#maybe it's also because of The Brain State but while snooping for information (that i didn't find) today even just looking at the tools

[theophagie-remade]

I can't believe I can't find any information on how to do this thing that not many people need to do. smh

[draco-kasai]

Hero Collaboration Program

Summery: High School Hero Collaboration Program! Helping Sophomore hero students connect with others around the world! Come join us for a two-week-long trip to one of our schools for an amazing once in a lifetime experience with students of Yuuei! Only a lucky 40 students will be selected for this program. They will be split into two groups of 20 and sent to different schools to have completely unique experiences! 

 A/N: AKA, A very ambitious fanfic I started because even though I have another fanfic in progress my brain decided to give me an idea and I just had to do it. These are all characters I adore and I even did lots of reasurch on them to hopefuly get them down right. I also too many backstories and threw them into a meat grinder to remold them in a way that would make them fit into this universe.

 I love Class 1-A, but like they need to be taken down a peg or two, and I want to see them get their asses handed to them.  

Ch. 1 part 1 of 3 Program sign-ups.  -->

Chapter 1 Part 2 

High School Hero Collaboration Program

Helping first year hero students connect with others around the world!

What is the HSHC Program?

Our program has had a partnership with Yuuei High School for 15 long years! Their first-year students would come to our schools to interact, learn and study with other sophomore students for two weeks! - For those who don’t know, first year high school students in Japan would be considered sophomores here in the states! - A select few students nationwide as well as worldwide are selected to participate. All services and activities are offered and provided at no cost to participants or their families. This program is geared to help young heroes become (1) more informed of the educational, social, and cultural aspects available, (2) learn how to work with others they are unfamiliar with, (3) gain a better understanding of hero agencies and laws around the world, (4) assist students in successfully gaining connections with other aspiring heroes around the world their own age.

 Student Participants

A total of 40 lucky students are hand selected to take part in this 16 day long program. 28 slots are open for Nationwide applications. The remaining 12 slots are open for applicants across the world! Students are to go through a long application process and in person interview. Once admitted, students will be staying within the dorms that are provided. All plane tickets will be paid for by our program. This program will take place in two schools; Marina High School located in California and Chandler High School located in Arizona.

All partners who wish to apply together must submit a joint application and answer an extra essay question. Only accepting duo teams. Bigger teams are asked to either pair off and sign up as duos, or sign up individually. The whole purpose of this program is for young aspiring heroes to meet others and form connections.

 Application

All applicants are required to turn in two essays (unless a team). There is no page or word limit, 12 size text, font New Times Roman, single space. Along with your essays, please send in two teacher recommendation letters. A checklist will be provided at the end of this packet. Make sure to use it to assist you in keeping organized. Everything can be either faxed to (951-262-3062), given to school office faculty to hand to us or through mailed to 1640 Riverside Drive, Hill Valley, California.

Applicants that make it past the first stage of the application process will be scheduled for an in-person interview. A letter will be sent out within two weeks after the interview confirming whether or not you have been accepted.

 Essay 1.

When you become a hero, what do you hope to accomplish?

 Essay 2.

What major event in your life has led you to where you are now and your decision to become a hero?

Essay question for hero teams.

How did you meet, and when did you decide to work together as a team?

Emerald eyes narrowed as they skimmed over the packet that had been handed to them. With one last look over, they turned to face the person who had given them the packet. Bright blue eyes stared back with a large smile plastered on their lips. “What is this, Grayson?”

“It’s the Hero Collaboration Program!” Richard Grayson – Part-time Gotham Police officer and Underground Hero: Nightwing - responded enthusiastically.

Green eyes rolled skyward at the older boy’s words, “I can see that. All my teachers at school had even taken the liberty to constantly remind us about it. What I mean is, why did you give this to me?”

“Awe common, Kiddo, I thought you were smart.” Jason Todd – Vigilante: Red Hood – joked as he ruffled the younger boy’s black hair. With an annoyed grunt, his hand was swatted away, “We want you to apply for the program.”

With a huff, the youngest fixed his hair, “And why would I do such a thing?” 

The oldest boy grinned wider, “It’ll be fun!”

“No.” The youngest replied with a deadpan expression as he tossed the thin packet on the coffee table in front of him.

With a click of his tongue, Jason crossed his arms over his chest. Leaning back on the loveseat, he responded, “Just apply you brat, it’s not even that bad.”

“What’s ‘not that bad’?” Another voice asked as they walked into the living room, laptop in one hand, a cup of coffee in another.

“The Hero Collaboration Program.” Jason responded as he glanced over at the sleep-deprived man as he flopped down next to him.

“Oh! They started accepting applicants already?!” Timothy Drake – CEO of Wayne Enterprises and Underground Hero: Red Robin - sat up enthusiastically.  

“Yeah, but Damian doesn’t want to apply!” Dick pouts

“I’m not going to apply to a program that does not benefit me in any way shape or form.” Damian rolled his eyes.

“Wha- but it teaches you so much! Your teachers must have told you about the benefits!” Tim frowned, taking a sip of his coffee.

“They did, but I don’t have any need for socializing.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been six years and your only friends are Jon and Maya, and honestly, I don’t think it counts. Maya is in her last year of high school and Jon is a year below you. You need friends your own age.” Jason responded, then waved his hand about, “Even if they're scattered across the continent.”

“I thought he made friends when he was sent to that boarding school in San Francisco for two years when he was eleven?” Dick raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, Titan middle school, right?" Tim hums, "I mean, they helped him become better, I guess?"

"Honestly, I feel like that was the work of the school itself, not them. Besides, Damian doesn't even text or call them like he does Maya and Jon." Jason huffs

“You've been snooping through my phone.” Damian glares as he pulls a knife from nowhere like magic.

"In that case, how will this help him if he isn't even close to people he went to school with for two years?" Tim thought out loud. 

"Well, back then it was regular school and classes. Schools don't offer more hero electives till sophomore year in high school. The program does lots of team building and training. What better way to make friends than when your life's in their hands?"

"That's a good point," Tim nods in agreement. 

“Didn’t you, like, date Raven while you were over there?” Dick teased, elbowing his brother

“No. I did NOT date Raven.”

“Wha- really? You seemed so close.” Dick blinks in surprise.

"Dude, she's dating Garfield."

"What?! Really?"

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Kori." 

"Oh… right, I forgot she mentioned that."

"Dude, she's your wife. If she knows you block out her rants, she's going to kill you."

"... I don't…  block out her rants."

“We’re straying off-topic.” Tim hums, hiding his smirk with his drink as Damian, who proceeded to slowly stand, shoots him a glare before a hand grabs the back of his color and pulled him back down. 

“Oh! Right, the Hero Collaboration Program!” Dick grins

“I think Damian taking part in the program is a good idea.” Everyone's eyes flickered over to the entrance where Bruce Wayne – Owner of Wayne Enterprises and Underground Hero: Batman – stood with Alfred Pennyworth, besides him. “This program will benefit you and help you make friends with people your own age, maybe even teach you something new.”

“Your brothers all attended the program, master Damian.” Alfred gave the boy an encouraging smile as he handed out drinks for everyone in the room, “In a way you could consider it a tradition at this point.” The younger boy took his drink silently as he pondered the words the older man had given him.

“Oh yeah, I guess it kind of is tradition at this point, huh…” Tim hummed, finishing his coffee and graciously handing the empty cup to Alfred, who shoved a cup of water in his hands.

“I joined during… what? During their third year of existence?” Dick wondered out loud as he leaned back on the couch.

“That’s correct, master Dick.”

“Haa~ I was Bruce’s test dummy to make sure the program was actually useful.” Dick chuckled softly.

“Pft seriously? Thanks for your sacrifice.” Jason smirked, making Tim let out a soft laugh.

“I suppose.” Everyone fell silent to look at the youngest Wayne, “If it’s a tradition at this point, I suppose I have no other choice but to partake in it as well.”

“That’s the spirit, Lil D!” Jason grinned.

“You’ll have fun. You’ll learn a lot, too.” Tim smiled, taking the smallest of sip of his water. With a glare from Alfred, he took a bigger gulp.

“Yes! Oh, man! I can’t wait for you to tell us about it when you get back! Maybe we should tell him stories of our experience!?” Dick energetically exclaimed as he practically bounced in his seat.

Bruce gave the boys a soft appeasing smile as they all cheered, making Damian scrunch up his face at the loud sound. With a soft sigh, he walked across the room to his office. Along the way, he gave his youngest a soft hair ruffle, making him groan.

Damian Wayne. Age 16. Seat 11. Student Rank 1. Hero Name: Red Bird. Quirk: Quirkless

Martial arts, hand-to-hand, sword, expert detective, hacker, stealth.

___

“Alright, class, make sure to think about signing up for that program! It’s a very good opportunity! You’re dismissed for lunch!” Mr. Barkin, a big man with an obvious werewolf mutation, dismissed his class.

A slim girl with long bright brown hair walked next to a beautiful dark-skinned girl with wavy black locks. The ginger hummed as she stared down at the packet that had been handed to them near the end of class, “I don’t know, what do you think Monique?”

 “I think it sounds like a lot of fun! Kim, girl, this is an O.I.A.L.T. E; Once In A Life Time Experience!” Monique paused and frowned.

“That was a long one.” Kim smirks at her friend.

“Ugh, I know. Never gonna use that one again.” The girl waved her hand in the air. Both girls stopped in front of a locker, “But It still stands! You should totally do it!”

“But what about you? And – and Ron?” Kim leans against the lockers, watching as her friend opens hers to put away her books.

“Psssh~ Pu-lease, I’ll be fine! I’ve got work at Club Banana and a bunch of homework to keep me company!” The brown eyed girl closed her locker, and they began their trip to Kim’s locker, “As for Ron, well-“

“K.P!!” Both girls turn to see a blond rushing over, “Did you hear about the exchange program!? Are you signing up? Please tell me you’re not leaving me! We’re supposed to be a team!!” He cried out as he hugged his friend.

The redhead huffed softly before prying her friend off her, “Ron, so not cool.”

“Yeah I – sorry K.P I just – I heard about the program and assumed you’d sign up and leave without me.” Ron sniffled dramatically. From his pocket, a small pink rodent climbed up to his shoulder and nodded in agreement, making small squeaking noises. “See! Rufus and I would miss you…” 

Monique rolled her eyes with a smirked as she gently pushed the two forward to keep walking, “You know, the program is accepting team sign ups~”

“Wait really!?” Ron gasped as he brought the packet back up to read. “Oh my god, they are!”

Kim frowns, “I don’t know, then you’d really be alone, Monique.” They stop at her locker.

“Oh common Kim. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity! You have to S. I; seize it! You’re not going to be a sophomore forever, girl.” Monique leaned on the lockers with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Yeah! It’s a good opportunity to learn about other school systems! Did you see who they're partnered with K. P? It’s Yuuei High school! Yuuei! They're, like, the best in Japan! At least that's what the rest of this thing says and what Yori told me when I did that whole” Ron waves his hand in a circle as he shrugs, “seven day long Japan exchange thing during First Semester.”  

“You still have yet to tell us much about that.” Kim smirks as she opens her locker, “Japan is one of those places that have schools that specialize in training hero’s, right?”

“That’s right!” Everyone looked up to the projection of a boy their age sitting at a desk, “Hey girls! Hi Ron, Rufus, Whatcha guys talkin’ bout?”

“Hey Wade. We’re just talking about Some program that’s partnered with Yuuei.” Kim smiled at the screen as she put her things in the locker.

“Oh! The Hero Collaboration Program?” Wade’s smile widens.

Kim rolls her eyes half-heartedly at her friends' excitement. “Of course you’ve heard of it.”

“Yeah! Tell Kim that She’s GOT to GO!” Monique gave her friend a glare.

“Wade! Tell us about Yuuei High School!” Ron practically begged, shoving past Kim before standing behind her again. His best friend shot him an annoyed glare.

With a sigh, Kim finally nods, “Tell us about the school.”

Wade grins and begins quickly typing away on his laptop. A few images began appearing next to him, “As you know, Yuuei High School is known as a hero school. They’re known for ranking number 1 in hero schools across Japan. Their competitor, coming in second by just a bit, is Shiketsu High School. If you ask me though, Shiketsu is obviously better, I mean, look at those uniforms! So wicked! Look at those hats and blazers!”

“Right, about Yuuei.” Kim gently reprimands when she notices her friend is straying off-topic.

“Oh, right! So, from what I’m seeing so far, I think Yuuei has an unfair entrance exam.”

“They have Entrance Exams?” Monique asked with a raised brow.  

Wade nods, “Yeah. In Japan, to get into high schools, students are required to take an entrance exam.” 

“Right, so, why do you think it’s unfair?” Kim raised a brow

“Well, looking at their sports festival, Just about everyone in the hero program has a “flashy” quirk. When you compare it to other hero school’s and their graduating classes, their quirks are more balanced. Um, one sec” Wade’s eyes narrowed, his pointer finger stretches out like a wire, and he connects to his computer. A moment later, his eyes turn blue and data begins to quickly rush through.

“Is it just me or is he… taking longer than usual?” Ron raises an eyebrow after four minutes pass. 

“Mm, another reason to be glad our school has an hour-long lunch…” Monique hums as she leans on a leg, a hand on her hip. They watched in silence as Wade frowned and bit his lower lip. After three more minutes, the boy smirks, disconnecting himself, making his eyes turn back to normal. “Got it.” he grins as he leans back in his seat.

“Uuuuh, got what?” Ron tilts his head in confusion.

“I hacked into their system. It was pretty tricky considering it was made by the smartest being in the world, but nothing compared to me and my quirk. They had a bunch of firewalls and backups too, I think it was a lot of fun to get through.” Wade smirks as he shows them different class schedules for different courses, “I redacted all the important information, but it seems like this school also separates all of their courses. Hero course students, General Education, business, and support. They all learn different things, never interacting unless necessary.”

“That’s… different.” Kim raises an eyebrow. “Um, should you really be hacking into the system of the ‘world's smartest being’ Wade?” 

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Kim. Hack helps make sure I’m untraceable and if Nedzu did get an alert, which I worked my way around, and somehow traces a location it’ll just lead him to random computers in a random location of Japan.”

“Wow, The support course students don’t have any combat classes.” Ron frowned, obviously preferring to look at the schedules to listening to the conversation. 

“Hold up - Why does General Education have a Quirk Positivity class? This is high school? Shouldn't they have that class in elementary school?” Monique crossed her arms over her chest. Face filled with confusion.

“Right? Not just that, but the school conducts a sports festival, that they compare to the Olympics every year, that puts all the courses against one another.” Wade closes and erases the schedules, replacing them with a video reel of fights and highlights. 

“Wha - why even call it a sports festival!? All they're doing is fighting?” Ron frowns before grinning as he watches one of the students punch another, “Booya! Look at that right hook!”

“Oh snap! He flipped him like a pancake!” Monique grinned as they watched the highlight reels. 

“Why would they do that? Isn’t that practically advertising your quirk to all the villains in the area?” Kim rose an eyebrow

“It says that it’s done to ‘promote their students to other heroes for field studies.’ The kids receive internship requests by heroes that want to take them on. It’s dumb though because, according to this, only fifteen students from both hero classes combined got internship requests! And one of them got 4,123 requests!” 

“They're promoting their students like they're the newest fashion trend.” Monique frowns, looking away from the video. 

“That’s… only fifteen kids? Seriously? What about the others? Do they just… not do anything? Why can’t they all just apply like we do? I - My brain can’t process...” Rufus squeaks in sympathy as he pats Ron’s cheek with his paw. 

Monique frowns in thought,  “Hey, wait a minute… you said that the sports festival includes all the students, right?”

“Yeah, Three day’s worth of sports festival, one for each grade.” 

The girl scoffed, “They're using the other courses to make the hero course look better, aren’t they?” 

“What do you mean, Monique?” Kim frowns

“Think about it, girl, you saw the schedules. The hero course is the only course with combat training.” Kim’s eyes widened in realization. 

“Duuuude, not cool! If they all had at least the same level of experience, it would be a lot better.” Ron frowns as he crosses his arms. 

“Exactly! Personally, I prefer the way our school system is set up. Anyone who wants to take hero classes can take them, and if you don’t finish the credits, you’re in the academy longer. Not to mention, anyone who wants field experience could just apply and do the internships.” Wade crossed his hands over his chest.

“Wade, you're taking support course electives.” Kim smiled softly, “but you have a point.”

“Of course I do! I’m doing field study with the space center! You and Ron go every other weekend to work with the hero agency, and when vacation comes along you’ll be allowed to do more than just patrol. I just… this is just... “Wade signs, “At least I know how to fight and defend myself if anything were to occur.”

“A little worked up there huh, Wade...” Ron gave him a sympathetic smile

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly, “Anyway, will you and Kim be applying guys? They accept duo teams.” Kim thinks about it for a moment before letting out a soft sigh and smile.

“You know what? What the heck, let’s do it, Ron.” Kim smiles, “I think it’ll be really cool to get in and talk to other people not from around here. Make some new friends, and possible future partners.”

“Boo-ya! We’re so getting in!” Ron held up a finger for Rufus to high five.

Kim and Monique smile at one another, thanking Wade, the redhead closes her locker, “We can celebrate with Bueno Nacho AFTER we get accepted. For now, let's go get lunch before the break ends.”

“You think they’d let Rufus in?”

“Ron, I don’t know if they’d let your pet in the program.” Monique smiled

“Gasp! Pet? Rufus is NOT a pet! He is our partner!” the little rodent nods in agreement as he squeaks in response. 

“Maybe we could ask when we get past the interview process. We’ll have to see, don’t get your hopes up, though, Ron.” Kim smiles softly, patting the boy's shoulder.

Kim Possible. Age 16. Seat 2. Student Rank 2. Hero Name: Possible. Quirk: Quirkless.

Kung fu, acrobatics and gymnastics, cheerleading skills, martial arts, hand to hand

Ron Stoppable. Age 16. Seat 9. Student Rank 11. Hero Name: Koi. Quirk: Karmic Luck.

His good luck fixes his bad luck. His natural bad luck places him in bad situations, however thanks to his quirk they always turn in his favor. For example, He once tripped over a rock, which caused him to dodge bird poop coming at him. 

Basic Hand to hand, Ninjutsu

____

A young teen with black hair sat in a chair in their room, the red sleeves of his sweater pulled up to his elbows as he tinkered with a few things. The door to the room slowly opened to show a scrawny man with his blond hair in a beanie. Seeing his younger friend working, he walked in and waved the others in. Walking in, everyone made themselves comfortable in the room. A buff, burly man, walked closer to the teen. With a good slap on the back, making the boy shout in surprise, he greeted him.

“Hey there, little man!” He grinned widely, crossing his arms over his chest. Brown eyes blinked in surprise as he spun around on his chair to face the four adults. 

“Oh! Hey guys! What brings you four here?” The younger boy asked with a smile as he adjusts himself in his seat. The adults all glanced at each other for a moment. A girl with purple streaks in her hair held out a packet to him, a small smile on her lips.

“We wanted you to apply for the Hero Collaboration Program.” Honey Lemon began as the boy began to read it.

“You’re a really smart kid, Hiro. Graduated from high school early, taking hero and support classes at the same time at the institute.” Gogo smiles.

“You’ve made awesome support weapons and during battle training you’re, like, wicked smart.” Fred praises. 

“Buuuut you’re also a kid. A kid that’s friends with a bunch of adults, we want you to make some friends your own age.” Wasabi grinned sheepishly, everyone nodded in agreement.

“Do… you guys not like being my friends?” Hiro frowns, looking back up at them, dejection clear on his face. 

“No!” They all shouted at once.

“It’s not like that!” 

“We love being your friend, little dude!” 

“You’re an awesome dude!”

“We don’t hate you!”

“We’re not trying to make you feel like we hate you!” Wasabi sighed as he ran a hand down his face, “We just want you to make friends your own age.”

“Yeah, you graduated from high school pretty early on general studies, and are now taking both hero and support classes at the institute, but you never really got a chance to make friends your age.” Honey Lemon explained.

“We already called to ask if you’d be able to apply.” Gogo smiled.

“Yeah! They said that they understand the circumstances considering your quirk and will make an exception! Of course, they said that just because they’re letting you apply doesn’t mean you will be accepted! That’s all on you, my dude!” Fred grinned as he shot the young teen finger guns.

Hiro stared down at the packet in his hands for a moment. They're not wrong. Because of his quirk, he had practically breezed through school and graduated at 11. He’s never been interested in heroics or any of that stuff, but even if he wanted to, no hero school would have accepted him because of his young age. Finding boredom in just staying home, he began to tinker with things and began to build small robots for fun - and maybe to con a few people out of their money - but he’s never pursued anything specific. 

He hadn’t even thought about going into support until his older brother had brought it up when he was thirteen. After lots of hard work, he had gotten into the biggest hero school in the Tokyo prefecture, Institute for Heroics and Technology. He thought about applying to UA in shizuoka but he decided that the school was too over rated and stayed in Tokyo. He had stuck to the technical side of things, at least till his brother was killed in an explosion. It had taken a lot of convincing, but he was able to get his friends to help him take down the villain that caused it. He and his friends had become vigilantes and once they had captured the culprit he was reluctant to stop. It wasn’t long till he found himself in the heroics courses as well. 

Now that he’s reflecting on it, they're right. He doesn’t have any friends his own age. Taking a deep breath, he nods, “Alright, sure. I’ll apply.”

“Really!?” Honey Lemon practically squeals in excitement.

“Yeah, besides, it says that the kids at Yuuei are participating. They’ve been through a bunch of villain attacks already, It’ll be interesting to see how they compare to other heroes in training.” Hiro leaned back in his seat, a leg crossing to rest on the other. 

“Oh… Oh, no, that’s his ‘I have plans’ smirk, guys.” Fred stage whispered to the others.

“Should I be feeling bad for the Yuuei kids or the exchange kids he’ll be with if he’s accepted?” Wasabi asked, making Hiro burst into a fit of laughter.

“... Both.” Honey Lemon squeaked.

“He’s going to have fun.” Gogo smirked.

Hiro Hamada. Age: 15. Seat 13. Student rank 3. Hero Name: Zero. Quirk: Prodigy 

His brain functions at a faster rate than possible, making it easy for him to process and retain information, giving him genius level intelligence. 

Hand to hand, Martial Arts, builds his own support items.

_____

“No way man.” A dark skinned boy groaned as he tossed his backpack on the ground and sat himself on his desk chair, the wheels sending him back a bit. 

“What? Miles, dude common. This event is for sophomores ONLY. You’re never getting this opportunity, ever again!” Another male walked into the shared room and closed the door behind him. 

“Ganke I just got the hang of swinging around, the school year is going to end in a few months meaning finals are coming up, I don’t need to stress myself out more with this program.” Miles huffed in response, riffling through his backpack he pulled out his textbooks. 

Sitting himself at his own desk, the boy responded as he grabbed his own things, “That was three months ago dude. The school year doesn’t even end until June, we’re barely getting into November, and this program is supposed to be fun. Did you even read that packet? You’ve been stressing yourself too much by adding so much training on top of your school work.” 

“...... I can’t rest Ganke, you know that. I have to hurry up and graduate, so I can take over what Peter had left for me.” Miles let out a tired sigh as he slumped back on his chair and stared at the ceiling. “I know what happened to him wasn’t my fault, I get that, but… I just… I could have done more, you know? Like, I know he took me in for field studies because we have similar quirks, but I’ve looked up to him for so long and to be acknowledged only for it to be torn away all of a sudden… We became so close… He wanted me to take over the mantle of Spider-man and I just… I can’t let him down…”

Ganke sat in silence for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts before speaking, “I get that you want to take over the mantle of your mentor, but common man. Take a breather. We’re teenagers and you're burning yourself out. Peter wouldn’t want you to burn yourself out like this. You need this break.” 

Silence fell in the dorm room once again as both boys started their homework. It wasn’t long for Miles to find himself tapping his pencil against his desk. Ganke’s words floating about in his mind. With a weary sigh, Miles re-read the packet that he pulled out from where he had stuffed it in a text book. “Your right… I do need a break.” 

Ganke grinned widely and kicked off to roll over to his friend, “That a boy!” he cheered, slapping his friend’s shoulder, “Now then, let's talk support items! I've had this idea on making little nubs for your gloves that can discharge electricity for like a week now! I bet you’d like it! The trip is supposed to be in Late February, right? We have so much time! We can test them after school! You can even put them to use on the field when you do actual combat during Christmas break’s field studies!” Miles snorted at his friend's enthusiasm. 

Miles Morales. Age 15. Seat 9. Student Rank 4. Hero Name: Spider-man. Quirk: Dolophanes Conifera.

Has characteristics of a wrap around spider. He can camouflage with his surroundings and shoot spiderwebs from a small hole from his wrists. He can effortlessly cling and climb walls thanks to the settles on his hands and feet. Is most active during the night. If he bites anyone, a venom is injected to temporarily stun his victim.

Hand to hand, fast reflexes, flexible

____

A raven haired boy with bright blue eyes groaned in frustration as he slammed his face on the kitchen table. His older sister with red hair frowned with worry, “What’s wrong, Danny?”

“Mr. Lancer handed out some packet for heroes and, like it sounds like fun, but it doesn’t allow trio teams.” Danny responded as he rested his chin on the table.

“Hero? I thought Tucker is in for support, while Sam handles the business aspect when you guys started your own agency?” The older sibling frowned in confusion.

Danny sticks his lower lip out in a pout, “Well, yeah but…” He sits up right, “Sam and Tucker are encouraging me to sign up, and It’s cool and all, but… I just…” The boy paused, turning over the words in his head in an attempt to organize them. His sister waited patiently for him to speak again, “I’ve never felt so… lonely I guess. Like… Tucker and, surprisingly enough, Kyle are going to be handling the Support items and any other tech-savvy stuff. Sam has Wes for business stuff, even if they do argue a lot, but I… have nobody.” The boy buries his face in his hands, “It’s stupid, I know…”

“W - what about Valery? She wants to be a hero too, right? You two were pretty close…?” His sister tries to reassure.

“Yeah, but she hates my guts now, Jazz. Remember the whole incident I told you about with quirk training?”

His older sister frowns at this. Her blue eyes looked over to the packet her brother had set aside. Taking it, she read it over silently before smiling softly, “Well, I definitely agree with Sam and Tucker that you should apply.” 

Danny looks up with a frown, “But I’d be all alone…” 

“Danny, the whole point of the program is to meet young aspiring heroes your own age. I'm sure you’ll make a friend or two while you’re out there.” Handing her brother the packet, she watched as his eyes roamed over the words again. 

“I… I guess you’re right.”

Jazz smiles reassuringly at her brother, “Of course I’m right. Now then, let me help you fill that thing out.” 

Daniel James Fenton. Age 16. Seat 8. Student Rank 5. Hero Name: Phantom, Quirk: - REDACTED - Ghost.

After turning four, his quirk, cryokinesis, had manifested. When he was 11 he was involved in a lab accident that -REDACTED- mutated his quirk. He can now turn invisible at will, walk through solid objects, fly, minor telekinesis, ghost wail, cryokinesis. He has no need to breathe, can last a week without food. 

Hand to hand, night vision, stealth, enhanced hearing. 

Chapter 1 Part 2

[goldentournesol]

Proper Date

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Spencer and Y/N go on a proper date after being kidnapped together.

Part 2 of Unwanted Matchmaker: Read Part 1 here :)

A/N: makes minor references to Part 1, but can be read without reading it. ENJOY SOME SPENCER FLUFF! i got a little carried away...but it’s worth it! thank you to @theamuz , @andiebeaword , @yourwonderbelle​ for requesting a part 2! 

Length: 2.5k

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Luckily enough, Friday came sooner than Spencer had thought it would. He was finally able to take a break from the team. Y/N had texted him Friday morning to confirm the date. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him for a single moment ever since they went their separate ways the day of the fateful kidnapping. She never thought she’d ever be thankful for such a situation.

She was nervous, she knew very little about the Dr., but had gathered bits and pieces of him on the days she saw him at that coffee shop. She thought he was gorgeous. She also thought she may have imagined it when she caught his eyes lingering on her once or twice, but the imagination became set in stone when his face broke into what seemed like the most adorable shy smile that could possibly appear on someone’s face. She should have talked to him then, but she would have been late to her class. She couldn’t have been more glad to go on a date with him.

Spencer had gotten off work two hours early to ensure he had enough time to be nervous while getting ready.

“Woah, where you goin’, pretty boy?” Morgan asked as he watched Spencer begin to pack his things.

Spencer rolled his eyes, he should have timed his exit better, “Uh...I have an appointment?” He made an attempt to lie. 

“You always this nervous going to appointments?” Emily chimed in.

“Wait, wait, what day is it?” Morgan asked.

“Friday.” Emily replied.

A knowing smile made a home on Morgan’s face, “Aha! Pretty boy’s got a date!” Spencer quickly shot him a look that screamed, ‘how did you know?!’, “I may have overheard you talking to the girl the day the unsub took you.”

Once again, Spencer rolled his eyes, “My God, can’t I have just one thing to myself? Just once?” He tried to hide his smile though.

“Nu-uh, not when it’s making you this nervous!” Emily pointed out, noticing how Spencer’s hand was turning white at the intensity it held onto his bag.

“Well, Emily, it’s not every day that I have a date with someone who is practically the embodiment of beauty.” Spencer uttered with a slew of exasperated hand motions.

Morgan let out a chuckle, “Calm down, kid. She seemed really into you. I’m sure she’s just as dorky as you are.” Emily smiled endearingly at the youngest member of their team and nodded.

“Yeah, haven’t you guys been in contact like..all week? She wouldn’t have done that if she wasn’t interested.” She added and noticed the slight drop of Spencer’s shoulders. Maybe they were right, he probably had nothing to worry about. He nodded and began to smile.

“Go get her, kid. Just try to keep the statistics at a minimum.” He joked around before Emily interjected quickly, “No! Be yourself!” Spencer laughed and gave them a double thumbs up before quickly saying goodbye and heading home.

He called the restaurant to double check his reservation and tried to pick out an outfit that wouldn’t scream, ‘I got off work two hours early’. He showered, shaved, and attempted to style his hair, but it was too much of a task to tackle, so he left it to do whatever it pleased. He decided he’d stick to his normal attire with a white and blue checkered button down, a navy v-neck sweater and a matching blazer to elevate the look. He contemplated whether or not a tie would make the outfit over the top, but then remembered that the restaurant would be quite fancy and added it anyway. He left his house a half hour early to make sure he had enough time to pick up a bouquet. That was romantic, right? People do this all the time, right? He took a deep breath and reminded himself to stop stressing. He decided to get her red flowers to match the dress she wore when he first saw her. She was wearing a white dress with a motif of small red flowers with black centers, it was safe to say she blew him away that day. 

He checked the time and saw that it was still early, so he texted her. They had agreed on meeting at the restaurant, but he just couldn’t wait to see her.

“Hey, would it be okay if I picked you up instead of meeting there?” She lived closer to the restaurant anyway and he wanted to ensure her safety any time he possibly could.

“Yeah, sure! I’ll send you the location.” She did just that and Spencer made it there on time, of course.

He took a deep breath as he stood at her doorstep with the bouquet of flowers. He gave himself a miniature pep talk and knocked on the door three times. Spencer hoped the knocks were louder than his heartbeats beating relentlessly in his ears.

Y/N’s heart leapt as she heard the knocks, “Coming! Just one second!” She made her way over to the door, struggling to put in one of her earrings. 

She opened the door for him, “I’m sorry, I’m almost rea-” She breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of him. She admired his every angle, he looked immaculate to say the least. She’d only noticed that she dropped her earring on the floor because she followed his eyes to where it lay.

“You..um, dropped your..” He stuttered, turning red. Was it him who made her nervous? She laughed nervously and retrieved it quickly, putting it on. He cleared his throat to try to regain his composure from seeing her, “You look...stunning.” He let out a breath and shook his head as if to clear the fog in his brain that she unintentionally created, “Oh! Um, and these are for you!” He extended the arm holding the bouquet. 

She smiled and accepted them graciously, “Oh, these are beautiful, you didn’t have to trouble yourself, Dr. Reid.” He loved the way his name sounded coming from her.

“It was nothing, really, it’s the least I could do, and please, call me Spencer.” He smiled and she mirrored it instantly.

“Come in, Spencer. I’ll put these in a vase, put on my shoes, and we’ll head right out!” He watched her as she disappeared into her apartment. 

A sparkly, form-fitting black dress adorned her figure contrasting to the flowy nature of the dresses Spencer had usually seen her in. He tried not to profile her apartment as much as he could, but he was too curious not to. He saw unfinished canvases and the apartment smelled vaguely of paint thinner. He admired her paintings but also tried not to snoop. She came out of her room, completely ready, and saw him staring at her paintings.

“Uhm, those aren’t quite done yet.” She stated shyly, “I have a habit of getting sidetracked.” She giggled and gestured to her unfinished paintings. 

He smiled as he turned to her, “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to poke around.” He stated quickly but she just smiled at him, “These are incredible, I don’t believe I have a single artistic bone in my body.” He laughed.

“Yeah, right! That can’t be true.” She teased. 

Spencer grinned and checked the time, “Are you all done? We should get going. I hope you don’t mind walking there.” She nodded and they made their way out. The restaurant was a short walk away and the whole time Spencer fiddled with his hands in his pockets nervously except for when he was describing something, a habit he had. They arrived at the restaurant.

“Good evening, reservation for Dr. Reid.” Spencer said and Y/N hated the way her stomach went into a fit of somersaults at that. That was a lie, she kind of loved it.

They were seated and they could finally make uninterrupted eye-contact. She smiled at him and Spencer hoped his swooning wasn’t too obvious. They ordered their food and made conversation as they waited.

“So, Spencer, how did you get into the FBI?” She asked as she propped her chin on her hand. Her gaze was enough to send Spencer into the next dimension.

“Believe it or not, I’m unbelievably athletic.” He joked and she bubbled with laughter. Spencer couldn’t take his eyes off her as she laughed, determined to never stop her from doing it, “seriously,” he continued, “they took one look at me at the academy and were like, yeah we need this dude chasing down bad guys immediately!” She laughed again and shook her head.

“Aw, come on, don’t bring yourself down!” She smiled wide and took one of his hands that were resting on the table. Spencer’s heart soared at the action and was glad it was different from the way it felt as she clutched his hand when they were kidnapped together.

“I guess the FBI needed me because well...serial killers and criminals often have a tendency to create puzzles that are seemingly impossible to crack, and I just so happen to be very good at cracking those puzzles. I usually do that by analyzing their behavior. I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” She could tell he was being humble, but she couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Aren’t you a Doctor? I’m assuming PhD?” She saw him blush.

“Uh, three actually.” He looked off to the side bashfully. Her jaw dropped at his humility, but he just smiled, “In Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering…” he paused, “as well as degrees in Psychology and Sociology.” She laughed in somewhat of a shock. Spencer knew his credentials were impressive but for some reason her validation seemed so important to him.

“What….how? How old are you?” She gawked. 

He laughed, “I’m 30. I graduated high school at the age of 12. I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute. I have an eidetic memory which basically means I can remember lots of information accompanied by the ability to recall things with accuracy which of course came in handy while I was getting those PhD’s…”

“Wow...” was all she could say, she suddenly felt insignificant, but her smile never faltered. He had no intention of making her feel that way and she knew that, but she had no idea how she possibly landed a date with a...genius.

“Yeah...it kind of overwhelms people, I hope you’re not too intimidated.” He laughed shyly. She giggled, how could she be when his awkwardness made him oh so endearing.

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s a little intimidating, but they are amazing accomplishments and you have every right to be proud of them.” She assured him by squeezing his hand, just like he did hers when she was nervous. He appreciated the gesture and they grinned at each other.

“So when did you start painting?” He asked her as he took a sip of wine.

“All my life, it seems. I couldn’t think of anything else that I wanted to do. There’s something about the way the paintbrush feels in my hand. I don’t know, I guess I wanted to add more color into people’s worlds…and I love kids! I just knew I had to teach them.” She gushed and he admired the way her eyes sparkled.

“You know there are countless studies that support the idea of painting as a stress reliever. Actually, there was this one study where…” he continued to ramble and Y/N seemed to hang onto every word. He was so adorable in the way that he described things and bounced from one topic to another. She didn’t interrupt him once, not even when the food was set down on their table. He only stopped when he felt the warmth of her hand disappear from his so she could start eating. She peered at him curiously, wondering why he stopped.

“Sorry,” he grinned, “didn’t realize I’d been rambling.” 

She shook her head, smiling wide, “If I knew half the things you know, I would want to share them with everyone too. I love it.”

He hadn’t expected her response but he was grateful because she hadn’t belittled him like most people do. They ate as they shared stories from their lives. Spencer noticed how the wine added a flush to her cheeks and he wondered how much more beautiful she could possibly get. She insisted on feeding him a piece of her meal but she couldn’t reach that far across the table and Spencer thought that was adorable. He’d had to lean forward just to have some, the interaction made his cheeks ache from smiling. Soon, they finished their food and Spencer took care of the bill, Y/N insisted she’d take care of dessert. 

They got up and headed out of the restaurant. They were greeted by the soft chill of the nighttime. Spencer had noticed immediately how Y/N’s arms instinctively shot up to hug herself and shield her body away from the cold. He took his blazer off and placed it on her shoulders. She blushed at the warm gesture and gladly slid her arms through. 

She smiled up at him gratefully, “Thanks, Spencer. Are you sure you won’t get cold?” The way she slipped her arm through his and hugged his arm almost made him forget to reply. 

“I’m good, this um, sweater vest is warmer than it looks.”

He usually shied away from touch, but if there was one thing Spencer was sure of, it was that he never wanted her to let go of him. They walked in the moonlight. Conversation with her came easily. They found themselves in front of the coffee shop where they first learned of each other. It seemed it only fit to celebrate their first date there. They walked in and the woman behind the counter beamed as she saw the two of them walking in together. It was like she knew. She greeted Y/N and the Dr. gleefully and happily took their order. Spencer physically had to bite his lip to keep from smiling too much. They sat down where Spencer usually sat with his books.

“The first time I saw you sitting here, you were literally zooming through a book. I thought you’d had to have been looking for a specific quote or something, not actually reading it!” She giggled as she took a piece of the carrot cake they’d ordered. She didn’t want to let go of his warmth, so they decided to sit next to each other. Spencer didn’t mind that one bit, he’d taken his hand out of his pocket and laced his fingers through hers, their arms still looped in one another’s.

He nodded at her words, taking another piece, “The first time I saw you, you were just walking in, with your earbuds in. I was quite literally blown away.” He sheepishly admitted. She was taken aback by his sweetness and she shook her head. This man had to be too good to be true. She looked up at him and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I never thought I’d say this but...I’m so glad I was kidnapped.” She said and that sent the both of them into a roar of laughter that made the entire coffee shop jealous of what they had.

Part 1

[ad0xa]

Shot story / dream.

Before I went to bed I had watched "Enola Holmes" on netflix and also a documentary about triplets separated at birth. And my brain did a really cool mashup. So I dreamt about this sort of... big complicated spy plot? Where one girl (it was me and not me at the same time) were investigating where her twin sister had gone. And she met a boy at the way of her investigating. And they fell in love while doing this search, they talked to and met up with professors and teachers and stuff. Also running from the "bad guys" who were trying to capture her. The thing was, that she and her sister had "special powers". She could like slow time? for short amounts? Or more like having super good reflexes so she could fight really well. Do these amazing jumps and balancing acts. And her sister was much weaker than her physically she had a power to "dream" about real life places and she and her sister could explore these places like they were real. (She could bring other people in to the dream) and when you woke up you would be back in your bed. This had made the two of them the "best spies ever" And they were working for the government or something similar. But now that her sister had disappeared she was suspicious about this government or organization or whatever. Some clues pointed to it being an inside job. And eventually she found this big place like a prison. But it labeled itself as a school? All of the girls were being trained in disguise, social shit and logical puzzles and stuff. And the boys were being trained just to be strong and fit. And I think all of them had some sort of small power of sorts? No power were like "I shoot fireballs!" it was more like things that were hard to explain but might be natural or... something? And so she found her sister there, but she was so weak she were just staying in this room in bed. It was like she had gotten weaker being away from her sister. Then, PLOT TWIST. The guy she had been with this whole time who she thought was just this random cool dude, was actually working for this organization. Not only that. But he had a twin too. I don't remember why this was clever tho. But something about them switching places and being able to be at two places at the same time and stuff like that. I had flashbacks where she would realize it was one or the other of them. 

This whole time the clues and things she found out had made her think that this organization had formed their “school” out of the dynamic she and her sister had. One really smart and clever one and one who was more fitted for fighting and action. (tho she obvs was clever too just not AS clever.) But it turned out that they had plans bigger than this. The twin boys were actually the "golden pair" they were PERFECT. Both could do action and had skills and cleverness. They had tried to kidnap the girls to train them to be as good as the boys and then have them couple up as a four-man operation. They had just realized that it was too hard to capture her bc of her powers, without it being a big scene somewhere. So they decided to just take one sister and basically hope that she would find her way to the location , but without actually knowing what was going on being mislead by the boys.  The school and how they trained the girls and the boys were just due to sexist stereotypes. The twin girls dynamic had nothing much to do with it. They might've inspired the scientist who came up with the plan but... it wasn't the reason they had wanted to kidnap them.

Now with this betrayal from the boys and everything a big fight ensued. One of the twin boys were actually in love with her and switched when he realized he couldn’t go through with this. He got hurt but retreated to where her sister was sleeping to help her escape.  She was stuck in this epic fight with the other twin. Who were much more cold and psychopathic for some reason. Typical “evil twin” plot haha. 

She managed to flee or subdue the guy, and joined up with the "good" twin brother and her sister. And they fled. They found some place to hide out and her sister did her dream thing for them to find out more. The twin brother twin sister project was a side project. The real big thing was this training school they had going. Were they were trying to "make" super spies. Making them pair up eventually. Not like romantic couples. But you got the feeling that they might've planned for people to actually fall in love and maybe have children.... so they could take those children eventually. But if this was a real plan it wasn't mentioned to anyone. Just that it was almost encouraged to date people from the "other" training camp. (Boys / Girls ) I remember a small sideplot about this big muscular dude who was gay and felt pressured to date a girl “just because” and how sad it was for both of them.  They clearly didn’t care about anything other than straight.  It was very cult-ish and strict in the school other than they were allowed to date.

But it went even deeper than that. They were also trying to "enhance" the natural powers of people. And sometimes it went wrong... They had this theory of everyone having a "true nature" and that it was from there the powers came. Like someone being a supernatural good swimmer had a "true nature" of being a fish or something. More of a soul / feelings thing I think. Not like otherkin but like... a natural aptitude?  But this feeling and state of being could take over and and change people.... horribly. So we found out about this one scandinavian girl (this all took place in the uk) that they had kidnapped bc she had powers. And she had turned in to this mermaid creature thing that needed blood to survive. She wasn't like, a conscious human anymore. But she could understand humans somewhat. She also laid a lot of eggs and it was super nasty bc they had unborn babies in them. (dunnu how the fuck that happened but..... ) And they had to keep killing off these creatures before they hatched. But they also wanted to study them. So she was mostly just laying in this pool of blood with weird wines coming out from under her, like she was this mix of different sea-creatures. Half of this information was found out by the dream snooping and half was talking to one of the doctors / scientists that were just like "I'm trying my best to treat these kids. Obvs I can’t expose the organization I work here, I think my time is best spent on trying to help these kids. " I was like... mmm I'm not sure but ok. And then he told me the bad news. He said "You know how your sister has been being weaker and weaker? Well... She's actually turning in to one of these beings. Her "true nature" is a sort of moth. She will be sleepier and sleepier until she becomes her "true nature" and then she will be lost forever. " Obviously this wasn't very nice to hear. But he promised to take care of her best he could if I brought her there, without the organization knowing. Bc her powers were sought after. So I / we did. Cause we didn’t know any other option. Also, I would totally kill the guy if I found out he was lying.  Then I set out to "destroy" this organization. Now I was working with the "good twin" like before but I didn't really trust him so he was mostly in the background doing small work. The organization was trying stuff with hypnotics and mind control. On the kids and on the public. They for one thing had this ad out for a big event they were going to have at disneyland? "Become a real princess"??-kind of thing. It was marketed as this event and club submission were they would choose "the best" out of all the people to take in to the club. It was really just a way to get as many people gathered at one spot so they could mind control them to be ok if their children were ever taken by the organization in the future. The princess stuff was like a plus for them, getting to maybe find some more subjects for the "school" they had since they had a shortage of girls. And I was working against the clock. I had infiltrated the "school" and had gathered some of the more critical students in a small club of sorts. The mind control was very prevalent in the school. They didn't want people to question why they were learning or doing these things. They certainly didn't want their full grown super-spies to think too much about what they were doing eventually either. But this small group of students wasn't effected by the hypnotic mind control shit, and they were questioning things. So I made some sort of plan (I think I drifted out and in of sleep some here, or I just wasn't interested in that part) and it was about to be carried out. But surprise surprise! The evil twin brother found out about it and epic fight scene ensued! I remember how weird it felt fighting someone I loved, and how alien it was like... he looked like him... but he wasn't him. And he almost defeated me but ofc.... his brother came to my rescue. And so they fought while I was trying to continue with the plan. (Pretty beaten up) I just remember going up and down these cold stone stairs in the castle (school/prison) and seeing in the distance the lightshow that was being done at the "princess" event. (I guess it was really close to disneyland haha) We shot something at the place like a laser or something? To shut down the tv-screen central thing that was doing the hypnotic stuff. And the event continued like planned but without the hypnotic thing happening to the public. Which they "the bad guys" didn't know about until it was over. We couldn't save the people who willingly had entered in to the "club" however. But we planned on rescuing everyone eventually. Shutting down the school. So it was a good win anyways. I returned to my sister to tell her the good news. But the doctor warned me that it wasn't looking good. He showed me to a barn outside of the sciency-building. And a small ladder lead up to a small attic space. It was light and the small dust particles made everything look weirdly glowy and fuzzy. My sister sat in the far end corner of the small space surrounded by big moths flying everywhere. It was creepy and beautiful at the same time. She had this cocoon like thing around her, looking very sleepy. But smiling at me. There were silk threads all over the place. She was soon going to cocoon herself in this silk thread completely. What she would turn in to... no one knew.

After that the dream basically ended. Or rather, it flowed in to another dream that had nothing to do with this plot.

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 18

Getting around in Portia was pretty dang easy, all things considered.  It was a peaceful town; no one really expected theft or violence.

If she was an actual thief this would have been a dream playground.

But she wasn't.  She was far more than a thief -- even thinking of herself in that manner was insulting.  She was here for information...even the smallest detail could be important back home, and she was exceptionally good at picking out the right kind of details. ((Continued below cut))

With the simple locks on all the doors here in town it was ridiculously easy to go poking around for information; she'd always walked with a quiet and careful step and had spent her childhood accidentally "sneaking" up on people, which had drawn the attention of Duvos's allies within Lucien.  Between her mother's tips and tricks and some rigorous training within Duvos's armed forces she'd been a talented snoop even before she'd stolen her mother's scouting suit. This Portia job was considerably easier than any assignment she'd been given before and even without the suit on she could read everyone's mail, eavesdrop on whoever she wanted, she'd planted the Uplifter manual in a box in the neighboring clinic to uphold the illusion that it had been misplaced rather than stolen and carefully memorized, and Dr. Xu's desk always had up to date information regarding the upcoming construction effort to expand the clinic into a school and install the All Source AI here.

Everything she could feasibly find pertinent to her mission here was all within easy reach.

Dr. Xu's desk also held something far more interesting than the construction information too: she'd accidentally stumbled on some counseling records on one Elizabeth Summers...the folder that held them was dog-eared and worn -- they'd looked more used than the others there and that had drawn her attention.  Reading through those had been... To think that someone could have survived inside a fancy, high-tech tank for three hundred years. It seemed impossible and yet at the same time she had to marvel at what mankind had been capable of creating in ancient times, and she felt a sharp pang of jealousy and loss when she considered just how much they'd lost in the Calamity.

All that knowledge that woman must be carrying...first-hand information regarding the Old World -- advanced medical knowledge AND technical knowledge! That would make Duvos unstoppable if they had that in their grasp, and if only she'd known sooner about Summers then they could have planned to snatch her as well when they made their move for the AI.

Oh well.  If not now then in the future -- Duvos was going to eventually win.  They had to - their worldwide plans for humanity were too important to let sit unimagined: gathering everyone under ONE banner, ONE leadership, and everyone taken care of so there'd be no more fighting over dwindling Old World resources as mankind dug itself out of the crater the Calamity had left them in (a crater that now seemed leagues deeper after what she'd read in the counseling notes).

Granted, she could readily admit that Duvos's methods of getting everyone under one empire were a bit heavy-handed; it was understandable that the wider world wanted nothing to do with a nation they saw as violent warmongers.  But that opinion only made sense if people didn't bother to look beyond the outermost layer of the empire -- no one ever dug deeper to truly understand how Duvos was striving to take care of its citizens. One thing Lily appreciated about Duvos's claim to technology was everything they discovered or learned was immediately turned toward the empire's benefit, and its citizens reaped the rewards with more and higher paying jobs, higher crop yields of ever increasing quality, and the feeling of security knowing that THEY, at least, had nothing to fear from other nations daring to come in and take it all away.

Duvos would get the world back on track to becoming that utopia it had once been in ages past, and that would be so much easier if the city states and neighboring nations would just join together and stand shoulder to shoulder beneath the empire's banner.

It was an inevitable future that she wished the rest of the continent would see the sense in, and if they'd all just pick the easy route...

She'd spotted Evangeline walking down the road toward the harbor a few days ago and while she hadn't seen her since, nor had she seen Marcus, if she was here then he was too and it was good to know they had arrived and would be ready to move when the time came.  

There would be more than them, of course; as a security measure Lily didn't know who to expect (Marcus and Evangeline WOULD, though) but knew there'd be at least two more because Xan's original plan had been simple and to the point: once the All Source AI had been moved to the clinic they would break in, disable it, and take it and all its attached computer parts out to the open desert where a plane would be landing to take them all back to Duvos.  It had some inherent risk to it (all plans of that nature would) but they'd all been satisfied with it and everyone knew exactly what part they would have to play to make it happen.

NOW, however, with what amounted to a body double of the doctor that ran that clinic, they could step back and go a bit slower at it...carefully take things apart, pack them separately and carry it all out a little bit at a time over the course of a few hours instead of a mad rush with all of it on them at one time.  She was certain whoever else was sent along to help wouldn't mind the change in the plan, especially since Xan himself approved of it.

And they'd have Harrison on hand to help dispel any suspicion -- Lily didn't believe in any gods or anything like fate but the coincidence of the two men sounding so much alike AND there being a machine that could alter one to look like the other was almost enough to make her consider offering a "thank you" to the cosmos.  Harrison wasn't exactly the heroic type either and all he'd have to do is do as he was told to get his family and teacher back safe and sound - she couldn't see him being bold enough to try anything and risk someone getting killed so she didn't feel even the slightest hint of guilt over it!

Speaking of doing what she was supposed to do... Lily shook herself out of her thoughts and glanced behind her at the path she was leaving in the field as she walked.  The mud beneath her feet sucked at her boots but it did make it incredibly easy to push in the little colored row markers Sophie had given her; the farm had a multi-bladed plow contraption that was hauled along behind a sturdy draft horse and the old woman liked to have these markers out before the plowing started so not only would the rows be simple to keep evenly spaced but also so it was clear what seed was going where in the fields when planting time came (she'd tried explaining something about crop rotations and whatnot but Lily had honestly tuned her out halfway through her rambling).  

White for wheat (there was a LOT of white markers), yellow for cornballs (also quite numerous), various shades of green for peas, leafy greens, peppers, bamboo papaya, bright orange for potato fruit, purple for pumpkins, and bright blue for layered carrots.  She'd already marked out a small plot up near the farmhouse for herbs as well...she'd had the passing thought of asking for a plot to plant some flowers just so there'd be something here she'd actually enjoy tending to but there wouldn't be much point in that being as she'd be leaving soon anyway.  

Maybe when it was all said and done and Duvos had united everyone Lily could switch careers and get into some manner of horticulture.  It would be harder work than spying but it was hard to ignore how much she loved seeing  and caring for brightly colored blooms.

It was good to have goals, no matter how far out into the future they seemed.

...maybe they would start construction soon while the ground was soft, and all her goals would shift forward a bit in time.

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

Between training in the mornings, taking on her new patrols and postings in the early afternoon, and training Toby in the late afternoon through early evening, by the time bed time rolled around Eli was only too happy to crawl under the blankets and pass out.  

It felt good to be so active.  It was like being back in...

 Don't-

...no.  She couldn't shut this particular thing out.  That was too big a part of who she was.  She might not be in charge of this "squad" but it was like coming home; maybe it was the only real thing she COULD refer to as "home."  It was a topic she'd discussed with Dr. Xu during their sessions and they'd been carefully untangling her feelings regarding the whole thing: survivor's guilt, mourning what she'd lost, and trying not to feel guilty over building a new life that resembled her old one.  If she was going to keep moving forward then she had to stop blocking things out.

So.  Yes.  She could admit to herself it was like being back in her squad.  She NEEDED to admit that to herself, and embrace and understand everything that came with it, no matter how painful.

She'd just stepped through the doorway of her room when she heard pounding feet coming up behind her; as she turned Selene - smudged with oil and red in the face - came into view and the woman broke into a wide smile as she spotted Eli standing there.

"Oh good - I caught you before you fell asleep.  It's done!"

"...which "it" are we talking about here?" Eli prompted after a pause; her tired brain couldn't recall if Selene had mentioned anything nearing completion recently aside from work on cutting through the door.

"The rifle!" Selene laughed.  "Remington managed to find the pieces so I could cast off them and now I've got it all assembled -- I've got some ammo made too."

"Oh.  Well, wasn't expecting that."  Eli rubbed at her eyes and turned to follow as Selene gestured for her to come along; Selene practically jogged back to her factory while Eli followed at a brisk walking pace.  

The factory was still working away at making the components needed for the signal towers so it was as noisy as ever inside the building -- a section of the shelves against the wall that normally held Selene's collection of tools had been cleared away and there were neat rows of pieces and parts all laying together and shining brightly in the overhead lights.  A quick count showed that at least four signal towers' worth of parts was there...slowly but surely they'd have them done, assembled, and installed.

Selene led her over to a workbench against the wall to their left; sitting on a makeshift metal stand was a rifle that, while not quite what Eli had been using three hundred years ago, still looked enough like a rifle that she could immediately pick out all the individual elements in the weapon:

The safety was there above the trigger guard, the chamber was left open (it was a bolt action-style rifle), there was a polished set of iron sights installed on the barrel, and it looked like the butt was a decently thick section of rubber that had been repurposed off something else judging by the rubber remnants sitting in a pile next to a bin full of scrap.  Sitting in a semicircle beneath the rifle stand were nine bullets; they weren't a caliber she was familiar with (she felt it was safe to assume that they didn't measure bullets in the same way anymore). They were larger than the ones that went into the revolver she was carrying but smaller than the ones she utilized three hundred years ago and she was already debating how she wanted to carry them on her.

"I had Ack help me line the sights up - he may be a cook but his eyes work way better than any human's eyes would," Selene said as she carefully lifted the rifle off the stand and held it out to her.  "And, while they weren't exactly thrilled I DID have Merlin and Petra show me some ancient designs.  I based this on one of those old guns but had to use what I'm able to make so it has the uh - the little thingy-"

"It's bolt action," Eli interrupted with a chuckle as Selene gestured at the chamber.  "I know.  Back in my day these were automatic and you just loaded in a magazine that had a lot of rounds in it and they cycled as the trigger was pulled. True bolt actions were usually reserved for marksman competitions."

"Yes, that - the automatic thing I mean" Selene said with a giggle.   "I saw how it worked in that design but I just don't have what's needed to craft something like that reliably. Looking at that old stuff was weird though, since some of them had ammo that was like sand...?"

At the builder's question Eli nodded as she turned the rifle over in her hands; it was heavy, sturdy.  "I'm surprised you had plans or pictures of those still... They were specialized plasma rifles and they didn't use typical ammo.  They were also expensive as hell and broke down rather easily if you didn't keep them immaculately clean.   Basically grains of the ammo would fall into the chamber, and in one split instant would be turned to plasma and ejected -- that's the really, really, REALLY simple explanation.  I don't know enough of the science behind it to tell you exactly how to make one of those.  Heck, I doubt I could tell you enough on how to break down and clean one of them since I've only ever fired one a handful of times on a shooting range."

She picked up a bullet and slotted it into the chamber, then tested how the bolt moved; it was sticking ever so slightly - thinking on it Eli realized Selene probably didn't know how to grease or oil anything like this so before she even thought of test firing she should check the rifle out herself piece by piece.

"Has a bit of a stick to it.  Want to learn where all the grease is supposed to go?"

Selene thought a moment, then nodded.  "Might as well.  I greased and oiled what I thought needed it but I guess I didn't get enough in the right places."

Eli ejected the bullet and placed it back with the others then returned the rifle to the stand.  "It's possible, but it's also possible that whatever you're using might not be the right sort of thing for the job. We can go over that tomorrow though - I'm totally wiped for the night."

"Well why didn't you say something?" Selene huffed.  "It's not like it's going anywhere."

"It's fine," Eli chuckled.  She headed toward the door with Selene following along at her elbow.  "I'm always tired in the evenings lately...I swear, eventually I'll be back in top shape."

"And, then you won't be tired?"

"No, I'll be LESS tired," Eli corrected.

Selene stuck her tongue out at her.  "But still tired and you should mention that the next time I have something to show you so I don't drag you out of the house again."

"Fine fine," Eli grumbled, but smiled afterward.

They headed back inside the house with Eli headed toward her room again; Selene headed into the kitchen and a moment later stuck her head back through the door.

"Oh, by the way - I got more butter."

"Beat me to it, thanks," Eli called back over a shoulder as she again stepped through the doorway to her room and carefully closed the door behind her, and then leaned against the door as she debated grabbing a snack before bed now that she knew butter was back in the house.

Frequenting Martha's for loaves of that raisin bread was becoming a habit -- partly because she and Selene both went through a loaf in about two days (toasted and with a smear of butter was an amazing treat) and also because Eli wanted to try and help Martha offset any miscellaneous costs that might be cropping up because of her training Toby.  She already knew he was going through paper as he made himself reference notes and pictures but when she started in with the physical training aspect there'd be a possible uptick in food costs, and clothes would need replacing if they got torn or stained, boots would wear out quicker...

As she stood there just inside her door she could feel weariness pressing in like a weighted blanket dropped over her head; it was probably too late in the evening for a snack anyway, and if she had a slice of the bread now there wouldn't be enough left for their breakfast.

Pinky was sitting in the middle of her bed again; she rolled the cat over to make enough room to get her legs on the bed and under the covers, then settled in against her pillow.  As usual Pinky took her time getting comfortable and Eli winced a bit as the heavy animal briefly stepped across her knees; her legs were sore from all the walking she'd done today but she couldn't be bothered to get up to take an aspirin at the moment, and she mentally reminded herself she needed to pick up another bottle of it from Dr. Xu when she went in for her next therapy session.

They would be starting the construction on the expansion soon...Selene was nearly through that door.  She WOULD have been through the door yesterday if she hadn't run out of fuel for her cutting torch; it was quicker to order it from Vega 5 and have it shipped here than it was for her to gather up what was needed and try to refine it herself so during this little waiting period she was focusing fully on getting those signal transmitters finished and assembled.

That was going to be...interesting.  Those transmitters were going on top of tall metal towers and it promised to be a heck of a climb to reach the top, and there was the question of how they would haul the transmitter up there with them.  They would weigh about forty pounds each which wasn't TOO heavy, technically, but they'd be bulky and someone would be carrying one up a ladder...they should probably rig up a temporary pulley system to make it easier and safer on everyone involved when the time came to install them.

Well, whatever.  That was a problem for Future-Eli.  Now-Eli just wanted to go to sleep, and for her left calf to stop cramping.

Right as she was dozing off there was a quick knock at her door.

"Hey Eli - sorry to bug you but Asher's wondering if you're still up."

A couple of thoughts immediately raced through her mind: had the spy been caught?  Had the spy hurt someone?  If this wasn't a case of life or death should she strangle Asher now or wait until morning?

"M'awake," she mumbled.  She rolled out of bed (and Pinky immediately reclaimed her spot in the middle of the mattress) and paused long enough to put a bra back on before opening the door and padding barefoot to the living room where Asher was sitting on the sofa.

He was perched on the edge of the cushions, elbows braced on his knees and actually twiddling his thumbs as one heel bounced up and down.  When she came through the door his head jerked up to look at her; his expression was grim and she felt a small jolt of worry shoot through her.

"What's up?"

He opened his mouth to reply then paused to look her up and down.  "-uh."

"Yes, I'm wearing duck-printed pajamas, it's what I pulled out of the drawer tonight.  Why are you here?" Eli asked, trying to keep the hard edge of 'authority' out of her tone -- she was NOT in charge, Asher was NOT her subordinate, and it wasn't fair to be annoyed at him since she doubted he'd be making a social call this late at night.

"It's - well, I was hoping to talk on the way."

"The way where?"

Asher bit his lower lip and then huffed out a sigh.  "Graveyard."

Eli's eyes narrowed and she spun on a heel to rush back to her room and get clothes, boots, and her holster on.  Asher was standing at the door when she came back and she followed him out into the night; he set a quick pace across the yard and waited until they were beyond the gate before he spoke.

"Remington and I were walking to the Corps building from the Round Table, saw a light in the graveyard -- was pretty low to the ground, Remington was worried someone had left a candle lit out there so we went to have a look.  Right as we went through the gate someone took a potshot at us - it was way wide so I'm thinking it was clearly meant to be a warning shot, or a distraction to let whoever it was get away.   Remington went for back up and I kept going, looking and listening and using the stones as cover.  I combed the place over and didn't see anyone or get any more bullets in my direction, but..."

He trailed off as they came to the graveyard's gate, and pulled out a small flashlight and clicked it on; Eli tensed up and scanned the area, marking every shadow and mentally putting herself on high alert for any sort of movement or sound.  Asher seemed cautious but not nearly as cautious as she would have been with an active shooter on the loose; he knew exactly where he was going and about six graves in Eli realized where he was leading her.

Darren's grave was very distinct compared to the ones around it, and in the light of the flashlight she could see a message scorched across the stone:

 Neither Portia nor the world needs you

She felt the bite of her nails against her palms as her fists clenched, and there was the roar of her own blood in her ears as an immediate rage hit her.

"Oh you fucking did not, you bastard," Eli snarled before she could stop herself.  

"...what?" Asher asked after a moment.

...that had come out in Dubeian. Probably good that it had.  "I am not translating that," she replied.  She took a deep breath and slowly relaxed her hands; her palms were still stinging.  "And you didn't see anyone?"

Asher shook his head and quickly panned the flashlight's beam around the grave - the grass was flattened but none of the tracks were clear.   "Nope.  And I'm thinking I know why."

She tore her gaze from the gravestone and looked over to him; he was looking at her with a clear expression of concern on his face.  "You're thinking the spy's figured out who I am and where I came from."

"Duvos likes their technology-"

"-so they're going to make me a target, got it," Eli interrupted.   She reached out and took the flashlight from him and squatted to get a better look at the trampled grass.

As she'd initially determined the tracks weren't clear; they were all muddled together and she couldn't get a feel for the size or type of footwear that had been tramping around here and, for some reason, they simply stopped at the edges of the nearby graves.  She stood and had a look at the next grave over and could see grass and mud smeared across the top, and similar smears were on the base of the grave beyond that.

"...almost looks like our perp jumped from tombstone to tombstone to hide their tracks, except for here because they wouldn't have been able to balance on the bottom of Darren's stone AND do their fucking defacing without burning their own face off," she muttered.  "So what's their damn aim...try and intimidate me into leaving town and grab me off the road?  They picked the wrong bitch to try and scare off, I can tell you that much...  Where's everyone else?"

Asher gestured beyond the fence line.  "Sam went out that way, Arlo took Remington and went to check the ruins down the hill, and Mali is checking 'round the church and along the walls.  I cleared the cafe, commerce guild, and apartments, then got sent to go get you.  Adam's on alert out at the facility."

With a sigh that trailed out into a growl Eli ran a hand through her hair to push it back into place; some goddamn-- could she even blame this on the spy?  That had been both their immediate suspicions, and if Duvos knew about her she supposed it would make sense for them to try and grab her, but what if it wasn't even related to that?  Could be some church crony...Portia got a lot of tourists, ANYONE could slip in pretending to be there for the scenery.

"Have you told Gale yet?"

Asher shook his head.  "Not yet - Arlo wanted to clear the area first since we've got undeniable proof that there's an armed whoever out there.  Can't really let them have the run of the town.  I'm thinking they're long gone though -- no idea where to, but I doubt we're going to find them."

"And if they'd wanted to actually shoot one of you they could have..." Eli said quietly.  "You'd have to be a piss poor shot to miss a target that doesn't even know you're there."

"Yep.  And they could have followed up in the confusion too - we didn't know where it'd come from at first."

Eli panned the flashlight around slowly, marking out where the mud smears and even a few tufts of grass led; it looked like whoever it was had jumped the fence at the back of the graveyard...  She walked over and looked up and down the fenceline and could see where the grass had been disturbed but was quickly recovering from the trampling. With a grunt she vaulted over the fence and headed out, only vaguely aware of Asher calling for her to wait for him; he'd said Sam had gone out this way so maybe she'd found something by now.  

This was part of the tree farm so somewhere out here she'd come across the now well-worn footpath that would lead out to the facility; of course, there were also a lot of ruined buildings out this way that, while they'd been stripped down of anything useful, were still decently intact and could house and hide any number of persons who managed to get inside.  

Those ruins would both take time to clear and be especially dangerous to do so.

So much for sleeping tonight.

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

"At the very least Lee assures me that he knows of no such Church agent within Portia, and frankly he seemed genuinely disgusted and concerned by the idea that someone would fire on an innocent like that - not even enforcers would dare be so reckless."

Asher was only half-listening to the man; he was somewhat distracted by the burning need to find whoever it was that had shot at them AND defaced the gravestone so he could pound them into a fine paste.   Competing with that need was the thought that he couldn't decide if it would be better or worse for this latest development to be unrelated to the spy -- it COULD be someone related to the Church in some way - either a rogue enforcer or some random nobody who heard rumors and came to deal with it themselves: vigilantes weren't common but Asher had run into them enough times to know that if someone got it into their head that only THEIR narrowly defined world view was the right view then they felt justified in doing whatever they felt needed to be done.  And, of course, it COULD in fact be their spy trying to distract them and spread their numbers thin.  They all knew the facility and Stewart were the spy's target but if Duvos knew about Eli too...

"I feel we've little choice - we need to let the townspeople know at the next town meeting that there's an armed and dangerous person somewhere in the region," Arlo spoke up then.  "We can't risk someone getting hurt because they didn't know to be on the lookout."

"But the next meeting isn't for another couple days," Sam said.  "Do we want to risk something happening in the meantime?  Or risk letting whoever this is walk out of town freely?"

Remington shook his head.  "We can't do much about them leaving - we have no idea what this person looks like, and while it's not TOO common we do get folks coming through Portia who carry sidearms on them.  Not every traveler with a gun is going to be the person we're looking for."

That was something Asher agreed with. Guns weren't plentiful but they were still around, and while they tended to be small or have limited range they were still quite dangerous.  Thankfully a lot of them weren't all that accurate and so he'd spent all night (because who in the world could sleep after knowing someone shot at them?) wavering back and forth between believing it had been just a warning shot meant to distract them or if the person had actually intended to hit them but the weapon or their skill was at fault for the wide shot.  He was leaning more toward the warning shot still since, even though he and Remington had ducked for cover immediately, there had been plenty of time for follow up shots that hadn't come...but was he willing to stake lives on that assessment?  Even if THIS had been just a warning there might not be a warning the NEXT time.

"I think we need to tell everyone, immediately," Asher spoke up then.  "And I agree that not everyone with a gun is our troublemaker but if we see anyone armed we should at least keep an eye on them if we can.   Our guy probably came in over the fence from the tree farm, same way they left too - can we close the tree farm to any tourists?  Whoever this is might not be deterred by the need to scale the fence versus walking through the gate but at the very least we'd cut down on the traffic in the area since regular folks would be kept away."

Gale nodded.  "That's an idea -- better to disappoint people than put them in danger or let our culprit have the run of the farm."

Asher saw Eli stir out of the corner of his eye.  "Do many people tour the tree farm?" she asked.

"From early spring to early fall we do get a surprising number of folks wanting to see the apple blossoms and pick the fruit, and Dawa keeps a section of just the fruiting trees for that purpose.  Portia's emergency funds can certainly cover any lost wages that'll come from curtailing traffic to the farm."

"For now that seems like a good idea, and in the near future we're going to have all the signal towers up so that'll help us coordinate keeping an eye on things.  I told Selene about our newest visitor's antics and she's going to pull double duty to get everything made," Eli went on.  "We'll need to borrow some muscle to get them up and installed but then we'll all be in contact with one another no matter where we are in Portia."

Asher watched as she lifted and then waggled the wrist that her Hi-Def was strapped to.  "-that would make life a lot easier," he said into the pause that followed.  "One of us spots something, we ALL know about it immediately."

"Have we heard anything from anyone else?" Remington asked.  He was looking at Mali, and Asher turned his attention to her as well.

"No," Mali replied.  "So far as the Alliance's spies and scouts can tell nothing has changed within Duvos's territory -- no increases in labor, material acquisitions, or troop movements.  They're still occupying the Orzu Ruins and saber rattling at Ethea but nothing has escalated and we've not heard of any secret plans of theirs in the circles our spies have infiltrated.  If this person is working under direct orders from Duvos higher ups they're keeping it very well hidden."

Gale stood up and pressed his hands against his desk, slowly panning his gaze to look at all of them one at a time.  "All right then, it seems we have a tentative plan -- I'll spread word, and I hope you all will as well, that we're to have an emergency town meeting tomorrow night.  I would aim for tonight but I worry that wouldn't be enough time to make sure everyone knows about it -- we'll be cautious, and keep our eyes peeled for any trouble, and I'll go to Dawa immediately after this to instruct him to close the tree farm to everyone except for those there strictly for business purposes."

There was a lot of nodding at that; Gale inhaled and exhaled slowly and then moved out from around his desk only to pause and look toward Eli as she cleared her throat.

"Not to uh...sour the mood further, but what's your protocol on shooting to kill?"

The room went silent; all eyes, Asher's included, moved to Eli.  He supposed he shouldn't be surprised by it (she'd already shot at the spy once) but with the exception of Remington and Mali it seemed everyone else definitely was.

After a moment of no responses Eli shrugged.  "Sorry, but it needs to be made clear right now.  I'm armed, and I've already tried to put a bullet into our visitor once -- I wasn't wanting to kill and I didn't hit them anyway but I was ready to accept whatever consequences would've followed if I had, because I was essentially a private citizen then.   Now I'm part of your law enforcement.  I need to know if I'm allowed to use lethal force if it comes to it."

"IF it comes to that," Arlo said; his tone was a bit strained -- Asher wondered if the man had ever really stopped to think about taking a life.  None of the Civil Corps here seemed to carry a weapon and he doubted they'd ever been placed in a "them or me" situation with anything other than a rogue monster or robot (he knew Remington had seen action in Lucien so that would explain why the man didn't look so shocked at her question).  Cutting down some leftover relic or rampaging beast was a heck of a lot different from having to take down another person.

Eli nodded to him.  "Unfortunately I think it might, now that we know they're armed.  I'll do whatever I can to not let it get to that point but..."

She trailed off; Mali was nodding at her and Arlo noticed it.  For a long moment Arlo looked between Mali and Eli, then sighed and looked to Gale.  "I'd hear your opinion on this."

Gale pressed his lips together.  "Well..." he started, drawing the word out.  "You all know I've seen action myself.  The thought of killing is as abhorrent now as it was then but sometimes, you're not given a choice."  He turned to look to Eli.  "Being as you were formally trained and were a ranking member of your military I imagine you would know when it's time to use lethal force or not, and I feel I can trust you to use your judgement to avoid any unneeded loss of life."

"I appreciate the trust and I won't let you down," Eli replied.  "I'm not about to let this story become a murder mystery."

Arlo, Remington, Sam, and Gale all nodded knowingly; Asher looked to Mali and saw a hint of the same confusion he was feeling at the moment but Gale was ushering them out of his office now so he hurried out ahead of the others.

The sun was just starting to come up - a reminder that they'd all gotten hardly any or, in some cases, no sleep at all.  Asher had a running record of three days without sleep and hoped he wasn't going to be breaking that record in the upcoming days; Mali immediately headed out through Portia's gates to head back to the facility while Gale's steps appeared to be leading him back to his house.

"-any orders for the morning, Arlo?" Asher asked after a moment.

"I'd like you and Eli to comb the area over again, then separate out into your patrol patterns.  Sam - take on Remington's patrols this morning.  Remington - I'll need you with me.  I was supposed to be escorting Selene into the ruins to break down that door and get it ready to be hauled out to the facility to be installed but with her needing to focus on getting the signal transmitters done you and I will have to handle it ourselves.  She's showed me how to disconnect most of the wiring we'd be encountering so our task is to get it detached from the wall however we can and stacked together to be moved out of there.  Mint is taking charge of getting the install site prepped and ready and he'll be leading a team to retrieve the door when they're ready."

Ha, he'd almost forgotten about the plans for that security door; with that installed they wouldn't need constant surveillance for the facility.  That would be one less thing to juggle schedules with and maybe then they could focus on turning over every rock and blade of grass, and check every nook and cranny of the Portian countryside to find whoever their little visitor was and get them out of the picture.

They all began to separate out into their assigned duties; Asher walked side by side with Eli up the hill toward the graveyard again.  He felt a little jolt of anxiety up his spine as he walked through the gate into the graveyard but there weren't any shots fired at him again, nor did there appear to be anyone here.

"I'll take the northern half, you go south?" he asked.

Eli nodded and headed off without complaint -- which he was glad for as he'd purposely given himself the northern area because that's where Darren's defaced tombstone was and he didn't want her to have to face that again.

As he suspected there wasn't anything out of place or different from when they'd checked the area over earlier; the grass had mostly recovered from being walked on and if not for the mud smears on the gravestones you'd be hard pressed to tell that anyone had been through the graveyard recently.  

Still, he and Eli spent a good amount of time examining every stone and the strip of land on either side of the fence; then, with the sun up and his Hi-Def indicating it was going on nine o'clock, they both hopped the fence a final time and headed out into the tree farm.  

"So...if we were back in your time, how would you be handling this?" he asked as they walked.

For a few steps she didn't answer.  "...well, back then we had AI drones.  They could fly and cover a large amount of ground.  And, we had people out on foot searching too with specialized equipment."

"Did you have to do many manhunts like this?"

She shook her head.  "Usually they were rescue missions but sometimes yeah, we had armed people out making trouble."  She paused, then let out a snort.  "What I wouldn't give for my armor kit.  Weighed an absolute ton but it could withstand being shot by most weapons.  Having to do all this, LIKE this...makes me feel pretty damn useless."

"What?  How?"

She waved a hand.  "Nevermind.  Don't really feel like getting into it at the moment."

"Right.  Sorry," he said in a rush.  Once they got to the rear of the tree farm they would need to split off into their patrol routes.  "So, uh..."

"Hmm?"

"We get done - meet up for lunch?"

They continued on in silence for several more steps.  "-maybe.  Depends on what's happened by then."

He let out a sort of helpless chuckle.  "Yeah, true."

Again they walked on in silence and reached the point where their routes went in different directions; Asher walked along his for a few feet then turned around.  "Hey, Eli?" She stopped and looked over a shoulder at him. "What was the story comment about?"

"I'll tell you over lunch."

He grinned and started back along his patrol route.

[aconitemare]

[jaydick] Before That, And Colder

Chapter Four

AO3

Previous Chapter

Dick kicks his foot in the air repeatedly, inspecting the pink flowers on his white Oxfords. He’s pretending to ignore the people around him — possibly, he is actually ignoring them, as the outlines of their bodies blur around his fancy footwear. He leans farther back on Jason’s desk, conjuring the picture of ease. To his left rests Jason’s Red Hood helmet in a gargoyle-fashion. Everyone here knows Jason Todd is the Red Hood, but Dick is just Richie Grayson, D-list celebrity. The sleeves of his pretentiously silk bomber jacket, embroidered with colorful roosters, slip slightly down his shoulder. 

“Is this really the best time to be hiring people? Specifically this person?” This question comes from James — or “Wingman,” as Jason earlier informed him of. James is up-and-coming, bat-themed, Gotham-based vigilante who believes the Red Hood is absolutely critical to public safety. Dick has not yet shared this detail with Batman, having only received it an hour before this current meeting, but he’s hoping they’ll share a good laugh over that.

“No time like the present,” Jason says without much concern. He stands beside the desk, a few feet from Dick. 

Dick catches James crossing his arms from the corner of his eyes. The defensive body language convinces him to focus more on the arrangement of people. Suzie Su still sits on the recliner, seemingly indifferent. Her sisters, one of which Dick recognizes as the waitress who intercepted him and Miguel earlier, flock around Su either on the couch or near her armrest; all except for Night, Dick’s blackjack dealer yesterday, who now occupies a distant corner of the room by herself. Miguel sits in the recliner opposite Suzie Su, playing with his tie. James stands the closest to Dick and Jason and busies himself with looking like he eats nails for breakfast. 

“The son of Bruce Wayne is hardly a sound addition to the Outlaws,” James points out. 

Suzie Su’s head swivels towards Jason. “Oh, no,” she says, suddenly invested, “Whatever ‘the outlaws’ is, count me out of it. I’m going legit, you promised!”

Jason takes a page from Dick’s book and seats himself on the corner of his desk. He grips the edge, knees spread, so that he looks like he’s riding a horse. For an unstably diverse crowd, he’s rather at ease at the head of it, Dick notes. Jason holds up a silencing finger and begins his address, “Firstly, the Outlaws are too legit for any mere mortal to handle, that includes you, Su, so stuff it. Secondly, James, you can also stuff it because no one’s inviting Richie Rich onto the team except you, it would seem.”

So, does that mean I don’t get to see the Super Secret Clubhouse and make friendship bracelets? Dick almost says. Instead, he receives a text alert and checks his phone to see Bruce left him a message. 

What is your plan of action? it reads.

Dick quickly shoots back a non-committal text, wary of Jason sensing Batman’s concern through the phone. Luckily, Jason doesn’t pay Dick’s texting any mind, preoccupied with his stand-off against Wingman. 

James persists, undeterred by Jason’s skilled dismissal. “Batman isn’t exactly in your corner, Todd. He is, however, in Wayne’s pocket. As is Richie Grayson.”

Dick frowns; his current persona is apparently no longer a good fit. He will need to adjust accordingly. Dick sits up straighter on the desk and tucks his legs. “I have my own funds, as a matter of fact,” he speaks up. Jason’s eyes slice into him — oh, right, Dick’s not supposed to talk while meeting the in-laws. Oh, well. He continues, “I work for the Bludhaven Police Department.” 

Dick touches his jacket collar and inspects the interior fabrice. “I try to dress nice when there might be cameras so I don’t make Bruce look bad, but most of it’s bought off-price at Marshalls.” This last part is a lie as he rarely buys his own photo op clothes. Bruce has a personal stylist who keeps everyone’s wardrobe at the Manor stocked. Dick hit up his old bedroom on the way to the hotel. 

“You’re a cop,” James repeats. 

Dick holds back a wince. So much for Agent 37’s kick-ass undercover portfolio. “Every cop’s a little dirty in the ‘Haven,” he says, hopefully smoothly.

Unfortunately, James does not find this comforting. “So not only are you a cop who knows about the Iceberg’s business, but you’re not even a good cop?”

Dick points at Jason. “He murders people,” he deflects. 

Jason sighs obnoxiously loud. “Richie has information and contacts,” Jason increases his volume when James looks like he wants to say something else, “neither of which are anyone’s business at the moment but mine. Believe it or not, but I’m pretty attached to my life, in both a literal and figurative sense, and so if I say the guy from that one lady-service Pantene commercial is going to keep my organs safely inside my body, rest assured, I have done my research.”

This standing ovation inspires Dick to wonder whether Jason saw that commercial on cable or some other venue. He tries and fails to imagine Jason watching Friends reruns. Maybe he caught it off some gun review video on Youtube. This is the kind of media Dick assumes Jason consumes. 

“Great to know,” says Suzie Su flatly. “So, Richie, who’s trying to whack our boss?”

“No one yet. There have been no attempts on his life thus far,” Dick responds. Then, “Also, you can just call me Dick.”

“Shouldn��t be too tough,” Suzie Su remarks.

“The situation will escalate, though,” James states,  “There is no doubt that Red Hood is the final target.”

“Correct. Which is why it’s important that we trust each other,” Dick says. He levels a gaze at everyone in the room except for James, which should indicate to him that he’s the object of criticism without presenting Dick as outwardly hostile. “If we are too busy suspecting each other without any evidence, we allow for outside threats to slip past our radar.” Dick can only hope they will take this to heart; it will be harder for him to investigate Jason’s people if they’re also investigating him.  

“Truth,” Miguel agrees as he stands to his feet and walks towards Dick. “Although it kind of worked out for us this time, right? You following me, us following you?” As he approaches, he extends a hand and Dick dismounts from the desk. “Welcome to the team, Dick,” Miguel says, clapping Dick on the shoulder as they shake. His smile is warm and sincere. Dick feels an equally genuine grin spread across his face. 

“Alright, alright,” Jason says, leaning from his spot on the desk to bat an arm at them. “What did I just say about teams, dude,” he gripes. Miguel shrugs rather blithely before he returns to his chair. Dick appreciates what he hopes will be the one easy-going personality in this tense bunch. 

Jason claps his hands together and stands. “Okay, here’s the deal: I want someone always watching my vehicle for the next, fuck, two weeks, I guess? One week?” He looks to Dick for confirmation. Dick mouths, ‘longer.’ “One week to start, cool,” Jason locks in his answer. “I don’t mean from the cameras, as I really am hoping to catch this person ASAP and get back to my regularly scheduled gangbanging.”

Dick watches the crowd: Miguel gives a whoop, Suzie Su rolls her eyes, one of the sisters not standing in the corner laughs. 

“So, that means I need you,” Jason flourishes his arm in the air and brings it dramatically down like a hammer, finger pointing sharply at Miguel, “to physically be in the parking lot.”

Miguel looks around in bafflement. “I’m the owner. That would look weird,” he says, gesturing towards himself.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure everyone is lining up for your autograph, too, now come off it. No one here is instantly recognizable except for me, and that’s mostly to do with the helmet,” Jason pats the helmet beside him emphatically, “giving me serious red Darth Vader vibes.”

Dick suppresses a laugh. Jason hears him anyway, but that turns out to be not so bad. Jason’s eyes flicker towards him but they’re absent of reproach, which is how Dick realizes he had expected to be growled at for his humor. But Jason made the joke, didn’t he? He goes so far as to smile, not threateningly, but pleasantly. Dick wants to call it soft even. 

Jason’s eyes are back on the ragtag team within the second. He explains properly his reasoning to Miguel. “The subject’s abilities and target range are unknown to us. You’re our safest bet for handling whatever he might be capable of. And you can wear whatever you want.” Dick assumes that last bit is weighted with the implication of a supersuit, although Miguel’s secret identity may very well be known considering the lack of visible confusion on anyone’s face. Of course, that could just be indifference; no one in this room seems particularly interested in each other. 

“If you see someone snooping, wait it out. If you see someone put something on my bike, apprehend them and bring them to me where I can then proceed to shoot their brains out,” Jason instructs. Dick tries to say something, but Jason says over his attempt, “If they’re guilty.”

“Not really the problem,” Dick mutters. 

“The Su Brigade can, I don’t know, keep doing what you’re doing, I guess? Keep an eye on suspicious figures.”

Dick chimes in, “This time, however, immediately report to Jason or myself. Don’t rush in unless the threat is urgent. Don’t,” he motions to James, “text James, or whatever it is you guys did. That was sloppy and uncoordinated.”

James shifts his weight more evenly. Dick instantly recognizes the implicit challenge and straightens his back. “Text you, huh? What, you the boss now?”

Dick files through his possible responses, weighs the best tone to take, the stance to adopt. Should he pick up the gauntlet and try to assert dominance, or go for diplomacy? He doubts this will come to blows, but the direction he takes this could have later consequences, could affect Jason’s safety even in the long-run. 

Dick almost misses the change in Jason’s posture, but it’s instantaneous. “He’s close enough,” Jason has already spoken, no longer leaning against the desk but standing with his hands deceptively plunged into his jeans pockets and his searing green eyes locked on James. “More the boss than you are, at any rate, so yeah, I’d text him.” He sounds almost casual, accent set in a lazy Gotham drawl, yet there’s an angered click to how he sets his teeth. He’s intimidating, alright, the sharp cut of his cheeks complementing his strong jaw. He’s quite Hollwood-esque actually, Dick thinks — at least before he realizes Jason is looking right back at him. Jason raises his eyebrows and spins his fingers in a prompting manner. “Well? Anything else you’d like to derail the meeting with, Dick?”

And just like that, Jason manages to personally undermine the power he just gave him. Dick is bordering on impressed, restrained only by his sudden irritation. Dick simply smiles and says, “You’re the boss.”

“Fantastic. James! How do you feel about interrogating people you can’t beat up?” Jason proposes to the next member of the non-team. 

Dick thinks James could question people without beating them up just fine, especially after the practice he got in while interrogating Dick. James doesn’t comment on whether he’s up to the task, however, but replies, “Who am I interrogating?”

Jason grins and quickly bows his body. “A witness. Exciting, right? Unfortunately, no, not exciting. This will suck for you. Daniel Garcia, the second victim, should be at Gotham General Hospital — fingers crossed he has insurance, because otherwise you’ll have to find out where he lives and talk to him there.”

Dick could be projecting, but he thinks James puffs up his chest at this. “I can find anyone anywhere,” vows James.

“I’ve no doubt, buddy. I just would prefer he not have to relive everything the second he gets home because a stranger wants to hear the gory details,” Jason explains. His tone is slightly scolding. There might be some decency in him yet. Dick immediately feels guilty for being surprised. Jason is a good guy. A good guy. He’s said as much to Bruce. Did he forget to tell himself the same thing?

“Bring some flowers to soften things,” Dick suggests.

“Flowers don’t soften a crowbar, Dick,” Jason disagrees. Still, he adds for James, “But yeah, bring flowers. The family won’t like you for it, but they’ll hate you even more if you don’t.”

“Do we have to do anything?” Suzie Su asks, a little unhappily, it would seem. Dick doesn’t trust her. Then again, would she be so openly disloyal if she was double-crossing? The only person in this room Dick trusts is Miguel — and even then, if there’s one thing Batman has been trying to drill into him for half his life, it’s that trust is a liability. Anyone here could logically be a mole. Anyone here could be loyal, too. 

“No, Suzie Su, I expect absolutely nothing from you and that’s why I dragged you to a staff meeting, so you could sit on your ass and pick at your nails,” Jason intones. Suzie Su drops her manicured nails to her lap and glares at him. Jason sticks his tongue out in response. “You and your lovely sisters of questionable bloodline are my ears to the ground.”

“So, same as before?”

Jason cocks his head, shakes it up and down as if weighing the question, and says, “K-i-i-i-i-nd of? It’s like what you were doing before, but not complete garbage. Need I remind you that you let this idiot into my office.” Jason jabs his thumb in Dick’s direction.

Miguel raises his finger. He’s properly relaxed in his cushiony recliner, legs crossed and arms spilling over the back. “Ah, but you let the idiot stay,” he reminds Jason. 

Dick twists his lips. “Thanks, Miguel. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Jason decides. “Alright, everyone out of my office and onto the things I demand of you. Dick, you’re coming with me.”

The crowd is already dispersing. Dick hops off the desk and pats the wrinkles from his pants. “Why’s that? I thought you didn’t want me breathing down your neck.”

Jason’s back is to Dick as he fastens his Red Hood helmet over his head, which tips Dick off that some of his people outside the office might still not know who’s under the mask. Jason’s response is rougher than before. “You saw the tapes, didn’t you?” The energy from only a minute ago has melted from his voice. The helmet lights up then and Jason’s next words are modulated, shrouded in static. “That makes you the expert.”

Dick does not miss the irony of this statement. 

  ___________

  Dick has Jason drive him to Bludhaven. Jason has many cars and not a single one is worth less than $80,000. “How do you blend in?” Dick asked on the way to his shitty apartment across the pond, Jason looking absolutely put-upon by the half-hour drive.  His Red Hood helmet has been stowed away in a personally customized, hidden compartment. “I don’t,” Jason simply replied. Dead guys, according to Jason, don’t need to feign poverty. Especially if those dead guys are better known for their underground empires and resort casinos. However, two rich men in a luxury vehicle don’t have much business commiserating with the family of boys like Terry Weind. So, the two stop by Bludhaven to pick up Dick’s Saturn and allow him to change into less flamboyant clothes. 

Dick chooses a threadbare BPD t-shirt and jeans. Jason stays in his signature ensemble of leather jacket and combat boots. He raises his brows at Dick’s outfit, but Dick insists it’s a good choice. Even if they don’t like the police, he’s still out of uniform and unarmed, and they’ll know this isn’t his territory. He’ll seem like a commuter, which might even win him some subconscious sympathy; many people in downtown Gotham have to commute to Bludhaven, albeit usually for a fishery job and not the police department. 

Jason waits in the car for Dick to come out. Dick invites him in, but secretly he’s relieved. The place is a mess. If how he keeps his office is a hint, Jason’s habits are immaculate. They would put Dick to shame. Dick taps Jason’s window to signal they’re switching to the Saturn. Jason takes an excessively long time to part with his car, all but cooing at it, but does eventually make it over. He settles into the passenger seat, looking Dick up and down.

“What?” Dick asks, perhaps defensively. He should’ve said something like, “Like what you see?” but it’s too late for that. 

Jason shrugs casually, but his eyes flicker to Dick’s hair. “Nothing. You just look normal now.” 

Dick jams his keys into the ignition, because he has to be rough for the car to start, and rolls his eyes. “You mean my hair’s not gay?”

“Eh. Less gay.” And then Jason is reaching out and ruffling his hair, fingers curling through the still-damp waves. Dick stuck his hair under the bathroom sink’s faucet before putting his shirt on. He got water everywhere, but he needed to get the product out. He weirdly hopes Jason doesn’t feel any lingering stickiness, that his hair is soft to touch. 

Jason’s face abruptly screws up in confusion as if he isn’t sure how he got here. Slowly, he retracts his hand and sits straight in his seat. Dick didn’t notice how open Jason’s body language was just a moment ago, but he notices how it closes. His knees no longer point towards Dick but to the windshield; his arms, once extended towards him, now fold across his chest. Dick stares at him for a moment, trying to piece together the puzzle he suspects they almost had. 

Jason’s presence always has that mystifying effect on him, however, like he’s a monument to all the almosts they’ve been. When Jason was Robin, they were almost friends. When he was the Red Hood, they were almost enemies. Then they might have been brothers, could have been, maybe. There had been that night on the rooftop when Dick had managed to slip through Spyral’s many fingers — when Barbara had run away and Damian had embraced him and Tim demanded why, why — Jason had drawn blood as his voice broke because you don’t do that to your. Almost.

They are always on the verge of some new meaning. 

“Well?” asks Jason. “Are you waiting for me to set up the GPS? You know the address, let’s go.”

Dick quickly recovers and begins edging out from his spot between two other parked cars on the street. “What are we, drag racing? Jeesh.” They avoid traffic for the drive over but do swing into a corner store once they’re in Gotham again. Jason buys the most expensive bouquet available while Dick fiddles with a rack of playing cards. Pokémon? Magic? Would Terry care about either of those games? He sees Jason head to the counter and grabs a random card pack to check out. His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he finishes counting off the dollar bills. He hands the cashier $16 and unlocks his phone. It’s from Bruce.

Any progress?

Dick begins typing out an answer when he remembers the boundaries he agreed on with Jason. He said he wouldn’t share any details with Bruce unless Jason okay’d it. He could let Jason know Bruce is asking, but even mentioning Bruce tends to sour him. Dick would rather get through this meeting with Terry Weind first. He makes a mental note to inform Jason later and give Bruce a non-answer if he says no. 

Ten minutes later and they’re standing on narrow porch steps. The wooden planks are dark and splintery and covered in cigarette butts where an ash tray has been knocked down. Dick squats down and picks it up; ceramic, woodsy-green and leaf-shaped. He sets it atop the paint-chipped banister while Jason knocks on the door. The walls are thin enough that Dick can trace the sound of someone walking down the stairs. It’s summery outside today, the earth baked through by the sun, but he’s thinking of winters down here. Even with a good furnace, these walls must let the chill in. 

A woman opens the door in her nightgown, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame. Her eyes are red and the skin beneath them sags. Her skin is almost ashen. She looks tired. She is tired, she’s exhausted, Dick can feel it when he looks at her. Her exhaustion is a heavy substance that spreads out and sinks into his flesh. 

“Are you Terry’s mom?” Jason asks. He has the flowers already at his chest. His voice is stiff with emotion. Dick recalls his comment about Daniel reliving trauma and wonders if that’s what Jason is doing right now. 

The woman nods and says that, yes, she is, but little changes in her expression. Dick had been expecting confusion, but she accepts the flowers without hesitation. Evidently, they are not remotely the first ones to share condolences. “My name’s Laura,” she says, touching the waxy petal of a calla lily. Her voice is soft and deep as if it’s been anchored to the bottom of the ocean.

“I’m Jason.”

“Dick,” Dick says after him. 

Laura opens her mouth silently for a few seconds before carefully telling them, “I appreciate you boys coming here and wishing us well. It’s been hard, but we’re grateful to the community’s response, it’s been wonderful. I hope you don’t mind me not inviting you in, it’s just that I work grave and don’t get much sleep, and Terry’s resting.”

“We understand. But actually, we’re not just here to offer our sympathy — though you do have it, of course,” Dick conveys. He rushes the words of each clause so his speech comes out in quick, nervous chunks. He’s dipping head, taking up as little room as possible while moving closer to her. Jason takes a step back to accommodate him. He wants to represent himself as sincere, perhaps too sincere to the point of being clumsy. People often think inept and trustworthy are the same thing; the logic goes, you can’t be hiding any tricks up your sleeve if you’re more likely to spill them on the floor. 

“If you turn us away, we get it, don’t worry,” assures Dick, “but this is our city and our kids are getting snatched.”

Laura begins shaking her head. “Oh, no, he’s not answering any questions — ”

“We won’t ask as many questions as the police,” Dick hurries to say. “We don’t need to. We,” here, Dick breaks off his speech and looks uncertainly at Jason, feigning hesitance. Then he takes a galvanizing breath, readying for his big leap, this information he’s sharing only with Laura. “I work part-time at the Park Row Memorial. I’m a guard, similar work to what I do with the Bludhaven Police. We have it monitored 24/7 so it doesn’t become a high-crime area again.” Dick sighs in frustration and bites his lips. “Laura,” he says firmly, staring into her eyes. Her pupils have dilated along his story. Good. “I saw Terry that night. The police haven’t even asked Park staff yet, they don’t care. But I saw it happen and I think I can do something about it.”

The best cover story is always based in reality. The best lies are true. 

Laura’s eyes drop the ground as she thinks. She’s also biting her lip. Dick ponders over whether she does that often and Dick got lucky, or if she’s mirroring him. Either way, he’s won her over. She shuffles to the side and waves them in, her movements less languid than before. 

She leads them to the stairwell and says, “If he doesn’t want to answer questions, he doesn’t have to. I’m not going to force him, you got it? Get what you can and hope it’s useful.” With this, she climbs the steps to the second floor, Jason and Dick following at an appropriate distance. They pause at the top step while she enters Terry’s room and explains in hushed tones his guests. She relates Dick’s reason for being here and then there’s a long pause before Dick detects a faint, “Sure.” 

Dick and Jason share a look that confirms: they’re in. Laura places a light hand on Jason’s bicep and guides them to the door. “I’ll stand right here,” she says firmly and waves them forward. Dick looks around for a chair, sees none, and settles on the windowsill facing Terry’s bed. He’s faired better than the next two kids, all injuries considered. He was out of the hospital in a month. He lies in his twin-sized mattress beneath a crisp sheet, a blue comforter shoved to the foot of his bed. A square bandage covers his right cheek, there’s stitching over his right eyebrow, and there’s more stitches on the right side of his skull. His right arm and knee have been set in casts. Dick remembers him curling onto his side at one point in the video. 

In the wake of the other victims’ hospital records (courtesy of Oracle), Terry’s assault had been carried out with perfunctory brutality. Dick recollects the scene but recalls no hesitation in the attacker’s swings, yet their violence has clearly increased. Perhaps they are doing someone else’s dirty work and the job has just now awakened a taste for pain in them. Or maybe it’s one guy after all and they’re adjusting to the role. 

“So, you know the fucker who did this?” Terry speaks up first. His voice is a little rough and definitely fatigued. Despite his current infirmity, Dick can tell he’s a sturdy kid. He’s got the same build Jason had at that age, youthfully broad with natural muscle in the absence of training. A body with room to grow in. 

Dick shrugs. “Not personally. But we hold out hope. What did his face look like? Any defining features?” he attempts, even knowing that Terry’s report claimed to make out nothing from the night of the attack.

Terry was looking at Jason beforehand, which Dick can’t blame him for. Jason takes up most of the room as he stands by Terry’s feet, stock straight with his massive arms folded. Dick has a habit of downsizing Jason in his head. In general, Dick’s guilty of subconsciously diminishing certain people’s threat levels, letting his familiarity with them obscure the danger they still pose. He does his best to put himself in Terry’s shoes and see what he might see; he accomplishes this by summoning the first night he encountered the Red Hood before he was also Jason Todd, fallen boy wonder. Even without the vigilante get-up, the man’s intimidating. 

Now that Dick has asked a question, however, Terry’s eyes appraise him. Dick once again folds in on himself, tucking his arms closer to his sides and leaning back so he’s as out of Terry’s space as he can be. Then Terry’s eyes stray to the floor and he mumbles, “Looked like nothing. It was dark.” But he doesn’t say it like it was nothing. 

“You saw something,” Dick contests. He’s not going to wheedle or coax, he decides, because that would just leave Terry room to equivocate. “You don’t know what you saw, but you saw something, and whatever that is will help us more than pretending there weren’t streetlamps.”

Terry grimaces. The twitch of his battered face reminds Dick of his age and his heart aches. There should be a grace period for children, an exception made for those still new to this earth. He hates that pain is one of the first things they learn. “He was white, I guess,” Terry supplies. His good fingers have found a loose thread on the hem of his pushed-down sheets. He picks at it. “He never said a word the whole time. It was quiet. He — I saw his hands. I thought, I thought the police would find his thumbprints or whatever, on me, but that’s not how it works, they said. They were all fucked up.”

“The hands or the police?” Jason interjects.

Terry doesn’t look up from his loose thread, but one half of his mouth pulls up into a faint, flickering smile. It manages to be bright even so. “The hands. There were old scars all over the knuckles. Dry, too, like he never heard of lotion.”

Dick supposes the attacker could work in manual labor, but it’s unlikely if there were truly that many scars and all old. “Just the knuckles?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Dick guesses he’s experienced with combat. The ugly, close-up kind. Still, just the knuckles, that sounds more like punishment than accident. And the dry skin? That could easily be eczema, although wouldn’t a seasoned killer think to cover up, prevent skin follicles from falling into a lab tech’s hands? It is summer, but Gotham runs more humid than dry, so perhaps they’re dealing with a foreigner. “And the face?” he prompts. 

Terry abruptly drops his hand from the nervous thread and sighs raggedly. “Nothing, man. I couldn’t see anything, okay, it was,” Terry falters, “confusing.”

“Confusing how?” Jason asks.

“I don’t know!” Terry’s voice pitches in frustration. “It was weird, all swirly and shit.”

Dick can hear the criticism leak into Jason’s tone when he curtly repeats, “Swirly.” 

Terry backpedals. “I said I don’t know,” he mutters. 

Swirly voices sound familiar to Dick. He used to have one for a time when he played James Bond for Spyral. “I think we might have a contact, Jay,” Dick muses. 

“Really?” Jason says with noticeable surprise. “Swirly’s our big break?”

“Emphasis on the might and ixnay on the big.” To Terry, he says, “Tell me, does tsuchigumo ring any bells?”

Terry’s face scrunches up. “Does what huh?”

Dick will take that as a no. “Oh, well. Still worth looking into,” he says. Dick stands and retrieves the card pack from his plastic bag. He holds it up for Terry to see before setting it down on the bed. Terry takes it immediately and brings it up to his face for inspection. “Your mom has the flowers. I wasn’t sure what to get you, but let me know if you need or want anything. Oh.” Dick swivels his head around the room. There’s not much to it aside from a bed, a dresser, and a box T.V. collecting dust. “Do you have something I can write my number on?”

Jason chooses that moment to step forward, sliding between Dick and where Terry lies. He leans across, a crisp, laminated paper balanced between his index and middle finger. “Here’s my card. Let me know if you have any more information or if either of you need help,” he explains. Terry sets Dick’s gift down and gingerly accepts the card. He flips it over: no logo, just a phone number.

“That’s it?” says Terry. “What contact? Who did this?”

“It’s too soon to tell. I wish I had more to give you two,” Dick says sympathetically to Terry and Laura, the latter of whom hasn’t left her post by the door. She rests her cheek on the frame and watches on.

Terry has more questions though and he’s edging on excited. “Are you P.I.’s? Why do you even care? I bet you fucking did this, or one of your boys — ”

“I understand your distrust,” Dick says over him. He glances nervously at Laura to gauge what she thinks of the accusation and if she’s about to step in. She’s a little straighter, body no longer depending on the wall, but her face is still impassive if alert. Dick hurries to smooth this over. “You don’t know us well enough to understand why we care. We have to prove ourselves, I get that. And we will. Until then, you’ve got nothing to lose, right? All we know is you didn’t see anything.”

Terry stares at him silently, suspicion darkening his eyes. There is risk in coming here, of course, depending on how well Terry’s attacker can trace Jason’s footsteps. But Dick has already weighed the risks and he’s betting that Terry’s part is done here insofar as the criminal is concerned. Luckily, Terry can’t identify what he’s got to lose or how much he has told them between the lines, so the charges drop like that. 

There’s a few beats of silence before Jason starts fidgeting. “Yea-a-a-h, we’re going to go now,” he announces, pointing over his shoulder towards the window. Dick could cringe, he’s so awkward. 

“Thanks to both of you,” Dick says and smiles as warmly as he can. He trails closely behind Jason who shuffles towards the door, his body too tall and too broad to fit comfortably in the modest room. Unthinking, the pads of Dick’s fingers feather over Jason’s back as if to guide him forward. As Jason moves, Dick lets his fingers linger in the air, covering up the touch with empty space. He curls his fingers in and tucks them behind his back. Laura follows them out. 

“Thank you again,” Dick says at the door. “We’ll be in touch if anything develops,” he promises. And he will be; if not as Dick then certainly as Nightwing. 

Laura thanks them half-heartedly. Dick suddenly feels self-conscious about the Pokémon cards. He may as well have given them a box with nothing inside it or a flashlight without a bulb. He heads back to the car, feeling Laura’s heavy gaze on his shoulders the whole way. 

Dick is buckling himself in when Jason opens the passenger door. “Mind sharing with the class what information was so decisive you had no further questions?” he asks as he climbs into the car. 

“No questions Terry could answer. This is the best we can do for a lead,” Dick explains. He needs to make a call, but that will have to wait until they’re on the road and not idling outside a victim’s house. Maybe he can take them to a restaurant, buy Jason a drink, a friendly gesture. Would Jason want to drink with him though?

“Yeah, about that,” Jason says as the car shoots off, “what lead?”

Scratch the drink; neither of them are lightweights, but on principle, they shouldn’t drink during an ongoing investigation. Still, he could buy them some sub sandwiches. He used to buy food for Tim all the time back in the day, as a reprieve from the typical Batman and Robin style of accidentally fasting until the case is resolved.

They reach a redlight almost immediately. Dick drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Spyral uses this tech called ‘Hypnos 2.0.’ They slide in kind of like contacts? They’re eye implants basically, but they transmit information between your brain and the brain of whoever’s looking at you. Their most common application was hiding your identity. If someone looked at you, they’d just see a scrambled mess instead of a face.”

Jason’s face scrunches up as he stares out the windshield. He scratches his head. “Scrambled like Picasso or.”

The light turns green. “More like a spiral,” Dick says lightly, nodding conversationally. 

“Thematic,” Jason comments. 

“Very. And the uniforms weren’t too shabby either.” He adds the joke more to test the waters than anything, gauge how delicate a topic Spyral is between them. Everyone in their family has a slightly different relationship with Dick’s double life. Bruce and Damian’s have been the easiest, marked by faint curiosity about his activities and begrudging acceptance of help from associated colleagues. The others have been noticeably more dodgy and uncomfortable regarding for Spyral. Dick’s stint as as Agent 37 has made everyone evasive, even for bats. 

If Jason would normally have an emotional reaction to Spyral, he’s too preoccupied for one now. Dick can practically see the gears in his mind turning as his eyes narrow and his chin falls to rest on his hand. Dick feels simultaneously relief and shame; of course, Spyral is just a lead. Spyral may have been Dick’s life at one point, but to Jason, it’s just an organization. At best, contacting Spyral could save his life. At worst, well, Dick’s not expecting Jason to unpack whatever baggage Dick left in Gotham. 

Dick resists the urge to grimace at his own thoughts. He’s overthinking. Can one overthink a ruthless spy agency that up until a year ago controlled his every movement? 

Jason’s voice, slow and thick with the sound of a city that’s always been his, reels Dick back to shore. “Dare I ask what the uniform entailed?”

“Cargo pants,” Dick answers simply. He’s watching the road ahead, but he can hear Jason make a pleasantly surprised noise. They pass a fire hydrant painted to look like a sunflower. Dick thinks it’d be nice for Bludhaven to do that and makes a note to push the idea at city hall after the case. 

“So, you think that this guy is from Spyral?” Jason asks. 

Dick shrugs. “That, or he’s connected enough to snag some tech. We should check first with the other two victims, see if their descriptions match up with Terry’s. If they do, it’s probably Spyral and not some low-grade black market street vendor. Nine of out ten optometrists do not recommend mind control contact lenses.”

Jason slams his hand down on the middle compartment. “Mind control?” he exclaims. When Dick glances at him, Jason’s expression is mostly shock with a sliver of what might be plain rage. But that would be an overreaction considering all the other crimes Spyral is guilty of. All the crimes they’re guilty of, especially Red Hood, although making that argument would be more trouble than it’s worth. 

Dick tries not to let Jason’s sheer judgment weigh on him. Dick has far more pressing guilt elsewhere to torture himself over. Still, it’s hard not to feel righteous rage on Jason’s behalf. He often forgets this part of Jason’s character, this abrupt sense of justice that powers him, but it’s no less prominent than it is in Bruce or himself. It might actually be stronger in Jason, a little left of center, but bleeding red nonetheless. Unfortunately, car safety dictates Dick not be on the receiving end of justice, so he replies as casually as possible, “Well, that’s what Hypnos is, essentially.”

“No way.” Jason points an accusatory finger that Dick sees from his peripheral. A street corner features a hot dog stand. Dick nearly pulls over, but the finger might kill whatever buzz a chili dog can offer. “Don’t ‘that’s-what-Hypnos-is-Jason- obviously ’ me. You just said it transmits info.”

Dick did not think his tone had come off condescending in the least. But if that’s what Jason got from it, then perhaps he missed casual and landed on dismissive. Bludhaven must be eroding his tact already. “Sorry. When I said it transmits information, I meant it as a blanket statement for everything it does. Hypnos can alter memories, which is more-or-less how the identity protection works, by modifying one’s memory of a face. It can send someone a location address or really anything you have stored in your own memory, which is helpful. It can also send orders.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s helpful, too,” Jason derides. He looks like he smelled something bad. Was Dick this perturbed by Hypnos when he first joined Spyral? He doesn’t think so. He had been so quickly embroiled in so many terrible things. What was a little crowd control in the face of cold, efficient, and constant murder? 

The guns. The feel of one is his hand like death itself, how they loomed in his bedroom and among his gear, beckoning him closer to an edge everyone wanted to push him off of. The guns had overshadowed all else for him. 

“Either way,” Dick carries on, “it’s unlikely this guy has his hands on Spyral tech without Spyral knowing something about him. They keep close enough watch over people that have nothing to do with them, let alone people that have access to their technology. He could be anywhere from an engineer to a passing contact, but he’s no ghost.”

“Terrific. Exactly what I need, a mind-controlling stalker from an quasi-omniscient spy organization hellbent running around on the streets of Gotham.”

Dick shrugs. “Gotham’s had it worse.”

“Have I?”

“I don’t know. Have you?” Dick retorts. 

Jason scowls. “Wouldn’t be my first assassination attempt, I suppose,” he concedes.

Dick perks up and offers him a grin. “And it won’t be your last!” he crows. 

Jason just stares at him, utterly perplexed. His brows are furrowed and his mouth is curled above his teeth in bewilderment. 

“Because you’ll be alive,” Dick hurriedly explains. “You know, like, woohoo!” He takes one hand off the wheel to pump the air triumphantly. 

“Woohoo,” Jason repeats hollowly. “Insanity.”

“What?” asks Dick. They will be coming up on the grinder shop soon. Should he suggest lunch to Jason or just drag him in? He’s leaning towards dragging. That seems more effective.

“That we’re all just living to hopefully get killed a day that’s not tomorrow,” Jason observes. 

It’s not more cynical than funny, but something in Jason’s tone — the utter resignation, perhaps — makes Dick laugh anyway. “Everyone on earth’s on borrowed time, really,” he says, not unhappily. Death hasn’t frightened him since he was young. Exposure therapy, he called it once during some Titans mission that feels a lot farther in the past than it is. “The reckless and foolhardy like us, we’re just more aware of it.”

Jason blows air out from his nose in a mix between a snort and a laugh. “And here I thought vigilante-types were less aware of their own mortality.”

“Are you kidding? You have to know you’re walking towards death to find that exact path each night. Snatched purses, drug rings, elitist assassins dressed as owls, fear gas and escaped convicts and murderous clowns — and we run right towards them with open arms,” Dick says, irony guiding his grin as Jason smirks back at him. 

“And open chest cavities, half the the time,” Jason tacks on. 

Dick nods fervently. “Yes, let’s not forget that,” he tries to say seriously, but laughter trips him on the last word. “I don’t know. I think it’s all very sane, actually, to see what’s going on and get involved, do what you can to make everything a little bit better. But too much sanity can look like insanity, for sure.”

Jason does snort this time. “Keep moralizing like that and you’ll sound straight out of a conversation between the Joker and B.”

Dick wrinkles his nose. “Ew. I hope not.”

“‘We’re the same, you and I,’” Jason croons in a wispy, sing-song voice. “‘Sane and in-sane.’”

Dick can make out the small, white-background-red-letters sign of Hester’s Grinders a few yards down the road. There’s just enough room before the fire hydrant — this one plain, chipped red — to safely park. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll keep my philosophies to myself. And so long as we’re changing the subject — hungry?”

Previous Chapter

[vagrantblvrd]

freewood fake marriage,:)

It’s been so long since I’ve written non!angsty Freewood and I like the way you think, Anon!

So like.

Let’s set this in a FAHC AU where Ryan’s been with the Fakes for a while now – about half a year or so. Long enough for him to realize he kind of likes these assholes and vice versa. (To the point he realizes if someone came to him on the side about killing one them he’d have to kill that asshole instead of the other assholes he works with, so you know. It’s kind of a problem.)

There’s also this...apparently there used to be another member of the crew before he came along? Or maybe he was just someone they worked with a fair bit.

Something like that because every so often someone will say something or do something and everyone gets quiet, gets That Look to them like someone close died and be like, “Oh yeah, that fucker,” or “God, that bastard would have loved to see an explosion like that,” and so on.

Even Jeremy seems to have known the guy, met him in that window of time between joining up with the Fakes and bringing Ryan into the mix.

Sometimes when Michael and Jeremy will head out for drinks on a slow night, or after a heist or a job or whatever and if someone asks where they’re headed one of them will put on this horrible attempt at a British accent and say they’re going out for “bevs” whatever the fuck that means.

There’s a lot of nonsense words the others use without a second thought that they’ll insist are British slang, and Ryan is just side-eyeing them so hard because what? (He’s been to the UK and never heard said slang in use, but what does he know, right?)

Ryan never asks because he gets it, you know. Life like theirs, you lose people sometimes. (He tries not to think about it happening with these assholes and most of the time he succeeds.)

Anyway, in this AU Ryan got pulled into the FAKE AH Crew because Jeremy came to Los Santos, right? Former Battle Buddy who shouldn’t know Ryan’s still alive because he was careful to keep it that way, you know?

(That whole shitshow that forced him to fake his death because their agency was doing shit it shouldn’t and Ryan cooked up this plan to bring it tumbling down, get Jeremy clear of things before that happened so he wouldn’t end up in jail or dead, and anyhow.

Jeremy was kind of pissed when he found Ryan again, the two of them on opposite sides of a job and Ryan standing there like an idiot while Jeremy held a gun on him. About to kill the big, bad Vagabond because some assholes wanted revenge on him and wow, the coincidence. And then Jeremy’s brain finally put all the little bits and pieces together of what he’d found out about the Vagabond while hunting him down and Ryan’s lucky Jeremy didn’t break his damn jaw when he hauled off and punched Ryan, so yeah.)

So, yeah.

Jeremy works for the Fakes and there’s a heist where they need extra muscle and it’s not like Ryan had anything going for him at the time so he was just, “Hey, asshole. Want a job?”

After hearing the details about the job Ryan was just so bewildered/curious he said yes and the rest is history.

Or should be, but then Agent 14 tracks Ryan down one day, right.

Smug bastard with that smarmy smile and cocky attitude strolling up to Ryan staking out a warehouse and tapping on his passenger side window before letting himself into the car. Completely unfazed by the gun Ryan shoves in his face and asks him how things are, chatters on about the weather and all that and wouldn’t gotten to the fucking point of his visit until Ryan finally asked.

And then wishes he hadn’t, because Agent 14 starts talking about Ryan and Jeremy’s old agency, all the weird coincidences that happened before and after Ryan staged his death. The way young agent Dooley just disappeared off the face of the planet and isn’t it strange, Mr. Vagabond, don’t you think it’s strange that this “Rimmy Tim” character bears such an uncanny resemblance to him?

(Sure, sure, it’s mostly to do with his reckless antics and love of explosions and all that because no one’s seen his face, but still. (Why just look at this wacky conspiracy theory someone put together on the subject, and Ryan stares at the photos of Jeremy from their agency days, the alarming amount of ones of Jeremy now. Ones that go back months, maybe since he first set foot in Los Santos.)

“I’ve got a bit of a problem,” Agent 14 says, like they’re old friends meeting over coffee and sharing their woes. “Terrible thing, really.”

Awful, just awful, but if some kind soul were to lend a hand with it, why all these files and facts and suspicious about this Rimmy Tim guy might just disappear.

Ryan’s so fucking tempted to kill Agent 14 then and there, but he knows it would just be the start of things, that he wouldn’t approach Ryan like this unless he knew he had him right where he wanted him.    (Had things set up so Jeremy and Ryan would be the focus of whatever agency 14 works for and all that, so he doesn’t and it kind of kills him to leave a threat to Jeremy alive, but you know.)

To his credit, Agent 14 seems to realize what a shit he’s being about things, knows the position he’s putting Ryan in and cuts out the bullshit when he knows Ryan’s in. (Agent 14’s proposal comes at the best time for 14 because Jeremy’s injured, got hurt on the last heist and annoyed at having to sit things out while he heals and Ryan’s feeling more overprotective of him than usual, because bad memories and all that.)

There’s this little packet of information – harddrive something – with important State Secrets or some such on it about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder at this gathering up north. (Way, way up north at some fancy ski chalet or resort, very Spy Movie location, and Ryan side-eyes Agent 14’s description because why.)

Anyway, anyway, he needs Ryan to pose as a potential buyer – 14’s bosses will provide the funds and all that to secure the McGuffin for them – and all he has to do is bring it back and hand it over to Agent 14.

“And this ‘conspiracy theory’ about Rimmy Tim will just go away?”

Agent 14 tells him it will, even though Ryan knows it’s not that easy, but he doesn’t have any choice in the matter.

Ryan sits in his car after Agent 14 leaves to let , some shitty little thing he stole earlier that day because a Zentorno is a car that draws attention, and wonders how the hell he’s going to explain to the crew he needs some time off.

========

“You want to go on a ‘murder break’,” Geoff says, disbelief and all. “You.”

Ryan shrugs, avoiding the look Jeremy’s giving him, the blatant shock from everyone else and realizes he should have waited to talk to Geoff alone about this. Not brought it up at the end of the weekly crew business meeting, but here they are.

HE smiles, tries to play it off as a joke, little light-hearted thing because the crew’s been busy the last few months. Job after job and a couple of back-to back heists and it’s just been kill, kill, kill -

“Okay, technically, you didn’t need to kill all of those asshole, and also, since fucking when do you take ‘murder breaks’?”

Jeremy of course, suspicious as hell and it takes careful maneuvering to keep him from getting too suspicious, (Enough to pry into things and discover what Ryan’s trying to protect him from and so forth.)

And since the crew doesn’t have anything big lined up, Geoff lets him have the time off he needs. Suspicious as hell and Ryan feels this bit of gratitude when Geoff reminds Ryan the crew’s there for him if he gets in trouble and so on and so forth, and for fuck’s sake be careful with whatever the hell he’s really doing.

After that Ryan has to meet with Agent 14 and his people to get updated on the whole McGuffin situation, pick up gear and equipment and memorize the cover they cooked up for him.

(Heir to some kind of business empire who’s bored with the usual rich socialite lifestyle or whatever and got mixed up with the wrong people. Too much money and nowhere near enough common sense and just an idiot in over his head who doesn’t know it yet, that kind of thing.)

After the first couple of meetings he gets the feeling he’s being watched, followed. Catches a glimpse of a purple Blista from the corner of his eye a time or two. This guy in tacky sunglasses at a nearby table when he meets with Agent 14 at an outdoor cafe he swears he’s seen around before, but nothing solid, concrete. (Every time he turns to look, the Blista’s gone or the guy’s on his way out and the like.)

Unnerving, but he figures it’s one of 14’s people making sure he’s keeping up his end of things and all that.

And then!

A couple of weeks after Agent 14 first approached him he’s on a flight to where the auction is set to take place. Has his posh little accent and proper mindset and gets through the first bit of things with ease. (For all that Ryan’s spent so much time building up the Vagabond’s reputation in Los Santos, no one’s seen his face and that was a factor in Agent 14 going to him with his problem.)

Things seem to be going well, until Ryan does some snooping before the auction.

Few days before it kicks off, time for Ryan and the other assholes to rub elbows, size up the competition and all that, who fucking knows.

Whatever the reason, Ryan wonders how many of them know they’ve hired him before to deal with Situations they’ve had. (Well, okay. Some he met/was sent on missions for when he and Jeremy were with their agency, the rest hired the Vagabond, but it all works out the same in the end.)

And of course just thinking that is tempting fate because one of them recognizes him. (Or is just that paranoid.)

Catches Ryan out when he’s in an unauthorized area unsupervised and no good reason for being there, pair of thugs with him with guns and all that and he has the horrible feeling he’s fucked things up without trying to. (That Agent 14 will think otherwise and Jeremy. And you know, the rest of the crew because they’re stupid like that, will try to fight 14 and the whole damn government and die.)

“Oh, there you are,” someone says, fond exasperation their voice and Ryan tenses as someone slips their arm through his, tugs him towards them. “You got turned around again, didn’t you?”

British accent and this threat under the little smile on his face, tone of his voice as he eyes up the asshole and his thugs.

“Friends of yours?” he asks, and Ryan glances down at this guy.

Vaguely familiar, and he knows those sunglasses from somewhere????

“Ah,” the asshole who caught Ryan says. “I didn't realize he was with you.”

The asshole isn’t talking to Ryan, no. He’s talking to the British guy, this look of something close to panic on his face. Even his thugs look uneasy, and that’s -

“Silly me,” the guy says, soft little laugh as he leans into Ryan. “I’m sure you remember me mentioning my husband before? We travel so much that it’s rare for us to be together in the same place for any length of time, you know.”

It’s...not quite an answer, but apparently it’s enough for the asshole who makes his apologies – goes hard on those, falling all over himself as he does and Ryan watches the asshole and his thugs flee. Scurry away with their tails tucked between their legs.

“What just happened?” Ryan asks, letting the guy lead him back to safer territory, somewhere they can talk.

The guy laughs, gives Ryan this look as they get to a luxuriously appointed suite. Fancier than Ryan’s, but he supposes that makes sense. (Government agencies never change, and sold him a lie about not wanting him to stand out too much.)

Anyway, the guy introduces himself, and of course it’s Gavin.

Claims he’s there for the Roosters, and should be worrisome because Ryan knows all about how close the Fakes and Roosters are thanks to Geoff and Jack’s connections. (Not so much worrisome about what the Roosters intend to do here as worrisome about the Fakes finding out what Ryan’s up to instead of being on a murder break, but his priorities have always been a little skewed.)

Gavin’s there because he’s with the Roosters (and maybe his grandfather’s connections with the mafia, but that’s more of a side note) and Gavin knows who he is.

“Pays to know in this business, love,” he says, rattling around the courtesy bar looking for a drink because it’s been a long damn day for them both and he’s about had it playing nice with all the rich assholes attending the auction. “Nice to finally meet you, though.”

Ryan has no idea what’s going on, is worried that he and Gavin are at cross-purposes here and how that’s going to affect things with Agent 14 and his people. (The devil’s deal he made to keep Jeremy safe, because that’s what Battle Buddies do and goddammit everything's fucked up now.)

Gavin finally settles on a drink for himself, and brings out a can of diet coke from the fridge from Ryan. (Overpriced, because of curse, but Ryan’s a guest and manners and everything.)

Tells Ryan he can have the McGuffin, that Gavin’s there to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he says, bit of  a sneer going on. “I couldn’t give a damn about your government’s problems, but the McGuffin is safer in their hands than anyone else here, and Burnie happens to agree.”

That’s.

Too good to be true, but once again Ryan doesn’t have a lot of choice in things. (Doesn’t want the others to know, and killing Gavin would have the Fakes and Roosters at one another's throats until they figure out what happened, and then they’d be after Ryan and really, really, he’d like it if none of that happened???)

So.

“Married, though?” Ryan asks, going back to that bit of absurdity in a sea full of them and Gavin laughs, blushes.

“First thing that came to mind, actually,” he says, toys with the glass in his hands. “Hope you don’t mind?”

Well, since Ryan’s not dead or being tortured for information at the moment, he’ll take it.

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Gavin gives him this look, long and searching and laughs before he tosses back the rest of his drink.

“Alright then,” he says, as he sets his glass down. “Let’s get our facts straight then.”

They go over details about their marriage from how they met to what kind of pie Ryan likes -

“Is that really necessary?” Ryan asks at one point, because it’s been hours and he’s pretty sure no one here gives a damn about half the things they’ve talked about.

“Ryan,” Gavin says, scandalized. “You never know.”

That’s...he’s great at non-answers and shit, but Ryan’s amused enough with things that he doesn’t put up much of an argument. (There were other things he did though, and Gavin’s little giggle when he admitted he was just curious to see if Ryan would answer is in no way endearing.)

By the time leaves to go back to his own suite - “We’ll have to do something about that,” Gavin comments, because they’re supposed to be married and all and it would seem odd for them to have seperate suites – he’s not (as) paranoid about Gavin’s part in things here.

And Gavin’s right. The excuse that they were trying to surprise one another by showing up here unannounced might appease some people, but it would look odd if they continued to stay in separate suites and so on.

So.

“You have the better view,” Ryan admits, and it’s taken as a given he’ll be moving his things there later.

They get a little sleep, go down to the common room where some of the assholes are congregating (fashionably late and all) and mingle.

Ryan plays doting husband and Gavin does the same and it’s honestly kind of sickening (strange) how easily it comes to him.

They charm some of the less assholish assholes there, mollify the suspicious ones and on whole it’s less strange than Ryan was expecting.

They play happy couple all through the day and dinner, and then make their apologies as they head up to get some sleep – the auction is the next day and they want to be rested for it and all.

And you know, if they slip away to some snooping and end up getting attacked by masked thugs on a narrow walkway overlooking a frozen river on their way back to their suite, that’s a thing that happens.

Ryan’s got his knives and a few favorites from his agency days – never could find a good replacement garrote after he lost his a few years back, and anyway guns are better suited for Los Santos – and Gavin’s not half bad with a knife of his own.

“Do you mind?” Gavin asks, dragging the body of one of the thugs to the railing to toss him down below to join his buddies. “This bastard’s heavier than he looks.”

Ryan snorts out a laugh and goes to help him.

They both watch the body fall, breaking through the ice where it sinks below the surface soon enough. Won’t be found anytime soon, and the water will freeze over again soon enough, snow that started to fall a few minutes ago will help hide any evidence of foul play and honestly, it’s fortuitous they were ambushed out here.

“I’d almost say someone planned it that way,” Gavin muses, like they both don’t know it was.

No way to know who planned the attack, even if Ryan has his suspicions, but.

“I could use a drink,” Gavin says, and Ryan doesn’t protest when he slips his hand in Ryan’s and tugs him along behind him.

It should feel stranger than it does, this whole situation. (Agent 14 and his ‘deal’, Ryan on a mission for the government again. Running into Gavin who saves him from things turning into a disaster. Working with Gavin, even though he doesn’t know for sure their goals are compatible. Trusting Gavin not to stick his knife in Ryan’s back (literally) when they were ambushed. Playing happy couple. EVERYTHING, and yet. It doesn’t.)

Gavin gives him an odd look when he comes out of the bathroom after his shower – got blood in his hair, and that’s never a good feeling – and Ryan’s flipping through the television channels and sipping a diet soda and really, they’ve gotten almost too comfortable around one another so fast haven't they?

Ryan goes off to take a shower of his own and when he gets out room service has come and gone the two of them have a late night dinner/snack while they watch shitty movies. (Totally don’t fall asleep on one another or have that momentary panic the next morning of what the fuck happened for them to be snuggled up together under the blankets and really, their lives are just ridiculous aren’t they?)

The day of the auction Gavin gets a call and Ryan watches go off to take it – privacy and all – and tries not think about the bad feeling that’s been building all day.

He get sidetracked into conversations and the whatnot as they wait for the auction to start and Gavin still isn’t back.

Ryan notices the asshole who caught him out the other day slipping away in the middle of things, one of his thugs whispering urgently in his ear and this Look on his face at whatever news he’s given. This quick glance to Ryan and a smirk before he excuses himself and Ryan sits there for a little while longer, and Thinks.

Gavin’s been gone for a few hours by now, and Ryan doesn’t like it. Oh, sure, Gavin said the call might be a while, to go to the auction without him to secure the McGuffin and not to worry, Gavin can handle himself and all that.

And Ryan knows he can, saw it for himself, but he’s still concerned.

Gavin’s absence along with the asshole ditching the auction don’t add up to anything good, but.

Ryan needs the McGuffin to keep Jeremy safe, but.

Ryan watches the bidding go up, sees the way the rich assholes are getting...annoyed, unpleasant about it. Knows he should be putting in more bids than he has if he hopes to win, but.

Fuck it, he thinks after a few more bids go by.

If it comes down to it he can deal with Agent 14 and the threat he and his people pose himself, but this?

Yeah, this can’t wait.

So he goes off to find Gavin and realizes he never got around to returning that call. That he was grabbed on the way – signs of a fight that weren’t completely cleaned up.

Blood on the ornate carpeting, flecks on the wall and Ryan feels that bad feeling ramp right on the fuck up at the sight.

Continues his search in earnest and finds Gavin all trussed up in a storage/maintenance/cliche climactic fight scene area.

All beat up like someone’s been working him over for information – spoiler: they have! :D – and maybe other cliché things that I always love to throw in these things because I’m predictable like that.

And then!

Gavin realizing Ryan’s there and instead of the ~relief at being rescued the asshole’s annoyed at him.

Bickering as Ryan unties him and check him over because Ryan’s an idiot for not staying at the auction to get the McGuffin, right? The whole point of their “marriage and all and now he’s gone and fucked it all up to find Gavin and honestly, Ryan, honestly.

If he’s here then who won the auction and got the McGuffin?

“That would be me.”

*Dramatic Music Cue*

It’s the asshole from before, all smug and arrogant because not only does he have the McGuffin, but he has Gavin and his little boy toy too.

Ryan and Gavin share this look because okay, okay, if anyone’s the boy toy in their sham marriage clearly it’s Gavin and Gavin is super offended at that and omg, RYAN.

The baddie is bewildered by their antics and annoyed and starts Bad Guy Monologuing.

See, he knows who Gavin is.

Burns’ little protege and all that, and my, my, my, what would Burns have to say about him being here without permission?

Gavin looking over at the guy with this Look on his face, because one, he doesn’t need to ask Burnie's permission to do anything, okay. And two, maybe shut the hell up?

Ryan is ~shocked because Gavin told him (insinuate) that Burnie sent him here, but that’s not true???

And then they get the perfect opening to turn the tables on the asshole when he gets a little too into being a smug bastard and gets too close, or looks away long enough.

There’s this whole Fight in which Ryan and Gavin play cat and mouse with the asshole and his thugs – it’s not a huge challenge because these idiots are rank amateurs, but it’s enough to get the old adrenaline pumping.

Also, you know, one of the thugs gets off a lucky shot and Gavin gets movie-style shot. Flesh wound that’s more annoying than life-threatening and all that. The kind of thing that has Ryan fussing over him, all up in Gavin’s personal space and Touching and Worry and Gavin secretly enjoying it because not like Ryan will give him the time of day when this whole mess is over.

They grab the McGuffin where the baddie dropped it and go to Gavin’s suite to patch him up and collect their things to make their escape before the bodies are found.

Go to a roadside motel somewhere far enough away to feel safe when Gavin flags due to pain and blood loss and the little “interrogation” scene that happened before Ryan found him.

Ryan all worried and restless, anxious because Gavin lied to him and such but he hasn’t tried to kill Ryan or double-cross him. (And honestly at this point, he still trusts the bastard even though he knows he shouldn’t after earlier revelations and such.)

Gavin tells him that he got a call, about a month ago from some friends of his, these Lads. Something about a friend in trouble, stubborn sort who would appreciate them sticking their nose into things and if Gavin was free could he look into it for them all secret-like?

And Gavin, okay.

In the middle of one last job for the Roosters – favors owed and all that – before going back to his crew, but he could do this thing for them sure.

Went to Los Santos and started watching this guy – seemed nice and all, just in over his head. Tells Ryan about this silly little car he bought for the job when he got to Los Santos. Bright purple Blista he used to tail him, all the subpar lunches and brunches he ate while he ~spied on the guy and so on and Ryan just stares at him.

Belatedly realizes Gavin was the reason he felt he was being watched way back then, that he wasn’t imagining things because Gavin was spying on him the whole damn time. Got his own documents and whatnot in order to follow Ryan out to the auction and kept an eye on him which was a good thing since it probably helped save his life the day they technically met.

There’s more, Gavin telling Ryan about having to lie to Burnie (“I mean, he knows I’m lying, but he trusts me not to do anything to hurt the Roosters or the Fakes, so he doesn’t mind,”) and it clicks with him that hey, wait.

Something, something, something British slang Jeremy and the others use from time to time, this asshole Ryan assumed was dead who has a sense of humor that seems like it line up with this asshole they reference from time to time.

Horrible suspicion building that maybe -

“Who asked you to keep an eye on me?”

And Gavin smiles at him, like he knows Ryan’s finally put the pieces together in his idiot head.

“My Lads,” he says. “Michael and Jeremy, of course.”

Ryan just sits there while Gavin steals his diet coke, tiny little smile on his face and oh, Goddammit.

Because.

Of course Jeremy knew something was up with Ryan after Agent 14 made that deal with him, but he was injured and Michael was needed in Los Santos, and anyway, anyway.

Ryan would pitch a fit if any of them stuck their noses in his business, but he never met Gavin. Didn’t know the asshole, wouldn’t know what to look for if they called in a favor with Gavin, asked him to get to the bottom of things for them.

And Gavin had, because he was headed back to Los Santos for good anyway, having just finished one last favor for Burnie and the Roosters. Was going back to join the crew and work with them on their ridiculous heists and jobs and be back with his Lads and Geoff and Jack and all the rest.

To be honest, he was curious as hell about this Vagabond character anyway, someone he heard about line before Jeremy came along. And just when he thought he’d get to meet him, Burnie asked for his help and Geoff sent him off after making sure Gavin was going to come back – all soft and fond and worried about this little British idiot, “Don’t let that asshole sweet talk you into staying with them, you know he’s full of shit.”

But now! Now he got the chance to meet him, even if it’s not exactly straightforward and ”Ryan, Ryan, you’re so lovely, Ryan,” because the painkillers are kicking in and Gavin’s had a long, long day, and Ryan.

Christ, Ryan doesn’t even know.

Grateful to Jeremy and the others for worrying, even though they’re idiots. For asking Gavin to keep an eye on him and everything else. (Nothing turned out to plan, but he had the McGuffin Agent 14 wanted and he and Gavin survived.)

Ryan sighs, make a phone call to Jeremy and tells him they’ll be home in a few days – wants to drive a little more to get further away from the auction before hopping a plane to Los Santos. Keep an eye on Gavin and make sure his injuries don’t get worse.

Sighs at Jeremy when he tries to play dumb about it and promises to tell him all about the whole mess when he’s back in Los Santos. (No point in keeping him or the others in the dark now, right?)

The next day Gavin’s all tired and sore and achey, little bit cranky and Ryan is just.

Amused.

Because up until this point Gavin’s been all smooth and polished, very Spy in a Vinewood movie about things, but now he’s turning into this horrible little gremlin and it’s weirdly entertaining.

“Sod off,” Gavin mumbles, but gratefully accepts the coffee Ryan got for him along with the breakfast he picked up along the way.

They take it slow, from there. Want to look like people on the return leg of a road trip and succeed perfectly because they’re both super tired and Done With Everything.

Don’t talk much, but there’s not a lot to say just yet. Comfortable with the silence, and when Gavin gets bored he starts up with his hypotheticals and Ryan weirdly enjoys them even though half of them make no real-world sense? But it’s fun and keeps him fro Dwelling on what’s waiting for them back in Los Santos.

(Jeremy and the others. Agent 14. Everything.)

They get to the airport safely, book a flight back to Los Santos without problems and Gavin sleeps most of the way there. (Tired, hurt, and Ryan feels it’s the least he can do to keep an eye on him for a change.)

When they get to Los Santos it’s to Jeremy and Michael waiting for them, the quiet ride to the penthouse, Michael shooting Gavin Looks while Gavin winds him up. (Jeremy sending Ryan Looks and Ryan playing dumb.)

And then!

The penthouse where Geoff yells at both Ryan and Gavin in turn, and then puts Burnie on speaker so he, too, can yell at them. (Mostly Gavin in this case, but Ryan gets his fair share too.)

They endure it like a couple of kids who broke curfew and face their parents’ ire after the fact, and then Geoff and Burnie tell them to get some rest while they deal with the mess with Agent 14.

“Uh - “

“Get the fuck out of here, both of you.”

Geoff and Burnie aren’t angry, just. Tired, because their idiot crews, okay. Morons all of them.

When Ryan and Gavin get out of the conference room it’s to discover everyone else has gone home, and there’s this awkward moment of what the hell they do now, you know?

There are rooms on other floors of the building for the crew, somewhere Gavin can crash until he gets a place of his own away from the penthouse, but.

“My place?” Ryan offers.

Somewhere with more personality than one of the spare rooms or the barely used room of Ryan’s here.

Gavin slides him a look, this wry little smile on his face.

“Thought you seemed the type to buy me dinner first,” he says, and Ryan snorts because Gavin is an asshole, isn’t he?

They stop to pick up burgers and fries on the way to Ryan’s place where he sets Gavin up in his spare room and for all they met in an unusual way, it’s not weird.

No more so than the talk they have later once they’ve gotten sleep and feel a little more human. Where Gavin explains himself a little more and Ryan does the same and then it just.

Ryan’s got the room and doesn’t mind sharing with Gavin until he gets his own place.

And, sure. They get Looks from the others when Geoff brings up the spare rooms at the penthouse and Gavin declines, tells them he’s staying with Ryan, but no one asks and they’re sure as hell not telling. (Not that they’d know what to tell, since they don’t know what’s going on with them themselves.)

Days, weeks, months go by and Gavin who’s never really put much effort into his own place has settled back into that empty space he left behind when Burnie called him for a favor a  while back.

Ryan realizes what’s been missing when Michael and Jeremy start throwing around jokes and stories and Gavin’s there to bounce them back around to the others. Realizes how much smoother the crew operates with him around and thinks he could get used to it.

Agent 14 doesn’t pop up the way Ryan was worried he would, and he finds out Geoff and Burnie came to an “agreement” with him thanks to Gavin’s help. (Gets told to ask Gavin if he wants to know what that’s all about, but he doesn’t get around to it right away.)

Eventually though, when it’s the two of them watching shitty movies eating shitty takeout on Ryan’s couch Ryan does.

Finds out Gavin called in his own favors to deal with Agent 14 and the material he had on Jeremy and Ryan. To come to a Deal with him about leaving them the fuck alone with the Roosters and Fakes behind him and how unpleasant it would be for 14 and his people if he pressed the matter.

Gavin shrugs because it’s what you do for crew, didn't Ryan know? And Ryan.

Ryan looks at this terrible little goblin wearing Ryan’s sweats – stealer of clothes extraordinaire – all comfortable in Ryan’s personal space and such. (Asshole’s wearing his clothes and leaning against him because supposedly he makes for a comfortable pillow and really, really.)

“Are we dating?” Ryan asks, because if they are no one bothered to tell him.

He thinks about the previous months. All the meals they’d shared together from greasy bags of takeout while staking out a target or grabbing food on the way home – HOME – after a long day.

Terrible movies and dinner on the couch like tonight and oh, God.

“Er,” Gavin says, not quite meeting his eyes. “We could not be dating, if you’d like?”

Ryan thinks about it for a moment, watches Gavin who starts playing with the frayed hem of his sleeve, and how much he actually likes the little idiot. (Likes having him around, all his stupid jokes and stories and hypotheticals and pretty much everything about him.)

“Well,” Ryan says. “Gotta work up to the marriage thing somehow.”

Because look.

They still have those IDs and papers from the Incident. Got Matt and B-Team to tweak them in case they need them again, make it “official” their cover identities are married and endured the grief it got them from the others.

Ryan laughs like an idiot when Gavin looks at him, surprised Ryan isn’t kicking his ass out or whatever he expected, and figures now’s as good a time to give in to that little urge to kiss Gavin. (First showed up back at that resort, but there was never a good time/excuse for it, and that trend continued on after they cleared everything up and got back to Los Santos.)

Gavin makes this little surprised noise, and for a moment Ryan’s worried he misread the situation, but then Gavin tugs him back down for another kiss and oh Ryan thinks, maybe he didn’t.

(The crew totally gives them shit for not realizing they’re basically an old married couple at that point, but whatever.)

[psychadelickate]

NCIS - Gibbs: Jealousy

Imagine: Jealousy Word Count: 1637 Fandom: NCIS Pairing: Gibbs x Reader Rating: Teen Gif: Not Mine Requested: @anycsirp Prompt: Ok so can u maybe write something with Gibbsxreader where the reader gets jealous of maybe one of gibbs ex wife's or someone else that flirts with gibbs bc no one knows about them dating

The bullpen is eerily quiet when you walk into it, fresh from your afternoon coffee run. This is surprising for two reasons; the first being, you’d hardly been gone a full ten minutes and second, because you expected the rest of your team to be at their desks, seeing as you were in the middle of an investigation.  DiNozzo’s desk is littered with papers, no doubt from the notes you’d seen him taking from the crime scene. McGee’s is less so, opting to go with taking notes on his phone, and only the important stuff goes onto paper. Bishop’s looks as though she never came into work today, with the blonde agent preferring to use her techno-savvy self to take notes on whatever electronic device she’s using at that moment. You place your coffee cup on your desk and walk around to settle down in your chair, ready to do more research on your victim.  Ten minutes pass and there’s still no word from either your teammates or your team leader. You have half a mind to go searching for them, but decide against it; they could be following up on leads… Another five minutes pass before you hear scrambling. You look up to find your three teammates looking at you, guilt and excitement gracing their expressions. You’re about to ask just what’s got their panties in such a twist when you hear Gibbs’ voice at the other end of the room. You look up, only to see your teammates gazes laser focused in the direction of Gibb’s voice. They’re behaving weirdly, more so than usual, so you decide to check out what has caught their attention so completely. You follow their lines of sight until you see it.

There’s one silver haired Special Agent Gibbs standing with a woman, a blonde woman, smiling at her like she’s just saved the damn world.  She’s standing closer to him than necessary and smiling as though she’s found the secret to the goddamn fairy world. Your chest constricts, though you remain silent.  “Who is that?” Bishop asks before you can. “That is former ARMY Lieutenant Colonel Hollis Mann.” McGee informs you and Bishop.  “Also known as ‘The Gibbs Whisperer,” DiNozzo adds.  “Gibbs Whisperer?” Bishop repeats, though she sounds skeptical.  “Oh, you make that face now, Bishop, but she and the Functionally Mute Gibbs could have conversations and understand each other without saying a word,” DiNozzo answers.  You want to ask how come you’ve never heard of Mann, but you see Gibbs and Mann walking toward the bullpen and you decide to let it go.  “Update,” Gibbs says as soon as he’s within earshot, and the four of you jump to attention, ready to give him your findings… You can feel Mann’s eyes on you, but you resist the urge to turn and look at her. After the update, as usual, Gibbs barks out orders, sending everyone off to their tasks. He pairs you up with DiNozzo, but you’re not sure you won’t kill the senior agent and so you swap with Bishop, pairing up with McGee to interview another friend of the victim… And so it goes…  More interview and dead-end leads come up, and Hollis Mann makes sure to pair you up with everyone but Gibbs. You’re not sure if she’s aware that you and Gibbs are dating, though she’s doing a hell of a job making sure you and Gibbs are never in the same place, together. The longer she’s at NCIS the more your dislike for her grows. She’s never far from Gibbs, sometimes forgetting she’s not actually the team leader and ordering you and the rest of the team around, while she flirts with your boss.  For his part, Gibbs doesn’t encourage her, but he doesn’t discourage her either and this strikes a nerve in you.  There’s finally a break in the case three days later and before Mann can order you around, you state that you and McGee are going to get the suspect.  It’s late when you and McGee finally get back to the office. You’ve already relayed all the information you got from the perp to Bishop while you’d been stuck in peak-hour traffic and all you want to do is go home. Once the perp has been taken to a holding cell you return to the bullpen to get your stuff. You’re packing your stuff away when your eye catches a blue sticky note on your desk. Sure, it’s not in plain sight; it would’ve never survived DiNozzo’s snooping, but enough for you to see it.  You pluck it from your desk and smile at Gibb’s scrawl, inviting you over for supper whenever you got back from the interview.  It’s past half past seven when you finally make it to Gibbs’ house. You let yourself in, knowing he’d complain if you knocked. He’d already told you he had an open door policy and since you’d started dating, nothing in his house was off-limits to you.  The sound of laughter travels from the basement as you walk deeper into the house. You’re almost halfway down the stairs when you see two sets of feet further in the room. You cannot say you’re surprised when one set of feet turn out to be former Lieutenant Colonel Hollis Mann.  Just as earlier that morning, she’s standing too close to Gibbs, her hand on his forearm and whispering into his ear. It takes you all of two minutes to make up your mind to leave, without alerting Gibbs. That plan doesn’t work however, when your phone starts ringing. You’re partly grateful, partly annoyed at the device, but there’s nothing you can do now.  “(Y/N)?” you hear Gibbs’s voice, though you don’t turn to face him and instead walk back up the stairs. You have no intension of being here, tonight.  “(Y/N),” his voice is resigned. “I made dinner,” he continues when you don’t say anything.  You wave your phone at him, “It’s DiNozzo, he’s invited me for Friday night drinks, and I’m going to accept,” you tell Gibbs.  “Have fun,” you say as a parting shot.  You know it’s mean. You know, by the look on his face, you’ve just hurt your boyfriend, but in this moment you really don’t care. Not when you’ve been blindsided.  You have no intention of meeting DiNozzo or the rest of the team for drinks, but Gibbs doesn’t have to know that…

It’s ten in the morning when you decide you cant sit in your apartment any longer. You need to get out from the four walls and you need to blow off steam. You can think of only one thing that won’t get you hurt… physically. You grab your gear and head out.  You’re on the third round when you hear the gate to your cage open.  You don’t need to see that it’s Gibbs. You don’t turn to acknowledge his presence, but that you’ve missed the last three pitches has alerted him to your knowledge of his presence.  “Relax your shoulders,” he tells you as he places his hands on each of your shoulders pulling them back a little, in an attempts to relax them. You want to tell him to leave you alone, that you’ve been doing just fine without him, but your mouth betrays your brain by remaining silent. You feel him adjust your stance for the next pitch, moving your feet and adapting your hips before sliding his hands up your ribcage, over your arms and coming to settle over your hands. You expect him to step away once he’s done so, but he doesn’t.  No. He waits for the ball, his hands covering yours on the wooden bat, his body pressed flush against yours.  You’re so caught up in the feel of his body against yours, you miss the ball coming at you and it’s only when you feel the bat connect with it, that you realize you haven’t been paying attention to anything but him.  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers in between pitches, making sure you don’t miss a hit.  “Could’ve fooled me,” you respond, but it doesn’t carry as much sting as you intended it to.  “(Y/N),” he nuzzles the side of your neck and it takes all your willpower not to turn around and just kiss him then and there. “Where is your devotee anyway?” you ask him.  “Don’t know, don’t care,” he replies.  “But if you’re not there, who’s she going to worship?” you question, though you can’t hide the laughter in your tone. “Is that jealousy I hear?” he asks.  “Of what?” the words tumble out your mouth without prompt. You’ve never done jealousy before, you’re not sure what it is. You’ve never felt that insecure or scared to allow one emotion to rule you. Also, there was no way you were going to fight for a man… Even if that man was Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  Your anger has mostly dissipated and you won’t admit it, but you’ve missed Gibbs too. “Don’t know, don’t care…” he repeats, cutting his sentence short with an open mouthed kiss to your neck.  “Cause she’s not the one I’m in love with,” he continues, while kissing your neck.  The ball machine has long stopped, not that either of you have noticed.  It takes you a few seconds to process his words…  You turn around to face him, heart racing in your chest.  “Gibbs,” you whisper…  “I love you,” he murmurs in your ear.  You don’t waste another second. You pull his face down to yours, pressing your mouth to kiss in a fervent kiss, pouring all the love you have for him into it.  You’re not ready to say those three words back, just yet. But there’s no reason not to tell him with a mind blowing kiss, your brain tells you. 

tag-list: Gibbs:  @pinturicchio13 @diaryofafan17 @stanathanxoox @iwritetoavoidmyproblems @ladyzombiielove @mahc1562 @evy-lyn @anycsirp @kitty-kat2018 @mackenziepart2 @kittenlittle24 @manicmarsupial if you’d like to be tagged, let me know Mobile list here

[triggeringthehealing]

distractions

Derek/Stiles | 2748 | G | AO3

Summary: There are hunters in town. Young, ill-advised, easy targets for the pack. Still, Stiles knows that walking right into the motel they’re staying at is a recipe for disaster. Since it’s precisely what Derek seems to want to do, Stiles needs a distraction. 

A/N: Written for the @fullmoonficlet challenge - prompt #331 - strike

"Look, there's no way we can go into this unprepared," Stiles says, looking up from the maps and scraps of paper on the table. "I know that a surprise strike would be the best thing, to catch the hunters unaware, but we can't make it something that's surprising to us."

"I know," Derek grunts unconvincingly.

"I know you know, Derek, but do you really?"

"Stiles."

"I mean, I don't want to you walk out of here tonight before we get a plan together. Or well, you can walk out without us having a solid plan, but that doesn't mean you should walk out of here with the intention of heading over to the hunters to try and catch them off guard. Because that's not going to work," Stiles rambles, he knows, but he wants to drive it home that walking into the motel where the hunters have set up camp is dangerous and a bad idea.

"I won't," Derek tells him, eyes still on the map and fingers running over the notes that they gathered.

The whole pack was on reconnaissance missions for the past two days, snooping where they could without giving themselves away. It proved a lot easier than they were used to, since this group of hunters from out of town and out of state didn't seem to have done their research. That, in Stiles's extensive experience, didn't mean that it was true, but that was definitely how they were seen. Normally Stiles would be extremely suspicious of that—and he was for the first day—but this time there really seems to be a lack of information and awareness on the hunters' side.

They're young, barely old enough to be in the know. They're only just older than Stiles was when he found out about the supernatural, back in high school. He wonders how much training they could possibly have at that age but he saw them and found that whether they're well-trained or not, they're armed to their teeth and clearly mean business. The problem is that they don't seem to know what their business is.

It's a recipe for disaster already, let alone if Derek or anyone else decide to walk right to them and cause a reaction triggered by surprise. With the amount of weapons of all different kinds, there would most likely be innocent bystanders hurt at best and killed at worst. There is precisely zero need for anything like that to happen. It just means that Stiles will need to distract Derek from whatever half-baked plans he might have for the situation.

"I think you want to go now," Stiles says quietly. "I think you figured that these people are young and would be easily taken down. I think you want to do something before they do something to those we care about."

"I think you're assuming a lot and you know what that means," Derek replies, finally lifting his head to look at Stiles.

"I'm an ass, yes," Stiles says, corner of his lips twitching in amusement. "You love my ass."

"I appreciate your ass," Derek says in a completely flat tone. "That doesn't mean I need to tolerate you being one."

Derek grunts then and that's enough of an answer to tell Stiles that he's right. Not that he really needed a confirmation but he gives himself a moment to preen about it anyway, because it's not often that he gets an acknowledgment like this.

"Look, we'll figure out a way to get them," Stiles says, returning to the original conversation. "Marching in there without a plan has never worked out well for us, has it?"

He can see the moment that Derek remembers that one time when they had no plan and still got out unscathed and with the bad guys out of commission.

"Fine, one time is not a good enough sample though," he concedes.

The smirk on Derek's lips does classify as gloating, Stiles is pretty sure.

"We're almost ready with a decent plan, you know this. You've gotta be patient," he tells Derek.

"I am patient."

There's no way Stiles can hold back the snort at that statement, because the only person he knows with a bigger case of being trigger happy is, well, himself. Derek's patience has the length of about a mayfly's lifecycle considering the grand scheme of things in life. He does like a good plan but he prefers when it's done fast and ideally is ready without the actual planning stage. Stiles can't argue with that, though he does tend to enjoy the strategizing a little more than anyone else in their pack.

"Maybe you need a distraction," Stiles mutters, thinking out loud.

He's met with a wall of silence at that and it makes him look up from the maps that his eyes flicked to as he was musing over Derek's patience issue. When his gaze lands on Derek, he sees the raised eyebrow and an expression that's a strange mix of amusement and disapproval.

"We have a bunch of hunters in town, ready to take out someone just to prove themselves," Derek says when Stiles mirrors the raised eyebrow. "Do you really think any of us should be distracted right now?"

Stiles shrugs.

"Well, yeah," he tells Derek. "I don't mean anything major, just a little something to stop you from trying to get yourself hurt."

To his surprise, Derek doesn't do what Stiles expects him to, which is to shut down the whole direction of their conversation. Instead, his eyebrows both shoot up for a moment and then the corner of his lips twitches.

"Did you have anything in mind?"

Stiles is stunned into a very untypical silence. The thing is, they've been dancing around each other for a while now, both of them single again and both in Beacon Hills for a while, with no plans to leave anytime soon. It's no secret to anyone around them that Stiles has long found Derek attractive in several different ways. He just thought for an equally long time that the attraction was entirely one-sided. It's a very new thing that he started considering if he was wrong all these years and that maybe Derek isn't completely indifferent to Stiles's everything.

"That depends on what you think would take your mind off of rushing out right now," Stiles says, keeping his words deliberately vague so he can turn the conversation whichever way seems the most suitable.

Derek seems to ponder his options and the silence does nothing to keep Stiles's hopes down nor his nerves calm. He's not a blushing teen with a crush, those years are well behind him now, especially after he got to date the person he was infatuated with and found out that reality is a whole lot different than his imagination. He had crushes since Lydia, but not as consuming as that one was. Right now, he has a bit of a deja vu from the way his stomach feels like it's filled with butterflies—not an image he really likes but the best simile anyway.

"Maybe we should go somewhere," Derek offers eventually, just as Stiles's brain is starting to spin dangerously.

"Somewhere like, for a drive?"

"Somewhere like getting something to eat," Derek clarifies. "Have you eaten anything today at all?"

Stiles frowns as he tries to remember if he has because "yes" feels like a lie.

"There was breakfast," he admits. "And I had a power bar when Scott got here."

"Actual food, Stiles," Derek says with an exasperated sigh. "Come on, let's go get some burgers."

Without hesitation, Stiles follows him outside and doesn't protest when Derek nods towards his own car. Since they're going somewhere together, there's no point taking Roscoe too and Stiles does still get a bit of a thrill from being in Derek's current Camaro—he did lose count of how many Derek had through the years—even if it's only on the passenger side.

"So, Hot Wheels," Stiles starts when they pull away from the loft building where the pack still continues to meet for strategy sessions, "where are you taking me?"

"To the morgue, if you repeat the Hot Wheels thing again," Derek huffs in response.

"Oh come on, how can I? You're the one switching one Camaro for another," Stiles tells him, smiling.

"It's a good car."

"I know it is. But it was also one of the first Hot Wheels models," Stiles says.

"How do you even know that?"

"I was a young boy once, dreaming of a shiny hot rod of a car," Stiles grins and his mind wanders away to the calm and innocent days when that was true. Days before werewolves and hunters.

"Because you're ancient now," Derek says and Stiles catches him rolling his eyes.

"Feels like it sometimes," Stiles admits quietly, his mood dropping a fraction. "We've all definitely lived through more than others in their whole life. Some of us possibly are on the ninth life."

Derek only glances away from the road for a second but it's enough for Stiles to see the seriousness and concern in his face.

"Glad you made it this far," he says, to Stiles's surprise.

"Likewise," Stiles replies.

They both go silent then and inevitably Stiles's mind runs over the times when he wasn't sure that either of them was going to make it to the next day. There were way too many close calls for both of them, due to not only the dangers around them but occasionally also because of their shared willingness to dive into danger without a second thought. In precisely the same way that Stiles has suggested distracting Derek from tonight. He doesn't dare think about just how many times they should have had their lives end by now because the answer would probably terrify anyone with a shred of sanity.

"So, you didn't answer my question," he says a while later, twisting his body so he gets a better look at Derek.

"Huh?"

"You said we're getting food," Stiles clarifies. "Where are we heading?"

Derek pauses like he forgot their destination, then he glances at Stiles again for a moment before replying.

"You like the new shake place outside of town, right?"

It's a night for surprises apparently—Stiles doesn't remember mentioning the place more than maybe twice in the space of several months since he first went there—because he never expected Derek to know that tidbit.

"Yeah, the burgers are the best in town. And they do curly fries," Stiles adds because that's a deciding factor for him when it comes to a burger joint's quality.

"Of course they do," Derek nods in what's maybe supposed to be a serious expression but is betrayed by the way Derek's lip curls up at the corner.

"Don't you dare mock my love of curly fries, man" Stiles tells him, knowing that he can't pull off being serious.

"I would never," Derek tells him solemnly just before his face lights up with a smile.

"Liar."

"Good thing you can't tell," Derek replies fast.

Their conversation continues in a similar tone all the way through town and it's easy, simple. There were times in the past when Stiles wouldn't have dreamed of having this easy a conversation with Derek, but it's become the norm now, though the slightly flirty undertones are most definitely shiny and new. They're not obvious—to an outsider it probably just sounds like they're teasing each other in a friendly way—but Stiles knows now how Derek talks to friends and how he talks when he's flirting. Plus, he knows his own way of keeping the door open to double entendres in conversations that are intended to lead them outside of the friendship boundaries.

By the time Derek pulls up to the diner—restaurant, really, since it's a little more upscale than a diner—Stiles is questioning if he imagined where their conversation was going. It's almost like any other night when the pack decides to get food together, only this time it's Stiles and Derek alone. Which isn't all that new either, there have been a few times when everyone else decided to split up and head elsewhere.

Still, Stiles is fighting the urge to ask if this can be considered a date. Mostly because, if he dares being completely honest with himself, he wants it to be. And it shouldn't be awkward, it shouldn't be a big deal to be honest about things. Maybe it would be fine and if Stiles is reading too much into things, they'll just both brush it off and get on with life.

It's just that there's a tiny voice at the back of Stiles's mind that reminds him that getting this wrong might end up causing tension and make things difficult. After all, they do both live in Beacon Hills and the town has never been big enough to hide from anyone.

"You're thinking very loudly over there," Derek says as they find an empty booth.

Stiles freezes. It's not like he's saying his thoughts out loud without knowing it, that much he's sure of. But he's clearly not as good at keeping his face blank as he thought he was.

"Anything I can help with?" Derek asks, leafing through the menu without really looking at it.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, if anyone can it would be you, but..." Stiles starts rambling, then he stops himself, bites his bottom lip to keep more words from falling out, and turns his gaze to the napkin box instead.

"Stiles."

"Yeah?"

When he looks across the table, Derek is looking right back, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes and a small smile on his lips. It's one that Stiles doesn't see a lot—it's fond, for lack of a better word—and it jolts something in Stiles's chest. There's nothing that would stop the question that pushes itself to the forefront of Stiles's mind then.

"Is this a date?"

His whole body tenses as the words spill out and Stiles watches every minute movement of Derek's face: the twitch of his eyebrow, the curling of the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes widen just a fraction. He doesn't miss the way Derek's cheeks darken a little under the harsh lights of the restaurant either.

"Do you want it to be?" Derek asks in return.

"You didn't answer," Stiles says automatically, as he always does when someone answers with a question. "But yeah, I do. Want that."

"Okay," Derek nods. "Then it can be."

That's it. It's that simple, apparently. Stiles's smile mirrors the one that he's looking at and for a blissful moment, his mind is blank. But then his thoughts come rushing back and he tries to remember what it is that people do on dates, besides small talk and eating. He can't imagine having a mindless conversation with Derek just to fill the silence and there's no food yet since they didn't order. Stiles wonders for a beat if he can summon the wait staff to their table before it gets awkward.

"Stiles."

Derek says his name like he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking and how he's internally freaking out.

"Yeah?"

"You're thinking way too noisily again."

"We have met before, right?" Stiles asks lightly and a layer of his worries starts peeling away.

"It looks like you're panicking about this," Derek tells him, not bothering to answer the question.

"Maybe. A little," Stiles admits.

Derek smiles that soft and fond smile again and drops the menu on the table, then reaches across until his palm in on top of Stiles's hand. Without thinking, Stiles turns his hand over and his eyes drop down just as Derek's palm meets his own.

"Let's get food first," Derek says, glancing to the side.

Stiles follows the movement and sees a waiter approaching.

"Okay. I can do that," he says when he looks back at Derek.

He wonders if his heart will be able to handle seeing Derek's face the way it is now, soft and relaxed, happier than Stiles has seen him over the years. Most of his doubts vanish into thin air as his mind processes the fact that he is the cause of Derek's expression.

As far as distraction tactics go, Stiles thinks that maybe he found the best one yet. Not only is Derek not rushing into danger, but Stiles gets to live a dream.

[steviemae]

babysitter // sp - pt.11

babysitter masterlist.

author’s note: just wanted to say first, that i gave y/n’s father a last name instead of putting y/l/n. to clarify, Tessa and y/n’s father are half siblings so to make things easier, Tessa will have y/l/n and Taylor is the last name of the readers father. in the wattpad story, i gave the character a name instead of using a reader insert but kept it a reader insert for tumblr bc that’s what a lot  of you wanted. so to make things less confusing, i wanted to let you know before you started reading! enjoy (:

During lunch you were able to sneak away from Sweet Pea and meet Betty in the Blue and Gold. She was already there when you walked in, nose stuck in her laptop as she scrolled through whatever she had looked up.

“Oh good, you’re here. Okay, so i started with your mom. I found absolutely nothing on her. No obituary, no public records from being arrested. It’s like she never existed.” she said. You looked over her shoulder as she scrolled.

“What about my dad?” You asked bringing a chair over to sit next to her.

“He was a Serpent, that’s for sure. He also has a pretty hefty track record. No drugs or theft though. All fights he’s been in and gotten arrested for; the usual Serpent track record. This is interesting though, the death date on his obituary isn’t the date you told me.” She pointed at the date on the paper. A completely different date than what you have set in your brain as the anniversary of your parent’s death. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“I can’t find anything that states how either of them died. But i think i might know who we can ask. Meet me at the Register after your detention is over.” You gave her a nod and gathered everything up when you heard the bell signal that lunch was over. Shoving the files into your bag as you walked into the hallway you bumped into someone. You looked up to apologize, “Oh sorry, Principal Weatherbee.”

“Ms. y/l/n. You skipped detention yesterday. Might i ask why?” He gave you a stern look.

“I - um - my aunt called me. Someone destroyed my car.” You technically weren’t lying. Someone did in fact destroy your car. You pulled out your phone to show him pictures, “i’ll stay late tomorrow to make up for it. I just needed to go get my car taken care of.” You explained.

“If you show up for detention today, i’ll let it slide. I know things have been difficult for you lately and i hope it has nothing to do with those thugs you’ve been running around with. I don’t mind cutting you some slack seeing as you’ve never been in my office for anything worth reprimanding. Don’t make the same mistake twice, Ms. y/l/n.” and with that he walked away.

--

In detention you pulled out your laptop to finish your digging that you and Betty started at lunch. You deciding to look up Johnathan and see what dirt you could find. Scrolling through the endless reports of violence from the many fights he’s been arrested for, you decided that you probably weren’t going to find much. You looked up your mother again in hopes of finding something, but came up short. Betty was right, it’s like she wasn’t even real.

“Ms. y/l/n? What are you doing in detention?” you looked up and saw Mr. Anderson. He was an older gentleman and taught English here. Turns out he’s also the one who monitors detention.

“I punched Reggie Mantle in the mouth.” You said nonchalantly.

“I’m sure he deserved it. Get out of here. I’ll tell Principal Weatherbee you finished out your time in detention. Just don’t let me catch you in here again, young lady.” He said. Wow, being an honor roll student who never gets in trouble is really paying off.

Sweet Pea had text you earlier telling you to call him when your detention was over and he’d come get you. You told him not to worry about it, that Betty and her mom asked you to help with the Register so they were picking you up. He was annoyed but said he’d be at the Wyrm. You opened the door to the Register and the bell dinged making Betty look up from whatever she was looking at on the desk.

“You’re here earlier than expected.”

“Thank god for Mr. Anderson.” you said jokingly making prayer hands and raising them to the sky while laughing.

“Alright, we have to make a pit stop at the bank before we go to the morgue.”

“The morgue? Betty why are we going where they keep dead people?”

“Because where there are dead people, there are autopsy reports. And finding your dad’s autopsy report will tell us where and how he died. Same for your mom.” She said like it was obvious. You let out a long drawn out oh finally catching onto what she was saying, “But why do we need to stop at the bank?” You asked confused.

“If we want him to give us information we need money. It’ll keep him quiet.” She explained.

“Lead the way, Penny Brown.” You said making Betty look at you with a confused looked.

“Penny Brown? The blonde with pigtails from the Inspector Gadget show? I was going to say Nancy Drew, but that’s who Veronica jokes you are all the time and i wanted to be different.” You said sheepishly.

“Out the door,” she said shooing you but letting out a slight laugh at your stupid analogy.

--

“Small bills, right?” Betty asked handing over the envelope. He took the envelope checking that it was all there and nodding.

“What can i help you girls with?” he asked.

“We need to look in your records for anything in the year 2006.” Betty answered. The old man motioned for you to follow him and walked you into a storage room with filing cabinets lining the walls and a small desk sitting in the middle. Anything from 2000-now is in this cabinet. Happy snooping.” He said walking out of the room leaving you two to look through everything.

“Well that was easy.” you mumbled. Yout walked over to the file cabinet he said was the one you would need, “Of course the old man wouldn’t have anything organized.” you said rolling your eyes. You flicked through the top drawer while Betty sat on the floor and flicked through the bottom.

“This might take a while.” Betty said closing the drawer she went through.

“Do think the date on the obituary is wrong?” Betty asked.

“I’m not sure. Neither one of them were buried, Tess told me they wanted to be cremated. Johnny said the gang got together and had some kind of ash spreading memorial for the both of them. I only have what Johnny and Tess told me to go by.”

“We could always search the cemetery. Maybe they were buried. They’ve lied to you this long about how and when they died, who’s to say they didn’t lie about burying them too.” Better stated. You pondered for a second realizing that she was right.

“Wait, what’s your dad’s full name again?” She asked.

“Johnathan Daniel Taylor.”

“Never trust a man with three first names.” She said pulling out a file.

“Johnny’s named after him and with all these lies, that statement couldn't be any more true. Did you find it?” She gave you a nod walking over to the desk.

“He was beaten and stabbed pretty badly. He bled out before the ambulance got there. It says that his Serpent tattoo was sliced off.” She paused and looked at you.

“What?” You asked moving closer to look at the file. Betty flipped through the photos and you stopped her, something catching your eye.

“I don’t know. A ‘Q’ maybe.” She said staring at the letter carved into your father’s arm.

“Take pictures of all of this so we can print it out at my house. I’m going to look for my moms again. It has to be in here somewhere.”

“Did she even take your dad’s last name when they got married?”

“I just assumed she did. To be honest, i never saw any wedding pictures.”

“Do you have any idea what her maiden name might’ve been?” Betty asked. You shook your head no, closing the drawer with a loud slam.

“Why can’t we find anything on her for fucks sake.”

“I don’t know, y/n. i wish i could find something to ease your stress.” She walked over to you and hugged you as your angry tears started to fall.

“Maybe i can use all of what we found on my dad as leverage to get information about my mom. I can’t just go in and ask someone at the Wyrm what her last name was. They’d tell Johnny.” you pulled away from Betty and wiped your face, “let’s to go.” You thanked the old man as you walked out to Betty’s car.

“There’s no way you have connections at the Sheriff’s station do you?” You asked Betty hopefully.

“None. We could ask Keller if he has any info but that would risk Kev finding out. We could go talk to Veronica. Her dad is friends with Sheriff Minetta.” She said.

“I’m not sure i want to get mixed up with the Lodge’s. I love Ronnie, but asking her dad to do this will result in me owing him a favor and i don’t want to owe that man anything.” You said. Betty nodded understandingly.

“Can you take me to the Wyrm? My car is still in the shop and i told Sweet Pea i’d be there when i finished helping you and your mom.”

--

Honestly without a friend like Betty, you probably wouldn’t have found out half as much as you did today. She was god’s gift to solving mysteries. When the two of you walked into the Wyrm, the gang was in the middle of a meeting. Jughead and Sweet Pea’s eyes met yours and they rushed over to you.

“Both of you need to get home now.” Jughead said.

“What? Why? What’s going on?” Betty asked concerned.

“Fangs is getting out and they’re rioting. I can’t let anything happen to you but i need to make sure Fangs doesn’t get ripped to pieces. For the love of god, princess, go home and stay there.” Pea pleaded. You cupped his cheek to calm his nerves. He was terrified that something was going to happen to his best friend and with you running around town, he didn’t want to worry about something happening to you,“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll stay at y/n’s until everything clears up.” Betty told Jug, looking at you to see if that was okay.

“I can meet you at y/n’s house.” Jughead asked, “Keep each other safe.” You and Betty nodded and hugged your significant other’s. Pea gave you a loving kiss on your lips before kissing your forehead and telling you to be safe.

Betty drove through southside and everything seemed fine. Normal. But the second you guys crossed over to the northside, it was pure chaos. Trash cans on fire. People running amuck, angrily waving picket signs around.

“Oh my god.” You whispered looking over at Betty who shared the same shocked and slightly scared expression. Betty cautiously drove through the crowds of people trying to safely get the two of you to your house. When she pulled into your driveway the both of you booked it to your front door.

“Baby? Is that you?” Tessa yelled through the house sounding a little scared herself.

“Yeah, it’s me and Betty!” you called back walking into the living room to find her watching the news to keep updated on everything that’s happening. She rushed to you and hugged you tightly, “Thank god. I was hoping you weren’t going to the station to get Fangs. I know he’s your friend but your safety means more to me.” She said.

“I’m fine. I’m not leaving the rest of the night. Jughead’s coming to pick up Betty later and Sweets will be here soon too.” You told her. You lead Betty upstairs to your room and pulled out everything you had from today. You handed Betty your laptop so she could pull up all the photos she took on her phone using icloud and print them out.

“How are we going to get into the police station to find the reports for that night?” She asked and you sat on your bed looking through everything.

“I don’t know. I’d say with how distracted the police are, right now would be a good time but that would risk us getting caught by Juggie and Sweet Pea. If either of them found out, they’d tell Johnny and this whole thing would be over. Do you think we could get hospital records too? Surely there has to be some report from the ambulance. Maybe someone at the hospital can give me information on my mom since we can’t find anything.”

“We can always go there tomorrow. I doubt with everything going on there going to have school.” You’re phone started ringing catching both yours and Betty’s attention. Reaching for your bag, you grabbed your phone out, “It’s Archie.” Sliding your thumb across the screen to answer the phone, “Hello?”

“y/n. You have to get to the school now. Sweet Pea is on a rampage. He’s trashing the whole place.” His voice was rushed and urgent.

“What happened, Archie?”

“Fangs was shot. Sweet Pea and the other Serpents think it was Reggie, but i promise it wasn’t. Mrs. Klump shot him and she’s at the station now. Just get here and calm him down before he does something even more stupid.” He hung up.

“Pea is trashing the school. Fangs got shot. It was Mrs. Klump but the Serpents think it was Reggie. We have to go.” You guys rushed to put everything away and hide it in your closet so your aunt wouldn’t find it before running down the stairs. You ran past your aunt ignoring her calls for you not to leave, that it was too dangerous.

Betty drove to the school as fast as she could trying not to hit all of the angry idiots running through the streets. When she pulled up the front of the school you hopped out, “Go home. I’ll be with Sweet Pea so i’ll be fine. Text me when you get home.”

“Same to you.” with that she drove off. You turned and ran into the school. It wasn’t hard to find Sweet Pea. Him and other Serpents were in the main hallway trashing everything.

“Sweet Pea!” You yelled seeing him walk down the steps slashing the canvas painting of the school that hung on the wall.

“Get the hell out of here, y/n.” he growled.

“I’m not going anywhere until you calm down and come with me.” You demanded.

“Serpents! Stop!” you heard Archie yell.

“Great” you mumbled to yourself knowing this was only going to fire Sweet Pea up even more.

“Well, fellas, looks like we found some bulldog’s to put down.” he pushed past you and walked to the middle of the hallway meeting Archie, Moose and Kevin halfway. Sweet Pea’s voice didn’t sound like him. It was like a whole other person took over and it scared you a little.

“Sweet Pea, i swear, Reggie didn’t shoot Fangs.” Archie reasoned.

“Bull. i saw Mantle with a gun!” Sweet Pea spat.

“Then you also saw me tackle him before he got a shot off! It was Midge’s mom! She’s down at the station.” Archie tried so hard to reason with Sweet Pea. To get not only him, but you out of the school and home.

“Yeah and Fangs is still clinging to life!” Sweet Pea yelled making you jump slightly, “And whether it was Reggie or Mrs. Klump who pulled the trigger, a Northsider put him there.” He walked over to a trash can and grabbed it, “You took our friend, our land. You’ll take everything if we give you the chance. So now you get to watch as we burn your school to the ground.” He dumped the trash onto the floor and chucked the trash can into the trophy case, right where you were standing, making the glass shatter all over the place. You jumped out of the way letting out a scream. Sweet Pea looked at you, his face softening realizing he almost hit you, “y/n, i’m so sorry, i-” he was cut off by Principal Weatherbee slamming the doors opened, “What the hell do you boys think you’re doing to my school.” before anyone could say anything you ran out of the school, ignoring Sweet Pea who was running after you.

“y/n, stop. Please.” he begged. No matter how angry he was at the world right now, he pushed it aside knowing that he fucked up and let it get too far. He almost hurt you and fixing that was more important.

“y/n, god dammit. Stop running.” he finally caught up to you and grabbed your arm tightly but not so tight that he hurt you. He spun you around to face him.

“Look at me, please.” his voice was full of regret and hurt and his eyes filled with sorrow. You shook your head. You wanted to be angry at him and if you looked into his deep amber eyes, you weren’t going to be able to stay mad at him.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were standing there. I wouldn’t have done that had i known you moved from the stairs.”

“You were too pissed to pay any attention.” You snapped at him. The conversation was cut short when Jughead showed up, wrangling all of the young Serpents to the Wyrm.

--

“I can’t just sit here!” Sweet Pea yelled.

“You don’t have a choice, Sweet Pea, you’re staying put.” Jughead said slamming him into the wall behind him. You sat at the bar, far away from the angry Serpents that surrounded one of the pool tables.

“You said it yourself, the Ghoulies are back! We have to deal with them.” He spat.

“As soon as my dad gets back-”

“Oh, so you’re not our leader all of a sudden. Oh no, that’s right, you’re just the guy who got Fangs shot!”

“Watch it.” Jughead spat at your boyfriend.

“And now Fangs might die! And the Ghoulies are out for our blood because of a drag race you started.” Sweet Pea continued shoving Jughead’s chest.

“An hour. That’s all i’m asking for Sweet Pea.” Jughead negotiated, “In the meantime, why don’t you go make sure your girl is okay. The Ghoulies and the black hood are after her too y’know.” Sweet Pea ignored Jughead as he turned and punched the wall he was shoved up against just moments ago and walked to the back of the bar. Far from where you sat with Toni.

“Hey, you okay?” She asked placing her hand on the hand that was sat in your lap. Your other playing with your straw. You nodded your head, “Yeah, just shook up, i guess.” you told her, shrugging your shoulders.

“What happened?”

“Sweets threw a trash can at my head without realizing i was standing there. And with all this stuff going on right now, i just don’t know what to do.” She nodded giving your hand a squeeze.

“Can you take me home? I’d ask Pea but he’s thinking with his anger right now and i don’t want to deal with all that.” Toni told you to wait at your seat while she went to get her jacket and keys from behind the bar. When she came back the two of you left, going unnoticed.

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[qoslinqs]

Untouchable (Chapter 2)

Tony Stark: genius, crime syndicate leader, billionaire, and stolen art collector.

A man who was many things.

Now, he was a criminal informant too.

OR: An alternate universe where Tony Stark is the head of a major crime family in Manhattan and gets caught.

.°•.° .°° .°•.°

Pairing: Steven Rogers/Anthony Stark (STONY)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word count:  2000 something (~15 minutes)

Author’s Note at the end of the chapter.

Chapter Two: Landscape with the Good Samaritan

        An hour had passed. Anthony Stark and Pepper Potts sat silently in the back of the unmarked FBI vehicle as it pushed through the New York City traffic. Thousands of thoughts raced through Tony’s head, as he watched the honking taxis and people rush across the streets. He always dotted all of his i’s and crossed all of his t’s. What went wrong? Why was he sitting in the back of an FBI car?

        There was always the possibility that this was a mistake- and that the evidence they had for whatever fancy law code that he had violated was falsified. Yet he was haunted by the chance that it was true- that they had caught him. He was always twenty steps ahead; why was it now that they were able to catch up?

The black Ford Explorer pulled into an underground parking garage and stopped. Glancing at Pepper, Tony noticed the worry that showed on her face. Her leg bounced up and down, and she seemed to shudder with every breath she took.

        Pepper- she was Anthony’s right-hand woman. Even more than that, she was one of his best friends. The lifestyle that Stark chose had consequences, and he knew that; however, getting his best friend arrested- when she was only toe-deep in the criminal world- was never a consequence that he had thought of. Seeing her frightened eyes and her body shaking with fear made Tony’s heart sink. This was his fault.

        “Pep. Pepper. Look at me,” he whispered, “Take a deep breath.”

        She looked at him nervously as she breathed in and out, almost desperately gasping for air.

        “I-...I’m scared, Tony,” she said, trembling.

        With her admission, he murmured, “...Yeah. Yeah, I am too.”

        Special Agents Maximoff and Barnes soon left their seats and opened the doors for the two. It was time for them to depart. As he began to slide out of the car, he turned to Pepper.

        “Pepper…I’ll make this right.”

        Led in a different direction, Barnes and Stark walked to an elevator far from the ladies. A weight pushed down on his head as he walked; he tried to shake away any anxious thoughts. In the elevator, Tony felt the male agent glare into his backside, practically burning a hole into his shirt. Once the elevator reached the twentieth floor, it came to a stop, and opened with a short ding. Agent Barnes gently pushed Stark out of the lift, grabbed his arm, and led him towards a set of desks; rows of white desks that were in neat rows. On each desk was a computer, many different documents, and other office supplies. It was the workplace of the lower agents in the division.

        While Barnes did not declare his intentions for idly standing in the middle of the office, Stark assumed it was because he awaited the command of the higher ups. The agent seemed to be a quiet man, not exactly enjoying the fact that he had to babysit the stolen art collector. Instead of speaking with Tony, Barnes scrolled through his phone while Tony observed the nearby desks.

        Names of several criminals were scribbled across different files, documents, and photographs. Noticing one in particular, labeled “UNKNOWN SUSPECT,” he squinted in an attempt to get a better look. The document was practically empty, only stating that three of the FBI’s key witnesses to take down a Russian drug operation were killed. The only evidence left at the scene was imprints of shoes that appeared to be high heels, indicating that the killer was most likely a woman.

        Almost immediately, Tony made the connection. He knew who the suspect was, and he was fortunate enough to avoid her; the talk of the town was that the woman was named Black Widow. He did know some who had the pleasure of meeting the murderer. Of course, those people never lived to see the next day.  Supposedly, she was a former KGB agent who defected and became a hitwoman. She only worked on hired hits, and never went out of her way to find jobs. The only way to get in touch with her was through a code, given to a man in a shady bar at Brighton Beach in Brooklyn. Somehow, through whatever the Russians used to communicate and deal shady business, the message got to her and she met you at random. It was rumored that Black Widow was so terrifying and intimidating that when you saw her you knew it was her, and if you were her hit, you would die of fright almost immediately.

        Looking back at the files, he didn’t notice too many big players. While there were a few more, none were as infamous as Black Widow or himself. It seemed that the Bureau either didn’t prioritize the capture of big criminals or didn’t know of them. And yet, he thought, they got me.

        Interrupting his snooping, an agent walked to Barnes and murmured something inaudible. Within the next second, Tony was whisked into a different hallway filled with private offices. As the pair walked past the rooms, the workers stood up or peeked out of their workrooms to see the infamous Anthony Stark. Once the two arrived at their destination, Tony was uncuffed and told to sit at an old, worn table. Looking around, he noticed a mirror and not much else.

        “Is that the one way glass that you see in TV shows?” he joked, grinning stupidly at Barnes.

        “Shut up,” the agent said, annoyed, “Agent Rogers will see you shortly.”

        The door clicked shut, and Tony heard about twenty different locking mechanisms click into place. If it was anything like the shows he watched, this would take forever.

        After what felt like an entire day- there were no clocks in the room- the blond agent stepped into the room. He sat in a chair on the opposite side of Tony, placed some folders on the table, and he raised his hand to be shaken.

        “Supervisory Special Agent Steve Rogers. You’re the talk of the town here, Mr. Stark,” he chuckled, as he made himself comfortable.

        Tony raised his eyebrows at the remark, and retorted, “I haven’t heard about you, Agent Rogers, but it’s great to know the FBI is in my business.”

        Almost immediately, Steven’s expression hardened, seemingly annoyed at the man’s jokes. Noticing this, Tony scoffed.

        “What? Only you’re allowed to have fun? Fine. Then let’s cut to the chase. I want my lawyer.”

        The blond shook his head as he explained, “Unfortunately, when you cross into my territory, you no longer have the privileges we give others.”

        Before the criminal could protest, the agent asked, “Why do you think you’re here?”

        “To entertain you,” Tony jeered, “No one told me shit. How would I know why I’m here?”

        Rogers winced at the swear, as he shook his head, “You know why you’re here. We have evidence, Mr. Stark. You shouldn’t lie to the Bureau.”

        Opening one of the manila folders, he revealed several photographs of artwork in a warehouse. Each photo had a caption that followed the lines of “STOLEN, CONFIRMED TO BE IN POSSESSION BY ANTHONY STARK AT PRIVATE LOCATION.”

        Staring at each photo, Tony’s blood ran cold. He could easily identify each work. They were all his, from Angel Appearing to the Shepherds to The Guitar Player, each was one that he had spent countless hours retrieving from illegal art dealers around the world.

        “Are these yours, Mr. Stark?” Steven asked. Tony did not respond.

        He began to feel dizzy, as if his world was collapsing upon itself.

        “An agent saw your private collection,” the blond continued, “after you invited him yourself.”

        What?

        “While we call him Agent Wilson here, you may know him as Paint.”

        Rubbing his chin and looking at each of the photos, the criminal tried to maintain his composure. Tony remembered bringing Paint to his gallery, but he never seemed to arouse any suspicion. In an attempt to save face, he gestured to the folder of photographs.

        “How did you get photos of these reproductions? When I was with Paint-...or, well...Agent Wilson- he was alone and didn’t have any cameras.”

        Almost immediately, the man replied, “Reproductions, Mr. Stark? We’ve forensically authenticated all of these works. We received a warrant to search your warehouse. I’ve seen it all. It’s impressive. If only Wilson had been able to deliver the Degas painting. Miss Potts said you were incredibly excited and had waited for this deal for over eight months.”

        The cat had caught the mouse. Anthony Stark was cornered.

        He froze in his seat, searching his brain for answers. He needed to gain the upper hand. For his freedom. For Pepper.

        He could confess his crimes. Maybe that would let Pepper go free, and he’d take the fall. He mentally hit himself on the head. No, you idiot. She’s an accomplice to your crimes.

        He could slide a few million dollars into FBI funding. Isn’t bribery also against the law?

        Then, the answer struck him. With the thousands of ideas racing through his head, one made it to the finish line.

        “Black Widow,” he blurted out. “A defected KGB agent.”

        Puzzled, Agent Rogers furrowed his eyebrows.

        “And why do I need to know this?”

        “Because she’s your unknown suspect.”

        Steve Rogers grabbed a pen and marked the name on a manila folder. Staring into Stark’s eyes, he tried to figure out how the criminal knew that the FBI was attempting to name an unidentified murderer. Her files were classified, and no information of the case had been released to the public. It was obvious by his blank face and scrunched nose that he couldn’t figure it out.

        “One of your field agents left a document out,” the criminal answered, “I thought the Bureau would be more careful with information, but it seems otherwise.”

        As if a weight was lifted off of his back, Steve relaxed and his face returned to its normal, stoic demeanor. While it was a bit concerning that his agents left their documents out in the open, it was better than someone leaking classified details. However, it was obvious that the details of Black Widow weren’t exactly relevant to Stark’s case.

        “Why are you telling me this, Mr. Stark?”

        “To be released by the FBI. Both Pepper Potts and I. I want full immunity. I’m giving you a chance to avenge your witnesses.”

        The agent shook his head. “I’m afraid that I can’t grant you that; it’s not in my power nor am I interested. You’re a criminal, Mr. Stark.”

        “Then who will listen? I’ll talk to the man in charge,” Tony retorted. “He’ll understand the importance of the information.”

        Stark looked to the mirror. He had seen it on TV shows, so hopefully, it was true. Clearing his voice, he spoke to the mirror with some uncertainty.

        “I have intelligence on the most notorious criminals in New York City. I looked at your files. They are empty, yet you and I both see the streets drowning in crime. I’m not the only fish in the sea. You need me. I can provide that information to catch them all. You don’t trust me? I know who killed your witnesses. Black Widow. I can bring her to you on a silver platter.”

        Within a minute, the door to the interrogation room unlocked. A man with an eye patch walked in, and Steven Rogers stood up to greet him. Tension began to rise in the air.

        “Sit down, Rogers. No need to stand,” said the newcomer as Rogers returned to his former position. “I’m Nick Fury. Special Agent-In-Charge of the Organized Crime unit. What’s this about Black Widow?”

        Relief welled up in Tony’s chest. The tide was turning in his favor.

        “Three key witnesses to testify against the Russian mob all found dead. The only thing that’s left is high-heeled shoe marks. The most famous hitwoman on the market is Black Widow, a Russian. Unless a guy can rock heels and murder like her, she’s your woman. Connect the dots, Agent Fury. I can get her for you.”

        Standing there, Nick Fury watched Tony Stark. He thought of the man’s future; the potential that the criminal could bring to the Bureau. He made his decision rather easily.

        “What do you want for Black Widow?” he asked.

        “Immunity for Pepper Potts and I. I’ll continue running Stark Industries. No one needs to know of this encounter. I’ll be a criminal informant for as long as you need me. Then, I’ll go free.”

        Having sat there quietly, Rogers finally raised objections. “With all due respect, sir, we can’t just let a criminal run fr-”

        “Quiet, Rogers,” the head agent commanded. “We’ll put a tracker on your leg. When you’re not on missions, you are bound to travel between Stark Industries and your Manhattan home.”

        With a grin, Tony asked, “Can my driver still drive me?”

        “Don’t get cocky, Stark. Your driver can still drive you, but you and your unit- Potts and Hogan- will always be supervised by Agent Rogers and his team. You are to report to him.”

        Eyes widening, both the agent and criminal exclaimed, “Wait wh-”

        “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet, Agent Rogers? Stand down, Stark. These are my terms. Take it or face ten or more years in prison.”

        Without hesitating, he raised his hand to be shaken.

        “Easiest decision I’ve ever made in my life. If it’s ten years in prison or hanging out with the FBI, I’d much rather spend it being babysat by Agent Rogers.”

Thanks for reading! `7`)/

Story info: Updated twice a month, always beta-read, not taking requests

Chapter title reference: Yet another one of Rembrandt's painting, still not found.

My beta readers: Claire, Jadene, Alexandra

I wouldn't have been able to write this without my beta readers!

I take prompt requests for one shots here, on my Twitter.

Check out the fic on Ao3!

[beccasbigworld]

Superhero Films: What Should The Future Of This Genre Be?

Government Name and Past History:

Ivy Grace Valentine, an American anti-hero with an unfortunate childhood. She was born on August 11th, 1983, in the upstairs of a tiny apartment in upper Manhattan, New York City, in the neighborhood of Manhattan. Her mother Amelia lee Valentine, age 31 when she had Ivy, had rejected her the moment she was born. Ivy had never had the raw connection of her mother’s touch. It was nearly impossible considering that her mother was mentally ill. She was diagnosed with Bipolar affective disorder when Ivy was two years old. Her father was never in the picture, Ivy’s mother would tell her that once she got pregnant with her he vanished off the face of the earth. She has no other siblings and grew up isolated from the real world. Her mother would tell her that the outside world was dangerous and she had to stay in the apartment complex. Ivy’s childhood was tragic and she didn’t have support from anyone. Any family she did have was from her father’s side and because of his disappearance they never talked. When Ivy was five years old, her mother’s mental illness was getting out of hand and she started to verbally and physically abuse her. The neighbors in their apartment complex heard a commotion and called the police. The cities, social security workers, and child protective services had to get involved and they decided that separating Ivy from her mother was the best option. Her mother ended up facing court and was charged with the endangerment of a child. She was brought to manhattan’s mental health hospital and that is where she is currently residing. Ivy was brought to the city's local children foster care complex where she would stay as she got older. She was raised by the foster care system. At the age of ten, she was told that her mother had put her up for adoption because she was incapable of taking care of her. It took until age 13 when a younger couple came into the facility asking to meet the kids because they were interested in adopting a child. The agent told them about 13-year-old Ivy Grace Valentine and her story and they fell in love with her. They adopted her on December 21st, 1996 and that would be the first time Ivy felt like someone genuinely cared and wanted her in their lives. Her foster parents are Jamie Andrews and Todd Andrews, a young couple that sadly was unable to conceive a child and decided to look into the adoption process. They lived in a nice suburban neighborhood in WestChester, New York. They gave Ivy anything and everything she could ever ask for. They helped her heal from the unfortunate childhood she was given. At the age of 18, Ivy had finally graduated high school with the help of Jamie and Todd. Ivy didn’t have plans after high school, she stayed home and worked at a local diner while trying to figure out her destiny.

Current History:

On Tuesday, March 18th, 2001, Ivy had been working at the diner when two men in suits and dark shades came in and sat at the booth of the establishment. She overheard them talking about a woman in a manhattan Mental hospital who had escaped because the government did secret tests on her in an underground lab. Right away she had the gut feeling that they were talking about her mother. That night instead of going straight home after work she got on the highway and headed for the city. She parked down the street from the hospital and put a hood over her head. She was able to sneak in, she went through the dark hallways and found the file room where she searched for her mother's file. It was nowhere to be found. Ivy went snooping around for anything she could find as a sign of her mother. She was running out of time until she heard a loud boom that felt like it came from the basement. She crept down the staircase, three floors until she saw the basement door. It had a small glass window and it had a red glow. She peeked through and saw men in hazard suits working on some scientific experiments. Her curiosity led her further as she crept into the lab. These men were discussing a material, they called Lithium, that could wipe out a person’s mental illness however, they wouldn’t use it positively. They would wipe out a person's brain and hypnotize them into minions that would only inhabit what they taught them. They wanted to take over the city and if they could train and develop a person’s brain into only knowing to follow a higher authority and cause destruction they could. Ivy was in disbelief, she was the only one that knew that this was going on and she was confused why they used her mother as a test subject. She wondered if they had cleared her mind of all memories? Before she got out of there in time, she had bumped into a box, causing a loud bang. The men heard and saw her shadow run along the wall. They started to throw the chemical at her, maybe thinking it would be the first person they infect. It hit her and she screamed in agony. She suddenly started to breathe heavily as these men stood in disbelief. Her hair started to turn green, her eyes were bloodshot and her psyche became bigger. Her arms muscles were more defined and her voice was deeper than before. The Lithium that hit her didn’t erase her memory instead, it made her into a stronger, green-haired superwoman. She stood up and turned towards the men. They started to run but before they could Ivy clenched her fist and punched it forward causing a wave of destructive energy to lift the men off of the floor and killed them.

At this moment Ivy had realized she had developed the superpower of extreme energy and force. It allowed her with the simple move of her arm to cause mass destruction. Ivy was invincible now. She had green hair, was 5’8, had pale white skin, bloodshot eyes, and a defined body that gave her a boost of confidence. She felt like she could conquer anything. Her childhood fueled her into thinking that she could survive anything. Instead of this power, allowing her to do positive things the only thing she wanted to do was find her mother. She felt empowered, smarter, and lighter because the weight of her childhood wasn’t on her shoulders. She possessed the chemical Lithium in her system and like the men had discussed in the basement of erasing people’s memories she wanted to use the power she had to tell her mom her childhood the way she had always wanted it to be. How Jamie and Todd had raised her. Ivy’s character is an anti-hero because her only focus is to change her mother’s memory on a fantasy, she isn’t using her powers for good or to help the city. She is doing it out of trauma from her childhood. Ivy was neglected, abandoned, and still somehow cared about her mother that she was willing to “fix” her so she could live the life with her that she had always wanted. Ivy is an advocate for getting revenge, she advocated for allowing people to change a person the wrong way and fighting for something that is not meant to be. Ivy after on the journey to find her mother doesn’t use her powers for anything. She ended up finding her mother in a local shelter because she was found by an older woman laying on the street. Ivy then sat with her mother and with her extreme force hypnotized her brain into only remembering what Ivy was telling her. She stated, “you have no mental illness, your daughter Ivy is your greatest gift and you cherish her and love her more than anything in this world. Your goal is to make her happy, and yourself happy, we live in a grand house with a rose-red door and we live happily”. Her mother obtains the information and since that moment is a different woman. Her mother does anything and everything for her. Ivy was lucky that the lab didn’t kill her mother but she is also lucky that she obtained this power because if not she was planning on killing her mother in revenge for how she treated her. In a sense, Ivy is an anti-hero and villain because she only cares for herself and wants revenge instead of coping with the situation in a healthy way. Ivy had to spend her childhood being beaten by her mother and living with her mental illness. Ivy and her mother ended up leaving New York and now they are living in a house in a suburban neighborhood in the down of Boulder Colorado. Ivy dyed her hair back to blonde and has contacts for her bloodshot eyes. She wears long sleeves and pants while out in public to hide her intense muscles.

I believe that Ivy’s character is most likened to Deadpool, Batman, and Joker from the Marvel Cinematic and Dc Universe because she is a dark-hearted girl, who has a terrible upbringing that changes her whole life around. Similar to the stories of Joker, Batman, and Deadpool because they all have a certain situation that transforms them into the hero/anti-hero and villain. Batman had to watch his parents be killed in front of his own eyes when he was a young boy. Deadpool’s body is disfigured in the use of torture and it affects his love life and his social life. He seeks revenge similar to Ivy on the person that “ruined” his life and has no mercy for what he does. Joker based on the 2019 film is living with an extreme mental illness that makes him stand out to a crowd. His whole life he is called out for being weird and he is looked down upon. He takes care of his mother who he learns was never his real mother at all and he kills her. He destroys the city of Gotham and it causes an uproar of support from people who were also misunderstood and want change. Ivy’s childhood causes her to seek revenge when she hears her mother has escaped due to a scientific experiment. She knows that her mother's mind is blank and with her power she can transform her life the way that she wants it to be.

Future:

Ivy’s future is filled with some bliss, she hasn’t died, she still lives in Boulder Colorado with her mother. She eventually had to change her name because her adopted parents had an investigation put out on her disappearance. Her new name is Synia Lynn Coldmire, and she and her mother live a quiet life with little social interaction to avoid them being discovered. Ivy doesn’t know what would happen if the higher authority found out of her powers. Ivy Grace Valentine now known as Synia Lynn Coldmire, left a negative legacy on the human race because she gave the idea that revenge and changing a person’s memory if given the power could fix all of their problems. Ivy was lucky that she was given this power in the first place because if not she would still have to live her whole life without her biological mother and heal from her experiences. She was given a power that was dangerous to society and selfishly used it for her good. She left her adoptive parents. Jamie and Todd in the dust granted they were the only people that gave her a sense of peace and love. She left a legacy of selfishness. However, even though her mother is cured of her mental illness and only remembers to love Ivy, Ivy has to live knowing that without that power her mother would have never cared about her. Now she lives in fear of being caught by the government. What a life.

[loyalty2waystreet]

Guilty (Of Love in the First Degree)

Suits100 prompt #98 ~ Written by Loyalty2WayStreet

- Donna goes all lawyer on Mike or Harvey and puts her case forward, proving that they love each other.

Rated M.

Harvey doesn’t do sentimental.  He enjoys trophies, yes.  Objects that show off who he knows or what he’s achieved.  He doesn’t exactly parade around advertising that he’s wealthy, that would be crass, but you can tell by looking at him that he indulges in the finer things in life. Birthday and Christmas cards, love letters from Scottie when they were at Harvard, old tickets to Yankees’ games, it’s all clutter to Harvey.  He likes his life organised and free of all the crap. Harvey also preaches that caring only makes you weak and that he himself is all business.  He knows it’s not entirely true.  He does care about his family, about Jessica, Donna and Louis.  He cared about Mike too; he liked the kid, he felt like Mike just got him.  Well, that was until he went and betrayed him and sided with Jessica. Now all he felt was pissed at him. Admittedly, Mike had tried everything short of grovelling on his knees to get back into Harvey’s good books, even bribing the likes of Benjamin and Jessica.  But what Mike had done cut him deep, and although he didn’t understand why he wanted to punish him, he knew that he did, and Harvey could be colder than the Arctic Circle when he wanted to be.

Read more on AO3 here.

If Mike were an actual puppy his ears would have been dragging along the corridors of Pearson Darby for the last few days.  Even Donna, despite being a little biased, could see both sides of the story.  Yes, Mike had made the wrong call, but he made it without all the information.  Information that Harvey hadn’t supplied.  So, while she was firmly Team Harvey on this one, she did feel sorry for the puppy who looked more kicked every time she laid eyes on him.

It finally seemed as though Mike had accepted the rift between them, and moved on.  Maybe he gave up a little too quickly in Harvey’s opinion, but that thought was between him and Miles Davis.  He kicks his feet up on the desk, quite satisfied that no-one has barged into his office uninvited for at least 24 hours.  Louis is loitering outside with Donna, whispering like they were back in school.  Harvey flicks the switch on his intercom and hears Donna’s accusing voice, ripping Louis a new one for putting the moves on Mike behind his back, and Louis denying it before he flicks the switch off again.  Donna’s got this covered.

Only a minute or so later he realises that Donna’s failed to contain the situation because Louis is in his office, smelling of sausage and doing his usual agitated jig before he gets the courage to ask for something, usually sliding more toward the insane end of the scale.  Harvey throws Donna the ‘What the hell do I pay you for?’ look. “I want to ask Mike to be my associate?”  Louis blurts.

Harvey smirks, not the evil smirk, the ‘I’m superior’ one, and he watches Louis press his lips together to keep himself from saying something that could derail his carefully assembled proposal. “You can ask him, Louis, but I doubt Mike’s into slavery.” “I’m not some kind of animal, Harvey!”  Louis bursts before clamping his lips together again, looking peeved at having taken the bait.  Harvey’s eyebrows raise in amusement, shit-eating grin taunting Louis.  What can he say?  It makes his day riling Louis up, but today he has work to get done.

“Louis, if Mike even wants to be your associate, which I doubt, you’re welcome to him.” “So… I have your permission?  No backsies, deal’s a deal?” “Louis, you have my blessing.”  Then why all of a sudden is his mouth so goddamn dry? “Yes!”  Louis hisses, pumping his fist.  Of course, Louis would celebrate a victory that was a sure thing by being a schmuck.  He’s strutting toward the door when he does an elaborate spin, pulling a neatly folded letter from his pocket.

“Oh, and seeing as though I’m saving Mike from you, I won’t be needing this,” Louis smarms, placing Mike’s resignation letter in front of Harvey with a flourish.

“Maybe this will remind you of what an ass you can be,” he declares petulantly, then shuffles out of the office leaving Harvey staring at Mike’s signature at the bottom of a resignation letter he didn’t even know existed, until now. It hit him then.  Hard.  Mike was prepared to quit over this.

They are done.  All the good times he’d had playing Batman to Mike’s Robin, the way he only felt comfortable enough around Mike to open up about his family, how much he admired and loved the challenge of Mike’s mind, and being the reason that Mike laughed.  Gone.

Had he overreacted?  Was he being a prick about it? His morose thoughts were interrupted by Donna quietly entering the room and settling opposite him, her face a picture of understanding.  Harvey’s poker face might be legendary, and to anyone else he might be able to hide the turmoil he’s feeling, but Donna’s no idiot. “You don’t have to let him go; you’re allowed to change your mind, Harvey.” Harvey straightened his shoulders and gave her a nod.  "Thank you, Donna, but I don’t want to talk about it.“  Usually, that was all it took, a clear dismissal in hopes that she’d understand that he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, or that he was happy to pretend he didn’t have any. "Well, I do!”  She said crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a stare.  “I know you care about him much more than you let on, and quite frankly I’m sick of you moping about these past few days.” Harvey saw red, he doesn’t mope.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath until the anger was replaced with a nonchalant directness.

“Donna, that’s enough.  I have work to do.” “Fine,” she retorted, standing up briskly.  “You can’t admit you care.  That’s okay because I have proof!” “You don’t have shit!”  Or does she?  His brain supplies.  No, he kept his caring to a minimum.  Old habits die hard and all. “So, if I can prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you care about him, you’ll make up with him?”  She’s leaning over his desk now, eyebrows raised in a challenge and an unnerving glint in her eyes. “Absolutely.”  He beams a bright, ‘I’m not scared of you, sweetheart’ smile at her, “Because you, have diddly squat!” “Deal.”  They shook hands, smirking at each other.

“I’ll gather my evidence and present it along with your morning coffee, tomorrow,” she proposed, turning on her heels. “I’m busy.” “No, you’re not.  Your 9 am asked to see Mike specifically, not you.  So, I rescheduled them to tonight over dinner.”  She smiled like an assassin. Harvey grimaced.  But only because he was out of excuses, not because the client Mike was seeing was stunning, and had been flirty and handsy with him every time they’d had meetings in the past. “Fine,” he snapped.  “Now out, I have work to do.”

He’s sitting in the conference room still ruminating on what Ava had just said to him about her number two, Nick.

“But he did it for his own survival.”

“He still did it,”  Harvey had argued.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss him.

He looks up just as Mike walks past and he knows, he can’t keep this up much longer.  Mike might have done the wrong thing, but Ava’s right, he did it for his own survival.  

His thoughts of Mike dissipate at the sight of Donna exiting the elevator with an evidence box, and it’s now about three hours after she left the office.  He’s under no misconceptions that when he goes home tonight, there will be something delicious cooking in his oven that she’s made either before or after the snooping happened.  If there were something there to be found, she’d sniff it out.  She’s resourceful like that, something Harvey has always admired about her.

Most people would be uncomfortable with their secretary going through their home, but then again, most people didn’t consider their secretary to be their closest family.  Donna is his best friend, she knows him better than anyone else, even Jessica, and he trusts her judgement even when she has landed them in hot water.

They tried the ‘more than friends’ route once.  It was an unmitigated disaster that was never spoken of ever again, and since that day Donna was 100% behind Harvey being with anyone but her, and preferably with someone who had a dick.  Yep, the ‘more than friends’ outing had made that preference abundantly clear.

He speeds up his steps, catching up and falling into stride with her.

“What’s in the box?”  He asked attentively, giving her a killer smile.

“Nah ah,” she said, adjusting her grip on the box, “you’ll just have to wait and see, pretty boy.”

She gave him a cheeky look as she placed the box on her desk.  Harvey rolled his eyes.

“Fine, what’s in my oven then?”

“Shepherd’s Pie, your favourite.  Now scoot, you need be across town in 30 minutes.”

She turned his shoulders toward the elevator like he was a kid and gave him a poke.

Harvey’s stomach rumbled.  “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I have a feeling you’re going to want to strangle me tomorrow,” she stated.

“Yeah?  Wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?”

Harvey sleeps terribly for the fourth night in a row.  He’d thought he could sweep his emotions under the rug, ignore the pounding of his heart when Mike walked by his office, and just get on with it.  He thought they would be back on track by now, but after seeing Mike’s resignation letter, he felt uneasy.

He’s at work by six.  He may as well work if he can’t sleep.  At 7.30am, Donna strolls into his office with a puzzled-looking Mike in tow.  She places the evidence box and tray of coffees on his desk and points Mike to the couch. “Sit,” she directs, then turns on Harvey, “you too.” “Donna-” “No, I’m presenting this evidence to both of you, so unless you want Mike sitting in your lap?”

Harvey makes a face, whether it’s to cover up that he’d love Mike in his lap, or that he despises being told what to do, is debatable.  He stays where he is, out of protest.

“Harvey,” Donna chides, moving her eyes from him to the direction of the couch and back again.

It was like watching a Western movie, where two gunslingers had a stare down before one shot the other.  Mike sat and watched in silence, knowing full well that Harvey might be the best closer in New York, but Donna feared no man, least of all her best friend.

“You agreed to this,” she reminds him, tapping her finger against the Dictaphone. “And I’d let you back out because I love your ass, but aren’t you just the least bit curious?” She’s baiting him, and they all know it.

“Curious about what?” Mike asked, still completely lost.  Eyes flicking from Donna to Harvey.

“Fine!”  Harvey conceded grumpily, crossing the room and thunking ungracefully down on the couch next to Mike.

“Harvey, what’s this abo-“

“ORDER!” Donna belts out, cutting Mike off and making him straighten in surprise.  Now that she has their attention she clears her throat and begins the proceedings.

“We are gathered here today… no, wait,” she chuckles, delighted at the death rays Harvey is shooting her, “oops, wrong officiary.”  She smirks at Harvey, and he gives her an over-exaggerated eye roll for her troubles.  Mike looks like one of those show clowns that swallow balls, head swinging back and forth between them, with his mouth open, wondering what the hell is happening.

Mike only catches up when Donna poses her first question.

“Harvey, on the charge of caring about one Mike Ross, how do you plead?”

“Not Guilty,” Harvey answers with a bored tone.

“That’s a bit harsh,” Mike mumbles to himself.  He can see that Harvey doesn’t bother hiding the slightly guilty look at having answered so quickly.

“Burn,” Donna snorts, looking back and forth between them before snapping back into character.

“Please take the stand,” she says, motioning to the chair at the end of the couch, “and state your full name for the record.”

Harvey crossed his arms over his chest, much like an insolent child.  “Please, spare us the dramatics.”

“Objection!  How dare you sir, I am a lady of the theatre,” she gasps, sounding faux affronted, while gracefully swanning her arms around in an over the top manner.

“Now before I find you in contempt, please sit as instructed, raise your right hand and pretend you have a bible.”

“Jesus Christ,” Harvey mutters under his breath, sitting in the seat and raising his hand as demanded by Her Highness.  It’s always amused Mike how much Harvey listens to and lets Donna get away with; he’s almost jealous of how close they are.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“Sure,” Harvey shrugged, giving the answer no weight at all.

“It’s ‘I do’ Harvey,” Mike interjects gleefully, “Do you have a problem with those two little words?”

Harvey fixes him with a look that is supposed to be withering, but Mike just finds it hot, as he voices the words, ‘I do’, staring right into Mike’s soul.  And the bastard doesn’t even look mad anymore; he appears sincere.

The sound of Mike swallowing could be heard from the bullpen.

“I move to strike the heart eyes from the record; the defendant is clearly trying to coerce my witness,” Donna interrupts, breaking them out of a staring competition bordering on eye sex, that neither of them had been expecting.

“Coerce him into what exactly, prosecutor?”  Harvey asks.

Without skipping a beat, Donna grabs her air guitar as she sings, “Bow chicka wow wow,” grinning from ear to ear as the tip of both Harvey and Mike’s ears turn pink.  Harvey, of course, recovers first.

“Are you about done?  How about the prosecutor makes her case before Paramount pictures get their shit together, and make a ‘Top Gun’ sequel?”

“That’d be awesome,” Mike whispers, and Donna play shoots him death rays.

Ignoring them both, Donna walks over to the record collection and selects one from a middle shelf.

“Directing your attention to People’s Exhibit A in evidence, can you tell the Court what Exhibit A is?”  She points her finger at the record dramatically.

“My Arctic Monkeys record?”  

“Does my witness also recognise Exhibit A?”  she asks Mike, handing it to him for inspection.

Mike honestly hasn’t seen it since he gave it to Harvey but he notices now how worn and well used it is, and he feels a familiar warmth spread through his chest.  “Sure, I gave it to Harvey after my first year here.”

Donna smiles warmly at Mike, and Mike sees now why he’s here.  Donna is showing him that all isn’t lost, that he needs to make Harvey understand how sorry he is because Harvey does care.

“Harvey, would you say this is your type of music?”

“No.”

Mike rolls his eyes at him and stage whispers ‘old man.’

“But you like this particular record, right?” Donna continues.

“I disagree, I tolerate it,” Harvey replies.  Although, yeah.  He has grown to like it.

“If you only tolerate it, as you say, then why do I have these?”  Donna whips out her cell and presses play.  It’s Harvey singing ‘Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new’, recorded through the intercom.

It’s not that he’s a bad singer, in fact, he held the tune nicely.  It’s that she had to record THAT line, the line that deeply resonated with him that first time he’d listened to it.  Plus, once was bad enough, but the evil genius had caught him singing it three times, and the record wasn’t even playing in the background the last time.

Mike’s grin is wider than the Atlantic, and he looks happier than Louis does after a prunie.

“Objection, irrelevant.”  That’s all Harvey can come up with at this point because another line of that song, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you.  I don’t know if you feel the same as I do, but we could be together, if you wanted to,’ is invading his thoughts.  And now he’s staring at Mike’s lips.

“Irrelevant?  You, singing a song from an album that Mike gave you, and specifically that line, over and over until even I was sick of it, is irrelevant?  How so?”

Donna learned from the best, press until it hurts.

“It just is,” Harvey replies grumpily, emphatically mouthing ‘enough.’  She sees it and makes a heart with her fingers and points back at him.

“Take notes, Mike,” Donna says sweetly, “‘It just is,’ is Harvey’s go to defence when he knows his goose is cooked.”

Harvey scowls and draws a heart in the air with his middle finger, then flips her the bird.  Mike covers his face, containing a laugh.

“Moving on,” Donna dictates, “Directing your attention to People’s Exhibit B in evidence, can you tell the Court what Exhibit B is?”  she asks, motioning for a confused Harvey to stand up.  She digs her hand into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“Objection, the prosecutor is feeling me up,” Harvey teases, smirking at Mike.

“Pfft. Overruled,” Donna laughs. “Said prosecutor, would have the good sense to knead your butt cheeks if she were going to grope you!  Now please resume your seat and answer the goddamned question.”

Bossy Boots,  Harvey thinks as he straightens his jacket and takes his seat.

“This is your wallet, correct?”

“No, that’s my decoy wallet in case I get robbed,” Harvey replies sarcastically.

Donna groans, and recites in a robot-like manner, “The jury will disregard the heavy sarcasm, let the record reflect that this is, in fact, your wallet.”

“What record?” Mike asks, looking around the room for a hidden camera like he’s on a reality television show.

Donna points innocently to the Dictaphone on the coffee table between them.

“You’re recording this?”  Harvey asks.  And wow, his voice was about three octaves higher than usual.

“Duh, I’ll probably use it at your wed-”

“Please proceed,” Harvey interjects, deliberately cutting her off, “I don’t have all day for this!”

“Geesh, okay.  Now, as the prosecutor was saying before the defendant got his panties in a bunch, is it fair to say that you are aware of the contents of your wallet?”

“Yes,” Harvey confirms, throwing his hand into the air in frustration.

“Hmmm,” she hums, opening the wallet, “Aww, this is a cute photo of you two,” she says sweetly, showing Mike the printed-out selfie of him and Harvey on Mike’s couch, the night they’d gotten stoned.  Heat blossoms on both Mike and Harvey’s cheeks, because they do look very cosy in the picture, and in all honesty, Mike had forgotten it existed.  He wants a copy now though.

“Is there a question here, counsellor?”

“Nope,” Donna exclaims, beaming, “it’s just a sweet photo of you two, which happens to be in your wallet, that you carry around with you everywhere.”

“Oh, wait!”  Donna adds like she’s just remembered something but quite clearly had this planned from the get go.  She grabs the wallet back off Mike and gives Harvey a wink.

“Mike, do you recognise this?”  She holds the object up to Mike, just out of Harvey’s view, so he has to crane his neck to try to see.

Mike bursts out laughing and takes it from Donna.  He looks over at Harvey, holding up the Pearson Darby business card bearing his name.  Only this card has ‘associate’ crossed out and ‘failed drug dealer’ with a winky face, written in Mike’s chicken-scratch handwriting instead.  “Why on earth do you still have this?”  Mike asks.

Harvey flushes a deep shade of red, “I didn’t know it was in there,” he mumbles, not looking at Mike.

“Bullshit,” Donna fake coughs.  “You know, I know you’re not sentimental, and yet when it comes to Mike…”

“Calm your farm, Donna; you’ve proved that once, and it would have been rude to throw the record away,” Harvey rebuts, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.  He wasn’t going to give her an ounce of satisfaction.

Donna sits next to his feet and leans into his space.  “Would you like some more examples?”

“NO!”

“I would. What else do you have, Donna?”  Mike perks up from beside them.

Donna grins at him and shakes her head.  “Oh, Mike, you are going to love Exhibit C.”

Harvey groans, he’s sure she’s not joking, and Mike is loving this, which okay, yeah, it is nice to see the kid smiling and laughing again but he’d prefer it not to be at his expense.

Donna takes pity on him and calls for a recess so they can drink their morning coffees, then subtly slips off to use the ladies’ room.

The office is still relatively quiet, Harvey guesses it’s still shy of eight and most of the partners don’t start filtering in until half past.  At least he hopes this dog and pony show will be over by then.  He looks up from the coffee in his hand to find Mike considering him carefully.  Harvey raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

“You know this would be a lot easier on you if you’d just get over yourself, and admit that you care about me.”

“Mike,” Harvey murmurs, his voice quiet and low, “caring only mak-”

“I know, I know, caring only makes you weak, right?  That’s complete bullshit, Harvey.  Why did you still have that business card, huh?”

He wants to tell him, he really does.  “Mike, I-”

“No, Harvey, don’t you dare give me some bullshit line, tell me the truth!”

Harvey looks away from the anger blazing in Mike’s eyes and focuses back on his coffee, the silence dragging out between them.

Mike drains his coffee and throws it at the bin, it’s a three-metre throw, and in all the times he’s tried to land the shot, he never has.  But this time it lands in the bin perfectly, doesn’t even hit the rim.  It’s a first.  Harvey meets Mike’s eyes in disbelief, and they both crease themselves laughing, the tension leaving the room immediately.  When the laughter starts to die down, they are left grinning at each other, and Mike gives Harvey an affectionate nod.  That’s all it takes for Harvey to start talking, and it just spills out of him.

“Every year, I go and visit my dad’s grave.  And every year it’s a shitty day for me, the whole day I feel lonely and angry, and I hate the ride home on that stupid train.  I have all the happy memories on the way there, you know?  But on the way home…”

Harvey sighs and rubs his temples.  He leans forward and picks up the business card, running his fingers over Mike’s writing slowly as he speaks.

“Last anniversary, I found this in my pocket, on the train after.  I don’t know when you put it in there, but when I read it I burst out laughing, and I knew that even though this train ride would always be shitty, that I’d found someone who got me, and who knew how to make me laugh.”

Harvey searches Mike’s face and sees that he understands.

“That’s why I kept it.  Because it means something to me.”  You mean something to me.

“It was at the train station,” Mike squeaks, mouth still dry and faculties lost as Harvey’s declaration of feelings for him bounces around in his head.

“Ah, Donna texted me, and I know how it feels, you know, on that day, and I didn’t want you to feel alone.  So, uh, all I had was a file, business cards and a pen on me, so I improvised.”  Mike shrugs like it was nothing.

Harvey nods, and a soft smile settles on his face.  The light from the morning sun catches his eyes, and Mike gets lost for a minute watching him.

After a moment, Mike hesitantly asks, “Are we good?”

Harvey doesn’t answer immediately, weighing up his options.  They seem good, but what got them here in the first place hasn’t been resolved yet.

“Yeah, we’ve been better though,” he eventually answers.

Mike gets it, he hears that he’s not entirely forgiven but considering the circumstances Harvey’s starting to build a bridge.

The building is starting to come alive; they can hear the thud of file boxes being piled up by couriers, and voices drifting along the corridor.

“Look, Mike, I don’t know what Donna’s plan is here but can we just-”

“Have fun with it?  Not take it too seriously?”  For Harvey’s sake, Mike will make out like this is a game, but they both know a lot has been revealed about their relationship this morning.

“Something like that,” Harvey agrees.

“Sure thing, boss.  Truthfully, I’m just glad Donna didn’t decide to ransack my apartment and discover the Harvey Specter doll I got Joy to make, you know, to keep my little Mikey doll company.”

Mike’s eyes are glistening with laughter.

“Idiot,” Harvey jokes, giving him a playful shove, and trying to hide his smile.

“Okay boys, where were we?”

Donna’s been watching them from outside the door, delighted to see that Harvey is unconvincingly trying not to smile but instead look unaffected, and that Mike’s body is turned toward him.  She grabs a picture from the box on Harvey’s desk and places it on the coffee table in front of Harvey, and oh boy, if looks could kill.

“Are you familiar with the item in this photograph?” she says sweetly like she isn’t about to make him seem like a lovesick teenager.

“Yes,” he answers, in the most bored tone he can conjure up.  “It’s a picture of the answering machine in my home office.”

“And do you keep any of the messages you receive on it?”

Fuck.  No, double fuck.  “Just the one, I don’t get many, and I rarely delete them.”

Harvey shifts so he can lean on his hand and hide half of his face from Mike because he knows exactly where this line of questioning is going.

“Is that your sworn testimony?  Because I seem to recall that you almost always let the machine take messages when you’re home so you can screen calls.”

“Fine, I get a few messages. Is there a question here?”

Mike is staring inquisitively at Harvey now.  He’s never seen anyone Harvey’s size try to make themselves invisible in a chair.

“Harvey Reginald Specter, this particular voicemail is two years old.  All the others got deleted.  Could you please explain why that is?”

“Nope.”  Well, yes, he can, but he’s hoping that Donna’s interpretation will be less ‘lovesick teenager’ and more ‘haha that’s funny.’

“Nope?  Well, let’s hear it then.”

Harvey groans as Donna grabs her phone and for the second time today, hits the play button, signalling his doom.

The recording starts with heavy breathing, Mike’s heavy breathing.  Then a drunk Mike slurs, “Harveeee, lemme housesit your condo. Pllleeeeeassse! I’ll love you forever. Pllleeeeeassse.”

Mike’s eyes widen in mortification, and then he bursts out laughing.  Harvey looks at him incredulously, wondering how him keeping this message could possibly be funny, while instantaneously trying to fabricate a decent excuse for still having it.

“I don’t even remember leaving that message, man I must have been wasted!”  Mike is still laughing as is Donna, so she replays it again for good measure.

“It was during the insider trading case; you were wasted.  You came to my door drunk off your ass, I shut the door in your face, and you must have called me on your way home.  I planned to use it to bribe you someday.”

Mike seems to consider that.  It’s not a great cover-up, but it will do.  Well, until Donna throws her ten cents in.

“Maybe you kept the voicemail because Mike says he’ll love you forever, Harvey,” Donna interjects.

“Objection, calls for speculation.”

“You’re a stubborn pain in the ass; you’re aware of that, right?”  Donna might have kept her cool for the most part, but Harvey can tell she’s getting frustrated.

“I object to the name calling, you have known I’m a pain in your ass for over ten years.  Now, are we done here?  May I make a closing statement?”

“Sure, okay,” Donna agrees, sounding defeated as she perches next to Mike on the couch and waits for Harvey to crush her evidence.

“Donna,” Harvey says softly, reaching out a hand over Mike and squeezing her knee, “I know that you are just trying to help me get over this, and I love you for that, I do.  But you should know better than anyone, that I do things in my own time, and on my own terms.

“You know I respect you, but you’ve failed to produce any evidence that suggests I care about Mike, all you have produced is proof that I did care, nothing you have shown me is current and would stand up in court.”

Donna frowns at him and crosses her arms.

Harvey sighs.  “To speed things up I’ll admit, I did care about Mike.  But things change, and you haven’t proven shit.  And if you continue with this,” he gestures to the evidence box, “then this season’s Balenciaga bag is going to be in jeopardy.”

Donna’s eyes bulge at the mention of her beloved yearly Balenciaga bonus.  She stands, walks around the coffee table and squats down by Harvey’s side and grabs his forearm.

Mike is ready to see the apology of the century, but then Donna winks at him, and makes the closing argument Harvey certainly didn’t see coming.

“On the contrary, Harvey, the evidence might not be current, but it is overwhelming.  I’m your secretary and your best friend.  I know you better than anyone else.  I wouldn’t waste my precious time gathering all this evidence up just to throw it in your face and have you come up with excuse after excuse as to why it was inadmissible, irrelevant, open to interpretation, blah blah blah.  I did all of this so Mike would see it.  Now I might just be a legal secretary, but even I know that Mike’s interpretation of the evidence will be that you more than just care about him.”

Harvey looks genuinely shocked.  She played him.  This whole bet was supposed to be between him and her, but she’d snuck Mike in knowing that Harvey wouldn’t kick him out.  Then presented this all for Mike’s benefit, not for Harvey to defend himself.  Jesus.

Mike is trying his hardest not to laugh at Donna’s little victory dance, as Harvey realises that she’s just outwitted the best closer in New York.

“What’s so funny?”  Harvey asks, side eyeing Mike.

“Nothing,” Mike replies, holding his hands up in surrender, “I just thought that Donna would make a pretty good fake-lawyer too.”

Harvey can admit he’s kind of proud of her; she’d played the man and won.

“Okay, that’s enough from the peanut gallery,” Harvey exclaims, smiling and shaking his head at Mike.

“So, am I done here?” Donna interjects smiling, and then puts on her best performance yet, nailing a Harvey impersonation.  “Not, ‘You and I, we’re done’, done, but ‘can I leave’ done?”

Mike, a fully-grown man, cackles.  Harvey groans and puts his head in his hands.

“Did I really say it like that?”  he asks, dreading the answer.

“Yes,” they both say in unison.

“You even licked your lips, you asshole,” Mike elaborates, but there’s no sting to his words.

Donna sees Harvey’s dimples, as a genuine loving smile, the one that only Mike can bring out, graces his face and she knows they’ll be okay from here.

“Well, I think the prosecution rests,” Donna declares, looking genuinely happy.

Harvey gives her a smirk and signals with a look that she should go.

“Good, I’ll leave you two to think about your closing arguments to each other.”

Donna winks, then heads for the door, stopping after a few steps and turning back and looking at Mike.

“You might want to check out that box, Mike.  He kept a birthday card that you called him old in, your first ID badge is marking the page you quoted verbatim from his personal barbri legal handbook, his phone’s home screen is a photo of you two-”

“Donna!”  Harvey warned, but she ignored him and continued like he hadn’t said a word.

“And I haven’t even mentioned the queued episodes of ‘Different Strokes’ on your television, a show you have claimed to hate on more than one occasion, and a show Mike loves.  Or the Tom Ford suit hanging in your wardrobe in Mike’s size, waiting for what I wonder, the occasion he may need it after sleeping-”

“Objection, badgering,” Mike barks, standing up between Harvey and Donna, protecting his own.

“’Attaboy, puppy,” Donna says, as she walks over and kisses him on the cheek.

Then she is gone, and the room is deathly silent, Mike still staring at the glass door of Harvey’s office.

Mike rubs his hands together nervously and sits back down.  “So?”  he says slowly, hoping that Harvey will start the conversation that they obviously need to have.

“Yeah,”  is all Harvey voices in response, though internally he curses to himself and curses Donna for her parting remarks.

“This,” he comments eventually, gesturing to the evidence box, “it doesn’t mean what you think it means, Mike.”

“No?  So, the thing about the suit in your wardrobe, in my size, was bullshit?”

Mike sounds sceptical, almost as if he knew it was true the moment he’d heard it.

Harvey doesn’t want to lie, he really doesn’t.  “Ahh-”

“You know what, don’t answer that.  I’m just going to assume that you’ve wanted to get into my pants since the day we met,” Mike teases, licking and biting his lips and wiggling his eyebrows.

Harvey snorted, “I don’t think that’s the case Donna just argued, plus I’m pretty sure if I wanted to sleep with you, rookie, you’d have your pants off quicker than Superman.”

Without missing a beat, Mike answers delightedly, “So it’s a Superman suit hanging in your wardrobe, I didn’t know you were into cosplay, Harvey?”

“Mike, it’s not like that,” Harvey says weakly, but even he doesn’t believe it.

Mike’s having none of it anyway.

“Yes, it is!  Donna was quite clearly arguing that you love me, and you’re too much of a chicken to tell me I hurt you that much more because of it,” Mike explodes.

Mike might have hit the nail on the head, but he’s still hurt, and they can’t do this now.  “Mike, we shouldn’t be having this conversation here.”

“Bullshit, Harvey, it’s now or ne-”

“You were supposed to trust me,“ Harvey cuts in, his voice showing all the hurt and anger he’s been hiding, "I thought you did, but you proved me wrong.  You should have come straight to me and we could have worked it out, together, like we used to.” “Harvey, Jessica threatened me,” Mike pleads, “I thought I had no other choice.” Harvey sprung to his feet and shouted, “No other choice but to betray me?”

Mike physically deflates in front of him, and Harvey realises he’s standing over him and sits back down immediately.  Taking a deep breath, he lets Mike see the whole truth.

“People think because I say I don’t care, that they can’t hurt me, but this did, Mike, this,” he waves his hands between Mike and himself, “you hurt me.” Mike stays silent, the corners of his eyes wet and threatening to spill over. He feels winded by Harvey’s words.  He’s hurt the man who gave him everything.  When he does speak, his voice is a feeble whisper.

“Harvey, I’m sorry, I didn't…” “Exactly, you didn’t know,” Harvey finished for him.  “I thought we were different, I actually thought you…”  Harvey doesn’t finish the sentence, because it’s too painful to think that he loved someone that didn’t love him back.  Instead, he stands.

“I need to go,” he explains, heading for the door. Mike springs to his feet and grabs for Harvey’s forearm, spinning him around, “No, you don’t get to leave it like this,” he argues. “We are different.”

Mike tightens his grip because he needs Harvey to stay, he needs him to listen and to see.

“At first Louis thought you’d want me back, he said that Batman needed Robin,” Mike huffs out a half-hearted laugh, “but you didn’t want me, so I wrote my resignation letter and I agreed to help Louis out on one last case, because, Harvey, I don’t want to be here if I’m not with you.”

He meets Harvey’s gaze, and his hands start shaking.  He’s certain that this is the moment for him to lay it all out, and he’s scared fucking shitless of being rejected.  He closes his eyes, breathes in and says the first thing that comes to mind as he stares into Harvey’s trusting eyes when he opens his own again.

“Jesus, Harvey, you’re everything to me.”

Harvey tilts his head slightly and takes a slow, deep breath in, as a mish-mash of unrehearsed, blatantly genuine words continues to pour out of Mike.

“When Grammy died, they only person I trusted was you.  I even changed my emergency contact to you, for fuck’s sake.”

Mike’s chest heaves.  He’s offloaded everything he’s been keeping to himself.  He lets go of Harvey, throws himself back onto the couch and watches as Harvey starts pacing the room.  It’s all on him now and they both know it.  Mike tries not to hope too hard.  Tries not to think about whether he said everything he could to make Harvey see that this was it for him.

It takes Harvey a solid five minutes to say something, and Mike has bitten three fingernails down to the quick in that time.

“I knew.”

Mike has no idea what he’s talking about.  “You knew what?”

“Human Resources called me to check if it was okay that I was your emergency contact,” Harvey explains.  He crosses the room and stands in front of Mike.

Mike looks up and into Harvey’s soft brown eyes.  “And it was? Okay?”

Harvey calls him an idiot for the second time that day as he grabs Mike’s hands from his lap and pulls him up and against him in one swift move, and of course, Harvey is smoother than Barry White.  “Idiot,” Harvey mutters again as he presses his lips softly against Mike’s.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but it’s soul binding, and Mike wants more immediately, once he’s over the shock, that is.

Harvey observes Mike as he breaks the kiss and he can’t help but smile at the slack-jawed, shocked look on his face.  But after a second to compose himself, Mike grins and laughter erupts from deep down inside him.  The reaction baffles Harvey.

“Mike?”

Mike explains himself immediately, “Donna was right, you care about me,” he teases in the most annoying voice he can manage, purposely trying to rile Harvey up.

Harvey rolls his eyes.  “Wow, who made you a lawyer, Captain Obvious?”

Mike licks his lips, leans forward and whispers into Harvey’s ear, “Just some dude that wanted to get into my pants.”

Harvey smirks and gently pushes Mike away, “That’s it, lippy, I told you not to call me ‘dude.’”

His poker face when it comes to Mike Ross needs work, he thinks as he struggles to hide an affectionate grin.

Mike pounces, scruffing him by the shirt front, no doubt leaving wrinkles, and whispers, “Please kiss me some more.”

Harvey’s hand rests against his cheek, and he slides his thumb across Mike’s jaw.

“Rooftop in five minutes, rookie, and if you promise never to mention today again, I’ll sweeten the deal and get into those pants.”

“Deal,” Mike agrees, already headed for the door.  He flies down the hallway, heading for the stairwell, faster than the speed of light.

The End

Thanks for reading! X   Link to AO3 here.

[carolightpenvenys]

doctors a penvenys au chapter 8

I am so sad I missed AU day of fic week! I was working! But this would’ve been my contribution! Enjoy and don’t forget to leave feedback x

Mondays were always the worst for Dr Enys.

Especially since he’d had the weekend off. But today was a Monday like no other.

Well at least it was until around midday where he was opening his Kinder Bueno and there was a knock at his door.

“Come in.” He said through a mouthful, not even bothering to sit up.

The door creaked open but Dwight didn’t even turn round, he was midway through paperwork.

“Ah, Dr Enys.” The voice he heard made his eyes instantly roll back into his head, before he slowly turned his chair round with a shit eating grin.

“George Warleggan. How can I help?” There was just something about the hospital’s regional manager and local council member that made his skin crawl. But he’d never show it. Dwight was a professional.

“Bad news I’m afraid.” He said this with an almost glee and Dwight reminded himself why he would vote for the many, not the few next election. “It’s that time of year.”

“What time?”

“Cuts time.” George winced but in such a way that it seemed mocking. “So I’m just coming around to tell you all that you’re under observation.”

Dwight smiled politely. “That’s good of you George. Not sure we need cuts though, we have been struggling recently for staff.”

“But there’s just not enough money.” George shrugged casually. “My hands are tied.”

Dwight’s passive aggressive brain was on full power. Really? That’s funny considering I know for the fact your wages bought you a manor house and a holiday home in Barbados whilst the staff at this hospital are striking every two weeks because our wages can’t even afford to get people out of food banks.

But ok.

“Oh right.” Was what came out. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be on my best behaviour.” He smiled through gritted teeth and waved George out of the office, who was almost strutting as he left.

“What an arsehole.” He said to himself as he turned back around, professional as ever.

He looked at the time. It was coming up to half past twelve and he thought to take his lunch break officially, maybe snooping around the hospital for Caroline Penvenen.

Not that he would ever admit that but i freely will.

It was about a ten minute walk to the physiotherapy wing but Dwight made it last fifteen by kicking a vending machine until a seven up came out. He had taken his white coat off otherwise people would think he was on duty and make him do work, but he loosened his tie a little.

It was lunch time after all.

He  shoved the door to the wing open after crossing a road outside. He’d just go for a walk, a walk around the building, have a little snoop around and then go back to his office. Yeah.

He looked through the first window but it was a full on hospital room with a body inside sleeping. The body was also a 70 year old man.

He walked along the corridor and it was just more of the same. He felt very lost in this particular area of the hospital, slightly befuddled.

He threw his seven up in a perfect shot towards the bin.

Or so he would have you think.

I can tell you for sure it bounced off the rim and onto the floor and he had to humbly pick it up, rubbing the back of his neck slightly.

He continued to trudge up to the upper floor, telling himself if he saw nothing of interest here, he would just give up and go eat his sandwich alone with some milky tea.

Just then he came across a small window in a door and he manically found a way to stand by it without the people inside seeing.

Because inside was, in his opinion, the best physiotherapist and Ross’s ex girlfriend Elizabeth Chynoweth and her patient- Caroline Penvenen.

“Sorry I’m late!” Caroline was sat in the wheelchair with a kind of comfort that Dwight hadn’t encountered in their park adventure the other day which begged the question, did he make her feel uncomfortable. “Sarah needed her nappy changing. When it’s just me and her you can assume I will be a lot later!”

“It’s alright for today Caroline.” Elizabeth smiled warmly. You need a lot of patience to be a physio, you know. “But you need to be signed off from physio before you get Sarah full time.”

He saw Caroline’s smile falter, even from a distance as if this was new information. “Well that just makes me more determined.” She replied and Dwight couldn’t help but appreciate her strength. “Plus there’s a guy I really like and I want to be able to get my strut  on when I ask him out.”

Dwight’s heart dropped. Not two days ago had she told him that they should just be friends but now she had already moved on to another? Dwight knew he shouldn’t have come, he knew this was an invasion of privacy but he couldn’t stay away.

Elizabeth stood away from her computer and held up her hand to help Caroline up. “Ok Caroline.” She laughed. “Are you ready to go for the bars?”

“Of course.” Caroline smiled.

But Dwight was in no way ready for what was to come.

She gripped the bars with a firm unsteadiness and it looked to be an absolute effort. Her brain was working a mile a minute but she just couldn’t get her legs to do the same.

“Caroline.” Elizabeth was at the other end of the bars, leaning down to look at her. “Slow down.”

But Caroline persisted. “No. I have to get better, you don’t understand.”

“You’re not going to get better straight away!” Elizabeth persisted, approaching the bars to try and get her to slow down. “Walk slower, it’s a process.”

But Caroline was in the zone. What Dwight liked to call a negative zone. A zone where you put your physical health at risk for personal gain.

And that, readers, is when she fell.

She collapsed onto the floor, her legs crumbling and Dwight could only imagine the pain from her burns on top of this.

She howled. She howled so loud as Elizabeth came to her side and hoisted her back into the wheelchair, trying to sedate her with calming words.

“Hey.” Elizabeth smiled. “Not to worry, you’ve just got yourself into a tizz. It happens to all of us.”

Dwight stepped away from the door, ashamed to have walked in on a private moment. He shook his head and continued down the corridor, acknowledging other doctors walking the other way. He found a hot drinks machine and made the milkiest tea he’d ever seen but spent a good twenty minutes sat back down on the lower floor just staring at it. His lunch was nearly over and he may as well just trudge back to his office with a new fear instilled in his heart. He may as well-

“Doctor Dwight Enys?” Wow. Maybe this was the worst day of his life as he looked into the questioning eyes of Elizabeth.

“Dr Chynoweth.” He stumbled a little on his words. “It's been a while. I haven't seen you since-”

“Since Ross and I broke up?” Dwight’s face paled but she just laughed. “Come, have lunch with me. You look very depressing.”

Dwight mutely followed her into her office upstairs but his mind was elsewhere. He had so many unresolved questions as he popped his lunchbox (yes he owned a lunchbox) onto the table.

He sat opposite Elizabeth in her patient’s chair and stared at some of the equipment, fallen onto the floor. “Tough patient?” He asked.

“Ah, a doctor’s work is confidential.” But she was smiling. “But yes. Unintentionally difficult.”

Dwight knew that he shouldn't probe, especially when he knew it was Caroline and he knew that she wouldn't want this but, “How so?”

Curiosity got the better of him.

“It's really not her fault.” Elizabeth sighed.“She’s just in a completely different reality to everyone else.” “I don’t think I follow.” Dwight sipped his drink. “Who are you talking about?”

He really hated himself now. This was completely against everything they taught him at doctor school. Medical school. The medical book of ethics.

“Caroline Penvenen.” Elizabeth stated, matter-of-factly. “I’m only telling you because you’re not one of her listed doctors, so you probably don’t know her.”

Haha.

“I know of her.” Dwight smiled wryly. “I heard she’s something pretty special.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s lovely.” Elizabeth held her hand out to emphasise her point. “But I’m a pretty experienced therapist, as you well know. And it’s quite often in therapy that people just expect things to get better straight away.” She sighed. “But it’s called therapy for a reason you know? She’s talking about getting custody of her kid back really soon.” Elizabeth shook her head. “But she has some intensive physical and mental counselling to even get a hearing. My cousin is her social worker and says the child is already living in less than ideal circumstances with the godmother, but it’s the best they can do without putting the baby into care. Sad really.”

“Yeah.” Dwight’s mouth was dry. “So sad.”

This situation was more serious than he expected and he really hoped Caroline wasn’t putting herself at risk for this new guy she liked.

“Sorry. It seems I just emotionally unloaded on you.” Elizabeth laughed. 

“It’s fine, it’s just been a rough morning, cuts and all.” 

“Yeah I heard.” Elizabeth winced. “They’re naming physio as non essential so they can make cuts.”

Dwight decided it was best to go on an anti capitalist rant, but if you want to hear it, ask your humble narrator. It was long and boring but Elizabeth just nodded and nodded.

Until they were rudely interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” One could say Elizabeth was grateful for this interruption but her face drained of colour when she saw who it was.

It was George Warleggan no less, with his Porsche carkeys in hand. “Do you need a lift home today Elizabeth?” He acknowledged Dwight. “Dr Enys.”

“George.” Dwight lacked any understanding.

“I will be quite alright George.” Elizabeth smiled awkwardly. “I will see you at home.” 

Dwight’s eyes widened and George winked (I know) before shutting the door.

Dwight turned back to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth...”

 Elizabeth looked mildly angry and looked at her computer. “Says here, your lunch finished five minutes ago. I will see you Dwight. Goodbye.”

“I better be going then.” Dwight smiled awkwardly but knew whilst he was in the rehab area of the hospital, he had one more stop to make.

His walking was a little shuffly and weighed down with thoughts, thoughts of how he had been so selfish, he’d not even thought of how Caroline might be recovering. Also thoughts of Elizabeth and George Warleggan? Hopefully it wasn’t what it looked like.

He opened the door to the psychological rehabilitation building. He would just make sure Caroline had booked an appointment. That’s all. That’s all he’d do.

“Hi.” He addressed the receptionist. “I was just making sure my patient had booked an appointment here. I wasn’t sure that she would.” He showed her his ID and hoped to God she wouldn’t check he wasn’t one of Caroline’s listed doctors.

“Patient name?” She asked.

“Um.” Dwight stuttered. “Caroline Penvenen.”

She typed vigorously into the keyboard before smiling. “She’s booked in for next Tuesday.”

For some reason, this answer didn’t satisfy him. “Could I give some papers to her doctor?”

He felt like a twat because he literally had no paper, he was just going for a snoop. He was pretty sure the receptionist knew this. However, he noticed his medical bag hung over his shoulder which, for all she knew contained paper; Thank God.

“Sure, he’s free. Upstairs first door on the right.” He realised as he walked towards the elevator, he didn’t even know the doctor’s name. Regardless he stepped out onto the first floor and knocked on the door of this psychiatrist.

A Dr Sam Carne.

“Come in!” A highly accented voice called from inside and Dwight stepped in to see a man almost too young to be a doctor (remember you have to go to school for seven years).

“Hi.” Dwight waved awkwardly. Kill me.

Dr Sam Carne looked him straight in the eye and said. “How may I save your soul today?”

“Oh no.” Dwight’s eyes widened. “I’m a doctor.”

“I know I got the alert.” Dr Carne looked at his computer, running a hand through his hair. “But I feel your soul must still need saving.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “See, ye is not on Miss Penvenen’s list of doctors… Which begs the question.” He looked intensely at Dwight. “What is ye doing here?”

Dwight was taken aback. This was by far the most perceptive member of staff he’d encountered so far. “Do you know what? I’m just gonna g-”

“Wait.” Dr Carne’s went wide. “I knows ye. You’re a friend a my sister’s. Demelza Carne.”

So Demelza had never spoken of any brothers ever. For all Dwight knew she could have seven. “Yeah I guess.” He realised now that both Demelza and Sam had different levels of the same accent and shared many features in common.

“Everything is lining up for me.” He shook his head. “She was ‘avin a right go about ye other day on the sibling group chat. She say ye’s obsessed with a girl- it must be Caroline Penvenen.”

Dwight just stood there like a deer in headlights, not even trying to defend himself.

“Well I have some advice for ye- don’t do it. Once upon a long time ago, I did feel like ye- fell in love with a patient I did and I nearly got fired. ‘Twas horrible and she left me because she doesn’t love Jesus like I do.”

“I don’t blame her.” Dwight said under his breath as he stared at the crucifixes on every wall. “Thanks for the advice, I guess.”

“Now scram outta here before I tell Demelza ye came.” He got up from his desk and ushered Dwight out. “Just don’t do it, alright?”

Dwight just smiled weakly. He seemed to do that a lot recently. But just as he thought his day couldn’t get any worse, he turned around to George Warleggan already waiting.

“Don’t do what?”

[gretchen-whoisleft]

GENERAL INFORMATION ➤

Full Legal Name: Gretchen Eileen Ollivander Nickname(s): n/a Age: (I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling) 22 Gender & Pronouns: cisgender female; she/her Sexuality:

While she’s out there fighting for equality on the war front, Gretchen is also an equal opportunity employer in her love life. Although her attraction varies from person to person ––and she tends to seek out women when she wants to actually enjoy herself vs. men when there’s something to be gained–– one thing remains constant. Her attention span is short, but she likes to keep people on the leash for a long time after she’s gone; though she doesn’t want every person she goes for, she always wants them to want her, even when she’s already moved on and wandered away.

She likes to be liked, wants to be wanted, and needs to be needed…even though the latter of those is one of her biggest turn-offs when she’s actually faced with it. She’s far from the manic-pixie-dream-girl trope, but it’s often one that she projects to others, hoping they’ll see her as something elusive, mysterious and unforgettable. Whether or not she remembers them a year from now is unimportant.

As far as committed relationships go, Gretchen has only been in one ever–– something that evolved between her and one of her closest friends at school. She’s shut that part of her heart down and not allowed herself to dwell on the effect the collapse of that relationship had on her, but it’s wrecked her far more than she’s realized and will crop up more and more the longer she’s back in England, in familiar surroundings.

Although she craves the same validation she doles out to others, intimacy is something she won’t allow into her life. She’d rather be remembered for being the enigmatic girl who slipped out of bed before her partner was awake, to stay on their mind and be remembered as a privilege not an obligation. She’d rather be known as someone flighty and unattainable than have to face rejection, or the loss of someone she’d really grown attached to.

When it comes to people who do really know the ‘real’ her––like her family, for instance––flaws and all, she often experiences a discomfort wherein she feels that they don’t really know her. She lives in such a state of flux, movement, change, action. She feels as though she’s learning every day. She feels as though she’s an entirely new person every morning when she wakes up, or with every new phase she enters. Order of The Phoenix Gretchen is not the same as Gryffindor Gretchen who is not the same as the girl who once sat on her grandfather’s knee for story time. If they were looking at her like she was the same person now as she was back then (for she really doesn’t know how strongly consistent her inconsistent personality has remained over the years), then they had to be wrong, didn’t they?

Date of Birth: August 6th Horoscope: Leo Hogwarts House: Gryffindor Nationality: British Occupation:

Technically speaking, Gretchen is a full-time member of the Order. However, her actual career path is different on paper, and quite unique, even for the Order roster. Nobody blinked an eye when restless, can’t-commit-to-a-path Gretchen took a position with a Temp Agency. She loved it, and could easily talk about why; meeting new people all the time, different jobs from week to week, the chance to travel and network and dip her toes into fresh waters. One week, she might be a secretary for someone high-up at the Ministry whose usual receptionist was sick; the next, a cater waiter at a fancy, pureblood-thrown cocktail event; the next, tending bar at a respectable hotel. However, the twist comes (like most twists in her live have come) from Albus Dumbledore himself.

The agency is one of the institutions compromised by the Order of the Phoenix and under its thumb. She goes, strictly speaking, where she’s needed, trying to blending into situations that she otherwise wouldn’t have access to and trying to collect information from figures that might have otherwise not trusted her, or remained behind closed doors.

In recent months, Gretchen’s found that she quite likes the convenience – and certain job perks – of working as a secretary for Mr. Antonin Dolohov, and has settled into a more-or-less permanent position with him at the Ministry. However, she still fills in elsewhere as needed and has been doing a hell of a lot of snooping.

Summarized in One Word: en garde !

APPEARANCE ➤

Faceclaim: Natalie Dormer Height: 5′ 6″ without heels Hair Color: Blonde Eye Color: Blue Noticeable Features: The loudest laugh in the room combined with the lowest cut dress is usually enough, but she’s a fan of red lips and outfits even louder than she is. Typical Outfit or General Fashion Sense: Bright, loud, not supposed to be worn off a runway, avant garde, expensive, possibly light-up???

HISTORY ➤

Hometown: London Financial Status: Ridiculously, deeply in debt Spoken Languages: She tries to have a a few necessary words ready to go in as many languages possible, thanks to both her undercover work and her worldwide travels. She has a talent for languages that she hasn’t bothered to commit to a more studious level, but when body language, past experience and context clues are thrown into the mix she’s passably fluent in 10+ Dream Job: She sees herself as a lifelong Order member, which is growing more problematic by the day Bad Habits:

Gretchen is in massive, massive debt. It’s not a fact she goes around spreading, but her lines of credit have been well abused–– and not just because of her extended travel adventures or on-the-low-side paying job. Gretchen loves her instant gratification. In fact, she loves instant gratification almost as much as she loves pink fur coats, of which she has three. She loves to shop. She eats primarily upscale takeout food. She signs up for boutique yoga classes, has a never-ending stock of face masks and creams, and insists on being the one to pay when she goes out with even the most distant of acquaintances. If she feels the urge to go out, she’s going to go out rather than check her budget. And if someone she meets out at the bar insists that she’s got to come cliff-jumping with him and ‘some cool people’ off the coast next Thursday, she’s going to toss some cash at that before consulting her calendar to see if Thursday even works.

There are a few other things, that she sees as devilishly endearing yet drive others up the wall: she’s never on time; has a tendency to double-book herself and have to flake on plans; she’s bad at updating people on her life but finds herself bewildered when they don’t know what’s going on with her; she flirts all the time, whether she realizes it or not.

She sees all of these as fun quirks–– so there’s no chance of them turning around any time soon.

FAMILY BACKGROUND ➤

Mother: Gertrude Ollivander Father: Alan Kapp Sibling(s): Geraldine, Gloria Pet(s): Vince Sinclair Grandparent(s): The famous Garrick Ollivander Cousin(s): n/a

MAGICAL ABILITIES ➤

Wand: Aspen, unicorn tail hair, 12 inches even Patronus (and which memory they’re currently using to cast a patronus if they can, or which one they’d use if they could): Capuchin Monkey! Those who are capable of casting this bubbly and energetic creature may or may not take pleasure in knowing just how much they enjoy their comfort. Give a capuchin an abundance of fresh fruit, others to interact with, and a stimulating environment, and watch its creativity and sense of adventure soar. Beware, the absence of such creature comforts will quickly lead to quarrels, isolation, and an intolerance for others’ good moods. She thinks about a wide variety of things when she casts the spell, depending on her mood and the circumstances, but she has a lot of duel and travel and family memories to draw on. One of Gretchen’s foremost talents is looking back on her memories with the same level of joy she felt at the time...or more, given her propensity to whip out the rose colored glasses.  Boggart: No offense to darling Gloria, but Gretchen has always been terrified of snakes. There’s no rhyme or reason or traumatic event behind it. She just can’t see one without shuddering, and doesn’t know what she’d do if faced with one in real life–– maybe it’s for good reason that she always wears high-heeled shoes tall enough to be weapons. Her footwear is no help when it comes to boggarts, however; the one that would appear if faced with a boggart out in the wild would be a cobra of massively exaggerated proportions, ready to strike and strangle her once she’s incapacitated with fear. OWLS: Ancient Runes, History of Magic, Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Divination NEWTS: Defense Against the Dark Arts (O); Charms (O); Divination (E); Potions (A); Ancient Runes (E); History of Magic (E); Astronomy (E) What Kind of Magic do They Excel at:

Far and away, Gretchen’s best when it comes to a duel.

She was never the type of person content to be ‘a second’ to anyone in anything, so fighting for herself was something she had to grow into quickly. She’s prone to thinking before she speaks and acting on impulse, so it’s little surprise how many scrapes she’s gotten herself into over the years. The last thing she wants is to be seen as someone who can’t put their money where their mouth is; she doesn’t often lose duels badly, but in her school days it wasn’t exactly uncommon to see her traipse back into the common room with a set of scraped knees or a bloody nose. Gretchen is quick on her feet and unafraid of pulling punches once she’s thought of them; the quick brain-to-hand trigger pull isn’t the most practical quality to have, but it’s kept her alive up until now. So she isn’t going to complain.

PSYCHOLOGY ➤

MB Type: The Campaigner Enneagram: ESFP Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good Archetype:

Performer (39%)

Explorer (33%)

Advocate (28%)

Temperament: Sanguine

[mintypothos]

@softlams please enjoy this fic! You mentioned having a bad mental health week, and I feel that on a deep level so I thought I’d try to write you something. It probably won’t do much, but I hope it makes you a bit happy to read! 

It’s laflams, because I know you’ve written it (your vampire fic was very good, also very painful) but I don’t see it around too much. It’s also probably too long. Please enjoy anyways! It’s not proofread either, sorry, I just kind of started writing to see where it got me.

Alexander's forearms were clear, devoid of any blemishes or markings. For the life of him, Alexander couldn't pin down the moment he realized that meant something.

Maybe it was the way his mother would stare at him, when she thought he wasn't looking. Or maybe it was the way she would kiss him on the cheek and call him perfect when his father caught a glance of bare arms and muttered something about Freshies. Of course, by the time he was young enough to be playing outside, he already knew to wear long sleeves or arm wraps.

The other kids at his hometown had crisp lines of varying colours- bright and beautiful. Some only had a handful, enough to easily count. Some had scores upon scores, lighting up the underside of their arms with shimmery rainbows. One kid only had six lines, and everyone kept pretending they were stupid. Alexander decided to keep his blank arms to himself.

Between the hurricane, his Dad leaving, and his Mom dying, Alexander didn't have time to think much of it. Then, Child Services shipped him up to the states because a 'family friend' Alexander had never heard about before had apparently been given his custody rights in the will.

The Child Services worker had a kind smile. Alexander didn't trust it.

“So, are you excited to see America?” the worker spoke in a light, almost baby-voice tone, even though Alexander was twelve.

Alexander shrugged. “I guess.” He fiddled with the straw of the juice box he'd been given. Apple was a good flavour, but he wanted to save it. The window of the plane still showed nothing but clouds, but Alexander kept staring out anyways.

“Well,” the worker cleared her throat. “I think it's very brave of you to go this far. You are being so good! And just think of all the things you'll be able to experience for the first time!”

If he craned his neck enough, Alexander could see the edge of the plane's wing out the back corner of the window. It was creamy white, like the cloudy background, but it was something different to look at.

It was quiet for another moment. Then, “It's okay that you're nervous, though. These things can be frightening, even for weathered souls.”

Alexander stiffened with discomfort, but didn't say anything.

--

America was weird, Alexander decided. George Washington was kind, but not patronizing like the worker. It was suspicious.

“So, you like writing?” George asked, raising a brow at the notebook Alexander was scribbling in. He wasn't even writing anything particular. Letters to a hypothetical person, because he didn't have friends but he needed to talk. Alexander didn't bother answering the obvious question.

George hummed, as if that was answer enough. Maybe it was. “What do you think about penpals? I know it's a little old fashioned, but I had great fun with it when I was young.”

Alexander stopped writing.

“You can speak and write in French, right?” It was probably in whatever notes or information George had been given before Alexander was foisted off on him. Still, Alexander nodded, unable to help a spark of curiosity. “Okay, good, because I know a boy just a couple of years older than you who wants to improve his English. He's from France.”

Alexander's eyes snapped up for the first time, meeting George's somewhat surprised face. “What's his name?”

If George was surprised at finally being addressed, he didn't show it. Instead, he smile with indulgence. “Gilbert du Motier, but he usually goes by Gil. He's very enthusiastic, I think you'll get along.”

“Enthusiastic about what?” The question slipped from Alexander's lips without him even thinking about it.

“Everything, really,” George chuckled, glancing away as if remembering something.

“Like?” Alexander demanded, stuffing his notepad back in his pocket. “Does he like writing too? And reading? What about math?!”

It took Alexander a moment to realize he was almost shouting, hands leaning on the table, something close to excitement swimming in his chest. George grinned. “Why don't you send him a letter and find out?”

“I will!” Alexander insisted. And then, he did.

The basic, cautious questions only lasted a few letters. Enthusiastic was an understatement, and Alexander loved it. Gilbert was interested in everything, excited to hear anything. In the interests of fairness, half the letters would be in French, and half in English. Alexander liked alternating the paragraphs, especially since George didn't know French at all and it was like a secret message.

Not that George snooped on the letters in the first place, but Alexander liked the feeling.

Alexander, it's simply ridiculous, what people keep saying. As if we weren't all New Souls once upon a time!

The rant was unexpected, even after a whole year of letters sent back and forth. Alexander had never told Gilbert about that.

I hate it. My cousin Adrienne is a New Soul, and everyone just calls her freshie and treats her like she doesn't know anything. Do they all remember things from their past lives that I can't? I have 192 marks, which is the most of anyone I know, and I don't feel any wiser. Adri is a lot smarter than me.

Hesitantly, because Alexander had never admitted it voluntarily, he answered.

I don't have any marks either and I'm at the top of my class. My birth dad used to say it was about common sense, because people who've lived more lives have better instincts.

Yeah, well, your birth dad is stupid. Science says everyone's brains are new brains, and that's where all the thinking and common sense and instincts happen. If your soul gets wiser with reincarnations, maybe you can only tell once you hit the afterlife.

It wasn't anything Alexander hadn't reasoned already. However, hearing the same thing from his best friend sent a warm feeling from the depths of his stomach, all the way up through his chest and out the unwitting smile he couldn't hope to get rid of.

--

Eventually, Alexander did make other friends. It was hard, since he really only had two social settings: the silent kid who barely acknowledged the rest of the class, or the argumentative kid who talked a mile a minute.

Hercules was the one friend that understood both. He had no problem encouraging Alexander's louder moods, and was equally happy to chat aimlessly while Alexander took a quiet moment. He was also taller and wider than Alexander, and none of the bullies ever bothered approaching when Herc was around.

“Hey, I think it's cool you keep your arms wrapped,” Hercules said one day during recess, after trading Alexander his fruit cup for a cheese string. “Everyone always wants to compare, it's so annoying.”

Alexander shrugged. “It doesn't mean anything. Maybe once they figure out why we get marks in the first place, then I'll care.”

“Yeah, that's fair. It sucks sometimes, though. I only have thirteen. But maybe it's not that I'm newer, just that it took longer to reincarnate. What do you think?” Hercules flipped his hands palm up. His weren't straight lines, like the kids back home. They were squiggly lines, mostly in cool tones of blue and purple. Some were a tight spring of squiggles, others a gentle wave.

“I think it shouldn't matter if you're new or not.” Alexander picked at the grass. The spring air was nice after such a crappy, cold winter.

Herc's glance was shocked as his shoulders flinched back. “You think so? My Grandma says that all the new souls lately are why the world is going to crap. Well, she used words my mom won't let me say, anways.”

The words were icy cold, even though Herc didn't know any better. He was just repeated something he'd heard. But it was wrong. Alexander stood up abruptly, spilling the remainder of his lunch on the grass. “Your grandma's wrong!” It came out far louder and far harsher than Alexander meant.

“What?” Hercules frowned, something strange in his expression. “How do you know?” His brows creased, volume raising a bit in turn.

“She probably only says that because she has a bunch of marks and it makes her feel better! It's not my fault I don't have any!”

Alexander knew the other kids liked to make fun of him by saying he didn't show his arms because he had no marks. He was pretty sure that was what Hercules thought too, thought he'd never asked. But it was different, saying it out loud. Herc went from looking angry, to looking shocked. His mouth opened, looking for words to say.

Alexander could only run away.

--

Alexander avoided Hercules, and Hercules let him. Maybe that was why it took only two days for Samuel Seabury to shove him in the back. Alexander fell like a particularly unprepared sack of potatoes.

“That's for calling me an idiot!” Samuel was scowling, hands crossed.

Alexander glared, scrambling to his feet. “I never said that!” Not that Samuel didn't deserve it- always going on and on about how great he was because his Dad ran a University.

“Yes, you did! The teacher gave you detention for it!”

Right, Alexander remembered. Instead of acknowledging it, Alexander rolled his eyes. “I got detention for saying my dog's smarter than you. Look, his memory's better than yours, too!”

Samuel's cheeks turned red, mouth scowling so hard it looked painful. “Yeah, well at least I'm not a Freshie! Everyone heard- you've got no marks!”

For maybe the first time, the insult didn't hurt Alexander. It made him mad. “That's it,” Alexander hissed, reaching for his arm wraps. With a few sharp tugs, they were loose, and Alexander threw the pointless strips of cloth to the ground. Samuel flinched back at the sight of plain, unblemished arms. “So what if I'm blank? I can still kick your ass!”

Samual never saw the fist coming, nor the subsequent body tackle. He did, however, anticipate the rest; and surprise attack or not, Samuel had a few inches on Alexander, and he was on the Rugby team. They grappled, screaming and yelling.

Neither of them were even using words. Alexander felt a hand wrench painfully on his hair. He tasted the salt and sweat of Samuel's upper arm as he bit down fiercely. His shoulder thumped painfully into the dirt as Samuel rolled them over and kicked Alexander in the stomach.

Alexander gasped, losing both the air in his lungs and the grip on Samuel's arms. Newly freed, they slapped wildly, uncoordinated but still painful. Samuel was practically screeching, Alexander spared a split second to wonder why they hadn't been stopped, throwing his arms up to protect himself.

A shape hurled into Samuel's side. For a brief moment, Alexander was certain that was the teacher, and he was about to get detention again, probably suspended, definitely a call-home to a disappointed George.

But, “it” wasn't adult shaped. “It” was shouting very much like another child. Alexander blinked. John Laurens, the freckled, bushy haired kid that everyone talked about because he should be in their year, but had to repeat 6th grade. Alexander had still been in Nevis in 6th grade, so he'd never so much as said a word to the other kid. There hadn't been much point.

Now, John- the kid Alexander had never looked at twice- was growing and clawing and smacking like a vengeful playground guardian. Alexander felt something light and fluttery flip inside his gut. He ignored it and joined in with his protector.

Of course they got caught. Alexander pulled off physically with a hand on his arm. John as well, hanging limply just to make it harder for the yard supervisor and bleeding from the nose. Alexander wiped at his own face- no blood, but some very sore flesh around his cheek. It would definitely bruise by the time George came to pick him up.

“This is very disappointing, the two of you ganging up  on poor Sam like that.” The supervisor huffed self importantly, dragging them to the office and plopping them down. “Just wait till the Principal gets here, your parents will be so disappointed.” The door sharply closed behind them. Alexander glanced about cautiously. The secretary in the reception desk at the far end of the room glared in pointed warning at them, but turned back to her work. The rest of the office was empty.

Alexander turned again, only to see John staring openly in excited fascination. “Hah, jokes on them, right?” He shot Alexander a toothy grin. “As if my foster parents give a shit what I'm up to.”

His eyes sparked rebellion. Alexander felt his tongue tying itself up. John didn't comment, instead, throwing out a hand. “John Laurens.”

“I know,” Alexander said, shaking the offered limb rather mechanically. “Uh, I mean, Alexander Hamilton.”

John's lips pressed together, but he was still smiling. Smirking, even. “I know. You're the new kid. If I'd known you were a newer soul too, I'd have talked to you ages ago.”

Alexander caught himself from flinching. Unbidden, his gaze dropped down. John's arm was completely blank. But then, he shifted, moving his other forearm into view. It wasn't blank, adorned with two blobby marks. They would have just looked like a strange birthmark, if not for their silvery sheen.

Alexander had never met someone with as few marks as that. From the exceedingly pleased look on John's face, the same held true for him. “Do you like video games? We should hang out, sometime.”

The resulting smile lit up John's entire face, bright like the sun. Alexander felt some foreign, bubbly emotion lighten his heart, nearly making him cave in from how sudden it was. He smiled back.

They didn't get to play video games, because Alexander was grounded for two weeks after George had to pick him up for a two days suspension. It didn't matter- after that, they were inseperable.

--

“I'm sorry,” Hercules tracked him down a week later, head pointed down at his shoes. “I shouldn't have said that. You're right, and I don't think I believe my Grandma anymore.”

“Um,” Alexander said, head whipping to John and back to Herc. He'd told John, of course, who'd been of the opinion that Hercules deserved to get punched. John didn't react though, continuing to eat his lunch like neither Hercules nor Alexander were there anymore.

Hercules scuffed a shoe. “You don't need to forgive me, I just feel really bad. I'm sorry for hurting you. Can we be friends again?”

John was looking away, pretending to be fascinated by the cloudy sky. His feet tapped against the soft earth. Alexander considered telling Hercules to go away, he had John now. But Herc was sorry, actually sorry, and new best friend or not, Alexander missed him.

Still, Alexander waited one long moment. Then, “Well, I didn't tell you.”

“It was still dumb of me!” Herc insisted, waving his hands. “I won't ever say anything like that again.”

“Okay,” Alexander smiled slowly as warm feelings replaces the tight stress of just moments ago. “I forgive you.”

“I'm- wait, really?!” Hercules glanced at John. “Can I eat here?”

Immediately dropping the pretense, John dropped his gaze from the sky and patted the ground next to him. “If you're Alex's friend, then you're my friend, too. Come sit!”

“Oh, you're okay with 'Alex', now?” Herc sat down almost too quick, immediately shifting into a comfortable position and sliding his lunchbox onto his lap. Alexander quickly remembered that, unlike John, Herc had been there on the first day of class when Alexander put up a huge fuss about anyone shortening his name.

Alexander couldn't stop the blush, but he could argue that this was a totally different situation, so he did.

--

 > So, should I be jealous of this Laurens character?

Alexander choked on his glass of lemonade. For a moment, he regretted giving Gilbert the contact information for his favourite chat client. He didn't really, though. At this point, they knew each other too well so stick to paper mail- cute and fun, but so, so long between messages.

< what's there to be jealous of?

Alexander swallowed. Nothing could have given him away, right?

> your crush on john obviously. How am I going to ever get to talk to you while you're consumed with the innocent notes of young puppy love?

Alexander rubbed his cheeks rather than let them burn. He was lucky there was no one else in the room.

< oh shut up you're like two years older than me

> two years and many, many experiences little lion.

> besides, you didn't deny it

His phone could probably handle being thrown across the room. Alexander considered the notion more seriously than perhaps wise. Instead, he pushed the phone away from him, under the covers.

--

When Alexander was 16, John still hadn't made any indication of returning any feelings. Alexander thought he was being more than obvious. So instead, he asked Eliza Schuyler out, because she was cute and funny and obviously liked him back.

John acted strange, when Alexander mentioned it.

“Are you okay?” Alexander was forced to ask, when John scuffed his shoe particularly loudly.

“Yeah, fine, fine,” John waved a hand, either in irritation or agitation or something else entirely. “That's really great! I'm happy for you!”

It almost sounded like John was jealous. That didn't make any sense though, he was never jealous when Alexander made a new friend, and he'd gotten a lot better at it now that they were in high school. Mostly with Aaron and Maria and Theodosia. There was no way John liked him either, Alexander would know.

“John's jealous because he likes you,” Herc said bluntly, as soon as John made an extremely awkward exit.

Alexander jumped about a foot in the air. Hurriedly, he reached for the back of the neck as if he'd simply been bitten by some bug. “There's no way John likes me like that. We're friends.” As much as Alex sometimes wished otherwise.

“Well,” Herc rolled his eyes, gesturing to himself, “we are friends. Me and John are friends too. But you and John are definitely something else. You're practically attached at the hip, and you both keep making gooey eyes.”

“Wh- no I don't- wait, John does!?” Alexander shifted his feet. There was no way.

“Yeah.” Herc looked at Alexander like he'd asked what two plus two equaled. “How did you not know? I thought you just liked Eliza more. Or that French guy.”

Alexander shifted. “Gil? No way. We're internet friends.” The idea embarrassed him for some reason. Gilbert was too old anyways. And in France.

Herc let out a long sigh, clapping Alexander on the back so hard he nearly toppled over, still not used to his frankly impressive growth spurt. Or maybe he was making a point. “You know what, I'll leave you to it. Frankly. I hope my potential romances aren't nearly this complicated.” He strode off, adjusting his beanie.

Alexander couldn't help but agree.

--

It was only a few months later when Eliza was the one to break it off.

“You're great, you know that? And I like you. But you don't like me back.” Eliza wiped a stray tear, visibly trying not to sniffle.

“That's not true!” Alexander wasn't lying. He did like Eliza. She was the kindest person he met, but just as willing to work for the things she wanted. She was funny and loved making awful puns. Alexander had enjoyed every outing with her.

Eliza turned her head away. “Maybe, but you obviously like John more. And that's fine! But I can't handle you always looking for him instead. I'm not- I can't share, I'm sorry.”

Alexander struggled for something to say. Over the years, he'd turned an honest reputation for being the loudest, most opinionated person at school. People still knew he was New Soul, but Alexander could debate circles around any of them so it didn't matter. He'd forced them all to look past that.

He wished he could force Eliza to look past this, but nothing came up. “I'm sorry.”

“Look, it's not my business anymore. Just don't talk to me for a while.” She scrubbed her eyes again and stood up. Alexander watched her go.

--

It wasn't all worked out, after that- not by a long shot. Everyone except for Herc and John seemed to blame Alexander a bit, for crushing the heart of the most well liked girl in their grade. Eliza's little sister Peggy, a small slip of a girl in grade 9, kicked him in the shins. Angelica, oldest Schuyler sister and all-around genius destined for Ivy League, sent him death glares for a solid week.

But, piece by piece, it got better. Alexander texted Gil for advice, ignoring the weird idea Herc had brought up.

> I guess there was something to fear then lol!

Alexander struggled to figure out what he was talking about for a moment, before realizing.

< oh come on, even if John actually wants to date me it's not like we won't stop being friends. I've been talking to you longer than anyone else

Gilbert took an extra long time to respond. Enough that Alexander worried, for a moment. Then finally,

> damn straight

> or damn gay rather

> damn bi

> point is go confess already

Alexander laughed.

< if I go get rejected you have to watch some terrible comfort movies with me. Thru a stream so there's no escape.

> if you get rejected I'll fly over to DC to comfort u personally. Im loaded I can totally do it

< no you cant shut up

Gilbert was 18, sure, but he was still in his final year of Lycée, French highschool. The words did their job though, Alexander felt much better.

He confessed to John. Rather than a simple yes or no, John first stared blankly. Then burst into tears. Then pulled Alexander in for a kiss, before wildly apologizing for overstepping.

Alexander stilled. Slowly, he reached a hand to his lips, considering the situation. A giggle bubbled up, then another. John joined in, and the next thing Alexander knew they'd burst into manic laughter, cackling and holding each other for support.

John slipped a tentative hand into Alexander's. It was the left arm- the one with the two marks. Alexander thought his blank arm matched John's nicely.

--

They turned seventeen, still going strong. Alexander tried desperately to skip a year and go into University early. He wanted to advance, needed to, even. Despite the necessary separation should they succeed, John was with him every step of the way. He was also with Alexander when the rejections came.

George- Dad, by now- was there too, to both rail at the school and to assure Alexander that it wasn't the end of the world.

“They let Aaron Burr do it last year,” Alexander reminded again, probably once more than was necessary.

“I know,” His Dad rested a hand on his shoulder. “But think of it this way, that's an extra, what, full year? You can round out your volunteer experience before your workload really picks up, and plus, you  can spend more time with John.”

“Yeah,” Alexander smiled, considering the idea. “I guess.” Still, in the back his mind, he wondered if it wasn't because his old nemesis Samuel's Dad was still the school's president. But that would be reaching.

--

> Hey, I have something to confess.

Alexander's heart clenched. He had no idea what this was about. But Gilbert was his oldest friend, so he pushed forward anyways.

< yeah, what's up?

Gilbert didn't answer, for a while. Alexander typed out another query.

< Gil? You okay?

Another long pause. Alexander had to physically stop himself from adding a third message.

> I don't think I want to be called Gilbert anymore.

Alexander felt almost physically thrown off balance. For a moment, Alexander considered the statement, searching his memory for anything he'd missed. Suddenly, he remembered the fact that Gi- his friend, had specifically referred to himself as “dude” and “person” for a while now, when “guy” would usually be used.

< what would you like to be called?

A long pause again.

> I think I like Lafayette.

> our family name used to be Lafayette, when we were French nobility. It sounded nice to me.

It sounded nice to Alexander, too. Maybe it was because Lafayette (Alexander corrected his brain), liked it.

> also, can you use they/them for me now?

Alexander couldn't type his response out faster.

< of course! If you want to talk about it at all, I'm always ears

> always fingers, you mean

< no that sounds super dirty

> (;

A by now more familiar bubbling feeling pulsed in Alexander's core, unasked. They trusted him enough to come out to him. He was touched- and maybe, with a slight crush. Lafayette was two years older and an adult, plus Alexander had John. Quietly, he shoved the feelings away.

--

John was both ice and fire. It was stupid and poetic, but it was true. Alexander could go on about his thoughts on the matter, of the art that was his very being, flaws and all. Secretly, he'd never really thought it would work for so long. Keeping John was like keeping  Hummingbird- you couldn't cage him, you just had to hope you were good enough to stick around.

Perhaps he'd been underestimating John, or overestimating himself, because they stayed together all through senior year and all the various friend group breakups. Aaron dated Theodosia for longer than Alexander and John had even been together, and broken up so peacefully that Alexander hadn't noticed for a month- it didn't help that Aaron was off to school a year early, and Princeton at that. Maria and Eliza were together still of course, a match better than Alexander had ever been, while Herc had briefly dated some guy from another school named James Madison.

They did fight, of course. Both of them were the fighting type. But it was always small, never too hard to overcome. Alexander loved his boyfriend, and so did his Mom and Dad. It was perfect.

Even so, Alexander could not hold back a flash of deep fear when he got accepted to King's college, and John didn't.

“Hey, don't worry about it,” John was grinning, swinging back and forth on the old tire swing at their house. “You'll call often, right?”

“How are you so calm about this!?” Alexander scratched at his head, inadvertently pulling strands of hair from his hair tie.

John scooted up the tire, until his knees were in the seat and his arms crossed overtop the tire, around the rope. The hold resulted in the swing tilting back far too much due to imbalance, but John held on anyways like he couldn't even tell, years of gymnastic lessons paying off.

“I trust you,” John said simply. “And besides, it's not that far. I'm definitely visiting, like all the time.”

“Really? And you're not mad that I'm going to school without you?”

John laughed. “Yeah, I think I came to terms with that reality long ago.” It was easy for John to smile, but Alexander frowned, uncomfortable with the reminder that John had struggled so much academically. John had, of course, always maintained that there was no way he'd be able to focus if Alexander was the one trying to tutor him, so of course Alexander had backed off.

“Besides, I never wanted to keep going to school like you do.”

“Wait,” Alexander made a double take, “You're going straight to work?”

“Oh, no, I wish.” John stuck his tongue out. “ my grades are good enough for community college. I just don't think I'm going for any four year programs, you know? You enjoy yourself, learning things, changing the world. I'm just going to find something I don't hate doing.”

The words startled a laugh out of Alexander. Impulsively, he leaned down to kiss John, softly on the lips. John hummed, and deepened it. Alexander parted his lips slightly, eagerly- and was met by empty air. The bottom of the tire swung into Alexander's hips as John lost his grip and fell gracelessly into the dirt. Alexander fell not a second later, not expecting the sudden tire assault.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then, John started cackling. Alexander joined him.

--

Alexander went to school for a degree Economics, with plans to set up a minor in Political Science, if he could manage it. John went to school for a diploma in Child and Youth work.

“Only because they didn't have underwater basket weaving,” John insisted for the third time, determined to use the joke as much as possible. “My dreams are still crushed. Besides, I've lived through it, so I'm basically half qualified already. It'll be a breeze.”

John sounded flippant, but his eyes were soft, his lips quirked in what should have been a careless smirk, but looked more like a thoughtful smile.

“Don't pretend you don't care,” Alexander admonished lightly.

“You can't make me.” John stuck his tongue out. Alexander considered the challenge, then considered the scholarship applications on his laptop. He closed the laptop lid and lunged.

After a fruitful struggle of kisses and tickles and mock wrestling, John relented. “Fine, I care. You're a huge dork.”

“I'm your dork,” Alexander agreed.

--

“John, John,” Alexander whispered, tugging on his boyfriend's sleeve. “John. JohnJohnJohn.”

John snorted. “What?” His eyes danced, he knew exactly what was wrong.

“I feel like I'm going to throw up,” Alexander admitted. The airport was a pleasant, perfect temperature, the air surprisingly clean tasting, for an airport.

John turned his head back and forth. “Well, there's a trashcan over there. Do you think you'll need it?”

Alexander glanced at it, considering that he actually might need it. But he shook his head instead. “No, just don't stop holding me, okay?” Their hands were already clasped tight, probably causing John some discomfort.

“Always,” John said, giving Alexander's hand another squeeze. Alexander grinned as best as he could through his nerves. The baggage notice for the flight they were waiting for was lit, they just had to wait for the passengers to filter through.

Alexander was twenty years old and he shouldn't be this nervous. John wasn't judging him though, and neither could anyone else.

How often did one meet their oldest friend, someone they'd been talking to since they were twelve, for the first time ever?

A head, several inches taller than most of the crowd, covered in bouncy, tied back curls and matched with a face Alexander had only seen through pictures, pushed through the open doors. They started scanning the crowd immediately.

Alexander wasn't about to wait for that. “Lafayette!” He waved his arm wildly, nerves suddenly replaced by pure elation. How could he be nervous? This was Lafayette.

“Alexander!” They shouted back, voice familiar only through phone calls. It sounded even better in person. They ran, long legs carrying them almost dangerously fast, and suddenly Alexander found himself swinging circles in the air, arms holding him tight. “Little Lion! We meet at last!”

Alexander laughed, not because it was funny, but because he was feeling too many emotions. “Laf, oh my god, how are you so tall?!”

“How are you so little! I never thought my pet name would be so appropriate!” Lafayette laughed too, high pitched and gleeful. “It's so good to meet you!”

With a soft “oof,” Alexander felt himself set back on solid ground. “You don't get to steal my lines!” He admonished, unable to even attempt hiding a wide grin. Lafayette looked great in person, practically bursting with earnest energy, though that could also be due to them being consumed by the same nerves Alexander had. “Oh! Meet John!” Without even thinking, he tugged Lafayette's hand toward his boyfriend, who was standing to the side with a dazed, almost gaping look to his face.

“John Laurens,” John offered quickly, throwing a hand out.

Lafayette took it gently, giving it a light shake and, if possible, brightening even more. “Lafayette du Motier. A pleasure to meet you.”  They gave their best charming smile. Alexander would have been fooled, if he hadn't been there when Lafayette was desperately trying to perfect it and demanding pointers.

“Don't fall for it John, they're being a nerd.” Alexander shook his head in mock shame. “Their smooth moves are all a lie.”

Lafayette scrunched their nose, before tilting their head up with a very fake scoff. “You only wish. There is no lie, just good presentation.”

“Oh, same thing. You're still a nerd.” Alexander shoved Lafayette with one arm, the motion feeling natural. Lafayette took it gracefully, following the movement with their eyes, but failing to avoid it.

“Well, I will not deny that,” Lafayette conceded, bringing a finger to their chin in thought. “Can I not be both?” They shot Alexander another smile, only smaller and softer. Alexander wondered if the video calls from all these years really had lost something in the digital transfer. Their face had never lit up so beautifully over the computer screen, had it?

“Lies, all of it,” Alexander said instead. Lafayette laughed, the sound going straight to his heart.

--

“So... they were something.” John said afterwords, after they'd all hung out and shown them around town and found their exchange student housing, still with something of a shell shocked expression.

Alexander snorted. “Laf's something all right. But don't let them fool you, remember the frog.”

That did the trick. John snorted so loudly it sounded painful. “Oh, God,” He chuckled. And then froze in the middle of his walk. Alexander turned back at the absence of John's body by his side.

“Wait, so if you told me about the frog incident...” John frowned. “ Did you tell them about the turtle incident?”

Alexander barely considered the question, shrugging. “Of course. I tell them everything. Just like I tell you everything.”

Alexander frowned when that failed to get John moving again. “Oh, my God,” he moaned.

“What? Was it bad that I told them? Did you ask me not to share and I forgot? I'm sorry.” Alexander flipped his hands nervously, combing for any such memory. He couldn't remember if John had ever said it was not okay, but he couldn't remember an explicit go ahead, either.

“No, no!” John stepped forward, leaning his shoulder into Alexander's. Immediately, he calmed at the simple contact. “I just, it feels embarrassing now that I've met them.”

“Really?” Alexander asked, confused.

“Well,” John said with a soft hum, looking away. Alexander saw a hint of red by his lower jaw, half covered by a loose coil of hair. “They were very pretty.”

Alexander pictured Lafayette, preciously vivid in his memory. From the striped, high waisted skirt to the soft knitted sweater to the charming, knee high dress boots. “Yeah,” Alexander agreed, “They really are.”

The thought of John finding his other best friend attractive probably should have made Alexander at least a little uncomfortable. Instead, it felt right. His old crush stirred back up, rearing its head after years of pointed neglect.

With John looking like he'd just seen stars for the first time, Alexander didn't feel as bad about it as he used to. Still, he tucked it away.

--

The glamour faded after the first week. It was always going to happen. The way Lafayette slotted so easily into both their lives, however, was less predictable. Alexander was constantly surprised by just how easy it was.

Then, the subject of marks came up.

“Holy shit,” John stared blankly at Lafayette's forearms, exposed for the first time on an overwarm fall afternoon, in the privacy of Alexander's rented room. They were absolutely layered in geometric shapes, sparkling golds and bronzes and yellows that folded over each other, leaving no hint of their natural skin underneath.

Lafayette glanced away, moving their arms down and the marks out of view. “I don't like making a big deal about it.”

“You're covered in them, though. How many?”

Lafayette shifted, frowning. Alexander frowned too. John knew it wasn't nice to go and ask, just because they were both so open about their counts.

“A hundred and ninety two.”

John whistled. “I've never seen a number so high.” There was something not entirely kind in his voice. “So, do you feel any wiser than us mortal folk?”

Lafayette flinched. “John!” Alexander shouted, ice tightening his spine with a death grip. A lance of immediate stress pierced his gut. “What the fuck, don't say that!”

John stood up, eyes flaring above frustrated, tight lips. “You never told me they were a fucking Golden Age Soul!”

Alexander stood up too, angry but with a tangled ball of pure hurt tightening around his heart. “I didn't think it mattered! Since when do we care about mark count!?”

“Since always! They're the one who has the luxury of pretending not to care, and then turning around and treating us like children!”

Negative emotions swirled and mixed together, and Alexander wasn't sure what he was feeling anymore, except upset. “Laf's not like that! You know that!”

John clenched his teeth with a sharp snap. “No I don't.”

“Then trust me now! Laf hasn't done anything wrong!”

John's eyes sparked as he opened his mouth, almost certainly not to apologize. Alexander didn't get to hear it however, as Lafayette threw a hand up in the air.

“Please. I don't want to be the cause of your fight.” Lafayette scrambled to their feet, grabbing their backpack and shoving the work they had been doing away haphazardly.

“No, Laf, don't go, John's the one being-”

“It's okay,” Lafayette cut him off. “You guys can talk it out. I'll see you later.” And before Alexander could really protest, they were out the door.

“You scared them off,” Alexander said calmly, too cold now to shout.

“Whatever,” John scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Alexander bit his lip. “I really don't want to see you right now. Can you go home?”

“Seriously!?”

“Yeah. Please leave me alone.” Alexander was being extremely short. He didn't care.

John left silently, the only sound being the front door slamming louder than strictly necessary. Alexander curled up in his bed, homework forgotten.

He didn't sleep well.

--

Alexander didn't do anything like the silent treatment, but he did hang out less with John, and the times they were together were tense and filled with tip-toeing words. Alexander spent more time with Lafayette.

“I feel where he's coming from,” Lafayette admitted, after they had spent hours visibly struggling not to bring the topic up. Alexander hadn't said anything about John today, but immediately he knew who Lafayette was talking about. “I don't think I'd be comfortable meeting another Golden age soul either.

Alexander huffed. “Who cares if you've lived more than a hundred and fifty lives. You've been my friend for years, that should be enough for him not to throw you under the bus the second he realizes.”

“You may have known me for years, but he's only heard about me. It's hard to build trust second hand like that. He means well.”

“No he doesn't. He just heard something about you, something we've spent years trying to prove is irrelevant, and used it as an excuse to be nasty.”

Lafayette shrugged, falling onto the bed, beside Alexander. “Your John is not necessarily completely wrong, though. It's true that you and Adri helped me learn a lot about people with New souls, or nearly new. But at the end of the day, people are still going to look at me and think they're seeing some paragon of wisdom and worldly knowledge.”

Alexander didn't like the words, but they weren't wrong. Silver aged souls, those with over a hundred marks, were considered valuable, very useful people. Something of a living heritage, and something of a natural talent. Golden aged souls, with more than a hundred and fifty marks, were that, dialed up to the extreme.

“He still didn't need to be such a jerk about it.”

“Maybe not. But you can see why he felt betrayed.”

“Maybe,” Alexander repeated.

Lafayette sighed, sitting up again. “Little lion, you should show me more of your strange foreign foods. Like the ridiculous amount of sugar-based breakfast cereals.”

Alexander accepted the topic change thankfully, turning his head to more pleasant thoughts.

--

Several more weeks of stress went by. Then finally, John cornered Alexander one day, despite looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

“Look, Alex. I was being shitty. You're right. I just- why didn't you ever say anything?”

Alexander wasn't expecting the question. For a moment, he considered shooting back angrily, something like 'because I knew you'd react like this'. But it wasn't true, and Alexander was tired of being on nervous eggshells around his boyfriend.

“I'm not sure. It just never came up.” That didn't sound right either. Alexander felt strange the more he thought about it.

“It never came up. In all the debates and arguments we've made against the whole soul marking business.” John said in a dry, disbelieving voice.

“Yeah, true. I guess I just buried it. Maybe I was embarrassed?” Alexander thought some more. “We always said things like 'new souls have to stick together', and such. Maybe I just didn't want to feel like a hypocrite. But Lafayette really is my friend. It doesn't matter how many marks they have.”

“Oh,” John wiped his eyes. “I'm an asshole, aren't I?”

“Yes,” Alexander said immediately. “To Laf, anyway. But I should have told you forever ago.”

John coughed, wiping his face again. “True. I'm sorry for being a dick.”

“You really should apologize to Lafayette instead,” Alexander cautioned, because he couldn't really accept an apology that wasn't actually for him, “But thanks.”

They sat awkwardly for a minute, just staring. John finished covertly removing the tears from his face. Finally, Alexander couldn't stand it anymore. “Can I hug you, now?”

John answered by practically leaping from his chair to Alexander's seat on the bed. For the first time in weeks, Alexander's arms were full of John, his nose scrunched into long, curly hair as hands threaded their way through Alexander's own straighter brown locks. Legs straddled his lap as their torsos pressed together.

Alexander had missed feeling John's heartbeat. His whole body relaxed into the hold, arms slipping easily around John's sides and pulling them even closer together.

“I promise I'll apologize tomorrow,” John said into Alexander's ear, chin resting on his shoulder. “But for tonight, can we just sit here like this? I missed you.”

That sounded like a perfect plan to him.

--

John was true to his word. Lafayette responded with a full body hug. For the first time in weeks, Alexander felt the last of the tension drain from his chest. Giddy with relief, he suggested they all go out and get drunk.

They couldn't decide where to go, so instead they went to the liquor store and bought supplies to Alexander's house.

His flatmate, an annoying man by the name of Thomas Jefferson, gave them some snacks from his supply but stole a cooler in return.

“Asshole,” Alexander muttered when Thomas was gone. “How does someone have this many kinds of chip flavours at once. There's not that much floor space in our rooms.”

“Shh, he's doing us a favour,” Lafayette admonished, smiling. “I think he's very pleasant when he wants to be.

“That's the thing,” John said, projecting from across the room where he was working off the cork on a bottle of wine that claimed to be from somewhere around Lafayette's hometown. Lafayette had also claimed they would be able to tell for sure. Naturally, they had to get it. “He never wants to be.”

Alexander barked out a sharp laugh. “Except!” John added, holding a finger up, “around Madison.”

“ohhh shit, you're right.” Alexander nodded. “He is way, way more tolerable around Madison. A lot goopier, though.”

John stepped over to split the bottle between the three of them. In true college life fashion, they used beer cups. Lafayette pouted. “It really does taste completely different in a proper glass.”

“Not a chance,” John quipped. Alexander couldn't help another warm, fuzzy feeling, the two probably most important people in his life interacting, happy. “It's just a cup. It can't possibly change the taste, that's a chemical thing, isn't it?”

Lafayette scoffed, swirling their wine around dramatically. “Taste is a chemical thing, sure, but it is also a presentation thing. Have you not heard the phrase “you eat with your eyes first”? Your perception of a food has a definite effect on how you taste it. Or drink, in this case.”

Visibly intrigued, John set down his cup, folding his arms. “Really? You think if I was given two plates of the same dish, and it was the exact same food in every way except for presentation, I could tell? Like I'd be fooled by that.”

“Absolutely. Try mixing a bit of green food colouring with some mashed potatoes. I guarantee you will feel some difference, and it won't be the colouring itself, which is designed to not taste.”

“We should,” Alexander said, butting in. “But first, you should put your money where your mouth is. Is that wine legit?”

Lafayette shrugged, closed their eyes, and took a long sip. They swished it around their mouth, a considering expression on their face. Alexander scoffed- it was pure theatrics. Then, Lafayette swallowed, then broke into a grin.

“It totally is!” They snorted. “Try it!”

Alexander took a sip. John made a gagging noise from behind. “It's gross!” He wasn't wrong.

“It's the shit wine! The super cheap crap made with the grapes they can't use for the good stuff! Hah, I'd recognize it anywhere.” Lafayette took another swig. “I love it.”

Alexander took another sip. No, it was still the most disgusting wine he'd ever tasted. “You can have mine.” Alexander set his cup next to Lafayette.

“Same,” John copied him, leaving Lafayette 3 cups. “Well, I guess that's fair. It was pretty cheap for a French import.”

“Oh no, this won't do,” Lafayette grinned, “I can't just have a whole bottle of wine. Not unless you two are drinking something. What if I'm taken advantage of?”

“What if that's the goal?” John smirked, returning the jab. It made Lafayette laugh. Alexander felt warm and fuzzy again.

Alexander stood up to go check out the stockpile himself. “It's too late John, we've been foiled. Now, do you want a beer or cooler?”

John considered for a moment. “Cooler.”

It didn't take long for all of them to get a pleasant buzz, perhaps more than that. John found some internet videos to watch and all three of them stretched out on the bed.

There was a pause between videos as the queue app loaded. Lafayette took a deep breath from Alexander's right. “You know, I'm not sure which of you I'm jealous of.”

“Um,” Alexander said.

John leaned forward from Alexander's left, similarly baffled. “What?”

Lafayette loosed a sharp breath from their mouth, covering their face with one hand. “This is stupid. When I first got here, I was jealous of you, John, for having Alexander. Now, I'm still that, but I'm also jealous of you, Alexander, for having John.”

Alexander felt his face heat up. “Ah, this is inappropriate. I don't mean to make either of you uncomfortable.”

“No!” John sat up more fully. “Are you kidding? I have a huge crush on you too!” He wilted a bit. “Why do you think I overreacted?”

“Well,” Alexander felt something hopeful stir in his chest. “Why do you think I got so defensive? God, I've crushed on Laf for at least a couple years.” He turned to Lafayette. “And then, when you came her for the first time? It was- it was poetic.”

Lafayette huffed again, averting their eyes. “Stop, you're making me blush.” They took a quick swig of their drink. “I suppose we all like each other. I'd never do anything to hurt your relationship though, you know that, right?”

It was a touching thing to say. Reassuring, by definition. Still, Alexander felt a little sad, hearing it. His love for John wasn't diminished in the slightest, but the idea of having Lafayette too- of both of them having Lafayette- tickled his mind.

John was changing the topic though, and Lafayette was eagerly taking it, so Alexander put the thought away.

--

“You're all idiots.” Hercules told him, blankly. Alexander felt like they'd had this conversation already, somehow. “Talk to John about it, then talk to Lafayette. It's that simple, and I bet you anything they'd both want to give it a try.”

Alexander whined. “Herc, it's not that simple. What if it freaks John out?”

“You've been together since highschool, I think it's going to take more than that to scare him off!” Hercules reached for his iced drink. It was way too cold for an iced drink today.

“Oh, how do you know?”

Hercules snorted. “Well, you know Aaron, right?” Alexander scowled. Aaron was actually a pretty good guy, if a bit shifty and suspiciously quiet all the time. He was also dating Hercules now, which was just weird. “Aaron told me he was polyamorous. It didn't change that we're still in a monogamous relationship right now.”

Alexander shifted back, taken by surprise. “Really? And he's okay with you just telling me this?”

“He specifically told me it was fine, so yeah.”

“Huh,” Alexander sat back in his chair. “And are you polyamorous, you think?”

Hercules shrugged. “I'm..,” He brought up a hand, making a so-so gesture. “I think, if we both met the right person, I could try dating both of them. But it doesn't have to work that way either, Aaron can date someone that I'm not. We agreed the someone has to at least be someone I like and can hang out with, though.

Alexander hummed, an unconscious considering noise. “That sounds.. simple, when you put it like that.”

“Well,” Hercules smirked, “my boyfriend is very smart. Maybe it's rubbed off on me.”

“Hah!” Alexander laughed, “If eight years of being my friend couldn't do anything, I doubt a few months of dating Aaron could.”

“Hey, shut up!” Hercules pretended to scowl through a round of chuckles. “I'm in the middle of a nursing degree! That's hardcore science stuff, you know!”

“Yeah, your welcome.” Alexander's response probably deserved the friendly shove. It didn't stop Alexander from shoving back.

--

When Alexander quietly brought it up, John nearly jumped over himself in agreement.

“Yes! I mean please! I mean, I didn't want to overstep because I love you, but I would very much like to kiss Laf too.”

“Well,” Alexander said, slightly taken aback. “I'd like it to involve more than kissing, if you're okay with that. I want to date them like I'm dating you.”

John nodded. “No, I know. I think for me, I like Laf. I definitely think they're gorgeous. I don't have the same background with them as you do, but I think we could get along and I'd like to try dating them too.”

“Okay,” Alexander considered his next option. He hadn't thought it would come so quickly. It was obvious John had an aesthetic crush on Lafayette, but he'd never known there were other feelings involved.

Then again, Alexander remembered that he hadn't known about John's crush on him, way back in high school. Privately, Alexander considered that he might just be very bad at this.

They went to Lafayette the next day, together, at a coffeeshop under the idea that it would feel less like cornering.

They didn't speak for a long time. Then,

“You both like me?”

“Yea-” “yes!-” They both tripped over themselves.

Lafayette averted their eyes, pulling at the sleeve of their colourful, neon sweater- an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “You're sure? You're not... concerned about my marks?”

“Absolutely not!” John cut out before Alexander could put a word in edgewise. “I was dumb. And sure, I have an issue with old souls, maybe especially with Silvers or Golds. But I like you, a lot. No one's past lives define them, though. What I have an issue with is the social attitude around the whole subject, and how it changes the way people treat each other.”

Lafayette allowed a tiny smile. “Yeah, that's fair. It's also not as if it saves me from other social attitudes. Like, did you know once someone walked up to me and said I must be confused about my gender because so many past lives must have scrambled me up?” The words made Alexander light up with immediate defensive anger.

“Ugh,” John nodded. “What a fucker. Did you punch him?”

“No, it was the person approving me for the exchange. I did think it was silly though, since before he knew, he was talking about all the sights I must have seen in my lives. It was a very dramatic shift.”

John made a disgusted face. “It's the worst when they have something you need, I feel you on that.”

“So,” Alexander said, when the two of them had gone quiet. “Will you go out with us?” Just saying the words made his stomach flip. He was chasing what he wanted- they all were.

“I-”, Lafayette stuttered. “Yes. I'd love to.”

It was as simple as that.

--

-Epilogue-

Life carried on, it always did. Still, Alexander never thought he'd have a freshly bought home with his two partners and best friends. He also didn't think that it would have a back patio this nice, or a pool; but when put all together, their inheritances and incomes were considerably impressive.

“I'm scared, sometimes,” Lafayette said quietly, ankles submerged in pristine pool water.

“Is this a life thing, or a void thing?” John asked from the patio chair.

Alexander considered both statement and question, drifting aimlessly in a pool tube. “I guess you could map all fears into those two categories.”

Lafayette hummed. “Actually, both, kind of. You know there's never, in the history of modern science, and by all historical counts, been a person with more than 203 total lives, or 202 marks, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Alexander nodded. “Weird stuff.”

“And you also know that even thousands of years ago there were accounts of people with close to the maximum mark count, so you know it's not any kind of “there's only been 203 lifespans worth of humans” Creationist thing.”

Alexander and John both snorted in unison.

“Well, the dominant theory is that it's because after many lives, your soul just expires. Sometimes earlier, because there's a disproportionately small number of people who actually make it this far. But 203 is the upper limit.” Lafayette kicked their foot, creating a small splash. “I know I won't be able to remember either of you, in the next life. But I'm kind of scared to think that you two will go on to so many lives that I won't get to be a part of. Because my souls going to decompose or something.”

The thought was heavy. Alexander thought for something to say. “Well, you know, there's no proof that some reincarnation chains don't just stop at very early numbers too. It's less likely, but maybe John and I will wither away while you go to live all the way to 203. It's impossible to tell.”

“You're both being way too philosophical. I say, the essence of what's really you and me begins and ends with our physical bodies. My next life isn't me, it's just some new sucker I passed my weird, metaphysical 'essence-of-human' off to. Live life while you can, and all that.”

“Hah!” Lafayette barked out a surprised laugh. “I have never heard something so morbid be used for comfort.”

“Hmm,” John considered. “Did it work, though?”

“...Yes, actually.”

Alexander considered the idea. Maybe you really only did live once. For all that people had these marks, souls were still undefinable. If soul marks didn't exist, Alexander suspected that no one would believe in souls at all.

The thought was morbid. Alexander found himself liking it anyways.