#i should make a pasta salad with the last of that pesto | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

samingtonwilson · 4 years

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Mac and Cheese

Summary: Bucky takes the last box of frozen mac and cheese, takes your phone, and makes you fall in love with him. The audacity of that man.

Prompt: “This has been a very bad week and you just grabbed the last box of my favorite comfort food at the supermarket”

Pairing: bucky x reader

a/n: i wrote this and was fully done formatting it and everything, like, 6 months ago. i didn’t post it because it’s approx. 82% nonsense but i figured why not post it now when it’s still 82% nonsense but im struggling to finish everything else. so taal, long time vegan, writes a story about mac and cheese and, listen, idk what this fic is either. can i write a fic without adding sam to it? no.

Mac and cheese. That’s all you want. Disgusting, frozen, usually-quite-mushy-if-not-microwaved-correctly mac and fucking cheese.

The kind with the layer of cheese on top. The kind with that real elbow pasta, not rotini or penne or seashell pasta— real macaroni. The kind you try to only eat one serving size of before you eat everything in the package. The kind you always gravitate to when your eyes are stained red, swollen, and too proud to be anything other than dry.

You take the subway. You switch lines. You endure the smell of the F train during rush hour when you aren’t sure where your thigh ends and the thigh of the woman sitting beside you begins. All for that one Trader Joe’s, out of many, in Brooklyn the hipsters abandon before six because the coffee shop next door closes at five.

Your feet ache in your boots and you’re pretty sure a rock has somehow lodged itself between your toes, it’s starting to rain and you have no umbrella, you don’t think your throat has ever felt so parched.

But you tuck your phone into your back pocket and march into that store with the hideous overhead lighting that makes your skin look like it hasn’t seen a bottle of toner in days like you’re Hades, the box of mac and cheese is Persephone, and Trader Joe’s is Mount Olympus.

You aren’t planning on smiling at anyone in greeting. You aren’t planning on making eye contact with anyone. You aren’t even planning on waiting politely behind whoever is inevitably idly standing in front of the pasta section of the frozen aisle— you’re going to say, “Excuse me.” Like the badass, New Yorker, on-the-verge-of-tears bitch you are and you’re going to toss that mac and cheese into your basket like you’re Steph Curry at the NBA Finals.

Lines are long when you walk in, cashiers bored-looking and tired. The produce section is a jungle of stay at home fathers and people who make their own pressed juice, the salad display a mess of college students trying to eat healthy.

Your eyes accidentally meet those of a toddler who is slyly plucking a grape from a bag he had no intention of spending his allowance on and you smile.

You hold your basket like a designer handbag and dilly-dally only for a moment to pick up some yogurt for breakfast tomorrow.

And some inauthentic babka because there’s no way in hell you’re going to endure Zabar’s after this.

And a package of olive oil popcorn, a bottle of three dollar chardonnay, and string cheese.

But that’s it. Self-control.

You feel the chill of the frozen aisle before you step into it. You feel the magnetic pull of that box with only one step in its direction. You stop for just a second to grab the mini mango and cream pops.

You almost roll your eyes to yourself when you see that someone is indeed standing right in front of the frozen selection of pasta. He’s staring at two boxes— a red one in his gloved left hand and the one in his right hand green.

As you grow closer you notice behind his curtain of dark hair that his eyebrows are knit together and he’s frowning at a decision he must be forcing himself to make.

Sophie’s Choice, but involving mediocre excuses for Italian food and no Nazis— hopefully. Because who really knows these days?

He wears a forest green hoodie under a black leather jacket, black jeans tight around thick thighs. Boots, too. You think you might swoon.

And you wait behind him. You tap your foot, shift your weight, and chew on your bottom lip. You don’t say anything.

He looks over his shoulder when you curse under your breath and set the heavy basket at your feet. He’s apologetic— and handsome— by the looks of it, blue eyes slightly widened and lips downturned. “Shit,” he says as he takes a few steps to the right. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. You kick your basket with the toe of your boot until it lightly smacks against the bottom of the freezer. “No problem. It’s a big decision.”

His eyes lift from the boxes and he smiles. “Biggest one I’ve gotten to make in a while.”

Setting your hands atop the cold metal railing, you stare down into the freezer. You see farfalle with roasted tomatoes, rigatoni with pesto, ricotta and spinach ravioli, roasted vegetable lasagna, cauliflower gnocchi, chicken parm, and… an empty space.

You tilt your head.

You lean away and crouch to read the description cards, looking for the bubble letters to tell you where on Earth your saving grace is. When you spot the card, you stand again. The indicated space is empty, your heart is empty, your will to live is—

A box of organic pesto tortellini is tossed back into the freezer and you look up. Your eyes might lose their prideful dryness at any moment, even in public next to that handsome stranger with the nice jacket and,

the box of mac and cheese.

You gasp audibly and leap backwards. You point at the box in his left hand.

With an expression of panic, he holds his hands— and the box— up in innocence. “It’s okay. I’m not—”

“What the fuck is that?” you shout to gain the attention of customers you don’t even perceive, waggling your finger at the box. Your wide-eyed stare, and bared teeth, and messy hair must be terrifying. You hope they are.

He looks down at his hand. An eyebrow lifts. And, confusedly, he asks, “The box?”

“Yes, the fucking box!”

“It’s mac and—” he meets your gaze again. You’re wearing your anger like armor. But you aren’t scared. Bucky thinks he might never have felt such relief at a woman’s anger. “It’s mac and cheese.”

You shake your head. Wildly. Your neck hurts. “It’s the last box of mac and cheese!”

He glances at the box, then back at you. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “They might have some in the back—”

You shake your head again. A hint of devastation cracks your voice as you say, “It’s Monday night. Trader Joe’s restocks Tuesday night. This is usually all they have left.”

“I—” He pauses. “Is this shit really that good—”

“No, it’s not but that’s not the point!” you’re shouting again. And crying. Oh, God, you’re crying. In public. “The point is my building is going co-op!”

He tilts his head. “Your building is—”

“And I have to buy my apartment if I want to keep it! And they don’t give raises at my job to women unless they’re willing to suck something I won’t say in front of that kid right there,” you nod toward a little girl in a pink raincoat with her pin straight black hair in pigtails who stares at you in bewilderment. You sniffle. “So I quit. And I’m proud of myself for it. Because I have integrity, and I have self-respect, and I have no gag reflex, so the rejection should kill my boss dead.”

He cracks a small smile when you let out a short, watery, pathetic laugh. Easily, he holds the box out to you. “I hope your boss is dead, too.”

You laugh again and don’t hesitate before taking the box. You wipe your cheeks with your sleeve. “Thank you. You’re nice.”

“Not a popular opinion, but one I’ll certainly take.” He’s smiling and it’s warm. “Sorry— about all that.”

“You’re apologizing to me? I just screamed at you in the Trader Joe’s freezer aisle over mac and cheese.”

He shakes his head and picks up his own basket when you grab yours. “Your building’s going co-op and your boss deserves to burn in hell. You should get all the mac and cheese you want.”

You reach into the freezer for that green box of tortellini he’d thrown in, tossing it into his basket with a smile. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “Still. I’m sorry for yelling and I hope the tortellini doesn’t suck too bad.”

“It’s frozen pasta. My expectations are low.”

You hum a laugh and walk past him to the crowded lines at the registers. “As they should be.”

It’s when you’re lost in the sea of customers and Bucky is deciding between frozen palak paneer and frozen lamb vindaloo with basmati rice that he feels a tug at the hem of his jacket.

He looks away from the green and orange boxes, lowering his gaze to meet curious almond-shaped eyes beneath blunt black bangs. He smiles and she returns it. “Yes?”

She reveals her right hand, which she had hidden behind her pink raincoat, and holds a phone up to Bucky as far as her arm will let her.

“Is that your phone?”

She shakes her head and giggles. Loud, happy, and squeaky. “Yelling lady dropped her phone.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together until a woman, much closer to his height, steps behind the little girl. She takes the phone the girl holds out and offers it to Bucky when he straightens his posture. Her smile looks like the little girl’s. “We figured you would have a good chance at getting it back to her.”

He takes the phone and nods his thanks. Pressing the power button reveals a picture of you and a dog, a large, fluffy dog with its pink tongue hanging low. You’re smiling brightly and, oddly, it seems like the dog is, too.

—

“So you just took her phone? Didn’t even ask an employee to keep it there in case she came back for it?”

Bucky, watching the tray of pasta rotate in the microwave, scowls. “I would’ve if I’d known that was an option. And stop eating my fuckin’ chips.”

Sam tosses back another handful of kettle-cooked barbecue potato chips in defiance so the obnoxious crunching echoes through the kitchen. He smiles sarcastically when Bucky snatches the bag and rolls it up. Half is already gone. “You come up with how you’re gonna get it back to her?”

“Thinkin’ about asking Pepper to post a picture of it like it’s a missing child to that ‘Tweeter’ nonsense,” Bucky replies dryly. He’s glaring at Sam as he leans his hip against the counter. “You and I both know I haven’t come up with shit.”

Sam snorts and is smiling in amusement, deep brown eyes alight. Bucky hates the sight. “Tweeter. You’re so fuckin’ old.”

It’s been hours since Bucky took the phone from who he learned is little Vivienne and her mother, and he is no closer to getting it back to you.

He’d tried looking for you at the store but there were too many people for a Trader Joe’s that Yelp claimed was the least busy in New York for that to yield results. So he returned to the Tower. He thought about asking Tony to look into the doohickey but figured an invasion of privacy should be the last resort.

He pulls the tray from the microwave with nimble vibranium fingers and sniffs the pasta before setting it down on the counter. He removes a bowl from one of the cabinets and dumps the steaming pasta in it, a sprinkle of freshly grated parmesan from a tub he’d bought— also at Trader Joe’s— a finishing touch.

“She’s cute,” Sam says when the screen lights up with an incoming text notification.

Bucky spins his fork between his fingers as he walks around the counter to sit on the barstool beside Sam’s. He glances at the phone as well. “Very cute,” he agrees. “She had a shitty day. Something about her apartment goin’ co-op. Whatever the hell that means.”

Sam frowns. “Means she’s gotta buy the place. And with New York real estate prices right now,” he shakes his head with a sigh. “She better have a well-paying job.”

“Quit that today, too.” Bucky takes a bite of the pasta and hisses as it burns his tongue. “Boss is a creep that asked for some action in exchange for a raise.”

“Jesus. Poor girl.”

The tortellini isn’t great. It’s a little bland, a bit too dry, and there isn’t enough filling— but it’s better than Bucky had expected. He takes another bite. “Yeah. And I took the last box of mac and cheese. Which is what she went to the store for.”

“I’m surprised your head wasn’t chopped off.”

Bucky smiles. “She yelled— a lot. Was crying, too, ‘til she said something and made herself laugh.”

Sam then begins teasing Bucky juvenilely for having a crush until both men are laughing and shoving one another to see who falls off their stool first, Sam only relenting when Bucky hands the potato chips to him again as a peace offering.

The bowl is in the sink and the chips are down to just crumbs when a loud ringtone— an instrumental version of an R&B song Bucky recognizes from Sam’s many plays of the original— shocks the two of them.

It’s from an unknown number and Bucky is unsure if he should pick up until Sam swipes answer and puts the call on speakerphone. “Hello?”

A sigh. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s one of relief or frustration. “I’m hoping whoever this is found my phone and didn’t steal it.”

Sam shoves Bucky’s shoulder with a toothy grin and Bucky rolls his eyes. “The little girl you almost traumatized in the freezer aisle found it and gave it to me.”

Another sigh— the relief in this one is obvious— and you’re laughing. “It’s you— tortellini dude. Must’ve fallen when I crouched down.”

“Seems like it, yeah.”

“So are you gonna ask for my address or do I have to schlep over to Avengers Tower?”

Bucky and Sam exchange a look. “Avengers Tower?”

“You weren’t exactly in disguise— I realized who you are the minute I left the store. Would’ve recognized you right away but I was in my own head and you aren’t my favorite Avenger.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah? And who is?”

“Falcon.”

Immediately, the phone is taken from Bucky’s hand. “Hi, baby, you’ve got Falcon.”

A gasp, a pause, then you laugh. Audibly stunned laughter. “You guys actually hang out with each other? That’s cute.”

Before Sam can reply, Bucky flicks his forehead— in reply to which Sam elbows Bucky’s ribs— and takes the phone back. “I can bring your phone to you whenever you’re free.”

“Awesome. I’m unemployed now so any time tomorrow is fine.”

You tell him your address before hanging up and he wishes you a good night. Your laughter is the last thing he hears before three beeps signify the end of the call.

—

Bucky takes the subway. He switches lines to the F train. He tries not to mind the overpowering smell of stale B.O. and deli meat leftover from rush hour, the skittering steps of a rat across the floor in the adjacent empty car. He ignores those who stare at him intensely enough to burn the fabric right off his skin. All for that one apartment in SoHo.

He thinks the gash below his ribs might still be leaking as the warm, moist subway station air blows past him. He can feel that cluster of bruises above his knee— the one from the pipe the hostile operative had ripped off the rickety walls of a nearly destroyed Hydra base— every time he takes a step, more so as he climbs the stairs.

He knows he must be quite a sight with combat boots and tac pants worn and dusty, a simple bomber jacket thrown over a ripped, sliced, stained compression tank. His mind is blank, his eyes shadowy, the ghost of something terrible lurking behind blue and grey.

Posture stiff and muscles cold, steps crisp despite the ache, he follows the familiar path and manages to form the thought of turning around. Not bringing this all to a threshold— or, more accurately, a windowsill— he’s only crossed three or four times. He’s too weak, though.

It takes one rap of his knuckles against the third-story window for a lamp to flicker on, gauzy drapes pushed aside. You smile as he lifts the window open, stepping aside as he enters the apartment with careful grace. He feels less guilty when he sees that your bed is still made and your hair isn’t the tangled mess it usually is when he bursts in at a late hour.

“I have a door.”

“Okay, show-off.”

It’s when he steps into the light of the standing lamp in the room’s corner that your quiet laughter gives way to a soft gasp.

He doesn’t like the widening of your eyes or the way you gently lift the right side of his jacket, fingers light against the torn fabric. But you laugh again, and it shakes in nervousness. “You know I’m not a doctor, right? Or a nurse? Or even a pharmacist with high self-efficacy?”

He nods and, despite himself, there’s a smile pulling at a corner of his lips. His eyes brighten a little. “It’ll heal itself.”

“Confidence. I like that in a burglar.”

Before he can take a step further into your bedroom, you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and point at his feet. “Boots.”

He kicks them off with a sigh and a groan when the shifting of his knee sends a tremor up his leg. His jacket is tossed aside as well, and he catches the black t-shirt you throw to him. You’d washed it, folded it, and put it in your closet.

Just a little more brightness. “You owe me mac and cheese.”

“Oh, I owe you mac and cheese? We’re really holding onto shit from four months ago?”

He nods again and pulls his tank off, withholding a wince.

Eyebrow raised, you cross your arms over your chest. You’re giving him a narrow look but, because you’re clearly struggling against a smile, it’s one of his favorites of the expressions you’ve ever offered him.

You give him a towel next— pastel blue. “Shower and then we’ll see about me owing you something.”

He wants to say thank you, do more than smile.

But he knows if he so much as opens his mouth while you’re looking at him the way you are, he’ll tell you he’s fallen in love with you over the last four months, that maybe he’s been in love since you screamed at him in the freezer section of Trade Joe’s.

He’ll go to say thank you, but the words of a Byron poem he’d learned to impress a girl in his English class more than eighty years ago will come pouring out or he’ll simply kiss you like he wishes he could on the nights he can’t sleep or during the missions he can just barely endure.

He’ll go to say thank you, and then tell you with no clarity whatsoever that you’re what he finds comfort in when he’s had a hard day. That the disgusting, mushy, nothing-compared-to-fresh mac and cheese is just an excuse.

But he just smiles. And nods. And takes a shower.

His hair is still wet as he stands across from you at the kitchen counter. There’s a bowl of steaming pasta between you, a spoon in his hand and a fork in yours. “You’re dripping onto the counter.”

With a cocking of his eyebrow, he shakes his head and you sputter a laugh, shoving his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He laughs then, fully and happily, as he reaches over to wipe the drops from your cheeks and forehead. You only smile back, the gleaming of your eyes making him feel warm all over.

“This shit’s terrible, by the way,” he says after a minute of staring.

You shrug a shoulder. “Told you.”

“And you fought me for it. Publicly.”

You shrug again and laugh. You lean your elbows atop the counter to match his relaxed posture, dragging a noodle through a particularly large puddle of melted cheese.

Looking up, your nose nearly bumps Bucky’s and you hope he doesn’t hear your breath stall. You try to smile. “Makes me feel better when I need to fill that hole in my heart.”

“With cholesterol?” he jokes.

“Yes. It’s excellent. It’s like spackle.” As he laughs and you roll your eyes, you push off the counter to stand straight. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah?”

You hum. “I’m seeing an apartment I want tomorrow and need the rent lowered. And you’re the Winter Soldier.”

He considers that for a moment and you burst into laughter just as his eyes narrow into a fond glare. “You want me to scare them into lowering the rent?”

“Don’t think of it as you scaring them,” you begin, rounding the counter to stand next to him, hip leant against the marble, “think of it as you being an amazing friend and helping me.” A moment later you add, “By scaring them.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. He glances at the bowl to avoid the risk of staring at you for too long. “Fine.”

You grin. “You really take no convincing.”

A snort and he meets your gaze. “Only when it comes to you. I’m afraid you’ll start crying again.”

“So I could ask you for anything and you’d probably say yes?”

He shrugs a bit, then nods. Who is he kidding? You could ask for his right arm and he’d give it to you.

“Okay. Go on a date with me then.”

There’s a pause— in the conversation, in his chest. “A what?”

“A date. It’s like dinner, or coffee, or a movie, or something.” You grin when he takes half a step in your direction and his hands grip onto the counter at either side of you. “It’s this thing people do when they like each other.”

Something much more than like is in the sparkling of your eyes and the tilt of your head. Something that might match exactly what’s in his eyes whenever he’s around you. His insides burn at the thought.

“I know what a date is.”

“They had those back in your day?”

He nods and leans forward. “Not from the Stone Ages.”

Your lips brush lightly against his, hand set on his chest to feel the rapid beating beneath. You smile and he thinks he might melt. “Could’ve fooled me with that hair.”

Laughing, he presses his lips to yours a little harder.

—

Apartment littered with unpacked boxes, misplaced books, and askew furniture, you sit on top of the counter where Bucky works. He’s twirling a knife through his metal fingers, arranging sprigs of chives on the cutting board with the flesh ones.

He smiles when he catches you staring at the pan cooling on the stove. “S’not done yet.”

You sigh. Loudly, heavily. “You took it out of the oven. That means it’s done.”

“It needs to cool for a few minutes or you’ll burn off your taste buds. You want to burn off your taste buds?”

“You want to burn off your taste buds?” you repeat in a high-pitched, taunting voice. You’re scowling and, somehow, look to be on the verge of snatching the knife from him to stab it through his chest. “Maybe I do.”

Less than a minute later, you groan and add, “I don’t care how good you are in bed. I’m about ten seconds from dumping you.”

Swiftly, he chops the chives and turns around to sprinkle a bit into the baking dish. “You know, most people would say thank you.”

“Most people don’t have to wait an hour while their boyfriend attempts to make mac and cheese when there’s a perfectly good box in the freezer that would take four minutes.”

“It’s worth it.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t know if it’s worth it.

He’d asked Sam for a recipe and did his best to follow it despite the autocorrect which had changed “gruyere” to “grape year.” But he trusts it since Sam generally knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. Unlike Steve who had continuously attempted to chime in with useless suggestions such as, “Maybe don’t add the paprika.”

“Just trust me,” he urges as if replying to the growling of your stomach which has interrupted his search for the plates he could’ve sworn he’d unpacked. He’s crouched and searching the lower cabinets as he adds, “You’ll fall in love with me after you try it.”

“Who says I haven’t already?”

He stops searching.

He peeks his head above the edge of the counter and, his eyes wide, he sees you pulling two plates from a box placed on the small nook table. Your smile is small and a bit sheepish— the latter something he’d never seen from you.

“You never took them out,” you tell him, the clatter of ceramic on the wooden surface loud when you set the plates down. As you approach and he stands to his full height, you sigh and roll your eyes at the look he gives you. “Yes, I love you. It can’t be that shocking.”

“It isn’t.”

“Someone should tell your face that.”

Chuckling over the heavy thumps in his chest, he leans forward to kiss you but pauses just to say, “I love you, too, by the way.”

When an empty dish sits between the two of you, Bucky’s stomach warm and full of over three-quarters of it, you stand from the table and walk to the freezer.

Shooting a smile over your shoulder, you grab the familiar red box and toss it into the stainless steel trash can. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “I’m never eating that shit again.”

#this reader is a human disaster #dkjfgdkjgj #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff

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joannaliceevans-fanficblog · 4 years

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No Time To Waste: Part. 5

Disclaimer: Okay, sorry for the delay here. I wanted to make sure that I can get this right, before the real shit happens.

Summary: Andy and Reader are put to the test.

No Time To Waste Masterlist

Masterlist of Mini Drabbles and Series

Also a quick thank you to @denisemarieangelina @princessofdarkwinter for looking it over and to @charmed-asylum for well, listening to me whine. Love you all!

(Mood board made by @captainsteveevans)

One week later

Kara sat in her office, going over some of the documents that Natasha asked her to do—looking for some key witness and whatnot. It’s been a dull day for her because Andy isn’t in the office today. According to the ladies on the floor, he took a few days off to work at home. And because of the stupid wife is at work, and there wasn’t any babysitter for their kid. As she went over the documents, her phone beeped, and she looked at the screen.

Kara, what’s the next move? Andy hasn’t left the house, and Y/N is still doing the school shit.

Kara sighed and scratched the back of her head.

I don’t know, I’ll think of something. In the meantime, keep an eye on her. I will chat with the girls in my department to see what is going on.

With that, Kara placed her phone away and went back to work.

“Why is she still in the picture? Andy was in the hospital in the first place, because I WAS supposed to be in there. AND not her. Thanks to his wife, my plans are screwed.” Kara told herself.

A knock at her door distracted her thoughts, and she looked up to see Natasha.

“Are the documents almost done?” Nat asked. Kara sighed and gave a smile.

“Almost, is there something else you needed?” Kara asked.

“No, that’s all for today. I’m heading out early today. I have a family thing I need to attend. Just leave them on my desk, and I’ll get to them tomorrow morning.” Natasha said and walked out. Once the door closed, Kara picked up her phone.

Father, in have a feeling that Y/N and Andy have something going on, with Nat. Go check it out.

It was midafternoon, and you were at the start of your lunch break. You sat inside, eating a chicken salad that you made this morning. You browsed when your phone rang. You saw Andy’s face and smiled.

Andy: Hi, honey. Are you at lunch?

You: I am, is everything okay at the house?

Andy: It is, Rosemary is down for her nap, and I’m about to do some work.

You: Okay, was there anything you wanted for dinner tonight?

Andy: Something light. Maybe that pasta salad you made last week?

You: Oh, the Pesto Penne Chicken, with Tomatoes and chunks of Mozzarella?

Andy: That’s the one. Sounds good. What times will you be at home?

You: I should be home around 4.

And with that, you hung up and finished your lunch. After lunch, your students came running in and to take their place on the carpet, knowing what’s to come after lunch. Once the kids came in, you took your seat at the front, with a book in hand.

“How was lunch, guys?” You asked your students.

“Fun, Mrs. Barber!” All the kids yelled.

“Alright, its storytime, and then it’s quiet time.” You said.

Later that afternoon, once the kids had gone for the day, you went to your desk and went to plan for the next day. As you did, your phone beeped. You sighed and looked at the screen. It was an unknown number, and you just passed it along, thinking it’s a junk mail and that you would take care of it later. But as you worked, it kept going. You sighed, putting down your pen and picked up your phone. It was from an unknown number, and they had sent you seven messages. You swiped the screen, and you dropped the phone. In bold letters, all capitals.

YOU RUINED EVERYTHING

STAY THE FUCK AWAY!

GO FUCK OFF

I’LL BE OUTSIDE WAITING FOR YOU!

That prickly feeling in your body came, and you started shaking. You were scared and didn’t know what to do. Your TA left for the day, and you were scared to go for your car. You picked up your phone and dialed Andy’s number.

A: Hi, sweetheart.

Your hands were shaking, and tears started pouring down.

You: Andy, I’m scared.

A: Honey, what happened?

Your breathing started to become erratic, and you suddenly couldn’t speak.

Andy: Y/N, what happened?

You: Andy, I’m scared to go to my car? I got a text message that I ruined everything.

You couldn’t continue what you were saying, because fear started to take over you.

Andy: Okay, honey, just stay put. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.

Andy closed his laptop and placed his phone into his pocket. Then running upstairs, Andy went to his daughter's room and gently picked her up without waking her up from her nap. Grabbing his wallet and car keys in the bedroom, Andy rushed outside and put Rosemary into her car seat. Once in the driver's seat, Andy started the car and was off to the freeway. As he drove, a million thoughts ran through his mind.

“Who would send those hateful messages to her?”

“You didn’t have any beef with anyone.”

“Maybe an ex-girlfriend of Chris’s?”

Andy went through so many scenarios in his mind that he didn’t realize that he was in Sudbury. Andy went through a few neighborhoods to he finally arrived at the school. Andy found your car and parked next to your vehicle. He got out and went to the back seat and took out his precious cargo. Rosemary made a stir, and Andy placed her head down onto his shoulders. He set the alarm on and went towards the school. Opening the door, Andy went to a few hallways, and towards the last door on the right. He opened the door to see you standing and walking around.

“Y/N?” Andy called for you. You turned around, and Andy strolled towards you.

“Andy, I-I- “You muttered. He noticed that you were shaking, and you could barely speak a sentence. Andy then placed his arm around you and held you close to him. He then kissed the top of your head, and you kissed your daughter's head.

“I don’t know what to do, Andy. First, the mail, then the text messages?” You said, leaning to him. Andy sighed and placed another kiss on top of your forehead.

“I know, I’ll call Pam as soon as we get home. But you are going to be phoneless for a few days.” He told you.

“Andy, we need to tell Nat and Steve.” You said.

“Okay, we should invite them for dinner sometime this week.”

Earlier in the week, after getting another threatening message, you called Steve to invite them over for dinner on Friday. Andy, just as he promised, he called Pam, and she came over to look at the messages that you got. It turns out that Pam didn’t need to take her phone. Pam had a device that can detect where the phone message was coming from. And it turned out that it was a prepaid phone. Pam wrote down the number, would look into it first thing in the morning.

Your hand was shaking, as you tried the tomato soup. Nat and Steve will be here in 20 minutes, and you're nervous as hell. The last time you were this nervous, Andy was going to take you on a date. You heard babbling, and you looked up to see Andy walking into the kitchen with Rosemary. She had her Piglet and her monkey pacifier.

“Did she just wake up?” You asked, putting down the spatula. Andy tucked away some of her hair and kissed her forehead. She saw her mom and reached for her.

“Andy, can you watch the soup? I’m going to feed her.” You asked as you placed her onto her highchair. Andy nodded and went to the stove. You went to the pantry and got out some of her soft crackers.

“Honey, I thought that maybe this weekend we should go to Boston. Take Rosemary to the park and make it a day.” Andy asked. You sighed as you placed a few pieces onto her tray.

“Sure, what day? I have papers to grade. I can do them on Friday night, Saturday is good?” You asked.

“That perfect,” Andy replied.

“I was also thinking, maybe before dinner, we should tell them individually. I can talk to my brother.” You say. Andy looked at you and sighed.

“Wouldn’t you think it would be better me telling him?” Andy asked. You snorted out laughing and looked at Andy.

“Honey, Steve will murder you. It should be coming from me.” You said. Andy thought for a moment and laughed, “True.”

Five minutes later, the front door opened, and Steve called out for you. You and Andy looked towards the front.

“The kitchen!” You yelled. Footsteps heard, and Nat came in with Steve behind her. Nat had her famous Arugula Salad and Garlic Bread that goes with the Tomato Basil Tortellini Soup. Before you can say anything, Rosemary started getting fussy, making her whiny voice and wanted out of the chair.

“Babe, can you put her in the playpen? I’ll finish the soup.” You said, then you turned your brother.

“Hey Steve, I remembered something Steve, and I need to discuss it with you.” You say, balancing Rosemary onto your hip, and she placed her head down onto your shoulder. Steve looked at his sister and took that as, “I need to talk to you.” moment.

“Okay, plus, I have a case that I need to discuss with Nat. “Andy said, walking around the stove, and scooped Rosemary from you. You watched, Andy and Nat disappear into the living room.

You turned your attention to the soup and gave it stir. As you did, you looked up to see Steve looking at you. You know he wasn’t dumb, and he knew that something was going on.

“So, are you going to spill it? Or I have to get it out of you?” Steve asked. You sighed again and let out a sigh.

“Steve, something is going on, and I’m scared. Just last week, I got a threatening letter, with the words YOU’RE A BITCH. And then, the following day, I was being followed by my work and close to home. The car belonged to a man named Father O’ Leary.” You said. You looked at your brother, and he had a blank expression on his face.

“Steve, are you okay?” You asked. He blinked a few times, and he growled.

“Wait. What? Someone is stalking you?! Who is it! Did you report it!?” Steve yelled. You dropped spatula and slapped Steve.

“Steve calm, you shit, okay. Andy has it covered. He took the letter to Pam, and she’s looking into it. I’m telling you now so that you know what’s going on.” You said.

“But what has been done? Are there any updates any- “?

Slap

Steve held his face, and you gave your brother a death glare.

“Steven Grant Rogers, do you know who I’m married too? And do you know your wife? Andy is the ADA, and he can fight this, and so can Natasha. So, pick out whatever went up to your ass and snap out of it.” You say. Steve looked at you and loosened up.

“Okay, your right. But still, who would do this? Did you do anything to anyone?” Steve asked. You scratched the back of your head.

“No, I never had beef with anyone.” You said. Before Steve could respond, Andy and Nat walked in.

“Is everything okay here?” Andy asked as he walked over to your side and placed his arm around your shoulder.

“Yea, everything is okay. RIGHT, Steven?” You said, shooting daggers at your brother. Steve cleared his throat and smiled.

“Um, yea, everything is okay,” Steve said, giving a sheepish smile.

During the dinner, you all discussed who and why someone would go the lengths to threaten you. All of you went through every possibility. While everyone was talking, Andy had a thought. Since breaking things off with Kara, she’s been acting weird around him. Like, he has caught her staring at him. Not in a way that she used to, but more of an odd creepy way. When he ran into her a couple of weeks ago, the way she mentioned you rubbed him the wrong way. He wanted to put it out there, but the thought of Kara but that might set you off and didn’t want to cause a scene.

After dinner, Steve and Nat left you went upstairs to put Rosemary down. You had told Andy that you would be turning in early tonight. Andy nodded and that he would be joining you in a few minutes. After putting Rosemary down, you went to your bedroom and went to get ready for bed. You entered the bathroom and took your toothbrush. As you started, you looked out the window, and a car was outside. It was black, and it just sat there. There was a man inside, looking straight at you.

“Andy!” You yelled as you continued to look out the window, and the car was still there. A second later, Andy appeared and walked into the bathroom.

“Yes?” He asked. You turned and looked at him for a second.

“There’s a man outside, in a black car. He was looking at me.” You said. He went to the window, next to the sink, and looked outside. Then he turned his attention back to you.

“He’s not there. Was it the same one that followed you last week?” Andy asked you. You sighed and rubbed the back of your head.

“No, it was too dark out to see it. But there was a guy inside. The light was on; he was balled and wore a worn, black leather jacket.” You told him. You looked at Andy, who had an angry look on his face.

“You know something, Andy. What is it?” You asked. Andy sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“That’s Father O’ Leary. He’s bald and wears a black leather jacket. I’m going to call Pam; I’ll be right back.” Andy said and went to his side of the bed and grabbed his phone. While he was on the phone, you went to finish your nightly routine.

After putting on your jammies, you went to your side of the bed and tucked yourself into the bed. Then a minute later, Andy walked in. He placed his device next to him and got himself settled next to you.

“Honey?” Andy asked as he rolled over to you. You turned to face him.

“What is it?” You asked. Andy looked at you and tucked strands of hair behind your ears.

“I think I know who is sending you those threats. But I can’t be too sure, and these are just my suspicions.” Andy told you. You frowned at him and sat up from the bed.

“What do you mean?” You asked. Andy sat up too and faced you.

“It might be Kara because she’s been acting weird at work. I’ve caught her looking at me, and she spoke of you, and it didn’t settle well with me.” Andy said. You stared at Andy for a moment.

“Kara? Kara, as in your former mistress?” You told Andy, giving him an icy stare. Andy wanted to say something back, but he couldn’t because it was true.

“Yes, that Kara, when things fizzled between us, she became a bit different. Anyways, I’m going to talk to Lynn tomorrow and to Nat, because Kara works with her.” Andy said. You nodded and slid back down onto the bed. Andy did the same and placed his arms around you.

The following morning, after all, that’s going on, Andy had advised you to take the day off. You wanted to fight him on it, but he told you just to stay. And so you did. You emailed Cass your plan for the day, and she gave it to the sub. You made breakfast for Andy, and he went to the office to speak to Lynn and Nat. Since Andy is at work, you took the time to clean the house, and you started with the kitchen. You mopped the wood floors, cleaned out the fridge, and the sink. Organized the living room, dusted, and organized the books. Then you went to Andy’s office, organized his papers, and dusted off his law books.

By the time lunchtime came, you were officially finally done. Rosemary had just awoken and is playing in the play gym. You were eating lunch when you heard the mailman at the front door. Dropping your fork, you checked on Rosemary, who was fascinated with the mirror in front of her. Then make your way to the door. You opened the door and went to the box next to the door. You grabbed the mail and went back inside. You sorted them out, from bills, junk, and a large envelope with your name one on it. You dropped everything in your hand, as you opened the flap. Your heart started beating out of your chest, and took out what looked like photos. You looked at the first one, and the blood drained out of you.

It was there, a picture of Andy and what looked like his mistress Kara. She straddled herself on top of him, and his head was between her breasts. The front door opened, disrupting your thoughts.

“Honey?” Andy asked. You heard him, but you didn’t respond. His voice was near, and you turned around to see him walking towards you. Andy stopped in front of you, and you shoved the pictures in front of him.

“What the fuck is this!” You said with an icy tone. Andy looked down at the photos, and his face turned white. Andy looked at you, speechless.

“Answer me, Andrew.” You said as your hands curled into fists. Again Andy couldn’t answer.

“Tell me the truth, did you sleep with her? Don’t you fucking lie to me, and I’m done with your bull shit.” You said. Again, Andy didn’t say anything, and you took that with a "Yes.” You stared at him once more and walked out.

“I didn’t, and that’s the truth, Y/N.”

@denisemarieangelina @jtargaryen18 @patzammit @star-spangled-beard-burn @icanfeelastormbrewing @what-is-your-plan-today @what-just-happened-bro @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @rainbowkisses31 @imanuglywombat @iamwhoiamtmblr @shikin83 @princessofdarkwinter @navybrat817 @captainchrisstan @themadhattersqueen @katiew1973 @shellbilee

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber angst #andy barber drama #andy barber daddy #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x female reader

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edgewaterfarmcsa · 3 years

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CSA WEEK 9

P I C K L I S T

CORN - LETTUCE - PURPLE CABBAGE - BASIL - GARLIC - (softy) BLUEBERRIES - TOMATO - BEETS

LEMON CUKES - SLICING CUKES - ANNISE HYSSOP - PURPLE PEPPER - HOTTY PEP JALAPENO - RED ONION

Lengthy pro-tip section, so not a lot of room for updates but I can tell you this: My heart is totally bursting from the back to back blueberry-pick-pop-ups. It just feels so good to be able to welcome you all into the fields again! And the turn out for both days and the good vibes all around are really and truly what CSA dreams are made of. Well, that and a ½ bushel box full of kimchi making crops (napa cabbage/bok choy/ginger/hot pepper/scallions/etc… who’s with me on this?).

In other news, last week Mother Nature finally started to lighten up on us and now we are getting some proper summer weather. The cukes and summer and zucchini just started to really kick in. Melons are on the verge of major harvesting and the flavor has been pretty good considering the water and lack of sun. Cherry and grape tomatoes should be coming in to it pretty soon as well. We have made most of our final direct seedings outside with the exception of a few more radishes and a spinach seeding for fall. FALL!!! EGADS, NOT READY!! We continue to plant broccoli, cabbage and cauliflower in hopes of some favorable September/October conditions, but goodness gracious at this point it’s all a crapshoot.

PRO TIPS:

SOFTY BLUES… YES! YOUR BLUEBERRIES ARE QUITE SOFT! THIS IS NOT AN ILLUSION… Here is the deal, as blueberry season marches on, the picking conditions are less than ideal. Literal branches hanging out in standing water. The field we are currently on is soaked- therefor the berries are super soaked. Nobody is pumped, HOWEVER, these berries can be combined with your berries from PYO on Saturday and transformed into the most beautiful and flavorful smoothie/pie/jam/sauce etc… OR FREEZE these blues, and in the winter when you are desperate for some summertime flavorflavs, thaw out, combine with yogurt, and soft blueberries will never be more welcome.

JENNY’S NOTE: THE FOLLOWING IS ENTIRELY FROM THE BON APPETIT WEBSITE, BUT I WHOLE-HEARTEDLY AGREE WITH THE FOOD PROCESSOR SENTIMENT. IF YOU CAN FIGURE OUT AWAY TO GET ONE (THEY ARE SO EXPENSIVE I KNOW!!!) THEY ARE TOTALLY WORTH THE INVESTMENT. IT’S A SUMMER EATING SEASON MUST… You will need a food processor—if you don’t have one, we highly recommend making this an excuse to get one; it’s a good investment that you’ll use forever and ever and ever—and a handful of ingredients like basil, pine nuts, olive oil, Parmesan, garlic, and salt. The key for this classic pesto is to add the basil at the very end instead of blending everything all at once. That way the herbs will maintain their verdant color without bruising or losing flavor.

Ingredients

MAKES ABOUT 1½ CUPS

½ cup pine nuts

3 oz. Parmesan, grated (about ¾ cup)

2 garlic cloves, finely grated

6 cups basil leaves (about 3 bunches)

¾ cup extra-virgin olive oil

1 tsp. kosher salt

Step 1

Preheat oven to 350°. Toast pine nuts on a rimmed baking sheet (or quarter sheet pan), tossing once halfway through, until golden brown, 5–7 minutes. Transfer to a food processor and let cool. Add cheese and garlic and pulse until finely ground, about 1 minute. Add basil and place the top back on. With the motor running, add oil in a slow and steady stream until pesto is mostly smooth, with just a few flecks of green, about 1 minute. Season with salt.

Do Ahead: Pesto can be made 1 day ahead. Top with ½" oil to prevent browning. Store in a covered container (an extra drizzle of oil on top will help prevent oxidation) and chill.

Step 2

If you want to use this with pasta, cook 12 oz. dried pasta (we prefer long pasta for pesto) in a large pot of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally, until al dente. Drain, reserving ½ cup pasta cooking liquid.

Step 3

Place pesto and 2 Tbsp. unsalted butter, cut into pieces, in a large bowl. Add pasta and ¼ cup pasta cooking liquid. Using tongs, toss vigorously, adding more pasta cooking liquid if needed, until pasta is glossy and well coated with sauce. Season with salt.

Step 4

Divide pasta among bowls. Top with finely grated Parmesan.

Anise hyssop:

So fragrant! Bees love it! So beautiful! So productive! So medicinal! So delicious! The list goes on and on. This herb, with a flavor of licorice-mint, steeps beautifully in hot water for a divine summer tea meant to ward off the expected Summer cold, and soothe the ever racing Summer brain.

MEDICINAL PROPERTIES:

-alleviates fever and reduce bacterial and viral load in case of illness. Anti-inflammatory

- soothing cough suppressant

- encourages relaxation

How to use

Teas: Add fresh Anise Hyssop to a jar and cover with boiling water. Eyeball 6-8 tablespoons of fresh herb per quart jar (including flowers!). Cover and let steep until cool enough to drink. Strain and drink, or cool and refrigerate to save for iced tea.

Other: The leaves and flowers are edible. Add to savory or fruit salads, smoothies, or baking projects.

Garlic noodles (FROM THE OFFICIAL COOKBOOK OF SUMMER ‘21):

BURMA SUPERSTAR: ADDICTIVE RECIPES FROM THE CROSSROADS OF SOUTHEAST ASIA by Desmond Tan and Kate Leahy

¼ cup canola oil

4 tblsp. minced garlic

¾ cup sliced red onion soaked in water and drained

2 tblsp. Soy sauce

½ cup sriracha

1 tblsp. Minced ginger

¼ teaspoon sugar

¼ teaspoon salt

2 tblsp. Water

12 ounces fresh wide wonton noodles or dried chinese wheat noodles

1 cucumber thinly sliced

3 green onions thinly sliced (sub in your onion tops!)

In a small pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add 3 tablespoons of the garlic, set the heat to low, and fry, swirling the pot frequently, until the garlic is nearly golden in color, no more than 3 minutes. (If the garlic starts to darken too quickly, pull the pot off the heat for 30 seconds before returning it to the heat). Because the garlic can burn quickly, watch the pot the while time while the garlic fries.

Immediately pour the oil into a heatproof bowl and let it cool. The garlic will continue to cook and turn golden as it sits. If the garlic is already golden brown before you take it off the heat and it looks like it might burn if left in the oil, all is not lost. Pour the oil through a fine mesh strainer into a heatproof bowl to remove the garlic from the oil and stop it from cooking further. Once the oil has cooled a bit, return the garlic to the oil.

Add the onions and soy sauce to the garlic.

In a small serving bowl, stir together the sriracha, the remaining 1 tablespoon of garlic, the ginger, sugar, salt, and water.

Bring a pot of water to a boil. Add the noodles and cook, stirring often with chopsticks, until nearly soft all the way through, about 4 minutes or until tender but still slightly chewy. Drain in a colander and rinse briefly under cold water. Give the colander a shake to remove excess water.

Return noodles to the pot. Pour in the garlic-soy sauce mixture and add the cucumbers. Give the noodles a stir with a pair of tongs, then divide among bowls. Top with “green onions”. Serve with srircha

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marvels-writings · 4 years

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Back & Forth (3)

Maria Hill Masterlist

Series Masterlist

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

A/N: I add a lil angst to this ;)

“This is where Tony suggested us to go to?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at the restaurant in front of you.

You had expected some fancy restaurant with overdressed waiters. But instead, you got a hole in the wall, an Italian shop where the waiter looked like he helped cook. The entire restaurant was wooden with some wine red furniture.

Maria shrugged, slightly disappointing at Tony’s choice as she got out of your car.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Maria advised, walking inside.

“Touche but still,” You shrugged, locking your car and following her inside.

“Welcome, welcome, would you like a table?” The waiter asked, approaching you and Maria.

The waiter was tall, tanned with short, black hair. He had a strong Italian accent. He wore a black t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo on it, a dark grey apron, and black jeans. You raised an eyebrow at the outfit, opening your mouth to say something sarcastic when Maria spoke before you.

“A table for two please,” Maria asked, smiling at the waiter.

“Of course, follow me please,” He smiled at both of you, oblivious to your attitude towards him.

Maria elbowed you in the ribs to follow him, you rolled your eyes and followed him. The waiter led you over to a booth near the back of the restaurant. The couches were a dark, wine red, the table was a smooth maple wood. The entire restaurant looked recently cleaned.

“I’ll be your waiter, Leo, can I get you started with some drinks?” He asked as you and Maria slid into the booth on opposite ends.

“I’d just like some water.” Maria smiled, Leo copied down the order and turned to you.

You looked at the shelves behind the bar, they seemed to be recently stocked on alcoholic beverages.

“I’d like a Mojito” You smiled.

Leo winced slightly, you saw he was unsure about the drink. But he still smiled and copied down your order, giving you a few minutes to decide what to order. After bringing you the menus, he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Drinking on a weekday?” Maria asked, raising an eyebrow. You shrugged in response, opening the menu.

“Doesn’t hurt to drink every once in a while.” You stated, looking through the menu for something you liked.

Glancing up, you saw a light frown on Maria’s face, you smirked.

“Unless you have a problem with it, s/o.” You tilted your head to the side, crossing your legs so the calf of your leg brushed against hers.

The brunette’s face tinted a light pink, she opened her mouth to speak.

“I-”

“Have you decided what you want to eat?” Leo asked, coming over to your table and startling both of you.

You gave him an easy smile and closed your menu, taking your foot away from Maria’s.

“Yes, I would like a pesto pasta with the special garlic bread.” You ordered, he smiled back at you and noted it down before taking your menu.

“I would like a special salad with Italian dressing,” Maria ordered, voice unsteady.

“Good choice, any starters?” He asked, you shrugged and turned to face Maria.

“We have a couple’s special garlic bread,” Leo suggested. You bit your lip to prevent laughing at Maria’s face.

“Oh, no-” Maria began, you kicked her shin under the table.

“We would definitely like that, right babe?” You asked, reaching across the table to take her hand in yours.

Maria had to resist the urge to pull away from you and walk away. Biting the inside of her cheek, she intertwined her fingers with yours.

“Right,” The brunette said, you grinned and looked up at the waiter.

“Lovely, I’ll bring it out right away.” Leo made a small bow and left.

“Couple’s garlic bread?” Maria raised an eyebrow.

“What?” You shrugged.

“Garlic bread never hurt anyone? Except vampires.”

“But we’re not a couple,” Maria whispered, glancing around to make sure Leo wasn’t around to hear that.

“Really?” You smirked and raised an eyebrow, “Then why are you still holding my hand?”

You lifted your still joined hands, showing the brunette your fingers linked with hers. Blushing, Maria pulled her hand away from yours. Laughing, you leaned back in your seat as Leo came over with your drinks.

“Here is your mojito and your water and the couple’s garlic bread.” The waiter smiled, putting the drinks, and the garlic bread on the table.

You had to admit, the garlic bread looked delicious. It had herbs sprinkled on both the pieces in a heart with a garlic arrow through it. Maria raised an eyebrow, intending to ask Leo to take it back when you kicked her under the table again. The brunette glared at you while sipping her water.

“Thank you,” You thanked Leo, who made another small bow before leaving.

You sipped your mojito, eyebrows coming up at the taste. He had blended the perfect amount of vodka in the drink. The mint leaves seemed to be fresh.

“Damn this mojito is better than I thought it would be.” You admired, whistling appreciatively at the taste.

“You shouldn’t be drinking while working.” Maria chided, you rolled your eyes.

“I’m not working, I’m just having a nice lunch with my s/o.” You grinned, brushing your toe against her leg again.

Maria bit her lip, trying to hide the blush creeping on her cheeks. Hiding her face through the garlic bread. After a bit of arguing, you admitted the food and the drinks were better than you had expected. You made jokes every once in a while about the place and how stocked it seemed.

You assumed Tony had left them an enormous tip which allowed them to stock up on everything. Tony had better taste in restaurants than you would admit.

Compared to the starting of your meal, it went better than you had expected. You tried to be serious to try to get along better with Maria but found it hard to. However, the brunette found herself becoming more relaxed with you as the meal went on.

By the time both of you were finished with your meal, you were laughing and joking about everything and nothing.

When Leo came over with the check, Maria pulled out her wallet to pay but you refused to let her. Instead, you handed him your credit card. After he had finished the transaction, he expected a small tip of a few quarters.

But you left two hundred dollar bills instead.

With wide eyes, he tried to refuse the enormous tip you had left. You ignored his pleas to give the money back and instead handed him more cash. Maria was surprised you were giving him this much money after you had almost refused to enter the restaurant.

Finally, Leo was forced to accept the tip. Thanking both of you, you entered your car with a pleased smile on your face. Maria opened the door, sliding into the seat.

“Told you not to judge a book by its cover,” Maria commented, a smirk on her face.

“So you’re allowed to judge people before getting to know them and I’m not?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Gotta say, that’s a little unfair s/o.” You chuckled, starting up your car and pulling out of the restaurant with one last wave to Leo.

Maria’s eyes widened at your statement, she rushed to defend herself.

“I didn’t judge anyone before knowing them,” The brunette defended herself.

But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. She had judged you before getting to know you, your attitude and the rumors around the compound made you seem like an egotistical maniac. But you weren’t, she had been wrong.

“Really? So all the rumors about me you just brushed off?” You asked incredulously.

“Steve and Natasha said you were different from the rumors,” Maria muttered, trying to help her case. So far, she wasn’t helping anything. You saw right through the lie.

“Oh, I doubt that they know some of the rumors are true.” You laughed, pressing harder on the accelerator.

“Some of them?” Maria asked, surprised.

“If it sounds like something I would do, then yes.” You chuckled, reaching out to switch on the radio when Maria spoke again.

“So the one about saving Steve’s life isn’t true,” Maria said, trying to make it seem like a joke.

But you took it as an offense, you didn’t think Maria thought that ill of you. You knew the rumors floating around the compound didn’t help you get along with people. But once you talked to them, they knew the rumors were gone. For Maria to still believe in them after getting to know you hurt you.

“Thanks, but it is true.” You stated in a harsh tone.

Maria’s eyes widened when she heard how harsh your tone was. She hadn’t meant to offend you, opening her mouth to correct her statement, but you cut her off.

“I’m not who everyone thinks I am.” You muttered, speeding up and ignoring her.

The brunette wasn’t sure what to say. It was clear she had hurt you, however minimal it was. You tried to make it seem like you didn’t care by shrugging and switching on the radio. But Maria had spent too long reading other people. She could see the hurt in your motions.

Sighing, she decided to stay quiet. Unsure if she should apologize, she leaned back in the seat and looked out the window.

Reaching the compound in silence, you got out with a sigh. You realized you might have overreacted to a simple statement, but you weren’t about to apologize. Maria bit the inside of her lip while you led her inside, trying to come up with an apology.

But before she could apologize to you, you were called by one of the medical students in the facility to help a recruit. Sighing, you turned to face her.

“Well, see you later then,” You smiled, turning around to leave while the student chatted away about the injuries the recruit had sustained.

“Wait!” Maria said.

You turned around with a raised eyebrow. One hand motioned for the student to be quiet for a second.

“We need to,” Maria began, thinking of an excuse to spend time with you so she could apologize. Asking you to dinner seemed like overstepping. So she settled for something which seemed normal, taking into consideration she was your supervising officer.

“Train tomorrow.”

“Be there at 9 tomorrow then s/o.” You smiled, a genuine smile as you winked at her before leaving her in the lobby, a small smile on her face, and a light pink tint on her cheeks.

| Part 4 |

Buy me a coffee?

A/N: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @5aftermidnight, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart , @never-didbefore , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @marvelbbyx , @wlw-imaginesss , @hcartbyheart , @summergeezburr , @imnotasuperhero let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

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dogamount75 · 3 years

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23 Basic Summer Recipes That Everybody Ought To Master

21 Straightforward Summer Dinners Youll Prepare Dinner Or Throw Collectively On Repeat Michael La Corte is a recipe editor with Delish, where he covers food trends. Same crunch because the classic, but so much easier to cook. This dish is tremendous mild however packs an actual punch of flacvor. Summer isn't any time to be stirring over a sizzling range. Cucumber salad is supposed to be a aspect, not a star. The best cucumber salad is one that's crunchy, tangy, and simply barely pickled, and it's best served alongside ribs or another sort of barbecued meat. Just throw all of the components right into a blender, purée till clean, and garnish with bitter cream and chives. Feel free to make the filling and peanut dressing forward of time to make life easier — just maintain off on assembling them till the last minute so the wraps do not get soggy. Although avocados could probably be lumped in with nuts as a wholesome supply of monounsaturated fats, Ross says it is such a superfood it deserves a placeholder of its own. "If I have been on a desert island, I would wish to be there with an avocado tree as a outcome of they're so good for the guts and total wellness," Ross explains. Just as a result of we're not within the mood to fireplace up the oven in the heat doesn't mean there aren’t summer recipes we nonetheless wish to make ourselves. Nope, rising temps should not imply rising Seamless bills—especially since the season's greatest produce interprets to dishes that simply taste better when you make them at house. Yeah, all that makes us excited to get out the instruments and make probably the most of it. In this easy dinner, store-bought pesto works as both a simple marinade for the chicken and a ending sauce. Grilling peaches caramelizes their natural sugars and provides a smoky flavor, turning them into a delicious side. Of course, you can make your own pesto when you've received backyard basil going wild.

Blue crabs, in particular, are an excellent source of protein and omega-3s. But what's higher than an ice-cold, recent brewski in the summer? Colorado is happy with its 300-plus microbreweries out there within the state, with brews ranging from pale ales to darker varieties. Our suggestion when sampling Colorado's distinctive brews? If you do not happen to own any, hardwood or briquettes will have to do. A savory fruit salad that’s greatest with ripe, in-season peaches or nectarines. And we’ve received an entire breakfast menu to go with it. Sautéed squash eventually will get jammy and saucy if cooked lengthy sufficient, ideal as a way to coat massive items of pasta. Smashing the cucumbers augments the vegetable’s ability to absorb seasonings. Bristol Farms Gourmet Grociers ='text-align:center'>

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More often than not, summer recipes mean no-cook meals, crunchy salads, and different dishes that deserve the label refreshing. That’s all well and good, but after a protracted, hard day at work, sometimes you have to tuck into one thing slightly more comforting. I was an adamant hater of pasta salad until I came across this recipe.

#Bristol Farms

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tcfkag · 4 years

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Our herb garden has done incredibly well this year. One might even say too well because, at this point, I have NO idea how we’re going to use it all. And while I know you can dry or freeze a lot of these, they’re just so lovely and fragrant fresh and I’d hate to lose that.

So I thought I’d see if Gardening or Foodie Tumblr was still alive and well and could perhaps give some advice to a poor, generally black-thumbed beginner on what to do with an abundance of delicious herbs (and a couple of vegetables)?

Going from right to left on the table-planter first:

Basil: we know the basics and have been using it steadily all summer to make Margherita pizzas and a variety of pastas (especially a lovely lemon and garlic primavera pasta that we make with whatever fresh veggies we have on-hand that always tastes delicious). We also made our first jar of pesto today. Any other suggestions on fun ways to use *copious* amounts of basil? (I know about the freezing pesto in ice cube trays trick and will definitely be doing that as the season wears down so that we’ll have enough to use through the fall and winter).

Rosemary: I know the rosemary is a bit hard to pick out in the pictures (it’s like Where’s Waldo but for plants) because it is dwarfed by the basil and the pepper plant right now but the two rosemary plants are both pretty tall and healthy so we’re going to have a LOT of rosemary. Which is fine, I love rosemary, and will put it in almost anything (especially in the fall). I also like to use it in baking and made rosemary parmesan crackers with some of my sourdough discard last week. But I still welcome suggestions and would love anyone who had a good bread recipe that uses rosemary either in the dough or as a topping.

Cayenne Peppers: So, we kind of bought this plant on a whim when we were picking out the rest of our herbs for this year. I’ve never grown peppers before and I’ve never cooked with (or necessarily even seen) fresh cayenne peppers. The Google informs me that it’s fine to use them while they’re still green as long as they’ve matured (glossy skin and a certain size and stuff) so there’s several on the plant already that we could use. The only difference if you use them while green is that they’re less spicy which, given it’s our first time using them, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I was thinking of using them the next time we make a jar of recaito with our fresh cilantro (or if we decide to make a separate jar of sofrito too) but beyond that I’m a bit stumped. Should we use them to make chili pastes or oils? Is there a way to preserve them? Can we just chop them up like we would any spicy pepper to add to marinades or stir fries? I’ve never made a homemade hot sauce before but is that something I should try? Seriously, all suggestions welcome on this one.

Cilantro: We actually use a lot of cilantro in our cooking, especially in the summer when we have it fresh, because we both enjoy cooking Caribbean (my neighborhood growing up was majority Dominican or Puerto Rican so those are flavors I love) and Mexican (or Gringo-Mexican if we’re being honest but I try to find recipes that at least border on being authentic). As mentioned we’ve used it to make our own recaito and will probably do sofrito sometime soon. Plus, cilantro-lime rice is a favorite so we make that whenever the meal calls for it. But I’m always happy to get more cilantro recipe suggestions.

Chives: So in the late-Spring, we almost pulled the chives because Monotasker thought they were dead but I convinced him to hold off and see what some extra sun would do for them (it had been a dreary spring up until that point) and, oh boy did they rebound. I love the flavor and smell of chives but other than using them on top of eggs or possibly adding them to cream cheese, I’m not sure what else to use them for. I assume they’d work in stir-fries, yes? Any other suggestions? (On this one I think I’m just lacking creativity, it’s not like chives are really all that unusual).

Tomato: In the final picture you can see our tomato plant which is an absolute unit, it’s literally almost as tall as our porch at this point. There are lots of tomatoes growing on it already (and they look like those great and misshapen heirloom tomatoes you get at the store) but in the meantime our top priority is probably going to be needing to find a way to keep the plant upright (since our jerry-rigged paint mixer thingy isn’t going to work much longer) and I guess keeping animals from stealing the tomatoes (though we haven’t had that happen yet).

Mint/Lavender: We actually have three more planters near the tomato plant: another big planter with mint, and two smaller ones with lavender. The mint has thrived (as mint does) and we use it in fruit salad (mull it with lime juice and add a bit of agave, trust me, it’s amazing) and we made mint ice cream. I mean, it’s impossible to keep up with mint because it grows so fast and spreads anywhere it can, but I’m not too worried about it. But, does anyone have suggestions for lavender that isn’t drying it for potpouri? It was another purchase on a whim and I have no idea what to do with it.

Okay, long post is long. If you’ve made it this far, I salute you.

#herbs #gardening #cooking #basil #cayenne peppers #cilantro #etc etc etc #suggestions wecome #TCFKAG cooks

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psychopersonified · 4 years

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Tea and Soju

Bridging piece between “Are we ever going to talk about this?” and “KIdnapped!Q”. The events here feed into the plot but can be read as a series of drabbles.

Tags: Established relationship, but open secret. Intimacy in plain sight. Bond feeling his age. Mostly fluff with plot points. Tiny bit of angst. Q-Branch being weird.

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

Christ, he feels like a teacher on a school trip. “Might I remind the class that the french police are notoriously speed adverse and do not take well to British nationals breaking the law on their home soil?”

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

SIS HQ, M’s Office - 12th Floor

Eve hands him his next mission dossier without preamble when he enters the antechamber to M’s office.

“He doesn’t want to see me today?”

Eve shakes her head. “Crisis in Hong Kong. He’s tied up with the station chief all morning. Besides your next assignment is a more or less a straightforward reconnaissance.”

There is no such thing as a straightforward in their world, Bond disagrees in his mind. He flips open the file and takes a seat on the edge of her desk, ”What is it?”

Eve comes around to stand next to him:

“MI6 Persons of interest: First is Marco Sciarra. Formerly linked to Silva on the periphery and several other possible terrorist links. Word has it, he’s meeting with an entrepreneur by the name of Kim Min Jun in Geneva next week. Which brings us to the second person: Mr Kim is connected to one of the Korean Chaebols - grandson to the Chairman,” Eve points to his picture in the file.

Kim Min Jun is a handsome man in his mid thirties. Perfectly coiffed and flawless skinned. The photo looks to be a media shot; designer clothes and posture befitting a princeling from a privileged background. His expression in the picture is cold and slightly imperious.

“You know how it is, the chaebols control nearly all aspects of the Korean economy including politics. So what he’s doing talking to someone like Sciarra piques our interest.”

Curious indeed. “What do we know about Sciarra and the princeling? And why Geneva?”

“Sciarra we know very little except he’s a fixer of sorts. Procuring equipment and expertise for his clients. You’re going to have to fill in the blanks for us when you track him,” Eve is apologetic on behalf of the research team.

“Kim we know more about. He’s dabbling in cryptocurrency at the moment. The Korean government has banned ICOs so many crypto start-ups are registering in friendlier countries. Switzerland has one of the friendliest regulations for fintech startups. Kim is unveiling his ICO (Initial Coin Offering) to investors next week. His new cryptocurrency is called- $PECTRE.”

Considering the concerns around cryptocurrencies and their use, I suppose that’s fitting. Is it really spelled that way?” Bond points at the name on the printed page. -Classy-. He thinks sardonically. Eve chuckles.

The next page his is cover brief. He reads it out loud, “Cover story… CEO Private Security Contractor. Should be easy enough to fill out.” He likes the ‘private security’ covers, its the easiest for him to slip into considering it is essentially the same skillset.

“The timing coincides with the Geneva Motor Show and the EBACE (European Business Aviation Conference & Exhibition) so there will be influx of fat cat corporate and private executives around the city with their private security teams - seems like a good reason to explain you and your Walther’s presence.”

“Hmm… What’s this?” he reads the next paragraph. They have teamed him up with the freshly minted 008. Logical - considering Agent Park is speaks Korean, he can work the Chaebol angle while 007 tracks Sciarra.

Then Bond sees it, the two other cover names belonging to people he knows well - Mr. Collin Mitchel and Mr. Nishant Chowdhary will be joining them on the trip.

Eve can see Bond’s hesitation, “Well, your cover will look rather silly without a ‘fat cat’ of your own to secure won’t it? … M approved their request to attend the auto and aviation show yesterday afternoon, so it’s a happy coincidence. Besides, they can help run your Ops.”

Q will be pleased about his shopping trip getting approved. All that engineering in one place, it was all Q could talk about for days. This mission will take almost three weeks just looking at the timeline, bookended by the two exhibitions. Mr Kim’s ICO launch will happen in between that, but intel has him arriving early for preparations.

Altogether, the mission parameters seem perfect and spending a so much time with Q in picturesque Geneva is something he can only dream of - but it does mean he is weighed down with the task of ensuring security for both the boffins.

It would not have mattered in his younger days; what with his cavalier attitude towards the lives of people he crossed paths with on his missions - to the point that even the previous M rebuked him for it (e.g. Strawberry Fields). This older and wiser 007 can feel the creep of responsibility and the extra precautions he will need to take.

Eve the omniscient seems to sense his emotions, smiles kindly at him - and despite being a decade younger, she tells him, “Time to grow up James.”

——————————

SIS HQ - Cafeteria

Friday afternoon 12:30pm

“So, we finally finished the analysis on Hayden’s phone... I know, its been over a month. There’s been so much going on with the spike in ransomware attacks on UK targets and Hayden hasn’t been the most cooperative.” Mark is sitting opposite Q on the crowded communal cafeteria bench, chewing on his pesto pasta salad.

It is peak lunch hour and the place is chock a block full. Q is still waiting for his lunch, “Anything of interest?”

“It looks like a rooting malware was downloaded into his phone at one point and then removed to avoid detection. We’ve gone though the logs of each app to find what might have been compromised but we still can’t find anything…”

At that moment, Agent 007 appears from behind Q. He drops a brown envelope and an armful of packaged food onto the long table. He then picks out a sandwich and a bottle of iced tea and wordlessly slides it in front of Q. The agent then squeezes himself into the small opening on the bench between Q and the next occupant. He has to sit straddling the bench, perpendicular to the table and angled towards Q in order to fit.

Mark notices that Q doesn’t even flinch at the sudden invasion of his personal space, his attention still on Mark even as he unscrews the top off the bottle and begins to unwrap his sandwich without so much as an acknowledgement of 007.

Taking his cue, Mark continues, “The likeliest target was his email, but they’re mostly administrative, we don’t send classified information through emails. We’re combing the logs to see what could have interested the hackers.”

“Is this about Hayden?” 007 asks, catching up to the conversation while inhaling his massive panini sandwich.

Mark nods, “It’s going to take more time to figure out if the hackers got anything useful out of the whole thing.”

007 considers, “They went though all the trouble of setting up a trap like that - it would have taken months. No one expends resources like that unless they know what they want out of it...”

He shifts the sandwich in his hands, stuffing a piece of chicken that escaped back into the bread before he continues, “They would have known MI6 wouldn’t be so callous with classified information. So perhaps Hayden wasn’t the actual target - he might have just been a vector. A way to get into the system.”

Q finally turns to 007, “But it is unlikely that they would spend time rooting around our systems for information they might find relevant, it would take too long. Not to mention the navigating layers of security. The longer they stay inside the system, the higher chances of being found out.”

“Precisely. If it were me, I’d use the access to engineer it so that my target -gives- me what I’m looking for. Then bugger the hell out of there before they realise it.” Bond emphasises the word ‘gives’ by tapping a forefinger on the table top.

“She managed to slip away, but as I understand, DEF CON was her opportunity to break things off with Hayden - even he mentioned as much. I’m willing to bet their final rendezvous was to allow her to remove the malware from his phone. Think a bout it, why remove the malware unless you’ve already got what you need and you’re covering your tracks?” Bond takes a swig from Q’s iced tea.

“Bond, if it were you, what would you do with the access?” Q asks prompting him further.

“It would depend on what I’m looking for. If we take it that Hayden was not a random target, then consider what his position and clearance will give him access to. I could use social engineering to pose as Hayden and requisition seemingly innocuous information that might point me in a direction or to confirm intel,” Bond takes them thorough his thought process.

Mark thinks out loud, “His emails just contain administrative stuff. Meeting schedules, budgets, department rosters, project timelines… hiring and resignation notices—“

Bond cuts him off before he misses the point, “Put motive aside for the moment and look at the behaviour. If we work on the premise that the information was given to the hacker, try checking his inbox - though it’s likely the hacker would have deleted it. So check his deleted email logs, even if they emptied the bin, I’m sure you have ways around that don’t you?”

The two boffins stare at him for a moment. The type of work they do meant that they are naturally wired as detail oriented and deep technical thinkers, but can sometimes miss the forest for the trees.

Mark swallows the last of his mouthful, expression excited. He picks up his trash and water bottle and starts to extricate himself from the bench, “Good chat 007. I’m going to—,” he makes a flailing gesture in the direction of the lift banks, indicating he was going to get right on it. “I’ll update the both of you later!” he calls back to them almost as an afterthought.

—

Moment later, another SIS employee slides into the vacated seat, grateful to have found an opening. But once she realises who is sitting across from her, she seems to hesitate before nodding politely to Bond and Q who return the gesture.

The general population in SIS are a little wary around the Double-0 agents. Something about knowing definitively that the person you’re facing has taken a life possibly with their bare hands - even if it is in the service of the nation that makes most people uncomfortable.

It is exactly how 007 likes it anyway; keeps the small talk at bay. Bond turns his attention to Q, his voice dropping lower now that it is only two of them in the conversation, mouth inches from Q’s ear, “What are you doing after lunch? Do you have time to talk about Geneva?” he taps the official looking brown envelope on the table.

“Ah, I have a meeting with the people from Aston Martin at Tintagel House. Shouldn’t take long. We can discuss after that?” Q suggests.

Bond perks up like a child trying to guess his Christmas present. “Oh? Am I getting a new car?”

“You realise that there are twelve other agents we have to outfit besides yourself…” Q gives him a pointed look, reclaiming his iced tea that Bond stole.

“Besides, it might end up being an electric car; and we know how you feel about any vehicle we issue you that has anything short of a V8 inside.”

007 at least had the temerity to look sheepish. He recalls the heated argument several years ago with Q-Branch the last time they attempted to send him out with a hybrid car. An argument he may live to regret, now that the technology has progressed so rapidly.

“Can I come with?” Bond asks, trying not to sound too needy by concentrating on wiping his fingers with a paper napkin. It has been over month ago that they agreed to share living arrangements, but he’s been away on mission for half of it so realistically speaking, his wardrobe has spent more time in Q’s bedroom than his person.

“You can wait in the lab. Or… you might even try locating that mythical office of yours. Legend has it you were given one, even if it might be a hot desk.” Q teases him.

—————

Tintagel House, Albert Embankment

In the end, Q relents and lets Bond walk him the short distance to Tintagel House and the rented co-working space that Q-Branch employees use when they need to meet external vendors.

The two representatives from Aston Martin are waiting when they arrive. Q introduces himself as Collin Mitchel from MTech R&D Consulting. Bond’s presence is explained away as ‘private security’ a convenient excuse when he wants to be ‘seen but not heard’.

To the outside world, the four of them - Q (Collin Mitchel), R (Jenny Khoo), S (Nishant Chowdhary), and P (Mark Trent) are Senior Project Managers of MTech, a private engineering R&D firm specialising in IT security and customised equipment solutions.

The little exclusive R&D company is the front that allows Q-Branch to procure components and equipment without being directly involved. Their role as Senior Managers is carefully crafted to position them high enough to have clout when dealing with external contractors but not high enough to warrant any further interest in them personally. A careful balancing act.

This is their cover story for most of their day-to-day lives outside the walls of SIS. The first and most superficial layer of their identities. It is their public persona - the names on their takeaway coffee cups and the names the world would call them.

As for the car, it is not a production car at all. ‘Mr Mitchel’ is custom designing a car to very exacting specifications. They have the chassis pinned down based on the Vantage. And the body will be a custom designed beauty, if the concept drawings are anything to go by - but the engine and other mechanicals have yet to be finalised. Collin is leaning towards electric as the small motors leave more room inside for ‘modifications’. The auto show will give him inspiration for how he can implement the vision.

Bond still doesn’t know who the car is for; Q refuses to say. Aside from the travesty of the electric motor, the renderings of the car seem exactly his style. Surely he is due for a replacement. His poor track record keeping cars in one piece not withstanding, the older V8 Vantage he is usually assigned is looking frankly anaemic at this point.

The meeting ends an hour later. As Q walks them out of the building, the senior rep who’s known Collin for a while now asks a curious question. “Hey Mitchel, seeing that your office is so close the the SIS building, have you ever met an MI6 agent?”

Q is unperturbed by her question. It is a question that comes up often in various forms during small talk. “Well, they’d be shit spies if I can spot them,” is his practiced reply. He takes a peek over her shoulder at Bond who is standing to the side - listening to everything.

“Ha! True… Imagine though, you could be having lunch at the place across the street and sitting next to someone like Jason Bourne.” The rep seems to find the idea titillating.

“Nevermind the spies, imagine the kind of tech they have in there. I read somewhere that they’ve got submersible cars and portable jet-packs..,” the second rep, an engineer, chimes in. “Being the Quartermaster must be the coolest job.”

Again Q unconcerned. The codename has been around for decades, since even before Major Boothroyd. Q himself had heard the name thrown around in engineering school, used to reference the more ridiculous solutions that students came up with.

“Yes, I suppose it would…” Q agrees with the assessment and leaves it at that.

———

SIS HQ, Q-Branch - Lower Ground Floor 1

Agent Marcus Park does not know the ‘rules’ yet. The newly minted Double-0 replaces the outgoing 008 who has miraculously survived to see retirement. Park is of Korean descent, mid 30s, former Captain in the Royal Army…… Tall and lean, at home in street fashion and cleans up well when needed. Tech and social media savvy, he’s the new generation agent - as long as he stays alive long enough.

He’s been measured, photographed, scanned, sampled, pinched, poked and prodded all day in Medical and Q-Branch as they collect the the information they need to customise all the bits that will go into his kit. Marcus thinks the Q-Branch minions know more about him by now than he knows himself. They even know his bone density and which side of his molars he prefers to chew on.

Thankfully by mid afternoon, Nish releases him temporarily to let him have a break. He has taken the opportunity to make himself a cup of tea and have some biscuits. He returns to Nish’s workspace to wait for further instructions carrying his tea in a borrowed novelty Q10 mug.

Nish is typing on his workstation, reviewing Park’s results but seems distracted - stealing surreptitious looks his way. A few other minions slow down as they walk by as well. As the new agent, Marcus is expecting some sort of hazing. Though he’s expecting it to come from the senior Double-0s.

He thinks it is better to get it done with. “I get the feeling something’s up? Is the tea spiked?”

Nish tries to find his words, without making Q-Branch seem like weird people, but just ends up gulping air like a goldfish.

“Earl grey? In the fancy tin?” Marcus prompts.

“No. No… It’s not spiked. That’s the Quartermaster’s tin.”

“Ah, he’s particular about that sort of thing is he?” Mischief. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he taps the side of his nose.

Josh, the minion occupying the next table waves his arms frantically at Nish from behind 008. He points repeatedly at the CCTV monitor mounted on the column above his workstation. On it, they can see feeds from all levels of Q-Branch, including the lift lobby and main doors of each floor - it is as much for security as well as work safety.

Nish takes a quick peek at the monitor and starts to worry. “Not exactly…. It’s not the tea, and Its not the Quartermaster you should be worried about.“

Okaay… Marcus is starting to think Q-Branch are a weird bunch. He had only been officially introduced to Q in the morning. Marcus has been an agent for several years but stationed overseas. As a field agent, he normally collected his tech from his handlers so never expected that the skinny, floppy haired man-child he’d crossed paths with maybe twice in the SIS bulling was THE Quartermaster. He seemed normal enough from the brief encounter, perhaps bordering on patronising - but that could be just the formality that made it seem so.

“Josh will make you a fresh cup!” Nish snaps his fingers urgently at the other man. Josh rushes up to Marcus to retrieve the mug.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself. This one is fine.” Marcus waves him away still holding on to the mug. Josh is paralysed, not knowing what to do. He can’t very well wrestle it out of the agent’s hands.

Too late.

”Ah 008. Nish. How is the fitting going?” Q’s voice carries from behind Nish. Nish does not have to turn around to know that 007 is with him. Josh slinks away quickly.

“Quartermaster. It’s going very well. Taking a break, just replenishing the sugar levels,” 008 lifts the mug of tea and the plate of biscuits. If the Quartermaster is that particular about his tea he’s going to try and get a rise out of him.

But Q does not react. Instead it is the man next to him that stills ever so slightly - no that’s not accurate, it was more like an almost imperceptible shift in body language. The body loosing that casual ease, control sliding into place.

A fellow double agent Marcus is sure. Predators know other predators. They study each other for a moment.

Q realises they haven’t been introduced. “Ah 008, have you met 007?”

Both men extend a hand out for a polite shake. Introductions ensue.

Nish uses the opportunity to signal to Josh to check his chat program.

:: Make a fresh pot and get back here with 3 mugs ASAP! ::

Josh flees to the pantry just in time, as the introductions finish. Nish then draws everyones’ attention to the data they have collected so far in the day. And when he runs out of interesting things to say about the data, he tries to shift the conversation to the new car for 008.

“Ah, about 008’s car - how did the meeting with Aston Martin go?” Which was apparently the wrong thing to say.

There is no mistaking the hurt and affront as 007’s eyes go wide and the set of his mouth goes slack.

Q grimaces at Nish and squeezes his eyes shut a moment before turning to face 007. The lowered tilt of his head and the apologetic smile up at 007 tells Nish that there might have been a misunderstanding about it. Oops?

What follows is an uncomfortable summary of the meeting with Aston Martin. With Q trying to convey his excitement about the project without offending 007 further.

Marcus listens attentively, leaning casually on Nish’s worktable, asking appropriate questions and offering his input about the design and potential modifications - all the while taking sips from the mug cupped in his hands. With each consecutive sip, he notices 007’s stare get more intense, eyes like blue chips of ice - Bond seemed to be watching him drink.

Curious. Marcus is confident of his own charms, but he hasn’t even tried anything yet. Surely 007 would be much more discrete than this if he were interested. The senior agent is not conventionally handsome but he has a rugged charm - if you like that sort of thing. Still, it might be an enlightening experience. He catches Bond’s stare and flicks the tip of his tongue against the lip of the mug before taking the next sip.

Bond is not happy. He is still smarting from the disappointment, then he has to listen to 008 ingratiatingly espouse the benefits of going electric with the new car and tolerate his drinking out of Q’s mug. And to top it off, 008 is now -taunting- him??

He doesn’t know when it happened, but Q is so attuned to Bond’s breathing by now he can feel the irritation radiating off the man standing next him. He thinks it is a rather disproportionate response to not getting a new company car for an agent his age - especially when he was never promised one in the first place.

Nish thinks this afternoon is headed straight for a disaster. Why is Marcus molesting the mug - it is like waving a red cape in front of an angry bull. Bond is so still it it is foreboding. Where the hell is Josh??!

Josh finally appears with a tray of mismatched mugs filled with tea. He nudges his way in between 007 and 008 using the tea tray as a wedge.

“Oh! Thank you Josh. You didn’t have to…” Q is bewildered; his minions don’t usually make tea for their visitors with the exception of Mallory. It is not encouraged to prevent the double-0s from feeling further entitled.

Josh deliberately picks a spot on the table, right on the small strip of clear space in front of 008 to set the tray down. This forces Marcus to put down the Q10 mug somewhere else and help Josh clear a bigger area to fit and unload the tray.

Nish swipes the mug in the ensuing distraction and sets it on the far end of the worktable away from 008. Bond catches the action and cotton’s on; then decides to take matters into his own hands.

In a bizarre turn of events, 007 proceeds to pick up each fresh mug of tea and offers it to Nish first; then to Josh - who accepts it out of pure shock. And then finally to Marcus - who looks bemused as he accepts it.

Then he leans very close to Q, a hand on the small of his back - voice intimate, “I’ll go get your tea.” Then he leaves for the pantry; collecting the Q10 mug when he rounds the table.

This leaves the four of them (Q, Nish, Josh and Marcus) standing around the worktable in awkward silence. Q just shrugs and smiles tightly, not sure what has gotten into Bond today.

Marcus can tell something happened, and it had to do with tea - but is still not sure exactly what. He has to revise his assessment of Q-Branch and perhaps 007; they are DEFINITELY a weird bunch.

—————————————————————

London to Geneva

The twelve hour drive included several refuel and recharge stops. With 007 in his old V8 Vantage and 008 in a hand me down Audi R8 formerly assigned to 003. Q and Nish on the other hand were enjoying the brand new modified Tesla Model X.

The Tesla was meant to be a support vehicle for handlers or other members of the support team that needed to be closer onsite - a mobile Ops centre of sorts. The large central screen was perfect for video conferencing and the software that controlled most of the car’s functions made it easy to add specialised ‘apps’ that increased its capabilities. The ‘summon’ mode that came stock with the car had been hacked to near true autonomous levels - turning it into a bulletproof infiltration or escape pod that could be summoned remotely if needed.

To top it off, the boot space was now fitted with hot-swappable modules that could contain anything from an armoury, a medical lab, a mini workshop, a surveillance drone launchpad etc. depending on mission parameters. The teams could even use its batteries as a power generator for a limited time.

All in all, another technological marvel courtesy of Q-Branch. But the best thing about it was also the simplest. The fact that the electric motors had enough punch to allow support teams to catch up to, or flee from hot situations.

A fact not lost on the boffins during their test drive to Geneva. While the sport cars that 007 & 008 drove had higher top speeds, the Model X’s acceleration was as advertised - ludicrous.

“Oh my God. This thing is insane! Check the accelerometer, how many Gs did we pull?”

At motorway legal speeds, they were unmatched. Something the boffins took plenty of pleasure doing on the open road - overtaking the agents whenever they had the chance.

Q tuts smugly at them as he pushes the car performance, “Oh hello 007, 008. Mind picking up the pace? We haven’t got all day…”. The dark grey Tesla pulls out from behind the convoy and shoots smoothly past the stunned agents.

Over the 3-way call and the roar of his noisy V8 engine, Bond can hear Nish and Q hooting and cackling like teenagers. Drunk on instant torque - Nish even tried to egg the agents into a race.

“Come on! Last one to Saint Quentin buys dinner!” Nish called out over the connection.

“Where are they? Did we loose them?” Q ribs the agents.

A testament to his growing maturity, 007 refused to take the bait. He could out manoeuvre them easily even with the handicap; but as senior agent on this mission, he’s not about to encourage dangerous driving that will attract the attention the french police and get them pulled over for no good reason.

Agent 008 however, did take the bait - turning the section from Beaune to Saint Quentin into a light game of tag all the while quibbling with the boffins good naturedly.

“Dinner is a broad term. Are we talking Maccies or the Ritz?” Marcus wants clarification. His Audi R8 pulling out into the overtaking lane and closing the distance.

“Ah, there you are 008.” Q catches him in the rearview mirror.

“Mate, the Ritz of course! Risotto with Grana Padano cheese and truffle oil and a bottle of the best Chasselas in the house,” Nish is surfing the menu on his tablet.

“… wet blanket…” someone mutters over the line.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with 007 having the slowest car of the lot does it?” Marcus goads.

The roar of Bond’s V8 engine barely drowns out their laughter.

By the time they arrived at the next rest stop, Bond had reached the end of his patience. He is not about to let the inexperienced boffins attempt to race a young impetuous double-0 through the twisty alpine roads with its sharp drops up to Geneva.

He forces Nish to switch cars with him. As for Q, he pinned with a strong hand behind the neck like you would a naughty cat by the scruff - and fixed him with a disapproving glare.

That effectively put an end to the game. Bond’s sports car was far less intuitive to drive - unaided by fancy tech and electronics, the performance machine required skill and experience to control. Nish has not much of either with the car, so had to treat it with respect.

Which left Bond driving the Model X with Q as passenger. It is essentially a glorified minivan in his eyes.

“Since when were you the sensible one?” Q grouses, tapping on the navigation screen to check their arrival time.

“Haven’t you been in my ear nagging about it for years?”

“And you chose now to listen to me?”

“We can’t both be irresponsible at the same time.” Now there’s a sobering thought, the havoc the both of them can wreck on the world… maybe that’s why interpersonal relationships are frowned upon, “The world isn’t ready for it.”

Q looks over at Bond and taps some options on the screen. Suddenly the car feels different, just as they are about to merge back onto the motorway. The instant torque that throws him into his seat when he puts his foot on the accelerator catches him by surprise.

Twenty minutes into the drive and Bond has to grudgingly admit that the acceleration was addictive, and the silence a relief to his ears. The seats and suspension far less a strain on his back and the large screen is easier to read. 007 has to face the terrifying possibility that he might be getting… SOFT.

“Admit it, it’s not as bad as you thought it would be.”

“Yes fine, I’m starting to see what all the fuss is about. Can you drift in it?”

“Not quite yet…. We have figured out how to bypass the stability control and add it as a shortcut tile onscreen—,“ Q points to the red ‘Chase Mode’ button on the corner of the main screen.

“—but its a heavy car and no one in Q-branch has managed to get the tail to spin out without nearly killing themselves in the process.” Q grins at him, “You up to the challenge?”

Bond quirks a smile as he puts his foot down on the accelerator to effortlessly and silently overtake a lumbering lorry.

“Sure, when we get home… But what happens if I need to turn the car OFF and ON again in the middle of a chase?” He’s not quite ready to surrender his internal combustion engine for a mobile phone on wheels.

————-------

Geneva Motor Show - Palexpo, Grand-Saconnex

Aston Martin Exhibition Stand

“Bond, if you stand like that next to the Vantage any longer, the press is going to think you’re a hired model.”

The agent is doing his patented man-in-suit ‘pose’ - that blend of deliberate insouciance he’s perfected over the years, feet right distance apart, one hand in his pocket. Hell, his suit is probably more expensive than what some of the actual models here are wearing. If Q was being honest, Bond makes the car look even better.

Q knows what Bond is doing. He’d basically herded Q over to the massive Aston Martin stand and refused to let him leave. Dragging him back to draw his attention to one thing or another whenever Q tried to move on. The bastard is fishing for a new car and not so subtly hinting which one he wants.

“Come over here,” he uses his free hand to gesture to Q, cajoling and demanding at the same time.

Q has to roll his eyes. He comes to stand in front of the information sign next to the car. He knows it already, the recently updated Vantage now has a 4.0 litre twin turbo V8 engine pushing out 503hp, 0-62mph in 3.6 seconds with a price tag that does not even bear thinking.

Q does a bit of mental math, “At that price, not to mention the cost of the additional modifications, we usually want to get more than a single use out of it…” a direct jibe at 007’s track record.

Bond just smiles cheekily and leans in close, “But surely if it meant the difference between if I get home in one piece or… several pieces, it’d be worth it. Consider it safeguarding Her Majesty’s assets.”

-Oh low blow-. That’s emotional blackmail. If they weren’t in public, Q would have smacked him soundly with the stack of glossy brochures he’d been collecting all day.

“Or we could write you off as depreciated assets and be done with it,” that was extra mean, and Q knows it. So he softens the blow by handing Bond the stack of brochures to free his hands and starts to inspect the car - making a show that he is ‘considering’ the request.

He pops open the bonnet to examine the engine setup, walks around checks the tyres and breaks, checks the boot space before climbing in to examine the interior and driver’s setup and controls.

Q is surprised when an Aston Martin executive lands in the passenger seat all of a sudden and introduces himself as the Deputy head of Engineering before drawing Q into a conversation about the car’s performance and clever electronic bits.

In his peripheral vision, Q sees Bond round the car to stand just outside the driver’s door - trapping Q in the driver’s seat. Bond braces and arm on the hood of the car and leans into the cabin, ostensibly to listen to the explanations from the executive.

Lecture completed, Bond finally allows Q to climb back out. Q grudgingly accepts a brochure from one of the marketing reps circling the stand and when he turns to regard Bond, silently asking -Happy now?-.

The man is standing close - he picks the brochure out of Q’s hands, placing it on the very top of Q’s growing collection before handing the entire stack back to the quartermaster. A satisfied smile on his face that conveys -I want one-.

Nish appears just then interrupting their silent repartee, “Q!— I mean Collin.” Nish hisses his name in a not quite whisper. 007 has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. The boffins keep forgetting to use their cover names.

“Have you seen the concept Lagonda? That thing is ‘effing bonkers!” Nish is holding a champagne flute. “They’ve got drinks too yeah!”

Their priority passes as well as MTech’s connections score them invitations to exclusive launches by select manufacturers. For the boffins, it is Disneyland but with free alcohol. 007 can only hope that they will manage not to get too drunk on ‘gratis’ bubbly by the end of the day.

———

It was not all play and no work for the agents though. The day proved to be a fruitful outing for all of them.

At the Bugatti concept unveiling, 008 spots his mark. Kim Min Jun is watching the event together with the other VIPs. Marcus makes his move, insinuating himself into his small entourage of young, rich, social climbers. He scores an invite to drinks and party that evening at the Mambo in the city.

007 too finds his mark walking the show floor with a stunning woman presumably his wife. He watches as Don Marco and Kim meet briefly upstairs in the invitation only pavilion of the Bugatti stand. 007 takes his opportunity, swiping an unattended marketing pass from a table and goes up to the woman whom he later learns is Donna Lucia Sciarra. From her, he finagles their hotel name and duration of stay whilst giving her a tour of the cars on display.

———----------------------

The Ritz-Carlton, Hotel De la Paix - 2:00am

Bond gets back to the Ritz at 2am. He’d spent the evening with Donna Lucia while her husband was away attending to business. While Lucia wasn’t averse to physical dalliances of her own, she was loyal to her husband and his chosen profession. She had enough understanding of economics to know that her own position and lifestyle depended on it.

Which meant that 007 despite his charms could not get much information out of her other than a hint that Sciarra’s activities revolved around a client (presumably Kim). However the evening did present him with the opportunity to plant trackers and upload a virus into Sciarra’s laptop.

Now back at the Ritz, his room is oddly empty - Q is not in the room nor the connecting one. Neither bed has been slept in, nor was there a note of explanation. He checks his phone in case he missed a message - nothing.

Bond searches his jacket for his earpiece and puts it back in, “Q? Are you there?” No answer, but a moment later a sleepy Nish answers.

“Yes 007? I thought you’d finished with your objective tonight? The virus will continue to monitor and transmit data, but it will take time for HQ to shift through to find anything of interest. Did you need anything else?”

“Where’s Q?” voice carefully neutral.

“Uhh… in his room? He said he had a headache and had me standby on comms tonight. Why?” Nish is starting to sound concerned.

Bond stamps down his rising unease. He’s about to request Nish to check Q’s location when the room lock beeps and the man himself enters, dressed as he was during dinner. Q is swaying on his feet a little, that and the flushed skin indicated that he might be slightly inebriated.

Eyes locked on each other. “Nevermind. False alarm,” he tells Nish and removes the earpiece.

“Where the -hell- were you?” Bond is relived, but can’t keep the irritation out of his voice.

Q is a little taken aback by it. “I…uh… 008 called, needing assistance. It seems Kim Min Jun has few topics of interest outside of the serial partying expected of a socialite. Financial investments is one and the other, engineering. He’s a software engineer by education though his actual coding experience is limited, however he does retain an -intense-“ head tilt to emphasise the world “—interest in the field.”

He’s rambling. Bond knows Q does that when he’s stalling. “What happened?” he asks, more gently this time.

“008 was having difficulty maintaining Kim’s interest, so requested my help. We met up with him at his rented residence for a private party. Sciarra was present as well. Marcus did the requisite drinking, including most of my share, while I did the talking. Mostly about IT security, a little bit about encryption - fundamentals for the most part.”

Q elaborates while walking further into the room. He starts to empty his pockets and removes his jacket. When he’s done, he leans against the hallway wall - clearly tired.

“After a while, Sciarra who hadn’t spoken much the entire night brings out a tablet. He had a game on it, some sort of storm the castle type strategy puzzle. The game is adaptive - machine learning adjusts the game’s response to the skill level of the player in real time. It does not have preset levels or preset game paths like traditional games.”

“I can’t imagine it would be something for commercial release, it’s terrible as a game - it felt more like a simulation. But to the right people, it would be entertaining I suppose. He asked if I could help him solve the game. He’d been struggling for weeks apparently.”

Then more quietly he adds, “Park and I were concerned that if we did not indulge him, Sciarra would leave early… and that would put you in a precarious situation.”

Q braces for Bond’s exasperation, “Q… we’ve discussed this. You are not to put yourself in danger for my sake.” Sleeping with a colleague had its complications.

“At no point this evening was Sciarra or Kim aggressive nor did I feel any immediate danger.. just a general unease.” Q tries to defend himself.

And quickly continues, “We spent close to an hour on it, trying multiple strategies before making significant headway. I wanted to leave after that, so made an excuse about being too drunk for anymore strenuous thinking. Sciarra did not seem inclined, wanting my help to finish it. Kim was more accommodating and let us leave. He seemed pleased though, enough to invite us to the launch of his ICO.”

Bond has a sinking feeling in his stomach. So that’s what Lucia alluded to, when she said her husband was out scouting for opportunities. What was 008 thinking? He’d tossed an unprepared boffin into shark infested seas and chummed the water.

“Invite YOU, you mean… I think their interests rest solely in you at this point.” Despite the disapproval roiling off him, Bond can sense how uncomfortable Q is and steps in close, hands wrapping around his ribcage. Q melts into the comforting touch, resting his hands on the lapels of Bond’s jacket.

“I suppose… James, I’m going confess - I’m feeling somewhat out of my depth in this. Sciarra makes me nervous. And the personal manipulation feels… distasteful. Intellectually I understand the need for it, but it’s so different when you’re in the thick of it, that constant anxiety about being found out.”

“I’m guessing you felt a connection with Kim? The manipulation works best if there is a connection but also feels the worst.” Bond hopes the explanation would help.

Q nods in agreement. “Kim is a good conversationalist, we have overlapping interests, in any other situation we could very well be friends. How do you do this?” It is a rhetorical question. He is beginning to understand what 007 has to do in the line of duty; how this line of work can alter your perception of the world. He recalls Bond’s file and the trauma of Vesper Lynd.

In a moment of drunken paranoia and insecurity of his own, Q’s internal commentary goes into a wild tangent - what if Bond with his training and psychopathic tendencies is toying with him? How would he even begin to tell? Cold creep of horror constricts his chest. What if one day James tells him that he’s done playing house? Itch scratched?

He tries to distract himself by picking at a loose thread sticking out of Bond’s shirt where a button should be, the next one down is missing as well. How unlike Bond, he’s usually so fastidious with his wardrobe— ohh!

“Did she… pop your buttons??” The mental image is not helping his insecurities at the moment. This is nothing, just a couple of buttons - nothing compared to the cuts and bruises Bond comes home wearing all too often. But it is enough to remind Q that as recent as half an hour ago, Bond was in the embrace of someone else. There is even a lingering hint of her perfume.

His expectations in this regard has not changed just because of their as of yet undisclosed relationship. Q can maintain a clinical detachment while reading about and even on occasion listening to 007’s amorous encounters in the line of duty. But he is usually spared the physical aftermath. James always return to him carefully put back and scrubbed clean of evidence so to speak. So to be confronted with it for the first time is jarring, especially in his current state of mind.

Bond feels Q stiffen in the embrace. The gentle idling hands on his chest suddenly ceasing their movements - recoiling slowly into loosely balled fists. He grabs Q’s hands before they slip off his chest.

The action snaps Q out of his spiral of paranoid thoughts, anchoring him. The cold tightness around his chest eases - the warm reality he chooses to believe in edging out the insecurities.

Bond sighs heavily, he is going to have a talk with with 008 in the morning. Park should have checked with him before involving Q in this. The Quartermaster for all his eager willingness to help any agent in need; is not trained psychologically to handle up close deception nor does he have the right personality traits for this type of field work.

“I need a shower.”

“I could use a shower.”

They both declare at the same time. This makes the both of them smile, lifting the dark mood.

“Care to join me? You scratch mine and I’ll scratch yours?” Bond starts to go in for a kiss but stops in time when realises that the taste the Lucia’s lipstick is probably still on his skin.

“I’ll join you, but they’ll be no scratching involved.” Q is already starting to undress him, pulling his shirttails out of his trousers. “Shower, then sleep,” is as detailed a plan he can muster at the moment.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Bond exhales, visibly deflating - the bravado bleeding out of him. He is no longer as indefatigable as his reputation suggests.

“By the way, fair warning: I will likely be quite the tosser in the morning. I can already feel the beginnings of a hangover. Do you think throwing up now would help?”

“How much did you have to drink?”

A less than attractive burp escapes him. “No idea. Several rounds, at least, of what they call Poktan-ju. It’s some sort of bomb-shot. Soju mixed with beer? Christ, those things are potent.”

Bond kisses his temple and guides him to the bathroom, “Come on, I’ll hold your hair.”

—————————————

Ritz-Carlton - Breakfast

“You’re shagging the Quartermaster.” Park concludes after the lecture.

Not quite the response Bond was looking for after his talk about not putting untrained personnel in harm’s way; but one has to admire his cheek.

“The bed in his room is always made. No personal items on the bedside table. The adjoining door is always open. There are no used clothing anywhere in his room or bathroom, only fresh ones the hotel laundry returns in the wardrobe. And even those have his jumpers mixed in with your suits…” Marcus checks Bond’s reaction, just to make sure he wasn’t going to need to avoid an impending punch.

“The clincher though, is he leaves his phone charging in your room on the bedside table next to what I’m assuming is his side… I peeked. If you’re trying to keep it a secret, you’re doing a pretty shit job,” he finishes with considerable smugness.

Bond wonders if the previous M hired the next generation based solely on the measure of their precocious impertinence. The four of them have been using the Quartermaster’s room as a meeting room every morning for sitrep before they got on with the day’s agenda. So he supposes it is only expected for an agent of Park’s calibre to catch on sooner rather than later.

“Congratulations, you’ve figured out something every boffin in Q-Branch would have been able to tell you,” Bond deadpans.

A congenial chuckle escapes Marcus, “I have to say though, I’m somewhat embarrassed at how long it took for me to notice. For a short while I mistook your territorial displays as invitation. I was about to proposition you at one point… even if you aren’t exactly my type.”

Now that, genuinely was surprising. The amusing confession is an olive branch, and Bond accepts it by not punching Marcus in the face to underscore the message of his lecture.

And in regards to the lesson, Marcus concedes, “Fine! I’ll take your suggestion into consideration… for future reference.”

“Instruction—”

“—Advice.”

“Direction.“

“Counsel.”

“Order.” Bond is beginning to understand Mallory’s accelerated hair loss over the last two years.

“How about we settle at strong recommendation?” Marcus suggests affably, some measure of contrition in his cheeky smile.

Bond just blinks slowly and sighs. Agent 009 must be certifiable to want to one day succeed Mallory into a leadership position.

He looks over Marcus again. Despite the rebellious backtalk, the younger agent looks like shit warmed over. He is nearly slumped over the breakfast table.

“Should we have your stomach pumped?” The pathetic sight pulls a shred of pity out of him. Q isn’t even awake yet and if Marcus drank most of his share for him; it is no small feat that the agent managed to get out of bed this morning. Bond is aware of the ‘fellowship’ drinking required in other cultures, so spares Park a second lecture.

Marcus just waves the comment away. “Nnngh. Put a bullet in me and be done with it.”

—

Bond’s buzzing phone signals the end of the conversation. No caller ID, number withheld. He answers but says nothing.

“You boys at MI6 just can’t resist a challenge can you?” a familiar voice says without preamble.

Now this is interesting. “Felix. How are you? To what do I owe this call?”

“The puzzle box. The dammed game. It’s a test. Sciarra has been toting that thing around for months. We’re not sure for what yet. But it seems your new boy and the computer nerd he brought along made quite an impression last night.”

-Ah shit…- “And how do you know this?”

“Standard stuff, you know better than to ask. What I can tell you is Sciarra’s been seen poking around Silicone Valley. Word is, his next stop was going to be Russia but seems you boys have given him reason to delay that.”

“What do you know about Kim Min Jun? Your guys have better access to South Korea than we do.”

“Not as much as we’d like. The boy is a princeling, but only on the periphery - he’s a bit of an outcast. His connection to the family is through his mother who is the youngest of four. She was sent to the Europe for her education, where she met a man - a fellow student. She had a child by him outside of her family’s approval.”

“They married for the sake of appearances, but her family never warmed to him. He had some means, but nothing compared to her family. So eventually they split and she returned to Korea with their young son. Kim’s full name is Ferdinand Oberhauser-Kim Min Jun. Though he dropped the use of his father’s family name in favour of his mother’s surname Kim.“

“Alright so that’s his past, what about his current?” 007 continues to fish for information.

“Kim might not be a central figure or direct heir but he is still considered family, so there are… sensitivities involved. If it leaks that the we have interest in a family member of a powerful Chaebol, the political and public fallout could jeopardise international relations.” Leiter is being unusually forthcoming this morning.

“I see… so is this a courtesy call or do you need something?” the bored tone belying the interest underneath.

Felix clears his throat. -Here it comes- Bond thinks, “It seems your side has had better luck getting close to Kim. We’d like to know what he’s up to with the ICO. In return, we’ll tail Sciarra and let you know what he’s looking for in Silicone Valley and Russia.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, milking it for all its worth. It is not everyday that the CIA admits to being one step behind.

Eventually he answers, “Well, no point doubling up on the same job.” He doesn’t tell Felix that, MI6 already has a virus in Sciarra’s laptop. Anyway, Leiter might have more information and a partnership might be useful in the future. If the CIA is also interested in Kim, there might be something larger at play.

There is a hint of relief in Felix’s voice, “Always a pleasure doing business with you James. Oh and, wherever you found that computer nerd, I hope he’s insured. We don’t know how far this goes. We’ll be in touch.”

—————————————————

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 4 years

Text

FIC: With Wax Melted III

---

The table was somehow not crowded at all as the sound of cutlery scraping, requests for platters to be passed and the quiet background music filled the kitchen. It had been a while longer before Jo announced dinner was prepared and she’d gently coaxed the group into moving. Grey was almost certain she’d made the table bigger somehow but that was a thought for later, when he wasn’t having to negotiate exactly how to fit everything on a plate together.

“Hun,” Jo murmured as she leaned over his shoulder to take the bowl filled with the home made pasta dressed in the pesto and fresh rocket leaves and dish out a small pile onto his plate. About half the size he had been trying to negotiate onto the plate. “You realize the bonus of family-style is that you can take seconds, right?”

“Oh, true.” Grey let out a quiet laugh as he sat back in his seat. His plate could be filled again if he wanted it to, and as he took a forkful of the zesty pasta and enjoyed the slight lemony finish, he knew he’d be taking a second helping of pasta if not everything. “This is so good, Jo.”

He wasn’t kidding though - the taste was just right with the pesto he’d been talked through tasted like a truly basil bliss. The lemon offset it perfectly and the pasta itself was al dente and Grey was going to never get over how quickly and efficiently Jo had whipped up the fresh dish. The yellow strands were beautiful and were delicate in a way he’d never attempted to make of his own nor were they as thick or too perfectly made as the store bought where it lacked the rustic and obvious care and love that these ones did. It was perfect.

“Of course it is, you helped.” The blonde chided him back, tapping the back of his head with the handle of the serving spoon before she rounded the table to help the other blonde in the house sort out her meal. “Hey, lemme help, Ombre!”

“You helped make the meal?” The question came from Grey’s right, and the curious look on the elder’s face was veiled slightly more than the curiosity in his tone. Amon glanced between his plate and the shadow before giving a slight nod. “It’s very well made.”

“Oh, well, I helped. Jo did a lot of it.” “Really?” “She’s definitely under playing how much is her work-”

“Multitalented, hmm?” Amon turned from looking towards Grey down towards the other end of the table where the two blondes were talking and Jo was dishing up not only the pasta but encouraging the younger girl to try a little of both the vegetarian and meat options - “If you haven’t tried meat, you should and see how you feel, Ombre” - before he turned back towards the man beside him. “I have to stop underestimating her, perhaps.”

“Don’t do that,” Grey grinned a little, taking the plate of caperese salad that Harry handed him to add a few of the fresh tomatoes onto his plate. “She likes being underestimated.”

“Yeah, and she also likes shooting you in the back when she gets the chance.” The researcher piped up as he let out a laugh of his own, tucking into the crumbed beef parmesan that had both the gooey cheese layered on top and the thick tomato sauce Grey’d made layered between the still crisp beef schnitzels. Jo must have only heated that through enough to brown the cheese under the griddle so that the crumb wouldn’t get soggy, and if the eggplant version wasn’t so delicious, Grey’d be tempted to give it a try himself. The sauce had been thick when he’d last seen it, and he almost had thought when he left it it had been a little chunky still - but the sauce that filled the layers between the umami-rich eggplant slices was instead thick in a silky way with no graininess. The béchamel white sauce and golden brown cheese on top had the right level of gooeyness to it, pulling in a long string of golden deliciousness with each slice. That Jo’d made both options was going down well, as both Grey and Shada appreciated the meat-free alternative and Harry and Ombre both had a bit of each on their plates, while Amon had been advised with a sly look from Jo she’d made sure to make their beef version a little bigger. Harry grinned around his mouthful before adding. “I mean, it’s good when she’s on your team but sucks when you play for the opposition.”

“I’ve seen that being on her bad side is not a good idea.” The slightly deeper tone in Amon’s voice piqued Grey’s interest before he found himself blushing to realize exactly how true that was, and the veiled intent behind the man’s words. That was something they couldn’t see eye to eye about, but Grey found himself appreciating that the other had put that aside, as usual, on his behalf. There was a pause before the older man asked carefully, the cool tone disappearing from his words. “But what do you mean by team?”

Grey half listened in as Harry appeared to go onto one of his famous, disjointed stories explaining the whole concept of first-person-shooters and gaming; eyes darting on occasion to see that Amon seemed to have known exactly what he was doing getting the other distracted and babbling away. It took the pressure off both Grey and Amon to do more than nod or mumble encouragingly while getting to enjoy their meal, and Grey did always find Harry’s passion for their shared hobby to be fun to experience second hand.

As he chewed on a piece of his garlic breadstick (which was somehow pillowy and held a sweet nuttiness from the browned garlic, and he almost felt proud at his contribution to this part of the dinner at how well the garlic and herbs had been balanced), Grey turned his attention past the two other men down to the other end of the table where Jo had finally sat down and was now caught between his two sisters talking about some shopping trip they hoped to do. It was fast paced, and Grey watched on as Jo’s eyes darted back and forth between both other women like a tennis match trying to follow the flow of conversation and getting horribly lost. After a few moments of observing, the blonde finally seemed to notice his observation - brown eyes fixing onto his instead for a moment before he could see her cheeks turning bright red around a bite of her dinner at being caught and the wink Grey delivered her. Jo quickly swallowed her mouthful and jumped right into the middle of the conversation, a tiny twitch to her lips letting Grey know it was just as amusing to her.

“Brother?” “Hmm?”

“Can you please tell Cupcake that I will entirely behave myself this year for Christmas. Please?” Shada’s voice singsonged across the table as she had spotted his watching the three women’s conversation. “I won’t even try to sit in Dean’s lap if he forgets to ask me to.”

“Oh like I believe that, Shada.” Grey chuckled, shaking his head at the other. “Anyway, if we’re having Jo’s family for Christmas then-”

“Then we get to come too, right?” Ombre chirped up happily, tossing her hair in a hilarious mimic of her older sister. “Oui?”

Grey shook his head for a moment and found himself sighing deeply as Jo chimed up with that teasing look on her face. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure we’re doin’ anthin’ for Christmas. At least, not with anyone else.” The eyelash batting from the blonde did nothing to stop the embarrassed groan that got from him. “Just kiddin’, but I really don’t know if everyone will be around this year.”

“Perhaps we’ll have a relaxed one this year.” Grey added, shrugging a shoulder at the deflated looks he was receiving from both sisters. It was still a month away, they could work something out closer and perhaps they’d be distracted or busy anyway. The approving look he was receiving from the man beside him helped a little, as did the way Harry quickly jumped in to explain his plans for the holiday season and changed the topic along with it.

Dinner flowed well though, and Grey found himself in awe at just how comfortable it felt for him to be sat there surrounded by the group that had assembled. Even Amon was convivial and Grey had watched eyes wide when Ombre had tried to convince the demon to ‘do the pretty eye trick’ only to have her distracted by Jo’s suggesting they go feed Nana her dinner since they’d finished early. The look of relief on the demon’s face though at nobody else daring to use the phrasing or to bring it up was priceless though, and a gift of itself to Grey. That it was comfortable for three monsters, a demon, a hunter and a hunting researcher to be sharing bread - quite literally when Harry and Shada squabbled over the last roll before Jo offered half of hers to the loser, Harry - and it feel like a regular family occasion felt both surreal and perfectly normal for Grey. Normal was whatever his life with Jo was shaping up to be after all, it was normal for the sun to rise in the east and for his world to warp itself to neatly match with her rising times that perhaps it should feel equally normal for her world to wrap and bend itself to match his.

---

When the idea of dessert had been brought up originally, with everyone splayed around the lounge room in different levels of satiated from the amazing meal already served, there had been a round of denials and claims that another mouthful would make them explode. Jo had tutted quietly behind her teeth and suggested she’d just bring in a little something in case anyone got pekish - and with the arrival of the large serving platter covered in delectables, those denials got far far quieter.

There were the small pastries from earlier of the salted caramel tartlets that were so perfectly sweet but bitter with the mix of salt and dark chocolate cutting through the sugary sweetness of the rich, buttery caramel, lemon meringue pies that had even been decorated with small pearls of ruby red pomegranate seeds that added to the sweet tartness of the cirtrus bites and meringue kisses which had swirls of colors both blue and yellow throughout to make small flowers of sugary whiteness that Grey had seen crafted beautifully, and that tasted like heaven the moment he tried any of them. There was fresh fruit with strawberries and blueberries and delicate mandarins sitting beside lovingly prepared slices of plums and pears, with halved figs that appeared to be drizzled with honey sat proudly next to walnuts, and almonds, and grapes. There was a small pot of what looked to be whipped, sweetened ricotta for dipping right beside another bowl of melted chocolate also awaiting the dip of a delicious morsel. There were cut up pieces of waffle and tiny doughnut balls sitting and waiting for their time to be enjoyed, and finally what looked to be a few shards of very quality chocolate decorated throughout. The whole platter was as vibrant and inviting as breakfast and dinner had been, and while Jo disappeared back into the kitchen in search of drinks, Grey was surprised that everyone held back enough for her to get out the door before the first few pieces picked and enjoyed.

“Ah ha!” Jo cried proudly as she came back in, a tray held in one hand that held the drinks for the group like the seasoned bartender she was. She pointed a finger around at everyone, not missing at all the sticking fingers or the half eaten evidence of their snacking already. “I told you you’d all find room, didn’t I?”

“It isn’t our fault,” Harry was the first one to speak up, licking the cinnamon sugar from his doughnut ball from his fingers before grabbing one of the serviettes that Jo’d left out. “You made it look all pretty. And I, for one, know what it’s like to miss out on your baking. So I clearly had to eat something.”

“Oh clearly.” The sarcasm rolled off Jo’s tongue quickly but it was obvious she was as amused as everyone else as she handed the researcher a milky looking glass with his Bailey’s and milk. “What are the rest of your excuses?”

“I never claimed I was full!” Ombre chirped up from where she’d opted to sit on the floor between the coffee table and television facing everyone. She had floofed her skirts out and was extremely excited that Nana had come downstairs during dinner and was laying on the rug nearby her. Grey’d watched the cautious look the dog gave the newcomer and was so proud to see how little reaction she had given other than an uncertain tail flip. “Besides, the tartlets are si doux - so so cute! I must try!”

Shada leaned forward from her spot on the couch beside Harry’s armchair with a small smirk all her own as she popped a grape into her mouth. “Can’t let it go to waste when you’ve put so much work in, Jo.” The smile Grey caught from her slowly shifted as if an idea had crossed her mind and he felt himself shaking his head right as the brunette added, “Surprised there aren’t any cupcakes, Cupcake.”

“Made them the last few times, and I had pastry on hand.” “Oh? So bought then?” “Nah, just made a pumpkin pie last week and made a double batch.”

The cups of tea were sat down quickly in front of the two other women from her tray as Jo shrugged a shoulder, before she moved around to the large armchair that the eldest in the room had taken up. Grey had happily suggested that his friend have the comfortable armchair nearest the spot on the couch that he’d taken for himself beside his sister, and watching as Jo handed off the glass, Grey had been amused at how accommodated for the demon had been. As well as everyone else. There’d been Guinness available as well as the regular beer line ups Jo kept about for hunters and herself, there had been a bottle of Baileys cooling in the fridge to make Harry a creamy after-dinner-drink, there had even been some specifically chosen Irish whiskey and liqueur that was what filled the glass that Amon was swirling carefully with a considered look. Grey couldn’t help the rush of warmth he felt realizing how much Jo’d taken everyone’s preferences in mind with even the dessert platter and the bourbon and coke she slipped into his hand; his sunshine making sure that everyone felt the same amount of warmth and hospitality throughout the whole night.

“And you, hunny, what’s your excuse?” Jo caught his attention from his musing with a wide smile as she perched herself on the arm rest beside him. Grey blinked uncertain what she was asking for a long moment, before she took pity on him. “You said you were full, and I come back in to see you dippin’ three waffle bites into the fondue.”

“Well, you know me. I fondue.” “Do you? Fondue?” “Sometimes.”

“Oh stop flirting you two.” Harry chuckled, breaking the joke as Grey tugged on the end of Jo’s hair playfully before turning back towards his friend. “Didn’t you spend enough time doing it today, huh?”

Grey found himself shaking his head as he laughed and tried to fight the blush from making itself known on his cheeks. “Hey, there’s company around, Harry. Besides, we were busy with preparing dinner all day.”

“Oh, totally,” Jo gushed on top, and Grey saw her shifting to sit on the rug between his end of the couch and Amon’s armchair with the same bright red threatening her cheeks. “We were slavin’ over a hot stove all day, ain��t nobody had time for anythin’ else.”

“I find that hard to believe.” The growled comment from the other end caught everyone’s attention before the blush came rushing up full force as Grey caught the knowing look in the other man’s eye. Amon’s brow jerked up for a moment in a way that was so familiar to the expressions possible from him usually, and Grey felt himself letting out an awkward but amused laugh at recognizing exactly that look. “Though I do hope you had an enjoyable day, Grey.”

“Thanks, Amon.” Grey murmured the response out as he scratched at the back of his neck and tried to fight the blush down. It wasn’t hard to appreciate the at least jump from Harry’s teasing, but it didn’t escape him that the same was still happening.

He was saved from trying to work out how to change the topic as he watched in almost sickeningly slow motion as Jo’s hand moved from popping a meringue in her mouth to hitting out at the demon’s calf. “Oh, don’t you start teasin’ him too.” Jo chided around the mouthful of sweets, and tossed her head back to pin the other with a look. “He’s been very busy day - we took Nana for a walk down by the lake to chase the ducks and got lunch out. Ain’t nobody got time for much else when the pup wants somethin’ - as you know very well.”

“Ah yes, you did seem to raise a very demanding pup.” “She is a goddamn princess - she can be demandin’ as she wants.” “That says so very much.”

“Why thank you.” The glowing smile that was directed up towards the other from the blonde made Grey laugh at how carefree it was before Jo’s look transformed into a smirk and she crawled around the edge of the coffee table to sit next to the pup in question and give the slowly wagging dog a large amount of happy pets alongside the other blonde. “You’re such a good girl aren’t you. Don’t listen to grump ol’ Amon, he forgets what it’s like to be young like us.” The cooing was as gentle but clearly loud enough for everyone to hear and get a good laugh out before Jo and Ombre disolved into a quiet conversation over the dog.

Grey leaned forward to rest a hand over his friend’s forearm though, the corner of his lips twitching into an uncertain smile. “Jo just spoils her, I guess.”

“You might have to watch out for that one day. Unfortunately if you let your... pup make too many calls early on, you’ll have trouble helping them make good choices later.” Amon’s words sounded more bemused than annoyed, and the slight worry that Jo’s teasing might cause a problem disappeared at catching the other man’s eye as he took a sip of his drink thoughtfully. “Though perhaps you too will luck out.”

Grey swallowed a sip of his own drink trying to loosen his throat as he smiled across at the other, before his attention was grabbed by Shada demanding he explain some movie plot line Harry was talking about but couldn’t remember the name of the film for. That took almost everyone to work out that the researcher had completely mixed the plot lines of Venom and Upgrade which turned into an argument on which was better, and then why posession is so over used in Hollywood and before Grey knew it, Ombre was shouting loudly while Harry was teasing her about living out the intention of the Lazarus Effect, and everyone was laughing in their own way at the ridiculousness before diverting into just how wrong movies are about practically everything which lasted late into the evening.

---

“Thanks again for coming, Harry,” Grey said as he pulled the other man in for a quick hug and back pat before they stepped apart. Harry was smiling wide and Grey met it equally pleased as he’d accompanied the other to the door. It had gotten very late, and Grey hadn’t even known where the time had gone. “We’re catching up Sunday for brunch?”

“Yeah, man. There’s a burger joint down the refurbished docks I wanted to check out.” “Burgers sounds good. They got outdoor seating?” “Totally. You can probably walk Nana down and then we can actually have beers.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Grey nodded repeatedly and wasn’t surprised to be pulled in for another quick hug from the other before Harry made his way down the steps and towards the van parked out front. It always felt good to catch up with the other, and getting to find somewhere new to enjoy in town would be good for both of them. “See you!” He called out a little quieter than needed as he waved a hand after the other.

“We’re headed off too,” Shada said, getting a jump out of Grey when she and Ombre appeared to pop up behind him without his having noticed. The cheeky grin at catching him off guard was printed across both women’s faces as they moved in to hug him in conjunction. “Tell Jo we’ll be around to get her next week for shopping-”

“If she doesn’t have a, uh, for her it’s called a hunt right? Not a job?” “That’s right, Ombre.” “Ah, droite! I got it right!”

“I’ll make sure to remind her, but what do you mean tell her?” Grey smiled widely at both his sister’s as he pulled them both in after a moment for a hug each. Ombre swished her skirts as she shrugged a shoulder and waved a hand at the other to talk when Grey and Shada finally pulled back from their tighter hug. “Sis?”

“Your gal tired herself out. Again.” Shada replied with a smirk, dark eyes glittering with amusement as she jerked her head back towards the lounge. “You left for all of two seconds with Harry, and she did a repeat of last year.”

“Huh?” Grey frowned in confusion for a second before he shook his head and couldn’t help the impulse but to get a third quick hug from each of his sisters instead. When Ombre wiggled in against his side, an amusing feat given not only her height but her chunky heeled shoes, Grey finally held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, you two stay safe and have a good night, yeah?”

“Totally. It’s just in time for breakfast croissants in Paris after all,” The brunette said cheekily as she ushered the youngest out the front door, sharing a roll of the eyes with their brother as Ombre let out an excited squeal at the idea. “I do hope you’ve have a good day, brother.”

“With you guys, and Amon, and Harry, and Jo?” Grey said gently as he held onto the door and saw the blonde dash off down the steps excitedly before he caught his sister’s eye again. “How could I not?”

There was a pause as the dark haired woman seemed to pin him for a second, as if trying to discern if there was something she had missed, before the smile on her lips grew wider and almost as bright as his favorite kind of smiles. “Oh good. We’ll be around soon, Grey. I love you.”

“Love you too, Shada.” Grey couldn’t help the impulse then to quickly tug her into another hug, bringing a loud laugh out of the other at the tight squeeze, before they both finally pulled back and gave a gentle wave as Grey shut the door and Shada ran off after their younger sister.

He had completely forgotten Shada’s confusing commentary until he made his way into the lounge and had to bite back the laugh at spotting Jo’s head dropped where she was leaning against the side of the armchair, seemingly fast asleep, with their dog’s head laid equally asleep over her lap. In the chair, Amon was seated but seemed to be completely ignoring the dozing pair as he simply held his glass, staring at it considering.

“Oh no,” Grey finally managed to get some words out without laughing as he moved around the back of the couch towards the small group. Nana’s head slowly lifted, showing she had been merely dozing and her tail began to thump softly and sleepily against the floor. “Sorry that I left you with the boring pair, Amon.”

“It’s fine, Grey. I am sure that you’ve had a very eventful day, and she was-” There was a pause as the other appeared to pull his attention out of the slowly melting ice in his glass to look between Grey’s face and where the hunter was clearly fast asleep. Amon appeared to take a moment to select his words, brows creased slightly as the words took time to come to him. “-clearly very attentive and stressed this evening.”

“Stressed?” “Perhaps not, but she was far less relaxed than your usual evenings.”

“Oh.” He found himself nodding as he moved closer to sit back into his spot on the couch, eyes not once moving from looking towards the dozing blonde. She did seem to have deeper bags under her eyes than usual that evening, and Grey had noticed she had had a relatively small dinner - more on her feet fetching this or that for others, or focused on adding to conversation and including everyone than on her own meal - and hadn’t even finished her whiskey and coke given it was almost entirely full in it’s spot on the coffee table, water floating atop where the ice cubes had melted. “Well, she... Jo does like to be a good hostess I guess.”

Amon quirked a brow up as he took a long sip of his drink, and Grey found his eyes darting from Jo’s face up to the other’s knowing look but unable to meet it for long. “She cares about you, boy. At least in that she has improved.” Amon growled the words out quietly as he swirled the last of his drink in his glass. “If she did not care for making you happy, do you think she’d have made the effort it takes to include myself?”

Grey couldn’t help the warmth that spread to him thinking about that. The other was very correct in that his very presence, sitting as he was in the form he was in the space he was, was something that required time and thought. And on top of that, coming from the blonde hunter, something extra to make that choice and trust - let alone the extra care to accommodate the other’s tastes for dinner and drinks. The amount of effort in that alone blew him away without even taking in that, as was slowly becoming tradition, she had trusted Grey’s trust in the demon enough to lower her guard such that she’d dozed off again in his presence. He shook his head sharply to try to stop the prickling feeling he felt in his eyes at looking at the image before him that tugged at something sharply inside.

“Well, I’m very lucky then.” He finally found the words himself, the depth of meaning only barely scratching the surface as he finally looked up to catch the other’s eye. Shrugging a shoulder as he finished his own drink, Grey sank back, boneless, into the couch with a sigh. “I.. I really have to say thank you, not just to her, but you too Amon. This was... a fantastic surprise. I really, really have to thank you for coming.”

“No need, boy.” The demon said carefully as he lifted his drink to his lips and finished the last of it with a worn sigh - the honey-infused whiskey the traditional post-dinner drink but one less common on this side of the pond - before he slowly pushed himself to his feet careful not to disrupt the sleeping hunter even as the dog got to her feet with a wag of her tail. Amon let out a quiet, warning growl as the dog moved to step onto Jo to jump at him and held the pup’s eye until Nana sank back down into a sit. “It was a pleasant evening. Far different than the last few times I had taken such a form up here, at least.”

Grey tilted his head to look up at the other as he set his empty glass down on one of the coasters on the coffee table. “Oh?”

“Definitely. However, I do find this a lot more restrictive so I will be heading off.” “Oh. Yeah, let me walk you out.” “Of course.”

The pair both slowly moved out of the lounge quietly, and Grey was not surprised to see Nana shuffle along quietly behind them as intrigued as she was by seeing the wolfish friend as he was that evening. He gave a gesture towards the stairs towards the dog as they reached the hall, and was pleased to see that with only minimal bouncing and weaving between his and Amon’s legs that Nana headed off to her bed without a fuss.

“Don’t forget to repaint those traps before bed tonight, Grey.” The taller man said quietly as he moved through to the threshold, looking up at the ceiling carefully. “Most was left in tact so it simply requires a touch up on the scratched areas.”

“Thanks, I’ll get to it right away.” Grey nodded as he glanced up and could thankfully see clearly even in the dim lighting the exact spot that needed repainting, before he moved forward to wrap a tight hug around the other for a moment. It was somehow strange to do this when it was a hard, human chest he had his face pressed against rather than thick, black fur, but it was as comforting and felt almost as natural before he pulled back with a smile at the same on the other man’s face. “Thanks again. For... For everything, Amon. I hope you know the importance you have, especially today of all days.”

There was a pause before the other man gave a nod, his eyes veiled but obviously aware of the significance despite the time since. Grey wasn’t sure if it was because he remembered specifically dragging him almost kicking and screaming from under that burnt out wreckage or not, but even if he didn’t - Grey was glad to acknowledge it to the other. That as much as Jo had given him on that day, she hadn’t been the only one nor was she the one that had been there with him the longest in that darkness. She was the sunshine that broke through the rain, but the demon shrugging a shoulder before him had been the rock that he’d clung to to avoid being washed away. At the thought, Grey quickly jerked forward to deliver another, brief but tight hug, before he pulled back.

“Again, thanks.” Grey smiled widely as he got a firm nod from the other, before Amon turned and began to step off the stairs, following the same rules to get away from the house before disappearing as Grey closed the door.

The rug was quick to replace, and as Grey turned about he moved as quickly as possible to replace and protect the house again before he headed back into the loungeroom. Jo was right where he’d left her, slumped up against the armchair and still fast asleep, her hand curled softly around where Nana’s paw had been.

He moved quietly over, and sank down to a knee beside her. “Jo, pretty one, wake up.” Grey gently shook her shoulder, softer than he probably need to to rouse her but enough that she should wake, only to have two hands reach out to grab his shirt instead. He tilted his head but could see her eyes still closed over and with a sigh, he shifted to slide a hand under her legs and his other around her shoulders. It took a moment before he moved to lift her, letting out a shocked breath when her arms went around his neck and he could feel the warm breath on his cheek. “Okay fine, we’ll get you upstairs then, huh?”

“Nuuhgh?” The vague noise came from the other before the hands around his neck held tighter and wound their way into his hair, before Grey gave his own sigh in response. Holding tighter, he slowly made his way out of the lounge, closing the door behind him and glad that Jo’d cleared away the dessert tray earlier in the night that he didn’t have to worry about anything but the lights as he slowly made his way upstairs. “Huungh?”

“Bed time, Jo.” “Uuh?” “Don’t worry, everyone’s already gone home, pretty one. Now its time for bed.”

“Mmmmokay.” Jo groaned the word out quietly, tucking her head against his chest as they got up the stairs and Grey navigated through the bedroom door. This was possibly the most unexpected end to the evening for him, but as he laid the other out on the bed and moved to tuck her in, he was unsurprised to find the two hands holding him tug gently to pull him down too. “Mmnoo.”

“Okay, Jo, but jeans off.” Grey chuckled quietly at her fussing and fighting to keep him near, shifting to kick his jeans down quickly before stripping hers off her legs too before climbing into bed behind her.

Tucking in against her back, Grey found himself tugging Jo back against himself and curling in against her to relax. It had been a long day, but as the other twisted around and tucked her face into the crook of his neck, Grey couldn’t hold back the laugh knowing that the day had been practically perfect for him, and his night was setting up to be just the same watching over until the sunrise and his sunshine would wake up.

---

#cc #ca #greypov #happy grey day part 3

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floral-on-main · 4 years

Text

I Would Dye For You

Summary: Lydia needs to re-dye her hair. She gets some help from the resident Ghost with the Most. It goes surprisingly well, all things considered. A sequel to Back To My Roots (No ship!)

Also on ao3. Words: 2279

Getting the hair dye was easy enough. No petty theft or step-mother begging needed. All it took was to ask her dad to pick it up on a grocery run. Then 3 to 5 business days later, Lydia had her box of black dye in hand. She couldn't help but think back to Beej's off hand comment about dyeing his own hair. She had no idea why a demon with color changing hair would want to dye it, but it couldn't hurt to indulge him.

Yes it could. Lydia knew it could, but this seemed relatively harmless.

So on her next mother-daughter bonding activity with Delia the two went to the mall. Of course Delia had to check out the recently opened shop of Spiritual Wellness. And of course Lydia had to go into the store that was blaring metal music and lined with walls with even more metal. She passed by another row of piercings before coming across a lone stand of hair products.

On the shelf was brushes shaped like skulls, neon colored hair clips, animal eared headbands, and a sizable selection of hair dyes. The majority were various shades of black, but a couple stood out with obnoxious packaging and color. Green, red, blue, purple, all colors she had already seen on BJ. She doubt there would be much of an impact if his hair didn't look any different. It was then she noticed a single box of pink dye stowed in the back behind the red.

Before she could second guess her actions, she purchased the bubblegum pink dye. Delia was near the entrance of the store perusing the crystal jewelry on display. From the look on her face, it seemed she didn't appreciate how almost none of the jewelry had actual stones and was just colored plastic. For once Lydia had to agree with her.

The ride home was quiet, almost pleasant. Lydia and Delia still didn't agree on most subjects, but they were growing closer. A family disaster would do that to people. Lydia now near that Delia wasn't naive or air-headed, just sickeningly optimistic.

As she raced inside Delia wished her the best of luck. It seemed Delia always had to get the last word in when parting. Lydia threw the door open to her room to find it thankfully empty. She knew Beetlejuice would show up eventually, but she didn't want his help right now. She placed the box of pink dye on her bed before grabbing the black dye from her wardrobe. Before leaving, she made sure to leave a note besides the dye that read 'For you. DO NOT EAT'.

Gloves on and brush in hand, Lydia was ready to rid herself of her loathsome roots. The only thing stopping her was the sound of moping on the other side of the bathroom door. Looks like Beej found her note. She took a deep, calming breath before kicking open the door. The sound of a surprised yelp soothed something primal inside her. Serves him right.

Lydia and Beej glared at each other in various states of ridiculousness. One knocked on his ass in a grungy suit, the other in a black stained floral robe and cheap plastic gloves.

“Give me ten minutes and then I'll do yours.”

Beej gave her a thumbs up. With that, she shut the door and made quick work of covering her roots. Beetlejuice leaned against the wall beside the door. He knew he was being a nuisance and he reveled in it. But he honestly did want her to finish up so he could get his hair done. God-slash-Satan, he really hoped the dye stuck in his hair. His suit could stain and he didn't want to look like he took a dip in Pepto Bismol. Never again.

The door opened just a sliver. Lydia's eye could be seen from the crack. Beej gave her big ol' puppy dog eyes, complete with dog tags and being housebroken. “Come in. Keep still or I <i> will</i> tell Delia that you're the reason her crystals have been going missing recently.”

“I told you that in confidence! But I understand where you're coming from.” With a snap of his fingers Beetlejuice was hogtied on the floor.

“Why are you like this?” She rolled her eyes while placing the box's contents on the counter. She donned the crappy gloves and mixed the dye with practiced skill. Beej hovered over her shoulder to see what she was doing, now free of his conjured bonds.

“Sit down, BJ. This is gonna take a while.” With a theatrical groan Beetlejuice sat on the edge of the bathtub.

Despite his normal jittery behavior, Beej managed to stay relatively skill as Lydia brushed in the heavily pigmented color. He even stayed quiet until Lydia was done. “Now we just have to wait,” she checked the box, “thirty minutes”.

That broke the flood gates and the two fell into their usual conversation topics. The main highlight being the chaos in the Deetz-Maitland household.

“I don't see why Chuck got so bent outta shape about Ginger visiting. Her dancing could use some work, but as far as spiders go, she's harmless.”

All Lydia could do was nod in agreement.

“She has nothing on that giant motherfucker Donna found in the closet.”

“Weren't you the one that put it in there?”

“Yeah, but that isn't the point, Lyds.”

Lydia washed her hair in the sink while continuing their conversation. “Bertha got braces recently.”

“What did she break? I didn't take her as the cool type.”

“Braces on her teeth, asshole. Also, breaking bones isn't cool. It's painful.”

“I've broken tons of bones in the name of a good time. You breathers got plenty of bones, doesn't matter if you break a couple.”

“Just because bones heal and carpets can be replaced doesn't mean we should go crazy stupid.” A brief moment passed. “We need to wait until we're alone, at least.”

The timer on Lydia's phone went off. She grabbed the shower head and brandished it it like a knife. “Now lean back so I can wash that excess out of your hair.”

His eyes narrowed. “Over my undead body.”

Just as he made a move to get up, his face was doused in lukewarm water. In that instant Beetlejuice resigned himself to, he shuddered, getting clean. Or his hair getting clean at least. Only two people could get him to willingly bathe and they were both dead.

After seven minutes, Beej was released to shake out his hair. Lydia was honestly surprised that no one came up to check on the sound of a cat being drowned. Looks like everyone had gotten somewhat desensitized to their shenanigans.

The time on her phone said dinner would be ready soon. Might as well head down now and get the questions out of the way. She met Beej at the end of the hall. How the fuck did he manage to get his hair dry already? Whatever, it's probably demon magic.

The dye seemed to be holding in pretty well. There wasn't a single splotch of pink on his hands or his suit. Could all dead people dye their hair? Was a demon thing, a demon that was alive for thirty seconds thing, or just a Beetlejuice thing?

The two descended the stairs in silence, after a quick shove match.

Delia was the first to notice the pair. She set the salad bowl alongside the plate of what looked like green spaghetti. She quickly took a seat with the rest of the adults, mentally preparing herself for whatever would come next. At the same time, Lydia and Beetlejuice prepared themselves for what the family had to say.

The most surprised actually seemed to be Delia. If she thought Lydia was going to use pink dye on herself Delia was delusional. Charles did a double take, but aside from that he didn't act out of the ordinary. It seemed he had already gotten used to the unusual happenings of his family. Lydia and Beetlejuice would have to set something on fire next week to keep him on his toes.

The Maitlands had absolutely no reaction. No gasps of surprise. No lecture about dyeing a violent demon's hair. Not even words of enthusiastic encouragement. The two ghosts just sat at the table and made polite conversation.

Beetlejuice took his now customary seat across from the Maitlands. The three dead members acted just like they normally did. That was somehow the most strange and abnormal thing Lydia had witnessed all day.

The food was tasty, even the pesto pasta. Of course Beej made a comment about its resemblance to moldy worms. Dinner as usual.

The semi-awkward, semi-peaceful silence was surprisingly broken by Charles. “Your hair looks exceptionally vibrant tonight, Mr. Juice.”

For some reason, Adam and Barbra broke into a fit of poorly concealed giggles. Lydia shot a confused look at Beej. He shrugged, but clearly knew something.

She pushed the salad around her plate, acting as nonchalant as possible. “I helped him dye it earlier.”

That got a reaction out of the Maitlands. They both looked confused and then looked at Beetlejuice. Hopefully their couple's telepathy wasn't rubbing off on him. It was weird enough how they always seemed to know what the other was thinking.

“I figured Beej wouldn't want a color he couldn't replicate naturally, so I picked up some bubblegum pink. It was obnoxious enough to fit his personality.” While everyone looked at Lydia, Beetlejuice stuck his tongue out at her.

The Maitlands got a twinkle in their eyes. Now a more common sight since Beetlejuice started hanging around. Adam said, “Pink is a good color on you, cuddlebug.” After that, Barbra either winked or had a muscle spasm in her eye.

For awhile she had figured her ghost-parents had a thing for Beej (she knew he certainly had a thing for them), but this was the final nail in the coffin. She wanted to gag. It felt wrong, but also right, which made it feel even more wrong.

Lydia was pulled from her thoughts by Barbra making a comment. “So it was just dye. And here we thought you were just happy to see us.”

It was with dawning horror that Lydia realized the Maitlands saw a different side of Beetlejuice than anyone else in the family. A more romantic and caring side. The comical sight of the nastiest dead guy she knew with pink hair wasn't worth it anymore. She would never get back her childhood innocence.

After that dinner passed in a blurry haze. Before she knew it, Lydia was back in her room actually looking forward to doing homework. It was mind numbing work, but it was the perfect thing to take her mind off the romantic relationships of her family members.

Things were changing. Like the rug had been pulled out from under her. What if Beetlejuice wouldn't want to hang out with her anymore? What if the Maitlands stopped helping her with homework? Lydia knew it was irrational. Her family loved her and always would. But deep down a dark feeling grew somewhere behind her diaphragm. It was a sick feeling. One that told her she would be unneeded, unwanted. That her family would move on and forget about her.

As if on cue Beetlejuice appeared in her room, hair still as pink as when she first dyed it. He was smiling an impossibly wide toothy smile. Something was behind his back.

“Ta Da!” He held out a box wrapped in pinstriped paper. A slime green bow completed the look. “Happy six month friend anniversary!”

Lydia took the small box from his open hands. A whole different type of tears threatened to spill. She hastily ripped off the paper and ribbon to reveal a matte black box underneath. She felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she removed the lid.

Inside, nestled among red satin, was a switchblade. She picked it up. The engraving on the handle's side immediately caught her attention. In curvy sliver writing it said, 'BFFFFs Forever'. She felt something warm bloom in her chest. Time to deflect with sarcasm. “ You do know you just gave me an implement to stab you with, dumbass.”

“Well, I was hoping you would stab other people. Y'know, for when I can't be there to protect you, ya little gremlin.” He reached out to ruffle her hair, a nasty habit picked up from Adam, but she managed to quickly move away.

With a pout Beetlejuice pulled his hand back. “Glad you liked the gift, scarecrow.” He tugged at his collar as if to stall for time. “And thanks for dyeing my hair. It really means a lot to me.” After that almost heartfelt confession he switched gears to cover up his vulnerability.

He patted down the lapels of his suit, slicked back his pink hair, and placed a hand over where his heart would be. “Now if you excuse me, A-Dog and B-Town wanted to speak to me about something. If you hear groaning and chains rattling just ignore it.” And with the toss of a smoke bomb, Beetlejuice was gone.

If Beej mentioned anything about his sex life she was definitely going to make use of that switchblade. Good thing his brain to mouth filter recently got an upgrade called Maitlands 2.0.

It seemed like some things never changed. Damn being alive was hard, but it didn't seem like being dead would be that different. Lydia just had to stick around and see.

#beetlejuice muscial #fic #lydia deetz #sibling bonding #btj #beetlejuice

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