#i Know i should forgive and forget. but i can’t shake the conviction that she would absolutely do something similar

[fingertipsmp3]

Realising I maybe don’t actually like my supposed ‘best’ friend

[philliamwrites]

compromissum

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Xiao/Aether

Tags: #blood, #angst, #hurt and comfort

Words: 2.5k

Summary: [lat. compromissum: “mutual promise”] In which Xiao has made his very own contract with Aether, and in Liyue, the Land of Contracts, one who breaks their contract shall suffer the Wrath of the Rock.

Commissioner: CrystalNines

Notes: I swear, one day I'll learn how to write happy endings.

compromissum

     All is quiet. The shack hiding in the shadow of a cliff is abandoned and left to rot, its wood mouldy and old. No one has been here for a quite a long while and no one desires to visit this forsaken place tugged away in a corner of Qingxu Pool. Then, a figure breaks through the roof, destroying half of its construction.

    All air is knocked out of Xiao’s lungs as he slams onto the ground, but there is no time to catch his breath. He rolls to the side not a moment too late before a Geovishap drops through the opening in the roof and smashes into the ground right where he was laying seconds ago. It snarls, showing a row of razor sharp, enormous teeth the size of Xiao’s lower arm. The corner of Xiao’s mouth twitches as if to reply by bearing his own teeth.

    Blood, warm and wet, runs down his arm, making his grip around his polearm slippery and he shakes his head to clear the dizziness from the Geovishap’s blow earlier. There’s shouting from somewhere above his head, voices echoing over the valley with fear and worry palpable Xiao tries to ignore. He doesn’t need anyone to look after him. So many years have passed where he was out on the hunt by himself without anyone watching his back.

    But there’s one voice he’s learnt to pick out from a crowd, one that no matter when and where lures Xiao in even at a time like this when he’s facing a thirty-thousand-pound monster that can easily break his spine.

    The Geovishap charges. Xiao uses the end of his polearm to gain additional height and jump over it, its amber horn almost grazing the tip of his foot. Before the monster can turn, Xiao lunges forward, his polearm raised to strike and unbalance it, so he’d get access to the soft skin of its belly. But the Geovishap is surprisingly fast for something this big and sturdy, and it whirls around, smashing a giant fist, hard as rock, into Xiao’s side and he cries out, feeling his ribs break. Pain like someone split his side open bare-handed sears through him as he’s thrown against a wall and crumbles to the ground. Black dots dance across his blurred vision and the taste of iron fills his mouth. He spits out blood, his arms trembling from the effort to get back up.

    A shooting star crashes into the Geovishap—no, not a star. Aether. He plunges through the broken roof, fire blazing in his golden eyes as he brings his sword down on the reptilian creature in a single, deadly strike. The Geovishap roars a last time, then falls into himself and remains lifeless n the dirty shack’s ground.

    In his long life, Xiao has gotten used to seeing creatures lose their lives, often by his own hand, but it never ceased to make him wonder how something this big and wild a second ago becomes an empty shell, void of life—how easy and fast, seamless, the transition from alive to dead is. How nothing in this world cares about technicalities like good or evil for all is equal in death.

    In front of him is Aether, beautiful Aether with his sword still raised, its tip glinting in the setting sun like freshly tempered iron in heavenly fire. The sight reminds Xiao of this creature he’s read about a long time ago: Angels, they are called, that descend upon the mortal ground to bring justice in the name of something holier than them. Looking at Aether now, Xiao doesn’t struggle to imagine such a creature—the warm, red horizon illuminates his golden hair. A halo.

    Someone places a small hand tentatively on Xiao’s wounded shoulder and he recoils, finally tearing his gaze away from too beautiful Aether.

    “This looks bad,” Barbara says. For someone looking this frail, her grip is firm, and she doesn’t allow Xiao to wiggle out. “Let me take a closer look.”

    Xiao hisses, “No need.” It takes effort to get back on his feet, his muscles scream in protest but everything in him refuses to appear weak. “We still have one bounty left.”

    “Forget the bounty,” Aether cuts in, sharper than his sword’s edge. He closes the distance in a few strides and ignoring Xiao’s protests, Aether slides one arm around his waist and ducks under Xiao’s arm to steady him. “We’re going back to camp,” he declares and looks around, at Barbara and at Amber whose eyes are big and round with worry. No one objects.

    Except Xiao.

    “I’m fine.”

    “I don’t know what ‘fine’ meant for you back in your time but nowadays it doesn’t mean what you are right now.”

    “I am well aware of its meaning—” Xiao hisses when Aether leans a little too much into his hurt side.

    “Yeah,” Aether deadpans. “This sure looks fine.”

    Xiao can’t remember a time Aether has ever talked to him like that: Cold, dismissive, sneering almost. Not soft, kind Aether who starts to cry whenever one of Amber’s stray arrows accidentally hits a squirrel and they spend the afternoon burying it under a pine tree. This Aether doesn’t spare him another glance. He helps Xiao all the way to their campsite hidden inside a little cavern with a grim expression, his mouth pressed together into a thin line.

    When they finally reach their camp, Xiao disentangles from Aether and retreats to a corner further inside the cavern where a boar’s hide is laid out on the ground as a makeshift bed. It was easier to ignore his wounds with adrenaline pumping through his body but as it always does, the pain catches up to him in the end and leaves him paralysed with agony. When he lays down, slowly and carefully, gritting his teeth against any pained noise, he hears hushed whispers, his company’s mumbled conversation about him and what they’re going to do with him. Xiao doesn’t care. But this scene is familiar, and when he closes his eyes, his mind transports him to the past, to a time when the ground grew ill from soaking up too much blood and he’d lied on hard, unyielding stone that leaked grime and misery, falling into a dreamless slumber to four familiar voices.

    Xiao startles out of sleep, jolts right into awareness and almost smacks Aether across the face who dodges just in time as Xiao’s fist whirls past his jaw. They stare each other down for a long moment like two cats assessing each other to decide if they could trust each other. Eventually, Aether crouches down next to Xiao. He holds a little bamboo box in his hand and Xiao can smell the distinctive bitter note of the du huang mixture Granny Ruoxin gave them as thanks for driving off Hilichurls camping in the bamboo forest at the foot of the mountain that gently cradles Qingce Village.

    “Your wound. Show me,” Aether says quietly, even though there is no need to whisper. Looking over his shoulder, Xiao doesn’t see Barbara or Amber. They’ve left camp, probably to collect some berries or fetch water from the nearby river, which means he and Aether are alone and that’s something he’s tried to avoid lately. But that isn’t right either because it feels like the absence of a magnetic centre, and without it nothing makes sense at all.

    Xiao tries to sit up, but his limbs are still sore, and he feels like someone wrung him completely dry. The pain in his shoulder is a dull throb and he feels a rib poke somewhere it shouldn’t. His breathing is shallow, but he is breathing after everything and that is enough.

    “I can take care of it myself,” he says, his voice lowered as well as if they were talking about a small animal that might flee any second. He holds his hand out to Aether who stares at it as if Xiao has grown an additional sixth finger.

    “You’ve been with us for months now,” Aether says. “Why can’t you trust us? Why can’t you trust me?”

    Xiao’s hand drops back in his lap. In his whole life the amount of people he’s trusted can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Two had slaughtered each other, one had grown mad from the burden she couldn’t carry, one had abandoned him and the last had died by the hands of those who walked on the soil he prepared for them. Trust is a fragile thing, kept locked and hidden away and not even too beautiful Aether with his eyes and hair of golden sunshine and mind of gilded kindness could bring him to trust again.

    His silence appears to be answer enough. Aether’s eyes drop to the ground, disappearing behind a thick curtain of bright lashes like the sun setting behind the distant horizon to unimaginable places. Something inside Xiao uncoils at that sight. But then Aether does what he always does, something he’s unnervingly good at: He doubles back to strike when one least expects it. His eyes rise to meet Xiao’s and with a conviction that leaves no place for doubt or objection he says, “I don’t mind waiting however long it takes. You said to speak your name and you will appear to vanquish my demons and foes. But know that when you speak my name, I will come and carry your burden.”

    “Why?” Xiao demands.

    “Why not?” Aether asks with an intensity that Xiao isn’t equipped to handle.

    He huffs a little breath of annoyance. “I am not your problem.”

    “You’re not a problem,” Aether almost snaps at him, mirroring his annoyance like a shot deflected and cast back. Something in Xiao stutters like a flame struggling against the wind that tries to extinguish it. He remembers words Rex Lapis had told him many, many years ago after he’d saved him from the hands of an evil god that had marked him with ink that would never let him forget who he once belonged to: Even after all that darkness he should never stop looking for the light in everything and everyone.

    “Because people will come, and they will teach you about love and forgiveness. But you have to let them in, Xiao. First you have to accept this slight moment of vulnerability, and then you will be rewarded with goodness. Never lock away your heart, Xiao. It pains me to think you might be all alone forever.”

    Xiao closes his eyes, conjuring Rex Lapis’ face in his mind. What he would give if only he could see him one last time.

    Aether stirs, ready to return to his side of the camp but Xiao catches his wrist. At some point during the evening, Aether has taken off his gloves and now Xiao can see a line where they would end. The skin below is slightly paler, and his fingers are long and slender, beautiful. Hands made to be captured in coal paintings, so history won’t forget them. One part of him wants to put them to his lips and worship every single digit to engrave Aether’s taste onto his tongue, the other imagines cutting them off one by one and wearing a bloody necklace of Aether’s fingers, his own good luck charm for eternity.

    Without a word, he turns around and offers Aether his wounded shoulder. Behind him, Aether is very still first. Xiao can only imagine what horrid wound Aether’s eyes lay upon: The skin parted by jagged claws, left unattended while the blood has dried on his skin. Yaksha heal faster than mortals, but they are not invulnerable or immortal. Any other person, this blow would have killed for sure.

    Then Xiao feels a cool mixture carefully applied to his wound by warm, warm hands which doesn’t surprise him. Everything about Aether is warm.

    They sit in comfortable silence, the soft crackling of the fire in the background the only sound that fills the dimly lit cavern. Shadows dance on the wall and Xiao observes them for a moment, recognising this daemon and that impure ghost from his past until they all merge into an undistinguishable shape and he closes his eyes to block them out and simply feel Aether’s careful motions, the balm slowly warming upon his skin, the pain fading until, like everything else, it becomes a memory.

    When Aether is done, his hand lingers on Xiao’s back, his fingertips slightly grazing another scar that dips just below his ribcage. Xiao’s body tells his history in scars and he can still recount which daemon left which. Mortals tell you time heals it all and soon you forget, but Xiao doesn’t, he remembers everything. Xiao remembers everything.

    He turns slowly, and finds Aether still kneeling in front of him. Trying to meet his eyes, they are so close Xiao could count every eyelash framing Aether’s round, kind eyes. He takes Aether’s hand, a small hand, studies it and intertwines their fingers as if he already misses Aether’s small hand in his palm.“

    You know I would give my life for you,” Xiao says, for his contract to protect Liyue has been terminated with Rex Lapis’ death, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t set his own rules, live by his own contract.

    Something in Aether’s expression changes; an almost forlorn look but whatever he tries to find in Xiao’s face, Xiao can’t give it.

    “Xiao, we can still—” he starts, but Xiao silences him by lifting his other hand and grazing Aether’s cheek with his fingertips.

    “We already talked about this,” he says in a voice as if he’s trying to explain something to a child. “I serve, but I do not love. I cannot love for my first master has taken that ability and it was lost with his death.”

    His feelings for Aether could be love in a different world, a different time. But right here, right now, they are what is left of it; a shadow, only a memory. Desire maybe, worship, yes. But love wouldn’t leave this bitter taste in his mouth whenever he thinks of Aether. It wouldn’t.

    Aether looks gutted. His mouth twists, as if he’s trying to hold in tears; Xiao knows the feeling and he hates seeing it on Aether’s face, hates being the reason why Aether looks heartbroken, why he is heartbroken. In a different world, Xiao could be kinder to Aether and give him what he deserves. But in this, with marks upon him that will never disappear and the taste of dreams still fresh on his tongue as if he has never stopped devouring them, he is not what Aether needs.

    But he will make up for that. He will serve Aether until his dying breath and either fall in battle for him or remain by his side even as old age claims Aether, should he age like mortals do. It would be an honour to die for Aether and until that day comes, Xiao will stay by his side and only after that, he will allow himself to rest and let the kind, soft tunes of a flute carry his soul to the next world, hoping even one as tainted as his is allowed peace and respite. That is the compromise he has constructed, the contract he has agreed upon with Aether, and in Liyue, the Land of Contracts, one who breaks their contract shall suffer the Wrath of the Rock.

[inviouswriting]

Wings of black and white.

Characters - Kivera (mine) Estinien, Alphinaud, and Shuri ( @snow-covered-moon​ )

I had this in my drafts for a while, decided to finish it today.

Kivera could feel the question before it was asked. She had been lingering around the Scion’s, long enough for her to want her wings out just a breath. She thought she had been alone, but the prickling at the back of her mind felt eyes on her. An awareness she had developed over time.

A turn of her head and she caught Alphinaud staring. He had known she is another being entirely, it was still something to see it first hand.

“Why are they different?” Kivera felt the question in her core, it pained her in ways she is certain others might not ever know. Her markings, her stained wing, the visual reminder of her falling. Yet the white one was a testament, if she followed the right ways she can resume what she lost. A gift from Kronos.

“Why do you ask that question.” Kivera regards him with her own question. She wanted to know if it is truly curiosity, she took into account he is still young and knows she can’t answer all of his questions to the nature of her past.

“I heard that you are an angel, but don’t they have white wings?” Kivera understood the question now, and turned to face him, she flutters her black wing.

“That’s because I am a fallen angel.” Kivera runs a hand through her black feathers, watching them shine a blue tint under the light.

“Forgive my manner of questions, I heard Estinien and Shuri refer you as a reaper.” Alphinaud is more confused.

“That’s just a title. What I am is a demon. Or in your tongue voidsent. It’s complicated. Reaper is the title I was given, fallen is my class of demon. Not your normal what you would think.” Kivera folds her arms flaring her wings once.

“How did you become one?”

“That is a bit personal.” Kivera dismisses telling him how she became like this.

“Is there an easy way to tell without going into details?” Kivera thinks it over.

“In short, I did something that was a transgression or taboo to the above. I am a unique case.” This confuses him more, and he wonders how she stands so sure of herself with shoulders like that.

“How do you do it then? Keep going when the world wants to condemn you.” Alphinaud still harbors his feelings from the recent events. He saw her in action, he felt useless after the fight around Bahamut.

Kivera thinks about his question carefully. Her eyes closed even as she mulls her responses she could say. What could get him to quit asking her things, she settles on answering honestly.

“It’s not my nature to give up, and let the opinions of others weigh or take root in my head. They do not know the hardships. If they did know, I’d only see their pity.” Kivera waves her wings away. Preferring to keep them viewable to those she likes.

“You don’t regret your choices at all?” Kivera gives him a smirk.

“I’ve done nothing wrong in my eyes.” Alphinaud begins to understand how well liked she is by Estinien and her close net of loved ones. A certain charm to her, but sure of herself. 

Alphinaud is confused, she is too proud of herself when she speaks of her past, where he has heard from others how mournful she appears talking about them. Before he can speak, Kivera eyes him.

“I do not regret the people I fell in love with. Every single one of them. I would turn the world inside and out before I thought to return to my former home. I have souls I am protecting from ever experiencing a great sorrow to befall them again. There is one side I can tell you, is those like me, are born of tragedy. I promised them no one would ever face what we endured.” Kivera still sees confusion.

“Perhaps I will tell you when Estinien thinks you are ready for that kind of truth. You are still young, though you have seen and endured alot. There are some things you should never witness. Listen to the lessons your elders teach you, and learn from the past ones of the mistakes to never do, and the memories to keep moving forward with from Haurchefant and Ysayle. Those two impacted you the most, for great reason too. Never forget their lessons. One taught humility, while the other taught to keep going even unto your death for what is right.” Kivera stands upon seeing Estinien entering the area, she had been waiting for him and Shuri to return. 

Estinien sees Kivera and can tell the air has a tension to it. He disregards it upon her stare not to pry into the conversation just had. Kivera glances back over to Alphinaud.

“To whichever deity in this world you praise, have faith in your convictions.” A hand at the small of her back guiding her away from the scion’s. Estinien and Shuri well done with things there.

“Come on, I want to leave. Before they make me go on more of their quests!” Estinien ushers the two women out announcing their leave. Outside in Mor Dhona, Kivera glances up seeing the gloom haze overhead, she has come to enjoy this areas unique beauty with crystals and almost prismatic glows. 

Shuri takes notice of Kivera quieter than her normal.

“Did someone ask about you again?” A hand seeking Kivera’s and she takes it. 

“Alphinaud. Nothing I can’t handle, all I did was stretch my wings a bit.” She reassures her, They begin their walk to the airships, admiring the light refracted in different ways. 

Kivera thinks of her life, in how far she has come from a simple scared servant girl to a powerful spirit. If only she could tell her young self of all the things she would accomplish, that the eventual death meant freedom from those castle walls. How she would literally soar above all those who had condemned her. Nothing braced her for the love she would have found, the one she lost and bent the heavens and time to get him back only to be forced to watch him live a happy life without her. How she had to let go, mourn and go about her life, knowing he was safe from the dangers she faces on a normal.

Kivera feels warmth from in front of herself, drawing her out of her thoughts. The fallen shakes her head out, she realizes she had been crying, a hand brushing her tears off her face. Shuri hugs her tight while Estinien has them both from behind. Shuri took notice when Kivera walked slower, her mind drifting in the way she is sure, the reaper is unaware of. Noticing the first signs of tears when the green eyes shift blue.

There is a warmth in the two that Kivera found, that meant more than any of the people she had grown to love in her travels. A soft love from Shuri. It keeps her coming back, not to abandon them. She remembers her soul as it flit pass her when she was in charge of Amurot’s destruction. While she cared for Hecate’s spirit herself, melding that one to her very existence to change it. What she never expected was the change the auri had on her.

Shuri reminds her that she should never regret her choices. Almost the same way Damien had her learn to follow her heart.

“I won’t ever give this up to go back..” Kivera earns an odd look from Estinien.

“Where would you go?” Estinien sees her point upwards, understanding she still can return there. 

“Well.. we don’t want you to go back. We’d have to drag you back by your tail.” Kivera is amused, Estinien grabs both Shuri and Kivera holding the fallen under an arm, Shuri over his shoulder so they don’t miss their airship.

“My tail?” Kivera reaches her hands out to grab at Shuri’s as it waves closer to her face.

“You think you can come into our lives and leave to go where they threw you out? For falling in love? No, we will be the first to figure out how to get into heaven and drag you out by that black tail of yours. or wings.” Estinien mentions, and Shuri reaches down to grasp Kivera’s tail when she feels the angel grab hers, she messes with the soft tuft of the pom.

“I would never go back unless it is for your lives.” Kivera closes her eyes in thought again, thinking further of all of those she loves now. 

“I am happy this way. I wouldn’t go back. Not unless they allow me to keep all my power and lovers.” Estinien sets both of them down to sit together on the airship. Kivera running fingers through Shuri’s shorter hair and rubbing her cheek to one of her horns. Doing her best to show her the love language of her race as an auri xaela.

“Good.” Kivera feels a chill in her spine at Shuri’s voice, understanding that she would BE the one that drags her out.

“We love you too much to ever let you go.”

“I love you too.” Kivera looks out over Mor Dhona, she has zero regrets of her choices.

[runtedfiction]

Home

A/N: for zutara week day 1! i’ve only watched half of korra so i don’t know what actually happens in canon, only that zutara didn’t 😔

AO3

  *     *     *

Toph is the first to leave. Her final wave is larger than life, her smile brighter than the sun, as she and the Bei Fong security team kickstart their ostrich horses. “See ya later!”

Katara watches her go from the steps of the Jasmine Dragon, laughing and crying. 

“And so she sneaks in one last blind joke,” Sokka says, rubbing at his eyes. Suki rubs his back. “Those Bei Fongs better take care of her.”

“It’s ok,” Aang says, also wiping at tears. He slips his hand into Katara’s, a quiet show of affection that she knows everyone notices. “This isn’t where the journey ends!” 

“How can you be so sure about that, Aang?” she asks. “Sure, there’s lots of rebuilding to do, but I’m not sure if we can exactly do it together and—”

“We can,” Zuko cuts in. Though it’s been so long, she’s reminded of the first time she saw him in the Jasmine Dragon. But now here he is, hair down and shaggy, the happiest she’s ever seen him. 

“Aang and I can’t rebuild the world alone,” he says. A glimmer of hope takes root in her heart. “We’re going to need all your help. Aang and I want to hold annual Summit Weeks for the next three years to fully realize our vision of peace; we would be honored to have all of Team Avatar there.”

“Of course,” Sokka says. “No brainer, I’ll be there.”

“Me too,” says Suki. “The Kyoshi Warriors are honored to serve.”

“I’ll be there too,” Katara echos. So much has changed in the past year, and she wonders what will change in the next. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

   *     *     *

Katara, Aang, and Sokka leave Ba Sing Se for the Southern Water Tribe, and Team Avatar’s first year apart begins. 

Katara and Sokka set on rebuilding their home, bringing in new technology and infrastructure. They sit next to their father at council meetings, paving paths of future greatness. Aang sticks around for the first three months before he leaves too to restore the air temples. “Just like you’re building a future here for new generations of waterbenders,” he explains, hand on top of hers, “I’m going to do the same for airbenders. We need our homes back.”

He promises to visit once every few weeks, and Katara sees him off with a kiss. He blushes like he always does, and an overwhelming fondness fills her. Aang may be 113, but he’s 13 in her eyes, giddy to hold her close and call her his. 

After he leaves, Katara forgets the rest of the world, only remembering it when Aang comes back full of stories. But one morning a messenger hawk is spotted on the horizon. She drops her scrolls to sprint to it-- Zuko . They haven’t spoken since Ba Sing Se, and she fumbles with the red ribbon around the message, shaking with excitement. 

  Katara,

I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, and I hope you’re doing well. As always, thank you for doing your part in ending the war. I also don’t know how I can thank you enough for saving my life; every day I’m reminded in some way.

Now that I’m settled in, I want to discuss plans for the new era of peace. For the Southern Water Tribe, this means reparations from the Fire Nation and electing a representative as a point of contact for our interim council. I’m drafting proposals and will be sending them over shortly; please let me know if I should be sending them to you, your father, or Sokka. 

Again, I hope you’re doing well. The Summit Week will be a few months from now, and I hope to see you there. Write back soon.

Your friend,

Zuko

P.S. I know this letter may sound stuffy, and I’m Fire Lord now, but some part of me will always be the 16 year old rehearsing “Hello, Zuko here” and hoping for your forgiveness. Also, I hope Sokka’s not offended that I only sent this to you.

 Sokka sticks his nose in the air when he reads this. “I am offended.”

“Oh grow up,” Katara says, laughing. “Think about how great it’ll be to see everyone again soon.”

Will Toph be taller, or Zuko’s hair shorter? Will Suki and Ty Lee go to the Summit? And speaking of the Summit, what can she advocate for during it? Katara picks up a pen and begins writing a reply, daydreaming about seeing her friends again in the back of her mind.

   *     *     *

“Twinkle toes, I missed you so much .” 

Toph runs towards Appa and gives them all a hug as soon as they land. She’s a bit taller, and behind her is Zuko, hair a bit longer, who joins the hug as soon as Katara pulls him in. 

“Where’s Suki?” Sokka asks.

“The Kyoshi Warriors insisted on being private security for the event,” Zuko explains. “But Suki, come on out. Your boyfriend is eager to see you, no one’s looking to kill me here.”

“Suki!” Sokka runs to her as soon she slips out of the shadows, and Katara’s heart fills. Everyone’s together again.

Later that evening, Zuko joins them for dinner in their suite. It’s a curious affair--fire flakes alongside stewed sea prunes, cabbage noodles, and tofu. Sokka eats like a vacuum, and Katara is pleased that Aang has so many choices. She wonders if Zuko did research beforehand. 

“I hope you’ve all been briefed on the schedule for the coming week,” Zuko says. “And I know it seems like a lot. But rest assured that every event will lead to an action item on my docket.”

“And,” he continues, “it might be boring. Insufferable, even. But to the world, we’re one of the most important teams guiding things forward.”

“Don’t worry, Zuko, we can do it,” Katara says, and he looks at her with a smile. For the past few months they’ve exchanged letters about rebuilding the Southern Water Tribe (they’ll ask the North for funds too), outlawing bloodbending (Zuko promised to help), and the new name of the four nations. 

“The United Republic of Nations,” Aang says, digging into his sweet buns. “I like it.”

   *     *     *

During the recess of The State of Bending talk, Zuko finds Katara and places a hand on her shoulder. 

“People like Yakone are the worst,” he says. “But it’s going to be fine, don’t worry.”

“He’s pond scum!” Katara hisses. “I hate people who lie like that. And calling me not only a child but also a coward, with that look in his eye--Aang had to stop me from bloodbending him right there and then.”

“He’s pond scum, yes,” Zuko agrees, “but all you have to do is hear him out and make sure the interim councilmembers hear your arguments. I’ll back you up.”

“I know, I know. But still, pond scum!”

“Yup,” Zuko says, a smile on his face. “He’s cold ashes. We can take him.”

“You’re right.” Katara thinks of the times they followed each other into battle. This is no different; if anything, at least they’re not putting their lives on the line. “Thanks, Zuko.” 

“No problem.” His smile grows soft. “And as always, I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

He follows her back into the meeting room where she makes history, her eyes glowing with the conviction she soon becomes famous for.

   *     *     *

Almost two years later, after another Summit Week passes and just before the third one, Zuko sends Katara a letter that begins with It’s official! and ends with a copy of the new legislation outlawing bloodbending.

And in the middle of the Southern Air Temple’s training grounds, Katara jumps and yells with excitement.

Within a minute Aang is by her side, concern in his eyes. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes yes yes!” She kisses him on the cheek, and he looks confused. “The Council passed that bloodbending legislation! Oh, Aang, this is so great.”

“Oh yeah--awesome!” He says. “I’m really happy for you!”

“I can’t believe it actually worked,” Katara holds the letter close to her heart. “I can’t believe it!”

“I know, this is so good for you,” Aang says, his voice a bit rushed. “And I’m sorry but—”

“You have to go tend to the Air Acolytes,” Katara says. “I’m not in danger, don’t worry! You can hurry back.”

“Thanks for always understanding,” Aang says, giving her a quick kiss. Then he leaves in a gust of air, and Katara sits on the soft grass, feeling the breeze.

Aang resists political involvement, citing the Avatar’s need for neutrality, so it’s understandable that he isn’t as excited as her. Aang needs to preserve the traditions of the Air Nomads, so it’s understandable that he can’t be with her all the time. Aang is constantly called to stop civil wars or investigate malicious spirits, so it’s understandable that Katara sometimes goes a week without seeing him even if he asked her to live with him for a bit. 

Katara understands these things, and yet some part of her yearns for the South Pole, for anywhere that feels like home. She’s acutely aware that Aang’s duty is to the world, and yet some part of her feels so small and alone. 

At least there’s this letter. It's confirmation that her work these past few years has been worth it. And if the rumors are true, the nation heads are working on a new permanent council to govern the United Republic of Nations. 

The era of peace is being fully realized, and Katara wonders how she can ask for a seat on the council.

A few weeks later, just as she begins writing a letter to ask her father if he could recommend her ( I know I’m barely 18, I know I only have experience with our small tribe, but I know I’m the best person for the job ), a message arrives. 

I’ve written to your father to ask him to nominate you for the Southern Water Tribe Representative on the new council, Zuko says. If I could recommend you myself, I would. If he nominates you (and I don’t see why he wouldn’t), prepare to defend that nomination at the upcoming Summit. 

Katara nearly cries, and Aang places a hand on top of hers. Even the sun seems to shine brighter; a leaf dances in through the window of the study room. 

“Is everything alright?” he asks. 

“Everything’s great,” she says. The thought of potentially moving to Republic City as a councilmember (and thereby leaving Aang’s side for some time) briefly flickers in her mind. “I have some great news.”

   *     *     *

The third and final Summit Week comes, and Katara has the daunting task of defending her nomination in front of the nations’ leaders. Even though this really only means speaking in front of the Earth King and Northern Water Tribe Chief (Aang, Zuko, and her father are also in the room, but do they really count?), this is turned against her. 

“Your father, partner, and longtime friend are likely going to vote for your approval. You already have three out of five votes secured. What do you say to people who claim nepotism?” 

“With all due respect,” Zuko cuts in, a bit angry, “this question seems unfair, and—”

“It’s ok,” Katara says, voice measured. “People are going to say this. And to that I say that my accomplishments in the Southern Water Tribe, from securing and using reparations funds to build our growing nation to advocating for all waterbenders, not just the men, speaks volumes. I also originated the legislation that’s now in place to outlaw bloodbending. I pushed for these initiatives with the help of the people you just named, but ultimately I did it.”

Zuko smiles. He remembers some old campfire story Sokka told about Sapphire Fire as he watches Katara talk her through every sticky question. She’s going to do great on The Council, no doubt.

She’s already amazing. 

   *     *     *

Katara sighs in relief when the nation heads confirm her council seat. 

Team Avatar celebrates over dinner. Only it isn’t a private room this time, like it was two years ago--this time around, it’s in the Fire Nation palace, in the biggest hall Katara has ever seen. Everyone invited to Summit Week dines together, the golden walls housing the noisy chatter of the most important people in the world.

Zuko prepared formal clothes for them tailored to their respective traditions, and as always, his quiet attention to detail never fails to amaze her.

“Tonight, we feast!” Sokka says, opening their table’s meal with a toast. “To my sister, who has never failed to be annoying and fight for the things she cares about. The Southern Water Tribe and the world are in debt to you, Councilwoman Katara.”

“To Katara!” Aang says, and everyone follows suit. Their glasses clink together, and Katara feels at home for the first time in a long time. 

Toph tells them about all the lies she’s heard today (“People even lie about the kinds of tea they like, how weird is that!”), Suki pretends to chi block Sokka when he steals food off her plate, and Aang and Zuko trade friendly insults about who’s taller. 

It’s perfect.

   *     *     *

Dear Zuko,

Thanks so much for your support in nominating me to the council. You beat me to asking my father for his recommendation, and your confidence in me means the world. For what it’s worth, the way you and Aang have been dealing with the newly freed Fire Nation colonies is incredible. The world is lucky to have you both. 

Moving to Republic City is going to be tricky, but I’ll be there before the end of month. I hope to see you there not only for my swearing in ceremony, but also for advising sessions. I’m sure we’ll see each other soon. Still kind of surreal!

Speaking of surreal things, I can’t believe you’ve been raising a dragon. On the one mission I was allowed to join Aang on, we found a herd of sky bison; they’re not extinct either! Appa’s babies are going to be so cute. 

And finally, speaking of cute things, I’ve attached a painting that an Air Acolyte child did of you. Look--the scar is on the right side.

Your friend,

Katara

   *     *     *

Moving to Republic City is tricky because Aang’s schedule collides with, well, everything.

Katara brings it up one night over dinner. “How is visiting each other going to work?” 

“I don’t know,” Aang says. He picks up some silken tofu gently with his chopsticks, careful to not let it split. “This next month the Southern Air Temple is pretty set, but there’s two more to fill with Acolytes. There’s still rumors of civil unrest in the freed colonies. Zuko said he wanted an Air Temple Island next to Republic City, right? Maybe I could stay there?”

“Zuko wants your supervision on it, but the Island might not be ready for construction for another year at least. What if you stayed in the city with me for some time?”

“I don’t know,” Aang says with a sigh. “There’s too much to do, and I think the Eastern Air Temple needs full restoration next to establish a spiritual home. I’m really sorry, I know this is your dream and I’m making it difficult.”

“It’s ok, don’t worry,” Katara says. “You’re the Avatar. You serve the world.”

“I wish I could do more for you too though.” Aang looks remorseful, and Katara places her hand over his. He hesitates, then asks, “Do you--do you think you could ever take a week off and find me?”

Katara pulls her hand back. “What? No. The Council has so much to do, I even just wrote this whole Constitution proposal, and I don’t think that I could just leave for a week without that having serious conseq—”

“Oh, yeah, wait, I really didn’t mean to imply that leaving your job to see me wouldn’t have serious consequences.” Aang grabs her hand, and she appreciates the quick backtrack. 

But it still stings. “Our jobs aren’t equally important and that’s ok,” she says, “but we have to figure out a system to see each other. Do you know a rough timeline of what next year would look like for you yet?”

“No,” Aang says, quiet. “Like I said, there’s too much to do. All I know...all I know is that I don’t want to feel like I’m losing you because you’re my forever girl.”

“Aang, you’re not losing me.” A beat passes, and she hesitates. “But forever is--forever is a really long time and I don’t know how to think about that, let’s focus on the next few years maybe--”

“I was trapped in ice for 100 years, Katara!” She can see tears brimming in his eyes, and it’s hard to comfort him when she’s the one doing the hurting. “A few years is nothing. I might have been trapped forever, if not for you or Sokka--I know how precious time is, but also how to wait, and I know I want you in my time.”

“I know that’s what you want,” Katara says, voice soft. And the next words to come out of her mouth are dangerous, something she only thinks when she’s alone. When Aang leaves her with a gust of wind. When she thinks about how the Southern Water Tribe might not even feel like home anymore; Sokka says so much has changed in the last year she’s been gone. “If we can’t see each other for the next few years, I’m not sure what I want.”

Aang is silent, and Katara’s stomach sinks. How could I say that? 

But also, her heart soars— thank God I was able to say that.

“I understand,” he finally says. He stands and picks up their empty bowls. “You need to find your way. And for now, that isn’t with me.” 

Tears well in her eyes. She nods.

   *     *     *

Katara,

Aang told me what happened. I really hope you’re doing ok. When Mai broke up with me, I was devastated, but I understood that she wanted more out of life than watching other people live it. Not to say that’s what you’re doing, but more that I understood her perspective, much like I’m sure Aang will understand yours. (I realize this is completely unsolicited personal advice advice. Don’t worry, I’ve attached suggested edits to your constitution proposal to this letter.)

But really, if you need anything to get to Republic City, let me know. Druk’s gotten big enough to fly now, and the palaces always have empty rooms ready to receive guests. I can also always make arrangements.

Your Friend,

Zuko

 (Aang still insists on dropping her off to Republic City, which Katara knows is his way of saying sorry. When they arrive, trying very hard not to cry, she hugs Aang as tight as she can before sliding off Appa. 

“Write often,” she says. “And thank you.” 

“I will,” he says. “And I should be thanking you, so don’t worry. I’ll see you later.”

He leaves with a defeated look on his face, and that’s when Katara lets herself cry.)

   *     *     *

Living in Republic City still doesn’t feel real. Katara has never had a place to call her own before, and the idea of this apartment being hers is foreign. 

At her swearing in ceremony, Zuko and her father are the only familiar faces in the crowd. Sokka, Toph, and Suki are all home as far as she knows, and Aang is at the Eastern Air Temple. But Zuko and her father bring flowers and words of congratulations, and that’s more than enough.  

“Your mother would be so proud,” Hakoda says. “I knew even before you and Zuko sent those letters that you’d be the one for the job.”

“Thanks Dad,” Katara says, holding him tight for a hug. “I wish Mom were here to see this.” 

“Me too.”

Next is Zuko, holding a bouquet of fire lilies. “I don’t remember if you like flowers, but I figured they’re a nice formality. Congrats, Councilwoman Katara.” 

She holds the flowers and pulls him in close for a hug. “They’re beautiful. Thanks.” 

A few weeks later, Katara finishes the first official draft of the United Republic’s Constitution. It’s one thing to read the historical documents that shaped each nation, and another to write them herself. Undeniable rights, government structure, due process--it's all she can think about for weeks.  

She sends copies to all her friends, looking for advice. But it’s nice to catch up in the letters too; Suki has moved to the Southern Water Tribe for the time being. Sokka says Master Pakku and Gran Gran are disgustingly in love. Even Aang replies--it’s short and Katara can hear the hurt in his voice, but he’s trying, and that’s all she can ask for. 

Zuko is the only person whose feedback she can hear in person. When he’s not advising the greater Council or overseeing construction of Air Temple Island he’s in Katara’s office, dropping off scrolls and occasionally serving tea. 

"The Jasmine Dragon’s White Dragon,” Katara says, reading the label on the tin that Zuko carefully measures leaves from. He laughs. “What’s so funny?” 

“My uncle once drank something thinking it was white dragon, but it was white jade. And you think it wouldn’t be too bad, but he was covered in rashes for days. Everywhere.” 

Katara smiles. “That’s horrible.” 

“It’s ok, we figured it out.” Zuko’s eyes have a faraway look, one that Katara often sees in herself. So much has changed in the past five years, but sometimes it’s easy to get lost in thinking about what it was like when the world was ending. 

“Anyway,” Zuko says. “I have a free night a month from now, and we should get dinner at this new place I hear is good.”

“Kwong’s Cuisine?”

“Yup, that’s the one!” Zuko clears his throat. “Oh, and, to clarify, other people should come too if they’re free. Like, if Sokka is in town, or Suki, or Toph, or Aang. Although, I guess maybe not Aa—”

“Zuko,” Katara says with a laugh. “It’s fine. Kwong’s Cuisine a month from now sounds great.”

“Ok, sorry. Anyway, the Constitution…”

When he leaves, Katara finds herself smiling. Zuko’s cute when he’s flustered. 

   *     *     *

Katara only has one set of clothes fancy enough for Kwong’s, and it’s the set that Zuko gave her at the Summit a year ago. 

Zuko notices when she arrives. “Are these the—”

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess it might be a bit embarrassing, but I don’t have much time to go shopping.”

“It’s not embarrassing, and that makes sense.” She takes a seat across from him. “If anything, it’s embarrassing how many robes I have. They have stewed sea prunes here, by the way. ”

“My favorite!”

They order a strange blend of Fire Nation and Water Tribe foods, but to their credit, the wait staff says nothing, only bowing deeply. 

Katara refills their tea cups. “Speaking of sea prunes--even at the Summit, four years ago, when you had them served for dinner. How on earth did you remember that Sokka and I liked them?” 

“You said it one random night years ago,” Zuko says. “And maybe Sokka said it in his sleep. The night we all came to Ember Island, I think.”

Katara’s impressed. “Wow, you remember that so clearly.”

Zuko nods, and there’s that faraway look in his eyes again. “Everything in the days after I joined Team Avatar and leading up to that final Agni Kai I remember very clearly.”

“Me too.”

Katara places her hand over his, briefly, to pull him back in the present. It seems to work.

“But hey,” she says. “Look where we are now! And to be honest, sometimes what I remember most is how mean I was to you in the beginning.”

What she doesn’t say is what she actually remembers most is Zuko jumping in front of lightning for her. 

He laughs. “I remember you threatening to kill me if I ever stepped out of line.”

“Hey, hey,” Katara says. “Again, like I said, look where we are now! A valid point at the time though.” 

“I know,” Zuko says. He’s handsome when he smiles too.

A few weeks after Kwong’s, Katara replays the night in her head and steps out of the shower, bending herself dry. Fuck, she thinks. I'm in love with Zuko.

   *     *     *

Katara can’t pinpoint exactly when she started having feelings for Zuko, but now that she’s in the thick of it, it doesn’t matter. 

What matters is that when she signs the Constitution, he hands her the pen. When rumors of bloodbending start, he helps her squash illegal training camps. When Toph joins the police force, he’s at her side to welcome her on the steps of City Hall.

“Sugar Queen, Sparky!” Toph opens her arms for a hug and Katara sprints into it. “It’s good to see you.”  

“Toph, it’s so good to see you.” 

“Orientation starts in a few minutes, so I have to go. But Sparky, that life-changing field trip--I still need it. I expect an itinerary by the end of the week.” 

Zuko smiles. “You got it.” 

The curious thing about being in love with the Fire Lord is that it’s not the grand things that Katara likes. It’s the small things. The way he always remembers to ask her how she’s doing, or how he sends tins of white dragon tea to her office. Even when she doesn’t see him for a week (Katara knows Zuko must be horribly busy and doesn’t understand how he has the energy to fly to Republic City on a weekly basis), thoughts of him live in her mind.

And so it’s terrifying but also easy after their second dinner at Kwong’s to move in a bit closer than she normally would. 

“Thanks for flying me home,” Katara says. “I’m sure Druk wants to go home now too.” 

“He doesn’t like the city. It’s too dense for him.” Zuko’s hard to read, as usual, and it’s terrifying to bet their friendship on this, but she knows she has to. “It might be ti—”

She cuts him off to kiss him, and for a second, time stops. But then another second passes, and another, and Katara is pulling back because ok, wow, holy shit was that the wrong thing to do .

But then he pulls her in tighter, kisses her more deeply, and happiness fills Katara the way fire lilies drink in rain after a drought. 

“I love you,” he says, arms tight around her waist as he pulls her in for a hug. “I love you, and sometimes it feels like I’ve loved you all my life.”

   *     *     *

Fire Nation summers are unforgivingly hot, and in the last few months of her term as councilwoman, Katara finds herself spending more time in the palace with Zuko. 

She’s nominated Sokka to take her place on the United Republic Council, and he and Suki are moving to Republic City next weekend. It’s just in time for the unveiling of Air Temple Island. Aang will be the guest of honor, and Toph his security.

“I don’t think we’ve all been together since the summit four years ago,” Zuko says. They’re feeding the turtleducks at sunset, the only time of day when it finally starts cooling down. 

She bends little ripples in the water, and the turtleducklings quack with delight. 

“It’ll be great to see everyone again,” Katara says. “And I can’t wait for Sokka to start working so I don’t have to anymore.” 

“Have you given more thought to what you want to do once you leave?”

She nods. “Yes, but there’s so much to do. I could train new healers or new waterbenders in the south. I could lobby for special interests like the former colonists. I could travel the world for personal enjoyment. Right now I’m leaning towards going back to the south.”

“That does sound like a lot to think about.” 

“I know,” Katara says. “And I once fought with Aang about it, but now I understand. Sometimes it feels like there’s too much to do, and it’s easy to feel like you don’t know where to get started.”

“I have a suggestion,” Zuko says, “if it’s hard to get started. You could stay here, with me.”

Her heart skips a beat. “Stay?”

“Stay,” he says, like it’s simple, obvious even, for Katara to uproot her life and live in the Fire Nation. 

To be fair, it wouldn’t be much uprooting. All she has is her apartment in Republic City, and even that doesn’t have many things in it. 

“Hmm,” she says. “I never really thought about that.”

Zuko takes her hand, laces her fingers through his. Her heart aches at how gentle it is. “Maybe I’m not suggesting so much as I’m asking.  You can split your time between here and the South Pole, even just three to four months out of the year here would be fine.”

“You’d really want me to stay?” 

“Of course,” Zuko says. It’s unspoken, but Katara knows there’s the possibility of staying in the Fire Nation permanently down the line. And even more unspoken--she’s only 21, after all--is the possibility of being Fire Lady. 

“I’ll take your suggestion,” Katara says, “and much like your letters, I’ll give you a response in five to ten business days.” 

He groans and she laughs, kisses him on the cheek. 

“Yes,” she says. “I’ll stay.”

   *     *     *

A little more than a decade after Zuko’s coronation, Team Avatar reunites in the Fire Nation for a wedding. 

It’s an entire day of ceremonies that marry Water Tribe and Fire Nation tradition. Zuko and Katara kneel in front of the Southern Water Tribe, the Fire Nation, and the spirits to bind their souls in marriage. It feels like the world’s oldest love story (Tui and La, Oma and Shu, Zuko and Katara), and in a way, it is. The brilliant blue of her robes pair nicely with his scarlet red, and the world cheers when they raise their hands together.

The dinner party is the first time of day where Katara can talk to Zuko. She tells him how handsome he looks and how much she loves him. She murmurs these words quickly--in the only break with tradition that day, Katara demanded that they be seated with all their friends and not separately.

She does it so she can look around at the people she loves most. Toph, Sokka, Suki, Aang, Zuko --these are the people who bookend her life.

She’s home.

[keeperofthe-mxxn]

here me out: what if i asked all the questions in the ffxiv ask thing? cause i would like to ask all the remaining questions >:)

*hands shaking*: yes please. It’ll be again a lil outta order at times.

2. He’s with the Scions but it’s not a blind faith. He trusts them as far as he can throw them. Only thing he can trust them to do is something exceedingly reckless at any given moment and he can be trusted to do the same. Haphazard thy name is Scion after all. Some days he’s justified in his wariness some days he feels tinges of guilt for doubting their intentions. Only ones with his unwavering faith are the twins and G’raha, with no real reason to get a side eye from him. (Though Alphinaud gets a disapproving look from time to time from him for his ambitions.)

3. You stay in your zone I’ll stay in mine is his thoughts. Short and simple.

4. Hiding. His archery was rudimentary at best. Of course he wants to forget about a time he tucked tail and hid like a coward.

12. Alisaie. Ive mentioned before on discord that the twins are like Mhol’ito’s surrogate children. He and Alisaie are like two peas in a pod sometimes. She’s full of conviction and will fight to the bitter end for her beliefs. He definitely respects that and knows her and Alphinaud both will grow into impeccable adults. Extending to outside the scions but people that are involved with them like Nero and Gaius he finds very impossible and will not deal with them at all. Cid can handle Nero and Gaius should know he’ll get a beatdown he won’t walk away from this time if he crosses Mhol again.

13. Yes he has three. two service dogs. He’s got anxiety, depression, PTSD, and a shit ton of survivor’s guilt from all his travails. He sleeps with one dog (and heavy sleeping pills) that’s there for his night terrors. He thinks the others, or Aymeric, will never forgive him for waking them with his hysteria at all hours of the night and early morning eventually leading to the second service animal. He also has a cat, just a normal cat he spoils to death.

14. Oh he loves his mounts. Sometimes he summons Midgardsormr just to talk with him. Get a wise opinion. He may try to get him to tell stories but is hardly ever obliged.

16. The soul crystals of his fallen siblings are his most precious. He takes up their trades in a vain attempt to feel connected again. No one was a dark knight, he did that one in pure DRK fashion; for himself. No one was a bard either though his younger sister did express an interest in becoming one when she was older. (That’s the lore reason Mhol’ito is a bard. I was inspired by a favorite FF character (Maria, FF2) to become an archer and eventually resigned to being a bard.) No one is allowed near the chained box he keeps them in. Not even his remaining family when he gets reconnected. He put multiple decoy padlocks on it to confuse a thief or overly curious person. He never opens it either it’s too painful to actually see the crystals. As long as the box is still in his possession, chains undisturbed, he’s content knowing what’s in it.

I forgot the numbers at this point and Ima just answer what I remember.

Mhol’ito doesn’t take loss very well. Especially if he was the direct cause of it. Like Haurchefant. Specifically Haurchefant. Specifically his siblings that came after him. The futures they could’ve, should’ve, had drives him insane with anger and guilt.

I can’t finish that thought it’s DRK spoilers 🤫

More then anything he wants to settle into Ishgard for a quiet life. He’s 41 now post SHB and would love nothing more then to side aside the mantle of warrior of light. It was only intensified after hooking up with Aymeric. Wants to start a life with him.

He didn’t intend for adventuring to be his main gig as it’s a very demanding lifestyle sometimes. He absolutely wishes for the quiet old days where he knew nothing of the outside world and it’s plight. Safe with his family.

In combat he’s a support no matter how they wish to cast a spotlight on him. He feels like a glorified errand boy who occasionally kills primals and helps in wars. Fucks with the empire. The only time he uses the I’m the wol in anything is when he’s treated like a doormat by people and demands some respect.

Wow this post had so many times I could rabbit hole into DRK spoilers 🙃

[alindakb]

How Love Hurts - Chapter 4.7 - by Alinda

Ginny sits on the other side of the table. Her hair is pinned in a perfect nod and she’s wearing one of her more expensive robes that are reserved for special occasions. Her eyes are stone cold when she looks at Harry. Her mouth is a thin straight line on her face. She hasn’t said a word since she walked into the room, followed closely by her lawyer. Before all this, he also used to be Harry’s lawyer. Now he just looks at Harry like he’s a piece of garbage.

Harry swallows and looks back down at his hands, at the still slightly off coloured ring of flesh that had been covered by his wedding ring for years. He wonders what Ginny has done with his ring. Would she still have it? Or did she throw it away in her anger? Not that it matters, there is no way Harry wants it back. He’s been a fool to keep it for as long as he had. He knows that now that he has found true love, unconditional love, given to him by the one person society would least expect it from. Harry wishes that Draco could be with him now, support him in the battle that lies ahead. But the only person Harry could bring was his new lawyer. The one Hermione had told him to contact, Rhys Davies. He sits next to Harry now, and Harry is sure he won’t want to hold Harry’s hand when it all becomes a little bit too much for Harry.

A young wizard walks into the room and sits down at the head of the table. He places a case file in front of him.

“So, who do we have today?” he asks. He looks at Ginny first and then at Harry. “Ginevra Potter-Weasley and Harry Potter. And am I correct in understanding that it is Mister Potter that filed for the divorce?”

“Yes, you are,” Rhys answers on behave of Harry.

“Okay, will get to that in a minute. I’m Richards, I’ve spoken briefly with both of you over the Floo.” Richards looks through his papers. “I see you both signed the confidential agreements. Good, so we don’t have to worry about that now. We are here today to see if we can find a way to settle your issues without having to go to court. It will probably take more than one session to go over it all, but today I would like to get an overall idea of which aspects need sorting out.”

Harry looks back down at his hands that are folded on top of his knees. Hermione had told him it was a good thing that Ginny wanted to go for mediation, that it showed she was willing to talk to Harry about the conditions of their divorce. But Rhys had explained that the court orders you to go to mediation if you can’t agree on the arrangements for the children, so this can also be a way for her to get it out of the way before the court proceedings start.

“Mister Potter, would you like to start with explaining your situation to us?” Richards asks.

“My client has only one concern,” Rhys starts.

“No, I don’t want any lawyer talks. Rule number one of mediation, the clients' talk, not their lawyers. If it were up to me the two of you,” Richards points at Rhys and Ginny’s lawyer, “wouldn’t even be in this room. So from now on, both of you stay quiet. I assure you, none of what gets said in this meeting is allowed to leave this room. Now Mister Potter, if you could please tell me about your situation.”

Harry closes his eyes briefly. He’s not sure if he can do this. Rhys had said he would do most of the talking, that he would make sure Ginny won’t intimidate him. And now Richards tells them Rhys needs to shut up, that Harry has to speak for himself. Harry opens his eyes and looks at Richards, he avoids Ginny’s eyes that he can feel burning at him.

“I just want this over with as soon as possible. Ginny can have our house, our shared Gringotts account, I don’t really care about any of that. All I want is a fair agreement about the kids. An agreement where we share the responsibilities and time of the kids evenly. That’s the only thing that’s important to me.”

Richards nods his head and takes some notes. Harry looks at Ginny. Her hands are flat on the table, she lifts up her chin and looks Harry straight in the eyes. “Don’t think I’ll ever agree to my children spending any time under your influence. Not with the company you keep these days,” she spits out.

Harry swallows and looks back down at his hands. He fights the tears that threaten to fall from his eyes.

“I understand that you don’t agree with Mister Potter, Misses Potter-Weasley. That’s why we’re here, to see if we can find some common grounds. Why don’t you tell us how you see it,” Richard says.

“I don’t want this divorce, I want my husband to admit that he’d made a mistake and ask for forgiveness, so we can forget all of this ever happened.”

Tears start to slide over Harry’s cheeks. He can’t stop them. “I didn’t make a mistake,” he whispers.

“No, so cheating on your wife with that death eater scum was no mistake!” Ginny yells. She slams her hand on the table and Harry can feel her glare on him. He doesn’t dare to look up. He knows she won’t raise her wand at him here, where others can see, but he still fears it. His muscles stiffen and his heart rate increases.

“You want a divorce because I’m to cut up in my work because I don’t spend enough time with you and our children. I saw the reasons for unreasonable behaviour you’d put down on the papers. Like I’m the one who’s destroying this marriage. You are the one that left me! The one that cheated, and you make me sound like the unreasonable one.”

“Misses, please calm down. We’re here to try to find some common ground, not accuse each other.”

“Fine, I tell you, Mister Richards how I see things. If Harry wants to leave so badly he can. But I don’t want him anywhere near my children. He’s a pervert, shacking up with a death eater. I don’t want my children anywhere near that. It was bad enough they stayed with them for an entire week during the Christmas holidays. Lily is so confused about it all, cried herself to sleep almost every night. I don’t want that man hurting them any more than he’d already done.”

“I never mend to hurt them, you know I didn’t. I love them, more than anything.” Harry looks up and faces Ginny. “That’s why I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want this to become a battle they get dragged into.”

“You should have thought of that before you decided to trade me in for that scum you’re living with now.” Ginny’s nostrils flare and her she bares her teeth.

“Ginny, please, don’t make this about Draco. It’s not his fault I fell in love with him,” Harry begs. “Think about our kids.”

“I am thinking about them! You really think I would be okay with them staying in the same house as a convicted war criminal? I don’t care how you feel about him. He’s using you to get back into the wizarding world, to gain respect again. I can’t believe you fell for his lies and let him destroy us. But it seems there’s nothing I can do about that. You’ve made your choice. But I can keep my children safe, and I will. I won’t let that man anywhere near them. Or you, as long as you’re his puppet.”

Ginny turns towards her lawyer. “Did we do enough for us to go to court? I want the residence and contact sorted before the next school holiday.”

Her lawyer confirms and they both stand up and leave the room.

Richards shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Mister Potter,” he says. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you.”

“That’s fine, Richards,” Rhys says. “We didn’t expect Misses Potter-Weasley to be cooperative.”

Richards gets up and leaves as well with a final goodbye. Rhys lays a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It will be okay. We’ll go to court and get this all sorted out. She has no ground to stand on. The Wizard court only counts it as cheating if you cheated on her with someone of the opposite sex. And Mister Malfoy never fought his sentence, endured it and has been an outstanding citizen ever since. She’s the one that prioritised work over her family and her children. The court will see this. So don’t worry, it’s all going to be just fine.”

Harry nods his head, but he doesn’t really believe it. Ginny’s got the support of their family. And people still want Draco in Azkaban for what happened in the war.

“Let’s go home, and I’ll owl you as soon as I have any court dates.”

Harry nods again and gets up slowly. He walks out of the room and towards the Floo. He wants to go home and curl up in his bed. Until Draco comes back from his shoot and can tell him it will be alright.

[docvelaw]

now lies ruined beyond the horizon

the battle of du-khang late 2509

it’s dangerous. he knows this. he knows the area is riddled with independents, that they’re almost overrun and that the battle is as good as lost. they are retreating, he knows this too. that doesn’t mean he’s about to give up a fellow soldier, a friend, no matter what the others are yelling at him. no matter that he hears someone yell about a message having been passed on through the radio. just a month ago he patched lillieth up and got her back on her feet, he’s not about to let her life slip through his fingers when all it will take to rescue her is just run back a few steps and help her up from the ground.

and so he turns around and runs back, back into danger, back into the fray. he reaches her easily, they’re not in the middle of battle, after all, there are no bullets flying in all directions, this is not a crazy risk to take. “come on,” he tells her, taking hold of her arm and putting it around his shoulders, picking her up from the floor, helping her up on her feet, turning the both of them towards the others, towards the way to safety.

and then disaster hits.

the trembles reach them first, the entire ground shaking. lillieth loses her footing again and nearly drags him down with her as she falls. he stays upright somehow, her arm slipping from around his shoulders again, her weight taken from him once more. the noise reaches them at the same time as the wind does, the dust, the debris, the heat of the explosion, the reality of their doom.

he lifts his hands in a feeble attempt to protect himself, but it’s too late already. the pain of a million cuts sears into him, through him. he gasps in surprise but his throat feels like it’s on fire and the last thought on his mind is how he doesn’t want to die like this, alone, unable to tell salathiel the most important thing on his mind that has yet to be voiced aloud.

the long term sick bay early 2510

when he wakes it is dark, it is cold, he tries to shift and groans at the stab of pain going through his side as he does. for a moment or two he lies in solid confusion, before the memories slowly start trickling in. he groans again as they do, startles into full awareness when he remembers lillieth and the explosion, and then the steady beeping of the machine next to the bed speeds up, making him become aware of it. he sucks in a breath of air with some difficulty, and then a curtain is pushed aside and a bead of light falls on his face, causing him to flinch and close his eyes.

when he slowly opens them again a moment later to see who has come to ask him questions, he sees everything hazily, and so he blinks a few times, then a few times more. eventually he lifts his hands to rub his eyes, but he’s stopped before he can. he opens his eyes again automatically, looks over at the woman by his side questioningly, and then has to adapt his thoughts because the only reason he thinks it’s a woman is because there is long hair flowing past the face, he can’t actually see for sure.

“the debris from the explosion damaged your hands and eyes,” a soft voice tells him, and in it he finds the reassurance that yes, this is a woman standing next to his bed. “they’ve healed well so far but it is still not a good idea to rub at your eyes.” he slowly lowers his hands again, nods his head once and then is suddenly hit with the full meaning of her words, slamming into his gut like a heavy block of ice. his hands and eyes. the two things he needs the most to be able to do his job. his hands and eyes.

perhaps she sees the desolation in his expression, he doesn’t know, he’s suddenly too tired to comprehend anything. so he closes his eyes again, which makes it easier not to think about his blurry vision.

“lillieth?” he croaks, voice heavy with disuse, and the single word has him coughing, throat dry, body weak and deteriorated. how long has he been out? this must have been more than a few days. he recognises some of the symptoms from long ago lectures of some of the best doctors they could find to train him. he recognises the haziness, the heaviness of his body, the feeling of disorientation. he swallows with some difficulty and then tries again. “what happened to lillieth?”

there’s a moment’s pause, the silence he dreads, the foreboding of an answer he already knows he doesn’t want to hear. but then a hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder, and the voice now filled with worry sounds up again. “adrien... i am lillieth. don’t you recognise me?”

he’s not sure whether the sinking dread or the rising relief is bigger just then.

adrien’s private sick room early 2510

there’s light filtering in through the windows when the door to his room opens and salathiel walks in. he knows it’s salathiel because he would recognise that frame anywhere, would be able to recognise this man by the sound of his breathing alone, perhaps. unlike all those times before, he feels the hurt surge through him, the sadness, the betrayal. he remembers all too well lillieth’s words, doesn’t think he could ever forget those few specific sentences. salathiel ordered the explosion, and got promoted to a much higher title for winning the battle, and he knew we were down there.

he could never have imagined something like this happening. after all, he trusted this man with his life, with his heart and soul, fully and unconditionally. but he should have seen it coming, he thinks, should have seen it coming that salathiel godkiller would place his cause before everything else, even him. he should have known that whatever he held inside of his chest, whatever thoughts he’d managed to delude himself into thinking, were solely his and not for the both of them. he should have known that-

but no, he thinks. no. he doesn’t know the full story, sal probably didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, there will be an explanation, there will be an apology, there will be regret, and he will be able to forgive his best friend for nearly killing him, because it was never meant to have happened like that. he was never supposed to have been there. salathiel still holds the benefit of the doubt, and he’s not about to take it away from him without hearing his side of the story.

“adrien,” the familiar voice breathes out, and he hears relief, care, all the usual things. it’s a good thing they’re alone here, he thinks, so that sal will feel free to say what it is he needs to say. it’s a good thing there is no one else around, so he doesn’t have to pretend like he can see any better than he can, doesn’t have to hide his ruination in fear of being pitied. salathiel won’t pity him, salathiel will understand, salathiel will- “i’m so glad you’re alright. when i heard what happened, i-”

he can’t help how he tenses when the fingers touch his face, how he jerks his head away ever so slightly, unprepared as he is for the touch, for the familiarity, for the warmth and the level of disgust he feels because of it. salathiel seems to take his actions for regret about the state of him, or something along those lines, because the hand doesn’t leave his face, the fingers brushing past his cheek again in order to trace the scars on his brow and temple, the tiny white lines lillieth tried to show him in the mirror but that he hasn’t been able to bring properly into focus. that he will never be able to bring properly into focus again. damaged eyesight. damaged hands.

“you’ll be okay,” salathiel tells him, like a certainty, like there is no doubt in his mind about it. like just saying it will make it be so. “now that you’ve woken up you’ll be okay.” he doesn’t think he will be, doesn’t think anything could ever be okay again, but he doesn’t say that. instead he swallows, blinks, slowly pulls his face away from the burning touch of those fingers and tries to focus his gaze on the familiar dark purple eyes.

“sal,” he says, attempts, tries. “what- what happened?”

salathiel quiets for a moment, and he doesn’t need perfect eyesight to see the familiar crease in his best friend’s forehead, to recognise the temporary pause before he speaks again. “well, i gave the order to target the area and after the explosion wiped out most of the independents, the battle was won quite easily.”

no remorse, no regret, not even the slightest hint of an apology. instead, salathiel’s voice soon colours with so much delighted expectation that it makes him sick to his stomach.

“i got promoted, rye, they gave me a new title and everything!”

he closes his eyes, tries to swallow away the bile rising in his throat and lets out some sort of noncommittal hum. “that’s great,” he says, without any conviction whatsoever, turning his face away from his longtime friend. “i’m tired.”

adrien’s quarters early 2510

the door slides open and he lifts his head automatically, takes in the shape of the man striding in like he owns the place. he needs no sight to recognise that walk, the confidence, the arrogance.

“rye,” salathiel says, sounding as pleased as ever upon finding him in his quarters, but where else would he be? he’s still recovering, slowly regaining his strength, slowly attempting to return his life to normal - or whatever will pass for normal now that he can’t see anymore. “i got you something.” he becomes aware then of something following salathiel inside, something small and grey that he can’t identify as is.

it’s not long before salathiel has picked it up off the floor and put it on his lap, his own hands soon resting on cool metal. there’s a few beeping sounds, and then salathiel’s fingers putting some sort of earplug in his ear. ‘hello,’ a robotised voice soon speaks almost right into his brain, or so it seems like. ‘i am a helper bot, programmed to make your life easier. i can do all kinds of things for you like reading or fetching things. i am activated by your voice command. please say your name to establish ownership.’

he looks down at the thing on his lap for several long moments, salathiel a beacon of contained expectation at his side, and for a few long moments he wishes nothing more than to get up from his seat and kick the whole rutting robot out into the vastness of space. he swallows that away like he has swallowed many of his urges so far, and instead does as told.

“adrien wolfstone,” he says softly, and salathiel’s hand finds its way to his shoulder as he does so. he wishes he could brush it off. he wishes he could throw up. he wishes he could throw himself off the edge of the verse into oblivion. ‘ownership established,’ the computerised voice tells him. ‘if you put me down on the floor i can map out the room for you so i can find anything you need.’ he does as told once more, leaning forward and putting the robot back on the ground, effectively causing salathiel’s hand to slide off his shoulder at the same time.

when he straightens up again, it requires every muscle in his body to pull his lips up into a smile, to look at the blurry shape of his friend and not show the hot anger slowly burning a hole through his very soul.

salathiel’s quarters mid 2510

“where are you always off to these days?”

if he didn’t know the older man any better, he’d say salathiel was pouting. as it is, he thinks the man is just being a spoiled brat, and that is definitely nothing new. rather than give a proper answer, he just shrugs his shoulders once.

“wouldn’t know,” he says easily. “i can’t read the street signs.” his grin is sharp, the chuckle he huffs out void of any mirth whatsoever, but salathiel still chuckles along with him. he hates that more than anything. hates that the man thinks he is here for any other reason than because he has no other choice. he’s long stopped wanting to be here, long stopped spending his nights here. he hasn’t been able to fall asleep in salathiel’s vicinity, always wary of being stabbed in the back once more, somehow certain at this point that the man is just waiting for a moment of weakness before he’ll finish the job he butchered at du-khang.

“you don’t have to read the street signs to come here,” salathiel says, and he huffs out another laugh, sharp and cold. 

“that’s true,” he agrees, leaves it at that because he doesn’t have anything else to say, doesn’t have anything else to add to this conversation without making it go in a different direction entirely, and he’s too close to success to ruin it all now. so he stays quiet, and he forces his expression into something accommodating.

“anyway,” salathiel says after a moment, as if trying to pretend nothing’s wrong, as if trying to forget whatever he just saw in adrien’s face. “i brought you those plans you wanted to look at. you can let the robot scan them, then you can look them over as often as you’d like.”

he nods his head placidly, even as his heart starts thumping loudly in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins with every beat. his eyes go to the robot, the inadequate apology of metal and alloy that he has slowly turned into his biggest weapon against the man who gave it to him. “scan the papers,” he tells it, and it responds with a few bleeps, before rolling over to the table and starting to do as told.

when he looks up, salathiel is smiling at him. he doesn’t realise it’s because the smile on his own face is the first genuine one in a long time.

the end is near.

the independents’ base mid 2510

“my name is adrien wolfstone. i used to work as a medic for the alliance, but not anymore.” he makes a vague motion of his hand towards his face, like that is the explanation for everything. across from him stand a few of the independents’ leaders, the one deciding his fate in the middle of them, wearing a long coat, combat boots, his arms crossed in front of his chest tightly.

“i want to join your cause. i brought plans of a few of the alliance’s ships and a few of their bases. i can be a doctor for you, treat your wounded. i can also go to battle with you if you want me to.” he motions the little robot forward, and it rolls a step ahead of him slowly. there are guns aimed at it instantly, someone stepping forward as if to step in between the robot and its presumed target - the leader of these people, it seems. all the little creature does is project the maps like a hologram above the table.

“i can give you information on the allied forces’ plans, i can tell you for certain a few places where some of them will be in the near future.” he stands tall, proud, unmoving. if he gets shot in the chest for this, then the oblivion he’s yearned for is close behind. if he can’t get revenge, the black is probably the best place for him to go anyway.

“and why,” the man in the middle eventually speaks, and adrien realises he’s young too, despite being in charge of this band of rebels. “would we believe you? what proof do you have that this information is genuine, that you’re not a spy? and even if you are not, how can we know you won’t betray us like you are betraying them?”

he clenches his hands, feels the phantom sting of the endless cuts in his fingers, feels the wreckage wrought on his face, blinks and blinks again to clear a blurry vision that will never sharpen again.

“because,” he says through clenched teeth. “when salathiel godkiller ordered the bombing of the du-khang battle ground, he did not care that his own people were still there as well. they did not care that i was harmed for life, that i would have to learn to adapt to a new life with limited vision, limited skill.” he fixes his eyes on the blurry shape of their leader.

“because if you let me help you blow up his ship, i will follow you into the jaws of death itself if that’s what you want from me.”

out in the black later 2510

remnants of the ship are scattered all across the black around them, chunks of metal and wiring, some sparking, some burning. there are dead bodies floating, frozen in space and time. a few shuttles have made it away safely, a few escape pods remain intact.

one of them holds precious cargo; salathiel godkiller himself.

one of them gets hauled on a comm line, the connection light flickering on and off until it is accepted. once the comm line is established, the screen flickers to life, showing nothing but static for a moment, before the image flickers to life.

adrien stands on the other side of this camera, arms crossed, a brown coat covering most of his body, his dark, failing eyes staring straight into the camera, straight into salathiel’s soul. there is no smile of triumph, no sneer on his face, no expression whatsoever. after a heartbeat, the image falls away, the screen cuts to black, before letters appear on it.

now you know how it feels, asshole.

the connection is severed, the escape pod is left to float adrift in the black.

adrien wolfstone disappears from salathiel’s life completely.

[fionnlydarling]

a letter from tommy

so i wrote a dunkirk one-shot! please give credit if you reblog and let me know what you think, if you’d like to read more, or if you would like to request your own imagines, drabbles, etc. 

Pairing: TommyxReader

Word Count:  2004 words

Prequel to Tommy Gets Hurt & Tommy Healing

It's been weeks of nothing. Not one letter for ages. You’d been following the news, every morning rising with the sun and being one of the first to buy the day’s paper. Every day your eyes frantically scoured the registry of fallen soldiers, praying that you wouldn’t see his name written in the paper, his name amongst the hundreds listed. Tommy, your Tommy.

You’d heard about Dunkirk. Everyone in England and around the world had heard about Dunkirk. You’d listened to Churchill’s speech, read how civilians had come together to get their boys off the beach. A staggering 338,226 had been saved, lived to fight another day. You were glad for the lives saved. Really you were. But you’d done the math, worked out that there were at least 10,000 soldiers who hadn’t gotten off the beaches. Ten thousand soldiers who had died or been captured by the Germans. You know, you know the majority made it, but you still can’t stamp out that horrible voice deep inside your mind whispering what if? What if he’s one of those 10,000?

The paper didn’t have his name on it after all, thank God, so part of you can breathe now. You can now go spend the rest of the day focusing on your nursing training, pretending that you don’t know that there’s still at least a week’s worth of soldiers the papers haven’t received yet.

Your family and friends had been confused when you’d announced that you were moving to London to study nursing. It had never been your goal to be a nurse. You’d always wanted to be a teacher. But then the war happened and everything changed.

It was a difficult job. You were expected to be at the hospital little after dawn and you didn’t usually get back to the flat you share with two other nurses-in-training until well after the sun has set. The country needed all the trained and knowledgeable nurses and doctors they could spare, and that meant trying to cram what was typically a three year training program into just one year.

But it was rewarding, and you enjoy the sense of satisfaction you get from feeling like you’re doing your part to help with the war, this horrible war. It was difficult work and you felt like you hadn’t gotten any sleep in over six months, but that was alright. It helped distract you from the fear, all the wondering.

You finally get to the flat. Lily is already there and she’s holding up an envelope, her red lips painting a smirk, and you know. You don’t even think about where you drop your bags and snatch the envelope from Lily before going to lock yourself in the bathroom, for privacy and also because you’re not keen on sobbing in front of your flatmates.

It’s a miracle you don’t tear the letter as you rip open the envelope you’ve been waiting weeks for, finally in your hands and your eyes start to well with tears because a quick glance at the date written in the top-right hand corner tells you that Tommy made it out of Dunkirk and he’s alive. You wait until you’ve relaxed enough to stop shaking and you force yourself to take a breath as you see clearly the familiar scrawl of Tommy’s writing and read.

My darling,

I hope you can forgive me for the silence, I know it’s been weeks, but I’ve finally found a moment to sit and write. I’m currently at some camp I can’t be bothered to remember the name of. It’s all been a blur since Dunkirk. I’m sure the papers have given all the details and you’ve probably read Churchill’s speech. I don’t have much more to add other than how hard it is to connect Churchill’s words with what we went through. I wish this war would end.

We’re just waiting now. A few days rest before we get deployed again to God knows where. A bloke I met at the beaches, Alex, reckons we’ll have at least a week, but it’s difficult to say.

But I don’t want to talk about the war any more. How are you? I hope you’re not overworking yourself too much with the program. I’m happy to hear that you enjoy it at least. I knew you would pass the preliminary exams with top scores. You should give yourself a little more credit. Do you like your new flatmate? In the last letter I got from you, you’d said you and Lily were still looking for a third girl to help with the rent. If you go back home some weekend again, will you tell my parents you’ve heard from me?

Home. It’s strange to think of it now sometimes. There are days I think I can still see the meadows and taste the raspberries from my parents’ garden. But there are other days, the harder days, I can hardly remember the faces of our school mates, or the name of the reverend who’s been at our church since before I was born. I get scared sometimes that I’ll forget everything.

Everything feels like such a blur half the time, like none of my memories are even real. The only thing that makes any sense sometimes is you. You are always in my thoughts. I can still feel your hair running through the gaps between my fingers, your smile, the sound of your voice. Sometimes I swear I can almost hear you.

I wish I could write more, but the paper here is scarce and so is time. So, I’ll just end with the only thing that matters: I love you. I miss you so much I can feel it in my bones, an ache that just won’t go away, not until I see you again. All I want is to come back home, come back home to you. I haven’t forgotten our promise.

All my love,

Tommy

You close your eyes, your mind spinning with the words you have just read, words written by Tommy, safe and alive. All the anxiety you’ve been carrying for the past few weeks, trying not to worry that the worst had happened, just melts away.

A part of you wishes the letter had been longer, that you have hours worth of writing to help you get through the coming weeks that will surely be filled with more silence, but you’re grateful.

You try to imagine Tommy wherever he is now. You hope he doesn’t feel too alone, that this Alex bloke he mentioned is a good man and helps watch over him. But you try not to think too hard on it. You’ve learned from experience that thinking about Tommy in his soldier’s uniform for too long makes you start imagining other things: the whoosh of bullets flying past, the pained sounds of injured men, unseeing eyes, hazel eyes.

So you shake your head and instead think of other memories, memories that sometimes feel now like they’re from another lifetime.

You think of the first time you’d seen Tommy, how he was the most beautiful boy you had ever seen and how warm your cheeks had felt when he’d turned around and you’d quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring. You think of how his hand had brushed against yours sometimes those evenings he’d walked you home, and you’d spent all night wondering if it had been intentional. You remember the Williams wedding and how he’d blushed when he’d asked you for a dance.

You think of the first time he’d kissed you, your first kiss. How his fingers had grazed the skin of your cheek, how his lips had moved so seamlessly with yours. How closely he’d held your body against his, like he never wanted to let you go. You had been in that moment that you’d been waiting for after the countless glances exchanged, the shy and awkward but wonderful stolen moments, the accidental touches. Weeks of waiting and wondering if he felt the same or if you were just going mad.

He’d left before they could start a real life together, the life they had talked together about those evenings they’d stolen away together in the meadows near the cliffs. All their plans. The promises.

You think of the last promise you’d both made to each other, the day Tommy had left with all the other young men of their village.

He’d held your hands in his larger ones, forehead pressed against yours as you breathed together, hoping and wishing you could just stay in this moment forever, still together. They’d had to part eventually though. He’d started bringing up The Possibility, the one he’d vaguely brought up before you’d quickly shot it down, a possibility you refused to think about even now. You remember how tentatively he’d brought it up then.

“But...if I shouldn’t come back-”

“Tommy, stop. Don’t.”

“We have to talk about it-”

“No-”

“I don’t want you to be waiting forever if something happens to me-”

You’d put your hands over his and stood straighter, your entire body vibrating with conviction. “I won’t, because you’re coming back. You’re coming back to me Tommy. You do whatever you have to do to come back to me because I don’t intend on starting a life with anyone else but you, you hear me? So promise me,” your voice had cracked at this point, and you’d had to wrap your hands around his coat for a moment to gather yourself, “promise you’ll come back.”

Tommy’s lips had curved into a smile then, and he’d brushed the wetness from your cheek as he’d whispered, “I promise, I’ll come back to you and when I do, we’ll start our lives together.”

A part sob, part laugh had torn from your throat and Tommy had kissed your eyes and the tears off from your cheeks before crashing his lips to yours one last time. There was one last exchange of ‘I love you’s’ and then you were watching him walk away to war, a war neither one of you knew how long would last.

That felt like so long ago, but you can still remember the taste of him, the rough pad of his fingers and the smell of his cologne.

You bring the letter to your chest and in that movement accidentally drop the envelope it had come in. You kneel down to pick it up and that’s when you see there still something peeking out from inside the envelope. He’d sent something else with his letter.

You pull it out and gasp, bubbling with joy. Tommy had sent a picture, a picture of himself.

You smile at the black and white photo, your eyes greedily taking in every detail of his face. Your fingers trace over his eyes, staring in awe at how the photograph managed to capture the characteristic intensity in his gaze that you’d fallen in love with.

It’s a long time before you think that others might want to use the bathroom eventually, so you gather your letter and photograph to your tiny room. You decide you’ll write back tomorrow and see if you can find some time during lunch to find somewhere to get a photograph of yourself to send to Tommy. For tonight, you’ll reread his letter, proof that he’s alive and well and thinking of you, and keep his photograph close to your heart and pray that soon you’ll see him in person again.

Being away from Tommy while he’s at war has been the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do, walking through life as though you aren’t worried every moment of every day for the safety of the one you’ve fallen in love with. But you’ve kept his promise close to your heart and you know that it will all be real one day.

He will come back to you, you’ll start your lives together. It will happen, because he’d promised and you believe in him.

You’d wait for him, no matter how long it took.

[ariannjs]

KARIN | A SasuSaku FanFic (8/10)

(Karin - Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7)

-------- 

“Guess what? We’re getting much progress with the effectivity rate of the new samples!”

The apparent glee on Shizune’s expression as she made her way inside the head medic’s office made Sakura sigh in relief. That kind of exhale which encompasses the realization that none of your labor was in vain.

A clipboard was handed to her while Shizune sat in front of her desk. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this is already available for delivery to Suna tomorrow after the final lab test. As always, great job, Sakura!”

To say that she was grateful for the impending finale of their painstaking weeks of research and development was an understatement. If she wasn’t too tired due to her lack of sleep recently, Sakura would’ve jumped or run around the hospital, but she could only smile at her colleague with a small blush adorning her cheeks for now.

She studied the charts given to her as she leaned back on her office chair. “That’s...wow, that’s amazing. Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you, though. Just thinking about it, this was the most complicated concoction that we’ve put together so far, huh?”

“Well, it’s for the most difficult case ever since the war. I’m actually surprised you’re still able to manage your time without becoming all over the place.”

“I’m surprised too!” She chuckled. “But really, it’s a great help that Karin’s here. Makes the load a lot easier. I couldn’t focus on doing the daily rounds anymore so that’s where she takes over.”

Shizune nodded in agreement. “I can see how she seems to be enjoying the job. Did you know that her patients are asking for her sometimes even after her rounds? To think that she started with lots of complaints around here, you’ve assisted her well in unleashing her potential.”

Her lips twisted to a smile. Ever since she asked Karin to help out in the hospital, she didn’t have any doubts about her skill, albeit having a difficulty in interacting well (and nicely) with people. “I didn’t expect to have that much of an impact to her, really. I guess it just gives me joy being able to do anything to help her and her family, you know?” Her voice softened as she continued, “Especially because...she was there for Sasuke-kun when I couldn’t be there for him.”

She sank further on her seat, the charts now forgotten as she recalled those years ago wherein Sasuke had decided to sever bonds with them. There was still a tinge of pang in her chest just remembering how she couldn’t do anything for him back then, no matter how much she was willing to throw everything away to be with the man she loved.

Thinking about it now, she was grateful that Sasuke didn’t bring her with him when she tearfully pleaded for him to do so. It was a stupid idea, to begin with. For if he allowed her to join him on his defection, she wouldn’t be the woman that she is now – stronger, wiser, more loving, and more forgiving – because and for Sasuke.

All the while, however, she had always hoped that there were others who were looking after him – others who could still build some sort of a bond with him despite his reticence to it; others who could show him love in their own ways. Despite being wary at first, she was glad when she learned that those others were Suigetsu, Karin, and Jugo.

And even though she almost had a heart failure figuratively when a very pregnant Karin came back to Konoha with Sasuke, Sakura was extremely relieved to know that Sasuke found a reliable comrade in her and the rest of Taka.

Because of this, she became very fond of Karin and Suigetsu (after confirming that there was nothing going on between Sasuke and Karin, of course). So fond to the point that she would do anything that she could for their little family.

She smiled to herself, feeling a sense of accomplishment as she realized the progress in Suika’s health in the past three months.

“So, it’s still Sasuke, huh?” There was a smirk in Shizune’s face the whole time Sakura was lost in her thoughts while gazing at the ceiling. “How’s everything about you and your boyfriend anyway?”

The Head Medic almost fell from her swivel chair as a blush profusely made its way on her cheeks. “Wha—? B-boyfriend? It’s not—we’re not—no! He’s not my boyfriend, Shizune!”

A loud cackle escaped from the other woman’s lips. The sight reminded her of the younger Sakura that she first met and she couldn’t help but shake her head in amusement. “Sure. But he’s acting like one, don’t you think?”

“I…”

“You two are always together recently, you can’t deny that.” The smirk was back on Shizune’s face as she crossed her arms. “Also, these past few weeks, whenever you took longer shifts for our project, I constantly see him at the hospital lobby waiting for you that I had to inform him you’re not going out yet.”

Sakura could only stare at her colleague as she relaxed on the chair again. Of course she wouldn’t deny that she was flattered with all the actions of Sasuke with and for her lately, but she wasn’t the 12-year-old Sakura anymore who would either squeal or faint once Sasuke shows any minuscule affection to her.

As a mature woman, no matter how much she loved the man, she wanted to stick to her convictions. “I could tell that he’s doing his best to restore his bond with me, probably with Naruto and Kakashi-sensei too. I shouldn’t assume anything beyond that without him telling me his intentions, right?”

“Are you sure he’s only there to restore his bond with you or to restore the Uchiha clan with you?”

“S-shizune!” Sakura became much redder at the sound of her co-medic’s laughter.

Not wanting to see any crack in the head medic’s office or worse, on her face, Shizune stood up from her seat and turned to the door. “Alright, alright! I think I’m hearing Suika’s babblings right outside. I’ll head off now. Don’t forget to check the test results at the lab tomorrow, ‘kay?” And then she was out the door.

Sakura heaved a sigh as she turned her attention to the papers on her desk. In the end though, she decided to leave everything and not bring any paperworks at home. After all, she already immersed herself so much into lab work today. And she had one more patient to check up on in a little while.

“Shizune seemed to be having a good laugh when I saw her in the hallway.”

She soon heard Karin, who didn’t even bother to greet as usual, by the door. She only rolled her eyes. “Oh, that woman. Let her be.” A glimmer then appeared in her eyes at the sight of her little patient who was gurgling incomprehensible syllables to her mom. “Hey there, little one!”

“Uhuh, yes, hun. Auntie Sakura will do your check up later,” the redhead cooed at the bundle she was holding before returning her gaze to her senpai. “Are you ready to go? I could already sense a brooding chakra nearby.”

A melodic laughter filled the small office. “I think I already know who that is.”

True enough, two figures were before them when they reached the hospital lobby – one was wearing a toothy grin, and the other was wearing a contemplative expression.

As Karin instantly left her side to reunite with Suigetsu, emerald eyes reunited with obsidian and amethyst.

The crease on Sasuke’s forehead only relaxed the moment their gazes met.

Sakura smiled softly. “Hey, Sasuke-kun.”

“Have you eaten dinner?”

Her smile widened. It might be subtle, but she could observe how Sasuke’s caring side has been manifesting recently. And whether it was intentional to him or not, she was glad that she has been the recipient of this.

“Actually, not yet,” she answered sheepishly, considering it was already half an hour past eight. “I’m still on my way to the Hozuki’s since I wasn’t able to conduct Suika’s weekly check up in the hospital today.”

Sasuke paused as if weighing the predicament, a look of what seemed like dismay painted on his features.

For a second, Sakura suspected that he was a bit disappointed that they couldn’t spend their dinner together just like the usual, but again, she didn’t want to assume anything.

“I’ll grab some takeout and bring it at their place then.”

“You’ll do that for all of us?” Sakura questioned, eyes soft and heart warm.

“Suigetsu and I haven’t eaten yet anyway.”

“Oh, right!” Suigetsu chuckled. “Speaking of, I’m actually starving now!”

“I see. Alright, then. Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura gave him a crinkly smile. “Also, you don’t have to worry about staying after dinner. I know you’re tired. I still have things to discuss with Suigetsu and Karin about Suika’s development anyway.”

To her puzzlement, Sasuke shook his head in response. “It’s not a problem. I’ll bring you home.”

“But Sasuke-kun—”

“I’ll bring you home, Sakura.”

Sakura just stared at him after that, studying him while his face was angled away from her with his eyes shut in annoyance.

A part of her wanted to confirm her first thought that Sasuke probably wanted some time for them to be alone. Her heart fluttered at the possibility.

She giggled afterwards. “Okay, dad.”

Suigetsu guffawed at her response, earning a glare from the Uchiha. But he tried his best to stop laughing so Sasuke would not set him on fire. Besides, he already had enough of him for the day.

“Tch. I’ll go now,” Sasuke announced.

Then for a split-second, Sakura caught a glimpse of him shaking his head sternly at Suigetsu, as if a form of instruction, which the other man returned with a nod of serious agreement.

Whatever that meant, she merely brushed it off.

Karin could only smirk as she watched Sasuke leave to buy their food. “You’re irritating Sasuke again.”

“Nah, he’s been irritated the whole day anyway.”

“Really, Suigetsu? How so?”

Scratching the side of his cheek, Suigetsu pondered if he should tell Sakura his new discovery about the changes in the behavior of his former leader. Albeit tempted to witness firsthand the reaction of Sasuke’s object of affection, he chose to leave it to the Uchiha instead. “Well, he was in such a hurry to go back home, only to be hindered by a bunch of bandits on the way.” After all, she only asked how, not why. He smirked to himself.

“Oh, well. That’s Sasuke for you.” Sakura chortled. “Thank Kami you’re both safe though. There are always unforeseen circumstances even during light missions.” She sighed, a little flashback of their very first mission resurfaced in her mind.

“Ah. That’s true. We’re taking care of ourselves, Sakura-san. You don’t have to worry about Sasuke.” He flashed a mischievous grin, which widened when he suddenly saw her blush at his last statement.

“Uhm...sure.” Sakura’s hands sank deeper in the pockets of her lab coat. Even she was surprised at the vivid implications of her concern for Sasuke. It wasn’t like she intended Suigetsu to have any clues about her feelings for his team captain.

“Ha. You better, Shark-face,” Karin intervened. “Suika’s just three months old. And we’ve been married for just a little over a year. If you become reckless and end up getting killed, I’ll kill you another time.”

Sakura then let out a chuckle while hearing Karin huff. There was that usual annoyed tone in her while she was talking to her husband but Sakura didn’t fail to notice the crystal clear worry and affection in the redhead’s words.

As the couple continued to share some banter with each other on their way to the Hozuki’s, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was hope such as theirs between her and Sasuke.

Sure, things were going well in their friendship right now. But she still couldn’t claim the certainty that they could be something more.

That Sasuke even wanted them to be something more.

Still, she clung to the tiniest spark of hope that she had come to slowly accumulate ever since they started going out, fervently praying that no one and nothing would crash that tinge of possibility in one way or another.

Dinner was quick for Sakura wanted to immediately get back to work with her favorite patient. Thanks to Sasuke, that Chinese food takeout rejuvenated her strength for the last part of her day.

While he was seated beside her, she could somehow sense a bit of tenseness in him, as if he was bothered about something that he was keeping only to himself.

On normal days, Sakura would've asked him what’s wrong, but she knew Sasuke wasn’t the kind to open up about his thoughts and feelings in the earshot of many. It even took him a while before he became open to her too.

So, she just gave him an encouraging smile instead, causing him to gaze at her with an unusual softness that led her to feel like a butterfly had made shadow clones inside her stomach. And then she excused herself to prepare her medical stuff.

The parents were closely observing her expert hands as she checked the vitals of Suika in the Hozuki’s small living room. Sasuke, on the other hand, was interestedly watching across the dining room, eyes tracking her every move even without the Sharingan.

It has always been that way, she realized. Sasuke didn’t have to be present during her check ups with the redhead kid, but he would always stick around as if something in the whole ordeal was too fascinating for him.

Was it the healing process? Was it Suika’s growth? Was it...her? She didn’t know, although if she would be honest, she wished it was the latter.

Besides, why in the world would he insist on always bringing her home after Suika’s check up, right?

He didn’t even have to.

But he obviously wanted to.

Even just for a moment, she allowed herself to think that Shizune was right with her label for Sasuke earlier. Biting her lip to stifle a growing smile while she ended Suika’s physical therapy to her tiny legs, she wondered if it’s possible to officially define Sasuke that way soon.

Yet the first move towards that future should not come from her.

“I’ve heard from Suigetsu that some bandits attacked you earlier.” Sakura sighed as they turned to another street on the way to her apartment. “Seems like there will always be lots of bandits around no matter how many we catch, huh?”

Without even tilting his head towards her, his only reply was: “Aa.”

She fixed her gaze at him. If she was able to disregard the thought earlier, she finally decided to conclude that something was really off. Usually, Sasuke would tell her at least a two-liner summary of what happened to his day.

But it seemed like he wasn’t in the mood to do so now. And whatever his mood was, she couldn’t even figure it out.

Hoping to not sound as if she was prying, Sakura tried to prompt him to speak more. “So how’s everything in Ame? The last time I was there for a medical mission, the rainfall was at its peak. We couldn’t even go out of the clinic!” She chuckled a bit and waited.

“It was okay. Not too rainy.”

“Oh. That’s nice!” She smiled, then after a moment, her face fell.

It was when he looked at the sky that she realized how lost Sasuke was in his thoughts so she resolved to allowing themselves to be immersed in silence.

After the war, she has learned to like silence with Sasuke for unlike what she used to think, it wasn’t awkward at all. If anything, it was soothing, even to her as an extrovert. But the silence they were in on this normal night was quite something else.

As much as she wanted to respect his privacy, she wanted to know what was bothering him and if there was anything that she could do to help.

Was he in pain due to an injury from today’s mission? Was he remembering his family’s past? Was he dwelling in guilt again?

Looking down at her feet, she clutched a hand to her chest. Being able to ease his anguish felt like a mission that she’s always bound to fail.

“We’re here.”

His voice veered her away from her thoughts as they came to a halt. She glanced up at him, and found him staring at her with an emotion that she couldn’t quite place.

She was sure that he wanted to say something, but when he didn’t, she sighed before telling him, “Thanks again, Sasuke-kun. Goodnight.”

He shut his eyes and then instantly turned around. “Aa. Goodnight.”

He was already a few steps away from her door when she realized that she wanted to assure him of something, anything that would make him know that she cares. That she always does. And that whatever was troubling him, she wanted him to be completely fine. “Sasuke-kun!”

As if sensing an urgent matter, Sasuke paused and tipped his head over his shoulder.

“I...Uhm…please rest well tonight, okay?” That was all Sakura was able to say.

She decided she was already at ease when she saw his lips curve upward before gently responding, “I should say the same to you.”

He honestly didn’t want to do it.

The feeling was a tad similar – only with a valid reason and correct motives this time – to that time he was thirteen. Back then, no matter how much his decision was already final, he was conscious about the fact that a certain teenage girl with flowing tears and an astonishing confession was able to sway his rock solid heart – almost, but not quite.

The only difference was that, he wasn’t accountable to anyone with his decision that time; he knew he could’ve stayed – should’ve stayed – if he wanted to. Now, despite the same girl moving (not just swaying) his heart to want to stay, he couldn’t afford to say no to the Hokage. Even if he had his perks as his former student and his son of sorts.

Kakashi said that Suna needed the help of someone as adept as him in tracking people, especially with the little possibility that the need for space-time jutsu would arise. With the apparent importance of his part in the job, he found himself struggling with an immense desire to stay.

Because he and Sakura were just starting to become closer and more comfortable with each other. He was beginning to earn her trust again. He was becoming accustomed to feeling things his younger self would’ve initially brushed off, making him able to translate it into actions that he could show to her – something that he wished she was understanding in one way or another no matter how scarce his ability to express was.

And he knew that leaving even just for a while could possibly taint whatever they were already able to build. It’s been a slow progress, and he didn’t want their relationship to crumble into pieces again just because of his duty.

He couldn’t bear the sight of a frown appearing on Sakura’s face because of him. It already happened so many times before.

He couldn’t bear the idea of her having to wait for him again. She’s been patient for so long.

He couldn’t bear the fact that the distance and time could stir something in the depths of her heart.

Because what if she finally got tired of waiting? Of loving him? What if she just saw him as a mere friend now and by the time that he’s away, someone else would receive her astonishing confession that he wished he was able to reciprocate many years ago?

He didn’t even have the guts to tell her the night before. If anything, he was tempted to simply leave without facing her, probably just handing a note to Karin, or Naruto, or Kakashi.

It has always been her who watched him leave, and pulling her into another episode of that made his heart constrict.

Of course, she would understand that it was for a mission. But he didn’t want her to ever think that it’s always too easy for him to leave everything behind—to leave her behind. That she wasn’t a good enough reason for him to stay. That she was always the last option for him just like how it used to be when defiling black and not blossoming pink used to fill his heart.

So, he honestly didn’t want to do it.

But here he was, standing right outside the hospital and waiting for her to come out just like all the other evenings since Karin’s delivery, ready (not) to inform her of his and Suigetsu’s impending departure.

He realized she would be back to going home alone once he left. And it was irking him to the core. He knew full well that Sakura could take care of herself, but what if an unexpected danger comes and catches her off guard on her most vulnerable, most exhausted, and most chakra-depleted (most stubborn) state at an eerie hour such as now while he was gone?

He released a heavy sigh. He had no choice now. The best thing he could do was to exert all that he could to accomplish the mission earlier than expected so he could immediately go home, just like what he usually did on their daily missions.

As weird as it sounded, he was already starting to miss her. And he almost choked on his own spit when he finally saw her walking out of the familiar double doors, smiling tiredly yet sweetly at him which easily warmed his heart in the process.

“You’re here,” she mumbled while pushing stray pink locks away from her face.

Her hair was up in a messy bun that left a few strands on the sides of her cheeks, and for Sasuke, he realized that she’s beautiful like this – raw and genuine – not as the shinobi Sakura nor the medic Sakura that everyone knows, but just plainly, his Sakura.

He allowed himself a few seconds to just take in her appearance, appreciating every bit of her as much as he could as if it would be the last time that he would see her.

A part of him regretted all those times before that he didn’t appreciate Sakura’s presence in his life. But now, he would do it every moment he could.

“I always wait for you, don’t I?” He finally spoke, voice a little hoarse from the absence of verbal communication the whole day, albeit being consumed by mental conversations with himself all throughout.

“Well, yeah, but it’s already very late. And this was an unexpected overtime schedule so I or Shizune wasn’t able to inform you or anything.” She gave him an apologetic smile.

It doesn’t matter, as long as I still get to see you before I leave.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since your usual end of shift.”

She gasped. “That’s two hours ago, Sasuke-kun!”

That’s nothing compared to how long you’ve waited for me many times before. “It’s fine. I had nothing to do today.” He began walking then, until she did the same and fell in step with him.

“Oh. I…” She bit her lip, catching another stray strand of her hair and placing it behind her ear. “I appreciate it, Sasuke-kun. So, you and Suigetsu have no mission today?”

He swallowed thickly. “Aa.” Because our new mission will start in a few hours.

A resigned silence filled the journey towards Sakura’s apartment, aside from the cicadas residing on the trees nearby and the pitter-patter of their feet against the uncemented road.

Frustration was getting the best of him for he couldn’t even glance at her, making it even more difficult to disclose about the topic he wished he shouldn’t even bring up. But there was no doubting that she was already feeling the tension between them.

There’s a certain familiarity with how they spent comfortable silence together, not having to say anything while revelling on each other’s presence. But last night and tonight, were far from that. And he was sure that Sakura wasn’t dumb to not notice anything for it was her who knew him better than anyone else.

True enough, as they turned to the last street to her place, she sighed and cleared her throat, making every bit of him suddenly rigid. She then began, “I’m getting worried, Sasuke-kun. Is everything alright?”

He found a little consolation at the fact that she was only concerned with him and not annoyed although she had every reason to be. He shut his eyes and stopped walking right in front of her apartment then, slowly turning to face her and bracing himself for whatever reaction her beautiful face would show once his news was out in the open. “I have something to tell you.”

There was a pause. And her gaze was softly fixed at him when his eyes opened, assuring him that she was all ears and urging him to continue.

His heart raced. How in the world could he survive another long while of not seeing that face?

He forced himself to believe that he wasn’t bothered about her tear-filled yet still pretty face when he left the first time.

He focused himself on becoming a better man than thinking of her blushing face after he poked her forehead when he left the second time.

And he endured a month of unexpected emotional turmoil when he returned only to be avoided by her due to a wrong conclusion after seeing a very pregnant Karin with him.

So this should be easy – natural, even – right?

Dang it.

He was probably being overly dramatic but he had to tell her now. He sighed. “I’m going to a long mission with Suigetsu.”

“Oh.”

And there went that faltering smile he wanted so bad to avoid. He inhaled a sharp breath as he quickly looked away.

But then, she bit her slightly trembling lip and after a moment, she was smiling at him again, albeit forcefully. “For how long?”

“A month or two. At most, three.”

There was another pause, and Sasuke wondered if Sakura thought about the last time that they didn’t get to spend a whole month together even though he was in the village. He wondered if she felt as conflicted as he was then, and if she could feel as dismayed as he was now.

“I see.”

He finally glanced at her. There was still a small smile to her face but he found her hands fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Surely, if there was a better option, she wouldn’t choose this too. “This would be the last time that I could bring you home for now.”

To his surprise, she suddenly chuckled. “It’s fine, Sasuke-kun. I can manage. But I’ll…” Although it was dark, Sasuke didn’t fail to catch the blush on her cheeks. “I’ll miss you,” she breathed.

Sasuke’s heart skipped a beat. There was an upward tug on the edges of his lips now.

For she wasn’t sad. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t hurt.

But she’ll miss him.

All his former apprehensions suddenly went down the drain after hearing that from her.

How could this woman have such a tender heart towards him up until now?

Then Sakura instantly added, “Anyway, maybe you could bring this potion that Shizune and I have just finished. It’s something you could use just in case y—”

“There’s no need, Sakura.” Sasuke’s gaze softened at her while he reached out to stop her hands that were quickly rummaging her pouch as if time was running out for them. “We’re just gonna help some villages. Nothing to worry about.”

“O-okay.” Sakura pulled her hand away from her pouch as Sasuke also retracted his. The sudden contact made her a little dizzy, or maybe she was just really tired for the day. But she still had one information she wanted to know. “When and what time will you leave anyway? I’d be glad to send you off and say goodbye to Suigetsu too!”

Of course she’d want to send him off, but he gently shook his head. “Thanks. But we’ll leave before dawn, roughly three hours from now. You’re supposed to be asleep by then,” he emphasized the last part. He didn’t want to see a live footage of how they would part ways. And he didn’t want her to sacrifice the only time she could finally sleep just for him.

“Are you sure though? I could help you pack your stuff or make you some snacks. Do you have medical supplies? Give me a moment, I could get some for you inside the apartment so you cou—”

“Sakura.” Sasuke smiled. When she bit her lip at the realization that she was already rambling, Sasuke lifted his two fingers and softly, affectionately, poked her forehead once again after more than two years. “I’m all good. I’ll see you when I’m back.”

At this, her hand flew to the place he marked as she looked away in an attempt to hide the crimson stain on her cheeks. She then chortled. “Right. Uhm...okay. I’ll see you soon then, Sasuke-kun. Take care.”

The next morning, he left the village with Suigetsu pestering him about why he had such an uncharacteristic grin on his face.

The first week without Sasuke went by pretty fast. But Sakura was right with what she told him – she missed him just like those years ago.

At first, she thought the feeling wasn’t anything new anymore, but she realized that there was a lot in their dynamics that changed ever since his return from his journey.

And that in itself was completely new, refreshing even.

Because before, she was missing someone who had no desire to return to the village. Someone who seemed to have no care about her. Someone who only returned her confessions with a single thanks on the first time and a horrible genjutsu on the second.

But now, she was waiting for a changed man who has eventually learned to come to terms with his past, embrace his present, and be hopeful for his future. A gentleman who made lots of efforts to restore bonds that he formerly decided to sever. A caring man who might be – even just a little bit – feeling the same way about her too.

Sakura grinned as her thumb paused over a familiar face on an old picture frame. It’s been an unconscious habit, she noted. For whenever she thought about Sasuke while she was seated on her desk – bombarded with tons of paperworks she wished her perfect chakra control could accomplish – she would find herself staring at the official group photo of the genin Team 7 with her thumb eventually brushing over her beloved’s face.

She traced back to how Sasuke was so tensed before telling her about the mission. He didn’t even have the responsibility of informing her about his daily missions or whereabouts, but the fact that he still chose to, and the fact that he seemed to be so troubled and unsure on how to let her know that he would be gone for a while made her heart glad for it just showed how he was concerned about her in his own ways.

She tried to imagine their next reunion. And she wasn’t able to fight a smile as she wondered if Sasuke would then tell her that he missed her just as much as she did. Or if he would let her know how life was a lot better when they’re together. Or if he would finally confess that during their time apart, he realized that he loves her too, so damn much that he would not allow them to be separated ever again.

Not realizing that she has already lifted the picture frame close to her grinning face, a loud knock and Shizune’s sudden appearance through her door caused her to loosen her grip on the frame so it tumbled front first on her desk.

“You have another surgery in a few, Sakura.”

Blinking, she broke out of her daze and returned the Team 7 photo on its usual place. “I-I’m coming.”

Oh well, good things come to those who wait.

“What’s going on, Karin?” Sakura frowned the moment the redhead entered her office upon her instruction. “I’ve heard that you’ve been snapping at people too much recently. Is it true that you’ve also countered the decision of one of my subordinates from the Emergency Department?”

“That’s not–!” Karin inhaled sharply and looked away from her senpai. “I didn’t mean to, okay? It’s just that I think she’s doing it wrong and I had a better idea on how we could do the medicine tests faster.”

Sakura sighed. She wanted to deal with Karin in the nicest way possible, knowing that she’s her friend and not just her employee. But since the past week, complaints about a certain redhead medic had been delivered to her, so she wanted to know what was really going on before giving her some consequences if necessary.

“Does having your own opinion give you the right to contradict her if she was doing exactly how I told her to do her work?”

“N-no.”

“Then why did you do it?” Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose.

Her frustration was rising now that another matter has been added to her already overflowing plate. There’s the tension of standing on the thin line separating her roles as the Head Medic and Karin’s friend. And it was becoming a bit difficult to control herself in simply picking the superior side.

“I’m sure you know that when you don’t submit to any of the department heads under my care, it means that you aren’t submitting to my headship too. Karin, even though I’m your friend, based on the Code of Conduct set by Tsunade-shishou, that could lead to your suspension.”

Karin gasped at this. “No, please!” For a second, even she was surprised with how she sounded so desperate with that uncharacteristic plea coming from her. Her brows furrowed as she bowed her head. She definitely didn’t want to disappoint Sakura, but it was clear as day that she had already done so due to the way she was looking at her now.

“I mean...I’m sorry, Sakura. I don’t know...to think that it’s already been four and a half months since Suika was born, I’m sure this isn’t due to the pregnancy hormones anymore. I don’t understand, but sometimes, I just couldn’t help but burst!” The redhead sighed and shook her head before adding, “Rest assured, I will do my best not to have such an attitude again next time. I just can’t lose this job, Sakura, now that...now that Suigetsu’s not he–” She stiffened for a moment, and then suddenly released a loud exhale as the realization of what was going on hit her.

Sakura leaned forward and waited. As Karin slowly looked up and pushed her glasses back, she noticed her red eyes becoming glassy with sudden tears.

“I think I understand now. I..I think it’s because...I miss Suigetsu.” Her voice softened while she averted Sakura’s gaze. She found it weird and irritating how she could become this vulnerable to her. But at the same time, it felt like she could show this side to Sakura knowing that she’s not the kind who would judge anyone. There’s just so much kindness in Sakura that makes her oddly comfortable in being open with her.

And so, she continued, “I remember how Sasuke had to endure my mood swings too back when I was separated with Sui for a whole month before my labor, that’s why he was oftentimes out of his own house. To think that Sui’s been gone again for a time longer than that, I find it difficult to be at ease.” She finally looked at her senpai. “I know it’s not an excuse that my attitude to the patients and some of my colleagues have worsened due to my emotions, but...I don’t know, Sakura. Aren’t you feeling the same thing about Sasuke? How are you dealing with it?”

A pregnant pause filled Sakura’s office as she remembered the past weeks. How she’s been taking lots of workload again, much to Shizune’s chagrin. How she’s been preoccupying her mind with volumes upon volumes of medical textbooks. And how she’s been hitting the training grounds at midnight instead of heading home immediately no matter how exhausted she was from the hospital.

She then realized that like her, Karin had her own way of coping about the fact that they were missing the men that they love.

“I...yeah.” She heaved a sigh. “I understand. It’s difficult to not...uhm, think so much about Sasuke-kun.” Her eyes darted to the photo frame on her desk. “I always wonder about what he’s doing. If he’s safe there in Suna. If he’s okay as they do their tasks. Or if he’s gonna be back sooner than expected. And to avoid overthinking about him, I dive into tons of work.”

Her heart clenched just like the past few days when she realized how much she longed to witness Sasuke’s quiet enjoyment on their (not date, but almost date) dinners together wherein she got to have playful banters, heartfelt conversations, and even comfortable silences with him. She also recognized the struggle of sticking to being patient for his next return due to the undeniable fact that she yearned for his unfailing dedication in spending time with her and bringing her home after work.

Karin broke into a smile as she sensed the apparent similarities of what they were undergoing. As women, there’s always that little nudge in your heart and mind about the well-being of your lover whenever he’s not around. And knowing that Sakura could relate to this was a consolation to her, an affirmation that she wasn’t really alone (and insane).

It was quite funny for her to think that after living a life with almost no friends – especially girls – she would be able to build such a bond with Sakura. She called her attention once more when she said, “Sasuke’s so blessed to have you constantly thinking about him and loving him from afar, Sakura.”

“I...uh...”

“You don’t have to hide it from me, Sakura. It’s obvious. Suigetsu might not be my first love, but he’s definitely my true love.” She glanced away as she tried to hide a rare blush on her face. “But I can really feel the intensity of your love for Sasuke since he has been both your first and true love. To think that he wasn’t even always with you. It’s inspiring, really.”

Sakura’s heart swelled at that. Although her love hasn’t been reciprocated by the recipient of it, it surprised her how someone became inspired with the way she loved Sasuke – unconditionally, relentlessly, selflessly.

“K-karin...thank you that you see it that way. I—wow, that’s—you’re right. Sasuke-kun...he’s been my first and true love. And uhm...honestly, Karin, I want to thank you for being there for him when I couldn’t. For your love for him when mine couldn’t reach him.”

Her sudden words and her soft smile made Karin’s eyes go wide.

“I’m really happy that he met you, Karin.”

As much as it irked him being uncharacteristically emotional in front of anyone, she wasn’t able to avoid her eyes from brimming with tears.

“I think Sasuke deserves all the love in the world, Sakura. I gave him all the love that I could give back then, but I know that you could give him so much more, then and now.” She then grinned. “My love wasn’t meant to be his anyway. I...I’ve never loved as much as I did when I fell for Suigetsu.” And then her brows furrowed as she stared at a distance through the window. “That’s why these men better be back soon because we couldn’t take it anymore!” She groaned.

Giggling, Sakura glanced at the genin Sasuke in the Team 7 photo once again. “You’re right. Meanwhile, about your offense…”

Karin stood upright after sensing the senpai mode of the woman in front of her. “I’ll do anything, Sakura! Just don’t let me be suspended or fired while I’m in Konoha!”

Sakura couldn’t help but laugh at that. To think that this redhead is a tough woman but she could turn into a soft and genuine one in front of her, she couldn’t help but feel like it was a privilege to be this close with her.

When Karin raised an eyebrow at her in confusion, she shook her head and said, “It wouldn’t come to that.” Karin’s sigh of relief made her smile again. “I understand what you’re going through, but like what you said, our emotions are not excuses to have an entitled attitude towards others. What I want you to do is to apologize sincerely to the people you’ve treated that way. Especially to the head of the Emergency Department.”

“That’s...all?” She blinked. “Alright! Thank you, Sakura!”

And then Sakura laughed once more when the redhead medic rushed outside her door to instantly do as told. As her laughter died down, she leaned back on her seat and realized that it was the first time in a month and a half that she was able to laugh as freely and genuinely as that.

If she would be completely honest, albeit almost excelling at it like a professional, waiting sucks. Sure, she could immerse herself in whichever stuff that could preoccupy her – and allow her body to be drained process – but it would never suffice to having Sasuke around.

Her gaze fixed at her office window while she wondered if there was still a possibility that one day, she’d finally be able to stop waiting and just have him close to her. Not just because she wanted to, but also because he wanted to.

A subtle pit-a-pat on her window awakened her from her trance. When she returned to her tasks a few seconds later, merely thinking that it was a branch or something colliding with glass, she heard another round of soft knocks that sounded like a bird’s beak hitting her window.

A bird’s beak...hitting...

She sprang out of her seat with a jolt to confirm her afterthought, her hips thankfully dodging the edge of her table and saving her from sudden pain as she focused on the familiar hawk sitting outside her window.

Sliding it open, the feathered summon skipped closer to her and angled its left foot for a note that could either ease her worries or increase them.

For it was the first time that Sasuke reached out to her after a month and a half.

“Thank you so much,” she mumbled before the hawk flew back to its master hundreds of miles away.

She was both excited and nervous. But upon opening the note, she found herself smiling and blushing like never before as her gaze shifted to the sky, following the small figure of the flying hawk from afar.

Just another week left. Take care. — S.U.

Sakura was all smiles around the hospital all week. She was a cheerful woman, alright, but there was definitely something so eminently special about that week that caused the pink-haired medic nin to be at the pinnacle of her emotions. There was no heavy workload, irritable workmate, nor delayed appointment that was intense enough to wipe away that dazzling smile plastered on her face.

Shizune, who often caught Sakura with her gaze fixed on the only memento on her office table, has concluded that it certainly had something to do with her not-boyfriend. Besides, who else could make Sakura Haruno glow joyously like that aside from Sasuke Uchiha?

Actually, it wasn’t only the pinkette who seemed to be completely over the moon that week. Pink and Red were bouncing off the walls all around the hospital and the staff and patients couldn’t help but be amused whenever they came across the two. After all, both women with bright colored hair had such contagious bright aura that uplifted the people around them.

Even with the number of appointments and interviews set with Sakura due to the positive reports about the efficiency of her recent concoction, she became more productive without overexerting herself, contrary to the past weeks of intentionally preoccupying herself with workload that she could actually delegate to her staff.

And Karin, on the other hand, was instantly the favorite of her patients once again as if she didn’t expose some bad attitude to them days ago.

Another long wait is about to end, Sakura mused, unable to conceal her excitement when she realized that it’s been exactly a week after she received Sasuke’s note. She brushed her thumb on the specific face on her team’s photo one last time before heading to another surgery for the day.

After her extended shift was over, a mother of one of Sakura’s patients in the Children’s Mental Health clinic approached her in a corridor near the Emergency Department. Sakura was touched with the thoughtfulness of the parent as she received a small gift from her, heart swelling with joy while listening to her gratitude for putting up the clinic after the war. It might have taken years, she said, but her daughter recovered from the trauma of losing her dad during the war because of Sakura’s project, reminding her of how far she had come in terms of her profession.

While she was immersed in such heartwarming conversation, Sakura then heard a firm voice she’s now accustomed to somewhere near them. But there was a sudden croak to it that made the hair on her arms stand on end, “S-suigetsu? ...Suigetsu!”

Everything else that the woman in front of her was saying came to a blur as her ears tried to pick up the muffled sounds from a few hallways away. But then, the man that Karin called shouted words that made her drop the gift she was holding:

“It’s...Sasuke! Help Sasuke!”

The loud thump on the floor amplified the sudden drop she felt inside her chest.

The next thing she knew, her feet was darting to the direction of the voices she had heard.

She was sure something else fell on the floor moments ago but the scene she had witnessed upon reaching her destination made her realize that it was her heart that also fell, shattering into pieces yet again.

For Sasuke was there, more pale than ever, with his eyes shut and mouth bubbling as two nurses hurriedly yet cautiously transferred him to a stretcher beside Shizune, Karin, and a barely conscious Suigetsu.

“What’s going on here?” Sakura demanded, forcing to restrain the tremble on her voice as she rushed towards them.

“Sakura!” It was Shizune who responded for Suigetsu was lifted to another stretcher with a frantic Karin clutching his hand. Her colleague hesitated to divulge what she knew but Sakura was quick to assess the unconscious man’s condition.

She soon gasped, her head tilting to Shizune for confirmation, trying to deny her realization of what was going on. No, not Sasuke-kun. Please, no!

But Shizune fiercely nodded. “We have to hurry. It’s the poison that’s been rampant in Suna recently and...and you already know what this entails.”

“You both know about this?” Sakura couldn’t blame the sheer panic in Karin’s voice. “Sakura, save them!—Hold on, Suigetsu! Don’t—don’t move!—please, Sakura! Shizune! Do something!”

With clenched fists, Sakura couldn’t find the strength to take a glance at the man she loved once again. She had to take deep breaths, in order to keep her professional composure so as to not end up into a sobbing mess like Karin.

But it wasn’t working.

A few exhales later, she was still frozen on the spot as a million possibilities raced in her mind. She has studied this case for months, and she knew full well its capacity to—

“Sakura!” She inhaled sharply with a blink upon realizing that two firm hands were shaking her by the shoulders now. “Sakura, we have to move!”

That’s when she finally glanced at Sasuke again. This was the man who holds her heart. And right at that moment, his life was in her hands.

She had a role to play.

Sakura blinked back the tears that she didn’t realize were threatening to fall, before willing her head to nod at the two nurses ready to push both stretchers.

So they all began to move. The urgency of the situation was felt at the sound of shuffling of feet and wheels in the hallway.

Her hand that wasn’t pushing the stretcher moved to clasp Sasuke’s limp one. Struggling to stifle a whimper, she lifted his hand close to her chest and prayed harder than ever before. Sasuke-kun, stay with me. You have to stay with me.

“Sakura, this is difficult. But you have to decide on what we should do.”

Her colleague was right. This time, she squared her shoulders and let go of Sasuke’s hand for her role was about to begin. “Shizune, look after Suigetsu. Make sure that there’s no poison left in his system because a tinge of it could still spread in his body. I’ll take care of Sasuke-kun.”

“Alright. But...are...are you sure you could manage taking over Sasuke’s operation? I know you’re very much concerned with him right now, maybe it’s best if you have somebody else to—”

“Yes,” she answered in a firm tone. “He’s important to me. He’s...damn it, I’m in love with him. But I’m a doctor too. I could manage, Shizune.” She yet again blinked back some tears, sparing another glance at her patient. “I should manage.”

“Since...since this is...oh my goodness, this is poison…doesn’t this have a duration until one’s body takes its full effect?”

Sakura briefly looked at Karin. “Yes, this poison would manifest its worst immediately within two days since it was acquired. It’s...It’s fatal and could cause—we better hurry! Nurses! Prepare the Operating rooms! Now!”

As the nurses in the hallway rushed to open the door ahead of them, the barely conscious patient struggled to breathe whilst forcing to turn his head towards the Head Medic.

“T-two days? But, S-sakura…today...is the second day.”

--------

(Karin - Part 9) - to be continued...

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Hey guys! A lot of things had happened in the past month but I hope you’re all doing well. :) By God’s grace, I’ve been a lot better in all aspects recently, compared to the first few months that I was writing this. (Remember those times I posted that I couldn’t finish a chapter yet due to some sort of anxiety attacks? Praise God, I haven’t had one for months now!) Meanwhile, it was still quite a struggle completing this amidst all the stuff I had on my plate internally and externally.

But here it is! Please don’t forget to comment! I can’t wait to see your reviews about the scenes, plot, characters, emotions, and writing for this chapter! :) You could check my other works here or on AO3 & FF under the username AriannJS :)

Thanks & God bless!

-- A

[sarcastic-sunshines]

ABIONA AU - PART 1

Pairing: T’ Challa x Black!Reader

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 2720

Link to ABIONA by @writingmarvellousimagines

Link to Face claims (2)

Author’s Note: I am so excited to be able to share this with you and to be able to do with such an amazing soul like @writingmarvellousimagines is truly an honour. I hope you all love it as much as we do, and please don’t hesitate to share you thoughts now and as the story progresses. Enjoy!

Part 1

It had been 20 minutes of T’Challa pacing up and down the hallway trying to gain the courage to finally knock on Alixandre’s doorstep. Ayo and Okoye watched as the crowned prince nervously wore his legs out with no hope of actually doing what he sought out to do. T’Challa was betting so much of his life by being here. If he had stayed in Wakanda, he was supposed to have been marrying Nakia in a month. Instead he chose to listen to his beating heart and confront his father. It was one of the hardest things he had had to do. He will never forget the look of anger and disappointment written on his father’s face as he told him he would not be marrying Nakia.

“If you follow that girl you are letting down this country and failing your duty as heir to Wakanda. Why would you do all this for an outsider?”

With all the conviction that he could muster, T’Challa responded.

“I am aware of my duties as prince and heir of the throne. Believe me Baba, it is what has stopped me from doing this since we left Kampala. I do not care if Alix is from Wakanda or not. All I know is that since we left Uganda I felt as though there is a piece of me missing and I have been washed with a sense of guilt. If I don’t do this I will never be able to serve my country with a sound mind. I know you do not agree, and that is okay, but as my own man I have to do what is right for me.”

As T’Challa remembered what he promised himself by coming here, he finally turned to face the Doras.

“I can do this. I am a prince. I have had harder discussions with world leaders than this. I am the Black Panther. I hold a very important mantle. I can and will knock on that door!”

“Will it be soon my prince,” Ayo asked. T’Challa stopped to frown. Before he could answer the door swung open to reveal Alix. She had heard the pacing and chatting and assumed it was her elderly neighbour and wanted to help. Instead she was met with a man that she had tried her hardest to forget existed.  She dropped the ice cream cone she was snacking on. T’Challa’s eyes followed the cone before going up to meet Alix’s face. His eyes again travelled to land on Alix’s mid section. Though not very round, her slender form allowed for her bump to protrude more.  His eyes continued to pass from her bump to her face as his own expression filled with shock.  T’Challa finally broke out of his trance to speak with a shaking voice.

“... Hello… How have you been?"

Finally breaking out of her own shock Alix replied in the only way she knew how.

"Clearly my time has been a bit occupied." She nervously tried to laugh but T'Challa was still in shock.  “Maybe you should come in and tell me why you are outside my door.”

T’Challa slowly nodded and followed, leaving Ayo and Okoye outside. T’Challa entered but moved around Alix’s space awkwardly.

“How about you sit while I clean up the ice cream?”

T’Challa moved towards the sitting area but again awkwardly shuffled on the couch going through a timeline of his time in Uganda. They had been careful right? Well, she had told him she had an IUD so he never thought to bring condoms. In hindsight, that seemed a little careless for a crowned prince. How was he supposed to explain this to his father who already disapproved of him being here?  Alix returned with hot water and some tea. He couldn’t help but notice how the pregnancy made her glow and enhanced her beauty in a way he never imagined.

“It is chamomile. I think we both need to be calm for whatever is said.”

They awkwardly sipped avoiding each others eye contact.

“I guess I should start,” T’Challa said as he put his cup on the table. “I was, correction, I am here because, because Alix, my life has been meaningless without you. I was ashamed with the way I left you in Kampala. It left me feeling as though I had left a piece of myself there. I tried to get rid of the feeling. My father tried very hard to get rid of the feeling. He arranged for me to marry another, and I could not go through with it because all I could think about was the opportunity I could be missing with you. I have been pacing outside your door trying to gain the courage to say this to you. I know in the past I had quickly chosen my duty as prince over this relationship, but I was not the man I am today. I hope you can forgive me and be willing to possibly give this another chance. And I want to be clear that I am not saying this because of our child-”

“Who said it was yours?” T’Challa looked at her hurt and stunned. “I mean it is yours but it was quite presumptuous don’t you think?”

T’Challa took a relieved breath.

“It is good to know the snarky Alix I fell in love with is still there.” Alix’s heart felt as though it was going a mile a minute as he continued. “I am serious Alix, and you may not want to make this choice today. I understand that it is quite a bit of information I have thrown at you. But despite what you feel about us, evidently there is a child involved. It would be my greatest honour to be involved in their life. I know this was not apart of your life plan, nor was it mine, but I am fully ready to go on this journey with you.”

Alix had forgotten what a charmer he was. How easily she could be enveloped by his words and convinced to bend to his every will. Her heart was shouting yes, but she immediately switched it off and listened to all the worries and fears her brain had created.  

“That all sounds nice, T’Challa. I will never tell you that you cannot be a part of your child’s life. I can’t really say anything else about us though. I am in a hormonal period and what I want today is not what I will want tomorrow. The only constant is the baby’s love of ice cream.”

The two laughed.

“I first went to Vienna looking for you. A few UN officers I knew helped me track you down. Just because I know it is weird for me to show up at your door like this. But why didn’t you try and contact me?”

“Yes, I asked to be transferred back home so I could be closer to my parents and Jules too, so I could have support. I didn’t contact you because I was scared because of your title and how it would affect me and the baby, and everything was changing so fast. To be honest I haven’t even come to terms with the fact that I am going to be a mom. You are right, this was not part of my plan and I am taking it day by day so forgive me if I wasn’t sure how you would fit into that.”

T’Challa shook his head taken aback by everything that was being said. He slowly moved seats to rub Alix’s back.

“Have no fear Alixandre, I am here.”

She laughed into her hands. Their natural banter had returned as though it was only a minute long pause.

“Would you like to come to my 5 month scan next week. It isn’t that big of a deal but you can come if you would like?”

T’Challa’s whole face lit up so bright in a way Alix had never seen.

“Of course. Just tell me when and where and I will be there. I am truly grateful and couldn’t think of nothing better to do than to finally meet my baby.”

They nodded in agreement and T'Challa hugged her goodbye promising to call later for the details of the scan. Though the hug was short, Alix felt a sense of comfort in being in his arms. She couldn’t explain it but it made her feel more at home.

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

The day of the scan arrived and Alix was nervous but no one was as nervous as T'Challa. He had fought all sorts of villains in all parts of the world while being the new protector of Wakanda. Yet, somehow he had never felt fear and doubt as the one he was experiencing going into the scan. Everything was happening so fast and, although he wanted to be in his child's life and wanted to be with Alix, he didn’t know if he was enough for either Alix or the baby.  He wanted to be able to provide all the love and support that they could take. He knew that Alix didn’t need him, but he needed her. The last few months had been dark for him. He always felt like he had left a piece of him somewhere else and he had to find it. He searched for it in Nakia and realised it wasn’t there. He knew searching anywhere else would be useless. His missing piece was in a smart, sarcastic, strong willed independent polyglot.

He met with Alix at the doctor's office and she could physically see his nervousness. As much as she found it humorous, she also found it a bit cute while also feeling a little bad for him, but she would never tell him that. After being taken to the back, the nurse came to get everything ready and happily greeted T'Challa since it was the first time she was able to see Alix come in with neither her brother or mother. The doctor came and applied the gel on Alix's belly and the sonogram lit up. T'Challa was already thinking of a way to get Alix to Wakanda so her and the baby could get better care.

T’Challa was immediately mesmerized by the image, and he was certain that he had never seen anything as beautiful as his child, their child, a child made of love. Yes, things are complicated right now,  but he wouldn’t change a thing . The sound of the heartbeat not only shook T’Challa out of his thoughts, but it also confirmed that there was nothing more that he had ever wanted in his life and no matter their relationship status he was happy that he was able to do this with Alix. And he told her when the nurse left. As she heard the words “there is no one else I could ever imagine having my child with, and it only increased the emotions I have for you,” Alix's heart jumped as she stared deeply into T’Challa’s eyes looking for a lie only to find none. She was convinced the little flutter she felt was the baby giving her heartburn. As she tried to pat her chest, T’Challa asked.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just heartburn, one of  my recurring symptoms. They say that means the baby is going to have a lot of hair ”

She told him to run down to the pharmacy for antacids and more prenatal medicine while she signed out. Her head was spinning with so many thoughts but she felt as though if she opened her mouth she would vomit. Not to mention this heartburn like feeling had refused to leave.

The ride home was silent, a comfortable silence that was filled with deep thought. When they had reached the apartment, T’Challa walked Alix up and before she closed the door to say goodbye, she heard T’Challa say his first words in what felt like forever.

“Alix, you know you don’t have to do this alone. I can and will be there with you every step of the rest of this journey, no questions asked.”

Alix wanted to believe, she really did but he needed his words to match his actions. She would not be fooled twice. There was only one way to know if he was serious.

“That all sounds amazing, T’Challa, but I will only be comfortable moving forward with this relationship if you tell your father about the baby and get his approval. I don’t want me or the baby to be something you are ashamed of.”

T’Challa nodded taking in everything that was said.

“And you are not, neither of you are a shame I carry. In fact I am never been more proud of anything I have done before the creation of this child.”

Alix’s heart fluttered again. She told T’challa it was time for him to go, because she was afraid if he kept saying all those sweet things, he might end up in her bed and her brain would not allow that.

Of course, T’Chaka was furious and disappointed stating that he did not want to see Alix set a foot in Wakanda.  But that did not stop T’Challa. He continued to make plans about his future while considering Alix as part of his new normal.  Alix finally began to agree with the idea of going to Wakanda though she feared it would never happen with how T'chaka felt. It put an obvious strain on her and T'Challa’s fragile relationship, but he did what he could to prove to Alix that he was willing to do anything for her and the baby. And so she asked him one day.

"Even give up your right to the throne?" Completely thrown off by the question, T'Challa couldn’t answer and truthfully he didn’t want to because the answer would always be yes but he didn’t want to say something he could not promise. Alix finally rolled her eyes.  "That is what I thought."

Even with the drama, T'Challa continued to try and keep to his promise by being at every appointment, meeting Alix's family, helping her rambunctious brother Jules as much as he could, even when Alix told him not to. He introduced his mother and sister to Alix despite his father's reluctance and they attended her baby shower in France. She looked as elegant as she felt. She thought about what she could have been missing out on. All the moments they could have had. She stopped regretting and instead chose to enjoy the moments right in front of her. She looked around at all the loving faces that were there for her. She focused in on T’Challa and remembered his excitement the first time he felt the baby kick. She didn’t even realise she was smiling so hard until Jules rudely interrupted her thoughts.

When T’challa couldn’t be by Alix’s side he asked Ayo to stay with her even though Alix always protested.

A protest that was lost on deaf ears.

And he called her stubborn.

Unfortunately, T'Chaka died at the UN summit in Geneva a month before the baby was set to arrive which had depressed T'Challa.  His transition to Kingship was not as smooth as he had hoped. Between mourning his father, dealing with  new family members and the council, he ended each day drained. But through it all Alix's voice, videos and pictures that she would send kept him going. Though he was excited to meet his baby, he couldn't get over how beautiful Alix looked pregnant. With his child, their child, a child made of love. He hoped they would be able to work things out because his little bundle of joy would eventually need a sibling and he couldn’t imagine growing his family with anyone but Alix. He stopped thinking and decided that he was ready to hold on tight to the moment right in front of him. As he, for the third time that day went through all of the pictures of Alix at different months, some of which he took when she wasn't looking, he planned his next trip to France. This would be a long one. The baby would be here at any moment and he didn't want to miss a single thing.  He just wanted to be in the moment.

________________________________________________________________

Taglist:

@dramaqueenamby @writingmarvellousimagines @teechallas-blog @ashanti-notthesinger @wakanda-inspired @lovely-geek @chaneajoyyy @chefjessypooh @imagine-mbaku @90sinspiredgirl

[mathiaskillmaster]

My GOT Ending: A Song of Ice and Fire (Episode 6 Season 8) Part 3 ENDING

The next day, following this celebration where were unfortunately still weighed the weight of the tragedy of King's Landing, Jon isolated himself with Arya on the beach of the island, to talk to her about something very important. Jon has already spoken and he struggles to find words to comfort her and convince her that this is the best thing to do. Arya remains closed, doing everything to stay dignified and strong, but she can not hold back a tear from the corner of her eye as she watches the waves gently lick the edge of the shore. She turns to Jon and nods softly. _"I will do it...." Jon thanks her in silence, and comes to place a loving kiss on her forehead. Both are hugging each other. _ "Thank you, Arya .... I know what I'm asking you is difficult, but there are no other solutions." _ "You have someone else to convince." she adds to the young king in the north, mentioning who he knows. Jon knows it well, and already dreads this moment. Arya decides to leave him a few minutes alone before making a decision, and Jon remains alone, facing the sea. ******** Inside the fortress, Daenerys met with Sansa, Missandei and Gilly in the main hall and discussed everything together. The Queen of Dragons is smiling, her hand resting against her slightly rounded belly. Gilly holds little Sam on her lap and shares her opinion with the Targaryen queen about finding a name for a child. Their conversation is interrupted by Jon's arrival in the room. His closed and serious face is enough to make young women understand that he must speak alone with his wife. _ "We will leave you alone..." suggests Sansa, followed by Missandei and Gilly. Jon thanks them with a nod and lets them pass. Once gone, Jon turns towards Dany, who on her side has risen from her chair and displays a rather concerned mine. Jon comes to her. _ "Jon ... what's happening to you?" _ "This morning, Bran told me about another of his visions ..." Jon explains to her, apparently struggling to find the right words "... the Night King advances towards Dorne, at the head of a new legion of dead. People are still dying by hundreds right now. We have to stop him, for once and all." _ "And .... how? Jon, talk .... you worry me." Dany asks, more and more nervous internally. Jon blows, split between the desire to say nothing and reveal everything. He feels so cowardly having to do that now. It tortures him and it shows like the nose in the middle of the face. Taking the hands of his queen in his, he starts after a deep breath. _ "There is a way to reduce the Night King to nothing ..... a ritual...." Jon explains everything in detail, and as the revelation, the face of the khaleesi becomes pale, showing a shock. _ "I .... no .... this ... it's not possible .... no, I refuse!" After the shock it is anger and sadness that take precedence over the spirit of the young dragon queen. _ "You can not do that to me! Think to our child! Why doing that to me?! Why betray me so?!" Daenerys gets carried by her anger, dominated by grief, the rising tears of her eyes. She screams, she cries, pounding Jon's chest with her fists, but he does not try to stop her. Fully understanding his wife's reaction, Jon do nothing but hug her with love. Daenerys remains frozen while Jon's arms surround her, and she can only continue to cry. _ "I'm so sorry, Dany ....." are the only words Jon can pronounce. ******** Later, Sansa, Tyrion, Davos, Brienne and Jorah were gathered at Jon's request, and Jon has just explained what was decided. The faces are closed, the atmosphere is heavy and the emotion is palpable. Brienne, Jorah, Tyrion and Davos all display really sorry looks, even when they are in pain, while Sansa burst into tears following the announcement of this plan, and Tyrion has trouble comforting her. One by one, Ser Jorah, Tyrion, Davos and Brienne solemnly squeeze Jon's hand, thanking him with the utmost sincerity. Sansa, she, comes to hug Jon with all her strength, crying tears and plunging her face into his shoulder. Jon's heart is torn, and he hugs the one he still considers a sister, asking her to forgive him. _"We will never forget what you did for us, Lord Snow ..." said Tyrion with a hint of sadness in his voice. With that, the king in the north leaves the room, taking a last look at his friends, who stay there, seeing him away and giving him a last goodbye. Sansa continues to cry, and Tyrion comforts her by hugging her in his arms. ********* Everything has been decided. It is at this early grey afternoon that the powerful Drogon flies away from Dragonstone, carrying on his back Daenerys, Jon, Arya, Bran and Samwell. Before the departure, Jon tried to dissuade Daenerys from coming with them, but the queen of the dragons does not let things dictate so easily. The immense flying reptile crosses the sea to the shores of Westeros, then continues over land until reaching an ancient and very particular place: the Isle of Faces, located in the middle of the Gods Eye lake, in the Riverlands. After a maneuver, Drogon lands on the island, leaving one by one his passengers, before flying again to go watch the surroundings. The little group having set foot on this very ancient island, discovers all its majesty, and the numerous barrals which cover it, all older and larger than the others. It is on this island, millennia ago, that according to legend, the pact between the First Men and the Children of the Forest was sealed. It is also on this island that Bran witnessed, through one of his visions, the creation of the Night King during a ritual perpetrated by these same Children of the Forest, causing the most devastating chaos that Westeros knew. The group begins to walk towards the center of the island, in the middle of the barrals, whose faces carved into the wood almost give the illusion of observing them with their empty eyes. An almost mystical atmosphere hangs over this island, and all feel it through chills in their bodies. It's Bran, worn by Samwell, who guides Daenerys, Jon, and Arya through the barrals forest. The young crow three-eyed raven seems leaded by an immemorial knowledge, and after several minutes of walking, eventually lead the small group to a barral in particular. Much larger, majestic and ancient than any other, this barral stands proudly in the center of a grassy space and surrounded on all sides by hundreds of erect and worn stones. From the air, Drogon watches the island and can see that the small group is moving in the middle of an immense spiral formed by the stones, visible only from the heights. At the foot of the ancestral tree, the time of farewells has come. Jon, with a heavy heart and knotted throat, gives a final, emotionally charged goodbye to all those who have accompanied him so far. He hugs Arya, then Samwell, and Bran in his arms. Daenerys comes to kiss him with love, wishing to almost freeze this moment for eternity. After this kiss of love more than true, Daenerys grits her teeth, trying to keep her head up anyway, while Jon will lean against the white trunk of the barral, just under the severe and intimidating face engraved in the bark, seeming to take an accusing look at the group. Daenerys will stand next to Jon, clutching his hand firmly in hers, and determined to hold it until the end. Bran then puts his hand on the baral bark, right next to Jon. The eyes of the young Stark revolves, white and milky. After a few seconds, Bran starts talking in a rather disturbing way. Words in an unknown language, as well as a powerful and almost inhuman voice, come out from his mouth. Samwell, Arya, Jon, and Daenerys contemplate this, almost feeling a new thrill through the entire island. On a flat stone right in front of the ancient barral, was disposed the Arya's Valyrian steel dagger, the same dagger that was once used for the attempted assassination of Bran. After long moments of incantation, Bran is shivering, his eyes returning to normal and turns to Arya. _ "Now ..." he announces calmly. Desperate, Daenerys tries one last time to protest. _ "It's crazy, don't do it, Jon, I beg you!" _ "I can't stand by while people are dying .... This is the only solution..... again, I'm really sorry .... May you forgive me one day, my love ... " he said to her in utter pain, kissing her one last time with love. "In the end, you were right ..." he adds, looking into her eyes. "We should have stayed at this waterfall ..." Knowing what he wants to talk about, Daenerys finds herself even more hurt, just like Jon. He turns to Arya, shaking his head. Arya, also overwhelmed by grief, seizes the dagger whose blade has just been woven with a very old and powerful ritual power, and keeping a sure hand, approaches Jon. And after a heavy inspiration, Arya plunges the bewitched dagger with precision in the heart of Jon, in front of Daenerys, destroyed. Jon suddenly twitched, his eyes exhilarated. His whole body stiffened and his face paralyzed in a mute cry of pain. In the barrels around, clouds of crows let out their croaking in a macabre concert. Forced to let go of Jon's hand, Daenerys pulls back a few steps, crying all the tears of her body and supported by Samwell, also himself on the brink of tears. Once accomplished, Arya retreats, her lips shaking as Bran observes with conviction. Following this intense pain that has invaded him, the face of Jon gradually becomes livid, losing all expression, while the white of his eyes is colored deep blue and cold .... ********* The Night King continues his endless march at the head of his new horde of wights, counting already a little more than a hundred individuals. It is in the semi-desert landscape of the north of Dorne that is now the King of the walkers. He looks a little further a large tower of red bricks in a dilapidated state and standing on a rocky promontory. The Tower of Joy, the birthplace of Jon. Then, a characteristic roar attracts the attention of the Night King towards the sky, where he sees the approaching form of a dragon. Drogon comes to rest several hundred meters, but only a few seconds remain on the ground before leaving in the air, not without having deposited a solitary form. Descended from the back of the great dragon, Jon advances, alone, with Longclaw in the hand. With a simple gesture of his hand, Jon, the chosen one of R'hllor, ignites his sword in Valyrian steel. The Night King then focuses on him. Jon does not show any emotion anymore. His face has turned pale like chalk, and his eyes are filled with an icy supernatural blue. He goes alone, without fear, to the undead. The Night King, seeinghim as a simple isolated adversary, with a simple gesture, orders his horde of undead to rush upon him to reduce him to lint. But the king of the walkers, too obsessed with Jon's appearance, did not pay attention to Drogon's coming back from the air. With a powerful breath of fire, the dragon comes to pulverize the horde of wights, annihilating the last troops of the monstrous king. The Night King then draws his ice sword and he and Jon start walking towards each other for the final duel, under the blind gaze of this abandoned tower and who will have seen the birth of one of them. The time has now come for the song of ice and fire to sing its last notes. The contact is made and the first shot is carried with unimaginable violence. Longclaw and the Ice Blade shock each other in a deafening shrill sound and sparks of embers and ice. A duel of speed and superhuman strength ensues between the two combatants. Blows of size and thrusts, cracks, ripostes, fast attacks and parrying ... the attacks and the movements follow each other between the two supernatural beings during long minutes, without any taking the advantage on the other. With a kick in the stomach, Jon manages to roll back the Night King a few steps and leaps forward to give him a powerful vertical blow. But the Night King in a reflex seizes Jon to the throat in full flight and throws him brutally back against a rock. No longer feeling pain or injury, Jon immediately stands up and goes back into the fight. The duel moves progressively, even on the steps leading to the entrance of the tower. Managing to avoid a blow that would have beheaded him, Jon throws himself against the Night King and both cross through the moldy front door by time, to find themselves in the lobby of the tower. The Night King, with his strength, pushes Jon against a wall and gets back on his feet, ready to continue the duel. The two fighters continue unabated, climbing one by one the steps of the stairs leading to the top of the tower. Valyrian steel and magic ice are shocked, again and again, in blows more and more brutal. With a masterly reverse, Jon projects the Night King back, the latter passing through another door and ending up on the floor of a small empty and dusty room, the one where years ago, Lyanna Stark surrendered her last breath after giving birth to Jon and making Ned promise. Jon enters the room, to see the Night King stand up again in front of him, not weakened. It was in the room where Jon was born that the duel lasted. Clawing Jon by the collar, the Night King lifts him from the ground and crushes him violently against the old bed covered with dust, which collapses into pieces under the brutal shock. His opponent on the ground, The Night King tries to pierce him to the ground with his sword, but Jon with a quick movement on the side, narrowly avoids it. But barely has he time to get up, the Night King throws him against one of the walls of the room. Eager to end this duel, the monarch white walker prepares to impale Jon and annihilate him for good. But Jon is faster, and, in a fast move that the Night King perceived too late, manages to sink Longclaw's blade through the body of the Night King. He freezes, dropping its ice sword, and after a last monstrous look towards Jon, crackles and collapses into thousands of pieces of ice. Silence falls, and Jon sheaths his sword. He is not panting since he does not really breathe anymore. Jon goes down the stairs slowly and leaves the tower. He raises his blue eyes to the shape of Drogon already moving away in the sky. A promise has been made. Drogon would come home alone, because it is no longer necessary to expose the future child to be born, that is the promise that Jon made to Dany. Remaining alone in the middle of this empty landscape, Jon begins his march towards the north, without looking back at the Tower of Joy. In the throne room, at Dragonstone, all gathered and wait in the most constant doubt. Bran, who had taken control of Drogon, comes out of his trance and turns to all the others waiting for the result, hearts beating. _ "The Night King is no more ..... it's over." announce the three-eyed raven always with the same calm tone of voice. Relief is drawn on the faces of all. Samwell and Gilly hug each other, but the young man can not stop the tears from flowing for Jon. Arya and Sansa, too, hug and share this joy mixed with this sorrow. Tyrion, Davos, Brienne, Sandor, Gendry, Bronn, and Yara look at each other, and although they are grieved, agree that it was the right thing to do. Sitting on the throne of Dragonstone, Daenerys also rejoices in the disappearance of the Night King, but can only burst into tears when thinking of Jon. Jorah and Missandei stand by her side support her as much as possible. Although he came out victorious and was still standing, Jon, the man she loved, was dead .... ******** A few weeks have passed since this final clash and the death of the Night King. Life slowly but surely resumes its course, now released forever from the threat of the white walkers. In the south, hundreds of workers are engaged in the reconstruction of the royal capital, just as in the north of the craftsmen engaged by Sansa begin to rebuild Winterfell. While waiting for the red dungeon to be almost habitable, Daenerys remained in Dragonstone, and her pregnancy is also much more visible. Dressed in her black dress, the young queen, seated on the throne of the fortress, seems lost in her memories. But the arrival of Ser Jorah makes her emerge from her thoughts. _"Majesty, a boat from Meereen has just arrived. It is Daario Naharis." Daario? Daenerys, wary, raises an eyebrow. What is he doing here? _ "Get him in." Jorah obeys. The doors of the hall open and indeed, Daario enters, accompanied by Missandei and salutes the queen of the dragons with a reverence. But Dany remains a little cold and gets up from her throne to talk to the former member of the second sons. _ "Which news are you bringing that needed your travel? And who runs Meereen in your absence?" asks the queen rather surprised at the unexpected arrival of the man. But following this question, Jorah is taken suddenly by a serious doubt. He turns his eyes to the dagger hanging on the belt of Daario .... the handle .... the handle does not have the shape of a naked woman. Jorah's heart leapt at once. _ "Khaleesi!" screams the Andal knight, but too late, Daario draws his weapons, his expression changing and showing a firm intention to kill. Jorah jumps on Daario, while Daenerys steps back, frightened. Missandei, horrified, starts screaming at the guard. Jorah struggles with all his strength, but his handicap in the back weakens him too much and he is quickly dismissed by Daario with a violent setback. Two guards intervene following the call of Missandei, but Daario defeats them with a dexterity out of the ordinary. Daenerys, escorted by Missandei, ran to the doors of the room, thinking primarily of the survival of her child. Daario chases them and catches them. But the mercenary's blade is suddenly countered by a thin sword. Arya, armed with Needle, has emerged as a shadow and engages the fight against Daario, under the terrified gazes of Daenerys and Missandei. Daario is strong and fast, but Arya is just as good and uses the sequence of movements and blows she has learned throughout her journey. Daario manages to easily counter all the attacks of the young wolf girl, except one, following a clever move of Arya, which cuts the throat of the mercenary. Drowning in his blood, Daario collapses, not without showing a kind of pride to Arya. More than intrigued, Arya kneels near the body still hot and feeling that her instinct to see just, grabs the skin of Daario's face that then withdraws as a mask and reveals another known head of Arya. While helping Jorah to get up, Daenerys and Missandei attend this macabre revelation. Arya remains dumb with surprise. Jaqen H'ghar! It was him, the former mentor of Arya who had taught her all the subtleties of learning the faceless man art. Arya also discovers a note in the satchel of the assassin wearing the armor and the face of Daario, and read there a clear missive bearing the seal of the house Lannister: a few times before the siege of King's Landing, Cersei Lannister had ordered the murder of Daenerys by the faceless men. Arya stands up, dominating Jaqen's lifeless body, dead for good this time, and the young woman lets these words escape to his attention. _ "A life for a life ...." ********** Several months have passed since these events. After some hard work and efforts, the red dungeon could have been partly rebuilt, especially the throne room, as well as some houses, but much remains to be done to rebuild the city entirely. It was during a modest ceremony and surrounded by her friends and allies that Daenerys Targaryen was crowned, by the hand of her advisor Tyrion Lannister. Queen Daenerys stormborn, of house Targaryen, queen of the andals and the first men, sovereign of the seven crowns and protector of the kingdom. "Long may she reign" ... the phrase still echoed in her mind. But when she finally sat on the iron throne, she felt nothing more than a deep loneliness. The young queen had finally achieved her goal, although she acquired it with great suffering, whose scar would probably never close. At the request of the young new queen, a majestic stele was erected in the new park of the castle, on which were engraved the names of all those who, in the battles of Winterfell and King's Landing, had given their lives, and while at the top of this list of names was that of her love: Jon Snow. Every day, Daenerys came to sit on the bench facing this stele and stayed an hour, to contemplate the names and to remember each of the faces. The stele had been bloomed by the many offerings and tributes from the new friends of Daenerys, who had come to greet the memory of their fallen comrades. Ghost, Jon's wolf now deprived of his master, had been somehow adopted by the Queen Targaryen, who kept it with her and treated him well in memory of her husband. Although more accustomed to the north, the giant wolf tried to acclimatize little by little, spending most of his time frolicking in the large gardens of the castle. Daenerys gave birth to a perfectly healthy little girl, whom she decided to name Lyanna Targaryen, in memory of Jon's mother. Jorah, forced by his disability to retire as a knight, stayed with his queen in King's Landing, as her new hand and give her valuable advice on the formation of a new council and choose its future members with trick. Tyrion having become the lord of Casterly Roc and the lands of the west, he could no longer assume the role of hand and entrusted Ser Jorah with it. At Casterly Roc, Tyrion began to give life to a dream dear to his heart: to plant first vines, to produce his own wine. Missandei, for her part, left for Naath, because she wanted to see her native island and still had to mourn the death of Grey Worm. Daenerys had accepted and it is with emotion that the two young women, long-time friends, said goodbye to each other. But Missandei assured her queen that one day she would come back to see her, that it was not a farewell. Brienne of Tarth became captain of the King's Guard, and holding her promise made to Ser Jaime, did everything to serve the kingdom and remain a model of chivalry for future knights to come. In order to repay the Lannister debt, Tyrion offered to Bronn, with the agreement of Queen Daenerys, the castle of the Twins, formerly belonging to the Frey house, and now the stronghold of the Nera house, including the lord, Ser Bronn, who now has the choice to find a wife among the many daughters and granddaughters of the late Lord Walder Frey. In the stormlands, Gendry, ennobled by Daenerys, became the new lord of Storm's End, and Ser Davos, greatly enjoying the young man, decided to serve him as knight of the young Lord Baratheon. In the Reach, Samwell inherited the title of Lord, and with the disappearance of the Tyrell family, Tarly House is designed to govern the Reach. Having given up on his dream of becoming Maester, Samwell remains very devoted to reading. He married Gilly with the blessing of his mother and sister, thus legitimizing the former wildling woman to the rank of Lady of the Reach, and legitimizing little Sam to the rank of heir to the Tarly family. Moreover, the family of Sam promises to grow because Gilly expects another child. In his free time, Samwell begins writing a story of these lived events, which he writes with the help of Bran and his many visions of the past, and whose title of the book, chosen by Sam, turns out to be: a Song of Ice and Fire. Wondering how to resume a normal life after all these peripethies, Samwell comes to sit one evening at his desk, lighting a lantern and opens his future book on the first page. Soaking his pen in the inkwell, he thought a few moments about how to begin this story, and finds it: A summer of several years generally announced a longer winter. And this time, winter was coming ... In the north, Bran having renounced his title of lord, it is Sansa who governs now, with the support of Sandor Clegane who became Winterfell's weapons master and training the new recruits with his iron fist and his usual tact. The impact of the white walkers' threat has had a profound impact on the minds of the survivors, but also creates a sense of unity among the survivors. Sansa is supported by Queen Daenerys from the capital, Samwell Tarly from the Reach, Gendry from the stormlands, Edmure Tully from the Riverlands, Robin Arryn from the Vale, and also Tyrion from the west lands. Moreover, Tyrion and Sansa seem to have given new meaning to their former marriage, and the rumor of a new union between the two is increasingly heard and this time would put a definitive end to the rivalry that gangrenous the two families for years. Yara Greyjoy was crowned first queen of the iron islands, and replaced looting by legal maritime trades with the other kingdoms, in order to maintain this lasting balance. Several rebel groups tried to oppose the new imposed law, but with the support of Daenerys Targaryen and Gendry Baratheon's troops, Yara was able to easily dissolve rebel movements and reinstate order on the Iron Islands. Only Dorne remains a question mark on the stability of Westeros. With the demise of the Martell House, a civil war rages between the different vassal houses wishing to take power. A month after killing Jaqen, Arya Stark vanished. Sansa found a letter from her little sister giving her heartfelt excuses, explaining the reason for her departure. The young Stark not seeing herself spending her life in a castle left for Essos, driven by her desire for adventure and exploring this world so vast and full of mysteries. However, in her letter, Arya tells Sansa that this is not a farewell, but a goodbye. To this day, Sansa still has not seen her sister, but does not lose hope. ******** Sitting on the back of Drogon who continues to grow, the latter now reaching almost the size of Balerion, Daenerys has embarked on a very special journey. Very warmly dressed, she and her daughter Lyanna fly towards the northern lands. They pass over the ruins of the Wall, left abandoned after the disappearance of the Night's Watch, and cross the lands of eternal winter. After a long journey, Drogon finally arrives in sight of a huge structure of rock and ice lost between huge black mountains and illuminated by the aurora borealis dancing in the sky. A giant, hollow rock formation that looks almost like a fortress swept by the winds of the far north. It's Bran who told the young Queen Targaryen where to find this place. Drogon settles and remains there waiting patiently for the return of his mistress. Daenerys preciously holds her daughter, who is very well protected against the freezing temperatures and advances against the icy wind, up to the imposing walls of this fortress of ice and rock that seems completely abandoned for millennia. But as she advances into this dismal place, Daenerys glimpses at the bottom, which is like a great throne fashioned on the wall of the mountain and covered with a thin layer of frost. And on this throne of ice, sits a lonely, motionless figure. As he approaches, Daenerys feels her heart squeeze from the deepest sorrows. She recognizes him. _ "J .... Jon ...." Daenerys said softly, moved. It's him. He stands there, alone, watching without rest. Posing on her his cold and expressionless gaze, he gets up very slowly and advances until he stands less than a yard in front of her. Initially intimidated, Daenerys quickly finds that he does nothing, just staring at her. His blue eyes are also turning to the little Lyanna, who wrapped well in her fur, expresses no fear and is content to moan softly and smile at the strange being with blue eyes that look at her. Lyanna's forehead is within reach of his cold, white hand. Jon, or whoever Jon was, slowly began to lift his hand toward her, but he suddenly seemed to change his mind, as if he did not want to hurt her by touching her. He raises his gaze again to Daenerys, who divines for a moment, in his two shining sapphires serving as eyes, a glimmer of understanding and familiarity. She even notices Jon's gray, frozen lips forming what looks like a half smile, showing that he recognizes there the child he had with this young woman who was once his great love. Faced with this, Daenerys can only smile too. The young queen wants to be able to touch Jon, but she knows that it is impossible, and that he himself, although no longer really human, seems to refuse to touch them so as not to hurt them. For a long time, Daenerys and Jon are still staring at each other without saying a word. Though united in love and their struggle against darkness, ice and fire were now separated forever. _ "I .... I forgive you, Jon .... and know, that I will always love you ..." could finally pronounce the young woman, while shedding tears. Jon remains silent, inexpressive, but with a very slight nod of barely visible, shows his understanding. After this long face to face charged with emotions and sadness for the young queen, Daenerys turns around and goes back to Drogon, taking with her Lyanna and throwing over her shoulder a last look at the man she loves. Jon stays there, watching them both move away and fly away towards the south on the back of the big black dragon. Jon, lonely sentinel of winter, then returns to sit on the frozen throne, and in his eternal watch, waits, but above all, remembers .... ********* Post Credits Scene Years and years have passed and peace has managed to stay in the seven crowns. King's Landing could be fully rebuilt and life has returned to normal. Lyanna Targaryen, now an adult woman, is in the park of the red dungeon, sitting on the small white marble bench, gazing silently at the flowery stele caressed by the gentle south wind. The young woman inherited the silver hair of her mother, and the eyes of her father. On her head, Lyanna wears the crown, which she inherited after her mother, Queen Daenerys, who died in peace after a long but rather solitary life, during a calm night. The mother of the dragons was buried in the new royal vault erected in the castle, in a tomb standing beside another, empty, in the name of Jon Snow. In this vault were also the tombs of other heroes, such as Jorah the Andal, Ser Jaime Lannister or Lord Tyrion Lannister, who died peacefully one day in the arms of Sansa, a glass of wine in his hand. The name of Daenerys, at the request of her daughter, was added on the stele, alongside that of Jon Snow, the father she never knew except by what Daenerys told her, saying that Jon was the bravest man she has ever known. Drogon, having aged but also grown up to now exceed the size of Balerion, continued to fly over the capital, covering it with its imposing and majestic shadow. During her teenage years, Lyanna had managed, with the help of her mother, to bond with the great black dragon. Shortly before her death, Daenerys told Lyanna that she was now Drogon's mistress and that he would obey her, which was the case. First affected by the death of his "mother", Drogon had remained isolated and moribund for many months, but Lyanna had managed to gain acceptance and became since her new rider. Lyanna was later nicknamed "The Young Dragon Lady". Recently, Lyanna received a letter from the northern lands: Lady Catelyn, daughter of Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister, and new governor of the north since the death of her mother, gave birth to a son, whom she named Eddard. As she read the letter under the pleasant heat of this new summer's afternoon, Lyanna smiled, rejoicing for her northern ally. _"Majesty ..." said a familiar voice. Lyanna looked up and smiled. An elegant and charming man advanced, bowing respectfully before the sovereign, and holding under his arm a large, shriveled book. _ "Lord Tarly, it's a pleasure to see you." Lyanna said, coming to greet her friend. Sam Tarly, formerly Little Sam, son of Gilly and Samwell Tarly and new Lord of the Reach. Sam comes to sit next to the queen on the bench, and both of them stay a few moments to look at the names of these heroes they have never known for the most part, but who, deep down, inspires them a deep respect. However, Lyanna and Sam had listened to their parents' stories about this terrible war against these terrifying creatures called White Walkers. After this moment of silence, Sam takes the book between his hands and hands it to Lyanna. _"What is it?" she asks, curious. _ "My father's book." Lord Tarly replies, "he began writing it when I was still a child, and he managed to finish it shortly before his death and gave it to me, making me promise to give it to you when I come to the capital." Lyanna took the book in her thin hands, thanking her friend, and from her palm, brushed the shriveled, old book cover. _ "But .... what does it tell?" asks the young queen again. Sam smiled at her nostalgically, having already read the story. _ "The truth .... a truth that deserves to be never forgotten ...." simply replies Sam. Lyanna, more than intrigued, then move the cover, revealing the very first page with the symbolic title, written by Samwell Tarly and Bran Stark and telling the story of those who fought and suffered to secure the future of this world. A title that made appear on the lips of Lyanna, a slight smile: A Song of Ice and Fire ....

THE END

[unholyhelbig]

Vampire Triple Treble where Beca & Aubrey are super protective?

[A/N: Oh shit, honestly I forgot about this little universe. Is it technically a universe if this is the second one-shot? Either way, check out the first one HERE] 

Beca ran her thumb easily over Aubrey’s, the pad of her finger was cool and soft. A simple comfort that made the older woman lean closer, breathing in the sharp mix of tobacco and vanilla that her wife usually carried. She had started smoking a pipe in the early 1900s when it became quite apparent that it wasn’t a threat to her mortality anymore. Though, the same scent wafted from her breath and made Aubrey curl into every kiss that they shared.

They were civil tonight. The two of them enjoying one another’s company as they walked in near silence through the city. Beca had learned to block out everything she didn’t want to hear, no siren’s, no car engines that refused to start in the cold of the night. Instead, she homed in on her breathing and even the slow hum of Aubrey’s dull heartbeat.

It wasn’t like a human heart. It beat at a slow pace, keeping Aubrey barely alive. But despite the low hum, Beca could tell when it skipped, and it still made her heart warm each time she would take Aubrey’s hand in hers.

Aubrey stalled at the end of the street, the scent of exhaust thick in their lungs. The streets were clear, and they had the right of way, yet the young woman clenched her jaw and breathed in easily, almost like she was testing the air. Beca looked up at her, perfect eyebrow raised.

“What is it?” She gave Aubrey’s hand a light and comforting squeeze.

“Nothing. I don’t think. You didn’t’ hear that?”

Beca struggled to focus her mind or defocus it. She started to home in on more; the way a duo of line cooks shared a cigarette behind a nearby restaurant. A baby was crying three blocks over in the lobby of a hotel. And more importantly, a familiar voice tickled at the back of her mind- begging, no pleading desperately, for more time.

Aubrey lifted her chin, pulling her hand from Beca’s as she pointed her body more towards the direction of the noise. Ever the hero she walked, forgetting about the car they had parked by a meter. Beca begrudgingly followed all the way to the end of the block. Goosebumps prickled against her skin.

Listen, I tried to get the money. I did. But my last source of income-

She was cut off, her words fizzling out as the man gruffly mumbled something that Beca wasn’t sure she could understand even if she was more than fifty feet away from the conversation. They were heading to a darker part of town, it lined the main street and had a lesser mortality rate. But Aubrey still walked with little conviction.

Please just don’t. A shuddered breath give me a few more days. She’s dying, alright?

It was Beca that produced a wary glance this time. A large building rested at the end of the street, the rusted brick was illuminated by a flickering light. There was an electric charge to the air, like right before a lightning strike. It made their breath prickle.

Both girls had been to this part of town before. It was on the brink of poverty, windows broken, red and blue flashing lights a staple of culture. This was a care center, the large building that they gawked at. A final stop for many, and a second to last stop to those who were lucky enough to escape the clutches of death.

Beca hated places like these. Her senses would pick up on every single emotion that floated through the air. The scent was a strong mingling of antiseptic and pneumonia. The lights were kept at the cheapest setting and often made everything burn to look at. Still, the two of them stepped into the waiting room. They used too much floral air freshener to cover up their sins.

In a way, this felt like an intrusion.

A sheet of bulletproof glass stood between a receptionist and Chloe Beale. For the man’s sake, he should be glad that it was there. Her breath would cloud against it with each exhale, highlighting the fingerprints of other aggravated patrons. He looked calm, however, in comparison to her. She didn’t’ glance around at the sound of the door opening or the cool breeze that was let in.

Aubrey rested her hand on the nave of Chloe’s back, the young woman breathing in sharply, no doubt holding back a gag at the rancid air she had just pulled into her lungs. Still, crystal blue eyes darted between the undead that now stood on either side of her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Chloe left her words in the blood bank two weeks before, she had promised she wouldn’t return, and she didn’t’.

“Is there a problem here, Steven?” Beca squinted her eyes at the man, reading his name tag through clouded glass.

He was a mouse of a human, his beady little eyes scanning to either side of Chloe before landing back on her. “Do you know these women, Miss Beale?”

She nodded meekly, adjusting herself. But her shoulders relaxed, almost as if she melted into the subtle touch that Aubrey provided. Her bite had been stifled, but the anger was apparent on her cheeks. They were red and splotchy. This receptionist had put her through it.

He let out a diligent sigh “very well. I was just going over Miss Beale’s contract for her ailing sister. She’s three months behind in payments, and we can’t continue to house her for free. We aren’t a charity center.”

Beca raised her eyebrows, she thought she had had some emotionless moments in the past, but this little skunk of a man had no remorse with missing money and a college student struggling gravely to keep everything under wraps. Beca could almost sense the desperation radiating off her.

The smaller woman leads Chloe away from the desk to the corner of the waiting room, dually placing her hand where Aubrey’s had just been in an act of human comfort. Maybe to her own peace of mind as well. She made a mental note to block Aubrey’s conversation out, focusing entirely on the woman in front of her. The two of them sat, Chloe’s face pale as her fingers shook, Beca’s own hand on her knee.

“Hey,” Beca soothed, bringing Chloe’s attention away from the puke colored floor and to her own. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”  

Chloe bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. Beca could smell the metallic edge, it cut through the rest of the atmosphere like a knife. She didn’t’ say anything, instead, she waited patiently.

“You know how I was doing that… thing?”

Beca nodded carefully. The blood bank. Not a place to sell plasma for cash- instead of a cluster of sheeted rooms where people of her kind could dig their canines into a fresh vein. It attracted the usual junkie hard off for cash, and even the adrenaline whore that craved the danger of death and a pretty face. But Chloe was different, even though neither girl had asked her why she was there in the first place.

“It was for here. My sister’s insurance expired, and I’ve been trying to keep her here, you know? I can’t afford an at home nurse, but it’s too much.”

“That’s why you needed the money?” Beca raised a brow “Forgive me, Chloe, but that’s very noble of you.”

She let her shoulders slump. If Chloe could melt into the chair she was sitting in, she would. “She’s been there my whole life, I couldn’t let her waste away alone. But I suppose this isn’t any better.”

Beca’s stare flashed up to her wife, ever the calm one as much as she was the hero. Her fingers didn’t even drum impatiently on the granite countertop, though Steven had noticeably paled. His own touch was shaking as he typed evenly.

“Listen, it’s our fault you’re in this situation. Why don’t you let us take care of it?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,”

“You didn’t. Besides, Aubrey’s always gets her way. Steven will crumble eventually.”

Chloe’s pale stare watched the interaction between the pair. Aubrey Posen looked ever so calm and peaceful. She didn’t let a scowl cross her features, but neither a smile. Steven, on the other hand, had his eyes widened to saucers. He had drawn his shoulders back and looked like he was puttering about with his words.

The ginger seemed to relax a bit at Beca’s words, her stance losing its brittle tension. She swallowed and glanced the vampire’s way. “How did you find me?”

She scrunched up her nose and stared at a brown tile on the floor. It was the only square of color that differed from the rest of the room. Maybe it was a creative choice, but Beca saw it as an eyesore. “I heard you.”

“You what?”

“Aubrey heard you. we hear a lot of things but it’s usually easy to tune them out. You’re not, though.”

Chloe nodded like she understood and Beca adjusted her stance in the rickety old chair that dug into her back. She frowned at the same spot on the floor. The noises of the world had grown heavier and heavier with each passing decade but one thing could always draw her back- that steady and slow beating of a heartbeat. It was amplified above everything else in 1887 when she first laid claim to Aubrey Posen.

A young woman who had volunteered countless hours at a consumption hospital in her demanding way before succumbing to the illness herself. Beca had been just passing through until she heard that heartbeat; it echoed over the coughing, the sound of slicing skin and the disposal of blood-soaked rags.

Aubrey had the same captivation on the dingy city street tonight. The kind that pulled her in and kept her stance hard- the kind that Beca knew all too well when she woke up next to her wife every day, and the kind that she felt now sitting next to a simple human girl in the 21st century.

“All taken care of,” Aubrey beamed, shoving her hands in her pockets. If she wasn’t interrupted Beca could have burned a hole in the floor. Chloe watching both of them with inept concentration. “I don’t think Steven will be too much of a problem for you, anymore, Chloe.”

“I- thank you.” She said, “I should probably go in there.”

Her stare shifted to the door that leads to a long edge of hallways and Beca shifted her knees in the chair, wondering how exactly hospitals acted an anchor point. She had met a witch once that told her to be wary of them, to realize that they can be vengeful tethers to those otherworldly. She was younger than.

“Of course,” Aubrey took a small step to the side to allow the woman through “it was a pleasure seeing you again.”

Chloe nodded softly before giving them both a tender look and departing down a corridor lit in an abrasive shade of white. There were more brown spots on the floor, this time less of a creative intention and more of a lack of good cleaning supplies.

“You heard her.”

“Yeah,” Aubrey said, “I did.”    

[fletchlingfletcher]

Xelphatol Dreaming- Part 2

"People..." she tried again, still too meek for her own taste considering the subject matter. "People...change." 

Her mouth opened and closed again as she lifted her eyes first to lock onto the white of the woman's, then passed her to the gate. She hadn't moved yet though. Corinne swallowed both some pride and some sense. 

"They change for bad but..but good too. You...talk about him like he's not a person, like he..can't or won't change or be better." She shook her head, still not stepping past the gate but looking at it little more intently. 

"I'm not..I'm not ignoring your warnings, or your concerns or fears or..or anything. I know what happened...s-sort of what happened. But..I...I care for him too, just like everything else.  Well..probably...MORE than everything else, and I..know that he won't make the same mistakes as the past. And I..I know he wants to be better to...fix this. So...what does he do? You can't..forget, but...forgive..?"

The Elemental watched her, unblinking. 

“It is not a matter of forgiveness or change. This is what it is. Its very existence, the crime. Not what was done here. A being with a soul so torn cannot, and will never, understand the forces that allow life to flourish as it does. It can only pull them apart. Unless you can somehow prove to me that its core fundamental nature can change. Then, no. I cannot. You will see in time. You will see how that broken anima causes naught but destruction. How the weapon placed within was only built to destroy.” She gestured through the gate again. “You cannot argue with somethings nature. It simply is. A chaotic conflux of aether. Uncontrollable and unnatural. ”

Corinne fidgeted. Yeah, clearly arguing was an almost impossible task. She didn't consider herself all that convincing on normal occasions with normal beings let alone with something just a touch more omnipotent. She couldn't help but sigh softly as she finally stepped over the threshold. 

"But what if...what if..it's not...his fault?" She looked back to the Elemental for a moment. "Not..not this. The..destruction. But...but his soul, anima...him. What if it's..just...how it is?" She fidgeting again, pulling at various parts of her coat, shifting her weight, looking back and forth to within the gate and back out- remembering, thinking of something. 

"What if...he knows that it's..broken? And he...wants to fix it? How can he? W-would that be enough...? To prove to you?"

“It matters not if the nature of his anima is not his doing. It does not change the fact of its existence. And its existence is the crime.” 

The Elemental stood imperially, hair still streaming. 

Even so she seemed to hesitate. “A desire to change is commendable. But the soul cannot be changed. The world… this world does not so easily recover. So why should we forgive for something so lasting? I have not punished him for his existence. It is a small mercy born of the fact that this was not his fault directly. He could not choose how he was born. But this disaster… this was his choice. The choice of the weapon.” She shook her head. “That is the more damning thing. It would take some great act of restoration to change my mind… of which it and by extension he... is not capable of.”

"What sort of act...?" 

Corinne straightened, trying to exude more confidence than the expression on her face genuinely displayed. There was determination, sure, but still...fear, worry, desperation. 

"What can be done? What..what would change your mind? I..I know that he can, regardless of...anything else. What can he do? What can..what can I do...? To help- him and you and...this. All of this!" She tilted her chin up, visibly swallowing hard around some lump of nerves in her throat. "What do we need to do?"

The eyes of the Elemental seemed to soften. “Your desire to heal is so great that you would defy my word to help us both?” 

Corinne returned the soft gaze with one of her own, hers closer to sadness though. She gave a slow nod- slow, but not hesitant, no question in her decision or desire.

"I would..." Her voice was quiet, shaking just slightly. "If I can. If I could help someone I care for and...the things I care for both, then I would." There was a slight pause, her shoulders slouching just as she pushed her chin up. "Especially for him." She nodded again, firmer, more certain if only by a slim margin.

The Elemental folded her hands in front of her. Thinking. 

“There is nothing to be done. Nothing I can tell you of. If you so wish to do this thing… then it must be on his own merits. Not your direction or mine. Otherwise, how can I say that it would prove that the weapon is for more that destruction? I simply want him gone from my mountain. To keep it safe. But if he can prove by his own choice that weapon can do more… then all of the Twelveswood… all Elementals will hear word of it. It will not make us trust him. But it will make us… more accepting. But you do not know everything. Even now, you turn a blind eye to the obvious. Do not simply ignore his nature and the nature of what lurks within. It may prove too much for you.”

And then Corinne was shaking her head. "Ignorance is different than acceptance, or...or maybe..hope even. But I...HE will..figure something out and prove it. I know it."

The Elemental seemed to search her face for a moment, examining her expression and, it seemed, her resolve. Still she shook her head, gesturing through the gate once more. 

“If you are so certain, then face that which you have turned a blind eye too. The part you are convinced doesn’t exist anymore. What would you do if you came face to face with it?” She folded her hands neatly in front of her again. 

“There may come a day when you have to make a choice like this… on that day… I hope what you see and experience here can make the decision easier. You have a responsibility. Do not overlook something so important…”

Corinne pushed her chin forward, doing her best to hold fast to her decision and her conviction. She got the feeling they could argue all day in circles about the differences between ignorance and acceptance, each of them equally stubborn in their definitions and opinions. 

But Corinne was the one who could make the point here, stepping over the threshold of the gate, taking a few slow but certain steps forward. 

"Different..things are important to different people." 

She almost looked back over her shoulder, but figured her best intentions were keeping her head forward, eyes up for...whatever it was she was supposed to bear witness to. Her hands flexed as they hung at her sides.

The amount of dead Ixal only grew here. Grew in numbers until it was impossible to look anywhere but at them. There was the sickening sound of blade meeting flesh but a few steps in front of her. Lost in the mist but there, as a spattering of blood and a falling corpse indicated that another Ixal had been slain. 

She had seen this before.. 

Seen this in an ill-evoked memory...

Miahtoux’s memory.......

Indeed the figure that stood here before her was him. Him as she knew behind the mask except for one thing and one thing only....

The disconcertingly large grin on his lips. 

“Come to help? Or come to die?”

[knittastically]

A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 13

Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter but sometimes real life pokes it’s head above the parapet. I will also whisper that it has been strangely difficult to write. As always thank you for reading, I love to read your comments and if you could reblog that would be fantastic. To the French speakers amongst you I apologise in advance!!

Part 1  Part 2   Part 3  Part 4  Part 5   Part 6 Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10

Part 11   Part 12

I slump forward, laying my cheek against the cool wood of the table and wrap my arms over my head, shock, fear, anger, I really don’t know what I feel. Eleanor Forrestier and I may never be true friends but we are no longer enemies I am sure of that, bound as we are by a common cause; Raymond, and our need to keep him safe and alive.

“It’s no use sitting here Isabé, shake yourself girl”

I retie my headdress adjust my skirts and I am ready to face the world; at the bottom of the steps I almost collide with Jehanne.

She cocks her head to one side. “Mon Dieu, you look so pale”

“Don’t worry I am perfectly well.”

Jehanne frowns, “Liar, what has that whoring bitch been saying to you, what has she done?

I give what I know is a weak smile. “Nothing.”

“Oh so you are not going to tell your friend” She is clearly affronted and snaps at me because I won’t enlighten her with what passed between Eleanor and me, but I can’t, I daren’t, the fewer people who know, the better.

“Jehanne please listen to me, Eleanor and I,” Hesitating I search for the words, “Well, I think I can say we understand each other better.”

Jehanne scowls at me, watches me through narrowed eyes and snorts “If that bloody bitch threatened you, I’ll have her eyes.”

I take in a deep breath and blow it out slowly knowing that if Jehanne even tried to challenge Eleanor, she would come off the worse by far.

“No. Dear Jehanne no, she has only told me some truths and I have said the same to her, as I say we understand each other.”

I broaden my smile, though I can see by her eyes Jehanne is not persuaded that I am telling the whole truth.

“Isabé I know.....”

“Jehanne, leave it be.” 

As I cut her off, my voice is harsher than I intend, she shrinks back a little and answers with a curt “As you wish,” her face settles into a stony mask and she steps away from me. I feel my heart sink, I would love nothing more than to tell her but I can’t risk anyone knowing what has passed between Eleanor and me.

Nicolette is sitting on the floor next to Ghislane and is happily singing to herself as she plays with a rag and a bucket of water, not concerned in the least that her dress is already wet.

“Are you going to help us sweetheart?” I crouch down next to her.

“I think so, Mama said I might”

“That’s kind of you and where is Mama?”

“Oh she’s has gone to change her clothes.”

“Quite right, it would not do to dirty that pretty gown huh, are you not changing?” 

I nod at her dress and she giggles as she looks down.

“Oh this is an old dress, Mama said not to wear a pretty one for riding Belle” She cocks her head at me. “Papa gave me Belle, she is very pretty and he said a pretty girl should have a pretty horse.”

“He is right Ma Petite so she should.”

“I do love my Papa.”

I feel my throat tighten as her hear her speak so of Raymond, but I have seen him with her and she is his life. As I look up, Eleanor is half way down the hall and I understand now how she could easily disguise herself. Her hair is completely hidden under the linen cloth, she wears a workaday dress and the dull brown wool is faded in places, it’s hitched up at one side and on her feet she wears a pair of old shoes which are scuffed, scratched and tied with mismatched laces. This simple change of clothing has rendered her almost unrecognisable.

We hold each other’s gaze over Nicolette’s head and our look is one of complete understanding. Eleanor gives a quick nod and I return it.

Jehanne does not fail to notice the exchange.

I stand and give them the bad news.

“There is to be no scaffolding, sadly Master Laurént’s men are all too busy and he has no one who can be spared to help us, so we shall have to do the best we can and ignore the dust and cobwebs we cannot reach.”

“Damn,” Ghislane spits out, “Ah well as you say we shall do what we can, I have already set most of the women to work on the empty rooms and those who live in the Chateau have given permission for us to enter their chambers. I thought perhaps we could begin on those.”

“Thank you Ghislane, Eleanor and Nicolette will work with you, Jehanne you and I will begin with my quarters and then move to the Baron’s.” She frowns at me.

“As you please” her answer is abrupt and waspish.

Ghislane looks across sharply her brows raised in a question, I feel it is going to be a very long day.

We are just about leave the hall when the Baron stomps across with his rolling uneven gait, his cane tap, tapping as he walks. He looks me up and down and I’m not entirely sure whether he is amused or affronted by my housemaid’s garb.

“Isabé, a moment if you please.” There is still the hint of the country accent of his youth when he speaks, I feel my shoulders drop and I whisper under my breath.

 “Oh for God’s sake what now?”

“So, you have already begun?”

“Monseigneur Baron, even though the only day I have been given for my wedding is Midsummer’s day, I think you will agree with me that the likelihood of that is slim, I should still like to begin making the Chateau presentable. Of course as Raymond has been a little forgetful about the date, perhaps he is no longer sure that he wants me as his wife.”

 He is quick to catch my hesitant tone “I think you are wide of the mark there Isabé, but if it were me I would not have wasted any time, I should have hauled you straight to the Cathedral. You would have been, wedded and bedded the day you arrived. His words come out as a laugh and he adds, **“Mon fils est un homme intelligent, mais parfois il peut être un putain d'idiot.”

There is a wicked twinkle in his eyes and then just as quickly he becomes serious, a frown settles on his face and he looks straight at me. “Isabé, you have a visitor, someone wishes to speak with you.” He nods and his glance moves from me, to some point behind my right shoulder. When I look behind me I see Blanche Bouvier standing beneath the archway of the great doors.

“Did you invite that woman here?”

The Baron does not like to be challenged and his voice is low and clipped.

“Be still Isabé, yes she is here at my invitation and you forget yourself sometimes, I believe I cautioned you not to press me. I do not need your permission to do as I wish here, you are not Chatelaine yet. I will however beg your forgiveness for revealing the truth to you before Blanche but I was so sure she would have told you.”

I can’t decide if what he says is the truth or something merely to mollify me and I am chastised and petitioned in one breath.

“I will not speak with her.” I try to step past him to make for the stairs but he takes hold of my arm and grips hard.

I still have my back towards Blanche, he takes hold of my hands now and leans forward to kiss my cheek.

“Humour me Isabé, go and make your peace with Blanche.”

I refuse to look at him and instead look down at our clasped hands.

He glances across at the others “Ladies you are dismissed, go about your business” he snaps at them but they look to me for their permission to leave.

“Not Chatelaine yet hein?” I bite the inside my mouth to stop a smile forming.

“You go" I nod "I won’t be long” I smile as the three women take their order from me and make their way up the stairs, Jehanne pulling faces and glaring at Eleanor’s back whilst Nicolette plays a step game jumping up, then down and takes her own sweet time.

“Do not behave like a child Isabé”, he rumbles at me. “She is still the same woman who raised you, fed, clothed and protected you. She has wiped away your tears and wiped your arse and made sure you were never named a bastard.”

I can feel the tension in my jaw as I speak through gritted teeth.

“Do you command me Monseigneur?”

His own mouth quirks up in a half smile.

“No Isabé," he purses his lips, "let us just say it is a request, I have put my chamber at your disposal, where you and Blanche may sit quietly and reconcile yourselves” It is said with such conviction, he clearly does not doubt that we will resolve this.

Shaking my head and stepping close into the Baron I square up to him. “No, If Blanche wishes to speak with me then she may do so here, I have nothing to hide no matter that she might.”

“Sheath your claws girl, don't hiss at me like a cat whose tail has been trodden on.” He growls out his words. “I can see that my son will need to rein you in Isabé”

I huff and shoot him a look of pure disdain. “He has already tried and failed.”

Cupping his hand firmly beneath my chin the Baron whispers “Have you ever seen my son “gentle” a testy young filly Isabé?” he smiles again, wider this time. “He uses kindness and quietness and it is most effective, the animal does not even know it has been bested but it knows who it's master is.”

I swallow, hard, but will not give quarter. We glare at each other, I wonder who will give in first, it is not me but the Baron knows how to fight and knows that a battle may need to be sacrificed in order to win the war.

He escorts me to where Blanche waits, just inside the great doors. She is clothed in a rich tawny coloured gown and seems so serene as she stands bathed in the soft morning light with the dust motes dancing around her. I am so angry that I cannot bring myself to show her any respect, not even enough to call her Aunt let alone Mother.

 “Blanche.”

The slightest flinch, the merest tremble of her voice are all that give away her nervousness.

“Isabé, I have come to speak with you.” “Then speak.”

Ignoring the tears forming in her eyes. I turn on my heel and stride away from her towards a table at the far side of the hall and she follows me. As we each wait for the other to speak, the silence between us thickens, I can bear it no longer.

“Who is my father?”

“I cannot tell you Isabé, it would break a confidence a trust and he wishes to tell you himself when he feels the time is right.”

“Oh how very convenient, of course the time may never be right and so he will never need to admit to siring me, never need to explain me away to his wife.”

“He is not married” Eleanor’s voice is sharp

“Then he had no reason to leave you with a child in your belly”

“Isabé” her voice grows softer, “He did not know, the youngest of four sons he was packed off to the church. I discovered later he was ordained and then laicised,” Blanche smiles, a sad little smile “I understand he was never quite obedient enough or committed enough and was forever at odds with his superiors. I think the only reason they let him remain for so long was because he was so good as Almoner. Eventually he came back to Rouen and he is here still.”

“What of you?”

“Oh I was already in the Bouvier household, as Maid and companion to Henri’Grandmother.” She cocks her head to one side. “Agnès Bouvier was an opinionated, feisty woman not unlike you Isabé, although she was capable of showing compassion and accepting weakness in others.”

That cut, and I gasp in my breath. “Oh yes daughter, you can be hard and unforgiving, sometimes you judge people too harshly and before you understand their circumstances.”

My throat tightens and even if I could speak I would not dare deny what Blanche has said, for she is right. I hang my head and study my fingers as I twist and turn them in my lap.

“Give ground Isabé, give ground.”

“Would you like some wine?” I hesitate then add “Mother.”

Blanche has such a beautiful smile. “That would be most welcome child.”

Rising from my seat I give back my own hesitant smile, “I think we will be more comfortable in my chamber.”

I know this is not going to be easy for either of us but the Baron is right and so was Raymond. I owe her the chance to tell me the story and to tell me in private. I whisper to the serving boy standing at the foot of the stairs to fetch wine and honey cakes and side by side Blanche and I make our way to my chamber. The Baron smiles to himself and stomps his way to the kitchens to speak with Fournier

Seven hours in the saddle but at a painfully slow pace. No matter that the men and their mounts are tough and fit, Raymond will not permit his horses to be ridden hard in the already searing heat, not even for the King. 

“What the hell are you playing at, we must make better time Raymond, I cannot allow you to dawdle along like an old woman on a mule, the King will be displeased if we do not reach Paris by Sunday” 

“You cannot allow it Maçon?” Raymond glowers across at him jaw set, eyebrows arched and a look on his face that says “Fuck you”. “It may serve you well to remember this one small point my friend, you may think you carry the King’s authority, but I outrank you in every way, do not cross me.” 

Raymond’s voice is silky soft but the look he shoots, is feral and wisely Geoffroy backs down.

They pass through the town of Les Andelys and head up the rise to Chateau Gaillard. It is clear they are expected and pass straight through into the upper ward. Stable boys and servants run out from all directions and bellowing above all the noise Raymond hears a familiar voice.

"As I live and breathe, are you still walking this earth you miserable bastard? 

Looking across the ward he catches sight of a tall, rangy individual loping towards him. A balding head, browned by the sun and fringed with wisps of grey hair bobs above the throng of servants.

“I thought Satan would have claimed you as his own long ago de Merville"

"Well he's hardly likely to take me before you, you ugly old sod." Raymond removes his helmet swings his right leg over the neck of his horse and slides down to greet his old friend.

"Albert, it is good to see you looking so well"

They embrace and slap each other's backs, these sometime Brothers-in-Arms.

"You seem to be wearing well Raymond, a little older, but you have a good head of hair and not much greyer I notice."

Raymond laughs, "Whereas you my friend may as well shave off the little you have."

Geoffroy, sidles up to them, a scowl on his face.

"I need food and water for the men" Raymond glances at Albert and raises his left eyebrow.

I don't doubt we shall be treated well Maçon, Albert will see to it"

"Indeed your men and horses will be well looked after and you are most welcome to join with Sieur Raymond and me in a jug of wine, one of the lads will tell you where to find us" He nods at Geoffroy then leads Raymond into the Chateau.

"So my friend you are to be married I hear, she must be some woman to have caught your interest" He nods and stops short of mentioning Eleanor, when he catches the warning look  on Raymond's face." 

Raymond hesitates slightly as he makes a great show of drawing off his gloves and dropping them into his upturned helmet "I find her so, she suits me well"

Albert notices the sparkle and warmth in those usually cool eyes. "Well go fuck the Devil for Raymond de Merville is in love, I never thought I would live to see the day." he hands Raymond a cup of wine.

“What of you Albert, is life good?”

With a face wreathed in smiles, Albert nods. “Very good indeed, my friend, married myself as you know and another babe due.”

“Another, how many now Albert?”

“This will be number four I have three sons now.” He gives a wistful smile. “A girl would be a blessing and Jeanne would be so happy but it will be whatever God wills.”

“Four?” Raymond punches him on the arm “You randy old bugger, well here’s to a safe outcome and the blessing of a daughter”

“To you Raymond and to your future bride, may God smile on you both."  He raises his cup in a toast. "Now, to business" Albert lifts the lid of a casket and hands over a small wooden cylinder, it is sealed with a daub of wax imprinted with an  "E".  Raymond twists the the two sections to break the seal apart and pulls out the message, Albert watches closely as Raymond's expression changes from curiosity to contempt, his upper lip curling in a sneer.

"Is it as you expected?"

"Sadly, yes"

Raymond tucks the message inside his boot. " I must reply, but don't send it until I have left here" Snatching a small scrap of parchment from the casket he writes in cramped letters "Understood" then rolls the paper, slots it into the cylinder and reseals it.

“You did not join us for wine Geoffroy” They are moving again and the heat of the day is becoming oppressive.

“I had some business to attend to in the town”

“Was she pretty?” Raymond laughs trying to ease a growing tension between the two of them.

“I suppose so, but it wasn’t her face I was interested in and she fucked well, she was certainly worth the coin I spent.

He was lying and Raymond knew it, a cold shiver swept over him, for there was a great deal of road to cover between here and Paris.

The Chateau of La Roche Guyon is a grim edifice which seems to grow out of the very rock on which it is perched. The order is given to make their way down towards the river to rest until early morning.  No one will challenge them, for they are on the kings business and no one will dare to interfere. Saddles, packs and bedrolls are removed from the horses, each man lays his belongings down at his chosen spot. Horses are watered and allowed to graze for a while then tethered each near to its own rider and the men either settle to eat, or wander down to the river.

Raymond and Geoffrey set themselves a little apart from their men and from each other, the tension between them is growing and Geoffroy seems full of a nervous energy that makes him too bright, too brittle and Raymond is wary.

As Guillaume helps him remove his armour and mail Raymond heaves a sigh of relief. He has no desire to feel the bastard metal bite into his flesh as he sleeps. His tunic is rumpled grubby and sweat stained he stinks, his damp hair is flattened down to his scalp.

“Isabé would either laugh or run like hell if she could see me, perhaps I really am too old for this shit. Philip you bastard, this had better be the last time!”

The company sit around playing dice and the words of a bawdy song float in and out of the chatter and raucous laughter. Like any hardened soldier, Raymond snatches food and sleep whenever the opportunity arises. He sits alone and eats sparingly from the rations Fournier has provided, although he is not so abstemious with the wine and by the time he settles down to stretch out his long frame the skin is almost empty. He yawns, folds his arms up behind his head and within minutes he’s asleep.

Although the breeze floating up from the river is warm, it feels deliciously cool against Raymond’s skin. Smiling he drops his chin and presses a soft kiss to the top of Isabé’s head tightening his embrace just a little more. She is pressed up against him, her left hand resting lightly on his chest, just at that point where his heart beats and her left leg is hitched up, slung across his hips. His eyelids droop and he groans a little, for he is sure he can still feel the wetness of her, of both of them on the creamy soft skin at the inside of her thigh.

Raymond moves slightly and Isabé stirs against him but she does not waken, he is glad,  he has no desire to disturb her but simply and selfishly to let her lie against him as he cradles her in his arms. Her warm breath ghosts over his skin and as her body moulds even more to his he sighs with pleasure, closes his eyes again and remembers how it felt to be inside her, enveloped so tightly in her heat and wetness, the touch of his mouth on hers, the softness of her breasts, his tongue teasing her until she shook and screamed out his name somewhere amongst the profanities that spilled from her lips. 

His throat tightens as he remembers her gentleness and lightness of touch, her trembling mouth and the tears that threatened to fall as she traced and kissed the scars on his body. He adores her and in turn he feels loved, knows he is loved for Isabé has whispered the words he longed to hear

**”Mon Cheri Raymond je t'aime de tout mon Coeur.”

Feeling her stir against him he “hushes” her with soft sounds as his fingers gently stroke down her arm. The movement soothes him too and wrapped together they sleep in the early warmth of the day.

Raymond wakes with a jolt, noises in the background, the sound of men and horses moving, jangling harness and cursing soldiers. He looks down at himself and swears under his breath.

“Shit” For he realises there is no Isabé, his seed is spent but in his own hand and he has never felt as lonely as in that moment, to be alone is a choice, but at this moment he feels completely desolate. Sitting up his head throbs, pain shoots across his back and he winces. Throwing off his clothes he heads down to the water and knows he is being watched, knows it is Guillaume. It should be a comforting that his Squire is looking out for him, but Raymond feels the hairs at the back of his neck rise and a tingle of unease sweeps over his skin. 

The moment Raymond steps into the water Guillaume leaves his hiding place and kneels down among his Lord’s belongings. With deft fingers he swiftly goes through the packs and bags being careful to replace each item exactly where it should be, for he must leave no trace. Cursing he sets everything back, there has been nothing for him to find and as he sees Raymond come out of the water Guillaume leaves as quickly and quietly as he came.

Standing beside his pack Raymond knows that it has been searched, at first glance it seems the culprit has been clever and careful but not careful enough, for his sword is not exactly as he had left it. In their haste to leave, whoever it was had kicked the dry earth over the scabbard, It could only have been one person and Raymonds jaw tenses as his anger rises.

“Be calm Raymond, haste and temper will do no good”

“What did you find?” 

“Nothing Sieur, absolutely nothing.

Fingers grab at the front of Guillaumes tabard and yank him forward until their noses almost touch.

“You had best not be lying to me boy.”

“I swear, I swear on my Mother’s life there was nothing” Guillaume’s voice stays firm.

“You know what you must do, everything is to be reported back to me.”

“I understand, Sieur,”

“Good boy” the words are breathed out in a low, soft voice and Guillaume shivers as pale fingers stroke down his cheek, he closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them he is alone.

**My son is an intelligent man, but sometimes he can be a fucking idiot. **My darling Raymond I love you with all my heart

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[fanfoolishness]

a scattering of stars (AoS)

Agents of SHIELD, 2240 words.  Jemma and Daisy talk about what the future holds.  Full spoilers for 5x22.  FitzSimmons, angst, and a little bit of hope.

***

Sleep does not come easily in space.

Jemma hadn’t given it much thought before they left.  How many years of her life has she spent now in underground bunkers, in windowless laboratories, lost beneath the moons of Maveth?  If anything, she thought she would have been used to the lack of a circadian rhythm.

But raw space is a different beast, with a cruel and beautiful scattering of stars against the deepening dark, and the void presses on her.  So she paces instead of sleeps, a tight and steady circuit about the Zephyr.  Something about the quiet soothes.

Fitz’s ring fits passably around her middle finger; it is not loose enough to slip.  She worries it, spinning it so it clinks against her own as she walks.  Soft steps on the deck, the faint tinking sound of metal on metal.  In the endless dark she is aware of the plane -- no, ship now -- humming around her, aware of how thin the barrier is between her beating heart and the absolute vacuum of space.  She spins the ring round and round.

In the end, it had been Daisy who had brought him home to her.  Daisy, shaky on her feet, face flushed with the effects of the serum, her eyes swimming with tears; she had been the one to raise the rubble with a gesture and keep the ship from collapsing around them.  Even after everything, she pulled him free for Mack to carry, and she held Jemma as she sobbed.

And yet it was not the end.

Jemma finds herself in the cramped galley.  She rummages through the cupboard, reaching for the Twining’s English Breakfast tea she has kept stocked on every S.H.I.E.L.D. vessel since the Bus.  Her watch tells her it is three in the morning, Lighthouse time, but her mind tells her it doesn’t matter.  She’ll take the tea and never mind the caffeine.

The water boils quickly in the electric kettle Fitz installed ages back.  It is such a tiny thing compared with the scope of his genius and abilities, but it is something she appreciates with every use.  The scent of sharp black tea cuts through the metallic air, a breath of home.

“Morning,” says a tired voice behind her.  “You sharing?”

Jemma smiles.  “Of course, Daisy.  Though I thought you preferred coffee.”  She pulls another metal mug down from the cupboard and makes a second cuppa.  She turns to face the other woman, wondering if she has slept at all.

“Coffee’s good, but every once in a while I’ll go for tea.  It smells pretty good.”  She sighs. “Besides, you put enough sugar in something, it’s going to taste all right.”

Jemma chuckles.  She’ll never quite get over American sensibilities regarding tea and sugar.  “True enough, I suppose.  Are you having trouble sleeping as well?”

“Yeah.  I can’t seem to figure out when I should be sleeping, or when I should be awake.  And I keep thinking about Coulson.”  She shakes her head.  “But I know May will take care of him.”  

“Maybe he’ll have more time.  Maybe I was wrong,” says Jemma.  She says it without conviction.  She knows her exam findings backwards and forwards, much as it tears at her.

“I don’t think you were.”  Daisy lets out a long, shuddering breath.  “But this is what he wanted, right?  I’m starting to accept it, though some days are better than others.”  She manages a dry laugh.  “Of course, it’s hard to tell what’s day and night here.  Space is weird, right?”

Daisy’s normally sleek hair is rumpled, and there are shadows beneath her eyes.  She rubs at the side of her head and Jemma flinches, remembering Daisy’s neck slicked with blood, the scalpel in Fitz’s hand.  

She blinks the image away, realizing that Daisy has kept talking.   “Kind of cool at first, but… weird.  I thought I got used to it in the future, but nope.”

Jemma nods.  “I was just thinking that.  We’ve never exactly kept regular hours, but this is something different altogether, isn’t it?  New territory, at least for the human race.”

Daisy looks thoughtful, reaching for her mug of tea.  She swirls the teabag, and Jemma remembers to remove her own.  She’s let it go too long and it’s going to be overbitter now.  She rummages in one of the drawers for sugar.

“I wonder if the Kree brought many Inhumans into space,” Daisy muses.  “After all the crazy shit we’ve seen, I still have the feeling sometimes that we’re only scratching the surface.”

“You’re telling me,” says Jemma.  “Aliens, space, time travel… it all gets a bit overwhelming, doesn’t it?”

“I knew joining S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to be an adventure, but no one ever mentioned any of this stuff in the orientation packet.”

“You only got an orientation packet?  We had twelve different binders we had to go through at the Academy,” says Jemma.  “Of course, I thought it was all fascinating, so I didn’t mind the reading or the exams at the end.  Somehow they still failed to mention time travel, though.”

“That’s the bureaucracy for you.”  Daisy tosses her teabag into the trash, and gratefully takes a handful of sugar packets Jemma offers.  “Any of those little creamer things in there?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Oh well.  Sugar it is,” she says, and promptly adds four packets.  She picks up her mug and nods to the table.  “Want some company?”

“Any time,” says Jemma.  She and Daisy sit down, their mugs clinking against the slick surface.  For a moment they are silent, and the thrum of the Zephyr pulses at the edge of their hearing.

Daisy shifts in her chair, her mouth quirking into a frown.  “So… how are you, really?”

Jemma stares into her tea.  The rich, reddish-brown liquid glistens beneath the overhead lights, and she watches the steam uncurl, trying to find the words.  “We’re going to find him,” she tries.  There.  A good brave face.  Mum would be proud.

Daisy raises a skeptical eyebrow.  “But it -- it still happened.  You don’t have to pretend that it’s fine, you know.”

What does one say to that?  She’s fine.  

Though admittedly she hadn’t been fine that day.  His face had looked so peaceful again, dirty and blood-stained, his hair rumpled and dusty.  He hadn’t looked calm like that in such a long, long time.  Even when he’d slept she’d seen it there, the illness, the worry, in his face.  So she drank in his calm expression and brushed his hair back from his forehead.  Dust and blood stuck to her fingertips; she kissed him and closed his sightless eyes.  She told him, over and over, that she loved him.  

But she’s fine.  Of course she’s fine.

Yes, something happened, and yes, it’s terrible, but the universe is giving them an out.  This is not the end.  For once the universe is on their side, isn’t it?  Fitz is still out there, still loved, still loving, determined to find her -- only she is going to find him first.  And when she does --

Her eyes burn.  She’s crying again.  “Damn it,” she mutters.  “Sorry.”

“Hey,” says Daisy, her eyes tired but kind.  “Don’t do that.  You don’t have to pretend.”

“Don’t I?” Jemma hisses.  “Fitz died, and I wasn’t even there.  We broke our rule, after we promised each other!”  She scrubs at her eyes with the back of her hand, keeping her gaze on the table.  She can’t bear to look at Daisy, not like this.  “I was so worried for the civilians.  I wanted to help them, I wanted to make sure they were safe.  I forgot him.”

Daisy reaches out a cautious hand to touch her shoulder, but Jemma recoils, Daisy’s words ringing in her head.  I will never forgive you for this.  

���How you must hate us both,” she whispers.  “I shouldn’t even be bothering you with this.  I’m so sorry, Daisy, for what he did to you.  I know it saved us, but how it must have felt --”

The table trembles, just slightly.  Daisy is pale, clenching her fists.  “Sometimes it gets away from me,” she says.  “Ever since the serum.  I’m still figuring out how to adjust…”  The table calms, stills.  She swallows.  “That’s what I hate about everything.  He was right, in the end, but to wake up like that and see my friend hurting me… I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way his face looked.   Like the Doctor.  Except real.”

Jemma cautiously takes a drink of tea.  It’s hot, it scalds, but it’s better than the taste of salt on her lips.  She takes a deep breath.  

“I was horrified at what he was doing.  But I told myself the science made sense,” says Jemma, trying to regain some measure of control.  She spins the ring around her middle finger.  Deke had chosen well.  Tink.  Tink.  “And I let that blind me to how you felt.”

Daisy nods stiffly, taking a drink of her own tea.  She makes a face, presumably from the absence of milk, and sets the mug down.  “Neither of you would listen to me.  You took his side.  I understand now that he was -- he wasn’t himself.  But I don’t know if you’ll ever understand how much that hurt, that neither of you could apologize,” she says.  Daisy takes another drink of tea, her hands white-knuckled on the mug.

She should have said it ages ago.  But she had been so frightened about Fitz, so worried about his mental state, and she’d gone and let Daisy think she was alone.  “I know, Daisy.  I’m sorry.  I was wrong.”  

“Thanks,” says Daisy flatly.

The word hangs between them, heavy in its normalcy.  They drink their tea.

The silence stretches until Jemma can no longer bear it.  The words begin to come more easily, words that she had scarcely even let herself name in her own mind.  They spill from her mouth in a terrible truth.

“It’s not an excuse, but he’s sick.  Was sick.  Is sick.”  She folds her hands in her lap, bowing her head.  “He’s never fully recovered from what Ward did to him.  I knew better as a doctor.  Brain injuries… they can last a lifetime.”  

“Nobody blames him for that, Simmons, I promise --”

She ignores Daisy’s protests.  She has to explain.  “I told myself he’d gotten so much better, and he had, Daisy, truly he had!  But the Framework took so much of his progress, between the trauma of the life he lived there and the physical toll the machine connection took on his brain.  He let me check him in the Lighthouse after the -- the incident, and his scans, the damage they showed --  He’d broken by the end, you see.”  The words come out half-gulped between sobs, and she knows she’s losing control, but she doesn’t care, not anymore.  “Thank you for bringing him home.  Seeing him like that, it was the first time I’d seen him peaceful in so long, Daisy.  I will always be grateful to you for that.”

Her voice fades, a tremulous, miserable sound.  “I know he gets another chance, we get another chance through some miracle of time and science and the mysterious universe, but…”

Daisy finishes the sentence for her.  “Even when we find him, he’s still sick, isn’t he?”

She drinks her tea, and it is nothing but bitter dregs.  Her breaths slow back to normal, the tears drying on her cheeks in the cold recycled air.  “Yes,” says Jemma thickly.  “I love Fitz more than anything in this world, or beyond it, for that matter.  I will never stop loving him.  But he might never be the man he was before this all happened.”

Daisy reaches out, and this time, Jemma does not pull back.  Daisy’s hand is warm and strong, gripping her own.  Jemma squeezes, hard.

“I miss him too,” Daisy says quietly.  “I miss my friend, the person he was before the Framework, and the Doctor, and the end of the world.  And if there’s a chance to help him, to keep him from breaking again… I want to help you both.”

“Even after everything?” Jemma asks in disbelief.  Hope flares within her, a feeling that’s too long been mixed with guilt and fear.  But here with the scent of tea in the air and Daisy’s hand taking her own, hope feels truer than it has in months.  

“After what we’ve been through,what we’ve seen, I don’t want to give up on anyone,” says Daisy.  “Coulson wouldn’t.  I won’t, either.”  She manages a grin, though her eyes are too bright.

“Do you really think it’s going to be all right?” asks Jemma.  She holds out her other hand, and Daisy takes it, their fingers interlacing.  It’s startling, how such a simple touch can feel so heartening.

“I think we’ll keep fighting,” says Daisy.  “Together.”

The Zephyr breathes around them, its song a powerful, steady melody.  Jemma thinks of the scattered stars beyond its hull and what they hold.  

She imagines the man she loves waiting for her, and she does not know if his sleeping face shows peace, or fear.  There will be struggle, that much she knows, for even as the universe gives, it takes.  That has always been true.

But she looks into Daisy’s eyes and she sees friendship.  Family.  Even after everything.

“Together,” says Jemma.  “I quite like that idea.”

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Just in case you're taking prompts: Lena, Cat, and Kara. Lena finds out Kara is Supergirl by accident, and is very upset. She bumps into Cat at a glamorous benefit dinner (Kara is there, sad puppy, but they don't talk) and Cat drops some wisdom on Lena that leads her to understand (if not forgive just yet).

Hope you like it!Read on AO3- http://archiveofourown.org/works/11854206

“It isn’t about trust, you know.”

The voice at her elbow startles her, drawing her gaze away from Kara and to the figure standing at her left.

Cat Grant is standing there, glass of champagne clutched lightly in her fingers.

Lena follows her gaze to see that the other woman is also watching Kara, only without the brooding pout that she knows she herself has.

“I’m sorry?” She raises an eyebrow and fixes the older woman with a disinterested expression - unimpressed with having her musings interrupted.

She came to this party to distract herself; she didn’t expect to see Kara, and she certainly didn’t anticipate having to deal with Cat Grant.

She’s in no mood to deal with conniving members of the media.

But Cat’s face is softer than usual, and the sharp lines that Lena usually associates with the media mogul are replaced with a look of gentle concern.

“It isn’t about trust.” Cat repeats with conviction. “Her not telling you.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Lena holds, although she’s pretty sure she knows exactly what the other woman is referring to.

Just because she’s upset doesn’t mean she’s going to betray Kara’s secret.

Cat rolls her eyes.

“Please, you and I both know that little Miss Sunshine over there moonlights as the caped crusader and you’re upset because she didn’t tell you.”

She searches Cat’s face for any hint of trickery, any indication that she’s working off a hunch and simply looking to Lena for confirmation. She sees nothing but concern, however, so she lets her shoulders sag.

“She told you.” The words sting as she says them, because of course Kara told her boss before she told her best friend.

Alleged best friend.

“Ha! Of course not. In fact, when I confronted her about it last year, she showed up at my office with some sort of optical illusion doppleganger to prove that she isn’t Supergirl. But once you see it, it’s impossible to to unsee.”

Lena ponders that for a long moment.

“And you’re okay with that? Kara denying the truth right to your face?”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t hurt my feelings, I mean I’m her mentor - both as Kara and Supergirl - but I realize that she needs to keep them separate. For her own sanity.”

Lena is silent, pondering, and eventually Cat speaks again.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

She feels a gentle tug, the same that she has felt time and again for Lillian, and also with Rhea - that longing for mentorship and guidance. She wants to draw back, to pull in on herself; but Kara trusts Cat, and she so desperately need direction -  if only to keep herself from self destructing.

“Everyone is always hiding something from me, or using me, or abandoning me… I though Kara was different.”

“Hmm, you do realize that you’re doing exactly what Kara was afraid you would do when you found out; pushing her away, hurt and upset that she didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I AM hurt and and upset!” Lena protests, but it sounds weak even to her. “Do you know how I found out the truth?”

Cat shakes her head.

“Kara wouldn’t give me the details.”

“I kissed her.”

If Cat is shocked by that little detail, it doesn’t show on her face.

“I kissed her, and barely a second later she pushes me away, stuttering about the truth and who she has to tell me something. And then she just stands there, like she’s trying so hard to find the words. And my I don’t know what she’s about to say, but I have an idea - that she likes being my friend but she isn’t gay, that I’ve been misreading signals . . . that, I could have handled; that, I was prepared for.”

Lena hesitates and looks up, only to find Cat watching her intently, listening without judgement. Taking a deep breath, she continues.

“And then she just starts unbuttoning her shirt. Which, given the circumstances, is very confusing. Only the super suit is there underneath, and she’s refusing to look at me … It takes me a minute, for everything to work itself out in my brain, that two of my only friends …” She trails off for a moment. “It just hurts to think that I had shared everything with someone who couldn’t even be bothered to tell me who she actually is. I trusted her - I thought she trusted me!” She chews her lip. “So I told her that I had a meeting to go to and I sent her away.”

“And you haven’t answered any of her phone calls or text messages since.”

She feels a pang of guilt at Cat’s accusing tone, but she tries not to look scolded as she meets the older woman’s gaze. She doesn’t respond, simply waits for Cat to weigh the details.

It’s nearly impossible not to look away; Cat’s eyes are narrowed, and she studies Lena as if she’s trying to find the most scathing way to tell her that her shoes don’t match her dress. But she doesn’t back down, she’s dealt with worse than Cat Grant all her life.

Finally, Cat speaks, her tone almost dismissive.

“So let me make sure that I’m understanding you correctly. Even though you’re a certified genius, and you rival even myself in the realm of CEO’s that completely terrify their their board members; you still lack enough confidence to ever consider that perhaps Kara’s inability to tell you her secret had to do with her own insecurities and absolutely nothing to do with how much she trusts you?”

Lena shakes her head slowly, and Cat rolls her eyes.

“Really, you two are just perfect for each other, the both of you out there doing amazing things but still so afraid of what the other really thinks of you. And honestly what has the world come to that I now have to play matchmaker? Don’t I have better things to do with my time?” She flutters a hand. "Well, my new assistant finally learned how to deliver a decent latte, so that frees up at least half an hour.” She pauses, as if she actually contemplating the logistics of her new role as self-proclaimed love guru; and Lena is left unsure of what exactly she’s supposed to say in this situation, so she stays silent, arching an eyebrow pointedly. It’s a long moment before Cat seems to remember that she’s still there.

“What are you still doing here? Go talk to her, settle things before I have to replace the floor of my balcony from all her pacing.” She turns Lena towards the main floor of the gala where Kara is staring forlornly at the potsticker dangling between her fingertips.

“That’s it? That’s your grand advice? I’m just supposed to forget that she hid her identity for so long?”

“In instances like this, you have to weigh your options. Which is more important to you? Your relationship with Kara? Or your frustration at being lied to?”

As she watches Kara, she feels a sorrow made worse by distance. She’s hurt, of course, but she misses her best friend.

“Now, we should do lunch sometime. I’ll have my assistant call yours and set something up.”

Without waiting for a response, Cat turns and saunters away, only stopping when Lena calls out after her.

“Kara was right, you know, you are the master at backhanded compliments.”

Cat doesn’t turn, but Lena would swear she sees the older woman shake her head before she resumes her stalk out of the ballroom.

Once Cat is gone, there’s nothing to distract her from her own thoughts - at least nothing that doesn’t involve staring pensively out at the crowd; and every time she does that, she finds herself watching Kara. So instead, she she excuses herself to the bar and flags down own of the servers for a glass of merlot.

She thinks about what Cat said, thinks about how she feels; but she’s had days to figure out how she feels, and she knows deep down what she wants, she’s just afraid.

Only that’s ridiculous, because she’s Lena fucking Luthor, and she isn’t scared of anything.

Not her mother, not hostile board members, not assassins.

Except her best friend not trusting her, or rejecting her.  

Of that, she’s fucking terrified.

But she swallows her fear with the last of her wine, tossing back the half glass and rising to her feet. As she heads back towards the main room of the gala, she’s struck with the thought that Kara might have been called away by her … alter ego duties, and she feels the dread in her stomach swell. If she doesn’t do this now she may never -

Only Kara is still there, still staring at the various appetizers spread out in front of her. Lena takes a deep breath and begins weaving her way through the couples swaying on the dance floor. She’s surprised that Kara doesn’t notice her coming, but the other woman jumps when Lena touches her shoulder.

“Lena!” Kara fumbles her glasses back up her nose and Lena can’t help but think about how adorable she looks. “I didn’t realize you were here tonight! No, I take that back. I knew you were here, I saw you, I just - I was trying to keep my distance, I didn’t know if you would want to talk to me after - I mean you haven’t been answering my calls -“

“Kara.” Lena interrupts her softly, smiling because Kara is still her Kara, regardless if she’s Supergirl too. “The other day, when I kissed you, did you pull back because you didn’t want to kiss me? Or because you need to tell me about your side job?”

Kara’s eyes flicker to her lips.

“Oh, Rao; Lena, I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, I just didn’t want to mislead -“

Lena doesn’t let her finish, instead she takes advantage of the extra height her heels give her and leans forward, tracing Kara’ jaw with gentle finger tips and tugging her into a searing kiss.

It’s longer than their first, but still short; because Lena is mindful of the fact that they’re at a public event and that there are paparazzi around every corner.

Still, her heart feels infinitely lighter, and as she begins to lose herself in Kara’s hooded eyes she knows, in that moment, that she made the right choice.

Her relationship with Kara is more important to her than any lingering frustration over hurt feelings will ever be.

“Lee, I’m so sorry, I never wanted to keep it from you, I just-”

Lena stops her again, this time with her thumb - tracing along the lines of Kara’s lip.

“I appreciate that we need to have a long conversation,” She lets her eyes follow her thumb for a moment before smirking. “about a few thing actually.” Kara grins, and oh if Lena thought she felt giddy after that kiss…

“But maybe here isn’t the best place.” She finishes, and Kara glances around the room, seeming to realize that they aren’t alone. “But …” She draws Kara’s face back to hers with a gentle finger. “I hear that  L-Corp’s rooftop looks beautiful this time of night.”

Kara’s face lights up, and she leans forward until her lips are nearly brushing Lena’s ear.

“Are you going to let me fly you?”

“Of course, what’s the fun in having a superhero best friend if she never flies you anywhere?”

Kara giggles and drags her towards the stairs, neither of them noticing Cat Grant watching them from across the room with a knowing smirk.