#oh hi doctors nothing has happened but i feel like a pathetic shaking dog can you help me

[angelicmemo]

My life is quiet. Why do I still feel this?

[plainlo-inthemorning]

A Loki TVA / Lokane fic that snatched a tempad. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (of 6)

Shine a Light, part 4

This time around, he feels but the faintest glimmer of surprise as he steps out of the doorway and onto a busy sidewalk in Midtown Manhattan.

A few people stop dead in their tracks when the door materializes out of thin air, but the throng of commuters headed to and from Central Station is so dense, Loki’s appearance goes mainly unnoticed.

Dull resignation washes over him.

The tempad is officially broken. Its coordinates locked onto this little planet where, in his own timeline, he has known nothing but defeat.

Without bothering to look for a newsstand, he reasons there’s a strong probability it’s the year 2014. It would seem the damn gadget is slowly counting backwards, while refusing to take him anywhere else in the universe.

Above his head, a billboard flashing on the side of a high-rise building confirms his suspicions.

Incredibly though, the tempad still not out of “juice”. The battery life seems to be making a mockery of his failed attempts to direct the itinerary.

Taking a step out of the moving sea of people, Loki sees little in way of construction sites along the street.

On his timeline, this would have been two years after his attack on the city with Thanos’ army, but if that ‘highlight’ of Loki’s less than acclaimed villainous career took place in this reality as well, the mortals have effectively tidied up after him.

He tries not think of the countless faces frozen in terror that had looked up at him.

Of the lives lost because of his crazed ambition to prove himself - and to destroy something of Thor’s.

Almost if Loki had been transformed back into the chronically jealous five-year-old child who once stole his golden, annoyingly joyful, perfect brother’s favorite model toy - a grey wolf made of clay - and deliberately let it roll down the steps of the throne when their father (his NON-father) had been away.

The toy had broken into pieces and Thor had been inconsolable. Gripped by immediate remorse despite his initial intent, Loki had tried to fix it with his budging magic powers. Only for the wolf to melt to a sticky puddle on the stone floor.

Thor had wailed so loudly, a passing servant had thought him seriously injured and called for their mother, and Loki had been made to apologize, his usually pale cheeks burning scarlet. Then he had been grounded for the remains of the day.

The humiliation had stung, and so had the regret that his magic had failed him.

Not for the first time, the anger had turned, unwarranted (Loki knew then too), towards his brother.

From then on, it had just gotten slowly worse and worse and more malicious right up until that horrible moment of rage no more than a few days ago (a week?), when Loki had driven one of his daggers into Thor’s side on top of the Stark tower.

And twisted it.

The mix of bottomless sadness and shock in his brother’s blue eyes had cut through Loki’s heart with such force he might as well have sunk the blade of his other weapon into his own chest.

But instead of abandoning his pathetic scramble for power and hold Thor, instead of attempting to heal the wound with his magic that has become so formidable in adulthood, Loki had let the poison drown the remains of his sanity.

Of course, shortly afterward, the green monstrosity had effortlessly and repeatedly smashed him into the concrete floor of Stark’s living-quarters until Loki had thought he heard every bone in his supposedly immortal (right!) body break and his skull crack open.

To the outside, it had surely been a suitably entertaining show of retribution, but as he had lain there in the crater of rubble, unable to utter a moan, it was as if all the anger had been knocked out of him.

The link to Thanos’ ungodly servant had been severed and Loki had felt more like himself than he had in a long, long time.

When Thor, looking grimmer than ever, had dragged him to his feet in front of the ragtag band of ‘heroes’ and cuffed him, Loki had found himself strangely elated, on the verge of giddy.

His legs had been so shaky from the beating that Thor had had to hold him by the arm so he wouldn’t fall, and Loki had felt the heat of his brother’s huge hand penetrate the many layers of his own armour.

For a few delirious seconds, Loki had wanted nothing more than to lean against his brother’s strong frame and just close his eyes.

Instead, he had started cracking jokes until Thor had slapped the muzzle on him, as if he were some dog (that gesture had embarrassed him more than anything that had gone before). Unable to keep up his sarcastic commentary as they rode the elevator down, Loki had fleetingly wondered if he was suffering from a psychosis or actual brain damage.

Now, standing on the street so close to where it happened, the memory oozes fresh guilt.

But he redeemed himself.

In his mind, Loki goes through the TVA reel once more to remind himself of the images of his brother later in life, smiling at him.

Right before the end came.

If he is to spend the rest of eternity on Midgard - or at least until the multiverse crumbles - he will try to find solace in the good his future self managed to accomplish.

For Thor and, in another, brighter reality, for her.

The riddle of her part in his life now remains unsolved, but as hard as Loki tries to release the ghost wrapped in his arms, it merely squeezes itself closer to his chest.

He could try to find her here, on this timeline.

She will be with Thor, that much is certain, but since the reel of Loki’s fate had shown him only his own path, he knows not whether Thor and Jane shared a life on Midgard, or somewhere else, up until the brothers reunited (for lack of a better word) on Asgard.

What would Loki even say to her?

That, while at the bureau that controls all space and time, he saw her face on a roll of film of his supposed life, and now he aches for her more than anything? That on an alternate timeline a few hours ago, she kissed him?

Thor would not approve of that exchange.

Also, with Loki’s luck, Thor might be a frog in this reality.

He could still try to use the tempad to transport him to Svartalfheim and his own life’s story, seeing as he is now only year from where he feels so strongly he must go.

But finding the proper timeline is like shooting an arrow into the endless vastness of space and hoping it’ll hit the right comet.

He realizes that now.

An arrow.

Somehow, somewhere, on two timelines no less, variants of him had …

Loki’s head jerks up.

The tower.

It’s a desperate idea at best, but from the (very) little Loki knows of his character, Stark’s superior technical skills go hand in hand with an endlessly hungry, inquisitive mind. And pride.

Much like Loki, Stark is a man who needs to be the smartest man in the room. And like Loki, he probably is, most of time (in fact… no. Don’t go there).

Maybe Stark will listen.

Perhaps he can even help make sense of the tempad if Loki can somehow win his trust and appeal to his curiosity and (he winces a little) heroism.

Was it not Loki’s actions who had helped Stark “realize his best potential”, as his TVA file put it?

He spots the imposing structure further up the street, noticing the huge “A” at the top (is that new?), and sets off towards it at a brisk pace, darting in and out of the crowds on the packed sidewalk.

Here goes nothing.

As he reaches the large glass doors he briefly experiences a dizzying deja-vu, when suddenly a man’s voice calls out to him.

A frighteningly familiar, agitated voice.

… With a particular brand of anger bubbling underneath, that Loki had hoped he’d never have to witness up close ever again.

//

“What the hell are you doing here??”

His dark, curly hair has a few more streaks of silver. The checkered shirt is slightly crumbled, the glasses a bit askew. He clutches an armful of papers to his chest.

And he’s wearing a furious expression although, thank the Norns, a mortal complexion.

For now.

“Didn’t Tony explicitly tell you not to come here?! Are you that intent on causing everyone to lose their shit again?!”

Worry is all over Doctor Banner’s screwed up face.

“Seriously, Loki, is this funny to you? Clint is actually in the building right now and, in case Tony didn’t already inform you, he’s made it very clear that he’s quitting the team if you were to stroll through the front door!”

The Avenger has started shaking, his eyes wild (too wild).

This is heading in the wrong direction fast.

Mustering all the calm in the world despite his racing pulse and the nauseating sounds of bones breaking echoing in his head, Loki puts on his most courteous and, he dearly hopes, un-cocky charming smile.

“Bruce, please relax. I assure you, I’m not here to cause trouble. Not for you or anyone else.”

“Right, you just happened to be in town and wanted to stop by for coffee? Loki, this …”

Loki gently interrupts him.

“I merely came here to have a conversation with S- … Tony. Perhaps you could let him know I’m here? I promise you, I will not set foot inside. In fact - “

Loki adopts the form of one of the security guards he can see pacing inside the foyer.

“… I’m not even here.”

Bruce jumps a little and clutches his papers even tighter.

“Oh god, I hate when you do that, man. If you think showing off that trick makes anyone any less nervous around you…”

“Doctor Banner - Bruce. I have something …”

Loki searches for the words, quickly trying to decide on how much to reveal to the man-beast who’s now looking at him with urgent expectancy.

He sighs and bets it all.

“Okay. Bruce, what I’m going to say will sound mad.”

The man scoffs.

“Coming from you, I’d expect nothing less.”

Bruce shakes his head and looks to the sky in exasperation.

“Please - please - don’t tell me you’ve gone and changed your mind about the whole not conquering Earth business. Really, Loki, none of us understand how transforming you into ‘an asset’ became Tony’s pet project over this past year, or why Fury went along with it. But I’m sure both are going to be pretty damn disappointed if their new alien BFF decides to embrace his inner psycho again.”

Loki almost chuckles. It’s all too ridiculous.

“I won’t … embrace my inner ‘psycho’, I swear.”

“Then what?”

The God of Mischief draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Or rather, the security guard’s nose.

Then he surrenders to the absurdity of the situation.

“Bruce, I kindly beg of you, is Tony here? Or … (is there hope?) Thor?”

Bruce still looks at him with deep disdain, but his immediate anger seems to have subsided.

“No, Tony’s out of town. Took Pepper somewhere on holiday. They’re not to be disturbed for at least a week. Her words. And Thor … I should think you of all people know perfectly well why he’s not likely to hang around at the time being. Jeez, you guys and your endless family soap opera … I can’t even.”

Naturally, the universe again blankly refuses to extend any hands to Loki and his doomed quest. Sadly, once again, he is not surprised.

Wait - what?

“What do you mean, ‘soap opera’?”

Bruce looks like he’s about to throw his hands over his head and all the papers with them.

“Oh, come on! What is this?! You want approval? Confirmation of your little victory? Doesn’t the very lovely embodiment of that currently walk around in your apartment or wherever it is you live now? Loki, I’m done here. You have to leave. Bye.”

To hell with Stark – Loki wants to grab Bruce by his shirt collar and shake the little man till he explains what in all of Yggdrasil he’s talking about.

But he cannot afford to tempt the beast. Quite literally.

“Then … can you and I go somewhere to talk? Bruce, you’re a man of science. This is science … related.”

Loki feigns a smile.

Bruce sizes him up. No doubt considering whether to let the other guy continue the conversation.

Then his shoulders drop.

“Okay. Okay. For a creepy megalomaniac, you somehow tend to end up with some very cool people defending your case. Just know that those people are absolutely the only reason, you and I are still talking. Ugh, I’m too nice … “

Bruce casts a glance over his shoulder into the foyer, appearing to consider their options, when a man exits the glass doors – and shuffles up to them.

“Bruce! How nice to see you. You look well.”

The old man (those eyes …) grins warmly and pats Bruce on the back, then looks from him to Loki and back again.

“Everything alright out here? Is there a security issue?”

Bruce composes himself and smiles back.

“Hi, Lee, good to see you too. All fine. Earl here was just updating me on, eh, the new security procedures.”

He shoots Loki a stern look.

“Ah, yes”, Loki nods seriously. “Doctor Banner had some trouble operating the intricate open and close mechanism of the doors. The elevator doors, especially.”

He can’t help himself. It’s somehow both immensely tragic and life-affirming.

“Oh?” The old man raises an eyebrow (he looks … but he’s not quite …something is off).

“Will I have to get a new security card? I rarely come in these days, but in case …”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, Lee. Because, because … like you say, you’re hardly ever here, so …”

Still smiling awkwardly, Bruce waves a dismissive hand, almost dropping the stack of papers (the man’s a terrible liar, Loki thinks).

“Speaking of”, Banner continues, “you must be enjoying retirement up there, huh, Lee? Must be nice to live by the sea. Good … air quality?”

Loki sighs inwardly.

The dog sniffing at his ankles looks up at him.

He stares down at the round, fluffy thing as if seeing it for the first time.

Which he is and he isn’t.

The old man is saying something to Bruce about the countryside, when he notices the dog wagging its tail at Loki’s feet.

“Oh, he likes you. You’re lucky, he normally doesn’t care for strangers. No, you don’t, do you Fenris”, the man coos.

Under coats of thick white fur, the animal looks eagerly from owner to Loki.

“Okay, well, I’ll be off,” the old man says, finally. “Come see me sometime, Bruce. My neighbor actually just put his house on the market, in case you’re looking for a weekend retreat…”

He nods at Bruce, then at Loki who barely notices. The dog whines unhappily at being dragged away.

It’s the same timeline.

Of course, it is. The tempad has locked itself on a sequence.

But why the different locations …?

“Yes, thank you, Lee. Take care now. Earl, shall we?” Bruce signals to Loki to follow him round the side of the building.

“We can continue our discussion about the security issue in the garage”.

//

“So, let’s hear it. Tell me what you came to say, so I can tell you why it’s a catastrophically bad idea.”

Bruce sits himself across the small table from Loki and dumps the stack of papers in front of him. The top sheet is covered in coffee mug rings.

They are in an anonymous, windowless office somewhere below the vast tower parking lot and numerous in-house repair shops.

The place is a gigantic maze and Loki has just shut himself in a tiny room with the very monster that turned him into ragdoll. The deep slash on his forehead has only just healed.

He does not fear many beings in the universe, but the mild-mannered doctor’s alter ego makes the hit list with the worst of them.

Ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up (why did this seem like a good idea?), Loki drops his disguise and takes a seat on the cheap plastic chair. Not much of that flashy Stark glamour down here.

“Okay.” Loki takes out the tempad and puts it in the middle of the table.

He is not quite sure where to start, so he decides to begin with the purely technical aspect.

Bruce might appreciate being given a few ‘scientific’ details before any mentions of giant smoke monsters and alligators.

In fact, the fewer magical creatures and castles in the sky, the better.

“This is called a tempad. It’s a device that makes it possible to travel anywhere in time. You type in your destination, and a doorway opens. I did not make it myself. It was, er, given to me by a large and very powerful organization … in space.”

Bruce is leaning forward to get a better look at the tempad but makes no attempt to reach for it.

As he’s says nothing, Loki continues.

“This is where it gets, uh, weird, but try to believe me when I tell you, I’m not the Loki you know. I’m from another, similar timeline and -“

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just stop, Loki.”

Bruce is leaning back on his chair again. He looks tired.

“I don’t know if you’re supremely bored of domestic bliss already, or just being your supremely annoying self, but I won’t engage. You’re not Loki but a time-traveler from space? Yeah, it’s -“

“No, Bruce, I am Loki. Trust me, I know this seems -“

“Trust? You wanna talk about trust again?” Bruce takes out his phone.

“Okay, we can do that.”

He taps a few buttons, then holds the phone to his ear.

“What are you doing?” Loki’s voice has a sharper edge to it than he intended.

The Avenger stares him down.

“Oh, I’m just calling someone. This guy I have in my contacts under God of Lies”.

Please, no …

Briefly, Loki considers whether another variant of him – the one he encountered at the house by the ocean, most likely – would actually be of more help.

Or if he, the variant, would try to kill him.

It was one thing reasoning with and trying not to get killed by Loki variants who at least understood the concept of variants, but how would he have reacted upon being confronted with a twin before the TVA?

No, not a twin … Because this variant has her.

None of the variants in the Void – the grown-up, human ones – had mentioned versions of her.

Either this variant has successfully taken out every Minute Man ever sent by the TVA to arrest him (in which case, Loki concedes, he may be the superior Loki), or this whole timeline has only just blossomed at the opening of the multiverse.

Why else would he, who apparently also gave his phone number to Bruce Banner, get to live a life so vastly different from the typical arc of a misguided Jotun prince?

Loki feels light-headed.

On one hand, he wants to know everything there is to know about his double, on the other, he fears what and who he might find.

You don’t belong here. Find your own timeline. No more Lokis.

Focus. Explain.

He raises his one hand in a placating gesture.

“Give me a little time to try and explain this, Bruce, and then, then … You can call whoever. Call everyone! But please just -“

“Oh, what do you know,” Bruce puts his phone down, “there’s no answer. What a surprise.”

He crosses his arms.

Loki inhales and tries again, speaking as evenly and as calmly as he can while his frustration mounts:

“There is no way of telling you all or any of this without it sounding utterly ludicrous, so you’ll have to hear me out. Five minutes uninterrupted from now, okay? Yes, we’re talking time travel, but compared to what’s really at stake, even time travel is a pretty basic technicality. Also, I promise you, in a few years’ time from now, the concept of time travel won’t seem all that laughable to you and Stark in particular. Provided this reality exists in a few years’ time seeing as -“

Bruce sighs dramatically.

“Yes, okay, so”, Loki continues, “Two years ago, I attacked New York, right?”

“If you’re about to roll out some outlandish excuse – another one! – I don’t care to hear it.”

The other man is narrowing his eyes as a fresh look of undistilled loathing creeps into his features.

So it did happen on this timeline as well.

“No, it’s not that. Or, I mean, let’s save that. When you captured me, in my timeline, I escaped from the lobby with the Infinity stone. I know it seems impossible from your end of events but - “

“Impossible?”

Bruce gives him a strange look Loki can’t quite interpret.

“Yes, S… Tony dropped the briefcase with the Infinity stone, and I picked it up and -“

Bruce pushes his chair back. The plastic scrapes loudly against the stone tiles of the floor.

“Loki, I can’t. I thought I had the patience to at least indulge you but turns out I don’t. I can’t tell if you’re losing your mind, but either way, you’ll have to take it – this, whatever it is – up with Tony instead when he gets back. Maybe bring that sweet lab partner of yours along if you’re going to talk time travel. With her field of expertise, I’m sure - “

“WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!”

Without thinking, Loki slams both his hands into the table. Papers go flying and Bruce staggers backwards.

Horror dawns as Loki realizes his error, but it’s already too late.

Bruce doubles over in spasms and a deep, much too deep, growling sound escapes his lips. He grips his head with his shaking hands as if trying to contain the explosion within, and Loki feels his own brain go numb with panic as one of those hands triples in size and a sickly green hue rapidly spreads.

There is no way out.

Bruce is blocking the door and soon his bulk will be taking up the entire room. He falls to his knees, arms thrashing wildly and his shirt ripping across his back. The table sails over Loki’s head, one of the chairs lodges itself in the soundproofed ceiling, causing the panels of fluorescent light to flicker madly.

Are there no security cameras?!

There are screams, but they no longer sound human.

Loki has nowhere to hide.

He has to gather his magic around him, but terror is completely scattering his focus, cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

It is a matter of seconds before the transformation will be complete and the monster attempts to tear him limb from limb. With no heroes to stop it.

Cold.

He has only consciously reached for it once before, but now the thought barely registers before ice rushes through him as if by instinct. Bruce is not the only one with an abomination lurking under the surface.

He doesn’t have the casket of his birth father, but he has strength.

There is no time to consider if it’s enough or nothing at all. No time for crippling self-loathing or shame.

In front of him, the Hulk lifts its crazed, bloodshot eyes to meet his.

The green creature cannot stand upright in the office, and the first fist goes through the ceiling with the force of a wrecking ball. The next lashes out at Loki, who dodges it just as his own skin turns a deep, brilliant blue.

Little black ridges and markings rise on his arms and face and though his sight doesn’t falter, he feels the instant his eyes go from green to bright red. The fabric of his clothes chafes his new skin and waves of adrenaline surge through his body. Multiple foreign senses come alive and drown his fear.

But he has not a breath to spare to get used to his true form before the Hulk shoves him against the wall so hard, the bricks shift against his side as if they were made of a child’s building blocks.

The impact makes him gasp for air, yet the pain … the pain he can manage.

He just has to last long enough get out of here. And the cold is crystalizing his focus to let the magic flow easily, powerfully through his hands.

His blue hands.

If he had used this when …

Loki pushes himself off the wall (out of it) and almost collides with the Hulk (there’s no space left to maneuver in) who, instead of smashing its way out, seems hell-bent on squashing the only living thing in its line of sight first.

Loki swiftly crouches down on one knee, puts his palms together and, faster than the blink of a brilliant crimson eye, conjures a rotating orb of ice and chaos energy that explodes in a blinding flash of white light as he hurls it square into the monster’s chest.

The Hulk falls back, breaking through the wall to the parking lot on the other side and crashing into a row of cars, while a sheath of ice spreads from its chest and up its neck. The being that is not Bruce howls and claws at its skin, but the smooth ice thickens and as it reaches the head of the beast, it slides right into its eye sockets – and momentarily blinds it.

It will probably only last seconds but it’s all Loki needs while the Hulk shakes its head furiously.

He makes to flee when he spots the tempad on the cracked floor.

He can’t leave it.

As Loki dives for the gadget, the Hulk simultaneously knocks itself in the face with both fists, splintering the ice into a rain of tiny spikes. With a roar to match the sound of a spaceship engine taking off, the creature lunges.

Loki’s fingers close around the tempad.

He feels a buzz.

The door appears in front of him.

He doesn’t stop to think before throwing himself through it.

The Hulk punches into empty air.

Part 5

[handsome-john]

Community Gardens

Guess who’s finally dragged themselves out of writer’s block hell and is using this energy to fix the terrible lack of Hanahaki fics in this fandom! Check reblogs for ao3 link if you prefer reading that way

Relationships: Rhack, with some Timoxxi in the back ground

Words: 3621

Warnings: Blood, vomit, strong language, and sexual humor 

Summary:  It was a rose, complete with a thorny stem. It was soft, delicate, beautiful, and drenched in blood.

Handsome Jack did not fall in love. Sure he slept around, maybe had a few candle lit dates, once even playfully kissed a co-worker on the cheek while a little tipsy. But he did not fall in love. 

  Sure Jack fell in love plenty of times. Even married twice and almost got married a third time before Nisha had the common sense to walk out the door. But Jack died long ago, in a godforsaken vault on that godforsaken moon. 

  All that was left was Handsome Jack. Powerful, rich, and sexy CEO of Hyperion. Who did not fall in love with anyone! No one at all. 

  Handsome Jack told himself that every night. But that did not stop the soreness in his throat or the tightness in his lungs. It didn’t stop the constant flow of rose petals he coughed up each night.

  Handsome Jack did not fall in love. He plunged head first into it, just like Jack plunged into that vault all those years ago. And just like that vault, the only thing Jack would gain from love is disappointment and permanent scars. 

  He didn’t realize he’d been zoned out for the past half-hour until the hot piece of ass Jack called his PA snapped him out of it.   “Your coffee, sir.” Rhys said, handing him a mug with Jack’s face on it. “I made it as sweet as you, sir.” 

  The coffee was black, just how Jack liked it. He gave him a smile that was all teeth. “You’re lucky I’m too lazy to find another personal assistant as good as you, pumpkin. Anyone else would be getting an up close and personal look at my airlock for that kind of sass.”

  “I know sir,” Rhys said with the tone of someone who knew exactly how important they were, and the smirk to match. 

  Do you really? Jack wanted to ask. Do you have any idea how important you are to me?

  Rhys made Jack feel vulnerable, and he had the charm and personality to make Jack not even mind. He had Handsome freakin’ Jack wrapped around his little cybernetic finger and there was nothing Jack could do about it. 

  Well there was one thing. But Handsome Jack didn’t do that. Even if he wanted to. 

  He was snapped out of his thoughts once again by another coughing fit. His throat had been killing him all morning. It’s the worst it’s ever been and the strangest part was that there hadn’t even been any petals yet. Sure he was grateful, wouldn’t want to spit bloody sunflower petals all over Rhys’s stupid asymmetrical shirt, but it was odd. 

  “Are you alright sir?” Rhys said with concern so genuine it made Jack’s stomach twist into a knot. 

  “I’m freakin’ fine-” He wheezed, sounding like a dying dog. He gripped his desk for support, coughing his throat raw. 

  “I’ll go get some cough medicine!” Jack didn’t want to be alone at the moment, but he’d rather Rhys not see what happened next. 

  Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, definitely seeping under his mask and splattering across the desk. The burning in his throat made his eyes water, like he ate a cup full of razor blades. No scratch that, a cup full of razor blades would be preferable to this.

  He jolted forward, retching when he felt something tickling the back of his tongue. It was soft, like a tissue. It was also very good at hitting every single one of his gag triggers. 

  He knelt over his trash can and shoved two fingers into his mouth. He was desperate to get whatever the fuck that was out of him. 

  The pain intensified tenfold as he tugged. Black spots danced in his vision. God he was pathetic.

  Finally there was a soft snap and Jack threw the wet thing onto the floor with a soft splat. He grabbed the bin and hacked up petals and whatever he ate for breakfast. With his stomach emptied, Jack laid down on the floor, the cool tile nice against his burning face, and examined whatever the hell he just coughed up. 

  It was a rose, complete with a thorny stem. It was soft, delicate, beautiful, and drenched in blood. 

  Of course it was a fucking rose. 

  The door opened with a whoosh, alerting Jack that Rhys was back. He quickly threw away the rose and whipped his face. Hopefully Rhys wouldn’t notice all the blood on his desk, or floor, or in the garbage can, or leaking out the side of his mask, or…

  Okay so he was screwed.

  “What the hell happened!? Jack! Jack, do I need to call anyone!?” Rhys knelt by his side, gently shaking the man on the floor.

  “I’m fucking fine kiddo.” He grimaced, his body screaming at him to shut the hell up. He tried to sit up, but a firm hand on his chest stopped him. 

  “You should lay down. Rest your head. What happened? Is there a doctor I can call?” 

  “No!” Jack growled. He hated doctor’s. Last time he went to a doctor for anything more than a shot or a regular check up was when he was getting a mask grafted to his face. He hated their pitying looks and how they treated him like glass. He could never trust a doctor. 

  But he trusted Rhys. Rhys had only worked for Jack a little over five years. But in those five years Rhys had gotten closer to him than anyone else. Jack trusted Rhys enough to open up about his daughter, his sweet Angel that was off with another pair of sirens learning to use her Phaseshift powers. 

  Could he trust Rhys with this? It wasn’t like he had much of a choice because the more he thought about Rhys, the itchier his throat felt, until he was sputtering out sunflower petals. 

  Rhys’s expression was hard to read. A mix of horror, realization, and sympathy. “Oh… Oh no.” 

  Oh no was a pretty good way to describe hanahaki. It wasn’t contagious, but it was extremely easy to catch. There was no cure, at least no cure that was worth it, but with advances in modern medicine it wasn’t deadly. 

  There were three levels of severity. Tier one which was common in kids with schoolyard crushes that would really go anywhere. It usually only involved petals. Tier two is what you had to worry about, coming from the kind of crushes you could actually see yourself marrying. Sore throats, difficulty breathing, and small flowers.

  Tier three was the worst kind. While the flowers and vines themselves won’t kill you, suffocation and blood loss will. There were medicines that could get rid of the stems, and small surgeries to help the lungs, but completely removing the flowers could be extremely detrimental to both your physical and mental health. 

  Tier three hanahaki came from deep love that was surly unrequited. But that’s just what the ECHOnet told him. And what did the ECHOnet know. Handsome Jack did not fall in love.

  Sure his doppelgänger fell in love, but Tim wasn’t Jack, even though Jack was paying him to be. Tim was actually where he learned about hanahaki. It happened after they met Moxxi on Concordia. 

***

“Does anyone have a bottle of bubbly I can smash against this thing?” Jack asked as they prepared to launch the Meriff’s statue-head into Pandora’s asshole. “Ah nevermind. Go ahead and fire!” 

  Nisha cackled as she slammed her hand onto the launch button. The remix played as it zoomed off. 

  Jack glanced around, noticing one of his vault hunter’s missing. “Say have any of you seen Timmy around? He was supposed to be here for this!?” 

  “Lost track of him after we spoke to Moxxi.” Wilhelm said, which was probably one of the longer sentences he’s said yet. 

  “I think I saw him run to the bathroom. Probably to deal with a ‘little problem’ of it,” Nisha said with an exaggerated wink. 

  “He’s going to have bigger problems in a minute.” 

  Jack made his way over to the bathrooms, fully ready to chew Timothy out. “Tim! You better not be Jacking-off in here!” 

  He heard Tim groan in pain and ran over to his stall. He found the doppelgänger kneeled by the toilet, face first in it. Jack let out a low whistle, feeling a twinge of sympathy.

  “Moxxi rope you into having one too many drinks?” He paused, noticing a trial of magnolia petals. 

  Tim looked at Jack and coughed, spraying petals across the floor. 

  It wasn’t hard to figure out it was hanahaki. Looking up “coughing up flowers” really only has one result, not including weird fetish porn. 

  “It better not be Moxxi.” Jack said, threat emanating from his voice.

  Tim had a bashful look on his face that Jack would never be caught dead with. “She’s just so pretty. And smart! She’s a mechanic and she looks cute even witho-” he whimpered as more petals filled his mouth.

  It only seemed to be a tier two case, still it would be annoying if Tim was kept from work just because of some flower petals. Though it would also be annoying to watch his ex and his doppelgänger get all mushy and gross together. 

  Somehow the tiny little piece of him that felt bad for the doppelgänger won out. 

  “Okay fine. Go for it.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’ve got my charm and good looks. You can win her back no problem.” 

  Tim smiled, wiping the drool and petals off his face. “Thank you sir! I won’t disappoint you sir!” 

  That night Tim fell in love. But Jack was not Tim. Handsome Jack did not love. 

***

After Jack refused to see a doctor, Rhys decided to assign himself the role of caretaker, starting with getting Jack home. Handsome Jack wasn’t sure why Rhys insisted on supporting him as they made their way up to Jack’s penthouse. It wasn’t like his legs were broken. 

  Rhys laid Jack onto the couch. “Stay here and rest. I’ll make tea, it'll help with your throat.” 

  “Fine fine.” Jack wasn’t even sure if he had tea. He was more of a coffee man. 

  He didn’t usually bring people up to his penthouse for social calls, if you could call whatever this is a social call. Actually he never let anyone in here that he wasn’t planning on fucking or killing. The more he thought about it, the more likely he would probably end up doing one of those things to Rhys. 

  Rhys returned, handing him a teacup. “This will taste bitter, but it helps with the sore throats and the thorns.” He smiled at him. A soft smile that made Jack feel weirdly vulnerable, like Rhys could see right through him and still wanted him.

  Jack shuttered, his throat burning when he thought of Rhys. It was coincidence of course, Jack was not in love with Rhys. 

  He took a slow sip of the tea and forced back a gag. “God you weren’t kidding when you said bitter!” 

  Rhys winced. “Normally people add a bit of honey to help with the taste, but I couldn’t find any and I was in a hurry.” 

  Jack stared at the swirling grey-green liquid and decided a bad taste was better than a sore throat. 

  “How do you know so much about this shit anyway?” 

  Rhys sat down and rubbed the back of his neck. “I had a friend that had a chronic case of it. I learned a lot helping them out.” 

  “Oh… How long did your friend have it?” 

  “Five years.”

  “Damn. How does someone live that way.”

  Rhys shrugged. “You get used to it. Eventually taking pain meds and hiding flower petals in your shirt becomes as normal as waking up every morning and going to work. You adapt.” 

  Jack wasn’t sure what to say, which was probably a good thing since it was killing him to hold a conversation this long. Rhys stood up, signifying that this conversation was probably over anyway. 

  “I’ll make dinner. Something soft. Do you have ice cream? I guess obviously you probably do. I’m going to walk away now.” 

  Jack pretended he wasn’t staring right at Rhys’s ass as he left. Rhys always seemed confident at work, when he was making phone calls and chewing someone out for Jack. But the few times Jack had caught Rhys outside of work he was a whole different person. Jack could certainly understand putting on a mask.

  Speaking of masks, god his was itchy. He trusted Rhys, but he didn’t want to take his mask off around him. Rhys would be disgusted, probably be asked to be transferred to a different part of Helios. Jack would probably have to kill Rhys in case he tried to use his secret against him. 

     No, the reasonable side of Jack protested. Rhys never once tried to manipulate Jack. Sure sometimes he would hackle Jack about a raise, but he never once used Angel against him, or slipped a little alcohol in his drink so he’d be more agreeable. Hell the kid hasn’t even tried to get in bed with Jack. And at this point, shooting your shot with the Handsome Jack, might as well be in the job description. 

  Jack wheezed as he coughed up hyacinth petals into his now empty glass. Why hadn’t Rhys ever made a move on him? It wasn’t like Rhys was afraid of Jack. Is it possible Rhys just doesn’t see Jack that way?

  No that’s impossible, Jack’s vanity said. Everyone in the ship, no matter the sexuality, wanted a piece of Jack. And Rhys’s feelings didn’t matter either way, because Handsome Jack did not fall in love. 

  Rhys, the pure angel, returned with a bucket and a tub of chocolate ice cream just in time to catch the hyacinths Jack puked up. 

***

“You know this would be easier if you took off your mask,” Rhys said softly. 

  “You’ve said.” Jack growled, plucking petals out of his drink. Jack didn’t remember when Rhys dragged him over to his bed but that’s where he’s been the past couple of days.  

  “I just want to help you. I promise I won’t tell a soul. It just can’t be good for you to wear it this long.” 

  Rhys had been up in Jack’s penthouse for a week. Jack refused to see a doctor and his condition was slowly getting worse. Rhys did what he could, but what Jack really needed was a doctor or to confess his feelings. 

  It hurt watching his boss and friend, at least Rhys hoped they were friends, in so much pain. For many reasons. His most selfish reason was that he was sure that whoever Jack loved, it definitely wasn’t him. 

  Jack gave him a cold look that made Rhys’s stomach twist for many reasons. 

  “Fine I understand. I’m going to go make dinner.” Rhys got up and made his way over to the bathroom instead. He kneeled over the toilet, jacarandas spilling out of his mouth. At least they aren’t roses, he thought bitterly. 

  Jack insisted that he could eat solid foods just fine, but Rhys knew from experience that probably wouldn’t be a good idea without proper medication. 

  Proper medication that Rhys hadn’t had access to in a week because he’s been at his boss's beck and call ever since he watched Jack hack up three bloody roses on the floor. 

  His condition was getting worse, he could feel it. He’s had to step out more and more to deal with his problem. And just being around Jack in itself made his condition worse enough. 

  It was only a matter of time before it slipped out and Jack threw him out. God if only he could just get over his stupid crush. 

  Rhys was careful not to get kalmias in the smoothie he was making. He’d have to go shopping soon too, they were running out of supplies. Though Jack probably got everything delivered. 

  Jack glared at the cup in Rhys’s hand. He was tired of eating out of a straw. But at least Rhys seemed to know what he was doing. 

  He was running out of time and he knew it. It was only a matter of time before he suffocated on petals, or the roses and sunflowers fucked up his throat beyond repair, or worst of all, he accidentally confesses his feelings and scares Rhys off. 

  Why was Rhys staying with him anyway? It wasn’t like Jack asked him too, and Rhys wasn’t getting paid for any of this. Is it possible Rhys could like him back?

  Jack immediately regretted letting himself go down that train of thought. He could feel a sunflower pushing his way up his throat. Sunflowers were the worst. Sure less thorns, but god were they huge and seemed to come up the most. 

  Rhys frowned sympathetically, reaching out to massage his throat. Normally Jack would murder someone for getting so handsy, but he wasn’t in any position to snap at him. Besides it was helping. Has been helping for the past few days.  

  “Jack! Please let me remove your mask.” Rhys said, trying to be soft. This felt big and it would certainly help if there wasn’t a mask in the way. 

  Jack glared, trying to push Rhys away against his better judgement. In his defense he was loopy from oxygen deprivation. 

  Rhys sighed, future him could deal with the consequences of reaching out and undoing the latches and throwing the mask onto the floor. Rhys tried not to let his gaze dwell on the deep scar running down Jack’s face. He focused on soothing Jack and keeping him calm. He could feel his own throat tightening with petals. 

  Slowly he helped Jack up, bringing him down the hall to the bathroom. Petals were already seeping from Jack’s scarred lips. 

  Jack could feel the sunflower’s head hit the back of his mouth, making him gag. Rhys brought him into a kneeling position over the bowl. Jack shoved his hand into his mouth, trying to yank it out, also against any logic. 

  Rhys winced as he pulled out a sunflower the size of his head. It would be beautiful if it weren’t covered in blood.  

  “Remember to breathe through your nose. Doesn’t try and force anything out. Just relax your throat and let it all fall out.” Rhys kept his voice calm, an emotion he absolutely did not feel. He grabbed his stomach, suddenly going into a coughing fit. Shit not right now. 

  Jack wasn’t sure what he felt as he watched Rhys spit out kalmias. Well he didn’t know what he felt besides pain and envy. 

  “Shit!” Rhys said, once he got it out of his system. “I’m sorry!” 

  Jack grabbed the front of Rhys’s shirt and pulled him in, locking their lips together. Rhys froze, his brain lagging behind everything else. Was Jack kissing him or was he finally dying and his brain was making him happy before he goes. 

  Jack wasn’t thinking at all. It wasn’t a kiss out of love, Handsome Jack did not love.

  Okay fuck it, Jack was stupidly in love. Stupid, stupid, stupid feelings! Rhys already loved someone else and was probably going to run off as soon as Jack let go. 

  So just never let go, Jack’s possessive side said. Jack hugged Rhys tighter, kissing him harder.

  So this was real. Rhys melted, having trouble keeping up with the kiss. Tears spilled down his cheeks, he wasn’t sure if they were his or Jack’s. He felt his lungs twist and he shoved Jack back.

  Five years of roots were coming up all at once. Rhys braced himself, grabbing Jack’s hand hard enough to hurt.

  Jack was about to say something but was interrupted by a sudden lurch as his own roots forced their way out. They weren’t as deep, but it still hurt like a bitch. 

  After several minutes of hacking up repressed feelings, they both collapsed on the floor. 

  “So…” Rhys said, cringing at how his voice sounded. “How’d you get that scar?” 

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Jack said, voice squally scratchy. “I don’t want to talk at all.” Jack cupped Rhys’s cheek and pulled him into a kiss, and Rhys happily let him. 

  Maybe Handsome Jack could love, just this once. 

***

“There you two are! I’ve been trying to contact you for days!” Timothy said, glaring at his boss. “You can’t just say you need me to take charge of Helio’s for a while and then not give me any information! And where have you been!?” He points at Rhys. “You’re supposed to fill me in on what’s going on. I’ve been winging it for a week!”

  Rhys gave him a nervous smile, taking Jack’s hand. The action didn’t go unnoticed by Tim who was starting to deflate. 

  “I told you I was sick.” Jack said. “Rhys was taking care of me.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t complain to me about all the work you have left over. And don’t forget to pay me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll ECHO you later. Don’t you have a girlfriend to run home too?” Jack really just wanted some alone time. Well alone with Rhys time. 

  “Fiancée.” Tim corrected. Jack could tell his dopplegӓnger was blushing slightly under his identical mask. “I’ll see myself out. Congrats on finally getting together.” 

  “Finally?” Rhys asked, but Tim had already skipped out. 

  “Don’t mind him.” Jack said, kissing his cheek in an oddly gentle way. “We have work to catch up on.”

  Rhys smiled, pulling Jack into a kiss. “I’ll get your coffee then, sir.”

  Jack shamelessly stared at Rhys’s ass as he walked off. Yeah this could work out. 

[mermaidsneedwater]

second chances | chapter four

series page

warnings: mentions of death/loss

The Drunk Dancing

“So, what’s your story?”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Everyone has a story… What’s yours?” Yugyeom shrugged casually.

As you walked together on the street, you watched couples passing by. You wondered if Chaeyoung and Bambam were acting like that as well, if they were then all this would’ve been worth it. You then wondered where you were headed, Yugyeom still hadn’t told you exactly where you were going.

“You first. It’s probably more interesting than mine.” You said walking by his side, you were unsure if you were actually willing to share with him.

“Okay…” Yugyeom said, shoving his hands in his pockets “Let's see, I’m twenty-five, a decent dancer but a terribly unpunctual person. I have a dog named Dalkyum, and I’m probably my family’s greatest disappointment.”

“Woah, hold on” You stopped him. “What do you mean you’re a disappointment? You were just signed to the best dance company in the city!”

“Parents wanted me to do something practical with my college degree, become a doctor or a lawyer, something stuffy like that. When they came to my graduation and realized I majored in Dance… well let’s just say that they weren’t too thrilled. I haven’t spoken to them since then.”

Blinking, you took in his explanation, “Well, yeah. But you also deceived them.” You pointed out. “Maybe you should’ve been honest with them from the beginning and set their expectations accordingly.”

Yugyeom registered your words, a bit taken aback. No one had ever pointed that out to him. “They wouldn’t have understood.”

“How do you know? You never gave them a chance.” You pressed. “I think you should invite them to your performance.”

“Maybe.” Yugyeom said shortly. “Anyway, that’s me in a few words. What about you?”

Letting out a shaky breath, you finally answered his question, “Well, I’m a twenty-five year old widow, working as a pathetic assistant for the bitchiest woman in the city.”

Yugyeom stopped in his tracks. “Wait, widow? As in–”

“I got married right out of college.” You confirmed.

“Do you mind me asking what happened?” Yugyeom said slowly appearing in front of you, his eyebrows knit.

“Car accident.” You said. “He died on the way to the hospital.”

Yugyeom watched as you recounted the story, instinctively placing a hand on your arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Moving your arm, you shrugged “That’s life I guess. The anniversary of his death was last Friday, it’s been three years.”

You watched as the pieces of the puzzle finally connected in Yugyeom’s mind. That's why you were so offended when he’d leaned in to kiss you, why you were so reluctant to come out, and why you often seemed lost in your own world.

He gave you a soft smile before changing the subject, “So who’s the bitchiest woman in the city?”

+++

“You need to get out right now!” You whispered nervously.

“Relax baby,” Jaebeom said with ease. “No one is coming.”

“They do random inspections all the time!” You insisted. “Oh crap, if they do a fire drill we’re screwed. I’m going to lose my scholarship, and over what? A boy!”

“What do you think is worse, the fact that you brought your boyfriend to your women only dorm or the fact that said boyfriend is a senior from SNU, your rival school?” Jaebeom pondered aloud.

“You need to leave through the window.” You continued spiraling, “I can hear footsteps.”

Sitting up at the mention of the window, Jaebeom frowned, “You’re not serious right? I could fall!”

A knock on the door had both your eyes widened.

“Go!” You pushed him off your bed and towards the window.

“Okay, you look like you need another drink.” Yugyeom said.

He signaled the bartender to make you another drink as you were shaken out of your recollection. “I can’t drink anymore, I’ll have a bad hangover tomorrow.”

“What! You barely had anything. We need to build your tolerance up.” Yugyeom insisted. He studied your face for a moment before saying, “You don’t really get out much do you?”

“I guess you could say that…” you agreed.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m not really ever in the mood these days.” Correction, you hadn’t been in the mood to go out for the past three years. Feeling a sadness settling in, you switched the topic, “So what do you think Bambam and Chaeyoung are doing?”

“Probably screwing in the bathroom of the club,” Yugyeom said nonchalantly.

You scrunched your nose in disgust and rolled your eyes, “Is that really all you think about?”

“Yeah pretty much.” Yugyeom said, sipping his drink. “It’s not just me though, it’s all guys. I’d say it easily occupies 90% of our brain capacity.”

“Well that’s reassuring.” You said. You sipped your drink, taking in the strong alcohol flavor and coughing. “Jesus, this is literally all vodka.”

“Cheers, drink up.” Yugyeom held his glass, clinking it against yours and then downing the glass. As you both drank, you were startled by Yugyeom’s loud shouting.

“Hey! It’s my song!” He cheered.

You paused to listen to what he was talking about, recognizing the song as Chris Brown’s ‘Take You Down’.

“Of course this is your song.” You muttered.

“We have to dance, come on!” Yugyeom grabbed your hand faster than you could refuse.

It was odd really, the room was quiet and barely had any people in it. You and Yugyeom stood in the center of the bar, creating a makeshift dance floor. A few people in the bar looked on as Yugyeom danced alone to the song.

“Everyone’s watching us.” You told him nervously.

“Okay, if you can notice that, you’re not drunk enough,” Yugyeom paused from his awkward swaying. “We’re doing shots and then dancing.”

From the floor he signaled for six shots and brought you to the bar. The bartender prepared them and left them for you two drink. Wincing, you looked at the shots and then Yugyeom. Noticing your hesitation, he grabbed your hand and made you hold the shot. He then motioned for you to drink and swallowed the shot himself. The two of you repeated the action with the second shot, and then the third.

Banging his hands on the bar, Yugyeom hollered loudly. “Whoo! Dancing time!”

Feeling woozy yourself, you didn’t fight him when he led you to the center of the bar. As the song blared through the crappy bar speakers, you laughed as Yugyeom started swaying and grinding in a vaguely sexual manner. Feeling the beat, you swayed side to side, unsure of what to do.

Yugyeom danced on, but you couldn’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl. At this point his dance moves left nothing to your imagination, as he air humped the floor, you held your stomach as it hurt too much from your reaction. The feeling felt so foreign, you couldn’t recall the last time anyone beside Jaebeom had made you laugh so hard.

As he returned to stand, Yugyeom watched you laughing at him, a large grin appearing on his own face as well.

+++

You walked slowly into your office, hoping not to make any noise. Tip-toeing to your desk, you’d almost made it before you heard a voice yelling.

“Y/N, get in here right now!”

Groaning, you quit your attempt to be quiet and opened the door to Susie’s office.

“Hi Susie.” You said, offering a smile.

“Don’t you ‘hi Susie’ me young lady. You’re late.” She said, not looking up from her papers. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you right now.”

“Because I’ve worked for you for about a year and a half and this is the first time I’ve been late.” You reminded her.

Blinking, Susie glanced at you before setting her pile down. She looked up to the ceiling, most likely trying to verify if your statement was true. Finally realizing that it was, she spoke. “Huh, I guess that’s right. You better not make this a regular occurrence.”

“Understood.” You nodded. “I should get back to my desk.”

As you walked back, you heard the phone on your desk ring. Speed walking to catch it, you answered, “Icon magazine, Susie Park’s assistant, how can I help you?”

“My tolerance for alcohol has severely diminished.” The voice spoke. “I’m disappointed in myself.”

Your eyes widened at the voice, “Yugyeom?” You whispered, hoping Susie wouldn’t realize that this was now a personal call.

“I’m thinking that the next time we go out, we just go all out and get blackout drunk.” He continued.

“How did you get this number?” You asked, “Don’t you have a job or something you should be at now?”

“Hey, I don’t go into the studio until 11 am.” He defended. “And don’t call me a creep, but I looked it up.”

“You’re such a creep.” You whispered. “You could’ve texted!”

“Well, actually I couldn’t because I don’t have your number.”

“Oh.” You said. “I have to go but I’ll give it to you the next time I see you.”

“Wait, Y/N don’t hang-”

You placed the phone back on the receiver, shaking your head and laughing to yourself.

“What’s got you giggling like that?” Chaeyoung asked as she approached your desk, careful to avoid Susie’s line of vision.

“Nothing.” You said quickly.

“Well clearly it wasn’t nothing. I can’t remember the last time I saw you blush like that.” Chaeyoung pressed. “Was it a guy?”

“No! And I’m not blushing!” You denied fervently. “Anyway, how was your night with Bambam?”

Now it was Chaeyoung’s turn to blush, she glanced down “It was really nice, we’re going to see each other again on Friday.”

Your eyes widened as your mouth dropped. “Really? That’s great! I’m so happy for you Chae.”

“Thanks Y/N, honestly I can’t believe it myself.” She beamed.

“Less talking, more working!” Susie called from her office.

“Talk later?” You offered.

Nodding her head vigorously, Chaeyoung retreated to her work space.

As she left, you found yourself thinking about Yugyeom, you wondered what he was doing now. Snapping out of your ridiculous thought, you returned to your computer, desperate to distract yourself from him.

chapter three | chapter five

[platonicteenwolf]

Wolf Moon (S1E1) Part III

Teen Wolf x Reader Series Rewrite

A/N: Hey! Check out This Post to see a little message about my future posting schedule and announcements!

She/Her Pronouns Version

He/His Pronouns Version

Next Part / Masterlist

Warnings: swearing maybe

As thunder cracks in the sky above, Scott flips a closed sign on the doors to the Animal Clinic.

With a few spare bandages in his hand, Scott approaches one of the mirrors in the bathroom and lifts up his shirt.

Fingertips at the edge of the bandage he braces himself. Then rips it off. Sucking in a breath and shutting his eyes, he finds himself looking at-- nothing. The bite has completely healed. There’s not a mark on him. He lowers his shirt, slowly turning to his own reflection in the mirror to a look of shock.

Scott backs down a corridor hauling a huge bag of kitty litter. Setting it against the wall he takes out a set of keys and unlocks the next door. He barely has a foot inside the room when one of the cats hiss in terror. The cages filled with cats come alive with activity.

The frightened felines suddenly bare their teeth, hissing and clawing frenetically at the cage doors. All of them focused on Scott, their backs arched, struck with absolute terror. Stunned, he staggers out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Retreating into the waiting room, Scott can still hear the pandemonium coming from inside when a hammering knock spins him around.

Standing outside and banging on the glass door with her fist is Allison. Rain-soaked it’s nevertheless easy to see that she’s crying and in a visible panic. Quickly unlocking the door, Scott lets her in as she tries to explain through tears what happened.

“I didn’t see it. I took my eyes off the road for like two seconds to switch songs on my iPod and this dog--it came out of nowhere--“

“Okay, it’s all right,” Scott reassures, trying to calm her down. “Do you remember where it happened so I can send out animal control to find it?”

“No. I mean yes, I know where I hit it. But the dog--“

“Right. Where is it?”

“In my car.”

Following Allison to her car under the now drizzling rain, Scott opens the back seat door to reveal an injured stray. Hackles raised, the frightened lab mix is clearly in pain. Allison reaches in to pick him up but the dog snaps at her. She flinches back, stepping right into Scott’s arms.

“You okay?”

She nods, looking up at Scott behind her, his hands on her forearms, fingers lightly touching her soft skin.

“She’s just frightened.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Let me see if I have better luck.” Letting her go, Scott steps toward the open door, oddly calm.

“Careful.”

As he connects eyes with the dog, something happens... sound drops out around him, all except for the dog’s nervous panting. Then its harsh gasps begin to ease as some sort of primal communication occurs between them.

For the briefest moment, his eyes take on a strangely yellow tint, like that of a wolf.

In response, the dog lowers its body submissively, yielding to the obviously dominant animal.

With Allison watching in amazement, Scott gathers the dog into his arms and carries him into the vet’s office.

Inside, Scott gently lays the injured animal down on the examining table. Allison stays back, watching him inspect the dog while petting it, doing an expert job of calming it.

“I think her leg is broken. I can splint it now myself, give her a painkiller and then let the doctor take a look in the morning.”

Allison steals glances at him, looking on with admiration as he works. But Scott doesn’t notice, terrified to look at the beautiful girl. When he finally does look up, he sees she’s hugging herself, soaked and obviously freezing.

“I have a shirt in my bag.”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you.”

But Scott is already reaching into his bag for the shirt. Allison takes it with a smile. When she steps into the hall for privacy, Scott can’t help but notice her reflection in a wall mirror. As she’s pulling the wet shirt off, he catches sight of her bare back. Looking away, Scott notices the dog staring up at him.

“What? I didn’t see anything,” he whispers to the dog. The dog doesn’t look convinced. Allison comes back into the room, now wearing his shirt and no longer shivering.

“Thanks for doing this. I feel really stupid.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. For freaking out like a total girl.”

“You are a girl.”

“I freaked out like a girly girl. And I’m not a girly girl.”

“What kind of girl are you?”

“Tougher than that. At least I thought I was.”

Hearing her confession of weakness, Scott’s desperate to make her feel better. “I’d be freaked out too. In fact, I’d probably cry. And not like a man. I’d cry like the girliest girl. It would be pathetic.”

Laughing, Allison replies, “Yeah, right.”

Hearing her laugh, Scott grins and finishes wrapping the dog’s leg.

“So it looks like she’s going to live. And I’m pretty sure she’ll even let you pet her if you want.”

“I don’t think so.” Allison backs from the table with caution.

“Come on. You don’t want her to sue. This breed is very litigious.”

Allison approaches, tentatively reaching out to stroke the dog’s neck. Calm now, the dog even licks her hand.

“See? She likes you.”

He watches Allison. Unable to take his eyes off her. She looks up to meet his eyes.

“What?”

“Sorry. You have an eyelash on your cheek.”

“Oh. From the crying.”

She wipes at her cheek. But the lash is still there. Scott shakes his head. She tries again. Still there. So Scott reaches with his thumb to brush the lash from her cheek.

“Thanks.”

He nods, hand coming down like he’s not quite sure what to do with it.

“Um... I was wondering--I mean--is it really Family Night on Friday or do you think maybe you’d like to go to that party with me?”

She throws him a curious look. How did he know she said that?

“Family Night was a total lie.”

“So is that a yes? You’ll go?

“Definitely yes.”

—————

Scott falls back onto his bed, head hitting the pillow. Clearly exhausted, he nevertheless wears a huge grin on his face. His eyelids slowly close as he falls instantly asleep. Slowly he turns over on his side, rolling over and strangely onto a bed of wet leaves, causing him to wake suddenly and discover he’s no longer in his room.

Jerking up, Scott knocks his head against something. Reaching up, he touches rock.

Now fully awake and very alarmed, Scott, clothed only his boxers, scrambles out from beneath a cave-like overhang. Glancing about in breathless shock, he discovers he’s sleepwalked all the way out into the middle of the woods.

Scott staggers out of the cave-like overhang and stands in the fog-laden woods, shivering. He turns, trying to see just where he is and then... He holds very still, breath caught.

Head cocked, he listens to the sounds around him. As his heartbeat rises, he takes a barefooted step back. Then he notices that there’s not a sound of life in the woods. Until--

Something moves. In the fog. Only a few yards away. He turns around, peering into the woods. But leaves and twisting tree branches are all that move in the breeze. Half naked and very cold now, Scott backs away. He keeps glancing to each side as he starts to walk. Moving faster and faster, until he’s jogging and then running.

Hurtling into the fog and the woods, he begins to notice a shadow. Moving through the woods. Keeping pace with him. When he starts running faster, that strange loping silhouette moves just as fast.

And then he can see its eyes--like glowing white lights in the fog. The thing suddenly crosses behind him, a dark shape leaping from one side of him to the next, diving out of and then back into the fog.

Running faster and faster in terror while glancing to his side to see the strange silhouette racing with him, Scott seems to not merely be running but moving with almost supernatural speed until finally the shadow slows, letting him get ahead. But Scott keeps running faster and faster, the world around him blurring until his feet land on a low wooded fence and suddenly he’s soaring into the air and.. underwater?

Scott thrashes in freezing cold water, bursting to the surface to find himself in a pool. Gasping for breath, he twists around in the water to find the owner of the house holding a garden hose and staring at him.

“Uh... Good morning.”

And the Owner nods with a mystified smile.

—————

In an otherwise empty corridor, Scott, wearing his lacrosse gear, shoves his bag into his locker and slams it shut. He turns to find himself head to head with Jackson.

“All right, little man, how about you tell me where you’re getting your juice?”

“What?”

“Where. Are. You. Getting your juice?”

Utterly bewildered, Scott replies, “My Mom does all the grocery shopping.”

Jackson stares at him for a moment as if trying to decide whether the kid is screwing with him.

“Listen, McCall, you’re going to tell me what it is and who you’re buying from. Because there’s no way in hell you’re kicking ass like that on the field without some sort of chemical boost.

Scott seems genuinely shocked with this question, what is he talking about? “Oh, you mean steroids? Are you on steroids?”

Jackson grabs him, shoving him against the locker.

“What the hell’s going on with you, McCall?”

Overwhelmed, Scott snaps, words coming out in a torrent.

“What’s going on with me? You really want to know? So would I. Because I can see, hear and smell things I shouldn’t be able to see, hear or smell, do things that should be impossible, I’m sleepwalking three miles out into the middle of the woods and am pretty much convinced I’m going completely, totally out of my freaking mind.”

“You think you’re funny? I know you’re hiding something. I’m going to find out what it is. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Jackson slams his fist against the locker, leaving Scott stunned as he heads out.

—————

Amid the players rushing the field, a very late Stiles comes hurtling towards where Scott and I are sitting on the bench.

“Scott, wait up! You gotta’ hear this.”

“I’m playing the first elimination, Stiles. Can’t it wait?”

As per usual, he’s speaking 100 miles a minute. “Take a chill pill bro, what’s going on?”

“I overheard my Dad on the phone. The fiber analysis came back from LA. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods.”

“Stiles, I have to go,” Scott urges”

“You’re not going to believe what the animal was--“

But with his helmet on, Scott‘s already walking onto the field.

Leaving only Stiles and I on the side line, I ask, “What was it?”

“It was a wolf.”

Wait- so does that mean?

—————

Out on the field the Coach shouts for the players.

“All right, gather round...”

Scott notices Allison at the bleachers with Lydia. She gives him a wave and a smile. He holds up a hand to wave back.

“You got a question, McCall?”

“What?”

“You raised your hand.”

“Oh, no I was just--nothing. Sorry.”

Coach then turns to address the rest of the team.

“All right, you know how this goes. If you don’t make the cut, you’re most likely warming the bench the rest of the season. But make the cut and you play, your parents are proud, your girlfriend loves you, huh?” He grabs Greenberg’s helmet, giving it a wrestle. “Everything else is cream cheese... Now show me what you got!”

The whistle blows and the game begins.

The pace is fast and brutal. When the ball gets passed to Scott, Jackson comes right after him. Lacrosse sticks smacking down on his gloves, Scott tumbles forward and slams to the ground, kicking up dirt around him.

As the whistle stops the play, Jackson looms over Scott. Glowering down at him, he grabs the ball while Scott, teeth clenched behind his mask, pushes himself up off the ground. Coach gives the whistle a sharp blow. The team gathers for the next play.

Scott and Jackson find themselves staring across from each other at the draw, crouched down with their sticks and the ball between them.

“Set!”

They tense, holding absolutely still. Then, at the whistle, Scott moves with shocking speed, grabbing the ball right out from under Jackson. Scott charges the length of the field. defense lashes out with their sticks, but he parries expertly.

Jackson catches up and makes a furious stab at stealing the ball. Then with Defense converging on him, Scott twists his lacrosse stick around, keeping the ball safely in the pocket while he literally flips forward, leaping right over the heads of the Defensive Players. Feet landing on the turf, he whirls around, tossing the ball in an over the shoulder shot past the goalie.

Right into the net.

The crowd in the bleachers roars with cheers, Allison on her feet along with everyone else. Everyone except for Stiles and I. As the noise dies down, Coach calls for the winning player.

“McCall, get over here!”

He trots over to the Coach. All eyes are on him, including someone watching from behind a chain link fence... Derek.

“What in the name of God was that? This is a lacrosse field. What are you- trying out for the gymnastics team?”

“No, Coach.”

“Then what the hell was that?”

“I don’t know. I was just trying to make the shot.”

“Well, you made the shot. And guess what? You’re starting, buddy. You just made first line.”

Cheers erupt around him. As team members slap him on the back and knock his helmet with their gloves, a deliriously happy Scott doesn’t even notice Jackson’s furious stare. Or Stiles and I, watching with very worried looks.

—————

Fingers click furiously over a keyboard. Eyes locked on his laptop, Stiles bounces from one web page to the next. Words and images pop up on the screen.

As he sat at his desk tapping away on the computer, I was resting on his bed, stacks of books surrounding me on the blankets.

Wolfsbane, Silver Bullets, Lycaon, Aconite, drawings of werewolves in different forms, a purple image with the word “wolfsbane” underneath.

Hearing the whirr of the printer I look over to see Stiles pulling out a picture of a detailed wood carving of a medieval hunter standing over the body of a werewolf, aiming a crossbow at the creature.

He pulls the page out, turning towards me with a look of escalating fear when someone knocks on the door. We practically leap out of our seats as Stiles stands and rushes to the door, unlocking it to find Scott standing out in the hall.

“Get in. You have to see this. We’ve been up all night reading. Websites, books, all this information.”

As Scott takes off his jacket, Stiles starts grabbing printouts from his desk. Scott looks at me with confusion and I just shrug my shoulders, not knowing what to say.

“How much Adderall have you guys had?”

“I haven’t had any but Stiles over there has been at it like candy.”

With a hurried look, Stiles rushes to the next topic. “Ok whatever, doesn’t matter. Just listen.”

Tossing his backpack on the floor, Scott sits next to me on the bed. I scoot over to make room and we both turn towards Stiles for him to explain.

“Is this about the body? Did they find who did it,” Scott asks.

“No, they’re still questioning people. Even Derek Hale.”

“The guy from the woods?”

Flailing his arms, Stiles exclaims, “Yeah! Yes, but that’s not it.”

“What then?”

Jumping in, I explain, “Remember the joke Stiles made the other day? Not a joke anymore.”

Continuing, Stiles adds, “The wolf. The bite in the woods. I started doing all this reading and-- Do you even know why a wolf howls?”

“Should I?”

“It’s a signal. When a wolf is alone

it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So if you heard it howling that mean there’s others. Maybe a whole pack of them.”

“A whole pack of wolves?”

“No. Werewolves.”

As I watch the two talk, Scott gets an increasingly annoyed look on his face. I decide not to interfere with the growing argument.

“You’re seriously wasting my time with this? You know, I’m picking Allison up in an hour.”

“I saw you on the field, Scott. What you did wasn’t just amazing. It was impossible.”

“So I made a good shot.”

“No, you made an incredible shot. The way you moved, the speed, your reflexes, people can’t suddenly do that overnight. And then there’s the vision, the senses, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you don’t need your inhaler anymore-“

Cutting in, Scott shouts, “Okay! I can’t think about this now. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Tomorrow? Don’t you get it? The full moon is tonight.”

“What are you trying to do? I just made first line, I have a date with a girl I can’t believe wants to go out with me. Everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?”

“I’m trying to help,” Stiles rebutted, “Your cursed, Scott. You know, and it’s not just the moon will cause you to physically change, it’s also when your bloodlust will be at its peak.”

“Bloodlust?”

“Yeah, Your urge to kill.”

“I’m already starting to have an urge to kill, Stiles.”

“You need to hear this,” Stiles looks at me and points to a book on the bed. “Can you pass me that? Thank you. The change can be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse, alright?” Turning back towards Scott he continues, “And I’ve never seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does. You’ve gotta cancel this date.” Stiles grabs Scott’s jacket, pulling the cell out.

“What are you doing? Give me that.”

“I’m just finding her number--“

“Give it to me.”

Scott yanks the phone out of Stiles’s hand and shoves him against the wall.

I stand up, ready to intervene in case anything gets physical.

Pulling back before striking him, Scott instead lashes out at the desk chair sending it flying across the room, tossed like it weighed nothing. Then, shaking with anger, he gazes up.

“I’m sorry.”

He starts to help Stiles up, but he flinches back.

“Scott I think you should go.” I say, walk in between where the two are standing and gently put my hand on his chest nudging him back.

“I’ve- gotta to get ready for- for that party. I’m sorry.”

Grabbing his jacket, Scott hurries out.

Still shaken, Stiles gradually stands.

“You ok?”

He nods in response and slowly picks up the desk chair, putting it back. But then he pauses. With a shaky hand, he turns the chair around to reveal claw marks. The chair’s fabric slashed to ribbons.

Looking back up at me, we lock eyes. I can see fear shown in his and I know mine probably reflect the same.

“We’ve got to go to that party.”

[polygamyff]

35. Part 4

Another day, another meeting I was hoping Reign didn’t wake up when I woke up at six and she didn’t. I just don’t feel up to dealing with her hyper self when I am feeling like this. I just want to get better, this pain will pass on my leg “your water sir” the waiter placed the glass down “thank you” I always do love my breakfast here in the morning, sets my day just right. Grabbing the pain killers from the side “morning” hearing Ally said “morning” placing the tablets in my mouth “we don’t have Reign today, she was fun at the meetings. The judgemental stares at the people” I smiled before I drank my water, Ally sat across from me “good to know you actually woke up and will be on time, I always know you will be on time when you’re sat here having breakfast at eight” placing the water down “let the waiter know if you want anything but I couldn’t really sleep, she didn’t wake up so I didn’t want to drag her around with me, it’s a little boring for her too. Also I need to concentrate on Wade, he is important, he holds everything I need you see. Thanks for staying behind and filling the paperwork out, I guess I need to make a trip to Tokyo?” I have been trying to stay away from it “you know it, you have no choice in that. I will schedule it so it don’t clash with your dad and the business turn over. Wade called me and he was really stressing, this meeting is important, this email is non-valid, I won’t accept it. I goes this is on Maurice not me but he will be here at nine, appointment at twelve with the estate. Also, I think Naomi will be there, seeing as you used her father for this” I grinned “am I shocked?” I am really not shocked “I am not in the mood, as you can see. I am in sweatpants and a top. But shall we go to the office, get things rolling. You don’t want food” Ally nodded her head, getting up from the chair “ah” I limped about to fall back on my chair but I gathered myself “woah, you good?” I limped a little straightening myself up “I am ok” putting my hand up “the painkillers will kick in, we good” I laughed “you need to relax yourself, stop hiding it. Let me get your laptop for you” she grabbed the bag, I am going to be limping myself all the way down “I need to request a walking stick don’t I?” I laughed “well I can make it happen? Call it pimp stick, shocked Robyn allowed you to work, you in pain I can get the doctor” shaking my head “I want Robyn to have a good time here, it’s fine” Ally let out an oh “if you say boss but if you get worse, I am calling!” Ally threatened me but I will be fine.

“So the next thing we need to speak on is your Will, now Maurice. I can’t accept this. This is fine, I mean you want Reign to get the business once you get the business on your name but Reign or Robyn can’t be the only ones, the reason why. Listen to me, if you was all to be at the same place and not be with us at the same time, then what? You know this business will go straight to the next brother, and I mean Malik, is that what you want?” shaking my head “so I can’t accept it, I need names. The next person after that” he is wanting me to make these kind of decisions right now “erm, if that does happen, Robyn, me and Reign not here then it’s Nalah, if not Nalah then Shawn” Wade froze staring at me “what?” he said, I am being dead ass “I don’t want Malik to have anything, neither my family. I don’t care for them, they can all die. If not Shawn then” I paused “Joy, my mother. If not that then Leon, Robyn’ friend” Wade sat back in his seat “right, wait. So we got Nalah after that, then Shawn. That is all I need, but Shawn? You want him to have the company and take over?” nodding my head “he will do a better job then any of them, he is my brother. I want you to make it known Malik gets nothing” placing my cigarette between my lips “ok, I will make sure that is known. Maurice with you having this business we need to keep up to date with the Will, things will become a mess if you was to pass” lighting my cigarette “I think you will get the divorce, I don’t think Noami has a case at all. I have been pestering them for updates, nothing” blowing the smoke out from my lips “good, it makes me think. Would it better if I was to marry Robyn quick, I just be thinking. I am ill, so you never know. If it will make it easier for her, you know” I am just thinking this “I would yes, go for it. How do you feel, your big day is coming?” Wade looked up from his laptop “like shit, not going to lie. It’s not easy, my dad aged a lot. It’s not easy” I laughed “really not” I want it but then I don’t because it’s just a headache.

I am not sure if Ally is walking slow on purpose for my benefit or because she is tired, I am walking slow. I need to go to my second meeting “you’re going now? Reign and I are just going to see some places while you go” watching Robyn walk over to me “I knew that, Jay is here” I pointed out “I will see you back here, be in time for the Moulin thing, you know what I mean. I should be back early actually. You over the sex thing?” I asked “mhmmm, I suppose. I felt lonely though and you took all of the bed covers” I did do that, I was nice and warm “mhmm, yeah and then you took them, I was cold and it woke me but it doesn’t matter I will see you soon” pressing a kiss to the top of Robyn’ head “you will, I love you” peaking into the stroller “it’s my princess, daddy misses you so much. I know, I know I didn’t get to see you this morning, but I will be back” Reign held my finger and then tried to yank it to her mouth “no, we don’t do that now. Sé una buena chica para mamá ahora, te veré más tarde” Reign’ smile grew “aww Mi Hermosa, you are thinking what the hell this nigga speaking on, I will teach you. Be good now” moving back from the stroller “call if you need anything ok? See you later” let me straighten myself up and walk off like a man, not a crippled man. Walking off towards Ally, she is waiting on me for this meeting.

Well would you look at that, Noami is here with my brother, it’s laughable and I don’t really care “it’s so pathetic” Ally mouthed to me “it is, it’s my real estate but she is saying I used the name, I used her contacts. She is clinging onto me” the developer walked over to me first “sir Davenport, welcome” I haven’t heard that before, sir Davenport “Steve” I said as I shook his hand “it’s good to see you again, it’s been so long but are you impressed with the development?” nodding my head “I am, it looks great. What are the sales figures looking like?” I hope it is well “well we are aiming for first time buyers, with you having this new initiative where you help them to buy it’s working a dream” nodding my head “just we are having this conflict with Noami and yourself which is stopping the development” looking over at Noami, waving her over “it’s a bitter divorce but I am going to win this” she is so cocky for no reason “you are holding onto something that is dead, you have that dickhead, he is clearly your lap dog. Look at him” I sniggered “what is it?” I just want to know “you are using my dad’ people” I groaned “Naomi! Your dad does not want to fucking know you, he hates you! Stop holding onto it, stop holding onto this, anything we had. You want to be close to me, it’s weird. This is my business, not yours. So what this is your dad’ workers, they will come to anyone with money. There is no we, this is mine. Once that divorce come through, we done. You have nothing now, just Malik. There is no we in this, this will be Robyn’ not yours. You was just there at that moment in time, I needed your contacts and now I have it so, what you want? Steve, never listen to this woman, she has no say in anything ok?” I understand he didn’t know what to do but he does now “you want me to have nothing?” Noami said, she sounds hurt “I tried, you did this. I tried” turning around “speak to my lawyer now, and hurry up with the divorce” walking off towards Ally “shall we go inside?” Steve said, we might as well.

Resting my head against the headrest sighing out “tired?” Ally said “I am, but good news don’t you think? I wanted to give back, my dad didn’t do that. He was selfish in his prime, I don’t want that. I want people to remember Maurice Davenport was a giving man. Doing what I did for the people buying house for the first time, I made the best choice. I think it’s good to give back and give the young a steppingstone and I thank Robyn for that. She opened my heart to this; she gave me that because at first the estate was never that, but I realised how blessed I am, and I should help others” I grinned to myself “am I doing well?” I asked “you are, it’s a good change and I am happy to see it for you. You was awful and you was killing yourself in the process, I am happy for you” she ain’t wrong, I am shocked that I am still around.

It’s always a pleasure hearing Nalah’ voice, she can be posh as fuck or loud as fuck and ghetto with it. She has come to my suite in the mood to be loud as fuck, I wanted to rest a little but my sister is here “Shawn? You here too?” I said, I didn’t think he would be here when Robyn asked Nalah to babysit “well you called and then I saw Nalah” letting out an oh, hugging Shawn “you good? I ain’t heard you in a while, the ladies in your life keeping you busy? Hey Robyn” sitting down on the couch, I groaned out feeling the dull pain “hey Shawn, I will be in my room with Nalah” nodding my head as I shuffled back on the couch “I am good, just busy. My mind is just everywhere, I have so much going on” rubbing my chin “I feel you, you look a little pale. I mean you are pale but you look it even more” shaking my head “my leg is in pain, I am having pain killers so that should hopefully keep it at bay but it hurts a lot” Shawn looked at me in sadness “get stronger painkillers bro?” I chuckled “I can’t, with being an ex-drug addicted he don’t want to give me something I can get addicted too but this shit ain’t working, I will see my doctor once Robyn goes back home. I can’t ruin her time here” Shawn groaned out “you’re having a crisis; you are stressing yourself out. You about to kill yourself with this, this is what scared me before. Hiding the fact, you are too, tell her. You got to tell, or I will, even Nalah will” why can’t people just relax, they start panicking over it “don’t be so dramatic, I have my medication, it will be fine. I know when I get bad, I am speaking to you because you’re my brother but please don’t make me not want to speak to you” I will just never tell him anything again, if he is going to do that to me.

Holding the dresses up “do I go slutty or subtle?” holding them up in front of Nalah “slutty all the way” Nalah chose right “good, because then I can hopefully get some dick” walking back into the bathroom, I know I am being dramatic but I will be going back without it “chile, you not getting anything? Is my brother being selfish” rolling my eyes “you mean New York’ biggest flirt known, that man is a walking, talking flirt. He could flirt his way through anything, and it really annoys me so much. Then he has the nerve to be like Robyn it was nothing, negro it was something. You made it into something when you started speaking, why does he do that!” I ranted on “a man stuck in his ways Robyn, but I don’t think he’s that bad. He is just used to being that way, he means no harm and he is totally in love with you. I see the difference. Maybe you dressing slutty will get you lucky tonight, you want me to take Reign with me to my apartment” walking back out of the hotel “you have an apartment?” I questioned, Nalah giggled “uhm, yeah. I do, well yeah” she shrugged, furrowing my eyebrows “you do, or you don’t?” that is weird “I do” she is giggling “but what is funny?” I am confused “it’s not mine, that is why” letting out an oh “you can just stay here” I don’t want to burden whoever she is with, Nalah took in a deep breath “it’s Shawn’” she finally spoke, letting an oh “that is fine, I don’t mind that” they both can share the babysitting “I am staying there you see” Shawn’ sweet for allowing her to be there “for free too?” I questioned “not exactly, a blowjob a day keeps the fees away” I froze staring at Nalah “pardon?” I didn’t hear that “me and Shawn have been, you know” I gasped “what!?” I screamed out, Nalah shushed me “don’t, Maurice doesn’t know. Shawn wants to keep it quiet, he thinks Maurice will care but I don’t think he will but then again, he knows Maurice differently but yeah” Nalah clapped her hands “I am so happy, like I am very happy” I cooed out “not even going to lie but I have seen the happiness in you, it was different to see, oh my god. You two really fucking, oh my! This is good, you’re happy” I am in shock about these two and Maurice does not know.

I am still shook about this Shawn and Nalah business “I need to ask, I can’t shake it off” holding my heels in my hands “what makes you think Maurice wouldn’t understand this? Like, it’s not a good thing? He knows Shawn, I am sure Shawn wouldn’t do something stupid, and also aren’t you slightly taller than him?” Nalah snorted laughing “well…” she dragged “I tend to not wear heels on nights out but I am not sure, I don’t care if he likes it or not but Shawn, he has the issue. He thinks it will ruin his brotherhood with Maurice, and I questioned him, he goes you don’t get it. Maybe I don’t but we can’t keep it a secret for so long, I am sick of hiding. I mean we have literally been walking in together and Maurice doesn’t see it, he is so simple but I also think it’s because he is busy. Maurice’ mind is elsewhere. My dad, I swear he is such an ass at times but then he always has a reason on why he is, like not turning up to meetings. I called him yesterday, I said oh you are in New York, he said no I went back to Texas and I goes this is like a big thing for him and you’re ditching him. He goes how else is he going to learn, I feel he thinks Maurice is going to do something dumb to upset the family, which he is. I mean Maurice has been after the family for a while, this is his chance and I see it becoming a mess. But yeah, his mind is elsewhere so he is not worried about me but then also don’t want to pop that up too, oh by the way I am fucking your long-time friend or brother. You know what, he got a big dick” waving Nalah off “don’t tell me these things” I can’t even deal “he makes up for it in bed, we both getting old as fuck, well I am anyways and I goes look Shawn. I need a child, if you ain’t up for that then leave me alone, he said once the air is cleared why not but also, not sure how my family will feel about this. He is like family to us” Nalah is crazy “well that shipped sailed a long time ago now, he ain’t family. He is your man, but like all these years? You both could have got it together then” I mean they have missed all those years “I was in a bad place, I couldn’t. I was a mess within myself, there was so much happening in my life and family that I just didn’t see it. I feel like since Maurice has settled so has Shawn, whatever Maurice goes through he does too, he was having a shit marriage so was Shawn having a shit time. I feel like I didn’t get to know Shawn because he is caring for Maurice” she is right, Shawn needed Maurice to settle “that is a friendship” I mumbled, I envy them for having such a bond.

I am ready to go out, I mean I been ready but Nalah got me so caught up in her talk “you both took long” Shawn said, I can’t keep a straight face and this is on her “he is asleep?” I pointed at Maurice, he lifted his head forward “I am awake” Maurice sat up “you look beautiful, Reign fell asleep on me too” I can tell she did, they both lazy as shit “dad not letting you sleep, he going to stress you until it’s gone to you” Nalah touched the top of Maurice head “he ain’t stressing me, I am good. You coming Tokyo with me, next thing” Nalah’ eyes near bulged out “am I? Since when?” I laughed, I laughed because she wants to be with her man “since I said so, if you don’t want to be in the fucking business then say it, I don’t have time for bullshit” Maurice snapped “Maurice” I said, what is wrong with him “it’s a long day, ain’t it nigga” Shawn patted his shoulder “nothing wrong with me, just shit is annoying, I don’t need you to pat my damn shoulder. Just take Reign from me” if he is in a bad mood maybe we can cancel “it’s ok, I can take Reign” I said while walking over to Maurice “what is wrong with you, that was so unnecessary” placing Reign over my shoulder and walked off with Reign in my arms “I just woke up ok, I am getting changed” so he says but he didn’t need to switch up on Nalah, I understand why he doesn’t want to say.

[chimchimsauce]

Sanctuary (14)

YN is a young girl, bright and ambitious, but due to her busy schedule, she’s been unable to make any real friends. When an ad for Saint Mary’s Sanctuary catches her attention, she never expected her life to be changed by a certain hybrid named Jimin.

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Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

As the months turn from fall into winter, the two people occupying the small apartment grow and change, YN withering away under the pressure having to support two adults brings while Jimin seems to blossom, proud of his achievements and blissful fairy tales playing in his head. 

Today is the day Jimin will finally reveal his master plan, sweep YN off of her feet just like in the movies. He's noticed how tired she's been the last few weeks and can't help but feel at least some guilt about everything. He's taken it upon himself to keep the house tidy, learning how to do the laundry, dishes, sweep and vacuum, and make dinner. YN is always so grateful for his efforts, making sure to give him extra cuddles. Even though he's convinced the washing machine wants to eat him, he'll battle it every day if it means she'll give him that smile he adores, bring his body close to her own. 

Jimin feels an uncomfortable heat come over him as he folds clothes, pulling at his collar slightly. The wolf ignores it, attempting to continue his chore. It's the last thing he had on his to-do list for today, as he's already finished his online university classes and dusted all the furniture. But the uncomfortable feeling continues. When he begins to sweat, he shrugs off his sweater and tosses it onto the bed, rubbing his neck. It doesn't help at all. Jimin continues to feel painfully warm to the point he strips naked and takes an ice cold shower in the middle of winter. It provides no relief and exasperated, the wolf turns off the water, not wanting to run up YN's bill.

YN.

The thought of her brews an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, a coil wrapped too tightly. The heat seems to hone in on his crotch, Jimin nearly doubling over when he accidentally brushes over the area. 

When YN finally comes home, she shrieks, finding a lucid Jimin sprawled shirtless on the kitchen tile, mumbling incoherently. 

“Jimin!” YN tosses her things to the ground, running to him and pulling him into her lap, shaky hands cradling his face, “Jimin,” 

The wolf's eyes open, melted gold shining through.

“YN,” he words are soft, eyes traveling over the girl's face as if he's not convinced she's real.

“What's wrong, Minie? You're absolutely burning up! We need to get you to the doctor,”

Jimin just shakes his head.

“No. No, just stay with me. Let me hold you,” he murmurs, rubbing his face in her hair.

“Jimin, you could be really ill. Let me call Taehyung -”

He growls, frightening her.

“I said no,” he snarls out, pushing up from his position and knocking the poor girl over, draping himself over her, “I need you to help me. It has to be you,”

“Jimin what's gotten into you?”

He doesn't respond, burying his face in her neck. YN tries to move but Jimin whines, a pathetic sounding noise escaping him.

“Please stay. Please. It's so hot,”

It's then when she feels something poking at her thigh, the girl wiggling to escape it. There's a moan, breathy, that escapes Jimin’s open mouth, his eyes flicking up to catch her bewildered gaze.

“Do it again,” 

“What?” The girl asks, breathless; He's squishing her. 

“Please. Touch me,”

“What's gotten into you, Jimin? You're not being yourself,”

“But I am. I'm being more of myself than I have been before. I want you to touch me. I've imagined it so many times. I just wanna show you how much I love you,”

YN is not sure how to process anything that's going on.

“Let's just get you into bed, okay, Jiminie? I'm sure we can figure this out, alright,”

“There's nothing to figure out, YN. I need you to touch me. Now,”

All evening, it's impossible for YN to go anywhere without Jimin following her, whining and saying some things she would have never believed would come out of his mouth. Finally, when he's knocked out, she escapes his needy clutches, fanning herself. He almost got to her, truly, but she knows something is wrong with him.

Standing out in the freezing cold, both to calm down and to prevent Jimin from hearing her, she dials Taehyung’s number. 

“Hello?” He asks, sounding very cheery. 

“Tae,” she says, teeth chattering, “I need your help. Something’s wrong with Jimin,”

“What? What's going on?” He asks, sounding concerned.

“He's been really clingy, literally climbing onto me. And saying some . . . things. Really erotic things, oh my God. He's burning up,”

Tae is silent for a moment. 

“Is he not neutered?” A pause. 

“Is he not what??”

“Shit, YN, this is bad,”

“What's bad? What's going on? What's wrong with him?”

“He's in heat,”

“Like a dog? What?”

“Um,” he says, some rustling in the background, “Usually, hybrids don't go into heat. Like ever. Back when he was at Saint Mary's, he said he never went into heat, this shouldn't be happening. Let me do some research,”

“What do I do now?”

“That's up to you. But either he gets help, or this lasts for three weeks or so. I’ll call you in the morning and tell you what I found but be careful. He's a wolf right now, all the way”

“YN! BABY? WHERE ARE YOU?” YN hears Jimin shout from inside.

He must have woken up. 

It's gonna be a long night.

When she returns to the frightened looking wolf, his face instantly relaxes, the man gathering her into his arms.

“Don't disappear like that. You scared me,” he says, cuddling her close, “And you're so cold,”

For a moment, YN allows herself to melt into his embrace, his usual caring self shining through at the moment. 

“I'm okay, Minie. I really am. I should be worried about you, not the other way around,”

He follows closely behind her as she walks back into their bedroom, the man dragging her down onto the sheets. 

“Don't worry, Jimin, I'll help you,”

His eyes open wide like saucers before they narrow, an air of arrogance surrounding him. He grins at the girl, fingers finding her hips.

“No, I mean, get you help. I'll get you help, Minie,” YN says, ignoring the tingle in her stomach and pushing his hands away.

“You're the only one who can help me,” He says, hands pressing into her thighs.

“Tae told me what's going on with you, sweetheart. I know you can't help what you're feeling or saying right now,” she says, refusing to meet his golden eyes, “First thing in the morning, we'll get you whatever you need. You just have to make it through the night, okay?”

He's not listening to her, not at all.

“Please? It hurts. So much, everything hurts, YN please help me. Please,”

She wants to crumble. She really does.  A small part of her, a part she doesn't like to admit she has, wishes that this was genuine, that Jimin really did feel the way he did, that he was her boyfriend, not just someone she's giving asylum. It's the way he treats her. Kindly, warmly, lovingly. Every day she comes home, Jimin is waiting at home with cuddles, asking about her day. And him, himself. Jimin is such a bright, sweet, and smart person. She really couldn't help crushing on him.

But that's just the way he is. 

So she won't touch him, no matter how much she wants to. She doesn't want to cross any permanent lines, hurt herself or hurt Jimin. 

When it's clear her words aren't getting through to him, she captures his hands together, bounding them together with the scarf she's wearing.

“This is kinky,”

“No, this is me making sure you don't do something you'll regret,”

He looks up at her, some foreign feeling dancing in his eyes.

Effortlessly, he undoes the shoddy knot, grasping her hands and squeezing gently.

“I won’t regret anything, baby. I'll help you too. I swear,”

“I don't need help, Jimin. Let's just go to sleep, okay? Just sleep,”

“Can I cuddle you? Please? At least this much,”

Wordlessly, she allows her wolf to gather her in his arms, ignoring the way he has her butt planted firmly against him, his warmth rendering a blanket unnecessary.

Chapter Fifteen

[arcane-shadow]

Don’t You Dare Pity Me

Characters: Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence,  Panic Attacks, PTSD, 

AO3 Link

My Bad Things Happen Bingo 

Byakuya prides himself on his composure, the stoicism and aloofness expected of him as a Togami.

Even during their ill-fated killing game he had managed to keep a hold of himself. He had been a beacon of calm within their group while the rest of his classmates panicked and ran about like headless chickens. So afraid of death and murder.

He had, of course, been prepared for such situations. The world of a Togami had been a cutthroat one, full of vicious competition not only between rival corporations but within the family itself.

Byakuya Togami had grown up in a world of unseen and unspoken violence. Countless times he had been on the receiving end of an attempted assassination, and had of course been instructed on the ins and outs of that particular underworld trade himself. He was prepared and confident for the eventuality of having to kill to survive. It was to be expected of a Togami.  

(Regardless of certain individuals and certain circumstances, he still considers himself willing and able to commit that final act of violence. The world is an even more dangerous place now than when he was a foolish teenager; he will not allow himself to be beaten in this dog eats dog world.)

(Although, and If only for his own continued safety and goal of rebuilding his corporation, there may be the existence of a few annoyances he would willingly stick his neck out for...)

He survived, and continues to survive.

Very little, he had thought, could rattle the great Byakuya Togami’s composure now. Despite his very brief moments of weakness (the ones that occasionally peered through his rotting and decayed memory of Hope’s Peak to haunt him) he thought himself a more hardened individual in the hands of the future foundation.  

How unexpectedly and disgustingly wrong he had been.

Within the fortressed walls of the future foundations medical centre, Byakuya feels the cold cement of the empty hallway bleeding up through his once finely pressed pants. He is not capable of movement, even as he knows- fears-the risk of someone finding him there, playing witness to him acting as weak and stupid as a Togami is, by definition, not.

He does not move. He stays sitting there, curled up pathetically into his side like a child might.

He is breathing too fast, body convulsing shamelessly as he claws at the wall with one hand as he attempts to regain some semblance of control. But that would require him to be able to stop thinking, stop seeing, stop feeling in every atom of his being the flood of images he cannot fight against as they thunder relentlessly against his psyche.  

It is gunfire, a backdrop of his thoughts brought to horrifying life as the surprise flash of ignition surrounds them. It is the way Aoi’s voice, echoing jovially in the dark moments before turning suddenly silent. The intimate smell of blood, a familiar friend, crowding his senses, hands shoving him, bringing him down hard onto harsh asphalt and glass.

He feels the sting of pain in his palms and the silence of the hall fills with mechanical laughter. Just like Hers.

He presses himself as tightly as possible to the wall. He bows his head into his knees, shamefully hiding his lack of control over his emotions from – from an empty hallway, from the ghosts of his disappointed ancestors, from the monster wearing a teenage girl’s skin. From himself.

He’s fine. Not even really injured, only the grazing on his hands to show from the mess of that last mission. Everyone else escaped with similar damage, even Aoi who, for a moment he had feared—no, he didn’t fear, was concerned in a practical manner over their most physically capable team member—had been injured far worse.  So he had no reason, none at all, to be collapsing and hyperventilating in public hallways.

He struggles to remove his glasses, his hands shaking and his head unwilling to remove itself from between his knees. He cannot have them breaking, the way a fine lady may break a glass, when she is consumed with hysterics. As he himself is. The shuddering, tight vice of wayward emotion is swallowing Byakuya whole.

There can be no evidence of his weakness.

He has not yet allowed his dignity to betray him enough to let tears to flow but they threaten, distorting the world even further as his glasses remain clenched in his fist. The first tear he lets spill will be the first drop towards the death of the Togami.

He doesn’t notice until it is too late, until a familiar panic stricken voice pierces the relative quiet of his hiding place.

“B-Byakuya!”

Makoto approaches him at nearly a run from the end of the hallway, worry and concern radiating from every line of his body. A mixture of fear, anger, and shame causes Byakuya’s next panicked action. Something he had always thought himself so above.

“GO AWAY! Don’t you dare get any c-closer-”

His voice hitches high and unsteady, breaking in the middle and cutting his warning off. Makoto, to his limited credit, does stop but he doesn’t leave. He looks down at him, at the great Byakuya Togami, heir of the Togami conglomerate, with concern and worry and pity.

Byakuya is still shaking, his eyes are still on the cusp of watering, but the shame and anger that bled into him, ripping him apart…they now have a new target. Makoto needs to not be looking at him like that. In fact he needs to not be here at all, the fatal witness to Byakuya Togami’s fall from grace.

Again.

Those big hazel eyes are staring straight through him and he is strung tight with tension. Makoto’s voice is low and carrying when he finally speaks.

“Byakuya…are you injured? I heard the doctors say you were fine but…Is there something wrong?”

Byakuya manages to twist his face into a sneer, “Oh? You think you have any right to question me? Know your place commoner…I’m perfectly fine and it is None Of Your Business.”

He enunciates those last words carefully and angrily, putting as much vitriol into them as he can muster.

Makoto flinches back, presumably at his tone, potentially at his most-likely deranged expression. Despite that, Makoto’s expression only becomes more intense in its concern and he shuffles forward along the floor.

“I’m your friend Byakuya…Of course I’d think it’s alright for me to ask if you’re okay. Which I still don’t think you are, by the way. You know it’s really not good to hide an injury-”

“I do not need your help or your concern and you need to stop looking at me like that!”

“Wha- What? Byakuya—“

“Shut up! Don’t touch me!”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh resounds through the corridor, as loud as thunder. A ragged gasp follows shortly after. Byakuya cannot tell whether it is him or Makoto that it comes from. Time seems frozen to him and the ringing in his ears is so loud.  

Makoto shrinks back, cheek already turning into the faint red outline of a hand.

Byakuya didn’t mean to hit him, hadn’t meant to rebuff him in so physical—so crude— a way. He had panicked. Makoto had come too close, whether to calm him or check him for an injury he didn’t know, but it had been too close to touching, to dispensing his pity and sullying a Togami with soft, condescending care.  

There is a moment of tense unhappy silence.

“I’m sorry”

What.

“For getting in your space when you didn’t want me to…and I guess for just not leaving you alone...I kinda obviously didn’t help huh?” Makoto laughs that little self-deprecating laugh of his, soft and self-conscious.

Byakuya doesn’t understand why Makoto’s the one apologising. Except he does, and it is truly an un-intelligent and un-Togami-like thing to be surprised. Of course Makoto would apologise. It was his fault for not respecting Byakuya’s warnings and personal space. It is a commoners place to take the blame for such situations.

Even if he had also been rightfully concerned over his…friend’s… well-being, and had done what was in Makoto’s nature to do; poke his nose where it doesn’t belong and persistently and insufferably attempt to help.

He shouldn’t have slapped him. It was base and unnecessary, and the fact he was overcome with embarrassment and anger does not sound as good of a justification as he thought it should.

“You’re still not leaving.” Byakuya manages to say it clearly despite the cottony feel of his mouth and his stubborn prides insistence, despite feeling as though he has been shocked into a clearer state of mind.

“I know…” Makoto sighs and in that moment his exhaustion reveals itself. It reminds Byakuya that it probably wasn’t just him affected by the mission. That of course Makoto, with all his infinite capacity to care, would most likely be suffering too.

“I just apologised for it but…I’m still worried about you. I don’t want to abandon a friend when they’re hurting…Sorry. Again. ”

“I’m not injured.”

“H-huh?”

“Don’t stutter, it’s unseemly,” he rebukes, albeit a little weakly. It seems the emotional weakness he has suffered was now going to leech his physical strength as well.  “…I was not injured; the doctors were correct. So, you have no reason for concern. I am utterly physically fine.”

“You’re not though; you’re half collapsed in a hallway shaking as hard as a leaf.”

“….I was… more affected by our last mission than I thought. It was nothing, so stop worrying about it.”

It is through gritted teeth that byakuya manages to admit this, the only consolation being that it will make Makoto leave faster and stop bothering him. Then he can go back to his quarters and try to forget all about this moment of weakness

He’s wrong, of course. Makoto goes sharp eyed and more wary than before, and does not look at all satisfied or happy with his answer.

“That’s not nothing, Byakuya. If it was nothing you wouldn’t be so upset. I won’t-“ Byakuya had gone to speak, to rebuke his accusations however accurate they were, but Makoto, Naegi Makoto the ultimate pushover, had put up a hand as though to silence him and continued. “I won’t push you about it…But, if it keeps happening or if it has been happening for a while already, you should…well you should probably talk to someone. I’m not saying it has to be me or anything! They have a great psyche department here, they’re all really nice, and well, you could always talk to one of the others too.”

Makoto must see Byakuya grimace because he laughs a little, that same self-deprecating laugh like he understands but is too self-conscious to voice it. He doesn’t stop though.

“But the point is, that you should talk to someone. I found…that it helped me, when I was getting flash backs to our time in the…to when we were in hope’s peak, to talk to someone. It helped to share some of the load.”

He smiles at him then, small and sad and unfathomably warm.

Byakuya…he feels on one hand disgust at this attempt to sympathise and understand each other as equals. It was against everything his personal code stood for, aloofness and superiority above all else.

But he is also tired. Physically, from the suppression of his earlier panic attack and emotionally…the toll from the flash backs, from the memories and dreams, were starting to wear on him. His pride, His stubborn unending pride that he carries like a shield, would normally never allow such thoughts but Makoto…Stupid, soft Makoto and the utter embarrassment of being seen like that had him considering alternate measures than repression.

“Ha, you are truly insufferable you know. They shouldn’t be calling you the ultimate hope, more like the ultimate busy-body.” He sighs long and low as Makoto makes an awkward little noise and rubs the back of his head shyly.

“I suppose that’s an important part of the job, being nosy.” He smiles again, a little brighter it seems now that Byakuya is in a better mood. He starts the arduous job of attempting to pull himself upright again, re-adjusting his glasses on his face as he does. Makoto springs up a moment before him and offers his hand in the universal symbol of help.

Byakuya smacks it away, lightly and a little cautiously, and scowls up at him. “I am not a child Makoto, I do not need your help getting up. I have already had enough of your pity for one evening.”

“A-ah, sorry-”

“Although,” and Byakuya allows a little slyness to slip through his tone at this juncture, “I feel if you truly want to ‘help’, you should do as your station in life dictates and be subservient to me.”

“Uum, what--?”

“I desire a glass of fresh spring water Makoto. Go fetch it.”

The look of incredulous shock on Makoto’s face is refreshing, almost as refreshing as that water will be on his parched throat. Byakuya levels him with an appropriate glare and makes a questioning little, “hm?” before Makoto seems to find him serious and puts on a more…bashful expression.

“Sure thing, Byakuya. Do you want me to bring it to you here..?”

“No, you dullard. I would like it in my room. I expect it in 5 minutes, don’t make me wait.”

Laughing a little, Makoto sets off.

Byakuya watches him until he turns the corner. Dark thoughts leer at him from the back of his mind, but they do not settle.

Talking to Makoto, even as disastrously as it had gone, had in fact made Byakuya feel better. Those weighty considerations were a future problem now.

The thoughts still sting, but perhaps in the way that the first touch of antiseptic to a wound stings.

A painful but healing touch.

[bee-kathony]

The Holiday | Home Exchange

Thank you @jules-fraser for continually making me amazing moodboards!

It’s Christmas and Claire doesn’t want to sit and wallow in self pity. Going online she finds a travel company that looks intriguing. It’s called Home-Exchange. The idea is that you find a place you want to go and then swap houses with someone, you stay in their home and they stay in yours. Fed up with the way her life has turned out, Claire decides on a quaint house in Inverness, one belonging to a Jenny Fraser.

Chapter 1: Home Exchange 

JENNY FRASER

I suppose I think about love more than anyone ever should, I’m constantly amazed by how love can shape and alter our lives.

For some, quite inexplicably, love fades.

For others, love is simply lost.

But then of course, love can also be found if just for the night.

And then theres another kind of love, the cruelest kind, it almost kills its victims. Unrequited love and of that I am an expert. What about those of us who fall in love alone? We are the cursed, the walking wounded, the unloved ones.

I have willingly loved a man for over three miserable years of my life. The worst birthdays and holidays. I’ve been cursed with being in love with a man who does not and will not love me back.

It’s the day of our office Christmas party and I just have one more assignment to finish before I can join the rest of the party. Like clockwork, just as soon as I hit send, I hear a knock on my office door.

“Hi Fraser,” I turn in my chair to see Oliver Bloom, the man who has taken my heart and not given it back.

“Hi Bloom,” I smile, it’s his damn eyes that get me, if only his eyes weren’t that colour blue.

“I’m glad I found ye, I just wanted to say I got you somethin’ for Christmas!” He steps into my office and takes a seat on the edge of my desk.

I reach down into a drawer beside my desk, “That’s great, I got ye somethin’ too.” I pull out a book shaped box, wrapped with a red bow and give it to him.

He takes it and looks down and then back at me, “Oh darling — I don’t actually have it with me. Probably lost it in my car,” He pouts his lip which sends a current of electricity through me.

I shake my head, “That’s alright, it’s the thought that counts right? Now, open it up!” I motion towards the gift and he pulls loose the bow.

Oliver takes out the book, “It’s a first edition,” He gasps, “Where did you find it?”

“In that little bookstore we found hidden in town. Thought ye’d like it.” Just seeing that smile on his face, the smile I put there, is enough to brush away all the hurt and pain he’s caused me.

“I love it, Jenny. It’s wonderful.” He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Hoping for a kiss on the lips this time, I try not to look disappointed as he pulls away. “I’ll see ye out there then?” He stands to leave and my heart quickens; don’t leave.

“Aye, just need to turn off my computer and get my things. See ye Olly.” I smile and watch him leave to join the party. What was I thinking? He is technically seeing another woman and after all we did break up a year ago. But it’s the late night calls and meet ups that confuse me.

Olly has almost told me he loves me, he doesn’t recall it of course but I do.

I close out my computer and grab my purse, locking the door behind me. I’m very looking forward to having the next two weeks off over the Christmas season. Turning to join the rest of my work mates, I spot Olly at the front of the crowd and our boss motions for him and that woman he’s seeing to come onto the little platform.

“Everyone! Everyone, listen up,” Robert, our chief publisher says, “A wedding — was privately announced today.” Oh Christ, no.

“It’s between our own, Oliver Bloom and Sarah Wilcox!” Robert starts clapping and Oliver and Sarah embrace and kiss while the office joins in the congratulations.

I think I can actually feel my heart breaking. Splitting in two. How could this happen? I loved this man, I wasted so much time loving him, all for nothing. How pathetic am I?

Excusing myself to the bathroom, I clutch my purse closer to me and head out the back door, hoping not to be noticed leaving the party early. I dare one more look back at Oliver and he meets my eye. The look in his eyes sends me running out the door.

I knew I needed to leave him behind, leave it all behind.

Coming home to my quiet house and friendly dog Bouton, was just what I needed. Oliver Bloom can go sod himself for all I care.

But I do care.

Oh, Jenny Fraser. Let the miserable Christmas begin.

CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP

Looking down at the pile of clothes on the ground, I contemplate how much of it I can physically lift and still manage to throw over the balcony.

I pick up most of Frank’s clothes, tweed jackets with elbow pads, dress pants and more of his fucking professor cheating clothes.

With a grunt, I toss shirt after shirt down to the ground, watching one shirt catch in the wind and drift down the street. Hmmph, serves him right.

“Claire!” Frank shouts, I hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and I run to pick up his shoes just as he opens the door to what was our bedroom, now it’s only mine.

I toss one shoe after the other and manage to hit him twice in the chest.

“Claire! Stop!” He tries to walk towards me but I hold up another shoe, ready to aim.

“I will not, Frank! Tell me you didn’t cheat and I won’t throw this at your bloody head.”

He puts up his hands to protect himself, “Claire, I didn’t sleep with her. She’s my student, I wouldn’t sleep with a student.”

I hit the side of his head earning a satisfying grunt of pain from Frank. “Christ, Claire.”

Turning back to my original task, I grab a few more of his things and move forward to the balcony.

“Stop! Not the suit, Claire, not that suit.” Frank touches my elbow and I drop what I’m holding and slap him hard across the face.

“How dare you say you didn’t sleep with her when I bloody walked in on you thrusting into her. On your desk! Frank — have you no shame?” I asked and felt my face heat up with anger.

Clutching his cheek, he finally meets my eye, “Alright,” he sighs, “I slept with her. You happy now?”

My eyes widen, “Did you just ask me if I’m happy?” I raise my hand to slap him again but he grabs my wrist and I kick him in the shin and run out the door before he can touch me again.

“Frank, I don’t think you ever really loved me. I was just there to warm your bed when you came home from fucking all your students!” I shout up at him and I descend the stairs, two at a time.

Reaching me at the bottom step, Frank tries to touch me but I back up against the wall, “You know you do this, Claire…”

“Do what?” I spat at him.

“You screw up every relationship. You were never even here.” He rubs his now red cheek, “Always at the hospital, always missing dates and calls. Christ, Claire, it’s like I was living with a ghost half the time.”

I press my lips together and stare at the wall behind his head, “I want you to leave, Frank. I’ll send you the rest of your things. Please — just go.”

Anger subsided, I walk towards the door and open it for him and wait.

Frank stands there, in the middle of our Boston townhome. The home we found together, “You must be the only woman who breaks up with her boyfriend of three years and doesn’t even shed a tear.”

I turn my head sharply to him, “Why does it bother you so much that I can’t cry?”

He shakes his head and moves towards the open door but pauses just beside me and I flinch. “Would you have loved me, Claire? Really loved me, if you hadn’t been so busy? If we had had more time together?”

I look down at my feet and then slowly up to meet Frank’s stare, “That amount of time — doesn’t exist,” I say this with no hesitation, no trembling in my voice. I didn’t love him, not really.

“Well,” he finally walks out the door, “Goodbye then, Claire. I would say it’s been nice knowing you but —“

I don’t hear what he says because I slam the door in his face and lock the door.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

“You have to get ready for work, Beauchamp.” I say to myself and take a deep breath and head back upstairs to my half empty closet. I grab my scrubs and shoes and dress quickly, knowing that if I don’t hurry, I’ll be very very late.

“He did what!?” My best friend, also a surgeon like me, Geillis says after I finish telling her how I walked in on Frank having sex with one of his students.

“Yes! I was just going to his office because I wanted to surprise him and then take him somewhere to eat but he was the one who surprised me.” I say and take off my winter coat, hanging it up in my assigned cubby in the doctor’s lounge.

“The worst part Geillis, is that he denied it. He fucking denied it at first, even after I know he saw me. When I caught him doing that with her — “ I shivered, remembering the sight I had walked in on, “I was too shocked to say anything but there’s no way he didn’t see the door open and close.”

Geillis rubbed her hand gently on my back, “Claire, dear, what ye need is a long vacation far away from this place. Maybe meet ye a nice laddie and he’ll make ye forget all about Frank.”

I knew she was right, I needed to get away from Boston, away from all of this mess. It was Christmas after all. Tis’ the bloody season.

But the last thing I needed was a man.

“You’re right, as always Geillis.” I gave my best smile to her and she laughed, “I’ll book a trip as soon as I get home from work.”

She squeezed my hand, “Good lass and may I suggest my home country of Scotland? The highlands look so bonny at this time of year.”

Scotland. I had never been, I was born and raised in England but never managed to make it up to Scotland.

I nodded, “Scotland sounds nice actually. Gives me a chance to see where my best friend comes from too.” I smiled and wrapped her in a big hug.

Booking the trip however was a bit more depressing than I thought it would be.

It seems googling ‘vacation for one in Scotland’ doesn’t come up with many search results.

“By myself at Christmas, nice one Beauchamp.” I say to myself, I have a habit of talking to myself, it seems.

I had never had holiday traditions, being an orphan for most of my life, the only family I really had was my Uncle Lambert but he was away somewhere in the Middle East, digging up new artefacts.

Clicking on the second option on the google search page, I skimmed the website. It was called ‘Home Exchange’. You picked a country that you wanted to visit and then it listed several home options. You had to essentially swap homes with someone which was something I had never done before and it would be nice for my cat Adso to be looked after while I was gone. Better than leaving the house empty.

I found Scotland in the list of options and clicked on several homes, one in Edinburgh, one in Glasgow but none of them interested me until I found a cute little cottage in a city called Inverness.

“Tucked away in the bonny Highlands of Scotland, cozy up by the fireplace in this quaint cottage near Inverness. You’ll be minutes away from the breathtaking green lands that Scotland has to offer,” I read and then clicked on the picture. It was exactly what it said it was, a quaint little cottage called Rosehill.

“It’s now or never, Beauchamp,” clicking on the chat icon, I typed out a message to the owner of the house and waited for a response.

Claire B: I’m interested in renting your house.

Claire B: I’m wondering if your house is available this Christmas, because if it is, you could be a real life saver.

Claire B: I know it’s late to be asking but if you’re at all interested then please contact me.

JENNY FRASER

The kettle whistled and I took it off the stove to pour myself a nice up of tea. Just what I needed after the day I’ve had.

Just as I sat down on my couch, I heard a ‘ping’ from my laptop in the kitchen. Ignoring it, I took a sip of my tea and sighed. “Probably just work, don’t you think?” I asked my dog, Bouton.

Closing my eyes to listen to the crackle of the fireplace, I then heard another ‘ping’ and then another followed shortly.

“Oh can they no’ leave me alone!” I shouted and sat my tea down on my coffee table and walked into the kitchen to check my emails.

But it wasn’t my emails that had made that sound, it was three notifications from that home exchange website I had set up long ago to make some extra money.

Quickly scanning the messages from a ‘Claire B.’ I sat down at the table and typed out my response.

Jenny F: Hello, I am interested but the house is only available for home exchange.

Jenny F: Where are you?

“Oh please say somewhere not in this God forsaken country,” I waited impatiently for the next message.

Claire B: Boston, MA.

Jenny F: I’ve never been to Boston, always wanted to go.

Jenny F: I’m Jenny, by the way. I’m a non-smoker, single, book publisher and I have one dog.

Claire B: Nice to meet you Jenny, I’m Claire. I’m a doctor, recently single and I have a cat.

“Cat person, aye,” I looked down at Bouton and he barked, “Don’t be jealous,” I laughed.

Claire B: I must say, your house looks idyllic. Just what I need.

Jenny F: Oh thank you. What’s your place like?

Claire B: It’s a little bigger than yours, three stories. A townhome in the middle of downtown.

Claire B: Can I ask you one thing?

Jenny F: Go for it.

Claire B: Are there any men in your town?

Jenny F: Honestly…

Jenny F: Zero.

“Hopefully she’s no’ expectin’ to get lucky here, no’ in my house,” I said and wondered what this Claire B was like in person.

Claire B: Perfect!

Claire B: When can I come?

“Doesna want a man? Perhaps she likes the lasses then, aye?” I laughed to myself and looked through my calendar on my phone. I had nothing scheduled and I could really be out of here very quickly.

Jenny F: Tomorrow too soon?

Claire B: Tomorrow is perfect!

Jenny F: We are on then, for two weeks, Claire.

“Sorry, Bouton,” I gave him a little belly rub, “Looks like I’ll be takin’ my sorry arse to America for this Christmas.” Bouton barked, “She has a cat,” he barked again and wagged his tail, “Aye, I know. But at least she’ll know how to take care of an animal.”

I continued to chat with Claire about all the details like where to find the key to the house and instructions for Bouton while she was here. She gave me her door code and told me that the only thing I needed to do was give someone a box of her ex’s things.

With only a few hours to get things in order, I went online, booked a flight and then went to pack. Boston would be cold still, so I packed warm things. America. I had never been but always wanted to visit.

Maybe this holiday wouldn’t be too bad after all.

[littleoldrachel]

Tenth chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut. 

Dedicating this chapter to @totally-aced-it for being the sweetest cheerleader <3 100 Ways to Say I Love You

Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous |  chapter 10/100 - “I’m sorry for your loss.” | Next Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x Tw for graphic description of a panic attack, discussion and memories of child abuse, references to disordered eating and self harm, grief

It's not often that Sirius is bored at work – there's usually so much to do and learn that he's focused and occupied from the moment he clocks in until he's forced out of his desk in the evening by his supervisor. But today is not one of those days; instead, he's half-filling in a crossword from yesterday's copy of the Guardian, and half-texting Remus, his computer screen idle before him.

Consequently, he jumps out of his skin as Akilah appears at his shoulder, silent in spite of their heeled, steel-capped boots. They drop a thick folder on to his desk, and it's the slapping sound that makes him sheepishly fold up the newspaper. Akilah rolls their eyes, tapping a ringed finger on top of the file.

"Good job on that submission, Sirius," they say, "you've got yourself a client."

Sirius jerks up, seizing the folder and flipping through it excitedly, "seriously?!"

"Siriusly," Akilah says with a cheeky grin, cackling as Sirius sticks his tongue out at them. "Are you gonna manage this on top of your big magazine deadline?"

"Watch me," Sirius says, with more confidence than he's used to expressing – but he means it. He finally feels like he's found his footing at Queerllustration; he's stopped feeling star-struck around his idols, having realised that they are just as nerdy and quirky as he is, he's been out on a pub crawl with all of his team and had a blast, and he's had nothing but positive feedback on everything he's submitted thus far. Even the prospect of running two big projects at the same time feels like a fun challenge rather than overwhelming – he is neither bored as he was at school, nor overwhelmed like at university, and the change couldn't be more welcome.

"Well, if you need anything, you know where I am," Akilah says, and Sirius grins, glancing over at Akilah's warzone of a desk (sketches, fabrics, magazines littered everywhere, half-full mugs of coffee surrounding their computer monitor like guards), "but I trust your judgement." Sirius' heart swells at their confidence in him, because is there any feeling in the world as good as being respected by someone you hold in the highest regard?

Speaking of – he glances back at his phone screen, which has three new notifications. One is a bunch of likes on his Instagram post of his latest coffee art (he might not be a barista anymore, but making patterns in steamed milk is fun, alright?), and the second is Remus' guesses at the crossword clue he'd sent him. He studies the crossword for a moment, realising with unsurprised amusement that Remus is correct, as per usual, and sends him an affectionate 'nerd' in return.

The third –

Oh.

It's a Facebook message, which is unusual in itself, because nobody in their right mind prefers Facebook Messenger to WhatsApp. But it's the sender of the message that makes him pause.

Regulus Black (1 New Message)

Sirius stares at the notification for a few seconds, which blinks back at him, flashing with new messages at alarming rate. Then he shoves the phone away from him, and it lands face-down at the edge of his desk.

He breathes.

For a few minutes, he manages to ignore the niggling sense of anxiety; he flips through the new folder without taking any of it in, he tries to edit a fight scene but frustrates himself with his inability to draw fucking hands, he continues sending memes to Remus, allowing him to take control of the conversation.

(Remus is… struggling, there's no two ways around it. Sirius hates the fresh scratches he sees on Remus' wrists, hates the tired and empty look in his eyes, hates the way Remus talks about himself as though he's shit on the bottom of someone's shoe. He hates that Remus still has to fight to leave his bed each morning, that he can't face work without having violent panic attacks, that he lurches between forgetting (read: not caring enough) to feed himself and eating everything in sight).

(And yet. Things are improving: once upon a time, the scratches would have been gashes, the bleakness of his expression would not have lifted, the self-deprecation would have been all that left his mouth. And Remus is trying – Sirius can see how hard he's trying, and it fills him with the fragile kind of hope that he wants to lock away in a tower to keep it safe. When Sirius asks about how he's really coping, he can see the struggle in Remus' mind, but Remus is fighting, and he is more open than he has ever been before about the reality of the situation).

(Sirius is sort of embarrassingly proud and concerned and grateful all at once).

His phone vibrates again, and Sirius clicks on the notification without thinking – expecting it to be Remus again. Only it's not, and the screen switches to Messenger before he can rectify this horrendous mistake.

Regulus Black: Sirius. I know you do not want to talk to me. I understand that sentiment. But this is of the utmost importance, and I do not have another way of ensuring that this news reaches you. I implore you to believe me that this is not the way I would prefer to tell you this, but again, this is urgent.

Regulus Black: Uncle Alphard has died.

Regulus Black: I am so sorry, brother. I know how much he meant to you.

Regulus Black: It was very sudden. The doctors say it was a stroke. Mother and Father – well, you can imagine what they are saying.

Regulus Black: I am sorry. I know that probably means very little coming from me. But, he was my uncle too. And I am sorry.

Regulus Black: In his will, Uncle Alphard has left everything to you, Sirius. Mother and Father are livid and are doing everything they can to get their hands on the fortune. But it belongs to you. One of your friends – MacKinnon - is a lawyer, I believe? Perhaps you can arrange something with them against Mother and Father. It is not important now, but I thought you should know sooner rather than later.

Regulus Black: There's something else. Mother and Father have sunk even lower than I thought possible and have barred you from attending the funeral. I do not know what they will do to you should you show up anyway. I will of course give you the details if you wish to come.

Regulus Black: You do not need to respond. But Sirius, please do not be alone. Please take care of yourself or let someone take care of you. I know this news must be very hard for you. But you were important to Alphard, and he would want you to take care too.

Sirius – he – he doesn't –

Sirius has a plethora of talents, but languages have never been among them – and for a while, he feels like he's had a passage of Mandarin placed in front of him, because the words? don't? make? sense? But then he realises it's more like he's reading an obnoxiously academic text, because he understands the individual words, but together it's like a riddle.

When he finally comprehends, it's like all the force of a brick wall crashes down on him – only it must be a set of walls stacked like dominoes, because it keeps happening. Every blow is crushing, every breath is harder and harder to reach because he's buried under mounds and mounds of rubble.

"Sirius," he hears, but it's muffled, and he is fading fast. There's even more pressure on his shoulders and he moans, shaking it loose – it's too much, too much, too much –

There are voices – beneath a rushing in his ears and the sounds of his choked gasps for air, people are calling his name and there's movement everywhere, but Sirius is drowning, drowning, drowningdrowningdrowning –

Something touches his neck this time, and he howls, jerking away violently, causing something to give way beneath him and he thumps down, knocking what little breath he has out of his lungs.

"Right, everybody out!" Someone shouts and claps their hands, and Sirius presses his hands over his ears as he continues to fight for breath, because it's all so loud, why are they being so loud? There's some kind of animal too – something is making an awful groan, as though it's been mortally wounded, and Sirius wants to sob at the sound of its distress, because it's appalling.

(When he's six, his father takes him hunting for the first time. Sirius loves what felt like dressing up in the fancy riding gear and is so excited to be on a horse again. But then the hunt begins, and Sirius watches a dog ravage a pheasant, his father's hand clamped on his jaw to keep his head from cringing away from the violence. Tears course down his cheeks as he pleads with his father to make it stop, "please daddy, I'll do anything," cries that are harshly silenced when his father backhands him hard, and spat, "I don't know why I'm so disappointed that you're as useless at this as everything else." When Uncle Alphard drops by later that evening, he is livid at the blotchy bruise across Sirius' cheekbones. Sirius can feel the phantom sensation of Alphard's gentle hands holding him in a rare, safe hug, can hear his voice explaining that under no circumstances are Orion's actions acceptable).

"Sirius."

Words are far too hard right now, and the only sounds he seems capable of making are pathetic whimpers, but he recognises that someone is trying to reach him from where he's trapped – someone knows he is here and suffocating.

"Sirius, you're perfectly safe. You're at work, you're having a panic attack. Can you open your eyes? I want you to see that you're safe."

Sirius is shaking his head violently before the person has even finished speaking, because he don't think he can cope with seeing the world in ruins as it now must be (or worse, the world as it was before, because if it's not in tatters, if it's just his world, how is he supposed to deal with that?).

"Okay. Okay, eyes closed then. I'm not going to touch you," they say, and Sirius feels tears smarting at his eyes. (He can't tell what he wants, because on the one hand, the thought of people – strangers, unknown people – laying hands on him makes him want to hurl, but also, he's an incredibly tactile person and the thought of a warm hug right now makes him physically ache with need).

"We're just going to breathe together, okay? That's all you need to do, and I know it's hard, but you just need to listen to me, and follow me, okay?"

The voice begins to count, and with it, Sirius loses all concept of time. After a while, and what feels like a thousand ragged, counted breaths, he becomes aware that the keening injured animal is in fact him, and the sound cuts off mid-wail. He feels overwhelmed – the combination of embarrassment, anxiety and grief have overtaken his utter panic, but it's still too much.

"You're doing so well, Sirius, that's it. Let's keep breathing a bit longer."

Obediently, Sirius continues to follow the counting breaths (what else can he do?), and slowly – achingly, excruciatingly slowly, he begins to return to himself. He can feel the smooth coolness of the floor beneath him, he can see vague shadows through his scrunched-up eyelids, he can hear the relative quiet of the office, save his noisy breathing and the computer monitors humming. He loosens his grip around himself ever so slightly, and when he doesn't drift apart, he forces himself to open his eyes on the next count of eight.

(When Sirius is eleven, he hides out at Alphard's apartment, which is smaller and drabber than the extravagance of Grimmauld Place, but feels more like a home than anywhere Sirius has ever known. Alphard insists that he teach him to cook, because "one day, little man, you're going to get out of that godawful house and family, and you're going to be free to live how you want to live… but you're going to need to be able to feed yourself!" It's the first time that anyone has expressed belief that Sirius is capable of something more than being a Black, and Sirius has never felt so hopeful and valued before).

It's dazzlingly bright, which hints at how long his meltdown has lasted, and he shrinks back into the shadows under his desk (how did he end up under here?). His muscles are throbbing from being held taut for so long and don't want to support his body weight, so he falls back with a soft thump. A coffee-brown hand reaches out and clasps around his wrist with a gentle tug, preventing him from thwacking his head against the ground.

He pulls himself back up, even though everything in him wants to lie down, curl up and cry. Akilah's concerned expression comes in to view, and Sirius feels another surge of shame at his behaviour.

"Hey, no, Sirius," Akilah catches his mortification, because of course they do, and opens their arms out for a hug. Sirius crawls forward, still humiliated but physically hungry for human contact, and allows himself to be swept in to Akilah's warm embrace. He closes his eyes against their chest (and a tiny part of him points out the enormity of the situation, because Akilah is awkward about their chest and the way it protrudes even under binding), and grounds himself against Akilah's heartbeat. "What happened? Is it the project?"

Sirius shakes his head, feeling a wave of fresh panic rise so fast that it's predatory, and he has to swallow down bile before he can speak. "I don't – um- I can't –" Words are much too much right now, and Sirius fumbles around for his phone, before shoving it in Akilah's direction instead, because the thought of having to say it out loud would mean acknowledging the truth in Regulus' messages, a truth which is too terrible to bear. They hold it steady as he shakily unlocks it, and Sirius can't watch as they read, doesn't want to see the moment they get it.

(He feels it though, because Akilah lets out a barely perceptible sigh and tightens their grip around him).

"What can I do?"

The compassion in their voice overwhelms him, and he feels a hot prickling at the back of his eyes. "I don't kno-w," his voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut, even as tears leak out.

"That's okay," Akilah says immediately, "do you want to go home?"

Sirius nods, even though he's not sure what he wants, but home means his friends and safety, and surely that will feel better than crouching under a desk with his employer.

"Is there someone I can call? I don't want you to be alone, and…" Akilah trails off as Sirius taps at his phone screen again, deliberately not looking at Regulus' messages, and switches it to the WhatsApp conversation he'd been having before – all of this. "Okay. Okay. I'll give them a call," they say, and Sirius feels himself relax the tiniest amount for the first time.

(Nothing is okay. Nothing. He is simultaneously empty of all emotion and overflowing with how overwhelmed he is by it all).

He's not sure how he gets from work to home, because he shuts his eyes again, forces himself to think about literally anything else. When he next opens them, Akilah is speaking and he's been burrito-wrapped in a blanket on James and Lily's couch. The lighting is soft and unobtrusive, the television is on but almost inaudible, and the cushion he's resting his head on is one of the smooth, velvety ones. He can appreciate what Akilah's trying to do, even if he can't feel any gratitude because of it. He vaguely remembers that Lily has a late shift tonight and that James has parents evening, but he doesn't mention either of those things as he's persuading Akilah that they can leave now. It sucks more of his energy than he expected to convince them, and he feels – numb.

He manages to hold it together for as long as it takes to feign half-smiles and reassurances that yes, I'll be fine, my friend will be here soon, I'll call you if there are any issues, but the second Akilah leaves, he's floating again, stitches coming apart at the seams, and he wraps his arms around himself again, pressing his face against the soft cushion until it's hard to breathe.

(Sirius has known for years now, and years of shouldering this kind of secret have worn a tired and heavy ache in to his chest. It's something that is so fundamental to him, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, and yet, it's not all he is. But he knows his family won't see it like that. Then, one day, when he is fourteen and Alphard has just set a tagine dish before him, he cannot hold on to it any longer, and it comes spilling out of his mouth: "I'm gay." Alphard blinks at him, then smiles broadly, and says "okay. "Thank you for telling me. I love you, Sirius" before spooning a generous helping of couscous on to Sirius' plate. "More couscous?").

There's a knock at the door a little while later, but Sirius doesn't really hear it – or rather, he hears it but cannot register its significance. He huddles himself in to a tighter ball on the sofa, because if he loosens his grip for even a second, he is going to crack and fall apart and lose entire pieces of himself, and there is no coming back from that, he can't, he can't, he can't –

"Padfoot?" There's another knock at the door, and Sirius knows that voice, its familiarity would usually send butterflies fluttering in his belly and warmth around his heart. But not today, not now, not when he feels so incredibly numb and empty and hopeless, nothing can penetrate, nothing can help him.

"Padfoot, I'm coming in now." Sirius blinks and wonders fleetingly how much time has passed since that first knock. He doesn't open his eyes again, instead he squeezes them tighter shut as the door opens, as though he can force himself to wake up out of this nightmare.

Soft footsteps pad in his direction, but he is barely aware of them – he's barely aware of anything on a physical level. He's trapped inside his mind, disconnected from his body, and he knows that his fingers are tingling with a burning ferocity now because his entire arm is dead, but he cannot make himself move it – he doesn't know how anymore.

"Hey," the voice is incredibly gentle, like a wave lapping against the shore. Sirius wills himself to open his eyes. It takes the longest time for his body to get the memo, but when it finally does, the kindest of faces swims in to view. Their eyebrows are knitted in a concerned frown, their eyes are sad and crinkled, mouth turned down at the corners. He knows the name to this face, but his mind is so disconnected that everything's just foggy.

They continue talking, keeping their movements slow and obvious. Sirius lets the white noise wash over him like a tide, and keeps breathing, breathing, breathing. Eventually, it's like the world begins to come back in to sharper focus – shapes around the lovely face gain definition, the words being said make sense to him, and a name floats to the forefront of his brain: Moony. Remus.

"M'ny," he mumbles, and Remus stops talking immediately, moving close enough that Sirius can extract an arm from his blanket nest, reach out a hand and touch his chest.

"Pads," he says, equally softly, and within that single syllable is a multitude of empathy and support.

"Can you-" Sirius reaches for Remus' hands, but his dead arm sends a throb of stinging pain up to his shoulder, and his limb flops uselessly.

With one hand, Remus begins massaging his arm, beginning at his fingertips and working upwards. It sends tiny sparks of pain darting through him, but the sensation is strangely grounding, pulling him back to himself. Remus presses his other hand to Sirius' cheek, and the warmth of his palm seeps through the numbness, thawing the ice that has taken control of his mind.

It takes forever, but eventually, Sirius can wiggle his fingers without pain, and he immediately twists his wrist in Remus' grip, so that their hands slot together like jigsaw pieces. The grounding it gives him makes him sigh inwardly with relief – even more so when Remus shuffles closer, pressing their foreheads together. Sirius closes his eyes, breathing in Remus and all the comfort his scent brings, their lips so close they could kiss, only for once, Sirius has zero interest in kissing him.

Eventually, Remus presses a kiss against their entwined knuckles, and gently slides his fingers away. "I'm going to make us some tea, and then I'm going to cuddle the shit out of you. That okay?"

Sirius nods, even though it's not, and nothing will be okay ever again. Every breath he draws is one that Alphard cannot, and will not, ever again. It's like a knife twisting in his chest.

(He has to count deep breaths whilst Remus is out of the room, pleading with himself to not spiral once more).

Two mugs are placed on the coffee table with a light clunk. A warm weight settles next to him, and he doesn't even open his eyes, crawling blindly in to Remus' lap and pressing his face in to Remus' soft stomach. Remus runs his fingers through Sirius' hair soothingly, drags the blanket tighter around him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Remus says quietly, and Sirius screws his eyes shut so viciously, it hurts, because those words. He knows people mean well by saying them, but what good does being sorry do? It's as meaningless as sending thoughts and prayers to the victims of a natural disaster – it's a nice gesture, but useless in the long run, and it is always about them, it's not really about the victim. And so, Sirius has always had a complicated relationship with those words – one that is part resentment and part exasperation –

And yet.

When Remus says it, it's different. Because Remus understands the weight of those words, having known his own fair share of loss in his life. And the way Remus says it isn't in an oh-what-a-shame-now-let's-talk-about-me sort of way, nor in a I-feel-so-bad-for-you-right-now way; it's entirely compassionate and empathic and full of the kind of love that Alphard had shown him – one that's unconditional and boundless and pure.

Sirius swallows all of these thoughts down hard, and opens his eyes again, twisting his neck to meet Remus' concerned eyes. He nods simply, cannot smile, and Remus links their fingers together once more.

"You don't have to cope with this alone," Remus says gently but with a firmness that steadies the sick, anxious feeling in Sirius' gut. "You are never alone, but especially not in this."

The tears threaten to return, and if he begins to cry now, he fears that he will never stop. Instead he turns his face back in to Remus' lap, allowing him to continue the head massage and start up a monologue about the impending Bake-Off finale.

"Don't leave," Sirius manages, what feels like hours later, once Remus has entirely wrung out an in-depth analysis of each contestant, before deciding that Ruby's firey-ness reminds him of Alice, and so is his favourite to win.

Remus squeezes him even closer, "never." He presses a kiss in to Sirius' hair, and Sirius feels himself welling up at the tenderness of it. He's not sure how much longer he can keep fighting the tears, though he's not even sure anymore why he's fighting them, he's not ashamed of these emotions, and he knows that Remus would encourage letting it out.

(Somewhere in his scar tissue, however, lies the memory of his pet dog being killed in a car accident, and being forbidden to cry, which has ingrained in him an expectation of punishment for expressing grief through tears).

Soon, James and Lily will be home, and even though he knows Remus has informed them both of the situation, their gentleness and comfort will be overwhelming. He snuggles closer in to Remus' lap, and almost smiles when he hears Remus' stomach let out a small growl.

"Hungry?" he says, in a voice that is scratchy with pent-up emotion, poking Remus fondly, and the other man squirms a little.

"When was the last time you ate something?" Remus counters, and Sirius frowns. Remembering a detail like that seems like it would waste all of the energy he's focusing on breathing and not crying, so he shrugs, because what does it matter? "Sweetheart, you need to eat."

Sirius shrugs again, not wanting to snap at Remus, but can't he see that he doesn't give a shit?

Remus sighs and says, "what if I make a stir fry? Something quick and simple?"

Unable to muster any strong emotions around anything food -related, Sirius shrugs yet again, which Remus seems to take as assent, because he makes to get up. Sirius involuntarily curls closer around Remus, his heart clenching at the thought of being alone again.

"Hey," Remus says so gently that tears spring to his eyes again. (Or maybe all this kindness is the tipping point on how long he can refrain from weeping). "I'm not leaving. You can come with me." He waits for Sirius' reluctant nod before moving again, this time pulling them up together.

Once in the kitchen, Sirius leans his weight against Remus' back, where he's chopping carrots, courgette and pepper in to strips, and wraps his arms loosely around his waist. He closes his eyes, and focuses on the sounds of slicing and sizzling, the smells of soy sauce and frying garlic, the feel of Remus' soft flannel on his cheek.

Eventually, the gas is switched off, and Remus turns with a hum, wrapping his arms around Sirius. "Ready when you are, love," he says softly, but makes no move towards dishing up, instead just holding Sirius like he's something precious and loveable.

The front door opens with them still standing before the hob, and James and Lily sweep in to the room, wearing identical expressions of protective worry. Sirius braces himself for what will surely be a barrage of affection and concern, but to his grateful surprise, they simply join the embrace in silence. Sandwiched between his three favourite people, Sirius cannot stop himself – the relief and the anguish well up inside him, spilling out of his mouth in a strangled sob, as tears begin to stream down his cheeks. As one, his friends draw closer to him, allowing him to collapse his entire body weight against them as he begins to choke on his emotions.

(His grief is sharp and thorny and comes on all sides – every breath he draws, it snatches from him and replaces with barbed wire and spikes that it plunges in to his lungs – it hurts, it hurts so much. There is no pain like this – nothing his parents said to him can compare to the blood-spattered mess his grief is reducing him to –)

(And God, it's never-ending).

Time must pass because his throat is dry and raw from the gasping, wretched sobs that have been ripped from it, and the front of Remus' shirt is entirely sodden with his tears and snot and saliva, and he aches all over from curling into himself like this. But he doesn't feel any of it. He feels nothing except the huge gashing hole where his peace and his contentment once were; now there is only anguish and pain. But eventually his body cries out in surrender, and his sobbing ceases all at once.

"Padfoot?" James says, very softly, gently touching the nape of Sirius' neck. When Sirius doesn't flinch away, he moves his hand up in to Sirius' dark curls, running his fingers through the tangles soothingly. Lily stands with a stiff difficulty, but Sirius doesn't raise his head to track her movements. Instead, he presses further in to Remus' chest, even though the dampness is awful, and Remus is probably sick of him –

"Sirius," Lily has returned, and Sirius lifts his face slightly to see her holding a washcloth. He closes his eyes, allowing her to wipe his eyes – his make-up is long-since ruined, but the warmth of the flannel soothes his sore cheeks and gets rid of the gross stickiness. When she's done, she sits back, looking more helpless than he's ever seen her – Lily is fiercely capable and dependable, and the sight of her looking so unsure is – frankly – terrifying.

Sirius takes a breath, and looks at James, who seems equally lost. With the two people he's come to count on most so powerless, he feels the ground begin to crumble beneath him, but he's saved from slipping through the cracks by Remus (because of course he is).

"Food. Bath. Bed. Cuddles. In that order. Non-negotiable."

It's rare for Remus to give orders – he is much more a follower than a leader, and Sirius means that in the best way, because there is nobody he'd rather have as a deputy. But the unusualness of the situation means that when he does take command, everybody snaps to attention immediately.

James hops up and begins reheating the stir-fry, whilst Lily makes them tea – peppermint by the scent of it. Remus helps Sirius to his feet, keeps an arm around his waist as he guides him to the sofa, and allows him to crawl back in to his lap. Minutes later, James and Lily come in with four steaming bowls and mugs. The heat of the bowl on his lap is uncomfortable, and the smell makes his stomach roll, but he knows that none of his friends will let him get away without eating, so he lifts a noodle wrapped around a carrot to his lips, and chews without tasting.

He manages half a bowl before he feels uncomfortably full and pushes the bowl away with a scowl. He knows he's being a bit of a brat, but he feels like he's earned it right now. Remus looks a little sad at the amount left in the bowl, but he doesn't push for more – it's just as well.

True to his word, Remus takes him in to the bathroom, and runs a bath in James and Lily's ridiculously big tub. He holds an Intergalactic bath bomb beneath the stream of hot water, because he knows that it's Sirius' favourite, and Sirius stares as the water swirls in to sparkling navy blue, glittering colours whirling across the surface. Remus leaves as Sirius undresses, but returns once he's in the water, and keeps up a steady stream of meaningless chatter. Sirius half-listens as Remus babbles on about the upcoming US elections, the dogs he saw today on his walk to work, his new medication and its side effects… the other half he is careful to keep on the water and not the intrusive memories that are attempting to barge through his mind.

But the warmth of the water is doing the trick. Sirius can feel the heat seeping in to his aching muscles, loosening the knots that have formed, and he relaxes just a fraction. And then a little more.

And then suddenly, Remus is stroking his hair back from his face, and the water is only lukewarm and he's so incredibly tired. Remus holds up a fluffy towel for him to step in to, and then hugs it around Sirius. They stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing, and it's nice and intimate and tender, and Sirius has to go and ruin it all by shivering, doesn't he?

Remus immediately whisks him to his bedroom, where a pair of fluffy pyjamas are waiting atop his pillow, and Sirius slips beneath the covers gratefully, his head heavy and groggy and sad. Remus presses a kiss to his damp hair, and then makes to leave, but Sirius growls, snagging his wrist, and yanking, so that Remus stumbles on top of the sheets.

"You want me to stay?" Remus says, as though the way Sirius is tugging the duvet around him isn't evidence enough, and Sirius refrains from rolling his eyes, if only because it would use his final scraps of energy.

"Obviously," he murmurs, and Remus smiles. He joins Sirius under the covers, and their limbs immediately tangle as Sirius curls around him. Remus wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Sirius pillows on to his chest, and it's so very nice and warm and safe.

"Good night, Padfoot," Remus whispers, as Sirius' eyelids close for the final time that night.

"G'night, M'ny," he slurs back, and swears he feels a kiss press against his cheek before he's off to the stars, floating in a galaxy of dreams and memories.

As peacefully as he slept, and as lovely as it is to wake up being spooned by Remus, his breath tickling the nape of Sirius' neck, the warm glowing contentment he feels pops like a balloon the second he remembers.

Remus is awake the moment he sucks in a choked sob, rolling him in to his arms and allowing him to weep in to his chest.

"It's not fair," Sirius manages, after what could be a few minutes, could be an hour. Then he feels like an idiot for saying so, because Remus knows that better than anyone. "It's not fair that he's gone and they're still here when he was a better man than – than –"

"I know, love," Remus says softly, but he lets Sirius throw his temper tantrum against his chest as he holds him, because he truly is a saint and Sirius does not deserve him.

There's a knock at the door, and Sirius freezes, before burrowing beneath the covers and tucking himself in to Remus' squish. The logical part of his brain – which obviously hasn't woken up yet – knows that it's just James and Lily, and they won't give a shit that he's tear-stained and sleepy. But the bigger part just wants to be left alone, so he doesn't emerge when Remus says, "come in," in his lovely, gravelly sleep-voice.

"Morning," James says, and the sound of mugs being placed on a hard surface stirs Sirius' interest – coffee? Tea? Water? He's so thirsty that any of those would be a dream. He pokes his head out of the covers, spies the coffee mug and launches himself towards it.

"Hey," Remus says, smiling fondly at Sirius' antics, "I would have passed that to you, you know?"

Sirius shrugs, settles himself against Remus' side, and carefully balances the mug on his knees, taking a sip even though it's scalding. Remus cards his fingers against Sirius' scalp - a sensation that usually makes him sag with pleasure, but today barely registers through the foggy grief-exhaustion-anxiety-sadness haze he's under.

"What's the plan today?" James asks, and the question is obviously directed at Sirius, but Sirius struggles to focus - it's all meaningless chatter to Sirius, because his world has shifted forever, why hasn't everybody else got the memo that everything is utterly wrong without -

"I'm at school until half five this evening," James tries, "and Lily's working till seven-"

"But I can swap shifts with Dirk, Sirius, if you'd like me to stay."

Sirius is already shaking his head, because the thought of being such a burden to either of them is unbearable - he cannot handle that sort of guilt on top of his already overwhelming load. (Even if the thought of being alone with his thoughts for a whole day is also unbearable - he will deal).

Remus clears his throat, "I have a day-off today. I can be here all day if you'll have me. Just need to get Alice to feed Winky," he says, and Sirius feels the relief like a shield, protecting him from the awfulness of his own mind. James and Lily seem similarly relieved, and Sirius feels a surge of both love that they care so much and irritation that they don't trust him to be alone. (His head is a fucking mess, and he's too tired to examine his conflicting emotions).

In lieu of having to come up with a verbal response, Sirius leans in to Remus' touch, and forms lazy half-signs, 'stay with me. Please.'

Remus murmurs, "always," quiet enough that even though James and Lily are watching intently, it's an intimacy that's just for the two of them.

Silence falls and Remus plays with Sirius' hair and Sirius' coffee cools and Alphard is dead.

(These are the facts, but they feel more like knives through his chest).

There's something else that needs to be said - Sirius can see it in the way that James and Lily, as in sync as ever, keep exchanging glances full of worry. But neither of them say a word, and the silence stretches longer and bigger and worse. Eventually, when he can't stand the tension anymore, he spits, "if you've got something to say, then say it, won't you?" It's harsher than he intends, and James flinches, but Sirius can't bring himself to feel guilty for his bluntness. (If things were different, he would be beating himself up for being so shitty towards his closest friends. Then again, if things were different, Sirius wouldn't even be feeling so numb to it all in the first place).

It's Lily who asks the question that they're all itching to, because Lily is the bravest of them all.

"We were just wondering when the funeral is, Sirius?" No matter how gently she asks it, Sirius' heart still shatters in to a thousand tiny shards, and it hurts - it hurts so much, how can she just say it like it's not rending the world in two.

Remus seems to sense something, because he reaches out and catches the mug just before it falls off Sirius' knee as he shifts violently, blindly lunging for something - anything to make it hurt less. He shoves his face into his knees, hugging his legs to his chest as tightly as he can, and he breathes, the raggedness of his broken heart still aching with every inhale.

There's a hand on his shoulder - too large for Lily's, too warm for James' - and even though everything in him wants to shrug it off, it grounds him enough that he can find the words to say to his knees, "it doesn't matter. I'm not allowed to go."

The grip on his shoulder tightens abruptly. "What the hell does that mean?" says Remus sharply.

"My - my parents don't want me there."

"When has that ever stopped you from doing anything?" James says incredulously.

"This is different," Sirius insists, "Reg says - they've barred me, and -"

"Barred you?"

"What the actual fuck," hisses Remus, and Sirius looks up in surprise at the venom in his tone. The hold on his shoulder is hard enough to bruise (and Sirius would know), and Remus mouth is a grim slash. "How the fuck are they so fucking evil, I will kill them-"

"Moony-" James says pointedly, but Remus shakes his head.

"They know how special Alphard is - was - to Sirius - they are doing this on purpose, and I cannot -"

"Moony."

"Don't Moony me, Prongs, how dare they bar him - this is so fucking unfair, that's-"

(Remus has removed his hand from Sirius' shoulder, but it's now shaking with how hard his nails are clenched into his palm, and Sirius would rather a thousand times that it was him Remus was hurting).

"Remus." Remus finally falls silent at James' I'm-a-teacher sternness, but still glowers defiantly. "Do you think this is helpful?" He nods his head at Sirius, who suddenly becomes aware that his cheeks are damp.

Remus has the grace to look ashamed as he deflates. Keeping his movements as obvious as possible, he moves back to Sirius' side, taking up his hand and twining their fingers. "I'm sorry," he says softly, and Sirius nods distractedly - he doesn't even know why he's crying, and he's more concerned with where Remus' nails have dug into his palms. Remus raises their joined hands, uses the pad of his own thumb to wipe Sirius' cheeks, and it's so tender it stings the raw edges of Sirius' broken heart.

James moves to Sirius' other side, and Sirius leans tiredly against his side - it's not even eight am and he just wants to sleep until he wakes up from this nightmare. Lily tucks his feet into her lap, shuffling closer, and for a moment, Sirius' sniffles are the only sound.

Eventually, James breaks it - "We can find out where they're - um. Where he'll be buried. And then we can go and pay respects. I know it's not the same, Pads, but -"

"Yes." Sirius says, unable to meet anyone's eyes, because he's terrified he'll see Alphard's disappointment that he can't even bring himself to stand up to his parents on this one small thing. Instead, Remus presses a kiss to his temple and Lily squeezes his leg gently.

"I'm proud of you, love," James murmurs, "we all are."

"For what?" Sirius says bitterly, "Alphard's the bravest man I know - knew. This isn't-"

"Having the courage to make yourself a priority is brave," Lily says fiercely.

James nods in agreement, "if you went to the funeral, you'd be seeing your abusers again. You'd be understandably anxious about that, and about making a scene, and you wouldn't get to actually say the goodbyes you need to. I know you know this."

"Sometimes self-protection is the bravest thing you can do," Remus says quietly, and Sirius closes his eyes. He wants to take their kindness and force his mind to accept it - to shove it at the voice that calls him a coward and shut it up because it's wrong, dammit.

But he's so tired and sad and empty, and the combination is too much for one person to manage. He curls into Remus' lap, facing away from the world's compassion that he can't quite convince himself he deserves. Remus returns to stroking through his hair in silence whilst Sirius wallows, and eventually James and Lily have to leave with kisses and well-wishes and the promise that they are only a phone call away.

(Sirius isn't alone - not emotionally, and certainly not physically - but he's alone in the intensity of this feeling. It's an exhausting, constant wave of grief that continually shudders through him, and it wears him down to the extent that he's slipping into a restless sleep once more).

It's Remus who phones into Sirius' work, explains the situation with a levelness that Sirius could never have managed, and arranges for compassionate leave. It's Remus who alerts their wider group of friends to the circumstances, details what he needs from each of them - knows what he needs from each of them - and responds to the overwhelming tidal wave of well-wishes. It's Remus who sits in silence with him for hours at a time, willing to listen when Sirius feels like talking (which isn't often, especially in the beginning), and ready to talk when Sirius' head is too loud and overwhelmed (which is often).

The next few days are not a blur. Sirius remembers them in sharp painful detail, and every breath aches like an old wound. He does his best to keep busy - he and Remus go to Richmond Park, trample through the snow-laden fields, walk as far as Remus' aching bones will allow. Remus takes him to the newest exhibition on Aboriginal art at the RA, and he wishes that his mind felt less foggy to appreciate its beauty and individuality. The two of them bake cookies - gingerbread shaped like dreidels - and binge the entirety of One Day At A Time and completely sort through Sirius' wardrobe.

It helps to keep himself occupied, because it prevents the memories from forcing their way through, though not even the sight of Remus with flour on the tip of his nose is enough to lift Sirius' spirits.

He's not sure why it hurts so much – he hasn't seen Alphard for a year, at least, and even then, their relationship has shifted from a paternal one to something like distant friends. The closeness had fallen by the wayside (and doesn't Sirius just loathe himself for allowing that to happen?) when Sirius had found friends he could rely on and a life he loved.

And yet it hurts so fucking much.

Perhaps it's the fact that he used Alphard's money to escape and rebuild his life afresh, without once going to actually visit his uncle and tell him how grateful he is. Perhaps it's the niggling voice in his head that whispers that Alphard knew about the abuse but still did nothing to remove him from it. Perhaps most painful of all, it's that in spite of the awfulness of his upbringing, his memories of Alphard are among his most nostalgic, but recalling them in a world where Alphard lives no longer is unbearable.

He finds himself going to text Alphard when he stumbles upon a recipe Alphard would have loved. He has to force himself to put down the scarf he's unthinkingly picked up for Alphard's Christmas present. He thinks of him when he hears Vivaldi, and when he passes bouquets of red flowers, and when he sees a deer frolicking through the fields, and suddenly his memory is everywhere.

(And it's unbearable).

(He's so, so tired).

Remus doesn't leave. That thought is the one that Sirius wakes up and lies down to. Every time he reaches for him, Remus is there before the thought has even fully formed. Every time his breathing becomes too tight and everything too much, Remus has his hands clasped in his own and is counting steady exaggerated breaths. Every time he begins to cry and doesn't know how or whether he'll ever stop, Remus holds him close and lets him sob in to his stomach, offering nothing but kindness and love and support.

And it should feel suffocating – like having an overly-attentive shadow, only… it's actually the biggest comfort he can imagine? Having someone who knows him so intimately means that he doesn't have to put into words how terrible he feels - because Remus gets it, and he gets him. James and Lily are, of course, wonderful, but it's Remus, and it's always been Remus, and there's nobody else Sirius would rather have by his side. Remus validates him and supports him and loves him unconditionally - and he knows any of his friends would do so too. But it's Remus.

(He spends a lot of his time wrapped around Remus' warm body, hands clasped together, Remus massaging his shoulders and neck, scratching his scalp, it's all Remus-Remus-Remus, and the tactile side of Sirius that craves physical contact is in bliss).

(Even if nothing else is).

[hobo4lyfe11]

[ KBTBB Co-Writing Fic ] Hate At First Sight ❤ At Last Glance Part 4

Fandom: Kissed By The Baddest Bidder Rated: Drama, mystery, thriller, romance KBTBB OC: Ryoko Inui / Kyoko Nakama ( @hotcocosharing ) Main Interest: Soryu Oh Summary: Ryosuke Inui feels conflicted about whether he should tell the truth to his admired Boss or, assist his possible long lost, older sister in her prospect to get back at Soryu and the Ice Dragons. A/N: Time to get to know Soryu, and how he interacts with others while fighting with his own internal thoughts. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Warnings: RIP Baba’s fedora Word Count: 1695 words

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Soryu Oh’s POV

“Get a hold of yourself Inui!,” I reasoned, shaking him out of his hypnotic state,

“Her? Who’s her?”

“Was that her? No, it can’t be…”

Apparently, he was so out of it that neither Samejima, nor I, could break any sense into him; he even started talking and questioning himself. Paying absolutely no mind to either of us, Inui seemed to be fighting his own inner demons before quietening suddenly and, standing there in deep contemplation. Maybe he’s calmed down - enough to respond somewhat like a human being:

“Inui, did you recognise the person at all?” “…No.” “Did you at least see what they looked like?” “…No.”

Growing up in the world of dirty tricks and hypocrisy has strengthen my ability to read people and judge one’s character and I’ve known Inui for far too long to be fooled by such a poor attempt to deceive me but, he isn’t a bad person and, I trust him wholeheartedly so, I’ll let this go for now. I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready because right now, he is in no state to be interrogated.

“Soryu, I’ve never seen him like this; as weird as he is, he would never repeatedly say ‘It’s not her’ to the dog…while she’s asleep,” voices Samejima, the feeling of worry very imminent and exposed.

Hmm, to talk to the dog while she’s asleep… he must feel quite shaken by the surprise encounter from last night. What can I do to help him settle? or is this an ‘Inui’ thing that can’t be fixed? Mm, this truly is quite a dilemma. The ticking of the clock, partnered with the swirling of thoughts in my head, is interrupted by the call I was unenthusiastically expecting this early in the morning.

“Hello?”

“Don’t ‘Hello?’ me, Soryu. We need to find the bastard who stole the data containing our highly confidential files immediately! If you don’t get to the penthouse in 5 minutes I WILL destroy that stupid fedora!” screeched, Eisuke’s electronic voice.

You could essentially feel his anger seething through the phone knowing this happened so shortly after the incident with the defective security program; that we reinforced. But, no human can get to the penthouse from here so, it looks like Baba and his fedora will suffer the wrath of King himself. Heh, I’m pretty sure Baba has an infinite supply of the exact same fedora hidden all over the penthouse anyway.

*Ding*

The bell that welcomed me to the 51st floor was followed by the choir of muffled cries of despair, hysterical laughter and a whiff of tobacco, informed me, that the deed has been done. I stand outside the double-doors of the penthouse lounge and offer my thoughts up to fedora #63 that was sacrificed this morning.

Baba throws his crying form at me the moment I step foot into the lounge, while Ota rolls on the floor laughing - with tears in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you come sooner Sor~ Boss scowled at me for 5 minutes and then started attacking my beloved hat!” he whines for a minute before pulling fedora #64 from a secret compartment under the couch, causing Ota to laugh harder, more smoke to fill the air and Eisuke rolling his eyes harder.

“Enough with the nonsense. Tell me you’ve found the guy and he’s been wiped off the face of the Earth, Soryu.”

“They escaped. Whoever this was, knew their way in and out of the security floor and had access to all of the entrances and exits.”

“But the only people with that much access are us, and staff with Class 1 clearance,” inputs the fedora-adorned Baba.

“Or, the person could just be seriously skilled. No alarms or signals were triggered so the dude must have overwritten the system before you got there.”

Silence ensues and I hate to admit it but, the lazy cop makes a good point. The incident with Inui has been eating away at my brain for the past 7 hours so I decided to throw the information into the midst of our discussion.

“We can’t rule out the possibility of the culprit being a woman,” you could practically hear 4 jaws drop, “ Inui said something about ‘it’s her’ after his confrontation with the suspect but has become completely delusional recently.”

This new intel seems to spark an idea within that blond head of Ota’s, “I know a woman who doesn’t have Class 1 clearance but, is good with security tech,” he continues with a smirk, “Our little Koro~”

“We don’t have enough evidence to start accusing people blindly,” I can’t believe I’m defending this woman, “Like I said, Inui wasn’t in any state to provide any hard evidence and, it’s not like she’s the only woman on the security team.”

As the cogs and wheels in Eisuke’s head pieces everything together in his mind, the devious grin that stretches across his face assures a fate that welcomes empathy from those around the victim.

“Soryu, go fetch our little toy and put her on a leash - we’ll prepare her for her visit with the doctor.”

Yep, I actually feel sorry for her,

“Alright…”

With Luke out of the country, her appointment was delayed and so in the mean time, she is to be under surveillance by either the Ice Dragons, or myself, at ALL times. Her long fingers fidget and twiddle as I accompany her to the Ice Dragon’s HQ, where she’ll be staying from now on. Last night she was supposed to be responsible for alerting me to any suspicious activity or tampering with the servers but, I received nothing from her. Was she distracted from her post or was she really a part of the heist itself?

“Come, you should get used to this place because you’ll be here a lot. I’m going to make you my assistant until we find out who did all of this so don’t disappoint me.”

Behind the spectacles that frame her alluring eyes, surprise is written all over her face as she opens her mouth to object but seeing as she had no choice, she quickly reconsiders her previous action. As useful as I thought she was, she caused an awful lot of trouble for me and, I will not drag everyone around me down due to my incompetence.

“I have to get stronger in order to overthrow that vile dictator.”

Dammit. I let my thoughts leak out again. It happens more frequently now, that my mind is over-filled with thoughts of the Auction, Bidders, the hotel, the Ice Dragons, the mafia, Ryuun, My Grandfather… and her. I honestly don’t think that she’s behind all of this catastrophe - she seems too innocent, too sweet; too graceful.

I’ll clear her of her bad name quickly, that way, the Bidders will stop suspecting her and then she can return to her dream job. Pathetic. I even dragged her into this whole mess, all because I wasn’t able to capture the intruder last night. Don’t worry, I’ll impress you with my skills as you did me, before.

“Inui, I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself; take this woman to her apartment and search every nook and cranny for the stolen data files and any questionable materials, if any there are any.”

“R-r-really? THANK YOU, BOSS, I won’t let you down!” Inui shouts over-enthusiastically, shifting his eyes between the woman and myself. She doesn’t seem to be making eye contact with him, probably because she feels uncomfortable around him. I don’t blame her though, Inui’s earnest personality can be overbearing, even for Samejima and I. Here’s to hoping he’s in top shape to do this mission alone.

It’s past 11 pm and I find myself checking the clock as it ticks away teasingly - each second feeling longer than the last. The anxious tapping of my fingers against the oak desk plays a rhythm that, won’t make their return any quicker but, temporarily eases my restlessness. Not knowing how I made my way to the entrance way, I’m the first to greet the returning pair as they both have a melancholic air about them.

“Anything to report Inui?”

“No.. Nothing.” Hesitation, sadness, and uneasiness are laced through the words that fall from his lips. Is it naive of me to assume that it’s probably part of the slump he found himself in recently? He seems so distant, it’s concerning me, I’ll ask Samejima tomorrow morning about how we could help him get over this oppressive obstacle.

At least that proves that she’s got nothing to hide, so that should ease the suspicion that surrounds her until Luke comes back to examine her.

“Time for bed.” I dismiss, grabbing onto Kyoko’s thin, pale wrist and dragging her off to her room. She throws me a look of doubt as I stand there waiting for her to fall asleep before leaving her and retiring for the day, myself.

“I’ll leave as soon as you’re out. Don’t worry, I have no intention of taking advantage of defenceless women, in fact; I despise such disgusting behaviour so go to sleep already.”

After a good 30 minutes of wearisome tossing and turning, and the occasional glance of awkwardness that she threw in my direction, she was lulled into the land of dreams as her even breathing settled and her feathery eyelashes flutter closed. Of course, she was so occupied with trying to ignore my presence, she forgot to take off her glasses so, I make my way to her side with light and careful steps, gently grasping each side of the frame and pulling it away from her enchanting face.

A bit of her soft hair cascades down, onto her cheek and my hand impulsively catches the strands and tuck them snugly behind her small ears. I’ve never really taken the time and effort to get to know a woman because I thought they were all lecherous creatures made up of lies and were defined by their ability to seduce a man for the sole purpose of materialistic gain. Maybe not. Maybe she’s different. Maybe she’s like ‘her’.

A soft smile plays on my lips and I turn around to leave,

“Good night.”

[little-black-dress-24]

Hi, this pretty specific, but I just broke my back, and i was wondering if you would do a fic where Harry takes care of you when you're recovering / having back-pain, like he can tell when its bothering you and doesn't let you over-do it, and massages the pain away sort of thing? I would greatly appreciate it!

Oh god, honey! I hope you feel better now!! How does that happened?? It sounds horrible!!! I hope you have not so much pain! 

All the love E. xx

( Hope you like the story, let me know!!) 

“I can hear you! Go back to bed!” he screams from the kitchen.  You stop in your movement.Damn.

“But I need to go to the toilet!” you respond meekly.

He appears in the hallway, a dish towel over his shoulder, his hair wild and his green eyes sparkling.

“What did the doctor say?” he raises his eyebrows. You support yourself on the dresser.

“Har…” you start but the pain flares up in your back again and you inhale sharply. Harry is quickly by your side, holding you gently around the waist. You can’t take a painkiller again; you took one an hour ago so you have to deal with the pain for the next few hours. Closing your eyes, you grab his arm; with a tight grip, you make slow steps in his direction.

“It would be better if you lie down again.” he says quietly.

“I have to go to the fucking toilet,” you hiss, feeling sorry for your bitchy response.

“Sorry,” you press out between your teeth. He knows that you have had a rough time, so he overlooks your snappy answer.

You’re holding your breath in awareness of the pain. Slowly you put one foot in front of the other. Harry holds you with both arms stretched out, and your grip is tight around his forearms.

After what feels like two hours, you walk back to the bedroom.

Carefully you sit down, and Harry lifts your legs, laying them on the bed. You sink against the pillows, and it’s the first time you can breathe again. Slowly you start to relax yourself. You managed it with his help. Closing your eyes, you exhale and sink deeper in the pillows.

Harry wraps you in the duvet and kisses your forehead. You smile as his lips touch your forehead.

“Can I leave you alone for 30 minutes? I have to do the dishwashing?”

You nod, holding the remote in your hand, turning on the TV.

As he walks out of the room, he turns around in the door frame, pointing with his forefinger and his middle finger on his eyes and then on you. You narrow your eyes and stick out your tongue.

He shakes his head, smiles, and disappears. You surf through the channels, but you can’t find anything interesting. Nothing catches your attention; you know nearly every TV show. So you turn your head slowly to grab the magazine which lays on his side of the bed. Sullenly, you skim through the magazine.

“Harry!” you scream in a pathetic way. You hear how he puts something away, cursing. You have to smile. As he appears, you look at him like a puppy. Wide eyes, eyelashes fluttering.

“What’s happened? Are you ok?” he asks with a deep furrow between his eyes.

Forming your lips like you want a kiss you point to your lips. He shakes his head, and a crooked smile appears on his lips. He walks towards the bed, crawling to you.

“I see! That’s a real emergency!” he giggles. You start nodding, but you regret it immediately, as you feel the pain in your back. Shutting your eyes and scrunching your nose, you inhale sharply.

You feel his hand on your cheek, as you open your eyes slowly as the pain ebbs away.

“Sorry, darling,” he whispers against your lips.

“No, don’t apologize!” you whisper. His soft lips meets yours, and you forget for a few seconds the pain and wish you could hug him and yes even more…..

Softly he strokes a stray strand behind your ear. He shifts a bit and your hand searches for his. Weakly you put your cold hand over his.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, looking in his green eyes.

“I won’t go.” he says, and your lips meet again.

“Harry, it hurts, really.” you whine as you lean your head back against the pillows and the headboard, closing your eyes. He knows that you’re brave, and if you complain about the pain, it must be really bad. It breaks his heart that he can’t take the pain away. He would take it all, every piece of pain to see you smile again.

“I know, darling,” he strokes over your head with a heavy heart. “Tomorrow it will be better. Every day it will get better!” Harry kisses your cheek. You open one eye, looking at him. He nods, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Don’t lie to me, Mister” you say while you give him a wan smile.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he pretends to be shocked and touches his chest. Guiltily, he thinks of the white lie he told you, that he had to go to the studio, and then he thinks of the little round, sparkling thing which he bought which is well hidden between his socks. And he determines that this is no lie.  It’s a big surprise for when your back is healed.

“Mhm no, Mister.” you purse your lips.

”But do you want tea? I will be back in two seconds!” You can’t answer him because he runs out of the room so quickly. You frown.

“Harry, darling, I don’t want tea.” you say loudly. A  few minutes later he appears with two cups of tea in his hand.

“Don’t you dare!” you smile as you see his face.

His mouth is open, nose scrunched, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“I want Harry! Not Mick Jagger!” you giggle.

“OUIIII HELOO. How ‘re yaa??” he says in his funny Mick Jagger voice, and you have to control yourself because you can’t laugh. Shaking your head slowly you have a big smile on your face.

His cup of tea is already standing on his nightstand as he walks in his dorky Mick Jagger style around the bed on your side. Suddenly he raises his hands and makes a funny noise. The hot liquid swashes out of your favourite cup over his hand.

Your eyes widen as he screams.

“DAMN! That’s HOT, HOT” he hollers.

“Cold water! Go in the bathroom!” you command. He runs out of the room yelling a “Stay” over his shoulder as he hurries into the bathroom. You hear the water running.

“In the upper drawer is the burn ointment,” you shout while you shake your head.

He lotions his hand with his other hand as he appears in the bedroom door.

“You’re a lousy nurse,” you giggle, “But I love you”

Harry’s green eyes sparkle as he hears these words. Lying down beside you he looks deeply into your eyes.

“I love you too, darling, even with a broken back.”

“Let me see how clumsy my man was,” you stretch out your hand to study his injured hand.

Softly you press a kiss on it.

“I think it’s gone,” he winks, and you roll your eyes.

“I will lie here and do nothing, ok?” he adds.

“That sounds good,” you turn your head and the pillows rustle. He smiles, kissing your hand which holds his.

For several minutes both of you are lying next to each other without a word, only your hands intertwined. His thumb circles tenderly over your hand.

“Can you remember our first date?” he asks haphazardly. Turning your head you look at him through hooded eyes.

“Of course. How could I forget this?” you smile. “ I will never forget the face of the old man” you try to laugh. Harry looks up to you rolling his eyes.

“What? It was funny!” you say quietly.

Harry picked you up at your flat in the evening. He reserved a table in a cozy italian restaurant, the kind of italian restuarant with white and red plaid tableclothes. You laughed and enjoyed your meal, and suddenly a man tapped Harry’s shoulder. Harry sighed and turned around.

The older man smiled politely and opened his mouth.

“Yes, Sir. I can give you an autograph, but please no photos tonight,” Harry said, smiling in the most friendly way. You wanted to say he could take some photos,  You didn’t want to be the reason why he didn’t take photos with fans.

The man looked confused.

“That’s a nice offer with the autograph, but Mr.?” he raises his eyebrows, “your chair is standing on my wife's coat. So it would be nice if you could stand up.” the man said.

You had tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. Harry’s face was aghast, and the wife of the man smiled apologetically.

Harry’s  embarrassment was palpable, and running his hands through his hair, he stood up, repeating his apologies.

“It was your smile,” he says while he runs his forefinger over your cheeks.

Tiredly, you close your eyes.

“Tell me something,” you say sleepily. The painkillers show their effect.

Harry smiles, kissing your sleepy mouth.

“Well. A long time ago, I met a girl,” he starts.

“I bet she’s beautiful,” you say with a tired smile on your lips.

“Beautiful? You never saw her,” he winks, and then his tone gets more serious.

“She’s more than beautiful. She has something I can’t describe. Her smile makes me insane. Oh yes, believe me.” he looks at you. “When she smiles, it’s like the sun rises; her eyes are shining and her lips, I wish I could kiss these lips the whole time,” he bends forward to kiss your lips.

“You’re such a dork,” you whisper.

“Ouii.” he squeals. “And her eyes: they are full of energy and sometimes they’re cheeky and playful. Oh, and when she’s working in concentration, she has a little furrow between her eyebrows. I guess it’s exactly here.” He kisses a little spot on your forehead. “Uhm, yes I met this girl. It was November when I met her.” he says.

“No, it was late in the October,” you correct him in a sleepy voice.

He purses his lips while he smiles. “Good. It was late in the October.It was very cold.” You hum in agreement.

“She walked over the field with her dog in my hometown. Muffled up in her old green coat and a black scarf. Oh, and she wore a red hat.” He touches his head while he is telling you this. “Her dog ran over the field into my direction, and she screamed across the field, yelling the name of her dog. But he didn’t hear. He ran and ran, so she started to run too. It was a funny sight. I greeted the dog and pet his head, and then she arrived breathlessly with red cheeks and sparkling eyes. And I thought, “Hello you beautiful thing”.”

That’s the last thing you hear as his soft deep voice takes you in a dreamless sleep.  

[ghostbustermelanieking]

28. When I am dead :')

i had this idea a few months ago and wasn’t ever going to write it but i really liked it with this prompt. cross-posted on ao3 because it got overlong and i had to use a cut.

warning for discussion of suicide.

gethsemane au

“It him?” the detective asks, and she says, “Yeah,” and leaves the room on wobbly legs. 

This is not happening, something in the back of her mind says. She doesn’t know if she feels dizzy because of the cancer or because her partner’s dead on the floor in there. Her heart thunders unevenly in her chest. This cannot possibly be happening, she tells herself. Her fingernails bite into her palm. She doesn’t let herself cry until she gets to the elevator.

(Two years ago, he came back from the dead here. It has gone full fucking circle.)

She’s not at all surprised when she collapses in a meeting, not at all surprised when they tell her she’s dying. Someone mails a chip to the hospital - some anonymous donor - and Scully agrees to replace the one that used to be in her neck with it because all she can think is that Mulder would want her to try it. She’s not surprised when they tell her she’s dying, but she is surprised when they tell her she’ll live. She is grateful when she sees her brother’s smile and her mother’s grateful sobbing, but her chest clenches when she thinks about telling Mulder. He would’ve wanted to know; wanted to know that his conspiracy was the one that saved her. When her family leaves, she pulls her sloppily written journal into her lap and flips to the back. She’s written something in a sloppy hand that she doesn’t remember writing. She swallows hard and writes one more thing: I never really blamed you. I’m so sorry.

—

He wakes up in a cell, the last thing he remembers being the gun in his lap. No - he blinks the sleep from his eyes and reaches further. He remembers standing with the gun in his hand and deciding - he had to go underground, to find a cure for Scully. Maybe she could help him, if she didn’t completely hate him; or if she couldn’t, the Gunmen would. He started to turn, and then he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. And then nothing. And then here.

Someone comes into the room and he tries to fight him, but of course it’s some kind of fucking alien who looks like a human. Kristchgau was wrong and Scully is still dying. Fuck.  

The alien thrusts a hand out and pins him to the wall with some invisible push. “Calm down, Mr. Mulder.”

“What the hell is going on here?” he spits, struggling against the force holding him to the hard cement. “What do you want with me?”

“People believe that the conspiracy is false, and now the only living proof is allegedly dead,” the alien says matter-of-factly. 

“And what about my partner?” Mulder hisses. (She’s the only weapon he has at this point; maybe she won’t really believe he’s gone, maybe she’ll come for him. No, fuck, she can’t do that, she’s sick, she’s dying. He is as selfish as he’s always thought himself to be.) “What does she believe?”

The alien pauses before continuing with some kind of self-satisfaction. “Dana Scully died last night at Trinity Hospital.”

When the alien finally loosens the force that has him pinned against the wall, he doesn’t even try to stay upright; he just lets his knees hit the ground.

—

They release Scully from the hospital a week after she goes into remission. With Bill and her mother surrounding her and being generally happy that she isn’t dead, she can almost pretend that there’s not a void inside her, some sort of black hole in the pit of her stomach. When they leave, it’s quieter, and the image is unavoidable. 

(Mulder’s blood on the floor, the sheet draped over his body, the gun on the table, they gave me this disease to make you believe…) 

Scully lies on the couch with a throw blanket draped over her lap. It feels too much like the period of time after her coma, where it seemed like all the strength had been sucked right out of her. Except for the fact that this was much more severe - she has a much longer recovery period, a two-month sick leave from work. And her mother is still here to fuss over her, but Melissa isn’t here to sit on the end of the couch and tease her about her partner or make fun of TV shows with her or offer to paint her nails like they did when they were kids, and Mulder isn’t here to awkwardly visit and offer her videotapes or treat her like she is something delicate and sacred or look at her the way he looked at her in her hospital bed when she thought she wasn’t looking. She doesn’t even have her dog to keep her company. She’s lost almost too much to count. 

She watches bad TV for three days, breaks down just once:in the bathroom, after she picked up the phone to call him and remembered he wasn’t there anymore. This is too hard, she thinks then, looking down at the phone, on its side on the floor where she dropped it. I can’t do this.

She calls Skinner and asks him to keep the X-Files open. She doesn’t entirely trust him but who else is going to keep the unit open? He asks her why, and she says, “In honor of Agent Mulder’s memory, to continue his work.” It’s the truth and a lie; she’ll continue it in a different way than he would’ve wanted, probably, because she’s never been a believer in her life, but still. She owes it to her sister and his sister and herself and him to find the people who did this, do this. They killed him, essentially, and she is going to take them down. 

She calls an old friend who owes her a favor and asks to see Mulder’s autopsy report. “Oh, Dana, I guess they didn’t tell you,” her friend says.

When would they have told me? Scully thinks irritably. “No.”

“They went over my head. I never even saw the body. It was taken away as evidence.” 

Scully thanks her absently and hangs up, mind racing. The fuckers; they didn’t even have the decency to give her or his mother any closure. His mother, damn, she has no idea how Teena Mulder is doing at the moment. The last time she saw Teena, it was when she slapped Mulder. She calls her, hands shaking as she clutches the receiver. Teena calls her Agent Scully and doesn’t seem to want to talk for too long. Scully understands. She tells her that Mulder is buried in Martha’s Vineyard and thanks her for working with her son before hanging up. She could thank me for protecting him if I’d done my job right, Scully thinks. She thinks that between the two of them, neither of them are what he needed.

—

He always thought he’d fight if he were ever abducted. He thinks the circumstances are probably a little different than what happened to Samantha and Scully - he didn’t see a light, for one thing - but still, it’s clear where he is. (Scully fought, he knows she did, instinctively, because she never went down without a fight.) He always thought he’d be making plans, looking for his sister. He always thought he’d fight if Scully died. 

He doesn’t fight. 

Scully’s death is more than he can take. He’s known this - known it since he stared down at a gun barrel at her and tried to fight Modell’s voice in his head, known it since he saw her stiff and almost lifeless in a hospital bed, known it since she got her diagnosis. He was going to fight for her, and he couldn’t even do that right. He killed her, whether aliens are real or not, because even if they aren’t, she never would’ve been involved in all this if it weren’t for him. She would’ve lived. And he never would’ve known her, but it would’ve been better this way. 

He lies on the dirty floor of his cell, doesn’t get up when the aliens enter. He tries to sleep, but can’t. He tries to remember what her voice sounds like and can only come up with the last time he saw her. When she told him it was his fault.(The men behind this hoax… behind these lies… gave me this disease to make you believe. The last thing she said to him. It was his fault, and she knew it. She died knowing it.) But he’d rather have her alive and blaming him then dead. 

He was in love with her and he didn’t want to tell her because he was scared and then she was dying and what kind of person would he be if he waited until then? He’s waited too long. He whispers it into the skin of his arm (Iloveyou) just once, like the ground she’s buried in might carry the message to her and she’ll come back. He says I’m sorry more, because he is and he needs her to know that more than anything. He doesn’t know if the dead can hear the living, doesn’t know if ghosts are real and doesn’t know if she’d haunt him if they were. 

The smoker visits him once, and Mulder shouts at him, tries to pin him to the wall of the cell but he’s too weak, he hasn’t been eating. He collapses on the ground in front of him. The smoker looks down at him curiously before grabbing him and dragging him across the dirty floor, wheezing the entire time. He manages to haul and drop Mulder on the tiny bed, the cot rocking with the force of his weight. “Agent Scully was your weakness,” he says. Was, Mulder thinks, and wants to vomit. “Maybe it wasn’t a wise idea to assign her to you.”

“You motherfucking bastard,” Mulder says, trying to find the malice in his voice and failing. He is pathetically tired. “You killed her.”

The smoker takes a long drag of his cigarette. The fucker; the smell won’t come out, with no windows, will continue to be a stomach-turning reminder. “Perhaps,” he says, and leaves. Mulder listens for the sound of the lock in the door, but he doesn’t hear it. He must be imagining things, the smoker would never let him leave like that. 

He sleeps, weightless. But not dreamless. Scully is there. He’s starting to think she’s everywhere.

—

Maggie takes Scully to Massachusetts to visit his grave. She doesn’t want Scully to go alone, and the doctor in Scully agrees. But she insists that her mother let her go to the grave alone, at least. 

The sun is shining, which feels wrong. It feels like clouds should be choking the sky and she can’t breathe when she sees his headstone. She doesn’t want to touch it but she does - gingerly with outstretched fingers. It’s cold to the touch. 

“Mulder,” she starts, uncertain. She had a speech prepared, she went over and over it in her head on the drive up, but all the words have left her. She has nothing to say. She presses her palm flat against the headstone. “Mulder, it’s me,” she says. She is awkward in the way that she hasn’t been with him since 1993; what do you say to a dead man? (Mulder would know, she thinks. Mulder would know what to say.)

“I’m so sorry for… everything.” The stone is new and smooth under her fingers; a reminder. She swallows back nausea or a sob, she’s not sure which, and whispers, “It wasn’t your fault. I miss you.” 

There is nothing else to say. She didn’t bring flowers. She should’ve brought flowers, he brought her flowers when she was dying and didn’t know it. She runs her hand over his engraved name before turning and walking out of the cemetery on shaky legs.

Her mother is still sitting dutifully in the car seat; she mentioned something about paying her own respects after Scully was finished. “Dana,” she says when Scully climbs into the passenger seat. “Are you…”

“I think I loved him.”

She doesn’t know where the words come from, but her mother’s face immediately crumples with sympathy. “Oh, Dana,” she says, enfolding her in a hug.

“I didn’t know what to… I don’t… I never…” She’s crying. She wipes the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips.

“Shh, it’s okay,” her mother soothes her, rocking her. “It’ll all be okay.”

She doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. She thinks she loved him and they say it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all but she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know much of anything anymore.

They drive home and Scully stares at the trees flitting by outside the window. She lets them go out of focus, into blurs of green and brown. It is summer. She holds her breath and pretends Mulder is driving. It’s a case, and they have all the time in the world. 

She goes to his apartment when they get to DC, which isn’t really his anymore. It’s in the stages between crime scene and on the market, but his things are still there. Someone will have to sell them. She searches for and fails to find anything not expired in his fridge. She goes in a wide berth around the couch and shakes food in the fish tank. She walks to the couch, heart in her throat.

The rug with the stain on it is gone; it’s just bare floor now. Her stomach twists as she sits on the spot where Mulder took his last breath. Fuck, she thinks. She wants to vomit. I cannot do this, she thinks.

She lies on the couch, lies in his shadow, curled on her side with her arms wrapped around her torso. One night to see if his ghost comes. Maybe that will give her closure. 

—

Mulder wakes up to his cell door hanging open. 

Dizzy, he stumbles to his feet and towards the door. The hallway outside is empty; no visible traps. If it is a test, he doesn’t care. Either way, they are going to pay for Scully, even if it’s as small as whoever gets caught in the crossfire of his escape. He shoves out of his cell and runs down the hall, his gait clumsy and wobbly; he should’ve eaten, he’ll be pathetic in a fight. But no fight comes. He finds a door and opens it. No alarm goes off. He trails into the summer warmth, running until the building is far behind him. 

It’s over and it’s just beginning. He has work to do. 

He’s somewhere in Virginia, he figures out quickly by a small convenience store run by a kindly woman who calls him a cab and lends him the money. “I’ll pay you back, I swear,” he says, and she tells him not to worry about it. She probably feels sorry for him.

He’ll go home, he decides; get some sleep, eat something, try to regain something resembling strength. In the morning, he’ll call the Gunmen and figure out their next move. (He should call Maggie and apologize; he should visit Scully’s grave.) The alien told him that the only proof was allegedly dead - him, he assumes. He’ll probably give everyone a heart attack, with his return from the dead. He’ll be lucky if his apartment isn’t a crime scene. (Did Scully think he was dead before she died?)

The streetlights and headlights almost look like blurred stars from the wet windshield of the taxi. Maybe that’s where Scully is. 

He doesn’t have his keys, he realizes after he’s already gotten to his apartment, and buzzes his landlord to let him in. Mrs. Alridge seems stunned and genuinely happy to see him. “My goodness, dear, what did you manage to get yourself into?” she says, astonished but not out of the realm of reason astonished - this isn’t his first return from the dead. If things were different, he might stand around and humor her, but they aren’t so he thanks her for letting him in and trails into his dark apartment alone. 

It’s not empty. Someone - an anonymous figure - jolts up from their spot on the couch and says, “Who’s there?” in a harsh voice.

His throat closes up. It’s Scully.

It’s Scully, out of her suits, in jeans and a Quantico t-shirt. She turns sharply to face him, eyes furious, and freezes, mouth agape and eyes wide with horror. She’s looking better than she has in months which is impossible because she’s dead and he can’t breathe. 

His first thought is that it’s a clone, they’ve sent it here to kill him, this is all some test. But no, it can’t be, because a clone wouldn’t react like this, would they? And besides, he rationalizes frantically, why would a clone be lying here waiting? Did they figure out I escaped fast enough to have her waiting for me? It makes more sense for her to come find me instead of me to find her. He’s grasping at straws and doesn’t care, wants so badly for her to be real. The alien could’ve lied, he thinks. Spender said “perhaps” when I said he killed her, it could be… 

“Sc-” he starts.

“Who the hell are you?” Her voice cracks, like she’s going to cry. 

He takes a sharp breath. So her mind went to the same place his did.

“van Blundht?” she says sharply. Her eyes are red like she’s been crying. “I know you’re not a clone, that bullshit’s not real, they told me.”

It is real; maybe she’ll know him if he tells her that. “It is real,” he says.

She recoils like she’s been slapped. “What?” she hisses. Her hands are shaking. He’s never seen her like this before. 

He amends quickly. “Scully, it’s me,” he says softly, and his own voice cracks (because Jesus Christ, he never thought he’d get to talk to her again). “I’ve been in a Syndicate cell for a few weeks now… they… god, they told me you were dead…” He can’t go on, he’s choking on his words (she’s alive, she’s alive).

Scully is shaking. She wraps both arms tightly around herself. Her jaw clenches, unclenches. “It’s not real,” she says. “It’s not real, Mulder, I have another chip in my neck that’s keeping me alive and there are men out there doing injustices but goddammit, there is no such thing as aliens and you shot yourself…” She makes a small sound he hasn’t heard her make since Melissa. “You fucking shot yourself, you bastard,” she whispers.

“That was… I didn’t…” he tries to explain.

“Fuck you, I know,” she hisses. 

He doesn’t know who moves first but they crash into each other. She wraps herself fully around him, nails digging into his back; he buries his face in her neck. She’s crying, he thinks; he thinks he’s crying, too. He holds her tighter. She’s muttering something into his hair, he doesn’t understand it, her words are running together, but he doesn’t care because she’s here. She’s here and…

“Scully?” he rasps against her skin. “Scully, are you sick?”

“Remission,” she mumbles, a little louder so he can hear it. Her hands fist into the back of his shirt. 

“Oh my god.” He kisses her collarbone. “God, Scully, I wanted to… I was going to find a cure but they got to me first… I wanted…”

“Shh.” She’s still shaking; she pulls him backwards until they both land on the couch. She doesn’t let go. “It’s okay now,” she murmurs.”You’re back. We’re fine.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Shh.” She pulls him closer so he’s halfway on top of her, his head on her shoulder. “You’re alive,” she whispers. “You’re alive.” 

They lay together in a tangle of limbs and hot breath on the couch. They don’t let go.

[platonicteenwolf]

Wolf Moon (S1E1) Part III

Teen Wolf x Reader Series Rewrite

A/N: Hey! Check out This Post to see a little message about my future posting schedule and announcements!

They/Them Pronouns Version

He/Him Pronouns Version

Next Part / Masterlist

Warnings: swearing maybe

As thunder cracks in the sky above, Scott flips a closed sign on the doors to the Animal Clinic.

With a few spare bandages in his hand, Scott approaches one of the mirrors in the bathroom and lifts up his shirt.

Fingertips at the edge of the bandage he braces himself. Then rips it off. Sucking in a breath and shutting his eyes, he finds himself looking at-- nothing. The bite has completely healed. There’s not a mark on him. He lowers his shirt, slowly turning to his own reflection in the mirror to a look of shock.

Scott backs down a corridor hauling a huge bag of kitty litter. Setting it against the wall he takes out a set of keys and unlocks the next door. He barely has a foot inside the room when one of the cats hiss in terror. The cages filled with cats come alive with activity.

The frightened felines suddenly bare their teeth, hissing and clawing frenetically at the cage doors. All of them focused on Scott, their backs arched, struck with absolute terror. Stunned, he staggers out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Retreating into the waiting room, Scott can still hear the pandemonium coming from inside when a hammering knock spins him around.

Standing outside and banging on the glass door with her fist is Allison. Rain-soaked it’s nevertheless easy to see that she’s crying and in a visible panic. Quickly unlocking the door, Scott lets her in as she tries to explain through tears what happened.

“I didn’t see it. I took my eyes off the road for like two seconds to switch songs on my iPod and this dog--it came out of nowhere--“

“Okay, it’s all right,” Scott reassures, trying to calm her down. “Do you remember where it happened so I can send out animal control to find it?”

“No. I mean yes, I know where I hit it. But the dog--“

“Right. Where is it?”

“In my car.”

Following Allison to her car under the now drizzling rain, Scott opens the back seat door to reveal an injured stray. Hackles raised, the frightened lab mix is clearly in pain. Allison reaches in to pick him up but the dog snaps at her. She flinches back, stepping right into Scott’s arms.

“You okay?”

She nods, looking up at Scott behind her, his hands on her forearms, fingers lightly touching her soft skin.

“She’s just frightened.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Let me see if I have better luck.” Letting her go, Scott steps toward the open door, oddly calm.

“Careful.”

As he connects eyes with the dog, something happens... sound drops out around him, all except for the dog’s nervous panting. Then its harsh gasps begin to ease as some sort of primal communication occurs between them.

For the briefest moment, his eyes take on a strangely yellow tint, like that of a wolf.

In response, the dog lowers its body submissively, yielding to the obviously dominant animal.

With Allison watching in amazement, Scott gathers the dog into his arms and carries him into the vet’s office.

Inside, Scott gently lays the injured animal down on the examining table. Allison stays back, watching him inspect the dog while petting it, doing an expert job of calming it.

“I think her leg is broken. I can splint it now myself, give her a painkiller and then let the doctor take a look in the morning.”

Allison steals glances at him, looking on with admiration as he works. But Scott doesn’t notice, terrified to look at the beautiful girl. When he finally does look up, he sees she’s hugging herself, soaked and obviously freezing.

“I have a shirt in my bag.”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you.”

But Scott is already reaching into his bag for the shirt. Allison takes it with a smile. When she steps into the hall for privacy, Scott can’t help but notice her reflection in a wall mirror. As she’s pulling the wet shirt off, he catches sight of her bare back. Looking away, Scott notices the dog staring up at him.

“What? I didn’t see anything,” he whispers to the dog. The dog doesn’t look convinced. Allison comes back into the room, now wearing his shirt and no longer shivering.

“Thanks for doing this. I feel really stupid.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. For freaking out like a total girl.”

“You are a girl.”

“I freaked out like a girly girl. And I’m not a girly girl.”

“What kind of girl are you?”

“Tougher than that. At least I thought I was.”

Hearing her confession of weakness, Scott’s desperate to make her feel better. “I’d be freaked out too. In fact, I’d probably cry. And not like a man. I’d cry like the girliest girl. It would be pathetic.”

Laughing, Allison replies, “Yeah, right.”

Hearing her laugh, Scott grins and finishes wrapping the dog’s leg.

“So it looks like she’s going to live. And I’m pretty sure she’ll even let you pet her if you want.”

“I don’t think so.” Allison backs from the table with caution.

“Come on. You don’t want her to sue. This breed is very litigious.”

Allison approaches, tentatively reaching out to stroke the dog’s neck. Calm now, the dog even licks her hand.

“See? She likes you.”

He watches Allison. Unable to take his eyes off her. She looks up to meet his eyes.

“What?”

“Sorry. You have an eyelash on your cheek.”

“Oh. From the crying.”

She wipes at her cheek. But the lash is still there. Scott shakes his head. She tries again. Still there. So Scott reaches with his thumb to brush the lash from her cheek.

“Thanks.”

He nods, hand coming down like he’s not quite sure what to do with it.

“Um... I was wondering--I mean--is it really Family Night on Friday or do you think maybe you’d like to go to that party with me?”

She throws him a curious look. How did he know she said that?

“Family Night was a total lie.”

“So is that a yes? You’ll go?

“Definitely yes.”

—————

Scott falls back onto his bed, head hitting the pillow. Clearly exhausted, he nevertheless wears a huge grin on his face. His eyelids slowly close as he falls instantly asleep. Slowly he turns over on his side, rolling over and strangely onto a bed of wet leaves, causing him to wake suddenly and discover he’s no longer in his room.

Jerking up, Scott knocks his head against something. Reaching up, he touches rock.

Now fully awake and very alarmed, Scott, clothed only his boxers, scrambles out from beneath a cave-like overhang. Glancing about in breathless shock, he discovers he’s sleepwalked all the way out into the middle of the woods.

Scott staggers out of the cave-like overhang and stands in the fog-laden woods, shivering. He turns, trying to see just where he is and then... He holds very still, breath caught.

Head cocked, he listens to the sounds around him. As his heartbeat rises, he takes a barefooted step back. Then he notices that there’s not a sound of life in the woods. Until--

Something moves. In the fog. Only a few yards away. He turns around, peering into the woods. But leaves and twisting tree branches are all that move in the breeze. Half naked and very cold now, Scott backs away. He keeps glancing to each side as he starts to walk. Moving faster and faster, until he’s jogging and then running.

Hurtling into the fog and the woods, he begins to notice a shadow. Moving through the woods. Keeping pace with him. When he starts running faster, that strange loping silhouette moves just as fast.

And then he can see its eyes--like glowing white lights in the fog. The thing suddenly crosses behind him, a dark shape leaping from one side of him to the next, diving out of and then back into the fog.

Running faster and faster in terror while glancing to his side to see the strange silhouette racing with him, Scott seems to not merely be running but moving with almost supernatural speed until finally the shadow slows, letting him get ahead. But Scott keeps running faster and faster, the world around him blurring until his feet land on a low wooded fence and suddenly he’s soaring into the air and.. underwater?

Scott thrashes in freezing cold water, bursting to the surface to find himself in a pool. Gasping for breath, he twists around in the water to find the owner of the house holding a garden hose and staring at him.

“Uh... Good morning.”

And the Owner nods with a mystified smile.

—————

In an otherwise empty corridor, Scott, wearing his lacrosse gear, shoves his bag into his locker and slams it shut. He turns to find himself head to head with Jackson.

“All right, little man, how about you tell me where you’re getting your juice?”

“What?”

“Where. Are. You. Getting your juice?”

Utterly bewildered, Scott replies, “My Mom does all the grocery shopping.”

Jackson stares at him for a moment as if trying to decide whether the kid is screwing with him.

“Listen, McCall, you’re going to tell me what it is and who you’re buying from. Because there’s no way in hell you’re kicking ass like that on the field without some sort of chemical boost.

Scott seems genuinely shocked with this question, what is he talking about? “Oh, you mean steroids? Are you on steroids?”

Jackson grabs him, shoving him against the locker.

“What the hell’s going on with you, McCall?”

Overwhelmed, Scott snaps, words coming out in a torrent.

“What’s going on with me? You really want to know? So would I. Because I can see, hear and smell things I shouldn’t be able to see, hear or smell, do things that should be impossible, I’m sleepwalking three miles out into the middle of the woods and am pretty much convinced I’m going completely, totally out of my freaking mind.”

“You think you’re funny? I know you’re hiding something. I’m going to find out what it is. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Jackson slams his fist against the locker, leaving Scott stunned as he heads out.

—————

Amid the players rushing the field, a very late Stiles comes hurtling towards where Scott and I are sitting on the bench.

“Scott, wait up! You gotta’ hear this.”

“I’m playing the first elimination, Stiles. Can’t it wait?”

As per usual, he’s speaking 100 miles a minute. “Take a chill pill bro, what’s going on?”

“I overheard my Dad on the phone. The fiber analysis came back from LA. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods.”

“Stiles, I have to go,” Scott urges”

“You’re not going to believe what the animal was--“

But with his helmet on, Scott‘s already walking onto the field.

Leaving only Stiles and I on the side line, I ask him, “What was it?”

“It was a wolf.”

Wait- so does that mean?

—————

Out on the field the Coach shouts for the players.

“All right, gather round...”

Scott notices Allison at the bleachers with Lydia. She gives him a wave and a smile. He holds up a hand to wave back.

“You got a question, McCall?”

“What?”

“You raised your hand.”

“Oh, no I was just--nothing. Sorry.”

Coach then turns to address the rest of the team.

“All right, you know how this goes. If you don’t make the cut, you’re most likely warming the bench the rest of the season. But make the cut and you play, your parents are proud, your girlfriend loves you, huh?” He grabs Greenberg’s helmet, giving it a wrestle. “Everything else is cream cheese... Now show me what you got!”

The whistle blows and the game begins.

The pace is fast and brutal. When the ball gets passed to Scott, Jackson comes right after him. Lacrosse sticks smacking down on his gloves, Scott tumbles forward and slams to the ground, kicking up dirt around him.

As the whistle stops the play, Jackson looms over Scott. Glowering down at him, he grabs the ball while Scott, teeth clenched behind his mask, pushes himself up off the ground. Coach gives the whistle a sharp blow. The team gathers for the next play.

Scott and Jackson find themselves staring across from each other at the draw, crouched down with their sticks and the ball between them.

“Set!”

They tense, holding absolutely still. Then, at the whistle, Scott moves with shocking speed, grabbing the ball right out from under Jackson. Scott charges the length of the field. defense lashes out with their sticks, but he parries expertly.

Jackson catches up and makes a furious stab at stealing the ball. Then with Defense converging on him, Scott twists his lacrosse stick around, keeping the ball safely in the pocket while he literally flips forward, leaping right over the heads of the Defensive Players. Feet landing on the turf, he whirls around, tossing the ball in an over the shoulder shot past the goalie.

Right into the net.

The crowd in the bleachers roars with cheers, Allison on her feet along with everyone else. Everyone except for Stiles and I. As the noise dies down, Coach calls for the winning player.

“McCall, get over here!”

He trots over to the Coach. All eyes are on him, including someone watching from behind a chain link fence... Derek.

“What in the name of God was that? This is a lacrosse field. What are you- trying out for the gymnastics team?”

“No, Coach.”

“Then what the hell was that?”

“I don’t know. I was just trying to make the shot.”

“Well, you made the shot. And guess what? You’re starting, buddy. You just made first line.”

Cheers erupt around him. As team members slap him on the back and knock his helmet with their gloves, a deliriously happy Scott doesn’t even notice Jackson’s furious stare. Or Stiles and I, watching with very worried looks.

—————

Fingers click furiously over a keyboard. Eyes locked on his laptop, Stiles bounces from one web page to the next. Words and images pop up on the screen.

As he sat at his desk tapping away on the computer, I was resting on his bed, stacks of books surrounding me on the blankets.

Wolfsbane, Silver Bullets, Lycaon, Aconite, drawings of werewolves in different forms, a purple with the word “wolfsbane” underneath.

Hearing the whirr of the printer I look over to see Stiles pulling out a picture of a detailed wood carving of a medieval hunter standing over the body of a werewolf, aiming a crossbow at the creature.

He pulls the page out, turning towards me with a look of escalating fear when someone knocks on the door. We practically leap out of our seats as Stiles stands and rushes to the door, unlocking it to find Scott standing out in the hall.

“Get in. You have to see this. We’ve been up all night reading. Websites, books, all this information.”

As Scott takes off his jacket, Stiles starts grabbing printouts from his desk. Scott looks at me with confusion and I just shrug my shoulders, not knowing what to say.

“How much Adderall have you guys had?”

“I haven’t had any but Stiles over there has been at it like candy.”

With a hurried look, Stiles rushes to the next topic. “Ok whatever, doesn’t matter. Just listen.”

Tossing his backpack on the floor, Scott sits next to me on the bed. I scoot over to make room and we both turn towards Stiles for him to explain.

“Is this about the body? Did they find who did it,” Scott asks.

“No, they’re still questioning people. Even Derek Hale.”

“The guy from the woods?”

Flailing his arms, Stiles exclaims, “Yeah! Yes, but that’s not it.”

“What then?”

Jumping in, I explain, “Remember the joke Stiles made the other day? Not a joke anymore.”

Continuing, Stiles adds, “The wolf. The bite in the woods. I started doing all this reading and-- Do you even know why a wolf howls?”

“Should I?”

“It’s a signal. When a wolf is alone

it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So if you heard it howling that mean there’s others. Maybe a whole pack of them.”

“A whole pack of wolves?”

“No. Werewolves.”

As I watch the two talk, Scott gets an increasingly annoyed look on his face. I decide not to interfere with the growing argument.

“You’re seriously wasting my time with this? You know, I’m picking Allison up in an hour.”

“I saw you on the field, Scott. What you did wasn’t just amazing. It was impossible.”

“So I made a good shot.”

“No, you made an incredible shot. The way you moved, the speed, your reflexes, people can’t suddenly do that overnight. And then there’s the vision, the senses, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you don’t need your inhaler anymore-“

Cutting in, Scott shouts, “Okay! I can’t think about this now. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Tomorrow? Don’t you get it? The full moon is tonight.”

“What are you trying to do? I just made first line, I have a date with a girl I can’t believe wants to go out with me. Everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?”

“I’m trying to help,” Stiles rebutted, “Your cursed, Scott. You know, and it’s not just the moon will cause you to physically change, it’s also when your bloodlust will be at its peak.”

“Bloodlust?”

“Yeah, Your urge to kill.”

“I’m already starting to have an urge to kill, Stiles.”

“You need to hear this,” Stiles looks at me and points to a book on the bed. “Can you pass me that? Thank you. The change can be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse, alright?” Turning back towards Scott he continues, “And I’ve never seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does. You’ve gotta cancel this date.” Stiles grabs Scott’s jacket, pulling the cell out.

“What are you doing? Give me that.”

“I’m just finding her number--“

“Give it to me.”

Scott yanks the phone out of Stiles’s hand and shoves him against the wall.

I stand up, ready to intervene in case anything gets physical.

Pulling back before striking him, Scott instead lashes out at the desk chair sending it flying across the room, tossed like it weighed nothing. Then, shaking with anger, he gazes up.

“I’m sorry.”

He starts to help Stiles up, but he flinches back.

“Scott I think you should go.” I say, walk in between where the two are standing and gently put my hand on his chest nudging him back.

“I’ve- gotta to get ready for- for that party. I’m sorry.”

Grabbing his jacket, Scott hurries out.

Still shaken, Stiles gradually stands.

“You ok?”

He nods in response and slowly picks up the desk chair, putting it back. But then he pauses. With a shaky hand, he turns the chair around to reveal claw marks. The chair’s fabric slashed to ribbons.

Looking back up at me, we lock eyes. I can see fear shown in his and I know mine probably reflect the same.

“We’ve got to go to that party.”

—————

Tag List: @linkpk88 @mochminnie

[dylodandria-blog]

HGP Ch. 4.1

SO I decided to break this chapter up as it was beginning to drag on.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4.1

Later that evening the truck finally slows to a stop…

*For the first time in a long time I know where I am, I can’t run though, not yet… I’m too weak, I can wait. It doesn’t matter what they do, I can wait…* you think to yourself.

Exhausted you trudge up the incline from the logging road up to one the little cabins, just one of a few here. You recognize them from when you last went hiking, the Forrest Rangers had these set up for hikers or hunters that would get lost, or need to take shelter from a storm here in the mountains.

*FLASHBACK*

*So many people died every year here in the Cascades, even before the world went to shit. I remember when these were built when I was a child. I had asked some of the men working on them why they were building so far out here, that’s when they told me they were buildings these all over the mountain range to help people in need. People cared back then what happened to other’s. …. They didn’t stand by and leave you to rot in the hands of a mad man. *

*End Flashback*

I watch as the sandy haired ranger kneels in front of the old wood stove, trying to make a fire. Looking around there are only two windows but they are too small to wiggle out of, *not that I could in my condition. anyway... * I mentally chastise myself.

There is a small table built into the wall, 2 single bunk beds and a few now empty shelves, that used to have a few canned goods some small things like that for someone who needed to take refuge it was provided by the forest service rangers.

*Sitting in the corner is as far away from them as I can get. At least they haven’t collard me like a dog like that bastard did! Still not far enough away in my opinion. *

I look down at my hands reminding myself why I can���t run from them, *Bones in my hands and wrists are visible, the rest of me must be just as bad. If I run I’ll die out there. These mountains are not forgiving even in the best of weather. * I rub my wrists again, the burn from the rope has made them throb.

The one in charge “Bear” they call him or LT, he’s a marine officer, you found out while “Hell” the woman in the truck with you was in contact with him on the 2-way radio talking about you of course, or some block in the road from debris or cars.

Bear comes in and drops his ruck on the table.

Bear: “SGT Lionel; I organized everyone for tonight’s shifts, we have 4 on watch for the 1st shift, Ortega is overseeing them. You take the 2nd with Bane, Juke and Strike, and I’ll take the 3rd, with 4 others. We’re going to buckle down here for the night. Clear?”

SGT Lionel: “Yes Sir.”

*Sergeant Lionel is his name then… I look around again, I’m waiting for that SOB to walk in at any moment now. I won’t ask where he is in case he is near. I won’t give that bastard the satisfaction to even remotely think I care about him by asking about him to these people. Sick and twisted as he is, it’s probably what he is waiting for. It’s probably a good thing I haven’t spoken in… how long has it been...? I’m not sure I can talk anymore anyways, it’s been so long now. *

*They’ve been chatting ever since they picked these cabins to hunker down in. At least I know where I am, that’s a first in a long time. It’s a relief in a way to see something, anything really that I am familiar with! Hell, even the view from the back of that food truck was damned near euphoric! I never thought I would see nature again, let alone anything other than that cell or concrete room.*

*That’s right (y/n), the world has gone to shit, you’re still a prisoner, and you’re HAPPY?? Because you got to see a little nature?!? Get a grip and get your shit together, pay attention! * You chastise yourself.

Hell: “Bear, I mean Sir. Look I know you need answers from her, we all do. But I don’t think you’re going to get any though if you try and question her right now.”

They’ve been squabbling about you and how to best watch you now that you’re awake.

*oh, so they need answers huh? How about me? I need to know… *

Hell turns and looks at you, distracting you from your thoughts. You in turn stare right back.

Hell: “Sir, if anyone right now needs answers, it’s her.” You sit up now that you’re the center of attention, it grates on your nerves; you’ve always hated it when you were the center of attention. “She hasn’t said a word Sir, since she woke up that is. She didn’t even try to run when we stopped here for the night. But Sir, you should know I do not think it’s because she is dumb or mute. That much I can tell.”

Bear: “What are you saying Hell, just spit it out!” He’s frustrated and exhausted.

Medic: “…Sir, I saw it too, Hell is right. I… I think she knows where we are. She became more alert all the sudden when we turned onto the logging road a few miles back. We left the back roll up door open on the truck in case we needed to bail out quickly. Before that… well all she did was stare at us Sir.” *He sighed* “It was like she was examining us, testing us even. I’ve only seen that look one time before Sir.”

Bear: “When was that Jacobsen? Explain it.”

Jacobsen: “Sir, Years back I was with team out in Congo doing security work for the Red Cross. One day the Doctors we were with headed to another village, what we found was mostly burnt to the ground, there were bodies...” *He shakes his head like he’s trying to forget.* “But there was one small hut and in it were 2 women and a few children. They were being held captive. The look she gave us in that truck was like that, assessing, judging every movement we made. It’s….”  

*Shoving his hand in his hair he leans against the wall and slides down it to squat and sighs heavily like a large weight is on him. *

Jacobsen: “Sir, the look she gave us in that truck… It took me right back there back in that jungle. But it’s different as well. She’s waiting for something Sir; even now she is listening to us, judging us. But it’s just, well it’s different with her.”

Bear: “What do you mean, how is it different?” *Looking over at you; you realize by his expression you must be quite the pathetic sight, dirty, matted hair and bones showing. *

*I Suppose I’m not much to look at. * You think snidely to yourself.

Jacobsen: “Sir, I think well…, I’m not sure…” *Heavy sigh* “Sir, I think she was one of us.”

Everything freezes, not one of them make a sound but they all look at you head to toe, re-evaluating you silently.

*Figures a medic would piece it together… I was wondering how long it would be until they figured it out… where is that SOB anyway? *

Bear snaps his eyes back to Jacobsen. “Explain.” Then his eyes return to you. Watching, waiting...

Jacobsen: “I can’t be certain Sir, she fears us I know that much. Doesn’t trust us, I get that. I’ve seen it before and I don’t blame her. If what Hell read in those journals is even half accurate, that sick son of a bitch damned near did everything he could to break her. But unlike those women back then in the jungle, SHE doesn’t shy away when you look her in the eye. It’s, it’s like she was taking inventory of her surroundings Sir, you know like what we were trained to do if captured. Pay attention, analyze and find a way out.” *he roughly drags a hand though his hair and sighs* “Sir, I think she was a soldier, or… she was one at one time.”

*Maybe sitting in the corner wasn’t the best idea, I feel trapped. * your blood starts pumping with adrenaline.

Bear’s ruck falls from the table *THUNK* and hits the cabin floor, it’s the only sound in the cabin.

*No chairs, nothing I can grab to use. * you belatedly think.

Bear: “So what you’re telling me; is that one of our own was left in that shit hole for god knows how long, being abused and tortured by that Psychopath. And the General just let him do that shit to her? Is that what you are telling me?”

Bear looks over at Hell. “You’ve read the journals?”

Hell: “Not all of them; but enough to know what she went through in there, and yes, General Bates knew what was going on and did nothing to stop him.” She gulps in air and looks like she is going to be sick.

She takes a moment to collect herself, “Sir by the way he writes it, General Bates couldn’t do anything about it anyway; by the time he figured out something was going on by then, there were no other Doctors or medical personnel left from the CDC but Harris. That sick bastard he…, I think he did it deliberately Sir.”

Minutes pass and no one looks away from you except for Hell and Jacobsen, it seemed like it was too much for them. *they must have read his personal journals then… he used to read them to me aloud when I stopped responding to him, he thought it would make me angry enough to talk to him again. *

You begin to realize this isn’t just some sick elaborate trick that bastard has concocted. He would never have willingly let you leave that cell unless if it was for one of his tests; even then it was always a concrete room with no windows just the door. If something happened back in that hell hole, he would have let you die in there right alongside him. He was just that twisted and crazed.

SGT Lionel takes a few steps forwards but stops short; 3-4 feet from you he takes a knee in front of you.

Lionel: “I’m James Lionel, I know you think you know who I am. I am not with that sick bastard, I didn’t let you rot in there each time I left. I was biding my time to get you and the others out.” He looks you dead in the eye and with an emotionless face says “He’s dead you should know that; as is the General, they are all dead.” He stands, and over his shoulder he tells Bear“Sir, I am going to get more wood for that fire and maybe find some game to bring back.”

With nothing more than that, he grabs his ruck sack and riffle and leaves the cabin.

Bear sits down on front of the fireplace, looks from it back to you. “You should know it was SGT Lionel that shot Dr. Harris. When we stormed the building; after the General didn’t do anything…” *He sighs and rubs his face* “No we need to go further back than that.”

As Bear begins to explain to you the chain of events that happened; you glance over at the cabin door Lionel left through.

*Maybe I gave up hope to quickly with that one…* You wonder if maybe, just maybe you misjudged him...

To be continued….

[thewritingpanda]

Helplessness

Help, who needs it when you can do everything on your own? Whenever I called for someone's help, I could have sworn they thought it was weakness. I wasn't weak, never was, never will be... At least that's what I thought.

It was a rainy day, I couldn't tell if it was because I was sad or the other way around, maybe it was because the girl I liked was sitting in the back with her boyfriend being all lovey dovey. Pathetic, that's what described me most back then, can't get the girl as usual so I refused to eat out of “depression” and treated everyone around me as if they were nothing. I only saw her in the back mirror. Before I knew it, the choice of not eating took its toll on me, my head went numb, I heard tires screeching then everything went black.

"His body is going into shock, we need to do something now" I felt a slight touch on my cheeks that quickly turned into multiple slaps. I tried to open my eyes but the light was blinding. My body was shaking out of my will. "Bring me the oxygen mask and the syringe now Hossam!" the doctor screamed at the nurse. "Andrew can you hear me?" I recognized that voice; it was hers but I couldn't answer back, not like she would care. It took me 5 mins to regain my strength to open my eyes, the oxygen mask and the needle did the trick, and I wasn't shaking anymore. "Is he going to be alright doctor?" she asked sobbingly "he is fine" the doctor answered. Sobbing like she gives a damn about me, she has some nerves. "Where is my son?" that voice down the hall was my mom’s, she was crying. My parents entered the room but I never heard dad say anything. I opened my eyes and saw them both crying, I have seen mom cry before, but dad? I knew he loved me he just never expressed it. "We are going to do full scans once the shaking stops" the doctor informed my parents "I believe it did stop" these were my first words "and I wasn't shaking, I was dancing", I have always been a joker but the doctor was not impressed by this one, he continued without batting an eye "very well take him for sonar Hossam then bring him to x-ray".

The bed was strolling in a long hall, my eyes were watching the lights on the ceiling pass by just like street lights in the car, the car, I wonder what happened to it. "Alright this is going to be cold" the doctor said as he put his latex gloves on and rubbed a lotion on my belly "oh don't tell me I am pregnant doc". I could tell he wasn't impressed as he added more sonar gel. "No internal damage, take him to x-ray". I was relieved that my organs were okay, but I knew something was wrong, there was a chill down my neck all the way down to my back, I knew something was broken.

The bed strolled across the hallway, just one light this time. "Take your pants off and lie on your side Andrew" said Hossam "I am clearly not in a position to take my pants off now, besides, aren't you going to ask me out first", he actually laughed, the doctor did not, Again. I took my pants off "let's get it over with already". X-rays showed a fractured spine but they had to take me to MRI just to be sure.

I had to take all of my clothes off and wear patient's scrubs. I've seen MRI in the movies, just didn't know how it felt like, not until then. "Alright Andrew, lie down and we will tell you when we need you to stop breathing okay?”, I said okay even though it was not. The bed slid into the MRI machine, it was like going through the gates of heaven, a big white ring and I am dressed all in white. Little did I know. The machine ceiling was too close, loud sounds started banging in my head like the drums of War, and on top of that I needed to stop breathing. I was suffocating, it was like a coffin, but I am not weak, I told myself. Half an hour passed, I’d stop breathing, then start breathing, until it started getting to me. What would I be leaving if this was my coffin? Was I good enough? Am I good enough? I started sobbing, soon, it turned to screaming "stop please! I am dying here stop!" the doctor replied "it's going to be over soon". It was over after one minute that felt forever. A broken back.

A transfer was in order to the hospital where they would operate on me. I heard that the girl had a bruised leg, I wasn't sure if I was happy she got hurt or if I cared about her too much, all I knew was I didn't want to see her then. Two paramedics slid me into the ambulance, the driver clearly had a bad day, he was driving like a mad man in a video game but we made it in no time. I was put in my hospital bed late after admission, my family couldn't sleep over so I was all alone with the old man in the room's other bed. I tried sleeping but two things kept me awake; I couldn't get her out of my head, and the old man was trying to perform Mozart’s symphony in snores, my luck!

The next day I had a visitor, the girl. "Andrew, are you still mad at me?" she asked with her wide eyes, they always looked to me like puppy eyes, irresistible. "What difference does it make, it would have never happened" I replied, "I know but I never meant to hurt you, do you know that?" she looked down sobbing. "Listen, what’s done is done, these are my feelings and it's on me to deal with them". She reached out for my hand but I pulled back, I didn't want her to feel sorry for me, I didn't want her to touch me. The doctor came in "Andrew, I am afraid I have bad news, we are going to have to operate on you the next morning, there is no other way" what I feared the most was going to happen, the girl looked even sadder then, I hated her sympathy, I was pathetic.

I woke up the next day and the old man was gone. The nurse walked in and opened the curtains "are you ready? Today is the day" she said with smile, "oh, am I getting married?" I answered back sarcastically. "Oh don't be silly Andrew, come on I need to shave your beard". There was no way I was going to let her do that, I am not weak. "Thanks, I'll do it myself", "but Andrew you..." I cut her off before she could finish "I will do it myself, yes". "Suit yourself" she put down the razor in the bathroom and walked out as she said "tell us when you are ready".

Getting out of bed was an extreme hassle for me, I was like a turtle turned on its back, but I managed. I used a soap as a shaving cream because I had none, neither did they, but it got the job done. I got into my scrubs and called the nurse for the wheel chair, it was time for the operation. They laid me down on a steel table, it was cold as ice when my skin touched it. I felt the hair on my arms rise. "Andrew when I inject this you will fall into deep sleep and won't feel a thing" the doctor said "oh come on do you expect me to Beli.." my tongue went numb; everything went dark again.

"Wake up Andrew, can you hear me?" I heard a voice as my ears ringed and I felt a hard slap on my face. I gathered all my strength and said "I will bitch slap you if you don't stop, I can't see you but I remember your voice". Next thing I knew I woke up in my room, it was 8 hours after the operation. My whole family was there smiling and sobbing, happy I am okay but sad I am not okay. I remember my aunt fed me this day, if I was completely conscious I would have done it myself. The next day the male nurse walked into the room with my meds, "good morning I am going to give you these real quick so we can go for a short walk". A walk? Is he crazy? I have a plastic bottle dripping blood from my back and one dripping urine so I wouldn't wet the bed. "Let’s play football then" I exclaimed sarcastically. "I am afraid you won’t be able to play sports ever again so a walk it is" he said with a strict face that wiped the smile of my face immediately. I took the meds and helped myself up. I took part in a race with the other patients, a very slow race around the corridor that is. I came last to a man with a broken back and two old men with broken legs, this was going to be a long recovery.

 A few days later, they removed both of the dripping bags, instead I had a pee bottle and wet bandages. One day I was sitting all alone and I had to go to the bathroom, I ringed the nurse's bell but no one answered, fine I'll do it myself, I thought. I am not weak. It took me 5 mins to get up and another 5 to walk to the bathroom. I went in, pulled my pants down and sat on the toilet carefully. I heard the poop hitting the water, success! After I was done it was time to get up... Failure. I tried pulling myself up but I couldn't. I grabbed the towel handle, still nothing. Every option had failed, I cried, I felt weak and for the very first time in my life, I was completely helpless and I had to call for help. "Help" I screamed my lungs out. In came the nurse, she was shocked by what she saw, a fully grown man pants down on the toilet crying his heart out. But she didn't think I was weak, I pulled my pants up as much as I could and she helped me up all the way to bed. "why are you crying" she asked "I am weak, I couldn't do it alone" she paused thinking for a few seconds "you made it all the way on your own but you were greedy, I am here to help you be stronger not to make you feel weak". She left the room and I thought of what she said, maybe help doesn't necessarily make me weak, maybe I needed it sometimes. Few days passed and it was time to go home where I would stay in bed for 3 months.

I said goodbye to the whole hospital and I carefully went into the car. Dad flattened the chair for me so I could rest. I hadn’t been out in 3 weeks, fresh air was nice. I arrived home and my 5 dogs greeted me, oh how I have missed them, loyal and caring, unlike the girl. I realized then that I have been blaming her for my feelings and I didn't care about hers, I was selfish. I texted her that I would never hurt her or hate her and maybe in another life it would've worked out, but not in this one. She was glad I reached a conclusion and we are still friends to this day. I walked into my room, turned my back to the mirror and took a long look at the deep scar that ran down my back. A symbol that I was not weak, I was strong and I would come back stronger. A symbol that empathy and help are now my purpose. I wouldn't let anxiety and jealousy do that to anyone else. The road to recovery was still long, but my heart and mind were at peace. I might have had a broken back, but I was a fixed man, a strong one.