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lillotte17 · 3 years

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Bird Nest

Continuation of my post-canon drabble things!! Who is ready for some Emotional Whiplash?!

Domesticity is not something that Zhou Zishu has much experience with.

Even before becoming the Four Seasons’ Manor Lord and the Leader of the Window of Heaven, his family had always kept servants. He has never been like Jing BeiYuan, who seems to like nothing more than luxuriating amidst finery, but he has never had to concern himself with the everyday tasks of cooking and cleaning and doing laundry, either. He knows how to look after himself well enough, when he has to, but his standards of ‘well enough’ are not especially high. He was always content to make do with the things on hand, and wait for his fortunes to shift towards something better. Or to simply drown himself in wine until the state of his surroundings and his body no longer mattered.

It has never bothered him before, but in these last few days spent in the cold dusty ruin of the World’s Armory with Lao Wen, he is beginning to notice the gaping holes of his inadequacies.

He does not know how to take care of someone.

He knows how to protect someone, how to fight off enemies and hide from pursuit and outmaneuver any opposition. He knows how to treat a simple wound or a fever when someone is suffering. He knows how to care about someone, but after words of affirmation and patience and physical intimacy, he is at something of a loss.

When they had been staying at the Four Seasons Manor with Chengling, he could wave off the fact that he was not doing most of the mundane work of keeping them all fed and healthy because he had a disciple to train and poison burning through his veins, and later, an injured shoulder to contend with. He had focused more on their defenses, and taking stock of their food and medical stores. Making sure that the secrets of the Manor had remained hidden and safe, so that Chengling could inherit them once he was ready.

But now the Manor is gone, and there is only the mountain and the armory and Lao Wen, and Zhou Zishu…is not entirely sure what to do with himself.

The first three or four days had been lost to fear and grief, clinging to Wen Kexing’s limp body and pouring as much of his internal force into him as he could before slumping over in exhaustion. Once he had come back to him from the brink of death, the two days following had been surrendered to hands and mouths and ravenous devotions. They had spent most of their time in various stages of undress, lounging about on the random assortments of tattered mats and blankets they had made into their bed, neither one willing to venture far from the other’s line of sight.

The fifth or sixth day finally had Lao Wen declaring that he felt grimy past the point of endurance, and sent him puttering about the maze of bookshelves and farming equipment in search of the tools to shape the armory into a livable space. Rong Xuan and his friends had come here to train, so there were still some useful things here and there. A few chipped bowls and a dusty teapot. A moldering wash basin that is not yet beyond salvation and a small stew pot with a rusting handle. He had swept and bustled and rearranged things in nearly a frenzy, and Zhou Zishu had not done much more than keep him company and carry and few things when he was bidden.

It had taken the better part of the day, but now they have a dining area, a cozy nook in a well-lit corner for reading and writing, and even a few battered screens set up for privacy while bathing or changing clothes, if they feel so inclined. It nearly feels like a home, even if everything they have is in some state of disrepair. They heat enough water to wash themselves, tend to their outer robes as best they can, and sit down to their first meal of ice and snow in nothing but blankets. It is not especially filling, but then again, their bodies do not seem to feel hunger as they did before, either.

Wen Kexing seems buoyant with his successes, his damp snowy hair glistening in the soft light of their little table lamp.

“How long do you suppose it will take the others to come dig us out?” he asks.

“It is hard to say just how bad the avalanche was from in here,” Zishu hums thoughtfully, “Even if they find the markers you left and follow you here, I am afraid it will take a few weeks at the very least. Transporting large amounts of men and equipment through the mountains is slow going even in good weather.”

He smirks at him.

“Why? Are you sick of me already?”

“Impossible,” Wen Kexing laughs with a dismissive wave of his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “It was more of a practical concern. If we are trapped in here for months, we might survive it well enough, but there is no telling what state we will be in without access to any sort of grooming tools. The old monster did not exactly tell me what to expect if the technique succeeded. Will our hair keep growing? What about our fingernails? Are we going to look like horrible mountain beasts by the time they finally come for us? Your poor dumb disciple will start crying in fear again.”

“Chengling will cry when he sees us no matter what we look like,” Zhou Zishu sighs, exasperated yet fond. “But I would assume that since our bodies are no longer using food to fuel themselves in the typical sense, that our metabolisms have slowed, or possibly even stopped. Even if our hair and nails keep growing, it will likely be some time before we become terrifying.”

“Hm,” Lao Wen nods in acceptance, “What will we do about keeping clean, though? Luckily, we do not have to concern ourselves too much with dirty dishes, but what about our clothes? What about ourselves? Water can only do so much on its own.”

“I did not expect you to be this squeamish about a little dirt,” Zishu chuckles.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing says flatly, “It is hardly going to be ‘a little dirt’ after several weeks. You should know by now that to touch and be touched by you is one of my life’s dearest delights, but if you truly intend to forego soap and cleanliness for an entire month or more, I am not sharing a bed with you. For sleeping, or anything else.”

Zhou Zishu arches a brow at him in disbelief.

“Would you care to know how long it had been since I had a bath when we first met?”

“Just because I could tell you were beautiful beneath all of that filth does not mean I was willing to bed you before you got a chance to wash yourself,” Lao Wen huffs, “I do have standards.”

Zishu makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but his expression is still doubtful.

“Ah well,” Wen Kexing sighs, deciding to sidestep the obvious but unspoken opinion about what his standards are, or lack thereof, “There must be something in here we can use. Maybe there are stores of rice in with the grain and farming supplies. I doubt it would be safe to eat, but if we cook it, the water leftover might still be good for washing… And Rong Xuan was married. Perhaps his wife left something behind.”

“Perhaps you mother did.”

Lao Wen tenses in reflexive discomfort, as he still does at any mention of his past, but then the moment passes and he smiles.

“I doubt my parents would have come here very often,” he tells him softly. “They supported the idea of the armory, but neither of them were that invested in becoming martial masters themselves. They wanted to heal people. But…it would be nice, if we found something of them here. If they left something behind that we could use to make a life together.”

“You are good at this,” Zhou Zishu compliments him sincerely, gesturing to the living space they have already arranged, “I never would have thought this place could feel even half this hospitable. You did a good job with our manor too, before it was destroyed. Chengling barely knows how to boil water, so I know you must have helped him with more than you claimed. The Valley Master is truly a man of many hidden talents.”

“I was only the leader of the ghosts for eight years,” Wen Kexing reminds him, bitterness seeping into his smile, “Even if the old chief favored me for my ruthlessness, I was still more of a servant or a slave than a ward. If I am good at building a life from ruins now, it is because I was never given an option to do otherwise.”

“Lao Wen, I-”

He holds up a hand to halt his apology.

“You do not have to be sorry,” he says, “Not for what happened, and not for making me talk about it either. We have eternity to share together, so I imagine all of our old wounds will eventually be dragged out into the sunlight at some point. It is not the easiest thing to discuss, but…I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything.”

Zhou Zishu puts his hand over his on the tabletop, squeezing his fingers in reassurance.

“There is no rush,” he reminds him, “As you said; we have time. I will be here, and I will listen when you are ready.”

He chuckles softly.

“Of course, those things are easier to talk about while enjoying a jar of wine together, like we used to,” Zishu sighs wistfully, “Of all the things we are going to give up for this life, that might be the most difficult for me to part with.”

“But Ah Xu, we brought the sweetest wine with us!” Wen Kexing grins, leaning towards him over the table.

“…You mean in your flask?” Zhou Zishu blinks at him frowningly, “We cannot drink it anymore, even if you brought some.”

“I have been drinking this wine every day,” Lao Wen insists, eyes curving upwards as his smile deepens, mischievous and extremely self-satisfied. “This is a taste I would not sacrifice for anything.”

Zishu’s brows furrow in consternation, sensing a ruse, but not certain what the endgame could be yet.

“…Do you not want to know where the wine is?” Wen Kexing asks sweetly.

“If I ask, will it end this silly game any faster?”

“Hm, perhaps. That is entirely up to you.”

“…Where is it?” Zhou Zishu huffs out with a grumble, looking terribly put-upon.

“Here!” Lao Wen exclaims happily, placing one long finger directly against Zishu’s lips.

Zhou Zishu catches his hand on instinct, fighting a losing battle with the urge to roll his eyes.

“You are utterly preposterous.” He informs him evenly.

“I am also hopelessly charming and completely inescapable,” Wen Kexing agrees without the slightest hint of shame. He moves his finger to lightly trace one corner of Zhou Zishu’s mouth. “You, on the other hand, are both delicious and intoxicating. If were not trapped inside, I would whisk you out beneath the moonlight and drink you in until both of us were dizzy with sensation.”

“Do these types of brazen declarations actually work on people?” Zishu wonders.

“They worked on you,” Wen Kexing points out with a shrug, still smiling like a fool.

Zhou Zishu lets out long-suffering sigh, seemingly defeated, but he meets Lao Wen’s gaze without hesitation. A few heartbeats pass, and he turns his head slightly, just enough to brush the barest whisper of a kiss across the tip of the finger still hovering near his cheek. He smiles at the surprised silence that follows, pulling the hand in his grip closer to him, deciding to press a kiss into its palm as well.

Wen Kexing’s eyes on him are molten.

Zhou Zishu laughs.

“Well, I think we both know what works on you.”

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing exhales his name with a stuttering breath, a thread of supplication weaving through his voice.

Zishu’s expression softens exponentially.

“Alright.”

Zhou Zishu wakes up the next morning with a mild soreness that is becoming typical. His freshly rinsed clothes from the day before are folded neatly near the bed, along with their battered little washbasin and a damp handkerchief so he can wipe himself down before dressing. Wen Kexing is sitting at the narrow table in their reading nook, the sun sifting in through the high windows painting him with sweeps of warm golden light. His hair is still unbound, softening the angles of his face as he pours over the open book in front of him. A comb is loosely clasped within his left hand, seemingly forgotten.

Zishu takes the time to admire the scene in silence. He thinks again about what it means to take care of someone. To make a life from the ground up with nothing but your bare hands and your sincerity. To build a home within the walls of someone else’s heart.

He is still not certain he knows how to go about it, but no one said that the first step had to be the largest one.

It takes him a few minutes to quietly sweep away the traces of sweat and other things from the night before and pull his robe on. He is certain that Wen Kexing must have noticed, but he seems to be engrossed with his reading. Without waiting for acknowledgment or invitation, he pads across the room to pluck the wooden comb from Lao Wen’s elegant fingers.

“You won’t be able to read properly with your hair falling in your eyes like that.” He says it more brusquely than he meant to. His mouth twitches downward briefly in discontentment. That was not how he wanted to begin this.

For his own part, Wen Kexing simply turns his head slightly to blink up at him, a mix of warmth and mild surprise on his face.

“Are you offering to help me look pretty, Ah Xu?”

“You hardly need my help with that.”

Lao Wen shifts in his seat a little, as though he is so pleased with the compliment that he cannot quite hold it in.

“By all means,” he tells him, trying and failing to hold back a wide curling smile, “If you want to touch me anywhere, I would be that last person to stop you.”

Zhou Zihsu laughs.

“This I already know,” he says, leaning over to poke at one of the round mouth-shaped bruises along the side of Lao Wen’s throat.

Wen Kexing hisses and pulls a face as Zishu moves to sit behind him.

“And here I thought you were going to be tender with me,” he quips lightly.

Zhou Zishu stills for a moment, a portion of Lao Wen’s silvery hair already gathered in his left hand. He fiddles with the comb and stares and the shoulders of the man in front of him. His expression slides back towards uncertainty.

“I am.” He says finally. Wen Kexing reaches back and pats his knee. He can tell that he is smiling by the tilt of his head, and somehow it seems to ease the tension back out of his shoulders.

Without another word between them, he beings carefully running the comb through Lao Wen’s hair. He does his best to be gentle, but there are a few places with some especially stubborn tangles. Wen Kexing makes a low pained sound as he tries to pull the teeth of the comb through them, and Zhou Zishu pauses once again.

“Have you ever combed someone else’s hair before?” Wen Kexing wonders.

“…No,” Zhou Zishu confesses.

“Not even your shidi’s?” Wen Kexing presses, sounding surprised, “Didn’t you raise him once our master passed? Qin Jiuxiao was still too young to look after himself at the time, was he not?”

“We had servants at the Four Seasons Manor,” Zishu reminds him, “I was the new leader of a struggling sect. I was not going to spend time doing something that could easily be allocated to a maid. I helped him with his studies and I trained him in martial arts. He came to me with his troubles, but the more mundane chores of childrearing were handled by other people. I had too many other things to look after to go out of my way to make sure he was groomed every morning.”

“It was not a condemnation,” Wen Kexing says softly.

“I know.” He sighs.

“Do you wish you could have done more for him, now?”

“I…don’t know,” Zhou Zishu admits, “I don’t know if there was any more I could have done for him even if I wanted to. I was only sixteen when I became responsible for him. I barely knew how to run our sect, let alone how to be someone’s father figure. As his older brother, it was my job to keep him out of trouble, so that is what I tried to do. He had a good heart. A pure heart -like Chengling- and he was just as silly. I tried to make sure he never got his hands dirty the way I had to. We used to dream of the day the Window of Heaven would no longer be needed, and we would wander the jianghu together. Maybe, if that had happened, we might have had the chance for more moments like this.”

His hand trembles slightly and he tugs the comb harder than intended.

“Ai,” Wen Kexing winces, “Start closer to the bottom. It will be easier to get rid of the knots higher up once the ends are free of tangles.”

“Mn,” he acknowledges. “Sorry.”

He glances down at the comb in his hand. A crisp bouquet of carved wooden flowers in a dark cherry lacquer. Almost violet. He runs his thumb over it thoughtfully.

“Did you find this in the armory?” he asks, “It’s a woman’s comb, isn’t it?”

“Ah, no, I brought it with me,” Lao Wen says. His tone is casual, but almost abnormally so. Zishu squints down at the comb again to see if there is anything peculiar about it. But it just looks like a comb.

“Did it belong to your mother?” Zhou Zishu hazards a guess. “I thought the only thing you managed to take with you when the ghosts came was the hairpin.”

“…It belongs to Ah Xiang.”

Oh.

“When she was little, I would help her get dressed and do her hair up in the ugliest little buns you ever saw,” Wen Kexing continues in something of a daze, “I am sure I pulled her hair so many times, but she never complained. She was too scared I would throw her out. When she got a bit older, she would scold me when her braids were sloppy, but she wouldn’t let any of the girls from the department of the unfaithful do them, either. She only wanted me, and to this day I don’t know why.”

By this time Zhou Zishu has managed to tie back a portion of Lao Wen’s hair so it is no longer falling in his eyes. He thinks about attempting the usual little twist he wears it in, but it is already a bit crooked as it is and he suspects that would be beyond his abilities. He smooths the hair back from his forehead one last time, gently pulling a few strands loose at the sides to frame his face the way he likes it.

“She loved you.” He tells him quietly.

“I loved her, too.”

“I know.” He squeezes his shoulder.

“I found the comb in with my things when I woke up after…after…” Wen Kexing’s breathing becomes erratic, and Zhou Zishu wraps him up in his arms, pulling him back against his chest. Kexing refuses to meet his eyes, but he eventually seems to calm himself, reaching up and holding onto Zishu’s wrists for dear life. “I don’t know if there was some sort of mix up in the rush to leave Ghost Valley, or if Ah Xiang left it for me on purpose. Maybe she thought it would give her an excuse to come back, if she wanted. Maybe she just wanted me to remember all those early mornings when I used to do her hair for her. Or maybe… Maybe she thought I would forget her if she didn’t leave something behind.”

“She knew that she was going to miss you,” Zhou Zishu says, pressing a kiss into the crown of his head, “She wanted to make sure that you would miss her, too.”

A child takes after their parent, after all.

“I…was not as nice to her as I could have been,” Wen Kexing says thickly, “At first, it was because it was too dangerous. If the other ghosts knew she was precious to me, they would go after her as soon as it looked like I might be any sort of threat to them. I had to keep her at a distance to keep her safe. But later… Later on, I think I just forgot how to be kind to someone. And so, I was always making her worried that I would throw her away…”

“She knew,” Zhou Zishu soothes, “She knew your intentions. Who else could know you better?”

“You know me better,” Lao Wen sighs. “She was a bit too silly to understand me completely. Her heart was better than mine. She deserved better than me.”

“You raised her well.”

“Not well enough.”

They sit together in silence for a while, each lost in the memories of the children they could not save. There is grief, but there is understanding, too. The wordless empathy of touch. Zhou Zishu holds Wen Kexing in his arms and sees the ways their hurts fit together in perfect likeness. How just to know someone who knows him, someone with whom he freely shares his words and his space and his time without resentment or restraint, has allowed them both to become more of the people they had always wanted to be. And that…is a kind of caring, too.

Perhaps the most important kind.

The rest will come later.

“Lao Wen, I am afraid if you don’t get up, your hair will need combing again,” Zhou Zishu says after a long time has passed. He makes no move to relinquish his embrace, however.

“I’m not getting up,” Wen Kexing says stubbornly, “You can just comb my hair again for me later.”

“Oh?” Zhou Zishu laughs softly, “I thought I wasn’t very good at it.”

“You are not,” Lao Wen tells him bluntly, “But I’m spoiled now. You have to brush my hair for me every day.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Zhou Zishu smiles, and holds him that much tighter.

“Alright.”

#word of honor #wenzhou #zhou zishu #wen kexing #fic #word of honor spoilers #NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN #this is a mess i don't know what happened lmao

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ambistep · 4 years

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Mutual Aid, pt 2

Mina Oh joins the Rangers on a mission, just like old times. The Phalanx 1A7 is having a tough first day. The Rat King does a very good job and can have a little treat.

~5.8k words. Canon typical violence, guns, excessive length ;_;

Part 1

She was right. This is a bad idea.

Look at them. All four of them, standing at the edge of the observatory’s parking lot, looking down over the city, bathed in the orange-gold light of the setting sun.. Like something from a movie - real big hero shot. Knowing each of them, you can’t imagine it was intentional, but some part of you still wants to roll your eyes.

Ortega’s talking to someone from the LDPD - and past the four Rangers, down the hill and into the city, you can see the marks of disaster. Periodic buzzing of helicopters, plumes of black blossoming on the horizon, the constant sound of sirens in the distance. It does feel a lot like last time.

But these are different Rangers. As you approach, the aura of majesty fades, the illusion of your memory is peeled back. You can hear the tail end of the marshal’s briefing as you close in.

“...liaison at the Pentagon said they weren’t prepared to officially comment.” Chen looks sour - being stonewalled by bureaucracy would do that to a person. There’s no sign he’s still nursing that broken arm, and trust that you are looking for it - but there wouldn’t be, not under his heavy armor.

“Typical,” Julia’s got her arms crossed in disbelief, “and how about unofficially?”

“Unofficially. ‘Phalanx,’ a prototype multiped drone tank walked off the test range in El Toro Air Base this morning. More than that…” Chen’s distaste is tangible. “He said he’d work on it but the response’ll be-”

“-predictably late.” The sound of your voice through the vocal distorter catches even you off-guard. “Does it get easier with the years, Marshal, being lied to by your masters?”

You have to get your digs in, play the part of Clarity - or else you might start thinking about Spoon, and evenings spent sitting in silence in the Rangers’ lounge, taking comfort in simply being present. Besides, Chen needs to hear these things Mina couldn’t say - his loyalty to that system is going to bury him sooner rather than later. Assuming I don’t end up burying him first. A glum admission.

The Rangers’ reactions are worth the dramatic approach - Herald settles back into a defensive posture, fixing a frown on his face that, secretly, you think looks just a little bit pouty. Chen is resigned, barely moves - already determined you weren’t here for a fight. Argent, bless her, makes a poor show of pretending to be shocked. But sparks spit and arc along the surface of Julia’s mods, a snarl on her face as she all but prepares to lunge for you.

“More of your games?” She crosses the distance and makes a grab for your arm - easily sidestepped.

“I don’t think you have the time to play with me, Charge, not like that.” That anger and strain on her face saps the fun out of the usual back and forth. Julia looks so far from the invincible Marshal Charge right now - shorter than your height in the armor, but only just.

“I’ll make time, if it means bringing you in.”

“Bringing me in?” You have to force the laugh, but you’ve had practice - and the voice modulators make it into a hideous, mocking sound. The serene visage of the Clarity mask looks down at the former Marshal, “Not on your best day, Charge.” You lean in closer, voice dropping to a hissing whisper through your mask, “And we both know, your best days are far… far behind you.” I told you to stay away from this. Mina had told her. Clarity had told her. Please, Jules. Sit out, for once in your life.

“Enough, Charge.” Steel steps in, time to be the Marshal, “She’s right, we don’t have time for this. Why are you here?” How are you here, he may even be wondering.

“This city is filled with loose lips,” you can’t resist hanging on to that last word and looking directly at Argent - not that the Rangers can tell through the mask, “I have plans that conflict with a next-generation battle tank carving a bloody swath through Los Diablos. Given that Herald is already bleeding,” you motion to him holding his side, and the tell-tale first aid patching done to his suit’s shoulder, “I would suppose that reconnaissance did not go well and you’re in no position to refuse my aid.”

Another explosion in the distance. The marshal’s mouth presses together in a displeased flat line. You don’t have to touch his mind to guess he is weighing his brushes with Clarity - the lives you’d saved, the ones you’d endangered, and the harm you’d done. If you’re lucky, that is all he is doing. Finally, he exchanges a look with his team, a consultation conducted in quick looks. Herald seems relieved that there’ll be no fight with you. Argent shrugs and turns away, doing her best to give no real reaction at all.

Julia’s muscles are still tight, still ready to fight if given the word, but after more silence and the long look from Chen, you can see her resolve wavering, “This is stupid, and dangerous, Steel.”

You politely turn to the marshal for his response, making a show of your good manners.

“I don’t disagree.” The marshal concedes the point but his eyes are already back toward the horizon, and the behemoth traversing Interstate 105.

“I’ll be her minder,” Argent’s hand raises up, claws extended at the end of her hands, “You are on a very short leash, Clarity.”

You simply turn your head to the side, “Fine.” It takes considerable effort on her part not to smirk, you can tell. And so, so much effort on your part not to follow up with a suitable double entendre.

Far from the sleek modern armor you’d expect of a prototype tank, what you see through the zoom of your helmet is a six-legged lumbering beast - wide as two lanes with a long body that makes you think of some sort of scorpion, it’s main body held just off the ground by the segmented legs. It is covered in a patchwork of burnt plates, twisted metal, looking like the product of a junkyard more than the Department of Defense. It’s difficult to make out but there does seem to be more typical armaments peeking out from the scrap-armor - a machine gun, other emplacements.

As you watch, the thing Chen called Phalanx stalks step after painfully slow step down the evacuated freeway. It halts before an abandoned tractor trailer blocking the roadway. There is a pressure in your sinus, deep in your head, and then all at once, the cab and trailer twist themselves apart, wrenched steel and carbon fiber torn asunder. The pieces of the vehicle come apart and… hang there, floating in mid-air.

“You see?” Argent crosses her arms.

It’s strange to talk to her through the armor again - it had been some time since Clarity and Lady Argent last officially crossed paths. “I see it - I can feel it from here - you were right, that is telekinesis.” And not like you’d seen it before, not on that scale. And not from a tank. “What is it doing?”

“Watch.”

And so you do - the metal warps and almost seems to melt, the scraps of the tractor flattening and pulling and layering to plates that then cling to the tank itself - becoming another layer of the scrap armor, another patch in the shell surrounding. Unseen force sweeps the road clean in front of it, and it resumes its trek.

“Alright. So where is it going?”

“We don’t know.” A different voice, a familiar voice - that shouldn’t have been able to approach with your noticing, if you hadn’t become so stupidly comfortable in Ximena’s presence. The stealth is curious - maybe she didn’t totally trust Argent with you still. Julia is still stewing at the indignity of suffering Clarity’s presence, “So where is this ‘help?’”

You give a flat explanation, letting the voice synthesis do the heavy lifting of turning your tone harsh, “If it is a drone, then it has a system directing an organic psychic interface, a -”

Charge cuts you off, “-a series of telepathic rodent brains linked in sequence, like a computer or something. Like Psychopathor used to use. Yeah, I know what it is.” She does, doesn’t she? Does she remember, right now? Is she thinking of Sidestep hunkered down behind cover with her? You’d never forgotten - but you’d thought for sure she would have.

You can say nothing, your gut twisting in that cold sensation of the past stalking you down. Clarity’s mask looks Charge dead on, silent, impassive - but in the helmet, sweat runs down behind your ear, along your neck. You close your eyes, trying to get a handle on the moment. It is taking you too long to answer - both of them have turned their attention away from the target and back to you.

...ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ…? A nibble, a tug at your mental lobe. Curiosity. It pulls you back. No, we’re not talking about you. Well, sort of. ...I’m afraid this is something different. Put at ease, the little minds nestle up to your neck, or at least in that approximation of the act they project to your mind.

You finally scramble for Clarity’s character and retort, “Maybe you’re more clever than they say, I am impressed.”

“Well, I’m not.” Charge wrinkles her nose in distaste, fingers flexing like she’s thinking of taking a swing.

How are you sweating so much? Don’t think about it. Don’t think about Julia Ortega. Don’t… Don’t be Mina. You’re Clarity right now, and Clarity deigning to speak with Charge is just that, a lowering of herself. Shoulders up. Get the arrogance, and project, “Consider this - if it is turning away live fire missiles and small arms from your dear Marshal’s armaments then I suspect it is quite the opposite of a telepathic targeting web - this is a machine directing a telekinetic array.”

With Psychopathor’s cannon, the rats had been the guidance, the aim for the hardware. In this case, the hardware is the guidance, and the minds serve as the firepower, so to speak. That’s what you’d have to imagine. Mildly terrifying concept - you have to wonder if the Farm knows about this project?

“You’ve seen this before?” Charge is skeptical.

“That kind of information is above your paygrade. Ask your superiors, they’ll tell you the same,” leave her to wonder. You haven’t seen this particular usage but you and every Regene are proven concepts - biological minds educated, directed and fed from wetware. A different implementation of the same idea. “I will need to be close to know what I can work with.”

“‘Close’ makes it angry,” Argent explains. “Herald got close, got shrapnel for it.”

“So by all means, get close.” Charge coolly encourages you.

Steel’s voice crackles over the Ranger’s comms, “Do we have a plan?”

“Yeah.” For the first time you’ve seen today, Ortega smiles - that famous, smug grin that Los Diablos loves to see from Charge. “Yeah - we’re going to throw Clarity in front of it.”

The Phalanx 1A7 next generation telekinetic hexapedal battle tank has put out what must be either the greatest or worst recorded product demonstration of all time. As it steps off the 105 at El Segundo, the streets are empty, the buildings ought to be clear - helicopters circling overhead issue sirens and evacuation orders on loop.

The LDPD had come up with the brilliant idea of hardening polymer foam to delay it’s advance - to stall out while further surrounding areas were evacuated. There’s four low bangs of shells fired from teams stationed atop a highrise. Two more from a helicopter overhead. The delivery canisters are torn apart in flight by telekinetic windshear - but to the police force’s credit, the unleashed polymer goo splashes against the Phalanx and swells into a foam that then hardens, encasing the forelimbs. Which stops the warmachine for as many as seventeen seconds.

The retaliation is quick in coming - scrap is peeled from its debris husk in strips, eight slivers of metal taking to drift and float in the air. Molded and forced into straight, slender javelins by psychic force, they spin and turn, finding vectors and trajectories, then sail forward, fired forth like a rail gun - no boom, no bang. One punctures straight through the LDPD chopper, sending it spiraling down into the city proper - a KTLD news chopper that had wandered too close follows just after. And the other shards - you can’t see or feel the minds of the officers stationed at the highrise, but it seems likely those found their marks too.

“Stellar coordination with the police, as usual.” You can’t pass the opportunity to note.

“Shut up.” Ortega sinks down behind the department store counter, scowl fixed on her face as the two of you wait at your position.

Ximena’s voice comes over the communicator, “Turning onto Continental.” Lucky you, coming right this way. “Oh, I think it noticed m-”

Your heart leaps up into your chest - out on Continental Boulevard, the sound of asphalt crunching, impacted by projectiles. A rattle of machine gun fire. Then, nothing. Quiet. Her voice pipes back up over the Rangers’ comms. “I’m good - it missed.” Argent doesn’t sound worried, but you hadn’t taken a breath.

You hardly move - this isn’t a Clarity type of plan - this is a Sidestep type of plan. A Rangers plan. Some stupid, thrown together assault based on guesses and confidence, that put you hiding behind cover, far too close to danger. And yet you’d just agreed - how suspicious that must seem to them. You agreed because that’s what Mina did, when the Rangers came up with these stupid plans. Stupid. Telling yourself you were past all that, weren’t you? That this wouldn’t be like before.

“What are you doing?” Charge is staring at you, when you open your eyes again. She’d been watching that suit of armor sit motionless - the visage of the villain that had humiliated her in public twice now.

“Preparing.” A simple, uncomplicated reply - you didn’t have a snide remark ready.

She watches you with a canny suspicion - the woman whose thoughts you can’t touch. What would you give to know just what was running through her mind? “Whatever you’re planning, it isn’t going to work.”

You laugh a little, “For your sake, marshal, it better.”

And as soon as the words leave your lips, you realize the mistake.

Ortega narrows her eyes, confusion, suspicion written across her face. How, after all the tiny details, all the adjustments to your mannerisms, your posture, after all your training, had you let that slip? Calling her ‘marshal.’ Telling on yourself - living in the past. This whole plan felt just like that same slip up.

The quiet of the department store is interrupted by trembling, shaking. Not an earthquake. Just a multi-ton monument to taxpayer funding lumbering down the street outside. Just in time to save you from your mortifying blunder. “That’ll be close enough.”

Reaching out, and reaching out. You let your helmet rest against the counter, abandoning your senses - you coax your little helper to wakefulness, entreating her with calm reassurances to help you track down your target.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ <3

There’s the shape of Ortega’s mind, painfully familiar - but only a shape, that your probing glides over. The familiar, dangerous waters of Argent’s psyche, out there in the street, staying nimble, playing at being prey for the Phalanx… Out beyond, a few scared, huddled minds, or dim hints of of them. People that hadn’t been evacuated - not many, but a few. Flits of anxiousness at the limit of your senses, that would be Herald, high overhead.

And there - ...strange. A void, a spot with nothing. Dampeners? But oh- Oh, there it is. One mind, anyway - you start to pressure against the shielded thoughts and then it’s gone. The Rat King nudges you, finding another mind - but only for an instant, and it too is gone. Oh, Hell.

You sit forward, Charge taking notice, “Let me guess: you failed.”

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ u_u

“A minor wrinkle.” You try to avoid sounding apologetic, “It’s only vulnerable when the telekinesis is engaged.” Clarity showing weakness in front of Charge is painful, and you don’t care for it. “And it appears the evacuation was less than complete.”

Charge seems skeptical of your concern, and that’s fine. But she’s doing the math, she’s redrafting the plan. You’ve seen her do it dozens of times. She keys up on the comms, “We need to engage the tank - there’s still citizens here somewhere and… our guest needs the distraction.”

Danny’s the first to answer, “What do you mean enga-” There’s a buzz of static. Comms jammed. Which it can do, because of course it can.

Ortega crosses over from her cover and grabs you by the arm, then the throat, her mods sparking alive - you hadn’t been prepared, fool that you are. There are no words for the moment, as she glares into the mask - as if maybe she could see through it if she comes close enough. “Do. Your. Part.”

A threat? But some weird measure of trust at the same time - no, not trust. That’s her making the hero play - she doesn’t trust Clarity, but the risk is worth the lives she could save. Julia is heading out that revolving glass door. Toward the Phalanx. Of course she is - the only thing more on brand would be if she could flirt with the tank first. Moron. You wish she wouldn’t - just… stay in cover.

You call out, in spite of yourself - Clarity wouldn’t, but Mina can’t help herself. Stop her. “You can’t be serious. If you run off, who will be here to cover me?” There, at least make it sound like self-interest.

She hardly slows, answering only with a middle finger.

You follow her as far out of the store as the sidewalk, before dropping into a stairwell for cover. She isn’t stopping, and she’s going to get herself killed. So that her enemy, the villain Clarity, can try and save the day. Ridiculous, naive of her.

Well, you can’t exactly let her down, can you? Sinking back into your mind, linking strength with the furry little psyche resting in your suit, you resume probing, searching for your opening. .

There’s the crack of thunder and the smell of ozone wafting to your nose - Ortega’s mods. Then the tank would respond and - you try not to think about what could happen, and focus on the minds now open to you.

They’re there. Three minds - human minds, as you’d suspected, not rodents, not with that sort of telekinetic strength.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ >:(

No offense.

Brushing over the triune, caressing them - they’re not terribly telepathic, but they do have uncanny barriers - augmented by implants, wetware, maybe. It takes time and pressure to find slips and seams, work through the cracks, but honestly? You’re better than you’ve ever been, and you are damn good at this. Nobody’s withstood Clarity yet.

There is the sound of glass shattering - windows breaking - not a sound you care for. But other sounds too, the Rangers engaged in battle, no doubt. But you can’t be distracted by that.

There - slipping through and prying apart the protective layers behind one of the minds, you insinuate yourself into what passes for consciousness in this psychic arra-

A flood of pain, fullness, noise, a torrent of thoughts, washing against you. Your physical body doubles over, not that you’re making any use of it. An attack, maybe - or… no, it’s just… thoughts. Once you adjust, the Phalanx’s minds are easier to distinguish. It isn’t an attack, not a defense, it’s just… data. Massive volumes of data, information slammed into the mind in a way no human could comprehend. It tastes like… burning, but wet.

There is a nudge from the Rat King, scared, seeking comfort - it doesn’t like this anymore than you do. Maybe… It is a risky thing to do, but if you could just possess it like with Yasmin, or any other person, then the data should be legible like… that.

All at once, you are seeing out of a dozen eyes, cameras, but also audio data, radar waves, electromagnetic sensors, seismic sensors, and all kinds of senses you have never known before. The avalanche that had pounded against you becomes easier to grasp - it is full of trajectories, angles, estimates, calculations, predictions. You are… part of Phalanx. But you’re not doing your job. Two pieces of you query - Core 02, ping.

One part of you asks, Core 02, ping. Another part of you asks, Core 02, ping. Core 01 and Core 03 deliberate over the lack of response from you. You can feel the urge, the urge to execute. To perform functions. To fulfill programming. But you… you aren’t Core 02, and you don’t understand this body, or what they want, and you know you shouldn’t try to understand. You can feel Core 01 and Core 03 asserting pressure on Core 02 to realign with them, to recalibrate and resume normal function.

But you refuse. You’re… Who again?

There is a thunderous boom, and a tidal wave of data crashes against you - you hear the sound, the seismic response, and the countermeasures. Long-range heavy ordinance, vector approach -92°. Anti-material rifle. You aren’t doing your job, so Core 03 takes control and pushes the rifle round off trajectory so that it strikes the pavement. Visual data identifies one combatant, exoskeleton suit, heavily armed, 1207m south. Distantly, you remember… a name. Chen.

Core 01 and Core 03 seem to confer, then agree, accepting your new data - this combatant is designate Chen. Core 01 takes control of a limb, not a limb, the 120mm smoothbore gun, and turns it south, firing a best-guess shot at the estimated position of the distant combatant designate Chen.

Other combatants receive designates, almost unwillingly - Cores 01 and 03 query and the names come forth from you. Herald. Argent. Julia. [REVISE] Ortega [REVISE] Charge.

What’s your designation? Core 02, someone helpfully reminds you. When you disagree, it hurts. There is a pain response, discord. Not Core 02. No, you are Core 02. Fine, I’m Core 02. Blissful harmony when you agree.

The assailants are skirmishing, keeping their distance - nothing they’ve done has really threatened your systems, but they have slowed your advance towards the objective.

What is my mission?

Core 01 burbles in confusion. The mission is the objective. Core 03 clarifies. The objective is the objective. Your head hurts - if you have a head.

I… I need to recalibrate: what is the objective?

The objective is HOME. Everyone agrees. HOME is the objective. The system is going HOME. You have to concur, really, that HOME is the objective. Maybe there could be other objectives, but you can’t think of them right now.

Countermeasures - designate Argent has removed the improvised steel ablative armor and made contact with the system’s hull. Core 01 pushes with telekinetic systems and expels her from the system’s exterior. Core 03 directs fire from the #2 swivel-mount 12.7mm machine gun chasing designate Argent back into cover behind a building.

What is HOME? I am going HOME. Identify.

Something strange happens then. Not a patch of data, not the babbling stream of Core 01 and Core 03, but a thought, an ordinary thought comes to the fore. HOME. A small beige two-story house. Crammed beside other, matching homes, with a narrow yard. An older sedan parked in the driveway. HOME. That is HOME and you are going to HOME.

Who… who am I?

More thoughts, too many thoughts - no, no, that was the wrong thing to ask. Not Core 01 or Core 03 but a base recess of their functioning - a sub-conscious provides a flood of pictures of a man you don’t know - a boy you don’t know, the same man, a self-image, you can see hands, chubby little hands - these are your hands? Self-data. No, wait. You are not that, you are not them. Not this person. You are… who again?

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ !!...!!...!!

Little minds nagging you, trying to remind you. I am… Rat King? No. That doesn’t…doesn’t seem to fit.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ -_-;;

Oh. Right. Mina. Are you Mina? For some reason, that doesn’t quite feel right either. Core 01 agrees, you are not Mina. Core 03 affirms, you are definitely not Mina.

Visual data of… designate Charge. A burst of lightning, twists away from the system’s lightning strike countermeasures and blows out a visual sensor on the Phalanx exterior. If that is designate Charge, then… are you Sidestep? Core 01 and Core 03 disagree, but it would make sense. You’re supposed to help Charge.

Is that what I was doing? Someone else asked for help.

Designate Argent, that’s right. Asked Mina. Maybe you are Mina? Core 01 streams insistent negative responses.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ !... …>:( …>:o

Angry? You are angry. You shouldn’t be angry, it isn’t good to be angry, but… but the Rat King is right, you are angry, and that feels… true to you. You grab onto that anger. A cold, old dead anger that’s settled in your gut for years. That’s right. That’s who you are.

Core 01 brushes against you. It demands to know. You are not Core 02 - identify.

Core 03 presses against you. It demands to know. You are not Core 02 - IDENTIFY.

You don’t push back. You hone the edge of your thoughts to a razor point, you draw Core 01 closer, and you drive your sheer force of will through it, savaging the psyche with your hardened ego, severing it’s processes.

Clarity. Of course. You’re Clarity today, and it is satisfying.

Core 01’s functions diminish, it’s processing slows. Everything feels red in the Phalanx triune organic psychic interface. Red and loud, but getting quieter. Core 01 agrees - you are not Core 02. You are Clarity. That is the last thing it can acknowledge before damage to it’s psyche becomes unable to sustain thought and it... simply dies.

Core 03 is aflame. Another thundercrack. Another round from designate Chen’s weapon but Core 01 is unresponsive. Core 02 is not Core 02 at all! Core 03 can’t muster a countermeasure in time, and there is impact. System’s hull is intact, but there is damage. Gyroscopic function is reduced, stability is reduced, electronic warfare suite is offline.

Core 03 continues to try to fight - reaching out toward it, you find the barriers returned, a feeling of yellow and glass between you. Of course, because you’re not Core 02 - it knows that now, and has stopped listening to you. It tries to stabilize, but the system has planted nose down on Continental Boulevard, and gyroscopics are unable to rectify locomotion.

Core 03 engages telekinetic improved missile routines, stripping a piece of the temporary ablative armor from the hull, shearing it into four pieces. It holds them in place, as you hammer against the barrier, the blades of molded steel whistling as they acquire vectors. Acquire targets.

The barrier is strong, and you… you can’t break it in time. The target is - you can see flashes of a smirk, a victorious, cocky expression, that strong jaw and -

Fast, fast like anything, you tear yourself apart, you pull yourself to shreds - not your actual self, but the self you are occupying, Core 02. Mangle your processes, purge your routines and tear out every bit of the system you can reach, even as you slip out, slip away, releasing your mind, pulling back… back… back into your body. Into your body and your suit. Clarity’s suit.

Ortega doesn’t even know, the idiot, the hovering lethal slivers of metal somehow just beyond the scope of her attention. Careless, because she’s winning. She raises her guard only too late as you crunch into her with a tackle, knocking her to the ground, the instant the telekinetic force commanded by Core 03 releases the projectiles, that psychic railgun driving them at the target.

There’s an ugly slicing of metal as one tears through the shoulder of your armor, the second goes wide of you, the third is glancing and fails to do more than scratch the thick armor Mortum had prepared for your torso. The fourth is another matter, slicing much like the first, but catching your side in the process.

It burns, there is pain - a pain you’re unused to feeling in Clarity’s armor. The HUD flashes a warning, but it is, all told, a minor wound, and nothing compared to the fear you’d had. Fear of seeing her lying bleeding, dying. Fear that now releases and becomes anger.

The Phalanx groans and collapses, somewhere behind you, but you hardly even notice.

Idiot. Stupid Ortega. She is on the ground, looking up at you in a daze. Not the first time Ortega’s hit the pavement before Clarity like that. Bewildered, confused. You’d pushed her out of the way, after all. Not what she’d expected? Maybe not. Not what you’d planned for.

Time to ruin that moment. Clarity summons up all her condescension, “I see you’re as capable an ally as you are a foe, Charge.”

“Fuck you, puta.” Charge’s confusion returns to disdain, she spits on the ground as she climbs back to her feet, “You’re bleeding out your fancy suit.” She has to point it out.

You have to laugh. The audacity of Julia Ortega, calling you out for saving her life. “Yes, lucky for you.”

“I think I fucking won.” Argent’s voice calls out behind. She’s atop the still body of the Phalanx, her skin orange in the glow of the setting sun. Clutched in her claws, a tangle of wires and systems and a sealed gun-metal grey case stamped with the designation ‘Core 03.’

Herald descends, touching down on solid ground and, ugh, his hair still somehow looks good, “Is that it?” You stare at him, disappointed he can’t see the withering look past your helmet. “Is it down? What’s in the case?”

“A brain, I think.” Argent looks to you for confirmation. Charge too. And you can’t help but feel a sense of deja vu.

Sunstream dims her lights, shaking out her flawless hair “Is that it?”

Anathema shrugs, “Don’t look at me. Ask Sidestep.”

You swallow back that… stupid memory, that you definitely don’t feel anything about, and aren’t going to dwell on later. You don’t answer them - you can’t come up with something that doesn’t sound congratulatory, you only turn away, permitting yourself a moment to examine your bleeding side.

Charge, of course, calls you on it, “And you leave, like that, no pithy dismissal? No last word.”

She has a point. You exaggerate the severity of your wound, leaning over, nursing your side - an excuse to leave quickly. You coax a growl from your throat, “I did my part. The rest is on you, Ranger.”

Ortega’s smirk fades, “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Tell yourself that, if you’d like.”

She looks down at the ground, then back up, “...did you find where it was going?”

“Home. Naturally.” Carefully, you pause to think. “147 West Pendleton Street, a house there. When you find out why a tank has a home in El Segundo, ask yourself again if that changes anything.” You don’t know for sure, but you have a suspicion of what she’ll find.

There, set her on the path. Like you’d told Argent, the Rangers aren’t your enemies. But this… doing the hero thing, if only for a day. It feels bad. It feels bad because it reminds you of what you missed - and whatever lies you’ve told yourself, you do miss it. And doing it like this, for just a day, it makes you wonder if it could have been this easy. If you could have just come back, told Ortega you were alive, lived… some sort of sane life.

You make your way down the sidewalk. News helicopters hover in the distance, outside the evacuation area - sirens have started returning to the eery quiet of the neighborhood. You blink your eyes a little, suddenly aware of how cramped the suit feels. Tilting your head, you activate the contact function. Get Boris out here, get a pick up, get out of the suit, and… a bath sounds nice.

You probably couldn’t afford a penthouse with a full bath in Los Diablos while living a sane life. You’re not sure if that outweighs the rest but right now, it sounds alright.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ …?

Yeah, we’ll do the thing, too. Story books, fiction. She liked it when you read them beside her chassis, shared in the imagination. A little treat, for all that good work.

“So what was there?” Chen eases back into the heavy chair behind his desk, watching the newscast.

Julia shrugs, shaking her head, “Kwame and Rebecca Owusu, retired truck driver and nurse anesthetist.” She cringes when the photos of Clarity meeting with the Rangers at the observatory come up on the broadcast, “I didn’t even see anyone taking pictures, where do they get those?”

“They pay a lot of money for them,” Chen’s dour as ever. He scratches the back of his head, unable to shake… something.

Ortega keeps fixed on the news, taking a drink from her beer, “‘Sabotage and terrorism,’ guess that sounds better than ‘your secret psychic brain tank had a meltdown.’”

Chen mumbles, “We don’t know it wasn’t sabotage.” Then, a sigh. His hand rubs the side of his neck, working through something unpleasant.

“I guess,“ she looks up to the marshal, “...what, Chen?”

He turns the monitor on his desk around, to share the picture, a smiling young man in a slate grey motorcycle jacket. “This is ‘Crush.’ Nelson Owusu. He was a Boost. A telekinetic. We scouted him. Six years ago.”

“And? What happened?” Julia can feel her buzz fading, a headache coming. She already knows she doesn’t like the answer.

“Don’t know. Can’t remember. Maybe he stopped returning our calls - it doesn’t say.” He settles back into his seat, mulling over the implication.

Julia shakes her head, “Missing?” Chen doesn’t have a good answer - likely there are no good answers there. She laughs bitterly, rubbing her face in her hands, “God, fuck Clarity.” She can practically feel the villain’s smugness across time and space.

Chen sounds more thoughtful, “Yeah. It’s harder when they make a point.”

#fhr #fallen hero: rebirth #not sure how i feel about this #but guess its okay #retribution spoilers #lots of characters #scribbly

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atths--twice · 4 years

Link

Now, here we are onto the ninth month. The baby is just about here and in the meantime...well, life must be lived. : )

The Ninth Month 6a/6

Chapter One

Two Weeks to Go

The home stretch! Things are happening at The Unremarkable House in preparation of the baby’s arrival.

October 16th- mid afternoon

Scully was lying on the couch reading, when the front door burst open. Mulder stepped in with two large brown bags. He looked over at her and froze. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled at her.

He kept walking and said nothing to her. He went past her to the office and came back empty handed. She reached out a hand to stop him as he started to go past her again.

“Mulder,” she said, her hand hitting his knee.

“Scully,” he replied, sidestepping her hand.

She laughed quietly and he looked at her and winked as he went back outside and closed the door. She rolled her eyes and smiled. She could hear him moving around on the porch, but she stayed on the couch.

They had been in for another checkup yesterday afternoon, on the fifteenth. Everything was good and still on schedule. They had already been expecting a mid to late October due date. Elise, Doctor Reynolds, had jokingly brought up the possibility of the baby coming on Halloween and Scully had seen Mulder’s eyes light up.

He had held out hope the baby would possibly arrive on his birthday, but it had come and gone three days ago. He had himself joked about a Halloween baby, but was sure it would not happen. Hearing the doctor’s words had reignited that spark within him.

He had excitedly made plans as they walked out of the building. She had smiled, reminding him again that babies come when they are ready. He had scoffed and accused her of raining on his parade and she had laughed and shook her head.

He had gotten up early and been gone most of the day, claiming he had stuff to do. She had not asked what the “stuff” entailed, but she had a sneaking suspicion. For Mulder, Halloween was like Christmas. A baby born on that date, good god, he would be ecstatic.

She put her book down and rubbed her belly.

“Listen little one,” she whispered, running her hands up and down. “Try to hold on a couple more weeks for your daddy. I’ll do my part and you do what you can in there, okay? Go Team Spooky!”

She patted her stomach in a faux high five and laughed at herself, looking over at the picture Mulder had found of them from years ago. Team Spooky indeed.

She closed her eyes and listened to Mulder’s steps on the porch. Back and forth and up and down the stairs. She heard him swear and she chuckled.

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she hauled herself off the couch. She put her hands on her waist, rubbing her lower back. God, it hurt today. Not wanting to rush the baby, but she looked forward to not having this extra weight on her. Also being able to sleep on her stomach. Not peeing constantly…

She sighed as she walked toward the front door and opened it. Mulder was standing on a step stool placing ghosts and witches on hooks he was hanging up.

There were what looked to be about ten pumpkins of different sizes on the stairs. There was a bale of hay. Hay. God knows where he picked that up. Also, a scarecrow on a stake and a life sized witch holding a handle that went into a cauldron.

“So.. this “stuff” you needed to do,” she said looking around, her hands on her back again. “It was buying all this junk?”

“”Junk”?” he asked, looking at her as he hung the last ghost. “I’ll have you know, this stuff was not cheap.”

“You have a bale of hay, Mulder,” she said looking at it. She touched it and it was real hay, not a decoration. “There’s a bale of hay on our porch.”

“I had to go to three pumpkin farms before I found it,” he said proudly, pointing at her as he stepped off the step stool and walked over to her.

“Mulder, it’s a bale of hay,” she said staring at him.

“I know,” he nodded. He had a pleased smile on his face.

She looked at him questioningly. “What are you planning to do with a bale of hay?”

“Well, the possibilities are endless,” he said shaking his head. “I mean, it could just sit there. I could put the scarecrow through it. I could break it up and spread it around..”

He fell silent at her look. She blinked her eyes at him, crossing her arms.

“I could leave it on the porch as is,” he said quietly.

“There you go,” she nodded.

He stared at her and then turned back to grab the step stool, closing it up.

“Mulder,” she began.

“Scully, I know what you’re going to say,” he said turning toward her. “You’re going to say that I’m going out of my way to decorate for a baby who will have no idea nor care that I did it. You will say that not until she is much older, will she have a memory of decorating for holidays.”

She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to answer him.

“To which, I will say that it’s the gesture that matters, Scully. As for memory, how do we know for absolute certainty what a person remembers and when? How are we to know that somewhere in her subconscious will lie the memory of pumpkins and witches and she won’t be able to explain how she knows it, she just does?” he said, as he put the stool against the house and picked up the scarecrow.

She took a breath and opened her mouth again, putting her hands on her hips.

“To which I know you will say, “But Mulder, a baby at that age does not have the ability to “remember” something and call it up as we do.” To which I would say, again how can we be absolutely sure?” He stuck the scarecrow in the hay bale and smiled.

She took a breath again, crossed her arms and almost got a word out before he spoke again.

“To which I know you will scoff and roll your eyes at me. To which I will say to you that I really shouldn’t have to go through a big long winded monologue about how I want to decorate for the holiday because a baby born on Halloween should be a thing to celebrate." He stood in front of her, his tall frame encroaching into her space.

She stared at him and uncrossed her arms. She shook her head and smiled, slowly wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Bat crap crazy,” she whispered, before she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

He laughed into her mouth as he kissed her back. He stepped from her and smiled as he looked at the witches and ghosts hanging from the porch beams. She watched him stare at the decorations and she sighed.

“Mulder, if the baby isn’t born on Halloween, how upset would you be?” she asked him.

He turned and looked at her. “I’m not going to lie to you, Scully. I would be crushed. It would completely devastate me.”

She stared at him, searching his face. He looked back at her, serious and unwavering. Then he smiled and she smacked his arm.

“Shit,” she said, as he laughed.

“Scully,” he said, laughing. “I know it would be amazing to have a baby with a Halloween birthday, especially for us, I mean come on. How much spookier could I get than having a child born on Halloween?” She laughed and nodded.

“But, if it’s not Halloween, it’s close Scully,” he continued. “I’ll just spend her life telling her how she almost made me the happiest person ever, but fell short before she was ever even here.” She huffed at him, smiling as she pushed at his chest.

He caught her hands and smiled. “Close enough is good enough for me, Scully. We’re fifteen days away. We’ll just have to do what we can to hold on until then.”

“Keep my legs closed real tight. Got it,” she said, winking and placing her hands against his chest.

“Well I didn’t say that,” he said, running his hands down her arms.

“Mulder, you know that sex has been known to induce labor,” she said, trying to pull her hands away. “That sperm contains prostaglandins, which can help to ripen the cervix and can help labor begin. That women also release that same hormone-like substance, so it’s like a double dose. And since synthetic forms are used to induce labor, it would make sense that it would happen naturally with sex.”

“Oh, Scully,” he breathed. “Say prostaglandins again.”

She laughed and he pulled her closer. She looped her arms around his neck again and kissed him.

“Oxytocin is released during sex as well,” she whispered, her mouth at his ear. “Pitocin is a synthetic form of that and it is also used to stimulate labor by causing uterine contractions.” He groaned, digging his fingers into her hips, as she smiled and bit his ear lobe. He groaned again, breathing hard.

“Orgasms also create uterine contractions,” she whispered again, scraping her nails across his neck. “All those factors could lead to cervix ripening, and the baby needing to be pushed out of my vagina.”

“Okay, you ruined it,” he said pulling back and stepping away. He put his hands up and she laughed at his face of disgust. He shook his head.

“You know my feelings on that word,” he said with a shiver. “How you ruined it years ago.”

“Mulder, please don’t tell me again, I can’t..”

“Here are the facts,” he shouted over her. “You suggested we attempt phone sex when you were out of town for work..”

“Twelve years ago,” she added.

“You said it would be interesting and I was intrigued and definitely up for it,” he said, raising his eyebrows as he began pacing the porch. She rolled her eyes and hung her head back. “We started and it was hot and I was enjoying the things we were saying. I could hear you taking off your clothes and that got me very aroused. And then.. you said it.”

He stopped pacing and stared at her, shaking his head. She smiled and tried not to laugh. But, it bubbled up and she laughed while he shook his head.

“Mulder, we’d never done that before, never needed to do it and I don’t know, I was nervous!” she said, raising her arms.

“”Mulder, I wish you were here. Your hands on my body. Touching my breasts, my vagina.” Your vagina, Scully,” he said, exhaling and shaking his head.

“That’s what it’s called!” she said exasperated, her eyes wide.

“Have you ever said that to me before or after that night? Ever asked me to “touch your vagina”? he asked, crossing his arms.

“Oh, would you have preferred the word you once used? Would you have wanted me to ask you to touch my “kitty”? Mulder, “kitty”?” she said with a disgusted look on her face. He shrugged his shoulders, opening his arms, palms up.

“You ruined that word for me. We can never have a cat, because no chance would I stand on this porch and yell “here kitty, kitty” and not think about you calling my vagina a “kitty.” A “kitty,” Mulder. You don’t see a problem with using that word?” she asked him, eyebrows up.

“I don’t know,” he said, licking his lips and looking her up and down. “I’d say it’s pretty accurate considering I’ve made it purr quite a few times.”

She leaned back from him and her mouth dropped open. His eyes were shining and the grin spreading across his face, was the “I won” grin that she hated and loved all at the same time.

“Oh, my god,” she said shaking her head and then she started laughing. He joined in and they laughed as they stared at each other.

“We’ll call a draw,” she said, still laughing. “Neither word will be used, nor will this story ever be told again.”

She stuck her hand out and he shook it. She nodded and turned back toward the house, but turned back around as he started to rearrange the scarecrow in the hay.

“Oh, Mulder,” she said, making sure he looked at her before continuing. “You’ve made it purr way more than a few times. For longer than you even know and times in which you weren’t even present.”

She winked at him and it was his turn to stand open mouthed. She walked inside and heard him mutter “Jesus Christ” as the door shut. She laughed silently.

She rubbed her belly and whispered to the baby. “Mommy won that round. You’ll find that will be the case most of the time.”

She laughed again and headed to the couch. She sat down and picked up her book and she could still hear him muttering as he walked back and forth across the porch.

“Fifteen days, baby,” she whispered again. “We got this.”

________________________________________________

October 20th- evening

"HeHeHe”

“God!”

“Mulder, just unplug it,” Scully said, for at least the tenth time.

It turned out the witch Mulder had purchased, had a motion sensor on it. Every time he passed by it, he got scared and he jumped. She rolled her eyes and laughed at him.

“No, Scully. I don’t want to unplug it. Part of the fun of Halloween is being scared. And it doesn’t scare me that badly,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Scully sat in the porch swing, rocking it slowly. She shook her head as he handed her the cup of tea she had asked him to make for her. He sat next to her and the swing rocked a little faster. They sat in silence as she drank her tea and took a deep breath.

It had been four days since he put all the decorations up and every time he walked past the witch on the porch, he got scared. He was forced to walk past it more because Scully had spent a lot of time in the porch swing. She had been reading, relaxing, and sometimes napping. If she was outside, so was he, hence the constant fright fest for him.

The weather was starting to cool down and she could smell fall in the air. She closed her eyes and felt Mulder’s hand on her stomach. She smiled as he rubbed his hand up and down. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

“How’s she doing? Moving a lot?” he asked her.

“Hmm, yeah,” she said. She put her hand on his and moved it down. The baby pushed as she did and she gasped as Mulder chuckled.

“Christ, that was a hard one,” she said, breathing out.

He moved his hand, pushing the swing a little, and they sat in silence again.

Mulder had strung up some white lights on the porch. They were around the posts and on the ceiling of the porch. He had surprised her with the lights and the ability to do it all on his own. He acted shocked at her reaction, but later told her he had only almost stapled his hand a couple of times.

She opened her eyes and looked at the lights and she smiled.

“These lights are so nice. I like them. Thank you for putting them up,” she said.

“Hmm,” he answered. “Eleven days, Scully. You think we’ll make it?”

“We?” she asked, lifting her head from his shoulder and looking at him. “Pretty sure you’re not the one pushing a baby out of your..”

“Aaa!” he said, putting up his hand. “No.”

She put her head on his shoulder again and the swing began to rock.

“I’m doing all I can. We’re doing our best,” she said.

He lifted his arm and put it around her shoulder. He kissed her head and rested his head on hers.

“It’s all I ask,” he said quietly.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Nearly Time for the baby #Halloween decorations #Flirting #Happiness #Fluff #Domestic Fluff

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chaniters · 5 years

Text

9-1-1

The rangers clash against Catastrofiend for the first time, and it only raises more questions as they attempt to save the only survivor of the onslaught.

*Triggers, mentions of gore (kept vague) and slashing & cutting wounds.

Part 10 of Awan Cormac’s second fanfic.

_______________________

Abandoned warehouse, Los Diablos Docks.

You tread carefully over the bloodened pieces of shattered crates. The whole warehouse is a battleground where the Loan-Shark’s army bit the dust.

No. Not a battleground. Slaughterhouse fits it best. This is the kind of scene you’ve grown accustomed to ever since Catastrofiend showed up. Nobody knows what to expect either, since there are no video recordings of any of the killings, and no one’s ever seen the fiend and lived to tell the tale.

The walls are riddled with gunfire, and most of the furniture’s been torn to pieces, just like the poor devils trying to stop the hunter coming at them. The familiar slashing cuts and splatters are all over for you to see.

“We’re late” Steel grumbles, cracking his neck as he approaches one of the victims for signs of life.

He finds none.

“They really fought back this time” Sentinel comments watching a machinegun armed on the floor, next to the remains of whoever was trying to use it.

“It’s just like the other sites.” Charge says using a visual scanner. He turns to you “Sidestep, you said there was someone alive, or did I dream that part?”

“I do sense at least one person down in the basement…and… something else down there too”

“What do you even mean with ‘something else’?” Anathema asks

“I mean I don’t know. It’s just...‘something else’”

“Is it Catastrofiend?” Steel inquires

“That” you start, clicking your tongue “Would be the logical conclusion”

“So It turns everyone to sashimi and doesn’t register as people in your brain radar… fun. Now, do you think it’s going to attack us, heroes, too?” Charge asks.

“How do you expect me to answer that?”

“Well, you’re the telepath! A mind’s a mind, right?” he says patting your back.

“Yeah, I am a telepath. Now can you read a book written in Sanskrit?” you grumble.

But you motion for him to give you some space nonetheless. You’ll give it a go, at least that way they’ll stop bugging you about it.

You focus your thoughts on a strong scan until you can feel it clearly, in the basement as well as the survivor. It’s easy to tell who the guy trapped down there is… the other one, that’s the real mess. It’s got thoughts, like everyone else, but they don’t make any sense… Hunger. So much hunger… and hatred… and pain… pain… PAIN….

Your vision blurs, and when you try to turn, you’re no longer there. You’re lost…all you can feel is the hunger… turning you inside out. You must feed… feed until the pain is gone… until you…

Until Ortega slaps your face sideways, that is.

“Sidestep! You ok?! Snap out of it!” Ortega’s speaking to you, though it seems to come from a long tunnel…

It takes more force of will than you’d admit, returning from wherever it is you went. You realize you’re kneeling, and you’ve got your own hands holding your skull as if it was going to explode.

“You were babbling nonsense… ?”

“I’m ok” You raise to your feet with his help, a bit embarrassed. “That thing’s fucking dangerous Charge, it’s going to attack the moment it sees us. We shouldn’t face it in a closed space.”.

“That’s just … great” Charge grumbles as he motions for everyone to follow his lead. “Any clue as to who the survivor is?”

“That’s easier. It’s the Loanshark, trapped down there” you answer. He nods once before speaking again.

“Alright team, we go in quietly. If we can get the Loanshark out without alerting that freak then that’s what we do. Sidestep and Sentinel, you two get Lewie, Annie and I go back up last to fend off whatever’s down there. Steel, keep your cannons ready to shoot if we get attacked.

”Understood,” everyone says.

The stairs are completely dark, so you turn on night vision. It reveals a multitude of bloodstains as your team goes down. Great.

You and Sentinel go in last, as the others secure the staircase. The actual basement looks like a terror movie set with a very healthy budget. Anathema seems almost ready to throw up, but he manages to keep it together and advance.

You’ve seen corpses, but it’s hard to think that these were people once…

Littered among the remains of the Loan Shark’s goons, there’s loads of electronic equipment in pieces along with metal crates that have been shred open from the sides with the familiar slashes. Realizing the fiend can cut metal too sends a shiver down your spine.

“Where?” Charge whispers.

The mind of the “Thing” lies behind a half-opened door leading to a dark corridor on the other side of the room… It seems to have found whatever it is it was looking for, and you can sense it’s fallen into some sort of… trance? Extasis? Hibernation? Unknown state of mind.

The Loan Shark, however, you can sense him, hiding under a pile of rubble.

“Freak’s over there… It’s distracted somehow, don’t ask me why. Lewie’s under... that” you say gesturing to both sides of the basement”

Charge nods, and motions to Annie and Steel, they both take positions to the sides of the door, while you and Sentinel start looking for the Loan Shark who’s pretending to be dead.

Soon enough, he stops the act, seemingly startled to see you, but actively cooperating as he realizes you’re not here to cut him to tiny pieces. His usual suit is shredded everywhere and there are several cuts over his supposedly bullet-proof skin.

“You’re under arrest” Sentinel whispers.

“Do I look like I care at this point, you damn narc? Just get me the fuck out of here” he answers nervously.

The Loanshark stands with difficulty and both of you start walking him to the stairs.

You fully expect the Catastrofiend to come after you at any second, but it stays put as you make your way up, followed by the others shortly after. You breathe in relief as all of you come out of the warehouse’s exit and head towards the ranger’s armored van.

And then the pain comes in again… so intense it makes your knees weak. But you manage to keep it together this time. Bring your shields up, keep it away from yourself… The fixation’s too strong. It has a new target.

Anathema holds your arm…

“What’s going on?”

“It’s coming” you whisper. “It’s coming fast.”

“Shit. Charge! Sidestep says it’s coming!”

“Hurry up then! You, me and Steel keep take it busy. Sidestep and Sentinel, get the Loanshark away!”

“No! We all need to get out of here! That thing’s insane Charge!”

“Insane’s what we signed up for man! Just get on the van, leave it to us!”

“You don’t get it! That thing…”

“Get on the van already! I’m leading this mission!” he shuts you down.

You’re not sure what did it. Perhaps you were weak after touching that alien mind… or maybe he triggered something subconsciously by sounding too much like Nathaniel giving you orders back at the farm. Or maybe you were just too scared to argue and following orders was the easiest thing to do.

Whatever the case, you stop arguing, like they all thaught you at the farm, and you sit down beside the Loanshark before closing the door.

Sentinel sits on the wheel and starts the engine…It takes a split second before you realize this is a mistake. You have to warn them to get on the vehicle too

But it’s too late. You can hear Anathema, shouting something, and you see a blurred thing passing by above you all… and then it lands on top of the vehicle’s hood, immediately turning to face the driver, it’s claws aimed directly at Sentinel’s face trough the glass with smashing strength.

__________________________________________________________

Ranger’s infirmary. Present time.

“Wait, you mean to tell me the five of us lost to that thing?”

“Lost? It wasn’t even playing the same game”

“That bad, huh?”

“No. Worse.”

__________________________________________________________

Los Diablos Docks. (yet again)

Sentinel avoids the claws narrowly but gets several glass cuts to his face. He still manages to extend his hands forward, sending out a strong wind gush, but Catastrofiend keeps fixed to the hood, two of its claws digging deep into it, while it prepares to strike again with the other two. It’s got a third pair of arms... Human-like… drenched in blood, extending towards Sentinel as if they wanted to caress his face trough the shattered glass.

Steel interrupts it with machinegun fire, hitting it on several spots before the creature dislodges itself, barrelling to the side in a spin that lands it on its feet, like a ballerina. You can see that half the engine is attached to one of it’s left claws as it lands on the ground.

You’re not going anywhere.

“FUCK! GET US OUT OF HERE!” The shark screams.

Steel follows up with a series of powered fist attacks, but the thing keeps moving out of its way each time, far too fast, before swinging a downwards slash that sends sparks and exposed circuitry out of his arm. He doesn’t get to recover, as it kicks him to the side, before tossing the engine pieces at him, causing Steel to lose balance and fall. It then starts heading back for the vehicle, and his target.

Anathema stands in front of Sentinel as the thing slashes down and to the sides with all four claws at the driver seat… and it works. Anathema just stands there, growling as he holds all of Catastrofiend’s claws, to on each hand, acid dripping out of them. One of the claws dissolves and snaps in two.

Catastrofiend recoils, freeing his weapons before stabbing again and again, but Annie won’t budge, getting in the way and sending splashing acid punches at it, causing the thing to shriek in pain.

Realizing it can’t penetrate his skin, the monster spins yet again, kicking him upwards with a long-clawed leg that never gives him a chance to dodge, waiting for him to fall before pummeling him down against the ground with its broken claw repeatedly, using it as a hammer on his head and body, trying it’s hardest to kill him right there. The pavement cracks under the repeated impacts making you cringe.

Charge rushes from the side, sending a solid electrical kick, forcing the fiend back as a recovered Steel closes in and Annie finally stands up. You draw your gun yourself, getting off the vehicle, as Sentinel steps off.

“What are you doing?!” The shark yells…

“Saving your skin. That thing is after you specifically” your sentence. It’s all too clear from the awful mind. Something compels it to kill the Loan Shark here and now.

“Shit. Incompetent heroes…fuck this, I won’t get killed at the back of a narc van” Lewie says bitting onto the cufflinks with his teeth, breaking them up.

“I need a gun,” he says, looking for one.

“You’re not getting one!” Sentinel yells.

“Hey! Sharks are people too!” he complains.

“Here,” you say putting an end to the argument as you pass him a shotgun from the vehicle’s small weapon compartment. “And just so you know, you’re arrested again when this is over”

“Whatever,” he says loading it and walking behind you. “We’re all going to die anyway and you know it”

Sentinel gets out as well, taking to the air.

Catastrofiend walks back as all six of you approach it, like a cornered beast. Or maybe that’s what It wants you to think… it’s impossible to tell.

“I’m sick of you fucker! EAT LEAD!” Lewie says shooting at its chest as he reloads.

It’s a decent hit, blood coming out of the beast. And it would have meant something if this was a regular villain.

But this is the Catastrofiend, and it starts regenerating the moment it gets hit. The claw that Annie broke, is almost fully formed again as well. It roars back at the Shark in fury, before leaping in his direction.

Annie jumps to the side to intercept… but the fiend is faster. It opens It’s an inhuman mouth, vomiting a stream of purple liquid at his face, blinding him before stepping on his shoulders and leaping again, onto the shark.

It seems it’s game over for the Loanshark when you notice the smoke stream of the RPG Steel just launched. You manage to cover your face in time, as it detonates in the air, sending the fiend off to the ground and away from Lewie.

You take a chance and shoot at its chest repeatedly while it’s down as Lewie takes the chance to take a few shots as well, the two of you doing some serious damage as you keep pulling your triggers. Sentinel joins in, sending freezing winds his way as the two continue shooting until the thing’s covered in a thin icy layer, it’s chest almost destroyed by your weapons. Then It finally falls backward, immobile, with a dying screech.

“Is it dead?” Charge asks

You sense no more thoughts coming from it. “I don’t feel anything… but I’m no expert on monsters”

Half a minute passes before Charge finally nods to Steel, who curses and takes point, approaching slowly, gun aimed at its head…

Right, when it the pain from its mind spikes again, forcing you to take a step back.

“ITS A TRAP!” you scream, just as the fiend swirls It’s clawed legs in a wide arch, somehow perfectly aiming them at Steel’s neck. But your warning came in time, and your ally manages to cover with his arms… which are both shredded by the sheer force of the blade’s impact. It takes you a moment to digest that part about Steel losing his mechanical hands… and he doesn’t seem to be assimilating it much better, as he cries out in pain.

Catastrofiend doesn’t have the time for it though, as it walks over, lifting him with the human hands, before passing him over to the claws, which it uses to catapult Chen, flying onwards onto Sentinel high in the air. Steel weights far too much for winds to stop the collision, and Sentinel ends up crushed under him, as they both fall out of sight.

Catastrofiend stands with a single motion, it’s chest still exposed to the bone from your previous shooting, but rapidly regenerating.

It walks straight for the Loanshark when Annie, still covered in purple goo steps in the way with a battlecry… waving his arms to spill acid at the enemy… but nothing happens. He stays there, waving his fingers as a wizard whose spell’s won’t activate, only to be quickly slashed away… and the oddest thing is you can see a bloodened cut on his shoulder as he falls screaming.

It just cut the only one of you who couldn’t ever be cut.

But of course, there is no time to ponder on how the purple goo did that, not if you want to get out of this alive.

The shark keeps shooting, and the thing keeps ignoring, intent on killing him regardless of how much damage it takes. It swipes forwards, and the fish tries to block with his shotgun… which ends up in pieces.

One of the eldritch blade-arms lunges forward before anyone can do anything else about it, and it cleanly goes trough his chest within a split-second. The Loanshark starts coughing up blood, looking at the thing in a mixture of disbelief and terror, before he falls limp to the side, the fiend screams in triumph, ready to shred him to pieces.

Marshal charge quickly closes the distance but fails to surprise the monster, who doesn’t think twice before attempting to slash at him too. Charge dodges and counterattacks a number of times, his mods sparking high as he pushes it to the limit, getting several solid hits on it. Lightning hurts it, and it screams in pain each time. You send a few shots at it’s back, but it’s of little help… and of course, eventually, Charge’s luck runs out.

He is caught by a diagonal slash that brings him down so hard he bounces on the pavement like a rag doll, followed by a sideswipe, that leaves him on his knees, helpless and looking down at his own bloodened chest and broken suit.

The Catastrofiend looms over him, sharp blades wet with blood, one of them gently lifting his chin so it can get a better look at his eyes. It smiles, which only makes it even more terrifying.

“..Be.g fo.r…me.rcy…" it hisses in a weird, guttural growl.

Of all things, Ortega starts laughing. Laughing. Provoking it...

Shit. The thing laughs back at him and starts pulling its claws back, ready to finish him off.

It’s going to kill him. It’s going to kill him, and no one can do a fucking damn thing about it… all you have is your stupid energy gun… what can it do when machineguns, grenades, and shotguns are useless?

You aim at the back of its head with a sweaty grip. It’s the only thing you can do. You scream as you pull the trigger as if it could make the weapon stronger. Your powers trigger out of raw emotion, directed at the beast’s mind… and It feels it, immediately turning at you…

The beam hits its face straight on as it does so, burning part of it, only for its regeneration to start almost immediately… You knew it wouldn’t work, it was useless… you’ve failed…

But it stops. Catastrofiend stops, It’s claws retracting back to a resting position with a clinking sound.

For the first time, you notice there’s some sort of electronic wiring attached to Its forehead, and … and you fried part of it with your blast.

Catastrofiend doesn’t stay still for long for you to examine what it all means.

It howls in pain and fury, sending another wave of misery through your body, it’s thoughts becoming even more erratic. Did that device somehow keep it focused?!

You try to recharge the gun, but before you can guess what’s going on, it turns and starts running off into the distance, faster than you thought possible. It climbs a building like a spider with its claws digging into the brick walls, before leaps onto another… and then it’s gone.

Gone.

You’re the only one left standing. Steel and Sentinel are nowhere to be seen, while Annie’s squirming in pain, drenched in purple waste while holding his wound. The Loanshark lies in a puddle of blood… and of course, Ortega’s on his knees in front of you bleeding to death, along with what’s left of the rangers.

A trembling hand takes your phone, taking it to your ear as you dial the number, and all you can hear is your own breath as your mind starts panicking waiting for someone to pick up.

“911, what’s your emergency?” someone asks as the call finally comes trough.

___________________________________________________

Rangers Infirmary, HQ. Present time.

“So just let me get this straight… I’m not the only one here at the infirmary am I right?”

“That’d be a hard no, Mr. Marshal” you smile weakly.

________________________

My fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero: rebirth #Chargestep #Spoilers #Catastrofiend #Rangers+Sidestep

29 notes · View notes

echoise · 6 years

Note

Please, I need a Herald/Sidestep scene with Herald catching the MC falling from a building.

You said falling, I may have opted for jumping. (I had to learn physics for this appreciate me) 1,164 words

You kick the door open and stumble up the stairs, grabbing at the railing for balance. The heavy door falls back shut behind you and you’re already a floor up when you hear it open again, multiple minds and voices flooding the stairwell. They’re all shouting over each other and you don’t understand any of it, half because of the chaos and echo and half because it’s, what’s that, a slavic language? Russian? Polish? You never learned any of those. No use for it, they thought.

Shows what they knew.

You keep pushing up, sensing from their half obscured thoughts that they can’t tell where your footsteps are coming from, but aren’t giving up the chase. You hope they don’t have anyone smart enough to try to cut off your escape higher up.

Your head is bursting with the cacophony of echoing footsteps, angry shouting, and your blood rushing in your ears. Not to mention the hostile mental imprints you don’t have time or energy to make sense of.

Your earpiece crackles to life with Herald’s voice, making you nearly miss a step and tumble down, but you catch yourself. You regret agreeing to this. Hell, you regret ever associating with the Rangers.

“Not now,“ you gasp, and thankfully he listens. You don’t have time to explain the shit you’re in right now.

You crash into the roof access door shoulder first and somehow manage to keep your balance as you burst out. Mostly. You skid to a halt and look frantically for anything to block the door with, but the rooftop is empty. Damn.

You stalk over to the far side of the roof, keeping your eyes on the door and your mind’s eye on the rapidly approaching hostile imprints. “Herald?”

The response is almost instant. “Here. Where are you?“

“On the roof.“ You peer over the edge and immediately step back, vertigo threatening to overtake you and worried a gust of wind might send you tumbling over. “Ran into some trouble.“

“What happened? Ortega said the whole place went into chaos.“

“Look, sometimes stealth isn’t an option.“ You squint, trying to find Herald with your eyes, since your mind isn’t having any luck. “I need a lift.“ You jump as the door behind you crashes open, four men rushing out. “Like, five minutes ago!“

“On my way. Stay put.“

“Yeah, not an option.“ You drop into a pre-emptive roll seeing two of the men drawing their guns, presenting as small as possible when you dash for cover. A few bullets fly your way, but miss by miles. “How far out are you?“

“Not far, just– hold on, ok?“

“Hold on,” you grumble, peering over your cover. Easy for him to say. You’re about to get surrounded and made into Swiss cheese.

Fitting that working with the Rangers again would end up getting you killed.

“Herald…“ You weigh your options. You can wait around to get shot, or…

“Almost there!“

“Catch you on the way down!“ You yank out the earpiece - you’re not about to listen to the objections - and roll out of your cover into a sprinting jump.

Right off the roof.

You try not to remember the way the breaking glass felt against your face the last time you jumped off a building. The moment of nothing around you followed by the rushing wind is frighteningly familiar and you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see the ground rushing to meet you. The way down is much longer this time.

You spread your arms and legs, fighting the rising panic. You’re an idiot. You had much better chances on the roof. You can still be Sidestep, if not in name. Four against one isn’t impossible odds, with air support on the way. Why would you trust Herald to catch you?

Except if you didn’t, would you trust him to help you on the roof either?

Shit, you’re going to die.

You really are going to. You’ll end up a smear on the pavement and this time Ortega will have to bury you for real - if they care to, after seeing your remains, and the secrets you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden. If your remains aren’t confiscated and sent back to the farm. You’ll crash and burn and fail like you’ve always done, as a villain, as a friend, as a hero, and worst of all you’ll lose your idol again and be the one responsible for their death–

Wait. That last one wasn’t your thought.

On instinct, you almost fight the arms that wrap around you before registering the mind they’re attached to - the mind the thought came from. Herald pulls you close and holds you to his chest as he rights your dive, turning a deadly descent into an upwards slope. His form is rigid, concentrated, but his mind is a mess. You pull back to not get swallowed by it, your own thoughts overwhelming enough.

You’re safe. You didn’t die.

You’re not going to die.

You draw in a shaky breath, not sure if it’s your own heart you feel hammering, or Herald’s. Probably both.

He floats over to a nearby roof and sets you down. He’s about to let go, but holds you up as your knees buckle. You can’t muster up the energy to be annoyed about that.

“…thanks,“ you finally manage after a few deep breaths. The vertigo is fading. You might even be able to walk in a few hours.

With your mind so busy looking inward, you’re not prepared for the outburst that comes next.

“What the hell were you thinking?“

You blink. “Wh–“

He interrupts you, face contorted and fingers digging into your arms where his hands are holding you up. “You could’ve died! You almost did - I almost didn’t make it!“

You exhale, raising a hand to pat his arm. “But you did. It’s fine.“

“It’s not fine!“ The emotions radiating from him are making your head hurt. Combined with the lingering feeling in your stomach you feel like throwing up. Herald doesn’t seem to notice. “I told you I wasn’t ready! Why didn’t you stay on the roof?“

So dizzy. You grimace. “Because I had four armed guys after me. Look, it happened, it’s past, can we–“

“You’re Sidestep!“ The name stings like that time Lady Fortuna shot a nail gun through your hands and left you crucified for Ortega to find. You still have the scars, both on your hands and your ego. “You could’ve– I could’ve lost you!”

You shove him away, stumbling back a few steps. You double over, leaning your hands on your knees. The anger in Herald quiets and worry surges. Concern. Guilt.

You feel sick.

He steps forward and opens his mouth, but you hold up a hand to hush him. You draw a few deep breaths and look up at him. “Can we just… go?“

He looks you over, unsure. After a moment he nods. “Of course.“

#fallen hero: rebirth #fh:r #fallen hero: retribution #writing #mine #sidestep #herald #dont ask me for context because i don't know #i just make single scenes work for me #tempted to write an alternate suicidal response to this prompt #maybe i'll do it #flystep #thats right thats not the ship tag here

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wesker20 · 5 years

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Fallen Hero 1.5 Episode 12 The Rise of Sidestep Part 2: My Name...

Episode 11 The Rise of Sidestep Part 1: Like a Doll

Years ago – The Farm – The night that started it all…

You fought and ran for the better part of an hour. You searched and searched for Zeta but the place was a mess and fights were everywhere. Every minute you and Kappa were pulled into a battle neither of you wanted to get into in the first place. Eventually you and Kappa began pretending to be docile Re-genes on the side of the soldiers tracking down the escapees. It worked for a time as the soldiers gave you safe passage but eventually Slyther passed the order of rounding up all Re-genes and shooting those who refused. That made your strategy useless in less than ten minutes and you were back to fighting your way through.

You were slowing down, there was no denying that. Besides your telepathy you were just a normal human being, and even at peak physical condition, constant fighting took its toll. But you weren’t worried about yourself, you were worried about Kappa. You’ve seen her fight for hours on end without even a sliver of fatigue, taking on groups of enemies as easily as she breathed. But not this time, this time she was panting, sweating, and slowing down. The wounds she sustained at the hands of Delta’s whip were worse than you thought. You dismissed it at first because the contrast between red and blue was so overt that any wound looked worse than it actually was on a blue Re-gene. But it seemed this time the wounds were as bad as they looked. You finally had enough and forced Kappa to sit down against her complains.

“We have to find Zeta and get out. We won’t do that by sitting,” she told you as you sat beside her.

“And you will not last long if you keep going like this. Five minutes ok?” you told her. With a begrudging nod she rests her head against the wall. You did not need to use your telepathy to know what she was thinking about. In the last hour, Kappa has become as easy to read as any other person. But even if she didn’t, you knew because you were thinking about it too. Alpha. You had avoided mentioning her name in your mind ever since… seeing her. Because of exactly this; your chests begins heaving faster, your hand starts shaking, and your eyes grew wet. You shoved down all of those emotions back into yourself. You did not have time to grieve, you were still trapped in the facility and you needed to find Zeta. Thinking about… her will only slow you down. You’ll have time to break down when you escape. If you escaped, you thought.

“What will you do when we get out,” you asked her, making sure not to say if instead of when.

“I…” she pauses. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about it.” You replied with a small chuckle. “I always wanted live by the beach,” she said after a few seconds of silence. You turned to her with curiosity. “I was on a mission in the pacific one day. We were stationed in a hidden facility next to a beach. I was,” she held her chin, thinking. “enamored I think it’s the word, with the how it looked. How it sound. The waves constantly rising and falling. I loved the feeling of the wind hitting me in the face, my toes digging in the sand. It was… tranquil. Safe. I liked that feeling. I guess I would like that,” she finished staring back at you in gratitude. Now you had more reasons to escape.

Five minutes turned to ten minutes but you would be lying if you did not admitted that your body was grateful for it. And Kappa was no exception. Her classic speed returned tenfold, and she was slicing and dicing as only she knew how. But you both knew this second wind would not last long so you increased the speed of your search, asking ally re-genes if they had seen Zeta and leaving as quickly as possible without wasting a breath. Putting all of you had been told, Zeta was heading for the offices, probably thinking you or Kappa or… her, were there. So you headed for the offices. Only to be met by the end of a gun.

Right there and then, in front of the office you had been taken from early in the day was her, standing with a gun aimed at you: Vanessa Trevor.

“You are responsible for this?” she asked in her usual calm and collected tone. Even with a red cheek and a swollen eye, she was still the same commanding woman she has always been.

You shook your head as you answered. “Not exactly. It was…” her name got stuck in your throat. You couldn’t say it. You could barely think it without falling into a mess, let alone say it.

“It was Alpha. She wanted us to escape,” you heard your companion say. Trevor chuckles.

“Damn girl knows how to make a fine mess,” she answered, still aiming her gun at you. “Where is she?” at that you both froze. You could hear Kappa’s thoughts just going haywire, like a flood. Your own were no better. Your faces must have given her all the information she needed because she lowered her gun, grieve written all over her face. But just as quickly her face went back to cold neutral Trevor and her gun was up again. “And Zeta?” you both relayed to her that you were still searching for him. For minutes she simply stared at you, gun raised. “Leave,” she finally said. “Just leave and never come back.”

“Miss Trevor,” Kappa begins but Trevor cuts her off with a hand.

“Slyther is in the next hallway. In the prime offices. If Zeta headed there, he’ll need your help,” she said. Without missing a beat you both sprang towards the next hallway. For the first time in the night you hoped you would not find Zeta. Otherwise who knows what Slyther would have done. Did Slyther even know who was behind this? If he did, he would want to personally punish you. You bit your lip at that thought. You really, really hoped Zeta wouldn’t be there.

But of course your hopes never really become a reality.

You busted through the door just in time to find Zeta crashing against the wall. He was beaten, bruised beyond recognition. You and Kappa took your stances just in time to see General Franklin Slyther, the man that took Alpha away from you and turned her into a shell. Your eyes narrowed at him just as his narrowed into the two of you.

“I should have known you dogs were coming. This is what I was talking about all this time. Give a dog too much and they’ll bite you,” he said to no one in particular. And that’s when you noticed he was shirtless, pieces of his uniform hung form a ripped body covered in surgical scars that confirmed the presence of mods. His left arm however was the strangest one; it was not covered, rather its gears and pieces were in the open. You could almost tell how each piece fits into the other. Or so you thought. Instantly his arm began changing, pieces realigning, into a shape you more or less recognized as a gun. A very big gun.

Kappa lunges herself at you, getting you both out of the way as the door behind you was disintegrated by the blast. You looked up just in time to see him aiming at the two of you but right before he shot you were somewhere else. The hangar. For a moment you are confused before you feel someone’s hand on you and turned to find Zeta there, beaten to a pulp, but conscious. You hugged him just as Kappa did the same. But your reunion did not lasted long as you heard a wall being broken and the ground shake beneath you. All three of you turned to find Slyther standing meters apart from you.

“You pathetic creatures need to learn your place. You don’t belong out there,” he begins as he aims his gun at you again. You push Zeta away, giving him cover on some boxes while you and Kappa jumped to the other side. You both knew Zeta was not in any fighting shape and he would only get in the way. So you pushed him aside and jumped the other way to lure Slyther to you. “You are tools, weapons, created with a specific purpose. You belong to us!” he yells and shoots again. You both dodged in different directions, Kappa turning invisible in the process. Good, you took the role of the bait.

You dodged and evaded, but his shots became more accurate. And Slyther was no idiot; he knew what you were up to and paid close attention to his surroundings, making sure Kappa did not get the jump on him. You were trapped, stalemated. You needed to get his attention. That’s when you noticed the shields; shields both soldiers and re-genes used against boosted. You have seen these things take Alpha’s punches and survive with only a dent. It could not have taken many shots but it could take enough that Slyther was solely focused on you for several seconds. That’s all Kappa needed, one good second. So you took the shield and raised it. Slyther did not wasted long in shooting at you. The shield survived, but the force of the shot pushed you back, and might have even hurt your arms but you stood your ground and pushed forward. And again he shot, over and over and over again. Each shot a painful push against you, until you felt it, your shoulder cracked under the pressure and you could not hold the shield up any more.

On your knees you looked up to find yourself staring down the smoking barrel of Slyther’s gun. “It’s a pity to lose a Beta. You are very difficult to create,” he said. That was it, you told yourself. That was the end, it was all for nothing. Your fighting, your hoping, Alpha’s sacrifice, it was all for nothing. It all ended there. But as always what you think tends not to pass as you heard Slyther’s scream and looked to find his arm resting on the ground in front of you. Yes! Kappa did it. She helps you up and you both take your stances against Slyther. It did not ended there, not yet. It could not end like that until you beat him, until you finished Slyther once and for all. All of your life you have lived under his shadow, constantly judged, constantly watched. No matter how many times you succeeded, he would look at you as an enemy. Force you to never show anything other than utter obedience. It ended here.

Slyther screamed at the two of you like a raging beast. “You insolent, defective creatures! You belong to us! We made you!” he charged at you, surprisingly fast for a man his size. Kappa managed to jump out of his way just in time. You did not fared as well and he grabbed you with his remaining hand, slamming you into the ground as if you were a doll. You looked up just in time to see his punch landing on you. “I knew you were defective,” he began as he brought down his fist on you time and again. “you were becoming something you are not supposed to be. I’ll will end you and Trevor’s whole charade!” just then a sword embedded into his shoulder, courtesy of Kappa. But Slyther simply turned to her and slapped her away, getting the sword out of his shoulder and tossing it away.

It was like fighting a tank, Slyther could take as much punishment as we could give and he would keep coming. Kappa and you went for every weakness in the human anatomy you knew but nothing brought him down. It was like all of his joints and important organs were armored. It did not help that his punches were like getting hit with steel. All he needed was a good punch in and you would both be on your knees stunned and bleeding. Then an idea came to you, his blaster. His blaster was strong enough to melt a door in less than a second and powered through those shield with little effort. If you could shoot him with that blaster, you might beat him. But it was a big if, and if it did not work you were pretty sure there was nothing that could stop him.

You sent this thought to Kappa’s mind and she agreed. Deciding to play the bait just as she did with Delta, while you snuck through towards the gun. She immediately rushed Slyther, leaping over his incoming punch and slashing his shoulder. As Kappa used her superior speed to keep him at bay, you rolled and jumped from cover to cover, heading for the arm. Kappa was getting slower, you noticed as you glimpsed to the fight. You’ve seen Kappa move so fast she looked like she was teleporting. But here you can see the blur she creates when moving, you see the direction she heads towards for every attack. Even if most people could not fight against this kind of speed, it worried you that you were not seeing that Kappa. But you refocused on your task. You had to for your sake, for Zeta’s sake, and for her sake too. Nothing could be won if you just stood there worrying about what could happen. For any chance at victory you had to move. Even at this speed, Kappa was an excellent fighter, she could survive all on her own, you had to trust her to do so.

Finally you reached your target, pulling the arm behind cover just in case Slyther caught a glimpse. You began searching the arm, trying to understand how to use it. Although you were not a tech expert, no one in your team was, you knew enough to understand that this arm in particular was an old model with modern additions. Meaning that unlike modern mods, the gun attachment was not shot with brain signals, but the old way: pulling a trigger. Inside the blaster you find it, the hand wrapped around a handle with the index finger on the trigger. All you had to do was open the hand and aim. Easy. But of course it wasn’t. The hand was firmly wrapped around the handle, too tightly for you to open. Turns out trying to open up a metal hand is not that easy. If Alpha was here, she could have done it. Then again, she could have overpowered Slyther all by herself. Slyther is strong, but you have seen and felt Alpha’s strength, there was nothing he could have done against her. If only you had escaped sooner, or maybe if it was you they reeducated first, maybe she could have…

No, you shook your head. That was not the time to think about it. Even if every fiber of your being wants to. You still had Kappa and Zeta to worry about, they needed you. It’s what Alpha would have wanted. Then you realized that you did not needed to free the handle of the gun, if there was enough space, you could pull the trigger no problem. You buried your hand into arm and tested lightly. The trigger was mobile and could be pulled. It required a lot of strength but nothing you had not done before. You sent Kappa the thought to get ready for it. She did, she began jumping around him instead of away from him, keeping him on one location, effectively making him an easy target. You raised the barrel of the weapon as much as possible, enough actually, and in the span of just three seconds you sent Kappa the alert, she jumped out of the way, and Slyther turned just in time to see you.

“Smile you son of a-” you began but never finished as the recoil of the gun was enough to push you back. You crashed against a car as Slyther took the shot head on, sending him crashing against a truck, which proceeded to explode and envelope him in a curtain of fire.

Your vision was blurred for several seconds but you felt someone’s hand holding you, sitting you up. When your vision returned, you found both Kappa and Zeta in front of you.

“Beta!” Zeta yelled. Kappa looked at you with relief. You’ve done it. Slyther was gone.

“Come on, we have to get out,” Kappa said as she helped you up.

“Go? Where?” Zeta asked, genuinely confused. You could already sense his questions coming a mile away. But they were all overshadowed by one thought of pure unadulterated rage. And then you hear the shot. Neither you nor Zeta could have reacted, but you knew that if she was at one hundred percent, or even ninety percent, Kappa could have. She had dodged bullets at point blank range no problem. But she was tired, bloodied, weakened. She could not react fast enough as the bullet tore through her back. She almost fell and turned just in time for three more shots to land on her body. She fell beside you, unable to keep going or to fight back. Time slowed down, you turned to see the perpetrator, Slyther, still alive. Most of his upper body was burned, revealing several mods and muscles. You rushed him as he prepare to shoot you, you sent a telepathic blast, a weak but effective attack that stunned him long enough for you close the distance.

You grabbed his wrist and twisted it, causing him to drop the gun. You proceeded to punch him in the face. And again, and again, and again, and again, and again. When he fell to the floor, you stranded him and punched him again. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. Punch, punch, punch, punch, punch, punch, elbow, elbow, elbow, elbow. Your mind became focused, determined, dedicated to only one thing. By the end of it, your knuckles were covered in blood, both yours and his, and his face was far beyond recognition. You only stopped when the Kappa’s thoughts echoed in your head begging you to be by her side. Begrudgingly you stood up leaving the beaten general behind.

“Don’t- Don’t you dare turn your back on me,” he said through his broken mouth. “Come back here! You want to be human! Be a human and end this!” You ignored him, your preoccupation was Kappa, not him. “Come back here!” Then he finally got your attention. “She begged me to only punish her you know,” you stopped. “She said, ‘please, leave them alone. I alone planned this no one else was involved.’ But I told her that she would be singing a very different tune soon enough.” You turned, your thoughts set on him. “And after a while she did. She begged us not to do it. To stop. Said she wouldn’t do it again.” You took a knife resting on the ground. “But I told her there was no turning back. She should have thought better of it.” You stood over him as he chuckled. “I wished I had taped her so you could have watched it yourself. The tears running down her face as all her memories were erased. It’s funny, the memories that were resisted the most were the ones with you. But even those fell after a while.” You grabbed him by the throat, raising your knife. “Go ahead kid. I ain’t afraid of death.” At that you smile. He’s bluffing, you know it, his head is like an open book to you. He’s trying to convince you that he embraces death, reverse psychology. You can see how it has worked with others in the past, in his long history with the army. But not with you.

“Then why do I sense fear in your mind?” you asked him. His face changed but you barely gave him enough time before you dug the knife deep into his throat. He fights and grasps for air as you watched, but his own blood choked him without remorse. In the end he was just another person.

You ran back to Kappa’s side, helping Zeta sit her up. You stared at her wounds, trying to figure out something, anything, that could help her. “Come on, we have to get out of here,” you told her but all she did was chuckle.

“Come on Beta. We both know that is not going to happen.”

“Don’t say that, ok? We are getting you out,” at that Zeta nodded to you. And you tried to get her up, but she did not even tried.

“I’m done guys, you have to go,” she said in an almost motherly tone.

“No! don’t say that,” Zeta yelled, tears already in his eyes.

“He’s right. We are getting out of here, ok? You can go to that beach you wanted, and build that house. We’ll help you. So come on,” you told her, holding back your own tears. You could not mourn another. Not so soon. Not again. You weren’t even sure you could survive losing Alpha. And now you were supposed to just survive losing Kappa too. No. You could not. But then you felt a reassuring hand resting on your shoulder. She stared at you with tears, the second time that night you had seen her cry.

“That would be great. I would like that, but-” she was cut off by a cough. Cough that shot blood out of her mouth. You knew, Zeta knew, and Kappa knew as well. There was nothing that could be. Searching for the med bay would have been suicide, and even if wasn’t, you could not find it in time before she died. So you simply sat there, the only thing you could do. You brought her face to your shoulder, hugged her, letting her know that she was already there. That she was in that beach, with her friends, her family. All four of you together staring at the tranquil sea. You sent the images to her mind, trying your best not to let her feel your distress, your panic, your sadness. The last thing she needed was to feel how broken you were. She needed to go happy, unburdened. She deserved nothing less.

Her thoughts calmed, she smiled, and her breath slowed down bit by bit, as you held back your own. Her thoughts vanished one by one, first her training days, then her missions, and lastly the three of you. The image you sent her was the last thing to disappear and then there was nothing. Then you broke, and Zeta broke. And you both held her for minutes hoping against hope that you were wrong. But you were not. She was gone, just like Alpha. Half of your team gone in one night, just like that.

It took a long time before you could both stand up on your own again. But you did, you had to.

“Beta, what are we doing,” Zeta asked. His eyes still red and wet and his voice weaker than it has ever been.

“We are getting out of here.”

“To where?! To do what! And what about Alpha!” that hits you harder than you thought. You forgot he did not knew. You turned slowly to him and with as much care as you could you relied to him what has happened. Alpha’s reeducation, her plan, everything. You could see the wheels turning in his head even without your telepathy.

“That’s why we have to escape. That’s what Alpha and Kappa wanted.”

“No! That is what you wanted!” he snapped at you. “All I wanted was to just be with you guys. But Alpha and Kappa are now gone and you just want to leave?”

“What would you have me do, stay?” you asked him, incredulous.

“Yeah? Why not? Slyther is dead, and I’m sure Miss Trevor will help us.”

“Wake up Zeta we are slaves. People like Slyther will come, even if Trevor stays, there will always be a new Slyther who will take what little we do have. I’m not staying for that!” you yelled at him.

“NO! We were fine. Everything was fine until you decided to do those things with Alpha. That’s what caused all of this.” you scoffed at him.

“Zeta listen, what happened here would have happened anyway. Someone was going to do it anyway. Alpha planned this by herself!”

“Only because of you! And if someone else did it, so what? We would have been fine, all four use, together.” You could barely process what was going on. So you just decided to leave.

“I’m leaving Zeta. Whether you like it or not. Now you can come with me or stay.”

“What! No, please. You can’t leave.” You shut him up with your own voice. Telling him it was done. “If you go they’ll chase you, and if they catch you they’ll reeducate you. Erase all of your memories.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you said not giving an inch. You turned around and headed for the exit of the hangar.

“No, please. Don’t leave me Beta. Beta… BETA!” you stopped. Because he was wrong. Alpha and Kappa were not the only ones who were gone.

“Beta is dead. My name is Jeremy.” That was your name now, the name Alpha gave you, her first gift to you. You’ll embrace it and wear it proudly. You hear Zeta falling on his knees but you kept going. Despite every fiber of your being screaming at you to get back and get him, you kept walking. You couldn’t let yourself be trapped, not anymore. Like you said Beta 010 was dead. Now it was time for Jeremy to rise.

Woods outside of The Farm

You traveled for several days, keeping as good care of your injuries as you could in your current circumstances. But eventually you reached it, a city, the city where you would eventually realize what you were. A city you had visited several times in so many missions, the city of heroes and villains.

Los Diablos – weeks later

It was funny how easy you thought things would be when you arrived. Get into the city, get a job and begin a new live. How oh so naïve you were.

You were in an alley, homeless, along with many others. You managed to get some clothing and a tattered jacket with a hood. Turns out getting a job in Los Diablos was not that easy. Many places either were too filled or needed some sort of proof of your education. Which obviously you did not had. So for several weeks you slept on alleys and benches, and either ate from trashcans or, in more desperate cases, stole it. Thankfully your training was coming in handy. You were slowly devising a plan but it was a long term game. For now, this was your life. And you hated it. Not the part of being homeless, though that has its own issues, but because whenever you were not searching for food, you thought of them. Your team, Alpha, Kappa, and Zeta. You failed them. Zeta was right in some respect. You could have figured Alpha’s plan and stopped it. Or helped her to do it in a more subtle manner. You could have done anything. But instead you let the clues fly over your head, and now here you were, alone.

The tears had become a daily occurrence so you no longer resent it when they come; you let them fall freely as you cuddle in your jacket. Then you hear it, a commotion at the entrance of the alley. Your fellow homeless moved deeper into the alley. You asked one of them what was going on and one of them told you to just hide. You did and watched as a group of three man teamed up on a fourth. Your telepathy had become sensitive that last several weeks so you even when you did not wanted to, you would catch some emotions from others.

Here you felt them all, the man’s fear, the other three’s intent to kill him. To end him, take his life away as if it was nothing. You ignored it, it was not your problem, it shouldn’t have been your problem. But you kept feeling the man’s terror, his feelings, the feelings of his family. A sister, a mother, and a father. A close friend. All the people that he cares about flash through is mind, people that would miss him, people that would mourn him, people that would be broken over his death; just like you were over Alpha and Kappa.

You shook those thoughts away. Helping this man would not bring them back, nothing could. They were gone and there was nothing you could do about. But you could save him. Save him and make sure that his family and friends do not go through the same thing you did. You could practically hear Alpha screaming at you to do it, she would have jumped at this without a second thought. You stared at your hands and think of raising your sleeves, but you stopped. You did not need to see them, you made your choice.

You stepped out of your hiding spot. As you headed for the group, you raised your jacket’s hood, covering your face in darkness. There were three of them, but even if you were not at one hundred percent their thoughts were painfully easy to read.

“Hey,” you said, getting their attention. “Why don’t you leave the man alone and walk away.” They laughed at you and told you to get lost. You gave them a chance to walk away unharmed but once again they laughed. At that point it was over.

You kicked one guy in the leg hit the other in the throat. As they both fell back in pain you faced off with the leader. He threw several good punches; some of them landed, but you worked through, just switch it off like they taught you. Reading his next move, you sidestep his next punch locked him in a rear naked choke hold. In three seconds he was out and once his friends came to his rescue you threw him at them. Once again you sidestep their moves with ease, each attack clear in their minds for you to pick up. You bobbed and weaved, hitting one on the liver and the other in the face. The one fell down in pain while the third one, seeing his friends out of commission, raised his hands in defeat.

“Get out of here, and never come back,” you told him and he ran. Just then you went to the man who was being beaten up. He was scared of you, you could tell just by looking. “I won’t hurt you,” you began, offering him your hand. “I promise.” After several seconds of doubt, he finally accepted it and you helped him. He thanked you and you told him to go, warning him to be careful.

You looked at him as he walked away, wondering what you were feeling. It was not complete happiness, but it certainly felt like something good. Helping him… You wonder if others also go through the same thing, if others lose people and suffer like you do. You go back to all the people you killed. Did they had families? Friends? People that missed them after they were gone? If they were, then you have hurt others. You have hurt others the same way you had been hurt. You could not let yourself do that again. And you could not allow others to go through what you did. You couldn’t. Even if you can never bring back what you had, you can make sure others don’t lose what they have. You have that power… You did.

Episode 13 Revenge One Month Later

#fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero: retribution #fanfic #fallen hero fanfic #mc #Sidestep #OCs #Final Flashback #MC Becomes Sidestep

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animaopen · 5 years

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logan facts™ that i’m going to add to over time

— swears a lot. she’s grown, she can do what she wants.

— loves to take risks (just about lives on them) but only under her terms. control is important to her.

— likes to understand how things work, and likes to fix things, tinker around. can’t say for sure if this also applies to people.

— very self-contained, doesn’t like depending on others.

— pattern fixation. when she gets tired, she focuses on rhythms, made by her, by someone else, whatever. tapping or humming or ticking. anything with a beat blanks her out, and then suddenly it’s been ten minutes.

— talks to inanimate objects. don’t ask her about it.

— curls into a tight little ball to sleep, one hand under her pillow, heavy on her gun. very easy to get into work mode, hard enough she will sleep through days, but regularly operates on naps and light sleeping. constant vigilance.

— preferred weaponry is heckler & koch, specifically the P30L, sometimes retrofitted with a suppressor. depends on her mood.

— once, chen made a statement that no one would ever be able to startle him. naturally, logan spent the next year purposely trying to find ways to do so. perfectly capable of slipping into small, cramped places, to then jump out, chen got away with mild surprise and nothing more. until one day she hid herself in the dryer of the rangers hq. chen hadn’t sworn so loudly since then.

— doesn’t like bugs. and not in a flippant, they’re gross, no, she knows what they feel like. to crawl. she doesn’t want them on her skin.

— always has food on her person. always has food stashed somewhere in the nearby vicinity. why? layover habit from the farm, of not ever having just enough to eat. once she got free, and was able to eat what she wanted, she is the one carrying snacks, juice boxes shoved in her jacket pockets, fruit bars pulled out of her sleeves. ortega finds varying pot plants carrying different kinds of kitkats.

— despite the resets and rewiring, her memory is pretty good. can remember quite minute details, which was expected when being brought back to do mission reports. double whammy, as she remembers just about everything she has ever done, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

— whilst logan isn’t entirely a neat freak, post operation she is very careful about how she slows down. cleaning up is precise, such as taking apart the gun, getting the blood out of her suit. lay it all out and work through the motions to get her mind in the right place.

— doesn’t mind heights so much, even in the face of heartbreak, but it’s the weightlessness that gets her. hanging. that’s the point of letting go.

— there’s a fine line between realistic approaches to conversations, and over exaggerated. she goes either way very quickly. too stiff, too expressive. talks with nothing, not even blinking, talks with her hands, knocks something over.

— covers her mouth with her hand when she laughs genuinely.

— she can’t swim.

— her first closet was a lot of hand-me-downs from the rangers. she loved it, truly. made her feel like she belonged, even if she was the one to turn down a chance to join.

— logan is trying her best. she swears she is. good life? truth? revenge? the whiplash even strikes her too hard, too fast. she wants out, but she can’t get out, unless she exposes the truth. but there’s costs and time and she wants to do good. be good. go back.

— when she gets in the zone, she forgets to eat. sleep. everything becomes secondary. won’t even talk. and then it’s over, and she crashes. shovels junk food and caffeine into her body, sleeps for nearly a week, back at it again next monday. quite frankly, it terrifies some people.

— the cigarettes used to be just a cover, something to do with her hands. always had to look human, so keeping hands busy meant less attention. she stole the first packet from her handler just before her last mission. but now she has the fancy kind, coloured and flavoured cigarettes. still keeps that old packet. one smoke left. she’ll get through it at the end.

— she hates hearing secrets. being told them is one thing, but having them leap at you, like gossip in the morning, pisses her off. if only because she’s very good at keeping them.

— survivor’s guilt. from getting out of the farm (twice). from heartbreak. from surviving heartbreak. she doesn’t know why, but it eats her up. she shouldn’t be here.

— drinks juice, milk, soft drinks, whatever, straight from the bottle, no matter who is watching. will spray whipped scream straight into her mouth. has eaten an entire tub of nutella in one sitting. don’t think about it.

— she’s on a lot of pain medication. isn’t taking most of it around rebirth, but it’s for her limbs. the joints mostly. the replacement organs. her back. last lot of surgery before getting out went alright, as best as it could, and whilst everything matches, it’s her, it’s stiff. she doesn’t get the regular upkeep outside the farm. no doctors to turn to. stares at the bottles and shuts the mirror.

— lies about injuries terribly. she’s fine. forget about it.

— she can’t tell you if the ballet memories are real, or the violin ones. hasn’t tested the theory, even though she’s fairly sure the ballet might be real from how she fights, and something holds her back from picking up the instrument just because of that.

— logan may not claim to be suicidal, but she keeps reality in check. statistically, she’s going to die at some point. be it tomorrow or next week, or christmas in three years time. have to keep on top of the game, by accepting the fact that in a year, she could be gone. next year, tomorrow, that could be the day too.

— she’s a damn good pickpocket. so much so, it became a game to put the most ridiculous things on their person, and get her to take it. even taking to the skies with it. made anathema’s week she pinched exactly five buttons off the front of ortega’s shirt, the crumpled receipt from last night’s shout from sentinel, and the twelve cents from the front of chen’s coat.

— in saying that, time with the rangers introduced reverse pickpocketing. putting things in place. and it was harder, logan found, because it meant that moment of being a little closer, instead of just walking on. from ortega’s personal money clip, as once he found about the excursion, he was more than willing to get involved, they distributed quite a lot of funds to those having a bad day around los diablos.

— logan went to exactly one (1) congratulatory dinner, post nanoswarm, and it was a disaster. absolutely. not only did she wear her mask, even with a fancy dress on, but a reporter got a little too handsy and she not only blasted him into next week mentally, oh no. she kicked him so hard, that he cracked through a window and landed on the balcony, shoe lodged in his gut. it actually got her a place on the fridge because it was so stupid.

— on that note, during her time as sidestep, she got some of the stupidest injuries to date considering her level of skill

impaled by a fork

fell off the kitchen counter, smacked her face, split her lip and knocked out her tooth

scaled a tree to hide from ortega, unintentionally climbed through poison oak

dropped over a tear gas canister in rangers hq

fell down four flights of stairs, relatively unharmed, but slipped on a welcome mat at the bottom

jammed hand in car door and subsequently broke a finger

— she’s a magpie. likes shiny things. obnoxious things. maybe she does it on purpose, to get the most ridiculously brightly coloured things and leaving them everywhere as a reminder, but ortega spent a long time finding pens laying around his office. put them all in a jar eventually, in the office that was hidden from anyone else.

— there’s another jar with stones somewhere in rangers hq as well. ortega is convinced it has it’s own life, as he sees it sometimes, and never again for nearly two months. but there’s a couple of stones, etched with all their names.

— she loves to be warm. loves to stretch out in the heat. hot showers that are damn near scalding, hair up and out of her face. maybe it’s because it helps her joints, maybe because it gives her a reason to face herself.

— but that’s only because she’s always cold. can feel the outline of metal if she digs her fingers hard enough into her sides. a con of not being all that human is that nothing really needs to be organic. she doesn’t need to be warm, all the time, but she wants to be. means she can feel something other than cold.

— logan is actually an alright cook, but feigns ignorance whenever someone offers to cook for her. has she ever set something on fire on purpose, just so she could have an excuse to sit back and watch? no, never! perish the thought!

— if she’s being honest, a lot of time spent in ortega’s company was in silence. that she remembers anyway. like there was this easy way of living, just then, convincing herself she deserved it. his mind is soft and comfortable when quiet, and it’s like a warm hug, thinking about it. being near it. being near him. she misses him, misses the quiet they had.

— once upon a time, logan loved scented candles, and all those funky little things. but now it reminds her of heartbreak, of anathema, and her stomach drops.

— honestly logan can’t even place her own accent, even though it’s remarkably subtle, as she has that many languages literally ‘on file’, is english her first language? she can’t say. somewhere vaguely european, maybe a little slavic depending on how angry she gets. or maybe that’s on purpose, to through people off.

— adopting three dogs was the best decision she had ever made for herself. the triplets, as she calls them, are big bundles of love. she was definitely inspired by spoon, but hadn’t expected to literally drop on them. tilly, teddy and trixie honestly do give logan more time, whether she wants to admit it or not.

— trains them in multiple languages too. although it can be argued, even by herself, that as she mentally connects with them, maybe they just understand her thoughts. or maybe they just trust her. too many branching ideas there.

— a lot of her early training was about exploitation. she tries to change that for herself, around early sidestep days. one of those things was physical affection. she had only ever known it to be used to twist people, so she doesn’t really touch or hold someone. except, if she trusts them deeply. if they trust her. once they cross that bridge, it’s over for them. it’s a big thing for her, to find that comfortability for both parties, to then be able to move into something that’s a little more human.

— this also kind of developed into tugging on jackets, to get attention. to signify she was close. her footfalls are remarkably light, and she always forgets that these people like to be told someone is nearby. only so many times she could cough, announce her presence. so it’s a tug, four times, left side. she’s here.

— logan is disgustingly good at noticing little things and twisting it around to make it seem like someone is forcibly doing something for her for their own benefit. like on the anniversary of marshal hood’s anniversary, not only did she set up a week in advance a conveniently placed series of photos and accolades that chen would have to walk by, but it meant that he would have to talk to ortega. or how anathema was off put by something said by a reporter, and sentinel happened to find out through a series of well placed whispers, meaning that he would end up talking to them. she will win the game of the rangers taking care of themselves.

— she doesn’t remember what the last song on her iPod was the day she died. ortega could probably tell her. it was likely stuck in his head for a couple of months.

— that said, she wonders if it would be rude to ask for it back. these days, she doesn’t wear headphones so much anyway, because she’s ready. ready for what, you may ask? anything. not just her mind on high alert. it’s everything else. but back then, when she was nice and safe and sure? it meant she could relax.

— phantom pain fucking sucks, and she wants a refund. like how she can feel the glass cut into her face, the way her ribs are jammed back in place. how the constraints tighten and needles press in and god, she hates it so much. only when her mind gets too quiet, not enough noise.

— her sweet tooth actually puts many people off because they’re sure that coffee is more sugar than anything else but i dare you to tell her off.

— logan isn’t allowed to take care of succulents anymore, because she killed exactly eight of them in the space of a week. she claims that so called indestructible plants are actually very sensitive, but. there you go.

— ortega sings a lot, and it kind of introduced logan to a wealth of music. he was her primary source of a lot of stuff, actually, whether he realised it or not. you can download information into a chip and call it a day, but actually knowing what it is, is something entirely different. just like how when he gave orders, it never meant logan had to change. just be herself. ortega was a lot of firsts for her.

— do not dare her to climb something, because she will, repercussions be damned. nine times out of ten, it was a mild comment, that got turned serious, but logan had climbed both rangers hqs several times over, both in and out of costume. she will scale that apartment building with her bare hands, don’t test her.

— maybe she just likes to be tall

— even though she’s like 5’9

— she’s a horrible artist, really. but she doodles in borders, and on official documents, and whenever her mind so much as wanders. ortega keeps them all.

— she can and will break into things to prove she can. ties in with quick fingers, old habits. gotta break and enter and get a lay of the land. only place she never broke into was ortega’s. literally, the only place.

— a lot of her layover habits, are not even really layover. still actively utilised and honed. logan just boxes them into the then and now. makes her separate the person easily. herself. if she can keep an eye on the days, it means that that time is further away. who she was doesn’t need to come back out and be remembered. but those habits, those abilities, they’re just as much a part of her as the memories and the person. she knows she’s an idiot for trying to ignore that.

— her and anathema got so good at high fiving each other during their time together, they were able to do it without looking at each other. ortega used to tease it was because logan read their mind, but they were just on another plane of friendship he could never achieve.

— hand-me-downs were a thing, but she’s also outright a clothing thief. daniel ends up being on the receiving end of this later, as his clothing is softer than ortega’s. but he doesn’t mind, because there’s something about her seeing an old sidestep hoodie, washed too many times, and not frowning. she actually looked happy, seeing it.

— during her sidestep days, her hair was long and brown and curly, no reason to hide her identity. she left behind the contacts and the makeup and anything else, that would help transform her face. the red during rebirth was partially a mistake, from not reading a bottle properly and just rolling with it, because it was done poorly and who would look twice at someone like that, right? but she misses her hair. misses what it meant. the extensions and dye just aren’t quite the same. maybe she should just start again.

— on many separate occasions, she had been caught napping in places around rangers hq. anywhere from the linen closet, to on top of lockers, to underneath the infirmary beds. politely, most people don’t comment.

— she’s also responsible for several broken dummies, all of which she would vaguely blink at, and refuse to explain as to just how she managed to behead one with her thighs alone. what do you mean she kicked it so hard it cracked down the middle? no, sir, she did not in fact punch it with enough brute force to rip it from the ground. you’re mistaken.

— she’s good for roughhousing. for play fighting. can’t turn away from a tumble. fighting’s good because she doesn’t need to think, and instinct takes over. granted, again, found herself tightening a chokehold a little too well, and then having to laugh it off. it’s all luck.

— but fighting is dangerous, and the one time she had been pulled into it while angry, there was a swear. never again. dislocated her opponent’s shoulder and walked out for two weeks. ortega had found her smoking then, acting like nothing had happened. but she could tell you in exact detail how it felt. how it sounded.

— logan claims she can’t drive, if only to see how far she could get ortega to try to teach her just because it was hilarious when she pretended not to know what the brakes were. but she had a motorcycle, anyway. prefers the low turn. just barely touching the ground.

— that motorcycle was probably one of the only material things she owned. that’s not to say she didn’t have things, especially when outside the farm. and that she won’t in future. but it was hers, paid and bought for by herself. she loved that thing. doesn’t know where it went when she died, but damn if she doesn’t want it back.

— she was banned from the rangers hq for some time for the following offences:

threw a spoon at anathema and shattered a window with the sheer force of it being thrown (seriously, logan, what the fuck),

learned all the words to cell block tango but would purposely utilise inflection around chen with ‘he had it coming’,

broke into the security system because she wanted to find out how it worked and subsequently shut down electricity on the block,

had to unpack all weapons on her person after setting off one of the newer, more sensitive scanners. was there for nearly an hour,

challenged sentinel to a duel,

which was accepted,

which started a betting pool of ridiculous outcomes,

challenged marshal charge to a duel,

locked marshal charge in an octopus hold and refused to let go until he said she was pretty,

changed the wifi password,

changed the screensaver on the computers to marshal charge’s award winning grin of ’08,

every time marshal charge would say something would respond with a lightning pun for three weeks,

placed a fake suggestion box in the lunchroom and encouraged responses,

bled out on the weight bench and when provoked about it, gave her worst new york accent (fuggehhda abotit!),

bought one of every ranger doll and would leave them in the worst places, may have actually replaced the eyes on them to glow

— stick her in a patch of sun, and she will start to fall asleep. guaranteed. she claims she’s photosynthesising.

— whilst she hasn’t done this since her sidestep days, once she decorated her ceiling in those glow-in-the-dark stickers. with as much accuracy as feasibly possible, it was damn near a star map. mostly because ortega insisted on pointing out all sorts of stars, and she didn’t quite believe him, but it helped her sleep, staring up at that little star map of hers. she hasn’t quite committed to the idea of repeating it, because it’s a tender memory and she’s not that person anymore.

— there was a “it has been __ days since our last incident” board in the old rangers hq. mostly involving her, and ortega, and sometimes anathema, getting up to all kinds of bullshit. was just a big black smudge by the end of its use, as not a day went past without incident.

— her eyes were retrofitted post heartbreak with micro optic cameras, constantly filming and recording. once logan escaped, she turned the devices off with some effort, but ultimately rendered her eyes dark (when they’re on, her eyes get a red shine in most lights). some days she still wish she left them on, if only because filming from behind her villain helmet just isn’t the same as watching the trajectory of a hero with your own two eyes.

— the eye cameras though were also unfortunate because it meant she could rewatch every little thing that happened. stuck with the memories in more way than one whenever she closed her eyes.

— prior to sidestep days, logan was continually reset, wiped clean, to serve as the perfect soldier. post heartbreak, that wasn’t her reality anymore. if anything, the intention to keep her memories as reminders served purpose better.

— whilst not in the habit of invariably mimicking voices nowadays, at one point in time, she was very good at not only throwing her voice, but imitating. it meant for some funnier times, but also naturally quite dangerous to those unaware. she did have her limits though, of course.

— at one point, she took up skateboarding. claims it was part of her cover for pre-sidestep to explain how she could get around so fast without a car. one of the first few things she actually enjoys by herself to do, and one of the easiest ways for her to just lose herself in the city and listen in.

— being handy with technology means several things, such as she’s good at breaking and entering, not having much of a traceable footprint, and helping with effectively mod related issues. but it also means that she has had a hand in quietly upgrading security of those she cares about, and fixing something mundane like a car radio or the air conditioner.

— she had a some efforts in local life to improve it, be it anonymous donations, a sudden drop in crime rate, or general attempts to at least get kids to school safely. ortega referred to it as her stomping ground as a vigilante, and a lot of her accounts left open to supply money were kept by him, as well as food donations. ortega made a regular effort a year after her death to visit the area and keep on top of her work.

— logan, once far more comfortable as sidestep back in the day, had been caught more than once moonwalking or something similar post mission upon a successful detainment of a villain.

— one time chen returned to rangers hq to find that ortega had been duck taped to his office chair. politely, he had declined to comment. she proclaimed innocence, and subsequently was banned from hq for a week for “leaving the marshal in a position of lowered security”.

— never was much of a laugher, until her sidestep days. and even then it was hidden behind her hand right up until the end, when she finally started to let loose.

— betting pools were all the rage for her. constantly about mundane things: “i bet you can’t eat this in one go”, “i bet you don’t know all the lyrics”, “i bet you can’t do a flip from the roof”. the best ones were trying to get certain phrases slipped into conversation. most food related ones are banned however, due to spikes in food poisoning.

#*logan #fhr

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unfolded73 · 7 years

Text

What Comes Next (7/8)

Summary: They lived happily ever after. And then what happened? (A Post-S6 story.) Starts about a week after the final battle, and explores the highs and lows of newly married life between Emma and Killian as they deal with work, friends, and family as life in Storybrooke settles down somewhat.

Captain Swan, Explicit overall, ~4250 words this chapter

Thanks to @j-philly-b for the beta.

Killian held the small seashell to his lips. “Ariel? Ariel, can you hear me?”

Several seconds of silence passed, and then he could hear her chipper voice, speaking to him across the divide between realms. “Captain? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, love. I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”

“Sure, anything, but in exchange you have to give me the news from Storybrooke. How is everyone?”

He grimaced, glancing through the glass wall of Emma’s office at the chair in the main part of the sheriff’s station where John Raymond was sitting and fidgeting with his hands. He hadn’t locked the boy in one of the jail cells, but he had formally arrested him. Knowing some police procedures would have to be followed, Killian was preparing to dutifully take down the boy’s confession. He didn’t really have time to gossip with a mermaid.

“Everyone’s safe. Snow and Dave have bought a farm, Emma and I got married—”

Ariel’s resulting squeal made him hold the seashell at arm’s length. She began babbling congratulations and he smiled in spite of himself. It felt good to know that people were happy for him.

“Ariel, love, I appreciate the congratulations, but I’m a bit short on time,” he finally said, interrupting her.

“Oops, sorry! What’s the favor you need?”

~*~

“The Rabbit Hole may be a shithole,” Emma said, “but it’s our shithole, and it’s not a front for any minions of the Black Fairy.”

Regina took a sip of her martini and glanced over her shoulder. “I think I’d allow for a little evil in here if we could get a sexy bartender like the one at Aesop’s Tables.”

“He wasn’t real, Regina, he was just Gideon in disguise!” Emma said. “Although yeah, he was nice to look at.”

“I didn’t even see him,” Zelena pouted. “Are we sure he wasn’t impersonating a real Storybrooke resident?”

“He wasn’t, I checked the town records,” Regina said. “What?” she added off of Emma’s glance. “If I can’t use my mayoral privilege to track down an attractive man, what’s it good for?”

“I keep telling you, this Tinder thing is the way to go,” Zelena said.

Emma almost spit out her bourbon. “Zelena, you’re on Tinder?”

“It’s amazing, Emma, you see someone you like and you just swipe the phone screen. You see someone you don’t like and you swipe the other way! It’s fabulous, you should try it.”

“I’m married,” Emma replied. “You were there.”

“Oh, right.” Zelena shrugged and finished off the wine in her glass. “Whatever. I’ve met a few men, and I don’t mean losers from Storybrooke, I mean outsiders. Fresh blood. I keep trying to get Regina to try it—”

“I’m not getting on that ridiculous app.”

“—because she seriously needs to get some action, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Emma said.

“I mean sex,” Zelena added.

“We all know what you mean, Zelena,” Regina muttered.

“Although sometimes men ask for ‘nude pics,’ but I do not oblige them,” Zelena said haughtily. “I don’t even know them! Have you ever sent naughty pictures with your phone, Emma?”

“Nope,” Emma lied, wondering if there was enough alcohol in the world for this conversation.

“Come on, you and that hot pirate of yours never exchanged a risque photo or two on these marvelous devices?” Zelena said, holding up her own phone. Emma was starting to wonder if Zelena was trying to fill the void left by her magic with technology. There had certainly been a lot of adorable pictures of Robyn on Instagram lately.

“I only recently upgraded Killian to a smartphone,” Emma said, sidestepping the question of whether she’d sent him any photos that she wouldn’t want her parents to see. “He still just uses it to call people.”

“You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t crack the screen with that hook,” Regina commented, her finger running around the lip of her martini glass.

Zelena snickered at that, already well on her way through a third drink. “Oh, I bet he’s quite adept with his hook, right, Emma?”

Emma kept her face impassive. “Sure. He can hoist sails with it, dig small holes in the garden with it, carry coffee in it, all sorts of things.”

“That’s not what I meant, I meant—”

“She knows what you meant, Zelena,” Regina said. “She’s avoiding answering you.”

Zelena put on a pout. “If we can’t exchange titillating stories with each other, what exactly is the purpose of this outing?”

Emma tossed back her bourbon and held up her hand for their waiter. “To get drunk, mostly.”

“You said on the phone that you had the day off today. Did you do anything good?” Regina asked.

Emma shrugged. “Slept until noon, went to a therapy appointment, and got in an argument with my mother.”

“You’re supposed to go to a spa, get a pedicure, screw your husband, something like that,” Zelena huffed. “That sounds like a waste of a day off.”

“I did screw my husband this morning if that makes you feel better,” Emma said.

“It does, thank you.”

“I’m relieved that Henry seems to be doing better,” Regina said, rather deliberately changing the subject.

“Yeah, things have definitely improved,” Emma replied. “Although I worry that we’re micromanaging him too much. Sure, he does fine while we’re restricting his screen time and keeping an eye on his assignments, but is that really teaching him the skills he’ll need to be a functioning adult?”

Regina sighed. “I don’t disagree. We’ll certainly have to ease up on him next school year, and hopefully with things staying calm in Storybrooke, he’ll do better without our constant monitoring,” Regina said.

“Yeah,” Emma said, and then brought herself up short with a surprised jolt. “Wow.”

“What?” Zelena asked.

“Regina, you said things were gonna stay calm around here, and I just… believed you.”

“I mean, obviously I don’t know for sure, but—”

“I know, but maybe I’m starting to relax into the idea that there isn’t a villain around every corner, waiting to attack the people I love.” She took a sip of her fresh drink. “It’s progress, is what I’m saying.”

“Maybe you’re just drunk,” Zelena said.

“Maybe you’re just drunk,” Emma countered.

“Maybe you’re both drunk,” Regina said with an arch of her eyebrow.

“My sister is a control freak,” Zelena stage-whispered. “That’s why she never lets herself drink to excess.”

Emma eyed Regina. “I think she’s got your number there.”

“Just because I’m not a fan of headaches and vomiting doesn’t make me a control freak,” Regina said evenly, but at the same time, she did tilt the rest of her martini into her mouth and then turned around to look for their waiter.

“My other question is,” Zelena said, and Emma struggled to remember what the first question was: the thing about the dirty pictures, or the thing about whether Killian used his hook for anything sexual? “When are you going to have a baby?” Zelena finished, propping her head on her fist and staring at Emma.

“I’m not.”

“What, never? The pirate doesn’t want children?” Zelena asked.

Emma looked at Regina to see if she had a new subject of conversation ready to pull out and throw on the table, but she was looking at Emma with equal interest.

“We discussed it once, and neither of us is sure if it’s something we want. After Henry, I’ve always been pretty certain I didn’t want to have another baby.” Emma frowned, realizing she was telling Regina and Zelena something that she hadn’t discussed with anyone else other than Killian, not even her mother.

“I can understand why you would have felt that way, given the circumstances of his birth. But things have changed. You’ve changed,” Regina said.

“You have to have a baby with that man, Emma. You’re both very attractive; you’d make a beautiful baby,” Zelena said.

Regina sighed heavily at her sister’s input. “You don’t have to, obviously. Just make sure you’re making the decision based on who you are now, not who you used to be.”

Emma nodded. “That is really good advice, actually.”

“Well don’t sound so surprised,” Regina said. “I can give advice.”

“In any case, I’m not making any decisions about it for a while,” Emma said.

“I don’t know, you’re not getting any younger,” Zelena replied.

“You know, I can arrest you and throw you in jail, Zelena.”

The three of them continued to drink together, trading stories and light-hearted barbs. Zelena let Emma look through her Tinder account, and they giggled together over some of the pictures. Emma had to admit, she was having a really good time.

Suddenly the door to the bar opened and Grumpy burst in. “Sheriff, I heard you were here!” he shouted, ambling over. How? Emma thought. “I figured you’d would want to know, the Nautilus was sighted surfacing in the harbor about a half hour ago.”

She frowned. “Captain Nemo’s submarine?”

“That's the one. The one that took Hook out of this realm the last time it was here, as I remember it,” he added with a knowing glance.

Emma felt Regina bristle. “That was because of Gideon; it wasn’t Hook’s fault.” When it had come to light that Killian had not left Storybrooke of his own free will, Regina had been uncharacteristically apologetic to Emma for badmouthing him. It was obviously still a bit of a sore subject with her.

Grumpy held his hands up, shrugging. “Hey, I’m just the messenger.”

“Yes, you’re always the messenger,” Zelena snapped, glaring at him.

Emma reached for her purse. “I wanna get down there.”

“Emma, that man would rather cut off his other hand than leave you. There’s no reason to worry,” Regina said.

“I’m not worried about that,” Emma said, and she wasn’t, except deep down in her heart of hearts, the little girl who always believed everyone had abandoned her was worried. “But if Nemo’s opened a portal to cross over to this realm, there’s gotta be a good reason for it, and it’s probably not good.” She felt her shoulders tense as cold dread dripped down her spine. What now?

~*~

Killian clasped Nemo’s hand firmly and smiled. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Nemo. I must admit, when I sent the message through to Ariel, I didn’t expect you to respond so quickly. And certainly didn’t expect to see the Nautilus in Storybrooke’s harbor right away.”

“We’ve had an increase in kraken activity lately. It’s dangerous work to be sure, but it means we’ve got kraken blood enough for several trips between realms, should we need it.” He glanced back at the submarine, where his crew was disembarking. “After so many long hours repairing the Nautilus and then several run-ins with kraken, the mermaid’s message provided the excuse I needed to give my men a couple of days of shore leave. And I must admit, when word traveled around all of the realms that the Final Battle had been fought and won, I wanted to see for myself that you and your family were safe.”

Liam joined them on the docks, and Killian embraced his half-brother. “We are,” Killian said to Nemo. “Why don’t both of you come back to my house, and we can discuss why I called you.”

Killian had released John Raymond back to Blue, with the understanding that she would ensure he didn’t flee, and in exchange Killian would not force him to spend the night in jail.

The men walked companionably down the sidewalk away from the harbor. “And how fares your lady Emma?” Nemo asked.

“She’s my wife now,” Killian said, a swell of pride in his chest at being able to share that news with Nemo and Liam.

Liam grinned at him. “Congratulations, Killian.”

“This is indeed excellent news,” Nemo added, and then chuckled. “Imagine, had I been able to tell the vengeful pirate that you once were that you would someday marry the Princess of Misthaven?”

“I would have laughed in your face, mate.”

Killian led them up his front steps, opening the door with a key and feeling another burst of pride that he could entertain these men he so cared for in this wonderful house that he shared with Emma. He flicked on the lights and gestured toward the living room. “Make yourself at home; I’ll just get us some drinks.”

“The boy Henry lives here with you as well?” Liam asked as Killian joined them with a bottle of his best rum and three heavy crystal glasses.

“Sometimes. We share custody with Regina, the mother who raised him when Emma put him up for adoption. But he’s out on a date with his girlfriend at the moment, and Emma is out with Regina and her sister enjoying a bit of shore leave of her own, so to speak.” He poured the rum and glanced toward the dark fireplace. It was too warm a night for a fire, but he always preferred the firelight to that emitted by the electric lights.

“So tell us about this boy the mermaid said you need help with,” Nemo said, accepting his glass with a nod of thanks.

Killian gave them the barest outline of the situation: that there were several orphan boys in town, and that he’d had to arrest one of them, John Raymond, for several robberies.

“My gut tells me he’s a good lad. He just stole the money because he was desperate to change his situation, and the last thing he needs is to languish away several months of his remaining teenage years in jail. I’d much rather see him situated in a place where he can find purpose and hard work, and what came to mind immediately was a position on your crew. Assuming, once you interview him, that he meets with your approval, of course.” Killian said.

“Of course,” Nemo said. “I’ll speak to the boy in the morning, and if he’s anything like you say, I’m sure he’ll make a fine addition to the crew of the Nautilus. Provided he wants to go. I won’t take anyone on as an indentured servant.”

“And I would never suggest such a thing,” Killian said. “Indentured servitude is little better than slavery.” He darted a glance at Liam. He was still unaware of what their father had done to Killian and the elder Liam when they were boys. Killian had decided not to tell him, that his reasons for telling him would only be self-serving, an excuse for the murder that he later committed. If Liam had fond memories of their father, who was he to tarnish those in his own self-interest?

The door swung open and Emma half-stumbled through, Zelena and Regina close on her heels.

“Oh, you’re here,” she said, stopping short and letting Zelena collide with her back. She looked from Killian to Nemo to Liam as the three men stood up. “I called you and you didn’t answer.”

Killian pulled out his phone and grimaced. “I had the sound off and I didn’t notice you called. I’m sorry, love. Liam, Nemo, you remember Emma, my wife.” He glanced at the two women who seemed to have followed Emma home for reasons he didn’t entirely understand. “And this is Regina and Zelena.”

“A pleasure,” Zelena simpered, offering her hand to first his brother and then to Captain Nemo. “If I’d known you were so handsome, Captain, I’d have made a point of meeting you earlier.”

Regina laughed and pulled her sister back as she seemed to be preparing to put herself even further into Captain Nemo’s personal space. “Okay, Sis. Now that we see Emma’s husband is all safe and sound, we can probably leave them be.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at the three of them. He was fairly certain even Regina was drunk, and that was a sight that he couldn’t recall ever seeing before. Emma flopped down on the sofa and kicked her shoes off. “Are you gonna be okay getting her home?” she asked Regina. Zelena had started to list to one side like a ship that had taken cannonfire.

Regina wrinkled her nose. “I think I can poof us to Zelena’s house so that we can send Robyn’s sitter home. I might just stay there tonight.”

“Are you sober enough to do magic? I’d probably teleport myself inside a tree by accident,” Emma said.

Regina rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Call me later if you need to.” She flicked her wrist and she and Zelena disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

Emma put her feet up on the coffee table. “So, what brings the Nautilus back to Storybrooke?” she asked.

“Killian summoned us here—” Liam started to say.

“I haven’t had a chance to fill Emma in on everything that’s transpired today,” Killian interrupted quickly.

“Oh?” She looked at him with suspicion. “Do tell.”

“We’d best be getting back to the ship for the night,” Nemo said smoothly. “Emma, it was lovely to see you again, and congratulations on your nuptials. Killian, I’ll see you in the morning for the interview?”

“Aye.” He escorted them to the door, waving goodbye as they turned and went down the front steps and off into the night. He quietly closed the door behind them.

“What the hell is he talking about, interview? Are you applying for a new job?” Emma asked. Her cheeks were flushed, and he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“Of course not, darling,” he replied, going over to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. “It’s an interview for someone else.”

“Why did you summon Nemo?”

He handed her the water and then sat down next to her on the sofa. “Let me back up a bit. First of all, I caught our thief.”

Emma sat forward suddenly, water sloshing out of her glass and onto her jeans. “Who? How? When?”

Killian smiled. “Which of those would you like me to answer first? This afternoon, and I had a hunch, so I paid a visit to the Blue Fairy.”

It was clear that Emma’s alcohol-fueled brain was moving slower than usual. “I don’t think Blue robbed a bunch of stores.”

“Not Blue, but one of the orphans she oversees. One of the Lost Boys — a lad by the name of John Raymond.” He winced. The fate of those boys still wasn’t sitting easily with him.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Emma asked.

“Because you needed your rest, and I was determined not to disturb you, my love.”

She continued to scowl. “So you arrested him?”

“Aye, and I filled out a report just as you showed me,” he said. “But I have released him back into Blue’s care for the moment.”

“Why? Technically he can’t be released until there’s a hearing and someone posts bail for him.” she said.

“I know, but I thought we might make an exception in this case.” He stood up, needing to pace around their living room as he explained. “I’ve spoken to the boy, and I think becoming a part of Nemo’s crew would be a fine thing for him. You should have seen the way his eyes lit up as soon as I suggested it.”

Emma set her water glass down with a thunk, and Killian felt his hand twitch as he fought the instinct to put a coaster under it. “Killian, you can’t just decide to send a criminal off on a submarine because it feels like the right thing to do.”

“Love, it’s not as if Storybrooke is exactly a model of proper police procedure. If it were, most of us would be incarcerated. Myself and your two drinking buddies included. And your mother.”

Emma brow wrinkled. “Okay, fine, but you need to at least consult me first.”

He lowered his head. “Aye. Things happened faster than I anticipated, and I apologize for not keeping you appraised of the situation.” He sighed. “I just wanted you to be able to relax for once.”

“Well… I mean, thanks for that.” She picked up her water again and drank from it.

He eyed her, trying decide if she was still angry with him. “Shall we turn in?”

“Okay.”

Killian watched Emma as he locked up the downstairs and turned off the lights, noticing her fumbling with a bottle of headache pills in the kitchen and swallowing them with the rest of her water. He followed her upstairs, changing slowly into his pajamas to the sound of her washing her face and brushing her teeth in the bathroom. He set his brace down in its accustomed place on his clothes dresser, rubbing his hand over the stump at the end of his left wrist, feeling the familiar ache and tingle of damaged nerves under the scar tissue.

Killian heard the front door downstairs open, and the unmistakable sound of Henry loping up the stairs. Opening the bedroom door, he watched as Henry rounded the corner to his room down the hall.

“How was your date?” Killian called out.

“Fine.” Henry said, not breaking his stride.

“Did you lock the front door?”

“Yeah,” Henry said, already closing his own door. The lad had his own inner life, his own relationships, and he and Emma were privy to less and less of it.

When they settled into bed and turned off the lights, Killian held himself separate, wondering what Emma was thinking and a little afraid to ask. He remembered David telling him once, not long after he and Emma had moved in together, ‘Never go to bed angry.’

“Are you angry with me?” he asked into the quiet bedroom.

“Not really,” she said. After a long pause, she added. “You should probably be angry with me.”

“What on earth for?”

He listened to her blow out a long breath. “When I heard the Nautilus was here, there was this little voice inside telling me that you were leaving.”

Killian turned on his side, horrified. “Emma, I would never—”

“I know, I know, I didn’t say it was a logical thought or anything, it just came from that… that place inside where I’m always terrified people are gonna abandon me. I know it’s stupid.” He felt her hand reach out against his arm in the dark, and he took it in his. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that, darling.” He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I’ll just continually remind you of how completely and hopelessly in love with you I am until that little voice stops pestering you.”

“Okay,” she said softly. He kissed her hand again, turning it over and pressing his lips to her palm, and then her wrist. “What made you want to help that kid?” Emma asked.

“He reminded me of myself, I think. When Liam died, I took to piracy because I wanted revenge on the corrupt king who caused his death, but it was more than that. When the people in charge of a society have betrayed you, then it feels like there’s no reason to adhere to the rules of that society.”

“And Storybrooke has failed him?”

“It’s not that I think the fairies haven’t taken good care of those boys: housed them, fed them, tended to their illnesses. But I think they need something more.” He swallowed. “I’d like to do something more for them, I think.”

Emma brought her hand up and patted his cheek. “You’re such a good guy.”

“Shh, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation as a rapscallion to protect.”

Chuckling, Emma burrowed into his chest, her fingers brushing through his chest hair. Killian wrapped his arm around her, holding her close.

“I’m gonna be seeing Archie every week for a while,” she said after a long silence, during which he had started to drift off to sleep.

“Oh? That’s good.”

“And maybe also taking medication,” she said, and he felt her tense up. “To help with how I’ve been feeling.”

“This realm is a marvel. There’s a pill for everything.” He stroked her hair, pressing his lips against the top of her head. “Did you expect me to disapprove?”

“Says the guy who won’t take aspirin for a headache.”

“I’m just not in the habit of it, that’s all. I had nothing but rum to dull the pain of losing my hand, but that doesn’t mean I think you should suffer unnecessarily. If there are medicines that help with the things going on in your head, far be it from me to suggest that you shouldn’t avail yourself of them,” he said.

Emma closed her hand over his scarred wrist, and he could feel a shiver run through her. “I can’t imagine the pain you must’ve gone through.” He felt her fingers press into his skin, as if she could reach back through time with her magic and spare him that agony.

“I hardly remember it now, darling; don’t fret.”

“You’re lying,” she whispered, kissing the end of his wrist.

Killian sighed. “I rarely think of it anymore, then. Not when I have so much happiness in my life.”

“Okay.” She snuggled in close to him again.

“Am I telling the truth?”

“Yes.” She wiggled a bit, freeing one of her arms to wrap around him. “You know, this depression thing, it’s not because you don’t make me happy. You do.”

“I know, my love.” His lips brushed the top of her head again, and he closed his eyes. “I know.”

CHAPTER 8

#cs ff #captain swan ff #emma regina friendship #my fic #what comes next fic #cw: drinking #cs future fic

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chaniters · 5 years

Text

Empowered

Exploring some of Sidestep’s possible reasons for hating Ortega and Chen, after some discord chat! What if Sidestep just decided to turn the page on them?

Spoilers ahead!

Also, MortumStep :D

_____________________________________

“Do you really hate them so much?”

“Wha…? Yes. You have no idea”

“But you used to work with them… they were your friends”

“Well, they stopped being friends after they abandoned me in that hell-hole for seven years I think.”

“To be fair, there was no way for them to know…”

“They knew enough Mortum. A reporter spouted the whole truth at Ortega at my funeral and they didn’t listen to him. And Chen investigated, and he said nothing about what he found. And all Ricardo did, in the end, was get drunk.”

“He was in grief…”

“Well his supposed grief did me no good while I was busy being a lab-rat, did it?”

“I guess not… What about the other two?”

“What about them?”

“They didn’t do anything to you”

“Argent stabbed me. The other one’s collateral. Let’s just say I don’t like heroes like I used to... They’re all working to keep up this fucked up system anyways”

“I see...” he says cryptically

You sigh tiredly, lifting your gaze from the console before turning.

“What’s on your mind Mortum? I mean I’m about to ask whose side are you on. I thought you hated them too”

“It’s not about them. I’m just trying to learn more about you… I find it hard to understand that you would hate them so much”

“Ugh… ok … look, I trusted these guys, you know? Ortega and Chen. I almost spill all my secrets to Ortega more than once. I thought I was attracted to him at the time… And I almost died saving him a million times. The Void. The Nanosurge. Heartbreak. Same goes for Chen, I mean he didn’t trust me but I put my life on the line to save him. And what did I get? I got sent back to the pit, that’s what I got.”

“You said Chen investigated”

“Oh. That. Yes, he told me he didn’t believe the reports of my death and started digging into it, and he said he found something and then…” you pause, trying to find the right words.

“And then what?” Mortum asks, closing in, holding your hand, looking at you with concern.

“He stopped looking into it Mortum. He CHOSE to stop looking… He chose to do that.” you look down, trying to keep the tears from his sight. No use, his hand goes to your cheek, clearing them out. “And Ortega... He was the Marshall… He knew how to investigate crimes… and … he just … he didn’t… Even after that reporter told him EVERYTHING, he didn’t listen. He CHOSE to quit, got drunk, forgot about me, slept around… I thought we had something but he just quit on me...“

“You know what the farm can do… Charge’s apartment got bombed once, did he tell you that?”

“Yes… I know that… but… I wouldn’t have quit if it had been the other way around.”

He says nothing. He takes your other hand, holds them together, pulling a chair and sitting next to you. He knows you’re reading his mind right now, and his thoughts are comforting, protective, outraged at what you just said even… And above all, he’s not judging you. You don’t need to read minds to know that, you can see it in his eyes.

Another difference between Mortum and anyone else you met before. His mind isn’t a disorderly mess of mashed up consciousness. He is always in control, and when he’s with you, he goes a great length not to allow careless thoughts to go rampant for you to catch out of context and feel miserable about. He knows how to treat a telepath. He knows how to make his mind a safe place.

You finally gather the strength to speak again. “They both feel guilty. Ortega tries to make up for it, rekindle what we had, help me all the time whether I want it or not… And Chen is just plain uncomfortable around me because I make him remember all the old times. He’s even thinking he treated me unfairly in the past… acting almost friendly... I don’t know what he found about my death, but I know he thinks if he had said something, things could have gone different, and he didn’t. ... and that… that guilt… it just makes me hate them even more.”

“How so?” Mortum asks, curious.

You swallow before answering “When they took me again… I thought they would rescue me… And of course they didn’t, and years passed. And I started to think It was all my fault… Ortega and Chen were not going to rescue me because I wasn’t worth it. Because I was just a thing, just a piece of government property that no one could ever care about… And when I saw their guilt… I realized it was never like that… They thought I mattered. They thought I was a person… but they just didn’t care ENOUGH. They did care, they just didn’t care enough to try to solve the mystery. Ortega was hurt and didn’t want to dig into it any further. Now he just wants to feel better with himself, that’s why he keeps following me everywhere like some abandoned puppy. Help me now to make up for forgetting about me before. And Chen, he just doesn’t know what to say to me. And it fucking hurts, you know, to realize the people you trusted only cared to an extent?. Not enough to actually do something, to take the blindfold off their eyes...”

“You know I do care about you, always,” he says both with thoughts and words.

“I know Mortum… that’s… that’s why you’re my favorite Doctor” you say with a tearful smile.

“And you’re my favorite... person” he grins, leaning into your chair for a kiss.

Person. There is no way to think you’re not, at least while Mortum is around. The kiss seems to transport you to a whole new world. Kissing Ortega was madness, but kissing Mortum, it is transcendent. It takes you to a different place… a safe place. It works each time, and he knows it.

You lean back on the chair and close your eyes as the parts.

You never thought it could get so easy to just calm down and juggle strong emotions. But of course, you never had a real caring adult by your side. Someone who you positively knew loved you unconditionally and would be there for you no matter what.

Loving and feeling loved have changed you. Empowered you in a way you never dreamt.

You turn to the screen, pointing at the display showing video of the rangers latest exploits “Those are not my friends.”

“Then, as you would say, Mon Cherie… let’s fuck them up,”

“Woah… you cursed “ you can’t help grinning “... I’m a bad influence”

“Just this once” he grins.

You get up and wrap your arms around him.

“I’m a lucky villain.”

“Not yet. But you will be” he says, pulling you to the bedroom.

This plan to get rid of the rangers just got infinitely better, you think as you follow him.

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero spoilers #Fanfiction #Mortumstep

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