#its very late here i should go to sleep i cannot answer asks half conscious lmaoo

[gnfountains]

nonononono it was about the big blogs that hate Karl! I love ur blog and didn't mean to come off like tha, sorry

haha yeah that makes more sense lmaooo 🙈🌵🌵

[chazukekani]

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Summary for Code:04 is here!

Please notice that this is just a summary so not every single detail is included!

Stormbringer Summary 5

Code 04: Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again

Recap: N and Verlaine escaped from the laboratory.

The chapter begins with an excerpt of Rimbaud's diary. He wrote that there was once an anti-government movement 'May Revolution', and the leaders were called 'The Fauns'. They created a secret weapon which was named 'No.12 of Darkness' that can control gravity freely. Once Rimbaud acquired this weapon, he was ordered to educate him and trained this weapon to become a spy, and its name was Paul Verlaine.

-  Unbelievable. The Secret of the Gentle Forest was decoded. Here it lies the most fierce beast, and Verlaine...

Rimbaud wrote in his diary.

-

Verlaine and N were at the top of a tower crane. Verlaine had N here because he wanted to know why N knew the Secret. However, N claimed that the last 6 pages of the Secret was erased by Rimbaud himself so he couldn't tell much. Verlaine couldn't believe that's actually Rimbaud who altered the information.

He was strong, Verlaine referred to Rimbaud. He is the only one who was capable of battling with Verlaine in his organisation, and they were partners. Not only this, Rimbaud also called Verlaine his friend, but Verlaine just felt like he couldn't like Rimbaud.

Verlaine left N on the tower crane alone and left.

-

It was a night with a clear sky, a train was moving on the railway and Mori was sleeping inside. At once, a human showed up on the railway, and stopped the train. The train was derailed as a result of mass shock.  Verlaine went inside the train and searched for something, and he believed no one inside the train was able to survive after the shock.

Verlaine found the body of Mori, and he approached to confirm the breath. But that wasn't Mori. It was a man who wore the outfit of his, but was not Mori himself. Turns out it was Mori's double, Hirotsu. A tiny person also appeared afterwards, and that's Dazai.

Suddenly, there was light in the dark, and that was flame. By the mountain near the railway, there were 50 and more sniper bullets aimed and shotted Verlaine, and the target was in utter pain.

'Don't think these little rocks could kill me...' Verlaine was trying to use the woods beside him to attack the snipers who were hiding in the mountain, but he stopped

'Hoho- You really look like my subordinate when I take a closer look' said an elegant lady, Kouyou. She summoned Golden Demon and launched offense towards Verlaine.

'You can't beat me alone,' Verlaine said.

'Who said I am alone?' Verlaine then felt his whole body sinking down to the ground, and turned into multiple snakes that were about to swallow him. That was the Lieutenant's ability (reference to Dead Apple manga, former Port Mafia executive), that could manipulate the state of objects.

'Ability organisations are stronger than ability users,' Dazai observed and smiled. Various ability users from the Port Mafia were launching all kinds of attacks towards him, such as the ability of slowing the time and freezing. In fact, Dazai sent 420 Mafia members which included 28 ability users to the scene to defeat Verlaine.

'I will mourn you,' Dazai said to Verlaine, and took out Rimbaud's diary from his pocket.

The next moment, a black wave inflated and spreaded to the whole field.

'-- You hatreds, your dumb torpors, your weaknessses,

And your brutalisation suffered long ago,

You give back, O Night, like an excess,

Un-malevolent, of blood, each month or so, (extract from The Sisters of Charity, by Arthur Rimbaud)' Verlaine said the spell.

The wind calmed, the buzz on the ground vanished as if escaping from something. The invisible waves were flooded in the atmosphere.

'The door was opened,' Dazai observed. A black object appeared far far away in the forest. Right after, where Verlaine were, ejected a form of dark energy. The car that was hit by this energy was completely deformed with half of it vanished and the remains were just like a wrapped paper.

On the mountain, there was a monster who controlled a dark sphere. When people touched the sphere, they died.

No.3 Forces, annihilated; No.5 forces, all dead, No.8 forces, no response, as reported from Dazai's walkie talkie. The mountained was eliminated, and the ground was distorted. All the mafia members were screaming and suffering.

'It's all in the plan, we will win if the next attack succeeds,' said Dazai.

-

Up in the sky of Yokohama, Chuuya and Adam were inside a helicopter and they jumped off from it due to the attack from the monster. Adam was able to fly in the sky because his body allowed him to transform himself into a flying machine.

Similar to Chuuya, Verlaine was also intolerant to poison despite having ample physical strength, so actually it was their plan to approach Verlaine closely, so that they can inject poison into Verlaine's body. It was notable that Adam mixed this poison pill.

It was very difficult to get closer to Verlaine because he had activated his corruption, which he lost his consciousness and attacked the surroundings without rationality.

Nonetheless, Chuuya did put a toxic pill into Verlaine's mouth, which he has his conscious back. Yet Verlaine splitted out the pills right after.

'You always surprise me, Chuuya,' Verlaine spoke. He told Chuuya that once he said the spell, he would have his human personality unlocked and become a mad beast that generated ability singularity. However, that is Rimbaud who thought about adding a spell on Verlaine, which enabled him to get back to a rational form after using his corruption.

'He always thinks about what he could do for me,' said Verlaine.

'But you betrayed him,' Chuuya replied

'Because I wanted to save you,' Verlaine answered.

Suddenly, a finger touched Verlaine's face.

'What an unexpected offense. I bet no one could foresee this. What a joke,' said Chuuya

Verlaine turned back, and realised that was Adam's finger.

'Do you wanna hear an android joke?' Adam's finger was installed with a tiny syringe, and this enabled poison to be injected into Verlaine's body.

'Seems like a child's trick can defeat the king of assassins. Thanks for listening to my android joke.'

-

It returns to another section of Rimbaud's diary. Rimbaud was thinking about what presents he should give to Verlaine on his birthday. He came up to a conclusion: a black hat. That was not an ordinary hat. The materials used inside the hat consists of 10% platinum, 10% titanium and the rest were made with rainbow-coloured ability metal which was installed with the ability of the Fauns inside. By wearing this hat, it enabled Verlaine to act on his own will and less interfered by external instructions and interruption. In other words, Verlaine was a step closer to a man with free will by having this hat.

Rimbaud gave the hat to Verlaine on his birthday, and he did not look surprised or happy either way.

'Just take it,' Rimbaud told Verlaine, and there was no response. They drank some wine that night and said goodnight to each other.

-

The battle was so called ended, but the field was left with gravity waves and the forest was completely destroyed. Verlained passed out, but still alive. Dazai told Adam and Chuuya that N was rescued from the tower crane, but disappeared during transportation.

-

'I can't die here...' said N. The car that he was taking bumped into a utility pole because he injected some form of medicine to the driver. He took out an old style flare gun and shooted.

'Is this some mistake made by the offense team?' Chuuya noticed the shot far away.

'Shit...' Dazai's eyes were in despair.

The shot that shooted from N's flare gun was exploded with colourful metal pieces floating in the air like snow, and even accompanied with some music. Verlaine suddenly yelled painfully. His eyes were filled with blood and the blood stream was clear on his face and grabbed his chest hardly.

'That was not the effect of my pill!' Adam shouted, 'The gravitational field was unusual here!'

The space was deformed, and Verlaine was flooded inside his own gravity wave.

'The world ends here...' Verlained whispered just like an old man who's dying 'Run, Chuuya.' Verlaine smiled sorrowfully.

The sky was divided, the thunder was coming and the atmosphere was expanding. N saw the ability form of Verlaine. It was a black beast, the opposite of god, and original demon -- Guivre the Beast. The monster annihilated all the aircrafts incoming and was about to proceed to the city center.

'See that Verlaine! That's your end!' N laughed, almost screamed. 'An unique being like you will die because of such a boring creature like me! HAHAHAHA DIE VERLAINE!'

-

Here comes a flashback during the night of Rimbaud and Verlaine's mission of stealing Arahabaki.

'Don't give this kid to the French,' Verlaine was holding the young Chuuya on his arm.

'What?' Rimbaud was confused.

'Don't hand him over to anyone, and don't let him go back to the lab. Grow this kid in a farm and just never let him know about his truth.'

'What are you talking about?' Rimbaud asked once again.

'Think about it Rimbaud,' Verlaine's voice was tense and hostile at the same time, 'If someone tells you you're not a human, how impactful it will be. You are not born with god's blessing but just a programme, how hurtful it is. You cannot see the moon and live in darkness forever without any hope, and no one will come save you. Even such a feeling of despair is designed by someone else!'

'We have this conversation countless times, Paul,' Rimbaud stepped forward, 'You are a human, everyone sees that. Instead of thinking how you were made, isn't it better to think what you should be as a being?'

'Paul...' 'Don't get close.'

'I am sorry. Anyways, should we go back and have a chat?' Rimbaud stepped forward again.

'No, it's too late.'

A huge fight between the spies broke out.

-

Adam had an idea to stop the destruction of Guivre. Almost at the end of the Great War, Britain had developed something that was currently the energy source of Adam's machines. However, the initial usage of Adam's energy source was a mass destruction weapon. Adam smiled and continued. If they used Adam's weapon inside him, they could burn and melt the Guivre.

So they put this in practise. Adam asked Chuuya to tie Adam's own arm to an electric cable. However, Adam pushed Chuuya away when he was about to trigger the weapon. He explained to Chuuya that the weapon inside him was called the Shell (55 minutes reference). It can burn down the surroundings of 22 yard radius, and the internal temperature could reach 6000 degree celsius, and that is almost the temperature of the sun surface. This was sufficient to destroy the Guivre.

'Don't do this!' Chuuya cried

'Don't you have your dream! To build an investigation organisation purely ran by machines right!'

Adam silenced for two seconds.

'My dream is to protect humans,' Adam replied, 'and my dream comes true now.'

'Wait!'

A gigantic fireball. It burned the woods, and boiled the land, and altogether evaporated. The Guivre moaned miserably and decomposed in the air. Adam sacrificed himself and the monster was destroyed.

However, the tail of the beast in front of Chuuya and Dazai was forming into something. That piece of tail suddenly grew a face out of it, something like a reptile. It then turned into a huge form of creature. Its head was pretty much the head of the former Guivre, but the number of eyes were different, and it had red eyes.

'Don't look at it, Chuuya,' Dazai warned, 'He was sensitive to emotion, so don't let him see you.'

'I know how to defeat this ability singularity,' said Chuuya, 'I recalled from my memory.'

'Let's brief me that,' Dazai smiled.

-

They figured out how to open Chuuya's door. In order to activate Chuuya's corruption, he needs to say the spell 'Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again'. Together with the hat gifted by Rimbaud, Chuuya could control the door with his own consciousness. However, there's a problem. Once Chuuya said the spell, the log inside his programme will altogether be erased, which means Chuuya could no longer find out whether he was human or not via the programme.

Chuuya was flying in the sky. He grabbed his hat tightly and recalled his friend's word

-- I am satisfied that I can protect you.

And he said 'Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again.'

The battle between the gigantic beast and a tiny Arakami (God of Arahabaki) began. Dazai was directing the forces to launch offense towards the beast. Meanwhile Chuuya's physical body could no longer tolerate the power inside his body. He was bleeding severely. Finally, Chuuya created an enormous fireball that was as if the second sun in the night. Finally, the beast disappeared and Dazai nullified corruption.

Code:04 End

[smileyjaeminies]

Easy afternoons

Synopsis: After a trip to your orthodontist, you discover that you have to start wearing your retainer again. Once you break the news to your boyfriend Sunwoo, a shower of teasing comes over you.

Word Count:   1,6 k

Genre: fluff, boyfriend au!

Warnings: a few curse words

Member: Sunwoo

A/N: This may be the fastest I have ever written a fic but it’s for a good cause!! One of my good friends has her birthday today, so I’d like you all, along with this fic, to wish her a happy birthday!!! Babie, I hope this makes you smile~

  You were half lying- half sitting on your bed, music coming from your phone that was sitting on your nightstand. Laid on your lap was your tablet, in which you were doodling little nothings, trying to blow off some steam after a long day.

  Your music momentarily stopped to inform you that you had received a message and you groaned. You contemplated not checking your phone at all, but you were expecting your boyfriend to stop by any minute. You shuffled on the bed, reaching to get your phone on your hands.

  Without surprise, the very first notification belongs to your boyfriend.

   ☀️ woo

 I’ll be there in like 10 seconds

  Like clockwork, you heard a knock coming from the front door of your apartment. A low groan escaped from you once again as you pulled yourself out of bed and went to answer the door. Opening it revealed your boyfriend Sunwoo, in all his glory, black sweatpants and grey oversized hoodie, red hair in shambles.

  His smile made its way to your heart, as your own lips turned upwards.

  “When I said text me before you get here, I meant text me once you leave your house, not 5 seconds before barging into mine” you whined at him as he walked in and pulled you in a hug.

  “It was 10 seconds actually. In my defense, I knew I was going to be late so I didn’t want to get scolded” he said with a chuckle, ruffling your hair.

  “Fuck you” you teased, pushing him further in your small apartment.

  Sunwoo plopped down on your couch, getting comfortable in his seat as you went in the kitchen to get a glass of water. Once back in the living room, he looked up from his phone to you, beaming at you as you sat yourself next to him.

  “What’s on the agenda today?” he asked in a low voice, helping with the overall silence of your apartment.

  “Nothing really, I just wanted to see you” you confessed, snuggling up at him.

  “So, Mario Kart?” he offered.

  “You really wanna get your ass kicked this early on?” you teased him.

  “Ha! You wish! Loser buys pizza?” he asked again.

  “Sure thing, loser” you continued your teasing.

  After a few rounds of foul play from both of you, from planting kisses on the other’s lips to throwing their controllers away, you admitted defeat, leaving Sunwoo to run back and forth in front of your TV in a victory lap.

  Sitting square on top of you, he crashed you with his weight as you laughed, screaming at him to get off. He paid no mind to your words, proceeding to shower you with kisses. You stopped struggling, cupping his face with your hand as your lips found his.

  The kiss was soft and sweet, as you tasted your boyfriend’s favourite lip balm. Breaking away from the kiss, you said

  “Sunwoo, I seriously cannot breathe”

  “Oh, quit being such a baby” he told you.

  Nevertheless, he flipped your position, with you now laying on top of his chest. You kissed him again, running your hand through his hair and playing with it.

  “Y/N~. Pizza~” he sang and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Fernando’s? The usual?” You asked as you opened the delivery app on your phone.

  Sunwoo nodded, getting up and stretching a bit.

  “Where’s the list? We should pick a movie” he asked.

  The list was a piece of paper on which both of you wrote down movies you wanted the other to see. Sometimes, there would be movies that you both were dying to see, others it would be old classic black and white movies you adored, or gangster movies Sunwoo had grown to love.

  “Oh, it’s on my bedside table. Somewhere under the lamp I think.” You said, waving your hand to the general direction of your room.

  He nodded, striding towards your room as you placed your order. When he came back, he had two things in his hands.

  “What’s this?” he asked and you looked closely at the items he was holding.

  One was definitely the list, the piece of paper neatly folded so many times it was close to tearing. On his other hand, he held the neon green case of your retainers.

  Previously this week, you had booked yourself your annual appointment to the orthodontist. Even years after removing your braces, you were still hung up on the habit of taking very good care of your teeth’s health. So when your orthodontist announced that you had to wear your retainer again you were disappointed. You thought you had been doing your best, but it felt like you were starting all over again.

  A blush crept up on your cheeks as Sunwoo stood before you, one hand on his hip, the other holding your retainer case, waiting for an answer.

  “That’s my retainer case” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “I thought you were all done with that stuff. Hell, your teeth should be healthy as hell with the amount of floss you use” he said, sitting down.

  “Well it turns out all that floss started moving my teeth a bit. It’s no big deal. I’ll just wear the retainer for a while and it’ll be all good” you answered, trying to show that the conversation was clearly over.

  “Do you have a lisp when you wear it? I had the worst time, I could barely speak” he told you.

  “Yeah I do. But luckily, I’ll only wear it at night, so it won’t be a problem” you said.

  “Wear it now! I wanna hear it!” he said, shoving the case on your hands.

  “Sunwoo no-” you tried to say, but he pulled the puppy dog eyes immediately.

  “Please, please, please, just this once, I just want to hear you and I’ll stop I promise! I won’t even take a video of it I just want to hear your cute lisp please” he begged and you caved in.

  Without an answer, you just shook your head, trying desperately to fight the smile that was creeping up to your face as you pulled the retainer on.

  “What do you want me to thay?” you asked, flinching when you said ‘say’ wrong.

  Sunwoo was smiling so big, you thought his face would fall off. He got comfortable on the other end of the couch, hugging a pillow tightly as he thought about it. Ultimately, he gave you several phrases with lots of s’s in them. Every time you repeated a phrase, he’d drop his head on the pillow, half screaming and half laughing, then screaming at your face how cute you were before giving you another sentence.

  At first, you felt really self-conscious, even hating the sound of your voice. As Sunwoo started falling apart in front of you, showering you with praise and love, you begun feeling better. You didn’t enjoy the experience per se, but you found your boyfriend just as cute as he found you, so you felt better.

  “Okay, that’s enough” you said after a while, getting up and taking off your retainer.

  You left a pouting Sunwoo in the living room as you put the retainer back in its case and placed it on top of your nightstand. With just the right timing, the doorbell rung, announcing the arrival of the pizzas. You answered the door and paid the delivery man as Sunwoo chanted “FOOD, FOOD, FOOD” from the other room.

  You shook your head as you set the pizzas down, discovering that Sunwoo had already picked the movie. As you settled down, you smiled at the movie choice being one of Disney’s newest releases you had been dying to watch. Too invested in the movie, it wasn’t until after that you realized just how happy Sunwoo made you.

  Yes, he pushed your buttons, even making you enraged sometimes. But he also knew when enough was enough and every simple way to make you feel happy and at ease.

  As you laid in your bed that night, your mind filled with thoughts of your boyfriend, you decided to send him a somewhat different goodnight text.

  You

Hey. I just… Thank you for today? I really missed spending down time with you. And thank you for the retainer thing. I felt kinda iffy about telling you. You have such a magical way of making my mind stop racing and I couldn’t thank you enough.

Bottom line is, I love you, you idiot.

 ☀️ woo

I love you too. It helps that I can read you like an open book, you know. You ain’t sly girl.

Now go to sleep. You have classes tomorrow.

 You

Don’t tell me what to do, Kim.

    ☀️ woo

Can’t you just let me win for once? I’m trying so hard to be cute over here. How am I supposed to post them “texts like these🥰” screenshots when you keep jumping down my throat?

  You Where’s the fun in that? Plus, you wouldn’t have it any other way. So shut up. And go to sleep. You have classes tomorrow.

    ☀️ woo

I see what you did there.

Goodnight, Y/N~

[masalvas-girl]

Ｔｈｅ Ｂｌａｃｋｅｓｔ Ｄａｙ(II)

Enjoy! 10 likes and I will make the third part. ❤️

Devastation had began for Juliet Guerra long before the T-virus was leaked in Raccoon City. After reading the reports she had found in Barry Burton's office, she knew something was very wrong in the Arklay Mountains, and most of all, she knew for a fact that the terrors they had found in those mountains couldn't be possibly contained for much longer. The beginning of her own ruin had started innocently and slowly. She had been flirting with the idea of making her thesis based on the incidents that took place that distant July night and how information can be so easily corrupted. Very little info had been released to the media and, apparently, everyone planned it to stay that way. But Juliet, being a young journalism student, had a tremendous desire to eat the whole word and incidentally remove the blindfold that covered the eyes of the citizens of Raccoon City in the process.

After spending whole days and nights doing her due diligences mostly from scratch, the blame pointed directly at only one suspect... The Umbrella Corporation. The world's pharmaceutical giant, whom in reality was dedicated to use its medical and biotechnological research as a cover to create biological weapons that were later sold to the governments of the world's major powers. Actually, they dedicated almost religiously to experimenting with genetics and military technology. Juliet, at one point in her research, was not surprised that these experiments finally got out of control in the Arklay Mountains.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 It was a warm night of September of 1997 when she met Carlos Oliveira for the first time. It was one of those rare nights when she allowed herself to find a distraction from school and go out to have a drink with her girlfriends. His smile was almost as warm as the weather, and she fell completely for him when he asked her for a cigarette with his husky voice outside of the club when she went out to grab fresh air. He was a total flirt, the way his black curls and beard framed his face, and the sensual roughness his body possessed made him seem like a real man even though he was barely twenty-one years old. That night, while they were dancing together to a popular song in Spanish, she knew she wanted to see him again the next day, and the following too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Carlos had been her real support when things took a change for the worst for Juliet. She knew whom he worked for, and still, she couldn't bring herself to tell him. Not yet. She first had to gather enough proof (without getting eliminated in first place) to tell him with all of the confidence of the world that he was working for the devil on earth. Until then, her work had to be a secret for the well-being of everyone she loved.

Of course he could notice something was wrong when she would wake up all agitated and covered in sweat, caused by her nightmares which were about the things that were to come. But instead of asking, he very much preferred to just hold her tight with his toned arms and tell her everything was fine. And Juliet would eventually calm down, even though she was conscious that the things Carlos said to calm her down couldn't be more wrong.

 Everything ended the day Carlos found out classified documents from the R.P.D. Documents that had been discarded as total slander in Juliet´s desk. They didn´t live together, but Carlos had his own key to her department door, so he could let himself in whenever he wanted to. And that afternoon, he decided he would surprise her with a cute dinner and the news that they would be traveling together to Italy in early October. Carlos just wanted to get her away from everything, you know, give her some peace of mind and nothing better than a short vacation to lift up her spirits. He really thought all the anxiousness, the sleepless nights, the lack of appetite, those heavy dark circles under her eyes, and the cigarette and sleep medication addiction were caused just from school's stress.

 Juliet got home early from work that late August afternoon, went into her bedroom to change her clothes and give Carlos a quick phone call, but that wasn't necessary at all, because he was already there. She should have guessed, from the way her bedroom door was half-closed when she always left it all the way shut.

 –Mi amor, what are you doing here? –his back was facing her, and he was leaning with both his arms on the desk, running his right hand through the tons of paper sheets that were scattered all over the place. His silence only drove her crazy with every second that passed.

 –Juliet, darlin', why have you been researchin' on my work's company? –he said with a serious tone. The one that she would only hear him use in important work phone calls. She took a couple of steps back, and rested her back against the door.      

 –That's my thesis work –she answered vaguely. Almost as if she was absent. Her cheeks were red, and her hands were already trembling behind her back.

 –You know this is only bullshit, right? Things the looneys say in midnight television programs.

 –Carlos, if you only let me explain it to you –he grabbed a handful of sheets and wrinkled them with his strong fist, then threw them to the trash can that was in the corner of the room. That was the reaction she most feared. Anger–… Baby, calm down…

 This Carlos seemed like a complete stranger to Juliet. She had never seen him like this. He clenched his jaw; his eyes looked filled with confusion mixed with fear (That’s why she´s been having such trouble sleeping! She's been reading way too many terror books, and oh boy, what it says in these sheets is indeed frightening). And it seemed almost natural; this was the company that gave him medical insurance, a really generous income, and most of all, the privilege of working with one of the most important enterprises of the world. How could they be filled with crazy scientists that dedicate exclusively to test how much they can stretch the limits of reality? To Carlos, this was far from a serious subject. She had to be kidding.  

 –Stop it, Inspector Gadget. It has been enough with the little that I read. You cannot be serious.

 –Carlos, I am even considering leaving this town. Chaos is just around the corner –her eyes started threatening with shedding some tears. She walked towards him, now that he had relaxed a little bit. She put her hands on his broad chest, and looked up directly at him with watery eyes–. I need to leave, Carlos, and I want you to come with me. Leave Umbrella –he left out a big laugh and narrowed his eyes into hers.

 –The lack of sleep is really affecting you, babe. Let's go to the kitchen, I made us dinner –he grabbed her by the hand, but she let go quickly of his delicate grip.

 –I'm being really serious, and if you don’t even wanna hear what I have to say then please don't interfere with my work –he turned immediately at her direction, with a gesture of distaste on his face. Surely, there had been some friction before as it is a normal thing to happen sometimes between couples, but this felt different. Just like a fight of egos.  

 –Juliet. Understand it. If Umbrella finds out that you have being going through their shit... I don't know what could happen to you. They do have a lot of power...

–So you accept that they are dangerous...

–Nena, really, stop it. I'm getting tired of this.

–Then honestly I don’t know what you are doing here.

–What? Now you want me to leave?

 –Do you want to talk about it and actually listen to me instead of just assuming things? –she cleaned a fast tear that crossed her cheek. They had been almost screaming at eachother.

 –This is nonsense. Umbrella would never do all of those things!

 –Then, if you choose to leave, please never come back again.

 Juliet took a seat in her bed, expecting him to seat beside her. But he didn't. Carlos analized her for a couple of seconds and then left the bedroom. He grabbed the things he left in the living room, including the plane tickets, and then, all Juliet heard was the door being slammed and a cold, dead silence.

[nelly-boo]

Flower Shop AU

Rocky x female reader

Genre: Fluff

Warning: None

It has finally came - a few days off of school / work. There has been a lot of responsibilities, stress and headaches going on in your life, so it was nice for a change not having to worry about those things. It was a nice day of already late spring. The sky had its clear blue color, with a little clouds here and there. A quiet noon where all you could heard was a birdsong, melodical and relaxing. So you decided to take a little walk around the town, with consideration that all you have been doing for the past couple of weeks was your school / work thing, sleeping and eating. You put your shoes on, locked the door and exited out of the building, while heading to an unknown direction.

You liked spring. Yes, it does have its negative sides such as pollen, allergies, all kinds of insects, etc. But it still has its pretties. You looked around while taking in all of your surroundings. The biggest part of nature has already been born. Threes, flowers, grass, leaves.. Everything has got its pretty colors, shapes, smells.. You had earphones in your ears while listening to melodies that you like. But you couldn't resist to hear the melodies that mother nature was making. So you took off your earphones while letting the relaxing sounds to caress your ears. You were now walking past the river. The yellow rays of Sun melted onto your skin, giving it a shine color. The wind lazily was dancing between the locks of your hair, messing it a little. The sounds of river were so relaxing and nice that you couldn't help yourself, but to sit by it and to observe its pretties and uniqueness.

The recently scytheed grass looked like it called you to lay on it and to just relax. You lied down and all of a sudden all spring smells hitted your nostrils, that you couldn't help but to smile to yourself. You stayed there for about a half an hour, and when you felt yourself falling asleep, you right away got up and start moving. The sky now was changing its colors, which meant that it was time for you to go home. You looked at your phone to check the time, and it confirmed that it indeed had passed quiet some time since you left from your home.

You put back your earphones and headed to already known direction. At your way there, you came across one cute little flower shop. Maybe I should buy something nice to myself such as a flower or two, just for a change, you thought to yourself. You opened the shop door and as you stepped into, a bell above your head made it known that someone walked into the shop, and that someone now being you. The flowers were everywhere. On the floor, shelves, walls, ceilling...

"Hello, how can I help you today?" You followed the way the sound came from, and you were greeted by a cute, smiley boy, who expected your answer.

"Um, hi.", you shyly smiled back. "I came for a flower?", you weren't sure how you should answer him what you wanted. "Well yes, apparently we have a lot of those here as you can see.", he tried to joke a little. "Which one would you like?

You weren't sure, so you looked around a little and your eyes fell onto one beautiful flower at the back of the shop. "I think I like that one." You pointed your finger at the flower with a little smile.

He looked toward the direction you were pointing and nodes his head. "Hibiscus", he smiled. "Do you know what those mean?", he asked expecting that you don't know the answer so he can give it to you. "I don't actually. What meaning does it holds?" You were curious. "Do you want only one flower or more?", he asked without answering your question. "One will do", you smiled. He gave you the flower and smiled "The meaning of this flower is rare and delicate beauty. I can see why you choose those." He said with a wink. Did he just indirectly say that you are beautiful? You weren't sure. But you for sure could feel the blush creeping on your cheeks.

You smelled the pretty flower while trying to hide your flustered face. And suddenly the atmosphere in the room started to change. Everything started to get blurry, you felt dizzy, you suddenly couldn't breath properly, the room started to rotate and those are the last things that you remember before you passed out.

Half an hour later

You started to get conscious. You slowly opened your eyes and you felt a pain at the back of your head. You weren't feeling very well. As your vision got better the first thing you saw was a worried face of the flower boy beside you. "Oh my God you're awake! I got so worried I didn't know what to do-", the poor boy started to speak in panic but you were more interested in other thing, so you had to ask. "Am I in heaven? Are you an angel?", you blurted out. The sign of relieve that you're fine broke onto his face, not late after that following the most beautiful cheeky smile you have ever seen. His big dark brown eyes bored into yours. "No, I am not. But I'm relieved that you're fine.", he laughed. "You're not?", you asked, now already disappointed with that fact.

"But you saved me and you're so pretty, and your smile too, that you cannot be just an average human being, but an angel." It was extremely stupid of you, but it had to be said. He couldn't help but laugh out loud. His laugh was so beautiful like the rest of him. "Why, thank you", he cheekily said. You tried to get up slowly,but got a little dizzy so he helped you. "Whoa, whoa, easy there. Slowly, I'll help you." He leaned to wrap his arm around your shoulder and with the other the took your left hand to help you up. As you were now sitting, you observed your surroundings. "Are we still in the shop? What happened?", you weakly asked. "Yes, we are. We're in the room at the back of the shop where staff come here to have a drink or take a rest. I got so panicked I didn't know what to do and forgot to call 911 or someone else for help, so I just sat beside you and prayed to God for you to wake up."

“And to answer your other question, I think you had allergic attack. I think you're allergic to hibiscus, that why you passed out as soon as you felt the smell of it.", he explained. "Does you head hurts?", he asked concerned, slowly stroking your hair. "It does actually."

"I hope it's not too bad. It's because of the fall and I wasn't prepared for it so I couldn't make it on time to catch you before you fell. Wait here, I'll bring you some pain killers." With that he got up and headed to the other part of the room. He opened one of the shelves at the nearest.. something like night stand?? With a glass of water.

"Here.", he handed you the glass and tablets. "Thank you...?", you wanted to thank him but you realised that you don't even know his name. He seemed to understand what you meant so he introduced himself. "Oh my God I'm so sorry. How inappropriate of me." He shakes your hand. "Moonbyul. Park Minhyuk." He smiled brightly. "But my friends call me Rocky."

"Minhyuk.", you said, likening the way his name sounded from your mouth. "Well, thank you Minhyuk. My name's Y/N." You drank your medicine and tried to slowly get up. "Where are you going?", confused Rocky asked. "Home?" It was more like a question than an answer. "But isn't it better if you stay here for a while? You still haven't recovered. That fall was kinda bad.", he pointed out. "I think I'll survive.", you giggled. "I had to be home long ago, anyway." He noded his head in understandment. "Well, let me at least get you a taxi, so I don't have to be worried if you get home safe.

"Your taxi was waiting outside the flower shop, so you made your way to the exit door slightly leaning onto Rocky for a support. You sat into the taxi seat and he told you to stay right there. You apologised to the driver, asking him for a little patience while you guys were waiting. Not a few minutes after that Rocky came out to the taxi with a beautiful smile and shiny eyes and a bouquet with a mixture of flowers. "Here.", he handed you flowers. "Thank you.", you smiled shyly. "But what for?" "No reason. I just wanted to give a beautiful flowers to a beautiful girl. And no more hibiscus for you!" He pointed his index finger at you with the other hand on his hips. Now he gave you a compliment directly and you didn't know how to react. He handed the cash to a driver and spoke to you avoiding your eyes a little. "Um, I hope I'll see you around. Bye." With that he left.

The driver started to drive at the direction of your building, and you couldn't help but smile at the memorise of that day and because of the beautiful smells that filled the car. You lowered your head to smell the flowers and your eyes caught a little card between the flowers. You took it between your fingers and read what had been written.

"Hibiscus has meaning of rare and delicate beauty, but I couldn't have give you that again. So I decided to give you a mixture of flowers with different meanings. I know you don't understand the language of flowers, but I hope you'll understand the meaning of thornless roses and variegated tulipses."

P.S. "My number's at the back of the card, I hope you'll call me ;)"

*Thornless roses - Love at first sight

*Variegated tulips - Beautiful eyes

P.S. Because I couldn’t find a flower that represents having a crush on someone, I used ‘love at first sight”. I know that it’s lame and shit, but deal with it lol. Xoxo

[ineffablecolors]

THE WIFE [9/?]

The Wife || Ch 9 ~ 4.5 k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: To @bmbbcs4evr and @let-it-raines (check out the GORGEOUS edit she did for this ❤) for reccing this story for @csficrecmonday and to all of you beautiful people who have been enjoying this slow burn with me - I thank you with this chapter ;)

He doesn’t think he has ever – in all his 40 years on this blasted earth – been so conscious of every single movement he makes – of the nervous fidgeting that overtakes his fingers from time to time, of the way his left elbow will twitch unexpectedly, the way his chest rises and falls with his every breath, the way his leg stiffens when the circulation is completely cut off.

He has never been so conscious of his every movement and he has never tried so hard to suppress it all. He must do well enough because she doesn’t stir even once.

When Peter opens the carriage door, Killian still hasn’t decided what to do about the woman sleeping in his arms. It seems particularly melodramatic to carry her into the house but the warmth of her hand in his is enough to make him loathe disturbing her fragile comfort. Not to mention the softness of her hair against his skin and the delicate puffs of warm breath that make gooseflesh rise all over the arm she is pressed against. He is very conscious of not paying attention to the way her knee is bend and lying on top of his thigh and obstructing that very crucial circulation.

Perhaps it is for the best that the carriage coming to a stop was apparently enough to rouse her.

“Killian?”

Killian is good with numbers, estimates and predictions but he can’t say he ever imagined he’d hear her say his name in that way – sleepy and disorientated, unguarded and completely trusting.

“We’re home, love.”

“Oh.”

She looks over her shoulder and through the open door in no great hurry, her head rolling languidly against his shoulder, and, for a moment, Killian thinks she will just turn back around and go to sleep again. Then Ruby bursts through the front door and he tries to neither laugh, nor groan as Emma scampers to get herself and all her skirts off his lap and out of the carriage.

“Why on earth are you back so early?”

He sees Emma freeze on the spot and quickly gets out as well, trying not to trip over the leg that is still half asleep.

“It would’ve been much too great a shock to my system to spend so much time in company,” he replies smoothly as he places his hand on Emma’s back and leads her inside and away from Ruby’s displeased scowl and mutterings about “grumpy old sailors”.

“Upon my word, you couldn’t have had your fill of dancing,” she says to Emma and, before Killian can steer her away again, his wife speaks up.

“Oh, no, rest assured, I more than had my fill.”

Ruby shakes her head and looks at them like she doesn’t know who to be more disappointed in.

“You can retire for the evening, Ruby. We should manage fine on our own?” he looks at Emma with the question and she nods almost imperceptibly but he can see that she will be glad to not have anyone fluttering all over her and pestering her with questions.

Ruby is only too willing to accept his suggestion, after realizing that she will have to wait for Alice’s return to learn all the details of the ball.

Soon as she is out of sight, he returns his full attention to his wife, who is looking up the stairs with palpable reluctance and, even though it’s quite late and she was asleep just minutes ago, Killian finds himself compelled to offer her some distraction, anything to wipe the uncertainty off her soft features.

“Would you like some hot chocolate?”

When she turns her face toward him, he knows he has succeeded.

*****

Even in the sleepy sluggishness of her mind, Emma is aware that falling in love with Killian Jones was not part of anyone’s plans for her. Not her own, not his or his family’s, certainly not Regina’s.

And yet, as she watches him move quietly around the kitchen – jacket and cravat discarded and his hair a bit more of a mess than when they left – and fiddle with the handle of his spoon, while he waits for the milk to heat up, she is also aware that she couldn’t have done anything but fall in love with Killian Jones.

“I am sorry,” she breaks the late night silence. “I should’ve been able to… master my emotions.”

Killian keeps his silence until the cocoa is ready and he is sitting across from her, sipping at the hot liquid and studying her with the blue depths in his eyes. But the silence doesn’t worry her – she finally doesn’t feel tense or anxious, she rather appreciates the quiet moment to gather her thoughts before Killian speaks.

“A ball is supposed to be a source of entertainment, or so I am told. There is no sense attending one longer than it brings your pleasure to do so. And I’m glad we did not.”

She sighs and sinks into her seat. It’s not only this ball though. Emma knows that every woman still in her prime is supposed to be overjoyed at the prospect of attending such an event but—

“It’s just that… well, I never saw the point of it. Dancing with people whose acquaintance you’ve just made. And with all those other people around – watching you like hawks, waiting for you to step out of line. Or on someone’s toes.”

Killian’s lips quirk up at her petulance and there is something calculating in his expression.

“If you were to only dance with people you were already acquainted with, I’m afraid your options would’ve been limited indeed.”

“I don’t think I should’ve minded this time.”

He fixes her with one of his searching looks and, for a moment, Emma wonders just how much her face might reveal in the soft glow of the firelight. But then the set of Killian’s jaw loses some of its careful neutrality and his eyes sparkle in a way they didn’t at the ball.

“Well, if that is the case – and seeing as there is no one here to scold me for it – perhaps I should ask you for a second dance.”

Something in her stomach swoops low in a pleasant feeling that she didn’t think she could reclaim tonight.

“Perhaps you should.”

Her answer seems to both surprise and amuse him and prompt him into pushing out of his chair and putting it to the side, before he urges her up and does the same with hers. The space for dancing is still limited but, as Killian takes her hand and pulls her closer, she doesn’t think they will need any elaborate footwork.

They hardly need any at all as he leads her into a simple back and forth that seems much too unpretentious and intimate for any ballroom. She has just come to terms with the fact that they are indeed doing this in the middle of the kitchen when he starts humming under his breath. It’s no song she has ever heard and that suits her just fine. Few things that involve Killian Jones are ones she has seen or heard or felt before.

His left arm is stiff at her back at first but, after they’ve done a couple of circles around the room, he lets it slip more firmly around her and pulls her infinitesimally closer.

Emma takes that as permission to loosen the rigid angle of her own arms and her right hand slowly slides from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of his neck. She marvels at the contrasts that can exist in a single man – with his proper words and constant warmth, his cautious movements and engaging eyes, his calloused fingers and soft hair, his demanding business and welcoming home. With his rough voice and gentle melodies.

Her gaze skirts over his jaw and finds his lips with relief, as if it has been fighting a battle to stay away until now. Emma doesn’t think she has ever contemplated a man’s features so intently before. Then again, she is sure she has never been as interested in one before. It seems impossible to her, in this little slash of space and time, that she shall ever grow tired of looking at Killian’s face. Which is probably for the best, seeing as they did vow till death do them part.

She is starting to understand how people can say those words and mean them.

It’s another turn and another length of the kitchen table before she finds the courage she had before setting off for the ball and lifts her eyes, following the lines on his face, until they meet his own.

This time there is no interruption.

Except, before she has even realized that she is rising slightly on her tiptoes and leaning closer, the look on his face arrests her every movement, including the rise and fall of her chest. In that moment she has certainty enough for the both of them and yet, the lack of it in his wide eyes makes something inside her tear a little.

She doesn’t know why it should, when he has as well as told her that he married her neither to bed her, nor to fall in love with her. But, when she turns her attention inward, Emma realizes that this new life of hers has made her want things again. Killian Jones chief among them. And, while the thought that he might not want her back stings a little, it cannot diminish the sheer joy of having the will to want again. The hope that wanting might amount to something other than nothing.

“Emma.”

She blinks and searches the blue of his eyes and the deep lines around them. He doesn’t look quite so uncertain now. He looks like he is willing to be convinced.

The space between them is almost gone already but somehow she manages to close it slowly enough for a few seconds to thick by and for Killian’s hand to leave hers onto his shoulder and slide up the curve of her jaw, barely making contact along the way.

Her eyes flutter closed when his have turned eager rather than apprehensive.

It is nothing but her lips against his at first – closed, unmoving, solid, warm.

Emma thought she’d been kissed – once as a child when she barely knew what it meant and then again, a decade ago, when she knew all too well and was a fool to let it happen anyway. She doesn’t remember any of those kisses now. She never did remember them in vivid detail but now she knows she shall never be able to recall them again and she smiles into the first kiss she knows she’ll never forget.

Killian’s mouth moves half a breath away and then closes lightly over her bottom lip and this is even warmer now that she can feel the glide of his lips, his palm on her face, his finger tracing the outline of her ear. There is a happy sound exhaled somewhere between them and she is confident it came from her though she did not know she could make sounds quite like it.

Her hands move with cautious determination until she has his face between her palms, then she angles her head to the side and lets her lips quirk up again at the feel of his cold nose against her cheek.

Killian’s hand slips back down, his thumb fitting itself in the dent in her chin as he pulls back a little and she leans forward to make up for it. Her toes ache in her satin slippers from raising her up but the pleased sound he makes – among other things – more than makes up for it.

“Do you always smile so much when you kiss a man, my lady?”

Emma blinks her eyes open to see his own as close as they have ever been, their foreheads brushing lightly.

“It would appear I do.”

She tries not to smile, despite the admittance, but he does it for her.

“Good.”

Killian pulls back completely but his hand catches one of hers as they reluctantly fall away from his face and somehow she succeeds in reigning in her pout.

“I believe it has gotten rather late.”

In seconds they are walking out of the kitchen, down the corridor and up the stairs and Emma has yet to decide what she wants his words to mean. She wants him, that much she has decided, the intricacies of how and how soon are a bit more unclear. If he is to lead her into his room, into his bed, right now, she doubts she will deny him. Then again, she wouldn’t have denied him that first night either, though she was far from ready for it.

But now – now she thinks Killian will be as concerned with her uncertainty as she was with his minutes ago. And she is uncertain. Her fingers tighten around his as they ascend the stairs and she knows she won’t be afraid to tell him so.

But then, he stops exactly where he stopped at their wedding night and, for all her uncertainly, she can’t help the light pinch of disappointment between her brows. It sits right where Killian’s lips land when he leans over.

“Goodnight, love.”

They only have the one candle this time but he finds his way in the darkness without trouble.

*****

She knocks lightly on the chance that the woman on the other side is still asleep.

“Come in.”

Ruby picks her tray off the ground and pushes down on the door handle with her elbow.

“Good morning. You must be famished after all the excitement yesterday.”

Emma is sitting up in her bed and has obviously been awake long enough to twist her hair into a messy braid on one side. Her eyes widen comically at the amount of food piled on the tray Ruby places on her lap.

“I was instructed to bring you breakfast in bed.”

The maid winks at her mistress before she starts bustling around the room, giving Emma the opportunity to hide her blush.

“Is everyone else up and about then?”

Her voice goes up in the end, obviously aware of the transparency of the question and hoping cheerfulness might compensate for it. Ruby keeps her back to her until she has mastered the silent laughter on her face. She did not afford her husband the same courtesy a few hours ago when he, for reasons unknown and certainly insufficient for Granny, took it upon himself to decide what Mrs Jones should be served for breakfast. Which, in the end, amounted to more or less everything.

Contrary to popular belief, Emma is much more capable of remaining in control when her emotions are running havoc than the captain has ever been. Of course, in Ruby’s experience, he doesn’t let it happen nearly as often but, when caught unawares, he is truly helpless at saving face. Which is probably the reason why he’s chosen to hide his in the nearby hills, just like Emma is hiding hers under the covers.

“Miss Alice is still at Admiral Jones’s estate, the captain has taken Roger out for some “much needed exercise” and Granny is ready to discuss the evening’s menu when you are.”

“Oh.”

She puts Emma’s slippers away and wishes she could give her a less disappointing answer.

“Well, you can tell her I’ll be down as soon as I… manage to make my way through all of this.”

Ruby turns around and grins honestly at the picture of Emma’s fork circling uncertainly over all the meats and fruits and pastry on her tray.

“Let me fetch your tea. There wasn’t any place on the tray for it.”

*****

For a man who has long renounced a great number of emotions, Killian Jones currently finds himself experiencing a perturbingly… great number of emotions. Roger, as he has from the first time he actually let his master mount him, seems only too well attuned to them and more than willing to channel them into motion. For that Killian is grateful. He is sure he should have worn out both his legs and his mind with literal and figurative pacing if not for the liberating and unceasing change of landscape around him now.

Killian knows he is good for a limited and selected number of things and prudent investments are one of those things. If it were up to his brother to decide on those matters— he shudders at the very idea. So he is the one who settles when, how much and in what the Jones Brothers Company should invest. Speculation is the trade of gamblers but what Killian does is not speculation. Investment is all about numbers and numbers are always what they look like. A 20 is going to be a 20 tomorrow unless you make the necessary calculations and take the necessary actions to turn it into a 60. There are no caveats that can suddenly reveal the 20 on the page to have been a 100 all along.

Now, people aren’t like that and investing in people – that is pure speculation. Always. No matter how much information you think you have gathered and no matter how carefully you might have analyzed it a 20 is almost never a 20 when it comes to people. It’s usually a 10, a 12, if you are lucky. To get at the real number of a person you have to know what to subtract first. 4 for the family name, 3 for supposed fortune, 1.5 for the clothes and 2.5 for the manners. You have to strip all that away to arrive at the real, raw truth about a person.

Killian is only partially ashamed that his wife was an investment in her own way – partially because she was not an investment made entirely for his sake. He saw the opportunity to save them both a great deal of trouble when Liam first brought her to his attention – save her more than him, to be completely honest. And he did not mind that Emma required no subtractions either – the family name was reluctantly given, the fortune non-existent (rather a small one required for the obtainment of her hand), the manners he was unaware of and, in the end, even the clothes were added later. When he met Emma she was exactly what she appeared to be.

He should’ve remembered that people are never solid numbers, people are always speculation. Emma is no different. Except in the way that Emma is more than she appears. Nothing was subtracted and then, day in and night out, much was added. Until now he can barely even make his brain view her in that way – numbers, calculations, risks, deductions.

Now it’s all impressions and possibilities and surprises and emotions.

Gods help him, he can’t even count them all – the surprises are constant and he thought he’d learnt to take them almost in stride until this last one, the pride is not truly earned and his to feel, the guilt is warranted and to be addressed, the hope is probably worst of all – there are so many unknown variables in it. And that other one—

Gods help him.

*****

Dinner is an hour away by the time she hears Roger’s hooves against the stones outside and Emma has been going back and forth on being angry with her husband all day. Thinking back on yesterday, she is nothing but grateful for his understanding, for both his firmness and his gentleness, mostly for not being another person that she has to tiptoe around and hide half of herself from.

But then she realizes that her attention has strayed from her reading yet again and she remembers that she has been wondering how to occupy herself for hours because Killian has apparently decided to roam the hills and valleys for the better part of the day rather than do anything at all in her company, and she is back to feeling the anger gather at the back of her throat. Her anger feels rather similar to rejection and disappointment but she tries to contradict these thoughts with memories of last night and then she is back where she started from.

“Captain Jones is getting dressed and dinner will be served in a few minutes.”

She turns to see Ruby’s head poking into her room and her curt response is mostly the result of poor timing, having circled back to recalling her solitude throughout the day.

 “I’m not hungry. If you could excuse me and bring me some tea later, that will be all.”

Ruby frowns in confusion and goes to enter the room properly but something in Emma’s expression arrests her movement and she just nods and leaves.

*****

The knock on her door comes sooner than expected but Emma jumps up quickly, prepared to apologize to Ruby for her shortness earlier, which is why, when she opens the door and finds Killian behind the tea tray, she is caught completely off guard and only slightly reassured by the fact that her quick response seems to have interrupted his own preparation for whatever is to come.

“May I come in?”

His tone and expression tell her that he genuinely doubts if she will let him in and, to Emma’s chagrin, that alone starts chipping away at any anger she tried to accumulate throughout the day. She pulls the door open wider and motions him inside.

Evenings in the kitchen have taught her that Killian is meticulous and methodical, especially when it comes to the serving of beverages, and unafraid of prolonged silences, especially when it comes to her, so it takes her completely by surprise when he almost drops the tray on her small table with a clatter and whirls around to face her.

“Emma, I— I must apologize.”

His face seems to crack a little and the anguish underneath physically tugs on her heart and with it goes the last of her resentment.

The truth of the matter is that she doesn’t know Killian Jones, not completely, not yet. And, while spending time in his company seems like the logical solution to her, maybe that’s one of those things she doesn’t know – when and how and what parts of himself he is willing to reveal.

“You don’t ha—”

“I do. I— Emma, I hope you believe me when I say that taking advantage of you in any shape or form was the furthest thing from my mind when we were wed and I—”

“Wait,” now she is pulled forward by her confusion and his distress. “Killian, you have not— You’ve never—”

“You were clearly distraught last night and I should have seen you directly to your rooms, I should’ve never—”

“That’s what you are apologizing for?”

“Of course, I—”

“I don’t wish for you to apologize for that,” she says sharply, startled and mortified at the way her voice cracks at the end and lifting her chin higher to compensate for it.

Killian seems to hear it nonetheless because his hand reaches for her arm, hesitating just short of making contact. She takes it in her own and moves another step closer, her eyes flickering between his own almost frantically, searching for an explanation.

“You didn’t do anything untoward and I… I hope I didn’t either...”

His shoulders seem to loosen a little and the next step forward is his.

“No, love, you did not. I just… I didn’t want you to think—”

“I didn’t. I didn’t think there was anything wrong or— Well, except that you seem to prefer spending your time with your horse rather than your wife.”

Killian’s face screws up comically and she can’t quite conceal the unladylike snort.

“Perish the thought. I’ll have you know, that’s how rumours start.”

This time she laughs fully and freely.

“I promise not to make your preferences public knowledge.”

“Appreciated,” Killian nods solemnly before his eyes soften and his lids drop a bit lower. “And I apologize if you felt neglected. I assure you Roger’s personality has nothing on yours. I just didn’t think—”

“Truthfully, I think you should stop thinking quite so much.”

Both their eyes widen at her frankness before Emma pressed her lips firmly together and squints at him apologetically.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, you… you might have a point.”

His eyes leave hers for the first time in the last few minutes and focus on the teapot and cups he brought with him. If she has to take a guess, she’ll say he is thinking far too hard again.

“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

“Later, perhaps.”

“Of course. I can make you something. I believe Mrs Lucas hasn’t started keeping the kitchen under lock yet but it’s certainly only a matter of time.”

“Would you have some tea with me?”

*****

Truthfully, he is rather tired from pushing Roger and himself to their mutual limit for most of the day. Truthfully, there are a few letters he saw in the morning and left to answer upon his return. Truthfully, he already had a cup of tea, while debating if he should come up here at all. Truthfully, he can’t refuse her anything when she is tugging on the end of her horrendously done braid and looking at him with her face so genuine and open.

“If you’d like.”

She doesn’t reply, just brushes past him and takes the tray, moving to sit before the fireplace where her book is lying on the ground and she seems to have formed a nest of her blankets and pillows.

“You know, if the furniture is not to your satisfaction—“

She looks over her shoulder and arches a bemused eyebrow, while continuing to pour the hot tea into one of the cups – it’s rather impressive.

“The furniture is perfectly satisfactory and I didn’t expect judgement from a man who sits on the ground any chance he gets.”

He shakes his head and finally joins her, snagging one of the pillows.

“Most ladies I know do not share many of my habits.”

Emma’s eyes sparkle dangerously, she opens her lovely lips and he can literally see the reply on the tip of her tongue but then, for some reason which will probably always remain a mystery to him, she closes her mouth and just hums a little. It is far from acceptance or submission – the way her eyes are boring into his might be one of the most straightforward challenges he has ever been issued. He is just not sure if she is daring him to say something or—

Killian Jones used to think he was a bold man before life saw fit to teach him that even the strongest and bravest thing won’t do when caution is called for. He knows the first bold thing he has done in years is marrying the woman before him. The second is reaching for her now.

He would like to take credit for kissing her as well but once again that is mostly her doing.

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[allonsysilvertongue]

Ignorance Is Bliss. Or Is It?

The Ballad of A Drunk & His Lady: Ignorance Is Bliss. Or Is It?

Effie stirred, taking awhile to accustom herself to the unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly, the memory trickled in and she turned to look at the man sleeping next to her. Haymitch was a dead weight with his arm slung across her stomach and his leg hooked over hers.

Being here in his house, in his bed and the rarity of such occasion made it feel so much like a one night stand except Effie knew it wasn’t. Her heart grew heavy, knowing that they would never have more moments like this in his house.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding him of the reason she was awake in the first place.

She tried to push him off her carefully, finding a way to wriggle out of his embrace without waking him up.

It was futile. With a sigh, she shook his shoulder gently, quite aware of what could happen if she were to startle him. Thankfully, his knife was not within his reach.

“I have to go,” she whispered when he groused in annoyance.

“No,” he tightened his hold on her.

She loved it when he was in this state; half asleep to be truly and fully conscious of his actions. He was often more affectionate and clingy, so very unlike him when he was sober and alert.

“Stay,” Haymitch insisted.

“I’m famished. I should get back to the train in any case. I cannot be seen coming from your house. What will people say?” she tried to rationalize.

Katniss might be oblivious but Peeta and Mrs. Everdeen certainly wouldn’t be, and she would have to face the lot of them for the Reaping. Although, to be fair, the issue of her sneaking out of Haymitch’s house would be the least of everyone’s worry.

“There will be something to eat in the train,” she continued. “I’m hungry, Haymitch. I haven’t had anything since lunch.”

He opened an eye to look at her and then rolled on his back, freeing her from his hold.

“Me too,” he grumbled, pushing himself to his elbows. “The things we did… It makes a man hungry, sweetheart.”

She couldn’t help but smile fondly at him. Almost without thinking, she brushed her fingers through the lock of his hair.

“Stop it,” he caught her wrist with a frown.

The sudden rough movement threw her a little off guard but she matched his frown with one of her own.

“I might never get the chance to do this again,” she told him. She saw the look in his eyes and almost wished it back but the words were already out there. “We may never – “

“Stop that,” Haymitch rebuked. “We’ve talked about this. It’s got to be me. I can’t let Peeta go, Effs. I thought you understand this.”

“I know, I do,” she nodded. “And you’ve promised Katniss to keep him safe. I know, Haymitch.”

“Good. You gotta be stronger than this, sweetheart,” he said tucking her hair behind her ear.

When he had told her about his promise to Katniss, she had been upset. She had been angry with Katniss even; angry that she dared to ask that of Haymitch. But when she had calmed down – after he had fucked her and calmed her down – Effie realized that this was the only way. He had saved them once so if there was a way he could save them both again, he would never let the children go through what they went before.

“Alright, come on,” he tugged on her wrist, this time rubbing his thumb gently over the spot where he had grabbed earlier. “You said you’re hungry, yeah?”

She laughed at that.

“I am but I am not eating anything from your house, Haymitch,” she teased but followed him out of the bedroom anyway. “Who knows what had gone bad without you being any the wiser…”

“I’ll have you know, sweetheart, that since Katniss put Hazelle on housekeeping duties, nothing has gone bad around here,” he assured as they entered the kitchen.

He grabbed some bread and cheese from the cupboard and a bottle of wine from another. Effie made to take two glasses for the wine but realized that she had no idea where they were being kept. He nudged her towards the fireplace. He had a fire going the night before but it was dying and she wondered why he was kneeling in front of the fireplace to start the fire once more because she was leaving soon anyway.

“Sit with me,” he requested over his shoulder. “Come on, just relax. It’s at least two more hours or something before the sun comes up. It’s still dark out there – plenty of time for you to sneak back to the train.”

He was already settled on the floor and the warmth from the fire was far too tempting for her to argue too much so she sat next to him.

Effie reached out for the bread only for Haymitch to slap her hand away. “Wait,” he rolled his eyes.

He toasted the bread over the fire which made Effie frown. He could have used the toaster in the kitchen, couldn’t he? It seemed a little archaic.

She was about to make a remark when he took the bread away from the fire, tore off a piece and blew on it to cool it down. Her eyes widened in surprise when he pressed the bread against her lips, his intentions clear. He was trying to feed her. It was odd for her. Haymitch had never done anything like this before.

But he was patiently waiting, watching her quietly so she parted her lips for the bread and the cheese that he gave her next.

“I believe it is only right that I return the favour,” she said as she looked at him.

There was a look in his eyes, intent and contemplative. It made her shiver to be looked at that way, as if she was the only one that mattered currently.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, wiping the crumbs off his lower lip.

He blinked, looking away before finding her gaze again. She could get lost in the greys of his eyes, she thought.

Could die in the next few days, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips inches away from hers.

His hand rose to the back of her neck and he curled his fingers on her nape, pulling her slowly forward until he could kiss her.

“I’m scared, Haymitch,” she admitted in the cover of the night. “I’m scared for you. I – I don’t want to –“

He didn’t let her finish and he didn’t answer her. Instead he let his hand wander under her blouse again.

XxX

“I do apologise for my tardiness,” she said, taking off her scarf and coat as she entered Katniss’ house. “What’s this about?”

Since she was late, through no fault of her own but the train was delayed in District Eight, nobody answered her question.

It would seem that she had arrived in the middle of the ceremony. Peeta and Katniss had invited her two weeks ago but wouldn’t say what it was for except that it was important to them. Of course, whatever was important to the children was important to her as well. She had tried asking if there was anything she could help with but the children had assured her that only her presence was required. She wished she had taken an earlier train, even if it meant arriving a day early. She could have checked in into one of the motels or guesthouses.

Katniss’ living room was clean and cozy. It felt homely with the picture frames, paintings and vases of flowers decorating the room. The fireplace was lit up and there were rugs as well as cushions on the floor. Each of the guests invited was holding a glass of wine.

The atmosphere in the room was peaceful. Those in the room seemed relaxed even if there was an air of anticipation. Effie chanced a glance over at Haymitch to see that he had cleaned up well. His beard was neatly trimmed and his hair which was usually in a mess had been combed. He even made an effort with his clothes, Effie noted. She had not seen him since the day he left for Twelve with Katniss and he had filled out a bit since then. He looked healthy. Life seemed to suit him well.

Life after the war seemed to suit every one well. Even Johanna was smiling, with Finn seated on her lap. The boy was quiet, distracted by a long piece of string Johanna keep spooling and unspooling for him.

“Katniss, it’s time,” Peeta said, holding his hand out to her.

She took his hand and joined him in front of the fireplace, the both of them knelt on the red cushions. To his right, Haymitch handed each of them a steel skewer with a piece of bread skewed to its front and stepped back. They held it over the fire.

Effie smiled, even as she tried to hide the sudden feeling of discomfort that had creeped in. The scene was oddly familiar, like a memory from the past.

With the bread now off the fire, still kneeling, the kids turned to face each other. Peeta was smiling and Katniss… Effie had never seen Katniss that way; looking at Peeta with a glimmer of fondness. She was calm; shoulders relaxed and her gaze focused solely on Peeta instead of darting everywhere for any signs of danger.

Annie stepped forward to hand them each a glass of wine, and just like Haymitch had done before, she stepped back.

“Here,” Johanna pressed a glass into her hand.

Smiling, Katniss and Peeta raised their glasses, as did everyone.

“To the newly wed,” Greasy Sae’s said, startling Effie. “May a thousand years of happiness shine upon you both and your union be blessed with children.”

Katniss reeled in surprise.

A wedding?!

She had just attended a wedding. Had she not been in this exact situation in front of a fireplace, and the bread, and the wine, just three years ago on the morning of the Third Quarter Quell’s Reaping?

“To Katniss and Peeta,” everyone toasted.

Her gaze darted to Haymitch, eyes wide in shock and panic. He caught her gaze but promptly looked away, keeping himself busy by refilling everyone’s wine glass.

He avoided her. She was well aware that he was avoiding her because each time she tried to move closer, he moved away, immersing himself with the surrounding conversation which Effie knew from all the years spent working together was not something Haymitch enjoyed.

She seized her chance when she spotted him making his way to the empty kitchen. Effie excused herself from the conversation with Annie and went after him. He was searching the top cabinet when she walked in, fingers curling around the neck of the whiskey bottle when Effie closed the cabinet door.

He turned towards her to see her glaring at him, arms folded.

“Would it be wrong and presumptuous of me to say that you’ve been avoiding your wife?” she said coolly.

“Yeah.”

“Which would that be? The part where you’re avoiding me or the part where I’m your wife?” she crossed her arms.

“Listen,” he raised his eyes to meet hers briefly. “Now’s not the time to talk about it. The kids – “

“Are married,” she finished him off. “Apparently, so did we three years ago. We had a marriage ceremony by your district’s customs and you did not even think to tell me?

“Wouldn’t make a difference,” he muttered.

“What was that?” she demanded. “It wouldn’t make a difference?”

She wanted to grab the nearest thing and hurl it at him but she refrained herself. She was furious. How could he have kept her in the dark over something so important and life-changing? It felt like he had robbed an important decision and aspect of her life.

“We’ve been married for three years, Haymitch,” she hissed. “Three years!”

 “It’s just some stupid custom and tradition, alright,” he murmured. To his credit, his voice had a hint of guilt.

She sputtered, truly lost for words.

“A tradition is not stupid,” she countered. “It is rooted in – in … Oh, you are so unbelievable, Haymitch! I have half a mind to strangle you until you’ve regained some shred of common sense.”

“We didn’t register it,” he tried another point of argument. “Relax about it already.”

“No, oh no,” she laughed. If anyone were to walk in now, Effie was sure, she was the image of the mentally unstable. “I will not relax about it. I spent that last one year angry at you and another after that trying to piece my life together which by the way, involved me thinking hard about where I want you in my life. We spend the last one year being cordially civil with one another and you didn’t say a word about this, Haymitch. Not a word.”

“Exactly why I didn’t,” he thundered. “Because you’re finally talking to me, Effs. I finally felt as if I had you back. Look, you have a right to be angry with me. I gave you a lot of reasons to be furious and if you ain’t ever gonna forgive me, it’s right too.”

He rubbed his face tiredly.

“It doesn’t matter. The toasting and what it symbolize…. I don’t hold you to it. Truth is… I was selfish,” he chuckled derisively. “I thought I was gonna die, yeah? And I – I wanted to make you mine.”

Despite herself, Effie shivered at that word. She had never thought Haymitch would ever want her that way she wanted him.

“I wanted to have something,” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell me then? Why didn’t you tell me what we were doing?”

He shook his head and for the first time since they started this conversation, he took a drink from the bottle he was holding.

“Because if you knew, and if I died after, you’d be broken, sweetheart.”

There was some truth in that.

“I would still be broken whether or not we were – are – married,” she told him.

He raised his head, giving her a pained smile.

“I know,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry. Shit,” he cursed. “What I did, it wasn’t fair to you so … In all honesty, I know you’re tryin’ to get on with your life. You’re tryin’ to find your footin’ and move on. I want that for you, sweetheart. And if there’s a guy in the City,” he seemed almost visibly in pain just trying to get that word out, “that you know, you’re seeing… It doesn’t – What I’m tryin’ to say is, I don’t hold you to that sham of a marriage we had. It ain’t binding in the eyes of the law. You’re free. You were never tied to me.”

“That is true. It might not be legally binding but you heard them out there. No one feels married until they had had their toasting. Which means to the people here, and you by that extension, the toasting carries a heavier meaning and weight than any legal document.”

“And I’m telling you that I’m not holding you to it,” he growled in frustration. “So go.”

“Don’t do this, Haymitch,” she pleaded, reaching out to touch him. “Do you want us to be married? Tell me the truth, please. Do you still want what you wanted three years ago?”

He looked affronted, as if he had never expected to be asked that question. When had anyone ever asked him what he wants?

Effie studied him, waiting.

“What do you want, Haymitch? More than anything else in the world, what do you want?”

“Come on,” he tugged his hand free from her grip. “This is stupid.”

“It’s not. Answer the question, please.”

“A proper shot at life,” he told her truthfully once he realized that she would not budge. “And it wouldn’t mean shit without you, sweetheart.”

“So… What does that mean? Do you – Do you want me?”

“Yeah, course I do,” he nodded, looking down at his boots. “Every single day.”

“Okay,” she said. In a declarative tone, without giving him much room for argument, she told him. “I want to give this a try.”

“Being married?” he blinked.

She shot him a glare, and if looks could kill, he would have been dead.

“Being together,” Effie said. “We give that a shot and then we’ll do the toasting. Properly this time.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated and he must have seen that she was about to argue because he pulled her close, a hand resting on her hip. She could feel his thumb drawing random, soothing circles on her hip bone. “It doesn’t matter to me if we’re married or not as long as you’re here.”

[peopleandrhythm]

Episode Eight: So Damn Caught in the Middle

Hayley stretches, muscles pulling long, as the midmorning sun heats up the room through the open balcony doors. She’s more or less bare to the world, the remnants of bedsheets little cover after all these years. Blinking sleepily, she curves her body to the side, taking in the sight of her equally naked companion with a pleased half-smile. His breath comes long and slow, but Hayley’s no fool. “Are you awake?”

Barely concealing his mischievous smirk, Elijah shakes his head. Hayley playfully shoves his shoulder. He creaks one eye open. “So cruel, and yet so lovely, even this early.” His smirk is no longer hidden.

“Early? It’s…” She extends her body over Elijah’s, ignoring his groans as she roots around blindly for her jeans. She manages to dig her phone out of her pocket and returns to her side of the bed. Elijah’s hand follows her, resting on the smooth expanse of her hip. She checks the time. “Nearly ten,” she finally finishes. “I didn’t even know you were capable of sleeping this late.”

“Why on earth—” He takes one of her hands, brings her fingers to his lips. “—would I wish to leave this bed? I have thought of being nowhere else in fifteen years.”

Hayley’s eyes roll back as the hand on her hip moves lower. “God,” she breathes. “Fifteen years. Felt like a lifetime—”

Elijah kisses her, a hard, passionate kiss that curls her toes. “I will not allow you to know that kind of pain again,” he promises, voice rasped. Hayley brushes some hair from his eyes, a small, melancholic smile on her face. “I will not leave you, even if that means…” The hand trails lightly up her back, eliciting a breathy laugh. “…we never leave this bed again.”

Hayley snorts and tips her head forward to rest against Elijah’s chest for a moment. Then she pushes away, swinging her legs onto the cold floor. “Would that I could,” she says, swatting away his hand as it chases after her. “But I should probably go check on my daughter and her girlfriend, make sure they’re not still being lazy in bed like some people.” She shoots Elijah an impish look as she grabs his abandoned shirt from the floor and begins to button it.

“A thief now, are we?” In a flash, Elijah is kneeling on the edge of the bed, tugging Hayley closer by her hips.

She twists easily out of his grasp, swooping her jeans up from the floor again. As she climbs into them, she says, “Better find something else to wear, I guess.” She heads for the door. “This is mine now.”

As she turns into the hallway, she hears from behind her, “Maybe I’ll just wear yours.” Her resulting laugh is bright and airy, following her as she makes her way to the girls’ bedroom.

The door is just slightly ajar, so she pushes it open softly. “Hope, River.” When she steps inside, she’s surprised to find the bed empty. “Hope?” No response. “River?” Silence. She closes her eyes and uses her enhanced hearing to listen for any sign of the girls in the compound. Nothing. “Hope!” Her voice is louder now. She’s just about to leave, to see if maybe they’ve gone into the tunnels, when something catches her eye. There’s a photograph in the middle of the bed. She picks it up, and all her breath leaves her body. “Klaus,” she tries to call, but her voice is little more than a whisper. Still staring at the photo, she swallows thickly and shouts, “Klaus! Elijah!”

The latter appears suddenly beside her, Klaus just moments behind. “What is the matter?” Klaus asks, and instead of answering, Hayley lifts up the photograph. The three of them stare in horror at the sight of River, tied up and terrified, and at the words written below: Come alone.

“Where is Hope?” Klaus asks, voice deadly quiet.

“She’s not here,” Hayley whispers.

Louder, Klaus’s voice breaks as he demands, “Where is she?”

“I think the better question,” Elijah says, gently taking the photo from Hayley, “is where is River?”

The sun glints off of the iron gates in front of her. Lafayette Cemetery, she reads, looking down at the Polaroid in her hand, an image of the very place she stands before. Taking a deep breath, and knowing full well this is a terrible decision, Hope enters the cemetery. Her first step over the threshold, she feels a small surge of mystical energy flow through her, as if she were walking through a waterfall. She follows the twisting pathways around mausoleums and monuments, and even though her mind is consumed by worry for her girlfriend, she can’t help but stare in awe at the grandeur of the cemetery.

After a few minutes, she makes a turn and finds herself facing some kind of altar, a long, stone structure raised on a dais in front of yet another mausoleum. And slumped against its base—

“River!” Hope dashes forward, but comes to an abrupt stop when she slams against an invisible wall. She looks down to see a line of salt blocking her path.

“Just a little boundary spell.” Hope’s head whips up to see a woman with light brown skin and piercing green eyes standing just behind River. “Don’t worry, I have no interest in harming your little pet.”

“Then how about you let her go and we can talk?”

The woman makes a face as if pretending to weigh her options. “Tempting offer, but I think I’d rather have her here as leverage over you, Hope Mikaelson.”

Hope’s eyes narrow. “Doesn’t seem very fair that you know who I am but I have no idea who the hell you are.”

“Fair enough. My name is Theo LeRoy. I represent a large faction of New Orleans witches who are seeking to…reaffirm our status in this city.”

“Okay? And what does that have to do with me?”

“Well that’s what this little meeting is about,” Theo says, voice light and inviting. “I want to talk to you about your…connection to this city, and so I took your werewolf and I pumped her full of wolfsbane.” She nudges River with the toe of her boot, and the girl slides onto the hard stone of the dais, barely conscious. Hope stiffens, her breath coming shallow. “So, now that I have your attention, and your girlfriend…” The smile slides off of Theo’s face. “Do exactly as I say and no one has to die.”

The family gathers around the grand staircase, passing around the photo of River. “Does anyone recognize the location?” Freya asks as she hands it off to her sister.

“It could be anywhere in the Quarter,” Klaus says, pacing, “or even outside of it. We need to do a locator spell, now.”

Freya nods. “I’ll gather what supplies I can, but I’m going to be limited.”

“How did they get in here?” Hayley’s sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, staring at nothing. “Hope put a boundary spell on this place. How did they get in to take River?”

Freya exchanges a look with Elijah, who’s standing close to Hayley. She explains, “Hope just barely kept the spell up when the witches attacked yesterday, and that was when she was awake and concentrating. If they came back in the night, while her defenses were down…” She trails off. She looks to Klaus, who gives her a nod, and then she disappears into a side room, off to find the means to complete a locator spell.

Elijah asks, “What do we do if we cannot find her with magic?”

“Then we dismantle this city brick by brick until she is returned to us,” Klaus spits.

“And how long before Marcel Gerard shows up at our door to put an end to us all?” Kol is leaning up against a pillar, looking bored.

“He’s right, Nik,” Rebekah says. “If we go on a rampage we’ll have to deal with both Marcel and those same witches who want us gone. We may not find her in time.”

“Then what would you have me do?!” Klaus roars. “Sit here and hope she returns?”

Elijah cautions, “Be smart about this, brother—”

“I’m going to go to Marcel.” Everyone falls silent. Hayley stands up. “I’m going to ask him for his help.”

“Absolutely not,” Elijah says at the same time that Klaus warns, “Out of the question.”

Hayley looks at them both like they’re crazy. “Our little girl is missing, her girlfriend taken hostage in some kind of trap for her. If you think I’m not going to go the most powerful person in the city for help—”

“And what if he’s the one behind this all?”

Rebekah’s eyes shoot daggers at Kol. “Marcel would never hurt a child.”

Hayley starts walking toward the courtyard. “I’m going to Marcel, and Rebekah’s coming with me.”

Klaus steps in front of her to block her path. “I’ll go.”

“We don’t have time for this, Klaus! Rebekah and I are the only ones he won’t kill on sight.” She starts pointing to the siblings. “Elijah ripped his heart out, Kol killed Davina, Freya condemned her to a hell with the ancestors, and you…well, you’re you. He won’t kill me and he certainly won’t kill Rebekah.” She takes a deep breath. “You stay with Freya. Do the spell. If that doesn’t work…” She pushes past Klaus. “…tear this city apart.”

Theo approaches Hope with long, confident strides. “What do you know of your connection to New Orleans, Hope Mikaelson?”

Hope gives a little shrug. “I was born here. My mother was born here. My father and his siblings helped establish this city, like, a million years ago. And when we ran, this was the one place we could never come back to.”

“Until now.”

“Yeah, until now. So what?”

“So your timing is a little…inconvenient.” Theo stops about a foot away from Hope, the salt line between them. “The witches of New Orleans have been…I guess you could say scheming, for about five years now. We have a plan in place to reestablish our race as the dominant power in New Orleans. And your presence here…well, I’m not interested in having any unpredictable factors running around and messing up years of hard work.”

Hope’s face betrays a mixture of confusion and frustration. “I don’t give a shit about whatever master plan for world domination you guys have been cooking for howeverlong. I don’t give a shit about your politics. We came here to save my family and get out, and what you do after that is entirely up to you. Just leave us out of it.”

“Would that I could,” Theo laments. “But now that I have you, I want to put to bed any threat you might pose, once and for all.”

“What’re you going to do, kill me?”

Theo laughs. “God no. The last thing we need is the wrath of the recently-awakened Mikaelson clan raining down upon us. No, nothing so morbid.”

“Then what?”

“Simple.” Theo smiles sinisterly. “I want you to renounce your connection to the ancestors of New Orleans.”

Marcel’s just sliding on his jacket when the doors to his penthouse burst open. He turns to see who the intruder is, but there’s no one there. He sighs. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You’re going to have to make time.”

Rolling his eyes, he twists his head to see Rebekah leaning against the windows. He lets out a small, huffed laugh, and half a second a later has Rebekah pinned by the throat. “I told Klaus to get all of you out of town,” he snarls.

Then he’s skidding backward, having been shoved away from Rebekah by a glowering Hayley. “We need your help.”

“Like hell—”

“Hope’s missing.”

There’s a pregnant pause. “What do you mean she’s missing?”

Hayley whips the photo of River like a Frisbee to Marcel, who deftly snatches it out of the air. “That’s her girlfriend. She was kidnapped sometime in the middle of the night and used as bait to draw Hope out. We don’t know who has them or what they want.”

“Why the hell did you bring her girlfriend here?”

Rebekah’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “We didn’t bring her here, you wanker, she came of her own volition. And that’s hardly the point.”

“Marcel.” Hayley steps forward, hands reaching out in supplication. “They’re seventeen. They’re kids. They didn’t—they didn’t ask for this, Hope didn’t ask for a family that would put her in danger.”

Marcel licks his lips. “Yeah well maybe if you hadn’t come back here in the first place, this never would have happened.”

“I made my daughter a promise, and I will not apologize for keeping it.” She rips the photo from Marcel’s hand. “Are you going to help us or not?”

Marcel’s eyes dart between the two women. His loathing for the Mikaelson family boils hot just beneath his skin, but these are kids, girls barely older than Davina had been when she was first dragged into the dangerous mess that is New Orleans. He sighs again, and gently takes the picture back from Hayley. “I’ll help, if only to get you out of my city.” He studies the photo. “Let me make a few calls.”

Freya’s hands move slowly over a map of New Orleans, Klaus’s blood gleaming red in the sunlight. Her eyes are screwed tight as she feels for any trace of her niece’s presence in the Quarter—but the blood remains stagnant, a threatening lump on the paper.

Klaus prowls around the room. “How have you not found her yet?”

“Brother,” Elijah begins, but Freya cuts him off. “She’s being cloaked. I can tell she’s here, within the city, but…” She slouches, eyes opening wearily. “I can’t pin down a location.”

Klaus roars, punching a hole into the brick of the compound wall. Elijah pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is our next move, Freya?”

With half a shrug, she says, “I suppose it’s up to Marcel to—” She cuts herself off, eyes widening with a sudden idea. “The venom.”

“What venom?” Kol asks, entering the room with a blood bag in hand.

Freya stands. “Elijah, Kol, River’s venom was used in the cure for your bites. The salve was applied directly to your open wounds, and it’s been less than twenty-four hours—I’m willing to bet that venom is still in your systems.”

“You want to do a locator spell on River,” Elijah clarifies.

“It may not work,” Freya hedges. “They may have her cloaked, too. But if whoever’s doing the cloaking didn’t think we’d have the means to track her…”

“They might not have wasted the energy trying to hide her,” Klaus finishes. Freya nods. “Do it.”

Elijah tears open the side of his hand with his teeth and lets his blood spill over the map, a macabre rainstorm of red.

“What?”

Theo sighs. “I want you to revoke any claim you have to the power granted to us by our ancestors.”

Hope throws her hands up. “Fine! I revoke it! I renounce the stupid ancestors! Will you let River go now?”

Rolling her eyes, Theo says, “It’s not so simple, Hope. There’s a process to these things. And don’t you want to know what you’ll be giving up?”

“A legacy of psychos like you?”

“Cute. No. You’re luckier than most of us, Hope. Your power doesn’t derive directly from the consecration of your ancestors. Your power comes from a number of sources, making you quite the little Energizer Bunny.” She ends her sentence with a bitter laugh.

“So why are you so concerned about my connection to these ancestors?” Hope asks.

“Because even though your power doesn’t solely trace back to them, you are connected to them. Your grandmother, the witch Esther, was consecrated among our people. Therefore, you have a direct link to their power. I want that link severed.”

“Again, wh—”

“Our own link to the ancestors was severed fifteen years ago, when our regent, Vincent Griffith, blew it up. Literally.” She laughs humorlessly. “For fifteen years we have been scraping by on what little power we can gather on our own. But we’re seeking to change that.”

“How?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Theo snaps. “But know this: when our power is restored, you will have no part of it.”

“Am I really that much of a threat to you?” Hope asks in disbelief. “If anything, I’d probably want to help the witches of New Orleans since, you know, I am one.”

“We don’t trust you,” Theo says bluntly. “You may be a witch, but you are a Mikaelson, too. And the Mikaelsons have brought nothing but chaos and destruction to this city since they first washed up on its shores. We don’t want your help. We want you gone.”

Hope nods to River. “So this is what you’re offering? I renounce this connection, and you let her go free?”

“Seems simple, doesn’t it?”

Hope stares at the body of her girlfriend, barely moving with each breath. Finally she says quietly, “I’ll do it.”

Theo’s answering grin is wicked. “Excellent!” She lifts a hand to blast a gap into the salt line. “Let’s get started then.”

“Alright, thanks.” Marcel hangs up, presses the top of his phone against his lips as he spends a few moments processing what he’d just learned. Then he turns to face the others. “I think I may know who’s behind this.”

Hayley looks up from her own phone. “The witches.”

“How did you—”

She jiggles the device. “Freya just texted. They tracked River to the City of the Dead.”

Rebekah’s brow furrows. “What would the witches want with Hope?”

“There’s this Algiers witch, Theo, who had a dream or a vision or whatever about Hope, the night she and Vincent came to spring Klaus free.”

“And how do you know about the dreams of witches?” Rebekah asks, suspicious.

Marcel’s answering smile is forced. “Because she was in my bed at the time.”

Rebekah’s face freezes. Hayley shoots her a look. “Can we not do this now?” She turns back to Marcel. “I swear to god, if one more witch has a vision about my daughter—”

“She seemed to think that Hope being in New Orleans was a threat to the witches’ power. She didn’t go into detail, and I didn’t ask. I thought once Hope left she’d be gone for good, so it wouldn’t matter.”

“Yes, well, a plan to neutralize the threat that a teenage girl poses isn’t exactly pillow talk, is it?”

“Rebekah!” Hayley huffs out a sigh. “Well, they’ve got her now, and whatever they’re planning on doing, we’re going to stop them.” She marches for the door, but a strong hand on her arm jerks her backward.

“Don’t kill Theo.” Hayley opens her mouth to argue, but Marcel talks over her. “This isn’t about…listen, she’s well-respected among the covens. Vincent might be regent again, but that’s more political than anything else. If you want to keep the witches in check, killing one of their leaders is not the way to do it.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Hayley spits, before wrenching her arm free and disappearing into the entryway.

Hope is on her knees on the dais, her girlfriend crumpled on the ground mere feet away. Her forehead, arms, and chest are covered in markings she can’t understand, drawn on her skin by Theo’s finger dipped into some black paste. Candles cover nearly every horizontal surface in sight, and Theo stands behind the altar, arms raised. “Fen lyen ki, rejte timoun nan,” she chants, face tipped up toward the noon sun. “Fen lyen ki, rejte timoun nan. Fen lyen ki, rejte timoun nan.” She looks down at Hope and nods.

Hope takes a deep breath. “Ancestors of New Orleans, I renounce—”

“What the hell is this?”

Hope twists around abruptly to see Marcel Gerard striding up to the dais. Theo’s eyes narrow. “This doesn’t concern you, Marcel.”

Marcel gestures toward River. “Really. Seems to me like you’re breaking my number one rule: we don’t hurt kids.”

“She’ll be fine,” Theo grits. “Once this is over, both of them can go home.”

“The hell are you doing, Theo?” Marcel says, shaking his head. “If the witches were unhappy, why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because this isn’t about vampire bullies in the Quarter, Marcel! This is about power, who has it and who’s going to get it.”

“So you had to threaten a kid to get it? That’s who you are?”

Theo draws herself up tall. “What, you thought that because we slept together you knew me?” Marcel is silent. “Wake up, Marcel. This city is tearing itself apart, has been for years. The witches are looking to survive, and this?” She gestures to the interrupted ritual. “This is just the first step.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also the last.” Theo’s knocked back by a harsh blow, and when she gathers herself again, both of the girls are missing. Her head whips back and forth, eyes wide as she looks for them. “They’re gone, Theo, back where they belong. And you?” Suddenly, Marcel’s face is inches from her own, and there’s a loud clanging sound. She looks down to see shackles around her wrists. “You’re coming with me.”

Hope and River sit side-by-side on a shredded couch inside the compound. River’s leaning heavily into Hope’s side, and Hope continuously brings water to her lips, trying to flush the wolfsbane out of her system. Hayley paces in front of them, chewing on her nails. “What the hell were you thinking?” she demands. “Either one of you could have died with those witches.”

“What was I supposed to do, Mom?” Hope snaps. “They took her and told me to come alone. I sure as hell wasn’t going to risk anything.”

“We could have come up with a plan, Hope, instead of putting both of you in jeopardy. I taught you to be more responsible than this.”

“Yeah, well, you also taught me to take care of the people I love, so I guess this is your fault.”

Hayley’s nostrils flare, but Elijah puts a calming hand on her shoulder. “I think what your mother is trying to say,” he interjects kindly, “is that we were all very worried about you, and should you ever find yourself in a situation like this again, perhaps asking your family for help wouldn’t be entirely out of the question.”

Klaus stalks into the room, stopping right in front of his daughter before squatting down to look her in the eye. “What did they want?”

“Klaus!” Hayley scolds, but Klaus ignores her. “What did the witches want from you?”

Hope tips her head to the side so it’s resting atop River’s. “She wanted me to sever my link to the witches’ ancestors. She wanted me to give up access to their power.”

Klaus and Elijah exchange a long, significant look, before Elijah asks, “Did she explain why?”

“Apparently I’m some kind of threat. They don’t like the idea of a Mikaelson witch being juiced up on New Orleans power, especially when they actually get it back.”

Klaus’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “When they get it—” His eyes blow wide with realization. “They’re going to reestablish the connection with the ancestors.”

“Can that even be done?” Elijah asks. “Davina imploded that connection from the inside.”

“It can be done,” Freya says, walking into the room. “But the sacrifice they would need to do it…no Harvest ritual would engender enough power. The sacrifice would have to be enormous.”

“Like a miracle werewolf-vampire-witch child?” Hayley asks quietly.

Everyone’s eyes turn slowly to Hope, who stares back, wide-eyed and speechless.

The tunnels beneath New Orleans are vast and sprawling, connecting every important landmark and structure. Just below Marcel’s building, the tunnels open up into a nice little cavern, where, chained to a wall, Theo sits, glaring at the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, a rat, illuminated by the candles on a small ledge, scurries from shadow to shadow, making Theo’s skin crawl. Her wrists are already aching from their time in the shackles, cursed long ago to prevent their prisoner from performing magic. Even though she wants more than anything to rip herself free from the wall, she remains icily still, not giving her captor any satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

Marcel stands a few feet away, arms crossed. “Theo, Theo, Theo.” He slowly lowers himself into a crouch. A dangerous smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What am I going to do with you?”

At a glacial pace, Theo turns her face up to look at him, her expression unreadable. Once she’s locked eyes with him, a relaxed, sinister smile of her own breaks out across her face. “No Marcel,” she whispers, voice raspy. “The question is, what are we going to do with your bodies once we’ve killed you all?”

[coloursflyaway]

Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Pairing: Dirk Gently/ Todd Brotzman

Rating: T

Words: 2.557

It's late and Todd finds Dirk sitting on the stairs in front of the Ridgely; there's singing and confessions, and maybe, a kiss.

For everyone who doesn't know the video of Samuel singing, try this link: X

He finds Dirk outside. It’s a cool night and yet the other isn’t wearing a jacket, just a tattered, grey hoodie wrapped around slim shoulders, the light of the streetlights making his hair gleam copper and mahogany. He’s not shaking, and yet Todd would think it fitting.

There is no reason Todd is here, unless Dirk is rubbing off on him and he gets hunches now too, which make him wake up in the middle of a Sunday night, the remnants of a dream clinging to his lashes as he blinks himself conscious, disappearing with every passing moment. By now, after he has spent long minutes rapping knuckles on Dirk’s door, finally given up and then found the other sitting on the steps leading to the Ridgely, Todd cannot remember much of it, just the phantom of a touch, something that feels like another body’s heat.

Perhaps, he muses as he slowly walks down closer, there were stars in his dream too, far away and yet so bright, because they feel more familiar to him now as he looks up at the clear night sky than they did the night before.

Dirk doesn’t turn around, although Todd knows that he’s not being quiet, doesn’t even budge when Todd falls down next to him, a sudden lack of strength making anything more graceful impossible. He looks pale in this light, lips a fainter pink than Todd is used to, his cheekbones painting shadows across the canvass of his skin while his eyes sparkle like Todd imagines the Indian ocean to look when the sun has long since set; it’s not the Dirk he is used to, not the sunny, bright version with a smile pulling his mouth wide, colourful clothes telling the world everything about him even before he has said a word. It’s the Dirk he has met at the back of an almost-stolen truck, the forest around them whispering and telling secrets, a man who isn’t lost anymore but still hasn’t quite found his way. Forlorn and melancholic, enchanting in a completely different way; Todd wants to reach out and find out how his fingers would feel against his own, if they’d be cool or warm, calloused or soft.

The desire is hardly new, so Todd herds it back and swallows it down, pretends to forget about it, although he knows it isn’t going anywhere at all.

“Aren’t you cold?”, he asks, just to give his lips something to do, something to say he can dictate still, but Dirk doesn’t turn and doesn’t reply, just blinks, long, golden eyelashes momentarily brushing over porcelain skin. “I have this melody stuck in my head”, he says instead, something Todd didn’t ask to know and yet prefers to an answer to his question. “It won’t leave. I’ve never heard it before, at least I don’t think so, and yet it’s there. Not clear, never clear, like I have my head under water and someone is playing piano in the next room. Like it’s drifting to me from another universe. It won’t let me sleep.”

His voice is soft, and yet sounds like a tune of its own, his accent crisp and clear as always, making Todd wonder how this continent and its people sound to Dirk’s ears. “Could that happen? The drifting, I mean”, he asks, because that’s what is expected from a best friend, an assistant; a conversation and not tracing the contours of Dirk’s lips with his eyes, getting lost in the timbre of his voice. Faintly, Todd wonders when this happened, because he can’t remember; what he remembers is being annoyed, then amused, then endeared, then in love; states of being, never transitions.   But they have had more than a year together, which feels like more than a life sometimes, and for Todd, have started a new calculation of times: before Dirk, and after.

“I don’t know”, the other answers, and Todd wants to know what he is looking at and why it’s more interesting than looking back at him. “Possibly. Probably. I’ve never been good with keeping track of universes, there are just too many of them.” To this, at least, Todd can relate, because he seems to have lost his ability to keep track of anything at all these past months.

“What melody is it?”, he asks, watches Dirk’s fingers twitch against his knees, drawing patterns across maroon fabric. “If it’s something from this universe, I might know it.” The thought seems to surprise Dirk, because his brow furrows, his plush lips turn downwards for just a second. “I didn’t consider that”, he admits after it has passed, something that happens seldom; Todd spends a long moment wanting to kiss him. “I thought it was just mine. But I suppose you’re right, perhaps you do.”

He should be used to it, and yet Todd startles when Dirk turns around, blue eyes resting on him with the intensity they always seem to hold, only that it is muted somehow, thoughtful and serious instead of bright and enthusiastic. With the street lights only illuminating one side of Dirk’s face, the other looks almost ethereal, moonlight making the tips of his eyelashes gleam silver.

And then he hums a note, low and sweet, and maybe Dirk hasn’t the best voice Todd has ever heard, but it’s warm and melancholic right now, grows stronger and more confident as he continues, adding note after note, letting them weave into a tune. At first an unfamiliar one, but then Todd remembers the taste of burnt caramel, the scent of lavender and the clanking of fine china, there is a house conjured up in his mind, and he only realises that he is smiling when Dirk stops, looking at him confused.  

“Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep”, Todd sings softly, picks up where Dirk left off and only finds the words a second too late; it’s been so long. “When love came and told me, I shouldn't sleep, bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I…” Years must have passed since he last heard the tune, played from an old record, Doris Day’s voice competing with the crackling of the speakers. Back when he was a teenager, it had been their neighbour’s favourite song, who’d play it at least a dozen times a day. Mrs. Kaufmann, an old lady, had made them overly sweet caramels, which always had tasted vaguely burnt, and told them about her late husband over tea, who had swept her off her feet in his army uniform in a Viennese bar back when she was a girl, asking for their very first dance. She had followed him to the US, but never quite lost the foreign lilt to her voice.

“It’s an old song”, Todd finally says, because Dirk still looks at him with puzzled wonder shining from his eyes. “When I was a kid, our neighbour would play it. There’s a hundred versions by now, I think, maybe you heard one of them around somewhere.” It’s the far more logical explanation and yet that doesn’t make it the right one, Todd knows that by now. Dirk seems to consider it at least, but then shakes his head, soft strands of hair falling into his eyes. “It’s different”, is the only explanation he offers, but for Todd, it’s enough. “Can you sing it again?”

He’s looking at him, almost like he did when they first met, Todd angry and Dirk taking his hand, watching him and trying to figure him out. An assistant, he had proclaimed back then; now, he stays silent, and Todd takes a deep breath, and starts again.

“Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep, when love came and told me, I shouldn't sleep-” The words come easier now, like his lips are remembering which way to move, and Dirk is watching him, and still doesn’t seem to have solved his puzzle. “Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, am I…  I lost my heart, but what of it, he is cold I agree… he might laugh, but I love it, although the laugh's on me- “

And it’s true, Todd realises as he holds the note for a second too long, startled, even if Dirk isn’t cold, even if he wouldn’t laugh; the rest rings true, painfully so. He quirks a smile, because it’s a thing he can do, even while he continues. “I'll sing to him, bring spring to him, and long, for the day when I'll cling to him… bewitched, bothered and bewildered, am I-“

There is more, and Todd is almost certain he knows at least half the lyrics, but it seems enough for now, so he lets his voice fade, looks at Dirk and sees him like he always does, finds that realisation don’t change a thing. “And, ring a bell?”, he asks, and Dirk smiles, although there is an edge to the turn of his lips that Todd is not familiar with, something like exhaustion darkening his eyes. “Yes. And no. It’s complicated”, Dirk answers and doesn’t make any sense at all; he seems to notice it too, because his brow furrows, his fingers twitch again. “I don’t think I have ever heard it before, still, but a bell is ringing, because I – because the universe is hardly subtle and sometimes, well.” He pauses, seeming to think that he has given an answer when Todd is more confused than before. It must show on his face, because Dirk notices, tilts his head, and it must be the golden glow of the streetlight that paints a faint blush on his cheeks.

“It’s a taunt, you see”, Dirk tries to explain and fails, looking down at his fingers pulling at the fabric of his pants. “Sending me the song, and sending you here and letting you sing… I have mentioned it before, I think, the universe and I are far away from being friends.” He says it like it should make sense, and maybe it does to some part of Todd, some small, inconsequential bunch of neurons which cause his heart to clench and then expand abruptly, a peculiar feeling. “I have no idea what you are talking about”, he tells Dirk, his voice sounding hoarse for no reason, his heart deciding to pick up its pace when Dirk looks up at him again through gold- and silver-tipped eyelashes. This, at least, Todd understands.

“You, of course”, Dirk says, causes Todd’s heart to somersault, to stop. It’s the strangest sensation, because something is happening, Todd knows it, feels his heart beating faster than it has any right to, his throat seizing up, his palms starting to sweat, and yet his brain refuses to register what it is. He blinks once, twice, takes in the soft, bittersweet curve of Dirk’s lips, the warmth of his eyes, then asks, “What?”

It catches Dirk off guard, quite obviously so, because he tilts his head, as if he is unsure if Todd is messing with him or really doesn’t understand, face for a second entirely unreadable. “You”, he repeats, then mercifully adds, “It’s about you, of course. Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, am I…  I lost my heart, but what of it, he is cold I agree… who else could it be about? Unless, of course, you just pretend to not know because it makes it easier for you, in that case, it’s about an entirely unspecified person I’ve fallen madly in love with.” Dirk says it like it’s a fact, a statement as interesting and newsworthy as talk about the weather, like Todd should have known all along, even before he came down here and saw Dirk sitting on the steps. Like the words do not pull the floor from underneath Todd’s feet, make him feel like he’s falling and floating at the same time, like gravity suddenly doesn’t quite apply to him anymore.

“Madly in love?”, he repeats, and now that his brain is catching up with the rest of his body, the blush on Dirk’s cheeks suddenly looks darker, his lips softer, his eyes not dim with exhaustion, but resignation. “Infatuated, if you’d prefer.” “I don’t think I do.”

The words have slipped past his lips before Todd has realised it, change something in Dirk’s expression, although he doesn’t know if for better, or for worse. He looks as confused as Todd still feels, but his eyes seem a little bit brighter. “What?” He could kiss Dirk, Todd realises, he could close the distance between them and kiss the uncertainty right off the other’s lips, but he doesn’t, hardly moves at all. “I wouldn’t prefer it. I quite like madly in love. Has a nice ring to it. Sounds more like something I would say.”

Todd tries a smile, and there is realisation slowly brightening Dirk’s expression, a sun rising after a long, cold night, and Todd can’t resist, reaches out and takes Dirk’s long-fingered hand, finds that it is cool, but no callouses catch against his own skin. Dirk’s fingers curl, squeezing softly, and his eyes are full of beatific awe; he blinks twice and Todd wonders if it’s the other trying to make sure this is not a dream.

“Would it… be something you could imagine yourself saying?”, Dirk asks slowly, like every word has to be pronounced carefully, his gaze flickering down to their joined hands for a split second. “I think I’ll stick to head over heels, or something of the sort, but generally, yes. Definitely.” It feels strange to say it out-loud, even if such a roundabout way; a secret, the last one, he has carried for months now finally out in the open, his heart laid bare for Dirk to crush or keep. “That’s… good. Yes. Very good.”

Dirk sounds tentative, almost shy, which is strange and yet endearing; Todd grips his hand a little bit tighter. There are no words he can think of saying, but the fingers he has pressed against the back of Dirk’s hand are tingling, and although this much contact is something he would have considered bliss just an hour ago, he can’t help but want more still. And Dirk is right there, looking at him with wide, trusting eyes, and Todd has never been strong enough.

The kiss is gentle, because it couldn’t be anything else, Dirk’s lips soft against his, parting to let out a surprised gasp, his fingers fluttering against Todd’s as he licks the last hints of hesitation right out of Dirk’s mouth, tasting a hint of peppermint and citrus.

There is nothing of the former paleness left on Dirk’s face when he pulls back, but the other man’s eyes are still closed, like he isn’t quite ready to face the world yet, and Todd can’t help himself, steals another kiss, longer this time, even if still careful, loving, tender.

“The music stops”, Dirk suddenly breathes out, but cups Todd’s cheek with his free hand so he won’t pull away. “When we kiss.” “Is that good?”, Todd asks, half the syllables lost in between brushing lips and Dirk’s tongue darting out to taste. “I don’t know, but we could go inside and find out”, Dirk answers, and even like this, voice almost lost in between their mouths, he sounds happy, playful. His fingernails scrape across Todd’s scalp and make him shiver, melt a little bit against the other as he kisses his yes onto Dirk’s lips.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Defeated 1/1

Post ep Per Manum

What is a miracle? Is it something we can reach out and touch? Is it tangible enough to even recognise?

To understand its power; its majesty? Or do miracles happen every day only to pass us by? Are we too blind to see them?

I wish I knew the answers. I wish I could believe Mulder as he holds me gently against him as I cry these bitter, angry tears; tears that have been so long in coming and that now take my breath away with the sheer effort it takes to cry them at all.

It’s so long since I cried like this, so long since I allowed myself to dissolve in to pieces in front of him. I try to remember when I last felt this hollow, this empty, but I just can’t. The effort is too much for my bruised senses right now and I’m aware of nothing else but the feel of his arms as they tighten around me.

His whispered words reverberate around my head and even though I know he means well, that he would never intentionally hurt me, his words pierce me like needles to my skin, needles that have seemed to govern my very existence over the last few desperate months.

Never give up on a miracle Scully

He means to comfort me. To take away the sadness I saw reflected in his beautiful hazel eyes. But I don’t believe in miracles the way I once did, I don’t even want to believe anymore. Because belief brings with it false hope; hope that I am finding more and more that I just can’t continue with, the past seven years having been a never ending emotional roller coaster ride of desire and disappointment, everything I once imagined life would be cruelly torn away from me.

And for what?

A handful of answers balanced against a hundred questions just isn’t enough anymore. It’s not enough to justify what we have been through together, not enough to justify what has been taken from us.

Sometimes, when I feel at my weakest, my most vulnerable, alone at night unable to sleep, I allow myself to fleetingly think that it might be better if I had never met him, wondering how my life might have been had I not chosen the path I did.

But like I say, those thoughts are fleeting; chased away by images of him that take me gently in to sleep, this complex man who has, over the years we have been together, somehow taken up residence in my heart. And when my mind is quiet, when my body is still, I allow myself to turn my thoughts to him, which even in itself is a painful reminder of what can never be, that no matter how much I want it – want him, that most simple of human requirements is just too complex to risk what we have.

Because what we share cannot be broken down into simplistic terms; we’re not lovers - we never have been, despite what our colleagues may imagine.

We both know that we have been the subject of speculation for some time now, although they have no idea, how could they? Because what we share is so much more than the physical, a connection so deep that it would take death to tear us apart.

He loves me in a way I have never been loved before; he would lay down his life in exchange for mine without even giving it a second thought. Because I am his heart and he is mine.

I feel it in every fibre of his being as he holds me now. Allowing me to cry my tears that are surely scalding his soul the way they scald mine. He rocks me gently against him, whispering endearments that, frankly, I just don’t feel worthy enough to hear right now.

Because I failed us.

He warned me not to have too much hope when we entered into this thing, his words telling me one thing whilst all the time his eyes and his heart betrayed him in his desperation; because I know he wanted this as much as I did - maybe more so. I know the miracle he wished for me he really wanted for us both; a way to carve out a future. To drag us away from a past that haunts us.

A new beginning.

But there will be no new beginnings now.

There will only be the recriminations for things past as we struggle to exist in the depths of the darkness that threatens with every new day to consume us, to tear us apart, to finish us.

But while we are together we have strength. Together we will survive it. Whatever else I don’t understand about my life I at least acknowledge that much, because the thought of losing him has the power to reduce me to a terrified state of absolute nothingness; It’s a horror I just can’t comprehend despite everything I have experienced in the past.

Because I love him.

I love him with an intensity that blinds me to all others and as he holds me in his arms, allowing me to cry, I realise that he loves me too. It’s not a flowers and candlelight kind of love, in fact I gave up on such romantic notions a long time ago because our love is different; our love is born of a lifetime of pain, of suffering, of things lost than can never be regained.

It is an enduring love.

And I know that whatever else they take from us, they will can never take that.

I feel Mulders lips as they place the gentlest kiss against my crown, so soft I can almost imagine that it didn’t happen at all.

It’s always been that way with us; we don’t take anything for granted anymore. But he is here and this is real - at least for the moment.

But all too soon I feel him begin to loosen his arms from around me and I know that in a few seconds he will step away, to gaze in to my eyes and search for the answer he needs; for me to affirm to him that I am all right, to reassure him that I can deal with this, just as I always do.

But I can’t deal with it.

Not anymore.

I don’t even want to try.

I’m so tired of never admitting anything to him; this man, my dearest friend who once called me his touchstone, never realising that I might need him every bit as much as he needs me.

I don’t want him to ask me if I’m okay because I know when he does I will lie to him, just as I always lie to him when he asks me that question. And when I do, he will turn and go. Giving me the space he stupidly thinks I need, he will leave me to face yet more heartbreak alone.

But space isn’t what I need right now.

What I need is complicated, unattainable even; because all I need is him.

I wish he realised that, understood his place in my life because telling him is just too hard. I want him to read my mind, I want him to look into my eyes, to tell me finally what he really sees, to understand what I want from him.

I want him to take my hand and lead me away from all of this fucking darkness that has gradually and completely consumed me.

I want to know where I’m going now that the road has fallen away from beneath me.

I want to lay down beside him and trace my fingertips along his bare skin, to affirm once and for all that what we have is real.

I want to scream out my need of him in the dead of night. I want to shatter the stillness that surrounds me.

It’s all just so complicated and yet it should be so simple. But then nothing is ever simple for us. I should know that by now.

I stiffen as I feel him step away, to release his hold on me. And I feel the tears threaten again because I’m not yet ready to break that connection with him. I’m not ready to smile at him with trembling lips and affirm that I’m fine, that I’m dealing with this, just as I have dealt with everything in our turbulent past.

Because right now, I feel like I want to die and he’s the only thing that’s keeping me breathing.

Why doesn’t he realise that?

I can’t look up at him. I know that if I do I will break down completely, so I take the easy way out; I begin to turn away from him, wanting, needing to be the one who walks away.

Because as much as it tears me apart I know it’s the right thing for both of us.

I don’t want to be able to blame him one day for leaving me when I needed him the most.

“Scully wait…”

His whispered imploration is so intense it stops me in my tracks; so much yearning in his voice, so much pain. In fact I sometimes wonder how much more pain we can be expected to bear before we shatter into a million pieces.

The urge to turn around, to throw myself against him is strong enough to make my heart miss a beat, yet another piece of me gone forever; surrendered to him.

But I don’t.

Instead I begin to slip my coat from my shoulders, conscious suddenly that its added weight is just too much to bear even as I feel him behind me, waiting for me to respond.

And almost against my will, I turn back to him, my mouth forming the words I know he wants to hear.

“I’m fine Mulder.”

There. I’ve said it.

Now he can go.

He can walk out the door with a clear conscience; safe in the knowledge that he has comforted me as much as I will permit him.

But he doesn’t walk. He doesn’t move and for the first time I’m aware of the streaks that shine wetly against his skin in the soft half light. Tears of his own that I was too consumed in my own misery - in my own failure - to even notice before, but now I watch as his eyes fill up again, watch a single tear break free and trace a new path down those same salty tracks.

Less than a foot separates us, a mere few inches that seem like infinity as he works his mouth like a little boy desperately trying not to cry and I suddenly realise that he’s not even aware of the futility of trying to hold on to his emotion, that it’s too late for that as the tears trickle steadily down that face I love so much.

“I’m not.” He finally manages.

And it’s enough.

It’s enough for me to step forward, to cradle his face in my hands as I bring my lips to his skin, kissing away his tears, even as my own begin anew. I feel his fingers in my hair, guiding me towards him until finally I feel his mouth on mine, not in an explosion of fire and passion, but instead in a statement of infinite tenderness, of two lost souls who have finally found each other through the darkness.

And then he releases me, leaving me bereft; because I can’t bear it, I can’t bear to have him leave me now. I can’t bear to have to accept another disappointment tonight.

I don’t want to have to lay in my bed, sobbing into the darkness for all the things I will never have.

I think it might kill me eventually. This sadness that lives deep inside of me and which steals away all that is good from my life.

That might one day steal him.

But he doesn’t go.

Instead, a tiny smile plays across his face, brightening his features, chasing away the pain for an instant, his beautiful eyes warm and soft as slowly, hesitantly, he holds out his hand to me.

I take it.

End

[fiftyshadesofdimmadome]

Book 1; Chapter 3

Kate is ecstatic.

“But what was he doing at Clayton’s?” Her curiosity oozes through the phone. I’m in the depths of the stock room, trying to keep my voice casual.

“He was in the area.”

“I think that is one huge coincidence, Ana. You don’t think he was there to see you?” she speculates. My heart lurches at the prospect, but it’s a short-lived joy. The dull, disap pointing reality is that he was here on business.

“He was visiting the farming division of WSU. He’s funding some research,” I mutter. “Oh yes. He’s given the department a $2.5 million grant.”

Wow.

“How do you know this?”

“Ana, I’m a journalist, and I’ve written a profile on the guy. It’s my job to know this.” “Okay, Carla Bernstein, keep your hair on. So do you want these photos?”

“Of course I do. The question is, who’s going to do them and where.”

“We could ask him where. He says he’s staying in the area.”

“You can contact him?”

“I have his cell phone number.”

Kate gasps.

“The richest, most elusive, most enigmatic bachelor in Washington State, just gave you his cell phone number.”

“Er... yes.”

“Ana! He likes you. No doubt about it.” Her tone is emphatic.

“Kate, he’s just trying to be nice.” But even as I say the words, I know they’re not true Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome doesn’t do nice. He does polite, maybe. And a small quiet voice whis pers, perhaps Kate is right. My scalp prickles at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he might like me. After all, he did say he was glad Kate didn’t do the interview. I hug myself with quiet glee, rocking from side to side, entertaining the possibility that he might like me for one brief moment. Kate brings me back to the now.

“I don’t know who we’ll get to do the shoot. Levi, our regular photographer, can’t.

He’s home in Idaho Falls for the weekend. He’ll be pissed that he blew an opportunity to photo one of America’s leading entrepreneurs.”

“Hmm... What about Jose?”

“Great idea! You ask him he’ll do anything for you. Then call Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome and find out where he wants us.” Kate is irritatingly cavalier about Jose.

“I think you should call him.”

“Who, Jose?” Kate scoffs.

“No, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.”

“Ana, you’re the one with the relationship.”

“Relationship?” I squeak at her, my voice rising several octaves. “I barely know the

guy.”

“At least you’ve met him,” she says bitterly. “And it looks like he wants to know you better. Ana, just call him,” she snaps and hangs up. She is so bossy sometimes. I frown at my cell, sticking my tongue out at it.

I’m just leaving a message for Jose when Paul enters the stock room looking for sand paper.

“We’re kind of busy out there, Ana,” he says without acrimony.

“Yeah, urn, sorry,” I mutter, turning to leave.

“So, how come you know Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?” Paul’s voice is unconvincingly nonchalant.

“I had to interview him for our student newspaper. Kate wasn’t well.” I shrug, trying to sound casual and doing no better than him.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome in Clayton’s. Go figure,” Paul snorts, amazed. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, want to grab a drink or something this evening?”

Whenever he’s home he asks me on a date, and I always say no. It’s a ritual. I’ve never considered it a good idea to date the boss’s brother, and besides, Paul is cute in a whole some all-American boy-next-door kind of way, but he’s no literary hero, not by any stretch of the imagination. Is Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome? My subconscious asks me, her eyebrow figuratively raised.

I slap her down.

“Don’t you have a family dinner or something for your brother?”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Maybe some other time, Paul. I need to study tonight. I have my finals next week.”

“Ana, one of these days, you’ll say yes,” he smiles as I escape out to the store floor.

“But I do places, Ana, not people,” Jose groans.

“Jose, please?” I beg. Clutching my cell, I pace the living area of our apartment, star ing out of the window at the fading evening light.

“Give me that phone.” Kate grabs the handset from me, tossing her silken red-blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Listen here, Jose Rodriquez, if you want our newspaper to cover the opening of your show, you’ll do this shoot for us tomorrow, capiche?” Kate can be awesomely tough.

“Good. Ana will call back with the location and the call time. We’ll see you tomor row.” She snaps my cell phone shut.

“Sorted. All we need to do now is decide where and when. Call him.” She holds the phone out to me. My stomach twists.

“Call Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, now!”

I scowl at her and reach into my back pocket for his business card. I take a deep, steadying breath, and with shaking fingers, I dial the number.

He answers on the second ring. His tone is clipped, calm and cold.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.”

“Err... Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome? It’s Anastasia Steele.” I don’t recognize my own voice, I’m so ner vous. There’s a brief pause. Inside I’m quaking.

“Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you.” His voice has changed. He’s surprised, I think, and he sounds so... warm seductive even. My breath hitches, and I flush. I’m sud denly conscious that Katherine Kavanagh is staring at me, her mouth open, and I dart into the kitchen to avoid her unwanted scrutiny.

“Err we’d like to go ahead with the photo-shoot for the article.” Breathe, Ana, breathe My lungs drag in a hasty breath. “Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”

I can almost hear his sphinx-like smile through the phone.

“I’m staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall we say, nine thirty tomorrow morn ing?”

“Okay, we’ll see you there.” I am all gushing and breathy like a child, not a grown woman who can vote and drink legally in the State of Washington.

“I look forward to it, Miss Steele.” I visualize the wicked gleam in his gray eyes. How can he make seven little words hold so much tantalizing promise? I hang up. Kate is in the kitchen, and she’s staring at me with a look of complete and utter consternation on her face

“Anastasia Rose Steele. You like him! I’ve never seen or heard you so, so... affected by anyone before. You’re actually blushing.”

“Oh Kate, you know I blush all the time. It’s an occupational hazard with me. Don’t be so ridiculous,” I snap. She blinks at me with surprise I very rarely throw my toys out of the pram and I briefly relent. “I just find him... intimidating, that’s all.”

“Heathman, that figures,” mutters Kate. “I’ll give the manager a call and negotiate a space for the shoot.”

“I’ll make supper. Then I need to study.” I cannot hide my irritation with her as I open one of cupboards to make supper.

I am restless that night, tossing and turning. Dreaming of smoky gray eyes, coveralls, long legs, long fingers, and dark, dark unexplored places. I wake twice in the night, my heart pounding. Oh, I’m going to look just great tomorrow with so little sleep, I scold myself. I punch my pillow and try to settle.

The Heathman is nestled in the downtown heart of Portland. Its impressive brown stone edifice was completed just in time for the crash of the late 1920s. Jose, Travis, and I are traveling in my Beetle, and Kate is in her CLK, since we can’t all fit in my car. Travis is Jose’s friend and gopher, here to help out with the lighting. Kate has managed to acquire the use of a room at the Heathman free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. When she explains at reception that we’re here to photograph Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparent ly Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is already occupying the largest one in the building. An over-keen marketing executive shows us up to the suite he’s terribly young and very nervous for some reason.

I suspect it’s Kate’s beauty and commanding manner that disarms him, because he’s putty in her hands. The rooms are elegant, understated, and opulently furnished.

It’s nine. We have half an hour to set up. Kate is in full flow.

“Jose, I think we’ll shoot against that wall, do you agree?” She doesn’t wait for his reply. “Travis, clear the chairs. Ana, could you ask housekeeping to bring up some refresh ments? And let Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome know where we are.”

Yes, Mistress. She is so domineering. I roll my eyes, but do as I’m told.

Half an hour later, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome walks into our suite.

Holy Crap! He’s wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, and grey flannel pants that hang from his hips. His unruly hair is still damp from a shower. My mouth goes dry looking at him... he’s so freaking hot. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is followed into the suite by a man in his mid-thirties, all buzz-cut and stubble in a sharp dark suit and tie who stands silently in the corner. His hazel eyes watch us impassively.

“Miss Steele, we meet again.” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome extends his hand, and I shake it, blinking rapidly. Oh my... he really is, quite... wow. As I touch his hand, I’m aware of that delicious cur rent running right through me, lighting me up, making me blush, and I’m sure my erratic breathing must be audible.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, this is Katherine Kavanagh,” I mutter, waving a hand toward Kate who comes forward, looking him squarely in the eye.

“The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?” He gives her a small smile, look ing genuinely amused. “I trust you’re feeling better? Anastasia said you were unwell last week.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.” She shakes his hand firmly without batting an eyelid.

I remind myself that Kate has been to the best private schools in Washington. Her family has money, and she’s grown up confident and sure of her place in the world. She doesn’t take any crap. I am in awe of her.

“Thank you for taking the time to do this.” She gives him a polite, professional smile.

“It’s a pleasure,” he answers, turning his gray gaze on me, and I flush, again. Damn it.

“This is Jose Rodriguez, our photographer,” I say, grinning at Jose who smiles with affection back at me. His eyes cool when he looks from me to Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome,” he nods.

“Mr. Rodriguez,” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s expression changes too as he appraises Jose.

“Where would you like me?” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome asks him. His tone sounds vaguely threatening. But Katherine is not about to let Jose run the show.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables. And then we’ll do a few standing, too.” She directs him to a chair set up against the wall.

Travis switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, and mutters an apology.

Then Travis and I stand back and watch as Jose proceeds to snap away. He takes several photographs hand-held, asking Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome to turn this way, then that, to move his arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, Jose takes several more, while Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes. My wish has come true: I can stand and admire Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome from not-so-afar. Twice our eyes lock, and I have to tear myself away from his cloudy gaze.

“Enough sitting.” Katherine wades in again. “Standing, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?” she asks.

He stands, and Travis scurries in to remove the chair. The shutter on Jose’s Nikon starts clicking again.

“I think we have enough,” Jose announces five minutes later.

“Great,” says Kate. “Thank you again, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.” She shakes his hand, as does Jose.

“I look forward to reading the article, Miss Kavanagh,” murmurs Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, and turns to me, standing by the door. “Will you walk with me, Miss Steele?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, completely thrown. I glance anxiously at Kate, who shrugs at me. I notice Jose scowling behind her.

“Good day to you all,” says Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome as he opens the door, standing aside to allow me out

first.

Holy hell... what’s this about? What does he want? I pause in the hotel corridor, fidg eting nervously as Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome emerges from the room followed by Mr. Buzz-Cut in his sharp suit.

“I’ll call you, Taylor,” he murmurs to Buzz-Cut. Taylor wanders back down the cor ridor, and Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome turns his burning gray gaze to me. Crap... have I done something wrong?

“I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning.”

My heart slams into my mouth. A date? Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is asking me on a date. He’s asking if you want a coffee. Maybe he thinks you haven’t woken up yet, my subconscious whines at me in a sneering mood again. I clear my throat trying to control my nerves.

“I have to drive everyone home,” I murmur apologetically, twisting my hands and fingers in front of me.

“TAYLOR,” he calls, making me jump. Taylor, who had been retreating down the cor ridor, turns and heads back toward us.

“Are they based at the university?” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome asks, his voice soft and inquiring. I nod, too stunned to speak.

“Taylor can take them. He’s my driver. We have a large 4x4 here, so he’ll be able to take the equipment too.”

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?” Taylor asks when he reaches us, giving nothing away.

“Please, can you drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss Kavanagh back home?”

“Certainly, sir,” Taylor replies.

“There. Now can you join me for coffee?” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome smiles as if it’s a done deal.

I frown at him.

“Urn Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, err this really... look, Taylor doesn’t have to drive them home.” I flash a brief look at Taylor, who remains stoically impassive. “I’ll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment.”

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome smiles a dazzling, unguarded, natural, all-teeth-showing, glorious smile. Oh my. . . and he opens the door of the suite so I can re-enter. I scoot around him to enter the room, finding Katherine in deep discussion with Jose.

“Ana, I think he definitely likes you,” she says with no preamble whatsoever. Jose glares at me with disapproval. “But I don’t trust him,” she adds. I raise my hand up in the hope that she’ll stop talking. By some miracle, she does.

“Kate, if you take the Beetle, can I take your car?”

“Why?”

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome has asked me to go for coffee with him.”

Her mouth pops open. Speechless Kate! I savor the moment. She grabs me by my arm and drags me into the bedroom that’s off the living area of the suite.

“Ana, there’s something about him.” Her tone is full of warning. “He’s gorgeous, I agree, but I think he’s dangerous. Especially to someone like you.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?” I demand, affronted.

“An innocent like you, Ana. You know what I mean,” she says a little irritated. I flush.

“Kate, it’s just coffee. I’m starting my exams this week, and I need to study, so I won’t be long.”

She purses her lips as if considering my request. Finally, she fishes her car keys out of her pocket and hands them to me. I hand her mine.

“I’ll see you later. Don’t be long, or I’ll send out search and rescue.”

“Thanks.” I hug her.

I emerge from the suite to find Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome waiting, leaning up against the wall, looking like a male model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine.

“Okay, let’s do coffee,” I murmur, flushing a beet red.

He grins.

“After you, Miss Steele.” He stands up straight, holding his hand out for me to go first.

I make my way down the corridor, my knees shaky, my stomach full of butterflies, and my heart in my mouth thumping a dramatic uneven beat. I am going to have coffee with Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome... and I hate coffee.

We walk together down the wide hotel corridor to the elevators. What should I say to him? My mind is suddenly paralyzed with apprehension. What are we going to talk about? What on Earth do I have in common with him? His soft, warm voice startles me from my reverie.

“How long have you known Katherine Kavanagh?”

Oh, an easy questions for starters.

“Since our freshman year. She’s a good friend.”

“Hmm,” he replies, non-committal. What is he thinking?

At the elevators, he presses the call button, and the bell rings almost immediately. The doors slide open revealing a young couple in a passionate clinch inside. Surprised and embarrassed, they jump apart, staring guiltily in every direction but ours. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome and I step into the elevator.

I am struggling to maintain a straight face, so I gaze down at the floor, feeling my cheeks turning pink. When I peek up at Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome through my lashes, he has a hint of a smile on his lips, but it’s very hard to tell. The young couple says nothing, and we travel down to the first floor in embarrassed silence. We don’t even have trashy piped music to distract us.

The doors open and, much to my surprise, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome takes my hand, clasping it with his long cool fingers. I feel the current run through me, and my already rapid heartbeat accel erates. As he leads me out of the elevator, we can hear the suppressed giggles of the couple erupting behind us. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome grins.

“What is it about elevators?” he mutters.

We cross the expansive, bustling lobby of the hotel toward the entrance but Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome avoids the revolving door, and I wonder if that’s because he’d have to let go of my hand.

Outside, it’s a mild May Sunday. The sun is shining and the traffic is light. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome turns left and strolls to the corner, where we stop waiting for the lights of the pedestrian crossing to change. He’s still holding my hand. I’m in the street, and Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is holding my hand. No one has ever held my hand. I feel giddy, and I tingle all over. I attempt to smother the ridiculous grin that threatens to split my face in two. Try to be cool, Ana, my subconscious implores me. The green man appears, and we’re off again.

We walk four blocks before we reach the Portland Coffee House, where Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome releases me to hold the door open so I can step inside.

“Why don’t you choose a table, while I get the drinks. What would you like?” he asks, polite as ever.

“I’ll have... urn English Breakfast tea, bag out.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“No coffee?”

“I’m not keen on coffee.”

He smiles.

“Okay, bag out tea. Sugar?”

For a moment, I’m stunned, thinking it’s an endearment, but fortunately my subcon scious kicks in with pursed lips. No, stupid do you take sugar?

“No thanks.” I stare down at my knotted fingers.

“Anything to eat?”

“No thank you.” I shake my head, and he heads to the counter.

I surreptitiously gaze at him from beneath my lashes as he stands in line waiting to be served. I could watch him all day... he’s tall, broad-shouldered, and slim, and the way those pants hang from his hips... Oh my. Once or twice he runs his long, graceful fingers through his now dry but still disorderly hair. Hmm... I’d like to do that. The thought comes unbidden into my mind, and my face flames. I bite my lip and stare down at my hands again not liking where my wayward thoughts are headed.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is back, startling me.

I go crimson. I was just thinking about running my fingers through your hair and wondering if it would feel soft to touch. I shake my head. He’s carrying a tray, which he sets down on the small, round, birch-veneer table. He hands me a cup and saucer, a small teapot, and a side plate bearing a lone teabag labeled ‘Twinings English Breakfast’ my favorite. He has a coffee which bears a wonderful leaf-pattern imprinted in the milk. How do they do that? I wonder idly. He’s also bought himself a blueberry muffin. Putting the tray aside, he sits opposite me and crosses his long legs. He looks so comfortable, so at ease with his body, I envy him. Here’s me, all gawky and uncoordinated, barely able to get from A to B without falling flat on my face.

“Your thoughts?” he prompts me.

“This is my favorite tea.” My voice is quiet, breathy. I simply can’t believe I’m sitting opposite Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome in a coffee shop in Portland. He frowns. He knows I’m hiding something. I pop the teabag into the teapot and almost immediately fish it out again with my teaspoon. As I place the used teabag back on the side plate, he cocks his head gazing quizzically at me.

“I like my tea black and weak,” I mutter as an explanation.

“I see. Is he your boyfriend?”

Whoa... What?

“Who?”

“The photographer. Jose Rodriguez.”

I laugh, nervous but curious. What gave him that impression?

“No. Jose’s a good friend of mine, that’s all. Why did you think he was my boyfriend?”

“The way you smiled at him, and he at you.” His gray gaze holds mine. He’s so un nerving. I want to look away but I’m caught spellbound.

“He’s more like family,” I whisper.

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome nods slightly, seemingly satisfied with my response, and glances down at his blueberry muffin. His long fingers deftly peel back the paper, and I watch, fascinated.

“Do you want some?” he asks, and that amused, secret smile is back.

“No thanks.” I frown and stare down at my hands again.

“And the boy I met yesterday, at the store. He’s not your boyfriend?”

“No. Paul’s just a friend. I told you yesterday.” Oh, this is getting silly. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem nervous around men.”

Holy crap, that’s personal. I’m just nervous around you, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.

“I find you intimidating.” I flush scarlet, but mentally pat myself on the back for my candor, and gaze at my hands again. I hear his sharp intake of breath.

“You should find me intimidating,” he nods. “You’re very honest. Please don’t look down. I like to see your face.”

Oh. I glance at him, and he gives me an encouraging but wry smile.

“It gives me some sort of clue what you might be thinking,” he breathes. “You’re a mystery, Miss Steele.

Mysterious? Me?

“There’s nothing mysterious about me.”

“I think you’re very self-contained,” he murmurs.

Am I? Wow... how am I managing that? This is bewildering. Me, self-contained?

No Way.

“Except when you blush, of course, which is often. I just wish I knew what you were blushing about.” He pops a small piece of muffin into his mouth and starts to chew it slowly, not taking his eyes off me. And as if on cue, I blush. Crap!

“Do you always make such personal observations?”

“I hadn’t realized I was. Have I offended you?” He sounds surprised.

“No,” I answer truthfully.

“Good.”

“But you’re very high-handed,” I retaliate quietly.

He raises his eyebrows and, if I’m not mistaken, he flushes slightly too.

“I’m used to getting my own way, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “In all things.”

“I don’t doubt it. Why haven’t you asked me to call you by your first name?” I’m sur prised by my audacity. Why has this conversation become so serious? This isn’t going the way I thought it was going to go. I can’t believe I’m feeling so antagonistic towards him.

It’s like he’s trying to warn me off.

“The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends.

That’s the way I like it.”

Oh. He still hasn’t said, ‘Call me Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.’ He is a control freak, there’s no other explanation, and part of me is thinking maybe it would have been better if Kate had in terviewed him. Two control freaks together. Plus of course she’s almost blonde well, strawberry blonde like all the women in his office. And she’s beautiful, my subconscious reminds me. I don’t like the idea of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome and Kate. I take a sip of my tea, and Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome eats another small piece of his muffin.

“Are you an only child?” he asks.

Whoa... he keeps changing direction.

“Yes.”

“Tell me about your parents.”

Why does he want to know this? It’s so dull.

“My mom lives in Georgia with her new husband Bob. My stepdad lives in Monte sano.”

“Your father?”

“My father died when I was a baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters and a fleeting troubled look crosses his face.

“I don’t remember him.”

“And your mother remarried?”

I snort.

“You could say that.”

He frowns at me.

“You’re not giving much away, are you?” he says dryly, rubbing his chin as if in deep thought.

“Neither are you.”

“You’ve interviewed me once already, and I can recollect some quite probing questions then.” He smirks at me.

Holy shit. He’s remembering the ‘gay’ question. Once again, I’m mortified. In years to come, I know, I’ll need intensive therapy to not feel this embarrassed every time I recall the moment. I start babbling about my mother anything to block that memory.

“My mom is wonderful. She’s an incurable romantic. She’s currently on her fourth husband.”

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“I miss her,” I continue. “She has Bob now. I just hope he can keep an eye on her and pick up the pieces when her harebrained schemes don’t go as planned.” I smile fondly. I haven’t seen my mom for so long. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome is watching me intently, taking occasional sips of his coffee. I really shouldn’t look at his mouth. It’s unsettling. Those lips.

“Do you get along with your stepfather?”

“Of course. I grew up with him. He’s the only father I know.”

“And what’s he like?”

“Ray? He’s... taciturn.”

“That’s it?” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome asks, surprised.

I shrug. What does this man expect? My life story?

“Taciturn like his stepdaughter,” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome prompts.

I refrain from rolling my eyes at him.

“He likes soccer European soccer especially and bowling, and fly-fishing, and mak ing furniture. He’s a carpenter. Ex-army.” I sigh.

“You lived with him?”

“Yes. My mom met Husband Number Three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Ray.”

He frowns as if he doesn’t understand.

“You didn’t want to live with your mom?” he asks.

I blush. This really is none of his business.

“Husband Number Three lived in Texas. My home was in Montesano. And... you know my mom was newly married.” I stop. My mom never talks about Husband Number Three. Where is Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome going with this? This is none of his business. Two can play at this game.

“Tell me about your parents,” I ask.

He shrugs.

“My dad’s a lawyer, my mom is a pediatrician. They live in Seattle.”

Oh... he’s had an affluent upbringing. And I wonder about a successful couple who adopt three kids, and one of them turns into a beautiful man who takes on the business world and conquers it single-handed. What drove him to be that way? His folks must be proud.

“What do your siblings do?”

“Elliot’s in construction, and my little sister is in Paris, studying cookery under some renowned French chef.” His eyes cloud with irritation. He doesn’t want to talk about his family or himself.

“I hear Paris is lovely,” I murmur. Why doesn’t he want to talk about his family? Is it because he’s adopted?

“It’s beautiful. Have you been?” he asks, his irritation forgotten.

“I’ve never left mainland USA.” So now we’re back to banalities. What is he hiding?

“Would you like to go?”

“To Paris?” I squeak. This has thrown me who wouldn’t want to go to Paris? “Of course,” I concede. “But it’s England that I’d really like to visit.”

He cocks his head to one side, running his index finger across his lower lip... “Because?”

I blink rapidly. Concentrate, Steele.

“It’s the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Thomas Hardy. I’d see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books.”

All this talk of literary greats reminds me that I should be studying. I glance at watch.

“I’d better go. I have to study.”

“For your exams?”

“Yes. They start Tuesday.”

“Where’s Miss Kavanagh’s car?”

“In the hotel parking lot.”

“I’ll walk you back.”

“Thank you for the tea, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.”

He smiles his odd I’ve got a whopping big secret smile.

“You’re welcome, Anastasia. It’s my pleasure. Come,” he commands, and holds his hand out to me. I take it, bemused, and follow him out of the coffee shop.

We stroll back to the hotel, and I’d like to say it’s in companionable silence. He at least looks his usual calm, collected self. As for me, I’m desperately trying to gauge how our little coffee morning has gone. I feel like I’ve been interviewed for a position, but I’m not sure what it is.

“Do you always wear jeans?” he asks out of the blue.

“Mostly.”

He nods. We’re back at the intersection, across the road from the hotel. My mind is reeling. What an odd question... And I’m aware that our time together is limited. This is it. This was it, and I’ve completely blown it, I know. Perhaps he has someone.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out. Holy crap 1 just said that out loud?

His lips quirk up in a half-smile, and he looks down at me.

“No, Anastasia. I don’t do the girlfriend thing,” he says softly.

Oh... what does that mean? He’s not gay? Oh, maybe he is crap! He must have lied to me in his interview. And for a moment, I think he’s going to follow on with some explanation, some clue to this cryptic statement but he doesn’t. I have to go. I have to try to reassemble my thoughts. I have to get away from him. I walk forward, and I trip, stumbling headlong onto the road.

“Shit, Ana!” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome cries. He tugs the hand that he’s holding so hard that I fall back against him just as a cyclist whips past, narrowly missing me, heading the wrong way up this one-way street.

It all happens so fast one minute I’m falling, the next I’m in his arms, and he’s hold ing me tightly against his chest. .1 inhale his clean, vital scent. He smells of fresh laundered linen and some expensive body-wash. Oh my, it’s intoxicating. I inhale deeply.

oh my.

like to my

“Are you okay?” he whispers. He has one arm around me, clasping me to him, while the fingers of his other hand softly trace my face, gently probing, examining me. His thumb brushes my lower lip, and I hear his breath hitch. He’s staring into my eyes, and I hold his anxious, burning gaze for a moment or maybe it’s forever... but eventually, my at tention is drawn to his beautiful mouth. Oh my. And for the first time in twenty-one years,

I want to be kissed. I want to feel his mouth on me.

Last Chapter - Next Chapter

[allyinthekeyofx]

Defeated

Defeated

By

AllyinthekeyofX

  Immediately Post Ep - Per Manum

1/1

Word count - 2062

  What is a miracle? Is it something we can reach out and touch? Is it tangible enough to even recognise?

To understand its power; its majesty?  Or do miracles happen every day only to pass us by? Are we too blind to see them?

I wish I knew the answers. I wish I could believe Mulder as he holds me gently against him as I cry these bitter, angry tears; tears that have been so long in coming and that now take my breath away with the sheer effort it takes to cry them at all.

It's so long since I cried like this, so long since I allowed myself to dissolve in to pieces in front of him. I try to remember when I last felt this hollow, this empty, but I just can't. The effort is too much for my bruised senses right now and I'm aware of nothing else but the feel of his arms as they tighten around me.

His whispered words reverberate around my head and even though I know he means well, that he would never intentionally hurt me, his words pierce me like needles to my skin, needles that have seemed to govern my very existence over the last few desperate months.  

Never give up on a miracle Scully

He means to comfort me. To take away the sadness I saw reflected in his beautiful hazel eyes.  But I don't believe in miracles the way I once did, I don't even want to believe anymore. Because belief brings with it false hope; hope that I am finding more and more that I just can’t continue with, the past seven years having been a never ending emotional roller coaster ride of desire and disappointment, everything I once imagined  life would be cruelly torn away from me.

And for what?

A handful of answers balanced against a hundred questions just isn't enough anymore.  It's not enough to justify what we have been through together, not enough to justify what has been taken from us.

Sometimes, when I feel at my weakest, my most vulnerable,  alone at night unable to sleep, I allow myself to fleetingly think that it might be better if I had never met him, wondering how my life might have been had I not chosen the path I did.

But like I say, those thoughts are fleeting; chased away by images of him that take me gently in to sleep, this complex man who has, over the years we have been together, somehow taken up residence in my heart. And when my mind is quiet, when my body is still, I allow myself to turn my thoughts to him, which even in itself is a painful reminder of what can never be, that no matter how much I want it – want him, that most simple of human requirements is just too complex to risk what we have.

Because what we share cannot be broken down into simplistic terms; we're not lovers - we never have been, despite what our colleagues may imagine.

We both know that we have been the subject of speculation for some time now, although they have no idea, how could they? Because what we share is so much more than the physical, a connection so deep that it would take death to tear us apart.

He loves me in a way I have never been loved before; he would lay down his life in exchange for mine without even giving it a second thought. Because I am his heart and he is mine.

I feel it in every fibre of his being as he holds me now. Allowing me to cry my tears that are surely scalding his soul the way they scald mine. He rocks me gently against him, whispering endearments that, frankly, I just don't feel worthy enough to hear right now.

Because I failed us.

He warned me not to have too much hope when we entered into this thing, his words telling me one thing whilst all the time his eyes and his heart betrayed him in his desperation; because I know he wanted this as much as I did - maybe more so. I know the miracle he wished for me he really wanted for us both; a way to carve out a future. To drag us away from a past that haunts us.

A new beginning.

But there will be no beginnings now.

There will only be the recriminations for things past as we struggle to exist in the depths of the darkness that threatens with every new day to consume us, to tear us apart, to finish us.

But while we are together we have strength. Together we will survive it. Whatever else I don't understand about my life I at least acknowledge that much because the thought of losing him has the power to reduce me to a terrified state of absolute nothingness; It's a horror I just can't comprehend despite everything I have experienced in the past.

Because I love him.

I love him with an intensity that blinds me to all others and as he holds me in his arms, allowing me to cry, I realise that he loves me too. It's not a flowers and candlelight kind of love, in fact I gave up on such romantic notion a long time ago because our love is different; our love is born of a lifetime of pain, of suffering, of things lost than can never be regained.

It is an enduring love.

And I know that whatever else they take from us, they could never take that.

I feel Mulders lips as they place the gentlest kiss against my crown, so soft I can almost imagine that it didn't happen at all.

It's always been that way with us; we don't take anything for granted anymore. But he is here and this is real - at least for the moment.

But all too soon I feel him begin to loosen his arms from around me and I know that in a few seconds he will step away, to gaze in to my eyes and search for the answer he needs; for me to affirm to him that I am all right, to reassure him that I can deal with this, just as I always do.

But I can't deal with it.

Not anymore.

I don't even want to try.

I'm so tired of never admitting anything to him; this man, my dearest friend who once called me his touchstone, never realising that I might need him every bit as much as he needs me.

I don't want him to ask me if I'm okay because I know when he does I will lie to him, just as I always lie to him when he asks me that question.  And when I do, he will turn and go. Giving me the space he stupidly thinks I need, he will leave me alone to face yet more heartbreak alone.

But space isn't what I need right now.

What I need is complicated, unattainable even; because all I need is him.

I wish he realised that, understood his place in my life, because telling him is just too hard. I want him to read my mind, I want him to look into my eyes, to tell me finally what he really sees, to understand what I want from him.

I want him to take my hand and lead me away from all of this fucking darkness that has gradually and completely consumed me.  

I want to know where I'm going now that the road has fallen away from beneath me.

I want to lay down beside him and trace my fingertips along his bare skin, to affirm once and for all that what we have is real.

I want to scream out my need of him in the dead of night. I want to shatter the stillness that surrounds me.

It’s all just so complicated and yet it should be so simple. But then nothing is ever simple for us. I should know that by now.

I stiffen as I feel him step away, to release his hold on me. And I feel the tears threaten again because I'm not yet ready to break that connection with him. I'm not ready to smile at him with trembling lips and affirm that I'm fine, that I'm dealing with this, just as I have dealt with everything in our turbulent past.

Because right now, I feel like I want to die and he's the only thing that's keeping me breathing.

Why doesn't he realise that?

I can't look up at him. I know that if I do I will break down completely, so I take the easy way out; I begin to turn away from him, wanting, needing to be the one who walks away.

Because as much as it tears me apart I know it's the right thing for both of us.

I don't want to be able to blame him one day for leaving me when I needed him the most.

"Scully wait..."

His whispered imploration is so intense it stops me in my tracks; so much yearning in his voice, so much pain.  In fact I sometimes wonder how much more pain we can be expected to bear before we shatter into a million pieces.

The urge to turn around, to throw myself against him is strong enough to make my heart miss a beat, yet another piece of me gone forever; surrendered to him.

But I don't.

Instead I begin to slip my jacket from my shoulders, conscious suddenly that its added weight is just too much to bear even as I feel him behind me, waiting for me to respond.

And almost against my will, I turn back to him, my mouth forming the words I know he wants to hear.

"I'm fine Mulder."

There. I've said it.

Now he can go.

He can walk out the door with a clear conscience; safe in the knowledge that he has comforted me as much as I will permit him.

But he doesn't walk. He doesn't move and for the first time I'm aware of the streaks that shine wetly against his skin in the soft half light. Tears of his own that I was too consumed in my own misery - in my own failure - to even notice before, but now I watch as his eyes fill up again, watch a single tear break free and trace a new path down those same salty tracks.

Less than a foot separates us, a mere few inches that seem like infinity as he works his mouth like a little boy desperately trying not to cry and I suddenly realise that he’s not even aware of the futility of trying to hold on to his emotion, that it's too late for that as the tears trickle steadily down that face I love so much.

"I'm not." He finally manages.

And it's enough.

It's enough for me to step forward, to cradle his face in my hands as I bring my lips to his skin, kissing away his tears, even as my own begin anew. I feel his fingers in my hair, guiding me towards him until finally I feel his mouth on mine, not in an explosion of fire and passion, but instead in a statement of infinite tenderness, of two lost souls who have finally found each other through the darkness.

And then he releases me, leaving me bereft;  because I can't bear it, I can't bear to have him leave me now. I can't bear to have to accept another disappointment tonight.

I don't want to have to lie in my bed, sobbing into the darkness for all the things I will never have.

I think it might kill me eventually. This sadness that lives deep inside of me and which steals away all that is good from my life.

That might one day steal him.

But he doesn't go.

Instead, a tiny smile plays across his face, brightening his features, chasing away the pain for an instant, his beautiful eyes warm and soft as slowly, hesitantly, he holds out his hand to me.

I take it.

End