#oh i perfectly remember that morning a year ago...... i was sat in the subway and i KNEW i was coming out in pokemas but not when

[t4tbedehopmar]

GOOD MORNING AND HAPPY 1ST ANNIVERSARY TO REBEL IN RIVALRY!!!!!!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[arthurflecc]

Focus on me

Summary: All you want is a little of Arthur’s attention, but you catch him in a bad mood.

Genre: smut (pwp)

Word count: 1,746

Warning: This is a little rough. I wanted to explore that side of Arthur and the vibe that scene gives off.

A/N: This takes place during the scene Arthur watches Thomas Wayne being interviewed on the morning news, except his mom isn’t there and he’s wearing a cross necklace (because why not). Reader doesn’t know he’s responsible for the subway killings.

Thank you @life-or-something-like-lt​ for your feedback and @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile for coming up with a great title for me! And thank you both for always being such supportive friends, it means a lot to me ❤︎

When the morning news started, Arthur rushed to the couch after hearing the host announcing the interviewee would be Thomas Wayne, who was running for mayor that year. Shirtless, Arthur wore loose worn out blue pants and white boxers; a gold costume necklace with a cross pendant adorning his collarbone. He had come out of the shower 10 minutes before and humid darkened-by-the-water curls embellished his face. A strong smell of the cheap blue glycerin soap he had recently started to use emanated from his body.

Arthur sat opposite the tv, and you sat across Arthur, resting your feet on his lap. You wore nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear, comfortable enough around Arthur to do so. Lazily, you took a nail file you had forgotten on the coffee table several days ago and examined your own nails, trying to remember the last time you did them. Uninterested in Wayne, you lowered your hands and decided to examine Arthur instead.

He lit up a cigarette and as he took it into his mouth, you couldn't help but remember the night before when his mouth was somewhere else. He rested his elbows on his knees, contracting his biceps - a sight for sore eyes. You teased him by rubbing your toes on his chest, and decided to say something to break the tension that was installed in the room ever since Wayne showed up on tv.

"Hey, do you remember wh-"

"Shhhhh."

Arthur gestured at you to keep you quiet, something small but that for some reason hurt your feelings. His expression was serious, almost grumpy, hardened by the tough days he had been through lately. Something had changed in him since he had gotten fired, every little thing was enough to make him nervous or stressed then.

Wayne talked about the three men who had been murdered on the subway a couple of days before, mentioning something about clowns - you had no idea what the relation was because you weren't paying attention - and Arthur looked at the screen with a silent but fiery anger in his eyes. His legs were anxiously shaking on their own and you wondered since when Arthur cared that much about politics.

Decided to lighten up the mood, you called Arthur's attention again. "Hey, wanna take a look at my nails? They're so long, I really need to file them. I could file yours too, if you want." You offered as nicely as possible.

“What I want is for you to let me watch TV in silence.” He answered dryly, impatiently. Even though you had seen him in a bad mood before, he wasn’t usually rude or harsh like that. You couldn’t bear it any longer.

"Why do you care so much about Wayne and his clowns or whatever the hell he's going on about?" You didn't mean to sound so loud, but by the end of the sentence your tone of voice had escalated so high you were afraid a neighbor had heard you.

Faster than your eyes could have seen and catching you off guard, Arthur finally turned to you, tossing his cigarette aside and grabbing your neck.

"What part of "I'm watching TV" can't you understand?"

"Arthur, I'm sorry. I -"  

"Sorry for what? You wanted my attention, didn't you? Now you have it." His grip on your throat started to get a little tight and he climbed up on the couch, placing himself between your legs and forcing your head down on the arm of the couch.

"I didn't mean it like this." The words stumbled out of your mouth, sounding like one long word instead of a sentence.

"Oh really?" He said in a sarcastic tone, squinting his eyes. "Because I'm sure that's exactly how you meant it." Pressing his bulge on your crotch, his eyes got closer to yours and his breath was warm on your face. "I saw it yesterday, you can't get enough of me. You keep begging for me like a whore, desperate for my attention." His choice of words surprised you, you didn’t know Arthur had that in him. He was choking you, and his bony elbows applied pressure on your breast while he rubbed his hardening dick on your pussy.

He kissed you, and the kiss was wet and sloppy, his tongue frantic and furious on yours. He let go of your neck and placed his wet kisses there instead, leading his left hand to your underwear only to find a pool of wetness at your entrance. "I see you didn't mean it like that." He accused you, and you were speechless, no smart comebacks to give him. He ran his fingers along your slit spreading your cum around all the area, rubbing your clit faster than he normally did, making the nerves inside you highly sensitive. He took the tip of two of his fingers to your entrance, going in and out of it just to tease you, and you pathetically moved your hips towards them, wishing they were fully inside you stretching you up. Instead, he took them out of your pussy and put them right in front of your eyes, forcing you to see how they were glistening, drenched with your juices. He put them in your mouth, making you suck on them and he grinned in a way you had never seen him doing before.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and kissed you again while he lowered his pants and boxers, revealing his erect cock. In a hurry, he pulled the lining of your underwear to the side and guided his dick inside you with his right hand, bending over you and using your shoulders for support.

"Fuck, you're so tight" he didn't give you much time to adjust to his size, but you were wet enough for him to slide in with no problems. He slid in and out of you at a slow agonizing pace for a whole minute as you watched his cross pendant hang over your head, and then you were the one starting to lose your patience.

"Faster, please." You whined.

"Only if you tell me who this pussy belongs to."

"You" you said simply, almost shy.

"I didn't hear you." He started to move a little faster, but smoothly.

"You." You tried to sound firm, but it was hard when he looked at you like that.

"That's not good enough."

Unhappy with your weak voice, he lied down on you and grabbed your throat again, putting his face almost glued to yours and touching your lips with his but not kissing you. His piercing gaze on you made your walls clench around him and he started to pound you so fast, to the left and to the right, no part of your insides untouched. Your hand reached his wrist, trying to stop him from squeezing your throat too tightly, but Arthur was stronger than he looked. You gave up, letting go of his wrists because his strokes made you lose your balance.

"You! My pussy belongs to you and only you." You screamed between moans and he groaned in your ear, making you clench around him one more time. Arthur's waist fitted perfectly right between your tights and his hip bones went up and down the inner part of them, slightly bruising them and leaving marks only him would be allowed to see.

You grabbed his ass, forcing him to go deeper inside you and he bit your earlobe in response, making you squirm under him.  You could feel his cock throbbing in you, and you scratched his back making him lose his mind and come inside you, filing you up with his warm creamy cum. He kept thrusting into you and in his hectic movements he reached your g-spot, and you grabbed his necklace to bring his face closer to yours.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asked rudely, pounding into you faster than you could process. "Is this what you fucking wanted?" Almost screaming, he grabbed your chin, forcing the whole length of his cock in you, balls deep inside you.  

"Yes!" You finally admitted to him and to yourself.

He moved again, repeatedly hitting your g-spot while his face was buried in the crook of your neck, the smell of glycerin, smoke, and sweat intoxicating you. Your body exploded, releasing all the tension your nerves had been holding back, making your legs tremble. Arthur used his own cum as lube to keep fucking you through your orgasm while you held his cross pendant on your left hand praying for it to last as long as possible because you didn't want to get off of that high. The sound of your soaking wet pussy squelching paired with your nonstop moans, Arthur’s favorite harmony, resonated in the room. You could feel his cum oozing out of pussy to your ass with every thrust and the air around you felt so hot you wouldn’t sure how much longer you could take it. Arthur gave you one last wet kiss as his thrusts got slower, but deeper. Using the arm of the couch to support himself, Arthur hit your g-spot one for the last time. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Just like that, the weight that was on his shoulders while he was watching tv was gone. Your walls throbbed uncontrollably around him as you enjoyed the reminiscent feeling of your orgasm, still feeling pleasure all over your body, an effect only him seemed to have on you.

As Arthur pulled his cock out of you and you sat straight, you noticed he had a different look in his eyes compared to the other times you had sex before. There was a glimpse of confidence and arrogance there now. Slowly, his sweet smile returned to his face.

“Are we good?” You asked after your breath got steady again.

“Yeah.” He replied softly. You looked at each other for a moment, then adjusted your clothes.

“Can we please watch something else now?” You giggled a little, smiling at him.

“Sure.” He smiled back, slightly lifting one of his eyebrows as an innocent expression painted his face.

Changing channels, you got up to clean yourself up as Arthur watched you leave and lit a new cigarette. For a moment, you wondered once again why Thomas Wayne’s words bothered him that much. You could feel something was up, but for some reason he kept it to himself. You thought it would be better to keep your questions for another day.

[moonbeambucky]

Spills and Drills

Pairing: Dentist!Bucky Barnes x Reader [AU] Word Count: 4862 Warnings: fluff

Summary: Although you love sleeping in you learn that sometimes good things come to those who wake up early.

A/N: This is my submission for @teamcap4bucky Teamcap4bucky’s 2k Celebration Writing Challenge! My prompt was “Why are you staring at me?” Thank you as always to Sam @buckyofthemyscira for beta reading, I love you 3000! 💕 gif not mine

Hushed are the voices around you as the movie theatre lights dim to make way for the bright screen illuminating the upcoming releases. You’re comfortable in the red leather seat, with your hand digging into the bag of popcorn in your lap. The melted butter makes the salt stick to your fingers but you don’t mind at all, sucking them clean into your mouth after each handful.

Your name is called, no, shouted over the heavy thwong of the music in the movie trailer. You nearly jumped in your seat wondering why Shuri is practically screaming your name. As you turn to face her everything seems wrong. She’s wearing the same white dress she wore for her sixteenth birthday party, the white one with the fishnet collar her mother thought was a little too casual for the celebration. Shuri would always be her little princess even if she didn’t dress like one.

“What are you doing?” you questioned as she continued to shout your name. “Stop. No. Shuri, stop it!”

With a gasping breath you’re jolted awake, squinting one eye open to see Shuri standing above you, her palms are still pushing against your shoulders.

“Y/N wake up!”

Oh, it was just a dream. The tension in your body relaxes as you nuzzle your face back into the softness of your pillow. “Shuri stop, lemme sleep, it’s Saturday,” you groaned.

“I know it is, I was sleeping too until your alarm woke me up. That thing has been going off for twenty minutes. Don’t you have an appointment to go to?”

Your eyes shot open. “Shit!”

You get up, throwing the blankets off yourself as fast as possible to get out of bed. Why you decided to make your appointment at 8am you’ll never truly understand. If I get up early I’ll have the whole day to be productive, you mock yourself in your head.

With a wide yawn Shuri leaves your room, saying she’s headed back to bed. Your own bed looks so inviting, it’s calling out for you to come back. It was very tempting to cancel the appointment and go back to sleep but you wouldn’t.

Your dentist is a really nice man who worked with you a few years ago during an emergency visit when you didn’t have insurance. He reduced his fees to the bare minimum and even then let you pay him off over the course of a few months. He had a small practice in Brooklyn he ran with his wife and in the world of cheap deals on Groupon you knew he was struggling a bit.

In less than a minute you were dressed and rushing in to the bathroom to wash the sleep from your face and give a thorough brushing to your teeth. Morning breath was still heavy on your tongue so you made sure to scrape that well too. Checking your phone for the time you realized you might be cutting it close to your appointment, so you grabbed what you needed and headed out.

The subway ride was quick but you still had a few blocks to walk once you got out. The street was a lot busier than you expected especially for so early in the morning but that was mainly due to a new popular cafe that recently opened. The lines were crazy long and as much as you wanted to try their Instagrammable treats you figured you’d wait a little bit for the hype to die down.

Checking your phone once more you realized you had one minute to go and two long blocks to still walk. You picked up the pace and turned the corner at the cafe, looking down to secure your phone back in your bag and not paying attention to the person coming out of the door.

You collided with a solid frame, getting knocked back a bit but thankfully not falling. A dentist appointment is enough, you certainly didn’t need a visit to the emergency room. Something did fall however, the two cups of coffee the man was holding.

“I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, looking down at the mess on the ground, with coffee spilling out from the overturned cups.

Glancing up you saw the man standing there, still holding the now empty coffee tray in his hand, with his mouth gaping open in shock. Your own mouth dropped open while staring at what was possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

Tall and well built, looking unfairly good in a sharp black suit with a simple white button down, casually left open at the top. His rich brown hair was cropped short with perfectly groomed stubble covering his jawline.

Realizing you were gawking at him you shook yourself free from his handsome aura and prompted yourself to actually speak.

“I’m so sorry, please let me pay you for them,” you offered, digging your hand into your bag to pull out some money.

“No need, it was my fault,” he replied, with the words falling from his perfectly pink lips like silk. “Did I spill any on you?”

You were definitely sure this was your fault but the sincerity of his tone combined with the sweetest look those incredible blue eyes were giving you would make you believe anything he said. In response to his question you shook your head, not knowing if you were even telling the truth since you couldn’t bother to pull your gaze away from him again.

“I’m glad to hear that. Could I buy you a coffee for your trouble? Although it might take a while with this line,” he chuckled.

Yes is what you wanted to say. You would have waited in a month long line if it meant you’d be with this incredibly handsome man but you were definitely late to your appointment by now and you simply wouldn’t cancel on your dentist like that.

“I’m sorry I have to go,” you quickly trailed off as your feet began to carry you in the direction you needed to be. “Again, I’m so sorry about the coffee!”

You really wished you had woken up earlier, maybe then you would have had a spare moment to actually talk to the hot guy and try your luck at getting his number. He did offer to buy you a coffee so that seemed promising but then you remembered the two cups spilled on the ground. Two cups of coffee for one person didn’t seem completely unlikely but a guy as hot as that is definitely in a relationship. Oh well.

By the time you reached the office you were slightly out of breath after deciding that you should speed walk the rest of the way there to make up for lost time. It didn’t help that you picked the wrong jacket to wear on the awfully sunny morning.

It took a moment to steady your breathing before you rang the bell and were buzzed in.

“Dr. Barnes!” you exclaimed, not expecting to see him behind the reception desk where his wife usually is. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s alright Y/N, it’s a just a few minutes,” he confirmed, checking the watch on his wrist.

You followed Dr. Barnes down the hallway whose walls were lined with posters of people smiling, showing off bright white teeth that advertised all kinds of dental products and procedures.

“My next appointment actually cancelled,” he said, turning his head back a bit as he continued to take you to the examination room. “Turns out they didn’t want to get up this early on a Saturday.”

“I can’t imagine anyone that would,” you remarked with light sarcasm while sharing a smile.

The exam room had recently been redecorated with beigey-grey wood running throughout the floor. The former textured blue wall paper was gone, replaced by a fresh coat of light grey paint on all but one wall that was a deep teal blue. Dr. Barnes’ old desk and bulky computer were replaced by a modern floating desk and a monitor that was clearly a touch screen, though a wireless keyboard and mouse were on top of the polished surface.

You knew Dr. Barnes wasn’t comfortable with new technology. His flip phone made you laugh every time you saw it but it only added to his endearing charm. His wife Winnie adapted faster to her new phone though she has asked you the occasional question or two.

“The room looks great,” you said, hanging up your jacket on the small hook on the wall. “Did Winnie do this?”

His lips were pulled into a smile as he shook his head, “No, my son actually.”

You sat in the dental chair getting yourself comfortable as Dr. Barnes pressed a button for the automatic cup filler beside you as he continued, “He’s been back for a while now.”

Dr. Barnes would often talk about his children as he made small talk during the exam. His son James had gone to college in Indiana and also studied dentistry. Dr. Barnes had hoped James would eventually work at the family practice.

“…If only he learned to be on time,” Dr. Barnes sighed.

He glanced over at the frame on his desk, an picture of his family from over a decade ago when the kids were younger. From your angle you could see bright happy faces and James smiling with mouth full of metal. The poor kid ticked off all the boxes that made up an awkward teen, braces, acne and a lanky body with long stringy hair that looked like it needed a good wash. Rebecca, his daughter, thankfully didn’t look like she had any of the problems her brother did, and Winnie looked as radiant then as she did now.

“Where is Winnie anyway?” you wondered.

Dr. Barnes smiled at the mention of his wife’s name and you found it endearing to see how clearly in love they were. “Sleeping in this morning. Rebecca’s asked her to come along later while she looks for a wedding dress. Knowing my daughter, Win’s gonna need as much rest as possible!”

His fingers slowly clacked away at the keyboard, making you smile as he used both index fingers to slowly type out your name.”

“With Becca engaged I keep telling James he needs to catch up.”

“I’m sure he appreciates it,” you chuckled.

Dr. Barnes pressed the backspace key a few times, clearly unable to have a conversation while he was concentrating on typing. He let his hands rest in his lap for a moment, running his thumb along the gold band that has long since settled in the groove it created on his finger all those years ago.

“I just want to see him settle down with someone nice,” he said, pressing his lips together to form a tight smile.

You know he meant well and having had similar conversations with your own parents you can only assume the conversations are just as awkward for James as they are for you. A few times you’ve tried to explain to your parents how dating is much different today from their time but they don’t always understand. The conversation about why “nice guys” on the internet don’t actually exist seemed to have gone over their heads so you definitely understand James’ suffering.

“If it makes you feel better my parents say the same thing.”

Dr. Barnes’ sparkling blue eyes lit up at you words, as a smile slowly spread across his face. “Well, can I interest you in my son? He’s much better looking than I am and not a single cavity!”

“No cavities you say? That’s the first thing I look for in a man.”

The crinkles surrounding his eyes were prominent as Dr. Barnes gave a bellowing laugh. After finally pulling up your chart he briefly went over your medical history before taking x-rays. He placed the lead vest on your body and positioned the arm of the machine in place so he could begin. The sound of an ancient ringtone stopped his actions and Dr. Barnes excused himself to take the call in another room.

The weighted vest was comforting against your still sleepy form easing your eyes to gently shut. It would have been very easy to fall asleep but the dentist’s office was not the place for a nap. Instead you forced your eyes open, with a gasp caught in your throat as your jaw dropped in shock at what you saw.

Standing in the hallway in front your exam room was the man you bumped into outside the cafe, holding another tray with two cups of coffee. All thoughts about his looks went away because no matter how blue those eyes were or how chiseled that jawline was he was clearly a crazy stalker.

“Dude, are you kidding me?” Your mouth hung open in shock as you continued to stare at him. “I asked if you wanted me to pay for the coffees and you said no so now you’re following me?!” What a psycho!

He stood there silently, gazing at you with a crazed look in his eyes.

“Why are you staring at me? You need to leave.”

The man did nothing but continue to stand there, his mouth hanging open in what you perceived as happy recognition. Who knows how many buildings he went to before finding the one you entered, and now that he was here what was he planning on doing to you?

Without thinking of the ramifications you shoved the lead vest off and grabbed the nearest dental tool on the tray. You wished it was the drill but instead it was one with a curved end. You’re not sure what it’s called but you know it’s sharp and you hoped it would do some damage to this lunatic if he tried to come closer.

The stranger’s mouth pulled into a wide smile as he dipped his head forward and let out a chuckle. His actions only made you more nervous so you gripped the tool even tighter and pointed it towards him in the most threatening way you could be with an instrument that scrapes tooth plaque.

“If you don’t leave right now I’m gonna call the cops!”  

You knew it was a stupid thing to say, since technically if you did call 911 it would take some time before any police arrived, and realistically you should have called for Dr. Barnes instead.

“I– ” he begins before he turns his head to the side seeing a figure walking towards him.

“James!” Dr. Barnes proclaimed from the hallway.

James? As in pimple-face braces James? As in George’s son James? Oh no.

A metallic clang rang out through the exam room as you dropped the dental tool back onto the tray and jumped back into the chair. Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest as you quickly pulled up the lead vest and replaced it across your body, trying not to look like you just threatened your dentist’s son with a pseudo weapon.

“Hi Dad,” James responded in that beautifully smooth voice you heard not long ago.

Dr. Barnes came into your line of sight and seeing the two together made you want to kick yourself for not realizing it earlier. Their eyes were identical as was the little dimple on their chins though James stood taller than his father, and where Dr. Barnes was lean James was obviously muscular. The integrity of that shirt was put to the test the moment he got dressed and you found yourself growing hot at the thought of the younger Barnes in a state where his body would not be covered with clothing.

Dr. Barnes folded his arms across his chest, frowning as he huffed, “You’re late.”

“Sorry, I was bringing you coffee and then…” James stopped to share a knowing look in your direction, your own eyes flared with panicked anticipation wondering what he was going to say.

“... I bumped into someone and knocked them right out of my hand, totally my fault. Had to wait back in line again.”

Dr. Barnes swiped his hand down his face as he let out an expected sigh, “My son, the klutz.” He turned his head towards you, seeing the small curve your lips were pulled into. “See Y/N, this is why he’s single,” he joked.

James turned a few shades pinker with embarrassment at his father’s comment, especially when he locked eyes with you, seeing your own crinkling with unspoken laughter.

“Well it was kind of you to bring coffee but I’d rather you show up on time,” Dr. Barnes remarked.

James followed his father into your exam room as Dr. Barnes officially introduced his son. “Y/N, this is my son, Dr. James Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he said, extending his hand towards you.

“N-nice to meet you,” you replied, unable to contain the nerves in your voice.

Once again Dr. Barnes shook his head at his son’s actions, mumbling under his breath about how “Bucky” is not a professional name. It was all in good fun however as you could see the love they had for each other.

Turning his attention towards you again Dr. Barnes asked if you would feel comfortable with James finishing the exam and cleaning. “That call was from Winnie. She locked her keys in the car. So much for sleeping in.”

Your veins carried fear throughout your body as panic rooted itself deep into your bones. It’s not that you didn’t trust James or whatever he wanted to be called, in doing his job and Dr. Barnes would never steer you wrong but the fact that you would be alone with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen as his fingers probed your mouth made you feel more than awkward.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you lied through your ready to be examined teeth.

George smiled as he said goodbye, joking that he was going to call you later so you could let him know the truth about how James did during the exam.

The younger Barnes followed his father out of the room, telling you he would just need a minute to get ready, leaving you time to mentally prepare yourself.

You can do this Y/N. He’s just a hot guy. There are plenty of hot people out there. He’s just a normal guy with extraordinarily good looks. Don’t stare at him like he’s got a metal arm or something. Be cool.

Shrugging your shoulders you tried to physically shake off any lingering awkwardness, well as best as you could while still wearing the lead vest. With the morning you had you were glad you remembered to put on deodorant, especially now as you’re sweating in the chair, hoping the sweat stains under your arms that were definitely starting to form were not visible.

Footsteps echoed closer on the new wood flooring alerting you to sit up a bit more as you anticipated James’ arrival once more. He looked even better somehow, forgoing the suit jacket for a white lab coat.

“Time to get you out of that vest,” he said, scrunching his face up adorably as he corrected his words, “I mean, time to take the x-rays t-then you won’t need to wear the vest, heh.”

Responding with an awkward chuckle you felt slightly comforted by the fact that you weren’t the only one feeling nervous with the situation. You focused your eyes on the teal wall ahead, ignoring the way his deft fingers assembled the piece for the x-ray that would go in your mouth, holding a tense breath as he asked you to open your mouth and bite down.

Your mind was not helping you keep cool as it imagined his simple request in a more seductive scenario, hearing that smooth voice giving commands was not something you were turned off by.

You managed to make it through the rest of the x-rays with minimal squirming in your seat, as you combated visions of ripping his clothes off with thoughts of Shuri and her obsession with watching pimple popping videos. That girl may be a genius but there is definitely something wrong with her.

James’ fingers brushed against your arm as he finally took off the lead vest. “You’re hot,” he said causing your eyes to widen. “I mean from the vest,” he quickly mumbled.

Bucky was thankful his back was towards you as he hung the vest back up on the wall, rolling his eyes with embarrassment by his poor choice of words. It’s true, your body was feeling warm when his fingers gently skimmed across your skin but Bucky thought you were hot the moment you ran into each other outside the cafe.

He kicked himself for choosing to stand in line for coffee again instead of trying to talk with you before you left to give you his number. It took all the strength in the world not to drop the tray of coffee again when he saw you in the exam room. He’s truly never been happier to have been at work before.

Though Bucky had been practicing dentistry for quite a few years now being around you made him feel as nervous as he was during his first day of clinicals. He attempted to make small talk with you as he began the exam, an onerous task on your behalf as you could only communicate with a few sounds as your mouth hung open.

It was difficult not to look at James as he checked and cleaned your teeth. The bottom half of his handsome face was blocked by a mask but through his safety glasses you could still see those beautiful blue eyes, as clear as the ocean surrounding a tropical island.

Apparently you were lost in dreamy thought, unaware your tongue had strayed from where it was supposed to be during the cleaning.

“Stick your tongue out further,” he asked and you complied, focusing on the ceiling tiles above instead as he continued. “Okay, you can sit up and rinse now.”

Bringing the small cup to your lips you swished the water around your mouth and spit out a mess of saliva and blood.

“I never know what to do with my tongue,” you said, referencing your earlier action although hearing the words out of context you’re not sure if he knows what you mean. “D-during the exam!” you quickly added. “I know what to do with it.”

You heard a chuckle from behind, realizing your extra comment made things worse and you should probably never speak again.

Your mouth still felt unclean, though you couldn’t tell if it was leftover residue from the exam or the stupidity of your words. As you pressed the button to refill the cup you focused on the fact that in a few moments you would be getting your new toothbrush, paying the bill and leaving forever.

James spoke just as you began to pick up the cup, “Well, I’m happy to say your oral is good.”

The shock of his words caused your fingers to let go of the delicate cup, spilling water all over the floor.

“Health!” he shouted, catching his mistake. “Oral health!”

Bucky’s cheeks burned hotter than the sun and he didn’t need a mirror to know he was currently a deep crimson shade to match the level of embarrassment he felt. He wanted to disappear, magically teleport himself back to Indiana where he was not a bumbling idiot.

A gasp pulled his attention towards you as your hands simultaneously covered your gaping mouth while apologies spilled from your lips faster than the water.

“No, it’s okay, it’s my fault,” he apologized.

Bucky left the room, internally chastising himself for the ridiculous thing he said. He was thankful his father was not here to watch his descent into complete incompetence. There was something about you that made him act like a fool. He wondered if he could blame it on laughing gas, claim there was a leak in the nitrous oxide tank.

He opened the supply closet letting his shoulders slump as he exhaled a deep sigh. There was no way he could come back from this.

James returned with a large roll of paper towels in hand. Getting up from the chair you offered to help clean the spill but he insisted you didn’t have to. Instead you stood to the side, and despite how tempting it was to look at him bending over as he cleaned the floor you shut your eyes, pinched the bridge of your nose and wished you were still dreaming, hoping Shuri would wake you up from this nightmare.

His foot stepped on the pedal of the garbage as he dumped the saturated paper towels, pulling off his gloves to dump them as well. You still stood silently, inching your way out of the room, knowing you’ll have to find a new dentist because you could never face James or Dr. Barnes ever again.

Bucky rummaged through a drawer before turning towards you, “Do you want green or blue...or…. uhh, I’ve got orange,” he spoke of the toothbrushes.

“Doesn’t matter.” Get the toothbrush, pay the bill, leave forever.

James handed you a blue toothbrush and you wondered if it was a conscious choice, a reminder about his eyes even though this basic color falls short in comparison to the beauty of those sparkling sapphires.

Following him to the front you nodded quickly when he spoke about scheduling another appointment in six months. It didn’t matter, you would be cancelling it as the time neared. With the bill paid you gave him an awkward goodbye with a stupid wave that was immediately added to the long list of regrets for the day, and quickly ran out of the door.

A few hours later you were feeling better. You told Shuri everything the moment you got back to your apartment and even though reliving the disaster that was your morning made you feel embarrassed all over again, when she rolled off the bed from laughing so hard it allowed you to let go of everything and laugh along with her.

The buzzing of your phone on the table woke you from a nap you didn’t know you had taken. Seeing Dr. Barnes’ office number you remembered he said he would be calling you to check how things went.

“Hi, Dr. Barnes,” you said cheerily.

“Hi Y/N, this is Dr. Barnes. Not that Dr. Barnes though, it’s Bucky.”

“Oh, hi.” All of the nerves came rushing back as your heart raced with fear, wondering why he was calling you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just you left your jacket in the office.”

You completely forgot about your jacket until you were nearly home and a gust of wind caused goosebumps to erupt all over your bare arms reminding you about the poor jacket you abandoned in the office. It was too late, the jacket was a lost cause, an innocent victim as a result of your awkwardness, now homeless because you were not going back for it.

“Oh… yeah,” you responded, trying to sound casual.

“That’s not the only reason I called.”

Bucky cleared his throat, forcing himself to say the apologies he’s been repeating in his head all day but this time to the person who needed to hear it.

“I wanted to apologize for today. I’m normally not…” He ruminated on his words, trying to think of something professional before settling on the truth “… a mess.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his admission and the sound eased some of the tension he felt immediately. If Bucky was being honest you thought you should do the same.

“Me too. I’d like to think I’m a lot more chill than I was today.”

“So threatening people with a sickle probe isn’t a normal part of your dental experience?” he joked, pulling more laughter from you. “In all seriousness, I’d like to return your jacket and maybe I could buy you that cup of coffee?”

Bucky’s voice went higher with uncertainty as he silently hoped you would say yes to his offer. The momentary silence was deafening as he waited for your answer.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea…”

Bucky’s heart sunk to the floor. He was wrong to think you felt the same about him. Clearly you wanted to keep things professional, something he was clearly incapable of.

“…I heard coffee stains your teeth.”

Relief washed over him quickly, helping to slow the rapid beat of his anxious heart. His lips stretched wide across his face as he said, “Maybe it’s another excuse to see you again.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you chewed on your bottom lip to help contain the smile that threatened to spread all the way to Brooklyn. You decided to meet at a coffee shop in the middle, leaving you just enough time to get changed and attempt to look presentable again.

“I’ll see you soon Bucky,” you said, getting up and eyeing your closet for something to wear. “And I promise I won’t knock it over.”

“I hope not because it was definitely your fault this morning!”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated :)

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[shotsbyshae]

She Loves Control

Warnings: Smut-ish, Kidnapping, Language

Words: 1k

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

A/N: Can be a standalone drabble, but also a continuation of Living Dead Girl. 

Song: She Loves Control by Camila Cabello

But the way she kills you, makes you feel alive.

Six months.

It has taken longer than he expected. You are good – he is better.

“You made me.”

You had said those words to him that night and they have been haunting him ever since then. Everyone thought he was crazy for going after you.

“Even if she is real,” Sam had said from across conference table. “She’s not exactly killing innocent people.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Steve’s voice is authoritative as he flips through the folder Bucky had presented him with. It was thin. No photo, only names of victims with dates and locations along with newspaper clippings.

“I have to do this Steve,” Bucky’s mind was already made up, whether Steve cleared it or not. “Everything she’s done – I’m responsible.”

“That wasn’t you Buck,” the man reminded his friend.

“Wasn’t it?” He arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “She was just a kid. Normally, I – he – wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”

Steve had watched his friend for a moment, “Okay. Whatever you need. We’ll find her.”

The sedative he’d injected you with has kept you asleep for the flight back to the compound. He had thought to chain your wrists and ankles as a precautionary measure though. You do seem to be unpredictable.

Bucky carries you off the jet, your face peaceful in the moonlight as your head rests against his shoulder. The warmth of your body against his is a comfort in the cool night air as he makes his way into the compound. There’s a plexiglass cell with a cot waiting and he lays you gently on the thin mattress, staring at you for a moment. Suddenly he feels like a dog who’s been furiously chasing a car and he’s finally caught it. Now what? He wants to stop you, but he hasn’t thought much farther than finding you. He sure as hell isn’t going to kill you.

The next morning, he enters to find you sitting on the cot. Your legs are folded under you and the look on your face is unimpressed. The chains that were binding your wrists and ankles are tossed across the floor.

Show off, he thinks to himself, not even the least bit curious as to how you managed to get the cuffs off.

“I let you live,” you begin from the other side of the plexiglass, “and this is the thanks I get.”

“Are you hungry?” He questions simply.

“No,” your tone is harsh. “I was in the middle of a job. Why kidnap me?”

“You said so yourself,” Bucky replies folding his arms across his chest. “I made you.”

“You think that means something?” The corners of your lips turn up in a sly smirk as someone else makes their way into the room.

“Hey man,” Sam greets Barnes as he approaches the plexiglass, then glances over to you. “So, this is her?”

“Yea,” Bucky replies as Steve walks in behind them, his eyes narrowing slightly as they settle on you.

“Son of a bitch,” Rogers’ says under his breath and Sam glances back at the man, seeing the look of recognition on his face.

“Small world,” the words fall from your lips, dripping with malice.

“Wait,” Sam says, “you two know each other?”

Neither of you respond and you watch as Steve shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Barnes glances from you over to his friend and you raise an eyebrow, “Do you want to tell them or should I?”

“You were Munich,” Steve shakes his head with a sigh.

Wilson’s eyes travel back to you before saying, “I thought the assassin in Munich we were chasing was a dude?”

“So did I,” the captain replies.

“Surprise,” your face lights up at their confusion. “I must say, I miss the beard Captain.”

“You,” Steve huffs, “you’re –”

“A little wicked,” the smile on your face is mischievous. “I know, but admit it, you had fun.”

Barnes and Wilson eyes widen in shock as they turn to Steve and memories from that night two years ago flash through his mind.

He sat at the bar alone, the inability to complete his own mission weighed heavily on his mind. He was supposed to stop the assassin before he struck again, but he was too late. What he hadn’t known at the time was he had been chasing the wrong the person.

Then you had approached him and something in your eyes was familiar to him, reminded him of something – someone. Light flirting had ensued, drinks had been bought, and then he remembered you shoving him against the red subway tile of the bathroom. Your mouth had been hard and savage. He thought the seductive smile on your face was purely from pleasure, but there was another reason behind it.

That smile is the same one that’s plastered across your face right now. Steve had only thought he’d been in control that night. You had known he was there for you and you couldn’t help yourself. He had fallen right into your trap and you had gotten him right where you wanted him – on his knees – his rugged features framed perfectly by your thighs.

“I know you enjoyed yourself Captain,” you stand up from the cot, sauntering over to the plexiglass wall, the smirk permanently in place. “At least twice.”

“Oh,” Sam says under his breath.

“You knew I was there after you,” Steve’s lips purse together tightly in thin line, and you notice a tick in his jaw.

Placing your hand on the plexiglass wall you look at him innocently, “I did.” You watch him shake his head angrily. “How’s it feel? To have been that close, yet so far away Captain?”

“Why?” Bucky finally speaks up, seeing how irritated his friend is becoming with you. “Why fuck with him?”

You turn attention to the soldier, “Because I live for the thrill babe.”

His brows furrow together at the look of amusement on your face, knowing there’s something beneath the front you’re putting up, but he’s not sure what it is.

Taking a step back from the plexiglass wall you place your hands on your hips, glancing between the three men on the other side, “The real question is, what are you boys going to do with me?” The half-smile on your face is a bit unnerving. “Because you know this cage –” You wave your hand around at the walls surrounding you. “It won’t hold this little bird.”

[elizabeth-234]

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Five: Honey Bear and Tony to the Rescue 

Thank you to everyone who has been reading. Here is day six of Whumptober: "Stop Please" and our 6th chapter of this story. It's a day late in my posting schedule but I finished the rough draft of all the chapters so it should be regular from now on.

warning: mentions of character death

Chapter Six: Dreams

There were leather restraints around his wrists connecting to the wall behind him. Peter was in the center of the room, about five steps from the door, but it could have been a million miles and it wouldn’t have made any difference. If there was no lock and the door was opened wide, he wouldn’t have left.

Smoke filtered through the gaps and crevices in the walls. It snacked on along the ground, gaining momentum and building higher. Peter got to his legs and tried to stand on the cement seat under him but the cuffs restricted his movement. The smoke climbed higher and higher, and he strained his face up to the cleaner air but every breath added a new layer thick smog coating his lungs. His eyes watered and his throat closed. He was so lightheaded he fainted, his arms were behind him tugging on the restraints. Peter fell into darkness.

He was floating. No, he was falling. Air breezed around him. Its gusts billowed through his clothes and into his skin. The temperature of this weightless atmosphere chilled him to the bone. The ground rose up to greet him; fast until nothing could stop it. His arms flailed around. He tried to grab onto something but he was alone. They moved forward in hopes of bracing his fall and Peter’s breath was knocked out of him on impact. With a groan he curled into himself. It was a pitiful attempt to protect himself. He blinked and the emptiness was gone.

Peter was lying on the floor in his living room. Footsteps moved down the hallway slow and heavy. He sat up, sending stars in his vision, and moved away from the intruder as fast as he could. His back collided with the couch but he forced himself to still.

May walked in with a bowl of popcorn in her hands.

“What are you doing down there, sweetheart?” She said indicating with a nod his crouched position on the floor.

The air caught in his chest at her appearance. She came over to him, sitting the popcorn down on the small coffee table and grabbing the controller. Instead of moving back to the couch, May sat next to him on the floor before grabbing the popcorn back. She passed him the bowl; it was just salty enough and flavor combined with the orange juice that appeared on the coffee table perfectly. Her eye brows furrowed when he missed whatever she said to him. He was too busy staring at her.

Peter reached out. His hand hovered over her skin before he pressed it against her cheek; eyes widening at the warmth that felt real. His vision blurred with forming tears but before she could see his wonder he closed his eyes. If he could remember the smile on her face as she walked into the room and spied him on the ground he would be forever grateful to whatever this torture was.    

Her skin turned cold under his hand and the air grew dense. It pressed against him, weighing so heavy on his hand he was tempted to take it off her cheek. But he couldn’t let that happen. She would be gone again if he did and so he held on.

Gravity turned and he was lying on the ground again. Apprehension tickled his mind but he opened his eyes and found himself next to May. Her expression wasn’t anything like he knew before. May’s eyes were dull with glassy smog hiding them. She was on the ground with her hand tucked under her body. The base of her arms sitting in a pool of dark liquid. His hand, still resting on the side of her face, was covering something lumpy and there was a sticky material connecting them. It was the same liquid on the ground. He pulled his hand away. The bodies temperature was cold and there was maroon stained on his palm. It dribbled out of the perforated wound on the side of her head. This was not the May he was trying to remember.

“No.” He screamed out, fisting his other knuckles into his mouth. “Please… Please, stop.”


He didn’t know who he was yelling at or if they would hear. Fresh wounds of grief tore into his chest and the yelling helped numb him. He screamed again. Peter became an outlet for the emotions welling inside of him. Incoherent words and noises tumbled out of his mouth until his throat seized and he was voiceless against the pain.

Something landed on his shoulder.

Rhodes was staring at him from beside the bed. He opened his eyes with the dream with on his mind. His hand tingled and he scrambled up. Peter pushed the covers down, ignoring the sweat stains on them and stared at his palm. There was no trace of blood. It was truly just a dream.

His hands fell beside him and he stared at the wall.

The torrent residing in him spoke to more than a dream. They were almost memories and he lost himself in them; welcomed the searing burn as they trickled out of the corners of his mind. Rhodes continued to sit next to him without speaking. He placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and the weight brought him back to reality, back to the blue room.

The correct course of action would be to politely shake the hand off, thank the man, and be done with it. It wasn’t right to take comfort from strangers, to burden them with problems that weren’t their own. You could be sitting right next to someone but be worlds away when it mattered.

But then Peter remembered his fourteenth birthday. He’d been a freshman in high school and like middle school, the odd man out. He had no friends to speak of, ate in the bathroom enough to have concern for the hygiene of doing so, and rode the subway there and back alone. Second semester rolled around and they changed seat partners in biology. He was partnered with a kid named Ned. He was a talker and throughout their classes he drew Peter in.

More often than not they finished with their labs earlier than their classmates. The term was ending. On that day, Peter was preoccupied with his coming birthday and how it landed in summer. He would have to do it then and there. Peter glanced at Ned under his eye lashes and grasped the table with his hands. Ned continued to chat away about how Peter should join some club he was in after school. He wore an easy smile. It never failed to make him feel warm and although they only knew each other through school, Peter couldn’t help but want to see if they could become real friends.

“Hey, uh, Ned. Do you maybe want to hang out? And-and want to come over for cake in August?”

Ned smirked as they began packing their bags.

“Is this a roundabout way of inviting me to your birthday? I know it’s August10th.”

“How do you- Oh, Mr. Harrington’s board, right?”

“Yep and I’ve been wanting to ask if you were doing something for the longest time. I just didn’t know how.” He said rubbing the back of his neck before chuckling. “So, this is great. Be warned my mom makes the best cassava cake and I’ll probably bring enough for an army.”

Peter couldn’t wait to tell May. True enough, a month and many hangouts outside of school later, Ned arrived carrying two plates of the delicious cake. His family sat around him. They sang much to his embarrassment and he and Ned shared a look at May’s attempts to document the whole night with her camera.

Later, tucked away in their sleeping bags they whispered about their summer plans and the distant school year. It was quiet for a moment; the air full between them and Peter couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Ned turned around to face him. Peter mimicked the action, tucking his elbow to prop his head up.

“Hey Peter.” He said.

“Hey Ned.”

“I wanted to say thanks man, for inviting me. I know it’s not cool to say and all, but I’d been thinking all winter semester how to ask you to hang out and never got out the nerve. I’m, uh, really glad we’re friends.”

Ned smiled again and turned over. Peter swallowed. He scooted his bedding closer and with un unsure hand he reached to rest of on Ned’s shoulder. His friend’s muscles relaxed with a sigh and Peter closed his eyes in sleep.

The air in the blue bedroom was not full of blossoming friendship like it had been that night many years ago. Peter’s muscles were tense under Rhodes’ hand. His energy unwelcoming to the man’s help. But still he remained next to him providing a lifeline away from his dreams and memories.

He had butterflies in his stomach before reaching out to Ned. He could also remember his friend’s bashful smile under the Christmas lights in his room. Peter wondered if Rhodes was feeling the same nervous vulnerability of reaching out to someone new even though he was an adult. And he knew how Ned felt. The same sense of appreciation made him fidget for this stranger next to him.

In the cold hours of the morning, nightmares and memories all mangled in his mind, Peter didn’t feel alone for the first time in a long time. He stared out at the lake, barely visible through the gaps in the curtains, and admired the desolate environment. The wind blew moving the snow around and a bush still with bits of green sat unswayed by the cold.

“Thank you.” He whispered into his pillow. He knew the man heard by the gentle squeeze following his words.

Thank you!

Next Chapter Seven: He’s Warming up to Them 

[thedragonsden]

Broken Glass - Chapter 2

     No matter how old Emilia seemed to be, the death of her parents remained, haunting her memory. She had been lucky enough that day to have Uncle Pietro there to send her stateside, but it hadn’t been easy. The address her uncle had given her all those years ago was to a nunnery, they knew her family well. After decades of dedication to the catholic church, they had offered to build her parents a safe house if ever they needed to flee somewhere without question. When Emilia had landed that day, seventeen years prior, she had to find the nunnery and prove who she was before they took her to the house. No one knew how to find it except her father, the Abbot, and now Emilia, being that was where she resided from then on. She’d lived a modest life, help of what money her father had cultivated before their intended escape. When she was old enough, she made sure to work hard as she was able, to ensure that she lived comfortably and didn’t run out of her father’s savings.      Emilia was resting her head against the wall and had closed her eyes. She was trying to erase the pain she felt from her dream, hot baths always seemed to help. When she felt pruned and relaxed enough to get out, she checked the time. There was about forty-five minutes before she had to be at school. Emilia finished her hair and decided as she was grabbing her briefcase, that it would be better to pick something up when she got to school, no sense in making a breakfast she wasn’t feeling up to eating. It was a brisk autumn morning, as she descended the steps to her house, a few fallen leaves crinkled beneath her feet. She lived in a pleasant neighborhood, the houses around her already filled with Halloween décor. Turning down the street, she began to walk towards the subway station, her house seemed to be perfectly aligned with all major means of transportation, she never needed to travel far to get where she was going.       When she had gotten off the subway, she was about a block from the university she attended. She looked down at her watch again, twenty minutes. She made this trek every day, always punctual Emilia was, at least until someone had bumped into her. While checking her watch Emilia had felt something run into her, they knocked her briefcase from her grasp, and both collapsed.       “I’m so sorry!” a soft voice cried. 

     “No, it’s my fault, I was checking the time rather than looking ahead.” Emilia comforted. When she looked up, she noticed a face she recognized.       “Oh Emilia, I’m glad it’s only you,” it was Maria, a girl that was in her debate club freshman year, they hadn’t seen one another since. “I’m very sorry, but I’m late for my next class. Sorry, again.” In a blink, Maria was gone.       Emilia stood up, dusted off, then checked her watch, ten minutes. Panic overwhelmed her, today would not be the first day that she was late. She’d broken into a run and hurried across campus to the theatre building. Thankfully she reached the double doors in time.       As the day went on, Emilia couldn’t help but think about her encounter with Maria that morning. They hadn’t seen each other since that first year in debate club, even then, the two weren’t exactly close. Their professor had assigned them as partners once, but they hadn’t become friends over it. Emilia would see Maria around campus, but she had her own friends and they weren’t the kind of people Emilia normally associated with. Emilia hadn’t found any interest in debate after that year, so she hadn’t gone back, and do to that fact, she and Maria had thereafter not interacted. It had caught her by surprise that she’d remembered her name.       At the end of the day Emilia made her way to the black box theatre for rehearsal, they were about a week away from their first show, hell week as it was often referred to. There was a lot more to do this week than just running lines. Staging every scene, making sure there were back-ups of props present if there was a malfunction, the stage hands were just as busy as the rest of the cast, if not a bit more so, because they were the ones running sets on and off stage. The bustling life of a young thespian kept Emilia on her toes, it was one of the few things in her life that made her feel close to her parents. Her mother had been well known in the West End, her death had been played off to the public as an accident, ‘caught in the crossfire while on vacation with her family’. Emilia always found that to not bring justice to her legacy, she was murdered in cold blood. But she’d been forced to come to terms with that.       They were performing Phantom of the Opera, it had been Evangeline’s first major role, and Emilia felt a wave of honour when she’d been cast as Christine. She’d asked their professor to leave two seats in the front row to honour them on opening night. But that was all anyone knew about her, that she was the daughter of a renowned thespian in West End, and her father was some unknown ‘business man’. Her peers respected her for her mother’s sake, and that she was rather talented herself, but Emilia was almost always alone. None of her cast mates knew her outside those double doors.       The Friday before opening night, the other members of the cast had decided to go out for drinks, insisting Emilia join them. After a failed attempt to decline, they’d all found themselves at a bar close to the university. They’d found a table for the six of them near the billiard tables, as the guys went to grab a round, Emilia sat with some of the girls who seemed far better acquainted.       “So, Emilia, I’m surprised that you finally came tonight! We’ve been trying to get you to join us for months.” The curly blonde said.       “I was explaining to Jessica how you always seemed so swamped in work, that we could never convince you,” the brunette chimed in. 

     Emilia blushed, “You’re not wrong that I have a lot of work to do Jessica.”

    Jessica had one of her curls between her fingers and smirked, “Work load or not, we really enjoy performing with you. We may not be a family, but I think we should be able to get to know our leading lady.”      Emilia paused and looked between them, “You both feel the same?”      The brunette smiled, “Hell yeah! You’ve really got your mother’s gift, I’d always looked up to her as a child. When you joined our program, all I thought about was getting to know you.”      When the boys returned with a round of beers, the tallest of them spoke first, “What were you gals talking about while we were gone? Anything interesting?”      Jessica shook her head, “Natalie and I were just telling Emilia how nice it was that she could finally join us.”       Emilia cupped up one of the beers and took a sip without making any eye contact.      “Is that so?” the guys smiled at her.          “It is really nice to have you finally with us Emilia.”      She smiled at him, Ryan being the only one she sort of knew, was playing opposite her as the Phantom, and with him were Eric playing Raoul, and Sebastien who was playing Piangi.       “I’m glad to have the time to do so, I’m sorry I haven’t really gotten to know you all. Seeing as we’ve been acting together for near of five years.” Emilia took another sip of her beer.       “Nonsense,” Natalie piped up, spilling her beer in Eric’s lap in her excitement. “oops.”      “Dammit! Every time.” Eric swore and got up from his seat in a huff. 

     Natalie started to giggle.

      What’s so funny?” Jessica raised her brow.      “I just like the idea of him with wet pants, can’t hide the goods.” Natalie licked her lips as she watched him stomp to the bathroom. 

     “C’mon Nat! We’re in public.” Sebastien groaned. 

     Emilia giggled, because Natalie had stuck her tongue out at him in rebuttal.

    “You’re laugh is pretty cute Millie,” Ryan winked.      “Millie?” Both Emilia and Jessica questioned.       Ryan blushed, “W-well seeing as we’re friends now, I just thought-”       “No one has ever called me that before, most people…” She paused, “People usually call me Eve, Emilia Violet.”      They shared glances between one another, then Ryan raised his glass, “Well, then cheers to Emilia Violet! You’re one of us now Eve!”      Their glasses clinked and they all took a swig. Emilia was happy to be around her peers for once, normally she’d just be at home reading a book or running lines. She felt safe.       Safe, something about that word became a poison, she felt her stomach turn. Eric had returned to the table, but time around her had stopped. She’d heard a sound nearby that was like a wail of discomfort in her ears. The others hadn’t seemed to notice because they continued to laugh among themselves. Natalie was groping the side of Eric’s pants when he settled beside her. Emilia scanned the room for the disturbance she’d heard, and that’s when she saw her.       Maria was sitting at the bar, with a drunk trying to hang on her arm. Emilia’s nose scrunched up and her nostrils flared, her body temperature rising with anger. Excusing herself, Emilia sauntered up to the bar beside Maria.       “Hey! There you are, we were wondering when you were going to join us.” Emilia had put a hand on Maria’s shoulder which caused her to jump. When she met Emilia’s gaze, tears and a sigh of relief were unmistakable.       “Emilia,” Maria said breathlessly, “I couldn’t find your table, so I waited here. I’m glad you found me.”      Emilia knew she wasn’t pretending, the drunkard still seemed to have a hand on her thigh.       “Hey buddy,” Emilia hissed, “why don’t you let go of my friend here and piss off?”      The man licked his lips, tightening his grip on Maria’s leg, making her wince.       “Y’all are friends huh?” He slurred, “You’re both rather pretty, how about you both come with me? Have a good ending to this shit night.”       Emilia gave Maria’s hand a comforting squeeze and switched sides to stand in front of him.       “I don’t think so, my friend has already asked you to let go of her, I suggest you do so before we have a real problem here.” The look in Emilia’s eyes would’ve made anyone run. Her stance was bold, head held high, not a sign of fear.       She bore into his eyes and reached for his arm, “I will say this, once. Let. Go.”      The man smirked, “You have quite a grip baby, why don’t you put it somewhere that can bring some joy-”      It happened so fast, he’d let go of Maria and reached for Emilia’s arm, in the moment he was off guard she swung her other arm around and punched him in the nose. Trying to stop the blood, the drunk went to grab his nose and that’s when Emilia shoved her boot into his groin. There was a loud smacking sound and he fell to his knees. Emilia had grabbed him by the hair and smashed his face into the side of the bar before he fell over, unconscious.       The bar had fallen silent, Emilia had spit on him and swore in Italian.       “Next time you try to put hands on a lady and she’s already told you no, I hope your cock falls off.” Turning around to face Maria, Emilia escorted her to the table with the others.      “T-thank you.” Maria whispered.        Emilia nodded.       “Holy shit!” Ryan and Jessica declared in unison.       “Eve! Are you alright, you’re hand is bleeding,” Sebastien frowned at the sight of her.       “I’m fine. Everyone, this is Maria an old friend of mine.” She smiled at Maria who introduced herself.       “Hello.”      “Nice to meet you,” Jessica said, nudging Eric to bring over another chair. “Eve that was badass! The way you kicked the shit out of him, woah.”      Emilia snatched up her beer and took a gulp, “I just don’t like men who don’t understand the meaning of no.”      “Emilia, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t spotted me. The bar tender had run to the back and no one else seemed to notice.” Maria wiped tears from her eyes.       Just then the bartender approached them, “Some of the patrons said there was a problem?”      Ryan stood up and pointed to the drunk still on the floor, “That asshat was trying to grope our friend. Emilia here was only doing right by her and showing him that that isn’t how you treat a lady.”     Emilia waved for Ryan to take a seat, “Sir, if trying to grope a woman at the bar repeatedly after she’s said no is a crime, then by all means call the police. Just know, that by doing so you’re granting him and others like him the freedom to repeat that behaviour.”      Everyone watched in silence, they had never seen such aggression from Emilia before. Perhaps once in a more dramatic role on stage, but never had she said or done more than what was asked of her. It was like meeting an entirely different person. Jessica and Natalie’s eyes were twinkling in admiration, as were Maria’s.       The bartender let out a sigh, “I was actually trying to cut that guy off about an hour ago. Now that he’s out cold and I have your statement, I can have him escorted out.”      He nodded to Maria, “Are you alright miss?”      Maria nodded, “Only because I have such great friends.”      “So it would seem,” he paused before nodding his head towards the bar. “You guys can have a round on me for the trouble. Anything you’d like.” He smiled at Emilia, “Sorry again.”      Shaking her head, Emilia smiled, “I’m just glad everyone is alright.”      When the round of drinks was dropped off everyone raised their glasses.      “You are just one powerful mystery, aren’t you?” Jessica chuckled.      “Here’s to our elegant and powerful leading lady!” Eric said.      “Eve! Eve! Eve!” they chanted.      A tear rolled down her face, Emilia hadn’t felt this loved in a long time.      “I’m staying by your side from now on.” Maria giggled. 

[apotatomashedbybts]

The Stains Of Your Love

[GENRE: angst, mature, fluff

Pairing: Jimin×reader, Jungkook×reader

Word Count: 3.8k+]

[Summary: Jimin and your relationship was perfect, everyone said so, you thought so too. But love is not always what it seems to be. What if you get hurt by the person you love the most? Will you flee away? But how far will you run until love finds you again? ]

Part II : Healing Heart

Standing on the balcony of your room you breathed in the dawn air. It had been one year since you left Korea but the wounds were still fresh.

"Honey, you are up already? Happy birthday dear!" your mom hummed after entering your room.

"Thank you mom!" You replied and hugged her.

After you returned from Korea your parents were quite worried about you. You gathered enough courage and told them about Jimin cheating on you. They had always trusted you and believed in your decisions so when you decided to live here permanently they didn't object and you were grateful for that.

Your dad had already wished you at midnight as he hated waking up early. But like every year your mom wished you at sunrise because that's when you were born. When your mom went back you sighed remembering that every year Jimin wished you too at the same time. But this year he won't mostly because may be he didn't want to and partly because you changed everything that could have made him contacting you possible. You wondered how was he doing. Was Yujin taking care of him as you used to? Was she loving him enough? Was Jimin able to erase you from his memories?

Your chain of thoughts got cut by the beeping sound of your phone. Ga-yeon had already wished you at midnight so you were confused as no one of your colleagues knew your birthday. You checked your phone, there was a message from an unknown number.

You frowned your eyebrows and tried to remember if you gave anyone your number who could have passed it on without your permission. But you couldn't find any. Your heart skipped a little when the thought of Jimin texting you crossed your mind. You suddenly got nervous and your heart began to race real fast. To trim down the feeling you sat down and took a deep breath. But it was of no help. Then you read the text again and noticed the words 'you won't know me' . You didn't know why but you became quite disappointed. Then you scoffed to yourself, how could you even expect him to text you! You entered the bathroom and turning on the shower you broke down into tears. You clenched your hand over your heart as if trying to reduce the pain but it did not work, not a little bit. Like the shower above your head, tears were coming out from your eyes.

"Sweetheart! Are you okay? You have been in there for pretty long!" Your mom's words made you break out from your broken state. You replied, "Coming mom! I won't take long!"

After coming out from the shower you got ready for going to office. You checked yourself in the mirror and immediately regretted crying for so long.

"Sweets, is everything alright? Your eyes are.. not looking that great." Your dad asked you with concern clear in his voice when you reached the breakfast table.

"Oh! It's nothing to worry about dad! May be because I stayed in the shower longer than usual." You replied smiling. The least thing you wanted was to make your parents worry about you. You had been quite successful in putting up a cheerful curtain over your sadness in front of your parents over the past year.

After reaching your office you tried to observe everyone if anyone knew about your birthday. But no one seemed to pass your criteria and that got you frowning more. You didn't want any more drama in your life, one was more than you could take. You sighed and concentrated in your work.

At evening you thought of going to a nearby bar but you knew you'd end up getting a lot more drunk than you were supposed to. So you decided to head back home.

Seeing the darkness that engulfed your house you frowned hard. This reminded you of that night when your apartment was covered by the same unusual lightlessness. Of course you knew that something like that won't happen here but you had hated darkness ever since. You cleared your throat and called out, "Come on guys! I know it's you. It's not necessary. I am not a kid anymore. Mom, dad, Yeon come out!"

The room lighted up the next moment and with a sheepish smile Ga-yeon came out behind the sofa and said awkwardly, "Surprise! He he!"

"It was not our plan!" Your mom entered the living room with her hands up, "It's all her idea!" and she pointed to your best friend.

"Oh! Come on! I know you like it! And see who came to wish you!" Saying this Ga-yeon turned you around.

"Uncle! Aunty! When did you come?" You exclaimed happily.

"Just this morning y/n! Happy birthday dear!" Your best friend's mother said with a loving smile.

Ga-yeon's parents had always loved you since they knew you and you had loved them back equally. You asked yourself that what did you do to get such a best friend because you perfectly knew that Ga-yeon made her parents come here all the way from Korea just to make you feel loved using your birthday as an excuse.

You turned to thank her but your face suddenly turned into a scowl after seeing a boy beside her who you were certain enough you didn't know. Ga-yeon smiled cheerfully and said, "Hey y/n, meet, this is Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook, my cousin! He has been here in Australia for awhile and I thought it'd be great if you two can become acquaintances at least."

You didn't want to turn down your best friend after all she had done for you. So you decided to let this one slide though you had promised to yourself to not get into touch with unnecessary persons anymore.

Jungkook turned out to be a much cooler guy than he seemed to be but you decided to keep your distance. He had been in Australia for last few years and was majoring in photography from University of Canberra. It's his last year here. He would go back to South Korea after completing his courses.

The night ended quickly between so many people and you couldn't remember when was the last time you laughed so hard in the past year. The main credit for making you laugh surely went to Jungkook and somehow for a moment he was able to erase Jimin from your memory.

At night Ga-yeon texted you

Clearly trying to avoid your best friend's indications you kept the phone and tried to sleep. Memories of Jimin were still unspoiled in your heart and letting someone in your life at this moment would be too much for you and would be an injustice to the person. As you closed your eyes Jimin appeared in front of your eyes. You tried to shake that away but couldn't. You sat up straight and thought how could a person change so much? The same person who flew from Korea to Pretoria only because he couldn't let you alone on your birthday two years ago was the same person who hurt you so bad. You looked at the moon outside your window and cursed it. It was the same moon under which Jimin vowed to love you forever.

The next day you woke up quite late and rushed to work somehow stuffing breakfast into your mouth. At lunch time you went to the subway opposite to your office. When you took your food you saw Jungkook waiting for his order on the line next to yours. You tried to avoid him but he saw you.

"Hey! Hi!" He said, clearly surprised to see you there.

"Hi!" You cursed yourself for your wrong step.

He took his food and came to you. "You come here often?" He asked you.

"Ah! No no! Just when I skip my breakfast." You smiled at him.

You two sat together at a table and continued to talk. Mostly it was Jungkook who was talking, asking about your day, talking about his passion in photography and all. You didn't pay attention to him that much yesterday but as now you were talking with him you noticed his features distinctively. He had a really handsome face and his smile was like that of a bunny. When he scrunched his nose shyly while talking you found it quite cute and smiled to yourself. But the feature that attracted you the most was his doe eyes. They were so expressive and beautiful as if they were holding all the innocence of the world.

You pinched your thoughts to stop yourself from getting in too deep. You looked at your watch and realised that lunch time was going to be over in a few minutes. So you took your leave from Jungkook and headed to your office. After many days you were genuinely happy and you didn't know why.

.

For the next month you kept running into Jungkook almost everyday. You tried to wave it off as a coincidence but somewhere in the core of your heart there was a bud that had started to grow unknown to you.

Somehow Jungkook had the ability to make you forget Jimin and deep down though you wondered how he did that, you appreciated the feeling.

In the midst of all these coincidental meetings you became so used to his presence that if you didn't come across him a single day you felt like you were missing something.

You questioned yourself that were you ready yet to love someone? The face of Jimin in front of your eyes answered 'no'. But still that didn't stop you from wanting Jungkook to be a part of your life.

.

You were quite surprised when after reaching your office your colleagues told you that director was looking for you.

"May I come in sir?" You knocked the door of the director's room.

"Oh y/n, yes please come in!" The director said.

After you sat down he continued, "Director of Foreign Service of Korea, Mr. Jihoon Jung called our office this morning. He was asking for you. As you have changed your number he couldn't contact you so he contacted me instead. I thought it'd be better if you give your number to him yourself." Saying this he made a call to your previous work place.

Director Jung: Hello y/n, how have you been doing?

You: I am doing fine sir. Thank you for asking. How is everyone there?

Director Jung: Oh! Everyone misses you here a lot. Except that everything is going well.

You: Oh! Sorry sir! Tell them that I miss them too.

Director Jung: Yes! I will tell them. But y/n I called you for a specific reason. As you were one of the most efficient workers here I think I can do this for you at least and I also thought that I should let you know about this. Yesterday Jimin came to our office and was asking about your whereabouts. Of course I didn't tell him anything because you didn't want me to. He didn't look good. I don't intend to interfere but I think you should check up on him.

You couldn't talk for a second. Hearing Jimin's name after so long made your legs go weak but you can't let that show in front of your now director. So you continued the phone call as normally as you could.

You: Oh! I will look into it sir. Thank you for letting me know.

Director Jung: Okay then! Have a good day. I'll take my leave then. Bye.

Seeing your somewhat shaken state Director Wilson asked you if you were okay. You pretended to be fine and took your leave. The whole day your mind was stuck into that one thing and concentrating in work was hard. You wanted pull your hair and cry. Suddenly the thought of Jungkook crossed your mind. You hadn't seen him for two days and you were missing him though you would never admit it to yourself.

"May be Jungkook can help!" You wondered and texted him.

After keeping the phone you sighed heavily. You rethought your decision. Were you doing the right thing by trying to confine yourself in him? But you couldn't back off now.

"He would feel bad." You told yourself.

But from when did you start to care about his feelings? You sighed again and took a sip from the drink that your colleague gave you awhile ago. You didn't notice it at first but after taking a sip you realised that it was the same drink that Jimin loved a lot, strawberry frozen iced tea. You looked at it for a really long time and your mind sped back to that day when Jimin brought the same drink for you at your apartment. You didn't like it so you teased Jimin about liking it so much. Then Jimin in reply to your teasing said, "You know what, if you taste it like this then you will find it really tasty." With mischief in his eyes, he drank the whole drink in one sip and then kissed you. Though at first it tasted like the drink but the temptation of his lips took over you and the kiss that started as an answer to your teasing ended in an ethereal love making session.

You sighed again as you felt your heart squeezing in your chest. You were trying hard to stop the tears from coming out and it seemed more difficult than holding a herd of mad oxen at a field. You smiled at your own stupid humour and looked at the watch. You wanted the time to pass quickly.

After picking you up when Jungkook asked about where you wanted to go you vaguely asked him to drive to the opposite direction of the road that took you to your house. Throughout the whole journey you said nothing, just looked outside the window and processed what to say to Jungkook. You wanted to tell him about Jimin but didn't know how to. Jungkook didn't initiate any talking as he wanted to give you your time. In a short time he had known you more than you had expected, he knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to be a chatterbox. The silence in the car was comfortable and you were grateful for that.

After driving for about two to three kilometres you suddenly told him to stop. The sight of a decent bar had caught your eyes and you wanted to go there.

"You know this place?" Jungkook asked confusedly.

"No" you smiled at him, "but the name is good!"

Jungkook looked at the name again and murmured to himself, " 'Bliss'! May be you deserve some of that."

After downing the first glass of vodka a feeling of loss washed over you. To fill that up you started to drink one glass after another. Jungkook looked at you with concern. When you didn't stop after the tenth glass he held your hand gently and told you to stop.

You looked at his hands holding yours gently and remembered that day when Jimin held your hands too but not so gently. You scoffed and stared at Jungkook with watery eyes. How long had you stared at him you couldn't keep track but at some point you started to tell him about Jimin, about how you met, about how he proposed you, about how much you loved him, about how much he loved you, about how happy the relationship was, about how he hurt you and about how he still continued to hurt you.

Seeing you break into tears made Jungkook's heart crash. He pulled you into a hug and tried to comfort you. But you were too drunk at that point to feel his comfort. He wished if he could too just like you keep his feelings before you but he couldn't.

You held onto him like creeper on a tree and mumbled, "Take me home right now, I want to lie down. I feel sick!"

Your house was too far from there to take you in your current state so Jungkook decided to take you to his small apartment which was not far from there.

Reaching his apartment he put you down on his bed. Though drunk you could still feel the difference between your bed and Jungkook's bed. You patted your hands on it and said, "Yours is comfy, I like it! But mine is better. He he!" and lied down with a thud.

You stared at Jungkook's figure walking around the room and blurted out, "You are really handsome, you know? You can make any girl's heart flutter!"

After sorting out some things in his messy room he came to you and smiled, "Really? Did I make your heart flutter then?" He asked and started to take off your shoes.

You sat up straight and looked at him lovingly. After he kept your shoes aside you grabbed his collar and pulled him forcefully which made him lie on top of you.

You two stared at each other for God knows how long and an alien feeling flooded your mind. You whispered to Jungkook with watery eyes, "Please love me."

Jungkook looked at you as if trying to study you and then kissed your forehead whispering,"I do." You soaked yourself in the feeling and closed your eyes as some drop of tears trickled down by the side of your eyes and after that you passed out.

.

At morning you woke up with a terrible hangover. You grabbed your head as if trying to make the pain bearable and rubbed your eyes to drive the sleepiness away.

You were surprised to see yourself in an unknown place and then like a movie almost everything played in front of your eyes. You looked down and cursed yourself out of embarrassment. Then you realised that you were not wearing the dresses that you wore yesterday instead you were wearing a pair of pajamas. You were shocked and the question that came to your mind immediately was "Did Jungkook do what I told him last night?" and gasped silently.

Just then Jungkook entered the room looking as hot as ever in his showered hair. In his hand was a tray containing a cup of tea and breakfast.

"Oh! I was going to wake you up! Here I made you breakfast, buttered toast with two poached eggs and ginger tea to cure your hangover. No need to worry! You can eat it! I am quite a decent cook!" Jungkook went on merrily.

"Umm Jungkook!" You stopped him midway and asked, "about last night, did you do it? Where are my clothes? Did you change it?" You pulled off a serious face. Your mind was racing at fast pace and you prayed his answer to be no.

At your question Jungkook laughed softly and said, "Don't worry! I didn't. I called Yeon last night and she did it." Then keeping the breakfast on the side table he approached you. After sitting down beside you he took your hands in his and softly said, "I will never do anything that might hurt you, then or afterwards. You are too precious to be treated like you are not." Then he made a quoting hand gesture, "And I will only do the 'it' if I get the permission from the sober you, from the you who loves me." He said almost whispering and stood up to walk away. But you hold his hand stopping him and looked at him with yearning eyes, "What do you mean by the me who loves you? Do you see me as more than just a friend?"

The pain in your eyes made Jungkook weak. He turned around and said, "Yes y/n, I do. I love you, more than you can perceive. I have loved you for a long time now. You don't know, you are worth so much more. And I am willing to make you feel the happiness that you deserve." There was longing, pain and many other emotions that were mixed in his eyes and voice as he looked at you.

You didn't know how to reply, the memories of Jimin still haunt you everyday. You replied, "I don't know if I am ready yet to.."

Jungkook kept his index finger on your lips gently to stop your talking and said, "I know y/n what you are going through. I will never force you to do anything that might make you uncomfortable or sad. Just know that I will wait for the day when you will finally let go of the bad things and love me, I will wait for you. But promise me that today won't become an obstacle in our future days of friendship. Please."

You could see the truth in his eyes and that's why you had always liked his eyes. You knew that it would be difficult for you too to stay away from Jungkook. Though aware of your feelings that had started to grow many days ago you were still not ready. You didn't want Jungkook to be dragged into your sorrow. He deserved the better you.

You sighed and replied, "I promise."

Then as if trying to lighten the atmosphere you said quickly, "Oh no! For you I'll be late to office today." and started to frantically search for your phone.

Jungkook looked at you adorably and answered smiling, "It's already 10:45 am. And you must have forgotten that it's weekend. You don't have office today."

Hearing him you facepalmed and laughed sheepishly. It became a moment in your heart that you decided to cherish where you both laughed at each other with love, a love that was known to you and was unknown to Jungkook.

After washing your face you two ate breakfast together and you were quite impressed by his simple cooking. As it was the weekend and both of you had nothing to do Jungkook asked you to spend the day with him. Somehow you couldn't push aside his proposal.

You two went to your house and while you showered and got changed into a comfortable and casual outfit Jungkook talked with your parents.

When both of you waved bye and went out your parents heaved a sigh of happiness which they felt after a really long time. It was about time you should find happiness, they mused together.

The day passed by in a blink and you were genuinely happy and grateful to Jungkook. You felt bad that you couldn't reciprocate his feelings but you were chained to your emotions, negative emotions.

At night you texted Ga-yeon about your day and she as usual gave a perverted reply saying that she knew it was bound to happen and she also knew that you loved him too which of course you denied.

After a long time you felt like updating your social media. You had deactivated all your past accounts and created new ones in which you seldom posted. But today you felt was a perfect day to post and let some people know about your happiness and its source.

A/n: The second part is up! Sorry for the delay guys! I hope you like it too. I guess there are going to be more parts. Thank you for reading. Do like and comment! Love you all 💜💜💜

[jenbrookmodel]

Matchmaker XII: Lost in New York

It’s been several years since I sat here with my laptop; earphones turned to max, music pouring its way through my emotive veins at an undetermined time of the darkened morning. Curtains closed, alarm set for shortly. Here I am. 

Oh, jetlag, you. 

When was your year? My sister and I spent last weekend reminiscing our short lives and the possibility of a self defining year, ‘the year of you’...so far. She said mine was 2013 and I agreed. I sharply exited an 8 year relationship that was never destined to survive the adult world and as I left it behind, I grew as a model and a person in every way. 

I discovered a new world beyond my own doorstep; venturing to the big smoke alone, touring for the first time and stretching tiny wings that soon saw flights to Montreal and L.A. solo - I barely recognised the brave adventurer I’d become. I made three of the greatest creative friends I’ll ever have - Brooke, Ben and Devin. I started urban exploring with a friend from my past who allowed me to talk uninterrupted and bleed my sadness out into abandoned uncharted buildings, that echoed my feelings back. I approached brands to seek out successful work and I networked day and night using a project I later called Dreamcatcher, to grow. I got angry at badger cullers and dolphin trainers, and I made sure everybody knew. Yes, 2013 was my year; the year I became more than the silent clotheshorse. 

Reviewing my blog archive, it seems that by February 2014, I was ready...and I found my Matchmaker man. For those who followed the 10.5 episode series, you’ll know that the story concluded (in blog form) with our first night spent together. Fourteen months later (and three years to this very day), we had our own home - two deckchairs, two mugs, a lamp, a plant and a mattress on the floor to our name. And now four years on...we’re here again, with another chapter to my unwritten autobiography. 

*******************************************************************************************

October 2017 - my heroine, P!nk, announced her Beautiful Trauma Tour - the 14th time I would see her. With European dates still dwindling in the distance, he said “let’s do NYC”...and I didn’t wait to be asked twice. So, we saved and saved and treated ourselves to five nights in an art deco themed tower on Park Avenue, with a rooftop that overlooks the Empire State. 

Straight through to April...it was time. 

We arrived late, Saturday 31st March. Having barely slept for a full day, we crashed hard and awoke the next morning to patchy skies, overlooking the city like no other’ the city that never sleeps. Three wonderful days soon flew by, visiting the usual tourist hotspots and cooking up a storm of steps around the concrete jungle of 60 miles on foot. 

Wednesday, 11pm and we were walking home from Madison Square Garden - with me still singing ‘So What’ as he clutched the Starbucks crushed cake we’d forgotten from his pocket. 

“So, so what?! I’m still a rockstar! I got my rock moooooooves and I don’t neeeeeed you! And guess what? I’m having more fun, now that we’re done. I’m gonna show you, tonight...” my voice echoed quietly into the Subways that filled the ground. 

We were only six blocks away as we marched the path back to our hotel upon newly dried pavement, after a few days of undecided showers and a flurry of deep overnight snow. Blinded by the glare of Times Square and the flashing lights of the Big Apple cabs, stars above were completely invisible, but on such a perfectly clear night of perfectly wonderful happiness, I knew they were up there somewhere, looking down. 

Drunk on Pink, high on life, I was skipping all the way home. All of my favourite things in one place together - NYC, Matchmaker and a 5ft 4 superstar, who’s unknowingly been there, in my life, all along. 

We hurried through the glassed porch entrance of the hotel, greeted by the perfume of elegance that they pump into the lobby - something I’ll always remember; an essence that screams ‘we go the extra mile, don’t forget us’. 

Ten floors up, we were ‘home’. 

“Turn around, I’ve got a present for you” he said, as I ventured my way into the bathroom. “Hurry up then” I badgered, “I need a wee”. Knowing it would be the lemon drizzle he was speaking about less than a split second before, I span around and.....whaaaaaaat?! There he was, down on one knee, a sparkling diamond glistened in the tungsten light above the bed.

“Will you marry me?”

....”Are you serious?? Oh my god, I don’t understand! Do you mean it??”

I battled through the salty water that appeared in a single blink, blurring my vision. I stumbled to greet him on the carpeted cream coloured floor. Still spilling sweet nothings into the sweet smelling air, we landed in a soggy heap, me holding his crumpled shirt tightly, pulling back only to stare at him and cry more. 

“I wanted to do this last year. I knew when we walked onto Main St at Disney and you burst into tears, that ‘this’ was the moment I was meant to do it...but I didn’t know it ‘til then and I didn’t have a ring! I started searching for places in Florida and thinking of how to get you one. I panicked! I’m sorry it’s not as perfect as last summer, but I know how much you love Pink and this seemed like a good second. You’re my world, my best friend and I don’t ever want to be without you. I want to marry you...I’m presuming this is a yes, right...right?”

I was frantically nodding, still sobbing, still listening, still staring into those emerald eyes I’d fallen for four years ago, gleaming rocks in a box still clutched between my sweaty palms. 

“So when Pink announced this tour, I knew I’d do it in New York. But our first day here was April Fools Day...and you were complaining that your bum was hurting on the bike ride...and you were a total zombie with no sleep - so it couldn’t have been there. Then it snowed...and then it rained...and we fell out because you had wet feet! We’ve had such a good holiday, haven’t we? But there wasn’t a moment that stood out. I’m sorry it’s happened in a hotel room, I wanted to do it in Central Park, but it wasn’t right...” he waffled on. 

“Shut up you idiot! This is the most perfect day ever!” I screamed in his face, sliding the shimmering sparkles onto my left hand. My ears were still ringing with the sounds of Madison Square Garden and nobody was looking at me, but him. It was everything I’ve ever wanted. 

We were still intertwined on the floor, holding each other tightly, laughing through choked up tears about the fact he had been carrying the ring around for five whole days, waiting impatiently - narrowly avoiding the most inappropriate proposal ever, when security at the 9/11 memorial museum asked him to turn out his pockets on arrival. 

So, here you go. Here I am. Here ‘we’ are. 

Four years on and you were there from the start...that first blog about our first date and our more than coincidental meeting; all those moments of serendipity that brought us together. I’ve come home from America in the best kind of daze and can’t stop looking at it...at him, and squeezing my eyes so tightly shut with gratitude that I finally got it - someone who shares my happiness, who loves me through my faults and who supports me in everything that I do. I love him so very much. 

I love him and now, I’ll be his wife...Mrs Matchmaker. 

“Have you ever wished for an endless night? Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself Will it ever get better than tonight? Tonight”

[stereksummerexchange]

Don't be late

@your-lovely-bird - Happy summer :) hope you’ll like this little ficlet!

by @letsplaysomethingdifferent

Teen - canon character death

Being strung out, Derek goes to visit his best friend Erica in Beacon Hills. Little did he know that he would meet someone who would change his life.

Part 1

Derek had always been one to invent stories. When he was little, he would spend hours and hours modeling little men in playdough and making them do whatever scenario he had in mind.

Growing up, he always had had multiple notebooks, always keeping one close to hand so he could write what his overflowing imagination dictated him.

High School years had been the best for Derek. He had joined the writing club, wrote short stories for the school’s journal and was excellent in every literary subject.

Oh, how dearly he had wished to become a writer. It had tormented him for months before he had been able to talk about it with his parents. But, as he had imagined, Talia and Robert had been against it, saying he would earn nothing and be unhappy for the rest of his life, that it was only a hobby and not something he could live with.

Nevertheless, Derek had still been able to study English literature and, at the end of his studies, his father had found him an internship in one of his editing company in New York City. The job was fucking hard and tiring but Derek had played along for a few years so his father would be proud, as if everything was perfectly fine. 

Sometimes it seemed to be so. Derek had made a few very good friends among his colleagues. They would go on holidays together, eat dinner at least once or twice a week. They were keeping each other away from a burn out.

But most of the time, Derek would go home after a long day of work and burst into tears. To him, his life was nothing but a big failure.

It had lasted for many years. Subway, work, sleep. Sometimes friends, sex and alcohol. Always the same. Until that 24th of December, when finally going home for Christmas, Derek had found his family house in flames.

Later, the police had stated that the cause of the fire was criminal. A crazy woman burning everything she could find. She had been locked away and Derek had found himself with nothing left but an economic empire.

Derek could have stopped working. It was quite the opposite and he intensified his work, spending more than fourteen hours a day at the office, taking no pause to eat or breath a little. It felt like living on his father’s legacy would be a big fraud. And he couldn’t disappoint him like that. 

It had lasted for a year, until that day in January, when everything had fell apart. Derek had come back to his flat and collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. How could he have reached this point?

Trying to calm himself down, he took his phone and dialed her number.

« What’s up D? How are you still awake at that hour? »

« I need you Erica » he whispered.

Part 2

It had been a week since Derek had went to the town of Beacon Hills, California, where Erica was living. He had sent a quick email to Boyd,  his other best friend and superior (even if technically, he was his own boss) to tell him he was taking some holidays and had left every manuscripts at work.

Boyd had replied when Derek was on his way to the airport

Boyd: That’s probably the best decision you took in months. Take all the time you need, you deserve it!

And so Derek was there, lying on the couch in Erica’s flat, slowly waking up from a night full of bad dreams when she suddenly bursted into the room and shook him.

« It’s time to wake up D! Come on, let’s go eat breakfast! »

« Huuuuuuuuu… Why? »

« Not working doesn’t mean you have to stay in bed all day! COME ON » she added, pulling on his arm « pancakes are out of the pan, and I need to eat before I go. »

Derek sighed, finally letting himself being dragged to the kitchen. He fell onto a chair as Erica, already wearing her work clothes, put some pancakes in two plates, along with a glass of orange juice. They ate in silence. Derek liked that about her. She had been very comprehensive and never urged him to talk when he didn’t want to. But this morning…

« Have you ever worked on that story? » She suddenly asked.

« Which one? »

She took a sip of juice.

« You know… The one you told me just after the funerals. » 

At those words, Derek tensed. But she didn’t stop.  

«About that lonely man, trapped in a wolf body because he feels guilty for his family’s death? And then he goes around the world to search for redemption. »

« Why would I have done that? » Derek replied, his throat dry.

« I don’t know. Maybe because you coming here, in Beacon Hills, is only the beginning. Maybe you’ll find it here. »

She stood up and took her jacket of her chair. She planted a small kiss on Derek’s forehead and she was about to leave when she said:

« Oh, and there’s an internet problem. If you need to use it, you’ll have to go to the coffee shop down the street. See you tonight! »

Derek sighed again. It was the really last thing he wanted to think about and he did everything in order not to. But something felt wrong. In fact, it was what Erica had said. Everything had come from a dream, maybe more a nightmare, he had had the night of the fire. And he was here, many months later, still trapped into it, with nothing more than remorses and regrets devouring his sanity. Maybe… maybe Erica was right. Maybe it would ease the burden a bit.

Derek ate some leftovers for lunch, took a quick shower and put a big grey sweater and a leather jacket on. He packed his MacBook, a notebook and his pencil case before leaving the flat. He quickly walked into the cold air air of January until he reached a coffee shop and entered it.

It was crowded but really cute, full of house plants, wooden furniture and arts on the wall. The atmosphere was warm, full of laughter, and for the first time in forever, Derek felt really great.

He made his way up to the counter and ordered a large cappuccino. His drink in hand, he turned to find somewhere to sit. But no. Every seats were taken. Apart one at a table for two near a window, opposing a young man. The guy had electric blue hair, an undercut with the top hair falling on the sides of his head. He was wearing a black knitted turtle neck pullover and was working on a paper pad.

Derek walked toward the table and cleared his throat. The guy raised his tired eyes at him, a magnificent mix of warm liquid amber and hazel color behind thick black framed glasses.

« I’m sorry to disturb you… » Derek began « but the shop is full and I was wondering if it was possible for me to sit with you? »

The man stayed silent for a moment before nodding.

« Thanks » Derek answered, smiling.

He sat down, opened his bag to take his notebook. He then began to write down every details he could remember about his dream. But, from time to time, Derek couldn’t help looking at the stranger in front of him, wishing he could see what the man was furiously drawing, feeling a bit weird every time they were catching each other’s eyes.

It went on for an hour or two, during which Derek tried to work as much as he could. But the further he went through his memories, the sicker he got. 

A sigh escaped his lips as he stretched his arms and back. It was impossible for him to work without another cup of coffee. He stood up and, as he was going to the counter, he caught a glance of the other man’s empty cup.

Derek ordered a second cappuccino as well as what the guy had drank. Careful not to drop what he had in hand, he walked back toward his table.

« Here» he said, setting the guy’s cup in front of him before sitting with his own drink.

The guy looked at the cup then at him, surprised.

« You… didn’t have too. » he said, in a very beautiful voice that gave Derek goosebumps.

« I know. But it seemed like you needed it. » Derek answered smiling. « Anyway, I’m Derek Hale. »

« Stiles Stilinski. »

Derek nodded and started to work again, trying not to look at the other man, Stiles. What he didn’t feel was Stiles’s stare lingering on him, more and more as the minutes passed.

It was 5:30pm when Derek’s phone buzzed.

Erica: On my way from the preserve. Gotta get a bunch of chicken wings for tonight but then, what do you think about a movie marathon? I seriously need to see all the harry potter again.

Derek grinned, typed an answer and began to pack his bag. He was going to walk away when he saw Stiles looking at him, with something on his face that looked a little bit like disappointment.

« Maybe I’ll see you around » he said, smiling, before going out of the coffee shop.

Part 3

Unknown:  Hey so, umm… You may have left your notebook here

Me: who is it?

Unknown: yeah sorry. It’s Stiles, from the coffee shop

Me: Oh yes! Hi :)

Stiles: Hi :)

Me: How did you get my number?

Stiles:Dad’s the sheriff. Let’s say I have access to some data base

Me: You broke in, didn’t you?

Stiles: We started speaking a minute or so ago and you already know me so well

Me: ;)

Stiles: Anyway, got your notebook!

Me: Please tell me you didn’t read it…

Stiles: …

Me: Oh no…

Stiles: Ok. I may or may not have cast a glance into it

Me: Oh god

Stiles: Dude, what I read was amazing!

Me: I seriously don’t think so

Stiles: The story line is fucking great!

Me: You read everything

Stiles: Maybe…

Stiles: Anyway, if you’re up for a drink, we could meet so I can give it back to you

Me: You seemed really tired today… You’re sure about it?

Stiles: Let’s say I had troubles coming up with ideas for work… Plus you’re were pretty distracting so…

Me: what

Stiles: I mean, I had an hour of sleep, and some coffee so yeah. Drink? I owe you one for this afternoon. Maybe two since I read your notes.

Me: Why not? 

Stiles: amazing! Martin’s lounge, in 30 minutes? It’s a bit out of town but it’s the best bar I’ve ever been to.

Me: Sounds perfect! See you there :)

Stiles: :)

Part 4

Derek had told Erica he had forgotten his notebook somewhere, tried to hide he had to meet a super handsome guy to get it back but, as he was facing her wrath for dumping her in the middle of a movie, he eventually told her everything. Needless to say that she was more than thrilled for him to go out on a « date », as she put it and made sure he was all fresh and neat.

Derek took her car, looked for the address and, 30 minutes later, he pulled over on a parking spot near the Martin’s Lounge. There was no denying he was nervous. But it had absolutely nothing to do with fact that Erica had called it a date. But then, he entered the bar. 

Derek would have noticed it all. The cosy atmosphere, the vintage leather sofas, low wooden tables and the jazz music played in the background. If it hadn’t been for him.

Stiles was sitting in an armchair, a bit further away from the entrance. This time, his blue hair was up on his head, a bit messy, and he didn’t have any glasses. He was wearing black leather pant and a simple short-sleeved white t-shirt that was revealing arms entirely covered with tattoos. Derek took a deep breath and walked to him.

« Hi »

Stiles looked up and a big grin suddenly appeared on his face.

« Hi » he said, his voice sounding lighter than before. Then, moving his hand to another armchair on the other side of the table, he added « please, sit down. I’m feeling a bit inferior right now. »

Derek executed himself and as soon as he was sitting, a petite red hair girl in a red dress came to them.

« Hi Lyds, how are you? » Stiles asked, still smiling.

« I will be better as soon as you will have spend a few dollars. »

« And when I thought you were my friend… As usual please. »

« A Singapore sling. And for you? » she asked, turning toward Derek.

« A martini please. »

She nodded and moved to another table. Stiles looked quite embarrassed. He took Derek’s notebook out of his bag and handed it to him.

« I’m sorry. For reading it. »

« Oh… »

« I have no excuse. And I don’t ask you to forgive me. I was just a bit… away. Work, as I told you. »

Derek looked at him. He would usually mind a lot if someone touched his stuffs, especially this kind of very personal things. But, and he didn’t really know why, he was not bothered when it was Stiles.

« Don’t worry. »

« No but really! »

« No but really, yeah! Don’t worry! It’s not really important. Please, can we not talk about it anymore? I’d rather learn a bit more about you! »

« And what do you want to know? Why always a singapore sling? Why do I have blue hair? »

« I was more thinking about your work. »

« Oh, ok! »

Just at this moment, the girl (Derek would later learn her name was Lydia) brought their drinks. Stiles took a sip. He put his glass on the table before showing his arms to Derek.

« What? »

« My job, I’m a tattooist. I have always loved drawing. And… Today, I was trying to design a pretty big one I’ve been ordered. I had absolutely no idea and it was rather depressing.»

« And yours, you did all of them? »

« Oh no » Stiles laughed « A lot were made by my friend Kira. But this one » he showed him a log with its roots going around his left wrist. « It’s the first one I made. I was 16. »

« 16? » Derek exclaimed. « Your parents didn’t say anything? You told me your dad was a sheriff, didn’t you? »

« Yeah but… My mom had died a few years before, I was still dealing with it. And dad didn’t know how to react. We’re really good now, everything settled down. At that time, it was difficult. My roots were there you know? But what had gave me life had disappeared. »

Stiles looked Derek in the eyes, a sad smile on his face.

« Let’s not talk about this anymore ok? So, what do you do in your life? I’ve never seen you around before. »

« I live in New York. I work there as an editor and it has been really difficult lately so I just took a flight here, to see my best friend Erica and spend some time with her. »

« Erica Reyes? » Derek nodded. « Yeah I know her, she works with Scott, my own best friend. We should do something together sometime. » he grinned, silently promising Derek they would see each other again. «  Anyway, tell me about your family! I want to learn everything about you. » 

« I… don’t have any… »

« Ok so no brother or sister. And your parents? »

« No… What I mean… I… I lost them all a year ago… »

Stiles’s face dropped. For a moment, his beautiful eyes studied Derek.

« That’s all about them, isn’t it? » he suddenly asked. « Your story. »

« I realize now that it is… » Derek said, after a minute of silence. « And I don’t know how to free myself from it. »

« Maybe telling someone about it. It helped me. »

Derek watched him. He could tell he was being more than honest and, for the first time since that evening in December, he decided to trust someone and told him everything. From his teenager’s doubts about what he was going to do with his life to him wanting to please his dad and him losing his mind to do so. He told him about that night, when everything had burned into flames, leaving him alone with himself, with only his guilt to slowly consume him.

« Most of the time, I wish I had died with them. So I wouldn’t be alone. Not anymore. »

Derek laughed nervously, whipping the tears on his cheeks.

« I’m sorry » he said to Stiles after a second. « I’m being pathetic. »

« You’re not. I know what you’re going through. And no one’s asking you to be strong. You have every rights not to be. » Stiles took his hands in his own and held them firmly, his eyes locked with Derek’s.  « There’s something I know helps. At least it helped me. The log on my arm, I did it to exorcise the pain of my mom’s death and in a way, it worked. I don’t want you to answer right away, but… I would love to do it for you. Just think about it. And for now, let’s drink. To you. Because you’re amazing. »

Derek smiled, squeezing Stiles’s hands. 

He was falling so hard.

Part 5

One could have thought that it would have been a long process to think about getting a tattoo. Especially when the one who had offered to do it was almost a total stranger and someone you had a massive crush on.

But not for Derek.

He had texted Stiles the second he had been back home and the answer had arrived a couple minutes later.

Stiles : If you’re sure, that’s perfect for me :) I wouldn’t complain about seeing you again so soon. But on a more serious matter, you can come by on Monday, around 7pm. Stilinski & Lahey’s tattoo shop, near the Police Station. Just tell me if that’s ok!

Me:  Amazing! See you on Monday :)

And that night, for the first time in forever, Derek fell asleep with the biggest smile possible on his lips.

****

The rest of the weekend went quietly. Derek had decided to spend most of it away in the coffee shop, mostly to avoid Erica’s constant questions about Stiles.

But also because (even if he didn’t quite understand it) he felt inspired again.  As if the fact of being at that place marked the beginning of his redemption.

Stiles and him didn’t speak again that weekend but Derek didn’t mind. He was allowing himself to dream, to spend long moments thinking about the man and how he was, how he seemed to be genuinely interested in Derek. In a « more than friend » way, Derek hopped, but even if that was not the case, he would be happy to have that spark of light in his life.

Monday came and and so did stress. Derek spent the entire day cleaning the flat to try and change his mind, speakers blurting music. It did help him for a bit, keeping his thoughts away from everything but when, at 5:30pm, his phone alarm rang, he totally freaked out. 

Derek took the longest shower ever, scrubbing every part of his body frantically,  washing and conditioning his hair (something he never did) before trimming his beard. 

He also spent an horrendous amount of time choosing his clothes and, when he finally opted for black jeans, a white t-shirt and some dark boots, it was already 6:30. 

Derek took his parka, a fluffy scarf and his wallet and hurried down the staircase. He then walked for about half an hour before arriving in front of a small shop.

It was very discreet and, Derek thought, did not look much. The façade was painted with a plain grey with the name of the shop in black letters  above the glass door. Derek looked at his watch. He was exactly on time and, taking a very deep breath, he pushed the door.

The inside was bigger than expected.The walls were made out of bricks, with tons of magnificent and divers drawing on it. A deep blue leather sofa and some vintage armchairs were disposed around a black coffee table. But the most extraordinary thing was a giant tree made out with meters of copper fairy lights, brightening the room and making it feel like everything was suddenly full of life, as if Derek was in a dream. Maybe, just maybe, he would see them, between the branches…

« Hey you! » a voice suddenly exclaimed « we’re closed! »

Derek jumped and turned around. A man, probably just a year or two younger than him, was starring at him from the other side of the room. The man had short light brown curly hair, blue piercing eyes and, Derek noticed, a few tattoos on his arms and also a bunch of piercings on his ears.

« Sorry I… I have an appointment I guess? With Stiles? »

The man looked at him for a second before moving to a desk and looking at a computer.

« Can you tell me your name? It will be faster. »

« Hum, yeah of course. It’s Derek. Hale. »

« Oh! » A smirked formed onto the man’s lips. « So, it’s you. »

« What… »

« Don’t worry. Stiles has been waiting for you the whole day. He’s in his studio. » He motioned over a closed black door.

Derek walked toward it, a bit taken aback by the other guy’s attitude. Without even thinking, he opened the door and came face to face with Stiles. They stared at each other for a second before Stiles bursted out of laughing, easing Derek’s mind immediately.

« I’m so sorry » Stiles said between two laughs.

« I should be sorry! I’m the one who showed up without knocking. I was a bit… distracted. »

Stiles’s face fell.

« You’re sure you’re still ready for tonight? »

« Of course! It’s just… the other guy was a bit weird… »

« Isaac? Don’t mind him. If he said something to you, just forget it. »

« Is he working here? »

« Yep. He’s a piercer. One of the best I’ve ever seen. Plus, he’s a true artist, making every jewel. They’re literal piece of art. But don’t tell him I said that please? He’s bragging enough already… »

It was Derek’s turn to laugh. 

« I promise I won’t. »

Stiles smiled.

« You can put your stuffs on the coat rack near the door. Then you’ll join me over here. » he said as he was moving to a high architect-styled desk. 

Derek complied before going to where Stiles was sitting. The young man was wearing a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up, revealing his numerous tattoos. His hair had changed colors. It was black where it was almost entirely shaved, and the longer hair, who was falling on the sides like that first day in the coffee shop, was of a soft pink. 

« So » Stiles began when Derek came to sit beside him « I’m gonna show you what I came up with, ok? »

« Well… » Derek paused. He had thought about it since the other night. « I want it to be a surprise. Like… I know you’re going to say that it’s weird » he added, seeing Stiles’s expression changing « but I trust you. And I know it’s going to be great. »

« If you say so »

« I’m sure of that. »

Stiles smiled.

« Well, let’s start it. »

****

Derek had lost all notion of time. He didn’t know if it had been a minute, an hour or several since they had started. All he could feel was the pain of the needle piercing his skin, mixed with the warmth of Stiles’s gloved hand, moving across his back.  Apart from the buzzing sound of the machine, the room was silent. And in a way, Derek was glad. He wouldn’t have been able to speak coherently.

Finally, it all stopped. Derek felt Stiles moving so his head could be next to his.

« How are you? » he whispered.

« A little dizzy, I must admit. »

Stiles smiled. 

« Ready to see it? »

Derek nodded. Stiles helped him getting on his feet and, together, they moved toward a big mirror. Stiles placed Derek so it would be facing his back and gave him another, smaller, one. Apprehensively, Derek took it. 

Three magnificent wolves were there, drawn as if they had been made with an ink brush. Those three wolves were seen from the side, each of their tails reunited in the middle of the tattoo, so all three of them could form a triskel, on Derek’s upper back.

Derek did not realize he was crying until he felt tears dropping on his shoulders.

« I’m so sorry… » said Stiles, hesitantly « I should have insisted on showing to you first, at least you wouldn’t have something you don’t like on… »

But he was cut as Derek wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of the neck of the younger man.

« It’s amazing » he whispered, voice twitching. « It’s everything I needed. »

****

They stood there, silent, for a long time, embracing each other. But ultimately, Stiles broke the contact so he could apply some antiseptic cream and a plaster on the tattoo. Derek put his t-shirt back on before following Stiles to the main room.

« So, how much do I owe you? » Derek asked, after taking his coat and scarf.

Stiles looked at him, thinking.

« Dinner. » he finally said.

« What? »

« You heard me. You’re offering me dinner. »

« Is this your way of asking me on a date? » Derek grinned.

« … Maybe? »

Derek bursted out of laughing.

« You’re kidding me Hale???!! »

« Sorry! But, you have to admit it’s a pretty lame excuse! »

« I’m taking it back! Don’t ever come and see me again! »

Derek’s laugh quieted down. He got closer to Stiles and, leaning toward him, kissed him on the lips.

« I would love to. » 

He kissed him again, lightly, before going to open the door of the shop.

« I’ll pick you up at 8 tomorrow evening. »

Stiles smiled.

« Don’t be late. »

[paulhudd]

Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt Two: Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Gilray Residence, Mount Merrion, Dublin

Saturday, 8th April 1989:

Paddy was appearing as an expert witness at a coroner’s court in Dundalk and wouldn't be back until late on Tuesday night, so over the next 36 hours Niamh planned to stay in bed and go on honeymoon with the Nevins. She took a slug of Night Nurse, drank a mug of Horlicks, laid on top of the duvet, turned out the lamp, closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come. 10 minutes later, she was still wide awake. 

No good. Too excited. Time for the last resort.

She rummaged in the back of her skimpies drawer and took out an old box of Tampons containing a little nugget of Moroccan hash and a pack of cigarette papers that Emil had left behind the previous year. She rolled a small joint with some of Paddy’s shag and smoked it on the back porch. She wasn't used to it, the high hit her hard, but it wasn't long before that sleepy feeling came over her and she succumbed to sweet slumber...

... she walked across the bridge of clouds that led down to the sundrenched beach and the closed Magritte door. “Oona!” she called, until the door slowly opened and a blinding light shone on her face. A warm, inviting voice shouted back: “Come in! We’re in the bedroom!” 

She walked in, passing through the blinding light into a narrow, darkened corridor. She felt cool tiles against the soles of her feet as she walked; she traced the velvety nap of flocked wallpaper with her fingertips as she made her way toward the brightly lit outline of a door up ahead. She gingerly turned the handle and entered, a little afraid of what she’d see.

Oona was in the midst of making love to her new husband in a nondescript, self-catering apartment in some unexceptional Spanish holiday resort. It was the middle of the day, but the curtains were pulled over an open window and Ni could hear children splashing about in the pool outside while Oona screamed and moaned in untrammelled, shameless delight, unmindful that half the complex could probably hear her. It was quite a sight to behold, but for Ni at least, not in the least bit arousing. Especially when Oona broke the fourth wall during a reverse cowgirl and addressed her phantom friend in her ‘outside-voice’: “Shall we go shoppin’ after, moy luvly?!”

Oblivious, Craigy groaned, “Anything, just don’t stop...!”

Oona giggled as she rocked, <don’t just sit there, join in...>

Ni baulked, No, I’m not in the mood for a metaphysical three-way just yet.

She was a little jealous at first, then it sunk in that this wasn't going to be a physical relationship. There would be no love affairs in the Real World. This was as real as it was going to get.

Oona read her mind and answered in her ‘inside voice’; that cool, intelligent, sexy voice that made Ni’s heart beat a little faster: <Don’t fret, my darling. Don’t forget, I can make you feel everything I feel and Craigy will be none the wiser. I can take us out of this room and up into the skies, just you and me in each other’s arms, both of us feeling what I feel now.>

The next thing she knew, she was soaring high amongst the clouds with her dream lover, naked and free, their limbs entwined, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, the thrill of ecstasy flowing through their bodies...

Two days later: The housemates sat in the conservatory to take their after-dinner coffee. As Paddy settled into his seat and took the newspaper from his briefcase, he espied a note he’d written in the margin above his crossword (a handy way to remember things), “Oh, the strangest thing - you’ll never guess who phoned me today.”

“James Rossington,” Ni replied, matter-of-factly, reading a Love and Rockets comic and munching on a Penguin.

Paddy raised his eyebrows and jooked over the rims of his nezzies, “By Jiminy! Spot on! What number am I thinking of?”

“Don’t call the Magic Circle just yet -- one of the clerks in the Dean’s office rang to tip-me-off. He’s offered me an internship, hasn’t he?” She looked up from her comic, “What do you think of that?” 

He shrugged, “I dunno... What should ‘I think of that’?”

“Well, look at it this way: a week ago I went to Kildare looking for wetlands and find this secluded village; then, when I get to the bog, I’m waylaid by two of Oliver Laphen’s men, and the next thing I know, Rossington -- Laphen’s doctor -- is offering me an internship?!” She raised her eyebrows and awaited his reply.

Paddy was surprised by her reaction, “He was perfectly charming when he spoke to me, no hint of anything untoward. He asked me to ask you if you were free for an interview in the morning...” Then he thought about it for a bit, then asked with furrowed brow, “You haven’t been making trouble again, have you? I’m not so worried for myself, but when it comes to Phil Somerville’s career...?”

“Honestly, Uncle Paddy -- I haven’t said anything to anyone or done anything to put either of you in the soup since you told me off,” she replied, emphatically, “I’m just saying it’s a bit suspicious, especially in light of what Scanlon ‘n Gorringe said about him.” She took another bite of her biscuit and ruminated as she chewed, “It makes you wonder why he’s suddenly become so interested in me...?”

“Paranoia is an interesting subject for a student of Criminal Psychology, wouldn't you agree?” he winked.

“I’m not being paranoid. C’mon! Rossington? What possible interest could he have in a 19 year old pipsqueak like me... unless he has an ulterior motive?”

“Then, why don’t you go along to the interview and find out?”

“Oh, I intend to. I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

 The next day: Where the suburbs meet open country, in the eastern outskirts of Dublin City, stood St Cedric’s Institution for the Criminally Insane (SCICI). It resembled an old redbrick Victorian hospital, but with thick iron bars bolted to every window and a huge disused front door, tastefully bricked-up so that it was in keeping with the foreboding façade. There was a new wing built onto the rear (donated by Ollie Laphen, naturally), but from the front it looked as bleakly Dickensian as it did back in the 1850s, especially when set against the murkiness of mizzly April skies. The perfect place for inveterate rapists, murderous perverts and prolific serial killers, thought Ni, as she pulled up to the tall, iron gates. Once the security guards had confirmed her appointment and searched her little Fiesta, she was waved through and drove along the long, tree-lined driveway, around to the visitors’ entrance in the new wing. 

With her hair slicked back and ponytailed, dressed in her grey ‘power-suit’ -- bolero jacket, tight-fitting trousers with patent leather ankle boots -- she looked sharp and professional as she passed through another security gate manned by two guards, one male, one female, who checked her bag, patted her down and ran a metal detector around her from head to toe; then the male guard escorted her through another heavy door into the the new reception area. 

It was a stylised, modern affair with tastefully minimalist decor furnished with white leather settees; the stark white walls were adorned with large, unframed abstract paintings lit by ceiling spotlights; and pride of place, behind the curved reception desk, was a huge blow-up of a photograph featuring a solemn-faced, sober-suited Dr James Rossington shaking hands with a smirking Richard Nixon, captioned by the legend: ‘THERE ARE NO MONSTERS, JUST MISGUIDED MEN WHO DO MONSTROUS THINGS.’ The message – you can sleep easy in the knowledge that Dr James Rossington has the ear of the Great and the Good and the Downright Nasty! – was writ large on that chiselled, mahogany gob of his. Twat, she thought, as she signed the register.

The young, good-looking, male receptionist told her to take a seat and made a phone call; a few minutes later a portly male-nurse in his mid-twenties, his hair bleached and streaked, his ruddy-cheeked, chubby face soured by a permanent sneer, arrived to escort her to Rossington’s office. He punched a number into a keypad that opened yet another heavy security door and led the way through an old fashioned, white-tiled hospital corridor - more like a cylindrical, low ceilinged subway tunnel - and entered the older part of the building. They walked under an ornate brass archway depicting a scene from The Sermon On The Mount, and arrived at the original reception area, now an empty, dimly-lit, marble-pillared lift lobby that smelled of floor polish and bleach, where they approached one of two shiny metal doors set into the rear wall. Throughout the little journey, the nurse kept looking over his shoulder and stealing glances at her, then turning his nose up and looking away, as if she was emitting an offensive odour. She returned each dirty look with bells on, resisting the temptation to call him out on it: What’s your problem fatso? He scowled as he pressed the button and the outer doors slid open; he glowered as he hauled the concertinaed inner gate aside, and grunted, “Get in.” Charming.

The elevator was one of those old iron cages in an open shaft that gave spectators a pretty good view of the passengers as they travelled upwards through a huge atrium. It was ringed by two Plexiglas-protected balconies, the lower of which was lined with around a dozen inmates/patients, dressed in pyjamas or tracksuits, who yelled obscenities, whistled, whooped and slapped their hands on the thick glass when they saw her. She fought the urge to raise her middle finger and let fly with a volley of curses and kept her cool. The chubby nurse was amused by her apparent discomfort. “You wouldn't believe it, but those eejits are outpatients – they can go home anytime they like.” He looked up, “The real bastards are on the upper floors. They’re the ones you have to watch out for. They know how to behave themselves.”

17 minutes later...

Niamh was serenity and poise personified: cross-legged, hands folded in her lap, head tilted to the left, looking haughtily efficient. Naturally, Rossington was immaculate in a pin-stripe suit, the salt & pepper hair tastefully coiffed, the dark, deep-set-eyes looking simultaneously cruel and kind: Gordon Gecko crossed with Warren Beatty dressed by Saville Row; quite dishy, if you like that sort of thing. He sat with his elbows on the desk, his fingers laced together, bejewelled wristwatch twinkling in the muted lamplight, nodding sagely, seemingly hanging on her every word. Of course, she wasn't fooled for a moment. The entire scene, from her interviewer’s transatlantic accent, to the Rembrandt lighting, was pure Hollywood. It was nine in the morning and the red velvet curtains were drawn against the daylight, otherwise, the office was entirely to her taste: A large bookcase filled with aged textbooks; a few Pre-Raphaelite paintings adding a dash of colour to the dark, wood panelled walls; a shuttered, blonde-wood Regency writing bureau set against the wall adjacent to the mahogany, leather-topped desk. It was all beautifully atmospheric. The sole incongruity was an iron bust of St Cedric -- the Lindisfarne monk, who, if her memory served her correctly, established several monasteries and churches in the dark ages -- embedded in the rear wall, giving the darker half of the room a distinctly shrine-like feel.

She told him the story of her journey to Bogmire and the encounter with Gorringe & Scanlon, but omitted any reference Oona, the wedding or the strange dreams, “... and I said to my uncle: ‘What possible interest could he have in a 19 year old pipsqueak like me?’” She looked him in the eye, “So, why am I here, Dr Rossington?”

This is brill! I feel like Lauren Bacall!

His brow furrowed, “I have to say I find your story fascinating, Miss Fitzgerald, but I’m afraid the offer of an internship comes as a favour to Mr Laphen, nothing more.” Despite his seeming confusion, Ni got the impression he wasn't being entirely honest. She watched him closely as he got up and went to the tray of bottles sitting atop the writing desk and poured himself a large brandy from a crystal decanter, “Can I get you something?”

Ni grimaced, looked at her watch and said, “It’s 9:25AM, doctor!”

He shrugged off the reproach, “I haven’t been keeping regular hours. I’ve been preparing a new book for publication and I’ve been working flat-out since last Tuesday. Deadlines, you see. By my body-clock it’s 11PM yesterday and the sun has long since set...” He snorted like a coke-fiend before necking the lot and pouring another. 

He looked at her in the mirror above the writing bureau and said, abruptly, “Your story doesn’t impress me, Miss Fitzgerald. You know why?”

Caught unawares at the strange change in his tone, Ni nevertheless stayed in character, “Do tell.”

“I know exactly what you’ve been up to.” He sauntered back to the desk, brandy glass in one hand, the other casually languishing in his trouser pocket, “At first I was concerned that you went to Bogmire because you knew something,” he said, with a sly chuckle, “but having met you, I can see you’re just a nosy little girl who wandered off the beaten path.” He was fishing; patronising her to get her to blurt out the truth.

She was undaunted, “What else would I be doing there?”

“I have people in the village who tell me you met with a woman who lives there and attended her wedding in Bogmire last Saturday... and you spent some time alone with the bride.” He sipped his brandy, raised a waxen eyebrow and awaited her reply.

“You have spies in Bogmire?” she asked, slightly offended.

“Let’s just say I have an ally on site who doesn’t like what’s been happening. They tell me you’ve been getting very close to Mrs Oona Nevin, née Umbert.”

Ni wanted to jiggle her legs and say -- Oh please go on, this is riveting! –- but had to feign indifference with a patient sigh as her host took up the Noir baton with gusto and monologued like a slightly camp matinee villain, “You see Mrs Nevin is a former patient of mine and I feel it my duty to keep tabs on her ever since I was... removed from her care. She suffered a psychological episode when she was young and it required many years of therapy to get her to where she is today -- therapy I provided. But I wasn't allowed to finish my treatment. She is very fragile and an emotional crisis could prove extremely dangerous.”

“We only talked...” she began to say, then quickly took umbrage, “Wha- waitaminnit-waitaminnit -- what has any of this got to with me?!”

Rossington stooped, put his drink on the desk, leaned in and said in an accusing, angry voice: “Don’t come in here telling me you just happened to drive into Bogmire on a wing and a prayer -- you’re working for them, aren't you?!”

The glower was as bloodcurdling as the accusation, and despite his sober suit, the man was obviously quite drunk. She thought it safest to eschew the cool blonde act and confess, “OK, look, I admit it! I wandered into Bogmire by accident -- I met a beautiful woman who invited me to her wedding -- then, when I check out the wetlands, I ran afoul of these two old geezers who were less than complimentary about you – and the next thing I know I get a job offer from you! I just wanna know what’s going on?!” 

He’d noticed her rub her palm furiously as she talked -- and all-but leapt over the desk! “Lemme see that!” he cried, taking her hand, opening it and examining the little heart-shaped rash, “Tell me this -- were you violently ill shortly after this encounter -- vomiting, diarrhoea, sweating, shivering?”

She nodded nervously, “Why, yes...?”

He immediately brightened, stood tall, put on a false-happy-face and shook her hand enthusiastically. He pulled her up onto her feet, hustled her towards the door and, despite her protests, bade her farewell, “Well congratulations, Ms Fitzgerald, you will be a much welcome, and may I say, very attractive addition to our team!” He opened the door and pushed her out, “Report to the front office tomorrow morning at 8AM sharp and I’ll have matron give you the official tour -- goodbye!”

The door closed behind her with a heavy clunk. She stood on the deep-pile scarlet carpet outside his office wondering what had just happened. Then she heard a loud groan from the room behind her. She stooped and peeked through the keyhole and saw Rossington furiously throttling the bust of St Cedric like a madman...

On the last Wednesday of each month, Detective Superintendent Philip Somerville came to dinner - or as he called it ‘Gourmet Night Chez Gilray’. Paddy and Phil had been firm friends since they met in NW Donegal overseeing a mass grave in ’85 [See book One Part Two], when the younger man was still a lowly local detective and Gilray had been drafted in to oversee the forensics. The Forgotten Dead of Donegal or the Mass Grave of the Disappeared, depending what paper you read, was international news at the time and the pair were often to be seen on the TV news together hosting press conferences on the progress of the investigation. Somerville had been promoted for his work on the case, but the new position required him to move to Dublin, so he, his wife Pat and their 2 year old daughter, Caitlin, stayed at Paddy’s for a couple of months while they house hunted. They became a little surrogate family for the old boy, he loved every minute of their stay, and secretly wiped away a sentimental tear when they finally moved out.

Big Phil was a strawberry-blonde 6ft 2 hulk with a flat nose (broken in childhood and never properly fixed) and bright blue eyes with eyelashes that fluttered like moth wings when he smiled. He had a kind face and could be disarmingly polite, but had a reputation for ruthless toughness when it came to dealing with the criminal fraternity. Along with Emil, 'Uncle’ Phil was Ni’s ideal man, and told him so on one occasion when she’d had too much vino and was making a point about men who weren’t totally useless, but she soon took it back when Somerville got down on one knee and pretended he would leave his wife and children for her, “Just say the word, Twinkle! We’ll elope in my squad car! With the sirens on!” Paddy laughed himself into a wheeze. She rolled her eyes and called them bastards. Nobody took her seriously.

On this particular Gourmet Night, Ni cooked her world-famous grilled Dover sole with pappardelle noodles in lemon butter sauce, which Paddy pronounced a ‘quiet triumph’, “considering the 5 hours of non-stop cursing, kicking of furniture and broken crockery that went into its creation.” After a long discussion on world affairs (i.e. local football matches, politics, and of course, bloody cars...), the conversation turned to the woman responsible for the bulge above their belt-lines. Big Phil was frank, “Ni, that was lovely, but I didn’t float up the Liffey on a lily pad. What’re you after, Twink? I can’t give you an advance on your babysittin’ money, cos that’s Pat’s department...?”

Paddy cut to the chase, “She’s thinking of taking an internship with your arch-nemesis, Dr James Rossington, and she wants you to tell me that it’s a ‘good idea’.”

“I am not -- I just wanna know more about him,” she said, plainly. She hadn't mentioned his odd behaviour or his allusions to a possible conspiracy at Pagham House. As far as she was concerned, this was her ‘case’.

Somerville took the napkin from his lap, patted the corners of his mouth and said in his ‘official’ voice, “SCICI is staffed with highly skilled professionals -- most of whom do all the work, I might add -- who have access to the latest technology in criminology. The Taoiseach himself has congratulated Dr Rossington for its ‘excellent work in the field of Psychopathological research’.”

Ni curled her lip, “That was very pat.”

“It’s my stock answer when anybody asks me about ‘im,” said Somerville, shrugging, “I’ve learned to keep me mouth shut as far as Dr Rossington’s concerned.”

Ni tapped her nose and urged him, “Just between us?”

Somerville sighed and admitted, “He’s not my kinda guy, you know that. I mean, how many times have I sat at this table and bitched about ‘im? But I can’t argue with the statistics, it’s just his Lust for Glory that I resent him for...”

“But he’s reasonably clean?” said Ni.

Paddy put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, “Before you go on, Philip, may I remind you her mother will kill me if she flunks this course. First she backs out of a law degree to enrol – now this!”

Ni’s temper darkened and the usual jumble of old gripes that only got an airing when she’d had too much to drink spilled forth, “No – she blames you for not enforcing Her Will!! She’s still trying to run my life!!”

“Easy, petal...”

Ni slapped the table with her hands and yelled, “No! Every time I wanna do something for myself she has to be consulted! Well, I’m nearly 20 now, so she can shove it! I’ll do what a want!!”

Paddy took the bottle of Burgundy off the table, “No more for you little Miss Firecracker! I warned you -- you won’t get any booze if you can’t handle it!”

“It’s got nothin’ to do with the wine, it’s her...” said Ni, fuming.

Somerville tapped the stem of his glass with his fork, “Hey-hey-hey, listen to yerselves - I’ve been comin’ here for nigh-on 4 years and this is the first time I’ve ever seen youse-two fight!”

The pair backed down and apologised to Somerville and then to each other. Ni slurped a strand of pasta and got the conversation back on track, “Look, I only have to go to SCICI for a couple of weeks til I get the measure of what’s going on -- then I’ll make an excuse and go back to uni. And if I do have to stay for the entire year – well, you heard Uncle Phil – the institute is doing sterling work, I’ll be rubbing shoulders with experts in my chosen field. Everyone’s happy.” She turned to ‘Uncle’ Phil, “So, is there any reason in your mind why I shouldn't take this internship?”

Somerville equivocated, “It sounds as if you’re asking for my permission...”

“She’s asking you because she thinks you’ll back her up,” said Paddy.

“No I’m not -- I just wanna know about Rossington. I wanted to know if he has any skeletons in his closet before I accept the job, that’s all,” she said.

Somerville gave in, leant in and lowered his voice, “Well, it’s funny you should mention the word closet, cos he’s secretly gay –- still a crime in this country, whatever your opinion of the law  -- and he has a fondness for young, tubby teenage boys,” he paused to clear his throat, “and just between us, he has a bit of a coke habit. But besides that, aye, he’s reasonably clean. That said, he’s got three of my most prolific murderers up there living in the lap of luxury, all in the name of research...” he took on the vexed expression of a beleaguered priest, head lowered, hands laced together, as if at prayer, “... like Barry McKee, for instance.”

“I’ve often wondered what he wants with McKee, the man’s little more than a vegetable,” said Paddy, slightly disgusted, “it’s rather ghoulish, if you ask me. The man should’ve been allowed to die long ago.” 

Phil agreed and commented in a bitter tone, “McKee’s his prize exhibit, his sideshow freak: Roll-up, roll-up, see Ireland’s Most Famous Serial Killer! all that sorta muck. As a matter of fact, he’s holding a press conference tomorrow to announce a new book he’s written about ‘im.”

Ni was grudgingly impressed, as much by Rossington’s cunning as his bravado, “From what I’ve heard, he’s under pressure to quit, but instead of disappearing under a rock, he’s drawing attention to himself.” She nodded and looked into space as she pictured the scene, “I reckon he’ll make a few insinuations during his speech to send a coded message to his enemies; veiled threats, that sort of thing.”

Big Phil looked at his friend, “Is this the same wee girl that used to read at the end of the table and the only sound you’d hear would be pages turning and the occasional ‘hah!’ when she heard something witty?”

“Oh, she’s unrecognisable!” Paddy bitched like an old queen, “on top of ruining her life, dressing like a floozy and clandestine dalliances with married women, she’s been watching a lot of Film Noir. She’s turning into the female Philip Marlowe.”

“Well, from one Philip to another - care to make a wager, sister?” offered Somerville.

Ni spat on her hand (Paddy grimaced, “if your grandmother saw that!”) “Ye’re on, brother! I’ll betcha he makes, shall we say, a few ‘peculiar allusions?’”

They shook hands. Somerville watched her collect the plates and take them to the sink, “Oy, Niamh Naive, you’re not at yourself, you know that?”

What did he say?!

She saw a flash of red and got the unholy urge to scream blue murder about hating that nickname and what did he mean by it! She even got as far as spinning on her heel and glaring at him!

“We haven’t agreed on an amount,” he said, passively, but he had seen the fire in her eyes, she could tell. You can’t bullshit the human lie-detector, but here goes - she laughed it off, “Sorry – ‘tampon time’ as Paddy calls it! I’m a wee bit spiky this week, heh-heh... would a tenner be OK?” 

He agreed and she went off to find her purse. Once she was out of earshot, Somerville turned to his friend, “Mood swings, change of image, eyes like two burnt holes in a blanket; y'know how my mind works, Paddy.”

Paddy nodded, “Don’t worry I’m keeping a close eye on her, and I haven’t seen any signs of substance abuse, just a lot of sleeping. Might be the after-effects of that fever she suffered a week ago.” He paused for reflection then said, “No, I think this little metamorphosis and spurt of activity may be more about ‘discovering herself’ than uncovering some grand conspiracy. She’s so head over heels for this Nevin woman, she’s not thinking straight. However, I’ve decided to let it run its course or I’ll never hear the end of it...”

After showing Somerville to the door, Paddy cornered her in the kitchen and gave her a piece of his mind – “This isn't on – you can’t get Phil involved in this little adventure of yours! For one thing, he only knows the half-of-it!”

“C’mon Paddy – what if I find some dirt on Rossington,” she protested. “Uncle Phil can open an investigation -- he’ll have Rossington exactly where he wants him!”

Paddy took off his nezzies to let her see he was serious, “You’re conniving and I don’t like it! It’s reckless and dangerous. And that little show of temper tonight -- it isn't like you at all. I’m this close to calling your mother, I mean it...”

She cuddled him, pinning his arms to his sides, “Paddy, it’s best not to fight it, go with it, you’ll be much happier in the long run!”

He gently pushed her off, held her arms and decried her lack of insight, “This is important, serious, grown up stuff that you should be discussing with her, not me...” The phone rang on the wall behind him, “-- and with any luck that’ll be her now!” He answered. His face fell. He thanked the caller for letting him know and hung-up. Before he could tell her what was going on, they heard Somerville’s car reverse back up the drive and the toot of a horn: they’d obviously both received the same call.

“Someone die?” she asked, half-joking.

Paddy’s demeanour changed, he had that disappointed-but-what-can-you-do look on his face he always got when duty called. “Aye, someone has indeed died,” he sighed, “a decapitated, mutilated body has washed-up on the beach at Sandymount, and no one else is available to put him back together again. I probably won’t be home til tomorrow, so lock all the doors and put on the burglar alarm before you go to bed. 

He gave her a last reproachful look, “And think long and hard about what I said. Whatever your feelings for her, your new ‘friend’ is a married woman, Niamh. The relationship is doomed from the start. You're asking for a broken heart...”

2 hours later: Half stoned, half asleep, lying on the sofa in the lounge, Ni was walking hand-in-hand with her dream lover on a deserted beach, silhouetted against the golden glow of a tropical sunset, when their metaphysical bliss was rudely interrupted by an intrusive tapping sound.

<Do you hear that?> said Oona.

“Someone’s at the door – my door!” said Ni.

Oona immediately broke the connection and Ni woke up in the Real World. She sat up on the couch and listened. Tap, tap, tap. Like the clicking of a key on glass. It seemed to be coming from the French windows at the back of the house. Shit. She’d forgotten to turn on the burglar alarm! She turned out all the lights, went to the kitchen, pulled a steak knife from the block, tiptoed to the sitting room, approached the curtains covering the windows and asked who it was. 

“It’s Rossington. Let me in!” a frantic voice hissed close to the glass. Her curiosity got the better of her and she looked out. Sure enough, it was the good doctor, clad in a jet-black licra jogging suit and matching hooded top, his lustrous hair hidden under a black beanie hat...

In the sitting room: Rossington paced the mat in front of the fireplace and chain-smoked as he tried to explain his predicament without losing his thread or his temper. Ni sat cross-legged on the couch munching popcorn, boggle-eyed, watching him walk to-and-fro, hanging on his every word. She’d planned to watch a tape of the 1946 version of The Big Sleep later that night, but the garbled, paranoiac rambling of a half-drunk neurotic faux-Freudian and (alleged) coke-fiend was just as compelling as Bogey/Marlowe and the LA underworld: “... they rang the office and told me to retract the offer of an internship -- they said they suspected you of spying and it wouldn't be in my best interest to take you on!”

“Who? Laphen? It was him who asked you for the favour in the first place?!”

“Not Laphen: Scanlon. Ollie’s off filming a movie in Europe for three months, then he’s off to Japan to tape a series of Guinness commercials. Gorringe went with him -- Scanlon’s been left to his own devices and I think he’s up to something.”

Ni couldn't help herself and spluttered, “This sounds like the plot of a bad pulp novel?!”

He stopped pacing and snarled, “It’s not a fucking joke, Niamh! Oona’s worth tens of billions! If they nurture her properly, it could be the biggest thing since splitting the atom – or it could blow up in their faces! That’s how big this is -- and how dangerous these people are!”

The accent is slipping, he’s really scared!

“In that case, let me call Uncle Phil...” she reached for the phone on the table beside the couch.

He waved his hands and cried out, “NO! Not Somerville! Jesus, no! I’m only telling you cos you’re up-to-your-neck-in-it-already and you need me! I need you! We need each other!!”

She put the receiver back on the cradle, “See that’s the thing with you James, I can’t tell if you’re acting or in the throes of some paranoid delusion due to alcohol and lack of sleep!”

He approached, looked down at her and said, “You don’t have that problem though, do you?” he said, bitterly. “You know it’s true. Oona’s in you. She knows your every thought. She can control you. She can make you feel sublime or make you walk under a bus. And they wouldn't care. You’re only important to them for as long as you’re important to her.”

“’Make me walk under a bus’...?” she repeated, appalled, “but how... Why would she...?”

He put up his hands in a consolatory gesture, “Look, your meeting wasn't kismet -- you were handpicked. Your uncle mentioned you at one of Ollie’s soirées and I jotted down your name. You were on a list of possible mentors: young women we secretly screened to act as a sort of conscience; a telepathic guide to teach her how to tell right from wrong, the ups-and-downs of the Real World. They must've decided you were the prime candidate.”

She was affronted, “What the -- nobody asked me!”

“Did you find an old map in an old book in your favourite bookshop?” he asked, lighting another cigarette.

She stopped chewing and gawped, “You mean they arranged that? It was a trap?! The fucking bastards!!”

“It was my idea and they used it. I knew you couldn't resist an adventure,” he said, somewhat proud that his little scheme had been so effective.

“You’re the biggest bastard of all!” she cried.

“Let me see the rash,” he asked. She hesitantly held out her hand; he took it and examined it closely, “She rubs a special oil into your skin – a minor irritant, completely harmless – like a concentrated nettle sting -- only it works over a longer time period and flares up when your hands sweat. The point is, while it’s there it’s a constant reminder, because she needs you to think of her. She needs to be on your mind.” He took a long drag on his cigarette and asked, “So, what method are you using – the open/closed door technique?”

“Uh huh...” She nodded distractedly, staring blankly, her head getting light, her vision beginning to blur – Oona was listening.

“Oh! Is she making contact?” he said, excitedly, recognising the tell-tale signs. He knelt by the sofa and looked up into Ni’s eyes, “Hi, Oona! It’s me, Doctor Jimmy! Tell them I’ve got your little girlfriend and we’re going to make a deal!” he yelled, his breath reeking of booze and garlic.

Ni kept eye contact and slowly retreated up onto the back of the sofa so that she towered over him. He looked up and tried to explain, “I was only – uhh!”

She’d kicked him square on his square jaw with the outside of her right foot, knocking him cold. He was sprawled across the mat like a huge, dead, 4-legged spider.

Oh God! She’d done some kickboxing in her time, but never against anyone without headgear. This could be murder!! She flew into a panic – she jumped down and tugged at his jerkin, “Oh dear God, are you alright?! – oh Jesus – please don’t be dead!!” She put an ear to his chest and listened. His heart was still beating, he was still breathing, she sighed with relief; but when she checked to make sure his neck wasn't broken, she felt something hard against her knee. There was something in the pocket of his hooded top. The remorse and anxiety evaporated immediately. She let his head drop with a dull thud and went to fetch the washing line from the laundry room...

When he awoke, he was tethered hand-‘n-foot to a kitchen chair. Niamh was sitting on a stool opposite, legs crossed, the Beretta 9mm dangling on her little finger, “Was this entirely necessary?” she asked, dispassionately.

“Personal protection – I have a permit. And you’ve no need to worry, it isn't you I need protecting from,” he groaned, rotating his jaw. He struggled in his washing line bonds, “This is insane! Let me out and we’ll talk like adults.”

This is great! If my heart wasn't pounding in my throat I’d be enjoying this!

“Look – come with me!” he cried, clutching at straws, “We’ll go to Bogmire and take her to SCICI! She’ll be safe there!”

She was so taken aback she almost fell off her seat, “Malpractice, kidnapping, false imprisonment  -- this isn't Chicago in the mid-20s -- you can’t get away with that sort of thing nowadays!” she laughed.

He wasn't scaring her, so he went for the kill, “Do you know why she needs a mentor? Because she’s a child. When she reached puberty and received her Gift, the psychological trauma wiped her memories -- she’s got the IQ and temperament of an 8 year old. And like any 8 year old, she’s capricious and prone to tantrums if she doesn’t get her way!”

Ni shook her head in disbelief, “She can’t be... We talk about serious things, most of it deep, meaningful stuff...?”

“Hah! You’re talking to yourself!” he sniggered. “She gets in your head and tells you what you want to hear in a voice you can relate to -- she makes you see what you want to see -- makes you feel what you want you to feel! She has total access to all your memories and dreams and can process the data in a millisecond, that’s if you ever stop yakking long enough to listen to what you’re/she’s saying!!”

Ni was absolutely stunned. And the more she thought about it, the more she realised it was true.

He ploughed on without a thought for her feelings, “You were violently ill – that means they gave you the potion! The potion opens the part of your mind that lets her in – that means she has access anytime, night or day, awake or asleep. She’s playing it cool so far -- probably because she’s preoccupied with her new husband -- but soon, you just wait and see, she’ll be like a second head.”

“Potion?! What potion?!” she cried, shaking with fear, raising the little gun.

He wrenched his head to the side, “Put that bloody thing down before somebody gets hurt!”

“Not until you tell me what’s up doc?” it wasn't meant as a joke, it was her customary hallo when Paddy came home from work, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

He sighed and began at the beginning, “While I was at Pagham House in ‘83 to treat Laphen for yet another dose of the DTs and clean-him-up for a film role, I got talking to an elderly gardener about herbal remedies. He showed me this root and mentioned that it was an ingredient in a ‘Love Potion’. I laughed, as you would, but he told me that in ages past a homely woman who couldn't attract a mate would select an eligible bachelor and slip it into his drink. Her intended mate gets very sick, she nurses him back to health. Then, once he’s back on his feet, he finds that he’s fallen head-over-heels for her, and they live happily ever after! When I mentioned it to the housekeeper, that old bag Sparkes, she said: ‘it only works if the woman is a witch.’

“So I asked her, jokingly – ‘where do I find a witch who can do this?’ and her sour, toothless old face closed like a fist and she went off in one of her huffs, muttering under her breath about me being a ‘nobody’ and how I should ‘mind my own business’ – a total overreaction, which in my book means: no smoke without fire. So I asked around and learned from a gossipy neighbour [Dolly Crombie] that Mrs Sparkes believed her young niece to be a witch and kept her locked-up in an attic room at her house in the village!”

Ni frowned, “And... is Oona a witch?”

"Not in the traditional sense of the word. You see, in the late 18th century, Thaddeus Ravenhill, the 8th Duke of Roxborough -- a renowned biblical scholar, but with a taste for all things arcane -- traced a little Celtic tribe living in caves on the coast of Cornwall who were rumoured to periodically produce dark-haired little girls who matured into silver haired young women gifted with psychic powers. The men though, were a backward, uncivilised, dim-witted lot who made up for their lack of brain with brawn and a propensity for loyalty and industry, which the Duke quickly put to good use. They were housed in a specially built village on the outskirts of the estate, well away from the house. Roxborough watched and waited for a child to be born with the requisite attributes. When none came, he tried breeding one of his own.

“He was a very bad man. And bad men like to keep mementos and records of the bad things they do, but not always in the first place that comes to mind. I guessed that some of his more contentious artefacts might still be hidden somewhere around the house. The Roxboroughs removed everything pertaining to the 8th Duke when they used Pagham House as a sanctuary for various European aristocrats during WW1, but the library is practically intact – presumably they deemed it too costly and time consuming to hire a curator – there are thousands of unregistered books in there.

“So, with this in mind, I searched the shelves, and after a considerable amount of hunkering on kneelers and rolling around on ladders, I found what I was looking for: at the very top of the central bookcase, behind the cumbersome tomes that no one ever reads, was a hidden compartment containing a portfolio containing some handwritten texts and a diary; amongst them was a detailed account of his experiments, including his work on the Love Potion. The Duke’s notes contend that the potion can be used to open a normal human being’s mind to psychic interaction. The diary ends around the late 1790s –- just before he was executed -- so we’ll probably never know if his experiments were successful. What we do know is that Oona Umbert is the first telepath -- the first silver-haired girl -- in three generations. But I needed to find out how to initiate a telepathic connection. I had to know if what he believed about potion was true, so I had my people analyse it.

“The results came back – they’d never seen anything like it. it was mildly hallucinogenic but, despite some impurities, non-toxic. That’s all I needed to hear. I had one of the Redmen prepare the mixture and took it the day before. I was violently ill, but eventually the fever passed. Then I took Oona to the old infirmary in the East Wing, away from any interference, and asked her to read my mind. She did. It worked. Not only that, but it was more effective than I could ever have imagined! She wove me into her wildest dreams and showed me visions so real I felt as if I’d fallen through a wormhole into another dimension! It was mind-blowing in every sense of the word. But Oona was too infantile and inexperienced to control it. She had me on the edge of my seat, sometimes...” he winced and closed his eyes, “she’d lose patience or get angry and I’d get these skull-splitting headaches, terrible feelings of nausea, horrible nightmares -– I begged her to stop. She always pulled back, thank God, but it proved she was too immature to handle it. We did everything we could to reach her, to get her to see the world as it actually is, but she was stubborn. She needed someone her own age, someone she could look up to, to teach her right from wrong. ”  

“In other words, she needed a friend,” said Ni, impassively.

“And a husband. That was her one demand: ‘‘usband!’ And not one of the local louts, either; she wanted a specific type! Now, you’ve seen her, you know she’s 100% in the looks department, but finding a suitor that could also act as a father figure and enforcer, nevermind one that was prepared to live in the village, was gonna be tough. Luckily, Sergeant Marchant, the commanding officer of the local garda needed a new recruit, so we put our heads together and looked for an old-school-man-of-the-house-type, someone she’d look up to: the tall blonde prince charming she was always on about. We found just the man: a plod from Sligo who wanted a transfer to a quiet post after a recent run-in with the local Provos. After he was recruited, we engineered a meeting.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” said Ni, “my presence hasn’t interfered with her conjugal duties one iota. She likes to make me watch.”

Rossington snorted as if it was par for the course, “Yes, but once the honeymoon period is over and she gets bored or they have rows, lives may be at risk, and I won’t be there to put it right.” He looked up into her eyes, “In 1986, Herbie’s pals in the CIA brought in a ‘guinea pig’ -- a renegade soldier who’d been court-marshalled and sentenced to death -- in other words, expendable. They gave him the potion and asked her to get into his head. Oona did – but when she got in, his memories and fantasies were so horrific she reacted badly –- the man went insane! He was a twitching cabbage within the hour. They thought she was a freak – they wanted to cart her off there and then – if it wasn't for Ollie’s involvement, she’d be languishing in one of their ‘facilities’! That’s how dangerous she can be!”

By this time, Ni had given up on the femme fatale pose, she felt hollowed out and bitterly disappointed in herself. “We travelled through the stars... we sat on top of Everest... we swam under the sea and made love amongst dolphins...” she mused, looking off into the distance, “it was the most thrilling thing I’ve ever experienced... Now I feel like a prize chump.”

“Just remember this: she’s a child – she’s sly and manipulative, she uses her good looks to get what she wants, but she doesn’t have the education or common sense to compete with you in intellectual terms, so she utilises your sexual fantasies to construct your ideal lover and trust that lust will override reason.”

Ni lowered the gun, “Oh God, she’s in my head... what’s going to happen next...?”

Crisis over, Rossington sighed and slumped with relief, “I don’t know. They cut me out. Ollie ‘n Gorringe think the world of her, but Scanlon wants rid of her. He wants to sell her off to unscrupulous people who’ll use her for their own ends. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She thought for a moment, fighting her natural instinct to play it safe, “But how...?” Suddenly, she sat bolt-upright as the hair on the nape of her neck tingled, her head buzzed: an urgent communication was on the way.

Oona spoke in her natural West Country twang, <Come ‘n get me, Niamh! Oi ‘eard what Dr Jimmy said an’ oi is scared! Please, please come 'n get me!!>

Again, Rossington saw Ni’s expression change and recognised the signs, “Don’t worry, Oona! Everything’s gonna be OK!”

<Oi don’t want ‘em to take oi away! Please, please come quick!!>

“OKOKOKOK! I get it, I get it!” yelled Ni, pulling at her hair and pacing the floor, “... let’s just say I was going to help you...?”

Ni put a note on the door of the fridge: PADDY, GONE CLUBBING - SEE YOU AT DAWN!! Ni, XXX

This is utter madness.

But by now everything was so surreal that to pull out now would be to miss out on the punch-line. She giggled with excitement as she pulled on black leggings and a dark blue polo-neck jersey, “might as well dress the part!” Uppermost in her mind were impure thoughts about finally having physical contact -– Oona in the flesh! And it was an adventure, no matter what Paddy once said: “You’re like an Enid Blyton heroine – only in my experience, snoopy middle-class gels who stick their noses into shady people’s businesses usually end up getting gang-raped in a disused farm house, killed, dismembered, and fed to the pigs.”

Rossington wanted to leave the way he came in. Ni insisted they leave via the front door, “I have to set the burglar alarm.” When she tried to put in the number, the alarm went off – Rossington bolted and hid behind a rose bush. She managed to get it to stop blaring, just as a black Peugeot hatchback pulled up outside the front gate and honked its horn, “Hellooooo – is this the Gilray residence?” a male voice shouted.

Rossington jumped out from behind the bush and made a beeline for the car, “Shut up Peter! I’m supposed to be incognito for fuck’s sake!!” he hissed, loudly.

“Oh! So sorrry! I’ve just been sitting outside in the dark for the last hour-and-a-half, listening to the same friggin’ Erasure tape over and over again!” shouted the voice, in a whiney, sing-song voice.

“Ssshhhh!”

The lights came on in an upstairs window of the house opposite.

Rossington jumped into the backseat and rolled onto the floor. Ni came down the drive, waved at the shadow in the window and shouted “Sorry Mrs G! Jumpy visitor!”

As she bounced into the passenger seat, Rossington grumbled from the back, “Why don’t the two of you just hire a bloody brass band and be done with it!”

The driver was a young, chubby blonde with a cheerful baby face. He shook her hand and introduced himself, “Peter Sinclair,” he said, looking around at the man on the floor in the back, “welcome to my world.”

“Just drive, Peter!” Rossington growled, “Get us the hell outta here before the neighbours call the cops!!”

The car jerked forward and stalled.

“For fuck’s sake!!”

Ni giggled.

Peter flapped his hands, “Stop shouting it only makes it worse -- you’re gettin’ me all flustered!” Once he got the engine restarted, he asked, “Where are we goin’ anyway?!”

“Bogmire,” Rossington whisper-shouted.

Peter looked over his shoulder, frowned and said, “Bogmire? Kildare? At this feckin’ time of night?!”

“We are going to collect Oona and this is the safest time!” Rossington yelled back.

“But she’s just married – they’ll be watching the house!” Peter protested.

“She knows how to get out without being seen. And they don’t know anything or I guarantee an SUV-full of goons would've intercepted us by now!”

Ni confessed to Peter: “You see, he keeps saying things like that and I can’t resist!”

He drove off and moaned, “Believe me, it wears a bit thin after the third or fourth nervous breakdown...”

2 hours later, after a lot of excruciating smalltalk about interior decor, fashion, and the lifestyles of Hollywood A-listers, they finally arrived at the perimeter of Laphen’s estate. They pulled up at a side road where Rossington knew they wouldn't be detected by any CCTV cameras. 10 minutes later, sure-enough, strolling along the road, silver hair flowing in the slight breeze, her pallid face tastefully made-up, dressed in a black lace gown and carrying a silver clutch bag, was none-other than Oona Nevin, née Umbert. “Now that is creepy,” said Peter, transfixed by the vision in widow’s weeds walking in the floodlight of the full-beam, “she looks like she just stepped out of a coffin...”

... And into my dreams... Ni undid her safety belt, ready to run into her lover’s arms -- at last a physical encounter! Then, just as she opened the door -- she felt Rossington put an arm around her throat and pull her back! She felt a sharp sting in her neck.... and slumped forward onto the dashboard, unconscious.

Rossington’s face appeared between the seats, grinning like a Cheshire cat..

“Well, well, it worked,” said Peter, slightly impressed, slightly disappointed.

Rossington patted his lover’s shoulder, “You were great, Peter, you really should think about a job on the stage.”

“I wasn't actin’, James! – my nerves are feckin’ wrecked! I only agreed to this cos you practically begged me!”

Oona climbed into the backseat and kissed Rossington on the cheek, “Oh, Dr Jimmy, ‘ee truly is a magician! You jast ‘ave to say it – and tis done!” She looked at her friend slumped in the front seat and tried to read her, “Aww, she’s down so deep oi can’t reach ‘er. Will she be all roight?”

“Just a sedative, she’ll be fine in the morning,” said Rossington, assuredly. He looked Oona in the eye, “I hope you appreciate all this, madam, it’s all for your benefit. Mr Scanlon does not have your best interests at heart, but once I have a word with him, he’ll soon see things my way.”

“Oi know, Dr Jim, oi is most grateful.”

“Right, well, we have 2 hours to get things done, so c’mon, Peter, chop-chop!” As they did a u-turn and drove back down the road, he reached under the front seat and retrieved a large walkie-talkie: “JR here. We have Oona -- and Miss Fitzgerald. Now, this is where we have to trust each other, so no ambushes in the middle of negotiations, no threats or abuse; I have a man on the outside waiting for my call -- any funny business and he goes straight to the Gardai with a list of Ollie’s crimes against humanity. Over.”

Scanlon’s voice sounded in the earpiece: “I’m a man of my word, doctor. Flash your headlights when you get to the front gate...”

St Cedric’s Institute for the Criminally Insane (SCICI):

The next day: She opened her eyes only to be dazzled by a glaring spotlight shining on her face. When she focussed, she saw that it wasn't a spotlight, it was the blazing bulb of an extendible angle-poise reading-lamp attached to a headboard. She was in bed in a white room.

A hospital room? How the...

Sitting on the edge of the cot, dressed in a dark blue Dior 3-piece-suit, white silk shirt and silver cufflinks, dark-blue knitted tie clipped with a silver pin tipped with a cluster of miniature white diamonds, was Dr James Rossington. He had an inner glow now: the silver flecked hair quaffed and shiny, the tan, healthy and vital. He smiled broadly, his deep-set, smiling eyes twinkling somewhere in the folds of his brow. “I’m back in the loop, my darling, all thanks to you,” he said, in a breathy James Mason half-whisper, “Scanlon made a deal. We’re home ‘n dry! This is A New Day! Chin-up, stand tall and greet it with a smile. Here, have some paracetamol. He handed her a small water-cooler cone half filled with water, and a tiny plastic cup containing two white capsules.

Ni was weak and dehydrated, and sure enough, suffering with a dreadful headache. She drank the water greedily -- but threw the paracetamol back in his face, screaming - “Why the fuck did you knock-me-out you fucking creep?!” She lashed out as best she could; he easily parried the feeble, slapping hands and talked her down, “It was a precautionary measure to ensure your safety!” He caught her wrist and pointed to her head, “If she didn’t like what she was hearing, Christ knows what she might have done! You were at risk! And I couldn't very well take you home, could I? So I brought you here, to SCICI, and had a nurse put you to bed. I called your uncle’s answering service and told them you turned up for work this morning and you were taken ill, but you were recovering in our sick bay. He called back half-an-hour ago. He was working all night; he didn’t even know you went out. He’s just happy that you’re safe ‘n well.”

She pulled the covers up to her chin, “You didn’t do anything else to me while I was under, did you...?”

Insulted, he stood up, arched an eyebrow, tugged at his cuffs and spoke in a no-messing, headmasterly tone, “I needed you as a bargaining chip, that’s all. Once Scanlon and I had settled our business, we took Oona home, came straight back here and put you to bed.”

Trying to keep her temper under control, she snarled, “Bargaining chip?! You’re taking a big, big risk, Rossington -- all I have to do is call DS Somerville and let him sort it out!”

He was quick to reassure her, “OK, so you were injected with a mild sedative and your feelings got hurt. Are you going to jeopardise this entire enterprise just to take me to task over that? I mean, this is ground-breaking, earth-shattering stuff we’re talking about...” he winked, salaciously, “And besides, you’re enjoying yourself, aren't you?”

“God, you’re glib,” she snarled.

“Yes, but I’m right.” His expression softened as his voice took on a more sympathetic tone, “Look, Oona promised us that as long as you’re there to guide her, she’ll restrict her telepathic activity to our experiments.”

“And what if I can’t sleep? What if all this upheaval makes me an an insomniac?!” she cried, exasperated and conflicted; her conscience telling her to find a way out, her instinct for adventure telling her to persevere and weather the storm.

“I can supply you with sleeping pills if you require them. I saw you smoke a joint last night, I can get you some medicinal marijuana...?”

“No. There’s enough crap floating around my system without throwing barbiturates or dope into the mix...” She turned away and asked quietly, “So... when can I see her?” she asked, a little shamefaced.

“Every hour of every day if you like.”

She turned back and sneered, “You know what I mean: face-to-face. In the flesh. I need to look her in the eye and ask her if she’s OK with all this. If I can’t trust the person in my head anymore, I can at least see how she really feels.”

He shook his head, “Niamh, a face-to-face meeting at this juncture would be counter-productive. This is a scientific experiment with implications that will change humankind forever, not a Dating Agency. Unfortunately, she is at that stage in her development where she relates to everything and everyone on a sexual level, that’s why she seduced you. But not to worry, your mutual attraction will eventually fade.”

“What you mean is: you want me to forget the ‘whirlwind romance’ and use my influence to brainwash her into your way of thinking?” she chided.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned a patient sigh, “There are no text books on the subject, Niamh, no operator’s manual on how to handle something as extraordinary as this –- and I admit, most of the time I fly by the seat of my pants -- but if I fail Oona and this doesn’t work, she could seriously hurt someone or hurt herself. Then Scanlon will get his way. She’ll be sold to the highest bidder.”

“I suppose...” She grumbled.

He straightened up, rubbed his hands together and quietly rejoiced, “Good. We’d like you to tutor her and guide her through the vagaries of Modern Life, generally make yourself available. And look,” he reached into his inside pocket, took out his cheque book, licked a finger, flipped it open and scribbled with a gold-plated fountain pen; he ripped it off with a flourish and presented it to her with a dazzling smile, “... this should cover all the inconvenience –- and I’ve included an advance on your first month’s salary!”

It was more money than she’d ever seen in her life, but it wasn't enough to convince her that this was a good idea. She twiddled her thumbs, “It feels all wrong... there’s no way I can do this... Look at me,” she showed him the reflection of her wan, dark-eyed spoon-face in the curved chrome of a kidney-dish, “this is after a week - God knows what I’ll look like if I take any more of that ‘love potion’...” She was fudging. She desperately wanted it. It prolonged the experience and made the visions so vivid, so real, they were almost tangible. Oh yeah, I want it alright. She hated herself for it. She was a slave to her libido, and now she knew the whole truth, she realised it was the only thing they had in common. She felt dirty and guilty. She couldn't help it, the tears were on their way, “...but the Oona I met that Monday, she gave me warm vibes, she was very... she seemed so nice. Now you’re telling me she’s been stringing me along .... and I do what any sexist pig does: I objectify her!” She sobbed into the pillow, “Oh God... the one time in my life I don’t do the right thing and everything goes to shit...!”

He took a deep breath, counted to ten, patted her shoulder and affected his best bedside manner, “Listen to me. once she settles into married life and gets pregnant it will change everything, I can guarantee it. That’s her ultimate dream: to have a family. Now, that might be anathema to your right-on ideals, but in Oona’s case it’s imperative that she settles down and leads as ‘normal’ a life as possible, as soon as possible.”

“No pressure, then?”

“If you go with it, no. Technically, you don’t even have to do anything, just open the door when she needs a consultation.” He reached around to the stainless steel trolley by the bed and picked up a small cardboard dish containing a capped syringe and a phial of grey liquid.

“Oh God...” she whimpered.

“It won’t be so bad this time,” he chuckled, “most of the impurities have been removed, so no more dicky bellies or runny bottoms; I have nurses on standby night-and-day should you take an adverse reaction, but that’s highly unlikely, or you’d’ve been dead within an hour of swallowing that first cup of cocoa. They were taking a bit of a chance administering it orally, but I suppose a jab in the neck would've been a dead giveaway.”

“You are such fucking arsehole, James. You know that, don’t you?” she grumbled, as he rolled up her sleeve.

Later that week:

She phoned Paddy and told him she was now a willing participant in a SCICI drugs study and that she’d be staying at SCICI for the next week or so. He was surprised by her sudden volte face as regards the illustrious Dr Rossington, but took her assurances that nothing ‘nefarious’ was going on at face value. She’d never lied to him before, she shocked herself at how easy it was. Part of her wanted him to insist that she come home immediately, a part that was weakening with every passing hour. Her relationship with Oona went on as usual, the potion made everything as blissful as it had been at the start, only now her doubts were harshing the buzz. Thankfully, Oona was too taken with her new life to notice. So far...

One afternoon, while Ni was lying on the covers in her dressing gown, head propped up on the pillows reading the previous day’s Irish News, waiting for the next psychic communication, when she heard a voice in her head:

Niamh

She looked up. She knew wasn't Oona. It was a different feeling entirely. 

Niamh

It was strange voice, no more than a faint, crackly whisper, hard to tell if it was male or female. It must be a side effect of the potion. A telepathic flashback? Whatever, she shrugged it off and went back to the newspaper.

Niamh.

The lights flickered.

Close your eyes

“Who is this?” she asked, a little scared.

Close your eyes. 

The voice sounded sure and assertive, and despite an all-consuming feeling of anxiety, she did as it asked:

She was medieval peasant in the herbaceous garden of a lonely cottage, drawing water from a well. With one foot on the ground and one foot on the wall, she hauled on a thick, frayed rope with all her might. When the large, sloshing pail eventually emerged, she noticed something dark and slimy in the water. As the surface stilled, she saw that it was a strange looking creature: like a large, black mole dipped in oil, with webbed talons and a large, black chiselling-beak that looked very sharp indeed.

It kicked! The pail jumped out of her hands! The creature leapt out!

She caught it by its bill before it had a chance to snap at her - she trapped its body under her left arm, holding the beak tightly in her clenched fist! The creature was very strong indeed, it took all her strength to hold it - it thrashed and clawed at her as she fell to her knees and held it against the ground, its big, black eyes bulging in their orbits as it desperately tried to escape her clutches.

Just then, the strange, crackly voice whispered in her head:

<She’s lovely, isn't she? I call her a ‘Slimy, Blind, Chisel-Beaked, Web-Footed Corpse-Eater’, but she’ll eat anything, doesn’t have to be cadavers. It could be small animals, moles, worms, slugs... anything. In fact, this specimen has just awakened after 6 months of hibernation, so she’s particularly peckish and by the looks of things, she’s under the impression she just found breakfast!>

Niamh put her knee on its back, still gripping the bill for all she was worth.

<Hmmm... I’ve been told it’s like trying to hold-down a pitbull-terrier dipped in lard.>

Niamh’s wrists were weakening...

<Sorry, I really should get to the point, eh?

<Here’s the thing: Do you let go and hope that she doesn’t bite? I wouldn't recommend it. She’ll go all out to kill you; those little talons are designed for tunnelling and they’ll make short work of your torso. She is blind, but she smells your fear, and once she gets the scent of blood, it’ll send her into a feeding frenzy and she won’t stop until you’re dead. And I can assure you, you will feel a thing – they tend to go for the soft tissue first, so you’ll have to watch while she wends her way through your viscera to access the sweet meats further in... That’s if she hasn’t already pecked your eyes out... Slimy, Blind, Chisel-Beaked, Web-Footed-Corpse-Eaters consider mammals’ eyeballs a delicacy.>

She pressed the thing against the side of the well, took her hand off its beak and quickly grasped it tightly by the throat with both hands; it writhed and made a sound like a panicking magpie...

<You could take her to the village and get someone to help you - but this is 13th century Madrid, women are second class citizens - especially 20-year-old spinsters with a herb-garden and a flair for all-things medicinal. The women love you, you’re a nurse, a midwife and a reliable confidante, but the men are just waiting for an excuse to be rid of you, and this would be the perfect opportunity. They’ll say this little monster is a demon you summoned from hell, and indict you as an agent of Satan – and would you believe it - the Grand Inquisitor just rode into town - a surly, black-hearted man, famed for hunting witches...>

Sure enough, she heard the clip-clop of hooves on the road beyond the high hedgerows.

<It’s a poser, isn't it? I suppose you could wait until she wears herself out... but what if you weaken first? What if she plays possum?  What if you manage to fight her off but she maims you enough to cripple you or give you a deadly infection – there are over 50 thousand types of bacteria in every bite! These are the days of leeches and the 4 humours - there ain't no penicillin, darlin’!

<... Or do you – and this is always the most popular option -- do you simply wring her neck and kill her? No one will ever know. It’ll be just between the two of us.>

She tightened her grip...

<Oh, before you consign her to oblivion, did I mention that she is the last of her kind? You’ll be causing the extinction of a long-forgotten species. But – hey - do you really want to die for the sake of an ugly old thing like this?>

The ugly old thing was still squirming in her hands showing no signs of weakening, making an eerie mewling sound, its little muscles writhing and tensing, its webbed talons scrabbling at the air, trying to catch her forearms...

Snap.

<Now we’re in business.>

Snap.

Snap.

“Hey! You!”

Snapping fingers.

She snapped out of the daydream. 

She was standing at the full-length mirror in her room, her hands pressed against the glass, like a kid at a toy shop window. What the hell...

The snapping fingers belonged to Matthew Cromarty, the surly nurse who escorted her the day of the interview. “What are you doin’? Fallin’ in love with yer own reflection?” He had the ability to make every utterance sound like an insult. The unshaven, drink-ruddied jowls wobbled as he bobbled his head like a contrary teenage girl and waved a hand in front of Ni’s face, “Hello?! You do know where you are, don’t you?!” he said, in a sardonic, sing-song voice, as if he was talking to a senile patient.

She pretended she knew exactly what she was doing and snapped back, “What do you want, Matthew?”

He handed her a clipboard, “James wants you to sign this. It’s a secrecy form to stop you blabbin' to all-‘n’-sundry ‘bout what goes on under this roof.”

It was a standard NDA. She read it and gave the clipboard straight back, “I’m not signing anything until I speak to him. Where is he anyway?”

He held out pen, “Just sign the feckin’ form.”

She waved it away, “Take me to him now, please.”

“Well you can’t see ‘im!” Cromarty jeered, “He’s with Barry McKee. He gave strict orders that he’s not to be disturbed when he goes in there! And accordin’ to this,” he flipped the page, “only me, matron, two orderlies and...” his face fell, “... and N. Fitzgerald (intern)....” he looked at her as if she’d just broken wind, “...you?” He checked it again. “Why would he...?” He stamped his foot and slapped the clipboard against his thighs in a rage, “Who are you exactly?!”

She was beginning to wonder herself...

The next day: feeling very pleased himself at a job well done, Rossington reclined in his antique leather swivel chair, turned up the Rachmaninov CD with the remote control, put the brandy balloon to his lips and supped ---

“James...?”

--- and duly spat it all over himself! He leapt to his feet, “FUCK!! Shit! Don’t do that!!” he yelled, “Jesus H Christ Almighty you scared the absolute living shit out of me, you stupid bitch!” He quickly turned off the stereo and reached for a rectangular silver box on his desk, pulled a wad of paper handkerchiefs from it and began to dry his shirt, “Dammit - $280 worth of Cardin spattered with $900 cognac...FUCK!!”

Hands in the pockets of her white-flannel bathrobe, her usually vital rosy-red cheeks pallid, her long, uncombed hair mussed-up on one side, Ni cut a gloomy, forlorn figure as she trudged in. She sat on the edge of the big red leather couch and grabbed her ankles, assumed the foetal position and rocked to-and-fro, “James, it’s the dig in a month or so, and while I’m there I was wondering if you could set up a meeting with Oona? I promise -– it’s just a face-to-face, out-in-the-open conversation, no bodily contact. It’s important to establish trust.”

Rossington sprang to his feet again –- splashing brandy over his cuff -- this time he was too incensed to care, “What?! What are you talking about?” he said, his eyes boggling.

Here we go again. She was beginning to see why Peter, his ‘Flatmate’, was so jaded for one so young. “What’s the problem, James? I’ll be careful not to upset her or the project...?”

But Rossington wasn't concerned about a tryst, “What dig?!” he asked, dismayed.

“Our dig. The old bog. Laphen gave us permission,” she told him, confused, “Scanlon must've told you about it? It’s what brought me to Bogmire in the first place. I was looking for a site and bogs like the one on the Pagham estate are catnip to people like us -- it’s like an ancient, organic stew; a huge culture that has been left to moulder for thousands of years...”

“YEAH, yeah -- (Careful! – Temper! – Accent!) -- yes, yes, I don’t need a biology lecture! I know what a fucking bog is!” He thought about it then came around the desk and put a hand on her shoulder, “Listen, Niamh, can you get it called off?” he asked, as nicely as he could. 

“No! What? Why?” She pulled the hand from her shoulder, stood up and defiantly put her fists on her hips, “Listen buster, my uncle is suspicious enough as it is -- I’ve told him I’m doing some sort of ‘drugs-trial’ for you –- which is half-true -- but if I call off the dig he’ll suss that something’s up and he’ll call my bloody mother! And if that’s the case, you won’t have a mentor -- cos I’ll be on the next flight to Stockholm!”

He relented. The deep-set-eyes became pensive slits; he massaged his chin as he mulled and mumbled, “Scanlon didn’t mention it at the meeting, I wonder why...?” He paced one way –- frowned -- then paced back, “Bastard! He’s set me up again!” Then he smiled as a more agreeable notion occurred, “Maybe he doesn’t know about it...?” After much deliberation, he walked to the window, pulled back the curtain and stared out at the weeping willow in the little green at centre of the courtyard carpark. “What exactly do you do at these digs?”

Still slightly annoyed, she replied, “We won’t interfere with any naturally-occurring phenomena or wildlife. We use state-of-the-art equipment and we’re very careful to leave things as we found them...” Then the realisation struck her, “You’re worried about the bog, aren't you? The potion. Its bog water, isn't it?!”

“... apart from a few roots ‘n herbs, I suppose it is 90% ‘organic stew’, yes,” he admitted, slightly ashamed.

“And you’re worried we might spoil it?”

“An excavation could ruin the natural balance...” Rossington looked at her for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to let her into a secret. Finally, he locked the door to the office, went to the writing bureau, unlocked it and took out a buff A4 envelope. He removed the contents and spread them out on the desk, “These are photocopies of Roxborough’s diary. It’s written in a crude code and almost illegible, but I had an expert decipher it.” He pointed to a page with some rough drawings of a giant standing over a crowd of frightened peasants. “The locals believe the bog contains the remains of an ancient magus -- an ‘evil shaman’, ‘magician’, ‘sorcerer’ or whatever you want to call it -- whose body was interred there 5000 years ago. Legend has it that the peasants who executed him couldn't cremate the body, fearing that the smoke and ashes might pollute the air and kill them or their livestock; they couldn't bury him in a crypt or a mound because he’d be a highly desirable commodity for body snatchers and the tomb would have to be guarded day-and-night. So they consulted with other mystics who told them to weigh him down with a large rock and sink him in the deepest bog they could find. They supposedly put a spell on it to ‘contain his evil spirit’ and make it safe, but it’s reputation stuck, the legend endured. The local populace stayed clear and kept it a secret until 5000 years later when Roxborough visited Kildare and learned about it. It was his main reason for buying the land in the first place.” He showed her another entry, “He believed that the body’s presence in the bog created this miraculous ‘font of mystical power’, not realising that it contained a hallucinogen. He and his little coven drank it in their demonic rituals, completely unaware that they were totally off their heads. That’s where the coherent narrative ends. He consumed the stuff every day for almost 13 years. He must've been out of his mind by the time they hanged him.”

“So that stuff Scanlon said was true: Roxborough was a Satanist?” she asked, fascinated, looking through the pages.

“He saw the occult and its rituals as a legitimate branch of science. Trouble was, to raise hell he had to raise hell, and got up to all kinds of unsavoury mischief to gratify Old Nick’s thirst for depravity. It was a dreadful scandal. The family kept a lid on it. When the 9th Duke inherited the house he destroyed all trace of his father’s ‘evil work’ and the local dignitaries were only too happy to brush it under the carpet.”

Ni read as much as she could, “Shit -- he talks about having orgies with children?!”

“Hmm, it’s not light reading by-any-means. Suffice to say he was an ardent disciple of De Sade. There’s a signed copy of Justine in the library,”

She looked through the larger pages containing a dozen-or-so rudimentary pen & ink drawings of the wood and the wetlands. The last page featured a crude woodcut depicting a child emerging from the bog and sharing a loving embrace with a horned & hoofed devil. Behind them, standing on the bank, is a white-haired woman with her arms outstretched, as if bringing the two together. A shiver ran down her spine.

“But there’s another reason why I find it odd that Ollie should give you permission,” he said, as if still trying to work it out, “there could be other bodies.”

Ni stopped reading. “Other bodies?” she asked, a little shocked.

“There was once an orphanage on the estate that was destroyed by a fire in the 1920s. The locals believe the proprietors dumped the bodies of dead children in the bog. If it’s true, the discovery could cause a sensation and put the village’s privacy at risk.” He paused and thought about it, “Unless, for some reason, he wants them to be found...?”

Ni was quick to explain, “If we find anything untoward, then the site will be a crime scene and more than likely any forensics would be overseen by Uncle Paddy. He’ll be discreet, but he’ll have a lot of questions, ‘specially when children are involved.” She looked at him askance, “Which reminds me, why have you given me clearance to visit Barry McKee?”

Rossington sat down at his desk, cleared his throat and carefully considered his reply; eventually, he put his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers together and replied in an earnest voice, “I’m aware that your uncle and DS Somerville doubt my intentions as regards our Mr McKee, so to let you see that that I’ve nothing to hide -- that I’m trying to help him, not exploit him -- I’ve granted you 24 hour access to his room, and you will be privy to my manuscript before it’s dispatched for publication.”

“That’s pretty magnanimous of you,” she said, with a suspicious frown.

“I’ve nothing to fear, nothing to hide,” he said, without emotion.

After a sizeable pause, she shook her head, “James, I’ve only known you for a week and by the looks of things you’re an opportunist who exploits everybody you meet, and I can’t shake this horrible feeling that I’m just the latest in a long line of baffled patsies.”

He gave her a world-weary look, took a key from his pocket and set it on the desk, “Here, that opens the door to my private quarters. I’ll be away for the weekend, so you can make yourself at home. Have a bottle of wine, listen to some music, smoke a joint, watch videos, whatever you youngsters get up to nowadays...”

Paddy Gilray and Phil Somerville, both wearing sunglasses, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, shirts opened to the waist enjoying the Spring sunshine, were sitting in deckchairs either side of a beer-barrel table in Paddy’s back garden, sipping real ale and chewing the fat.

“How’s Ni getting on at SCICI?” Somerville asked.

“She’s losing weight. Pale and panda-eyed,” said Paddy, tutting. “She came home yesterday for a short visit to get some clothes and she nearly frightened the life out of me! Moody, too. Makes you wonder what they’re doing up there.” 

Somerville shook his head, “There’s nothing I can do, Paddy. After shootin' my mouth off about McKee last December, I’ve been warned to keep it shut ‘n keep away from the place or face disciplinary action.” He considered it for a moment, “I s’pose I could send Dermot Malone over there; he’s a right obnoxious wee bollox, he’ll rattle a few cages if nothing else?”

Paddy politely refused the offer, “No I don’t want anybody –- I mean it Phil -– nobody is to go near that place while she’s there or she’ll never trust us again.”

“What is it they’re giving her, anyway?”

Paddy lowered his voice and intimated, “Well according to a fellow who used to work for me -- he now heads SCICI’s toxicology department -- it’s just a mild hallucinogen, like magic mushrooms. It’s connected to some top secret research into anti-psychotic drugs, y’know the sort of thing.”

“So, what’re you gonna do, then? Phone Mairead and ask her advice?”

“Nah, she’s incommunicado, writing pot-boiler 435, or whatever. She left a number for emergencies, but I don’t know if this qualifies.” He took a sip and asked for some fatherly advice, “Is it just a teenage thing, Phil? Do you let them find their own way by learning from their mistakes? Guide them from a respectful distance? Intervene when you know for certain they’re headed for a fall...? I mean, how do you tackle it? ”

Ashen faced, staring into the middle-distance, Somerville groaned, “Oh jeez, Paddy, you’re describing the next 30 years of my life... and if my girls take after their mother, God help me...”

That weekend, in Rossington’s private quarters:

It was getting late, and aside from the snap, crackle & sizzle of burning logs and the metronomic tick-tock of the old grandmother clock, Rossington’s inner-sanctum was deathly-quiet. It was window-less and gloomy, but it wasn't in the least portentous. If what they say is true that rooms absorb the emotions and actions of its previous inhabitants to develop a particular ambience, then the scholars who studied here in years past must've been a very easy-going, sedentary lot. And like everything else in the old part of the institute, Rossington had decorated it with Victoriana: Creepy little dolls; a threadbare teddy bear with a missing eye; a framed poster for a late 19th Century hypnotist show, ‘Sandor the Mighty! Mystical Master of Men!’; and a huge mahogany fireplace laden with various antique bric-a-brac, dominated by an ornately framed oval mirror attached to the chimney breast. 

If I could sit in this room for rest of my life reading every book in that library and getting my meals by dumbwaiter, I’d be as happy as a pig in poo. Nothing to worry about. No one to entertain.

Ni had decided she wasn't in love anymore; at least, that what she was telling herself. Rossington’s description of their relationship (“You’re talking to yourself!”) had made everything, apart from their initial meeting, ring hollow. She couldn't trust her own mind anymore, nevermind her emotions. Oona was in total control of the situation: she couldn't read Oona’s thoughts, but her own psyche was an open book. She still 'sees’ her dream-lover on a daily basis, of course, only now she sees through the sexy, well-spoken, intelligent persona, to the silly, oversexed little girl using her subconscious as a playbox/props department. And like any child, she was demanding and self-centred, everything had to be on her terms at a time of her choosing. The worst of it was, there was no escape, that feeling of disassociation caused by the potion was her normality now; she couldn't do anything but sleep and doze, then sleep again, always at the Siren’s beck-and-call. It could come at any time, day or night. And every time Ni closed her eyes and tried to initiate a meeting to discuss their relationship, the Magritte door on the sundrenched beach remained firmly shut. Sometimes there’d be a sign hanging from the handle: Do Not Disturb.

How do I get out of this without hurting her?

She lay supine on the green, antique leather couch in her usual pose: unconsciously crossing her hands across her chest like a corpse, closing her eyes and projecting. She eventually dozed and walked down the bridge of clouds onto the beach: “Oona, we need to talk!” she shouted at the closed Magritte door.

Silence. The door remained shut.

“Oona!”

Silence.

“We need to talk!”

Suddenly, the door spoke: <Oi know what ‘ee’s been thinkin’! ‘Ee don’t want me anymore!> she screamed, in her ‘outdoor voice’ .

Ni instinctively covered her ears and yelled back, “Oona, if you can feel how I feel, then you should understand...”

<SHURRUP! >

Ni rocketed upwards through the summer clouds, through the atmosphere, through the stratosphere and into outer space, where she spun like a human frisbee in star-spangled darkness as Oona bitterly unloaded, <Oi know what ee’s gonna say before ‘ee says it, remember - so oi’ll answer the question ‘ee ‘aven’t asked yet: Arr, oi do luv ‘ee, I luv ‘ee wiv all moy heart! But ‘ee’s changed since that noight ‘ee came to Bogmoire w' Dr Jimmy. You’ve gone off me!>

“Oh, Oona, this has all landed in my lap and I’m finding it ultra-hard to adjust, I’m afraid of letting you down... “

<Liar – ur tryin’ to fink of ways to get rid of me!!>

“I’m not lying...!” she answered, unconvincingly.

<Ur brain says 'ee are!>

“You’re obviously being very selective in your approach, you’re seeing things out of context – everyone has their own inner voice debating life-changing decisions -- you’re only listening to one side of the argument!”

<Aaaaah! ‘Ee twist ‘n turn loike a slippery eel! Oi can’t take this...!> the voice dropped to a more reasonable pitch and growled: <Dr Jimmy is usin’ 'ee y’know. Oi know so much about all of ‘em – they’re up to all sorts! And if oi wanted to, oi could tell Craigy ‘n 'e’d ‘ave ‘em all arrested! Cos Dr Jimmy ‘n Scanlon reckon oi’m stoopid -- and now so do you! WELL – I hope youse’ll all be very ‘appy togevver!!>

“Oona...?”

She plummeted back to earth -- the bridge of clouds crumbled -- the sky darkened to grey -- a huge wave crashed on the beach and swept her out to sea -- she was sinking in a swirling whirlpool, then

silence. Darkness. She woke up.

She held her head in her hands, How the hell did I get into this? 

<... That’s the trouble when you can read minds -- you’re saddled with a lifetime of disappointment,> whispered that other voice in her head. <Think of all the millions of people she’d have to meet to find someone so utterly devoted to her, mind, body and Soul. She doesn’t want much, does she? Just perfect, unconditional love.>

Ni sat up: “Who is that...?”

No reply in any sense, and yet she had the strangest feeling there was someone in the room with her. She suddenly felt very clammy; at the same time the skin of her back tingled with wave upon wave of cold shivers... She sat up and looked around. Something caught her eye: The mirror above the fireplace was aglow, like the ethereal radiance of a TV screen that’s just been switched off in a darkened room. She got up and saw that it was slightly misty, there was condensation gathering on the glass.... and then, when she tried to write her name with her finger, she discovered that the mist was on the inside.

Curiouser and curiouser...

A sudden, peculiar thought struck her. She had an overwhelming urge to visit Barry McKee. So, putting on her dressing gown and slipping into her slippers, she made her way to the nurses’ station. She walked from the antiquated environs of the old block to the brightly lit sterility of the new wing. When she got there, she was met by a a particularly unwelcome sight.

Shit! Cromarty! Does he ever go home?!

The pudgy medico, feet up on the desk, briefly glanced up from his Hello! magazine and sighed, “James isn't back yet. He’s at a party at Mick Jagger’s house. Piss off. In fact, piss off, pack-up and go home. Bye.”

“He said I could see Barry McKee any time I liked, so, if you would,” she said, officiously, crossing her arms.

“At this time of night?!” he barked, grimacing, as if she’d asked him to jump off the roof.

“Yes. If it’s not too much trouble,” she said, calmly.

Maintaining eye-contact, the big galumph slapped the magazine down on the counter, wearily rolled his chair back and took a ledger from under the desk, “You have to sign in, that’s not a problem is it?” he said, sarcastically, in reference to their previous encounter. She signed on the line with a flourish and flashed him a wry smile, “You are such a treasure, Matthew. I’m sure your mother is very proud.”

“My mother died when I was 5. I was reared by my father who beat the livin’ shit outta me every day and gimme this as a memento,” he pointed to a small-but-deep scar on his upper-lip.

Well hush my mouth.

He led her along the corridor to the room, shuffling along in his trainers like an old lady. “I heard you met the wonderful Peter Sinclair?” the name was pronounced in an exaggerated, effeminate chime.

She had a pretty good idea why he was so jealous and wound him up, “Yes, we’ve met. He’s very nice, as a matter of fact. Very grounded person, considering what he has to put up with,” she opined in an upbeat tone, as they reached an outer door with an Authorised Personnel Only sign on it. Cromarty continued to bitch as he typed a code into a key pad on the wall, “His brother, Cillian, is a smack-head, you know. He lives in a pit of his own filth. And the two of them are from a well-to-do family of musicians ‘n actors -- that just goes to show ye how fucked up they are!! Peter’s not gettin' any younger and Cillian is always borrowing money. James’ll get tired of ‘em eventually and the ‘lovely Peter’ will end up back where he started – here, as a nurse,” he smiled, evilly, “and when he does scurry back w’ his tail between his legs, I’m gonna make his life a feckin’ misery.” He opened the door to McKee’s room, “You can tell him that from me.”

“Such heart-warming camaraderie amongst our male Florence Nightingales, so inspirational in this age of cynicism and... Oh!” She was abruptly silenced by the inglorious sight of SCICI’s Star Guest.

Barry McKee was laid out on a bed in the centre of a large, high-ceilinged, dimly lit room, his head slightly raised on a bolster so that his long black hair spread out across the white pillows like silver-streaked raven-wings; his face was gaunt and cadaverous, his head shaved into a tonsure and wired to three blipping monitors, his thin arm plumbed into a saline drip, a feeding tube inserted into his right nostril. Suspended from the ceiling above him was a rack equipped with six two-way-mirrors attached to cameras, all trained on that unshaven, expressionless face; his black, unblinking eyes open, as if gazing at his reflection in the mirror above him. She heard him slowly inhale and exhale, she saw the slow rise and fall of his chest, like a wild animal under heavy sedation. She’d once been on hand to witness a tiger having a tooth removed under anaesthetic, and it was just like this; no matter how sure she was of its unconscious state, she couldn't shake-off the fear that at any given moment it could burst into life and bite her head off.

“Pathetic, isn't he?” said Cromarty, curling a lip in distaste.

She shook her head, “Pathetic is in ill-used word. It means to engender sympathy. I don’t feel any sympathy for him. Not at all. Even so, is all this necessary?” she asked, looking around at the numerous mirrors and monitors.

“James’ orders,” Cromarty replied, “he wants every second of every day recorded. I don’t know why he needs all these mirrors, but he’s the boss. He must have his reasons.”

“Does he ever close his eyes?” she said, moving closer.

“He blinks every now and again but that’s it. Exciting, eh?” Cromarty made a show of checking the various dials, although it was obvious he hadn't a clue what any of them did.

“You can go, Matthew, I just want to sit with him for a while,” she said, getting impatient.

Cromarty cocked his head, curled a lip and defiantly crossed his arms, “Why? Wotcha gonna do, sing ‘im a lullaby?”

On the ‘by’ of the word lullaby, Ni saw Barry blink -- simultaneously, the lights flickered and two of the machines started bleeping and buzzing! Cromarty went into a tizzy, “what the feck have you done?!”

“Nothing -- nothing -- I haven’t moved...” she was about tell him about the blink, but decided not to. “It’s probably just a glitch in the grid, that’s all.” She went to the machines and hit the reset buttons. Cromarty was begrudgingly impressed. Then he looked down at McKee and said, “Well, I don’t know how you can stand to be alone with ‘im. Fucker gives me the creeps. To think what he did to them kids. Makes me sick...” he paused and added, “Y’know, they say he’s possessed by a demon.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Matron believes it. She won’t come in here without her crucifix or her rosary beads,” he said, as if there was no higher authority, “she says a prayer every time she has to touch ‘im.”

“Some experts diagnosed him with schizophrenia after the fact, they said he could've heard voices that led him to believe he was possessed, but that doesn’t mean...” She was too distracted by her escort’s utter disregard for human rights to finish the sentence. Cromarty was casually and repeatedly prodding Barry’s crotch with his index finger, “If he is actin’, he’s very good,” he edged-along the bed and flicked Barry’s nose, “see?”

Barry didn’t blink.

“Can I be alone with him please?!” she snarled, slapping the chubby hand away. “OW!” he yelped, scowling like a petulant child. She pointed at the door, “Out!”

“Cow,” he sniped, then flounced off, yelling over his shoulder, “I can’t wait til we start the auld shock treatment! Lookin’ forward to that, eh, Barry?! That’ll get things goin’, huh?!”

She waited until the door closed behind him, then brought a chair and set it beside the bed. It was the mirrors that interested her. Why would Rossington surround him with mirrors? And has it anything to do with the glowing mirror in the study...? She sat down, put her head as near to McKee’s without actually touching him, and looked up to see what he could see. The mirrors reflected his face from every possible angle; it was totally intrusive.

So, why should I care?

<Because you’re a decent human being and this is abuse,> said the androgynous, whispery-voice between her ears.

She flinched. “Oona... is that you...?” she whispered, looking up and around, as if she expected to see her ghost hovering over the bed.

<No. Oona is fast asleep. You see, that’s the thing with opening lines of communication, you never know who might tune into your channel. However, there’s no need to be alarmed, I come in peace.>

She wasn't alarmed, just scared to death! If this encounter was going to anything like the daydream she had the other day, it was sure to be highly unpleasant.

<It’s not me you need to be afraid of, Niamh. It’s her. And I can show you how to keep her out,> the voice reassured her, <I can close the door forever. All this madness will end... But first, I want to show you something, so I’m going to ask you to close your eyes. Will you do that for me? Close your eyes? Don’t worry, you won’t be in any danger...>

“Yes,OK...” she said, dreamily. And as soon as she did what the voice asked...

... she found herself in the woods, in the dead of night, in the dead of winter, under a colossal full moon. She knew where she was: in the woods at Laphen’s estate, still dressed for bed, she should’ve been freezing...

<You won’t feel the cold. You won’t feel anything. It’s a moonlit night, so you’ll be able to see where you’re going. Just keep walking forward until I tell you to stop.>

This was the most realistic dreamscape she’d ever experienced. No unearthly haze around the edge of the frame, no surreal incongruities like those that manifested in Oona’s fantasies, she felt as if she was actually there. 

And so, numb to the frigid, gnarly woodland-floor beneath her feet, she trudged through the trees, until she reached an open space and the shore of the water-logged bog. The frozen water sparkled in the moonlight, like a lake of frosted glass with occasional clumps of rime-stiffened reeds sprouting through the silvery surface.

<Keep walking. It’ll bear your weight.>

She stepped onto the ice and walked until the voice told her to stop.

<Now, have a good look around. Do you think you’ll remember this spot?>

Niamh turned around a few times and took in various landmarks – a branch shaped like jackdaw claws; a fallen tree trunk; a clump of spiky sphagnum-moss on a nearby rock that looked like a partially submerged hippo sporting a green Mohawk, and eventually said, “Yes, I’ve got my bearings.”

<Good.>

-- Suddenly, the ice cracked and she plunged into the icy, murky water –- it felt like unseen hands were hauling on the tails of her dressing gown -- pulling her down through the inky darkness of the water, through the slime underneath, through the layer of mud, until she penetrated the peat at the bottom!

<Don’t panic, it’ll soon be over...>

Everything was dark. Then, after a few moments of turning around, she discerned an unearthly glow up ahead. It illuminated what appeared to be a body: A bog mummy! The legends were half-right, at least... Then, as she got closer, she saw that it was in fact two mummies: a larger, older body holding a smaller body to its bosom; but the smaller body wasn't as decomposed –- the skeleton was creamy-white against the tanned hide of the other; the skull showed signs of acute trauma; whomever the child was, it had been bludgeoned to death...

Just as she was about to ask for an explanation, the voice announced, <You have company. Tell no one about this little dream, but remember it well...>

Within the blink of an eye she was back in the room, staring into those intense, unblinking, black eyes in the mirror.

“Good evening...” said a familiar voice from the back of the room, followed by the squeal of rubber-on-rubber as the door closed. She jumped up, “Oh, James! You gave me a start!” she gasped, still shaking from the weird experience.

“...or should I say good morning, it’s almost 2AM, after all,” said Rossington, throwing his overcoat over the back of a chair. As usual, he was dressed to kill in a black tuxedo and white bow-tie, a white scarf draped over his shoulders, his hair slicked back to give him that reptilian look he reserved for parties: like an old-school vampire. “Getting to know you, getting to know all about you...” he sang in a playful voice, as he danced out of the shadows and stood by the bed. “His eyes are very hypnotic, aren't they?” he said, stooping, looking at McKee’s face. “I spend hours just sitting here, staring into those bleary, expressionless eyes, wondering: what must he be thinking? Because as we all know, he can think. He thinks therefore, He Is.”

She sniffed, grimaced, and waved a hand in front of her face, “Pheeeeew, you’ve obviously been having a good time at His Majesty’s Request!”

“It was most convivial evening, thank you. Mick and I get on like a house on fire. I met him in LA back in the mid-seventies when he was still married to Bianca.” He turned to Ni and asked, “So, what brings you down here at this ungodly hour?”

“I dunno,” she replied, still a bit foggy, “I got a sudden impulse. I can’t describe it.” She was going to tell him about the mirror in the study, but thought better of it. 

He walked around to the other side of the bed, and asked, apropos of nothing, “Do you know what a Sensitive is, Niamh?”

“Do you mean in the [she made apostrophe-fingers] ‘psychic sense’? A person who receives messages from beyond the grave...?” she replied, unsure where this was going.

“Yes. There are folks who believe Barry was Sensitive, that he could speak to the dead, and the bodies of the children he killed were used in the execution of satanic rituals.” The booze had obviously loosened his tongue.

“I thought you’d banished all mention of demons as far as Barry is concerned?”

“Only because some of the staff is superstitious and frightened of him, and superstition and fear have no place when dealing with the mentally ill. No, I’m talking about legitimate scientific investigation into the ‘supernatural’. Barry had a penchant for magic, there’s a mountain of evidence that he indulged in, for the want of a better word, witchcraft.”

“Sounds a bit far-fetched if you ask me,” she scoffed.

“So was telepathy before we discovered Oona,” he said, with a wink and a smirk. “If I were to tell you I have witnessed ‘magic’ being performed, what would you think?” [See Book One Part 17]

“I’d say you were either duped or drunk.”

“Oh, I was pragmatic and sober, it was very unsettling,” he said, confidently, “there was no other explanation for what I saw. The strange thing was, it was shortly before Mr McKee’s capture and I believe he was involved in some capacity. I have evidence. Concrete evidence,” he touched Barry’s cheek, “I just need to know what it all means. That’s the reason I’m so interested in his survival; he’s the key to solving the mystery.”

She thought for a moment. Another notion occurred to her, “You want Oona to look into his mind, don’t you?” she said, confidently.

<Bingo.>

Looking as if he’d been rumbled, Rossington set aside the sangfroid in favour of a more humble approach, although in his current state, he couldn't help but make it sound sleazy, “Well... I thought you of all people would be interested to see into the psyche of a serial killer? I mean, we could give him the potion, Oona could read his mind, you could interpret and we might uncover all his dirty little secrets. It would be a sensation.”

She frowned and shook her head, “You know, if I didn’t know better I’d think you engineered my meeting with Oona just so that we could arrive at this moment.”

He scoffed and pretended to be surprised by the accusation, “The thought didn’t occur to me until I sat with him the other day...” he lied, “but think about it. It’s the perfect opportunity...”

She didn’t hear him, she was lost in a daze of conflicting emotions, “It’s as if I have no control of my life anymore... I just get swept along like driftwood...” she mumbled, in a voice comprised of  doubt, fear and incredulity.

<What does he care? You’re just a pawn.>

“What better way to unveil Oona’s talents to the world?!” Rossington broke into PT Barnum mode, raised his arms and announced, “We could make it a live event! We could televise it! We could ... umm, where are you going...?”

She was on her feet, headed for the door, “Home. The YWCA. A ditch. Anywhere but here....”

<You don’t have to explain just go!>

“Niamh, don’t go -- sleep on it –- then tomorrow we’ll sit down and talk-it-out, whaddya say...?” he pleaded, walking after her with outstretched arms.

<Don’t listen to him!>

She stopped at the door, squeezed her eyes shut, put her hands over her ears and screamed, “I’m not listening -- this is sick! He’s sick! You’re sick! The whole fucking thing is sick, sick, sick! I can’t believe I even considered getting involved!!”

<That’s it! Now walk out! >

“Niamh, listen to me! You’re still under the influence of the potion -- you can’t go back to your uncle like this!!”

<Tell him to go to hell.>

“Go to hell, James. I’m going home!”

Paddy kissed her brow on the doorstep, gave her a big hug and dried her tears. Then they went to the kitchen and he made her a big mug of Horlicks and grilled a few muffins.

“It feels so good to be home,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

He saw the sorrow in her glazed eyes and told her she didn’t need to tell him anything. She nibbled, sipped and white-lied that the drug test ultimately didn’t agree with her, “After a while it’s s bit like being on a merry-go-round too long; you start feeling queasy and you just wanna get off. Speaking of which, I’ll probably be pretty ill over the next few days, but it’s just my system flushing. Take no notice." She quickly changed the subject, “What about that decapitated body they found on the beach?”

He informed her that (what was now known as) the Case of the Headless Body Builder had been solved, “They found the head in a microwave oven in the kitchen of a flat near the beach. The gard that discovered it passed out on the floor. It had been stuffed in sideways and cooked on full power for almost an hour. You should’ve seen the state of it. Lover’s tiff, in the end. They were both using steroids, which would explain the ferocity of the attack. You wouldn't think gay men would be capable of such barbarity.”

Following a considerable pause, she said, dolefully, “After this year’s dig, I’m going to stay with mum in Sweden.”

Paddy recoiled theatrically, blinked twice and raised his gingery-eyebrows, “Sweden? In the summer? With my sister? Your mother? Things must be bad!”

“Understatement of the century, Patrick.” She held her mug in both hands put her elbows on the table, looked over the rim and intimated in a low voice, “I’m gonna tell you something and I want you to hear me out before you express an opinion, OK? This is serious. I’m serious.”

Intrigued, Paddy put down his mug, “Sounds ominous, Twink, but I can’t promise anything until I hear what it is.”

“I think there are bog mummies in the bog on Laphen’s estate. I know exactly where they are. One of them is a child. It’s skull shows signs of acute trauma. The other is much, much older, but here’s the thing: the older one is holding the smaller, younger mummy in its arms.”

Paddy as dumbfounded, “Did you say you’ve seen these bodies?!”

She couldn't tell him that she was involved in psychic research and she suspected Barry McKee had showed her via mirrors; anyway, he’d never believe her. So she put down her mug, put her hands over her eyes and said, “I’m not gonna bullshit you, Paddy, that’s as much as I can tell you without sounding like a crank.”

Paddy frowned, “Ni, I’ve told you before, if we ever find anything contentious on one of our jaunts, I’m obliged to inform the authorities.”  

“Well, Sergeant Marchant of the local garda station lives in the village and seems sound enough – can’t you contact him and work things out?” she asked, almost begging, “a full-sized investigation would bring Bogmire to the attention of the world, and I’d like to avoid that. Couldn't you supervise the excavation under the auspices of an archaeological dig, remove the bodies for study and leave the village out of it?”

He recoiled, “Jesus, you’re not asking for much are you?! I mean, how did you find out about it? Did someone tell you?”

She looked into her cup, “Like I said, I can’t say. I just know, and I want you to dig deeper than usual to prove it.”

He was still very doubtful, “But if we don’t find anything, we’ll have disturbed the integrity of the site for nothing. It goes against everything we stand for.”

“You know I wouldn't do anything to jeopardise the dig unless it was important. Can’t you say you’ve had a tip-off or something?” She tilted her head and batted her eyelids, “Try, pleeeease...?”

He sat back and folded his arms, “Has this got anything to do with that woman? The Bride?”

There was a moment’s hesitation then she said “In a way, yes.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a while. Then he said, “I had a long term relationship with a young lady when I was in my 20s and we almost made it to the altar but for the reappearance of one of her lovers at the 11th hour. She took off and left me without as much as a second thought because she wanted to chase a dream she once had, and you know, this fellow was a crass, low life up-to-his-neck in all sorts of wickedness with a mouth like a docker. But she loved him and there was nothing I could do. Nothing. I never talk about it, but it hit me at my very core. Did you know?”

“Mum told me,” Ni admitted, “it was one of her friends. ‘Dictionary definition of a flibbertigibbet’, she said.”

He nodded, “As I cancelled the catering and the honeymoon, I vowed – never again! And I’ve been as good as my word. But it’s been easy for me. I’m a very busy man, and fortunately or unfortunately, I’ve no time for anyone now, no matter how lonely I get.” He put a hand on her arm, “I just don’t want you to end up the same way.”

She got up and kissed his cheek, “Oh bless you Paddy, but I’m not lovelorn. If anything I’m in the process of trying to escape.”

He clucked his tongue and gave in, “OK, I promise you I will do all in power etc, etc. But you haven’t taken Emil into consideration, have you?”

She slumped and let her forehead land with a bump on the tabletop, “Gawd, Emil. I forgot about him...!”

“That makes a change! You’re usually counting the days!”

“Please, I can barely remember my name at the minute.”

“Well, he’ll be arriving soon -– you’d better have a good explanation or he’ll go 'apeshit’!”

Earlier that night, at Pagham House: Scanlon heard another scream and took to his heels, “Bloody woman!” he growled to himself. It came from the other end of the house, but there was no mistaking Mrs Sparkes’ trademark screech: manly but shrill. As he ran across the lobby toward the kitchens, Laphen’s current guest, a Saudi prince, hailed him from the balcony, “Scanlon – what is that screaming?! Are we under attack?! I never heard such a terrible noise!”

Scanlon stopped and bowed before answering, “My apologies, Your Highness -– it’s just the housekeeper, she’s probably seen a mouse.”

The Arab put his hands on his hips, “You know, Scanlon, we came here as Mr Laphen’s guests because the last time we stayed in Dublin our hotel room was ransacked and my wife’s jewellery was stolen,” he said, pointing in the general direction of  their rooms, “she was very, very upset, so Mr Laphen offered me his house for any future business I might have! He assured me that it was the safest house in Ireland!”

Scanlon tried to reassure him, “Everything is in hand, Your Highness, please go back to bed...”

But the prince hadn't finished and took the opportunity to complain about some other things that were bothering him, “These servants you employ are very uncouth –- they smell as if they need a good wash -– and they are serving our food?!” They heard another scream. “Now screams in the middle of the night! My wife is praying for her life with tears in her eyes! I am not happy.”

Scanlon tried to smile and sound confident, “I can assure you Your Highness that Mr Laphen is quite correct in his assertion that is the securest place in Ireland, staffed by local people who are diligent and above suspicion...” They heard a particularly bloodcurdling scream. “I’m very sorry Your Highness, but I need to see to this, she must be in some distress.”

The prince waved him away, “Go! But report back to me!”

“Yes Your Highness!” Scanlon walked off, scowling, muttering   fuckin’ towel-headed twat under his breath. He went to the kitchens: she wasn't there. He checked the rooms in the south wing, no sign. Then another screech -- “The study!” -- he ran back upstairs and found her on all-fours under the boss’ desk, cowering like a frightened child.

He approached the desk, stooped and peered in, “What the hell is the matter with you, woman?!” he cried.

“In the mirror - in the mirror!! E’s in the mirror! E’S IN THE MIRROR!”

Scanlon turned around, “Which mirror?!”

“The tall one! The one ‘is nibs got brought up frum the basement!!” she replied, pointing at the back of the room, “that one!”

“The cheval?” He walked over and stood before it, “There’s nothing there but my reflection and your ugly mug peeking out from under the desk!”

The old woman crept out and saw for herself, “’You mean, 'e’s gone...?”

“There was never anybody there!” Scanlon lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag, “You need to pull yourself together woman! The Prince is very upset!”

She got up, stood behind him and peeked at the mirror, “It were a wee laddie, tha’s all oi can tell ‘ee, cos his face wuz all burned black wiv these starin’ red oys -- starin’ rioght into my very Soul, they wuz! Oh sweet Jeezus, it musta been one the orphans ‘oo doied in the foire – oi’m sure of it!”

He pointed to the huge clown’s head (originally acquired from the entrance to a fairground attraction) on the wall behind the desk, “It’s probably been the reflection of that you saw! And look, the mirror’s steamed up -– that’s why it looked distorted!” He took the dust cloth from her apron and rubbed the glass. “That’s funny... The condensation seems to be on the inside...?”

“Tis is an evil sign, this is!!” she cried, getting evermore upset, “Tis the children comin’ back to take revenge!!”

In one swift movement, Scanlon turned and slapped her hard across the face.

She looked away, bowed her head and thanked him for it.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, “Now pull yourself together, you stupid auld bitch! This has got nothing to do with anything other than idiotic superstition! Concentrate on you duties! The Arab is complaining about the state of the maids. He says they stink!”

“Oi’ll attend to it first thing in the mornin’ sur.”

“Aye, see that you do.” Scanlon took a drag and blew the smoke in her face, “And tell that fuckin’ niece of yours I’m watchin' her. Just because that bastard Rossington is back on the scene doesn’t mean that she isn't likely to do something stupid.”

Mrs Sparkes didn’t answer, it wasn't her place.

Scanlon flicked his ash on the floor and pointed to her temple, “If you want to know why you’re seeing burned-up little boys in the mirror, it’s because she puts the notion in your head.”

Again, Mrs Sparkes said nothing and clenched her face tight so that he couldn't tell if she was crying, smiling or scowling.

“Pathetic,” he sneered. “Me da was right about you bastards; you’re up to all sorts of devilment. Sure – even the feckin animals and birds steer clear of this place!”

“Can oi go, sur?”

Scanlon waved her away, “Piss off. And tell those maids if they don’t come in smelling of roses, I will have them hosed-down in front of the house tomorrow morning to prove to that puffed-up camel-jockey that I’m a man of my word...”

That Wednesday’s Gourmet-Night: It was Paddy’s turn to cook, and as always, he made his own speciality: seafood and lager. He was at the sink in a butcher’s apron washing shells whilst Somerville and Ni sat at the table and talked. It was obvious they were relieved to have her home, but despite her assurances to the contrary, they weren’t convinced that Rossington had her best interests at heart. When Somerville pressed for details, she told him she’d signed a comprehensive NDA. She quickly changed the subject and teased Paddy, “You and your bloody oysters – it’s only an excuse to drink beer!”

“It was all that sea-air I inhaled during the Headless Body-Builder case, it got me juices flowing,” Paddy joked, mordantly.

“Well-done-to-us, another case closed!” said Somerville, raising his glass.

“Well, the head was well done. The torso - although well tenderised - was a tad on the rare side,” said Paddy, sardonically.

They both laughed. Niamh didn’t find it at all funny, “Do I have to remind you that you’re talking about somebody’s son, you ghouls!”

“Gallows humour, darling, it’s the only thing that keeps us lawmen sane!” said Paddy, tittering.

She turned to their guest, “Uncle Phil, about this week’s baby-sitting gig... well, listen, I know I promised...”

Perfectly aware of the impending rejection and intent on derailing it, Somerville put a hand on hers and interjected by expressing his heartfelt gratitude, “Oh, ye’re a lifesaver Twink – it’s just for a couple of hours while we put in an appearance at Pat’s friend’s birthday party. Won’t be late. She’s due any day now and this will be last time e ask before the birth...?”

She made a sour face and shook her head, “You’re an utter cad, Somerville.”

He batted his moth-wing eyelashes, “You know how much Cate and Cathy love Princess Twinkle...?”

She rapped the table with the handle of her knife and announced to the room, “That’s another thing: I think it’s about time to stop calling me Princess Twinkle or Twinkle, or Twink or – in Emil’s case – Li’l Twinkie. It’s a bit twee for someone who’s about to be 20, isn't it? I know I demanded that everyone call me by that name when I was 3, skipping about the place with a pair of wings clipped to my back, waving a magic wand, but I think the joke’s played out now.”

The men looked at each other across the table, reached out and linked hands. Paddy mock-sobbed and bit his knuckle, “Our wee girl’s grown up, Phil. She’s a woman now.”

Big Phil rubbed his eyes as if wiping away a tear, “I always knew that one day it would happen, but you’re never ready for it when the day finally arrives.”

Paddy sighed, “If that is your wish, princess, so be it.”

The men chuckled and resumed eating. She made a face, sipped her beer and watched the candle flame flicker for a few seconds, then Somerville said, “Oh – before I forget,” he stood up, pulled his wallet from his back pocket and gave her a tenner, “That’s for winning the Rossington bet: he did indeed make various bizarre references, such as -- ‘those that doubt me’ and ‘unseen forces trying to undermine the value of my research’ -- I got the distinct impression he was hinting at something. Well done, Ni. When you’re a qualified Criminal Psychologist, I for one will be availing myself of your services.”

She was chuffed, but had other things, quite literally, on her mind, “Well, thanks... It’s sort of ironic now since I’ve got to know him...”

Paddy slurped an oyster from its shell and looked up over his nezzies, “And...?”

“... he’s a very complicated man – probably because he has so many plates spinning at the one time he can’t remember which one needs tending to next.” She looked at Somerville, “I will say this -- the work he’s doing is important, Uncle Phil. I wouldn’t’ve been involved otherwise.”

Big Phil drummed his fingers on the table and said, “A little birdie tells me you were on the guest list to see Barry McKee.”

Paddy grinned, “Here we go – ‘Big Phil Somerville and his ubiquitous little birdies’.”

Ni took another sip and looked from one to the other, “He said it’s so I could give the two of you an honest report on his progress.”

“And, what is your report? Is Barry lookin’ well?” said Somerville, mordantly, “Playing tennis? Skiing? I betcha he’s a whiz at back-gammon!”

A little irked by his offhand attitude, she answered tersely, “What is there to say? He just lies there, surrounded by mirrors, machines and monitors.”

Paddy tutted, “Ni, you’re bristling.”

She forced a smile, “Yes, I am. Sorry. That’s Rossington for you; you get this perverse loyalty to him because you sense his vulnerability.”

Somerville changed tack, “I was just going to say that he seems to have taken quite a shine to you.”

<Tell ‘im to fuck off ‘n’ moind ‘is biz-nass!>

Oh God, not you, not now! 

“Yeah... honestly it was very instructive, and despite rumours, he does know what he’s talking about a lot of the time.....”

<Arr, it’s me, oo’d you expect... Emil? I know you’re lookin’ forward to seein’ Ee-meeeel! Oo’s this big lout then? Oh – wait – oi seen ‘im on the TV noos - Craigy talks bout ‘im all the toime – ‘e just solved the case of the ‘eadless queer boy, innee?! Detective Somerville!> the voice between her ears snickered. <He’s anovver of ur fantasies, innee? Princess Twinkle!> 

“So, what about Thursday night -- are you drivin’ or do you want me to pick you up?” asked Somerville.

<Where are we goin’? This is excoiting, innit?>

“Erm...

Fuck off Oona! I warned you what would happen if you did this!! 

No, I��ll drive...”

<Goin’ babysittin’, are we? Great!! I luv kiddies, me!>

Shut up!!

Paddy sensed her unease, “Is everything all right, Ni...?”

She was confounded. She couldn't go to the Somervilles with Oona in her head, the prospects for disaster were too numerous to consider! “... Umm, I dunno, I still feel a bit yucky, Uncle Phil...”

Somerville stubbornly went on as if he hadn't heard her, “I’ll lay-on some popcorn and the girls have got a video of the Wizard of Oz -- that’ll keep ‘em quiet if you wanna study or somethin’...?”

<That sounds very noice. Oi’ll be lookin’ forward to that!>

Ni sighed and reluctantly gave in, “Of course, I’d love to...”

 To Be Continued Next Month in Swamp Witch

[seriouslyhooked]

Wedded Bliss and Asterisks (A Modern CS AU) Part 8/?

Emma Swan is an enemy of love who just happens to be an up and coming wedding dress designer. She’s convinced that a fairytale kind of romance is nowhere in her future but when she meets Killian Jones, whose magazine is covering the opening of her new boutique, things change. Suddenly Emma finds herself drawing up new plans for her life, ones that seem to all be leading towards her own form of wedded bliss. Rated M.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven. Also on FF Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! So I thought I was maybe going to go back to a once a week timetable for this fic, but this update kind of just wrote itself today. It follows another date for Emma and Killian and a bit more CS centric storytelling. It also teases the M rating which will likely be fully earned sometime in the next few chapters. I hope you all enjoy, and thank so you much for reading!

There was a time not very long ago when the thought of holding someone’s hand through the streets of New York City would have put Emma’s hair on edge. Aside from parents corralling their children safely through the busy city blocks and teenagers who didn’t know any better about the harsh realities of love, Emma saw those people who walked hand in hand out in public as ridiculous. This city was hectic, the streets bustling with people and everyone who walked in pairs like that always seemed to move just a little slower than the natural flow of movement dictated. Yet here she was, partaking in such a display herself and loving every second of it.

Emma was a big enough person to admit when she was wrong, and though she had no plans of being one of those people who practically mauled their significant others in a subway car or pulled them into a dark alley for something so not appropriate given the grime of the surroundings, she couldn’t help but revel in this tiny little act. Holding Killian’s hand as he led her to whatever thoughtful surprise he had in store was lovely, and Emma found herself smiling and taking more joy in the otherwise ordinary day because of it.

“Something on your mind, Swan?” Killian’s voice sounded just beside her ear and Emma shivered at the gravel in his tone before glancing back at him.

Killian totally knew what she was thinking or at least that her general merriment in this moment stemmed from him, but still he asked, and Emma wanted to reply but she got a little lost in those captivating eyes of his. They were filled with so much yearning and genuine interest, and Emma couldn’t help but be transported to last night at his apartment. They’d had dinner (which was admittedly fantastic) and a few glasses of wine, but what they’d both really wanted was to take things past the simple goodnight kisses they’d shared for days now.

Emma remembered the feel of Killian’s skin against hers, scorching her through to her core, and the way the hard lines of his body had been molded to hers so perfectly but he’d still held back, citing her earlier hesitations. He was a complete and utter gentleman, taking her home and kissing her goodbye at her door, and Emma was… frustrated. That same feeling of needing more still lingered now, but as his stare turned softer and his hopeful smile returned, Emma realized she could be patient a little longer. And in the meantime they had today, and whatever this date Killian had orchestrated to keep them occupied.

“Just trying to figure out where you’re taking me. When you asked me out for the day, I wasn’t exactly expecting Brooklyn.”

Emma’s smile grew when Killian laughed at her joke and she was tempted to say that she wasn’t expecting him either. Even with everything that had happened, and all the time they’d managed to share together this week, Emma was still taken aback by just how important he was becoming to her. After years of never really letting any man in, Killian was here, and he was beginning to feel like a permanent fixture. When good things happened or annoyances popped up at work or in other areas of her life, Emma wanted to share them not only with her friends but Killian too.

And that was easily the most powerful part of this thing they had going. Emma was attracted him, yes. She could honestly say she’d never felt a need for someone as strong as this before, but underneath the sex appeal was a person she admired and who she saw pieces of herself in. They might not share the same story, but there were similarities, and everywhere Emma looked there were more signs pointing her in Killian’s direction. It was early still, but by now there should be some sort of red flags if something was truly amiss and there weren’t any. He wasn’t perfect or without flaw and neither was she, but by all accounts they were turning out to be pretty perfect for each other.

“If I told you that, love, it would ruin the surprise.”

Emma appreciated Killian’s dedication to giving her moments like this even if part of her craved answers. At the end of the day adventures like this were fun and though she’d had a lot of fun in recent years thanks to her friends, it was really liberating to find that with someone else. Killian wasn’t just going through the motions with some sort of goal in mind. He wanted to share things with her and to give her opportunities to do things differently this time. Emma noticed that drive in him since she first admitted she was feeling out of her element. She didn’t date, at least not seriously, and when she did it was the typical dinner or drinks and then something casual. But this relationship was anything but.

Despite being further out of Manhattan than Emma was used to, she did recognize where she was and she actually anticipated where they were headed a little before arriving, but she was still excited by their destination. The Brooklyn Botanic Garden was one of the prettiest places in the city, and on a day like today, with the sun peaking out between sparse white clouds and the temperature mild enough to not be overbearing, it was a picturesque place to be.

“You know, as far as ways to start a Saturday go, this is pretty up there on my list of enjoyable thing.” Killian grinned at Emma’s words but he took her by surprise when he pulled her past the garden and to a bakery just across the way.

“I’m glad to hear that, Swan. But I think we might both enjoy it a little more with something to tide us over.”

Emma should have known he would never stop at ‘something’ and not only did the café have breakfast already waiting for them, but cocoa made just the way she wanted it. When Emma asked him about organizing all of this Killian played it off, saying that sometimes things just worked out, but in an off moment when he had to take a call about a last minute printing problem, Emma asked their waitress for the truth.

“Oh he definitely called us,” the young girl confessed easily. “He said the woman he was doing all of this for was ‘too important to let slip away’ and my boss totally ate that up. She’s been talking about it all morning actually. Also good call on the cocoa. Who knew cinnamon could taste that good?”

Emma let out a light laugh at that as the waitress moved away and she let it sink in that Killian had said something so revealing to a complete stranger. It was one thing for him to organize sweet things like this for her, but for him to do it thinking that it was a requirement for her staying interested – well that didn’t sit as well with Emma. She loved all of this, despite her original anxieties about feeling so much so soon, but it wasn’t necessary. What Emma wanted more than romantic gestures and well-planned dates was the man behind them, the one who was staring at her through the window now with a boyish smile and something far stronger than simple interest in his eyes.

Killian was only out there on the phone for another minute or so. He’d been gone for barely anytime at all, and Emma didn’t hold any resentment for him taking the call. He had a lot on his plate professionally, and he had the futures and successes of a lot of people in his hands. Emma could understand the pressure that came from that, and there was no doubt when Killian strolled back in seeking her out again that he would have rather been with her. Still he apologized as he moved into the booth beside her.

“Sorry about that, love. I swore I wouldn’t take a call, but they always manage to make it sound like the whole damn magazine will crumble if I don’t answer right then and there.”

Emma didn’t even respond to his apology with words. Instead she decided to show him how she felt, breaking yet another rule about public displays of affection as they sat there in their little corner still plenty visible to the rest of the place. The kiss took it to the line of decency and then tarried there a little, hungry in the back and forth between them, but when they came up for air, Emma wasn’t the least bit sorry. She had a hell of man with her right now, and if anyone had a problem with her kissing him senseless they could damn well deal with.

“Not that I would ever complain about a kiss from you, love…” Killian said, still blinking away some of that lust in his eyes as his hands remained on her, holding her close in their booth, “but what, might I ask, was the reason behind that one?”

“Just showing you how much I appreciate all of this, and that I’m not going anywhere. Not when I could be here with you.” Killian looked absolutely thrilled, and the joy on his face was infectious but a moment later it gave way to realization and the tiniest bit of frustration.

“Bloody hell! Someone told you what I said on the phone.” Emma grinned and pulled him in closer again so he was a whisper away from another kiss.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t change the way I feel.” Killian’s hand came to cup her cheek, his eyes tracing over her expression like he was trying to memorize this moment just like she was.

“Good. And I intend to show you why you never should.” Killian followed up that beautiful promise with another kiss, and though it was over too soon, Emma knew that everything to come was simply on hold.

They set back off to the botanical garden when breakfast was finished and when they got there, Emma took a little pleasure in a surprise of her own for Killian. What he didn’t realize was that while this was an incredibly thoughtful date that would be filled with people watching, gorgeous springtime blossoms, and quiet corners in a city filled with noise, this wasn’t a new spot for Emma. She was actually a member here, and made her way to the garden a lot especially during the warmer months. She was here so much actually, that the woman at the ticket counter named Ella recognized her and greeted her accordingly.

“Oh Emma! I was wondering if you’d come by this weekend.”

Since early on in Emma’s coming to visit here she and Ella had developed a nice, friendly relationship. Every time she came Ella asked her about her designs, and Emma replied with inquiries of her own about Ella’s family or the night classes she was taking. It wasn’t a friendship per se, but a kinship and a shared appreciation of lazy weekends and pretty flowers.

“Hey, Ella. I didn’t know I would be,” Emma looked to Killian who was struck speechless and she grinned at Ella. “But I’m glad to be here.”

“How could you not be?” Ella asked and Emma heard Killian clear his throat and run a hand through his hair. She was so tempted to watch him get a little flustered, but Emma focused instead on Ella after only brief introductions between her and Killian.

“How are things with you? How’s Alexandra?” Ella beamed at the mention of her daughter.

“She’s beautiful and wonderful and driving me crazy. You know the usual,” Ella said as she printed off the member passes for Emma and Killian for the day and handed them through the teller window. “She still has that sketch you did of her with the flower crown. She actually brought it to her show and tell at preschool, and told the whole class she was a fairy. So thanks for that.”

“No problem. Next time you bring her here I’ll draw her another,” Emma promised, meaning every word.

Alexandra was a very sweet kid with mild-manners and a big imagination. She was easy to please and no trouble at all to watch the couple of times Ella had asked for help. In fact, Alexandra was one of the first kids Emma really ever had contact with who made her see that maybe the whole ‘having it all’ and raising a family thing wouldn’t be so bad. She snuck another look to Killian, wondering what his thoughts on kids were only to shake the thought away. It was way too soon to be thinking that way, but Emma couldn’t help wondering what it might be like to see Killian with kids. She bet he would make a great Dad.

With the line growing behind them, Emma and Killian quickly said goodbye to Ella and headed into the garden. Now that they were here, Emma wanted to see if Killian had any particular plans. She didn’t want to step on any toes, or at least not any more than she had by already being a member here, and she awaited his thoughts on where they should start.

“So where do we go from here?” Emma asked.

“I feel I should be asking you that, love. It seems you have a vast knowledge of this place,” Killian said with a good-humored smile on his face. Emma relaxed and gave him her honest opinions.

“Well it kind of depends what you’re looking for. If you want exotic plants then there’s the pavilion. Or if you want to see the most people there’s the kids’ garden. They let the little one’s farm sometimes, and there’s always at least one toddler who falls in the mud and proceeds to wreak havoc on everything.” Killian laughed at Emma’s words, and she felt that happy sound gathering in her chest and filling her with more excitement of her own.

“As lovely as both those ideas sound, I had a slightly different idea in mind. The rose garden is rather remarkable, if memory serves, and just a little more private.” Killian offered that last part with the same smooth silkiness she had come to expect from him and it washed over Emma leaving her warmed through and a little off kilter. She leaned into him slightly before steadying herself enough to answer him.

“That’s my favorite place here,” Emma confessed and Killian beamed at that.

“Is it love?” He asked as they both started walking in that direction still hand in hand.

“Yeah. It’s only open part of the year, and most of the sketches I keep from my times out here stem from those roses.”

“I wish I’d had the foresight to ask you to bring your sketch pad. It’s a shame to miss you drawing.”

Emma knew Killian meant the words. Every time he saw her in action he was a man transfixed, and she was always curious as to why. Killian had a gift too after all. His words were his weapon while hers was her pencil, but both art forms took a lot of skill. Yet every time her designing was even so much as mentioned, the same look of awe came to Killian’s face, as if he couldn’t understand how she did it. He made it seem like dreaming up a dress was something magical instead of an ordinary pastime and career.

“What made you think to come here?” Emma asked, assuming he’d just stumbled upon it somewhere online or from one of his employees.

“I had a meeting in this neighborhood about a month ago and it finished early. I found myself with an hour to kill and I ended up here since it was an unseasonably warm afternoon.” Emma could see from the expression on his face that there was something more he wasn’t telling her.

“And…?” He looked to her then, searching for an indication to how she would react to whatever he was thinking.

“And the whole time I was here I thought about inviting a most intriguing woman I’d seen on the train to come back with me sometime. She was always sketching and I thought a place like this might be right for her, thus making it right for me too.”

A deep rush of happiness swam through Emma’s veins at the thought of Killian scoping this place out and thinking of her even all those weeks back. It was so like him, to see something amazing or beautiful or out of the common way and want to share it with her. She appreciated that so much, but she also found herself wishing he’d asked her back then. Lord knew she would have said yes, or would she have? Come to think of it, Emma didn’t know. Would she have been ready for him a month ago? Was she even ready for him and for all that he was offering now?

Yes! her gut said instinctively, and Emma smiled as the worry that should have come failed to manifest. She was comfortable with this, and she loved the idea that Killian had wanted a day like this for them. If she were more honest with herself back then, she would have likely been thinking along the same lines.

“And is it?” Emma asked. Killian took Emma’s hand in his and ran his thumb across her knuckles lightly.

“I’m beginning to find that every place is right when you’re there, Swan.”

Despite her internal struggle not to blush, Emma was pretty sure she turned a shade of pink at his words. They were just so much, and her whole body was sent into overdrive because of it. Everything she knew, everything her past had shown her about affairs of the heart never prepared her for a moment like this or a guy like Killian. Standing here, in the height of the late spring bloom in one of her favorite places in the world, she felt untouchable and yet so vulnerable. Nothing could hurt her, but the trust she was giving to Killian was so unlike her. It was completely natural and a show of epic bravery all at once, and Emma found herself giving way to it and letting herself just accept that things could really be this good.

A few steps later they entered the circle of roses, and everywhere one looked there were blooms in varying shades of pinks and reds. The bushes were all varying species, and each placard wove a tapestry of science and lore. There were long, drawn out names and then details about where each rose fit in the flower family and where they originally came from. Some were favored by distant royals, while others were wild and so a little less well kempt. They all had their own claims to splendor though, and as always, they sparked that need in Emma to move a pen across a page and try to capture something so effortlessly beautiful.

“So what do you think?” Emma asked when her eyes finally tore away from the sight before her, finding that Killian’s eyes were already on hers. The look in his eyes made her think that they’d never left her face the whole time.

“Stunning in every way.”  

Emma was ready at that point to say goodbye to all of this and drag him away from the fray of people, but Killian had other ideas and in the end they were for the best. The two of them spent the rest of the day meandering through this wooded section of the city and talking, finding out everything and nothing about each other at the same time. It was easy, often funny, and transformative, and any nerves that once plagued Emma about giving too much away too quickly were now all gone. For the magic of this place Emma had long thought of as hers was strong, and sided resolutely in favor of letting in love, no matter how scary that might be.

………………

“I still can’t believe you said that to Mrs. Hubbard,” Emma said hours later as they sat there together on her couch having just finished a movie Killian honestly hadn’t paid a lick of attention to. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t completely wrapped up in Emma the whole time, and now he could drop the pretense of thinking of anything but her.

“What was it about my comments that offended you so?” Killian asked.

“Um everything? Or nothing? I don’t know I still just can’t believe you said it,” Emma replied, shaking her head even as her fingers trailed along his chest, leaving zings of awareness in their wake. He felt like a livewire right now, having had Emma in his arms all evening, but he wouldn’t move from this spot for anything.

“I merely told the woman a little bit about our outing today. Was it meant to be a secret?” Killian was fully teasing her at this point and they both knew it, but damn if it wasn’t a brilliant high to have Emma bantering with him in this playful way.

“No but there’s a difference between saying we went and saw some flowers and then explored Brooklyn and telling her we – how did you say it again?” The question Emma offered was less for him and more for her to try and get his phrasing exactly correct, but Killian couldn’t keep quiet.

“You’re frustrated for something you can’t even recall at this point, love.” Killian’s purposeful humor seemed to spark the memory for Emma.

“Oh right I remember. You said we ‘made a map of bright spots in a normally cold and standoffish city.’” Killian smiled, appreciating that she remembered it.

“I meant every word I said to her.”

“I know, and I loved them. There’s a reason you’re a writer, but saying that to Mrs. Hubbard is like saying that to my friends. They hear my new, admittedly charming boyfriend saying romantic stuff like that and they jump fifty steps ahead. And you know who faces all those questions the next morning? Me.”

Killian heard everything Emma was saying, but his mind and his heart were caught on one particular part of her little tirade. She’d referred to him as her boyfriend, and though it wasn’t as permanent a title as he might like, it did hint to a few things he so desperately wanted: exclusivity and access to Emma that a casual date couldn’t ever procure. And hell if that wasn’t bloody fantastic in his book.

“What?” Emma asked, no doubt confused at the look on his face.

“You called me your boyfriend.” Killian watched as Emma thought back and then turned red, her eyes casting away from his thanks to her embarrassment.

“Yeah. I mean, we haven’t said anything, but I just assumed that’s where this is heading…” Emma’s words trailed off as Killian tilted her chin back up so her eyes would meet his.

“You assumed correctly love. That’s the next logical step, and I’d like the chance to take it and many more with you. Whenever you’re ready.”

Emma bit her lip at that, and Killian could see so many things swirling in her eyes. He would kill to have more insight into exactly what she was thinking, but he was also still too happy from the turn of the tides in his favor to push further. When Emma was willing to fully let him in, she would. All he had to do was wait, and he would wait every day for the rest of his days if that was what Emma wished, crazy as that sounded.

“I think this is a good start. For now.”

Her soft smile in that instant spoke to a more youthful innocence. It was the same one Emma shared with him sometimes when she truly couldn’t believe that things were turning out so brilliantly. It carried none of the cynicism or pain of past experience, and every day more of them were coming. Slowly they were washing away the pieces of whatever past mistakes had harmed her heart, and one day Killian hoped Emma would know that despite any scars or losses she may have faced, he was a sure thing. As long as he was wanted he would be here always for her.

Killian couldn’t be sure which one of them moved first, but in a second their lips had found each other’s and that same heat was back between them. There was this elevating feeling knowing for sure that they were in this together and on the same page, and the taste of Emma on his tongue was heaven-sent, designed to drive him mad and keep his already barely tamed need for her flaring back to life. She was all lush curves against him, and his hands roamed of their own volition, mapping out over the thin layer of her clothes the body he intended to know intimately very soon.

“It’s getting late, love, and much as I’d like to continue this…” At the moment Killian was going to pull back Emma’s fingers held on tighter to his shirt.

“Stay.”

Killian couldn’t rightly express how powerful it was to hear Emma ask for that. Lord knew there was nothing he’d like more than to be here with Emma, but her worried at his ability to walk the line anymore. Emma was a constant temptation, and he could see her own resistance to the terms they’d set diminishing. That only fueled him on more to be honest, watching the fire in her eyes that came when his hands were on her. He wanted everything with Emma, wanted to show her just how good things could be between them, but he needed it to be right. This needed to be handled correctly or he ran the risk of losing her, which simply wasn’t an option.

“I won’t try and have my way with you if you stay, I promise. Your reputation can remain just as spotless as before.” Emma’s mirthful words pulled Killian back from the fray of his battling thoughts and he grinned in the face of her sensuous smile.

“It’s not just you I worry about, Swan.” Her eyes widened at that but she played it cool, and God if that didn’t just make him want her more.

“If I promise to protect you from yourself will that help?” Killian smiled at the way she said it, as if it would be some monumental feat, and honestly in some ways it would.

“Perhaps…” Killian replied, but his breath caught slightly as Emma’s hand moved underneath his shirt, meeting his already sensitive skin. “Although it doesn’t seem you’re inclined to keep us in check, love.”

“I have a new idea. Call it a compromise: we can have something now, and save the main event for another time.”

The thought of such a scheme was tempting and immediately Killian’s mind raced through every way he could technically have Emma without fully claiming her body as his. He was already hard and not making any attempts to hide that from his Swan, but the tension in his muscles grew tighter the more he let his mind wander. There were a million places to start, and the end result would all be Emma’s pleasure, which was a tantalizing finish line as far as Killian was concerned.

“I like the way you think, love. But I have terms,” he said.

Emma smiled triumphantly, no doubt loving that she’d gotten what she wanted. Her smile shifted slightly to a look of wanting however when his hands moved up her thigh under the light yellow dress she was wearing. All day long she’d looked like sunlight in human form and he craved the chance to do this, and to sample even a fraction of the magnificence he knew Emma had to offer. He took her mouth again with his and right when she was starting to get too riled up he pulled away, moving down her jaw to her neck, and finding one spot in particular that sent a delicious shiver through her body.

“Name them,” Killian grinned against her neck and nipped lightly before responding.

“If at any point it’s too much, you tell me Emma. That part is non negotiable.” Emma nodded.

“I think I can handle it.” Killian reasoned that she could. If anything he was the one who was so far out of his bloody depths he could barely think straight.

“And our clothes stay on.” He felt her resistance immediately to that one and Killian took that moment to touch her through the gossamer thin layer separating his fingers from her sex. She jumped slightly and then practically purred at the caress. “I know it’s not ideal, love, but I promise to give you what you want. I’ll take the edge off as I know you need me to, but think of this as a precaution. Insurance that we won’t get carried away.”

“We could still get carried away with our clothes on. It just wouldn’t be as fun,” Emma said, knowing the effect her words would have on him. Killian growled out that she was a siren and playing with fire, and she licked her lips, daring him to say to hell with it and just take it all now.

“That’s my rule, Swan. Take it or leave it.” She looked liable to barter some more until his other hand grazed over her breast, hitting her sensitive peak at the same time his thumb circled her clit.

“Take it. Definitely take it,” she said, arching closer as his fingers dipped past the flimsy piece of cotton between them. “But I still say this would be a whole lot better naked.”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dreamed of such a moment, Emma. Truth be told it’s been on my mind rather a lot.” There was no escaping the confidence in Emma’s eyes and that sureness of her own sexiness only added to the rasp in his voice. “But the clothes have to stay on or our tactful negotiations go out the window. When I have you I want nothing between us and that means more than clothes. I want the article done, your worries erased, and every last doubt you have gone so that you know we’re really in this and that there will be no turning back.”

Emma considered his proposal for a moment and the depths of his promises for the future, making him stew in the prospect of her surpassing him. If she declined his terms and continued to push him for more, he would never deny her, there was no way that he could, but Killian pleaded with her silently to let him have this. He’d give her the release she wanted and that he was so desperate to grant her, but it had to be on his terms, in this way, or he’d fail at this element he’d promised not only to himself but to Emma as well.

“Deal,” she finally said, pulling him back down for another kiss as his fingers sought to give her that satisfaction she craved.

Emma was strung so tight, no doubt from the need that had sparked between them almost since the start, but Killian never expected her pleasure to be so easily given. She had never been more open to him then she was now, and he had never felt more accomplished in his life than when he heard her breathy moans and whispered pleas for more. When Emma shattered finally and gave way to her release, Killian felt a surge of pride. He’d done that for her, and he was going to see that look of ecstasy on her face every damn day the rest of his life more than once.

“Okay you were right. This is pretty good considering,” Emma said, coming back down from her high with a glow and a flush on her cheeks that made her impossibly more beautiful.

“Pretty good? We’ll see about that, Swan.”

He was just about to send her soaring for the second time with the right amount of attention at her neck, sex, and breasts when her hand moved to unbutton his jeans and he gritted his teeth. Just the simple anticipation of her hand on his cock had his whole body throbbing and when she slipped inside to grasp him he uttered her name a fair amount of curses. Then he caught Emma’s eyes and saw the way she loved having equal control over his desires as he had over hers.

“You didn’t think you’d be the only one having a some fun tonight did you?”

“I’d have despaired if I were.”

That was all the challenge that Emma seemed to need, and both of them were racing to the precipice together. It was invigorating, and honestly nothing had ever felt so right, but when they both came down again from their almost teenage-like foreplay, Killian heard the sweet sound of Emma’s laughter and knew this was actually perfection. Whatever was on her mind, whatever had caused that melodic, soul-reviving sound he was grateful for really and truly.

“Something amusing to you, love?” Emma nodded.

“It’s just that I spent most of the day feeling like a kid again and this kind of sums that up perfectly. I can’t remember the last time I stopped at second base, but here we are.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Emma beamed at him and kissed him once more before they both got themselves more in order for the evening. It was a bit of dance to get situated, but regardless of the fact that it was out of the ordinary, and despite the fact that his deep and constant need for Emma hadn’t really been sated, Killian couldn’t think of a happier turn of events. Holding Emma in his arms in her bed with the prospect of a night spent by her side was a gift pure and simple, even if he was still too wrapped in her to even think of sleeping.

“Killian?” Emma asked quietly sometime later.

“Yes, Emma?”

“I’m glad you stayed.”

“As am I, and not just because we have this moment right here.” Emma smiled and the haziness of impending sleep and lingering satisfaction that clung to her jade colored eyes soothed something in him. Killian immediately knew that he would never know real comfort again without having Emma beside him and happy as she was right now.

“Oh yeah?” she asked and Killian nodded.

“You were worried before about facing Mrs. Hubbard’s questions in the morning alone. Now you won’t have to.” Emma smiled warmly at that and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“No, I guess I won’t.”

With that the two of them both gave way to the quiet, and as expected it was a rather miraculous night. But Killian’s final thought as he followed Emma into a deep slumber hours later was that he wanted to be sure Emma never had to face any trials alone again. For his place was here with her, and it always, always would be.

Post-Note: So there we have it. In case any of you have missed it from this or any other story of mine you’ve read, I am a sucker for flowers. Love me some flowers always and this seemed like a good way to incorporate some. Also this bit of a slow burn has been killing me a little, but I am hoping the pay off will be that much sweeter in those big moments (like when the article is published) because of it. I want to thank you all so much for the support you’ve thrown my way. I’d love to hear what you thought of the chapter and where you think things are going next (though it’s probably obvious since all you have to do is follow the fluff). Thank you all so so much for reading and I hope you have a great rest of your day!