little Rock native and 6-foot-10-inch basketball standout Kalin Bennett was heralded as a trailblazer in December after it was revealed he will reportedly be the first student athlete with autism to be recruited by an NCAA Division I school. Though several schools tried to scoop up the phenom, he ultimately decided on Kent State.

Best breath of fresh air

Entergy Arkansas announced in November that after reaching a settlement with the Sierra Club and other environmental groups, it will close the state's two largest coal-fired power plants by 2030.

Best draining the swamp

In September, former Sen. Jon Woods (R-Springdale) was sentenced to 18 years in federal prison and ordered to pay $1.6 million in restitution after being convicted in May on 15 counts related to a bribery scheme in which Woods and several co-conspirators directed taxpayer funds to two nonprofits in exchange for kickbacks. The sentence could keep Woods behind bars until he's just shy of 60 years old.

Best activist judge

During Woods' sentencing, U.S. District Judge Timothy Brooks told Woods he hoped a stiff sentence would act as a "general deterrent" for other officials who might seek to steal from the public, saying Woods saw elected office as a way to put money in his own pocket. "I find that grotesque," Brooks said. That makes several of us, Your Honor.

Best Art of the Deal

In November, Woods was one of 79 federal prison inmates who wrote to President Trump, proposing to help build Trump's promised big, beeyouteeful wall on the U.S.-Mexico border in exchange for lessened sentences. No word on whether Trump is considering it, but we're gonna call that a long shot.  

Worst failure to read the employee handbook

Federal agents arrested a special events coordinator for Pulaski County Youth Services in November, alleging he visited online child-porn chatrooms, distributed child pornography and smoked meth during work hours while sitting in his office at the county administration building.  

Second worst failure to read the employee handbook

Police said that in August, a North Little Rock McDonald's restaurant employee threw hot grease on a customer waiting at the drive-through window during an argument that started when the employee told the indecisive customer that he needed to make up his mind and quit wasting her time. The customer, who investigators say later came back to the restaurant with family members and broke a window, was treated at a local hospital for burns to his face. The employee was fired.  

Best true love

In August, investigators arrested Maxine Feldstein, 30, of Fayetteville, saying she helped her boyfriend, Nicholas Lowe, 23, escape from the Washington County Jail by allegedly forging documents from Ventura County in California ordering Lowe's immediate release. Deputies said they took a phone call by Feldstein and the paperwork she later emailed as legit, and released Lowe soon after.

Best history repeating itself

At the time of his release from the Washington County Jail, Lowe was being held on charges of false impersonation.

Worst history repeating itself

In June, it was revealed that one of the sites the Trump administration was considering for a concentration camp for immigrant children was in Kelso (Desha County), less than a five-minute drive from the site of the notorious internment camp at Rohwer, where over 8,000 Japanese-Americans were confined behind barbed wire by the U.S. government during World War II. The site was not selected.

Best flaming hole

Authorities were baffled when an 8-foot geyser of flame erupted from a basketball-sized hole in the ground in the tiny Baxter County town of Midway in September and burned for 45 minutes, with locals suggesting everything from a meteorite to the Devil himself was to blame. The real reason turned out to be much more mundane: Testing revealed in December that the hole had likely been filled with paint thinner and set ablaze as a prank.

Best miracle

Authorities in Ouachita County called it a miracle in August after a 1-year old and a 3-year-old were found with minor injuries near the wreckage of a Chevrolet Impala lodged in a ravine near Camden, in which the children had survived undiscovered for days after a car crash that killed their mother. Eventually, the older child escaped from the wreck and was able to make his way 300 yards to the road, where he was spotted by a motorist. Though covered in cuts and scratches, the two children were expected to fully recover.  

Best The Kids Are Alright

Thousands of students across the state participated in the one-day National School Walkout over gun violence a month after a shooting that killed 15 students and two adults at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla.

Best teaching the teachers

After three students at Greenbrier High School in Faulkner County received corporal punishment for participating in the walkout, Jerusalem J. Greer, the mother of one of the students, noted on social media that, when given the option between a paddling and detention for walking out of class, the kids chose paddling. Greer added: "This generation is not playing around."

Worst raffle

The raffle of an AR-15 rifle to benefit a graduation party for the Batesville High School Class of 2018 was scrapped in February after critics noted the rifle was the same model that had been used to massacre 17 people at the Florida high school the week before.

Worst caller

Benjamin Craig Matthews, 39, of Mountain Home was arrested on election day after investigators said they traced to Matthews' personal cell phone over 40 threatening phone calls to CNN headquarters in Atlanta, including death threats to CNN anchor Don Lemon, a frequent target of President Trump's Twitter ire.

Best There She Was

Donna Axum Whitworth, an El Dorado native and former Miss Arkansas, who at age 22 went on to become the first Arkansas contestant to win the 1964 Miss America crown, passed away on Nov. 4. She was 76.

Best defensive use of meat

A security guard at a Little Rock grocery store foiled a theft and likely saved himself serious injury in October after police say he whacked a knife-wielding shoplifter upside the head with a large slab of meat the alleged thief had dropped while trying to flee. The woman dropped the knife and kept running.  

Worst omission

In October, Democratic candidate for Secretary of State Susan Inman said she was in "sheer disbelief" after learning the day before early voting for the Nov. 6 general election that her name had been left off the ballot in Garland County. The election rolled on, however, with Inman being defeated in the race.  

Best whuppin'

One spot of good news on Election Day was that National Rifle Association darling Rep. Charlie Collins (R-Fayetteville), who pushed through the state's odious "Guns on Campus" law over the objections of officials at pretty much every college and university in the state, got beat like a drum by Moms Demand Action-sponsored "gun sense" Democrat Denise Garner, who bested Collins by over 11 percentage points.

Worst pilot

Zemarcuis Devon Scott, 18, was arrested in July after investigators said he jumped a fence at the Texarkana Regional Airport and attempted to steal a twin-engine commercial jet. Scott allegedly told investigators after being pulled from the cockpit at gunpoint that he thought flying a plane consisted solely of pushing random buttons and pulling levers.

Worst reason for trying to steal a twin-engine commercial jet

Police said Scott told investigators the reason he tried to steal the jet was because he wanted to attend a rap concert in another state.  

Worst prediction

Democrats and Republicans alike condemned an October radio ad fielded by out-of-state PAC Black Americans for the President's Agenda that featured two women saying that if Republican 2nd District U.S. Rep. French Hill wasn't re-elected, "white Democrats will be lynching black folk again" and Democrats will "take us back to bad old days of race verdicts, life sentences and lynchings when a white girl screams rape."

Worst theft

After an October incident in which intruders broke into the Humane Society of the Delta in Helena-West Helena, leading to the injury of several dogs, a spokesperson for the shelter said there was no surveillance footage of the incident because their security cameras had been stolen long before.

Best footloose

In July, the Fort Smith Board of Directors unanimously voted to repeal a decades-old ban on dancing on Sundays, with the board reportedly playing a clip of Kenny Loggins' song "Footloose" before the vote.  

Worst attempt at a protest

In October, online activists pointed out that the Union County Sheriff's Office had been forcing all arrested suspects to wear a Nike T-shirt in their mugshots, an apparent comment on Nike's decision to feature former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick — who has angered conservatives and President Trump by taking a knee during the National Anthem to protest police shootings of African Americans — in advertisements. Within an hour of the post going viral, the sheriff's office removed all mugshots from its website.   

Best shooting yourself in the foot

In November, Arkansas native Cody Wilson — a libertarian who led the team that successfully created the world's first 3D printable firearm and who has repeatedly sparred with the government over his plans to post blueprints for printable guns and gun parts on the internet —  was arrested in Taiwan after investigators said he allegedly had sex with an underage girl in Texas.

Worst stampede

During August's annual "Salt Bowl" football showdown between Benton and Bryant high schools at War Memorial Stadium, both teams and over 38,000 fans suddenly hauled ass for the exits after someone mistook a loud noise in the stands for gunfire. Luckily, there were only minor injuries.

Best tribute

A Dermott man was arrested in May after leading police on a high-speed chase while at the wheel of a Ford Mustang with the number 3 painted on the door, an apparent homage to the late NASCAR driver Dale Earnhardt.

Worst goal

In June, Stephen Koch, 25, of Scranton in Logan County was found guilty of several charges and sentenced to 50 years in prison after he admitted to a judge that he had sought out and had sex with HIV-infected people with the goal of contracting the virus so he could intentionally infect others without their knowledge.

Worst communication skills

White Hall resident Patricia Hill, 69, allegedly admitted to police that she shot and killed her husband in July because he purchased porn through the couple's satellite TV system.

Best arrest

Three teenage girls were arrested in Conway in July after police say they posted video to Snapchat showing them repeatedly terrorizing a 1-year-old girl with a stun gun, with the three girls laughing uproariously as the child screamed and cried in fear as they loudly zapped the device close to her body.

Worst waste of good whiskey

A June crash between two semi trucks on Interstate 40 near Galloway in Pulaski County left thousands of airline-sized bottles of Fireball whiskey spilled all over the interstate.

Worst tick

The U.S. Department of Agriculture reported in June that a Benton County dog was found to be carrying the state's first-known example of the Longhorned Tick, an invasive East Asian parasite that is a known carrier of multiple bacterial and viral diseases, including thrombocytopenia syndrome, which is often fatal.

Worst cowardly

In January, members of Ozark Indivisible, an anti-Trump group based in Northwest Arkansas, reported that the office of U.S. Sen. Tom Cotton had started issuing "cease and desist" letters to constituents who visited, wrote to or called his office to express their displeasure over his votes to attack the Affordable Care Act, the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program and his other anti-progressive actions, with the letters warning that if the constituents kept expressing their First Amendment rights and stuff, they would be reported to police.  

Worst dasvidanya

Ornithologists confirmed in May that a goose killed by hunters near Monticello in January was a Russian Tundra Bean Goose, a bird that has been spotted in the U.S. only a handful of times and never in Arkansas. The bird had somehow strayed over 6,000 miles from its normal breeding grounds before getting a beak full of hot steel for its trouble.

Worst lesson

Plentiful outrage erupted in May after video surfaced online of a teacher encouraging preschoolers at Forrest City's Teach N Tend Day Care Center to pelt a 4-year-old classmate with rocks, allegedly to "teach him a lesson" about throwing pebbles.  

Best resignation

Less than one day after being appointed to the board of the Country Music Association Foundation, former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee resigned under pressure from fans and leading music industry figures, who noted his homophobic and divisive rhetoric in the past.

Best conviction

Jacob Scott Goodwin, 23, of Ward was convicted and sentenced to 10 years in prison by a Virginia jury in May for participating in the gang beating of a black man during the August 2017 "Unite the Right" neo-Nazi rally in Charlottesville.

Best citizen crimestoppers

Against all odds, online activists dedicated to unmasking those who participated in violent actions in Charlottesville tracked down and identified Goodwin through videos that showed only a few of his tattoos and general build.    

Worst best

A study by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention released in April found that Arkansans are the hardest-slamming binge drinkers in the nation, with our hardcore boozers consuming a liver-quivering 8.3 drinks per binge and a record 841 binge drinks every year. Mississippi was No. 2, with 831.8 binge drinks per year.

Best reason to take the stairs

A woman was awarded $3 million by a Pulaski County Jury in December over a 2013 incident in which her right big toe was ripped off by a malfunctioning escalator at Little Rock's Park Plaza Mall.

Worst shithole senator

U.S. Sen. Tom Cotton continued his slouch toward the shithole of history in January by contradicting Senate colleagues from both parties who said President Trump referred to immigrants from Africa and Haiti as residents of "shithole countries" during an Oval Office meeting, saying on TV's "Face the Nation" program that Democratic Sen. Dick Durbin of Illinois, who was in the room at the time and called Trump's comments vile and hateful, "has a history of misrepresenting what happens in White House meetings." Cotton later said that he heard Trump to say "shithouse."

Worst shithole representative

U.S. Rep. Steve Womack attempted to out-asshole U.S. Sen. Tom Cotton after the news about Trump's "shithole countries" remark, saying the countries Trump called shitholes are behind the times and "depraved" before adding that what America really should be doing is attempting to appeal to immigrants from European countries (read: white people) who can "actually fit into [American] society as we know it."

Worst fucking disgrace

On Nov. 30, Sen. Jason Rapert (R-Conway) shared a link on Facebook listing the record number of successful Muslim candidates in the recent election, commenting, "Do you want them ruling everything in America?" In response, the Council on American-Islamic Relations called for Rapert's censure by the state legislature, and former Arkansas U.S. House candidate Chintan Desai called Rapert "a fucking disgrace" on Twitter.

Best blocking the blocker

Rapert, who is the subject of a lawsuit filed in October over his practice of blocking pretty much any critic who disagrees with his bloviations on social media, took to Facebook in early December to complain that he, himself, had been temporarily blocked from Twitter after the company found that one of his posts about Muslims violated their rules.

Best birthday

Searcy firefighter Lt. Cody Larque gave 1-year-old Evan Don Scott a heck of a first birthday present after the boy's mother rushed the child — who had turned 1 that day — to a local fire station because he was choking on a marker cap. As captured by an intense surveillance video, Larque was able to dislodge the obstruction by repeatedly striking Evan on the back, saving his life.

Worst authority figure

On Dec. 29, 2017, after last year's "Best and Worst" issue hit the stands, Arkansas State Police troopers arrested Lamar High School coach Kevin Kyzer, 51, and charged him with driving while intoxicated while at the wheel of a school bus carrying nine high school basketball players to a tournament.

Worst 'education'

In April, the State Board of Education — following a law passed by the state legislature — approved new rules for the state's 19,500 home-schooled students that rescinded a requirement that parents must inform the state of their proposed home-school teaching curriculum and teaching schedule. Coupled with a 2015 law that ended state testing to prove home-schooled students have reached proficiency in subject areas, the rules change effectively allows home-schooling parents to teach their children nothing at all if they so choose.

Best meeting of two fanciful, wholly imaginary characters

In January, Republican gubernatorial primary challenger Jan Morgan, famous for declaring her Hot Springs gun range a "Muslim Free Zone," appeared in the tiny town of Fouke, where she accepted a hug from a person dressed as the Fouke Monster and said the FBI has informed her she's on ISIS' "hit list." Morgan went on to lose the Republican gubernatorial primary to incumbent Governor Hutchinson by a wide margin.  

Best surprise

A 17-year-old who police say was in the process of robbing a Little Rock Subway restaurant at gunpoint got a heck of a surprise in January when a uniformed Little Rock police officer walked out of the restaurant's restroom. The officer arrested the alleged thief after a short foot chase.

Best historian smackdown

Tom Dillard, the retired head of special collections at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, turned his weekly history column in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette to more recent concerns in February, writing that Department of Arkansas Heritage Director Stacy Hurst, a political patronage hire who Dillard noted "has absolutely no expertise or background in history," has fostered a "toxic culture" at Heritage, as seen in a series of high-profile resignations at the agency.

Worst Breaking Dumb

The FBI and soldiers from the Arkansas National Guard's Weapons of Mass Destruction 61st Civil Support team descended on a Little Rock home in moonsuits in February after a man called police to report he was experiencing heart palpitations, blurred vision and diarrhea, which he feared was a result of poisoning himself while making ricin, a deadly toxic substance. He had been inspired to make ricin by an episode of the TV show "Breaking Bad." He survived and was indicted on federal charges in March.

Worst criminal

A thief actually managed to get away less than empty handed in March when, after pepper spraying a clerk while attempting to flee with almost $500 in clothing from the Tommy Hilfiger store at the Outlets of Little Rock, police say she managed to drop all the clothes and her identification.

Worst 'joke'

Former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee got roasted on Twitter in April after he shared a "joke" in which Huckabee said that during a recent colonoscopy he was put to sleep with the same drug that killed Michael Jackson, with Huck ending with the punchline, "When I woke up, I MOON-walked right out of the hospital." Like a lot of Huckabee's jokes, there's so much tone-deaf anti-comedy to unpack there that it's hard to know where to start, but Twitter users let him have it nonetheless.

Best backout

In April, after years of bad national press related to a "phantom pilot" throwing terrified tame turkeys from a Cessna, killing some of them, during the annual Yellville Turkey Trot Festival, the Yellville Chamber of Commerce said it would no longer sponsor the festival, which some feared would be the end of the 72-year-old event.

Best stipulation

Later the same month, the Mid-Marion County Rotary Club said it would become the new sponsor of the Yellville Turkey Trot Festival, but only if no more turkeys were flung from airplanes. The "phantom pilot" appears to have gotten the message, because in October, the festival went on as planned, with fun, food and frolic for all but without — to the sure consternation of cruel jackasses everywhere — the barbaric "turkey drop" tradition.  

Best lucky

A Van Buren officer shot at close range by a suspect in August was spared serious injury after investigators said the bullet was deflected by a steel, pen-sized handcuff key in his shirt pocket.

Best miss

In May, a pedestrian narrowly missed serious injury when a huge chunk of the concrete facade of a building at 319 W. Second St. in Little Rock came loose and tumbled to the sidewalk seven stories below.

Worst stash

Craig Whittington, 44, of Hot Springs was arrested at the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences in May after, police say, a nurse smelled marijuana coming from a patient's room and responding officers allegedly found 10 pounds of weed on Whittington's person.

Best maximum

In February, disgraced former Cross County District Judge Joseph Boeckmann Jr., 72, of Wynne, who was convicted in federal court in 2017 on wire fraud and witness tampering charges relating to what investigators say was a practice of taking suggestive photographs of young men he sentenced to community service and using his position on the bench to procure defendants in his court as sexual and sadomasochistic partners, was sentenced by federal Judge Kristine Baker to five years in federal prison and fined $50,000, the maximum sentence on all counts.

Best power to the people

In May, the Arkansas Supreme Court ordered Attorney General Leslie Rutledge to either approve a citizen-led ballot initiative on raising the state's minimum wage or present a more acceptable version. Rutledge, who had previously refused 70 out of 70 ballot initiatives she'd considered since 2016, always claiming they were too unclear to put before voters, but not offering suggestions on how to improve the language, approved not only the initiative to raise the minimum wage but three other ballot initiatives within days. The proposal to raise the minimum wage went on to prevail in November.  

Best Saline County

In June, the Saline County Sheriff's Office arrested a man near the loading dock of a hardware store in the tiny town of Avilla who was wearing pants with the crotch ripped out and a "leather belt with chains and other adornments that were wrapped around his genitalia" while slathered head to toe in personal lubricant. Police said the man, who also reportedly had a backpack full of pornography, told responding officers he'd come to the store, which was closed at the time, "because I'm dumb."

Best coincidence

Shamon West, 21, was arrested in June after police say he attempted to pay his waitress at a Pine Bluff restaurant with the waitress' own credit card, which had been stolen two days before during a car break-in. After arresting West, police recovered a driver's license, more credit cards and a Social Security card belonging to the waitress when they searched him.

Worst closing

In February, Little Rock's Bennett's Military Supply announced it was closing after being in business in the city since 1870 — over 148 years.

Worst logic

When asked by a reporter in August why posters donated by the American Atheists society shouldn't be hung in classrooms alongside "In God We Trust" placards allowed by a recent law approved by the state legislature, Rep. Jim Dotson (R-Bentonville) said that hanging the atheist posters would be a violation of the First Amendment's separation of church and state.  

Best resistance

In April, an underground group of LGBTQ students at the notoriously homophobic Harding University in Searcy published and distributed a 16-page chapbook called "HU Queer Press 2.0," which features poetry, prose and testimonials by gay students living on the campus where being LGBTQ is considered immoral.

Worst report card

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's 2017 Youth Risk Behavior Survey, released in June, reported that Arkansas teens in grades 9-12 scored first in the nation in several troubling categories, including: percentage who had been physically forced to have intercourse, percentage who had been forced to participate in sexual activity in the past year (including kissing, fondling and intercourse), percentage who had been bullied at school, percentage who had suffered a concussion while playing sports in the past year, percentage who had seriously considered committing suicide in the past year, percentage who had driven while drinking in the past month and percentage who are considered obese.

Best telling it like it is In a Q&A session published by the website Quora in June, Little Rock Nine member Melba Pattillo Beals said the attitudes that tormented her and other members of the Nine in the 1950s persist in Little Rock, telling the interviewer: "That behavior still lies beneath the surface. It appears in the desire to create charter schools. It appears in all of the reversals of fair housing, fair jobs, protection for our water and air. It isn't just about Central High alone. That torment affected the quality of education in Little Rock forever. It set a tone and established that separate can never be equal, and yet still Little Rock insists on separate and unequal. Little Rock has never resolved the decision of Brown v. Topeka [Board of Education] and has never taken it seriously. Until they do, they must relive the lessons of the '50s."

Worst electorate

Rep. Michael "Mickey" Gates (R-Hot Springs) was arrested in June on charges he'd failed to pay state income tax for at least six years, but went on to win re-election in November in a landslide, garnering over 65 percent of the vote.

Worst 'teaching moment'

In June, police said that Little Rock resident Shay Stevens, 46, retrieved a handgun and shot her 18-year-old son in the abdomen during a heated argument that started when he told her he wanted to buy a handgun.

Best sign-off

In July, it was announced that perma-tanned KATV, Ch. 11, weatherman Ned Perme would retire after over 30 years as the station's chief meteorologist.

Worst erection

A new version of the Ten Commandments Monument was installed on the state Capitol grounds April 26, a little less than a year after a mentally ill driver ran over and destroyed the previous version in his Dodge Dart a day after it was first installed. Now it's on to the federal courts, which will hopefully knock the new one down all permanent like.  

Best Baphomet

In August, over 100 members of the Satanic Temple showed up for a "Rally for the First Amendment" at the Arkansas State Capitol, an event that included an appearance by the 7-and-a-half-foot bronze statue of the goat-headed demi-god Baphomet, which the Satanic Temple hopes to install permanently on the Capitol grounds if its federal lawsuit challenging the state's Ten Commandments monument prevails.

Worst algae that clearly has nothing to do with building a massive hog farm in the watershed of the Buffalo National River

In July, the National Park Service sent out a warning that the Buffalo National River was experiencing a record bloom of slimy, blue-green algae, saying that visitors should avoid the algae because it produces cyanotoxins that can make people and pets sick.

Worst living up to stereotypes

Three carnival workers were arrested in August after police say they murdered a Kansas couple, drove the bodies to Arkansas and buried them in a shallow grave in the Ozark National Forest.

Best evidence

Police in Little Rock arrested Dalvin Pettus, 25, in August on charges that he'd shot five bullets into his neighbor's house. Their evidence: a series of text messages police said Pettus sent to his neighbor an hour before the shooting in which Pettus said he planned to shoot up the house.  

Best reason to hit somebody with a wrench

Charles Eedo Green of Sherwood was arrested at the Little Rock Air Force Base on a sweltering day in late August after police say he whacked an airman in the head with a wrench because the man stood in front of the room's only air conditioning vent and refused to move.

Worst pass

Jessie Lorene Goline, a 26-year-old art teacher at Marked Tree High School, was sentenced to only five years probation after being convicted in March of having sex with three of her students, including one who was under the age of 18, leading critics online to speculate whether the sentence would have been the same if Goline had been a man.

Worst weapon

In September, police say Kortvion Hall, 19, successfully robbed an Arvest Bank branch inside a Little Rock Walmart store wielding a fire extinguisher.

Best hiding the loot

As police officers closed in on Hall in the Walmart parking lot after the bank robbery, investigators say Hall tried unsuccessfully to swallow the cash he had stolen.

Worst defense

In April, police arrested a 27-year-old Little Rock man after an incident in which investigators say the man, while attempting to evade arrest, poured an acid-based drain cleaner called "Liquid Fire" into his mouth and spat it at officers. The chemical — which reportedly burned through the officers' uniforms in seconds, leaving burned and blistered skin — also severely burned the man's mouth, lips and throat, requiring a hospital stay. He was arrested, anyway.

Worst overweight

Officials with the Arkansas Department of Transportation hustled to the tiny North Arkansas town of Beaver in October to inspect the historic and unique one-lane suspension bridge there after video circulated online of a 35-ton tour bus crossing the bridge, which has a clearly posted limit of 10 tons, causing the span to visibly sag several feet under the bus' weight. The bridge was given a clean bill of health.

Worst 'costume'

There was a flurry of outrage online in November after someone posted photos from a Halloween costume contest at Fort Smith's The Lil' Dude Tavern. The winner: a patron in a full Ku Klux Klan robe and hood.

Worst accidental

Investigators said that after his arrest in November, 72-year-old Louie James Rogers of Stone County admitted to police that he might have "accidentally" raped a developmentally disabled woman at his Mountain View home.

Best firework

Residents of Perryville in Perry County were shocked in early November when a fireball caused by a large meteorite entering the atmosphere briefly turned night into day over the town, as captured on several surveillance videos.

Best out of touch

In a move that will surely come as a shock to the nation's formerly homeless millionaire truck driver demographic, Rep. Stephen Meeks (R-Greenbrier) apologized a day after a Nov. 19 Twitter post in which he said "being poor in America is a personal choice" before adding: "A homeless man can go to school, get a job driving a truck making $70k per year and in 20 years become a millionaire."

Best pocket

After the tractor Eldon Cooper was driving slipped off a muddy levee and into a water-filled drainage ditch near Mountain Home in March, the Baxter County farmer survived for hours until help arrived by breathing from a small pocket of air trapped in the corner of the tractor's cab, authorities said. Other than being wet and cold, Cooper reportedly escaped the harrowing event without serious injury.

Worst 'emergency'

Johnny Byron Hall, 32, of Malvern was arrested in April on charges of indecent exposure after police say he was openly masturbating in the emergency room of a hospital in Sherwood that is part of CHI St. Vincent Infirmary.

Worst curtains

Central Arkansas's close-knit community of theater lovers was shocked in late April when the Arkansas Repertory Theatre announced it would suspend operations immediately, citing a "perfect financial storm" of declining charitable giving and ticket sales.

Best second act

After a huge public outcry and flurry of more than $500,000 in donations — matched by the Windgate Charitable Foundation of Siloam Springs — The Rep's board of directors announced the show will go on, reopening in January 2019 with a slate of new shows.

Best disguise

Dasia Jackson, 22, of North Little Rock was arrested in April after police say she broke into an animal shelter and liberated her pit bull terrier, La La, which had been seized from her the previous week and scheduled to be euthanized under the city's ban on the breed. When found, police said La La had been dyed completely black, with Jackson's hands and forearms also dyed black up to the elbows.  

Best educator

Bob Dorough, a member of the Arkansas Jazz Hall of Fame who taught millions of American kids history, mathematics, language skills, civics and more through his lyrics, music and narration for the popular "Schoolhouse Rock" series of cartoon shorts that aired on ABC from 1973-1985, died April 25 at the age of 94.

Best apology

The franchise owner of a Garland County IHOP restaurant publicly apologized to Hot Springs mother Alexis Bancroft in May after Bancroft wrote on Facebook about an incident in which the restaurant's manager would not allow Bancroft's 3-year-old son William, who was born without arms, to sit on the table and eat with his feet while dining there with his family.

Worst threat

Hot Springs police arrested Steven Brian Cole, 40, in June after investigators said he had repeatedly abused his elderly mother and stepfather, including telling his mother he would "eat her face off" and threatening the couple that he would kill them and "make one of us eat the other."

Best creepy

The mugshot of Steven Bryan Cole.

Worst what could have been

Glen Schwarz was eliminated as a candidate for Little Rock mayor in November after running on a platform that included building a roller coaster-based mass transit system and installing dozens of wire Faraday cages to act as emergency shelters during lightning storms.

Best election

Though Schwarz's Cinderella story ended on election day, Frank Scott Jr., 35, went on to win a December run-off election, besting opponent Baker Kurrus to become Little Rock's first popularly elected African-American mayor.  

Worst tie

In December, once all the votes were in for a hotly contested alderman's race in Hoxie (Lawrence County) between challenger Cliff Farmer and incumbent Becky Linebaugh, it was discovered that the results were a tie, 223 to 223. Farmer revealed he'd neglected to vote for himself because he didn't return from an Election Day business trip before the polls closed. The race was settled by a roll of the dice, and Farmer lost.

It's the Best and Worst 2018

[apsbicepstraining]

How a Republican baseball rehearse in Virginia became ‘a killing field’

In a rampage lasting 10 sickening instants, a gunman targeted Republican politicians as they impounded an early-morning practise in a picturesque park

America has been made to endure this sting before when a mass hitting desecrates its most cherished infinites: a schoolroom in Newtown; a cinema in Aurora; a religion in Charleston.

This time, with the sunup, a baseball ballpark in Virginia became, in the words of Senator Rand Paul, a killing field.

What legislators who trade their clothings and ties for baseball outfits absence in fitness, they make up for in earnest fervor. Such is the dedication of Steve Scalise, the count three House Republican, and my honourable colleagues that they regularly start rehearsal at 6.15 or 6.30 am at the Eugene Simpson Stadium Park in Alexandria, in all the regions of the Potomac river from Washington DC.

What we know about the Virginia shooting

This allows them to beat both the heat, which was heading towards 90 F( 32 C) on Wednesday, and the clamor of Capitol Hill.

Their surrounds are a serene, affluent orbit of disconnected redbrick houses with porches, clipped lawns and trees where bother is hard to envisage. The baseball field is close to the ballpark where neighbourhoods amble their puppies, a childrens playground and a YMCA. It lies about halfway between Washington DC to the north and George Washingtons farm, Mount Vernon, to the south.

There were 20 House members and two senators present, is in accordance with congressman Joe Barton of Texas, the Republican teams manager, grabbing the last opportunity to touched some dances before Thursdays annual kindnes game against their Democratic rivals.

Just after 7am, a male who would be identified afterwards as James Hodgkinson, 66, from Belleville, Illinois, sauntered up to congressmen Ron DeSantis and Jeff Duncan as they were going into their vehicle to leave the field, the pair recalled.

James T Hodgkinson, the suspect in the Virginia shooting. Picture: AP

Duncan told reporters that the man asked me if the team rehearsing was a Democrat or Republican team. I told him the latter are Republicans. He said, OK thanks, turned around.

Minutes afterwards, as the dedicated amateurs were nearing the end of batting rehearse, there was a thunderous blow. They stopped and stared, perplexed. Congressman Rodney Davis of Illinois said afterwards that he thought something heavy had dropped at a structure site.

Hes got a gun! person screamed. Another person hollered: Thump the ground!

He was hunting us

One of the most color accounts would come from congressman Mo Brooks of Alabama. I was on deck, about to smacked batting rehearsal on the third-base surface of home plate, and I sounded a thunderous bam, and I look around and behind third base and the third base bunker, which is cinderblock, I realise a rifle, he told CNN. And I meet a little of a figure and I then listen another blam and I realise that theres an active shooter.

Hodgkinson, wearing jeans and blue shirt, was exerting a rifle from behind a chain-link barricade near third base. By most forecasts, he would fire at least 50 rounds, the missiles kicking up soil and gravel. There was confusion. Brutally uncovered on the open realm, beings variously hit the deck, dived into a bunker for extend, hastened into the dog common or climbed over a barricade and ran for “peoples lives”. Team administrator Joe Bartons 10 -year-old son Jack hid under an SUV.

Congressman Mike Bishop of Michigan told the New York Times: He was hunting us at that point. There was so much gunfire, you couldnt get up and range. Pop, pop, papa, pa its a tone Ill never forget.

Hodgkinson stopped shooting as he moved from near the third-base dugout towards the backstop behind home plate. He never got on to the field because the chain-link fencing around the park was locked. Barton said eventually: Had he gotten in the fence, it would have been a bloodbath.

A opinion of the baseball field in Alexandria, Virginia, after the shooting. Photo: Brendan Smialowski/ AFP/ Getty Images

Texas congressman Roger Williams, who coaches the Republican team, contributed: We were sitting ducks. We had nothing to fight back with but at-bats, if it is necessary to that.

The first victim was Scalise , 51 , who had been fielding balls on second base. He was smacked in the hip and collapsed to the field, bellowing. He managed to drag himself to the outfield grass, leaving a course of blood, onlookers said later.

Two Capitol Hill police officer, Crystal Griner and David Bailey, who were in Scalises security detail, immediately recalled fervour. Senator Jeff Flake wailed: Are you friendly? Are you friendly?

One shouted back: Yes!

One of the officers suffered a gunshot wind but deterred firing. Both is commonly praised for saving several lives.

Alexandria resident Katie Fillus told the Washington Post she saw a female polouse draw out a artillery and shriek, Drop your weapon! but the gunman killed her. She descended on the ground in front of us, and we were all just trying to lay as flat we are to be able. And I belly-crawled, dragging through the mud. I got to the car and I ducked under the car and I laid as close as I could under the car to hide from the person. Then the police seemed to come.

Congressman Brooks, meanwhile, had thrown himself down at home plate, but decided to take a chance and run to the first base bunker, where about a dozen congressmen and aides were lying. Among them was congressional aide-de-camp Zachary Barth, who had been struck in the leg and hobbled across the field. Brooks took off his region and another congressman exploited a tourniquet to try to slow the bleeding.

In the meantime, Brooks told CNN, Im towards the right-field surface of the dugout and theres gunfire within about five, six, seven feet of my heading, and I look up and theres a guy with a gun exploding away. Fortunately, it was one of the good guys, one of our security item, who was filming back.

Of course it was handgun versus rifle, our handguns versus the crap-shooters rifle on the third-base course just outside the chain-link fencing, and he was cautioning us to stand down.

He included: But for the Capitol police and the gallantry they depicted, it could very well have been a large-scale murder. All we would have had would have been baseball bats versus a rifle. Those arent good odds.

Police arrive

By 7.09 am, Alexandria police had received a request reporting fires fired at the ballpark, according to its leader Michael Brown. Three minutes later they arrived at the scene.

Members of the FBI response team search for prove on the field. Photograph: UPI/ Barcroft Images

Hodgkinson a home inspector who, it was soon uncovered, had volunteered for Bernie Sanderss presidential campaign was shot at 7.14 am. His frenzy had lasted roughly 10 minutes.

Congressman Mike Conaway said: The people down to a handgun, he plummeted his rifle, they film him, I go over there, they applied him in handcuffs.

It was not clear how much season passed before Hodgkinson died. The lawsuit was multiple gunshots to the torso, according to the coroners report.

The coast eventually clear, Brooks, Flake and others ranged towards the wounded Scalise. Arizona senator Flake remembered: I wanted to get at him but there were still fires going overhead from both sides. Lastly, when the crap-shooter was down, I simply operated low-spirited out to Steve.

They put pressure on the hip meander to stem the bleeding while Brad Wenstrup, a congressman from Ohio and a doctor, checked for any other winds.

After medical personnel arrived, Flake said he retrieved Scalises mobile. I got his phone and called his wife, only to make sure she didnt listen the report before. So, fortunately, she hadnt, and I was able to tell her that he gazed to be stable and we were with him.

A helicopter landed in the field and took five people to local infirmaries with gunshot wraps: Scalise, who remains in a crucial situation, lobbyist Matt Mika, congressional aide-de-camp Zachary Barth, a Capitol police officer and the gunman.

Brooks said: At that time, the police were causing all of us to gather outside the first base front and the chain-link fencing and cordoning off the neighborhood is to ensure if there was a second crap-shooter we would be better protected.

FBI special agent Tim Slater summaries the press after the two attacks. Photo: Zach Gibson/ Getty Images

The normally tranquil neighbourhood was stunned. Bullets had lodged in or are going through openings of the nearby YMCA. Alex Heimberg, 19, who had arrived at 6am for a morning exercising, had been in the cellar there during the gunfire. We didnt genuinely know what to think of it, he said. It could be loads declining from upstairs. Its just something weve never knowledge but we were given context when a follower came down and said there was an active shooter and we said, Oh crap, it is also necessary get somewhere safe.

One patron greeted casually, wrapping himself in a towel and using a sauna, Heimberg recollected. The YMCA was on lockdown for around three hours.

A show of solidarity

It soon emerged that the shooter Hodgkinson was a leftwing activist with a record of family violence. He had signed an online petition calling for Donald Trump to be charged and wrote on Facebook: Trump is a Traitor. Trump Has Destroyed our Democracy. Its Time to Destroy Trump& Co.

Hodgkinsons Facebook page later removed by the company likewise peculiarity photographs of Senator Bernie Sanders, who said he had been informed that Hodgkinson had clearly volunteered for his presidential expedition last year. I am nauseated by this odious act, a shaken Sanders said on the Senate floor. Let me be as clear as I can be: savagery of any kind is intolerable in national societies, and I condemn these recommendations in the strongest possible terms.

The drama in Alexandria all but offset the days business at the White House and Capitol Hill. At 11.36 am Donald Trump, sombre on his 71 st birthday, announced that the assailant have already been died from his injuries. In a partisan and rancorous political climate, Trump also made a measured are calling for harmony. We are strongest when we are united and when we work together for the interests of all, he said.

Bernie Sanders strongly condemned the killing after it came out the believe had volunteered for his presidential expedition. Image: Saul Loeb/ AFP/ Getty Images

And for a date, at the least, the feeling in Washington seemed to have changed. At 4pm, the managers of the Republican and Democratic congressional baseball teams appeared together at a seam press conference and devoted that the game at Nationals Park on Thursday would go on. Barton said: It will be play ball tomorrow night at 7.05.

Mike Doyle, the manager of the Democratic unit, lent: Were not going to let incidents like this change our way of life or daily routines.

The congressmen likewise knew any other message. They guessed the two attacks was a consequence of the increasingly poisonous political climate between politicians, the written press and the public.

Members are not looked at as parties any more, Barton said, indicating on the change since he was first elected in 1985. People think they can come to our town hall gratifies and say exactly “the worlds largest” obnoxious circumstances and well not feel anything personally.

As a first step, Doyle said the Democrat invited Republicans to the Democratic Club for dinner. Barton ribbed him that he would ordering the most expensive steak on the menu. Doyle hit back: Were Democrats. We dont have steaks. Thats your club.

The post How a Republican baseball rehearse in Virginia became ‘a killing field’ appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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DGB Grab Bag: Free Agency, Contract Announcements, and Draft Busts

Welcome to Sean McIndoe's weekly grab bag, where he writes on a variety of NHL topics. You can follow him on Twitter. Check out the Biscuits podcast with Sean and Dave Lozo as they discuss the events of the week.

Three stars of comedy

The third star: Justin Williams' hair. The winger's legendary salad was in fine form when it came time to sign with the Hurricanes, as former teammate Mike Commodore made sure to point out.

The second star: Jaromir Jagr. I'm still not quite sure what to make of Jagr's social media presence. People seem to like it, even if it sometimes has that whole "Grandpa doesn't totally get the internet, but we're just impressed he figured how to log on" vibe. But this was funny. I think. I'm honestly not sure.

The first star: The Benn brothers. With the Habs and the Stars reportedly going down to wire on bidding for Alexander Radulov, Jamie and Jordie decided to settle things the Canadian way.

Even better, the joke eventually turned into an official announcement of Radulov's signing.

Outrage of the week

The issue: Somebody signed an unrestricted free agent. The outrage: The contract seems kind of terrible. Is it justified: Probably, since almost every UFA deal ends up being a huge mistake. But since we've now made it through the first week of the open market, let's take this opportunity to do a quick summary of some of the major moves. (As always with this sort of thing, "good" and "bad" are from the perspective of the team and not the players, because in the end we all turn our backs on the noble working class.)

The Good

This is always the shorter list this time of year, but there were some decent signings to be found.

Kevin Shattenkirk. The Rangers get a bargain and kept the term short enough that there's minimal risk. Shattenkirk gets to play for his hometown team and could still have time for one more nice contract four years down the road. Hard to argue with any of it.

Justin Williams. He got good money, but nothing crazy. And while you can make your jokes about Mr. Game Seven choosing a team that hasn't been to the playoffs in eight years, you'd better get them in now—the Hurricanes are going to be good soon.

Pretty much everyone who signed for less than $1.5 million. Hell, lump in Brian Elliott and Ryan Miller, too. These guys are the bargains, and almost always represent low-risk signings. This year, it was interesting to see so many get done right out of the gate rather than waiting a few weeks for desperation to kick in.

The Bad

In the interest of time, we'll limit this section to five names. It could be a lot more.

Karl Azner. This is the annual "not as bad as everyone thought it was going to be, but still bad" contract. Or, as I like to call it, the Matt Beleskey Memorial Award.

T.J. Oshie. The cap hit isn't disastrous, but going to maximum eight years might be. The Capitals sure seem to have made a mess of their off-season, and already had to give away Marcus Johansson. Letting decent but aging wingers walk away for nothing is painful, but it's the sort of tough call a smart team has to be willing to make.

Patrick Marleau. Sure, the Leafs have a ton of cap space, so overpaying isn't the end of the world, but they have a two-year window before the cap gets crazy, and they just gave three years to a 37-year-old who plays the one position that's already a team strength. Even assuming they wiggle out of the deal after two years, it's still iffy. If they don't, it could be a disaster when they're a contender facing a cap crunch in 2019 and Marleau is a $6 million 40-year-old coming off a 12-goal season.

Nick Bonino. The good news is that this year's Dave Bolland cost less than the actual Dave Bolland. So… progress?

Dan Girardi. Steve Yzerman burns an entire season trading away useful players while missing the playoffs by one point, all in the name of creating cap room which he then uses on… Dan Girardi. I mean, I know I've spent the last year completely alone on the "maybe Yzerman is merely a good GM and not the all-knowing Jedi we all agreed he was" bandwagon, but I can make room if anyone wants on board.

The Contrarian Hot Take

The one team everyone else is ripping that I'll kind of, sort of defend.

Dmitry Kulikov and Steve Mason. Both are coming off bad seasons and might, in fact, be bad players. And both got over $4 million a season on multi-year deals. But here's the thing: They got them from Winnipeg. Nobody wants to go to Winnipeg. So if the Jets are going to sign free agents, it's going to cost too much money. Call it the Winnipeg Tax.

I'm always piling on the Jets because their GM never makes trades and their owner never fires anyone, and they just seem happy to repeatedly miss the playoffs by ten points while mumbling about the future. I can't exactly turn around now and burn them for at least trying to get a little better. Ideally, they'd be a franchise that uses all the tools in the toolbox, but until that day comes, paying too much for so-so free agents is marginally better than nothing.

Obscure former player of the week

Now that July has arrived, restricted free agents can sign offer sheets. They won't, because this is the NHL and all that talk about doing everything possible to win is for players laying their bodies on the line, not GMs who don't want to mess up their golf schedule by making a colleague angry. But in theory, it could happen.

There's a reasonably long history of NHL offer sheets, most of which were matched. Not many of those players would be considered obscure. After all, why target another team's player if they're not already an established star? You wouldn't… unless you were a vengeful Harry Sinden, which leads us to this week's obscure player: winger Dave Thomlinson.

Thomlinson has two claims to fame: not being Dave Tomlinson (that was another early 90s forward), and being the most obscure RFA offer sheet signing in NHL history.

He was a third-round pick by the Maple Leafs in 1985, a draft that most Toronto fans remember for other things. He never played for the Leafs, signed with the Blues in 1987, and finally made his NHL debut in St. Louis during the 1989-90 season. He played 19 games, scoring once, and followed that up with three games and zero points in 1990-91. He did manage three goals in that year's playoffs, but by the end of the season he was 24 years old and had never played close to a full season. All in all, not much to get excited about.

Then something weird happened. Ron Caron and the Blues went a little crazy targeting other teams' restricted free agents, signing Scott Stevens away from Washington in 1990 and Brendan Shanahan from New Jersey in 1991. In between, they went after Boston's Dave Christian. That didn't sit well with Sinden and the Bruins, who didn't even believe Christian qualified for free agency in the first place. Sinden retaliated by apparently signing any Blues RFAs he could find. That ended up being tough guy Glenn Featherstone, plus Thomlinson.

Under the old NHL system, the two teams were allowed to negotiate a compensation package, and they ended up just agreeing to swap Thomlinson, Featherstone, and draft picks for Christian. Thomlinson played 12 games for the Bruins before heading to the Rangers and later the Kings as a free agent. He ended up playing a total of 42 NHL games, scoring just that one regular-season goal.

Just think: The NHL is a league where nobody will offer sheet Leon Draisaitl, but somebody once went after Dave Thomlinson. Consider it further proof that everything was more fun in the 90s.

Be It Resolved

Connor McDavid signed his new contract this week, and it carried the highest full-season cap hit in NHL history. That's fine, because as we discussed last week, he's more than worth it. Besides, his deal came in at $12.5 million a season, which was slightly lower than the $13 million that had been rumored.

So sure, all of that was fine, but here's the problem: The Oilers just announced the deal with a boring old media event and press release. The Canadiens did the same for Carey Price, as did the Sharks with Marc-Edouard Vlasic.

Come on, guys. If you're going to be giving out eight- or nine-figure deals, then let's at least make the announcement interesting.

So be it resolved: From now on, NHL teams signing major extensions are only allowed to announce the length of the deal. Then, when it comes to the cap hit, they have to reveal it the way any important numerical value should always be revealed: by using the little mountain climber guy from Price Is Right.

Just imagine the Oilers having a press conference to announce that McDavid has signed for eight more years, then breaking out the Price Is Right mountain with "$0" at the bottom and "$15 million" at the very top. You're telling me you wouldn't be screaming at your TV once that yodeling started and you had to see how high the little dude with the pickax, lederhosen, and #97 Oilers jersey would get?

You could even have custom price ranges for different players. Jack Eichel's could go from $0 to $10 million. John Tavares could be $0 to $12 million. Dan Giradri's could go from $0 to "literally anything that isn't $0," and the little guy could go shooting off the edge like a skateboarder at the X Games.

Let's make this happen, NHL teams. There's still time before next summer's Austin Matthews contract.

Classic YouTube clip breakdown

In terms of cap hit, the biggest UFA signing so far has been Joe Thornton, who got an $8 million deal to return to the Sharks for one season. That's a big number, but it's fitting for a former first overall pick in the draft.

Of course, Thornton wasn't the only former top pick to hit the open market this week. Nail Yakupov was also available to the highest bidder, and that turned to be the Colorado Avalanche, who gave him, um, not quite $8 million. The Avs will be Yakupov's third team.

Yakupov's already widely considered one of the bigger draft busts in recent memory, so today let's travel back five years to the days leading up to the 2012 draft and see if we can piece together where it all went wrong.

It's June 20, 2012, and we're just 48 hours away from the first round of the draft. The NHL has decided to put together a few video packages on the top prospects to get you hyped up, including one for the presumptive No. 1 pick.

It goes without saying that the Oilers own the No. 1 overall pick thanks to a lottery win. This would be the third straight year they'd have it, which prompted the NHL to create a new rule to prevent lottery winners from winning the top pick again for a period of several years. The new rule was hailed as "completely fair" and "just common sense" and passed unanimously.

Sorry, none of that is true. I just wanted to try to retroactively make Connor McDavid happy for a few seconds.

Our clip starts with Yakupov doing that thing where he threateningly points his stick at you like he's Westley from the Princess Bride. Hockey video people love this pose so much. It's their favorite thing, slightly ahead of the "stick over the shoulders" pose, which we also get from Yakupov a few seconds later. Please note that neither of these poses ever actually happen in a hockey game. Do other sports do this? Do NFL draft picks have to pose like they're going to do a Karate Kid crane kick? I feel like this is just hockey.

"You want skill? Check. You want hands? Check. You want game-breaking offensive ability? Check." And after you're done checking, you will see that Nail Yakupov does not have any of those things.

Wait, is it possible the guy was actually saying "Czech"? Was he trying to tell the Oilers to pick Tomas Hertl instead? He knew! The narrator guy knew!

Next up we get the director of NHL Central Scouting, Dan Marr, who tells us that Yakupov is the sort of player who "just jumps at you." He then presumably adds, "You know, assuming 'you' are a defenseman on the other team trying to stop him from going to your net."

"I'm not like Bure, or someone like Ovechkin," says Yakupov. Wait, he knew, too! Why didn't the Oilers watch this clip before they made their pick? One two-minute video would have saved them millions of dollars. That's inexcusable. (Unless it had an unskippable 30-second ad at the front, because literally nobody has ever waited until the end of one of those.)

All kidding aside, Yakupov was really good in junior. When you're shattering Steven Stamkos records, you've got something. I make fun of him now, but five years ago I was 100 percent sure he was going to score 60 goals in the NHL. I'm still maybe 20 percent convinced it might happen, especially if can turn things around in Colorado and make it back to the NHL someday.

Next we meet Yakupov's friend and teammate, Alex Galchenyuk. He's introduced to us with a shot of him making the same face every Montreal fan makes now when they're told that the Habs might have to trade him because mumble mumble they have too much scoring?

"Like his Russian idol Pavel Bure, Nail is also a game-breaker." No, see, he just told us he wasn't like Bure. I thought you were cool, narrator guy.

We close with Yakupov telling us how much he loves to celebrate goals. That part, at least, turned out to be accurate. Remember when he got a little too excited against the Kings and all the old-school guys lost their minds? That was really Yakupov's first memorable NHL moment. Also, as it turns out, his only one.

"Sometimes it's crazy, and it's stupid." Man, he's not even an Oiler yet and he's already memorized the team's front-office slogan.

That ends our clip. If you'd like to live more of the Nail Yakupov experience, here's a clip of him being drafted first overall and being showered with can't-miss praise. And here's a far better one of him immediately afterward, as some poor rep from Upper Deck tries to get him to do some post-draft marketing that he has less than zero interest in. Seriously, I can't recommend that clip enough. I don't know what kind of day you're having at work, but I guarantee it's not "guy who has to get Nail Yakupov to look up and make eye contact long enough to open a pack of hockey cards" bad.

"When someone shows you who they are, believe them. When someone tells you they are not Pavel Bure or Alex Ovechkin, really really believe them." —Maya Angelou, failed NHL scout.

Have a question, suggestion, old YouTube clip, or anything else you'd like to see included in this column? Email Sean at nhlgrabbag@gmail.com.

DGB Grab Bag: Free Agency, Contract Announcements, and Draft Busts published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[apsbicepstraining]

How a Republican baseball rehearse in Virginia became ‘a killing field’

In a rampage lasting 10 sickening instants, a gunman targeted Republican politicians as they impounded an early-morning practise in a picturesque park

America has been made to endure this sting before when a mass hitting desecrates its most cherished infinites: a schoolroom in Newtown; a cinema in Aurora; a religion in Charleston.

This time, with the sunup, a baseball ballpark in Virginia became, in the words of Senator Rand Paul, a killing field.

What legislators who trade their clothings and ties for baseball outfits absence in fitness, they make up for in earnest fervor. Such is the dedication of Steve Scalise, the count three House Republican, and my honourable colleagues that they regularly start rehearsal at 6.15 or 6.30 am at the Eugene Simpson Stadium Park in Alexandria, in all the regions of the Potomac river from Washington DC.

What we know about the Virginia shooting

This allows them to beat both the heat, which was heading towards 90 F( 32 C) on Wednesday, and the clamor of Capitol Hill.

Their surrounds are a serene, affluent orbit of disconnected redbrick houses with porches, clipped lawns and trees where bother is hard to envisage. The baseball field is close to the ballpark where neighbourhoods amble their puppies, a childrens playground and a YMCA. It lies about halfway between Washington DC to the north and George Washingtons farm, Mount Vernon, to the south.

There were 20 House members and two senators present, is in accordance with congressman Joe Barton of Texas, the Republican teams manager, grabbing the last opportunity to touched some dances before Thursdays annual kindnes game against their Democratic rivals.

Just after 7am, a male who would be identified afterwards as James Hodgkinson, 66, from Belleville, Illinois, sauntered up to congressmen Ron DeSantis and Jeff Duncan as they were going into their vehicle to leave the field, the pair recalled.

James T Hodgkinson, the suspect in the Virginia shooting. Picture: AP

Duncan told reporters that the man asked me if the team rehearsing was a Democrat or Republican team. I told him the latter are Republicans. He said, OK thanks, turned around.

Minutes afterwards, as the dedicated amateurs were nearing the end of batting rehearse, there was a thunderous blow. They stopped and stared, perplexed. Congressman Rodney Davis of Illinois said afterwards that he thought something heavy had dropped at a structure site.

Hes got a gun! person screamed. Another person hollered: Thump the ground!

He was hunting us

One of the most color accounts would come from congressman Mo Brooks of Alabama. I was on deck, about to smacked batting rehearsal on the third-base surface of home plate, and I sounded a thunderous bam, and I look around and behind third base and the third base bunker, which is cinderblock, I realise a rifle, he told CNN. And I meet a little of a figure and I then listen another blam and I realise that theres an active shooter.

Hodgkinson, wearing jeans and blue shirt, was exerting a rifle from behind a chain-link barricade near third base. By most forecasts, he would fire at least 50 rounds, the missiles kicking up soil and gravel. There was confusion. Brutally uncovered on the open realm, beings variously hit the deck, dived into a bunker for extend, hastened into the dog common or climbed over a barricade and ran for “peoples lives”. Team administrator Joe Bartons 10 -year-old son Jack hid under an SUV.

Congressman Mike Bishop of Michigan told the New York Times: He was hunting us at that point. There was so much gunfire, you couldnt get up and range. Pop, pop, papa, pa its a tone Ill never forget.

Hodgkinson stopped shooting as he moved from near the third-base dugout towards the backstop behind home plate. He never got on to the field because the chain-link fencing around the park was locked. Barton said eventually: Had he gotten in the fence, it would have been a bloodbath.

A opinion of the baseball field in Alexandria, Virginia, after the shooting. Photo: Brendan Smialowski/ AFP/ Getty Images

Texas congressman Roger Williams, who coaches the Republican team, contributed: We were sitting ducks. We had nothing to fight back with but at-bats, if it is necessary to that.

The first victim was Scalise , 51 , who had been fielding balls on second base. He was smacked in the hip and collapsed to the field, bellowing. He managed to drag himself to the outfield grass, leaving a course of blood, onlookers said later.

Two Capitol Hill police officer, Crystal Griner and David Bailey, who were in Scalises security detail, immediately recalled fervour. Senator Jeff Flake wailed: Are you friendly? Are you friendly?

One shouted back: Yes!

One of the officers suffered a gunshot wind but deterred firing. Both is commonly praised for saving several lives.

Alexandria resident Katie Fillus told the Washington Post she saw a female polouse draw out a artillery and shriek, Drop your weapon! but the gunman killed her. She descended on the ground in front of us, and we were all just trying to lay as flat we are to be able. And I belly-crawled, dragging through the mud. I got to the car and I ducked under the car and I laid as close as I could under the car to hide from the person. Then the police seemed to come.

Congressman Brooks, meanwhile, had thrown himself down at home plate, but decided to take a chance and run to the first base bunker, where about a dozen congressmen and aides were lying. Among them was congressional aide-de-camp Zachary Barth, who had been struck in the leg and hobbled across the field. Brooks took off his region and another congressman exploited a tourniquet to try to slow the bleeding.

In the meantime, Brooks told CNN, Im towards the right-field surface of the dugout and theres gunfire within about five, six, seven feet of my heading, and I look up and theres a guy with a gun exploding away. Fortunately, it was one of the good guys, one of our security item, who was filming back.

Of course it was handgun versus rifle, our handguns versus the crap-shooters rifle on the third-base course just outside the chain-link fencing, and he was cautioning us to stand down.

He included: But for the Capitol police and the gallantry they depicted, it could very well have been a large-scale murder. All we would have had would have been baseball bats versus a rifle. Those arent good odds.

Police arrive

By 7.09 am, Alexandria police had received a request reporting fires fired at the ballpark, according to its leader Michael Brown. Three minutes later they arrived at the scene.

Members of the FBI response team search for prove on the field. Photograph: UPI/ Barcroft Images

Hodgkinson a home inspector who, it was soon uncovered, had volunteered for Bernie Sanderss presidential campaign was shot at 7.14 am. His frenzy had lasted roughly 10 minutes.

Congressman Mike Conaway said: The people down to a handgun, he plummeted his rifle, they film him, I go over there, they applied him in handcuffs.

It was not clear how much season passed before Hodgkinson died. The lawsuit was multiple gunshots to the torso, according to the coroners report.

The coast eventually clear, Brooks, Flake and others ranged towards the wounded Scalise. Arizona senator Flake remembered: I wanted to get at him but there were still fires going overhead from both sides. Lastly, when the crap-shooter was down, I simply operated low-spirited out to Steve.

They put pressure on the hip meander to stem the bleeding while Brad Wenstrup, a congressman from Ohio and a doctor, checked for any other winds.

After medical personnel arrived, Flake said he retrieved Scalises mobile. I got his phone and called his wife, only to make sure she didnt listen the report before. So, fortunately, she hadnt, and I was able to tell her that he gazed to be stable and we were with him.

A helicopter landed in the field and took five people to local infirmaries with gunshot wraps: Scalise, who remains in a crucial situation, lobbyist Matt Mika, congressional aide-de-camp Zachary Barth, a Capitol police officer and the gunman.

Brooks said: At that time, the police were causing all of us to gather outside the first base front and the chain-link fencing and cordoning off the neighborhood is to ensure if there was a second crap-shooter we would be better protected.

FBI special agent Tim Slater summaries the press after the two attacks. Photo: Zach Gibson/ Getty Images

The normally tranquil neighbourhood was stunned. Bullets had lodged in or are going through openings of the nearby YMCA. Alex Heimberg, 19, who had arrived at 6am for a morning exercising, had been in the cellar there during the gunfire. We didnt genuinely know what to think of it, he said. It could be loads declining from upstairs. Its just something weve never knowledge but we were given context when a follower came down and said there was an active shooter and we said, Oh crap, it is also necessary get somewhere safe.

One patron greeted casually, wrapping himself in a towel and using a sauna, Heimberg recollected. The YMCA was on lockdown for around three hours.

A show of solidarity

It soon emerged that the shooter Hodgkinson was a leftwing activist with a record of family violence. He had signed an online petition calling for Donald Trump to be charged and wrote on Facebook: Trump is a Traitor. Trump Has Destroyed our Democracy. Its Time to Destroy Trump& Co.

Hodgkinsons Facebook page later removed by the company likewise peculiarity photographs of Senator Bernie Sanders, who said he had been informed that Hodgkinson had clearly volunteered for his presidential expedition last year. I am nauseated by this odious act, a shaken Sanders said on the Senate floor. Let me be as clear as I can be: savagery of any kind is intolerable in national societies, and I condemn these recommendations in the strongest possible terms.

The drama in Alexandria all but offset the days business at the White House and Capitol Hill. At 11.36 am Donald Trump, sombre on his 71 st birthday, announced that the assailant have already been died from his injuries. In a partisan and rancorous political climate, Trump also made a measured are calling for harmony. We are strongest when we are united and when we work together for the interests of all, he said.

Bernie Sanders strongly condemned the killing after it came out the believe had volunteered for his presidential expedition. Image: Saul Loeb/ AFP/ Getty Images

And for a date, at the least, the feeling in Washington seemed to have changed. At 4pm, the managers of the Republican and Democratic congressional baseball teams appeared together at a seam press conference and devoted that the game at Nationals Park on Thursday would go on. Barton said: It will be play ball tomorrow night at 7.05.

Mike Doyle, the manager of the Democratic unit, lent: Were not going to let incidents like this change our way of life or daily routines.

The congressmen likewise knew any other message. They guessed the two attacks was a consequence of the increasingly poisonous political climate between politicians, the written press and the public.

Members are not looked at as parties any more, Barton said, indicating on the change since he was first elected in 1985. People think they can come to our town hall gratifies and say exactly “the worlds largest” obnoxious circumstances and well not feel anything personally.

As a first step, Doyle said the Democrat invited Republicans to the Democratic Club for dinner. Barton ribbed him that he would ordering the most expensive steak on the menu. Doyle hit back: Were Democrats. We dont have steaks. Thats your club.

The post How a Republican baseball rehearse in Virginia became ‘a killing field’ appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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[apsbicepstraining]

How a Republican baseball rehearse in Virginia became ‘a killing field’

In a rampage lasting 10 sickening instants, a gunman targeted Republican politicians as they impounded an early-morning practise in a picturesque park

America has been made to endure this sting before when a mass hitting desecrates its most cherished infinites: a schoolroom in Newtown; a cinema in Aurora; a religion in Charleston.

This time, with the sunup, a baseball ballpark in Virginia became, in the words of Senator Rand Paul, a killing field.

What legislators who trade their clothings and ties for baseball outfits absence in fitness, they make up for in earnest fervor. Such is the dedication of Steve Scalise, the count three House Republican, and my honourable colleagues that they regularly start rehearsal at 6.15 or 6.30 am at the Eugene Simpson Stadium Park in Alexandria, in all the regions of the Potomac river from Washington DC.

What we know about the Virginia shooting

This allows them to beat both the heat, which was heading towards 90 F( 32 C) on Wednesday, and the clamor of Capitol Hill.

Their surrounds are a serene, affluent orbit of disconnected redbrick houses with porches, clipped lawns and trees where bother is hard to envisage. The baseball field is close to the ballpark where neighbourhoods amble their puppies, a childrens playground and a YMCA. It lies about halfway between Washington DC to the north and George Washingtons farm, Mount Vernon, to the south.

There were 20 House members and two senators present, is in accordance with congressman Joe Barton of Texas, the Republican teams manager, grabbing the last opportunity to touched some dances before Thursdays annual kindnes game against their Democratic rivals.

Just after 7am, a male who would be identified afterwards as James Hodgkinson, 66, from Belleville, Illinois, sauntered up to congressmen Ron DeSantis and Jeff Duncan as they were going into their vehicle to leave the field, the pair recalled.

James T Hodgkinson, the suspect in the Virginia shooting. Picture: AP

Duncan told reporters that the man asked me if the team rehearsing was a Democrat or Republican team. I told him the latter are Republicans. He said, OK thanks, turned around.

Minutes afterwards, as the dedicated amateurs were nearing the end of batting rehearse, there was a thunderous blow. They stopped and stared, perplexed. Congressman Rodney Davis of Illinois said afterwards that he thought something heavy had dropped at a structure site.

Hes got a gun! person screamed. Another person hollered: Thump the ground!

He was hunting us

One of the most color accounts would come from congressman Mo Brooks of Alabama. I was on deck, about to smacked batting rehearsal on the third-base surface of home plate, and I sounded a thunderous bam, and I look around and behind third base and the third base bunker, which is cinderblock, I realise a rifle, he told CNN. And I meet a little of a figure and I then listen another blam and I realise that theres an active shooter.

Hodgkinson, wearing jeans and blue shirt, was exerting a rifle from behind a chain-link barricade near third base. By most forecasts, he would fire at least 50 rounds, the missiles kicking up soil and gravel. There was confusion. Brutally uncovered on the open realm, beings variously hit the deck, dived into a bunker for extend, hastened into the dog common or climbed over a barricade and ran for “peoples lives”. Team administrator Joe Bartons 10 -year-old son Jack hid under an SUV.

Congressman Mike Bishop of Michigan told the New York Times: He was hunting us at that point. There was so much gunfire, you couldnt get up and range. Pop, pop, papa, pa its a tone Ill never forget.

Hodgkinson stopped shooting as he moved from near the third-base dugout towards the backstop behind home plate. He never got on to the field because the chain-link fencing around the park was locked. Barton said eventually: Had he gotten in the fence, it would have been a bloodbath.

A opinion of the baseball field in Alexandria, Virginia, after the shooting. Photo: Brendan Smialowski/ AFP/ Getty Images

Texas congressman Roger Williams, who coaches the Republican team, contributed: We were sitting ducks. We had nothing to fight back with but at-bats, if it is necessary to that.

The first victim was Scalise , 51 , who had been fielding balls on second base. He was smacked in the hip and collapsed to the field, bellowing. He managed to drag himself to the outfield grass, leaving a course of blood, onlookers said later.

Two Capitol Hill police officer, Crystal Griner and David Bailey, who were in Scalises security detail, immediately recalled fervour. Senator Jeff Flake wailed: Are you friendly? Are you friendly?

One shouted back: Yes!

One of the officers suffered a gunshot wind but deterred firing. Both is commonly praised for saving several lives.

Alexandria resident Katie Fillus told the Washington Post she saw a female polouse draw out a artillery and shriek, Drop your weapon! but the gunman killed her. She descended on the ground in front of us, and we were all just trying to lay as flat we are to be able. And I belly-crawled, dragging through the mud. I got to the car and I ducked under the car and I laid as close as I could under the car to hide from the person. Then the police seemed to come.

Congressman Brooks, meanwhile, had thrown himself down at home plate, but decided to take a chance and run to the first base bunker, where about a dozen congressmen and aides were lying. Among them was congressional aide-de-camp Zachary Barth, who had been struck in the leg and hobbled across the field. Brooks took off his region and another congressman exploited a tourniquet to try to slow the bleeding.

In the meantime, Brooks told CNN, Im towards the right-field surface of the dugout and theres gunfire within about five, six, seven feet of my heading, and I look up and theres a guy with a gun exploding away. Fortunately, it was one of the good guys, one of our security item, who was filming back.

Of course it was handgun versus rifle, our handguns versus the crap-shooters rifle on the third-base course just outside the chain-link fencing, and he was cautioning us to stand down.

He included: But for the Capitol police and the gallantry they depicted, it could very well have been a large-scale murder. All we would have had would have been baseball bats versus a rifle. Those arent good odds.

Police arrive

By 7.09 am, Alexandria police had received a request reporting fires fired at the ballpark, according to its leader Michael Brown. Three minutes later they arrived at the scene.

Members of the FBI response team search for prove on the field. Photograph: UPI/ Barcroft Images

Hodgkinson a home inspector who, it was soon uncovered, had volunteered for Bernie Sanderss presidential campaign was shot at 7.14 am. His frenzy had lasted roughly 10 minutes.

Congressman Mike Conaway said: The people down to a handgun, he plummeted his rifle, they film him, I go over there, they applied him in handcuffs.

It was not clear how much season passed before Hodgkinson died. The lawsuit was multiple gunshots to the torso, according to the coroners report.

The coast eventually clear, Brooks, Flake and others ranged towards the wounded Scalise. Arizona senator Flake remembered: I wanted to get at him but there were still fires going overhead from both sides. Lastly, when the crap-shooter was down, I simply operated low-spirited out to Steve.

They put pressure on the hip meander to stem the bleeding while Brad Wenstrup, a congressman from Ohio and a doctor, checked for any other winds.

After medical personnel arrived, Flake said he retrieved Scalises mobile. I got his phone and called his wife, only to make sure she didnt listen the report before. So, fortunately, she hadnt, and I was able to tell her that he gazed to be stable and we were with him.

A helicopter landed in the field and took five people to local infirmaries with gunshot wraps: Scalise, who remains in a crucial situation, lobbyist Matt Mika, congressional aide-de-camp Zachary Barth, a Capitol police officer and the gunman.

Brooks said: At that time, the police were causing all of us to gather outside the first base front and the chain-link fencing and cordoning off the neighborhood is to ensure if there was a second crap-shooter we would be better protected.

FBI special agent Tim Slater summaries the press after the two attacks. Photo: Zach Gibson/ Getty Images

The normally tranquil neighbourhood was stunned. Bullets had lodged in or are going through openings of the nearby YMCA. Alex Heimberg, 19, who had arrived at 6am for a morning exercising, had been in the cellar there during the gunfire. We didnt genuinely know what to think of it, he said. It could be loads declining from upstairs. Its just something weve never knowledge but we were given context when a follower came down and said there was an active shooter and we said, Oh crap, it is also necessary get somewhere safe.

One patron greeted casually, wrapping himself in a towel and using a sauna, Heimberg recollected. The YMCA was on lockdown for around three hours.

A show of solidarity

It soon emerged that the shooter Hodgkinson was a leftwing activist with a record of family violence. He had signed an online petition calling for Donald Trump to be charged and wrote on Facebook: Trump is a Traitor. Trump Has Destroyed our Democracy. Its Time to Destroy Trump& Co.

Hodgkinsons Facebook page later removed by the company likewise peculiarity photographs of Senator Bernie Sanders, who said he had been informed that Hodgkinson had clearly volunteered for his presidential expedition last year. I am nauseated by this odious act, a shaken Sanders said on the Senate floor. Let me be as clear as I can be: savagery of any kind is intolerable in national societies, and I condemn these recommendations in the strongest possible terms.

The drama in Alexandria all but offset the days business at the White House and Capitol Hill. At 11.36 am Donald Trump, sombre on his 71 st birthday, announced that the assailant have already been died from his injuries. In a partisan and rancorous political climate, Trump also made a measured are calling for harmony. We are strongest when we are united and when we work together for the interests of all, he said.

Bernie Sanders strongly condemned the killing after it came out the believe had volunteered for his presidential expedition. Image: Saul Loeb/ AFP/ Getty Images

And for a date, at the least, the feeling in Washington seemed to have changed. At 4pm, the managers of the Republican and Democratic congressional baseball teams appeared together at a seam press conference and devoted that the game at Nationals Park on Thursday would go on. Barton said: It will be play ball tomorrow night at 7.05.

Mike Doyle, the manager of the Democratic unit, lent: Were not going to let incidents like this change our way of life or daily routines.

The congressmen likewise knew any other message. They guessed the two attacks was a consequence of the increasingly poisonous political climate between politicians, the written press and the public.

Members are not looked at as parties any more, Barton said, indicating on the change since he was first elected in 1985. People think they can come to our town hall gratifies and say exactly “the worlds largest” obnoxious circumstances and well not feel anything personally.

As a first step, Doyle said the Democrat invited Republicans to the Democratic Club for dinner. Barton ribbed him that he would ordering the most expensive steak on the menu. Doyle hit back: Were Democrats. We dont have steaks. Thats your club.

The post How a Republican baseball rehearse in Virginia became ‘a killing field’ appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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