#indestructible you can still get sick

[questions-within-questions]

Reblog so you can argue in the tags,

Power clarifications in my tags

[legerescriptor]

I saw a post the other day, about how humans are indestructible. How nothing can stop us.

Shot in the arms? The breast? Even in the lungs or the head? Nothing we can't recover from.

Acid in the eyes or even burning alive? We're not dead yet. Not dead soon.

We can recover from basically anything if we have the willpower to do so and even with way less resources and medical aid than you might think.

And that's what we seem to be to other species. On a spaceship it's always the human that willingly goes into danger zone, because they very probably will survive about anything that would kill other species immediately.

Except for when a human comes back alive but not quite so. Sometimes a human comes back and just a few days later is getting sick. Some are coughing blood and some are just slowly losing energy, always needing more sleep, until they never wake up again.

Sometimes humans survive the battlefield, but die slowly later on and no one knows why. They seemed fine. They didn't even have an injury. They just... Slowly withered away. Very very slowly. And most of the time very very painful.

The tale of the indestructible human was just that. A tale. A myth. But it kept getting repeated. It kept getting told. Because it was interesting, unbelievable, heroic.

But the truth? It was gruesome, hard to hear and even harder to tell. It was a horror story. And worst of all: It was even harder to believe than the myth.

But then there was this day. A spaceship, alone, no help could reach them. Not fast enough. Something needed fixing. But there was radiation coming off it and all of the protective gear was damaged and no longer useable since the ship crashed into a meteor only a few days prior. Nothing too bad happened. Just the storage. The storage and with it all the gear in it.

And now they needed it, noone would survive the radiation. Noone except for maybe...

They asked the humans, there were two of them on the ship, and they were indestructible, right? Surely they could go and fix it. They could save them all.

When they approached them with their request, one immediately nodded, while the other looked shocked.

"You can't go in there."

"Of course, I can."

"You will die!"

Everyone in the room looked taken aback. Surely they wouldn't die? Humans didn't die. That's what everyone said.

The human indeed shook their head.

"I'll be fine. And we will all die if no one goes in there."

"Oh, please, don't. Don't do this. Don't sacrifice yourself."

"I have to."

"I'll come with you!"

"You absolutely will not."

"But- but you need help!"

"I don't. And you know that as well as I do. Stay here. I'll go." The human stood up and went to leave.

"I'll go! Instead of you!"

"No!" Fast. Loud. Fierce. "It"ll be me." They went away.

Their friend tugged on their arm and tried to convince them to stay, but they just shook off their arm.

The captain was worried. Why were they arguing?

"Nothing will happen to them. Humans are indestructible, after all. Am I right?"

They just looked at the captain with tears in their eyes and stormed off, in the other direction as their crewmate.

A few hours later the brave human came back from their mission. It was successful. Everything was done. And without so much of a scratch at the humans body. They congratulated them, praised them. Even their human friend came back and hugged them, tightly, with still teary eyes.

The next days the humans spent a lot of time in their rooms, scarcely coming out, the one praised as their hero not eating well. They became weaker, day by day, while their friend stayed at their side, holding their hand and talking to them, even while they were asleep.

Of course, the crew worried, but they still believed, it was just exhaustion. After all, it was a difficult mission. And they saved all of their lives. They deserved the rest.

Until one day they heard sobbing. When they opened the door, they saw the human, laying on their friends body. Their still warm body, but without breath in their lungs and without a beat in their heart.

They were dead. Impossible.

Humans are indestructible.

"No!" The other human cried out loud, when they tried to take the body away. When they tried to touch them, when they tried to understand what happened. They were not injured. So why did they-

For a week, the other human didn't leave the room. Didn't talk to anyone. Didn't eat.

Everyone was worried. Would they lose them too? Was something happening to the humans? Maybe they were sick? A sickness even they couldn't survive?

But this human came back. Looking paler and older than before. But they came back alive.

Only then the captain dared to ask. "When you said, they'd die. You-"

"I meant it. It killed them. They went in, because you asked them. But it killed them."

"But I thought-"

"We are not. We never were. But they let you believe. Because they wanted to save us."

"Why didn't you tell us? We would have never let them go in there."

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because it was either them or me."

[theyluvlyss]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬

because I'm still sick, which means reader has to suffer and be sick, too. sorry not sorry😆🩷.

𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫-𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤 (what a corny title💀✋🏽)

《 ♡ 》 imagine

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𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

regardless of a boosted immune system, an increased recovery time, and the convenience of being indestructible, even superheroes get sick from time to time. unfortunately, you're stubborn and would much rather aid your boyfriend and his family with the day's super-tasks than rest up.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

fem!girlfriend!reader x billy batson - she/her/hers pronouns! - reader has the powers of shazam as well!

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

post shazam!: fury of the gods

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

reader being sick :/ - cough/cold&flu medicine side effects - lots of fluff/billy looking after you - reader wanting to play hero so, so bad bro lmao - cussing (not a lot at all) (honestly, just start assuming all of my writing will have curse words in it💀)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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Billy Batson had been in the middle of stuffing your pillow with a freshly frozen icepack before both of your attentions had been pulled towards your TV, watching in alarm as some beastly creature continued to mutilate downtown Philadelphia. You couldn't quite make out its features, nor what it was exactly the reporter was saying, her newscaster-like tone and the picture on the screen all just a blur to you.

Too ill feeling to put some clarity on it, all you knew was that it was certainly dangerous and was definitely a call for superhero duty. Mildly delirious or not.

"Let me come with you...!" You boasted rather confidently for someone with flem still stuck in your nose, throat, and chest, and your head pounding so hard you regretted the act of shooting up in bed.

"Absolutely not." Billy rejected your demand immediately, turning back just to shake his head at you while you attempted at more protests.

"*cough* - But I can- I could help-"

Your voice strained terribly while more coughs interrupted, proving Billy's unspoken point more than enough. And even then, he'd still use the perfect timing of your sickly hacks to double down on it.

"And that's exactly why you're not coming. You need to rest so you can get better."

"Oh my god, it's just a cough. I'll be okay, I can do this."

Again, you were shot another shake of the head, along with a deadpanned look of disbelief as he made his way closer in order to stop you from pushing your blankets and sheets away.

"You can barely get up fast without feeling dizzy, but you think you can stop that?"

He pointed back at the TV, the monster actively knocking into buildings and wreaking havoc amongst crowds of running citizens.

You nodded as though you were an eager puppy, wide eyes staring back into his along with a lazy smile as if to fake like you were all better.

Unfortunately for you, Billy wasn't buying it.

"Yeah, no, lay down..."

"But-"

"And with luck, we'll have it all handled before dinner. I'll come back to check on you, 'kay?"

He hardly acknowledged your pleas, informing you that with help from his siblings, things would go smoothly. Without you.

Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before replacing it with a cool, damp rag, you tried a final attempt at convincing him to let you come along, fight the good fight rather than wallow in bad health.

"Billy..."

The simple call of his name and a pouty look during his urge into laying you down.

Pushing at your shoulders, he succeeded, smiling above you while you gave in to the warmth of your bed once more. He tucked you in and then backed away towards your window, opening it with the intention to jump while you watched, fighting sleep.

"I love you, (Y/N). Rest. Please."

With a pained sigh, both of disappointment and from the literal ache of your body, you did as told and heeded his words.

"Fine. I love you, too."

He smiled, and then, he was gone. A crack of thunder after a loud, "Shazam!!" the last thing you heard before forcing yourself not to worry any longer.

You'd trust your boyfriend and his siblings. Like he said, they'd surely have everything done and cleaned up by the time you finished your nap. No need for your appearance, taking some much needed recovery from the cold that ravaged your normal body.

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"Look, ma'am, that's real sweet of you, but I-... You should really get outta' here!"

"But if I could just have you answer a few more questions, I mean...! I'm sure the public would love to know!"

"Who are you, Lois Lane? You've gotta be the most persistent reporter ever, lady...!"

It was the muffled shouts of adults that brought you back from your sleep some thirty minutes later. If you could even call it that. It was more like a delirious limbo, a point between consciousness and dreamland, all while a fever brewed and festered regardless of the now warm rag that coated over your forehead.

Hell, your pajamas could easily pass as the small towel on your head, drenched in your sweat while you groaned and pushed yourself up weakly. Your body continued to ache, nose stuffy and running at the same time, and god, did you want nothing more than to drink a gallon of water to soothe your sore throat.

Instead, you forced your eyes to open, squinting at the TV in hopes of gauging the situation that Billy assured you would be solved by now.

"bAcK tO cHecK oN y0u bEfOre dInNeR!" He had said, or something like that, which left you rolling your eyes now in the present. Half an hour later, he and his siblings were still struggling to clear out civilians from the scene! Had they even begun to tackle the beast that still roamed free on top of your beloved city? You figured not, considering you could quite literally feel the ground shaking due to its thunderous steps and loud roars.

You had to go. You couldn't not. It's very obvious they needed your help, at least with crowd control or as distraction, something! Whatever you could do to help, to save lives, you'd be more than happy to do it. Even while sick, even if it meant giving up some of your resting time to help those in need. It was what being a superhero was all about, wasn't it?

All of this power... there was no way you could just sit here and do nothing with it! Besides, it's not like anyone would really even notice that you were sick. Sure, you did get dizzy when you rose from the bed, standing on your own two feet. And yeah, your head pounded, and your nose caused your voice to dawn a nasal tone. But you could still fight, couldn't you?

You had to, with only one way to find out...

You went to your bathroom, scanning your medicine cabinet for the bottle of Cold & Flu medicine, and recklessly drank a few swallows straight from the bottle. You did so in hopes it'd hold you over for the next couple of hours, at the very least, curing your symptoms just enough to where your sickness wouldn't affect your performance.

With haste, you were back in your room, preparing yourself for the transformation from your regular self to your super-self, all with the use of the simple, magic word...

"Sha-...ahchoo...!"

Okay, that was gross.

Wiping your nose from the snot and clearing your throat with several "ahem"s and rough coughs, you tried again, moving yourself towards your window just as Billy had and checking to make sure there were no bystanders or any members of your family around to see you.

"Shazam!!"

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"What about the monster?!" Darla shouted amongst the sea of endless screaming people and loud roars of the beast ahead, floating towards her brothers nearby with a look of concern dawning her adult features.

Billy's face mimicked hers, looking up at the beast and then back towards helpless people running in fear in all sorts of scattered directions. It was confusing, to say the least, but he'd do his best to make up for it as long as no one got injured on his watch.

"Uhh... I think we should keep clearing out people! They'll get hurt if we don't protect them!"

"But-!" Eugene started, though Billy clearly wasn't having it. One could even say the stress had gotten to him, this event definitely taking longer than anticipated with more public property being destroyed by the minute. Which meant longer clean-up duty. Which meant late dinner, which meant no time to check up on you, and-

"We'll get there when we get there!" Was his final (and pretty lax) answer, only for Freddy to swoop down and point out the next impending tragedy.

"Well, if we're gonna get there, we should get there now because it's gonna destroy the town hall!"

And it was true, the grotesque being merrily on its way towards arguably one of the most important landscapes in the city. Of course the townhall, of all buildings ever...

"Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious...!" Billy huffed, Freddy merely giving a two-finger salute in order to further solidify his frivolous behavior.

"You're welcome, Captain You-Obviously-Don't-Know-What-You're- Doing...!"

Pedro was next to return to the scene, his face twisted in oncoming question as his eyes shifted between the monster, the building, and back again.

"I mean... Do we really need the town hall? 'Cause it's super white and boring-"

"Pedro...!"

"I- What?!"

And finally, Mary. The wisest of the siblings, surely, and growing increasingly harrowed by the current events and the fact that her brothers and sister were not aiding in the fight whatsoever.

"Yes, we do need the town hall, and us standing around talking about it is not helping anything...!"

"What're we thinking?" Freddy murmured, having leaned over to Billy in hopes of their older sister not being able to hear them.

"Captain Bossy."

"Definitely."

A sudden battle cry caused their heads to snap up away from the monster and towards an incoming ball of lightning and fury. Your eyes glowed the same color as your supersuit, fist cocked back with the intention to slam every last bit of force and power you've accumulated onto your enemy. With a loud, cracking sound, it was safe to assume your hit had connected, your entire body colliding with the beast with so much force that the both of you went toppling over onto-

Oh...

"See? Told you we didn't need it." Pedro smiled and nodded, admiring your bravery and the fact you had managed to subdue the monster with one nearly fatal blow.

Mary, though unamused, marveled at the scene just the same before Billy gave a harsh sigh and a shake of the head.

"I told her to stay in bed..."

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A mere moment had passed where you were in and out of consciousness (for the second time today, might I add), the only thing filling your vision being clouds upon clouds of smoke? Steam? Whichever the case, it caused an eerie, foggy atmosphere that didn't really seem to help your already mildly delirious state. Although, you had to admit, you were quite proud of yourself for taking down the threat in one go, having been pretty unsure of the amount of damage you'd be able to deal in your current state.

You slowly brought yourself to your feet, trying your best to squint through the "fog" in order to make out your whereabouts until you had looked down, taking notice of the weirdly textured road you stood on. It was a deep, deep maroon color. Rough and scaly, almost like a raisin and... moving?

You could've sworn that it - whatever you were standing on - was rising and sinking just the slightest. But, then again, you couldn't exactly trust your vision right now, the effects of your medicine kicking in with a weird, head-spinning affect that caused you to almost miss the loud shout of your name.

"(Y/N)!!" Billy called into the clearing mist, hands cupped over his mouth and very grateful in the moment that his adult voice was loud and deep. He was sure his calls could be heard from miles away, let alone a few feet, his worry growing when he still didn't receive a response despite that fact.

"Baby, where are you...?!"

A smile creeped onto your face at the pet name, turning and looking towards the sound of his voice. It was when the golden glow of his lightning emblem came into view that you allowed excitement to swell in your chest, calling back out to him with a squeal laced in your raspy voice.

"I'm down here, I'm okay! Did you see what I did?! I literally took it out with one punch!"

When Billy was finally able to catch sight of you, another breath of relief left his throat, hurrying towards your wobbly figure and steadying you once he felt your grip on his biceps.

"Yes, I saw, and I'm concerned because I thought I told you to stay in bed."

"Aww, c'mon, dude...!" You practically whined. "I'm totally fine, I literally feel fine! Plus, it was obvious you needed my help, so-"

"We had it handled, (Y/N)."

"Oh, is that why I-..." Harsh coughs cut into whatever attitude you were about to dunk on your boyfriend, stepping away to cover your mouth as he nodded knowingly.

"It doesn't matter when you're still sick and should be resting."

"It's *cough* fine, I'm *cough-cough* I'm fine."

He didn't have time to offer up more lectures with his deadpanned look, his siblings swift to join you two with gracious smiles of their own at your appearance and quick take down.

"That was sick, you know how sick that was?! If I could do an instant replay, I would because that was awesome!" Freddy gushed, blowing your ego higher than need be as Pedro offered up a fist bump. You returned it eagerly, only to pout again when Billy didn't hesitate to inform them all of your unfortunate status.

"You wanna know what else is sick? Her. She is. She's sick and really should not be here-"

"-But I am, and I did my part, and now everything's fine and you're just mad 'cause you're a hater...!" You huffed, being exaggerative with your arms and hands that caused Billy to give you a weird look.

"What are you, drunk?"

You took offense to the half-joking question, unsure as to why he'd ask such a thing when you felt perfectly fine and dandy. Like, cloud nine, hazy eyes, and the weird urge to run a marathon yet so, so sleepy at the same time.

"Am I drunk or am I sick, Batson, which is it?"

A pause, attitude dwindling.

"'Cause...'cause I dunno', either..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head once more in what could only be a mixture of dissatisfaction and worry.

"You took too much medicine before you got here, didn't you..."

Barely even a question, the obvious answer being yes, you could only scoff and toss your head to the side.

"No, just half the bottle..."

"That's way too much." Mary commented, nodding her head solemnly.

Before anyone could continue the odd conversation, the ground they stood on began to rise and fall a lot heavier than before.

"I knew it!" You shouted alarmingly loud, startling the siblings as they struggled to keep balance on the surface that was now beginning to rumble.

"Knew what?!" Freddy exclaimed. "What do you know?!"

"I thought I was hallucinating, but I'm not! We're not on the ground!" You informed, the shaking growing more violent by the second.

"What?!"

"(Y/N), please explain...!" Mary further urged, and before you could, a coughing fit stopped you from doing so and left everyone else in the dark, Billy trying his best to come to your side for comfort only for everyone to lose their balance the higher the "ground" rose.

Without second thought, Eugene flew upwards to get a better look at the entire scene, the rest of you quickly following in suit until you were all high enough in the sky to see that the monster was not yet finished with its rampage.

"(Y/N), hit it with another falcon punch!!" Freddy urged, Billy already shaking his head while giving an answer before you could.

"No, no, do not do that, she doesn't even feel well enough to be flying, look at her...!"

And it was true, your flying abilities suffering majorly from lack of health and increase of the medicine taking full affect making you drowsy and unfocused. You struggled to stay steady in the air, using Billy's arm as a crutch in case you were to suddenly drop from the sky. Hell, even the lightning emblem on your chest was dimming in and out as if you were literally on the verge from powering down while you spoke nasaly.

"He's...he's right, I feel- I'm pretty sure all of my power went into that one attack."

Freddy, dramatically, tossed his arms up into the air before dropping them at his sides.

"Oh, great, so we're screwed."

Protests from his siblings swiftly followed, all of them coming forth at the same time that left Freddy lifting his open palms up into the air in surrender.

"Oh, real nice, bro..." - "We're right here, y'know." - "Don't say that, we can do this...!" - "Okay, (Y/N)'s not the only one who can throw a punch, man!" - "Maybe if we spent less time talking and letting the sick girl do all of the work..."

"Sorry-sorry, my bad, I didn't realize you guys were so sensitive about this...!"

Fortunately, amongst the chaos of their words and the beast slowly rising from the ruins of Philadelphia's town hall for round two, your brain managed to fumble through half of a thought. An idea that could possibly work if executed correctly. A real plan, something that would help, which is what you came here to do, after all.

And sure, maybe you were too weak to carry it out alone, but the entire reason Billy had shared his power with you in the first place was because he trusted you. The same goes for all of his siblings. Because all of you together made a great team.

Besides, a half-assed plan was better than none at all.

So, without further ado...

"What-...What if y'all just... what if we stayed on the monster and then we just used our hands and then...boom. Right?"

You gained looks of concern and confusion at your nonsensical murmurs, the group making it known that whatever had just left your lips made zero sense to them even though you had been pretty confident in the fact that you came across perfectly clear.

Freddy was the first to prove otherwise, though, a barely audible, "...what?" leaving his throat as Billy gave you a look of sympathy and care.

"You're delirious, babe..."

"No, stop, I'm being serious...!" You croaked while pushing him away, which in hindsight, wasn't in your best interest when you were doing good just to stay afloat as well as dealing with an oncoming migrane. You fought to ignore that as well.

"Sounds like someone needs a nap." Eugene quipped, leaving Freddy and Darla to snicker to themselves while you gave what should've been a scoff, but what ended up coming out was more of a weak cough.

"Shut up, Eugene, I'm-!" Taking a second to gather your words, you tried again, doing your best to convey your plan once more.

"We all have lightning powers, don't we? We could land on the monster... and-and boom! Y'know?"

With the movements of your hands and fingers, you nodded as if to confirm that they understood this time around. Unfortunately, no one seemed to catch on, Mary the only one staring ahead rather than at you in confusion until something in her brain seemed to click, and she was suddenly coming towards you with a smile.

"Wait... Wait, I think I understand!"

"You do?!" You jinxed with your boyfriend, your words laced with a tone of relief and excitement while Billy's held more of a shock and surprise.

Mary nodded briskly, taking your hands in hers upon delivering her praise.

"Yes, (Y/N), you're a genius, oh my gosh! Why didn't I think of that?!"

With the two of you giving relieved laughs in understanding of one another, Darla was the first the point out the obvious for the rest of the group, leaving room for Mary to explain your plan much better than you had twice before.

"Am I the only one really confused right now?"

"Guys, we have to electrocute the monster, that's the only way it's going down. And I think, what (Y/N) means is, if we all use our powers together as much as we can like she did when she knocked it out, we'll generate enough electricity to do so."

"Yes!!" You confirmed with a mix of exasperation and relief in your hoarse voice, leaning your head against Billy's shoulder as if just the act of talking about your plan tired you out.

It made you wonder if you'd be strong enough to participate in executing, the feeling of letting down those around you much worse than any monster attacking the city or illness attacking your body.

Billy could sense this, raising and dropping the shoulder your head rested upon to grab your attention before delivering playful encouragement.

"Huh. Remind me never to doubt your sick-brain."

Sniffling, you nodded, appreciating his efforts and gaining back some of that lost confidence.

"Damn right."

It wasn't long before your plan had been put into action, one sibling distracting the monster long enough for another to land on it unsuspectingly until, one by one, all of you had your hands firmly planted on a part of its body. Counting down the seconds, you guys generated any and all electricity your bodies had stored into your hands and finally, found yourselves practically frying the beast to ash.

For the last time today, it fell. And thankfully, not on top of any more buildings. You were happy to witness it all, let alone be a part of it, nodding as if to pat yourself on the back for doing good. You certainly deserved it, you felt, seeing as all of your power went drained, and you were even too sick to stand. You convinced yourself to sit, leaning up against a large wall of rubble in attempts to recuperate.

"Just need to catch my breath..." You reasoned with yourself as though your eyes weren't half a blink away from fully closing.

"Need a second..." You coughed, head spinning with the urge to succumb to the cold that left even super-you ill-advantaged.

. . .

"(Y/N)...!!" Mary called into the debris, only having run into her own siblings rather than you. This worried her, especially once it had been revealed that you were fighting while sick. It also made her wonder why such mystical and magical abilities couldn't cancel out such a common flu or virus. She'd definitely be found reading up on the matter later, that's for sure...

But, until then, the search continued, Billy joining his older sister's side with a familiar concern he always harbored for you.

"(N/N)...!! Where you at, babe?!"

"You don't think she got crushed, do you?"

Mary rolled her eyes before lightly slapping the arm of her other brother, Freddy never one to learn to keep his badly timed jokes to himself.

"Don't say that, we're already worried enough...!"

"Agh-! I didn't mean it...!"

"There she is...!" Darla cheered, pointing up ahead to where you had peacefully laid yourself to rest.

Okay, that sounded a little morbid, but it's meant in the literal sense, not to worry.

Although it's not like they could tell the same, the view to them more of an alarming take on what should've been a more joyous reunion.

With super-speed Billy had almost forgotten he possessed, he was by your side in an instant, crouching down and allowing a giant wave of relief to wash over him when he was granted a clear look of your rising and falling chest. You were still breathing (thank god), and pretty heavily, he noticed, his gaze trailing upwards to inspect your face for any marks or bruises.

He found none, only the beads of sweat on your forehead and your eyes sunken in while you lightly snored, unable to breathe through your nose even in slumber.

"She's okay..." He had spoken to himself at first, a final act of reassurance he hadn't realized he needed before pulling himself together and turning back to shout.

"She's okay...!!"

Naturally, this woke you, your eyes fluttering open and a smile gracing your features at the sound of his voice.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." You apologized, fighting back a yawn as you placed a cold hand into Billy's warm one. "I was just...sleepin'. Tired."

"That's what you get for pushing yourself." He half-joked, granting you a smile of his own that brought some heat back to your cheeks.

"You should've stayed home." He reiterated for what seemed like the millionth time this late afternoon.

"Sorry. Just really needed to help you guys..."

"You did. By a lot." He admitted, gently urging you to your feet. "You did good, really."

You laughed weakly, thankfully using Billy for support as the rest of the siblings approached, glad you were okay, up, and even trying to walk.

"That's all I wanted."

"Say the word." Billy coaxed, and for once, you heeded his advice and muttered it with the hopes that you'd suddenly return home. Safe, sound, and in your warm, cozy bed.

Alas, that was wishful thinking. Instead, you were transformed back to your regular self, gently held in Billy's adult arms with the warmth exuding from his lightning emblem lulling you back to sleep much faster than expelling large quantities of magical power ever could.

"I'm taking her home." He announced, sure of himself this time around before swiftly adding, "And she's gonna stay there...!"

As if you could actually hear him and his directive attitude, he looked down at your figure cuddled against him before going on.

"And hopefully, she'll be better soon enough for people to thank her."

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"Hey, I think my sinuses are finally staring to clear up...!" You sniffled, basking in the glory that was a full, clear breath of air. Oh, how you missed air. How you missed breathing without issue, and-

"ah-cHOO!!"

"Bless you."

And... back to square one.

"Thanks..."

Normally, you'd apologize for spreading your germs, possibly passing on your sickness to your boyfriend. But, right now, cuddled up against him and finding solace in his care was all you concerned yourself with, having already thanked him a million times as he let the news channel run on your TV.

You got lucky, able to see that your selfless acts hadn't been in vain and that it really was for the best that you had gone out and helped when you felt needed.

"Feeling better?" Billy inquired, placing quick chaste kisses along your temple and forehead upon seeing the tiny smile that graced your features. You nodded against him; though not in regards to your sickness, you certainly did feel better about yourself, drifting off to sleeping knowing your city was safe and to the sound of your boyfriend's heartbeat.

𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐞𝐞𝐞!!!

squealing like the little girl I am, lemme stop omg😭✋🏽-

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

me😆

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

4,467

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

[skyloftian-nutcase]

For @silvrash-797’s baby shower! :D Congratulations, girl!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Have some Ganondorf + kids, paired with Link + his daughter, paired with bedtime stories and yeah. Anyway, hope you enjoy! ❤️

Ganondorf truly had found that of all his quests and grand plans, the most difficult missions in his life had been to reel in his children.

He loved them dearly, truly. But by the goddesses, they could push him to his limits. Having just tracked down his daughter, who was most certainly the troublemaker of his twin children, he had finally dragged her and her boyfriend back to the capital, keeping his temper evident but silent as he practically deposited them on the ground. Link’s coughing brought him no sympathy from the Gerudo king, though he clearly wasn’t looking for any. Hemisi was completely unapologetic, and it was immediately apparent that the pair’s disappearance had been her idea.

Of course it had. The girl was a menace; she had her father’s tenacity and fiery temper paired with her mother’s mischievousness. The girl was a spitfire and Ganondorf adored her for it.

Except when she snuck off to forbidden places with someone who needed to be resting. Honestly, getting Link to understand the meaning of self preservation was proving to be difficult enough, but pairing it with Hemisi’s seeming lack of concern for either of their well-beings made Ganondorf wonder what the heck he’d done wrong in raising his daughter.

Why did teenagers think they were indestructible? It was beyond frustrating.

Hemisi decided to try and test the waters. “Come on, Father. We’re fine, and it wasn’t even that bad!”

He didn’t have time for this. He couldn’t exactly punish Hemisi too severely since tomorrow’s plans were being set in motion by Nabooru right now, and he needed Hemisi for it. Instead, he just glowered at the girl before directing his ire at Link. The boy looked reasonably apologetic, but offered no feeble words to excuse himself, which was frankly a little surprising as he was the polite, placating one usually.

“Get in bed,” Ganondorf grumbled to the boy. “And stay there this time. I expected more obedience from you. Not to mention you’re risking Hemisi’s health by being near her.”

The way the teenager wilted gave Ganondorf a little satisfaction, but Hemisi immediately jumped to his defense. “Oh, stop it, Dad! He’s not going to get me sick too; he’s feeling better! You should’ve seen him fighting the monsters down there, he’s fine!”

Ganondorf briefly entertained the curiosity in his mind that wanted to see Link fight – he’d seen glimpses of it in sparring matches, but that wasn’t the same. Orik had managed to defeat Merovar in every fight, and he and Hemisi were equals. To see him in a real fight would be interesting. Nevertheless, the boy had sand fever, and though he was doing far better now than he had been the other day, there was still always a risk that he could get sicker again or worse, give it to Hemisi. “I don’t care for your excuses, Hemisi. I expected you to know better. You wish to be treated as an adult, yet you still make decisions like a child.”

Hemisi puffed out her chest, getting riled up. Link dragged himself into bed with some effort to try and appease the situation, and Hemisi hopped on the mattress just beside where he’d settled.

“No,” Ganondorf immediately ordered. “You, daughter, are sleeping in your own room.”

“I will,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes before her anger seemed to settle into something else. “But can’t we all just hang out a bit? Maybe you could tell us a story? We’ll exchange stories! I can tell you about what we saw down there.”

“You disobey my orders and think you can regale your disobedience to me like it’s a tale of legend?” Ganondorf snapped. “You are pushing my patience, Hemisi.”

“Father.” Now she was trying pleading, petitioning to his soft spot for her with her tone. “We were simply curious. And Link was going stir crazy.”

“Link is sick. He needs to rest.”

“With all due respect, my lord—“

“No.” Ganondorf interrupted the boy. “Be silent and go to sleep.”

Link’s mouth snapped shut, and he practically deflated, sinking into the pillows.

“Come on, Dad,” Hemisi petitioned more gently, something genuine in her tone this time. “We… we never get to all really just… hang out anymore, you know? The Festival of Colors has been so nice because we’ve all been together just having fun. Can’t you just tell us a story? I’ll even grab Merovar.”

“You know your brother isn’t interested in my stories anymore,” Ganondorf noted, far less annoyed and perhaps a little… he didn’t know. His chest felt tight at her words. Of course they hadn’t had much time – he’d had planning to do. The Triforce would soon be theirs, and then they’d have all the time in the world for each other. And he wasn’t at all upset in the slightest at Merovar outgrowing such moments like this. He wasn’t.

“That’s because he’s stupid,” Hemisi fired back dully, eliciting a laugh from her father. “Link and I will listen. You haven’t told me any stories in a while, and you’ve never told Link any.”

Ganondorf sighed a little, glancing at Link halfheartedly. He didn’t mind indulging Hemisi, but Link… well, there was little point in not doing so. Life was about to change a great deal for this child as well, and Ganondorf knew he would be lying if he said he didn’t care about him at this point. “Do you care for stories, boy?”

Link’s red eyes sparkled a little, curious. “If… you don’t mind.”

“Dad’s an amazing storyteller,” Hemisi noted supportively, elbowing Link and smiling at her father. Ganondorf felt his chest warm and swell with pride at it, and he finally sighed, letting himself smile a little.

This girl, honestly. He couldn’t stay angry at her. “Very well. I’ll tell you about the Dragon Huntress.”

Hemisi’s eyes widened as she gasped in delight. “Oh, I love this one! Get comfortable, Link, it takes eighty years for him to tell—”

“You just complimented my storytelling abilities.”

“I didn’t say it was bad, it’s just long! And that’s not a bad thing! We can sleep through some of it.”

Ganondorf didn’t bother hiding his unimpressed expression. Children always made for the most difficult audience, but he’d thought it would improve with teenagers. To his credit, Link still seemed eager and interested, so Ganondorf sighed heavily and settled on the edge of the bed.

“Very well. Long ago, in the distant past, there was a fearsome dragon. It dominated the skies, elusive and powerful, with teeth that could snap bones and a mouth that could swallow cities whole. There was a Gerudo warrior at the time who swore to hunt down the dragon and destroy it after it took her parents from her. But the challenge was that she was of the desert, and the beast of the sky – how could she possibly hunt down such a monster and destroy it?

“The challenge was a formidable one, but the warrior decided she would fulfill it. She had to leave the protection and familiarity of her homeland, moving from the oasis into the great sand sea to the south, where the dragon often roamed. At first, it was a long, grueling walk. The sun scorched her during the day, drying her throat so much it felt as if she were swallowing the sand itself. With every step she took she could feel the heat pulling away her energy. But with every dune she crossed, she grew more determined, for she would not let the desert conquer her before she could reach her target.

“After several days’ journey, the warrior crossed yet another dune to find a new curiosity. The desert was different here, with patches of different colors like paint droplets on a canvas. Just to the left was blue, filled with water like an oasis but surrounded by pink and yellow flowers. To the right was green, grass waving in the breeze only to be choked out by more sand just beyond its little borders. Everywhere she looked there was patchwork of nature, magic sparkling in the air like fireflies.

“‘What is this land,’ she wondered curiously, ‘where Farore can piece together every fabric of the world into one place like a quilt?’

“The warrior stepped from one patch to another, one moment feeling a cool evening breeze on her face, relieving her of the dry, hot breath of the desert, and the next, dipping her toes in mud, sloshing in marshland and getting a bitter chill. As she moved forward, she heard a small cry, and she saw a curious-looking little creature. Its tiny paws were dark as the night sky, but its coat was the color of sand, tail small and ears large. It was stomping into the earth with gusto, echoing a phrase over in frustration as it moved, scratching here, pouncing there.

“‘What is the matter?’ The warrior asked the creature.

“‘Why, I lost my marbles!’ The magical fox replied.”

Here, his story was interrupted with an amused snort from Hemisi, who giggled as if she hadn’t heard this tale before, giving Link seeming permission to chuckle a little as well. It had admittedly been a while since he had regaled anyone with the story of the Dragon Huntress, and it was… a nice reprieve to have this moment.

Ganondorf spoke on, telling the pair of the warrior’s journey with the creature to retrieve little magical stones that held pieces of the world within them. With each stone was a new adventure, with each recovery was a new discovery. For one stone, she had to traverse a land of fire, helping Mr. Salamander retrieve his stolen eggs from a local demon who had taken them, including the magical stone the warrior needed. In another adventure, the warrior had to learn how to breathe underwater, in another she sang so beautifully she moved a tree spirit’s weary, heavy heart and it revealed where one of the stones were. This particular tale was so long because it was showing how the warrior lost her way, how she spent so much time getting involved in retrieving these magical stones, and all the misadventures and creatures she had to assist in doing so diverted her from her main goal. The story never really had a true ending – when the warrior finally retrieved all twelve marbles, she simply… stayed with her fox friend in the magical land she’d discovered. It was a cautionary tale, in Ganondorf’s mind, to never lose sight of one’s goal.

He planned to not make the same mistake as the ancient warrior.

Surprisingly, Link stayed awake for the entirety of the folktale, while Hemisi steadily fell asleep on his shoulder. The boy’s body was sagging steadily in exhaustion, but he hung on to every word, a captive audience caught in the wonders of the descriptions Ganondorf was giving him. He smiled and laughed softly in certain parts, looked worried in others, but never interrupted, never faltered despite looking utterly spent from his adventures earlier in the day. When Ganondorf reached the conclusion of the tale, he picked Hemisi up (he knew the girl would wake up from the movement, but she didn’t protest being held on rare occasions) and tucked Link in.

“So she… never got to the dragon?” Link asked quietly.

Ganondorf paused in the doorway, considering it. “I’d like to think she did, someday. When she came to her senses.”

The world changed a few days later. Golden grace split into three, the fires of war scorched the land, and their lives changed forever.

But many years later, the King Consort of Hyrule sat in the nursery, his sweet little princess on his lap and held in his gentle embrace. He’d only just started talking again recently, but he wanted Sonia to hear him speak more, as she’d almost lost her voice due to his own silence. As such, he figured he could tell her stories at night, to help her settle to sleep. He’d gone through a couple Sheikah tales that he knew, but he admittedly didn’t have much repertoire in storytelling.

And then he remembered a Gerudo story from long ago. He remembered the cool desert night, huddled up against Hemisi, body aching from illness and exertion but heart full of peace and joy. He remembered Ganondorf, deep voice low and gentle instead of menacing and terrifying, face soft and eyes welcoming instead of harsh and threatening. He remembered his story of the warrior who hunted a dragon and lost her way in all the little quests to help others.

At first, he didn’t even want to tell this fable. It felt like the words would poison his mouth, like spreading something around that that monster had told him would somehow bring him back. His heart ached at even thinking of a time when he and Hemisi had been together, when he’d almost had a family. But there… there was no harm in regaling his daughter with images of Gerudo folklore. He couldn’t let the past keep hurting him so much. And he had a family now, right here, right in front of him. He wouldn’t let Ganondorf ruin that for him, for his daughter, for anyone. So he started in on the tale of the Dragon Huntress, and oh how Sonia loved it, how she excitedly emphasized points she enjoyed and how she giggled, how she grew peaceful with the rumble of Link’s quiet voice, how she settled in her father’s loving arms.

And as Link told the story to his daughter, he pondered over the message it relayed, how Ganondorf had insisted that it was a cautionary tale about keeping focus on one’s goal. But as Link spoke to Sonia of each new adventure the warrior went on, and all the people she helped, and all the friends she made, and all the new things she discovered, he started to realize the legend’s true meaning. It wasn’t until he got to the adventure of the graveyard of fireflies, where the warrior had to help her newest friend, who was grieving, that it truly struck him.

It had never been about losing one’s way. It had been about closure and learning to live again. The warrior had been risking her life on the chance of revenge, on eliminating a beast that had taken everything from her, but through her quest to retrieve the magical little marbles for her new friend, she’d discovered peace.

Link felt his own eyes sting as he finished up the tale, Sonia sleeping peacefully in his arms.

Years later, the little princess had grown into a young woman, with a family of her own. And she told the tale to her children, just as her father had told her.

Millennia later, in the ruins of a village in the desert, Ganondorf gazed at the fire, the new Hero of Hyrule sitting across from him. The other Gerudo had passed the time telling stories, and it seemed it was now Link’s turn.

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know much,” the young captain started. “But Zelda had one story she loved a lot. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember the overall plot.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” one of the women prompted.

“It’s called the Dragon Huntress,” Link started, and oh how Ganondorf’s gaze snapped to him. Link didn’t seem to notice, wrapped in the blanket he shared with Lana; he’d captured his audience’s attention and that was all he cared about. It was strange, really, how different he was from…

Ganondorf bit his tongue, pushing away the overwhelming, nauseating pain in his heart.

“Long ago, a Gerudo warrior tried to hunt down a dragon that had taken her parents from her.”

Goddesses, how did the boy know this story? How did he know a Gerudo tale in a land where the Gerudo were seemingly forgotten? And he’d heard it from the queen?

Had… had that child… after everything…

“On her journey, she met a magical fox. He’d lost little stones, magical marbles, and she promised to help him find them. But each stone was in a different place, and each one required a different problem to solve. I remember a few, like the one where she had to sail across a giant river with an otter who captained a ship, and another one with fireflies, I think? But anyway, the point was that she spent all her time going on these adventures and making new friends, and she realized that she had been obsessing over something that was never going to bring her parents back. So she learned to be happy with what she had, and she learned to move on.”

She… but that wasn’t how the story…

“So she… never got the dragon?”

Goddesses, he hadn’t heard that boy’s voice in so long. He could still feel the weight of his precious daughter resting in his arms, could still see the tired, quiet curiosity in young Link’s eyes.

It had been so long, yet this story lived on. And it had lived on because Link had decided to tell it to his children.

She learned to be happy with what she had, and she learned to move on.

Ganondorf’s gaze drifted upward, following the sparks from the fire until they blended into the stars of the sky. He breathed in slowly, feeling his chest tighten, feeling his eyes sting, and then he let go with a deep, shuddering exhale.

[super-unpredictable98]

The Eighth Child (~TUA AU~) - Season 4

Chapter 1: Your Dreams Came True, Now What?

Warning: Strong language, guns

a/n: Hello everyone! I really missed The Eighth Child and I hope you all have as well. We can all agree this season was pure bullshit, so here I am with a very short series of chapters to fix it. Welcome to the final show, hope you all like it <3 also thank you so much @jozstankovich for supporting me and being my guinea pig beta reader

(The Eighth Child Masterlist)

"Of course we're coming, Dieguito!" Victoria said on the phone while trying to tame Fortune's big curly mane. "Tunnie is very excited to play with Gracie and the twins. Alright, see you later!"

"Lunch is ready," Klaus called from the kitchen. He wore a frilly apron on top of his completely normal and absolutely not flamboyant outfit. "No no no! Fortune, don't run, we don't wanna get hurt, right?"

"Right, a safe girl is a happy girl!" She repeated what her father always said.

Something about the pandemic mixed with Fortune growing into her own person, realizing Victoria was no longer indestructible, and Klaus staying fully sober, made him into a complete nut job. He was scared of absolutely anything and everything that could harm him and his family. The idea of dying and not being there to raise his kids was too much for him to even think about.

"You too, Liebling, you're in no condition to run," he caressed her baby bump.

Victoria and Klaus started off their married life as happy as can be, but the real world was right ahead and with his new sobriety and paranoia, it became harder and harder for her to... how should one put it... feel attracted to him.

Klaus was a completely changed man, his wife didn't necessarily like that. But alas, every once in a while, they still had some romance and of course she got pregnant by chance one of those times.

"I'm not sick, Klausie. Don't you remember when I was pregnant with Fortune and we would party all night in the clubs near campus? I was fine and so is she."

"I know, I know, but we were totally irresponsible! The world was different too, no COVID for starters..." He shivered before taking a bite of his risotto.

Victoria sighed, looking at the several cardboard boxes surrounding them. Right after marrying, she used her saved money to rent the apartment she used to rent back in her college days with Klaus, she loved that place and it was special to begin their new lives there.

After about a year, she made enough money with her bakery for a downpayment on the apartment. But now with their second child on the way, it wasn't viable to live in such a tiny place, even though it hurt to let it go.

"Something wrong, Mommy?" Fortune asked, seeing her mother's face. Sadness, conformity, longing, and a little disgust in her eyes.

"No, baby, I'm okay," Victoria sighed, but her husband also noticed that look. It had started about two and a half years ago when he was really focused on his sobriety journey, she seemed to simply lose interest in the person he was becoming.

Every morning, he woke up afraid she'd be gone. Every day when she left for work, he was scared she'd meet someone more exciting that would fill that void he unwillingly left behind. He was terrified she'd leave him like she did back when they were younger.

"Hey, Schatzi, since Fortune is having that sleepover with Gracie tonight, we should do something special," Klaus suggested.

"Like what?" She gave him that vacant look like she was dead inside.

"Romantic dinner, watching a movie, some... special cuddles," he winked.

"Sure," she sighed. Something horribly dangerous happens when your dreams come true... You're stuck with them.

**

"Die Hard!" Diego opened the door to Brigaderia Oito, Victoria's bakery. "How's it going? How's Klus?"

"It's alright, he's... sober," she mumbled. "Ah Dieguito, married life isn't what I signed up for."

"Trouble in paradise, huh? It's tough, marriage is hard work. I feel like everything I do is meaningless, but in the end, we're with the people we love, and we have amazing kids. We built something good."

"I guess so," she nodded, giving him his usual carrot cake with gooey brigadeiro on top. "I just wish Klaus would go back to being... Klaus. Not the drugs you know, but the wild nature, it's like he's broken. We barely ever have sex anymore."

"Ew! I don't wanna hear about that!" Diego pretended to gag. "My two siblings having sex? Barf!"

She rolled her eyes and placed her hand on her belly before turning to get Grace's birthday cake. She baked it and decorated it herself with cute jungle animals.

"Oh, it looks amazing!" He gasped. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, it's part of her present. Only the best for my goddaughter."

"Thank you so much, Vicky," he smiled, giving her a hug over the counter and giving her belly a pat. "Already know if it's a girl or a boy?"

"Not yet, we'll get to know on the next ultrasound."

"Hope it's a boy this time, my little man needs more friends, he's drowning in estrogen."

She huffed and gave him a playful shove. "Keep the cake in the fridge."

"Thanks a million, Vicky! I'll see you later."

"See you later," she turned to pick up the phone. "Hello, Brigadeiria Oito, how can I help you?"

"It's me, Schnucki!" Klaus said into the phone. "I just picked up Fortune from school, she choked on the pulp of her orange juice."

"What? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's okay now, she just had a little coughing fit and was back to normal... it's just, that she got scared and wanted to come back home."

"Klaus! I can't believe you pulled our daughter out of school because she lightly choked on juice! You're gonna ruin her with all this coddling!"

"She was scared!"

"Because she sees you scared all the damn time!"

"We can talk about this later after the party. She's here now and listening."

"Why did you put me on speaker?"

"Holding a cell phone close to your ear isn't good because the temperature-"

"JESUS CHRIST! SHUT UP!" She shouted and only then she noticed there was a client waiting for her. "Just a second, I'll be with you in no time..."

"Why are you like this? Pregnancy hormones driving you crazy?" He asked.

"No, Klaus, you are! Talk to you later, I have to work... someone has to work in this household!"

**

"Why is Mama mad at you?" Fortune asked as she rode in the back of Allison's car with Claire and her father to the party venue.

"Mama is nervous because she's pregnant, that makes mommies a little angry sometimes," Klaus said, adjusting her seat belt for the millionth time.

"She said it wasn't because of the baby."

"Alright... you know, sometimes daddies and mommies fight, my Tunnie baby, but that doesn't mean it's forever and it doesn't mean something bad is gonna happen."

"What if you two split?" The little girl frowned.

"That's not happening, your parents have been attached at the hip since they were toddlers," Allison chuckled. "It was kinda disgusting."

"If you're Aunt Vicky's sister and Uncle Klaus' sister... does that mean they're siblings too?" Claire asked.

"That's a very long very lovely story for when you're a little bit older, Claire-bear" Klaus said before turning back to his daughter. "My little princess, don't worry about mommy, okay? I'm always here for you, and she'll always be here for you too, we love you more than the entire universe. It's just that things changed a little, but nothing that cannot be fixed."

"Hey, guys!" Victoria waved at them once they parked, she was bringing four boxes of party sweets, Brazilian style of course... beijinho, brigadeiro, bicho de pé, ninho e nutella, casadinho.

"Hey! Hey! Don't go around carrying that! You're in no condition!" Klaus took his car helmet off and rushed to help her with the boxes.

"Relax, she's pregnant, not dead," Lila came right behind with the huge bottles of soda.

"Leave it to me," he insisted.

Once they were inside, Grace and the twins came running to meet Claire and Fortune. Victoria hugged her nieces and nephew, as did Klaus before Diego gave them a look and pointed with his eyes to the doll house which was secluded and empty.

"We need to talk," she mumbled.

"Yeah... don't take your eyes off Fortune, Claire," Klaus asked. "Don't let her eat or drink anything with red 40 or 4-MEI!"

"You say as if we didn't sneak out at least three times a week to stuff our faces with doughnuts at Griddy's..." Victoria sighed as she pulled him to the doll house.

"We had superpowers and it was a different time, we were young and dumb."

"We enjoyed life," she sat down on a tiny pink chair. "We don't need to feed our child crack, but if she drank a little coke once in a while, she'll be fine!"

"What happened to us?" He looked up with puppy eyes. "We haven't fucked since we conceived this baby, you look at me like I'm a pile of cow shit, you turn your face when I go to kiss you..."

"It just hurts to see what you became. This isn't the man I married. You need therapy."

"This again? No therapy! I don't need it and we probably can't afford it."

"You're going insane!"

"Give me a chance, okay? I promise I'll make it right tonight when we get home."

She nodded, wanting more than anything to believe him. "Alright, let's see about tonight."

When the couple left the doll house, the entire family was already there, well almost the entire family.

"Oh give me a break... fake Ben is here? Who invited him?" Victoria huffed, she never really accepted Sparrow Ben as a part of the family, because he wasn't. She was even a little happy when he was arrested, meaning he'd stay away.

"Believe me, I didn't wanna be here either," he rolled his eyes.

"Come on guys, no fighting!" Luther emerged from the ball pit. "It's a family night."

"Yeah, you're right, can't let him ruin it... Cincooooo!" She went to hug Five. "Look at you, all grown up! It's like every day you get bigger, come here, little CIA man!"

"I'm not a damn child, you know?" He reluctantly hugged her back. "And I'm not little!"

"Where's Viktor?" She asked.

"He said he was coming," Luther smiled.

"Victoria, can we go outside for a little bit? I'm hyperventilating, this place is so full of people and nobody's wearing a mask," Klaus whispered.

She shook her head defeated. "Just take deep breaths, honey, it's okay. Did you see fake Ben is back? Look, our brothers are here, we're still waiting for Viktor though."

"Vicky!" Diego called from a corner while holding a piñata.

She was happy to leave Klaus to calm down for a moment and join her other brother. "What's up?"

"Does this look like a West Side piñata to you? I mean, it's clearly East Side, right?"

"Um... what's the difference?"

"The fringe, the eyes, the colors! And the fact that Lila told me she'd be on the West Side today and this looks like an East Side piñata."

"Oh Dieguito... don't overthink, it's probably a misunderstanding, let's not jump to conclusions, alright?"

"Maybe you were right, you know? I work all day and it kills me, the kids suck whatever energy I have left, and the in-laws... I'm glad they're alive in this timeline, but I don't want them living in our house."

Victoria nodded, understanding the feeling, but she didn't want their marriage to end because of her own doubts.

"Hey, cariño, come on... I know I didn't like Lila when you first got together, but she really grew on me. She's a good mom and she really loves you. It's just a rough patch."

"Liebling, please... can we step out just a little bit?" Klaus approached them.

Accepting her fate, she nodded and took his hand so they could get some fresh air. But the moment she stepped out, she knew something was wrong, there was a wrapped gift on the pavement and she picked it up.

"From Uncle Viktor?" She read the card.

"Why would he leave the gift on the street and take off?" Klaus wondered.

She started looking around for clues and after some inspection, she found a note on her windshield.

"Your brother Viktor has been kidnapped. Follow my exact instructions and no harm will come to him," she read the contents of the note. "Fucking shit cunt ass motherfucker... let's get the others."

**

After leaving Lila's parents in charge of the party, the old Hargreeves clan and Lila jumped into Diego's van and they headed to the address written on the note.

"Everyone stay behind me, I got a gun," Five announced, pulling his revolver as they entered the dry cleaner corresponding to the number they were given.

"Did you bring a gun to a children's birthday party?" Klaus hissed, his face covered by a gas mask. "Can you smell this? This place is a chemical wasteland."

"Says the man who made me swim in the fucking sewer six years ago," Victoria huffed.

"It's Viktor!" Luther pointed at the short man tied up to a chair with a bag over his head.

She ran and got the bag off. "Oh hey, Vik, long time no see!"

"Hey Vic yourself..." he mumbled as she started untying him with the help of Luther.

"Who kidnapped you? Dad and his goons?" She asked.

"I doubt it, this is amateur hour," Five shook his head.

"I apologize if my methods are a little crude, but it's my first kidnapping," A man came from the back. He looked harmless enough, but he held a gun, so out of instinct, Victoria stood in front of Klaus like a shield. "Hopefully it'll be my last, but I need your help."

"Kidnapping our brother and pointing a gun at us won't buy you much goodwill," Five murmured, pointing his gun at the man.

"It was the only way I could make sure you came here, all of you. I couldn't leave anything to chance, especially when it comes to the Umbrella Academy."

"Wow, haven't heard that name in years!" Victoria scoffed.

"Sorry pal, the Umbrella Academy doesn't exist," Five said.

"Only in our hearts," she completed.

The man put the gun down and opened a box full of artifacts, pictures, newspaper articles, masks, action figures...

"Oh look! The time we saved the Eiffel Tower! Remember?" Vicky smiled. "Zombie Gustav Eiffel!" She said in a silly voice.

"Where did you get this?" Diego asked.

"It was all in this box in the back of my daughter's car. Her name is Jennifer."

"Ugh, I hate that name," Victoria groaned, she had hated this name since the incident that took her brother's life.

"I don't know where she got it, but about a year ago she met these new friends and she started going to these strange meetings. Some very strange people, call themselves The Keepers. And then over time, she stopped talking to me, I believe something terrible happened, because we were very close."

Klaus picked Dave's dog tags from the box and frowned, which made Victoria's blood boil. She was very understanding of that whole thing when it happened, but lately, she didn't need much to get angry at him.

"Put that shit back!" She snagged the chain from his hands and threw it in the box.

"Sorry, sorry..." He mumbled.

"How did you find us?" Luther asked.

"I saw you on TV, Toss N' Wash," the strange man pointed at Allison.

"Ha! See? No small parts," Klaus poked his sister's shoulder.

"I've been watching you for a while actually and I apologize. I'm so sorry! I know you'd probably kill me if you could," the man looked at Victoria. "But she's all I have left, you must know what that feels like."

"I actually do," she sighed. "But we're not the same as we were, we don't have powers anymore."

"Yeah, we're not special," Diego agreed.

"Speak for yourself, tubby," Ben whispered under his breath and earned a punch in the shoulder from Victoria.

"I might not have powers, but I can kick your ass!"

"Give us 24 hours, we'll find your daughter," Five took the box quickly.

"Yes! Thank you!" The man cried. "Thank you very much, Umbrella Academy! I think you're special!"

"Five! What are you doing?" Allison hissed, following him outside. "You know we can't help, why did you do that?"

"Because... of this," Five pulled out a jar of marigold from the box.

**

"What I wanna know is how the daughter of a dry cleaner ends up with a jar of marigold in the trunk of her car," Five wondered.

The siblings decided to grab dinner at a Japanese restaurant and discuss their theories.

"Could it be something to do with Dad?" Klaus clumsily shoved rice into his mouth with the chopsticks (because of course, raw fish was too dangerous to eat with all the contamination risks)

"No, he took away our powers, and for good reason," Victoria shook her head.

"How do we know that's not just glow stick juice?" Diego teased.

"For the sake of discussion, let's say this is legit. Does anyone here actually want their power back?" Five asked.

"No way!" Klaus yelped. "For the first time in my life, I'm sober... and happy. And most importantly 100% poltergeist free."

"You're anything but free, you don't leave the house and you wear gloves and a mask in public," Victoria pointed out.

"At least I'm in control."

"Hmm I smell divorce," Ben taunted.

"Shut the fuck up! You're not even one of us, fuck off," she grabbed the jar of marigold and held tightly to it.

"It's a hard no for me too. I have a bar, a life..." Viktor quickly said to end the discussion.

"You're all such losers, we should be mainlining this shit right now!" Ben groaned.

"Whoever wants powers back, raise your hand!" Victoria stood up. Nobody raised their hands except Ben.

"We have everything we need," Lila shrugged.

"Damn right, and as much as I hate Dad, he's extremely intelligent. He took away our powers because they were the cause of apocalypse after apocalypse after apocalypse. This way we are safe and the world is safe. Majority wins and I'm taking this cause I don't trust you, little weasel." Victoria shoved her finger in Ben's face. "Now let's go home, and stop flossing in public, Klaus, fucking disgusting. You're not making me wanna have sex with you any more by being gross."

Tag List: @salvador-daley @seanfalco

[r0-boat]

Hi can I request some alpha cyllene? It's been over a year and I'm still obsessed 😔 also alpha women are >>>>>>

Oh my God yes Alpha women I so agree with you Anon!

Alpha Cyllene Headcanons

The prime shining example of what every Alpha should be, she puts all other Alpha's to shame. Strong and reserved she is Harsh but only for the sake of survival. She is respectful of other secondary genders and doesn't abuse her Alpha title. Her scent is strong and opposin

g as if it is telling you to shut up and stand up straight. Making you behave for her without saying a word. But with omegas she's noticeably softer,  chivalrous, and polite. She's respectful, a rare sight in the days of old. Omegas swoon and flaunt their status as an unmarked Omega, showing interest in her as an Alpha. Only for her to not bat an eye. Even as an Omega goes into preheat she is calm and unfazed. Being the one to guide them to safety while baring her teeth at other Alphas that begin to lose themselves to the sweet scent of heat. Even though Cyllene has remarkable resilience to her animalistic needs, she is not indestructible, falling hard to her ruts so much that she must shut herself off. Even with her mate she holds back her Alpha, not wanting to hurt them. It will take hours of teasing to break her iron will, but when she does, you'll be rewarded. She doesn't just mark, she claims syncing her teeth deep into your skin reading her hips against you over and over, hard and deep. Drowning the both of you in pleasure. Once Cyllene loses control it would be hard for her to get back; she'll never have that same resilience around you. Her biggest distraction, trying to work on paperwork until she gets a slight hint of your scent in the air. Suddenly, she can't stop thinking about you, and hardly any work gets done.

Thinking poorly of Alphas that just bark orders and show off their superiority by their strong scent. Cyllene firmly believes that it is not only in Alpha's job to lead and protect. Protecting your pack and community is much more critical than simply leading. Even though Cyllene would heavily discourage omegas in the Galaxy Crop from going out in the wild against the wild beasts, it is only out of worry for Omega's to put themselves in danger. However, their drive to help their fellow Galaxy members and their strength and courage are admirable—something she does not admit to often.

Cyllene can be a little protective of her mate especially if they are an Omega with her tiny habit of thinking omegas are made of glass. She will fret about the smallest cut on them if they are in the Galaxy Corp; she worries herself sick when their mate is out on excursions, so she has assigned herself to go with them on more than one occasion. The only thing stopping her is her mountains of paperwork. She is not too worried about other Alphas making their move on you as she trusts you facing off against Pokémon You have no problem dealing with humans, though she is happy to scent you and anything you give her; Cyllene is not immune to the happy chemical in her alpha brain that goes off when she knows that her mate smells like her. Besides, those same humans wouldn't dare go after Captain Cyllene's mate if they value their life. 

Cyllene's protectiveness only worsens when you begin to nest inpreheat—picking you up and carrying you back to your nest when she sees you have crawled out of your mess of blankets and pillows. She would rather die by a wild charge from a Luxray than have you go outside into the village. She can only imagine what other less kind alphas would do to you.  She tries to calm the inner snarling and bitter scent as you now stand before her, wanting to see her at the Galaxy building while she annoyedly urges you to go back home. All the while trying so hard to focus on the papers in her hand and not the intoxicating scent of your preheat and the way you flutter your little eyelashes at her, begging for her attention. She can't help the way her eyes drift away from yours, knowing full well that you're beautiful eyes would have her attention all day or how addicted she already is to your smell, resisting the urge to nuzzle into your neck.

As her omega, I wouldn't be surprised that she would treat you as an equal and as if the slightest gust of wind could knock you down. 

Cyllene is a hard Alpha to anger; she just does not believe that losing control of one's emotions makes you look like anything other than an ill-mannered fool. You'll never forget the day that some Alpha, who reeked of alcohol, got into a one-sided fight with you, spouting insult after insult when things took a turn for the worst. He grabbed you suddenly; you got shivers done your spine as your partner stared at the both of you with an unreadable expression. Her eyes filled with a fiery wrath you'd never seen as her piercing gaze stared holes into the attacking Alpha. Cyllene did not say a word; instead walked forward. You could almost feel the ground shake with each step, the anticipation as if she was a big beast stalking forward to its prey. If the alpha had not and let him go and run away in Pure terror, yet he certainly did now when Cyllene, still in that same expression, grabbed his arm, squeezing it in an iron grip, causing the alpha pain. After this, You were scented till you reeked of her scent.

Cyllene likes to watch you while you make your nest. She thinks it's so cute watching you fret over which soft material to use, fluff the pillows till they're nice and soft, straighten out the blankets. Her eyes soften, watching you be cute, rubbing your face against the nest to mark it with your scent. Only for you to be even cuter when you curl up into a ball trying to lay comfortably in your newly made nest. She gets the urge to join you, go into your nest and wrap her arms around you.

[lonelychicago]

kiss me, (try to fix it)

i'm in a soft madney mood and also i 100% think that chimney is a pain in the ass (affectionate) when he's sick, so... here.

"this is the worst. i think i might be dying," chim says dramatically from the couch. he thinks he'll never leave the couch. he'll die on this couch and then maddie will have to get his body out of there before he traumatizes his daughter. "the end is coming for me soon, i can feel it. tell jee i love her."

"you're a paramedic." maddie says, rolling her eyes affectionately. "you know you're not dying, howie. please." she chuckles slightly and chimney can't help but to smile at the sound.

"what if i am?"

"you're not." she fixes him with a stare. "why did you even leave the bed anyway? i told you to stay there and i'd be with you in a second."

"i didn't know how bad i felt until i got up, maddie!"

maddie shakes her head as she places a steaming mug of tea in his hands.

"you're so dumb, howard han." she says and it should sound like an insult or at least it should sound annoyed— but the softness in her eyes and the way they crinkle in the corners in the tiniest way makes it lose its effects.

"and you're the best nurse, maddie buckley-han," he says because she is.

maddie is gentle and caring and everything chimney always wanted but never thought he'd have, not really.

she's... she's everything if he's being honest. and even in days like there, where he can't go to work and he's bored out of his mind and he feels like he will die even if he has just a stupid cold... even in days like these, maddie makes him feel indestructible. makes him feel safe.

makes him feel at home.

a hand comes to rest on his forehead and maddie's forehead wrinkles with worry.

"you're hot."

and even if his whole body aches and the headache is killing him, chimney manages enough strength to smirk at his fiancé and say— "am i just looks to you? can't you see i'm dying over here, woman?"

"drink your tea," maddie chuckles and rolls her eyes.

chimney takes the tea. It’s hot and sweet, heavy with honey, and he closes his eyes in pleasure. “you’re my favorite, did you know that?" then, "okay, you're my second favorite. jee comes first, of course."

"of course." maddie grins, still kneeling in front of him. and then—

she leans in and chimney feels her lips press against his forehead, her fingers run through his hair carefully and delicately and oh so comforting.

yeah, he's definitely at home and maddie buckley is the (second) best thing that has ever happened to him.

[en-chi-la-da]

general animal death talk below

last night my dog sissy finally passed away

when i say finally i don't mean it like "god FINALLY i've been WAITING for her to GO already", i mean it like, i've been expecting it. "she's a tiny elder dog so i shouldn't be surprised when it happens", it's happening > it happened > time goes on. she's lived a long life, a solid 21 years (her birthday is in january) which was way longer than i was expecting her to go to be honest (although it is the estimated lifespan for the chihuahua breed WHATEVER) she was a strong little geezer. never broke a bone, rarely got sick, it felt like she was indestructible, looking back on it all.

unfortunately, she did get sick once again, so it actually wasn't from her old age catching up to her (again, that's what i expected to happen). she became lethargic and weak, very hot, was not eating/drinking or getting up to use the bathroom, when she did it was only to pee, and lots of sleeping. when we got her checked out she was dehydrated, ran over 103-degree F fever, and they told us that after an ultrasound they had found some cysts that had developed in her lower body (her digestive tract i believe). they said her body was trying to fight off an infection, most likely from the cysts, but they couldn't tell if they were cancerous or not or if one of them had popped or something. in the end, she wasn't looking good.

long term, we would've had to pay for numerous tests and surgeries for them to figure out what exactly was affecting her and try to treat her, although with her current state and how old she was, the vet estimated that most likely, her body wouldn't be able to handle all of that. short term, the quality of life route, we administer painkillers for a predetermined amount of time until she passes on her own or we run out. or, euthanization right there in the clinic. i saw no point in the medicine, why try to keep her around, just so we could watch her continue to suffer in her own bed? so she could keep not drinking or eating? so the infection could keep spreading? so i could end up one day coming home to find her dead body? horrible and ugly and the last thing i want to remember her by.

it felt like the best course of action, all things considered. she gets to pass painlessly, and i get to say goodbye and hold her in my arms one last time. honestly, i hadn't even started crying until it was over. when i felt her stop breathing and the vet confirmed that her heart had stopped. sure, at this point i had already accepted the fact that she was dying, there's not much we could do about it without hurting her more, it's the cycle of life, it was her time to go, i knew it was going to happen eventually - still, despite everything i was telling myself, to just get through it, for her sake - all my feelings in that moment still hit me like a truck. never before had she felt so small.

her life and her death will remain with me for the rest of mine, and i can only hope to see her again one day, but not for a long, long time.

i'm okay now, for the moment. honestly, ive just been rewatching all the videos i have of her, continuing to think of her and remembering her life with me. all that's left is to let the grieving process pass, i suppose. this is the last pic i got of sissy - this was from only a day before she started getting sick, can you believe that? i have others of her obviously, but this one i'm more comfortable with sharing.

on 4-15-2024 i said goodbye to the strongest chihuahua i've ever known and had the pleasure of raising 💖 may she rest in peace! :')

[pastelwitchling]

              Alex felt like his head was stuffed with cotton. He was used to waking up earlier than Michael, but this was one of those rare mornings when Michael was up first. The moment Alex felt his husband’s fingers gently tracing his cheek, his jaw, he tried to open his eyes and found his eyelids too heavy. He stirred, groaning under his breath and turning his face into Michael’s arm.

              He felt wrong today, like someone had taken him apart and put him back together incorrectly, but Michael only sighed, unsurprised, and rubbed his back with the hand not currently caught under Alex’s chest.

              “Sorry, baby, looks like you’ve got another fever,” he said.

              The resignation in his voice was to be expected after all this time, Alex thought. Ever since they’d left the liminal space and Kyle had managed to cure Alex of his radiation poisoning – a feat that Michael still liked to pretend wasn’t that great as then he would have to acknowledge the serious mortal peril Alex had been in – Alex’s body had been prone to more and more fevers.

              Michael had been frantic about it at first, insisting on keeping Alex in Deep Sky’s infirmary until he got to the bottom of why Alex – who had only gotten sick maybe twice in his adult life – was now getting sick every week. Alex could’ve hardly blamed him the first few times the fever had struck, for he had struggled to so much as utter a word, let alone lift a single muscle. Kyle and Ramos, however, had both assured them that Alex’s fevers were a reaction to the intense treatment for his radiation poisoning, not any lingering trace of the poison itself.

              “He’s clean,” Kyle had promised, “he’s definitely clean, there’s nothing life-threatening here, but this was some advanced stuff we used on him, and the human body can only take so much, even a Manes’s. Think of the fevers as . . . a detox. They’re just his body burning away whatever’s left of the treatment, they should get easier to put up with in a few weeks, and then hopefully, he’ll be back to his indestructible self.”

              To Kyle’s credit, he’d been absolutely right. Alex had struggled to open his eyes when the fevers had first started, but now they felt no worse than when he’d gotten sick as a teenager. He was definitely getting better, but all Michael seemed to be able to register at the time of his illnesses was that Alex had a fever, Alex was in pain, and he had to do whatever was possible to fix it, even when it wasn’t possible to fix it.

              “Lie back on these pillows,” Michael insisted now, after having wrapped Alex so tightly in blankets that he struggled to move his arms.

              "I feel like a banana," he whined, his voice muffled because, unable to turn his body under the cocoon of blankets which had tipped over without any hope of stopping it, and his face was turned into the pillows that Michael had so lovingly set up for him against the headboard. There was some grunting and shuffling, and Alex was still unable to move, but now staring at the ceiling.

              Michael put his hands on his hips, looking him over. “That should keep you nice and warm.”

              “Guerin,” he said through a scratchy throat, “I can’t breathe.”

              “Which means you can’t work,” Michael said, satisfied, “which means you’re safe and sound.”

              Alex coughed feebly.

              Michael touched his forehead, checking his temperature. “You need some tea before I start on breakfast? I read an article that said spice is really good for fevers, helps you sweat it out, so I think I’ll add that to the chicken soup.”

              “I don’t want breakfast,” Alex said, his voice hoarse, “and I don’t want tea. I just want you to stay in here with me.”

              Michael’s eyes softened and he leaned in, pressing a faint kiss to Alex’s forehead. His lips were so warm on Alex’s already heated skin, but Alex wanted to curl into him, a far bigger comfort than any blanket. “And I will,” Michael murmured against his forehead as though he too could feel the heat of Alex’s skin and was trying to ward it off by his touch alone, “just as soon as I make you some soup.”

              Alex whined under his breath, but Michael only kissed his forehead again, tucked him in so thoroughly enough that any hope Alex had of being able to breathe was truly shattered, and disappeared into the hallway to presumably cook Alex up an entire week’s worth of soup.

              This was ridiculous.

              Alex was an honored war veteran, an accomplished Air Force captain, one of the top agents of a deep-secret black-ops organization! But with his head so stuffed and his arms trapped against his side, his biggest hope at the moment was not to tilt over and go face-first into the pillows again, because he was sure his throat would not allow him to call for help if he did.

              So there Alex lay, staring at the ceiling, mainly because he couldn’t creak his neck to look anywhere else, as he heard Michael’s faint, off-key humming inside. Alex was pretty sure Michael was humming the same song he’d written for him when he’d first sang at the Pony, but he couldn’t really tell. Michael was, after all, that bad.

“I’m not the musical one,” he often defended when Kyle made note of it, to which Alex always argued, “I love your voice!”

              It was completely true. Michael couldn’t sing, not even a little bit, but his voice was still Alex’s favorite sound in the world. He could listen to Michael reading his physics notes just as easily as he could listen to him talking about the stars.

              Alex wished, that if he had to be constricted to resting today, his husband would at least stay in the room. He wouldn’t be so quick to say it to Michael’s face, but Alex missed him a little too easily these days. As a teenager, he’d been all but obsessed with him. For all the talk he’d given Michael about not being his medicine, he was sure to use the image of the cowboy to get through the worst of his past. Now he had him here, in their kitchen, as his husband. A soft smile tugged at his lips.

              Michael noticed the look on his face as he walked in with a tray, and his smile mirrored Alex’s. “What?”

              “Nothing,” he said, his cheeks warming at the sight of his beautiful Michael for more than just the fever. “Just think there’s worse things to be a banana for.”

[starleska]

I have so many x reader ideas for pie boy it isn't even funny 👉👈 like a magical!reader who jack becomes obsessed with capturing, but in the process falls for them and we get a beauty and the beast kind of story, one where reader works for Jack as a thief like the serpent sisters but they end up becoming Jack's favorite and he eventually offers the reader to live in-house with him as a "promotion" but it's so obvious he has feelings 🙈 I could go on, i wish I could write these out fully 💔

oh gosh this idea is so delightful!!! 😭😭💖💖💖 i love, love, LOVE this concept!!! what kind of magic were you thinking that makes Jack cover the reader? i adore the idea of a working relationship building up over time as Jack admires the reader's skills 😖💖 do they maybe have invisibility, or some sort of shapeshifting ability? please, do feel free to write them out as much as you like, i'd love to know more :3c

i envision a similar situation with my own silly little nursery rhyme character, Aspen Branch (who i hope you don't mind me rambling about!). Jack initially covets her for her awesome vocal healing powers, as she's the only person in their land known to be able to cure sickness through singing - you can imagine how much of a benefit that would be for Jack, as for how often his workers get injured 😂

it's very much a Beauty and the Beast vibe…initially held legitimately captive, but quickly allowed more freedom until it's clear to everyone that she's his favourite. Jack seems virtually indestructible, but i still can't get a scene out of my head where he's actually hurt in some way - perhaps cut up and bleeding - and she helps nurse him back to health with soft songs. perhaps, eventually, Jack is even comfortable enough to sing with her…albeit quietly, and with much hesitation 💖

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Covetous | Chapter 13

Pairing: Nostelle or Macelle , who is to say which (I feel like it’s obvious which)

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7] [chapter 8] [chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [chapter 12]

[read on ao3]

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

The days dragged. Belle went to work, had no volunteers for company, and had no surprise Nosty visits to look forward to. It was the most she’d ever hated the library. She brought her friend across the street cups of coffee so frequently, he asked for a tea instead.

Joseph sent constant updates as though all he did was spy on him—Nosty was reading again, Nosty was pacing again, Nosty had disappeared without notice again, oh Nosty came back for dinner and they bollixed up a ham and cheese omelet. 

Every update sent a pang through her chest. She wanted to be there. It should be her teaching Nosty to cook, her reading alongside him. Instead, she was cooking for one and staring at books alone on her couch.

Still, every day that he came back from disappearing was good news. All of this was good news. Even better news was a phone call from an unknown number on Thursday turning out to be Nosty’s public defender. Belle arranged for coverage at the library so she could bring Nosty to her office the next afternoon, then tried to convince herself to make something other than instant noodles with microwaved frozen broccoli on the side. 

It was hard when it felt like she should save her good food and energy for Nosty and Joseph. 

That night, she laid out four different possible outfits, unsure what would be best for the solicitor. Should she play up the librarian? Look professional? Try to be casual since Nosty would likely just wear a kilt and a t-shirt? She decided to try for a mix—a dark blue skirt and blouse with a baby blue cardigan. Not too formal, but would be acceptable in an office.

Before heading to the church to get Nosty, Belle swung by an electronics store to get him a phone. She could have just gotten him a pay-as-you-go, but she wanted to show him she trusted him too, so she added him to her plan and picked out the phone that the saleswoman assured her was most indestructible, figuring Nosty could pick his own case.

When she pulled into the church parking lot, Joseph was leaning against the door, lips pursed, and Nosty appeared in front of the car like he’d been waiting underground for her. He was, as expected, wearing a kilt and a t-shirt, though it was one of his new shirts. 

“You ready?” she asked, waving to Joseph. 

“Is anyone ever fucking ready to meet a pig?” Nosty asked. He gripped her on the shoulders like he meant to kiss her, but all he did was give her a squeeze and then back off. 

“She’s not a pig, she’s a solicitor, and she’s your solicitor, so be nice.”

Joseph made his way over, eyeing Nosty warily. “Hey, Belle,” he said. “Am I allowed to say hello?” 

Belle frowned, about to ask what he meant when Nosty scoffed. “When have I stopped you from talking to Belle, hey? Certainly not the last two days. Can’t pry your eyes off your fucking mobile.”

Joseph muttered something, and Belle bit her lips to keep from laughing. The constant sickness of detox and withdrawal seemed to have strengthened Joseph’s backbone. It was a far cry from the man who’d cowered in a chair the first time he and Nosty met.

“We have to go, but I thought I’d take us all out tonight,” Belle said. She hadn’t thought that until now, but getting Nosty and Joseph out of the church sounded like a good idea. 

“You’ve done too much,” Joseph said.

“Fine, we’ll go without you.” Nosty slung an arm around her. “And you can stare at your fucking phone all night.”

“The only reason I stare at my phone is—”

“Boys!” 

They both looked at her, but only Joseph had the decency to look chastened. 

“We have to go. Come on, Nosty.”

Nosty sulked in the car, and Belle had to turn the radio loud and sing along to keep from laughing. He was comfortable enough to rib Joseph without getting angry? She couldn’t be happier. 

After a bit of her sweet, if a little off-key, singing, Nosty perked up, and by the time they pulled into the parking garage for the solicitor’s office building, he seemed again happy to be in her presence.

They made an interesting pair walking up, Belle in her modest heels and pastel cardigan and Nosty in combat boots, a kilt, and a leather jacket with his hands stuffed in the pockets while he surveyed the streets.

“Have you ever met with a solicitor?” Belle looped a hand through his elbow and he jumped, but when she tried to remove it, he squeezed his elbow to his side, trapping her there.

“Few times. Only for minor offenses. All of them pricks.”

“Did you cooperate?”

He glanced down at her, then straight ahead and shrugged. “Define ‘cooperate.’”

“Nosty!”

“Calm down, calm down, I’ll be good.” 

The interior of the building had seen better days. Belle’s heels clacked along the scuffed linoleum, and Nosty’s boots squealed every time they hit the floor. He squeezed her hand to him with his elbow again, and she rested her other hand on his arm.

“You want me to come with you, right?” she asked. “I don’t have to if you’d rather be alone.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” 

They paused to check the directory, determined that K. NOLAN was on the third floor, and made their way to her office.

A harried young women with hair falling out of her ponytail greeted them when they walked in, did a quick double take at Nosty, and then ushered them to a room behind her desk.

“Kathryn, your next client is here,” she said and then scurried off like standing for any longer would put her off schedule.

The door opened and a blonde woman about Belle’s age smiled at them. “Come in, come in, I’m Kathryn, you must be Belle?”

“It’s so nice to meet you in person,” Belle said. “And—”

“And you must be Nosty.” Kathryn smiled, offering her hand, and Belle pressed the inside of his elbow to remind him to shake it. “Come in, have a seat. Joanna’s making tea.”

They settled in the two chairs facing the desk, and Nosty kept twisting around to look at the door to their backs while Kathryn sat at her computer and pulled out a legal pad.

“Would you prefer the door open?” she asked.

“No,” Nosty said. He did not elaborate.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable.”

Nosty grunted, so Belle smiled and thanked her. She wanted to take Nosty’s hand, remind him that he wasn’t alone, but she feared that being not alone was one of the things making his eyes dart around the room and his knee shake.

“So, I see that the charges are vagrancy and assaulting an officer. Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Kathryn said.

Nosty’s fist clenched. “Can’t fucking do anything about the vagrancy, can I? It’s not my fault I live on the streets.” 

“No, of course not.” Kathryn made a note on her pad. “But the circumstances will matter to the jury. What about the assault?”

Belle tried not to look too curious. She hadn’t asked Nosty what had happened and he hadn’t offered. He glanced at her now, then toward the tiny window, fist clenched tight enough to turn his knuckles white. It had to hurt.

“Self-defense,” he muttered. Belle laid her hand over his, but he didn’t even seem to notice. 

“Nosty, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened.” 

Nosty’s foot tapped, and his knuckles moved like he was opening and closing his fist under Belle’s palm. “You can’t fucking help anyway, hey? They’d rather see me rot.”

“I’ve helped a lot of people,” Kathryn said. 

“Aye?” Nosty tapped both heels. “Sorry fucks like me? Or did you just draw the short straw this time.” 

“Nosty,” Belle said. “This is just—”

The door opened and Nosty flew out of his chair with a roar, startling Joanna into dropping the two styrofoam cups in her hand. He stood for a second, chest heaving, hands up prepared to strike, and then he stormed out, slamming the entry door behind him and leaving behind a silence so complete, Belle could hear the tea trickling down the floor.

She swallowed, quelling the instinct to just run after him. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Kathryn as she knelt to help with the spilled tea. “This is hard for him.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kathryn said. “I’ve had way worse. At least he didn’t scare Joanna on purpose.”

Belle’s eyes heated with tears, but she bit her cheek to get rid of them. She couldn’t cry. She had to go find Nosty, and she didn’t want Kathryn to think that anything bad might be happening other than a little panic attack.

“Do you think he’d feel better having this meeting outside?” Kathryn asked.

“I don’t know,” Belle said. “I’ll go ask him.”

Satisfied that she had mopped up enough of the liquid that Joanna could finish the job, Belle abandoned her purse to the desk chair and rushed out.

Nosty wasn’t in the hallway, but she didn’t expect him to be. She took the stairs just in case he’d gone there to hide, but that was empty too, and her heart sank at the thought that he had just taken off and she’d never find him again. She hadn’t even given him his new phone.

When she saw him by her car, pacing and smoking, she almost skipped to him.

“Nosty!”

“Don’t fucking say anything.” He sucked on his cigarette, then blew smoke away from her. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” She sidled over to him, trying not to let her relief show too much lest it scare him off.

Nosty finished his cigarette and lit another. 

“So,” he said. “Admirable boyfriend behavior, eh? Trustworthy.” He turned his back to her. “You want to just leave me here then or will you bother taking me back to pick up my shite?” 

Belle frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I failed your fucking test, Belle. I slept in a house of the lord for three whole nights and I’m still a fucking basket case.”

Belle didn’t want to startle him, so she moved so he could see her before touching his shoulder. “Nosty, this wasn’t a test. You haven’t failed. I’m not judging you for being anxious. I don’t want you to feel so stressed out that you have to run out of a whole building.” She took a step closer. “I know that doesn’t feel good.”

He watched her, and she hoped this had been the right thing to say. Nosty worked so hard, she knew, to shield her from his bad moods. She hoped accepting one was the right move.

“It feels like shit,” he said.

“It does feel like shit.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to go off like that.” He waved his cigarette toward the door. “It was too fucking cramped in there. I was suffocating.”

“Do you want to meet outside?” Belle spotted a picnic table and pointed. “I’ll go get Kathryn and my things, and we’ll sit right there.”

Nosty scoffed. “You can’t meet with a solicitor outside.” 

But they could, and Kathryn was happy to bring her legal pad and fresh cups of tea down to sit and take notes at the picnic tables.

“All right.” She smiled at Nosty, just as warm as she’d been before he’d stormed out, and Belle thought she saw his shoulders relax just a fraction. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

****

While Nosty talked, Belle watched his knees. In a halting voice, he told them about his camp—where he and his self-proclaimed rowdy blokes spent their nights. They had a good setup, with blankets, a shopping cart, rubbish bins. They’d been there long enough to decorate. It was Nosty’s place, Nosty’s camp. People knew him.

 He spoke with his hands, just like he always did, and whenever he got antsy, his legs shook. Belle wanted to still it, but it was like he’d cast a spell over them, and she was afraid she’d break it if she touched him.

The day he was in hospital, the police told his crew they had to move camp or else. When Nosty came back, he wouldn’t stand for that. This was their home, and they’d made it themselves. They rallied around him, and when the coppers came with their riot shields and night sticks, they fought back. It wasn’t just a plan to arrest and relocate them, it was an all-out war.

If Belle didn’t watch his knees, she’d watch his face, and then she’d cry. She was already on the verge, and she wanted him to speak freely, not shield her as he always did. She wanted to know him.

“But you’re the only one they arrested,” Kathryn said. “You said everyone fought?”

Nosty snorted. “‘Course I’m the only one they arrested. What was I gonna do, drag everyone down with me?” 

“What do you mean?” Kathryn asked, and Belle was glad she did because she had to know. 

“I mean, I was the one they wanted, so I gave ‘em a show, yeah?” His knees spread, no longer shaking. “Once it took more than one pig to knock me down, the lads could all get away.”

Belle pressed a hand to her mouth. Keep it together, Belle. 

“So, would it be accurate to say that you sacrificed yourself for your friends?”

Nosty whistled. “Making me sound like a fucking hero, but sure. That’s what happened.”

His foot slid until it tapped hers, and Belle jumped, unsure whether it was on purpose until he glanced at her and his lip twitched.

“Well, we want to paint a picture,” Kathryn said. “And it sounds like we’ve got a good start. Unfortunately, the prosecution is going to try to paint you as an unstable menace on the streets, so we need to get ahead of that. I think Belle’s presence will help.”

Belle looked up to rejoin the conversation, still scared she might cry, but it was verging on rude for her to keep ignoring them. 

“Okay, what did you do for money?” Kathryn asked. “Panhandle?”

Was this a gross breach of Nosty’s privacy? Belle was learning more about his life in this conversation than he’d ever told her. On the other hand, he’d asked her to come. He could have asked her to leave.

“Nah.” Nosty stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I sell drugs.”

He didn’t look her way, and the hard set of his jaw made her wonder if he would blow up at her after this like he had earlier. She wouldn’t judge him for what he’d done in his past life to survive, just what he was doing now. Had he disappeared from the church to sell?

“Sell? Currently?” Kathryn asked, as if she could read Belle’s mind.

“Sold.”

“Okay, I think it would help if you went to rehab. I have some resources I can—”

“Whoa, slow down, hey?” Nosty raised his hands. “I don’t partake of me own wares.”

Kathryn smirked, and Belle remembered the first time she’d met Nosty, charmed by his way with words, his showmanship. 

“Nothing? No vices?”

“Well, I didn’t say that, did I?” He crossed his arms, leaning back as much as he could on a bench. “I’ve dabbled, of course, but mostly I drink and smoke.” He mimed raising a joint to his lips.

Belle got the impression he’d have preferred a chair to rest on two legs, but Nosty was leaning into his drama now no matter what. 

“That’s it?” Kathryn asked.

“Gotta do something to take the edge off when you live on a sidewalk, hey?” Nosty settled, and Belle wanted to reach for him, but there’d be time for that later. Now, she was just glad that this solicitor visit was going so well. 

Kathyrn studied her notes, mouth twisting as she did. “I think it would be a good idea to do something to give them a real receipt of progress. What about anger management?”

Belle snickered while Nosty sputtered. Kathryn’s lip quirked.

“He does live in a church now,” Belle offered. “Would that help?”

Kathryn made another note, nodding as she did. “That’s definitely good, saved by the church, we can find juries who love that. What about therapy?”

Nosty recoiled. “I’m not crazy.”

“Therapy isn’t a judgment of your personal character, Nosty,” Belle said. “Lots of people use therapy.”

“Do you?” he snapped.

“I do,” Kathryn said. “My husband does. Joanna’s probably going to spend weeks with her therapist talking about today.”

Nosty’s lip twitched at that, and Belle put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been to therapy before, but I could never find the right therapist. I was in a grief support group for about a year after my dad died, though,” she said.

Nosty licked his lips, looking between Belle and Kathryn. “I won’t tell them anything.”

“Can you be nice to a therapist at least?” Kathryn asked. “Just be civil.”

“It’ll show the jury that you’re trying,” Belle said.

He swallowed. “I’ll think about it.”

Kathryn asked a few more questions, made a few more notes, then capped her pen with a snap and smiled at them. “Great. I will email you guys some good therapists, and I think this was a very successful first meeting. Let’s meet again after you’ve had a chance to look everything over, and this week, I’ll make sure they know we’re waiving our right to a speedy trial. You have my number?”

Belle nodded. “I’ll call if anything comes up.”

Kathryn shook both their hands, gathered her things, and headed back inside, leaving them alone again, finally.

Nosty brushed the tips of his fingers along the rough stone edge of the table, so Belle scooted until their thighs touched. 

“So,” he said.

“So.”

He rubbed his thumb on the stone, a little harder than Belle would have wanted to. “Now you know everything.”

“Do I?” she asked. “Everything?”

“All the important shite. I deal. I drink. I’m violent.”

She slipped her arms around his waist, forcing him to wrap his around her shoulders. “I learned what I already knew, which is that you survived.”

He glanced down at her. “I’ll always be that man, Belle. No solicitor or therapist or church is gonna change that.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “Even a kind, beautiful bird can’t.”

“You’ll always be the man who did what he had to to survive,” Belle said. “And the man who did what he could to save his friends. I wouldn’t change any part of you. All I want to change is what you’re up against.”

He looked down at her, and she almost leaned up to kiss him. “Yeah?”

“And I want you to know that you don’t have to face things alone anymore. I’m in your corner.” 

“Even after all that?” His dark eyes searched hers, like he expected to catch her in a lie if only he looked hard enough.

“Nosty.” She cupped his stubbly cheek in one hand. It was nice to be able to touch him again. “You keep thinking I’m going to run at every opportunity. I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m asking you to prove you won’t break my heart again. I already knew you, and I didn’t run away then.”

With just a shift of his head, he could press his lips to her fingers. She wanted him to kiss down her arm like he used to, grab her by the waist and devour her as he did the other night. 

“I never wanted to break your heart.”

“Well.” Belle slid her hand from his cheek to his chest, careful to avoid his injury. “You did.”

He held his hand over hers and bowed his head, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, Belle.” 

“Sorry for what?” If she spoke too loud, the spell might break, and if she couldn’t kiss him, she wanted to sit here like this, with her hand in his, feeling his heart beat. 

“For disappearing.”

“Why did you?”

“I thought it was—no.” He shook his head. His fingers pulsed against hers, but he didn’t say anything else, and she needed him to.

“You thought what?” 

Nosty pulled himself out of her grasp, turning his back to her and lighting up another cigarette. Belle didn’t move yet—just because he’d pulled away, it didn’t mean he was done talking. He took a slow drag and blew a stream of smoke in front of him.

“I was gonna say I thought it would be better for you, but that’s not true.” 

Belle waited. She thought she knew what he wanted to say, but she wanted to give him the chance. If she continued to put words into his mouth for him, he would never have an incentive to tell her how he really felt.

“I care about you—like you—so much, and I knew you’d leave me,” he said. “So I left first.”

While his back was to her, she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his scuffed leather jacket. 

“I might leave you,” she said, holding on when he tensed beneath her. “And you might leave me. This is still so new, we don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Nosty finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on the table before flicking the butt away. “That’s a fine note to end on.”

“Look.” Belle squeezed him. “All I’m saying is nothing is guaranteed. But I do know that I’ve met a lot of people, and—” What was she doing, confessing her feelings when she wasn’t ready to be with him? 

“And?”

She swallowed. She didn’t want to not tell him. He deserved people who said nice things and loved him. 

“When you were gone, I kept thinking about this ex of mine, and when we broke up, I was so upset because I’d lent him a book and he was never going to return it.”

Nosty snorted. “Sounds like you. I didn’t take any of your books with me though. I don’t even steal from the library.”

“I know,” she said. “But I thought, if you had, I wouldn’t even care. I would miss you more than the book.”

“Really? Even your discontinued covers?” 

She smiled against his back, and he rested his hands on hers. “Well, I might care then. But I’d still miss you more.”

Nosty took her arms off his waist and stood, holding his hand out to her. “Come on. I’m having thoughts that I shouldn’t be having on a solicitor’s front lawn.”

He bared his teeth in a grin, and Belle took his hand, giddy as he pulled her up and to the car.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Of Constant Sorrow

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  The Boys

Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Rating:  Mature

Synopsis: The after-the-fact deposition of the nurse brought in to care for a certain explosively hot patient.

Tags:  Solider Boy, Ben O'Connell, Original Female Character, Billy Butcher, Grace Mallory, Starlight, Annie January, Hughie Campbell, MM, Marvin Milk, Frenchie, Serge Cassell, Kimiko Miyashiro, Original Male Character, Unethical Experimentation, Unethical Medicine, Canon Divergence, AU, No Good Answers

AN:  Content warning -- unironic use of racial slurs.

This was actually my mother's idea-- my mom spent twenty years as a home health aide who specialized in elder care. She and I got to speculating on how someone might connect with Soldier Boy even in his vulnerable state at the end of S3, and this is how I ran with her idea. Factual errors are mine; I'm not a medial professional. Songs are, "Ship of Fools," by Bob Seger, "Man/Maid of Constant Sorrow," by Dick Burnett, "My Favorite Dream," by Bill Walsh and Ray Noble (the magic harp's lullaby from 'Mickey and the Beanstalk'), and "Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral (An Irish Lullaby)," by James Royce Shannon. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any trademarks or copyrights. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and is protected by Fair Use.

---

Data classified Top Secret/eyes only under authority of case officer Mallory

Interrogation session 8 re case Solider Boy. Subject: DePoister, Charlotte, captain, USA.

WB: We recording? Right, this can go all sorts of ways, love-- CD: You can knock off the intimidation schtick. I can see how sick you are. You should be in a hospital.

HC: He's been doing a lot better lately-- how can you tell? CD: Because it's my damn job, jackass.

WB: Don't you worry 'bout me. I'm sound as a pound. MM: Okay, let's not get sidetracked. Tell us about how you got hired to be Solider Boy's nurse. CD: I'm a Supe-- super-ability immunity to poisons and radiation. However, I’m not indestructible. I didn't even get super healing. I cut, I bruise, I bleed, I break. I age. At least my sister went gray first. Take that, ya brat. I turned down Vought and enlisted, got trained as a combat medic and went to college for my nursing degree after I was wounded in the line of duty. Immunity to poisons is a great thing to have for a first responder.

HC: Wait-- I thought the Army banned Supes. AJ: Supes that are the property of Vought are barred from serving. People with super-abilities aren’t. CD: Right. Given a choice, most Supes pick Vought because the money is a lot better. My dad never did forgive me for turning them down. I could be rich'n'famous right now. Decontamination Charlotte, complete with sequined “HazMat” suit with florescent Fuck Me boots. Instead I picked Uncle Sam, like an idiot. I came out of the Army with a captain’s commission, an RN license, and an average of about four nightmares a month. Anyway. Colonel Mallory came to me herself after the incident at Vought Tower. She explained the situation and pointed out my sister's six-figure tax debt thanks to her idiot husband's house-flipping business and how she could make it go away. That’s pretty much how I ended up taking what was basically an orderly’s job in that spick-and-span underground Purgatory. Nasogastric feeding tube in one end, Foley catheter in the other, and between the two a living body that still needed things like bathing and haircuts and whatnot. The Russians were clever to keep him in an upright position. No pressure sores. Not that he’d be prone to them. --- You think you’re gonna get used to it, but you never really do, Charlotte remembered her practical instructor saying as she completed her unit in the chronic care building at Walter Reed. Ward 4, where long-term coma patients and people in persistent vegetative states lived out their lives until a merciful God called them home. Especially when the patients were healthy otherwise-- young, strong, people who should’ve been out in the sunlight.

With that Me Doctor You Nurse sneer some of them just seemed to have, Dr. Sanjeer briefed her on the acceptable baselines for the patient’s vital signs. “Any independent motion, no matter how minor, must be reported at once. When he was originally roused from captivity in Russia, he blasted through a reinforced concrete wall before he was fully conscious and oriented to time and place.”

“So we’re worried he might haul off and punch a hole in the world.”

“In brief, yes.”

“Great.” Not that the good doctor was worried, from the other side of a camera feed in a laboratory in a completely different part of the facility. Leave the cleanup to Charlotte. Decontamination Charlotte, the filth doesn’t touch her in a bad place.

The containment capsule opened with a sigh of equalizing air pressure. Up close the wrong feeling was worse. White adult male, bearded, mass 85 kilos, height 185 centimeters, beautifully cut muscles, broad shoulders, and long legs. Electrodes stuck to his temples and on his chest fed data to the containment capsule's monitors, with telemetry readings well within Dr. Sanjeer's provided baselines. The only concession to modesty was a drape over his groin, the line of a catheter running to a onboard reservoir. Urinalysis made for a crude substitute for a proper blood test but the needle hadn’t been invented yet that could pierce his skin. A breathing mask clamped over his face fed him air laced with the nerve agent keeping him . . . keeping him in some Supe-enabled state that wasn't quite comatose and wasn't quite dead.

"Hi. Ben, right?” she said.

Over the monitor Dr. Sanjeer's condescending frown deepened.

Charlotte wasn't fazed. Dr. Sanjeer's specialties were in genetics and biochemistry, not direct care. She'd lay money he'd never gone near a patient in his life-- not a human one anyway, he had the look of a monkey man. “His brain still works, right? He’s not an inanimate object. I refuse to treat him like one.

“Ben, my name is Charlotte DePoister. I’ll be your primary care nurse. You have a tube in your nose feeding you fluids and a catheter’s been inserted into your penis. I apologize if either feel uncomfortable. I’ll be in for four hour shifts every day at 0600 and 1800 to see to your physical needs, which will include moving your limbs to keep your muscles from atrophy, keeping you clean, reflex checks, and tactile stimulation tests. I’m going to put something in your hand to demonstrate." From her scrub top pocket, Charlotte pulled out a tennis ball. She took the unconscious Supe’s hand and shaped it into a cup, fitting the tennis ball down into it.

No response. His fingers were warm and totally lax.

“All right. I’m going to give you a quick bath with some dry shower cloths. Clever things, keep you almost as clean as a full sponge bath and a lot less labor intensive. Full baths are still on the agenda, every fifth day. I’ll wash your hair then too. Beard trims as needed, haircuts once a month, but I don’t manscape.”

Charlotte hummed as she worked on the heavy pile of inert tissue that might've had a man inside somewhere. Dr. Sanjeer watched with a look of greed on his face that made her uncomfortable. Reminding her that he saw her patient as a specimen.

At the end of her shift, she covered Ben with a light blanket and sealed the containment capsule. The air inside went misty as it pressurized and filled with the Novachik nerve agent. Carefully, with the thick plastic gloves built into the capsule, she removed the breathing mask. The pad beneath him activated to hold him in place and the capsule went into lateral rotation mode, rocking him side-to-side. A child in a cradle made of lead and poison. "See you this evening, Ben." --- MM: What were you told about the actual research going on? CD: Just broad strokes. The laboratories were all dedicated to studying him, trying to figure out how that radiation of his neutralizes super-abilities. I sat through a lot of meetings with lab coats pissing and moaning about not being able to access their specimen directly.

WB: And you never thought to ask where you fit into the master plan? Spending all day wiping Soldier Boy's arse you'd think you'd be a bit more inquisitive. CD: What do you want from me, you prick? I'm a soldier. My job's to execute orders and hope like hell the officers over me know what the fuck they're doing. You're military too, you should know that. In the day-to-day it was pure routine, like caring for any long-term coma patient. I’d clean him up at the start of my shift, do basic physiotherapy, provide sensory and tactile stimulation with things like soft toys. I read somewhere that he's a baseball fan, so I started playing the radio play-by-plays over the speaker in the containment capsule.

SC: Why even bother? What care does a monster like that warrant in light of the crimes he's committed? CD: Because he’s a person, no matter how horrible a person he is. Nobody deserves to be tortured with the effects of long-term immobility. “We must be what we are, else we become our enemies.” Historical fantasy. A Song For Arbonne. --- "I saw that one on the TV," Charlotte said as she scrubbed her patient’s hair. Soft and fine like her own and sweet with the mild smell of Johnson and Johnson No-Tears. "The home plate ump totally blew that call. Even I could see that wasn’t in the strike zone." Over the capsule’s speaker Dickerson called it-- White Sox over Tigers, 13-6. "Buncha dipshits this year. The Tigers haven’t been able to get shit done with Cabrerra out. I hope we haven’t lost him for the season."

No response from her patient.

Charlotte turned the game off and rinsed out the shampoo. Careful of the clamps holding the breathing mask, she used a little travel dryer on her patient’s hair, lifting the strands to get the cool air at the roots. She sang as she worked. "'Tell me quick,' said Old MacPhee, 'what's this all got to do with me? I spent all my time at sea, alone' . . ." --- MM: Let's get back on track. So you were taking care of Soldier Boy while he was . . . out. The nerve agent should've had him totally insensate. What happened to change that? CD: Either his body started adapting to the Novachik or someone was deliberately dialing back the concentration. Possibly both. --- "This is a ball of hemp cord, it should feel rough and abrasive against your skin." Charlotte lightly ran the stim object down his forearm and checked No Response. "What's on the agenda for today . . . oh it's everybody's favorite, Leg Day."

Talking through each flexation and extension, Charlotte moved each of her patient's legs through their full range of motion. "Everything's still moving the way it should be, big guy. You're not even losing muscle tone. Reflex test-- I'm going to run the tip of an ink pen along the sole of your foot."

Accustomed to days and days of the same thing, Charlotte didn't register at first what she was seeing. His foot flexed, curling into the touch of the ballpoint pen as she ran it up the arch. "Woah." She did it again. Another flex. This time, the muscle groups in his calf twitched, like he was trying to point his toes. Charlotte finally registered what it was that had put her on edge-- his pulse and breathing had sped up, just enough to be noticeable.

Dr. Sanjeer had been very clear on this point. Any indication that he might be coming out of his next-door-to-dead state rated a five-alarm panic. Instead, Charlotte squeezed his ankle. "It's okay. You're safe. It's just Charlotte, Ben. Flex your toes again if you can hear me."

Nothing. Involuntary reaction, nothing more. Just a sign that physiotherapy was in fact indicated. --- MM: The doctor told you to sound the alarm if he showed any signs of coming out of it. How come you didn't? CD: I didn't think it'd be in anybody's best interest to punch the panic button, least of all my patient's. I know you don't take the idea seriously, but part of my duty as his nurse is to be an advocate for his well-being.

AJ: He roasted Crimson Countess alive, he bashed Mindstorm's face in-- CD: Have you read his quote-unquote "service record"? His brilliant solution to the Korean conflict damn near started World War III. Under international law he's an unindicted war criminal. And I'm sure all of you have been hurt by him. Directly. At his hands. Making him suffer when he's helpless doesn't do a damn thing to balance those scales or prevent anyone else from getting hurt. Justice is a higher duty than our fucking feelings.

MM: Look, I used to be a corpman. Okay? I agree with you. Just tell us what happened next. CD: According to the EEG, he started cycling between normal periods of dreaming and non-dreaming sleep. They weren’t happy dreams either. His vital signs would start spiking right the fuck off the scale and the Geiger counter would start sounding like a electric woodpecker. Scared the shit out of me the first time it happened. I’m immune to the neurotoxin and the radiation, not to getting vaped or having a mountain dropped on me. --- Charlotte had gotten into the habit of keeping the containment capsule open while she was in the room with her patient. With the room itself isolated and her the only person allowed direct access, it just made her job easier not having to constantly pressurize and depressurize the damned thing. She'd also gotten into the habit of holding his hand for part of her shift. Sometimes there'd be a faint twitch. Nothing that could be misconstrued as deliberate, purposeful action. Once his hand had full-on clamped, just shy of enough force to crush the bones. Hurt like hell. Charlotte blessed the foresight that had made her use her left hand.

The day everything changed was another day exactly the same as all the rest. Charlotte had been catching up on the charting when an alarm on the telemetry monitor went off. The Geiger counter started ticketing away, as the needle rocked right into the red zone. The pump on the gas canisters under the containment capsule kicked on, upping the concentration of the nerve agent in his breathing mix. It wasn't working fast enough, Charlotte could see. His pulse had risen to 50 and the EEG showed highly active REM sleep. Dreaming sleep.

"Holy Mary mother of God you're having a nightmare," Charlotte said. She grabbed Ben's hand and put it over her heart. "Ben. Ben, it's okay! Whatever you're seeing's not real! It'll pass in a second! Calm down! It's not real!" Nothing. His eyes rolled under his closed eyelids and his heart rate continued to climb like the price on a gas pump-- 70, 80, 90 . . .

Charlotte put her lips next to Ben's ear and sang. "I . . . am a maid . . . of constant sorrow . . . I've seen trials for all my days. I'll say goodbye to California . . . the land where I was partly raised."

The motion behind his eyelids paused. Charlotte took a breath and went on, softer and tuneful. "Your friends may say that I’m a stranger, my face they'll never see no more. There is but one promise given, that I'll sail on God's golden shore." As she watched, Ben's vital signs held their plateau . . . and started to sink.

"Oh thank God," Charlotte sighed. "All through this world, I'm bound to ramble," she brushed a lock of Ben's hair back from his forehead. Odd that his ageless face should look careworn, that the eternally sleeping should look so damned exhausted. "Through sun and wind and driving rain. I'm bound to ride the western railway . . . perhaps I'll take the very next train." The image struck her then, Ben out in the world, dressed in clothes for the outdoors, sitting in the open door of a boxcar as it rolled from somewhere to somewhere. God, even jail would be better than this . . . living death.

"I am a maid of constant sorrow, I've seen trials all of my days," she reprised. There. His heart rate had reached it's normal resting pace, as the nerve agent did its work and put him more thoroughly under. "I'm going back to California," on impulse she kissed the back of his hand, "the land where I was partly raised." She laid Ben's arm back by his side.

"Sweet Jesus you scared me," she said into the silence. --- WB: So you just sung the cunt a lullaby, gave him a kiss like he was fucking Sleeping Beauty, and what, defused him? CD: It worked didn't it? The next time it happened, I took his hand and did the whole lullaby thing and he settled. Sanjeer speculated he was having flashback-powered nightmares, but he had already associated my voice with harmlessness so he was able to reality-check his way out of it without waking up. He said to continue as before. I was just glad to end each shift in one piece to be honest. What I didn't know was-- well you guys probably know more about that than I do. There were parties very interested in obtaining my patient who'd finally succeeded in fixing his location. They were trying to access him directly and remove him intact, without waking him up.

K, via interpreter: . . . she's asking why they didn't just come to you. CD: Lack of opportunity, probably. Like everybody else who knew about our payload, I lived onsite, my movements were restricted, and my activities were monitored. That I’m talking to you guys and not to yet another interrogation specialist says Colonel Mallory's already cleared me of any conspiracy. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life in 'protective custody' anyway, so pardon me if I forget my fucking manners.

AJ: Well maybe we can do something about that. CD: Hah. Don't write checks you can't cash. The thanks of a grateful nation amount to not putting me on trial for treason or espionage because that would involve admitting Soldier Boy's alive in an open courtroom, and who knows what Vought or God save us Homelander might do with that information.

MM: We can talk to the Colonel. Move you someplace a little lower security, someplace that allows visitors. I mean, your family's gotta be missing you. CD: That carrot's already been dangled. My sister's been made aware of my status, and has chosen not to communicate. Christ alone knows where my ex is-- probably shacked up with one of his undergrads and a case of Jack Daniels. --- "It's raining outside." Charlotte said as she fiddled with the nail file. She couldn't clip her patient’s nails, exactly, none of the clippers she'd tried had even scratched the nail surface. But they'd file if she ground at them enough. "You know something? There are times I think I'd sell my soul just to take a fucking walk by myself. This place is so double-top-secret they interrogate fresh air before they let it in."

She laughed to herself. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be whining to somebody who can't tell me to shut up. I just realized this morning it's my nephew’s birthday but because I'm incommunicado I can't call him and say Happy Birthday. My sister's a brat and her boys are bratlings, but they're my brats.

"They're probably going to the beach, since it's the weekend. Grand Haven State Park-- these long fine sand beaches and nothing in the water that might eat you. We went there two-three times a summer when we were kids. The wind blows right off Lake Michigan hard enough to make the air feel nice, even when it's like a million degrees outside. Lucky me I got the suntan gene but my sister'd burn'n'peel every damn year. That fair Irish skin-- you could probably relate. My ex-husband was like that too. Our honeymoon, we spent three days in the Keys. Chris got sunburned so bad we had to spend most of it inside. Kind of a bad omen in retrospect.”

Realizing she was rambling, Charlotte stopped. She glanced at the telemetry monitor; he was in REM sleep but his vitals were still well under the panic threshold. She hoped it was a nice dream. She cleared her throat and sang, "In my favorite dream, everyone is so delightful, no one's mean or spiteful . . ."

She put Ben's hand down. "Good night. See you in the morning," she said, and sealed the capsule. As she took off the mask, she swallowed when she saw a tiny trail of moisture running from the corner of one eye. Charlotte hoped with all her heart it was just a bit of extra water and, careful to keep the touch light, she used her gloved thumb to wipe it away. --- MM: Take us through what happened. Did you notice anything out of routine when your morning shift started? CD: No. The pump that fed the breathing mask was still going so as far as I knew everything was normal. I filled the canister with the Novachik in the lab and changed it out like usual. My guess is the nerve agent was a dud.

SC: That would not be difficult. Novachik is not so easy to synthesize. If the pH is even a little out of balance-- seawater. CD: Right. I was going through his stimulation drills and I noticed his brain activity acting up, so I took his hand and started singing and it seemed like he’d calmed down. So I turned away to get the things for his bath when an alarm started going off on the capsule telemetry display. I looked at his face, and his eyes were open. --- "You've been doing this more lately," Charlotte said as she flexed his hand around the rubber handball. "It can't be because the Phillies are doing more than taking up space in the cellar this year. I didn't mean to get your hopes up there. I gotta suffer through Tigers mediocrity, you get to suffer with me. So there-- oh shit." Ben's heartrate was climbing again, though thank God not as fast as that first time. Charlotte pressed his hand over her heart again. "Okay. Orient on my heartbeat. A-one-and-a-two-and-a-here-we-go-- Too-rah-loo-rah-loo-ral, too-rah-loo-rah-lee . . ."

By the time she finished the Irish lullaby, Ben's vitals were dropping. "There. And according to my handy-dandy calendar, it's bath day. Let me take a look at that manly mane of yours. Might be time for a trim." As she turned to her cart, an alert on the containment capsule started going off. "Wait, what the fuck?"

A look at the EEG waves and her heart turned to ice. Nice and spiky and active and awake. Charlotte barely had time to complete that thought when a hand snapped around her neck. A tiny trickle of urine ran into her underwear as her patient-- as Ben-- as Solider Boy slowly sat up, eyes open and full of enough rage to start a war. Black fog washed over her vision and she went ragdoll. In an almost abstract sort of way she said goodbye to her sister and nephews, remembered the last time she'd watched a really pretty sunrise, regretted running out of her room without making her bed this morning.

"Where. Am. I?" he growled, muffled by the mask. The grip on her neck loosened just enough for Charlotte to breathe.

"West Virginia. Hazardous Waste Containment Facility," Charlotte croaked. --- MM: What happened next? CD: You saw the video. He grabbed me by the neck, demanded to know where he was, told me to take out the tubes, then he told me to show him the way out or he’d rip my fucking head off. Direct quote. --- “I’m sorry, this is probably going to hurt.”

“Just get it out of me motherFUCKER!!!” Soldier Boy screamed as Charlotte pulled the Foley. He cupped his hands over his genitals, curling over them protectively. “Oh that hurt like shit!”

Thankful that her hands weren’t shaking, Charlotte tossed the catheter tube. Picking up a towel she said, “Feeding tube next. Take a few deep breaths, suck in, and hold it,” carefully, she tugged the thin plastic tube out of his nose.

“Jesus Christ snorting fiberglass didn’t hurt this much,” he groaned, taking the towel from Charlotte and using it to apply pressure to his nose. “My God, am I hungry. Tell me you’ve got some food stuffed down your bra."

Deep in that clinical space she’d paid the iron price to learn, Charlotte said, “This is a hot zone. No food or drink.”

“No clothes either, I suppose. Figures.”

“You were comatose and incontinent. Clothes would have been impractical.”

Soldier Boy did a double-take. Was he blushing? Hard to tell with the beard. "Incontinent? You've been wiping my ass the whole time I've been here?!?"

"Calm down. I'm a nurse."

Soldier Boy made another one of those scoffing noises. Charlotte had heard him called an analog Homelander. Nobody who'd seen either up close would make that mistake. Around Homelander there was . . . like hearing a song playing on an out-of-tune piano. There was a feral edge to his mannerisms that led one to question whether or not a whole human being looked through those lake-blue eyes. Soldier Boy, whatever else he might be, was human. Mesmerizingly so. Charlotte could see how he could command men’s souls with a snap of his fingers. Worth wondering if his intense personal charisma was part of his super-ability package or something uniquely his own. Either way, it was overwhelming.

Soldier Boy rolled to get to his feet. On reflex Charlotte grabbed his arm to help him balance. He jerked away. “Get your damn hands offa me!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Charlotte backed away, hands held up and empty.

Say this much, he was good at assessing situations quickly. He looked around, noting the cameras, the smallness of the room, the cool stillness of the air, the particular quality of the silence. “How far underground are we?”

“I don’t exactly know,” Charlotte admitted as Soldier Boy snatched a blanket off the storage cabinet and wrapped himself up. “Construction on the main facility was abandoned twenty-thirty years ago when nuclear power development started to slow down. The main spaces were retrofitted into laboratories, a tunnel was punched down, and this,” Charlotte circled a finger, “was hollowed out. There’s this room, the observation bay, a decontamination chamber, a locker room, and an elevator.”

Soldier Boy’s twitchy eyes fixed on Charlotte. “That shit they use to knock me out-- why aren’t you dead?”

“Supe,” Charlotte said shortly. “Immune to poisons, including radiation. Also drugs don’t work on me. Made getting shot a bucket of fun.”

Soldier Boy looked her up and down. "I take it instant healing isn’t part of the package? Good. Get me out of here, or I’ll rip your fucking head off. Clear?"

Charlotte commended her soul to God. “Crystal.” --- AJ: It's okay. You don't have to be scared of him. CD: Of course I need to be scared of him, kiddo. You think something as trivial as a detention center crawling with Special Forces trained guards in the middle of a CIA black hole is gonna stop him from getting to me if he really sets his mind to it? So far the only person that’s put a dent in his paint job was Queen Maeve, and she had the help of a sixty-odd story drop. --- “Is there an evacuation plan around here somewhere?”

“What for?” Charlotte asked, pitching her voice to carry over the hiss of the shower in the decon chamber. “The only people down here are the indestructible and the expendable.” Using a pair of scissors she slit the hems and opened a few inches of leg seam on a set of scrub pants. No hope on the tops fitting over his shoulders but one of the cotton T-shirts should stretch enough.

The water shut off. “Fuck that shit is cold,” Soldier Boy grouched. “You have to do this, what, twice a day?”

“You get used to it.” Or learned to accept that God just liked a laugh sometimes. Charlotte remembered praying for cold the long months in the Iraqi and Afghani desert. Underground was nothing but cold. She opened her locker. Her accessories didn't amount to much-- just her watch, her ID badge on a lanyard, and her dog tags with her dad's crucifix on the same chain.

“Towel.” Charlotte tossed him one and turned her back as he emerged from the decon chamber. What was acceptable when he was comatose was an invasion when awake. “Okay. Now, if I had me in a secret underground cell, I’d have the rooms all rigged with that goddamned gas. I’d also have the elevator shaft rigged with explosives. So why am I still awake and we’re not buried under half a damn mountain?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re awake now. There should’ve been enough Novachik in those canisters to keep you under until Jesus gets back.”

“Yeah about that,” Soldier Boy said. “What date is this?” Charlotte told him. “Clothes.”

“On the bench.”

Fabric rustled. “No drawers?”

“I don’t think mine would fit you,” Charlotte said dryly.

Soldier Boy dragged on the T-shirt and toweled his hair. Moving normally, Charlotte noted. Better than normally. He might’ve just woken up from a quick nap. Catching her stare, Solider Boy's lip quirked in a leer. He stretched to his toes, preening like a peacock. "Quit eyeballing the goodies, babydoll. Let's get out of here."

The next indication the situation was FUBAR came when the elevator doors opened. Charlotte put her back to the elevator's side wall. "I don't recognize the guy at the guard station."

Solider Boy nodded and stepped out of the elevator. Charlotte heard a gunshot, glass shattering, and a choking gasp. "You can come out. I got him. Now," Charlotte came out of the elevator and saw the 'guard' on his knees, neck in Soldier Boy's grip, "who the hell are you, and who do you work for? Talk fast or--" the strange man gurgled.

Charlotte saw he was wearing Carmichael’s name badge and rushed past. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the big guard shoved in the corner, shot through the back. She checked for a pulse, nodded, and noted the time on her watch. Her mouth tightened when she looked at the Rogue's Gallery on the filing cabinet and saw the picture of Carmichael's three daughters gathered around the family mutt, all four grinning big and bright.

The mook who'd taken Carmichael's spot grunted as Soldier Boy broke his neck. Soldier Boy took Carmichael's sidearm from the mook's holster and let the body flop to the floor. "Come on doll, you can have the vapors later--"

"Fuck you," Charlotte said on reflex, taking the dead man's wrist. The dead man's pants darkened as he spasmed and voided. Under Charlotte's fingers his pulse gave a last feeble twitch and stopped. "I might be your hostage but I've also why you haven't spent the last several months floating in your own shit."

“Am I supposed to be grateful for that?” Soldier Boy examined Carmichael’s weapon, nodding when he found it loaded. “You bastards buried me alive and expect me to kiss your ass for it?”

“Never mind,” Charlotte shoved the reflex to put him in his place aside. Mom had always told her that her pride would get her killed one day.

“I wasn’t out the whole time, you know,” he went on, pushing past Charlotte and opening the filing cabinet with a screech of breaking locks. File folders and papers started fluttering to the floor. “Did you know that?”

“Dr. Sanjeer said it was theoretically possible,” Charlotte said.

“Theoretically,” he mocked, “I kept feeling what you were doing to me.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” Charlotte said and Soldier Boy paused in his rooting. “I promise, I wasn’t trying to.”

For just a second, Charlotte saw someone else standing up in the old Supe’s skin, a man trying hard to hang on to himself through terrible stress. The blink of vulnerability vanished as soon as it happened. “Maybe just having things done to you is bad enough.”

Charlotte remembered his state of utter helplessness, and it took a moment to step down on a feeling of terrible pity. She looked over at the red switch on the wall, the one next to the fire alarm. The one that would switch the fire suppression system from halon gas to water vapor laced with--

A hard hand landed on her shoulder. Soldier Boy squatted to her level and leaned in close, so close Charlotte could smell the fresh soap in his hair. “Get it straight angel. I will hurt you if I have to, to keep from going back in the box. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes I understand,” Charlotte said. A tide of hysteria rose within her; she fought it back. Falling apart could come later.

“Good girl.” With a gentle shake, Soldier Boy let Charlotte go. --- MM: So you got him out of the containment area. And then? CD: The main facility was full of bodies. According to Colonel Mallory--

WB: Everyone in the underground levels was already dead. CD: Right, the Novachik traps in Sublevels 1 and 2 had all been popped off and killed the laboratory personnel and most of the guards. The ones not caught by the nerve agent were just straight up shot. We were not exactly dealing with subtle people. --- The long hallway between the access point to the containment area and the rest of the facility was empty. The next body lay just outside the security checkpoint at the other end, shot through the head. In the sublevel's main area, more people lay slumped in the corridors. From the condition of the bodies it was obvious what had happened. “Somebody deployed the nerve agent,” Charlotte said.

“Obviously,” Soldier Boy said, taking a sniff. “You never forget that smell.”

Charlotte looked up in surprise. “You’ve got a sharp nose. Novachik’s odorless.”

"Super senses were part of the package," Solider Boy said. He cocked his head, like he was listening for something. "Hmm. You wanna move it along already? These men are dead."

"Yeah." Charlotte laid the man's hand down on his chest. She knew him-- Dr. Lamar Reginald from Spring Valley, Pennsylvania. Would talk by the hour about fishing, even if fishing wasn't what he was really doing.

"Oh for God's sake--" Soldier Boy grabbed Charlotte by the bicep.

She squeaked as he pulled her to her feet and down the corridor. "Ow-- let go! You're hurting me!"

"Tough titty kitty, I don't have time to baby you through this. Hustle!" At least he let go. Charlotte rubbed her arm as she quick-stepped in his wake. "How many floors between us and the way out?"

"Depends on which way you want to go," Charlotte replied. "We're on Sublevel 2. The main entrance is on Level 1 and the helipad is on Level 2--"

"Nertz on the helipad," Soldier Boy said. "Anything airborne has a transponder. They'd shoot me down before I get ten yards. Tell me about the main entrance."

"The gates are programmed to maglock if someone pulls the alarms. Steel doors about four inches thick." Soldier Boy ignored the elevators and continued past the laboratories. Charlotte glanced through the wired observation windows and her jaw clenched when she saw more bodies. “There’ll be a trap there, most likely."

"I'm not an idiot sugarbritches. They'll knock me out and take me, and either shoot you dead on the spot or disable you and drag you along thinking it'll make me behave." Solider Boy paused, looking down his nose at Charlotte. "It won't. I don’t make deals for hostages.”

"A No Hostage clause was part of my deal with Colonel Mallory. I know--"

"Mallory?" Solider Boy cut her off. "Grace Mallory? CIA?" He laughed. "Well I'll be damned. She must be a million years old by now."

"Such a gentleman," Charlotte muttered.

"Now now," Soldier Boy said, and Charlotte cussed to herself-- right, sensitive ears. "I know how to treat a lady. Only it seems to be an endangered species these days. Even in the seventies, seemed every time I turned around I had a set of tits in my face. In my day, a girl went around dressed like that," he rounded the corner, "it's because she wanted a log for the beaver if you know what I mean."

"Vividly,” Charlotte said in her driest of dry voices.

"These days? Jesus Mary and Joseph, you got grown men acting like they want to be pregnant, women with pants so damn tight you can read their razorburn-- what is it with that anyway? What do men even want these days? Little girls who act like sluts?"

Twenty years in the service had pretty well inoculated Charlotte against offense when it came to male nasty talk. "Couldn't tell ya."

"And the niggers? They're fucking everywhere. God save us,” he crossed himself, “we even elected one President! The President of the United God damned States!" Yet another bigoted idiot who assumed anyone white secretly sympathized with their crap. "I'm not a racist," he went on when Charlotte didn't say anything, "I just don’t think it’s good when people try and do things their temperaments aren’t suited for. Niggers don’t belong in leadership positions, as anybody with any sense knows. Am I right?”

"Explaining why not would take more energy than I got," Charlotte said.

Soldier Boy scowled but let it drop.

Charlotte cussed when Soldier Boy opened the door. There was another body slumped at the bottom of the stairwell, a body with a big splotch of birthmark mostly obliterated by an exit wound.

"Knock it off," Solider Boy snapped as Charlotte bent. Jerry Rivers. Dedicated Slipknot fan, amateur guitar player. "This is-- what are you doing?" Charlotte took the pistol out of Rivers's hand. She looked up and saw the enemy’s body, blood puddled on the stairs where he’d fallen. "Look honey, why don't you stand back and let me handle the men with the guns, okay? I stormed Normandy, I survived Inchon, I think I can handle a bunch of--"

The snap! of Charlotte's patience failing was so distinct it made her teeth rattle. "If you think I'm relying on you to get me out of this alive, you are fucking deluded. I don't feel like being a sidebar in the New York Times piece describing the collateral damage you inflicted during your big escape."

Looking legitimately taken aback, Soldier Boy asked, "Do you even know how to use the damn thing? In an actual firefight? Where men are shooting back at you?"

"Three years in country as a combat medic in Iraq, another six as an RN in Afghanistan," Charlotte told him. "Besides, why the hell do you care if I'm armed? It's not like I can kill you with friendly fire."

"All right," Soldier Boy said. "Keep it if it makes you feel better."

A hissing gas grenade clunked to the bottom of the stairwell. In seconds the place filled with stinking clouds. Soldier Boy sniffed, and scoffed. "Tear gas. Good God." He raised his pistol and shot twice. A body clumped down a flight of stairs and came to rest next to their fallen mate.

Charlotte fanned the air in front of her face, coughing.

"I thought you were immune to poisons," Soldier Boy noted. His eyes were turning red and his nose had started running. Somebody standing downwind of a trash fire, not in a chimney full of toxic smoke.

"I am," Charlotte choked. "Doesn't mean this crap don’t smell bad."

Chuckling, Solider Boy cocked his head. "Shall we?"

"Captain DePoister!" a voice bellowed over the base PA. Solider Boy flinched; Charlotte frowned. It was a woman’s voice, heavily accented. "We do not wish to harm you! Lay down on the ground with your hands on your head!" Music stated to play, something synth-heavy with lyrics in a different language.

Soldier Boy froze. Threat response froze.

"OhmyGod." Charlotte grabbed his hand as he doubled over and fell to his knees. She pressed his palm over her heart. "Benjamin Arthur Michael O'Connell look at me. Look at me!" His eyes snapped to hers, wide and blank of sense. "Focus on my eyes and on my voice, okay? The sound of my voice--" she pulled from the belly and let it rip, carrying right over the pop crap, "I . . . am a maid . . . of constant sorrow . . ." he blinked the emptiness out of his runny eyes. Charlotte felt his hand move between her breasts. She didn’t pull back. If copping a feel helped ground him, let him feel.

To Charlotte's shock he joined her on the last chorus, singing in a sure and resonant voice that blended well with Charlotte’s soprano. They ran through the whole thing together, holding hands and shouting for Jesus, their mingled voices drowning out the other noise. By the time they were done with their second run-through, it had stopped. Silence.

Solider Boy took his hand back and stood, visibly shaking off the willies and shoving the whole episode into the memory hole. Charlotte squashed the urge to get some talk going; this wasn't the time or the place. Or the man. --- WB: So your magic lullaby kept him from popping one off on the way out the door-- right? CD: I did something right. He didn't blow a crater in the side of West Virginia. I know the results weren't optimum but gimme a break. The friendly casualties were not inflicted by Solider Boy. To his dubious credit the murders he committed since you geniuses broke him out of containment in Russia were of people who'd condemned him to forty years of physical and psychological torture-- --- Pale as cheese but composed, Soldier Boy hung back as Charlotte waved her ID at the door sensor. Nothing. "Shit. They must've reset the locks."

"Not to me they didn't," he said, taking two steps forward and using his bare foot to kick the door clean out of the frame. Hard enough to crash it into the opposite corridor wall.

Charlotte directed him to the right and followed him down the hall. She was watching the rear when she bumped into him, hard. Grumbling a curse, she looked past Soldier Boy and saw the long windows looking out over the Allegheny Plateau. The sun was hitting the maple leaves just right, turning the forest an intense, almost firey green. She kept quiet as Soldier Boy approached the window. She could see his reflection, a faint ghost in the wired glass. The sunlight turned his eyes jade green and touched off the red in his hair. It brought him to life.

Hesitatingly, he raised his hand and laid it on the window. He leaned forward to rest his forehead on the glass, closing his eyes against the sunlight and breathing hard like he was trying to reach the fresh air beyond. Like a prisoner just getting out after a long stretch in the stockade, or a patient allowed to go outside for the first time after a while bedbound. Both at once, come to think of it.

Charlotte kept her mouth shut, let her patient have his moment. It didn’t take long, and Soldier Boy straightened up. “What else is on this level?”

"Storage, armory, infirmary, receiving. Residential on Level 2.”

"Does this place have a kitchen?" At Charlotte's incredulous look, Soldier Boy shrugged. "I wasn't joking about being hungry. Give me a good red and a side salad I think I might eat you."

"'No! Don't eat me! I'm too chewy!'" Charlotte mock-screamed, and he laughed. "There’s a locker room for offsite personnel on this floor. You could probably scrounge a lunch."

"And different clothes," he said sourly, picking at the scrub slacks. "Don't suppose my uniform's around here someplace."

"I'm pretty sure they gave it to Homelander so he could burn it," Charlotte said.

"He can't do that!" The humor had flown right out of him. He seemed . . . offended. "I'm still a goddamned hero and all!"

"Oh boy." Charlotte did some mental backdating and-- "Fuck."

"Oh," Solider Boy said. "The smear campaign's started hasn't it?"

Fully aware these might be her last words, Charlotte said, "The Deep. He's one of the Seven--"

"I know who he is."

"He leaked your Vought file. The unadulterated file.” Soldier Boy's eyes widened and his already pasty complexion paled further. "The one that they buried after you," Charlotte finger-quoted, "'died' in '84. Made a bigger sensation than the fucking Watergate tapes. The official story is that you were kidnapped and brainwashed by former KGB black ops." Might as well pull the splinter now. "The Russians kept records. Of what they did to you. I've seen them." Charlotte didn't elaborate. The grainy video footage held special guest star status in her nightmares.

That flash of vulnerability was back, and deeper. For a second Charlotte saw the soul, trapped in a loveless, featureless, white-cold hell of pain. She didn't move. She tried her best to not even breathe. Through the stretched fabric of the heather gray T-shirt, she could see a sullen glow starting in the center of his chest. The end of her life written in a blast of poisoned fire.

Soldier Boy punched the wall and it caved in almost a foot. The whole hallway shook, cracks spidering everywhere. "Come on. Which way to the locker room?" --- AJ: You're defending him?!? If Vought Tower had gone down-- CD: Have you been listening? That doesn't make the collateral damage he's caused okay, and since you geniuses aided and abetted him while he was a fugitive I'm guessing you have a fair amount of moral flexibility on the subject.

HC: Soldier Boy sneezed on a busy street and killed almost 30 people. He's a weapon of mass destruction with PTSD and a two-second fuse. MM: And a racist motherfucker. HC: That too. CD: What's your point? The best idea anyone’s proposed for confining him’s failed. Twice. Look, it's true-- no one person should have that kind of power. It's why you need a roomful of people to agree when you start talking about nukes. You guys just don’t see an issue with using people who do. How is that anything but a lateral move in this idiotic arms race? Your solutions amount to continual escalation and/or fucking ethnic cleansing. Excuse me all to hell if that confuses my priorities somewhat. --- In the locker room Soldier Boy snapped the locks off each locker and rifled through the contents. Clothes and wallets piled up on the changing bench. "No," he said, as he held the bottom of each shoe to the sole of his bare foot, "no . . . no . . . oh for Christ's sake, quit it. You look like a frightened chipmunk, Captain."

Charlotte’s spine went straight and she snapped, "Don't you fucking dare. I earned that commission, you fucking pogue.”

“Right. You’re the real hero,” Soldier Boy drawled.

"I've seen your actual service record,” Charlotte retorted. “The only action you've seen in a combat zone was hanging out in Pusan long enough to call Truman a, quote, ‘spineless faggot sucking on Stalin’s balls,’ unquote. Soldier Boy. What a fucking joke. You are the fucking opposite of a soldier. You are a thug and a coward.”

The smile went out of Soldier Boy’s eyes, though it stayed on his face. It made him look insane. It made him look like Homelander. “May I ask how you arrived at that conclusion, Captain Butch?”

“Not gay. Brave men don’t corner teenagers in the shower for mutual masturbation sessions. Brave men don’t call their girlfriends dumb cunts . . . period.” Charlotte paused. “Brave men don’t take aim at kindergarteners.”

“It’s called acceptable losses, woman--"

"I don't see an insignia. What's your rank, mister?" Charlotte demanded. “Where are you in the line of command? What is your authority?!?"

"My authority,” he snarled, “is that I am motherfucking Solider Boy, and if I have to hear another word out of you--"

Today is a good day to die. "Oh for Christ's sake just fucking kill me if all you got's threats," Charlotte cut him off.

"Maybe I don't want to do that." Soldier Boy stalked close, his body language changing from athletic grace to something animal. He crowded up to her, towered over her. Charlotte clenched her fists to stop her hands from shaking. "Hmm? Maybe, it's been a while." He traced his fingertips down her neck, a featherlight caress that made Charlotte prickle. He put his hand at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, her clavicle under his palm and his thumb a spot of pressure against her throat. All he had to do was shake, and bones would snap like little branches. Charlotte shuddered; she couldn’t stop herself. "Maybe, I could feel you touching me the whole time I was under," his free hand pressed to her back and yanked her close, his body big and hot against hers, "and now, I want to touch you back."

“Look,” Charlotte said as she sucked air to catch her breath, slow her pounding heart, “in the last ninety minutes, you have threatened to rip my head off, promised to hurt me -- underlined -- if I didn’t assist your escape, and told me you’d write me off if I was taken hostage. You are also my patient and I don't fuck patients. These things make you someone I do not want touching me and my libido doesn’t get a vote. Now back off.”

"Is that what you really want, Captain?” Solider Boy purred. His body, his smile, all of him was pure seduction. Except his eyes. His eyes were empty as a skull's. "I can feel your heartbeat. Your mouth's saying no but your--"

"Sometimes you’d get an erection when I was disimpacting your bowels. You're the expert-- should I have fucked you right then?" Charlotte went up on tiptoe to speak in his ear. "Is that why you think you might like dick?"

The hands on her body turned to iron, hard and hurtful. "You watch your filthy mouth."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Assuming I live though this, I'm either getting shot for treason or put in jail for the rest of my life. I'm aiding and abetting an enemy agent. The UCMJ's pretty clear on what happens to traitors. The only reason you're still sucking air is putting you in front of a firing squad'd be a little pointless."

"Then why bother taking care of me? Hmm? You could’ve left me in the box to rot and just sat there picking your nose or playing with yourself or whatever people do to goldbrick these days. Why didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Soldier Boy shoved Charlotte behind him as two people walked into the room, “do tell why you did not simply leave this poor boy all alone in the dark.” Charlotte swore in Arabic; one of the newcomers was Dr. Sanjeer. The other was a lanky young man wearing a dirty baseball cap and orange All-Stars. In one hand he carried a large tablet displaying a woman’s face. Both men wore oxygen tanks on their backs, masks hooked to the shoulder straps. “My sources tell me you are not soft-hearted Captain. Despite the clichés, good nurses rarely are."

"Who are you?" Solider Boy asked.

"You may call me Nina, my Soldier Boy."

"I'm not your anything. Tell me why I'm not stomping your messenger boys' guts out."

"Because you haven't. You are not mindless, and you are not crazy." The woman on the tablet took a huff off a cigarette. "I would have preferred to discuss this in person. Unfortunately, my inside man could not access your cell directly.”

Inside man. "You bastard,” Charlotte spat at Sanjeer. “What’s she giving you? Money?”

“Quite a lot of it,” at the same moment Sanjeer said, “It isn’t about--"

Solider Boy pointed at Sanjeer. "You. Shut up." His finger jerked to point at the woman. "You. Talk."

"I have a proposition. It must be very clear to you by now you exist in a world that neither needs nor wants you. Vought has their poster boy, more popular than ever thanks to his reinvention as family man." Solider Boy snorted. "Grace Mallory has recently been diagnosed with heart failure and has been given a prognosis in months, William Butcher is dying by inches of brain lesions, and your former comrades are all dead."

"There's still Homelander, and Vought," Solider Boy said. "Those cocksuckers need to go down. Hard."

"A feat you cannot accomplish on your own and is even less likely now that he has taken your measure. What does it profit you, to kill him?"

"I have a commie lecturing me about profit."

"Your outdated thinking is showing, my Soldier Boy. If there is a lesson of our times it is this-- ideals are perishable. Like eggs, no? The only truths are the things that can be held in the hand," she cupped her palm like she was holding a pile of coins. "Like gold. A child's hand. A lover's cock. Your enemy's heart."

Soldier Boy's glower deepened. "There's a ribeye steak and a bottle of MacAllen 18 somewhere with my name on it. Get to the point."

"Directness, I like it. I've made a niche for myself as a facilitator for many things around the world--"

"You want me to do hits for you," Soldier Boy cut her off.

"In a word. You are both uniquely talented and very skilled, and despite recent evidence to the contrary I know for a fact you can be discreet. Vought left you to the enemy and replaced you with a very pretty maniac. You owe them nothing. Your country's best use for you was to shove you into a coffin and bury you alive. You owe them even less. You have no friends, no real kin. You have no one, except possibly Captain DePoister, who cares for you at all, and some time in your waking company has probably cured her of that."

All through this the lanky man stood still. Charlotte saw his eyes flick over to one side. A tic worked under one eyelid. Sanjeer's eyes kept moving in the same direction. His hands kept pinching and worrying the side seems of his trousers-- a nervous stim she'd noticed in him before when he was under stress.

Soldier Boy glanced back over his shoulder. "Well doll? You sick of my company yet?"

Charlotte squared her shoulders. She looked Soldier Boy in the eye, and deliberately cut her eyes to the right. "I know for a fact you were raised properly. You will address me as Captain.”

Soldier Boy did that scoffing thing. "You never answered my question. Why did you bother taking care of me, if I'm so fucking terrible a person?"

In her peripheral vision, she saw the lanky man's sleeve twitch. "HOLD YOUR BREATH!" she screamed and fired from the hip. The lanky young man flinched as the shot nipped a piece of fabric from his coat. The red switch next to the fire alarm exploded into pieces.

Sanjeer screamed and tripped running for the door, belly-crawling into a corner. Still holding the tablet displaying the Russian woman's smoke-haloed face, the lanky young man made a flicking motion with his free hand as Charlotte fired again. Agony burst up her arm as the whatever-it-was the lanky man could throw hit it. Charlotte fell to her knees; the kid fell on his back with a hole in his throat.

Charlotte curled over her wounded arm, panting out screams. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she peeled the pistol out of her right hand. She was an okay shot left-handed, not great, but--

A commotion broke out. Three more men had burst into the room wearing oxygen masks and shooting MAC-10s. As she watched, Soldier Boy turned them into piles of broken meat. The last man, he twisted the head off. Like opening a jelly jar. Blood sprayed everywhere. The head rolled on the floor like a soccer ball.

Charlotte grayed out for a moment. When the world came back online, Soldier Boy was talking into the tablet. The conversation must not have gone well-- he hurled the tablet into the bank of lockers so hard it punched through, leaving a dash in the metal shaped like a giant cockeyed coin slot.

Cowering in a corner, oxygen mask clutched in his shaking hands, Sanjeer moaned. Soldier Boy, covered in blood and looking like some sort of Celtic war god, paused in gathering up cash and clothes long enough to lift Charlotte to her feet. He picked Sanjeer up and twisted the portly doctor’s arm up behind his back. "Talk."

“Charlotte please,” Sanjeer said. “We need more. We need data. We need . . . we can end it, all of it!" He started to snivel. “He's the key to everything. Just . . . let us figure out how he can do it. Once we have that we have the upper hand over-- over--” he stuttered to a stop.

Over you, Charlotte heard the part he didn’t say. Spangled costume or GI issue, Vought or USA, Decontamination Charlotte or Captain DePoister. All the same. An error in the system. Even begging for his life, she could see the sneer he always had when he spoke to her.

“Please, please-- I,” Charlotte raised Rivers’s pistol, “I have a family--”

“And I don’t?” Charlotte asked. “Rivers? Carmichael? Dr. Reginald? Your lab techs? We were all here to help you.”

“Not fast enough. We need that weapon in our hands now but to do that we need examples of compound-neutralization effect in action. The subjects from the Vermont incident aren't enough. Too many variables. Analysis of data could take decades and we need answers now."

“Experimental data,” Charlotte said. “Test subject-- me. That’s why she tried to trigger him but she told me to get out of the way first. You need a specimen." Her guts turned cold as she ran down the chain of logic. "God have mercy-- I was never here to work was I? This whole time! You've been trying to get him to pop off while you had us both under observation. Did Mallory know about this? What am I talking about?-- of course she fucking did, that woman never misses a trick. God damn you!"

Solider Boy shoved Sanjeer to his knees. “He’s all yours,” he said to Charlotte as he went back to scrounging.

Sanjeer wrung his hands and begged, “Charlotte please, we’re close, I swear we’re close, just let me do my work. You owe it--”

Charlotte shot. One in the head, the rest of the magazine in the back.

“Good girl,” Soldier Boy praised.

"Piss off," Charlotte retorted. She tried to move her bad arm and the pain took the feet out from under her. Soldier Boy caught her as her legs gave out. “You can find the way out from here,” Charlotte told him. “Just follow the Exit signs.”

Instead, Soldier Boy bent and swept an arm behind her knees, lifting her into his arms. He picked up a duffel bag and a pair of hiking boots. "Where's the infirmary?" --- CD: Sanjeer was the inside man. The woman -- Nina she said her name was -- waved seven figures and a chance at a Nobel under his nose. I don't know if she was working with or for anybody; that'd all be guesswork on my part. The last of her strike team was waiting in the locker room on the main floor. The Novachik trap inside was still intact. While Nina had Solider Boy distracted, she had a Supe try and spring it. I shot him, and he broke my arm. Soldier Boy saved my life when the shithead's backup came in shooting. He could’ve left me there. He had a clear line to the door. Instead he took me to the infirmary and helped me administer first aid.

HC: Why would he do that? CD: Probably because he didn't want to walk out of there thinking he owed me one. Why he'd care about that, I don’t know. Solider Boy's not really capable of respect. You have to understand people have a value beyond what they can gain you to do that. He and Colonel Mallory are birds of a feather in that regard. --- Gently, Solider Boy set Charlotte down on the infirmary's exam table. Charlotte cussed in pain as she examined the injury.

"How bad is it?"

"Both the bones're fractured," Charlotte reported. "Swell."

Moving quick and efficient, Solider Boy ransacked the room. Looked like her Dad trying to figure out the kitchen, opening every cupboard trying to find the paper plates. A brace and some rolls of compression bandage piled on the table at Charlotte's hip. "Shit. Morphine, morphine, wherefore art thou morphine--"

"Bad time to get fucked up," Charlotte said.

"Not for me."

"Don't bother. Drugs don't work on me, remember?"

Soldier Boy paused. "Oh. Right. Sorry." He watched Charlotte hiss and whimper as she tried to reduce the fractures. "That must hurt like a sonofabitch. Here." Charlotte jerked away as Soldier Boy reached for her arm. "Stop that. Let me see."

"Why do you even care?" Charlotte snapped.

"What are you talking about? Of course I care. You probably just saved my life." A bitter smirk twisted his lips. "Such as it is."

"Knock it off. Self-pity's unattractive."

Giving her another one of those unreadable looks, Soldier Boy repeated, "Let me see-- this needs to be set."

“I can do this--”

“So can I. Learned how when I was a kid out camping with my cousins. Mother insisted I learn first aid.” Scoffing to himself, he added, “One of the few things she and my father agreed on.”

Taking deep breaths, Charlotte said, “Can you, just really carefully, pull between my elbow and my wrist?”

Soldier Boy grabbed some gauze and wound a roll over his first two fingers. “Bite down on this.”

Wrapping one hand around her elbow and the other around her wrist, Soldier Boy pulled. Like a thick piece of rubber tubing, the muscles stretched. The pain was amazing. Panting hard into the gauze between her teeth, Charlotte manipulated the bones with her left hand. Simple fracture of the ulna, incomplete simple fracture of the radius-- painful but not serious.

The broken ulna moved into position. Charlotte managed to get the brace on her arm and strap it into place. She spat the gauze out and said, “Slowly. Release.”

Soldier Boy slowly eased the pull and let go. He found a sling and helped her settle her arm into it. “How’s that feel?”

“It’ll hold until I can get somewhere with an MRI machine.” At his blank look, Charlotte explained, “Magnetic Resonance Imaging. Like X-rays but better.”

Chuckling a little, Soldier Boy patted her shoulder. His brow furrowed a little. Charlotte held still as he ran a finger under her neck chain and pulled her dog tags out from under her scrub top.

DEPOISTER CHARLOTTE O.E. ######### B NEG NO PREFERENCE

“What’s the O-E stand for?”

“Octavia Elizabeth. My mom’s favorite book as a kid was Charlotte’s Web. Octavia is the nurse who delivered me and my sister-- we're twins and we were high-risk. Elizabeth’s my Confirmation name.”

“That why you became a nurse?”

“That’s complicated.”

Soldier Boy frowned thoughtfully at the metal on his fingers. “If you’re an atheist how come you wear a cross?”

“I’m not an atheist.” Charlotte took the tags back and put them back under her scrub top. “Recovering Catholic isn’t available as an option.”

Soldier Boy took her left hand, thumbing at her watch. “You’re right-handed? That stinks.”

Charlotte’s eyes flicked up and there he was. Head bent close like a friend sharing secrets. He stank like blood and hot skin, and despite knowing better she felt herself melting at the quick. Vivid full Technicolor fantasies she hadn’t allowed herself in all the time she’d been his caretaker filled her imagination--

Son of a bitch. Charlotte snatched her hand back. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asked, all low and sensuous.

“I mean it. Stop it.”

One of his blood-gritty hands cupped her face. His nose touched hers. “You're blushing for me, angel,” he said.

“Of course I'm blushing. I’m a heterosexual female with eyesight that works. Now, take your hands off of me and take one step back, now."

Instead, he kissed her. Gentle, insistent, and reminding her in painful detail exactly how long it had been since her last kiss. Soldier Boy smiled against Charlotte’s mouth as she put her hand on his chest. The look of total confusion when she shoved him back as hard as she could was almost funny.

"Read my lips," Charlotte said, pointing to her mouth. "Back. Off.”

Finally, finally, that seemed to get through. Soldier Boy stood there like an unplugged toy as Charlotte got down off the exam table, awkward with her slung arm. She gave him the room and pulled the privacy curtain as she passed, veiling his face. Blank, bloody, lost. “Get cleaned up and get changed."

No answer from the other side of the curtain, though Charlotte supposed the squeak of a faucet handle could be taken as one. She listened as he slurped a drink. Mild splashing as he washed his face. The soft sound of fabric shuffling as he changed his clothes.

Soldier Boy whisked the privacy curtain aside and found Charlotte gathering bottled water and boxes of meal bars. “Hey woah doll,” he said, "you don’t--"

“Captain. For the last fucking time,” Charlotte said. “My name’s not doll, or angel, or any of the other little pet names you use in lieu of a woman’s actual name.”

“Okay, Captain. I’m sorry.” Soldier Boy laid his duffel bag on the counter and packed it full, quick and efficient. In regular clothes and shoes, he was . . . he wasn't her patient any more. But he wasn't Solider Boy either, all dash and attitude and winking at the camera as he fondled the leading ladies. He was just a guy with a solid build and restless eyes. "Captain? Charlotte?"

Charlotte blinked, realized she was staring. "Sorry. Zoned out a moment." She took a deliberate step back. "Come on, the main entrance is--"

“I’m not a bad guy,” Soldier Boy blurted.

“I never said that you were,” Charlotte blurted back, surprised into bluntness. "Look, net effect of today’s adventures on my end is a broken arm and the rest of my life in jail-- if I’m lucky."

"Come with me." Charlotte's eyebrows shot straight up her forehead. "I'm serious," Solider Boy added.

"Don’t be ridiculous." Charlotte lifted her bound arm, grimacing in pain as she did. "I'm wounded. I'd only slow you down. Besides, not thinking you’re a bad guy’s not the same thing as trusting you."

Solider Boy put his hands on his hips. "So you're too good for me? Is that it?"

"For Christ’s sake--” Charlotte cried, “what do you want from me? Absolution? I'm a nurse, not a priest!” Soldier Boy’s arms went across his chest, like a man bracing for further blows. “You're not bad. You're indifferent. And for someone who can do what you can do, indifference is worse. Come on." She was half out the infirmary door when she realized she was walking alone. Solider Boy just stood there, again with that unplugged look. Like he was -- Charlotte wanted to smack herself when she finally put it together -- dissociating, an overstressed mind and wounded spirit fleeing from the Here and Now. She'd seen in before, in patients coping with post-traumatic stress. "Come on, you're wasting daylight and you're gonna wanna get gone before shift change."

"I didn't mean to kill anyone besides the twins. At that house," Solider Boy said, talking like he hadn't heard her. "And that building. I just," he waved a hand in front of his eyes, "I blacked out, and I guess this," he taps his sternum, "popped off by itself. In that stairway. I think I felt it starting to happen again. My head started hurting and . . ." he trailed off. Charlotte didn't move. This was Ben talking, not Solider Boy, and Ben deserved to be heard. "It almost happened again. But you stopped it." His eyes refocused, saw her. "How did you know singing to me would stop it?"

"I didn't. Not for sure," Charlotte admitted. "I've had patients who have," she picked her words carefully, "attacks like that. The usual protocol is to talk them around until they come back on their own. I had to be a little more direct in your case."

"Hell of a gamble. I could've killed you. I almost did." Charlotte shrugged. "Why risk it? You could've just gotten out of the way."

"And anyone else who might've been in the line of fire? They might've been the enemy. They might've been one of the guards here. Shit, they might be some random jackass hiking the mountains looking for standing stones."

Ben still looked blank, like a kid trying to parse meaning out of an algebra problem. Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally who can kill me in her sleep. "You never answered my question. Why bother taking care of me at all?" --- HC: What did you tell him? CD: 'Because it's my job.' We made it to the main security station. I told him where the nearest airport was. The last thing I remember was him apologizing for having to knock me out. --- "Watch your face Captain." Charlotte turned aside as Ben put his fist through the glass of the security station's observation window. He reached through and unlocked the door. A map of the immediate area hung on the wall; Ben examined it thoughtfully, then pulled it down and folded it up. “So what are you going to tell them when they find you?”

“The truth,” Charlotte shrugged. “You forced me to take you out of the complex, stole some clothes, and asked if I knew where the nearest airport is.”

Ben nodded, stuffing the map in his pocket. “That should give me enough of a head start. One of those freight trains should take me halfway to the--"

"Wait!" Charlotte snapped up her hand. "Better I don’t know."

"You're right. I'm sorry. How's the arm?"

"Hurts. Thank you for helping splint it."

Ben nodded. "Guess you know what comes next. You know where your knockout button is?"

"Yeah," Charlotte pointed, "just don't break my teeth. Dental work's a bitch when Novocain doesn't work."

"Affirmative.” He touched her face. “Thank you. For . . . just . . . thank you. I’m sorry to have to do this.” He pulled his hand back and curled his fist. “On three-- one--"

Stars exploded across Charlotte's awareness and the last thing she felt were Ben's arms as he caught her falling body and lowered her carefully to the ground. --- CD: I half-expected him to just kill me. But the next thing I know I’m coming to in legirons with Colonel Mallory explaining that I’m in protective custody, and I’m at least eighty percent sure I’m never leaving.

MM: Do you have any idea where he is now? CD: No. He didn’t share his plans with me. He was able to smuggle himself back to the US all the way from Moscow; I don't think he'd have as much of a problem staying under the radar as you guys seem to think he would.

WB: Oi Florence Nightingale-- if you knew, would you even tell us? CD: Yes I would tell you if I knew. I didn't forget my duties as either an officer or a nurse, and so far my reward is an indefinite term of imprisonment as bait, on the off-chance Soldier Boy grows a sense of duty or obligation and shows up to break me out. Which he won’t. So fuck you very much. Take me back to my cell. --- One early spring evening, Charlotte was in the yard with The Lions Of al-Rassan open in her lap. The alarm klaxon bellowed and she jumped a foot.

“What’s going on?” she asked Private Lett, the MP on duty in the yard. Seemed a bit overkill for one . . . whatever the hell Charlotte was on paper these days.

“Power interruption. Again. I think you’ll be okay back in your suite.”

“Cell,” she corrected. “Let’s call things by their right names, shall we PFC?”

She had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yes ma’am. Return to your cell. We’ll have this figured out in a snake flick.”

Compared to the stockade, Charlotte supposed, her confinement could've been considered comfortable. A little collection of buildings cut out of the nowhere between the UP and the Wisconsin state line, surrounded on all sides by a perimeter wall and a shitload of trees. In the winter, the snow piled up in yardsticks and the silence got so profound it hurt. Now that it was warmer Charlotte spent every moment she could get away with outdoors, soaking up sun like some half-assed weed. Just her, a handful of guards, and nowhere to go. Welcome to life in the discard pile.

Charlotte was halfway up the sidewalk back to Hut 3 when she heard something. A low, tuneful baritone floating from the thick box hedges lining the path, “I . . . am a man . . . of constant sorrow . . .” Charlotte dropped her book and knelt to pick it up. “Meet me by the birdbath," the voice softly instructed.

“No killing anyone,” Charlotte said.

"Haven’t yet. Go."

She'd just finished scribbling on the title page of her book when a dark shape cut itself out of the gathering shadows by Hut 2. "You about done lollygaggin, Captain?"

“Yeah,” she said, putting her book on the side of the birdbath. She took off her dog tags and her cross, kissing the cross as she laid it beside the book. “Let’s make like donkeys and haul ass.”

Ben laughed. “Come here. Faster if I carry you piggyback.”

“This isn’t,” Charlotte grunted as she clambered onto Ben’s broad back, “terribly dignified.”

“Woman, you have had your hands on my dick and your fingers up my ass. Your dignity can take a few jabs.”

“Yeah yeah.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Ben stood like Charlotte weighed nothing. “Hang on tight.”

Charlotte hung on tight and Ben took off, running free and easy. Vague memories of riding like this on her mom's back as Dad took Kay made her want to cry. She put her head on Ben’s shoulder and shut her eyes. Weird to feel safe in the company of a borderline lunatic and mass murderer, but she did feel safe with him now. Maybe Nina had a point about ideals. Charlotte’s had certainly died, bleeding out as she lived out her life in captivity and flatlining for good as Colonel Mallory’s Boys grilled her for answers she didn’t have.

“Here,” Ben said some time later, squatting to let Charlotte down. They’d come to a motorcycle loaded with supplies, parked next to a gravel road running roughly east-west. "How's your arm?"

"It's good," Charlotte said. "Aches a little bit when it's cold, which is all the goddamned time." Ben chuckled as stretched to his toes, shook out to limber up. Looked to be in perfect health, she noted, hair and beard neatly trimmed. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what the last months have been for him. "Do you have a knife?"

"Course." Ben opened a pocketknife as Charlotte shrugged out of her coat and pointed out the little scar in the fleshy underside of her arm. Working by moonlight, he slit the skin and pinched out the tiny black cylinder of a tracking device. At Charlotte's nod, he crushed it between his thumb and forefinger and flicked it away like a spent cigarette.

“Do you have--”

“Here, I got it,” Ben said as he bandaged the cut. “Can I ask you something?" he asked as he worked. At Charlotte's grunted yeah, he asked, "What were you writing in that book?"

"A note to my sister. Said I loved her and the boys, and to pray for me the next time she goes to Mass.” Ben nodded as he mounted up. “My turn,” Charlotte said. “Why come break me out?”

“Heard a rumor. Homelander.” Charlotte felt herself go pale. “Nobody deserves what that stupid motherfucker would do to you.” He hesitated. Honest feelings didn't seem to come naturally to him. Like learning to play an instrument-- all that came out was noise at first. "Besides, I owed you one."

"Okay."

Ben paused in getting himself settled, cocking an eyebrow back at Charlotte. "'Okay?' So you trust me now?"

"Let’s just say prison life's not agreeing with me." Ben patted the saddle behind him and Charlotte got on. "So what now?"

“You know something?” Ben said as he heeled up the kickstand. “For the first time in my entire goddamned life . . . I have no idea."

"It’ll wait for morning,” Charlotte said. “Let’s just make some miles. Head west."

"Hang on tight." Ben kick-started, and they sped off into the dark. ---

AN2: UCMJ-- Uniform Code of Military Justice, body of laws applying to United States armed forces personnel.

Crime-a-nilly it's so much easier when it's just porn.

[madam-o]

An open question to the OP community (for writing purposes)

So I know One Piece pretty well for a casual fan. I haven't read or watched a ton of it, but enough to generally know what's going on (basically, the longer the series goes, the more confusing and fucking weird it gets). My main interest in the series has always been about Shanks and now, to a greater degree, Buggy. I know a bit about how the Devil Fruit work, but unless I'm mistaken, there's a lot we don't explicitly know for sure about the powers they grant.

Buggy's Chop-Chop Fruit (Bara Bara no mi) powers are kind of confusing, for instance. He can separate himself into pieces (more specifically slices, in the anime and manga) but what those pieces can do while separated is very interesting. We know he can talk, eat, and apparently even get drunk as just a head. Where what he consumes goes is a complete mystery, but he's clearly processing it in some way. He doesn't need lungs to push air through his vocal chords, or even to stay alive. While separated into pieces he seems to be, for want of a better term, magically indestructible.

We know he can be bruised and bleed as just a head, but I kinda get the feeling that he can't die. I partly believe this because he's been hurled far distances and blown up before (many, many times, presumably) but it doesn't kill him. My theory is that when in mortal danger, he instinctively goes to pieces, and those pieces can be physically restrained or hurt, but not destroyed.

His pieces are all covered in skin, or at least not showing exposed internal parts, and include his clothes. They can float and move individually. Buggy can feel what happens to them, but maybe only when they're close. Buggy's head needs to be near his pieces to control them, and I'm not sure if they can move independently when his head isn't in the vicinity, but probably not. His feet need to stay on the ground for him to control his parts in the anime/manga, but not in the live action version.

Basically, Buggy's body works by cartoon character rules, a lot like Luffy.

So my question is, how invulnerable is Buggy, really? We know he ages and can get sick, but unless he's in a whole state, can he be drowned or otherwise killed? Because right now all signs point to no. If you put just his head in seawater, what would happen? I think he'd be weak, but still not able to drown. When in a whole state, is he more vulnerable? I assume when he's in mortal danger he automatically separates, but how small can his pieces get? Could they get down to an atomic level?

If anybody (especially with more OP knowledge) has any input, I'd appreciate it.

[a-silent-symphony]

Nightwish's Floor Jansen: "Life is short. Time is not endless"

Floor Jansen opens up on her battle with breast cancer, going solo and what we can expect from the next Nightwish album

It’s Friday April 22, 2022 at Nokia Arena in Tampere, Finland. Fifteen thousand Nightwish fans await a much-delayed live taste of their heroes’ ninth album, Human. :II: Nature., released as the world shut down in 2020. Anticipation is high. The stage will soon be engulfed in enough fire to obliterate a small village. Aside from a handful of dates in Finland in 2021, this is Nightwish’s first full-scale show in more than three years.

Backstage, Floor Jansen feels like death. In her stage armour she looks fearsome – a tattooed Boudica for the modern age. Such a gig wouldn’t normally faze her. Floor, 41,has been fronting metal bands since she was 16. But just now she’s come down with a virulent stomach flu at the worst possible time, and she’s wondering how the hell she’ll get through the next two hours onstage.

“It was unlike anything I’ve ever done,” she says of the stomach flu that almost derailed that post-Covid comeback. “I mean, you get sick now and then, but this was brutal. I don’t know what kind of virus I picked up, but it was a very violent one. I was up all night, and then I still had to travel from Berlin to Tampere. It was horrible.” She shrugs. “But yeah, what can you do?”

It’s not hard to see why Floor gets called a ‘powerhouse’. Part opera singer, several parts rock star – with the dynamism of both – she exudes indestructibility. If Bruce Dickinson had a daughter with Xena: Warrior Princess, it would have been Floor. But there are other sides to her: different personas that reveal a more complex, interesting picture of a ‘powerhouse’ lead singer.

There’s the animal-loving homebody. The thrillseeker. The proud vegetarian. The whiskey drinker. The metal icon with a solo pop album on the way. The Highly Sensitive Person, whose hyper-stimulated sense of the world shines through her performances. The person who, just three weeks before headlining Wembley Arena with Nightwish, underwent surgery for breast cancer.

“I’m always myself,” she summarises, simply. “So whether I run around in jeans fixing a fence, or ride my horse, or go onstage in warrior outfits… it’s all the same. It’s just a different side, as you can see.”

We meet Floor over Zoom in December, as she wrestles with dodgy wi-fi backstage in Milan. “Is it noisy for you, in the background?” she asks in perturbed Dutch tones. “It’s basically one big open box here…” Dark-eyed and slightly frazzled in a grey hoodie, Floor has a business-like streak that softens as talk turns to things like her solo music, her bandmates and the cigars she enjoys with her husband, Sabaton drummer Hannes Van Dahl.

On another day she might have come in from feeding the horses at her rural property on Sweden’s west coast. You wouldn’t fuck with her, but you’d gladly go for a drink with her. Out on the road with Nightwish, there’s a decent amount of the latter. The band “wobble” around Christmas markets drinking glühwein. They rate vegetarian food in Indian restaurants as part of a longstanding curry club. The shows themselves have been jubilant affairs.

“Last night we were surprised with some bottles of champagne,” she grins, “which we then drank, and became very happy…”

It’s all so far removed from lingering notions of Nightwish as some sort of dictatorship or soap opera, with singers driven away by its founder’s maniacal demands. They seem like friends – as in, actual friends.

“It’s absolute genuine fun,” she nods. “We’ve always had that. And there are always ups and downs; it’s like a big marriage. But we’ve been longing for this tour a lot. Especially after the pandemic, we don’t take it for granted at all.”

For Floor, the isolation of lockdown reinforced her ties to the band, but it also kickstarted her solo work. She’d begun to think of it in 2019, following an appearance on Dutch TV show Beste Zangers (‘Best Singers’), but she was still very much a band person, with a new Nightwish album cycle around the corner. Come March 2020, for the first time in her career, she found herself separated from that group mentality.

She spent time with her husband and daughter, now five. She grew vegetables and looked after her horses, cats and enormous Irish wolfhound. She worked on her online profile, communicating with her fans on a regular, down-to-earth level. At the same time, she began working with collaborators on solo material. An alternative, poppier sound started to brew.

In spring 2022 she appeared on Germany’s Beste Zangers equivalent, Sing Meinen Song, for which she sang in German (one of the four languages she speaks in addition to Dutch, English and Swedish). Gradually, a standalone Floor Jansen was evolving.

“My desire from the get-go was to find a sound that fits with me, not something created around me. But how do you do that? So I used up a large part of the pandemic in a trial-and-error search for this sound.”

It wasn’t easy. Ten years of bringing Tuomas Holopainen’s visions to life had left her with phenomenal vocal skills, but limited songwriting practice. Her first ideas, she says, “weren’t that great”.

“I’ve done it [songwriting], but I haven’t been doing much in the last 10 years,” she admits. “Plus I’m in a band with someone like Tuomas. It makes me feel very small, like, ‘What do I have to add to a world full of music?’ So from that insecurity I had to find my way and accept that I am more limited, and that I have different ideas.”

Teaming up with Dutch producer Gordon Groothedde (Snoop Dogg; Katie Melua; Floor’s previous band, After Forever) was a turning point. The first song they wrote together was Fire. A darkly atmospheric, orchestral swirl of intelligent modern pop, with the grandeur of Florence & The Machine’s cover of 1986 dance hit You’ve Got The Love, it ignited Floor’s confidence as a creator in her own right.

“I have a really hard time with love songs,” she says. “I know the majority of pop music is about love songs, and that’s also why I find it boring to listen to. So I wanted to create something that still has a message.”

Accordingly, her solo album, Paragon, shuns frothy clichés in favour of meatier subjects. Fire is about returning to life after lockdown. One song, Invincible, was written for the injured war veterans at Prince Harry’s Invictus Games – originally planned to take place in 2020 in the Hague until the pandemic got in the way.

“It’s inspired by the idea of being physically or mentally wounded, after you’ve just given everything you have,” she explains, “and something that’s left of you has to pick up life, and recover from something that you never really wanted to recover from. I want to raise awareness of the fact that this happens so incredibly often, but also to empower them. Like, ‘You already went through Hell, now you’re on your way back, you are invincible.’”

It’s hard to hear this story now without thinking of Floor’s recent health issues. Diagnosed in October 2022 at a routine mammogram screening, her breast cancer came as a total shock – two weeks before Nightwish were due to fly to South America.

“They [the doctors] said, ‘We want you to come back.’ And the thing I thought, in my naïve brain, was, ‘Oh, they fucked up something with the pictures.’ Never, ‘Oh, they found something.’” She shakes her head. “Not a single moment. Until I was there.”

Surgery was planned for the day after they came home. Until then, she says, the intense business of touring Brazil, Argentina, Chile and Mexico proved a good distraction. The pace of it all was brutal but helpful, and reading similar stories from her fans made her feel less alone – “But at the same time, it’s an overwhelming awareness of how many people actually got this fucking disease."

“I put my emotions into the music,” she reasons, “and also had really wonderful conversations within the band, crew, management, everyone has really been there for me. It’s very tough to do it all that fast, but at the same time it helped because I didn’t have to walk around with thoughts of it too long. Because as soon as you know you have a tumour in your body, the only thing you can think of is ‘get it out’. The whole mental aspect of a cancer diagnosis is shit.”

Back at home, she had three weeks after her operation before heading out in Europe and the UK. Scarred, bruised and exhausted, she was grateful for the support of her family.

“Jesus, how I underestimated it,” she half-laughs, of the recovery process. “I was jet-lagged, I barely slept for nights after the surgery because my system was completely upside-down, you get morphine… So everyone’s been really having my back in this.”

Just a couple of days before the Wembley gig, she learned that the operation was successful. It was both a relief and a wake-up call. In Sweden, mammogram screenings start for women at the age of 40. In the Netherlands, her birthplace –and in the UK – it’s 50. Now looked up to by many, as a public figure as well as a musician, she’s determined to persuade more women to go for their scans.

“On a purely personal level it’s a bit weird, because I’m just me,” she says, of her role-model status. “But from this position, I have the power to make a difference every now and then. I wanted to make sure it has this function by saying, ‘Go and get your mammogram done.’ If I had stayed in the Netherlands, this entire thing would have gone undetected. It was so small when they took it out, but it was growing, you know? I’m very lucky.”

Cancer casts a pervasive shadow, even when it’s caught quickly. For Floor, who (when we speak to her) still has three weeks of radiation therapy to complete, it’s realigned her priorities. “It’s not like I think ‘I’m gonna die’ all the time,” she explains, “but I realise how life is short. Time is not endless. We have it now.”

To that end, Floor is making the most of 2023. After her radiotherapy is finally over, she’ll join Nightwish for 70000Tons Of Metal in the Bahamas. Festival shows will follow. In the summer the band will head to the Röskö campsite in Kitee, Finland, to record the next Nightwish album (which will be released at some point in 2024).

Part three of a trilogy that began with Endless Forms Most Beautiful and continued through Human. :II: Nature., the new album will return to themes concerning our planet and our mortality. Sonically, Floor suggests, we can expect aheavy palette.

“I would say it’s a pretty heavy album,” she muses, “but once again, it’s the multicolour diversity that is Nightwish. It’s all there. It’s going to once again take you by the hand through beautiful stories – whether they are stories from this Earth or stories about this Earth. They’re beautiful.”

Creatively, Nightwish is still Tuomas’s brainchild, though there’s a sense of collaboration around this record. Armed with his demos, the band have been working up different parts and exchanging ideas on tour – in hotel rooms and dressing rooms across the world. For Floor, this has been a happy arrangement.

“I think Tuomas has a unique view on the world and has a unique way of putting that into words,” she says, “and I think he’s outdone himself on that end once again. And also visually, the ideas that are bubbling are going to be of a next level. So yeah, there’s lots to look forward to.”

Meanwhile, along with the release of Paragon, she has solo gigs planned in Europe. “And of course it would be wonderful to go to the UK,” she adds, “we are working on that as well.”

If all goes to plan, Floor Jansen could be a name that reaches well beyond metal circles – paving the way for a new kind of pop star with a darker heart. Once again the ‘powerhouse’ label feels apt, with all the truths and misconceptions that come with it.

“Power is often connected to, especially women…” she searches for the words, “…it’s like, ‘powerful women are bitches’, you know? Maybe that’s the misconception of the century. But a powerful woman is also a woman who is intouch withher emotions, and one who can have absolute soft sides and embrace them. The idea that high sensitivity would be a weakness? That is actually the absolute misperception.

“And that goes for men, too: for men to be in touch with their feelings and to be able to communicate them… that is a bigger strength than [makes growling, macho noise]. That’s going to bring us a whole lot further.”

Between travels, Floor will recharge at home in the Swedish countryside. On cold evenings, she and Hannes sometimes retreat to their grillhouse, light the fire and relax over single malts and a cigar – things that bonded them when they first met on tour with Iced Earth. Small connections between worlds.

“I can say that my happiest place is home, but that’s not true because after half a year I’ll claw up the walls,” she laughs. “I can say it’s on tour, but after a month I really want to go home. I can say it’s onstage, but then putting my daughter to bed is equally amazing at times. The ultimate thing is to have the luxury of both.”

[themculibrary]

Worried Masterlist

A Fast but Steady Heartbeat (ao3) - spooderboyandtincan N/R, 1k

Summary: Peter, Tony and Rhodey are enjoying their afternoon at a restaurant until the building and their food explodes.

Bright Eyes (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight clint/tony T, 3k

Summary: After being hurt in a fight, Tony ends up temporarily blind and tries to hide it from the team so they don’t worry.

Clint is the only one to notice, and an honest conversation between the two about exactly how much Tony matters to the team leads to unexpected kisses.

Bloom in a Garden of Love (ao3) - hopelessly_me bucky/clint T, 5k

Summary: Bucky's holding on to a weird secret- for some reason he keeps coughing up rose petals. He thinks maybe he can hide it until events take a terrifying turn.

By Your Side (ao3) - SerendipityRed (SerendipityBlue) G, 3k

Summary: After Peter is forced to lift the fallen building after homecoming, he has to deal with the aftermath of the injuries that he’s received.

Peter Parker being the stubborn bean that he is, doesn’t tell anyone.

But the injuries are revealed after an accident in the lab.

Enter protective Tony, Steve, Bucky, Thor, Bruce, and Loki.

can you save my heavy dirt soul? (ao3) - streetlight_skeletons steve/bucky N/R, 1k

Summary: Bucky can't breathe and they won't shut up

Casualty of war (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles M, 22k

Summary: Peter got knocked down in Civil War, but when Tony went to check on the baby Avenger, he realized he was more badly hurt than first realized.

There wasn't meant to be any casualties, but there always is in war.

Elevator Freeway (ao3) - awesomesockes, whumphoarder T, 1k

Summary: Delirious and bleeding out from a gunshot wound, Peter struggles to describe his location to a very worried Tony.

Five Bullets And Nineteen Hours (ao3) - thefatedthoughtofyou sam/bucky G, 2k

Summary: Bucky gets hurt, badly, protecting Sam on a mission.

Hey Mr Stark, I'm Trapped Under A Building (ao3) - Kryi T, 1k

Summary: Peter's on evacuation duty, he was trying to get as many people out of the building as fast as possible. But something happens and he slips into unconsciousness.

Safe and Sound (ao3) - onthesandsofdreams pepper/tony T, 1k

Summary: She feels off kilter, unsure for the first time in a very long time. She should go. She should go downstairs, let Tony know that she was going home (or the office) and leave. But, she finds that she doesn’t want to, he has just returned and it doesn’t take a genius to know that he has suffered. That thing in his chest speaks louder than anything Tony might say.

Scream out loud like never before (ao3) - Carlet phil/melinda M, 33k

Summary: From philindaprompts on Tumblr: "Ward never really got his hands on May to 'make' her pay for breaking his larynx, chasing him down, Agent 33, etc."

Mid season 3, minus the whole Hive thing. Ward kidnaps and tortures May with the intent of making her pay for his suffering, proving that not even the infamous Melinda May was indestructible.

Taking Care of... (ao3) - orphan_account G, 6k

Summary: It's time for the obligatory sick/comfort fic!

Chapter 1: Rhodey is sick but don't worry, his best friend Tony is there to take care of him.

Chapter 2: Tony is sick but don't worry, his best friend Rhodey is there to take care of him.

Thank the Watchmaker (ao3) - ThatMadHatter clint/phil T, 11k (WIP)

Summary: “Natasha. Barton’s been compromised.” Phil’s voice did not hitch slightly at the word compromised. He was fucking Agent Phil Coulson. His voice did not betray emotion. Even when telling his boyfriend’s best friend that said boyfriend was compromised.

Or the one where Phil and Clint are together before The Avengers and the author rewrites things with that in mind.

you heal me like the light of day (ao3) - searchingforstars T, 9k

Summary: or, Peter tries to hide a stab wound and an infection-fuelled fever is never any fun. Also, it turns out that Beck is still lurking in Peter's mind much more than anyone realised.

You're Not Alone (You Have Us) (ao3) - Rascalisafatcat clint/phil, pepper/tony T, 2k

Summary: When his daughter gets sick with the flu Coulson leaves a debrief to go take care of her, the Avengers soon find out and they come to his rescue.

[xtruss]

‘These creatures are precious indeed’ … a scene from Netflix’s Our Planet II. Photograph: John Haskew/Netflix Photograph: Ed Charles/Netflix

Our Planet II Review – So Much of David Attenborough’s New Show Is Just Astonishing

From cameras that mimic homeless bees to extremely cute chicks, it’s an honour to see these sights – but be prepared to witness humanity’s awful consequences for wildlife

— Jack Seale | Wednesday 14 June 2023 | Tv Review | Documentary

Sitting at home, breath held, earnestly hoping that some tiny animal thousands of miles from your sofa can survive a life-or-death situation: it’s always been one of the eerie pleasures of a wildlife documentary, despite such a reaction being essentially irrational. What does it matter whether that lizard can outrun those snakes? It’s all part of nature. It’s nothing to do with us.

Well, not any more. The scene that sticks in the mind from Our Planet II, Netflix’s new Attenborough-voiced opus, is of an albatross chick on the tiny Pacific island of Laysan, fighting for life without any predators nearby. The little thing’s opening its beak wide and dry-heaving towards the sand. “There is now so much plastic in our oceans that it reaches the most remote islands on Earth,” says Sir David, as we see the beach strewn with incongruously colourful detritus. The peril the chick is trying to survive is whether or not it can sick up a gobbet of indestructible crud its mother mistook for food.

The four new hour-long episodes have plenty more sequences to make you think: heck, what have we done? In the Arctic, a walrus perches on the only floating glacier shard within view, unsure where to go next. A polar bear, knackered by the need to swim much more and walk much less, fails to hunt a bearded seal that’s better at sliding on and off the melting, fractured ice. The theme is migration, as prompted by the changing seasons – but humans have changed how extreme those seasonal shifts are.

It is not all doom – in fact, the environmental warnings are slightly less strident than they were in the first run of Our Planet. We have plenty of wonders still to enjoy. The show’s recurring motif is an unbelievable shot of animals on the move together in staggering numbers. A megaherd of cape buffalo in the Kalahari, filmed from the air and looking like swarming ants; actual swarming army ants, carrying “supersized larvae” to their new forest home; locusts turning the ground yellow as they walk, then undergoing a bristling metamorphosis that makes them even more disquietingly alien, whereupon they turn the sky pink. The locusts’ trip from Sudan to Tibet is illustrated by figures moving on a 3D relief map, a clever visual aid to underline the vastness of the distances that migrating creatures cover.

We have extreme cuteness, too, in the form of a murrelet chick on Vancouver Island who has to trek alone towards the shore, so small it keeps smacking face-first into twigs lying on the ground. That Laysan albatross chick is adorable once it’s recovered from its human-induced choking fit, standing on the beach all ragged and fluffy, gazing out to sea and wondering when to attempt its first flight. It’s seen a young black-footed albatross set off, lose momentum and land on the water, bobbing for a second before being eaten by a tiger shark that has travelled 1,000km for this specific feast. Another black-footed bird is more or less in flight a few inches above the surf, but isn’t going to get far: a tiger shark is chewing on its foot.

For those in peril on the sea … Our Planet II. Photograph: Netflix

Whether our friend will suffer the same fate is the subject of the episode one cliffhanger, a device used throughout the season to persuade us to let the Netflix machine roll on to the next instalment. This seems unnecessarily needy for a prestige wildlife documentary, and it’s awkwardly executed: presumably for the benefit of viewers who might watch episodes in isolation, the next one starts with a recap that repeats the information binge-watchers have just been given. Elsewhere, there is the odd moment where the footage doesn’t feel new enough: everyone’s familiar by now with lions working to isolate a weak buffalo/wildebeest, but we see that old drama play out twice, alongside similar sequences of orca v whale, arctic fox v snow goose and crocodile v zebra.

But these are quibbles, brought on by how spoiled we’ve been by previous landmark natural history shows. Take a step back and so much of Our Planet II is astonishing: a drone camera mimicking a homeless bee swarm’s hunt for a new nesting place, checking out the holes in various trees, is one of many times we’re reminded what a precious honour it is to see such sights.

These creatures are precious indeed, and Our Planet II tries to see hope in places where humans have shown some awareness of their responsibilities as tenants-in-common of Earth. The antelope whose ancestral migration routes have been blocked by barbed-wire fences protecting US oil and gas fields, for example, have at least had bridges built for them so they can cross our lethal four-lane highways. It’s the least we can do.