#however im sick of trying to give a name to all this *gestures vaguely at myself* so calling myself plain neurotic is enough....

[pikslasrce]

day ?? of having the anxiety levels of someone being followed around by a sniper

[dracosearlgreytea]

indelicate marks (14)

indelicate marks: chapter fourteen - the promise 

A/N: i managed to return, after many technical difficulties, to post chapter 14!! i hope you are all enjoying the story so far... thank you everyone for reading. lots of love and please enjoy :) - ivy 

warnings: language, sorta angst

lovely tags: @h-annahayy @okaydraco @fanficflaneuse @thatoneasrastan @biinspiration @honeymelon22 @bitch-im-a-fangirl @erinisbadger @strawberriesonsummer

indelicate marks index

It so happened that that night would be the last time you would see Draco Malfoy for two weeks. You'd woken to the sound of the door clicking shut - the blinding sun in your eyes, and the lack of a warm body next to yours. You poured over that night in your mind for hours. It wasn't as though he'd pushed you away - he had signalled nothing wrong with the fact that you had kissed him. No, in fact, he had kissed you back. He hadn't been in any of your lessons you usually had together. At first, you put it down to him being ill, or maybe his sleep deprivation had finally caught up with him. Then, he hadn't shown up to your usual meeting at the classroom. Beginning to worry that something had happened, you'd forced yourself to go the Great Hall. Something regarding the mark on his arm, perhaps, or even to do with what Potter had mentioned. But, Draco had been there, alive, sitting at the Slytherin table next to Pansy Parkinson. It didn't take you till the next missed meeting to understand that Draco was avoiding you. And it hurt. It hurt so much worse than you ever could have imagined. You were supposed to be friends. Even if friends didn't think about each other every second of the day - even if friends didn't kiss and then refuse to acknowledge it. Draco was, still, the only person you had. You didn't want to lose him to your own stupid mistake. His ignorance continued for a couple more days - until you got called out of Transfiguration by Snape. All eyes followed you as you hesitated to stand, staring at him with a dull knowing settled in your chest. Nausea swam in the pit of your stomach as you collected your things and left. You tried to ignore a certain grey gaze that only moments ago you would have adored to know were following you, burning holes into your back. The dull knowing was all too correct, and the pain was suffocating. "Are you sure you don't want someone to accompany you back to the Slytherin dorms, Miss Y/L/N?" The crease in Dumbledore's brow deepened. Edging away from him, you tugged at your sleeve with a harsh force. "Yes." The word came, sharp, from your mouth. Covering the name that was blaring in your mind, you supposed, but you cleared your throat to adjust your tone. "Yes, I'm fine, Professor. Thank you." Dumbledore watched you for a second longer, and then offered you a slow nod. Legs shifting quicker than your mind, you shot out of the office before he could speak again. It didn't take you ten strides away from the Headmasters office before you were interrupted. A hand wrapped around your arm, dragging you towards an empty classroom - but the jump of your heart was short lived. You'd almost anticipated it, grinding your teeth as the door swung and locked behind you. Yanking your arm back, you glared at the figure facing you. Draco stared back with a very serious expression. Features fixed and gloomy, you pushed away the guilty sense of elation at the sight of him. "What the fuck was that about?" He growled, not even missing a beat. And Merlin, could you explode with the amount of emotions coursing through you. Terror. Rage. Desperation. Longing. "Nice to see you too." Voice seething, you clenched your jaw, wrapping your arms around yourself. Uncharacteristic, panicked anger glinted in the greys of his eyes. "Merlin, Y/N, don't make this personal." It came with a play of a sneer on his lips, and whatever ounce of happiness you held that he was talking to you dissipated. A small scoff of disbelief left you before you could hide it, disguising the stab of hurt that hit you square in the chest. "You need to tell me what happened. Everything." "I don't need to tell you fuck all, Draco Malfoy." Your tone raised, praying that the lump in your throat wasn't evident in the roughness of your voice. His face remained so hard, so steely. It felt like you'd gone back to square one. "Fucking hell." The words came as a frustrated groan, rumbling in the back of his throat. A hand resting on his hip, the other ran through his hair as he steadied his expression. "Can you, for once in your bloody life, not make things complicated?" Draco's eyes were hot and angry and anxious on yours. In any other circumstance, in fact, it would have been concerning. But something in you snapped. Maybe the way he'd spoken, like everything was your fault. Maybe the standoffish position his body fallen into. "Fuck you!" Tears were undoubtedly welling in your eyes, even as you yelled. "Where have you been, Draco? Two weeks of you avoiding me like the bloody plague - after saying we'd talk about things - and then you storm back into my life, demanding I tell you everything - and then you call me complicated?" A ragged breath pushed past your lips as you stared at him, looking bedraggled and most likely a little crazy. You'd taken a step towards him as you shouted, and Draco's expression had withdrawn. Another second of tense silence. "You want to know what happened?" You raised an eyebrow harshly. "My parents are out." Draco froze. "Shit - Y/N -" "Don't you dare pretend you care." Another low, painful growl. Draco stared at you, thrown off by your outburst. "This is it, now, for me. I'm fucked - I am so fucked - and you just left for me for two weeks-" And then, you broke into a sob. Draco shot forward, but you stumbled away. Something flicked across his features, swallowed by his vacancy before you could label it. You didn't care, though. Because he'd moved forward again, cupped your cheek, and pressed his lips against yours. Hands curling into fists, your nails dug into your palms - only to drop them round his shoulders. It felt as though your chest was being crushed inwards with emotion as Draco shifted his jaw to meet yours. It only lasted a moment. You pushed him away again, hands still lingering at his shoulders. Taking in a long breath, you refused to look at him, heart throbbing in your chest. "Don't do that again." You mumbled, finally dropping your hands. Draco hesitated, eyes boring into you as his hands twitched at his side. "Why?" Faltering, you couldn't help but send him a glance. Whatever you were expecting him to say - it wasn't that. A determined look had spread across his features, and you clenched your jaw a little tighter. "Why do you think?" Your words came rough again. "Last time that happened you dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks." A sour twinge flicked across his expression. Grey eyes glittering, he searched you, but you only balled your hands, arms tight across your waist. "I've been busy." His voice was cold. Again. A scoff came from the last of your anger, still lingering in your chest. "Well, thanks, Draco. Glad to know how much I mean to you." Muttering, you shifted back - as though to leave. "Fuck, Y/N-" Grabbing your arm, you froze to the spot, gaze flying back to him. Draco stared back with a murmur desperation, the uncertainty in his eyes unnerving. "Can we talk? Somewhere else." You hesitated. Because you were still mortified, and pissed off - and now confused. Because knowing your parents were walking the streets was making you feel sick. Really, you just wanted to curl up and pretend you didn't exist. Draco, however, had never looked so on edge. So nervous. And, admittedly, you needed to hear what he had to say. Sighing, you let out a defeated reply. "Fine." It didn't take you long to get to the usual classroom. You avoided Draco's eyes as he opened the door and gestured you to go in first, locking it behind him. The school day had almost finished, sunlight filling the room, giving it an air of exposure. Everything felt so different to the last moments you'd spent there together that your chest clenched up. Hesitating in the middle of the room, you waited for him to face you before you spoke. "Go on, then." Draco scowled, still reluctant. "I need you to understand." Finally, he spoke, eyeing you up as he did. You waited for him to elaborate, but there was only silence, and your lips fell into a frown. "Understand? Which part? You acting like an emotional yo-yo or the fact you vanished for two weeks straight?" "Remember what I said about us arguing?" Draco growled, expression hard. "Look, I thought you'd understand why we haven't been talking." "Well, Draco, I didn't." You bit back another lingering comment, keeping your raising heartbeat quiet in your chest. "And I still don't." "I-" He paused, for a second, fingers running through his hair again. "I can't make any promises to you." Draco's eyes were desperate, again. Begging you to understand what the hell he was trying to make out with his vague language and unstable attitude. You wished you could. It took a second for you to reply. "Draco..." Sighing, your gaze darted away from him as nervousness overtook you. "If you don't - don't feel that way about me then that's fine-" "What?" "What?" You echoed him. Draco, looking almost comedically dumbstruck, stared at you. "You think I don't feel for you?" It came as a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as he shifted towards you again. Glancing away, you turned a little, pushing him away before he could even touch you. His features flashed. "Why the fuck would you think that?" "I don't know what else I was supposed to think." You muttered. "Y/N," Draco sighed, lifting his hands to your shoulders. The movement was careful, so that you didn't shift away from him again, and they settled when you allowed him to. "I didn't do it because I wanted to." You remained silent, scanning his eyes with a tight chest. They searched yours equally, and when you didn't reply, he spoke again. "I did it because I can't help you." You blinked. "What are you talking about?" Words only a breath, you nearly missed them, the noise of your heart pounding too loud. "I'm a Deatheater." Draco's brow furrowed a little, as though he was pointing out the obvious. "You even associating with me would make everything worse. With your parents, with the mark. I would make it inescapable." He paused. "I can't promise I can keep you safe." A flush of emotion hit you as he finished, scalding, yet freezing, all at the same time. You quite possibly adored him. A shuddering breath passed by your lips. Etching his features into memory, you finally allowed yourself to feel the comfort Draco always offered you. You embraced his presence like an old friend. "I don't care about any of that." Mumbling, your hands slipped up to clutch onto his forearms. His expression had remained mostly clear, something that rarely happened. "I always knew things would turn out this way - with my parents. I never had a choice in that." You paused. "But I do have a choice with you, and I'm choosing you." The grey of Draco's eyes darkened in the slightest, fingertips digging into your shoulders a little more. It was hard to keep your voice steady as you continued, heart clenched. "So let me." There was that awful conflict glinting in his gaze again. Painful, and recognisable, and foreboding. It remained for a second, and then it was gone again, and you allowed yourself to ignore it had ever been there in the first place. "No promises?" It was selfish of him, really. Denouncing any mistakes before he could even make them. You didn't care. You only let out another, terrified exhale. "No promises." And then, Draco kissed you for the third time.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 62

Thank you, everyone, for bearing with me on the delays for this chapter.  There was a benefit: @satan-parisienne got to beta the chapter, AND our other sister got caught up all the way in the meantime.

Right now, I’m at 463 followers.  As soon as I hit 500, do we want to do another character contest, or Name the Colony??  I am honestly dying to have all of you name the Colony... I feel like it would make you ALL crew-members of the Ark!

Same warning as always: this is a plague arc, so there are several references to medical procedures.

“There has to be a correlation.”

It was the first thing I heard as I woke up from yet another episode of passing out.  Once again, I had been wandering a dream version of the Ark, complete with ever changing levels of dereliction.  No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to speak with the Else again, however, and if the Council asked anyone else to even try, no one had informed me.

Blearily, I glanced toward the voice that I had heard.  Grey’s hair was ruffled in every direction, as though they had run their hands through it repeatedly.  Antoine was asleep, a tube trailing away from a bandage on his arm – I wasn’t the only one in the room needing transfusions anymore.  Maverick and Conor were berthed on either side of me, blotches taunting me from the skin around their eyes.  Tears pricked at my eyes as I tried to steady my breath before speaking. “How long have you been at it, Grey?”

With a sigh they turned toward me, forcing a kind smile on their face. “Sophia. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m living in a horror movie. Again,” I groaned. “But seriously. Are the shadows because you’ve been working too much, or are you sick, too?”

“Medical scans only show slightly decreased iron levels from my baseline,” Grey admitted. “But that could also be related to standing and running tests for the last twelve hours.”

I tapped the space beside me in my berth. “Sit down for a minute. Take a break. You know as well as I do that wearing yourself out is counterproductive.” With great reluctance, they folded themselves to sit beside me. “You’re stressed out, aren’t you?” I asked, tapping their fingers gently.

The smile this time was reluctant but genuine. “People are falling ill all over the ship.  I have been trying to find a connection – some common activity that they all may have come into contact with each other during.”

“There’s the Food Festival,” I pointed out.

“Very few Terran viruses have such a long gestation period,” Grey explained. “And those that do, have a much different set of symptoms.  Additionally, in a setting this small, there are precious the majority of the ship do not share.”

“And you have the problem with the platforms,” I realized ruefully before glancing at my partners.

Cool fingers tapped my cheek. “That issue can wait,” Grey admonished gently. “It is not as important as the health of the people on this ship.”

“Speaking of…” I tried to prop myself up on my elbows, but a pointed look from my friend – as effective as any of Tyche’s glares – had me surrendering to leaning back on the pillows again. “Is there anyone on the ship who isn’t sick so far?”

Grey nodded with a grimace. “The number of those not affected numbers in the low double digits, unfortunately.”

“What do they have in common?”

“Hermits, every last one,” a voice announced quietly as the door hissed open. “And that’s saying something, coming from me.”  A tantalizing smell wafted over, setting my mouth and eyes watering as Tyche grinned like the cat who got the cream.  She shoved a forkful of something deep reddish brown into her mouth and moaned. “Phaal curry with scotch bonnets. Why didn’t you tell me about this stuff, Soph?”

“Noah is going to kill you if he comes in here,” I warned. “They have officially deemed that a biohazard.”

Grey winced. “I feel I should deem that a biohazard.  How are you eating that? Where did you even find it?”

“Four menus deep in my sister’s food console when I stopped in to water the plants,” she explained around yet another mouthful. “I warned Noah I have it, and they promised to wait for the scrubbers to clear the room before they come in here.”

“Give me a bite and I won’t complain,” I wheedled.  Noah never let me take that stuff out of my quarters.  “And tell me what you mean by hermits?”

Obligingly, she sauntered over and held out a forkful of nuclear-spicy lamb as she clarified. “The few people who aren’t sick are the ones who haven’t left their quarters since arriving.  They make me and Derek look downright outgoing.”

“Wait,” I sputtered as sweat beaded and started to drip from my quickly-numbing face. “They haven’t left their quarters in over a year?”

“Nope,” she confirmed. “They contribute, but all of it is remotely.  Programming, online tutoring, that sort of thing.”

“Well, that tells us a great deal of nothing,” I sighed. “We can’t even narrow down what activities they haven’t participated in, because they haven’t participated in any.”

“So go the other route,” she shrugged. “Who is the most sick?”

“Nixe,” Grey and I answered in unison.  Our resident mermaid was still holding on, but she hadn’t regained consciousness yet.

“Wait,” I interjected as I realized something. I squinted at my sister. “Your symptoms showed up before Antoine’s. How come you’re up, bouncing around?”

“You kidding?” she cocked an eyebrow at me. “Soph. I’ve lived most of my life with sever anemia. Even now I probably have more in my body than I ever did back on Earth. I feel amazing, by comparison.”

“She also has a habitually high-iron diet,” Grey added, tilting their head and glancing at me. “Current comestibles notwithstanding.”

“That makes sense,” I conceded. “So we can’t even build a timeline around onset of symptoms, can we?”

“Negative.  Several people on the ship have high-iron diets for various reasons. Particularly your sister and Maverick.”

I rolled my head to left and squinted. “Really?  He’s one of the pickiest eaters I know.”

“Spinach, tofu, red meat,” they started ticking off on their fingers. “Lentils and other legumes, pumpkin seeds, broccoli, and organ meats are among the foods with the highest iron content.”

My eyes widened. “You practically listed Maverick’s entire diet, Grey.”

“I am well aware.  I do monitor his nutrition closely, as he still has to prove he has consumed sufficient healthy calories in order to start his daily shift.”

“Huh,” I grunted. “So, he could have been sick the longest and we are just now seeing it?”

“While I highly doubt it, your theory is somewhat correct.”

“Weh di’ oo geh ‘im oo ee ohgah mee?” Tyche asked delicately around the last of her curry.

“Conor likes kidney pie, black pudding, and liver with onions,” I explained, trying not to wince at my sister’s breathtaking lack of manners and reminding myself that she just found out she can eat food she only dreamed of trying in the past.

She gulped, a look of revulsion on her face. “Liver and onions? That’s disgusting.”

As Grey completely lost their composure and gaped openly at the statement, I shrugged and soldiered on. “Not my idea of a good time, either, but they like it, so it’s their bonding time.”

“Surely not all three at once?”

“Christ, no. I would kill them if they ate kidney pie without me.”

“Okay, just checking.”  Tyche made her way to a disposal and made Noah aware that the curry had vacated the premises.

By this point, Grey was absentmindedly scratching at the rash that appeared from simply being near the dish.  “Can one of you explain to me how someone even eats something like that?  My eyes are burning just from being near food that spicy?”

“Ask her,” Tyche gestured. “I’m still figuring this out.”

I scowled at being put on the spot before turning to our friend. “I’ve always loved spicy food,” I admitted. “And I’ve never had any digestive issues with it. As I got older, I tried spicier and spicier food. It’s all so – vibrant. So full of flavor. Sure, you have some stuff that is just spicy for the sake of being painful, and I hate that kind of food. It’s just hate and spite made into food. No one should do that.” I sighed, struggling with my words. “Most spicy foods are ethnic foods, and I always liked being able to enjoy the ‘full’ version, for lack of a better term.  Being able to go to any country and say ‘I want to eat this the way you eat it,’ and mean that.  It just opens so many doors.”

“And it isn’t just spicy food,” Tyche pitched in. “She found this old show once, where this guy went around the world and tried weird native foods, and that was always her dream.  Every chance she got to travel like that, she tried the weirdest, most disgusting foods she could, just because she knew she wouldn’t get sick.”

“What was the worst?” Grey asked.  When we looked at each other in doubt, they laughed quietly. “It helps me get my mind off of all this.” They waved vaguely at the lab equipment. “So, tell me.  I never got to travel much before this.  I would like to hear.”

“Well,” I started hesitantly. “I only managed to choke down one bite of balut, but that may be more squeamish heart than squeamish stomach. Anything involving hard fat or cartilage is just right out, sorry.  I can’t get past the texture.  Once I got past the smell, durian was actually pretty good.  Most bugs are really nutty and delicious, surprisingly.  Balut was probably the one I liked the least. But – “ I held up my hands in a defensive posture. “I literally don’t remember what it tasted like, I couldn’t get my mind past the thought of what I was eating, so take that for what you will.”

Grey paled slightly as they looked the dish up on their datapad. “People eat that?”

Tyche nodded. “Yep.  I don’t get it either, but it’s a delicacy.”

They paled further as they looked up other dishes and confirmed I had tried them. “How did you not get ill?”

“Cast iron stomach,” Tyche and I explained, laughing at ourselves for responding in synch.

“Cast iron stomach, indeed,” they murmured.  Suddenly, their head snapped up.  They stared intently at the wall behind me before squinting slightly. “Cast iron…”

Without explanation, Grey jumped up from my berth, brushing past my sister on their way to the lab equipment. “Iron.  Whatever we are looking for is impacting iron absorption and red blood cell function. – “ Tyche and I looked at each other in confusion as Grey continued their impression of a rambling mad-scientist. “But nutritive iron does have elemental iron as part of the molecule…” Images flickered around the researcher as they scanned through notes and images; expanding this one, discarding that one, squinting at a few. “What if we are segregating the two for no reason… bacteria are bacteria, and the tail failed, too.”

The tail failed? Tyche mouthed at me. I shrugged, lost as she was.  We stared on in concern as Grey muttered, only half-audibly, into the night.

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[lalainajanes]

“listen, you’re a big bad vampire with huge pointy teeth, you’re scary, I know. I’m totally shaking in my pants. and i get im not supposed to be trespassing over your nest grounds, but all i need is one measly tooth for a spell and ill be right on my way, alright? yes—yes i know you can kill me, so can a cat if it truly wanted to, but im here on business so can we act like adults”

From this list I reblogged ages ago (and also sent to my by @lynyrdwrites and an Anon!). 

Felled By You

Caroline’s about two feet down in the grave, filthy, withaching shoulders and raw palms, when she hears the first rustling in the trees.She stops digging, holds her breath. Strains her ears. Reaches behind her back,slowly, and tugs out the gun she’s got tucked away in her waistband.

She doesn’t drop the shovel. On the off chance that it’s awerewolf who’s wandered far from their territory she’ll have better luck usingblunt force rather than a wooden bullet.

Killing a vampire would upset the uneasy peace that thesupernatural species that call New Orleans home have lived under for the lastfew months. Caroline doesn’t relish doing it but, with her best friend’s lifeon the line, she’d come armed. She’d gone alone, to the cemetery where vampiresbury their dead. She’d planned on committing a grave robbing. Only a moronwouldn’t have prepared for trouble.

On the drive over she’d methodically catalogued all thingsthat could go wrong. Now, with a gun in one hand, her other ready to swing theshovel, she goes down the list. Best case scenario, it’s just an animal huntingup a late dinner. Even if it’s a human she can deal with the interruptionfairly easily. She just doesn’t relish having to.

Bonnie’s getting sicker, the poison she’d ingested weakeningher heart by the hour. Caroline can’t afford the minutes it would take to subduea late night power walker or some drunk who’d wandered away from a bonfire. Shecould manage it easily. It’s one ofher specialties, spells to remove memories or impart her will. It’s a trickybranch of magic, requiring concentration and delicacy, and Caroline can’t riskweakening herself.

Most of her coven is gathered with Bonnie, pooling theirenergy to sustain hers. Caroline and a handful of others had left to gather theingredients to save her. When Caroline gets back she will insist on performingthe ritual herself. She doesn’t anticipate much opposition. Few in her covenare a match for her power.

Caroline wants tobelieve the threat to Bonnie came from outside the coven. But, until she can becertain, she’s not about to let her friend’s life rest in anyone’s hands buther own. Witches with regular access to Bonnie, those that came and went freelyfrom her home, shared food and drinks regularly, are the most likely suspects.

When Bonnie’s recovered, capable of seeking retribution,it’ll be time to hunt for snakes.

A sharp crack sounds, a stick breaking under the weight of afoot.

So much for optimism.

Caroline drops the shovel and spins, using two hands tosteady the gun, her finger resting on the trigger. She’s a damn good shot,thanks to her mother, is confident she can manage to get the heart even if avampire uses maximum speed.

Except, when she sees who the vampire is, she hesitates. Sherecognizes Klaus instantly, despite the darkness. She’d gotten to know hisface, the slash of his cheekbones and the strength of his jawline, in astrobe-lighted club that her coven elders would be appalled to know she went toregularly. They’d never really spoken, just exchanged the a few necessaryshouted words – a need for a drink or the bathroom or to call it a night.

She’d known how he tasted, what his skin felt like when itwas damp with sweat. She’d felt the rumble of a moan caught in his throatagainst her lips, bitten his shoulder when he’d slipped his hand under herskirt and coaxed her to orgasm with gifted fingertips.

What she hadn’t known was his name. Or his species. Hadn’toffered any information about herself. The club had been an escape, a time whenshe didn’t have to be William Forbes’ only daughter, where no one expectedanything of her.

Had been.

She’s been avoiding the place since she’d found out the guyshe’d been regularly groping on the dance floor was the hybrid who’d declaredhimself King of New Orleans.

Relaxing her guard at the sight of him, the little rush ofpleasure she feels, is instinct, a terribleone, but by the time Caroline’s brain catches up Klaus is right in front ofher, his hand locked around her wrist.

She’s so pissed at herself, at her stupid body that’scertain he’s not going to hurt her.

His grip on her is firm but not punishing. He smiles, justas fond as he’d been before he’d known her identity, and squeezes gently, “Minddropping the weapon? I think we need to have a chat.”

She sighs, does as he asks. “It’s plain ‘ol oak. Wouldn’t doanything to you anyway.”

“I assure you, digging a bullet out of one’s flesh isunpleasant no matter what it’s made of.”

Caroline wants to ask when he’d been shot, has a few darkthoughts for the probably long dead perpetrators. Has to remind herself, again,that he’s not an ally. Not hers, in any way. She forces a smile, thin and fake,“Aw, poor baby. Somehow I’m not at all surprised people want to shoot you.”

The noise he makes seems like genuine amusement and he’sstill touching her, his thumb stroking over her forearm. “Now, now, Caroline.I’ve gathered plenty of stories about you and not a single one paints you as aliar. Let’s not pretend you’ve never enjoyed my company.”

“Maybe because you didn’t talk.”

He’s still annoyingly unoffended. His free hand lifts to herface, a fingertip touching her forehead. “You’ve got a bit of dirt here.”

Caroline snorts, rubs at her forehead with the sleeve on thearm that’s not currently in his grasp. “I’m betting it’s more than a bit andnot confined to one area of my face.”

He steps back, finally dropping her hand. Caroline refusesto be disappointed that he’s no longer touching her. He bends to pick up herdropped shovel, spears the tip of it into the earth with annoyingly littleeffort. He leans on it, the picture of idleness, glancing around curiously,“True. Grave digging is an awfully messy endeavour. Difficult to do solo aswell.”

“Wow. That’s really unsubtle fishing.” She crosses her armsto gain a little distance. At least until she’s totally committed to ignoringthe pull of him.

“It’s not fishing. Merely a statement of fact.” He pusheshis sleeves up and Caroline averts her eyes. More of his skin on display canonly up his appeal. “Did you want a hand?”

“Why would you help me? I’m trespassing. Shouldn’t you betrying to rip out my heart?”

“You can’t think I want you dead.”

In her gut, she doesn’t. He’s had plenty of opportunity tohurt her.

Caroline wishes she wasn’t standing in a shallow gravebecause being this close to him is making her skin itch. She’d like to blame iton the layer of grime she’s sporting but it’s not an uncomfortable feeling. It’santicipatory. Needful, egged on by the memories of their bodies movingtogether.

Totally inappropriate given just who he is.

She’s got a mission, an important one; she can’t afford tobe distracted.

Caroline decides to be direct. “I need a tooth. One thatbelonged to a vampire.”

He nods, does not appear at all surprised. “For your friendthat’s been poisoned.”

He shouldn’t know that.

“You…” she’s shaking with rage, accusations and insultstangling on her tongue. Her magic gathers, lashes out, not entirely in hercontrol. Klaus grunts when it hits him, his face contorting in pain. He shouldbe screaming, on his knees, trying to tear apart his own skull to stop thepain.

He’s old and strong but a small part of her is hesitant to hurthim, and that gives him a small window to move. He manages to stagger forward,into her. Caroline trips over the loose dirt behind and her concentration isbroken. They both begin to go down, Klaus manages to grip her closer. A twistof his hips had them landing on their sides, his arm under her head and hisbody taking most of the impact.

He recovers first, is smart enough to get her under him,pinning her hands before she can attempt, however futilely, to claw his prettyblue eyes out. Caroline’s viciously pleased when he speaks, sounding just atouch out of breath, “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh?” Caroline bites out, trying to use her feet to gainsome leverage, “You have no idea what I think.”

“I didn’t poison your friend.”

“Like you’d admit that.”

He tangles their legs together, pinning her easily. His eyesremain human still, no hint of fangs visible. “I’m not here to stop you fromsaving her.”

That stills her. The weight of him eases as she stopsstruggling to glare up at Klaus suspiciously, “Then how could you possibly knowBonnie’s sick if you didn’t do it?”

“I have an eyes and ears in every coven in this city,sweetheart.”

Well, that’s believable. Alarming but Caroline adds it toher list of things to worry about later. “Why would you tell me that?”

“Because I’d like you to trust me.”

She’s too shocked to search for the lie, can’t manage tohide her reaction. Sputters a bit, when she replies, “You’re a vampire. The original hybrid. I’m a witch.”

His lips twist and if he even thinks about needling her forstating the blindingly obvious she’s going to toss another aneurysm at him.

He takes his time in answering, rolling them to the sideonce more. He lets her wrists free but one of his hands comes to rest on herhip. He crowds closer, his forehead resting against hers like he’s imparting asecret. “I knew exactly who you were the night we met. I assumed you knew who Iwas.”

“What?” she exclaims, “why would I have…” Caroline’s handlifts, fingers fluttering in a vague gesture that doesn’t even begin toencompass how intimate their bodies have been.

“Your father might have been notoriously anti vampire but plentyof witches are not. Some of the more… mercantile spirited mingle for financialgain. Others make personalconnections.”

It’s ridiculous but a flash of jealousy burns. “I reallydidn’t need to know that you’ve spent a thousand years boning every witch whobatted their eyes in your direction.”

This time he does laugh, and they’re pressed close enoughthat Caroline can feel his body shake with it. “It’s gratifying to know you’venot managed to convince yourself to hate me, love.”

“You’re lucky I need to conserve my magic,” Carolinegrumbles. And also that she doesn’t wanthis brain to leak out of his eardrums but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Your friend Bonnie, for instance, has been keeping companywith my brother for months.”

She bites back another shrill noise of surprise, shoving athis chest. Caroline knows about Bonnie’s vampire boyfriend (boyfriends, technically) but she hadn’twheedled out the truth of their identities. Plus, she’d only found out recentlyand has been sworn to secrecy. “I’m going to need you to stop talking.” She needsa second or two to process.

Klaus doesn’t try to stop her when she draws away. He getsto his feet, offers her his hand. “Shall I dig?”

She allows him to help her up, eyeing him warily. She flexesher stinging palms. “If you don’t mind. I should have brought gloves.”

He grabs her hands, expression growing stormy as he turnsher palms up. They’re red, blistered, and he makes a noise that conveys hisdispleasure as inspects them. “You should have mentioned you were hurt,” hesays, his tone lecturing.

“It’s nothing.” She tries a joke, “Just my fragile mortalbody protesting manual labor.”

His glance up is entirely unamused. “We’ll have to bandagethese as soon as we’re done here.”

She doesn’t get a chance to protest, to remind him thatshe’s on a time crunch, because he turns and whistles sharply. Three bodiesmaterialize out of the trees and Caroline freezes as she assesses the threat. “They’rewith me,” Klaus murmurs, and she notices that each man, vampire or maybe hybrid,carries a shovel.

“They’ve been here this whole time?”

“Waiting for my signal.”

So, even when she’d attacked him with her power, they hadn’tmoved against her. “Why are you helping me?” Caroline blurts.

He leans in, his lips just brushing her ear, speaks quietlyenough that she’s probably the only one who can hear him, “I do believe I’vealready answered that question.”

He moves away before she can question him, swiftly enoughthat when her hands reach for them they close on nothing. He notices though,glancing back at her with a pleased little smirk as he strips off his jacket. Caroline’shands fall, clenching into fists at her sides.

She half expects the smug jerk to strip his shirt off too.Is a little disappointed when he doesn’t.

Klaus directs the vampires he’d brought with a few flicks ofhis hand, grabs her discarded shovel and digs in. She takes a few big stepsback as dirt starts to fly, “I have to take the tooth myself.” It’s a conditionof the ritual.

Klaus pauses, glancing up at her, “I trust you broughtpliers?”

“Duh.” She fishes them out of her pocket, holding them up asproof.

He nods approvingly, “Good. We’ll be just a few minutes.”

Klaus returns to his task. She considers looking away, knowsshe probably shouldn’t be ogling him. Not when she’s still not sure if she cantrust his motivations.

He wants her to trust him, but why?

Caroline grabs the bag she’d discarded earlier, pulls abottle of water from it. She drinks as she watches them, impressed at the rapiddeepening of the hole she’d labored over. They slow once they hit bone,discarding the shovels and using their hands. Caroline figures she’s up againwhen the three vampires climb out and head back the way they’d come.

Klaus beckons her over, a skull in his hand. “They’ll coverit up again when we leave.”

“Your help is well trained.”

“They’re hybrids. Brand new.”

Her brows lift in surprise, “You agreed not to make any morehybrids.”

“Actually, what I agreed, was that I would not turn an unwilling werewolf.”

Caroline hadn’t been directly involved in those negotiationsbut she’s not surprised Klaus Mikaelson had crafted himself a loophole. “And howexactly did you find willing werewolves?”

“Rather easily, actually.” She expects him to elaborate buthe doesn’t, holding the skull out. She squints down at it, “Does your spellspecify what type of tooth you need?”

“I don’t think so. I have someone working on a more precisetranslation so I thought I’d grab a few just to be safe.”

“Best get to work then.”

The skull is steady in his hands, his grip solid when sheyanks, providing enough resistance for her to work the more stubborn teeth out.He’s mostly quiet, lets her move his hands as needed. Caroline pockets theteeth carefully, reminds herself that she’s doing this for Bonnie whenever ascrape of a crunch of bone leaves her cringing. When she’s satisfied she’s gotwhat she needs (plus a few extras because she strongly believes in planning forcontingencies) she puts the pliers away. “Okay, I think I’m good. Hopefullyeveryone else was successful.”

“Should you need any more assistance I’d be happy to help.”

“Yeah, I’m still kind of puzzled about why.”

His eyes sharpen, impatient and a tinge angry for the firsttime. “I had business in that club the first night. Business that I ended upneglecting. And I’d never have returned if not for you. You cannot be entirely unawareof your own appeal.”

He says it snidely, making it a dig instead of a compliment.Caroline bristles, “Don’t pretend like it’s ridiculous that I might questionyour motives.”

“Hence,” he shoots back, “why I understand that earning yourtrust will take time.” He’s holding himself rigidly, not attempting to hide hisfrustration. It seems like an admission that’s difficult for him to make.

“I… don’t object to that.” Her coven certainly would. Atleast, given Bon’s taste in vampires, she’ll have a friend in her corner.

Klaus relaxes incrementally but his next offer is stillstiff, “Perhaps we should exchange phone numbers.

She finds herself laughing in disbelief, “Oh, now he offers me his phone number.”

Klaus’ head tips to the side in confusion, “You didn’t seemparticularly interested in moving our acquaintance outside of the club. Iassumed it was due to our conflicting allegiances.”

“I had no idea you were well, you, until that meeting a fewweeks ago.”

“Yes,” he says dryly, “I gathered as much when you turned asickly shade of pale and refused to so much as turn your head in my direction.The point was driven home when you didn’t show up the following Saturday or on anyof the following nights.”

He’s been incredibly helpful, and honest, so Carolinefigures she can part with the truth, “I have roommates and you leave $100 billsas tips so I figured you didn’t. I’d have gone home with you pretty much anynight, including the first, if you’d asked.”

He’s obviously pleased with her confession, the skull fallsfrom his hand as he inches closer. Slowly this time, giving her the opportunityto retreat.

Caroline doesn’t move.

There’s heat in his eyes, promises that she knows he candeliver on, and this time when her heart stutters and her skin prickles inanticipation of his touch she doesn’t try to tell herself its wrong.

Is it? Probably. But, since he’s not demanded anything ofher, she’s decided not to care.

“Any night?” he asks, lower than before. His hands skim overher hips, his palm slipping under her shirt to trace the curve of her spine. It’sa blatant invitation and Caroline shivers, wishes that they were a little lessfilthy, that she didn’t have a pressing matter to attend to.

“Any night but tonight,” she amends.

He’s disappointed, she can tell. His head dips, lipsdragging down her throat. “Tomorrow,” he replies, firm. His teeth scrape herskin, the sting quickly soothed by the heat of his mouth. When he pulls awayshe’s breathing hard. “Dinner, first. Then dancing.”

“Pick me up at six,” Caroline agrees.

She kind of doubts they’ll get to the dancing.

[defensemechanism]

Me & The Devil Himself Part4

“I was made for lovin you baby, you were made for loving me, i cant get enough of you baby can you get enough of me?” Negan murmured to the tune of the KISS song.

He walked up behind you and hugged you around your middle pressing his body up against yours.

“Long day?” You inquired as he placed a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

“Yeah,” He sighed, “but having you to come home to makes what I had to do worth it.”

You bit your lower lip, resisting the compulsion to grin like an idiot.Hearing him say such a sappy thing, filled your heart with joy.

Roughly eight months into your relationship with the King of the Saviors and the two of you were still acting like your love was brand new.

“What’s that your making?” He asked gesturing toward the large pot of simmering vegetables.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, but I’m lettin’ you know now,it hasn’t got any meat in it.”

You didn’t have to check his reaction to know he was grimacing.

“Well it isn’t like we’ve got any ground beef laying around,Love.This is the closest thing to chili I could russle up.”

His huff held a note of mirth in it.

“I’ll try it, but I’m not promising that I’ll like it.”

You laughed and turned around in his arms, rewarding him with a long fervent kiss.

“And just what was that for?”

“For indulging me.” You told him sweetly.

He didn’t fight the idiotic love sick grin that spread across his face.

Still holding your hands in his, he kneeled down before you.

“In the kitchen, really?” You waggled your eyebrows.

Not the mearist a hint of a smile came to his face.

“Y/n, will you be my wife?” His eyes were set on your face, hope and devotion in their depths.

You went absolutely still.

“Y/n?”

“Just you and me?” You asked,hesitant.

“Just you and me,baby.” He vowed.

You felt light and airy as you accepted him as your husband.

The honeymoon phase couldn’t last forever you thought gloomily amidst your first big fight with your husband.Eight months in and you had managed not to royally piss him off until today.It started a few weeks ago,the bickering.He’d caught you looking out the window at the team you used to be a part of as they rejoiced in the rain.The last few weeks of humidity had been torture. They however, got to spend time outside.While your whole day was relegated to the parlor,the bedroom and the kitchen down the hall.

As great as your relationship was,most of the time, you missed having a real purpose.You missed being useful.You missed leaving the compound to pick up the month’s haul from hilltop, the kingdom, and alexandria.You were so caught up in your brooding, you didn’t hear Negan enter the room. Boisterous laughter from the men outside spilled im through the window.Simon caught your gaze, his honey colored eyes twinkled with merriment as he removed his shirt and enjoyed the cool rain.You gave him a small smile.It was the sort of smile a child stuck in detention gave the kids that passed by the classroom as they set out to play a game of kickball, wistful.Negan appeared beside you, suddenly. He peered out the window just in time to see Simon smile back, then turn away from you.

“There is only one man you have any right to be eye fucking like that and it’s me.” Negan chastised you.

“The man is surprisingly ripped and takes his shirt off right in public where any old body can see.I’m only human.I can’t help it.” You didn’t know why you said it.Though they were nice to look at,you hadn’t been interested in Simon’s abs.

His sharp intake of breath had you biting your lip to hide your smile as the tiniest bit of satisfaction grew within you.

“You are my wife dammit!As your husband I expect you to be loyal to me, to respect me!”

“Loyal?” You scoffed.“This coming from the man that has,” you gestured vaguely, “remind me again, how many wives?”

“Oh that is such horse shit! You haven’t paid any attention to me in weeks! Are you really gonna stand there and judge me for fucking a woman who’s ready and willin’?”

Your body tensed at his admission.

“I knew it!I fucking knew it!Who is it? Frankie, Brandy, or Sherrie?”You said their names mockingly.Your stinging pride aggravating you.

“You’re lying and you know it! As long as you don’t have to be the one to put out,you don’t give a shit who I’m fucking.”

Hurt and frustration gave you the words that you knew would wound him enough to send him away.

“You’re right.”You kept your voice devoid of emotion. “I don’t care who you look at and I sure as hell don’t care who you’re sleeping with.”

“One more word and we’re through.”Negan warned glaring at you fiercely. He didn’t mean it, but you didn’t know that.

After all, he had said it with such finality.You could not bring yourself to say anything.You turned away instead.He slammed the door shut on his way out.

[tonystarkstan]

you’re still young (that’s not your fault)

Summary: Being a superhero? Hard. Being a superhero in high school? Harder. Luckily, he’s got Iron Man on his side.

or, five times Tony goes to Peter’s school and one time Peter goes with him to work.

Note: This is posted on my AO3, but it’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever written, so I thought I’d share it here! I hope you guys like it.

“So like, the issue is that I like learning and I need to go to school to get a good education in order to be qualified for an actual career,” Peter tells Ned as they stand at their lockers.

“How is that an issue?” Ned asks in confusion.

Peter sighs dramatically. “I hate school,” he says, as if that explains everything.

Ned nods sympathetically. “Makes sense. Oh, the joys of social hierarchy. Also, I forgot the solubility rules, so I totally bombed that part of the quiz today. Which means I’m probably going to fail, which means I’ll be kicked out of school, which means I’ll have to work at McDonald’s for the rest of my life and live off of a minimum wage salary.”

Peter pats his back consolingly. “You and me both, man. School just proves what we already knew: the world is conspiring against us.”

Ned scoffs. “Okay, but at least you have Spider-Man,” he points out, saying the name quietly so no one overhears.

Peter gives him a weird look. “Oh yeah, loved getting bitten by a fucking radioactive spider. It was like getting a kiss from Mother Nature.”

Ned shrugs. “Who cares? You’re staying with Tony freaking Stark. How is that, by the way?”

“Oh, it’s great!” he says enthusiastically. “The man has, like, zero parenting skills, so I get to eat whatever I want, and we just stay in his lab all night.”

“Dude, your life is so not real,” Ned says incredulously. “Have you heard from May?”

“Yeah, she said she’ll probably be home this weekend. I think she feels bad, but her work really needed extra hands with the hurricane relief, so it’s fine.”

“Gotcha. Hey, what do you – whoa!” Ned exclaims. “What’s going on?”

As they turn the corner, as large mass of students clogs the hall, all trying to peer over each other to get a look at whatever’s caught their attention. Before Ned and Peter can get any closer, though, the crowd parts down the middle by a seemingly invisible force.

That is, until Tony Stark steps through.

As usual, he’s wearing a three-piece suit, his trademark sunglasses, and in his hands is – what the fuck? – a Spider-Man lunchbox.

Tony’s eyes lands on the pair of them, and he casually makes his way over to them, as if Iron Man walking through a high school is normal.

“Hey, Pete! I was just looking for you,” he informs Peter.

“Hi, uh, Mr. Stark. Um. Hi. What are you, uh, doing here?” he asks, trying to ignore all the blatant stares that are now focused on them.

“What? A billionaire can’t just come by to see his favorite mentee?” He’s smirking though, and Peter knows the superhero is taking great pleasure out of embarrassing him.

“No,” he retorts flatly.

Tony puts his hand on his chest dramatically. “Oh, how you wound me. Betrayed! By one of my very own! What ever did I do to deserve such treatment?”

“Jesus Christ,” Peter mutters. “What do you want? Ned and I were just about to head to lunch.”

“Ah ha! And that is where I come in. I am, as usual, here to save the day.”

Peter raises an eyebrow and gives him an unimpressed look. Tony huffs. “Sheesh, tough crowd to please, apparently.” He holds out the lunchbox. “Lunch. You left your’s.”

Peter thinks back, suddenly remembering that oh yeah, he definitely did leave his lunch on the counter. However, it’d been in his old Star Wars lunchbox that he’d had as long as he could remember.

Noticing his look, Tony gestures to the bag. “I took the liberty of getting you an upgrade. We all know how much you like Spider-Man.”

Yup, I’m definitely filling his Iron Man helmet with ramen noodles now.

“Wow. Thanks,” he says, sounding anything but. He takes the bag gingerly. “Now I won’t starve. A true hero you are. Really living up to your name.”

Tony pretends to blush. “You’re too kind. I’m just here as a completely selfless act of service.”

“Sure. So, can you, like, leave?” Peter says impatiently.

Tony shoots him an affronted look. “Well, I know when I’m not welcome. Which, let’s be honest, never actually happens because I’m a famous genius billionaire. But I really do have to get going.”

“Oh, thank god,” Peter breathes. Tony laughs and ruffles the kid’s hair, knowing it’s all in jest.

“See ya later, kid.” He turns to Ned. “And you – be sure he actually eats it.” Ned looks like he’s about to faint. And with that, Tony turns on his heel and struts out, leaving behind a bunch of astonished high schoolers. Peter’s pretty sure Flash’s jaw is about to hit the floor.

After a second of stunned silence, Ned looks over at Peter and smirks. “What was it you were saying earlier about ‘zero parenting skills’?”

Peter groans. “Shut up.”

Ned’s laughter is drowned out by the mass of students headed excitedly in their direction.

-

“Dude, you look like shit,” is how Ned greets him.

Peter doesn’t even have the energy to be offended. He certainly feels like shit, flashes of hot and cold racing through his body and forehead beading with sweat.

“It’s fine, we’re fine,” Peter says, not at all reassuringly.

“Yeah, okay,” Ned scoffs. “Why are you even here?”

Peter sags against his locker tiredly. “We’re supposed to be going over Shell integration and the Trapezoidal rule in calc today. I can’t afford to miss it. Also, we have decathlon practice after school today and MJ will kill me if I miss it. Again.”

He startles when a light slap meets the back of his head.

“Speak for yourself, loser. We don’t want your disease,” MJ says from behind him.

“Sorry, May raised me to always share,” Peter jokes. “Anywho, it’s too late for me to go home now. May’s already left for work. What a shame.”

MJ just rolls his eyes but Ned tosses him a doubtful look.

“Come on!” Peter protests. “Seriously, I don’t even feel that bad!”

Three class periods later, Peter’s more than ready to retract his earlier statement. He definitely feels that bad.

He’s in the middle of Anatomy class, and he can’t, for the life of him, keep his head up. His muscles are aching just with the small bit of effort it’s taking to use an arm to prop his head up, and he’s so, so hot but can’t seem to stop quivering.

At this point, he’s completely tuned out the teacher, entirely focused on trying to keep himself from throwing up in the middle of class because God knows Flash would never let him live that down.

His phone buzzes.

Chair Guy: dude

Chair Guy: you look like an actual zombie

Peter groans internally.

Friendly Neighborhood Peter: thanks.

Chair Guy: hey I have a great idea bc im a genius who goes to a smart kid school!!!!

Chair Guy: go :) home :)

Friendly Neighborhood Peter: no :)

Peter quickly puts his phone away, and he sees Ned shake his head in exasperation. The rest of the class passes by in a cloudy haze of sickness, and he blinks up blearily when a shadowy figure stands in front of him.

“Peter. Peter! Yo. Dude, come on, class is over. Even Dr. Arrington has left,” Ned informs him.

Peter groans, tossing an arm over his eyes with the thought that maybe if he doesn’t look at Ned, he’ll just go away.

No such luck. “Peter, if you don’t get up, I’m calling May.”

Immediately, Peter’s head shoots up, and he winces as the dull throb in his head intensifies.

“You can’t! She’s at work, her phone’s off anyway because she’s not allowed to be on it. Plus, I still have Calc! And Decathlon!” he protests, but even he can hear how weak it sounds.

Ned just rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure at this point, MJ would kick your ass if you showed up to practice. Go home and we’ll all send you a ‘Thank You’ card.”

Peter swats at him weakly.

“Peter, seriously. We gotta go,” Ned says, hoisting Peter’s bookbag onto his back. “Think you can get up?”

The vigilante stares at him blankly. Ned sighs.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles to himself. “We are not fucking doing this.” Louder, he says, “Peter, give me your phone.”

The exhausted teen tiredly reaches into his pocket, groaning at how heavy an achy his arms are. He hands his friend the phone. If he were more aware of what’s going on, he ‘d be much more suspicious. However, at the moment, Peter wants nothing more than for his friend to stop talking so the pounding in his head will cease.

“Thank you. Stay here for a second,” Ned tells him, and Peter doesn’t even question it. Not like he could move even if he wanted to.

Maybe I can Uber to my Spanish class, his feverish brain thinks.

He’s not actually sure how long he drifts in and out of clarity, but at some point, he opens his eyes to feel a gentle hand carding its way through his hair, and he instinctively leans in towards it.

“Hey, Pete,” a soft voice says. It’s a nice voice, Peter thinks. Not too rough, but just enough gravel in it to create a low comforting sound. And it’s… vaguely familiar.

Peter lowers his eyebrows in confusion and wills his eyes to open �� when did he even close them? – so he can see the owner of the familiar voice.

“There we go. He’s alive! A true miracle.”

Peter nearly closes his eyes again, because obviously he’s still dreaming. There is no way that Tony freaking Stark is kneeling in front of him, stroking his hair, and gently coaxing him awake. Not possible.

“Yeah, it’s me, kiddo,” Tony says, obviously reading the surprise on his face. “To be fair, I’m probably just as surprised at this development as you are, but your friend Ted, here –“ he gestures to said teen who offers nothing more than a shrug “ –called Happy saying that you’re dying, and we just happened to be in the area, and I also happen to be a superhero. So.”

Unreal, Peter thinks, and closes his eyes, ready to let unconsciousness swallow him whole.

“Ah ah – no. Nap time for the spider baby later,” Tony jokes, but Peter cracks his eyes open to see the worry lining his mentor’s face. “I say we blow this popsicle stand.”

Peter nearly sags with relief at how good that sounds. He’d do just about anything to sleep. But then he remembers why he’d been so determined not to stay home in the first place.

“I can’t!” he protests, finally speaking up. “Calc. Integration.”

Tony stares at him in disbelief, and then turns to Ned, who’s still watching the exchange with a look of awe.

“Did he just say what I think he just said?” he asks incredulously.

Ned just gives him a long-suffering look and nods. “Yeah. He’s dumb.”

Tony scoffs. “That’s an overstatement,” he grumbles under his breath. Louder, he says, “Peter, you do realize that you’re literally talking to a genius, right? An actual engineer who literally built a flying suit? And the arc reactor? I think I can teach you some damn calculus. Goodness gracious.”

Peter just blinks at him. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Tony repeats, but he can’t help surge of utter fondness that rushes through him at the sight of the tired kid, still pressing into the hand in his hair.

“Come on. Happy’s waiting for us. I’ve never actually dealt with a sick – anything – before, so this’ll be a great learning experience for the both of us,” Tony says conversationally. He gets up, groaning at the ache in his knees, and takes Peter’s bag from Ned.

Peter immediately lets out a whine at the loss of contact. The noise strikes a chord deep within Tony, and he tries not to think too hard about it.

“Sorry, kid. Come on, up you go,” he encourages, hoisting the kid to his feet. Peter sways tiredly on his feet, and Tony is quick to steady him.

“Whoa, I got you,” Tony soothes. He runs a quick hand over the kid’s forehead and lets out a low whistle at the heat that meets his hand. “Sleep. You need lots of it. So do I, actually. What do you say we get to Happy before the evil man makes us walk?”

Peter smiles weakly and nods, stumbling beside his mentor, thoughts going blurry again as they make their way to the front of the school.

As promised, Happy is waiting for them, and it takes a little while longer to wrestle the kid’s lanky limbs into the car and across the backseat. Again, Peter lets out a whimper at the loss of contact, and Tony coughs to cover the soft smile that’s threatening to appear as he slides in next to the teen.

And if his hands end up back in Peter’s hair?

Well, no one ever has to know.

-

It was a stupid argument, if you could even call it that. Really, it was just Flash being a dumbass, as usual. Which, usually is a thing that Peter can handle – is used to handling – but today is just not one of those days.

Patrol last night had been rough, more mentally taxing than usual. Peter’s not exactly sure what about it made it so, but it left him wired up with an anxiety that followed him into sleep, prompting unwelcome nightmares and flashbacks of a variety he hadn’t experienced in a while.

Truth be told, he knows it’s kind of his own fault. He’s been overworking himself, staying out longer and longer as Spider-Man, coming back by May’s curfew only to sneak out hours later when he hears her breathing even out.

Then he comes back and works on homework and studying, getting a mere two or three hours of fitful sleep, surviving mostly on coffee and pure, stubborn willpower throughout the day. This all does nothing to calm the ever-growing wave of anxiety.

So, to be fair, this was probably a long time coming.

Flash just happened to be the catalyst.

Peter and Ned sat in their usual spot in the cafeteria, Peter comparing his homework answers with Ned’s. When Flash walks up, Peter immediately tenses, already preparing himself for an onslaught of insults.

(And how stupid is that? He’s Spider-Man and yet he’s reduced to nothing at the mercy of a stupid high school bully.)

“Hey, Penis! Ready to get your ass beat in the science fair this weekend?” Flash mocks. And to be honest, Peter finished his project weeks ago in the confines of Tony’s lab, analyzing how robotics can be used to enhance prosthetics and make them more effective and efficient.

And, at this point, he’s so tired, he doesn’t actually care who wins. He never did, really.

“Isn’t ‘Penis’ a little old by now? Surely you can be more inventive than that,” Peter taunts. And yeah, maybe not his smartest move ever, but whatever.

Flash flounders for a second, unsure of how to respond, before his face clears again. “I could, but this one suits you best. It’s kind of iconic, don’t you think?”

“Hey, Flash, you know what’s funny?” Ned steps in suddenly, and Peter groans. “How Peter’s smart enough to land an internship with Stark Industries, and you haven’t even heard back yet.”

Flash flushes with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “Yeah, and how much do you suppose your little sidekick has to pay just to polish Tony Stark’s shoes? You know, there’s actually been speculation that there’s a something a little more – should we say? – kinky going on there,” Flash says with a suggestive smirk, and Peter immediately sees red at the very implication of his hero doing something like that.

“Shut the fuck up, Flash,” Peter snarls angrily, and Flash narrows his eyes at him coldly.

“What was that, Penis?”

Peter stands up, well and truly angry now. “I said ‘Shut up.’ You don’t know anything about him. And I’m sorry you couldn’t get an internship with him when I could, but I guess Stark Industries knows talent when it – “

A sudden flash of cold and wet leaves Peter sputtering. He barely registers the fact that Flash is standing in front of him, the cup in his hand totally empty, because the wave of anxiety that’s been building up the last few days decides then and there to pull Peter under.

No longer is he in his high school cafeteria. No, he’s back in the lake, alone and tangled and trying so hard to break free of his confines. The water is cold, seeps straight to his very bones, and against his will, his lungs take a desperate breath in, but all he gets is more water.

He can’t fucking breathe.

God, what if he dies like this? Just a useless body floating on a lake, and maybe it’ll be days before he’s found, and May – oh god, May! – will be left completely alone to deal with another bout of grieving.

And Peter – god, he doesn’t want to die, he’s not ready to do that yet, he’s supposed to graduate and watch the next Star Wars movie release with Ned and there are so many more people he needs to save, and also he’s just plain scared.

If only he could breathe.

“Peter!”

The unexpected and familiar voice shocks him, and he flails towards it, hoping it’ll bring him closer to the surface.

“I’m right here, bud, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you,” the voice tells him, and it sounds so convincing and real and soothing that he tries with everything in him to believe it.

“Hey, it’s me – Tony. I’m right next to you, and we’re both in your crappy school cafeteria,” the voice – Tony – informs him, and Peter frowns in confusion because Tony shouldn’t be here, he’s going to drown, too.

“Tony,” he gasps, hands finding purchase in warm fabric. Dry. It’s dry! But – what?

“Yeah, kiddo, it’s me. Open your eyes and look at me. It’s okay, I promise,” Tony coaxes him. And because he’s never had a reason not to trust him mentor, Peter cracks his eyes open, immediately cringing at the water that drips into his eyes.

“That’s it, good job,” Tony encourages, and Peter tries to let the sight of his mentor drown out the feel of water burning his nose.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks in a small voice. “W-what? I-I don’t – “

“Shhh, it’s all fine. You’re at school. You had a pretty bad panic attack. Your aunt wasn’t picking up, so they called me,” Tony explains. Peter takes in everything around him, drinking in the sight of the now completely empty cafeteria, save for him and Tony.

“I didn’t – I didn’t mean – I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, cheeks flushing red with shame. Tony gives him an incredulous look.

“Peter,” he says gently, reaching out to tilt the boy’s face up. “Look at me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You never have to apologize for something like this.” Tony’s gaze darkens suddenly. “The only person who should be apologizing for anything is the childish, cruel, immature bully who did this to you.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest. “No – it wasn’t his fault! He didn’t know that would happen.”

“And that makes it okay?” Tony scoffs. “No, kid. That’s all on him.”

Peter stays silent, not willing to admit the man is right, as usual. Tony studies him for a moment, then lets out a heavy sigh.

“How are you feeling now?” he asks the teen.

“Fine,” Peter lies instinctively. Tony just raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know. That – that wasn’t supposed to happen. Usually I have it under control,” he says, looking frustrated.

“It?” Tony prompts.

Peter tugs anxiously on his shoelace. “I guess sometimes I still think about the lake? Because I was tangled and stuck and it was – “ He cuts off, throat closing abruptly. Tony puts a hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

“Scary,” Tony finishes for him. Peter just looks down. Tony sighs again, looking more tired than ever. “Pete, you gotta keep me in the loop with these things. And if not me, then May or Ned or someone you trust. It’s okay to feel like this. Hell, I’m scared all the damn time.”

Peter looks surprised at the confession. “What?”

Tony laughs bitterly. “How do you think I became Iron Man in the first place? It was because I’m scared. My suit? It literally just started out as a physical manifestation of my anxiety.”

“Does it get better?” Peter asks, and he looks so small in this moment that Tony’s heart cracks right down the middle.

Tony hesitates before answering. “Yeah, kid. It does. But it takes a while, and it might not ever go completely away. You just have to communicate with us. Think you can do that?” Tony asks, looking Peter straight in the eye.

Peter swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah.”

Tony looks intently at him for another moment and then nods in satisfaction. He moves to get up and groans. “Fantastic. I think all that emotion just gave me heartburn,” he complains, rubbing his chest dramatically.

Peter smiles, the somber atmosphere broken. “Or maybe you’re just old,” he jokes.

Tony pretends to look offended. “Rude. Offensive. You owe me one whole compliment for that.”

“Nope,” Peter says. Tony nudges him gently.

“Oh, come on. No nice things to say about your favorite superhero?”

“Who said you’re my favorite superhero?” Peter smirks deviously.

Tony’s eyes widen in mock hurt as Peter gets up and starts to walk out without him. “Two compliments! Now you owe me two!” Tony calls as he walks after him.

And Peter’s answering laugh? Totally worth it.

-

First of all, the fact that aliens decided to attack New York City during school hours? Rude.

Which is Peter’s first thought when Tony calls him right before his fourth class of the day. It goes a little something like this:

“Kid. We’ve got aliens attacking New York – again, don’t they ever learn? – and it’s all hands on deck,” Tony informs him.

Immediately, Peter lights up with excitement, already feeling the first shots of adrenaline at even the thought of fighting with the Avengers again.

“Yes, of course!” he gasps excitedly, making a beeline for his locker to grab his suit.

“Great, meet us at – “

“Hey, loser,” MJ greets, not caring that Peter’s on the phone. “Where are your safety glasses? You need them for lab today.”

“Shit,” Peter mutters, feeling his heart drop to his feet, because normally, hell yeah, he’d skip class to go fight with the freaking Avengers! Except today’s lab counts as one of three big exam grades and he literally cannot miss it.

“What was that?” Tony asks, sounding preoccupied.

“Uh, Mr. Stark? Can the emergency wait, like, an hour?” Peter stammers. Immediately Tony’s full attention goes back to the teen.

“What?” he demands sharply. “Why?” There’s a pause in which Peter is more than reluctant to answer, but Tony catches on quickly and groans. “Oh, Jesus Christ. Let me guess: Spanish test?”

“Chem lab,” Peter mumbles. He can practically hear Tony rolling his eyes.

“Kid, you can make it up. New York needs you right now,” Tony says matter-of-factly.

“But, Mr. Stark! I won’t be able to make this up, she said the only way we can miss it is if we’re in the hospital dying or it’s an extreme emergency,” Peter protests.

“So aliens aren’t an emergency now?” Tony deadpans.

“I mean, yeah, but I can’t exactly go up to her and say that I need to leave for something like that!” Peter says delicately, conscious of MJ standing nearby with a bored expression. “Anywho, I’ll be there in like an hour tops, I promise,” he says quickly before hanging up, and oh boy, he’s going to get an earful for that later.

Immediately, his phone starts buzzing again but he stuffs it in his bookbag hastily. MJ gives him a weird look.

“Your boss is fucking weird,” she comments.

“Tell me about it,” Peter mutters as they walk into class.

They sit down at one of the lab benches and wait for their teacher to start giving them instructions. Today’s lab is the Synthesis of Aspirin, and yeah, nothing they’ve done so far is nearly as cool or advanced as his web fluid or the stuff he makes in Tony’s lab, but he’s still excited. And nervous. Because he really needs a good grade on this.

Once instructions are given, Peter and MJ start methodically setting up lab equipment. Peter’s getting the hot water bath ready while MJ measures out the salicylic acid when a sudden hush falls over the room.

Curious, Peter and MJ both look up to see what’s going on and Peter immediately wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

Tony is standing in the doorway.

He strolls in with calm strides and a casual confidence and walks right up to the teacher.

“Hello, Dr. Mead. I’m terribly sorry, but we need to take Peter out of class. There’s an emergency at Stark Industries, and it’s sort of all hands on deck. He’s our best intern, after all,” he says charmingly.

She looks flustered in a way that Peter never imagined he would ever see of his usually very collected teacher.

“Um, I understand, but this lab is an exam. Is there any way it can wait after?” she asks hopefully, and honestly, Peter admires her for not just immediately caving into him.

Then Tony takes off his trademark sunglasses and looks at her with such a stern look that Peter immediately resolves to buy her the best teacher appreciation gift ever.

“I’m afraid not. This is a matter of utmost importance. Surely you have make-up labs?” he asks in such a way that implies the only correct answer is yes.

Dr. Mead opens her mouth as if to protest before finally just settling on saying nothing at all, before turning to the back of the class, where Peter is resisting the urge to hide under the lab bench.

“Mr. Parker, you may be excused. We can discuss make-up times later,” she announces, and Tony smirks, triumphant.

Peter’s face burns with embarrassment as he grabs his bag and walks out the room, feeling everyone’s eyes on him.

Tony ruffles his hair, and Peter swats at it in mock irritation.

“Was that all really necessary?” Peter demands when they’re alone in the hall. Tony shrugs.

“Nah. But then you hung up on me, and I’m petty,” he says. “But actually, I was already on my way to come get you. Cap, Nat, and Rhodes have got the situation contained, but they could really use some help, and we’re the only ones around.”

Peter, now that he’s not so worried about his grade, perks up with excitement again. “Man, this is so exciting!”

Tony gives him a fond look. Only Peter would find an alien attack exciting.

“Sure, kid. Now let’s go kick some alien ass.”

-

At first, there’s nothing to indicate why Peter’s spidey sense is suddenly going off like a blaring alarm.

His whole body is seizing with panic, everything in him screaming danger! But he strains his ears to listen for anything out of the ordinary and turns up empty, so he just shrugs and chalks it up to his anxiety going into overdrive.

Later on, he’ll hate himself for it.

Not even five minutes later, deep he hears it, clear as day: the crack of a bullet, one after another.

He shoots up in his desk, on high alert, and everyone around him starts looking around in confusion, not really comprehending the noise. For a second, he’s right along with them, not quite willing to believe that he’s hearing what he’s hearing, because no fucking way is this happening right now.

Then he hears the scream.

It cuts through the haze of the confusion that had clouded the room, and immediately Mr. Johnson runs to the door, knocking off the lights and covering the door window, and everyone is pushing to the back of the room.

Peter takes the moment of chaos to grab his suit out of his bag, and quietly slips out the other window, hoping that everyone was too preoccupied to notice.

“Hello, Peter,” Karen greets pleasantly.

“Karen!” Peter says urgently. “Call 911 and tell them there’s a shooter at Midtown. Contact Mr. Stark. Activate Stealth Mode.”

“Got it,” she says, and then a silence follows wherein Peter assumes she’s following his directions.

Without further pause, Peter quickly follows the sounds of students screaming and gunshots, praying and praying that no one’s bit hit.

“Peter,” Karen says, “Mr. Stark says to stay put; he and some of the crew are on the way, and so are the police. You are not to engage with the shooter.”

All it takes is another piercing scream for Peter to decide that’s definitely not what he’s going to do. He can hear students near the exits evacuating, but as he goes deeper into the school, it becomes eerily quiet. He tries not to focus on the hundreds of heartbeats skyrocketing in fear.

He rounds a corner and finds a student curled up under a water fountain, shaking and crying. She jumps and whimpers in fear when he enters her line of sight, eyes flooding with relief when she realizes who he is.

“Sp-Spider-Man,” she gasps, tears streaming down her face. He quickly shushes her, not wanting to draw any attention to them in case the intruder is nearby.

She shakes her head insistently. “H-He already c-came by. He’s at-at the classrooms b-by the audi-auditorium.”

Peter nods in determination. “I’ll take care of it. You need to stay hidden. If other people start running, join them. Stay quiet. You’re doing so good.”

And fuck, Peter doesn’t even know if that’s the right advice, because this is so much different than anything he’s ever dealt with before. These are his classmates – his friends – who’s lives are being threatened.

As he nears the auditorium, everything seems more still and foreboding, and he can hear a single set of footsteps walking calmly across the floor. Peter leaps up to the ceiling and rounds another corner.

He nearly falls back down at the sight that meets him.

The first door to his right his open, a body lay strewn in the doorway, and something in Peter’s brain shuts down, absolutely refuses to acknowledge the reality of the sight before his, refuses to go into the room in fear of what else he might find.

He hears gasps and soft sobs, but he pushes it all away and lets his gaze zero in on the figure at the end of the hall, gun raised towards another classroom.

The sound of the bullet, this time, is deafening, and Peter wastes no time before crawling until he’s just above the figure.

In the blink of an eye, Peter’s on top of him, wrestling the gun out of his grip and punching the guy with a ferocity that’s unfamiliar. He hits. And hits and hits and hits, because this guy attacked the wrong fucking school and those are Peter’s friends.

Peter sees red, flashes of anger and blood and oh god his friends, are they okay? And it hits him, suddenly, the gravity of everything that’s happened in the last ten minutes, the way his school will never be the same because of one person’s decision.

“Spider-Man, stand down,” a voice cuts through the haze, but he ignores it in favor of tossing another punch, but before he can, a metal hand wraps itself around his wrist.

“No!” he snarls. “This one deserves it!” He fights against the arms that wrap around his waist, thrashing against the hold.

“Kid. It’s me, Tony. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. We’ll take care of him, you’ve done great. Your job here is done.”

With those words, Peter sags against his mentor, allowing the hard armor to support him and the weight of everything to sink in.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Tony says, gently picking the young hero up and letting the police come in and take over. No one even bothers to question him. It’s common knowledge that Spider-Man and Iron Man are close, and no one is willing to get him in trouble for beating the shit out of someone who deserved it.

Tony cradles the kid’s head to his chest, no longer caring who sees, only focusing on getting Peter out of there. Steve, Sam, and Natasha can handle the rest, he figures. There are cops everywhere, and scared students are being rushed out in a line to meet desperate parents waiting for them outside.

Happy is waiting for them, and Tony has never been more grateful for his status as Iron Man than now; no one tries to stop him.

Tony quickly deactivates his suit and gets the kid in, settling them both into the back seat, and Happy wastes no time trying to push his car through the crowd, glancing back at the duo with deep worry etched into his features.

Peter hasn’t said a word, and they’re halfway back to the Tower, where May is meeting them, when the teen starts shaking violently, clinging to Tony.

“Oh god,” Peter sobs, pulling his mask off, and Tony absolutely breaks at the raw terror and grief on the kid’s face as the weight of what’s happened hits him. “Tony,” he gasps, pulling his mentor closer.

Tony wraps his arms around the kid, hugging him with an unprecedented fervor. “Shhh, it’s okay now. I’m right here.”

But Peter’s hyperventilating now, tears soaking the man’s shirt. “I-I couldn’t – I was too late. I think – I think – Tony, I saw – “ and he doesn’t get past that, because he can’t. He can’t make the words push past his lips.

If he doesn’t say them, maybe they won’t be true.

Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into Tony’s chest, crying violently.

And Tony? Tony doesn’t know what else to do other than murmur soft words of comfort that he knows are falling on deaf ears. So he settles back in his seat, Peter practically in his lap, and runs his fingers soothingly through the kid’s hair. It’s going to be a long road to recovery, he knows.

But he’s in this for the long haul.

-

“No.”

Tony stands against his desk, arms crossed and sending a flat look to Pepper, who’s looking at him with an equally determined expression on his face.

“Tony, come on,” she says in exasperation. “He’d be thrilled, and if nothing else, it’d be great PR. I think people would really like seeing you be so invested in an intern, personally taking him for a deeper look at what you do.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Pep, Peter’s already seen what I do. Hell, he practically lives in the lab after school. He literally has his own room here.”

“Sure, but he only ever sees Tony, his hero, mentor, and father figure.” Tony opens his mouth to protest that last label, but Pepper cuts him off. “Shut up, it’s true and you know it. Now, as I was saying, I think it’d be really beneficial for him to see you as Tony Stark, a business man, company owner, and employer.”

“The answer is still no!” Tony says.

And yet somehow, that conversation led up to now, with Peter standing awkwardly at his side at eight in the morning, staring at the main floor of Stark Industries with awe on Take Your Kid to Work Day.

“Mr. Stark, thisissocool!” Peter exclaims in one big breath. Around him, workers are bustling about. Tony, quite frankly, can’t believe he’s never taken his fake intern into the main part of his building. A careless oversight. It’s impressive, really, that the whole “internship” story has managed to hold up for this long.

“Whoa, calm down, kid,” he says, watching the kid fondly as he practically buzzes with excitement. Peter looks at him with wide eyes.

“What are we going to do today? Are you going to boss a bunch of people around? Build stuff? Paperwork? Now that I think about it, what do you even do?” Peter asks, sounding breathless. Tony just shakes his head in awe, wondering how after all this time, the kid can look at him like he hung the moon.

(And he would. He’d hang a thousand moons if that’s what Peter wanted.)

“Well, first of all, Pepper’s usually the one who bosses me around, so I’m sure you’ll get to see some of that today. We have a press conference at one. Oh, don’t worry, it’s no big deal. We’ll introduce you as one of SI’s interns and explain that I decided to take this day, when a lot of other kids would be around, to show you the ins and outs of what I do. They’ll love it,” he reassures.

And they do.

But Tony’s not surprised, really. The kid has a way of getting everyone wrapped around his finger.

Peter, awkward and nervous at first, quickly gains a bit of confidence, occasionally answering a reporter’s questions with typical teenage sass, but always with a soft smile so as not to offend.

“How did you two meet?” one curious reporter asks. Tony puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Well, this one here is a huge dumpster diver. I actually got an opportunity to see his skills at fixing and making tech with natural ease, so I encouraged him to fill out an application for the internship. His application was outstanding, to say the least, and the rest, as they say, is history,” Tony says with a smile.

“Peter, were you a fan of Iron Man even before the internship?” another reporter asks.

Peter laughs. “I mean, who wasn’t? But really, I was always a bigger fan of Mr. Stark himself. The work he’s done to create a clean source of renewable energy? That’s insane! I can only dream of making strides like that. I watched a documentary on his robots over the years when I was younger, and I remember thinking, ‘I want to be like him!’ It’s actually what led me to start dumpster diving and fixing old tech. I never even imagined it could lead me to work under the man who inspired me.”

Peter shrugs, missing Tony’s stunned gaze trained on him, while the reporters listen with rapt attention.

“So yeah. Iron Man is amazing and all, but the real hero is the man underneath the suit, which I think people like to forget. The suit isn’t heroic – it’s the man underneath it that is.”

Tony is speechless. Absolutely speechless and completely overcome with an emotion he can’t quite identify as Peter looks over at him and offers him a shy small, as if worried he’s maybe said something wrong.

Tony’s throat clogs with the amounting of affection he has for the awkward, precious, genius, and selfless fucking kid, and he’s nearly knocked off his chair by the force of it. He clears his throat roughly, before addressing the crowd that’s busy melting.

“As you can see,” he says, wrapping an arm around the teen. “I brainwash my interns well.”

The crowd laughs, and the spell of emotion is broken.

However, when Tony goes down to his lab that night, long after Peter’s been dropped back off at home by Happy, he finds a sticky note attached to one of his computers, the messy scrawl deeply familiar.

There’s only four words, but they make Tony’s heart swell in his chest.

I meant every word. -P

[gmcfloppins]

Mirror Memoirs  The real Chapter Seven

Have some angst.

February 14, 1918. The birthday I spent in relative quarantine.

I lay on the bed in Mark’s family’s guest bedroom, reading a book Mr. James told me to read, called The Return of the Soldier. I guess he figured it would help me cope with what I was going through.

I hated the book. It reminded me of things I didn’t want to think about. So I lay there, in a guest bed, wearing boys clothes, and reading an expensive imported assigned book. The clothes, actually, weren’t as bad as I had expected. They couldn’t hold a candle to my dresses, but they were rather comfortable.

There was a knock on the door. “Miss Connor, your lunch.”

“Thank you,” I replied to the maid. I waited until I heard her walk away before I went to open the door and take the tray. It was a sandwich, same as it had been for the last ten days, with some sort of fruit and tea. Today, however, there was an extra plate with a cover on it.

I had a guess as to what it was, and I was hesitant to lift the cover.

A small cake, white-frosted, with a sugar rose on top.

I couldn’t stop the tears. They simply burned in my eyes until falling onto my lap.

It was a very kind gesture, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to go home. I didn’t want to spend my birthday stuck in a room, potentially very sick, away from my Papa, and Jacob, and Scott, and Eddie being across the sea. I just wanted to go home.

February 23, 1918. I had almost resigned to never leaving the room.

I never got mail from home, surprisingly. They were just across the street. School was tiring. I had nothing to do but read, and, frankly, I was bored out of my skull.

There was a knock on the door.

I sat on the bed, reading the same page for the tenth time in a row.

The knock repeated. “Talia?”

I jumped up, surprised. I hadn’t heard Jacob’s voice in over half a month. I ran over to the door as he opened it, jumping into his arms. We both fell to the floor, holding on to each other tightly.

“Damn, I missed you,” He mumbled, squeezing me. After a moment, he loosened his grip, and I pulled back. “I’m so sorry you had to stay so long.”

I stood, and he followed suit. “Is Scott…?”

“He’s been moved back to the hospital. He’s currently in quarantine, and they’re hoping he’ll get better.” He grabbed my hand. “Papa and I, by some incredible miracle, only had it for a week or so. Have you been coughing at all, Tali?”

I shook my head no as we started out of the house, and a small smile found its way onto his face.

“Good. That’s brilliant.” He waved a thank you to the maids as we left, and they nodded. “Now, Papa thinks it might be better for you to go straight home. I think that’s best, too.”

“But Scott-”

“Would kill me if I let you get sick, too.”

He took me across the street and back into my home. It smelled of ammonia all over, except for my room. The windows were wide open, letting in sunlight and a slight chill. Fresh flowers sat on my desk.

After getting changed into my own clothes, I went back downstairs. I knew the way to the hospital. It was around three when I left, and it was starting getting dark as I approached the hospital.

A nurse on her way home opened the door for me, giving me a strange look as she did so. I ignored her, making my way over to the front desk. I stood on the tips of my toes just so I could see the nurse shuffling her files around. She stopped, noticing me.

“Why, hello there, little girl,” She said, smiling over the desk at me. “What brings you here tonight?”

“I’m not a little girl, I’m eight years old! And I’m looking for my brother.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss!” Her smile grew, amused. “Who’s your brother?”

“Him name is Scott, and he’s got floppy yellow hair and glasses. Papa and Jacob said he’s really sick, but I haven’t seen him in weeks and I miss him a lot.”

I wasn’t an idiot. I knew she thought I was cute. It was wrong, but I was determined to use that to my advantage. So, as all children trying to get their way do, I summoned tears.

“He just got back from fighting, and-and…” I sniffed, wiping my eyes.

“Oh, darling, don’t cry!” The nurse rushed from behind the desk to give me a hug. “What’s your last name, dear?”

“C-connor,” I hiccuped. If I had not gotten a law degree, I might have made it on the silver screen.

She grabbed her folders, searching and mumbling frantically for Scott’s information. As soon as she had it, she walked back around the desk.

“Alright, dear,” She got down to my eye level. “Now, I’m not supposed to be doing this, but I won’t tell if you won’t.” She handed me a slip of paper. “He’s in this room. I believe it’s on the third floor. Can you find it yourself?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I wiped the rest of my tears away on my sleeve.

“Good luck, dear.” She smiled, patting my cheek gently, and went back to work as I started towards and up the stairs.

My legs were tired, but I believe I had never run faster in my life than when I ran up those stairs and through that hall on the third floor.

I skidded to a stop in front of the doorway. In the room, I could see rows of curtains and beds. I slowly walked in, pulling on a mask from a box labeled “unused”.

There were so many beds, but not all of them were occupied. In fact, half were empty. I felt the sudden urge to run, to get out as fast as I could before I got sick, too.

“Scott?” I asked, before I lost all nerve.

I heard a bed creaking in one of the curtained sections ahead of me, and I ran towards it. But the person in that section was old, dark-skinned, and wasting away.

“You’re...not Scott….” I started backing away as he looked at me.

The man nodded before bursting into a coughing fit. He turned away, covering his mouth, even though he was wearing a mask. He grabbed a handkerchief and, pulling his mask away, spat something bright red into it. He put his mask on again and turned back to me.

“I’m Mr. Comano,” He said. He stuck out his hand, but pulled back. “Sorry. Don’t want you to get sick.” He shuffled in his bed. “Yer lookin’ for Scott, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded, folding my hands behind my back.

“You must be ‘is l’il sister, then?”

I nodded again.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but as soon as he got here, he fell asleep. He’s been sleepin’ since. Sickness musta tired ‘im out.”

“I just want to see him.”

Mr. Comano stood. “A’right, follow me, then.” He started walking slowly, laboriously, towards the end of the curtain. “It’s just a few more rows down.”

“Alright.” I grabbed his hand as he led me. While he was startled, he didn’t pull away.

“I’m not gonna lie to ya. A soldier like Scott? His chances are slim, l’il sister. Ya just gotta keep up yer hope, though.” He looked down at me. “If you’re all smiles, he’ll be all smiles, see?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Comano laughed. “I ain’t been called sir in a long time. I see no reason for you t’start now.”

I grinned under my mask.

He stopped at the end of a row. “A’right, baby. He’s right in there. He might be awake by now, but I doubt it.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Comano.” I smiled up at him, even though it was hidden by the mask. He smiled back, letting me go, and went back to his own little section.

I peeked behind the curtain, where Scott was, indeed, asleep. His glasses were on his nightstand, next to a picture of our family. I picked it up.

It was mother, holding a newborn version of me. I was asleep for that photo, and she was smiling. Papa had his arm around her, and a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He was about twelve at that time. Scott and Jacob, ages eleven and ten, were sitting on the floor, holding teddy bears.

I bristled slightly as someone grabbed my hand, startling me.

“Sorry,” Scott whispered, slightly amused. “That is my tiny Tali, right?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Scott pushed himself up, grunting a little in pain. “What’re you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you in weeks. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Talia…” He squinted, as his glasses were still on the nightstand. “What time is it?”

“It’s about six in the evening.”

“Is Papa here?”

“No.”

Scott chuckled. “You’ll miss supper.” He grabbed my hand again. “Jeezums, I’m going to miss you.”

This grabbed my attention. “Miss me? Where are you going?”

“Oh, some smelly sanatorium.” He shrugged, swinging my hand. “I’ll be back, though. As soon as I’m well again, I’m coming home.” He smiled at me. “I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

“But….” I looked down, my fear returning. “But what if you don’t come back?”

Scott nodded slowly, thoughtfully. He leaned back against the headboard. “Hmm….” His silver, bruised-looking eyes found their way back to mine. “I guess, if I don’t come back, then I’ll owe you an apology.” He leaned towards me again, a few small, pained lines appearing under his eyes. “I love you so much, Talia. If I don’t come back, then I’m sorry that I won’t be there for you. I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you transition into the person you want to be.” He cleared his throat. “If I don’t come back, I’m so sorry I won’t be able to protect you from the people who tell you that you can’t. Believe me, you can. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Then you’ll get better?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know. I’m not you. I can’t do everything.”

I sniffled, a few tears burning in my eyes.

“Oh, Tali.” He pulled me close. “I can’t do everything, not like this. But if I could do anything, I would chase away your tears until forever.”

Someone ran into the long room. “Talia!” Papa shouted, running towards us. Scott pulled back quickly.

“Papa, don’t be too mad, I-” He started, but Papa scooped me up in his arms.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, quite loudly.

I was emotional, more so than normal, on that day. I had too many things going on at once, and it all just escaped through my eyes as I sobbed in my father’s arms. I was vaguely aware of him taking me out of the hospital and putting me in the back seat of the family automobile. Mr. O’Brien drove us home, but I really didn’t want to go home.

________________________________________________________________

Tags: @beesartandstuffs