#now I gotta publish the event what the fuck if it flops

[shawnsorangeglasses]

Better Conversations - Part 3

2.3k words

Get you some tea, it’s BC Part 3

Hello yellow, you gotta read part 2 if you haven’t already. Better yet, here’s the masterlist.

It feels like the whole world has gotten wrapped up in Shawn’s appearance with (Y/N) in the streets of New York. She faces some consequences.

warnings: a little dramatic, sweeter ending

......................

News of Shawn’s mystery “girlfriend” caught fire and spread rapidly across all social media platforms. Fans were either happy, suspicious, or appalled. No matter what they felt about it, young girls from all over the world began to analyze and pick apart pictures of them together in the streets of New York. The group of fans they met at the diner took a video of their meeting with Shawn and that only stirred up some more talk online as well. There were screenshots and red circles and literal YouTube videos on this. It’s not like (Y/N) and Shawn were caught holding hands or making out, but all the gossips sites wasted no words and no time getting their articles out for clicks.

The video of them only caught her from the chest down, a snippet of her voice, and Shawn’s full body sat at the lunch counter. Some people were kind enough to comment that whoever this mystery girl was had really nice legs. That seemed to be the only positive aspect in all the chaos.

Bea, (Y/N)’s sister, only recognized her because of her clothes, specifically the boots she always wore. She was just as confused and shocked as the rest of the world when she called. It took about ten minutes to calm her down and explain the whole mess.

Shawn still had to leave for Toronto that night. Goodbyes weren’t even an option. His people wanted him and him alone at the airport, which (Y/N) understood. In her mind, she had already caused enough trouble.

Miraculously enough, not one person had been able to place (Y/N)’s face or social identity. She never really posted pictures of herself online and rarely allowed anyone to take a picture of her and post it without permission. Her Instagram page only had three posts, all city photography, and her profile picture only displayed a solitary bumblebee doodle. For a while, it seemed like the damage would repair itself. (Y/N) thought she may have been in the clear.

Then she woke up. More photos were published. Her phone had ten missed calls. Eight from Jason and two from Lawrence Derringer, the head executive of his branch. (Y/N) prepared for the worst.

It was Sunday by now. The Jason and Mr. Derringer opened up their offices just to talk to her in the conference room. She wore the most conservative outfit she could find in her closet.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), are you aware of the story that has surfaced about you and Mr. Shawn Mendes in the news?”

“Yes Mr. Derringer, but I can explain. Nothing happened at all between Shawn and me. I would never get involved with a client in that fashion, and as far as I know, they never even got a picture of my face.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Ms. (Y/L/N).” They present a laptop screen to her, opened to a TMZ article with her and Shawn stood at the gemstone pop-up shop. Her face is clear and visible. “This was published eight hours ago,” Jason mumbles.

“I know your intentions must have been pure, Ms. (Y/L/N). What I’m struggling to understand is why you never questioned any of the endeavors you had with Mr. Mendes. Harmless as they may have been, this could have a negative effect on our firm’s relationship with him as well as our image in the industry. Did this not occur to you when you realized you were being photographed? Surely it must have.”

(Y/N) doesn’t answer, right away. Saying no, would have been a lie. She did consider the possibility of them getting a little publicity, but she didn’t think so far ahead about how that might affect the company.

“I suppose you’re going to have to fire me then?”

Mr. Derringer glances at Jason, then back at (Y/N). “Fortunately, no. You will not be fired for this. Apparently, Shawn called our offices several times last night trying to get a hold of one of us. He managed to reach me and said the day out was his all idea and that you should not be fired for the events that followed.”

“So, I’m not in trouble?”

“Well yes and no. I told him you would keep your job but that does not mean you can get off without some repercussions. Since Whitman was the one who hired you, I figured he should be the one to enforce that.”

Jason steps forward, looking like he was trying so hard to be authoritative in front of his superior. “I made the decision to prohibit you from attending any future corporate events where Shawn or any other Island Records artist may also attend. It’s probably for the best that you don’t see Mr. Mendes anymore in public for any reason. Your recent promotion has also been revoked as well and your salary will revert back to the earnings you made prior to said promotion.”

(Y/N)’s jaw set, keeping her tongue from saying everything she wanted to spit in his stupid Ivy League face. Everything she’s wanted to say to him for the past eight months feels like holding acid in the back of her throat. She swallowed her thoughts.

“I understand. My sincerest apologies, Mr. Derringer. It won’t happen again.”

“I certainly hope not, Ms. (Y/L/N). You’re a valued member of our staff and you contribute so much to the floor and the board. It’d be a shame to lose you over something like this. Jason will see you out. Have a good evening.”

(Y/N) is already at the elevator smashing the down button before Jason can even make it down the hall. Tears of humiliation sting her eyes as the elevator slowly takes her and Jason down from the top floor. He tries to lay a hand on her shoulder, apologetically, but she shrugs it off and steps further from him. If he was sorry, it only because he felt like he had to be, not because he actually was.

“Are you seriously pissed at me? You brought this on yourself.”

“You have no right to try and keep me from seeing him or anyone.”

“That’s what you think this is about? Maybe you ought to think twice before sleeping your way through our list of clients.”

Of course, it’s all my fault that I didn’t feel like eating alone one afternoon.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware going to lunch with one man is the equivalent to shoving my tongue down his throat.”

“You might as well have been, the way you were smiling at each other in those pictures.”

“I knew it. I knew you had a problem with me seeing other people. You can go and fuck every girl in Times Square if you want, but I have to sit idly by like your personal dumping ground?”

“You can see whoever you want. Just not him. You should know better. This firm—”

“Like you give a damn about the firm. This is about you and your fat ego. You can’t handle the fact that somebody might even be a little interested in me because you know that as soon as I find someone who actually gives a damn about me, I won’t have a reason to come back to you for a goddamned quickie in the janitor’s closet.”

“It’s that kind of thinking that keeps you behind that desk.”

(Y/N) falls silent. No more words are spoken. There was no use in trying to argue or be right. Jason was jealous again. He’d done this once before when another coworker, someone on (Y/N)’s pay grade, showed interest in her. The elevator doors finally open and she treads heavily out the front doors, never looking back.

…………………..

(Y/N) spent the rest of the evening wrapped in her bed sheets, at first crying with her makeup still on, then eating leftovers and watching Criminal Minds reruns. Hearing Dr. Reid talk about m.o.’s calmed her down. She’d turned her phone off hours ago just to get some peace. Family and friends were calling and texting her non-stop yesterday evening about her appearance with Shawn. At the time it was too much to handle with possibility of getting fired still looming over her head. But now with the worst over, (Y/N) figured she should probably check her notifications for anything important.

Through all the messages from cousins and people who barely knew her, one single text from Shawn floated to the very top.

[please call me]

He sent it about an hour after (Y/N)’s meeting with Mr. Derringer. It’s 1 AM now but Shawn was in LA. She checks the time zones first then finds his contact and presses the call button. He picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, are you okay?”

(Y/N) grins for the first time today, more than happy to hear that soft voice again. “I should be asking you that. Every news outlet has a story on you. And me, I guess.”

“Yeah but are you okay?”

It sounds like he’d been waiting to ask her this question all day. Technically, (Y/N) was okay, but she could be better, given the circumstances. She chooses her next words carefully.

“I…I will be. I didn’t get fired if that’s what you mean. Thank you for that by the way.”

“I’m so sorry. I said everything would be fine and I should have known this would happen.”

“It’s not your fault. People aren’t that crazy about it. Your fans are being relatively nice to me, now that they know my face.”

“They know your face?”

“Yeah. More photos came out this morning.”

Shawn goes quiet for a moment. It sounds like he’s moving into another room away from the chatter in the background. “Could we video chat?” The new echo of his voice sounds like he’s moved into the bathroom.

(Y/N) looked at her reflection in the mirror on the wall across the room. Dramatic streaks of mascara still trailed down her cheeks and her eyes were still very red. She should say no, but she desperately wants to see his face. And this technically didn’t go against Jason’s stupid new rules for her.

“Give me a minute.”

She washes her face in the bathroom the best she can. Her eyes are still red when she’s done. Fuck it, she thinks. Maybe he won’t notice.

(Y/N) flops back down on her bed and opens the app. Shawn’s face pops up on her screen, riddled with concern. He’s sat in the bathtub, one in a hotel probably, wearing a white t-shirt, hair fluffy and wild without its gel. One “s” curl fell on his forehead.

Unfortunately, he does notice. “You’ve been crying?”

(Y/N) bites her lip. “Maybe.”

Shawn doesn’t speak. He just wants to look at the girl on his screen. The truth is he didn’t really have a good reason to facetime her other than just wanting to see her again. He was so sure that she would never want to talk to him again after all of this.

“I want to know why, but you don’t have to tell me,” he says.

“No, it’s alright. I’m not fired but I am never allowed to be seen in public with you again as long as I work there.” (Y/N) sniffles. “Which is fucking stupid.”

“So quit,” he mutters. The words leave his mouth before he can think twice about saying them.

“Quit?”

“I mean—I’m kidding, that’s not what I meant. God, that sounded really bad.”

“It did,” she says through a smile. “But I have thought about it. About a year ago actually.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I met someone. At work. We’re not a real couple but...” (Y/N) realizes she doesn’t have an appropriate label for whatever she and Jason are, but Shawn seems to understand. “I wasn’t trying to get ahead. I did actually like him once upon a time. But he never wanted to be anything more with me. Then he became my boss and things just moved under the table.”

Shawn thinks this time before speaking. “Was it that guy you were with at the party?”

“Damn, you’re good. How much of that did you see?”

“I saw when he tried to get you to dance. And when he was at the bar.”

“Well if this music thing ever bombs—it won’t—you should be a detective.”

Shawn gives her a weak smile. A piece of his heart broke a little when she admitted to being in a relationship, albeit a noncommittal and toxic one. Someone already had her heart and her eyes.

“Do you still love him?”

(Y/N) thinks about it for second. Love? It seemed so unattainable for her at this point. At the start, Jason was romantic but never with the usual gestures. Just clever lines and secret lunch dates on the rooftop. Then one day he just stopped. Looking back, it doesn’t seem like love anymore. Just regular sneaking around. “I don’t think we ever made it to the love stage of it all.”

Shawn slouches down into the tub more, forcing his long legs out and his feet up on the tiled wall in front of him.

“I take it back. Maybe you should quit.”

(Y/N) blinks at him. “Very funny. I may be unhappy, but I still have bills to pay. That bastard docked my salary too, so I’ll be working double shifts again.”

“No, I’m serious, (Y/N). If you go in tomorrow and put it your two weeks’ notice, you can have a job as my assistant.”

She sits up in her bed, not believing a word of what those bright pink lips were telling her. “I thought we we’re joking when we talked about that.”

He shrugs. “I wasn’t.”

“Doesn’t there have to be a few more conversations with a few more people before you just bring a new person on board?”

“I’ll talk to Andrew tonight,” he promises. “He knows who you are, and I’ve told him how hard you work.”

“I’d have to think about it Shawn. That’s a big leap.”

“I know, but I do mean it. You have a job waiting for you whenever you want it.”

(Y/N) tried feel good about this, but everything about working for Shawn scared her. She knew his intentions were good but there was more risk than that. What if she fell into the same hole she did with Jason? What would fans say? What would people think?

“I call you when I have an answer.”

......................

taglist:

@spider-mendes @sebsdreamboat @innositer

[trbl-will-find-me]

Every Exit, An Entrance (26/?)

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option. Read from the beginning on AO3

The first story breaks in the Buenos Aires press, a front page, side column feature about mysterious footage and documents depicting an attempted abduction in the city at the height of the invasion.

There are details from the leaked After Action Report, quotes from the aftermath of the initial attack, and follow up with survivors. It’s an article focused on the facts, backed up by a respectable bit of legwork, and blessedly free from the taint of sensationalism. It’s picked up quickly by the local news, and then the national. The wire services begin to circulate it shortly thereafter.

It’s a curiosity, not a headline, a reminder to the public that, despite the devastation, there were those who fought back, who did what they could to push back the incursion wherever the aliens appeared. It is a reminder that those who fought remain cloaked in intrigue, in governmental denial and official non-existence.  She wagers the story is enough to spark the demand for more --- nothing like a mystery to spark a readership’s curiosity.

Shen seems to agree, offering her a quiet nod of congratulations as the story continues to spread.

The game is afoot.

“Commander,” Central greets her as she steps into Mission Control.

“Central. Anything interesting?”

“Dr. Vahlen would like to see you. She has concerns about recent events.”

Her heart stutters.  “Could you elaborate?”

“She’s concerned the research team’s work may not be secure.”

She draws in a small breath and lets it out slowly. We still have time, she reassures herself. “Dr. Shen made it clear the intrusion didn’t impact weapons development work or interrogation logs.  That data is still secure.”

“Her concerns were more … academic in nature.”

The comment catches her off guard. “We won a war, and she’s worried about someone scooping her credit?”

“She’s of the opinion that the discoveries made over the course of the Invasion will lead to significant advances; she’d like to ensure her name, and the names of her people, are attached.”

She can’t say she’s unsympathetic. Academia has never been kind to women, particularly not to women in the hard sciences. She can’t argue Vahlen’s brilliance or skill in managing her department. They would never have survived the initial onslaught, let alone the full scope of the conflict, without the woman’s passion, dedication, and astonishing talent for assembling disparate scraps into a coherent analysis. There is no doubt in her mind that Vahlen is deserving of accolades; she had just hoped to keep their work out of the realm of ‘publish or perish.’

“Has Dr. Shen expressed similar concerns?”

“No, but he does have an updated timeline for global Firestorm coverage.”

“How bad?”

“Start of the second week of March.”

She cocks her head. “That’s not too terrible, given the past few weeks. The update should soothe the Council’s nerves.”

Bradford meets her gaze, but is silent for a beat. The meaning is clear: Don’t kid yourself, Lizzie.

“We can only hope, ma’am.”

She hopes none of the men on duty notice the way she tries to bite back a grin. “Keep an eye on things here. I’ll go try to reassure the good doctor.”

--

She is running out of time. The scouting team is due back within the day, and she is still empty handed. She has nothing of use, save for the confirmation that she should absolutely not eat any meat offered to her.

It’s not for lack of trying. She has been out and about with the crew every night til late, being regaled by their exploits.

They’ve made in-roads, certainly. There seems to be a budding, if mostly friendly, rivalry between the sharpshooters and their Reaper contemporaries. Thomas has already been slapped by no fewer than three of their allies. No one, however, has dared to partake of the cuisine.

But, if they have uncovered anything of use, they have let to mention it in her presence.

She may be without recourse.

It is late and she is freshly dressed from an all too brief showers when the knock comes at her door.

“In!” She calls.

Central’s hands tremor, but there is a light in his eyes. “I think I got your intel.”

“What? How?”

He settles on her couch. “Sally’s a known quantity to enough of Volk’s people. They let a few more things slip around her than they really should.”

“I’m listening,” she says, settling across from him.

“There’s a growing chunk of people who think Volk’s lost his way.”

“In deciding to work with us?”

“No. That thing that took Mox? The Reapers have their own, but officially, he doesn’t exist.”

“Why would ADVENT confirm? They gain nothing from it.”

Central shakes his head. “Not ADVENT. Volk. This thing shoots up their camps and slaughters their people, but he won’t hear talk of it, let alone addressing it.”

She furrows her brow. “Why?”

“Rumor has it this thing used to be one of them.”

She weighs her next question carefully. “Is it true?” He shrugs “Volk won’t talk about it with anyone, inside the Reapers or out. I’d say that gives the claim some weight, but I don’t have proof either way.”

She chews on her lip. “So, he lost one of his own and ADVENT’s using it against him. Now, his people are suffering for it and it’s wearing thin. Is that right?” “That’s the gist of it.” She can feel a grin spread across her face. “Dissent in the ranks. God, that’s gold. How’d you get it out of Sally?”

“Didn’t have to.”

“She volunteered?”

“Sort of. Might be fairer to say she runs her mouth if she’s playing a clean game of poker.”

“She know you overheard?”

“Who do you think she was playing against?”

She chuckles. “So, things are better on that front.”

“They’re stable,” he says. “Less shouting.”

“That’s gotta be a relief.”

He lets out a sigh, and nods. “I don’t know if things will ever really be better, not after what I did. But I’ll take whatever improvements happen.”

“Life’s funny, John. You never know what’s coming.”

He meets her gaze for a moment, and she realizes what she’s said. It’s a level of familiarity, of intimacy she wasn’t intending to inject.

But, there it is. She can’t quite bring herself to regret it.

“Yeah, Lizzie. I guess you’re right.”

-- There is a giggle and a knock at her office door. She sets aside the next batch of files to be released and locks her desk before responding to the summons.

Steph Royston stands before her, ruddy cheeked and pajama clad, a box in her hand.

“Ma’am! We’re gonna get Molchetti drunk off shitty boxed wine for my bachelorette! Come celebrate!”

She can’t help the chuckle that escapes her lips. “It seems you already started.”

Royston grins. “Bernard and I got into the gin. It’s gonna be a good night.”

“You are gonna be so hung over for your wedding.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got til five o’clock tomorrow to pull myself together, then.”

Her eyes dart from Royston to her office door and then back. She has work to do, responsibilities to attend to. She can’t risk the momentum that’s begun to gather. She should stay in, should focus on the task at hand.

But it’s not every day that there is something to celebrate, let alone something as momentous as a wedding. It’s not every day she’s summoned from her professional duties to partake in some decidedly un-professional fun. It’s not everyday two people beat the odds to make a run at happily ever after.

Oh, fuck it, she reasons. You’ve never thought twice about stopping to grieve. Is death somehow more worthy than life?

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s go see you try to get Isabella to touch a drop of that stuff.”

Royston smirks. “Bernard thought I should put it in a bottle, but that seemed cruel.”

“So, you’re just gonna feed her box wine?’

“Oh, no. Devorah is.”

Looking back, she won’t be able to really explain the sequence of events that leads them up, up, and out into the cold of the Kansas night. She suspects the wine played a part, yes, along with the revelation that Hershel had gone her entire life up until that point without once having ever thrown a snowball.

There they stand, under silent January stars, beginning to shiver as the cold bites through their coats. There is snow in their hair and blood in their cheeks. Hershel cackles and lobs another wintery projectile at her girlfriend, who retaliates in kind. Steph sits on the ground nearby, and raises a toast to the moon before flopping backwards onto the powder.

When the cold finally wins out, when they can no longer tolerate the sting of the air on their skin, they stumble back into the base. Central catches her eye with a look of fond admonishment. She offers him a terrible wink, and Steph covers her mouth in a futile attempt to suppress her laughter.

“Commander.”

“Central,” she grins.

She’s asleep when he crawls into bed that night, waking only when he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“I can’t believe you broke protocol for that,” she says, quietly.

She snuggles closer to him. “Hershel had never thrown a snowball. It seemed important to fix.”

She feels his laugh deep in his chest. “Certainly, a moral imperative.”

“You ready for tomorrow?”

“Are any of us?”

She laughs. “Probably not.” --

They are gathered in Volk’s tent —-herself, Central, Shen, Tygan, Volk, and Kate Starling, Volk’s second-in-command—as the scouting team, newly returned from the field reviews their findings.

The news is good, better than she could have hoped for, really. Pratal Mox is being held in a nearby ADVENT detention facility, one that a skilled covert operative should be able to penetrate with little difficulty.

“That’s great,” Lily offers. “But the second we cut through the security protocols on that door, the whole region’s security grid will light up. We’d have to be in and out.”

“We’ll keep Firebrand on standby and arm everyone for a tough fight,” Central says. “It’s less security than we faced for Gatecrasher, and we still managed.”

The Commander nods. “Right, Outrider, you’ll take point---“

“Oh, so you’re sending one of my people to go rescue your precious Skirmisher. I hope this doesn’t turn out to be a waste of resources, Regan.”

She closes her eyes and draws in a breath, then opens them again. “Would the rest of you excuse Volk and I for a minute?”

The others rise and make their exits. Central offers her a small nod of encouragement.

“Volikov,” she says once she’s certain they are alone. “In twenty years, you’ve held ground. I’ll give you that. In your own little corner of the universe, you’ve traded some measure of your humanity to keep ADVENT at bay. I’m not here to pass judgment.”

“What we have now, though, is a chance to push back. To retake some of what should be ours. That means working as a team. You, me, the Reapers, the Skirmishers, anyone we can get on board. And if you can’t take your head out of your ass, play nicely, and support an alliance, then I will find someone here who can.”

“Are you threatening me, Regan?”

“I’m just saying that if you can’t act in the best interest of your people, I’m sure someone here can.”

“The best interest of my people? And what would you know about that?” “Only that you’ve got a chunk of your population who thinks you’re no longer operating in the best interest of their survival. Seems your boogeyman has too much blood on his hands for them to ignore --- unlike you.”

“You know noth---“

“I know your people are tired of you hiding your head in the sand, and pretending that you don’t have something stalking you. I know, when it comes to those things, you and the Skirmishers have more in common than you’d like to think. I know that all it takes is proof that someone else has a gun that’s every bit as good as yours, and a few whispers in the right ear.” She stands, and brushes a speck of dirt from her jacket. “You placed Dragunova under my command and, until such time as she expresses a desire to leave, she will remain under my command. We’ll get the Skirmisher back, and we’ll put a stop to that thing with or without your help. But when we come marching back here with her head on a pike, I hope you’re ready to learn how loyal your people are.”

Volk stares silently up at her; she wonders if he sees the way she shakes.

“You better make sure you know damn well what you’re doing.”

“You should take your own advice. It’s my show, and I’ll run it the way I see fit.”

She turns, and makes her way out into the dark of the night. She finds her staff, along with Starling and Dragunova, gathered around a nearby campfire.

“We’ll move in the morning,” she says. “Dragunova, you’ll take point. We’ll send Kelly and Thomas for any close combat concerns, and Zaytsev in the event of needing medical care en route back. Starling,” she continues, turning her attention to the other woman. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we’ve got Mox back. Thank your people again for me.”

Starling nods. “Understood.”

She falls in next to Central as they make their way back to the ship.

“And?” He asks, quietly.

“That did it,” she offers, voice barely above a whisper. “As long as I didn’t sign us up for more than we can really handle.” “More than we can handle?”

“We’re gonna have to kill the Assassin.”

“We were gonna have to do that anyway.”

“We don’t even know where she is.”

“We’ll find her.”