#like Neal cares about all his friends and coworkers even if he's bad at it sometimes

[distant-rose]

Carousels and Pretzels

Notes: @welllpthisishappening​ is an amazing person and I will never forget the day we met and started chatting and realized we know a lot of the same places. This is a dumb and purely indulgent fic that is full of Albany/Capital Region references most readers might not understand but admittedly, they’re only meant to be understood by one person and that’s Laura. She’s a phenomenal person, literally one of my favorite people and just an all around amazing human being who doesn’t get enough recognition for just how perfect and wonderful she is. Anyway, this was going to be a much longer fic but I kinda ran out of time. Also, Druthers has better pretzels than Brown’s, fight me. Summary: Emma Swan takes a job at Hoffman’s Playland with the hope of not running into anyone she knows from UAlbany. Instead, she runs into Killian Jones, a former lacrosse athlete whose tragic accident she covered as a story back in February. Word Count: 2,000+ Rating: T+

Hoffman’s Playland wasn’t Emma’s first choice of summer employment. If it were up to her, she would have been working for the Troy Record all summer, but their internships weren’t paid, and Emma had to rent to account for and she refused to hike all the way up to Lake George to work the depressing lunch shift at King Neptune’s again. 

It wasn’t the worst place in the world to work. Though she was forced to wear the ugliest combo of a polo and cargo shorts and the staff break room constantly smelled of Subway, her coworkers were pretty okay and was only a thirteen-minute commute from her apartment in Troy. Furthermore, it was monotonous enough that she could spend her days plotting how she was going to run the Inklings magazine this year and whether or not she should apply to grad school or try to apply for a job at the Times Union while she’s finishing up her last year.

Another plus was no one knew her at Hoffman’s aside from Mary-Margaret. It made everything easier, especially after her huge breakup with Neal and the amount of rumors of drug use that circled around afterward. They had broken up not longer after his dorm got raided and he tried to pin his stash of pot on her, nearly getting her expelled from the school. The last month of Spring Term was awful and she was lucky that most of her newspaper and literary magazine friends stood by her or else she wouldn’t still be in school, let alone have made it as the sports editor of the Albany Student Press and Inklings in the fall.

Still, the way things went put a bad taste in her mouth and she hoped that it would too stale for anyone to care about by the time that September rolled around. With most of the clientele of Hoffman’s being families with small children, she’s highly doubted that she would know anyone who went there.

Until she did.

Actually, that wasn’t entirely true.

Emma didn’t know Killian Jones personally, but it was a name and face she’s gotten to know well over the past three years. While she had never truly met the guy, it was imperative that she knew of his existence as a staff writer for the student paper and then later on as the girlfriend of Neal Cassidy, the starting lacrosse goalie.

His name wasn’t one that was said with fondness, but usually disdain. The name Killian Jones was generally premised by the use of the word “fuck”, “screw” or any variety of obscenity. There were three reasons for this hatred: 1) he went to Siena, UAlbany’s cross-town rival, 2) he played lacrosse and 3) he was good at it.

At least he used to be.

In February, he got into a car accident in Troy, a mere three streets away from her apartment. It has been a nasty one, which ended in the loss of not only his girlfriend’s life and his hand, but also his lacrosse career. She remembers quite clearly writing up the article on it for the Albany Student Press and then later on the party that had been thrown by Neal in celebration of his fallen adversary. Neal had hated Killian with a passion and the two of them had gotten in a fight during a game last year, which ended with a picture of Killian punching Neal square in the face on the front page of the Times Union sports section. 

Emma, on the other hand, felt bad for him. Despite the fact she had attended Neal’s horrible party, she had argued that it was in poor taste. Killian might have been “the enemy” but what happened to him was horrible and alongside reading a very sympathetic article on his behalf, she had even sent a condolence card.

Since then, Emma hadn’t so much of heard or seen anything on Killian Jones until he was standing in front of her, wearing a green Siena lacrosse sweatshirt and jeans in the middle of July and holding the hand of a small blonde girl no older than six.

She was so stunned by the fact he was standing in front of her that she did little more than stare at him for a good few seconds. She completely forgot to give her greeting and safety spiel.

Luckily, she was saved by his little companion.

“Hi!”

“Um, hi.”

“You’re pretty.”

“Thank you. You’re pretty too,” she replied, laughing at her awkwardness. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Alice! What’s yours?”

“I’m Emma,” she smiled. “Would you like to go on the ride?”

“Yeah,” Alice beamed before tugging roughly on Killian Jones’s hand. “Uncle Killy, give her a ticket!”

“Right,” he mumbled, fishing through the pockets before handing her a crumbled ticket.

She deposited it in the proper container before starting up the ancient carousel. The old music croaked through the speakers as it slowly started to move, but Alice didn’t seem to mind. It’s obvious to Emma that she’s pretending that the horse she’s riding was real, and the sweetness of the scene filled her made her smile.

Still burning with curiosity, she glanced back at Killian. He was standing a few lengths away and watching his niece with his forearms practically stuffed into the front pocket of his hoodie. As if sensing her glaze, his eyes shifted in her direction. Despite the urge to look away, she often him a small smile instead. He didn’t return the gesture.

When the ride stopped and Alice hopped off, he took her hand and left without a word. Only Alice turned back to give her a wave. Emma returned it tentatively, wondering if she upset him and swallowing her questions.

She didn’t know why she cared so much.

Much to her surprise, they return the next day. This time, he was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a leather jacket despite the fact was nearing a ninety-degrees. Again, he didn’t speak much, letting Alice do all the talking. They show again the next day and the day after that; each and every time Emma had tapped down her inner journalist to keep from asking questions that were burning in the back of her throat. What happened to you? Why do you wear long-sleeved shirts? Why do you keep coming to this ridiculous 1950s amusement park?

Following Wednesday was a cloudy and humid day and there was only a handful of people in the park and none of them seem interested in riding the carousel. Emma fought the urge to play on her phone. Despite the horrible weather, Killian and Alice showed up yet again. The little precocious girl handed her a fistful of tickets.

This time Killian stood closer to the operator stand, practically hovering over her shoulder. He and Alice had been coming every day for nearly a week and a half now, and never before he had stood so close to her. She did her best to ignore him, focusing all of her attention on the little girl on the painted horse.

“How many times do you think she can ride that thing before she throws up?”

She nearly jumped at the question, turning to face him with surprise. He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes trained on Alice, but Emma could tell he was waiting for a response.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Depends on how strong her stomach is, I guess?”

He nodded. A few beats passed before he spoke again. “You look tired.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted. “I don’t have any air conditioning and my room in my apartment is kinda like a hot box.”

“That sucks. We don’t have AC either, but we’ve kinda be taking to sleeping on the porch since it’s screened in.”

“I don’t really have the option. I live in Troy.”

“Oh? Where? I’m familiar with it.”

“Let me guess? Bootleggers?” Emma asked sarcastically, without thinking. Bootleggers was a well-known college bar a few blocks away from where she lived and it was known to be frequented by obnoxious underage Siena students with fake IDs. It was constantly being shut down and reopened.

Killian laughed, a loud and boisterous sound that caught Emma by surprise once more. She had never seen him look so animated.

“Maybe, when I was a baby freshman, but I would like to think my taste level has gotten better since then. So, yeah, you located? Lansingburgh? North Central? The Hill? Sycaway? 

“Downtown. Third street.”

“By Brown Bag burger place, right?”

“That’s on Fourth street, but yeah, pretty close. More by the Ruck.”

“I love that bar. They have great wings.”

“They do and they’re less expensive than Brown’s. One of my roommates is a bartender there. David. He may or may not give us free pitchers occasionally.”

“Brown’s is expensive, but it’s good beer. I love their oatmeal stout. Their pretzels with the honey mustard are amazing.”

“They do have good pretzels but the one at Druthers are better.”

“Druthers? Isn’t that in Saratoga? It’s a bit hike, isn’t?”

“No. There’s on in Albany on Broadway,” she responded. “It’s not too far from the Pump Station and Old English.”

She was almost embarrassed about the fact that she often referenced locations by the bars in the neighborhood. In her defense, she had lived in the Albany area for nearly three years and have been involved in more Birthday tours than she could count.

“You’re a bit of a foodie, huh?”

“I used to write for the local eats section of the Albany Student Press my freshman and sophomore year before they switched me over to a different section,” Emma chuckled. “Needless to say, it was a bitch to keep off the freshman fifteen when you’re eating at every cool and exciting places across the Capital Region every week.”

“Sounds like a hardship.”

“For my scale, yes, it was,” she laughed.

When they ran out of tickets, Emma wasn’t sure who was more disappointed, Alice for no longer being able to ride the carousel or Killian for having to end their conversation. He reach forward and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“You here tomorrow?”

“Same time, every day.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

He didn’t disappoint. This time not only bringing his niece, but also a large Dunkin Donuts coffee as well. Emma stood in shock as he handed it to her.

“I figured that you would like this since you’re not sleeping lately.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“No, but I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because you treated me like a person and not some wounded animal,”

“Oh…” She didn’t know what to say to that. “We just talked about food.”

“And it was the best conversation I’ve had in a long time,” he responded, lifting up his arm, which was once more covered by a Siena lacrosse hoodie. He pulled it back to expose the scarred stump left behind by the accident. “Yesterday was the first time I talked to someone aside from my niece who didn’t mention or talk about my accident. I felt normal again.  Coffee is the least I could do.”

“You’re welcome, I guess. Seriously. Thank you. It’s the nicest,” she said, taking a sip and giving him a small smile.

Growing impatient with the conversation, Alice tugged her uncle’s sweatshirt.

“You didn’t ask her yet,” she told him impatiently, not at all impressed with her uncle. He looked amusingly chastised for someone being told off by a six-year old.

“I was just getting to it.”

“Well, ask her so she’ll let me on the ride.”

“Okay, okay, Miss Pushy,” he responded with a roll of her eyes before giving Emma an apologetic grin.

“Ask me what?” Emma prompted him with a question.

“Well, if you’re not doing anything later, would you mind going to Druthers with me and, you know, having some pretzels and comparing them to Brown’s?”

“Just pretzels?”

“Well, and a beer or two? Perhaps maybe even dinner?”

“He likes you and wants to be your boyfriend,” Alice stated, crossing her arms in front of her chest and huffing at Killian.

“Well, that’s a good thing because I like him too,” Emma laughed. “And, yeah, we can go to Druthers and depending on whether or not, he agrees Druthers has better pretzels, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be his girlfriend.”

[shireness-says]

Playing the Part ch. 14: What Did I Ever See In Him?

Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU.  Rated T. Also on AO3.  Prologue  Ch. 1  Ch. 2  Ch. 3 Ch. 4  Ch. 5  Ch. 6  Ch. 7  Ch. 8  Ch. 9  Ch. 10  Ch. 11  Ch. 12  Ch. 13

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this chapter with you guys! It’s rough in the moment, but really sets things in motion. We’re closing in on the end, guys!

Chapter title taken from “Bye Bye Birdie”.

Thanks as ever to @snidgetsafan, the world’s best beta, who’s basically dragging me through these last couple of chapters. Thanks babe, I’ll give you new stuff eventually.

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happen.

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

It’s that fucking principle again - that everything falls apart just when things are going great. It’s official; Emma’s commissioning a study. Or maybe it’s just an inevitability in a more mundane way, that things can only go up or down and the downs will always be more noticeable. Whatever the case, Emma just hopes it doesn’t come in threes.

This crash feels so much harsher too because it’s much more personal, and it comes at the worst possible moment. The week had started with their Sign-Off performance, of course, and Emma had been flying high on Henry’s residual excitement over their appearance in the days immediately following. If she had hoped that her kid would let the Killian debacle slide, she’s sadly disappointed. Clearly, he’s spent too much time around Ruby and Mary Margaret growing up, as he’s determined to both interrogate and tease Emma about what this means for her love life. Smart alec.

“He’s got a cruuuush on you,” Henry singsongs, laughing uproariously as Emma’s cheeks flush. “Oh! Does that mean you do too?”

“It does not!” Emma insists, even as her blush insists otherwise. Traitor.

“Uh huh,” Henry nods, grinning deviously. Some kid she’s got.

(The best kid, always the best kid, even when he’s teasing her like this.)

“Killian is my colleague and my friend and a complete professional,” Emma lists patiently. Her tone is probably veering more towards long-suffering than patient, if she’s being honest, but it’s warranted in her opinion. “Which is, you know, why he said that in the interview.”

“Sure,” Henry replies, clearly unimpressed. Emma’s going to need to have words with Ruby, because Henry definitely did not get that side-eye from her. “Whatever you say, Mom.”

(The sass, though - he definitely got that from her.)

Know-it-all children aside, Emma’s having a good week - good weather, good mood, great shows… it seems that things are flying along, never better, practically unsinkable. Until Thursday, that is.

Thursday is the day everything goes to hell.

Ashley, the young woman who plays Kitty in their production, calls out sick, requiring an early call time for everyone to run through the show with the understudy and make sure she’s comfortable with the choreography and her handful of lines, or at least comfortable enough with them to make it through a performance. Not the way Emma wants to start her day, but it doesn’t necessarily spell disaster. They can work with that.

What’s worse, though, is getting to the theater to discover that a power surge the evening before has tripped several breakers and screwed with their lights, necessitating changing bulbs and a full check of the theater’s electrical systems. The headset system they’ve got to work with is better than most Emma’s dealt with in her time, but it’s still prone to more interference than Emma would prefer, and a short in their system won’t do Emma and Kristoff any favors. The whole thing is going to be a major stressor in the crew’s afternoon, but there’s no way around it.

Dealing with both of those situations is enough - more than enough, really, if Emma’s being honest.

However, apparently some higher power has it out for Emma, because the joy doesn’t stop there. Instead, that same Thursday, three days after the show’s Sign-Off appearance, Neal shows up in town - at Emma’s theater, no less! - because of mother-fucking course he does.

Honestly, she has no idea how Neal got into the theater in the first place - you’d think someone would have kicked him out between the stage door and the stage. Then again, her ex has always had a way of bluffing his way into places - fake it ‘til you make it and all that. He acts like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and for whatever reason, people believe him.

Emma doesn’t even notice him sauntering around the stage at first, too busy discussing what replacements they’ll need to order with Robin in the booth to pay attention to what’s going on below and leaving Kristoff to be the unfortunate messenger. The unwitting harbinger of doom, if you will.

“There’s some guy asking for you?” her usually even-keeled sound tech cuts in when a break in the conversation allows, voice betraying an uncharacteristic irritation. “Made it sound like you’d know him. I don’t know, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.” If Emma didn’t know better, she’d almost say there was a hint of disdain in Kristoff’s tone, but that’s silly. Kristoff gets along with everyone, mostly by barely talking to anyone. He’s got that Nordic, Midwestern implacability too where Emma can never tell what he’s thinking, and especially can never tell when he’s flustered.

It’s all explained, though, when she looks through the window to see her ex impatiently checking his phone. He’s not tapping his foot yet but Emma can sense the urge from this distance. Typical - Neal always seems to believe that his time is more valuable than everyone else’s.

“Fuck,” she curses loudly. “It’s my ex. Henry’s dad,” she elaborates when Robin lifts a curious eyebrow at her outburst. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” Blood pressure no doubt shooting through the roof, she turns on her heel and storms out of the booth to confront Neal and find out why the hell he’s here.

By the time she makes it down to the orchestra level, Neal’s officially progressed to foot-tapping stage, glancing around impatiently. Like he’s the one being inconvenienced here.

“What do you want, Neal?” she demands as soon as she gets close enough. There’s a small amount of pleasure to be taken in watching Neal jerk his head up in response and then down again rapidly to meet Emma’s eyes where she stands in the audience, knowing that it will likely result in a nasty knot in his neck from all the drastic movements. Only a small amount, though.

“Well hello to you too, Ems,” he replies easily, like all of this is some light-hearted social call instead of him barging into her place of employment.

“I’m not kidding around, Neal. What the hell are you doing here?” She doesn’t have time for this, but if she has to deal with it, she’s cutting straight to the point and skipping past the useless pleasantries.

“Well I was in town for a meeting and thought I’d drop by,” he replies.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” Neal reacts, playing up his faux offense. It’s all an act, Emma knows; she doesn’t even need a superpower to see that.

“Bullshit. You have never once in your life just ‘dropped by’, and you think theatre is a frivolous waste of time.”

“Can’t a man come see his son, maybe take him to dinner?” he tries instead, changing tactics.

“You certainly can, but it’s 3pm, Neal. Henry won’t be by after school for another hour. And, again, you have never ‘dropped by’ for a surprise visit just because you were in town for some meeting. In fact, you usually have to cancel on dinner with Henry when your meetings run over.”

“Oh c’mon Ems, that’s not fair,” Neal complains, but who the fuck cares what he has to say on the subject? Emma is about to tell him as such when Scarlet interrupts with better timing than she would have credited him with, though his tone is too annoyed to actually write off the interruption as being for her benefit.

“Oi, not that this isn’t fascinating, but would you clear the bleedin’ stage? I’ve been trying to bring this light bar in for the past five minutes but some people,” he glares pointedly at Neal, “won’t get out of the way.”

The nuisance himself looks like he’s about to bite back, but Emma cuts in before he gets the chance. “You gotta move, Neal, I don’t care where. Go hang out backstage or in the house or something. I’ve gotta take care of some stuff, I can’t keep an eye on you.” If she’s secretly hoping he gets whacked in the head with the light bar, well, that’s her business, and entirely understandable to boot.

“We need to talk, Emma,” he insists, apparently finally cutting to his point.

“Yeah, well, I need to do my job. You showed up at a bad time, and I’ve got people waiting on me. We’ll talk later.” She hopes her voice is firm enough - ideally, the one she uses to keep everyone in line when everything is going to shit - but ultimately, it doesn’t much matter as she whirls around and stalks back to the booth.

She’s got a terrible feeling she knows exactly what this is about. It seems like an awfully big coincidence that Neal just happens to unexpectedly show up at her theater, a place he’s never showed interest in, only a couple days after a male coworker said nice things about her on national television. Whatever the case, she so doesn’t have time to deal with it now.

Neal is just going to have to wait.

———

Word travels fast throughout the ranks, and the shocking news that their beloved stage manager’s ex-boyfriend and father to Henry has unexpectedly showed up on their stage is no exception. Killian hears it from Belle, who was told by Scarlet, who relates as much of the situation as he knows with plenty of added commentary about how the man’s a nuisance and possibly an imbecile and honestly, who the bloody hell doesn’t hear a man hollering about a heavy bleedin’ light bar about to be flown in? Fuckin’ idiots, that’s who, if you ask a very irritated Will Scarlet. And then somewhere along the line David Nolan catches wind of it and tells Mary Margaret, and when you tell Mary Margaret anything, suddenly the entire cast knows. It’s just a fact of their little cohort.

Now, Killian considers himself to be an open minded man, a tolerant man, a man who does not make decisions about people before he knows them. Liam raised him to be kind and polite and to listen to people and not make premature judgements, and usually, Killian does his best to live up to that example.

But, God help him, he Does Not Like Emma’s ex.

(Well, part of that might have been related to the holiday party incident and not their encounter today, but his point still stands)

He’s prepared to swear that even were Neal not the former lover of the woman he’s slowly becoming devoted to, he still wouldn’t like the man. There’s something about the other’s man attitude – that he can do what he pleases, and everyone else’s opinion be damned. Killian hates it.

Currently, “whatever he pleases” is wandering around backstage semi-aimlessly, sticking his nose into corners and getting underfoot and generally driving everyone slowly mad.

“Can I help you, mate?” Killian asks in a perfectly civil tone - or at least what he thinks is a perfectly civil tone - when he runs down to grab a prop only to find the other man peeking into thankfully empty dressing rooms.

“Nope, just looking around,” the ex had replied about as absently as humanly possible, not bothering to even make more than glancing eye contact.

Alright then.

The only marginally redeeming factor of that man is how purely delighted Henry is to see him when the lad comes by after school. Killian may be many things - a very judgemental and petty man at the moment, for one - but he’s not a monster, and he’s willing to put up with a lot if it makes that wonderful boy happy. Still. Doesn’t mean he has to become best friends with the man, or even be happy about his presence. In fact, Killian thinks he’ll keep an eye out from a short distance, just to make sure the lad stays happy; he doesn’t quite trust the other man’s motives here, even if he is Henry’s father.

“Dad!” Henry exclaims as soon as he spots the man in question, a wide and brilliant smile stretching his cheeks as his eyes visibly light up. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” Just as quickly though, his features shift to confusion. “I didn’t miss a call, did I?”

“Oh no, of course not, buddy,” Neal reassures. “I just thought I’d surprise you.”

Though this appearance could certainly be described as a surprise very easily, Killian still thinks that’s not the whole story. Henry is less fazed though, or at least willing to take the excuse at face value in his excitement over his dad’s presence.

“You’ve got to come meet everyone!” Henry exclaims, practically bouncing on his feet as he tugs Neal over towards Killian.

Lord help me, Killian can’t help but think, this will be fun. If the other man’s face is anything to go by, he seems to be thinking the same thing.

“Killian!” Henry calls, managing to pull an almost genuine smile out of him. “You’ll never guess who’s here! This is my dad!”

“Aye, we met briefly earlier,” Killian replies, thinking of their dressing room encounter (if it can even really be called that). In the name of civility, he sticks a hand out to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr…?” Technically, he already knows the other man’s name, but it feels rude to admit that the whole production knows who he is through the gossip train.

“Cassidy. Neal Cassidy,” he supplies with a smile that looks strained at best, pointedly not shaking the offered hand. “So, you’re the actor or whatever?”

“Aye, that’s me,” Killian agrees, trying hard not to be put out. “I play the male lead in this show, Mr. Darcy.”

“So you and Ems… work together a lot, then?”

So that’s what this is about. Killian almost feels stupid for not putting it together earlier, but it’s hard to miss the strategic emphasis in that sentence that suggests Neal is certain something more is happening. Self-important arse.

“Swan works closely with the entire cast, crew, and production team,” he replies carefully. “She’s perhaps the best stage manager I’ve ever seen, and very dedicated to the job at hand. We’re incredibly lucky to have her steering our little ship.”

“Sure.” Neal is obviously skeptical, if his posture and crossed arms are anything to go by. It takes everything Killian has not to roll his eyes at the bastard’s ridiculous posturing. Even Henry is picking up on the tension, looking back and forth between the two men with that same furrowed brow Emma gets when faced with a problem she’s trying to dissect.

“And I bet that’s all it is. Just a professional relationship,” Neal intones, continuing his interrogation. Killian truly questions the man’s judgement; to him, at least, this seems like an inappropriate avenue to be walking down with Henry right there, but then again, he may be biased as the target of the questioning.

“I believe that’s what I already said,” Killian replies. He’s tried to keep civil this whole time, but he can’t help the irritation from creeping into his tone. “We’re colleagues who interact on friendly but professional terms.” Is there a problem with that? the argumentative side of Killian is itching to demand, but he refrains for Henry’s sake

“Maybe we should go meet other people,” Henry blessedly cuts in before anything comes to blows or Killian says something he regrets (strangely enough, Neal doesn’t seem to have the same qualms that he does). “I’ll see you later, Killian!” he calls back over his shoulder as he practically drags his father away by the arm.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Killian hears Henry chastise from around the corner; he somehow doubts that the lad intended his voice to carry so far. Serves the man right, to be scolded by his own son, though Killian would be shocked if Neal suddenly came to regret his actions. A man that comes into town specifically to get on his ex for mostly platonic words said on a television program doesn’t seem the type to suddenly see how ridiculous his actions are.

He knows that Emma is the last person to want any pity, but she has Killian’s all the same. The man seems to be an insufferable prick, or is at least intent on acting like one; as bad as Killian’s interaction with Neal was, he’d be willing to bet that Emma’s in for something even more infuriating. He sure hopes that this dickery is a recent development, because at the moment, he has no idea what Emma ever saw in that man.

It’s none of Killian’s business, not really, but he can’t help but feel angry on Emma’s behalf that she’ll have to deal with whatever bullshit that bastard chooses to spew at her. Whatever interrogation he just had to suffer, she’ll undoubtedly have to deal with even worse. The more he thinks about it, the more frustrated he gets, until there’s nothing else to do about the matter - he calls Liam. It was either that or go hunt down Neal to ask a bunch of uncalled-for questions in a petty form of revenge.

“Make it quick, brother,” Liam immediately says when he answers, “the filming break is ending in seven minutes.”

“Emma’s ex is the most insufferable man alive,” Killian declares, launching right in.

“Good to know. And how exactly do you know this?” Liam asks in return.

“The arse showed up at the theater today - which was not expected, let me tell you, Henry was shocked to see his father. He obviously has never set foot in a theater, looking around everywhere and getting underfoot. And from everything I hear from Henry, he doesn’t exactly see his dad often, no other spontaneous visits like he was trying to claim this is. And this only a few days after that blasted interview aired! What a wild coincidence!” Killian says sarcastically. “So here he is, showing up to ask me a bunch of questions about whether Emma and I are really just colleagues. Funny, that.”

“Sounds frustrating,” Liam replies, making all the right noises even if he’s a little lost as to what’s going on.

“God, he’s such a pretentious arse. Waltzing right on in here like he gets a say in Swan’s work life. Or her personal life. Hell, the man’s barely around enough to earn the right to an opinion in Henry’s life. Try telling him that, though.”

“Speaking of which, do you plan on telling Emma all this?” Liam poses a good question, but Killian’s a bit conflicted on how to answer.

“I don’t know. She’ll be dealing with enough from him, you know? Not to mention everything else that’s going on around here - it’s a rough tech day to boot, as if she needs more on her plate. I don’t want to add any more stress. But at the same time… it feels deceptive, not telling her? Like I’m not supplying her with all the pieces of a problem.”

Liam hums. “So what are you going to do then?”

“I don’t know,” Killian whines back. “I’m just frustrated.”

“And that’s completely understandable,” Liam soothes. “Someone’s showed up to make trouble for a friend - someone you care for. It makes sense that you’d be angry on her behalf.”

“But what do I do, Liam?” he demands.

“Well, how about this for a compromise: if you see her before he leaves, you keep mum so as not to create more stress or be the cause of any conflict, but if you next see her afterwards, you do mention it. I’m quite firmly on the side of letting her know eventually, just so she can take whatever steps need taking to keep this kind of thing from happening again,” Liam suggests.

“I think I can manage that.” Venting to Liam hasn’t truly solved any problems, but he still feels better, like a dark cloud has been lifted from over his head. “Thanks, Liam. I know you’re busy, but I needed that. I’ll let you go, but really, thank you for being a listening ear.”

“Aye, I’ve got to be getting back,” Liam agrees. “Anytime though, Kil, I’m always here to listen. Hang in there - you and your lady both. Love you, little brother.” And before Killian can respond, even with a correction, the call disconnects.

Huffing a sigh, Killian attempts to release some of the remaining tension, before finally returning his attention to… whatever he came down here for in the first place. Thanks to certain unpleasant visitors, he’s having trouble remembering.

Really, damn the man and all the chaos he’s causing in his wake.

———

There’d been half a hope in the back of Emma’s mind that maybe she’d wrap up everything that needed immediately taking care of before Neal got bored and wandered back again, if only to avoid her ex pulling that “how dare you inconvenience me, my time is more valuable than yours” act again, charming though it is. Sadly, the universe is not on her side in that wish, and Neal and Henry are already waiting at the front, the former already reprising his impatient scanning from earlier as Henry happily chatters away about God knows what.

“Does she always leave you waiting like this?” Emma hears Neal ask, his voice carrying despite the distance.

Henry shrugs nonchalantly in response. “I go talk to everyone. Sometimes Mom lets me help out around here too.”

“Oh, so she’s putting you to work?” Neal’s voice is scandalized - that’s the only word for it. Now that she’s almost to where the two stand, she can see the shock on his face too.

Emma will stand for a lot of things from Neal, but that’s an implication too far. “Yes, I make him lug fifty pound fly weights all over the place. Builds character,” she replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Neal rolls his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, Em, you know I wasn’t suggesting that —” he tries to protest, but Emma cuts him off.

“Yeah, you kinda were. Henry, go get your stuff so you and your dad can get something to eat.” Henry scampers off at her suggestion, seemingly all too glad to escape the tension boiling between his parents, a tension that’s about to burst into something worse.

“C’mon, what was that about, Emma?” Neal whines, but Emma’s having none of it.

“Cut the crap, Neal. You wanted to talk, so talk. Starting with the real reason you’re here.”

“Well,” he states, “I saw the Sign-Off interview Monday night.”

Emma groans. She should have seen this coming, but that doesn’t make it any less stupid. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m serious! I’m laying in bed watching some… stuck-up actor talk about how dedicated you are to the show —”

“And what, you took that as code for ‘child neglect’? Because someone I work with said I’m good at my job?”

Neal’s silence is telling.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you really thought that, didn’t you?” Emma manages to spit out. “Jesus Christ, Neal.”

“Look, I just know what I saw, ok?” he tries to defend as Emma rolls her eyes. “Don’t I have the right to come make sure you’re not neglecting my son, actually taking care of him instead of spending all your time at work or with some… some pretty boy?”

“That is fucking rich coming from you, Neal. Always so busy with your fancy job and your fancy house and your pretty little wife that you can’t even remember to call your son half the time. Fucking rich. I am doing everything I can to give that kid the best life,” she hisses, stabbing a finger into his chest, “and that’s a hell of a lot more than you’ve done. I’m the one that helps him with his homework, and takes care of him when he’s sick, and listens to all his worries. I’m the one who knows the names of all his friends and which takeout places are his favorite and how to best comfort him when he’s sad. Meanwhile, you couldn’t even be bothered to admit he was yours for five fucking years!” She’s practically shouting by the end, and only hopes Henry is too far away to hear. Neal just stands there glowering as Emma picks up steam. At least he seems to have picked up on the fact that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

“And for the record?” she finishes, trying to lower the volume of her voice and probably failing. “I’m not dating Jones, or anyone else. But even if I was, that would be none of your goddamn business. Just like your marriage is none of mine.” Neal finally opens up his mouth to speak, but Emma throws up a hand to stop him before he even starts. “No. We’re done here. You and Henry can leave out the stage door. Have him home by 8, it’s a school night and he has homework.” Emma’s shaking with rage by the end of her tirade, but stands her ground, and with a final huff, her ex stalks off to find their son. Good riddance.

As Neal makes his disgraced departure, still shooting dirty looks over his shoulder, Emma finally relaxes, practically collapsing in on herself. Yes, there are still problems to come in her day, but those are normal problems, the kind that she knows to account for when going to work in the morning. Neal’s presence was a different kind of stressor, one she can’t prepare for, and when shoved at her on top of her work-related stress, it sets a tension into her shoulders that’s unmatched by anything else. Honestly, based off the bullshit Neal was tossing her way, you would have thought Killian has said she was making Henry work sixty hour weeks, not that she was good at her job. For fuck’s sake.

Dropping her head back, Emma takes a moment just to re-center herself before straightening again to return to the booth, only to turn around to spot Robin with a less than pleased look on his face. In fact, she’d go far as to say that she’s never seen him look so furious. Abruptly, Emma’s stomach plummets. God, he must have seen or heard the confrontation with Neal; in the heat of it all, they probably weren’t as quiet as quiet as they should have been. It wasn’t fair of Emma to bring that kind of drama into their workplace, and Robin has every right to be angry about it, but still, it feels like a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach to see that look directed at her.

Quickly, she hurries to meet her colleague at the back of the aisle where he stands, stumbling over apologies the whole while. “Robin, I’m so sorry, you should never have heard - it won’t happen again -” she tries to tell him, but Robin throws up a hand to halt her words in their tracks.

“Stop,” he tells Emma. “Just… stop.” Oh god, he must be really mad. All Emma wants to do is apologize profusely and try to make this right, but she can’t do that if he’s not receptive to hearing it. The stone grows heavier and heavier in her stomach.

Robin exhales a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself down, and Emma braces herself for whatever he’s about to say. He must see or sense that somehow - probably a benefit of spending hours together every day in a space that always seems too small and crowded - because some of the anger recedes from his face, a small amount of tension easing from his frame as he reaches to grasp Emma by the shoulders.

“I’m not mad at you,” he tells her in a voice that’s somehow simultaneously both firm and gentle. Emma imagines it’s the same voice he uses with Roland from time to time. If not, he should - it’s effective.

“You’re not?” she replies in a voice that’s smaller than she’d prefer. Oh well; Robin won’t judge her for that.

“Gods above, no. I’m mad, yes, but not at you,” he explains solemnly, “Emma, darling, please believe me when I tell you this: no one could watch the display that absolute bastard was making of himself and be mad at you. None of this is on you. All of my anger is on your behalf, that he had the very nerve to stand there and say such things.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Emma mumbles. Still, her cheeks flush at the gesture and the care behind those words.

Robin just shrugs. “Maybe I don’t have to, but I’m going to anyways. You’re my friend, Emma,” he explains, “and I see what you do every day. I know exactly how much you give this job, and I know you give Henry even more, as much as a human being can. It’s… preposterous, to even suggest the two are mutually exclusive. Look, I know our situations aren’t exactly the same,” he prefaces, “but I know how easy it is to lose a lot of yourself in being a parent, just by virtue of trying to ensure that your kid has everything. You may not be dating Jones, or anyone else, but so what if you were? You’re allowed to try and find that kind of happiness for yourself, on top of the happiness you get from Henry. The fact that Neal - ” he spits out the name with unexpected derision - “thinks that he gets a say in that, just because he’s Henry’s father, is laughable. Absurd. Especially since he’s one step above an absentee parent.”

Emma can’t help but feel a rush of platonic affection at his words, though she’s mortified to feel those feelings welling into tears of relief and gratitude. It’s true that Mary Margaret and Ruby and Elsa have been agreeing with her about how much of an ass Neal is for years, but they’re practically family; there’s always kind of been that feeling that they have to say that because of their long and close connection to Emma. There’s something meaningful and vindicating about hearing Robin, a coworker of significantly less acquaintance, say the same thing - that her ex is a jerk who has no right to have any opinions about her personal life.

Robin doesn’t know that they’re good tears, however, and his leftover fury quickly morph into a confused concern. “Are you crying?” he asks, not waiting for an explanation. “Oh, please, Emma, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to upset you — ”

“It’s alright, Robin,” Emma cuts in with a teary chuckle. “It just means a lot to hear you say that. Thank you.”

“Ah, well, we’ve got to stick together, don’t we?” Robin smiles. “Single parents banding together and all that. Though, for the record, every one of us in here is rooting for you, not just me. Kristoff is as mad as I’ve ever seen him, and I thought Scarlet was about to bash his nose in.”

“Yeah, well, Scarlet just wanted the stage cleared so he could get his work done. Any opportunity to brain Neal with the light bar was just an added bonus,” Emma replies, snorting less than gracefully, happy to see a path out of the emotional bog she’d inadvertently waded into.

“You’re not wrong there,” Robin admits, breaking into his own bout of laughter. At the end of it, the mood is lighter for both of them, and while Emma is still irritated with her stupid-ass ex - a permanent thing, really, even if it’s a bit more than usual at the moment - the blind panic their argument had spawned about what everyone else is going to think of her has abated, thank god.

“Hang in there, darling,” Robin concludes with a collegial pat to her back. “We’re all here for you if you need to vent or plot a murder. Though, I should tell you,” he continues more seriously, “rumor has it that Neal was giving Killian the third degree earlier.”

“Of course he was,” Emma groans, dropping her head back melodramatically before setting her shoulders once again. “Sounds about par for the course today.”

Robin chuckles. “Nothing you can’t handle, o fearsome leader,” he teases. “Now go be a badass, prove him wrong.”

And you know what? Emma’s going to do just that. After one last stop, that is.

———

Killian doesn’t expect Emma to show up in the doorway of his dressing room as he runs through his pre-show prep - in fact, for one irritated moment, he’s convinced it’s Cassidy come back to grill him some more.

“You scared me there,” he comments, tossing a grin towards where Emma leans against the door frame. “I thought you were our charming visitor.”

Emma winces at the words. “Yeah, about that…”

“Oh god, he’s not coming back, is he?” Killian groans. It would be just his luck if the man was standing right behind Swan, but at this point, they’re already on poor enough terms that he’s willing to risk it. It’s not like things can disintegrate any further.

Thankfully, Swan emphatically shakes her head to that. “No, no, he and Henry are off getting dinner somewhere. But I did hear that you guys had the pleasure of meeting.”

Belatedly, Killian realizes that as awful as he thinks Emma’s ex is, she maybe doesn’t want to hear that from others. She’s the one who has to deal with him for the foreseeable future; his conversation with Liam aside, it seems bad form to complain about the man to Emma’s face and potentially make her feel worse, both about the prospect of dealing with Neal and about the fact that he’s here in the first place. The latter is most certainly not her fault.

“Yes, he’s, uh… it was interesting, meeting the man,” Killian finally says, as diplomatically as he can manage.

Swan, thank God, is having none of that however. “Oh please. He’s an ass. A real piece of work. No use beating around the bush, it’s not going to hurt my feelings or anything. I’ve got thicker skin than he does.”

“Ah, well, as long as you said it first,” he laughs. Suddenly, he remembers an earlier part of their conversation - the bit about how she heard Neal and he had talked - and something clicks. “Wait, you’re not here to apologize for his utter lack of manners, are you Swan?”

Her face contorts into a sheepish smile. “Maybe?”

“Well save your breath, love,” Killian insists. “There’s no need. His actions and his words are in no way your fault. You know that, right?” It feels crucial that she knows that.

“Yeah, Robin told me pretty much the same thing,” she replies. “Still. I feel bad that you had to deal with him at all.”

“Put it out of you mind, love, I beg you. I’ll admit that he wasn’t a particularly pleasant part of my day, but I’ll put him out of my mind soon enough. He’ll be a footnote, at best. Don’t worry yourself about it, please.”

“I mean, if you’re sure…” she trails off uncertainly, that guilty look still darkening her face.

“I insist,” he says with finality. He can still see Emma’s doubts lingering though, so he quickly shifts to teasing. “I do have to ask, though,” he says, noting the trace of caution that appears in the crease between her brows, “what did you ever see in him?”

At his teasing smile, Emma releases the tension she’s holding again, going so far as to roll her eyes at the question, and they’re able to resume their banter again, continuing on as if Neal and his nonsense never happened.

(His line that evening about Collins being a pompous, prattling fool seems a little more pointed than it ever has before, but the audience doesn’t need to know that. Killian is confident that Emma hears it all the same.)

If you guys liked this chapter, please please please reblog (or even just like!) it. I’m a desperate woman who’s not about pleading. Thanks for reading!

[morfinwen]

28, 37, 41, 43, 44, and 50 for all OCs :)

RIP anyone on mobile, here’s a “read more” for the rest of you:

28 - What are some of their guilty pleasures?

Reagan - Dumb phone games, some she’ll download just to play once then remove forever.

Chris - Action paperbacks, the kind with paper-thin characters, plots that fall apart if you think about them for more than two seconds, villains as realistic as a Saturday morning cartoon, etc.

Angie - Her abiding love for the Disney movies she watched as a child goes beyond what most adults will admit to. She wore out her old video cassette of Cinderella, and takes very good care of the stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh bear she’s had since she was a baby.

Neal - There’s this one soap opera he’s kept up on since he was nine years old. No one can know.

Elarin - She loves cheesy pop love ballads. No matter how ridiculous or sappy they are, if it's got a catchy tune, she’ll be humming it under her breath for weeks. HK-47 confirms this was a trait she had even back in her “terror of the galaxy” days, which has led to some interesting mental images for both Elarin and her friends.

Meaghan - She has a collection of various animal figurines she’s collected from all over the place, from all different manufacturers and planets. Most of them are brightly colored and made of cheap materials, almost none of them are realistic. About the only thing all of them have in common, besides being goofy imitations of animals, is that she likes the way they feel in her hands.

Leah - Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. So sugary you can feel your teeth rot when you bite into one. So packed full of preservatives they’ve lasted as long as she’s been alive (which also means most of them are at least slightly irradiated). Whenever she finds a box somewhere, though, she’ll pick it up and hide it somewhere, for when she’s having a bad day.

Avery - There have been various incidents across Kirkwall that have occurred suspiciously close to times and places Avery and Varric were left unattended for lengthy periods of time. Avery doesn’t regret a single shenanigan, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to admit her involvement to Aveline.

Ash - If, hypothetically speaking, Ash ever watched a romcom or chick flick -- which, given the general low quality of many of those types of films, he is definitely not likely to ever do -- he would only do it somewhere private, where if some part of the movie might by happenstance make him tear up, he could keep his emotions to himself and not have to deal with the judgment and opinions of others. All purely hypothetical. You have no evidence.

Lanzo - Reality TV. It’s ridiculous and melodramatic and over the top and not realistic in the slightest, but he can get sucked into watching it for hours. What else is he going to do during the daylight hours?

Connie - Chasing sticks. It’s not fetch, it’s more like catch. With himself.

Aidan - Musicals. Even the silly ones with pointless plots and unbelievable characters.

Nate - He used to love Skittles.

Q - Some animated show that he watched a lot of when he was a kid. Absolutely refuses to speak of it to anyone. He has copies of his favorite episodes saved on his laptop in a password-protected folder with a misleading name, just to make sure no one learns about it.

Niner - Yarn. It’s not that werecats have anything against yarn -- many of them are just as entranced by it as Niner -- but batting a ball of colorful yarn around on the floor is not part of Niner’s image.

Amanda - Self-describes her drinking habits as a quest to replace all internal fluids with Coca-Cola.

Ian - Twinkies. He knows they’re terrible for him, but it’s a road trip necessity. He had a minor freak out when Hostess went bankrupt and they stopped being sold for several months.

Lauren - The occasional cigarette, when she is extra stressed or angry and nothing else will calm her down. If she's particularly self-controlled, one pack will last two weeks. She is usually not quite that self-controlled.

Kira - An older teen romance werewolf movie. She knows it’s dumb, but the lead male is just. The cutest. The dreamiest eyes. His smile. His hair ... 

Darcy - Chocolate covered marshmallow cookies. Dipped in peanut butter.

Susanna - Susanna is too young to have guilty pleasures. If she likes something, she likes it, and refuses to be ashamed about it.

37 - Do they like glitter?

Reagan - It doesn’t bother her, but no.

Chris - Giving someone a card with glitter on it is one of Chris’ ways of getting petty revenge on people who haven’t done anything bad enough to merit serious comeuppance. He’ll always add a little extra, in such a way that the recipient won’t notice beyond “wow, there’s a lot of glitter on this card”.

Angie - Not particularly.

Neal - No.

Elarin - Not usually, but sometimes a girl just needs to feel sparkly.

Meaghan - Doesn’t care either way.

Leah - Sure, in small doses.

Avery - I don’t think they have glitter in Ferelden. If they did, she’d love it, but mostly for petty revenge like Chris.

Ash - Ugh. No.

Lanzo - He has a glittery tiara that says “DIVA” that he wears sometimes when he's drunk. When he’s sober, its tendency to get everywhere irritates the heck out of him.

Connie - No.

Aidan - Eh.

Nate - No.

Q - No.

Niner - Won’t ever admit it, but has a certain fascination with anything shiny or sparkly.

Amanda - When she was younger, she did. Nowadays she’s just slightly more likely to buy a glittery card than the average person.

Ian - He would, except he seems to have extraordinarily bad luck with it.

Lauren - With as many siblings as she had, there was always something leaving glitter everywhere when she was growing up, so she’s developed a dislike of it.

Kira - Yes.

Darcy - No.

Susanna - No interest.

41 - Have they ever broken a bone?

Reagan - Once, broke her arm falling out of a tree.

Chris - A few, while playing sports.

Angie - Never.

Neal - If asked, Neal might talk about the one time he got his collarbone broken while playing football in junior high. He will not mention the other times he had a broken bone in his childhood. His parents get angry with him when he talks about those. 

Elarin - Considering all the violent conflicts she’s been involved in, she’s suffered serious injury on multiple occasions, but even without amnesia she couldn’t tell you offhand how many of them involved broken bones.

Meaghan - Same.

Leah - Pre-War, she broke a couple fingers playing sports. Post-War … she lost count a long time ago.

Avery - A few. She also leads a conflict-heavy life, but she keeps to the back and lets her better-armored friends take the charge.

Ash - Slipped and broke his ankle one winter. Most boring winter of his life.

Lanzo - Not since becoming a vampire. Vampires can break bones, but it’s significantly less likely.

Connie - No. Werewolves are also tougher than humans.

Aidan - Phoenixes, on the other hand, have light bones that break more easily. The longest he’s gone without breaking something is eight months. (Fortunately, phoenixes also have methods of healing faster).

Nate - Broke his left arm once, and his left leg on a different occasion. The latter event was the one that put an end to his skateboarding/rollerblading days and kickstarted his interest in video games.

Q - He’s suffered a lot of batterings, thanks to riding a bike professionally -- mostly scrapes and minor cuts, but also more than his fair share of broken bones, he’s sure.

Niner - Probably not? When asked, she claims not to know what bones are, and shows no interest in learning. Q is 88% sure she’s joking, but … it’s Niner.

Amanda - Once, broke her leg very badly during an investigation.

Ian - Once, in college. He got lost on his way to class, and thought he was walking down a different set of stairs on the other side of campus -- ones that didn’t require you to be as mindful of where you put your feet.

Lauren - Answered.

Kira - Broke her collarbone once.

Darcy - No.

Susanna - Two fingers, one toe, her ankle, and one hairline fracture in her arm. Considering how much energy Susanna puts into doing everything, it might be a bit surprising she hasn’t broken more.

43 - Have they ever drunk underage?

Reagan - As a small child, she wanted to try her aunt’s wine. Janet figured allowing her a taste would put her off of it for a while, and it did. Reagan never drank again for years, until some very determined coworkers convinced her to accompany them to a bar after work.

Chris - He was at a few parties in high school where there was drinking going on, but he never had any himself.

Angie - Nope. No interest, no opportunities.

Neal - His dad’s idea of “male bonding” was making his twelve-year-old drink an entire can of beer while watching old videos of him playing high school football. Neal threw up shortly afterward, which did nothing to improve his relationship with his father, but it did mean he never “wasted” his beer making Neal drink it again.

Elarin - Never really had the opportunity, and wouldn’t have taken it if she had.

Meaghan - Ditto.

Leah - Someone spiked the punch at one school party Leah attended her sophomore year of high school. Before she’d had more than half a cup, her not-yet-boyfriend Nate warned her about it, and offered to see her home, as the friends she’d come with were not put off by the spiked punch.

It was a warm spring evening, so they walked home very, very slowly, talking about everything going on in the world and what they hoped to do to change things for the better.

Avery - I’m not sure if Ferelden has a drinking age. If it does, then no, but not for want of trying -- so many adults seemed to love alcohol so much, young Avery just wanted to know why, but the mean bartender never let her try any.

Ash - Nope. His dad took him to his favorite local pub shortly after Ash’s twenty-first birthday, and gave him a lot of advice on the topic.

Lanzo - If the concept of minors even existed when Lanzo was born, it was a very different understanding. He grew up drinking alcoholic beverages with pretty much every meal.

Connie - Disliking the taste of alcohol and/or being more susceptible to it are not so common among werewolves as to be a distinctive trait, but for some reason are more likely to be true of the average werewolf than the average human. For this reason, among others, there wasn’t much peer pressure or opportunity for underage drinking.

As an adult, Connie’s tried a variety of different drinks, all of which taste vile to him.

Aidan - No underage drinking, though he did visit a couple speakeasies during Prohibition.

Nate - A little in college, mostly just a friend offering him a taste of theirs. Once at a party he picked up someone’s mixed drink by accident and drank the entire thing. Apparently, Nate’s a great dancer once he loosens up a little.

Q - Not by British standards.

Niner - Werecats leave their immediate families when they reach physical maturity, usually in their early teens, and will travel for a while with others of the same age. One of the other werecats in Niner’s group discovered an abandoned bottle of whiskey on the side of the road, and gave it a try. His reaction was so strong everyone else in the group had to give it a try as well. None of them liked it.

Amanda - For a short period of her teenage years, Amanda rebelled against the strict rules and high expectations of her mother by engaging in various transgressive acts, such as sneaking into bars with fake ID and attending parties where alcohol was available. She was very careful never to get drunk, as she knew there would be serious consequences if her mother ever found out.

Ian - He accidentally drank some of his dad’s beer once as a kid. Like Reagan, it was enough to put him off of it for years. He tolerates some mixed drinks, but he’s still not super-fond of alcohol.

Lauren - She was raised Catholic, so she had wine with her first Communion in grade school. Apart from that, her parents permitted their children to have a single glass of wine at dinner on certain special occasions, once they were double-digits. Like most of her siblings, Lauren didn’t like the taste of it, but it made her feel very grown-up to ask for some. There was also a lot of competitiveness between the siblings, so once one had a glass, all the rest had to have it too, lest they be “shown up” by the others.

Kira, Darcy, Susanna - Nope.

44 - What is the first thing they do when they wake up?

Reagan - Check her phone.

Chris - He has a whole system that starts with getting up, making the bed, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, making breakfast …

Angie - Opens a window.

Neal - Wakes up gradually to the smell of coffee -- sets his coffee maker to start automatically in the mornings.

Elarin - Goes back to whatever she was doing before someone made her go to bed.

Meaghan - Meditates.

Leah - Helps whomever is making breakfast, or starts it if no one else has.

Avery - Mornings are difficult for Avery, so once she’s awake she just lays in bed for a while, until she feels better or something forces her to get up.

Ash - Makes tea and goes outside to watch the sunrise.

Lanzo - Has a drink.

Connie - Showers, if he has to work. Picks up the nearest book and leafs through it until he's fully awake, if he doesn't.

Aidan - If it’s rainy, and it usually is, he’ll get up, get dressed, and find some breakfast. On the rare occasions it’s sunny, goes outside, climbs onto the roof, and watches the sunrise for as long as he can.

Nate - Doesn’t sleep anymore. Back when he did, he would check his phone first.

Q - It takes him a while to fully wake up, so some mornings the first thing he does once he’s awake is make tea, other mornings he’s halfway on his way to work before he can be considered “awake”.

Niner - Food is the only thing on Niner’s mind when she wakes up.

Amanda - She uses the radio for an alarm, and her preferred daytime radio program starts a half hour before she has to get going, so she’ll lie in bed and just listen, letting herself wake up more gradually.

Ian - Wakes up to his alarm, hits the snooze button one too many times, gets up in a panic and drinks as much coffee as he can before leaving for work.

Lauren - Takes a cold shower.

Kira - Bury her head under her pillow, groan, then very reluctantly get up.

Darcy - Get dressed.

Susanna - Run downstairs for breakfast.

50 - Are they good at remembering significant dates? Anniversaries, birthdays etc?

Reagan - She’s not terrible at remembering. Whether she’ll do anything for it is a different matter.

Chris - Yes, but he’s not above getting it wrong or ignoring it if he feels it’s called for.

Angie - Always. In fact, there have been occasions where Angie has recognized a significant date for someone in her social circle and honored it appropriately without that person having any recollection of telling of her that such a date even existed, let alone when it was.

Neal - For the people he cares about, yes. Otherwise, probably not.

Elarin - Dates of personal importance, to her or those close to her, yes -- though mostly by setting up alerts to remind her and other, more subconscious methods. Otherwise she has trouble remembering what day it is.

Meaghan - She’s pretty good at remembering, unless something very serious comes up to distract her.

Leah - She’s good at remembering the actual date, but between all her responsibilities, the incredibly low likelihood of coming across any accurate calendars, and the fact that the Commonwealth’s weather patterns have changed a lot since she was growing up, she might not realize an important date has come up.

Avery - For Avery, recognizing the occasion is more important than getting the date absolutely right, but she is decent at recalling dates, and she makes a point for those to whom getting the date right is important.

Ash - As soon as he learns about an important date for someone who’s more than a casual acquaintance, he writes it down in his personal calendar/address book. You would really have to work to aggravate him enough not to send you a birthday card, once you’re in the book.

Lanzo - Yes, but after this much time, he occasionally mixes up what day is important to what person. Especially awkward when he confuses someone in the house’s birthday with the birthday of, say, one of his wives.

Connie - With a little effort, he can. He has a calendar with every important birthdate written down on it.

Aidan - Nope!

Nate - He remembers all important dates for his immediate family, and a few for his extended family. Otherwise, not really.

Q - Yes. Not really a benefit to him at present, seeing as most of the significant dates he remembers are for his ex-girlfriend and terrible aunt and uncle.

Niner - Vaguely aware of approaching holidays. Otherwise, can’t even tell what day of the week it is, or even what the days of the week are. She’s almost certain “Wednesday” isn’t a real word.

Amanda - She tries, but she gets so involved in her work that it can slip her mind until it’s too late. She really does put in an effort for her closest friends and family.

Ian - Answered.

Lauren - The only important dates she can really remember are those of her family and Ian’s family.

Kira - She only has to hear it once to remember it. Now if only that worked for her history tests …

Darcy - Has been known to forget when his own birthday is, so that would be a no.

Susanna - Not particularly, though she has on multiple occasions surprised people by remembering an important date they were sure she’d forgotten.

Long enough for you? Thanks for asking, though! Still fun working through these. Most of these, anyway. (Poor Neal ... )

[themurphyzone]

Secret Santa Ch 3

I can’t believe how random the last chapter turned out to be.

Ch 3: Zack

Zack could have easily bought Mort a bag of rocks and the guy enjoy it. But he was a lot more thoughtful than that. Maybe he wouldn’t go to the same lengths as Melissa was with her gift, but surely there was something he could buy that was better than a cheesy Christmas card with a candy cane taped inside.

“Mort, you keep forgetting to check your signs,” Bradley frowned, handing the math worksheet back.

Mort shrugged. “Not really. I know I’m a Libra.”

“I meant on the homework,” Bradley scoffed. “I could care less what zodiac your birthday falls under. That stuff isn’t even true.”

Mort never seemed to be affected by Bradley’s sour mood. At least, not outwardly. Besides Melissa, he was probably the only other person with the ability to hold a decent conversation with Bradley for an extended amount of time.

“Oh. Well, thanks. I was wondering why half of these problems had no solutions,” Mort said as erased his answers.

Bradley rolled his eyes, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “It’s the stupid mistakes that net you a less than perfect score.”

He left the library, slamming the door behind him, much to the librarian’s disapproval.

“Wow,” Zack said. “Who spit in his milk?”

“Anyone would be upset if they were cursed with a bad hair day because Jupiter was in the third house,” Mort replied. He glanced up, licking his finger and sticking it in the air. “Do you feel that? Suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t seem as doom-and-gloomy as before.”

Unfortunately, Zack was not nearly as adept as reading the atmosphere.

Zack leaned over the large posterboard, carefully tracing over the title with a blue marker. Melissa reviewed her notes over Macbeth, highlighting certain lines in the book that she’d carefully picked out.

“This is torture,” Zack groaned. “How is anyone supposed to understand Shakespeare? There’s too many thees and thous and thys!”

Melissa recapped her highlighter, setting it aside. “Did you buy a copy with the modern translation next to the original text?”

“No, I checked mine out from the library,” Zack muttered.

“And there’s your problem,” Melissa replied. “But getting back on track, we’ll start with the hallucination of the dagger. What’s taking Milo so long with the snacks?”

Five minutes later, Milo came up with two large bags of chips and a pretzel bowl. He was covered in scratch marks from head to toe. “Sorry it took so long,” Milo said. “A squirrel got into our kitchen, and boy was it hungry. Good thing I always keep some pistachios nearby!”

“You didn’t miss much,” Melissa said. “Zack’s still copying the quotes. His handwriting is larger than mine.”

“Not nearly as neat though,” Zack said, moving on to the last quote. “And I was thinking of getting something like fortune telling for Mort. He has that weird thing about chakras and zodiacs.”

Milo glanced over what they had so far. “Can I do the drawings?” he asked.

Melissa tossed him the pencil. “Do it with pencil first. I want this to look good.”

“No problem!” Milo said, his tongue sticking out slightly as he worked on the rough sketch of a dagger dripping blood at the bottom. “Fortune telling, huh? Maybe I can do some fortune telling to give you an idea of what to get Mort!”

“You know how to tell someone’s fortune?” Zack asked.

Milo nodded. “My dad’s coworker’s sister’s friend’s barber’s cousin’s mother is a psychic! Dad took me to visit her once and she gave me a crystal ball so I can practice on my own!” He pulled a crystal ball and a bandana with hoop earrings attached out of his backpack.

“I guess a break couldn’t hurt,” Melissa said, moving the posterboard and snacks aside. She closed the blinds, which dimmed the light in the room.

Milo tied the bandana around his head, setting the crystal ball on a stand between the three of them. He lifted his hands, but was interrupted by a loud scream from downstairs.

Zack didn’t understand what this was supposed to accomplish.

“MILO!” Sara screamed, the door bursting open as she stumbled into the room. “Oh thank the gods of Yalkelvik, you have your fortune telling equipment out.”

“Hey, Sara! I was just about to help Zack decide on his Secret Santa gift to Mort!” Milo exclaimed. “What’s up?”

“You have to help me! It’s a crisis!” Sara begged.

“You don’t mind me helping her first, right?” Milo asked.

Zack waved him on. “Go right ahead. So what’s wrong?”

“Well, you know how the new Dr. Zone Funko Pops were released yesterday?” Sara chewed her lip nervously. “Neal was going to buy me one for Christmas but then Kris wanted me to go to the mall with her so we’re meeting up in two hours and we’re definitely heading to one of the small stores in the main area of the mall where they sell the Funko Pops and I have zero self-control so I’m probably gonna end up buying one-“ she took a deep breath “-and I don’t know which one Neal is going to buy me and I don’t wanna unwrap his gift and say ‘oh I already have this one’ and I just need to know ahead of time which one he’s buying so I know not to purchase it!”

“That does sound like a conundrum!” Milo hummed.

Zack leaned over to Melissa. “He understood all that? She lost me after Christmas.”

“Now gaze into the mists of...” Milo threw his arms out for dramatic emphasis. “…THE CRYSTAL BALL! MWAHAHAHA!”

Milo’s evil laugh was very unconvincing.

“Wait, no that’s the Saturday morning cartoon villain voice. Should I try again with the mystical fortune-teller voice?” Milo asked.

“Just help me decide,” Sara begged.

“Moment’s gone anyway. First, the spirits require something of value. They accept electronics,” Milo said.

Sara handed her cell phone over, and Milo hid it under the tablecloth. “Spirits, I ask you to reveal the Dr. Zone Funko Pop that Neal is planning to buy for Sara Murphy! I must ask all of you to scoot back. They like personal space.”

Sara and Melissa moved back. Zack leaned closer, trying to see what Milo was looking at, but Melissa yanked him away from the crystal ball. “It’s not like anything was there,” Zack said.

“The spirits have decided!” Milo exclaimed. “They’re sending their spooky spiritual waves into our world to link me with Neal!”

Neal appeared in the crystal ball, looking incredibly confused. “Wait, Milo? Where’s Sara? Nice hoops, by the way.”

“Thanks!” Milo exclaimed. “Sara-“ Sara made wild hand gestures. “Er-I wanted to know what Dr. Zone Funko Pop you’re buying her for Christmas so I don’t accidentally get her the same one.”

“Princess Shirazi,” Neal replied. “She kinda reminds me of Sara. You know, with how excited she gets when there’s something she’s really passionate about. Um, you aren’t going to mention that to her, right? Cause it’s kinda embarrassing when I say it out loud.”

Sara blushed, stifling her giggles with one hand.  

“By the way, Sara mentioned she was going to buy me one of the new figures that got released from Space Adventure. And I’m going to the mall in a few hours with Wally and I really need to know which one she’s getting me because Wally’s gonna pressure me into buying me one and I’ll give in like always so…yeah. I need some help,” Neal finished lamely.

Sara wrote a name on a piece of paper and passed it to Milo. Milo grinned. “That’s funny! My sister says she was going to the mall with Kris in a few hours too! What a coincidence! Oh, and she was planning to buy you the Lump Sharkboard figure.”

“Thanks so much,” Neal sighed. “I was worried for a second-wait, did you say she was going to the mall with Kris? Gotta run, I am totally not finding my trenchcoat from my last cosplay to go incognito so she doesn’t recognize me!”

“Bye!” Milo exclaimed.

“So the crystal ball actually worked?” Zack gasped.

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Gullible. He put Sara’s phone in the crystal ball. It was pretty obvious.” She reached inside the tablecloth and extracted the cell phone, giving it back to Sara.

“Sara?” Zack asked, waving his hand in front of her face.

“I’m going to put on oversized sunglasses and a floppy hat so he doesn’t recognize me,” Sara said as she hurried to her room.

Was this what teenage romance looked like? In that case, Zack decided he wanted to maintain his sanity for a while longer.

“They’re made for each other,” Melissa quipped.

“I know right!” Milo exclaimed. “Okay, Zack. Your turn now. Same procedure as before.”

Zack emptied his pockets, only finding a penny inside. He sheepishly offered it to Milo, who refused to take it.

“They have bad inflation in the spirit world,” he said as if that explained everything.

Starting tomorrow, Zack planned to refuse all offers to connect to spirits and psychics.

Zack took off his shoes instead, which Milo accepted. “So what do the spirits say about Mort?”

“Tarot cards,” Milo replied. “They say you need to give him tarot cards so they can tame his moles. I can’t tell if they mean the animal or the spots on skin though. Oh, wait a moment. Sorry, claim his soul. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“How about I just get Mort an 8-ball instead?” Zack asked. “That’s probably a lot safer and soulsucking risk-free.”  

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Frimer

Note: There are sentences in here using foreign languages. For translations as you read, please refer to: Frimer Translation Guide

Frimer – French. (vrb) “to show off”

Summary: Your helpless crush on Neal gets worse when he starts spending more time with you… and talking to you in other languages, which he knows you love.

Words: 3,241

            “Hey, Neal,” you greeted, coming up to his desk and working hard to make sure your face stayed its normal color.

            He looked up at you with a polite smile. Once he realized you weren’t one of the agents that would bust him for the doodles he was making in the margins of his paperwork, the smile turned into a wide beam. “Hey, Y/N! How’ve you been?”

            “I’ve been well,” you answered, biting you lip so you didn’t smile. “So, um, Peter says you’re multilingual.”

            He canted his head proudly. “Sí, es cierto.” You blinked. Other than the ‘yes,’ you had no idea what he’d said. His smile went from smug to amused and he chuckled. It made you blush, despite your best efforts. “What do you need?”

            You held out the folder. “Peter needs this translated, but if we go through the normal channels, we won’t get it back until tomorrow – and that’s if we’re lucky. Would you mind?”

            Neal leaned over his desk. “Por supuesto no. Cualquier cosa para ayudarte, mi corazón.” You nodded like you understood, but you were sure he could tell it went over your head. He reached up for the folder, so you assumed he was saying he didn’t mind, and handed it to him. Neal let your fingers brush as he took it from you. His skin was warm and soft and you didn’t think it was possible to be any more in love with a person as you were right then.

            “Gracias,” you squeaked, because you figured pretty much everyone knew that word, and you hurried to go back to your desk.

            You had always loved foreign languages. You thought they were fascinating. More than that, though, you had a secret: you loved listening to people talk in them. It was something your friends mercilessly teased you about when they found out. You didn’t know what it was, but some languages just sounded so romantic, and when you didn’t understand the words, it was a great opportunity to just listen to someone’s voice.

            You already had a crush on Neal about the size of Canada and Russia combined (because that’s a totally normal unit of measurement) and you could listen to him read a phonebook to you and still just be happy that he was talking to you, so hearing him speak to you in Spanish just made everything worse. Or better, depending on your perspective, but since you were trying not to embarrass yourself by making it obvious your dream guy was your coworker, it definitely made things worse.

            Unfortunately, it seemed like your flustered response to his Spanish was enough for him to cotton on. He showed off whenever he got the chance. It was doing very little to help you with your predicament. In the words of Tumblr, your ovaries were unable to take it.

            “Kon’nichiwa,” Neal said brightly, making himself at home by sitting on the edge of your desk. He set a cup of coffee by his leg. Judging by the scent wafting from the lid, it was your favorite order from the coffee shop nearest to Federal Plaza. “Watashi wa kōhī o motte kimashita.”

            You blinked owlishly. Neal put his hand down by the coffee and pushed it a few inches closer to your hand.

            “You didn’t have to do that,” you replied, understanding the gesture. Though you took the coffee anyway (you didn’t want to be rude) you were both flattered and embarrassed. Yay, he was paying attention to you! … He was paying attention to you. What if he realized you liked him as more than a friend?

            He shrugged his shoulders and somehow made a careless gesture look elegant. “Watashi wa shitakatta. Daisukidesu.” His beautiful eyes stayed locked on you until you started to feel your face turn pink again and you turned your head away. His low chuckle rang in your ears, even as he stood up and left.

            You made sure he was all the way back at his desk before you muttered, “Tumblr is on to something.”

            You didn’t know anymore if Neal was messing with your head on purpose or if he just saw it as a friendly game. Every day, you woke up, you promised yourself you weren’t going to let him make you feel romanced and special, and every day, you failed. He would saunter over, purposeful and charming, and hell, you felt romanced and special just when he looked into your eyes. It was just the icing on the cake that he would speak to you in whatever language he thought of first. You’d identified six different ones so far, not including English, and you had to say that, everything else aside, you were very impressed.

            You’d always been friendly with each other. If Neal had been a jerk, you would’ve been able to get over your crush in less than a week. But no, he had to be the most sensitive guy ever, who brought you coffee and chastened Peter on how his romantic gestures weren’t romantic enough and who got really offended when he heard about someone cheating on their lover, no matter who the person was. It certainly didn’t hurt that he looked like Adonis might’ve, had the ancient Greeks developed their belief systems in a time when Colgate and Armani existed.

            Things were just harder now than they had used to be. Neal had been broken up with Sara for well over a year now, and you were having trouble showing signs of having a social life of your own, much less of getting over the man you weren’t allowed to have. Your life revolved around very few people: your best friend from college, Peter (your boss), Diana, and Neal.

            “Languages!” Your friend gushed over the phone.

            You groaned and slammed your head back against the headboard, then grimaced. “I know. And he knows, that’s even worse. He found my weakness and he’s exploiting it shamelessly.”

            “He’s showing off,” she pointed out to you, her voice sounding all cheerful and optimistic. It made you feel queasy. “Guys do that when they want to impress someone. At least your guy’s not showing off by acting macho and mean.”

            “Color me impressed,” you grumbled. “I wish he would stop, but at the same time, I love it. It feels like he’s flirting with me, but instead of those stupid lines boys used in university, it’s… sweet. Cute. Tailored specifically to my interests because he knows I like hearing him talk.”

            “Then why want him to stop?” She snorted over the phone. “He sounds like a keeper.”

            “He would be, if he was mine to have. Look, he’s a people person. I have a hard time believing he hasn’t figured out how much I like him, so teasing me like this seems mean. I’d assume he was being a brat, but… he’s not that kind of person.” Neal was a lot of things, but he had never been a douche. You looked over to the window and saw that it was much darker than you’d thought. “Ugh. It’s late. I have to go.”

            There was a pause before her response as she checked the time. “Time flies. We need to talk again soon. I miss living in the same city.”

            “You’re the one that moved,” you reminded. “Goodnight.”

            “Night, Y/N.”

            Your next day at work began with a pink piece of paper on your desk. It was folded up into an origami tulip. Immediately, your eyes went to Neal – he was the only one in the WCCD that would hand-deliver cutesy arts and crafts. He was focused on his computer.

            Regardless, you’d met Alex Hunter, and you knew how these worked. You unfolded the little flower and smoothed out the creases in the paper. Your first reaction was surprise that the ink hadn’t smudged. The second was exasperation – it was a full handwritten letter, but it was written in an Asian dialect you couldn’t even begin to read.

            “Really?” You called across the aisle, holding the paper up so that the script was facing the conman. He bit his tongue between his teeth as he grinned and giggled. It was adorable and cute and you so didn’t have time for this. “I don’t even know how to pronounce this, let alone understand it!”

            “Zhè shi yī fēng qíngshū, qīn’ài de,” Neal responded, swiveling his chair around to face you. Now that you could see his face better, you could see the dimples. Dimples. Either you got incredibly lucky by somehow earning his increased level of interest, or someone up there was really enjoying taunting you.

            No matter what was happening, his voice never failed to awe you, and regardless of whatever the Chinese was (it sounded like Chinese), he’d still given you a flower. Sort of.

            “Why?” You asked simply, sitting down hard in your chair. You just wanted a reason. You just wanted to know what you’d done to deserve this weirdly enjoyable torture.

            Neal’s wide smile faded slightly. You felt a little bad – you hadn’t meant to upset him, you just wanted to know how much longer this was going to last. Being Neal’s friend was hard, but you valued him as a person too much to walk out on friendship just because you were pining for more. Having him play around with you so much was difficult to handle. Suddenly you had him talking to you and engaging with you, and you didn’t really know what to do. You would’ve been confused but delighted except for the fact that you weren’t able to catch onto any clues, because they were all coming at you in conversational Swahili or whatever.

            More seriously, he glanced at his desk before meeting your eyes again. “Yīnwèi wŏ xiăng ràng nĭ dui wŏ tèbié.” He lifted one shoulder halfheartedly and pressed his lips together tightly as if unsure whether or not to stop. He must’ve decided not to, because he let his shoulder fall. “Wŏ xiăng yào tèbié gĕi nĭ.”

            You were definitely still as clueless as before, but it seemed important. And it sounded gorgeous falling from his soft, kissable lips.

              You kept the Chinese letter. Your original intention had been to have it translated by some online service. Right before you’d taken a photo with your phone, you remembered the earnest, open expression on Neal’s face as he explained what it was. You didn’t need to know the words to know that you needed to treat it with care. It felt… personal. It had started out as a joke, but Neal had made it feel like it was something special, just between you two, so you moved it somewhere safe and didn’t upload it to the internet.

            On Friday, you had a special dinner plan: you were going to meet a friend’s boyfriend. Knowing Peter, you weren’t going to be given leeway to leave work early just to dress up, so you went ahead and wore your nice dress to work. It wasn’t too revealing or too clingy, but the gentle flow of the skirt made you feel comfortable and confident, and the color went well with your eyes.

            When Neal came in with Peter – both of them after you had already arrived – he made a detour to your desk (common these days) and placed a hand casually on the back of your chair.

            “Sembri stupefacente, amore.” Neal looked down at your dress with a polite smile on your face. His soft and sweet tone gave you a pretty good idea that it was a compliment, and you looked down in vain hopes that he wouldn’t realize how delighted you were that he complimented you.

             You swallowed and looked back up. “Thanks. That’s Italian, right?” It was another of the romance languages; you could tell that much by the smooth way it rolled over his tongue, but the accent was wrong for it to be French, and you’d heard enough Spanish from him at this point to recognize when he was speaking in something else.

            His mouth quirked in delight that you guessed and he nodded enthusiastically. “Continuo a farlo a te perché mi piace dire quanto ti amo e non preoccuparmi di come reagirai.” He held his tongue and looked down at you expectantly.

            Your temporary pride at following along evaporated. “Too many words,” you complained, but then attempted to stay on the same page. He’d complimented you, so… your turn? “Your suit is nice,” you ventured.

            Neal chuckled. The sound came very close to giving you the shivers – it was so attractive, and so close to your ear. If he were just a little bit closer, you could’ve felt his breath. “Non cambia mai, la mia preziosa.”

            You made a complete guess and gave him a nervous thumbs-up.

            “Veux-tu aller au resto italien que tu aime?” Your gorgeous blue-eyed friend showed up beside you while you were fixing subpar coffee in the bureau’s kitchenette. He came out of nowhere, like an ambush. He leaned on the counter and crossed his ankles. “Seulement nous.”

            You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you tried deciphering what he was saying. It wasn’t like he spoke in tongues all day, every day – you still knew how he was, what was going on in his life, and all that, as much as you had before. Now you just had the added challenges of acting normal while he behaved in a manner that would’ve convinced you to ask him to kiss you on the spot if you didn’t work together.

            “Um, italien, Italian… something.” You puzzled. Neal raised an eyebrow but nodded confirmation. “Italian… suits. Shoes.” While those were surely of interest to him, you couldn’t think of why he would be asking you a question about them – you knew as much about Italian fashion as you knew of Italian language. And, just to show how far off the mark you were, you were ninety-five percent sure he wasn’t even speaking Italian. “Coffee?” You asked hopefully.

            Neal, trying not to laugh, shook his head. His eyes were bright and playful and his smile was contagious. To your surprise, it wasn’t as hard to keep your cool, and you didn’t feel like you were blushing. You loved being around him as much as you always had, but you were gradually growing more accustomed to his interest.

            “Um… wine? Food?” You guessed.

            His face lit up and he nodded quickly. “Très bien, ma belle mademoiselle!” He had been leaning with his elbow on the counter, but he propped his hip up on the side of the cabinets instead to free his arms, gesturing as he spoke. “Veux-tu manger le diner avec moi?” He pointed at you, made a motion like he was bringing something to his mouth, and then pointed at his own chest.

            “Dinner?” You asked, and his smile grew to show his teeth while he nodded again. “Okay.” You felt your face warming again.

            It seemed like he’d decided enough was enough, and Neal was giving you a break. He hadn’t said a single word in anything but English since that morning, and now you were sharing a small table in an Italian restaurant not far from June’s.

            “Do you have any preferences for champagne?” He asked courteously, turning the wine list around so you could see.

            In truth, you were no connoisseur. You would leave that business to Neal. If a friend placed something in front of you, the odds were high that you would drink it without critiquing its wood-like qualities or whatever it was wine tasters talked about.

            “Order for me,” you suggested. “That way my unsophisticated palate won’t offend your delicate tastes.”

            Neal laughed and turned the list back around, moving his eyes down the page. You knew it wouldn’t take him long to decide. Even if it was a long process, he was too nice to let you sit in silence for very long. While he was distracted, you looked around as subtly as you could.

            You’d let him choose the restaurant because he was the one who’d invited you. In your head, this dinner had been more like a quick meal at Fazoli’s. You couldn’t have been more wrong. For starters, there was a wine list. Appetizers began at a larger monetary value than any appetizer had a right to cost. The menu boasted fresh ingredients and meals made to order in an authentic Italian style. The ambience romantic and soothing, the lighting rosy and the soft classical music full of harmonized violas.

            Would you have agreed if you’d known this was where he’d take you? On one hand, it was a dream come true. Not literally (you weren’t that far gone), but it was like one of those cute daydreams you would’ve loved to fantasize about, had the idea occurred to you. On the flip side, it was hard enough just being friends. Now he was bestowing you with unexpected trinkets and gifts, inviting you to five-star restaurants, playing around for fun, acting like he was romancing you- oh my God, he’s romancing you.

            “This is a date!” You blurted suddenly, your eyes wide. You covered your mouth instantly, embarrassed. You felt stupid for not realizing sooner and silly for saying it so loudly in an already-quiet public place.

            How dumb could you be? You’ve wanted to date him for what feels like forever and you didn’t notice when he asked you out? What the actual hell, Y/N?

            Neal slowly put down the wine list. “What gave it away?” He asked sarcastically. There wasn’t a sting to the question, but it still made you feel even worse. You wondered what the odds were of there being a sudden fire in the kitchen that you could go put out and decided that they weren’t in your favor. Neal gave a long look to your chastened expression and reached across the table, taking your hand in his and stroking your fingers with his thumb. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t feel bad. I’m the idiot who had to ask in a language you don’t even speak.”

            “All of that… the languages, they were all just to ask me out?” You asked unsurely. That seemed like a lot of effort that you weren’t sure you were worth – especially from Neal, who could easily have anyone he wanted.

            “Not at first,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. He glanced down at the table as if he was embarrassed, too. “I was just playing around. When I saw how much you liked it, though, I kept at it. I thought if I impressed you, you might be more likely to say yes when I did ask.”

            You turned your hand over so that you could gently squeeze his. “You didn’t have to do any of that. I’ve had an insanely inappropriate crush on you since you asked me if your hat made you look like a cartoon.”

            Neal rolled his eyes. “I was proving a point to Peter.”

            You took your hand away. “My turn to ask something,” you decided bravely.

            He leaned forward and tilted his head. “What’s that?”

            “Will you kiss me?” You almost lost your nerve, but managed not to cop out at the last minute.

            You watched him to see his reaction and were relieved and thrilled when he licked his lips and grinned. “And here I was, thinking I’d have to ask first.”

Requested by anonymous.

So I took a request for little scenes and made it into little scenes compromising a ridiculously fluffy plot. Sorry…

Send in requests!

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Imbalance

Summary: Neal sees right through your lies, and as a concerned friend, he promises to help you work through a relapse of depression.

Words: 1,432

            “Hey, Y/N,” Diana said, sidling up to your desk and sitting down on the edge. She grinned at you. “A bunch of us in the office are going out to celebrate. Do you want to come?”

            You forced a smile up to her. “No, thanks.” You felt your heart speed up as you lied and felt bad about it. “I got really behind when I had the flu. I’m still catching up.”

            Diana’s smile fell slightly, but she shrugged and reached out to slug you in the shoulder. “Suit yourself. Get home before midnight, alright?” She slipped off the table and went over to her desk, collecting her things to leave.

            You looked back at your computer and felt your smile fall. You rubbed your face with the heels of your hands. You hadn’t been out with friends last month. You just weren’t motivated to do so. It was a red flag, and you knew it – just like you knew it was a bad sign that you had started having more trouble falling asleep, and that you weren’t doing things you enjoyed as much as you used to. You sighed. Lowering your antidepressant dosage was your doctor’s idea based on how happy you’d been. There were rough days, but overall, working at the FBI was great. You had friends, you made a difference, your coworkers were good people who showed you that the world wasn’t all that terrible. Unfortunately, it seemed like that had been a mistake, because you could feel yourself sliding back into that pit that had taken you so long to crawl out of.

            The next person to come by your desk didn’t sit on the edge, just leaned over the front with both of his hands down flat on the table. “Alright,” Neal said conversationally once Diana had gone. “I agree that she can be scary sometimes, but why do you really not want to go?”

            Leaning back in your chair, you looked up at him. His approach was direct and wouldn’t give you the opportunity to deflect, but at the same time, his eyes were compassionate and his expression concerned. It was some odd mix between being cornered and being offered a shoulder.

            “How did you-“

            “Never lie to a conman, Y/N,” Neal chided. “Come on. It can stay between us.”

            The thing about depression was that there was a stigma to it, and you’d always been a little worried that if Peter thought you were unable to perform correctly, he would stop bringing you into the field. The field was where you got to see the effects of your help most clearly, and if that was taken away, you doubted your job would feel quite so rewarding. You’d been careful not to let anyone on your team know that you were depressed, and you had always made a point of taking your pills at home, not in the office.

            But now, having someone ask and offer to talk to you about it… it was tempting to answer honestly, and not just because you doubted you could fool Neal. Besides, maybe if someone knew… you hesitated to think that way, but if someone knew, maybe they could help. Maybe if Neal knew there was something wrong, he’d be willing to just help you stay a little more engaged.

            Your pride and your insecurities didn’t want you to talk, but the one thing that had more of an influence over you than they did was your fear that you would continue to decline until you were worse off than when you’d started out. It was a slippery slope, and you already knew you’d lost your grip.

            “I’m, uh… I’m clinically depressed. Have been since I was a teenager.” You looked down, away from him, and bit your lip. “My, uh… my doctor lowered my dose. I guess it was too soon, because I just… I don’t want to do things anymore.”

            When you looked up, Neal’s concern had doubled. You counted yourself lucky that he wasn’t staring at you like it was contagious, or declaring that you were being overdramatic (both of which had happened before when you’d told people).

            “Did something happen at home?” He asked, pulling a chair over from Diana’s abandoned desk. He sat down next to you and leaned forward.

            You shook your head. “No. That’s a common misconception,” you tried to explain. “People always assume that for someone to get depression, or even to relapse after they have it, something bad has to happen. Sometimes that’s true, but not always. Everything’s… fine. That’s the problem, though, everything’s just fine. Chemicals like serotonin and dopamine aren’t responding right, so things that made me happy… Diana, reading, going to the park… they aren’t making me happy anymore. So I don’t feel like doing them.”

            You left out how ceasing with your social life could do even further damage, and how once you gave in to the small things, it was easier to fall back down the rabbit hole. He had been nodding attentively as you did your best to explain what was happening. Neal had had more than his fair share of difficulties, but he always seemed to snap back with the elasticity of rubber. You envied his flexibility.

            He was quiet for a moment, seeming to mull something over in his head. “Just being alone all the time can’t be good, either.” He stated it, but his tone was inflected like a question.

            You hung your head. “I shouldn’t,” you admitted in a very small voice. “But you don’t understand how hard it is just to function sometimes. I’ve been calling it a good day if I manage to get through work without feeling helpless or useless.”

            “You’re right,” he answered softly, reaching for your leg. He covered your knee with his hand and gently rubbed. “I don’t understand. I know it must be very hard, and you must be very strong to have come up on top of it.” You certainly didn’t feel strong now, sitting at your desk and whining to your coworker about how miserable you felt. That bitterness and doubt must’ve showed on your face, because Neal took his hand away and sat back into his own personal space. “You can do it again, Y/N, I promise. The first thing we’re going to do is call your doctor so you can get your prescription fixed.”

            “We?” You repeated unsurely, hardly daring to hope. When you realized your medicine wasn’t working, you’d felt lonely. The idea that someone would be around to help you fix things was hard to believe.

            “We,” Neal repeated meaningfully. “First thing tomorrow morning. This Friday, I want you to come to June’s. Mozzie and I were going to watch a movie. You can join us.”

            “I’m a fed,” you reminded him skeptically.

            Neal rolled his eyes. “Moz himself has admitted that you’re much less insufferable than he expected.”

            You looked down to your legs. As nice as it was of him to offer, you didn’t want to intrude on his time with his friends. And going would mean meeting June, and you weren’t really interested in meeting new people. Going and socializing seemed like a lot of work – and Neal was an incredibly sweet guy, but he wasn’t obligated to help you, and come to think of it-

            “Y/N,” Neal interrupted your thoughts with a sterner edge to his voice, forcing you to look up at him guiltily. “You told me yourself that you shouldn’t be alone all the time. If you don’t want to go to a crowded restaurant with a dozen people being loud and obnoxious, I get it.” He wrinkled his nose and you laughed a little bit. “Just put aside some time and come over, okay? It’ll be good to spend time with friends outside of work. You and I don’t get to hang out much, anyway.”

            You nodded reluctantly. Neal gave you a rewarding smile and reached over again, squeezing your upper arm supportively. “Thank you, Neal,” you said earnestly. Having someone else holding you to expectations would help you to meet them – and now that someone else was investing their time in you, you’d feel bad if you backed out, which would hopefully encourage you to follow through.

            He offered you one of his small, sincere smiles. It wasn’t the I am perfect or the I am innocent sort of grin he showed someone when he wanted attention or support – it was much less flashy, and felt much more meaningful. “Anytime. We’re going to get you through this, I promise.”

A/N: This is shorter than my usual oneshots because it was requested as an imagine, so I’m going to post it as it is now. I’m likely going to come back and expand on it. This was cathartic and really helpful for me to write, so thank you for requesting it, anon.

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