#it’s so sickening that i’m at work all day today when i should be reciting a five hour speech about how beloved and appreciated iwaizumi

[chimielie]

HAPPY HAJIME DAY!!!!!!!! remember to leave out cookies, athleticwear, and bad special effect monster movie dvds for ur favorite character tonight <333 (and he IS your favorite character for the next 12 hours)

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘The Revive Incantation’

During today’s Techno stream (June 21st), he referred to the contents of the revive book as an “incantation”. Well, my brain immediately thought of Dream singing the Healing song from Tangled to revive Tommy, and a few hours later I present this. The revive book requires a few things to work, and one of those things is a willingness to do a little backwards karaoke. (And yes, I rewrote the song from Tangled for this.)

Swirling around the words on the page were these beautiful gold pattern illustrations. They twisted and curled like the timid edges of a plant’s leaves, and each corner even featured a little golden flower. The muted ochre and emerald-green they had been painted with evoked the appearance of a totem, although there were no direct references to the other known method of cheating death. If there had been, it would’ve made the mystery behind the book’s origins - or indeed how Schlatt got his hands on it - a whole lot easier. But that hardly mattered now.

Dream ran his finger below the final line of the poem on the page for about the eightieth time, ensuring he’d fully committed it to memory again in case Sam were to unexpectedly arrive and he’d need to burn the book. He’d stopped visiting regularly since Tommy’s death, and he’d also ceased coming in the cell entirely. Still, one could never be too careful. His entire reason for still being alive was right there, a single stanza copied hastily from memory and hidden in the bottom of his chest weeks ago. The original revive book had been ornate and probably an antique: now it was ash, but as the process of revival required a physical reproduction of the text, here he was, double-checking he’d copied it down correctly one more time. God help him if he’d remembered it wrong.

Or rather, he thought, as he glanced over at the lifeless form of a teenager sat propped up against the wall a couple metres to his right, god help Tommy.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if it didn’t work. As the text described, he had all the required components: the verses on parchment, the exanimate flesh and bones, the willing soul and a voice with which to… Sing? The poem. Incantation. Aloud. He wasn’t sure if those instructions were meant to be taken literally, and if so, what tune to follow. Unfortunately, much of the book’s compact contents were written in riddles and couplets and audaciously purple prose. The incantation itself was something of a curiosity: it was a spell to raise the dead, but it also appeared to carry a warning to those bold enough to speak it. A deterrent to those impermanent earthlings that trifled in the affairs of the deathless deities. But Dream hadn’t got this far by heeding warnings. And, whether he liked his current position or not (he didn’t), he and he alone held the ability to reverse a killing blow, so who’s really smiling.

With no conceivable reason to drag this out any longer, the prisoner got slowly to his feet and went to retrieve Tommy’s corpse. The boy’s eyelids were half-closed, and the eyes beneath were dull, devoid of the light and life the kid had once brought to everything. His skin was mottled in places, his bottom lip had bruised, he had a black eye and dried blood glueing it shut from where it had leaked from a gash in his forehead. Luckily, decomposition hadn’t started to set in yet, or Dream would’ve had to burn the body to avoid the smell. No, he was simply dead, and goodness, had it been a nice few days of quiet after a week of Tommy’s non-stop incessant talking and complaining and obnoxious humming. Sam had looked at him like he was crazy when he’d said he was enjoying the peace, but had he ever been stuck in a room with the kid for more than a few hours before? Maybe that’s how Tommy used to bend people to his will. Annoy them until they either backed down or declared major conflict.

Carefully, like one might handle a sleeping baby, he laid Tommy down in front of the book, and resumed his seat behind it, legs crossed. He turned the page so he could see the scribbled instructions again, scanned them one final time, then flipped the page back to the stanza he was supposed to sing. As if someone else had possessed him, within three words he knew instinctively and miraculously what melody to follow as he recited the verse:

‘Vessel torn apart Soul too weak to stay Gift another chance And wash lost days away Written on this page Mortals should not say Men must not play god And wash lost days away Lost days away’

As he sang, something incredible began to happen, so mesmerising for someone trapped with so little for so long that he almost stopped singing. The prompt on the page began to glow, golden light radiating off the page as the words took short-lived form in the air while he sang them. They danced and collapsed into each other, forming a sizable disk of light above them, before it began to slowly dissipate, filtering down into a stream that enveloped Tommy. His skin took on a new sheen; from beneath his eyelids, a soft yellow light emanated, and, during the time the light was fading, his fingers twitched, curling unconsciously like a newborn’s would as they slept.

It worked.

Without taking his eyes off Tommy slowly rejoining the land of the living, Dream fed the book to the lava stream endlessly running past and pooling below the cell. It melted quickly into the molten rock, stinging his fingers as it dissolved: Dream barely felt it, staring intently at the boy whose body once again contained a consciousness.

I did it. I brought someone back.

Tommy’s elbows found purchase on the obsidian floor and he sat himself up, hands then going to wipe his eyes. He winced in pain as he pressed the heel of his hand directly into his black eye, mumbling a few curse words under his breath in typical Tommy fashion. That seemed to bring him to his senses. He turned his head rapidly to compensate for being down fifty percent on sight, and his working eye made contact with Dream’s. His murderer practically watched as the reality of his situation came crashing around Tommy, and he physically recoiled, face contorted with shock.

I’m a god.

---

“Let me out! Or I’m gonna revive him.”

That is the power he holds now. The ultimate bargaining chip, and it works. Bless Schlatt for giving up this ace for something as trivial as allies. Tommy, Sam and Ghostbur are all screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, and for his purposes, it couldn’t be more perfect. He has gripped firmly in his left hand the crumpled paper he just quickly scrawled the stanza upon, and he’s reaching for Ghostbur with the other, because thanks to his protocols, it’ll only take a tap. They're all screaming and shouting and then the lava's coming down with a great groaning of pistons, and it’s plenty enough to cover for him to quickly and quietly sing the tune he’s memorized since last time. Sometimes he’d sing it when he sat alone in the endless hours without a clock or a visitor; a dirge to his dominance over the server, once and forever. Goodbye Ghostbur. So sorry. His eyes are dilated with fear when Dream pulls him sharply against the barrier, and he dies with a sickening crack. Tommy’s screams drown out the end of the song entirely.

They do say, however, that there’s a new busker on the train platform, and he’s got a rather interesting song to share.

[eliniei]

Proposal - A!WoL/Emet-Selch

Summary: Persephone surprises Hades by coming home early from her Convocation duties to spend the Starlight Celebration with him, but finds herself surprised instead.

A/N: Written for the lovely @aoirohi for Christmas. (Sorry I’m a little late on posting this LOL, it was always on ao3 I just got lazy with tumblr)

Word Count: 2414

Masterlist: here Ao3: here

When I opened the door to our apartment, I was greeted with an unusual silence. 

Often when I would come home after my time travelling to other cities, I would find Hades on the floor in our living area, blueprints for a myriad of concepts spread out around him, a charcoal drawing pencil between his teeth as he approved, denied, or made logical changes to the things submitted to him, muttering garbled words to himself as he worked. 

But today, he wasn’t there.

“Hades?” I called. I set my bag on the table in the kitchen as I passed, then heard a crash in the back of the apartment. Brow furrowing, I made my way towards the noise. “Is everything okay back there?”

“Seph?” he asked me as I poked my head into the bedroom. “Is that you?” I raised my brow when he stepped out of the closet. I took in his appearance, the tie in his long, white hair loosened, his red mask askew. Boxes of paperwork and small knick knacks we’d kept stored in there were strewn around the floor at his feet. I crossed my arms over my chest and chuckled.

“Who else would it be?” I shot at him, amusement in my voice. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his tone. “Perfectly fine, just searching for something.” He stepped over clutter to join me, then, wrapped one arm around my waist and pressed a kiss to my temple.

“What is it? I could probably hel-”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll just look for it later.” I frowned as he began heading for the front room again, pulling me along with him.

“Well, aren’t you going to at least clean that up?” I asked, tilting my head back to look at the mess. He huffed a laugh and snapped his fingers. 

“There, all better.” I clicked my tongue and rolled my eyes as a smile spread across my mouth, letting him lead me out of the room. “I heard you come in,” he began to explain. “But I thought you were Hythlodaeus.”

“Oh? Getting yourselves into trouble again?”

“Us? Trouble?” he asked, releasing me and putting his hands over his heart with a histrionic gasp. “The little faith you have in us pains me, my love.”

A short laugh escaped me. 

“Please. You act as if I don’t know you at all.” The front door opened again and Hythlodaeus stepped inside, immediately shouting.

“Hades are you-” His gaze fell on him as we approached, his face breaking out into a wide grin when he realized I was home, too. “Seph! You’re home!” 

I smiled as he sauntered over to me, throwing his arm across my shoulders. My arm immediately went around his back, as always, as he squeezed me tightly.

“Just in time for lunch,” Hades said as he fixed the tie in his hair, then reached for his long over-cloak that hung from a hook by the door. “Ready?”

When we got outside, he squinted in the brightness of the day, shielding his eyes with his hands as he took in his wide surroundings. “When did it snow?

“How long have you been holed up in the apartment this time?” I asked him, then turned to Daeus for the more accurate answer I knew he would provide me with.

“Not that lo-”

“Two weeks.”

“Hades!” I whirled back to him. “Just because I’m travelling doesn’t mean you can neglect to take care of yourself!”

He laughed, scratching at the back of his neck through his hood. “I guess I just lost track of the time. It’s not as if I stopped eating entirely .” I clicked my tongue and shook my head.

“You always get too wrapped up in your work.”

“As the Architect-”

“I have a responsibility to the people of Amaurot-,” Daeus and I recited, mocking his serious tone of voice before we paused and looked at each other in momentary surprise. Both of us burst into a fit of laughter and Hades rolled his eyes.

“Really, you two-”

“I know, I know,” I said, playfully shoving his shoulder as I interrupted him. “You don’t know what you’d do without us.”

With an exasperated sigh, he twined his fingers between mine before pulling me down the sidewalk. “Let’s go or we’ll be late. You have no idea how hard it was to get reservations the day before the holiday, even for me .”

The grin on his face didn’t escape me.

When we got to the newly opened cafe, Hades apologized profusely for having to add a third seat to the reservation, though the hostess smiled, saying it was not a problem, that they were “honored to just have the Architect visit their humble establishment .”

I exchanged an amused glance with Hythlodaeus as she gushed, obviously missing the fact that I was as Convocation member in my own right, though my seat was nowhere near as popular or powerful as his. Hades, embarrassed by the public attention, cleared his throat and nodded along with her words, a pained smile on his face as she praised him and his work.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” the girl said, finally. “You’re here to eat, aren’t you?” She chuckled and led us to a table.

“We didn’t think you’d be back yet,” Daeus informed me as we ate. “Hades was in such a mood that you wouldn’t be home for the holiday, so I suggested we go to lunch, at the very least.” I hummed, a small smile appearing on my lips as I reached out to him, wrapping my hand around his and squeezing lightly. Our friend sat back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him. “I offered to keep him company tomorrow, as well, but that was an emphatic no from our beloved Architect. Probably planned to throw himself into more work while he sulked.”

I raised a brow and looked at him.

“Now that’s not-”

“Oh please,” Hythlodaeus interrupted. “Don’t deny what is the truth, my friend. What else would you have done? Sit on the couch and stare out the window?”

“Would you let me just-”

“Well, it’s a good thing I got back in time, then,” I said matter-of-factly with a nod. Hades relaxed next to me, releasing a breath of a laugh at our teasing. 

“I’m glad you did,” he said quietly as he turned his hand over, wrapping his fingers around mine. “Last I heard, matters probably wouldn’t be resolved beforehand.”

“Mm,” I hummed, running my thumb along the back of his hand. “I think those I was meeting with were anxious to get it all wrapped up so we wouldn’t be working on the celebration.”

A sound of disgust from across the table pulled my attention and we both looked to Daeus, one of my brows raised as he continued sitting with his arms crossed, cringing as he took us in.

“The two of you are so sweet it’s actually sickening to watch sometimes.”

I burst into a fit of soft laughter and shook my head. 

“You should just get-Ow!”

The table shook, suddenly, our plates and glasses rattling with the movement, and I could only assume Hades had kicked our friend over whatever it was he was about to say. I sat back in my chair to give him a look, but his gaze was intently fixed on Daeus, eyes narrowed. I opened my mouth to question him, but our waitress arrived to clear the table, asking us how our meal had been, and my question was forgotten for the time being.

As we were heading back to our apartment, Hades came up next to me, sliding his hand into mine. I smiled, softly and leaned into him as we walked. He released my hand and wrapped his arm around me.

“I missed you,” I said, quietly, laying my head against his shoulder. He hummed in response and rubbed my arm up and down. I lifted my head with a quirked eyebrow and peered up at him, my grin turned playful. “Didn’t you miss me too?”

He breathed a chuckle and looked at the ground with a nod. “Of course I did, my love.” I tilted my head in confusion, my brow furrowing slightly.

“Is everything okay?” Immediately, he brightened and leaned in to press a soft kiss to my temple.

“Yes, I’m-”

Immediately, he stumbled to the side, his hand tightening around my shoulder, pulling me with him. 

“What-?”

“Did you forget I was still here?” Daeus’ voice called from behind us. Hades had balanced us both and he reached behind his head. When he pulled his hand away, it was wet with snow. He frowned and whipped around to find our friend with another snowball in his, poised to throw it.

“Hythlodaeus, don’t you-”

When the snowball hit him square in the face, he froze in shock and I jumped to the side to avoid getting hit by any wayward chunks.  As it melted against his skin, it started sliding down his face in pieces, revealing his mouth hanging open. 

I began laughing at his expression, hugging my stomach as the giggles took hold of me. 

As I wiped tears from the corners of my eyes, I watched Daeus bend down to gather another handful, pressing it into a tight ball, then looked up at me. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” I exclaimed, quickly forming my own snowball and shooting it at him with all of my strength. With a gasp, he moved to the side but it still hit his shoulder. He tossed his, but I was able to duck out of its path. Next to me, Hades clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Aren’t the two of you a little too old to be still playing in the snow like this?”

“Oh please,” I said with a roll of my eyes. With a conspiratorial nod to Hythlodaeus, we both aimed our next projectiles toward the Architect . “You know what they say, my darling- All work and no play…”

He rolled his eyes, but I saw the tug on his lips as he couldn’t help but smile, then uncrossed his arms and held them up in surrender, accepting his fate as we pummelled him with snow. 

A while later, we said our goodbyes to Daeus outside of our apartment building, wishing him a happy celebration. When I turned to head inside, I heard them whispering to each other.

“Did you bring it?” Hades asked.

“Of course, my friend.” 

I turned around to find Hades dropping something into the pocket of his wet robe. With a wave, Hythlodaeus started heading towards his own living area. I raised a brow, but Hades offered no explanation before leading me upstairs.

After we changed into dry robes, I went to the kitchen and poured milk into two mugs, heating it with a small amount of aether. I took a cannister of powdered chocolate, something Daeus and I had been working on and perfecting since this time last year, and stirred it into the steaming liquid. 

Satisfied with the taste, I smiled and made my way back to the living area, where Hades was waiting on the couch. He accepted it gladly, and took a long drink.

“Mm,” he moaned, quietly. “That’s nice and warm.” I breathed a chuckle as he opened his arm to me and I took my seat, curling into his side.

“Are you going to tell me what Daeus gave you?”

An amused smile spread across his lips and he set his mug down on the arm of the couch, then removed his arm from around me. 

“You know,” he started, turning to face me. “You always manage to ruin things in precisely the best way.” 

“Oh, and how is that? What exactly have I ruined?”

He reached out to me, running a hand through my hair as he examined my face with awe. “I had planned this for when you returned, of course, but you came home before either of us were expecting.”

I searched his eyes for a moment and opened my mouth to respond, but he continued.

“You never cease to amaze me, Seph. Everything about you- how your mind works, the pout of your lips when you’re trying to figure out something particularly tricky…”

My smile faded into surprise and I felt my cheeks start heating up with his praises.

“The bright, clear sound of your laughter and how it makes even my darkest days fill with happiness...the way your hair seems to shine blue in the sunlight.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, then slid to his knees on the floor.

“I had Daeus...procure this for me. He brought it today so that I could hide it and have it here for when you returned.”

My breath caught as he opened it. Inside sat a small, simple, golden band that sparkled in the light coming from our main room window. 

“When you came home, I was looking for a place to hide it and you startled me.”

I felt my heart rate pick up as he held the box up. 

“Persephone,” he started again. “Would you spend eternity with me?”

I gasped, tears springing to my eyes as I covered my mouth with my hands. I tried to form words, but they seemed to escape me as I looked between him and the ring he was offering. After a few long moments of silence between us, he breathed a nervous laugh.

“Are you going to leave me hanging, my love?”

“Oh, Hades,” I whispered, finally, knowing if I spoke at a normal volume my voice would crack. Without warning, I threw my arms around his neck. With a gasp of his own, we both fell backwards, crashing into the rug.

His free arm went around my waist as we tipped and when we landed, we both laid on the floor laughing.

“I take it that that’s a yes?” he asked me, pulling me close. I plucked the box from his hand and slid the ring onto my finger, holding it up so both of us could examine it.

“Of course it is,” I said as I lowered my arm, laying it across his stomach, and turned into him to nuzzle my nose in the crook of his neck. “I love you, Hades.”

“I love you too, Seph.”

[irondadgroupie]

DAY 12: ELECTROCUTION

As a sidenote, I was extremely surprised and touched how well the latest drabble, Bruises, was accepted. You guys have made my weekend, reading all the comments has been great! I honestly did not expect anything like it. Love you all <3

It was a tradition that Lab music was old time rock and heavy. Thanks to it, Peter knew practically the entire repertoire of Black Sabbath, Metallica and Iron Maiden word for word.

They listened to it sometimes in the car, during longer rides and the boy enjoyed belting out the tunes with as much volume as possible. But in the lab, he sang normally, soft and even, sometimes under breath as he worked on whatever task Tony gave him.

Today, he was taught how the thrusters worked. After a lesson, Peter was given a job to take the thrusters apart and put them back together to ensure he had learned the basic outline. Tony was a fantastic teacher, much better than the ones at Midtown and sometimes the boy mentioned his mentor should get a degree in education.

“I couldn’t,” Tony had shaken his head at the suggestion. “I would just bore myself to death.”

Peter was content to have a private tutor who was willing to go through subjects and issues time after time.

“You alright there, kid?”

Peter nodded with a screwdriver in hand and another between his lips.

“Just tell me if you need help.”

Peter hummed in response just as he knocked over a toolbox. The boy slumped in his chair and looked at his mentor.

“Mr Stark, I need help.”

The man chuckled, his hands working on another Spider-Man suit: “That you do, Pete.”

The boy growled got to his knees. One of the tools had rolled behind a large generator and he squeezed into the space between the appliance and the wall.

Tony was in the process of connecting the wires when there was a loud BANG and the lights went off.

“Wow, kid, you never do anything half assed.”

A moment later the lights came back and the white noise returned. The man turned his head to the boy and frowned when he noticed Peter was not moving.

“Kid?” He asked and got up. “Did you hurt yourself?”

No response.

“Shit,” The man breathed out when he got a look at the boy: Peter’s hands had burn marks and tree like scars travelled up his arms. “Shit, shit, shit!”

The electric cords- he had not checked their condition- they were worn by time and had given Peter, his kid, a shock.

He pulled Peter out by his legs and turned him onto his back.

“Kid,” Tony knelt down and shook the boy by the shoulders. “Wake up, please tell me you’re okay.”

Peter’s eyes were closed and he looked like he was asleep, his mouth was slightly open.

“Oh God, I- I can’t remember what,” His hands hovered over the boy. “Pulse, yes, that.”

He placed his fingers on the neck and tried to feel for a vein, for a thump.

Nothing.

“FRIDAY!” Tony shouted in panic. “Call medic, call anyone, Peter has no pulse!”

“Calling for medical services. Estimated arrival is in 5 minutes.”

“That’s too long!”

“You need to help. CPR is proven to be effective in cardiac arrest cases.”

CPR, yes, Tony knew the word, he knew the science behind it but he had never done it on a person. He had taken the course, yes, and on a normal day could recite the practice by heart but now, he forgot everything. Peter was lying on the ground, his cells dying by the minute, Tony could barely remember his legal name.

“I can’t remember how it is done!”

He was letting down his kid, his protégé who never turned down a chance to help. Tears stung in his eyes and panic was starting to take over.

“I will help you, sir. First you need to start compressions; by the newest guidelines you should do 30 of them.”

Tony sniffed and nodded.

“Okay,” he bent over the Peter and after a millisecond of hesitation, grabbed the boy’s blue button up shirt and ripped it open. He would replace it. He placed his hands over the kid’s sternum and started pressing down, feeling sickened but fascinated how Peter’s bones gave.

“The rhythm needs to be faster, try it to the beat of Another One Bites the Dust.”

“Fuck you,” Tony spat under his breath but still did as his AI told. The body beneath him jerked with each compression. Peter’s stomach bulged each time his chest was pressed down.

“Thirty,” Tony muttered and his hands moved Peter’s head. He placed his left palm over the boy’s forehead and right to his chin and tilted his head back.

“Sir, rescue breaths are no longer recommended practice unless the patient is asphyxiated-“

Tony was at the end of his patience.

“He is a fucking kid! He needs air!”

“In the manuals, Peter is considered an adult and with adult cardiac arrest cases-.”

“Shut up!” He shouted and pinched Peter’s nose closed. Tony bent down and breathed deeply into the boy’s mouth.

“C’mon , kiddo,” the man tapped Peter’s face as the air was exhaled. “C’mon, c’mon, breathe for me.”

He breathed again, pressing his lips tightly against the boy’s.

Tony straightened and crossed his hands on Peter’s chest, pressing down rhythmically.

“C’mon, Pete, I know you’re still in there,” The man muttered under breath, words rushed and accompanied with the grunts as each compression forced air in and out of the boy’s lungs.

“It was just a little shock, a little bit of electricity, you can deal with that, right,” Tony wanted to cry at how Peter’s face was turning gray, losing all of the healthy color.

“It’s not helping, FRI!” He gave a half sob.

“It’s helping, sir, maybe not immediately but you are keeping him alive until defibrillations can be done.”

What, Tony nearly paused but completed the compressions.

“Defib- FRIDAY, do we have a defibrillator?”

“Yes, sir: in the med bay, gym and the lab’s kitchenette.”

The man nearly fell over as he hurried to his feet. He ran to the corner where there was a sink, a mini fridge and a smoothie maker.

“Next to the first aid kit, sir.”

“FRIDAY, when this is over you are getting some serious reprogramming!” Tony snapped as he grabbed the yellow box with a red cross on the front.

“I’ll put that on the memo, sir.”

The man did not heed the comment as he practically leaped across the room.

“It’s okay, kid,” He dropped onto his knees and opened the case. “Soon you’ll feel better.”

This phase was easier since the device came with information and detailed steps what to do.

“Okay, so,” Tony took a pad and read the text. “This one up here,” he placed the sticker over Peter’s left breast and the other on the side by his heart. He turned on the machine while keeping a monologue to keep his nerves intact.

“Charging, analyzing heart rhythm.”

The man used the chance to give a rescue breath; he had forgotten to complete the cycle.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony apologized for everything and nothing.

“Stay clear of the patient.”

Reluctantly, Tony crawled farther away but not before giving Peter a kiss on the brow.

“See you soon.”

“Shock advised.”

Tony pressed the big button and with a metallic sound, Peter’s chest jolted up and his hands twitched.

“Continue CPR.”

The man felt the sick urge to laugh how a simple cardiac machine showed more compassion and tact than an AI he had designed. He continued the cycle, hearing Peter’s ribs snap which was a small price to pay if his heart got back into normal rhythm. 30 compressions were quick to complete, all the while he muttered urges to the boy.

“You pain in the ass, you little shit, breathe!” Tony screamed at Peter’s face and gave mouth to mouth. The air from his lungs rose Peter’s chest, the only movement the body gave.

Another shock was delivered. The boy’s pulse did not return to normal but he was starting to show signs of coming back. He was gasping with no air entering his lungs and Tony felt his own heart starting to beat faster.

“That’s it, kiddo,” He cradled the boy’s face between his hands. “C’mon, work with me here.”

“Sir, it is advisable to administer another shot.”

The boy’s Adam’s apple was bopping up and down as primitive reflexes took over.

Tony nodded at the AI’s guides.

“Alright,” He straightened up and charged the machine.

“Stay clear of the patient.”

A shock and-

“Normal sinus-rhythm detected.”

Tony could have cried with joy. Peter’s eyelids started fluttering and his fingers were twitching.

“It’s okay, Pete,” The man closed his protégé’s nose and gave a rescue breath. “You are fine now, just breathe for me, okay.”

Peter’s head moved from side to side, searching for the owner of the voice. Tony cradled his face and breathed for him.

“Is this normal, FRI?” He asked when the boy did not start breathing properly.

“It’s perfectly normal, his body is still in shock. Continue artificial ventilation.”

Tony had his lips locked with the boy’s when Peter started coughing, his back arching up from the floor, eyes wide with fear. The man felt like all the years he had lost when he found Peter practically dead slammed back into him.

“Petey,” The tears Tony had been holding back started flowing freely down his face. He lifted the boy into his lap and cuddled him: not one of the many side hugs that had become a standard during movie nights with Peter curled up by his side, no. He held the boy tightly, like a parent their lost child or a child their teddy bear after a terrifying nightmare. The boy’s cough was intense, dry and unrelenting.

“You’re alright,” He rocked the boy back and forth, kissing his temple, one arm around his back and the other tangled in his curly hair. “You’re okay, baby, just breathe for me. Keep breathing for me, Petey.”

Peter’s gaze wandered around the lab, from tables to droids.

“Wha-“ He was cut off by a cough. Tony rubbed his chest and shushed him.

“Relax, kid ,” He cooed and a set a kiss on the boy’s hair. “You got a bit hurt.”

“Why- why am I here- what-“ Peter asked with confusion, words slurring into each other. He sounded the same as when he had concussion and Tony had had to wake him up hourly to measure his state of alertness. But that had been because of a direct blow to the head.

“You don’t remember?” Worry dominated Tony’s voice and Peter shook his head.

“No,” his voice was small and he gave a small sob. The man immediately pulled him closer.

“It’s okay,” He whispered into Peter’s ear and rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Mr Stark…” Peter turned his face to his mentor’s chest and started crying, Tony could not blame the kid. He was certainly in pain, confused, nauseous and him freaking out and acting so out of character most likely did not help.

But he could not help himself. After a scare like that, Tony was not ready to let go of the boy and addressing him with adoring pet names.

“Shh,” He hushed the boy just as the door to the lab opened, FRIDAY’s doing as nobody outside of his small inner circle had the access code to his workshop. Medics rushed in with their bags and a stretcher.

“He is okay,” Tony told the closest one, hand in Peter’s hair and shielding him from the outsiders. “He is fine now.”

“Mr Stark, we need to check him over.”

Peter was given an oxygen mask, his values were not great and he was given basic first aid for the burns. Tony felt sick as he looked at his kid’s hands and the wrappings.

“I- I did not think-“

“Mr Stark, you did everything perfectly,” the paramedic smiled at him as they raised the head portion of the stretcher so Peter was lying in a half-sitting position.

“You can thank my AI,” The man nodded his head at the ceiling. “She walked me through it.”

“Still, many people freeze, especially if they must perform CPR on someone close to them. You did amazing.”

Tony always enjoyed praise when it was granted. He was not yet sure if it was. He felt empty and was shaking even though he was sitting down. Peter noticed it and weakly lifted a corner of one of the blankets piled on him.

“Take,” The boy said, weak but desperate. Tony felt like crying again; how had he come across the most selfless kid on the planet.

[a-classic-story-so-far]

Of Course, Ms. Lovecraft

The sun was already high above the horizon when Sydney arrived at the posh Stormwind apartment. As Olivia’s personal assistant, the young woman already had a key to the front door, so she let herself in just as the bells of the Cathedral sounded the hour.

“Good morning, Ms. Lovecraft,” she called as she entered the kitchen.

Her employer had a strict routine in the mornings, and Sydney played a primary role in the mid-morning ritual. She put on a kettle for tea and washed any dishes in the sink. Olivia was, thankfully, a tidy person, so Sydney moved right on to plating the morning’s pastries and delivering them, along with the day’s paper, to the breakfast table.

“It is good to see you, darling,” Olivia offered as she entered the kitchen.

Although their relationship was strictly professional, Sydney always felt a little giddy with the sincerity of her employer’s greetings. It was a blessing she had counted each day for the last two years. It was also a stark reminder of the place in which Sydney had been when Olivia found her.

“They didn’t have chocolate croissants at your typical bakery, so I went to the one in Mage District to get these,” she remarked as she set down the small rectangular treats.

“I appreciate that, dear. However, you really don’t have to go to that trouble, you know. I like the muffins at Sunkissed Sweets, and they always have those in stock,” Olivia explained as she sat down and started to page through the paper.

“It is true, but I know last night was looking like a stressful one, so it was worth it to me,” Sydney called back as went to tend to the teapot.

“Well, thank you. You really do a great job of looking after me. That does remind me though. I need you to visit a couple rug makers and get estimates for an area rug to replace the one in the ‘guest’ room. I have the addresses for the shops tucked in with the week’s shopping list. I also took down the colors and dimensions I am looking for. Remember to tip them for their time, even if we won’t be commissioning them.”

“Oh no. Do you want me to also try to clean the rug?” Sydney asked as she returned with the tea for each of them. Olivia always asked her to have mid-morning tea with her while they discussed the day’s errands and gossip.

“There is no longer a rug to clean,” Olivia chuckled darkly. “It went out with the rubbish very early this morning.”

A pleasant chill danced up Sydney’s spine as she registered the veiled meaning of her employer’s words.

‘There is no rug because the ‘guest’ who soiled it went out was the rubbish.’

“Very well. I will see to the rugs promptly after tea. I will have the figures for you tonight.”

“Oh, no, darling. Not tonight. You can have the night off. I plan to see a show and maybe pay a visit to a reluctant associate. And before you even ask, I am hiring some arm candy for the occasion. I am going to be fine.”

Olivia’s preemptive assurance did little to dispel Sydney’s anxiety. However, in the two years she worked for the mage, she learned that it was futile to argue with the daring woman. In fact, it was downright dangerous if she believed you were underestimating her. Sydney was new to Olivia’s worlds, even after those two years, so she was afforded some patience.

But that was bound to run out one day, and it wasn’t worth risking a good thing over a bout of butterflies.

“Of course, Ms. Lovecraft.”

“Your private box, sir. Madame.”

Olivia reward the attendant’s attention to details by slipping her a few extra gold coins as she followed her companion the loge. The smile on her features conveyed her genuine approval as she picked up the complementary bottle of wine. Following his surveillance of the space, her companion returned to her side, silently offering to take the bottle from her.

“Are you alright with me calling you Neil?” Olivia asked as she surrendered the wine and went to survey the view.

“Of course, Ms. Lovecraft,” he replied.

The rumbling baritone of his murmuring sent a pleasant chill through her, but it was not so carnal as others may assume. His voice was like the false purring of a large cat retreating with its kill, a steady growl that was more promise than threat.

“Do you feel you have been properly briefed on my expectations?”

“Yes, Ms. Lovecraft. No physical contact unless you initiate or request it. I am not to speak on your behalf, and you’d prefer it if I didn’t speak at all during the show. When the show is complete, I am to escort you to the Slaughtered Lamb and then wait for you at the Blue Recluse.”

Olivia nodded along as he recited back her demands, her expression of esteem growing more affectionate.

“Good. And as for the potential use of your specialized training, I ask you only act if someone attempts to assail me here at the theater. Anywhere else, I will handle it.”

Neil paused before pouring the wine to look at the small woman curiously. She knew the look and it immediately dashed some of the emergent fondness. He questioned her and there was very little she hated more than doubt. Neil sensed her irritation and raised his free hand in silent apology before resuming the pour.

“I am not assuming you can’t handle things. I was just wondering if there was a reason, I should be on alert here at the theater.”

“Ah. Madam Reed didn’t tell you? Well, I forgive you, then,” she smirked as she took up her glass and retired to a plush seat overlooking the stage. “Someone decided that a dark theater would be the perfect place to teach me a lesson about crossing them. They got a rope around my neck and shoved me over the balcony. Fortunately for me, I was fast enough to translocate myself before the rope went taut or we wouldn’t be having this conversation, I imagine.”

She could see the questions swimming behind his beautiful brown eyes but appreciated that he had sense enough to leave them unspoken. Instead, he raised his glass to her.

“Well, here’s to your good fortune and disciplined training,” he offered in toast.

“Here’s to a quiet night,” Olivia added.

“Of course, Ms. Lovecraft.”

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

Noah Knottley sat nervously at one of the corner tables at the Slaughtered Lamb. His lips moved with the minutes as he counted them down while he prayed Olivia would be late. His bloody, gnawed nailbeds tapped over the box’s exterior and his eyes surveyed every passerby who even so much as breathed in his direction. He drew a relieved breath as the late hour sounded in the distance. He scooped up the box and started for the door, but before he could exit, before the last toll sounded, Olivia stepped into his path. A manicured nail caught the dingy light as she pressed it painfully into the center of Noah’s chest.

“Are you going somewhere, Mr. Knottley?” She asked softly.

He took a retreating step and she advanced, seemingly pushing him back towards his seat in the corner.

“You’re late,” he grunted weakly.

“No. I’m not. The hour just sounded, and I told you I would be here right on time.”

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled as he turned to the table.

He set down the box and looked around anxiously, checking for anyone who was obviously watching them. At the Slaughtered Lamb, spies were never so obvious, so Olivia let out an impatient sigh to passively encourage a bit more haste. Noah took a chance to shoot her a dirty look, but it withered under her cold, calm green stare. With a nod to himself, he opened the box and displayed the chalice set within.

“Do you have the appraisal paperwork as well?” Olivia asked as she extended a hand.

Words of power slipped easily from her lips as she compelled an unseen force to trace the magical signatures of the chalice. She read the invisible sigils easily and turned to Noah as he offered a crumpled mass of paperwork.

“And the relic hunter who retrieved it? Has there been any further word from them? I entertained their former employer last night and he proved terribly uncooperative and now today he has simply disappeared. I doubt he will be much trouble, but I’d still like to assure the buyer that this piece isn’t dragging loose ends.”

Noah shuddered and looked around again. Now, though, he was looking for someone to notice his distress. This web he was stuck in shivered with the spider’s approach.

“He’s not in the city anymore. I’ve heard my employer saying he’s going to send his best men after him, but…well…it’s just…”

“Not promising,” Olivia concluded with a nod. “It’s fine, Mr. Knottley. Tell your employer I extracted insurance from his share. He can come talk to me if that is a problem.”

To punctuate her sincerity, she snapped the box closed and subtly summoned a sack of gold to hand. She had anticipated the man’s failure, so she had no need to make a show of the assurance. She slipped it to Noah, keeping eye contact with him. It was as though Olivia was daring him to protest. If he feared his employer more, he may have. However, of the two, Olivia proved the greater threat.

“I’m sure you’ll hear from him,” Noah grumbled as he turned and started towards the door.

“Mr. Knottley?”

The sickening sweetness of her tone turned his stomach, but he turned to regard her all the same.

“Have a goodnight.”

“Of course, Ms. Lovecraft.”

[miraculously-fangirling]

Springtime Connection - Chapter 10

[A/N: I am so sorry for disappearing this past couple of weeks, but hey I’m back! Well, actually, I’ll be MIA next week due to real life ^^;. After that I should be back to normal schedule. ]

 Marinette’s heart thumped the entire morning as she got ready for school. She realized that this was going to be the first time she was going to see Adrien as — well, Adrien — since finding out his secret. Memories of the previous night’s touching moment flashed before her as she slipped on her flats. She had no idea as to how she was going to approach him. She was already awkward enough around him. Why did this all have to happen just when she was feeling comfortable around his civilian self? Marinette was convinced that none of her luck based powers ever made it into her civilian life.

 Her parents threw goodbyes over their shoulders as Marinette left her home. She managed a distracted farewell before entering the bustling morning Parisian traffic. She thought of her parents. She couldn’t imagine life without her mom or dad. They were her rocks. How did Adrien even manage his hectic life all on his own? He did so much just for some approval from a lonely man. It sickened her how the perfectly happy Adrien was really so broken on the inside.

 “Well aren’t you lost in thought today?” Alya said, breaking Marinette free from her whirlwind of heavy thoughts. She pasted on a weak smile as Alya threw an arm around Marinette’s shoulders.

 “I guess I was just thinking … about the festival,” Marinette said as the duo approached the school’s front steps. Marinette didn’t face Alya and her prying gaze. The brunette could get anything out of Marinette.

 Alya smirked as they walked into the central courtyard and sat on one of the many benches that surrounded the space. Lively posters advertising the upcoming festival were pasted across the walls. It made Marinette happy to see that all her class’ work was soon going to come to fruition. It wasn’t going to be much longer.

 “Right,” Alya said while slinging an arm around Marinette’s shoulders, “Or were you thinking about a certain partner?” Memories of the Chat’s cry from last night flashed once again. She really couldn’t those green eyes out of her head. Alya’s smirk turned into a mischievous grin. “Oh? Still having butterflies? Don’t worry girl, you’ve been doing fine. He doesn’t seem to be minding the together time.”

 Marinette internally groaned. If only Alya knew just how much ‘together time’ they were actually having. Alya tightened her grip and rocked her friend. Marinette managed a grin as she played along with her friend’s antic. Marinette even giggled along as Alya continued to fool around. The two settled down as fellow students trickled into the courtyard. Alya proceeded to bring out her tablet to show Marinette the latest additions to the Ladyblog. Marinette was relieved to not see any articles or pictures of Ladybug and Chat Noir atop the Eiffel Tower. That really was the last thing she needed.

 _________________________________

 Sunlight drifted through Adrien’s sizable windows as birds sang their morning song. Plagg stretched across Adrien’s face as the light roused him. Plagg rolled off Adrien’s face as the teen rolled over and picked up his phone. He rubbed his puffy eyes as he checked his phone. He had five minutes before his alarm went off. He rolled onto his back and thought about the night before.

 Ladybug asked him out. Not on a date, but it might as well have been. She talked to him seriously. There were no gimmicks or akuma, not even one ‘lame’ pun. They just talked. Well at least she did. He just fell apart. Red flashed across his cheeks as he covered his face with a pillow. How the hell could he let himself be like that (especially in front of Ladybug)?

 Plagg floated by, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Well good morning to you too,” Plagg said. He yawned as he sat near Adrien’s head, making sure not to sit anywhere near his pillows.

 “Oh Plagg,” Adrien groaned, “What have I done?”

 “Cried on the love of your life in front of the entirety of Paris.” Adrien moved the pillow just enough to for him to glare at his kwami. Plagg shrugged before floating into the air and landing on the bedside table.

 Adrien groaned into his pillow as Plagg pulled open the hidden cheese drawer. He helped himself to his usual breakfast wedge as Adrien’s phone alarm went off. Adrien got out of bed and got ready for school. He knew that he should be happy to see his friends and return to some semblance of normal life, but events of the day before still occupied the back of his mind.

 Nathalie knocked three times as the time to leave neared. Adrien was just putting on his shirt when the secretary peeked her head into his bedroom. Adrien pasted on a smile as Nathalie recited his schedule for the day and told him about his overly balanced breakfast. Adrien gave her a nod before she left. He sighed while packing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He opened his over-shirt to have Plagg to zip in, but the kwami stalled.

 “Aren’t you going to head in?” Adrien said while staring at the kwami who was still sitting atop the bed side table. Plagg didn’t even have any cheese in his minuscule paws; he just stared at Adrien with his big, green eyes.

 “Are you okay?” Plagg said.

 Adrien froze for a moment. Since when was Plagg so concerned? Adrien sighed again, and a genuine, but small, smile spread on his face. “Yeah, just a bit tired. Come on, let’s go. I need to go to class.”

 Plagg zipped into Adrien’s shirt without another word. Adrien headed to the dining room where a healthy breakfast rested atop several pristine dishes. The delectable food filled the air with a delicious aroma. Adrien quickly sat down to his meal as Nathalie came in again. She had her usual blank expression as she waited for Adrien to finish his food. He really wished that she would just join him one day. He was getting really sick of the eating alone every day deal. But he knew that that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

 Adrien finished his nutritious breakfast and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin before stacking the tableware near the edge of the table. He grabbed his bag again before quietly following Nathalie into the garage where the Gorilla was already inside the family car.

 Adrien watched Nathalie as the Gorilla left the garage. He felt bad. Adrien didn’t know what the reason behind her akumatization was, but he couldn't help but feel that it was somehow his fault. Nathalie was at the Agreste Mansion more often than not, and she was affected early on in the day. This led the teenager to believe that something must have happened that morning to cause her despair. He could have prevented it if he had known any better. He could have done something. Anything. But he didn’t. Something happened and he was powerless. His eyes stayed trained on Nathalie until the secretary closed the garage door.

 Adrien faced forward as the Gorilla strolled up the school. Nino was waiting by the main entrance, as per usual, as Adrien exited the car. The Gorilla left, leaving Adrien free to greet his friend.

 Nino stood from the step he was sitting on to fist bump Adrien. Adrien returned the greeting with a small smile. It wasn’t as wide or energetic as usual, but it was going to have to do. Nino picked up on Adrien’s energy level, but said nothing about it as they walked into the courtyard together. Instead Nino talked about the upcoming festival. Nino talked about the epic playlist he was making as they entered the courtyard. Adrien looked over the array of posters with a slight smile. It was nice to see advertising without his face or name on it.

 Marinette spotted Adrien as soon as he walked into the courtyard. Not even Alya’s antics could distract her from her newly racing heart. He looked sad. She was relieved to see him smiling, but she sensed that something was off. She had been around him way too much to not notice it. He was acting somewhat normal, but she knew that things were anything but that. Should she talk to him? Maybe. Her face grew redder. Maybe she couldn’t though.

 “Hey,” Alya said straight into Marinette’s ear, “Earth to Marinette. Where are you?”

 Marinette practically jumped in her seat as Alya pulled her out of her thoughts. Marinette’s bag tipped over, spilling her tablet and school books onto the pavement. Luckily Tikki was safely tucked inside a pocket when Marinette’s foot knocked over the bag.

 Adrien bent down as Marinette scrambled to the ground. Marinette couldn’t help but notice the residual red puffiness around Adrien’s green eyes. That’s right, he was crying. Marinette pushed away the thought as the two of them gathered everything back into her bag.

 “Thanks, Adrien,” Marinette said without quite meeting his eyes. It was Chat Noir she was talking to. Was that why she wasn’t stuttering like a complete idiot?

 Adrien smiled. “No problem.”

 The bell rang and the four teens quickly went up the steps to Mme. Bustier’s class. The students were abuzz after the teacher sent them off to work in their groups. Most of the preliminary work was already done, and now the students were truly buckling down. The advertisers worked on day-of posters and strategies while costume and set designs were finalized by the creative team. Everyone (except for Chloe and Sabrina who huffed in the corner) buzzed around like busy bees.

 Marinette and Adrien barely had any free time with the stream of classmates asking for clearance and advice on this and that. Marinette and Adrien managed to work together seamlessly to create the ‘home for heroes’ cafe. It was certainly a one-of-a-kind idea and they were loving it. They could see their alter egos relaxing in front of the various set pieces that were being designed.

 Throughout the period, Marinette watched Adrien. He seemed fine, normal even. He smiled. He talked. He was kind and polite. He was just being him. If it wasn’t for the night before and the fading redness around his eyes, Marinette might’ve not suspected anything was wrong at all.

 The second bell rang, signaling the students to put away their supplies and prepare for their first class of the day, French Literature. Mme. Bustier straightened some papers atop her desk before calling over Marinette and Adrien.

 She tapped the papers again before handing the stack to Marinette. “Hey, could you two run this over to the office?” Mme. Bustier said with a polite smile.

 Marinette glanced over at Adrien as he accepted the papers with a smile. Her heart jumped a bit when he nodded to Mme. Bustier then to her Marinette. He wanted her to go with him. She was going to be alone with him.

 Marinette nodded to Mme. Bustier before following Adrien into the hall. Redness still bordered Adrien’s bright green eyes. Marinette’s heart pounded as they went down the stairs to the main office. It was going to be a five minute walk tops.

 Marinette bit her lip. He was quiet, even for reserved Adrien Agreste. She knew that the boy had a mouth on him and that he could talk for days, but he was just walking.

 Marinette didn't like the silence. She didn't like only hearing their footsteps and her racing thoughts. She wanted something, anything to distract her from the monotonous tone of their steps against the concrete.

 Adrien wasn’t thinking of much as he walked alongside Marinette. A pit weighed down his gut, making his every move feel like a huge effort. He swore that he was lugging around boulders instead of a book bag and papers. He didn’t even know why he felt so tired. He thought maybe it was just the late night crying session that sucked the energy right out of him. A light blush crept onto his cheeks as he thought back to the scene on the tower. His usual smile was drooped as he continued to think about the previous 24 hours.

 They were nearly at Damocles’ office.

 Marinette spotted a poster next to the principal’s office’s door depicting a pair of smiling cartoon flowers. It was just another advertisement for the upcoming festival.

 Marinette had it. She swallowed the lump stuck in her throat before facing Adrien. “Oh hey, um Adrien, have you thought about what costume you’re going to wear?”

 Adrien shook himself out of his daze as Marinette’s question cut through. He almost jumped when he heard his voice. She sounded actually confident around him that time. She didn’t stutter or scramble or turn away. She didn’t even rub her neck like she always did when she was embarrassed. “Oh, um,” he said, finally looking up from the stack of papers in his hand, “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t given it too much thought.”

 “Oh really?” Marinette said.

 Adrien shook his head. “No, not really. I guess I’ve just have had,” he said, “things on my mind.”

 Marinette fought a frown as she thought about the previous night’s revelations. He really did have a lot on his shoulders. Adrien sighed. What the hell was he doing? This was Marinette; he couldn’t push his troubles onto her. It was bad enough that he had fallen apart in front of Ladybug. He smiled a bit to fight back the sad look in his eyes. “What about you, Marinette?”

 The two of them stopped before Damocles’ door. “I don’t know,” Marinette said, “maybe I’ll try on some cat ears.” Marinette chuckled a bit at her poor excuse of a joke. She knew if she was Ladybug that Adrien would just melt into a puddle. She hoped that her likeness to her superhero self would maybe give Adrien a bit of a boost.

 Marinette’s heart fluttered when a small grin curled Adrien’s lips. They walked into the principal’s office and dropped off the papers without incident. Damocles didn’t even say much; he just gestured to a spot on his desk before dismissing the students with a smile and a wave of his hand. Adrien’s grin remained throughout the interaction. Adrien always did think that Marinette’s pigtails looked a lot like Ladybug. Sometimes he even thought that they were one in the same. But those fantasies were always thwarted by Marinette’s timid nature. Sure, she was a tad compulsive like the polka-dotted heroine, but Adrien never took her as the type to run straight into danger.

 “Are you going to wear the bell and tail too?” Adrien said with a pep in his step.

 A light blush covered Marinette’s cheeks, but she kept her joking smile. She almost felt like she was Chat. “Maybe, who knows,” she said with an exaggerated shrug.

 They were coming to the classroom then. They ended their conversation with a mutual nod before Adrien opened the door for Marinette. Marinette went to her seat quickly as Mme. Bustier wrote some characters’ names on the chalkboard. 

As Marinette took her seat, she swore that Adrien’s grin had grown.

[readbookywooks]

3 Buttercup's eyes reflect the faint glow of the safety light over the door as he lies in the crook of Prim's arm, back on the job, protecting her from the night. She's snuggled close to my mother. Asleep, they look just as they did the morning of the reaping that landed me in my first Games. I have a bed to myself because I'm recuperating and because no one can sleep with me anyway, what with the nightmares and the thrashing around. After tossing and turning for hours, I finally accept that it will be a wakeful night. Under Buttercup's watchful eye, I tiptoe across the cold tiled floor to the dresser. The middle drawer contains my government-issued clothes. Everyone wears the same gray pants and shirt, the shirt tucked in at the waist. Underneath the clothes, I keep the few items I had on me when I was lifted from the arena. My mockingjay pin. Peeta's token, the gold locket with photos of my mother and Prim and Gale inside. A silver parachute that holds a spile for tapping trees, and the pearl Peeta gave me a few hours before I blew out the force field. District 13 confiscated my tube of skin ointment for use in the hospital, and my bow and arrows because only guards have clearance to carry weapons. They're in safekeeping in the armory. I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it's soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself. "Katniss?" Prim whispers. She's awake, peering at me through the darkness. "What's wrong?" "Nothing. Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep." It's automatic. Shutting Prim and my mother out of things to shield them. Careful not to rouse my mother, Prim eases herself from the bed, scoops up Buttercup, and sits beside me. She touches the hand that has curled around the pearl. "You're cold." Taking a spare blanket from the foot of the bed, she wraps it around all three of us, enveloping me in her warmth and Buttercup's furry heat as well. "You could tell me, you know. I'm good at keeping secrets. Even from Mother." She's really gone, then. The little girl with the back of her shirt sticking out like a duck tail, the one who needed help reaching the dishes, and who begged to see the frosted cakes in the bakery window. Time and tragedy have forced her to grow too quickly, at least for my taste, into a young woman who stitches bleeding wounds and knows our mother can hear only so much. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to agree to be the Mockingjay," I tell her. "Because you want to or because you feel forced into it?" she asks. I laugh a little. "Both, I guess. No, I want to. I have to, if it will help the rebels defeat Snow." I squeeze the pearl more tightly in my fist. "It's just...Peeta. I'm afraid if we do win, the rebels will execute him as a traitor." Prim thinks this over. "Katniss, I don't think you understand how important you are to the cause. Important people usually get what they want. If you want to keep Peeta safe from the rebels, you can." I guess I'm important. They went to a lot of trouble to rescue me. They took me to 12. "You mean...I could demand that they give Peeta immunity? And they'd have to agree to it?" "I think you could demand almost anything and they'd have to agree to it." Prim wrinkles her brow. "Only how do you know they'll keep their word?" I remember all of the lies Haymitch told Peeta and me to get us to do what he wanted. What's to keep the rebels from reneging on the deal? A verbal promise behind closed doors, even a statement written on paper - these could easily evaporate after the war. Their existence or validity denied. Any witnesses in Command will be worthless. In fact, they'd probably be the ones writing out Peeta's death warrant. I'll need a much larger pool of witnesses. I'll need everyone I can get. "It will have to be public," I say. Buttercup gives a flick of his tail that I take as agreement. "I'll make Coin announce it in front of the entire population of Thirteen." Prim smiles. "Oh, that's good. It's not a guarantee, but it will be much harder for them to back out of their promise." I feel the kind of relief that follows an actual solution. "I should wake you up more often, little duck." "I wish you would," says Prim. She gives me a kiss. "Try and sleep now, all right?" And I do. In the morning, I see that 7:00 - Breakfast is directly followed by 7:30 - Command , which is fine since I may as well start the ball rolling. At the dining hall, I flash my schedule, which includes some kind of ID number, in front of a sensor. As I slide my tray along the metal shelf before the vats of food, I see breakfast is its usual dependable self - a bowl of hot grain, a cup of milk, and a small scoop of fruit or vegetables. Today, mashed turnips. All of it comes from 13's underground farms. I sit at the table assigned to the Everdeens and the Hawthornes and some other refugees, and shovel my food down, wishing for seconds, but there are never seconds here. They have nutrition down to a science. You leave with enough calories to take you to the next meal, no more, no less. Serving size is based on your age, height, body type, health, and amount of physical labor required by your schedule. The people from 12 are already getting slightly larger portions than the natives of 13 in an effort to bring us up to weight. I guess bony soldiers tire too quickly. It's working, though. In just a month, we're starting to look healthier, particularly the kids. Gale sets his tray beside me and I try not to stare at his turnips too pathetically, because I really want more, and he's already too quick to slip me his food. Even though I turn my attention to neatly folding my napkin, a spoonful of turnips slops into my bowl. "You've got to stop that," I say. But since I'm already scooping up the stuff, it's not too convincing. "Really. It's probably illegal or something." They have very strict rules about food. For instance, if you don't finish something and want to save it for later, you can't take it from the dining hall. Apparently, in the early days, there was some incident of food hoarding. For a couple of people like Gale and me, who've been in charge of our families' food supply for years, it doesn't sit well. We know how to be hungry, but not how to be told how to handle what provisions we have. In some ways, District 13 is even more controlling than the Capitol. "What can they do? They've already got my communicuff," says Gale. As I scrape my bowl clean, I have an inspiration. "Hey, maybe I should make that a condition of being the Mockingjay." "That I can feed you turnips?" he says. "No, that we can hunt." That gets his attention. "We'd have to give everything to the kitchen. But still, we could..." I don't have to finish because he knows. We could be aboveground. Out in the woods. We could be ourselves again. "Do it," he says. "Now's the time. You could ask for the moon and they'd have to find some way to get it." He doesn't know that I'm already asking for the moon by demanding they spare Peeta's life. Before I can decide whether or not to tell him, a bell signals the end of our eating shift. The thought of facing Coin alone makes me nervous. "What are you scheduled for?" Gale checks his arm. "Nuclear History class. Where, by the way, your absence has been noted." "I have to go to Command. Come with me?" I ask. "All right. But they might throw me out after yesterday." As we go to drop off our trays, he says, "You know, you better put Buttercup on your list of demands, too. I don't think the concept of useless pets is well known here." "Oh, they'll find him a job. Tattoo it on his paw every morning," I say. But I make a mental note to include him for Prim's sake. By the time we get to Command, Coin, Plutarch, and all their people have already assembled. The sight of Gale raises some eyebrows, but no one throws him out. My mental notes have become too jumbled, so I ask for a piece of paper and a pencil right off. My apparent interest in the proceedings - the first I've shown since I've been here - takes them by surprise. Several looks are exchanged. Probably they had some extra-special lecture planned for me. But instead, Coin personally hands me the supplies, and everyone waits in silence while I sit at the table and scrawl out my list.Buttercup. Hunting. Peeta's immunity. Announced in public. This is it. Probably my only chance to bargain.Think. What else do you want? I feel him, standing at my shoulder.Gale , I add to the list. I don't think I can do this without him. The headache's coming on and my thoughts begin to tangle. I shut my eyes and start to recite silently. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. Peeta was taken prisoner. He is alive. He is a traitor but alive. I have to keep him alive.... The list. It still seems too small. I should try to think bigger, beyond our current situation where I am of the utmost importance, to the future where I may be worth nothing. Shouldn't I be asking for more? For my family? For the remainder of my people? My skin itches with the ashes of the dead. I feel the sickening impact of the skull against my shoe. The scent of blood and roses stings my nose. The pencil moves across the page on its own. I open my eyes and see the wobbly letters.I KILL SNOW. If he's captured, I want the privilege. Plutarch gives a discreet cough. "About done there?" I glance up and notice the clock. I've been sitting here for twenty minutes. Finnick isn't the only one with attention problems. "Yeah," I say. My voice sounds hoarse, so I clear my throat. "Yeah, so this is the deal. I'll be your Mockingjay." I wait so they can make their sounds of relief, congratulate, slap one another on the back. Coin stays as impassive as ever, watching me, unimpressed. "But I have some conditions." I smooth out the list and begin. "My family gets to keep our cat." My tiniest request sets off an argument. The Capitol rebels see this as a nonissue - of course, I can keep my pet - while those from 13 spell out what extreme difficulties this presents. Finally it's worked out that we'll be moved to the top level, which has the luxury of an eight-inch window aboveground. Buttercup may come and go to do his business. He will be expected to feed himself. If he misses curfew, he will be locked out. If he causes any security problems, he'll be shot immediately. That sounds okay. Not so different from how he's been living since we left. Except for the shooting part. If he looks too thin, I can slip him a few entrails, provided my next request is allowed. "I want to hunt. With Gale. Out in the woods," I say. This gives everyone pause. "We won't go far. We'll use our own bows. You can have the meat for the kitchen," adds Gale. I hurry on before they can say no. "It's just...I can't breathe shut up here like a...I would get better, faster, if...I could hunt." Plutarch begins to explain the drawbacks here - the dangers, the extra security, the risk of injury - but Coin cuts him off. "No. Let them. Give them two hours a day, deducted from their training time. A quarter-mile radius. With communication units and tracker anklets. What's next?" I skim my list. "Gale. I'll need him with me to do this." "With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?" Coin asks. She hasn't said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. "What?" "I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her," says Plutarch. "Especially since they think she's pregnant with his child." "Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?" says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. "For Gale. Will that be sufficient?" "We can always work him in as your cousin," says Fulvia. "We're not cousins," Gale and I say together. "Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances' sake on camera," says Plutarch. "Off camera, he's all yours. Anything else?" I'm rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I'm in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I'm devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. "When the war is over, if we've won, Peeta will be pardoned." Dead silence. I feel Gale's body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn't sure how he'd respond. Not when it involved Peeta. "No form of punishment will be inflicted," I continue. A new thought occurs to me. "The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria." Frankly, I don't care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out. "No," says Coin flatly. "Yes," I shoot back. "It's not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol's doing to them?" "They'll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit," she says. "They'll be granted immunity!" I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. "You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you'll find yourself another Mockingjay!" My words hang in the air for a long moment. "That's her!" I hear Fulvia hiss to Plutarch. "Right there. With the costume, gunfire in the background, just a hint of smoke." "Yes, that's what we want," says Plutarch under his breath. I want to glare at them, but I feel it would be a mistake to turn my attention from Coin. I can see her tallying the cost of my ultimatum, weighing it against my possible worth. "What do you say, President?" asks Plutarch. "You could issue an official pardon, given the circumstances. The boy...he's not even of age." "All right," Coin says finally. "But you'd better perform." "I'll perform when you've made the announcement," I say. "Call a national security assembly during Reflection today," she orders. "I'll make the announcement then. Is there anything left on your list, Katniss?" My paper's crumpled into a ball in my right fist. I flatten the sheet against the table and read the rickety letters. "Just one more thing. I kill Snow." For the first time ever, I see the hint of a smile on the president's lips. "When the time comes, I'll flip you for it." Maybe she's right. I certainly don't have the sole claim against Snow's life. And I think I can count on her getting the job done. "Fair enough." Coin's eyes have flickered to her arm, the clock. She, too, has a schedule to adhere to. "I'll leave her in your hands, then, Plutarch." She exits the room, followed by her team, leaving only Plutarch, Fulvia, Gale, and myself. "Excellent. Excellent." Plutarch sinks down, elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes. "You know what I miss? More than anything? Coffee. I ask you, would it be so unthinkable to have something to wash down the gruel and turnips?" "We didn't think it would be quite so rigid here," Fulvia explains to us as she massages Plutarch's shoulders. "Not in the higher ranks." "Or at least there'd be the option of a little side action," says Plutarch. "I mean, even Twelve had a black market, right?" "Yeah, the Hob," says Gale. "It's where we traded." "There, you see? And look how moral you two are! Virtually incorruptible." Plutarch sighs. "Oh, well, wars don't last forever. So, glad to have you on the team." He reaches a hand out to the side, where Fulvia is already extending a large sketchbook bound in black leather. "You know in general what we're asking of you, Katniss. I'm aware you have mixed feelings about participating. I hope this will help." Plutarch slides the sketchbook across to me. For a moment, I look at it suspiciously. Then curiosity gets the better of me. I open the cover to find a picture of myself, standing straight and strong, in a black uniform. Only one person could have designed the outfit, at first glance utterly utilitarian, at second a work of art. The swoop of the helmet, the curve to the breastplate, the slight fullness of the sleeves that allows the white folds under the arms to show. In his hands, I am again a mockingjay. "Cinna," I whisper. "Yes. He made me promise not to show you this book until you'd decided to be the Mockingjay on your own. Believe me, I was very tempted," says Plutarch. "Go on. Flip through." I turn the pages slowly, seeing each detail of the uniform. The carefully tailored layers of body armor, the hidden weapons in the boots and belt, the special reinforcements over my heart. On the final page, under a sketch of my mockingjay pin, Cinna's written, I'm still betting on you. "When did he..." My voice fails me. "Let's see. Well, after the Quarter Quell announcement. A few weeks before the Games maybe? There are not only the sketches. We have your uniforms. Oh, and Beetee's got something really special waiting for you down in the armory. I won't spoil it by hinting," says Plutarch. "You're going to be the best-dressed rebel in history," says Gale with a smile. Suddenly, I realize he's been holding out on me. Like Cinna, he's wanted me to make this decision all along. "Our plan is to launch an Airtime Assault," says Plutarch. "To make a series of what we call propos - which is short for 'propaganda spots' - featuring you, and broadcast them to the entire population of Panem." "How? The Capitol has sole control of the broadcasts," says Gale. "But we have Beetee. About ten years ago, he essentially redesigned the underground network that transmits all the programming. He thinks there's a reasonable chance it can be done. Of course, we'll need something to air. So, Katniss, the studio awaits your pleasure." Plutarch turns to his assistant. "Fulvia?" "Plutarch and I have been talking about how on earth we can pull this off. We think that it might be best to build you, our rebel leader, from the outside...in. That is to say, let's find the most stunning Mockingjay look possible, and then work your personality up to deserving it!" she says brightly. "You already have her uniform," says Gale. "Yes, but is she scarred and bloody? Is she glowing with the fire of rebellion? Just how grimy can we make her without disgusting people? At any rate, she has to be something. I mean, obviously this" - Fulvia moves in on me quickly, framing my face with her hands - "won't cut it." I jerk my head back reflexively but she's already busy gathering her things. "So, with that in mind, we have another little surprise for you. Come, come." Fulvia gives us a wave, and Gale and I follow her and Plutarch out into the hall. "So well intended, and yet so insulting," Gale whispers in my ear. "Welcome to the Capitol," I mouth back. But Fulvia's words have no effect on me. I wrap my arms tightly around the sketchbook and allow myself to feel hopeful. This must be the right decision. If Cinna wanted it. We board an elevator, and Plutarch checks his notes. "Let's see. It's Compartment Three-Nine-Oh-Eight." He presses a button marked 39 , but nothing happens. "You must have to key it," says Fulvia. Plutarch pulls a key attached to a thin chain from under his shirt and inserts it into a slot I hadn't noticed before. The doors slide shut. "Ah, there we are." The elevator descends ten, twenty, thirty-plus levels, farther down than I even knew District 13 went. It opens on a wide white corridor lined with red doors, which look almost decorative compared to the gray ones on the upper floors. Each is plainly marked with a number 3901, 3902, 3903 ... As we step out, I glance behind me to watch the elevator close and see a metallic grate slide into place over the regular doors. When I turn, a guard has materialized from one of the rooms at the far end of the corridor. A door swings silently shut behind him as he strides toward us. Plutarch moves to meet him, raising a hand in greeting, and the rest of us follow behind him. Something feels very wrong down here. It's more than the reinforced elevator, or the claustrophobia of being so far underground, or the caustic smell of antiseptic. One look at Gale's face and I can tell he senses it as well. "Good morning, we were just looking for - " Plutarch begins. "You have the wrong floor," says the guard abruptly. "Really?" Plutarch double-checks his notes. "I've got Three-Nine-Oh-Eight written right here. I wonder if you could just give a call up to - " "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now. Assignment discrepancies can be addressed at the Head Office," says the guard. It's right ahead of us. Compartment 3908. Just a few steps away. The door - in fact, all the doors - seem incomplete. No knobs. They must swing free on hinges like the one the guard appeared through. "Where is that again?" asks Fulvia. "You'll find the Head Office on Level Seven," says the guard, extending his arms to corral us back to the elevator. From behind door 3908 comes a sound. Just a tiny whimper. Like something a cowed dog might make to avoid being struck, only all too human and familiar. My eyes meet Gale's for just a moment, but it's long enough for two people who operate the way we do. I let Cinna's sketchbook fall at the guard's feet with a loud bang. A second after he leans down to retrieve it, Gale leans down, too, intentionally bumping heads. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says with a light laugh, catching the guard's arms as if to steady himself, turning him slightly away from me. That's my chance. I dart around the distracted guard, push open the door marked 3908 , and find them. Half-naked, bruised, and shackled to the wall. My prep team.

[darkenedrosepetals]

With You I’m Home

Chapter Five

Ezekiel couldn’t breathe. Each breath took considerable effort and hurt like hell as he gazed at Benjamin’s sheet covered body. Anguish racked through his body, squeezed at his throat. There was so much blood. It still dripped on the floor as they all stood in Carol’s living room.

No one dare utter a word. There was just the sickening ‘drip’ ‘drip’ and the occasional shaky breath.

Ezekiel stiffly turned to gaze at Carol who stood solemnly.

“I’m sorry for coming to you,” he apologized. “We had no choice.”

The words came from his mouth, but he didn’t recognize his own voice. All he could recognize was the painful scream of his adopted son and a gunshot replaying in his head. Like a tape stuck on rewind.

Ezekiel vaguely registered that Morgan left. All he could do was stand still and stare at the aged wall. It wasn’t until one his men touched his shoulder, beckoning for them to leave and take Benjamin’s body back to the kingdom. Everything happened in slow motion and by night fall, he was left numb, and nearly on autopilot

The next morning, he watched in resentment as the gardeners prepared to burn the plants of the royal garden. He loaded the single melon that was the partial cause of Benjamin’s death, and climbed into the truck. The entire ride he cursed the blasted treaty with the Saviors. Thoughts of revenge echoed in his mind and hummed in his veins.  There were no words of wisdom that came to his mind. No words that he could offer his men who were grieving over their fallen comrade.

Then as if the day couldn’t get any worse, he witnessed Morgan strangle one of his most faithful soldiers to death. It was a relay of the previous day just with a different person.

Morgan climbed off Richard and stood to his full height, with scratches on his face from the struggle. Slowly, he explained his reasoning for murdering the man. “He-He did this?” Ezekiel stuttered. The truth pierced deep to his bones and made him wish that Morgan hadn’t killed Richard. He wanted that honor for himself. To learn that Benjamin had to die in a twisted plan made his blood boil. It pushed him further over the edge.

It was too much. ---

Sometime after Morgan’s startling visit, Carol found the strength to truly pack her belongs. It was time to stand and stop running. She gathered her weapons, arming herself for the short journey back to the Kingdom. It was different from her earlier visit. This time, she felt a different kind of fire in her blood. An awakening of sorts.

Inside the Kingdom walls, she could smell and see smoke, and for a moment her stomach dropped until she approached the entrance of the royal garden. The source of smoke was coming from multiple barrels. She was surprised to find the garden was now just plots of dirt.

At one of the garden beds, Ezekiel and Henry worked on a new transplant in the place of turned soil. Even from where she stood, she could see the weight of everything that happened resting on Ezekiel’s shoulders. She approached, not hesitant unlike before. Ezekiel’s voice was flat when he said her name. It was expected but still strange.

“I’m sorry.” Carol whispered. Ezekiel’s sad eyes searched her face. “I thank you.” Caroled struggled with her words, not wanting to further upset the grieving man. She was surprised that her voice was firm as it was. "I’m gonna be here now. We have to get ready. We have to fight.

“We do.” Ezekiel agreed. “But not today.” He silently invited her to follow him to the next garden bed where Henry worked. Carol dropped her bag and joined them in their task. Feeling the dirt between her fingers, was oddly comforting. It kept her mind off the raging thoughts that echoed in her mind. Despite not moving at a hurried pace, all the transplants from wheelbarrow were planted into the ground. The sun had begun to set, signaling for Henry to return inside to clean up and get ready for dinner.

Carol stayed behind, gazing at the kneeling man before her. It was a sight to behold, now that she could freely look at him. The last rays of sun-bathed Ezekiel’s skin, while a light dusting of dirt covering his forearms.

Ezekiel rouse to his full height, patted away the excess dirt and offered his hand. “Thank you Carol.”

Carol accepted his hand, standing easily to her feet. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t only thanking her for help in the garden. But instead of questioning it she replied. “You’re Welcome. Your Majesty.”

----

Later that evening… Carol hadn't meant to intrude on Ezekiel's storytelling to Henry. She couldn't bring herself to leave now that she was present. Ezekiel's deep voice had dropped to a bit of an whisper, as he recited what she realized was a poem.  "A light went out of my life...  Shadows were everywhere. Daylight eventually came The brightness was never the same. Sleep on my loved one Peace is yours.” Carol hadn’t known Benjamin personally. Every interaction between them, she cold was toward him. She was so consumed with own her imposed exiled that she forgot that at the end of the day, he was just a boy that hadn’t quite reached manhood. Trying to prove himself and to the world that he was capable and that he was ready. “Your life’s work is done. All who knew you can only say Well Done. Some stars shine so brightly They are never dull Their light shines on all our lives Just as yours had done..” Ezekiel finished the poem with a shaky breath. Henry had drifted asleep, still hiccupping from crying so much. He left dimmed the lamp, and joined Carol in the hallway. “He doesn’t like traditional bed time stories,” Ezekiel shut the door behind him.  Carol only nodded. She felt out of place now that she was no longer just standing and listening. It was the first time they were truly alone since she came back that day. She hadn't wanted to treat Ezekiel like he was broken glass but was mindful that he was under a lot of pressure. Losing Benjamin, the weight of staying strong for the people and preparing for the impending war to come.  "Are you comfortable in your room?" Ezekiel asked suddenly. "Is there anything that you need?" Carol shook her head. Even now he was worrying about someone other than himself. "No, I'm alright."  Ezekiel cleared his throat. "I know it's late...but," he trailed off. "I don't want to be alone right now." The man standing her before was no longer the kingdom leader but a man full of grief. His jaw was set, and there were unshed tears in his eyes. Waiting to fall.  "Yes,'" Carol replied.  Ezekiel smiled weakly. He turned and headed down the corridor to what she assumed was his own private quarters. She followed, mindful to pay attention so when the time came, she would know how to get back to her own room.  By the time Ezekiel shut door behind them, she pulled him into a hug. She knew that it was forward and probably not what he expected. But she knew from experience, a shoulder to cry on was beneficial. She relaxed when she felt his arms wrap around her middle and pull her closer. She could feel the slight tremble of his body against hers.  "Let it out. I've got you," Carol smoothed a hand under his dreads to touch his neck. And that's when she felt the first of many tears hot against her skin. The shaking of his shoulders prompted her to tighten her hold on around him. They remained like that for some time, just holding one another.  Carol drew gentle circles with her thumb against Ezekiel's neck, almost in tune with their breathing. She did it was an afterthought, not really paying attention to the reaction it garnered. She wondered when was the last time someone held him like this? Not taking comfort but giving it. "I shouldn't have pushed Benjamin..." Ezekiel mumbled against her neck. "Should have accepted that he wasn't ready. Yet I still allowed him to go with us to trade with those damn Saviors." Carol knew these were the thoughts that plagued his mind. It was easier to place the blame on oneself, and never accept that the situation was out of your control.  "And Richard..." Ezekiel added. "How could I have been so stupid to ignore the man's spiraling behavior? The signs were there but I chose to ignore them." "You did what you thought was best," Carol answered. "You couldn't have known the day would turn out the way it did." "The whole reason the truce was in place was to protect the people. Instead it brought war to our doorstep."  Carol shook her head. "No, war was on your doorstep the moment you first encountered the Saviors." "Still, my misstep in judgment cost both Benjamin and his father's life." Ezekiel insisted.  Carol gently placed her hands on either side of his face. Her thumbs swiped at the remnant of tears. She whispered as if sharing a secret. "You have to live on. It hurts I know but you can't stop now. Henry and everyone else in the Kingdom need you at your strongest." Ezekiel swallowed hard. "You speak from experience." 

Thoughts of Sophia, and those who she had come care about and lost along the way flashed in her mind's eye. "I do. It is how I survived all this time." Ezekiel, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then exhaled and repeated. "I am glad you came back." Carol didn't miss the way Ezekiel’s arms tightened just a bit around her waist. "Me too."

 A/N: Thanks for reading!

Poem used in this chapter was written by Elizabeth Postle

[cyrelia-j]

[fic] Invictus IV (Kelas Parmak, past Garak/Parmak)

Which will soon be just Garak/Parmak but don't think it'll stop there because this is going own a pretty dark well. Kidfic turned damn serious, Federation through a warped and bitter lens, and morally bankrupt not nice Garak. This is NOT healthy/cuddly forgiveness Kelim. Written for @guljerry

So for anyone still here, you can catch parts 1, 2, and 3 HERE, HERE, and HERE

Summary: Post Canon Cardassia story (AU from the novels) After The Fire, Kelas Parmak finds himself a father seven times over to orphans left behind keeping an underground clinic and garden going even in this dystopian future. But Vakem Parmak taught him the importance of survival- even if the enemies are his former lover Elim Garak or The Federation itself

This Chapter: Garak is interrogated, though who's really the one with the screws put to them?

Warnings: Language, references to torture, a lot of angst, emotional manipulation, not nice Garak, mental instability

Also you can check my notes on the biology/genders in this AU HERE

There are two things that Kelas Parmak fears most in this world; that’s what Elim Garak would say. Parmak would say that he is afraid for the future, afraid for his children, and perhaps even afraid for the “undesirables” that he treats. Garak would dismiss those as mere worries, not true fear. And perhaps he’s right. There are only two things in this world that can bring Parmak to his knees shaking, screaming, vomiting, blacked out in terror. Those two things are Garak’s eyes and his own reflection.

In Garak’s eyes he sees the souls of the dead that he buried as a child, the lifeless eyes staring at him, some frozen open in horror as he dropped them in the hard ground. He sees the dead coming for him. He sees everyone that he couldn’t save, those who cursed him as a monster, as a harbinger of death. And they always come for him, raging angrily in his head, reaching out from the cold slits of Garak’s pupils. Kelas still dreams of those eyes at night, waking up with a scream dead in his throat, unable to breathe. Before he looked in Garak’s eyes he might have said that there was nothing that he was afraid of. It was easier to forget about the mirror. The mirror had stopped haunting his dreams when the plague came.

Before the plague, there was only one true fear that Parmak held. When he was a child, his mother told him that he was beautiful. She told him that he was precious and perfectly made as he was. In spite of the rest of the village speaking of him and his family with pity for such a poor child, in spite of the taunts of his appearance - his white hair, his “pink little vole eyes”, his “sickening skin”, his “gross” hump - he had never considered his appearance one way or the other. He could breathe, he could move, and he could feel the warmth of the lamps they used to light their camp. He was also born with poor vision that had gone undiagnosed until his sixth year.

Before that he could see the shapes well enough to get by though the world still shook out of focus from time to time. He tried to express it but didn’t understand what was wrong to verbalize. But eventually there came a time when he didn’t need to- when his parents understood what was wrong with him. He never understood the reality of his physical “corruption” as they called it until he happened to glimpse himself once in a large bucket of captured precious rainwater. He had seen the collected water before but this was the first time that he’d though to peer at it closely, the light that day hitting it just right to reflect.

And he saw a monster.

He screamed and backed away, looking frantically around for the monster that he saw in that vision, turning, dizzy, seeing one of the older men walking back to his tent. Kelas remembered the man was Eron and he was always somewhat kind to him. He told Eron about the monster in the water and that was when the old man told him with a sympathetic shake of his head that he wasn’t seeing a monster but his own reflection. His mother would tell him later that it was merely his poor vision coupled with his child’s imagination which conjured the image but he knew she was only being kind. He’d dared to look one other time, at the Placement Center in Central telling himself the same things. He told himself that it wasn’t real. He told himself that he was fine. He was wrong. He requested after that for them to please remove any such objects. He didn’t look again.

Parmak supposes he should be thankful that the fear Garak had put in him supersedes such childish things. Sometimes he almost wonders what it is that he looks like. Sometimes he’s almost tempted to stare into a piece or glass or a cracked window pane, a shiny bit of metal just to see what it is that others see… what men like Michael see when they stroke the side of his face and don’t seem to be afraid. But Garak’s eyes are another matter. He still feels bile rising in the back of his throat and his heart start to race even at the thought. He doesn’t have the fearlessness of his youth but… Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps he can look just for a moment. That would shift the balance of power to his favor. He forces his feet to keep from shuffling so that he doesn’t betray his unease.

Parmak tries. He starts from the bottom, from the floor but there’s a freeze that seizes him when his eyes move up Garak’s body. He can’t go any further once his gaze reaches Garak’s neck. Parmak can feel his heart start to pound even harder as he tries. He feels dizzy. He feels sick. He forces his hand to remain steady with the quickly mixed drug in the vial but he knows any moment it’s going to start shaking. He counts the ridges on Garak’s neck knowing the count moving to his ear, moving to his lips until he almost thinks that it’s close enough that he can fool him. He used to focus on Garak’s chufa before. The lips are better, he thinks. He opens his mouth and closes it again tightly.

“Ya’?” he hears whispered beside him. It’s… especially humiliating to have to rely on his daughter to speak for him. Parmak shuts his eyes and opens them again. He looks down at the vial.

“You’ll have to excuse poor Kelas, I’m afraid he doesn’t respond particularly well to shock. He’s always been sensitive.” Parmak grips the vial tightly when he hears Garak’s biting honeyed words.

“And Elim for his part has always had an amusing habit of talking more than the subjects he was meant to interrogate. I recall hearing it said once that his most effective method of interrogation was to recite Preloc until a subject broke under a wave of overwrought and dramatic verse.”

“Here you told me that you found my recitations enchanting, you wound me, my dear.” Parmak breathes deeply, that specter of Garak the interrogator falling back behind the old banter.

“Ah, I did… Mm, I suppose then you’re not the only one of us proficient with lies.” Parmak holds up the vial knowing that Garak can see it. “Do you remember that I told you once that my father said lying was a disease that would rot the tongue?” Parmak imagines Garak sticking out his tongue in response as he usually would when Parmak would make that remark. “You’re sticking it out now, aren’t you, Elim?” He asks, smiling in spite of himself.

“Perhaps you should look and see for yourself.” There’s a darkness underlying that tone that makes him nearly shiver.

“I’m not going to be playing that game with you today,” Parmak says, barely managing to project his voice above a whisper. He hates it.

“Bet he’s got a thickie, don’t he, ya’?” Roka’s timely interruption nearly makes him jump but it breaks the tension of that moment neatly. “S’always them old’uns with the thickies mess your head up good like that.” Parmak nearly drops the vial.

“Th-that’s… ah… really no one’s concern,” he says blinking a few times.

“Guls with the whore talk,” Parmak hears Yihot muttering on his other side.

“Like ya’ ain’t heard worse from thems come in middle month needing to drop an egg,” Roka declares loudly.

“Doesn’t mean I need to hear it now. Look at him, preening like that. Hey! Why don’t I yank it out and slice it off right now, Obbie!?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to need a bigger knife. Isn’t that right, Kelas?”

Parmak smiles, eyes to Garak’s throat, feeling a morbid satisfaction seeing the chains around his neck.

“Right as always,” he says and walks over in two hasty strides. He grabs a fistful of Garak’s hair just as he imagines the wide grin painting Garak’s face, yanks his head back, and pours the vial into his mouth, sure to press the chains into his throat and force a swallow. Parmak barely steps out of the way as Garak begins to cough. He knows that the dosage is higher than necessary, but he’s tested it enough times over the years to know that even if the entirety of the vial makes it down Garak’s throat there won’t be any ill effects- at least none that he can’t handle, none that he doesn’t deserve. “There we are, now that should take a few moments for the effect but it should work.” He looks to Yihot. “I appreciate your efforts, but you would be wise,” he looks to Roka now as well. “-not to engage him. Although Elim is quite capable in a variety of areas, although he can certainly kill with a myriad of implements, his most potent weapon is his voice.

Roka snorts.

“Ain’t nothin’ impressive ‘bout this old’un yet,” she says not looking intimidated in the slightest.

“All he’s got is his voice, old man. We made sure we searched him thoroughly. Nothin’ on the screens either?” Parmak smiles at them weakly.

“No, nothing, It would seem that he really has come to us unaccompanied. Would you give us a moment, please? We need to discuss a few things and… there are certain subjects I’d rather you weren’t present for. Especially if Elim is going to insist on vulgarity.”

“The only vulgar thing in this world is a common mind,” Garak quotes Iloja of Prim rather nicely.

“You can’t even look at him, old man,” Yihot growls under his breath.

“Mmm, well I don’t expect that to change any time soon,” Parmak agrees.

“We got this. Let me loosen a few of his scales and I don’t care if he names every son of a whore his mother ever made it with I’ll get what we need,” Yihot insists.

“It’s fine,” Parmak says holding up his hands. If one of you would bring me a seat though, that would be the most help you could give right now. It’s been long enough that I’d be at ease if you were to check on the others and start with dinner. Roka looks uncertain as does Yihot but they both agree.

“Anything goes up, ya’ I got something what’ll fix ‘im right.” Parmak laughs softly at that giving her wrist a squeeze.

“Ah, I should have let you know that Order agents are quite immune to most common street drugs, Trap included. But I’m proud of you. You’re strong. Be well both,” he says dismissively, Yihot taking a moment to drag another wooden chair in from an adjacent room. “Facing him is fine,” Parmak says, sitting down once the chair is situated, facing Garak. He waits until he hears them leave before smiling at Garak, focusing his eyes up, on a point on the wall that he’d already decided on. “Well, Elim, I think that you should be sufficiently prepared so shall we begin?”

---

“Nothing could prepare me for glimpsing your loveliness again, my dear. For once my eyes have beheld your glory, I should slay you for fear that my devotion to you might eclipse my life’s duty.” Garak says the line, watching Parmak’s face go still. Still so lovely, Garak thinks. The effect is exactly as he imagined. He sees Parmak unsure if the serum had worked. It hadn’t of course. The nice little drug cocktail that Lok had supplied him – mindful of his current pharmaceutical indiscretions – will easily counter the outdated concoction that Parmak had developed for Tain. But the lie will lead to the truth and it will lead to Parmak’s believing anything that Garak tells him. You’re concerned, Kelas. You know that it should have taken effect by now. It’s been years since you’ve used it or I wouldn’t be able to plant that doubt in you. You’re uncertain. You’re off balance. You should have kept the young ones in here instead of trying to “spare” them the sight of seeing you supplicant on your knees at my feet. They gave you strength, Kelas. It’s unfortunate.

“You can’t lie to me,” Parmak says.

“As I breathe, I lie,” Garak says indifferently, seeing Parmak frown. “Perhaps you should test me like you used to. Remember you once said the true efficacy of any truth serum lie in its ability to trick the truth from my tongue.”

“I used to say a lot of things, Elim,” Parmak says softly. He laughs - a subtle shake of his shoulders - “I used to tell you that I was unbreakable. I used to tell you that you didn’t scare me.”

“I could never be with a man who wasn’t afraid of me,” Garaks offers charitably.

“You were the only one who saw through me even then.” Parmak crosses his arms sitting back, looking at the ceiling. Garak scents the air again pleased to be only tasting him now.

“And now? Do I still see through you, my dear?”

“I’m not going to look at you,” Parmak declares to the ceiling. “I’m going to kill you.”

“For every life you take, you must give back a hundred,” Garak quotes. This time from the old doctor who’d raised Parmak: Vakem Parmak. “But I count eight including yourself, not a hundred.”

“Maybe I’ll kill an eighth of you then,” Parmak retorts defiantly. Garak smiles amused.

“I assure you in spite of your daughter’s colorful commentary my manhood doesn’t quite constitute an eighth of my person.” Parmaks snorts in response to that.

“Mmm… well I’m sure that the serum must be working then, since I recall you once declaring that your everted ch’och easily spanned two regnars end to end.”

“Perhaps I’ve held back for you out of consideration.” Garak feels his tongue thick in his mouth as a result of the drug. It has a bitter taste though he’s certainly swallowed worse. He imagines that Parmak would laugh but instead he sits back up. Garak notices that his eyes fall briefly to Garak’s lap. “Fear not, Kelas, it’s still intact in spite of your hatchlings’ overzealous searching.”

“Why are you here?” Parmak asks looking at Garak’s chest.

“Untie me.”

“Bury me,” Parmak hisses, leaning forward in the chair the anger finally starting to rise to the surface.

“Untie me.”

“Why are you here?!”

“Because of a foolish oversight on my father’s part, same as you, dear Kelas.” That stops him. It’s as good a confession as any but Garak doesn’t take any satisfaction out of it. Parmak’s guilt in Tain’s death was never in any doubt. “But what I don’t understand is how you were able to get close to him a second time. Your holes are sweet, but they’re hardly that magical.” He’s as vulgar as possible in that declaration - another “tell” that the serum is working for Parmak to grab. He sees Parmak’s eyes flash, and he sees an aborted snap of his head. Parmak wants to look him in the eyes but he can’t.

He’s silent again for a long while and Garak is impressed that he isn’t rising to the bait further.

“Oh well, I think that neatly answers any question as to why you’re here, Elim.” Assumptions are the poison of any interrogation. Garak could easily tell him that and he thinks that Parmak should rightly know better. He’s harder after The Fire; that much Garak can tell. But that steel also seems to have come at the expense of his analytics. That would be convenient. Garak would sooner deal with a brave idiot than a smart coward. Still as for his erroneous conclusion, there’s a simplicity to it that’s beneath Parmak. Garak is pleased that he seems to realize it as well. “No, that’s not it,” he amends softly. “You wouldn’t want me to think that either. If you really wanted to kill me, we’d all be dead.”

“Ah but I would also miss an opportunity to acquaint myself with your handsome little brood Kelas. Tell me, are any of them Tain’s?” he asks glibly knowing full well that shouldn’t be possible.

Parmak’s face gives him the answer that his mouth doesn’t.

“For once, you’re not the one asking the questions.” Garak doesn’t need to. He knows. The answer is no.  

“Yes, and I find that being in this position affords me an insight into the process that I’ve had little opportunity to experience. I must say if the work of my colleagues to this point had been so frightfully dull and unimaginative… I can see why I was the only one who could break you.” Curiously, Parmak tilts his head at that remark and sighs deeply. He surprises Garak by slowly beginning to unlock the chain from around his neck.

“You didn’t break me, Elim,” he answers softly before moving to the ropes around Garak’s waist and chest. “I was broken long before that.” His hands work the bindings on Garak’s arms. “I just didn’t realize it. Please be silent a moment. I need to untie your legs and your voice grates on me when you’re being particularly smug.”

Garak is obedient. Parmak is supplicant. At least that’s the picture he makes on his knees before him, Garak staring down at his white head, at the obscene slip of a shirt that billows out just enough for Garak to look down it. He looks in silence, scenting the air again, scenting Parmak, scenting his body, scenting that fear, seeing his chest, fragile, soft, the swollen dirty nipples of a live bearing Northerner who’s been wet nursing a little suckling not theirs.

Garak shuts his eyes and breathes in as Parmak moves to his other leg. He wants him. He wants to put his mouth to that chest, he wants to pinch those barbaric mammalian throwback things until Parmak sobs and begs him to stop. He wants to turn him around, drag him onto his lap and fuck every thought of Tain from his body. Which is exactly why he told Lok that he shouldn’t be used for this assignment. It was a foolish objection and he knew it the moment he’d made it. Lok may have also quite perceptively pointed out that one of the strengths that Garak developed over the years was turning his tendencies toward the emotional to good work.

“Why are you here, Elim?” Parmak asks, still on his knees, eyes on the floor and Garak has never felt more powerful or more vulnerable with Parmak in that position. Good work, he hears Lok say to him.

“I’m here for you, Kelas,” he answers honestly.

“Are we back to that again?”

“The Order is back again.”

“The Order should stay dead with the rest of Old Cardassia.”

“The New Order is going to build the New Cardassia, Kelas, and once there was no one more determined to build a new Cardassia than you.” Garak flexes his hands and slowly begins working feeling back into his arms. The tingling, the pain of blood flow is bit of nostalgia.

“And you find yourself in need of a doctor?” Parmak asks with a soft laugh. Surely you can dig out some of the camp relics if you’re willing to track me down. Doctor Medek would suit your purposes far better than I would.” It never fails to amaze Garak how young Parmak always looks no matter how tired, no matter how he slumps or shuffles or whispers quietly to the walls.

“Our beloved Doctor Medek didn’t kill Enabran Tain,” Garak murmurs.

This is where the subject’s heart skips a beat. This is where the subject will either lie or ask-

“How did you know?”

“Because I saw Tain at Internment Camp 371 when he was dying. Shall I list the symptoms, Kelas? Shall I tell you that I knew within a matter of hours that the toxin build up had to have been over the span of months, possibly years to still be in his system? Shall I tell you how I suspected and how my suspicions led me to you upon my return?”

“Mmm… I’m sure if you did you’d weave quite a fanciful tale, Elim.” Parmak bows his head, hands between his knees as small as he can make himself, pillowing his forehead to Garak’s knee. “I’m sure you already have. Ah… I know how you love these grand moments of drama so I should hate to take that from you but… but it was a test, you know,” he hears Parmak say and in a way it’s almost… beautiful. “You and me,” Parmak continues before Garak can say anything else. “That was a test. You breaking me? Was a test. Me returning to Tain after 3 years there…” Garak sees Parmak jump, that laugh he gives because he’s incapable of tears.

“That was a test,” Garak supplies for him glad the drugs already leave him cold.

“That was a test. And then I decided thoughtlessly without consulting you that your life might find some value if you were to be finished with tests.”

“I see…”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Parmak says, lifting his head and smacking Garak’s knee. “Our relationship wasn’t the test. Mmm, likely Tain saw it as ah… convenient means to begin the test…”

“Tain was fond of his “tests”,” Garak agrees thinking of Palandine, of Doctor Bashir, even so far back as to remember the little regnar. “Clearly, I passed that one,” he observes mildly. Of course he would; especially after seeing Parmak and Tain that night. “So then-”

“This is my interrogation, Elim.” Garak sees Parmak’s hands on his knees with the old familiarity. He holds them apart. He looks up at Garak’s chufa – the closest that he ever comes to looking him in the eyes. “So what will you do if I choose not to dirty my hands for you?” His mouth is set hard. It’s the look of a man who’s had his fill of death.

“I never asked you the first time. That was your decision- your life, your mistake, your assassination. Your hands are already dirty, Kelas.”

Parmak slaps the inside of his thigh hard.

“Then bury me, snake!” He yells standing up and turning away. Garak grabs his wrist tightly, muscles protesting the sudden movement. “Let go of me,” he hisses. Parmak is old, Parmak has always looked weak but he’s always been exceptionally strong. He doesn’t try and pull away.

“I will lay in the dirt with you Kelas,” Garak swears, their eyes almost meeting when Parmak turns back around slowly. “But first, I’m going to tell you a “fanciful tale” as you would say, a tale worthy of a snake.” He can see Parmak’s eyes darting, twitching unconsciously. Parmak easily slips his hold but then hooks his index finger around Garak’s. He keeps looking at his chufa.

“Doctor Parmak use to say the only trust that you can hold in a snake’s tail is that you cannot trust it at all.”

“I can’t lie to you, my dear,” Garak lies. “Not here, not in this honest little patch of darkness.” Parmak really is stunning with the shadows from the dimming light along his ridges. It makes him look stronger, it makes his eyes look bigger behind his spectacles. Garak sees those pupils continue to shake with that albino’s weakness.

“Why are you here?” Parmak whispers, middle finger hooking around Garak’s next. Garak looks at him speculatively, knowing that he has to play this exactly right.

“Perhaps some time when this unpleasant business has passed us we might hear of my adventures upon the dying monument to the Old vanity, but for now, what you need to know. Before The Fire, before the war, before the Occupation, I discovered the Founder home world.” He pauses, seeing a tension in Parmak’s shoulders, feeling it through their fingers. “I was going to destroy it. I could see what was going to happen, it rang in my head more clearly than anything I’ve ever felt. It was one of those visions that I’ve always had.”

“That’s...” Parmak swallows looking down at their link. “That would be genocide, Elim. That would be an unconscionable massacre.”

“One life for a hundred, Kelas. What are our lives worth? What are eight hundred million, what are a billion Cardassian lives worth?”

Parmak doesn’t answer him right away, Garak letting that sink in.

“They stopped me, of course. The Federation, the moral Starfleet like you, could hardly condone such a despicable act.”

“Of course they wouldn’t. That’s one thing I’ve learned about them. They value life.” Parmak stares at the gray wall behind Garak.

“Ah, but we’re not to the end of the story yet, my dear Kelas. For in these classic human tales, I’ve learned there’s always a twist, always a grand unmasking of the villain at the highest moment of tension.” Another finger hooks - the ring this time - he’s getting to him. The last finger follows at Garak’s initiation, the eight digits twining around each other, Parmak looking at the wall like it’s about to come for him looking anxious, uneasy, almost as if he knows what Garak’s is going to say. Garak wants Parmak to look at him. He will- when the moment is right.

“So now we come to the, as the humans say, coup de grâce, that final merciful blow. It should hardly come as a surprise to you that the vaunted Federation works in the shadows same as we do. They call it Section 31, one might say the dark puppet masters really pulling the strings behind that noble front. Shall I tell you what delightful little egg they birthed into existence, Kelas?” Parmak twists his hand holding it tightly. He breathes in hard, closes his eyes, no doubt bracing himself. But there is no brace, Garak thinks, no mercy as he tells him plainly and simply. “A virus. Once the Federation casualties became too great, once too many of theirs had been lost, that’s when Guls damn genocide became acceptable.” And he watches Parmak shutting his eyes with a soft whimper, a tight press of his lips a nearly painful squeeze to Garak’s hand but he revels in it. This is what he needs. This is what Lok had wanted from him. “You told me Kelas, you told me as you sat in that miserable cell that when you looked in my eyes you saw the dead coming for you.”

“Elim-” Frantic, scared, as if Garak with his words alone could force him to look. “Please...”

“How many dead do you think you’ll see now? How many “disposable Northerners” that they deny exist? How many starving Nokarans? Kranessans because of the “evils” of bio mimetic gel that they refuse to give us? How many more have to die to serve their sick self righteous hypocrisy?”

“I don’t... I don’t know what you want from me, Elim. I’m a doctor... I’m not a...”

“I want you to help me eliminate a virus, Kelas. That was your specialization after all. Communicable disease, infection, pathogens, microbes. That’s what the Federation is.”

“A virus...” Parmak whispers, breaths coming faster, more shallow and Garak suppresses the urge to smile.

“Look at me, Kelas, my dear Kelas. I’ve spent these last thirty miserable years dreaming of those enchanting eyes of  yours looking into mine.” Sweet, soft, like the thick poisonous honey filling the deadly Elaran bowl flowers; they always trap their butterflies. Garak begs him softly, intoning his Nokaran name as he does. “Pleassse Kelasssar...” slips sibilantly into the air between them like a spell.

And Parmak looks.

[monroedakota718-blog]

Chapter 1

Guiding his six-foot stature from the shower. Vaughn cleared the misty mirror to admire his blond hair, blue eyes, and well defined torso."You handsome mother - shut your mouth!" He chorused bouncing his pectorals, chipper, as today was the long-awaited outgoing to Montauk with his family.Tying the bathrobe, expecting his wife, or one of two-teenage children to barge in as next when he opened the door. There was nothing. The house seemed oddly quiet. Disregarding, he moved towards the bedroom, his steps suspended by the vicious head blow sending him crumpling down unconscious. Vaughn’s head throbbed ferociously as his blurred vision strived to adjust to the gloomy surroundings. A bit more coherent, he realized he was in the living room on his stomach, handcuffed to the radiator. Managing to roll onto his back, electrifying panic ripped through his body-seeing his wife, daughter and son, all faced down on the carpet, their hands subdued behind them. "Greetings." Acknowledged the Scottish accent cheerily. Vaughn's focus moved to the unknown intruder draped in monk's cowl, it's hood pulled over his head. "I hope you're fully aware who you're dealing with! I'm N.Y.P.D.! Now I suggest you get the hell out and pray I don't make you regret this day!" Vaughn declared, his threat receiving chortles. "I can assure you when I leave here you'll be in no position to harm me. Or anyone else for that matter."In spite of his mounting fear. Vaughn's curiosity was struck, instincts telling him this wasn't just a random intrusion."Yes, Michael Vaughn. We both know you've been a real naughty boy over the years. Isn’t that so?" Vaughn remained tight-lipped."Protect and serve. Or is it serve and protect? The slogan goes something along those lines, am I correct?…You do remember reciting this when you took your oath to protect mankind, no? Of course you've broken this promise religiously. But why wouldn't you? You've severed the sacred ones to your marriage." "You know nothing about me!" "You're wrong Michael Vaughn. I know a lot about you. So does Melinda. She knows where your time is spent when you tell her you're out working overtime." He sulked, letting his words marinate. "It gets better. Apparently you're not the only one enjoying time away from your spouse. Isn't that so Melinda?"Frowning deeply, Vaughn glimpsed to his terrified wife. "How good of a detective would you make missing something so conspicuous?" The man attached. "Did you not get suspicious with her suddenly not challenging you’re not coming home at nights?""Just take what you want and get out!"  "Oh. I’ll attain what I seek. You have no choice in that matter. What I desire should be of deliberation." Stalled the stranger. "You’ll confess to the world just how much of a dishonest person you are, the immoral acts you've committed, the innocent your hands slaughtered and aided to convict falsely. Along with the countless women, some no older than your very own daughter you’ve victimized. Although you wash yourself with baking soda, and use an abundance of soap, the stain of your guilt lingers before me."  Vaughn’s glare sped over to his family and saw their horrid, yet inquiring stares fixed on him. "He's lying!""I only speak truth." Defended the intruder- revealing a small string bag from his pocket. Vaughn eyed-flabbergasted as three marbles magically rose and began rotating around each other, it’s dim light heightening to project images of all the stranger accused. Melinda's fright magnifying seeing the crazed look on Michael's face not knowing what was provoking it, for she and the children were facing him. The marbles light reduced as they carefully sunk back down in the bag. 'How did he do that?' Vaughn couldn’t fathom."You accuse me of lies. Will you charge your own eyes?" asked the man, the sound of two knives scraped together flared when he swiftly drew a sword from his cloak and raised it above Melinda. "Please Don’t!" Vaughn aired just when the stranger with unbelievable speed and precision swung the blade, cutting the restraints without harming as much as a hair on her. Vaughn's chest heaving forcibly from the scare. "You’ll need to attain your recording device for this segment of the Michael Vaughn’s show." Published the foreigner.Timidly reaching down, Melinda retrieved the cellular from her pocket. For the next half hour the Vaughn family listened. Taken back as Michael testified to the many people he framed, banking on the fact the court would never challenge his integrity as an officer despite-inconsistent testimony, or lack of corroborating evidence against the accused. Vaughn relayed how he would pick up young-runaway girls who served as prostitutes, and threaten them with jail time if they didn't comply with his sexual demands.  His confession coming to closure mentioning the two, young, unarmed men he murdered. Vaughn's mind raced after all was said and done. His primary thought; that recording could not become public. His career would be over. Not to mention the criminal charges to follow. The least of his worries was what his family was thinking. He'd just tell them he fabricated all the mad-man wanted to hear fearing he'd harm them if he refused. "You're still pondering ways to cover your truths."  'Is he reading my damn mind?' Vaughn mugged, boggled. "How does it feel to finally rid yourself of the deceitful burdens you've lugged for so long?" Questioned the trespasser. Vaughn trying to get a visual of his face but only saw darkness as if there wasn’t one within the hood. "I have a bit of pleasant news. Which is, I'm going to give you a choice. A chance to restore the trust you've abolished." The man ended snatching Jennifer's head back by her pony tail.  "NO! NO! Please!" Both parents begged when he slid the blade under her neck. "Seeming as though I have your undivided. I shouldn't have to repeat myself in the least. Makes me feel as though I'm not being taken seriously. And that wouldn’t be good for you, or your loved ones if I begin to feel that way."   "Okay! Okay! Please let her go!" Vaughn pleaded.   "Can I trust you? Better yet, can your family rely on you not to do anything foolish, shall I discharge your binds?" "Yes! You can trust me!"  "Very well then. If it'll make you feel any better." Releasing Jennifer, Vaughn’s expression went baffled when the cuffs without explanation unhinged on it’s own. "Do you mind fetching me a glass of water?"'I'll get you some water alright.' Thought Vaughn.In the kitchen, Vaughn let the tap run a bit. Taking a peek into the living room, seeing the assailant with his back turned muttering something to Melinda. Vaughn quickly retrieved the revolver kept beneath the sink’s cabinet. Checking to make sure it was fully loaded, a feeling of empowerment enveloped him. Stealing another gander, observing the man’s back still facing him, Vaughn cocked the pistol’s hammer, then dashed out the kitchen. 'CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!' The striker hitting the firing pin sounded.  Vaughn’s heart beating bearishly not understanding why the gun hadn’t fired, Uncommon for a revolver."That wouldn’t happen to be the weapon hidden below the kitchen sink, now would it?" Inquired the foreigner without turning. "I thought you said we could trust you?" He reminded..."You may return and rebind yourself." Nonchalantly he spoke.Vaughn did so. "As conclusion of this segment. You’ll inherit the inner torment thoust has cast upon thy neighbor. Thou shall know what it’s like forced to choose between two evils as did your victims. I’ve been appointed as your judge. Jury. And prosecutor." He lulled. "The plea bargain to preserve the lives of your family." Vaughn’s terror quadrupling when a recent act he committed was flashed into his mind, before the stranger pointed to his son Robby and said, " him."His pointer then swinging to Jennifer. "Or her…you have thirty seconds to decide. If time lapses. I’ll select one to be slain. Time begins now.""Listen to me for just one moment, please, sir, I don't know what to call you, what's your name?""Fifteen, Fourteen, Thirteen." The outlander counted. "Michael!" Melinda's sudden screams nearly made him drop the key as he fumbled with the cuffs.Vaughn turned and saw the firearm now clutched in her palm, her arm moving towards their children with what looked to be out of her control as they yelled in terror. "Five, Four, Three.""Look! I'm doing it!" Roared Vaughn looking back and forth between Melinda and the cuffs, desperately trying to get the key in the hole but it fell from his grasp. BOOM!' Sounded the thunderous discharge, both parents wailing out frenzied to the aftermath of their son’s brain matter and fragments scattered about."What have you done!?" Hollered Vaughn over Melinda’s bellows.  "Please stop!" Melinda screeched hysterically, her armed hand fixing on Jennifer whose traumatized glare was centered on Robby’s."Thirty seconds begins now." Vaughn managed to do away with the handcuff. Whimpering as he staggered over to where his daughter lay on her stomach, kneeling down he undid his robe, then raised her gown. The sight of her lower half sickening him. 'Death would be much easier' he consummated, attempting to rise, but couldn’t move as if he was glued down.Suddenly his penis sprung to life as if he were on some supernatural enhancement, his body moving against his doing, positioning itself to rest on Jennifer with him screaming and bawling trying to fight the unseen force but failed. Back at the radiator, Vaughn wept without restraint. "Now Jenny. I'm not going to have any trouble out of you am I?" Posed the villain standing her up. Jennifer remained mute. Her stare detachable from Robby."I take your silence as compliance." The captor then steered his focus to Michael and Melinda."It seems that we're done here. In the next minute or so, you'll lose the gift of speech. Would either of you like to say anything to Jennifer before our departure?" Vaughn couldn't bring himself to face her. "I'm sorry." Melinda muttered choking on sobs. Following an unexplainable light. The intruder along with Jennifer vanished into thin air.  

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