#high fives or shared finger guns if you prefer (or all three why not!)

[vampnyx]

happy birthday!!! *confetti* *confetti* *confetti**confetti* *confetti* *confetti**confetti* *confetti* *confetti**confetti* *confetti* *confetti**confetti* *confetti* *confetti**confetti* *confetti* *confetti**confetti* *confetti* *confetti**confetti* *confetti* *confetti**confetti* *confetti* *confetti*

TY DEAR I and sending so much love your way 🖤🖤🖤

[damn-stark]

Telepathy and Telekinesis

Diego Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Requested by @rachelcarrol1819 “Hi can you do a imagine where the reader is number 8 and has the power over telpathy and telenkies and ends up in a relationship with Diego please and thank you”

Warning-violence, swearing, sort of long.

Episode- 2x10

————

“No, Diego’s mind is like,” you pause and pretend to be in deep thought, tapping your chin with your finger before extending your hand out and leaving your palm open as you used your power to snatch the bag of chips from Klaus’s hand and welcome it to your hand with a smile that slowly turned into a grin as you continued teasing Diego. “It’s like those big boards the police use to map out their evidence and information.”

‘Evidence board’ Diego corrected you inside his head.

“Exactly.” You blurt out, “an evidence board!”

Diego’s head snapped your direction to shoot you a burning glare. “Hey! I said out of my head!”

You shrug, “sorry.”

Klaus snickered and a confident smile grew on his lips, “you could never get into my mind—”

You snort, “actually yeah I can, you know that already, yours is the easiest one. Your thoughts are loud and all over the place.” Klaus lets out a small huff before he snatches his chips back from your hand; “The only person's mind I can’t read anymore is five’s.” You lean forward and rest your arms on the back of his seat while your chin rests on your hands. “Indulge us for a moment, no?”

At your suggestion the rest of your siblings inside the car turn their attention to Five and you, watching curiously and with an amused look decorated on their features.

Five on the other hand just looks forward and doesn’t bother to look back to answer bluntly, “no.”

You smirk and lift your head from its resting position so you could move one of your hands towards his head to make it easier that way, but he catches on to what you were trying to do without a single look and swats your hand away. “I’ve spent years building my own immunity to keep you away,” he pauses for a couple seconds and you could practically hear his smirk, “you could never get into my head.”

‘Maybe not when he’s sober.’ Diego thought, this time in a loud manner where he knew you had caught his secret comment. Even though it contradicted his previous complaint—he only hated it when you got into his mind without him knowing or at all actually. It wasn’t like before when he used to stutter where he would prefer using your telepathy to talk; he would let you read his thoughts and would let you share your own in his mind.

Now it was rare the time where he would let you know what he was thinking, and usually when he did it was to share small comments like those. It made you happy when he did because it gave you assurance that he and you still shared that same bond that you didn’t have with the others

You smirk and lean back in your seat, suppressing a laugh before sharing your thought response to Diego, ‘exactly. How much do you think it would take to get him drunk?’

‘Have you seen his little body? Not a lot.’

This time you’re more unsuccessful at keeping your laugh a secret and let it slip, receiving odd looks from the siblings around you, something you now knew how to ignore, just like the very general thoughts that came with a look as quizcall as the one they shot you now. Just like how you knew how to block out everyone’s thoughts, it had taken years, but it was something very appreciated since there weren't constant loud thoughts swirling around you anymore. It was irritating to say the least.

Now using your telepathy was a choice. Not like riding in this car with all seven of the other Hargreeves. They all may get annoying at times, but sticking by their side when one of them needed it was never choice. Especially not when it came to Diego.

“Is it just me or did it just get cold all of a sudden.” Klaus complained.

You shrug and are about to turn down his comment, but the sudden cold wave then hits you too, causing chills to crawl up your spine—“no not just you.” You shiver and see the puff of air come out of your mouth as you talk.

“Is that,” Vanya speaks up, leaning in her seat to get a better view out the windshield, “a snowstorm?” She pressed on the gas pedal further down to speed up the car, turning into a driveway of a farmhouse where the big grey cloud storm was raging over.

Vanya stopped the car and everybody began to get out, the attention all on the snow falling and the cloud above, causing Diego to to question it first before anyone else could. “You think whatever’s going on inside is causing the cold front?”

You shut the door behind you and narrow your gaze on the lightning storming from the same cloud, “well the correlation is high.”

Shortly after the door sounds from the barn and a blond woman walks out making Vanya slam her car door and rush to her as she shouted her name? “Sissy! Sissy!”

The woman’s energy however doesn’t match Vanyas as...Sissy pulls out a shotgun and points it at all of you. “Get back! All of you, just get the hall back!”

“Sissy!”

You freeze in your spot next to Diego and shoot Sissy and her shotgun a pointed gaze. So much for coming to help her out.

Vanya ran up in front of you all of you and began to try and reassure the women, throwing her hand out to stop her. “Hey! Hey! What’s wrong?”

“Carl.” She deadpans, her eyes bouncing from you and the rest of your group.

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest, sharing your thoughts to Diego’s mind, ‘we don’t have time for this, we need to stop what the kid is causing before it ends badly.’

He doesn’t respond to you but he does step and say your thought out loud, “y/n is right, we don’t have time for this Vanya.”

The woman suddenly points the gun at Diego as he moves, “where do you think you’re going?”

Diego puts his hand out to try and reassure her and stop her from shooting the gun, making your eyes intent on the woman and step up with your hand on the ready. “To help your son.”

Vanya keeps trying to assure Sissy and you feel Luther's hand on your shoulder, knowing your intentions before you could even try them. You meet his gaze over your shoulder and hesitate on listening doing so only as the woman begins to lower her gun.

Sissy questions, “Were you lying to me this whole time?”

Vanya shakes her head and tries to get closer, “Of course not. Look I didn’t know who I was, but I do now. And we are not the monsters they say we are. We didn’t kill the president. We are not terrorists. We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

Sissy pants softly, “then...who are you?”

“The only one who can help Harlan.”

Well that’s putting it short.

Sissy hesitates but ultimately tells all you to follow her inside the Barn with Vanya quick to rush inside and help the family she had supposedly been living with since Five’s failed time travel. Immediately coming to see the cause of the storm. A little boy, with this energy field flying around him that caused a wind storm on the inside. Looking almost as Vanya had when she used her powers to accidentally destroy the world; only the kid didn’t turn white or have control, he floated in the air and his body shook as if he were having a seizure, right away without having to use your powers you knew he was scared out of his mind. Like all of you were when you were his age.

“Harlan, it’s Vanya! Look, Harlan, I know you’re really scared, but I can help you. I need you to listen to me, okay? Can you do that?” Vanya then turned to you, “can you calm him down? Talk to him with your powers?”

Your eyes flicker to the boy and then to Vanya, shooting her an apologetic look, “I can try, but he doesn’t know me, I’ll only scare him more, but you can, I know so.”

Vanya let’s out a shaky exhale and nods, “yeah, okay.” Her eyes then turn white and she takes a step inside the field surrounding the boy, letting the rest of you stand back and watch as she tries to assure the boy, only seconds passing before Klaus begins to call out your attention. “Uh, guys?!”

Your head snaps to Klaus and you like the rest of your siblings join him by the window to see two figures standing very menacingly in the distance. Your gaze narrows and you breath out, “who are they?”

“Ones the handler, the others Diego’s girlfriend.”

Your nose scrunches and you instantly look over your shoulder to Diego, your question coming out unnecessarily sharp “what?”

He meets your gaze and quickly corrects Five, “Lila. That’s my ex-girlfriend.”

“You know what? Doesn’t matter. They both look angry.” Luther points out.

Five agrees, “yeah.”

“Our brother has the effect on people.” Allison remarks.

“I’m gonna go find what they want. You guys stay with Vanya and the kid.”

Diego is quick to interject, “yeah, I’m going too.”

And just like that, Allison, Klaus, Luther and you are left behind. Not really doing as Five suggested, but instead walking out minutes after and stopping not even halfway.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Allison wondered.

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

“Which one's the girlfriend?” Luther asks, again making your eyebrows furrow and your nose scrunch, an anger beginning to burn inside you at the slightest mention, leaving Luther's question unanswered and glaring at the group in the distance until your jaw dropped as hundreds of other people began to appear from out of nowhere and join the field.

You sigh, “holy shit.” You take one step forward to get ready to fight, but then the lady with the weird big hat pulls out something red you couldn’t quite make out, but you could find meaning from here—shit...without having to look at those beside you, you're quick to warn them. ‘Run!’—not even a second later shouting is heard and shooting is soon to follow. You could try and stop them, give your siblings beside you time to really hide, but there were too many and all too fast, the second you’ try to stop and try to stop the bullets you’d be dead with hundreds of holes in your body. So that wasn’t smart. Which is why you let Allison pull you behind a cart to let Luther wrap his arms around all three of you for some form of extra protection from the incoming bullets that were already getting stopped by the cart. But that too could fail at any moment, and all feelings left unsaid, unshared would be lost forever and dead alongside you.

The end of the Umbrella Academy would all come to this point, not even in your own time and yet as that came to mind, none of it mattered as much as Diego did. The concern for your well-being wasn’t as high as Diego’s who was out in the open, hopefully not dead. Of course you loved the rest of your siblings, even if you joined their family years later, you still cared for them, like they did you, they were a family you never had. But Diego, well he always had a special place in your heart that the others didn’t.

And now it was all going to be gone and left unspoken—

“Ahh,” suddenly a high pitched sound hits your ears and your hands fly to cover them, whilst your eyes flicker up to see Vanya floating out the farm, looking as she did what seemed to decades go. White and a blue hue surrounding her. Letting you all know what was to come, causing Luther to press the three of you closer to himself and try and protect you from what may come.

Making everything go silent and making the bullets stop like how they began so out of a sudden.

Letting out a relieved breath of air you let Luther's arm go and began to pull away, hearing Allison comment, “it’s over.”

And it also wasn’t.

Slowly you began to stand up and poke your head out above the hay carts, seeing the once sea of people all on the ground, the only two left just the same two women from before. Somehow.

“How are they doing that?” Luther asked what you all were thinking, all collectively noticing a blue field surrounding the two disappear and another blue source of light to appear from the woman with the dark. Again somehow.

“Shit.”

The same high pitch sounded and just like Vanya a wave of the same blue force was thrown and you all were thrown back. Your back hitting the barn wall with a loud and painful thud, surprisingly staying conscious after the outcome.

You groan, “fuck that hurt.” You slowly sit up to see your siblings are now scattered, a recognizable brunette struggling in the distance. Feeling your gaze, his attention snapped to you, calling out to you instantly.

“Y/N help!”

Jumping up to your feet you quickly rush over to him, throwing your hand out to use your powers to throw the tractor off Diego. That with really no effort at all, not like helping him up.

You smile softly, “you okay?”

He nods and cradles your cheeks, “yeah, never better. What about you?”

“I’ve gone through worse.”

His gaze lingers on your face and he smiles, “I’ve got to tell you something.”

“Me too.”

Diego swallows thickly and his thumb strokes your cheek, “I thought you were dead, which is why I got with Lila, I’m sorry. Just know that I never stopped...I-I” he pauses and his eyebrows furrow as he fumbles with his words.

A bright grin tugs at the corner of your lips, “it’s okay.” You assure him, “you don’t have to say it out loud.” Letting you read his mind, he insteads lets you read what he thought.

‘I never stopped loving you. Never.’

‘I love you too, Diego.’

Your hands hold his and just as you’re going to close the small gap left you hear the snow crunching beside you, the sight of your siblings catching the corner of your eye as they rush to come and join your side.

Diego let’s go and shares one last thing, ‘later.’

He pulls away at the same time your siblings surround the two of you.

Diego rushed up to Luther excited and very smugly, “team Zero! Unstoppable!” Diego tries to give him a high-five, but Luther instead meets his hand with a fist pump. Ultimately punching Diego’s palm and a small wince coming out his lips thereafter.

“Uh..”

“Has anyone seen five?” Allison finally asks.

“I don’t know he’s around here somewhere.” Luther again turns his attention towards Diego. “By the way your ex-girlfriend can blink like five.”

Allison nodded and added, “yeah, that bitch just rumored me so I couldn’t breathe.”

“And destroyed, like, had the farm with a shock wave. So unoriginal.” Klaus interjected.

“If she can do everything we can, she might as well just be one of us.” Vanya shared, letting a lightbulb go off in your mind at the new conclusion….

Shit…

Slowly all your siblings realizing the same thing. Their expressions and their running thoughts giving it away.

Luther chuckled nervously and then his amused grin dropped, “No, there's no way. It can’t be.”

Allison shrugs, “it’s a reasonable conclusion.”

“Eh, but there were only eight of us.” Klaus tries to dismiss.

Your eyebrows knot, “yeah, but I only came ten years later after your father took you all from your parents. So, maybe we need to consider that there’s more of us out there that ended up undiscovered at birth like me.”

Alison blinks, “are we surprised? I mean dad never told us the whole truth about anything.”

Diego’s steps up, “but she’s like y/n, right? She’s not our biological sister right?”

You blink and your jaw again drops at his cluelessness, “uh, I’m just not going to try.”—Not even try to read what he’s thinking.

Luther shakes his head and ignores Diego’s comment all together. “Okay, so, if she can mirror our powers, that means anything we throw at her, she can match, right?”

“Yeah,” Klaus agrees, “but she can only mirror one of our powers at a time.”

“You sure about that?” Allison questions.

“We can always try it, right?” You interject confidently, “nothing wrong with trying.”

——

Okay.

Well, apparently everything was wrong with trying since well...you died, but also came back to life thanks to Five. But in that, Lila also left.

So, trying, let everything go wrong.

Like always.

The only good thing that came out trying was that your siblings and Diego were all alive.

“You doing, okay?” You ask Diego softly.

His eyes blink to meet yours, sharing a small but soft smile, “yeah, you’re alive and the rest of my siblings are fine, so it’s all okay.”

You take a seat beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, “we’re finally going home.”

Diego’s arm wraps around your shoulders and he pulls you closer to him, “yeah about time.” He pauses and you feel him kiss the top of your head, “I’m ready to finally take a break, y’know. From all this, even if just for a little while.”

You grin and nod, “okay...what would we do?”

Diego shrugs, “whatever you want.”

Pulling your head away, you face him and show him your smile, leaning in to press a small kiss on his lips. “I just want to be with you.”

Diego cups your cheeks and kisses you softly, letting you once again read what he was thinking—‘sounds like a plan.’

You grin, ‘good.’

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Little Gems

Hi all ... it’s been awhile ... but i just can’t leave Mulder and Scully alone for long ...

Sorry about that ... the kid has a new baking business she’s running out of our kitchen (she’s 16, btw) ... we COVID-quarantine finished our basement ... I rewrote my entire third novel ... I’ve had things to do :)

Love and hug and enjoy ...

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

Little Gems

It was the look that made her stumble on her words, stutter through two syllables, hesitate on the third before rallying to pull herself back to the courtroom. Face flaming hot in an instant, she hid her clenched fists below the wooden barrier and carried on, trooper that she was.

His look.

In the middle of her sentence, she’d looked at him, the quickest of glances to see his encouraging lip twitch or the barest of nods … instead, she’d gotten popping jaw muscle, flaring nostril, and furrowed brow. She’d done her stumble because, without thought to present day for half a second, she’d rewound the past two minutes in her head. What the hell had she done to deserve that pointedly angry look?

For the next 43 minutes, she steamed slowly while her demeanor revealed nothing, back to calm, cool, collected, cadence smooth, sentence structure sound. Finally free, she moved past Mulder, dodging the crowd in the hall and slipping through his fingers as he reached for her arm, elbow, to turn her, yell at her for not saying some theory or other of his that would have gotten the case thrown out but allowed Mulder the righteous indignation of his truth.

“Hang on.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

&&&&&&&&

Continuing through the crowd at a pace not meant for five o’clock on a Thursday afternoon near a Metro station, she didn’t care that he’d driven her there. She didn’t care that her ring of keys was in his pocket. She didn’t care that her stomach needed food, her brain needed a drink, her sweet tooth needed several dozen peanut M&Ms. She did care that she had approximately $10 in her pocket, which was more than enough to get her home and she had no room for anymore cares at the moment.

She always knew that house key tucked and forgotten behind her badge would come in handy.

She would be seeing his ass tomorrow and not a moment sooner.

Mulder, on the other hand, stood there watching her storm away. Not quite sure why she was so angry with herself over a few misspoken words but the set of her shoulders and the way she threw out the ‘see you tomorrow’ told him if he did indeed see or talk to her before tomorrow, he’d possibly and probably walk away with one less appendage, be it finger or more important things.

Watching her until she disappeared into the Metro Station, he noted it contained a Blue Line so, knowing she’d get home via either Foggy Bottom or Rosslyn station, he let her go, knowing she had a key behind her badge and her emergency cash behind that.

His mind wouldn’t let it go, however. She’d been good. Damn good. Until her stumble, which, for reasons unknown to him, had made her angry. She had hesitated on two words, taken a quarter second deeper inhale than usual before she gathered and continued. He highly doubted anyone but himself had noticed but given it was Scully, she probably imagined she’d screwed everything up completely.

He chewed on this as he returned to his car, unhurried because, regardless of if he ran or crawled, he’d still be stuck in some kind of traffic between here and there.

&&&&&&&&

Scully, for her part, hated the crowds in the Metro, disliked strangers pressed this close to her, shuffled together with the unwashed masses of society, tourist and native alike, all collectively tired from their day and frustrated same as she with the swaying train and the endless wait to put on comfortable clothing and take a deep breath.

And it afforded her time to analyze Mulder’s look.

Which is exactly what she did not need at this point in time.

&&&&&&&&&&

Both moved several times during the evening to pick up the phone, find out what the other was thinking but in the end, Mulder fell asleep on his couch, worried about her, and Scully fell asleep on hers, angry at him.

&&&&&&&&&&

He honestly thought the next day would be okay. She would have spent the evening picking apart her testimony and should have, logically, arrived at the conclusion that she’d done nothing to hinder anything. He would be telling her that today when she walked in, deciding at 5:42am, while shaving, that a little reassurance would be an appropriate thing.

She walked in still irritated but hiding it … not so very well ... but well enough to return his greeting and nod when he told her she’d done fine the day before and not to sweat the stumble.

Her mug got set no so gently down on the edge of the desk , tea splashing out the sides.

All right.

Plan B.

Waiting until she’d wiped up the carnage of her very own personal DC Tea Party, he handed her her keys from the day before, “come on. We’re taking the day off.”

With a sigh, “we can’t.”

“After your stellar week with Kersh and Skinner, you deserve diamonds and ice cream. Come on.”

Fuck it. It was Friday. Why not follow? God know, she could just as easily be irritated with him outside as she could be in the confines of the basement.

&&&&&&&&&

“Are you kidding?”

“When is the last time you touristed DC? I mean, like, looked around and went to stuff and stared at it and read the little signs and learned something from what you read on those little signs?”

Another sigh, “it’s been awhile.”

“Then come on.” They walked over to the Mall, then Mulder tuned them to the Museum of Natural History.

Seeing the building and the crowd, “Mulder, it’s going to be packed in there.”

“Not where we’re going.” Up the steps, weaving through throngs in shorts and gym shoes, flipflops and sunglasses, they stood out like a tandem sore thumb, leather heels and barely there hose, Trinity tie knot and tartan pattern socks.

They drew more than a few stares. Thank God he’d left his suit jack behind.

Once they’d dropped the donation fee and flashed badges for guns, he led her past the dinosaur bones and then up to the second floor. Even though she wasn’t exactly happy, she had to ask, “um, you realize you passed the T-Rex, right?”

“He’s not going anywhere, Scully. I’ll see him on the way out.”

She hadn’t been to the second floor since, well, she wasn’t even sure what was on the second floor or if she’d ever been there at all, to be honest. Mulder turned her when they got out of the elevator and before she knew it, she was in a quiet area, glass cases surround her, a few people milling but the majority still downstairs with the bones and fossils.

“There’s nothing like the gem room in the morning.”

She fell in love as she took her first good look around. Minerals and elements and crystals along the walls, lights dimmed in spots, a sign for the Hope Diamond beckoning. Looking up at him, “how long has this been here?”

He laughed, quietly of course, because the area felt akin to a church or other place where silence and low murmurs were preferred over screaming children and echoing chaos, “the building, since around 1910, but the contents,” pretending to do some heavy math, using all his fingers and some of hers just for fun, “longer than that.”

Her crank meter dropped like a rock but some remained, “one day I’ll find you funny.”

Taking her elbow and feeling happy she didn’t jerk away from him, he led her towards the wall, “first, I’m going to take you on a tour of the blue section.”

“Are we dispensing with scientific names today? Will it be the green shiny ones and the square yellow ones and the ones that look like table salt but will kill you instantly if you ever tried to put them on a piece of corn on the cob?”

“One day, I’ll find you funny as well.”

They wandered in somewhat comfortable silence, sharing the oft-comment of ‘this one’s pretty’, ‘this one’s three trillion years old’ …

“Three billion, Mulder.”

“Once you get above a couple million, it’s all just really damn old and doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Are you sure you passed your science classes in high school?”

“Cute girls helped me cheat.”

She didn’t doubt it.

&&&&&&&&

Round about an hour later, while looking intently at the diamonds, Scully finally had to ask, her anger drained away, an empty hole left behind waiting to be filled with some kind of explanation. Standing beside him, hand resting lightly on the edge of the case, she asked in a soft voice, “why did you get angry at me yesterday while I was on the stand?”

What?!

“What?!”

“Right before I humiliated myself by not being able to say the word ‘epiglotal’, I looked at you and you were pissed at me.”

What?!

“God, Scully, no. No. I wasn’t mad at you at all. You were doing great.” He was leaning into her at this point, the intensity radiating off him enough to send world leaders to their knees in fear and her cheeks to warm at his proximity, “I wasn’t mad at you at all, I swear.”

Still quiet, “then what were you mad about?”

Talking at the glass but catching her reflection beside him, he felt like an idiot but didn’t think this was the time to attempt a lie, “um, the little shit paralegal behind me was whispering to his buddy about things he could imagine doing to you if he could get you alone in the closet in the hall for a few minutes.” She stayed silent as he stood there, feeling his stupidity growing in leaps and bounds, until he had to do something. Moving his hand closer, he reached out until he found her pinkie, hooking it with his momentarily, “I didn’t mean for you to see that. I’m sorry I messed things up.”

Sliding her hand out from him a second later, she moved it to his back, running fingers along the indent of his spine, up and down, down and up, stopping to palm his side before letting her arm dangle between them, “it’s okay. I’m just glad you weren’t irritated with me. I should have asked you sooner, I guess, instead of letting things fester in my head.”

Her touch sent his skin buzzing, his hand always on her back, but hers rarely on his, and he knew she felt his quick breath in but both ignored that for now, “just to let you know, I’d have throttled him had we not been sitting in front of that many lawyers and the judge.”

She finally smiled, the left side of her mouth turning up, “I’d have liked to have seen that.”

Going for broke, he moved his hand to her elbow, then slid it down, working his fingers into hers, as he leaned in a second time, a little bit closer, a little bit quieter, “jealousy is an ugly thing, Scully, let me tell you.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” Finally, finally, finally meeting his reflection, “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Now warm from head to toe, “since I’ve already showed you the diamonds, how about I go get you that ice cream now?”

“In a few minutes.” Wrapping her free arm around the one holding her hand, she whispered over to him, “I kind of like it here.”

[mischiefandspirits]

Exploration

Sequel to Odd One Out

Alternate title: Five times the batkids' teammates didn't realize they have powers and one time their family already knew?

At the request of etherealizt on AO3

One ~ Oracle

Barbara sighed as she sunk further into the water, blowing a few bubbles away from her nose.

She was having a night of rest and relaxation. She’d told the Birds she was taking the night off and had threatened all the other bats with eternal rickrolling if any of them interrupted. The soft music Dinah had recommended was playing from her phone’s speakers on the counter and the lights were dimmed. She was trying out the strawberry and grapefruit bubble bar Carrie had made and had finally opened the rosé Bruce had gifted her when she’d moved into the Clock Tower. An Alfred-made meal was warming in the oven, courtesy of Jason paying her back a favor. After her bath, she’d eat dinner then watch some of the movies on Dick’s Babs Needs to See This!!!! playlist before heading to bed early.

It was meant to be a nice quiet night.

Which meant that whoever had decided to call her not ten minutes after she had lowered herself into the water and gotten comfortable was going to have some very annoying problems with their technology for the next week.

She gave the phone a good long glare before laying her head back and closing her eyes.

“This better be good,” she growled once she’d connected to her cell and answered the call on speakerphone.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” Mari said quickly. “It’s just… we went on this mission -- just a quick in and out thing, or it was supposed to be -- and we thought we wouldn’t need your help, but we kind of do and now it’s too late to back out.”

Barbara sighed. “I was taking a bath.”

About five thousand miles away, Vixen flinched and looked at her fellow Birds. She mouthed, She’s taking a bath.

Canary flinched as well while Katana and Huntress shared a look and Question shifted guiltily. All five women had stayed at the Clock Tower before so they knew how Oracle preferred to take showers because of how arduous it was for her to get into the bath, even with the bath lift.

The times she actually got to take a bath were to be treasured.

“Shoot, I mean, we’ll handle it.”

“I’d hope you wouldn’t have called me if you could handle it,” Oracle joked.

“No. I mean, yeah, we didn’t interrupt your night lightly, but we’ll figure something out. We don’t want to ruin your b-”

“It’s fine. I’m already logging into my system. What are we looking at?”

She’s already logging in? But that means... Vixen slumped back against the wall she’d been standing in front of as she realized Oracle must have started getting out before she’d even picked up the phone. They’d ruined her night the moment Vixen had pressed call. Well, no reason to waste even more of her night.

The mission went fast with Oracle’s help and the team was out in just under half an hour. They all gave their thanks and apologized again for interrupting her night, but she waved it away before signing off.

“I still feel bad about ruining her bath. Maybe we should get her something to make up for it,” Dinah said as they were on their way home.

“Maybe we didn’t. She got on pretty quickly. She might have just had a tablet near the bath,” Helena suggested.

Renee shook her head. “She had too many things going at once. She couldn’t have managed it all with just one device.”

Tatsu smirked and chuckled, “Even the great Oracle could not handle such limitations. We'll all chip in to show our thanks.”

Back in Gotham, Barbara sunk a little further into the water with a pleased moan.

While it was a headache to manage an entire mission remotely, it was worth it to remain wrapped in the warm water and fruity scents. Thankfully it was just a short one this time, but maybe next time she’ll ask Tim to cover her in case of another emergency.

She started the music on her phone again then reached out to dry off her hand so she could finally grab her wine and start her night of relaxation.

Two ~ Nightwing

Green Arrow frowned as he watched the goon in the interview room. He, Batman, Hawkwoman, Flash, and Cyborg had picked the guy up the day before while trying to locate an experimental power core that had been stolen from S.T.A.R. Labs. They’d tracked the core to a shipping yard, but lost it there. Most of the yard’s crew were clean, but the manager was clearly on the take and knew something.

The only problem was that he wouldn’t talk.

They’d tried intimidation, logic, bribery, and charisma, but nothing had worked. Since Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter were off-world and Zatanna was unreachable (something about alternate dimensions and a tiefling warlock’s pet eldritch book-dogs), that meant the lasso of truth, mind reading, and truth spells were out.

“There has to be some way we can get him to talk,” Vic said from where he was sitting on the floor next to Wally.

“I could get him to talk,” Shayera muttered, thumbing one of the spikes on her mace.

“No,” Bruce objected as he walked up.

“We’re running out of time.”

“I know, which is why I called for help.”

“Help?” Oliver asked.

“Me.”

Shayera and Oliver jumped and spun around to see Nightwing standing behind them, a wide impish grin on his face.

Fricking ninja bats!

“Oh heck yes!” Wally cheered before bending over in a coughing fit as he choked on the bite of sandwich that had been in his mouth, Vic patting his back.

Dick winked at his friends and looked through the two-way mirror. “Double-R filled me in. This is the guy giving you trouble?”

Bruce grunted.

“I think I’ll be able to take him,” Dick said, walking over to lean against his father. “I’m going to need to borrow Robin for a few days after this, though.”

Oliver swore he could see Bruce’s eyebrow raise beneath the cowl. “For a mission or fun?”

“I need someone small to help with an infiltration… and Jump Wildlife Park has a new Snakes of the Outback exhibit.”

Sighing, Bruce shook his head. “Robin’s benched for the next week, as I’m sure you know. He’s not getting out of it. You can take Catgirl if Catwoman doesn’t need her. I’ll allow a trip to the zoo, however.”

“I’ll take it.” Dick shot him finger guns as he backed towards the door. He then spun around on his heel, high-fived the now standing Wally and Vic, and skipped into the interrogation room. He dropped into the chair across the table from the goon, leaning it back so he could rest his feet on the table. “Hi, there, I’m Nightwing.”

The goon glared at him.

“No introductions then, alright. I’ll make this quick since I’m sure you want to get out of here and I’m currently in a game of hide-and-seek with some of the other bats and I’m not about to lose because B’s having an off day. You tell me what I want to know and I won't have to make you.”

The goon snorted. “Am I really supposed to be scared by that?”

Dick shrugged. “If I wanted to scare you I’d break your fingers. We can try that if you want.”

“The winged chick already offered and it didn’t scare me then either.” The man looked Nightwing over then gave a grin that Oliver was sure set off Batman’s dad mode, even if the man hadn’t responded in any visible way. “You’re welcome to try, though. At least you’re prettier than that bitch.”

Oliver grabbed Shayera’s shoulder when she stepped forward and Vic placed himself between her and the door without looking away from the mirror.

Dick hummed then dropped his legs. The chair fell back onto all fours and he followed the motion so he was leaning against the table, elbows on top with his hand clasped together to create a V that his chin rested on. “You think I’m pretty?”

Oliver blinked and focused his attention on Dick. His voice sounded… different. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. It just sounded… nice.

Distantly, he was aware there was another voice talking as well.

What was it about Dick’s voice?

Suddenly Dick was standing up and patting the goon on the shoulder. “Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”

The goon nodded, blinking up at Dick in a daze.

Dick skipped back out of the room. “You got everything you need then?”

Did they? Crud, Oliver had zoned out of the entire interrogation. Bats was definitely going to tear him a new one.

Bruce grunted and Dick smiled. “You’re welcome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get lost before Batgirl bribes my location out of Double-R.”

And with that, the younger Bat was booking it down the hall.

“I’m going to write up a report on the interrogation. Review the footage and meet up in conference hall F so we can plan our next move,” Bruce said before marching off.

There was a moment of silence then Shayera asked, “What the hell was that?”

Vic rolled his eyes and Wally nodded, “It’s always a little distracting, we know.”

“Speak for yourself,” Vic snorted, elbowing the speedster. “The Titans call it Wing’s Milk and Honey voice. He barely ever uses it, but when he does, he always manages to get the information we need out of whoever we’re interrogating. It’s freaky.”

“It’s awesome. Just wish he’d talk to me in that voice.”

Vic glared at Wally. “I did not need to hear that.”

The speedster snickered.

“Did any of you catch what the goon in there actually said?” Oliver asked reluctantly and was relieved when both Shayera and Wally shook their heads.

Vic made a so-so motion. “I know he said he was working for Luthor and the core got moved to a warehouse just outside Metropolis, but the rest kind of got lost. Dick’s…”

“Distracting?” Wally suggested and Vic elbowed him again.

“Just listen to the recording. It gets easier the more you hear it. Kind of,” Vic suggested.

“Standard Milk and Honey protocol,” Wally said with a nod. “Dick’s just too charismatic for his own good.”

Before anything else could be said, Dick’s affronted yelp came echoing down the hall.

“At least when it’s not one of his siblings.”

Three ~ Red Robin and Batgirl

The Young Justice team had just gotten back from a mission. Bart, Kon, Jaime, and Tim were all resting in the lounge. Artemis had retreated to her room while Cassie and Kara had had to head home. Stephanie had been hanging out with the boys, but had disappeared a few minutes in.

Kon was asleep on the couch with his head resting on Tim’s lap. Tim, meanwhile, was working on a report, his laptop on the couch’s arm so as not to disturb Kon. Jaime was sitting on the coffee table in front of them and playing a video game on the main screen. Bart was curled up in an armchair off to the side, working through his post-mission meal.

A cymbal-banging monkey toy sitting on the shelves behind Bart slid forward a little.

The speedster turned at the noise and blinked at the unfamiliar toy. He shrugged it off and turned back to his food.

The monkey slid a little closer.

Bart turned around and frowned at the toy. He stared at it for a moment then slowly turned back around.

A minute went by, then the toy slid noticeably closer.

Bart spun around, jumping out of his seat and pointing at the toy. “I knew it!”

Tim and Jaime both turned to him, but the Kryptonian-strength earplugs did their job and Kon didn’t wake.

“What are you yelling about?” Tim asked.

“The monkey, it’s moving!”

Both boys looked between the monkey and their friend.

“You’re crazy,” Jaime said, turning back to his game.

“It is!”

“Did you see it move?” Tim asked.

“Well, no, but it’s not in the same spot!”

“Your eyes are probably just playing tricks on you. Maybe your blood sugar’s low or something. You haven’t eaten much yet,” the vigilante suggested before going back to his report.

“Like you’re one to talk about not eating,” Bart muttered as he grabbed his chair and turned it to face the self. “It moved! I’ll prove it!”

Bart didn’t take his eyes off the monkey for the next five minutes, even as he continued to eat.

Then his shadow reached out and tapped him on the shoulder before quickly returning to its proper place on the back of the chair.

He looked up and scowled when he didn’t see anyone. He returned his focus to the shelf, only to find himself nose to nose with the monkey just as it started banging its cymbals.

Bart bolted from the room, screaming about calling someone to come deal with the possessed toy.

Jaime glanced up, then shook his head and resumed playing his game.

A few seconds later Stephanie walked in, her magic bracelet on her wrist, and high-fived Tim.

Four ~ Black Bat and Signal

“Hey, Halo. Don’t turn on the lights.”

Violet paused in the doorway of the pitch-black warehouse, hand on the light switch. “Signal?”

“BB and I are here too,” Lia called.

“Looker? Why are you three sitting around in the dark?” ey called as ey carefully tried to make eir way towards the group by sound and memory.

“Looker and Signal are playing poker. The lights are off so Signal can’t cheat with his vision,” Cass explained.

“And yet the kid’s still cheating,” Lia huffed.

“I am not!” Duke said in an offended voice.

“How are you guys reading the cards?” Violet asked as eir hands finally touched the card table ey hoped the three were using for eir game. “And who’s sitting where?”

A hand came from eir left and brushed against eir arm. “I’m here. BB is next to me and Sig’s across from her. There’s a free seat across from me if you want to sit with us until BL gets here. Also, we’re using cards with braille. I can see the pictures and Sig can read braille so we’re all good.”

“You can read braille?”

“Batman.”

“Yeah, okay, that makes sense.” Violet slipped around the table and reached around until eir hand found the chair. As ey sat down, ey asked, “Is Signal even old enough to play?”

“Does this look like a casino? Who cares? It’s not like I’m sneaking him alcohol or cigarettes or anything,” Lia scoffed.

“Nightwing let me try a sip of beer once. It was awful,” Duke said.

She snorted. “Big Bro probably gave you the shi-bad stuff to scare you off.”

“You know, I patrol Gotham. I’ve heard all the swears before.”

“I am not getting caught swearing in front of Batman’s baby, thanks.”

“Robin and Catgirl are both younger than me!”

“CG is the Cat’s baby and Rob’s an assassin lovechild. You are the Bat's baby.”

Suddenly the room flooded with light, earning hisses, groans, and curses from the quartet.

“Why are you four playing cards in the dark?” Jefferson asked and the four saw him walking up to the table once they’d blinked the stars out of their eyes.

Violet could also now see that Cass was leaning against Lia with one of her arms stretched over the table to hold hands with her brother. The two let go, however, at their leader’s approach and Cass sat up. All three were suited up like Violet, though Cass’s mask was sitting on the table.

“We were playing cards," Lia said. "The dark was supposed to keep the kid from cheating. It didn’t work.”

“Whatever you say,” Duke snorted, gathering up his winnings. He sorted through it, then gave half to Cass.

“Why does she get half?”

Duke shrugged and Cass smiled. “Family helps each other out.”

Lia looked confused while Violet nodded slowly.

Jefferson just sighed. “Right… Well, get this cleaned up then we can discuss tonight’s mission.”

Five ~ Robin and Catgirl

Jon smiled at Goliath as he stroked the dragon bat’s ear. “Who’s the bestest dragon bat? You are! Yes, you are!”

“Bestest is not a word, Kent. Don’t teach Goliath bad grammar,” Damian tutted from where he was brushing Alfred the Cat.

“Gee Damian! How come your dad lets you get so many cool pets?” Kathy asked from where she was laying on Bat-Cow’s back. “I mean, the cow, dog, and cat are normal, -”

“Normal for farm girls, at least,” Colin chirped from where he was scratching Titus’s belly.

“- but the dragon bat’s insane! And now you’ve got a tiger too! Is there anything your dad won’t let you have?”

“Tiger?” Jon, Colin, and Damian all asked and Kathy pointed off to the side where Maya was slowly approaching the Malayan tiger cub that was stretched out on a large pillow and watching the girl through half-lidded eyes.

“That’s Kelley,” Damian said blankly.

“Aw, you named her after your sister?” Jon said, grinning widely at his best friend.

His best friend scowled at him in return. “She is not my sister.”

“I mean, your dad married her mom. That kind of makes her your sister,” Colin shot back and the scowl was turned on him.

“Does she accept pets or am I about to get my arm ripped off?” Maya asked softly as she sidestepped a little closer to the tiger in a crouch.

“Why would you wait this long to ask?” Kathy huffed.

“Kelley couldn’t rip your arm off if she wanted to,” Damian scoffed and turned back to his brushing.

Like she could understand him, the tiger’s head whipped towards him and she bared her teeth. With a low growl, she shifted onto her feet. Alfred realized what was happening as the tiger started bounding towards the bird-themed vigilante and jumped off Damian’s lap just before he was crushed under a juvenile tiger.

“Get off me! Get off me right now or I will skin you and use your pelt as a rug!” Damian snarled.

Jon considered helping his friend, but the tiger wasn’t doing anything more than licking his hair now that she had him pinned. After a quick use of x-ray vision proved that Damian didn’t actually have any weapons on him for once, Jon decided to leave the older boy to his pet and focus back on Goliath.

“KELLEY!”

“You’re the bestest dragon bat in the world, aren’t you? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Plus One ~ Jason

Bruce scowled as he typed away at the computer.

The mission was supposed to be an easy one. Just a quick in and out. But they had gotten just one wrong piece of misinformation and now most of Bruce’s children were lying in the Batcave boasting some form of injury.

Worst of all, Bruce hadn’t been there. He and Selina had been on a date night across the city at the insistence of all the children.

The father paused in his typing to glance around the cave.

Carrie was lying on her pillow in tiger form. Either Tim or Duke had managed to slip a cone around her neck since the last time he’d checked on the kids. Considering the lack of shouting, snarling, growling, or baby roars, Bruce was assuming she was humoring the cone for now. Normally he’d make the boys take it off since it impaired her vision too much for comfort in the cave, but she wouldn’t be running around for a few days and the cone would remind her not to lick at her stitches, something she occasionally forgot while in tiger form.

Speaking of the boys, Bruce could see the cocoon of shadows Tim had wrapped them in on one of the larger infirmary cots. The shadows were meant to help with Tim’s concussion while providing Duke with the darkness he needed to get to sleep. A flaw with Duke’s powers was that it was hard for him to get to sleep in anything but the darkest of rooms, especially after an adrenaline-heavy mission got his photosensitivity at its peak. Normally they’d send him up to rest in his room since Bruce had installed special black-out windows for just this occasion, but Alfred wanted him to remain hooked up to an EKG machine overnight due to an electrical shock he’d received during the mission.

Dick and Damian were on the training mats, though Bruce only knew the former because of the thin, whip-like tail poking out from the mass of feathers to wrap gently around Dick’s leg brace. Otherwise, his youngest was completely hidden within his eldest's wings, bundled up against Dick’s chest to keep the boy from attempting to “train” his recently relocated shoulder “back to form.”

Stephanie was nowhere to be seen, though Damian assured them she’d returned home with the group and the occasional nudging of Bruce’s mug towards the edge of the desk confirmed it. Her bracelet sat next to Bruce, the focusing stone in need of replacement. Thankfully he’d thought ahead and had extras on hand so he’d just need to bring the bracelet to a jeweler friend in the morning to have it set properly.

Cass was curled up in one chair at the meeting table with her legs resting on another as she nibbled at a sandwich with one hand and held an ice pack to her bruised ribs with the other. Her eyes had been closed and she’d looked half-asleep when he’d first looked, but as the sound of a motorcycle reached them through the tunnels, her head perked up.

Bruce turned as his second-eldest arrived. Jason parked the bike and climbed off before pulling his helmet off and looking around. He whistled.

“How’d your mission with the Outlaws go?” Bruce asked.

“Better than the mission these idiots went on, apparently.”

“We got some faulty information. You hurt?”

“Nah. Kory, Artemis, and Biz got to have all the fun this time. Roy and I played sniper. What’s -”

Jason cut off as a black form leaped onto his back. Cass quickly wrapped her arms and legs around him before he could toss her off. Nuzzling into his neck, she cooed, “Big brother!”

“Hey, do I look like a horse!” He huffed, tugging at her arms and legs. Suddenly there was a bird in his place, with a plump body and long legs and neck. He flapped his wings and shook, but Cass had anticipated the change and shifted her grip to compensate.

Bruce smiled at the two, knowing Jason was just putting on a show of being annoyed. It was obvious by the fact he didn’t simply change into pure flames so she’d have nothing to hold onto and the way the feathers around Cass’s chest were alight, the flames rising up to brush against where the ice pack had been resting before.

Phoenixes couldn’t actually heal as some stories stated, but their flames could promote healing and ward off infection. Most importantly, though, they could soothe pains. And despite all his huffing and puffing, Jason hated seeing the people he cared about in pain.

The young man gave one last gentle shake before hissing and stomping off to his and Dick’s nest. He lowered himself down and Cass rolled off his back. She moved around to his front and leaned against the edge of the nest while he draped his neck over her chest. As she began to carefully brush her fingers through the burning feathers on his neck, the feathers on his back lit up once more. From where he was, Bruce could just barely see the faint traces of Stephanie’s face in the flames.

At the same time, Carrie yawned and carefully climbed to her feet before shuffling over and into the nest. She nudged the cone into Jason’s side until he stretched out a wing for her to curl up under.

A moment later, the shadows rose on Jason’s other side and he draped his other wing over them with a click.

Smiling at his children’s antics, Bruce double-checked that Tim had left the shadows open for the EKG machine’s wires then went back to his report.

By the time he looked up again a half-hour later, the ball of near-black feathers had relocated to under Jason's fantail and phoenix flames were covering the whole nest in soothing warmth.

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

Cookie to anyone who actually gets the book-dog reference at the beginning of Dick's part because I've been spending too much time on Youtube.

Funny story about Halo: I was looking up different characters that have been on the Outsiders team to put with Duke and Cass since I accidentally put Katana with the Birds before realizing she's the only other member of their team besides Black Lightning and didn't want her to show up in two parts (I've decided she runs with both teams in this universe). I decided on Looker because she seemed cool then was reading up on Halo. I remembered the character from clips of Young Justice animated and thought they were cool. I wasn't too surprised to see the original character didn't wear a hijab, but I was surprised that Wikipedia uses they/them pronouns for the part talking about YJA's Halo post becoming Halo. I thought the character was nonbinary until I checked the YJA wiki for something and saw it uses only she/her pronouns. I'm pretty sure that means Wikipedia's just being weird, but I decided to make Halo bigender anyways so she uses she/ey pronouns in this universe.

[huntergatherercreator]

The Takedown | Part Eleven

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Mentions of weapons, swearing, violence, drugs

Notes: In all of my plotting for this fic I’d never planned on writing a lot from Tom’s POV but I’ve really got into it. I hope everyone’s enjoying mob Tom as much as I am!

Catch up here: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten

Part 11 – 1,547 words

Toms POV

It had been six days. Six fucking days and no retaliation from Rivera. In any other situation he’d take this to mean he’d won but he knew Rivera wouldn’t back down. Despite the warning Tom had dropped off at the docks Rivera would have a plan of attack. He always did. He pressed his forehead against his linked fingers. Thumbs rubbing at his temples he inhaled deeply trying to rein in his thoughts. Maybe driving him to madness waiting for the guillotine to drop was part of Rivera’s tactics. Get him too caught up by the question of ‘when’ that he missed the ‘how’.

The grating buzz of the intercom had his jaw clenching. He’d been in meetings all day with his men and not one of them had anything useful to say. As his assistant let him know his next appointment had arrived he was tempted to tell them to fuck off. He knew better though. He had to lead by example. Act as if the threat wasn’t a worry in front of his men otherwise they’d spiral. Settling back in his chair he adjusted his suit jacket as the door opened and Joe entered accompanied by a heavily tattooed runner. It took him a second to pull up the name. Tate, he realised with a slow sinking in his gut. Finding a replacement for Arnold was yet another thing he had to fix.

Glancing between his man and the newcomer he took in their shared unease as they perched in the armchairs before his desk.  

“This is about her isn’t it?” he realised with growing anticipation. If his theory was right then she could be the key to toppling Rivera off his gunmetal throne. Joe nodded but wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, boss. I couldn’t get anything on her, but-“

He stood swiftly, his chair rattling as it hit the wall. Hands gripping the edge of the desk he towered over them. “How is that possible? Is she working with Rivera or not?”

“I don’t know, boss. It’s like she knew she was being followed, she kept throwing me off her trail.”

“Did she know she was being followed, Joe?” He didn’t believe his best man would be obvious enough to get caught. He never had before, but it was the only explanation for the failure he could think of.

“No. I’m sure of it. I’ve had others track her at different points around the city and they’ve all lost sight of her too,” Joe insisted, squirming under Holland’s dark stare.

“What about her background?”

“Came up clean.”

“Too clean?”

Joe shook his head. “She’s been picked up a few times, mostly for theft, once for dealing but was released. That was when she was younger. If she’s been dealing since then she’s kept her head down. Which might explain why she’s so good at covering her tracks.” Tom threw him a pointed look.

“Don’t make excuses. You fucked up, Joe. One woman. That’s all I asked. One.” He was letting his temper get the better of him but he didn’t care. Now that his last lifeline had evaporated he was back to square one. Hand raking through his hair he closed his eyes for a brief second.

“Why is he here? What else has gone fucking wrong?” he motioned to Tate who’d sat unmoving through their conversation. Joe’s hesitation had his fists clenching. Without a word Tate lifted the backpack he’d been carrying and slid it onto the desk.

“She gave it to me. It’s the pay-out for her stash.”

Unzipping the bag roughly he balked at the cash within. Arnold had been an incompetent prick giving her more than one person’s lot to sell, but given the bundles before him she’d somehow pulled it off.

“Told me to give you a message, too. Says this is what you’re due, and she’s keeping the profit.”

Tom stilled. His skin prickled. Who the fuck did she think she was?

“And you did nothing to get the rest?” he snarled. His heart rate was picking up as adrenaline seeped in.

“Figured you’d prefer to get the cash back personally,” Tate motioned to the front of the bag where a slip of paper was tucked. “Found her address going through Sam’s shit.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders lifted. It had been a while since he’d dealt with anything like this himself. Unbidden an image of the last time he’d seen her flashed behind his eyes. She’d stared down the barrel of his gun without even a flicker of fear. He couldn’t wait to change that.

“I want a car ready in ten minutes.”

****

Detective POV

The hot water of the shower helped flush away the tiredness clinging to my bones. It was just after five in the evening and even with a full day of recuperating I was still drained. After giving Zoey and the girls their dues she’d tipped me off about a rave happening in Hell’s Kitchen. It had been risky given that was Rivera’s primary territory but a large portion of the drugs that had been left had been sold. What little was left got pushed on the streets and then I’d summoned Tate to take Holland what he was due.

Given the derisive smirk on Tate’s face he’d pass my message along, if only to be the one sent back to deal out my punishment. I tried to picture how Holland would react to the news but couldn’t get past the darkness of his eyes. A shiver snaked up my spine as my pulse spiked. I shook my head sharply to clear the thoughts threatening to creep in, turning up the heat as I did to chase away the chill.

Holland is a mobster. He’s a killer. He’s dangerous. I’d found myself repeating the mantra more and more since the Cove. Zoey had questioned me about it again too. Still probing about how I was dealing with the case, angling towards me stepping back again. I’d shut her down quickly. This was my case. I’d know when things went too far. Now, after clearing the literal weight off my back in the form of the drug filled backpack, I’d been able to find a way to reel Holland back in.

Wrapping myself in a towel I padded towards the kitchenette to grab a cup of coffee. Halfway towards the machine a thin slash of light cut across the floor. The front door was cracked open. It was undamaged, meaning someone had picked their way in. A quick glance around the small apartment and I couldn’t see anything else out of place. There was no sign of an intruder but my skin prickled. Tightening the towel I gently clicked the door closed. Reaching into the umbrella stand I picked out one of the many guns I’d stashed around after Arnolds visit. Double checking the clip as quietly as I could I moved back towards the only unchecked area.

The door was closed, how I’d left it, but the tingling of my scalp warned me to be on high alert. I pressed against the wall, my fingers resting lightly on the door handle. The roaring of blood in my ears made it impossible to tell if I could hear movement or if it was my adrenaline fuelled imagination. I took a slow breath and on the exhale threw the door open. A moment of pause to draw out any gun fire and then I swung into the room, weapon raised.

I froze unable to process the situation that greeted me. Holland was sat on the corner of the bed, his gun resting against his thigh, the other toying with the underwear I’d left out. Waves of heat warmed my cheeks as he stroked the lace without expression.

“Did you buy these with my money?” His even tone had my breath catching. I’d confronted him before, I’d seen him angry. I’d seen him humiliated. This was different. His curls were in disarray as if he’d been running his hands through them repeatedly. His shirt unbuttoned at the top, tie loose around his neck. I knew pushing him wouldn’t end well. I kept my mouth shut.

“How about this?” Picking up the gun I’d had hidden in my bedside cabinet he turned it over in his hand as if appraising it.

Excruciatingly slow his gaze turned from the items on the bed to where I stood still aiming at him in the doorway. Leaning back on his free hand those dark eyes appraised me. Shame flared as a new type of heat spread. I bit the inside of my cheek hoping the surge of pain would douse it before he noticed but I was too slow. He’d zeroed in on the change of my breathing and the new flush I could feel coating my neck. He shoved off from the bed. My trigger finger tensed as he stalked towards me. My mind swam with the mantra. Holland is a mobster. He grabbed my wrist, slamming it back against the door frame. He’s a killer. Pain shot through my arm and the gun clattered to the floor as my body reflexively let it go. He’s dangerous. His strong fingers enclosed my throat.

 ------

Taglist:

@spideylovin @lukesbabylon @panicattheeverywherekid​ @keep-bears-wild @unbelievableholland @tomholland-mcu @whattheheckparker @stargazerholland @gorillaglue23 @marvelpeters

Part 12!

[yikeswtfmate]

Strange Times || Ch. 1

main masterlist // Strange Times Series Masterlist // next part

Summary: Mickey Pearson sends Raymond to fetch his sister from the airport. He’s never met this woman, but he soon finds out she likes to play with her food first.

Pairing: Raymond (Charlie Hunnam - The Gentlemen, 2020) x Reader

Warnings: swearing; sexual themes; mentions of violence

A/N: Here it is my lovelies, the fic i’ve been telling you about with Charlie Hunnam’s character whom i fell in love with (it’s the beard....and the glasses....and the hair....and the suits......and the whole righthand to a drug lord thing maybe?). I’m still unsure about posting it here because it’s a different type of Reader that i’m used to write (maybe i’ll just switch her to an OC) and it’s not Bonky. So please let me know what you think and whether i should post the next parts as well (it’s already 5k long) but if you don’t like it, this is a “felt cute might delete later” type of situation so no harm no foul. And for those of you who haven’t seen the movie yet, slight spoliers ahead!

The office is quiet, save for the scratching of a pen on paper and the ticking of a clock that is starting to irritate Raymond to no end. He’s been meaning to either throw it out or switch it with the one that is in the living room, but he knows how his boss would not appreciate the disposal of a five thousand pound clock plated in gold. Raymond personally thinks it’s tacky, but it’s Mickey’s house after all, and he should be concentrating on sorting out the logistics for that shipment that’s supposed to go out to Italy anyway. He turns back to his laptop, intent on fulfilling his responsibilities for the day, when Mickey stops writing behind him and clears his throat, demanding his attention.

“Raymond, I need you to go to the airport tomorrow.”

Ray stands up from his chair at the desk and moves to the table in the middle of the receiving room. He’s learned all of Mickey’s tells during the ten years he’s been his righthand man, and when he stops sorting out his agenda to pour himself a cup of tea, Ray knows he needs to stand to attention.

“Any reason in particular?”

“I need you to pick up my sister and bring her to the estate.”

“Your sister?” Ray is utterly confused, mainly for the fact that this would be the very first time he’ll be meeting this woman.

He was aware that Mickey had a sister back in the States, but even though he knows every aspect of Mickey’s life inside and out, this elusive woman is his boss’ best kept secret. He’s unsure whether it’s just brotherly protectiveness, pure paranoia at the prospect of their enemies finding out there’s still another weak link next to Rosalind, or it’s simply the fact that Mickey doesn’t want to talk about his family back home.

He’s heard she’s been studying for a degree in business at Wharton, but he doesn’t know what to expect, for all the odd comments Mickey and Rosalind make about her when they think he’s not listening. One thing he’s completely certain of, however, is how much Mickey looks after her, considering the sizeable amounts of money that are going into her bank account every month.

Mickey raises an eyebrow over his teacup. “I don’t see why you’re acting as if you didn’t know I have a goddamn sister, Ray.”

Raymond shrugs, deciding that it’s best if he won’t tick off his boss at the moment. He’s been on edge ever since the whole debacle with Matthew Berger and Fletcher went down. Mickey’s decided to hold off his retirement plans until someone comes along with a better offer (preferably none of Lord George’s minions though), so he hasn’t only been stressed about maintaining the value of the goods, but also pissed off that he couldn’t just drink whiskey unperturbed all day in a countryside manor.

“I’ve sent you all the details you need. Don’t be late, I don’t want her left unsupervised for too long.”

Raymond nods, eager to go back to his laptop. It’s time for homework, and there’s nothing he love more than information.

“And Ray?” He turns back to Mickey, but the man’s just looking out the window, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Be careful.”

“Of course, boss. I’ll treat her like a princess.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about, you moron.” He says with a frown. “I meant you. She likes to play with her food first.”

*

The private jet should be a surprise, but when you’re in the line of business Raymond is in, he’s practically seen it all. The charcoal trench coat he’s wearing today is flapping in the whirl of wind so it’s a good thing he foregone the machine gun in favour of an inconspicuous handgun. He’s almost certain nothing would come up on their way from Heathrow to Oxfordshire, but he made sure David fully stocked the car before they left, just in case.

He’s waiting patiently in front of the car, lighting a cigarette, while he watches the airport’s employees fuss around the plane. The airstair is released and Ray stands up from leaning against the car. The smoke that he exhales blind him for a second, but he still needs to blink three more times to assure himself he’s not fucking hallucinating when a woman that he can only assume is Y/N Pearson steps off the plane. She drags a hand through her long curls, moving her head from side to side in what must only be slow motion. Her heels click on the pavement as she makes her way towards him, and Raymond smiles involuntarily.

“I see the money’s been treating you well, Raymond. Although I have to admit, I kind of miss the long hair.” She says before Ray can utter a word. She places a manicured finger under his chin, closing his mouth, kissing his cheek with a smack. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Her eyes are patient, as if exhausted after explaining a child the same exact thing for the past hour. “We’ve met fourteen years ago, when Mickey expanded the business to five farms. You were only an errand boy then, remember? Granted, I was only fourteen at that time, a gangly little thing with braces, of course you don’t remember me.”

Raymond’s mind flashes to a vague memory of a girl in a sequinted t-shirt, a choker that could only be worn with so much seriousness by a teenager, and boots with fur, mated in English mud. She blushed to the roots of her hair when he asked her if she knew by any chance where Mr Pearson was, having to deliver a parcel to him personally. She just pointed with a black fingernail towards her left and squeaked something unintelligible before ducking her head and running in the other direction.

“Ah, there he goes.” She sing-songs as she watches his eyes shift in recognition all over her, but there’s nothing left of her teenage self, having grown into her body, comfortable in her skin, confidence built up with precision and care, together with an appropriate, if rather extravagant fashion sense.

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.” He says, realising that he sounds like a cliché when she rolls her eyes.

“Right, that’s what happens in life, honey. Can we please go? We can exchange pleasantries in the car, this wind is ruining my hair.”

Raymond keeps the door open for her, nodding to David who just finished loading the trunk with her luggage and he hops in the backseat next to her.

“I hope we’re stopping for lunch on our way.” She warns. “I’m starving and I couldn’t eat anything since I woke up because of those stupid turbulences.”

“Mickey is expecting us to be there in an hour.” He responds cautiously.

“Mickey can go fuck himself. I want a pizza and I haven’t been to Zizzi in a long time, so you better take me there, Raymond, or I’ll just ask David to kindly move to the passenger seat.”

The man in question looks at Ray in the rear view mirror, awaiting instructions. Ray sighs and nods once again, now starting to realise why his boss felt the need to warn him in regard to his sister. He hopes he won’t have to deal with her for long after she’s safely delivered to Mickey, because for all her beauty, she’s starting to piss him off.

“Oh, don’t look so glum.” She chides, after a few minutes of him plainly ignoring her. “I’m good company, I promise. I’m just cranky because I’m hungry. I’m hangry, Ray. I just need you to feed me.” She flutters her eyelashes, and she rests her hand on his thigh, purposefully ticking him off.

Ray shifts in his seat, trying to put as much distance between them, to which she just scoffs and rolls her eyes. This woman is dangerous, and for all his sinful thoughts that have been going through his mind ever since he laid eyes on her, Ray has to remind himself that this is his boss’ little sister, little as in eleven years younger for fuck’s sake. He’s positively sure that if he even lays a finger on her, his balls would be cut off and fed to the hunting dogs.

They finally stop after a short silent trip, and he helps Y/N into the fairy lit restaurant, leaving David posted in front of the car. He hopes there will be no more trouble like last time, having had his share of adventures for the goddamn decade.

Holding a chair for her, Ray waits for Y/N to take off her coat, and now he suddenly feels the need to swallow hard, as he rakes his eyes over her body. She’s wearing a leather skirt that is too tight to possibly be comfortable, but long enough to almost meet her knee high boots; her sweater is thick, appropriate for the cold January weather in the south of England, yet Raymond can’t help but wonder if her nipples are as perfect as her lips. Speaking of which, they curl up in a patient yet satisfied smile, a raised eyebrow that wants to show him she’s merely allowing him to inspect her so blatantly.

After she orders her pizza and Ray asks for a glass of water, clearly showing his disapproval for this unexpected stop. He can feel a nudge on his shin and she smiles at him in a way that he can only describe as charitable.

“You know, I’ve had the biggest crush on you back then.” She says and Ray chokes on his water. “It’s true. You were this tall rugged man with long hair that I wouldn’t have known what to do with then, but would definitely know how to handle now.” She smirks, while Ray raises an eyebrow, silently asking her to stop talking. Mainly because his imagination is starting to go haywire. “The beard suits you. But I kept thinking about licking your jaw all the way here so it’s a shame really that I can’t now. Those were some long 8 hours, Ray, I had to occupy myself somehow.”

“Y/N, you should really stop talking.” Ray would give himself a pat on the back for all the restraint he’s showing at the moment. There’s nothing he would like more than to shove her in one of the bathroom stalls and have his way with her, and by the look in her eyes, she knows exactly what he’s thinking so she’s relentless.

“Why? Afraid Mickey would disapprove? I thought you were a big boy, Ray, who doesn’t have to ask permission.”

“It’s not about permission, and we both know it. Your brother would literally kill me if…”

His words are cut short by the waiter who’s bringing Y/N her food and brazenly ogles her down. Ray can feel his hands involuntarily clench into fists, his jaw set at the man who would not just fucking go and keeps offering her pepper, sauce, or his fucking cock for that matter, because it’s so fucking obvious that’s what he’d actually want to say. Y/N just smiles sweetly, humouring his clumsy flirting, and Ray is more than certain that she’s starting to form a habit of doing things just to piss him off. When she touches the waiter’s forearm, he growls lowly, directing their attention to him. She feigns surprise, but he can read her amusement, while the waiter seems to decide whether to apologise or take his chances and go off. Ray knows that his glasses might put people at ease, making him look approachable, friendly, easy-going at first, but he’s perfected the frown and posture to go with it that puts people immediately in their places. Not to mention that spending over a decade in the business would shape anyone in a ruthless brute if need arises.

“My girlfriend here would like to enjoy her food now, thank you. She doesn’t need anything else, mate, you can go.”

The waiter finally scampers off, and Ray knows he’ll regret saying anything before he turns back to Y/N. She’s smirking like a bloody Cheshire cat if he’s ever seen anyone actually doing it, satisfied beyond belief.

“Don’t.” He warns when she opens her mouth to make a smartass remark, but she raises her hands in surrender and proceeds to eat.

Another battle of restraint and patience, as this woman eats as if she’s in a bloody porn movie, and who the fuck can eat pizza seductively anyway, for fuck’s sake. Raymond takes a deep breath, fishing his phone out of his coat pocket and calls his boss, doing his best to ignore the moans, the finger sucking and the swirling tongue in front of him.

“Hey, boss. Got Y/N from the airport, we’ll just be a bit late.”

“She wanted to eat, didn’t she?” Mickey asks and Ray can hear the exasperation in his voice. Apparently his boss is well aware of his sister’s antics, but it would’ve been better if Raymond were better prepared for the full force of what this woman can get out of him in a short half an hour.

“Tell him to suck a bag of tiny dicks, I don’t need his judgment.” Y/N says between licking a side of her finger and plucking an olive off her slice.

“We’re in Uxbridge, hopefully we’ll be there in an hour or so.” Raymond notifies, choosing to ignore her again.

“Fine. Just…make sure she stays out of trouble. It can stick to her like a fly to shit.” And with that Mickey disconnects the call.

Raymond sighs and puts his phone back. There is an uneasy feeling flowing through him, his instinct telling him to run away in the other direction, to avoid interacting with Y/N at all cost until her return to the States, but there’s another part of him, more primal, more carnal that is drawn to her. He hates it, mainly because there is no logical reasoning behind it, and he’s a very cerebral person, and he can’t figure her out for the life of him. Maybe it’s just the fact that she’s probably the first woman to act like that with him, as if she doesn’t care about the consequences, doesn’t give a toss whether he’ll bite or not. She likes to play with her food first, were Mickey’s words, which make so much more sense now.

Raymond can’t put his finger on it, and although he can have his pick of women anywhere he’d step foot in – he is very much aware of how handsome he is, thank you very much –  there is something about Y/N that demands to be unlocked. Or maybe it’s just that her tits look really great in that sweater and it’s the whole “forbidden fruit” bullshit. Regardless, Ray just wants to drop her off and go back to London where he can drown himself in work so he can forget about her. Or maybe have a night out, pick someone at a bar and pretend it’s her, because he’s absolutely certain by this point that it’s just the novelty of Y/N that lures him in, and definitely not those eyes full of mischief.

***

Taglist: I haven’t tagged anyone in this, as I’m unsure whether you want to read something that’s not Bucky related. Let me know if you do! Toodles!

[suckerforsmylex]

Ripe Peach - Pt. 7

Peaches pulled away from The Joker’s kiss reluctantly and lay back, with the blanket pulled up around her body.  She looked around the room and noticed all of the masked party goers, still knocked out from the gas J had put them to sleep with earlier, during their public display of affection.  They mingled in with the bodies of the dead Olympians and their lifeless leader Maxie Zeus.  

“Wow, what a mess.  Clean up in aisle 7!” Harley yawned as she spoke, and Peaches couldn’t help but feel a small sense of guilt about how everything went down. Mister J pulled put his fingers in his mouth and whistled and the high-pitched sound echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the cool marble.  No one came forward.  Harley unsuccessfully tried to stifle a snicker and J turned sharply, glaring at her.  Digging into his pocket, he quickly pulled out his phone and opened up an app that pulled up every camera, in every room of the club.  Every room contained sleeping party goers.  

He came upon members of his security team, but they were all knocked out too, slumped over and sleeping like babies. “DAMN IT!” The Joker ended his phone call abruptly and Harley started cracking up.  “Forgot to give them the little white pills?  Sweet dreams to your security detail!”  Harley could barely keep her composure and she laughed, shaking her head as her body convulsed with glee.

“What the hell are you laughing at? If you think I’m cleaning up this mess myself the peroxide has seeped its way into what’s left of what you call a brain!” J pulled his gun out and let out five, rapid fire shots into the ceiling.  Harley grabbed Peaches and they both huddled together, protecting each other from being hit with shrapnel and stray bullets.  J threw his phone across the room like a disobedient child, breaking a large sculpture in its path.  

“Why don’t you call Frawwwst, Mistah J?  Don’t cha’ make him earn his keep around here anymore?”   Harley tilted her head and put her arm around Peaches, pulling her close and squeezing.  The Joker grumbled, after realizing that Harley’s suggestion was a viable and he reluctantly, but swiftly, leapt up to retrieve his phone and call Frost.  Surprisingly, it survived the throw with only minor nicks. “Frost, I need you to come down to our little party at the club.  Bring backup, there’s a mess to clean up.”

Click  

The Joker turned on his heels, directing all of his attention to Peaches.  With a nod, followed by a snap of the fingers, he spoke.  “Come to Daddy.  It’s time to go home.”  He extended his arms, waiting for her to run into them. Peaches, unsure of herself, hesitated, talking softly and looking down at the ground.  “I don’t have anything to wear.” He threw his head back and laughed loudly.  “Nothing stopped you from running into the middle of a knife fight, in all your naked glory.”  J walked towards Peaches and started to remove his jacket, but Harley stood up and stopped him in his tracks. “No, I got this.”  Harley sounded blue as she spoke but piped herself back up into a broad smile.  “We had a good run, Mistah J.” She reached over and touched him on his shoulder and then turned to Peaches.  “I’m Deadshot’s girl now and I can’t wear these anymore.  You take em’ sweetie.”  

Before Peaches could respond, Harley was stripping off her ‘Daddy’s Little Monster’ shirt and ‘Property of Mister J’ jacket.  She stood there in her bra, shorts and boots holding the clothes out toward her.  “I honestly don’t even know why I was still wearing them.  I’m a sentimental sap at heart, I guess,” Harley remarked with a flip of her hand.  Peaches reached out unenthusiastically and grabbed the items.  Harley was about three times smaller than her and there was no way that her clothes would fit.  It was a sweet gesture but she wrinkled her nose and gulped as she accepted them.

She held the shirt and jacket out and her suspicions were confirmed.  They would be uncomfortably snug.  Thinking quickly, Peaches took the shirt up by the sleeves and tied them around her neck, fashioning a halter top with it. The fabric reading ‘Daddy’s Little Monster’ added a thick layer over her breasts.  She found that her sheer, black panties were still intact and slipped them on and then took Harley’s newly gifted jacket and wrapped it around her waist, making the ‘Property of Joker’ message bubble over her butt.  Finally, she slipped her black stilettos on, thread her fingers into her hair and shook it out wildly. She felt insecure but instead of asking do I look ok, as she was dying to inquire, she sauntered over to J, bit her lip and stuck her hand out, palm upward.  “I’ll take that Jacket now, Daddy.”   

Harley beamed from ear to ear as Mister J stood motionless for a moment, his mouth turning up into a wicked grin.  He began to pace around her in a circle, admiring her entire body, taking it in completely.  J wrapped his arms around Peaches from behind and kissed her neck, following the kiss with a deep bite that made her squeal and whispered into her ear.  “I like the way you look when you wear my name.” His breath was warm and inviting at the shell of her ear, tickling as he let his hands wander, despite Harley standing there as a witness to his uninhibited lust.  

“I like it more when you don’t wear anything.  Let’s make that happen again.”  His left hand caressed under the tee shirt, making direct contact with her stiff nipples.  His right hand moved up slowly, feeling cool against the warm, sensitive skin of Peaches’ neck.  He gripped hard while continuing to grope her and Peaches moaned with her eyes squeezed shut and in complete compliance.  

Harley clapped her hands rapidly and made a squeaking sound and Peaches’ eyes fluttered open.  “This is soooo hot, you guuuuuyyyyss!  I’m having flashbacks of the good ol’ days.”  She walked up close to Peaches, and leaned in, inhaling in the space between her shoulder and neck.  “Mmmm! You smell so good!”  She reached out to caress Peaches, but The Joker suddenly pinned both of Peaches’ hands behind her back and pulled her backward and towards him, making her stumble in her heels.  “MINE.  She belongs to me, Harl.  Get your own toys.” J buried his face in Peaches’ hair, inhaling and exhaling dramatically.

“Awww, come on, Puddin’! No fair!  Didn’t anybody ever tell you that sharing is caring?  I promise I’ll put her back the same way I got her.”  Mister J didn’t respond.  He had Peaches’ hair pulled into a makeshift ponytail and was purring loudly while lacing her with bites, some that were beginning to break the skin and draw blood.  Harley was growing impatient, stomping her foot and pouting.  “Come on, you can watch!”  Harley advanced again on her hands and knees, trying to entice The Joker into accepting her proposition.  She was dangerously close to grabbing for Peaches’ ankle when he pulled her backwards again with a grunt and growling in anger.  He was still pinning Peaches’ wrists in place with his left hand, as he pulled out his gun and aimed it at Harley.

Harley stopped squirming and her face pulled back in complete shock. “Hey, Mistah J, I’m sorry, I just wanted a little taste is all.  She’s all yours.”  He cocked the gun with his finger on the trigger and Peaches was pressed against him so tightly that she could feel his erection against her ass.  In fact, she could feel his arousal intensifying, in real time, as he held Harley at gunpoint.  His phone rang loudly, interrupting the thick, palpable tension that had filled the room and he kept the gun aimed at Harley as she continued to plead on her knees.  “Puddin’, please!  Gentle reminder that I saved you and Princess Peach from being brutally murdered by Maxie Zeus and his New Olympians.”  The Joker rolled his eyes in disgust. “Don’t call me Puddin’!” Harley put her hands up and apologized. “Sorry J, force of habit.” The phone rang again, cutting through the second awkward silence of the night, as he pushed up against Peaches with a discrete thrust.  Peaches could feel herself slick with arousal as she shifted on her heels. It was a secret and unavoidable pleasure as her folds slid against themselves and she sighed softly as The Joker answered the call. 

     “What?!” Mister J yelled into the phone so hard that his entire body shook and tensed.  He didn’t appreciate the additional intrusion.  It was Frost with the cleanup crew and J barked out directions before turning his attention back to Harley and the gun he had pointed in her direction.  Chest heaving and panting, he turned to Peaches suddenly before posing a question, while nibbling at her ear.  “Ok, sweetheart.  Tell Daddy.  Should I spare Harley? “Or, should I blow her brains out the back of her skull?”  He said the last option as he let his hand roam over her, pulling up her jacket to access the waistband of her panties.  The band stretched as he shoved his hand inside.  He let his hand lay against her, motionless and then pressed each finger against her, playing her tummy like a piano.  It was clear which option he preferred.

“Let’s spare her,” Peaches said in an innocent voice and he pushed himself against her, bending his knees, as he laughed loudly.  “You’re always so good.  Don’t you ever want to just cut loose?” He locked eyes with Harley and then put the gun back into its holster reluctantly.  “Always a pleasure, Harl. Give Deadshot my best.” J rolled his eyes and waved and much to Peaches’ surprise, Harley was giddy at his farewell.  “Thanks J, don’t be a stranger, we should set up a double date.  We can all go after Batsy together!”          

 “Who’s Batsy?  Is she talking about Batman,” Peaches asked, as he finally placed his blazer around her shoulders.  J’s face turned up into a snarl.  “Don’t bring up The Bat.  I’m still cooking up some ways to kill him, but right now, I’m more interested in murdering you in bed.”  He led Peaches by the back of the neck into an unmarked, black, four door and threw her into the back seat.  “Lay down.”  She obeyed his request and heard the soft thud of the door slamming behind him, as he jumped into the front seat.  He turned the car on and started driving in his usual erratic manner.  “Are you Daddy’s good girl or Daddy’s bad girl?”  Peaches thought about the question and moaned. “I’m whatever you say I should be, Daddy.”  The Joker purred and shifted gears sharply.  “That’s a perfect answer. Daddy wants to you be a bad girl right now.  Take off your clothes, but leave your panties and heels on.”

 Peaches tore off the blazer, jacket and shirt and lay with her bare skin against the leather of the rear seats.  He continued weaving in traffic and looked up to glimpse at her in the rear-view mirror.   “Spread your legs and touch yourself.  Don’t you dare cum.  Say, ‘Yes, Daddy.’”  Peached spread her legs, her left on the seat and her right sliding onto the floor and began exploring herself gingerly, with her fingertips.  “Yes, Daddy J.”

[lailannajacobs]

Harbour in a Hurricane

Pairing: Bucky x ShieldAgent!Reader 

Prompt: You can look all you want, but I bet you’re dying to touch me

Warnings: just a little blood and a lot of feels! 

Word Count: 5k

A/N: This is my entry for @moonbeambucky‘s writing challenge!! Congrats again for the 5k Tara, you deserve it so so much!! Hope you guys enjoy! I always love to hear what you think!! <3

Pacing back and forth in the living room of your one-bedroom apartment, you refused to sit down, relax and take your mind off of him - refused to do the exact thing they had sent you home to do. Everyone had told you repeatedly that the compound was no place to calm down, but the apartment you had moved into less than a month ago felt less like home than the compound did. At the compound, you had your family there with you. But still, they had all insisted, saying that you needed to step away. If you were being honest, you were pretty sure all your pacing was driving them insane.

Bucky should have been back from his mission a week ago, and his failure to show without any sort of message or explanation was driving you crazy. He had gone off on a risky mission, made even riskier by the fact that he had refused to take anyone else with him. Any one of his good friends could have gone with him, any of the hundred capable agents could have gone with him for that matter, but he had refused.

You should have gone with him.

But just because you were partnered for most missions, didn’t meant that you went on all of them together.

Running your fingers through your hair, you stopped pacing, knowing you should at least eat something. You couldn’t remember when you last had, and you knew running yourself into the ground wouldn’t help anyone. But it wasn’t like there was anything you could do to help anyways.

Steve had refused to tell you where Bucky had gone on the basis that you would do something stupid like go after him. It didn’t matter that he was right, it didn’t make the wait any easier.

Sam had tried to comfort you by telling you that Bucky was more than capable of taking care of himself, and before he sent you home, reminded you that it couldn’t be all that serious if Steve wasn’t worried. If Steve started to worry, Sam promised you would be the first to know.

He had said all of that with a funny look on his face as if he could tell that all your worry stemmed from a more-than-just friends’ kind of feeling rather than the general colleague concern you should have felt. But if he figured out that you had feelings for Bucky that you definitely shouldn’t have, he didn’t let on or react in that obnoxious brotherly way of his. You almost wished he had, just to take your mind off of things. Almost.

You stared pacing again, unable to stay still for long. No matter how useless treading a path in the shiny would floors was, it felt better than doing nothing. maybe if you slept - your phone nestled in between your hand and the pillow with the ringer on high - you wouldn’t be driving yourself crazy. You knew it could be the only way to stop yourself from imagining a million different horrible explanations as to why he wasn’t back yet.

Even if you would hate yourself if you knew that Bucky had gotten hurt while you were sleeping, you reminded yourself that getting hurt was a constant risk in your line of work. You also reminded yourself that your current feelings were the reason you refused to even let yourself think about dating the blue eyed, dark haired soldier - not that your plan was working out so great with regards to keeping your cool at work.

With a defeated sigh, you knew sleep was your only option. Putting yourself trough hell wouldn’t do anything to help Bucky, and if Sam did call, you weren’t going to be much use fatigued and stressed. Even though this was probably the hundredth time you had come to this conclusion since walking through your apartment doors, this was the first time you walked into your bedroom.

Checking your cell’s ringer five times just to be sure you’d hear it, you flopped onto the bed, without bothering to tuck yourself under the sheets. Despite everything, or maybe because of it, you passed out within seconds.

I’d ask what you’re up to, but the getup is pretty self explanatory.” You leaned against Bucky’s bedroom doorframe, admiring the view in front of you. His black combat suit covered practically every inch of his body, the design reminiscent of one of Cap’s older suits, “So why is it that I’m missing out on all the fun?”

He looked up from his attempt at securing a particularly difficult weldor around his wrist.

“Firecracker,” He smiled, but it felt strained, “I’m not sharing this one with anyone.”

“What do you mean exactly?” The words were a question you already knew the answer to, but it didn’t stop you from asking it anyways as you walked up to help him.

He let you take his wrist, staring at it instead of you. “You know what it means.”

“Then why the hell are you going alone?” You slapped the strap together and threw his wrist at his chest, unable to contain your irritation, “I know you only wear this suit on the dangerous missions.”

“Every mission is dangerous.” He answered calmly, checking over the rest of the suit.

“You know what I mean.” You huffed.

He looked down at you, capturing your gaze with his piercing blue one, and murmured, “I do.”

“Then take me with you,” You whispered, “Or if not me, then Sam. Or Steve. Or Nat. Or Scott, I heard he’s back from San Fransisco and incredibly bored.”

“I can’t. This is something I have to do by myself.” He sighed.

“Don’t be an idiot Bucky.”

He smirked, “Didn’t Maria tell you when you took the job? You’re surrounded by idiots.”

“You don’t have to be part of the majority.” You grumbled, staring at ground.

“You know I have to be.” He took your wrist, silently begging you to look up at him. “Nat and Wanda are the only exceptions and you and I both know three would be a crowd.”

A defeated sigh escaped your lips, and you tried once more in vain to reason with him, “Well then, if you’re going to be an idiot, can you at least bring another idiot along with you? Or preferably one of the two exceptions?”

“If I didn’t know any better, Firecracker, I’d say you truly cared whether I lived or died.” He grinned, trying to make light of a subject both of you knew was far more serious than he was letting on.

“Of course I care, You still haven’t bought the first round you owe from our last mission.” You shot him your most no-nonsense look. “So don’t die, okay?”

He let out a little amused huff and nodded, “Okay. For the sake of your free beer, I won’t die.”

“Good. Now,” you forced a grin to mask your worry, “do you need me to braid those luscious locks of yours? I’m just saying, they wouldn’t be in the way…”

He shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips, “See you in two weeks Firecracker.”

You watched as he walked out his room, leaving you to stare out after him, wondering if you were really going to see him in two weeks.

“Promise me you'll come home Bucky.” You whispered when he was too far to hear.

It was still dark when an ominous scraping on your fire escape woke you from your fitful sleep.You listened carefully, hoping it was another squirrel rifling through your newly planted geraniums, but the sound didn’t feel right. Whatever was there sounded too big to be a squirrel, and your gut told you that whatever was there was extremely dangerous.

Wide awake, you slipped out of bed, slid open the top drawer of your bedside table, and pulled out your handgun. Your bare feet were silent on the old wooden floor, avoiding the creaking boards you had memorized after your first week living here.

There was enough light pouring in through your living room window that when you turned the corner the broad figure squeezing in through the fire escape window was impossible to miss - both with your eyes and your gun.

“Take another step and you’ll get two bullets through the eyes.” You warned, staying a safe distance away.

Someone his size could easily overpower you in tight quarters and you weren’t about to give up your advantage.

Your mind raced, trying to figure out who would be breaking into your new apartment in the middle of the night. You weren’t a public icon like any of the Avengers, and you were in no way powerful enough to merit high profile enemies like some of your colleagues had.

The logical explanation was that you were being robbed, but your windows had been locked before you had gone to bed, and anyone who opted to pick a complex lock rather than smash the window was either an exceptional thief or wanted to get in unnoticed.

Your job most certainly meant it was the latter.

Which left you where you started. Who the hell was trying to kill you?

The figure kept moving, your warning either unbelievable or he didn’t think a bullet would slow him down. Whatever he believed, you hoped you could prove him dead wrong if it came down to it.

Now that he was practically in your apartment, you cocked the gun in warning. “I don’t like to repeat myself. Another step and it’ll be the last one you take asshole.”

He straightened, even taller and squarer than you had guessed, which only made you realize that you had underestimated just how far he had gotten into the apartment. You were suddenly glad that you were the one with the gun.

You hadn’t been expecting a fight tonight, but now that you had one, you would damn well finish it. After all, maybe this was the distraction you needed tonight.

A groan escaped the man’s lips, garbling the words he attempted to speak, and he cleared his throat. Raising the gun a little higher, your finger on the trigger, you aimed for his head, but you weren’t ready to shoot him yet. The sound he had made was one of an injured man and you still had questions you wanted answered.

He took a step forward and you almost shot his thigh before a street lamp outside your apartment flickered to life, glinting off the intruder’s arm. Your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t lower the weapon. Odds were, the stress, fatigue and malnourishment meant you were imagining him. But it didn’t matter what the odds were.

The next words out of your mouth might have cost you your life, but you couldn’t help but whisper, “Bucky?” your voice so low it was only heard because it was the middle of the night.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t take another step forward either.

Backing up, your gun still raised and pointed at his head, you flipped the lamp switch.

Pale blue eyes were staring back at you in the pale light, framed by dark greasy strands of hair. But instead of feeling relief, worry tightened its grip and twisted. Blood caked his blanched face; his hand was pressed against his abdomen and he was tilted at an awkward angle that let you know that his climb up the fire escaped had to have been painful.

Whatever had done this to him had to more than dangerous. You didn’t dare think about the very real possibility that Bucky hadn’t won the fight and that whatever it was, was still out there. He wasn’t about to die in your apartment either. You refused to even let that be a possibility.

For some reason, it was as if all your training vanished, and you were left sunned, gaping at him like you weren’t sure if he was real or if it was a nightmare.

“You can look all you want, but I bet you’re dying to touch me.” The smirk on his face seemed more like a grimace and his voice was dry and hoarse, but it was the cocky playfulness lighting up his eyes that snapped you out of your trance.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s dying, idiot!” You whispered yelled, taking in the purpling bruise on the corner of his right eye and his cracked lip, “What the hell are you doing here? I could have shot you! Why aren’t you at the compound? I could have shot you!”

Thankfully, your voice was steady and whatever inkling was left of your training covered just how worried you were.

He shrugged, but even the minimal movement seemed to cause him pain. He was probably standing out of pure stubbornness alone.

“Here was close.”

“Here was closer?” You echoed. “You decided to scale a fire escape up five floors, half dead, to a tiny apartment without medical professionals because here was closer? I could have shot you!” You repeated, trying to get it through his thick skull. You wondered if he might have a concussion.

“Had I known you’d be pointing a gun at me for this long, I might not have.” He half smirked, half grimace once again, but you knew it was forced.

Any other day, he would have told you that there was no way in hell you could have shot him, but he was too hurt, even for that bravado.

Then his words sunk in.

You stared at the gun, horrified that you were still aiming it at his chest. Flipping the safety back on, you dropped it to the table and burst into action, crossing the distance between the two of you in frantic paces. Your hand immediately fluttered to  his face, not wanting to touch him in fear of hurting him but needing to assess the damage.

“Did you really expect me not to? You broke into my place in the middle of the night. Of course I was going to point a gun at you.” You murmured, your fingers gingerly tilting his head from side to side, inspecting the bruises and cuts.

Your heart tightened. That was only the damage on his face. From the way he was standing, his injuries weren’t only external.

. “I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t. But I figured that if I didn’t break your window, then you might not have pointed it at me for so long.” He kept still, eyes closed

You let out a breathy laugh. “So the only reason you didn’t break my window was so that you didn’t get shot.”

“I also didn’t want to break your window. You did only move in a month ago.”

You shook your head, not sure if you wanted to smack him or kiss him. “You could have. Broken the window I mean. It would have been a lot faster and less painful. Now we need to get you to the compound.”

He grabbed your wrist, eyes snapping open, “No.”

The wild look in his eyes told you it was nonnegotiable.

“Then we get the compound to come to us. Bucky, you need help.”

“No.” He repeated, those piercing blue eyes pinning you to the spot. “I know I wasn’t followed. They don’t know where you live or who you are. I won’t bring you into this anymore than I have already by trying to get back to the compound. Laying low here is the safest option Firecracker.”

“Not for you! Do you I need to remind you that I’m not a doctor? I can’t fix a broken rib, which you clearly have by the way. You need an actual doctor, not someone who’s first aid training was in high school.”

“You can’t do much more for a broken rib than a doctor can.” He pointed out through gritted teeth as he shifted his weight, “But you can do something about the stab wound.”

Your eyes widened, and you would have smacked him upside the head if he hadn’t been so injured, “Oh my god Bucky. What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t break in here cracking jokes and then tell me you’ve been stabbed five minutes later. Sit. Now. We need to get you out of that suit you idiot.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into that crooked little half smile that apparently seemed to make your heart flutter even when his life was on the line. “Is that the only thing we need to get me out of?”

“No.” You knew he had only said that jokingly to distract you from your scolding and himself from the pain, which was why he looked so surprised by your answer. Not wanting him to think you were serious - even though you might have been if he wasn’t half dead and if he might have been even remotely interested - you quickly continued, “No. I also want you out of my apartment and in a real hospital, but I know you’re not going to do that are you?”

He shook his head, the movement as small as the slight raise of the of his lips so that it wouldn’t cause him pain.

“Then I need you out of this suit so that I can clean the wound. Thank god you didn’t get shot.” You grumbled, “You know how much I hate fishing for bullets.”

“You’re welcome.” As soon as he took his hand off his wound, he stumbled, grinning onto your sofa for support.

You ducked under his arm and guided him to the tiny sofa that looked even smaller with him sitting in in. “Sit still.”

“I feel so coddled when you bark orders at me like that.” He gripped his abdomen tighter.

At least his eyes were still alight with humour, which meant he wasn’t about to pass out any time soon. You let out a small sigh of relief.

“You’re a soldier. You don’t get coddled. Now, try not to get any blood on my sofa. I got it yesterday.” You barked, trying to keep you the worry from your voice.

You wondered if you were overdoing the clipped professionalism a little, but you were afraid to drop the act, knowing if you did, he would be able to tell how much seeing him like this was eating you up inside.

“If I do stain it, Firecracker, I promise I’ll come over and clean it up myself.” The way that piercing gaze seemed to bore into your soul gave you the impression that he was trying to tell you something, but you couldn’t figure it out.

Lost in those stormy eyes, you couldn’t help but whisper, “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Good.” He breathed so softly, you realized the only reason you heard him was because the two of you were now inches away.

You backed away quickly and cleared your throat, unclipping and unzipping the ties furthers from his wound.

He tried to help but you swatted his hand away, “Keep pressure on that wound.”

Bucky complied, only removing his hand when you needed to get him out of his sleeves. His expression remained neutral through the whole thing, but the slight narrowing of his eyes and the way he held his breath a second too long at times let you know he was in serious pain.

When you peeled the material down to his chest, you couldn’t help but wince - at least you hadn’t gasped - at the sight. Patching Bucky up in the field wasn’t something you did often, and when you did, they were only small cuts and minor inconveniences that only needed disinfecting.

Whatever he had been stabbed with had gone in far, and from the looks of the dark blood smeared across his contracted abs, and the fleshy, jagged line, it had been meant to hurt.

“I thought this was your vibranium suit.” You muttered, confused.

“It is.” he coughed. “The other guy’s knife was also vibranium. Surprise.”

You forced a smile, “And that’s why I hate surprises.”

He let out a little huff and nodded, but you could tell it didn’t distract him from the fact that both of you were very aware that his opponent had known more than he should have. No one in this business was that lucky. At least not against Bucky.

With an awkward little tap on his bicep you got up and went to find your first aid kit in the bathroom.

“Funny,” Bucky said as you walked back in the room, “I didn’t think I needed you to get me in and out of this suit.”

You let out a sigh of relief when you saw that he was still awake. He was holding out a lot better than most people would have, and even if you were away for less than a minute, you had been worried the whole time that he would fall asleep and not wake up. You knew you were worrying too much, but in your defence, you weren’t exactly prepared for this.

Unable to wipe the light smile from your lips, you shook your head, “You always need me.”

“I do.”

You wanted to ask him if he really meant it or if it was just the pain talking, but you kept your mouth shut. Knowing you were getting dangerously close to feelings you didn’t want to dig up, you decided to try and hide them as best you could, “That’s why we’re mission buddies. I have to keep you out of trouble.”

You tried not to wince at how awkward that sounded.

He nodded, “Right. Mission buddies. Of course.”

You began cleaning the wound, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the captivating look in his eyes. If he hadn’t been so injured, you were pretty sure he would have guessed your feelings by now. You wanted to smack yourself for the way you kept steering the conversation into dangerous territory. Normally you had no problem keeping your emotions in check but with all the not knowing and waiting this past week, it seemed you couldn’t keep your walls up high enough.

“You know, you owe first round for the next ten missions.” You hoped to steer the conversation into friendlier territory.

“What?” he winced at the pressure you applied, “I only remember one.”

You pressed the cloth against his cut more gently this time, “I added one for every day you were late.”

“That seems reasonable.”

“Of course that’s reasonable, I was worried sick.” You chided.

“You were worried sick?” He asked softly, causing you to look up.

He was looking at you with a strange look on his face, his head titled slightly as if he wasn’t sure he had heard you right.

You only stared, realizing your mistake and racking your brain to find a way to recover.

“Yeah dummy,” you forced a laugh and looked down at his cut so that he couldn’t see your face, “We all were. Especially Sam. You should have seen him. He kept asking Steve if we should go find you.”

He lifted a brow, “Really. Sam? That doesn’t-”

Although it probably made you a bad person, you took that opportunity to pierce his skin with the needle, not having warned him that you were starting the stitches.

He grimaced. “Remind me never to get patched up by you again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind as long as you don’t get stabbed again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He echoed.

By the time you were finished you finally got up the courage to ask him the question that had been going through your mind from the moment you saw the wound.

“What happened out there?” You whispered.

He tried to shrug off your question with a chuckle, but you had pulled back to disinfect the cuts on his face, so he had nowhere to look but in your eyes, “I’m serious Bucky. There aren’t too many people that can get the jump on you.”

He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, but you knew he wouldn’t ignore your question. Not when you had him in your apartment in the middle of the night and were patching him up. He stayed silent for so long that you got back to work, softly dabbing the cut near his eye. You knew you weren’t doing much to help at this point, but you needed to be doing something and he didn’t seem to mind.

You were just about to move onto the cut on his lip when he put his hand on yours. The soft touch and warmth of his hand stopped you in your tracks.

You looked up at him in question.

“Thank you, Firecracker.”

You sighed. “You’re not healed but at least you’re alive. But Bucky, you need to tell someone what’s going on. It really doesn’t matter who as long as you tell someone who can help you if need be.  I can’t… I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d…we’d do if you didn’t come back.”

“I’ll come back. I’ll always come back.” He looked like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind and forced a little smirk, “Sam would go crazy if I didn’t, right? And I can’t let you live with Sam if he’s crazy, now can I?”

“No. No you can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

He cocked his head, “That’s a lot of insistence there, Firecracker.”

You averted your eyes to your new task, but unfortunately that was the cut on his lips, which was probably the worst place for you to look to hide your feelings. So you moved onto the shallow slash on his collar bone. You knew he was only teasing to keep distracted from the pain in his chest, but you refused to let him even get an inkling as to how you were feeling.

“You owe us ten rounds remember? Can’t have you dying on us just yet.”

You felt the laughter in his chest, “Of course.”

Before he could say anything else that you decided he was as fixed up as you could ever manage.

“You need to rest. Now. You’ll take the bed and I’ll be right here if you need me.”

He started to protest but you shook your head, “I’m not letting you sleep on my couch when really you should be in a hospital. Need I remind you that you have a broken rib.”

“And you shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch because I made a stupid mistake and got stabbed.” He growled.

You carefully picked up a heavy arm and slid yourself under it to carry as much of his weight as you could. Whatever adrenaline had been keeping him up earlier had vanished, and his body felt about fifty pounds heavier than before.

“You came to me Barnes, instead of the compound. My house, my rules.”

“Any other rules I should know about Firecracker?”

“Not at the moment.” You puffed, straining to keep him up.

“So there are others?”

“Of course,”

You felt his breathy laughter on the top of your head.

“Maybe you should stop laughing.” You said when he groaned in pain.

“I just need to sleep it off.”

You rolled your eyes and eased him onto the end bed.

He sat there looking at you expectantly.

You had to admit that it wasn’t exactly how you pictured having him in your bed. You pushed the thoughts away. He was here because he was hurt. That was all. And he was safe. He was safe. Bucky was safe. Finally realizing it, you stumbled a little, overcome with relief and somehow, the man with the broken rib, your partner in the field, caught you.

“You okay there?”

He eased you down beside him and you sat, shoulder to shoulder, staring off into your living room.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. It is,” you looked over at your alarm clock, “3:45 in the morning.”

“(y/n)?”

“Hmm?” You didn’t look at him.

He gently grabbed your hand and repeated your name. You turned to look at him, your face now inches from his, “yeah?”

“Thank you.”

You shook your head. “It’s what you would have done, you don’t need to thank me.”

“Stay here tonight.” He whispered.

“With you?”

He smirked. “I promise I won’t hog the sheets.”

You hesitated.

“After all you’ve done I can’t let you sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here next to me.”

You really didn’t want to sleep on the couch, so you shrugged and crawled around and under the sheets. Painstakingly he did the same but refused your help when you offered. When he was settled, you shut off the lamp, listening to his breathing for a few moments, almost touching his warm body in your double bed that now felt tiny.

“Bucky?”

“Firecracker?”

You stared up at the dark ceiling. “I have one more rule.”

“What’s that?”

What you really wanted to say was, “Don’t make me fall for you even more than you already have.” but what you did say was, “there’s no moaning and groaning in pain all night. I need my beauty sleep.”

He chuckled, “I can do that.”

“Oh and Bucky.”

“Yes Firecracker?”

“Last rule.”

“yes?”

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

He stayed silent like you knew he would. That wasn’t a rule he couldn’t break. If he needed to do the same thing tomorrow, then damn the consequences he would. You were in that half dreaming half-awake state when you thought you heard him whisper, “As long as I keep having you to come back to, you don’t need to worry about me.”  

[legoddess]

I wrote a short thing. Hope you like it.

The Executioner

Several years ago she escaped. The walls were as cold as the souls of the men who worked there. She had been taken and placed in a program when she was sixteen after her parents had been killed. With the news of her father being poisoned, her and her mother hit the road. At a gas station she went to use the bathroom and came back to blood smeared on the passenger window and her mother's body beside pump number four. Her father was a high class businessman and her mother had been a lawyer. That was a life she didn't know much of anymore and rarely looked back after being clocked in the head with what felt like a brick.

All she could do was survive and pretend that everyday she wasn't dying a little more on the inside until one day she was told to take the life of a child. She begged them to spare his life, that she would do whatever else was asked of her. Though she didn’t want to be touched in what they would say was their “Divine right” to her , or lest she be beaten. They were unflinching when they explained the way in which she was to kill him or be killed herself as the program wasn’t for the weak. Giving her the only choice she'd ever received while in their custody, the man with the scar over his brow reminded her how he would punish her in front of the child then make her watch as he handled the boy who couldn't be more than nine.

Never would  she forgive herself. She was weak then because she hadn’t broken when they bloodied her lip and bruised her face, but broke when they turned their malice towards the little boy. Emotions made her weak and that was the core practice in most of her training lessons. “I am so sorry” she had said as she caressed the boys face and the look in his eyes of confusion said he didn’t understand her. Red faced from holding in the violent sobs that threatened to escape her, she killed the boy with frightened blue eyes but couldn’t torture him.There was a knife on the floor that  one of the seven men in the room had tossed at her as she’d been instructed to peel his flesh starting from the top. The blade went cleanly into the child's abdomen as she pulled him into an embrace and cried silently on his narrow shoulder, humming the song her mother would hum to her. She remembered those nights that her head lay on her mother's bosom when she was scared to lose her parents, who often told her she would never lose them.

Spending years in torture was how she became The Company’s best assassin before she ran for her life after the superior's had been killed in cold blood. Lexa was only sixteen when her life fell apart. Remembering nights in the small cage that she had been shoved into when the blindfold had been removed to see men with no faces and the scars masks their cheekbones. She was handcuffed and taken into a dingy room that smelled of body odor and gin. When she wasn't constricted to her cramped quarters, she was to begin combat training. In reality  her lessons was her getting mutilated every other day for three months until her training had sunk in which lead her to slam one of her superior's to the blue tarped floor. Sleeping was nearly impossible with the stench of urine, blood and savagery. After her first year was completed and they hadn’t manage to break her spirit the way they promised they would, they gave her a larger cage that she would call home for the next two years. This prison, though larger had more than one occupant, usually two girls. Some nights when the other girl would be awaken to stress tests, she’d roll over and and cover her ears so that she wouldn’t hear her screaming in the dark being dragged out. Lexa couldn't let them see her cry, they would think that they won and she wanted to get out of this hell. Alive.

Never looking  back, assuming everyone was already dead, she left the abusive relationship that were her old forced employers but stayed in the same field of work which was how she met Aidan. They've been working together for little over two years. Neither of them wanted a partner and preferred to work solo but they made the strongest team with a collective list of a hundred or more jobs between the two of them. They met while on separate missions that had been arranged for them to meet. They’d almost killed each other as they weren’t in on the blind date that their individual and respected companies had seen to be a potentially beneficial union of skills.

Peering out through the rather large window in the Grand hotel suite, the rain fell as steadily as it had  all day. It was past rainy season in New Orleans and when the sun finally breaks through the clouds, the bayou will be horribly humid and spread it way to the French Quarter. The room was on the twelfth floor and the view was spectacular of the city below. Odd little touristy shops for Mama Laveau’s Magic Shop on one corner and Rousseau's Kitchen, which had the best jambalaya in town as the locals claimed. This city was made stronger by Hurricane Katrina  and the heart of the city still beats after much had been wiped out like other parishes outside of the main tourist attraction like Slidel and Chalmett.

Lexa couldn't find it in her to feel anything at all still as a side effect of shutting off her humanity when she was only old enough to have just received her first car from her parents. She should be happier to return to the city she grew up in with the food that warmed her soul so many years ago. From the moment she stepped foot off the jet she wouldn't allow herself to feel the anger, the shame, the vulnerability from who she had been to who she was now. To feel the consequences of her actions the last seven years would cripple her. The lonely nights where her fingers would bleed when she tried to dig her way out of her cage, or the mornings she would wake up in a cold sweat thinking she had never escaped. She knew she would never escape it entirely, it would always be a part of her and for that she felt repulsed as her vision focused away from the streetlights the same amber ass the color of her eyes. Scanning her reflection , the dark circles forming under her eyes made her look tired and her red tendrils  lacked luster. Standing at the window that stretched from wall to wall, the people below were just as lively as they had been all day and she could practically hear the laughter that felt like it was ever presently mocking her. .

Rubbing her eyes, she stepped away from the window and turned her back on the city of magic to focus on  her hotel room to disconnect from her thoughts that should be worked out with a licensed therapist. The decor was elegant and the man whom was her partner on assignments had gone to his room in the double suite to shower, giving her the time to remember why she had come to New Orleans in the first place, her mission. Aidan was the name of her comrade and occasional playtoy but they knew little of each other's past lives. Lexa had told him that she was a mercenary in a past life but never went into the specifics and had mastered the use of multiple weapons such as daggers, guns and bo staffs, arrows, katanas and what have you. Also being train with various  fighting styles that range from western boxing and wrestling to, Ju-Jitsu and Kalaripayattu which her and Aidan have in common but bonded over her art of seduction in the name of getting the job done or pleasure. Her partner told her only that he was awfully good at what he does for a reason and listed his qualifications that included knowing ten languages fluently, his shared love of weaponry but preferring guns more than she did. His past life was a mystery, the way they both wanted.

Having not come back to the city in some time, she missed the music and the smell of the cuisine, that  alone would add five pounds to her thighs from the butter, garlic and rosemary that fragranced the restaurants. Enjoying the  jazz with memories of her mother and her sitting in a white Cadillac in their driveway encumbered the genre. They'd spend saturday mornings leaning the car that was appropriately named ‘Miss Money” as the car was high maintenance with it's white wall tires and the scent of polished leather.. The state of Louisiana was as warm as the whiskey that was severed in the bar  they went to the night before. There had been live music and people dancing like there was no tomorrow. Women in red dresses as bright as autumn leaves in New Hampshire, and sweat collecting on the bodies of partners who couldn't resist the urge to feel alive with the pairing of Jambalaya and the band of horns and strings.The bar and restaurants central air had gone out and for it to be the start of August, repairs will be needed as soon as possible before patrons start to seek more comfortable eating or perhaps the ambience will persuade the locals and tourists to stay.

The ice cube in the bourbon Aidan ordered was quickly melting but I hadn't had the heart to steal his attention from the small stage over in the corner of the room. Looking so enthralled with the trill of the trumpeter and the saxophones echo, Lexa found herself wanting to be able to get lost  in something so deeply as he was in this moment within the backbeat of the drum kit. Sitting back she admire his face for the first time in detail since the day they had met.He had dark hair and an angular jaw, with eyes the color of steel. Laughter came easy for him and he rarely seemed to think of anything outside of the here and now. Dressed in dark grey slacks that she had always found suited him the nicest, and a blue shirt that she gave to him for his birthday. Everything about him exuded a quiet confident and his leisure in a crowded room was no exempt.

“Can I help you with something?” he cleared his throat, taking his eyes away from the performers and swirling his drink.

A small grin swept across her face, “You wouldn’t happen to have a twin, would you? Someone that looks like you but isnt you?” She would rather not admit that even she fell prey to his good looks and lazy smiles but they both understood nothing more would come from their flirtations other than a tangle of sheets at best.  It wasn't wise to let emotions ruin something some primally satisfying as a no strings attached.

With a look of amusement, he bit his lip as if he were restraining his tongue from getting him into trouble. “Dance with me.”  There hadn't been a question in his tone before he swigged the bourbon, stood and offered his hand.

Last night had been one of those rare exceptions in which she allowed herself to mix business and pleasure. Growing bored with staring out at the world, she needed to shower. Stepping into the warm water, it glided down her torso and over her shoulders,  easing aching muscles and alleviated some of the tension in her neck disparaging a headache. Humming while she finished her ablutions, wrapping herself in the robe provided she settled in the living room area assuming her partner went to bed for the night so now was a good of time as any to watch the footage she had found after some time of digging  into her past life.

The video was black until she started it and at the worst angle with the angle of it being from a corner of the room, likely a security camera.. It was of herself and a man that had called himself her superior. Sitting in a small cement room, the grey floor was stained by a numerous of stains and the scent of sweat and  mildew growing burned her nostrils. It was roughly four am in the video. Never a morning person and after these rude wake up calls, who could be? The girl in the video who she couldn’t fathom to be her as she looked back on that experience, wore a stained outfit and tangled auburn hair that mats to her forehead with blood and sweat. Partially deaf in one ear from a blow to the side of the face. The man stood in front of this girl, mocking her, degrading her by telling her she was no better than the last girl before him that he broke. Watching him take a step closer before lurching forward in vain as her back was  thrown against the wall. All anger the girl charged again at his taunting words of what he could do with her at his side, or what he’d do if she didn't corporate. Bruised and with the whites of her eyes looking as if the two dots of her pupils were swimming in pools of blood. They fought more with both sustaining gruesome injuries before she took him to the ground. The man was seconds from dying at her own hands before two men came in through the only way in or out and pulled her off of him. Taking one down with a kick to the back of their legs, just behind the knee and was about to snap his neck before a needle was plunged into her neck.

Lexas eyes narrowed to slits as she watched her body, deprived of nutrients,sleep and sunlight,  being dragged out of the room and the transmission ending. There were so many things she wanted to say to this girl from the video, this girl that she didn't recognize as herself. That this wasn't the end for you as she thought to how abrupt that darkness had felt and wondering if that was to be the last time her eyes were ever open again.  Older now, she wished to scream at the frail looking monster to sit up straight and not have her head bowed in submission like the other's he was so proud to call his. Tears threatened to pierce through her facade and she had to bury her face in her hands as not to meet her own gaze in the screen that had gone black again. This trip was not only for business but also it was personal for her. The man with a port wine stain  across half of his face was here. He was supposed to have died with the fall of The Company but it just gives her the anticipation of feeling his life eb from his body by her hands the way it should have all those nights again.

A cough meant to bring attention to oneself, brought her from her rage and shae that she had once felt so meek and fragile. Had the noise woke him or had he still been awake?

“Who was that?” She turned her head with the utterance to see him leaning  against the wall in perfect view of the laptop that sat on the coffee table. Taking a shaky breath in to recover from feeling like the same hopeless girl she had been while shoved in cages and below the floorboards.

“Me.”  Was all she could respond.

Walking over to the couch he sat with her in the silence that followed. She didn't cry nor did he attempt to break the deafening absence of words. Instead she lowered her head to his lap and closed her eyes.

Unsurprisingly she had warped nightmares about her past and the girls she’d tried not to befriend who shared the same cell as her and along the way as it was too hard on her attempt to let someone in when they would be allowed out of their boxed in living quarters, but would never return. Startled awake by her phone, no longer the helpless child that was stolen and turned into a killer against her will, she knew that the person on the other end of the receiver would tell her where The Executioner, as he called himself, would be. Raising from the couch and taking the phone to the window to look out once more she answered the phone, though the only sound was that of music and not a location. She knew the song well, it was a dirge that had always made her miss a life that she’s never gotten the chance to live. The song her mother would hum to her when thundered scared her as a infant, when she came home crying that she had fallen off her bike as a child and the song Lexa wished she could hear her mother hum to her now as a adult. Confused she watched Adian walk towards her with a curious expression but also something about his eyes were colder now. For the first time she saw them as the cold cement floor she had used as a mattress for years.

“I can't let you live Lex, blood is thicker than water.” Was the last thing she heard before a familiar darkness eroded her vision. Aidan had left out much of his past which never concerned her but he had specifically left out that he was the son of the man that beat her senseless and made her think she was less than human, Taking the phone that now dropped from his partner and lovers hand, he holds it to his ear for his father to hear him. He had been envious of the way his father bragged about his favorite pet that ultimately would be his partner and how she was the one who got away but not this time.

“We’re coming home.” The man with eyes as cold as the steel bars that kept her company at night hung up and waited further instructions. “Lexa, your life doesn't belong to you. Dad missed you.” the man says to her unconscious body.

[aviationfiction]

XXXI

Autumn Dupont

“Okay, thank you so much. I’m so pleased that our services were suited to your taste. It’s a pleasure to have you and we’ll see you soon.” Like a young child, who found a brand new shiny toy, I carelessly twisted, turned, and halfway glided to and from Isaac’s desk in his ridiculously comfortable ergonomic leather executive chair. It’s high back and soft head rest had been my source of comfort more than half of the day as he busily moved in and out of meetings throughout the morning. He summoned me from my position at the service desk with a polite plea for help that I hadn’t been expecting and yet couldn’t turn down. The rare occurrence of him properly and humbly asking me for something took me for a loop; hell, Rachel too. His mood change may possibly be attributed to he and Lauren’s budding embryo or maybe he’s finally respecting the work ethic that I’ve brought forth since he threw me a bone by giving me this job. Either way, I have no complains because I’ve become exhausted with the back and forth tension between he and I. Despite our lack of proper conversations to get to the root of his issues with me, I don’t see why he and I shouldn’t find a way to bring about peace within our relationship as siblings. I’ve already lost one brother and though Isaac may not realize it, he is and has always been dear to my heart. No matter what, I’ll have his back and if necessary, will go to war for him. We’ve always been taught to protect one another in this world and that’s a rule that I haven’t and will never give up on.

“Get out.” The bass in Isaac’s tone startled me as I placed the receiver to his desk phone back on it’s base. Okay maybe I’m jumping the gun about the shift in his personality.

“I just finalized an account. I did all seven and I reorganized the files in that cabinet over there. No offense, but whoever organized them before did a shitty job. Oh, and stop being rude.” I never thought I’d be able to have an actual conversation with a billionaire, but today I spoke with two. Usually, it’s a personal assistant or a chosen representative who calls in to request whatever services they prefer, so it was quite a shock for me to have Amancio Ortega himself speaking with me about servicing for his forty five million dollar Bombardier designed jet. Hell, it was quite a shock that the company is even on his radar, but he proved me wrong with his unpresuming compliments about Isaac’s charm and ambition. They happened to have met at a business conference and have been cordial with one another ever since. While it took every bit of might I had not to burst into a fangirl moment with my love for Zara, my brother could coolly mingle amongst the world’s wealthiest men and not break a single sweat. Impressive. They second one? Jami Gertz, wife of Antony Ressler. He’s the co-founder of a forty billion dollar private equity firm. Though she may not technically count because his assets aren’t hers, in my opinion, she does. She’s quite pleasant as well. She complimented the tone of my voice and called it soothing.

“I’m not being rude. Get out. Oh and I mean of the building by the way, not just my office.” His chuckle was light and he carelessly tossed a file on the desk that I’d just neatened up an hour ago. He will have made it a mess by the time he leaves here this evening. “Glen’s waiting for you outside.”

“For what? I’m supposed to get off at three today.” Glen and I had already spoken about it when he dropped me off to work this morning. If he is outside, he must have misheard what I said.

“You’re getting off now. Go head and go. You were getting ready to go on lunch anyway, right? Take lunch and keep going.” The sly expression on his face unnerved me as I lifted myself up and out of his chair. With my phone in my hand, I stepped around the desk and glared at him as he coolly took the position I was once in. I planned to be in here with my feet disrespectfully resting on his desk while I occupied the phone for the rest of the afternoon.

“What’s going on?” Because something has to be happening.

“I’m not sure why you wanted to become a doctor. You should have had goals to become a detective or a lawyer. All you do is ask questions. If I went out there and told anyone else what I just told you, they would have zipped out of here without giving me a chance to have a second thought and here you are questioning me about why I’m telling you to take the rest of the afternoon off. What a nerd.”

“Shut up. I’m going.” After retrieving my jacket from his office closet, I bid him a playful middle finger as a departing announcement and closed the door behind myself on my way out. My trek down the hallway wasn’t a long one.

“You’re off?” Rachel threw an arm around my neck to draw me in for a hug and I nodded in the midst of it. We were supposed to grab lunch and get off together. Isaac ruined our little lazy girl’s afternoon.

“Yeah. Boss man’s kicking me out.”

“Good. I still can’t believe you came in on the day before your birthday.”

“What else am I supposed to be doing? It’s the day before, not the day of.”

“Anything but being here. Go and prepare for it. Go get pampered. Shit, go to the spa or something. You work hard enough. Get out of here and enjoy yourself. I’ll call you in the morning and use my beautiful vocals to sing you an unforgettable birthday song. Okay?”

“Beautiful vocals? Oh, dear. You don’t really believe that, but I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“That is unless you’re having some incredible birthday morning sex. If so, don’t answer me. I won’t be mad at all.” The gasp that spilled past my lips was loud enough to draw laughter out of the both of us and I quickly nudged her with my elbow. I absolutely wouldn’t mind it. Actually, I’m hoping to be woken up just like that. I can barely contain the faint throbbing between my thighs at just the thought of it. I’m not sure if I should be ashamed of how much I anticipate being unclothed with my limbs tightly wrapped around every aspect of him. It worsens when I have alcohol in my system. It’s everything about his aura; it not only draws me in but it entices my body unlike any other. It’s the way he steadily peels my layers away, physically and mentally, and focuses on pleasuring me until I am on the cusp of life and death. It’s the way he fills me. My God.

“Cut it out. There won’t be any of that.” My modesty instantly came to my defense.

“Yeah, okay. The way he looks at you says it all.” Keeping my relationship out of the workplace has always been my intention ever since we began seeing one another. I’ve been around here and Meridian long enough to know how rumors swiftly spread and the truth is swept under the rug and hidden for the sake of keeping the conversations sensationalized. Whether it’s the side relationships with married men, the sugar daddy situations amongst the younger women, or the plotting on whichever wealthy male walks through the doors of both companies, I’ve heard it all. When I’m around, I can’t go a day without hearing whispers about my man or receiving sly questions about what he’s like so they can figure out exactly what type of pass to make at him. I’ve already told him he’s a hot commodity around this place and though he couldn’t care less, in some capacity I cannot help but to do so. There’s this part of me that doesn’t want yet another aspect of my love life being a source of entertainment for whoever is childishly concerned with it, and there is also this part of me that wants to set the record straight so that I no longer have to hear about women ready and willing to drop their panties for the man I’m in love with. It’s a tough position to be in. If it were up to him, we’d breeze through here hand in hand, confidently, with no worries about who knows.

“Call me the morning.” I retrieved my bag from the bottom drawer behind the desk and placed a peck on her cheek.

“Will do. Have fun today.”

Have fun? My feet moved as swiftly as my thoughts while I pondered on what I could possibly be having fun doing. As far as I know, I have no plans today. Tomorrow? Most likely a birthday lunch with my mother and dinner with Dante since he insisted. If it were up to me, we’d order takeout at his place and lay around with food bellies while watching chick flicks.

“Marvin?” Dante’s driver and his wide grin warmed me. Certainly the hundred roses being cradled in the nape of his arm helped.

“From the boss.” I didn’t hesitate to grab the beautiful display out of his grasp and give them a smell like any other admirer would have done. This is the third time this week I’ve gotten flowers from him and yet it still feels like the first time. Goosebumps, butterflies, chills, you name it.

“He sent me here with specific instructions for you. I placed the envelope in the backseat. We’re going to have a nice day together.”

“Oh really? Will the boss be joining me?” While helping me into the backseat of the blackened SUV, he shook his head with a smirk. “No?”

“He says that he’ll see you later on.” Once the flowers were carefully resting along side me, the envelop was my focus. The contents inside were his American Express Centurion Card, hundred dollar bills that I’d actually have to take my time counting, and a little note that said nothing more than he loved me. Any other woman would have been squealing in this backseat and bursting with excitement at the opportunity to spend money that isn’t theirs and yet I couldn’t mask the indifference and reluctance looming within my mind. I can admit that though I try my hardest to not compare my life with Andreas to the one I now share with Dante, I do have a tendency to worry about there being parallels that align. The days of swiping his credit card to cure the boredom were plentiful. The shopping also served as a temporary pain killer for the hole in my heart that he continued to worsen. Imagine standing in a closet full of clothes that mostly went unworn because you had nowhere to wear them to until your brother or best friend happened to come to town. How foolish would I have looked to waste couture pieces from Chanel and the fabulous intricacies of Dior in an arena watching the Miami Heat battle their latest opponent on the court? I’m not interested in being in that kept space once again because it comes with preconceived notions about my character and it puts me amongst an exclusive circle of women who are nothing more than the image behind the large shadow of their men. Though I adore Dante’s image, my everyday struggle is to create my own identity since I failed to do so during the time when it truly should have been happening. I don’t want any of this if it puts me back in that space again. I just want him and in no capacity does he have to come out of his pocket to give me that.

“You promised me.” He answered after two rings and didn’t even bother giving me a standard greeting. He didn’t start with an endearing one either. Instead, he chose to began with those three words because he already knew what my call would be about. He’s learned so much about my complexities that he tends to jump ahead of them these days.

“What?”

“You promised me.” He repeated himself and the sigh that followed was one of exhaustion. I couldn’t tell if I was the source behind it or if his early afternoon at work isn’t flowing as well as he’d like it to.

“You haven’t even let me tell you why I called. You haven’t even said hi.”

“You promised me before we left L.A. that I had the freedom to do whatever I pleased when planning your birthday celebrations and that you would not shut me down about it. Once again, I made you repeat that promise a week ago and you agreed with me. Remember?” How could I forget? I was half naked, not feeling so great, and his hands were soothing my body while I rested in his bed. A person would have agreed to anything during a massage like that. I wasn’t of sound, mind, or body. I was blissfully drunk off of him, per usual these days.

“Yes, I remember. I just…is this my gift? If this is my gift then, okay.”

“No. That’s not your gift.” Of course it isn’t. I asked a dumb question to lighten the mood and the exact opposite happened as silence followed his answer.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” And I do. I’ve trusted him since I met him, though my fears often resisted it. It’s the manner in which he handled our growing bond and my fragile heart that made me do so. I learned that his intentions were pure very early on.

“And you do believe and feel that I love and am in love with you, right?”

“Yes, Dante.”

“Then why are you about to argue with me about this? I should be able to give you whatever I want, if you genuinely believe both of those things. It’s what I want to do for you. I never protest what you want to do for me.”

“Fine. Fine. I’m going to go then.” There’s nothing more than needs to be said and if I go any further in what may come off as a complaint, I’d officially be treading into a territory of insulting him though it wouldn’t be my intention. Although the wounds are still healing, I don’t want to be the person who gives but has an issue with receiving love anymore. That mentality held me captive for two years and if I’m ever going to experience the freedom and liberation with breaking the chains of the past, I have to allow some spontaneity and risks to be taken.

“I have a meeting that I’m walking to as we speak. I’ll see you later on, okay? Enjoy yourself. Get whatever you want.”

“Wait. Wait. Before you go, what’s my budget?” His snicker was loud but lacked anything snide. He was genuinely amused.

“Talk to you later baby.” I didn’t get a chance to say another word. A double beep filled my ear and my connection with him was no more. Embarrassment flushed through me as Marvin looked on through the rearview mirror as I picked up my jaw and flushed out the shock in him hanging up on me.

“The boss gave me instructions to specifically take you to Saks Fifth Avenue and then to Bergdof Goodman. From there, any other store is of your choosing. Okay?”

“Okay.” At this point, who am I to argue?

“One more thing from the boss.” Marvin reached over into the passenger seat and revealed a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and passed it back to me. Of course, he didn’t forget to include the frozen Mocha that I enjoy so much. I couldn’t be less than impressed with the choices: two original glazed, one glazed sour cream, and one cinnamon twist. It’s exactly the way I order them whenever I feel like indulging on the oh so good treat that goes straight to my thighs. God, I love him.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

I wasted no time and immediately took a bite out of a doughnut. My eyes then panned towards to window to admire the scenery as we took the journey from Teterboro to New York City. Though I’ve been to a decent number of places in the world, I’ll never tire of the tri-state area. It’s vibrancy stimulates me and has yet to lose it’s hopefulness. I may be biased, there’s nothing like a new beginning here. I know that now more than ever. There was a time when I’d criticize the tourists who clogged the major areas of the city with their cameras and sightseeing or the newcomers who couldn’t figure out how to get from point A to B without asking a billion different questions and still getting lost in the process. Now? I get it. I understand why Shane marveled in the lights. With him, I understood why it was our playground and without him I understand why he introduced me to what would become a focal point of his world. It was his saving grace and now, it acts as mine.

“More champagne Autumn?” I’d only sipped the glass of Dom Pèrignon the eager woman placed in my hand upon my arrival and yet here she was offering to refill the glass.

Money talks. I’ve always known that, but it’s far more noticeable when you’re the centerpiece of it and there are hankering individuals catering to every step they most likely would have discriminated against had I not walked beyond the department store’s doors with the black card of one of the most prominent business men in New York City. Instead of following me around this store and pointing out items with prices tags containing four and five digits, they would have wondered why would I ever subject myself to stepping into such a store and ran my card more than twice to make sure I wasn’t committing one of those infamous credit card scams that have become the popular thing to do within the other boroughs. Instead, they were awaiting my arrival. A brunet by the name of April introduced herself as a consultant who works with Stacey in picking up pieces for Dante when he isn’t available. Her elation in catering to my every fashion need certainly ousted mine. Some would call her an enthusiast but her movements were like that of a vulture.

“No thanks. I’m okay.”

“What do you think of this?” Though the intricacies were quite interesting, I couldn’t connect with the fringe pealing out from the bodice and sleeves of the turquoise leather jacket. It’s color would have been ridiculously loud amongst the fall wear that is now filling the streets. I may be a risk taker and occasional rule breaker, but going that bright is a fashion felony.

“How much is that?” My curiosity arose.

“With tax? It’s about four thousand fifty dollars.” That number would have meant absolutely nothing to me had it been Andreas’ card in my wallet. In that situation, the cost of a “painkiller” had no limitations. She could have told me the price was a million dollars and I probably would have purchased it with the intent to spark an argument since we’d gotten to a point where arguments were the only time we’d speak to one another. Now? Lord knows I’m hesitant about blowing through any of this man’s money for trivial desires. I don’t have to force him to speak with me. I don’t need any painkillers. I’m assured in having him. I suppose that’s what should make this more comforting. Maybe that’s his point.

“I do like fringe, but not that particularly. It’s too loud.”

“There are quite a number of special order pieces that I have in the back for you. Mr. St. James’ assistant called about this a month ago so we were able to call up a couple of houses to get some pieces that we believed were birthday and everyday wear friendly. There’s a fringe number from Versace that’s to die for. It’s from this year’s Spring collection.” If it’s the golden metal mini dress and it’s glorious plunging neckline, I might be on board. I seen it months ago and loved it. Actually, I enjoyed the entire collection as I tend to do with most of what Donatella serves. Though she’s had more misses than her brother, she’s upheld the brand quite well over the years and I haven’t hesitated to splurge on pieces that have caught my eye. The jumpsuit I wore to Dante’s opening in L.A. is still one of my all time favorites.

“A month ago?”

“Yes. Stacey. I’m sure you know her. She stated that this was for the love of his life, so we needed to make sure you’re well taken care of.” Stacey served the dramatics while threatening these people. I’d expect no less from the woman who claims and honestly shows that she is the dominant side of Dante’s brain. Though she believes I’m beginning to edge her out in that department because I have a connection to him unlike anyone else, the credit is still due to her.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Oh no, thank you for coming in. You’re already stunning, so we’re just going to make sure we do everything within our power to further compliment that.”

Had Heather not blown me off with previous plans that she hadn’t realized she made around the time of my birthday, she would have been here with me and squealing at the sight of every piece I tried on like a proud mom. Instead, I’m left to make all of the choices by myself and it’s been quite of a challenge between both Saks and Bergdof Goodman. I’d already decided the Versace dress was a go for tomorrow night before I could even get it’s heaviness over my head. The sight of it alone left my eyes bulging out of my head and my skin trickling with chills. Everything else is simply pieces to fill up what may be more than half of my boyfriend’s closet once it’s all inside of his apartment. He’ll regret ever offering me the space soon enough. The clothing aside, my favorite part of my shopping activity for the afternoon was choosing the accessories. My enthusiasm heightened as I paired bangles with rings, necklaces with earrings, and sunglasses with bags and shoes. For over an hour, my feet were donned with Jimmy Choo, Giuseppe Zanotti, Christian Louboutin, Gianvitto Rossi, Miu Miu, Saint Laurent, and Sergio Rossi. Then there were the Balanciaga sneakers that I couldn’t pass on. Though I’d contemplated back and forth on it, wondering if I should feed into my fantasy, I couldn’t help myself. After trips back and forth to fill the trunk of the SUV with bags, I jogged back in the store for the famous blue smooth satin and crystal encrusted Manolo Blahnik stiletto pumps worn by Carrie Bradshaw during her court house wedding with John James Preston, better known as Mr. Big. I’d always said that my something blue would be my shoes whenever I got married and they were. With Andreas, I wore a decent pair from Jimmy Choo, but I’d like a do over. If God is on my side, I’ll have a do over and it’ll be with the one who fills my days with endless joy and has uplifted me since our first conversation.

“Marvin, can we go to Zara?” The higher end brands are great, but Zara has been and probably will always be my favorite place to shop for simplistic and interchangeable pieces. I like to mix things up and toy around with textures and patterns. Often times, I’ll have on a really affordable top and bottom, with expensive shoes and bags. Style is never about the price tag. Confidence is first and then there’s the skill in being able to take anything and make it look like it cost me a million bucks.

“We can go wherever you like Autumn.”

What do you want for dinner?

Before returning to his apartment, I figured I’d stop by a grocery store and pick up a couple of things to make dinner with tonight. His tone during our brief phone conversation had a bit of exhaustion mixed in with the frustration, so if I make something, he’ll be able to eat and get some much needed rest.

You don’t have to cook. I can grab dinner on the way in or you can. Whichever way is best for you.

While I’m thinking about his filling his stomach, he’s thinking about inconveniencing me. This man never fails to amuse me. Any other man would have quickly listed off a couple of things to put me to work in his kitchen.

That’s not what I asked Mr. St. James.

Maybe I’ll make pasta. That’ll get me in and out of the kitchen in less than an hour.

Whatever you choose to make is fine with me, baby.

And here I thought women were the most indecisive people when it comes to eating.

Pasta?

I think I’ll do penne with a spicy arrabbiata sauce and grilled chicken on the side. Simple, yet great in taste.

Perfect. I love you.

His words of endearment were a sweet way of blowing me off and I’ll accept that, for now.

I love you too.  

I love him so much.

“Okay, so Zara and then somewhere for groceries Marvin.”

“Sure thing.”

I’d blown off my growing exhaustion in Bergdof Goodman but it got the best of me on the journey to Zara and during my time in the store. I walked in with the hope of picking up a couple of items and left with two shirts. My final stop at one of New York City’s crappy grocery stores took longer than I wanted it to, but I couldn’t leave without enough to at least halfway fill up his refrigerator and cabinets for myself more than anything. He couldn’t care less about the tumbleweeds blowing through them.

“Marvin, you are a lifesaver and the most generous man ever. If there’s anything that I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” Not only had he been my driver the entire day, but he even went out of his way to help me bring the absolutely absurd number of bags upstairs in three trips. Three damn trips.

“Just keep making him happy. The man turns into a disco ball whenever he speaks of you and I’ve never heard him speak of anyone like that. That’s how I know you’re special and he deserves that. He’s such an upstanding man and he always compliments the union between my wife and I. I told him soon enough, he too will be blessed with a life partner, and I believe that’s you. So, take care of him, because I know that he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure you’re taken care of. Even when he called and gave me all of the directions for you, he told me, Marvin, make sure you take care of my lady.” The dramatics bubbling within me urged me to fall to the floor and squeal in a giddy school girl manner, but my pride stepped into the forefront and only allowed me to genuinely smile at his kind words with a nod of assurance that I’d do as he requested.

“I will. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

“That’s all I want to hear. If I don’t see you tomorrow, you have a happy birthday okay? Enjoy yourself.” Instantly, I opened my arms for a hug and embraced the warm and knowledgeable older man. A handshake is for people you can’t quite figure out. Marvin’s a teddy bear in human form.

“Thank you so much. I will. Thank you again for all of your help today. I’m appreciative.”

“You’re very welcome. See you soon.”

“Yes. See you soon.”

I was left to a empty penthouse and a tedious task of finding the proper placement for everything I acquired during my gifted splurging day. Though I had my doubts about a potential argument that may have come from me taking up a ton of space in his closet, I still made sure to avoid the possibility by placing a portion of it in his closet and the rest of it in the guest room closet since no one other than myself uses it whenever I’m around. Putting away the groceries was easier and so was whipping up the pasta and grilled chicken I planned to make. I attempted to wait for him for at least two hours and gave up once my head began to ache with the looming hunger within my body. I lazily enjoyed the quick meal from the couch with a glass of red wine and repeat episodes of the trashy yet entertaining Black Ink Crew. The couch became my little haven as I awaited the man of the house. Though I could have, I had no plans on going to bed without him.

“I’m mad you.”

“Happy Birthday to you.” Heather’s cheery voice met my ear as soon as I answered her call. I didn’t give my phone a minute to ring before the I slid my finger across the illuminating green answer signal on the screen and voiced what I’d been wanting to say to her all day.

“I’m mad.”

“Happy Birthday to you.” She sang with no regard for my playful feelings about her absence.

“You do this singing shit every year. I’m not impressed. I’m mad.” I finished the last bit of wine left in what was my second glass and listened to her chipper giggle.

“Happy Birthday dear bestie.”

“Shut up. I’m mad.”

“Happy Birthday to you.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Thank you and all of that, but I’m mad. You’re supposed to be here.” She never misses my birthday. We don’t do that. It’s been our tradition since we were kids and this would be the second time we’re breaking it. The first was my doing. I wasn’t doing quite well two years ago and I couldn’t bare to celebrate anything for anyone. Now, it’s her turn. She’s ditching me for work and her push toy looking husband.

“Don’t be upset with me. I may not be with you tomorrow, but you know we’re going to link up and celebrate regardless. It just won’t be on the day. I’ll make it up to you with a great gift and the best seats in the house to any Broadway show of your choice.”

“Harry Potter and The Cursed Child, please and thank you. It’ll be in New York next year.” I know the tickets are going to be ridiculous in price and now I have an excuse to not have to pay for them, though I wouldn’t have mind at all. Also, it’s torture for Heather, because she hates Harry Potter.

“I forgot you love that wizard shit. It’s so damn boring. Why couldn’t they have put Twilight on Broadway?”

“Because glimmering and animal blood sucking vampires is the silliest shit ever. No wonder you like it so much. Silly ho.” Our laughter soon followed my comment on her love of the mostly senseless Stephanie Myers series and though I couldn’t see her, I know she stuck up her middle finger at me.

“Whatever bitch. What are you doing?”

“Laying on the couch watching TV. I just finished a great glass of wine. You?”

“Eating chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and almonds. I’m indulging at this time of night and I’ll pay for it in the morning, but who cares. Are you at your parents house or home?” My expression contorted into one of confusion at her question.

“Did you forget that I live with my parents?”

“Please. You live with your man. That’s home. You sleep next to him more than you sleep in their house these days, so home is wherever he is.” I had the urge to slickly shut down her commentary but her accuracy swept in and silenced me. Her statement contains a decent amount of truth. Whether we’re in New York or somewhere else in the world, I do spend more of my nights laying next to him rather than being home alone in my bed. I believe that plays a part in why my mother is so hesitant about me moving out. She’s already feeling the affects of my absence even with me still residing there. I’ve never taken the time to consider any of this until now and ultimately, it feels completely normal. The normalcy is why I’m waiting up for him right now. Well, it’s that and my raging hormones that thoughts of him and the wine triggered. I’m damn near antsy in anticipation of us going to bed together. I don’t have any plans for sleep tonight.

“Shut up.” It’s the only response I could muster up.

“Exactly. You got quiet because you know it’s the truth. Is he home?”

“No. I think he’s working late so I’m waiting for him. He’ll probably be in within a couple of minutes or so.”

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“I have to get my hair and nails done in the morning. That’s a must. After that, probably lunch with my mother and whatever Mr. St. James has planned for the evening. I told him I only wanted to go to dinner, so that may be what we’re doing. He hasn’t told me anything else other than we’re going out tomorrow night.” I’d be fine with eating at Baraya, honestly. Of course he’d never allow that to happen, but it’s just a of sign of how simple I wouldn’t mind the night being. Us spending it together is special enough.

“That sounds like a nice time. Dinner, some good birthday loving, and I’m sure a nice gift. What did you ask for?”

“Nothing.”

“Of course. I don’t even know why I asked.” I never ask for anything for my birthday. Christmas? I throw hints out there for sure. I typically leave the gift creativity up to whoever intends to get me one. I’m appreciative of anything. It could be a pack of socks and I’d love it. Just make sure they’re colorful and ridiculous looking.

“There is one thing that I really wanted. It’s crazy because I spoke about it in L.A. Remember when we were on the phone? I went to the website and the glasses were gone.”

“You talking about those Chanel sunglasses? The ones that were like thirty five hundred?” I found this incredible website that sells all things vintage and I’m typically a junkie for a throwback designer piece. A part of me wished I was born in the seventies, so I could have lived through the nineties as an adult and really experienced the good times and most of all, the fashion. Of course, Lil’ Kim was and still is one of my fashion icons and I’m always trying to find sunglasses similar to the ones she wore in her prime. I found a couple of pairs of early nineties Chanel sunglasses on the website and I instantly wanted an extremely rare white pair with the “Chanel Paris” logo printed on both sides. I loved the black ones as well but the six thousand five hundred dollar price tag on a pair of glasses is going overboard and the pearl ones that I could have cried over were even worse with their damn near ten thousand dollar price tag. Sadly for me, I won’t be getting any of them because they were purchased as of a couple of days ago. I wanted to throw my iPad Pro when I saw those “sold” signs. I’m slightly bitter. On the brighter side, there’s a Versace pair that I have my eye on.

“Yes. I’m so pissed. I had every intention to lay on a beach somewhere and post twenty selfies in those. I’m inconsistent with Instagram but I would have been consistent as fuck with those on.”

“You’ll find them again. I’m sure those weren’t the only pair in the world.”

“I hope so.” My eyes panned towards the television and I smirked at the traditional midnight birthday phone call. She has yet to forget to do it. I anticipate it every year and it’s just as special as it always has been. I hope we’re calling one another for our hundredth birthdays.

“I love you. You’re still the first person to tell me happy birthday, year after year.”

“And I better always be the first. I don’t care who tries to call you before me, don’t answer. If Dante had of been there, you should have clogged your ears until I called. It’s a ritual, like some chakra shit. Don’t shift our thing.”

“Our thing?” My laughter filled the room as her superstitions poured out. She’s always had them.

“Yes, our thing.”

“Okay. I won’t shift our thing.”

“Good. I have to get up super early, so I’ll call you tomorrow around noon and a couple of times after that. Enjoy all of your birthday festivities. I have a feeling that it’s going to be a great day.”

“I will. I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll see me in a couple of days. Don’t be a brat. I love you, okay?”

“I love you too. Tell your hubby I said hello.”

“Will do. You tell your hubby I said the same.”

“My boyfriend, you mean.”

“I meant what I said. Goodnight, Tum Tum.”

“Tum Tum?”

“Yeah. Autumn. So I just took the t, u, and m. Tum Tum.”

“Don’t ever call me a fucking antacid again.” It took a couple of seconds, but my laughter meshed with hers as I shook my head. Her random nicknames have been and will always be annoying. It’s payback for me calling her Skipper during our sophomore year of college. After one year in L.A. , she developed a weird valley girl accent and has yet to rid herself of it. Skipper’s probably the whitest name I could have thought of at the time.

“Talk to you later.”

“Yep. Later.”

As our call ended, I turned off the television and made sure to clean up after myself before heading to lay in the bed. His ridiculously sized plasma television watched me as I stared up at the ceiling for a while and eventually I turned it off and allowed my body to do what it had been calling for. I couldn’t predict when he’d be home and I had no intention to bother or interrupt whatever he has going on. He’d come in whenever he was done and I’d have to accept that, though my once high anticipation transitioned into disappointment.

My slumber was unexpectedly a short lived nap. Around two thirty in the morning, I could hear him trying but terribly failing to maneuver around his home without waking me. He came in and out of the bedroom twice and found whatever he was looking for without turning on the light. While waiting for him to finally join me in bed, I made sure to move out of his spot and properly place his pillows the way they usually are but he didn’t show up. My curiosity led me to finding him in the kitchen.

“Did I wake you?” I didn’t expect him to want to eat so late, so I put his portion of the food in the refrigerator. I was proven wrong at the sight of a now almost empty plate sitting in front of him. Off to the side was a stack of folders that are probably responsible for the scowl that he’s trying to hide from me.

“Sort of, but it’s not completely your fault. I was in and out of sleep anyway. Are you okay?” He gulped down a large swig of the lemon-line Gatorade I bought for him while grocery shopping. With a nod as an answer, he used his hand to summon me closer to his body. When I was within arms length, he pressed his lips into my own and endearingly brushed his large palm over my shoulder.

“I apologize for being late. I had two long and extensive meetings today and then I had a very important meeting this evening that ran over much longer than I expected.” I wasn’t awaiting an explanation. I’ve damn near developed a don’t ask what you don’t want to know mentality when it came to men or should I say one particular man. Though your gut is telling you everything that you need to know, the state of denial is a temporary comfort zone I did my best to bask in for the sake of my sanity and conscience when going to sleep at night. I can’t leave out his belief that he didn’t have to explain himself in the first place. I was to stay in my place and be grateful for the bills being paid and all of the luxuries I have. Funny enough, he didn’t tell me that part of it. It was advice from a fellow NBA wag. With Dante, I don’t want him to feel like he has to always explain himself to me, because I’ll trust him with hopes that he’ll never give me a reason not to. I give credence to his loyalty.

“No need to apologize. It’s okay.” My teeth lightly ran over the skin of my bottom lip as I gazed over his frame. It was something about the after effects of the wine and the manner in which his tie was loosely hanging around his neck that enticed me with the thought of him tying my hands behind my head with it and having his way with me.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?”

“I did. I split all of what I bought between your closet and the guest room so that I wouldn’t take up so much space.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I think I left enough space for you to fit plenty in there.”

“You did, but I still didn’t want to take over. Thank you for today though. You continue to spoil me despite my resistance and it’s always special.” It was my turn to kiss him. He deserved it and so much more.

“Anything for you.”

“So where are we having dinner?”

“It’s a surprise. You already know I’m not revealing anything.” My eyes rolled before he could complete his response and he chuckled while his towering frame stood up and headed towards the sink. “And you should be heading back to bed. You said you’re getting your hair done early, right?”

“Yes.”

“So go and get some rest.”

“Says the man who is struggling to keep his eyes open.”

“Oh, I’m right behind you. I’m fucking exhausted.” Right behind me? Sadly, that part of it childishly took my mind to the gutter and I nearly kicked myself for currently having the mentality of a horny dog. Would I be selfish if I asked him to muster up just a bit of energy for a quickie? “I’ll meet you in the room.”

“Okay.”

I’d been curled up on my side of the bed for about forty five minutes while awaiting him to finish his shower and whatever else he was doing in the bathroom. The alluring scent of his body wash filled the room and worsened my yearning for him. Though I can’t quite figure out all of the ingredients, the hints of sage, tonka bean, mango, and sandalwood are there and mesh beautifully.

“You smell so good. Is that the Ralph Lauren shower gel?” His navigation around the darkroom was seamless.

“Yes, the one you bought me.” I’d forgotten about that. Typically, when I resupply my own hygienic products, I do the same for his, so it makes sense that it was me.

“It’s sexy. The scent and you.” A light chuckle coolly flowed from his lips and I felt the bed finally dip, signifying his presence. He halted my body with a grip to my thigh so I’d stop moving further to the left of the bed and drew me to the usual place he likes me in, the middle, within a comfortable reach for his arm to rest around my waist. His warmth irradiated my soul and a sense of peace immediately washed over me. Ambien has never aided me like this. No potent pain killer has the capability to ease my mind and body night after night like he effortlessly does.

“You’re the sexy one.” While glancing over at him, my eyes rolled at the sight of his playful smirk and I physically did my best to brush him off. He always turns my compliments for him into ones for me. His modesty never takes a vacation, even just for a minute or two.

“We’re talking about you.”

“And I’m talking about you.”

“Well, thank you.” My lips meshed into his bottom lip and I purposefully ran my tongue over it in hopes that he’d get even a fraction of a hint of where my mind had been for hours. The sight of him immediately hovering over me and peeling away the satin nightgown I slipped into for comfort not long after I came home nearly filled my hazy eyes with tears. I’ll never know how he just knows or how we’ve become so synced to one another since day one, but I have to believe that all of my suffering had a purpose behind it. Something greater was coming and I needed to make room for it. I’m still doing so, with openness for endless possibilities and enough caution for my insecurities. In my willingness to try, I’m being rewarded in ways that I never seen coming.

In the number of mistakes, selfish decisions, and pipe dreaming I’ve had, there was still a plan for me all along.

While serenely glancing over the New York City skyline, I did so from behind the curtain so that I would refrain from awaking Dante with the luminous rays of sunlight peaking from behind the clouds and faintly cascading a morning light to awaken the soon to be busy streets. A year of my life has gone by. On my twenty sixth birthday, I bundled up well enough to be protected from the early morning autumn breeze and took a run that was longer than any other I’ve taken thus far. I reflected on the struggles of the prior year and the ones that were still lingering behind and tormenting every thought of progress. The “irreconcilable differences” choice marked in black ink on the divorce papers that sat in the top draw of my nightstand served as a trigger for thoughts of every reason why it was the absolute truth of our fate. I ran for every fight and tear I shed, for the depression I ignored and denied, for the loss of my brother and his love, and for the moment I collapsed onto the floor of my parents home with a dangerous sense of relief that my soul would finally leave the flesh and I’d no longer have to deal with my earthly troubles. I ran for my life and a renewed sense of ambition. Despite every pessimistic thought I mustered up when thinking about the future, a small flame burned within me for a year of progression, if not for myself then for Shane. If he were here right now, I believe he’d be proud of me.

“Happy Birthday beautiful.” The mesh of grogginess and the perfect rasp ignited a round of chills over my caramel skin and I drew the curtain back just a bit to allow the sunlight to reveal his striking appearance. I didn’t hear him move and yet there he was, resting against the blackened headboard, with his eyes penetrating my frame.

“Thank you my love.” The depth of his eyes never hinders on piercing my essence. Everything he wants to say to me often lies within them. I don’t believe I’ve ever had anyone look at me in the way that he does. It wrecks my nerves and yet covers me with a comfort in knowing that I am loved and shielded. There’s something about his eyes; those eyes. When I opened my tear stained set and stared into his during our first encounter, I’ll never forget what I felt and how I carried it with me from then on out. Are we supposed to feel fate? If it’s possible, was that it?

“Who usually tells you happy birthday first?”

“Heather. She always calls me at midnight or purposefully calls me five minutes before midnight so that no one can beat her. It’s our tradition. After her? Shane would be the first one to tell me in person. When we were kids he used to wake me up by jumping on the bed and startling the shit out of me. During out teen years, he’d stick a candle in a stack of buttermilk pancakes and bring it to me. The man could make some pancakes. He gave my mother some competition in that area. Her skill of being able to literally make them from scratch is the only reason why she edged him out in the end. He was an Aunt Jermima expert.” I could smell his pancakes in my sleep. Not only would he cook the batter in butter, but then he’d turn around and put extra butter on top to take it to a fattening and even tastier level. We’d share the stack while laying in my bed and planning out what we were going to conquer throughout the new year of my life and then an hour or two later, we’d ready ourselves to go out with our mother and eat some more.  Birthdays were treated like holidays before his death. No matter whose it was, we’d miss a day of school or work to celebrate.

“He said in his book, during your adulthood years, he’d always write the same quote in every birthday card he to gave you.” Laughter spilled from my lips at him knowing that and I nodded to verify it as truth. He did. I have every card he’s ever given me and that quote is certainly in most of them.

“Yeah, it was one of those Rumi quotes. He had one for every situation you could think of. You were born with potential.”

“You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness. You were born with wings. You are not meant for crawling, so don’t. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly.” I was silenced as he finished the quote for me and my eyes tightly closed as the words flowed through me. He’d say it out loud just as Dante did while I read along with the card in my hand and then he’d plant a kiss on my forehead and warn me to never forget.

“That’s the one. So you’re a big Rumi fan too, huh?”

“That’s a great one and yeah, I’ve read a lot of his work.”

“Can I share something with you?” He’d been asking since we spoke on our hidden talents while on vacation together and though I agreed to share mine, I’ve been avoiding it ever then since because much like any other creator, I’m sensitive about my shit. My sketches started off as a whimsical outlet for me as a child due to films and plays, that turned into something I considered doing for a living at some point in my life. The thought of multitasking being a full time doctor and potential business owner certainly makes me sweat with rattled nerves at the stress of it, but I had high hopes that I could easily pull it off before I got involved with my ex-husband.

“Anything.” While he awaited my return, I jogged to the living room and retrieved my thick dark chocolate colored leather folder out of my personal bag in the living room and rejoined him in the bed.

“Don’t be mean about it.”

“Be mean about what? I haven’t seen anything yet.” He held his hand out with a snicker at my reluctance and I slowly eased it down into his palm. Though he gripped it, I still hadn’t let go.

“I may sound like a wimp, but I’m definitely sensitive about my shit.”

“I understand.” Our eyes remained locked on one another for a few seconds and I eventually let go of what I’ve kept between Shane and I, with my mother having an occasional glance, for damn near two decades.

I did all that I could to keep my attention off of him but his presence alone made it hard for me to do so. I don’t care where we are or how beautiful the sights are, he will always stand out and command my attention with very little to no words at all. His presence is formidable and I’ve found myself attempting to view him through the lenses of others as they turned to give him a glance and immediately looked again in awe or dreamily stare at him from a table a few feet away. I’ve seen men readjust their ties and jackets in hopes that they’re looking as dapper as he is and the most random people figure out ways to approach him for a handshake or quick conversation. If they cannot help themselves, how the hell am I supposed to?

“Holy shit. These are fucking incredible.” I nearly fell over to the side as he quickly hunched forward and focused all of his attention on five out of the hundreds of sketches I sloppily have tucked away in that old folder. The more he pulled out, the more I had the urge to began putting them back inside as he did so. If I don’t, he’s going to have them everywhere.

“Autumn.” I haven’t heard him use my first name in quite some time.

“What?” His head whipped around in my direction and he held up a specific piece that I’d drawn with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis in mind. I drew that three years ago.

“This looks like something out of the sixties or maybe the seventies. Shit.”

“It’s inspired by Jackie Kennedy.”

“Why wedding gowns? I’m sure your skill can do far more. These are incredible. Also, why the hell haven’t you done anything with these? How long have you been doing this?” He didn’t even give me a chance to begin answering the others before he blurted out his follow up questions.

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s the hopeless romantic in me. There’s something extremely magical about a woman putting on a gown that signifies her finding her the man who swept her off her feet and promised to spend the rest of his life with her. It’s a moment that’s unlike any other. I don’t care what kind of events you attend after it happens, nothing will ever compare to that dress. It’ll be the dress for all of your days. It’s the dress that you’ll always reflect back on, the one you’ll want to pass down to your daughter in hopes that she’ll cherish it just much as you did, and the one that has it’s own special photo album for the family’s keepsake. You’ll look at that album every anniversary and smile whether it’s been one year or fifty years later. So, that inspired me along with gowns from royal weddings and films of course. Whether it’s Vera West’s stunning veil that was worn in Frankenstein, Scarlett O’ Hara’s Vivien Leigh design in Gone With The Wind, or every single gown Carrie Bradshaw tried on during the photo shoot she did in the first Sex And The City film, I’ve been inspired to keep sketching them.” I could list off nearly a hundred gowns that I’ve loved from films. Helen Rose is arguably my favorite designer of all. If only I could have had a chance to meet her.

“Why haven’t you done anything with these?”

“I don’t know baby.” And that’s the truth. Well, that and Shane not being here. We were going to open up two boutiques together; one here in New York and the second in Paris. Both would serve as our only locations. Though it sounds odd for my Pulitzer Prize winning journalist brother to be involved in my love of ball, A-Line, trumpet, and mermaid gowns, but he’d been onboard since he saw my early on crappy designs. It was him who damn near caused me to ruin my fingers by practicing sewing and beading from home. Though he was influencing me to go to Parsons School of Design or the Fashion Institute of Technology so I could further enhance my skills in sewing, I chose NYU as a safety net. The fashion world is fickle and I couldn’t chance attempting to make it a full time job and struggling because no one gave a damn in the long run. Now that I think about it, given the decisions that I did make after two years of undergrad, what did I have to lose?

“Are you going to now? You need to.”

“I want to. I need to go back to school and take more courses in business. I figure I can wrap up my undergrad degree in that and then go from there.”

“Or you can just come straight to a great source who just so happens to be your man and ask him for all of the information professors will give you and all the things that they won’t.” My head met the plush pillows as I erupted into laughter and I nudged him for the sarcasm. Of course I can go to him, but there’s a part of me that believes having that piece of paper hanging up in my mother’s house along side Isaac’s and Shane’s would mean the world to them. There needs to be at least one more college graduation they attend to make all of their handwork full circle. It’s a priceless gift that I’d love to give to them.

“It’ll be important to my family for me to finish up what I started and besides, education has never hurt anyone. I don’t mind going back for the two years that I need to wrap things up. Harvard has an extension school that I’m looking into. I can do most of it online with an accelerated seven weeks during two summers to get it done. So I can be anywhere in the world for most of the courses I have to take and for two summers I go to their Cambridge campus for seven weeks to take two four credit courses.”

“That’s not too bad. We can rent a place up there while you’re there.”

“You’d do that?” My lips parted at how easily he suggested it.

“Of course I would. That’s damn near two months. If you have to be in Massachusetts, then I’ll be there too.”

“Even if I’m not paying you any attention because I’m smothered with school work?”

“Even then. So when are you going to do something with these? You should start now.” Of course he’d switch the subject back to all that he scattered on his king sized bed. I didn’t think he’d be so fascinated.

“It’s not easy. I have to get a team of people involved. It’s a process but I do want to start working towards it. I’m not getting any younger; I’m twenty seven now. If I’m going to do it, now is the time.”

“Can I be an investor?” He threw up a hand like a know it all middle schooler who couldn’t wait until the teacher finished asking the question.

“When the time comes, I’ll consider it.” A year ago, I would have immediately told him no. Now? I know I can’t do it all on my own and most of all, I know that I don’t have to. So, I’ll take his offer into consideration. That’s fair enough.

“You’ll consider it? Whatever. I’m an investor. We’re about to put that store out of business. What’s the name of it? My mother loves that boring show. It’s the show that has the women trying on the wedding dresses and they come out and let their families aggravate them. What is it called?”

“Say Yes To The Dress?” My eyebrow rose as he snapped his finger and nodded.

“And the name of the store?”

“Kleinfeld.”

“That’s it. They’re out of here.” His assurance in the famous store going out of business tickled me. The arrogance about my hypothetical business is already through the roof. I don’t even hear him speak about A& M in that manner and he’s their prized possession.

“Babe, Kleinfeld is like a department store for wedding gowns. It’s like a Saks in a sense. They sell many different brands. For example, Pnina Tornai is an exclusive designer for them, so her gowns are sold there. So, you know how Gucci has their own stores but their products are also carried in luxury department stores? Same concept.”

“So putting them out of business is a bad thing huh?”

“Kind of. I may want to have my gowns sold there one day or maybe I won’t and I’ll keep all exclusivity in my own shops. We’ll see when the time comes. For now, let’s worry about today. I need to hurry and go get my hair done. I need to try and beat traffic to Brooklyn.”

“Take the car.”

“You’re going to let me drive that fancy ass car of yours?” He didn’t bother to look at me. Instead, he held yet another sketch in his hand and reached over to the nightstand for his keys. Instead of a response, he placed the keys on my lap and lazily dropped back against the headboard.

“Mike’s picking me up later on, so don’t worry about rushing back.”

“You want to take a shower together?” The question easily caught his attention. His head jerked back and the smile that graced his face was nothing less than priceless.

“What’s up with you? We barely slept and you’re ready to go at it again?”

“You coming or not?” My fingers tugged on the hem of his t-shirt as it grazed my thighs and he carefully placed the leather folder down on the opposite side of himself and drew the covers back.

“I see you’re trying to add one more holiday to the list of the ones you already celebrate.”

“What? Which one?” I didn’t expect him to lift me up into his arms, but he did so effortlessly and I tightly wrapped my legs around his waist for support.

“Mother’s Day.”

I wished I didn’t find his so called joke as funny as he did, but while he kicked the door close behind us, our laughter filled the spacious bathroom.

That was a good one.

When we’re dining outside of her home, my mother is more of a bougie eater if I must say so myself. If she’s choosing, we typically end up somewhere where we’re damn near flipping the menu’s upside down to find a meal suitable enough for our taste buds while she’s comfortably ordering foreign dishes that she’s enjoyed in her travels or has no fear of experimenting with for the first time. With it being my birthday, it was my choice, so we met one another over at Amy Ruth’s in Harlem so that I could overindulge with a Southern breakfast. I’m not sure where I intended to put chicken wings, a waffle, salmon croquettes, and home fries but I certainly attempted to eat most of it as we sat across from one another and enjoyed a conversation with an array of topics. She, much like my brother, picks my brain so that she’ll be able to update the database that is mind with even more information about me so she can keep up with her truth of knowing me better than anyone else does. I’ve always found that no matter what I do, she always takes an approach to understand my decisions and then accepts them despite her disagreement, if they’re not absurd. I don’t want to say that I’ve lived my life as an unrefined free spirit, but I certainly did have the freedom to express myself however I saw fit to do so and I suppose I took advantage of that in college. Even then, she still accepted me. I just didn’t understand it at the time. It’s still difficult to put her strength into words. I know she inherited that nature from my grandmother and is the polar opposite of my overly sensitive aunt, but how does a mother have the capability to hold it all together after having been faced with the death of one child and the potential deaths of two others. I’ve witnessed the moments when she looked like the life was sucked out of her body. I’ve treaded carefully in her eerie silences. In the midst of my own late night crying, I too, heard hers. I know the pain is still there and yet, here she is, standing tall and being resilient in every position she plays in the world. If I could live up to be half as much of the woman that she is, I’ll know I’ve done well for myself.

“You’re driving Dante’s car today huh? You look good in it. I was caught off guard when I saw you getting out of the driver’s side.”

“Yeah, he had some errands to run so he couldn’t bring me anywhere and I didn’t call Glen.”

“Mhm. Do you know that your face lights up whenever someone mentions his name?”

“You’re stretching it.” A huff followed as my head dropped to look down at the recipe she was placing her signature on. Her lighthearted laughter worsened my blushing.

“Oh, there it is. The blushing. It reminds me of your father and I. What’s amazing is when the person that you’ve been with for so long still makes you feel that way. I knew I was going to marry your father a week after knowing him.”

“A week.”

“Yes. One week. I just knew.”

“Would you have married him after knowing him for a week?” Though it sounds unrealistic, I needed her perspective.

“It would have seemed like one hell of a risk to take, but I would have. Sometimes you just know when you’ve come across a person who is worthy of being a life partner. These days, it seems like it takes three to five years for people to figure out if they want to marry one another. I’ve seen situations where people were together for decades, with kids, and waited until they were in their forties and fifties to actually get married. The younger generation feels compelled to be in a relationship and live together for years before getting engaged. The reluctance is often due to financial stability, the fear of a family withholding you from certain career aspirations, and most of all, change. Your grandmother and grandfather were together for sixty five years. Your great grandmother and great grandfather were together for seventy. Those two got married when they were teens. When you know, you know, and once you do, why wait? Ultimately, it’s up to you.”

“But what if it doesn’t work out?”

“You know, I wasn’t mad that you married Andreas. You thought I was, but I wasn’t. I was mad because my daughter married a stranger to me. I’d never conversed with the man or shook his hand. I didn’t know him any better than I know the strangers sitting around us in this restaurant. If anything, I worried for you because I knew he wasn’t going to be the one. The method that you took to be with him said it all; the sacrifice and the hostility. No honest man would have ever allowed you to do that. That marriage was doomed from the start. It just took one hell of a ride for you to realize that.” If it were two years ago, we would have embarrassed ourselves with an aggressive verbal sparring as I disagreed with her overview of our fate, but now? The accuracy is undoubted.

“And what about now?”

“What about Dante? You tell me.” Her long tresses flipped as she stood to her feet with that all too knowing smirk.

“Well, I love him very much.”

“I know that. You want to know if I think he’s the one?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m almost afraid of your answer.” I tossed the strap of my MCM bag over my shoulder as I eyed the vintage Chanel one loosely hanging by her side. I’m tempted to ask her for a trade off.

“Let me just put it this way. There’s this champagne colored dress that I bought from Roland Mouret the other day that is to die for. It’s asymmetrical with a one shoulder style of design and it’s sculpted in this goodness like silhouette that I fell for instantly. It’s fairly simple and yet very mother of the bride like. If you planned to get married in a week, I’d pull it out of the closet.” If I didn’t know she liked him already, I certainly know it now.

“Now who’s the one blushing? His charm got to you too huh?”

“Well, he is very charming. It’s undeniable.”

“Well, if you can, save the dress. If things keep going the way they are, you may get to wear it in a couple of years. You’ll be too preoccupied with your grandchildren to even notice the wait. Isaac and Lauren already conceived their one. I think the others are going to be one after the other from here on out.”

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

“You go to weddings all the time and besides, it’s not up to me.”

“Then I may not be waiting long.” As we stepped out onto the Harlem sidewalk, we shared an endearing embrace with pecks to our cheeks.

“Enjoy your birthday baby. Make sure you drop by home tomorrow to see your dad. We want to give you your gift together.”

“I will. I’ll be home in the morning.”

“And send me pictures of whatever you’re going to wear tonight. I want to put them on Facebook. Send some to your aunt as well.”

“Mom, no one uses Facebook anymore.”

“I do. So send them.” Her finger tapped my nose.

“I will. I’ll see you in the morning okay?”

“Okay. I can’t believe you’re twenty seven. I remember giving birth to you.”

“Mom.” I knew her sentimental moment would run over into some random conversation about my childhood and I’d rather she do that tomorrow when I’m not on a tight schedule set by Dante. For now? I need to rush and get my nails done and a pedicure. Thankfully it’s not cold, because I’d be suffering tonight in the open toe shoes I plan to wear.

“I know. I know. Go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

If I didn’t connect my phone and turn on some music during the hour commute back to Brooklyn, I probably would have engaged in road rage and gotten pulled over. I could have gone to a salon in Manhattan but there’s nothing like a good ol’ hood nail salon to do your nails. It sounds damn near stereotypical but I’ve been getting my nails done at the same spot in Brooklyn for years whenever I feel like going. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to do so today, though the traffic is beyond ridiculous. I hit the same amount of traffic on the way back, lessening the leisure time I needed and whatever left over time I’d have to prepare myself for the plans Dante has for me this evening. I’m paying for our lack of sleep and the ice cream I stopped for on the way in did absolutely nothing to assist my fight. I needed a nap and though it’d only be for an hour and a half, it would have to do me enough justice to make it through however long our night out on the town would be.

Late or not, I took it.

“I can’t believe I’ve finally gotten to see Hamilton! The tickets cost a damn kidney and I considered getting them but I sort of fell off of the idea. That was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.” As soon as I heard about Hip-Hop being infused into a play about Alexander Hamilton, I nearly combusted with excitement because if anyone can pull off such creativity it’s certainly Lin-Manuel Miranda. I’m baffled with awe of what I just witnessed. Genius. Brilliant. Electrifying. Addicting. It was all of those words and then a dictionary full of others.

“It was pretty good. That’s the first Broadway show I’ve enjoyed in a minute.”

“So you didn’t enjoy An American In Paris?”

“I enjoyed watching you enjoy it.” My hand tightened around his as I cut my eyes at him and he shrugged in amusement for what I now know to be true. He doesn’t care for my all time favorite musical.

“I can’t believe you didn’t like it.”

“It was okay. I didn’t hate it.”

“But you wouldn’t watch it again?”

“I would, with you. You watch it religiously, so I’m going to have to get used to it.”

“Okay, you get brownie points for that.” A kiss to his cheek was his reward as we trekked down the West 46th Street. I certainly didn’t say it to him, but with the heads that have turned, I know we’re overdressed for a Broadway show that we both witnessed people arrive to in jeans. I look like I’m on my way to the MTV Awards while Dante on the other hand is suited up, per his usual. The squints from strangers were their way of seeking some sort of familiarity from the both of us and I’m certain nothing rang a bell; at least I hope not. I specifically asked him if my attire for the evening was appropriate because if not, I had a nice pants and top look from Givenchy on standby. He eliminated my second guessing by assuring me that I looked absolutely perfect. Now, I want to smack him in the back of his head.

“Babe, where’s dinner?”

“Buddakan.”

“Buddakan?”

“You think you’ve never heard of it, but you have. You’ve seen it and I’m sure it’s more than once since you were mimicking the movie word for word a couple of weeks back when you were watching it on HBO.”

“What movie?”

“You’ll see.” I consider myself to be one hell of a walker in heels, but the city’s streets are brutal when you’ve parked the car quite a length away from where your destination is. He wanted to pay for a parking garage and my silly ass told him not to. If anyone needs a smack to the back of the head, I now realize it’s me.

“What kind of food do the serve?”

“Uh. East Asian, I believe.” Dear God, please don’t let this be a dinner with my mother type of situation.

“Have you eaten there before?”

“No. I guess we’ll be experimenting together.”

“That can be fun. We’ll pick two dishes a piece and share.”

“We can do more than two.”

“And then we can have dessert at home.”

“Why are you in such a rush to go back home?” As he turned to look at me, the flustered expression on my face was the cause of him roaring in laughter. We both held expressions of shock because I certainly meant it in the way that he took it, but I didn’t want him to notice. I simply wanted an agreement that we would.

“Wow, Peaches.” The Beyoncè reference worsened it.

“Shut up.”

“Is that the energy turning twenty seven brings? I’m liking the way things are going.”

“Dante.”

“Peaches.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop being nasty. Actually, don’t stop. Keep that going.” I left him giggling behind me as I let go of him and walked ahead. His laughter tormented me the entire way to the car. Can you blame me? He’s a turn on at all times. It’s his fault, not mine.

A Miguel playlist served as the soundtrack for our twenty minute ride to the restaurant. He’s yet another artist we share a common love for. Shane introduced me to his underground sounds early on and I followed his career ever since. I’m thankful we were able to obsess over both “All I Want Is You” and “Kaleidoscope Dream” together.

“It doesn’t seem too busy out here. You made reservations right?”

“Of course.”

“And we’re parking right out front. Blessings.” My feet are so thankful.

“You ready?” I dropped my lipstick back inside of my chrome metallic bag as he took the key out of the ignition.

“I’m ready and hungry.”

“Alright.”

My anticipation heightened by the expression on his face when he opened up the passenger side door. The mischievous glow was alarming and yet all the more amusing as he held my hand and guided me towards the entrance. The lack of a hostess made it all the more awkward and the silence didn’t help.

“Is this place open?” The faint lightening should have answered the question for me yet I still asked for the sake of my impatient curiosity.

“Of course it is.” He tugged my reluctant frame along despite my whispered protest of a budding embarrassment if it actually is closed. It’s damn near eleven o’clock.

“Surprise!”

My soul swiftly pulled beyond the barrier of my skin and loomed somewhere around me as I shivered and took a step back at the sight of the awaiting crowd at the applewood table. Their eyes beamed at the sight of my reaction and hysterics filled the room as I turned to look at the man who is clearly responsible for it. I had not even the slightest hint that any of this was happening. The coy nature of my mother was flawless this afternoon. Isaac damn near dismissed my birthday with a nonchalant text message about my aging and a gift card for a couple of Botox sessions. Lauren called during my pedicure but, that too, was brief. Rachel texted me instead of making sure I received the call that she promised. And Heather? That jerk hadn’t called since we spoke at midnight. My aunt and uncle are here. Who the hell told them?

“You pranked me!” My face met his chest and I buried my head in it to keep the tears tucked away. Dinner had always been the plan but I never thought that it would be anything more than something between he and I. It’s all I wanted, honestly, but this? It’s far greater. I can’t remember the last time I’ve actually celebrated my birthday with more than just one additional person at my side. The last birthday party I had was a sweet sixteen planned and executed by my brother and mother. Since then, I’ve kept it simple. In Miami; even simpler.

“I said we were having dinner. I never said we were having dinner alone.”

The table at the center of the room was filled with familiar faces that I’ve loved all of my life and those who I have come to love as they came into my life. I had no desire to sit and had never been so thrilled to walk around a table to greet people with hugs, kisses, and appreciation for their presence. Both Stacey and Rachel brought their significant others along and I was more than glad to finally meet the men who are making them happy. Stacey being married to a retired football player is exactly like her. He’s just as adorable as she is. Fine too, if I must add. The surprise guest was Camille. It was an unexpected invitation and yet one that I’m so appreciative of because I’ve already taken a liking to her. There’s something so pure about her spirit and it aches me to know that it’s being wasted on such an unworthy man. The best part of all? The empty seat at the end of the table with an oversized golden ribbon tied around it in honor of my brother. Earlier I couldn’t figure out just how much more I could love Dante and yet here is another moment that takes that love to a place that not even I can comprehend.

“I was slightly afraid of the menu, but this lobster fried rice is on point.” I hadn’t ordered it for myself, but I was certainly enjoying it out of both Dante and Heather’s plates since they were on opposite sides of me. I chose the vegetable fried rice to be on the safe side.

“What’s on point is that dress. Is it heavy?” As her fingers explored the material I dug my fork into her plate again.

“Kind of. It’s not as bad as you think though. When did you get here?”

“When I was on the phone with you, I was laying on your mom’s couch trying not to laugh at how rude you were being as I sung to you. Rude ass. Mario sends his love. He couldn’t make it because of the season but he did send a gift.”

“I’m so happy you’re here. Really.” I learned over to plant a kiss on her cheek and she instantly shrugged me away.

“No, Rudeness. Apologize.”

“I apologize and I love you, Skipper.”

“And I’m the best friend you’ve ever had.”

“You’re my only best friend though.”

“Say it.” She wasn’t going to move on until I did.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Now you can kiss me.” My two kisses were finally welcomed and so was my fork as it invaded her plate again.

I’d been such a long time since I laughed and smiled until my face and body hurt, but it was all I could do as nearly everyone reminisced on an nostalgic memory and recent flashback about myself. Instead of wanting to crawl under the table until the moment is over, I basked in my childish stupidity, high school memories, and the moments that my love ones still hold near and dear to them. There were some I shared with Dante and others that I’m sure he mentally stored to tease me about at a later date.

“You have to bring Dante to Martha’s Vineyard for spring break, so that he can see where else you’ve grown up at.” I hadn’t realized that so many of the memories being reflected on were from out times on our family vacations. Initially, I disliked going up there because I thought it was the most lifeless place to to have a vacation home, but I eventually came to appreciate it as I aged. Besides that, President Obama gave it his seal of approval on his family’s many trips there, so who am I to knock it?

“I will Auntie, for as long as you’re there to make cheesecake.”

“Yes, I know. One for you and then one for the rest of the house.”

“And when she says one for Autumn, she means exactly that. You won’t hear the end of it if you try and sneak a piece of it.”

“Don’t put my greed on the spot Uncle Ray.”

“Please do, because I certainly got snapped at over it.” I knew Heather would butt in with her side of the story. It was the last piece and I told everyone not to touch it. The late night sneak eater that she is disregarded what I requested. She deserved it.

“Can I give a toast?” Isaac annoyingly tapped his sterling silver folk into the body of his glass of water and stood to his feet. I made a mental note to whisper how proud I am of his continued efforts to remain alcohol free. Every single person at this table is having a cocktail and he’s been sitting there with a glass of water sparkling water filled with cucumber, mint, and lemongrass the entire time. His resilience is admirable.

“Please don’t.” His snicker at my response opened up the floor for even more laughter as he continued to stand to his feet anyway.

“So, my little sister has hit the late twenties.”

“Is it really the late twenties? I’m thinking the seven keeps it at the midrange. Twenty eight is late.”

“I remember when mom told me that she was pregnant with you. I was annoyed. I only wanted a little brother and I had that, so I wasn’t so sure where she was going with things.” Instantly, my hand rose and it’s middle finger followed. While funny, I know his block head ass really did feel that way.

“When you were born, I instantly felt this sense of protection towards you. You were so innocent but there was this strength within you that mirrored moms and it manifested as you grew. You’re the cool sister. I know you may not believe it but I bragged about that often. We could sit around and argue about the NBA and you’d be just as knowledgeable about it as any guy. We would watch the Super Bowl together and we even attended the U.S. Open together. Remember?”

“Of course”. How could I forget? That was one of the coolest experiences ever.

“There was something about you that I knew was special and I knew you were going to shine in some kind of way. I still see that within you. You were always a source of support and encouragement for both Shane and I. Often times, we felt like you were were the oldest because you used to and still do talk like you’re someone’s grandmother. That forehead of yours holds all of the world’s wisdom.”

“Not my fault you have dad’s box head.” It felt like we were at the dining room table in New Jersey having a Sunday dinner when my dad balled up his napkin and threw it at me. Usually, he’d be scolded for it by his demure wife but this evening she found it just as funny as everyone else.

“It’s been a great year for you and having you working along side me has been not only been relieving but also incredible. Your work ethic is of no surprise to me because I know that you’re capable of greatness. So thank you for bringing your A-game to the companies and being an example for everyone else. I’m proud of you. I know I don’t say that enough, but I’m going to work on that. I’m proud of you and I’m happy to feel like my sister is reachable again. So, Happy Birthday, Autumn. May this birthday be as beautiful as your spirit and may the man upstairs grant you a hundred more for us to celebrate. I love you.” A moment so unexpected and yet probably the most important of the night goes to Isaac. It’s been quite some time since we’ve shown one another our appreciation by the way of words and we’ve treaded around doing it with actions. I’ve never doubted that he loves me, but I did began to believe that he’d never like me again. I’ve never been more relieved to know that isn’t the truth. I need my brother and now I understand he needs me just as much.

“Thank you brother.” Though improper, we leaned over the table for kisses to one another cheeks. I know there’s been a photograph taking photos, but God do I hope that this moment was recorded. I want it for keepsake.

“My turn?” Stacy giddily stood up and Mike followed.

“Our turn.”

“I want in.” Fredrick too joined them in standing and I clapped before anyone else could because I knew their moment was sure to be silly yet filled with genuine love.

“Autumn, I knew of you before Dante ever mentioned you. Why? Because his whole entire demeanor changed. There was something occupying his mind, but I didn’t know what until I questioned him about you and he damn near rushed me of the phone in nervousness. I asked him were you pretty and I literally heard his heartbeat over the phone.” I’d finally been taken out of the spotlight and it was now the humble man beside me who reddened in sheepishness and shook his head at his wordy executive secretary.

“When I had Kaylee, he came to visit me at the hospital and though I didn’t say it because he was already trying to figure out what he was feeling, I knew that he was falling in love with you. He may kill me for this later, but I asked him what is it about you that drew him to you and he told me two things, one being that you saw him beyond barriers that no one else has reached and two that you made him confront things about himself and his life that he had tucked away for quite some time. So many people here have spoken on your strength and you instilled so much of that within him. As I watched you two in his office the day you came by for the first time, I just knew. I felt the energy in the room as soon as I entered it and it thrilled me to know that someone who I consider to be my little brother has now found what I’ve wanted for him all along.”

“And it only took thirty years.” Mike butted in to draw giggles out of the entire table.

“Autumn, we not only like you, but we love you. You’re family now, so you’re stuck with us. I figured you would be once I saw you and Dante trying to make love in the club.” I’m not sure if I gasped or choked at his sensationalized version of what happened. I’m not even sure which night he’s referencing to.

“We were just talking, Mike.”

“That’s not the night I’m talking about!” In an instant my mother’s brow perked up as she amusingly awaited some sort of explanation. I’m never going to hear the end of this from she and Auntie Larissa.

“We were dancing.”

“If that’s what you call it.”

“Mike…” Though he did his best to conceal it, the smirk on Dante’s face was priceless. I don’t care how old I am and how many of my own bills I pay, I would rather not have my elders hearing anything about me making any type of love, especially in a damn club. Besides that, Mike is lying.

“And I knew it before then.” Fredrick added. “ But it was something about the night of the grand opening in L.A. that really sealed it for me. Though it was a special moment, your presence made it even more special for him. I felt like he stared at you in pride more than he did the establishments that we opened up. That’s when it really dawned on me that we have a new member to our little family. I think it’s time for that to be official.”

“Aw shit. We getting tattoos?” Though Dante would probably never do that, I asked for the sake of the laughter and to earn a deserved side eye from him. He’s not interested in ink though he doesn’t mind mine. One of these days I’ll convince him to get one with me.

“Not quite.”

The pace in my chest slowed to the point of an intense tightening as Dante stood to his feet. He wasn’t there long. With one leg extended, he slowly inched himself down until he was properly on one knee along side of my seat. My surroundings slowed as the sights I was once admiring blurred to an unsteady view. The trembling of my hands had absolutely nothing to do with the after effects of a stroke and everything to do with the moment that is snatching every bit of breath I have within me. The squeals of every estrogen filled body did nothing to tear my attention away from the vulnerable man who stared up at me with his soul completely exposed and his heart on the most unsteady line. What have I done to deserve this? How is this happening?

“Autumn. I spent days trying to figure out how to put into words how much you mean to me. Yesterday, I sat in my office for hours writing different things to say to you and even trying to rehearse, but nothing felt right. I just know it needed to be something from my heart. It’s so crazy that you’re here. I did a lot of hoping for you. I did some praying. I wondered what you’d be like and where you’d be from. My insecurities questioned whether I’d be enough and if you’d accept that I’m still growing. I even questioned if you’d ever come, but I knew if my faith was genuine then I had to realize that blessings come on God’s time. I’m not sure if I ever pictured the love of my life literally falling into my arms like something out of a movie, but I suppose he can be a clever God huh?” Every tear met my chest and rolled down into the napes of my bosom as his lighthearted moment earned a reaction from our boisterous audience.

“I know that you once had someone in your life who broke some of the most important vows there are, but I’d like to show you that you now have someone who intends to honor every single one of them until my very last breath as an old man. I want to share everything that I have with you and most of all, I want to share all of my days with you. There’s nothing more to look for. You’re right here. This is it. I spoke with every single family member of yours at this table yesterday for their approval and then I sat with your mom for a long time just to gain her perspective and she told me, when you know, you just know and I’ve never known anything in my life as quick as I’ve come to know this. I love you, Autumn Nicolette Dupont, unconditionally and irrevocably. So, would you do me the honors of being my wife? Will you marry me?”

There have been a number of dreams that contained variations of this moment; most have been while I’m awake. There was a particular one where I envisioned him asking me this life changing question in the backyard of a Malibu home that I hadn’t even seen yet. After each fantasy, I’d chuckle at myself and shrug it off as a farfetched possibility. I never doubted that he loved me, I only wondered if I’d be enough and if my baggage is too much for the both of us to carry. My doubts were foolishness. He’s been showing me how worthy I am all along. Every moment we’ve shared thus far had signs within them that this moment would come. His every word. It was the way his eyes looked into mine and studied me. It was the months of him welcoming me into his world and showing me just a bit of what he has to offer. It’s the way I become one with him when we’re making love. All of it. All of it leads to right here, right now.

“Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes.”

I could feel the ring being slid onto my finger, but my tears wouldn’t allow me to see it. All I could do was throw my arms around his neck while the moment continued to consume me.

What a way to welcome twenty seven. It’s one that I’ll never forget.

[reject-princess97]

Criminal Minds - Spencer Reid Part 2

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

*Two Years Later*

"So Dr Prentiss, if you were the unsub, which of these possible victims would be your next target?" Detective Daniels asked as I shifted through the files.

The profile we gave was to the police about an hour ago and the last body was found half an hour later.

"This is a small town and we had our technical analysis narrow down or possible victims into these 15 girls. Each fits the unsubs preference and each are all in the victims abuse of their family and loved ones. Each are blonde, aged between 16-18 and have most lightly moved here recently as a way of getting away from someone." I flicked through the files until one caught my attention. I grabbed the phone and dialed Garcia number.

"You've reached tech genius Penelope Garcia please speak and I shall do all I can to help you." She spoke into the phone.

"Garcia get me everything you can on Abby Wilson."

"You got it Dorothy."

"Garcia I told you not to call me that anymore." I told her.

"Yeah, I know but I love it...anyway. Abby Wilson, real name Sarah rollings, aged 17, abused by her father until she finally stuck up for her self and fought back. She told the police and her father was give 5 years in prison."

"Oh, she ran away from home after her mother, Trish Rollings, tried to kill her. The Mrs Rollings tried to strangle sarah with a line of fishing wire from abbey's fathers fishing box. Just like the recent victims."

"Garcia, I think we just found our unsubs end game." I sighed.

"I have an address, I sent it your way and I'll contact the others."

"OK thanks" I told her before she hung up and I dialed Em's number.

"Prentiss." She answered.

"EM I have a name and address of our next victim." I told her as I grabbed my gear and walked out of the station, five police men in tow.

"What how did you do that so fast?" I heard Morgan ask.

"I was looking through the files and I noticed Abby Wilson, she left home after her mother tried to kill her. The same way the unsub killed the last three victims."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, today marks the anniversary for the day Abbey's father was convicted."

"OK head over there and wait for us to get there. We'll be there soon." Em instructed.

I hung up and I drove to the address Garcia had given me. When I got there the door was open ajar and I saw a shadow of someone walking past the window.

I grabbed my bullet proof vest and gun and I climbed out of the car.

"Had anybody gone inside?" I asked.

Each of the cops looked at me and shook his head. I was about to speak again but the I heard a scream. I looked at the cops and shook my head.

"No, I'll go in, you could spook the unsub and she could attack quicker." I called as I grabbed my gun and ran towards the house.

Upon entry I saw Abby lying on the floor, a piece of wire wrapped around her throat and her mother holding on to it.

"FBI! Trish Rollings, release Abby and step away." I shouted.

Trish only looked at me, smiling.

"After what she did, she deserves what's coming."

I watched as Abby began struggling for breath. She pulled tighter and used one hand to pull tighter. She reached down and grabbed a gun, holding it out.

"Now, you move again and I'll see you die just as Sarah will." She shouted.

I shook my head and shrugged. "I didn't do anything to you, I only want to make sure you don't do anything you will regret."

"Believe me, I won't regret this. I have been waiting 4 years to kill her and I have searched everyday until I finally found her."

"You kill her and you'll never see your husband again."

"What, what do you mean?" She asked, loosening the wire slightly.

"Well we have information that in a month he is up for a parole meeting, and it's looking good. If you kill Abby you will be sentenced for 25 years or more. Never seeing your husband again."

"Really?" She asked. I nodded and slowly put my gin down.

"Just let Abby go." I reasoned but she shook her head and pulled tighter.

"Stop..stop calling her that. She is called Sarah and she ruined my life. She stole everything from me, my life ended the day she rated her father out and now I'm going to end hers." Then she pulled the gun back and pointed it at Abby's head.

It all happened I  slow motion.  Trish moved her finger to the trigger and slowly began to pull. I aimed my gun and fired hitting the hand that held the gun, coursing her to drop the gun and cry out in pain. Abby took this opportunity to move away from her mother and to words me.

"OK sweetie, I need to you to go out side and find a medic they will help you." I told her.

She nodded and ran. I turned to Trish only she had the gun in her other hand.

"You took my victory, you bitch." She yelled and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit my arm. And I yelled I pain but I ran quickly towards her and kicked the gun out of her hands.

I pulled her up, ignoring my pain and bleeding arm. And cuffed her.

"Trish Rollings, you are under arrest." I stuttered through gritted teeth.

"You lucky I'm I didn't use my right hand. I have a great shot." She bragged a smirk on her face.

" Yeah well you lucky you took me by surprise. You'd have a gaping whole in your head otherwise." I sassed back as I pushed her forward and out of the house.

A group of cops came running towards me, the took Trish off my hands and took her away.

"Dr Prentiss, are you OK?" Detective Daniels asked pointing at my arm.

"I'm fine, just get her out of here." I said nodding towards Trish sitting in the squad car. Daniels nodded and walked off.

"Wait, before you go..." I yelled after him. He turned and raised and eyebrow. I looked up at him and smirked "Book um Danno" I called making him laugh.

"How long you been waiting to use that one?" I heard a voice ask I turned to see Reid and Hotch standing behind me.

"Oh God since we got here on Monday." I shrugged, wincing at the pain that shot through my arm.

"Y/N are you OK?" Hotch asked I nodded and turned and walked towards the medics.

"Yeah I'm fine I just need to be checked out and wrapped up." I smiled. Spencer followed me, not saying a word until I got the ambulance.

"I was worried you know. We got here and they said you went in alone. Then we heard gun shot and Hotch had to stop me from running in." he smiled as he took my hand.

"Spencer I promise I'm fine. The bullet missed anything major and it only hurts a little." I smiled placing my free hand against his cheek, wincing a little at the movement.

"See," I laughed letting my hand drop to my lap. The medic patched me up and gave me a couple painkillers and that was it, no real damage so no need to go to the hospital.

"All done." I announced as I popped my head from the back of the ambulance. Reid and Em rushed over and smiled.

"That's good.' Em smiled before she hit me on the side of the head. "Now don't be an idiot next time" She yelled. I laughed and apologised. I wobbled a little and my feet and laughed as I fell forward a little.

"Y/N!" Reid yelled as he held his arms out to steady me. "Are you OK?" He asked.

"OH I'm fine Reid, the painkillers were a little stronger than expected." I giggled. Em laughed and shook her head.

Spencer nodded and he grabbed my waist and pulled me down of the back of the van. I smiled and stumbled a little until I felt my feet flat on the floor, once again.

"Thank's Dr Reid." I laughed. I pulled away a little but stumbled again so Reid grabbed me again and this time he didn't let go.

" You're sweet Reid, always looking out for me. I swear you the best boyfriend ever." I giggled resting my head on his chest. I looked up a little and noticed his eyes were wide.

"What, what did I say?" I asked then I remembered Emily was stood next to him. I looked over at her and remembered....she didn't know. Nobody knew about me and Spencer yet except Hotch of course.

"Boyfriend?" She asked looking between me and Reid.

"What know I didn't say that what are you talking about?" I asked playing dumb.

"Y/N, I am not stupid. I heard you tell him he is the best boyfriend ever." She smirked.

"Who's the best boyfriends ever?" I heard Morgan asked as he stood by Em, the rest of the team not long behind him.

"Sorry Reid, it was an accident." I slurred at him giggling him at he end.

"What's with her?" JJ laughed

"Pain killers" Reid laughed "they make her say the most random things." He shrugged.

"Back to my original question, who's the best boyfriend ever?" Morgan asked.

"Well according to my niece, Dr Spencer Reid is." Em informed them.

They all looked at us in shock.

"You two? Really?" JJ asked pointing at us.

"Yeah?" Reid answered.

"How long?" Em asked.

"A year." I spoke up.

"And you didn't tell us until now? I thought we were family." Emily sulked.

"Well we told Hotch?" I mumbled.

"You knew?" Em asked turning to Hotch who just smiled.

"Yeah I mean I have them both watch Jack so often I figured it would happen eventually and then about a year ago they both told me what was going on." He smiled.

"Looks I'm getting tired, go you think we can get back to the jet soon so I can sleep?" I muttered leaning against Reid who laughed.

"Yeah. Let's get packed up." Hotch laughed and we all headed to the car. Daniels took my car back with him because I couldn't drive due to being dosed up on painkillers.

*back in Virginia*

"Daddy" I heard a little voice shout as we entered the bullpen. We all looked to see Jack swinging on the swivel chair at my desk.

"Jack, what are you doing here?" Hotch laughed.

"Penelope is looking after me." He smiled.

"His auntie dropped him off she had to work and had nobody to watch him so I offered?" Penelope interrupted as she walking into the room with a glass of water and handed it to Jack.

"OK but why is he sat at Y/N's desk" Rossi laughed as I walked over and high five Jack.

"Because he shares a desk with me and Reid when ever he's here" I called back.

"Yeah, see Auntie Y/N and Uncle Spence bought me a name plate too." He laughed pulling out a small name plate from my draw and true to his word on the name plate read 'Jack Hotchner, Jr FBI'. He placed it on the desk and sat on my knee while I started some paper work.

"Here Jack why don't you come sit In my office so Y/N can work." Hotch smiled as he walked off. Jack kissed my cheek, high five days Reid and ran of after his dad.

"He's the cutest." I smiled over to Reid who nodded in agreement.

"How can someone so small have such a huge impact on my mood." I asked and earned a laughed from everyone in the office.

"So are you free from the effects of the pain killers now?" Em asked. I nodded and sighed.

"Yeah, how much trouble am I in for not telling you about Reid and I?" I asked turning to the rest of the team.

They each smiled and shook there head.

"Alot. It's one thing to keep your relationship from them but I'm family." Em sulked. I laughed and stood walked over and wrapped my arms around her.

"Auntie Em, have something really important to tell you...Reid and I have been dating for a year now and I really love him, like a lot and I want you to know he treats me right and makes me happy. I hope you will be happy for us." I said, jokingly informing her of mine and Reid's relationship.

"It's a bit late now, wait, did you say you loved him?"

"Yeah, I did and I do." I smiled glancing over to Reid who stood and walked over to us.

"OK fine I happy for you both, I figured it would happen eventually anyway." She laughed She stood up and pointed at Reid. "You look after my Dorothy OK. You hurt her I kill you." She informed him before laughing and pulling us both into a hug.

"Awwwww we are gonna have so much fun annoying them two." Morgan called over to Em who nodded.

"Absolutely." She laughed.

"Annoying who two?" Garcia asked walking back over to us.

"Well it seems pretty boy and young Dorothy have been dating for a year." David Rossi informed Garcia.

"I knew it!!!" She yelled before she ran off.

"OK, so it's time to go home" JJ yelled as she grabbed a bag and coat.

"Yes let's go. Spence you want a ride home?" I asked.

"You know you don't have to pretend were car pooling anymore right?" He laughed as he grabbed his coat and my bag.

"Yeah, you're right." I laughed. "My place are yours?" I asked.

"Yours is closer" he shrugged.

"What we gonna do about dinner?" He asked. I waved to everyone as we left the bullpen and walked towards the elevator. Spencer grabbed my hands and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back on my hand.

"We can call for a takeout when I've showered and changed into something not covered in blood." I laughed as we walked to my car.

"Sounds like a plan." He smiled down at me.

We made our way home, talking and laughing, not really care what about we just liked being happy together, this is what it's always like with Spencer, we didn't care what we were saying or doing as long as we were together we were happy.

"Do you think Em was mad?" I asked Spencer after a moment of silence. I turned onto my street and pulled up outside me house.

"I don't think so. I think she was only joking. She knew it would happen eventually, they all did I guess." He replied as he climbed out of the car. I nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah I guess you're right. But I hate upsetting her. She brought me out here, she made me happy to be who I am and she is the reason I met you. I owe her a lot." I sighed as I pulled out my Keys and unlocked the door.

"OK, you jump in the shower, I'll order some food OK." Reid smiled as he grabbed my arm and pulled me into his chest. He kissed me quickly before I ran to jump in the shower.

While in the shower I heard my phone ring and Spencer answering it. I smiled as I shut the shower off and listened to his soft voice down the phone.

"Yeah, We were just going to order after we showered...no not together...I'm sure she'll be OK with it....OK i'll add it to our order...OK bye." He sad before hanging up.

I had put on my PJ's as he walked into my bedroom and smiled at me.

"Well look at you all clean and comfy." he smiled as he came and kissed my forehead.

"Who was on the phone honey?" I joked.

"Well Dear it was you Aunt Emily. She was wanting to come over so I said she could join us for dinner." Spence replied as he took off his jacket, tie and shirt.

"OK, have you phoned the order in?" I asked as I pulled out on of the FBI sweaters I had stolen from Reid while staying over at his.

"No, I was just gonna leave it until I been in the shower." He smiled before walking of into the bathroom.

"Reid wait, come back." I called after he shut the door. He opened the door and popped his head out

"Whats up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to see you half naked again." I winked. I walked over and kissed him before I left the room and walked out into the kitchen. I grabbed the phone and ordered our usual takeout as well as what Spence had written on a note pad by the phone, which I assumed was Ems order.

I cleaned around a little bit and switched the TV. There was a knock at the door and I opened it to see Em smiling at me.

"Hey, Y/N, Spence said I was OK to drop by," she smiled as I moved to the side to let her in.

"Of course, you know you always welcome. Food should be here soon anyway." I smiled as I lead her in to the living room.

"Wow, I just realized I've never actually been in your living room before." Em laughed. "Wait, is that a photo of the team?" She asked pointing at a picture of us all at the bar, take after my first Case.

"Yeah, It was only two years ago but it seems like it was forever ago." I shrugged.

My bedroom door opened to reveal a shirtless Reid.

"Reid!" Em laughed in surprise her eye locked on Reid's shirtless torso, "You have abs?" She smirked. Reid laughed and shook his head before he grabbed a shirt from the laundry pile and pulled it on.

"Hi Emily." He smiled awkwardly.

There was a loud knock at the door and we all jumped a little.

"That would be the food" I called as I handed Em some money and asked her to grab it. Reid and I went into the kitchen and grabbed everything we needed, plates, Glasses and forks. We moved in sync, maneuvering around each other so not to knock each other and drop stuff.

Once we grabbed everything we turned to see Emily watching us.

"Well, you two have got that down...what ever that was." She laughed as she began setting out or dinner.

Dished out and set everything on the table and sat down.

"Oh balls, I forgot the Soda." I sighed as I moved to stand up but Spencer beat me to it.  

"I got it. sit your butt down." He called making me and Em laugh. He waled out and came back in a couple of seconds later with three glasses of Soda. He placed on in front of Em, and them one in front of him and finally he placed one in front of me, kissing my forehead as he did.

"Your guys are cute." My Aunt gushed as she watched us.

"What can I say, we work well together."I grinned.

"So, how did you to become a thing?" Em asked. I looked aver and Spencer, wide eyed.

"You know I don't know. We kind of just had that flirty thing going on for a while and one night while we were watching Jack for Hotch, Jack asked me if I like Spence, I told him I did and the he told Reid. We then made a bet while playing poker after Jack was in bed If I won he couldn't correct anybody for a week at work and if he won I had to go on a date with him.

"Who won?"

"I did, he went a week with no correcting people but I agreed to go on a date with him anyway."

"How Cute" She smiled.

We ate and Spoke for a while and just chilled out for a while. It got to about 10:30 and I rested my head on Spencer's shoulder, feeling a little sleepy due the the pain killers I had taken after dinner.

"I'm gonna get home honey, I can see you're getting tired." Em smiled as she stood up and grabbed her coat.

"OK, sorry I don't want you to feel unwelcome Em." I rushed, feeling a little guilty about falling asleep on Spence.

"No don't be silly, it's been a hell of a day and you got shot, you're tired and we know you don't mean to fall asleep." She laughed as she carefully hugged me. She then Turned to Spence and pulled him into a hug.

"Look after my niece, Spence."

"Always do Emily, Precious cargo my girlfriend." He smiled "Ha, thats the first time I've called her that to somebody else." He laughed.

Em laughed and exited the house.

"I'll see you guys later OK?" She said as she climbed into her car and drove off.

"Right, let's get you to bed little one." Spence ordered as he locked my front door and pulled me into my bedroom.

"Hey, I maybe small but I can still kick your ass." I muttered as we climbed into bed. I cuddled into his chest as he laughed.

"Goodnight Spence, I love you." I mumbled into his chest.

"I love you too little one." He mumbled back kissing the top of my head as I drifted to sleep.

Masterlist

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 6

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 6 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: The timing of this is completely coincidental, this whole fic having been written over the last year or so, but this chapter happens to be Halloween-themed. So happy Halloween, everyone!

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All things considered, Len's amazed that it takes Lisa until her junior year to think of it.

Perhaps the real reason is that that's the first year Len and Mick start going to the university area to visit her. It's noticeably more high class an area than the ones they usually frequent, and Len only gives the okay because the statutes of limitation have run out on all of their currently outstanding warrants, which means that even if the cops do finger them, they can't do anything about it.

The area's also got a lot more people with a lot more leisure time than the areas Len prefers.

That's probably why Lisa had her no-good, awful, terrible idea.

"No," Len tells her, but he already knows he's going to give in. He's never been able to deny Lisa anything she really wanted. Well, nothing but the ability to ruin her life by taking up crime the way he has. Her record is clean and it's staying that way as long as Len can manage it - probably not forever, he's acknowledging it now, but he's going to hold off until there's no way to avoid it.

This, though, this isn't crime.

This is just dumb.

"C'mon, Lenny! It'll be great!"

"No."

Len glances over at Mick in hopes of some back-up, but no, Mick's grinning his head off like the goddamn troll that he is.

"No!"

"He's giving in," Mick tells Lisa wisely. "You can hear it in the growing desperation in his voice."

"You sure can," she agrees.

"This is stupid," Len argues. "Too stupid for words!"

"It'll be fun."

"No, it won't."

"Give me one good reason why it won't be fun."

"Because I see actual ghosts!" Len exclaims. "I have no reason to go to a haunted house!"

"Lenny," Lisa says with a giant grin. "That's why it's gonna be so much fun. You've never been, have you?"

"Never saw the point," Len says grumpily.

"I can't believe you've been denying Mick the pleasure all these years," Lisa says. "He wants to go, doesn't he?"

"You bet I do," Mick agrees enthusiastically.

"He only wants to go so he can laugh at me," Len argues.

"You bet I do," Mick says, sweet as he can manage with a shit-eating grin on his face. "What's your point?"

Len groans.

Looks like they're going to a haunted house.

Which apparently has all sorts of bizarre preconditions Len would never have guessed.

"What do you mean I can't bring my gun?" he asks Lisa, scowling. "I paid money for this concealed carry license."

"Money that wasn't yours," Mick points out, which, yes, but it doesn't matter; Len actually spent it. It's damn hard to find a judge corrupt enough to sign off on a gun license for a felon.

Luckily, this is Central City, and damn hard doesn't mean impossible.

"You still can't bring it into a haunted house," Lisa says firmly, hands on hips. "You might shoot one of the performers."

Len scowls at her. Sure, he's been forced to up his game recently, thanks to the mob war between the Santinis and Darbyninans that just got started, and upping his game at this stage means higher end heists, higher end heists means more risk, more danger, and more ruthlessness – and yes, sometimes killing people, especially people that threatened to back out of major jobs in the middle, people that Len couldn't trust wouldn't go running to the cops to squeal in exchange for a cut-down sentence on something else. But just because he's gotten to the 'killing people' point in his career doesn't mean that he's going to shoot innocent performers. He doesn't shoot innocents, and he would've thought Lisa would've known that.

"Out of fright," Lisa clarifies.

That just makes Len scowl even more.

"Relax, will you? It'll be fine, boss," Mick says, laughing. Officially, that's just something he uses for jobs in public, but he's started calling Len that, off and on; says it helps him remember.

He also says he likes the way Len's cheeks flush sometimes when he calls him that, but whatever. Len does not blush. He's cool and cold, damnit.

...he's working on it, anyway.

Len's newly imposed rule – you're in, you're in; you're out, you're dead – has at least and at last started getting him some respect in criminal circles, which always appreciate seeing ruthlessness when it's accompanied by success.

And Len has been successful. Other than those first early convictions for burglary, he's gotten better and better at getting away clear. The most the cops have had on him recently are a few jobs they can't pin on him and one or two misdemeanor trespassing charges.

They're starting to remember his name.

Not as much as they remember Mick's, mind you. Mick's pyromania remains as strong as ever, and during the lean times when the criminal underworld has gone underground to avoid renewed police focus – usually during election years – and there's no easy targets that haven't already been hit by others, there's more call for arsonists than there is for thieves, even highly skilled thieves.

Not that the police could pin those on so-called 'notorious arsonist' Mick Rory.

It helps that, as a ghost, he doesn't leave any DNA evidence.

But either way, all this led to one conclusion: Len and Mick are mad, bad and dangerous to know. They're the sort of people who carry weapons and know how, and when, to use them.

They do not get scared at haunted houses.

"You're gonna scream like a little girl," Daniela cackles.

"I hate you all," Len says.

"Have fun!" she sings out.

"Just for that, you're coming with us," Len tells her.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Daniela says. "Or, well, anything other than another lead on that asshole who murdered me – " Len is still looking, damnit! Serial killers don't walk around with a goddamn sign on! "—but hell yes, I'm there with bells on."

"Where are we going?" Nora asks, emerging from the kitchen.

"Len's never been to a haunted house before," Daniela says gleefully. "Ever."

"I have my own actual dead people! I ain't gonna be scared of some assholes in sheets!"

"Oh, my, you're going to be in for a surprise," Nora laughs. "I'm definitely coming."

Len rolls his eyes.

"How's your baby boy?" Mick asks Nora politely.

"College applications," she says, mingled joy and sadness at it: joy, for her son's growth; sadness, that she's not there to help him through it. She consistently declines Len's offers to give her some life to go say goodbye, though; she says that just saying something to him wouldn't be enough for her to pass on and anyway she's afraid that seeing her would only make him relapse into the anxiety attacks he'd been having for years after her death. It's a tough situation she's stuck with, and Len feel pretty bad for her, but he can't bring himself to be too upset; she's great to have around, very level-headed but with a wicked sense of humor and, at times, a temper as fiery as Mick's. "He's starting to send them out."

"Graduating senior already?" Len asks, then shakes his head at her nod. "Wow. Your baby boy's only five years younger than Lisa."

"Closer to four," Nora says. "He's nearly nineteen; he had to repeat a year due to family trauma."

Due to her murder, that is.

"See, this is why going to a haunted house is dumb," Len says to Lisa, opting to lighten the mood back up. "We have two real life murder victims right here with us."

"I'll ask Serafina to join us," Daniela decides. "She's just a hit-and-run, but it still counts. Then we'll have three murder victims to go a-haunted housing with us!"

Serafina, a law school graduate of Korean descent and non-binary gender, turns out to be more than happy to join them.

Lisa can't stop cackling with glee, and that makes everyone smile.

"I'm outnumbered," Len grumbles, and picks up the brochure Lisa obtained to figure out where he'll be driving the lot of them. "Wait, hold it! This says it's at an abandoned cemetery! I ain't going to no abandoned cemetery! Do you know how many dead will be there?!"

"It's an exaggeration," Lisa says, rolling her eyes.

"If there are any unquiet dead there, we'll protect you," Mick reminds Len.

"Nice try," Nora says.

Damnit.

The drive there is relatively uneventful – Mick watches Len like a hawk, which is thoroughly unhelpful and kind of insulting, given that Len's the one who taught Mick how to drive in the first place – and then even once they arrive, it turns out there's a line.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Len grumbles. "Not only do we have to pay for the privilege, they make us wait for it, too?"

"Grow up, babykins," Daniela says, skipping away to go gawk. "Go stand in the line."

Len goes.

He wishes he had his gun.

He wishes he had his gun even more when one of the fake tombstones (rather amusing little poems on them) shoots open and someone – or something – leaps out at them from a trapdoor hidden underneath.

The only reason Len is certain that the apparition is part of the haunted house is because everyone else in the crowd shrieks and jumps as well.

"Lenny," Lisa says patiently. "Lenny. You're very nice, very brave, jumping in front of me and all that, but you're blocking my view."

Len sighs and returns to his place in line, watching as what is now obviously a (surprisingly detailed) zombie limps around the line, groaning at people.

Mick prods at Len's arm. Len looks at him.

"I leap in front of you," Mick says. "Not you in front of me."

"It was instinct."

"It was shitty instinct. You soccer-mom-armed me! And I'm the invulnerable one!"

No kidding. Len remembers very well how Mick's invulnerability had been the only thing that'd saved their hides when they'd been dumb enough to get involved in the stupid mob war with a job that wasn't as well-thought-out as Len had thought it was. It isn't just Len getting his stupid ass kidnapped because of payments anymore, oh no, now it's the Santinis and the Darbyinians, each with a grudge and a hell of a lot of firepower. Len and Mick had gotten the hell out of the war for now, making it clear they were purely freelancers, but the war was becoming more and more all-encompassing and they'd end up having to either side with a Family or making themselves respected and feared enough to be able to scare both sides off when the inevitable came calling.

Since neither Mick nor Len has any interest in working on Family lines, that meant that these days they're focusing on establishing their own reputations.

And part of that, yes, meant using things like Mick's invulnerability to its best advantage.

"I'll let you take the real threats," Len offers.

Mick rolls his eyes at him.

Len has only ever walked by the haunted houses they'd had in his neighborhood when he was younger, the ones in the poorer parts of town that even the slums looked down their noses at, and he hadn't been impressed by the quality.

Apparently, and no one had told him this, haunted houses have seriously upped their game in recent years.

"What the fuck?!" Len shouts.

Lisa is dying. "Oh man," she cackles. "Oh, man, Lenny, your face!"

"The fuck even was that?!"

"The half-spider mutated monster or the evil scientist with the rotting arm?"

"Neither! The other thing!"

"Really?" Daniela asks, eyebrows arched and shit-eating grin on her face. "Out of everything in the hallway of horrors, the cannibal is the thing that gets you?"

"He was eating someone's face off! That’s just wrong!"

Nora cackles behind him.

"I'm glad I'm amusing the lot of you," Len grumbles. He actually is glad, especially poor Nora's been sad recently about missing all of her baby boy's important milestones. But still. A man's got a reputation to uphold, and this stupid haunted house is doing nothing for it.

And then Len jumps half a foot into the air because some demonic squid shoots out its tentacles from the wall.

"Your face," Mick wheezes. "Oh God. Lisa. Lise. Tell me there will be photos."

"So many photos," Lisa says happily, leading the way into the next chamber.

Len's idly tracking the number (this is room ten – how big is this place, anyhow?) and mentally mapping the place, mostly to keep from strangling anybody – Lisa was right to take away his gun, sadly; he's reached for a weapon at least three times so far. Still, it’s fine. Not having it doesn't make him less dangerous.

Though it does make him think that assassinating someone at a haunted housed would be a great way to go about it – an audience already geared to assume that any screams or dying noises are fake, that any bloodied corpses are special effects, that any smell is clever chemicals...

The thought occupies him a bit (mostly through the cockroach room – Lord, why is there a cockroach room?!), enough that he only vaguely notices one of the haunted house attendees, face painted white and his clothing dusted with flour, coming forward to tap Lisa on the shoulder and explain that she should follow him for the next segment.

Some multipart horror involving Lisa spitted on a stake, Len can only assume, and that's what he does assume right up until Daniela turns to ask him something and sees the guy leading Lisa away.

"Len!" she shouts. "That's him!"

"What?" Len asks, bemused. No one else responds, of course; he doesn't have enough energy to make three people as strong as Mick, and at any rate being invisible means that Daniela, Nora and Serafina don't have to pay for a ticket. Mick turns with a frown.

"Him!" Daniela shrieks. "Him! The one! The one who beat in my face, Len!"

"Wait," Mick says. "The serial killer?"

"We've already seen the serial killer exhibit, guys," Lisa calls over her shoulder.

"No," Len says, eyes going wide as he puts it together. Daniela's been on his case to find the asshole who murdered her – and a number of other sex workers in the years since – since day one. "Lisa, the guy next to you is an actual serial killer!"

"What?" Lisa asks.

"Don't be crazy," the guy next to her scoffs, putting his hand on her arm. "Come this way or you won't be able to participate in the next room's haunt."

Nora dashes forward, through the wall, and shouts, "The next room's about killer robots! No audience participation!"

"You're lying," Mick growls, stepping forward.

"Get your hands off my sister," Len adds.

The guy takes one look at the two of them and turns to run.

His mistake is in trying to pull Lisa along with him.

She spins around and knees him in the balls. "Don't you ever grab me!" she shouts.

"He's the one who killed Daniela," Mick snarls.

"Get him!" Daniela shouts, lunging at him, but she's too weak; she passes straight through and all he does is shudder.

Mick and Len both step forward, but that's when the guy pulls out a gun.

"Who the fuck is Daniela?" he pants. "How'd you know?"

"Ooooh, if I could strangle you!" Daniela hisses.

"I told you to let me bring a gun," Len bitches to Lisa.

"There aren't normally actual serial killers in haunted houses, Lenny!"

"With your brother's luck, we shoulda known," Mick says, taking a half-step over until he's blocking Len.

Len scowls at him and nudges him in Lisa's direction. He can take care of himself.

Mick scowls back.

"Will you all stop talking?!" the guy shouts. "I've got a gun!"

"Yeah, and from the way you're waving it around like a kid's toy, I bet you know how to use it about as well as your undoubtedly limp dick," Lisa snaps.

Mick and Len share a glance – only Lisa – and Mick charges forward to get between the serial killer and Lisa just in time for the guy to pull the trigger.

Mick catches the bullet in his shoulder, of course. "See what you did?" he tells her, plucking it out and waving it at her. He doesn’t bother faking the bleeding. "No sense of self-preservation, you Snarts."

"How'd I get pulled in there?" Len protests. "I ain't the one that mouthed off to the serial killer with a gun!"

"Don't get me started on people you've mouthed off to, buster!"

"What the hell is wrong with you people?!" the guy shouts, but by this point the noise and the commotion and – Len would bet – the backed-up line has drawn over some actual haunted house employees. Volunteers? Len's not sure.

Their makeup's a lot better than the killer's, anyway.

"Excuse me – " a realistic skeleton starts.

"This man was trying to get me to go with him so I could be part of the haunt," Lisa announces, pointing at the killer. "He said he was an employee here, and when I refused, he aimed a gun at me!"

The guy looks down at his hand to confirm that yes, the gun's still there.

Not for long, though; Len plucks it out of his hand - way too easily because the guy barely had a grip on it by this point, too slack-jawed with disbelief - and offers it to the skeleton. "Careful with that," he says mildly. "It's got live ammo."

The skeleton looks at the gun in horror, then at the guy. "Uh, he's definitely not one of the volunteers –"

"Maybe you should call the cops," Mick suggests.

"Fuck no," the killer says, and tries to run.

None of them were really expecting it – it's a one-way haunted house starting to fill up with people on each side, where the hell does he think he's going to go? – which is probably why he gets as far into a hidden passage by the wall as he does.

Doesn't help, of course.

By that point, Daniela's run back to Len to wordlessly beg for some extra life, which he's given her, and she uses everything he gave her in a single burst of poltergeist power, snaking out the audio-visual cables that were threaded through the walls to wrap around him.

"Asshole," she says, not without some serious amount of satisfaction. "I'm gonna love watching your trial."

"What the fuck was that," the skeleton says, high pitched. "That wasn't part of the set up!"

"A ghost," Len says innocently. "Ain't this place supposedly haunted?"

Lisa elbows him in the ribs.

It's all terribly anticlimactic after that, of course. Someone calls the police and they all have to give statements, with one of the detectives (some guy named Joe West) commenting that this might very well be the only night he actually believes Leonard Snart to have an alibi.

Very funny.

They end up charging the guy on attempted kidnapping just to get him with something, but Len insists on the fact that he's a serial killer with enough emotive force that West reluctantly calls up a judge and gets a warrant for the guy's house, where they find two of the girls that have gone missing from the streets recently, one a prostitute and the other a college student with bad taste in makeup - apparently he targeted them based on that? Fucking people sometimes. It mostly resulted with Lisa getting incredibly insulted about the guy's inability to tell a classy traditional smokey eye from a trashy raccoon or something like that, anyway, since Len's honestly got no idea what the words coming out of her mouth meant after the first minute. But the two rescued girls agreed with her, so, okay.

West goes into hyper alert after that, which is all to the good, and Len even manages to get in there that the guy's responsible for killing Daniela, though he obviously can't provide proof. They find some evidence in the guy's house, though, which means he is definitely not long for this world – through the justice system's mercy, or through Len's. He's got enough friends in prison willing to shiv a particularly sick fuck if the justice system can't bring itself to do it for them.

And, of course, a few people caught blurry images of Daniela's trick with the cables, and the line to go to that particular haunted house the next year is five times as long.

Lisa insists on going again.

Len still thinks it's stupid.

Lisa says he's just scared.

Which is totally not true.

(But do they have to keep using that cannibal makeup?!)

"You got a problem, huh?" Mick growls in the other man's face, the fierceness of his glare not at all dimmed by the manic grin that shows how much he's enjoying himself.

"Mick," Len says, long-suffering. He’s reclining by the table, a position of power. “Let him go.”

"Nah, boss," Mick says, not turning away from the man he’s got pressed up against a wall. Not that Len actually intended him to – they’ve got a reputation to uphold now, after all. They have to show that they’re willing to put their hand in when someone is screwing with one of their jobs, no matter who it is. It's all according to plan; Mick's just freestyling a bit. “See, I think he's got a problem. I think he wants to say something. That right?"

"No! No, not at all, nothing to say," the man gibbers. Mick is very large and very intimidating, even to powerful mobsters' sons like Nicolas Santini, who are notably less confident when their bodyguards get beaten up and knocked out, and they're being held up three inches from the floor by their jacket lapels. Len and Mick had nabbed three targets before the Santinis could get to them, which pissed them off, and little Nicholas had been sent to “solve” the problem through the usual bull-headed Santini approach of threats and intimidation.

He hadn’t exactly gotten very far.

A blood family member of one of the most fearsome Families in Central City, technically even a Don by their standards, and yet here he is, quivering like a bowl of jello before a pair of freelance thieves.

Very good freelance thieves.

Nicholas Santini really should’ve listened to his cousin’s stories about how they’re not just thieves, they’re monsters that rise from the dead.

Len smirks.

They’ve gone a long way from the days when Len got kidnapped and Mick got shot trying to rescue him, and Len likes it this way much better.

Not that this solves the problem for good, of course. Sending a member of the actual Family against them meant that the Santinis were taking Len and Mick’s firm no-Family-affiliation freelance position a bit personally, which both wasn't a surprise but was still really annoying. Len’d have to make a point of hitting some Darbyinian targets in the next few months just to make clear that their neutrality was unaffected; that should be enough.

Personally, Len’s just happy that he was able to get Lisa to go out of town after she’d graduated. Now that’d been a fight for the ages – the way this one definitely wasn’t – because Lisa had been reluctant to leave Len even if she didn’t have the same attachment to Central City that he did.

An attachment that she referred to as “idiotic” and “unhealthy”, which it was not. A man can love the city he was raised in, even if that city was objectively a hellhole ripe with corruption, poverty and crime.

Huh, maybe that’s why Len likes it so much. He fits in so well here.

Okay, sure, there’s been the growing number of weird science laboratories getting settled here – Mercury, Star, the whole sheebang – but there’s an army base not far away to serve as clientele, cheap land with very low environmental regulations, and by this point Len’s honestly used to the idea of his slums being used as rich people’s dumping grounds.

He doesn’t like it when they do that, mind you, which is why he robs the rich assholes in charge of bringing toxic dumps to his city more often than he does anyone else, but there’s not much else he can do to express his displeasure.

At any rate, Lisa had managed to get a job offer at one of the most prestigious engineering firms in the country, all the way out in Boston, and that’d gotten her to go when none of Len’s other arguments had worked, if only because Len had refused to let her pass up the opportunity and she’d reluctantly agreed.

Sure, she still visits regularly – Len visit her, too, but he can’t force her not to come to Central – but at least she’s out of the worst of the mob war.

“I swear!” Seriously, is the guy still whining? Honestly, Len’s ashamed of him; he’s born and raised Family, he ought to have a bit of a backbone. They’re not even torturing him! They’re not even threatening to torture him! The worst they’re threatening him with is a bit roughing up! They really don’t make them like they used to, and thank heaven for that. Len’d far rather put up with idiots like little Nicholas here than the big kahunas that his dad swam with when Len was a kid: Don Cesare, Don Giovanni, Don Tomio of the asshole-kid-smashed-up-Len’s-head fame... “I didn’t say anything! I didn’t mean anything!”

"That right?" Mick growls. "'cause I woulda sworn I heard you talking earlier, saying things about Snart here..."

"No!"

"Mick," Len says, finally managing to quash down his amusement enough to sound appropriately stern. "He's not worth wasting your energy on."

"Fine," Mick says, and releases the guy's jacket. "Looks like it's your lucky day. Now go."

The guy goes as quickly as he can manage.

Mick returns to Len's side, now grinning like a loon.

"Was that extra bit entirely necessary?" Len asks, trying not to smile. Mick does so enjoy himself when there are people to push around...

"You know it is," Mick says firmly. "We gotta make clear you’re the one in charge of me, so that your reputation’ll get even more fearsome than mine; that's the only way they'll respect you. Order of operations, boss."

Len shakes his head. It’s not that he isn’t convinced – Mick can be very convincing when he wants to be – but at the same time…

"You'll get in trouble one of these days," he warns, not really meaning it.

Mick snorts. "What's the worst that can happen?" he asks, rolling his eyes ostentatiously. "They gonna kill me?"

They end up shooting him.

Len groans in annoyance.

Not again.

You’d think they’d learn by now.

"I'm thinking of going back for my masters," Lisa says. "Maybe a PhD."

"Really?" Len asks, phone shoved between his shoulder and his ear. "I thought you said you were done with school. Straight into the workforce, you said."

"Things were said," she sniffs. “I’m not going to be held responsible for past-Lisa’s statements.”

Len chuckles and steps around the still-cooling corpse on the floor – an ex-associate who'd thought he was above such things as rules. Len squelches the feeling of guilt: the guy had thought he could get away with skimming off the top of the funds they'd collected for the job because he was buddies with Mick, even though Mick'd warned him he wouldn't get any special favors, and then to add insult to injury, when Len'd called him out on it, he'd had the arrogance to try to pull out of the job entirely.

Len's reputation makes it very clear what happens if you're out, and that reputation makes it impossible not to do what he did next.

Still, Len can't help feeling bad about it. He hates killing people – it only adds to the number of ghosts in the world, unless he's lucky, and ghosts of people he killed are always unquiet – but not killing's a luxury he can't afford if he wants to survive in the criminal underworld.

He has to be cold and heartless, just like dear old dad – may he rot in hell or a jail cell, wherever he is now – always said.

Plus, this means he needs to get someone new, and he hates mid-job recruiting.

"If it's what you want, Lise, you should go for it," Len tells her. "You know you don't need my permission."

"I know," she says. "But there's always the matter of money to think about."

"Ahhhh, I see," Len teases. "This is less of an FYI and more of a call to the big brother bank, huh?"

"Actually, I'd been hoping to earn my own way," Lisa replies. "Unfortunately, doing grunt work as a baby engineer in a big company that pays peanuts –" The market for bachelors-only engineers is a tough one, according to Lisa. "— and skating in some ice shows in my spare time only gets me so much."

Len has the sinking feeling he knows what her next comment is going to be. "Lise, I can just give you the money," he points out, trying to forestall the inevitable.

It doesn't help.

"I want in on one of your jobs," she says firmly. "Time for me to earn my own way."

"I've let you in on jobs before," Len protests.

"Sure, in baby jobs," Lisa says. "I know you're planning something big, and I want in."

"I've already collected a crew, Lise."

"Mick says you need a new ringer."

Len stops, affronted, and glares at Mick, who shrugs, clearly well aware of what's being discussed. Undoubtedly why he’s hiding behind a newspaper across the room.

That doesn't make it any less inappropriate. Len literally just shot the guy! How did Mick even find time to tell her?!

"Lise – "

"I can do the job, Lenny. Gimme a chance."

"I know you can do it – " Lisa's one of the natural grifters of this world; Len's always been impressed by her skills. That’s never been his problem. "—the question is, why would you risk a perfectly good, clean record when I can just get you the cash?"

"Oh, please," Lisa scoffs. "You haven't been caught in ages. And if you're feeling particularly paranoid about my record, you can plan me a nice getaway. Ghost-amplified, if necessary."

Len scowls. He still doesn't like it.

"I already owe you so much, Lenny," Lisa continues. "Let me actually help with this one. Please?"

"What's your real motive here?" Len asks, suddenly suspicious. "You like it when I give you gifts."

Lisa sighs.

Hah! Len knew there was another reason.

"I need it for my resume," she finally admits.

Which –

"What? How?"

"Not my work resume, you jerk," Lisa says, sounding amused. "In case I ever need to pull a job, really need to, and you're not around to vouch for me. The Snart name goes a fair way towards it, but nothing substitutes for actual experience – you've said so yourself."

Len grumbles. He has said so, damnit.

"I have the baby jobs you let me help out with," Lisa continues. "One or two big-name heists with notable takes that I can name-drop would let me skip the little leagues, go straight in with the guys that know what they're doing instead of the crappy ones that need to go back to con school –" Meaning prison. "— before they get their act together."

"But why do you need to do crime at all?" Len asks, aware that he's whining. "Lise -"

"Even with your talents, you might get caught one day," Lisa says, her voice suddenly hard. "And if that day comes, when that day comes, I want to be the person you call to help mastermind your escape. Me. I want to be second in line in your phone –"

"You're my first speed-dial, Lise; you know that."

"— second only to Mick."

Well, yes. Len's always going to go to Mick first, but he doesn't need a speed dial for him.

"You know what I meant," Lisa says warningly.

Len sighs. She's not wrong. It would be good to have another person he can rely on, someone he can really trust, especially if it comes to a question of needing to plan an exit route that relies on revealing the full extent of Mick's ghostly abilities. Going temporarily invisible and intangible is incredibly useful for a thief, but Len’s determined to make sure that no one else in the underworld ever figures out what they can do. He’s been threatened too many times to be comfortable with anyone knowing all of his tricks, and his tricks include Mick.

He’s done a good job of it so far, making sure that everyone thought the stories about Mick rising from the dead are just exaggerations, but there will undoubtedly be jobs, or at least prison breaks, where he’ll need to use Mick’s abilities and rely on a crew, and that crew had better be only made up of people he really, truly trusts.

But this is his baby sister.

“Lenny, please,” Lisa wheedles. “It’s important to me. I want you to be able to count on me the way I’ve always counted on you and Mick.”

Well, if she puts it that way, it’s hard to say no.

And, well, they do need a new ringer now that what’s-his-name is no longer going to be available on account of being dead and having passed on…

“Fine,” Len says, giving in with a sigh.

Lisa cheers.

“How long till you can get to Central City?”

“Couple of hours,” she says promptly. “I’m already on my way to the airport.”

Len rolls his eyes. Of course she is.

“Great, I’ll fill you in on the job when you get here,” he says. “You’ll need to be in tip-top grifting to do it, though; it’s going to be a tricky one.”

“A tricky one?” Lisa asks, sounding amused. “Is there something the great thief Leonard Snart, robber of ATMs and breaker of jewelry stores and museums, still considers tricky?”

Just for that, Len’s going to tell her now.

“We’re gonna rob a moving train.”

Lisa laughs.

Len doesn’t.

“…you’re joking, right?”

Len smirks.

“Lenny!”

“I was getting bored with the ATMs and the jewelry stores and the museums,” Len says innocently. “Wanted to up my game a bit. What’s wrong with that?”

“Are you insane? We don’t live in a Western!”

“Now, now, Lisa, you never know when you might need to be able to ride a horse or a fire a six-shooter,” Len says, starting to laugh, his straight face breaking at the tone in her voice.

“Just for that, we’re taking horseback riding lessons with some of the leftover money,” Lisa warns. “You, me, and Mick.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Len lies. How hard can riding a horse be, anyway?

Lisa is still mumbling curses on his name when Len hangs up the phone.

“It go well?” Mick asks, looking up from his newspaper hopefully.

“Yes, Lisa’s joining us for this one,” Len tells him, rolling his eyes again when Mick breaks out into a broad smile. “And afterwards, we’re all going horseback riding.”

The smile disappears.

“…what?” Len asks. “They can’t be that tough.” But he’s uncertain now. Mick’s expression of horror is really convincing.

“We had horses on my farm,” Mick says grimly. “You are not getting on one of those hell-beasts.”

“You know what,” Len says, “I’ll just – let you tell Lisa that when she arrives.”

And then he flees, laughing his head off, because now Mick’s shouting curses after him.

Serves him right, conspiring behind Len’s back like that.

[avengerofyourheart]

Mess is Mine (Tony Stark x reader)

Hey, guys. I’ve been sitting on this finished fic for almost a month, which is rare for me, but I think it’s time to post. It’s nice to read it with fresh eyes and give it a polish before posting. I really hope you all like this.

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Mess is Mine (Tony Stark x reader)

Characters: reader, Tony, Steve, Clint, Sam, JARVIS.

Summary: After a mission goes awry, Tony’s response causes a rift between the two of you until an unexpected late night encounter causes you to see a different side of Tony. (events occur around the beginning of Iron Man 3, some dialogue is borrowed)

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of anxiety, home invasion and violence (mild). 

Word Count: 2630

Tags are at the bottom.

A/N: This fic is inspired by the song Mess is Mine by Vance Joy and that line of Tony’s in IM3. Special thanks to my love, my darling @sebseyesandbuckysthighs for the Tony expertise and willingness to share her firsthand anxiety knowledge. I suffer from high functioning anxiety myself, but rarely have full-on attacks. However, the reader’s cause for anxiety and OCD is my own. I wish I had taken the same action afterward, though. I hope this is a comfort to some. Roo, you are my mess and I am yours. I love you. 

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Exiting the Quinjet like a bat outta hell, you were fuming. Steve tried to reason with you, but you didn’t even hear the words he spoke before he stepped aside with a look of fear in his eyes. All you needed was to get to Tony so that you could slap that smug grin off his carefully manscaped face. The man was insufferable. And wrong.

_____________

The mission was going smoothly so far, when suddenly all hell broke loose with HYDRA agents surrounding you, Steve, and Tony. Every level of the compound had been cleared from the top down until Tony blasted open the thick steel door to the basement, believed to be full of documents, experimental serums, and other sensitive HYDRA information. Which was all true, according to intel, but what had been missed in surveillance was the two other hidden doors to the basement that had spilled out the bad guys behind you and now you had no exit strategy.

There was a moment of a stalemate: Steve with his shield, Tony in his suit with blasters up at the ready, and you with a pistol in each hand, just behind them. The HYDRA agents—at least twenty— each had a gun trained on the three of you. Even as Avengers, you were outmatched and were backed up against a wall. Sam and Clint were on their way from the jet, but at least 5 minutes out. A lot can happen in 5 minutes. Attempting to keep panic at bay, you thought it through. There was really only one solution.

You holstered your weapons and stepped around your fellow Avengers with hands raised.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?!?” Steve loudly whispered.

You took a few steps forward toward the armed enemy.

“Get back here, Y/N!” barked Tony, probably meant as an order but you just turned your head and sent him a wink.

“Hey, fellas,” you grinned, addressing the twenty men all clad in heavy black battle gear. “Look, I don’t want to start anything here, so if you could just let us pass, that’d be great.”

The agent closest to you smiled underneath his helmet, “Is that right, sweetheart?”

He took a step forward to tell you how wrong you were, you would guess, but as he did, he also lowered his gun slightly and was now within reach. In that split moment, you grabbed the barrel of his rifle and pulled, putting him off-balance. You took advantage of that and kicked his legs out from under him and fired his own weapon at his colleagues, taking down 5 of the men in seconds. Steve and Tony jumped into action, taking on the rest of the men as you continued to attacked the still-surprised agents. Within two minutes the floor was littered with unconscious men and the three Avengers stood tall, chests heaving with effort.

Tony attached an explosive to the wall next to the basement door and set it for two minutes. It would’ve been nice to get the intel, but considering this twist of events, best case scenario was that HYDRA couldn’t have it either. The two of you ran through the compound, Tony flying ahead, as you counted down in your head.

39….38…37….

Breaking through the door to outside, Sam and Clint reached your location headed toward you.

“Go!! Go!! Get to the jet!” Steve yelled.

The two men stumbled and changed direction, seconds later the blast you could feel in your rib cage. You were at a safe distance, though, as you continued to run. You broke through the trees with the Quinjet in sight. All of you boarded, Clint reached the pilot seat to start the jet. You braced your hands on your knees, catching your breath. Facing Steve and Tony, you smiled, hand up for a victory high-five. The two men shook their heads, faces serious.

“What was that, Y/N?!? You could have been killed! I can’t…” Tony had retracted his helmet, showing his angry expression.

“You could have warned us first, Y/N,” Steve offered in a stern tone.

“Are you kidding me? We had seconds before they were going to open fire and you wanted a powwow first? I did what needed to be done! Those doofus HYDRA goons only know how to follow orders, no original thought, so I gave them something else to focus on. They always underestimate a woman. And it worked, didn’t it?” you said defiantly, arms crossed over your chest.

“It was reckless and stupid!” yelled Tony.

You scoffed, “That’s rich, coming from you.”

His eyes grew wide, jaw slack as he walked away a few steps. “That’s it. I’m done. You’re benched until further notice.”

“What?!? You can’t do that! Steve…”

“Steve may be the boss, but I’m the bankroll. And if I decide someone shouldn’t be on MY jet then it doesn’t take off. End of discussion.” At that word, Tony replaced his helmet and flew off instead of joining the team in the jet. He rarely did that, careful about the suit’s power and long flights were draining for him but apparently he preferred it to arguing with you.

Speechless, you turned to Steve.

“Hey, he has a point. Maybe you should take a step back,” he conceded, walking further into the jet.

“Unbelievable!” you said, exasperated.

______________

The ride home had been tense, to say the least. You had hours to yourself to fume and come up with arguments and comebacks, especially since everyone was afraid to approach you.

Now you were storming through the Malibu mansion the Avengers temporarily called home, making a beeline for Tony’s lab. Reaching the glass door, you could see him with his back to you, tinkering with something on a table. You placed your hand on the fingerprint scanner for entry and you were met with a red light of denial. Rubbing your hand on your pants to dry it, you tried again. Red light.

“JARVIS, let me in!”

“My apologies, Ms. Y/L/N, but Mr. Stark has asked me to delete your access to the lab.”

“He what?!?” you screamed, banging a flat hand on the glass. “Tony!!”

He turned toward you, having heard his name despite the muffled sound through the glass.

“Open this door right now!”

He cupped his hand to his ear, mouthing the words WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

“That would hold more water if you hadn’t RESPONDED TO YOUR NAME 5 SECONDS AGO. What’re you gonna do, hide out in your little Boys Club with a sign out front that says ‘No Girls Allowed’?  “

He considered it, stroking his chin. “Pretty much,” he blurted, wiggling his fingers as he put his back to you.

“Ugh, you are SUCH A CHILD. Have fun sleeping alone tonight!!” you threatened before stomping away to your room.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, you and Tony had been seeing each other casually for a few months. Nothing too serious, but it seemed to be headed that way until this mission brought it all to a halt. You thought he liked your fiery spirit and occasional tendency for dramatics, but apparently that was now being used against you.

You didn’t see him for two days. He was holed up in his lab and you were consumed with rage which you attempted to burn out in the gym. After 48 hours, though, you were just tired. Tired of being angry, tired after hours at the gym, and tired because sleep was eluding you from all the one-sided conversations in your head.

Around 1am you had made some chamomile tea and settled into a comfy chair just off the kitchen with the lights off, hoping to become drowsy. 15 minutes later your eyes were growing heavy when you heard footsteps approach. Opening the fridge, the light spilled out illuminating Tony in a tank top and sweats, his shoulders sagging. You could tell he was tired and upset, too. Setting down your tea, you stood and approached slowly.

“Tony,” you spoke.

He jumped at your voice, grabbing a bottle of ketchup to “defend” himself, before he relaxed. “Y/N. You scared the hell out of me.”

You rounded the counter toward him, trying to offer an open, non-confrontational expression, “I don’t want to fight, but we need to talk about…”

“Y/N! I can’t right now, I’m sorry, I…”

“What, you don’t have the time right now? It’s the middle of the night and I’m done letting you avoid me! You can’t just drop a command and bench me without even..”

“Yes I can! You don’t just go up against 20 armed men and put yourself in danger like that. I won’t let you.”

An angry burst of laughter escaped your lips, “You must be joking. You literally flew a bomb into a hole in the sky and I don’t remember you asking for anyone’s permission first. You almost died!! I watched you fall, I mean…”

“Y/N…please….” Tony began to walk slowly toward the seating area, avoiding your gaze.

“Please what? You don’t get to bogart all the stupid and reckless in the world, I did what I had to do and that’s exactly what you did in New York. I get that, so why…”

“Please stop!!” Tony had finally turned your way and you could see the change in him. He was pale with a light sheen of sweat on his skin, eyes wide as he struggled to breathe. You knew that look.

Concern took over, “Tony. Talk to me, what’s happening?”

He clutched the arm of the couch as if his legs would no longer support him. You came to his side, putting an arm around his waist as you guided him to the couch and he sat.

You knelt beside him, “Tony. Tell me what you need. How can I help?” You didn’t want to impose or make it worse.

He grasped your hand and squeezed it tight.

“Tony, look at me,” when he didn’t respond, you lightly put a finger under his chin to turn his face toward you. “Tony, where are you?”

A few labored breaths and he finally answered, “Home.”

“Good and is there an immediate threat right now? Besides my fiery temper?” you asked with a hint of humor.

He finally met your eye, seeing a softness there, “No.”

“Okay. Breathe with me,” you placed Tony’s hand on your upper chest above your heart as you inhaled and exhaled slowly. Tony focused on your breathing and slowly started to mirror it with his own.

A few more minutes and the worst seemed to have passed. Tony’s head fell back on the couch as he rubbed his face, exhausted.

You spoke first, “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been having anxiety attacks?”

He dropped his hand from his face and looked at you, “I didn’t even realize that’s what was happening until recently. I thought I was just dying.”

You gave a smile, brushing a lock of hair from his sweaty forehead.

“Wait, how did you know?”

“About what was happening just now? I’ve had them for years.”

“What? You never mentioned it,” he said, cocking his head.

“Well, I guess we’re even then, huh?” you joked. “They started when I was 14 or so. Someone broke into the family home one night and made off with some jewelry and electronics, all while we blissfully slept. Waking up the next morning knowing a stranger had been there and that our safe haven had been breeched, I felt…violated.  I didn’t feel safe anymore. I started resisting going to bed and hated being alone at night. I would compulsively check windows and doors to make sure they were locked. I think I slept on my parents’ floor a few times. It just wasn’t getting any better, in fact, it got worse whenever I felt like I couldn’t control anything.”

Tony brought your hand up to his lips, nuzzling it against his stubbled cheek.

“So my mom suggested I take some self-defense classes, you know, take back some control. I excelled and had my blackbelt by the age of 17 which is when I considered law enforcement. Instead, I went to college and applied for the FBI before graduation and that led to SHIELD, which led to the Avengers and then led me to you.”

He offered a wide, generous smile then, “You’re the best.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, laying your hand on his chest.

“But me? I’m a piping hot mess. Nothing’s been the same since New York. You experience things, and then they’re over and you still can’t explain them? God’s, aliens, other dimensions...I’m just a man in a can. The only reason I haven’t cracked up is because I’ve got you. Or I hope I’ve got you. But honey…I can’t sleep. I go to my lab and I do what I know. I tinker. The threat IS imminent with how often we’re out on missions. And I have to protect the one thing I can’t live without. That’s you. I didn’t want to ruin a good thing by dumping all this on you.”

“Hey, this whole mess?” your hand waving to indicate all of Tony, “This mess is MINE. You are all mine. You’ve definitely got me. And I’ve got you. I love you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, offering a teary smile. Until the cockiness returned. “You know…that’s the first time you’ve said that, you know. The ‘L word’. “

“You caught that, huh? Thoughts on the subject?” you teased, nervous about your confession.

He stared off into the distance, as if in deep deliberation, “I’m thinking…”

“Tony!” you shouted, giving him a playful shove.

He laughed, pulling you into his lap, “There’s nothing to think about. I love you, too, Y/N.”

“Well, good,” you said in relief, bending down for a long, lingering kiss. When you pulled back, he kept you close.

“So how do you do it? How do you deal?”

You sighed, “Practice. I’ve found certain skills that can lessen, if not prevent, an attack when I feel it coming on. Meditation for one…breathing exercises…yoga…”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re so bendy,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Mmhmm. You’re welcome,” you grinned with a wink, before getting serious again. “Really, though, I can’t say I’m glad that anxiety has been such an unwanted companion through most of my life, but it’s brought me to where I am now. There’s so much these days that is out of our control, especially now. But we can choose how we respond to it and I’m right here with you to figure it out.”

He captured your lips then for a kiss, his facial hair tickling your chin. “Maybe you could -kiss- show me -kiss- some of those -kiss- bendy moves right now.”

Tony shifted so you were lying on the couch, him settling between your legs.

“Right here?”

“Why not? It’s my house.”

You laughed, “I’m game. But seriously, that whole benched thing is not…”

He silenced you with a kiss, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we will,” you promised, lifting his tank top over his head.

You took a moment to marvel in his beauty, electro magnet and all, as you ran your hands over his sculpted abs. It took a lot for you both to get here, but now you just wanted to savor the moment. You were in love with the Billionaire not-so-Playboy-anymore Philanthropist who also happens to be a mess. But he was YOUR beautiful mess, you thought, as he proved his love to you right then and there on the living room couch.

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So? Any thoughts are appreciated!! This was actually the first Tony fic I wrote but have since published one and I feel like I have a better handle on writing him now. I hope to do more Tony fics in the future. Also, I love Pepper Potts but I wish she had been more sympathetic in IM3. That’s kinda why I wanted to write this. Send me your feedback in any form you want: message, ask, reblog, reply, whatever. I love you guys!! :)

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[textales]

"Gravy Ladles and Coffee Pots”

The kids gathered around the brand-new Radar Range, watching in open-mouthed astonishment as the bacon sizzled and crackled inside. “Wow, that’s really cool!”   Magic was made in the double-wide that day, and Kathy couldn’t be more proud as she held court with these young people completely in awe of this technological breakthrough.

I was forever envious of my cousins. They always got the cool shit before we did, and the microwave oven was the latest in a long list, borne from a lifelong sibling rivalry between my father and his sister.  

My attention to this competition started the day Aunt Kathy called to ask for our help unloading a snowmobile she just bought from some guy on the west side. The ad said “Divorce Forces Sale” and Kathy pounced on the opportunity with lightning-fast dexterity – the rotary dial on the pink princess phone practically melting as she called to inquire.  An hour later she had her hands on the handlebars of what would become a big surprise birthday present for her husband.

Earlier - just that week - my dad had mentioned he was considering buying a snowmobile. He had to bite his tongue after she jumped-the-gun and got one first.

“It’s an Arctic Cat Panther,” yelled Aunt Kathy as she backed the pickup behind the trailer where they’d offload the sled.  It would be hidden under a tarp by the woodpile before being presented in a big reveal, a minute or so after the candles were blown out.

“I heard the Polaris is better,” Red said bursting with envy as a Salem Menthol cigarette bobbed from his mouth in the chilly Montana breeze.  

Not more than a month later, he found a used 1969 Polaris Charger in the Tribune classifieds.  The guy wanted $350 but dad was able to “Jew him down” to $300.  The Polaris had a 372 which was technically a bigger engine than the Arctic Cat, and it had electric start – details that didn’t go unmentioned when I called the cousins to tell them “we got one now too.”

And so the race was on. Kathy would be the first to get the next new thing, then Red would follow-up with his take and brand preference on whichever widget, then Kathy would get a newer/bigger/better/faster, and the cycle would continue until the next new thing entered their collective consumer attention purview.   

When Kathy replaced her old-school West Bend percolator with a Mr. Coffee, Red had to one-up his sister with a shiny new Norelco Dial-a-Brew he found on sale at Montgomery Ward. The sleek black and brushed aluminum look was super fancy and at least ten years before its time, and Red was really proud of his find – at least for a couple months.  Then Kathy got a new Bunn Pour-O-Matic, the home version of the commercial coffee maker used in restaurants like 4B’s and Big Boy.  How dare she jump to commercial grade!  This was war.

The next visit to Aunt Kathy’s was yet another shameless showcase where the new hot air popcorn popper was ceremoniously demonstrated.  It was placed on the Formica counter next to the new Presto Fry Baby, which had been the focus of last week’s appliance parade.  This time grandma and grandpa joined the parents and us kids for the exhibition - a dozen people watching with anxious anticipation as this incredible device that sounded like a vacuum cleaner started spewing hot popcorn into a ceramic bowl.  “I’ll be god damned, look at that” said Grandpa as he took a sip of Schmidt from a can in one hand and a drag of a Winston from the other.  

Over the years there were groovy gravy ladles, meat tenderizer mallets, toaster ovens, ice cream makers, air pots, crock pots and fondue pots – not to mention multiple knife sets, pimped by slippery salesmen at the State Fair and procured under pressure.

But nothing caused more commotion than “that goddamned KitchenAid mixer”. This thing had a stainless steel bowl and was two feet tall.  It was astronomically expensive – costing far more than a house payment at the time. 

It had a gear shift on the side with a single giant black Bakelite knob.  It was bullet proof and built like a tank.  Although it was a warmer, friendlier version of a mixer one might see kneading dough at Eddy’s Bakery or in the galley of a battleship, I feared the power might go out on the whole block when this behemoth was activated.

Kathy called a family press conference to celebrate its arrival with all the fanfare usually saved for the maiden voyage of a cruise ship. She had pre-ordered this thing and had to wait six agonizing weeks because she wanted hers in a color to more closely match the Harvest Gold of the oven and refrigerator. The appliances, furniture, carpeting and draperies in that Fleetwood mobile home came as a package deal, and matching the color of this added appliance was important in keeping with the designer aesthetic.  

I don’t remember if anything got mixed or cooked or stirred while at the KitchenAid christening, but there was certainly something stirring on the way home as we drove over the 10th Street Bridge. We’d left the scene with our heads bowed - it was embarrassing for my mother to witness this charade of superiority.  Even “Old Lady Pete” from the trailer park across the way was there to watch as Kathy showcased her appliance prowess, and Betty would have to settle for an inferior cheap plastic hand-held thing from K-mart.  Why wouldn’t Red make the necessary sacrifices to buy a new KitchenAid for his wife?  This just might have been the beginning of the end of their marriage.

Breaker One Nine

Red had been a radio operator in the Army and knew Morse code.  Ever since getting out of the service in the sixties he dreamed of having his own amateur radio transmitter to communicate with like-minded hobbyists. These were the techno-geeks of their time, and speaking over the air to some other enthusiast halfway across the planet (or even within the state of Montana) was a thrill that “ham” radio operators shared decades before cell phones and the internet made communication cheap and effortless.

Red yakked for years about getting himself a ham radio of his own, but the costs were just too high. Being fiscally conservative, raising his young son and supporting his wife on a single salary as a blue-collar glass guy, he figured splurging on such a luxury was selfish and excessive.  “Boy, someday, I’d like to get one of those VHF units,” practically drooling as he fingered through the back pages of Popular Science magazine.  

The temptation to talk was overwhelming, and “someday” got a whole lot closer when the “Citizens Band” phenomenon of the mid-1970s took the country by storm. Since CB radios were far cheaper than Ham units, a communications compromise was possible: Red could satisfy his desire to chit-chat with strangers using a CB.  As seen on TV shows like The Dukes of Hazzard, and in movies like Smokey and the Bandit and Convoy at the Twilight Cinema, CB radios were suddenly everywhere…even Betty Ford, wife of then President Gerald Ford, had a CB “handle” - she was the nation’s “First Mama.”  

But the clock was ticking if Red was to get his hands on one of these before his sister beat him to the punch.

“Don’t say anything…but god dammit we’re going to get something before they do” as Red used the basement phone to call his secret army of friends who’d help him find a used CB radio.  Come hell or high water he’d get one of these things in-hand before the weekend was over.  

By the third dial he found some fellow glass guy friend who knew a guy who knew a guy who had one for sale.

The General Radiotelephone VS-4 was an old school commercial transceiver with three big black knobs, two switches and five channels. I didn’t know what “VS” meant…maybe “Very Serious”?  If you didn’t like the channel selection, you could change them by switching out the crystals you could buy at Radio Shack.  At $35 bucks, the price was right, and there was sufficient space under the dashboard of the 1966 Ford pickup where it would find its new home.  

We were so proud to be the first family on the block with a CB radio.  So what if it was practically the size of a cinder block and the weight of an anvil?  So what if it stunk like the furnace when lit the first time after being off for the summer? 

Sure, it was old and heavy and hot and used tubes, but it was ours.  And goddammit, we got ourselves a CB radio before Kathy did.  I couldn’t wait to call the cousins with this news.  Neener neener.  

This whole surprise did not sit well with Aunt Kathy.  She had been ambushed, and retaliated the next week by purchasing a brand new 23-channel Midland – the brand preferred by truckers and clearly the “industry standard.”   Of course, her true intentions were camouflaged by labeling it a “gift” for Uncle Lee.

In the construction community, my father and my uncle were pillars. Dad worked in a shop and on construction sites building glass store-fronts.  My uncle was a Heavy Equipment Operator and drove a road grader in the summer months.  

“Clothes don’t make the man,” my father would say.  

But what he didn’t mention was that the CB radio and truck just might.  

Having a brand new Midland with an eight-foot stainless steel whip antenna on a shiny new Chevy Pickup clearly put my uncle ahead of the curve, commanding considerable respect from the other members of the metal Thermos lunchbox crowd.

Even though Red’s old General Radiotelephone was hot-wired and had more than four times the power output of the new Midland, the average passer-by looking through the window of that old truck wouldn’t know that.   “You could hear that thing from King’s Hill all the way to Great Falls” he would say.  But so what…that truth didn’t matter from the curb.  So to restore dignity and improve the dashboard appeal of his aging 1966 Ford, Red used a big chunk of his next paycheck to buy a spanking new 23-channel Sharp model with a red LED digital readout.  This module was modern and pretty.  A digital readout was so much more impressive than the single-knob back-lit dial of the Midland.  Red’s rationale: “If we can’t have a new truck, well god dammit, we’ll at least have a new CB radio.”  These were simple priorities of the day.  

If Kathy could hold court with the kids by showing off a new microwave, Red could do the same across the river using his new CB radio as a centerpiece.  It was so impressive the neighbor kids would come from six blocks away to see it.  Part of the experience included listening to the soundtrack from the movie Saturday Night Fever via an 8-track tape deck mounted in a home-made headliner installed in the ceiling.  

In this headliner were switches – many switches – with amber and red and green indicator lights.  One controlled the fog lights which beamed so much candlepower you could practically use them to fry chicken from twenty paces. 

And there was a dimmer switch for reading lights like those that shine down from overhead bins in airplanes.  Sure the truck was old, but it had character. 

And it was ballsy….powered by a bored-out 390 V8 with a 10:1 compression ratio, fed by a gas-guzzling Holley 750 double-pumper 4-barrel carburetor. It had dual glass-pack mufflers and a shiny new maroon metallic paint job and cool chrome wheels with extra-wide tires.  Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

But no matter what we did to that truck, it was still old. And I was forever envious of Uncle Lee’s new Chevys.  

Coca Cola Cowboy

The latest in the parade of pickups was a brand spankin’ new 1979 Chevrolet K20 Silverado 4x4, powered by a 7.4 litre 454 cubic inch high-torque V8.  It was a three-quarter ton Camper Special, which meant it had upgraded suspension to support the extra weight of a slide-in camper.   

This truck was absolutely stunning.  

Outside was Midnight Black metallic, and the inside was appointed with rich plush carpeting and a cushy velvety bench seat so lavish it put our living room sofa to shame. With brushed aluminum accents, the instrument panel included a tachometer to measure engine speed and a gauge for oil pressure.  

At the time, factory air conditioning, power steering and power brakes were nice-to-have expensive options in a pickup truck.  But tilt steering, electric windows and power door locks were luxuries usually saved for cars like Cadillacs.  

This truck had all of that and more – included in the top-of-the-line interior package.  This was the pinnacle of pickups, and Uncle Lee was a god for owning it. 

While most people opted for an automatic transmission, this truck had a manly 4-speed manual with a chrome stick shift – a rare combination of options requiring a special order, which I didn’t even know was a possibility.  When we bought our truck we picked what we could afford from the used lot.  Uncle Lee ordered his new from the factory.  There was even talk of going to see it being built – a trip most blue-collar construction dudes would consider a once-in-a-lifetime, bucket list, trip to mecca sort of thing.

My dad always made excuses for why we didn’t have newer vehicles.  “We’re saving for a place in the mountains” was the one used most. But I knew it bugged him when I’d fawn over the new car and truck combo Kathy and Lee would bring back from City Chevrolet every two years.

I recall a particular moment of sweet satisfaction for Red when we were going on a camping trip – something we did almost every weekend in the summers. Both families had loaded their respective RVs with all the Coleman stuff, Jiffy Pop and Shasta.  I remember listening to Eddie Rabbitt’s “Two Dollars in the Jukebox” on 13-10, KEIN, as we headed out for a “Weekend in the West.”  

Kathy, Lee and the kids got a good hour-long head start since we needed to stop for propane.  It was a bit of a surprise, though, when we caught-up to them on the Wolf Creek cut-off, less than 30 minutes or so after we got on the road.  

Uncle Lee had the pedal to the metal trying to milk every last bit of horsepower from that 7.4 Litre 454 high-torque V8.  It was all he could do to get it to 50 mph as the shiny new Chevy with the Kit overhead camper struggled with the steepness of that mountain, the altitude, and headwinds so strong they’d most certainly slow a semi.  

Out of nowhere came the old Ford truck with its cargo box overflowing with motorcycles and camping gear, pulling an 18-foot travel trailer, and blaring John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John’s Greased Lightnin from the 8-track overhead.  “Look at that, brand new truck – so much for that 454 - ha!”  We’d be passing them at the first possible opportunity.

As the old grey mare roared by doing 70 mph, Red looked right into Kathy’s eyes with a piercing look that said “Fuck you sister” as he flipped ‘em the finger, blaring the dual air-horns for another quarter mile or so until we hit the crest of the hill.  

I gained a lot of respect for my elders that day, mechanical or otherwise.  

A few weeks later, my cousin and I talked in the alley as we waited for our parents to say their goodbyes after a regular family visit.  Even though I was thirteen I realized this was sibling rivalry shit was starting to get silly.

“When are you going to get a new truck?” asked my cousin.

“When are you going to get a real house?” I snapped.  

Our house, although practically a century old, was built with studs and plaster. 

So what if they had new vehicles every two years, a more expensive microwave and (coming the next week) a bigger, better CB radio with more channels and knobs than ours.  

They lived in a trailer.

There, that would settle that.  

[magiccallie]

Expedition to Yamar

3.5k words

   The ocean waves lapped at the stones of the ruin. The remnant of a near forgotten civilization, it had long since been abandoned by savory types. The easy looting was done too, leaving nothing but mystery and the potential of danger to those who would comb its depths. The expedition assembled for this task was a group of five individuals, each chosen carefully for their strengths. Most literally for Brick, who was little more than a pack beast to the others. He was a homunculus, created from clay, wood, flesh, and a chunk of a meteor, for labor. He spoke little, followed orders well, and could break bones with a single strike. Occasionally though, there would be hesitation in his responding to orders, and his glass eyes held a curious intellect as he watched the others. Only Timo Thea noticed that though, and he wasn’t telling.    If Brick was the muscle of the group, Timo was the medic. He was tall, and had the dark skin and pointed ears of the Ariami. He had a little of the other’s skills, but his strength came from his medical knowledge and a talent for pattern recognition. He hoped to be using the latter skill more, but carried a small case of equipment anyways.    Gunthry was their expert on Yamar history and culture, and doubled as their occult consultant. He wore the thick dark blue robes of their order, which he seemed to recede and sink into the cool nights of the coast. His attitude was poor, and his interest was wholly on discovering more about his favorite culture. Their scout was named Midge. The thick headed blonde was their only outside assistance on the expedition. She let her tanned skin show in between simple leather armor and cloth, and carried a harpoon for defense and hunting. Midge was interesting in money and little else.    Finally there was the reason they were there. The silver tongued Skyglance. The blue eyed de-facto leader had convinced  the Director of their site these ruins had not been fully excavated, and that there could be value in investing in an expedition. She was a polymath, and charming, and had forgone their robes for the clothes of the locals. Inside those draped, loose clothes, she had hidden several knives and lock-picks, which was the most Timo had ever seen her carry. No one spoke of it but for her success was a matter of life and death, and she flitted about assisting and directing.    They were there, at the edge of the ruin. Dusk had turned to night, and the stars glittered and watched from above. Timo they had taken to checking their position in relation to the remaining structures as the expedition contemplated and planned. “We should wait for the morning, it will be easier to see.” Gunthry put out from within his robes.    Skyglance scowled, “it seems like a waste of time to do nothing tonight, perhaps a cursory glance?”    “It’ll be dangerous.” Midge said, leaning on her harpoon. “Growing up we were told to stay out of the ruins because things lived in um. Thought they were just trying to scare us, but a couple friends and curious idiots went missing in um.”    “Well that is why we have you and Brick, we won’t go deep, just see what is close. Timo Thea, thoughts?”    “Hrmmm? Oh, it’s important to know what is around the camp, and it will tell us where to go in the morning.”    Skyglance smiled widely. “Well said, now come on, we will stay together. Brick come along.”    Midge and Gunthry grumbled, but went along too. The streets had been worn down over the ages, and sand had built up, but it was surprisingly well kept. They walked slowly through the empty passages, and noted three nearby entrances further in, and an enormous statue watching the sea. Two of those entrances led to empty rooms, but the third held promise. No sign of dangers presented themselves though, and they were allowed to rest. Gunthry had interest in the statue, Midge preferred to head deeper in sooner, and the group was split on opinion again. They let it sit for the night, but when Skyglance and Midge had fallen asleep Timo poked Gunthry.    “Pssst, hey, want to go check out the statue?” Despite his earlier protests, Gunthry did not hesitate to nod and grab his pack. Timo walked to the homunculus, who was acting as their sleepless sentry, and whispered, “Brick, would you please accompany us to the statue. If all is clear there you may return to your post.”     Brick looked at Timo Thea with those glass eyes for a moment, then nodded. As they walked Gunthry asked, “Why are you curious about the statue?”     Timo gave him a toothy smile, “I’m curious if there is any correlation with position and our current stars. And it seems remarkably well preserved from here.”     “It’s too dark to make out details, but it might be magical. In any case often times such statues will have inscriptions, and held a semi-religious purpose. A sort of monarchy worship from speculation, though historical accounts from their contemporaries do not mention royalty.”     “Hmmmm.” Timo grunted. Brick’s heavy footsteps and the crash of the waves on the near stone was the only sound they heard. In the swamps that would be a sign of trouble, here it was almost welcome. As they neared the statue, it became clear it was not as normal as they expected. It was a giant carving of someone sitting on a throne like chair, standing thrice as tall as Timo Thea. The figure was clad in a long skirt that went over the statue’s feet, an odd frill like headdress, and little else. It looked as if it had once had gemstones for eyes, long since stolen, and its ears had been broken off. Its hands were still there and seemed oddly webbed, which Timo chalked up to artistic interpretation. A worn inscription was at the base the carving stood on, and Gunthry went to it muttering to himself excitedly. Timo eyed the figure, and turned to Brick, “Hey Brick, if you could help push me up to this thing’s head you’ll be free to head back.”     Brick stared blankly and walked towards him. With inhuman strength it lifted him up. It was a stretch, but Timo Thea could just make it. As he clambered up the shoulder Brick turned and began to walk away. “Thank you.” He called, then turned his attention to the statue. Its gaze, while set solidly on the horizon, did not match any stars or constellations he knew of in this summer sky. Nor would it even hit the rising sun or moon. So that was a bust. Scowling, he looked about at the ruin around them. There was a pattern there, though it was damaged with age. The entrances and passages were set as such the whole thing made a shape that was… Timo grunted in pain and held his head, the movement made him wobble but he kept his balance and rightened himself. He did not look at the ruin directly again, but noted the center of it held their main point of interest, a large strangely shaped temple sitting like a squid at the center of a writhing mass of tenticals.     Now how to get down… The Areami slid down the statue onto its lap, then back to the ground. Gunthry was still working with the inscription when he got there. “Hey Gunthry.” He shook the little man’s shoulder trying to get his attention.     Gunthry waved him away and muttered something unintelligible. Timo Thea considered dragging the man away but decided it was not worth it and wondered back to update their map.     Dawn found him restlessly turning in his sleep sack, and Gunthry had not returned. After some expressed concern Timo led Midge and Skyglance to the statue. Gunthry was still there, wide eyed and grinning. “I’ve got it! This isn’t a king it is a high priest, Nthga the Second according to this. Naturally as a seaside culture they’d have held the ocean in reverence, and had this built so this Nthga could watch over it. No one know where the Yamar went, perhaps they ran out of fish and starved, or else sailed off somewhere.”     “That’s uh, something Guns.” Midge said disinterested. They went back and gathered their things, and journeyed further into the ruin. Timo Thea tried to describe what he had seen from above, but each time he tried to picture the shape accurately his head hurt. Gunthry explained that some glyphs can cause such pains, and asserted the society would have had to had a strong magical influence to build such a thing. And a strong aversion to something in the air to want to. That perked up their spirits and tantalized their curiosity, and they picked up the pace.     As Gunthry made notes on the layout of the ruin in how it would relate to the culture, Midge managed to find a skeleton. “Hey Timo Thea, com’ere.”     The medic walked closer, the corpse was old, and sprawled in a corner. Midge had a small sack in her hand, and was inspecting the corpse for further valuables, “This guy is a bit beyond my skills Midge, what did you call me for?”     “How uh, how’d they die? They’re dressed like one o’ those past explorers, not a local, and ooooooh, they had this fancy ring an these coins. In the sack with ya.” She said in a sing songy voice as she dropped the ring in the bag with a clink. “Gunthry’ll be able ta appraise these better I’m sure.”    Timo ignored the cheerful display of grave robbing and focused on the corpse. A finger was broken off thanks to Midge, but that was not a problem. He inspected the rib cage and skull. The rib cage had scratched, but that could have been weathering and scavengers, the skull was cracked in the back. Eyes narrow, he looked further and saw the hip bones were fractured in several places and what he had assumed was do to scavengers may have been more, like the missing bones below the right knee. It looks like he was being attacked, fell, was killed by hitting his head, then left and devoured over time….this area isn’t known for big predators. He shared his thoughts with Midge, the scout agreed that there shouldn’t be anything big and dangerous around them, but reminded him that magic and monsters were both a possibility.     They went to bring their findings to the others, when Skyglance held up a hushing finger, and pointed. Around the corner was another group of four people. Each had purple robes and were of average human size. Two had longswords at their sides, and three had their hoods down. Of the faces they could see there was a pointy faced tan brunette woman, a pale face freckled raven haired woman with one of the swords, and a thin faced bug eyed, balding man, Timo recognized no one.     They pulled back to talk as the strangers went on. “I’m confused,” Midge started, “aren’t ya on the same side?”     Skyglance shook her head, “They’re from a different facility. Hightop. It is unlikely for them to share anything they find with us.”     Gunthry scoffed, “Those ore suckers couldn’t tell a tweezer from a caliper. It’s amazing they came to the same conclusion as we did around the same time.”     “Yes, perhaps someone’s been talking… no matter, be wary, you know how efficient they’ve been with their equipment research, and their beast department is respectable if obsolete. I would be surprised if they didn’t bring even one broken sorcerer or fancy weapon.” Skyglance said quickly. Timo Thea noticed she was tapping her thigh as she spoke, and when they moved she had trouble not darting ahead. They kept wandering to a minimum now, always after the main temple and their goal. Skyglance grew increasingly frustrated at each misstep and dead end, though they recovered quick inscriptions and sketches of carvings with each.     It was two more days into their research and gathering that Timo Thea asked, “How are we doing on supplies?”     They checked, and cursed. “Two days?! We have enough to get back, and two days for exploration. Assuming they haven’t already made off with everything. We’ve been wasting too much time searching and scavenging. We head for the temple and press until we make it.” Skyglance declared. Gunthry sighed, but the others seemed complacent in the order. The ruin had only become creepier each day, and the temple’s shape had been so tempting and close. It had a strange shape that temple. It almost looked to have grown there from a massive piece of coral. They were so focused on the patterns and shapes that grew from it and finding the right route to it, they were surprised when they succeeded. As they came upon the archway into what looked to be a plaza for the temple, the Hightop expedition rounded the opposite corner.     “Told you I saw Teracoma boys.” One whispered.     The two long swords were drawn, but it was the pointy brunette who spoke. “Greeeeeeeeat just what we need. Fighting other facility members is frowned upon, but no one will know if you happen to disappear.”     Midge readied her harpoon, but Skyglance held up a hand. With a winning smile and a hand on a hidden knife, she stepped forward and said, “It is said this place is guarded by a monster. It would have to be ancient and powerful to still be around. Perhaps we could work together to take it out.”     “And then we still fight over rights to what is in the temple You are postponing the issue.”     “Not necessarily, after all, the corpse of such a creature would be valuable, particularly to your facility. And it could yield some fine research. You could have the corpse, and we’d get the temple.”     “You’re assuming a lot.” The brunette replied, her voice rising. “We are just as curious as you are, and our group is better prepared.”     Timo noticed movement near the temple. “Uh guys.”     “We have a homunculus, do you really think you can take us!”     “I really do! Our weapons are designed to react to their power stones and destroy them, your living statue is as good as you are!”     A hellish creature burst through the entrance they stood at, nearly consuming both women as they jumped back. It was huge and worm like, its front end all one big mouth separated by four massive teeth that gnashed at them. Lined down its head on four points were three rods rows of large black eyes. Beyond that its length stretched and bent, in a fleshy almost maggot like body that had fins growing from it and pushing it along. Skyglance left one of her daggers in it as she jumped, but is seemed like a papercut. “Come on!” She ordered, dashing around its thrashing body and towards the temple. They followed, and ran up the steps to the strange building.     It was large and open inside, built for large gatherings of worship. At the other end of the room was a blood caked altar. They ran to the throne, and found the altar had gold inside, and an ornate amulet. They grabbed it without hesitation and left. Outside, the monster was fighting with the Hightop crew. It had gashes on its side, but the bug eyed man tried to run, and for his trouble a set a long tongue whipped out and dragged him in whole like a frog. It thrashed and turned towards their group as they ran. Midge threw her harpoon which sank into its hide, but did not stop it.     “Brick take that thing out!” Skylgance ordered as they maneuvered around it and stared running back is it chased them through the maze like streets. For the first time, Timo Thea watched Brick outright refuse an order. Shaking his clay head as he continued to run.     Huh, so the rumors are true, if we survive this I may have to look into that.     “Tongue! To-AH” Gunthry warned before dissapearing into the creature. The action slowed it down long enough for them to lose it and regroup.     “We’ve got to go back for him that think took them whole. They should still be alive for a short time.” The medic said.     “Us and what weapons Timo Thea? Midge lost her harpoon, my knives do little against something that size, and their weapons didn’t do the job.” Skyglance replied, clutching the amulet close. “We lost him, let’s go.”     That isn’t right. I can’t just leave them. The medic thought uncomfortably. “Stay in town an extra night. If I do not return leave without us.” He told her, feeling like he was signing a death warrant.     “I’ve done my share, an with no weapon I’m not goin back.” Midge said as she shook her head.     Skyglance sighed, and tossed Timo one of her knives. “One extra day, good luck.”     Timo Thea stepped back towards the temple, and too his surprise Brick stepped forward as well.     “Oh sure, you’ll help him. Something is up with this thing.” Their leader grumbled as she hurried away.     “Thanks… are you sure.”     Brick said nothing, but took another step forward. They jogged back, and saw the broken body of the raven haired woman, her sword laying beside her. Unfortunately they saw the monster too, and it looked angry.     “Brick the sword!”     The homunculus moved with surprising speed, grabbing the blade in its massive fist and facing the thing. It shot its tongue, and the living clay had the audacity to chop it off. The thing thrashed, blood spraying in a gelatinous mess. It rushed forward, probably trying to crush Brick against he wall like the dead woman at his feet. Brick punched it and sank the blade into it to slow it down, but still wound up crushed against the stone. Cracks appeared on stone and homunculus, but the big brute did not stop moving. With effort he pushed the wormthing off him and Timo Thea stabbed at its eyes to distract it.     Brick struck it again and left a huge gash, but was in turn caught in its gnashing jaws. The thick rock like teeth shattered the homunculus’s torso. The sword, Brick’s hand still around it, clattered to the ground with a heep of unmoving parts. Timo Thea tried to climb up the creature towards the harpoon, but it began to thrash about, forcing him to hold onto the exposed shaft for dear life. Surprisingly not only did the medic manage to keep his grip, but the creature’s attempts began to slow as if it was weakening. It slammed into a few walls trying to knock him off, wiggled about the temple plaza, and finally was still.     After a moment Timo Thea reluctantly let go of the shaft and checked for a pulse and eye movement, but saw none. To be safe, he pushed the harpoon further down and went in search of the sword. Brick’s glass eyes had more surprise than should have been possible, and it made him a little ill. With a sigh he brought the blade over and started to hack into the creature. It was long, disgusting work, but eventually he opened a hole in it. Out come Gunthry, the bug eyed man, and the brunette, all with burns and looking unconscious.     “Oh what’s a medic to do, living flesh in pain.” He chided to himself as he worked on the unconscious bodies.     The pointy brunette woke up first, and looked confused, “I thought we were dead, why save us?”     “To be perfectly honest, him.” Timo replied, pointing to Gunthry. “We lost some members but you and ugly here should be alright. The burns were minor. Get the feeling it is used to a long digestion period do to lack of food.”     “I… thank you anyways. You ever need anything while in Hightop, look for Sapphire.”     Timo smiled weakly. “You should get out of here, we have no idea if there are any more. And I have to get him to town quickly.”     She nodded, and they parted ways, dragging their companions with them. Gunthry woke up halfway back, and was very thankful.     Skyglance’s eyes lit up when she saw them. Fear, or maybe shame, passed the confidant woman’s face, and her brows hardened when she counted heads. “Glad you proved me wrong. I am sorry I-“     “I know I know, the mission was more important. If nothing else if I had failed you doing that would have meant it was not all for nothing.” Timo Thea interrupted, trying not to sound angry and bitter.     Skyglance sighed, and gestured to Midge, “She’s leaving too, we have plenty to finish paying her though. With her and…Brick gone, it looks like our guards are gone. If we go on another expedition together we’ll have to find someone else.”     “Unlikely, Yamar is…was my passion.” Gunthry said quickly.     Skyglance chuckled, “You never know, the world is a large place full of secrets. And now we have a track record of success.”

[allofusandco]

well, hello | sam and wynonna

Wynonna meets Sam Winchester while disposing of some vampire bodies.

with @thexboyxking.

Wynonna:

Ah, gross! Dead bodies were always gross. And in general, Wynonna preferred to avoid them. But dead bodies, and she wasn’t all that clear on some of the boundaries between the species but this was definitely…

Well, something. Revenants. Vampires. Whatever. She had bigger things to worry about but steering clear of things that weren’t revenants was looking more and more like a pipe dream.

There was a sound behind her.

Benefit of the doubt had, despite the odds, turned out to work better than anticipated in juvie and jail but Wynonna was done with it. She had her gun out and on him before he could open his mouth.

“Five seconds to convince me not to shoot you in the face,” she said. “Maybe avoid poetry.”

–––––

Sam:

Fighting off supernaturally powered creatures wasn’t a new song and dance for Sam, as a matter of fact it usually was just another day of the week for him. What was odd though, and the thing setting his little skirmish apart from any other, was what seemed like a regular average Jane kicking ass. Most civilians, even the ones that knew how to handle themselves in a fight, didn’t manage to get the drop on whatever baddie was cornering them.

They usually didn’t manage to get a gun pointed right smack in the middle of his face either.

“Hey now,” he held up his hand, fingers clicking the safety back into place on his gun as he took a step back from the woman. “Easy, I was just coming to help….not that it looks like you really need it. You a hunter?”

It wasn’t the usual up front kind of question even he would ask but seeing as she was two seconds from shooting him and had managed a handful of monsters on her own Sam figured a little bluntness wouldn’t kill him.

Alright, so he’d managed to convince her in under five seconds, well done. Still. She held the gun in place for a moment or two more, mostly for effect, before replacing the safety and slipping the Peacemaker back into its holster.

–––––

Wynonna:

“A hunter?” She’d met a few. She supposed the answer was yes, at least partly. She slipped her badge from her pocket. “U.S. Marshall. Um… U.S. Marshall, Monster division.” She cocked her head; he was cute. Hunters were usually a little more grizzly, but she wasn’t complaining. “Sort of. Slightly AWOL. We had a difference of opinion, but no one managed to take the badge off me, and it does come in handy.”

She turned back to the bodies, human and… not human, sort of disappointed the not-humans hadn’t been dragged into hell; but she didn’t miss revenants. “Could use some help getting rid of these. Assuming they’re vampires, but seems like every goddamn thing has teeth these days.” She wiped her bloody palm off on her jeans and leaned in to shake. “Wynonna.” He hadn’t earned a last name yet, especially since that tended to bring on a whole ’nother conversation she wasn’t quite ready for.

–––––

Sam:

With the gun off of hi Sam allowed himself to relax a little bit though he did keep his guard up just a bit. Just because she seemed to know how to handle herself around vampires didn’t mean she would maintain friendliness with him.

“Monster division,” there was a hint of disbelief when he said it, a grin twitching at the corners of his lips. “Yeah ok, if you’re going to be tossing around the fake ID’s you might want to actually go with a division that actually exists.”

Being a ‘professional’ hunter wasn’t going to win her any favors when it came to getting information on hunts and Sam mentally made a note that she seemed fresh to the job.

“I’m Sam, Sam Winchester,” he reached out and shook her hand before letting his eyes move back to the vampires. “A group like this it’s probably best we find a place to burn them. You don’t need the local cops finding a bunch of headless people and causing panic.”

He could handle helping her with that, maybe get to know a little back story on her too. It never hurt to have a few backup hunters you could call on when needed.

–––––

Wynonna:

Wynonna narrowed her eyes. “Black Shield, then. I’ve always thought of it as Monster Division. And it’s not fake. Just… technically, I’m not currently entitled to carry it.” From her cold, dead hands they’d have to pry it. She needed a little holiday, that was all. Sick of being told what to do.

That hand, though – roughly the size of a dinner plate, and strong, very nice. Maybe her night would be a little less lonely than she’d planned. Should probably play nice. Might be worth it to see what was under that shirt. “Winchester. That’s cute. I was thinking I might change mine to Smith, or Wesson. Maybe Colt.” She turned back to the pile of bodies on the ground.

“I had high hopes they might just themselves sucked into hell, but I guess it’s not my day,” she said. “Local cops can kiss my very perky ass. I don’t want kids stumbling across them. I’ve got a truck, if you’ll help me load them up.”

She had a truck. Probably hadn’t been reported stolen yet. Might never be, if the old lady went into her garage as rarely as Wynonna suspected.

“And it’s Earp. Yeah, that Earp.”

–––––

Sam:

Black division, monster division—whatever way she tried to sell it as Sam wasn’t buying it. In all his time hinting he’d never once run across anything that indicated that the government knew about the things that went bump in the night. It wasn’t possible, hell even going through the Bunker research hadn’t given any indication that the government knew of these things. It was absurd to think about them knowing and not ever helping.

“Earp, sorry that doesn’t ring any bells,” he said feeling slightly bad since she seemed to expect it of him. “You get a lot of things dragging themselves back to hell?” he asked ignoring the slight jab at his name. It wasn’t unusual, though to be fair he hadn’t gotten it in a few years now…also as a side thought Wynonna Colt didn’t sound awful.

“So where’s this truck of yours? We’ll get them loaded up and to a remote area, then we can burn them,” he half asked half stated as he glanced towards the bodies on the ground.

–––––

Wynonna:

Wynonna spun on her heel. “Earp doesn’t ring any – Wyatt Earp? Greatest US Marshall that ever lived? Put countless bad guys in the ground, back when robbing a train or a bank was a good idea? Even a career path?”

There were people who hadn’t heard of Wyatt Earp? Wynonna was borderline offended.

She patted the gun at her hip. “Depends on the thing. There’s a – family curse, blessing, what have you. All the law breaker old Wyatt put down tend to come back. I shoot ’em with this, the ground kinda… opens up.”

She was telling too much. Yeah, offended, had to be that. Might be tall and pretty but right now Sam was shit out of luck if he’d been hoping for a warmer bed tonight.

“It’s only around the corner,” she said. “Gimme three minutes.”

In two and a half, she was backing into the alley, and getting down to drag the bodies up. Strong she was, yeah, the heir and all, but that didn’t make it any more fun to get them up onto the back.

“Couldn’t help notice the implication of a hand,” she said. “And I accept. Couple of shovels there in the lock box. Get in the cab. Promise I’ll drop you home after.”

–––––

Sam:

Sam held up his hands in mock surrender as she rounded on him going on about her family name. In all fairness he was farily sure he’d had the same reaction in his own head a few times when other hunters claimed they hadn’t heard of him, Dean or the Winchester’s. He got the whole family pride angle pretty good.

“Earp, yeah sorry, I remember now. The whole wild west, cowboy thing is more my brother’s gig,” he added with a smirk. Dean would recognize her name right away, he probably knew about whatever curse she had going on too.

Grabbing one of the vampires he helped load them into the bed of the truck before making his way to the cab to get in. She was right, he’d offered help and he wasn’t about to back out of it now.

“Alright so this curse thing,” he said shifting in his seat to look at her better, “what’s the deal with that? We talking demons or ghosts or something else entirely?” Sam was naturally curious and family curses were sort of in the job description so he couldn’t help but want more details here.

–––––

Wynonna:

Wynonna shook her head. How any man could have so little interest in history she did not know, but she wasn’t going to stand around and feed him a lesson when they had a grave to dig.

She pulled out of the alley smoothly, trying to decide on the best route to take.

Was she going to share her story with a perfect stranger? Well, yeah, she was, because he was a captive audience and a hunter and a perfect specimen of the male form, so why the heck not.

“My home town is a little berg called Purgatory, where my great granddaddy was brung up, and lived most of his life. Everyone he shot and killed with this gun went straight to Hades. And every time the family heir hits the ripe old age of twenty-seven, the curse kicks in, and all those dead bandits get on up out of the ground again. And we put ’em back down. Call ’em revenants. They’re demons. Act a little like vampires, though, sure like chewin’ on folks. Nasty things. If you’re lucky y’can watch me put one down one day – earth swallows ’em whole, back down into the pit. It’s a thing to see.” She smiled. “Course, the gun will kill just about anything. Comes in handy when they send something else nasty after me. Nothin’ like the panic in their eyes when they realize their number is up.”

She turned down a logging path, deeper into the forest.

–––––

Sam:

That gun was sounding a lot like the Colt and the demons…well that sounded like an interesting little curse. He’d always thought his family had it bad, and he wasn’t going to even begin comparing that because when it came right down to it both situations sucked pretty bad.

“Hey not wishing one of these uh revenants on you or anything but hell yeah I’d like to see that one day,” he said grinning over at her. “My brother and I, we mostly track across the states hunting things like demons and other monsters. We have a gun that kills them too, Samuel Colt’s gun. It doesn’t open up the ground and pull them down in to Hell though. Just sort of makes them glow in their vessels before they’re just…gone.”

He shouldn’t have even been talking to her about it and Dean would be giving him one of those looks if he heard him but it was fine. She seemed like good people.

“We’ve not used it in sometime now though, bigger fish and all that,” he added shrugging. Those were easier times back then, even he could admit that. Now monsters were complicated, more so than yellow eyes ever had been.

“You’re the heir then?” he asked arching a brow at her.

–––––

Wynonna:

“I am indeed the heir.” Wynonna waggled her eyebrows. “And I guess I’ve been doing the same, last little while. See,” she said, conspiratorially, “I recently found something out about myself – I don’t like bein’ used. All very nice to be given a badge, but when the government doesn’t tell me jack and just points me where they want me I get a mite tetchy. Or make that a lot tetchy. I’m on my own, though. Got a sister back home, like the Wikipedia of monster crap – genius, speaks a bunch of languages I don’t even know the name of. But I wouldn’t drag her on the road with me. She’s home promising people she hasn’t seen me and figuring out where I should go next.”

Wynonna missed her so much it was like a stone in her throat.

“One of the best things about being a woman is the way men routinely underestimate you. And she’s just so damn small and cute, everyone underestimates her.” She gave Sam a sly grin. “This’ll do.”

Deforestation had been effectively stopped here six months back, and wasn’t likely to start up again anytime soon. “Long as there are no enterprising dogs, and we don’t give up digging too quickly this’ll work out just fine. We’ll be sipping margaritas poolside in a couple of hours.”

She parked the truck – fuck, she missed the motorbike, but she’d head back and retrieve it soon as she could – and stepped down and out, climbing into the back to fetch the shovels.

“Don’t get all delicate on me,” she said, seriously. “If you get hot and need to lose the shirt, there’s no judgment here.”

–––––

Sam:

Sam shouldn’t have been envious, not after so long of being a hunter, but there was a spark of jealousy down deep inside of him when she talked about her sister. That was what he wanted out of life back when he was a teenager. He’d wanted the safety, for Dean to tell him it was ok to not be a part of this life on the road and that whatever research he could help them with was enough. He’d never gotten that though and instead he’d spent his life on the road, partaking in the family business. It was a stark difference to what Wynonna had going on in her life with her sister and Sam wondered how long it would last and if it even could.

Pulling himself from the truck he took a shovel and gave Wynonna the same half exasperated glare that he’d give Dean for making a comment like that towards him or someone else. Shaking his head he set to work digging.

“So you and her, your sister, been doing this long?” he asked curious about the little life the pair of them had together. Was it the curse on their family that made them start hunting or had they put it off as long as they could like he had? Had either one of them tried to get out before this life had sucked them right back in to it? Sam wanted to know, it wasn’t often that he met people so similar to him and Dean.

–––––

Wynonna:

Digging holes was always fun. Well, they didn’t need to be pretty, just deep enough so nothing would start dragging body parts back up to the road.

“Well,” she said, between loads of dirt, “depends what you mean. Our daddy was the heir before me, and when we were kids… well, we knew. He told us the truth. And then one day they came for him, and my older sister…”

Okay, enough of that.

“Anyway, there was no heir, for a while, then. Now, me, I would have raised arms or something, but I was real busy. Bein’ in juvie. Several times. And then jail.” She leaned on the shovel for a moment. She really had wasted a lot of time behind bars for one thing or another. Probably better to avoid that for the foreseeable future. Wyoming had a three strikes law.

“Waverly, though,” she said. Still in awe. “She wanted to break the curse. Did college by correspondence, learned everything she could. So Wav… guess you could say she’s been in it a long time. But me, I turned twenty-seven almost a year ago, came into my inheritance that day, and that’s about the size of that.”

Monsters.

“Fought an Amazon or two in jail, if it counts.”

It was getting darker by the minute. Wynonna found a lantern and set it by the side of the hole.

“Next time, I’m thinkin’ dumpster. Do they really deserve a decent burial?” She took a long pull off a canteen and passed it to Sam. “Bet McDonalds wouldn’t be above using monster meat.”

–––––

Sam:

Hearing Wynonna talk about growing up in the life made a few pieces click in to place for Sam. That right there was why he clicked with her, maybe even why he was drawn to her, she knewthe life and not just from a year or two of being in it. She was young but she’d always known what was out there and was probably just as jaded as he’d been at twenty-seven.

“I didn’t think it was about giving them a burial but rather about the local kids not finding them,” he said flashing her a grin as he looked up from his digging position. “You’ll get used to it after a while, the digging I mean. Well the monsters too actually…it all becomes easier.”

It shouldn’t be easier though—Sam always thought that whenever he told someone. Killing things, burying things, covering your tracks and avoiding the law should never get easier but it did and he was a walking testament to that.

“My brother and I grew up in this all too,” he explained around spurts of digging. “A demon got our mom when I was little, only six months. Dad started hunting it, looking for revenge so Dean and I grew up knowing all this stuff was the real deal. They tried to keep it from me for a while but eventually Dean caved and let me know. I got out for a while, did a few years of school…pre-law, but got sucked back in to this.”

Everyone always got sucked back in, that’s the one thing about this life Sam knew for sure. Maybe Wynonna and her sister had a chance though, maybe if they broke the family curse they’d be free and could walk away.

“You uh, you ever wonder why your parents had kids and kept the family curse going? I just always thought you know if I was cursed and it was an inheritance type deal I’d probably just not have kids or something,” he mused thinking more out loud than anything else. Standing up he tossed the shovel aside and surveyed the hole. “I think we’re deep enough.”

–––––

Wynonna:

Well, that sucked. Losing a mother before he really knew he had one? Wynonna shook her head. She could sort of picture it, really, their daddy, his quest for revenge. Undoubtedly more to the story and Wynonna was definitely nosy enough to ask, but maybe when she’d known the guy more than four hours. She wanted to know… had revenge worked? Or did he still feel empty?

“Well, if you’re gonna escape for a bit, college sounds better than prison.” Or a psychiatric hospital, not that Wynonna exactly opened with that when she met someone new. Better they decide she was nuts all by themselves. “I’d ask if you’re sorry you got dragged back – but what could you really say to that? Hard to walk away when you know what goes bump in the night.”

She stopped digging for a moment and leaned on the shovel.

It was a question she’d asked herself before.

“I don’t know. On the one hand, I think fuck demons, you know, gotta live your life the way you want to live it for them, it meant three daughters. And on the other hand, I don’t know how anyone can bring kids into a world where when a kid says there’s something under the bed you get your shotgun and check for ’em. I’d ask daddy what he was thinking but he’s been a long time dead.”

          She tossed the shovel aside, and climbed up onto the back of the truck.

“Not me, though. I wanna screw something up one day I’ll get a dog.” She looked through their pockets – jackpot! All three had wallets, and one had a few hundred bucks in cash that smelled like stale beer. Poker winnings. “Dinner’s on me, soon as we’re done. You ready?”

She half dragged and half rolled the first body towards Sam, ready to be tossed into the hole. Really was a pity he’d kept the shirt on.

–––––

Sam:

There was a memory in Sam’s mind of being momentarily afraid of things under his bed, when he’d asked dad about them he’d been told he was smart to be afraid of the dark places because he knew what lurked there. It had been a defining moment that had always stood out in his memories in later years like right now. He didn’t think he could ever bring a kid in to that, worry about his fucked up past putting them in trouble. Dean had tried it, once upon a time, when he’d settled down with Ben and Lisa. The job had come calling and before they knew it Lisa and Ben were put in harm’s way and that was always going to be the case.

Grabbing the body he finished rolling it off the tailgate and in to the grave followed by the next one.

“I always wanted a dog,” he laughed and took hold of the second vampire pulling it into the grave as well. “Dean won’t let me have one, says it would be too complicated having it on the road with us.” Though he hadn’t asked since they’d moved in to the Bunker, maybe he would just get one now and Dean would just have to deal with it.

“I’ll take you up on that dinner offer,” he added grinning as he dumped the last body and climbed over them to begin piling dirt on top of them. “You know anywhere good around here? I’ve not been in town long enough to know what’s good, not unless you want bar food.”

–––––

Wynonna:

“Is there any other kind of food?” Wynonna asked, guilelessly. “Suits me fine. And no, only got in yesterday, on a tip. All I’ve eaten is beef jerky and a meatball sub and I’m starving.”

It didn’t take as long the fill the hole as it had to dig it, but by the time they were done they were both filthy and covered with sweat; and it was dark. Completely dark.

“Let’s go,” Wynonna said, throwing the shovels back into the lock box on the back of the truck. There was some blood, not much. She’d clean it up at the car wash the next day. Looked no worse than if she’d been carrying roadkill anyway.

She had to agree that a life on the road didn’t sound great for a dog, not that they ever looked exactly unhappy sticking their big dumb heads out the window. “Too much responsibility for me, right now,” she said. “No idea how the next couple of years might pan out. The revenants…”

She opened the cab and climbed into the truck, waiting for Sam to join her before she moved on.

“They were limited to Purgatory. That’s the one in Wyoming, not the hell-adjacent one. But thanks to a spell the old limits are gone. And they hit the road. I have a list. Be nice if I didn’t keep getting sidetracked by other monsters.”

They drove back into town, and as they were approaching the place where they’d met, Wynonna spoke again.

“Figure this is where you left your car. My motel’s about six blocks that way and one north, big old palm tree in neon lights out the front. You can’t miss it. There’s a bar around the corner from there does a burger the size of your head. Or my head, at least. Meet you there in an hour?”

–––––

Sam:

Getting sidetracked by other monsters was a part of the job, sad to say but that was the truth. It’d taken dad so long to find Yellow Eyes because of everything else that kept getting in the damn way. The hell of it was that you just couldn’t bring yourself to stop because as a hunter you knew every kill you made saved someone else from going through the same heartache you went through. He wished he could tell Wynonna that it got better and that he revenge would eventually get done but depending on how long a list she had—well he wasn’t going to make a promise like that.

“I’ll meet you there,” he flashed her a smile and got out heading over to the truck he’d hijacked for checking out the town. Pulling out his phone he fired Dean a text to see where he was before making his way back to the motel to clean up.

With the vampires taken care of they could both relax a little…which for Dean would mean heading out to get laid and yeah so Sam was a little guilty of not sharing that the other hunter that had helped him was totally Dean’s type. It wasn’t his fault though that Dean had just assumed that when he’d said he’d bumped into another hunter he’d meant some bristly guy like them.

An hour later Sam found himself nice and cleaned up and waiting outside of the bar for Wynonna to show up and glad that Dean hadn’t decided to take an early night in and question him on where he was going out.

“Hey,” he greeted walking over to her truck to open the door for her.

–––––

Wynonna:

Wynonna showered, took an extra twenty seconds to shave her legs, just in case, and dressed in the last clean clothing she had. It was really time to slow down and do some laundry. Still, she thought, as she checked her reflection, at least nothing she owned was going to make her look like less than a badass monster fighting girl.

In a tank top, she was flashing the new tattoo. Still wasn’t sick of looking at the thing, he funny little nod to old Wyatt, one no one would ever recognize. She pulled a leather jacket over the top, and was out the door.

She’d driven the two blocks to the bar before she realized how ridiculous it was not to have walked. Didn’t matter, if she got stupid she could walk back, take the truck in the morning; she probably needed to move on, anyway, had a lead a day’s drive away. Didn’t sound like a particularly good lead, but she couldn’t really dismiss anything.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” she said, stepping out of the truck and spending a good half minute wrangling the lock. Lucky this part of the country was lax on their gun laws, because she never left the peacemaker anywhere. With it settled against her hip, she gave Sam a wonky smile, and followed towards the bar.

“Still getting a buzz from this,” she said. “Guess it wears off eventually, but not yet.” First instinct sent her to the bar, but she wanted to talk about things that might get them arrested or thrown in a loony bin and quite possibly tempt Sam into a game of footsies later on, so she pointed to a booth in the back.

“Couple of beers,” she said, knocking on the bar on the way past and indicating where they were headed. Wynonna was still too paranoid to sit with her back to the door, so she dropped into the far side. “Not a bad day’s work. Where’s this brother of yours?”

–––––

Sam:

There was a moment of hesitation just at the booth when Wynonna took the seat facing the door. In a normal situation he’d have Dean here and his brother always took that seat, years growing up on the road as the baby brother had always dictated that Dean take the lookout seat and handing it over to Wynonna took Sam a second to adjust to. He knew he could count on Dean and he knew he could trust his own instincts when surveying a room full of people…he didn’t know if he could do that with Wynonna but what choice was he left with? Sit beside her awkwardly or bring it up?

Realizing he was still standing a second too long he took the seat across from her and ran his hand back through his hair offering a shy awkward smile over his own goofiness.

“Yeah, not bad… um he’s out, he doesn’t exactly get on well with other hunters,” he shrugged his shoulders and forced himself to relax a bit. On the contrary Dean loved swapping stories with other hunters but he’d been in a ‘get laid’ mood and Sam hadn’t felt like watching him flirt with Wynonna all night long. Selfish? Maybe just a little but he knew Dean was hot and when it came to girls he always won.

“So were these your first vampires? I mean you’ve mentioned hunting, Revenants was it? You just seemed to handle yourself pretty well with them. I’ve seen a few newer hunters get a little freaked over new things,” he asked.

–––––

Wynonna:

Hmph. Didn’t trust other hunters. Yeah, Wynonna had already heard that more than once; and more than once it had been followed up by ‘but I might make an exception for you, missy’, with a good long look at Wynonna’s rack thrown in for free. Turned out, though, no matter how tough a hunter was, hitting them open-fisted across the ear made them fall over and sob for their mommas. She wasn’t looking to hurt anyone; they were all on the same side, after all.

Also, now she thought about it – this was definitely a sign she was raising her standards! Wowee, Waverley was gonna be proud.

“No bother,” she said. “Must be nice to have someone on the road with you, though. Missing Waverley lately.” She shrugged. Wav was safe. That was all that mattered.

“Do I look new to you?” Wynonna deadpanned. “Those weren’t my first vampires. I’ve been killin’ vampires since…” she thought back. “Tuesday last week. Damnedest thing. Shot one on the head on account of it had fangs that looked live a revenant’s. It went down, and then came up snarling like a possum. Cheeseburger,” she said. “No onions. With bacon.” Wynonna needed to refuel, but badly. “Thanks.” The waitress looked bored, barely met Wynonna’s eyes as she scribbled down the order, and it made Wynonna think of Waverley again, her quick mind working over things even when she was being worn down by assholes who stiffed her on tips and tried to grab her ass.

“So tell me, Sam Winchester, since it turns out I’ve got an errand in Tennessee and the woods are full of werewolves – silver bullet. True or false? I should be taking notes in case my tenth beer knocks it all out of my head.”

–––––

Sam:

If what she said was true then she picked up on things really fast. That was par for the course in this life though, you either picked up how to kill something fast or you got dead yourself. That’s just how it was, how it had to be. There wasn’t room for a learning curve here, not when you were a hunter. How many time had he and Dean learned that the hard way back when they’d been young and on hunts for the first time?

Countless.

Placing an order for a burger (extra cheese, no onions) and a side of fries Sam watched the waitress head off before letting his attention drift back to Wynonna.

“Yeah, silver will do it,” he said nodding. “Silver also takes care of skinwalkers—they’re these nasty things that can take the shape of any human they want on a whim. Iron for ghosts, salt works on them and demons. If it’s got a bit of substantial lore you it you can pretty much count on it being true actually. There are some exceptions but not many.”

“Vampire’s and demon’s the only thing you’ve run in to so far?” he asked.

–––––

Wynonna:

Wynonna watched Sam watch the waitress saunter off – it figured he’d like a woman with a little more curve to her. She forcibly prevented an eye roll and reached for her beer.

“Skinwalkers? Like shapeshifters? Gross,” she said, curling up her lip. “You know, I went to school with a girl called Mary-Beth, and if you think you could survive being called Mary-Beth your whole life, then picture this; her legacy was her momma’s beauty parlor.” And in all honesty it sounded like a fate worse than death, to Wynonna. But peaceful. So peaceful.

She pulled a coaster towards her and flipped it over. Pen, pen… she excused herself to the bar and came back ready to take a couple of notes. “Iron. Fireplace poker’d work great for that… salt?” A couple of bags of road salt in the back of the truck wouldn’t be the worst idea. And packing salt rounds wouldn’t be hard…

“So far,” she said. “Met a couple of hunters, they sure like to brag, for the most part…” Present company pretty much excluded, since he was actually asking her questions. And she didn’t bother mentioning that they’d all tried to get in her pants – or that at almost any other point in her life it would have worked. “I’m getting’ there’s more than one type of demon, though. I only know revenants. Glowing eyes, ‘don’t mess with me’ voices I just love cutting short with ol’ Peacemaker here. Once upon a time this job would have been a hell of a lot easier – they couldn’t leave Purgatory. Now, thanks to the skankiest witch you’ve ever hoped to meet, they can roam as they please. And I don’t even know quite how many there are.” She hovered over the coaster with the pen.

“Your daddy. Your brother. Did you find peace? When you got your revenge?”

Blunt. Maybe invasive. But she had to know.

–––––

Sam:

It took Sam a second (or ten) to realize what she was getting at with the whole Mary-Beth story but once he did he let out a soft laugh. Once upon a time in a life that was no longer his and Dean’s their legacy might just have been the garage John had opened with a friend back in Lawrence. They’d seen it once, back when they’d headed through town because his visions had lead them there. The place still seemed to be drawing in business. Sam wondered if he still would have been as unhappy with ‘the family business’ if it had been a garage instead of hunting. Something told him he would have been, cars had always been dad and Dean’s thing.

“Yeah, yeah we’re a bragging bunch,” he has the decency to look sheepish over it as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Sort of comes with the territory I think.”

Not that he ever had anything to prove to anyone these days, he was Sam Winchester and the Winchester name had always carried a certain respect to it thanks to John. Even now people knew the stuff he and Dean had done and most respected it—though to be fair most people didn’t know half the messes they cleaned up were usually of their own making in some way or another.

“Yeah I mean I guess there are,” he sighed thinking about her first question about demon types not wanting to think about the whole revenge and peace thing just yet. “There’s crossroad demons, you can tell them by their red eyes when the go all demon on you. Then there’s just lower class ones I guess…or maybe they’re just regular demons now…it’s hard to keep up with all the changing around in Hell. Anyways, they’ve got black eyes.”

Knights of Hell—Sam didn’t feel like touching on that anymore than he felt like touching on the general lack of peace he felt with his own revenge. It didn’t bring mom back, it didn’t bring Jess back. It felt good for two seconds, like it was done and over with, but then the need to get back to work settled deep inside his bones. There was always a job, always someone who needed their help, life just went on.

“No—not really,” he sighed and stared down at his own hands remembering that day so many years ago when Dean had finally put a bullet through ol yellow eyes. He hadn’t felt any different afterwards and he certainly hadn’t felt any different either when he’d killed Brady or when he’d finally locked Lucifer in the cage and was free of it. “It doesn’t change anything. It didn’t fix anything. Didn’t bring them back—revenge is always empty Wynonna.”

–––––

Wynonna:

“I didn’t mean you,” Wynonna said, with a little half smile. “I’m talking about the assholes wearing vampire fang necklaces and carryin’ a tape measure in their pants for convenience’ sake.” Sam, by contrast, seemed a little understated, despite his ridiculous size. Or maybe because of it.

It really didn’t do anything to promote an air of tranquility when Sam started rattling off lists of demons. Crossroads? Who’d be dumb enough to sell their soul? “Really, if you found a crossroads demon, that would mean the whole Heaven-slash-Hell bit was real, and then you’d be kind of a chump to go through with it,” she said. Not all that interested in saving people from their own stupidity. Besides, she had a real job to do.

She sort of wished she hadn’t asked. About revenge. She supposed she knew the answer.

“When I was a kid, a bunch of revenants broke into my family home,” she said. “Took my little sister. Killed my dad.” That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close as she could come. “Seven of them. First thing I did when I became the heir, when I got old Peacemaker here…” She tapped her hip. “I went after the seven. Wasn’t easy and it wasn’t fun but when the last one was down, I thought I’d feel something. But Willa was still gone. Dad was still gone. And there were still dozens of the things to put down.”

She sipped at her beer. Novel in itself – usually she’d chug it and call for another. The whole supernatural destiny thing was messing with her whole personality. She should have been sitting in Sam’s lap by now, suggesting they get back to the motel. Instead, she was making notes about killing things on the back of a bar coaster, and fantasizing about killing the next monster she found.

The thought prickled her eyes, and she blinked hard.

“So were the hell does a girl get silver bullets?” she asked. “Because last time I checked, K-Mart didn’t stock ’em.”

–––––

Sam:

There was so much Sam wanted to tell her, so many opinions he wanted to give. He knew crossroads were some of the worst deals but he also knew that sometimes people were tricked in to making them and sometimes people did it thinking it was for the good of someone else. He wanted to tell her that and explain some of the people he and Dean had come across in their years of doing this. He wanted to assure he that sometimes things were a gray area and you had to make the call in the heat of the moment and that sometimes (most times) it wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t just the crossroads either but Heaven and Hell.

Those were topics Sam loved to talk about, mostly because Hell brought of questions and memories of Lucifer that he’d rather keep locked down inside of himself. Still she deserved to know what he did about it all, even if it meant having to shatter that part of her world.

Instead of saying anything he listened to her talk about revenge for a moment and nodded. He knew that feeling, he was just sorry she had to feel it too. He wondered if it would have been different for him and Dean if killing yellow eyes had been the end of it. If there hadn’t been Hell and the apocalypse and everything else they’d dealt with…the same for Wynonna. If there weren’t more demons for her to hunt would it have felt different?

“You know after we killed Yellow Eyes, the one that killed our mom there was just more and more, it’s like it never stopped coming at us,” he said softly before taking a sip of his own beer glad for it. He wasn’t usually this open about this stuff and he needed to shut his mouth.

Clearing his throat he leaned back in his seat.

“I can give you some names,” he said nodding. “Some contacts of traders and what not. They’re all good people, most own little side shops or bars. They’ll get you what you need in the way of ammo. You know how to do fake IDs and badges? They come in handy too.”

–––––

Wynonna:

“Sam, I think you really need to know that you have one of the most expressive faces I’ve ever seen,” Wynonna said, crossing her arms in front of her. “I have no idea what you were just thinkin’, but you did a lot of it. Some of it has to have been terrible, because for a second there you looked so sad I thought someone shot your dog.”

And it wasn’t her business, but that didn’t make her any less curious. She sighed.

“I knew killing the Seven wouldn’t be the end of it, but I think… I thought… that killin’ the rest of the revenants would be. And now I’ve been on the road a few weeks, and apparently I’m a monster magnet, and I can already see it’s never gonna stop. There’s always gonna be more to hunt.”

She paused a moment as the food was delivered, and gave the waitress a look that said if she was planning to hit on any of her customers tonight she should really look elsewhere. And then a sweet smile. “Thanks for that.”

She picked at a couple of fries.

“Names are good. Numbers are good. I’m a fan of both. Bullets, explosives, I like ’em all.” But fake IDs and badges? “And that might be a good idea. Kind of annoying that I have a real badge, and no one has a clue what it’s for,” she said, fishing it out of her pocket. “Plus if anyone checks up on me I’ll probably have the feds all over my ass like I’m a damn thanksgiving chicken. You know, a few months ago, I was lying on a beach in Greece?” She shook her head. “I thought I was out. I thought I’d escaped the family curse and I was just going to have a nice, normal life. Talk to me about fake IDs some more. Meow.”

–––––

Sam:

“Sorry,” he mumbled and ducked his head as the food was brought out. He knew he was expressive, it was something in his eyes or something, he’d been told that before and just never bothered to fix it since he didn’t see it as a flaw. Hell half the time it was the only way to get Dean to really talk to him, didn’t mean he was going to tell Wynonna what had been on his mind.

“Yeah no, I don’t think you ever get out,” he said shaking his head. “I thought I had too, back when I left the life for a bit to start collage. I wanted to be a lawyer, had a full ride for pre-law at Stanford with an interview lined up for a full ride for actual law school. Then I got pulled back in and it’s been—it’s been non-stop for the last eleven years.”

That still seemed like a life time ago and was sometimes hard to wrap his mind around even now.

“Ok well badges are great for keeping local law from asking too many questions,” he said reaching out to take her badge giving a look over before handing it back. “Dean and I are pretty good at making them, I’ll set you up with a whole set. You’ll have to judge each situation for what you think will be best, you know CDC, FBI or whatever.”

–––––

Wynonna:

Still at. Even all tough and mumbly there was something kinda sweet under it all. Which Wynonna had to stop wondering about.

“School, huh? Yeah, I… that was never really my… I mean, I got my GED.” She thought hard for a moment. It was possible she’d never seen a certificate. “I missed too much school, between juvie and…” She wasn’t going to say the psych ward. “And then I didn’t quite pass, on account of… I didn’t go much.”

Way to sound like a complete dunce, Wynonna Earp. Well done. Wynonna never blushed, but she felt a rush of embarrassment.

“Waverly, though – she did a four-year degree by correspondence, on the occult and ancient languages, just to find a way to break the family curse. Smart girl.”

Wynonna knew she wasn’t dumb. Studying held about as much appeal as electro-shock therapy had, but she wasn’t dumb. It was just hard to care much, hard to summon up the energy to give a shit when she knew everyone who looked at her just saw the crazy girl who killed her own father.

Anyway. Back to the present. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Well, Sam, that sounds great, but all I know about the FBI is what I learned from movies. Isn’t just punching your way into something and sort of… stabbing your way back out more… practical? Wait, no, CDC’s the one they call after an outbreak monkey shows up in the backyard.” She paused. “Actually, that could be helpful.”

–––––

Sam:

“I thought that too,” he grinned when she mentioned it being easier just to fight her way in to a place. “When I got back from Stanford to hunting again and Dean had all these fake badges and stuff I was pissed. I don’t know, I had their weird respect the badge kind of thing going on or something but you know they don’t get it, half the time they’re already in too deep and don’t know how to work the case until we come along.”

Dean pulling fake badges saved them in a lot of cases too over the years.

“Besides, if you don’t know what you’re hunting and need information you can’t fight your way in to a morgue, that would be—” The word barbaric was on the tip of his tongue but he stopped short realizing how much he sounded like a typical Men of Letter’s, Dean would have had a good laugh over that. “It’s just not feasible or safe. Trust me, most of the time local cops won’t even question it so long as you walk in flash a badge and look like you know what you’re doing. If anyone ever gives you shit just tell them you’re calling your supervisor and put them on the phone with me, you’ll be fine.”

This stuff would come in handy for her one day.

“Look just trust me ok,” he grinned.

–––––

Wynonna:

Wynonna raised her eyebrows slowly, and leaned across the table. “Was all of this a ruse? So we could swap numbers?” She laughed to herself, nose wrinkling, and pushed her phone across the table. “Go ahead, Special Agent in Charge Sam Winchester. Better make me sound terrifying and badass if someone rings you.” And for the record, she didn’t want to do a lot of fighting her way into morgues. Or out of them, for that matter. Morgues gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Trust me. Weird thing was; Wynonna did trust him. Considering the only person Wynonna trusted completely was Waverley – Doc and Dolls were two days out of three, at best – this was a strange situation to be in. And probably a bad move. Still. She didn’t need to tell him that, and didn’t plan to.

“Thanks for this. Truth is my real name isn’t gonna open a lot of doors, except to jail. And I’d rather not go back, if I can avoid it. I bet there’s more than a handful of warrants out on you and your brother. Seems it’s impossible to hunt without breaking the law.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse that people don’t know… I mean. The people back home, they were blissfully ignorant until a few months ago; now, they’re just mad as hell and blaming me for the fact that the town is overrun with undead assholes.”

She shrugged, and wiped condensation off the side of her glass, before reaching for the key around her neck like it was a talisman. It was getting warm; she took off her jacket and tossed it aside, pushing her sleeves up, revealing more than a handful of scars and the tattoo she’d gotten as soon as she was out of juvie, of a symbol that used to show up on Wyatt’s stationery.

Food. She’d been ravenous; but her appetite seemed to have drained away, a bit. Still, she took the burger in both hands, determined to get through it.

“So where to next?”

–––––

Sam:

Taking her phone Sam grinned at her comment and started to put in his number for her, a part of him hoping that she would call or text just for the hell of it and not only when she needed something. There was something about her that he was really enjoying being around.

“There,” he pushed it back to her and nodded. “Yeah, yeah we might have a handful of warrants out for us. We were the focus of a large man hunt for a while, some of the FBI’s most wanted and all that. Uh, it’s a long story. Ended up getting the poor guy killed in the end, I still feel bad for that. Then a few years later there was this thing with some leviathans, they stole our faces and went on a murder spree—basically if you hear anything about Sam and Dean Winchester that’s not hunting related do me a favor and don’t believe it, chances are it wasn’t really us.”

Having to take on that warning to meeting people was more than a little ridiculous but necessary after this many years in the game. Watching her take her jacket off he frowned when he saw the marking on her wrist, eyebrow arching in interest as he took a bit of his burger.

Swallowing he gestured to her arm.

“That marking, the tattoo on your arm…why’d you get that?” It wasn’t the classiest way to ask but his heart was racing at seeing the men of letters symbol on Wynonna, his brain working overtime to try to make a connection and understand.

–––––

Wynonna:

Wynonna stared at Sam for a good long while, and then snorted. “Alright, I’ll try to keep that in mind,” she said, still snickering. “FBI’s most wanted. I feel vicariously famous.” Leviathans. “Admittedly it’s been a long time since I so much as set foot in a church, but I’m pretty sure those were sea monsters. Reckon they’d stand out in plaid. And I don’t think they could pull off your hair.” She waved it off; most of what she thought she knew about everything, with the exception of her very good friends the revenants, had been wrong so far, so why not leviathans?

She glanced at the tattoo again, and shrugged. “No, it’s definitely a tattoo. Fading because I got it done cheap and nasty and I’m probably lucky I didn’t pick up an infection and lose my arm, but it’s a tattoo. I should get it touched up.”

She put her arm across the table so he could get a better look. If she flexed her fingers, she’d touch his stomach.

“My great great grand-daddy, Wyatt Earp – I’ll say it again, greatest lawman this country’s ever seen… by his own reckoning, anyway – once the problem with the revenants started up he started putting out feelers to people who might know a thing or two about the supernatural. Most of them ignored him, but he struck up with this group called the Men of Letters.” She nodded at the tattoo. “That’s the Aquarian star. Inside the double circle like that it’s their symbol. It never went far.” She pulled her arm back, and crossed both on the table. “Bunch of blowhards. My sister thinks they either died or disbanded in the fifties. Why, y’seen it somewhere before?”

–––––

Sam:

Blowhards, disbanded in the fifties, dead—Sam’s mind was reeling.

It had been one thing when he’d met Eileen and she’d ended up being a legacy too but for Wynonna to be one (or at the very least know about the MOL) was crazy. It was the sort of thing he wouldn’t have even guessed but it made sense.

“Um yeah, yeah I’ve seen it associated with the Men of Letters actually,” he said shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean I know it’s insane and you’re not going to believe it but I am a Men of Letters, me and Dean both. We’re Legacies, our Granddad was a part of them.”

It was just the three of them but now Wynonna could be as well and it was awesome.

“Did he join them? I mean I’ll probably have to look through our records and find out but anything you know could help me find the information. Do you know what year he got in contact with them?” he asked more than a little excited over the whole idea of this all.

–––––

Wynonna:

This was the sort of thing which could generally send Wynonna off to the bathroom, climbing out a window and running for the next week. She turned her wrist so she could see the tattoo again; she hadn’t even really understood, when she’d gotten it, what all of this really meant, not really. It was like a family adventure, despite the inevitable fact of her father’s death, and (presumably) Willa’s.

She tried to calculate the odds of Sam having been sent to fish her out of the world, get her comfortable, and then… what?

Despite general distrust, she liked Sam, even, maybe, trusted him. So where did that leave her?

“Your grandad?” She did the math. Obviously, Wyatt was older. It had never occurred to her, though, that they might have survived. The group. Or that it might have any relevance to her, to Wav.

It had been so long since she’d confided in anyone. She nodded, mostly to herself.

“He joined. I don’t remember the whole story. They were small potatoes, here, bigger in Europe; Wav knows more than I do. Wyatt’s journal was patchy, but I don’t think they liked him, much. Someone called him a barbarian. Which…” She shrugged; if he was a barbarian, she was no better, solving most of her problems with Peacemaker and the rest with alcohol. “I don’t know the dates.” How embarrassing. She needed to leave the braining to Waverley. “But he died in June ’29 and they were already not on great terms.” She narrowed her eyes. “What does this mean? The hell is a legacy?”

–––––

Sam:

Sam’s mind was still reeling and trying to catch up with everything, sort out dates and important information. The Bunker wasn’t finished until 35 so he wasn’t shocked that he didn’t recognize Wyatt’s name. Most of their records didn’t pick up until after the completion. Sam figured everything before then was handled by the main branch overseas.

“Um Legacy, it means out Grandfather was a part of them and our dad was supposed to be too and then us. We were raised as hunters though, some stuff happened back in the day and Henry Winchester, out grandpa, he was killed so dad never knew about the Men of Letter’s. We only found out within the past three years or so. They were building a Bunker, it wasn’t complete until ’35 though so I doubt I have records on your family but whatever your sister knows I’ll be happy to compile into a file.”

Maybe he was a little too enthusiastic about this but the Men of Letter’s could still be something today. They could pull together hunters like himself, Dean, Eileen and now Wynonna and her sister. They could be a positive force for hunters and then maybe so many of them wouldn’t have to die because they’d have the right weapons and information.

“Look I know this is crazy but I’m just—I didn’t think I’d find anyone else who knew about the Men of Letter’s, it’s pretty exciting,” he said grinning.”

–––––

Wynonna:

It sounded too good to be true, but then, maybe she had earned a break. Files… that sounded like it had serious potential. Wynonna felt her heart begin to race, and she leaned in.

“We need to break this curse. We need to find something that will send these bastards back to hell where they belong and never let them come back. Because I’m sure as shit not planning to have kids and my sister…” she thought a moment. “Well, if she ever becomes a mom…” For one, somehow Wynonna was pretty sure there would never be a blood heir. But mostly… “I don’t want anyone else to have to deal with this. She’s a genius. If you’ve got books, files, if there’s something that might help us find a solution, I need to see it, Sam.”

Maybe this was fate. Maybe the reason she hadn’t climbed on Sam’s lap was because there was something more important to do.

She took a breath.

“So, if Wyatt was a Man of Letters, and so was your grand-daddy, and you’re a legacy, then yeah, guess I am, too. Sam. I need to see this place. Where is it?”

She sounded like a stalker.

“I gotta admit, yeah, I’m excited too. Maybe not for exactly the same reasons, but… well, Sam Winchester, I’m very glad we met.” Maybe she’d climb in his lap next time. Those arms. She wished Waverly was there to admire her restraint. She smiled. “About time something good happened to me.”

She figured he could take it however he liked.

–––––

Sam:

Keeping the Bunker to themselves had never been an option, not after they’re started to find other people with the potential of being Legacies. It might be their home but if there was something he could do that would help Wynonna and her sister end this course, who were him and Dean to withhold that? They’d been in this sort of position before, needing information and not having access to it. He would help the best he could and he would get Dean on bored with it too.

“It’s in Lebanon,” he answered, not even hesitating or concerned about telling her. “It’s pretty hard to find but yeah, when you get there just call or I mean—you could come with now. I can call Dean and tell him we’ve gotta head home in the morning. It’s whatever you want but I’m sure we have something there that could help.”

Just because he hadn’t read up on these things yet didn’t mean that they didn’t have info stashed away somewhere on them.

“It’s out home so you’ll have to deal with Dean and I being there but there’s plenty of space for you and your sister to set up home base for a bit until we comb through everything, I don’t see it being an issue,” he explained, enthusiastic over getting to have her around for a while longer in his life.

–––––

Wynonna:

“Lebanon. Kansas? Near the… middle.” There was a spot near there; somewhere in dimmest memory Wynonna had filed away a moment, a road trip, her and some guy, drunk, leaning against the marker for the center of the forty-eight states, someone else taking a photo.

Not the time to think about it.

“Now sounds good to me,” she said. They were both on their first beers. Not drunk, which, hi, novelty. “I’m really not married to the motel room. There are shades of green which just don’t work on me, and that décor managed to use them all.”

This was definitely going to cut down on the likelihood of Wynonna ending up in Sam’s lap. Two cars. She couldn’t even talk him into the back seat. Couldn’t have planned it better (… though she really, really wanted to talk him into the back seat. That Impala. Nice).

Wynonna grabbed her wallet to count out a little cash, and the phone rang.

“There’s the genius now,” she said. An hour ago, Wynonna had been exhausted. Now she was energized. “Hey, sis,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Wynonna literally felt the blood drain from her face, listening to what had been happening. She rested her head on her hand, elbow on the table.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “Two days at the most. I’m hitting the road now. I’m sorry.”

All she could really say.

“Or maybe not now,” she said, to Sam. “Someone came after Wav. I’m sorry, Sam, I gotta go. I shoulda known she wasn’t gonna be safe on her own…” She rubbed her forehead.

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

Wynonna scooted out of the booth, grabbing her things, knees objecting to the lightness in her head. She had just past the edge of the booth when she stopped, and turned, and came back again.

On impulse, she reached out, caught Sam’s jaw in her hand, and kissed him. Just a peck. A promise, she supposed.

“I’ll call you,” she said again. And she was gone.

~ complete ~