#i came up with something WORSE than retirement at oasis

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

oh i would also like the record to show: the ~writing weekend~ i have planned is shaping up to be hurting my own feelings with Jorge Scenes that have been tumbling around in my brain pan like aggressively sodden laundry for the past, like. six. fucking years.

[hankwritten]

Keep in a Cool Dry Place

Demoman/Soldier, 3k

A couple of old, past their prime mercs live out their days, but at least they’re slowly breaking down together.

Oftentimes, Jane would go out onto the deck to find Tavish fixed in place, chin tilted skywards, soaking up the stars for all they were worth. He could be like that, sometimes for hours, eye glossy against the Milky Way as he stood so still he could make a statue proud.

“You’re up awful late,” he said to Jane, unmoving. Probably had realized Jane had been watching for a while now.

“Could say the same to you,” Jane said, pulling himself into a deck chair with a great cascade of air from his smoker’s lungs, the grunt of an old man he always thought was an exaggerated affectation until it started happening to him.

“I don’t get up at five in the morning,” Tavish reminded him.

“You could. Good for the health, Tavish.”

“I don’t think anything’s good for the health these days. Just bad, and slightly worse.” He drummed his fingers on the deck’s railing. “C’mere, look at this.”

“I can see the damn stars just fine from here,” Jane sniffed.

Tavish broke from his surveying to shoot a grin Jane’s way, features cut sharp in the porch light. “Come on you old fart, get over here.”

Jane grumbled, pushing out of the chair with more effort than he would have liked to admit. He made his way to Tavish, joining him at the railing, their shoulders brushing just briefly until Tavish swung an arm around Jane’s waist.

His voice took on a fading quality all of the sudden, as though far away winds were dragging him skyward. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

Jane watched him. In the past few years his good eye had grown white in the center, a fuzzy film growing out from the pupil that would one day take the whole cornea. It was irreversible, Tavish had explained, years of buildup from stromnium or strotenium or something like that, Jane could never remember. Tavish wasn’t surprised, had told Jane that he was shocked he’d still had the thing this long, but that didn’t mean there was no mourning within the man. It was just different than how most people would have gone about it.

“Sure is,” Jane said. “Real beautiful.”

“Aye. And you ‘n me, we’re not seeing the half of it. Those telescopes, the ones the size of whole buildings, all they have is a bunch of different magnifying glasses and yet when they put ‘em all together you can see whole galaxies that weren’t there before. Same sky, just some folks can see it, some folks can’t.”

“You can still see it,” Jane reminded him, a gentle bump to the shoulder.

“For now,” Tavish agreed. He turned, smiling with just the corner of his mouth, a testament that was gone before Jane could fully appreciate how much he loved the small, sad ways he chose to be happy. A hand came up to brush the side of Jane’s cheek. “I just keep thinking about how one of these days will be the last day I see you.”

Their foreheads came together. Jane’s hand rose to cover the one across his cheek, thumb rubbing the small band of gold on Tavish’s finger. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe this; despite the decades, despite the promises made on cold desert nights, despite watching the grey hairs spring in Tavish’s beard and knowing the same was happening to him, it was still hard to fathom that someone had chosen to spend the rest of their life with him. Even though the years with Tavish came close to outnumbering the years without, that time in Jane’s life of infinite loneliness, of stubborn self sufficiency, made him question how he was ever lucky enough that someone had hung on their sense and decided he was worth it.

Jane pulled Tavish closer. “Yeah. Well. If you’re going to keep a last image of me in your head, I really wish it was back when I was still handsome.”

Tavish laughed, swaying them both slightly in the unusually still air. Normally winds rattled the badlands, stirring up loose sand and seething through plants too hardy to notice. It felt like, for once, the world had chosen to be kind this night, just for them.

“You get handsomer every day Jane,” Tavish said, and hidden behind the words were each day I love you more. “I just…miss.”

“Miss how things used to be?”

“More than that. I’ve got the ‘ole yearning, I suppose, the eater of men.” Tavish chewed his words, looking up at the sky again. “I miss places. I miss how everything used to feel, even if it wasn’t terribly good.”

“Not talking about going back to your home planet, are you?” Jane joked, jerking his thumb at the now witnessed stars.

“No,” Tavish snorted. “Not exactly. But I…” He trailed off.

Now it was Jane’s turn to bring his hands to the sides of Tavish’s face, his own ring warm from where he’d been cradling it inside his fist. “What is it, Tav? You can tell me.”

Tavish looked not at the stars nor the horizon, but the ground, kicking the wooden deck neither of them had ever gotten around to re-staining. “I feel…I feel the hills always calling out to me. Like there’s something in my bones that just wants to rest, to go back where it’s green, to where it isn’t so bloody dry. Every time we visit I think ‘is this the last time I’ll ever see it? The very last time? Am I going to be too old or too tired the next time around, and never feel like I’m home again?’”

Jane watched the worry lines in Tavish’s forehead. “You want to go back to Scotland.”

“I dunno. Just the more my eye goes the more I…I dunno.”

They hung in silence for a while longer, just breathing. Jane hadn’t felt the need to wear his helmet for a long time, not at home, not at this mansion that was their private oasis from the rest of the world. Were money made their problems—if not vanish—then kept far back beyond the fence where they never had to think about them unless they ventured beyond. Where, even with BLU’s protection no longer keeping the various chapters of local and federal law enforcement trying to wrangle some comeuppance out of the soldier for sins past, he still had a place of refuge.

“Let’s go,” Jane said.

Tavish looked away. “I don’t mean for a visit Jane, I mean…”

“I know,” Jane insisted. Tavish’s milky eye fixed him with disbelief. “You want to go home. I get it. We should go.”

Tavish stared at him, still uncomprehending. “Jane you know that would mean…”

“I know,” Jane repeated.

A warm, subtle smile filled Tavish’s face, and neither of them had to say any more. Tavish drew Jane in closer, and the two of them rocked in the wind that had just picked up again.

***

“Jane,” Tavish frowned as he examined the box Jane had dropped thunderously at the bottom of the stairs, “do you really need to bring all of these?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to make you get rid of your treasured possessions,” Jane pointed out, depositing a second box filled entirely with Guns & Haircuts net to the first.

“We’re not going to have space for these,” Tavish retorted. “It’s going to be a tiny little thing, remember? They don’t build mansions in Ullapool.”

Moving had left the New Mexico mansion barren and faded where pictures had hung on the wall since Tavish had first moved in. Now they were all gone, sold off as their attempts to downsize left only what was necessary and a few DeGroot family heirlooms.

It twisted something in Jane to see their home of three decades slowly dismantled into carpet scuffs and cardboard boxes. This had been his dwelling longer than any other, a turning point from when the Gravel Wars had folded in on themselves and left Jane with an odd freedom he had no idea if he was allowed to act on. Even before that, when Tavish’s mother had still been alive and the halls were filled with her vigor, this place was safe haven for Jane, where he’d come to meet with his forbidden friend and get wasted in his living room.

Now it was mostly empty. Ready for the last goodbyes.

“These are important,” Jane declared of the boxes.

“You haven’t read them in ages,” Tavish pointed out.

“So? They are valuable. Scout sold his whole Bonk! Boy collection for a fortune, and I’ve got twice as many as that little squirt does!” Jane cleared his throat suddenly. “Did.”

It was hard to remember sometimes. He thought his old teammates would want nothing to do with him after the end, but to his surprise they actually kept in contact better than when they’d actually worked together. Maybe owing to the fact he now had an actual address they could send letters to.

Neither Spy nor Sniper had ever actually retired, and over time the tepid, passably courteous correspondences with Sniper had stopped a few years after Spy disappeared entirely. Jane assumed something similar had happened to them both. Occupational hazard.

Engie had complications with his diabetes. The remaining team had shown up for the funeral, except for Pyro, who everyone politely wouldn’t mention, even when Jane asked.

The one person Jane hadn’t expected to outlive was Scout. Scout didn’t write, but he could talk anyone’s ear off, and when coming home from the second funeral in as many years it hit Jane hard that he’d never hear the kitchen phone ringing off its holder again, practically trembling as the other line was just dying to tell him about whatever exactly Scout was so wound up about today.

Tavish noticed Jane’s slipup, and kindly ignored it. Nearly ten years, and Jane still found himself forgetting. “That’s because they were comics,” Tavish explained. “They were collectors items. The only person collecting Guns & Haircuts is you.”

“And don’t I know it!”

Tavish sighed. “Are you even planning on selling them, or are you just going to do the same thing you’ve done with them here and leave them in a big box to gather dust?”

“Of course I’m going to leave them in a big box!” Jane huffed proudly. “What other purpose is there in life other than to gather material objects and then have them accumulate in piles in your living room? You do not see me complaining about the giant, wall mounted family crest, do you?”

Tavish rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed as an old argument became even older. “Ach, fine. I suppose we’ll fine the space.” When he opened his eye, he saw the third giant box Jane was hauling out for the movers. “Jane! We don’t need to be taking that.”

“Yes we do, sonny!” Jane said, slapping a hand on the trumpet of the old record player he hadn’t been able to properly fit in the box. “I do not trust those cassette tapes! The snakes that live in them always try to come out and strangle me!”

“We’ve got some CDs now-” Tavish tried.

“Even worse!” Jane declared. “Australian mind control devices!”

Tavish could see he wasn’t winning, which was just fine by Jane. The magazines were one thing, but the record player he wasn’t leaving without.

“Well,” Tavish said, looking around their house, stripped bare. “I suppose that’s everything.”

Jane couldn’t find a reason to object. He glanced around, looking for one last missing detail, one more reason to stall, but found none. Gently, he took Tavish’s hand and squeezed. “Everything we need.”

***

Scotland was even wetter than the last time they’d visited.

Mud, the most distantly remembered and ancient of substances, clung to Jane’s pant leg all the way up to the knee as they made their way down hundred-year old paths someone really should’ve figured out how to weather-proof by now. But, where Jane was grumbling, Tavish looked about as happy as a clam in water. (Or, Jane supposed was more fitting, a pig in mud.)

“Aha! Look, there it is,” Tavish said, tugging on Jane’s arm and pointing at the glimpse of water creeping around the bend. “Still there.”

“I don’t think they would have up and moved a whole lake while you were gone,” Jane mumbled, but Tavish didn’t seem to hear as he moved with surprising speed down the hill. It was times like this Jane actually envied the cane.

When he finally caught up, Tavish was breathing in the thick air, his chest rising and then collapsing with a satisfied sigh. “Used to play down here as lad. Sometimes there’s a beach, far as the eye can see.”

“Thought you were done with sand,” Jane said, stomping up next to him on damp boots.

Tavish just breamed broadly at him, drinking in the sweep of the land and the crash of the lake. Jane could remember the stories, ones from Tavish’s childhood much better than his own, told and retold so many times that he could flip open the memories like a scrapbook and find exactly where every place in Ullapool fit. An old pub, a crumbling church. The house where the DeGroots used to live, the field where Merasmus’s castle had once briefly towered. So vivid were they, they superimposed themselves over Jane’s (admittedly more insubstantial) memories until he felt he had lived here himself.

“…Gettin’ dark, Tav,” Jane pointed out.

Tavish frowned, and squinted at the horizon. “Aye, I suppose it is.”

“Think the movers are done?” Jane didn’t approve of hiring other people to life heavy things when lifting heavy things had once been one of Jane’s favorite pastimes, but Tavish convinced him that if he threw out his back again, it’d be a lot harder to get him to a doctor.

“Probably,” Tavish nodded. “Let’s go see.”

“Do you think they dropped my magazines?”

“I’m sure they’re fine, love.”

They made the long, much more slippery journey back to their new home. It overlooked Ullapool and the coast, but was nevertheless removed enough that Jane could revel in the privacy he had grown used to. Privacy was not on Tavish’s mind when they’d walked through town that first time, however, as he’d greeted nearly everyone who came their way. It had shocked Jane how many people knew him, or at least recognized the DeGroot name, and greeted Tavish as familiarly as they would have had he been gone for only a few weeks rather than years.

It was good, to see Tavish like this. Even now, as they climbed slowly back up the hill, Jane watched him out the corner of his eye, smiling at the look of serenity that hadn’t been on his husband’s face so naturally in years.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Tavish said lovingly as they crossed the threshold of their new home.

That it was. Jane had worried he had grown soft living in luxury, that his years of being rich and retied would make him forgot that he’d once loved his little apartment, had cherished the security its simplicity had given him. But now that he was back inside four walls, surrounded by the items that had come to mean things beyond their purpose, a swell of pleasant familiarity welled up in him. The curtains blocked out the last of the fading light through soft yellow. There was a fireplace (modern and gas powered) but one ready to fill the house with a warm glow.

Tavish made the motions to begin unpacking, but Jane’s pretense of rooting though the boxes had a different goal in mind. Preoccupied, Tavish didn’t turn around until Jane finally slipped the record into place.

Perking, Tavish looked over his shoulder to see Jane offering his hand as the music bubbled slowly to life. “Been a long time since we danced,” Jane said.

Tavish’s smile fit well in this homey, quiet room. He took Jane’s hand, and let Jane pull him up off his knees until they were chest to chest, resting his chin on Jane’s shoulder.

“Too long,” he agreed.

They began sway rhythmlessly to music in the middle of the tiny living room, caring little where they put their feet as long as it wasn’t one top of one another. Jane loved the record player, needed it more these days, as it was one of the only things that made the horrid, incessant ringing in his ears quiet for just a short while. Leaving the fan on at night might help him get to sleep, but the was no denying the scratching notes out of the player were a world more enjoyable.

It was piano piece, one he’d heard Tavish play now and again. There was no space for a grand piano here in this little cottage on the hill, but maybe they could get a smaller one, and Tavish could try teaching him again. Like he’d promised so long ago.

So many promises that’d slipped through the cracks, both to each other and themselves. Things they simply couldn’t do anymore. Ever since the scare with Jane’s lung cancer, they had tried to do better, had realized what they had built meant something and they couldn’t go piddling away with their complacent recklessness. Jane had quit smoking, Tavish had quit drinking as part of the deal.

But still, there were other things, other mistakes that had compounded over the years. Jane always kept thinking he should have been over it by now, that for how many gentle touches Tavish had placed against him, he should forget the violence those same hands had once brought him. The times they’d shoved a sword into Jane’s gut. The bombs from nowhere. The individual atrocities. It was duller now, the years had been good enough to do that, but if Tavish’s memories were anything like Jane’s, he understood why the ex-demoman sometimes woke screaming in the middle of the night, needing to be reminded—soothed, assured, sometimes begged—that the Jane beside him wasn’t the monster from his dreams.

That was the real tragedy of the War. Officially, all they had been paid to do was kill each other—the horrors they chose to inflict on one another had been their own doing, their own wills brought to fruition. RED had never asked Tavish to shove Jane’s shovel down its owner's throat, laughing vengefully all the while. Jane was sure he’d done equally as cruel things to Tavish during those hell times, but had trouble recalling exactly what. It’s much easier to remember the sins committed against you, than those you have unleashed yourself.

Those hands, those bloodstained, gentle, perfect hands, rubbed circles and Jane’s back, and he sighed. He’d listened to this record enough to know it was getting to the end of this side, but he found he didn’t want to move. He wanted to keep standing here, swaying with the man he loved in their home in the mountains, remembering that they had earned this.

“I cherish these moments we spend together,” he said resolutely into Tavish’s chest.

“Every one of them,” Tavish agreed.

Eventually they would lay down, rest their old bones in their new bed, but for now they held each other in the slowly encroaching night, the sound of rain playing its first patter on the roof.

[rentsturner]

Dare | Obi-Wan Kenobi

Request: okay! could i request where you and obi wan kiss for the first time as padawans? // @laorme34

(a/n: I was up till like 2am writing this, so pls excuse any mistakes. It probably doesnt make much sense, oh well, It’s basically just fluff, I hope you like it. not my gif.) 

word count: 1.9k

Coruscant was beautiful at night, there was no denying it. The glowing lights shining from stories upon stories of skyscrapers, the constant buzz of traffic and people. Some may find it unsettling, but you thought the living city was perfect.

You and a few of your fellow padawans had spent the evening relaxing in the Temple gardens, a peaceful oasis amidst the bustling Coruscanti streets below. 

It was Carnival Week, which meant nights filled with fireworks and dancing, colourful acts parading every avenue and boulevard until the sun began to rise over the living, breathing metropolis. But more importantly, for you it meant a week off normal Jedi duties and more time to spend with your friends.

It was a small gathering, but a lively one. The laughter and gossip had flowed easily, a well needed change of pace from your usual hectic lives. But you couldn't help but keep glancing across the circle to look at Obi-Wan Kenobi, the seemingly perfect padawan, excelling in every task his master set for him. He was sprawled lazily across the grass, staying quiet in the conversation, except to occasionally contribute a witty quip. A cheeky grin always followed, basking in the laughter he induced, before settling comfortably into silence once again.

You had known Obi for many years, training with him frequently when your masters worked together. You weren’t entirely sure what it was that drew you to him - that blinding smile that could light up your day in an instant, his endless generosity, kindness that knew no bounds, or his infectious enthusiasm for almost anything. Maybe it was the way he would always check on you after a particularly hard mission, or  maybe the sound of his carefree laughter when you told him a joke. Or maybe it was just that sometimes, when he looked at you, it would feel like the whole world had disappeared and the only thing that truly mattered was that distinct shade of deep blue that coloured his eyes and the way his long auburn lashes framed them so beautifully.

It was safe to say that you were harboring just a little crush for Obi-Wan.

After a few more hours of chatter, the cool night air began to creep in. It wasn't unbearably cold, not to you anyway, as the bulk of your thick cloak stifled the breeze and trapped any welcome warmth. It seemed that the drop in temperature was not to your friends’ tastes, as one by one they began to trickle away, each making their polite excuses before retiring to their warm beds. But you weren't ready to sleep yet.

Now there was only one person left with you in the garden. Obi-wan sat opposite you, seemingly unaffected by the gentle chill that had driven away your peers.His knees were pulled up to his chest, his chin resting there and his arms wrapped tightly around his shins, making himself as small as possible. Maybe it was to conserve heat. He seemed comfortable just to watch you, a faint smile across his face as he took you in. 

You crossed your legs underneath you, one hand fiddling with the petals on the nearest flower, the other tugging on your braid self consciously. It’s not that you were uncomfortable in Obi-Wan’s presence, no. It was more that you were worried. Worried that too much time spent with Obi’s charms and silver tongue would result in your secret slipping out. He was famed for his clever negotiations after all, and it would be so incredibly mortifying for him to discover your little crush.

Best to leave now

But before you could even make your feeble excuse - I have to water my succulent, Obi’s voice cut through the silence.  

“You want to play truth or dare?” 

Looking up at his grinning face, you realised he was deadly serious. You hadn't played truth or dare in years, but you knew that it could easily result in chaos. You could embarrass yourself in front of Obi-Wan or, even worse, your secret could come out. But...you didn't really want to go to bed yet. Whatever happened, you would probably both forget about it in the morning. Maybe it would even be fun.

“Yeah, sure.”

Obi clapped his hands together excitedly and shuffled closer. 

“Okay, you first then. Truth or dare?”

Your first dilemma. Choose truth and possibly reveal some of your deepest secrets? You could always lie, but you had a feeling that Obi would know. He seemed to have an advanced perception of everything.Well, he was on his way to becoming the perfect Jedi after all. No, truth was too much risk.

“Dare.” you tried to sound confident.

Obi chuckled, looking around as if searching for ideas. His gaze stopped suddenly when it reached the largest tree in the garden, an enormous oak stretching up at least two stories. A mischievous glint appeared in his bright eyes. 

“I dare you to climb that tree.”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. Even with trained agility and balance, climbing the oak would be a tough job. Obi noticed your reluctance.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll catch you if you fall.” A whisper in the night, followed by a comforting kiss to your cheek.

Five minutes later, you had dropped back to the ground, the leaf in your hand from the top of the tree a token of your success. 

“Just for you.” You giggled, placing the leaf in Obi’s palm. He wrapped his fingers around it, looking down at it before his gaze once again returned to you. There was fondness in his eyes, along with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. It looked almost like desire...but no, you must have been mistaken. Just fondness. 

“Your turn, Obi. Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” No hesitation there. He sprawled back down on the grass, waiting patiently for your question. 

Obi-Wan didn’t mind what you asked him, in all honesty. He’d never lie to you. He’d come to terms with the fact that he loved you almost a year ago and was prepared to do anything for you if you asked him to. The love that he felt for you was like a burning ember in his chest, always there, always ready to break free and burn brightly if the moment called. But for the most part, he had to keep it hidden. The Jedi Order wasn't exactly welcoming when it came to forbidden attachments.

Sometimes he thought you were blind, oblivious to his loving gestures. Coming to find you and tuck you into bed after a long mission, travelling to the library late at night to search a book that you desperately needed, using his wit to get you out of trouble with your master whenever you got caught - surely these meant more than being just friends? But Obi had been patient, biding his time. He knew tonight was the night.

Mind racing, you wracked your brain for a good truth. Something lighthearted, but not stupid, interesting, but not too deep. You settled on a relatively tame question.

“Who’s your least favourite Jedi on the council?”

Obi hummed, rubbing his chin and jaw in thought.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to say Master Windu. He accidentally bumped into me in a corridor a few days ago. I split my coffee and I haven't forgiven him yet.”

You burst into laughter at the pettiness of Obi’s answer. His deep chuckle joined your giggling in a pleasant harmony.

“Listen, love, my morning coffee is very important to me, i cannot function without it!”

This only elicited more laughter from you, and the next few minutes were spent lying on the floor, trying to catch your breath. You turned your head to see Obi lying in a similar position, watching you. He was always watching you it seemed, just as you constantly stole glances at him. Obi-Wan was just more confident, upfront. He always had been.

“Truth or dare?” 

“Dare.” The word was barely a whisper, but Obi Wan heard it loud and clear, all his attention on you. He paused for a moment before speaking.

“Kiss me”

Those cerulean eyes never left yours. He was being deadly serious, once again. 

You jerked back, shocked, his two words ringing in your ears. Did he know your secret? Had he read your mind somehow? Maybe he had noticed your gaze catching on his lips, engrossed by the way his tongue would dart out and wet them, how soft they looked in the moonlight and -

No, he couldn't know.

Obi-Wan noticed the panic gripping your features and reached out to your hand slowly, gently taking your palm in his. Maybe he could still convince you. He wanted this so badly and he could just feel that you wanted it too.

“I’m not joking, darling. Please kiss me.”

“I-” 

Words escaped you, only feelings and images tumbling through your mind as you took in the situation. Obi-Wan. Your crush Obi-Wan. Wanted to kiss you. You.

The feeling of his thumb rubbing across your knuckles calmed you slightly and you took a deep breath in. This was it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said that -” Obi began to pull away, his cheeks becoming flushed with regret and uncertainty, but you squeezed his hand and shuffled closer, a surge of courage running through your veins.

“No, Obi, I want to kiss you. So badly.”

And you leaned forwards, placing your lips on his gently, resting your free hand on his shoulder. A spark of pleasure ran between you. Obi-Wan gasped at the sudden contact, shuddering slightly before moving to kiss you back. He hummed softly and carded his hand through the hair at the back of your neck, pulling you even closer in.

It was almost like a collision, the pining and tension coming to a head after months, like a water breaking through a dam to flow freely. It was everything.

His heady aroma of sandalwood and cinnamon was intoxicating and you could feel the warmth of his body through the thick layers of wool and cotton. You had a sudden desire to just peel his robes off there and then, but you pushed it back down. That could wait.

Your noses bumped together and you could feel Obi smiling against your mouth.

Maker, his lips were just as soft as they looked.

You pulled away slowly, but kept your forehead pressed against Obi’s, your hand wrapped around the back of his neck, rubbing the skin where his hairline started. His large palms skimmed up and down your sides, pressing into your robes as if he was trying to sink through them and reach your warm skin.

“Finally.” 

Another whisper in the night, except this time it came from Obi. And this time, when your eyes met, it did truly feel like you were drowning in his cerulean orbs, and the world had in fact disappeared. All you could see, smell, feel, was Obi-Wan Kenobi, and that was just how it was meant to be.

Obi Tags: @ohhellokenobi @doublesunsets @snips-n-skyguy0501 @karasong @callmearwen @milleniumvalcon @rosionis @afogocado @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @fenharel-enaste @corellians-only @weirdfangirl2416 @a-seeker-of-imagination @saintlaurentkenobi @justanotherpadawan (Taglist link in bio)

[tinydooms]

#30 (“There are souls that you feel to lean forward to, like a sun-filled window”) for Rick/Evy?

#30 “There are souls that you feel to lean forward to, like a sun-filled window”

The Western Desert, October 1922

An hour out from Hamunaptra, night had finally fallen over the Western Desert. Rick sat on his camel, rocking gently back and forth with each step, the girl he loved snug and warm in his arms.

Holding Evelyn Carnahan to him, hugging and kissing and being kissed by her, felt like the best thing that had ever happened to Rick. And it just kept getting better. For the last little while they had shared quiet kisses, lips meeting and clinging with wonder and affection or brushing each other’s faces and brows and hair. There was a wonderful moment when Evie pressed her lips to the hollow in Rick’s collarbones, tasting the smooth skin there, a sensation that gave him a delicious full-body shiver. Evie looked up at him with amusement in her glowing eyes. 

“All right?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Rick said, bending his head to kiss her again. “You’re perfect.”

Evie grinned at him, her face crinkling up in pleasure, and squeezed him a little. “Good.”

She tucked her head into Rick’s shoulder, idly stroking his arm. It was wonderful to be so entwined, arms around each other. Evie was so soft in his arms, so cozy and comfortable. Rick dropped a kiss on the top of her head and felt her smile. This really was just the nicest feeling. The camel’s gate rocked them together, soothing them both after the chaos of the past few days. Little by little Evie stilled, hooking her thumb into the turn of his sleeve, and after a while Rick felt her go heavy as she fell asleep. 

Rick took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and rested his cheek against Evelyn’s dear head. He had read stories where the hero had cradled his beloved to him like this, but had never really believed it would happen to him. Before the War, maybe, but since then he had seen and experienced and participated in the absolute worst that humanity had to offer, and there had been no place for love or romance in it. And afterwards...Rick pushed the memory of Afterwards away, not wanting to dwell on how lost and hopeless he had been. Focus on the present. Focus on this remarkable gift. Rick was no stranger to physical pleasure, but this was something different. He burned everywhere Evie touched him, where her arm rested around his waist, her hand on his hip, the fingers of her other hand tracing patterns into his forearm, and yet there was something different in this pleasure than the other times he had been with women. This was permanent. He wanted to take Evie to bed, sure, but he also wanted to go places with her, to listen while she explained the past to him, to watch her dig things up out of the dirt. From the way she held him, looked at him, Evie wanted that, too. She was safe and alive despite everything, and she loved him, and Rick didn’t want to ever let her go. She was a bright shining light; she warmed his soul. He shifted the reins to one hand and reached up to cradle Evie’s head, letting his eyes close in relief. He had been so afraid that he would lose her. 

A camel’s snort jolted Rick out of his reverie. Jonathan had brought his mount alongside them and was fussing with a blanket roll strapped to one of his saddlebags. 

“Here,” he said, “take this. Is Evie asleep?”

“Yeah,” Rick said, taking the proffered blanket, a little embarrassed. “Has been for a while.”

Jonathan didn’t seem at all phased. “Good, she needs it, poor kid. Here, I’ll hold your reins.”

Rick handed them over and shook out the blanket, shifting to wrap it around Evie’s bare shoulders. The temperature was falling fast; at least he and Jonathan had long sleeves to offer a minimum of protection against the nighttime cold. Evie’s sweater was long gone. She did not wake as Rick snugged the blanket around her, but mumbled a little before subsiding again against his chest. Rick smiled, resisting the urge to brush his lips against her hair, and took his reins back from Jonathan. He wondered what the other man thought of it all, if he would say anything. But when Jonathan did speak, it wasn’t about Evie. 

“How long, do you think, until we reach the little oasis?” 

Rick looked around at the moonlit landscape. They had come a good way along the trail, but he had only been paying partial attention to it. 

“Uh, four or five miles, I’d say,” he said. “An hour, tops. You holding up okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. A bit sore and sleepy, but I’ve had worse.” 

“Yeah, me, too.”

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Rick was beginning to feel the after effects of battle. He hurt all over his body, and his throat was sore where Imhotep had choked him. He reached up to touch it, his fingers meeting the last of the rope burn from when he had been hanged. Rick swallowed. It could all have ended so badly. He drew in another deep breath, feeling his chest expand and release. He was alive. They were alive. 

“Thank you,” Jonathan said abruptly. “For all this. For saving my sister. Couldn’t have done it without you, old chap.”

“You’re welcome,” Rick said, giving him a small smile. “Thanks for having my back.”

“Well, I’ve never left a partner in the lurch yet,” Jonathan said with a shrug. “I’m no hero, but I’m not that bad.”

“Heroes only exist in fiction,” Rick said. “The rest of us just do what needs to be done, even when we’re shit scared. Besides, I couldn’t live with myself if Evelyn had been killed.”

“No, I’d gathered that.” Jonathan chuckled. “You’ve been making calf eyes at her almost from the beginning.”

Rick felt himself reddening. “Am I that obvious?”

“Oh, Evie’s just as bad. Ardeth Bey thought the two of you were married.”

“He did?” 

It came out a squawk; Evie stirred in his arms and Rick struggled to contain his laughter. He couldn’t help it; they were alive, and he was so happy. Jonathan, too, was chuckling. It was the sort of laughter between friends, the giddy delight of having survived an impossible situation. Rick knew that when they returned to Cairo all sorts of conversations were going to have to take place, but for now he was content to just be here with Evie, with Jonathan. They rode on in silence, Jonathan dozing in his saddle, until they reached the little oasis and dismounted for the night. 

A second wind restored all of them then, as Rick found that the saddlebags were not loaded with the expected camping gear and supplies, but rather the wealth of Hamunaptra, and Evie learned about that scarab that had burrowed into Jonathan’s arm. Rick looked over their food supplies as she fussed over her brother, feeling kind of guilty. He had completely forgotten about the scarab incident in all of the tumult that had followed. The wound looked awful, purple puckers all the way up Jonathan’s arm and a neat stab where Rick had dug the thing out. He shivered. 

“Are you all right?” Evie asked, looking him over. “Have you got any awful injuries that you haven’t told me about?”

“No, ma’am,” Rick said.

“Are you sure? Because if I find that you’re hiding any manageable hurts from me because of manly pride, I’ll-”

Rick held his hands up. “I’ve only got bruises.”

It wasn’t quite true; he was pretty sure he’d cracked a rib or two, but he wasn’t about to let Evie strip him to the waist. They weren’t there yet. Instead, he focused on dinner, dividing up their meager supplies, cutting up the stale bread and spearing it on sticks to toast over the fire. They could have some of the jerky now, and an apple each. In the morning they’d finish the bread, and there were date palms at the other end of the pond, so they wouldn’t starve, but it would be a long, hungry day until they reached the cultivation and villages to barter with. 

“We’ll manage,” Evie said, turning her stick to toast the bread evenly. “As long as we have water, anyway.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Rick said. 

“It’ll be nice to be back properly,” Evie said, settling back with her toast and apple. “Do you think the house was damaged in the firestorm?”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t,” Jonathan replied. “We’ll call up Daoud as soon as we get back to the fort and check.”

“I hope they’re all right,” Evie said. “You know how Fatima hates thunder and lightning. She was probably terrified.”

“Well, we won’t tell them that we had anything to do with, what?” Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t think they need to know that we’ve been conjuring afreets.”

Rick looked from one to the other. “Who’re Daoud and Fatima?”

“Our reis and housekeeper,” Jonathan replied. “They’ve been with us forever; Daoud was Father’s foreman, and then he had to retire from that because of an injury, so Father asked him to manage the household instead. Fatima’s his wife.”

“So you’ve known them your whole lives?”

Evie and Jonathan nodded. 

“Our parents had rather a magpie approach to family,” Evie said. “Father and Daoud knew each other as young men and considered each other brothers, and Fatima and Mum were dear friends. Simple, really.”

Rick grinned. The magpie approach seemed to run in the family. “Where’s your house at?”

“In Zamalek, on Gezira Island,” Evie said. 

Rick blinked. “I know where Zamalek is. Swanky place.”

Evie and Jonathan glanced at each other. Rick felt a sudden worry. 

“I mean, it’s not Garden City…” he trailed off, uncertain. He knew Zamalek to be a nice, safe, quiet place; it was where the nice restaurants and the opera house were. 

“It’s an old house,” Evie said, her voice hesitant. “It’s been getting a badly-needed new roof. It’s not fancy. But I think you’ll like it. It has a little courtyard and plenty of space.”

“‘Course you’ll want to let your own people know you’re alright,” Jonathan added. “You mustn’t let us monopolize you.”

“I, uh--” Rick rubbed the back of his head. This was going to be awkward no matter how he went at it. “I don’t have anyone. Any people. I mean, I don’t have a family or anything. It’s just been me since I was thirteen. My mom died and she was my only family, so...”

They stared at him. Embarrassed, Rick poked at the fire with his stick, avoiding their eyes.

“How old are you, Rick?” Jonathan asked. His voice sounded funny, kind of soft. 

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“So you’ve been all alone for fifteen years?” Evie’s voice was soft, too, and horrified.

“Yeah. I mean I had friends in the army, but I guess...yeah.”

For a moment there was silence only broken by the crackling fire. Rick stabbed at it, memories of the orphanage beginning to swim in the back of his mind. 

“That’s...that’s awful,” Evie said. “I’m so sorry, Rick.”

Rick stabbed at the fire again; these were not memories he wanted to dredge up. 

“It isn’t fun,” he said, trying for a light tone. “Anyway, when we get back to Cairo, I...I’d like to stay.” He swallowed and looked at Evie. “With you. If that’s all right.”

She met his eyes and Rick could see that he understood what he meant. She began to smile. 

“I think that sounds wonderful,” she said, reaching to take his hand. 

“Plenty of room for you,” Jonathan added. “Happy to have you.”

Rick looked from one to the other and back to Evie. Warmth filled him like he had stepped into a sunlit room. A magpie family, wasn’t that how they had described themselves? And now they had collected him, too. Rick squeezed Evie’s hand and kissed her fingers, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He could stay. She wanted him to stay with her. It was going to be alright. 

[nomorelonelydays]

We’ll Be Young Forever, 3.7K. @sidgenophotochallenge

“I’ve never been on the West Coast,” Sidney says absently, as he unlaces his skates.

They’d lost the Cup again. So close, always so, so close that Zhenya had gone to sleep each night dreaming about lifting that weight and shouting into the crowd. Of Sidney’s glowing face, exuberant and pink and looking the way he does when he’s overjoyed and relieved all at once.

Now, he feels nothing save for his own heart, weighing down like a stone. He’d wanted to win the Cup for Sidney so badly. But he always does, every year, since the first time he saw Sidney on the ice.

“You’ve been on the West Coast,” Zhenya mumbles. “We go all the time for games.”

“Oh, well. It’s not really the same.” Sidney’s voice sounds a little funny. But then again, he’d never talked so much after a loss like this. “I think I wanna go back to visit. See the ocean.”

“Okay.” From his experience, there’s really no use asking Sidney to explain why he wants to do something. He looks up. “We go.”

Sidney turns sharply at him. “What? Seriously? You want to come?”

He shrugs. “Is our summer now. We can do whatever we want.”

Sidney gives him another look, then changes into something unreadable. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

“I book ticket—”

“Can we drive?” Sidney asks abruptly.

Zhenya blinks. “Sure. But is going take forever.”

“It can be a road trip.” He looks a little cheerier. “It’ll be fun.”

Zhenya’s pretty sure the road from Pittsburgh to the other side of the U.S. is just going to be a lot of cornfields. At least ten hours of corn and the occasional gas station oasis, so he tells Sidney this.

“It’s okay,” Sidney says softly. Something about his tone worries at the back of Zhenya’s mind, but he’s too exhausted to dwell on it. “I want to see everything.”

-

“A road trip?” Flower says, sounding incredulous. “You hate road trips.”

“Yeah,” Zhenya agrees as he divides up the t-shirts and underwear he’s planning to pack. But he loves Sidney.

He doesn’t say that, though, but he thinks Flower can guess.

“Is Sidney okay?” he asks instead. “You know how he is after a loss. He takes it harder than anyone else.”

To be fair, Zhenya isn’t sure.

-

He drives to Sidney’s place on a Tuesday, bright and early so they can beat the traffic.

“We’re not taking your sports car, G,” Sidney says, fondly, as Zhenya pretends to pout in the passenger seat. “It’s not gonna fit all of our stuff.”

Which made little sense--the back of Sidney’s Tahoe is mostly filled with Zhenya’s luggage, boots, and backpack. Sidney’s isn’t exactly known for packing lightly, what with his good luck charms on roadies and his first aid kit that he always has in his bag. But all he had brought today seemed to be the essentials crammed in a single duffel bag.

“Where to?” Sidney asks, smiling brightly at him.

Now, without the weight of the Cup looming over his shoulders, he can’t believe he’s nearly forgotten how much he loves it when Sidney looks at him like that.

Butterflies, Zhenya thinks. That’s how Americans would say it. But it’s a modest word for what he truly feels. 

“Get out of Ohio, first,” he grumbles, and Sidney laughs.

-

Sidney gets them out of Ohio in four hours and fifteen minutes. Zhenya doesn’t think he’s seen Sidney floor it like he’s running for his life, and he was pretty sure Sidney would’ve kept going if Zhenya didn’t make them stop at a McDonalds halfway through before his ass melted into the seat entirely.

Sitting there with Sidney, inhaling an entire burger and watching Sidney steal his fries when he thinks Zhenya isn’t looking, fills him with something unspeakable, a little like he’s swallowed a lightbulb.

(He orders two McFlurries for them, watches Sidney hesitate, then dig into his share before going after Zhenya’s, too.)

He hates traveling. He’s never liked traveling, regardless of whether it’s in a car or by air, not with the way his legs are always cramped in the seats, or how everything has to go by a schedule and being late is pretty much his middle name. But listening Sidney hum to the radio as they barrel towards Missouri calms Zhenya hazy, post-loss mind; and seeing Sidney try to stifle his infamous giggle-honk as they pass by an unfortunate produce truck that keeps dropping their apples onto the road as they hit each bump in the pavement, is a such a wonderful, wonderful thing. So much that he starts to think that even without a Cup to drink champagne out of this summer, this is just as good. 

Even if Sidney does keep trying to change the station to country when he thinks Zhenya’s dozed off.

-

It seems that no matter where they are, the motel sheets are always too starchy, and the walls too thin. Zhenya spends the first night doing his best to not look over at Sidney on the other bed, in his reading glasses as he squints at the map on his tablet.

They don’t talk ever about the next season, or the Cup, or what they could’ve done differently, what they should’ve done.

Which is for the best, because all Zhenya can really think about at the moment is how much he actually doesn’t mind losing the Cup, if what he gets in return is spending time with Sidney.

“There’s a museum here,” Sidney reads, “for the town’s first and only saltwater taffy plant. Should we go check it out in the morning before we hit the road again?”

Zhenya couldn’t give less of a shit about taffy if he tried, but if it makes Sidney happy, he’ll buy him the entire candy factory.

-

There’s nothing particularly eventful until it’s Zhenya’s turn to drive and he makes a wrong turn in Kansas, and they end up at the World’s Largest Ball of Twine.

It’s the most boring thing Zhenya’s ever seen, even worse than the taffy plant, and that had been pretty bad. Sidney is fascinated.

He takes a picture of Sidney adding a piece of twine to the ball and sends it to the group chat.

Flower: What is that

G: biggest ball of twine in Kansas

Tanger: tf

Whatever.

That night at the motel (probably the only non-shady motel the town has to offer), Sidney’s face looks conflicted as he walks back to Zhenya from the front desk, holding a single set of keys for a single room with a single bed.

“How.” He’s not even annoyed at this time. He’s almost impressed that there’s literally no other available rooms in this town whose only attraction is a ball of twine.

“It’s the summer?” Sidney says, sounding unconvinced. “Maybe people are road tripping like us and they’re headed here.”

“Sid,” Zhenya says, very seriously. “This place is like Denny’s. You don’t go here, you end up here. We end up here.”

“Yeah, well,” Sidney shrugs. “I can sleep on the floor, or—”

Like he’s going to make Sidney sleep on the motel carpet after they’ve both been stuck in a car after a whole day of driving. He’s pretty sure that qualifies as a cruel and unusual punishment.

His thoughts pretty much all fly out of his head when Sidney slides himself into bed on his side, all soft t-shirt and pajama bottoms, his cheeks flushed from the shower as he towels at his hair. Zhenya just settles further into the mattress, his laptop burning a hole on his thighs as he tries to ignore how much he loves the idea of a scene like this, with Sidney freshly showered and settling in to bed next to him like a routine.

When he turns out the lights, his heart’s beating so fast that he’s afraid Sidney can hear it. He turns with his back facing Sidney for a while, shutting his eyes and trying to will himself to fall asleep—it should be easy, because he’s exhausted, but—

“G?” Sidney’s voice says, sounding very small. “Thanks for coming on this road trip with me.”

“Of course,” he replies, turning his body so he’s curved towards Sidney. “No big deal.”

“No.” Zhenya can’t make out his face in the dark, but Sidney sounds like there’s a stone lodged in this throat. “I know you have vacation plans, usually, like Florida. Or you go home to Magnitorgorsk, to family. I’m just a—I’m not—”

“Sid.” He fumbles to find Sidney’s shoulder, before Sidney can say anymore. “I want to be here. Happy be here, with you.”

Sidney doesn’t say anything for the longest time, until Zhenya realizes he’s crying.

“Sidney,” he breathes, then gathers Sidney into his arms without sparing a second thought. “Oh, Sid.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t win us the Cup,” he hiccups, and it tears at Zhenya at how inconsolable he sounds. “I wanted to win it together—”

“Sid, no, no, can win next year, is okay—” He rubs Sidney’s shoulders, holds him close, like he can contain all of Sidney’s grief.

“There’s no time,” Sidney says, shaking his head. Zhenya feels Sidney’s hands, gripping the back of his t-shirt. “I’m out of time.”

Sidney’s not making sense. “What you mean?”

He scrambles to turn on the lights, nearly knocking off the lamp in his hurry to do so. Sidney face is raw and blotchy as the dim, butter-yellow light bursts to life, and it cuts into Zhenya something fierce.

“Sid, what you mean?” he repeats, more urgently. Something’s off. This whole trip, so impromptu, so unlike Sidney to just suggest it out of the blue without already having planned every gritty little detail for months and months, and the way he packed—it was like he never intended to come back. “You hurt? You retire? You—”

Sidney doesn’t look up, but he’s so close that Zhenya can feel his shuddering breath against his neck.

“I’m dying,” he says, and it sounds exactly like he’s admitting something he’s known for years.

It just about stops Zhenya’s heart.

-

(Years ago, Sidney Crosby’s knees should have been shattered irreparably in a peewee game. He would’ve never been able to play again, much less even make it into the NHL.

Sidney remembers the moment the spirit came to him—the old god that inhabited the rink, gazing over him as he lay in a broken heap on the ice. Invisible to the coach, the paramedics, invisible to his mother crying as she hovered helplessly over Sidney.

Potential too great to be wasted here, it had intoned, almost musing to itself. What would you like me to do?

Time slowed. The pain in Sidney’s knees dulled into the background as the noises faded.

“I want to play,” he’d begged. “I want to make it to the NHL.”

What would you give for ten years?

“Anything,” he’d said, and even then he knew that he’d said something very, very terrible.

The spirit shimmers. Ten years in the league, it says, waving its hand over Sidney’s legs. In exchange for your heart. You will always live on borrowed time, and the end of your tenth year will be your last. Do you accept?

“Yes,” Sidney had whispered. “Please.”

When Sidney blinks again, he’s standing on the ice again, five minutes before the hit happens.

This time, he dodges it, and goes to score the game-winning goal.)

-

Zhenya’s attempts to persuade Sidney to see the team doctor, or a registered curse breaker, goes unheard.

“They’ve looked at it. It’s marked me,” Sidney tells him when they cross the border into Colorado. Miles and miles of desert road stretches between them, front and back, so far that that the Pittsburgh they left just days ago seems a century instead. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. But they can’t even touch the mark because it’s been woven in so deeply. It’s old magic. It’s not Cup magic."

“Have you tell anyone else?”

Sidney smiles, still looking out the window at nothing in particular. “Just you.”

He manages to croak out a pathetic, “Sid.”

“I’m glad I told you,” Sidney murmurs. “I’m glad it was you.”

“When--” He can hardly speak. “When you think--”

“I don’t know.” Sidney’s staring down at his lap, picking at the cover on his phone. “I’d always thought at the end of the season. Soon, I think.”

Zhenya says nothing.

“It’s not so bad,” Sidney says, at last. “I got to meet you this way.”

Zhenya concentrates on the road ahead of him, and thinks of nothing, nothing at all, so the stinging brimming in his eyes don’t overflow.

-

They drive through the night, the Colorado skies above them sparkling.

Sidney doesn’t say anything. He brushes his teeth when they get to their room and goes to sleep on the separate bed without turning off the lights.

-

It’s dim in the motel room, and Sidney’s back is facing Zhenya on the other bed, but Zhenya’s known Sidney long enough to know that neither of them are asleep.

“Want get fries?” Zhenya asks, towards the ceiling.

Sidney doesn’t respond immediately, and Zhenya thinks for a moment that he might’ve been wrong, after all, that Sidney had never actually been awake.

“Can we get chicken nuggets too?” comes the reply, timidly.

“Only if you share McFlurry.”

Sidney rolls over on his side so he can turn on the light. His eyes are a little red, but he’s giving Zhenya a warm, shy smile. It suddenly reminds Zhenya of the Sidney he met, years ago, when Zhenya spoke no English and Sidney no Russian but both of them still full of hope for their futures, for each other.  

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll share.”

It’s a peace offering. An apology, even, for everything he’s unable to say.

-

It’s one A.M. in a nondescript Utah motel when Zhenya dares to say, softly, “Sid, come here.”

Sidney does, wordlessly, from the other mattress. Zhenya scoots back enough on his own bed like an invitation. He’d only meant for Sidney to share the other side of the bed, like they did back in Kansas, but Sidney takes his outstretch hands and folds himself into Zhenya’s arms, carefully, like he’s always belonged there.

His breathing evens out as soon as Zhenya turns out the light. He presses his nose against Sidney’s nape and tries to memorize his scent, the span of his back against his body, and the way he feels solidly, blessedly warm—alive—beneath Zhenya’s fingertips.

-

There’s a small town county fair halfway across Nevada, all bright lights and delighted yelling of children begging their parents to go on the roller coasters, or for another ice cream cone. They hadn’t intended to stop, and Sidney hadn’t asked to, but Zhenya took one look at his face and signaled right to go into the parking lot.

Hours later, they’re sitting on the grass with their prizes—a hard-won teddy bear after Sidney battles it out with the ring toss about six times in a row, and Zhenya with his funnel cake and ice cream—waiting for the fireworks.

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it to California,” Sidney laughs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so far. I don’t even know if I want to go see the ocean anymore.”

“What you mean, you didn’t realize? We drive for days and now you say you not want to see?” It’s a relief, being able to joke around.

“No, I mean, I figured it was gonna take a while.” He sighs contently. “When I said I wanted to see the coast, I think I was treating this whole trip as a bucket list.” His clears his throat, pointedly not meeting Zhenya’s eyes. “But I think, uh, I just wanted to spend my last summer not being by myself again. So. Thank you.”

Sidney’s face is lovely, illuminated by the carnival lights, and even more so when his eyes crinkle. Zhenya can’t quite decide if he wants to cry or kiss him.

Sidney straightens, then turns excitedly towards Zhenya. “I think they’re gonna start soon—”

Zhenya leans in, his mouth pressing gently against Sidney’s lips as the first round of fireworks explodes into stardust in the sky above them, all pinks and reds and whites and greens like the colors of Zhenya’s heart.

When he pulls back, Sidney’s quiet. For an awful moment, Zhenya thinks he’s ruined it all. “I’m sorry—”

“Kiss me again,” Sidney says suddenly. “Please.”

Zhenya does.

-

“Oh,” Sidney breathes out, his eyes fluttering as he sinks onto Zhenya’s dick, the slide velvet and hot and tight and just about enough to kill Zhenya a thousand times over. He’s a mess as he squirms on Zhenya’s lap. “Oh, o-oh—G—”

The motel sheets are starchy and scratchy as they’ve always been, foreign against their skin. But Sidney makes everywhere feel like home, so it hardly matters anymore.

Zhenya flips them both over--his hand gripping Sidney’s thigh like he can’t get enough--so Sidney’s on his back. He hooks an ankle over his shoulder, pressing in slowly until Sidney’s toes curl and his eyes flutter. With every angle change, Sidney sucks in a breath like he’s drowning, his cheeks flushing deep red, as if he’s never—

“Sid, you—you do before?”

Sidney’s eyes fly open. His hands, both pressed against Zhenya’s chest, start to pull away as if ashamed. “I—um. No, not…no.”

Zhenya grabs Sidney’s hand before he can retract, pressing the knuckles to his lips. Then he bends down to kiss Sidney sweetly, until Sidney’s shuddering and mewling against Zhenya’s lips again.   

“Don’t leave me,” Sidney pants--it’s a plea and a prayer all at once, as he digs his fingers into Zhenya’s back.

“I won’t,” Zhenya promises. “I won’t. I’ll take care.”

-

There’s something shapeless in the corner of the room when Zhenya blinks awake the next morning, shifting and stirring like fog. Sidney is still asleep in his arms, snuffling as he tucks his head in the crook of Zhenya’s neck.

The thing doesn’t come closer, but it doesn’t leave its place in the shadows either. Zhenya holds Sidney close, his heart racing.

“I know who you are,” he says in Russian. “I know why you’re here. You’re not taking him.”

When the thing speaks, its voice thin and crackling like ice breaking against steel, comes not from the room where it stands but as if echoing from inside Zhenya’s mind.

I’ve been waiting.

“You’re not taking him,” Zhenya repeats. “I won’t let you.”

I know, it says simply. I have no claims to what he doesn’t own.

“What are you talking about?” Zhenya demands, feeling braver than he had any right to, talking to an old god like this. “You made a deal with him. A heart for ten years.”

His heart was never his to give. I knew this when I offered him the deal.

“I don’t under--”

You already laid claim to his heart then, as he’d done to yours.Your mark is all over him.

(‘They can’t even touch the mark because it’s been woven in so deeply,’ Sidney had said. ‘It’s old magic. It’s not Cup magic.’)

“That’s not possible--” He’s not a magic user, he doesn’t--

Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin, the thing says, cocking its head quite unnaturally, did you think that this was the first lifetime that you’ve loved him? 

Zhenya’s mouth goes dry. “Then why did you help him?”

Potential too great to be wasted, it says. Then, after a pause, What would you have done to save him?

“Anything,” Zhenya says, because it was the truth.

Stupid, the thing says, but it sounds amused. But you said the same thing last time, too.

When Zhenya blinks again, the shape had vanished, like it’d never been there. Sidney lets out a soft sigh, like he’s been unwittingly holding in his breath for decades.

“Geno?” he croaks, his voice heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”

“I—” He shakes his head, nuzzling into Sidney’s curls and kissing his forehead. He’s pressed close enough to Sidney that he can just about imagine feeling the continued beating of Sidney’s heart, counting down the moments to the next season, and the season after that, like a promise. “I think everything going to be okay, Sid.”

-

How’s the road trip going? Flower’s text asks. You two kill each other yet?

Zhenya takes a long, indulgent look at Sidney, who’s got a ratty Malkin t-shirt on as he fishes another vending machine tortilla chip out from the bag. He’s completely focused on the shitty motel television that’s doing its best to play Groundhog Day. Sidney’s head is pillowed on his shoulder, close enough that Zhenya can lean over to press a kiss on Sidney’s hair whenever he wants.

He sends a photo of TV instead, the angle barely concealing their tangled legs.

Zhenya almost wants to laugh when Flower calls them immediately. He’s still grinning all the way through Flower’s frantic exclamations that he can barely understand as Flower’s accent starts to become more pronounced, because he’s so, so fucking happy.

He lets Sidney take the phone, and he hears Sidney murmur, gently, “Mhm. Yeah. Yeah, he’s--Yes, we’ll come over--mhm. Yeah. It’s good. It’s really good.”

-

“There it is,” Sidney says, leaning over the railings from their motel room deck, looking at the span of the waves lapping against the California sand. “The other side.”

Zhenya plasters himself against Sidney, his arms wrapped securely around his waist.

“What now?” he asks.

“Do you enjoy long walks on the beach?” Sidney teases, reaching up to card his fingers through Zhenya’s hair.

“I do,” Zhenya tells him. “If is with you.”

Zhenya thinks he can hear the smile in his voice. “We can sightsee before we have to go home.”

He loves the way Sidney says the word ‘home,’ loves the curve of his mouth and the fullness in his chest at the implication. “No more twine.”

“No more,” Sidney agrees. “Maybe we can go to Disneyland or something.”

“And then go home, win another Cup?”

Sidney laughs quietly, but he sounds confident and in love when he replies, “For sure.”

[agent-murica]

S15E6

I had an AP test today and I decided the most logical thing to do was to analyze the fuck out of this episode. Beware: it’s rather lengthy- like that of an essay + I’m open for discussion about the points made. Spoilers under the cut:

Ok, I just want to start off by saying that I think Grif leaving has been a long time coming, and while it did initially surprise me, I have to say I’m not quite so much shocked about that than I am about everybody’s reactions to it. More clearly, I think everyone- including Dylan- reacted in almost entirely the wrong way.

-Starting with Dylan, personally, I think Jax should’ve been the one to go in and talk with Grif rather than her for a few reasons. The first reason is, he almost had no involvement with delivering the message to the Reds and Blues besides being there and saying at most two lines. The second reason is, he’s treated in the very same position that Grif is with the Reds, as Jax is for Dylan. They are both belittled, they both have their ideas shot down, and they have both been shot at for the purposes of their CO’s. I believe these aspects of Jax’s character would’ve made him a better fit to go talk to Grif than Dylan, but since he didn’t I’ll discuss why I think Dylan did the wrong thing and did “fuck something up.”

Dylan is probably the worst choice to go talk to Grif simply because her character is very similar to early Carolina, especially Season 10 Carolina. You know, the same Carolina who dragged them on a personal vengeance quest and was a major reason why Grif left and decided to not deal with her problems, and the rest followed. Personally, I can see parallel’s between Dylan and S10 Carolina (cursed WHAP exam and its synthesis’) and it’s hard for me not to see why Grif reacted the way he did.

Dylan is someone who just waltzed in on the Reds and Blues during their retirement, is dragging them on another Church quest. Not only that but she just waltz’s up to Grif talking as if she knows him, saying things about his character and what he’s really like. Grif is a character who doesn’t like having things be decided for him, and he probably doesn’t like someone telling him what he’s ‘really’ like (even if it’s 100% true; he just doesn’t want to see it).

But what I think Dylan did that really pushed him over the edge was mentioning Kai. I think that was a slap in the face for Grif because he’s still not with his sister- the reason why he hasn’t been with his sister is because of being dragged on quest after quest after fucking quest and that, I think that’s what made him finally decide ‘that’s it; I quit’.

But Grif can be easily swayed and has been in the past with proper encouragement, so I don’t think his decision was as set in stone as he thought it was, which is why the reactions from the Reds and Blues are absolutely atrocious to the mental dilemma Grif was having.

-First up, Washington. Listen, I love Wash, I really do and I can see why his first impulse when seeing Grif arrive late is to insult him- because that’s what everyone does in the BGC. But that was just another reminder to Grif that he doesn’t belong with them, because really, for him it’s one insult after another on an almost daily basis. So they’re already starting off on the wrong foot.

-Then we have Caboose (skipping the immediate reactions for a bit), who I think was the safest character to react to the news. His first reaction was to ask about Church, who he’s constantly focused about but it also gives Grif a chance to somewhat explain why he’s not going on this quest specifically as well as it gives him a chance to try and reason with the others. Caboose’s later reaction of having someone try to stop him is a little less ok as it’s just another reminder that until now Grif really hasn’t been given a choice on anything.

-Then we have Tucker, to which I found his reactions to be appalling. We have him from the start insulting Grif- by making fun of the fact that for once Grif was being serious and thinking about something concerning himself. Then we have him acting hostile when Grif initially says he quits, saying along the lines that he ‘can’t do that’- taking away Grif’s right to choose. And finally what I think really sealed the deal was him calling Grif ‘selfish like always’. Listen, I get that Tucker is angry and his grief about Church has been cut open like a wound but is that really the best he could come up with? Grif has given so fucking much to the BGC and this is exactly how he’s treated every damn time.

If Tucker was trying to get Grif to stay, this is the polar opposite of what he should’ve done. I’m not surprised that Grif says, “I don’t like you. Any of you” because when you have ‘you’re selfish’ being thrown at you and you’ve actually done so much shit for your so called ‘friends’ I’d proclaim a little more than ’I don't like you’ at them. Grif could’ve said so much worse than that, but he didn’t- because these people don’t deserve his time of day.

Tucker reminded him that he actually gets nothing from going on these quests; no respect, no admiration, nothing from his supposed friends.

-While Sarge’s reaction wasn’t as violent as one would expect from his character, it was still a reminder to Grif that he has a superior officer who wants him dead at every turn. Someone who has repeatedly shot at him, wouldn’t look over to cliff to see if he was dead and even mentioned that he would celebrate it, belittles him, questions his intelligence, has emergency plans where the first course of action is to always shoot Grif, and so on and so forth. It doesn’t matter that Sarge said, “Seriously, Grif. Turn around” after his whole charade of acting like they usually do because it doesn’t matter at that point- Grif has already made his decision and that’s just supporting it.

Sarge inadvertently reminded Grif of the physical and verbal abuse he faces on a daily basis when he’s with the BGC.

-Getting on to Simmons, he didn’t do much- and that’s the problem. When first hearing about Grif being ‘missing’ his first action was to go check the pantry. Really, the pantry? In the previous episode we were given a plethora of other places Grif could have been- down by the beach or over by the oasis, but no. The first place Simmons decides would be the logical place to look was the pantry. And then we have his reaction to Grif thinking, to which he says along the lines of “thinking about food”.

If that doesn’t say much about their relationship I don’t know what will. But that’s what their relationship is founded on- insulting each other- so I won’t focus too much on that because Simmons thought it’d be another one of their bantering moments.

Then we have his only reaction to Grif leaving; nothing. He just sat there and stared. He didn’t say anything to convince him to stay, didn’t chase after him; he just did nothing. And I can understand him being shocked speechless because he probably knows as much as the viewer that Grif’s never done that before- he’s never left. But from Grif’s perspective, it just solidifies one more thing for him:

Simmons, no matter how much he loves him, will never put Grif first or grow a backbone to go after him.

-In total, I feel like most of the reactions came off wrong and felt like attacks especially for Grif. But I think it’s the fact that no one really chased after him to get him back is the zinger here. Because here’s a group that will risk life and limb time and time again for a guy who can’t stay dead, and yet when one of their friends decides he’s had enough and leaves no one really puts their all in convincing him to stay. Most the attempts are lowered down to downright insulting him and just saying he has to stay. In comparison to Sarge’s speech at the end of Season 8, this attempt to get Grif to stay was seriously lacking.

And look, I have no doubt that they all see Grif as a valued friend, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that Grif is treated like literal dog shit in this series but still comes back to the group and for what- to have them choose a dead guy instead of him.

Grif is probably feeling like nobody in the BGC has ever given a shit about him, and they did a great job not proving him wrong.

-Not only that but his role in the group has been replaced too. Grif from the very start of the series has been the designated vehicle driver. We’ve seen him be the primary driver of the Warthog, we’ve seen him manage to figure out an Elephant (not sure which season this was, but I’m sure it was Season 7), he’s flown a Pelican, a Hornet, and the list goes on.

Something that’s always bothered me about Season 13 was the fact that Grif was replaced- twice- as designated driver. First during the escape from Armonia and second during the flight to the Staff of Charon. It always rubbed me the wrong way and I really didn’t know why until now that is.

Believe me- I know there’s more to Grif than just his ability to be adept in driving/flying any vehicle, but to Grif, he probably doesn’t think he’s much more than that.

He’s not a strong fighter (Carolina, Wash), doesn’t have a magic sword that works only for him (Tucker), isn’t inhumanly strong (Caboose), he’s not a robot (Lopez), he doesn’t have an amazingly strong throwing arm (Donut), he’s not a hacker or a cyborg (Simmons), and he can’t do half the stuff that Sarge can.

He’s their driver, and even then he’s easily replaceable.

Grif probably has no place in the BGC anymore and that probably contributed to his deciding to stay on the island.

TL;DR: The Reds and Blues did a terrible job trying to get Grif to stay with them and I hope this leads to self-enlightenment and an arc designed for the development of Grif and the Reds.