#not that Kyle isn’t allowed to be frustrated with him but approaching this like the Hulk is insubordinate and needs to follow orders

[daydreamerdrew]

The Defenders (1972) #54

[queenhunter102]

You are waiting for them on base

Hey little loves, Am I slowly returnting to posting? yes! so enjoy a little more of my drabbles Blurb: Imagine you were already on base trying to surprise them when they returned from a rought mission

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley Simon marched out of base scratching at his mask desperate to take it off, but wanting some amount of privicay when he tore it from his face, his boots sounding like a small army as he pounded his way out of the building and into the open air. “Si?” you called rounding a corner, you could recongise those angry footsteps and practical feral growls from just about anywhere, once you were in view of Simon’s back he paused and turned around “Cap I’ain’t-” he paused when he saw you standing there looking at him. The next thing you knew was his warm arms and his broad chest “I thought I told you to wait for my call” he whispered, as he buried his head into your hair “And you really thought I was going to wait for your stupid call” Captain John Price John had come out of his office the smell of his cigars following him around like a cloak, as he pulled his hat off and threw it down the hall a groan of frustration following after it, he slammed his hand into the wall, followed by his head as he rested it against the cool wall. “I can only hope your throwing your hat because your mad about work and not me” you said as you waved it under his chest, John’s head snapped up to find you smiling at him, that sweet smile the one that made everything perfect again, “No never you dovey, never you” Johnny ‘Soap’ McTavish You found Johnny in gym, it was his usual place after a rough mission his belief that if maybe he was stronger or faster he could have saved someone or done something he wouldn’t feel so…useless. You watched from the side as Johnny lifted more than you knew he could, you watched as he strained to lift his last set, strained to rest the bar, you watched as he whipped off his face with his towel, as you approached he you could hear him muttering to himself “I Cannae lift something as simple as weights no wonder—” he was cut off by your reflection in the mirror, you gave him a little wave that brought back the smile you adored from him all teeth and bright sunlight “I hope my boyfriend isn’t talking shit about himself again” you say as you crouch down in front of him “Never Baby” Alejandro Vargas Alejandro huffed as he walked out to his car, running his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands as he went, he roughly pulled out his keys unlocking the car, pausing when he heard the gravel behind him. “Look John I know I was pretty rough ba-” He said as he turned to find you standing there waiting for him holding his beer and a large pack of crips in your hand, a weak smile on your face as you open your arms to him

“Hey love” you call to him as you walked closer, Alejandro smiled as he welcomed you with open arms “cariño what are you doing here?” he asked as he pulled your head under his chin “I knew you were back today and I came to surprise me” he smiled as he whispered “Consider me surprised” Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick Kyle huffed as he slammed his way into the pub, seething as he settled in the far back of the pub, settling in one of it’s dark corners, he buried his head in his hands as he let out another huff, the only thing breaking his dark and dreary thoughts was the sound of a glass being slid across the table. “I know I allow you to be pouty but I never thought you’d be this pouty” you said, as Kyle’s head snapped up “What are you doing here?” he asked as he stood bumping his knee into the table to pull you into a hug. “The boys gave me a call and said I should look for you and since I was already here..” you trailed off as you rubbed your hand into his cheek, “Who gave you the shiner?” you asked, as Kyle turned away “Someone who had to set me straight”

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See you around, my little loves.

Kissess.

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Teenage Dirtbag (K.S.)

While I’m not exactly who you hoped would be writing these requests for you, I hope they are what you were looking for @nonchalantflower and anon 💛 I had so much fun writing for Kyle and would DEFINITELY be interested in writing more parts for this if you guys are interested! Enjoy, my thirsty friends 😘

(arguments, slight physical roughness, smut)

“Don’t forget your lime, sweets!”

You smiled and raised your cup in silent thanks to the girl pouring drinks behind the kitchen counter. It was far too loud to do much else. Music blared as people drunkenly sang karaoke in the living room and the rest were either singing along or trying to yell over the sound trying to hold conversation. You had not been much of a party-goer before Kyle, and you weren’t much of one after either. You sighed, looking into the cup for a moment before shooting back the contents. You briefly wondered why you were even there until a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

“Y/N!!! Come dance with me pleeeeaaasseeeeee!” That’s right. You’d promised your best friend, Missy, that you’d escort her to this specific party to make sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble. You knew it was just a lame excuse to get you out of the house, but you figured it couldn’t hurt anything. You allowed her to pull you into the backyard where the band was going strong and hot bodies danced freely in the night air. There was something about it that made you relax a bit. Your body slowly succumbed to the alcohol and began to rock to the music along with everyone else in the crowd. “That’s my girl! Get it babe!” Missy cheered, dancing and laughing easily with you. You let yourself laugh too, feeling yourself untense for what felt like the first time in months. It felt good. The longer you danced, the more you lost track of your surroundings. You closed your eyes and slipped under the music and intoxication.

You were abruptly pulled from this euphoria, however, as the music came to a close and Missy began tugging you back toward the house. “There’s a group starting Seven Minutes in Heaven!” she squealed. You briefly realized this was exactly the trouble you were supposed to be keeping her out of, but she was so excited that you couldn’t find it in your mildly inebriated self to tell her no. You and her brushed past multiple couples making out and someone definitely revisiting their dinner in the bathroom to find a large circle of people gathered in the library upstairs. A tall, blonde jock walked around collecting bits and bobs from each individual in his sweaty hat. You watched Missy pull her earring from her ear excitedly, ready to add it to his collection.

“God, this is so bad,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Just keep it in your pants, that’s all I ask.” She elbowed you sharply in the ribs before placing the earring in.

“You gonna play, toots?” the blonde asked, eyeing you up and down.

You shivered in mild disgust, quickly shaking your head. You were about to make a snide remark when Missy pulled the clip holding your hair up from your head. “Ow! What the hell?”

“You’re playing, and that’s final,” she said, adding your clip to the hat. You huffed, submitting easily. You definitely couldn’t deny that you needed some action.

“Alright, gents! Who’s up first?” the blonde called over the group.

“This guy over here! Total closet monster!” A group of guys started cheering and shouting from the corner of the room. You couldn’t quite see who was the object of their jeering quite yet. “Everyone knows bassists get HELLA pussy! Let’s goooo!!”

That was the first in a series of events that quickly filled your stomach with dread. No. Fucking. Chance. Suddenly, the unfortunate boy was pushed out from the group of shouting teens, confirming your worst fears. You swallowed, looking down and praying he didn’t see you.

“Shit,” Missy whispered in shock, turning to look at you. You grimaced, suddenly feeling a bit ill.

Chants of “Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!” rose from the whole room as the lanky boy you knew every inch of rolled his eyes and reached into the hat. You shivered, praying silently that fate could not possibly be cruel enough to lock you in a closet with your

ex-boyfriend for seven minutes of pure hell.

Fate laughed darkly in your face.

The minute he pulled the clip out, his intoxicated smile fell from his face slightly. He recognized it. Even now.

“That’s the little miss right over there!” The jock pointed to you and his exclamation was followed by a series of cheers and “oh shit”s from people who recognized the situation. You suddenly found yourself pushed to the middle of the room next to him, Missy shouting your name behind you as strangers' hands forced you forward.

“That’s his ex!” someone shouted, making you visibly cringe. The group collectively fell to hushed whispers and quiet laughter.

“Shit.” You finally forced yourself to raise your head, looking over at the boy who’d uttered the syllable and that you were once convinced you were in love with. He was still looking at the clip in his hands, but quickly felt your eyes on him and looked up. He was smirking softly.

Rage ran through you from head to toe in half a second. Who the fuck did he think he was?

“Well, lovers, the closet awaits! No one denies the destiny of the hat!” The more times this blonde opened his mouth, the more you wanted to punch him in the throat.

“The destiny of the hat,” Kyle repeated, clearly amused by the unevolved thought processes of the people around him. Pretentious asshole. He straightened his shoulders and strode over to the closet, seemingly unaffected. You watched in shock and anger, unable to understand how he could possibly think you were going to go through with this. He simply stood inside the doors, looking at you expectantly along with everyone else in the room.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you muttered, stomping after him. The crowd erupted into cheers and hollers of crude things you’d hate to imagine your mother hearing. Wearing that damned smirk, he pulled the closet doors closed behind you and sealed you both in darkness.

“Seven minutes starting now. Remember kids: make love not war!”

You scoffed, your arms over your chest. “Okay. What the actual fuck are you

trying to prove?”

Kyle shook his head, looking at you in earnest. “What is it, Y/N? Don’t believe in the destiny of the hat?”

“You are a child,” you spat, fury bubbling in your veins. The blissful feeling of the alcohol in your system was long gone, replaced with anxiety and frustration. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you.”

Now he scoffed. “You never knew who I was, Y/N. You just saw what you wanted to see and were disappointed. Join my little anti-fan club!” He threw his hands in the air, laughing bitterly.

“You’re so full of shit! You’re so busy hating the world and everything in it that you refuse to let people into your life.”

“Yeah, life really dealt me such a stellar hand, don’t you think?”

You fell quiet, so frustrated you couldn’t find words. Tears burned in your eyes and your fists clenched at your sides. You stepped forward, pressing a finger into his chest. “You had me, you asshole. But you pushed me out when you felt yourself start to need someone.”

He exhaled sharply, making you realize how close you had gotten. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replied, his voice suddenly lower and quieter, but still sharper than a double-edged blade. “It’s my fault I needed space to grieve my dying father- my apologies.” His breath hit your face as he over-punctuated every consonant, his hand finding itself holding your chin.

Your eyes went wide as he laid his hands on you, your breath caught in your throat. He noticed instantly, his predatory eyes glancing down at your mouth for a flicker of a moment. You both knew it was all over.

He pushed you roughly back to the other side of the tight closet, his mouth on yours with ravenous intensity. You gasped, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pushing him away. Your wild eyes met his, searching for something to make this make sense. Unable to find it, you tugged him back down to your lips. He growled lowly, his hands sliding under your shirt and firmly holding onto your sides while your hands tangled into his mop of dark curls; old habits die hard. His insatiable lips traveled down your neck to the spot he knew made your knees weak.

“Fuck, Kyle,’ you squeaked, hating how easily you’d given into him. But he had kissed you first. Perhaps the shoe was finally on the other foot. You were pulled from the moment by the sounds of cheering coming from outside the thin closet doors. You’d nearly forgotten you were being listened to by a room full of horny teenagers.

“Plebeians,” Kyle muttered hotly against your skin, unhindered by their antics. His hands slipped in opposite directions, one approaching the waistband of your jeans and the other reaching for the underside of your breast. Your hand quickly grasped his wrist, halting his movements.

His eyes flashed, meeting yours. Despite the darkness, you could see the lust in them. “What is it, princess? Forget what it’s like to be touched by a creature with an IQ higher than 6?”

You locked your jaw, glaring at him while you fought to catch your breath.

“There’s my stubborn girl,” he breathed hotly against your ear as you slowly released your grip on his wrist.

“I’m not your girl,’ you gasped, feeling his cold hand slip into your panties.

“Maybe not. But no one gets you wet like this.” He groaned softly, feeling your slick coat his fingers as he drug his fingertips through your folds. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Mm, and I’m sure you aren’t turned on at all, right?” you jabbed breathlessly, you hand slipping up his shirt to rest against his hot skin.

He visibly shuddered, leaning forward to catch your earlobe between his teeth. “Tease.” His long fingers made slow, tortuous circles on your clit, making you let out a soft cry into the dark closet. “Why don't you find out for yourself?”

His filth made you tremble, fisting his hair and tugging just hard enough to get him to let out a grunt of pleasure. His fingers quickened their pace, the forearm of his opposite side pressed against the wall next to your head as he pressed your bodies together. You reached down to feel his lust pressing adamantly against his fly and could confirm that he wasn’t lying. “Goddamnit.. I’m close,” you confessed, feeling your body betray you. You so desperately didn’t want to give him what he wanted, but his fingers were too persistent and he knew your tells far too well.

A harsh knock on the door struck like a cold splash of water. Kyle quickly pulled his hand from your pants,his damp fingers splayed against your bare stomach. “Alright, kids. Couples counseling is up in 30 seconds. Put on your clothes and get decent… or don’t.” Fucking idiot.

Kyle stepped back, seeming to suddenly come back to himself. Still breathless, you straightened and grabbed hold of his angled jaw. “You are going to finish what you started, or, so help me-“

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the still-very-present bulge in his jeans. The muscles of his jaw contracted beneath your fingers. “Trust me, pretty girl. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

The door flew open and you quickly pulled your hand from his. Applause greeted you along with momentary blindness from the brightness of the room. Kyle’s hand was around your wrist and pulling you out of the room before you could even fully regain your bearings.

(To be continued?)

[kazbrkker]

Chapter 9: A Witness and Witless

Chapter summary: A realisation for Alexis, kindly dished by Captain Price. Meanwhile, danger is the gift that keeps on giving. (3284 words).

Warnings: N/A. 

29 October 2019, 0500 "Alexis" and "Alex" | Codename Aces CIA with SAS and Urzik militia Sakhra, Urzikstan

   Having her forehead split open had its benefit. Okay, maybe that was arguable, but Alexis was mildly grateful that the unbearable stings stirred her awake. It saved from her reliving a gauche situation: sleeping limbs entangled with her best friend, who she almost kissed, again.

They were practically squashed together, her head pillowed against his firm chest. Seeing how paranoid and sharp to his surroundings Alex was, his iron grips were challenging to snake out of it, good thing she had practice.

Here, at 5 am, while others were desperately chasing some sleep, Alexis was too engrossed in her own thoughts. The past 24 hours happened like a flash, and the Wolf was her highlight, making her fidget uncomfortably just at the thought.

You should have fought harder, been stronger, not falter at his baseless threats. Alexis had no one but herself to blame for allowing the Wolf to escape. The guilt her mistake carried fuelled the fire inside her, with revenge as additional gasoline to the mix.

The Chinese had a saying: "for what you do upon me, I'd unleash it ten times worse." Omar Sulaman would regret ever threatening her.

Seeking refuge under a dying tree at the residence's courtyard, she brooded in reflection. At least she figured out an end goal for the Wolf, but the friendship between Alex and her was shaky, at best. Alexis released an exhale of pent-up frustration, fingers weaving her chocolate locks into a braid. So immersed with overthinking, she almost failed to catch Price's approaching footsteps.

"No rest for the wicked, eh?" He arched a concerned brow at her stitches.

Alexis cracked a smile, "'Course." Patting beside her, she gestured for Price to take a seat with her on the patch of dried grass. "Please, don't be a nanny. Just sit down."

"Fantastic. I'm in no mood for that either," Price replied. His face briefly caught silvers of golden rays, accentuating the eye bags and fine lines that revealed just how much Price had aged since their last encounter. Even without the combat vest, his broad shoulders remained permanently slouched.

Alexis smelled smoke before the wisps floated past her. Witnessing how it relaxed Price, she shuts her mouth. "Something wrong?" she guessed, feeling the passing smoke layer her tongue with a woody fragrance, suddenly feeling the need to spit.

"The Butcher... Bastard didn't even spare a kid." Price took another deep inhale.

Alexis sighed, "We'll make him pay."

"Damn right." The price of war was a hefty one. And Alexis idolised John Price for his unwavering tenacity. By far, he was the most unbreakable person she'd ever met.

"So..." Alexis steered the topic, "What cover story did you tell Maddox and Forbes this time?"

Price scoffed lightly, a light-hearted undertone in his words, "Ah, I didn't bother. Bloody bitch about it, is all they do." Though Price, Maddox and Forbes all knew each other, Alexis always questioned what kind of Doomsday loomed over the world for a SAS Captain, Task Force Black's commander and a CIA handler to cross paths. Candidly, it made her excited to know why.

"Something going on between you and Alex?" Price questioned abruptly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She confidently lied, ignoring the tingling sensation on her lips.

"For your sake, I hope you lie better when you're on the job," he mocked. Did she develop a tell? How did Price always know?

"Ah, it's just a bunch of gossips, don't feed into it."

"It's a reliable source," that piqued her curiosity.

"Kyle," she deadpanned, twisting her body towards Price. "Call MacTavish, I'm gonna skin Kyle alive."

Price hummed, giving her an amused look, "That'd be a waste of talent. So it's true, you two dating?"

She didn't even know the answer herself, so she replied with something safe, "We're friends, always have been." Her gaze averted to the small wildflowers blossoming under the base of the tree she leaned on. Chrysanthemums, its deep red petals swaying gently against the wind currents, almost like a greeting wave. Alexis scratched her head at the timely symbolism.

"Don't get stupid, you know better than most that nothing lasts forever," Price chided with a distant look in his eyes. "That boy looks at you like there isn't a war waging on."

Alexis sighed, twirling the stalks of red chrysanthemum hesitantly, "That's the problem. Wars are happening, it's selfish."

The Captain huffed almost disappointedly, "There's always a war. You see something you want, you best hold onto it before something blows it up."

"Shouldn't you advise me against fraternisation, Captain?" She smiled.

Staggered smokes escaped when Price let out a short laugh, "Whoever tries to boss you around is an idiot. Do I look like one?"

"No, no you're not," she chuckled, always finding wisdom in Price's words. So when he told her the way Alex looked at her wasn't platonic, she believed him. Not like it was unbelievable or anything. The way he tirelessly searched for her in a crowd every few moments—then smile when their gaze meets. With ample practices over the years, she'd successfully ignored how much he burned her insides with a simple look.

Now, maybe she didn't need to.

Alexis was always more of a spy than a soldier—at least, that was what Maddox always said about her. A natural God instinct to read the room, practically able to smell the changes like a bloodhound. Yet she was slow to pick up on the change in their friendship.

Slow, and a little reluctant. Now that she opened the floodgates that she guarded for so long, every possible feeling punched their way to her heart.

She was still in love with Alex. A chilling sensation ran over her spine when she inwardly admitted that. It puzzled her if it was relief or nerves? Either way, it jolted a new kind of excitement in her. Every exhale felt lighter.

"And what about you and Laswell?" Alexis retorted smugly, enjoying the rare stunned expression that slipped onto her mentor's face. "C'mon, give me some credit. The most impressive agent you've ever come across, right? I read your debrief about me from the Caucasus mission."

At his threatening frown, she held up surrendering hands, "Alright, alright! I'm done here."

Price ignored her teases, stubbing out his cigar at the base of the tree. "The Caucasus... That's what, 7 years ago? You just made JSOC back then."

Alexis cackled at the memory, "Back then you didn't have this glorious moustache. Remember when I pulled a knife on Mactavish?"

"Scared the lad shitless. Didn't show it, but sure as well saw it," Price continued, a smirk present on his face.

"I sure as hell felt it. Mactavish's pulse was jumping." Then she paused, realising Price purposely dodged her questions. So she tried again, "Don't avoid my questions, I'm a great matchmaker!"

He shot her a look, "Says the oblivious fool."

"Touche. But still-"

Luckily, Hadir spotted them, sliding open the residence's glass door and jogged up to them. "Oh, Hadir! Thank goodness you're here, Price was about to murder me."

Hadir squinted in confusion. "Ignore her," Price got to his feet and dusted the grass off his camo pants, sending the gleeful agent a hard glare. "Lass hit her head too hard, she's spewing rubbish. Careful, Hadir." He patted Hadir's back and started to head back to the house.

"C'mon mate!" Alexis yelled after him with a butchered English accent. "I said I'm sorry!" She laughed at Price's slightly gapped mouth.

"Did I mention?" His hands steadied against the sliding door, "You're benched!"

With that, Price slid the glass door closed, wearing an amused expression as she yelled pleads after him with no avail. "Petty old fellow."

Hadir sat on Price's previous spot, gracing her with a chocolate bar. Unlike commercial ones, military chocolate hardly tasted edible—for somebody who hated chocolates, it was a torture to sink her teeth into the hard cocoa blocks. "Hadir, you couldn't find anything else?"

"It's chocolate!"

"You think."

His enthusiasm didn't die down as he chowed down his own energy bar, but after a few chews, Hadir promptly stuck out his tongue in disgust, earning a burst of hearty laughter from Alexis, "People eat this?"

"Dumb soldiers do. But the smart ones..." Alexis pulled out a packet of biscuits from the side pocket of her pants, wiggling in front of Hadir. She snatched the cup of hot water from him and dunked the biscuits in, much to his protests. Seconds later, the biscuit softened to a texture that resembled a sponge cake. Alexis urged the wide-eyed Hadir to take a bite.

Hadir was sceptical until he tried it, pleasantly surprised. He praised, "Finally, some food fit for humans!"

"Genius, right?" He nodded in agreement, passing her the cup to share. "And I can see that look in your eyes that you want to ask if I'm okay, so answer your question: I'm fine, although I'm sick of people asking me that. Thinking about tattooing the answer across my forehead, wanna help?"

"Horrible idea... Count me in. But no, not your injuries, here," he pointed at his heart. "You feel bad for letting the Wolf go, I know. It's not your fault, Alena– Alexis," he corrected. "Your names are confusing."

The smirk on her face faltered slightly. Though it quickly returned, Hadir already saw the cracks in her smile. Then she decided not to bother with the facade. "I should have fought harder. I imagine there are people who should be alive right now if not for me."

"Like I said, not your fault. In all my years, you got my sister and me closer than we've ever been to end this war... We've lost many brothers and sisters to get to this point. Between Barkov and the Wolf, I'm not sure which of these dogs are worse." His words had a certain edge in them, reminding her how much this war changed Hadir. "But they are not careless men. Why did the Wolf keep you alive?"

"Said he wanted to watch me suffer," Alexis answered honestly, hesitantly taking another bite of her dessert. "Jokes on him. I'm gonna crush him. We're gonna fucking crush them."

Hadir pulled his legs closer to his chest, returning a small smile when she rested a comforting hand on his knees, "With a big enough stone, right?"

"Damn right."

━━━━━━

Even with the miraculous arrival of a second chance, it doesn't mean Alexis made it easy. Now was the perfect example for his argument.

"Maybe you did hit your head too hard—look in the mirror and tell me if you see a large cut across your forehead, because I might be seeing things." He pinched his nose bridge in distress. Price had tasked the very injured Alexis to sweep houses with Bravo Team, take it easy and all.

Alexis wore a polite smile and calmly said, "Fuck you."

"How eager," he retorted, knowing just the way to irk her.

She threw up her trusty middle finger, "Hard pass."

Really? She thought, playing hard to get is so 2002, Alexis.

"Really?" He moved closer, and except for a hardened face, Alexis did nothing to stop him. Trapped between Alex and a table, she breathily observed the blue flecks in his irises, avoiding his alluring pink lips that was definitely calling to her. "Trouble breathing?"

Alexis swallowed her nerves, "The only trouble I'm having is my lack of personal space."

"Ouch..." His head fell defeatedly on her shoulder, chuckling. "Lexi, honey..." he gilded, eyes boring into her own. She kept still and bit her tongue at the pet name, watching his gaze travel down her face, maybe her lips.

Alex pressed more of his weight against her, "Be a good girl for me. Consider I said please."

Her heart quickened, sparing a quick glance at the wide-open door full of Marines who stood oblivious to their actions, but if they continued standing in this position, it was just a matter of time. "You're adding to the rumours..."

"So everybody thinks we're dating, big deal." He slammed the door shut to prove a point.

Are we? What is this between us?

She tasted the words on the tip of her tongue. Alex's flirting had become painfully obvious that she wasn't the sole player of this game anymore. And instead of addressing it, her wickedness took over—lightly chewing down her lips just to confirm her suspicions again.

A knowing smile slowly builds when he took the bait.

Alex blinked rapidly, retreating instantly. His attempt to clear his throat was pathetic, voice throaty as he said, "You're going with Bravo, no arguments."

"Like hell. The medic cleared me!"

Alex paused thoughtfully, rolling up his sleeves up his forearm. If this was his sly attempt to distract her, it worked. Reasons beyond her, his tattooed arms were incredibly attractive. "Was that before or after you threaten him?"

He didn't... Alexis recalled the easily convinced medic. Sue her for having a way with words. She smiled sweetly, refocusing on packing her combat bag, "You have no proof."

"Tell that to your face," he rolled his eyes. "Babe, come on, there's not enough time for me to tie you to a bed."

She'd admit to almost choking at his unexpected comment. Like a good spy, she hung a scowl at his charming smirk—refusing to play into his trap. Then, she internalised his appearance, styled hair, in the middle of a war. Still so vain. Probably trying to impress her, cute.

"Number one, you're god damn shameless–"

"I call it honesty," he shrugged.

"Outrageous, not to mention scandalous-" she corrected.

Alex huffed, throwing his head back briefly.

"Number two, I'm pretty sure Wade outside there, who was shot in the thigh is still on the mission. Talk about a double standard."

Usually, this danger zone was when Alex would back off. But today, she was convinced he had an intensified case of a stick up his ass. Still, he brazenly took the loaded magazines off her hands. "I'm trying to not treat you any differently from the boys, if that's what you're implying. I just don't want anything else to happen to you, Alexis."

"But I am different, Alex! I'm not the boys," the menace in her voice was hard to miss, a stark juxtaposition to the playfulness, "I don't want to be one of the boys. Read my damn resume, you really think this injury will be the one to do me in?" Her neck craned upwards to meet him, "I'm still standing. I can do this."

Alex finally uncrossed his arms and nodded, "Okay."

She cast a suspicious sideways glance, "That's it?"

Alex hummed– actually hummed this time. Her eyebrows shot heavenward, which amused him. "You expected a few more rounds, didn't you?" At her nod, "I trust you, that's all."

"Huh... Usually, you'd try harder. Say something melodramatic like: No, Alexis! You'll quite possibly die, bleed out to death–"

"Defamatory, I do not sound like that," he insisted upon her dramatic pause and casual dismissal of hands.

Alexis poked accusingly into his chest, "Something's wrong with you." He smirked like he knew something she didn't, and ironically, she did. You're not that slick, Romeo. Two can play this game.

"Funny. Here I thought a master profiler like yourself had better skills."

Part of her questioned if it was a double meaning, but shook it off. Grabbing her stolen magazines from his grasp, "Come on, we have a war to fight."

She wondered if Alex's blood had always run so hot when she reached over to grab his arm, surely she wasn't the only one who felt that. But Alex remained silent and allowed her to push him towards the door. They were about to step out until her satellite phone sounded. The two shared looks of caution at the odd notion, her phone hardly rang. Alex was the designated communication channel, and with Price's arrival, he carried that responsibility.

Unless it was an emergency... She quickly accepted the call. "This is a secured line, identify yourself and how you got this number."

"I have my ways. Good to hear you're still breathing."

Her shoulders relaxed, "Ruddiger. Why wouldn't I– Did something happen?"

"Saint, listen carefully, I don't have much time."  She mumbled a quick apology before kicking him out the room.

"Okay, I'm ready."

"After you left, we got a tip about Valhalla's safe house. It was a scam to draw our attention away from Boucher." Her stomach clenched at the ominous feeling. "He's dead. Someone got to him."

"In the Hostel? That's not possible." The whole point of a Blacksite was that it didn't exist.

"It's true, Saint. I saw his body with my own eyes. We found a tracker—plastic polymer, explains why it didn't show up when we wanded him." He continued when Alexis didn't reply, "This shit gets worse. They got a list... Of everybody who's on the op."

Her heart stopped right then, "No fucking way. Where are you now? And wait, this is high-level intel, how do you-"

"I'm officially CIA, thanks to your glowing recommendation. So technically, I'm also here to say I owe you one. The welcoming committee sucks, they're putting us in safe houses. All except you."

Then Alex burst through the doors, signalling it was time to move, but paused at her ghastly face. She held up a shaky hand, "Well, fuck, mon sauveur, huh? Thanks for the intel, but you do know you just broke protocol?"

From the anxious rubs on her face, Alex knew something was really wrong.

Ruddiger laughed on the other line, "Consider it my gratitude for your olive branch. I gotta go. Stay safe, Saint. You'll never know how far Valhalla can reach."

"I'm in the middle of a war. He'll never find me here," she braved through the unsteadiness in her voice. When the call ended, she remained on the chair, still profoundly dumbstruck. She didn't know which was worse: that someone managed to infiltrate a Level 10 CIA blacksite, spooking Valhalla, or that her name was sitting somewhere on a hit list.

Another question bagged her, was it her real name? A thousand worries crashed down onto her. Why haven't Forbes or Maddox called?

"Hey," Alexis jumped at the touch, instilling more fret in Alex, who kneeled before her chair. "You're shaking. You okay?"

Alexis knew Alex wouldn't stop until he got an answer. Yet she couldn't give it to him, she'd put him in danger.

"Always," she mustered the biggest smile she could. And because of that, Alex saw right through her. But there wasn't time to dig further, they had a war to fight. Besides, for all she knew, she was safe, for now.

If Forbes or Maddox haven't called, it meant she was still safe. She'd focus on that.

When she wordlessly slung her rifle and holstered her guns, there was a heavier feeling bubbling inside her. Alexis didn't have a good omen, but she couldn't pinpoint if her gut was referring to today's war, or the brewing one.

Ah fuck, is there a difference? War is war.

War is war, was her final thought as she got ready to start a day full of tragedies.

Alexis should have listened to her gut.

‧͙⁺˚*·༓

a/n: taking a minute to say thank you to all of you!! i never thought Killer Instinct would receive so much love, but here we are, thank you lovers!!

taglist: @flyboidameron @wanderlustgiant @captain-pikas-world​ (wanna be tagged? lmk!)

[phoenixfeatherquill]

Chop and Change (10/15)

Chapter 9

“All Soul’s Night”

Caroline’s eyelids fluttered.  There was a dark shape bending over her—instinctively her body shot forward and she snarled, barely conscious.  

Alaric raised his hands.  “It’s all right, Caroline. You’re safe in here.”

She shivered at his voice.  It didn’t feel that long ago that Alaric had died—and even less time since he’d murdered her father.  And now they were at the same house?  She supposed it made sense that Alaric was in the spirit world—he wasn’t a mortal any longer—but it was nevertheless disconcerting.

“Daddy,” Caroline croaked. “Are—”

“I’m here, baby,” Bill Forbes said soothingly. “It’s all right.”

He was next to Alaric.  She seemed to be in a living room or parlor.  Everything seemed off-color, like a faded photograph.  A sepia tone overlay her surroundings.

She rubbed her eyes, slowly coming to.  “Where—what is this place?”

“It’s a little hard to explain,” Alaric said gently. “I think the short version would be to say that the underworld is a shifting dimension—there are pockets, kind of valleys where things can’t affect you. Your furies can’t reach you.”

“Furies?” Caroline blinked.

“Tormenters,” Bill crossed his arms. “The supernatural live in a sort of purgatory, they…I guess pay for any evil they committed against others. Especially humans.”

“I see,” She said slowly. “So my furies…they’re the witches. Among other things…” Given that line of logic, she might have quite the list of furies.  

Her eyes widened. “Wait—if an Original is here—” His furies would be overwhelmingly cruel and unrelenting.  Her stomach curled in fear for Klaus.

Alaric sighed while her father’s expression hardened.  “I’m surprised you’re so concerned about Klaus.”  

She shifted as she tried to think of a response.  Her heart was hammering, thinking about Klaus alone in this place…how many “furies” could he have accumulated by now?  Her heart lurched as she tried to think of how to respond to her father.

“I don’t like unpaid debts,” Caroline finally said, carefully. “He’s done a lot of terrible things. But he’s also saved my life. And I can’t forget that.”

Bill opened his mouth to argue the point but Alaric cut him off.

“Regardless,” He cleared his throat. “We need to get you out of here. And quickly, before the door closes.”

“Trust me, I do not want to be here,” Caroline said firmly. “But I can’t leave without Klaus!”  

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.  Bill’s teeth gritted and he nodded curtly towards Alaric, who sighed upon approaching the door.

He opened the door and Klaus glared at him with a frightening sort of pleasantry.

“Hello,” He said through bared teeth. “It appears that mortal rules work in this godforsaken place. I would greatly appreciate it if you would invite me in.”

“Klaus,” Caroline elbowed her way past Alaric, a wave of relief washing over her. “Good. Come in—the witches didn’t get you?”

“I actually came across some other enemies,” Klaus stepped across the threshold, assessing Caroline quickly. “But never fear, love. Here I am, safe and sound.”

She exhaled impatiently.  “We need to get out of here. Alaric says the doors are closing soon.”

“Right,” Klaus nodded. “Not to mention, Lalaurie has had ample time to marshal her forces. New Orleans won’t be quite as charming once we’ve returned…”

“Both of you, come with me,” Alaric ordered. “I know a way out.”

Caroline turned towards her father.  “Daddy? Are you coming?”

He shook his head.  “I’m going to provide a distraction. Be safe, Care Bear.”

Her eyes widened.  “Daddy…what are you—”

“Don’t worry about me,” He hugged her tenderly, gruffly kissing her forehead. “I love you, baby. You’ll be okay.”

Klaus watched this exchange with an inscrutable expression.  Alaric cleared his throat politely.  

Caroline wiped her eyes.  “Let’s go.”

XXXX

Alaric led them out of the house.  The false air was oddly still and Caroline immediately felt nauseous.   She dug her fingers into her palms, breathing deeply.  She would not faint.  

“What about the others?” Caroline asked suddenly. “Elijah and Rebekah? And Kylie…”

“If we’re lucky,” Klaus growled, his hand tightening around her palm—he was holding her hand, she suddenly realized—“Kyle has been torn to pieces for her betrayal. But that may be wishful thinking. As for my siblings…”  

His expression darkened and Caroline impulsively squeezed his hand. His eyes met hers and she shivered a little.  If they continued like this…how long could she hold off?  Their connection washed over her in waves and she knew eventually, it would rip her away from her senses.

“Here,” Alaric stopped and Caroline broke her gaze from Klaus.  They were surrounded by raised graves of stone, all of varying shapes and sizes.  She licked her lips uncertainly, trying to place it.  

“St. Louis Cemetery,” Klaus hummed a little. “Well done, Alaric. The veil is thin here—we’ll be able to return.”

Alaric nodded.  “Notice how these graves look like doorways?” He asked grimly. “There’s a reason for that.”

Caroline blinked.  “You’re saying…if we crawl through these graves, we’ll wake up on the other side? Any one of them?”

“I’m afraid so,” Alaric exhaled slowly. “And there is a lot coming into your world right now…spirits, gods, monsters…you better hurry.”

Caroline turned to Klaus.  “What about Rebekah and Elijah?”

“I can lead them here,” Alaric said quickly. “But they may already be over. Like I said…things are passing through as we speak.”

His face went stony and he raised his hand, pointing past Caroline and Klaus. The two turned and Klaus staggered in shock.  Kol Mikaelson was grinning at them.

XXXX

“Rebekah!” Elijah shouted. “Rebekah! Caroline! Niklaus!”

There was no answer.  Growling in frustration, he concentrated, trying to hone his senses.  He thought he sensed Rebekah, calling out to him, but he couldn’t be sure.  The spirit world was sure to have phantom calls, meant to lead the unwary astray...

He would have to trust that they could get out on their own.  Caroline and Klaus had been linked; they had their mating bond to fall back on—Elijah was sure that Klaus would be able to track her down wherever she winded up.  He could only pray that Rebekah could find her way out as well…

Something brushed against his skin.  He roared, turning around, snarling and froze.

Katerina Petrova smiled at him.  

He gaped at her stupidly.  Was it…truly her?  Her smile sparkled in the fading light and he could not seem to stop himself from reaching out to touch her cheek.  She closed her eyes at his touch.

“Elijah,” She purred. “I’ve missed you so.”

“Can it truly be you?”

“Of course!” She stepped nearer to him and rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ve longed for you…waited for you in this awful place. But now that you’re here…we can leave together.”

The urge to take her into his arms was overwhelming.  He wanted to so badly it ached.  But her words revealed the truth.  

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” Elijah said softly. “But you…are not my Katerina.”

Her pretty smile faltered.  The longer he looked at her, the more her edges blurred.  Katerina was all sharp angles and pretty blades; this…illusion…was a cheap and colorless imitation.  The fact was, if Katerina were somewhere in this world and she sensed the door open…she would not waste time trying to find him.  She would be first out the door.

“A fury…the fury set to torment me. How very…apropos.”  

The false Katerina blinked at him in brief confusion.  Then her blurred features hardened.

“Does it matter, Elijah?” She stroked his upper arm intimately and he flinched at her warmth.

“Of course it matters,” He spat and jerked away from her.  She chuckled in a low and husky voice.  She circled him like a vulture.  

“I sense your exhaustion, Elijah. You tire of the mortal world…it’s palpable. Why not stay? Stay with me and forget the trials you endured on the mortal plane. Allow yourself to slip into sweet oblivion, wrapped in my arms…”

There was a brief and shining moment where Elijah hesitated.  He was shamed by the intense temptation that swarmed around him, how a part of him badly wanted to rest eternally with this false Katerina.  But before he could rebuff her a final time, Katerina stiffened.  Her neck twisted unpleasantly and she crumpled to the ground. Rebecca stood behind her, looking bored and petulant.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” She remarked. “Elijah. I’m bored of this place. Shall we go home?”

Elijah was only too happy to agree.

XXXX

“Gods,” Klaus swore. “Please tell me the whole damn family isn’t at your heels.”

Kol laughed uproariously.  “My heels? Oh, big brother…I lingered, simply for the sweet pleasure of seeing your face again. And seeing your face as I cross the borders back into the mortal world…”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Caroline snarled. “You’re staying right where you are.”

“Caroline!” Kol seemed genuinely pleased to see her. “Hand in hand with Klaus. I always thought you two were meant for each other. And really, sweet Caroline, what on earth do you intend to do stop me? There are openings to the mortal world everywhere.”

“And what?” Klaus bared his teeth. “You intend to stop us from crossing over?”

“Now, what would the fun in that be?” Kol wondered aloud. “I came to give you a warning, big brother. The whole family is not at my heels but they will be at yours. They have all crossed over to the mortal realm. Father, mother, Freya, Finn…”

Klaus stared at him stone-faced.

“Anyway, that’s all I had to say,” Kol mockingly checked his wrist for an imaginary watch. “See you on the other side, brother.”

He turned away from them and stepped through the grave.  Klaus stared after him, seemingly immobile, until Caroline tugged at his arm.

“Klaus,” She sighed and closed her eyes. “One thing at a time, okay?”

“They’ll come after us,” Klaus muttered. “They’ll come after me.”

“Then we’ll face them together. But we need to get on the other side before the door closes. Quickly!”

His face shifted when she said the word ‘together’.  Caroline almost wished she hadn’t said it.  She had promised herself a long time ago she would never again entangle herself up in the Mikaelson family.  They didn’t even know what family meant, too busy on killing and avenging each other every century or so.  

But who was she kidding?  The moment she’d said yes to Rebekah, she was inveigling herself again.  And as long as she shared this connection to Klaus—this bond, this relationship, this mating—she was involved among them.  

She squeezed his hand and they stepped through the doorway to the mortal world.

XXXX

New Orleans was dark as pitch.

It was wrong.  Even at 3:00AM, New Orleans was a city of color, lights and parties illuminated every street, music on every corner, bars open until the dawn peeked over the Mississippi.  But the city was deadly silent as Caroline and Klaus walked out of the cemetery, still hand in hand.  

“Where are Elijah and Rebekah?” Caroline whispered.  

“We’ll find them,” Klaus inhaled deeply. “I can smell them. They’re not far.”

“Thank God they made it out,” Caroline said in relief.  She blinked suddenly and turned towards Klaus.

“I never thanked you,” She cleared her throat. “For coming after me.”

He looked at her in surprise.  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

She smiled suddenly.  “No. I knew you would.”

There was a terrible howling cry in the distance.  Caroline did not recognize it; it was neither vampire nor werewolf, something more evil and more ancient.  She could smell the darkness of the underworld cloaking the city.  It was crawling with monsters and spirits.  And it was very likely they would not make it out of this one alive.  

She wished Elena was with them.  Her friend had such a way of comforting her, calming her down, assuring her that everything would be all right.  But…this wasn’t Elena’s story.  This was Caroline’s.  Caroline’s and Klaus’.  

“Caroline,” Klaus said quietly.  She looked up at him and his eyes met her gaze intently.  

“You don’t have to be here,” He told her.

She shook her head.  “Don’t start that crap, Klaus. No noble ‘protecting me for my own good’ crap. None of that Salvatore nonsense. I’m here with you and I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together.”

“Together…” Klaus mused.  He lifted her palm to his lips and kissed it.  She felt butterflies dance against her chest.

“I rather…like the sound of that,” He murmured. “But this may be the end of our time together. Are you ready?”

Caroline thought for a moment.  Impulsively, she dropped his hand and raised herself on her tiptoes.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

She could taste his surprise.  But she didn’t care.  It felt good to kiss him, and it had been far too long.  God, she loved the feel of him, the way his hands traced her back, how he tasted of cloves and woodsmoke.  

She broke away from him before she could get to lost in the sensations.  “Now I am. Let’s find your siblings.”

She took his hand again and they disappeared into the night.  

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

Michael gets injured and Alex worries and helps him

when all those shadows almost killed your light

“Liz? What’s wrong?” A phone call at 0300 hours is never a good thing, especially given the recent turn their lives have taken.

“Hi Alex.” Liz sounds more hesitant than urgent which is enough for his body to relax, seeking the sleep he had been lucky enough to find earlier.

“I still don’t know why Max told me to call you but, um, it’s Michael.”

Alex is instantly awake and sitting up, already reaching for his prosthetic. It’s been less than six hours since they had returned from Caulfield. Alex can’t bear the thought that something else may have happened to him after all of that.

“What’s going on, Liz? Where are you?” Alex keeps his voice calm and concise even as the fear coursing through him threatens to debilitate him. The Air Force didn’t train him in preparation for this exact moment, but it is definitely working to his advantage.

“We’re at Sanders’ Auto. Michael parks his trailer here.” Alex bristles at Liz acting like this is new information for him, but he can’t fault her for not knowing that Alex can find his way to Michael’s in his sleep. That’s how he had wanted it for so long after all. “Underneath you’ll find—”

“The bunker. Yeah, I know.” He doesn’t mean to snap at her but she is clearly avoiding his first question. “What happened?”

“He’s in a coma, Alex.”

The fear takes over, less of a wave and more like a wall he’s hit head on leaving him frozen halfway between his bedroom and the front door. Nova comes scurrying out behind him, pawing at his leg. Whether it’s to check on him or to shove him on his way toward Michael he doesn’t know but he is grateful for her.

Rational thought breaks through the expanding sense of panic inside his chest and his mind tries to form an picture of what could have happened. He needs facts but he doesn’t want them over the phone.

“I’m on my way.” He hangs up without listening to anything else Liz might have to say.

The drive into town takes no time at all, his mind too focused on getting to Michael to be aware of something as insignificant as time. The airstream is already moved out of the way and a piece of plywood covers the opening in the ground. He makes quick work of heaving it out of place and hurries down the ladder as fast as his leg will allow.

Liz is waiting for him at the bottom. She looks tired and there’s a bruise blooming on her forehead but she offers him a reassuring smile that he doesn’t trust. His eyes stray from her immediately searching for the reason he’s here.

Michael is laid across the table in the center of the room with no visible wounds but far too still for someone who bursts with life the way he does. Michael is never still, even when he’s sleeping. Isobel sits on a stool at his side, one hand holding his and the other resting on Max’s where it lays on her shoulder, the two of them guarding their brother and never taking their eyes off of him. He makes quick note of Isobel’s pale skin and how Max leans against her in a way that’s due more to injury than exhaustion. The three of them paint a tableau of fear and pain.

His attention diverts to Michael and he becomes his sole focus. He’s torn between the desperate need to rush to his side, to feel his pulse and the warmth of his skin, and the hope that if he doesn’t get any closer it might all be an illusion. Need wins out but his approach is slow with trepidation.

Alex had always loved to watch Michael sleep in the rare moments he’s had the chance, before his own cowardice inevitably pulls him away. Warm and sated beside him, he always looked so young and unguarded. He looked happy and Alex always hoped it was at least partly because of him, and if not, he hoped that he was at least getting some of the quiet that he forever sought while awake.

But this isn’t sleep, this is unconscious, and sneaking out of bed in the early morning hours won’t be enough to wake him.

“What happened?” His voice is soft but raw, a far cry from the composed soldier he tried to project on the phone. Standing there in a secret alien bunker he feels like the seventeen year old kid only Michael can summon these days, and with that youth comes dread and doubt.

“Noah.” Isobel’s voice is full fury but her eyes stay gently resting on Michael’s face.

“Where is he?” Alex feels a sudden need to shield Michael’s body, as if Noah could materialize at any moment.

“Dead.” Unlike Isobel, Max lets his rage consume him, eyes darkening and the hand not touching Isobel coiling into a fist. Alex doesn’t need to ask who is responsible for that.

When neither of them offer any more information on Michael’s condition, Alex feels like he’s about to explode. Luckily, Liz can sense his growing tension and steps in to explain in that cool and methodical way of hers everything that Alex needs to know.

“We think Noah’s consciousness is holding on, trying to find a vessel. Isobel entered Michael’s mind and she could sense Noah in there but he’s getting weaker. Kyle stopped by and he says nothing is physically wrong with him so once Noah has faded, Michael should wake up.”

“Should, right.” Alex ignores Liz’s uncertainty, because he is going to wake up, he has to.

Instead he fans the sparks of petty annoyance that Kyle was called before him. He’s glad that they got Michael checked out and grateful that he is alright, but still he wishes he had been called sooner. A tiny, cruel voice in his head whispers that if he was more honest with his friends they would know to contact him with anything regarding Michael. He’s lucky Max knew, although he has no idea why Michael would choose to confide in him.

Alex steps closer, burying his fingers through sweat matted curls, his thumb brushing back and forth against his temple where he can feel the steady rhythm of Michael’s pulse. He stares intently at his face, willing him to wake up and say something inappropriate but still frustratingly charming.

“Isobel, do you think you can try again?”

“Liz, no.” Max’s tone is sharp in a way Alex has never heard him use with Liz. He doesn’t dare look away from Michael though.

“It’s okay Max, I’ll be fine.” The stool scrapes across the floor as Isobel moves in closer. “Michael’s head is a bit of a mess,” she explains, and Alex thinks it’s directed towards him although still doesn’t look up.

“Noisy.” Alex remembers that first night in the tool shed. The weird boy who talks about entropy and plays the guitar so beautifully that his inner peace exudes from him and touches everyone lucky enough to be close to him.

“Yeah. It’s hard for me to stay in there too long.” Isobel’s tone is skeptical but whatever questions she may have, she keeps to herself for now.

The room falls silent, only the low whirring of fans invading the space, while Isobel does whatever it is she does. After several minutes of waiting, Alex hears her sharp gasp from over his shoulder followed by the sounds of sloshing liquid and desperate gulps. He watches Michael’s face for any sign of change but his features remain perfectly still.

“Noah is gone. I couldn’t find him anywhere.” A few panting breaths filled the air as they all looked to Michael. “It was quieter in there this time. I think he could sense you were here.” He can feel both Liz and Isobel’s eyes on him but he resists the urge to glare back.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Alex has never been more grateful for Max Evans.

“Are you guys sure it’s psychic and not physical.” His fingers tighten in Michael’s hair as thoughts of TBIs and alien caused brain tumors flood his mind. “Should we get his head scanned?”

“No hospitals,” the Evans’ say in creepy twin unison.

“Did you see anything else? Could you find Michael?” Liz steps closer to the table now. She lays a hand lightly on Michael’s arm and squeezes before drawing back.

“He wouldn’t talk to me.” A thin layer of frustration coats the worry in Isobel’s voice but Alex can hear it as clearly as he feels it. “I don’t think he could hear me. And there was this blonde woman with him but I have no idea who the hell she is.”

An icy stab of pain pierces Alex straight through his heart and melts leaving nothing but cold weighing heavy inside of him. Michael had whispered every detail of what he’d seen on the drive home, over and over, committing to memory something Alex knew was already permanently a part of him.

He ignores the chatter around him as the others wonder who the mysterious blonde could be. Of course Michael wouldn’t tell them. Of course he would shield them from the horrors the world has forced on him once again.

Alex raises his other hand to rest against Michael’s chest feeling the slow and even breaths he takes. He leans down and rests his lips against the damp skin of Michael’s forehead in a way that can’t really be called a kiss. The bunker goes quiet again and he knows he will only be stirring up more questions for Michael but his mouth is already forming the words before he can overthink what he’s about to say.

“You need to wake up, Guerin. She’ll always be with you. That memory she gave you is a gift that nobody can take away from you. But she wanted you to live, Guerin, so you need to come back.” With a little more pressure he leaves a searing kiss before nudging his nose against his hairline. “Come back to me, Michael.”

In a movie this would be the moment where Michael’s eyes flutter open and instantly meet Alex’s with a loving gaze. In reality it takes a few breathless minutes before a low groan follows an arm flying up to clutch at an aching head, eyes shut tight in obvious pain.

Isobel, Max, and Liz crowd closer, all of them talking at once. Alex firmly tells them to back the fuck off. It’s then that Michael’s eyes open, blinking against the overhead light but finding Alex anyway.

[aewriting]

Authursday: Tasyfa

For today’s Authursday, I wanted to highlight @tasyfa

Tasyfa has not only produced one of the best long fics in the Roswell NM fandom, but she has also created this entire AU world set in Toronto that explores a sub/dom relationship between Michael and Alex.  In preparing this post, I realized that she has actually written 41 fics for the Roswell NM fandom, which is incredible!  Quite a lot of range, and the writing is always high quality.  For the purposes of this post, I am going to focus on her masterwork, “Through the Violet Glass,” as well as her AU series, “Spinning Circle of Flames.” There will be some spoilers, so if you haven’t read these, go now!

I think we are really lucky, in the Roswell NM fandom, to have a lot of talented writers, including folks that make some excellent longer, novel-length works of fiction. There are a few of these longer works that I read real-time, such as beamirang’s “The Old Astronomer” and myrmidryad’s recent “Shadow Work” (both excellent).  For whatever reason, though, I did not discover “Through the Violet Glass” until it was well underway.  From reading works in tasyfa’s “Spinning Circle of Flames” series, I was pretty darn sure that I would like it, but I wanted to be able to really sink into it and enjoy it, and that can sometimes be tough to find the time to do with a long fic.

About a month ago, I unexpectedly had to go on a lengthy road trip with only my youngest child (little enough that it wouldn’t really matter what I listened to in the car). I was contemplating what I wanted to hear – podcasts, playlists, audiobooks? And then thought to myself, I wonder if there’s an app that would read a website to me?  That would, um, read “Through the Violet Glass” to me? So I downloaded an app called Motoread, and that is how I “read” “Through the Violet Glass!”

II was so impressed with the plot of “TTVG.” I think that, at times, when you’re working from canon (and a fairly limited one, as tasyfa started this work early in the series), you can be somewhat constrained in where you take your plot, but oh my god, there were a few twists here that were SO good and so creative.  I remember being in the car and gasping when Alex found out that his father had married Violet, the fourth alien. I also thought that tasyfa’s choice to make Sanders the fifth alien, and to reveal him the way she did, in the midst of Alex’s showdown with his father in the junkyard, was very well done.  I always appreciate a twist that is creative but still earned, if that makes sense, and I believe tasyfa really delivered in “Through the Violet Glass.”

As much as "TTVG" is focused on action, adventure, and intrigue, though, at its heart it’s a story about Michael and Alex rebuilding trust with each other and trying to form a real relationship.  This is a really good slow burn.  Their physical relationship feels very hard fought, and I think tasyfa does a nice job of exploring the impact of Alex’s PTSD, and of Michael’s psychological scars from his upbringing and feelings of isolation and abandonment.  There are some beautifully written passages that really stuck with me.  I thought Alex and Michael’s initial attempt to help Michael control his powers, which included Alex goading him in some not so nice ways, was well-done, as was the scene in which Michael first puts up a bit of a bubble-like “forcefield” and allows a bottle to shatter over it in Alex’s backyard (and tasyfa is able to work in fragments from the bottle in a meaningful, romantic way).  I also loved a scene with Kyle, in which he finally gets Michael to speak about the injury to his hand. 

Perhaps some of the best scenes, though, concerned Alex’s relationship with his father and his sexuality. There was a really excellent exchange (Chapter 49) in which Jenna speaks to Alex about his relationship with Michael, and it incorporates an analogy using apples that speaks to the larger issues of homophobia that Alex had to face in his relationship with his father:

“Oh, come on. Look at the people who were here last night. Your oldest friend from the first day of school? Two more from elementary school. Almost everyone else was from high school, which was more than ten years ago, as you just pointed out. That is not a chosen family assembled by a guy who can't commit," she asserted.

"Well, yeah, but those are friendships, not romantic relationships. Apples and oranges."

"No, Captain," her headshake was vehement. "That's Red Delicious and Golden Delicious. Two varieties of apples and they both make good pie. Family."

"They're different for me," Alex disagreed.

"Because someone taught you one variety was rotten and you were too young to know it was a lie."

"You sound very sure of that," he was taken aback by how sure.

"Look, you're not the first gay soldier I've seen struggling to get out from underneath the horseshit their daddy piled on. Your father is an extreme case, and it's all extra complicated because of real live aliens and government conspiracies and God knows what else, but the bottom line is the same damn thing. He convinced you your Golden Delicious apples were really oranges and no good for pie. And he was wrong."

Tasyfa revisits this message during a conversation between Violet and Alex as well, in which Violet is very dismissive about Jesse Manes and his homophobic beliefs, having trouble believing that such hatred for Alex stems from Alex’s sexuality (Chapter 52):

Violet cocked her head. "Why does he hate you, Alex?"

No beating around the bush here, and Alex answered in the same vein, "Because I'm gay."

She stared at him for long minutes, brow furrowed in confusion, and finally asked, "That's it? Because you're gay?"

"That's been his problem since I was 13 years old, yes. I'm sure he's added more reasons over the years, but that's the foundation," Alex said mildly.

The way she snorted in disgust and rolled her eyes was eerily reminiscent of Isobel. "He's even stupider than I thought."

"That isn't a nice thing to say about your husband."

"If I had married him for love, perhaps."

"Fair enough." This ranked up there as one of the strangest conversations Alex had ever had. "Why did you marry him then?"

"Security. Stability. Continuance of life." She shook her head. "All that obsessive idiocy because one of his brood is gay. I thought it was a real reason."

Alex couldn't think of a response. To say that her dismissiveness and scorn for his father's opinion of Alex's sexuality was a shock to hear, didn't begin to cover it.

"This is a personal matter, this gayness. It has no place in a warrior's professional vocabulary," Violet sounded frustrated now as well as scornful. "Men don't get their balls out on the battlefield."

"No, they don't," Alex agreed, maintaining a calm façade when he wanted to burst out laughing. She seemed offended his father had mixed up the personal and the professional.

Like he'd broken some kind of warrior's code.

Again, if you have not read “TTVG,” it is well worth a read (or a listen)!  Well-written, well-plotted, with fleshed out supporting characters and a great Michael and Alex romance at its core, as well as a really thoughtful take on some of the psychological aspects of these characters, and the impact of Alex’s relationship with his father.

AND THEN, tasyfa creates a WHOLE different universe in her “Spinning Circle of Flames” series.  As I was preparing this post, I tried to think about what stood out to me the most about this series, and it was two things: 1) smut, and 2) world-building.

So, smut first, ha.  The premise of this series is that Alex is a Canadian, ex-military musician, and Michael is a happy-go-lucky grad student.  They meet at one of Alex’s shows and embark on an extremely intense sexual sub/dom relationship. Tasyfa does an incredible job fleshing out the power dynamics at work here, as well as detailing the conversations that must take place in a relationship like this.  This is a topic I don’t know much about, and it honestly felt like an education, just reading this.  Some of these scenes, too… my goodness.  Sometimes smut can run together, but it doesn’t here. Like, this is a very detailed, thoughtful exploration of a sexual relationship between two complex people, and tasyfa handles it so well. It’s fascinating to see what she does with these familiar characters. Like, they are still Michael and Alex, but with different backgrounds, and thus somewhat different personalities and approaches to life.

I also love the attention to detail and worldbuilding that tasyfa includes in this story. The story is set in Toronto, and I think that the city is described so beautifully here.  There’s a real sense of place.  Like, I can practically taste the chocolate croissants she writes about, see the intimate Italian restaurant, hear the clatter of the public transit, see the little fairy lights in the bedroom. It’s so rich in these sensory details, and that really adds to this already-sensual story.  Just very well-done.  I also love what she’s done with the supporting characters!  Isobel and Maria are in a relationship, and Kyle shows up as one of Alex’s past lovers (and I truly hope she gives us more background on that relationship in her sequel, because I loved Kyle and Michael’s exchanges and the reaction it provoked in Alex).

All this to say that tasyfa is an extremely talented and creative writer.  I am always excited when I see a new work from her! So thank you, tasyfa, for creating such excellent works!

[grapecase]

So pointing out Alex flaws isn't considered hate but pointing out Maria's always seems to be. I personally have a problem with somebody who is aware their best friend is in love, and has been for years, with this person, going after them without even talking to their best friend about it. So in return I think what Maria did wasn't right and I think she fucked up. But somehow pointing that out is preceived as vilifying her. She can have flaws too. She isn't perfect and she doesn't need to be

“She can have flaws too. She isn’t perfect and she doesn’t need to be.”

I completely agree. 

Our issue isn’t disagreement with this statement, anon. Our issue is how we perceive and approach this desire. 

Pointing out Maria’s flaws isn’t vilifying her. Attacking Maria for her flaws is. You think Maria fans are the ones who want her to be perfect; however, that isn’t the case. It is Malex stans (and whoever believes Maria cannot be allowed to err) that want her to be perfect:

A perfect friend to Alex, a perfect “just friend” to Michael, a perfect distant bar owner who knows her place, a perfect person whose only dilemma is the issues with her mother that she handles without leaning on anyone – but especially not Michael.

Maria isn’t perfect and I don’t want her to be! Stripping a character of their flaws and agency is boring. Doing that to a character of color is that as well as racist. Shows and fandoms do that all the time. They place characters of color (especially black characters) on a pedestal and place impossible, inhuman standards of expectations on them. Now you might be thinking ‘Now, what’s wrong with wanting a character to act a certain way?’ 

Do you react the same way toward white (or non-black) characters who have done worse? (Hint: Michael covered a murder)

And that is why people are calling it hate.

Maria stans have continuously stated that Maria is human, she is allowed to make mistakes, she’s allowed to stumble, be vulnerable, and not put Alex first. Maria has stated she feels guilty, has shown frustration over her feelings over Michael, has shut him down TWICE, and only first admitted her feelings when she is in an extremely vulnerable position. 

We want these for her (and more). We want accountability we want honesty. Y’all (and maybe not you specifically) do not. Y’all want her to be punished. Y’all want her to be ostracized.

Don’t believe me? 

Go and look through her tag. People writing Kyle out of character so they can have him be Malex (and Alex’s) bouncer. Even though Alex has no problem telling what’s what when he’s good and ready, to anyone. Even though Kyle didn’t attack LIZ - who he was interested in - for going back with Max. The man he knows involved in their sister’s murder coverup!

Go through twitter. It’s people jumping on Carina for this decision. Saying how it ruins the show and ruins Maria’s character. How they’re writing her ooc (they were saying this even before the plot even happen. How can someone be preemptively ooc? They were saying that when she was vulnerable and admitted to her feelings while drugged. Maria was violated and still people were lashing out at her. Did you want her to stay silent? Did you want her to push Michael away? Stay alone? This moment where Maria allowed herself one moment of expressing her feelings, Malex stans still found a way to make it about Alex and berate Maria for it. Tell me where Maria was allowed to even breathe,  never mind having flaws). It’s there in people saying how they hate Maria and she’s awful and terrible and a bad friend and a few unfriendlier words.

Or, if you don’t want to go that far, how about here, in your own ask. 

Michael Guerin went after her. Maria never pursued Michael once. Not. Ever. I will repeat since fandom seems to have issues understanding this: MARIA DELUCA NEVER WENT AFTER MICHAEL GUERIN.

Michael Guerin went after Maria each time. 

You know what Maria Deluca did even when she realized Michael chose her? She said that they needed to talk.

Is she supposed to immediately be like ‘let’s talk’ right after the kiss? In an ideal world? Yes. But Maria is written as a human being not a robot or some untouchable image and she probably wanted to bask in the moment.

Maria wasn’t perfect and thought of herself first. For once. How is it that Maria is awful for prioritizing herself (and Michael) over Alex. Yet Alex isn’t awful for continuously shoving Michael away to the point where even though he still loves Alex, Alex is associated with pain.

And that is the difference. 

In how they are ‘allowed’ to have flaws and how fandom reacts to them. Alex gets called out on his flaws (if he’s lucky) but - please correct me if I’m wrong - I’ve never seen him attacked for it. People have said it makes them this like him, that they aren’t for them. And that is that.

Maria doesn’t even SLEEP with Michael. She flirts with him before even knowing (how is that a flaw?) and people are all ‘why doesn’t she know that Michael is the love of her BFFs life. Some psychic.’ Y’all disparage her before she even does something wrong. 

The impossible standards of perfection aren’t placed by Maria fans, anon. I think if you want Maria to be allowed flaws, to be allowed to exist and to have people point them out without feeling as if they can’t? You need to look to the Malex fandom. Heck, you don’t even need to go that far. Maybe start with yourself and how you treat and perceive her. Then we’ll talk.

[e11evenseggos]

You’re Like Coming Home

Sorry it’s so late, but I hope you enjoy your fic @blush-and-books​! It was so fun being your secret santa, Chloe! <3

This turned out so differently from what I planned/expected, but I hope it lives up to your prompt! :)

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

Kirsten smoothed out her light pink blouse, took one last glance in the mirror and walked to the front door of her house. She glanced around, but she was alone. “Camille?” She called. No response. Kirsten peeked her head into Camille’s bedroom where she found Camille passed out on the bed, still in the previous night’s clothes.

Kirsten flipped on the lightswitch and nearly shouted, “Camille!”

Camille startled. “I’m awake! Geez!”

“We’re late.” Kirsten stated matter-of-factly.

“Give me five minutes!” Camille hopped out of bed, and exactly five minutes later she emerged with fresh makeup, her hair pulled back in a twist, and a fresh shirt. Kirsten raised her eyebrows and gave a slight nod of approval.

The drive to Les Turner High School from their house wasn’t long, but Camille always felt the need to fill those few minute with noise. Unfortunately for Kirsten, this morning Camille’s fixation was on her instead of the newest Ariana Grande single.

“All I’m saying is lately you’ve taken an interest in being early. Every. Single Day. Part o the reason I wanted to be your roommate is because you’re as bad at time management as me,” Camille talked, gesturing with one hand while she drove with the other.

“I think it’s important to set a good example for our students with the new school year,” Kirsten answered.

“Okay. Keep telling yourself that.”

Once inside the school, Kirsten made a beeline for the teacher’s lounge with Camille in tow. Kirsten grabbed a paper cup and filled it with steaming coffee. She took a sip, scrunched up her face and began pouring sugar into the cup. A figure stepped up beside them, thermos in hand.

“Well if it isn't Mr. Lookin’ Goodkin himself,” Camille deadpanned.

“Will you please drop it?” Cameron begged.

“We’ll never not say it,” Kirsten said joining in. “Honestly, I can’t believe a group of students beat us to that nickname.”

“It’s not even that clever,” Cameron said.

“Or accurate,” Kirsten shoved Cameron playfully.

Cameron said, “You wound me, right in my sensitive heart.”

“Oh please. You had that surgery over fifteen years ago,” Kirsten said, adding more sugar to her cup.

“Aw how sweet,” Camille wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“It’s actually quite bitter,” Kirsten said, eyes trained on her cup.

“You’re playing dumb? Cute. Now move, Mama needs her energy juice.” Camille pushed between Cameron and Kirsten.

Cameron’s cheeks reddened, and he glanced over Camille’s head to Kirsten, who had finally looked up. They watched each other silently for a minute before Cameron finally headed towards the door while saying, “You coming, Stretch?”

“Now who’s using nicknames?” Kirsten asked, following him into the hallway.

“It’s a term of endearment. You and Camille were making fun of me. They’re completely different.”

“Right. Of course.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know you are.”

As they rounded the corner to the Math and Science hall, kids suddenly filled the hallways and the noise level increased exponentially.

One of the students called out over the noise, “Hi, Mr. Goodkin! Hey, Ms. Clark!”

“Hi, Damon,” Cameron said with a nod towards the boy. The girls standing near him waggled their eyebrows suggestively.

“Nope. Don’t do that,” Cameron said as he passed by, which caused the kids to giggle. They reached Kirsten and Cameron’s classrooms, which were located right next to each other.

“Lunch at Jade’s?” Kirsten asked.

“I’m in,” Cameron answered.

“I’ll come too,” Camille said, reaching her classroom across the hall from Kirsten’s.

Linus came out of his classroom and said, “I’ll be there. What are we talking about?”

“Lunch. At Jade’s,” Camille filled him in.

“Apparently it’s the more the merrier today,” said Cameron.

“Is that a problem, Cameron?” Camille asked, her smile mischievous and a little less than friendly.

“No, not at all.”

RIIINNNNGGGG. The morning bell sounded as the last few students scurried into their respective classrooms.

Lunch at Jade’s that afternoon quickly became routine for Kirsten, Cameron, Camille, and Linus, often with Tim the physics teacher, Ayo the health teacher, Chelsea the English teacher, and Alex the art teacher joining them. Occasionally the football coach and part-time history teacher, Coach Quincy Fisher would join them, but he usually took his lunch with Principal Baptiste. As the semester wore on and teachers got behind on grading and involved with extracurricular activities, the group dwindled; however, Kirsten and Cameron always ate lunch together. It was likely due to this and their constant banter between classes that caught their students’ attention.

Several students sat in the back row of desks whispering and muffling giggles.

“Kyle, Emma, and Sally. Would you like to share with the class what’s so funny back there?” Kirsten asked. That shut them up.

Kyle and Sally remained quiet, but Emma said, “We’re taking bets on when you and Mr. Goodkin will finally get together.” Kyle’s eyes bugged out of his head. The rest of the class snickered.

“I want in on that bet!” Allison called from the front of the room.

“Guys, there is nothing going on between Mr. Goodkin and me. Most of the time, he’s just annoying,” Kirsten said.

“Annoyingly charming!” One of the students chimed.

Kirsten’s cheeks flushed, and she sighed in frustration while her students burst into laughter. “Okay, okay. Calm down. Now let’s get back to derivatives. Can anyone tell me what a derivative does?”

At lunch that afternoon, Kirsten broached the subject of the bet.

“My students talk about it all the time, too,” Cameron admitted.

“It’s completely ridiculous,” Kirsten said, grabbing a pot sticker off Cameron’s plate and stuffing the whole thing in her mouth.

“Oh, yes. Completely ridiculous,” Camille said, voice dripping with sarcasm. This was one of the rare fall days where Camille and Linus had been able to join them at Jade’s.

“Well it is,” Kirsten said defensively.

“For being the two smartest people at school, you two sure are dumb when it comes to your feel-,” Linus said.

“Can we just drop it?” Cameron interrupted. They did indeed drop it, but what Camille and Linus had said weighed on them throughout the rest of lunch and into the afternoon. Their banter was stiff and eye contact was awkward at best.

After school let out, all the teachers had a faculty meeting. They sat in the uncomfortable chairs in the library while Principal Baptiste stood at the helm. Maggie wore one of her signature power suits- fitted blazer, matching pencil skirt, and stilettos that could kill a man- her dress an ample metaphor for her personality. She was known throughout the school district for being a hardass, but a hardass that got results.

“The first order of business is the Homecoming Dance this Friday night. The decorating committee is led by the pep squad and their faculty advisor, but we need more volunteers for chaperoning the dance itself.” Maggie paused, waiting for a response. As the silence grew, her arched eyebrow inched higher.

“Kirsten just said that she would do it,” Camille called from the back of the library.

“Excellent Ms. Clark,” Maggie said. She clearly didn’t care who volunteered whom, just that chaperones were assigned.

“But I didn’t-” Kirsten started.

“Just a couple more names should do it,” Maggie talked over her.

“Cameron and I will chaperone!” Linus enthused.

“Perfect. Moving on,” Maggie said, not even allowing Cameron to protest either.

So there Kirsten stood, hugging the walls of the gymnasium decorated with several hundred twinkling lights, wearing one of Camille’s short dresses, and a diamond necklace hung around her neck, drawing attention to her pronounced collarbones. As a chaperone, her main job was to make sure none of the teenagers started making out or hooking up. She grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with Goldfish crackers, mildly zoning out on the students’ activities. For the most part, chaperoning had been pretty boring. Until Cameron walked in, dressed in a perfectly fitted tux.

He spotted Kirsten and headed her way. “Hey.”

“You’re late.”

“Got stuck in traffic. But I brought you something to say ‘Sorry.’” Cameron pulled a corsage from behind his back. He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised as if asking for permission. She stuck her arm out in response, and he slid the flowers onto her wrist. He had a matching boutonniere pinned to his lapel. Cameron moved to stand beside Kirsten. They stood motionless and quiet, the few inches between them simultaneously not nearly enough and far too many.

The upbeat music faded out, and a slow song came on. Single students stood awkwardly on the sides, while couples hugged each other closer. Cameron reached out his palm. “May I have this dance, Ms. Clark?”

“Of course you may, Mr. Goodkin,” Kirsten said, placing her hand in his. Cameron lead her towards the dance floor, releasing her hand when they got there in favor of her waist. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders, and they swayed slowly with the music. They heard several poorly concealed “oohs” from their students, but chose to ignore them and continued dancing. As the song progressed, they got increasingly closer, doing the very thing they were supposed to prevent the students from doing. They held each other’s gaze for the duration of the dance, communicating more with their eyes than could possibly be said with words.

I’d die for you.

I know. I’d die without you.

I know. I love you.

I know.

They startled apart when Principal Baptiste approached and called out, “Ms. Clark, Mr. Goodkin, follow me.” She turned around and power walked out of the gym in her stiletto pumps. Kirsten and Cameron shared wide-eyed glances before scrambling to follow Maggie through the throng of students.

“We have a student unconscious and throwing up in the bathroom. I need you two to stay with her until the ambulance arrives and then accompany her to the hospital. Her family will meet you there,” Maggie said as soon as they reached the relative quiet of the hallway. “We’ll discuss the two of you later,” she continued.

They nodded before rushing into the bathroom to take over from Coach Fisher who looked like he was about to throw up himself. Kirsten wet a paper towel and pressed it onto the girl’s forehead while Cameron sat beside the girl, keeping her rolled over on her side. They cleaned the girl up as best they could, and they wiped up the vomit nearest her face.

The paramedics arrived and took over the girl’s care, strapping her onto a stretcher and escorting her to the ambulance. Cameron and Kirsten followed close behind. They jumped in Cameron’s Volvo and followed the ambulance all the way to the hospital. They rushed into the lobby and found the girl’s family in the waiting room. One of the medics was talking to them.

“We’re running a toxicology report to see if she may have overdosed or gotten alcohol poisoning. Does she have a history of seizures or using illicit drugs or alcohol?” The medic said.

“No. Not that we’re aware of,” the mousy mother said.

The medic turned to Cameron and Kirsten and said, “Thank you for your help at the school.”

“No problem,” Cameron said.

“Thank you,” the father echoed, voice gruff and short as he held back the tears welling up in his already reddened eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Kirsten said.

“We’ll get out of your hair,” Cameron said before leading Kirsten back to the car.

Once they were seated, Kirsten said quietly, “Thank you for taking me to my first school dance.”

“Oh, no. The night’s not over yet. It’s not homecoming without going out for awful breakfast food afterwards. You ever been to Al’s Waffle Palace?” Cameron asked.

“No, but I feel like that’s about to change whether I want it to or not,” Kirsten joked.

“That settles that, Cupcake. Prepare yourself for a truly unique, though not necessarily good, experience.” With that, Cameron pulled out of the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, Kirsten and Cameron sat opposite each other in a booth at Al’s Waffle Palace, the harsh fluorescent lighting as far from romantic as one could get. The cook leaned over the counter and asked, “What’ll you have?”

Kirsten flipped the laminated menu over, skimming the options. Cameron placed his hand on the menu, lowering it back to the table, and then he said, “We’ll have the breakfast special.”

“Coming right up,” the server said.

“I don’t think anything here is ‘special,’’ Kirsten whispered across the table.

“Have a little faith in the magic of copious amounts of grease and butter,” Cameron said in mock-seriousness.

Minutes later, the server delivered two plates of fluffy waffles, greasy bacon, and scrambled eggs with a bottle of maple syrup and assorted jellies and jams.

“This is it?” Kirsten asked in disbelief.

“Go ahead. Take a bite,” Cameron watched expectantly. Kirsten carefully cut a small slice of waffle and took a bite.

“Mmmmm,” she hummed happily.

“Now try it with a bite of egg and bacon all dipped in syrup,” Cameron said, demonstrating the stack with his own syrupy fork. Kirsten follows suit and hums once again.

“I thought you were really into fancy food,” Kirsten said.

“As a self-proclaimed foodie, I choose not to let any prejudice towards a meager establishment such as this prohibit me from enjoying something so delicious just because it is also something horrible,” Cameron said with a smirk.

“How progressive of you,” Kirsten said, her tone serious but her eyes glimmering.

After they finished their midnight breakfast, Cameron drove Kirsten back to her house. After he pulled into the driveway, Kirsten said, “Thanks again for tonight. It was really fun.”

“You’re welcome,” Cameron said softly.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Kirsten said as she opened the door and stepped out of the car.

“See you Monday,” Cameron echoed.

Kirsten turned and walked up to her front stoop, stopping to fish out her house key. Cameron grabbed her by the arm, spun her around, and kissed her. It was deep and soft and perfect. His hands moved to cup her face, and Kirsten wrapped her arms around him, fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. It was over too quickly even though it had left Kirsten breathless, and from the looks of things, Cameron as well.

“You needed the perfect ending to your homecoming night,” Cameron finally said, cheeks still flushed from the kiss. Cameron turned and walked back to his car and drove away, leaving Kirsten frozen in front of her door for a minute before she finally found movement again.

As soon as she stepped into the living room, Camille pounced on her. “Weren’t you supposed to be the ones preventing people from hooking up tonight? Not actually hooking up?”

“We did not hook up. It was just a kiss,” Kirsten said.

“That was no mere kiss. Plus, the dance ended hours ago,” Camille argued.

“Which is why I’m exhausted and going to bed now,” Kirsten said, ignoring Camille’s prodding.

Monday morning came, and Maggie called Kirsten and Cameron into her office as promised. They hadn’t seen each other since the kiss, and they hadn’t talked either.

“Hi,” Cameron said, not quite meeting Kirsten’s gaze.

“Hi,” Kirsten echoed, bumping shoulders with him. This caused him to finally look up. Kirsten gave him a small smile before saying, “How much trouble do you think we’re in?”

“Knowing Maggie? Enough,” Cameron answered.

They stepped into Maggie’s office and sat down opposite her.  

She immediately jumped in saying, “Took you long enough. I bet you’d be together by the end of the first quarter. So now I’m out fifty bucks. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Sorry?” Cameron asked.

“No, not sorry. This whole bet was ridiculous.” Kirsten hedged.

“In all seriousness, though, I expect complete professionalism between 8am and 3pm. And I need you to promise me that if things don’t work out between you that it won’t adversely affect your jobs in any way,” Maggie said.

“Of course.” Kirsten nodded.

“You got it!” Cameron said a little too enthusiastically.

“Dismissed,” Maggie said. She picked the papers up that she’d been reading before Kirsten and Cameron stepped into her office. But she still had a faint smile on her face as they scurried out of her office.

Kirsten glanced at the clock on the wall in the front hallway. 7:47. She grabbed Cameron’s hand and pulled him towards the Science hallway.

Cameron glanced down at their intertwined hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on, we have thirteen minutes. These are classic tropes we’re living out right now. Hot for teacher?”

“Oh my god,” Cameron said before pressing Kirsten up against the nearest set of lockers and kissing her.

He pulled back to catch his breath, and Kirsten whispered, “You’re like coming home.”

[writeremblemfics]

The Angry Tactician is Not Impressed pt. 2/4

48 Hours Until Celebration

“Alright, Your Majestys, let me know if you need anything,” Kyle served two cups of steaming-hot tea to the two figures perched at the tiny table in Eirika’s quarters and bowed respectfully before making his exit.

“Thanks, Kyle,” Eirika called after him. The princess turned her attention to her oaf of a brother, whose bedhead reached unprecedented levels of fluffiness and whose eyes were barely cracked open. “You alive, bro?”

“Mhm,” Ephraim grunted vaguely.

“Here, have some tea and perk up. We need to talk strategy.” In contrast to her usual breezy kindness, Eirika’s tone was all business this morning. “We have a time crunch, and we really can’t have Innes interfering with our plans. He grilled Tana last night and we were almost found out.”

“Need more help?” the king yawned.

“You are helping. You have a very important job this time.”

“Is it training?” Ephraim was suddenly wide awake. He took a big gulp of tea, only to burn his mouth on the searing liquid and nearly choke. As he coughed violently, Eirika patted his back.

“You okay?” The girl asked, at war with herself over whether she should laugh or be legitimately concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ephraim managed.

“Anyway,” Eirika cleared her throat. “we can’t do the same thing every day, we need a bigger diversion.  I’ve enlisted some backup.”

“Backup?”

There was a sharp knock on the door. “Right on time. Come in,” Eirika said.

Right on cue, Franz and Amelia marched into the room, posture stick-straight and eyes brimming with eager determination. “We are here to serve, Your Majestys!” chanted the young knights in unison.

“Wonderful,” Eirika beamed. “I need you two to help my brother occupy Innes for the day so we can make arrangements for  his party. And not a word of this to the other castle staff, alright?”

“I won’t fail you,” Franz clenched his fist.

“Milady, if word gets out, I will rip out my own vocal cords as penance.” Amelia vowed, stone-faced.

“Amelia, that… won’t be necessary.”

“You gotta admit, the kids have balls,” Forde burst into the room, planting himself between the two and tousling their hair in a brotherly fashion.

“Brother,” Franz pouted, swatting away Forde’s hand.

“We are all present, save for His Majesty Innes,” Kyle announced, closing the door behind him. “We’ve finished the preparations to travel to the mountains.”

“The mountains?” Ephraim glanced at his sister in askance.

“The six of you are going monster-hunting,” Eirika grinned.

 ~~ After a tense, hours-long trek into the heart of the mountains, the hunting party began to notice an ominous aura hanging in the air. Even though none of them were particularly attuned to magic, something felt… off about their surroundings. The mountain ecosystem that normally teemed with life was noticeably void of animals, and the plant life appeared dull, pressed downward by some invisible force.

“Milord, this is the place the scouts mentioned,” Franz hopped off his horse and approached the group, who’d been waiting further behind for his report. “We’ve sighted monsters that haven’t been seen since the Demon King’s defeat.”

“Strange,” Innes mused, poring over the map and stroking his chin. “Could this mean a surge in demonic activity? An attempt by a dark mage to...” Innes cut himself off, thinking better of mentioning Lyon’s fate at the hands of the Demon King.

Truthfully, Ephraim had no idea how monsters had reappeared in Magvel. When he’d asked Eirika about it, she’d simply given him a devious smirk and replied, “You’ll see.”

“Right now, it’s important that we eliminate the threat. We can examine the source later,” suggested Kyle, to which the rest of the party nodded in agreement.

“How about a little wager to spice this up?” Forde suggested, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Is now really the time?” Innes frowned.

“Hmm, so you don’t think you can kill more monsters than ol’ Ephraim here? I see.”

“No one said that,” Innes bristled. “If we are keeping score, I’ll certainly emerge victorious.”

“You’re on,” Ephraim readied his lance.

Their banter was interrupted by a piercing howl that echoed off of the mountainside. “There!” Amelia pointed to a rocky outcropping in the distance where an imposing canine figure stood stock still, yellow mane blazing in the harsh sunlight, fangs bared, glowing, hellish eyes boring into his prospective prey.

“Is that a Mauthe Doog?” Franz asked. From his post to the right of the young man, Ephraim could see the boy’s sword-arm quiver.

“No, it’s a Gwyllgi,” Forde corrected. “Fully grown, much more dangerous. Stay on your toes, Little Brother.”

“Strange, they don’t usually travel alone,” Kyle muttered.

“It isn’t alone,” Innes gestured with his bow to the pack of prowling beasts surrounding them on all sides, a mix of young monsters with red and black fur, and their elders, with noticeably bigger teeth jutting from their maws and manes glowing yellow. “The leader signaled its pack. We need to stick together and fight as one, don’t let them isolate you or you’re as good as dead.”

Nice job, Eirika, Ephraim groaned internally, maybe now Innes will never know about his birthday party. Because he won’t live to see it.

Ephraim counted three heartbeats of tense silence, then everything was a blur of chaotic melee.

“Innes, on your left!” Ephraim roared, yanking his lance from the corpse of an elder beast and reacting just in time to hold off a second, which clamped its jaws in the middle of his weapon. The king of Renais kicked the Gwyllgi off and it crashed into the canyon wall, slumping to the ground, dazed.

Before Ephraim could finish the job, an arrow sprouted from the monster’s forehead. “That’s another one for me,” Innes deadpanned.

“Hey, that was mine!” Ephraim protested. “I did all the work!”

“But you couldn’t follow through, what a shame.” There was a wicked smile on the archer’s face as he aimed his bow right over Ephraim’s shoulder, laying another beast to waste before it could pounce. “This is fun, it’s as if I never left the battlefield,” he mocked.

“Watch your mouth, dastard,” Ephraim took a bounding leap and skewered a charging predator midair, muscles burning as he drove it into the ground. “Point, Ephraim.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Forde snapped. “Three of the Mauthe Doogs ganged up on Amelia, get over here.”

All of the humor evaporated from their faces as the two men charged after Forde. Abruptly, the knight stopped in the face of a steep incline, and Ephraim had to firmly grasp Innes’ arm and yank him back against his chest to keep the Frelian king from taking a nasty fall.

“Don’t die,” Ephraim growled.

Instead of a ‘thank you’, Innes notched an arrow and pointed it at the scuffle below. Amelia was fighting valiantly, having bested two of her three pursuers. But her stance swayed, her blonde hair was plastered to her forehead and there were claw and teeth marks marring her prized red armor. The lone remaining creature circled her, seeking an opening.

“Can you hit that thing and miss Amelia?” Ephraim asked.

“Obviously,” Innes closed one eye. But before he could take a shot, Franz came thundering down the incline, eyes rimmed red with rage and a mix of adrenaline and gravity spurring him forward at superhuman speed.

“Ameliaaaaaaaaa!” He cried, catching the Mauthe Doog in the jaw with his shield and sending it flying. With that opening, Innes finished the job in the blink of an eye. The monster lay still.

“Amelia,” Franz sobbed, throwing his arms around her as fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “You’re alive.”

Stunned, Amelia tentatively patted the boy’s back, a tired smile gracing her lips. “I’m okay. My rival got to me in time.”

“Are you hurt?” Kyle skidded down the slope, followed by the rest of the party. Forde practically had to pry a blubbering Franz off of his companion so they could examine her.

“No major injuries,” Kyle reported. “But we should get her checked out by the healers once we get home.”

“Maybe,” Franz managed, swiping at his eyes and trying to regain his composure, “maybe we can take a rest in that cave over there.”

“Wait,” Ephraim commanded. Everyone froze. “If the monsters have returned, we can’t travel through the caves. Remember?”

It dawned on the others, and Forde gave a disgusted groan. “I hate spiders.”

“What should we do now?” Franz asked tentatively. “Isn’t it our mission to wipe out the monsters here?”

“Demonic beasts aren’t naturally occurring,” Innes mused. “We need to find the source. If we can do that, we won’t need to fight every monster directly.”

“What are we looking for, then?” Amelia cocked her head to he side.

“A dark mage, a suspicious gateway, ancient runes or artifacts, maybe?” Innes shrugged.

Eirika has to know, Ephraim figured. But bringing Innes back this early from the expedition could be problematic. “Amelia, are you alright to keep going?”

“Of course!” Amelia showed no hesitation. “I won’t slow you down.”

“If you’re okay, that’s good. Innes?” Ephraim grinned. “You’re our tactician, I’ll defer to your judgement. What’s the best course of action here?”

Innes paused, deep in thought. “Heading toward the summit might be our best bet. We can get a good vantage point.”

“Roger,” Ephraim gave him a playful salute. “Let’s head out, then.”

The group pressed on, making their way up as quickly as possible while taking Amelia into consideration. They ran into monster after monster; a cyclops here, a stray Bael there. Ephraim and Innes were tied for kills, growing frustrated that neither could develop a significant lead.

They were nearly at the mountain’s peak when Franz, who had been stuck to Amelia’s side like glue the whole way, let out a gasp. “Wait.”

The party came to a halt, following his line of sight to a large stone that blocked their path up ahead. The closer Ephraim looked, the more the mound of rock began to resemble a human silhouette. It cast a long, jagged shadow on the uneven ground.

“Allow me to inspect,” Kyle offered. “Forde, come with me.”

“I’m good here,” Forde folded his arms, but contrary to his words, he followed his

friend to get a closer look. Unable to quell their curiosity, the others inched forward after him. “Gods, it’s definitely a person.”

Amelia put a hand to her heart, voice shaking. “Do you see that crest? It’s a soldier from Grado.”

A hush fell over the party. “Only one culprit comes to mind,” Innes furrowed his brow.

“It couldn’t possibly be a gorgon—” The companions traded tense looks. Gorgons were some of the most dangerous monsters in Magvel. Not only were these grotesque fusions of snake and woman skilled at magic, but one well-aimed spell could petrify even the mightiest warrior.

From the summit, there came a hissing shriek, a surge of dark magic that barely missed the party and blasted the rock face behind them. “Run!” Ephraim commanded. That proved redundant, everyone’s feet were already flying, frantically thundering down the mountainside. They were all short of breath from the elevation and tired from their full day of hiking, it was all the warriors could do to dodge falling rocks and keep from tumbling to their deaths. Kyle and Forde led the way, with Franz and Amelia at their heels and Ephraim and Innes bringing up the rear a fair bit behind.

“This is bad, that thing has the high ground, and who knows if we can outrun it,” Innes panted. “Also, if its attacks don’t let up soon, we could be dealing with a full-on landslide.”

“That means we’ll need to beat it quickly,” Ephraim huffed. “If that’s the case, I’ll hold it off and the rest of you go on ahead—”

“Absolutely not!” The archer barked. “You have a death wish?”

“Innes,” Ephraim stopped short, readying his weapon and turning toward the pursuing beast. “I don’t pick fights I can’t win.”

The King of Frelia was speechless. Staring. Scowling. He looked torn between leaving the foolish lancer to die and backing him up, but as the gorgon rounded the corner and barreled into sight, he settled on the latter. He notched an arrow.

“Haaah!” Ephraim cried, lunging forward to swipe at the monster’s undulating snake-torso. His strike was too shallow, only leaving an oozing scratch on its scaly hide. Innes loosed his arrow to similarly small effect. The gorgon reared back, enraged, magic pooling between its spindly human hands. Only now did it sink in for Ephraim that the mountain path was too narrow to dodge magic at close-range. There was nowhere to go but backward as the gorgon readied its petrifying blow.

Everything seemed to slow down. Ephraim briefly registered Innes leaping in front of him in a futile attempt to shield him, directly into the path of the oncoming spell.

Was this the end for both of them?

Instead of pain or nothingness, however, there was a blinding flash of light. The air was thick with magical energy, but the cold menace of dark magic was soon overwhelmed by a sudden, life-affirming warmth.

When the spell faded, Ephraim was met with the shaking form of a panting priest, his red curls disheveled and his staff raised to the heavens. Ephraim was shocked nearly speechless.

“A-Artur?”

The young man let out a relieved smile. “King Ephraim, King Innes, you’re safe.”

“Good timing,” Innes managed, struggling with the shock of nearly being turned to stone.

“I’m sorry,” Artur looked sheepishly from the king of Renais to the king of Frelia. “I should have kept a closer eye on her.”

“Her?” DId he mean the gorgon?

“Hey, Artie!” An excited voice called from below, and all at once, Ephraim understood their situation. “You seen my gorgon egg?”

“Lute,” Artur’s lips were pressed into a hard line. “I thought we agreed, no gorgons.”

The mage prodigy, her dark purple hair longer and her expression somehow conveying more curiosity and mischief than ever before, laid eyes on her visitors and laughed. “Well, if it isn’t my fellow saviors of Magvel. Well-met, I suppose.”

“Is this your doing?” Innes could barely contain the fury in his voice.

“Don’t be so dull,” Lute drawled. “There is danger in the pursuit of knowledge, but that inevitability cannot quash exploration.”

“‘Inevitability’ my ass, we nearly died!” Innes fumed, standing toe to toe with the source of the day’s adrenaline. Lute, despite the massive height difference, stared unflinchingly in the face of the archer’s rage, head tilted in defiance.

“Please, Dear, be polite,” Artur begged. “They’re royalty, they could banish us.”

“They would never--”

“We would never--” Ephraim and Lute spoke simultaneously, and upon realizing it, the two broke into hearty laughter.

“I’m glad the two of you aren’t statues,” Lute smirked. “Would you care for a cup of tea and a hot meal? Artur was about to get started on dinner.”

“We couldn’t possibly impose,” Ephraim scratched his neck.

“Nonsense, gather the rest of your party and meet at the house.” Lute gestured past path to a modest yet cute little dwelling tucked into the mountainside. Surrounding the house were patches of mountain herbs and ingredients for various elixirs drying out in the sun.

“How did you know we brought a hunting party?” Innes asked suspiciously.

“Would two kings travel in the mountains alone?” Lute rolled her eyes. “That would be foolish.” The mage shot Ephraim a subtle little wink before leading the way. He wondered if his sister knew how far Lute had taken her mission, how much real danger they would face. Somehow, he doubted it.

[thatbluegibson]

CH 81

Liz was still in the haze of deep sleep when she felt his fingers graze her cheek and his lips against her forehead. She distinctly heard him tell her that he loved her and then he was altogether gone. Rolling onto her side she tried to fully wake, but the bed was too warm, too soft, too perfect to allow for anything more than blissful unconsciousness and she slipped back into the deep with her nose buried in his pillow.

It felt like hours later when she finally woke with a start, sitting up to quickly get her bearings. She felt dizzy and disoriented after sleeping so deeply for so long and she scrambled out of the bed before it convinced her to stay, pulling the flat sheet off and wrapping it around herself. The clock on the fireplace mantle read 8:30 am and Liz frowned, thinking it had to be wrong. It had to be at least noon, she had slept for so long but her phone on the nightstand concurred and she wondered what time Dave had actually left that morning.

Getting her first good look at the bedroom, Liz wrapped the sheet around herself a bit tighter. It had been dark by the time they had finally gotten to the hotel in Paris and she had been so exhausted from running off of such little sleep that she and Dave had gone straight to bed. The room was painted in several shades of white with ebony wood and silver accents and it felt as of Coco Chanel had just stepped out for a smoke on the terrace. The bed even had a cream silk canopy that stretched across the ceiling to the elaborate crystal and silver chandelier that hung in the middle of the bedroom and Liz actually laughed when she leaned into the attached white marble bathroom. It was far and away the nicest place she had ever been in, much less wandered around wearing only a luxury linen flat sheet.

Overwhelmed, she stumbled across the dark room to pull back the curtains and swore under her breath. Paris was laid out before her, along with a decent sized rooftop terrace that she stepped out onto. The sheet blew against her in the soft breeze as she stared at the Eiffel Tower in the distance and the Seine beside it.

"I thought you made a break for it."

She turned at Dave's voice and managed a smile. "Yeah, I was about to make a rope out of bedsheets so I could escape this torture chamber you've locked me in."

He handed her a cup of coffee and sat in one of the plush chairs in the sunshine. "Torture chamber? I've never really tried the S&M thing, but I'll give it a go if you're into it," he grinned, his eyes fixed on the outline of her body in the thin sheet.

Liz laughed and ignored the other sumptuous chairs around him, opting to sit in his lap instead. "I'm not that bored with you yet."

"... Yet," he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.

"How's a girl gonna get bored when you put her up in a fucking palace like this?" she threw her hand towards the open bedroom door as he wrapped his arm around her waist. "Honestly, Dave. That room is ridiculous."

"I wasn't going to put you up in a fucking Motel 6 for your birthday, Elizabeth," he laughed.

"We could have put little party hats on all the cockroaches though," she whined, then giggled when Dave laughed harder. "And who the hell told you it was my birthday?"

"You have a Wikipedia page, you nerd," he teased and dragged his fingers across her cheek when she blushed. "Don't make any plans today, okay?"

Her smile returned and she looked out over Paris. "But I thought we could storm the Bastille, guillotine some politicians, abolish the absolute monarchy... you know, do as the French do."

"You're pretty focused, Liz. I bet you could get all that in while I'm at soundcheck."

She crossed her arms and shifted so her back was against his chest. "So much for my date night idea," she pouted.

He kissed her shoulder in response and her eyes followed his hand as it began to creep under the seam of the sheet towards her bare skin but frowned when he paused and played with the fabric instead.

"You don't happen to have that picture of you and Lemmy, do you? From when you were a kid?" he asked suddenly.

"Um...," her brain lurched from one thought to the next like someone learning a stick shift for the first time. "Yeah. Hang on." She reluctantly left his lap for the bedroom, grabbing her phone off the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed to find the photo.

It took her a while to find it in the depths of her phone, but the moment she had it on the screen he was kicking off his shoes and pulling her into the bed next to him. She studied his face, sensing something heavy was on his mind before handing him the phone.

He stared at it for a beat, showing no emotion until he spoke. "He had asked me to play this fucking festival with him for years," he said quietly. "But we were always too busy or the band was fighting or fucking whatever and now..." Liz felt her heart break when tears flooded his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "Every year I think it isn't going to hurt and every fucking year it does."

"Oh, honey," she whispered and crawled into his lap so she could hold him.

His knees came up behind her, propelling her into his chest and he held her so tightly that she couldn't properly fill her lungs. She laid her head on his shoulder and waited him out, telling herself that he needed this more than she needed air.

A few minutes passed before he broke their silence. "That's the first time you've ever called me anything but my name," he whispered.

"You want me to give you a nickname?" she asked, smiling into his shoulder.

"Yes. Make it French, though."

Liz smiled and pulled away to lean against his bent knees, his tear-stained face breaking her heart all over again. "Okay, what about... mon petit chou?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Literal translation is 'my little cabbage'," she giggled.

"Nope," he shook his head but finally cracked a smile. "Next."

"Mon cœur."

Another head shake, but with a wider smile.

"Mon chéri?"

"Closer..."

She took him literally and leaned back into his chest, kissing him before deciding on her final nickname, "Mon amour."

"That one. I want that one."

"Je t'aime mon amour," she said quietly against his lips, then laughed when he threw her down onto the bed beside him.  

*

"You're sure it's okay?" Liz asked, searching for any sign that he would need her at the festival, but he revealed none.

"I'll be fine, baby. I promise," he insisted and pulled her into one last hug. They were alone in a corner of the extravagant hotel lobby while the rest of the band and crew waited outside by the vans. "Go hang out with Ally, Taylor can console me if I get all weepy again."

Liz grinned and walked with him towards the doors. "That's my job, though."

"Think of it as a day off from your emotional wreck of a boyfriend then."

"Maybe I like when you're a wreck," she teased gently, careful not to make fun of him lest he never show his vulnerable side again. And she did like that he was comfortable enough with her to break down and let her build him back up, something Kyle had never been strong enough to do.

"Yeah, so I've learned," he laughed, adjusting the collar on his shirt to cover the mark she had left on his neck earlier.

Out on the sidewalk, Ally bounced on her toes while waiting excitedly for Liz's final decision. Taylor rolled his eyes and tried to kiss her goodbye while everyone else filed into the vans.

"I'm fucking pissed!" Pat yelled at Gus, throwing his hands up in the air. "They get to go to Gucci and I'm stuck with you assholes!"

Liz laughed at his semi-restrained rage when Dave turned her back to him and bent to kiss her. "Go. Have fun."

*

Ally, Josie, and Liz had wandered through most of the shops on the same avenue as their hotel and were juggling their various shopping bags when Josie dropped hers in frustration.

"Give me your bags," she said, motioning for Ally and Liz to hand them over. "I'll take them back to our rooms and we can hit the other side of the street."

Liz gratefully peeled the luxury bags off her arm and handed them to her friend. "We'll wait here," she said, then turned to see that Ally was already halfway down the block.

"Ally?" Liz strolled towards her, gently placing her hand on her shoulder when she saw the tears in her eyes. What the fuck was with these people and Paris? "Ally, what's wrong?"

"It's...," she waved her hand at the store window, then threw herself at Liz and buried her face in her shoulder as she sobbed.

Liz steadied herself on the pavement and looked over at the elaborate display of baby clothes, strollers, cribs and car seats that adorned the shop window. Oh shit, she thought, Dave hasn't told them yet. "Let's go in," she said softly.

Ally shook her head and stepped away, dashing her tears off her cheeks so she wouldn't ruin her makeup. "No, I can't."

"Yes, you can," Liz said slowly. The lights turned on in the shop, illuminating the sidewalk and making Ally look up again. "Come on," Liz tugged on her hand. "Let's go pick something out."

"For who though?" Ally asked miserably. "You? Are you...?"

Liz shrugged and started towards the shop, then casually called over her shoulder. "Not yet. Whenever you and Taylor are ready."

She made it just over the threshold before Ally's scream pierced the air and she tackled Liz onto the wooden floor of the shop, covering her face with kisses. Liz distinctly heard the clerk say 'lesbiennes' before approaching them.

"Can I help?" she asked in broken English.

"Salut!" Liz said through her laughter. "Nous allons avoir un bébé..."

[the-barista-district]

Unraveling

Walking down the familiar streets of the Barista District had Kyle in conflict. He knew with how messed up things were right now his Baristas wouldn't remember him. He knew it would be fruitless, but...he heard that Brent appeared back at the shop.

Kyle had thought the worst, that perhaps Brent had gotten erased or something equally terrible. To live in a timeline without him, it wouldn't be living at all.

He knew it would hurt, tear him apart to have his love not know him, but seeing Brent safe, it would have to be enough. It had to be. It would be.

"Kyle!" A voice from the past called him and sent chills down his spine.

Kyle didn't want to face this, not now...not ever actually. What a terrible world Dimitri has built here.

"Kyle!" James grabbed Kyle's arm and turned him around, his hands flying over Kyle's face and fussing with him to check for anything wrong.

"J-James..." Kyle choked on the name he hardly spoke these days.

"Kyle! You can't just disappear like that! I thought something happened to you!" James spoke over him. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm..I'm sorry...it's hard to explain..." Kyle was struggling, he knew his eyes were filling with tears.

"Kyle? What's wrong? Please! Talk to me!" James begged as he clung to the other barista.

"I can't!" Kyle broke away from him to get some distance. "I can't, I can't..you..this isn't..."

James slowly approached him and softly touched Kyle's face, wiping the steaming tears with his thumbs.

"You can't tell me anything, love, you know that." James spoke gently.

That voice, that touch, Kyle thought it was all in his memories. Having reality say it was not made his stomach turn.

"What ever this is, we can get through it like e everything else." James assured him.

"James...." Kyle breathed the name. Memories that were confusing, somehow new bleed into his mind. This new timeline was crashing against the original, it was almost painful to have both lives compressing together.

James watched the torment dance across his loves face, finding it unsettling that Kyle was not smiling, his mouth twisted into something awful.

He wasn't certain what it meant but James knew he wanted to give comfort to the man he loved. James leaned in to softly kiss Kyle's lips, a known method of getting the younger Barista to calm.

Kyle lost himself in the moment, the confusing memories sending him back. Back to when life got frustrating, when rules got too stressful and James would sooth his fiery soul.

'What's the point of doing this everyday?' Kyle would ask and James would shush him.

'I don't want to be a Barista anymore.' And Kyle would shush...

Kyle tore away from James, oh what did he just allow? Time line or not, Brent was still his fiancé! And James...James was a memory.

"No, no, I'm so sorry James...but this isn't real. None of this." Kyle said broken. "I mourned you once and if I have to again...it will not be forgiven. I'm so sorry that I can't tell you, I know this doesn't make sense, but it's probably better." Kyle said backing away from this ghost, it wasn't real, it wasn't.

No matter how it felt, no matter how familiar, it wasn't his life anymore. Kyle was never going to have this and he didn't want it anymore, he wanted Brent.

"I loved you so much." Kyle said as James tried to reach out for him.

"Kyle...?" James strained to say, Kyle could see his heart breaking before him and this would be his last memory of James, just as terrible as before.

"I'm sorry!" Kyle cried, tearing his eyes away and running far away. As fast as he could get away from this nightmare he woke upside.

When he found Dimitri, oh how that man would pay for what he's done. Kyle did not care for violence, but something had to be to justify this, anything at this point.

Perhaps...not that.

Kyle ran all the way to Brewed Awakenings, panting heavily as his lungs not used to the strain. In the window, another memory passed before his eyes.

Brent, but his eyes weren't filled with life, with curiosity and passion. Kyle couldn't see his wrists, but he had memorized first meeting Brent as a 1st Level.

What terrible paper back novel did Kyle fall into? His heart could barely take more, he wasn't even sure he could enter the shop.

Then it happened.

Brent off hardly glanced out the window and made eye contact with Kyle. Kyle's heart seized in his chest, bracing for the new wave of pain.

Brent's affixed smile grew and waved at him innocently before going back to taking a customers order.

Kyle tried to push down the hope, that meant nothing, he told himself. It wasn't his Brent, this timeline made a whole other person.

It didn't stop him from opening the door.

Chime~

Brent perked up as he looked over at Kyle.

"Hello! Welcome to Brewed Awakenings~!"

[blame-canada]

The Sound of Fate - K2

Soulmates were not something Kyle had ever believed in. At least, not until one quite literally walked up to him one cold wintery night with a pack of cigarettes and the voice of an angel.

This was written based on a post I saw on tumblr almost a year ago that I’ve since lost track of, but I had it tucked away to write ever since I saw it. I figured a birthday was as good an excuse as any to return to my K2 roots, and I hope you enjoy it! Happy birthday @candyunicornsateme! :)

There was something unusual about himself, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on but couldn’t ignore either, that kept tugging at his heart in ways neither Kyle nor his psychologists could understand. It felt as though he walked just a few degrees torn apart from his body, every day. His mind felt tilted and split and fuzzy. He had a hard time thinking, and a hard time speaking, and each time it flared up stronger than the last, he hoped he wouldn’t have to change his medication again; it always felt like he’d only just purchased a new prescription two days prior. An entire shelf of his medicine cabinet was dedicated to half-used, useless bottles he’d rather not contribute to once more. He didn’t enjoy feeling so jarringly disconnected from reality, however, and so he continued what seemed to be a fruitless effort to ground himself with pills that barely worked if they did at all.

Then a single word snapped him back together so abruptly and so surprisingly that he found himself stunned to silence.

“Hey,” a man had said, walking up to him slowly and parting the feather-light snow on the sidewalk with sweeps of his booted feet, and suddenly the ear-splitting buzzing that had driven him nuts for years was quelled so that the only sound Kyle heard was the millions of tiny, fluffy snowflakes landing on top of each other. He’d never heard that before.

Kyle was so shocked by such a tear in the fabric of his reality that his instinct to run from a random stranger approaching him was completely obliterated, and the most he did was lower into a slightly more defensive stance. The stranger put his hands out in kind to prove his innocence, and after the initial recoil, Kyle looked down to see that he was offering a pack of cigarettes.

“Weather’s too cold to be out in a coat like that,” he said, and his voice was melodic and calm, like its own song with every syllable it spoke. “Need to warm up?”

In all of his hazy existence prior to that moment, Kyle had not only lacked the cognizant ability to choose a heavier jacket to accommodate the weather, but also failed to realize that his fingers and toes were growing numb the longer he stood there. He didn’t know why he stood there in the first place, really- the memories of everything he’d done up until that point felt so pointless that Kyle wondered if perhaps he’d been stuck in a stupor his entire life, and this man was the key to unlocking reality. Then he realized that was probably silly, and that he’d never answered him, and he shook his head.

“I don’t smoke,” he declined, “but thanks.”

The man shrugged, his coat shifting up and down with the motion so that the fur lining around his hood brushed his chin and cheeks. His face was obstructed by it, but not so much that Kyle couldn’t tell he was a conventionally attractive person.

“Where you goin’ a time like this?” he asked, and ordinarily Kyle might have gotten irritated that a stranger would want to strike up a casual conversation, but he somehow felt he owed the man a favor for having brought him to life.

“I’m not sure,” Kyle answered honestly, and he laughed, the sound of it nothing short of a masterful symphony. With each rumble of its pristine crescendos, he felt the Earth quake beneath him, sifting the snow that was falling so gently that it refused to congeal.

“Used t’ be me too, man,” he said, and he tugged down the zipper of his coat to free his mouth so that he could light his own cigarette. The flicking of the lighter illuminated his freckled face in tiny bursts that revealed every bit of his beauty, and as soon as he had it lit he began to whittle away at it with long, deep breaths. “I got a plan now, though.”

“Yeah?” Kyle said, not only because he was curious, but also because somehow the thrumming of his vocal cords was so therapeutic that he’d say anything to get him to talk.

“Yeah. I’m enrolled in the community college ‘round the corner, but I’m dropping out.” He clipped his words in odd places that made him sound organic and astonishingly real. Kyle still wasn’t quite sure that this was reality though, because as he dropped his hood to run a hand through his hair, Kyle felt a shock wave ripple from his aura that circled the world. He wasn’t just attractive, he was beautiful; his cheekbones were sharp and his eyes were bright, even from several feet away and in the middle of the night at a dimly lit bus stop.

“Why are you doing that?” Kyle asked, and he looked at him with the energy of distant stars crackling from his irises so that they reminded him of blue electricity.

“Just doesn’t seem right for me, y’know? Don’t think I’m meant for that kinda life.” He exhaled very slowly, but not with smoke. He let the pure air from his lungs puff into clouds to travel to the sky, and Kyle wished he could touch it, to see if it could hold the magic in his voice as it dissipated into the atmosphere. “I’m leaving next week. I got a friend in Cali with a spare room. I’m gonna live off my music instead.”

“Are you sure that’s a good plan?” Kyle said, but he realized it was rather rude to say so only after he’d already embarrassed himself. The man chuckled at him, and shook his head.

“Nah, no idea, dude. It’s just what my heart wants. My dad, see, he always said I couldn’t do it. Said I wouldn’t make it, all that, but he just died a couple days ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

He waved him off. “Nah, don’t be. He was a sick sonuva bitch. Anyway, guess that sorta thing just frees the soul, y’know?” Kyle had no idea, but he nodded like he did. “I wanna see what life throws at me. If I can do it.” Though he’d never heard him perform, Kyle was certain that he had music in him so powerful he could do anything he wanted. He had no doubt about that. Then he began to sing.

It was unprompted but Kyle was glad for it, because he might have feared awkwardness if he’d asked permission first. Instead the tenor of his voice shook him, his instincts proving correct, the notes he hit surprisingly tender and ringing like a church bell choir. They wrapped Kyle in a warm blanket of tranquility and he didn’t even process the lyrics, just listened to the way his voice swelled and disappeared into the empty winter night. The empty street was such a perfect stage, with acoustics -or lack thereof- that allowed his voice to fade away after echoing through Kyle’s soul so violently that he shivered. He was mesmerized, so starstruck and in love with this man. He stopped singing and looked at him, and the first hint of vulnerability showed itself deep in his complex expression.

“That’s one a’ the first ones I wrote. Y’know, you have beautiful eyes.” Kyle felt his face heat up, the sensation odd on his cold skin. “Anyone ever tell you that? Beautiful. Reminds me a’ my sister. You both got your souls right in your eyes.” He smiled, a grin that put dimples in his cheeks, and Kyle couldn’t believe him, because there was no way anyone on earth could have eyes as beautiful as the ones staring back at him now. They were so painfully alive, and Kyle felt glued to them, captivated by their every move.

“Well, I gotta be goin’,” he said, and Kyle protested loudly in his mind, begging that he please, please not go, ever again, but he was struggling to find the guts to say it out loud. “I got a meeting to go to. I’d rather stay here though.” His smile showed his teeth and Kyle could see one missing just at the corner of his mouth. The way the motion twisted his face brought his freckles to life and lit his aura on fire, and Kyle felt so horribly captured, kidnapped by him, that he took a few steps to follow him before he walked too far away.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Kyle blurted out, and the man paused, turned back on one foot.  He felt ridiculous, but forged on. “I mean, do you believe people are meant to meet each other?”

“What, like fate?” he asked, and Kyle nodded, his breath caught in his throat and fingers shaking. “Maybe,” he said quietly, lowly, “maybe.”

He turned back around and Kyle wanted to grab him, because he was so suddenly terrified of the rest of his life that he feared it wouldn’t happen if he let this man out of his sight. “What’s your name?” he asked, louder so that his voice could carry to his savior in an orange parka, but he shook his head.

“Don’t matter. We’ll see each other again, I think.” He started walking away. A name, at least, a name would keep him going, but he hadn’t even offered that. Kyle wanted to cry, but also felt uncontrollably angry.

“Yes it does matter, asshole!” Kyle yelled, and though he knew he was being an asshole by calling a stranger an asshole, he didn’t entirely care, because his life was on the line. “It does matter because this is some sort of magic fate bullshit, isn’t it?” He turned back around looking thoroughly confused, and Kyle huffed, letting the frustration take the wheel. “Everything I know feels like it doesn’t matter all of a sudden because you just showed up. That matters! Is that,” he cut himself off, feeling the color drain from his cheeks where they’d originally flared red, “is it just me?”

He jumped when the man started walking briskly toward him, and before he could react any further, he was wrapped in a warm hug. He gasped; Kyle felt raw energy pulsing from him, like a god or an angel or something completely ethereal and foreign that he never wanted to stop feeling. “It’s Kenny,” he said, “and it’s not just you.”

“Oh,” Kyle breathed, and feeling like he’d just run a marathon in the ten minutes since his life began, he relaxed into his hold, and closed his eyes against his slippery coat fabric. “I’m Kyle.”

“Okay Kyle,” Kenny said, and it sounded so immaculate on his lips that Kyle considered pausing to pray at that very moment, to thank God for His blessing. “It’s nice t’ meet you, but I think we’ve already done that before.”

Nothing had ever felt truer, and so Kyle nodded, unable to speak anymore. It was true, it was true, they had met before, they had to have. There was no other explanation for how his embrace felt like one he’d fit into for thousands of years. His ears were no longer ringing the way they had his whole life, and Kyle felt such relief he felt ready to collapse entirely.

“I may be goin’ off next week, but I’ll still take your number, if ya want,” Kenny said, reluctantly stepping back from their hug, and Kyle breathed a heavy sigh that felt like it released years of tension off his aching soul.

“I would love that,” he said, breathy and pathetic, and Kenny laughed.

Kyle was ten minutes old, and this old soul was melded with his so tightly that it felt like ten eons, and he felt stronger in his bones than anything else that it was how it was meant to be.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Sick Day

@densi-mber

Prompt: Deeks and/or Kensi get the flu (or a cold or other illness).

This isn’t exactly holiday themed...but I figure it will do! Takes place sometime before the Descent/Ascension eps. A little throwback fic for you! Also it’s super long and probably should have been a multi-chapter. Oh well!

“Morning!” Sam said as he dropped his bag on the floor.

“Morning,” Callen and Kensi echoed.

Sam looked at Deeks’ empty seat. “And where is our resident class clown this morning?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” Callen told him, leaning back in his chair. “Haven’t heard a peep. Kensi?”

She looked up from her paperwork. “Why would I know?”

“Because you should always know where Deeks is,” Sam pointed out. “You’re his partner.”

“Yeah, I always know where Sam is,” Callen added. “Right where Michelle wants him to be.”

“Haha very funny,” Sam glared at his partner. “Seriously though, where is he?”

“Probably just running late,” Kensi told them. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

A shrill whistle split the air. “We’ve got a case!” Eric called from the balcony.

“The LAPD has received word that a very large shipment of heroin is about to hit the streets of Los Angeles. Not only would this be detrimental to thousands of lives, it also has the potential to cause gang conflict the likes of which we have never seen,” Hetty told them as they stood in Ops.

“The drugs could be coming by air or sea. LAPD has asked for our help. They feel like they’re a little out of their league,” Granger added. “Speaking of which, where is our resident Liaison?”

All eyes turned to Kensi who held up her hands defensively. “I’m not his babysitter.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. “O-kay,” Nell said, pulling up images on the screens. “Our three main suspects: Jose Mendoza, Enrique Delgado, and Tomás Alvarez. All three top commanders in the cartel. Any one of them could be meeting the shipment.”

“We’ve got BOLO’s out on all three,” Eric said.

“Great, where do we start?” Kensi asked.

The doors to Ops slid open to reveal Deeks looking distinctly more disheveled than usual. There were dark circles under his eyes and he moved slowly as he walked into the room. “What’d I miss?” he asked.

“So good of you to join us Mr. Deeks,” Hetty told him.

“Are you sick?” Sam asked.

“Me? Sick? No,” Deeks said. “I don’t get sick.”

His pale and sweaty face seemed to indicate otherwise.

“Sam and I will go interview our resident snitch,” Callen told them. “Kensi you and…the plague over there can go talk to Tomás’ girlfriend.”

“I’m not sick!” Deeks called as they headed out the door.

“If you’re sick you should go home,” Kensi said as she drove. “None of us want your germs.”

“I’m not sick,” Deeks protested.

Kensi winced and rolled down his window. “Breathe that way.”

“You know it’s cruel to make fun of the critically ill,” he told her, resting his head against the seat.

“I thought you weren’t sick.”

“I’m not. But if you think I am you should be nice to me.”

Kensi rolled her eyes. “You’re pathetic.”

“And yet, still so adorable,” Deeks told her with a grin.

Kensi stopped the car. “We’re here.”

Deeks reached for the door handle.

“You are lysoling my car when we get back,” Kensi said as they walked up the front steps and knocked on the door.

“I’m not sick!”

“You look sick.”

The door opened to reveal a young woman, eyes wary. “Yeah?”

“NCIS,” Kensi flashed her badge. “Are you Jessica Green?”

“NC who?”

“Jessica, I’m LAPD detective Marty Deeks,” Deeks tried. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the girl said nervously.

“We know. Can we come inside?” Kensi asked.

“I—“ she looked like she was about to slam the door in their faces.

“It’ll only take a minute,” Deeks assured her, flashing a smile. “You’re not in trouble.”

She stepped back allowing them entry to the small home. The front door opened onto the living area and Deeks could see a small kitchen through an archway on the opposite side of the room. The house was sparsely furnished and what little furniture there was looked used and threadbare.

Jessica took a seat on a faded couch, her eyes wide with fear.  “I didn’t do anything.”

“How long have you and Tomás been dating?” Kensi asked.

 “Six months,” the young woman replied. “What’s this about?”

“How well do you know him?” Deeks tried.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she said, like it answered the question. “What’s going on? Is he all right?”

“We have reason to believe he’s been smuggling drugs into the United States,” Kensi told her.

“What? Tom? No,” she shook her head. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it?” Deeks’ voice cracked and he swallowed several times, clearing his throat loudly. “Uh, sorry. Think about it. Is he always honest with you?”

“Of course.” Her eyes turned hard. “I think you should go.”

“Can I just use your restroom?” Deeks asked.

She glared at him and pointed to the left of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Deeks caught his partner’s eye before exiting the room, knowing that she would do her best to get more information while he was away.

The bathroom was tiny, but clean. Deeks closed the door behind him and braced himself against the sink. He stared at his pale reflection and felt his stomach turn unpleasantly. He clenched his jaw and turned on the tap, allowing water to fill his palms, splashing it onto his face.

Everything seemed fuzzy today, just out of his reach. Maybe he was sick.

Even if he was, they still had a case to work. He took a breath and let himself out of the bathroom.

“If you think of anything you have my number,” Kensi was saying as he rejoined them in the living room. “Give me a call.”

“Sure,” Jessica said in a voice that indicated she definitely would not.

They left and walked back to the car. “She was a steel trap while you were in the bathroom,” Kensi told him. “We’ll have to keep an eye on her.” She waited for a response and received none. “Deeks?”

“Hm?” He rubbed at his temple. “Yeah sure.”

Kensi frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You don’t look good.”

“Well isn’t that a way to make a guy feel great,” he quipped, even as he swallowed and felt his insides twist.

“Deeks, I’m serious,” Kensi said, actual concern showing on her face but suddenly a car came flying around the corner, nearly taking off the front end of Kensi’s vehicle. “Whoa!” she said. “What was that?”

“Either somebody’s got a cooler full of kidneys in their back seat or they’re running from the law.” Deeks craned his neck to see where the car had gone.

A police car came screaming around the corner followed by two more seconds later. “Do they look like they’re headed for Jessica’s house?” Kensi asked.

“Yeah…” Deeks said slowly.

They exchanged glances and Kensi immediately turned the car around. She hit the gas and they sped back to the house. “Oh this is not good,” Deeks said as they rounded the corner.

The speeding vehicle was parked half on the driveway, half on the lawn, it’s doors flung wide open. LAPD officers were spilling out into the yard, guns drawn, their attention on the house.

“NCIS,” Kensi held up her badge as they approached. “What’s going on?”

“Two suspects were seen ripping off a hardware store. Identified as Tomás Alvarez and Jose Mendoza,” the officer told her.

“We just interviewed someone in that house,” Kensi told him. “She might be a hostage. This is part of our case. We’re going to need control of the scene.”

The officer raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? I don’t think so. This was an LAPD pursuit. We’re not turning it over to you in a hostage situation.”

“Hey Kyle,” Deeks said. “Come on. Just give us a shot.”

“Deeks,” the officer’s eyes turned cold. “You look…terrible.”

Deeks wasn’t deterred. “Come on man. We both know you owe me.”

The officer glared at him. “Fine. You’ve got ten minutes. And then we’re going in.”

“Thank you,” Deeks told him.

Kyle walked away as Deeks and Kensi checked their weapons. “You really didn’t make a lot of friends at LAPD did you?” Kensi asked.

“No, but they sure owe me a lot of favors,” he told her as they moved toward the back of the house.

“Your social skills need work.”

“Right back at you.”

“How do you want to play this?” Kensi asked.

Deeks glanced around. “Window?”

Kensi followed his gaze. “Yeah.” She went first, hoisting her self up. Peering inside and seeing no one she pulled herself in through the bathroom window.

She turned around to give Deeks the all clear but before she could an unfamiliar male voice spoke.

“Don’t move.”

The voice was tinged with panic and caused Kensi to grimace in frustration. Apparently she hadn’t been as quiet as she thought.

“Tomás I want to help you,” she said, still frozen in place. “I’m an NCIS agent. I just want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk!”

Kensi moved slowly, turning around so she could face him.

“I said don’t move!” The man’s eyes were wild with fear, a gun shaking in his hand.

“Tomás, where is Jessica?”

“She’s fine!”

“I can’t help you unless I know she’s all right,” Kensi said calmly, all the while praying that Deeks could hear what was happening.

Tomás thought for a moment. “Give me your gun.”

Kensi reached slowly for her weapon and tossed it toward him. “Take me to Jessica.”

“Go on.” He waved her out of the bathroom, following close behind.

Jessica sat on a couch in the living room, tears streaming down her face while a second man, presumably Jose, pointed a gun at her.

“What the hell is this?” he asked.

“Caught her crawling in the window,” Tomás said.

“Jessica, are you all right?” Kensi said, ignoring the two men.

She nodded silently, her eyes still trained on the men’s weapons.

“She’s NCIS,” Tomás said.

“Look, I just want to make sure everyone gets out of here okay,” Kensi said, her eyes catching movement behind Tomás.

“We don’t need your help,” Jose told her. “Get rid of her.”

“LAPD!” Deeks yelled. “Drop it!”

Both men wheeled around and gunshots filled the air.

Kensi dove for the couch, throwing herself over Jessica. “Get down!” A bullet streaked past her head and into the couch and she flinched. “Deeks!”

The front door burst open and LAPD officers flooded into the room. Kensi looked up to see Tomás on the ground, an officer cuffing him. Jose appeared to be dead.

Deeks, holstered his weapon. “You good?” he asked.

“Yeah, you?”

“Not really how I wanted to spend my afternoon but I’ll get over it.”

“Thanks for the assist.” Kyle walked toward them as two of his men dragge Tomás out the door. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Assist?” Deeks asked. “I didn’t see you crawling in a window.”

“Like I said, thanks. You should go take some Dayquil or something.”

“Tomás is our suspect!” Kensi said hotly.

“I’ll tell you what. You can take the other guy. Fifty/fifty split.” He smiled and walked away.

Deeks and Kensi looked at the body on the floor. “Damn it!” Kensi said.

“Just, give me a minute. I’ll see what I can do.”

“No, let it go. We’ll just…get Hetty on it. Come on.”

 They returned to OSP to find Sam and Callen had beaten them back. “Nice work,” Callen said as they walked in.

“LAPD was all over it. There was nothing we could do,” Deeks said wearily.

“Aren’t you LAPD? Isn’t it your function to liaise for us?” Sam asked.

“Why don’t you tell us how you’ve helped today?” he shot back. He suddenly didn’t feel like putting up with their crap. It might have had something to do with the ache in his skull that refused to go away.

“Whoa, somebody’s cranky,” Callen said.

“I don’t like being shot at. Or crawling in windows.” He walked toward the couch. “I’ve done my duty. I’ll just be over here.” He collapsed into it face first.

 “Any luck getting through with LAPD?” Kensi asked.

“They’ve got Tomás so far into the system he might as well be halfway to China right now,” Callen said.

“Not so fast Mr. Callen,” Hetty said as she appeared. “You’re underestimating my powers. He’s waiting for you downtown Mr. Deeks, Miss Blye.”

“Perfect.” Deeks groaned and shoved himself off the couch.

His whole body felt sluggish. The world seemed hot and cold at the same time.  His stomach twisted painfully. “We’ll uh…we’ll…”

“Deeks? You all right?” Callen asked.

“I…” Standing suddenly seemed exceptionally difficult. As he fell he managed to catch himself on the corner of Callen’s desk, which blessedly only sent him to his knees instead of onto his face.

“Whoa!” All three agents moved at once.

“I’m good.” The words came out as a grunt and he attempted to push himself up with no success. “Just…maybe a minute.”

“Deeks, you need to go home,” Kensi said as she touched his arm.

“Yeah…okay.” That seemed like a good idea. His foggy brain desired nothing more than his bed right now.

“Miss Blye, perhaps you should take Mr. Deeks home as he seems a bit incapacitated right now,” Hetty said.

Kensi shouldered Deeks’ weight and began walking him out to the car. “You are going to owe me big time,” she told him as she shoved him into the passenger’s seat.

Deeks put his head back against the seat and closed his eyes as she drove, discomfort evident on his face. Kensi glanced at him worriedly. “You okay?” she finally asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “No. Pull over.”

 “What? Why?”

He blanched and she complied immediately. Deeks practically fell out of the car. By the time she got around to his side he was doubled over vomiting. “Oh my god.” She bent to help him when he’d finally stopped. “Are you all right?”

“Peachy.” He groaned as he straightened. “I didn’t like my breakfast anyway.”

By the time they got to his place, Deeks was so pale he looked ghostlike. Kensi got him inside and he trundled slowly toward his bed. She couldn’t just leave him like this. “Do you have a thermometer?” she asked.

 “In the medicine cabinet.”

She retrieved it and returned to find him struggling into bed fully clothed. “Here,” she said lamely, shoving it at him.

He stuck it under his tongue, his eyes glassy. She could see sweat beading on his forehead and felt a twinge of guilt for not noticing earlier how sick he clearly was.

When the thermometer beeped a moment later it read 102.3. “That’s pretty high,” she said. “We should try and get it down.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I kind of like it there,” he told her as he closed his eyes.

 Kensi ignored him. Sometime later she would examine the sudden and intense desire she felt to help him, but right now she was just going to do what needed to be done. She went to the kitchen and located a bottle of Gatorade and towel, which she dampened and brought back to him, along with a bottle of ibuprofen. “Can you sit up?”

He struggled to do so, eventually managing to get himself in a semi-upright position. She handed him a couple of pills and then the Gatorade. He sank back against the pillows and she handed him the towel to put on his forehead.

“That’s a start anyway,” she said.

“You don’t have to stay,” Deeks said with a shiver.

“I’m not leaving you like this. You can’t even stand up. You’ll die and by the time anybody finds your body the whole place will stink.”

“Gee, that’s a comforting thought. Your bedside manner needs some work,” he mumbled.

Kensi watched the tension in his face ease as he fell asleep. Monty wandered into the room and she scratched his head as she watched her partner’s chest rise and fall. Deeks was right. She should leave. They were just partners after all. She didn’t have a responsibility to him like this. But somehow, she just couldn’t leave him. Not like this. 

Deeks woke slowly, his whole body aching and cold. His tongue felt swollen and his stomach felt like it was full of knives. He heard movement nearby and blinked several times, trying to get his bearings. “Kensi?” His voice was croaky and pathetic.

“Hey.” She appeared in his field of vision.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“About an hour. I made some soup. Are you hungry?”

“You cooked?” he asked in confusion. Maybe he was having a fever dream.

“I wouldn’t exactly call Campbells Chicken and Stars cooking. You should try to eat. If you don’t want soup I can get something else.”

“No, soup is fine.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Monty jumped onto the bed and put his head on Deeks’ stomach. Deeks lifted a hand to pet him. “Hey buddy.”

The dog eyed him worriedly. “It’s okay. Kensi’s going to feed both of us.” Deeks winced. “Which may not be the best thing now that I think about it.”

“I heard that,” Kensi said as she returned, soup in hand.

She sat on the bed and picked up a spoonful of liquid. “Are you going to feed me?” Deeks asked.

 “You’re the one who can’t get out of bed,” she pointed out.

 “I can feed myself.”

“Okay. Go for it.” She held the bowl out.

 Deeks lifted a shaky hand and the bowl tipped dangerously. Kensi reached to take it back. “Maybe just for today,” Deeks said.

“Good choice.”

She lifted the spoon to his lips and he accepted the warm liquid. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness and ignore the voice in her head that whispered that this was an extremely intimate action.

“I’m perfect. This is all an act.”

“Deeks…”

“I’ve been worse.”

She suspected that was a lie. He looked half dead.

He managed to eat about half the soup before refusing anymore. Kensi set the bowl on the nightstand and put a hand on his forehead. “You still feel warm. Maybe I should take you to a doctor.”

“No, it’s just a stomach bug.” His eyes were already closing and within seconds he was asleep again.

Kensi watched him worriedly for a few minutes before taking the rest of the soup back to the kitchen. Plopping down on the couch she turned on the TV and flipped through the channels until she found a rerun of Chopped.

There was a sudden sound from Deeks’ room and Kensi hit mute. It happened again and Monty barked.

Kensi walked into the bedroom to find the bed empty and the bathroom door partially open, light seeping out through the cracks. “Deeks are you okay?”

There was a horrible choking sound and Kensi pushed the door open to find her partner hunched over the toilet, emptying his stomach of the soup he’d just eaten.

She stood helplessly as he retched. At last he finished and spat, trying to clear the acrid taste from his mouth. Kensi grabbed his arm as he stood. “I’m okay,” he croaked.

He took a step toward the door and then gagged, clamping a hand over his mouth. He turned and went right back to his knees in front of the toilet, heaving once more. At last the let out a moan and curled up into a ball on the floor.

“Deeks?” Kensi asked tentatively.

Another moan. “Deeks, do you want to get back in bed?”

“No,” he said. “Just leave me here.”

Kensi gingerly used her fingertips to flush the toilet and then sat down next to him on the floor. “I’m not going to leave you on the bathroom floor.”

 “You’ll get sick too,” he said.

“No I won’t.”

She hesitated for only a second and then slid closer so she could put his head in her lap.

“What are you doing?” he asked looking up at her with bleary eyes.

“Taking care of you,” she said.

 She began to run her fingers gently through his hair. He closed his eyes. “That feels nice.”

Her hand brushed against his forehead and she frowned. “Your fever’s still pretty high.”

She reached for the damp towel that had landed on the sink and began running it over his forehead, his cheeks, his neck, any inch of exposed skin she could find.

 He sat up suddenly and was back over the toilet, puking his guts out. Finally he collapsed into her lap. “I think I’m dying,” he said.

Kensi continued her ministrations, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “You’re not dying. I won’t let you.”

 “That’s comforting.” He shivered.

“Maybe you should take a cold shower.”

That got his attention. His eyes opened and she quickly explained herself,        ”For your fever. To get your fever down. Do you think you can stand up?”

He managed to get to his feet with her help. He grunted as he attempted to strip off his t-shirt and she moved to help him before she thought, pulling it up and over his head, then averting her eyes from his bare chest. “I think I’ve got it from here,” he said, clutching the wall for support.

“Okay. I’ll be right outside.”

Deeks emerged fifteen minutes later, his hair still damp, wearing the clean t-shirt and boxers she’d tossed through the door. Kensi stood up from where she’d been waiting anxiously on his bed. “Hey, you made it.”

“Yeah.” He winced as he took a step toward her and stumbled.

She caught him and helped him back into bed. “I feel like crap,” he said when his head hit the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” she said sympathetically. Then she asked the question that had been bothering her since she’d watched him empty his stomach on the side of the road. “Deeks why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell us how bad it was?”

 “And get called out as the weak one on the team? No thank you,” Deeks shivered and pulled the blankets closer. “That happens enough as it is.”

“No one thinks you’re weak.”

“Please. I’ve seen the way everyone looks at me. Like I’m the class clown. You’re all just waiting for me to screw up and send me back to LAPD.”

“No one—“

“Kensi, I’m not really up for a fight right now.”

“Then let’s not have one,” she said. “I can’t speak for Sam and Callen, but I’m not waiting for you to screw up. You’re my partner. I have a lot of faith in you. I trust you.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Thanks.”

She looked at his pale face and felt a swirl of worry. “I really think we should take you to see a doctor.”

“No, I don’t want to. You can take care of me.” His eyes slid shut.

“I appreciate your confidence in my nursing abilities but I’m really worried about you.” She pressed a hand to his forehead. “You’re not getting better.”

“No I am. I’m perfect. Just give me five more minutes.”

The last words were mumbled as he slipped away into sleep again.

Deeks woke with a start, blinking against the light. He still felt like crap, but slightly less like crap than before.

He moved to try and push himself into a sitting position and his hand brushed something soft. His dog lifted his head and nuzzled closer to him. “Hey boy.”

“Hey, you’re awake,” Kensi said.

She’d pulled a chair next to his bed and was holding a James Patterson novel his mom had given him for Christmas three years ago.

“How are you feeling?” She put a hand on his forehead. “Your fever is down. How’s your stomach?”

“Slightly less churn-y.”

She handed him a glass of orange juice. “Drink. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”

 Deeks took a sip and Kensi reached for one of several pill bottles she’d placed on his nightstand. She shook out two and placed them in his hand. “Take these.”

Deeks looked at them skeptically. “Did you and Monty become drug lords while I was sleeping?”

“Darn. You’ve found us out. Now we have to kill you,” Kensi said as she scratched Monty’s ears.

“Ah, bummer.”

“And just when we’d nursed you back to health.”

“Which I appreciate, by the way.”

“Guess I missed my calling.”

“Well I’ll support you if you want to change careers.”

  “I think it might be a little late for that,” Kensi said. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

He smiled. “There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with.”

[castawxayaway]

another lifetime

(also I’m writing this listening to dodies new EP. god she is so talented and beautiful, if you’re wondering what my favourite song is it has to be the Instrumental, followed by In The Middle!)

requested by the lovely @thelightthatisblindingme you guys ask for it, and I’ll write it. (and this is a lot of heartbreak, you’ve been prewarned) this is actually based off of my time in London, well moreso my day dreaming. also the prompt list I reblogged a while ago, this is #85: don’t lie to me. 

prompt list / collection of my writing / requests open *nudge nudge*

Rushing I stood before the coloured lines and names I would soon forget, attempting to decipher which one I'd need to be on. People passed me with a sense of urgency, each having a place to go to with plans in mind whilst I stand utterly clueless. To my left I can hear a train coming, I scan for the name that I was told to go to, once I find it I let my brain sort it out and quickly walk to see the train originally there gone along with most of the people around. 

I glance up to see it would be on its way in the next few minutes, so I allow myself to breathe, let my heart beat calm down slightly as there are fewer people here to notice my paranoid state. London, as much as it is a beautiful city, it is one that I cannot cope with on a daily basis let alone a work meeting. Taking a look at those around me you can differ between the tourists and the commuters, for once I fall into the latter. 

Loud noises begin to stir in the tunnel, air begins to circulate around us as my train approaches. Already everyone is getting ready, taking a position waiting for a door to open before them. Copying them I wait behind the yellow line, trying to keep my breathing under control as it whizzes by, blurring every face in the cabins until it is just colour. Before me is a half empty cabin, I let out a sigh of relief as I sit down, my own reflection facing me in the glass. 

My vision shifts between my tinted cheeks and clammy palms to the empty track and platform filled with people waiting for the next train. We sit still, not going immediately like I had anticipated. Instead the train for the other side of the platform runs alongside us in the opposite direction. Everything blurs, those standing, sitting, swaying, listening to music, doing their makeup. It all becomes primary colours until it comes to a halt and more people join those originally there. 

Keeping my head down as I check my phone I glance up, only to see myself still in the glass, but also the other carriage in front of me. Someone tall is blocking my view, but as I sigh they stand up revealing who is sat on the far side of the carriage close to the platform. I raise an eyebrow as they keep their head down, a mess of dark brown hair just tasselled back. It’s just a mere coincidence, I repeat in my head in attempt for my heart to calm the beating to its necessary amount rather than its current state. 

I can see him lifting his head, so I look back down, then around at the carriage I’m in before focusing back on him. My breath becomes caught in my throat as he looks my way, clearly not seeing me as his glasses aren’t on, but the jacket is. He blinks a few times before pulling his glasses out and slipping them on, leaning forward and actually seeing me. My cheeks begin to burn as my vision shifts between my worried expression to his confused look. We both simply look at each other, neither having the opportunity to say a word as the beeping sounds, the doors shut. I open my mouth as he does, yet no words come and we both move in opposite directions. 

Once the windows turn black I relax into the stiff fabric, unsure what to think or how to process the sight I just saw. It’s been three years. Three whole years without seeing his face, yet the one day, the one day I’m back. I scoff silently to myself at the coincidence, partially grateful knowing it won’t happen again. London is a big city, the chances of seeing him twice? Highly unlikely. Instead of dwelling I listen to the automated voice announcing the stations with little emotion, just monotone. Zoning out I watch my reflection, how I cross my leg over the other one, tilt my head and rest my arm on my leg, unable to get him off of my mind. 

Stumbling up the step I search for my keys as my friends drive off, trying to laugh quietly in order to keep the neighbours at peace, as well as him. I wear the same goofy smile on my face as I recall the haziness of the night we just had, the shots, the dancing and the uneasy walk along the beach. As the door unlocks I slip my shoes off and before I can continue getting undressed the stair creaks. 

As I hear the announcement for Oxford Circus I stand up, and try to push the memory back, back where it should be along with his harsh words. The words that my heart is still healing from. The doors open and I push through the people, his words whispered between them as I forced through the masses and towards the stairs, towards the air. 

He sat there still, watching me in low lighting as I giggled to myself. As I caught his gaze he wore disappointment heavy in his eyes, the same look he has worn for days now, the love and light has been isolated and torn apart leaving this. I felt the sweetness go, only to be replaced by the bitterness that carves a rightful place in my heart. “It’s 4 in the morning.” All he does is moan about me being out, yet he is barely here. There is more to me than sitting here, waiting for him to get home. Sometimes I just wish he could see that, that I have a life outside of our relationship. Hanging my coat up I place my bag on top of it, reaching for my phone. “That him then?” He piped up, a sour look crossed his face, yet I shrugged it off. 

Glancing down to my wrist I can feel the redness, the stinging still despite how long it has been. I reach my arm into my coat pocket, keeping it out of sight to hide the invisible mark that he left. Like everyone else I blended in, I kept my head down as I exited the station and took a deep breath of the polluted air allowing the familiar toxic sensation back into my life. 

“That hurts.” Any soft warm feeling that was in my body had been drained, instead the burning that pulsed in my wrist as he held it replaced it. I locked eyes with him as we both stood up on the stairs, him towering me. “Let go.” I spoke with force, and he let go as I tried to hide the mark he left, I’ve never seen him this way before. 

Walking away from him I held back the tears in my eyes, knowing soon he would see them in the morning light. “How long has it been then, huh?” Turning round I glance his way, seeing the heaviness in his face. I roll my eyes, but that only makes it worse for him. Before I know it he is behind me, keeping a close eye on me as I hesitate to get undressed. “Who is he? This guy you keep on meeting.” He spits the words with so much venom I can see it burning at my feet. 

Confusion lies heavy in my eyes as I simply stare at him. “What guy? I’m not cheating on you!” I yell in frustration, unable to fathom his accusations. “I was with the girls, that’s all so stop being so dramatic.” Groaning I walk off to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it. 

As I lie against the door I can feel him on the other side, lying down I see his feet at the door, waiting for me to come out. “Just tell me who he is, it’s that easy.” He spoke with an uneasy amount of calmness in his tone, the sort that makes you feel moreso on edge than before. 

“There isn’t a guy, Dan! You’re the only one I have.” I repeat myself again, wanting to slam my head against the door in fury. 

He pounds on the door, causing me to jump. I move away from it, cowering by the toilet. “Don’t lie to me.” I can feel his rage through the thin wooden panels, the look that won’t wear off like the alcohol in my system. As he continues to tell me awful things about myself I know and try to remind myself that he’s drunk, he only could say such things when he is in such a state. 

Sending my friends a text they reply saying to wait it out, that they’d be here soon enough. I relax against the toilet, waiting for them to turn up as I zone out of his comments, the toxins he spews at me through the door. 

It took Will, Woody and Kyle to calm him down that night, they took him away to sober him up. A few days after I could barely look at him after what he said to me. We ended things when he tried to get help with his drinking, that was the last time I saw him, in his denim jacket and those glasses. The same ones he is wearing today.

I walk with caution, a hint of fear arising around my shoulders as I feel him nearing me despite travelling in a different direction. Nearing the building I ease the tension that builds in my muscles, knowing for a few hours that I’m secure in here, I won’t see him here. 

Throughout the entire talk I can barely focus, every time someone speaks all I can picture is how different he seemed. Has he changed? Maybe he is better now, maybe he is stable. Maybe. Has be got his life back on track? Is he happy? 

Am I happy having seen him? Or am I just kidding myself?

Once the meeting is over I walk out with a few colleagues, unable to laugh along wholeheartedly like I normally would. “You alright?” One asks me as they brush my arm. 

Snapping out of it I nod, “Never been better.” I lie through my teeth and force a smile. With that we all walk different ways, I call a taxi to go somewhere relaxing, to what was once my haven. To Hyde Park. 

As I get out I can’t help but feel years younger, I’m in my early twenties again, full of ambition about my future and the dreams I have. Walking around I take a seat, taking in the scenery before leaving once again, giving in. I close my eyes and picture my younger self again, how content I could be here. “Of all the places, I knew you’d find yourself back here.” Opening my eyes I glance to my left, trying to hide my shaking hands and sweaty palms. 

My eyes trail up his attire, he seems more put together compared to back then. His hands relax, they no longer shake contrasting my own. I reach his face, he’s barely aged yet his stubble is more prominent now. His eyes differ entirely, they don’t lack dimension like they once did, instead they burst with colour, with varying shades of blue. It’s as if the alcohol drained the colour, any hope he once had yet now it is fully restored. 

A smile grows on his face as I sit still, an involuntary smile growing on my own. “Always my place to think.” I state, unsure what else I can say or fathom as he hovers by the seat next to me, neither of us sure on the boundaries between us. I pat the spot next to me, “I don’t bite.” Joking I ease the tension, he sits next to me and both of us relax in the silence and watch the world go by. 

“How come you’re in London?” He speaks up a few minutes later after we’ve seen business folk walk by, families and pets being walked. 

Rubbing my lips I pause before answering, I ponder turning to face him, let our knees touch or to relax entirely knowing it’s him. “Business stuff, I’m working on a new piece of artwork and they want to review my ideas.” I explain, still keeping a safe distance. 

His face lights up entirely, the brightness in his eyes contrasts what I once knew. “That is,” Pausing he shifts his body to face him, lifting his arms up and bringing them down with joy as he finishes his sentence. “that is unbelievable.” A warm smile is evident on his face. “You always wanted to do something like that.” He mumbles to himself before looking away, clearly having the same memories as I am. 

“And you? Still here then?” I pipe up, trying to distract us both. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He wipes his face, focusing ahead rather than on me. “Band is still doing really well, just working on our new album.” He says it as if it is nothing, that his music is no big deal. If only he could see what I saw, what his fans saw.

Nudging him he shifted slightly, “That is huge Dan, your fans will love it, they always do.” Speaking with more spirit in my voice he straightens his back, we both ease into a conversation as if it is like old times. A time before we both became polluted. 

“So, where did you move to?” He asks as the conversation drops, the quiet makes my heart beating faster more apparent. “I tried to come back to the flat, but you were gone. It got sold.” I can see the pain, the hurt that has branded him. 

My heart drifts back to that time, the tearing of my artery being lived again, as if it were the first time. “I couldn’t talk to you, I told the others. They said if I told you, directly that it could set you back.” Shaking my head my hands gripped the bench. “I didn’t want you to get worse. All I wanted was for you to be you again.” I whisper under my breath, but the way his hand is reaching for mine, he knows what I said.

I watch carefully as his hand nears mine, I can see it happening, but I can’t feel it. “I’m me again, I promise you.” He whispers as he tries to connect our hands, but I pull mine away quickly. 

Locking eyes with him I can see how hard he is trying, but I just can’t. “I’m sorry Dan.” Standing up he sits still, a pleading look fading into the hope. “My heart can’t take the pain, even if good is in the mix the pain will be prominent.”

He stands up, keeping a comfortable distance between us. “Look, I fucked up, I know.” He sighs and begins to fidget. “And why would you want to trust me, we live different lives, but doesn’t part of you wonder what could have been?” 

Part of me wants to nod, for us to start over, relive what we had. “We aren’t kids anymore, Dan.” But no, I shut it out. I push it back with the pain to the spot that should not be opened, the stitches that should not be cut open too soon. “I can’t try again.” I take a few steps backwards, before walking off. 

His eyes, the hope mixed with ambition behind the glass is something I’ll keep locked in my memory. That is something I won’t push, force backwards like the bad and the painful times. I’ll always remember the singer in the glasses, even if in his darkest days he doesn’t know me. 

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

After a recent spate of hirings and firings, the NFL is in the midst of a coaching diversity crisis. Fewer than 10 percent of the NFL’s head coaches are black — even though about 60 percent of the league’s players are. Not one of the five new head coaches hired after the 2019 NFL regular season is black. The NFL has the same number of black head coaches going into the 2020 season — three — that it had in 2003, when anger about the lack of diversity resulted in the league adopting the so-called Rooney Rule, which requires at least one person of color to be interviewed for all head coaching openings.

So why isn’t the NFL hiring more black head coaches? We think it’s safe to assume that the league doesn’t have a secret policy to employ as few black coaches as possible. It’s more likely that there is something systemic within the NFL that results in the whiteness of the coaching hires. (Saying the issues are systemic doesn’t rule out the role of unconscious racial biases.)

To explore this issue, we looked closely at the resumes of the 32 current NFL head coaches, a group that includes 28 white coaches; Washington’s Ron Rivera, who is Latino; and Brian Flores of the Miami Dolphins, Anthony Lynn of the Los Angeles Chargers and Mike Tomlin of the Pittsburgh Steelers, all of whom are black. A big part of that research involved measuring what the head coaches tended to do in any given year of their life — finding patterns along the path to the top that might explain the whiteness of the current group of coaches, and give us ideas about how to increase its racial diversity. Using data from Pro-Football-Reference.com and a little of our own research, here’s a breakdown for what share of current NFL coaches were doing what job, at what age:1

Generally speaking, the climb up the coaching ladder often goes like this:

Early 20s: Your playing career comes to an end. (Most head coaches played in college, but few played beyond that.) At this point, many coaches latch on in college as an entry-level graduate assistant.

Mid-20s: You move up to become a higher-level assistant in college football.

Late 20s: Either stay in college and advance toward the coordinator level, or (more likely) become a lower-level assistant — such as a “quality control” coach — on an NFL team.

Early 30s: Become an NFL position coach (say, wide receivers or defensive line).

Late 30s/Early 40s: You are promoted to an NFL coordinator.

Mid-40s: Become an NFL head coach.

At each step of the way, we found places where there isn’t a truly level playing field between either current or prospective black coaches and their white counterparts. So here are our five ways the NFL could create a process that is likely to result in more black coaches being hired.2 We have ordered these steps from those we are most confident in to those that hit the issues more indirectly:

1. Diversify the ranks of offensive and defensive coordinators.

Of the 32 current head coaches, the vast majority previously served as either the offensive coordinator (15) or defensive coordinator (10) of an NFL team. That makes intuitive sense — the coordinators are generally the top coaches on a team below the head coach, often responsible for calling the plays for the team’s offense or defense. NFL teams generally don’t hire the head coaches of college teams — unless they’ve already served as an NFL coordinator. Among head coaches from the 2019 season, only six3 were ever a head coach in college at all, and only one of those (Kliff Kingsbury) got his first NFL head coaching job without any previous pro coordinating experience.4

So the hiring pool is usually just offensive and defensive coordinators. Of course, the frustration among critics of the NFL’s hiring approaches was probably heightened by the fact that two of the five newly hired coaches, Carolina’s Matt Rhule and the New York Giants’s Joe Judge, had not served as offensive or defensive coordinators at the pro level. Judge was the special teams coordinator and wide receivers coach for the New England Patriots, while Rhule was the head coach at Baylor University.

That line-cutting by coaches like Ruhle and Judge is one problem, and here’s another: Even among the NFL’s coordinator ranks, there aren’t a lot of black coaches.5 Some teams are still finalizing their coaching staffs for 2020, but as of right now, of the 61 offensive and defensive coordinator positions,6 there are two black offensive coordinators, nine black defensive coordinators and one Arab American defensive coordinator. So if the coordinator group is 80 percent white, and it’s the group head coaches are almost entirely pulled from, then it is inevitably going to lead to mostly white head-coaching hires.

And even when a coordinator checks all the boxes as a potential head coach, he can’t always land the job. Kansas City offensive coordinator Eric Bieniemy, who is black, leads one of the NFL’s best offenses, so he seems like a logical hire for a head coaching position. But the knock on him, according to some in the league, is that head coach Andy Reid calls the plays for the Chiefs — so Bieniemy is essentially an offensive coordinator in name only. Reid himself emphasizes that Bienemy plays a huge role in Kansas City’s offense. The Rooney Rule may help get Bieniemy in the room with the people (read: white men) who will decide if he becomes a head coach — but it’s not enough to get him the job.

This coordinator problem is well-known within NFL circles. But it may be hard to fix easily, for two reasons.NFL head coaches regularly get fired after two to four seasons — and many aren’t immediately hired back into head-coaching roles. So a lot of newly hired head coaches play it safe and pick people who have already worked as coordinators. That’s how you end up with a bloc of mostly white men who seem to be in the running for every open coordinator job, as opposed to new people getting these posts.

2. Make sure the path to becoming coordinator or a head coach isn’t about connections and nepotism.

As we mentioned earlier, there is a commonly tread path to the top among the 32 current head coaches. But there are also several places where a potential coach can stop advancing. We don’t have any real data on this group, but there are hundreds of people working for various college football programs across the country. The big question is: Who gets to make that initial jump to the NFL — and how? And then, who moves from lower-level assistant roles to become a position coach, which usually feeds into coordinator slots? At each of those junctures in a coaching career, special connections can have an outsize role in whether you are allowed to move up, or how quickly you do so.

For instance, several of the young, white, male head coaches had family connections to the NFL coaching world, likely helping them make their entrance into the league. The grandfather of Los Angeles Rams head coach Sean McVay had been a head coach and executive in the NFL. McVay’s first job came in part through family connections. Then-Tampa Bay head coach Jon Gruden, who had long known the McVay family, hired Sean as a low-level assistant. McVay didn’t work as a college coach at all.

The benefits of connections are most obvious in the case of San Francisco head coach Kyle Shanahan, whose father, Mike, was a longtime head coach in the NFL. Shanahan became the wide receivers coach for the Houston Texans at age 26, just four seasons after his playing career ended at the University of Texas. Houston’s head coach at the time, Gary Kubiak, had been a longtime offensive coordinator for Mike Shanahan.

Speaking of the elder Shanahan, four current NFL coaches, including his son Kyle, worked as assistants to Mike during his 20 seasons as a head coach. Eight of the NFL’s other 30 coaches were one-time assistants to either New England’s Bill Belichick or Kansas City’s Andy Reid, who are generally considered among the league’s best coaches. It’s not that Belichick, Reid or Shanahan’s networks don’t include black coaches — Flores worked for Belichick, Lynn for Shanahan. But the fact that about 40 percent of the league’s head coaches are connected by three men suggests that a fairly narrow network is being tapped.

In fact, this network issue may have given an overly rosy impression of the NFL’s coaching diversity in a previous era. Five of the most recent black head coaches had once worked for Tony Dungy, the longtime former coach of Tampa Bay and Indianapolis. Dungy is black. Perhaps one reason for the relative lack of black coaches is the absence of more feeder systems for them — but we would argue that more comprehensive diversity efforts should supplant connection-based systems.

3. Give a real first chance to black coaches — and perhaps a second one, too.

Black head coaches are over-represented7 on one list: head coaches who have fired after only a single season in the job. Since 2000, 11 coaches have been dismissed after a single season, and three of them are black. But black coaches are under-represented in a second group: NFL coaches given a second or third head coaching post. According to data from Arizona State’s Global Sport Education and Research Lab, 29.5 percent of newly hired white head coaches between the 2009 and 2018 seasons had been the head coach of another team, while just 8.3 percent of coaches of color fit the same description. Although no fan base is excited by the prospect of hiring another team’s castoff coach, recycling coaches is a fact of NFL life. And by virtue of seldom being hired to begin with, then rehired less often as well, black coaches have been excluded from that part of the coaching ecosystem.

Seven of the NFL’s current head coaches were previously head coaches for another team and were fired or forced out of that job. No black coaches are in that group, which includes six white coaches and Rivera.

We are dealing with a fairly small sample size (there have been only 25 black head coaches in NFL history, including interim coaches), so we are reluctant to suggest broadly that the NFL fires black coaches too quickly and is unwilling to give them a second chance. But we think this issue is worth raising. Some of the current NFL coaches generally perceived as the best (like Belichick and Reid) were fired from their first head coaching jobs. And it’s considered hard for an NFL head coach to turn a team around in a single year.

4. Be open to older coaches.

Only four of the league’s 32 coaches were older than 50 when they got their first NFL head-coaching jobs.8 (A few others got their first head coaching jobs pre-50 and then were hired at other places post-50.) What does that tell us? It’s hard to prove this, but we suspect that age dynamics common in other fields (basically the perception that younger people have fresher ideas and are more innovative) are playing out in the NFL as well. And the NFL’s pattern of hiring younger coaches has probably created a post-facto explanation for this — essentially, the unstated assumption may be that if a coach has not gotten a head-coaching gig by 50, he isn’t good enough for one.

Here’s the thing — there is no evidence that older people don’t have the energy to coach or aren’t good at it. Thirteen of the league’s coaches are 55 or over, with six in their 60s, including Reid, whose team just made it to the Super Bowl. We haven’t done a comprehensive look at how many black assistants coaches are over 50. But this is an obvious place where the pool of potential coaching candidates is being limited in a way that doesn’t make much sense.

5. Make sure having played in the NFL isn’t a negative credential — and consider if it should be a positive one.

Underlying the entire discussion of coaching diversity in the NFL is the unstated but implied assumption that the majority-black NFL player base is not getting promoted upwards to management roles. But that’s not quite right — although most coaches played in college, only nine of the league’s 32 head coaches were in the NFL.9 So it’s not as if lots of white ex-NFL players are being chosen as coaches either. (The nine who played include seven white coaches — five of them quarterbacks — plus Lynn and Rivera.) So if the real coaching pool is not ex-NFL players, but just men in America, the percentage of black coaches in the NFL (9 percent) is basically on par with the percentage of black Americans (13 percent). And it’s not as if we have any evidence that ex-players are better coaches — Belichick and Reid never played a down in the NFL, nor did Shanahan, whose team also made it to this year’s Super Bowl. So perhaps we shouldn’t compare the demographics of the league’s coaches with its players.

But there’s also reason to be wary of this demographic breakdown, in part by looking at other sports. The NBA has a similar dynamic to the NFL — about 75 percent of NBA players are African American, compared with 20 percent of the league’s coaches. And like the NFL, a clear majority of NBA head coaches (20 of 30) did not play in the league.

But in the National Hockey League, 22 of 31 head coaches are former NHL players. In Major League Baseball, 22 of the 29 managers have played in the big leagues. Around 90 percent of hockey players are white, as are all 31 coaches. As of 2018, about 60 percent of baseball players are white, 30 percent Latino, 8 percent black, 2 percent Asian. The managers are about 75 percent white, 14 percent Latino.

So in America’s two major sports where white players are the majority and there are few black players, former players tend to become top coaches. In America’s two major sports where black players are clearly in the majority, former players tend not to become top coaches. There may be some differences between these sports that we can’t capture here. Perhaps baseball and hockey teams are making a mistake by apparently requiring their head coaches to have played in the league. But it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that owners and team executives in the NBA and the NFL, who are overwhelmingly white, have either consciously or unconsciously devalued coaches who played professionally. And in some ways, this devaluation of NFL and NBA playing experience frees up owners and executives to hire other white men as coaches, particularly white men within their professional circles.

The devaluing of players as potential coaches plays out in another important way. Remember that the typical NFL head coach gets his first posting before turning 50. If you make it to the NFL, though, you are playing football when nonplayers have already started their coaching careers. If you are a good player, you might be playing into your 30s, when other people your age are becoming coordinators. By the time you retire from the game, you could be approaching 40 years old, and perhaps you have a family. If you were a fairly good player, you might also have enough money to not really need to work again — and you might not be interested in spending more time paying your dues by working your way up from the bottom of the coaching world.

Longtime veteran players can expedite the process some; Tennessee head coach Mike Vrabel essentially took this route over the course of just seven seasons, and former Cowboys coach Jason Garrett was in charge of a team within six years of retiring as an NFL QB. But as a counter-example, Lynn toiled as an assistant and coordinator for 17 seasons between retiring as a player at age 32 in 2000 and getting hired as the Chargers’ coach at age 48 in 2017. (McVay, who didn’t play in the pros, was already a head coach by the time he reached the age at which Lynn retired as a player!) Clearly, the league needs to do more to allow playing experience to apply towards a post-retirement career in coaching.

Diversifying the ranks of coaches is not going to be easy for the NFL. The coaching world is an unmeritocratic system, with a lot of advantages going to white people who are tied into that system. But the mostly white people who control that system have probably convinced themselves that it is a meritocracy.

The story with candidates like Bieniemy is probably a bit more complicated than the NFL simply being biased against black coaches. Bieniemy isn’t from a family plugged into the NFL, is an ex-player, became an NFL offensive coordinator when he was 48 and is now 50. We’re not sure if Bieniemy would be a great head coach — it’s virtually impossible to predict that. But race aside, he’s different from the kinds of people who currently get hired as NFL coaches — and one way for the NFL to diversify its coaches will be for it to diversify its criteria, allowing more people who don’t fit the traditional mold of a head coach to have a legitimate chance at the job. Those changes can’t just start at the top — they need to happen every step of the way.