#martin really went: i found the tea lets get this bread

[theskywaslookingback]

tma fic recs please ? 🤲🏽

Oooooo yes! I never get asks like this, thank you!

[my tumblr fic recs tag is here for browsing]

I had to put it under a cut because it got...entirely too long barely half an hour into making it, sorry.

Under 5k

means of cartharsis by orphan_account [G] [965]

“You’d think – you’d that at this point nightmares would be second nature for me, hm?” Martin says, forcing a smile even as he tugs the blanket tighter around his trembling shoulders.

It’s meant to be a bit funny. Instead of laughing, though, Jon frowns.

“No,” he says simply, and matter-of-factly wipes the moisture from Martin’s cheeks with a tissue like he’s a crying child.

A Proper Sleepover by Goodluckdetective (scorpiantales) [T] [1.4k]

In a different world, one where Elias is not waiting for them outside the Lonely, everyone has a chance to savor a moment of respite. As much as they can get these days. If only to talk about things that long need to be spoken.

“Basira says we should all sleep in the same room tonight,” Jon says without looking up. “Safer. So we can keep an eye out for intruders and also each other.”

“So we’re having a proper sleepover then?”

Jon scoffs. “Technically we’ve been having a proper one for months.”

where i go, when i go there by rainny_days [T] [1.7k]

Martin wants Jon to hold his hand. Martin doesn't want Jon to hold his hand.

It's complicated.

all the other ways by AptlyNamed [G] [2.2k]

Jon loses his first soul mark when he is eight years old.

a palace from ruin by bibliocratic [G] [2.2k]

"What're you sorry for?” Martin asks.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

interiors by doomcountry [T] [2.7k]

In the doorway, he fumbles with his keys. Their sound is loud in the silent stairwell. You don’t remember getting here.

searching for a light (for a right) by Kalgalen [T] [2.7k]

Some people make the mistake of assuming he's naive about sex, for the simple reason he hasn't dated in a while. Tim has called him a prude, at one point, and implied that he was somehow afraid of the intimacy required by the act; he wasn’t entirely wrong, but this definitely isn’t the reason for Jon's disinterest and general bafflement toward what most people seemed to consider as "what makes them human".

Jon simply hasn't found the right person. That is all it is: high standards, and a reticence to let people in.

(In which Jon finds out society is wrong about what a romantic relationship should be.)

how to plant a garden in rocky soil by treeprince [T] [2.9k]

Sometimes you just need a good pair of hands to work out all the kinks in your life.

Good thing Martin has two.

A Weather In The Flesh by cuttooth [G] [3k]

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

*

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

I'll bring the motion by callmearctus [T] [3.1k]

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

A Bread Made In Heaven by Againstme [G] [3.3k]

Martin moves over and watches how his boyfriend handles the dough. He's awkward with it, tentative and gentle, as if he's scared of hurting it somehow.

"Is this, uh, am I doing this right?" Jon asks, still slowly stretching out the dough and folding it onto itself.

"Well," he says shifting closer to Jon again, "you could be applying more pressure. Here, let me help you out, dear."

Martin moves fully behind Jon, and reaches around him, putting his hands on top of his boyfriend's. Jon inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything else, just lets Martin's hand rest on top of his.

Martin's hands are bigger, but not big enough to entirely envelop the other's hands, and Jon's hands are much, much warmer than his own are. To see what they're doing, Martin moves his head to look over Jon's shoulder. Though he can't see his boyfriend's face from this angle, he can see how it is slowly growing red at the edge of his vision. He decides not to tease him on it, instead content with letting a smile spread across his face and slowly guiding their joined hands in the proper motion.

Or, Martin teaches Jon how to make bread.

stumbling and spinning by lady_mab [G] [3.3k]

“Things happened,” Jon says demurely, trying to untangle Gerry’s fingers, but it only results in him getting pulled in so Gerry can kiss him properly. “It’s not all that bad.”

“I suppose not,” Gerry says with a sigh, sitting back upright. “You somehow managed to snag an incredible boyfriend out of it.”

It takes a solid few seconds before realization clicks in Martin’s brain. “You mean me?” [...]

“You have to admit, Jon has great tastes,” Gerry teases.

nothing sweeter than local honey by beeclaws [T] [3.4k]

So Tim is content, one arm leaned into the spray, waiting for the water to warm, enjoying the feeling of homecoming underneath the gentle fuzz of jetlag, when he hears gasping, panicked breaths coming from the other room.

Tim and Jon, in the aftermath, relearning how to be okay.

When Words are Inadequate by Mugatu [T] [3.8k]

Meals and the preparation of are, for want of a better word, informative. Fact gathering. A place where they can fill in the gaps of their knowledge of the other.

Jon cooks for Martin, and they learn more about each other.

go softly by doomcountry [T] [4k]

And there is nothing else besides this.

Imago by cuttooth [T] [4k]

“Jon?” he asks tentatively, tightening his grip around the poker as it slips against his sweaty palm. The antennae twitch, and suddenly Martin knows that it’s Jon, the knowledge sliding into his mind in a surge of desperate affection, the same profound love he felt that first time he truly saw Jon in the fog of the Lonely.

“Oh,” he whispers. “It really is you.”

*

Jon changes, but he’s still the same to Martin.

shoreline by bibliocratic [G] [4.1k]

“Martin," Tim says kindly, tipsily, only mildly slurring. "Dearest, dearest Martin. You're wankered, babe. Last train to Stockwell fucked off hours ago because it is now piss off o'clock in the morning, and there's a sofa with your exact name on it at my place. Thought you said you wanted some handsome fellow to take you back to his tonight?”

Or: The OG Archive crew go drinking, Martin comes out, and gets some well deserved TLC. In that order.

get your epitaph right by bibliocratic [G] [4.2k]

Martin's daemon has tried on the shape of dogs and lizards and snakes and horses, and even – once, when he was younger and Mum took him to the seaside, a fish.

Martin's never seen his soul in the dressing of a spider before.

i've known the warmth of your doorways by beeclaws [T] [4.2k]

'I’m always in pain, Jon wants to say, even as he dismisses the thought as melodramatic. Between his growing collection of old wounds and scar tissue, the supernatural hunger for statements that hasn’t been truly satiated in months, and the unpredictable aches and strains his body threw off day by day long before he ever set foot in the Institute, some level of pain and discomfort follows Jon wherever he goes now. He is used to being in pain. He’s not used to someone holding his hand as he suffers through it.'

Jon catalogs the comforts he receives, and wonders how long he will be allowed to keep them.

lay down your weary head by Zykaben [T] [4.6k]

Jon has been running himself ragged, searching for every scrap of information he can possibly find about the Unknowing. He's exhausted and sleep-deprived but he can't bring himself to take a break, not now.

Luckily, Tim and Martin are there to make sure that their boyfriend gets the care and rest he needs.

only the sweetest words remain by bluejayblueskies [T] [4.6k]

This isn't how things are supposed to go, right? Jon remembers those ratty paperbacks from the charity shops, dime-a-dozen romance novels with broken bindings and yellowing pages and words that spoke of love and passion and sexuality in prose that was more than a bit too mature for someone whose age hadn’t yet reached double digits. Stolen glances turn into dinner dates turn into passionate kisses turn into…

Well, he’d never actually read those parts of the books, because it had all seemed so deeply uncomfortable and gross. But he got the picture.

Or, Jonathan Sims, on being loved

5k-20k

and they keep not letting go by Marianne_Dashwood [G] [5k]

It’s an electric feeling, something strange and new and familiar all at once, even though he has been holding Martin’s hand for most of the day. His stomach swoops, like he is standing on the edge of the precipice of realisation and staring into the void of unknowing. But at the same time, he does know. In this instant of contact between them, the last few years of cups of tea and small smiles and momentary glances, of panic and fear and only feeling safe with Martin’s solid presence in the room, despite his paranoia, rush into him, and oh, oh oh.

ready to call this love by yewgrove [G] [5.6k]

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99 [T] [6k]

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

This Must Be The Place by cuttooth [T] [6k]

“You said – you said we were going home,” Martin says softly.

“I did,” says Jon, and is grateful that Martin doesn’t comment on him calling the Archives home. “I – I don’t really know where to go. I, uh, I don’t have a flat anymore, I don’t think. We could find a hotel?”

“Let’s go to my place,” says Martin. His hand squeezes Jon’s, more gently than before. Most importantly, Jon notes, he doesn’t let go.

*

Jon and Martin go home for a little while.

Small Things, Simple Acts by ZaliaChimera [T] [6.6k]

Even after leaving London, Jon and Martin are not free, not really. Maybe they never will be.

But for now they can be themselves, and maybe in the end, that's enough.

house by tomatoes [G] [9k]

Martin can take care of himself.

roses, roses, roses by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis) [T] [9.3k]

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2 [G] [9.6k]

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

Inseparable by voiceless_terror [T] [10.3k]

“You can stay.” The voice interrupts his internal panic, and he looks over to find Jon studiously avoiding his gaze, staring hard at a neighboring bush. Martin wonders what caused his sudden change of heart. “But you have to sit on the other side. And don’t talk to me.”

Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood meet as children. Some things change, others do not.

i'm almost me again, you're almost you by gruhukens [G] [12k]

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite [T] [15.8k]

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Over 20k

The Kindness of Strangers by TheOestofOCs [M] [23k]

It was easier to treat Jon like a monster when he wasn’t shivering against his back, brokenly humming—wait, was that…

“Are you trying to do ‘Hey, Jude’?” Tim demanded.

Jon stopped, stiffening. “Mm hrmh mm mmh hm,” he said defensively.

“You really can’t hold a tune, can you, boss?”

*

It was just an ordinary walk to a restaurant. Tim had insisted that if they were going to talk, there would be no tape recorders or weird Archives ghosts listening in. A bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill him, Tim had said. What could go wrong?

By the time Jon spots the white delivery van, it’s much too late.

The Stranger kidnaps Jon. Tim comes along for the ride.

Misjudged by ShastaFirecracker [T] [36.5k]

Martin's been a longtime listener of What the Ghost, so when Georgie gives a shoutout to her flatmate's Twitch channel during a Q&A, he checks it out - only to discover that her flatmate is also his most terrifying coworker at his new job. The first time they crossed paths, Jon yelled at him for incompetence. But on the streams, Martin sees an entirely different person - someone fun and relaxed, engaging and unfairly attractive. Over time, Martin begins to find that Jon buried inside his dour, awkward coworker. He also learns to live with the fact that his crush is painfully one-sided... or is it?

if we make it through the night everyone is gonna hear us (Series) by skvadern [Ratings Vary] [42.4k]

In which Sasha survives the NotThem (with a little help from a certain Distortion) and she and Jon spend s2 working together to try and make sense of everything that's happening to them. It goes...interestingly

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic [T] [49.7k]

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

it's only forever by lady_mab [T] [50.9k]

“The castle at the center of the labyrinth,” Jon breathes, recalling again the words from one of the past conversations with Martin. “He’s there.”

“Turn back, Jonathan,” the Goblin King says, and Jon is surprised to hear a slight edge of desperation in the tone. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

“I can’t,” Jon answers with the same tone. “You know that I can’t.”

The Goblin King’s grin is gone completely, and he regards Jon with a degree of pity before that melts into resignation.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey [T] [53.3k]

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop [T] [151k]

It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited".

Or; Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

RATED E *MINORS DNI*

A Look And A Voice by cuttooth [E] [6.9k]

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

*

Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.

Warms The Coldest Night by cuttooth [E] [11k]

"Flame that warms the coldest night Bring to us the waxing Light, Be with us on Solstice Night." Gypsy - Bring Back The Light

There is mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the Archives when Jon gets in.

Curiosity by ShastaFirecracker [E] [11.6k]

“You know that conversation we had the other day about how one of the most important things for queer youth to learn is that it's okay to change their minds, because identity and self-discovery are always fluid?”

Behind him, Martin slipped oven mitts over his hands and pulled open the oven door. The scent of garlic and rosemary flooded the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said.

“I, um... I'd like to revisit the topic of sex.”

At the Interim (Series) by Rend_Herring [E] [41k]

A Measure Outside the Lines and The Residuum

triptych (Series) by Stacicity [E] [44.9k]

A collection of Jon/Tim/Martin fics

a steady hand, a delicate man by callmearctus [E] [52.8k]

Martin is the proprietor and manager of a very discrete and fairly exclusive brothel situated between Belgravia and Chelsea. Blackwood House excels at special requests and pleasing any client.

Except for Jon, who probably has never been pleased a day in his entire life.

Despite that, he still comes back. It eventually begs the question: how do you solve a problem like Jon Sims?

[janekfan]

Saw you were looking for some Jon Tim prompts so here's a few! :D 1) Tim decides to stalk Jon to show him what it feels like. Jon is satisfyingly frazzled; then a fear shows up. 2) Jon protects Tim from the Distortion Michael. Tim's confused. 3) Jon get lost in the tunnels. Perhaps Tim can hear him from the trap door and ends up pulling him out. They're both in bad shape and Martin is ticked. 4) Tim finds Jon after he gets stabbed by Michael. Happy Prompt Hunting!

I went with number 4! :D All are very good though

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436451

Jon was being shifty again.

Not like that was anything new, and Tim had caught wind of a bread knife rumor?

But whatever. It was no concern of his and he’d rather go the day withouth seeing him if he could. Avoid the hot spike of poisonous anger that followed after every infuriating interaction and seeped, staining, into all other aspects of his life. Better to leave him be. Let Basira and Daisy and Melanie and Martin deal with him and leave Tim to work on his high scores.

So of course it would just be the two of them in the office today. Martin dropped off Jon’s tea like clockwork and strode bitterly out of the Archives without so much as glancing at Tim. He’d delivered his warnings earlier when he’d been assigned this field research and Tim would follow the instructions to leave him be to the letter.

“He’s exhausted, Tim.”

“Don’t care.”

“I. I know. What I’m trying to say is don’t make things worse.” Tim scoffed at that. Yes, he would be the ones making it all worse. Because it wasn’t worse already. Sasha wasn’t gone, they weren’t trapped here because of Jon who definitely hadn’t turned into some paranoid stalker armed with evil powers.

But yeah. He wouldn’t make things worse.

The makeshift pad of gauze and bandaging was soaked through with his own bright blood and staring at it brought a wash of dizziness over him and flooded his mouth with salt. Before he could faint dead away he reached for his dwindling supplies and prepared to change the dressing. If it didn’t stop this time, he’d have no choice but to ask for help.

If they’d spare any.

Jon hissed through his teeth when removing the compress served only to break the clot, pouring a hot runnel over his skin that caught and welled and spilled over the ladder of his ribs. Blacked at the edges, his vision tunneled, and nausea coiled sour in his stomach. It hurt. It hurt to breathe, to think, to move, deep, deep, deep and aching in the very core of him. Graceless and bumbling, Jon struggled to cover the surprisingly small incision and wrap himself tight enough to please, please stop bleeding. Holding himself close and careful, Jon staggered to his feet only to knock his hip hard against the desk as he went woozy.

He’d stood for something. Risked toppling over for something but the pounding of his pulse in his temples made everything that much harder and the room was spinning around and around and he nearly joined it, teetering a half turn before lurching to a stop, pressing his arm against his throbbing side.

It hurt.

One of them must have painkillers of some sort. Sash--

She. He.

How could he’d have forgotten? A bolt of fresh sorrow struck him so hard in the chest it stole his breath away with it and he sagged beneath its gravity, gripping the cool metal of the door handle painfully for support, looking down and seeing it as though it were the first time.

Where…? He needed something. Needed...because it hurt. He hurt and he needed help.

“Jesus, Jon!” Tim’s whole body flinched violently when he realized Jon was hovering near his desk like a wraith, sallow and with shadows like bruises lining the sharp planes of his face. “What?” His silence was petrol on the fire of Tim’s always simmering anger and it flared brightly, blinding, such that Jon staggered a step back, lifting a trembling hand only to drop it back to his side.

“T’Tim.” He swallowed with a click, and Tim watched his throat work, lashes fluttering like moth’s wings, brows knit together in effort and confusion.

“Out with it!”

“D’you‘ave pa, para…?” Even with his tripped up tongue, the compulsion found a way to thread through the question and Tim saw the fear fill up Jon’s glassy eyes when he realized a beat later what he’d done. Resisting was painful, the static filled up his ears, his head, his blood with its continuous hiss, rising higher and higher as he tried his damndest not to answer what really was a simple question. It wasn’t about that though. It wasn’t alright for Jon to take like that, to use whatever the hell this was to pull what he wanted to know from the inside of them without a thought. To hurt them just to Know.

In the end, he had no choice and coughed up his elucidation like a mouthful of razors, slamming his fist against his desk and using the leverage to stand and confront him.

“S’sorry. Din’t...” slurred and barely intelligible, the empty apologies only made Tim angrier and for one awful moment, he wanted to hit him. Give back just a fraction of the pain he’d caused all of them with his selfish ignorance. He wrestled it down with difficulty, clenched his teeth against the residual ache of Jon’s power.

“What’d you do to yourself?” Because the man looked hungover, sweaty and sick, paler by the minute and he wouldn’t blame him for crawling into a bottle. Might even be inclined to join him if he ever extended an offer.

“H’hur’s.” Jon’s overture broke open in a sob, his clawing, grasping fingers twisted in his dark jumper over his stomach and it looked as though he was considering lurching for the bin.

“Are you pisse--whoa!” Instead, Jon stumbled into him and reflexively, Tim shoved him away, like he was something disgusting, watching him trip over clumsy feet and land hard on his side in a sprawl of uncoordinated limbs. Tim yanked him up roughly, ignoring the sharp intake of breath, and tugged him back to his office by a bony elbow, muttering unkindly, “just sober up or whatever.”

The door slammed behind Jon and reverberated into his aching bones. He’d forgotten what he needed and the pain was so bad now it had removed any remaining will he had to stay awake. After Tim pushed him and he hit the ground, (clumsy, stupid, can’t even walk on your own) it was like being stabbed by Michael all over again; a burst of bright white twisting, turning, contorting agony that wasn’t easing so much as it was spreading all the way to the tips of his fingers.

Maybe if he sat down, got off his feet, he’d not feel so ill. Yes...yes that would be good. It would be nice to rest for a moment, just close his burning eyes, just for a little while. Then he could get back to work, finish up those statements he was working on. He was working on statements? When he went to step forward a sharp pain rocked through him hard enough that he had to brace himself on the unforgiving hard wood of the desk.

What--

Suddenly weak in the knees, Jon all but collapsed into his chair, curling into himself, every harsh and hollow gasp of breath like the bite of a knife.

Half five and Jon still hadn't emerged a second time from his office. Tim was the only one left besides him and despite how adamantly he refused to care he does not want to draw Martin’s temper. This had nothing to do with his own concern and armed with the distance that afforded him, Tim knocked loudly, obnoxiously, rudely.

There was no response.

“Oi, Jon!” Shouldering open the door, he’s got a rant on the tip of his tongue and is looking forward to using it. “Drunk at work, whatever will Marto say? The scandal…” With no reaction forthcoming, no moaning or groaning or yelling Tim took a second to actually look at him, lying collapsed over his desk, cheek pillowed on one folded arm. He’s passed clean out, and Tim touched his forehead only to find it cold and clammy. Something was far from alright if Jon’s rapid, shallow breathing and nearly grey lips were anything to go by. “Boss?” He was slack and loose when Tim shook him none too gently, mouth falling open with an almost inaudible whine. Alarm bells were ringing, red flags cropping up the longer stayed in here with him and the weighty feeling of being watched made him shiver. Very suddenly he wanted out of there but when he pulled Jon upright his eyelids barely shifted and what little color remained drained from his face so quickly Tim barely got the bin in place for him to lose what little he had in his stomach, no more than a little tea really. If the moisture hadn’t glinted in the low light coming in from the other room, Tim wouldn’t have noticed the dark wet blotch blending with the fibers of Jon’s jumper or the red and rust staining his trousers halfway down his thigh.

“Jon!” He wasn’t awake, not really, body reacting with wretched whimpers and the sluggish shifting of his arms when Tim eased him out of the chair and onto the ground. “Shit. Shit!” 999. 999 and following their explicit instructions; elevate his legs, keep him warm, don’t let him aspirate on his own sick. He lifted the sopping and soaked fabric of his borrowed clothing and his hand flew to cover his mouth when he saw the damage and he thought back to Jon’s plea for paracetamol, the apparently accidental compulsion.

“H’hur’s.”

His whole flank was black with the blood pooled beneath his skin and smeared with crimson above and when Tim applied his own crumpled up button down over top of the drenched bundle of gauze Jon cried out, writhing weakly under his punishing hands, eyes rolling wildly under bruised lids.

God. What was the point of being angry with Jon for not being honest, for not reaching out, if this is what happened when he did? If Tim was going to be rough with him, accuse him of being soused when really--

When really he was bleeding to death behind the closed door Tim put him behind so he didn’t have to look at him.

“T…”

“Hey, hey buddy.

“Hur’hurting me…” Slicked with weals of blood, Jon’s thin fingers slipped against Tim’s wrists, no strength to shift him, to stop what was happening, to stop him from hurting him like everybody else had hurt him, even though he was trying to save him. Jon didn’t understand, couldn’t, and he sobbed helplessly, keening cry lancing through Tim like the sharpest spear as yet again he was at the mercy of someone with more power. Catching up his hands, holding both in just one of his own, the hot blood was a painful contrast with Jon’s icy skin.

“Hush, I’m sorry, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, Jon.”

“Nngh…ah!” Tim lifted his hands to his chest, cradled them there in all their scarred roughness and fragility, deadweight and limp.

“Soon now, just stay awake, bud. Stay with me.”

“T’T…” rapid breaths choked him off, left him gasping, fingers spasming in his hold.

Pulled gently away by unfamiliar hands.

Strangers’ voices muffled in his ears.

Jon’s half-lidded dull brown eyes filled with sharp fear.

All so slow Tim wasn’t sure any of it was happening at all until suddenly, a dawning of crystal clarity. Numbers and instructions and bodies, shouting, changing, moving.

Jon begging them to stop, stop--

“Stop hurting him!”

A firm grip pulled him to the side, forced him to look away from the red, red, red rising like a tide in his eyes until he couldn’t see anything else.

“We’re going to help him, but you need to let us.”

“...Y’yeah…”

“Are you coming?”

“Hm?”

“Sir?” Tim took in the sight of Jon’s blood still wet on the tile, the papers and folders in disarray and stained with drops like poppy petals plotting a course of ache and agony he didn’t want to travel.

And then Jon. Strapped down, held in place, fluids being forced into his collapsing veins. Face grey and lined with pain and streaked with red and--

“N’no. No.” The paramedics were already hurrying away. “I’ll. Someone will be there.”

It didn’t deserve to be him.

“Martin.”

“Tim, I swear to god--”

“Martin.”

“--get a hold of yourself for pity’s sake--”

“Martin!”

“What?!” An irritated huff passed over the line. “If this is just--”

“Jon’s in hospital, i’in surgery.” Stony silence run through with the vaguest hum of static fell between them.

“Tim--”

“I. I. I don’t think it was a bread knife.” Tim’s fingers were clenched around his phone so hard he thought it might crack as he kneeled beside the stain Jon left behind. Say nothing of Martin’s implication that this was his fault. That he’d done this to Jon.

But hadn’t he driven him to it?

Hadn’t he driven Jon to keep his pain and terror and sadness and secrets to himself when he turned on him? When he blamed him? When he came to him today, tried to reach for him, to reach for help, and was again denied?

“Tim!”

“M--”

“Where?”

“Wh’happen’...?”

“Jon?” This wasn’t the first time he’d been awake but it was the first time he’d done more than weep with confusion. Perfectly normal, Martin had been assured, between the anesthesia, the medication for pain, the massive internal hemorrhage they’d had to go in and repair, somehow saving his spleen of all things.

“Mmartin?” The effort to speak was dragging him back out to sea with exhaustion, heavy lashes struggling to part under the weight of it and only offering glimpses of glassy brown.

“Shh, go back to sleep.” Gently, Martin brushed back through his curls taking note of the too-cool temperature of his skin and the ink-dark bruises like kohl under his eyes. “It’s alright, I’m right here.”

“I, I…” Somewhere between his protest and a damp sob, Jon dropped off the edge of the precipice and Martin thumbed away the tears lining his cheeks before taking up his hand to resume his attempts at rubbing the warmth back into it.

“You should go home.” Tim was quieter than he’d ever heard him before, still likely cowed from their earlier conversation where the only thing Martin could look at was the copper embedded under his fingernails, smeared across his wrists and gone dark with oxidation. “He’s in good hands.”

“And how would you know that, Tim?” Bitter. Frustrated. Angry. Jon should have been in good hands before. Trusted hands. Hands that may well be spiteful, resentful, but hands that wouldn’t let Jon slip through the cracks regardless.

“I just meant.” Martin wasn’t able to look at him, afraid of what he might say next, afraid that he might physically throw the other man from the room for daring to deny Jon the slightest support.

“Last time I left you with him, he ended up here.”

“That’s--” Voice raised, shouting, and even down deep Jon flinched, arms shifting in an attempt to protect his face. Martin was livid, settling Jon with a few whispered words before turning to confront Tim.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.”

“I didn’t…” Tim was small, folding into himself and sharp at his corners, bristling and contrite.

“I’ll text you with an update if there is one.”

“I. I’m sorry, Martin.” But he neither needed nor wanted an apology. He wasn’t the one Tim wronged today.

A week later saw Martin helping Jon up the narrow steps to his flat, concerned by his pallor and the trembling in his limbs and when he finally dropped him onto the lumpy sofa, saw that he was sweating.

“I’ll make some tea.” He’d purchased a few essentials to go along with his prescriptions. It wouldn’t do if he made himself ill on an empty stomach. If he listened closely he could just hear Jon’s panting, making certain to bring water along with the mug and a few chocolate digestives to offset the loss of blood still exacerbating his fatigue.

“M’quite alright, Martin.” He had yet to sit up, still laying back among the cushions, one scarred forearm laid above his nose. “Don’have to coddle me.” Martin didn’t rise to his bait, instead ignoring him in favor of sitting beside where his greater weight tipped Jon gently into his side. He didn’t resist, instead embracing his vulnerability and sinking deeper into the warm wool of his jumper with a sullen hum.

“I’m not “coddling” you, Jon.” Steeped to his preferences, Martin pressed the tea into his hands, lingering to be certain he could hold it on his own before tucking a biscuit between his forefinger and the porcelain and then another when he polished it off, probably not thinking about it.

“Have you heard from Tim?” Barely audible over the rim of his mug, Jon kept his eyes downcast and Martin couldn’t see under his long lashes from the angle he was at. He’d asked a few times, understanding his disappointment was aimed at Tim and not at Jon, at least not this time. They’d discussed the incident and Martin got the sense that he wanted no part in a repeat performance though he’d explained his attempt at asking for help was the last time he was cognizant enough to think in a somewhat straight line. After that it was pain and cold and shadow and Tim crushing him into the floor and he didn’t understand.

“Yeah.” Martin sipped on his own tea, encouraged Jon to do the same, but he was a dog with a bone.

“Is he. Uh. Cross? With. With me?” He looked up, tired eyes wide and round. “I mean, more than, than the usual?”

“Jon.”

“I know! I.” Falling silent, Jon nibbled absentmindedly on the last biscuit and accepted the tablets to swallow with the dregs of his tea. He’d be out like a light soon with that painkiller and Martin tugged him up when he hissed through his teeth at the agony of trying to move and caught him when he listed on his feet. Rather than hovering, Martin decided instead to keep an ear out as he put away the groceries and filled a glass of water for his nightstand, meeting Jon back at the sofa where he held a stack of bedding topped with pillows.

“I know.” He swallowed, “you’re here out of, of obligation? Kindness? But. But I’ll be fine on my own--you don’t have to stay.” Martin shook his head, a sad smile spreading over his lips as he relieved Jon of his bundle, longing to pull him into an embrace and relieve him of the invisible burden he carried alone. Compromising, he settled for cupping a slim shoulder, not missing how he melted under the soft touch.

“I’m here because we’re friends, Jon.” Unexpected tears welled in his eyes, spilling over as his staid expression crumpled. “Oh, oh, Jon, come here. It’s alright.” Spent, Jon let his forehead collide with his chest, crying silently, and Martin abandoned the duvet in favor of folding him up. “It’s alright.”

“S’sorry...just.” But he couldn’t get any more words out and Martin ran a hand up and down his taut back, rubbing circles over the sharp blades of his shoulders.

“You don’t have to be.” In a few moments the energy began to ooze out of Jon’s bones, the meds kicking in full force and taking his strength with it. “Okay, time for bed.” With a bit of cautious manhandling, Martin was able to get him tucked in between the sheets, meeting eyes blinking slow like those of a cat. “Comfy?”

“Mmyeah…” slipping out on an exhale and it brought a grin back to Martin’s face to see him so relaxed and more than a little loopy. “Hey Martin?” Graceless, Jon’s clumsy fingers tangled with his. “Thank you.” Cross eyed with the effort of sincerely conveying his gratitude, he spoke earnestly, if marble-mouthed and Martin felt his own cheeks flush hot in the velvet dark. He allowed himself to tuck stray and greying flyaways behind Jon ear before sweeping a thumb over the bone of his cheek and watching him drift under. Martin slipped away, keeping the door open in case something happened, and made up his own bed, listening to Jon’s soft and sleepy sounds.

“Good night, Jon.”

[ventisettestars]

Rest of Our Lives

Mag200 Spoilers

Read on AO3 ||| Link to next chapter

----------

Chapter 1

Cw: Hospital call, Panic, Blood mentions

Martin was out shopping when he got the call. His husband was in the hospital with a stab wound.

Martin was out shopping when he got the call. His husband was in the hospital with a stab wound. The rest of the call was a blur Martin couldn’t remember mostly save for ‘expected to make a recovery’ and ‘will need overnight treatment’. On autopilot, Martin went through the checkout with everything he had on hand and rushed home to drop the groceries off and grab things for Jon. 

It was a struggle to get home, but once there, he was greeted by his husband, who was there for one and unstabbed for the other. Jon seemed to notice how upset Martin was and took the bags from him before they dropped to the floor and break something. 

“Christ Jon.” Martin buried his face into Jon, like there was nothing that could get between them. 

“What, what happened? Are you alright?” 

“No. but you are. Shit.” Martin pulled away and went from panicked to fuming. “I just got a call you were stabbed? They-” Martin went to look at the number that called him.  

Jon looked over and typed the number into his phone before Martin could do anything else. 

“Hello, Yes. My husband just got a call from this number.” Jon held onto Martin’s hand, but otherwise looked like he was ready to fight whoever picked up. “Yes. He was told that I was there and I would like to know who thought that would be okay. Yes. Thank you. I can hold.” 

While Jon waited, Martin pulled him into the kitchen with him. Martin was going to make tea. Then probably bake some bread, or something that would need a lot of kneading. He wasn’t proud of letting Jon handle it, but from what he overheard, it was the hospital. Martin wasn’t that great at dealing with doctors. He could, but both he and Jon knew it was a stressor for him. 

Jon gave Martin a quick kiss on the cheek before leaning on the counter. “Ah, yes. My name is Jonathan Sims. My husband was contacted by someone in your office saying- Oh. oh? That doesn’t- Well I assure you I’m just as confused as you are.” 

Martin looked over to see the anger fade from Jon’s face. He wished it was on speakerphone. 

“Right. Well. I don’t know what to tell you. This is clearly a case of stolen-” Jon paused, Martin could make out that the person on the other end was more or less frantic, but he couldn’t make out the words. 

“Right.” Jon continued. “If you are certain, we will be there soon.” Jon hung up and looked to Martin with a confused look. “The person they found, he- ah- apparently they connected him to my identity by way of fingerprints and his appearance matches what is on file more or less.”

“So we are going?” Martin turned off the kettle. 

“I mean, aren’t you at least a little curious?” 

“Not really, no. but you are.” Martin smiled at the spark in Jon’s eyes. “A mysterious stranger, out of nowhere. How could I fault you for wanting to sink your teeth into a story like that.” 

“Worse case, it’s nothing and just a mistake, we leave and finish shopping?” 

“Sounds alright I guess. Let’s get this over with.” Martin followed Jon’s lead. He really wasn’t happy about this, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t a little curious as well.

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

The doctor on staff came out to meet with Jon and Martin when they got there, and he went pale when looking at Martin. “Well, I suppose that answers who the other-.” He mumbled before speaking up. “Mr.Sims-Blackwood? Thank you for coming by.”

Jon nodded. “I suppose seeing me is proof that I wasn’t lying over the phone?”

“Indeed. I- This is rather odd. If you would follow me? I suppose your husband is also welcome to follow since he is your emergency contact.” 

“I don’t know if that applies?” Martin didn’t want to stay behind, but he also didn’t feel right just waltzing into a stranger's room. 

“Oh, this is very unprecedented in many ways, but after seeing you both, I hope you might be able to help make sense of this all.”

The doctor led them to the room where a sleeping Jon rested in the hospital bed. The other looked identical to Jon, save for he was much more scarred and looked slightly older. 

The doctor didn’t bother grabbing for the chart. “We’ve been using your medical records as reference for him, everything from fingerprints to blood type are a perfect match. Only his weight is off from the ones on your records-” 

There was a sudden commotion from the room next door. 

“One moment.” The doctor rushed out leaving Jon and Martin with, well Jon.

“You think they are a doppelganger or one of the fair?” Martin hesitated to get closer.

Jon however didn’t seem to hold that same caution. “No. I doubt the hospital would fall for any trickery. Blood type matched so they are baseline human. Most likely why the doctor was like that.” 

Jon stood by the double’s side and looked at him. There were so many scars. Mostly old. Whoever this was had been through quite a lot. 

Martin came closer and took Jon’s hand. “You okay? You look stressed...” 

“I am. Okay and stressed to clarify.” Jon gripped tightly. “He’s, whoever he is, has been through quite a lot, and that’s just the surface levels of it...”

“If he has nowhere to go, you are going to want to offer him our spare room aren’t you…” Martin sounded annoyed but also found. 

“Just to rest a bit...I mean I’m sure it won’t come to that, but he shares my face. I don’t just want him on the streets...I mean, maybe I got some long-lost twin or something and that’s him. I was adopted and that is a common plotline in movies?”

Martin smiled. “I’m sure that is the most logical take on this situation.” 

“One of the options. Though weird if he didn’t have his own papers if that was the- Oh,” Jon looked to the doorway. “Actually very unlikely, unless you also”

Before Jon could finish that thought, there was another Martin rushing into the room. One who looked just about as ragged at Jon’s other.

End notes:

if anyone is wondering why Jon's records matched this Jon, but Martin's didn't. There are reasons. I totally didn't forget that Jon would've gotten the same call and could've had them bump into each other at the hospital till after I wrote this... but that would've been a neat scene.

Also once the men talk, there is a naming convention they will be using. I haven't figured it out yet but having 2 Jon's and 2 Martins is hard. and having one be John isn't a route I'll be taking (but it was thought about....)

[440mxs-wife]

Book Club

You walked into the library to find a new book. You had just finished a murder-mystery that was well-written, but now you wanted something different. Maybe one of the classics, like Pride and Prejudice, or The Great Gatsby. Perhaps a spy-thriller like Vince Flynn was known for, or something by Stephen King. You also had a soft spot for those sappy romance novels every once in a while, but you knew you wouldn't find that in this library.

As you had found in your past exploration of the library, all of the fiction books were kept on the uppermost shelves. That meant using the ladder, and you were a little afraid of heights. You were craving an introduction of new fictional characters, so up the ladder you went.

Your eyes settled on a book called Out of Time, by Monique Martin. It followed a college professor and his female research assistant. By manipulating a magical pocket watch, they are able to move through time, having various adventures. There were nine other books in the series, so you figured you should have plenty to read for a while.

You were reading the inside cover of the book as you descended the ladder. Near the bottom, your foot slipped on one of the rungs. Fortunately, Sam was passing through the library and saw you start to fall, arriving in the nick of time to catch you.

"Thank you, Sam! Guess I should've paid better attention to the ladder instead of this book," you mused. You slung one arm around his neck, batted your eyes and said, "My hero!"

Sam threw his head back and laughed at your silliness. "At your service, milady," he quipped.

Looking into his warm, hazel eyes, your face started to feel a little flushed. "Um, Sam? Can you please put me down? I think I'm okay to walk now. I can't wait to start this book!" Sam gently returned your feet to solid ground and you flashed him a grateful smile and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you!" you threw over your shoulder as you ran to your room for your favorite blanket to snuggle with in your reading chair.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam was on his way to the kitchen by way of the library when he saw you perusing the fiction books on the top shelves. He loved to read, not just for research, and he was glad that you loved to do both almost as much as he did.

There were so many times that he stopped plunking away on his laptop to watch you as you thumbed through a lore book. How your hazel eyes darted back and forth, scanning for any useful information for their latest case. Your furrowed eyebrows when you were trying to make sense of some ancient language. The way you would sometimes fall asleep while reading, your long and delicate eyelashes gently brushing your face.

When he entered the library, you were standing near the top of the ladder, hands on your hips as you looked through the books. You finally settled on one, and began reading the inside jacket while you went down the ladder. Sam started towards you, knowing that your distraction may cause you to fall off and get hurt. Sure enough, your foot slipped on one of the last rungs, and he was there to catch you.

It felt good to hold you in his arms, something he'd had dreams about, though not all of those dreams were as chaste as this encounter. As Sam gently lowered you back onto your feet, you smiled in gratitude and kissed his cheek. He felt a spark where your soft lips made contact with his skin, and he found that he wouldn't mind if you did that again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You brought out your favorite blanket from your room, and went back to the library. You found your favorite chair and settled into it sideways. Your back was against one arm, your legs were dangling over the other and your blanket was covering your lower half.

After you had been reading for about an hour, you started to think about some sort of refreshment. As if on cue, Sam brought you a cup of orange cinnamon tea, your favorite. He smiled as he carefully set the teacup on the small table next to you. "That was very thoughtful of you, Sam, thank you. I hope it wasn't too much trouble," you said.

"No trouble at all, I was already making some hot chocolate for myself, so I had the hot water from the teakettle left over for your tea," Sam replied. "Enjoy", he said with a smile as he moved over to one of the tables with his laptop.

The rhythmic clacking of the laptop keys and the warmth from the tea eventually caused your eyelids to droop a little. Soon, you gave in to the need for sleep and closed your eyes, your book still open to the page you were reading.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam paused in his research to steal a glance at you reading in your chair. He chuckled softly at your sleeping form, your chest gracefully rising and falling with each breath. You had forgotten to close your book before dozing off, so Sam found your bookmark to keep your place. He gently tugged the book out of your delicate but capable hands, placed the bookmark and closed the book.

First the book, now the reader. He tried to nudge you awake so that you could go back to your room and fall back to sleep in the comfort of your own bed, but you refused. He shook his head and decided to scoop you up and take you there himself.

Once in your room, he pulled back the covers enough to get you under them, then he removed your slippers. Sam pulled the blankets up around you and before he left, he kissed your forehead, which put a smile on your face. Just before he closed the door, he thought he heard you say, "Good night, Sam. I love you." He froze, not sure if you were dreaming or if you were conscious of what you were saying. Either way, he found that he didn't really care. Sam grinned and blew you a kiss, then closed your door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, you woke up in your bed, but couldn't remember how you got there. Last thing you remember is Sam bringing you a cup of your favorite tea. Then, he got to work on his laptop, looking for the next case. Could Sam have helped you in here and then put you to bed? You decided to ask him at breakfast to help you fill in the gaps in your memory of last night.

After your shower, you picked out your favorite pair of faded blue jeans, your black scoop neck T-shirt and red flannel overshirt. Converse sneakers completed the outfit and soon you were on your way to the kitchen to make breakfast.

You were feeling kind of ambitious today, so you decided to make French toast with sausages. In your largest mixing bowl, you combined eggs, some milk, cinnamon and a smidge of vanilla. You counted out the number of slices of bread you would need and started soaking them in the egg-and-milk batter.

Sam strolled into the kitchen, lured by the smell of the cinnamon. "Something smells really great in here," he remarked. "Whatcha up to?" he asked.

"Making French toast, and there are some microwaveable sausage links in the freezer. Would you mind putting them on a plate and getting them ready to be cooked, please?" you asked.

"Sure," said Sam, who seemed genuinely eager to help. "Let me make some coffee first, then I’ll move on to the sausages," he suggested.

"Fine by me, it's all part of the finished product. Thank you for your help, Sam," you replied.

Sam flashed you a shy smile as he arranged the sausage links on a plate. While he was in the cupboard, he also took out three plates for you, him and Dean. On his way to the microwave, he put a hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "This French toast already smells amazing. Can't wait to have some," he said close to your ear, giving you goosebumps.

You found it difficult to regain your focus on making breakfast, but eventually your heart rate resumed a normal level. You watched as Sam's lean frame moved effortlessly around the kitchen. He brought out the mugs for coffee, including your favorite one of Marvin the Martian from Looney Tunes. He made sure your favorite creamer was on the table.

After the table was set, Sam waited for the microwave to finish cooking the sausages. You were so captivated by his movements that you didn't notice how close your hand was to the hot griddle. When your fingers touched the hot surface, you yanked them back and yelped in pain. Sam was by your side in an instant, surveying the injury. He took your hand and ran your fingers under cold water to soothe the burn.

"I don't know what caused me to burn myself like that. I'm usually very careful," you muttered.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I think you'll survive, since it's not a fatal wound," Sam teased.

"Ha, ha, very funny," you stuck out your tongue at him, then grinned. You gathered two of the three plates of French toast and put some aluminum foil over the plate for Dean. After setting a plate in front of Sam, you looked for the syrup, but didn't see it. Sam must have read your mind, because he jumped up to get it for you. While he did that, you poured coffee for the two of you.

Finally, everything was on the table. After drizzling the syrup, you grinned at each other, then dug into the steamy stacks of French toast. You closed your eyes and savored the taste combination of bread, egg, milk, cinnamon and vanilla. 

"This is fantastic, the best French toast I've ever had," Sam gushed.

"I'm glad you like it, I'll have to make it more often, then," you promised. "Thank you for the tea last night, it was really relaxing. In fact, I think I fell asleep reading, but I don't remember how I got to my room. Did I sleepwalk back to my room?" you asked.

"Um, no, you didn't sleepwalk, but I made sure you got back to your room all right," Sam replied.

At that moment, Dean walked into the kitchen, having smelled the cinnamon from the French toast. He found his plate on the counter and joined you at the table. He then put several sausage links next to the stack of French toast and started eating.

As you took your dirty dishes to the sink, you brought Dean his coffee mug and poured some coffee. "Ah, thank you sweetheart," he said as you offered Sam a refill on his coffee.

You couldn't be sure, but you thought you saw a flicker of jealousy on Sam's face when Dean called you "sweetheart". Before exiting the kitchen, you put your hand on Sam's shoulder and rubbed it back and forth. When he turned to look in your eyes, you thanked him for his help this morning and last night. Then you gave him a smile and a wink as you walked towards the library.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As you left the kitchen, Sam's gaze followed you. Afterwards, he noticed a knowing smirk on Dean's face. "What, Dean?"

"Sammy, look at you, being so helpful," Dean teased. "What did you two do last night?" he asked.

"Shut up, Dean. Nothing, we didn't do anything," Sam retorted.

"Then what was she thanking you for, brother?" Dean persisted.

"All right, last night, she was looking for something to read on one of the top shelves. She was coming down the ladder and her foot slipped, so I caught her before she fell. Then I brought her some tea while she was reading, so she didn't have to get it herself. And this morning, she accidentally burned her fingers making breakfast, so I ran them under cold water for her. Are you done interrogating me now?" Sam fumed.

"Sounds like someone has a crush on someone else," Dean smirked. "I mean, she's pretty and all, I guess, but she's kind of a book-nerd if you ask me."

"She may be a 'book-nerd' to you, but to me, she's more than that," Sam murmured. So much more, he thought to himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that afternoon, Dean announced that he had found a case. One of you figured out that it was a vengeful spirit that drew its power from some ancient symbols. You and Sam got to work researching, trying to figure out how to kill it.

You pulled several books from the shelf, while Sam stuck to his laptop. As the day wore on, you could feel yourself getting closer to the answer, but you weren't quite there. You took a quick break for dinner, then returned to your research materials.

A couple of hours later, you stumbled upon some pictures that matched the ancient symbols from which the vengeful spirit was drawing his power. "Aha!" you exclaimed in triumph.

"Find something?" Sam asked. You frantically gestured for him to look over your shoulder at what you had found. When he came over, he took the chair next to you and draped one arm over the back of your chair as you explained what the symbols meant. More importantly, you told him how to reduce their power so you could defeat the vengeful spirit.

"So, this is all we need to do? That doesn't sound too difficult. Nice work finding that info!" Sam congratulated you, squeezing your shoulder.

"Thank you, Sam!" you replied, turning your head to look at Sam. Only problem is, your lips ran right into his. They were as wonderful as you had imagined, firm, yet also yielding, moving slowly against yours. Sam's eyes snapped open as he realized what just happened. "Um...." he started. "Wow," you responded.

"Yeah, about that....I just remembered something. Keep reading and I'll let Dean know what you found," Sam sputtered as he rushed out of the library towards his room.

You touched your tingling lips where Sam's had been only moments before. Then you thought about his hasty retreat and wondered if he had now changed his mind. It was an accident, kissing him like that, but you couldn't deny that it felt so right, perfect even.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Oh Chuck. What have I done? Sam asked himself. Now she knows how I feel about her, and our friendship is probably ruined. Or, at the very least, it'll be awkward from here on out. I need to talk to Dean.

Sam caught his brother's eye across the library and motioned for him to come over and talk.

"What's going on, Sam? Why aren't you over there researching?" Dean asked.

"Something happened earlier when we were researching for the new case. She was showing me something in the book about the power symbols. She turned to look at me and our mouths ran into each other. As lame as that sounds, that's what happened," Sam explained.

Dean looked at his brother for a few seconds then busted out laughing. Sam started getting annoyed, not exactly seeing the humor in the situation. "It's not funny, Dean! Now she knows how I feel about her, which is going to make things awkward. I think I'd better leave the research to you. I can't trust myself to be alone with her," Sam finished, stepping back into his room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After solving the vengeful spirit case, you couldn't help but notice that Sam was doing everything he could to avoid you. If you came into the room, he made some excuse to be elsewhere. He hardly said two words at a time to you, and that was only if you said something first. The only time he could seem to tolerate your presence was when you were researching a case. Finally you'd had enough. You were going to get him to talk about what was bothering him, no matter what or how long it took. 

One night, Sam was sitting on the couch, reading one of his favorite books. You brought your newest book selection from your room, along with your blanket. Instead of curling up in your usual chair, you picked a spot on the couch next to Sam. You opened your book, took out the bookmark and started reading, paying no attention to Sam whatsoever. He looked at you and asked, "Why are you sitting so close to me? There's all this space on the couch, and you're practically in my lap!"

Without looking up from your book, you replied, "The lighting's better right here where you're sitting. I'm just trying not to ruin my eyes, Sam."

"Whatever," he grumbled as he rolled his eyes.

You slammed your book closed. "All right, Sam. Out with it. What have I done to make you so angry with me? Do you hate me for some reason?"

Sam slammed his book closed as well. "Hate you?!? How in the world could you ever think that??" he exclaimed.

"Because lately you can't stand to be in the same room with me for longer than five minutes, and you don't talk to me unless I talk to you first. The only time you tolerate being around me is when we're working on a case. So, what's going on?" you asked.

Sam looked like he wanted to tell you something, but for some reason he kept silent.

"Please tell me what it is," you pleaded, putting a hand on his arm. "You can tell me anything, you know," you replied softly. "Maybe I should start by telling you something. That night I picked out that new book and fell asleep in my chair while reading it? I remember how I got back to my room, Sam. I know you tried to wake me up but you couldn't, so you carried me into my room. I also remember what I said, do you?" you asked.

Sam nodded. "You said goodnight as I walked out the door," he answered.

"I also said, 'I love you, Sam'. And I meant it," you admitted as you looked up to meet his gaze. You reached up and placed your hand on Sam's cheek, stroking it with your thumb. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes.

Sam covered your hand with his and brought it down to rest between the two of you. "I could never hate you. I'm sorry I've been so distant lately. Remember what happened that night when we were researching for that vengeful spirit?" You nodded. "I ran off because I thought that by kissing you, I had somehow ruined our friendship. I value that above all, it's very important to me.

"At the time, I didn't know how you felt. All I could think of was how awkward it could become between us, if we weren't on the same page," Sam explained.

"I understand. But Sam, you don't have anything to worry about. Our friendship is also very important to me. I hope we're on the same page now, when I say I'd like us to be more than friends," you replied.

Sam cupped his hand behind your head and brought you closer so that your lips met again. Softly at first, then the kiss turned a little deeper. Your mouths moved against each other in perfect harmony, tongues battling for control.

"Does this answer your question, baby?" Sam whispered, breaking the kiss. You nodded slowly before pulling him closer for another kiss.

"Whoo, Sammy! Get some!" Dean called as he passed through the library.

You tossed a pillow at Dean, then turned your attention back to Sam. You picked up his book to see what he was reading. "You're reading Where the Red Fern Grows"? He nodded. "I loved that book growing up, it was one of my favorites. Will you please read it to me?" you asked.

"Anything for you, my love," Sam grinned, touching your forehead to his. You curled up on the couch, resting your head on Sam's left thigh. He held the book in his right hand, draped his left arm along your side and held your hand, intertwining your fingers. You closed your eyes and smiled at the deep, rich sound of Sam's voice. This is perfect, you thought to yourself.

[shark-myths]

@alienfuckeronmain tagged me to deep-search my soul with these questions, and it is the exact distraction I was looking for! no pressure to do this one, pals, but i tag @carbonbased000 @leyley09 @shoeboxofphotographs12 @glitterandrocketfuel @allkindsofplatinumandpercocet @setting-in-a-honeymoon @toorational and anyone i’ve forgotten!

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? does anyone like blue pens? who is this product made for

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? the city, cuz i spent 7 consecutive years very broke in rural areas with homophobia neighbors and having things to do is so thrilling. but i imagine one day retreating into the desert and living far from my nearest neighbors

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? I have learned all the skills I am interested in right now, because learning new things is an a+ quarantine activity. maybe the ability to do physics? i would like to be proficient in physics and i am deeply not

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Never

5. What was your favourite book as a child? all of them! I have always read like i’m running out of time and often get stressed when i think about how few books i will be able to read in my lifetime. as a child I reread Lord of the Rings and Robin McKinley and the Holly Black Tithe series the most, and i was OBSESSED with those gold-paged books with ribbon bookmarks that were diaries of girls from different historical periods, and i have never been able to read historical fiction since.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? I hated baths passionately until my chronic pain reached a tipping point, and since then i have learned to really enjoy the long hot soak with a drink and a book. (i didn’t like showers either until very recently. life support tasks felt like a huge waste of time until i got a partner who helped me figure out how to enjoy them)

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? i have always wanted to be one of tolkien’s elves! I want a long life filled with learning languages and reading books and existing in green peaceful spaces, and then i want to be able to die when i am done.

8. Paper or electronic books? I like paper better--I’ve been building a library slowly my whole life--but my kindle has been life-saving during the pandemic when i couldn’t go to the library.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? right now i’m doing all my work remotely and clothes feel meaningless, but i have a plain black tank top that i feel really comfortable in

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? I don’t like my name at all--it’s Kaylie--because it is so aggressively peppy and feminine. it doesn’t sounds like an adult’s name; it evokes exclamation points and pigtails. i have always wished for a severe, no-nonsense name like joan, or a pretty but to-the-point name like eva.

11. Who is a mentor to you? Leslie Knope

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? I used to fantasize about being a famous writer, and now in my field i do wish i had a name that mattered or was considered esteemed or expert in something in some way. I would love to have a research job where i had paid time to publish! but i don’t want it enough to work on it outside of my capitalist mandatory labor hours, because i don’t have enough time for my loved ones as it is

13. Are you a restless sleeper? lately yes, since my cat died in january i have slept like absolute hell

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? not really, but i am a thoughtful one

15. Which element best represents you? earth

16. Who do you want to be closer to? physically i want to be closer to my long-distance pals like @alienfuckeronmain @newleafover @time-less @immoral-crow @leyley09 (leyna let’s have a movie night when i’m done moving???)

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? pretty much all my friends i used to regularly hang out with, sam who moved to seattle, sam who lives in madison, all the people i listed above

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. I used to play going to work. i’d pack up a backgammon case as a briefcase, grab my stuffed gorilla, and go write in notebooks and move pieces of paper around

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? I am an extremely boring person and all I eat is popcorn and bread

20. What are you most thankful for? having an able body that works to support me and keep me whole, having a partner who makes me feel truly cared for 

21. Do you like spicy food? yep!

22. Have you ever met someone famous? once at c2e2 i met george r.r. martin and no one else cared he existed because got wasn’t a show yet, so i awkwardly went up to him and proclaimed my love for his work, and then he trapped me in a long conversation about vampires

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? a journal! i have since i was pretty small, they take up a full shelf of a bookcase

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? pen, and i have lots of Special Pens that i only use for a particular purpose or project, because i am a huge raging...

25. What is your star sign? virgo

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? crunchy and without milk

27. What would you want your legacy to be? personally, that I wrote things that meant something to the people who read them; professionally, that i removed barriers to accessing healthcare for trans and gender expansive people

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? see above--I completely adore reading. last book was Sisters of the Vast Black and currently i’m reading The House in the Cerulean Sea and it’s totally charming. I’ve been reading really quality science and nonfiction writing too, please send me your recommendations

29. How do you show someone you love them? I make them breakfast, I tell them so constantly, I send them things in the mail, I bring them small interesting gifts, and I say every nice thought I have about them out loud 

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? not especially, but it’s fun to chew on 

31. What are you afraid of? surgery

32. What is your favourite scent? smoke from blown-out candles, lavender, laundry detergent my loved ones use

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? whatever they’ve told me to call them? this seems like common courtesy

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I do so much less clinical work and work fewer hours in general, I would run for office so I could influence policy and stop wasting my fucking time on the ground level, I would spend more time writing, I would spend so much more time with my family, I would devote the time to running longer distances again in a way that doesn’t aggravate my busted knee

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? the ocean!

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? oh i would definitely spend that on something stupid and self-indulgent i wanted, like a pete wentz hoodie

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? YES! when i was kid every summer i’d be sent to jesus camp, which thank god because that’s what got me into fanfiction, and it was in the middle of nowhere, wisconsin, and you could see the entire milky way and shooting stars blaze across that thing ALL THE TIME, and it shook me to my foundation every summer and for a time i mistook that feeling for faith in god instead of wonder at the infinite being and possibility that is our generous universe

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? i have none of my own but my partner has a 5 year old, so quite against my intention i have become a parent-adjacent person. i try to teach him about emotional accountability for the effect of his actions on others

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? the next tattoo i want is a big snake crawling up my mostly bare left arm

40. What can you hear now? my laptop fan

41. Where do you feel the safest? when i’m protecting someone else

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? my relationship with my body

43. Of you could travel back to any era, what would it be? i’d really like to be a gentleman of leisure in a jane austen novel

44. What is your most used emoji? the purple heart

45. Describe yourself using one word. earnest

46. What do you regret the most? not going to a 4-year university and having a #college experience. it’s one of my most stinging regrets because it was not a decision i got to make for myself

47. Last movie you saw? what is a movie theater? what does it feel like to be in one? the last movie i watched is charlie’s angels from the early 2000s because that was an unexamined sexual awakening for me--lucy liu being efficient in leather has never left me, efficiency is the single trait i most attracted to--and i wanted my boyfriend to see how bad it is

48. Last tv show you watched? either Kipo and the age of the wonderbeasts or star trek tng!

49. Invent a word and its meaning. instead i will say that i think the most beautiful english word is ache. my favorite way of creating things is transforming and remixing what already exists, which makes writing with words someone else invented the ideal challenge and pastime 

(i really loved doing this! it was nice to talk about myself at the end of a workweek. thank you @alienfuckeronmain !)

[allie1804-fan]

Ile de Re (Chapter 6)

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Claire woke first the next morning. They’d stopped spooning at some point during the night and Keanu was lying on his back with one arm up on the pillow near his face. He looked angelic and so much younger than his 55 years. 

Claire thought back to the night before and the powerful physical sensations and feelings he’d stirred in her.  

She was confused by her decision now to ask him to make love to her. It was what she needed and desired at the time, but she hadn’t listened to his warning about the consequences and now, despite the pleasure and comfort it had brought her, she regretted it. A door had been opened that couldn’t be closed and she wasn’t sure walking through it was going to bring her happiness. She was afraid she was falling in love with a man 20 years her senior who, it seemed, thought it was too late to have children – something she had always thought would be in her future.  She needed to decide quickly what to say to him when he woke up. Would it be awkward?  – normally with a lover you knew if you were going to wake up and snuggle then make love again or wake up and walk away. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t do the latter as it was her home and he was her guest.  Maybe they could just go back to being friends - “yeah right, who am I kidding after what he did for me last night?!”

She knew honesty was the best policy but she wasn’t ready to have a deep conversation just yet – especially one that she feared might mean he would leave because he thought it couldn’t work between them. She wasn’t a game player or manipulator, but she wasn’t past using avoidance as a tactic.

She lay next to him then, just staring at and admiring the perfect bone structure of his face and his  strong, muscular arms. He seemed to sense her watching him and opened his eyes.

“Bonjour” she greeted him

“Bonjour to you too” he said softly smiling.

“I hope you slept well, listen I’m going to go fetch the bread for breakfast. Can you start a pot of coffee?  - and then, if it’s OK with you, after we’ve eaten, I’d like to do something fun for a change. Maybe we can go and hire you a bike and I can show you some more of the island? You should experience the cycling here before you leave.”

 “OK, sure - I’d like that very much”

He desperately wanted to know how she felt about last night but thought that maybe comfort was all she had wanted after all and just for one night. Maybe she hadn’t felt the same connection and was able to just walk away – if so, he’d have to too. He’d slept restlessly because of his thoughts about it. He held his curiosity in check and rose with her to dress and get breakfast ready.

They feasted on coffee, croissants and pain au levant (sour dough) with butter and jam. Keanu joked that he’d need to back to the gym after this trip as she could feel his stomach thickening was a result of all the delicious food.

“Well the bike ride will help you burn off some calories I guess” she said

After their plates were empty, they tidied away and prepared a few things to take with them on the bike ride – a bottle of water, a first aid kit and some biscuits plus a rug in case they wanted to stop and rest somewhere. Then they made their way down to the village and the bike rental place to find  a suitable bike. She walked along with her own bike so they could ride on together on their trip straight away.

They headed south first to Ars en Re across the vine fields - its church spire (tall and white and topped with a black cone) acting as a guide to them of how far they had left to go. 

They stopped there and mooched around the shops including an artists’ studio on the harbour. Keanu recognised the artist’s work from postcards he’d seen in the local shops and decided to go in and look at purchasing a full-size piece. They really captured the essence of the island and he thought he’d like a memory of it on his wall at home. He found one with sailing boats and the harbour and church in the background and bought it - Claire helped with arranging extra payment for carriage home rather than risk damaging it on the flight.

Afterwards, they carried on across the salt marshes where they stopped to buy some local salt ‘en directe’ that Claire said she’d take home for cooking. The cycle paths were empty with it being early in the season and they could ride side by side and talk. They each purposefully kept the conversation light – the film, the restaurant , the new John Wick film that Keanu would start filming soon and so on - no mention was made of the night before.

It was 1pm when they reached the next village (La Couarde sue Mer) and they chose a little restaurant in the village centre that Claire knew to have lunch. 

Keanu had gone in to use the bathroom passing a man in chef’s whites as he went who turned out to be the owner. On seeing Claire arrive he had immediately come out – he kissed her on both cheeks and offered his condolences about her father. Keanu thought he recognised him from the wake – he hoped he was gone by the time he got back - he didn’t want any particular attention.  Happily, that was the case and they enjoyed a bowl of mussels and chips each only getting a couple of curious glances from waiters and fellow patrons – the look Keanu recognised as ‘don’t I know you from somewhere?’!

 Claire encouraged him to take the Eclade de moules which was the local speciality – a slightly creamy sauce over the mussels flavoured mildly with curry. Claire took the traditional moules marinieres and said they could swap if he didn’t like the “eclade” – once he’d tucked in, he wasn’t going to relinquish the bowl however – it was surprisingly tasty!

After lunch, they went down to the beach for a while and sat on the rocks watching the waves. Claire pointed out the tourist beaches along the coast down to Le Bois Plage and St Marie and the wilder coast up towards her home village. They could also see the other larger island of Oleron across the way and she shared some of the local history.

“We could take a boat trip if you like one day – there’s some really interesting history about Napoleon on Ile d’Aix with a little museum to explore.

“No way!” Keanu chuckled “that would be most excellent”

“are you being sarcastic?” Claire asked, a quizzical look on her face.

“We really need to watch a couple of my movies you know!” he said emphatically – “I’ll have you know, that was not sarcasm but a reference to a film called “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” in which I travel though time and kidnap Napoleon to help me pass a history exam. It’s kind of famous!”

“Oh sounds weird!  - I’m so sorry I don’t know it”

“Well, I guess you would only have been about, errm, let’s do the math, 5 when it came out! He laughed and shook his head, “Man I am so old!”

“Well you don’t seem it to me!” she said meeting his eyes and blushing as did he.                    

“Hey why don’t we try get Netflix or whatever set up later and I can show you it  - then maybe we could take that boat trip next time it’s running and see all that Napoleonic history?” They had had such a nice time so far that day that he’d started to forget about the night before and he wanted to keep things light and away from any compliments between them which might take them back into that territory.

They agreed to return home next, stopping for provisions for dinner. Later they booked tickets for the boat trip when it would next be running in a couple of days and organised their film night for the evening.

They chose Bill and Ted and Point Break to watch that night, both of which Claire loved especially the Napoleon moments in B&TEA and the foot chase in Point Break.

Over the next few days they had a total break from death related jobs and from the location scouting with Claire playing tourist guide. They did more cycle rides through forests and to beaches. Claire joked that Keanu should demonstrate his surfing skills but he said it had been way too long since he’d done it – he’d get wiped in the spring tides!

The boat trip was a wonderful excursion and took them from the island’s capital St Martin then around the coastline and under the island’s spectacular bridge before heading out past Ile d’Oleron and the famous Fort Boyard (where the real life Papillon of film fame was imprisoned) Finally it went on to Ile d’Aix where Napoleon stayed in exile before going to St Helena. Keanu loved history and relished seeing the house where he had stayed and the artefacts. Before catching the boat home they also had chance to grab a sandwich and walk around some of the island which was tiny at only 7km around.

 By the time they got home they were exhausted and had a simple supper of bread and cheese before slumping down to watch another movie. Claire was loving watching his old films that she’d missed growing up. Yesterday had been Speed and The Matrix – quite an overwhelming action combo. Tonight they thought one would be all they could manage but they struggled to decide.  Keanu had made a list of the titles that he thought were the key ones she should see and numbered them off - Claire picked a number  -  it was “The Lake House.”

They settled next to each other on the sofa.  At the porch scene, Claire needed a tissue and by the end, tears were streaming down her face.  

“That was truly beautiful” she sniffed as the theme song struck up again.

“Thanks, I like it” Keanu said humbly. Their eyes locked as McCartney sang ‘this never happened before’ and ‘this is the way it should be for lovers’ over and over. Claire looked down and took a breath.

“It never happened to me before either” she whispered looking up again, her eyes pleading with him to understand her meaning.

“You’re talking about what we did the other night?” he stated

“Yes she said, well not just that but yes, it was ………. beyond wonderful. I know I asked only to be comforted, and I needed the physical release  - and you gave me that  ……… but then I got something else I wasn’t expecting. The, errrm

“Connection?” he interjected.

“Yes!” she agreed emphatically.

“A connection like that, well it was something I’ve only felt once before ………… and, well, it took my breath away”, she looked at him searching to see his thoughts reflected in his expression.

He took her hand in his and whispered

“I felt it too.”

Her shoulders visibly relaxed as the knowledge that the feelings were shared.

“So, what are we going to do about it?” she asked?

“Honestly, I don’t know. That night, I could hardly sleep for thinking about it. I wondered how you felt – then after you just never mentioned it these past few days, I decided that maybe one night of physical closeness was all you wanted. I need you to know that I didn’t come here planning to take advantage of you, I just wanted to help but now I feel so much for you after such a short time”

He paused and she could read the doubt in his eyes

“But?”

“But” he paused again trying to find the right words “even though my feelings are so strong, I don’t know if we’re right for each other, I mean because I may not be able to give you what you want from life, because maybe I’m too old for you”

“You’re only as old as you feel right?” she countered

“Yes, but shit man it’s 20 years! And there’s mortality to consider, and ……” there was a (quite literally) pregnant pause.

“babies” she said, naming the elephant in the room.

“and yes, there’s babies – if you want them. I’m not sure I do, not now. I’m set in my ways. I’m often away filming for months on end. I will be again soon, in New York, for several months. It can be quite a gypsy existence.  And who knows if my sperm are still capable!’ he chuckled.

She leaned in and kissed him gently, cupping his cheek with her left hand

“So what happened to seizing the day, to living in the moment because we’re all gonna die anyway?  - that’s what you said on the plane when we talked about grief.”

He repeated her gesture, softly kissing her. Closed lipped and cupping her face in his hand.

“Claire I just don’t wanna hurt you and I’m scared I might. If it weren’t for the age difference, I’d rush to start a relationship with you but” he paused again. “There’s a character I played in a movie. I think you’d like it. It’s romantic and there are vineyards in it! Anyway my character, Paul, he’s married, but to a wife who he married in a hurry in the war and it turns out when he returns that they’re completely incompatible. He meets and falls in love with another woman who falls for him too but after kissing her and very nearly making love, he pulls away and says <<I want you more than anything Victoria, you can't imagine how I want you. But I'm not free and I won't hurt you that way, I won’t >>” 

He recited it sincerely, word for word from the movie, reliving the moment as Paul Sutton. So I feel a bit like him. I’m not married, well not to a woman at least, but maybe a little bit, no a lot, to acting and to my freedom to pursue it. I want to do the right thing by you and I’m not sure getting into a relationship is it.”

Her eyes filled with tears and he implored her to understand, a pained expression in his eyes.

“I have commitments too you know, things I’d have to compromise on to make time for you. That’s what relationships are about right? Love on the one hand and compromise on the other?”

“Ah ha” he replied yet still sounding doubtful

Claire sighed, her eyes sad and still teary “well, I’m going to bed.  I’m glad we talked but I’m tired now. I’ll see you in the morning”

Keanu didn’t answer, staring glumly at his hands which lay in his lap and she got up and went upstairs to bed.

“Fuck” he whispered as he sat alone and disconsolate.

He went to bed too where he slept restlessly, thinking each time he stirred that he could just go to her and say yes to trying to make it work, but the more he thought about that option, the more the fear of failure and heartache if it didn’t work grew in his mind. By 6am, he was convinced that fleeing the scene was the only option. 

He had two more restaurants to visit within a 100 miles of La Rochelle and decided to go to them on the motorbike he’d hired and take some time to think. He wrote Claire a note explaining that he thought a breather would be good right now and he’d be back in a couple of days. Slinging a few clean clothes and his toiletries in a backpack, he hit the open road.

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[tendertenebrosity]

Aedan Part 7

Aedan stirred, woken by the sound of the door. He blinked, lost for a moment. Where was he? He started to uncurl himself out of the ball he’d slept in, wincing as his body remembered its various pains.

The door had swung open in the meantime, and Robb had entered. He was holding a tray in his hands. “It’s morning,” he said, seeing Aedan sitting up. “I’ve brought you some food.”

Aedan mumbled something incoherent and sat for a moment, blinking at his knees. The events of the previous day caught up with him, and his wing throbbed in reminder.

“Robb,” he said. “You’re – you’re here.” Aedan tried to sort through the complicated tangle of feelings that were filling up his chest. Robb considered Aedan an enemy now. Why would he be here, first thing in the morning?

Robb bent over to put the tray on the floor, not far from Aedan’s bare feet.

“What’s happening?” Aedan asked, curling his feet up underneath him.

Robb frowned down at Aedan. “With you? Nothing. Yet.” He hesitated for a moment, and then hunkered down to sit on the floor beside Aedan. He nudged the tray towards Aedan across the floor. “I just remembered that if I didn’t have something brought to you, it wouldn’t happen.”

The tray contained bread and fruit, and a pot of very cold tea. Aedan found, to his surprise, that he was hungry. He supposed he hadn’t eaten in a while.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, and reached out cautiously for a piece of fruit. His mouth was sore from where Lucas had hit him, yesterday. He tried to only chew on the other side.

Robb watched him, unsettlingly, as he ate. Robb was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and he had deep shadows under both his eyes. Hadn��t he slept?

Aedan picked up another piece, and glanced up at Robb. “Um. Have you…?” Tentatively, he pushed the plate a little towards Robb, offering it to him.

Robb’s brows pulled close together, and he stared at Aedan as if he’d done something crazy. Then he gave a short, humourless huff of laughter. “Not right now, Aedan. Thank you, though.”

Aedan nodded, uncertainly. He searched for something to say, something that wasn’t just repeating what he’d said yesterday. Please don’t hurt me. I promise I wouldn’t have done anything to hurt the king. I wasn’t spying on you, I wouldn’t even know how to spy.

He went to pour some of the tea. Hiding behind the pot was another tiny cup of viscous liquid. “Martin gave that to me for you,” Robb said, seeing Aedan looking at it. “He said it’s for pain. Your wing looks… better.”

It hurt, viciously, throbbing at his back. Aedan didn’t say that, though; he found there was only one thing he really wanted to ask Robb.

“Is Shae back?” he whispered.

“No,” Robb said.

Lucas’ voice hissed in Aedan’s memory. Trust me, Shae’s fine. She told me where to find him. She never liked that creature anyway.

Aedan’s chest hurt. He let the piece of bread he was holding fall back to the tray. “Is she – when she does come back – will she – ”

“I don’t know,” Robb said shortly. “I haven’t spoken to her in days.”

Aedan took a deep breath. “Robb… she didn’t tell Lucas where I was, did she?” He blinked, his eyes starting to sting with tears. He knew his voice was pleading. “She wouldn’t do that. You don’t think she would, do you?”

Robb looked uncomfortable. “I don’t… Did anyone else know you were on the roof? I wouldn’t have thought to look there.” He started to get to his feet. “But I really don’t know. Look, I’ll just leave the tray.”

Aedan sniffled, and gave up on holding back the tears. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Robb had as good as said that, yes, he thought Shae would have told Lucas where to find him. They couldn’t both of them be wrong about her, could they?

Maybe Shae really would be glad to be rid of Aedan, he thought, listening to the sound of Robb closing and locking the door behind him. Was Aedan just really, really dense? Had he missed it? He remembered Tamsin telling him once that humans thought wingfolk were storybook monsters. So Shae probably hadn’t wanted to marry Aedan, maybe she had thought of him as a monster at first, but she’d changed her mind, hadn’t she?

Hadn’t she?  

Well, maybe that changed when people like you took her father, he thought. Maybe that made her realise she doesn’t trust you at all.

He wondered what had happened. Uncle Aelric had wanted the treaty, he hadn’t wanted to keep fighting with the humans. He’d told Aedan that enough people had lost their lives – and Aedan had nodded, a little awed at having his powerful uncle speak to him so seriously. What had changed?

In the end, Aedan drank the little cup of pain medication. As he’d suspected, within fifteen minutes he found his eyelids drooping and his train of thought slowing.

Well, this is useless, he thought, lying listlessly on his front, propping his chin on his folded arms. I mean, it doesn’t hurt as much, but I’m not going to be able to do anything.

Like what? What are you going to do that the drugs are stopping you from doing?

He turned his face to the side, feeling hopeless. Nothing. He could do nothing. He hadn’t even tried to talk to Robb while he was here, because he was an idiot! If he was going to be locked up in a room and only be able to speak to Robb once a day, he should have found some way to work with that. He should have tried harder to get people to listen to him. Some token of peace you are.

If he had magic, like Tamsin, he would be able to get out of here. But you don’t, do you? Because you didn’t try hard enough.

One year earlier

Aedan leaned forward over his cupped hands, lip caught between his teeth, concentrating fiercely.

Nothing happened. He sighed and let his hands drop. “It isn’t working,” he said sadly.

Aedan and Tamsin sat under a tree, the breeze stirring their hair and Aedan’s feathers. Tamsin had her skirts tucked up around her crossed legs, revealing sturdy leather boots.

Tamsin caught his hands in hers and brought them together again. “Aedan,” she chided. “Heavens, we’ve been at this barely half an hour and you’re ready to give up?”

Aedan ducked his head, abashed. “Well, yeah, half an hour and nothing’s happened,” he said. “I thought you said it came easily to us?”

“Easily compared to humans,” Tamsin corrected. She flashed a smile that put dimples in her cheeks. “Did you think it would happen instantaneously, Aedan? It doesn’t work, and it doesn’t work, and it doesn’t work – up until it does! Keep trying.”

Aedan grinned sheepishly. “Okay,” he said, leaning forward again. He focused on the air in between his cupped palms, and willed a flame to appear.

Nothing.

“I just wish I knew what I was supposed to be doing,” he said, after another minute of fruitless concentration. “You said to concentrate, but concentrate on what? What does magic feel like?”

Tamsin leaned back, supporting herself with her hands in the grass. “It’s… hard to explain,” she said. “What does it feel like to use magic when you fly?”

Aedan cocked his head, frowning.

Aedan knew that his wingspan stretched a little over five feet from tip to tip. But, when he was flying, he also knew that they were ten feet across, or twelve. That they could grow and shrink with as much thought as he gave folding or spreading them.

“It doesn’t really feel like anything special,” he said, puzzled. “It’s just like… I don’t know, I decide that it’s going to happen, and then it does. It’s kind of like using a muscle?”

She snapped her fingers. “There you go!” she said, beaming. “That’s a good description! It’ll probably feel similar to that! Like using a muscle you didn’t realise you had.”

“Well, that doesn’t help at all!” Aedan protested, laughing. “Will you show me again?”

Tamsin held her hand out in between them, palm up. After a moment, a pale green flame appeared, flickering and dancing about an inch above her skin.

Aedan bent his neck around to examine it from different angles, and frowned. “I mustn’t be doing it right.”

“We’ll try again next time I visit,” Tamsin promised. She uncrossed her legs, hopped back up onto her feet and dusted her hands off. “You’ll get it eventually. You aren’t going to give up on me, are you, Aedan?” Her raised eyebrow was a challenge.

“No!” Aedan said indignantly. He scrambled up too. “Of course not!”

A few months earlier

“Aedan,” Phylla said.

“Yes?” Aedan said, his fingers gently smoothing the secondary feathers on her left wing where it was spread out enough to lie in his lap.

“If you do agree to this plan of Tamsin’s,” Phylla said slowly. “You know that you –”

He sighed. “Mama,” he said, a little shortly. “I said I’d think about it. I’m not going to jump into this without thinking of everything. Okay?”

Her wing moved under his hands, as she shifted position. “I know. I know you’re taking it seriously. That’s not what I was going to say.”

He moved to the next feather. “Well, what were you going to say?”

She held still. “You need to know that you can always come home,” she said quietly. “Always, no matter what, you can come back here to me. They’ll tell you that you can’t – they’ll say it’s a contract, they’ll say you made a commitment – but you can. It’s what I did. If you’ve done your best and it didn’t work out, if you aren’t happy, you can always come home.”

Aedan stared down at his mother’s wing. Her feathers were the same colour as his, deep brown. Big enough and strong enough to block out anything the world might throw at him. He used to wonder whether his wings would ever be that big.

“Sure, Mama,” he said softly. “I know.”

Aedan turned his head to watch the door, feeling sick with shame and misery, and the stupid pain drug. Part of him wished he had listened to his mother; she had thought this was a bad idea from the start and it looked like she had been right. 

But Aedan had thought he was helping. He hadn’t wanted to give up. And look where it had got him.

I do want to come home, Mama, but I don’t think I can anymore.

[captainarthurshappey]

Some cabin pressure details you might have forgotten

Spoiler warning. Obviously.

Fun game: See if you know when these were mentioned! The answers can be found here. (Just to clear something up: two are from cut scenes and thus they never happened. However, John did mention one of them in a quiz at euroairdotcon, so who’s to say? The rest of them are all mentioned in the show. I used Ariana Devere’s transcripts to double-check them.)

So without further ado: Let’s get started!

Douglas is canonically way taller than Martin

And so is Arthur!

Martin once got arrested for terrorism threats

Arthur went to public school

It was ghastly and he was top of the class!

Martin doesn’t like celebrating Christmas

Arthur’s middle name is Gordon

Douglas won Arthur’s car in a bet

And lets Arthur drive it at a competitive hourly rate.

The car is also really old and a horrible colour and it smells of duffel coats

Douglas dropped out of med school

His parents are doctors and were disppointed when he became a pilot instead

Arthur is usually wearing a massive silly hat which he made himself

And Martin is always wearing his father’s signet ring

Arthur always carries a party horn

Martin was actually being lifted in That scene

Douglas has a daughter

Martin almost definitely walked through the cabin with a lemon taped to his hat three times, while everyone was too surprised (or too polite) to ask him about it

…And he almost definitely already had it taped to his hat when he asked one of the passengers if they had seen it.

Douglas’ interests outside of flying are “cricket, opera, tennis, painting, sailing, jazz, cookery and close harmony singing.”

Douglas likes his tea with milk and sugar (even if he almost always drinks coffee), Martin only drinks black coffee.

Arthur drinks tea with loads of milk and 4 sugars.

Arthur wasn’t aware that bread was made of wheat for the first 29 years of his life

[redwallthoughts]

Redwall Midwinter Miracle: Day 2 part 2

Thanks to @raphcrow for her help with this chapter. Working with you has been a blast.

FF.net, AO3

[Ch. 1], [Ch. 2], [Ch. 3]

Cavern Hole was teaming with activity, even more so than usual with the arrival of travelers. Martin paused at the bottom of the stairs to wait for Rose as she slowly descended the last two steps. He wondered briefly if she had noticed the hollow sound her crutches had made on the middle step, then dismissed the thought. In all the seasons since the moles had dug the secret tunnel beneath the stairs, nobeast had mentioned anything out of the ordinary. Martin was sure that the only other creatures who knew of the hidden tomb were the leaders of the Corim, Gonff, and himself.

Rose swung down off the final step and looked around. “Primrose,” she said, “Do you see your father anywhere?”

Primrose glanced briefly around Cavern Hole, then returned to playing with Martin’s ears. “Nope.”

Martin chuckled. “I’m sure we can find him,” he said. The words were barely out of his mouth when he spotted Lady Amber weaving her way through the crowd.

“Martin,” she called over the hubbub of voices, “We were beginning to wonder if you'd gotten yourself lost on the way to breakfast. Where’ve you been?”

“Playin’ wiv us inna snow,” Primrose answered before Martin could say anything.

“Was he now?” Lady Amber said, joining them. “And who might you be, little miss?”

Primrose fell silent and ducked down as though to hide behind Martin’s ears. Rose chuckled. “This is my niece, Primrose. She's a bit shy sometimes.”

Martin looked at her curiously. “Really?” He reached up and tickled Primrose, eliciting a giggle from the little maid. “You could've fooled me.”

“You seem to be the exception,” Rose explained.

Lady Amber nodded. “Sounds like our Martin. I don't know how he does it, but I've yet to meet a dibbun he couldn't befriend.” She smiled at Primrose, then turned to Rose. “Hm. You must be Rose.”

Rose looked mildly surprised. “I am,” she said. “How did you know?”

“Brome and his wife are sitting with us for breakfast,” Amber said. “He’s been keeping an eye out for you. By the way, I'm Lady Amber.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Amber.” Rose dropped into a shallow curtsy. Amber returned the curtsy with a quick bow, one paw automatically going to her crown to keep it from falling.

“You say Brome’s sitting at the head table with us?” Martin asked.

“Aye, so he is,” Lady Amber said. “Him and his wife, along with Rowanoak and Ballaw.”

Martin nodded. “Could you show Rose to the table? I've got to stop down in the kitchens.”

“‘Course I can,” Lady Amber flashed a broad smile.

Martin glanced up at Primrose. “Time to get down, miss.”

“No!” Primrose cried, locking her paws around Martin’s head.

Rose tried to reason with the little maid. “You need to come to breakfast, Primrose.”

“Wanna go wiv Unca Martin!” Primrose insisted.

Martin tried another tactic. “Your parents are waiting for you.” Primrose shook her head vigorously and held on tighter.

“Martin,” Lady Amber broke in, “You’re joining us at the table after you visit the kitchens, right?”

“I am,” Martin said, trying to unlatch Primrose's paws.

“Then how's about you take young Primrose with you to the kitchens. Rose and I’ll go to the the table and tell Brome and his wife that Primrose’ll be along shortly.”

“Yay!” Primrose cried, finally releasing Martin’s ears.

Martin and Rose exchanged a glance. “I suppose that’ll work,” Rose said, “So long as Martin doesn’t mind.”

Martin nodded and rubbed his ears. “I don’t mind.”

“Then that’s settled.” Lady Amber grinned and held a paw out to Rose. “We’ll see you two in a bit.” She headed off with Rose following.

Martin glanced up at Primrose. “Well now, shall we be off to the kitchens?” Primrose nodded and giggled. “Then off we go.”

The kitchen was relatively quiet as most of the cooks had gone to eat breakfast in Cavern Hole. Martin smiled when he saw the two who had stayed behind. “Good morning, Goody, Columbine,” he said.

“Good morning, Martin,” Columbine said without turning from the bread she was slicing.

Martin lifted Primrose down from his shoulders, and went to help Goody take a pie out of the oven. The aging hogwife waited until the pie was set off to the side to cool and the oven door closed before speaking. “Good mornin’ to you, Martin. You’ve come to get your mornin’ tea, no doubt. Oh, and you’ve brought a liddle friend along with you. Good mornin’, liddle-un. What’re you called?” Primrose hid behind Martin, peering cautiously around him at Goody. Martin smiled, but said nothing. Goody’s spikes had gone grey with age and she needed spectacles to see, but her charm had not faded in the slightest since Martin had arrived in Mossflower.

Sure enough, it took only a few moments before Primrose stepped out from behind Martin and quietly introduced herself. “I’m Primrose.” One small paw still clutched the edge of Martin’s tunic, while the other toyed with the end of her tail.

Goody smiled gently at the little maid. “A pleasure to meet you, Primrose.” She bent down to Primrose’s eye level and whispered in a secretive voice, “Would you like some warm greensap milk with ‘oney in it?”

Primrose nodded. “Yes please.”

Goody smiled and turned to Martin. “Your tea’s on the table over there. I made two cups seein’ as Sister Amyl said one of the maids visitin’ could use a bit too. I’ll be just a moment ‘eatin’ up some milk fer Primrose and pourin’ a bit o’ tea for the Abbess.”

Martin patted Goody’s paw and went to get a tray. “Take your time, Goody. We’re in no rush.” Primrose followed him into the panty, releasing his tunic in favor of his tail, which she held tightly between both paws. Martin did not mind. It let him know where the little maid was, after all, so that he could not lose her. They emerged from the pantry just as Columbine was hanging up her apron.

“I’m headed up to breakfast,” the mousewife called back to Goody. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Goody waggled a paw at her. “You need to spend some time with that ‘usband ‘n’ son of yours. I’ve got the duty cooks to ‘elp me with the rest o’ the food.”

Columbine paused partway through the doors. “Are you sure, Goody?”

“I’m certain,” Goody said, turning back to the stove.

“Then I’ll be on my way.” Columbine waved a quick goodbye and hurried out. Goody nodded to herself, stirring a small pot of greensap milk before removing a steaming kettle from the stove and pouring the warm, dark liquid into a waiting mug.

“‘Ave you got a tray?” she asked as Martin came up behind her.

“Right here, Goody,” Martin said, setting the tray on the table.

Goody nodded again and placed the mug on the tray. “That’n’s one o’ my favorites. Came out just right with the liddle roses around the edge. It was my Posy’s idea, you know, to make it with the roses.”

Martin nodded. He gathered the two other mugs of tea and placed them on the tray next to the mug already there. “It’s one of my favorites too,” he said. The fell into a companionable silence. Primrose climbed onto one of the stools to see the tray while Goody stirred the milk. It did not take long before the thick, white liquid began to steam and Goody declared it was ready for honey. Primrose bounced on her toes as the honey was added and the mixture was poured into a mug.

Martin started to put the fourth mug on the tray, then stopped and turned to Primrose. “Would you like me to carry it, or do you want to hold it?”

“I c’n hold it,” Primrose assured him.

“Very well then.” Martin handed her the mug. He picked up the tray and turned to Goody. “Will we see you at breakfast?”

Goody shook her head, grey headspikes rattling together. “I’ve already ‘ad my breakfast,” she said, “I’ll see you two at the feast t’night.”

Martin smiled and headed for the door. “We’ll see you tonight, then. Thank you, Goody.”

“Thankee, Mrs. Goody,” Primrose echoed.

Goody shook her head again and smiled. “‘Urry up to breakfast you two and get some food. Oh, and tell Columbine that if’n I see ‘er in ‘ere again ‘afore dinnertime I’ll ban ‘er from the kitchens,” she called after them.

Breakfast conversation echoed around Cavern Hole as Martin and Primrose made their way to the head table. Martin walked slowly, balancing the tray of tea while keeping pace with Primrose, who was concentrating on not spilling. She placed each footpaw carefully as though the stone might slide out from under her. Martin had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the adorable scene. He allowed himself a small smile, though. Primrose was a perfect reminder, it seemed, of why he had fought in the Mossflower war. True, she had not been born in Mossflower and was only a passing traveler; but her family likely would not have visited were Mossflower still under the rule of Tsarmina.

“Hoi, Martin, there you are.” Gonff’s cry was the first to greet them as they reached the table.

“Here we are,” Martin said, setting his tray on the table and turning to help Primrose into her seat. The little maid was soon settled between Rose and Brome, happily munching on a bilberry scone.

“Good morning, Martin,” Abbess Germaine said, her wavering voice barely audible over the sounds of the hall.

Martin set her tea in front of her and planted a gentle kiss on her brow. “Good morning, Mother Abbess.” After unbelting his sword and shield. he took his seat, removing his own tea from the little tray and handing the third mug to Rose, who was seated next to him. “Our cook, Goody Stickle makes this,” he told her, “It’s mint tea with honey and who knows what mixed in. Tastes a bit funny, but I’ve found it works rather well to battle the cold.”

Rose accepted the mug with a small smile. “Thank you.” She nodded to Primrose. “Thank you for getting something for her as well.”

Martin returned her smile. “That one was all Goody. She mothers every dibbun she meets, and even some adults as well.”

“It certainly didn’t do you any harm to ‘ave an extra mother or two around after the war, mate,” Gonff chuckled from his seat across the table.

Martin joined in his friend’s laughter. “I s’pose you’re right on that account. Say,” he glanced around, “where’s Gonfflet? He came in to breakfast ahead of us.”

Gonff swiped an oatcake off Martin’s plate and used it to gesture toward one of the other tables. “He an’ Chugger are sittin’ over there with the family o’ otters that were travelin’ with this lot. Er, Keya and Tuggow, or somethin’ like that. Didn’t catch the names properly.”

“Keyla and Tullgrew,” Martin corrected without thinking.

Gonff gave him a funny look. “Aye, that was them. ‘Ow’d you know?”

Martin stared at his plate, barely noticing when Gonff swiped a second oatcake. How had he known what their names were? He couldn’t recall meeting them, although he’d certainly seen them the night before. Finally, he gave the only reasonable answer he could think of. “I must’ve heard their names last night.”

“You probably did,” Brome reassured him.

Martin nodded, but continued to frown. Bella reached over Abbess Germaine and ruffled his ears, saying, “Eat your breakfast and don’t think about it too hard, little warrior. It’ll come to you in time.”

“I’m sure it will, old friend.” Martin shook himself and grinned, pulling the basket of scones closer before Gonff could snatch another one. He selected a wheat scone, then turned to the guests with a sheepish smile on his face. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got a terrible feeling I interrupted something when I came to the table.”

“Brome was just about to tell us how the Rambling Rosehip Players came to be in Mossflower this winter,” Bella said, simultaneously slapping Gonff’s paw away from her plate.

“Pish tosh. Nothing to apologize for young sir-me-warrior,” the hare to Gonff’s left said. “How were you to bally well know we were swapping tales, eh? I say, d’you mind passing that leek pastie sittin’ in front o’ the good Abbess? Thank you very much, wot wot.”

Martin slid the pastie over to the friendly hare. “You’ve welcome, sir.”

The hare snorted and flopped his ears comically. “Sir? Sir who? The name’s Ballaw de Quincewold, laddybuck, not sir.”

“Beg pardon sir, er, Ballaw,” Martin said, chuckling. He held out a paw. “I’m Martin the Warrior.”

Ballaw glanced up from the pastie long enough to give Martin’s paw a firm shake and say, “Martin the Warrior, eh? I should certainly hope you’re a warrior, what with that big ol’ sword you’ve got there. Wouldn’t want something like that in the paws of somebeast called, oh, say ‘Fred the Fisher’. No, a blade like that belongs in the paws of a real warrior. Mph, this pastie is absolutely superb, I must be sure to thank the cook.”

Brome cleared his throat loudly, looking pointedly at Ballaw. Ballaw waved a paw at him. “Don’t let me stop you from talking old lad. I’ll sit quiet.” He fell quiet for a moment, then, just as Brome was opening his mouth to speak, said, “I say. We might as well finish the introductions first, wot. Madam badger there is the good Lady Rowanoak, fellow head of the Rambling Rosehip Players. Rose and Primrose you’ve met. The mouse on the other side of sir fuss-tail is his lovely wife, Lavender. And then, of course, we have sir fuss-tail himself, Brome Voh.”

“Pleased to meet you all,” Martin said, nodding to the newly introduced guests.

“If you’re quite finished, Ballaw?” The tip of Brome’s tail twitched side to side as he again stared pointedly at Ballaw.

Ballaw didn’t seem to notice Brome’s irritation as he returned to his pastie. “Quite finished indeed, old lad.”

Brome waited a moment, as though to see if Ballaw would start talking once again. But when the hare continued to eat he turned and began his narrative. “We left Noonvale, our home by the northeastern shore, as soon as the snow had melted early last spring. Ballaw and Rowanoak are planning to retire once we return to Noonvale, so we decided to make the most of the trip and see how many old friends we could visit. A friend of ours, Barkjon, is acting chieftain in Noonvale until we get back, although I don’t think he expected us to be away quite this long.”

Lady Amber, who had been quiet until now, nodded and asked, “So what brought you to Mossflower, then? I don’t recall ever seeing your troupe pass through this area before, though I wouldn’t’ve minded if you had.”

Lavender, Brome’s wife, piped up before her husband had a chance to speak. “They’ve come south lookin’ for a friend o’ theirs who traveled this way after ‘elpin’ them in the Marshank siege.”

Martin winced as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his back. Gonff gave him a concerned look. “You alright there, mate?”

Martin nodded. “Aye, Gonff, I’m alright. Must’ve pulled a muscle in my back towing those dibbuns around.” He turned to Brome. “Sorry for interrupting. Have you had any luck in locating your friend?”

Brome and Rose exchanged a look before Brome responded. “Nothing conclusive, I’m afraid.” A heavy silence fell over the table. Martin stared at his plate, trying to shake the feeling that he’d heard Brome’s story before. He was so lost in thought that he almost missed Rose’s question.

“I’ve just noticed the carvings on your chairs,” she said, indicating the chairs of Martin, Abbess Germaine, and Bella. “I hope you don’t mind my asking what they mean?”

Bella chuckled. “Not at all. These chairs were a gift from some otter friends of ours, one chair for each of the founders of Redwall.”

“Is that why they’ve got your names on them?” Rose pointed to the lettering that decorated the top of each chair back.

Bella nodded. “It is indeed, miss. You can read the Mossflower alphabet, then?”

“Yes. Lavender’s family used to live on the outskirts of Mossflower, so I’ve learned the basics from her,” Rose explained. “I was guessing that Abbess Germaine’s chair had her name on it, since I can’t read that one.”

“That one’s done in loamscript,” said Columbine. She flicked Gonff’s paw away from her plate, then looked over to Rose with a smile. “Each name is done in the alphabet used in the founder’s birthplace. Hence, loamscript for Abbess Germaine, common woodlander for Bella, and northern runes for Martin.”

Lavender leaned on the table, peering down the row to Martin. “So you’re from the north, Martin?”

Martin nodded. “I was born on the western shore, though, not the eastern shore.”

“Is that what’s depicted on the bottom of your chair?” Rose motioned to the intricately carved figures that decorated the lower portion of the chair. Tiny, detailed figures stood out against the scenery.

Martin smiled as he thought of the care the holt of Tungro had gone to in order to properly portray his upbringing in the north. The faces of the figures were rather indistinct, as they only had the descriptions of Vurg, Denno, and Dulam to reference for his tribe. “It is,” he told Rose.

“So you’re one of the founders of this lovely abbey?” Rowanoak asked. The badger appeared mildly surprised, as though she’d not considered the idea.

“Who would’ve thought a warrior could help found an abbey, eh?” Martin said. He almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement, recalling briefly his own reaction when Abbess Germaine and Bella had asked for his help. He’d been younger then, still feeling the pull of wanderlust but not yet strong enough to strike out on his own again. I’ll stay until the walls are built, he’d promised. How foolish he’d been to think that he’d ever want to leave Redwall.

Gonff must have noticed his expression, for the ever carefree little thief laughed and turned to Rowanoak. “Abbess Germaine had the idea, Miz Bella had the support, an’ Martin knew how t’ build it. Well, that, and he had all sorts o’ ideas on how to make the abbey safer in case it’s ever attacked, even became our main architect. Though good luck to the beast what tries readin’ his notes. Martin knows how to write loamscript, common woodlander, and northern runes, and o’ course he writes his notes in runes.”

“Just because I can read and write common woodlander, it doesn’t mean it’s the easiest thing for me to write,” Martin said. He reached for another scone only to find the basket empty and Gonff grinning at him over three freshly swiped scones. Martin didn’t bother to say anything, merely flicked a piece of chestnut as Gonff’s nose. Columbine giggled at the face Gonff pulled, then proceed to give Martin one of the scones.

“Why is the back of your chair blank, Martin?” Lavender asked. She pointed to the back of the chair, which was indeed blank, with naught but the grain of the wood for decoration.

Martin had just taken a bite of his scone, so Bella answered for him. “Martin never told us much about his life before coming to Mossflower, so when he lost his memory after the Mossflower War nobeast could tell him anything about his past. We’ve got a record now of his first five seasons, courtesy of Vurg, Denno, and Dulam. But not even Martin knows what took place in the eight or so seasons between his father leaving the tribe and his own arrival in Mossflower.”

“I see,” Lavender said. She sat back, pushing her empty plate away. “I don’t know about anybeast else, but I’m stuffed after that fine breakfast.”

Lady Amber stood and began gathering empty plates. “Good. Midwinter feasts mean late, large breakfast followed by an early start to the feast. It gives the cooks a bit more time to prepare since there’s no lunch in between.”

“Speaking of cooks,” Martin cut in, “Columbine, Goody asked me to tell you that if she sees you in the kitchen again before dinnertime, then she’s going to ban you from the kitchens for a while.”

Columbine grinned and shook her head. “Thank you for the warning.”

“You’re welcome.” Martin had just started helping to clear the dishes when Amber pulled the plates from his paws and waggled a claw at him.

“It’s a feast day,” she said, “That means no work for you. You work too hard as it is.”

“Surely carrying dishes to the kitchen isn’t to much of a chore,” Martin protested. He was pushed back into his seat by Bella.

“We all know you’d end up helping to wash as well and then volunteer to assist in the kitchen, Martin. You need to take a break every now and again.” The aging badgermother looked down at Martin until he finally sighed and nodded his consent.

“Alright, Bella, you win. I suppose I’ll just have to find something else to do.”

“Why not give Rose a tour of Redwall?” Amber suggested. “Seeing as she missed the one before breakfast.”

Martin considered the idea. He certainly wouldn’t mind showing the pretty maid around the abbey if she wanted, but he didn’t want to push her too hard if her footpaws were still sore. “What do you think?” he asked Rose.

Rose smiled at him, her hazel eyes lighting up. “I’d love to see the abbey.”

“It’s settled then,” Bella said. She winked at Rose. “Martin’s the best one to show you around, really. He knows all the hidden details of the abbey.”

Martin chuckled and stood, helping Rose from her seat. “Shall we begin then, miss?”

“If you’re ready,” Rose said.

The left Cavern Hole together, Martin matching Rose’s pace as he talked. He showed her Great Hall first, explaining how the single hall had taken them nearly a season to complete because of its height. Rose looked about in wonder, asking a question or two whenever Martin skipped something. He found himself smiling more and more as he led her through the dormitories and storerooms. It seemed that no room was too small to be of interest. Rose marveled over the smallest details, from the woodwork in the upper dormitories, to the little figures carved along the hallways, to the built-in shelves in the small but cozy library.

Brome Voh, chieftain of Noonvale, sat watching his daughters play with their mother. The three of them tumbled around Cavern Hole smiling and laughing. Brome smiled at them absentmindedly, not really paying attention to their play. He was lost in thought, memories of Marshank rolling together with the conversation at breakfast. Like Rose, he’d given up hope of finding Martin many seasons ago, choosing instead to move on with his life. He’d focused his time on his family and Noonvale, throwing himself wholeheartedly into his role as chief. Martin had faded into a memory, a creature he’d once known who had done much to shape his view of the world. Brome hadn’t forgotten Martin, of course, he’d even named his son after the warrior mouse, but he had given up on seeing him again.

“Is somethin’ on your mind, Brome?” Lavender asked, coming to sit next to him. Brome turned to look at his wife, smiling gently at the concern in her clear blue eyes. He recalled, briefly, the first time he’d seen her. He’d fallen out of a tree after trying to help Barkjon pick apples. The drop had knocked the wind from him, and when he’d opened his eyes he’d found himself face to face with the prettiest maid he’d ever met. He’d almost thought she wasn’t real for a moment, the sun turning her gold-brown fur into a shining halo. Lucky for him, she had indeed been real.

“Brome?” Lavender took his paws, and Brome realized that he’d been sitting smiling at her for some time without answering her question. He shook himself, and planted a kiss on her brow.

“Just thinking of the conversation from breakfast,” he said.

Lavender nodded knowingly. “He’s the friend you’re searchin’ for, isn’t he?” Brome gave Lavender a startled look. She motioned to Martin’s chair, the carved sword on the back easily bringing the warrior to mind. “That warrior, Martin.”

Brome nodded slowly. “How did you guess?”

“You’re the one who suggested we name our son after ‘im,” Lavender pointed out. She placed her paws on Brome’s cheeks, gently stroking his fur as she explained. “Our son is named Martin after a warrior, and you and Rose have been actin’ strange ever since you met this Martin. He knew Keyla and Tullgrew’s names, even though I’m sure he didn’t overhear them last night, but he didn’t know ‘ow he knew. He comes from the north, same as us. And there are several missin’ seasons of his childhood that nobeast can account for.”

Brome smiled. “You’re right. I should have realized that you’d guess.” He took her paws and clasped them gently. “The question now is whether or not to tell Martin.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?” Lavender asked.

Brome sighed. “What happened at Marshank was not pretty, Lavender. The battle was a terrible thing to witness. Martin was enslaved for many seasons before that. Would it be right of us to remind him of such pain, especially now that he’s found a life of peace and happiness?”

Lavender did not get a chance to answer before Primrose threw herself into her father’s lap crying happily, “Auntie Rose is back!”

Brome look up and saw that Primrose was right; Martin and Rose were among the creatures entering Cavern Hole. Lavender stood and began dusting off Primrose’s apron. “I s’ppose that means it’s time to get ready for the feast,” she said. She caught Brome’s eye and nodded to him. Their conversation would continue at a later time, preferably with other members of the Rambling Rosehip Players present. Sighing softly, Brome stood and went to greet Rose.

It did not take long to prepare for the feast, Brome learned. The visitors from Noonvale fell in with the Redwallers, setting plates, lighting torches, and bringing dish after dish of marvelous food from the kitchens. Perhaps it was a trick of his preoccupied mind, or perhaps it was the joyful companionship that filled the hall, but it seemed that only a moment had passed before he found himself sitting down to eat. Martin, Bella, and Abbess Germaine sat in their chairs at the head of the hall, and everybeast listened in silence as Bella intoned the grace. Good food and good company were in full supply as the dinner began, and soon Brome forgot his concerns of the day. He found himself laughing with the others as Skipper and Lady Amber related the antics of Ferdy and Coggs during the welcome party in Brockhall, followed by Bella telling of the search for the map to Salamandastron. There was a brief moment of silent terror in the hall when Goody Stickle told of how Ferdy and Coggs had been captured by Tsarmina, until the two cellarhogs, both fully grown now, stood and waved. The story was highly entertaining, with many creatures contributing and ending for the night with Dinny recounting the events of Bat Mountpit.

It was not until he was halfway up the stairs to Great Hall, carrying Primrose and followed by his wife and children, that Brome realized that Martin had never taken a turn on the floor. The warriormouse had commented on a few things from his seat, but had left the storytelling largely to others. Rose, who was on the step ahead of Brome, seemed to sense her brother’s thoughts.

“Did you find it odd?” she murmured, “The way that Martin never took a larger part in the storytelling?”

Brome nodded. “I would’ve thought that he’d at least have taken the floor with Gonff or Dinny, considering that he was the third member of the questing party.”

Rose swung up onto the next step, winced, and leaned against the wall. Her footpaws must be hurting again, Brome realized. The mousemaid shook her head slightly, a soft frown playing about her lips. “I was watching him most of the night,” she admitted. “He got a faraway look in his eyes when the story started, almost as though he was trying to picture it himself.”

“You think he doesn’t even remember coming to Mossflower?” Brome asked.

Rose sighed and started up the stairs again. “I’m not sure, Brome. I’m not sure.”

Brome had no response for Rose. He simply continued up toward the dormitories, silently considering what Rose had said. Sleep was a long time in coming, but eventually he drifted off into the land of dreams.

[gillianfoster]

cal/gillian post-beat the devil.

The case had been hard on everyone. Cal knew that. Really, she did. Still, she couldn’t help thinking that it had been particularly rough on her - what with the ex-professor/ex-lover and the waterboarding.

No matter what, though, Cal also knew she was incapable of telling Gillian she needed anything from her. As it kept coming up, over and over again, she felt like Gillian had to deal with enough of her shit. Constantly she was trying to keep Gillian out of the things she could, keep her safe and away and good. This was different, though. Cal felt vulnerable and wrong and uncomfortable. She’d suspected to some extent that Martin would come after her and not Helen, but that didn’t mean she’d been fully prepared to be tortured and nearly killed and to come within an inch of death the way she had. She was aching, her chest still hurt, her head ached, and if she hadn’t kept herself tensed she wondered if her hands might still be shaking.

When she asked Gillian for dinner, it had been a request for help. The closest she could come to saying “I need you.” And Gillian had told her no.

So, again. She understood. Gillian wanted time alone to deal with things. She couldn’t clean up after Cal all the time, be there for her every moment. Logic reminded Cal of all these things - but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. To finally reach out when she needed it most and to be shut down was nearly enough to kill her all over again.

She’d muttered something to Gillian and left - she hadn’t tried to go to dinner, or anywhere. She’d gone straight home. Maybe it would have been different if Emily was home waiting, but she wasn’t. She was with her mum - good in some ways, bad in others. It was good because the whole case Cal had known she was safe, far away from the bloody psychopath who’d been stalking around. It was bad now because spending time with her daughter would have been the next best thing after time with Gillian. Emily would have made her laugh, made her proud, and they’d eat some type of shit dinner like beans on toast and watch telly together - she was the luckiest mum in the world, or at least tied with Zoe, and she knew it. Em was the best daughter imaginable, and Cal loved her to bits. But none of that would be happening either when she got home. The house would be dark. Empty. But a bar would be too much, too, and she knew it. Home was the best option for her.

When she got in, she turned on all the lights and changed into her pyjamas straightaway. She wore the oldest softest flannel bottoms she could find, and even put on socks. She made tea. She turned on the telly for background noise, and settled in at her desk with her laptop and tried to distract herself. She didn’t know how long it’d been when the doorbell rang and she jumped out of her skin. She realized as she stood up that she’d forgotten to eat - again. She approached the door with caution, even though she knew Martin had been caught and was in jail - but when she got close to the frosted glass, she saw Gillian standing on the other side. She blinked a few times and opened the door.

“Gill? What are you doing here? Christ, what time is it?”

“It’s not that late, Cal. It’s only 9. Anyways, I… wanted to come make sure you were alright. I forgot Emily’s with Zoe right now, and I realized when I was leaving the office that you were on your own.”

“Oh, Gill, for God’s sake, come on. I’m a grown woman, I think I can handle it.”

She watched Gillian sigh and she nearly winced at her own behavior. She couldn’t help it though, she was still hurting. She’d given Gill her chance.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that. You… asked me to dinner earlier tonight and the reason I said no was… unfair to you. I’m sure you’ve already eaten by now-“

“I haven’t, actually.”

Gillian blinked at her, then frowned. Cal gave her a false sort of grin.

“Cal, it’s 9 PM. Why haven’t you eaten dinner?”

“Forgot?” Her voice and her expression were both sheepish, and she directed them right at Gillian.

Cal was forced back as Gillian rolled her eyes and pushed her way inside. “Right, well, I’m taking care of dinner, then. Come sit with me in the kitchen while I make you something.”

“I can make my own food, Gill,” Cal insisted as she trailed along behind her. Gill’s hair was up, in that little ponytail that was just barely long enough to exist. It looked like she’d gone home, changed clothes, and then changed her mind as well. Cal knew Gill always wore her hair up at home.

“And yet you haven’t,” Gillian replied. “Just come sit down.”

Sitting at the bar, as instructed, Cal stuck up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, you’re the boss.” She paused for a moment, shifting on her seat and then propping her arms on the counter gesturing at Gillian with one of her hands. “Can it be beans on toast?”

“Emily told me that’s all you ever eat.”

Cal scoffed and sat up for a moment. “Since when does my daughter report back to you about me?”

Gillian turned, untwisting the tie around the bread bag as she did. “Since she worries about you, Cal.”

Humming in response, Cal went back to propping her head on her hand, leaning on the counter. “So you said you said no to my dinner request for a reason that was unfair to me. You wanna explain that?”

By then Gillian had turned back around, but Cal could still see her shoulders tense up.

“Not really,” she offered.

It was hardly like Cal was going to take that for an answer. “Right, well. I’m not gonna try and read it on you, love. I’m not sure I could. Not after today. So you wanna tell me or not, that’s up to you.”

Cal had moved on to tracing the shapes in the counter with her finger, but she could feel Gillian’s eyes on the top of her head. She could practically feel the sad expression, too. After a moment, she heard the noise of bread going in the toaster, and she felt safe looking back up, and she found she was back to just staring at Gillian’s back again as she moved on to heating up the beans, pouring a can into a pot on the stove. Cal looked at the way the cloth bunched up at Gillian’s waist until she could practically feel it under her fingers, and then she felt like she had something stuck in her throat suddenly, and she looked away.

“Helen… said something to me today,” Gillian said finally. “Something ridiculous, honestly, and I never should have listened to her. You were her student and she had a relationship with you, I don’t know why I would trust her word on anything - and I didn’t, really. She was awful about Valerie while we were talking outside the box, she was awful about you. It just struck me as off, and it made me want some time alone. But that was inconsiderate of me, after what you went through today, and I’m sorry.”

“What’d she say?”

“Just that… you’re not in things for the long haul.”

Snorting out a disbelieving laugh, Cal slouched further on her stool. “Unbelievable. Of course she’d say that. That’s what I get for breaking it off with my professor, I suppose.”

“You broke it off with her?”

Cal shrugged. “Yeah. She was… I mean it happened for a number of reasons. But after a while it just kept bugging me, you know, that she was my professor. Maybe it was that whole thing about authority you and Emily are always telling me I’ve got, I dunno. Point being I broke it off with her before I graduated because I just couldn’t do it anymore. And I think she was a little upset that I did the breaking off.”

“Well that’s-” Gillian was cut off as the toast popped up and she jumped slightly. Cal smiled.

She watched as Gill took out the toast and moved back over to the beans on the stove, stirring them and watching them, then poking at them with a finger to see if they were warm yet. It didn’t seem like they were.

“You know, Helen and I were only together about a year. And with all the periods that she and I went without talking… I’ve known you for ages and ages longer than I really knew her. I’m not sure I ever really knew her.”

Gill turned and smiled. “And you know me?”

Again, Cal shrugged. “Like to think I do. Do I?”

With a laugh, Gillian went back to stirring. “Yes, Cal. I think you do.” There was a brief pause, and when Gill spoke again, her voice was softer. “Do I… know you?”

“Better than anyone, Gill. You ought to know that. ‘Cept maybe Emily. But there are things I can tell you that I can’t tell her.”

“Better than Zoe?” Gill asked, her voice going just a bit too high in pitch even for a question.

“Gill, I told you things when we met that I never told Zoe. You know that.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Gillian finished heating up the beans in the quiet, and Cal was glad to let her. Just having her there made the room brighter, and made her feel looser and a little more relaxed. She watched as Gillian fixed everything and then came over to set a plate in front of her with her toast, complete with beans. She smiled, and Gillian gave her a fond look and rolled her eyes. She ate, and Gillian stole a bit of toast, and she started telling funny stories from Oxford to make Gill laugh - about the time she’d gotten piss drunk and streaked across a field in the middle of a game of polo and somehow not gotten thrown out of school.

When the food was done, and it was later, Cal was suddenly exhausted, but she didn’t want to go to bed in case Gillian decided to leave. After the fourth or fifth time she yawned, Gillian gave her a stern look.

“You should probably be heading to bed, shouldn’t you? You’ve got to be exhausted.”

Cal shook her head, but undermined herself by yawning again. “Look, I’m… My bedroom’s a mess right now I don’t really want to…”

“Do you want me to stay?”

She hated that Gillian was going to make her say it instead of just insisting - it was very like her, and normally Cal would have told her to go home. Instead, she nodded.

“Yeah, that’d be… Yes, love. Thanks.”

“Of course. Would you… want me to sleep in Emily’s room? Or…”

“My bed’s big enough for two I think. If you don’t…”

“I don’t mind.” Both of their voices were soft, and Cal tried not to flush as she stood up and stretched out her back. She pointed Gill in the direction of the bedroom and went around the house double-checking that everything was locked and turning off all the lights and the telly. Once everything was finished for the night, she made her way to her room.

Apparently she had been too quiet in her approach, and Gill hadn’t heard her. Though Gillian’s back and the back of her head was all she could see, she could still recognize that Gill was holding one of her sweaters, stroking the material with one hand and holding it close enough to her face probably to smell the detergent. It didn’t make much sense to her except that she’d thought about doing the same bloody thing the one time she’d gone to Gillian’s and seen one of her cardigans lying about. She cleared her throat and walked into the room.

She watched as Gill jumped and then folded the jumper and put it back down.

“You weren’t kidding, it is a mess in here,” she said shakily.

Cal went over to her and stepped close. “Gill… could you just…” Gillian looked at her, and Cal pulled her into a hug, holding her close.

It went on for a long time, both of them just holding each other in the corner of the room. Cal nearly fell asleep there until she shook herself and pulled back.

“Come on. Let’s not fall asleep standing up, yeah, love?”

When she pulled, though, Gillian fell against her, and suddenly they were close.

“Helen thought we were together,” Gillian whispered, and Cal could feel the breath in her words brush against her cheek.

“Is that what scared you off? The long haul comment was about that, specifically, and that was what made you pull back?”

“I was… nervous.”

Cal leaned in a little further, and her nose brushed against Gill’s cheek, and they both shivered. “What were you nervous about? Were you nervous about this?”

“Cal…”

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Gillian’s lips, and she lingered until they were properly kissing, both of them involved, both of them clinging and holding and desperate not to pull back. Eventually, though, they both needed more air, and they separated with their lips damp, reluctant to pull back completely.

“I’m afraid I’m going to fall asleep while I’m kissing you,” Gillian whispered, and Cal chuckled.

“Come on and let’s get settled in, then.”

They both got into the bed, first on separate sides, then slowly moving closer until they were curled up together.

“This has been a long time coming. For me,” Cal said. She felt the need to clarify, to let Gillian know that this was important.

“Me, too.”

The two of them exchanged a few more kisses and fell asleep together - and Cal didn’t think again about Martin or Helen or any of it. Even her sleep that night was blessedly nightmare-free.