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nerdzzone · 3 years

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-More Hearts Than Mine-

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

Especially when a global pandemic is sweeping the world.

With lockdowns and stay at home orders looming on the horizon, the uncertainty of their situation becomes almost too much for Whitney Taylor to handle. Chris suggests that they quarantine together to avoid any potential separations but, given what happened the last time they spent more than a few brief moments in each other’s company, that could cause more problems than it solves…

Chris Evans x OFC

Sequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Note: I’ve decided to make this five parts instead of four. I was originally going to combine this part and the next one, but I feel like it flows better with a bit of separation between them!

Part One

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Part Two

The rest of our first afternoon together was spent lazing around. Grayson was tired, but continued to refuse his nap so we kept things low key to avoid any exhausted toddler meltdowns. By the time the evening rolled around, I was tired from the stress of the day myself and since I still had to unpack, I went up to my bedroom shortly after we'd tucked Grayson into bed.

I slept a lot better than I thought I would given everything that was on my mind and when I woke up, I could already hear the sounds of breakfast echoing up from the kitchen. Taking a few minutes to let myself wake up properly, I checked my phone and scrolled through social media before getting up, stretching and heading downstairs.

"Good morning," I smiled, finding Chris and Grayson sitting at the island eating some scrambled eggs while Scott leaned against the counter with a cereal bowl in his hands.

"G'morning, Mama!"

Grayson's greeting was said through a mouthful of food and Chris reminded him that wasn't polite before greeting me himself.

"Help yourself to whatever you want," he insisted. "There's some eggs left in the pan or cereal, whatever you can find. Maybe Grayson will even share his apple slices with you if you ask nicely."

Grayson gasped at that suggestion and frantically shook his head.

"No, Daddy!" He protested. "I don't want to share!"

I laughed as he reached over his plate to move the little bowl of sliced fruit closer to his body where he could keep it guarded.

"Not even one slice?" I asked. "But I'm so hungry!"

"Over there!" Grayson giggled, pointing at the counter.

I turned around and saw a few more apples in a bowl, making me smile as I turned back to the boys.

"But they're not nicely sliced like yours," I pointed out. "How can I eat those?"

Grayson shrugged and plucked one of his apples out of his bowl. He looked smug, thinking he'd won, but he was so distracted while he took a bite that he didn't see Chris' hand sneak over until he'd snatched one of the slices and tossed it to me.

"Catch!"

I did as Chris instructed and Grayson's jaw dropped. An indignant huff fell from his lips as he looked between the two of us.

"That's not nice."

Chris laughed, but I bit back a smile and returned his apple.

"You're right, baby," I agreed, kissing the top of your head. "That was mean, but we were just tricking you. You don't have to share your apple."

"Thanks, Mama."

The frown on his face turned back into a grin and I scraped the rest of the eggs that were in the pan on the stove onto a plate before turning back to the boys once I’d pulled a fork from the drawer.

"So, how do you want to work it with things like groceries while I'm here?"

"Just tell me what you want and I'll order it," Chris told me. "They've started doing curbside pick up pretty much everywhere so I was thinking I'd just do that."

"Oh, that's handy, but I meant like money wise. Should I just transfer you my share or do you want to alternate who pays?"

Chris stared at me for a moment as if he was trying to figure out if I was joking before he chuckled.

"I'm not taking any money from you, Whitney."

His voice was firm, but I furrowed my brow in confusion.

"What? Why not? I can't let you pay for everything."

"You're not still working, are you?" Scott asked. "Or is it different since, as a photographer, you're so far away from whoever you're taking pictures of?"

"I'm not working," I admitted. "I think it would be doable if it was, like, family portraits or something like that, but the big photo shoots involve too many people. Everyone cancelled on me last week or delayed my contracts until at least the summer."

"So, don't worry about paying for anything then," Chris shrugged. "It's not like you're going to eat that much, I think I can handle the cost."

He was trying to do a nice thing. He was a very generous person with those that he cared about, but I wasn't going to take advantage of him.

"I have savings, Chris," I insisted. "I'm not completely helpless."

As if sensing a rising tension, Scott put his bowl in the sink and grabbed his coffee mug before turning to Grayson.

"Hey, Gray, let's go see what cartoons we can find."

Grayson nodded eagerly and Chris helped him down from the tall stool so he could follow Scott out of the room, taking his little bowl of apples with him.

"I wasn't trying to imply that you're helpless," Chris assured me once they were out of earshot. "But you're tiny, I don't think that buying you a few groceries for the next couple of months will financially cripple me."

I tried to temper my defensiveness before I answered him, reminding myself again that he was trying to be helpful.

"I know that, but I don't feel comfortable living here for that long without contributing," I told him. "You already give me more than you need to every month for Grayson."

It was true. Since our custody agreement was that Grayson spent fifty percent of his time with each of us, he wasn't required to pay me any child support. But he did anyway. It was something we’d argued about on and off over the years because the amount that he gave me was way over the top. I appreciated his generosity and I did use all the money to buy things for Gray, but most of it ended up in a bank account that I'd opened for him because there was no way to spend it all in one month without Grayson becoming the most spoiled child in all of Massachusetts.

"I like to make sure he's taken care of."

"Which I am capable of doing with my own money when he's in my care," I reminded him. "But I don't want to start that whole conversation again. I just want to feel like I'm doing my part while I stay with you."

"And I appreciate that gesture, but it won't be necessary," Chris insisted. "You can clean, you can cook, do anything like that to help out, but I won't accept any money, especially while you're not working."

I sighed as he stood up to put his plate in the dishwasher while I put mine on the counter, too distracted by our conversation to eat. I knew it would be a struggle to get him to agree to take money from me, but I wasn't ready to back down so I thought of a compromise and hoped he would accept.

"How about we drop it for now," I suggested. "But if this thing goes on for more than a couple of weeks, can we talk about it again?"

Chris paused and crossed his arms. I could tell that he wanted to argue, but I was relieved when he agreed.

"Alright," he nodded, hesitating for a moment before adding a stipulation to the deal. "But we're going to talk about your car too before you leave here."

"My car? What about my car?"

"Grayson told me that it's not working properly," Chris admitted. "He said it sounds angry sometimes and that you haven't gotten it checked out yet."

I rolled my eyes, guessing that was one of those 'secrets' that he mentioned.

"It's fine," I assured him. "It made a weird sound one time last week when I tried to start it, but it's still working. I was going to take it in, but then all this virus stuff happened and I didn't have chance."

"You need a new one," Chris informed me. "That one is getting old anyway. I'll take you car shopping when things reopen."

I laughed at the absurdity of that statement, but I could see the annoyance on his face at my reaction.

"You're not buying me a car, Chris. The one I have is perfectly fine and if it's not then I will take myself car shopping, thank you very much."

"Why do you get so defensive when I try to help you?" He asked, his eyes shifting into a glare. "I'm not going to accidentally think that you're in love with me just because you accept a nice gesture from me. I can take a hint, Whitney, I get it."

My jaw dropped and I couldn't hold back a disgruntled scoff at his insane change of topic.

"What are you even talking about? This has nothing to do with that," I argued. "I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation if I knew you were going to hold that over me and throw it in my face all the time."

“All the time? This is the first time I’ve mentioned it!”

“Yes, but I’ve not even been here for twenty-fours hours and you’ve already brought it up!”

Perhaps it was my harsh, snappy tone that did it or my very valid criticism of his low blow, but Chris' body language softened.

"I just don't get why you get so worked up when I'm trying to help you..."

"Because I don't need help, Chris," I explained. "I might not be Captain America rich, but I do just fine and I can take care of myself. I can buy my own groceries and if I really needed to, I could buy myself a new car. You throwing money at me for things like that makes me feel like you don't value the success I've had in my career or my ability to manage my finances which is, quite frankly, offensive."

Chris dropped his arms so they were no longer crossed and his shoulders relaxed. Clearly, he'd been getting quite defensive as well and had realized it, whether he would admit it or not. I held my head high, proud of myself for explaining my feelings so well and taking him down a notch, but that feeling disappeared as soon as Chris spoke.

"If you were the richest woman in the world, I would still want to buy you a car," Chris started, looking more nervous than the dismissive, self-assured attitude I was getting moments ago. "I'd still want to buy you anything you could ever need because making you happy makes me happy."

My face fell at his confession and my heart clenched again, knowing what the underlying sentiment behind his statement was. It stung more than any hurtful words could have as the sincerity, the genuine care and appreciation, in his voice was heartbreaking. I regretted not adding a condition to our cohabitation that specified he wasn't allowed to say such nice, guilt inducing things as I stared at him for a moment, trying to think of a way to get out of this conversation that was more polite than just bolting out the door.

Too much time was passing as his words hung between us so, short of any good comeback to his words, I shrugged.

"If you want to make me happy, let me contribute for the groceries."

It was Chris' turn to look shocked now, as he was obviously expecting a more thoughtful response to his rather vulnerable admission, but he pulled himself together quickly and a dry laugh fell from his lips.

"Nice try, Whitney," he smiled, shaking his head. "But that's not going to happen."

Without giving me any more time to argue, he turned on his heels and walked out the door leaving me alone to wallow in my guilt and wonder how much longer I'd be able to keep up my act of nonchalance.

There was a weird sense of restlessness in the house that day. Usually, killing a few days at home would be no big deal but, as soon as the stay at home orders came into place that morning, the knowledge that we were now unable to do anything else made it feel slightly more suffocating.

Chris wasn't lying though when he said that he planned to make this lockdown as enjoyable as possible so we managed to keep ourselves entertained as we planned out some of the things we could do. Chris and Scott were compiling a list of old movies they wanted to watch again, I ordered a bunch of puzzles and books (some more child appropriate and some for the adults), Chris dug out an old wiffle ball set he had from when they were kids and Scott organized Chris' video game collection, pulling out all the good ones like their favourite: Mario Kart.

By the end of the day, we were all feeling much more optimistic about how our time at home would go. Especially Grayson. It was finally starting to sink in for him that he got to spend the foreseeable future surrounded by all his favourite people - something that was unfortunately a rarity for him given our situation. He was bouncing off the walls as he threw his ideas into the mix and couldn't wait to get started on all the fun.

The excitement of the day led to another early night for him and I excused myself shortly after, declining the invitation to start practicing my Mario Kart skills.

After our conversation that morning, I was trying to keep a bit of distance from Chris. I wasn't mad and it didn't seem like he had any lasting feelings of annoyance either, but our earlier discussion proved to me that there was still tension and resentment between us. I wanted to let it settle and give him some space so our small disagreement didn't turn into a full-blown argument. Living together after everything we'd been through would be an adjustment period and easing into it would probably be the safest route.

So, I took myself off to my bedroom and lounged in bed watching some new mystery show on Netflix. I started it thinking it would just be a good way to pass a few hours until a reasonable time to go to bed but as usual with Netflix, I got sucked in and before I knew it, it was almost midnight.

I closed my laptop, knowing I needed to get some sleep as Grayson was an early riser, but I noticed the glass of water I'd taken upstairs with me hours ago was empty and my mouth was dry. With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed, taking the glass to the kitchen to fill it up.

I crept down the stairs, assuming everyone would be in bed already, but I was surprised when I got to the kitchen to see the light on. I poked my head into the room and saw Scott sitting at the little island in the middle of the room, a drink in his hand and a melancholy look on his face.

"Hey," I greeted him, alerting him to my presence. "You're up late..."

"I was just FaceTiming with my boyfriend. He's in LA so it worked with the time difference."

"Boyfriend?" I questioned as I headed over to the sink to fill up my glass. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"It's pretty new," he sighed. "We've only been together about a month now."

"That's so exciting! You didn't want to stay in LA and quarantine with him?"

"No, we thought it was too fresh for us to, like, fully move in together and if I was in LA and not living with him then we wouldn't see each other anyway, so I decided I may as well come here."

"That's really hard," I frowned as I pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. "I'm sorry that you had to make a decision like that."

"It's alright," he shrugged despite the sad look on his face. "A lot of people have had to make much tougher decisions than that lately."

"That doesn't mean you can't be upset anyway."

"I know, but I'll be alright. I'm just glad we've got so many ways to stay in touch." He flashed me a smile and I was glad to see it. Scott was a good guy and one of those people who was usually so positive and upbeat that it was hard to see him feeling down. "What about you? How are you doing with everything?"

"Oh, I don't know," I sighed. "Do you mean the deadly virus plaguing the world? Or the fact that I'm in lockdown with the father of my child who I have a fairly complicated history with?"

"Both," Scott chuckled as he sipped his drink of what looked to be whiskey. "But I was more referring to being here in lockdown with Chris."

"It's hard, but I'm doing okay. It's just a weird situation."

"It'll definitely take some time to get used to for both of you," he nodded. "He felt really bad this morning. He told me what you said about how offensive it is when he throws money at you all the time and I totally agree, but I hope you know his heart was in the right place. He tells everyone how talented you are, he would never want to belittle your career."

"I know," I winced. "I overreacted a little bit."

"No, not at all!" Scott assured me. "He needed to hear it. I've been on the receiving end of it too so I know how you felt, but he doesn't realize how it comes off some times. He's just trying to be generous and help the people he loves."

I nodded and I knew that I should just end the conversation there. Tell him that I understood what Chris' intent was and leave it at that. But my heart overpowered my brain and I found myself opening up before I could stop myself.

"I just don't exactly deserve to be on that list," I reminded him. "And I shouldn't take advantage of any feelings he might have for me after the decision that I made."

"You really do deserve to be on that list," he told me with a smile. "He's really in love with you."

"Love might be a bit extreme," I scoffed. "He's made his feelings clear, I know he cares about me, but it's not love."

"He's not made his feelings clear enough then," Scott countered. "Because he's been head over heels in love with you since pretty much the moment he met you."

My mouth went dry as my brain fought to comprehend that claim while all my instincts were telling me that it wasn't true. Scott wouldn't lie to me, he wasn't that kind of person, but he could be exaggerating especially since he had been drinking. There was an honesty in his eyes though, a look that told me he was telling the truth, but I couldn't accept it, it just didn't make sense.

"That's not true," I argued. "He only ever saw me as a friend until that one night and that night was a mistake."

But Scott was confident in what he'd shared and he shook his head.

"He never saw you as just a friend. You were his endgame from day one."

Perhaps it was a delaying tactic, perhaps it was a nervous response or I was subconsciously trying to buy myself some time to make sense of what he was trying to tell me, but a giggle slipped out at Scott's choice of words.

"Endgame? Is that an Avengers joke?"

"It wasn't intentional," he assured me with a laugh, but he was quick to get us back on topic. "But I mean it. We had a conversation just a few weeks after you met and he was talking about you like you hung the moon. He's been enamoured from the start."

I couldn't wrap my head around it. He was speaking with such confidence, but the words he was saying might as well have been another language. Knowing what I knew about our situation, how things had unfolded between us, how that first night together went down and the aftermath of it, there was no sign that Chris had been in love with me. He cared about me, that much I knew, but to be in love? That didn't add up.

Especially when I'd had those feelings all along as well. Surely, I would have noticed had they been reciprocated.

I'd fallen silent as my brain buzzed, scrambling for any gesture or obvious evidence that I'd missed that might prove Scott's claim, but when he spoke again, I was pulled from my thoughts.

"Do you not feel the same way about him?" He asked. "And there's no judgment here, I can see both sides. I love Chris and I want him to be happy, but I respect what you're trying to do."

I felt my heart rate spike again as my palms grew sweaty in a way that was becoming annoyingly familiar.

I was aware of the importance of this conversation, but I was also aware that I wasn't having it with the right person. If Scott was being honest then Chris must have had his reasons for not sharing the depth of his feelings with me and it felt sneaky and deceitful that I was finding out from someone else. It also felt wrong that the answer to Scott's question was on the tip of my tongue. Chris deserved to know before his brother, but I was tired. Fighting through this mess all by myself was wearing me down and Scott had always been one of those people that compelled you to pour your heart out to him. He was a better listener than most and I needed someone, anyone, to give me some kind of guidance. So the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"I do feel the same," I admitted, my eyes firmly locked on the glass of water on the table in front of me as I worried I'd be too anxious to speak if I looked Scott in the eye. "I love him very much."

"Then why are you so scared to give him a chance?" He questioned. "Just because of Grayson?"

I nodded, but even I was starting to doubt my own motivations.

"We work together so well right now, but if we give it a shot and someone ends up getting hurt then we might not be able to put our feelings aside and keep things peaceful."

"But aren't you hurting each other every day that you spend in love with each other, but not together?" He pointed out. "Yet, you manage to put Grayson first through all that pain."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head.

It was an excellent point.

We were both hurting from being apart, it was clear from how defensive we got over silly little things like we had that morning. I could only imagine how Chris felt, but it was hard for me to be around him all the time and just keep things friendly when in my heart I wanted more. I ached at the sight of him every time I dropped Grayson off or picked him up, but we still managed to be friendly and polite through that.

"How many of those drinks have you had?” I teased earning a laugh from Scott. “They’ve made you too wise.”

"Not enough," he joked. "But it's true, isn't it?"

"It is true, but it's different," I insisted. "If we were together and broke up, that kind of hurt can come with a lot of anger. Right now, we might be sad or disappointed about the situation, but there's no anger."

"Oh, there was anger," Scott informed me, grimacing slightly. "After Christmas, when he came back from dropping Grayson off at your house there was definitely anger. He slammed doors, stormed around the house, got drunk off his ass and ranted about it for hours. I've never seen him that upset over being turned down before."

My heart sank at that news. I knew that he'd been upset, but I didn't think he'd taken it that badly. I thought he was just a bit sulky, but now my guilt intensified.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion. "I feel bad enough as it is..."

"Oh, honey, I'm not trying to make you feel bad," Scott assured me, reaching over to rub my back as I forced back the tears that had sprung to my eyes. "But it proves that even if one of you ends up heartbroken, you can still put Grayson first because you just did it."

"I didn't, Chris did," I pointed out after clearing my throat. "If it wasn't up to me, if Chris came to his senses and ditched me for some beautiful actress, then I'm not sure that I could be so forgiving."

"Why would he ditch you?"

As promised, there was no judgment in Scott's voice, just genuine curiosity and I shrugged as I answered.

"Because he could have any woman in America."

"Maybe not any woman, let's not get carried away," Scott smirked, his teasing tone making me smile. "But for such a relationship loving guy, don't you think it's interesting that he hasn't been in a serious relationship in about five years?"

That wasn't something I'd put much thought into, but it wasn't the 'gotcha' moment that it seemed like Scott had hoped it was.

"Not really. He's been busy with work the last few years," I pointed out. "And having a baby with me must have complicated his personal life a bit."

"You complicated his personal life the moment he met you," Scott insisted. "That's my point."

He sounded so sure of himself, but the words he was saying were still hard for me to comprehend. I'd always been so confident in my understanding of our relationship and if I was to believe him, it would shatter everything I thought I knew.

"I just don't see why he wouldn't have mentioned this by now..."

"You know how he gets with his anxiety. He's not always the over confident hotshot that people assume he is," Scott reminded me. "But you'll have to talk to him if you want more information than that."

I let out a sigh as I knew he was right.

"There's a lot that we need to talk about," I admitted. "Thank you for this though, Scott, you've given me a lot to think about."

"Anytime," he smiled. "And I completely respect that you're willing to put Grayson first despite whatever feelings you have. You're a wonderful mom and I would be proud to call you my sister-in-law."

I laughed at his outrageous leap from even considering a relationship straight to marriage and shook my head.

"You need to go to bed, Scott," I instructed. "You've clearly had too much to drink tonight."

"I probably have," he agreed. "But I meant everything that I've said. Think about it, okay?"

I nodded as I slid off the stool I was sitting on, wrapping my arms around him in a quick hug.

"I'm here for you too, you know that right?" I asked as I stepped back. "If you ever want to talk about your situation or vent and complain about the distance, whatever you need, I'm here."

"Thanks, Whitney," he smiled before dragging himself off his stool as well. "Goodnight."

I returned his smile and mumbled a 'goodnight' of my own before heading back to bed with all the new information that Scott had provided echoing around in my head. While it had been a very informative conversation, I wasn't quite sure whether I came away from it with the clarity I was looking for or just more confusion.

Part Three

Tags: @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfic #more hearts than mine

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causeiwanttoandican · 4 years

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Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.’

I replied that she might want to consider buying ‘one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

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omegalomania · 3 years

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I think tumblr ate my ask or it just didn't sent but what are your favorite Bastille songs / what are some songs you recommend?

i did NOT get this ask im very sorry anon.

it's genuinely hard for me to narrow down cause bastille is pretty up there in terms of favorite artists. i love all their shit, but a special mention goes out to their second studio album wild world since it's the one that made me a Fan

uh so here's a primer i guess i spent too much time on this lmao.

if you wanna listen to their big hits:

flaws - their first single in the uk. if you ever listened to ship playlists on 8tracks in like 2013-2015 then you've probably heard this song or a variant on it at some point.

pompeii - this is the song that really put them on the map and you definitely know it. it dominated the charts all over the place.

happier - the marshmello song that you've definitely heard before too. i think bastille wrote this for justin bieber or some shit but then decided they liked it too much to give it to him? lmao. anyway if you're not digging the version you hear on the radio all the time i recommend trying the stripped down version

good grief - their big hit off their second album. big in the uk, didn't really make as many waves elsewhere, but it's a really solid song anyway. one of those "upbeat tunes that's actually really fucking sad" ones

things we lost in the fire - another one off their first album. if you live in a wildfire area this might not be one to turn to. or maybe you'll find it cathartic idk i certainly do!!

quarter past midnight - a song about escapism, as was fitting when it was released in 2018 and equally fitting now. running away for a night of fucking around with friends, craving any kind of brief departure from the chaos of the modern world

skulls - this one was not a hit or a single and is technically a bonus track but i'm including it because once again if you ever clicked on a ship playlist on 8tracks in like 2013-2015 you've heard this one. and you know what that was justified this one is also good

if you wanna feel existentially depressed:

their whole discography. i mean i kid but i also don't. that's just kind of how bastille does it. BUT IN ALL SERIOUSNESS ones that hit me in particular would beeee

two evils - kind of a grim, haunting one introspecting about morality of the self.

oblivion - musing about the afterlife, love, and how time changes all of us.

those nights - contemplating what it is we seek when we plunge into reckless escapism, and the inherent loneliness of it; how even when surrounded by people there's still the pressure of the world outside, continuously coming to pieces

the draw - this one was written about the pull of pursuing a career in music vs. staying home with family and friends. in a broader sense, it can apply to a lot of things. i always felt it resonated with feelings of paranoia and displacement

winter of our youth - discusses childhood, nostalgia, and regret. if it feels like everything's slipping away, is it easier to relive the past, especially if the past is tinted rose?

sleepsong - loneliness, desperation, and the cyclical, abyss-like nature of all it encapsulates

if you want discussion of serious topics:

final hour - a bonus track off their second album that also became a bonus track off their third album? anyway this song talks about climate change and gun control. happy stuff

doom days - this one talks about, uh, everything! doomscrolling, political divides, escalating national tensions, climate change again, etc.

the currents - a song centered on political rhetoric and the power that figureheads have over the masses, the way they can orchestrate hate. basically it's not so subtly aimed at donald trump lmao, dan's literally sung it as much in a few live settings

WHAT YOU GONNA DO??? - social media addiction and the way capitalism and corporate interests have annexed our online experiences, fighting desperately for our attention as they seek to monetize every available aspect of our lives

four walls (the ballad of perry smith) - well this one is about uh. perry smith. who was charged with the death penalty for killing 4 people in the late 50's. but it's less directly about him and more a discussion of the morality of the death penalty and capital punishment

snakes - burgeoning anxieties and the impulse to turn to easy outs, like ignorance or alcoholism, to escape the world's global problems

if you want some pop culture sprinkled on top:

icarus - greek mythology. i like this one because it addresses something that i feel isn't addressed enough in discussions of this myth, which is that icarus is a very young lad. less about the pride of the fall, and more about the inherent tragedy of that.

laura palmer - the whole song is a david lynch shoutout. i've never seen twin peaks myself but the song still slaps.

daniel in the den - christian mythology. discusses the biblical tale of daniel in the lion's den and links that up to themes of betrayal and family.

poet - this one's a double feature, referencing both william shakespeare's sonnet 18 and edmund spencer's sonnet 75. also one of my favorites.

send them off! - this is another one of my favorites of theirs. it's also been described by dan as "othello meets the exorcist" and it very much delivers there

if you want something uplifting:

joy - while bastille (understandably) has a bit of reputation as a band that makes sad music about sad things, they've definitely got some happier songs in their catalogue. pun intended cha ching. this one's one of their more straightforwardly happy tunes

survivin' - this was a song they wrote while they were touring and then felt weird about releasing once the panini hit because it felt a bit on the nose. they ended up releasing it anyway and i am so glad they did cause it's a mood

act of kindness - the "happy" part here is debatable but i'm gonna include it anyway. it’s when someone does something nice for you and that impulse Changes you way down deep you know???

warmth - one of those "the world's going to shit but at least we have each other" kinds of tunes

the anchor - one of those "the world's going to shit but you're the one fucking thing that's still keeping me here" kinds of tunes

give me the future - their latest single as of this writing and one of the more optimistic tracks in their catalogue imo! it's yearning, but it's also with a genuine hope for the future.

and LASTLY. because im going to take every chance i can to plug this band. im going to throw some collabs and covers at you because there's one thing this band does SUPER well and it's collabs and covers.

of the night - this is the big one. it mashes up rhythm of the night by corona and rhythm is a dancer by SNAP! and it's so good they still do this one live and it goes off every time.

no angels - a mashup of "no scrubs" by TLC and "angels" by the xx, poured into a strangely mournful tune with clips from the hitchcock movie psycho. doesn't sound like it should work but it does. kinda really does.

torn apart - with GRADES and lizzo no less!!! it's got two parts but they're both excellent listen to them both

weapon - collab with angel haze, dan priddy, and F*U*G*Z and one of my absolute favorites

remains - remix of their song "skulls" but featuring rag'n'bone man and skunk anansie that adds an entire new dimension to the song, really fucking excellent

old town road mashup - lil nas x's old town road meets lizzo's good as hell meets radiohead's talk show host meets talking heads' road to nowhere meets the osmond's crazy horse. "what the fuck that shouldn't work" i KNOW and yet here it is!! BLATANTLY BANGING!!!

we can't stop - one of the few times dan smith subtly changes the lyrics of the song he's covering (most of the time he opts to keep the original pronouns and the like, which is very nice to see). anyway this one mixes miley cyrus's we can't stop with eminem's lose yourself and billy ray cyrus's achy breaky heart. and also the lion king's i just can't wait to be king is there. yes i know it sounds batshit especially because the whole thing is surprisingly melodic and heartfelt and you know what it works.

anyone but me x nightmares - mashing up joy crookes' anyone but me with easy life's nightmares and absolutely one of my favorites.

bad guy mashup - how many songs can they include with the word "bad" in the title? we've got bad guy (billie eilish), bad decisions (bastille), bad romance (lady gaga), and bad blood (taylor swift). bastille even has a song called bad blood and they didnt use it. they used taylor swift's version. also the distinctive guitar riff from dick dale's misirlou is there.

somebody mashup - how many songs can they include with the word "some" in the title? someone like you (adele), somebody told me (the killers), somebody to love (queen), use somebody (kings of leon), and someone you loved (lewis capaldi). seriously these guys take mashups to a new level.

final song - this is a cover of MØ's final song. it also adds in craig david's 7 days and, impossibly enough, europe's final countdown. how does it work. how.

ALL RIGHT. THATS ALL IVE GOT IN ME. HOPE THIS HELPED ANON AND IM SORRY IF THIS IS TOO MUCH

#askin hours #anon #bastille #ill put this in the bastille tag why not #this is predominantly a fall out boy blog but if any bastille bloggers are out there....all like 20 of you....#i see the work u do in this fandom and i love u for it

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joshjacksons · 3 years

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Joshua Jackson interview with "Mr Porter" (2021)

Minutes before Mr Joshua Jackson joins me in a booth for a Friday afternoon drink at a vibey hotel bar in Santa Monica, he’s confronted by his past. Or rather, a woman in her early twenties who is binge-watching Dawson’s Creek, the teen show about a close-knit group of high-school friends coming of age in a sleepy American town, which made Jackson incredibly famous between 1998 and 2003. The series, which also made household names of Ms Michelle Williams and Ms Katie Holmes, went off air 18 years ago, but is now streaming on Netflix, to the bemusement of Jackson, who played lovable rogue Pacey Witter. “This girl was like, ‘Are you...?’ And I’m like, ‘Yes, I am. He got old. I’m sorry to break it to you,’” he says, before ordering an iced tea and a charcuterie board to tide him over until dinner time. “It always surprises me when young people say they’ve just got into Dawson’s Creek. I’m like, ‘Is it a costume drama to you? Do you feel like you’re watching a historical documentary?’”

The idea of a Friends-style reunion episode or a Sex And The City revival feels equally far-fetched to Canadian-born Jackson, now 43 and wearing it well in a pale green linen shirt and tailored linen trousers by Oliver Spencer that complement his fading brown hair and Cali-tanned skin.

“I don’t know why you’d want to [bring it back],” he says. “Nobody needs to know what those characters are doing in middle age. We left them in a nice place. Nobody needs to see that Pacey’s back hurts. I don’t think we need that update.”

And Jackson doesn’t need Dawson’s Creek. From Mr JJ Abrams’ sci-fi series Fringe (2008-2013) to the Golden Globe award-winning The Affair (2014-2019), from Ms Ava DuVernay’s ground-breaking true-crime drama When They See Us (2019) to the recent Ms Reese Witherspoon and Ms Kerry Washington-produced Little Fires Everywhere (2020), he has commanded the small screen – with a collection of dynamic and diverse work – ever since.

His latest role as Mr Christopher Duntsch, the Texas surgeon convicted of gross malpractice when 33 of his patients were left seriously injured after he operated on them and two of them died, in chilling Peacock crime drama Dr Death, is only stepping his career up another gear.

“I’ve never played anyone irredeemable before,” says Jackson, who is joined in the eight-part series (based on the 2018 Wondery podcast of the same name) by Messrs Christian Slater and Alec Baldwin. “He is charming, gregarious and has a high-level intellect, but he’s also a misogynist, probably a sociopath, certainly a narcissist and a complete incompetent who is incapable of seeing himself.”

If Duntsch is terrifying, then Jackson’s portrayal is even more so. The artist formerly known as Pacey is virtually unrecognisable (thanks to prosthetics) in the opening scene, but the real challenge for Jackson was allowing himself to view someone who is so “spectacularly evil” as a human being in order to walk in his shoes. “It’s a more damning portrayal of the man to make him into a human being, rather than just make him the bad guy,” he says. “He really believes he’s the hero, he’s the genius and that he’s the victim, so once I got past my own judgment, all the other things fell into place.”

Jackson might have his pick of stellar roles – and challenges – now, but it has not happened by accident. Take it from someone who has been in the business since landing his first job aged 14 in Disney’s live-action movie series The Mighty Ducks, opposite Brat Pack alumnus Mr Emilio Estevez.

“You try to make it look like it happens accidentally,” he says, “but there is no way to do this and not be ambitious. I’d say I’m extremely ambitious because I’ve been doing this cutthroat job for nearly 30 years. I’m in the pay-off phase of my career now. One of the benefits of surviving for as long as I have is you get to learn from your own mistakes.”

Such as? “I wouldn’t say, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ because it all becomes bricks in a path, but [after Dawson’s Creek] I was not choosy enough about the things I was doing. You get stuck. You start trying to perform the performance you think people are hoping to see you do. I was so used to working all the time that I just worked all the time. There was definitely a conscious moment in my mid-twenties when I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the work that I was doing. My manager at the time just said, ‘Take a breath. You’re burnt out.’”

The turning point came in 2005, when Jackson was offered a role in the two-hander Mr David Mamet play A Life In The Theatre, opposite Sir Patrick Stewart. “God bless him, Patrick could have made my life miserable because I had no idea what I was doing, ” he says. “I hadn’t been on stage since I was a kid and now I was in the West End in over my head. But it reminded me that I actually enjoyed being an actor, that it’s not about the red carpet or travelling around the world. What I really enjoy is working on good material with good people.”

It’s no surprise Jackson’s time on Dawson’s Creek led to a career crisis. From the ages of 19 to 24, he lived with his fellow cast mates in Wilmington, North Carolina, filming day in, day out, in an arrangement he likens to college. “You get to the end and they’re like, ‘Here’s your degree. Go live now. You’re an adult. Go out into the world,’” he says.

But most graduates don’t have to deal with global fame. “It’s transitory. You’re only ever cool for a moment and then you become much less cool. I was always pretty dubious about flatterers,” he says, recalling a time he was stung in London in the mid-2000s. “I went on a date in Hyde Park with a woman whose name I will not use – she was socialite-famous – and she was acting completely bizarre, looking over her shoulder the whole time. I came to find out that she had hired a photographer to follow us through the park and gave a whole story to the tabloids about how I was going to meet her family.”

It was his growing fortune, rather than fame, that caused Jackson the most anxiety. “Suddenly, at 19 years old, I was making more in a week than most of my friends’ parents would make in a year,” he says. “It was lovely to have the money, but it was that feeling of nobody is worth that kind of money. You feel like a fraud and it took me a long time to forgive myself for not being the thing that I was perceived as.”

Born in Vancouver, but raised in Topanga, California, until he was eight (before moving back to Vancouver following his parents’ divorce), Jackson bought his childhood home in 2001 and lives in it today with his wife, British Queen & Slim actor Ms Jodie Turner-Smith, and their 15-month-old daughter.

“My father unfortunately was not a good father or a husband and exited the scene, but that house in Topanga was where everything felt simple, so it was a very healing thing for me to do,” he says. Fast-forward to 2021 and his baby daughter now sleeps in her father’s childhood bedroom. “There was a mural of a dragon on the wall in that room that I couldn’t believe was still there, years later. The owner [who sold him the house] said, ‘I knew it meant a lot to somebody and that they were going to come back for it some day.’”

Becoming a first-time parent during a pandemic sounds stressful, but it afforded Jackson months at home with his wife and child that his normal work schedule wouldn’t have allowed.

“I now recognise how perverse the way that we have set up our society is,” he says. “There is not a father I know who works a regular job who didn’t go back to the office a week later. It’s robbing that man of the opportunity to bond with his child and spend time with his partner.”

Despite his obvious career ambitions, fatherhood has changed Jackson’s priorities in “every possible way”, he says. “It’s 100 per cent changed how I approach my work and my life. That has been made so clear to me in this past year. For me to feel good about what I’m doing day to day, my family has to be the central focus.

“There are plenty of things left for me to do, but now the thing that gets me excited is experiencing the world through my daughter’s eyes. I can’t wait to take her scuba diving. I can’t wait to take her skiing. I can’t wait to read a great book with her. I’m not worried at all she’ll be a wallflower. She’s been a character from the word go.”

Jackson met Turner-Smith, 34, two days after his 40th birthday. He had been single since his 10-year relationship with German actress Ms Diane Kruger ended in 2016. “I was not looking to fall in love again or meet the mother of my child, but life has other plans for you,” he says.

The couple met at a party. Turner-Smith was wearing the same The Future Is Female Ejaculation T-shirt Ms Tessa Thompson’s character, Detroit, wears in the 2018 film Sorry To Bother You. “That’s what I used to break the ice. I shouted, ‘Detroit!’ across the room. Not the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, but it worked. We were pretty much inseparable from the word go. It was a whirlwind romance and I can tell my daughter I literally saw her mother across a room and thought, ‘I have to be next to this woman.’”

A self-confessed “useless” shopper, Jackson gives his wife full credit for his current wardrobe. He is jewellery-free, apart from a wedding band and a gold signet “JJ” ring on his little finger (a present from his wife), and discovered tailored sweatsuits (by Stampd and Reigning Champ) in the pandemic.

“Jodie has influence in the way that a wonderful wife encourages you, through love, to dress well. She was like, ‘We’re going to throw away all the sweatpants from your past and I’m going to get you some that actually make you look like an adult male and you will still feel comfortable around the house,’ and I’m like, ‘What an amazing idea!’ Who knew you could get sweatsuits that actually look good on your body?”

Jackson’s style has evolved, he says, “from slovenly teen to it’s-nice-when-your-clothes-actually-fit-you”. The penny dropped after he auditioned for his former co-star Estevez, who was directing the 2006 Mr Robert Kennedy biopic Bobby. He said to me, ‘You only got this job because I know you. You came in here to play a very well-put together 1960s political operative and you’re wearing jeans and a hoodie.’

“I had to grow up a little bit. We are very much raised in Canada to never, ever show off, so it took me a while to recognise it’s OK to look good when you go out.”

Still, when you’ve grown up in front of the camera, “every pimple literally documented”, and lived (very successfully) to tell the tale, you can probably be forgiven for the odd fashion faux pas.

“I wore a silk Ascot to an event once in Paris and I still have nightmares about it,” he says. “I looked like Fred from Scooby Doo, but you live and learn.”

#joshua jackson #interviews #jodie turner smith #dawson's creek #dr death #fringe #emilio estevez #mr porter #patrick stewart #michelle williams #katie holmes

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purrincess-chat · 4 years

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH10

And we’re back to our regularly scheduled mischief. Kind of. I’ve tweaked this part a little bit to suit what’s coming up in a few chapters. The middle of this story looks a lot different than before, and I’ve spent the most time on it (been stuck at the “halfway” point of this rewrite for 3 months, but we’re getting there) All of our characters are about to go on their own journeys. For better or worse ;)

Previous First Next AO3

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Chapter 10: Kids in the Dark

“Hey, Nino, got a second?” Adrien asked the following morning as their classmates shuffled into the courtyard.

Nino perked up, draping an arm over his shoulders. “Sure thing, dude. It’s been a while since we’ve had some guy time. I’ve just been super busy helping Alya with her deputy duties. I miss you, bro.”

“You mean Lila’s class representative duties?” Adrien corrected.

“Well…Lila’s busy doing more important stuff, so Alya has been picking up some of the slack, and I’ve been helping her out,” he said. “Besides, Marinette used to flake on some of her stuff too when she was busy.”

Adrien suppressed a sigh. Things were worse than he thought. He should have helped Chloe yesterday. Someone needed to put Lila in her place, but more than that, Marinette deserved justice. Every day Lila found new ways to turn everyone against her even in her absence, and Adrien wasn’t going to sit by anymore.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about Lila,” Adrien said. His stomach tightened into a knot, but he wasn’t chickening out this time. “Don’t you think it’s a little unfair that Alya does all of Lila’s work for her? I mean, we elected Lila to lead the class, but it feels like she hasn’t really done anything herself. Even if Marinette had other stuff to do sometimes, she still did a majority of the work herself.”

“Well, Lila’s doing global stuff that’s way more important than our class. She leads by example,” Nino said.

“Well, if she’s too busy to be class rep, why would she run?” Adrien asked. His methods were a little around the bush, but hopefully he could convince Nino. They were best buds after all.

“Dude, do you want Chloe to be class rep again? You weren’t here when she was in charge, so you have no idea how bad it was. If Lila hadn’t stepped up, we’d have all been stuck with her. Sorry, but nuh-uh, no way am I going through that ever again.” Nino shook his head emphatically.

Given the choice, Adrien had picked Chloe, but now probably wasn’t the best time to admit that. He understood why no one else wanted Chloe in power, and in most cases, he could agree with them. But Lila wasn’t exactly the step up everyone thought she was either.

“Couldn’t someone else who has more time have run? I mean, most of us would prefer anyone over Chloe,” Adrien said pointedly.

“Bro, I get you and Chloe have known each other since you were kids, but I don’t think you fully understand how deep she’s sunk her claws into everyone here,” Nino said. “She digs dirt on people to keep them from defying her, and if that doesn’t work, she just gets her daddy to threaten the teachers. No one else here can overthrow her. Lila is the only one with an outside advantage because she knows celebrities and ambassadors and stuff. She’s got Chloe beat, and that’s why she’s everyone’s hero.”

It was hard to argue with him there. If Chloe were nicer, then this whole process would have been a lot easier. Anyone looked like a saint compared to her, and after yesterday… Lila could gain all the praise in the world because now she was just like them—another one of Chloe’s victims.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was no easy way out here. If he exposed Lila, then Chloe would claw her way back to the top and make everyone miserable again. If he didn’t expose Lila, then she’d just continue to use everyone and drag Marinette’s name through the mud. He’d tried to convince Chloe to be nice once before, but that didn’t last longer than a day. If he could just get Alya to see the light, she could take down both Lila and Chloe…

“I know you and Alya are busy, but is there any way we could all meet up for juice this afternoon? There’s something I want to talk to you both about.”

♪♫♪ Kill Em With Kindness ♪♫♪

“You said you wanted to talk?” Alya crossed her arms over her chest.

The bench along the Seine was abandoned this time of day, which was why Adrien liked it—he didn’t want anyone interrupting. Considering Alya parted ways with her best friend over Lila, she had clearly fallen deep into her web. This conversation required precision, and Adrien wasn’t taking any chances. He was going to speak his mind.

Nino took the seat beside him without a second thought, gesturing for Alya to do the same. She hesitated, searching Adrien’s expression with a skepticism that said she didn’t entirely trust him. This conversation wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Yeah. It’s about Lila…” He clasped his hands together to keep them from fidgeting. “There’s something you should know.”

“Let me guess. She’s a liar?” Alya cocked a brow. “I know you’ve been by to see Marinette several times. I find it funny how you’ve never mentioned this until now.”

“Look, I know I should have come forward sooner, but Lila is a liar. I can prove it,” Adrien said.

“Oh, can you?” Alya barely masked her cynicism.

“The day she came here, she tried to convince me that she was the descendent of a fox superheroine to impress me, but Ladybug showed up and called her out over your blog post,” Adrien explained. “She and Ladybug had never met before, and truthfully, I don’t think they really even like each other.”

“Can anyone else confirm your story?” Alya asked.

“Marinette can. She was there,” Adrien said.

“Oh, we know that Marinette follows you around.” Alya smirked. “But ya know what I think? I think Marinette is just trying to turn you against Lila because she tried to tell us a similar story before too, but she had no proof.”

“Why would Marinette do that?”

“Trust me, dude, there’s a reason she doesn’t want you hanging around Lila,” Nino said.

Alya elbowed him hard, and when Adrien seemed confused, she rolled her eyes. “Even if you are telling the truth, can you blame me for being a little suspicious? Lila has been here for months, and you’re calling her out on something that happened on her first day? And only after you’ve been hanging out with someone who tried to prove her guilty with the same story?”

“It does seem kinda suspicious.” Nino rubbed the back of his neck with a wince. “Sorry, bro.”

“But I’m telling the truth! That really happened.” When they weren’t convinced, he added, “Okay, fine. You’re right. I shouldn’t have waited so long. I just didn’t want to start trouble.”

“So why start it now?” Alya asked.

“Because people are getting hurt, and I’m tired of looking the other way,” Adrien said.

“What people?”

Adrien bit his tongue. Alya was too defensive. Even if he did point out how Lila was using everyone at school, she’d find a way to justify it just like Nino had earlier. This was Lila’s power—convincing everyone that they enjoyed being manipulated.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I am telling the truth. Marinette isn’t the enemy here,” he said.

Alya took a step back and slung her bag over her shoulder. “I find it a little hard to trust you when you’ve been hanging out with her,” she said. “And after Chloe’s little stunt the other day… don’t tell me you three are working together.”

“No, we’re not.” Adrien held up defensive hands, and when Alya crossed her arms over her chest, he added, “If you don’t believe me that’s fine, but please, look into it. Don’t believe everything Lila tells you. Be a journalist. Investigate.”

Alya eyed him, lips pursed, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll look into your story, but if I don’t find anything, I want you and Marinette to apologize to Lila.”

“Fair enough,” Adrien said.

“Come on, Nino.”

As Alya stalked off, Nino searched Adrien’s expression. His eyes bore all of his confusion, torn between his girlfriend and his best friend. Much like everyone else, Nino wasn’t sure what to believe, but so long as there was doubt, Adrien couldn’t lose hope.

“Nino!”

“Catch you later, bro,” Nino said.

“Yeah. Later.”

♪♫♪ Walk Me Home ♪♫♪

“I’m so excited that you’re finally coming to my house! You have to sit in my massage chair.” Macy squealed as she and Marinette walked arm in arm.

Eliott trailed behind them, things in their group having gone back to normal after the previous day’s events. Marinette was wrong about him. He had Macy’s back even when she couldn’t see him, and they gave her hope that not all friendships were so fragile. When two people trusted each other, nothing could pull them apart.

“We should invite Martin too. I didn’t do well on our last chemistry exam.” Eliott ran a hand through his hair. “Besides, he seems happier when he’s with us, even if he is quiet.”

“He usually waits for his chauffeur out front. Let’s see if we can catch him.” Macy picked up the pace, but she froze the moment they reached the front entrance. “Oh no.”

“What’s the problem, Martin? You said you would do my homework for the entire year,” Gabrielle snarled. “Were you lying?”

Thomas held Martin by his shirt collar, but his eyes bore a fierce determination even if his hands were shaking.

“I-I don’t want to be your puppet anymore,” Martin said, face blanched and eyes wide.

“He’s standing up for himself,” Marinette gasped.

“Kind of. He’s about to get his butt kicked,” Eliott said, but Marinette was already marching down the steps. “And so are we.”

“Gabrielle,” Marinette called.

“Oh, look, little miss thinks-she’s-all-that is back to save her pet hamster.” Gabrielle stepped between Marinette and Thomas. “This doesn’t concern you, street rat, so why don’t you run along back to the sewers?”

“Not until you let my friend go,” Marinette said, undeterred despite how Gabrielle towered over her.

“And just what are you going to do to stop us? You’re as tiny as a mouse, and there’s no one around to save you now.” Gabrielle leaned into her face.

“She’s got us,” Eliott said. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Macy squared her shoulders beside him.

“Two more cowards? I’m shaking.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You think you’re all high and mighty because you won a design contest and got some free tickets? Please, I could ruin your whole life with one phone call.”

“So, do it,” Marinette said. “You talk big, so let’s see you follow through. Make the call.”

“Uh, Marinette, is this such a good-” Eliott held out a hand, but Gabrielle’s glare silenced him.

“Don’t tempt me!”

“Are you going to ruin my life or not? Because if you’re not, then there’s nothing stopping me from helping Martin.” Marinette nodded to him, still dangling in Thomas’ grasp.

Gabrielle’s jaw clenched, but before she could reply, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Marinette?” Adrien stood timidly at the base of the stairs, his bodyguard holding open the car door.

Upon seeing him, Gabrielle faltered, jolting away from Marinette as if she’d been shocked. Macy clamped her hands over her mouth to muffle a squeal as several of their schoolmates stopped to stare in awe.

“Adrien? What are you doing here?” Marinette asked as he climbed the stairs to meet her.

“It’s Friday. You said you were going to visit your friend’s house, so I thought we could ride together.” He glanced around at the scene before him. “Is everything alright?”

Marinette turned to Gabrielle, whose eyes burned through her. Their classmates whispered to each other, all seeming to wonder if Gabrielle was going to show out in front of Adrien Agreste, but even she knew better than to tempt the most beloved boy in Paris. Attacking Adrien was effectively social suicide, and Gabrielle wasn’t going to lose her reputation now. She averted her gaze, red hair flipping over her shoulder as she spun around to face her boyfriend.

“Nothing. We were just leaving,” she grumbled, and her group disbanded.

Thomas set Martin down on his feet before following Gabrielle to their limo.

“Friends of yours?” Adrien cocked a brow.

“Not exactly.” She turned to Martin. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” Martin straightened his glasses. “You must think I’m weak.”

“Not at all. I thought it was very brave of you to stand up for yourself,” Marinette assured him.

“Sorry you had to save me again. I wish I had the strength to defend you too.” Martin curled his shoulders. “Thank you, Marinette. I promise I’ll try to be stronger next time.”

“You’re already strong where it counts.” She touched his chest. “In here.”

His cheeks flushed, and he glanced up at Adrien, eyes widening again. “You’re-”

“Adrien Agreste!” Macy latched onto his neck with a hysteric giggle.

“Macy, be cool, remember we talked about this?” Marinette coached.

“Let him breathe.” Eliott pried her arms off and extended a hand. “I’m Eliott, and this lunatic is-”

“Macy Chanteur!” She broke free of Eliott’s grasp and stuck out a hand for Adrien to kiss. “I have a poster of you on my wall.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows raised.

“She’ll calm down,” Eliott said. “I think.”

“It’s cool. I’m used to it,” Adrien chuckled. “But please don’t treat me like a celebrity. Any friends of Marinette’s are friends of mine.”

“Adrien just called me a friend!” Macy squeaked, and Eliott placed his hands on her shoulders to restrain her.

“My name’s Martin. Martin Michel.”

Adrien turned to the small boy and smiled. “Nice to meet all of you.”

“We were actually about to go to Macy’s to talk about my designs for you-know-who if you want to come, Martin.” Marinette offered.

“Uh, sure.” He nodded.

“I hope it’s alright that Marinette invited me, Macy,” Adrien said. “We only just met, and I’d hate to intrude.”

“You can come over whenever you want, Adrien.” She tried to boop his nose with her finger, but Eliott swatted her hand away.

“Great. We can take my car.” Adrien gestured to his bodyguard standing dutifully on the sidewalk.

“I’m going to ride in his limo!” Macy wheezed.

“Try not to hyperventilate.” Eliott guided her down the steps.

Adrien fell into step beside Marinette. “Your new school is huge,” he remarked.

“Yeah, if it wasn’t for Macy and Eliott, I would totally get lost,” she said.

“They seem nice.”

Marinette’s gaze softened on them as Eliott seated himself and Martin between Macy and Adrien. “They are.”

“So, what was all that on the stairs?” Adrien asked as Macy gave the driver her address.

“Gabrielle,” everyone collectively moaned.

“The Chloe Bourgeois of the school,” Marinette explained, and Adrien nodded in understanding. “She’s got more bite and brute strength, but ultimately, I sense that she has less power.”

“That was incredible how you called her bluff,” Macy said. She seemed to have regained some of her composure, though she still stole frequent glances at Adrien when she thought no one was looking.

“When you deal with the daughter of the mayor of Paris, you get used to empty threats and power pulls.” Marinette shrugged.

“I was sure we were going to get our butts kicked. It’s funny, I usually avoid trouble, but the past couple days have felt good,” Eliott said thoughtfully. “You’ve helped all of us become a little more confident, Marinette.”

“I just don’t like to see my friends get pushed around, that’s all.” Marinette insisted.

“Isn’t her modesty adorable?” Eliott said to Adrien.

“Marinette deserves every ounce of praise, I know it.” He agreed. “She’s amazing.”

Marinette’s cheeks burned. Adrien praised her a lot, but she was just as unprepared for it each time. Macy wasn’t the only one on the verge of passing out in the car. Was it possible to die of happiness?

“Speaking of amazing, we need all of the details about Clara.” Macy leaned across Eliott.

“Clara?” Martin cocked a brow.

“Nightingale. She’s asked Marinette to design for her!” Macy reminded him. “Oh, it was so tempting to throw that in Gabrielle’s face. I don’t know how you resisted the urge.”

“Well, I want to make sure she likes what I come up with first,” Marinette said. “No sense bragging if she hates everything and asks someone else.”

“How are your designs coming along?” Adrien asked.

“Well, I have a few ideas-”

“Show us!” Macy and Eliott demanded simultaneously.

“Nothing is final yet. I’ve just been playing around,” Marinette said as they pulled into the gates of a large house.

“You should sit in my meditation room. It’s totally tranquil, and it might help you get ideas. Can you imagine? Future-world-famous fashion designer sketching her breakthrough piece in my house!” Macy said as they climbed out, then casting a smile to Adrien added, “Do you think you could design my wedding dress someday?”

“Slow your roll, Macy. You just met,” Eliott chided, tugging her up the front steps ahead of the group.

“Your friends are lively,” Adrien said to Marinette. “I like them.”

“Well, Macy and Eliott have been friends for a long time,” Marinette explained.

“Since they were kids,” Martin added. “Their parents are old friends, and they’ve been in the same class every year.”

“That’s awesome. I hope you and I can be close like that someday.” Adrien smiled at Marinette.

If Adrien said any more nice things to her, she’d have enough butterflies in her stomach to give Scarlet Moth a comeback. Why did he have to be so sweet and handsome, perfect, smart, talent-

“Well…” Macy snapped Marinette out of her trance. She held her arms out and twirled around as her butlers opened the front doors. “Welcome to my home.”

#marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #mdcspr #mdcsp #my writing

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bellakitse · 3 years

Text

Take Me Back to the Start

“I thought our fight was going to be our last words to each other,” he whispers, his eyes filling up. “I’m so damn sorry, baby.”

Carlos looks into those green eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asks and watches with growing dread as those eyes widen with shock and fear.

Carlos is in a car accident and forgets the last three and half years of his life.

M | 15.4K | AO3

Everything hurts.

That’s the first real thought Carlos has as he squints up at the lights over his bed through sore eyes. He can’t remember ever aching this much everywhere at once. He’s pretty sure even his hair aches, something he didn’t think was medically possible, but here he is, lying on what he’s sure is a hospital bed, and everything fucking hurts.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he tries to take inventory of the damage. His head is pounding, and when he moves it, he feels a tug over his brow that tells him there is a bandage there. Looking down without trying to lift his head, he catches a glimpse of a soft cast on his left arm from his wrist to his elbow. He tries to sit up to take in the rest of his body, only to let out a hiss when his ribs scream in protest at his sudden movement. Focusing on his breathing, it takes him a second to realize there is someone else in the room with him with their hand on his shoulder, helping him lay back down.

“Hey, hey, hey, slowly, Carlos,” he’s told with a gentle but urgent voice. “You have three cracked ribs from the accident. You can’t be moving like that right now.”

“Accident?” he questions through gritted teeth waiting for the wave of pain to pass. He gets a wince in return for his question.

“You flipped your car,” is the answer he receives. “The roads were wet, and we think an animal crossed your path. You swerved to avoid it, lost control of the Camaro, went off the side of the road, and flipped.”

“Jesus,” he whispers. He clenches his right hand as he tries to recall the accident described to him and comes up empty.

“I really thought I lost you.”

He turns his head at the words, finding beautiful green eyes pained and worried as they stare back at him.

“When I got the call,” he continues, letting out a shaky breath while running an even more trembling hand through his brown hair. “I thought our fight was going to be our last words to each other,” he whispers, his eyes filling up. “I’m so damn sorry, baby.”

Carlos looks into those green eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asks and watches with growing dread as those eyes widen with shock and fear.

֎֎֎

His retrograde amnesia, the doctors say, is brought on by his head injury during the accident. They have high hopes it’s temporary, but they can’t know for sure.

All they can do is wait, he’s told in hopeful tones, and while he can appreciate the optimism, all that means to Carlos right now is that he’s lost years of his life. He woke up thinking it was 2019, and instead, it’s 2023.

He gets the cliff notes version of the state of the world. Global pandemic in 2020, bad. Trump lost reelection, awesome. Michelle found Iris alive, a miracle. She left town to go help others like her sister, admirable.

The guy with the pretty green eyes sits in the corner of his hospital room silently while Carlos’ parents catch him up on things. Carlos’ eyes stray to him more than once, always finding his gaze on him as he nervously bites down on his lip.

“Do you know who TK is, son?” his father asks softly, turning towards the man in question. His mother has walked over to stand next to this TK, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he flinches when Carlos shakes his head, letting them know he doesn’t.

It’s strange and frustrating. It’s evident by the sympathetic looks they give the stranger and how his mother rubs his back that the man is someone they care about. Someone who is connected to Carlos, and no one needs to say out loud how for him to read between the lines.

TK’s broken expression as he stares at him – what he’d said when Carlos first woke up, lets him know what he needs to know. He and TK are involved.

That part isn’t necessarily shocking. His life might be suddenly turned upside down and his memory in shambles, but he has eyes, and TK is breathtakingly beautiful. He imagines that he took one look into those pretty green eyes and lost all thought of anything else.

What’s hard to imagine is a relationship where his parents are obviously well acquainted with someone he’s involved with.

“I don’t remember,” he says softly, feeling horrible at the choked sound TK lets out as he stands up from his chair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, staring at the man across the room with regret.

“It’s okay,” TK answers with a wobbly smile that fools no one in the room. Finally, he exhales loudly, his eyes straying for the door. “I think I need some air,” he says, already turning on his heel, ignoring Carlos’ parents when they both say his name, leaving them alone in Carlos’ room.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos repeats quietly as the room is left in silence after TK’s abrupt exit.

His mother comes over to him while his father shakes his head at him. “Don’t apologize, mijo,” he says gently. “This isn’t your fault, and no one understands that better than TK. No one blames you for this.”

“He’s hurting,” Carlos points out. He might not remember TK, but the man’s expression hides nothing. On the contrary, his pain has been visible since the moment Carlos first opened his eyes.

“He loves you, Carlitos,” his mother says instead of denying his words. Her expression is achingly sad as she takes his hand, giving it a soft pat. “And he’s scared.”

Carlos doesn’t say out loud he’s scared too. There is a gaping hole in his memory in the shape of a man his mother claims loves him, a man who pulls at him in a way he can’t understand, and Carlos is terrified he’ll never know if he can’t remember him.

֎֎֎

A slew of unfamiliar faces visits him. Paul, Marjan, Nancy, Mateo, Tommy, and TK’s father, Owen. He politely answers when they ask him how he’s doing and apologizes when he has trouble remembering their names. He gets waved off in return as they smile compassionately and tell him they’re just glad he’s okay. That it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know them even though they’re supposedly his friends – they’re just happy he’s alive.

He gets visited by Judd and Grace Ryder, and while he does remember them, it startles him to realize they are his friends now too. He remembers Judd from the 126 and is struck when he’s told the old crew is all gone. He can’t imagine what that must have been like for Judd, and he tells him so.

The tall man gives him a saddened smile that tells Carlos it’s still a pain that lingers. Judd tells him having his new team helps with that grief and how thankful he is that Owen and TK Strand decided to come to Austin years ago to rebuild the firehouse, giving Judd and the others a new family.

He sits up straighter at the mention of TK. He hasn’t seen much of him in the last few days, at least not while he’s awake. The guy is obviously giving Carlos space, but Carlos has caught him more than once at night when he is half-asleep checking in on him.

Carlos has taken to playing possum to not scare him off.

“Is that how we met?” he asks Judd. “Me and TK,” he clears up when Judd gives him a confused squint of his eyes. “Did he and I meet on the job?”

Judd and Grace share a look between each other.

“You really don’t remember anything about him, sweetheart?” Grace asks softly, her eyes pitying when he shakes his head.

“Man, I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” Judd says with a harsh exhale. “Poor kid must be losing his mind without you.”

He must make a face at that because Grace elbows Judd in his side hard in response.

“Not that it’s your fault, man,” Judd rushes to comfort him. “This was just really shitty luck. But you and TK have been through worse. You’ll get through this.”

Carlos swallows hard at the conviction in his friend’s voice. “My mother says he loves me,” he questions, still having a hard time believing it himself. While parts are missing from his mind, he does remember that there was never anyone serious in his life. No one who stuck around long enough for him to love, let alone love him back.

“He does, very much,” Grace says with a smile on her pretty face. “And you love him back just as much.”

“You’re actually pretty sickeningly cute together,” Judd tells him. “Always in your own little world where only the two of you exist,” he continues, getting a fond eye-roll from his wife. “It makes the rest of us want to pour water over the two of you, but after three years, we’ve learned to live with it.”

“Judson,” Grace scolds her husband softly, but Carlos tunes them out as he files away another piece of the puzzle.

Three years.

֎֎֎

He gets discharged from the hospital two weeks later. His ribs are bruised but healing, as is his arm. The scratches and bruises on his body are mostly faded. He greets the news of his release with barely restrained glee – already half out of his mind after spending so many days in the hospital.

“You’ll come stay with us, Carlitos,” his mother says with a smile that feels over the top. “It will be so nice to spoil you.”

He looks from her to his father and then finally to TK, who is actually there during his waking hours for once. He takes in his rod-straight posture as he stands at the end of his bed, his jaw clenched.

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re okay with me going home with my parents and not you?” he challenges, barely holding back a sharp grin when it startles the man in question.

“I want you to feel comfortable,” TK answers after a moment.

“You’re my boyfriend,” he shoots back, only slightly stumbling over the last word. “I should be comfortable with you, shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t know me,” TK points out, his jaw tightening even further, and Carlos has the urge to touch at the edges, to run his thumb over the smooth-looking skin until TK stops grinding his teeth.

Instead of soothing him, though, Carlos shrugs a shoulder at him, seeming more unbothered than he actually feels. “Maybe if you didn’t just visit me when you think I’m asleep these last two weeks, I’d know you.”

TK’s mouth drops, his eyes going wide as he sputters, and Carlos has to ignore the little vicious voice in his head that cheers at the reaction. Instead, he turns to his parents, giving them a shake of his head.

“If I’m going to remember my life, then I should probably start living that life,” he reasons, holding up a hand when his mother tries to speak. “And as far as I know, I wasn’t living with my parents when the accident happened,” he lets the statement hang, waiting to see if anyone will correct him. “I thought so. I’m going home, to my home.”

He looks back over at TK, finding his eyes locked on him once more. There is so much going on behind those eyes. Too much for Carlos to read it all when the man continues to be a stranger to him, but there is one thing Carlos does recognize. Tentative hope.

“So,” he starts, raising his eyebrow once more as he drags out the word. “Are you gonna give me a ride back to our place or not?”

֎֎֎

“This isn’t the way home,” he points out the next day from the passenger’s seat of TK’s Ranger. The ride has been mostly silent except for the radio playing. His discharge had also been quiet, his parents doing most of the talking while they waited for his doctors to sign off on his papers. They’d made TK and him promise to call if they needed anything while also letting them know they would be checking in on them often. “You missed the turn on Lynwood,” he says, pointing back at the avenue.

TK makes a face, something very much like a grimace. “Yeah,” he starts to say slowly. “We don’t live there anymore – haven’t for a while actually.”

“We moved?” he questions, surprised. His place had been big enough for two people. More than enough for a couple just starting to live together. “Did you not like it?”

“I loved that house,” TK answers, turning to look at him. “I was so happy when you asked me to move in,” he continues softly. He gives him a sad smile. “But there was a fire, and we lost it.”

“A fire?” he repeats, swallowing hard at the sudden inexplicable fear he feels. TK looks over at him again, going instantly on alert. He takes a hand off the wheel, reaching halfway towards Carlos before coming to a halt.

Carlos watches as the hand hangs mid-air for a moment, feeling a twinge under his ribcage when TK drops it back on his lap instead of touching Carlos.

“We were in it,” he realizes, sure of it as something flashes through his mind, and he swears he can feel the heat and smell the smoke.

TK bites down on his bottom lip, his eyes focused on the road. Then, finally, he gives him a sharp nod but says nothing.

“We almost didn’t make it,” he continues, exhaling slowly, trying to bring his racing heart back down. “It messed me up for a while, didn’t it?”

TK pulls into a quiet street with modest two-story houses. He passes four of them before turning into the driveway of a moss-green house with a brown roof. Turning off the car, TK twists in his seat to look at him. “It did,” he answers honestly. “It got really close, and we almost didn’t make it out. We were shaken up for a long time, and as a result, there is a fire extinguisher in just about every room of this house, which you have me check to make sure they’re all in working order every couple of months.”

TK lets out a breath, raising a hand to run it through his hair. “But we got through it, and we found this place,” he points at the house. “And we fell in love with making new memories in it.”

Memories Carlos can’t remember. Neither have to say it out loud; the words ring out through the car regardless.

“It’s green,” he points out for lack of anything else to say. TK smiles, and for the first time since Carlos opened his eyes, it’s not brittle at the edges.

“To match my eyes,” he says softly, his voice sounding far away. He shrugs at him when Carlos gives him a questioning glance. “Your words, man,” he says, smiling again when Carlos wrinkles his nose at him. “Yeah, you’re kind of a sap that way. Come on.”

Carlos follows TK out of the car and up the steps of the house. Standing on the porch, he spots a swing. “My parents’ house has one of those,” he points at the padded bench. “I always wanted one for my house too.”

“I know,” TK says with a slight smile as he looks over at the porch swing. “You told me when we were looking for a new place to live. So I had it installed a few days before we officially moved in to surprise you.”

TK’s smile grows as he gets lost in the memory. “We spent most of our first night here on it instead of opening boxes. Eventually, I started to fall asleep on you, and you – “

TK trails off frowning, shaking his head at himself as he turns back to open the door.

“I what?” he asks. He puts his hand on TK’s forearm to keep him from turning the lock, swallowing when TK’s eyes thunder up to look at him, surprised by his touch. Carlos realizes he hasn’t done that before and resists the instinct to take his hand off. “I what, TK?” he asks again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You carried me inside and put me to bed,” TK whispers back. He blinks, but that doesn’t keep Carlos from seeing the sudden sheen in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he turns towards the door once more, opening it. “You’ve always been really good about taking care of me.”

TK takes a step forward, and Carlos lets his hold on him slip away. Following him, he finds himself in the middle of a living room painted in light colors instead of the dark walls he remembers from his other place. There are pictures and knick-knacks everywhere, plants at each corner of the room. The place looks well lived-in and busier than his usual style. His face must show some of what he’s thinking because TK snickers.

“Yeah,” he says with a smirk. “It took you a while to get used to my particular brand of chaos.”

Carlos walks over to the fireplace, finding it full of little trinkets. “This is all you?” he questions.

“You have bought me a lot of them,” TK answers with a shrug. He points at a small bronze bee next to a detailed firetruck. “That one you got for me because you thought it matched my tattoo.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him as TK just shrugs at him again.

“Like I said, you’ve gotten used to my love for random stuff.”

“You mean I’ve gotten used to the fact that you’re a hoarder,” he tells him, smiling when TK lets out an offended gasp.

“Rude,” TK grumbles, but Carlos is pleased to see it’s said with a smile. TK hasn’t done much of that around him, understandably, and it makes Carlos ridiculously happy to be the cause of it now. It must show by the way TK’s expression softens as he looks at him.

“Do you want me to show you the rest of the house, or do you want to eat something first?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “You haven’t eaten since the hospital this morning.”

“I could eat,” Carlos answers with a nod, his stomach grumbling at the suggestion. All he had this morning was the muffin on his food tray, too anxious to leave the hospital to eat anything else.

TK nods for him to follow him, leading him towards the kitchen. “You’re in luck. Grace dropped off a casserole last night, so you won’t be subjected to my cooking.”

Carlos leans against a marble counter, looking around at the beautiful kitchen, not a pot out of place, and knows instantly it’s his domain.

“You don’t cook?” he asks, getting a face back as TK pulls a glass dish out of the fridge.

“I mean, I wouldn’t starve,” he says as he turns on the oven, flashing him an amused grin over his shoulder. “And I have picked up some tricks from you. But we’ve both agreed it’s safer for our house and stomachs if you do the bulk of the cooking.”

Carlos smiles at the comment, entertained by it.

“This will take a bit to heat up,” TK gestures towards the oven. “Let me show you the upstairs.”

Carlos nods, trailing TK back out of the kitchen and up a set of stairs. He follows him as he shows him a room that seems to be part guestroom, part library, before continuing towards the end of the hall towards a master bedroom with a large bathroom attached.

“This bedroom is yours. I’ll be sleeping in the other room for now,” TK comments, standing back as Carlos looks around. From the open closet displaying their clothes together to the top of a black drawer with a series of pictures of them. Everything about the room tells the story of their life together.

Carlos picks up a picture frame. In it is a picture of him and TK on vacation going off the beach in the background. TK has a big silly hat on and a coconut drink in his hand, while Carlos has his arm wrapped around him, pressing a kiss into the man’s cheek. Both are smiling wide.

“That was Cancun a year ago,” TK says softly as he comes to stand next to him, looking down at the picture with him. “I surprised you with the trip and had to practically tape my mouth shut to not spill the beans before everything was ready. I’m not very good at keeping secrets, much less from you.”

Carlos looks over at TK, giving him a once-over. “You have no poker face,” he realizes, sure of it. TK proves him right by the startled look he gives him, letting out a huff a moment later.

“You always say that,” he tells him with an eye roll. “I just don’t see a reason to keep anything from my best friend and the love of my life.”

Carlos’ breath catches at TK’s description of him. “Is that what I am to you?”

“Yes,” TK answers without hesitation.

“We look so happy,” he says as he looks back down at the picture. There is no doubt in his mind as he looks at their smiles that he is in love with the man in the photograph.

“We are happy,” TK answers. He wavers for a second but then covers his hand holding the frame, and Carlos feels a shock go through him at the touch. “We have our moments like any other couple, sure, but we’re so damn happy, Carlos.”

Carlos twists towards TK, turning his hand to hold onto his. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out desperately, blinking back the stinging in his eyes at the loss he feels acutely, even if he can’t recall what he’s lost. “I’m sorry I can’t remember us.”

TK shakes his head at him, pulling him into his arms, careful of Carlos’ cast. “This is not your fault,” TK whispers firmly in his ear as he cradles the back of his head. Carlos sinks into his embrace, taking comfort in it. “We’re going to figure this out, Carlos,” TK continues as he pulls back to look at him. “I’m not saying it’s easy to look in your eyes and see very little recognition, but I’m not giving up on you or us.”

Carlos doesn’t know what to say to that, and it seems he doesn’t have to. TK gives him a small smile, pulling out of their hug while Carlos has to bite his tongue to keep from protesting as he loses TK’s touch, leaving him feeling cold.

“Come on,” he says softly, taking a step back. “The casserole should be warmed up by now.”

He follows TK back downstairs, watching him as he moves around their kitchen, serving up their meal, grabbing glasses when he points at the cabinet where they’re kept.

They sit down to eat the casserole quietly. It’s good, but Carlos barely tastes it, more preoccupied with sneaking looks at TK.

“You’re burning holes into me, Reyes,” TK says dryly as he looks up from his plate. “You know you can ask me whatever you want, right?” he questions gently. “I’m an open book. You just have to ask.”

“How did we meet?” Carlos questions instantly, dozens of questions ready to go on the tip of his tongue. TK seems to realize this by the smile on his face.

“On the job,” he says softly. “There was a car accident, a mother and son. We were the answering firehouse; you were the cop on the scene.”

“How long have you been a firefighter?” he asks, causing TK to wrinkle his nose at him.

“I’m not one anymore,” he answers. “I was one for over seven years between New York and here. But after almost a year in Austin, I switched from Fire to Rescue. I’m a paramedic now with Nancy and Tommy. You met them, right?”

Carlos nods, recalling the two women visiting him at the hospital.

“Tommy is my Captain, Nancy, my partner,” he continues with a smile that speaks of fondness for the women in question. “I became a firefighter in large part because I wanted to be like my dad, and I loved being one, but I always felt like something was missing. Becoming a paramedic was like finding the missing piece to the puzzle, you know?”

Carlos gives TK an understanding look, pausing for a moment before he asks his next question. “Did I ask you out, or did you ask me out?”

“Oh man,” TK chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. Reaching for his glass, he takes a sip of water. “You need to understand that we didn’t start so easily as going on a date.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at that, earning another smile from TK, this one bashful.

“Okay,” he starts, exhaling loudly. “So our story goes like this – ”

Carlos listens as TK tells him of Michelle inviting his team to the local honky-tonk after rescuing the mother and child from the car accident. He tells him about Carlos walking up to him in a ridiculously tight shirt and asking him to dance. He blushes as TK shoots him a look, telling him he looked so hot. And blushes even further when TK tells him of the two of them sneaking off to make out in the bar bathroom, exchanging numbers after kissing each other senselessly before seeing each other two days later and having sex on the floor of Carlos’ old living room.

“Not much time for courting,” he says dryly, unable to keep the smile off his face as TK grins back at him.

“In your defense, you did try to court me,” TK says gently, affection shining in his eyes. “You invited me to a midnight dinner the next night.”

“Oh,” Carlos says, relieved. “That’s better.”

TK winces slightly in return.

“Or not?” he questions, getting a nod back from TK.

“I kind of freaked out on you,” he says, looking deeply sorry. Carlos can’t imagine it could have been so bad if three years later they’re still together, but he waits for TK to explain.

“I had gone through a horrible breakup back home – I was getting ready to propose, and he was cheating on me with some guy from the gym. I wasn’t looking for anything other than some harmless sex, so when you made this lovely dinner for me with flowers and candles, and you looking so fine in a dress shirt and slacks. I turned into a jerk, and the dinner was a bust.”

Carlos quietly processes what TK has just told him. He feels a pang in his chest at the knowledge that TK loved someone else enough to consider marriage. He scoffs quietly at the silly jealousy he feels from it. It’s completely ridiculous to be jealous of some random man from TK’s past when TK is here now in their home with him. He tries not to think too hard about what it means to feel this way when TK is still essentially a stranger to him.

“How did we recover from that?”

TK cringes again, and Carlos has to keep from reaching out and poking his nose as it wrinkles adorably.

“I got arrested, and you were the officer to process me?” TK says in the form of a question, groaning when Carlos’ eyebrows both go up.

“That sounds like a conflict of interest.”

“That’s what I said to you!” TK exclaims, waving a hand at him. “Thank you for finally agreeing with me!”

“Maybe I made sure to get your paperwork when you were brought in,” he suggests, theorizing.

“Do you think you would do that?” TK questions curiously.

“If I really liked you and wanted a reason to talk to you, sure,” he shrugs, knowing that while he’s usually a by-the-book cop, he has an impulsive streak. “And something tells me I did like you enough to do that.”

TK looks away from him, but it doesn’t hide his pleased smile from Carlos. He feels warmed by it again, and wonders just how many times over the years has TK’s smile caused his stomach to flutter.

“So how did getting arrested help us after that dinner gone wrong?” he asks, clearing his throat. “And what did you get arrested for?”

“A bar fight,” TK answers, wincing when he shoots him an unimpressed look. “I know, I know. It was stupid, and trust me, you let me know how stupid you thought it was. But like I said, I was going through a bad breakup, I had relapsed on substances as a result, and I was looking for something to keep my mind off my life being shit that wasn’t alcohol or pills.”

TK sneaks a look at him, holding his breath as he waits for him to react to his confession.

“Are you okay now?” he asks softly, letting out a sigh when TK nods.

“I haven’t used since my relapse,” he answers. “There have been moments of struggle, but I have overcome them.”

“I’m proud of you, TK,” he says as he reaches for his hand, not sure if it’s his place but unable to stop himself.

TK gives him a slight quirk of his lips. “You always say that,” he whispers, offering his hand a squeeze. “And I’ll remind you now that you’re a big reason for my continued sobriety.”

“No – “ he starts to shake his head, freezing when TK grips his hand that much tighter.

“Yes,” TK answers firmly. “You are my biggest champion. Your unwavering faith in me has saved me so many times, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember it now, but you need to know that.”

֎֎֎

TK leaves for the basement after they finish their meal, claiming a need to do laundry. Really Carlos thinks he’s giving him space after the emotionally packed conversation they shared. Either way, Carlos takes the reprieve he’s given. He calls his mother to check in, assuring her he and TK are okay.

She gives him a loaded ‘hmm’ and an amused ‘nothing’ when he asks what’s that about.

After ending the call, he wanders around the house some more. It’s hard to find pieces of the life he does remember, but he figures losing everything in a fire will do that. He takes his time looking at the rest of the pictures around the house. He and TK are attached at the hip in just about all of them, more often than not smiling at each other instead of the camera.

TK comes back upstairs an hour later with a basket full of clean clothes. “Fresh towels,” he proclaims happily. “Just the way you like it for your showers,” he smiles before giving him a curious look. “We’ll have to wrap your arm with plastic for that – are you okay?”

Carlos nods, pointing at the framed photos on the wall. “Just looking,” he answers, pausing as something comes to mind for the first time and feeling silly for it. “Hey, do you know what happened to my phone?”

“It got wrecked in the accident,” TK answers as he crosses towards a cabinet. “But I got it replaced for you, and made sure everything was backed up from the cloud.”

He takes the phone from him, looking at it, and then looks back up at TK, who smiles back at him a little awkwardly. “Your passcode is my birthday,” he answers, rattling off the numbers to him before leaving the room again, heading upstairs with the laundry in hand.

“I really am a sap,” he mumbles to himself, punching in the code. He looks through his old messages first. Some are from his partner Mitchell, there is a recipe link from Paul, and a group message between him, his parents, TK’s father, and TK himself about dinner plans from over a month ago. The conversation between him and TK is endless, with many ‘I love yous’ and ‘be safe’ exchanged. There are also teasing remarks – quite a few racy enough to make his ears feel hot.

He turns to his camera roll and scoffs at himself at the sheer amount of pictures of TK in it.

“What’s that noise for?” TK questions coming back into the living room.

“I might be your stalker,” he answers, waving his phone when TK raises an eyebrow at him. “Pretty sure 90% of my phone is pictures of you, so yeah,” he points a finger at himself. “Stalker.”

TK lets out a laugh, throwing his head back, and Carlos can’t help but stare, transfixed by the image of him. It’s almost unfair how beautiful he is without even trying.

Looking back at him, Carlos can see his green eyes sparkle with amusement.

“You should see my phone,” he says unbothered. “It’s all you, all the time. Nancy teases the crap out of me for it. So we’re pretty even on that front, don’t worry.”

“There are some dirty messages from you here,” he tells him, biting down on his lip when it makes TK smirk, even as he turns a rosy pink.

“I would bet my car that there are more than just dirty messages saved in there from me,” he answers, his smirk growing filthier as Carlos’ eyes widen. “Sometimes you work nights, and I get bored without you,” he tells him, his blush growing stronger. “Bet you haven’t found those pictures yet.”

No, but he sure as hell plans on finding them later when he’s alone, he thinks, going hot himself at the thought. “So you like to tease me,” he questions, earning himself a suggestive chuckle in return.

“As I like to tell you when you call me a tease. It’s not teasing if I deliver,” TK points out, grin firmly in place. “And I always do.”

“Of all the things to forget,” Carlos grumbles, mostly at himself.

TK’s smile slips away, a flash of pain crossing his face before he can hide it away. “It will come back,” he says softly.

Carlos tilts his head, studying him. “You sound so sure.”

TK gives him a gentle shrug of his shoulder in return. “When it comes to us against whatever crap the world throws at us, I’ll place my bet on you and me every single time.”

֎֎֎

Carlos is in the bedroom waiting for TK to finish his shower before he can hop in himself. He smiles as he hears TK sing some song horribly off-key.

“Hey, rockstar,” he calls out when he hears the water shut off, grinning as TK lets out a shouted curse in surprise. He probably figured Carlos was still downstairs. “When you’re done with your concert, can you help me wrap my cast?”

He hears more muffled grumbling that causes him to chuckle at least until TK opens the door. His laughter halting in his throat as he takes in his boyfriend in nothing more than a towel, his chest bare with water droplets running down his defined abs.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he scolds him with a pout on his face that has no right being as charming as it is.

“I understand how we fell into bed so quickly,” he blurts out, blushing as TK raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “You’re stunning,” he continues, unable to hold back the thought. “I must have taken one look at you and just fallen head over heels for you.”

TK stares at him for a moment before shaking his head, a small reluctant smile taking over his face. “Leave it to you to have no memory of us and still manage to be ridiculously romantic,” he huffs, chuckling softly to himself. “You’re dangerous, Reyes.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos apologizes, feeling awkward. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

TK crosses the room, coming to sit down next to him on the bed. “The fact that you’re still attracted to me doesn’t make me uncomfortable. On the contrary, it gives me hope,” he tells him with a half-smile. “Hope that you’ll come back to me here,” he says, tapping a finger against Carlos’ temple. “And here,” he brings his hand down to tap against Carlos’ chest over his heart.

“Don’t give up on me,” Carlos whispers, and even he can hear the pleading quality in his voice.

“Never,” TK answers gently, his green eyes bright and hopeful, and Carlos might not know him well, but he can see the love he feels for him in those eyes – it leaves him breathless. He realizes with a start how badly he wants to lean in, to close the gap between him and TK and see if tasting him will trigger the memories he so desperately wants back. He realizes with alarming clarity that even if he doesn’t remember, he very much wants to know if TK tastes as sweet as he seems.

He takes too long deciding, and when he shifts an inch closer, TK is already grabbing the plastic and medical tape he has on the bed.

“Now, let’s get this wrapped so you can shower,” he says sweetly, reaching for Carlos’ arm. “You’re probably tired after the long day. I bet you go right to sleep afterwards.”

Carlos thinks sleep is probably not coming with his swirling thoughts, but he gives TK a nod anyway.

“I’m going to the farmer’s market tomorrow morning,” TK continues once his arm is wrapped up. “We usually go together on our days off. Think you’re up for it?” he asks, giving Carlos a hopeful look.

Carlos nods again, wanting to keep that look on TK’s face and the bright smile that follows.

“That sounds nice.”

֎֎֎

Carlos leans against the kitchen counter, staring through tired eyes as the coffee machine spits out a robust Colombian roast. Sleep, like he had expected, had been hard to come by the night before, with too many thoughts and too much space in his bed for him to settle in right. He might not remember sleeping with TK in their bed, but he has a feeling his body does, and it rebelled at the idea of TK being in another room away from him.

More than once last night, he had given serious thought to walking over to the guest room and begging TK to come sleep beside him. He hadn’t, and instead spent the night twisting and turning, flashes of moments running through his mind too fast to make a complete picture. It frustrates him while also giving him hope being home with TK will trigger his memories.

He hears footsteps coming down the stairs and turns his head just in time to see a sleepy, shirtless TK come into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and grumbling.

“Need. Coffee. Now,” he mumbles, passing him, going straight for the coffee maker, only to let out a whine when he sees the pot is nowhere near ready.

“Good morning,” he says dryly, a smile tugging on his face at the adorable image TK makes, pout in full display as he turns to acknowledge him.

“Coffee,” he demands once more.

Carlos opens his mouth to tease him, stopping short as something comes back to him instantly.

He’s in the middle of bringing his cup to his lips when he feels TK slide up behind him, his arms going around his waist, his face tucked between his shoulder blades.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says fondly, twisting in TK’s hold to turn to him, smiling at his sleepy expression.

“Woke up without you,” TK pouts, his green eyes narrowed. “On our day off. That’s illegal; arrest yourself right now.”

“If I arrest myself, we can’t spend the day together,” he points out, chuckling as TK gives him a dry look.

“Maybe I just want you in handcuffs,” TK quips, a teasing smile playing on his lips when Carlos raises an eyebrow at him.

“We can play that game if you want. It was a lot of fun the last time,” he challenges back with a smirk of his own when TK lets out a sharp breath at his answer.

“Too early for this,” TK grumbles, his cheeks a pretty pink. “Need coffee.”

“If you let me go, I can get you a cup,” he offers, waiting as TK considers. Finally, his boyfriend shakes his head.

“Nope,” he answers, tucking his face into Carlos’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “This is better anyway.”

“Hey,” TK snaps his fingers softly in front of his face. When Carlos focuses on him, he finds him looking at him with a curious and slightly worried expression. “Are you okay? Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” he answers, trying to give TK a smile to ease his worry while inside, he’s reeling. The memory had been as clear as TK standing in front of him now, but more than that, he can remember what he’d been feeling at that moment. The love and adoration he felt for the man in his arms, not wanting to let him go even for a cup of coffee.

“Are you sure?” TK asks again, still concerned.

“Yeah,” he says again, this time his smile coming out a little easier as he wraps himself in the feelings caused by the memory. “Are we still going to the farmer’s market today?”

“Sure,” TK answers as he walks over to the coffee pot that is now full. He pulls out two mugs, pouring them both a cup. “If you’re up to it, that is.”

“I am,” he answers, taking the cup TK offers him. “I thought I could cook this evening,” he suggests, waving his cast at him. “With your help.”

TK shoots him a grin. “Sure, it should be fun to watch you bite your lip to keep from telling me I’m chopping the wrong way.”

“Do you chop the wrong way?” he questions, suddenly concerned.

TK shrugs a shoulder at him. “You seem to think so. You’re always warning me I’m going to cut myself and hover over me like the worrywart you are.”

“I’m suddenly reconsidering letting you help me,” he says honestly, getting another playful grin from TK.

“Too late,” he chirps. “I’m helping. Now I’m gonna head for the shower. We can grab breakfast at this bakery we like near the market.”

Carlos nods in agreement as TK starts to leave the kitchen. He’s about to let him pass when he notices a scar near TK’s left shoulder. “Hey, what is that?” he stops him, bringing a hand to the spot, running a thumb over it. He hears TK’s breath catch, but he ignores it as he realizes with a start what he’s looking at. “Is this a bullet wound, TK?” he asks, his voice coming out higher than usual.

He stares at TK with wide eyes as the man lets out a wince.

“Yeah…see what happened was – “

֎֎֎

“So you’re telling me you have been shot at and kidnapped?” he questions for the third time since TK finished retelling him his unfortunate work calls. Since then, they’ve stopped by the bakery TK mentioned, bought their breakfast – a spinach pie for him and a cherry cheese Danish for TK, and now are walking around the market, reusable grocery bags in hand. Carlos is still at a loss, having trouble understanding how TK can recall the moments so calmly. When Carlos on the other hand, is quietly freaking out and wondering how to hide TK away from the world hellbent on injuring him.

“Yes,” TK answers simply, lifting his hand to offer him half his Danish. “Trade? We usually do because you like the last taste in your mouth to be sweet.”

He distractedly takes the offered pastry, giving TK the last bit of his pie.

“Do I have blood pressure issues?” he questions, looking over at TK as he pops the last bit of food in his mouth. “I feel like I have to because my BP is skyrocketing right now.”

“So dramatic,” TK scoffs, rolling his pretty eyes at him. “As if I would let you have high blood pressure. My dad is a health nut. If you had a high BP, there would be no salt in the house,” he continues with a cheeky smile that makes Carlos huff.

“Cute,” he says sarcastically. “Have I tried to bubblewrap you? I think drastic measures need to be taken here to keep you safe.”

He winces as his voice goes a little manic at the end there, causing TK to stop walking, the amused but exasperated smile on his face dropping.

“Hey,” he starts softly, reaching out to touch Carlos’ wrist, pressing the pads of his fingers against his pulse point, squeezing gently, helping Carlos center himself. “I’m okay,” he says slowly, his eyes locking with Carlos’.

“Yes, they were scary moments, ones I would rather not repeat. But when I was shot, you were there every day waiting for me to wake up.” TK squeezes his wrist again, making sure he’s listening. “And when I got kidnapped, you figured out where we were, and you rescued me.”

“I did?” he asks breathlessly. Leave it to TK to get to the root of Carlos’ freak out. The thought of TK hurt or in danger and Carlos helpless to save him.

“You did,” TK answers. He lets go of Carlos’ wrist, but Carlos instinctively takes his hand before he can get too far.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, holding his breath as he waits for TK to decide if he should pull his hand away or not. He watches his eyes flicker between their joined hands and Carlos’ face, a flash of something too close to sorrow playing over his features for a second. He’s just about to pull away himself and apologize to TK when he links their fingers together, giving Carlos a slight smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart, of course it’s okay,” he whispers back, his smile more honest and less pained. “Take this as a blanket invitation to touch me when you want or need, okay?”

Carlos startles at the offer, staring at TK as he looks back at him.

TK shakes his head softly at him. He reaches up, touching Carlos’ temple gently with his other hand. “This is hard for me,” he admits, brushing one of Carlos’ curls into place. “But I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in your head. How scared you must be to have all these missing pieces in your memory. So yeah, Carlos, if holding my hand brings you any kind of comfort, if touching me helps center you, feel free to touch me anytime the urge hits.”

Carlos can’t speak in the face of such an offer when he knows TK hurts every moment Carlos doesn’t remember their life together.

“That might not be fair to you.”

TK gives him another gentle smile, his eyes shining with what Carlos can only call love. “You let me worry about what’s fair to me,” he tells him before wrinkling his nose at him sweetly. “Besides, I’ve never said no to your hands on me, and I’m not about to start now.”

They stay like that, neither moving as they get lost in the moment. It’s only when a sharp whistle pierces the air that TK breaks their eye contact, twisting around to find the source. Carlos doesn’t recognize the elderly woman waving at them from a few stalls away, but TK obviously does by the low noise he lets out.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking back at him. “That’s Martha; we buy jam and honey from her. She’s very old and very sweet and is extremely fond of us. She’s gonna take one look at your arm and fuss, and if we tell her about your memory issues – “

“She’s not going to take it too well?” Carlos finishes for him, getting a nod in return. “Okay,” he says, understanding TK is suggesting they pretend everything is fine. “Martha, you said?”

“Yeah,” TK bites down on his lip nervously.

Carlos gives TK’s fingers a gentle tug. “Let’s go say hello and get some jam. Does she have apricot?” he questions as they start to make their way over to her stall.

TK lets out a breath, smiling slightly as he leans into Carlos’ side. “Yes, she has apricot jam, which she always lets you taste even though we buy it from her all the time.”

“I like her already,” he says honestly. He can see the woman better now. He can see the happy smile on her face as they approach, followed by concern as her eyes stray to his arm.

“Carlos Reyes,” she gasps once they are close enough. “What in the world happened to you?”

“Car accident,” he says as she comes around her stall to get closer. He stands still as she touches his arm and then his cheek with gentle wrinkled hands as she peers up at him.

“Oh my dear boy,” she says softly, her tone caring like a grandmother. “Are you okay?”

He gives her a nod, tilting his head towards TK. “This one over here is taking very good care of me,” he says with a playful waggle of his eyebrows, smiling when she lets out a whistling laugh, her concern easing at his teasing.

“I’m sure he is,” she says with a laughing tone of her own. She turns towards TK, holding out her hands to him. TK places his hands in hers, holding on as she gives them a gentle squeeze. “You okay, dear?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Martha,” TK answers her softly, sneaking a look at him. “He’s alive and whole, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Martha studies both of them with a gentle look. “Sweet boys,” she whispers. She pats TK’s hands again before letting go of them. “Your love is so special,” she continues with a smile that is then followed by a pointed look. “Beautiful, even though I see no rings yet.”

TK groans out the woman’s name through a tired smile. He looks amused, but it doesn’t hide the gentle blush taking over his face. “We’ve talked about this, Martha,” he reminds her, sneaking a look at him again before focusing on the older woman. “We’re happy the way we are, for now, there is no need to – “

“Rush things,” Martha finishes for TK, rolling her eyes at him. “Blah, blah, blah,” she mocks with her hand.

“Martha!” TK exclaims with a surprised laugh. Carlos looks away, not knowing what to say. He can feel his heart tick up at the subject. Obviously, it’s one the older woman is used to commenting on going off TK’s response, and Carlos wonders what his usual answer is. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the mention of rings – his on TK’s finger, makes his stomach do a somersault.

“Young people,” Martha mutters as she opens a jar of jam, spreading some over a cracker before passing it over to him.

He takes it from her, popping it into his mouth, letting out a pleased sound as the sweet taste fills his senses. “Delicious,” he says to her, causing her to beam back at him. “Best jam ever.”

“If you put a ring on this boy’s finger already, I might give you my secret recipe,” she says to him, grinning brightly as he feels his face go red.

“Oh my god, Martha,” TK mumbles, turning his face to hide it into Carlos’ shoulder.

Carlos instinctively pulls him closer, trying to shield him from his own embarrassment.

Martha sighs deeply, pursing her lips at them. “Just the jam then?”

֎֎֎

They get home past noon. The ride back is quiet and a little uncomfortable. Martha’s teasing prompting some new questions Carlos is itching to ask.

“I left some chicken out for a southwest salad for lunch?” TK tells him as they place their groceries on the counter. “What do you say?”

“Sounds good,” he answers as he takes out the avocados from the bag, separating the two ripe ones for the salad.

“Great,” TK says, flashing him a strained smile. He starts pulling out what he needs from the cupboards, beans, and corn, while Carlos gets the rest from the fridge.

They work together around the kitchen quietly, Carlos’ assistance limited by his arm. Finally, as TK cooks the chicken on a cast iron skillet, he can’t hold in his questions any longer.

“Have we talked about it?” he asks, holding his breath when TK shoots him a knowing look.

“We haven’t planned anything officially,” he answers, not needing Carlos to clarify his question. “But you know how much I love you, and I know how much you love me. We both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. There is no doubt about that.”

Carlos takes in a sharp breath at the certainty he hears in TK’s voice as he speaks about their commitment to each other in the present tense, not in the past before Carlos’ accident. TK’s absolute belief in them is humbling, and Carlos is left in awe that someone loves him as much as TK does.

It must show on his face by the way TK’s expression softens. He reaches out, touching Carlos’ side gently for a moment, offering him comfort.

“The chicken is done,” he says as he pulls his hand back.

Carlos doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just watches TK move around the room, getting their salads ready. He takes the plate offered, heading for the dining room table, following TK.

“I have a shift tomorrow,” TK tells him as they eat. “But Captain Vega said I can call out if you need me here with you.”

He looks at him questioningly, but Carlos is already shaking his head. “I don’t want you to miss work because of me,” he tells him. It’s bad enough that he’s on leave for the next few weeks due to his arm and head injury. “I’m healthy enough to be left on my own.”

TK opens his mouth like he wants to argue, pausing when Carlos gives him a pleading look. “Okay then,” he says softly, agreeing. “I’ll tell her I’m good to go, but I’m gonna check in on you.”

Carlos nods.

“A lot,” TK warns him, and this time Carlos smiles.

“I expect nothing less,” he answers softly, affection spreading through him for the man before him.

֎֎֎

They spend the rest of the afternoon and evening lounging around. Carlos’ parents call again, this time facetiming. He and TK press against each other as they talk to them, and Carlos catches the smiles his folks throw their way more than once.

“My parents seem to really like you,” he comments later as they lay back on the couch watching TV. They’re watching the end of an episode of house hunters, and TK has been complaining about the couple and their ridiculously high expectations for most of it. “How did that happen?”

TK turns to him, raising both eyebrows in challenge. “I’m sorry, do you not find me charming enough to win over Gabriel and Andrea Reyes?” he asks with a teasing smirk on his face. “Because I’ll have you know they adore me. Big fans of TK Strand those two.”

Carlos rolls his eyes even as he smiles. “I know. I can tell they love you,” he answers. “And I know you’re charming. You’ve already captivated me, and I’ve only been home two days with you.”

TK looks away from him at that, but Carlos can see the corners of his mouth tug upward anyway.

“I just remember how it used to be between my folks and me when it came to my private life,” he continues though he wants to forget the subject and focus on the smile on TK’s face. He wants to reach out and trace it with his thumb, hating how it drops as he continues. “I guess I don’t understand how we got to this point with them.”

“That’s probably more of a conversation you should have with your folks,” TK answers delicately as he fidgets with his fingers. “But I will say that though it took time, once they knew about us, they were very happy with our relationship, and it greatly improved your own relationship with them. That old hurt you’re remembering of not being able to share your life with them, that mended over time.”

“Thanks to you,” he answers softly, sure of it deep in his bones that TK had everything to do with it.

TK doesn’t deny it; he just gives him a kind smile. “I always have your back,” he tells him. “Just like you have mine.”

Carlos wants to say thank you, but it doesn’t feel nearly enough. The smile TK gives him lets him know he hears it anyway.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” TK says as he stands up from the couch. “When I get out, I’ll wrap your arm for you, okay?”

He gives him a nod and watches as he heads upstairs. He waits for a few minutes before he too gets up, turning off the TV and the lights, punching in the security code TK wrote down for him before heading upstairs himself.

A few minutes pass before TK comes out of the shower and into the bedroom, this time in a pair of sleeping shorts and a t-shirt, disappointingly not like the night before with just a towel around him.

“I didn’t even ask how you slept last night,” he says, running a towel over his head, looking at Carlos expectantly.

Carlos goes to tell him he slept fine, not wanting to burden him, but can’t bring himself to lie. “The bed is too big,” he says instead, getting a sympathetic look back from TK.

“We have slept together for a long time now,” he says softly. “We are used to our bodies next to each other. I didn’t get great sleep in the guestroom either,” he admits.

“You could – “ Carlos stops himself, biting down on his lip as his heart starts to race at the same thought he’s had since the night before. He can tell by the way TK’s eyes widen that he knows what he wants to say.

“Yeah?” he questions, pausing hesitantly as he licks his lips. “You wouldn’t be uncomfortable with me in bed with you?”

He lets out a small huff as he closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he can’t help but smile. “I might not remember a lot of stuff right now. But I know for a fact that you have never made me feel uncomfortable, that much I do know.”

He tilts his head to the side as he studies the way TK has gone shy. “What about you? Will you be uncomfortable if we share the same bed?”

“More like relieved,” TK blurts out, going rosy in the cheeks as he speaks. “It’s been a long two weeks without you, sweetheart.”

His eyes darken for a moment, and Carlos feels his breath catch.

“Okay then,” he whispers, swallowing hard as his stomach clenches with anticipation, feeling a fundamental shift between them. “It’s settled.”

֎֎֎

He takes his time in the shower, and by the time he comes out, TK has settled into his side of the bed, his eyes half-closed as they follow him around the room that is dark except for his bedside lamp. It casts a low yellow glow that gives the space a dream-like quality.

“You should know I have been known to cling to you like a koala in the middle of the night,” he warns him sleepily as Carlos gets under the covers. It sounds nice, and he tells TK that, earning a tired chuckle in return.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he sighs out as he turns to his side, facing Carlos with his eyes closed.

Carlos mimics him, turning towards him without turning off the lights just yet, his face inches away from TK’s. He doesn’t mean to stare at him, but he can’t help himself. This is the closest he’s had TK since this started, and he can’t help but want to take him in. He must be staring too hard because after a few minutes, TK’s eyes flutter open. They’re tired but bright in the darkened room. Like two beacons of light, they pull Carlos in. He inches closer until his forehead is pressed against TK’s. Their breathing is loud and heavy, and Carlos can feel every puff that passes TK’s lips touch his face.

He reaches up, giving in to the impulse from earlier, running a trembling finger over TK’s mouth, finding it as soft as he imagined.

“Carlos,” TK whispers, and when Carlos looks up from his mouth, he finds his pupils blown wide.

TK lifts a hand, grabbing at his bicep to pull him closer.

“Are you sure?” he questions even as he wraps an arm around TK’s waist, pulling him tight against his body, his heart racing at the soft moan TK lets out in response.

“If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to lose my mind,” TK mutters, pressing his forehead harder against Carlos’.

Carlos lets out a low groan right as he covers TK’s mouth with his own.

It’s not a tentative kiss.

He might not remember their first, but his mouth and body seem to have no such problem as he sinks his tongue into TK’s mouth. Desperate from the first taste for more.

TK gives as good as he gets; he licks and bites on Carlos’ bottom lip, smiling into the kiss as it makes Carlos gasp. Then, he presses a smaller, gentler one over the sting to soothe it, and this time Carlos’ toes curl at the sweetness of the gesture.

“I must want to kiss you all the damn time,” Carlos whispers frantically as he clings to TK. It gets him a soft, loving laugh from his boyfriend as their kisses slow down to a gentle back and forth of their lips.

“The feeling is very mutual, sweetheart,” he tells him, giving him one last kiss, followed by two smaller ones at the corners of his mouth. He pulls back then, reaching over Carlos’ side to turn off the light. They settle in for the night, neither pulling away from each other’s arms.

He feels TK fall asleep even as he remains wide awake and accepts another sleepless night as TK gets even closer, his face tucked away into Carlos’ neck.

With TK in his arms, this one is already a hundred times better than the night before.

֎֎֎

Carlos is in the middle of mindlessly channel surfing when there is a knock at the door. Most of his morning has been aimless with nothing to do but think of TK and them waking up together in a tangle of limbs.

He had woken up to his breath being stolen by the beauty of a sleeping TK. He’d been helpless but to stare and study every detail of his face, committing it to memory, wondering how in the world he could ever forget such a perfect picture in the first place. Twenty minutes later, right before his alarm went off, TK’s eyes had fluttered open to find his gaze on him. The smile that took over TK’s face as he teasingly called him a weirdo for staring had caused something to squeeze tight under Carlos’ ribcage with a feeling he didn’t dare speak out loud yet.

Getting up from the couch, he opens the door to find his mother on the other side with a bakery box in her hands.

“Conchas?” she asks with a bright smile as she shakes the box back and forth.

Carlos smiles, giving her a head tilt toward the inside of the house, kissing her on the cheek as she comes in.

They head for the kitchen, and Carlos silently starts the coffee machine before pulling a jar of Nutella out of the cupboard.

“You remember that,” she says with a pleased smile as she grabs a knife and starts cutting the conchas down the middle to spread the Nutella over it.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, leaning against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.

She passes him a half of the sweet bread with a smile. “How’s it going, cariño?” she questions, her brow wrinkled with worry.

Carlos chews on his concha as he tries to think how to answer that. Physically he’s okay; his arm is healing, and he should have his cast off in a few weeks. Even mentally, the doctors aren’t terribly concern. They’re sure his memory will come back, and given the small but frequent flashes he’s had, he’s inclined to believe them.

Just this morning, he’d made TK’s banana and peanut butter shake – made with oat milk, two tablespoons of creamy peanut butter, and half a scoop of protein powder. TK had taken a sip from it, smiling as he told him it was precisely how he liked it, pausing for a moment as he realized Carlos remembered how to make it before his smile grew even larger. He was remembering, it was slow, but it was happening.

He could tell his mother all of that, but that wasn’t what was on his mind. What’s on his mind is the feel of TK’s mouth against his the night before and then this morning as he let him kiss him before he left for work. What’s on his mind is how right it felt to hold TK as they slept. What is on his mind is how TK’s smile or laugh causes Carlos to go warm all over.

“I think I’m falling in love, Mami,” he says softly, holding his breath once he’s let the words out.

Andrea puts down her treat, wiping her face with a napkin. When she lowers it, Carlos can see the hints of a smile playing on her face. “Well, I hope it’s with your boyfriend, or else this is going to get really awkward for you.”

“Mami,” Carlos groans at her teasing, getting a delighted laugh in return. He pushes off the counter to turn off the coffee maker, pouring the hot liquid into two mugs. “You don’t look particularly surprised by what I just said.”

Andrea smiles at him as she takes the mug he offers her. “Why would I be?” she questions. “Like temporary amnesia is going to destroy what you and TK have? Por favor.”

“What do we have?” he questions, curious to know how his mother sees his relationship with TK. If she really approves.

His mother seems to understand. She places her mug down, crossing the distance between them until she’s standing in front of him, taking his face in her hands.

“I will always regret not asking you more after you came out to us,” she starts, shaking her head when he goes to speak. “You were just a kid, my sweet boy, scared of what we would think, and we messed up so bad. Your father and I thought the best way to let you know it was fine was by acting like nothing had changed, when of course everything had changed for you. We should have asked about your romances, about your heartbreaks.”

“Mami,” he whispers, his heart in his throat as his mother gives him a sad smile.

“We didn’t realize we were hurting you by keeping quiet,” she continues. “I love TK as if he was my own, Carlitos, for a lot of reasons, but two above all.”

Carlos bites down on his lip, waiting for her to tell him her reasons.

“One,” she says with a teary smile. “Him coming into your life gave us a chance to fix our mistakes with you. He became so important to you, you couldn’t keep him from us, and as a result, we got to meet him, know him and get to know you too. The you we had been missing out with our ignorance, and I am so grateful for that.”

“And the second reason?” he asks, swallowing hard around the lump of emotion that has formed in his throat as he starts to get a picture of how he and his parents overcame years of silence about his personal life.

“The second reason answers your original question,” she says with a growing smile that is both loving and proud. “What you and TK have – it’s what I have always wanted for you since I first held you.”

With her hold on his face, she makes sure his eyes are locked with hers, letting Carlos see how sincere she’s being.

“You two have the type of love I always wished for you. Kind, patient, incredibly loving and tender, and above all else, genuine. You, telling me that you’re falling in love with TK all over again isn’t surprising in the least, mi niño. It was the only direction this story could go.”

֎֎֎

Carlos waves at his mother as she drives away after dropping him off at the firehouse. He walks through the bay doors, finding both fire engines parked but an empty space where the rescue 126 rig should be. He sees a few of the faces that visited him while in the hospital over by the back of the firehouse but hesitates about approaching them.

“Carlos? What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Carlos turns around at the voice to find the fire captain – TK’s father, his brain supplies, coming towards him with a concerned frown on his face.

“Captain Strand,” he greets him with a nervous smile as the older man’s frown deepens.

“We worked long and hard getting you comfortable enough to call me Owen,” he says with a shake of his head. “I know you can’t remember that we get along great right now, but please, let’s not revert to Captain or sir, I beg of you. It’s just Owen.”

“I’m sorry, sir – shit – Owen,” he gets out, cringing a bit as he feels like a school kid in trouble with the teacher. “I’ll work on it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Owen tells him with a smile that doesn’t hide his amusement in the least. “What brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome anytime, of course.”

“I was restless at home,” he answers with a shrug as he looks around the place. “I figured I’d come and visit TK, but – “ he trails off.

“He and his team are answering a call,” Owen finishes for him, his smile growing fond and meaningful. It makes Carlos want to squirm under the man’s watchful eye.

“What?” he blurts out finally as Owen seems to grow even more amused with him.

The captain lets out a chuckle, holding his hands up in a silent apologetic gesture. “It’s just that nothing has changed. You might have trouble remembering a lot of things right now, but you still seek TK out when you’re anxious.”

“How do you know I’m anxious?” he questions, surprised. He gets a sympathetic fatherly look from Owen that seems vaguely familiar in the back of his mind.

“Because you and I are friends,” he answers, slapping his back gently as he gestures towards the kitchen with a tilt of his head, asking him to follow him.

Carlos does, sitting on one of the stools when Owen points to it.

“And hopefully someday soon we’ll be family,” he continues with a smirk when Carlos jerks his head up to stare at him. “Officially anyway, we’re already family.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything as Owen pulls a slim pitcher with green gunk in it out of the fridge.

“I’m usually a good listener,” the fire captain tells him, placing a glass of the green liquid in front of him. “You and I talk sometimes.”

Carlos brings the glass to his mouth, taking a sip, instantly making a face that causes Owen to snort.

“You usually hide your distaste for my power greens smoothies better,” he says to him, laughing when Carlos scowls.

“You know I hate it and still offer it to me?” he questions, getting a cheeky grin and a nod.

“Just waiting for the day you finally have the guts to tell me you don’t like it.”

“Well, that day has arrived, Owen,” he says dryly, even as he blushes in the face of the older man’s enjoyment.

“At last,” Owen smirks, and it’s so reminiscent of TK it forces Carlos to smile back reluctantly.

“Strand men, troublemakers to the core,” he mutters, his eyes widening moments later. “I remember that,” he whispers, catching Owen’s eyes. “You two are brats.”

“Hey, now,” Owen says with faux offense, even as he looks at him brightly and hopefully. “Hurtful, truthful, but hurtful.”

Carlos huffs, shaking his head with amusement.

“You’re starting to remember,” Owen says kindly, his expression softening as he says it, relieved as Carlos gives him a nod. “That’s so good, kid. We all miss you, but especially my son.”

Carlos licks his lips nervously, parting them to speak when the beeping of the ambulance coming back echoes through the place.

“Speak of the devil,” Owen says quietly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. “Go on then. He’s who you came to see, and I know he’ll be happy to see your face. He’s been worried all day about being away from you.”

Carlos quickly gets up, flashing Owen a grateful look before heading back towards the front of the firehouse. He watches as TK’s partner and Captain joke with him for a moment before heading off together, leaving TK alone by the rig.

“Hey,” he calls out, watching as TK’s head snaps up at his voice.

“Hi,” TK says back, walking over to him quickly. “Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, touching TK’s bicep, running his hand up and down his arm. “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong,” he continues, pulling TK towards him as his shoulders drop in relief. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispers, wrapping his good arm around TK, holding him to his chest. “I just missed you and wanted to see your face.”

TK pulls back just enough to look up at him from where he has tucked his face into Carlos’ chest. “Really?” he whispers, his green eyes bright and oh so pretty.

“Yeah,” he answers, licking his lips, his stomach clenching as TK tracks the movement, and he wonders if it’s okay for him to kiss TK here. If now that they have kissed, he can just kiss him when the urge hits. He thinks probably not, or he would be kissing TK nonstop seeing as the urge seems to always be there.

Instead, he takes a small step back to resist the urge to give in to the temptation and says. “Let’s go out tonight.”

TK raises an eyebrow at him, a small, shy smile playing on his lips. “Like a date?” he questions, his smile blossoming when Carlos nods.

“Yeah,” he exhales to calm down his sudden nerves. “Let’s go out on a date.”

“Okay,” TK grins, looking giddy. “I get off at 7. I’ll pick you up. I know exactly where to go.”

֎֎֎

“This is really where you want to have our date?” Carlos asks dubiously as TK parks in the middle of an empty field – the burgers and fries they had picked up in a brown bag on his lap.

TK kills the engine, flashing him a grin as he unhooks his seatbelt. “It’s a special place for us,” he says mysteriously as he opens his door, stepping out of the car and grabbing their drinks. “Come on,” he motions for him to follow him to the back.

Popping the flatbed, Carlos finds a blanket laid out on the back of the truck.

“You prepped for this,” he comments, smiling when TK gives him a shy shrug of his shoulders. He takes the food from Carlos to allow him to get in first, following him seconds later.

“This is nice,” he says softly, looking around, picking at a loose thread of the blanket underneath them while TK unwraps their food. “Why is this place special for us?” he asks curiously. The field is elevated, and over the edge, there is a nice view of the city.

“This is where you and I officially started,” TK answers him as he looks up at the night sky. “We laid on top of your car looking at the sky and really began that night.”

Carlos looks up at the sky too. They’re far enough from the city that the stars gleam brightly. They’re beautiful, but Carlos just knows they were stunning the night TK is talking about.

Different shades of blue and green streak through the sky, lighting it up above them. They’re one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. So stunning, and yet they pale in comparison to the man resting next to him on the hood of his car.

He looks up because he’s supposed to and has to resist the urge of turning his head towards what he really wants to be looking at.

“What are you thinking?” he asks finally, holding his breath as he waits for an answer.

“I’m thinking,” TK starts to say, his voice soft but pleased. “We make a pretty good team.”

Carlos’ breath catches his throat, a thread of hope spreading through him before he can tell himself to rein it in. Finally, he allows himself to turn his head, looking at TK, finding him smiling up at the sky.

“We really do, don’t we?” he asks, his heart skipping a beat as TK turns to face him, his smile growing the longer he looks at Carlos.

“’fraid so,” he whispers as he reaches for Carlos’ hand, intertwining their fingers together before he brings their hands to rest over his stomach.

Carlos blinks, but the memory doesn’t fade. If anything, it gleams brighter. He remembers leaning in closer to TK until their mouths were but a whisper away from each other. He remembers the half-moan-half-grumble TK let out the longer their lips didn’t touch until Carlos was chuckling into their kiss – moaning himself when TK licked into his mouth, pent-up passion engulfing them after weeks of being something like friends.

“You with me?” TK questions curiously as he takes a sip from his soft drink.

“We make a pretty good team,” he answers and watches as TK’s hand freezes midway to the fries between them. His green eyes snap to his, fearful, hopeful, and everything else in between as he stares at him.

“You remember that?” he questions, and Carlos can tell he’s holding his breath as he waits for Carlos to answer. So he does.

“We made out on the hood of my car like teenagers,” he says with a smile as the memory plays again. “You almost pulled on your stitches. I warned you that if you pulled them out again, you were going to have to call your father and explain how it happened.”

“I was excited,” TK grumbles, giving him a pout. “Making out with you is the most fun I have ever had making out with anyone. The stitches were fine but you invoking my dad totally killed the mood.”

“No, it didn’t,” Carlos counters with a grin. He pushes the food away so he can get closer to TK until their faces are only inches apart. “You kept kissing me. We kissed at every red light from here to your dad’s place, and then when we got there, we made out for another ten minutes until he turned the living room lights on and off.”

“That was so embarrassing,” TK groans, leaning his head forward to let it rest against Carlos’. They stay like that for a moment, their eyes locked on each other.

“You remember that night,” TK breathes out in awe. “It’s coming back.”

Carlos nods, his nose rubbing against TK’s as he does so. “It’s coming back, TK,” he whispers back, swallowing hard as he lets himself ask for what he fears the most. “Please don’t stop loving me.”

֎֎֎

Carlos wakes up after ten. It’s later than he’s used to, but with still being on leave at least until he’s out of his cast, he allows himself the indulgence of a late morning. He lets his good arm reach over to TK’s side of the bed. It’s empty, he knows, remembering the touch of TK’s lips to his forehead earlier in the morning before he left for work. Still, he touches the cool sheets, turning to press his face into TK’s pillow, breathing in his boyfriend’s scent, smiling to himself as he remembers the night before.

They’d come home after their date out in the field, kissing at every red light just like the first time, and by the time they pulled into the driveway, Carlos was vibrating out of his skin with desire.

He all but sprained his neck, nodding his consent when TK asked him if he was sure he wanted them to be intimate before his full memory came back. The smile on TK’s lips as he let out a soft chuckle was worth how red in the face he turned at his own eagerness.

He lets out an exhale, his good hand sliding down his body to cup himself through his sleep pants as he relives the night before.

TK helping him out of his clothes, laying gentle kisses over every inch of bare skin – he had laid back on the bed, his heart racing as TK took his own clothes off before he straddled his thighs, kissing him until he was a shaking mess underneath him. Only then had TK reached over to grab supplies out of the bedside table. And if he thought making out with TK was hot, nothing had prepared him for watching TK open himself up slowly for him with wet fingers, eyes fluttering shut, soft moans escaping his kiss-bruised lips as he found the right spot that made his thighs clench around Carlos’.

By the time TK was ready, reaching back to take him in his hand, lining him up to his opening, Carlos had been pleading, needing to be inside TK more than he has needed anything in his life.

Carlos lets out a low moan, tightening his hold on himself as he remembers the complete bliss he felt as TK sank down on him, taking in every last inch while Carlos stared up at him in awe as he started to move his hips.

Never in his life has he felt more connected to another person than to TK the night before.

He continues to picture it, recalling every beautiful sound TK made as he pushed them higher and higher, right up to the edge until he curved his body over Carlos’, his forehead pressed against his, his eyes wide as he stared down at him.

“I’m never going to stop loving you, Carlos,” TK whispered, drawing out a whimper from Carlos as he rolled his hips again. “Ever, I can promise you that. You can remember our life tomorrow or never again. I’ll always love you.”

Carlos comes in his fist with TK’s voice echoing in his ears just as he had done the night before. TK’s sureness of his love for him tipping him over the edge.

He lays there for a few minutes, waiting for his heart to stop racing before he gets up to clean himself. Without TK there to wrap his arm, it takes him longer to hop in the shower, but he manages. He has another week and a half with the cast on and honestly can’t wait to have it removed.

Once out of the shower, he’s looking through his dresser for clothes when his phone rings. Picking it up, he smiles as TK’s face appears on the caller ID.

“Hey,” he says, smiling into the speaker, his stomach doing a flip at TK’s voice, and he would roll his eyes at his silly schoolboy with a crush reaction if he wasn’t so happy and in love with the man on the other side of the phone.

“Hi,” TK says softly back, going quiet for a moment, and Carlos can just picture him biting down on his bottom lip. “I just wanted to check in with you. I had to leave for work early, and you were still mostly asleep. We didn’t get a chance to talk after last night, and I wanted to see how you were feeling this morning.”

Carlos smiles into the phone at the concern for him he hears in TK’s voice and wonders how he got so lucky to have such a caring partner.

“I’m good,” he answers as he keeps looking for a shirt he wants to wear. “I’m great, actually,” he continues honestly. “Last night was amazing.”

“No regrets?” TK questions hesitantly, causing Carlos to let out a snort.

“Only that we didn’t do that the night I came home,” he answers, grinning when TK lets out a laugh.

He pulls out a green shirt, throwing it on the bed with the jeans he’s already picked out. Then, opening the top drawer, he sticks his hand in to grab a pair of fresh underwear and socks, frowning when his hand finds a small hard box.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asks, and TK repeats himself as he suggests they do a movie night when he’s done with work. Carlos makes a sound of agreement as he stares at the small black box in his hand, his head racing as he realizes what it is.

A ring box.

“That sounds great,” he says, distracted, whispering a goodbye when TK tells him he has to go.

Ending the call, he places his phone down before focusing on the little box in his hand. He holds his breath as he opens the box to find a simple but beautiful wedding band, white gold or platinum, with a strip of small diamonds around it. On the inside is engraved ‘Eternally yours, te amo.’

The words hit him hard, and he has to take a seat at the edge of the bed as he realizes with startling clarity what he’s holding in his hand is his ring for TK.

He already knew he loved TK, has been falling for him all over again despite his lack of memory, and now, in his hand is the proof of just how much he loves him.

A hot tear lands on the hand holding the ring before he realizes he’s started crying, and by the time he reaches up to touch his face, he’s sobbing. It feels like the dam breaking after weeks of not even noticing it was filling up in the first place.

He cries over the moments he’s lost and is terrified he won’t get back. He cries as he realizes he could have lost so much more if he hadn’t made it out of the accident. He cries for TK, because if he feels this broken over a life he can’t remember well, he can only imagine what TK feels remembering it all. He cries in hope. Hope that forgotten life will come flooding back at some point. Finally, he cries in relief as TK’s voice promising to love him forever echoes again. Relief that even if the past doesn’t come back to him by some cruel twist of fate, he and TK still have a future.

He cries, and cries and cries some more, letting every last bit of it out.

֎֎֎

If someone had asked Carlos how he thought he would get his memory back, he’s pretty sure his answer wouldn’t have been ‘on a random Thursday morning while brushing his teeth,’ but that’s precisely how it happens. He’s finished his shower, happy to no longer need to wrap his arm in plastic after having his cast removed a few days earlier.

It’s been three weeks since finding his engagement ring for TK and the minor breakdown that followed. He didn’t tell TK of either thing, not wanting him to worry or make him sad at his discovery. He knows it’s not the right time just as much as he knows that eventually, he’s going to put that ring on TK’s finger, memory back or not. He’s in love with his boyfriend – has fallen for him all over again.

His doctors are happy with his progress and the memories that are starting to seep through more and more as the days go on. They promise him if he just keeps living his life, doing what he usually does, they will all come back soon enough.

Carlos believes them, but he’s still surprised as he stares at his reflection, and it all comes back in an almost blinding flash. One second it’s not there, and then the next it is. He spits out the toothpaste in his mouth, barely passing a wet hand over it before he’s running out of the bathroom and down the stairs, tripping in his need to find the one person he needs the most right now.

“Scramble eggs for breakfast? We should probably go grocery shopping today since I’m off,” TK says to him as he turns to face him with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“TK stands for Tyler Kennedy,” he blurts out, watching as TK makes a face at the name before he realizes what he’s said, and his eyes widen. “And you always make that put-out face when I use it, but it’s followed by a smile because as much as you hate your name, you like it when I say it.”

“Carlos – “ TK whispers as he puts down his mug, and he can see it shaking slightly.

“When you are nervous or restless, you chew on the strings of your hoodies,” he continues. “And you bitch about Texas pizza, claiming it’s not real pizza because it’s not from New York.”

“Oh my god,” TK exhales, bringing a hand to his mouth as his eyes fill with tears.

Carlos swallows around the lump in his throat as his own eyes sting. “You play with my hair when I’ve had a hard day. You blush when I turn my cow eyes as you like to call them on you, and I love that I can make you blush even after three years.”

“You remember?” TK asks, and it breaks Carlos’ heart to hear the fear in his boyfriend’s voice, too scared to hope.

“I remember everything, baby,” he whispers back, taking a step toward him and then another. “And I love you, I love you so damn much TK – “

Carlos lets out a small grunt as TK slams into him, clinging to him as he starts to cry. He holds him tight to his chest, pressing his face into TK’s shoulder, rubbing his back, trying to soothe him as he continues to cry. It takes a few minutes for TK to calm down; by the time he does and pulls back to look at Carlos, his eyes are red from his tears.

“You remember me,” he says softly with a trembling smile.

“I’m so sorry I forgot,” he answers, reaching up to touch TK’s mouth when his boyfriend starts shaking his head, ready to tell him he doesn’t need to be sorry. “I know I don’t have to be and that it was an accident, but I’m still sorry you had to go through this. But you need to know, TK, that even without my memories, I still loved you, almost from the start. I loved you.”

TK wraps his fingers around Carlos’ wrist, pulling his hand away as he gives him a teary but beautiful smile. “I know that, my love. I know.”

Carlos nods as his eyes sting again, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you, TK. Then, now, and forever.”

TK lets out a shaky exhale, and when he tugs Carlos forward, he goes easily, sighing against TK’s lips as he kisses him gently. “And I love you, Carlos,” he says against his lips with another smile. “Exactly the same way.”

#911 lone star #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tk x carlos #my writing #long post

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headoverheelsforramsey · 3 years

Note

Hiiiii! Here are this week's different questions lol

Not Yet Wed Questions

Note: Great Scott! This week, we are going back in time to MC’s intern year. Think of Ethan’s relationship with them at this point and answer the following questions accordingly. It is entirely up to you when in year 1 this takes place (pre/post Miami, pre/post CH 15, etc). Feel free to answer with dialogue or pictures or both :) Have fun!

No worries. All of this is off the record and HR will never know!

The setting for this answers is:

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Three people at work your coworker hates?

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

(Bonus round! Feel free to skip.)

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

had a fistfight

been kicked out of a bar

gotten a tattoo

broken someone’s heart

been in love

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Last thing he texted you?

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Last thing she texted you?

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Hello Hello Bree! My weekly dose of sunshine has arrived! 🤗

Sorry this took so long I am literally neck deep in assignments.

Anyways can I just say that these questions were just brilliant!! Book 1 is so close to our hearts and Ethan MC dynamic back in the day was priceless. 😂

Just a fair warning this contains a lot of pinching noses and rolling eyes because that's what book 1 Ethan used to do all the time. So now let the fun begin! 🤩

The setting for this answers is: Post Chap 15, before the ethics trial.

Ethan : Remind me again why I am doing this?

Meera : Because you are unemployed and have a lot of free time, also because I asked nicely? (with puppy eyes)

Ethan (Rolls eyes)

FOR BOTH

When I first saw them, I thought__________

*Both of them wait for each other to answer*

Ethan : You go first, this was your idea.

Meera : Oh boy. Why do I have the feeling you are going to hate me even more after this?

Ethan : I can't hate you more than I did when I first met you.

Meera (expectantly) : So you are saying the hatred for me has declined since then?

Ethan : Just answer the damn question.

Meera : Okay fine. I thought "why is this person being so rude to me? I am still a kid I am still learning. Such an asshole, gotta keep outta his path."

Ethan (looks at her amused) : I thought "ah shit here we go again. A new bunch of nerve wrecking idiotic interns incoming."

Meera (dramatically opens her mouth and places her hands on her chest) : Ouch! Rude!

Ethan (sly grin)

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Meera : Jesus. Christ. Jesus Christ. He is religious that way. (winks)

Ethan : Very funny Rookie. She on the other hand has an explicit vocabulary in slangs but I think I have heard holy shit, holy cow, holy fuck the most.

Meera (excitedly) : See I am religious too. Also look at us twining in swears.

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Meera (immediately) : Ocean Blue! No, Celestial blue!

Ethan (looks at Meera, surprised)

Meera (suddenly concious) : Blue. Just plain simple blue.

Ethan (thinks for a moment)

Meera (puts a hand over her eyes)

Ethan : What are you doing?

Meera : I won't let you cheat.

Ethan : Cheat? I don't cheat.

Meera : Ofcourse the great Ethan Ramsey doesn't cheat. Then go ahead and ans---

Ethan : Dark brown.

Meera (impressed with him)

Three people at work your coworker hates?

Meera (heaves out a long dramatic sigh) : Ask me whom he doesn't?

Ethan : I tolerate most of them though.

Meera (chuckles) : I think it'll be Dr. Thorne, Dr. Myles and Dr. Hirata. Atleast these are the ones he complains about the most.

Ethan : Hmm. Fair enough. Bose here obviously hates that back stabbing "friend" whose name I'd rather die than learn. And I think Dr. Emery and Dr. Mirani also falls under this list.

Meera : Full point for the first one, but I think Aurora is a good person overall, she has some issues, which we need to work out. And I don't hate Zaid, I just don't like how he is always in a grumpy melancholic mood.

Ethan : Which is very justified of him given that he has to work with the interns the majority of his work hours.

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

Meera : Easy, pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling his eyes when annoyed, which is all the time by the way.

Ethan : I think adjusting her glasses when it threatens to slip from her nose and forming her lips in a strange way when concentrating.

Bree : I am sorry doctor could you just explain the last part better.

Ethan (rolls his eyes and tries to do his best impression of Meera's pout)

Meera (chuckles) : That's not how it's done, Ethan. This is how it's done (pouts)

Ethan : Yeah same thing.

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

Ethan : Crush? What are we? Highschool students? I am not answering that. (prepares to leave)

Meera : I think it might be Dr. Emery.

Ethan (stops short on his way out, turns around and takes a seat again) : Really Rookie? Fine you want to know her crush? It's that scalpel jockey, or that paramedic guy she is so friends with or maybe that other Indian intern roomate she has.

Meera : What! No. They are my friends. What made you think that?

Ethan : What made you think Harper is my crush?

Bree : Okay doctors let's move on to the next round.

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

Meera : Nope!

Ethan : Never. We are doctors we might get someone loose their life.

had a fistfight

Meera : Yes.

Ethan (looks at her unbelievingly) : I thought you were the harmless kind.

Meera (smugly) : I am mostly harmless, untill you get on my bad side. What about you?

Ethan : I'll have to say no.

Meera : You punched Nash though.

Ethan : He didn't punch me back, so doesn't count Rookie.

been kicked out of a bar

Meera : Unfortunately yes.

Ethan : Unfortunately yes too.

Meera : What?! The great Ethan Ramsey?

Ethan : Stop calling me that. I am a human afterall and I had some very stupid friends back in med school.

gotten a tattoo

Ethan : No.

Meera : Yes.

Ethan (smirks)

broken someone’s heart

Meera : Not that I know off

Ethan : I am not proud of it but yes.

been in love

Ethan : No.

Meera : Expected. For me it's yes. Maybe it didn't last but I can't say what we had wasn't love.

For Meera (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

He thinks he won't practice medicine anymore because he can't solve Naveen's case but I know he won't be able to resist helping people and ofcourse that is what Naveen always wanted. So, professionally, he is doing wonders. Inspiring thousands of hearts, guiding hundreds of young doctors and saving millions of lives. The diagnostic team has becomes globally recognised. He has written another book or two. Maybe won the Lasker Awards.

Personally, I hope he is happy and not lonely. He needs someone by his side. Someone who can tolerate his sarcasm and critisisim. Someone who will put a smile on his face when he wakes up beside her. Maybe he'll have a family, if that someone is really strong-willed. (let's out a dry laugh)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

His passion for what he does. He just lights up and enrapts the entire room when he speaks about medicine. And I just get lost in the sea of passion in his eyes. Also his stubbornness and unwillingness to give up is really impressive.

Last thing he texted you?

I'll show you wait.

He ordered about half a dozen books on Medical Law and Ethics for me.

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

(stays silent for a long time)

I don't think so he will. Like the chances are really really thin but trust me if he does I wouldn't dare say no. (colour rises to her cheeks)

But yes that's in a different world. A world in which we don't live. (sighs wistfully)

For Ethan (Meera is not there)

Where do you see her in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

If she manages to save her lisence she'll be a wonderful doctor. She'll save innumerable lives and be one of the brightest stars in medicine. I am sure she'll secure a spot on the DT and maybe even lead it someday. She'll make me proud. (smiles genuinely)

Personally I hope she'll be with someone who loves her more than anything and that she is with literally anybody else but that scalpel jockey. She'll have a loving caring partner who'll cook her meals when she comes home from a twelve hour shift. She'll have amazing friends especially the ones she has now. They really love her and they didn't think twice before helping her out with Mrs. Martinez's case.

Maybe she'll have a family. A few kids who will also grow up to show a stunning reflection of their mother.

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Ethan : I can't say attractive but I'll say I like her personality. She has a magnetic one that makes sure to turn heads any time she walks into a room. Also I love that she cares so deeply about people and she is willing to go out of her way to put a smile on these people's face. Like for example Mrs. Martinez.

Bree : So is this "like" or "love"?

Ethan : Did I? Did I just say love? I am so sorry I meant like.

Bree : Could you enlist something physically attractive about her?

Ethan : If I have to. I'd say I love, er... like, like her laughter. It literally brightens the entire room. (blushes)

Last thing she texted you?

"Thank you Ethan"

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

(sighs) I would feel lucky to go on a date with her, but right now in this situation? It's too complicated. I can't jeopardize her career, so it's a no form me, despite my actual feelings.

This was so fun! Thank you once again @jamespotterthefirst

Tagging my usual : @starrystarrytrouble @mm2305 @charisworld @choicesfanaf @potionsprefect @genevievemd @shanzay44 @little-flowers-on-heaven @schnitzelbutterfingers @coffeeheartaddict @gryffindordaughterofathena @chemist-ana @adiehardfan @custaroonie @ireneadlerisseggsy @takemyopenheart @natureblooms24 @mainstreetreader @izzyourresidentlawyer @a-crepusculo @quixoticdreamer16 @starryeyedrookie @barbean

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed. And if you want to sit out only the answers to the ask games hit me up too. There won't be any hard feelings. I promise. 💜

#newlyweds game with our host bree #queen bree supremacy!#ethan x meera #asked and answered #messrprongs

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morimakesfanart · 3 years

Text

Sindria's Prophet #13

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

[AO3]

((edited because I figured out to add some more history facts that I think are important))

~POV Sinbad~

"The Kou Empire, huh?"

"That is going to make things risky."

With all of the Generals caught up with what happened in Balbadd, they needed to start planning for King Sinbad's trip to the Kou Empire, as well as catching him up with everything that had happened in Sindria while he was gone.

"LadY YamuRAI H AA AA A" A yell came from the hallway accompanied by the sounds of running.

((Sinbad is hidden on the left. There's a hint of him poking out.))

A panting magician gave apologies for disturbing their meeting and ran to the head of Sindria's magicians. "I wish I knew you were here so I didn't search the tower first~" Then he started explaining about some magical proof. Most of his words sounded like gibberish to the rest, but it was clear that he had made some kind of break though.

Yam jumped out of her seat. "How did you finally figure it out?! Who figured it out?!" She whipped her head to her King, "Sorry your majesty," and then looked back to the other magician.

"It was the work of the Prophet!” the magician answered. "We were talking about her illness and she pulled out scrolls that- you just have to read them for yourself!”

Mori had said that she had written other scrolls before she started coping down Fate. This must have been what she was working on.

Both magicians bowed out to go test out this new information. Before they could leave, Sinbad ended the meeting; there was no way he was going to wait to learn what other information Mori had blessed them with. Ja'far followed as did a few of the other Generals.

When they got into the court yard, the doctors that had been sent to take care of Mori were already pushing their supply cart back to their main building. The magician that had stayed behind spotted them and raised two scrolls up triumphantly. "She let me take the scrolls!"

---

News of the scrolls written by a Prophet spread throughout the Black Libra Tower within an hour. Yamuraiha and the doctors explained their significance to King Sinbad.

If even a fraction of the theories in the scrolls proved true it would completely changed their understanding of how illnesses work. If Mori wasn't sick she would undoubtedly be swarmed with questions and demands for proof. According to the magicians, nothing in the scrolls went against any known information. Instead, they gave explanations to why certain things that had been attempted in the past had failed. What she wrote about 'cells' was what really caught the eyes of the white magicians and doctors. As an example, according to Mori's writing there were blood types and most couldn't mix; that would explain why most past attempts at blood transfusions had failed.

The 2nd scroll showed a break down of even smaller particles, and how the structures of different particles made up everything. This was going to bring alchemic magic to a whole new era. Sure, such things would most likely be limited to high magicians, group efforts, and the Magi, but it looked possible now. A lot of common magic of the current day took extreme amounts of magoi in the past because they hadn't found the right formula yet. Mori's writing -if true- could easily be used as a guide to finding the right order of commands for many spells.

And even more than that, Mori had said that she had even more information to share; she had just ran out of scrolls and ink.

Mori's presence in Sindria, and everything that went with it were Fate and the Rukh's guidance. King Sinbad could see it -the future he wanted.

---

~POV Mori~

In Sindria's Palace there is a Great Bell. It is rung during celebrations, and to signify the King returning home like it did earlier that day, but it's main use was to ring every 2 hours to tell everyone the time since clocks weren't invented yet. So even though I was a sick person trying to rest during the day, I was woken up by the Great Bell every 2 hours... which of course is also situated right on top of the guest tower.

For obvious reasons, I was awake again.

I wish I knew how the others responded to the scrolls. I really wanted to know Yam's opinion most. Those scrolls basically gave away the secret to Yunan's signature alchemy magic.

I still had the first scroll I had worked on -the one on the science behind blimps-, and the last science scroll I had started. That one was on DNA, and reproductive systems. It was the last one I started in Balbadd. I hadn't started working on it until sunrise on my 2nd sleepless night and it showed; there were missing words everywhere, many incomplete sentences, and I couldn't stay in topic.

These mistakes were too great to fix with an ink knife. Editing was going be super annoying and time consuming since I couldn't work digitally. I'd have to physically cut up the first draft to put everything in the right order before making the next one.

Wait- Did this world have scissors???

Back home the first evolution of shears that could be labeled as scissors was in Roman barber shops in the last hundred years or so before Rome fell. China would spontaneous also create something akin to scissors not long after. Reim and the Kou Empire seemed to line up with Rome and ancient China for the most part, so I tend to use them to place the time period, but the dress Princess Dunya wears is centuries off and throws all historical accuracy questions out the window. Rome was long gone by the time boning was added to women's undergarments, and that dress had all the signs of boned corsetry.

Fuck it. I'll ask for scissors and if they don't have them I'll just invent them myself. I had been drafting professionally for the past 4 years. That may have been for microelectronics, but it uses all the same skills; I could do this. I needed to get a ruler -or at least a straight edge- and a drafting compass which they probably have based on the look of maps in the series, and pencils, or at least colored inks if they had them. I probably needed to reinvent the French curve(stencil tool used in art & drafting)...

Since I was struggling to fall back asleep I moved to the table and pulled out my test scroll. It was full of random marks and some of my early drawing attempts that I used to practice with the dip pen -it's also where I wrote down the dreams from the Rukh. I'd write the list of things I needed, rip the section out of the scroll, and pass the list to someone who could get me what I was asking for. I added some living necessities too like sleep wear and a comb.

The maids that came to give me dinner, and next dose of medicine were not pleased that I wasn't in bed -I was an important guest who was sick after all. And I wasn't pleased to have to drink more of that bitter medicine, but we can't have nice things all the time, now can we?

My voices was strained but I managed to communicate enough. I gave them my list, and laundry (the clothes I wore on the boat) before they left. They'd get me the things the next day. I was instructed to sleep until someone brings me breakfast the next day... which is what I was going to do anyway since the sun was practically gone. I might be a bit of a workaholic but I'm not going to let myself pull an accidental all-nighter when I know I'm still sick. I'm far more self aware than that.

And besides, the Great Bell didn't ring at night.

---

Maids brought my breakfast (& meds) the next morning and let me know that my clothes would be cleaned and dry by the end of the day. I guess they didn't use magic for everything.

They also gave me all of the drafting and inking supplies I asked for except for scissors. In one of the omakes Sinbad was shown cutting his hair with a knife as a part of his normal grooming. I had hoped he was just old fashioned.

For the greater good and the future of my own hair care, I drafted up detailed designs for a few different types of basic scissors. They wouldn't look fancy, but hopefully I had put enough of a detailed explanation on everything for the smith to figure out what I was asking. Steel wasn't developed until the middle ages and some of the counties of this world matched that so I hoped

that God and anime were on my side. I really wanted scissors that would be a good quality.

And if that didn't work I'd just have to get used to using knives and bladed rollers like a regular person.

The Great Bell rung for 10 am. There were at least another 2 hours before someone would show up, to give lunch, that I could ask to take my draft for the scissors to a black Smith.

I should be resting as a sick person. I should be more exhausted and in pain as a sick person. What was making me recover this quickly?

I still didn't feel like laying back down, so I decided to start drafting up the materials and equipment for proving everything I had written in the scrolls I gave the previous day.

Globally, micro-organisms, viruses, and bacteria were not really accept or proved until the late 1800's. Since Magi seems to take place some time around our 100AD-1300, and Yunan hinting at chemical compounds was seen as shocking by Yam, I knew that my bio scrolls were probably causing an uproar in the Black Libra Tower. I refused to use actual people or wait for an outbreak to prove it like how it happened in history -like how John Snow proved it when finding the cause of cholera outbreaks in 1848 and 1854 England. No, I needed to show how to prove these things in a lab, and to do that I was going to need to explain how to keep samples and invent a way to see microorganisms.

First was for a glass petri dish and other containers for samples. I'd need at least 3 -preferably more. I know glass works have been around since BC, and that this world had glass windows in some scenes, but I worried about the quality of the glass contaminating the experiments. I was going to have to boil them beforehand to sterilize them anyway.

Gosh I wish I had access to nonporous, air tight containers, and a temperature controlled environment. The heat and humidity of Sindria could easily mess everything up.

Wait... I suddenly remembered a scene from the Magnostadt arc when they showed how a sample was being stored. They already had good enough glass. I knew there were magic bio experiments but I had no idea how they worked.

With the realization that I was getting ahead myself, I switched to writing about how to use the scientific method to test for germs. It was basically the bread in a bag test to teach young children about germs but with petri dishes. I also wrote about how to analyze samples with a microscope to see micro organisms so I was going to have to figure that out next.

Lunch came as the perfect break.

Just thinking about reinventing this thing made me nervous. I knew magnifying glasses existed in ancient Rome, but they would be nothing like what I was used to. I had to explain how light moves and made multiple diagrams showing how concave and convex lenses affect light as well as the material of the lens. I ended up also showing how to make a telescope even though I knew Yam already had one.

Magicians were the only ones shown with glasses. Maybe now the rest of the world could have them too.

4 o'clock came and so did 3 doctors and a magician. It was less than yesterday, but still more than necessary to treat or analyze one person. I only recognized one of the doctors from the previous day. All of the new faces looked nervous. None of them looked young by any measure, so I really doubted this was their first time treating someone.

They weren't happy to see me at the table and made me return to my bed -their loss.

The doctor from the previous day was the one doing most of the talking. "Your recovery is amazing. You will most likely be better in another 3 days at this rate if not sooner. It's practically a miracle."

I smiled. "It's pretty shocking for me too." As long as I spoke quietly and kept my comments short, I found I could talk again for a bit.

The doctor was silent for a moment before changing the subject. "I know you need rest, but would you be willing to answer a few questions about those scrolls from yesterday?

The 3 other men looked expectant. This was why they were here.

"I don't mind as long as you don't make me talk too much."

Then came the question I was expecting since I had first made the scrolls. "I know you are a Prophet and the information came from your visions but is there any way you can prove what you wrote?"

I pointed to the table with the scroll I had started earlier. "I can't prove it with the current equipment I have, so I've been drafting up the needed equipment and processes for proving it."

They all turned to look at where I was pointing.

I added, "It's not done, but you're welcome to read what I have so far."

I was thanked as they went to the table they had called me away from when they entered.

'He called it 'visions?' Really?' I had to ask Sinbad later what he was telling his people about me so I could keep the story straight.

The magician confirmed for the others what I wrote about light bending. There was magic to do that, but not everyone is a magician. I had just invented a way for non-magicians to bend light.

Just wait until I show them a prism that can split light into colors. Or teach them how light is perceived in the eye. Or even better, show them the double slit experiment that proves that light is a particle not just a wave... Did they know light was a wave yet?

"Lady Prophet."

I was pulled out of my thoughts.

"You said this isn't finished and there is plenty of space in this scroll for more, but would you let us take this back to the tower so we can get started?"

I wanted to say 'no.' I was still coming up with things to add to it, but I also knew that holding things back because I wanted to save paper was a fool's game. Besides, I could always add more to it later.

I nodded and they thanked me before making me promise not to leave my bed. They were grateful for this new scroll but not at the expense of my health -they were doctors after all.

And then they left.

It was probably about 5pm if my internal clock was on schedule, so I had about an hour before the next ring of the Bell.

Even if I wasn't a man of my word, I would have lost the motivation to work with my current project taken from me while I was still in the middle of making it.

So, I did the thing I grew up doing when I was bedridden from illness: I looked out the window. From the bed I could only see the tops of the buildings on the other side of the courtyard. The Tower that was just poking in from the left had to be the Black Libra Tower.

The waves in Sindria were calmer yet stronger than those in Balbadd. It was probably due to Sinbad's influence. He brought stability and security to his people. I could understand why so many chose to follow him or ally with him. But I knew where all this would lead. As he obtains more power and influence he will stop being able to see himself from the pedestal that he and everyone else put him on; his greed will make him blind to the wants and needs of others, and like a middle aged parent that isn't ready for their child to leave the nest he will take out his frustration on the world that was moving on without him. When Sinbad dies at the end of the manga, Drakon realizes that they all put too much on Sinbad's shoulders.

To change Fate, I was going to have to make sure I never put him on that pedestal nor rely on him for much. And I was going to have to convince the 8 Generals to do the same -or at least to start pulling more of the weight.

The 6 o'clock Bell came faster than I expected, as well as my dinner not long after. They brought my clean laundry, a sleeping gown, and some other common clothes and things for my convenience.

I would have preferred something much shorter for the night gown since I hate having a lot of extra fabric around my legs when I already have blankets. I was not going to risk being walked in on by doctors or whoever when sleeping naked, so I would make do for now.

There was no way King Sinbad wasn't going to reward me for those scrolls. If it was some kind of treasure I'd sell it and buy a new wardrobe for myself that actually suited me, and if the reward was a request then I would ask that he pay for everything directly.

The light coming in my windows changed, and I watched my 2nd sunset in Sindria.

When Sinbad found this island 10 years ago, he completely terraformed it. He didn't get rid of all of the vegetation that was here, but he did break down one of the sides to allow for easier access by boat. The side he carved out faced northish towards all of the other known countries, so no boat would have a reason to circle the island. It was a decision that would benefit the merchants and make it easier to defend.

It also meant that my windows faced west, so I could watch the Sun set every day. I couldn't help but see that as a blessing and a curse. Sure not getting the sunrise meant I'd need to put more effort into

waking up in the morning but that wasn't the part I was worried about.

See- The thing is... I have synesthesia (having 2 or more senses overlapping). I see sounds, letters, and numbers as colors and textures. I have it mild enough that I can normally block it out so it's not too distracting (thank God because music is a main stim), but sometimes I'll hear something and get overwhelmed by how it looks.

Each letter and number is a color. So every voice can make every color, but language, pitch, tone, and accent all affect the colors and textures I see from a person's voice like a filter. There have definitely been some people that I struggled to give my full attention to when I first met them because I was entranced by how their voice looked. The more I hear a person's voice the more I'm able to move its visuals to the background so I can focus -desensitizing myself to it.

Luckily, Sinbad's voice is normally not so distracting that I stop paying attention. Since it's like a merger of every voice actor I've heard play him (All the characters I had met so far were like this.) I'm already desensitized. The similarities across all of the VAs meant that his voice looked like a sunset -full of deep purples and magentas, and bright reds, peach, and gold, and with a smooth and flowing texture like painting in acrylic with a wet brush -like a painting of the last moments of a sunset.

His voice was as pretty as he was.

I hadn't actually gotten to see or hear him for a whole day. But I'd get to look at his voice's equivalent every day while living under his protection.

It was frustrating to admit -I barely knew him as a real person- yet I couldn't deny that I missed him. I feel asleep watching the sun set.

((I wasn't going to write about my synesthesia, but this is my fanfic and I thought it might be fun to reference the colors peoples voices make when the characters talk. I'm not going to paint every VA and head cannon, but I will describe them as I go. Ja'far's Japanese and English VAs have voices that look very different so finding the middle ground is proving tricky.

Also, anyone who noticed that the purple I see in Sinbad's voice is the same as the purple I've been using for the illustrations and comics is super smart and cool.))

#magi prophet fanfic #magi fanfiction #magi fanfic #sinbad magi #king sinbad #magi sinbad

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