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gyromitra-esculenta · 4 years

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Even If the Waters Rise 2/3

Shadowrun inspired Mermay part 2 out of 3 - this thing turned into a monster because this here is like 9k words. Also, contains anime fights, and too competent people. (Honestly, like 95% of teams I ran would fuck up this scenario spectacularly).

Also, warnings for the whole planned thing: blood, gore, and violence; cannibalism (human on metahuman); questionable jokes and questionable totem choices; ambiguous relationships; referenced limb loss/cybernetics/etc; mating cycles.

The whole inside of the sub stinks of the cigar smoke.

The ventilation system manages to get rid of the smoke itself, but the reek remains. Jack would call bullshit on Jesse's insistence it's a vital part of the ritual - the justification itself a steaming load of bullcrap.

Point is, even if he's pretty sure that's the fact, he won't, because he doesn't know enough about the subject to not make a fool out of himself. He finishes fitting the exo jacket and does a cursory check of its mobility and the armor plates layered over it.

The next is the pistol and the rifle, both at full capacity, unlikely he will end up needing another power unit for either of them. The hip pack holds eleven demo charges and the pad, Jack threads the cable with the plug under the armor and leaves it hanging for now.

"Much longer?"

"Nah, about finished," Jesse answers without opening his eyes and takes another deep drag of his cigar. Seeing this, Jack feels almost nauseated in his stead.

The visor clicks neatly into the sockets of the frame, integrated jack connecting immediately. He plugs the pad cable into the remaining port. The tactical overlay reloads, feeding him new data.

"Som, want to ride tonight?"

"No, thanks, I'll go through the tac, I have an idea what we'll find and I'd prefer not being flooded by your sensory output."

"I'm feeling a bit bloodthirsty, anyway."

"Don't you always." Sombra flashes his display in response. In time for Jesse to turn around in the chair as the coyote fades back into existence on the serape.

"And done. We're in the clear from this side. I have the entire array down to a pat."

"No good if anyone with a moderately adequate sense of smell can, and will, smell you downwind." Jack rolls his eyes while putting the face mask on.

"All part of the process."

"Sure. Not dragging your sorry ass back."

"Dude, it's going to be the other way around."

"Even if," Jack grabs the rim of the hatchway and pulls himself up, bracing against the railing and leaning back inside, "it will be your fault alone."

"There's a ladder for a reason, dude, you don't need to show off yet." Jesse hands him the drone he sets off flying right away. The thing veers away and gains the altitude with a subtle whizz of its rotors. Sombra will keep it at a distance until Jesse does his thing.

"See if I pull you up now. Genji?"

"Waiting for the signal." The reply comes on the spot, the voice metallic even through the comms.

Jack jumps off the sub, landing softly on the shore. The wall is at least four meters tall, four and twenty according to the display's measurements. His fingers dig into the concrete as he scales it - feels like nothing - the boots keep his feet anchored to the surface. On the top, he surveys the area. No-one is standing guard, probably too lazy and too comfortable with the alarms set up, the only thing to worry about another gang or triad wanting to move into their turf as unlikely as it would be considering the current power balance. But then, with the worth of one facility and the specialists in the trade involved, probably everyone gets a piece of this pie to not upset the supply chain.

Jack lets down the rope, waiting for Jesse to clip it to his harness before he pulls him up.

"You need some kind of diet."

"You're the only one complaining. There's just a lot of me to go around. Love handles are a thing, you know?" Jesse wheezes, finally joining him on the wall. "Thatta way," he points to the closest building. "Cover me while I negotiate."

"Don't die on the way."

"You're just jealous I got some healthy fat on me."

"The only person insisting it's sexy is your recurring ex, and that's because it gives you higher blood volume."

"Wait, dude, seriously?" Jesse looks up from the spot Jack let him down.

"No idea. I'm making it up as I go."

"Well, shit, you really had me consider dieting for a sec there."

"Should've kept the charade up." Jack lies down on his side at the top of the wall, the rifle held precariously with no additional support. Its matte coating disperses the light. "I have fov. Go."

"You expect me to run?" Jesse snarks holding down his hat - incidentally running - stopping a few steps from the building, more a shed than anything else.

"Kind of." Jack centers the reticle on him, noticing the coyote is gone, again. Which doesn't bode well. "Where's the friend?"

"Working, shush!"

Jesse plops down, cross-legged, the prosthetic hand in his lap, the other holding something close to his chest - probably one of his amulets - and Jack briefly entertains the thought of shooting the stupid hat off his head just to make a point. In truth, keeping half his attention on Jesse allows for a smooth feed of environmental data from the surroundings, and if anything goes wrong, though magic, the spirits usually go down well enough when treated with sufficient amounts of very mundane munitions. His are several grades above that.

"The fuck is it...?"

The spirit forming out of the wall in front of Jesse looks nothing like any other he had ever seen before, standing as tall as a troll, a mass of mangled flesh and fur sloughing off its skeletal frame in gag-inducing half-liquid scraps. The half of whatever is supposed to cover its maw is missing, showing off the strange shape of the skull and the frankly terrifying fangs from between which bubbling drool dangles.

It roars soundlessly and Jesse shudders, breaking the first amulet.

The spirit moves forward, sluggishly, against the invisible force pushing it back. Jack puts his finger on the trigger, wondering if he'll even notice the entire thing going south fast enough. If he doesn't, well, Jesse's in scalding water.

Jesse discards remnants of another focus.

The moment Jack's half a mind to light the ugly motherfucker up, a flash of grayish-brown jumps to the spirit's back. The coyote sinks its teeth into the spirit's nape and closes its jaws, twisting. Jack swears there's some kind of cracking sound that's not a sound at all. The rest of the rotting flesh dissipates and the bones burn before following suit.

"Okay, done," Jesse spits to the side, disgust clear in his tone. "All were bound to this one."

"Jesus. What was that?"

"Bad Ainu spirit, powerful," the answer is surprisingly somber. "Feral."

"Tells me nothing." Jack slips off the wall, the drone navigating overhead filling in the gaps in the tactical overlay with new data, finding and pinpointing heat signatures.

"Corrupted bear spirit, someone brought it inland. Nasty stuff, dude." Jesse pats the coyote. Predictably, it snaps at his hand, and he pulls it back with a quiet curse - staring the coyote down until it turns and walks away, unbothered. "Anyway, the one who set it up is gonna feel it, but the further away they are, finding out what that was will take longer."

"No change of movement patterns so far. Genji, take over 'Love Handles' here," Jack snickers at the indignant look Jesse directs at him. Genji confirms, his marker shifting on the display. "I'm moving along."

He follows by the wall, the sparse lamps providing enough contrast to shadow to have him blend with the surroundings. The complex itself - if it even could be called such - was not built with defensibility in mind, but rather adapted for the utility away from the prying eyes. It had to be a port before, maybe even a regular fishing dock, the layout betrays it with the repurposed boat sheds corroding in the sea air - the wall ending abruptly obviously there to protect from the wind and the waves coming in from the side.

Jack departs the relative safety of the wall towards two vehicles parked sideways in relation to the main building where the heat signatures congregate. One is an armored personnel transport, the escort most probably, the other a massive truck with a refrigerator. He takes two charges out of the hip pack and changes the frequency on both of them. The first one goes under the truck, just behind the join with the cabin, the second under the transport. All while keeping his attention on the lone signature exiting the building.

Jack clips the rifle to his back, focusing on the hostile. A smoke break, judging by the movements. Slowly shifting his weight, Jack moves into the position, tracking the motions of the enemy. The tac display flicks between the straight visual feed and the heat map.

Ten meters, turning away from him.

The smell on the air is stronger this close to the building; the mixture of the toxins in the blood is palatable on his tongue here, kicks off his fight-or-flight instinct and the adrenaline floods his system. And for Jack, it's always fight, never flight. The first limiter is off, an overkill, but he doesn't care.

He springs from behind the transport - jumping as the hostile is turning - left palm grabbing their forehead, right fist coming to stop in their nape with a crunch.

His feet hit the ground in front of them and he shoulders the weight, lowering the soon to be a corpse man down. The dropped cigarette still smokes. With a smile, Jack puts one explosive in front of the wildly moving eyes.

"Damn, that's cold even for you," Sombra whistles.

"I'm in a bit of a mood." Jack pulls the rifle into his hands and puts his back to the wall. "That's Arasaka gear."

"Adding their chatter to the monitored."

The display flickers, overlaying structural scan on the tac. Jack glances at the sky - the drone is nowhere to be seen. As it should be.

Genji and Jesse both catch up, sheltered by the vehicles.

"Genji, upper floor. 'Love Handles', find somewhere else, demos underneath."

"Where?" Jesse's heat signature unmistakably turns around with one arm outstretched.

"Go for the fridge. Two inside." Jack takes a deep breath and turns, walking inside with the rifle braced against his shoulder, trying to not be too quiet about it, as if he's the unlucky guy outside.

Five in the room past the corridor, visibly relaxed - four at the table, one lying down. Three on the level up.

"Genji."

The command is followed by a crash above and a scream. Jack falls into a crouch as soon as he gains the visual on the four hostiles turning to the metal staircase on the other side of the room.

The recoil on each shot is cushioned by the exo jacket. Mostly.

On the tac, the fifth one is scrambling in the corner to get up. One from the upper floor gets halfway down the stairs before Genji is on him, pushing him down to the ground, his katana sliding in easily at an angle between the shoulder blades. Jack rushes inside the room - flipping his own direction with a foot planted in the floor past the doorframe - the butt of the rifle slightly off balance as he fires. This one, he's going to feel in the morning.

The plasma projectile rips the meat off the target's throat.

Genji nods once, rising. He flicks the blood off the blade.

"See if you find any paper trail, I'm going..." There's the unmistakable sound of Jesse's revolver going off in the distance. Jack's not worried, not really, he had seen this thing vaporize someone's midriff once.

He shrugs and throws two charges at the opposite walls of the room, down to six now, and backtracks outside, leaving Genji to go through anything that may be in the open.

"Jesse?"

"One's inside."

"There's no-one inside."

Unless... The cold room. Someone went into the freezer. One big heatsink on the tac. Anyone outside would show.

Jesse is leaning against the corrugated metal, revolver in hand, few paces away from the body lying face-down - unarmored, precise shot to the back that blew out half of the chest on the way out, judging by the spray.

"Follow. Som, can you...?" Before he finishes, the drone does a dive fly-by by the entrance, returning to the sky after.

"Clear. Closed shut."

Jack shoulders the rifle. The smell of blood and meat is stronger here, will be worse inside - something about it always sets him off. The building's layout is as simple as it gets: built around the freezer block with a small makeshift separate space to the side to provide for temporary living arrangements.

"Jesse, check it out." Jack walks to the freezer's door. The lock panel shines with glaring red. He moves aside to let the drone pass - unholsters the pistol as Sombra connects to the door's interface. They open with a quiet hiss, expelling clouds of frigid air.

The smell is horrible, hooks into his brain. The urge to kill something - someone - anything - is unequivocal.

"Clear."

Jack rounds the doorframe, pistol at the ready. Rows of tables, singular iceboxes, all the equipment needed for the processing.

"At least a dozen..." The tails being bled in the beginning stage hang from the ceiling in the back. One sways minisculely. "Fifteen."

With deliberate slowness, Jack makes his way towards it - focused on the back area, cursorily glancing at the compact cooling units - nothing unexpected: hands, organs, two heads probably to be sold as centerpieces, all partially treated already.

"Found you."

A bit of a shoe is poking from behind one table. He smiles. The man flinches with his whole body when he sees him. Any other place, any other situation, Jack would consider him a non-combatant unless otherwise provoked into action. But here, surrounded by all the evidence...

He wants - needs - to kill something.

He barely listens to the jumble of the language he doesn't understand, could ask Sombra for a precise translation, but he doesn't care. She provides some, anyway.

"Says they were forced to."

"He's lying."

"No shit," Sombra chuckles.

For a brief moment, Jack considers his options. In the end, he pulls the trigger. The pistol has a substantially lower yield than the rifle - it still very well could dislocate the joints of someone unaugmented - and a limited use against heavily armored targets. Against anyone unarmored, it kills as well as anything else, leaving behind burnt gore.

The smell of seared meat, keratin, and fat does nothing to hide the odor of the toxins from the remains of dead mermaids.

"We have a transport incoming," Sombra pulls the drone from the freezer. "Nine minutes for a clear exit."

"Jesse, Genji, grab what you have and clear out." Jack listens for the confirmations while deploying the remaining charges inside the cold room. He wants everything in here vaporized, with no exceptions.

"Five minutes."

"I know, Som, you put the clock on the tac."

When outside, Jack breaks into a sprint - there isn't a reason to hurry that much but the exertion helps to work the adrenaline out and push the smell from his lungs. He scales the wall and jumps over it.

"Three minutes," Sombra speaks, the tone making him think she might be working now on her nails - ridiculous, but he can't help a chuckle at the image it provokes.

"I know." Jack pauses on the top of the sub to grab the drone and pass it below before he slides inside into his chair. He puts the rifle braced between his legs and sinks forward, bending his knees. "Floor it, 'Love Handles'."

Jesse does, muttering something along the lines 'I see this is what we're doing now' as Jack digs the pad from the pouch - waits a moment before keying in the frequency. The sub shudders, punched by the crump following the demo charges going off on the surface, and just like this, it's time to crash.

"It all reeks of your shit cigars."

Jack does a double-take, looking above the back of his chair at Genji sprawled over the boxes. Genji, who shouldn't be here with them.

"It's good tobacco and they're expensive!"

"I'm bred and born Yakuza, I know my quality drugs."

"Genji," Jack begins carefully, "You left your ride there?"

"No. I walked."

"You... what?"

"Walked."

It's beyond ridiculous.

"How...?"

"Thirty-two hours, to be exact," Genji interrupts the question Jack's been formulating. "A pleasant hike."

Jack decides he's not going to question it anymore. The only downside is he will have to listen to them bicker about meaningless drivel for hours. The other hindrance being the obvious fact he has to peel the armor and the exo off in the front instead of in the back, behind the seats. He manages.

The third unobvious drawback: with three people more-or-less breathing, the temperature rises to levels comparable with a sauna.

State-of-the-art, his ass.

The riveting bickering Jack can tune out as the combat high fades and his system goes into the post-adrenaline crash, leaving him slightly shaking and nauseous - tired and heavy - drifting in and out of bouts of light sleep. When they finally arrive, both he and Jesse look like boiled rats while Genji is no worse for the wear.

It makes Jack think how much - and if anything - is left of Genji himself, with the work he had done on him easily exceeding whatever Jack had, and Jack himself is teetering on the edge. And if Genji runs off a BTL, it's not his fucking business, so he had never asked, and neither had he asked about why - and how - nothing past the part of his head and the upper chest buried in the metal remains. They aren't both that much different, after all.

But that aside, he has about enough energy left in him to slap McCree's stomach flab - ignoring the smirking 'you're only doing it 'cos you're green with envy' comment as it wobbles - and stumble to the temporary bunk, burying himself under the flimsy covers. If anyone's going to bitch about him not helping with the unloading, they can bitch about it later, preferably tomorrow, and, anyway, he's been the one doing most of the work, so they can suck it.

He wakes up too cold, with the shoulder bruised and giving him hell.

Going by the light, it's late afternoon. His gear is laid out on the tables, as is the carry-on he had left before the departure. Jack considers a swim against Jesse's earlier advice, but a spiny back that flashes him in the distance finally dissuades him from the idea. Pity. Quick shower it is.

The rest of the evening he spends putting away the equipment back in the containers first, later scanning the data for Sombra while eating.

"The security was lazy and too lax, they had to have been operating there long enough to grow complacent."

"I'm not so sure about it. From what I've seen," Sombra murmurs, "they might have bet too much on the magic, it was good."

"According to Jesse." Jack pauses with the fork full of the awful reheated mush when she ‘ohs’ suddenly. "What?"

"I think we've hit the jackpot."

"Elaborate?"

"With a bit of luck and time, with this info, I think I might be able to pinpoint the fleet that has been supplying this plant, among the others. We hadn't found one of those in two years."

"Full-on naval run? Fun."

"Trying to appear disinterested? I know you secretly got a boner."

"You know me so well," Jack laughs. "By the way, where are you now?"

"Frisco. You'd like it here, half the time feels like you're breathing water because of the fog."

"My kind of city."

"The views aren't bad either. Have fun tonight once in your life, okay?"

"Why would I...?"

"Trust me."

Her thoughts fade, leaving him perplexed as to their meaning. At least until Jesse barges in some fifteen minutes later.

"We're going drinking, dude, and I don't take no for an answer."

"No."

"Oh, c'mon, dude, it will do you good."

And, frankly, Jack does not understand how Jesse manages to talk him into it - the word 'chaperone' might have been mentioned in the passing - but after two drinks and an hour or so on the dance floor, he does feel relaxed and wired at the same time as he navigates back to the bar. Genji is still nursing the same scotch, slightly emptier than before. Probably that one glass is enough to keep him buzzed for the duration of the entire night, what with the amount of the actual blood he has in his system. Jesse and Lucio are talking animatedly. Jack takes the free stool and flips through the pages of the price-list built into the bar, stopping on the more interesting cocktails.

"Bloody Mary. The other menu."

The bartender looks at him quizzically.

"You don't look like one to enjoy the more sophisticated drinks."

A rather quirky and unfitting word to describe what is basically a cocktail catering to vampires that are apparently a welcome clientele in the club.

"Hey, dude, JJ, he's a freak," Jesse yells from the side over the music, "but he's our freak, so give him what he wants, would you, dude?"

It turns out to be watered down blood with hardly any trace of alcohol in it and a celery stalk thrown in, served in a wine glass with some damn goofy bats on it. Way to stay inconspicuous - Jack snorts before taking another sip, surprised at how agreeable the concoction is. The flavor spills on his tongue and teases the sense of smell, not quite there yet, has him drink the rest of it in one go as he chases after the climax of the taste, and leaves him waiting on the last drops. Licking his lips with a sigh, Jack places the glass back on the bar counter.

Only now he notices the place next to him has been taken in the meantime.

"The same, again, JJ." The man has a deep voice and an eye-catching cybernetic, high grade. Definitely a designer shell on it built for aesthetic value.

"Change the water for ninety-proof, would you?" Jack nods at the bartender. The alcohol adds a layer to the impression, biting where the taste of blood fades. Jack shifts his attention back to the man, and the suits lounging nearby. They fit in the awkward way any corpo rat in a place like this would, if not for their attentiveness. "Counting on something, rich boy?"

Metal fingers grip his jaw, turning his head to the side, put the pressure in, the grab far too familiar in how it applies the force to the bone.

"Those are some fine cock-sucking lips, pity for them to go to waste."

As his eyes drift lower and stop at the rich boy's crotch, Jack catches himself on the fact he's considering it. But the thing is, nobody touches him like they own him, except for Gabriel - because Gabriel does own him. There's something vicious and cruel winding up in him.

"Say what, rich boy, you beat me," Jack flicks his eyes visibly towards the stage, "you get them."

"Even better without the teeth," the rich boy laughs, nodding to the bartender, and the hand is off. Oh, it's a risk Jack's willing to take because there's a point to be made.

"Put it on the ice." He gestures to the drink and hops off the stool, moving towards the stage without looking back, knowing he's being followed. The lights and the music change, people knowing the club's gimmick move back from the marked spot and pull the stragglers with them.

Jack jumps over the rising waist-high barrier and stops slightly off the middle of the ring. He turns around and rolls his shoulders, the right still sore and hurting. Somehow, Lucio is already on the stage chatting up the DJ. The rich boy gets right in his face. Smirking.

"Your bitch ass is mine."

"Sure."

All the lights not focused on the ring and the stage go out.

Jack dives under the first swing. The second one he sidesteps, it's his turn to smirk as he judges the technique and the speed, the coiled spring in him ready to snap. There’s momentum behind the punches, but the speed and the precision are lacking. The footwork is not especially good, either, but the rich boy might feel cocksure because the pure mass and strength probably won him some scuffles, not to mention the monkeys at his heel. To pass the real judgment, though, he does have to get hit.

Jack fumbles partially the next dodge, the fist connecting with his face carries a surprising amount of force behind it even as he's moving away from it - the hand is not only for show, it seems - the second jab comes abruptly. As he hits the floor, the thought he's not the only one to con this fight is unexpectedly exhilarating.

Goddamn fucking McCree screams 'five hundred on the blondie' from the side.

Jack rolls away from the punch that leaves a dent in the spot he had occupied a moment earlier. He pivots on the ball of his hand evading the following hit and jumps to his feet. This would do some serious damage. The stakes just got higher.

Jack licks the blood off his lips, the taste now undiluted, coppery, wipes the rest of it with the back of his hand, smearing it and smiling widely.

"That one's a freebie, enjoy it while it lasts."

The punches come reliably in pairs, the cybernetic hand is favored over anything else, probably at the cost of other techniques.

The coiled spring snaps, and Jack goes into the offensive, dancing out of the way and turning. The first punch misses him completely, the second one catches the sleeve of his jacket as he puts his elbow with the added momentum of the movement below the joint - skirting under the other hand immediately to find himself at the rich boy's back. He plants a foot on his ass and pushes, sending him tumbling to the ground. The surprised look of someone who just realized they bit off more than they can handle is a cherry on the top of the fucking cake.

Jack, swaying to the rhythm of the music, waits for him to get up. The flash of anger - closer to rage - at the obvious disrespect fuels his interest in the fight. He baits the guy two or three times - gets away in the last moment driving home the point he's untouchable until he allows it - watching the rich boy’s coordination and control go to shit.

It's a dangerous kind of game, pushing the opponent until they feel cornered and lash out, but the rush makes up for it.

Jack meets the rich boy in the middle as he changes his approach from evasion to the offense; goes for a quick jab below the ribs followed by a hit below the jaw. He deflects the grab aimed at his head - the fingers close around his forearm - he drags the hand holding him in front of the rich boy's chest while turning on his left foot and throws his other leg up in with a half-turn - hooking the ankle behind the man's neck.

Then, he brings his leg down with force, noting, again, the sheer surprise on that face - the grip on his arm seizing and taking with it the sleeve of his jacket and leaving the synthskin under it scraped by the fabric.

Jack puts the knee in the rich boy's nape as he lies. With the cybernetic trapped under him and his left arm twisted, he is in no position to try anything, especially when Jack adds more pressure to the wrist. He leans down, chuckling, bringing his lips closer to the man's ear.

"Who's the bitch now?"

He gives the arm another cautionary shake before he jumps off the rich boy's back and leaves the ring. At least, compliments due where they are, he knows when he's beaten and doesn't follow to make a scene.

Back at the bar, with Lucio fretting over his face, Jack finishes his drink. Genji is already gone, and Jesse’s nowhere to be seen - until Jack catches the sight of him leaving the club with a bob of white hair on his shoulder. Fucking moron. If Jesse turns up later as a vampire or a desiccated corpse lying in some ditch, it's not Jack's problem anymore.

He hisses briefly as Lucio sets his nose proper and dabs it one last time with a tissue for good measure before making his way back to the stage. Time to get going, he can feel the interest of the spectators in him growing. Jack waves the bracelet at the reader. It blinks red. His tab is paid.

Maybe Jesse, with the money he made off him.

Outside the club, Jack briefly considers catching a cab before his eyes land on the luxury car one of the suits from before is leaning against.

Fuck it.

It's the night of poor decisions all around, Jack thinks as he strides towards it.

"Move," he barks at the monkey, not waiting for the tensing man to comply before he opens the side door looking inside. The rich boy puts away his phone and the other suit aims at Jack's head with the handgun. "Send the monkeys away, or have them sit in the front."

Their displeasure is visible and only serves to heighten Jack's amusement, more so when the rich boy nods. He gets in, gives the approximate address of the dock, and the car starts rolling down the street to join in with the traffic.

"One rule. You touch me only when I tell you to."

He makes quick work of rich boy's pants and grips the already half-hard length in his hand - looking up with a clear warning on his face before he goes down on him, feeling the cock properly fill out and become rigid between his lips. Makes sure his teeth scrape against the skin. He pulls away when the hips under his palm start to jerk with the motions and swats with a warning growl at the hand reaching to hold him in place.

Still kneeling on the floor, Jack strips out of both the jacket and the shirt underneath in one go, throws them to the side. Unbuckling his belt, Jack moves to the opposite seats, braces against the back, and looks over his shoulder.

"Need a special invitation?"

The inside of the car is too small for anything like this - for both of them - Jack delights in how it puts the rich boy in an awkward position. A moment later, he has his face pushed into leather and a hand fumbles with his pants. He hisses first at the burn, the cramping pain deep inside rips an aborted whine out of him - cold metal planted between his shoulder blades keeps him down, not that he minds.

Jack’s fingers rip up the upholstery.

Greedy and selfish, it's what the rich boy is, as is Gabriel himself, but how the same quality differs so intricately between the two of them is something illuminating in its simplicity.

The rich boy takes and tries to assert his dominance when he has none, whereas Gabriel knows Jack belongs to him and Jack knows back he himself is, in a way, his prized property to be taken care of - the bullet to be fired at whatever Gabriel wishes him to destroy.

The sex is barely satisfying and ends too soon with the rich boy falling against his back - Jack shoves him off unceremoniously and tucks himself back into the pants - but it manages to scratch the itch he didn't even know simmered under his skin for the whole evening.

"Save it," Jack nips in the bud whatever the rich boy wants to say as he gathers his clothes from the floor. "No matter what mommy and daddy let you play with, you can't afford me."

He puts the period on it with a slam of the door behind himself.

The lone security guard at the gate with maybe a tad too secretly amused expression on her face buzzes him in. Jack doesn't worry about giving out the location, no-one with any sense tries to get too deep into the seaside properties, and tomorrow he's gone from here, anyway.

In the morning, flowers wait for him at the gatehouse: a basket overflowing with white, gold, yellow, and blue. The card attached holds an unsigned phone number. He pockets it.

"Keep the flowers."

"What am I supposed to do with them?" The guard sounds offended, her face scrunched in something between offended and bewildered.

"Eat them?"

"You don't eat flowers."

"Artichokes?"

"That's one flower, and it's green."

"Fair. Leave them, throw them out, I don't care."

"The basket's nice, don't want it?" The guard leans on her elbows, thinking. Jack lifts his carry-on up for her to see.

"That's all I travel with."

He leaves her still pondering the flowers to catch his train moving inland - a first-class ticket and the whole compartment to himself, all booked by Sombra. Sometimes Jack wonders if she ever sleeps.

The itch is back with a vengeance, and he taps an anxious rhythm into his knee. An hour before his stop he realizes it's another episode coming, the prickling shifting deep into the bones, yet on the verge of becoming an outright ache above the everyday static of pain he can keep under the edge of his awareness. Just his fucking luck.

Until now, it's been possible to navigate around the days he got reduced to jittery nauseated mess hardly capable of logical thought and any movement besides dragging himself to the bathroom, maybe back if he didn't collapse on the way.

Keeping from lashing out is taxing.

It disconcerts Jack more Gabriel will witness him in this sorry state than Gabriel seeing the bruises and other marks left by someone else on his body - at least on parts that were still his body and not artificial filling for what he had lost. The need to back out of the earlier-than-usual meetup and the sudden surreal hope that maybe Gabriel will fuck him through it contradict - he doesn't even know if either is a viable option, each for a set of different reasons.

He's paler than normal when he steps off the train.

By the time he reaches the hotel he's sweating and breathing shallow, the pain in the imaginary joints rising well above the threshold and crashing in waves rolling over to his chest and stomach. His fingers swipe over the keyboard, too uncoordinated - sending the customary text. Getting the reply only acts to exacerbate his anxiety and question the reason to arrive. The hesitation proves to have substance when he notices two suits standing guard in front of the door, an ork and a bluish-skinned elf.

"She's waiting for you," the elf addresses him.

Against his better judgment, Jack enters the suite, ready for... For what, he has no idea, just hopes his clenched jaw radiates apprehension rather than anything else - a tall order, he knows.

'She' gets off the sofa with a strange flowing quality, at least Jack suspects so. The wide-brimmed hat decorated with dark fabric shaped into flowers hides her frame behind a veritable veil of darkness from behind which only two glowing mismatched eyes are visible.

"Gabriel can't make it." The voice is without a doubt feminine. She circles him once, observing him like some exhibit on a display. Jack feels anger floating to the surface at the unwelcome scrutiny he's subjected to. "Fascinating," is the ending conclusion. The gloved hand emerges from the curtain of darkness holding a familiar object.

A pillbox.

"This is a new formula that should be more effective in treating your unique condition, you should start administering it immediately." Her tone is flippant and uncaring. "I am told you are careless with taking the medication as recommended."

Jack grabs the box from her hand; the gloved finger his hand brushed against is either ended in an elaborate manicure, or tipped with a claw.

"I don't see how's that any of your business."

"I am, after all, the one manufacturing it. I would hate to see my work go to waste."

Without another word, covered by her own bubble of darkness, she glides to the door, leaving Jack alone and glaring at the pills.

The temptation is there, enticing and futile. He made the mistake once, he's not going to repeat it.

The first time, popping the pills one after another for a brief relief from the hurt: the few seconds of bliss when nothing ached forgotten immediately after when the pain slammed back into him without warning - screaming in frustration when there were no more left to take. The first time was the worst, the rest he just suffered through.

His fingers shake when he sets the pillbox down on the table - the dancing twitches playing off the connected nerves sending out random signals in confusion.

Jack stumbles to the bathroom and sinks to his knees. Forehead resting on the cool raised edge of the tub - terrifyingly conscious of every single inhale and exhale - skin clammy and cold and hot. Slowly, he sets the parameters, stopping each time he has to swallow the tasteless saliva gathering in his mouth.

He almost gives up twice: once before finishing the setup, the second time as he's trying to undress himself - the drive to just curl up on the floor barely losing to the prospect of some relief.

Sitting on the rim with his feet submerged in the water, Jack plugs into the pad.

"Som?" He reaches out after wrestling his thoughts under some semblance of control. When she nods back, he concentrates on the memory. "I want to show you something."

She pulls it up and watches while Jack smiles, feeling the wave of emotions and sensations wash over him. The dragon glides in the water again.

"Wow. That's why you purged the drives?"

For a moment, he loses track of his thoughts.

"Yeah."

"You sound strange, I know Gabe couldn't..." There's a shift in her voice and her distress banishes the rest of Jack's control sending it spiraling as he clenches his jaw. "Your cortisol levels are off the charts, as well as... Why didn't you tell me you're in so much pain, I'm sending something right..."

"No!" Jack interrupts her, too sharp and sudden. "No," he repeats after a deep breath. "It's normal. I just have to... It won't help."

"Jack."

"It happens. Flare-up. It will pass. Just... could you loop it for me? The dragon?"

Sombra stays silent for seconds ticking away before the scene plays out again in his mind.

"It will stop when you unjack."

"Thanks, Som. I mean it."

"I know. Fuck. This isn't right. I'll work on it."

"It's okay," Jack slips into the water, the momentary temperature shock providing a short respite before the nerve endings become accustomed. "You did what you could."

"Hang in there."

"Thanks."

He sinks to the bottom.

Arms wrapped around knees, Jack lets his mind flow with the memory. Under the surface, shortness of his breath makes no difference and the saltiness of the water flushes away the horrid taste in his mouth. Almost enough to keep thoughts from forming- coast over the waves of pain. Between this, and the moments he relives, time becomes meaningless, counted only by the steady movement of his chest.

The sensation that shouldn't be there sends him spiraling into confusion and panic - a brush against his back becoming a grab - breaking the layer - drowning.

While trying to fight off whatever - whoever - it is, and coughing out the water, his hand catches on the cable and rips the plug out. Only when something puts pressure on the bone below the hinges of his jaw, Jack realizes he's lying down and grabs at the arm holding him.

"Stop struggling."

The voice and the command register slowly, and when they do, he lets his palms fall away from Gabriel's hand. His head is turned to the side and the vertigo of the renewed connection provokes another wave of nausea Jack protests with a whine.

"How many times?"

He has to hear it twice with the fingers digging into the vulnerable points of the bone emphasizing the words for the question to parse.

"Eight... ten?" Jack licks his suddenly dry lips, tracking with his eyes the syringe Gabriel holds with his other hand. "..'s not going to help."

He had not needed to talk during any of the previous episodes and he winces hearing his own slurred words, more than he does at the prick of the needle and the numbing cold propelled by blood crawling from the injection site in his neck. The freezing pain is almost the polar opposite of the sensations thus far - he panics, again, trying to fight off the unmoving hand until the ice sinks its teeth deep into the marrow and shoots through his brain as he jolts on the bed with a scream before he blacks out.

When Jack comes to, the light is too bright, the contrasts too strong, and it floods his vision even through the clenched shut eyelids. He's hot, far too hot, the back of his head is damp - warm hair sticking to his neck, slicked to his forehead and temples with sweat. What is worse, whatever he's lying on - and under - is coarse and abrasive, even the minimal friction caused by his chest rising and falling with each breath is nigh unbearable.

Moving his arms proves to be an exercise in futility with how sluggish and weak they feel. Through the cotton fog swirling in his mind Jack wonders about the malfunction - how much the limbs are fucked if they refuse to cooperate with the nerves, the intent itself should be enough to prompt the action - or is it him who's fucked with the neural pathways misfiring.

He manages to kick the sheet down, it's enough to get it past the hips. The synthskin's not reacting to whatever's going on – otherwise, he'd go crazy from this. The cool touch on his stomach makes Jack jump in place and groan as the surprise forces his eyes open.

Unsticking the tongue from the roof of his mouth requires some work.

"Why are you here?" Is what Jack intends to say. What makes it out instead is garbled and croaking.

"You were experiencing a toxic hormone buildup," Gabriel replies like that's the answer to his question.

"...what was?"

"Artificial hormones to counteract, and stabilizers."

"Huh?" It's even harder to focus with the fingers gliding in slow circles over his skin - soothing - almost enough to forget the discomfort. "Would pass, normal."

There's no response, of course. Jack licks his lips. The points where Gabriel put the pressure when he held him down still hurt. Funny how he can recall only one other time something like this has happened.

He had his arm blown off and caught several slugs with his side. It had been his own fault, probably, and Gabriel had a discernible aura of anger and irritation to him when reaching for the hand and lifting the shirt to check on the stitched injuries. And being manhandled like this didn't sit well with Jack, yet. Ended with him pressed against the wall, Gabriel's hand on his throat - fingers digging into the bone and his knees going weak - and mind-blowing sex. The first fuck of his new life, and no questions asked.

"We could talk?" Jack suggests, finally able to see in the dimming light. "Don't think... I'll remember it, anyway," he adds when it obviously falls on deaf ears, but Gabriel's always like this, this being this, no explanations, no nothing. It bothers him now, surprisingly, between feeling like a wet cloth, the fuzz, and Gabriel's aloofness.

Eerily, brings up the same mean streak as before.

"Did you... you and him, did you fuck?"

The thing about Gabriel is, he never lies. Just doesn't answer if it's inconvenient. The palm lying flat on his stomach, now motionless, gives merit to the question one way or the other.

"We had... a relationship, of sorts."

But Jack gets his answer and it fucking hurts to hear Gabriel say it. Must be the hormones. The curiosity, too, because for years he had managed to not give a fuck about it all until now.

"What was he like?"

The chuckle has him turning his head to confirm its actuality - the plug catches on the cloth - he's still jacked in. The cool air on his wet hair sends shivers down his spine as Gabriel puts away a book, a paper one, to help him move to rest on his side.

With the bent arm trapped underneath, it's almost bearable. The pillow remains damp and warm.

"Impudent and fearless, the two definite qualities of his."

"Got it. Stupid and bitchy." The irony of basically badmouthing himself does not escape Jack. "Sounds like someone I know."

"Does it, now?"

"He's dead," Jack blurts out, the words following thoughts without a moment's hesitation, tumbling out one after another with no consideration. "I'm the one in here. If he comes back, it's not going to be him."

Gabriel tips his chin up with his thumb.

"Impudent and fearless, and so very clever, too clever for his own good. At least, with you, I can hold a conversation."

It's Jack's turn to chuckle.

"You could. If you ever talked to me. You're only talking to me because I won't remember it, remember? That's what you think."

"Probably."

"That's. Fucking. Cruel."

"Or maybe because you are asking now."

"I don't ask because you never tell me shit." Jack's sure his weepy frustration - and the emotions all over the place - can be easily read in his voice. "Who was he to you, anyway?"

He's steeling for the punch when Gabriel appears to be mulling the question over in his mind, his thumb tracing Jack's lower lip.

"Someone special." It hurts. He should fucking stop doing it to himself. "And, so are you. Both alike, yet unique in ways you could never comprehend."

"Maybe I could. But you won't tell me."

"No." The finger leaves his lips and travels down along his throat, past the dip between the collarbones.

"See. Herein," Jack laughs at the word, giving in to the fog, lightheaded as if drunk, "lies the problem. You never tell me shit."

"It is for your own good."

"Bullshit. You don't want to deal with the fallout, do you?" The last part barely makes it out of his mouth before Jack flinches at the touch with a high-pitched inhale cutting off anything else he wants to say. Fuck. That's one way to end the conversation. He's really fucked up if he didn't notice he's fucking hard since some point in time - and Gabriel is taking his sweet time too, teasing with his hand - it's not enough, and Jack reaches out to pull him closer barely registering his limbs finally cooperate with him. "Fuck. Don't... please."

He's choking up on words. Gabriel shifts to lean over him, continuing the deliberate motions with no intention of letting him finish, and his desperation is growing, punctuated by small sounds of distress slipping out as Jack digs his fingers into his back. The sensation of being filled arches his spine - it doesn't feel right - not wrong - just not right - but he clings to it with a needy whine and jerking hips - trying to pull the body above him closer, giving up any kind of control in lieu of chasing the denied pleasure.

The first rolling wave has him biting on the fingers between his teeth - toe-curling as it spills down the phantom nerves and runs back - still not enough, and he pleads with the whole of himself for release only to be rebuked with Gabriel's voice in his ear leading him through it. Again and again - until he's a crying mess gasping for breath and begging for Gabriel's mercy - and when it is granted, he's unprepared: coming with a soundless scream caught in his throat and his back taunt like whipcord before sinking under the surface into the depths.

Pliant, shaky, and raw, is how Jack feels waking up tangled in sheets; still too warm but not burning hot anymore, sticky with old perspiration and damp with fresh sweat. Alarmingly... lucid. The light speaks of early morning, or that peculiar breaking moment of the evening. Either way, it no longer pains his eyes.

The itch in his bones lingers, but gone is the urgency - and the memory of yesterday redefines his concept of mind-blowing.

Parched, Jack sits up looking around - feels his heart fall before he spies Gabriel sitting on the covered balcony, working, as usual, judging by the screens surrounding him, but Jack will count his blessings because Gabriel wasn't even supposed to be here according to that woman that has his skin crawling even now when he thinks about her.

He slips out of the bed, standing on wobbly legs.

The sheet feels too coarse around his waist and he discards it, walking the rest of the way naked. The artificial breeze feels wonderful on his skin. Jack halts in front of Gabriel - trying to grasp the vague recollection of... actually having a conversation with him.

"We talked," he blurts out at the questioning gaze of black and red eyes, surprised. "Yesterday."

"Yes." Gabriel holds out his hand in an invitation to him.

"What did we talk about? Was it important?" He waits for a rebuttal and laughs when Gabriel remains silent, puts his palm in Gabriel's waiting hand, and lets himself be pulled to sit on his lap, conscious in an instant of the fact he's ruining one of those ridiculously expensive suits just by touching it. "It was important. But you won’t tell me what it was, will you?"

"No."

There's a glass pressed to his lips and Jack eagerly drinks the water in big thirsty gulps, some of it dripping down his chin; he stops Gabriel from taking it away before he finishes all of it, and then just leans against him with his cheek cradled to his neck. He winces at fleeting nausea when Gabriel plugs his jack in, but, even so, the mood settles soon into comfortable silence - and he had learned to treasure those rare quiet moments with Gabriel. There's just something bothering him, more humorous than anything else.

"You know," Jack finally gives voice to it, "I'm willing to bet my meager possessions you actually knocked me out with an orgasm."

"You would lose them in the wager."

"Oh. Fuck. I was being only half-serious."

"You should be 'half-serious' about your health."

Straight to what Gabriel considers being the issue.

"It has always passed before, so that's..."

"Then you would notice those 'episodes' of yours are regular and take place approximately every five months."

Jack winces at the unusually irate note in Gabriel's voice.

"They do?"

He feels that sigh with his entire body.

"At the moment, the foremost concern is finding an adequate formula to mitigate the unaccounted symptoms. You will sign in with Sombra every day so she can gather current metrics."

"If it happens in five..."

"I accept no objections.”

Jack turns his head so he can look over the screens in the air - most of them blurred with personal encryption, and probably nothing he would even understand - but he notices one static picture with live readable feed and his stomach plummets for a second.

The perfect explanation for Gabriel's general disposition.

The rich boy.

And Jack has to breach the subject, somehow. Because Gabriel won't. He shifts and points to the holoscreen in question.

"Are you... Are you angry about it?"

"I am irritated by your negligence."

"And this?"

"It is of no consequence. It's understandable," Gabriel continues without missing a beat, "that you would find other sexual partners."

The dismissal should put him at ease, not threaten him with the inexplicable urge to cry.

"Tell me I'm not allowed to."

"Would that change anything?"

"If you tell me I'm not allowed to," Jack pushes his face into the crook of Gabriel's neck in some form of trying to hide away from the tumultuous swirl of emotions it brings up, "then I won't. Please, tell me I'm not allowed to."

Fucking pathetic for a grown man, to fight against tears and fail, but it's what happens when Gabriel remains silent on the subject, and Jack tangles his fingers in black fabric, the stifled sobs raising in force. Fucking pathetic, losing it over a thing he always knew. And fuck hormones for making him feel shit - now he would take the pain over this complete mess. And fuck Sombra for telling Gabriel on him.

And, honestly, fuck himself for harboring some kind of misguided hope against any logical rationale, Jack notes with the angry spite. Angry is often better, but now, it's not helping at all. It only makes matters worse.

Slowly, he drifts off into a fitful sleep, waking only when carried: by his own hand slipping loose off his lap. Gabriel lowers him into the water, the temperature slightly higher than his usual.

"There are other matters I have to attend to." The words are accompanied by the palm lingering on his cheek and the thumb tracing the arch of the bone before Gabriel moves away. Jack waits for the sound of the doors closing behind him. He's just tired as he sinks below the surface.

What the fuck is even his life?

#sometimes I write #r76 #reaper76 #jackande #mermay #doom76

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panda-noosh · 6 years

Text

Secret Santa {Matt x Reader}

Words: 4.3k

Summary: In which Matt is your Secret Santa, and he has the perfect idea for a gift.

Genre: fluff

Notes: masterlist

+++

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

“Let me see that.”

Before Matt could reply, Pidge had snatched the sheet of paper from his hand and was already reading the contents - the contents which had made Matt’s stomach flip upside down with nerves.

It wasn’t a big deal. He knew it wasn’t a big deal, because this was something that everybody was doing. Secret Santa was a store tradition, and Matt had participated in it every single year since he had signed on with the clothes shop he currently worked at.

But god, how was he meant to buy something for you?

Just the thought had his head reeling with stress. Once upon a time, he was the best at Secret Santa. Anybody was lucky to have him, as he truly did go all out to buy things that the person would like.

But now, looking over Pidge’s shoulder, rereading your name which was lazily scrawled on the piece of paper, Matt’s mind went completely blank. There was a level of pressure buying for the person you’ve been head over heels for for nearly three years.

“Surely you’re not freaking out over this,” Pidge said suddenly.

Matt’s eyes snapped up, startled. “What do you mean? Of course I am.”

Pidge scoffed, shoving the piece of paper back into Matt’s hand before leaning casually back in her seat. “You’re being ridiculous. You and Y/N have been best friends for ages now - you should know what they like.”

Matt blanked. That was a mighty fine point, and one he hadn’t thought about. Because of course he knew what you liked - you liked music, liked reading books on your break, liked Gummy Bears and white jelly beans. You liked having bath bombs every now and then, a face mask every once in a while to relax with.

And yet going through your list of hobbies and interests was not helping Matt in the slightest.

“I can’t just get them something boring,” he grumbled, sitting down on the chair beside Pidge. She creaked a single eye open and regarded him. He could feel the judgement coming off of her - she knew of his crush, knew of his feelings towards you because how on earth was he meant to hide them from the one person who could read him like a book? It wasn’t possible.

“You’re not gonna get them an engagement ring or anything like that, are you?” she asked.

Matt flushed. “No. But I want to get them something special.”

“You’ve never thought this hard about a Secret Santa gift before.”

“You wanna guess why?”

Pidge frowned, but placed a small and gentle hand on his arm anyway; she understood. He knew she did. She had seen him fluster over you for years now, seen him fall deeper into the trap that had been set from the moment he first stepped through those doors with his CV and his National Security number in his hand.

He would think about it for a little while longer. Perhaps a good nights rest would bring him a good idea - at this point, he could only hope.

+++

He inhaled sharply - you were working today?

He tried to recall the rota that had been hung upon the wall the previous week - his name had certainly been on it too many times for him to count, but he had only seen your name sprawled upon the sheet a few times throughout the week. Long shifts, but less days. That was how your schedule was going.

And yet here you were, on this frosty Monday morning with your hair tangled in a set of Christmas lights, balancing on the top rung of a ladder as you tried to remove them from your ponytail.

“Oh my god,” you groaned in frustration, snapping Matt out of the stupor he had fallen into upon sight of you. “Can somebody help me?”

Matt was immediately bolting upright, straightening up his Christmas jumper and rushing towards you. “Here, here. You shouldn’t be up there like that.”

You looked down, clearly startled that somebody had genuinely heard you - it was still a few hours before opening, meaning nobody else was actually present. You had clearly requested help without actually meaning to acquire said help.

Nonetheless, Matt was by your side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on your hip and guiding you down the ladder with as much care and ease as he could with how his hands were trembling. They flinched away from your hip bone as if somehow touching you there was taboo.

“Oh, Matt,” you said once you were finally back on the floor. “I didn’t know you were in today.”

“I didn’t know you were in today,” he replied, before nodding to the mess of Christmas lights still tangled in your hair. “Uh... What were you doing, exactly?”

You flushed, reaching up and tugging at the tangle. “The boss asked me to hang some more Christmas lights up above the bookshelves. I thought I’d get it done early, but apparently it’s not a one person job.” You smiled sheepishly, finally managing to pull the lights from your hair. “I must look like a right idiot.”

“No!” The word shot from Matt’s mouth before he could think better of it. He flushed immediately, looking away from you before he could be subjected to the startled expression that overtook your features.

He coughed awkwardly and shook his head, trying to soften his own insistence. “No. No, you didn’t. I can do the lights if you want?”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure? You have to open the shop today, right? I don’t want this cutting into your break time or anything.”

Matt shook his head dismissively, already grabbing the string of lights from your hands. You watched him - he knew you were. He could feel your gaze burning holes into the back of his head as he climbed up the ladder and started hastily pinning the Christmas lights to the bookshelves.

The silence was crushing. It wasn’t awkward, considering he had something to do. It wasn’t like the two of you were just standing before one another, doing nothing, saying nothing - you were craning your neck to and fro, trying to get a good look at what Matt was doing.

Nonetheless, the silence was suffocating him, and he had to speak before his face got any redder.

“So, are you doing anything nice for the holidays this year?” he asked. It was a stupid question, clearly meant as a conversation-starter, but it was the only thing he could think of right now.

You sighed. “Not really. Spending the day with my family, working for most of the days leading up to it.” You shrugged as if to say ah well, before your face lit up. You were suddenly smiling, tapping your fingers against the ladder in excitement.

“What?” Matt asked, unable to hide his chuckle.

“I was just thinking about that Christmas market that’s coming here in a few days. I’d love to go to that. Have you heard about it?”

Matt had, considering his father was the one who was organising it. He didn’t say that, though, but instead pursed his lips and feigned ignorance. “No. Does it sound good?”

“It sounds brilliant,” you gushed, still grinning. “I saw some pictures of it online and it looks absolutely beautiful.” Suddenly, your grin was fading, returning to that tired frown you had been wearing before. “I think I’m working everyday it’s on, though, so I shouldn’t really be getting my hopes up.”

Matt frowned, very nearly tipping over on the ladder with how quick his eyes shot down to gouge your expression; as soon as he saw you, he wanted to look away, because you didn’t look happy. You had pursed your lips and was looking idly around the shop, one hand still holding the ladder, knuckles white with your grip. It made Matt’s stomach curl. You were the type of person who should never be frowning, should never look upset.

Matt looked back up at the work he was doing, mind running at a thousand miles per hour. He could scarcely help it - was this his opening? If he could pull this off...

“There’s always next year,” he said softly, biting his lower lip to stop his grin from showing.

+++

“You’re really asking me this during the busiest month of the year?”

Matt resisted the urge to clap his hands together and beg. Instead, he ran his hands through his brown hair and looked over at Coran with eyes that did the begging for him; he needed this. It was perfect.

“Please, Coran. I promise I’ll work extra time in January, but Y/N and I need this day off. Just one day!”

Coran sighed, leaning back in his chair with that air of authority he always seemed to hold. He spoke a great deal of nonsense, but anybody with two eyes could see that he knew exactly what he was doing at all times - he was a decent businessman, meaning Matt could twist his arm if he tried hard enough. People like Coran thrived off of deals.

“What if I can’t find anyone else to cover you both?” he asked.

“My sister has already agreed to come in and cover my shift,” Matt replied. “And I’m sure I can get Shiro in to cover Y/N’s. You won’t be short staffed - I promise.”

“Those were supposed to be your shifts.”

“I know that, Coran, but Y/N and I have been in work almost every day for the past two weeks. Do you not think we deserve this break?”

Coran pursed his lips. Matt hadn’t meant to use the deserve a break card, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“You have both been working hard,” he mumbled, sparking hope in Matt’s chest. “And this is for your Secret Santa gift?”

“Mhm.” Matt fumbled in his pockets, tugging out the tickets for the Christmas market. He had gotten them from his dad for a discounted price - there was no way in hell he could let his plans fall through now. “Look, this is proof. I’ve even got the tickets already.”

“And how do I know you’re not just gonna spend the day doing inappropriate things behind my back?”

Matt spluttered, cheeks flushing red. “Excuse me?”

“Are you and Y/N not together?”

“No! We’re just - We’re just friends!” Matt shook his head hastily, desperately wanting to skip to the next subject matter before Coran could do what Coran did best and make the situation even more uncomfortable. “What do you say then, huh? Just this one day off, I’ll work overtime, and I won’t be leaving you short staffed. It literally does not affect you in any way, shape or form.”

Coran looked up at him. Matt knew he must have looked like a desperate child right now, but that’s what he was - desperate.

Finally, his boss sighed and shrugged. “I guess I can give you both the day off. But only because it’s the holidays!”

Matt was already on his feet, grinning from ear to ear, the tickets pressed tight to his chest. “Ah, yes! Thank you so much! I promise, I won’t let you down!” He span on his heel, stumbled over his chair on his way to the door. “You’re the best, man! The best!”

Coran mumbled something along the lines of “The things I do...,” but Matt could barely hear him over the roar of his own heartbeat, pure bliss taking over his being as he stampeded out of the room and began planning for his special Secret Santa present.

+++

Quickly, Matt straightened up his Christmas jumper. It was now or never. Sure, he had been up since 6am, working nonstop and dealing with stressed out customers, and sure, asking you out on a date wearing an ugly Christmas jumper was not going to leave the impression he wanted, but he had no other choice. The market was coming to town tomorrow, and god only knew the next time Matt would get a day off.

So, he took what he could get, and made the most out of it.

Running his fingers through his hair, he made his way towards you. You had only been in work for an hour, rebuilding an old Christmas LEGO display that a kid had come and knocked over the previous day. You were still at it, sitting on the floor in the corner of the shop with the instructions laid out beside you and a concentrated look on your face. Your tongue peaked out from between your lips, and it took everything in Matt not to chuckle at the adorable sight.

He approached behind you, kept his hands behind his back, gripping the tickets tightly. And then, using all of the courage he could muster, he pulled his hands out and waved the tickets in front of your face, startling you out of your daze.

It took a moment for you to realise what he was actually waving in front of you. Your eyes darted over the papers hastily, narrowed, before your brows shot up in realisation and you were suddenly spinning around and throwing yourself into Matt’s arms with a ferocity he had definitely not been expecting.

He grunted, stumbling back. He just barely managed to catch himself on the table behind him, one hand wrapping around your waist whilst the other shot out to stop himself from falling over. Nonetheless, he was delighted with your response, and was too much in his own head to pull away.

You nuzzled your nose into his neck. He could just about hear your squeals of excitement, muffled by the flesh of his neck, but it was enough to have his own face lighting up in delight at the fact that he had been correct - you did like what he had given to you.

“Matt!” you groaned, tugging away from him. You kept your arms wound around his shoulders, looked him in the eyes in a way that made his knees go wobbly beneath him. “You really didn’t have to do that for me. Are you serious?”

Matt grinned. “Of course I am. Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

You gasped, eyes shooting up. “You’re not supposed to tell me you’re my Secret Santa! That’s the whole point.”

He shrugged loosely, too excited to care about his little slip-up. “Oh well. The secrets out now. So, what do you say? Are you willing to accompany me to the Christmas market tomorrow?”

“Are we both not working?”

He grinned even brighter. You caught the flicker of his expression, and it was clear that he didn’t even need to respond for you to understand that he had got you both the day off. Your face softened in gratitude, before you were slowly shaking your head and tugging Matt back into a hug, quietly thanking him with your embrace.

+++

You were right when you had claimed that the market was going to be beautiful, because that was exactly what it was.

From the moment the two of you stepped through the Grotto-themed front gates, the air shifted. It was something magical, the kind of mood that anyone would associate with Christmas immediately being thrown upon his very being. It was a direct contrast to the grouchy form he had been in these past few weeks - with work, and his stress of his Secret Santa, he hadn’t really been given the time to cherish the holiday season. He drove past Christmas decorations without a glance in their direction, grumbled to himself at the thought of buying gifts for anyone.

But stepping foot inside of the market with you by his side had somehow revived the festive cheer he was so used to feeling around this time of year. It brought him back a piece of his childhood, and he couldn’t help but smile at the feel of it.

You beside him only made the day ten times better. You both walked around, talking about everything and anything because you could, because the freedom of being away from work and hasty customers allowed you to finally walk around and just get to know each other in the way Matt had craved for months now.

You were bundled up in an oversized, waterproof coat, your scarf peeking out of the top of it and covering the lower half of your face. Matt wore similar attire, only he kept his scarf pulled down and hanging loosely from his neck. You had already commented multiple times that he looked like a drama student, and he had already teased you about how you looked like you had just come fresh from the North Pole.

“Look at me; always on theme,” you had replied, before the two of you had chuckled and continued walking.

The stalls were gorgeous. Christmas lights twinkled, only becoming prettier as the sun set and they were forced to pop out at you a little bit more. Little Christmas nic-nacs were set up; snowmen teddy bears, gingerbread men treats, snow globes that depicted the North Pole. Matt wanted desperately to buy you one, but his anxiety got the better of him - would his feelings become too obvious if he were to buy you something right now?

You didn’t seem to mind. You were too busy gawking at the nearby pastry stand, a fresh batch of Christmas muffins having just been set up on the counter. You had gasped, darted off towards them before Matt could even fully comprehend you were no longer by his side.

“Y/N?” he called, startled. He followed after you, muttering apologies to the people he was forced to push past in his haste to catch up. “Where are you going?”

“Look at these!” you exclaimed, snatching Matt’s hand and tugging him into your side. He couldn’t ignore the way you snuggled into his arm, pointing at the fresh pastries before you like an excited child. “Oh, should we try one? How much are they?”

“Fifty pence each, my dear,” the kind old man dressed as an elf replied in passing.

Matt was immediately tugging a pound coin out of his pocket, tightening his hold on your arm to stop you from doing the same. You frowned, glancing up at him with furrowed brows. He simply smiled before he placed the pound coin on the counter and ordered two of the fresh muffins.

The old man handed you both the treats and sent you on your way with a jolly “Merry Christmas!” that you responded to by grinning from ear to ear and yelling the phrase back to him, causing Matt to chuckle as you both walked away.

“You didn’t need to do that, you know,” you said once the two of you were a little further away and the excitement of fresh pastries had died down. “I need to buy you something now. That’s the only way this is going to be fair.”

“I don’t want you to buy me anything. I’m your Secret Santa, and this is my treat.”

“You’ve already spent so much on the tickets,” you protested. “Look, just let me buy you a gingerbread man or something. Or we can get our faces painted! I can pay for that-”

“You’re not paying for anything.” Matt looked down at you, noticed the small dot of frosting on your lips. It took all of his strength, but the confidence that came with you hugging his arm was enough to have him reaching out and gently brushing his thumb against your lower lip.

You flushed, crossing your eyes in an attempt to see what he had done. He scoffed, shook his head and looked forwards, trying desperately not to let the flutter of his heart get in the way of the confident aura he had just been showing.

You sighed like a five year old having a huff, shoulders slouching. “Fine then. But I’m gonna get you a super good Christmas present - something big.”

Matt raised a brow. “You’re getting me a Christmas present?”

“I feel like I kind of have to now.”

“It was Secret Santa, Y/N. You don’t have to get me anything.”

You raised a brow and glanced over at him. “Why are you being so generous right now? Nobody in their right mind would pass up the opportunity of a free Christmas gift.”

“Is that not what you were just doing by insisting on paying?”

“My present was the tickets.”

“Your present was the experience, meaning I should pay for-”

“Okay, okay, let’s not argue over who pays for what,” you said, quickly dismissing the topic. Matt grinned and nodded. “Should we stop and get a picture somewhere? I’d like to remember this.”

Matt flushed, having not expected the request at first. Of course, he wanted nothing more than to remember this memory, but the idea of you actually considering the same thing had not been something he had thought of.

Still, he nodded and tried to keep his cool. You grinned from ear to ear, wound your arm through his again and started trailing him towards the small, multicoloured-lit fields that were behind the main stalls. There were multiple backdrops set up for public use, and you dragged him towards one of the empty ones.

It didn’t look like much, simply two pieces of wood set up in an arch with a backdrop of a fire set up in the background. It was peaceful looking, lit up only by the fairy lights draped over the arch.

The two of you politely asked a passing person to take the picture and quickly got into position; Matt’s heart was beating at a thousand miles per hour, but he somehow managed to wrap an arm around your waist without his hand trembling. That would be embarrassing, and he had sworn to himself this morning that he would not make today awkward by letting his feelings get in the way. It simply could not happen.

You wrapped both arms around his middle, grinning from ear to ear. Matt was fairly certain that you would be able to hear his heartbeat hammering in his chest if you were to lean towards him any more.

“Alright, three...two...” The man taking the photo abruptly stopped counting, his eyes flicking up in surprise. Matt narrowed his own eyes, following the mans gaze to the space above his head.

“Of course,” he mumbled to himself.

Because of course this had to happen - stupid Christmas traditions that just had to put him in the most awkward situation.

“Looks like you two have to kiss,” the man chuckled. “That’ll be a nice picture for the in-laws, eh?”

Matt flushed, glancing up at the mistletoe which had suddenly appeared above his head. “Actually, uh, we’re not-”

Before Matt could finish his sentence, however, your hand suddenly came up, cupped his jaw and tilted his head down. You stood up on tippy toes, and then your lips were on his and he wasn’t entire sure what to do or how he melted into the sensation so quick, but it was happening - in fact, it felt like his entire body was melting.

It was almost a natural reflex for him, though he wasn’t sure why. His lips moulded into yours as if this wasn’t the first time he had kissed you. His hand wrapped around your waist a little tighter, pulling you closer until your knees were clashing together and Matt could smell the faint scent of candy cane coming from the fabric of your scarf.

He had only kissed a handful of people in his time, but this was unlike anything he had ever experienced. And he knew it was cheesy, knew he was probably just basking in the delight that was being kissed by the one person you wanted kissing you, but that’s truly what it felt like - like this was how it was supposed to be. There was no rising panic in his stomach, no sudden reflex to pull away and ask if he had done a good job. He just held you close to his body until the photographer chuckled and was approaching him with his phone held out.

“I got a good few pictures on there for you,” the man said, bowing his head kindly. “You kids have fun now, okay?”

Matt nodded dumbly, your hand still resting on his cheek, your eyes still burning into the side of his head. Once the man had walked away, he looked down and met your gaze, swallowing thickly. Your eyes were blown, lips that had already been swollen from the cold looking even more plump, even more inviting. He wanted to swoop in and kiss you again, but looking at you now was so much more rewarding than any kiss would or ever could be.

You nodded slowly, though Matt wasn’t sure why. He simply nodded along with you, tightening his hold on your waist and refraining from grinning - would his goofy grin ruin the moment?

Suddenly, you chuckled, shook your head and kissed him again. It startled him, but he kissed back immediately. When you pulled away, his lips chased your own, wanting more but not quite being allowed.

Your hand slid from his face, down his chest before you shyly looked away. Beneath the Christmas lights, he could see the way your eyes awkwardly shifted to the left, the way you scraped your foot in the dirt. He reached out and gently folded his fingers in your own, a silent comfort that what you had just done was not something you should be regretting.

You looked up at him, smiled warily and said, “Merry Christmas, Matt.”

And with a burst of confidence, Matt leaned down, pecked your lips and said, “That’s one of best presents I think I’ve ever received.”

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