#i imagine he’s still a bit wary around her (on behalf of her trying to excorcise him a couple times)

[tomatoteddy]

So this idea popped up into my mind like a couple days ago and I thought it’d be cute and funny to draw it out

[mrpenguinpants]

Xiao: Fainting HCS

FUCK. I FORGOT TO POST THIS EARLIER. AHHHH. I HAVE WORK IN LIKE 2 MINUTES SO I’LL BE BACK TO REPLY TO EVERYONE. 

Hey anon! So sorry it took me forever to finish writing this but good luck if you’re planning on pulling Xiao. I really wanted to finish writing this fic as an offering to the gacha gods that c1 xiao wants to bless me (even tho that’s not gonna happen). But good luck to everyone rolling today^^.

Disclaimer: I have not watch anything about Xiao because my hype can only take so much. This was written before 1.3. So if I get anything wrong or I’m missing something. That’s why.

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Can I just say how far Xiao has come in my writing since the first part of the semi series? Sniff, feel like we’re making character development for a character that’s not even out yet. I can’t wait for mihoyo to take my HCS and rip them apart.

Xiao Semi Series

[ Friendship ] [ Falling in Love ] [ Cuddles ] [ Protective ] [ Affection ] [ Jealously ] [ Opposites Attract ] [ String Of Fate (Soulmate) ]

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

​  @hanniejji​@mikeysbike​​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @sunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​ @dai-tsukki-desu​ @thicmitten​ @nonniechan​​ @snowy224 @mayumintsu​ @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki​ @legionqueensav​ @eva-0403 @youaskedfurret​ 

Xiao: Fainting HCS

Instant panic mode engaged. If you’ve ever doubted his adepti power of swiftness you’re about to be mistaken. He’s noticed that you seem a bit out of it but brushed it off as you being tired from your recent journey. If there was anything bothering you, you would tell him. But as he turned around to greet you back, it seems like time is slowing down for him. He sees how your eyes glazed over and become unfocused. The muscles in your body snap and you drop to the ground. He can feel his blood run cold as past memories that have been waiting to jump at him suddenly claw at him but he doesn’t even register them. He’s already running towards you.

He’s already caught you in his arms before you can even meet the wooden floor. His brain is racing as he quickly checks your pulse to make sure you didn’t suffer from a heart attack or a curse. He makes a quick search over your body to check for any injuries, he can already feel the red hot iron of anger fill his system at the thought of someone trying to take advantage of you or threaten you. He’s usually logical in these types of situations, even the death of Rex Lapis didn’t shock him this much, but he’s been battling his conflicting feelings ever since he met you. But now that he’s finally accepted you and himself, he wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to you. His mind flashes to Guizhong before he shakes away the thought.

It doesn’t occur to him that you might be sick as he tries to shake you awake. Whatever teachings Guizhong and Morax have taught him fly out the window as he holds you so close to his chest, he’s pretty sure his grip on you is bruising. He knew mortal souls weren’t as strong as adepti and staying around one might cause sickness or even worse- death. Was this his fault? He can feel the drop in his stomach as he tries to reign in his emotions and powers, not here.

Verr almost screams when Xiao breaks the wooden ceilings and lands in front of her. She’s scared that there was a monster outbreak or something was wrong with Xiao before she notices your passed out form in his arms. As much as she likes to joke around and thinks your relationship with Xiao is cute, she knows that if anything came to seriously harm you she wouldn’t able to calm Xiao before he goes on a rampage. You mean so much to him and he hasn’t opened his heart to anyone except you.

She can tell he’s nearly past his breaking point as he looks at her with dilated eyes as he asks, no commands, her to help you. It’s such whiplash to her. Xiao’s always been polite and reserved that she almost forgets he used to be a demon slaying Yaksha, but this isn’t the time for her to worry about that. She quickly leads him to the backroom since there’s no way Xiao wouldn’t bite any hand that comes near you. Bless Verr’s heart since this isn’t the first time she’s had to handle Xiao’s outbreaks that she manages to save face and contact a doctor that was staying at the inn to look at you. She does feel a bit bad for the doctor who looks like he’s about to piss himself in fear as Xiao growls and watches the doctors every move with piercing yellow eyes.

Xiao is still wary when the doctor and Verr try to calm him down and examine you more closely, always flinching back whenever their hands get too close to you, letting out a dangerous hiss whenever there’s the slightest twitch of discomfort in your face when the doctor feels your heated forehead. As soon as the doctor concludes that you’ve been sick for the past few days and your body just needs to heal itself and recharge, the tension on Xiao’s shoulder loosens and the suffocating aura that’s been filling the room slowly filters out. Verr can’t help but sigh in relief but can’t bring herself to scold Xiao for breaking the inns roof as she watches him look over your form with worried eyes as he softly nudges your cheek. He’s still holding you but his grip has loosen slightly as he rests his forehead against yours. He breathes a sigh of relief as he rubs small circles in your hand. Xiao’s never been the most affectionate or shown to be the most caring but you’ve seriously scared him. She quietly leaves him be and closes the door as she begins to prepare to fix the damages.

Xiao never leaves your side as he waits for you to wake up. He can’t help but berate himself for not confronting you. The doctor said you would be fine but he can’t but imagine your body falling in a more violent scene. He quickly shakes those thoughts away as he paces around the room, sits besides you, then goes back to pacing. Usually he would go on a walk or beat his aggression out but he doesn’t want to leave you alone should you awake early.

Xiao doesn’t ramble about his day while you’re asleep, instead he just observes your features and the small movements you make to remind him that you’re okay. How your chest moves up and down as you breath or how your eyes sometimes scrunch in sleep. You’ve made him almost trip when you did it the first time since he thought you were waking up. He can’t help but think back to his fellow Yaksha’s and what they would say if they saw the way he was acting now.

Since his panic attack has mostly subsided he’s found himself growing more curious. He’s still worried about you but he’s managed to reason with himself that you’re okay, just sick which he’s going to scold you a bit for when you awake, so he softly brushes his fingers across your face. Before snatching his hand away in embarrassment. What the hell is he doing? Guizhong would slap him sideways if she saw him now. He huffs at himself as he deflates a little and rests his head on the bed beside your head. He’s patient. He will wait when your ready to wake up.

When you suddenly gain consciousness, it feels as if the entire world is weighing you down. You slowly blink open your eyes to see a worried Xiao hovering over you, his hands awkwardly in the air since he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch you.

“How are you feeling?” Xiao asks as his eyes dart all over the place before resting on your face. You’re still a bit out of it but you can tell he must have been really worried. You try to give him a small smile but with how scuffy you feel you can bet it’s not a pretty picture.

“Like I got slammed with one of Zhongli’s meteors,” you tried to laughed before coughing as Xiao quickly pressed a cup of water to your lips. Slowly letting you drink and calm down. 

“If you have time to make jokes then you’re alright” Xiao sighs before his features change slightly. His eyes glaze over in concern as a small frown appears. He really does look like a kicked kitten as he slumps over as the stress finally lifts as he feels your hand softly run through his hair.

“Sorry,” you say, he must have been so stressed out while you were passed out for him to look so exhausted. He simply nudges into your hand before turning his face to kiss your palm,

“There’s no need for apologies. I’m...just glad you’re okay,” Xiao mumbles before he’s back to pressing his head into your stomach. You can’t help but smile delicately as you reach over and bring Xiao up with you until he’s lying over you as you hug him gently. There’s a bit of shuffling before you’re able to spoon him as he let’s himself relax after the two day panic attack he just went through.

---

When you’ve fully recovered Xiao seems to hover around you a bit more. Well not a bit, a lot more, but no one has the heart to tell him that. It’s actually kind of adorable seeing the aloof and reserved adepti seem to follow you around like a loss duckling. Making sure you’re okay and you’re not overworking yourself. He still keeps his tough demeanor but you seriously gave him a big scare.

When Zhongli and Childe come over for their weekly visits of tea, they were aware that Xiao had locked himself in a room to watch over you and anyone that even stepped near the door would be skewered with a spear - and Verr would make them pay for the damages (Zhongli) and whatever consequences Xiao saw fit (Childe) - but they are happy to see you’re okay. You all fall back into your usual rhythm of conversation or Childe trying to get a rise out of Xiao while you and Zhongli talk about how lovely the weather’s been.

Zhongli let’s you in on some details that Xiao or Verr never mentioned while Childe and Xiao are fighting about who knows what. How Xiao wouldn’t leave your side or that he resembled a kicked kitten as he nudged your hand when he thought no one was looking. He offers you some medicine herbs to help with exhaustion and to take care of yourself. Likewise, to give Xiao some pain medication on his behalf. You’re one of the few good things in Xiao’s life and he doesn’t want anything bad happening to you.

---

Hmm. I didn’t mean to but I totally believe in the dad zhongli train and I think Zhongli basically just gave you his blessing? Maybe I’m thinking too hard on this haha.

Maybe this is better? Trying to figure out writing styles are hard. Either way, I’m never gonna end up kicking my paragraph HCS habit haha. If you couldn’t tell, I really like feral protective but lowkey vulnerable types (coughrazorcough). Xiao is so OOC at this point I don’t even know how to fix it. Please come home Xiao. 

(Edit: FUCK YEAH HE CAME HOME WITH DILUC. WE 90ED THIS BITCH AND IM ABOUT TO MAX HIS TALENTS. ILL SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL (since people have been asking) WHEN I GET BACK FROM WORK)

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 9: Terrors and Delights of the Great Unknown

Chapter Summary: Claire gets her first taste of the human world.

Read on AO3

Read chapter 9 below the cut

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Chapter 9: Terrors and Delights of the Great Unknown

***

Claire clung tightly to his hand as he led her through the streets of Inverness. Her eyes were huge as watermelons, pupils blown wide as she tried to take in all the sensations assaulting her. 

Jamie thought the buildings were the first shock she was trying to come to terms with. Her neck craned up to look at them, glancing nervously at their looming presence all around them. She’d seen Jamie’s house, of course, but that was nothing like the crowded buildings of the city. Her eyes glanced upward toward the sky— likely grounding herself with the one familiar aspect. Much to Jamie’s delight, she then glanced toward him, and peace flashed across her face. 

If Jamie’s nearness offered comfort akin to the sky, he could die happy. 

The buildings were quickly overshadowed by the disconcerting nature of the people around them. She shied toward him— her body pressing to his side like it was her refuge— every time another person passed, even if they were meters away. Some of the passersby gave her strange looks, apparently seeing her odd behavior (not to mention her attire) which completely unnerved Claire. In addition to never having interacted with another human save Jamie, she was used to being invisible to them. The puir wee thing trembled at his side, but bravely continued on. 

“Dinna fash, they’ll no’ harm ye,” Jamie reassured quietly. 

She gave him a wordless nod, lips pressed tightly together, and continued to meld herself to his side. She no longer stared like a deer in headlights at every person close by, but he could tell she still snuck wary glances at those who wandered near. 

As they continued to walk on the cobblestone street, passing by shop windows with elaborate decorations and advertisements, Claire’s anxiety gradually subsided. She began to sneak peeks at the shops as they passed, and Jamie smiled to himself. As the trepidation was replaced more by curiosity, she melted inch by inch. Soon, her death grip on his hand became one of simple connection. She would pause every once in a while to study a shop window, tugging on Jamie’s hand to get him to stop. 

He catered to her every whim, even when she wanted to stop and run her hands reverently over the bricks of one building for several minutes while he struggled to explain the basics of construction. 

During their (very slow) progress down the street, a broad smile gradually formed on those bonny pink lips. Her eyes now wide with intrigue, Claire was coming alive. 

It lightened his heart immensely to see her beginning to enjoy herself and overcome her apprehension. At first, he’d worried to himself that it would all be too much for her— that maybe he’d scare her away from the human world with this single traumatic experience. But that wasn’t the case, and his own anxiety had eased along with hers. He delighted in watching her explore the world with endearing enthusiasm. 

He was pulled to a stop once again as Claire peered into the window of an ice cream shop. 

“What is this place?” she asked in wonder. 

“Och, ‘tis a place where they make food— a special kind called ice cream that humans particularly enjoy.” Jamie was starting to get better at his explanations, trying to boil them down to the simplest things she would understand. (That was more difficult than he would have imagined, mind, because a usual explanation for ice cream would have included descriptors such as “dessert” and “sweet”, but Claire of course lacked the background knowledge for that to make any sense.)

She nodded at his words but didn’t tear her eyes away from the displays of colorful ice cream inside. A smile spread across his face as he watched her take it in, his heart swelling with affection yet again for his strange lass. 

“God, I wish ye ate. If this were a movie ye ken there’d be a grand scene where I take ye inside and ye’d experience ice cream for the first time, yer world lightin’ up the instant ye taste it,” he said to himself. 

She did tear her eyes away then, to give him a furrowed-brow look of bewilderment. 

“What?” 

Jamie laughed and shook his head. “Dinna mind me, Sassenach,” he dismissed with a chuckle. 

They continued on at their snail’s pace, but before long, Jamie was nearly hauled off his feet by Claire abruptly stopping in front of a trash can. 

“What’s this?” she inquired as she reached a hand toward the nearly overflowing bin. 

“Dinna touch it,” he pulled her back rather forcefully by their joined hands, and he felt bad when she instantly latched onto his side again, thinking it harmful because of his forceful response. Her fingers were clutching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip.  

“It’s no’ dangerous,” he quickly amended, “that’s jes’ what humans do with waste. Things that arena good any more or they dinna need.” 

“Why don’t they need all these things?” Claire asked in confusion, squinting her eyes at the contents. 

Jamie wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that. “Weel, did ye no’ have things that once served a purpose but then no longer did?” 

She peered up at him and gave a shake of her head. 

“The Earth provides what we need, and when we’re done, it returns to the earth to be used again.” 

“Aye, that’s a good way to live,” Jamie murmured. 

Claire still seemed disturbed by the trash as they began walking again, but she soon forgot all about it as more things caught her attention. A passing bicycle brought up a whole new conversation, and Jamie had to chuckle to himself imagining his graceful faerie bumbling around the pedals and clinging to the handlebars. Maybe someday… 

Finally— after taking more than three times the amount of time it would have taken the average person to go this short distance— they arrived at the wee thrift shop, tucked on the corner. 

Jamie knew the owner, a Mrs. Fitz, who was a very distant relative of his. Although to be fair, everyone in the highlands was practically related. As Jamie pushed open the door and led Claire inside, the little bell rang in welcome and Mrs. Fitz instantly popped up from behind a rack of clothes, her face shining with enthusiasm. 

“Och, Jamie, lad!” she exclaimed, “it’s sae good t’ see ye!” 

She clasped both her hands over her chest in delight and gave him a wide smile. The shopkeeper quickly bustled over to him, arms outstretched for a hug. But as he tried to withdraw his hand from Claire’s, she stubbornly refused to release him, so he was left giving Mrs. Fitz an odd, one-armed side hug. 

Drawing back, she seemed to notice Claire for the first time, and blinked at her for a second. 

“Ah, and who is this ye have wi’ ye?” she asked Jamie. She looked pointedly down at their clasped hands, up at Jamie, and then back at Claire. 

He looked on in amusement as Mrs. Fitz truly took in Claire’s appearance— the wee lass standing there in his huge jacket, sagging sweatpants, and feet clad in socks and sandals. Mrs. Fitz’ eyes seemed to bulge as she looked at her, and Jamie realized he’d better give an excuse before the shopkeeper combusted. 

“This is my… friend, Claire. She’s visitin’ but lost her luggage, and we need tae get her all new stuff. Could ye maybe help us out?” 

Mrs. Fitz’ agog morphed quickly into a motherly look of sympathy. 

“Ye puir thing, of course we’ll get ye everythin’ ye need.” 

She made toward Claire as if she was about to hug her and then lead her toward the racks, but Claire hastily took a step away, bumping into Jamie in the process. 

“No’ a hugger I see, no problem,” Mrs. Fitz said accommodatingly with hands raised. 

Instead, she simply turned on her heel and headed over toward the first rack in sight— jeans. 

Claire was quiet, looking around the room abstractedly and not paying the slightest bit of attention as Mrs. Fitz prattled on about the pants, speculating about Claire’s size and which might best suit her. Jamie was trying to answer the questions on her behalf, but was distracted by the look on Claire’s face, which had suddenly lit up as something caught her eye. 

For the first time the entire trip, she let go of Jamie’s hand. (The moment felt absurdly monumental, and he found himself feeling empty without the sensation of her hand clasped in his). He resisted the impulse to gape at her with an open mouth as she wandered across the room with rather astounding boldness. Then, he spotted exactly what it was that had caught her attention. 

A gauzy white dress hung on a display hanger, it’s hem fluttering just in the slightest from the air vent above it. 

“I like this,” she announced, halting Mrs. Fitz from her perusal of the jeans. 

“Och, a dress lass, are ye? Well I think that’d suit ye jes’ fine. Why dinna ye try it on while I grab some others I think might work for ye?” 

Jamie quickly thanked her and took Claire’s elbow, steering her in the direction of the dressing room. 

“Ye can change into it back here to be sure it fits,” Jamie murmured into her ear. 

In one fluid motion, he opened the curtain of the dressing room, shoved the dress into her arms, herded her inside, and then closed the curtain again. Every second Mrs. Fitz wasn’t studying her made it more likely they’d get through this without arousing too many questions. 

It took Claire a rather long time to change, he thought. Although she did have a lot of layers to peel off. While she was still inside the changing room, Mrs. Fitz returned and deposited an armful of dresses into Jamie’ lap, all in the same size as the one Claire had picked. 

The shopkeeper was just about to open her mouth to ask him something when the bell over the door rang and she scurried away to greet the other customer. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. 

It was then that the curtain flew open and Claire emerged, clad in her white dress. 

Jamie nearly had a stroke on the spot. 

She was divine. The white dress fit her perfectly, clinging to her curves down to her waist where it flared out into the draping of the skirt, the hem falling to just below her knees. A hint of cleavage teased at the neckline, skin creamy-white and looking oh-so soft. She swayed gently back and forth with a faint smile, and the gauzy material of the skirt flowed around her with the movement. It was as if the dress had been made for her. 

Under the bright lighting of the shop, Claire’s glow seemed muted to him, although certainly still there. It seemed to accentuate the perfection of the white dress and her dark hair that flowed down her shoulders in sharp contrast— giving her the air of an angel. 

Jamie was astounded. 

Unaware of how speechless she’d left him, Claire asked shyly, “do you like it?” 

He had to swallow three times before his dry throat was capable of answering her. 

“Ye look beautiful,” he forced out. 

She beamed, twirling around in excitement— which made the skirt billow up around her— and then suddenly she was launching herself at Jamie. Claire hugged him tightly, bare feet on tip-toes as she tried to reach up to be closer to him. 

“Thank you, Jamie,” she breathed warmly. 

He was ecstatic that something as simple as a new dress could make her this happy. 

Mrs. Fitz chose that exact moment to return, her footsteps pattering over and barging in on what Jamie considered a rather private moment. 

“Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed as Claire and Jamie parted, “ye look breathtakin.” 

Jamie couldn’t have agreed with her more. 

Claire flushed, eyelashes lowering demurely, and quietly thanked her. She had barely gotten the words out when Mrs. Fitz began shoving a couple pairs of shoes into her hands. Then, just like the whirlwind she was, Mrs. Fitz breezed off again. 

Jamie handed Claire another dress to try on and took all but one pair of the shoes from her. Then, he sat back down to wait. 

When Claire next emerged, she was wearing a black sundress with a floral design. Although the hem was above the knee, it wasn’t quite as form-fitting or astonishingly perfect for her (although he thought everything suited her, of course), so Jamie managed to better keep his composure this time. 

But the moment she turned around to show him the back, Jamie’s heart stopped beating and his blood ran cold in shock. 

He all but tackled her inside the dressing room, falling in after her and then frantically slamming the curtain closed. Once Claire was safely behind him in the privacy of the fitting room, Jamie peeked out a little to ensure no other customer had seen. 

Then, he very slowly turned back toward Claire, whose big honey eyes were staring up at him in question. 

He didn’t address her. Instead, very gently, he placed his hands on Claire’s shoulders and turned her so he could look at her back again. 

The sundress had a low back— a very low back— which exposed the two delicate appendages there.  

Wings. 

Transparent, beautifully fragile— wings. That laid perfectly flat against her back and shoulders. 

Jamie reached a finger out, mesmerized, to gently trace the outline of them. 

But the second he made contact with the edge of one, she let out a little squeal and jerked away. 

Jamie withdrew his hand as if he was burned, clutching it to his chest in shame. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldna have—” 

“It’s alright,” she said as she turned to face him, “I just wasn’t expecting… Is that why you shoved me in here? My wings?” 

Jamie blinked several times, trying to get his brain to catch up to the situation. 

Of course she had wings. She was a faerie after all. 

The sound of his name jerked him back to reality, and he realized he’d never answered her. 

“You have wings!” he exclaimed daftly, still failing to answer her question and merely staring at her, open-mouthed with astonishment. 

“Oh,” she said, glancing behind her at her back casually, as if checking to see they were still there, “of course I have wings. Purely decorative though, I’m afraid.” 

Jamie was still struck dumb, but he longed to look at them again. The dressing room was too small for him to be able to walk around her, so he simply reached out and turned her a second time. 

They were beautiful. Heartbreakingly delicate looking. He could see through them everywhere except where the veins laced through, like a butterfly’s wing. The edges curved gracefully up toward her shoulders, ending in a point. It took all his willpower to resist the urge to touch them again without permission. They laid flat against her back, and he wondered distantly if she could move them. 

As if sensing his curiosity, they suddenly fluttered back toward him— nearly hitting him in the face— and Jamie jolted backward with a surprised laugh. 

Claire shot him an amused look from over her shoulder, and fluttered them again in demonstration. 

“They’re… beautiful,” he breathed reverently. 

“Thanks,” she replied bashfully, “I always thought them dull, really. Some fae have much grander wings, mine are rather small.” 

Jamie couldn’t bear to hear any disparaging remarks aimed at the perfection that was Claire, and he made a Scottish sound of derision deep in his throat. 

“Everythin’ about ye is perfect,” he stated firmly. 

Her wings had settled back flat on her back by this point, and Claire turned around to face him, cheeks adorned with a becoming blush as she adjusted the straps of her sundress over her shoulders again. 

“Well…” Jamie said, eying her up and down, “as bonny as ye look in this dress, I’m afraid we canna buy it for fear of exposin’ ye to the world. Ye’re no’ exactly verra inconspicuous...” 

Claire bit her lip, perhaps embarrassed about forgetting that minor detail when she’d showed him outside. But he was quick to reassure her. 

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. No one saw ye earlier. Yer secret’s safe wi’ me.” 

He tried to give her a wink, which he was aware was a skill at which he was woefully inept, and she burst out laughing at his attempt. 

In that moment, he wanted more than anything to lean down and press his smile to hers. 

Before he could do anything foolish like act on the impulse, he quickly ducked out of the dressing room, eyes still fixed on Claire. 

He slipped backward through the slit at the edge of the curtain… and right into Mrs. Fitz. 

Stumbling away from her, he whirled around to find the shopkeeper with her hands on her hips, face red with admonishment. 

“James Fraser,” she uttered in a menacing voice that indicated he was in big trouble, “I understand that ye’re infatuated with yon lassie, but I canna believe that ye’d engage in— in— such depravity. In my shop!” 

Jamie fell back a step, hands raised defensively. 

“I wasna…” 

But Mrs. Fitz wasn’t having any of it. “I wilna condone such behavior, especially not in public when other customers are around. I’m appalled by your behavior, Jamie Fraser—” 

When she paused for breath in her tirade, face growing redder by the second, Jamie took the opportunity of the minute gap to jump in, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitz, but I promise we werena doin’ anythin’ untoward. Listen, we’ll take the lot and be out of yer hair.” 

Jamie gestured frantically toward the pile of dresses and shoes, then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He produced a wad of cash and held it out toward Mrs. Fitz like a peace offering. 

She looked him up and down for a long moment, eying him and the money with narrowed eyes. Jamie thought for a second that he’d be taking Claire home empty handed, but then Mrs. Fitz reached out and snatched the cash from his hands. 

“I want you out,” she said curtly. 

Jamie nodded frantically and instinctively backed away a step. Without breaking wary eye contact with Mrs. Fitz, he called into Claire, “get dressed, a nighean, we’re leaving.” 

With that, Mrs. Fitz turned on her heel and stalked away, as if she couldn’t stand to be in the presence of such a depraved lecher for one more second. Jamie sighed to himself. All of Inverness would be hearing about this within the day… no way he could hide Claire from Jenny for long. 

A minute later, Claire emerged from the dressing room, clutching the jacket to her chest. 

“Jamie, what—?” She started to ask. 

But Jamie cut her off by simply taking her hand and tugging her toward the door, his other arm juggling their purchases (which of course he had no bag for since there was no way he’d push his luck asking for one). 

Once they were safely outside in the Scottish gloom, Jamie slowed down— realizing he had been dragging the puir lass nearly off her feet in his haste to be gone. 

“What—?” She tried to ask again. 

“Nothin’ tae fash about, a nighean,” Jamie assured her, “it was only a wee misunderstandin’ wi’ Mrs. Fitz. But hopefully these dresses will do.” 

Claire, bless her, tended to take Jamie at his word, and so she didn’t press him for any more details. Quite honestly, her trust in his dismissals of things was a breath of fresh air in contrast to his sister Jenny’s stifling desire to wring every last bit of information from him. He wondered distantly just how long Claire’s innocence on this front would last. But for now she was content to let him take the lead with all things human, and he was happy to take it. 

Jamie’s strides were still long and hurried as he brought Claire back toward the car. Thankfully, she was unresisting— she’d probably had enough exploring for one day. Although Jamie knew he hadn’t actually done anything wrong (save going in the dressing room with a fully clothed lass— because she had wings for pete’s sake!), he still felt like a young lad caught with his pants down around his ankles. He wanted to be away from the shop and the talk that surely would be following in their wake. 

The stream of thoughts that occupied Jamie’s brain was interrupted by Claire tripping and nearly toppling over onto the cobbles stones. 

“Woah, lass,” tumbled from Jamie’s mouth at the same time as the pile of clothes on his arm started to fall to the ground. 

With an impressive feat of juggling, he managed to pull Claire upright with one hand and only lose a couple dresses and one pair of shoes with the other. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, letting go of Jamie’s hand so she could stoop down and pick up the fallen items. When she straightened, she pulled at the legs of her sweatpants in frustrated illustration as she said, “I keep tripping over these.” 

“Weel, ye needna suffer them any longer, a nighean,” he laughed, and he lifted the shoulder holding the new clothes, “let’s find ye somewhere tae change.” 

The “somewhere” Jamie settled on was an old bookshop. It was right across the street, so Jamie simply herded his wee faerie inside, trying to make his armful of items look as discrete and nonchalant as possible. 

The bookstore was old and musty. Something about it had a feeling of another time, as if the world stopped the moment you stepped in. The bookshelves were crowded, with only narrow aisles between, and every one was stuffed to the brim with books. The lighting was rather dim, and Jamie had to squint his eyes a bit as he took it all in. Spotting the front desk, he brought Claire over to it. 

Attending the shop was a woman nearly the same age as Jamie, with long red hair that cascaded down her narrow shoulders and over a name tag that read “Geillis”. When she looked up at them, he saw that she had the most startling shade of green eyes. Almost like a cat’s, he thought distantly. Something about her prickled the tiny hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck. 

But she greeted them quite warmly. 

“Good day, how can I be assistin’ ye?” she asked with a bright smile. 

“We’re jes’ needin’ a place tae change, do ye have a loo?” 

The lass, Geillis, eyed him up and down for a long moment before her gaze flicked to Claire. To his astonishment, the lasses made steady eye contact for a long stretch of time, green meeting whisky, and then she suddenly broke it to smile politely at Jamie. 

“Of course,” she said, “we canna have yer hen paradin’ around Inverness in that outfit, can we? It’s on the far side.” She pointed helpfully in the direction. 

“Thank ye,” Jamie said, and quickly dragged Claire off. 

After seeing her inside the bathroom to change into her white dress and new shoes, Jamie took to perusing the shelves. All the books were old, likely this was a secondhand shop, and mostly titles he didn’t recognize. He became absorbed in the looking, though, so much so that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a figure appeared beside him. 

“Find anythin’ interesting?” Geillis asked. 

Jamie quickly composed himself after the fright, and answered, “eh… jes’ lookin’. Quite an assortment of titles ye have here.” 

He ran a finger over the spine of one of the books. 

“Quite,” she agreed, “I take pride in procuring the selection.” 

“Ye own the shop then?” Jamie asked. 

A nod in confirmation. “My name’s Geillis Duncan, nice tae meet ye,” she said, extending her hand. 

Jamie took it, shaking amicably, and replied, “James Fraser.” 

“It appears ye and yer lass have had quite the… adventure…?” She said with raised brows and a glint in her eye. 

“Oh, she’s not my—“ but Jamie cut himself off, finding that he didn’t have it in him to deny the thing he so desperately wanted. Instead, he finished lamely, “aye, we have.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what compelled him to admit it, but he suddenly added, “honestly, I’m at a bit of a loss.”  

At that moment, the door to the washroom opened, and Claire emerged, clad in her white dress. As she made her way toward them, a book was suddenly shoved into his hand. 

He looked down in surprise, and then up at Geillis. 

“This one is on me,” she whispered, drawing close to his ear, “read it carefully, fox.” 

Bewildered, he didn’t have any reply. And apparently he didn’t need one. Because he had glanced over at Claire, and when he looked back toward Geillis, she was gone. 

“Ready?” Claire asked as she reached him. 

Jamie shook himself out of his startlement at the shopkeeper's abrupt disappearance and gave Claire a smile. 

“Aye, lass.” 

Hand in hand again, they walked out of the shop, the book Geillis had given him still tucked under his arm. 

*

Next

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

- Chapter 6 -

When Nie Huaisang was five, almost six, his mother suddenly started to show an interest in him again.

It was all that awful Madame Yu’s fault, Meng Yao thought. It’d started right after the Jiang sect had come to visit, a nice official visit purportedly meant to introduce the two young sons that were about the same age – Madame Yu was Madame Jin’s friend, and therefore hated Meng Shi on her friend’s behalf, but she was so much smarter about it. She was as vicious and poisonous as the spider mentioned in her title, and Meng Yao’s mother was good and talented and sneaky but she was as susceptible to flattery and wiles as anyone else, especially since she’d never been the target of such poisonous words poured into her ear before, all designed to incite her into doing something she’d regret.

Meng Yao figured out what was going on pretty quickly, and even Nie Mingjue was wary of her belated interest in Nie Huaisang, although in Meng Yao’s opinion he focused a bit too much on the possibility of harm to Nie Huaisang’s feelings and not quite enough on the fact that the only thing standing between Meng Shi and the significantly more secure position of first wife was him.

Meng Yao had his first real out-loud argument with his mother over it.

Nie Huaisang didn’t care at all, indifferent as he was to Meng Shi after all this time, except of course in the sense that he was upset that Meng Yao was upset. Nie Mingjue was charmingly worried sick about their reignited and intensified cold war – so much so, even, that he went behind everyone’s backs and arranged for Meng Yao’s first mission with Chiwen to be a bodyguarding escort mission to take Qinghe’s current mistress on a shopping trip.

Sometimes Meng Yao wanted to strange him.

Irritatingly enough, it worked out just as Nie Mingjue must have planned. There was a limit to how much teenage sulking Meng Yao could get up to on an extended road trip that required a month’s travel in each direction, and his mother wasn’t so stubborn that she couldn’t be convinced regarding to exactly how underhanded Madame Yu’s instigation had been. Anyway, in the end, she did love him more than anything, and that made forgiveness easy.

Soon enough they were back to their old ways, living in each other’s pockets as they always had, only this time they had money in their pockets and the arrogance of having a Great Sect backing them up. They made a point to stop by Yunping again to rub their good fortune into the faces of the brothel owners and other prostitutes that had once so tormented them, and even ended up buying his mother’s old friend Sisi’s freedom at a much-discounted price, given what had happened to her face.

“No one will notice in Qinghe,” Meng Shi assured her old friend, clutching at her hands with a smile brighter than anything Meng Yao had ever seen on her; it made her look ten years younger. “Half the women there have scars – scars, and sabers, too, if you look inside the main house. We’ll say you’re my maid so that you can stay with me all the time, but I won’t make you lift a finger – I promise!”

Meng Yao thought it was a good thing. His mother would have company which she’d lacked, especially since Lao Nie had stopped visiting her courtyard, and even better it was company she already knew she liked. They could sit together and play games, or music, do their hair and make-up and clothes, and never have to think even once about what a man would think of them.

Meng Yao was in a very good mood.

He probably should have realized that something terrible was going to happen.

He should have, but he didn’t, not until they rode straight back in through the gates of the Unclean Realm and Nie Mingjue rushed out in a panic to meet them. He had a black eye and bruises on his neck that Meng Yao identified at once as being caused by a man’s hand – he’d seen it before in the brothel, though not since – and although Nie Mingjue was ignoring it he favored one leg over the other in a way that suggested that his ankle was swollen and maybe even fractured under his robes.

“Da-ge!” Meng Yao cried out in pure shock at how wrong it was. Although there were spars every day in the Unclean Realm, even vicious ones that were only a shade away from true fights, no one should be able to lay a hand on the eldest young master of Qinghe like that without getting their head chopped off for it, and even a night-hunt surely couldn’t have gone that badly. “What happened –”

“I’ll tell you later,” Nie Mingjue said, and his voice was harsh, but with terror, not anger. “Come with me right now. He can’t be allowed to see you. Either of you.”

Meng Yao had many questions, but Nie Mingjue permitted none of them; he ushered them up to the guest quarters, the mediocre ones where neither honored guests nor hated enemies were housed, and hidden inside, wrapped in blankets and yet shivering, pale-faced with fright, was Nie Huaisang.

Meng Yao rushed to him at once, of course, and Nie Huaisang burst into relieved tears at the sight of him – silent tears, which was unusual for him; Nie Huaisang had always been prone to wailing.

“Don’t let him make noise,” Nie Mingjue instructed, and it was at once apparent why Nie Huaisang was doing his level five-year-old best to turn sobs into whimpers and heaving breaths into quiet pants. Meng Yao turned to look at Nie Mingjue – Meng Shi and Sisi turned, too, expressions of shock and confusion painted onto their features. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and they’d been here for years; there had to be a reason for all this panic.

“What happened?” Meng Yao asked, and “You need to see a doctor,” but Nie Mingjue shook his head, promised Later, and left, locking the door behind them – locking them in.

Nie Huaisang tugged on Meng Yao’s arm. “We have to move the table,” he said. “Da-ge said, as soon as you were here, we need to move the table.”

“Move the table…? Where?”

The answer, it turned out, was in front of the door. The table, and a bookcase, as if they were planning on resisting a siege.

“Are we hiding from a monster?” Sisi asked Nie Huaisang, trying to make light of a situation she clearly didn’t understand – that none of them understood, because Nie Mingjue hadn’t explained anything.

She was trying to make light, but Nie Huaisang nodded solemnly as if she’d only said the truth. “It’s not his fault, though,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “It’s not A-die’s fault that he’s a monster now.”

Meng Yao was so steeped in cultivation lore that he forgot himself for a moment, thought immediately of possession or demonifiation or a curse or something, and then his mother said, “When did he start hitting your brother?” and Meng Yao remembered that powerful men didn’t need an excuse to be monsters.

But no, that didn’t make sense either – perhaps it would have, if he hadn’t lived here for years, if he hadn’t known Lao Nie, but he had. Lao Nie had a fierce temper and a tendency to hold grudges, a heavy hand and a cold rationality in his heart that Meng Yao understood at first glance and that Nie Mingjue hadn’t quite figured out for all that he tried to parrot his father’s teachings, but he was generally speaking not a bad man. If he sometimes raised his hand to his sons, it was meant to teach them something – he wasn’t some customer at the brothel whose always-bruised children stayed home with shadows in their eyes.

Or at least, he hadn’t been.

Meng Yao got some broken parts of the story out of Nie Huaisang with some difficulty, being as Nie Huaisang was five and self-centered and had no tendency, as Meng Yao had at his age, to listen at doorways. There was a night-hunt, apparently, and it had ended badly – Lao Nie’s saber, Jiwei, had shattered, entirely unexpectedly, and the creature had taken advantage of the moment to gore him, with only Nie Mingjue’s quick reactions saving his life.  He’d been in a coma for three days.

Three days, and then he’d woken up, his eyes bloodshot with ceaseless rage, and he’d called for Nie Mingjue to bring him his saber.

“Qi deviation,” Nie Mingjue told him later that night, climbing in through the window with a few more bruises and a cut high on his forehead so new that it was still scabbing over. His eyes were dull with exhaustion. “He doesn’t understand that she’s gone, no matter how I try to explain it.”

It wasn’t that Meng Yao hadn’t heard all the stories about the Nie clan’s tendency towards explosive and early deaths, but this was too early – Lao Nie hadn’t actually been all that old, for all that he’d waited longer than most of his ancestors to have children, and weren’t there supposed to be warning signs about this sort of thing? And the saber breaking, a Nie saber breaking –

“It was Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue said. “At the dinner party, some months back. You remember. They had that back-and-forth about that fancy new saber he got as a present.” He shut his eyes. “I was standing next to him when it happened. I felt the echo of Wen Ruohan’s cultivation right before it happened – he did something, weakened it somehow, unbalanced her. Shattered her.”

His hand had found Baxia’s hilt as he spoke, his fingers white with pressure of holding her; Meng Yao couldn’t say anything, his own fingers tight around Chiwen – Nie sabers were spiritual weapons, so tailored to their makers that one might almost think they were conscious, and there were whispers that if you cultivated enough they would really become so, rising to semi-sentience and maybe even full thought one day. A Nie disciple cultivated their saber using their own soul and spirit, making it part of themselves…even imagining such a thing was like a nightmare come to life.

Meng Yao took a deep breath and held it for several seconds before exhaling. “Okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t okay, not at all. “What happens next?”

“You stay here with Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said at once. “I’ll bring you food, water, everything you need – there are servant’s passages in the walls, or I can fly Baxia to your window –”

Meng Yao reached out and caught his waving hand. “No, not – what happens next? We can’t cower here like trapped rats forever.”

But Nie Mingjue only looked tired, tired and afraid. “Meng Yao…”

“We can’t,” Meng Yao insisted. “And you – look at you, look what he did to you –”

“He’s still sect leader,” Nie Mingjue said. “And my father. He’s entitled to do as he likes.”

“There has got to be some sect law permitting the removal of a sect leader for madness!” Meng Yao exclaimed. “This isn’t a surprise; it’s hereditary – someone must have put in place measures –”

“Measures that require three-fourths of Nie sect elders to participate, enough to fill a quota, and an heir old enough to make a reasonable argument for inheritance,” Nie Mingjue said, and they both knew that he wasn’t. He was only fifteen; who would respect him? “There was some underhandedness a few generations back, someone trying to frame someone else for it in order to steal their position, so madness is a high bar to reach. I’ve sent letters to summon back everyone above the right age, as many as people as I can spare, but until they all come – we can’t let anyone know.”

Meng Yao hunted for words, but his silver tongue could not do what his mind knew was impossible; there really was nothing for it. Tensions with the other sects were too high. Even putting Wen Ruohan aside, there was Jin Guangshan in Lanling, always avaricious, and dozens of small sects dreaming of becoming bigger at the Nie sect’s expense. It was one thing to say that Lao Nie was injured and healing; yet another entirely to reveal that the Nie sect’s leader had gone mad, mad with anger, and that they were as rudderless as a raft on the open ocean.

They couldn’t openly demand that their traveling sect elders all come rushing back at once without alerting everyone to the problem – they couldn’t even ask the other sects to help find them.

No one could know.

“So, what are you suggesting,” Meng Yao said, his smile even gentler than usual in his rage. He might not show his fierce anger the way the Nie clan did, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. “That we just put up with it until we gather enough people to do it right, or else until he dies? How long will that take?”

Nie Mingjue rubbed his face. “I’m not sure. A year, maybe?”

A year.

“That’s implausible,” Meng Yao pointed out. “Sect business still needs to get done.”

“I’ve been doing what I can,” Nie Mingjue said, because of course he was. He was the heir – he was the rightful sect leader, even though he was far too young for it. “Great-uncle says he thinks I can pull off being eighteen, so that my signature will be sufficient for most documents…”

“I’m going to help,” Meng Yao said, and held up his hand when Nie Mingjue tried to protest. “You know I’m ten times as good at household accounts and logistics as you, and it can be mostly done on paper, so there’ll be no need for me to go out of here to do the vast majority of it. You’re not stopping me. You need me.”

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue said, because he did and he knew it. “Fine. But for the few things you do have to come out for…listen, I tell you to run, you don’t argue, okay? I don’t know if he’s still angry at you about what happened at the Discussion Conference a few years back, but I’m not planning on finding out.”

Meng Yao shuddered. “He still – remembers?” he asked, because that was worse, somehow. So much worse to know that the monster that beat Nie Mingjue to limping, that wrapped his hand around his neck and tried to squeeze the life out of him, still had the same memories as Lao Nie, who used to look at his son like he’d been a star in the night sky that he’d placed there himself. Who’d never let his disagreements with Meng Shi affect the fairness with which he treated Meng Yao, who had once put his hand on his shoulder and told him he was doing well, that he was promising, that he was glad to have someone like him in his sect…

“It’s not so bad all the time,” Nie Mingjue told him. “Sometimes he forgets, for a little while, before it starts up again.”

That just made Lao Nie unpredictable, Meng Yao found, and he hated it – he hated the way Nie Huaisang cringed at doors, the way he’d started to wet the bed again, the way they’d had to let all his pet birds loose after Lao Nie destroyed one of their cages in a fit of unexpected fury. He hated the way his mother and Sisi both donned veils to hide their faces, lest they draw attention, and took to sneaking through the servants’ quarters; he hated the way Nie Mingjue stopped fighting about going to see the sect doctor the way he always had and started making a visit there every week like clockwork and sometimes in between, and didn’t even seem to realize anymore how bad it had gotten; he hated the way it almost seemed sometimes like Lao Nie was still in there, somewhere, confused about what was happening like a man lost in a fog that he thought might be on the verge of thinning and asking for someone to fetch his saber as if it were a lantern that could help guide him out of the dark.

But his saber was gone.

“I’m going to kill Wen Ruohan for this,” Nie Mingjue said one night, lying with the side of his head pressed against the cool stone wall to help reduce the swelling – Lao Nie had thrown something at his head again, trying to get at Baxia; he’d mistaken her for Jiwei again.

Meng Yao was sitting next to him, trying to compose a response to Lan Xichen’s latest letter – it was cheerful, talking about plum blossom tea and lessons in etiquette and a new guqin for Lan Wangji, the only sour note a reference to his mother’s illness not having yet resolved, though he hoped it would by the next visit they had scheduled. Meng Yao was having to wrack his brain to come up with some sort of fiction about what they were supposedly up to in Qinghe that would not bleed resentment through the lines.

Maybe he could say they got a dog? An especially rabid one, vicious and cruel, with a tendency to turn against everyone with teeth bared and no care for how they bled even though they loved him –

Maybe not a dog.

“You can add it to all the other crimes he’s committed,” he said absently, and he knew that Nie Mingjue would take it as referring to the man’s overall maliciousness – Wen Ruohan was an iron-fisted tyrant, vicious and mean, and he wasn’t quiet about his enjoyment of ‘punishments’ that were more torture than anything else; Lao Nie had vocally criticized him over it, and with him no longer there to rally disdain against it, Wen Ruohan would undoubtedly only get worse – but actually Meng Yao had meant the crimes Wen Ruohan had committed against them. Against the Nie sect, against the Nie clan.

Against Nie Mingjue.

Death was too good for the bastard, but for once Meng Yao would be fine settling for less so long as it happened.

Nie Mingjue huffed in agreement, as Meng Yao had expected, and finally closed his eyes to sleep the way Meng Yao had been on his case about doing for the last half-shichen. When he was deeply asleep at last, breath regular and easy for all that his brow was still furrowed in fear and worry that no longer went away, Meng Yao, who had been staring at the hypnotically beautiful sight of Nie Mingjue’s chest steadily moving up and down, alive and not too hurt, saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye.

“Huaisang,” he said, not even bothering to sound stern. “You should be asleep already.”

Nie Huaisang came up to him and put his head on his shoulder. “I want to help,” he said softly.

Meng Yao blinked. “With what?”

“Whatever we have to do,” Nie Huaisang said. He was watching Nie Mingjue breathe, too. “Whatever we have to do to make it right.”

Meng Yao wasn’t sure what to say. “Huaisang –”

“I want to help, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and there wasn’t any doubt in his voice, any uncertainty. “Da-ge may be stronger, but you’re meaner. If anyone’s going to kill the one who did this, it’ll be you, and I want to help.”

Nie Huaisang ended his pronouncement with a huff, a familiar sound, and for all that it was a sound more characteristic of the Nie than his mother, Meng Yao couldn’t help but smile because he knew what that sound really meant: it meant I hate him, it meant he hurt da-ge, it meant I don’t know how to care about the world, I only know how to care about the ones I love, and for them I will burn it all down.

Meng Yao knew exactly how that felt.

It seemed that Nie Huaisang was vicious thing after Meng Yao’s own heart, underneath it all, and Meng Yao marveled all over again at his luck at having a living brother of his own blood – not any of those hypothetical bastard half-brothers and sisters Jin Guangshan sowed like he was trying to grow grain for the harvest, but his mother’s child.

A monster, just like him.

“All right,” he said. “If I can, I’ll let you help.”

[the-badger-mole]

Sins of the Mother 2

  “You can still change your mind, you know.” Katara watched her husband fidget with his shirt, fussing with the shoulders again. He was clearly nervous and Katara couldn’t blame him. 

“she’s already on her way,” Zuko said. He found Katara’s eyes in the mirror. He saw her shrug carelessly. 

“You’re the FIre Lord,” she reminded him. “You  can always say something came up.” Zuko knew exactly  what she thought, and even though he hoped she would be less apparent with her feelings when Ursa arrived,  he also knew that it was all out of love for him, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about her attitude. Zuko shut his eyes and took a deep breath. 

It had been two months  since that first reunion with his mother. She had sent a letter a week after that until Zuko finally consented to a brief visit. Ursa would arrive early that afternoon and be on her way back to her husband and young child by the following evening. 

Katara had been less than thrilled when she heard of the plans. She made no secret of the fact that she thought it was selfish of Ursa to pressure Zuko into a relationship he wasn’t prepared to rebuild. But Zuko had assured her that he was ready to see Ursa, at least, and Katara promised to be there, too. zuko knew she would keep her promise. She never turned her back on people who needed her, and Zuko desperately needed her now. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her face into the spot  between his shoulders. 

“Are you sure?” she asked him. Zuko wasn’t sure, but he also knew he would never be completely sure. 

“I have to do this sooner or later,” he said. 

“Notice how later is an option there?” Zuko couldn’t see Katara’s face, but her voice was dry and sarcastic. He couldn’t help his grim smile. 

“Time won’t make this part easier.” Zuko turned so he could face Katara and pressed his forehead to hers. “I want to do this.”

“Okay.” Katara took a breath and squared her shoulders as if preparing for battle. “But you say the word, and we can end this immediately.”

“Yeah?” Zuko smirked. “Just like that?” Katara raised her fingers, and snapped. 

“Just like that,” she promised. “We need a code word. Something you can work into a sentence and won’t be too obvious.” 

“How about mango?” Zuko suggested. Katara shook her head vehemently.

“I like mangoes,” she said. “How about papaya.” 

“Alright,” Zuko chuckled. “If talking to my mother is too much, I’ll try to casually slip the word papaya into the conversation.” 

Katara grinned up at him. Oh! How she loved this man! And she told him so, as she did whenever the thought crossed her mind. 

“I love you, too,” Zuko murmured. They had just leaned into a kiss when their was a knock on their door. Katara rolled her eyes. 

“Who is it?” she called. 

“Iroh.” Katara and Zuko released each other, and Zuko let his uncle in. 

“What is it?” Zuko asked after they greeted each other. 

“Ursa has arrived,” Iroh announced bluntly. Irh was better at hiding his thoughts than Katara was, but Zuko had a feeling that he wasn’t any happier with Ursa than the young Fire Lady. 

“She’s early,” Katara said with a displeased frown. Iroh nodded. 

“The coachman said Ursa was anxious to make exceptionally good time,” he explained. “She insisted that there was a front of bad weather they should keep ahead of.” Katara folded her arms and scowled. 

“I’ll just bet there was,” she muttered. Then she turned to Zuko.  “You don’t have to see her right now. Just because she’s  ahead of schedule doesn’t mean you have to be.” Zuko smiled, grateful at Katara’s ferocity on his behalf. 

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m as ready as I’m going to be.” Katara nodded and slipped her hand into his. 

“Remember, you just say the word...”

“I’ll remember.” Zuko squared his shoulders and faced his uncle. “I’m ready.” 

.*.*.*.*.*.

After the initial shock of seeing Ursa for only the second time since discovering she was still alive, Zuko was pleased to find that talking with his long lost mother was less uncomfortable than he feared. They stayed away from the more sensitive topics- Zuko’s childhood; Ursa’s husband and child; Ozai; Azula. They discussed the weather front Ursa had been wary of for the first hour. Katara had stayed mostly quiet throughout, only interrupting to offer tea or snacks. She was the consummate hostess. Her etiquette tutor would have been proud. Every so often, she would take Zuko’s hand beneath the table and give it a squeeze. Her etiquette tutor would have been less proud of that.   

An hour and a half, a servant came in and whispered discreetly into Zuko’s ear. He flushed a bit and whispered something to Katara. She nodded, and Zuko stood up. He had been called away.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Zuko promised, bowing slightly apologetically. Katara and Ursa smiled and assured him that it was fine. The two women watched him leave, and then turned back to their tea, allowing a heavy silence to fall over the room. Katara took a sip from her cup, content with the lack of conversation. Ursa, on the other hand, looked around the room uncomfortably. Katara wondered if she was remembering her life there, or if she was so far removed from it, she was no longer used to the silks and finery of the palace. Finally, her soft eyes landed on Katara, and she smiled nervously. 

“So, why don’t you tell me about yourself?” she started. Katara’s mouth pursed tightly and she set her tea aside.

“Well, I suppose the most important thing for you to know about me is that I love Zuko.”

“Well...that is very comforting,” Ursa said shifting in her seat. 

“Maybe that’s not exactly true,” Katara folded her arms and crossed her legs. “I think the most important thing for you to know about me is that I protect the people I love.” Ursa looked startled for a moment, but after a moment, understanding dawned on her face. 

“I take it you don’t like me?” Ursa  met Katara’s eyes directly. 

“It’s more that I don’t understand you,” Katara said. “I can’t imagine what would make a mother voluntarily forget her children.” Had Katara physically struck Ursa, she might not have startled that gasp from her mother-in-law. It took Ursa a moment to find her voice again, but when she did, her eyes shined with shed tears. 

“You are not a mother yet, my Lady,” she said. 

“I’m not,’ Katara confirmed. “Zuko and I are probably another year or two from that particular milestone, despite his advisors’ best efforts. Still, I don’t know of any mothers who would make the choice you made.”

“Lady Katara, you have to understand-”

“I’m not here to judge you,” Katara cut in. “Zuko wanted to see you again. And I get that. So, I’m here to support him.”  Ursa held her gaze for a moment before looking down at her teacup. 

“Would part of supporting him mean convincing him to cut out people you deem unworthy?” Katara’s jaw clenched at that accusation, but years of diplomacy lessons had made her less prone to rash reactions than she had been at 14. 

“Zuko knows how I feel about this,” she said, making her feelings clear to Ursa, as well. “But he also knows that I’ll stand behind whatever decision he makes. If he wants a relationship with you, I won’t stand in his way.” Ursa’s eyes narrowed calculatingly, and Katara was reminded sharply of Azula.

“But...”

“But?” Katara regarded Ursa archly. The older woman, however, kept a steady gaze. It seemed that despite everything, she had not forgotten her court training.

“I can tell there’s a but, my Lady.” Ursa lowered her eyes respectfully. Still, there was an air of expectation around her. She wanted an answer from Katara, and Katara was willing to give one.

“Alright,” she said.”But, I know better than you do what you being alive means for Zuko. He’s not only happy that you’re alive. He’s also hurt and confused. I think more hurt and confused than when Ozai burned and banished him.” Ursa flinched at that. “And I refuse to allow you to do that to him again. Zuko has had far too much of hurt and abandonment in his life. When we married, I promised to do everything in my power to make sure he never felt that again. You owe him, Ursa. You owe him more than you can ever repay. I’ll stand aside and let you at least try for as long as he is comfortable with you being here. But if he changes his mind, or if you hurt him again, I’ll make sure that you never set foot in our home again.” Ursa’s face was carefully blank and she straightened her spine and folded her hands in her lap, a regal, yet unthreatening pose that Katara’s etiquette teacher had tried and failed to drill into her.

“My son has been willing to look past my mistakes,” Ursa pointed out meekly. “As I have never hurt you directly, I don’t quite understand why you shouldn’t be as willing to give me a chance to prove I still love him.”

“My husband,” Katara said pointedly, “is a lot quicker to forgive than I am. He’ll be the first to tell you how I can hold a grudge.” Ursa  perked up at that bit of information. 

“So, Zuko has been on the wrong side of you before?” she asked. “Like mother like son, I suppose.” 

“Humph!” Katara only just managed not to turn her nose up at Ursa. 

“Please tell me what he did to get you to forgive him?” There was a hint of pleading in Ursa’s tone, and in spite of herself, Katara found she was willing to answer her. She held Ursa’s gaze levelly and and leaned forward slightly. 

“He helped me find the man who murdered my mother.” 

Ursa gawped at Katara. That she had not been prepared for that revelation was clear. Before she had a chance to respond to it, the door flew open and Zuko returned in a fluster.

“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly, falling into the chair next to Katara. “I had forgotten to cancel a meeting. Did you two get a chance to get acquainted with each other?” 

“I think we understand each other pretty well,” Katara said breezily. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ursa?”  The older woman had already regained her composure, and she nodded demurely. 

“Yes...I think we do,” she said. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

Birthday prompt #5

Read on Ao3 Birthday prompts masterlist

@aini-nufire

[Ok, how about Cris saves Picard from some danger (jumps in front of him/pushes him out of the way) and gets hurt himself and we get some feels from Dadmiral Picard?]

After what the brass had dubbed the “Coppelius stunt,” Jean-Luc Picard owed Starfleet so many favors that he was hardly in a position to refuse Clancy whenever she requested that he and his unorthodox crew go deal with the odd diplomatic mess. Many non-Federation worlds reacted better to him personally than to Starfleet envoys, it seemed, and it was often very useful. Right now, staring at half a dozen arrowheads all pointed at him and Rios, Picard sincerely wished he’d told the Commander in Chief to get lost.

(The bows were originally ceremonial, but the reinforced tritanium arrows looked operative enough. Picard could feel Rios’ glare from where the Captain was standing.)

“I fail to see what you are trying to accomplish here,” Picard tried to reason. “Harming us will not make the Federation listen to whatever demands you might have.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m aware,” the demi-King said with a genuine laugh, his accented Standard quite informal for the leader of a third of the Keetureh planetary system. “And that’s partly the point. To be honest, this really hasn’t much to do with the Federation.” He waved one of his four nigh-translucent hands around, gesturing to his people surrounding them. “You have just no idea of what killing you guys would do for my approval rating.”

Picard’s eyebrows climbed to vertiginous heights. He stared, quite dumbfounded, and a quick glance in Rios’ direction was enough to determine that the younger man was just as confused.

“This is about getting re-elected?” Cris attempted to clarify. Picard could tell that he was offended by the notion.

The demi-King nodded in confirmation, a vaguely contrite smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” he apologized with a half-shrug. “I would bet that you’re both used to being threatened for more personal reasons. The truth is, most of my people are backwater idiots who are dying to see me ‘take action’ against big evil Starfleet and all of you offworlders. I wouldn’t risk killing an actual ambassador, but I figure they won’t know the difference.”

Picard’s perfectly regulated synthetic heart managed to skip a beat as hope ignited within his chest. He stepped forward, ignoring the wary soldiers’ growls of warning, and held up his hands to get the demi-King’s attention.

“Then let my friend go,” he offered before the man could order his troops to shoot him, or knock him out. “His name will mean nothing to them, and my death alone should suffice to impress your electorate.”

It was a rather bold – reckless – move, but the opportunity was too favorable to pass up, and Picard had spoken before considering much beyond the obvious need to secure Rios’ safety. He was taken completely by surprise when the strong negative reaction that he was preparing for didn’t come from the Keeturehan, but from Rios himself.

“Fuck that,” Rios snarled, and before anybody had the time to react he dived for his comm badge, which the demi-King had carelessly left lying on the table. “Raf, beam us out,” he barked in the device as he snatched it up.

The demi-King shouted something in his own language and the gears of the mechanical bows turned, leaving a mere half-second delay between the twang of the strings being released and the woosh of air rushing past Picard’s ears as he was tackled to the ground. Rios’ muffled grunt was lost in the transporter beam.

When they materialized on the transporter pad at the back of the ship, Rios was the first to get to his feet, getting up before Picard could fully register that the younger man had been shielding him with his body. The crew’s surprised exclamations were what got him too look up, dizzy as he was from the experience. He froze.

Rios was wobbling unsteadily, his right hand stretched out as he tried to find the bulkhead for support, his left hand pressing against his lower abdomen and the Keetureh arrow protruding from it.

“What the—” Seven swore as she rushed to steady him.

Raffi crashed to the ground next to Picard, her hands hovering nervously as she tried to ascertain whether or not he was injured as well. He batted her hands away impatiently, getting to his feet with Elnor’s help just as Rios’ refused Seven’s offered support.

“I’m fine,” the man growled, before – to their collective horror – gripping the end of the arrow’s thin shaft and breaking it off. He tossed it to the ground right as the EMH flickered on.

“Captain!” the holo exclaimed as he came online, “Sir, are you alright?”

“I think tritanium messes with your scanners,” Rios deadpanned, pushing the hologram out of his way as he stumbled toward the stairs.

The medbay was down there, but so were his quarters. Agnes seemed to realize this as she jumped in front of him and tried to block his way.

“Cris, wh— what are you doing?” She stammered, voicing their shared incredulity. “You need to sit down!”

Rios’ expression softened minutely, but he brushed past her off the same. It was all Picard could take before the irritation that had been steadily swelling up his chest exploded into anger.

“Rios,” he snapped, “what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

That got the Captain’s attention, and his dark eyes dropped to Picard’s. They were stormy and unreadable, and Picard was not in the mood to indulge Rios’ aggravating tendency to brood.

“What?” Rios asked through gritted teeth. As he was wavering on his feet, the blood stain on his shirt growing larger, Picard assumed that the strained voice was because of the pain.

“Rios, you will sit down and you will let the EMH examine you before we move you to sickbay,” Picard instructed, gesturing at the half-arrow still sticking out. “And for goodness’ sake, do it before you collapse. You have been foolish enough for today.”

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say, but Picard didn’t realize it until Rios slumped against the wall and glared at him with all his might. The others hovered awkwardly in the background, aware that their help would not be welcomed.

“Foolish?” Rios repeated hoarsely.

Later, Picard would look back on that moment and rightly beat himself over his appalling lack of sensitivity and common sense. At the time, he pressed on, somehow convinced that a stern commanding voice and clear orders were what a stubborn ex Starfleet Commander needed to start acting rationally.

“Taking such a risk on my behalf was reckless and ill-conceived. Now sit down so you don’t add your death to my conscience,” Picard said firmly.

And just like that Raffi flinched badly, and Seven let out a low “damn.” Before Picard had time to consider why, Rios’ face went from stony to downright furious, absolute rage etched on each line of that face they only knew as cool and collected.

“Yeah, because it was all about you,” he spat. The hand clasped over his wounded side was trembling badly, Rios’ legs shaking, sweat trickling down his neck as he conjured the last dregs of his strength in an a desperate effort not to collapse. (Even propped against a bulkhead and his blood puddling on the ground, he still managed to stand taller than Picard.) “It’s always all about you old Starfleet cabrónes and your grand heroic moves and your fucking egos and your Messiah complexes. Aweonao.”

But after that he deflated, and he looked impossibly tired. When he staggered from the wall and made his way to the stairs with the EMH following worriedly, nobody stopped him.

“He is very sad,” Elnor stated when Rios had disappeared from their field of view. And then he turned to Picard and frowned at him. “And I think it is your fault.”

“What happened down there?” Soji asked, the only one who had not once voiced her opinion or tried to intervene in any way since Picard and Rios had beamed up.

“Seems clear enough to me,” Raffi muttered, shooting a glare at Picard. She suddenly clapped her hands, startling them. “Okay, here’s tonight’s rule, and you’d all better respect it. No following Cris, no talking to Cris, no trying to get Cris to open up. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

Elnor, Soji and Agnes all looked like they were ready to protest, and Picard felt like it too, as he considered that he deserved some form of explanation for Rios’ outburst, but Raffi shut them up before any of them had time to voice their complaints.

“Guys, no offense to you, but I know him. He won’t want to see any of you,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I know you’re worried, but that’s really not the important thing here.”

And with that, she strode after their Captain and disappeared in the belly of la Sirena, leaving Picard to ponder what he had done so wrong and how he could best apologize once he understood. Seven noticed his troubled look, and she walked to him and snatched his arm, leading him to the bridge before he could protest.

“One of you activate that stupid Hospitality Hologram to clean up all that blood,” she threw over her shoulder to their three younger shipmates. “And you,” she told Picard with a hard look, “you and I need to talk.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Picard sneaked past Raffi’s quarters late that night and made his way to Rios’ room, he was fully prepared to get thrown out and have to face the wrath of the whole crew. She’d told them all that she and Cris had talked a bit, drunk a bit more, that he was as good as cold be expected, and that he was still off-limits. Picard imagined that Rios had locked himself into his quarters, away from prying eyes and careless words. It thus came as a surprise when the door slid open at his simple request, welcoming him into the very heart of that ship he now called home but had yet to fully know.

Rios was facing away from him, sitting in one of two armchairs with a book in his hands and a new shirt on. He didn’t look up at the whoosh of the door panel, probably out of indifference. Picard rapped his knuckles against the door frame, awkwardly clearing his throat when it was clear that Rios didn’t intend to react in any way.

“May I come in?” He asked softly, because he had done his day’s share of overstepping.

Rios finally deigned looking up and eyed him warily. Then he closed his book and gave a nod – a sharp jerk of the head, really, motioning for Picard to enter. Picard slowly came closer, moving to stand right in front of his host. He didn’t dare examine the room for too long, lest he appear rude, but he still noticed the spotless surfaces, the tidiness, the appearance of perfect life-discipline that might just be a cover for a near-pathological need to clean up and keep things ordered.

As his eyes landed on Rios again, Picard couldn’t help but notice the slight bulge under the shirt then, the red tinge of that slightly wet patch on the fabric, just under the ribs. Still no dermal regenerator, apparently.

“Are you alright?” Picard inquired carefully, because he hated to think that Rios considered mere bandages an adequate substitute to tissue regeneration.

The man probably had no interest in painkillers either.

Rios raised an eyebrow at the question, a bit weary, a bit sardonic, just enough Rios that it helped put Picard’s mind at ease.

“What do you want?” Cris asked flatly.

Was Picard like that to most people? A riddle wrapped in an enigma, keeping all emotions to himself and leaving his friends and acquaintances to fruitlessly try to guess what it was that he was thinking or feeling?

Taking in a deep breath, Picard gave Rios a sheepish smile.

“May I?” He inquired again, pointing at the second armchair.

Something shifted in Rios’ stony demeanor, like another defensive wall going up, but he didn’t say no, and so Picard sat. Rios stared at him for a few moments before smiling wryly, a sight that Picard had dearly been hoping to see.

“If we keep answering questions with more questions, we’re never going to get any talking done,” Rios commented with that smirk of his. He poured himself a glass of alcohol and downed it in one gulp, absently holding his left side. “Go ahead.”

Picard cleared his throat again.

“It has come to my attention— Well, Seven and Raffi ensured that it came to my attention— that I have behaved quite tactlessly upon our return from Keetureh.” Rios snorted but didn’t interrupt him, which encouraged him to continue. “You said something, about being all about me… I don’t think I understand.”

“I don’t think I care,” Rios said back, pouring himself another drink. “You’re kinda making it all about yourself right now.”

Picard sighed.

“Rios, I can hardly apologize for something I don’t know I have done.”

Rios got up without drinking his second glass of brandy and walked to the opposite wall, leaning against it with his forearm and staring at the soft lights above his bed wordlessly.

“This is about Captain Vandermeer, isn’t it?” Picard pressed gently.

He had forgotten earlier that this Captain before him wasn’t the fearless lone spaceman that he often pretended to be.

Rios’ vulnerability had been on display the day after Nepenthe, when he’d brought Soji onboard. That day too, Picard had somehow managed to make a mess of things by failing to see the depth of Rios’ anguish. But that day they’d also talked, the young Captain had opened up, and Picard had caught glimpses of a bright and optimistic Starfleet XO eager for the approval and respect of his superiors.

He now remembered how Rios had once called him “old man” when that nickname apparently belonged to his late commanding officer, how he’d said “jefe” to him. So Picard waited, confident that this connection at least would get Rios to give up a snatch of information, or the merest hint of a confidence.

Rios stared at the lights for a long while before rubbing his eyes tiredly with two fingers. It lasted just too long to be a simple symptom of fatigue, and the hitching breath that followed was just too short to be from the physical pain. Rios breathed in through his nose, though it sounded almost like a sniff, and giving up all pretense, he wiped his eyes.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Yeah, it’s about Captain Vandermeer. It’s always about Captain Vandermeer.” He gave Picard a weary look and let out a slow, pained chuckle. “It’s always about Captain Vandermeer because he couldn’t wait ten minutes before blowing his brains out. He just had to do it there, right in front of me. It’s always about you because you’re the retired Admiral with a brain abnormality that flies away with my ship to commit suitably heroic suicide, and still has the gall to beam down at the last possible minute because your death wouldn’t dramatic enough if you kicked the bucket on my bridge.”

Picard blinked, taken aback. Rios wasn’t done.

“It’s always about him and you because you always have some red stain to wipe off your ledger, some nasty thing to clear off your conscience, some big screw-up you can’t live with and have to atone for. And nothing else in the world matters.”

Picard was beginning to get the picture.

“I supposed that you’re entitled to be angry at my self-sacrificing tendencies,” he gently acknowledged. “It would be hypocritical of me to deny you that after my own outburst.”

Rios’ eyes hardened.

“I’m angry at you assuming that you have the right to make me live through anything like my Captain’s death and your death a third time,” he corrected harshly. But then his voice faltered, and he looked away again. “I’m angry at you thinking that you have the right to choose between saving my life and adding to what you’ve already made me carry.”

I am terrible at this, Picard thought as memories of all his similarly awkward conversations with Elnor, Soji, Raffi or Agnes flashed before his eyes. Of their seven people crew, it really appeared like Seven of Nine was the only one who had no need for his paternal guidance. Trust the universe’s twisted sense of humor to make Jean-Luc Picard the fatherly figure to an entire ship full of badly damaged adults and youngsters. His Starfleet crews had been mostly emotionally balanced – or at least bound to stay professionally distant.

“I’m truly sorry,” he said softly, because words of comfort seemed pale and inadequate here.

Rios nodded slightly before wincing, the sheen of sweat again visible on his pain-creased brow. He crossed the distance to his bed and all but collapsed on the mattress. He didn’t lie down, sitting up as straight as his injured side would allow, but it was clear that he badly needed to rest.

“It’s okay,” he said tiredly. “I’m not— I’m not that angry.”

And here it was, the vulnerability, the easy forgiveness of a young First Officer who held Captains and Admirals in too high regards, weighing his own faults as heavier than all of theirs, endlessly comparing himself to those he looked up to and founding himself lacking. Picard had seen it many times, had seen the same behavior in young ensigns and decorated officers alike.

“I was very worried about you,” Picard confessed, because it felt important.

Rios deserved to know that he cared, as clumsily as he did. To shoulder such a burden of pain and trauma without the assurance that of reciprocated affection would have been intolerable. And it was the core of the problem, wasn’t it? Vandermeer and Picard had both ultimately failed to prove that they cared. They’d made it about them.

“No need,” Rios quipped, his speech now slightly slurred. “Wasn’t even the first time you’ve seen me with tritanium stuck somewhere.”

“I don’t much care for a repeat, frankly,” Picard gently admonished, although he was disappointed that Rios had addressed the physical aspect of the issue and neglected to acknowledge the underlying message. He studied Rios’ waxy complexion and he took in the tremors running through his shoulders. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Don’t really care,” Rios shrugged. He finally lowered himself onto his back and stared at the ceiling without a word, breathing in and out, and Picard hated to leave him like this.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “For getting us out of that mess. And for saving my life.”

“Hmm,” Rios eloquently answered. “You’re welcome.”

Just as Picard was getting up to go, the inexplicable urge to check on Cristóbal one last time forced his steps towards the bed and not the door. The Captain was already asleep, his skin clammy and the red patch on his shirt larger, his pained breaths escaping through slightly parted lips. Picard had never been one for physical displays of affection, but he couldn’t help the hand than strayed to Cristóbal’s forehead, brushing away some of the wayward curls.

“Pops,” Cristóbal breathed out in reaction to the touch – whimpered, almost – causing Picard to withdraw his hand immediately, feeling oddly guilty.

The EMH decided to silently appear right then, the medkit materializing at his feet. His gaze met Picard’s and they exchanged a nod.

“Go,” the EMH – Emil – murmured. “I’ll take care of it.”

Picard left, still a little troubled, still a little humbled. He’d have liked to stay longer, to make sure, perhaps, that Cris was alright.

But that had been today’s lesson, hadn’t it? It really wasn’t about him.

[histrionic-dragon]

Family Business (”You don’t write, you don’t call....”)

You know That Scene in Civil War, the one after the highway chase, where everyone with guns shows up (SWAT team? UN forces? not sure) and they push Bucky to the ground, and he looks so resigned about it? 

I hate that scene.

So I made it better.

____________________________________

Steve watched, helpless and furious, as they pushed Bucky to the ground. It had been going alright. He was more sure than ever that Bucky hadn’t done the bombing. If only they’d had more time back at the apartment--if Bucky hadn’t been pushed into running--if Steve could have gotten him to open up faster--  

Or if Steve hadn’t been there. Bucky had been trying to run. Steve had slowed him down. This was his fault. He caught Bucky’s eye, expecting anger or resentment, but saw only bitter, weary resignation. That was worse.

He tried to think how he could salvage this. He’d have to wait until they got back to the UN, make his arguments there, and just try not to lose his temper in the meantime. The only thing keeping him quiet right now was the churning in his gut, sick with fear as well as rage now. This is the UN, he reminded himself. It’s not SHIELD, it’s not Hydra--Bucky won’t disappear. They won’t do that. I won’t let them. But right now, it was hard to hang onto that among the swarm of anonymous, efficient soldiers pulling Bucky’s arms behind his back, hard and rough even though he could tell Bucky was offering no resistance--

And then a dark-haired young woman came dashing through the stalled traffic, hurtled right into the middle of the loose cluster of armed men, and skidded to a stop right in front of Bucky. 

“Are you Bucky Barnes?” she demanded, clutching a stitch in her side. 

Bucky’s head came up. It seemed to take a second before he focused on her, eyes narrowed. His hair was in his face. Steve itched to go over and brush it away--to brush away the men holding him back, too.  “. . . What?” he asked.

“Are you Bucky Barnes,” the woman repeated. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, and wore some kind of lightweight pants, a short-sleeved button-up shirt of the kind that looked like it wouldn’t wrinkle (but was currently stained with sweat), and shoes that looked stylish as well as sturdy: things that would wear well and pack small. A tourist, then.

A tourist completely focused on the man before her, to the extent that the two dozen armed people surrounding them might as well not exist.

For a second Steve wondered . . . . But no. Even Natasha couldn’t change the shape of her nose like that, and the voice was wrong. Besides, Natasha was staying out of this. --Probably.

“Why,” Bucky said after an even longer pause, voicing what probably everyone there was thinking. “Why do you care?” 

She sighed and collapsed into a crouch, bracing herself on one hand, still breathing hard. Coincidentally or not, it brought them eye-to-eye. “Because Grandma Becca always said her brother got in the weirdest kinds of trouble, and--” She waved a hand around them: the closed-down road, the SWAT teams, T’Challa, Sam, Steve--“this is pretty weird.”

Bucky sucked in a gasp, and Steve’s heart jumped. A murmur went through the people surrounding them. Bucky shook his head, probably trying to get the hair out of his face. Then he wrenched his metal arm free. Steve lunged to stop the soldiers who made a move to stop them, but Bucky didn’t even seem to notice; he tucked the offending strands behind his ear in a practiced, irritated, absent-minded gesture and stared at the woman before him. Steve could see what he saw: something vaguely familiar, maybe, in the hair, the line of the nose, the chin--but not enough, nothing concrete, so . . . .

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Steve heard himself say. He hadn’t met all the not-Barneses, Bucky’s sisters’ children and grandchildren and a few great-somethings, but he knew most of them by now.

“Actually, we did,” she said, glancing up at him--the first time she’d spared attention for anyone but Bucky. “Aunt Sal’s barbecue last summer. I was the one with food poisoning from the restaurant the night before, so I was mostly . . . away.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh,” Steve said, vaguely remembering. “Anna, right?”

“Yup.”

“--Oh, did Jenna ever--”

“Jenna did not go to that restaurant to propose to Chris,” Anna said firmly. “She said hearing me try to puke up an intestine kind of changed her mind. She did propose to Chris, though, and they said yes.” 

“That’s good,” Steve said. He became distantly aware of Sam’s incredulous expression: you’re making small talk in the middle of an armed standoff? He cleared his throat and looked down and realized with a start that Bucky was looking at him, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised in a silent question. Steve gave an infinitesimal nod in reply. Yeah, she’s real.

 “So,” Anna said, looking at Bucky again. She licked her lips. “Are you--”

“Yes.” He said it fast, easy, without any hesitation, any of the wariness he’d had with Steve. “I am.” 

“Okay,” Anna said softly. “Okay.” A bit louder: “All right then.” She dusted her hands off, wiped them on her thighs. “In that case, I know what Grandma would’ve . . .” She pushed herself to her feet, planted her hands on her hips, and her voice was much, much louder when she spoke again. “What exactly is your problem?”

Oh yes. Steve knew that tone from way back. It wasn’t even Becca, it was Mrs. Barnes.

“You don’t write, you don’t call, you can’t even be bothered to text anyone to-- Well, okay, I guess you don’t know anybody’s phone number but I’m sure you can find out, I think Auntie Grace is still in the phone book because she still has a land line and Sal’s contact info is all up on her webpage, even her freaking Twitter, or you could show up to Will’s office hours because that’s all up there! It’s not difficult, it’s like you have to hack some top-secret database or anything, you can just freaking Google. It’s not that hard to find some way to get in touch with someone and go ‘Hey, by the way, I’m not actually dead anymore.’ Did you not think anyone cared? Or were you just too busy 'finding yourself’ or whatever”--Steve didn’t think he’d seen anyone use air quotes quite so sarcastically--“to think that maybe other people would like to know if you’re okay? You just go and hide so I have to go running through stopped traffic when I see you on TV when I’m on vacation? Like what is your deal? Auntie Grace would have made you cookies, hell Auntie Grace would have mailed you cookies if she’d known where to send them, but nooo, you can’t leave a forwarding address, you just disappear and that is not--”

She broke off and the grin she’d clearly been fighting since she started scolding took over her face. “What’re you laughing at?” She shook her finger at Bucky. “I’m yelling at you here. I’m yelling at you on behalf of generations of--D’you know how many of us there are? ‘Cause there’s lots. I’m yelling at you for at least twenty-five people’s worth of yell. You are in big trouble.” 

Steve heard Sam snicker off to one side, but he only had eyes for Bucky, whose shoulders were shaking. From his position at Bucky’s side, he couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine it when Bucky spoke, knew the shapes of laughter that went with that voice. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve always been bad at keeping in touch.” 

_________________________

(at some point one of the SWAT/UN/whoevers tries to interfere and Anna just swivels and says “Back off, Jack--family has jurisdiction first” and for a second they’re a little more intimidated by her than by the Winter Soldier. Or maybe she does this with T’Challa and adds “Cool outfit, by the way. It looks like someone took one of those cat-ear headphones things and made a whole futuristic space-suit thing. BUT AUNTIE GRACE GETS TO REAM HIM OUT BEFORE YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT STARTING ON HIM, I don’t care how cool you look.”)

[chaosworthyarchive]

¦ 11 - 25 - 3226      Scrap Brain ¦

---

     It was the clattering of teacups, the telltale sound of glass on glass, that snapped the hero out of his thoughts with a small jerk. It was only then he realized he had been on the receiving end of a worried look, not just from the one sitting across from him but the waitress who had just brought them both their tea. The latter seemed to think better of asking, merely setting the two cups down on the table before politely excusing themselves. The former did just the opposite.

     “Is everything alright, Mr. Sonic?” Per usual, there was an innocence, an honest concern, in Cream’s voice that the hedgehog just couldn’t help but smile at.

     “Everything’s fine, sorry about that. I was just...spacing out a little bit,” he told her, taking his cup from the middle of the table to set in front of him. As his fingers wrapped around the cup he could see something cautious in the rabbit’s eyes, a hesitation before she spoke again.  

     “You’ve been doing that a lot lately...” her tone was careful, her coffee-colored eyes glancing around them, to the other patrons of the café before settling on the hero again. “Is it because you’re still nervous about being out in public?”

    It was a harmless question but the hero still frowned a little at it, an apprehension in his demeanor as he fought the urge to look around himself. He hadn’t realized it was that obvious but he figured there was no point in lying about it, though he kept his own voice relaxed. “A little, yeah, but ‘s not so bad here so don’t worry.”  

     That much wasn’t a lie either, and he was grateful that the small building was situated just on the outskirts of the city. It was where he and the rabbit often met for these little chats, just to catch up, though it had been months since they had been able to properly do it thanks to recent events and the hedgehog’s aforementioned wariness. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being out like this, just that he had never thought it a good idea after everything that had happened. Things hadn’t cooled down as much as the hero would have hoped.  

     “Is it bad in other places?” Cream’s next question got a look from the hedgehog, like he didn’t quite understand but in reality he didn’t know how to answer that, and she continued by way of explanation. “Amy tells me that you’ve been mostly keeping to yourself ever since you left Knuckles’ home. Are things…okay in the village?”

     “They are, yeah, surprisingly enough,” he assured, again more truth than anything to his answer as he smiled again, a warmth to it this time. “Cheesy as it sounds, and for all the stuff I’ve been through, the village has always been the one place where I feel…I don’t know, normal I suppose? Rosie’s seen t' that for years and she made doubly sure of that after…well, everything.”

     “It’s because everyone there loves you, and they know how hard you’ve worked to save everyone. A lot of people realize that, I think,” Cream beamed, either not noticing or ignoring the brief flash of uncertainty in Sonic’s eyes. “How are things in the city? You stay in Scrap Brain a lot too, right?”

     “Did Amy tell you that as well?” The moment he asked the hero could tell that was exactly what had happened and he made a mental note to talk to the pink hedgehog about what she talked about with other people. It wasn’t much of a problem with Cream, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Especially these days. Still, the lingering question brought silence with it, the hero doing his best to put on a reassuring smile. “Things in the city are…okay.”

     Cream saw right through it, concern plastered on her face as she raised her cup to take a sip. She didn’t know if she was overstepping by wanting to continue their conversation, but she decided to risk it, softly asking, “so…not good?”

     The hedgehog didn’t answer right away, much to the rabbit’s despair, his bright eyes lowering to his own cup as he thought about how to best respond. It occurred to him he could just fib, come up with some half-truth and move on, but he didn’t really see a point. Not just because Cream might know something wasn’t right, but because she was bound to find out sooner or later. Be it either from Amy or some random conversation between strangers, she would eventually find out that things weren’t all okay.  

     After the silence had gone on for a little too long, he sighed. His eyes didn’t raise, and his voice fell quiet but he did answer, albeit hesitantly. “They could be worse, but they could also be better. It’s…hard t' explain. People don’t hassle me or anything like that, and some of them go out of their way t' act civil enough but…”  

     Sonic stopped there, frowning as he tried to word things the right way. He didn’t want to make the rabbit worry, something that had already been long since accomplished, but he also didn’t know if there was a way around it. If he was going to be honest, the whole thing worried him as well and it had for the past few months. Maybe he was a fool for thinking, or hoping rather, that things would go back to some semblance of normal after the reconstruction began, when life started veering back on track. He expected people to be upset, and they rightfully should have been, but even he hadn’t expected the level of it that greeted him more than half the time he went out in public. 

     He thought he was imagining it at first but then he started to hear things, noticing people avoiding him, and that had confirmed his suspicions. The hero didn’t like it, which was why he looked off to the side to avoid Cream seeing the upset look in his eyes, but understood. Maybe he shouldn’t have, maybe he should have been trying to fix things instead of keeping to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to and as his hands wrapped around the cup in front of him, the hero couldn’t even look at his reflection in the dark liquid.  

     “There’s still a look in everyone’s eyes when they see me, Cream. Like...most of them don’t know what t’ think anymore and the others…” another pause, this time with the hero’s eyes meeting her’s, a dull sorrow in them. “It’s like they’re scared.”

     This time, it was Cream who fell silent. While they didn’t talk about it often, the rabbit knew that being held up to his title of ‘hero’ for so many years had taken its toll on the hedgehog in front of her. She wasn’t a fighter, wasn’t even a part of The Freedom Fighters or the hero’s immediate circle of friends, yet they had found a mutual friend in Amy, and soon realized they had a liking for the simpler things. There weren’t many people the rabbit could sit down with over a decent cup of tea and just chat, but Sonic had quickly filled that role once she had gotten enough courage to ask so many years ago and she knew neither of them regretted the decision. 

     But there had always been that one thing, that dull speck of something deep in his eyes that had grown so much over the years, that she had to wonder if he was really alright. After Robotnik had come back, after a handful of cities and towns had been destroyed and Grand Metropolis had fallen at the hands of Chaos, she knew things hadn’t been easy. Even if the good guys had won in the end there was still lasting damage and because Amy had been exhausted after the whole ordeal, Cream knew the same had to have gone for Sonic. Even now she could tell he still wasn’t quite right, and that was why it hurt her to hear what he said. And even worse that he was, technically, right.  

     The people were scared, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him that. She might have lived in a small town outside of Scrap Brain, away from the usual hustle and bustle, but word spread like wildfire. It hadn’t taken long after the final attack, after Chaos had disappeared for the rumors to start spreading. Some people, and Cream truly wanted to believe it was most, were thankful for what the hedgehog did and had truly been worried for him after what happened. There had been a lot of raw emotion after the fight in Grand Metropolis, a lot of people had been sad and had confided in each other, supported each other and the heroes who saved the city. 

     Others had done just the opposite.  

     Other people were angry, and Cream had never really known why. She hadn’t understood it and had asked her mother about it but even Vanilla hadn’t been able to give much of an answer. The best she could offer was that those people just didn’t understand what had happened and that they were upset on behalf of the people who had gotten hurt, who had lost things and families. Because Robotnik was gone, they had no one else to be mad at so they had picked Sonic as a scapegoat.  

     Cream didn’t know the whole story of what had happened there in the middle of the city, once The Freedom Fighters had arrived at the scene and tried to stop the demigod. Not even Amy had told her everything, but people were saying things. They were saying that the hedgehog was dangerous, of all things. Some even thought that he was the reason everything had happened in the first place, that he was the reason Robotnik had attacked so mercilessly due to the human wanting revenge for all his past failures.

She had never believed any of it. She had known Sonic for a while, ever since she had been six, and the one thing she was certain of was that Sonic was a good person. He would have been the first person to admit that he wasn’t perfect, but Cream was always right there to remind him that he always tried to make the best out of a bad situation, tried to make things better for everyone, and that was what counted. He helped people, had always put their needs before his own, and that’s what made him a hero in her eyes and so many other’s.

     “Do you want to know I think?” A courtesy coated her voice as she looked at him, brown meeting green with a gentle smile forming beneath them and she reached out to take one of his hands. “I think people seem that way, that they might even be that way, because...you’re still a little scared and unsure yourself.”

     To that, Sonic could give no response. He didn’t want to admit that she was right but a feeling in his gut, some small voice in his mind, was leaning in that direction. Something about it must have shown on his face because it was a few moments later when the rabbit’s smile lowered a notch, and she squeezed his hand before leaning back in her seat and her next words were something he was utterly thankful for.

     “Let’s talk about something else, okay...?” The last thing Cream wanted was to ruin the hero’s day, or their time together. Luckily, she thought she had the perfect topic lined up and practically beamed as she looked at Sonic. “Did Amy tell you about school?”

     It worked and the rabbit was rewarded with a smile from Sonic, who nodded in a proud way. As to be expected by now, Amy hadn’t been able to contain her excitement or keep the fact that Cream had decided to become a wildlife veterinarian a secret for very long and had told him not long after. “She mentioned it, yeah. Can’t say I’m surprised by your pick, but ’s fitting. She also mentioned something about getting you an internship, have you started that yet?”

     “My first day will be after the holidays. Amy even offered to give me a place to stay so the commute isn’t so bad,” Cream explained, the excitement in her voice unmistakable. “I told her I don’t want to impose but even Tekno said it was okay so I think I’m going to take the offer, at least for a little while.”

     The look on the hero’s face said he thought it was a good thing, even before he nodded. “If you ask me those two could use the distraction. Tekno’s been so busy overseeing things in Grand Metropolis an’ Amy’s still adjusting to her new position at that company of hers, if it wasn’t for each other I think those two would work themselves t’ the bone.”

     If nothing else the two of them were ambitious which wasn’t a bad thing necessarily but, from his perspective on the whole thing, it didn’t seem like the pink hedgehog or canary got much time to breathe these days. Yet, at the same time, they seemed to thrive in that never-ending hustle and bustle so maybe it was simply how they preferred things. They always made time for each other and their friends so it easily could have been more unfavorable. 

     “They really are good for each other, aren’t they?” Cream’s voice cut across that thought and Sonic had to smile at the question. It had been a few months after the, literal, chaos of the last assault when the two roommates had finally come clean about their feelings for one another (something Sonic had always suspected but never actually brought up out of mutual respect). He had to admit they really were an ideal couple, not that he had expected anything less. What he hadn’t expected was the almost sly expression that took over the rabbit’s face a moment later as she looked him dead in the eye. “Kind of like you and Mina are, huh?”

     “Very clever.” Try as he did to give the other a semi-scolding look the hedgehog just couldn’t manage it and merely shook his head, his grin all too evident. Much like Amy and Tekno, he and the mongoose had a long talk about what the future was going to hold and both had agreed they were tired of beating around the bush when it came to what they were and had taken the dive. The thought was enough to bring a warmth to his chest. “But I guess I can’t argue with that one, she’s been great with everything. Still not sure how I lucked out with that one.”

     “Are you still staying with her?”

     “Mostly, but I spend a few days here and there in the village too. If I didn’t I don’t think Rosie would take well t’ it after everything that happened,” he admitted, then shrugged casually. “Plus I like keeping Kintobor company when I can.”

     Cream seemed to consider his answer, almost as if she wanted to ask about something else before settling with, “have you given any more thought about moving there? To Green Hill?”

     “Yes and no. I’d like t’ don’t get me wrong, but...the time just doesn’t feel right yet.” Sonic didn’t really know how else to put it, honestly. He had always wanted to move back to his hometown once things had settled down, dreamed of it even, but now that the option was there something was holding him back from actually doing it. He didn’t know what it was, maybe it was some fear of rejection or something to do with everything that had happened, but it was there and no matter what he did it just didn’t want to go away.

     Sonic knew, or rather hoped, it would disappear one of these days. When was anyone’s guess, but he was going to remain optimistic on that one and it seemed Cream was as well.  

     “That’s okay, you have plenty of time to think it over now, and I’m sure everything will fall into place when it’s meant to.” Again there was something about the rabbit’s smile that almost made it seem like everything was going to be okay in the end, like there was nothing to worry about. Sonic didn’t know if it was just his imagination or not, but there was no denying the conviction of the rabbit's next words. “It’s like Mama always says, you never have to force anything that’s meant to be and as long as you keep your head up, things will turn out okay.”

     Sonic couldn’t say he was surprised to hear that, knowing that Vanilla, Cream’s mother, was just as kindhearted and wise as her daughter. It was no wonder where the younger rabbit had gotten it from, yet the whole notion brought an odd peace to the hero. What was going to happen would come into fruition eventually, it was his outlook on those events that was going to make all the difference.

     In this case, just maybe, Cream’s words were ones the hero would take to heart.  

[mintchocolateleaves]

On The Nature of Daylight (2/3)

Summary: Years ago, he should have asked for an answer, but he didn’t. And now they’re here – Shinichi crashing on Ran’s sofa, the night of their best friend’s wedding, and everything is horrible because he can’t stop thinking.

A/N: Wow! Look, I uploaded it when I said I would. I feel really powerful with the update schedule. I hope you all enjoy part two!

[Part One]

Shinichi can’t stop thinking about it.

He returns to work, tries to focus on the case but finds that his mind is blank. He can’t figure out a murder when he’s this focused on Ran – on how he’s ruined everything, how she’s probably never going to talk to him again, let alone consider being with him.

“Oh man,” Hattori says, when he notices Shinichi come back in, “you two so busy that ya forgot my coffee?”

“We didn’t get any coffee,” he says, and his voice sounds strange to his ears, almost hollow. Strange, considering how only seconds ago, when he’d been kissing Ran, he’d felt full.

He should have better control over his emotions. Now, he feels vulnerable, and Shinichi’s never quite understood how people like Hattori and Ran can allow themselves to be open to feeling… everything.

“Too busy for that, eh?” Hattori says, with a wink. Insinuating.

God, Shinichi hates that insinuation. He almost wishes that he could fall into a happy mood, that he could go along with it, as if that’ll make it real but… Shinichi can’t.

“Nothing happened, Hattori.” Shinichi says instead. He straightens his expression, into something stern, something less amicable, something that says he doesn’t want to talk, not if it’s about this, not if it’s about anything but their case.

Hattori sees the barrier go up and blinks. His own expression turns sour and he says, “Sure, whatever.”

“If you want coffee,” Shinichi continues, “then there’s the breakroom. Or you can go on your own break.”

“Right,” Hattori bites, and Shinichi should feel guilty for lashing out, but he doesn’t.

All he can focus on is the taste of Ran against his lips, how tiny her voice had been as she’d said everything is okay and he can’t…

Shinichi doesn’t really want to think of anything else.

-

Perhaps it’s a testament to how much of a good guy Hattori is, but he doesn’t hold it against him. Hattori goes for his break and when he comes back, he’s leaving coffee at Shinichi’s desk, and offers a sympathetic shrug.

Shinichi cannot do much else but mutter a thanks and feel like more of a dick.

They work in silence for a while after that, wracking up hours, only really saying anything when Shinichi voices a theory, or when Hattori asks for clarification on a bit of evidence.

It’s almost the end of the work day when Shinichi says, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Hattori lifts his eyes from his monitor, stares at Shinichi and offers a half-hearted shrug. He says, “I knew you were a dick the minute we became friends. It’s alright.”

Alright, so he kind of deserved that. Shinichi’s not about to get offended by it. Instead, he sighs and looks back down to his monitor. He says, “I can’t think straight, so I think I’m gonna head home for the day.”

“Shouldn’t have even been here in th’ first place,” Hattori says. Then, “Yeah, I think it’s ‘bout time to call it a day, too. Want me t’ drive ya back?”

Shinichi shakes his head. He doesn’t want to go home, not really, not when he’ll only be left alone with his thoughts. He says, “I… I know we’ve just got work again tomorrow but, you want to stop for drinks before we head back?”

The Osakan sizes him up, takes a moment to consider the question and then offers a small nod. He says, “Somewhere we can eat, I’m starvin’.”

Shinichi supposes that’s reasonable. He’s not exactly eaten much today, either. “Sounds good.”

-

Hattori drives them. There’s a place, he says, nearby the hotel he’s staying in, so he drives them there in his rental and they walk the rest of the way.

They’re on their second beer, Shinichi still picking at his food, even though Hattori’s practically devoured his own in a manner of minutes, when the Osakan finally says, “So what’s eatin’ at ya?”

Shinichi doesn’t know if he wants to go into it, but Hattori is his best friend, and he’s also the kind of person who’ll keep nosing around until he gets an answer.

“Nothing,” Shinichi starts to say, and then, stopping himself, tries again: “I dunno, I just – Fucked things up, I guess. With Ran.”

He pushes more food around with his chopsticks, picks up a clump of rice and chews. It feels like he’s forcing himself to swallow.

“How’d ya manage that?” Hattori says.

Shinichi squirms in his seat, takes a large gulp of beer. Then, he gulps down another mouthful, wary of Hattori’s gaze on him. He sighs, “I may have – Well I – I kissed her, I guess.”

“Ya guess?”

Shinichi shrugs, because well, Hattori knows what he means. He finishes his beer, signals for another and looks down at his bowl. He pushes it away, clearly done with it.

“Okay, so ya kissed nee-chan…” Hattori’s obviously trying to figure out why this is such a bad thing. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, it’s how every argument between him and Kazuha managed to resolve itself. He’s never been scared to say what he wants. “I don’t see how this is a bad thing?”

Shinichi mumbles into his empty glass.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he glances away, “doesn’t matter. Drop it Hattori.”

“No, really,” Hattori continues, “I don’t get it. You’ve been wanting to kiss her for years. Like – you’ve been in love with her for years, and now, ya finally kiss. And this is bad?”

The waitress replaces the empty glass with a filled one. Shinichi glares down at foam, at the beer beneath the frothy layer. He hates that he’s been wanting this for years, hates that he can’t move on, can’t think properly when Ran is around, and how now, he can’t think because she’s gone.

“Hattori–”

“Is it really all that bad?”

Shinichi’s voice wavers as he says, “It wasn’t exactly, erm, the right time. She wasn’t expecting it, I guess.”

Hattori watches him for a moment, weighs the words up and thinks it over. He’s quiet, abnormally so, as if trying to decipher the words and then, then, he finally seems to get it because his eyes cloud over ever so slightly and he says, “Oh.”

A half shrug is all Shinichi can offer him. He frowns into his beer and offers Hattori a short look that he hopes translates roughly into ‘what a fucking mess, right?’

“Do I uh,” – now, Hattori looks uncomfortable, uncertain – “on nee-chan’s behalf, do I need to punch you? Or something?”

Shinichi, who would rather not be punched, shakes his head ‘no’. Because while Hattori might be able to kick well, he can punch much better.

“I’m – no,” Shinichi shakes his head, “Ran reserves the right to that.”

He wishes Ran had hit him or gotten angry. Her voice, as tiny as it had been, sends chills down his spine, lingers with him more than any punch could.

“Maybe ya should talk it through with her,” Hattori says. The idea sounds reasonable, Shinichi knows it’s reasonable, but he doesn’t… No. He’s already broken down the wall, the hidden cell keeping all his wants for Ran hidden and now…

Now Shinichi wants.

He wants to be with Ran. He wants to please her, to take her out – he wants to be greedy and let his hands roam all over her. He wants every inch of her, wants to claim her as his, in a million different ways and…

He sighs.

“That,” Shinichi says, because he doesn’t exactly want to get into the myriad of reasons why he can’t be near Ran again, “is a smart idea.”

It’s just not one he’s going to take.

-

He doesn’t see Ran again, and it’s frustrating.

The week drags on, and Shinichi’s certain that she’s avoiding him just as much as he’s avoiding her. Which would be great, fine, except maybe Hattori’s sort of right. Maybe they should be talking about this.

Get the rejection, the dismissal over with and Shinichi can pretend that he’ll move on.

Shinichi throws himself into his work, not that it helps. He’s far too distracted, and everything seems to remind him of Ran. The station? Oh, he’s just imagining when she used to pick him up after cases. Murders? They used to frequent them together a lot.

Everything leads back to Ran, and it would be easier, if she was at the end of the rabbit trail.

The days go on, and Shinichi watches his phone to see if she’ll ever phone. She doesn’t, and soon the week is over with, and they have to start anew. There’s a tense radio silence with his best friend, and Shinichi has never felt more out of it.

It continues.

And just when it feels like it’s going to last forever, Sonoko returns from her honeymoon and their tension cracks again.

-

Shinichi doesn’t actually know that Sonoko’s back from her honeymoon until he’s answering his phone, half-asleep, from where he’s practically collapsed against his desk.

He jumps up, ignores Hattori’s small laugh – they’ve all been there, serial killer cases are rough – and grabs his phone.

He doesn’t even look at the caller id, simply presses answer and hopes that whatever phone call he’s receiving will be quick at least.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sonoko asks, after a fairly sleepy ‘hello?’. Shinichi is mid-stretch when she asks, and his shoulder clicks as he brings it down.

“Welcome back to Tokyo, Sonoko.” Shinichi says in response, because how else is he supposed to answer? “Did you enjoy your honeymoon?”

Sonoko harrumphs on the other side of the phone, lets out a small hiss and says, “It was magnificent actually. Both Makoto and I had a brilliant time in Hawaii, those restaurants you suggested, begrudgingly, I admit they were lovely. Past that, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ah, so eloquent.

“You know,” Shinichi says, “some people say that those who swear only have little vocabularies.”

“Shinichi,” Sonoko says, voice low, “if you keep pushing me, I will strangle you.”

He doesn’t doubt it. Not that he thinks Sonoko would actually succeed in strangling him, but well – the intent is there at least.

“Is this about Ran?” He sighs.

“Of course, it’s–” He can practically see the way she pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’ve done something, and I swear, I’ll strangle you if you don’t tell me what you’ve done to–”

“Jeez,” Shinichi huffs, “Sonoko, chill out.”

By the sound of her indignant spluttering, his words don’t exactly do much to help her calm down. If anything, they frustrate her more. Shinichi can practically hear the gritting of her teeth.

“Just tell me what you did,” Sonoko says.

He considers briefly telling Sonoko to butt out, but it’s Sonoko. Firstly, she’ll never back off when it’s including Ran, the two have always considered each other sisters. Secondly, Sonoko is too stubborn to just drop an issue when it’s right in front of her.

“Nothing,” Shinichi says. He stumbles over the word, and of course Sonoko picks up on it, she’s not stupid, she’s a business woman, trained to pick up on people’s reactions and work them to her own ideals.

“Shinichi, I swear–”

“Ugh, fine. We may have, uh,” – he avoids Hattori at the other desk – “kissed. It was stupid, I won’t do it again.”

Sonoko huffs on the other side. She’s not satisfied with his answer.

“We’re going to talk about this,” Sonoko says. “Six o’clock. I’ll send you the address in a minute. If you don’t show up, I’ll get Makoto to hunt you down.”

Shinichi groans, but minutes later, when he receives a text message with the address, he figures out the route there.

It seems there’s no reason for him to stay late at the station now.

-

Shinichi makes it to the restaurant with seconds to spare. He’s not late, but he’s not early like he’d wanted to be. Still, he wanders inside, feels underdressed in his work clothes and glances around for Sonoko.

He can’t see her – she must be sat upstairs instead.

“Can I help you?” A waiter asks, popping up from nowhere. Shinichi rattles off Sonoko’s name, states she’s the one who’s reserved their table and within a few seconds, the waiter nods, pointing to the next floor.

He leads Shinichi up the stairs and towards a table by the window outside. A table, where Sonoko is most certainly not sat.

Shinichi freezes.

Ran turns at the sound of footsteps heading towards the table, blinks as she notices Shinichi. Then, she flushes a bright red, something that Shinichi would take enjoyment in, if things weren’t so tense, if his cheeks weren’t the same colour.

“You’re not Sonoko,” Shinichi says.

“No.” Ran takes a moment to look down at her phone, as if wondering whether it will light up and explain the situation. “Oh, I can’t believe her.”

Shinichi squirms at the exasperation. Then, he says, “Well, I’m – yeah, just gonna–”

He wants to turn away, to run and leave but his feet are like concrete. Because, really, that’s not what he wants to do at all.

Shinichi wants to sit down and have dinner. He wants to listen to Ran tell him about her day, wants to hear her every interest, to listen to whatever secrets she wants to share.

He wants to take her hand across the table, wants to brush her hair out of her face, loop it behind her ear.

Shinichi realises he’s selfish, all he does is want.

“Oh jeez – don’t just stand there,” Ran sighs. The exasperation is back, “Sit down Shinichi, we need to – we obviously need to talk.”

Obviously.

Yes, this is a conversation Shinichi has been dreading.

“Right,” Shinichi says, stiffening up, and moving towards the chair opposite Ran as if he’s a marionette. He sits, pulls his chair in and waits. He opens his mouth to say something, but the waiter seems to appear before he can get into the crux of why they’re here.

“Can I get any drinks for you?” The waiter asks.

Ran seems to send him a look that says he should go first. So, Shinichi does the first thing he thinks of, looks up at the waiter, and says, “A glass of wine. Red.”

Ran lets out a visible sigh of relief. She says, “I’ll have the same.”

Fuck it, Shinichi thinks, why not make it a bottle?

He says as such to the waiter. Ran looks positively scandalised, as if Shinichi acting weird is so outside the norm. It’s almost as if she’s forgotten how his acting weird got them into this situation in the first place.

“A bottle of wine got us into this,” Shinichi mutters after a second, “might as well see if it can’t get us out of it.”

-

They order before the break into the conversation. It’s the only time Ran gives him to prepare, and it’s not nearly long enough.

“The other day,” she starts, “when you – when we…”

Kissed, Shinichi wants to say. When you made me feel complete.

“Yeah,” he says instead, like the amazing wordsmith he is.

“I don’t… you never implied… Shinichi, what was that meant to mean?” Ran says. “You don’t just kiss people in the street.”

Shinichi wants to argue that they were having a moment, or that it wasn’t people in the street, just Ran, only Ran, but it seems like a moot point. Like he’s just grappling for excuses.

“I know,” Shinichi says. He swirls the wine in his glass, stares at it, remembers the way it had stained Ran’s lips and closes his eyes. He’s not sure what his expression must be, but when he glances back to Ran, she’s frowning.

He supposes that maybe he looked pained. As if he was remembering something he didn’t want to.

“Do you,” Ran asks, “because I don’t. I don’t know Shinichi, and I just – if you do, then, God, can’t you explain this to me, because I’ve never been more confused.”

More wine. Shinichi says, “There’s only one explanation Ran, it’s not difficult to figure it out.”

Ran’s eyes widen. It’s as if he’s watching the neurons fire the realisation through her mind, synapses jittery as they scream, finally, that Shinichi is – and always has been – inexcusably in love with her.

“But you’ve never… You never indicated that you were interested, Shinichi.”

Or maybe not.

Shinichi squints, tries to release the tension in his shoulders. It’s impossible, the muscle is taut, aching. He says, “I literally… Ran, I confessed to you in London.”

Ran flushes red again. Then, she says, “You showed interest once, and that was… Shinichi, that was seven years ago.”

Admittedly, Shinichi shouldn’t be expecting the same confession from years before to apply now, but it does. His feelings haven’t changed, so the confession still stands.

“You never responded to it, so I left it.” Shinichi tears his gaze from her to his wine glass, swishes it around to watch something rather than her. “It doesn’t matter, I get it. I shouldn’t have–”

“It’s been years, how was I supposed to know the confession was still…” she lets out a strangled noise, as if she can’t find the words she’s after, “…in effect.”

“I dunno,” Shinichi mumbles, “but it is. Sorry if that’s awkward for you.”

Ran kicks him under the table. He barely feels it, and part of him registers that it’s not a violent one, but rather one that’s designed to capture his attention. It’s almost playful, but he doesn’t let himself admit to that.

“You’re such an idiot,” Ran sighs. “Why didn’t you just say? I would have said yes.”

Shinichi hardly registers the second half. It’s almost as if his brain can’t comprehend the idea of having his feelings returned and so he focuses on the first part of her words.

“Why didn’t I say?” Shinichi echoes. “Why couldn’t you have just responded? I confessed and you never answered me at all.”

Ran frowns. She says, “You’re blaming me?”

“Well, it’s not my fault.”

“Why are you being so defensive,” Ran hisses, “I just said I liked you, you fucking nerd.”

Shinichi pauses.

He takes a moment to consider her words and says, under his breath, “Oh.”

Then, he squirms in his seat again because fuck, now he has an answer, and it’s almost like he’s been given permission to want what he does.

Ran lets out a small laugh, as if she enjoys watching him realise. And then, she blushes, overwhelmed because Shinichi throws his best smile her way, overjoyed.

“So, I–” He pauses, tries to think about how to say it without sounding like a dorky teenager. He wants to sound like the adult he is. “So, I guess we… do we – Fuck, I don’t want to sound like a teenager.”

Ran rolls her eyes. Something about the way she shakes her head at him screams that he’s doomed to fall into the role anyway.

“A date,” Shinichi says finally, “let me take you on a date.”

Ran’s gaze flickers around the restaurant. She purses her lips and raises a hand, as if to say, ‘why else are we here?’

He scowls, “One that doesn’t exist because Sonoko likes to meddle. Let me take you on a… a date. An official one.”

Ran dips her head into a nod. She says, “alright.”

-

They keep drinking the wine.

This time, Shinichi doesn’t feel so guilty about letting his gaze linger on Ran’s lips when it stains her lips. He considers leaning forward, kissing her, running his tongue against her lips, tasting the mix of Ran and the wine, but they’re in public.

He shouldn’t.

But still, he wants to.

-

“I’ve got more wine,” Ran says at the end of their meal, once they’ve paid the bill. They’re heading toward the subway station, and Shinichi wants to lean over and grab her hand, but still, he’s hesitant. “If you want to…”

They head down the stairs towards their train, and the station seems… dead. It lacks any form of life but them, and the random stragglers at the other end of the platform.

Shinichi reaches forward, takes Ran’s hand and pulls her towards him. He stares down at the bridge of her nose, smiles and breathes, “yeah?”

“If you want to, uh–”

“I can go for more wine,” Shinichi says, since she’s bright red. He pauses, gaze flickering from her nose, to her lips, then back up to her eyes. “Can I...?”

Ran offers a small smile, and instead of saying anything, tiptoes up to face him, bringing a hand up and weaving it through his hair, pulling him down to her. Shinichi wraps an arm around her waist, pulls her closer and smiles against her lips.

The sound of the train behind in his ears sounds almost distant, far away. He supposes that maybe they should be turning, boarding the train before it leaves, but Shinichi is too wrapped up in Ran to even consider moving.

It’s alright, Shinichi thinks, they can always catch the next one.

------

(A side note: If you’re not the type for mature content. This is where the fic ends! If not: [Part Three])

[thefudge]

Who did you ship in GOT and who do you ship now? (If it's changed lol)

good ask! this got long-ish so i’ll include everything after the cut

my OG ships (this includes the books too)

petyr/sansa - absolutely still do and will forever ship this morally ambiguous duo, though i prefer the book version of it. possibly my fave asoiaf/got pair.

jaime/brienne - shipped from the start and nothing’s changed frankly

gendry/arya - see above

jaqen/arya - i will admit the show’s sexy accented jaqen h’ghar may have also played a part in this lol

jon/dany - weirdly, i used to ship this more before the show made them a thing. i used to love AUs where ned sends jon to essos and he becomes part of dany’s khalasar and they meet somehow. i also liked the “romance at a distance” thing where book readers could obviously tell their journeys were being paralleled but they hadn’t met yet, and you’d get poetic wuthering heights-esque scenes like dany hearing a wolf howling on the dothraki plain when jon died, like that always got meeee. the show, i feel, has kind of botched their potential, but i still ship’em, especially their book counterparts.

jon/val (books only) - i know in the books she’s basically a dany-stand-in symbolically (a wildling “princess” with blond hair, come on), but i loooove their dynamic, i love their quiet fondness for each other and i hope they have more scenes together

elia martell/arthur dayne (books only) - the loyal kingsguard and the future king’s wife? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP. a part of me still hopes that GRRM will reveal that arthur secretly loved and pined after elia all his life and was furious on her behalf when rhaegar left her for lyanna. it’s CANON fight me.

arianne martell/arys oakheart (books only) - canon & doomed :(((( it’s the foolhardy kingsguard pining after forbidden princess trope again, but i can’t help it! they’re kind of an interesting subversion of the trope. arianne initially just plans to seduce him and use him, but arys falls for her hard and forgoes his vows for her and she realizes she may have feelings for him too and #imsad because it does not end well. but i live for the angssssst

hyle hunt/brienne (book only) - MAN. THESE TWO. ok so i may ship this almost as much as j/b and i can’t believe i’ve never talked about it.  I LOVE THIS PAIR. it’s exactly my kind of shit and it’s actually pretty similar to j/b. hyle hunt starts off as one of brienne’s bullies who even makes a bet about taking her maidenhead when she’s part of renly’s entourage. per the popular trope, ofc the idiot ends up playing himself. his “mock” wooing of brienne turns into actual wooing, cuz he catches feelings, but it’s played very subtle and brienne still thinks he’s just trying to fool her. by book 4 he’s following her around, trying to help her, he fights by her side and stays with her, trying to keep her safe, BEING SECRETLY IN LOVE WITH HER I MEAN THE DUMBASS LITERALLY ASKS FOR HER HAND IN MARRIAGE AND WHEN SHE SAYS NO HE PRETENDS HE ONLY DID IT BECAUSE SHE’S A HIGH-BORN LADY LIKE PUUUUHLEASE WE ALL KNOW YOU MEANT IT. and all the while you know it’s kind of doomed because brienne only has eyes for jaime, let’s be real. but i have a feeling that, in the event that jaime dies and brienne survives to the end of the series (which is very likely), she might end up with hyle who does honestly seem to love her and would make her happy. like maybe they’re setting him up as substitute (kind of like tormund/brienne on the show, i guess?) BUT ANYWAY. THESE TWO.

OG ships i don’t actively ship anymore but i am still fond of:

tywin/arya - i still totally think that arya stark would have paradoxically made a FANTASTIC lady lannister, but i ship it mainly in the show version where she’s aged up and they actually interact

sandor/arya - have a soft spot for an ambiguous, not quite romantic, not quite friendly bond between them (i mean i wrote fic too)

ned/cersei - i loved the idea of their arranged marriage, of ned having to step in and marry her after the sacking in king’s landing in order to appease tywin. there are some excellent fics based on this premise and i totally recommend because this dynamic is surprisingly rich.

ships that have snuck up on me over the years (mainly thx to fandom):

jon/sansa - really, the fandom has convinced me they could work and they make for an interesting dynamic, especially on the show where jon is sadly…not a very interesting guy but seems to have some edge when he interacts with sansa

jon/missandei - again, folks on tumblr made me realize how amazing this obscure pairing would be. they’re kind of perfect for each other when you think about it and i am writing oneshot

sansa/dany - that chemistry tho! the show is playing them off as adversaries and there is sufficient reason for sansa to be wary of the dragon queen, but i love AUs where they fall in love and the tension between them becomes something else *wink wink*

jaime/arya - fanfic & fandom have sold me on it, especially the show version. i’d add jaime/sansa here, though i think he’d have a bit more chemistry and push and pull with arya (it would be a different version of j/b if you think about it)

ramsay/sansa - gasp! but lemme explain. i always thought that if d&d really wanted to do the jeyne poole plot for theon’s sake and complete sansa’s training in the Vale, the best way to do this would’ve been to show her subtly manipulating ramsay in exactly the same way margaery manipulated joffrey in s3. imagine the parallels! i mean after s4 where we saw sansa walk down the stairs in that goth/sith dress i thought, okay! she’s gonna use her feminine wiles! we’re gonna see her in action! and then she just gets grossly traumatized for no conceivable reason except #shockvalue. imo, they could’ve shown ramsay’s brutality and also sansa’s abilities by having her play into his fantasies and try to skillfully win him over. gods i would’ve loved that shit. and at the end she could’ve still escaped with theon. ANYWAY maybe i’ll write fic

barbrey dustin/petyr baelish (books only) - some of the p/s shippers got me on this one. their backstories have an eerie echo. they both love and hate the starks, barbrey was supposed to marry brandon stark, petyr was almost killed by brandon and brandon also “stole” his love, catelyn. barbrey was jealous of catelyn and claimed brandon loved her (barbrey) and took her maidenhead. so you have two people who essentially wanted the same thing and were fucked over by the same arranged marriage. it’s so complex and cool and there are so many layers you can explore. she’s also scheming and crafty and has a wicked sense of humor, like can you imagine the interactions.

sansa/stannis - there are some AMAZING fics out there where this pairing actually makes a lot of sense, a la richard iii wanting to marry his niece, elizabeth of york. think for instance of him winning the battle of blackwater (as a parallel to the battle of bosworth between richard iii and henry vii) and stannis deciding to marry her to solidify his rule and to also bring the north into the fold. i also love fics where sansa is a little older and ned arranges the marriage between her and stannis. like i said, it’s the fic that rly brought me here

[oceanmastertrash]

the tides know our names- 14/?

Summary:   After losing the throne to his brother Orm is working with Arthur to try to help Atlantis move forward. A few months after this Elara, part of an ancient order of prescient Atlanteans known as Tidewatchers, has a vision of Orm’s death. Predicting and reading the future through the tides of fate has never been easy but Elara is in for the challenge of a lifetime working with her former king to save his life.

Part: 14/?

Word Count: 4,057

Warnings: action and violence

Read on Ao3 

start from the beginning

“I still don’t like this,” He finally sighed, returning her gaze once more. “But I’ll trust you to get us out of this.”

-

Elara did her best to hide her surprise and gratitude. She could tell this was not an easy feat for him and she wanted so very much to make sure he knew she didn’t take this for granted. She wanted nothing more than to bask in this moment, in this very high compliment of his trust but there wasn’t time for that.

She couldn’t help but smile only a little at him as she did her best to move forward with their discussion, “Okay, so we’re reasonably sure that he’s after you, but since we’re not sure how  he’s tracking us, we’ve got to come up with some sort of way to lure him to where we want him to go.”

“You’re suggesting one of us lead him away and the other be waiting to attack him?” He clarified. If he was going to go along with this ludicrous proposal he wanted to be sure they did it right.

“Exactly. But I could use your help fine-tuning it, you’re better at this sort of strategizing than I am.”

She was flattering him and he knew it, no doubt trying to soften the blow of him agreeing to her idea or perhaps thank him for trusting her. And while what she said was true, she wasn’t exactly useless in such strategizing. With her knack for patterns and predictions she had skill all her own.

He leaned forward, shooting her an almost teasing look, “Let me guess, you think you should be the one to lead him to the ambush?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, “Yes, because it would be foolish to have the injured tidewatcher be the one attacking instead of the seasoned warrior.”

He just barely kept an eye roll contained. She was laying it on thick but he didn’t mind as much as he should.

“Alright, I think the key here is both to distract and mislead him enough so he doesn’t notice it’s just you he’s tracking while finding a more advantageous spot for an ambush of our own. Think you can sense that from here?”

She cocked her head, “That’s not the traditional use of the tides but it’s worth a shot.”

She closed her eyes and Orm couldn’t help but stare at her, trying not to second guess his decision to trust her. He wanted her to be right and wanted this to work out but he didn’t want her to get hurt even worse. She was one of the strongest and smartest people he knew but there are somethings that just came down to chance and chance could never be trusted.

Elara looked to him again, “I think I’ve got something.”

The cave system led out to series of cliffs and winding paths down to shore. If Elara could get back above the cave system onto the forest floor proper, she could stand a better chance at attracting the attention of the tracker. Meanwhile, Orm could continue through the caves to the cliffs and attack the man from there. Orm also comforted himself that if he heard any explosions or signs of a fight from up above he could climb out of the caves and come to Elara’s aid. It wasn’t a perfect plan but it would have to do.

They found a smaller section of cave ahead of them where the roof was much lower and there were ledges that Elara could could ascend to get up above. Wariness was seeping through Orm as he ran through the plan in his mind again, looking for any way to better guarantee success but he knew they’d already done the best they could. All that was left was to act before they lost their window for surprise.

Orm just couldn’t shake this sense of dread at them splitting up. While it wasn’t especially productive, he felt responsible for her and could only assume that it was a hold over from being king. As king, he’d been responsible for the safety and well being of a whole kingdom but since his flight from Atlantis, his purview of citizenry had been reduced to a kingdom of one. Travelling with Elara was nothing like ruling a kingdom and he would be a fool to try to command let alone rule someone like Elara, but that compulsion to protect had not gone away. Right now, that impulse was especially strong considering she was only up here in harm’s way on his behalf.

He knew that this was their best shot at getting out of this scrape but he wasn’t sure what he would do if something serious happened to her when he wasn’t there to watch her back. As a ruler and a warrior, he’d always prided himself for his ability to distance himself from his emotions to make the hard calls. And yet, doing the same now was harder than it should be.

Elara, meanwhile, was rechecking her bandages which Orm had expertly dressed, and feeling out their path and plan in the tides for any last minute adjustments. She was confident in her decision and in her plan but the execution of it was still daunting. She and Orm had left behind their people when they’d left Atlantis, and something in Elara resisted the idea of splitting from Orm. It felt like once they separated, she’d be truly alone. Elara had to take a breath to steady herself. She had to believe in herself, in Orm, and in the tides to see them through.

She looked to Orm now, trying not to overthink things. He met her gaze calmly and gave her a small nod, as if to reinforce his trust in her. He trusted her enough to believe they could get through this. It was a small thing, but it helped. It made her feel like, even if they were not going through this next bit of their journey together, he was with her in this struggle.

“Give me a boost?” She asked him, tilting her head up to the hole in the roof. There was no point in asking if he was ready, they had to be.

He knelt down, making  a cradle with his hands to give her a step up. She put her foot in place and then grabbed onto his shoulders to leverage herself up, she then very slowly, careful of her injured side, stepped from his hands to the next ledge up. Once his hands were free, he extended one against the small of her back to keep her from tilting back while he held the other out in case she started to tip.

Cautiously she climbed the small rocky outcropping until she stood on the forest floor, looking down to see Orm down below. She wanted to tell him to be safe but worried he might find it condescending, instead she just raised a hand in farewell and said, “See you soon.”

He nodded, swallowing down anything else he might say and simply repeated her, making it sound more like a promise. “See you soon.”

Elara gazed down at him for another few seconds before straightening her back and turning away from the hole to begin her trek to the ambush spot. They needed to be quick about things now.

Following suit, he turned to follow his own path in the tunnels, careful to make as little noise as possible, finding small comfort in hearing the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs as Elara made her own way up above. For the first part of the journey, he could walk roughly parallel to her and could hear if anything went wrong but in some places the tunnels veered away and deeper under the surface.

Orm could still see because he was used to seeing in the depths of the ocean, but he didn’t linger long enough to make any comparisons between the two. He was swift and efficient, prioritizing speed over everything else. This risky plan would only work if he either kept pace with Elara up above or beat her to the rendezvous point. His tactical mind was always planning several steps ahead and prone to envisioning the worst so that he could plan around it but he was very careful to keep those possibilities out of his mind’s eye.

He couldn’t properly strategize what he would do if he was too late but it wasn’t something he could wrap his head around and still be productive. Following his earlier advice to Elara, he just focused on his breathing as he navigated the winding path she’d laid out for him. He’d worry later.

Elara, meanwhile, was having perhaps more difficulty with her path through the constantly changing and rocky terrain due to her side constantly hitching and stinging with the exertion. The one benefit to their plan was that she didn’t have to worry about how much noise she made. In fact, it was best if she attracted some attention.

The tides gave no indication of pursuit but they had a different energy than she’d felt throughout the rest of the day. Earlier all she’d been able to feel was an angry, uncomfortable buzzing. The tides had been oppressive and intent on making her aware of the threat, but now, while they still hummed and remained taut with the presence of the hunter, it felt less threatening. And that, abstract as it may be, enforced to her that she’d made the right call with this plan. The swells of the tide felt more manageable and it made her feel like they could get through this.

As their paths diverged she found herself latching onto Orm’s tides as she felt him on his own path. She tried to tell herself it was just a precaution but there were nerves there that were hard for her to name.

If this had been a week ago when they’d first come to the surface, she might have expected him to make a beeline for the ocean and return to Atlantis, but she didn’t fear that from him now. He seemed to show real concern and even at times, a deference for her gifts. She liked to imagine that he might care for her but even if that wasn’t the case, he was smart enough not to try to go his own way in this situation, especially considering how against the idea of splitting up he had been. No, they would find each other again.

Even as she thought this, she felt the tight thread of their attacker pulse with his approach. She quickened her pace, it would not do for him to catch up before she was at the appropriate point. Orm seemed to be right on track, but she had to speed up.

Elara’s main concern was that she could sense the approach of the attacker but she couldn’t be completely sure if he was following her or Orm and it was difficult to narrow in on that particular pattern while maintaining her current speed. She let everything go except focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and the tides around her. In this focused manner she could feel the intent of their pursuer and tried to use that to hone in on their location. This, again, wasn’t the traditional use of the tides but sort of a variant of the battle tides Zult had taught her.

And there, there he was, following her progress and closing in. The tides showed that the man had caught her trail would probably catch up with her in less than five minutes. But that was too soon! She didn’t think she’d get to the cliffside rendezvous point for another ten minutes. She dropped the thread of the tides and put all of her efforts into increasing speed. If she could just get their faster, maybe Orm would hear the commotion if she was attacked.

With this in mind, feeling the tension getting tighter around her, she thought of one other option though it was a long shot. Tidewatchers could communicate by mentally manipulating the tides around them and sending images or feelings to other Tidewatchers. If this had been A’bree or Calysa, she wouldn’t have hesitated but she wasn’t sure if Orm would even feel it or know what it meant if she tried to send him a message the same way. Back when she was a novice and first instructed in this way, it had felt exceptionally foreign and hard to pick up in the beginning. It was a skill that had to be honed meticulously through extended awareness in the tides and how their patterns naturally flowed.

Only because they’d had such a heightened awareness and prolonged exposure to each other did Elara even think it stood half a chance. She kept it simple, focusing more on emotions like urgency and danger and then wrapped them around the image of where she saw the attacker catching up with her and then sent them down the tides to Orm. She kept up that routine while running until her side ached. Her injury begged her to slow down but she had to give herself every chance she could for this to work.

She’d been at this grueling pace for a few minutes when she heard the crashing behind her and knew she was almost out of time. She scanned the forest around her for any coverage she could find. The terrain had become hilly and pocked with boulders in places where the tunnel system met the forest floor. She couldn’t hope to make it to the original ambush spot but she could at least make herself less of an easy target. Ducking behind the boulders, she pulled her knives from her boots and strategized.

She covered what distance she could, trying to stay out of view while constantly sending her message along the tides to Orm. The crunching of the underbrush grew louder until she no longer felt like she could risk leaving the cover of the trees and rock formation she was leaning against. Like it or not, this was gonna be where she had to make the most of things. About 12 feet ahead of her was a sudden opening to the caves beneath which would be her goal for her plan. It was a bit of a drop, about 20 feet so she had a reasonable chance of injuring or delaying him if she could throw him in there.

A slight rustle on the other side of her cover told Elara her time was almost up. She focused on her location and her connection to Orm, this time sending the word “hurry” down the line and prayed he could interpret what she’d sent. She adjusted her grip on her blades and tensed for the fight. Then he was there, a man all in black, passing right beside her with his large, unwieldy cannon, his eyes fixed ahead, searching for her. She did not wait.

Elara leapt for the man, and used her one chance at surprise to rip the cannon from him and toss it as far as she could behind them. Then she swung a dagger with her other hand. She may have stripped him of his weapon but he was far from helpless and blocked her knife easily enough.  

She tried again with the other blade and managed to graze his arm before he knocked her back. She stumbled against the rock she’d hid behind but was quick to launch herself off it, aiming to move them closer to the hole.

The shock wearing off, and showing anger at the wound, the man switched to the offensive. It was only through the tides that she was able to keep up with him. She wasn’t especially short but he had several inches on her and with her exhaustion, she could feel the disadvantage more. She’d been trained to use her size to an advantage against large adversaries and she would be using every trick in the book she had. At least he wasn’t so very large. While tall, he was lean, but also built and knew how to fight.

He was quick to catch one of her knives mid-strike and wrest it from her. She allowed him to push her back by several feet because it took them closer to the pit. She tried to keep aware of the small hole behind her, lest she fall in it herself, but it was all she could do to keep up with him. She was worn out already from her hurried trek here and her side burned with each strike and dodge. If the man was tired from his pursuit of them at all, he didn’t show it. His blows were relentless and while she avoided several, he still got in several good hits.

He swung with her knife to her right and while she was able to block it, he surprised her with a sucker punch to the left, hitting her right where the splinter had struck. Air gusted out of her and she couldn’t help her wince of pain.

She didn’t know if he’d known about her injury before but from the way his eyes lit up as he saw blood begin to seep through the bandage, he certainly did now. In any other situation she would have sighed. She didn’t need to be a tidewatcher to know this was going to hurt.

He was a skilled fighter and his strength and size were enough to nearly overwhelm her. She tried her best to protect her side but he still got in another good punch. Her only consolation was they were getting closer to the cave opening but with each strike dealt and dodged, she began to worry she wouldn’t have the strength to get him down there without falling in herself.

They were probably 5 feet from the hole when, while attempting to dodge a vicious kick from the man, Elara stepped back only to lose her footing on the uneven terrain and fall to the ground, sending the knife she had left, flying from her grip. The man made for her with his blade so Elara made a quick roll out of the way, dislodging rocks around her. One rock skittered and fell straight in the hole.

His eyes followed the movement and seemed to finally notice the pit, his eyes narrowed and then fell on Elara with vicious anger as he seemed to grasp her plan. He brought his foot up as if to stomp on her and she clenched her fists and held her bent arms in front of her and, grunting, shoved his foot back with the backs of her forearms.

The action temporarily threw him off balance enough for her to scramble to the side, sitting up from where she’d fallen. She made to sweep his legs out from under him to bring him to her level. He barely sidestepped her kick but was knocked a bit closer to the pit with the move. Before she could try again, he dove for her again with her knife. Using her angle to her advantage, she struck him in the wrist from below and he lost his grip on the knife, sending it up and out of reach. It was too far to be of use to either of them now but at least she’d managed to keep him from using it. They were hardly evenly matched as they were but it helped to tilt the scales just a little bit more in her favor.

Barely deterred by the loss of the dagger, her then brought his arm down on her shoulder. She barely managed to remain sitting but was too distracted by the pain to search the tides for his next move. He continued his lunge with both his hands extended. Before she could block, his hands were around her neck. Her hands scrambled at his, but could find no purchase against his gloves.

“Where is he?” the man finally spoke, grunting as he held her.

Some distant part of her brain commented on the stupidity of starting an interrogation while choking her, but the majority of her was focused more on staying alive.

She made no effort to answer him. Even if she did have full use of her respiratory system, she wouldn’t breathe a word about where Orm was to this brute.

His grip was of steel as she choked and gasped against his grip. She then made to claw at his face, but he was too tall and his arms too long for her to reach his eyes. Finally, her vision beginning to swim, she brought her knee up as hard as she could against his groin.

Finally, he faltered, wincing. It was enough for her use her other leg to kick one of his legs loose, knocking him to the ground beside her. Elara barely had time to catch her breath as the attacker fell. Winded and aching as she was, Elara held no illusion that she could knock him into the cave at this point, she just had to get away from him.

She turned over, crawling blindly forward before trying to stand. The man recovered quickly however and grabbed hold of her ankle, dragging her back down.

She tried to kick back behind her but he avoided it quickly enough and was soon upon her, shoving her onto her back roughly. And then he was on top of her, one arm crossed across her shoulders to keep her down and his knees restraining her legs, lest she try kicking again.

Her hands scrambled at his arm as he brought his free hand down on her injured side. She yelled in pain.

“Where is he?” The man repeated.

She responded by trying to punch him before he moved to hold both her hands down.

“Where is Aquaman?” he shouted, clearly frustrated.

That made Elara pause in confusion, croaking out, “Wait, what?”

The attacker never got a chance to elaborate as he was suddenly thrown off of her. And there was Orm, punching him squarely in the face.The man made to sucker punch Orm in the gut but Orm dodged it with ease. Elara’s sense of the tides was lessened by her weakened state but she could have sworn she detected a storm of rage radiating off of Orm.

Through a combination of fatigue from his bout with Elara and Orm’s strength of battle prowess, the attacker’s reactions were more sluggish, barely blocking or landing any hits against Orm.  He leaned back, looking like he was winding up for a strike but Orm beat him to the literal punch, landing a hit right in the man’s face.

Blood blossomed from the man’s nose and before he could recover, Orm hit him hard in the stomach, effectively winding him before landing another face punch. Elara could see the exact moment consciousness left the man, a second before he swayed and fell to the ground, unconscious.

Careful of her injuries, she sat up and just stared at Orm, some emotion she couldn’t name filling her. He turned slowly to look down at her, holding out a hand to help her up.

Taking his hand, she couldn’t stop her voice from cracking, both from feeling and pain as she said, “You came.”

He pulled her up swiftly and surely, the motion only straining her side slightly. Once standing, she didn’t think, she just stepped forward and hugged Orm. He tensed immediately in surprise but, as her arms wrapped around him, she could feel it as he relaxed into her before, hesitantly, he brought his arms up to return the embrace.

She wanted to ask if he’d heard her through the tides, wanted to say how scared she’d been, but instead she just whispered against his shoulder, “Thank you”

He tightened his hold on her just slightly as he said, “You’re welcome.”

Author’s Note: So sorry this one took so long. I’m so bad at writing fight scenes so it was a struggle. Logistics are hard y’all. Anyway, many thanks and hugs if you’ve made it this far on this journey. Comments are love!

[savannacentralperk]

Just Can’t Wait...

“Ok!”

Nick looked up from his video game to where his mother stood in his doorway. She stood dressed in her scrubs and smelling slightly of disinfectant. Leaning against the frame, she crossed her arms and waited for Nick to focus his attention on her.

“Game plan for the next few days,” she began. “There was a major accident in Tundra Town and they need extra paws. So, I’m going to be there for a week helping in Tundra General.”

Nick’s jaw dropped as a thought hit him.

“So… Greg is in charge?” He flopped back onto the floor with an exasperated sigh. Last time Greg was left in charge, he was tyrant.

“Nope!” He raised his head a bit to look at her, wary of her smirk. “Your brother just left today for a camping trip. He won’t be back until next week.”

With an excited grin he shot up to a sitting position, paws clasped together with hope. “So, I get the house to myself?”

At that, Vivian burst out laughing. Her son’s expression dropped as he watched her, turning into annoyance as she continued to laugh.

“After picking you up how many times from the precinct?” She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. “Yeah, not happening!”

“So where am I going?”

Vivian raised her brows and smiled, amused by Nick’s confused expression. He just stared at her until the answer dawned on him. “No.” She laughed again. “Mom! NO!”

“Sorry, baby,” was her reply, not sounding sorry at all. “But you’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you alone in my house.”

“Mom!” He whined as she left his room still smiling, with him right on her heels. “Skye can be worse than Greg. And she always wants to paint my claws and mess with my fur. I don’t like staying with her.”

“I thought you loved your sister.”

“I do, but there’s a limit to how much a glitter a mammal can take. And she never paints them the colors I want!”

Opening the fridge and pulling out lunch supplies, the vixen just laughed again.

“Yes, yes, sweetheart. Your life is so hard, being surrounded by mammals who love you.” She smirked as she pulled an apron over her head as she gestured to the veggies on the counter. “Wash these, please.”

With a groan, he obliged, rolling his eyes as he brought them to the kitchen sink. His mom accepted each veggie piece by piece, Nick silently fuming until he realized a very important fact: Skye had Jack and work to distract her. Meaning he would have more time to spend with Judy. There would have to be nights Skye would have to stay late and he and Judy would be free from helping, leaving them unsupervised…

“And whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it.”

Ears flushed hot as they laid back against his head. Looking over to him mom, who smirked at him with a knowing look in her eyes, he felt himself blush harder.

“Your sister is under strict instructions to chaperone you and Judy the entire time you’re together.” Her smirk turned into a grin as Nick huffed and shut off the water. “And I plan on meeting her soon, by the way.”

“How soon?” he asked nervously.

“Like this afternoon soon. I’m walking you to the cafe for your shift.”

A sudden thought kept the terror of that statement from forming.

“You haven’t met Jack yet, have you?”

“Your sister’s boss? Not yet.” Nick stared at his mother in surprise. Feeling his eyes on her, Vivian looked up in confusion. “What?”

With a shake of his head, he smiled at her. “Nothing.”

Eyes now suspicious, the vixen went back to making lunch for the two of them. And as he helped her, Nick felt a strange glee. Skye hadn’t told their mother about her favorite part of her new job yet. There had been no mistaking either of their intentions towards each other. That information would be very useful…

With a calculating smile, the todd spent the rest of his time imagining being close to his bunny for a week. And what a great week it was going to be.

……………

“Gid, touch the dial again and you’re walkin’.”

The todd scowled at his sister in the driver’s seat before slumping against his own. He had already been trapped in this car for an hour. Daisy had kept the music poppy and obnoxious, singing in her horrible singing voice and dancing in her seat because she knew it would annoy him.

“I’m tryin’ to remember a time in my life I hated you more,” he grumbled. His sister just laughed and turned the music up more. “Dais, we listened to this song four times already! Can we PLEASE change it up?”

“Sorry!” Daisy continued to dance and drive, one claw pointed to her ear as she shook her head. “Can’t hear you, Gid! Music’s too loud!”

“Then turn it down!”

“TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!”

Gideon groaned again, tugging his ears some to try and block out some of the sound.

Just think of Sharla, he thought. Just think of Sharla…

After watching the pretty ewe get the highest score on Free Throw, they decided the next best thing was to race each other on the motorcycle game. She was the victor once more, something he found he didn’t mind at all. His consolation prize was a long, tight hug from the pretty black sheep that filled his nose with the scent of fresh, sweet hay. It was then Gideon came up with the plan to lose to her as often as possible.

He wasn’t thrilled to be leaving Bunnyburrow so far ahead of schedule. His visit to Zootopia was supposed to be for the coming weekend, but his sister had the opportunity to meet some of her professors at ZSU and their parents capitalized on that. It was decided that the two of them would go to the city and stay with their aunt, while Daisy ran around her new campus and Gideon got to see his best friend.

As excited as he was to follow Judy’s brother Jack and explore Zootopia, he was just as eager to stay back and spend as much time with Sharla as possible. Especially considering she would be leaving for camp the day after he got back. Life could get really unfair sometimes.

The music being lowered caused him to snap back from reality. A peek out the window saw them pulling into a gas station and stopping at a pump.

“Hungry?” Daisy asked as she unbuckled. “My treat.”

With a smile, Gideon followed, thinking maybe his sister wasn’t all that bad. Daisy got out of the car, still dancing and singing under her breath. Stretching before following her lead, the young todd pulled his phone out as he crossed the station towards the mini mart attached to it. He was so engrossed in responding Sharla’s latest text, Gideon didn’t even notice the other car blaring music as it sped up to one of the pumps.

The screech of tires made the todd jump in alarm, his fur on end and eyes wide as the car full of older males laughed.

“Hey, watch where you’re going little buddy!” called a heavy-set badger from the driver’s seat.

A meerkat, ferret, and fox slowly filed out of the car while the badger popped the gas tank. Gideon glared at the group, though he was slightly surprise to see the other red fox todd smirking over at him.

“Yo, Wilde!” The fox looked over to the badger pumping gas, catching the wallet tossed at him. “Peanut butter cups and the largest soda they got.”

Wilde winked and gave a lazy salute before continuing to the mart. Gideon shook his head at the situation and followed after them. A quick scan around store saw Daisy missing from the aisles. With a shrug at the restroom door, he headed for the candy, and, to his irritation, the other todd was there.

He grinned over at younger fox, his eyes a lighter blue than Gideon’s. “Sorry for scaring you, fox.” Wilde snatched a pack of peanut butter cups and coconut almond candies. “We were never going to hit you, so don’t be mad at us.”

Gideon turned his attention to the selection with a frown. “I don’t know why y’all had to speed up like that,” he grumbled.

“Oh c’mon!” the older todd argued with laugh. “It was a harmless, little joke! I have a brother your age who would have laughed at it.”

“He would have laughed at almost gettin’ run over?”

“Who almost got ran over?” Daisy danced up and smiled at her little brother, a new pair of sunglasses propped on her top of her head and can of sweet tea in her paw. A pack of gummies were grabbed from the shelf before she danced past, her paw ruffling Gideon’s head as she did. “Shake a leg, Gid. We’re burnin’ daylight. Travis, darlin’!” she called to the weasel behind the counter. “I need ten on pump two, please.”

Rolling his eyes, a pack of sour strings were chosen before deciding to add a soda to his order. Wilde gave a low whistle, his own sunglasses pulled down as he eyed Daisy’s retreating form.

Gideon scowled at him, feeling offended on Daisy’s behalf.

“You know her, kit?”

The teen scoffed. “And they say you city mammals are smart.”

Wilde didn’t even acknowledge the comment. “Damn! They grow ‘em nice in the country.”  

Gideon looked at him in disgust before leaving for his drink. Wilde, on the other paw, smoothed the fur on his head, brushed his shirt out, tucked his sunglasses into his collar, and sauntered up to Daisy. She stood off to the side as his friends paid, chatting with Travis while she waited for her brother. His friends wagged their eyebrows at Wilde as he leaned up on the counter. With a wink to them, he schooled his face in his most winning and dashing smile.

It was not without a little envy that Gideon watched him approach his sister with such confidence. He couldn't help but wonder where every other todd in the world learned to charm those that caught their attention.

And not just todds. Daisy herself was a natural flirt. Travis was one of many males who fell under her spell, so Gideon didn’t blame Wilde for giving it a shot. His sister never went further than just few honied words and a batting of her lashes, but it was enough for way more males than should be allowed. And more often than not, it helped her get her way. Most of the time, Gid wondered if his sister was a bunny in a fox coat.

Daisy and Travis paused their conversation when they realized Wilde was leaning against the counter, watching her as he waited patiently to be noticed. Frowning, the vixen met his eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I sure do hope so.” A paw was held out to her, the smile on his muzzle bright as he made his voice drop to what she was sure he thought of as a seductive drawl. “I’m not from around here and I was hoping to find something pretty enough to keep me coming back. I was positive I was gonna to be let down... Until now.”

The paw he had been shaking was gripped a bit tighter, the vixen gently pulled towards him. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m Greg. Greg Wilde.” He gave her a wink and looked her up and down. Her eyebrows raised, unimpressed at his attempt. “And you are?”

Daisy simply sighed and moved away, tugging her paw free. Using it to pull her wallet out, some bills were tossed on the counter to Travis.

“Keep the change, darlin’.” She pushed off the counter and beckoned towards Gideon walking to the register. “C’mon, Gid, honey. Aunt Marian is expecting us and we’ve dawdled long enough.”

Without another word or glance to Wilde, the two foxes left for their car. He watched Gideon hop into the passenger seat while the vixen headed for the pump. Her sunglasses were flipped over her eyes as she selected her fuel.

With a grin, he tossed money onto the counter and took off after her.

“Hey!” he called out as she finished filling the tank. Looking over her glasses, her blue eyes watched him run up, coming to a stop just a few steps away from the car. “I didn’t get your name.”

She gave him a mockingly sad look and clicked her teeth. “That’s ‘cause I never gave it to you, sugah.” The sunglasses were lowered a bit further and a wink was tipped at him. “Ciao!”

Gideon guffawed as she took her place in the driver’s seat. Music blasting as the car was turned on, the vixen peeled out of the gas station, making Wilde jump back in surprise; one paw was laying on the horn as the two foxes whooped and hollered out the open windows. The noise was cut as a perfect, fiery red paw shot out the window in a wave to him as they vanished into the distance.

Eyes wide open and heart racing, Greg stared after them. He had been turned down plenty of times, but never with such style.

“Ha-ha, Wilde!” The meerkat in the passenger’s seat hung out the window as the badger laughed and pounded the steering wheel.

“Greg got dismissed!” All three mammals cackled as he climbed into the back seat.

The fox reclined back, passing the badger his candy. “I still get more tail than any of you assholes.” He pulled his sunglasses on and propped his arm out the opened window. “Besides, plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Hey, Greg?” He looked over to his friend in the driver’s seat. “My soda?”

“What soda?” was Greg’s response as he fished the wallet from his pocket and tossed it up to him.

With a grumble, the badger started the car and continued on to their campsite. Greg smiled as he thought about the vixen. They really did grow them nice in the country.

……………..

Jack was humming to himself as he piped the edge work on his latest cake.

The grin wouldn’t leave his face and his good mood was oddly contagious. Judy was bouncing around, the pair of them singing random bits of songs. It was still busy, thanks to Fru Fru Big making sure everyone in Zootopia knew where to go for the best coffee and desserts in the city. And through it all the buck had never felt happier.

But even he knew Skye needed a break. So, today she was free from work - though it took everything Jack had in him to not call her in. Skye had been working from opening till close nearly every day that week. As much as she liked him, the rabbit was fairly certain she would snap if not given some breathing room. Though, the fact that they hadn’t stopped texting each other all day said a lot.

She was keeping him updated throughout her day, sending him pictures of the various activities that kept her preoccupied. It was huge consolation to know he would be seeing her that night for the Small Business Seminar. Not quite the first date he wanted to have with her, but he was still excited about it.

“There!” He stepped away from the cake and gave the side he’d just worked on a critical look over. Turning the cake stand it was on, his eyes scanned for mistakes and flaws. Satisfied it was as close to perfect as it could get, he and Jon lifted it onto the larger bottom piece and packaged it away.

“Ok,” began the buck as he massaged his stiff paws, “I gotta do a lap. You gonna be ok if I step out for a minute, Jonny?”

“You know I will be, boss!” The raccoon grinned before picking up the pile of orders and leafing through them.

With another sigh of relief, Jack headed out of the kitchen, stretching his back out, not noticing the truck pulling up in front.

The buck was making a pass over the lobby when he spotted a familiar face walking up to the door. Having arranged for a delivery of produce from his parents while he was in Bunnyburrow, he had naturally assumed Tom would be the one to drop them off. He was a bit more open minded and tended to try to get along with everyone. Next to Jack, he was the more adventurous one out of the older Hopps kits. Even if he never wanted to leave the farm.

Jack wasn't expecting Maple to be the one to drop off his supplies. And he wasn’t expecting her to storm in, proverbial guns blazing, her hazel eyes narrowed in on him. The doe stomped up to Jack, not acknowledging the hellos from Lucian and Sandra, and smacked him across the face. A collective gasp came from the customers sitting or waiting to order. Jack dropped his towel, and reached up to clutch at his cheek.

“What the FUCK, Maple?” he shouted in anger, only to receive another painful slap in reply across the other side of his face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.

Seeing their boss in trouble, Sandra and Kari rushed to him with Lucian, Bobby, and Jon not far behind. The three predators snarled, causing the doe to jump back a few paces. Maple eyed them with distrust before her gaze moved to Judy. Her little sister had her attention on Jack as she gently pushed past the vixen. With a cry of alarm, the older doe hopped towards her and snatched Judy up in her arms.

“Stay away from her!” snarled Maple as she dragged her little sister away.

The look of hurt that crossed Kari’s face just made Jack even angrier. Judy was struggling to free herself while Maple tugged her towards the door.

“Maple, will you please stop being such a fucking speciesist idiot?” he demanded as he straightened up and waved away help. “You have a better chance at becoming SpiderBun than any of the predators here hurting you or Judy.”

He met his sister’s angry gaze and stepped towards her. “And right now, you should be more worried about a rabbit attacking you than a predator.”

Judy finally tugged free and darted into Jack’s arms as Maple tried to regain her grip on her.

“Are you ok?” asked the younger doe, looking up at him in worry.

“Of course, I am!” he assured with a laugh and kiss to her forehead. “Maple hits like a bunny.”

“Judy Hopps! You get over here right now!” their sister demanded.

Jack tightened his grip and shielded her from Maple’s view. “Judy, sweetheart head upstairs for me please. I need to have a talk with our sister. Kari, will you go with her, please?”

Reluctantly, the two females broke away from the group while Maple glared at them. Kari wrapped her arms around the small bunny, using her tail to block her from view. Maple’s cold stare followed them as they went up the stairs and vanished into the apartment. She was suddenly jerked from her glowering as Jack stomped over to grab her by the arm and drag her to the back door.

“Jon, will you set up a tray and start offering everyone in the shop a cookie. Use whatever we have in stock. Sandra, pair it with iced tea, coffee, or lemonade, customer's choice. Lucian, unload the truck, please. I'll be there to help in a moment." Jack's voice was clipped and cold, not sparing his workers a glance as the rabbits vanished into the alley.

Once the back door closed, he practically threw his sister from him in anger and disgust. She faced the buck, her own eyes blazing, matching Jack temper for temper.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“Me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” she countered. “Have you gone completely insane?”

“Asks the bunny who storms into my workplace, assaults me, and insults my workers in front of a room full of customers? What the hell are you doing here anyway?”

“I’m here because I wanted to know how your date with Emma went. I thought I would surprise you two and maybe spend some quality time with my brother and sister and drop off your order. So, when the cafe was closed and no-one answered the intercom, I figured I would treat myself to a drink and just see you two in the morning.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “Imagine my surprise when I walk into the bar, only to see you locking lips with some vixen!”

Jack froze and his expression went blank. “Who I choose to get involved with is none of your business, Maple.”

“But it becomes my business when my baby sister gets involved. How the hell could you have dangerous predators around Judy, Jack? And you went and convinced Sandra to spend all day around them too! You must be out of your gods damn mind!”

“Well excuse me for being more open minded than you! For being able to see past the species and into the mammal that’s underneath.” Jack turned from her and brought his paws up to his face. After a frustrated groan into them, he moved to massage his temples. “You don’t even know her, May.”

Maple frowned at the hint of pleading in his tone. And she couldn’t contain her flinch when he turned to give her a tired look.

“She’s… complicated and funny. And smarter than anyone else I’ve ever met and she makes me feel like I’m the only mammal worth talking to.” He smiled to himself as Skye filled his mind’s eye again. “I really, really like her.”

The bunny doe digested his words with a nod. Sighing she looked him the eye. “That’s exactly what she wants you to think. And to feel. She’s a fox, Jack. Tricking good, honest mammals like you is what she was born for. Don't be so naive to think she's being genuine.”

A step was taken towards her stricken brother, her eyes softening in sympathy.

“Jack, I know it’s hard to hear. But that vixen is using you. And I don’t

want to see you hurt.” Maple felt satisfaction as she watched her brother’s face fall, happy that she got through to him. Only to have him shake his head and turn his back to her.

“You’re wrong, Maple.” He walked to the back door and tugged it open. One last glance was given to the doe. “She’s everything I’ve been waiting for. And you don’t have to like it. Or accept it.” He started to step through before a thought occurred to him. “Go around to the front. Lucien and I will have the truck unloaded in a moment and I’ll let Mom and Dad know I’ll quick pay them their money online.”

“I’m telling them this,” she threatened. He only raised his eyebrows and smirked.

“And I’ll tell them how you earned your spending money in college.” And with another flick of his eyebrows, he vanished, leaving his fuming sister standing alone in the alley.

Jack paused for moment to gather his thoughts when the door closed behind him. Panting, he pinched the bridge of his muzzle and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore his anger and hurt. Breathing deep, he shook his head to clear it and opened his eyes. Walking briskly to the front of the shop, he forced a smile on his muzzle.

“Jack?” came the quiet voice of Judy. He paused and looked up to see her sitting at the top of the stairs.

“I thought I told you to go into the apartment,” he said with a smile.

“You said go upstairs. I’m upstairs,” she replied with a smile of her own. It fell as brother and sister held each other’s gaze. “Are you ok?”

Rounding the railing, he walked up to where she sat and kneeled in front of her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Judy looked at her paws folded in her lap. “I like Skye,” she whispered.

Looking back up at him, she gave a shy smile at his happy expression. “She’s good for you and she respects you. I don’t want you to stop seeing her because of Maple.”

“Hey.” His paws went to frame her face. “No power in this universe can keep me from being with her. Because I like her, too.”

The apartment door opened and Kari poked her head out, looking frantic. “Sorry, boss! I had to use the bathroom and when I came out, she was gone.”

“Don’t worry about that, Kari.” Jack pulled Judy to her feet. “Let’s go get some work done. Sandra is going to need you at the register, Kari. And Judy, help wherever they need you.”

Kari gave a nod as she bounded past the two bunnies, though Judy looked at her brother in curiosity.

“What did Maple do in college?” she asked as Jack turned to follow the vixen.

He paused and grimaced at her. “It’s a really long…  disgusting story that you're way too young to hear.” He grabbed her paw and pulled her along. “Now back to work, Bun-Bun.”

Maple stood off to the side as the buck and grey squirrel unloaded the truck. Though Jack’s ears twitched every few moments as she huffed. It made calling out a greeting to every predator who entered The Perk all the better. Anything to let her know he could care less about her opinion.

The buck smiled his thanks as Lucian accepted the last box from him, watching the grey squirrel vanish through the propped open cafe door.

Though he rolled his eyes at the bratty grunt from his sister. Jaw clenched, Jack turned to face her, finding a sour expression on her pretty face and her arms crossed.

"Thanks for driving all the way up here, Maple," he began coolly, "I really appreciate it."

"And when she breaks your heart and leaves you high and dry with nothing to show for it, don't come crying to me." He shook his head at her expression of stubborn malice. "I'll be too busy laughing."

"Yeah," retorted the buck, "a small army of brothers and sisters and I'm going to run to the one sibling who makes Pop-Pop seem progressive."

Maple studied him for a moment before huffing. "You're an idiot. You really should have just stayed on the farm. No doe is going to want anything to do with you after that slut is done bleeding you dry."

Narrowing his eyes in anger, Jack watched as she turned on her heel and climbed into the cab of the truck. His jaw ached from being clenched as he watched his sister drive away.

"Bitch," he spat out, still glaring at the spot where the family truck had vanished.

There was an abrupt pause in activity when Jack re-entered the cafe. Kicking the door stop aside and sealing the cafe against the hot outside air, everyone stopped what they were doing to glance at him. Realizing he was the center of attention, Jack gave a nervous smile and wave to his audience.

"Bunnies," he said with a shrug. "We're so emotional."

Sandra and Judy giggled, the sound loud enough to break the tension. And it was all anyone needed for the cafe to start moving again. Judy went from customer to customer with a tray of cookies. Kari followed, her own tray loaded with drinks. Jon and Bobby gave their boss concerned glances as the buck accepted his apron back. Watching him retie it with a thoughtful expression, both exchanged concerned looks as he literally wandered back into the kitchen. Jack was silent as he picked his work back up, his thoughts on both his sisters' words.

She likes me, Jack thought as he shuffled through a stack of orders. I know she does…

……………..

“Okay, so what are the rules?” Vivian and Nick were paused at a street light, waiting to walk. Her son huffed and rolled his eyes as his paws adjusted the straps of his backpack.

“Mind my manners, be respectful, no summoning spirits, clean up after myself, don’t tell mammals I’m so happy my sister was able to get herself out of her coffin or that she kicked her drug habit, and don’t advertise tarot readings.”

“Unless…”

“Unless they offer me stupid amounts of money.”

“That’s my todd.” The vixen smiled as they approached the cafe, stepping back to let Nick push the door open. “So, Skye said she’ll meet you at the cafe after your shift, so don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

"Yes, Mom," Nick grumbled as they approached the cafe door.

"And, actually…" she added as he pulled the door open, "don't do anything I would."

Vivian was pleasantly surprised by the cafe. It was busy, but not overwhelmingly so, the line consisting of only three mammals as the rest of the patrons enjoyed their orders. She had expected her daughter to be the only vixen employed so the sight of the pretty corsac on the register was surprise. The cashier gave a quick wave to the two of them before she went back to her customer.

“That’s Kari,” explained Nick as he led her to the counter. “She and Bobby, the bobcat, go to ZSU.”

“And is that Judy?” she asked uncertainly as cream colored bunny doe passed drinks to those waiting. If it was, Vivian was going to have a serious talk with that rabbit about going after someone her own age!

But Nick just laughed. “No, that’s Sandra. She goes the Zootopia School of Technology.”

“‘Bout time you showed up, Slick!”

Both foxes turned to the greeting, the vixen noting how her son’s tail started to happily wag behind him. And she was pleasantly surprised by the sight that greeted her. Standing at least a head shorter than Nick, with big, pretty purple eyes that seemed to light up on him, Vivian accurately deduced the doe was the famous Judy.

“For a second, I though you forgot all about us.” The bunny smiled at Nick, who took a step closer to her.

“Oh, I could never forget you, Carrots.” He gave a shrug and stuffed his paws in his pockets. “I can’t have a cu- sweet little bunny like you get bored.”

“And I’m Vivian, Nick’s mother.” The vixen extended a paw to her, enjoying the way both kits blushed. Her grin grew as the bunny accepted her paw and smiled up at her shyly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wilde,” she greeted politely.

“Oh, please, sweetheart, just call me Vivian.” Pulling her paw free, it went to her purse to tug her wallet free. “And I have something I want to show you.”

Both teens exchanged glances as a picture was pulled from her wallet and passed to Judy. The doe’s face split into a grin when she saw what it was. Her son tensed, before groaning in embarrassment.

“This is Nicky when he was a year old,” Vivian explained moving to stand next to Judy. The little fox kit in the photo sat in just his diaper, facing the camera with one little fist rubbing his eye. “He started walking early, and as soon as he did, decided he wasn’t going to wear his diapers anymore.” Judy burst into laughter as Nick groaned again.

“Mom, please stop!”

Vivian simply smirked at him before turning back to the rabbit. “Every time I turned around, he managed to get out of them. He would run around the house completely naked, laughing and babbling. Took us hours to catch him.”

“Mom!” Nick’s ears were flat against his head as he glared daggers at her. Vivian tucked the photo away and pulled the todd into her arms. “Did you really have to show her that?”

“Did I have to share an embarrassing photo and story of my son with the female he likes?” She pretended to think about it before smiling down at him. “Yes. Yes, I did. And besides,” Vivian leaned towards his ear and lowered her voice to keep Judy from hearing her, “if it keeps you a virgin for the next few years, I’ll be telling that story every time I see her.”

Nick looked up in alarm but his mother merely winked and pulled away.

“Hey!” came a new voice. The vixen turned to see a striped rabbit buck walking from behind the counter. “There you are! I was wondering when you’d get here.”

The buck smiled at the teens before noticing Vivian. “Oh! You must be Mrs. Wilde! Jack Hopps. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He stepped forward with his paw out to shake and a friendly smile on his muzzle.

“And you, too, Mr. Hopps. But please, call me Vivian.”

“Only if you call me Jack,” he countered with a grin.

She shook his paw, thrilled that her daughter found a job with such a friendly mammal. It made her breathe a sigh of relief. And that had her pausing when she smelled something far too familiar. Or rather, someone. Leaning into his space a bit, she sniffed again. Jack’s face became puzzled as she inhaled deeply before she realized who it was she smelled.

“Something tells me we’re going to have a long talk soon, Jack,” she said finally, pulling back with a smile. The buck’s ears drooped as he gulped.

“Right. Yes, ma’am.” He gave a strained smile as the vixen flashed every tooth she had at him.

“All right, baby.” She started turning to Nick. “Have a good week and don’t get into trouble. Judy, I’m counting on you.”

“No pressure or anything,” the doe joked, earning a little nudge from the todd.

Laughing, Vivian marked her son’s ears, causing him to grumble in embarrassment, before heading out with a final wave. Judy was still giggling, though while both males watched the vixen disappear, Nick glaring and Jack with a hint of fear. Giving the doe a slightly annoyed look, the todd looked to her brother and sniffed.

“Yeah,” he began, his expression morphing into a smug smile, “real subtle, Jack.”

Alarmed, the buck looked down at himself and began to sniff. “What? I don’t smell anything!”

Kari, who had a small respite from customers, laughed at that along with Nick and Bobby. Jack frowned as he made his way back to the kitchen, the teens close behind him.

“What is so funny?” he demanded.

“You don’t smell anything because you’re used to it!” Kari explained. “But you smell like Skye.”

“No, I don’t!” Jack argued. Judy leaned forward and gave a curious sniff. He looked at her expectantly and shook his head as she shrugged.

“You totally do,” Nick said gleefully. “You smell just like my sister and you met our mother, completely reeking of her.”

There was an odd stillness that came over Jack as he looked to the young fox. His expression was blank in response to the look of pure joy on Nick’s face.

“Oh, fuck me…” he muttered finally, closing his eyes in mortification.

“I think that’s my sister’s job,” came the cheeky response. He laughed as Jack opened his eyes to scowl at him. “Speaking of, where is she?”

“I gave her the day off.” The buck walked back into the kitchen, pausing at the apron hooks. One was tossed to the todd who was still grinning at him. “Start on the dishes, please, and then see what Jonny needs from you. And Judy-”

“GIDEON!”

Everyone in the cafe jumped up in alarm as a grey blur darted past them, heading to the front door. Jack, Nick, and Jon rushed to the kitchen entrance just in time to see Judy tackle the pudgy fox todd who walked through the door.

Nick’s fur bunched in alarm as the newcomer wrapped his arms around the bunny in a tight hug. The pair laughed and exclaimed in pure delight as he felt jealousy pull a low growl from him. Jack’s ears twitched and he grinned at the todd scowling at Gideon. Still beaming, the new todd set Judy down and playfully winced when she punched him on the arm.

“You jerk!” she teased with a smile. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be here so early!”

“I did so!” came Gideon’s argument. A paw vanished into his pocket and a cell phone was pulled free. Flicking through the messages he turned it to her with a patient look. “See? I messaged you Friday lettin’ you know.” His smile suddenly dropped and his arms crossed as he surveyed her accusingly. “And you never responded.”

Ears dropped as she looked over her shoulder to Nick, who was still eyeing Gideon suspiciously. Realizing she was looking at him, Nick blushed and busied himself with tying his apron on.

“I’ve been…” Nick’s eyes met hers briefly, his heart fluttering as a small smile curled her muzzle and a blush swept her face, “… busy.”

Smirking, Gideon looked from her to Nick. “Busy or distracted?”

“Both,” came Jack’s response. The buck grinned and rolled his eyes at Judy before giving the new todd a hug in greeting. “And you aren’t in the city by yourself, are you?”

All three looked to the door as the bells jingled again. “Naw, Mama and

Daddy ain’t that trustin’.” The vixen who entered ruffled the fur on

Gideon’s head before being tackled by Judy. “Nice to see you too, darlin’!”

“I’ll be darned!” Jack exclaimed with a happy grin. “If it isn’t little Daisy Grey!” Jack brought his paw to his chin as a thoughtful look took over him. “Let’s see… Bunnyburrow High graduated on Monday… My brother, Marco, told me you made valedictorian and got a full ride to ZSU… Which means you’re touring the college this week!”

“Yes, sir, I am.” Daisy smiled as she draped her arm around Judy. “My folks made me take Gid. We’re staying with Aunt Marian while we’re here.”

“You’re here a whole week!” Judy bounced with excitement as she grinned from the vixen to the todd.

“Yay…” came a less than enthusiastic response.

Everyone looked to Nick, who stood just off to the side, paws in his pockets and frowning in discontent. Gideon looked to Judy and smirked again before marching to him with an outstretched paw.

“Gideon Grey.” Cautiously, he shook the offered paw. “And you must be Nick.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked from the friendly todd to the now furiously blushing bunny doe.

“Judy wouldn’t shut up about you,” the new todd explained. “I tell ya, it was the most adorable thing. I ain’t never seen her smitten with anyone before.”

“Gideon!” Judy groaned, tugging her ears over her eyes as Nick looked over at her.

Daisy laughed while Jack rolled his eyes. Gideon released Nick's paw and joined his sister in her laughter.

“You talked about me?” came Nick’s breathless reply.

“She wouldn’t shut up about ya.” Gideon laughed as Judy gave him a death glare from behind her ears.

“Well, I’m glad you both came in today.” Jack interrupted as he turned to Daisy. “Wanna earn some cash tonight? My sitter fell through and I need someone to keep an eye on these two tonight.”

Both Nick and Judy looked at him in alarm.

“What do you mean you need someone to keep an eye on us?” demanded Nick

“We’re not babies, Jack! Where are you going that’s so important?” added Judy.

“Skye and I have a business thing tonight and last time we left you unsupervised, you both got arrested,” the buck explained, making his way back to the kitchen. “Daisy, I can pay you if you can babysit.”

“Love to, Jack, but Aunt Marian has a thing planned for us.” Daisy looked apologetically at the rabbit. "Sorry."

“No worries!" Jack said with a grin. "I can ask Clawhauser. And Gideon, my assistant and I need some help in the kitchen if you’re up for it.” The rabbit winked at the fox, who turned to his sister with pleading eyes. Daisy smiled at her brother and nodded.

“Works for me.” She was about to turn and walk away when she paused and her ears shot. Eyes snapping over to the bunny doe, she pointed a paw at her. “What do you mean, ‘you both got arrested’? Little miss goody two-paws Judy was arrested for somethin’?”

Nick stepped forward and nodded vigorously. “She attacked me. Viciously, too, I might add. Seriously, it should be a crime for how cute it was. That’s why they had to arrest her. Better safe than sorr- OW!”

The todd grinned down at the bunny, rubbing the spot on his arm where her fist had landed.

"I wouldn't have attacked you if you hadn't provoked me," Judy said with a smirk.

"Aww, but you're so cu- adorable when you're provoked." Nick grinned as he took a step closure to her.

Crossing her arms, the bunny doe laughed as Gideon and Daisy looking on with interest.

"Careful, Slick. We both remember what happened in the park." Tilting her head, she gave him a playful wink. "And at camp."

Copying her pose, the todd's tail wagged happily. "Bring it, Carrots." Quick as a flash, his paws shot out to pull her against him as he tickled her sides. Judy exploded into laughter, both teens oblivious to the trio watching.

"Ha! Not so tough now, are you?" demanded Nick with a grin as he hauled Judy closer to him.

"You're cheating!" the bunny cried through laughter, tears streaming down her face as she tried to pull free. "Th-this is no fair!"

"WILDE IS THE VICTOR!" Nick was laughing with her as he continued his assault. Though their mirth petered out at the sound of a throat being cleared.

Still laughing, they pulled apart and blushed as they faced Jack again. The buck eyed them with a bland look, before shaking his head and turning to a stunned Gideon and Daisy.

"And they wonder why I won't let them hang out without a sitter." With a sigh, Jack jerked his head towards the kitchen. "Whenever you're ready, Gid, I got some pretty exciting projects waiting. Nick, dishes please. And Judy, will you go see what Kari and Sandra need? I'm going to head upstairs really quick to grab my other set of fondant tools for you, Gideon. Head to the kitchen and wait for me there. I'll see you later, Daisy!"

Daisy's eyes narrowed on Nick, a thoughtful look crossing her face as she absently waved good-bye to the buck walking towards the stairs.

"I'll see you later, Gid. We have to meet back up with Aunt Marian at six." Daisy's eyes moved from Nick to her brother, who was looking at him with as much curious speculation as his sister.

"Later, Daisy."

Shifting uncomfortably, Nick did as he was told, Gideon falling into step beside him.

"So," Gideon began, "Wilde, huh?"

Furrowing his brow, Nick looked over at him suspiciously. "Yeah, what of it?"

"Nothin'," was the hurried response as the new todd accepted an apron from Kari and followed Nick through the kitchen entrance. Jon looked up from the order stack and gave his normal cheerful wave.

"Have fun, Gideon!" called Judy from the lobby, sparking another flare of jealousy from Nick.

Gideon laughed at Nick's reaction. "Calm down, lover todd. I'm seein' someone. And if I ever wanted to be with Judy, I'd be with her by now. That bunny only has eyes for you."

A flush spread across his body at the statement. Looking at Gideon briefly, Nick looked over his shoulder towards the lobby, pausing in his step. His eyes sought out Judy, smiling as he watched her bounce through the lobby, cleaning and gathering used dishes.

His tail started to wag as he watched her move, dancing to whatever song she had in her head. The doe paused as Jack came back into view and muttered something Nick couldn't quite hear. Both bunnies laughed, Jack's eyes meeting Nick's through the order window, causing the todd to blush and look away. Jack merely smiled and shook his head before continuing to the kitchen.

The buck adjusted his apron and held the fondant tools out for Nick to wash when he realized the kit's attention was back out in the lobby. With the fox's body tense and ears splayed, Jack felt his nose twitch in nervousness.

"You ok, kit?" he asked, Jon and Gideon looking from the order pile up in curiosity.

When Nick didn't answer, everyone followed his gaze.

Judy stood next to a table talking to another todd, this one not much older than Nick, his fur an attractive combination of white, grey, and black. The other three males gave slight winces at the stranger's obvious interest in Judy and looked back at Nick who was growling slightly. Though all signs of aggression were exchanged for obvious shock as they turned back just in time to see the new todd lean over the table, pen in paw. Whatever he had written (and everyone had a good idea of what it was) was passed to her with a charmingly bashful shrug and shy smile.

Turning pink and ears falling down her back, Judy looked down before giving a hesitant nod and small smile of her own.

"Wow…" Gideon whistled, as he watched the new todd shrug (smile still intact) before turning to leave. "Who's that?"

Seeming to sense he was being watched, the stranger scanned the cafe as he leaned against the front door. Smug, golden brown met hostile green, which widened when the other todd grinned and winked at Nick.

"Kody," Nick growled.

He watched Judy look at the paper Kody had given her before crumbling it in her paw. His ears perked a bit as she tossed it into an empty coffee cup still on the table before looking up. Their eyes met before Nick felt himself blush and turn away. Taking a full bus tub to the back, the teen refused to make eye contact with anyone while he prepped the sinks.

But the gentle clatter of dishes had him jolting out of his temporary daze. Forcing a smile, he looked at her.

"Dish delivery," she joked, setting the new tub next to him on the floor.

With a laugh, he nodded at her attempt to lighten the mood. "Thanks. I'll get to it."

Turning back to his task, Nick waited for her to leave, very aware that everyone in the kitchen had also paused to watch. Looking back up, he noticed she hadn't moved.

"What?" he asked, watching her gnaw her lip.

Looking over at her brother, Gideon, and Jon, she looked back at him, opening her mouth to speak only to close it again.

"Good talk," Jon muttered, earning a glare from the doe.

Nick gave a small laugh as she turned to meet his eyes again. Quick as a flash, she jumped up and caught his lips, a paw moving to his cheek to keep him from pulling away. Like that first kiss at the party, the world fell away.

Jack's displeased grumble, Gideon and Jon's teasing whoops, the rapidly filling sinks…

His world was melted and floated away. All there was, was Judy. Giving him his first, real, un-hustled, better-than-fantasy, all-encompassing kiss. But she pulled away much too soon, leaving him so dazed that he fell forward a bit when she did.

With a dreamy mutter, he opened his eyes (never realizing they’d closed) and gave a dopy smile which she returned.

"What was that for?" he asked softly.

Judy shrugged. "No reason."

Both teens blushed at the sound of a clearing throat, turning to see Jack glaring at Nick.

"Not at work, ok, kits?" he said with a roll of his eyes. Passing some fondant to Gideon, he and Jon set about teaching him the basics. "Let's keep this a 'no make out zone'."

"Yeah, Jack." Jon piped up with a grin, looking over at his boss. "No making out at work.”

He was ignored as Judy gave Nick one last shy smile before bouncing back to the lobby. Nick smiled after her, catching Gideon's proud grin before their work resumed. Shutting off the water and sorting through the stack, Nick's eyes landed on a piece of crumpled paper tucked into a coffee mug. Plucking it free and smoothing it out, jealousy didn't rise as he read the note.

**'Call me, gorgeous! Kody 443-737-4821'**

And it was with no small amount of smug, he balled it up and threw it away.

Mine, he thought, grinning as it landed in the trash.

…………..

Emma loved her life.

She had a great job she loved and was kicking tail in. Her family was doing better and learning to talk things out instead of starting wars. She was meeting more mammals and expanding her client base, as well as making new friends.

Sure, her ego stung a bit at Jack's rejection. And it was shocking to see the sort of female he had picked for himself. But this Skye lady seemed smart and nice enough. Something told the doe Jack had met his mate. And for all of her flaws, Emma was big enough to step back and admit she had lost.

Plenty of rabbits in the burrow, she thought wistfully to herself as she walked down the hall to her team meeting.

"Excuse me!" came a slightly harassed voice. Emma turned to see a moving filing cabinet rushing towards her. Amber eyes, watery with exertion, were peeking out from a gap between binders and two black ears stuck up straight from the pile. The cabinet stumbled closer, a few binders and pages coming free falling to the floor. "Oh, dear! Now I've done it."

"Here, let me help you." Emma kneeled to scoop up the things, ignoring how the pile of books and papers lowered themselves so they could be replaced.

Instead, she gingerly removed more of them, stacking them neatly against her hip. A surprisingly handsome face beamed at her in thanks as the now manageable pile was shifted in his paws. Now able to see him better, the doe took in his rumpled white shirt and black tie, paired with nicely pressed black slacks. A pair of wire framed glasses were perched on his head, where a thicker patch of his sleek, black fur grew longer than the rest.

Sighing with relief, the rabbit buck's look turned bashful. "You don't happen to know where conference room A is, do you? I just started and I can't seem to get my bearings."

Still off kilter, courtesy of her new companion, Emma nodded and smiled back. "Follow me. I'm heading there myself."

"Thanks! I think I've been circling this hall, like, five times." He obediently followed her. "I'm Milo. Milo Harreson."

"Emma Longrass." She felt a smile grow larger as he held out an elbow to tap against her own. "Welcome to Paddington Marketing."

"Thanks, Emma." For a moment, the pair walked in silence, until Milo stumbled to a stop with an annoyed expression on his face. "Oh, no. I think I left my glasses in my office."

Laughing, Emma's free paw reached over to knock them from the top of his head to over his eyes.

"Oh!" he exclaimed in surprise. Grinning at her, he nodded. "I like you."

Holding the door open for him, she laughed again as he moved his foot to keep it from closing.

I think I'm going to like you, too, she thought.

[rookie-dm-disasters]

Chapter 15

Morning came in Ravnica. The crew was used to the sound of birds, or the sound of people walking in the streets waking them up. But this morning they were woken up by a sound unfamiliar to them. There was the sound of clanking metal, lightning bolts being fired, and explosions from around the building. They all woke with a start at the jarring noises. They didn’t have time to register the fact that Thorfreyer was now with them before Jace appeared in their room. “Good morning.” He said. “Follow me, please.” They rushed out of their beds and followed Jace, who started to lead them to the top of the tower. “What’s happening?” Said Pumpeck. “There was an explosion. Are we under attack?” She had slept in her armor last night. While she normally took it off to sleep, she was too wary of this place to take it off. Jace raised an eyebrow. “Hm? Oh, that. No worries. Explosions are a common occurrence here. Every member of the guild often works on their own projects, and they pursue them.” He paused, trying to find the right word. “With vigor.” He finally concluded. They reached the elevator and realized the lack of room they had compared to yesterday. They all looked to see what was taking up so much space. “Thorfreyer!” they all yelled in unison. Pumpeck jumped up and clung onto his chest like an armored koala bear. Thorfreyer explained to them all what had happened and how he got there. The shadow monster that he fought alongside Jade, the summoning of the genie to bring Faelyn back to life, and Jace showing up and bringing him to this strange world.  Once he finished his story, he looked at his friends and said, “Where is Nariel?” Niama took charge in answering. “She isn’t here. Something went wrong with the dimensional travel and she was sent somewhere else. We don’t know where.” She gave him the run down on the broken machine and that they would need to fix it before returning home. “Maybe one day we will find her, but we need to focus on getting home first.”  Thorfreyer nodded. He hated that there was nothing he could do for a companion, but they were right. Priority one had to be getting home. The elevator reached its destination at the top floor where they had first met Jace. When the doors opened, the sight before them caused Thorfreyer, Veldora, and Niama to draw their weapons. Sitting before them was a massive red dragon with blue frills around his head. Jace put up a hand to let them know it was nothing to be wary of. “Put your weapons down.” He said. “Niv-Mizzet will not kill you.” The three put their weapons back in their holsters with hesitation. The last time a dragon was involved in anything that they did, an entire kingdom was burned to the ground. Seeing another one had them on edge. “This is the guild leader of the Izzet. He will be letting you know what you need to fix the machine.” Niv-Mizzet nodded at Jace and then addressed the party. “I would first like to extend an apology on behalf of Vik for uprooting you from your homes. However, attaining the materials for the machine the first time was rather labor intensive, and we don’t quite have the time to attain them again. Fortunately, it won’t be too difficult for you all to get them, as there are only three. You will need to get a leaf from the world tree, a rare metal called Alunan, and a spark of flame from the sacred Gruul flame. Good luck.” He arose from where he was sitting and flew out the open roof of the spire. The party tried to yell after him, but he gave no response. Jace looked at the party. “He does that a lot. Anyway, best get you on your way so you can head home.” He started gathering pages on a nearby desk. “I’ll provide all the information you may need to acquire the necessary components.” He scrounged through the pages and found what he was looking for. “Aha.” He walked towards them with a handful of pages. “Which item would you like to go after first?” They looked at Jace and then at each other, realizing none of them had retained anything the dragon had said. Jace blinked at them a few times. “As a reminder.” He finally said. “You must get a leaf from the world tree, a metal from the undercity called Alunan, and a flame from the Gruul.” Jace looked at them, awaiting a response. Niama sighed and took charge. “What do we need to know about this underground metal?” Jace nodded and said, “It is a very rare metal and is an integral part of the machine. Highly conductive and virtually no resistance. You’ll know it when you see it. The metal is pitch black will luminous purple specks throughout.” “How are we supposed to find it if it’s so rare?” Niama asked. “There are people who live in the undercity, most associated with the golgari swarm. Most of them are willing to help the city dwellers. If you ask them for directions on where a deposit might be, they should point you in the right direction.” Jace handed them a map that displayed the section of Ravnica they were in and pointed out the closest entrance to the undercity. “That’s where you should start.” “Great.” Niama handed the map to Pumpeck. “Before we head out, I’m going to scout the area a bit. I don’t like it when I don’t know the area.” She left the room alone and rode the elevator down to the bottom floor. Jace watched her leave. “Hm. Yes, I would recommend that you familiarize yourselves with the area a bit. Though,” He looked at the door Niama had left through. “I would recommend you do it together.” A brief exploration of the city yielded little results regarding gathering new intel on the world. Despite their searching around, there was still no sign of Niama. They thought it best to reconvene at the Izzet tower incase Niama came back. While they waited, they attempted to make sense of what they had seen so far in this world. “I never thought an angel and a demon could get along.” Said Pumpeck. “Certainly.” Rum paused mid sentence as he saw a giant high fiving a gnome. “Odd.” He finished, shaking his head. Thorfreyer looked into the streets from the entrance to the tower. “It’s not so bad. The only odd thing is their mentioning of these guilds of the world. Some of them seem to have prejudices for certain guilds.” “I noticed that too.” Said Veldora. Niama appeared behind them as if she had been standing there the whole time. “Better to judge someone based on their creed than how they look, if you ask me.” The crew looked at her and Pumpeck said, “Where have you been.” Niama shrugged her shoulders. “Exploring. Didn’t find out anything particularly useful.” “Oh.” Said Pumpeck. “Well we need to go to the undercity to get the Alunan.” Niama nodded and gestured them to get ready to go. She started walking and the party quickly followed. They found themselves at the mouth of a large cavern. They could already see the deep decline in the cavern. Moss and grime covered the stone of the cavern as they made their way deeper. They felt the cool air emanating from the stone as they left the warmth of the sun. They walked for nearly an hour before it started to level out. A town appeared in the clearing filled with decrepit buildings and hollowed out mushrooms. The people were wearing rags and seeming to mind their own business. A small goblin walked up to them carrying an empty wooden bin. “You bring some recyclables for us?” It said, holding up the bin. “Um. Recy-what-now?” said Thorfreyer. The goblin furrowed its eyebrows, wondering why these visitors have come if not to give the undercity recyclables. “You know, recycling? Taking something that someone might consider trash and reusing it for a new purpose to reduce waste? People from the city above often bring us their trash so that we can reuse it.” The group looked at the small underground village and saw that some of the buildings did look like they were made from pieces of scrap metal. Lit torches looked almost like the tips of some of the machines that they saw in the Izzet tower. “Sorry, we don’t have anything like that.” Said Thorfreyer. The goblin’s shoulders slumped a little. “We came down here because we are looking for a metal called Alunan. Do you know where we can find a deposit of it?” The goblin scratched his head. “Alunan, huh? For that you’re going to have to go down a lot deeper. The metal isn’t found this shallow.” “Do you think someone can guide us there?” Asked Pumpeck. They had a hard-enough time finding their way around the city above, she couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to find their way around down here. The goblin nodded. “There is a Kraul visiting in town right now. They may be able to guide you deeper.” He started walking back into the village and the party followed him. “What is a Kraul?” Asked Thorfreyer. “You don’t even know what a Kraul is?” He chuckled. “You folks really do need a guide down here.” They came to the door of a house carved out of the stalk of a mushroom. The goblin knocked on the door. Shortly after, the door swung open to reveal a human sized praying mantis type creature. It looked like it was completely expressionless as it glared at them. “Hi, Ku’Tar. Hate to bother you. When was it you were planning on heading home?” The bug man named Ku’Tar buzzed and hummed to himself a little before he responded. “I was planning on leaving later today. I have been gone a week and should return before the hive grows concerned.” “Great.” Said the goblin. “Do you think that you could bring these kind folks along with you? They’re new around here and need a guide to take them deeper. Looking for Alunan.” He gestured to the party, most of which were so numb to their experiences thus far that a man-sized bug did not have much of an effect on them. Ku’Tar hummed and buzzed again. “I see no problem with this. Strength in numbers.” His head jerked to look directly at the party members. “Know that if you slow me down, I will leave you behind.” The party nodded, understanding the terms. “Good. Are you prepared to leave now?” Asked the bug. “Ready as we will ever be.” Said Thorfreyer. Together, they set off beyond the town and began down another steep cavern, this one much wider and taller. Ku’Tar had told them to remain quiet as to not draw the attention of any potential predators. Despite their silence, after continuing down the path for what felt like and hour and taking numerous twists and turns, they began to feel a rumble beneath their feet. Ku’Tar stopped in his tracks and looked back at the party. “I’ve never felt one this big before.” He spread his wings and began to fly. “This is where I leave you. Good luck.” He darted down the cavern where they came from, supposedly taking a detour route. “What the hell!” Yelled Thorfreyer after him. “He just ups and leaves on us like that? What could possibly be coming anyway?” Niama elbowed his side to get his attention and pointed at the monstrosity that was approaching them. As the figure approached, they could make out the image of a massive wurm. From a glance alone they could tell the creature was at least forty feet in length. Thorfreyer was the first in the group line up and drew his axe standing his ground. The wurm stopped short in front of them and looked at them all. Its maw opened reveling rows of jagged, knife-like teeth. Its breath smelled of dirt and decay as it breathed on them. They heard it say to them all. “Willkommen to meine layer, Herr Bull-Man.”

[forthelulzy]

Past, Present, Future

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Pairing: Cullen/F!Trevelyan; past Cullen/F!Surana

Rating: T (disturbing dream sequence)

Summary: The Hero of Ferelden arrives in Skyhold, threatening Cullen and the Inquisitor’s fledgling relationship.

Notes: 7.7k words. Written for @cullenappreciationweek, day 2.

It is a gray day in Cloudreach and less than a week out from Alistair’s funeral when the Hero of Ferelden’s letter arrives by crow.

The bird is not one of Leliana’s, and when it tries to land in the rookery it is to a great cawing and ruffling of feathers from the other crows. Cullen hears the cacophony clear out from his office and thinks little of it, but later, when the Spymaster calls them all to council, he connects the two together. Leliana herself doesn’t look the slightest bit perturbed that her birds got into a melee, though her gloves have several new tears that she did not have the time — or thought — to mend. What she does look like is ecstatic, which is a very strange emotion to connect to her, in his opinion.

Leliana gestures with the folded parchment as she speaks, detailing the encounter with the foreign crow. “And imagine my surprise when this is attached to it!”

“What is it, then? Why are we here?” Irene snaps. She is still in her nightclothes, decidedly rumpled and grouchier than usual at being woken up not an hour into her rest.

Cullen represses his smile. She would not appreciate his humor at the moment, and he doesn’t even know why her frazzled state is so amusing in the first place. Perhaps because today his head is mercifully clear for the first time in what feels an Age. No less work to be done, but a better mind for it.

His good mood grinds to a halt, wobbles, then shatters when Leliana announces her news: the Hero of Ferelden is coming to Skyhold.

Maker’s breath. His past is coming back to haunt his present, again. The last time he saw her he was so angry and hurt, and the time before that he had been a fool. Both times, he had been a fool. She always brought that out in him, the foolishness, but it was his own fault. It is easy to remember her face, as if it were not over a decade ago, as if he has not been trying to forget. She is the Hero of Ferelden, and reconciling that with the razor-witted, assured mage he had known before she became a Warden is hardly difficult now. Years ago, it had been. What will she think of him now?

“Cullen?” The Inquisitor’s voice brings him out of his racing thoughts, and he knows that his face has been showing all of them. He wrestles it back into neutrality, or as close to neutrality as he can manage. Josephine is confused, Leliana is smirking — and he doesn’t look at Irene long enough to determine her expression. Another headache is creeping in behind his eyes.

He asks instead of answers. “When is she expected to arrive?”

“The day after tomorrow, and she’ll likely be here a week. You should know, Josie: she won’t expect or appreciate any fanfare on her behalf, especially not if it takes away from Alistair’s funeral. Oh, and she has a dislike for titles, especially ones that she’s willingly forfeited.” Leliana is back to business, and he breathes a sigh of relief that her knowing smile is gone. Not that he expects the issue to drop entirely — from her or Irene. Neither ever could leave well enough alone.

~o~O~o~

To his surprise, Leliana just winks at him before she and Josesphine head off to their beds, after a few minutes more of hashing out the details. Irene glances his way, as if she is about to speak, but for once seems to lose her nerve. Ultimately she nods at him in farewell and turns around.

“I loved her.”

She stops, shoulders going stiff as his voice — his voice — rings out, too loud in the quiet war room. He wishes he could snatch the words out of the air before they reach her ears. He wishes he could make her forget he had ever said them. He wishes a lot of insane things, in that moment before she turns around.

“The Hero of Ferelden?” Her voice is soft, softer than he’s heard before.

He nods, but she’s not looking at him, not quite. “I knew her as Vera Surana, in another life.”

“That would mean you’ve known at least three movers and shakers of Thedas within the last decade or so?” Her gaze flicks towards him, and though there’s a note of rare humor in her tone, her face gives nothing away.

“I… I saved the best for last, of course.” He comes around the war table, thanking the Maker that she isn’t inclined to interrogate him over his outburst. Their relationship is delicate, in the early stages, and though she hasn’t shown a hint of a jealous nature before, that doesn’t mean it won’t appear if he messes up during the visit.

She makes a faint, amused noise at his flattery, but her cheeks darken in the dim light. He has found that she is unused to compliments and wary of people who give them too often, so he has fewer opportunities to make her blush. “What was she like back then? All I’ve heard are the tales. Varric-style stuff.”

Cullen pauses. He can’t begrudge her the question, though he wishes she had asked Leliana. Leliana had actually traveled with Vera, had seen the legend in the making. But maybe that was the point — their Spymaster hadn’t known Vera before. Before she became a Grey Warden. Before she was conscripted out from under the brand. He has to suppress a shudder at that thought. When Kinloch fell, one of the recurring torments then and since were visions of a world in which Warden Duncan had never come. During Kinloch it had been Vera, blank-eyed and soul-dead, that haunted him after he proved resistant to temptations.

“Cullen?”

He coughs. “Forgive me, I… She was always destined for something. I knew it even back before her Harrowing. Maker, I think everyone knew it, even her. Perhaps especially her. She was always so confident. She knew I had this ridiculous crush, and she never missed an opportunity to needle me about it. I think I just loved her more.” He hadn’t meant to say so much, but he feels a bit better now that he has. Irene isn’t running or yelling yet, either, which is a nice bonus.

“Her confidence? Don’t tell me that’s all that attracted you to her.” She crosses her arms and cocks a hip, but she’s also smiling, and he’s just that little bit lighter because she’s smiling at him.

“I, uh… It really was, at least at first. I was a starry-eyed recruit back then, she was this fiery apprentice ready to take on the world. She didn’t rebel, but she could talk circles around me. She did, regularly.” She never had to so much as raise a finger; perhaps if she had, he would have known what to do. But her verbal acrobatics? He couldn’t do anything but gape. “She was pretty though, I suppose.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on that, even as he feels every ounce of blood in his body rush to his cheeks. Make up your mind, Rutherford. After a moment, though, she grunts thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised she became such a hero, then. It’s been over ten years since you last saw her?”

“Yes. We did not part on amicable terms,” he says stiffly. “I said things I regret still.”

She smiles again, and it is lopsided for lack of practice in such a gentle expression. “If she’s expecting you to be the same person you were ten years ago, she’s a fool. No matter her heroics.” Her fingers brush against his arm, fleeting but deliberate. From anyone else, it would mean little, but she rarely touches anyone with unguarded affection, so he clings to this feeling, and her words. He wants to kiss her, wrap his arms around her and her arms around him and never let go. Vera Surana was pretty, but Irene Trevelyan is beautiful.

~o~O~o~

He’s alone in the tower.

The mages and templars are gone. The demons and abominations are gone. Wind howls through deserted hallways, scatters notes left by long-gone apprentices. He picks one up.

It’s a love letter, and it burns his fingers. When he drops it the parchment crumbles to ashes, blows in his face. It smells like perfume. Not hers, but a more subtle, earthy scent. (She’d been so proud when he went off, her determined eldest son. He never saw her body, or his father’s. He only sees them in dreams.)

He knows. As soon as he knows, the dream shifts, like a scarf fluttering on the edges of his perception. He’s still in the tower, but Senior Enchanter Wynne hangs in the doorway, her neck at an unnatural angle. No, perfectly natural. The rest of it isn’t natural. Wynne was lucky; she had the steady hand needed to decide her own fate. And the last of the rope. The others, though, are scattered like the notes left by the apprentices. An arm here, a foot there. Carroll’s head is on the windowsill, his hair ruffling in the breeze. He’d been trying to leap.

He drifts out of the room, past Carroll, past Wynne, past the piles of parts that he can’t attach to names or faces. Up countless stairs that stretch and warp under his feet, pitching and rolling like a boat on a stormy sea. Light spills from the cracked door at the top.

He’s not alone in the tower.

The ancient wooden door sighs and opens, an invitation, as he nears. His tread carries him onward, over the threshold, even as he tries to stop.

There’s something here that he has to see. There’s nothing here that he wants to see.

Vera kneels in the center of the room, in the center of the sunburst pattern that also shines, still bleeding at the edges, on her forehead. Her lips form the Chant, but her voice, when it reaches his ears, is far from holy.

"Blighted are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. In their blood the Maker’s will has been written.” She opens her arms to him, hands curling inward. Beckoning. He does not want to go to her, but when has what he wanted ever mattered?

For want of the Wardens, her soul was lost. For want of her soul, the Wardens were lost.

She smiles, and it is Irene’s smile.

Cullen bolts up so fast the world tilts. When it rights again, he is on the floor, legs still on the bed and tangled in the sheets. The wood is cool against his fever-hot back, and through the jagged edges of the hole in his ceiling the light of a moon filters through a cloud. A rain so light it is better called mist settles against his face and chest.

Another nightmare. His mind knows this, has known it for some time, but it still takes an age for his body to catch up, for his heartbeat to slow, for the organ to stop spasming against his ribs and the dizzy rush of oh Maker, it’s over to dispel. His legs are numb, the sheets bunched from his thrashing. No matter how many terrors he faces in the night, no matter how well he thinks he has prepared himself for them, the immediate aftermath is the same. He is helpless.

He closes his eyes and focuses on his breath and the rain. When he opens them again, when he no longer feels like he had leaving Kirkwall so many months ago, like the floor is dropping out from under him and he is plunging into an abyss over and over (which happened every time the ship ducked into the shadow of a wave, so every other second or so on the worst days), the moon is emerging from behind its shroud. It is framed nicely in the broken beams of his ceiling. He wishes, absurdly, that he had a talent for poetry.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow the Hero of Ferelden arrives. The Inquisition is ready, but is he? A few hours has never seemed so short or so long.

~o~O~o~

Every arrangement has been made for Vera, and he has given himself the same pep talk over and over. He has told himself to snap out of it, you’re a grown man every time the thoughts come crowding in, bringing the nausea with them. (He bolts for the safety of his office only once, and he is pathetically proud of himself for it.) But it’s a lot harder to inspire himself with a few well-placed words than his men.

Irene’s words repeat in his head almost as much as the Chant of Light, now. But, as with the nightmares, there is nothing he can do to prevent his stomach from flipping over and flattening itself against his spine when the sentries blow the signal horns. Rider spotted in the pass. Vera.

He is roasting alive, standing as he is in the direct path of the late morning sunlight on the stairs into the keep. The sky has cleared overnight, it’s the warmest day thus far in the year, and what few snowbanks are leftover from months before stand little chance. After the winter they had, he’s glad for it. The escape from Haven alone almost ruined his natural Fereldan predisposition for cold. But not quite, and now he regrets praying so fervently for the sun to return. Serves him right, really.

Irene, front and center as Inquisitor, never takes her eyes off the courtyard before her, but she shifts slightly and her hand brushes against his. He can’t feel her skin through his gloves, doesn’t even realize the movement is deliberate until she does it again, lingering a few extra (precious, precious) seconds this time.

To his right, Leliana’s mouth lifts at the corner, though her eyes stay on the gates. Damn her, must she see everything?

The signal horns blow again. Rider approaching the bridge. The portcullis is already raised, allowing them and the rest of the gathered people (a far smaller contingent than welcomes the Inquisitor back from her missions, as the majority of Skyhold has been ordered, pointedly, to stay at their regular duties) to see the exact moment when Vera’s horse appears from behind the guardhouse and starts over the bridge.

She is alone. Cullen frowns, and beside him, Leliana cocks her head. Vera’s letter hadn’t mentioned any companions, being very short and to the point, but the Spymaster had told them someone by the name of Zevran had been with the Hero when she left on her journey. Leliana had been scant on the details, but apparently they were lovers or at the very least intimate friends. All of them had assumed the two would arrive together. Cullen has a vague impression of a grinning elven rogue who was there when the Circle was retaken (he remembers very little specifics from that time, though whether it is from forcing himself to forget or something else he cannot say), and Leliana’s briefing informed him that this was the very same Zevran, one-time Antivan Crow.

He’s not sure how he feels about Vera taking an assassin to her bed, but it doesn’t matter as it isn’t his business.

She slows her horse, a sleek dapple-gray courser, to a walk at the halfway point on the bridge. Cullen can’t pick out much of her face, not from such a distance, but it is tilted upward — she’s probably looking at the fortress as it looms over her. A black cloak hides the rest of her body from view, but she sits well in the saddle, and he wonders when and where she learned to ride so well. It is, after all, not a skill taught in the Circles.

She’s not been in a Circle in ten years.

Vera kicks her horse into a trot again, bringing her into the shadow of the battlements and, a few moments later, through the gate and into the courtyard. Irene steps forward, pulling her hand gently from Cullen’s loose grip (he’s only dimly aware that he grabbed it during the agonizingly long time it took for Vera to admire Skyhold’s walls) and crosses into the open space while Vera pulls to a stop and slips from her mount’s back. She murmurs something to the stablehand who materializes to take the reins, and though he has no idea what she said, the boy’s resultant blush is a beacon all the way across the courtyard.

Here, a bit closer but still too far, he can make out more details. Her cloak is actually a very dark green, not black, and beneath it her travel leathers are worn, but sturdy. He is surprised to see her obsidian half-breastplate when it reflects the sun as she turns; it covers the tops of her small breasts and disappears under the cloak at her collar, not quite as protective as full plate but still both fashionable and practical. And very Vera. The only other metal on her person is in the form of shin guards and vambraces, also in obsidian. Her ears are still too big for her head, even compared to other elves, but she has them on full display with her hair swept up and back out of her face, and she’d added piercings — a tiny silver stud in each lobe. Nowhere near as extravagant as what he has seen in both humans and elves as fashions come and go, but it’s one of the few things about her physical appearance that he can put a finger on as different.

She is different, though. That tiny bit older. Her hair seems a duller brown than it was when she was an apprentice, like her experiences have sucked the shine out of it. She holds herself differently, as Irene greets her. Still confident, still measuring every word, every action, every detail presented to her. But there is a new weight to her shoulders, a new grief in the depths of her eyes.

Or maybe it was there the last time, and he just didn’t notice.

Irene’s posture is rigid as they speak, as she tends to get when forced into diplomacy, but Vera’s is open, easy, relaxed.

No, not relaxed. Resigned.

Irene gestures behind her then, at the advisors still on the stairs — oh, he wishes he could hear her — and Vera’s eyes flick their way only for a moment. Dismissive. Josephine leans forward from his other side to share a look with Leliana. She, in turn, considers for a moment before sidling down the stairs. Josephine darts forward to walk at her side, radiating nervous energy.

Cullen is abruptly confronted with the fact that he does not want to follow. But he does anyway, and that feeling from the dream comes back to him, presses itself against his skull and sets his temples pounding in a fresh migraine: that his body is not his own, that it is moving without his say-so. It is a ridiculous comparison. He could stop, he just doesn’t have a good enough reason. Even if he really doesn’t want to face Vera again; not Vera as she was and definitely not this new version.

Luckily her attention is taken immediately by Leliana, and the two greet each other as old friends. Here he sees more of the old Vera. She smiles, and though it reaches her eyes it doesn’t erase the grief behind them. It is still nearly blinding. Leliana comments on her piercings, and Vera shoots back that she is wearing entirely too much purple for a commoner.

Her voice is the same, and he clamps down on the memories hearing her brings. She hasn’t noticed him yet.

Josephine steps forward next, addressing her as Lady Surana. Vera doesn’t so much as blink at the title, and Leliana’s eyebrow twitches upwards. The Ambassador politely inquires on her journey, Vera gives an equally polite answer, and then Irene can’t stall any longer.

Vera’s eyes have settled on Cullen, and though her brow furrows she doesn’t seem to recognize him. He valiantly tries to control the expression on his face, but here, so close, he can see the flecks of gold in her vibrant green eyes as they sweep over him curiously. He supposes he does look different. The last time they met was in the aftermath of his torture. His curls are tamed, and he’s not in templar armor. That’s likely what is throwing her.

“And the Commander of the Inquisition forces, Cullen Rutherford,” Irene says quickly, tightly, like the words hurt to push past her lips and expose to the air.

Vera goes still, eyes darting to his face and staying there.

“Hello, Vera,” he says. The back of his neck twinges, muscles bunched from the tension in his shoulders, and he resists the urge to rub it. His voice is even, but his stomach is threatening to force itself up through his mouth. He swallows hard, reminds himself again. She’s just a woman, and you are a grown man who has faced far worse than Vera Surana and lived.

She smiles, but it’s slow to unfurl and ends up looking more like a grimace as it lingers too long on her face. “Cullen,” she breathes. The smile drops, too painful to keep up.

Leliana clears her throat at the same time as Josephine coughs politely. Irene startles, a guilty look coming over her before she inclines her head at Vera — and too often Cullen forgets that their Inquisitor did have a noble upbringing, even if it is long past and nigh impossible to tell most of the time — and invites her to settle in. “Lunch is in the hall in an hour. Josephine, if you would…?”

“I will show her, Inquisitor,” Leliana cuts in. “Vera and I have a lot of catching up to do. You traveled light, yes?” She saunters away, arm in arm with the elven mage, toward the keep.

“Everything I need can fit on one horse…” comes the faint reply.

Josephine excuses herself as well, and Cullen and Irene are alone. Well, as alone as two people can be in Skyhold’s courtyard in the middle of the day.

“You need to get out of that fur,” Irene remarks. Anyone else, and he’d think it was innuendo, with how casually she says it. “You look like you’re going to faint, and I don’t think it was just her.”

He chuckles, trying to rub the knots out of his neck. Now that dread is no longer sitting, cold and hard, in his stomach, he does feel a bit lightheaded. “I’ll be in my office, then.”

“Promise me you won’t hide in there all day. Lunch, at least.”

“Of course, my lady Inquisitor.”

Irene scowls, but her eyes are bright. Even if Vera is here, even if she brings back all the memories he would rather forget of a past he is only beginning to atone for, Irene is his future.

~o~O~o~

Vera does not show for the midday meal. As afternoon draws on, she does not emerge from her assigned quarters, where, Leliana assures them, she left the Warden in good spirits. Josephine has a servant send up a small meal. It sits outside her door until evening, when it is replaced with dinner. Dinner sits until sometime in the wee hours of morning, when it disappears. Leliana says she’s probably just sorting through her feelings, which sounds like something Vera could do, though the Spymaster sounds like she’s convincing herself as much as them.

It is not until the second day, when she’d not left her room for over twenty-four hours, that he realizes she is waiting for him to come to her.

She’d do that, in the Circle. Send him coy glances, giggle behind her hand with her friends, say not a single a word until he brought it up. She loved making him initiate all their interactions. The few times she had confronted him were black marks on his memory. The day he admitted his crush out loud. The day he thought she was just another demon come to taunt him with her shape. And the day after that, when she came to him before she left for the Deep Roads, her mission at the tower done, and he snarled in her face that she would be responsible for the deaths of everyone remaining at Kinloch. That when the demons rose up again and won, her hands would be the ones stained red in the Maker’s judgment.

It was no wonder that he had been visited by that dream the night before she arrived. So much depended upon her, and he’d thrown that back at her feet. She didn’t need reminding. She was already a Warden. She’d already seen the slaughter of everyone but her and Alistair at Ostagar. Then blood on the tower floors. She’d been forced to cut down abominations that had once been her friends. Then he—

He rubs his face with one hand, knocking on her door with the other before the self-loathing crests and he loses his nerve.

Immediately, her voice from within bids him enter, and he jumps. She has been waiting.

Her room is smaller than the Inquisitor’s, which he has been in once before, but has much the same features. A four-poster bed is against the opposite wall from the door, and a desk sits in one corner. It’s empty but for a set of writing implements that don’t look like they’ve been touched since the room was set up. A bookshelf, fireplace and two cozy armchairs occupy another corner. A book lies open on the floor in front of the chairs, pages ruffling in a gentle breeze from the open windows.

“Vera?” he calls, pausing just past the threshold and cautiously closing the door.

“Cullen!” she yelps, and he finally sees her, or rather, her silhouette. She’s perched on the windowsill behind the curtains, nearly hidden until she moves, one bare foot dropping down to rest on the floor before she emerges, clad in a simple blouse and breeches. They were made for a much taller woman, he notes; the legs are rolled up at the ankles and the blouse falls to her mid-thigh. He wonders where she got them from. The Hero of Ferelden should be able to get clothes from the best tailors in the country.

“Cullen,” she repeats, one hand curled over her heart. They stare at each other. He’s lost his words somewhere between his brain and his mouth, and she seems just as unsure. Where her eyes always so large and round?

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. For their last meeting? For the meeting before? For this meeting, right now? He doesn’t know. Maybe all of them.

Her hand drops to her side and she swallows hard. Her fists clench, once, twice, then relax. “I thought you were dead for the longest time,” she says softly. “There were rumors in the months after— after, and I believed them.”

“I—”

“I only found out through Tale of the Champion. Alistair had a copy; he lent it to me.” Her tone turns flinty. “Can you imagine? I read that book, every page wondering if you were going to die. Again. I had mourned you the first time around, I had moved on. To go through that again…”

“Vera—”

She shakes her head, but her eyes aren’t watering. She already cried herself out, he realizes with a start. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself, for believing the gossip of old women. I never thought to actually check with Greagoir what had happened. I was afraid.” She looks away at last with that admission. Afraid? Vera Surana’s never afraid. But that was the Vera Surana he had known. This incarnation is older, wiser, and has experienced more loss than anyone could ever deserve.

He comes a little closer. “I’m still sorry, Vera. For everything. Forgive me?”

Huffing out an incredulous laugh, Vera grabs his hand and holds it between her own, smaller and softer than his. “I did a long time ago, you ridiculous man. I’m just glad you have the Inquisition behind you now, and its Inquisitor.” She grins, bright and genuine. “Don’t look at me like that. I have eyes.”

His cheeks burn, but it’s a good warmth that matches the feeling in his heart. “I wasn’t aware it was that obvious.” Maker, if Vera could see it, what about the permanent members of the Inquisition? He and Irene weren’t sneaking around, not exactly, but they weren’t advertising their budding romance either. They hadn’t discussed it explicitly, but she knew how private he was and respected that. There were many things he had never shared with her, with anyone. Vera may have a general idea, but that is by virtue of being in the right place at the wrong time.

“It wasn’t,” she says with a quirk of her brow. “That was a wild stab in the dark.”

Oh. Trapped again. He groans, pulls his hand back so he can rub his pounding temples. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“I don’t know about that. But you have. A lot.”

He tries to smile, but he can tell he doesn’t quite succeed. Her eyes alight on his mouth and she furrows her brow. He hopes that she doesn’t want to kiss him. His crush is long past, and the ache for her in his heart is gone. She — or rather, the memory of her — will always hold a place there, but the wounds are healed over and he doesn’t want to open new ones. Not when he has Irene.

“Is that from when Hawke punched you?” she asks instead, head tilting to the side and ears twitching in curiosity.

Startled, he reaches up to trace the scar across his lip. “Yes. How did you know that?”

“The book, remember?” He looks at her blankly, and she sighs. “You haven’t read Tale of the Champion? You’re in it!”

“That’s precisely why I haven’t read it. I already know the story. And I hardly have the time.” He does not say the other, more immediate reason: he knows Varric will have pulled no punches in regards to him. Varric doesn’t leave any drama out of a story just because it might be uncomfortable.

She huffs in exasperation and waves her fingers at him. “Have it your way, then. Though I may understand how you feel. I couldn’t walk into a tavern in Ferelden for years because the damn bards wouldn’t stop singing about my ‘adventures’. Zev enjoyed the attention enough for both of us, though.” She shrugs, pretending nonchalance, but the sudden tension in her shoulders gives her away.

“Zev?” It takes a beat for him to realize who she’s referring to.

“Zevran Arainai. Former Antivan Crow, unrepentant assassin, fearless rogue … and the love of my life.” She sways on her feet, just a tiny stagger that is over before he can move. “Come on. I don’t think I should tell this tale standing up.”

“You don’t have to, Vera,” Cullen offers, even as he follows her over to the armchairs in the corner. Vera bends to pick up the discarded book, a dog-eared copy of Tale of the Champion. She sets it on the little table between the chairs, and sinks into a plush seat with a sigh. He perches on the other, trying to will his headache away so he can focus on her. It doesn’t work, of course. If anything, the pounding worsens, until he can barely keep track of her story.

What he does process explains a lot. She starts at the very beginning, with Loghain finding out he missed Vera and Alistair in the slaughter at Ostagar. This was after they saved Redcliffe from undead, their exploits in the town alerting the Teryn. He hired a Crow, the best of the best. Zevran told her later it had been a suicide mission from the start, and only when Vera hesitated did he realize he really wanted to live. He never thought he would. She was swayed by his words, though even she kept a close eye on him along with everyone else. His charm won her over eventually, and they became lovers. He went west with her after the Blight to search for a cure for the Calling. But then Corypheus happened, and her own Calling made her irritable and paranoid. At the same time, Zevran found out the Crows would never let him be. He returned to Antiva to dismantle his old organization from the inside.

“I haven’t heard from him in weeks,” Vera whispers. She stares into the middle distance, eyes unfocused but dry. “I didn’t even say goodbye properly. I was terrified of the Calling and it was driving me crazy. I accused him of abandoning me. That got him to stay a bit longer, but after the fifth ambush, he couldn’t make me a target as well. I miss him, I’m worried about him, and now Alistair’s dead. Or lost in the Fade. Same thing.” She takes a shaky breath, and now her eyes shine a little brighter with unshed tears.

Cullen rubs the back of his neck. “I… don’t know what to say, Vera.”

With a sigh, she takes down her bun. Her hair, even duller than before now that it’s out of the sun, settles over her the tips of her ears. “You don’t have to say anything, Cullen. There isn’t a magic phrase that will make this all better, I know that. It is enough to have a good listener. Thank you. Thank you for being here, too. It’s selfish, but it’s comforting to know I can still get you to come to me.” She winks at him, but her eyes are sad. It’s not enough to fool him.

“At least that hasn’t changed,” he says quietly. “I should have realized it sooner.”

She hums noncommittally. Silence stretches while she watches him, while he tries to keep his face from pinching. He shouldn’t worry her. Not now. “Hey, are you okay?” she asks at last, voice soft and understanding.

He doesn’t try to smile, because he knows it will be a grimace. “I’m just tired, Vera. My work for the Inquisition…”

Vera waits for him to finish, and when he doesn’t, she inclines her head at him. She knows he’s lying, but Maker bless her, she’s changed. The old Vera would pry. “All right. I shouldn’t keep you any longer. I’ll see you all at the funeral.”

He parts from her with a heavy heart.

~o~O~o~

There is no body to burn, but otherwise Alistair’s funeral is held as tradition dictates. It is a tense affair, with long silences and uneasy coughs from the back rows. Irene delivers the eulogy, visibly uncomfortable with the role. Cullen thinks he knows why — she was the one to order him to his death, after all. Or maybe it’s just her personality. Vera, Leliana and Morrigan, as the last of Alistair’s companions from the Blight, are in the front row. Kieran sits next to his mother, and Cullen tries not to think too closely on why he is there.

Cullen tries not to think about Alistair, either, but funerals have that effect. As a young templar recruit, he was a thorn in his side. Alistair seemed personally attacked by how seriously Cullen took his training, and Cullen in turn hated the lackadaisical attitude of the other boy. It was all so silly now, but at the time he couldn’t wait to see Alistair fail.

Then he’d been recruited into the Gray Wardens, and Cullen couldn’t decide whether that was a victory or defeat. In another life, they could have been friends.

He keeps expecting Vera to jump up and interrupt the increasingly awkward and rambling speech, but she doesn’t, and Irene has to cut herself off. Even when the Inquisitor invites others to speak, she remains still, staring up at the marble face of Andraste. No one moves. Leliana doesn’t like the spotlight, and Morrigan — as far as Cullen is aware — only barely tolerated Alistair in life. And Vera? Cullen doesn’t know.

When Irene finally ends the ceremony with a halfhearted invitation to the hall for refreshments, Cullen excuses himself to his office.

This reunion isn’t at all what Cullen had thought it would be. In truth, he hadn’t expected to ever see Vera again, and could have lived out his life without that resolution, but now that she’s here he finds himself both disappointed and relieved. She forgives him, everything is fine, but might-have-beens crowd their way into his head, still. His old flame has gone out, the ashes are cold, but what if…

He shakes his head violently. Creeping doubts will help no one.

The door that leads towards the keep flies open, banging off the wall and nearly hitting Dorian in the face on the rebound as he strides in, a whirlwind of immaculate white robes and flailing arms. “Sweet Maker, how did she ever get through that speech when she was made Inquisitor? I cannot fathom. I never thought I would see the day Irene Trevelyan babbled like a pubescent maiden around her crush.” He pauses, squinting at Cullen. “Oh my. If you’d rather I come back another time…”

“It’s fine,” he says. “The usual.”

Dorian nods, face smoothing back into its usual cocksure expression. Cullen has never told the mage about his withdrawal, but he’s sure Dorian has already guessed most of it. He’s perspective to a fault. Still, Dorian’s never directly mentioned it, either. “All right then. Our usual spot in the garden is taken, so I liberated the board. Also, this time I will thoroughly trounce you. Prepare for a defeat the likes of which Thedas will whisper about for Ages to come.”

“I don’t think setting the offending piece on fire when I’m about to checkmate you counts as a win,” Cullen points out, but he clears enough space on his desk for the board, smiling in fond amusement when Dorian protests that he’s never cheated a day in his life.

Chess with Dorian feels right, feels normal. The last time was before Adamant, and in the days after Cullen had been swamped, both with Inquisition work and with realizing the magnitude of his feelings for Irene. When she fell into the abyss, he was certain she was dead, certain her luck had finally run out. Who could survive that? He felt like many did, that all of them were doomed and it was only a matter of time, but there was also more. It didn’t just feel like a superior, or even a friend, had died. This was Irene. Irene who defied her own noble upbringing. Irene who poured her passion into every word, every deed. Irene who fought so hard for the good of the world, even back in the early days when most thought she had murdered the Divine. She didn’t ask for thanks, or even for their opinion to change. She did it because it was right.

He’s hopelessly in love. He only felt like this for Vera before, and what he can recall of his crush over a decade ago was completely eclipsed by what he feels now.

Even distracted as he is, Cullen corners Dorian within a few minutes, and while the mage grumbles, he doesn’t set anything on fire. He stares down his nose at Cullen, twirling his mustache with one hand. “If this is what you play like even when you’re thinking of your lady love, I fear I shall have to come up with a new strategy,” he declares.

“You’re hopelessly outmatched, no matter how you cheat.” Cullen leans back, crossing his arms.

“Yes, yes, you’ve told me this before,” Dorian says airily with a flick of his fingers. “I’m still not giving up. How is Irene doing? It hit her all at once, by the sound of that eulogy.”

Cullen blinks, but it isn’t the first time Dorian has caught him off guard by a turn in a conversation. He’s long since learned that the Tevinter’s mind often skips steps. “I haven’t spoken to her since this morning,” he admits.

“You haven’t spoken to her? She just had to give the eulogy for a man she knew for less than a month, a man she personally sent to his death! She looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up by the end of it. And no one else stepped up to say anything, either. For such a likable fellow, he had few friends. Such is the domain of heroes, I suppose.”

“Vera was his friend,” Cullen snaps. “I don’t know why she didn’t want to speak, but she mourns him.”

Dorian raises his hands is mock surrender. “If you say so. Back to my original point. Irene needs you. Talk to her, or so help me, I’ll talk to her for you. I don’t think you’ll like my impression.”

“You’re impossible,” Cullen mutters, standing and helping to corral the wayward pieces.

“Impossibly handsome and charming, yes.” Dorian winks at him, board and the box of pieces in one hand while he gestures toward the door with the other. “After you. You’re not getting out of this one. She’s my friend as well. And should you two ever settle down, which I’m beginning to think is wishful thinking on my part, I will be Uncle Dorian.”

~o~O~o~

A few discrete inquiries on Dorian’s part — and Cullen is forcibly reminded that the man can be discrete at all — and Cullen is outside the Inquisitor’s quarters. Irene doesn’t spend much time in her own room, preferring the hall or garden or nearly anywhere else in the daytime, but Cullen figures she may, for once, want to be alone. He considers turning back, but Dorian is definitely waiting in the hall should he run.

He steels himself and opens the door.

Belatedly he realizes he forgot to knock, but the room is empty anyway. Perhaps Dorian’s sources were wrong. He’s about to turn around and head back down — and maybe strangle a certain Tevinter mage — when voices drift his way from the open balcony doors. He comes closer, spotting Irene at last, leaning against the railing. Her face is turned, talking to someone he can’t see.

“You’re kidding. That’s impossible.” Irene’s voice is flat. Who is she talking to?

“No, no. He really did. It was adorable. All I had to do was wink and he was a blushing schoolboy.” Vera. They can’t be…

“Cullen Rutherford. Stuttering. My Cullen Rutherford?”

Oh.

Irene turns, startled, hands going to reach for a weapon that isn’t there before she sees that it’s him. He must have spoken.

Vera pokes her head into view, looking from him to Irene and back again. “Ah. Hello, Cullen. I’ll leave you two alone.” She tiptoes past him, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

“You were talking about me?” He’s not as angry as he thought he might be. Mostly confused.

Irene sighs. “I’m sorry, Cullen. I should have stopped it before it happened. I’ve never put stock in gossip, but when Vera came to me…” She shakes her head, mouth twisting. “No. It was my fault. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t really want to know, but he has to, for his own comfort later. “What did you talk about?”

“It was just her life in the Circle, at first. I was curious about the other side of it. Then it turned to you. How she knew you loved her. How it amused her.” She’s struggling to keep her disdain off her face, but as usual with Irene she fails utterly. “I should have stopped it right there. It’s your life and your right to tell me or not tell me yourself. I’ve never believed I have to know every minute detail of the past to love someone, and that’s never been truer now.”

He nods, any lingering anger melting away. He’s not even mad at Vera; she was probably just making conversation. “I will tell you, Irene. I need time, that’s all.”

She steps off the balcony and comes within arm’s length, tilting her head as she looks at him. “All the time you need, Cullen.” Her eyes slide away — she’s considering — then she surprises him by stepping even closer and pressing her forehead to his.

They are near enough in height that the position is not physically awkward, but he still freezes, waiting for her to make whatever move she wants. Irene has never been so close for so long; even their kiss on the battlements weeks ago was a mere peck compared to this intimacy. Her eyelids flutter half-closed and her hands creep up to come around him in a loose hug. Even now, she will let him go if need be. He doesn’t want her to let go. “May I…?” he whispers, and she hums in response so he slowly wraps her in his own embrace. She sighs in contentment, dropping her head down to his shoulder as they sway gently.

“I love you,” she murmurs, muffled against the fur, but the words ring in his ears.

Here, with Irene, he remembers how he felt the day Vera rode into Skyhold. It’s even stronger now. Though neither of them can guarantee they will survive long enough to settle down — no matter how confident Dorian might be — he wants to in a way he never had with Vera. The mage is a huge part of his past, but Irene is his future.

“I love you, too,” he says into her hair.

[lafaiette]

The Shape Of Things To Come

Here I am with some pre-relationship Solavellan and angst ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I KNOW, me writing pre-relationship stuff and angst is something out of this world, but I really wanted to explore Scarlet’s feelings and fears at the start of Inquisition, as well as Solas’ slow realization that these people are true people and he feels guilty af.

She isn’t used to being with people who aren’t her clanmates.

Not only her hand still hurts, the Breach still looms over their heads, and Thedas has fallen into chaos – now she has to travel with these strangers, trying not to get them and herself killed, while fixing this mess she has no idea how it started in the first place.

She misses her clan, her family. Everything is so loud and confusing, here, and even though none of the humans has been particularly racist towards her, she still felt many of their wary glances, caused both by her pointed ears and the green shimmer on her left hand, but also their awed looks full of reverence, caused by her new title.

Lady Josephine and Sister Leliana have been kind to her – the latter can be quite cold and distant sometimes, but Scarlet saw she is like that with everyone, so she was relieved to know it wasn’t because of her.

Commander Cullen scares her a bit – he is a tall human, always carrying his blade wherever he goes and barking orders at the few soldiers training in the courtyard of the chantry of Haven. She knows he isn’t a bad human, not like the guards her clan occasionally met in the past, but she still doesn’t know how to act around him.

Then there is Lady Cassandra. She apologized for her rage and her accuses, for the way they treated her, and Scarlet appreciated that. She also appreciates her honesty and the fact that she always speaks her mind, but her brash manners and glaring eyes prompt her natural shyness to come out and she has no idea why she has to be the one to lead the group when Cassandra is clearly more experienced than her at that.

Varric Tethras makes her feel at ease, instead. He doesn’t see her as the Herald of Andraste like the majority of people here do and his ways are practical and funny. He already gave her a nickname – something he always gives to his friends, he said, so that’s a positive thing – and so now he often calls her Shy, a reminder of her timid smile and his easy-going personality.

Despite everything, though, Cassandra still frightens her a lot and Scarlet doesn’t always understand Varric’s ways. The south is a new land, full of mysteries, people, and rules that she only heard or read about while wandering in the Free Marches with her clan.

Also, there is the matter of the Breach and this tentative, odd organization called ‘Inquisition’ that she has become part of. She is sure her poor parents can’t sleep at night because of the worry and the letter she received from her clan was written by her Keeper, but it clearly contained all her family and friends’ concerns, hidden not so subtly between the lines.

She can’t sleep, that’s for sure. Almost every night, she thrashes in her bed or her bedroll, staring at the green scar on her hand or crying herself to sleep because she misses her family and is terrified by this crushing responsibility that has been forcefully put on her shoulders.

Even now, as they move through the Hinterlands to find and close Rifts and help the people affected by the Breach, anxiety is gnawing at her heart and she speaks little, preferring to observe her companions and learn more about them that way rather than engage them in direct conversation.

It's late, the moon has replaced the sun in the sky, and the air has gotten cold, so much it bites Scarlet’s cheeks, making them turn red, and her breath comes out in small white puffs.

She had no idea Ferelden could be so cold and her light jacket, perfect for a dual-wielding rogue like she is, is absolutely not perfect for this icy weather.

Also, she has been closing Rifts all day and the fights with the demons, furious Templars, and terrified mages didn’t help; her left hand burns and itches and her head throbs painfully.

The others aren’t feeling much better: Cassandra is crankier than usual, Varric isn’t talking much, and there is a small frown on Solas’ brow.

Oh, Solas! He is kind, even if a bit aloof, and his stories fascinate her. At first, she was a bit offended by the way he talked about the Dalish, but she soon realized he had good reasons to do that; it seems the Dalish he met didn’t treat him fairly, so she apologized on their behalf and now a civil friendship is blossoming between them.

She gets even more timid around him. He is a fellow elf, so she should feel comfortable, but his eyes, his smile, his voice, and his educated mannerisms confuse her senses and she retreats into her shell even more, biting her lips, praying that her cheeks aren’t too red.

She never felt like this before. The young hunters in her clan never affected her like this and she was always able to act normally around them, treating them like friends just like she did with her female friends.

It’s different with Solas. She babbles like a child, blushes way too much, or when she manages to talk normally to him, she can’t stop fidgeting or staring at him.

She looks forward to his smiles and chuckles. Her heart always skips a beat every time he laughs or tells her something kind. There is an odd sadness in his eyes, a deep-rooted melancholy that grabs him without warning, and she wonders if he misses his old home, too.

“We should set camp for the night.” Cassandra announces, glaring at the dark sky as if it’s the stars’ fault they have to stop. “This place looks good enough.”

“Should we signal for that other camp to send some agents?” Varric asks, hiding a tired yawn behind a hand.

“No.” Cassandra makes a face, dropping her sword and shield on the ground. “Better not make too many official camps so near each other. This one will be temporary.”

Her eyes widen and she turns to Scarlet, who just placed her bags and pouches on the hard soil to relieve her poor back.

“If you agree, Lavellan. You have the Mark, after all.”

That somehow makes her the leader, she remembers with a pang of panic. She believes that Cassandra is right and she tells her so, complimenting her idea, so similar to the Dalish way of life.

“I agree, it’s more cautious this way. That’s how we Dalish move, after all.”

She smiles at the Seeker, who seems to appreciate what she said, then she helps Varric and Solas raise the tents, which have been kept dry and clean inside Solas’ huge backpack.

They also build a fire, using dry sticks and Solas’ magic, and place comfortable flat stones around it to sit near the flame and fight this horrible cold.

There is silence around them, or at least Scarlet considers it so; no children running around and laughing, no elders calling out for them, no young maidens humming elven lullabies under their breaths, no fellow hunters returning from the hunt.

Only the whistling of wind, the crackling of the fire, and the distant howling of wolves, which puts Varric on edge and Cassandra doesn’t seem to like one bit.

Scarlet is not a child, but this – all of this, combined together – is more than she could imagine when she left her clan to reach the Conclave. That journey was long and hard, but it was still easier than this, than the Mark on her hand and the expectant gazes of everyone on her.

With the tents and fire ready, everyone sits down to enjoy the warmth and get busy before going to sleep: Cassandra, as practical as ever, unsheathes her sword and starts polishing it, glaring at the small dents on the blade with a critical eye; Varric writes something down on a small, wrinkled journal, using the tip of his tongue to wet the charcoal pencil he’s using and earning himself some disgusted noises from the Seeker.

Solas takes out a book, as old and ruined as Varric’s journal, and starts reading it, speaking little, not participating much in the conversation that the dwarf tries to start to make the dinner livelier.

It’s not like their meal is that good, after all, so they must distract themselves somehow; Scarlet was able to catch some rabbits before setting camp and, after skinning them swiftly and accurately, she put them to roast above the fire.

Even for her Dalish standards, it’s not much. They are four people, all needing nutritious food, especially after such a hard and long day, and two skinny rabbits aren’t going to do much. She feels responsible, just like she felt responsible whenever her hunts in the clan weren’t successful enough, but she remembers the words Keeper Deshanna would repeat on such occasions: it was not her fault, but the Creators’ will. If there was no game in the woods, there was little a hunter could do.

She knows the same counts here and now. All the food they could have found here was probably chased away or caught by the Templars and rebel mages, leaving nothing for the poor refugees and weary travelers such as they are.

Scarlet sighs, ready to eat less if necessary. She is used to doing that, anyway, just like her clanmates were. If the hunts were unsuccessful, then the little food they had was given to the children and elders, while the rest chewed on old bread or filled their bellies with berries and water.

Water! That’s what they are missing. She can’t believe they didn’t gather some - it’s one of the most important parts of the meal, her mother always taught her so. Good to make bellies feel full, clean the throat and stomach, wash hands before and after touching the food.

She saw a clean pond nearby, she is sure of it. Maybe a stream too, but that’s too far away and she knows Cassandra won’t let her go alone. She doesn’t mind the company, but her nostalgia and longing for home are so painful and big, right now, that she really wants to stay alone for a little while to sort her thoughts and feel better.

“Umh…” she starts, fidgeting, interrupting Varric and Cassandra’s heated discussion about main characters and companions. Even Solas raises his eyes from the book and listens to her attentively, while the others turn to her and go silent.

“Yes?” Cassandra asks when Scarlet hesitates, not quite knowing how to ask the question. The woman’s expression is serious, but gentle and when Scarlet looks at Varric, who is smiling, and at Solas, who is still waiting patiently with a kind light in his eyes, she hums again and says:

“We need water. Does anyone have… something to carry it?”

Cassandra looks embarrassed for a moment, probably because she realized she forgot about something so important and brought nothing to help with; she rummages into her pouches, but they are way too small to contain something useful, so she huffs and shakes her head.

Then she glares at Varric, as if it’s all his fault, and the poor dwarf makes an offended noise, flailing his hands around.

“Why are you looking at me like that?!”

“You should have packed something more useful than a journal!”

“It doesn’t take that much space in my bag. Also, I need it to jot down ideas for my new chapters.”

Scarlet could swear she saw a flash of curiosity and hope in Cassandra’s eyes, but it lasts one second and the Seeker promptly goes back to glaring at Varric, who sighs, rolls his eyes, and moves on his rock so that she can only see his back.

Scarlet giggles at the scene, making Varric grin at her from above his shoulder and Cassandra’s murderous look soften considerably. Then Solas speaks and she jumps, turning to him with wide, golden eyes.

He’s handing her something with a smile.

“Here. It is not much big, but it’s better than nothing.”

He’s offering her his wooden mug, the cute one she saw hanging from his backpack. It may not hold all the water they need, but it’s definitely good enough and it will be more than useful tonight.

“Oh, that’s perfect!” she exclaims, standing up and taking it with reverent hands. “Thank you, Solas. I’ll go fill it immediately.”

He smiles at her and she smiles back, blushing hard, then he asks, closing his book, but keeping a finger between the pages to mark where he stopped reading:

“You are going to that pond nearby, yes? Do you want me to accompany you?”

Her blush deepens. She would like to spend more time with him, but she fears she will act like a silly child again, especially now that she is feeling so frail and homesick. He mistakes her red cheeks and wide eyes for another kind of embarrassment, though, and he blushes as well.

“Oh, of course. Forgive me.”

She panics. Does he believe she needs to stay alone to…?

“Oh!” She gasps, combusting on the spot. “No, it’s not that, I…” She inwardly groans, not knowing how to clear out that misunderstanding without dying.

“I… I’ll just go.” she mumbles lamely, leaving the camp at the speed of light, holding tightly the wooden mug in her hands.

She rushes to the pond, trying to ignore Varric’s comment – which fortunately she doesn’t hear – and Cassandra’s hissed response directed at Solas. They are probably berating him for his lack of manners, a rare event, since he is always so polite.

She reaches the clear surface of the water, surrounded by short grass and frail, pale flowers that will soon be killed by the cold wind or even the incoming snow. She kneels on the hard ground, cheeks burning but not because of the crisp, freezing wind, and fills the mug with water, careful not to drop it into the pond.

She catches her reflection on the flat, crystalline surface, helped by the bright light of the moon; she is paler than usual, with dark, tired circles under her eyes, which look sad and scared. She doesn’t look like the expert, confident lead hunter of clan Lavellan, but like a frightened, lonely child instead.

She raises her left hand to observe it under the moonlight; the odd scar is still there and she can catch a faint, green shimmer pulsing just beneath her skin, like a second heartbeat. It doesn’t hurt her, but it’s the constant reminder of what happened, of what she has to do, of what all Thedas expects from her.

Tears prickle her eyes and when she remembers her awkward misunderstanding with Solas, shame and embarrassment fill her heart again and she chokes on a sob, her lips and hands trembling.

That’s when she almost drops the mug into the water: she manages to catch it in time before it drowns into the depths, but the scare is enough to make her feel worse and soon the tears don’t want to stop. She sobs and hiccups near the edge of the pond, soiling her armor and cradling the full, heavy mug against her chest.

She misses her clan. She misses her father’s deceptively serious face and his tight hugs, her mother’s cheerfulness and smile, her friends’ jokes and laughter, Keeper Deshanna’s voice and advices.

She knows the people of the Inquisition can be her friends too, that they will be her friends soon, but the only home she ever knew is so far, now, and probably threatened by the Rifts that put in danger nearly every country of Thedas.

Will she lose her family? Will she receive news of their doom someday, together with the painful and cruel realization of not being there with and for them? Are they finding enough food in the woods, are her parents, the children, and elders alright?

Crying because of homesickness and feeling foolish for being so childish, she remains there, rubbing her eyes and staring at the disk of white light reflected on the pond.

Then she hears a noise; someone is approaching, their movements betrayed by the rustling of leaves and the cracking of twigs. She knows she has been here for a while, now, and Cassandra probably got worried and decided to check on her.

Part of her hopes it’s Solas, that he’s the one who grew worried and decided to see if she’s alright.

She knows she should stop fantasizing so much about this, that she should force her heart and head to stop dreaming and imagining things, but she never felt like this before and she wants to gauge Solas’ interest, to see if something special could really grow between them.

It’s not because she feels lonely and scared; Solas is an elf, yes, but he is a very odd one, not Dalish nor city-born, and he can relate to only some of her experiences and she only to a few of his.

He doesn’t know what it feels like to live and grow in a clan and she has no idea what it feels like to wander both the waking world and the Fade alone, studying memories and befriending spirits in the Beyond while avoiding people in the mortal world.

She knows, though, that if he was any different – if he was less kind, less brilliant, less bald and younger, she wouldn’t probably feel like this. Even if he was another kind of elf, perhaps even a Dalish elf, capable of making her feel less alone through their shared experiences, she wouldn’t like him like she likes him now.

And so she feels reassured about her shy, blooming feelings for him; she knows they aren’t born out of her loneliness and fear and so they feel more real, more valid, more serious. She realizes that what is happening in her heart is something that will change her world just as much as the Mark and the Breach did, a pivotal change that may lead to a pivotal event that she has been dreaming about since she was a child.

The noise she heard before fills the quiet night again and she jumps a little, before focusing on the world around her. Her senses, honed after a life of hunting, find the source of the noise or at least its position; on her left, behind the taller grass and bushes that grow there, shielding that side of the pond.

It’s not the direction of the camp, which lies behind her. An animal, perhaps?

She bites her lips, regretting her choice to leave her daggers and small knives near the fire. If it really is another rabbit or a fennec, it could be another solid addition to their already meager dinner.

If she is fast enough, she could catch it and kill it painlessly at the camp, but she needs to focus and strike at the perfect moment. She knows what to do, so she moves to quietly place the full mug down on the ground and prepare to attack.

Her fingers tighten around the mug as she slowly lowers it towards the hard soil. Then she hears the noise again, louder this time, and the tall grass moves, revealing to her the animal who is making all those sounds.

She gasps and freezes, staring into the wolf’s bright eyes.

The wolf stares back at her, attentive and quiet. His fur is dark, almost pitch black, and his large form looms over the pond, obscuring the light of the moon on it. One of his ears twitches and she sees him sniff the air, never breaking eye contact.

He looks absolutely normal, not twisted by the presence of the Rifts and weakened Veil. Perhaps he was lucky enough to avoid them or he’s stronger than the wolves they have met until now.

Her tears come back, caused by the sudden apparition that scared her, but it’s not like they really went away before. They were always there, on the edge of her eyes, as she prepared to catch what she thought was an innocuous little animal.

She knows how to deal with wolves. They are beautiful, clever animals that every Dalish clan learns to respect, not only because they are innocent lives who belong to the world as much as elves do, but also because they belong to Fen’Harel too and he sends nightmares and horrible visions to anyone who dares hurt or bother his kin without a good reason.

But apart from religious lessons, she has always been taught the natural rules wolves follow; that this beautiful animal is willing to continue their eye contact is a good sign, for example, and she knows she must not move quickly nor abruptly turn around and show him her back.

If she’s lucky, the wolf will eventually see her as a simple guest of this place and drink some water before going back to his pack. She already recognizes the signs, she can almost see him think that, and so she relaxes, but that causes her to cry harder and louder.

The wolf keeps staring at her and Scarlet rubs her eyes again, sobbing and choking on her tears. She wonders if the wolf’s pack is alright, too, and she envies him a bit, because if that’s the case, then he will surely return to his family, to a loyal mate, their warm den of cubs, and a series of strong bonds with the rest of the pack.

Just like her clan was – is. They are not dead and they won’t ever be, not as long as she draws breath, she swears it.

She raises her head and looks at the wolf again, swallowing a heavy lump of tears. He hasn’t moved a muscle, he only blinks and lets his ears and nose twitch. His eyes are golden, like hers, but for a moment she is sure they look red.

Then she hears the voice and her breath hitches in her throat.

“Why are you crying, daughter of Lavellan?”

It takes her a moment to realize it’s actually coming from behind her and so she turns: she sees Solas standing a few meters away, his eyes worried and attentive. He’s carrying his staff, which casts a warm, soft glow that reaches her like a hug.

Her head snaps back to where the wolf is, but he’s gone, maybe scared by Solas’ presence or light.

She stares at the spot he was occupying, while Solas sits down at her side. The warmth increases and envelops her chilled body and she sighs, relieved, as she turns to him and tries to smile.

“You have been away for quite some time, now.” he says, eyeing her with concern, studying her face. She blushes and looks away, suddenly self-conscious about her appearance.

“I’m sorry.” she says softly, cradling the full mug in her hands again. “I… I started thinking about things and…”

“Why are you crying?” he asks again and her lower lip trembles as she pushes back her final tears.

“I miss home.” she answers sincerely in the end, wondering again if he misses his, too.

He makes a soft sound of understanding and she thinks that, yes, he must miss it as well.

“I’m sorry.” she repeats, drying her eyes. “I should be stronger than this.”

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head and she turns to look at him. His eyes and smile are sad as he watches the wind create ripples on the surface of the water.

“No, my friend. It is alright not to be strong, especially at times like these.”

“But I have the Mark. Everyone calls me the Herald of Andraste. People expect so much from me and I…” She sighs and looks at the green scar on her hand. “I want to help everyone. I want to close the Breach and save Thedas, but I’m not sure I can.”

“You don’t have to be strong to endure.” Solas smiles at her, his eyes crinkling, the wrinkles around his mouth deepening. “Sometimes, enduring despite not being strong is what actually helps you become stronger in the first place.”

It’s Scarlet’s turn to make a soft sound, now, and she touches the Mark with the tip of her index finger, pretty sure it’s really pulsing beneath her skin. Even the form is odd, like a straight, precise wound with too even edges, as if whatever did this to her seared her very flesh and poured a portion of the Fade, green and bright, into her hand.

She feels Solas’ intense gaze on her and she blushes again, turning to him with a sheepish smile.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, his voice serious and soft, and she shakes her head.

“No, not anymore.” She hesitates, then: “You know, sometimes, when I stare at it at night, I think it looks almost beautiful. It’s like I can almost see the Fade in it and I suddenly feel better, but it doesn’t last long and then…”

She shrugs and opens her palm again, bathing it in the moonlight. Solas shifts beside her and he reaches for her hand, for the Mark faintly shimmering on it. For a moment, his long, calloused fingers look like claws ready to snatch her hand away and the image of the wolf invites itself into her mind.

But then she feels his touch and it’s gentle, warm, protective. He closes her hand, as if he can’t bear to see the Mark, and squeezes her fingers, letting out a slow, sad sigh.

She blushes at the contact and feels disappointed when he slowly removes his hand. She doesn’t reopen hers, though, because the lines on his face are deeper and concern and what looks awfully like regret shine in his blue eyes.

She realizes he is worried about her wellbeing, but he also feels responsible for something. Does he think he didn’t do enough to help her while she slept?

“And what do you see in it?”

He sounds curious, but also resigned, as if he already knows her answer, but wants to hear it from her all the same. Scarlet looks at her closed hand, thinks about it briefly, then chuckles softly.

That seems to surprise him. His eyes snap to her - she can feel them on her skin, burning her cheeks with the same intensity of her blush - and he waits.

“It’s silly.” she explains, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “But it’s almost like I can see the shape of things to come. A green, placid sky, but it’s not the Breach. And… and eyes, too many eyes staring at me, but they are not scary. I feel at peace, as if the Mark is telling me things are going to get better.”

She sighs, tossing a pebble into the pond. She watches the ripples expand and grow and tears threaten to fill her eyes again.

“Then it stops and I remember I don’t remember how I got it and why. That we don’t even know what it is. And I’m scared again.”

She chuckles again, mirthlessly this time, and she timidly asks: “Magic cannot predict the future, right? I once read that some seers in Rivain apparently can do that, but nobody is sure about it.”

Solas shakes his head and she feels overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze: it’s like he’s digging into her very soul with his eyes, looking for something, and her face turns beetle red.

“Well, it would be nice if this magic could predict the future. That would mean things really are going to get better, sooner or later.” She chuckles nervously, letting her hair hide her face as she looks down at the mug in her hands.

A long silence fills the clearing and she timidly looks up at Solas, hoping she didn’t upset or offend him. He is still looking at her and he almost looks incredulous, as if he just realized something incredibly important or is on the verge of doing so.

He clears his throat when her big eyes meet his and he looks away. She isn’t sure, but it almost seems like he’s blushing, too.

“That would be nice, yes.” he agrees, finally smiling again. He slowly turns serious again, melancholy and surprise tinting his eyes with different, contrasting hues. “You are… a surprising person, daughter of Lavellan.”

Scarlet smiles, looking at the pond to avoid blushing too much, and replies softly: “Thank you.”

Solas clears his throat again and then says, his smile coming back in all its glory: “We should go back to the camp, now. The others are surely getting worried.”

“Oh, right!”

He helps her get up, but before she can say something, he adds softly, clasping her right arm:

“Don’t worry about your family. I’m sure they are alright and the Inquisition will be able to protect them, once it’s powerful enough to reach the Free Marches.”

She nods, happy to see that her fears are somewhat gone now, and he continues, taking her aback with his kindness and wisdom: “And do not doubt yourself. You may not feel strong now, but there are strength and kindness in every word you pronounce and thing you do.”

She looks at him, listening intently, and her eyes swell with tears again, this time happy and relieved, as he concludes, his smile kind and warm, his touch gentle and firm like an anchor:

“I, too, glimpsed the shape of things to come and I saw your greatness. Walk with pride, daughter of Lavellan.”

Scarlet beams at him, her heart lighter and full of light as though a little sun was ignited inside it.

“Thank you.” she says and Solas’ smile grows. He gently squeezes her right hand before nodding towards the camp. They head to it, carrying the precious water and the glowing staff, and wolves howl in the distance: they can predict - thanks to that natural magic that only animals possess - what is coming.

They dream an unveiled sky and the wolf they have been following since the dawn of time rising towards the sun, while a figure without an arm calms him with a reassuring touch.

[chester-glass-blog]

A Light That Never Goes Out || Demon Cat

@jamespsulley

Summary: In which Sulley says enough is enough. 

A/N: shoutout to sam for this para yes i named it after a smiths song but look look look. Honestly, he did such a beautiful job and I just wanna like hype this para up because the ending is so GOOD it really is so good and i just feel proud to be a part of it. Thanks so much buddy for all you’ve done for the last leg of Chester’s wild, wacky, hilarious, tragic arc. It’s more than I could have ever imagined on my own. 

SULLEY: Whether Sulley actually liked it or not- and he didn’t for the record- Chester had more or less free reign on when he came and went from Sulley’s apartment. Even if he locked the door and closed the windows, he’d turn away for a second and when he’d turn back Chester would be there.  There was no escaping it- Sulley had learned that escaping it wasn’t the way to go about it.

From everything that he had seen- not to mention all the things that he had done on Chester’s behalf- he figured that confrontation was the way to go. If he wanted to put an end to this ‘deal’ he would have to go about it himself. It wasn’t just going to dissolve on a whim. At least not without something grave happening.

So the next time Chester rolled around- in the briefest moment of silence there was before he launched into another rambling, Sulley looked over at him. His gaze met the amulet around the man’s neck and his jaw clenched.

“I’m done.” He started. Funny that, starting at the end. “I want out of this.”

CHESTER: Chester’s plan was spinning on all gears, moving rapidly toward the climax. He could feel the thrusting momentum himself as he watched his pieces tick on, what was started never to be stopped. With Milla scared and jumpy, it would only be a matter of time before she wielded her powers for the sake of her fear. And Swynlake would feel the effects. He wouldn’t have to do anything.

But of course he planned to. It was good to have insurance and that’s what Sulley was for Chester Glass these days. He’d send Sulley to another member of the Council-- perhaps the Sheriff himself to stir him up. Imagine if Russell woke up to hear his baby crying, to find a demon’s claws curled over little Isabel’s body…

Chester was going to bring his plan to Sulley tonight. He slipped in easily enough, like he always did, the amulet hidden under his shirt. Only the gold chain glinted in the lights as he turned around, mouth opening--

And then Sulley got himself a spine.

“I’m done,” said the teddy-bear-of-a-demon. “I want out of this.”

Chester’s lips fell immediately into a purse-- until he pulled the drawstrings. And then slowly he smiled at Sulley, slowly he chuckled and then giggled and then laughed outright.

“Oh-- oh that’s just too good!” Chester laughed. “That’s cute, my friend, so cute. Glad you got that out of your system hmm?” His eyes twinkled, then he waved his hand. “Now let’s move onto actual business, not just your silly jokes.”

SULLEY:

“No- I’m not joking. I’m done.” Sulley repeated- louder, harsher this time. Not a question or a request, but a statement. A demand. He could already feel his blood beginning to boil.

Chester just had this way of angering him like no one else did. Maybe it had something to do with his complete disregard for Sulley’s desires. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was holding his amulet hostage. Maybe it had something to do with how quickly he disregarded the severity of things, as if it was all a game to him. Even if it wasn’t, it felt like it.

Sulley was sick of it. Every time he scared reminded him of what he had been trying to leave behind, and did nothing to help him move forwards towards the person he was trying to become. If anything it set him a couple steps back, yet again blurring the line between human and demon. What kind of good was he supposed to be if under the cover of darkness he was no better than the monsters every child was told to fear? This wasn’t the human life he wanted to be living, frankly, it was hardly a human life at all. And the only reason he was still living like this was because of Chester.

He took a step towards Chester, his chest tight, his mouvements steady. He wasn’t afraid of him- no, that wasn’t how this worked. But that wasn’t to say that what he was capable of doing didn’t worry him. “I don’t want to be a part of your plan anymore. I’m not going to be a part of your plan anymore.”

CHESTER: Chester giggled again. It was so cute when the demon tried to scare him with his threatening tone. Look at Sulley, putting his foot down. Look at him, pouting and scrunching up his brow! What a big boy he was growing up to be.

But Chester was still the one in charge here. He was not like the Mundus who quaked in their books/converse/heels etc. at the sight of Sulley’s massive, hulking demon. He saw the demon and only got excited, as he saw the possibilities strung out for him. And even if Sulley wanted to bare his teeth, what else was he going to do?

So Chester slipped his hand underneath his collar and drew out the amulet, so it glinted in the light. To remind him.

“Oh, is that so? Does that mean I should smash this on the ground and send you back to whatever cesspit you crawled out of?” he teased. “Or perhaps I could turn you in myself. What about that, Sulley, my fuzzy little friend? Who are the police going to believe-- another s-s-scared, st-stu-stuttering v-victim-- or a demon?”

SULLEY: The amulet- there was still matter of the amulet. It was the stupid thing that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Had he just been wearing it all the time, had he suspected the worst from the human world, had he been wary and not trusted the human world like he should have- then he’d still have it safely around his neck. His own incompetence had gotten him to this point. Served him right, he supposed.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Reasoning hadn’t worked the first time, and it hadn’t gotten him very far after that. So as much as he wanted to stay civil- to work this out like a human- it just wasn’t going to work. He flicked his gaze up from where it had been drawn, back to Chester’s face. Even in times like these he couldn’t seem to take a damn thing seriously. It was all a game to him- a joke.

“If you smash that amulet, you’re not going to get rid of me.” He challenged. The taste of what he was about to suggest was bitter in his mouth. “The only thing you’re going to do is get rid of the only thing stopping me from killing you right here. If you smash it, I have nothing left to lose.”

CHESTER: Chester scoffed. “How dumb do you think I am? I hope the answer is ‘not very,’ seeing as I captured and enslaved you in the first place.”

Honestly. It’s like he didn’t think at all.

Because Chester was no expert at demonology but he’d read books. He knew that there were many ways that a demon could tie itself to a human host and that fancy amulets certainly were one of them. There was also no doubt in his mind that Sulley’s amulet was very important to him since he had thus far did Chester’s bidding without so much as a peep of disobedience. Oh sure, he was very grumpy about it, but what slave /enjoyed/ being enslaved? Not many.

“This amulet, I’d guess, is the only reason why you’re here. I smash it, and poof-- you disappear. Sad for me because I’ll have to find another victim for my dastardly deeds but mostly sad for you, ol chap,” he said. “We both know you are the one with everything to lose.”

SULLEY:

He-

He didn’t care anymore. What good was the human world if he was in it to live like a monster anyway? What good was he if he couldn’t stick up for himself? What good was he if he wasn’t good?

“You’re right.” He conceded “You’re right. I am the one with everything to lose. So do it.” He took a step towards Chester. “Smash the amulet.” and then another “Send me back to Hell or wherever it is monsters like you think I come from.” and then another, quickly bridging the space between them. “Because the human world- the one I’ve seen and the one you’ve shown me- isn’t one that I want to live in. I won’t be free once I’m gone, but I’m not free here either.”

Sulley took a step back- this was already a confrontation but he didn’t need it to look like one. As much as the idea of going out in what could be called ‘a blaze of glory’ was an attractive one- that wasn’t the kind of human that he was. It wasn’t the kind of human he had been so far. He let his hands slip into his pockets and his head hang low. Defeat- that’s what it was. Defeat.

“Just do it- I don’t care.  But if you don’t, know that I won’t be helping you anymore. And that there’s nothing you can do that’ll make me work for you again.”

CHESTER: Chester thought his demon-slave-slash-best-friend would give in. He figured-- why wouldn’t he? The human world was a marvelous place. There were blueberry pies, chocolate spreads, parades, music, dancing, laughter, sex, noise, and a little bit of murder here and there to keep things interesting. What wasn’t to like about such a list, such a world, which was miraculous and monstrous all at the same time? With no rhyme or reason, and only chaos, such a world could be whatever a person wanted it to be.

Chester was proving just that.

For a moment, he hesitated. He did. Something in his wild, toothy grin grew softer, and his lips closed. Sulley looked so impossibly sad right now, like a teddy bear who was no longer hugged anymore-- forgotten, maybe, in a closet. Under the bed.

Chester thought about hugging him. Chester thought about giving the amulet back. He could always find his fun, his sprinkle of murder, elsewhere. Sulley did not need to-- go.

But Chester had foresight. He did. And as much as he had adored Sulley and his work, the part that he’d played, well, if Chester was a benevolent master and let him go free, Sulley could march down to the police and reveal everything. Chester could play the victim act but it was impossibly complicated.

Maybe it was best for Sulley to go home.

So when Chester smiled again, it was a kind expression. “As you wish, my friend. Safe journey.” And then Chester tugged the chain. It broke with a tiny snap, and with a wild, happy hoot, Chester Glass smashed the amulet on the ground.

The room filled up with red light.

SULLEY:

There was silence and Sulley didn’t dare to look up. Not at Chester and his grin, not at the closet to his side or the window just beyond his shoulder. There were only two outcomes to this, but he knew deep inside of him that really only one was possible. It felt almost fitting in a way. As someone who had so often complained that humans just didn’t know when to quit, Sulley seemed to be impossibly good at sealing his own fate. He supposed that maybe it was just the human in him. Of all things it would be that, surely.

“As you wish, my friend. Safe journey.” Chester said.

Sulley felt the snap of the chain- not in the air, but inside of him.  There was a moment of regret- where he remembered all of the things he would no longer experience, all of the people he would never meet, the places he would never see.

And then there was light.

[During his time observing from the Underworld, he had seen a lot of very different celebrations. But they all seemed to have one thing in common.

Lights.

Human loved lights. Whether it was colourful blinking lights, big lights that shot up into the night sky before exploding into thousands of tiny streams, the great light from burning logs or small lights on sticks carried around by hoards of people. Humans loved lights and rightfully so. Sulley wholeheartedly agreed that lights were pretty great.]

This light was not one of defeat. It was not one of the great funeral pyres that lit up the faces of the mourning- it was not the candles held in late night vigils, or placed upon tombstones- it was not one of death or abandon.

It was the great fireworks that shot up into the sky- it was the neon signs that flashed on every street corner- it was the bedside lamps that stayed on well into the night- it was one of celebration.

Sulley was celebrating life.

His beautiful, brief and impossible life.

And that red light glowed fiercely. Sulley felt it inside of him, as it moved outwards. Soon it was everywhere- it was everything.

He was light.

And then suddenly he wasn’t. There was dark. He was gone.