#once again I’m sympathetic to both of them cause Kent seems like out of it and then in just deep denial about the true state of his life

[daydreamerdrew]

back-up story to The Flash (1959) #312, as republished in Immortal Doctor Fate (1985) #3

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

Everyday Heroes

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Warnings: A few curse words, an explosion, implied injury, depressed reader, minor character death, grief, and a bit of pining

Word Count: 3,364

Author’s Note: This got out of hand and apparently I only know how to write hopeless pining. Do we agree that Marcus gives off Clark Kent vibes or am I alone in this?

Summary: The three times you discovered Marcus Moreno was a hero. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

When you’d left the house that morning, the heels you wore had seemed like a great idea. 

You were headed in for your first day at your new job and you wanted to make a good impression by wearing what you perceived to be your most professional outfit. You’d made it to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment with minimal difficulty, though you were certain to have blisters on your feet by the end of the day. Thankfully, your receptionist position meant that you would spend the majority of your day more or less chained to the front desk, answering phones, taking messages, scheduling appointments, and greeting visitors. 

You didn’t know much about Vil-Tech. You’d googled them before your first interview, of course- you weren’t a total idiot and you’d never dare show up unprepared, especially when you needed this job so badly- but your search had yielded only a few results. Most of what you’d found had been articles from the newspaper. The researchers at the lab had, apparently, recently had some success in clean energy technology. Protons, neutrons, particle accelerators, electromagnetic fields… You knew nothing about it, really, but it sounded impressive. And clean energy had to be good, right? When they’d hired you, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal that you knew next to nothing about the company itself. They were only looking for a receptionist, after all, not a scientist. If they’d wanted you to know exactly what was going on in the floors above you, you were sure that they would have let you know. 

With your coffee in hand, you made your way towards the Vil-Tech building. All in all, it seemed like the universe was on your side this morning. You’d woken up early enough to make yourself look decent. Your favorite barista had made your coffee just the way you liked it, and it even looked like you would be early for work. 

And then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. 

The upper half of your body was already moving forward, even as the heel of your shoe remained firmly wedged in the sidewalk crack. You felt the coffee sloshing around in the stainless steel travel mug in your hands, threatening to douse your crisp white blouse in the steaming beverage. You blindly threw your hand out in front of you, bracing yourself to hit the concrete and thinking to yourself that this was just one of those days when this might as well happen. 

But the harsh impact you’d prepared yourself for never came. 

It had taken you a moment to process that someone had caught you. Someone with impeccable reflexes, it seemed, as not only had they rescued you from taking a humiliating fall in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but they also managed to save your coffee without spilling a drop. To say that you were impressed by the feat was an understatement.

But when you looked up at your savior, you were damn near speechless. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his dark eyes finding yours from beneath his black-framed glasses. And, other than the approximately thirty-seven heart attacks you’d had in the span of 2.5 seconds only moments before, you found yourself nodding in confirmation. 

“I’m fine. I… Thank you,” You breathed out, a warm, tingly feeling spreading out from your chest and right down to your toes. Gods, he had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. He appeared to be somewhere in his mid-forties, and wore a leather jacket with his slacks and tie, a combination you’d never quite seen before, but decided suited him quite well. 

“Are you sure? You look a little dizzy,” He noted. His arm was still around your waist, and you were grateful for it, because you didn’t quite trust the integrity of your knees at the moment.

After a few moments, which had exceeded the socially acceptable amount of time to moon over a stranger while clutching their remarkably toned biceps for dear life by a long-shot, your brain finally seemed to catch up to the rest of you, and promptly flooded your thoughts with embarrassment. You released your death-grip on his arms immediately, trying to maintain your dignity as you yanked your heel from the concrete crevice in a distinctly unladylike manor. All the while, the handsome stranger remained right there, dutifully holding your coffee and trying his best to hide the amusement in his eyes with a polite smile. 

Taking a deep breath and smoothing out your outfit, you nodded at him once again. “I’m fine,” You said in what you hoped was your most composed voice. He promptly handed you your coffee, and you swore you felt electricity when his fingers brushed against yours. 

“Glad to hear it,” He remarked, “That would have been a nasty fall.” 

“Nice save, Clark,” You joked, attempting your most charming smile. Were you flirting? Could you even consider this flirting?

“Clark?” He repeated, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“You know, Clark Kent… with the glasses and... lightning-fast reflexes… saving me from an incredibly embarrassing moment?” You explained weakly. It wasn’t as if you’d never spoken to an attractive man before, but it seemed that the universe was decidedly not on your side this morning after all.

“Superman?” Another smile found its way to his face. He seemed flattered by your comment. “My daughter loves those comics.” At the mention of his daughter, your eyes quickly darted down to his left hand. There was no wedding ring there, but it was clear that there had been one there in the past. 

“Well, your daughter has excellent taste. And we could all use a few more heroes in our lives, right?” You sighed wistfully, before adding, “Thank you, by the way.” 

“It was no big deal,” He assured you. “I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in need.” 

You laughed quietly at the last part, finding the cheesiness of it adorable. You weren’t quite sure why you were still lingering on the street corner, except that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to walk away just yet. He seemed equally as reluctant to part from you, both of you grinning shyly at one another as you soaked in the meet-cute moment. Right up until his eyes fell to the ID badge clipped to your bag, that is. 

“Is that a Vil-Tech badge?”

There was a hint of disappointment in his tone that you couldn’t quite assign a cause for. It wasn’t the question you were expecting. You’d expected him to ask your name, or maybe offer you his, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head by now, so you humored him.

“Yep,” You confirmed. “It's my first day. I’m just a receptionist, though…” 

He nodded slowly, his eyebrows pinching together. He didn’t even try to hide his frown. What was it about Vil-Tech that seemed to bother him so much?

“I’m really sorry, but I’m running late for work,” He said finally, nodding in the direction you had just come from. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes staring into yours as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “Good luck on your first day, and… Look after yourself, okay? Vil-Tech might not be what you think it is.” 

And with that, he brushed past you, seemingly in quite a hurry as he disappeared into the crowd and left you standing there, disappointment sinking deep into your bones. 

You didn’t even get his name. 

***

You didn’t see him again for a month. 

Not that you often thought about him or his dreamy eyes and ridiculously charming smile or his strong arms around your waist. And definitely not that you sometimes idly wondered where he was and how his day was going while you were grocery shopping or stuck at the laundromat. 

Okay, maybe you did. 

Maybe you went to that same coffee shop every week day, hoping that you might bump into him again. 

And maybe you sometimes imagined those eyes staring into yours and arms around you in situations where you weren’t making a complete fool of yourself. 

You felt silly for being that girl. The one who falls hopelessly in love with strangers you pass on the streets, with anyone who thinks that anyone who so much as holds the door open for you could be your true love. You were a grown up, for goodness sake. You weren’t supposed to believe in that kind of thing anymore. 

But it was those ridiculous daydreams you found yourself caught up in when a team of Heroics stormed into Vil-Tech on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“I apologize, sir, but Dr. Pershing is out of the office today…” You sighed, listening to the supplier ramble on and on about the importance of Dr. Pershing returning his call. You had already scribbled the message down, along with his name and phone number. “Yes, I’ll be sure to give him the message.” It was difficult to hide the exasperation in your tone. 

“That’s what you said the last time,” The man snapped. “Pershing didn’t return my calls for a week. I don’t know why they can’t hire someone who knows how to take a message properly. God knows they’ve got the money for it.” 

You tapped the tip of your pen against the notepad on your desk, feeling a lump beginning to form in your throat. “I apologize, Mr. Wells. I’ll make sure that Dr. Pershing gets your message as soon as he returns.” 

“You’d better,” He grumbled, before the line went dead. 

You let out a slow breath, easing yourself back from the edge of tears. It had been like this all morning. The scientists in the building were off at a conference for the week, leaving you behind to copy down messages and field angry phone calls. 

Stan, the elderly security guard, if you could call him that, offered you a sympathetic smile from his post by the door. You returned it weakly.

Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something else. Brown eyes, charming smile, strong arms. You repeated it like a mantra. Electricity. The feeling of safety. That warm, fluttering feeling in your stomach, and a rush of calm. 

When you opened your eyes again, you found Stan staring slack-jawed as the Heroics sprinted into the building, announcing to you, Stan, and the maintenance staff that you all needed to clear the building immediately. They offered no explanation for their frantic demands, but when a guy in spandex and a cape tells you to go, you go. You were sure that, whatever it was, you’d be able to catch the reason for the strange event on the news later that evening. You’d watched them destroy city hall enough times from the comfort of your living room to be sure that you wanted out of this building as soon as possible. 

But, given that this was your first call-the-Heroics-level emergency, it seems that your idea of immediacy was a bit different from theirs. In the time that it had taken you to grab your jacket, shove your laptop in your purse, and sling the bag over your shoulder, you had already been tackled to the ground by some idiot in a tactical vest. 

You don’t remember much about the explosion. 

You’d later learn that Vil-Tech Labs dealt in more than just technological innovation. The research they’d been conducting while locked away in the uppermost floors of the building, all of that gibberish involving the off-site particle accelerator you’d read about, was both sinister and invaluable. Rather than letting the Heroics get their hands on their files to uncover their plans and stop them from being set in motion, they’d decided to set off an explosion in their own goddamn building. And thanks to that ‘idiot in a tactical vest’, you were one of the only survivors. 

But in the meantime, while you were lying on your back in the middle of the lobby feeling like you’d been hit by a train, you were clueless about the nefarious action of the company you’d spent the last month working for. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the pain in your head from where you’d smacked it against the tile flooring, and the weight of the fully grown man on top of you that was currently restricting your breathing. 

You must have hit your head even harder than you thought, because there was no way in hell the man who’d been starring in all of your daydreams for months was here, now, on top of you, with katanas strapped to his back. You refused to accept that as a reality. Would he even remember you? Why would he? Apparently, the man you’d developed a  stupid little crush on was a superhero. He probably helped people all of the time and you were just another-

“What the fuck?” You finally hissed, gasping for air. The air was smokey and it stung your eyes and nose when you inhaled. 

His breathing hitched slightly when you looked up at him, the look of fear clear on your face. “You okay?” He asked, still hovering above you as he pushed himself up on his elbows, careful to avoid the shattered glass that now seemed to cover every flat surface in sight. 

“I’m… reasonably certain I’m not dead,” You replied, an edge of panic in your voice, which was a bit shakier than you would have liked. “What’s happening? I don’t- I don’t understand- Where is Stan-” You coughed, your lungs burning. 

You idly wondered how long you had before the building started to collapse, its structural integrity surely compromised by the explosion. Of all the ways you could die, being buried alive was up there with the ones you dreaded the most. Your growing panic must have been obvious. 

“Hey, calm down,” He reassured you. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be just fine.” 

The room was still spinning when you felt yourself being scooped up into his arms, the edges of your vision growing more and more fuzzy with each breath you took. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Clark” You murmured. You swear you feel, rather than hear, a laugh rumble in his chest just before the world goes dark. Maybe he did remember you after all. 

***

It’s only a little more than a week later, long after you’ve woken up in the hospital and been discharged, that you find yourself sitting in the coffee shop down the street. It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re staring blankly into your vanilla latte. 

You aren’t sure why you’re up so early. The doctors had ordered you to take it easy, and it’s not like you had a job to go to anymore. You could have slept in, made your own coffee at home, and stayed curled up on your couch watching Netflix and hiding from the rest of the world like you had been for the past week. You felt horrible that you’d been associated with a place like Vil-Tech. You should have known that something was off about the place, but you’d never realized it, never bothered to look into anything when things seemed off. You felt so stupid for it now. Were you just as bad as the rest of them? Sure, all you’d done was answer phones for them, but…

Stan, your only friend at Vil-Tech, the kind man who had shared half of his sandwich at lunch with you more times than you could count and always had a smile for you when he greeted you in the mornings, had never made it out of the building. You supposed that you should consider yourself lucky that the Heroics had saved you, but the loss of your friend and the knowledge that Vil-Tech was certainly not what you thought it was, had shaken you. 

You’d felt different when you woke up this morning. Like, maybe, leaving your apartment and getting some fresh air wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Your favorite barista had smiled sympathetically when you walked through the doors. You must have looked as bad as you felt. Considering you hadn’t showered since you’d gotten home from the hospital, you were sure that you were quite a sight. 

“Good morning!” She greeted, mustering up her cheeriest demeanor for you. “The usual, right?”

You nodded, not quite making eye contact as you handed her your card to pay. She quickly waved you off. 

“It’s on the house today, hon. And I insist that you take this chocolate chip muffin. I’ll make you feel better.” 

Your heart ached at her kindness, the act almost forcing tears in your eyes once again. That was the thing that you realized over the past few days. The Heroics were great, but there were plenty of everyday heroes out there as well. Sometimes it was Ashely the Barista, who scribbles a smiley face and a compliment on your cup on the mornings that seem particularly rough. Sometimes it was Stan the Security Guard, who offers to teach you sudoku on your lunch breaks. And sometimes it was a stranger you passed on the street, who catches you when you fall. 

You sat down at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, your vanilla latte and chocolate chip muffin sat out in front of you, untouched for the moment. You didn’t usually sit down to have your coffee, but you had nowhere to be today, and you were finding that you appreciated not being alone for a while. 

You heard the bells above the door jingle, signaling that a new customer had entered the shop. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and a familiar leather jacket walking towards the barista to place his order. You listened closely as he gave his name for his order, though you’d heard it plenty of times on the news this week. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time in over a week.

Marcus Moreno, your own personal Superman. 

You hadn’t meant to stare, but it was undeniably strange to see the man who had saved you not once, but twice, doing something as mundane as making his morning coffee run. After he paid, he turned towards the groupings of tables and chairs, searching for a place to sit while he waited for his drink to be ready. When his eyes landed on you, you raised your hand in a small wave. You were nervous about how he’d react to seeing you here. You had no doubt that he recognized you this time.

You weren’t exactly sure what the protocol was for meeting a real-life superhero again after they had saved your life. Were you supposed to pretend not to know each other? Should you have paid for his coffee? Did you make a public declaration to name your first born child after him?

To your surprise, he simply smiled back at you with the most heart-stopping, breathtaking smile you’d ever seen in your life, and returned your wave. It was as simple as that, you thought. Marcus Moreno, the superhero with katanas at this back and a team of Heroics at his side, the closest thing to Superman you’d ever met, was impressive. But Marcus Moreno, the helpful man with a kind, beautiful smile and warm, friendly eyes, whose mere existence had never failed to cheer you up? He was magnificent. An everyday hero, indeed. 

He made this way through the crowd and over to your table, gesturing to the seat across from you as if to ask for your permission to sit down. You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth blossoming in your chest. The same way you’d felt when you saw him for the first time. The same feeling that you’d been dreaming about for months. 

Hope, you realized. 

“Hi,” He greeted. “I, uh, I never caught your name. I’m Marcus Moreno.” 

As you gave him your name, you decided that maybe you could start by just saying thank you. 

General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest

Marcus Moreno Taglist: @xjaywritesx​

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clois fic

Title: i’m broken and it’s beautiful (can someone just hold me, don’t fix me) Fandom: Smallville Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Lois Lane (mostly pre-relationship) Rating: G Word Count: 3063 Summary: A sad anniversary, a broken locket, and a talk that promises a brighter future.  A/N: for the poetry_fiction (DW) 2021 challenge; prompt: I'll be the things left behind for you, I'll be much kinder then. I'll kiss the drowning atmosphere all a summer's afternoon, and that's not all.

AO3 link 

The rooftop of the Talon was quiet and peaceful and yet the silence wasn’t at all comforting. It was still better than being alone inside her apartment, since Lois couldn’t bring herself to be around other people, which is why she had been actively avoiding her friends all day. Well, for the past two days really.

She didn’t actually like being alone, but she needed the space. The downside of making that decision was that she had to turn down dinner at the Kents, and as much as she regretted missing out on Mrs Kent’s cooking, she knew she wouldn’t be very good company.

Glancing down at her phone, she swallowed down the disappointment as she realized that the two people she hoped would call yet knew probably wouldn’t hadn’t. She shouldn’t be surprised; after all, it’s not like her dad or Lucy had acknowledged this day, but Lois’s stupid hopeful heart wouldn’t let her give up.

You’re a sad fool. Which wasn’t anything new and likely wouldn’t change. She finally pocketed her phone, accepting defeat, as her other hand fingered a broken locket, the metal chipped and the chain having snapped years ago. It had been her mother’s, and it was one of the few things she carried around wherever she went. While Lois didn’t have that many memories of her mom, she remembered her wearing the necklace all the time, pictures of her family kept inside, always close to her heart.

Lois herself had never worn it, but she also couldn’t let go either. Letting go was never her style. Then again, it felt like she was the one people let go of, as everyone else always left her behind, from her family to the men she dated. Staring out into the night sky, she wondered if she was just destined to be alone, her heart aching at the thought, feeling as cracked and chipped at the locket in her hands.

Yet, unlike the locket, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to be fixed, just accepted for who she was, broken parts included, but at this point, that seemed like a pipe dream. As if anyone wants to sign up for that.

A sudden noise shook her out of the path she was on, and she spun around, ready to snap at whoever dared to interrupt her solitude. Much to her shock, it was none other than Clark who had entered through the door leading to the rooftop, carrying a white plastic bag in his hands.

“Smallville,” she said, surprised evident in her tone and expression. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, making his way to her, and offered her the bag. “Mom felt bad that you missed dinner tonight and she sent me over here with some food.”

Feeling touched, Lois’s lips curved into a smile at the thought of Martha Kent’s generosity. The other woman had been nothing but kind to her, and more welcoming than she deserved. She and Jonathan both, and Lois felt an ache in her heart as she remembered him, still not completely over the pain of his sudden death.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted the bag, causing an unexpected spark ran through her spine, and she barely refrained from jerking her hand away at the feeling. Keeping her expression as neutral as she could manage, she moved her hand away, fingers clutching around the plastic straps.

“Thanks,” she said, hoping she didn’t reveal anything in her voice or facial expression. “Got stuck playing delivery boy then?”

“Something like that,” Clark replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We haven’t seen you around in a few days so I figured I would drop by to see what’s up.”

“Aww, Smallville, I didn’t know you would miss me that much,” Lois teased.

“I never said I missed you,” he protested. “Just making sure you were still in one piece. I’ve seen the trouble you can get into on your own.”

“And you were worried about me,” she said triumphantly. “No need to hide it. I’m touched, truly.”

He rolled his eyes, and she smirked, already feeling better.

“More like the house was quiet, and the fridge was full for once,” Clark countered.

“With you around?” she retorted. “I doubt it.”

“And Shelby might have missed you,” Clark continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “But he likes to chase his own tail, so there’s really no accounting for taste on his end.”

“Jealous your dog likes me better?” Lois asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll visit soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll be relieved,” Clark said, dryly, leaning against the railing.

“I know he’s not the only one,” she said, nudging him.

“Yes, I was terrified that you had found someone else to harass,” Clark remarked, glancing at her out of the side of his eye, his lips twitching into an easy grin, which she couldn’t help but return.

“Don’t worry, Smallville, I’ll never replace you,” she promised, realizing that she was only half joking. She couldn’t imagine her life without him anymore, and it was a pretty terrifying thought that she decided not to linger on.

“Well, now I can sleep at night,” he said, fortunately oblivious to her line of thinking.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she managed, as her fingers stroked the locket unconsciously.

Clark let out a chuckle, his eyes drawn to her hand, his gaze turning questioning.

“That’s nice,” he commented, gesturing to her locket.

She lifted it up and gave a half hearted smile. “Don’t lie, Smallville, I know it’s seen better days.”

He shrugged. “But clearly it means something, right? Which is more important than how it looks.”

Taken aback, she could only nod. Composing herself, she said, “Who knew you were so deep?”

“I have layers,” Clark replied easily. “Have to keep you on your toes after all.”

“Let’s not go too far,” she warned. “My toes are firmly planted on the ground.”

“Worth a shot,” he responded, with a cheeky smile. “So …” He gave her an expectant look, pointedly glancing at the necklace. “Is it a deep dark secret?”

She bit her lower lip. “Nothing that exciting. It was my mom’s.”

“Oh.” Clark’s expression immediately went sympathetic, almost apologetic. She could easily say she didn’t want to talk about it, and she had faith he would drop it, and they could immediately go back to making fun of each other, or he would even leave, but for some reason, she felt the need to share.

“She, um,” Lois looked down, “it’s actually the anniversary of her death today.”

Clark placed his hand on her arm, and Lois automatically leaned into it, comforted by the touch. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

She forced a smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“Pretty sure there isn’t an expiration date on grief,” Clark replied.

“Yeah,” she said, a touch of wistfulness in her tone. “Anyway, that’s why I missed dinner. I get kind of moody this time of year, and I didn’t want to bring you all down too. Just thought it’d be best to be alone.”

“I can leave if you want?” Clark offered.

She shook her head. “No, you can stay.”

He moved closer, dropping his hand, and Lois kind of hated herself for missing the touch almost immediately.

“Just because you think you should be alone doesn’t mean you have to be or even want to be, from what it sounds like,” Clark said. “You don’t have to protect us from you.” Offering a teasing smile, he added, “We can handle a little grumpy Lois. I have seen you in the morning before you’ve had your coffee after all.”

Suddenly feeling self conscious, she just shrugged. “I mean, it’s not been that long since …” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, the point is you are both going through your own stuff. Doesn’t seem fair to burden you with something that happened a long time ago. I’m not that selfish.”

Clark frowned. “Lois, I would call you a lot of things, but selfish isn’t one of them.” His face relaxed for a moment. “Well, when you’re not using up all the hot water anyway.”

She let out a small laugh, and watched as he grew serious once more.

“Look,” Clark said, taking a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I miss my dad. I’m always going to miss my dad, five months from now or even five years. I would hate it if I was told I can’t be sad about it, just because it’s not as recent as someone else’s loss. I’d never do that to you, and mom wouldn’t either.”

“He was a good man,” she said quietly.

“And I’m sure your mom was a good person too,” Clark replied sincerely.

Lois felt her throat tightened, grateful for Clark’s kindness, which she had witnessed first hand more times than she could count. He was a little weird sometimes, and could drive her crazy on any given day, but overall he was a good man too.

“She was,” she confirmed finally, unable to stop the tears from springing to her eyes. “I miss her.”

To her surprise, Clark didn’t say anything, just pulled her in his arms, and she felt herself sink into his embrace, the tears that she had been holding back falling down, finally letting her grief and disappointment go.

Clark didn’t judge her, just stroked her back, until she sniffed and slowly pulled away.

“Are you okay?” he wanted to know, and she nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Looks like you went from delivery boy to glorified tissue,” she said, gesturing to his shirt.

“Told you- I have layers,” he claimed, looking down at the wet spot. “And I have other shirts.”

“Yeah, do you buy those in bulk or something?” Lois asked, doing her best to pull herself together once more.

“No comment.” He raised an eyebrow. “There are a few flannel ones that have suspiciously gone missing though since you moved out. Know anything about that?”

“Nope,” she said, giving him her best innocent look, leaning over to lightly punch him in the arm. “Besides, finders keepers, losers weepers, Smallville.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Clark said, but he was smiling. “Did you want to stay out here?”

“Nah,” she decided. “I think I’m done now. I wouldn’t want you to get too cold.” She started heading toward the door, and Clark followed her.

“You’re all heart,” he remarked, as they headed inside, and back to her apartment. Once they were inside, she set the necklace down on a coffee table, and the food on top of the counter.

Turning back to Clark, she asked, “Do you have to head out?”

“If you want me to go, I can, but I can also stay,” Clark replied.

“I was just planning on watching a movie,” she said nonchalantly.

“Something with sharks or lots of blood and gore?” he questioned, amused.

“I’ll have you know I was watching Star Trek earlier,” she proclaimed, and then wrinkled her nose at the admission. He always got more information out of her than she was comfortable with.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you were a Trekkie,” Clark commented, raising an eyebrow.

“My mom was a fan” she admitted, taking a seat on the couch. “She liked the idea of there being life in outer space, and that there could be peace between humans and aliens.”

His expression turned unreadable, and she wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. “Oh yeah?” he said.

“Yeah, I never quite knew if she was serious or not,” Lois explained.

“What about the rest of your family?” Clark asked, taking a seat next to her.

“Who knows what Lucy thinks?” Lois sighed. “Don’t even ask the General about this stuff though. One mention of Area 51 or aliens and you can get that vein in his forehead to show up in five seconds flat.”

“What do you think?” Clark asked, and Lois wondered why he cared so much. His expression was serious, almost as if her answer meant something more, which was obviously ridiculous. He was probably just trying to distract her.

“Once upon a time, I would’ve said it’s nonsense,” Lois responded. “Now- who knows?” If he was going to be patient with her, she might’ve well give him a real answer instead of a sarcastic remark.

“Not afraid of being kidnapped in the middle of a corn field?” Clark joked. “Have your brain probed?”

“Nah,” Lois said dismissively. “Besides, humans can be pretty awful. Who says the aliens will be bad guys bent up on taking over Earth? Maybe they just might be looking for a home … somewhere to belong.”

Clark was silent long enough for Lois to look up, worry running through her veins, and his expression was filled with something, if she didn’t know better, was gratitude. It was a look she wouldn’t understand for years. As of right now, she dismissed the idea. After all, she hadn’t said anything for him to feel that way.

“Should I ask you if you’re okay?” Lois quizzed, and he seemed to find himself, and immediately shook his head, expression clearing.

“No, just thinking about how it turns out that I’m not the only one with layers,” Clark responded, with an easy smile.

“What can I say?” she offered. “I like to keep you guessing, Smallville.”

“I take it you haven’t shared those ideas with your dad,” Clark suggested.

Lois snorted. “Are you kidding me? I just mentioned the vein, didn’t it?”

“Have you heard from them-?” Clark trailed off when he saw the look on her face. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. She picked up the necklace once more, keeping her eyes focused on it. “I never do. I am used to it. I’m better off alone anyway.”

Clark’s hand covered her’s. “You’re not alone.”

“So you keep reminding me,” Lois said. “I’m starting to wonder if I should take it as a threat.”

“Take it any way you want,” Clark responded. “Still won’t stop it from being true.”

“Guess I can deal with that,” she allowed. “So you can stick around then.”

“I’m honored,” Clark said dryly. He pointed at her necklace. “Have you ever worn that?”

“No,” she said. “As you can, it’s kind of broken.”

“Can easily be fixed,” Clark pointed out.

“I’m pretty broken too,” she murmured, without thinking. “Can I be fixed?”

“I don’t think you need to be,” came Clark’s response, and that was when, much to her horror, she realized she said that out loud.

“Oh, please, like you wouldn't make a few changes,” Lois said, as dismissive as she could, hoping she kept her feeling off her face for once.

“Nah, I think I like you as you are,” Clark insisted.

“Even when I bully you and steal your shirts?” she challenged.

“Yeah, even then,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “Besides, I’m flattered. Clearly I have better fashion sense than you will admit.”

“Whatever, they’re just comfortable,” Lois said, infusing some haughtiness in her tone. “Don’t get a big head over it.”

“No promises,” Clark retorted. Softening his voice, he added, “We’re all a little broken, Lois. Doesn’t mean we need to be fixed.”

She cleared her throat. “Whatever, Smallville.” Leaning over she punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me.”

He let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Popping up from the sofa, she said, “Want to watch that movie now? I am suddenly in the mood to see something with lots of violence.”

He thankfully let her change the subject, even if the transition wasn’t her best work. “Sure.”

“I’ll get the popcorn!” she said, making her way to the kitchen, gathering some snacks and drinks for the two of them while the popcorn bag was in the microwave.

Plopping back down next to Clark, she grinned and he smiled back. He didn’t even complain when she popped in The Amityville Horror dvd that she had rented recently, the two of sitting in mostly a comfortable silence as the movie played.

At one point, she leaned close and told him softly, “Thanks, Clark.”

“Any time, Lois,” he replied kindly.

He stuck around for a second movie, but she fell asleep halfway through, only to wake up in the middle of the night to an empty apartment, a pillow under her head and covered by blanket. Clearly Clark had some of those caretaker instincts, and she really shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

She fell asleep again, with a smile on her face, feeling better than she had in awhile.

And two days later, she would walk into her apartment to see her broken locket on the table, suddenly fixed, still with its original chain, just shinier and no longer with cracks. The fact Clark would go through those efforts for her left her more than a little overwhelmed.

How he got in and out of her apartment that easily, she didn’t want to know, but she was grateful and didn’t ask.

And she’d wear it to see the Kents the following day.

“That’s a nice necklace,” Martha commented, as she passed. Clark’s smile seemed to widen upon seeing her with it, and she returned the smile, keeping her gaze on him.

“Thank you.”

He seemed to get the message.

And Lois realized when he said he wasn’t going anywhere, he meant it.

Which he would continue to prove in the years to come, even when she realized he could no longer fit in the friendship box she had put him in. Falling in love and letting him in completely wasn’t easy, but she’d find it was more than worth it.

Clark was there for her for her good days, as well as the bad ones, never forgetting that anniversary, or really any other ones. And when she would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling off, she could just roll over and snuggle closer to Clark, who was always ready with open arms and a heart that she would eventually accept was her’s and only her’s.

Maybe she was broken, maybe they both were a little broken really, but their broken pieces seem to fit together, and he did accept her for everything she was and wasn’t.

And it turned out she wasn’t meant to be alone after all.

[awhitehead17]

Congratulations You’re A Father

TimKon, Future, Time Travel, a kid comes from the future, Fluff, Angst, Getting Together, First Kiss.

Summary: Learning that he has a kid in the future isn't too bad, Tim can get his head around that fact. But learning that the kid is half him and half his best friend is pretty mind boggling, especially when they aren't even together.

Enjoy! :D 

“Congratulations Tim, you’re a father.”

“You being serious?”

“DNA matches 50%. He is your kid.”

Tim gapes at his older brother trying to comprehend what he’s just been told. The last couple hours have basically been a blur of peculiar events.

Tim and his brothers had been down in the cave, doing their weekly sparring competition, when suddenly a glowing purple portal appears at the edge of the cave grabbing their attention. Before they could do anything about the mysterious portal, a teenager stumbles through it and into the cave.

The portal disappears like it had never been there and the sudden teenager it left behind looks disoriented as he surveys his surroundings. Tim and his brothers had been frozen in confusion at the event, because how did a portal just appear in the Batcave without a single trace, and didn’t immediately react to the teenager.

This teenager was in normal clothes, had dark hair, he had a lean but yet muscular body however the most noticeable thing was how there was a large red patch growing on his t-shirt on his left side. The stranger, seeming unaware of his apparent injury, finally notices them and his gaze lingers. His expression becomes one of confusion when he looks in Tim’s direction.

“Dad?” He had called out and before any of them could yet react, the teenager abruptly collapses on the floor unconscious.

From there it had been a flurry of movements to get this kid patched up and medically seen to as best as they can and work out what he meant by ‘dad’. Alfred patched him up, claiming that it looked like a stab wound and how it needed stitches but wouldn’t cause any permanent damage, after a week or two of rest he’ll be fine.

Once working out that the kid was going to be alright, they kept him sedated and then moved onto working out what he meant by calling Tim ‘dad’. Jason made plenty of jokes about who Tim could have potentially had knocked up. Damian wasn’t interested, claiming he ‘couldn’t care less about there being another Drake in the world’. Dick had been the most sympathetic, he had joined in with one of Jason’s jokes before actually taking the matter at hand seriously, he had been the one who suggested they do a DNA test.

It came back positive.

“Looking at that kid’s age he’s about 16 or 17, meaning Tim you would have been three when you… convinced him. Which is really all kinds of wrong to think about. My guess is that he’s from the future, or another dimension, or like an alternate reality.”

That's where Tim’s thoughts were headed to as well. They happen to be the only options that make sense and the next question is, what one of those options was it? Tim glanced the teenager again and now could actually spot of his own features on the kid, his nose for one. His eye shape (despite them closed at the moment) and the colour of his hair.

However as Tim looks at him, there was something else that felt familiar about him but Tim couldn’t place what it was. He guesses that it’s the other parent's features coming through as well, but he has no idea who it was. It suddenly became an itch he couldn’t scratch and now Tim wants to know who the other parent was, who his future partner would be.

Then again did he want to know? If this teenager was really from the future, did Tim want to spoil that for himself?

He shakes his head, trying to clear those thoughts, time travel and everything linked to it was complicated.

Tim opens his mouth to ask a question but his phone ringing stops him from doing so. He leans over and grabs it from the computer desk, he answers it without looking at the Caller ID.

“Tim, buddy, you going to let me inside any time today? Last time I came through the window you yelled at me for a good 10 minutes and I don’t want a repeat of that.”

Instantly Tim smacks his forehead with his palm. “Shit, Kon, I am so sorry I completely forgot!” He turns away from the phone to where Alfred was already heading for the stairs. “Alfred could you-”

“I’m ahead of you Master Tim, I’ll let Master Conner in and send him down as I head for the kitchen to make us all some snacks.”

“Kon, Alfred will let you in. We’re down in the cave alright.” Tim tells him, he hangs up on his friend before he could get the chance to reply.

From next to him, Dick looks up, “Kon here?”

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose feeling a slight headache coming on, it’s been a hectic few hours. “Yeah, I’m supposed to be going to the farm with him for the weekend. He’s here to pick me up, I had completely forgotten considering everything that’s just happened. Shit.”

Dick blinks at him before shrugging, “You can still go, it may be better if you weren’t here until we can get this all sorted. It stops anything happening to the timeline.”

He considers it for a moment, “Yeah perhaps but…” Tim looks over at the sleeping figure, there was something inside of him making him reluctant to go. This was his kid, from the future or another dimension, but he was his. Did Tim want to pass this opportunity up? He wonders what he’s called, wonders when his birthday was, what about school or interests and hobbies? How similar is he to Tim?

“Tim.”

He sighs, knowing that Dick has a point. “Yeah I know. It’s just… y’know….”

His brother looks at him knowingly but doesn’t comment further. In that moment Kon finally makes his appearance from the stairs as he descends from them.

“I was stood outside for about twenty minutes dude, not cool. I thought you were playing a prank on me or simply testing my patience.” Kon says getting to the bottom of the stairs and starts to walk over.

As he does, he passes the med-bay and sees the sleeping teenager there. His best friend frowns and looks at them, “So when did the Bat adopt another kid? I didn’t know there was another one of you guys.”

Tim rolls his eyes while Dick snorts, “Just be glad he isn’t around to hear you say that.”

Kon simply grins at them when he stops beside Tim. “Is that why you forgot? What happened?”

“Yeah, sorry about forgetting,” Tim apologises to his best friend again. He looks at Kon before glancing at the teenager again, “a couple hours ago-”

He abruptly stops talking as it sinks in who the other parent could be. He flicks his gaze between his so-called kid and his best friend.

It was Kon.

The other parent was Kon.

He could see it now he’s made the connection. The kid’s got Kon’s jaw line from when he was younger, the same lips, cheek bones and his body type seemed to be similar to Kon’s when he first appeared as Superboy from Cadmus. It had to be Kon, surely. Was that why he felt familiar to Tim?

“Tim? You okay?”

Tim ignores Kon and looks at Dick who was watching him with concern, “Can you run the DNA test again but against Kon’s this time?”

Dick blinks at him, his gaze shifts to his friend before turning back to the computer, thankfully not asking questions. His best friend on the other hand didn’t hold back.

“My DNA? Tim what do you mean? Who you running my DNA against and why? What’s going on?”

Tim continues to ignore him as he watches Dick work. Minutes later his brother turns around to them, he looks up at Kon with a serious expression just as he had done to Tim earlier. “Well, congratulations Kon, you’re a father.”

Kon’s jaw drops in shock as he stares at the older man. “What? What do you mean?” He turns to Tim, his expression hardening as he lets out a fake laugh, “Yeah ha-ha, funny joke. Is this is what you’ve been planning? Because it sucks.”

“It’s not a joke Kon,” Tim tells him. “That teenager in the med-bay is potentially from the future or another dimension and he’s – he’s our kid."

Tim couldn’t believe it. Sure it’s fine that he has a kid, he’s thrilled even, because that means he starts his own family, but with Kon of all people? He couldn’t get over that. He’s been harbouring feelings for his best friend for a couple years now but he hasn’t done anything about it in fear of ruining the friendship between them because Kon couldn’t possibly return the feelings back.

But could he be wrong?

Kon stands silent between them, his face currently kaleidoscope of emotions as he digests the information suddenly thrusted at him.

Still sat on the chair Dick looks between them, “You guys obviously have a lot to talk about, this is certainly unexpected but perhaps it would be best if both of you weren’t here. We don’t want to risk any time line mishaps, or paradoxes happening when we can try and prevent them just for safety measures.”

Tim appreciates what Dick was trying to do, but there was a part of him that was still reluctant to go. It seems that Kon was now having the same issue. “But why? If this is our kid then surely we should get the opportunity to get to know him?”

Dick sighs and looks at them both with understanding and with his ever famous patience he tells them, “I understand why you both don’t want to go but think about it this way, you’ll have plenty of time in the future to be with him. It’ll be even better because you’ll get to see him grow. We’ll handle things here okay, you guys go and enjoy the farm. Tell Ma Kent I say hi!”

Tim and Kon both go quiet, they glance at one another before looking away again. In the end, Tim sighs defeated and starts to walk away, “Okay just at least let us know when he goes back, make sure he gets there safely. Come on Kon, there’s not a lot we can do here anyway, he’s sedated for the time being.”

After some hesitation his best friend follows him, but not without looking in the direction of the teenager first. Tim leads them up the stairs and to his room where a bag was already packed and ready to go. His original plan was to finish sparring with his brothers early so he could get ready for when Kon arrived, obviously that had gone out the window with the turn of unexpected events.

Tim changes out of his gym clothes and into his normal clothes. Once he was ready they head out to the back of the Manor where Kon proceeds to pick him up and together they head over to the farm.

The flight to the farm was awkward and tense as neither of them speak. Both of them lost in their own thoughts about occurred in the cave.

When they finally get to the farm they were greeted with a warm, freshly baked apple pie from Ma Kent. They both accepted the treat with a small gratitude but other than that kept quiet. Ma instantly picked up on the tension between them but thankfully didn’t comment, all she said was that the guest room was all prepared for Tim when he was ready to settle.

They eat in silence and once they were done Kon disappears, claiming he needed to do some chores he happened to forget before coming to pick Tim up. Tim knew the truth though, his friend was going for a long flight in hopes to clear his head, he didn’t blame him. While Conner was gone Tim sets himself up in the guest room, he settles in and gets some work done on his laptop he had brought with him.

When evening came around Kon still hadn’t returned. Tim ate dinner with the Kent’s, making small conversation between them before retreating for the night.

Later on Tim makes his way onto the top of the barn, he was watching the stars in the clear night sky as they dazzled brightly. The sky was always such a contrast in Kanas to Gotham, it was so clear and the air was always so fresh.

It’s about 15 minutes later when Kon appears again. He flies over to Tim on the barn and sits down beside him. They sit in silence for a good while, seeming to be unable to start up a conversation between them.

Kon’s the one to eventually start it, “So… we have a kid in the future.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool. Great even…”

Tim sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Look Kon, I get that it’s weird, it’s completely unexpected, but…”

But what? How was Tim supposed to continue this incredibly awkward and forced conversation between them?

“I like you.” Kon blurts out from nowhere. Tim snaps his gaze to his best friend, both unsure and hopeful at the same time. “I like you Tim, in a way that means more than a friend. Finding out that we have a kid was great. Obviously shocking but its great. I’ve always wanted a family, yeah I found brothers between you and Bart back in Young Justice and then of course the girls joined and we all became a family. But it means a lot more in a way I can’t describe.”

“I like you too.” Tim says without thinking. “I have done for a long time, but I was so scared of ever saying anything because I didn’t think the feelings would be returned. I didn’t want to risk our friendship.”

Kon huffs out a laugh, “We’re a pair of idiots aren’t we?”

Unable to stop himself, Tim grins, “Yeah…”

They go silent for a beat or two, still not moving or doing anything with one another. The tension and awkwardness was still there but not as prominent as before.

“I wonder how we got him.” Tim comments looking up at the sky. “Did we use a surrogate? Maybe cloned him? He’s got our DNA so we didn’t adopt. “

Then for a horrific moment Tim thinks back to the time he had countlessly tried to clone Kon when he died. His heart drops at the thought, was he successful in the end? What if that kid in the med-bay was a clone Tim created out of desperation for his best friend?

A hand cupping his face and turning back to face Kon startles him from his thoughts. Seeing the way Kon’s piercing blue eyes gleam in the night make him forget about that awful time that happened so many years ago.

“Does it matter? We have a kid Tim. One of which is half you and half me. Which brings up the question how did he get injured in the first place if he has Kryptonian genes but that's a worry we’ll have in the future. But for now think we need to actually get together before we start anything kid related at all don’t you think?”

He was grinning at Tim and Tim smiles back, placing his hand above Kon’s holding his face. He licks his lips, “That may be a good start.”

No more words were spoken as they both lean in close, pressing their lips together for the first time. As they kiss Tim feels all of the tension that had built up drain out of him, he wraps his arms around Kon in a loose embrace and smiles against the Kryptonian’s lips as he feels arms wrap around his waist, bringing them closer together.

Then like that all of the awkwardness and tension bleeds out from the air around them, leaving them comfortably in peace and for the seeable future. They’ll tackle everything together as they always have done in the past, in the current present and now in the future.

[loveandcigarillos]

FDT

T’Challa x Black!Reader (ft. Shuri, Agent Ross, and Okoye)

A/N: Inspired by @brianabreeze and @wakanda-4evr with their T’Challa imagines and cannons. 

Warnings: Like 6 curse words.

“I like white folks but I don’t like you…”

Shuri and Y/N silently bopped their heads to YG’s lyrics as they busied themselves with their separate projects.

A visitor was on the way to Wakanda and each of them had presentations to make to the latest world leader to enter the once isolated nation. Usually they’d be excited to discuss their respective departments but today was different.

“Fuck Donald Trump! Yeah, nigga, fuck Donald Trump!”

“This song is so profound. Such poignant lyrics.” Shuri remarked with a smile causing Y/N to let a out a few chuckles. Before she could respond with equal amounts of praise for the Californian’s diss track to the leader of the United States, her husband walked into the lab.

Instead of being dressed in his normal traditional attire, he held two ties in his hand, studying the options to decide which one he would pair against his deep blue suit and white button down.

“My love, which of these would you-. What is this?”

“This is poetry!” Shuri answered increasing the volume as Nipsey Hussle's verse began. “Don’t you like it, brother?”

“Shuri,” he started with a smile. While his sister’s antics were funny, the song was inappropriate for the occasion. “while your friend YG’s music is rather poetic, this is not the time for this particular song.”

“Pick the kente one, baby.” Y/N answered in between laughing at her younger sister. She gently pulled the piece of cloth from T’Challa’s hands and positioned it around his neck to begin the process of tying it for him.

He gave her a thank you in the form a forehead kiss and turned his attention to his sister.

“You don’t like Mr. Trump, eh?”

“No, and neither should you! He shouldn’t even be here. Do you see the things that he says on Twitter?”

“I am not familiar with the platform. You run my account, remember?”

Shuri declined to verbally answer his question, instead showing him a series of tweets that were fired off at ungodly hours of the morning about matters that a world leader normally would not entertain.

T’Challa gave the tweets a curious look, not sure what he should do with the information. “Maybe he is just passionate?”

“Or maybe he is an idiot.” Y/N spoke up after doing the final adjustments on his tie and slightly lifting her body on her toes to kiss his nose.

“Do not tell me you have objections as well, uthando. I can not have you upset during this. You are set to entertain his wife.”

“And I will do just that. I will do everything in my power to support you. Still, he’s an asshole.”

“Listen to the outsider.” Shuri sneered.

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes and turned to meet T’Challa’s confused expression. “This man is not good. Do you know how he feels about nations like the one we are standing in right now?”

“I think the expression is ‘shithole country’?” Agent Ross answered strolling into the lab. T’Challa had requested Everett’s attendance to act as an advisor for the day. T’Challa claimed that it was because Agent Ross is an American but Y/N knew better. The King needed a bridge between himself and the white man he’d be greeting in mere moments.

Ross greeted everyone in the room with the customary bow before handing T’Challa the tablet with the afternoon’s pertinent information.

“Shithole?”

“That’s not even the worse part. He says he grabs women by the pus-“

“What Shuri was going to say,” Y/N said loudly enough to stop Shuri’s sentence. “,is that Mr. Trump frequently says inappropriate things. Be careful.”

T’Challa’s eyes shifted between the three of his advisors,wondering how they had allowed him to put his beloved country in such a volatile situation. If he had been privy to this information even a day ago, he would not have allowed this man within Wakanda’s borders.

Before he could inquire further, Okoye cleared her throat to get the King’s attention.

“My King, your guest and his wife are here. He is touching things and my desire to impale him to the wall is growing more and more by the second. Please, join us.”

Y/N placed one more kiss against his lips though he was too distracted to return it. She firmly grasped his shoulder to turn and push him towards the laboratory’s exit, giving Agent Ross a non-verbal cue to make sure that her husband would be okay. Everett gave her a reassuring look before following T’Challa to the main foyer.

“Are you ready, little sister?” Y/N asked while collecting the materials that she would need to make her presentation on Wakanda’s innovative education system.

“As ready as I’ll be. But, if he gets out of hand…” Shuri said trailing off and lowering her voice. “I’ve created a remote catapulting system that will send him flying all the way back to the Oval Office.”

The day was relatively mild once the group split off into their own jobs. Y/N spent much of her time explaining how Wakandan pupils matriculate at the nation’s post secondary institution though Melania did not seem to be paying attention. In fact, the dead look in her eyes translated to more of a lack of understanding than lack of interest. Her only responses were her unrelated questions about the Queen’s jewelry or about the decor in one of the palace’s sitting areas.

“You are American, no?” Melania asked abruptly, cutting Y/N off in the middle of her sentence. Though she was internally ticked off by the interruption, the Queen remembered her promise to her husband.

“Yes. I’m originally from Georgia but spent the latter half of my adulthood as the head of the education department at Teachers College, Columbia University.”

“We are very similar!” The First Lady answered reaching to grab Y/N’s hand. A swift movement allowed the Queen to escape the unwanted contact causing Melania to awkwardly clasp her hands in front of her.

“You were the head of an education department?”

“No...but we both married very rich men to get to get to where we are.”

“I…,” Y/N trailed off deciding whether or not she wanted to gather the woman walking beside her. “...sure. Of course.”

Her answer was given through gritted teeth presenting themselves as a forced smile. Before she could go on, T’Challa rounded the corner ahead of President Trump and Agent Ross clenching his eyes shut and rubbing his temples in tight circles.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was met by a sympathetic yet amused look from his wife. She new exactly how he felt.

“Back so soon, handsome?”

“Ay, beautiful, the two hours, 37 minutes and 14 seconds I spent away from you were far too long.”

T’Challa placed an innocent kiss on Y/N’s lips, simultaneously whispering ‘help me’ against her mouth sending her into a fit of giggles.

From the outsider's perspective, it looked like the newlyweds were harmlessly flirting. President Trump, not wanting to be outdone, made an attempt to grab his own wife. Mimicking Y/N’s maneuver earlier, she quickly dodged his advance, preferring to examine her nails for the 100th time that day.

“Uh, hi lovebirds,” Agent Ross said gaining the attention of everyone in the vicinity. “Yeah, Shuri says that lunch is ready. Shall we?”

“Ah, yes, lunch. I had my staff prepare a fusion of Wakandan and American dishes. I hope that they are up to par, Mr. Trump.”

“President.”

“Yes...President.”

The group proceeded to walk idly down the long corridor to the formal dining room, making small talk as they inched closer to the large doors at the end of the hallway.

“Shuri has the system prepared whenever you’re ready, T. I have the remote. Just say when.”

“That won’t be necessary, Y/N.” He laughed, slyly removing the small remote from his wife’s hand and intertwining his fingers with hers. “Only lunch is left and this day will be done.”

“More than enough time for you to make it up to me, hm?”

The two of them wiggled their eyebrows at each other, sharing a loud laugh while rounding the corner to enter the spacious dining room.

T’Challa pulled his wife’s chair out before making his move to the head of the table. Noticing that the president had already sat down before doing the same for his own wife, T’Challa graciously pulled out her chair earning another amused look from Y/N. She would tease him about that later.

“So little girl,” Donald said directing his statement towards Shuri. “What’s your name?”

He spoke to her in slow measured sentences as if she were a child that had not yet grasped how to properly communicate.

“I am Princess Shuri. You may address me as such from this moment on. Thank you.”

Muffled coughs and amused laughs were scattered across the dining room. Trump opened his mouth to speak again but closed it, instead preferring to address Y/N for the first time that day.

“Y/N -“

“Queen Y/N” She corrected, stealing a glance at a smiling Shuri.

“Right, Queen. Are you planning to produce a son for the King? I’m not sure how you people do it here but, in my country, a son takes over for his old man when the time comes. You want that for your husband don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to speak but felt a hand grip her thigh, advising her to let her husband handle this one. T’Challa could handle the microaggressions but would not allow his wife to be disrespected.

“When the time is right, an heir will be born. It does not matter the gender of the child. They will inherit the throne barring some unforeseen circumstance.”

“I see.” Trump answered. It was evident that he had more to say but decided to turn his attention Agent Ross instead. “What department do you oversee here? Must be big considering you left the greatest country in the world to come here.”

“Well, actually, I don’t -“

“He runs nothing in this country. Why do you assume that?” Y/N piped up. The entree had not even been brought out and the meal was already spiraling out of control.

“He’s an American. He came over here to help you people. That’s what we do.”

“You people, eh?” Shuri inquired. “Tell me, Donald, what kind of people are we?”

“This is adult business, princess.” He said, laughing. “Kids, I tell ya.”

Everyone one in the room watched in shock as the outsider took the back of his hand and lightly tapped T’Challa’s chest. All eyes followed T’Challa’s as he looked to the spot that had just been touched and back to the offender.

“Yep. I’ve made that mistake before.” Agent Ross said while shaking his head and sipping his water. “The nice bald lady won’t like that.”

“Kumkani wam, ndimele ndibeke isandla sakhe ngomkhonto okanye ngamazinyo?” Okoye had asked the King about the proper method to dispose of the target hand while staring at the now pale man.

T’Challa only raised his hand as a signal to stand down. He calmly removed the napkin from his lap and stood, causing everyone to stand along with him in anticipation.

“Mr. Trump, I believe it is time for you to go. Perhaps we can continue our conversation through an email? Allow my wife and I to escort you all to the loading hangar.”

Though his tone was pleasant, there was no mistaking the firmness in his statement.

The dignitary quickly stood up, making a move to shake his peer’s hand but receiving a blank stare in its place.

Y/N latched on to her husband’s left arm, discreetly turning to Shuri to give her the thumbs up.

The couples quickly made their way to the aircraft responsible for returning the unwanted guest and his wife back to the U.S.

Hasty goodbyes were offered before the older man and considerably younger woman were completely out of sight.

“You know, I feel bad for her. It must be hell having to wake up to that every morning.”

T’Challa let out a belly laugh while pulling his wife close to place a kiss on the top of her head. Once he had settled, he used his Kimoyo beads to reach his teenage sister.

“Shuri, play it over the palace speaker system.”

“Play what, brother? There are no announcements in the queue.” She replied confused at her older brother’s request.

“Play the song.”

A devious smile played at the princess’s lips before she emphatically pressed play on the board in front of her.

“Fuck, Donald Trump. Yeah, nigga, fuck Donald Trump!”

[not-so-lonely-star]

Not So Straight Golden Boy (2/2)

Part One: here Word count: ~7,000 Rating: T+ Summary: Corbin Harvey has always had a small manageable crush on Kent Parson. Unfortunately for him, that crush remains neither small nor manageable once he stumbles upon Kent naked in the locker room. A/N: Thanks for reading/liking/commenting! A03

The next morning Harvey woke up with a painful thudding headache just behind his eyes. He groaned and buried his head back into his pillow. Harvey had spent the rest of the evening subtly avoiding being alone with Kent until Tara finally took pity on him and they left. Just thinking back to the feel of Kent’s warm toned body pressed tightly up against his set his blood coursing downward.

Harvey groaned again and rolled out of bed, heading to the bathroom for some much needed advil. He had only just dry swallowed the pills and made a half assed attempt at brushing his teeth when Tara bombarded him at the door to the hall.

“Oh my god,” she said, far too loud for Harvey’s hangover. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a thing with Kent fucking Parson?”

Harvey pushed past her into the living room and plopped down onto the couch. “I have no clue what you’re talking about and my head feels like it’s about to explode.”

Tara leapt up onto the couch beside him as though she were a cat. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and held it up to him. Harvey glanced at it to humor her and his gaze got caught on the photo. It was of him and Kent dancing and god he looked about two seconds away from kissing the man.

Their heads were bent together and a mischievous smile played at Kent’s lips, head tilted back to meet Harvey’s gaze, arms wrapped loosely around Harvey’s neck. Harvey’s hands were low enough on Kent’s waist that they were out of frame and from the angle, it could be argued they rested on Kent’s ass. The pure lust on his own face was as plain to see as the logo on his shirt.

“When did you take this?”

Tara took her phone back and bit her lip. “I didn’t.” She clicked a couple of times before handing it back to him.

The picture was small at the top of the screen, Harvey scanned down the page and bit back a groan. It was a TMZ article. The picture of him and Kent was a fucking TMZ article. He was too hungover for this shit. “Fuck,” he murmured, handing the phone back to Tara. “I can’t look. How bad is it.” He hung his head in his hands.

Tara nudged him gently until he looked up and met her gaze. “It’s not bad, don’t worry. You aren’t even front page worthy.”

Harvey stared at her in bewilderment - how were there not hundreds of articles speculating about Kent’s sexuality after such a compromising picture of the two of them together? As if sensing his thoughts, Tara shot him a sympathetic smile.

“The article basically just talks about Kent Parson, leading scorer and captain of the Las Vegas Aces,” Tara said with what he supposed was her imitation of a sports reporter voice, “spent the night clubbing with friends. They didn’t even bother to look you up. The caption of the photo is literally, Kent Parson with friend at High Tops night club.”

Harvey breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t hide his sexuality - he didn’t broadcast it either, but still he would’ve felt like complete and utter shit if he had caused problems for Kent.

“I’ve got to give him a heads up.” He grabbed his phone off the coffee table where he’d left it the night before and shot off a quick text to Kent.

10:21 am: Hey, don’t know if you saw this but I’m so sorry man.

His phone buzzed less than a minute later.

10:21 am: Dude why tho?

Before Harvey could obsess over what that meant, three texts pinged his phone, one after the other.

10:21 am: If anything i should be apologizing to u. like this is all my fault that you got caught up in  the pappparazzi shit

10:21 am: paparazzi*

10:22 am:lemme take u out to dinner tonight to make up for it

Harvey stared at his phone wordlessly.

“What’d he say?” Tara asked, leaning over his shoulder to read his screen. She whistled. “Damn. Boy is smooth.”

Harvey tapped out a quick affirmative response before looking at Tara. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“Nothing.” Tara shook her head and ruffled his hair before getting up off the couch in search of food.

With no indication of where they were going for the evening, other than the instructions to “dress sorta fancy but not like overdone” whatever that meant, Harvey surveyed his closet. He’d tried on three different shirts before chastising himself with the reminder that he was not a preteen about to go on his first date. He was just going to have dinner with a friend.

When he walked out into the living room Tara wolf whistled at him and he felt good about his choice of dark wash skinny jeans and light blue button down. Harvey rolled his eyes at Tara’s teasing about his hot date, before hustling out the door. When he got down to the lobby of his building Kent was waiting there with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and missing his almost ever present snapback. His eyes lit up when he spotted Harvey and he waved him over.

“Nice place,” Kent said, as he led Harvey out of the building. He’d insisted on picking Harvey up as opposed to meeting there since that would reveal their mystery location.

Harvey scoffed. “Sure and I’m the queen of Egypt.”

Kent cracked a smile and ran his fingers through his hair as they approached his car. His cowlick was standing straight on end and Harvey couldn’t fight the urge to reach out and attempt to brush it down. His finger ran gently over the lock, brushing lightly across his forehead in an effort to keep it down. Kent froze beneath his fingers, but the second Harvey lifted his hand the cowlick sprung back up.

“Okay that did absolutely nothing,” Harvey said, eyeing the stubborn hair.

Kent shrugged and turned away, face flushed bright. Harvey felt bad for bringing up what was apparently a sore subject. He slid into the front seat as Kent walked around the car and climbed in.

“So where are we going?” Harvey asked as Kent pulled out onto the street.

Kent huffed out a laugh and glanced at him with a smile that made his heart skip. “It’s a surprise Harvard.”

Twenty minutes later they pulled up to a sort of dingy looking building far from the strip and anything else other than highway. The brick was old and weathered, and not in the intentional way that the designers on Tara’s (and Harvey’s) favorite HGTV show liked to do. A couple of windows on the first floor had boards over them, while the glass of the second story was completely, unnaturally dark. Kent got out of the car and was around to Harvey’s side, opening his door while Harvey tried to see through the dingy exterior.

“Is this the part where you murder me and sell my kidney?”

Kent laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the seat with strength that still managed to surprise him. He released Harvey’s hand as soon as he was standing and bumped their shoulders together.

“Nah,” he said. “It might not look like it, but this place is the best kept secret of Vegas.” Kent led them up to the door and swung it open revealing what looked like an ordinary hallway, perhaps a bit more upkept than Harvey would’ve expected judging by the exterior. Without missing a beat Kent walked down the hall and turned the corner to a staircase, with Harvey close behind him. Up the stairs there was yet another door.

Before they even reached it, the door opened for them and a young man wearing all black glanced at the pair of them. “Mr. Parson? West corner table for two?”  

Kent smiled at the kid and nodded.

“Right this way.”

Stepping through the door was like entering an alternate universe. The ceiling was spotted with dark wooden beams and hanging lanterns.  The floor was white marble and there were only a half dozen tables, all spaced widely apart. A waterfall decorated the far wall and a piano was in the corner, with a woman dressed in a red cocktail dress at its keys. Harvey felt suddenly underdressed.

They were led to a table next to a huge window that overlooked the city. A menu was already waiting at each of the seats and the host pulled out the chair for each of them before disappearing back to the door.

“Okay,” Kent said, gaze flitting away from Harvey down to his menu before back up again. “This restaurant is pretty exclusive. So you won’t find this place on any website or Vegas guide map. I figured we’d be safe from the paparazzi here. And since I’m apologizing for them it’d be sorta shitty of me to invite you out someplace where there might be paparazzi again.”

Paparazzi, right. Harvey had to remind himself that this wasn’t a date. Kent Parson was straight and just a friend. He could not be crushing on him. If he repeated himself often enough maybe it’d be true.  

It seemed like Kent was waiting for him to say something so he stopped silently reprimanding himself and smiled at Kent. “It looks perfect.”

Harvey glanced down at the menu and the lack of prices made his stomach twist. “Uh, should I be worried about how much this place costs?”

Kent waved a dismissive hand. “I got it man.”

“Kent Parson,” Harvey said, reprimanding.

“Corbin Harvey.” Kent smirked at him.

“Ugh fine,” Harvey threw his hands up in the air. “But you have to let me treat next time.”

Kent’s smirk melted into a smile. “Deal.”

It seemed like the instant they both figured out what they wanted a waitress appeared. She took their orders and their menus before disappearing once more. Other than the soft murmurs coming from the other patrons and the tinkling keys of the piano the restaurant was quieter than any other he’d ever been in.

“So how’d you find this place?” Harvey asked, taking a sip of his water.

“My ex’s dad actually added me to the approved patrons list.”

Harvey raised his brows. “What is he like a movie star or something?”

“Or something,” Kent said with a small smile.

“Wow,” Harvey said, not pressing further, “I can’t imagine rubbing elbows with the rich and famous like that.”

“You do realize who you’re out to dinner with, right?”

Harvey laughed, “Wow and humble too.”

Kent laughed and tilted his glass towards Harvey in a silent toast. “Touché.”

They chatted for a few minutes before the waitress came by with their food, and Harvey had to marvel at how quick the service was. He took a bite of his steak and had to choke back a moan. From the look on Kent’s face he was in a similar state of ecstasy.

“So,” Harvey said after a moment, pushing the food around on his fork.  “Sorry again if you’re getting any grief about that picture.”

“Hey,” Kent said, wrapping his fingers around Harvey’s wrist to stay his movements. “Don’t even worry about it. Heteronormativity man,” Kent shook his head, fingers brushing absentmindedly across Harvey’s wrist. “I could kiss you and they’d be like Kent and friend goofing off at five star restaurant alone together.”

Harvey’s breath caught. I could kiss you. The words were running on a constant loop and he knew that Kent didn’t mean anything by it but his stomach erupted in butterflies anyway. Harvey met his gaze and smiled.

“Yeah,” he said, “It’s pretty fucked.”

“Take me for instance,” Kent continued with a shrug before shoveling in another bite.

It took a minute for Harvey to figure out what he was talking about. But then one of the first conversations they’d shared came back to him. He smiled, remembering Kent’s confusion when Harvey had told him Audrey was having a kid. He nodded at Kent, Harvey still sometimes looked at the world with his heteronormative goggles on too.  

The sun set and the city stretched out before them, all that light and glitz nothing more than pinpricks in the distance. By the time dessert arrived Harvey could honestly say he couldn’t remember ever having a more pleasant evening. And that was before he bit into the almost orgasmic Amedei Porcelana chocolate sundae.

“So uh,” Kent said, taking a bite from his gross vanilla cake thing. “I feel like I still owe you an apology, not just for the paparazzi thing, but because I sort of freaked out on you when I first saw you at the club.”

Harvey waved a dismissive hand. “Forget about it,” he said taking another bite of literal chocolate heaven. “You were forgiven before you bought me the best fucking sundae in the world and now I feel like I should be apologizing to you again for not being a good enough human being to deserve this.”

Kent barked out a laugh and shoveled a bite into his mouth. “Well at least let me explain why I was already on edge when we got to the club.”

Harvey nodded at him to continue, trying in vain to slow down so he wouldn’t get brain freeze.

“Playing the Falconers is always kinda shitty for me, since they drafted Zimms - er Jack Zimmerman.” Harvey could vaguely remember reading something about the two of them before, but he’d honestly only been a casual hockey fan when he was growing up and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to presume from what Kent was saying. Luckily Kent seemed to take pity on him. “We were in the Q together and supposed to be drafted together. A bunch of shitty dominoes led to me being drafted by the Aces and him spending years finding his footing before eventually ending up with the Falconers.”

Kent looked uncomfortable and Harvey ached to reach out for him but held back, unsure if the touch would be welcome or not.

“Anyway, we didn’t leave things well and it’s just gotten worse and more toxic over the years. I’d just botched up another apology when I met you actually.” Kent’s eyes were wide and his bottom lip started twitching. He dug his teeth into his lip.  

Fuck it, Harvey thought, reaching across the table to clasp Kent’s hand. Kent glanced up at him in surprise and Harvey smiled at him.

“Try again.”

“What?”

“Try apologizing again,” Harvey said, maybe he shouldn’t get involved, but he never was good at keeping quiet when people he cared about were in pain. “You’re not going to be able to let it go and move on completely until you two clear the air.”

Kent pulled his hand away and took a large bite of his dessert, chewing methodically before speaking. “I’ve tried apologizing before. It doesn’t end well. I’m pretty sure there’s no way Jack would forgive me now.”

“My Nan used to say apologize and don’t make the same mistake again. If they forgive you is up to them, but at least you’ll sleep knowing you did everything you could to make things right.”

Kent was quiet for a moment mulling over his words. “I’ll try. I want to make things right. It’s just they’ve been wrong between us for so long I think we’ve forgotten how to be friends.”

“Start with that,” Harvey said. “Be sincere and he’ll have to listen.”

The next day Harvey watched the game streaming live onto his laptop as much as he could while working, wondering if Kent had already taken his advice or if he was waiting until after the game. He wanted to try to call Kent after press, but a drunken parent with a laundry list of complaints followed by the peewee manager needing to discuss next month’s schedule right now kept him busy long enough that he worried Kent was already to bed with the time difference.

Harvey sighed as he grabbed his briefcase from beside his desk and shut off his light. He stepped out into the hall and nearly collided into a woman on the cleaning crew. He apologized quickly and started heading towards the exit. His phone chimed in his pocket. A smile lit up his face as he saw the caller id.  

“Harvard!” Kent said, before Harvey could say much more than hello. “I was hoping to catch you.”

“Well you caught me. Sorry about the game tonight by the way.”

“I don’t care about that.” Kent said dismissively. “I called to tell you that I took your advice and actually made it all the way through an apology to Jack and he apologized to me too! We even have plans to grab lunch before I have to fly back to Vegas tomorrow.”

Harvey could hear the wide, uninhibited smile in Kent’s voice and he was struck by the wayward thought that he might be getting addicted to Kent’s happiness.“I like seeing you happy,” he said before he could stop himself.  

“Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don’t shoot their  husbands, they just don’t.”

Harvey pulled his phone away from his ear for a second, wondering if he was losing his mind.

“It’s from Legally Blonde,” Kent said, when Harvey still hadn’t responded. “You’ve seen it haven’t you?”

“Uh, no.” At least it was only a missed reference and he wasn’t going crazy.

“It’s a classic,” Kent said, outraged. “Oh my god what are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Nothing really.” Harvey shrugged, he was probably just going to be at home and chill with Tara.

“Okay well we have to watch it as soon as I get back to Vegas. I can’t believe you’ve never seen it.” Kent gasped. “Oh that means you’ll get to meet Kit.”

Harvey smiled fondly. “I can’t wait.”

Kent’s apartment wasn’t as extravagant as Harvey had expected. It was nice, cozy even, but not excessively huge or ultra modern. His couch was sleek gray and huge, yet somehow they managed to sit close enough that their shoulders were touching less than halfway through the movie and Harvey had to admit it was a pretty good movie.

Harvey had sunk back into the pillows and Kent’s head had lolled onto his shoulder less than ten minutes later. Harvey’s heart fluttered. He was in so much trouble. He should’ve roused Kent or left, or shifted over so Kent wasn’t leaning on him but he didn’t and now he only had himself to blame for the situation he was in.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point after the movie and subsequent late night tv marathon because he woke up laying on the couch with a warm pressure on his chest. Cracking an eye open revealed Kent was nestled into his side, head tucked under his chin, legs tangled together. Harvey’s arms were wrapped tightly around him.

He tried to slowly extract himself, but before he’d gotten himself out of the compromising situation Kent was shifting away and shooting him a shy smile.

“Sorry I passed out on you,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

Harvey was suddenly flooded with emotions he’d been trying hard to ignore. He couldn’t deny it any longer.

He was in love with Kent.

“What time is it?” Kent mumbled, blissfully unaware of Harvey’s revelation.  

Harvey glanced down at his watch and tried to act normal. “Quarter past seven.”

Kent groaned and flopped back down, tugging Harvey with him until they were cuddled up again. “It’s too early. Go back to sleep.”

“I could - I should probably be getting home.”

Kent cracked an eye open and peered at him. “If you want to,” he said, wrapping his arms around Harvey as though he were a giant teddy bear. “But I’ve got nothing better to do until a charity thing at noon so you’re welcome to stay.”

Against his better judgement Harvey relaxed in Kent’s embrace and fell back asleep. He was too tall for the couch really, and his neck was at a sort of odd angle with Kent’s boney elbow pressed up into his side. He’d never slept better.

A couple days later he was trying to catch up on his emails when he heard the door to his office creak open. Harvey looked up and smiled when he saw Jeff standing in the doorway.

“Hey, you busy man?”

“No,” Harvey said, turning away from the computer. “I could use a distraction.”

Jeff smiled and plopped down in the chair across from his desk.

“What’s up? I hear you’ve been texting Tara.”

A brilliant flush crept up Jeff’s cheeks and Harvey had to fight the urge to laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair before turning his sharp gaze on Harvey. “But I didn’t come here to talk about that.”

“What did you come here to talk about?”

A cheshire smile broke out on his face. “Kent told me all about your dinner the other day,” he said, voice teasing.

Harvey sighed contentedly and smiled. “It was nice.”

The grin on Jeff’s face was far too pleased and Harvey schooled his expression. He had to remind himself that Jeff lived to chirp Kent, and Harvey by extension.

“You jealous bro?” Harvey asked, before Jeff got a chance to tease him.  

Jeff laughed. “Nah man, I don’t mind sharing. I just figured Parser has been in too good of a mood lately for me not to chirp him. And the best way to do that is definitely through you. So tell him I told you some embarrassing shit when you guys talk later, would you?”

Harvey huffed out a laugh. “Alright.”

Jeff winked as he stood. “Thanks Harvard.”   

As Harvey was leaving the rink that evening he shot a text to Kent before pocketing his phone with a mischievous smile.

Jeff came by earlier to talk about our dinner.

He’d only just sat down in his car when his phone buzzed a moment later. Kent was calling him. Harvey had barely said hello before Kent was speaking.

“OH MY GOD. What did that fucker say now? I swear I’m going to murder him - ”

“Relax,” Harvey said, “Kent man chill. Jeff was just trying to mess with you. What would there be to be embarrassed about anyway.”

“Right,” Kent said sighing, “Right sorry, I just thought - well it’s not like Jeff would do anything to hurt me - just embarrass me.”

“Exactly,” Harvey said, “Hey speaking of dinner, you want to come over to my place tonight? Tara and I were planning on making tacos.”

Harvey could practically hear the smile in Kent’s voice as he responded. “Definitely.”

Kent was a tactile person, Harvey decided, when Kent swung an arm around his shoulder as he stood beside him in the kitchen. It was the fourth time he touched Harvey that evening - not that he was counting - even if Tara kept wiggling her eyebrows at him when Kent was distracted.

Harvey was cutting up tomato for the tacos when he felt a hand on his ass. He whipped his head around to see Kent pickpocketing him.

“What are you doing?” Harvey asked, voice an octave higher than normal.

Kent slipped the phone from Harvey’s pocket and held it up in triumph. “Putting on music.”

Harvey tried to ignore the look Tara was giving him and watched as Kent typed in his password and pulled up spotify, putting on a pop playlist.

“How do you know my password?” Harvey asked, as Kent walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a glass, dropping the phone into it to amplify the sound.

“Your birthday isn’t all that original of a password.” Kent turned back to Harvey with a smirk before sharing a commiserating look with Tara.

Tara laughed and passed Kent a red pepper to chop before setting a pan on the stove for the chicken. “He’s got you there Harvey.”

While not a particularly impressive chef, Kent was good at following orders, and the tacos came out delicious. The three of them ate perched at the rickety dining room table that was squished in the corner of their kitchen. And rather than marvel over the fact that Kent had somehow managed to worm his way into Harvey’s life and his heart, he decided to just sit back and enjoy it.

Later that evening after talking, laughing and half watching a dozen reruns of Seinfeld, Harvey was trying to stall Kent’s inevitable departure. Not only did he not want the particularly pleasant evening to end, but he didn’t want to be left alone with Tara either, not with that speculative - almost predatory look on her face. But all too soon Kent was yawning loudly, and shifting away from his position slumped at Harvey’s side to head to the door.

Harvey walked him out and took a deep breath before returning to what he knew would be an interrogation.

Tara was perched on the arm of the couch when he returned and patted the seat beside her invitingly. Harvey sighed as he walked over and plopped down, throwing his arm across his face dramatically.

“Okay, go ahead. I know you’re dying to.”

Tara pried his arm away from his face and squished down into the seat next to him. “You two are so cute!”

Harvey rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Tara said, squeezing his arm. “He’s definitely into you - I’m pretty sure he spent less than ten minutes the entire time he was here not touching you.”

“He’s straight Tara,” Harvey said. There was no point in getting his hopes up for someone unattainable - not again.

She put her hand on her hip and stared down at him in a scary imitation of her mother. “What makes you say that?”

“Um A. because I like him,” Harvey said, ticking off the points on his fingers. “B. he plays hockey, C. I’m pretty sure he was dating some reality star a couple years ago.”

“Yeah some real rock solid evidence you have there,” Tara said with an eyeroll. “As opposed to oh I don’t know, the fact that he can’t take his eyes off you, he was hella pissed when we were dancing together, he took you out to a five star restaur-”

“Okay okay enough,” Harvey said covering his ears until Tara took pity on him and turned the T.V back on.

Harvey and Kent hung out often over the following two weeks, grabbing a bite to eat together, watching a movie, or the occasional drink. On one memorable occasion Kent and Harvey were watching a movie at Kent’s place when he put his feet in Harvey’s lap. Harvey tried to breath normally and lasted all of five minutes before he had to leap up to avoid Kent noticing his raging hard on.

One evening they had been making waffles for dinner together when Harvey almost kissed him. Kent was standing with his back to the waffle iron, eyes alight with mirth as he gazed up at Harvey. Harvey inched closer and his head tilted down of his own accord, lips parting. The sound of Tara opening the front door had him jolting out of his stupor and jumping back from Kent. He couldn’t look the other man in the eye the rest of the evening.

Harvey needed to get a handle on his wayward emotions, before he made a fool of himself. He blamed it on being overworked with Audrey out, so the day she came back he breathed a sigh of relief.

It was the first home game in months that he could actually attend instead of work, and he fully intended to enjoy himself - even if Tara couldn’t come with him. He probably should’ve felt embarrassed about slipping into his Kent Parson Jersey before heading down to the rink, but he was too full of giddy anticipation to feel anything else.

Harvey cheered along with the rest of the Aces fans when the team skated out onto the ice for warmups. The thrill of the crowd was electric - he’d missed this. It wasn’t the same from behind the scenes.

Harvey couldn’t lose himself in the crowd for too long though, because before he knew it his face was up on the jumbotron. Harvey smiled. Of course Leo would seek him out in the crowd after he let slip he’d actually be attending this game. He waved gamely and twisted around in his seat to show whose jersey he was wearing.

A moment later there were shocked gasps skittering through the crowd. He whipped back around to face the ice and saw Kent skating towards the edge of the rink with blood dripping down his face. Harvey stood, before realizing the futility of the action. What had happened? Someone met Kent at the edge of the rink with a cloth which he immediately pressed up to his nose. He lifted his gaze and sent the crowd a thumbs up.

Luckily Kent’s nose stopped bleeding a moment later and Harvey could breathe a sigh of relief. The game was fast paced and intense. Kent was stunning on the ice, bloody nose quickly forgotten. He moved with unrivaled grace and speed, scoring three times before the game was over.

Harvey waited outside of the press room after the game, hoping to catch Kent. A couple of players filed out and clapped Harvey on the back as they passed. The past few weeks he’d noticed more players acknowledging the rest of the rink’s staff as well. It was a stark contrast from the atmosphere prior to his friendship with Kent. Harvey smiled to himself as he watched some of the press filed out before Kent finally emerged. Kent shot Harvey a shy, sheepish smile when he waved him over.

“Hey,” Harvey said, pulling Kent into a quick hug to stop himself from doing something infinitely worse, like stroke his fingers gently across the purple bruise blooming on his face. “Nice hatty.”

He felt Kent bury his smile in his shoulder before clapping him on the back and pulling out of the hug. “Thanks man,” he said. “I’ve got to go shower, but maybe we can hang tomorrow?”

Harvey nodded, unable to bite back his smile all the way home.

Tara was already home when Harvey walked in and she ushered him over to the couch the instant he walked through the door.

“Oh my god,” she said, shifting her laptop so Harvey could see what was on the screen. “Did you see this while you were at the game?”

Harvey peered at the screen where a gif was looping of Kent skating forward with his head tilted back, eyes on something above him before crashing face first directly into Corey Motts’ helmet. Harvey shook his head.

“I had my back to the rink when that happened,” he cringed as gif-Kent smacked into the helmet again and again.

Tara turned to him. “Um why would you have your back to the rink?”

“It was just warm ups,” Harvey said defensively. “Plus I was showing off my jersey on the jumbotron.”

A giddy laugh escaped Tara. “You were not. Oh my god. We have to go on tumblr.” She pulled the computer more firmly into her lap and typed Kent’s name into the tumblr search bar.

A bunch of videos and gifs popped up, the most popular of which was a zoomed out video of the other gif, where it was clear that Kent’s gaze was trained on the jumbotron when he crashed into Mottler.

“He was watching you.”

Even though that was obviously what was happening in the video, it was as if Harvey’s brain couldn’t compute the information. Tara kept scrolling, stopping at a shot by shot analysis of what went down.

“Wow,” Tara said as she read the post. “This person put two and two together and realized you’re the same person who was dancing with Kent a while back.”

“What?” Harvey said, grabbing the laptop from Tara’s hands.

The post had slow motion gifs of the exact moment Kent noticed who was up on the jumbotron. He smiled up at the screen while Harvey was waving, and it was an instant after Harvey turned around that Kent stumbled and crashed into Mottler. After that was the photo of them dancing with a caption asserting Kent must be crushing on the mystery guy.

“Uhh,” Harvey said, unable to form words.

Tara took pity on him, patting his shoulder before gently prying the laptop from his hands. “Okay, enough tumblr for you for one day. Don’t worry, tumblr isn’t like the rest of the internet - I’m sure no other site has even realized you’re the same guy.”

Tara’s words soothed him, but he couldn’t erase the the glance he’d seen of the text from the post below that from his mind. People were shipping them together. They thought Kent looked happier recently and attributed it to him. Huh.

Kent called him the following afternoon and invited him over for some takeout and a movie, and Harvey was helpless to refuse. He was smiling when he knocked on Kent’s door. He’d come to look forward to their movie nights and with the Aces away all last week they hadn’t hung out in far too long.

The door swung open and Jeff Troy was there instead of Kent. Harvey’s face fell before he plastered on his smile. Jeff ushered him in, explaining that Kent was getting the movie set up and that he hoped Harvey didn’t mind him crashing. Harvey smiled and said it was fine, since what else was he supposed to say?

Harvey followed Swoops into the living room where Kent was fiddling with his DVD player because he somehow didn’t have a smart TV even though he definitely could’ve afforded one. Kent turned towards them when they entered and beamed at Harvey.

“Hey,” Kent said, standing and crossing the room towards them quickly before stopping short just a foot away. “I hope it’s cool I invited Swoops along.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” Harvey smiled and hoped they couldn’t tell how forced it was. He shouldn’t be upset that it wasn’t just the two of them - Kent had no obligation to him.

The three of them sat on the couch with Kent in the middle. Harvey was sitting ramrod straight and couldn’t get himself to relax - it felt like Jeff was watching him. Kent’s hand came down on the back of his neck and rubbed gently.

“Dude, you okay?” he asked, voice quiet, though they were all so close together there was no point.

Harvey nodded, relaxing into the touch. “I’m good,” he said, turning a little towards Kent and jolting slightly at how close their faces were. He cleared his throat and faced the T.V.

Kent withdrew his hand and Harvey tried to seem unaffected. This was going to be a long night.

Fifteen minutes or so into the movie Harvey noticed Jeff watching him from the corner of his eye and stiffened. Kent lifted his head off Harvey’s shoulder and peered at him mutely before turning back to the T.V. And when had that happened? He couldn’t remember when his arm had draped around Kent’s shoulder, or when the man tilted into him, snuggled into his side.

Harvey took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth to try to calm himself. He repeated the action several times until his pulse returned to normal. Kent was just a tactile person, Jeff had to know that - and it wasn’t as though he was trapping Kent against his side. If the man felt uncomfortable he could pull back at any time.

Harvey returned his attention to the screen and they were watching Neighbors? He’d thought they were watching 21 Jump Street, had that movie been on the screen the whole time? Harvey needed to pull himself together.

He shifted slightly, gently maneuvering his shoulder out from underneath Kent before standing. He mumbled something about the bathroom and fled as they paused the movie. Though there was really no use for that since he had no clue what was going on anyway.

Harvey locked the door behind him and splashed his face with cool water. He stared at himself at the mirror. Relax, fucking relax man. He thought to himself, meeting his reflection’s stoney gaze. God he was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t get it under control.

Harvey took another couple deep breaths before opening the door and walking back towards Kent’s living room. He was going to get through this evening without revealing his feelings for Kent. He had to.

“Dude, he’s definitely hella into you.” Jeff’s voice drifted into the hallway and Harvey froze. So much for no one figuring out his crush today.

“I don’t know,” Kent said, defending him. “You saw him leap up when he realized I was leaning on his shoulder.”  

Harvey’s feet were glued to the floor and he couldn’t get his traitorous body to do anything other than listen.

“Kent, I’m telling you this as your best friend. He likes you.”

Harvey finally jolted himself out of his stupor and stumbled forward into the living room before Kent could answer and break his fucking heart. Both men were standing in front of the couch, and Jeff’s hands dropped from Kent’s shoulder’s as the man whipped around to face Harvey, face flushed a brilliant red.

“How much of that did you hear?” Kent asked, voice high and reedy.

Harvey ignored his question and stepped closer to the pair of them. “I am so sorry Kent.”

Kent’s shoulders sagged and his gaze dropped from Harvey’s face. Harvey spared a glance towards Jeff who looked exceedingly uncomfortable but he plowed on nonetheless.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I know you don’t feel the same way about me as I do you and I’m totally good with being just friends,” Harvey said, tripping over his words.

“How do you feel about me?” Kent asked, eyes wide as he took a step closer to Harvey.

“Are you really going to make me say it?” Harvey was distantly aware of Jeff slipping out of the apartment as he fought his own urge to flee.  

Kent gazed up at Harvey, brown eyes piercing, seemingly content to wait for Harvey to answer.

This is it, Harvey thought, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m in love with you.”

“Oh thank god.”

Harvey’s eyes flew open just in time to see Kent lunge towards him, crashing their mouths together. While Harvey’s mind was still three moves behind, his body caught up. He wrapped his arms around Kent and pulled him as close as physically possible. Kent’s lips were firm, insistent, demanding against Harvey’s as he kissed the ever loving shit out of him.

Kent pressed his tongue against the seam of his lips and Harvey opened for him, soft and pliant. Kent’s fingers were tangled in the short strands of Harvey’s hair, hips thrusting ever so slightly against Harvey’s. Harvey skimmed his hands down Kent’s waist to rest on the soft curve of his ass, squeezing lightly. Kent moaned into the kiss and it was enough to jolt Harvey’s brain back into action.

He broke their kiss, watching with amazement as Kent swayed forward chasing his lips for a moment before opening his eyes and pulling back slightly, dropping down off his tiptoes.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this, because I’m really fucking enjoying this,” Harvey said, voice rough and breathless. “But I am so confused. I thought you were straight.”

Kent rested his head against Harvey’s shoulder and let out a breathy laugh before shifting to face him. “Oh my god no. I’ve been flirting with you since we met. Did you seriously not notice?”

Harvey shook his head. He’d been so sure Kent was straight that he justified anything between them as Kent being friendly. God he was so oblivious. Kent had been so pissed when he thought Harvey and Tara were dating, he didn’t shift away when Harvey wrapped an arm around his shoulder - he snuggled in to the touch, they went out to dinner at what was probably the fanciest restaurant in all of Vegas, and he’d even tripped into one of his own teammates and nearly broken his nose when he saw Harvey wearing his jersey for godsakes.

“I thought you were straight,” Harvey repeated weakly.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” Kent said, stroking a finger down Harvey’s cheek. “I am not at all straight.” He punctuated his words with a brief press of his lips to the the scruffy line of Harvey’s jaw. “And I am desperately in love with you.”

Harvey kissed the words from Kent’s lips. He wrapped his arms around Kent and lifted, smiling into the kiss as Kent wrapped his legs around Harvey’s waist and moaned.

Harvey had never been so happy to be wrong in his life.

[lopithecusfanfiction]

The End of the Star: Chapter Three

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4187 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Author's Note: N/A

Chapter Three:

Bruce is led, by Zod, to a dining room of sorts. There is a square table in the middle of the room, already set up with a red tablecloth, and plates full of food all around it. By the looks of it, the food is all greens but Bruce can’t recognize any of it. What appears to be a salad is next to the main course plates, but the lettuce doesn’t look like any lettuce he’s ever seen. The main meal is some kind of pasta, with what almost looks like broccoli in it, but Bruce isn’t really sure about this one either.

Zod tells him to sit in one of the chairs at one end of the table, and takes the cuffs off his hands. Scowling, Zod begrudgingly leaves the room, and Bruce is alone. He looks around, trying to figure out what he is supposed to do. Is he expected to just sit here and wait? What is going on anyway? Jor-El had told Bruce and Lex they would be eating in their rooms. Why is Bruce here, at a dinner table, with food in front of him? Where is Lex?

A door in front of him opens, and Bruce looks up from the plate to see Kal walking in. A smile immediately graces Kal’s face as he approaches the table, head tilted downward in a shy manner. “Ehrosh :bem.” Blue eyes dart away, and then back to Bruce, a smile softening the edges.

Bruce feels the corners of his own mouth pulling upwards. “Ehrosh :bem.” Hearing Bruce respond in Kryptonian causes Kal’s smile to grow bigger, and a shy chuckle to escape. Bruce smiles at hearing it, finding it cute. “Do you know what I’m doing here?”

Kal sits down on the right side of the table. “To eat,” he says softly, but with a hint of amusement, as if it should be obvious.

Bruce tries to hold back a chuckle. “Yes, I got that. I meant that your father said I was going to be eating in my room. Obviously there’s been a change of plans. Do you know why?”

Kal shakes those dark curls in the negative, but says, “Not know but glad here.”

“And why is that?”

Kal begins to speak, with cheeks tinted pink, but before any words are forthcoming, the door opens once more. “Kal-El,” Jor-El says sternly, entering the room, followed by Lara. Kal’s smile disappears in an instant, and Bruce can see Kal’s whole body deflating. Kal looks away from Bruce, to his plate, a frown showing disappointment. Jor-El continues to speak in Kryptonian, and it only serves to make Kal’s frown more prominent. By the time Jor-El is done, Kal just looks miserable.

Bruce’s eyes travel from Kal to Jor-El, not understanding what is going on between the two. Jor-El had appeared upset with Kal earlier, when harsh words saw the Kryptonian flee out of his room. That tension has obviously not gone away. Jor-El sits across from Bruce, and Lara sits on the left side of the table. Lara gives Kal a sympathetic look, but doesn’t say anything. Bruce squirms, uncomfortable. He’s gotten into many arguments before with his two boys, especially Jason. He can’t recall a time in which he had done so in front of a guest, making said guest feel extremely awkward.

Bruce decides he’s had enough and clears his throat which gets him the attention of the whole table. Lara’s eyes widen, Jor-El looks at him in annoyance, and Kal bites at a well worn bottom lip. “Are you going to tell me why you’ve decided to have me eat with you?”

Jor-El’s eyes narrow. “It’s quite rude to clear your throat at the dinner table, Bruce Wayne.” Bruce’s eyes dart to Kal and sees he’s still looking at him with apprehension. Bruce moves his eyes back to Jor-El. “I understand you are not familiar with our customs, so you will receive a ‘free pass’ as you humans call it, but do not expect rudeness to be condoned. I expect you to conform to our… manners.” Speaking the word as if uncertain it is correct. Bruce doesn’t bother telling him whether is is or not. “Now, as to why you are here, it is to eat.”

Like father, like son, only it isn’t as cute with Jor-El. Bruce refrains from rolling his eyes. “You told Lex and I that we were to dine in our rooms. Why did you bring me here to eat?”

Jor-El’s eyes flicker to Kal before answering. “I told Kal-El not to enter your room anymore. He defied a direct order. He seems to have this fascination with humans. You are here right now in order to eat with us, and hopefully quell my son’s need to fulfill his curiosity.”

“So you’re using me. Just like you want to use me to save Krypton.” Jor-El nods, not even denying the fact. Kal speaks in his native tongue and Bruce’s eyes dart back to Kal, whose face is as red as a tomato. Bruce has to resist the urge to reach out and feel how hot that skin feels. Jor-El retorts to whatever Kal had said, seeming annoyed by the terse tone. Bruce looks back at him once more. “So you want me to answer questions about humanity?”

“I want you to sit there and eat. If my son has any questions for you, he may ask and you may answer. The same applies in the reverse. If you have any questions about Krypton, then you may ask them.” Jor-El holds out both hands to Lara and Kal. “Now, let’s say the dinner prayer.”

Jor-El looks at Bruce as if expecting him to join in, and Bruce looks at Kal and Lara’s out stretched hands with wide eyes. “I’m not religious and I’m definitely not whatever,” he motions vaguely to the three of them, “religion you worship.” Jor-El continues to stare at him, Lara speaks quietly to Jor-El in Kryptonian, and Kal looks towards the head of the table questioningly.

“I would really like for you to join us, Bruce Wayne.”

He doesn’t really know what to do or how to turn down these aliens. They have far more advanced technology, with the potential to hurt him, than he has in his cave. Bruce hesitantly reaches out and takes Lara and Kal’s hand. Lara grasps his tightly and confidently, while Kal holds his hand gently and fondly. Kal shoots him a small smile, before looking down and closing his eyes. Jor-El and Lara look down as well, closing their eyes. Bruce doesn’t, and instead opts to watch them.

Jor-El begins the prayer which is, of course, in Kryptonian. Naturally, Bruce doesn’t understand a word of it. The whole time his eyes wander from Lara, to Jor-El, and then finally land on Kal. Dark bangs have fallen forward, but Bruce can see eyes peeking through.  He’s staring at Bruce. They hold eye contact for most of the prayer, sapphire blue to sky blue, and Bruce can feel his heart speed up. As the prayer ends, Kal closes those beautiful eyes to hide the fact that they had been open. Bruce does the same, wondering when he started paying such close attention to the color of Kal’s eyes.

When it seems appropriate, Bruce opens his eyes once more and looks up to see Jor-El observing him. Bruce wants to clear his throat again but stops himself, remembering the backlash he got from doing so earlier. It wouldn’t be good to do it twice so he waits for Jor-El to say something first. Only it doesn’t happen, and the awkward air around the table increases. Bruce isn’t really sure what he’s done to warrant the wrath of the Kryptonian sitting across the table, but he doesn’t like it. Not when he doesn’t know exactly what Jor-El can do to him.

Kal looks from Bruce to Jor-El, fidgeting in his seat. Bruce thinks the Kryptonian must be feeling just as uncomfortable as he does at that moment. “We eat now?” Kal asks, before speaking to Lara in Kryptonian. Lara looks at Jor-El, back at Kal, and nods. Jor-El’s eyes never leave Bruce’s, even as the three of them pick up their silverware and start to eat. Bruce is the first one to break eye contact in order to look at his food and his own utensils.

Bruce picks up what he thinks is supposed to be a fork only instead of three or four prongs, it only has one in the shape of a spear. He looks at it quizzically, wondering how in the world is he supposed to eat with it. “Do you need help, Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce’s head snaps up, meeting Jor-El’s eyes. “No, I don’t. I was just wondering how this worked.”

“Do you not have such a thing on Earth?”

“We… have something similar. Normally it’s three or four pronged though.”

Jor-El’s head tilts in confusion, but without even saying a word, demonstrating how to use the utensil by spearing one of the lettuce looking leaves and eating it. Bruce copies what he does, but hesitates. He doesn’t know what it is, or if it’s edible for humans. It could poison him or harm him in some way. He doesn’t trust Jor-El to have not tampered with the food in some way.

He must have been sitting there with the copycat lettuce against his mouth for a while because the next thing he hears is, “Bruce? Okay?”

Kal is the one who asked and Bruce looks at him. Kal’s face is contorted into concern, with eyebrows furrowed and frowning slightly, ignoring Jor-El’s gaze. Bruce nods then addresses Jor-El. “This is safe for humans?”

“Of course it is. If it was not, then I wouldn’t be feeding it to you,” Jor-El says.

Bruce doesn’t know Jor-El, or the Kryptonian people, so an underlying mistrust rises inside him. If Bruce feels threatened, he can’t be coerced into anything he isn’t willing to participate in. He knows he will eventually have to eat, but right now it’s not a dire need. He’s just not willing to take that risk right now. Bruce lowers his hand, setting the food and the spear down. Jor-El’s head tilts again and Kal does the same. Lara looks on with a frown, seeming to not really understand what is going on. “I’m sorry but I’m not eating this.” Bruce recognizes the sign of anger in Jor-El immediately. The Kryptonian’s eyes narrow and the jaw tightens. Bruce tries to placate. “I’m not trying to be rude but you have to understand me. I’m on an unfamiliar planet, amongst aliens, sitting at a table with the being that drugged my family and abducted me. You can’t really expect me to trust you or this food.”

Lara’s frown has deepened and she turns to her husband, speaking in Kryptonian. Jor-El answers calmly though looking nothing but. Lara continues to talk, but Jor-El doesn’t answer. The Kryptonian is simply staring at Bruce, scrutinizing him under an unblinking gaze. Bruce stares back, refusing to be intimidated. Alien or no alien, Bruce is still Batman. When it comes to dealing with Jor-El, he thinks he’s going to have to start being more Batman, and less Bruce.

Jor-El stands and walks to the door to summon Zod. Jor-El speaks with the General before both men return to the table. Before they reach it, Bruce takes a quick look at Kal only to see the Kryptonian looking down at the plate, deflated with disappointment. Suddenly, Bruce feels guilty for ruining Kal’s enjoyment. “Sorry,” he whispers, just as Jor-El and Zod reach the table. Kal shoots him a surprised look.

“You will be escorted back to your room, Bruce Wayne,” Jor-El says. Zod puts the handcuffs back on him and he’s taken away. The General is rough, pushing him around in the corridors. When back at his room, the cuffs are removed and he’s practically thrown inside.

With a sigh, Bruce rubs at his wrists and goes to sit down on the bed. He’s uncertain how much time passes, but he quickly gets bored and starts thumbing through the Krypton information packet again. Normally, if his internal clock is right, he would be down in the Bat cave and getting ready to patrol with Jason. When hours seem to go by, Bruce sets the packet off to the side, gets up, and walks to the window. The sun has fully set by now and has exposed an inky blackness with stars peppering the sky in unfamiliar constellations. The most surprising revelation is the appearance of two moons. Bruce is amazed at the sight.

He’s so caught up in looking at the moons, that when there is a quick succession of knocks on his door, he ends up jumping. Bruce turns around when the door clicks open and then clicks shut. There stands Kal, wide-eyed and looking nervous with hands hidden behind the cloak. When Kal doesn’t say anything, cheeks flushing redder and redder, Bruce says “Ehrosh :bem?”

This seems to spur Kal into action, taking a few more steps into the room. “Ehrosh :bem.” Kal then reveals what was hidden, holding it out to Bruce. “You not eat. I bring food.” In the Kryptonian’s hands, on what appears to be a clear glass plate, is a slice of chocolate cake.

“Cake? Only I assume that isn’t cake.

Kal gives a sheepish smile, head tilted down. “Close? Is like Earth food.” Shrugging and stepping closer to Bruce. “I look up.” Kal sounds proud of that fact, that time had been spent researching it, specifically to please Bruce.

Bruce can’t hold back his smile, taking the cake. “Thank you.” He goes and sits on the bed, picking up the spear and stabbing a piece of the cake. He puts it in his mouth, hesitating slightly only for the fact that he’s still not sure if humans can eat this food safely. But he’ll dare it if it’s Kal who is giving it to him.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by the Kryptonian who joins him on the edge of the bed. “Why trust me not Ukr?”

Bruce shrugs, swallowing. “You’re not the one who kidnapped me.” He shrugs again, more nonchalantly this time. “You’ve been nothing but nice to me. Your father, no offense, messed with my family and I don’t take too kindly to that.”

“Family?”

“I have a butler, who is more like a father to me, and two sons.”

“I sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything.” Kal shrugs, not looking at him. “You don’t need to be sorry Kal.” When Kal doesn’t say anything and still doesn’t look at him, Bruce decides to change the subject. “How come you and your father know English but your mother doesn’t? And your father is more fluent than you.”

Kal reaches over absentmindedly and runs a finger through the frosting on Bruce’s cake. “Ukr learn English while ago. He learn for easy communication. Others, aliens, know English too.”

“That’s surprising. I didn’t think an Earth language would be so well known.”

“Earth very popular. Known to many worlds.” Kal sticks the finger between plump lips, sucking the chocolate frosting off it. Bruce watches intently, swallowing hard. He’s noticing more and more things about Kal, and those lips are amongst the things he’s paying particular attention to. He drags his attention back to the present, as Kal answers. “I learn because Ukr want me know language. I not master yet.”

“Are you still currently learning it?”

As Kal shakes dark curls to answer no, Bruce can’t help but focus on that finger still in Kal’s mouth. “No, Ukr too busy. After save Krypton, more lessons.”

“And your mother? How come she isn’t learning?”

“Men are priority.” Kal shrugs, finally pulling that finger out. Bruce can’t help but stare, wondering how the frosting would taste from Kal’s finger. “I not agree, but is.”

Bruce finally looks back at Kal’s eyes instead of his lips. “Strange, I would have thought such an advanced population wouldn’t have sexism.”

“Sexism?”

Bruce shakes his head. “Never mind. So,” he gets up and walks over to the window, peering out. “What brought you to my room so late?” When he doesn’t get an answer, Bruce turns around and sees Kal looking at the floor. “Kal?”

Kal blinks and lifts that handsome head, looking at Bruce. “Is late. You go to bed before I come?”

Bruce shakes his head again. “No.” He walks back to the bed and sits down next to Kal, placing the plate with the half eaten cake off to the side. “No offense, but there is no way I am going to be able to sleep while I’m on a foreign planet amongst aliens. Probably won’t be able to for a few days.” Kal nods in understanding but still doesn’t answer Bruce’s question. So he asks again. “So, what brings you here?”

“I not want be in own room right now,” Kal says, low and to the floor.

Bruce’s eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

Kal is picking at his clothes. “Friend come.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Bruce asks. “I mean; I know it’s really late for visitors but…” Bruce trails off, hoping Kal understands what he is trying to get at.

Still, Kal looks at the floor. What Kal says next shocks and confuses Bruce at the same time. “He hurt me when visits.” Whispering, as if hoping Bruce won’t hear him.

But he does. “Hurt you? Hurt you how?” Bruce asks in concern.

An awkward smile forms on Kal’s face and with a small shake of the head. “It not matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Bruce says. “Someone is hurting you, Kal. That matters.”

“No it not.” Kal stands and grabs a handful of the frills that decorate the clothes. Finally facing Bruce. “It not matter. It not all time. It fine.”

Bruce narrows his eyes, suspicion shoots through him. He doesn’t believe Kal for a moment. He can also see Kal is beginning to get agitated. If someone is hurting Kal, Bruce doesn’t want to upset or frustrate the Kryptonian further. What he really doesn’t want is for Kal to go back to his room and get hurt. Bruce drops the subject for now, but he is already planning to get more information from him later. “Okay, it’s no big deal. I’ll drop it.”

Kal rolls the sapphire eyes, looking more frustrated. “Cannot drop subject, Bruce. It not physical.”

Bruce stares at Kal in amazement, blinking. How can one be so naïve and clueless, yet be adorable at the same time? “It was a figure of speech. I meant I won’t talk about it anymore.” He clears his throat as Kal eyes him curiously. “You can stay here then, if you don’t want to go back to your room.”

Kal hesitates, looking slightly suspicious, but eventually relaxes. Shoulders sag as the Kryptonian hesitantly answers. “Thank you.”

Bruce nods and grabs the plate with the cake on it that he had abandoned earlier. He holds it up for Kal to see. “Do you want to finish the cake with me?”

“Only brought one, uh, I not sure English word.” Bruce holds up the spear. “Yes, that.”

“I would just call it a spear.”

“Spear?” Bruce nods. “Okay. Only brought one.”

“That didn’t stop you from sticking your finger into the frosting earlier.” Kal’s whole face lights up red and Bruce can’t help but chuckle. He is definitely adorable. Bruce’s heart beats a little faster, and he has to stop himself from telling Kal his thoughts.

“I sorry,” Kal says.

“It’s fine. I didn’t mind… much at least.” He pets the bed beside him. “Come, sit back down.” Kal hesitates before finally, walking over to the bed and sitting down beside Bruce. Bruce holds out the plate and Kal slowly runs that finger through some of the frosting again. As Bruce’s breath catches in his throat, he does the same, bringing his finger up to his lips and sucking. When he looks at Kal, he sees that the Kryptonian’s eyes are on his lips. Bruce pulls his finger out of his mouth. “Kal?”

Kal’s face gets even redder, something Bruce didn’t think could happen. “I…” Kal swallows. There’s still chocolate frosting on his finger. Bruce doesn’t want to admit to himself that he wants to lick it off, slowly. “I go.” He gets up quickly and Bruce scrambles after him.

“Kal wait, stop.” Kal stops, looking at him warily. “Don’t go. What’s wrong?”

“I intrude.”

“No you’re not,” Bruce says quickly. “You’re not. I said you could stay and I meant it. In all honestly, I would love the company. There’s not much to do in this room and since I’m not going to be sleeping, I fear I’ll get bored really quickly. It would be nice to have someone here to talk to.” Bruce is pretty sure he’ll say anything to get Kal to stay at this point. It’s not only because he’s worried about the Kryptonian being hurt either. He pushes the feelings down and drags his mind back on track.

Kal still eyes him warily but eventually sighs. “Okay, I stay.” Kal, once again, walks over to the bed and sits down next to Bruce. Bruce eyes him carefully, watching as Kal squirms. Then the Kryptonian picks up the plate from where Bruce had set it down, spearing a piece off. “Food earlier safe.”

Bruce watches Kal stick the piece into that mouth, and Bruce has to swallow the lump that forms in his throat before he answers. “I wasn’t trying to be rude earlier, you know, Kal. It’s just the same thing with the sleeping. I can’t… I can’t trust this place, Kal.”

“You trust me.”

Bruce sighs. “We’ve already talked about this.”

“I know but it…” Kal sighs heavily. “It confuse.”

“Think about it this way,” Bruce begins. “If you went to Earth, especially if it was against your will, you wouldn’t trust anything. But then, this one human, out of all the ones there, was being nice to you when the other humans weren’t. You would trust that human, wouldn’t you?”

Kal is looking off to the side in thought, but it doesn’t take long for his face to light up in a brilliant smile. He looks at Bruce. “Like you?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Kal’s smile falls and eyebrows furrow, “but I would probably be one of the humans that wasn’t nice to you.”

“And… where bubble come from?”

Bruce prides himself in not laughing for at least three seconds. Kal’s eyebrows furrow more watching Bruce laugh. “It was another figure of speech,” Bruce says as soon as he’s able to catch his breath. “We are going to have to work on that with you.”

Kal blinks at him before an ear splitting grin appears. It’s one of the most adorable things Bruce has seen, and his heart is definitely beating faster. “Okay, we work on. Maybe teach you Kryptonian.”

Bruce smiles back at Kal. “Well, I do know hello now.”

“Ehrosh :bem,” Kal says with an excited grin.

Bruce chuckles. “Ehrosh :bem.” Bruce then shrugs. “Plus, I know father.”

“Ukr.”

“Ukr,” Bruce repeats. He looks at Kal’s happy and pleased smile, blue eyes shining with satisfaction. Then, suddenly, Kal yawns, big and wide. Kal brings a hand up to be polite and hides it. “Are you tired?” Bruce asks.

“Little but I okay,” Kal says, not looking at all okay. Bruce can see the eyes are drooping and Kal’s body is starting to relax slightly.

Bruce eyes his bed, contemplating before making a decision. “You can sleep here if you want.” Kal eyes him, tensing some. Bruce starts to reassure him. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll just sit here reading this information.” He holds up the Krypton packet.

Kal eyes him up and down before answering. “Okay. You trust me, I trust you.”

“Good.” Bruce watches Kal nod once, but doesn’t get into the bed. “You can get into the bed. It’s okay.”

“I know. It… feel weird.”

“I haven’t slept in it yet if that’s what you are worried about. When I woke, I was on top of the blankets.”

Another second passes before Kal finally relaxes again and nods once more. “Okay.” They both get up and Kal pulls back the covers, and climbs into the bed.

“Goodnight Kal.” Bruce stands there watching as Kal falls asleep quickly despite being in a different room, with a stranger. Smiling at Kal’s sleeping form, Bruce walks silently over to the desk, sits down, and opens the packet up once more. He forces himself to read over the information instead of staring at the man sleeping in his bed. As alien as Kal is, Bruce has to admit to himself that he finds the alien very attractive. Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he knows it’s an impossible situation and he feels somewhat foolish. He should be thinking of ways to escape, not what frosting would taste like from those lips.

A/N: Thanks for reading!!

[crimeamarches]

more than slack rope, more than sunstroke

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken (FE7)

Pairing:  Guy/Matthew

Rating: T

Summary:  On some days, the contract weighs nothing at all. On other days, things get a little more complicated. Matthew, still reeling from the events of the Dread Isle, tries to struggle through on his own, and Guy gets caught in the crossfire.

Notes:  title comes from mineshaft by dessa.  emetophobia warning

also on ao3 :)

On an average day, the contract weighs nothing at all. It’s simply forgotten, like a grass cut on the plains, like fat trimmings off a bad cut of meat. Guy sits beside the fire and lets the conversation flow over him, Lyn and Kent and Rebecca and Lucius, with a corner of Matthew’s cloak tucked around him. Matthew hands him a stick for roasting nuts and sweets over the coals, close enough that their arms press together and stay there, and the entire army leans in close with sticky hands and happy laughs.

Not every day is so easy. The Dread Isle changed a lot of things. Most can sense it in Lord Eliwood; he goes on the same, the same as always, but he seems always to be leaning on Lord Hector, or with his arm looped through Lady Lyn’s. Guy can sense it in Matthew as well. Grief, distant and sloshing and drunk, bleeds out of him like blood from an open wound. Every person in the army honors Leila’s death and the sacrifice she made doing what is possibly the world’s most dangerous, most vital work; but Matthew spurns any attempts to approach him and, where possible, tries to avoid mentioning his connection to her at all to those not aware.

Yet, despite their insurmountable odds, there are more good days than bad. What a wonder to be surrounded by genial, good people, people chasing joy even if what they have is furtive, fleeting, now. They shake the last of that damned fog out of their brains and begin the long trek back to Bern. For once, Guy begins to feel like he belongs, contract or no contract.

On other days, however, the contract becomes a collar, a manacle, an anchor dragging him into the deep. The hours not spent fighting for his life against Fang mercs or Bern soldiers are spent wiping blood from his mouth after one of Matthew’s ambushes. His ears buzz with Matthew’s laughter and his jabs against Guy’s honor: what, you think I’m being unfair?  Wanna go back on your word, Guy?  It’s fine, I promise not to tell your upstanding kinsmen…for the right price. Matthew’s eyes, like flint, like a whetstone, like ash, burn gray and dying in his pale, mocking face.

Some days, Guy beds down with his hand curled beneath Matthew’s sharp jaw, and he thinks, what can I do?  How can I help you?  Others, he beds down alone, arm curled around his stomach, dreaming fitfully of starving and drowning in ink.

--

Not every battle they face is a large-scale conflict with dire implications for the future of their entire world. Some battles are simple skirmishes, small-scale affairs with troops of morphs or Bernese militia sent to test their defenses and harry their progress. They rotate watches, scouts, and rear guards to keep units fresh and ready to handle whatever the road throws at them. The schedule is consistent as clockwork, courtesy of their mysterious tactician, which means that it doesn’t take long for Guy to notice when the roster begins to skip over him in the rotation.

The week after they depart the Dread Isle, Guy is assigned to sentry duty. It’s the lightest assignment of the lot, though it can be exhausting to stay on high alert throughout the day until the night watch takes over. Still, there’s something about it that reminds Guy of his youth on the plains. The Lycian countryside has none of the warm, waving grass he remembers when homesickness grips him tight, and the smell of steel and road dust overpowers the smell of the wind and the horses; but, even so, Guy falls easily into the muscle memory of loping alongside the pack, falling back, and ranging ahead, keeping his eyes and ears open and alert.

The routine is familiar and easy to get lost in, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a shock when he’s put on the same assignment the following week as well.

“Maybe there’s been a mix-up,” Serra says directly into his ear. Neither of their names have moved position from last week. Her bony elbow digs into his shoulder as she leans over him to get a better look. “Maybe our esteemed tactician is finally losing it.”

Flinching from the volume of her voice, Guy tries to shy away. “That’s unlikely. Maybe…we’re being rewarded?  With lighter responsibilities?”

“I could buy that if it was just my greatness we were talking about, but what have you done lately?”

“Yeah…you have a point.”

Her elbow jabs him at the comment, and she pulls him into a noogie. “I was teasing you, you gloomy little muffin. Don’t be such a downer; you’re as bad as Erk!  Let’s just report to our posts and chalk it up to a happy accident, huh?”

It’s less easy for Guy to forget. He can’t help but feel that there’s something he’s missing, some strange new development that he has overlooked. Trepidation disturbs the slow, comforting routine of sentry duty, and Guy spends every day waiting for the other shoe to drop. Serra’s chatter grates on his nerves more than it typically does, but his conversation skills only get worse under pressure. All these factors combine to make for very long shifts.

To make matters even worse, Matthew begins avoiding him.

It’s probably because he’s working with Serra for the second week in a row. Guy rationalizes away the change; Matthew’s teasing would only stress him out more, after all, so is it really so bad that he’s backed off?  No. This is for the best.

He becomes a very bad watch partner, spending hours hunched miserably in trees and other vantage points with his knees up to his chin and an unconscious pout fixed on his face. Eventually, even Serra gives up.

Another week passes; they make their cautious way across Lycia. Soon they’ll be in Ostia and on to Bern, and then the real battles will begin anew. Surely when the new week rolls around, they will want the best, most rested soldiers on the most dangerous assignments. But, once again, the new rosters are posted and Guy (and Serra) remain day sentries.

This time, some people grumble and cut their eyes at the pair. Legault eyes Guy steadily, sending cold worry sliding down Guy’s spine, though the man leaves without a word. Hoping that he can escape before anyone confronts him, Guy tries to scurry away; however, before he can manage it, a hand catches him buy the arm.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Oswin asks. His voice is as calm and low as ever—Guy has never once heard him raise his voice, and the very thought makes him shiver—but his hand is large and heavy, and Guy can feel the strength in it as he’s held tightly.

“N-no,” he stutters horribly in response, squirming away and bolting. He’s across the camp before Oswin has any hope of catching him.

Maybe it would be best to speak with the tactician about this mix-up. Soon, too, before they reach Bern and the real fighting begins. If it’s an honest mistake, then the disarray could cause problems for the entire army. Guy could end up the reason someone gets seriously injured or even—

Goosebumps break out all over his body, and he turns sharply and hurries back towards the pavilion in the center of camp.

“Oh, are you looking for the tactician?” Lady Lyn asks as he approaches, putting down her papers to smile at him. Guy nods, too out of breath to reply. “Well, you’re going to have to wait,” she adds sympathetically. “They’re very busy at the moment, and Hector just pulled them away to work on something. I’ll pass along that you need to speak with them, though, or you can wait here.”

Guy gulps in air and rights himself. “No…thank you, Lady Lyn. But I have to get back to duty or else Serra will wonder where I’ve gotten to.”

“Try coming back after supper, if you can. Have a good day!”

Of course, it was silly to think that he could just waltz up to the most important member of the army and expect to immediately have his concerns heard. The tactician is the most important member of the army and obviously wouldn’t have time for complaints. But, all the same, maybe he should have told Lady Lyn anyway in order to get the message sent along; there really could be some horrible consequence to an error even that inconsequential-seeming.

“Deep in thought, Guy?”

A finger runs lightly up the back of Guy’s neck, making him jump and squawk. He wheels around, hand clasped to his nape, to see Matthew smirking at him.

“Wh-what do you want?” He demands tremulously.

“Tut, tut, Guy, you know you’ll never beat me if you let me sneak up on you like that…”

Guy drops his hand. Ignoring the jibe at his goals, he says, “What is it, Matthew?  You’ve avoided me for weeks; what is it that you need me for now?”

Like wiping blood from steel, any mirth or teasing in Matthew’s face disappears instantly. “I need to speak with you,” he says, turning on his heel and marching away towards the tree line. Guy has to jog to keep up.

“Matthew, wait!  I do have to get back—where are we going?”

He doesn’t hesitate or say a word until both are well out of earshot of the camp. When they’re finally far enough away, he stops abruptly enough that Guy almost slams into his back, but he doesn’t turn around.

“In three days’ time, Lord Hector will meet his lord brother in Thria. There have been reports of mercenary armies massing around the territory, and we can’t know for certain, but it’s likely that these mercenaries are either Black Fang or unofficially hired by Bern. They wish to stop our meeting with Lord Uther and any deal for reinforcements we may strike. The battle could get bloody. But you will not be in it.”

Alarm and confusion war for control, but the need to know why it’s so important Guy not take the field wins out. “What do you mean?  If there’s a chance that an entire mercenary army has amassed, then we’ll need every capable unit—“

“Lord Uther will have troops with him. Ostian regulars are the best troops in all Lycia.”

“That may be so, but I am more than capable. More hands are always better when lives are at stake.”

“We will hardly suffer from the absence of a single Sacaean swordsman. You sit this one out.”

Heat floods Guy’s face. “I’m not saying that I can make a massive difference alone, but I am skilled, and I couldn’t live with myself if something—“

“Enough. I’ve told you what will happen already.”

Matthew’s voice is so cold, his shoulders so stiff, his turned back so unresponsive, that arguing with him feels like floundering for footing on an icy lake. A helpless panic yawns in the pit of his stomach, confused and anxious. Who is Matthew to order him around?  But if Guy does disobey him, would that be the end of whatever strange friendship they have between them?  The thought turns him cold.

Guy squares his shoulders and sucks in a fortifying breath. He grabs Matthew by the shoulder and spins him around, refusing to quail at the furious look Matthew sends at him as he jerks away.

“I know you have a low opinion of my fighting abilities,” Guy begins, voice imploring, “But it isn’t for you to say who takes the field and who doesn’t. I follow the tactician’s orders. And if I’m going to be the greatest swordsman in Sacae someday, then—“

A harsh laugh cuts him off. “And how are you going to achieve that if you die spitted on the end of some sellsword’s blade?”

“What makes you so certain I’ll die?  It’s no more likely that I’ll die than anyone else in the army; are you coming to them all with this information?  What has you so worked up?”

“You ask too many damn questions.”

“Please, Matthew. I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand. You just need to listen.”

“That isn’t good enough.”  Guy’s own boldness leaves him panting slightly, heart pounding in his chest like he just ran a mile. Matthew’s face is like stone, and he still won’t meet Guy’s eye.

“Well that’s just too damn bad.”  Matthew’s hand comes up to cover his shoulder where Guy grabbed him moments ago. The movement looks almost unconscious, distracted.

“Matthew…”

Finally, Matthew looks at him. His eyes blaze, lined with deep circles. Guy trembles like a rabbit on a snare and hates himself for it.

“You don’t have to like it. You just have to listen. I’m calling in a favor. You can’t refuse.”

And Matthew leaves him unable to argue or answer, shivering in the increasing wind.

--

In the end, honor wins out. Guy explains the situation to Lady Lyn, pausing and mumbling enough to be nearly inaudible, and she nods her understanding. Guy is just happy that he doesn’t have to face Lord Hector or the tactician, though his own cowardice hounds his sleep.

He watches the group march into Thria Castle. With each soldier that passes him, Guy drinks them in as if he will never see them again. No matter how he cranes his neck, the only glimpse he can catch is of a flash of red cape fluttering through the crowd.

He’s going to die.

He feels them in their graves already as he wanders through the castle town. When will he get the news?  Will he be alone as the sun goes down, straining his ears through the market chatter to listen for screams of agony? Will some scar-faced mercenary captain parade Lord Eliwood’s body through the central square?

Guy’s stomach rebels against him in an alleyway behind a butcher’s shop. He doubles over, sick into the stinking rubbish pile, flashes of slashed throats and opened bellies behind his eyes. Wiping his mouth, he straightens up despite his weak knees. Matthew forbade him from approaching the palace until he receives a message at the inn that the fighting has ended. Guy has nothing but empty hours ahead of him.

Staggering out of the alley, he scrubs at his streaming eyes. He does his best not to appear drunk or ill; the last thing he needs is an altercation with city watch.

Distracted by filtering his own buzzing thoughts, he slams directly into the wide chest of a towering man in dingy armor. Stunned and unbalanced from vomiting and worry, Guy would have fallen to the street if the man didn’t grab him and hold him steady.

“Hey!  Watch where you’re headed, boy!” The man barks, righting Guy and snatching the front of his tunic.

“A-apologies. I was only—“

“Hey,” a second voice says. The owner of the voice is a second man dressed much like the first, who steps forward with glinting eyes. “Gorl, what do you suppose a lone Sacaean is doing in Thria?  He’s not one of Eubans’s boys, is he?”

“That’s a good question, Jalis. Boy, you got a contract with Captain Eubans?”

“No, I’ve never heard that name before.”

The second man, Jalis, leans in closely. “Then what’s your business here?  Ain’t causing trouble, are you?”

Say anything. Say you’re looking for mercenary work; you have a sword, and they’ll believe it. Guy clasps his hand around Gorl’s thick, corded wrist. He has no chance of breaking out of the hold like this, and anyway, where would he run?  He can’t stray too far from the inn and risk losing his way.

“I’m only passing through,” Guy says, cursing the weak excuse.

“Don’t he look an awful lot like the Sacaean we’re supposed to be hunting?” Gorl asks. A wave of dread curls through Guy’s already-abused stomach, and he swallows down fresh bile. Gorl’s hand tightens, forcing Guy ever so slightly onto his toes.

“Don’t be a jackass. We’re hunting a Sacaean woman.”

“Could still be related. Boy!”  Gorl shakes him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. “Boy, do you know anything about a girl named Lyndis?”

“Never heard of her.”  Guy’s other hand settles on the hilt of his sword.

“He’s lying,” Jalis says, voice heavy with amusement. “Well, we can fix that. Take him into the alley, Gorl, and let’s teach this little shit a little bit about respect and honesty.”

Gorl takes a heavy step forward, and in the same movement Guy unsheathes his sword and slams the hilt into Gorl’s wrist. A sickening crunch fills the air, and Gorl releases him with a scream of pain and rage. This has officially crossed the line of ‘typical marketplace dispute,’ and bystanders all around exclaim in surprise and fear. Guy rams his sword back into the scabbard and takes off before Gorl, Jalis, or any passing watchman can stop him.

He runs without looking back, taking turns as they appear before him and trying to throw any pursuers off his trail. The problem that arises, however, is that Guy has spent precious little time in Lycian cities. Within the hour, he’s free of pursuers but also hopelessly lost. He has no shoes other than the thin, soft boots unsuited for running on cobblestones, and his feet throb as he slides down a wall to rest for a moment.

Apart from a large tear in the front of his tunic, he escaped from the assault unscathed. Still, the memory of Gorl’s massive hand holding him down sends a shudder through Guy; both men towered over him and were toting massive axes to boot. That could have gone very poorly, with him beaten delirious before anyone ever bothered to raise an alarm for the poor sap losing teeth in the alley. Guy shudders again. His mouth still tastes of bile, but the run did manage to wipe his mind clear of the spiraling despair of the fates of his companions that had gripped him earlier.

Guy glances up at the sky. The buildings and the city walls make it difficult to tell the time with any precision, but the paling of the sky indicates that the sun has begun to set. Who knows how long it will take for Guy to work his way back to the inn to await Matthew’s summons. Climbing to his feet, Guy begins to limp his way towards the closest main street and, hopefully, someone who can point him in the right direction.

--

Night is falling in earnest by the time Guy finally stands in front of the inn. Sore and bruised, the last thing he wants is for a watchman to come by and accost him for loitering; he has little money of his own, and the thought of spending it on a room at the inn that he doesn’t even need is a bitter one. He sits for a moment on the lip of a fountain as he weighs his options.

Fate intervenes before he has to decide. Guy looks up, ignoring the protesting muscles in his neck, as hooves clatter into the square. A rider in Thrian livery makes a half-circuit around the square before heading in Guy’s direction.

“Ho!” the rider calls, raising an arm to salute him.

“Can I help you?” Guy responds cautiously, the memory of Gorl and Jalis still fresh.

“I was told to fetch a Sacaean man from in front of the inn. Are you he?”

“Who sent you?”

“A spy in Lord Hector’s employ.”

A sigh of relief gusts from his lungs. “Thank you. I’ll head to the castle immediately.”

The messenger offers him a ride back on the horse, but, footsore as he is, the thought of getting on a horse right now makes him want to lie down and never get up. Matthew’s alive, or alive enough at least to send a message, and that’s all that matters right now. Anything else can wait half an hour while he makes the journey, so Guy just thanks the rider and sends her back the way she came with knowledge that he’s on his way.

By the time Guy makes it to the entrance gate, he’s limping so badly he can barely stand, but the relief humming happily in his chest mitigates the pain somewhat. He doesn’t rest, just goes directly to the main hall where, theoretically, someone should be waiting to direct him. He can rest once he’s ensured there were no casualties, once he’s seen the lot of them safe and whole.

Two guards flank the door to the hall, and they exchange dark glances with each other before stepping forward to bar Guy’s way. “What is your business here, boy?”

Too exhausted to deal with an interrogation, Guy just murmurs, “A retainer of Lord Hector’s sent for me. I’m a member of his…”  He trails off as, apparently deeming his explanation insufficient, one of the guards takes a menacing step forward. I thought someone would be waiting for me, he thinks dimly as he’s grabbed for the second time that day.

“No need for that,” a smooth voice says from behind him. Guy twists his neck painfully around to catch a glimpse of Legault approaching from a side corridor. “He’s with me,” Legault continues. His heels click deafeningly on the stone floor as he approaches. The guard releases Guy slowly, and both watch with suspicious eyes as Legault drags Guy away.

“Legault?  What’s going on?  Where’s Matthew?”

“They’re still cleaning the bodies out of the hall, so of course it was suspicious that someone with Lord Hector wouldn’t know that. I’m fairly certain that peppy cleric is with our dear Matthew right now; I’m taking you to them.”

“The bastard could have told me somewhere else to meet him, then. Why send a message and not tell me where he’s actually going to be…”

“Because I was the one who sent for you.”  Legault stops in front of a series of archways, through which Guy can see nothing but a sea of white linen and bustling bodies.

Suddenly, he can’t take in a breath. His lungs struggle feebly; his tongue feels too large for his mouth, but he stumbles his way through the words anyway. “Why?  What do you mean?  Legault, please…”

Legault stares past him into the ward. “Eubans’s men didn’t go easy. There were some injuries. Matthew was…unable to send for you, so I took the liberty of doing it instead. I—“

Guy shoves past him hard enough to send Legault into the wall. All the relief, all the exhaustion, both have evaporated, leaving in their wake a numb weightlessness. Only one thought makes its way through the white noise:  find Serra. Legault said she was with Matthew; her hair should stand out and—

“Guy, stop.”  Legault cuts in front of him, placing hands gently on his shoulders to hold him in place. “You can’t just barge in and cause a panic in a closed ward. I will take you to him.”

“Why are you being so kind?  I don’t even know you,” Guy chokes out, all the fight leaving his body.

“Let’s just say that I feel a kinship with the lad. And I’m feeling a bit in a sentimental mood lately with all these wide-eyed youths around all the time. Clumsy as his attempts to protect his loved ones have been, far be it from me to let them go to waste.”

Legault’s voice fades into the background as Guy finds himself unable to focus. His eyes slide hazily over the small gaggles of nurses, friends, and mourners that cluster around the rows of cots. He has to keep up with Legault, can’t fall behind, and the thief’s legs are so much longer than Guy’s that he has to move quickly to have any hope. Any one of those white beds could be a friend, a dead man, another body he could have helped, if he’d only—

Around the corner is another, smaller grouping of beds. Upright patients occupy two of them: Wil, whose shoulder is wrapped in gauze but looks otherwise unharmed, and a green-haired man in chipped gray armor who Guy doesn’t recognize. None of those things matter, however when Guy’s eyes fall on the third bed.

Serra has put her hood up, white covering her bright hair. That detail filters in, easier to understand and process than the gray of Matthew’s skin, the paleness of his lips, the bandages swathing his chest. Guy gropes beside the bed, pulling out a stool and collapsing onto it, fingers gripping the side of the bed so tightly they go cold.

“He got caught by a poisoned axe while, I don’t know, picking a lock or goofing off or whatever,” Serra says dully. “I drained the poison, but because of that and where the wound is located, I can’t heal the whole thing right away. Elimine’s blessing can work a whole bunch of miracles, but it can’t just teleport the poison somewhere else or prevent scar tissue from stopping up important pathways in the body. So he gets to recover the hard way, which serves him right for going off on his own in the first place.”

“He’s alive,” Guy whispers, half a question, half just an exhale.

“Yeah, he’ll make it.”  Serra wipes her hands on the towel at her waist, then places her cool hand on the top of Guy’s head. “Watch him for a bit while I go see if I’m needed elsewhere, will you?  And you,” she jabs her foot at the cot, “don’t pretend to be asleep the entire time he’s here. Coward.”

She chucks Guy softly under his chin and smiles when he glances up at her. He doesn’t turn his head to watch her leave; he doesn’t register on any level the movements of the other people in the room. He rests his hand lightly over Matthew’s heart. A shudder rolls through his entire body; the tension curls his nails against clammy skin; Guy clutches his throat with his other hand as a sob rips out of him, shameful and loud.

Matthew’s eyes slit open. Fingers brush faint and dry against Guy’s hand, and the weakness in that touch only makes him cry harder, shoulders curling as if it’s possible to hide from what’s laying in front of him and boiling within him.

“Hey,” Matthew rasps, but all Guy can do is shake his head. If someone hadn’t found him quickly, the poison would have ravaged his system until it was too late for a healer to do anything about it. He would have writhed in agony as fire spread through his veins, until it stole his senses, his breath, his life; or he could have just bled out, trying to press the wound shut or stem the bleeding with his cape, until he grew too weak and cold to hold it firmly anymore.

And Guy would have been a half-mile away, slumped on the side of a granite fountain, complaining of his hurt feet. A low moan escapes his chest.

“I should have been there—“

“Hey.” Matthew pinches the inside of Guy’s wrist sharply. “What happened to you?  Your clothes are torn, and you’ve got a bruise…”

“You’re asking about me?  You’re half-dead and all—all mummified, and the poison could still do Elimine knows what to you if Serra missed any, and you’re asking me about a bruise?  How can you even say that?”

“The town was supposed to be safe. Nothing should have happened.”  There’s a grim set to his jaw, an all-too-familiar glint in his eye.

“Well something did happen,” Guy bursts out, wiping furiously at the tears on his cheeks with the hand that Matthew isn’t touching. “There were more mercenaries lurking around, apparently shaking down any Sacaean they see for information on Lady Lyn. One grabbed me, so I broke his wrist and ran away instead of causing a scene and getting arrested.”

Fury lights up Matthew’s face. “Those bastards—“

“They were heavily armed—if I hadn’t been able to surprise them, if I hadn’t been able to get away, who knows what could have happened. The big one could have choked me or snapped my neck like a twig.”

“Stop.”

It tastes bitter to hear the pained rasp of Matthew’s voice, but Guy pushes on. His tears have stopped, though he can still feel them drying on his face. He presses down firmly where he feels Matthew’s weak heartbeat. “So, you see, I could have died even though I was away from the fighting. And I would have died heartsick and feeling like a coward, a-and there would be one less person to sit by your bed, a-and…”  His voice trails off, his indignant fire dying out. He rubs his thumb over a small, puckered scar, and another large tear drips down his chin. “I deserve to be here, to see this through to the end. I want to get stronger, which will never happen if I’m sent away from the front. Matthew, I should have been here.”

He doesn’t want to see Matthew’s reaction to his outburst, doesn’t want to see him turn to stone again and leave him without any answers. Guy folds like paper, leaning over to press his forehead into Matthew’s side. Hiding again, running again, but at this point he can hardly bring himself to care.

A hand rests gentle against the back of Guy’s neck. He tenses brutally, but then it all bleeds away as the hand begins rubbing in slow, methodical circles and lightly scratching through the thin, soft flyaway hairs escaping from the base of his braid.

“You’re right,” Matthew murmurs. “I should never have sent you away. I was afraid…and I thought that it would be better if you were safe. But that was stupid. No matter what else happens, it will ease both our minds if we can look out for each other, yeah?  I treated you unfairly, and I’m sorry, Guy.”

Guy shakes his head against the canvas mattress. “I don’t want your apology. All I want is to stand by your side. As equals.”

Matthew’s hand stills.

“I know I still owe you one favor, but I hate—“

“Done.”

“What?”  Guy sits up abruptly.

“As soon as I can move off this damn bed, I’ll tear up the contract.”

“You will?”

“I’m asking my last favor right now anyway.”

“…What is it?”

Suddenly, Matthew’s grip turns to iron, yanking him down . Guy yelps and tries to catch himself before their skulls collide, but before he has time to do even that, their mouths meet in the middle.

Everything goes very still. He can hear his own distant heartbeat and feel with more clarity Matthew’ pounding stronger and stronger beneath his touch. Guy is hyperaware of every flutter of his eyelids, every catch of dry skin, every wet touch hinting something more intimate. His ears burn; his skin shivers happily like stepping out of the cold and too close to the fire. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt or ever even dared to imagine and, somewhere beneath his shock, he’s caught in a rising tide of yes.

Guy couldn’t say, afterwards, which one of them breaks away first. He’s left mesmerized by Matthew’s honeyed eyes only a few inches from his own, suffused in warmth and smiling for the first time in what feels like ages.

“That’s the only favor I ask of you now,” Matthew says. “Before I destroy the contract. Just the kiss. I didn’t want to break our terms too easily and offend your honor, after all.”  His thumb skims over Guy’s bottom lip, looking for all the world like he’d give anything to lean in for another taste.

Guy laughs, tired and giddy and filled up to the brim with emotion. “How about you give yourself a break from looking out for me and my honor, huh?  From now on, we’ll both look out for ourselves…and each other.”

“We have an agreement,” Matthew agrees with a teasing tap to Guy’s nose, and he seizes the torn bits of Guy’s tunic and pulls him back in for more.