#or at least those who had severe/life threatening injuries when he patched them back together; will die too.

[yeonban]

Omg Ohtaka dropped such a juicy tidbit on me out of nowhere??????

[bimswritings]

Armorer x Reder Pt. 2/2

Pt.1

Kofi

Ao3

Warnings: Typical Canon Type Violence

A/N: Part two for my love! Now that I've finished this, you can expect part three of the Savage fic, with the outline already nearly finished! Hope you enjoy, and until next time!~Bim

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“What is the meaning of this?”

She had been expecting Paz to have come to her earlier, seeking answers for what had just transpired . It could be considered nothing short of a blessing from her ancestors that she had been allowed the time she was, for if he had arrived not five minutes earlier she surely would have not been able to answer him. Even now she found it hard to find her voice, swallowing thickly as she tried to dispel the invisible grip that held her. It was as if the dust from the rubble had infiltrated the filter of her helmet, invading her senses and clogging every sense with a layer of dust.

“The empire sent TIE bombers.” The vecoder of her helmet masked the cracking of her voice from the large warrior in front of her, lest she appear anything but unyielding even in such a moment. It did nothing to dampen the way it reverberated within however, and the echo fact was like a hit to the chest plate all over again.

“Were there any other survivors.”

A light shake of her head gave him his answer. Even if they were strangers to her, the carnage she had witnessed would have been a shock to anyone.

None had been spared from the Empire’s wrath. Not a single structure nor person was left standing, and at places there were little more than scorch marks burned into the ground, the only testament of what was once there. The burns matched those marring the flesh of the scattered bodies, which there was no shortage of. Most were too burned and damaged to tell age or gender and she had no doubts that there were more victims, either buried or bodies completely destroyed in the initial blast and still burning flames.

“How did they make it?” He questioned further, and unsurprisingly.

“Their house was located further outside the village. It received the least of the blast, though there is still no home to return to.”

Yet again she was thankful for your reclusive behavior. It was only thanks to your distance, and the armor she found you buried in, did you survive, though you weren't without injury.

As soon as she received your transmission she had turned back mid flight, making it there in record time. Having never used the transmitter before, the fact that you did so now expelled any worry she might have had over your previous encounter.

When she arrived to find what had happened, she had immediately started digging. Using every tool and ounce of strength at her disposal to move the rubble, looking for at least a body to confirm her fears.

At long last she had found you, body bloodied and arm twisted at an unnatural angle. It was a shock to her system, heart nearly stopping as she took in your still form, thinking you were surely dead. Gloved hands ghosted over your exposed skin and still attached armor, which itself was badly damaged. As well made as it was by your own hand and her careful guidance it still had trouble holding up to the immense weight and damage it took. The metal surface was marred with countless scratches and dents, even completely caved in at places. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that you were already gone. There was no telling how long you had been under the rubble before she had arrived, and even if she had gotten there minutes after, your wounds were so numerous it would have been close.

Raw pain ripped through her as emotion broke through her carefully crafted dam, spilling out all at once over it’s months of accumulating, effectively taking grip over her entire being. She did not cry however. The ability to do such had been lost to her years before and would never come back. Instead, she simply held your body close as she knelt in the dirt, mourning what she had never had the chance of claiming. She had been so close. Her helmet showed that your heat signature had not even grown cold.

Taking her glove off, she reached for your own hand. Even if it was just once, she wanted to feel your skin against hers, without the barrier of metal or leather you both consistently wore. Fingers lacing your own, it once again brought a wave of sorrow crashing over her.

Your hands, strong and calloused from years of work, felt better pure Naboo silk to her own. They remained loose and unmoving, even as her own knuckles turned pale at the strength with which she grasped them. A silent plea to her ancestors, the maker; anyone who would answer the questions she herself didn’t know. Never having been one to believe that those unseen could have much of an influence on the living, she didn’t expect an answer. Only someone to shift the unbearable grief to.

Yet, as she lay mottionless over your corps, she received one. If her own hand hadn’t been so tightly clenched she may have missed it, and in her stay she thought she was imagining it. But then it happened. Again. Then again.

Your pulse, weak and uneven, but there.

Throwing herself back, she quickly changed the viewing mode on her helmet as she tried in vain to keep her hopes from rising. She knew very well it could just be her own that she was feeling and until there was concrete proof then-

There.

In the corner of her visor read your heart rate weak and uneven, just as she had felt before, but there.

She wasted no time pulling you from the rubble and nothing short of sprinting back to her ship, keeping in mind there were undoubtedly unseen and internal injuries as she did her best not to jostle around. She could only thank whatever force there was out there that she had taken the one ship of the coven that had a med chamber in it. Though it was well worn and outdated at best in comparison to the newer ones, it would serve her purpose until she could do something better.

The machine’s light humming reached through the air as it began working on your more severe wounds, the steady drone of the machinery a stark contrast to her own shaky hands as she piloted the ship off the cursed planet, making sure to keep an eye out for any lingering ships of the empire. It would only make your situation worse if you were to be caught in the middle of a firefight as your wounds were tended, though she did not even know if she would be able to gain enough control of herself to fly away from such an endeavor unharmed.

Once certain that there was no one following and they were out of range of the planet, she set the craft to autopilot and was back by your side immediately. The droid had just finished removing the armor from your body and tending to the majority of life-threatening wounds, moving on to what it could finish with the limited supplies it had. She had to resist grabbing your hand, instead putting the energy into pulling the medical log. Reading over it, her heart sized at the vast number and varying severity of each listing as she read further and further on.

Oblique-displaced fracture-R/Humorous, Transverse Fracture-R/Tibia, Hairline fractures of Ribs-R/arm/leg, Bruising of Kidney/Lungs/Liver, Puncture of R/Lung-Bone Frag. Removed-Origin-twelfth intercostal rib, Sever Grade four concussion, Multiple lacerations

She had no idea what had been fixed and what had not, but the number of bacta patches missing from the supply put a small ease on her, and the sight and sound of your slowly steady vitals was enough to keep her from jumping to extremes. She had no particular love for droids, though certainly not hating them as much as the young Din, the money spent to install the machinery was well used, even if the original purpose had been to heal warriors after missions with wounds that needed immediate attention.

That did not mean she found any time to rest on the way home, constantly watching for the slightest sign of life other than the low beeping of the monitor, and the ever so faint rise and fall of your chest as she counted each breath you took. The flight seemed to take double the amount of time it normally did, each second dragging on for eternity, until finally the landing gear of the Starjumper touched the surface of Nevarro. Thankfully it was night, and she had no issues once again lifting you into her arms and carrying you through the deserted streets to the coven. Its familiar coolness encompassed her as soon as she emerged from the stairs into the lower levels. The deathly silent halls were a stark contrast to her own panic.

Ignoring the guards, who’s attention faltered as they caught sight of her haul, she brushed past and headed straight to the only person who could help.

Olia, their healer, answered the door in her sleeping clothes, helmet clearly having been shoved on in her haste to answer the Armorer’s loud and incessant pounding on the door.

“What in the stars do you want this late..at..” Her sentence tapered off as she saw it wasn’t just a random idiotic warrior who had injured themselves, but her Alor, holding someone who clearly wasn’t Mandalorian.

“Fix them.”

The next few hours were a flurry of activity as Olia fixed what the med unit had not, resetting your afflicted arm which had been simply bandaged before and trying not to flinch at the nasty noises it made while doing so. Each thread of the needle to close skin together felt as if it were digging into her own flesh. Still, she watched, unable to tear herself away even as she knew in the back of her mind that rumor had already spread about her return. They would be looking for answers, and she would give them in due time. For now, they would have to practice patience just as she was.

Finally, two hours later, Olia was done. Wiping the sweat from the back of her neck as she admired her work, she explained the situation to the Armorer as she approached your bedside on stiff legs. She simply stared, not daring to touch when you looked so fragile. She hated it, the way your skin had lost its beautiful tone. The once powerful and proud posture she had seen stepping around the forge like a wild loth was nowhere to be seen. Your body seemed to have sunken in on itself, defensive even now.

“Her body is keeping itself under for now. Not surprising given the amount of trauma and injuries sustained, but if she does start to come around, I’ll give her something that should keep her under, or at least enough that she won’t register what’s going on. I would recommend it for as long as we can so that her wounds have time to heal without issue.”

She looked back over your still body, letting out a sympathetic sigh as she moved to do so.

“Even then, she’s not going to be moving around on her own too much any time soon. Wherever she came from, I hope they aren’t expecting her back anytime soon.”

The Armorer could feel the underlying question in her words, and for what she had done the women had earned her answer.

“That won’t be an issue. There is nowhere to go back to.” She looked away from your form for the first time, something that did not go unnoticed by the observant healer.

“She’s ours now. Treat her as you would any warrior, for she has fought just as bravely.”

She nodded solemnly. The Alor was know to always be serious and straight laced, but the way she was acting now gave way to more than words could ever tell. Tentatively, she rested a hand on her pauldron.

“Go. Get some rest. I can watch over her for now.”

The Armorer hesitated, feeling the lack of rest catching up as the adrenaline finally began to wear from her system. But to leave now would only leave her mind to wonder instead of knowing what was happening at every moment.

Olia sensed her hesitation, pushing her more firmly in the direction of the door.

“Once she’s more stable I will move her to a more comfortable bed. If there’s any changes then I’ll alert you but until then there’s nothing for you to do, and the others are bound to be wanting answers.”

Rod straight shoulders dropper slightly at her words, and a smile tore its way across the old woman’s face as she realized she had won.

Guiding her further out, she made sure the smith was out and well on her way to her own space before closing the door. What she didn’t see was that, instead of turning down the hall that led to individual dwellings, she instead turned right, down the path that would lead her to the only place she could think, to feel less powerless than she was right now. Her forge, where she fell heavily onto her work bench, unmoving as she stared blankly into the once comforting blue flames of the fire. Now they only acted as a painful reminder, thinking back to the times back in your own dwelling. She had yet to move, and Paz found her in the same position when he entered, leading to their current situation.

“I would never doubt your commitment to the tribe, but I must doubt the wisdom of bringing an outsider here! Into the heart of our tribe!”

Had she been in any other situation, she would have no hesitation in putting him back in his place. Heavy infantry expert and lead warrior or not, he had no right to speak in such a way to her. The only thing that saved him from her hammer and tongue was the fact her mind was still filled with thoughts of you. In this moment she even found herself thankful for his questioning. It meant that there was at least one person still thinking straight enough to be an effective leader in her stead.

“It’s her.”

“It's her?” he parroted the words, twisted with their own sense of confusion. “What do you mean it’s h-“ The words stuck mid-sentence as the wheels turned in his head, slowly putting the pieces together. From where he knew she was going, the small glimpse and rumors he had gotten from the others describing you, and the way his Alor was acting now, he was able to come up with his own relatively accurate assumption.

“The Smith.”

Her silence was his only answer, but it was all he needed.

Moving slowly, he settled his own large frame next to hers on the bench, which creaked under the weight. It felt odd, seeing her look so deflated and almost small. Even after years of putting on muscle from the forge and training, she still had nothing on him size wise. Though he was still positive she could beat him in a fight if it came to it, and she had countless times before.

His voice took on a softer, more rumbling tone.

“How did it happen?”

“The Empire. I only got there after they were gone, though there was really nothing left to go back to.”

He wanted to ask more, what they were doing there, why they chose such an outlandish, insignificant town, but he already knew. They both knew. It was because of them. While tolerated by the empire, both sides knew the other would wipe them out if given the chance. With so many going to one town multiple times, it was bound to draw attention. They had just been willing to believe that the Empire would turn a blind eye to it, just like they had with Nevarro.

How foolish of them.

Now they had dragged an innocent bystander, who had done nothing but help them and expecting nothing in return, into their fight, costing them not only their home but almost their life.

Though Paz was more akin to fighting than feelings himself, he could see the turbulence going on within her. Years of being what one might consider confidents let him know everything he needed to.

“She’ll pull through. From what you’ve told me, she’s strong. Not to mention she has Olia looking after her. And besides,” he stood up, walking out to give her space to do what she did best. To think, and come up with the next best plan of action for them to take.

“I still have yet to meet this mysterious smith.”

_______________________________________________

You had never been much of a morning person. Waking up bright and early just to face the scorching heat of your planet's twin suns combined with that of your forge didn’t make for a promising work day. Alas, that was when a majority of customers would come looking for wears and weapons, as well as to hire your services. Even though you preferred working during the marginally cooler nights, you still braved the day, gritting your teeth and dragging your feet as you forced your body into motion. As hard as it had always been then, it was nothing compared to how you were feeling now.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been run over by a Loshev, then further trampled on. Not even in the early times of your apprenticeship, when you had gone to bed with the inability of even being able to lift your arms to fold back the blankets after lifting your hammer an immeasurable amount of times, had you ever felt this sore. Everything from head to toe hurt, and the thought of moving at all was enough to fill your body with a sense of dread.

Instead of doing so, you settled on just getting your eyes open, which itself proved to be a difficult task. They felt as if the skin itself was welded together; made of Kiern metal as they dragged open painfully.

Darkness was the first thing you saw. Shapes and colors only came along after a few moments as your eyes adjusted. Blurred objects slowly came into focus as you took in your surroundings.

You were in a dimly lit room, the only source of light coming from a small lantern hanging from the wall. It’s glow cast drastic shadows on each object, giving the unfamiliar space a touch of comfort with its warm light. The furnishings themselves were rather bare, consisting of only a few boxes stacked on top of one another with small trinkets of one kind or another littered around, and the bed which you currently resided on.

Pulling the blankets aside, you hissed at the way your body groaned in protest, feeling as if every nerve were on fire. It appeared that the lantern also provided the only source of heat because as soon as the surprisingly quality blanket left you were subjugated to the cool air of the small space. You noted areas of bandages scattered all over your body, covering most of your arm and spilling across your torso. The scratchy material could also be felt under your pants, catching on the material and rubbing uncomfortably at your temples.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position, your head swam as the pounding from within increased, leaving you gasping for breath. As much as it hurt, you had to keep moving. You didn’t know where you were, or who was around. The last thing you remember was the walls of your home coming down around you as fighters screamed overhead. For all you knew, you were being held by some backworld smuggler who intended to use you for profit, working to make weapons or using your body for other means. Bandaged wounds or not, you had to get out before the choice was taken away.

Getting to your feet was, unexageratly, one of the most difficult things you had ever done. Your legs gave out as soon as they touched the ground, forcing you to use a majority of upper body strength to drag your way across the room to the door on the opposite wall. It was far from graceful, and there was even a point where you bumped into one of the various stacks of crates. It was nothing more than a little bump, but enough to knock a precariously placed holoboard from its perch on the edge.

Clattering to the floor loudly, it only prompted you to move faster, the fear of someone having heard the ruckus and coming to investigate. You prayed to the maker that wasn’t the case, but with the luck you had been having lately it should have been no surprise when the door opened with a loud creak. A shadow fell over your crawling form, and you looked up expecting the worst. Someone like a pirate or scavenger, maybe even an enforcer. What you weren’t expecting was a child, or what you assumed was one at least.

The person standing in the doorway was small. They were just shy of reaching halfway up the frame, lithe frame hunched in on itself from what you could see peeking around the opening. It was hard to tell their exact age, due to the achingly familiar helmet they wore. While far from being a replica, it was still close enough to that of your beloved Armorer to send a pang through your already aching body. The polished metal reflected the new light of the hall in an almost blinding manor. An owlish visor stared down at your form, just as frozen as you were.

Then, before you could react, they were gone. Light footsteps echoed down the corridors, growing more and more faint until they disappeared completely, leaving you in silence once again. There was only a moment of hesitation before you were on the move once again, now with a reinvigorated urgency.

Finally making it to the door, you used the frame to pull yourself up, gasping all the while as sharp jolts of pain stemmed from every part of your body. Emerging from the room you were met with the sight of similar metal walls as the room. They extended in both directions, the one to your left extending into darkness while there were two branching paths on the right. While having no idea where exactly you were and no reference on how to get out, you still pushed forward.

Heading right, your path was lit by only the occasional light on the wall. Some were the normal low lights that could be found on virtually any planet, while others were a more archaic version using oil and gas were scattered in between. You could tell you were most likely somewhere underground judging from the cool, damp feel the air carried. Either that or you were on an already cold planet, as judging from the state of the room you woke in, it was doubtable that you were in such a place that would waste resources on high quality cooling.

Reaching the split path, you paused, giving yourself a moment to breathe and recuperate as you listened carefully down each. The left was dead silent, almost unnervingly so, and for a moment you thought the second was the same. However, the light flicker of the nearest flame caught your attention. It moved consistently back in the direction you came, not like how it would normally; and with how much of your life had been spent staring and carefully watching such flames it was almost childs play to tell it was being manipulated by something else. Listening closer once again, you could hear it. The slight whisper of the wind. It’s draft was light, almost undetectable, but if you enough it was there. Gently caressing your skin and whispering promises of a way out.

It was a slow go, and painful the entire time. Your body gave not a moment of relief, in just as much pain as when you woke up if not more. It was hard to even take a full breath. Your lungs felt as if they would burst with each inhale. It was as if the air itself was made of fire. The pain didn’t leave much room for thought, but those that you did have were for the armored warrior you had been so abruptly reminded of earlier.

You had no idea where she was now, or if she even knew what had happened. The message may have never even gotten through, and while the Mandalorians were always well informed of the events going on around the galaxy you had no idea how long you had been here. It could be just a night or day; maybe even a week. She only visited every thirty rotations, so she could only find out when she came by for her next visit, only to find nothing but ash.

Would she mourn your supposed death, or would it be more so due to the loss of a weapons provider and face they could use to get supplies and information without knowing who it was really going to? Maybe it would be a relief not to have to worry about any information about them being uncovered. A loose end tied up without them having to do any of the work.

The thought of her throwing whatever connection you thought you had away, especially after having fallen so hard for the strong woman, hurt your heart almost as much as your body. It was a mortifying thought, and one that distracted you from not only the pain for a moment, but also caused a lapse in judgment that allowed your pursuers to get so close. It was only too late that you heard their footsteps echoing behind you in the dimly lit hall. A new wave of fear coursed through your body, pushing you further as they got closer to you, and yourself finally emerging into a larger section of the hall. This one had alcoves lining the top of the wall, allowing the moonlight and cool night air from outside to filter in and drain the hope from your body. The entire time you thought you were getting closer to a way out, you had just been losing yourself deeper in the maze of the unfamiliar compound. It was cruel for fate to do so, but there was nothing to be done now. Not when your pursuers were getting so close.

Your eyes darted around the small area, locking for a place to hide or at least a weapon to defend yourself with, before settling on one of the many alcoves. It was under the small windows that allowed the traitorous light and breeze in, leaving it bathed in darkness.

Thinking quickly, you limped over and forced yourself into the narrow space. It was plenty tall, but so thin it forced your shoulders straight and grated on your exposed skin as you slipped in. Here, your breaths sounded even louder and more labored, forcing you to muffle them with your hand and making it even harder to breathe. It wasn’t the best spot, and quite obvious now that you thought about it, but there was no time to find a new one as a group burst in through the arch you had emerged from seconds prior.

It was hard to see with your eyes still adjusting to the dimness of your little space combined with the light blur they still held, and you simply squeezed them shut, unable to watch as you listened to them get closer to your hiding spot, and focused on remaining as silent as possible. One hand clamped over your mouth, the other wrapped around your body as it squeezed as tightly as possible, as if it were the only thing keeping you together.

You could hear them talking. Their voices sounded muffled even as they bounced off the cold stone walls, and they spoke in low tones that made it nearly impossible to hear. A few still made their way through however.

‘Escaped’ ‘gone far’ ‘Find them-’ ‘kill’

The last word sent a shiver down your spine. It was only made worse as one of the group got closer than any had yet stopped mere feet away. The rough, damp stone dug into your skin as you pushed yourself further back, duly noting the itching pull of your wounds as they grew heated.

They were going to find you, and once they did they were going to kill you, or worse.

A moment passed. Then two. Then several more, all waited out with tension so thick it would put any ship hull to shame, before the shadowy figure retreated. Their own footsteps faded in with the others as they moved on in search of their present target of you, continuing to head down the maze of halls.

Even once they were gone you didn’t allow yourself to relax for a full minute, too fearful of them coming back. But as the momentarily spike in adrenaline wore off and your current position became increasingly uncomfortable, you allowed yourself to relax. Greedily gulping in as much air as your recovering lungs would allow, you were doubled over as you tried to recover. That position, combined with the increasingly loud pounding in your ears, left you unaware of your surroundings and defenseless against the shadow that unknowingly approached.

Their arm reached in, easily pulling you from your hiding place and out into the open.

“N-no! Stop!” You fought back weakly, pushing away at the figure that held you in an iron grip, not yet painful but refusing to budge as you clawed at it uselessly.

“Please.” It was a whimpering, pathetic sounding plea. One born of desperation and fear. Never in your life would you think yourself to sink to such levels, yet here you were, bracing for the pain you knew would come. They would drag you back, either to that little room or somewhere even more secluded, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You braced as the person shifted, recoiling as they brought their free hand up. You expected a hit, a slap. Something that would daze if not knock you completely out. What you weren’t expecting was the gentle caress of fingers along the skin, tracing along your cheek and following its slope up, where it gently rested, silently urging you to open your eyes and raise your gaze.

There was hardly a chance to be confused by the action before a sense of familiarity hit. Worn leather, softer than porg fur and just as warm despite the chilly environment, was stained with the smell of oil and sharp tang of metal. It was a scent that you had thought of many times, haunting your thoughts at night as you wished to be nothing more than wrapped in its comfort.

With a shuddering breath, you forced yourself to look up into the visor of your captor.

The gold of her helmet seems even brighter now as the light of the moon causes it to practically radiate under its glow, starkly contrasting the inky darkness of the owlish visor as it tilts in a way that gives away her concern.

There’s a moment of silence as you simply stare at one another, an exchange of silent emotion as you take each other in.

“Tracinya’ika…” The voice that flows from her helmet is akin to a whisper, seeming almost impossibly soft for such a warrior. However quiet, it’s enough to break the last of your resolve. The Armorer catches you as your legs give out, exhaustion finally catching up. She doesn’t say a thing, simply letting you bury your face in the warm fur covering clasped over her shoulders as you silently hiccup and stutter.

“H-how did I get here? The last thing I remember is-” your unable to finish, screams of the villagers mingling with tie fighters coming to the surface along with a crushing, constricting feeling gripping your chest, as if you were trapped under the rubble once again.

Seeming to sense your thoughts, the Armorer places a comforting hand on your lower back to lead you away. When it becomes apparent that there’s no way you’ll be walking on your own, she pauses a moment, before bending down and sweeping you off your feet to carry you bridal style down the hall, past the other Mandalorians that had appeared without a sound. They were silent as she passed, though their curiosity was almost tangible. She paid them no mind however, easily carrying you through the dim halls and allowing you to once again bury your face into the fur of her cowl. If she minds she says nothing of it.

“There is much to explain.” Her voice rumbles, vibrating through her chest and against your cheek. “But you have been through much. For now, rest. When you awake, you can ask as many questions as you like.”

You wanted to argue, to protest, but there was no energy left to do so. Your escape attempt had left you drained. Instead, you simply let your head rest against the chilled metal of her armor, allowing the gentle sway of her walk to lull you back to sleep without the fear of what was to come, knowing you were safe as long as she was around.

____________________________________

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You froze, the crate of rations you were about to hand to the man next to you blocking your vision from the worst of the glare you could already feel. That barrier was shortly removed, leaving you exposed to the cross Mandalorian.

It had been foolish to think you would be able to sneak off without her knowing. Nothing went on in these tunnels that she didn’t know about. If you didn’t know any better you may think that she had monitors hidden around the place, or maybe even a tracking device to keep tabs on you. It was more likely someone had mentioned your whereabouts in passing, or she had come for one of her usual check-ins throughout the day.

“You should not be up and about, none the less moving supplies.” Her gaze snaps to the others, who were all similarly frozen as they watched. You felt slightly guilty, knowing they didn’t deserve her wrath.

“Why would you let her in here? If the cold doesn’t make her sick then the labor will only make her recovery that much longer.”

The man visibly flinched at her tone, her attention now focused on him as the others slowly back away, letting him take the blame.

“Well, I just thought-”

“You clearly did not, else she would not be working herself to the bone.”

She takes a step closer to the man, sending him into a panic as he quickly backpedals, stammering.

“Hey.” You grab her arm, instantly shifting her attention back to you. Unlike the others, you don’t shrink back or even flinch. Instead you stare back into the darkness of her helmet. “It’s not his fault. I told him it was alright, that I was fine to work.”

The Armorer stares a moment longer, glancing back once more at the others before grabbing you by the hand, shoving the crutch you had been using since your leg healed enough to put weight on into your hand and dragging you away. She continues to scold you as she walks, never pausing in her climb from the lower levels as she continues to make you feel more and more like a child.

“There is no reason for you to have to work in your condition. Olia said rest would do you best.”

“That was weeks ago.” You huff, using the wall to stabilize yourself a bit better as you attempt to keep up with her quick pace. “And it’s only right that I do something to pull my own weight, especially after all that you and the others have done for me.”

“You have already done enough for us, and once you are fully healed I know you will continue to help. Until then I implore you to rest.”

The concern she held made you blush, her complimenting words nearly winning you over. Too stubborn for your own good however, your tongue speaks your thoughts before you can stop it.

“I know, but I can’t help but feel that I’m taking advantage of you. I just want to be, you know, useful.”

Your words cause her to pause, nearly causing you to collide with her back, sending a glance over her shoulder to your deflated figure. Logically she knows that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help out, even sending a streak of pride through her at your eagerness to help her people, but the small voice constantly hounding her and leading to her protectiveness was too loud to ignore.

To your surprise, instead of heading down the left hall to what you knew would lead to the room you had been set up in since arriving, she turned to the right. Following cautiously, you looked about with wide eyes, having never been down this way before despite being her for weeks now. There were still many parts of the tunnels you didn’t know, mainly memorizing the paths to important places such as the communal area, storage rooms(which were the easiest to sneak off to help in), and of course the forge.

Soon enough you enter another section. The smell of metal and oil hits as soon as you step over the threshold, taking you by surprise. It was even stronger here than the forge, which was saying something. Though with the number of weapons and armor lining the walls it was to be expected. Every inch of the room, from the ceiling to the floor and even laying in piles were weapons. The order with which they were all organized in was impressive, not a single piece out of place in the organized chaos. And there, in the middle of it all, was one of the biggest men you had ever seen.

Your own father had been large, standing at six five, and while this man seemed to be slightly shorter he more than made up for it with width. Shoulders like a rancore, with hands so large they made you jealous of the potential grip strength, he looked as if he could snap you without a second thought. It’s not as if you were some petite thing in your own right, yet you felt dwarfed for one of the first times in your life.

As soon as he noticed you enter, he stood, his head bowing in acknowledgement.

“Alor.” He helmet shifted towards you, unconsciously forcing you further behind your bronze protector. “How can I help you?”

She shifts to the side, exposing you further as her hand gently rests against the small of your back, pushing you further towards the giant.

“It seems our newest friend can’t sit still. Unfortunately I can not watch them at all times to ensure they do not sneak off, but I know I can trust you to watch and keep them entertained.”

His head tilts, studying you closer as your heart jumps to your throat. In the process of trying to pull your own weight, you were now nothing this man with having to babysit you.

“I’m sure he has better things to do. If we just go back I could-”

“No. You will stay with Paz until I come for you. He will keep you from sneaking to the lower levels and lifting boxes.” A warning lay under her tone, both for you and Paz. His helmet dips in a nod once again, silently accepting his new instructions as she lightly ruffles your hair, pulling back only when your hand swats at hers.

“Do not worry. I am sure you two will get along just fine. I’ve had enough trouble keeping him away as it is.” Before you could try and argue once again she was gone, turning on heel and heading back down the passage. Great. Now you were alone with a giant and potentially grumpy Mandalorian while surrounded by weapons, which was both potentially good and bad.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and turned back to Paz, as he had been called. He was still standing, watching as you cautiously approached.

“H-hello there.” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering, only imagining what he might think of you now. Still, you powered on. “You’re name is Paz, right? I’m-”

“I know who you are.” He cuts you off, flopping back down into his seat as he picks up the weapon he had previously been inspecting.

“Oh….You do?”

He snorts. “Everyone knows who you are. You made quite the entrance.”

You flush, still embarrassed you had made such a spectacle arriving. Definitely not how you had hoped to meet such esteemed warriors, bloody and defeated. He seemed to sense your embarrassment.

“No matter. I’ve known about you before then.” He twirled the blaster in his hand, one that you now recognized as your own craft. “Been a fan of your work for a while.”

Gesturing to the bench across from him, you soon found yourself becoming comfortable with the blue man. Within the hour you had relaxed completely, joking around with him as he answered any questions you had about the location of rooms or the odd Mandalorian you had yet to talk with. The conversation quickly shifts to, of course, weapons, as you talk about the ups and downs of each design.

“It’s good to have someone to talk with like this. Nobody back on Quilon were interested in the craft of weapons. They just cared if they shot or not.” He took the weapon you had just finished checking, looking for nicks or spots needing maintenance, and handed you another. It was a small mercy he had granted you. While not a physically demanding task it was enough to keep you busy and feeling useful. There was a lot to get through after all, and he surmised there was no one better to check weapons then one who knows their ins and outs.

“While many like to use the weapons, they don’t get too familiar with their inner workings.”

“That’s why we’re here though.” You point out, only causing him to sigh.

“Yes, but if I have to fix one more blaster that simply has a residue build up that could be solved with a good cleaning I’m going to strangle them.”

“I’m glad she brought me here. What she’s done, what you’ve all done, is amazing. If I could spend my life working alongside her it would be more than enough.

He pauses, in the middle of sharpening a skinning knife, his helmet tilting up before going back to his work. “I’m sure she would be delighted to hear so. You should tell her yourself.”

You pause, confused. “What do you mean? She already knows that I want to continue making weapons for you all.”

Now you had his full attention, staring back at one another across the small gap as you both tried to discern the others thoughts. His words made no sense. She knew your intentions to stay, so why would you need to explain any further? You wanted to stay, more specifically just for her, but there was no way you could just tell her that. To risk ruining everything you had built between the two of you? Just for some silly little crush? No thank you. You were content being as useful to her as you could now, relishing in the little crumbs of affection you received now.

“You have to be kidding me.” He finally says, breaking the silence. “She literally calls you ‘ni tracinya’!”

You blink owlishly, still not understanding. Your Mandoa was still coming along. As of now you only knew a few words, mostly greetings and curse words, much to the amusement of the clan and the disdain of the Armorer.

He throws his hands in exasperation, head practically slamming back into the wall behind him. “It means ‘my flame’ for makers sake! Listen,” He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees as his voice takes on a more serious tone. “Think real hard, back to when you first came here. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed anything?”

Now that he mentions it, you do remember some odd things that you had never really put into question before now.

When you had first been cleared to move out of bed by Olia, the Armorer had insisted on moving you to a room closer to the forge, claiming its warmth would do you better then the cooler parts of the tunnels where the injured normally stayed. You had been cautious, unsure of being so close to the center of the tribe space and felt as if you were being invasive. She had assured you it was only temporary, to sooth your concerns you suspected, though that was quickly thrown out the window as the small space quickly collected a number of trinkets thanks to the little ones. After overcoming their initial hesitancy and fear of being an outsider, they were constantly bringing small objects and bits of easily bent and cut pieces of metal for you to make things out of, trading your creations for their own crude versions. The majority were from the Armorer however, and you treasured those the most. They were nothing extravagant, certainly not to the level of detail you would go into, but you wouldn’t have expected her to. Her focus was always more on practicality, though that’s not to say her works weren’t beautiful in their own right. Your own just placed more emphasis on the small details, and you were allowed the time and pleasure of putting them there.

She had brought you all your meals during that time, eventually evolving to the point where you would enjoy them together in her forge when you were well enough, your backs pressed to one another with a covering tightly wrapped around your eyes. Hardly was there a time when you weren’t greeted with the warm shine of her armor, the fur she wore brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine with how close she stood at times. Her hand would constantly be touching your back or shoulder, holding your wrist as she led you through the halls even when you knew the way. There were many nights you would fall asleep in the forge, lulled by it’s warmth and the familiar sound to metal striking metal. It both soothed and made the itch to work once more that much worse.

The memory brought on a shy smile, accompanied by a light flush across your skin. It was times like that when you could allow yourself to wish, to hope, that you might mean something more than just a friend or fellow smith.

Just as soon as the thought arrived you were quick to banish it. Dreaming of the impossible would only bring more disappointment. And so, with a small laugh and roll of your eyes, you implored Paz to put it to rest; and to his credit, he did. The thought still lingered on your mind however, and you wanted to curse him for putting it there.

You continue to check and clean the weapons in peace, avoiding any and all conversation surrounding the previous topic until dinner. Or what you thought was around the right time. It seemed that even with all the time spent in the dark tunnels you had yet to gain the innate ability to just tell what time it was without looking at a clock. Paz sure knew though, racking his weapon with you following his lead.

“Your company wasn’t as annoying as others, and your weapons knowledge and appreciation is respectable, though I would expect nothing else from someone in your situation.” He reached his hand out, watching as you realized he wanted you to shake it. His hands were just as strong as you had thought, firmly grasping your own as you got into a small battle trying to squeeze the other. “Feel free to find me any time you’re bored. Keep Alor from getting frustrated and who knows, once you heal enough I might be able to teach you how to fight for the next time you run into any imperial troops.”

“That sounds...great.” He dropped his arm, handing you your walking stick and leading you back through the tunnels to the communal area as you added the new path to your mental map. His large strides were hard to keep up with, and though you suspected he had adjusted his pace you were still out of breath by the time you reached your destination. Inside the circular space there were a number of mandalorians lounging around. Children ran amuck, some helmed some not, weaving between the adults and ignoring their complaints. As soon as you entered a crowded space they descended like a swarm. Small hands pulled at your clothes, climbing up your non injured leg. After the scolding they had received last time they made sure to give your injuries a wide berth.

They were clamoring, all trying to be first to show you the small projects that had been working on or made that day. The others looked on with mild amusement, or so you assumed that's what was shown behind their visors. There were many jokes passed around that you were turning their young warriors into inventors and thinkers, though you hardly saw it as a problem. Exploring bright minds and exercising critical thinking skills would only make them that much better in any tight situations. It’s not like they couldn’t do both after all.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, bouncing over the family colors painted in intricate patterns on armor as you looked for one in particular.

“She’s still in the forge.” You jumped, causing your current passengers to squeal as they were nearly thrown from your elevation to the ground. Olia stepped closer, shooing the children away, causing a ruckus of groans and complaints, but nevertheless did as they were told. They knew better than to disrespect an elder, and their medic at that. Placing two ration portions into your hands, she’s already pushing you down the main hall.

“Never a moment of rest for that one.” She jokes, turning on her heel and heading back into the common area before you even have a chance to speak.With nothing more than a shrug, you continue on, walking the by now familiar path to deliver the food.

Warmth is the first thing that greets you, a heavenly contrast to the otherwise cold and damp dwelling. Not that you hated it, but growing up on a planet with two suns and working in a forge for the majority of your life made anything below blazing feel like Hoth. The clang of metal striking metal rings clear and crisp, but as owled eyes catch your movement, the hammer pauses mid strike, afloat for just a moment before quickly being deposited back into her belt.

Holding up the ration packs for her to see, she’s already moving, fluidly packing up her project and clearing a space as you pull the bench from the wall, settling on the wood with a light creak. Not long after, gloved hands found your skin, briefly brushing over your cheeks and causing butterflies to erupt throughout your body, setting every nerve on fire as the soft fabric of the blindfold replaced her hands. It wasn’t something you ever questioned or protested, simply content being allowed the level of trust such an action required, though you would often question what you had done to earn such an honor from an esteemed figure such as herself. The tools along her belt clicked softly, the only thing telling her location as she closed the shutters to the forge.

Not a word was said the entire time, and you didn’t need any. The practice had been born after she had gotten on your back about finishing meals, only to have you express your awkwardness of eating alone while she watched, combined with your own concern with her eating enough. She was always working, crafting new armor and weapons, or meeting with elders and warriors to discuss and organize the smaller aspects of clan life. The disregard she had for her own health when she always put so much work into that of others was both adermable and frustrating. It became one of the few things you could do during the day, making sure she had eaten and stayed hydrated in the heat of the forge. Dinner was the only time she sat down however, enjoying whatever rations or food had been chosen for the night.

After the blindfold was on and your own ration pack was in hand, it wasn’t long before you felt her warmth at your back as she too settled down on the bench. The fur of her cowl tickled your skin, telling you of how close she sat. Then you just talk. Telling her about your day and the new things you had learned.

“Introducing me to Paz almost makes up for the scene earlier.” You joke “His knowledge of weapons and their care is amazing. I can see myself getting closer with him.”

You could have imagined it, but you could swear you felt her tense behind you.

“Not too close I would imagine. Olia has informed me that you should be cleared to go back to work within a week or two.”

Perking at her words, you grew excited. It had been so long that you had begun to think you would never craft again.

“I’m glad to hear that. I already worry about the muscle mass I’ve lost since being laid up.” Laughing, you bump your shoulders against hers. “I feel like my shoulders are only half their size now, everything all atrophied and squishy.”

She’s silent, and you think the joke just fell flat, or she’s simply tired from the day.

“So you enjoyed staying with Paz today. I can assume that means I won’t have to worry about you sneaking off if I leave you with him again?”

“No.” Chuckling, you set down the now empty ration container. There’s no rush for her to finish, as you enjoy these small moments. It’s easy to pretend to be something more, something closer.

It may have been the comforting warmth of her body combined with that of the forges own heat and scents, or simply the exhaustion that came with having been able to do actual work for the first time in weeks. Either way, your tongue was loose and words flowed without thought.

“It’s hard to believe I’m here. I never thought I would ever go anywhere besides Quilon. It’s where my family has lived since forever. My mother and father, my grandparents, their parents and so on. We’ve all come from the same planet. After they died I was scared to even think about traveling. I thought that if I left I would be alone. The forge was the only thing I had left even close to family.”

Losing it had been hard. When you had first heard the news after waking it had felt like you were crushed by its foundation all over again. Olia and the Armorer had to practically force you to eat, not having the energy to do even want to get out of bed. Recovery had been slow, especially when there was nothing to go back to. It was around the time she let the children into your room, tasking them with keeping an eye on you while she tended to the clan duties she had been neglecting. It was the young ones, so bright and full of energy, that pulled you from the slump. As soon as your crafting skills were discovered after absentmindedly making a flower out of paper scraps they had all but demanded you show them more. Leading you through the tunnels and teaching you games had come after. Soon enough you were almost back to normal, able to smile and laugh once again.

It had nearly broken her to see you in such a state. The fire your eyes had once held had been reduced to little more than smoldering ash, while the glow that radiated seemed to radiate from your skin itself had dimmed. You had lost everything to the empire, but Maker be damned if she wasn’t going to do her best to give it back and then some.

“Would it be wrong of me to say it was a good thing?” She jerked at your words, taken by surprise.

“And why would that be?”

“Well, I got to meet all of you. Olia, Paz, even the young ones. You’ve all been so kind to me.” A slight hesitation, unsure if the next words would be stepping over boundaries.

No. You had come this far, and knowing her she would only pry in that aloof way of hers until you divulged a proper answer.

“Even if none of you feel the same way, I like to think that you’ve become something of a family to me. It’s been so long since I've known what it's been like to be a part of a family, so that’s what I think this feeling is at least.” A deep breath, pushing the words that seemed to catch. You can’t live feeling like this anymore, Paz’s words coming back to you once again and giving you a small amount of confidence.

“I would like to be a part of your family. With you, that is.”

With bated breath, you wait. She’s silent, but not in the way she normally is. It’s more calculated, the air itself charged. Heart pounding in your ears, you're not sure if you would have even heard her answer. Instead of any words however, you find yourself blinded by the light of the flames as your blindfold is practically ripped off, revealing the cause of your emotional rollercoaster herself, helmet back on yet with a gaze more intense than you’ve experienced yet.

“I have always been content with my deal in life. I provide for my clan, do my best to lead and keep them safe. True leaders are those that are selfless, however,” her hand grasps yours, pulling you closer. The cool feel of her helmet sends shivers down your spine; a stark contrast to your own burning skin. “But since I have met you, I have been nothing but selfish. I want everything that you are; from your body to your soul.”

Getting up, she leads you to the far corner of her forge. A small strike of disappointment hits as she lets go of your hand to dig through one of the storage compartments. It quickly dissipates as she emerges with an all too familiar item.

You gasp. It was a helmet, just like the one you had been working on and lost on Quilon. The real one was lost, but the one before you took many of the elements you had worked into your own and combined them with a more traditional Mandoan style. The eyes had the same wider vision you had been incorporating. A combination of the classic t-visor with the more elegant swooped eyes that females seemed to favor. The jawline was also slightly more convex then normal, allowing for greater range of the head and felt less claustraphobic. Other than that, it seemed she had taken her own creative liberties and upon closer inspection you saw it was eerily similar to her own. Instead of bronze it was a silvery blue, the same three lines running down the forehead with only two horns, looking as if they were coated in the bronze color as her own. Etched into each of the cheek recesses was a hammer and tongs respectively, done in the same elegant etching found on many of your own weapons.

“I will not push you to make a decision, but I do wish you to know; if you pledge yourself to the creed, to the tribe, to me, you will never find yourself alone again. I will personally make sure of it.” Her voice barely makes its way past the vecoder. Never before had she spoken in such a gentle tone, even to yourself.

“You will be mine as I will be yours.”

Taking the helmet in your own hands, the surprising lightness of such a large metal object nearly causes you to throw it. Turning it over and inspecting every inch, you know you’re only delaying the inevitable. For so long you wanted to be part of a family, to help and be more than just a weapons crafter. Furthermore, the very person you wished, no, yearned, to spend the rest of your life with was the one to ask.

“To spend the rest of my life by your side, providing for the tribe, would be all too short.” Smiling, you pull the helmet, your helmet, closer.

For a second you think she’s short circuited, frozen in place. Then, quick as a blaster shot, she grabs your arm and drags you from the forge, all but throwing the shutter open and practically running down the hall as you struggle to keep up with your still sore leg. Briefly you catch a flash of familiar blue armor, but it's gone before you can get a good look. Instead you focus on keeping pace with the bronze warrior.

“Wh-where are we going.”

Others are watching as you pass, moving out of your path as their Alor continues her war path.

“The elders.” She says without stopping and, not winded in the slightest as, in one fell swoop, you find yourself swept into her arms and being carried bridal style as her pace continues to pick up speed. An impressive move if you hadn’t been so shocked.

“We have much to prepare.”

[katelyn--renee]

Out of the Fire (Part two)

Title: Out Of The Fire (Part two)

Fandom: Supernatural AU

Main Characters series: Reader, Lieutenant Firefighter!Dean Winchester, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester (Moore), Nurse!Lisa Braeden (Formerly Winchester), Ben Braeden-Winchester, Harper Winchester (OFC), Charlie Bradbury, Firefighter!Benny Lafitte, Firefighter!Jo Harvelle, Firefighter!Castiel Novak, Claire Novak, Mechanic!John Winchester, Firefighter Captain!Ellen Harvelle, Mechanic!Bobby Singer, Doctor!Arthur Ketch, Nick Vaught and many more!

Pairings: Dean x Reader (eventual), Dean x Lisa (past), Reader x Nick (past), Lisa x Ketch (current), Sam x Jessica (current)

Word count: ±2200 words

Series summary: A slow burn romance. Reader is trying to get away from her troubled past and start fresh; a new name, new town, new friends, and a new job. A clean slate. After years of planning and saving, she is able to open her own business. With the help of her best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury, and her new flirty firefighter friend, she is hopeful, even when disaster strikes and her past threatens to catch up with her years later. 

Part two summary: Flashback to when you first met your green eyed hero and their budding romance. 

Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fire or mentions of fire, fluff (so much fluff), angst, eventual smut, mutual pining, alcohol abuse, alcohol intoxication, mentions of domestic abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of adultery/cheating, mentions of death, dangerous or life threatening situations, stress, descriptions of injuries, blood, hospital scenes, character death. 

Author’s note: Here is part two! I hope you enjoy this chapter and all it’s fluffy goodness! :)

A special thank you to @that-one-gay-girl and @deanwanddamons for being the wonderful beta’s that you are! Your feedback is always appreciated! Check out their awesome work and spread some love!

All graphics and dividers done by me! :)​

If you like this story, please don’t hesitate to leave a like, comment and if you’re feeling extra generous, share! Your feedback gives me live and motivation! If you would like to be tagged in the series, please don’t hesitate to ask!

Thank you and let’s enjoy this ride together!

<<-- Read part one, here!

Out of the Fire Masterlist!

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

About five weeks ago.

The shop was busier than usual, but being the final days of summer, it was expected. It wasn't anything you or Charlie  couldn't handle, of course, but it sure did make for long days and even longer nights of cleanup. 

"Charlie, table two needs refills, table six never got their vanilla lattes, and table four is ready to pay." You announced as you joined your partner behind the counter with a handful of dirty mugs and plates, having just made one of many rounds through the seating area.

The two of you danced around each other gracefully, moving in harmony as you switched from one task to another. “On it.” She acknowledged, already preparing the missing drinks and throwing in a complimentary pastry for the mistake.

You set the pile of dishes down into the sink before turning to the next customer in line, flashing him a friendly smile. “Yes, hi, how can I help you?” You greeted urgently, looking up to meet a set of stunning green eyes. You faltered slightly, taken by surprise by his strikingly good looks.

He smiled, almost bashfully, as he began to place his order, seeming not to notice your hesitation. “A round of coffees, black, for me and my buddies ,” He motioned toward the booth near the large bay window which was occupied by three other bodies; two men and one woman, all of whom adorned matching uniforms. “Cream and sugar on the side. Oh, uh, larges… or eh, talls?” He added with a sheepish chuckle, clearly unfamiliar with the coffee house lingo.

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from smiling more and potentially embarrassing him. “Venti.” You corrected him playfully. You saw the confused look on his face, his head cocking like a confused puppy, before adding, “For our ‘large,’” 

You used air quotes to emphasize your point, rolling your eyes at the technical terminology. “It’s venti.” You saw it the moment he understood what you were telling him, and he chuckled again, not missing the way he ducked his head to hide the slight flush to his freckled cheeks.

 “Never too old to learn something new.” He chuckled again and winked at you, the gesture setting butterflies loose inside of your stomach. It was your turn to look away this time, your face hot with a blush. He fished his wallet from his dark blue cargo pants, looking at the assortment of baked goods.

“Throw in a few of those bagels and croissants, too, please.” He added, casting his gaze down at the display case once again. “Oh, and a piece of that cherry pie.” He added almost dreamily, pulling out a couple of twenties. 

Upon further inspection, you took notice of the soot and ash that dirtied his face and darkened his hair in certain places. He had dark circles under his gorgeous eyes, too, clearly exhausted after a long shift. You glanced in the direction of his crew members, finding much of the same. “Long night?” You asked, trying to be friendly as much as you were curious.

“I look that rough, huh?” He teased, a look of mock offense accompanying his handsome features.

 You shook your head, a smile still curving your lips at the corners, “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that.” You clarified hastily as you calculated his order  into the register, making a point to leave off the coffees; it was the least you could do for him… eh, them, right?  

He winked again and laughed, the sound deep in his chest, assuring you that he was only teasing. “I know you didn’t,” The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, watching your face and the way you tried to suppress your smile. “How much do I owe you, sweetheart?” He asked, glancing down at the display screen. 

The term of endearment made your heart flutter slightly, and you couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto your face again. You swallowed the feeling down, pressing the enter key before you read aloud his total. 

“That’ll be $19.94, Mr. Firefighter.” He rose a questioning brow at the total, glancing up at the menu prices. “Coffee’s on the house.” You added quickly with a closed-lip smile, your eyes sincere. “It’s the least I can do for your services.” 

Several emotions seemed to make their way across his face, contorting it briefly before settling on gratitude. “Thank you.” He said, his voice genuine. He held out one of the twenty-dollar bills, paying for his order. “That was really kind of you, truly.” He smiled softly, glancing down at the name tag attached to your apron. “(Y/N).”

A smile formed on your lips before you could stop it, and your cheeks flushed at the way he said your name, your eyes finding the name embroidered onto the left side of his dark blue button-up shirt, opposite of a silver badge over his heart. Red patches were on either sleeve, proudly showing off the station they serve. “It’s no trouble, Lieutenant Winchester...” You promised with a sly smile. 

He laughed, appreciating your observation. “Dean.” He insisted as you accepted the bill. Your fingers touched, brushing against each other softly. The touch, however slight, was like an electric shock, igniting every part of your body. 

There was an annoyed grunt behind the firefighter, but the two of you paid little attention to it. You put the money into the till and collected his change, but Dean insisted that he didn’t need it. He walked backwards to his table, his bottom lip drawn up between his teeth. The two of you couldn’t seem to stop watching each other, nor did you want to, silently flirting with your eyes. 

You giggled when he bumped into an unoccupied table, watching as he almost knocked over its contents and awkwardly fumbled with the accompanying chair that nearly fell over. He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled self-consciously, trying to conceal his embarrassment. He ducked his head when he got back to his table, his friends giving him a hard time. 

He hid his face in his palms as a dark-haired man with scruff and blue eyes clapped a hand against Dean’s shoulder, booming with laughter. “Smooth,” You heard the blonde female tease, snickering at her partner. You watched them as you gathered up their order, blushing when you caught him stealing a few glances your way. When finished, you brought their order out to them personally, earning you another wink from the fireman.

The rest of the shift went by in a blur, unable to get those emerald eyes out of your head. Charlie had seemed to notice your distraction and, in perfect Charlie fashion, commented on it as you were closing up shop. “That fireman sure left his mark on you, huh?” She teased, a knowing smile drawing her lips up. 

You scoffed at her and tried to play it off like you didn’t know what she was talking about… and failing. “W-What? No - No, I - Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charlie.” You muttered, locking the doors and placing the keys into your pocket.

She looked skeptical and cocked her hip, propping a hand there. “Uh-huh, sure.” She stated, waving her hands. “And I’m not the Queen of Mordor.” She said sarcastically, “Oh wait, I am.” She said exaggeratedly with her hands thrown in the air, referencing her extracurricular activity of LARPing. 

You rolled your eyes fondly at your best friend; she’d dragged you along to her LARPing weekends on more than one occasion, and you’d humored her, going along with it because it made Charlie happy. “You can’t fool me, sista, now spill the beans.” She insisted, following behind you with the broom as the pair of you cleaned up.

You sighed, wiping down one of the tables and the chairs that joined it, already knowing that you wouldn't win this battle against the feisty redhead. “I don’t know…” You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you thought about the encounter. “I can't explain it, I don’t know how to explain it… but there was just something about him… y'know?" You recalled, picking up one of the chairs and putting it on the table. "I just… I can’t quite put my finger on it…"

Charlie giggled, "Bet you wish you could." She teased, clearly hinting at more than she said. You gasped and feigned innocence, throwing the towel at her. Charlie laughed more, catching the soiled cleaning cloth before it collided with her face. "Oh, come on (Y/N)! I know that look in a woman's eye. I’ve seen it dozens of times! You want him. Bad!"

She threw the cloth back, and you caught it with ease. "Jeez, you make me sound so desperate." You grumbled, not denying Charlie's observation, despite the dramatics. 

Charlie hadn't missed a beat, and she grinned, a cocky sparkle in her eyes. "So you do like him." She chimed accusingly, clearly happy to be right.

You rolled your eyes again, moving onto the next table as Charlie continued sweeping under the one you'd just cleared. "Okay. Yeah, fine." You admitted, "I thought he was cute and charming and sexy in that uniform," 

Charlie made an ‘I-knew-it’ face, but you continued before she could make a sly remark, "But it doesn't matter. It's not like I'm ever gonna see him again." You stated with a reluctant sigh, spraying down the next table with the cleaning agent, trying to hide the disappointment lingering in your voice. You began to scrub at a stubborn spot on the table, trying to distract yourself.

Charlie frowned sadly, reading into your mood, and leaned the broom down against the table before closing the space between you. "I'm sorry for being pushy. It's just that you work all the time. When was the last time you did anything for yourself?" You were about to answer when she held up a finger, "Other than this café. This doesn't count, this is work." 

She had a point. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done anything that didn't involve this little shop. "Exactly. I just wanna see you have some fun and that," She thumbed over her shoulder toward the door, referring to Dean, "was fun." You chuckled softly, your cheeks getting warm at the thought. 

"You deserve to live a little,” She put her arms on your shoulders and squeezed affectionately, “Especially after what that snake put you through." You frowned at the reminder, dread coiling inside of your stomach and a frown pulled at your lips at the mention of your ex, Nick. 

Like always, Charlie didn’t let you get too lost in your thoughts, "And who knows, maybe he has an equally attractive sister for me." She added with a playful shrug and a giggle, effectively distracting you. "Fate works in mysterious ways, sista; you never know what she might throw your way." She added mysteriously, wiggling her eyebrows for added effect. 

As it turns out, Charlie was right. Fate did work in mysterious ways because, in the weeks that followed, Dean continued to show up, sometimes with his crew, but mostly by himself. The times he showed up varied, depending on his work scheduled, which you soon noticed was quite busy. Regardless of the hour, he always showed. 

It wasn't long before you memorized his order by heart; a venti coffee, black, and a slice of pie; whichever flavor was baked for the day's special. The flavor never seemed to be an issue for the firefighter, but it didn’t take you long to realize that cherry was clearly his favorite, with pecan  a close second. 

The pair of you flirted and subtly got to know each other as time went on, teetering somewhere between acquaintances and friends. He’d flirt. You’d flirt. But it never went any further than that.

Charlie teased you about it the whole time, of course. She wouldn’t be your best friend if she hadn’t. You’d just roll your eyes or shake your head every time she’d urge you to "grow a pair and ask him out already." 

You wanted to. Of course, you wanted to; you’d be an idiot not to want that.

But you didn't, of course, because you were too embarrassed and too afraid to act on your feelings. You'd done that once before already, and you paid one hell of a price for it. Hell, in a way, you still were. Nick left such a nasty scar on your heart; you weren't sure if you could ever love again. You were in a constant state of fear, afraid of being hurt again.

Charlie, being the wonderful best friend that she is, always tried to remind you that love… true love… would never hurt you. That real love was the stuff of magic and fairy tales. That what you had with Nick wasn’t love. It helped, a little, but that fear never truly went away, you just sort of learned to live with it.

Maybe someday you’ll feel differently.

And there you have it. Part two is complete. I hope you enjoyed that chapter as much as I did. Awkward/adorable Dean is one of my favs. Haha. 

As always, thanks for reading! 

Read part three, here! -->>

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​

Out of the Fire (series)

@vicmc624 // @anotherspnfanfic // @krazykelly // @compresshischest09 // @thefamilybusiness  

[fire-the-headcanons]

Follow the Beacon Ozpin—Generations

[Link to Masterpost] [Proceed with less caution than last week, but caution nonetheless]

Once upon a time, he could have frozen the roiling sea and walked across to the island in the span between two moments. That freedom and power was far behind him now.

It had taken several hours for the storm to abate enough to get a boat to Patch. It was still too rough above to risk flying—and besides, from what Balt said, Azraq needed his husband right now.

"We’re here," the ferry captain said, readjusting the spotlight. Signal’s dock was indeed emerging from the darkness and falling snow. "And I’m not going back until the storm’s over, unless that kid’s life depends on it."

"Signal’s hospital is well-equipped," Ozpin said, glancing up at the lighthouse. The beam sliced through the storm, clearly defined by the snow in its path. "There shouldn’t be a need. Thank you for your help."

"First rule of the ocean, if you can give aid you shut up and give it," he grunted, tossing a rope out toward the dock. Ozpin caught it, winding the line around the deck cleat as he had a thousand times before.

"Where’d you learn to do that?" the captain asked, tossing out another.

"Mistral," Ozpin replied.

No, it was Antica.

Antica no longer exists.

...I forgot. They focused on the ropes, pushing the memories away. "I may be a teacher but I am still a Huntsman. We tend to pick up odd skills."

Working together, it only took a few minutes for them to get the boat securely tied down. "Come in and warm up," he said, helping the man onto the dock.

"Don’t mind if I do," he huffed, and the two of them headed into the alcove carved into the cliff beneath the school.

Ozpin stared into The Long Memory's gears as the freight elevator rumbled up toward the fort, thinking back to the last meeting with Qrow not two weeks prior.

I was too focused on her. Again. His grip tightened. As soon as I knew she didn't send them, I relaxed.

I didn't think of it either.

Of course you didn't, he snapped. How could you have? We think exactly alike. We ARE exactly alike.

He didn't have a retort for that.

The doors opened into the school's storeroom. Azraq sat a few paces away, waiting on a small crate with his head in his hands.

The captain shifted uncomfortably. "You, ah, know where to find me" the captain mumbled and shuffled off toward the Huntsmen’s quarters.

Ozpin waited until the door had closed behind him to speak. "Huang said he’s stable?" They’d gotten the message halfway across the bay.

"He hasn't woken yet." Azraq sat unmoving, but his voice shook. "...This is all my fault."

"What happened?"

It took him another moment to answer. "Bones was their father."

Ozpin winced. That was an… unfortunate complication. Of course it had always been a possibility, but neither of the Branwen siblings seemed like the type to want offspring. "Have you told Claret?" She had taken the news that the twins had come from the tribe badly enough…

"No."

"...Are you going to?"

Azraq's hands fell to his lap but his gaze remained resolutely downward."....No." Ozpin suppressed twin sighs of relief. "I ruined their lives."

Now that's simply ridiculous, Ozpin thought, before shushing himself angrily. They sat on the next crate and placed one hand on his shoulder. "From what Qrow told me, it was his death that necessitated their escape. They might not be here otherwise."

"It was an accident, I ran into them on my way out. He saw me. I tried to take him aside and talk it out, but he thought I was going to threaten—or, or beat him." Azraq's brow furrowed deeper. "I told him I wouldn't hurt him. I thought if I got him back safely, he'd believe me."

"You couldn't have—"

"Balt wanted me to stop."

"What?"

"For years. He wanted... He wants to start a family. But Branwen was still out there, and…" He finally met Ozpin's eye, tears gathering in his own. "How could I ever be a father—"

"Stop," he said, hand tightening on his shoulder. "...Stop. You're upset, you're in shock. If Bones Branwen had done right by those children we wouldn't be here now." He sighed heavily. "This is my fault. I should have told him to see a doctor rather than suggesting it."

Azraq shook his head. "Summer used her eyes."

Oh dear, they chorused.

"Then the storm is a stroke of luck," Ozpin said, recovering. "The lightning will have covered—"

"No. You know it’ll happen again, now it’s happened once. Unlocking it is the hardest part."

"...Have you explained?"

"She woke up a few minutes ago, and Claret’s stuck in the storm. Huang told her she hit her head… she seemed to buy it."

"Then with any luck we'll have more time."

Azraq remained unconvinced. "You should go. You might be able to help him. I—I don't think he should see me."

"Probably not," he conceded. "At least, not yet. I think in time, when he's healed, the two of you will be good friends."

"Can you tell him? I'm... I'm sorry, and... if he's willing to forgive me then he has to accept my forgiveness."

Ozpin tilted their head thoughtfully. "That may be an excellent way to reach him. ...Get some rest."

He nodded, climbing slowly to his feet. Ozpin followed suit, leaning on their cane more than usual. "...You and Balt will make wonderful fathers. I wouldn't have asked you to run Signal if you weren't good with children."

Azraq almost laughed, wiping his face.

"These are... I wouldn't even say 'extraordianry' circumstances. 'Catastrophic', perhaps."

Out of earshot—which, considering Azraq's Semblance and the silence of the halls, was quite a long way indeed—Ozpin muttered under his breath, "We each failed him in our own way."

Signal’s hospital was reassuringly empty, except for the two occupied beds at the end. Or rather, semi-occupied, as Summer sat on hers, apparently fine and speaking with Huang. Raven sulked against a wall. Tai sat next to Qrow, who lay sickly pale despite the IV steadily dripping blood back into his veins.

His heart sank, staring at the bottle. Three generations ago he would have died.

Please. Don’t dwell on it.

"Professor Ozpin?" Summer leaned around Huang to gawk at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard two of my students had been injured."

She huffed. "I’m fine. Qrow will be glad to see you, though, when… when he wakes up."

"I can only hope. In the meantime… are you all right? Azraq didn’t disclose any details."

"You talked to him…? Is he… is he okay?"

"Perhaps not yet, but he will be. However, I was asking about you, Ms. Rose."

"Oh. Well, uh, it’s …. stupid…"

Huang ruffled her hair. "Don’t sell yourself tall, shortie."

"Hey, hey, brain injury!" she protested, shoving him away and pushing it back out of her face. "The truck spun out on the way here and I hit my head."

"Summer…" Huang’s warning tone was unmistakable.

She squeaked, burying her head under her arms. "I tried to fight a Beowolf with a fire extinguisher!"

Oh, gods. They very nearly laughed.

Of all the ways for a silvereye to unlock their gift—

—I could not imagine one more perfectly… Summer than this.

"I’m sorry, okay? I know it was a bad idea but you were driving and Qrow was unconscious and none of us had our weapons and I had to do something or…"

Huang sighed, rubbing his face. "I know. I know. That’s not going to save me from your mother, though."

"I think the storm is doing that," she muttered, glaring out into the darkness. The snow did seem to be picking up again.

"Guys, he’s moving," Tai whispered loudly. Qrow’s uninjured hand was gently clasped in his, a wince forming on the sleeping boy’s face. Summer shoved her way past Huang, darting to his side despite her 'injury'. No one bothered to protest.

Qrow groaned feebly, eyes cracking open and wandering the room in confusion. Taiyang leaned forward and spoke in an even, soothing voice. "It's okay, Qrow, it's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you. It's us."

His eyes rested on Tai for a moment before wandering again, searching the room disinterestedly. That is, until they landed on his sister.

"...Raven?" he rasped, almost confused.

Her face contorted in rage and pain, and she shoved past Summer to drive a fist into his shoulder. Qrow's cry of pain wasn't enough to drown out her fury—"Why are you so WEAK?!"

Ozpin's magic surged with a thought and the world slowed to a stop as they wished themselves on the other side of the room. As much as his power had dwindled, it was more than enough for him to hook his hand beneath hers and pull it away before she realized he had moved.

She stiffened, recoiling from them in fear, but Ozpin kept a gentle hold on her hand. "Miss Raven." He would not usually call a student by their first name, but a false one did not have the necessary weight. "We do not do that here." When she pulled away again, he released her and turned back to her brother.

"Qrow? Come on, man, you’re scaring me." Taiyang’s voice waved as he gently shook his friend. He gave no indication he’d heard, staring blankly at the ceiling even as Summer began calling for him as well.

Next Chapter: Qrow—A Place in This World

[essekknits]

Could you write something about Benlives AU, Juno asking for Bens help and Ben meeting the crime crew?

Aaaaaa I love this yes thank you!!!

It’s been months since Benzaiten saw his twin. Juno didn’t tell him where he’s going, just that he’s leaving this miserable city behind. And he was happy for him! He really was. Juno’s been depressed for a long time, killing himself for the city they grew up in, the city that sure didn’t take it easy on the two of them, and most of all on Juno.

So even after almost losing him twice in the span of a single year, Benzaiten let go. They weren’t codependent by any means, never. They were very close, and were each other’s support for many, many years and through many, many nightmare scenarios, but they each had their own life. That didn’t mean, of course, that he didn’t really miss his brother.

He was in his studio, idly dancing a routine he wanted to teach his students in the advanced class of his Oldtown program. His idea, teaching a few classes for free in Oldtown to get kids away from their shitty situation, was working pretty well.

“That’s a nice one, Benten.” A quiet voice came from the door, making Ben lose his balance as he turned to look at the source. Just as he thought, Juno was standing at the door, and... he wasn’t looking good. He was covered with what Ben has long learned to identify as sewer sludge, and his singed coat was seeping blood from an array of cuts. That were still bleeding.

“Juno, what the hell happened to you?” He rushed to his brother’s side, eyeing him with a too familiar gaze, like he always did when they were still kids, and Juno would always get in fights with people bigger and meaner than him.

“Got into a fight. Long story. Do you still keep first aid supplies stocked in the studio?” Juno leaned on the wall, eyes exhausted but ultimately relieved.

“Of course. Stay here, I’ll get it and patch you up.” Ben started leaving, but Juno grabbed his arm. He didn’t mind the sludge, but he did mind his twin’s weakened grip. He was clearly exhausted.

“No time. There’s... I need to get back to the group. People got hurt. Our medic’s unconscious and we’re out of supplies on hand.” Juno swallowed, still heavily leaning on the wall. Benzaiten looked at him briefly, questions whirling through his brain, before nodding. “Alright. I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t, Ben, we-“ Benten didn’t even let him finish.

“If you’re the here, and you’re alone, it means you’re probably the least hurt one in the group, or one of the least hurt, at least. You’re not in any state to patch others up right now, not without being treated first. I’m healthy, I know how to do this pretty well, and I’m going, Super Steel. No questions.” He took his large first aid kit on one shoulder, and stood in front of his brother, who started leading the way.

~~~

“I’ve been concussed many times before, but I don’t believe this is the meaning of seeing doubles.” Jet said as he saw two figures approach, looking relatively similar. Juno Steel was leaning on a leaner, less scarred man who looked a lot like him.

“Yeah, you’re welcome, big guy.” Juno grunted, stepping away from the other man and approaching them. The stranger rolled his eyes, and Jet could understand his feelings perfectly. He appeared very familiar with Juno’s antics.

“Sorry about him. I’m Benzaiten. Call me Ben.” He reached his hand for a handshake. Jet liked him. He shook his hand as best he could while he was holding Vespa’s head in his lap. She was unconscious, her legs as broken, and she was bleeding from multiple blaster and knife wounds, but not too much. She will be fine.

“I am Jet. You seem quite familiar with Juno’s behaviour.” He observed neutrally as Ben dug through the bag. The younger man laughed heartily.

“You can say that. We’re twins. If anyone knows Juno’s bullshit, it’s me. I’ve been dealing with him for forty years.” He took out a bone knitting injection.

“Ha, ha. Don’t get me started on the stuff I had to deal with from you.” Juno mumbled, wiping his mouth from the blood he was spitting out. Ben frowned with concern, before administering the injection into Vespa’s thigh through her jeans. He looked like he knows what he’s doing. Juno kneeled next to them now, swaying side to side. He didn’t look very well, and if he was being honest, neither was Jet.

“I tend to believe him, Juno. You do get into quite a lot of trouble.” Jet kept his voice neutral, knowing it might rile Juno up, but feeling the need to be completely fair. Also, he did enjoy the harmless teasing.

“Let’s just get everyone bandaged and go.” Juno just sounded tired as he pulled disinfectant from the bag and went to Jet’s other side as Ben worked on Vespa’s wounds with a frown on his face. Once Vespa was bandaged, Ben looked at Juno severely.

“Okay, now show it.” He crosses his arms.

“Show what?” Juno asked, finishing the bandaging on Jet’s arm.

“Whatever injury you hid from everyone like the heroic idiot you are. I thought we’ve been over this, you have to look after yourself.” Benzaiten said, rushing to his brother’s side just as his knees started to buckle from under him.

“For the record, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’m still in better shape than those two combined.” He grumbled, letting Ben see the blaster graze to the side of his stomach.

“Yeah, right, Super Steel. Now sit down and let me check this. You’re going to need stitching.” He said, beginning to work through the process of cleaning the wounds.

As soon as everyone was stitched, Jet wanted to go back to the rendezvous point they agreed on before the mission. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to both carry Vespa and support Juno.

“I’ll help you get them there.” Benzaiten said quietly. “Whatever you all are doing, I bet it’s illegal. I also bet it’s dangerous. I get that it’s dangerous to trust other people, but... there’s no way I’m rating you out. Not when I know how much Juno cares about you, and not in general.” He promised, looking up at Jet’s eyes. He considered for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of it all, then nodded.

“Very well. We must proceed carefully then.” He started leading the way for the ship, using the map on his comms. He called Rita, informing her of their situation. She updated him on the situation of everyone on the ship as well. They were all relatively unharmed. He was relieved. The trip down the sewers was relatively quiet, besides Benzaiten’s humming.

~~~

“Mistah Ben! Whatcha doin here?” Ben was surprised to see Rita near the ship. He smiled, waving at her.

“Hi Rita, long time no see. Gotta say I’m not too surprised you’re here. Juno wouldn’t have survived a day without you, probably.” He laughed, getting elbowed in the ribs by his brother who was leaning on him.

“Jet, darling, do you mind getting Vespa to the infirmary? Thank you dear. Now, welcome. I’m Buddy, and I’m the captain of this ship.” A tall redhead woman walked forward, hair covering a half of her face. She reached out a hand for a handshake.

“Benzaiten Steel. Nice to meet you. Can’t say Juno told me anything about you, but...” Ben smiled, trying to be polite and friendly.

“He better not. But now that you’re here... how about we get your brother into the infirmary and then we talk?” She asked, a weary smile on her face as she took some of Juno’s weight off his shoulder.

“You’re both overreacting, I’m fine.” Juno groaned, doing his best to support his own weight. Buddy rolled her eyes.

“Hush darling, you’re going to the infirmary until you can actually stand on both legs. If Vespa was awake she would’ve already knocked you up herself, and I will not hesitate to do the same.” She said with a fond smile, and Ben laughed. He should’ve tensed. He should feel his skin crawling with the insinuation of this woman hurting his brother. He should want to grab Juno and hide somewhere small and dark like they did so many times as kids and like he still never fully forgot.

But he didn’t. Because she wasn’t threatening him. No, she was being kind and considerate. Careful not to act intimidating or move sharply. Juno didn’t even flinch, and he was much more sensitive to the implicit threats in interactions. The realisation dawned on him that she’s acting like a mother might’ve acted. Like their ma never did.

Once Juno was safely deposited in the infirmary (manned by one Peter Ransom, who Benten noticed looked extremely concerned about Juno), Buddy lead him out to what seemed to be the common room of the ship.

“Thank you for your help, Benzaiten. I appreciate what you did for my family.” She said, pouring two glasses of a drink which was unfamiliar to Ben, but smelled distinctly alcoholic. She pushed one glass toward him.

“Sorry, I don’t drink.” He apologised, pushing it right back. He quit when he was fourteen, and tried his best not to return to old habits. He almost did at nineteen, after his near death experience, but he held strong. “But... really, it’s no problem. You looked really concerned about that woman... Vespa, right? I think Jet mentioned her name. She’s going to be okay. I’ve seen weaker people come back from worse.” He tried to offer encouragement. Buddy shook her head with a smile.

“I know that, darling. My Vespa’s been through much worse and bounced back, and both Jet and Juno are very capable, but there’s always a few when you know your family is in danger and you aren’t there to help.” Her voice was deep and soft, lulling Ben into a sense of security. A realisation hit him, shocking in its strength.

“You consider Juno part of your family too.” He looked at her, stunned, and she let out a low chuckle.

“Well of course. All the people on this ship are my family. We live together, we work together, we protect each other and care for each other. In my opinion, that is the essence of what family is.” She leaned forward, confident and comfortable, like a queen on her throne.

“This... I bet he doesn’t say that, but this has to mean a lot for Juno. We never had much family growing up except for each other, so this... this is huge. Thank you. For being his family.” He looked away, a soft smile still on his face. It looked sad.

“It’s not a problem at all, darling. You’re also welcome to see yourself as part of this family. I assume you wouldn’t stay, but my family’s family is my own.” She offered him a hand again, and he hesitated before shaking it firmly. “Welcome to the family.”

[maudus1]

14 Days of DA Lovers prompts from @scharoux

Read my series on AO3!

Day 8: Patching Up

Pairing: Alistair/Morrigan

Fixing a Hole, Building a Bridge

“’Twas a foolish act, Alistair.” 

          Morrigan scowled at the copper-haired warrior sitting cross-legged in her tent. The evening beyond it was silent and still but for the low hum of insects and soft, intermittent rolling roo-roo-roo of a nocturnal bird nested in a tree nearby. And here, within the worn and weathered canvas, the panting and pained grunts of her… her… that man. 

          “That’s me, the idiot who – what was it I did again? Oh, yes.  Saved your life .” 

          “I did not need your help,” she hissed.

          His shoulders shook as he chortled, but he flinched when the arrow protruding from one of them shifted with the movement. “I think the proper response is ‘thank you’.”

          “Thank you? For accidentally getting skewered and prolonging our travel time by several hours? Perhaps even days? Unlikely. How one even manages such an injury in so much armor is beyond me.”

          En route to Denerim to restock on supplies and search the Chanter’s board to make some quick coin, they’d been ambushed by bandits. Alistair took an arrow to the shoulder, and they were forced to set up camp. Knowing they were low on herbs, she sent Leliana and the other Warden off to gather more, leaving her alone to tend to the insufferable oaf in front of her. The oaf with radiant amber eyes that all too often followed her; on the battlefield, on the road, and here, at this moment. 

          Surely, those looks were not what they appeared. How could they be? The man hated her, and she him... Yet his alluring gaze, his presence, and every rare, oft accidental, touch sent a strange, unfamiliar sensation deep into the pit of her stomach. Not quite repulsion, nor entirely unpleasant, however-

          “Who says it was an accident?” he said, interrupting her thoughts with a lopsided grin stretched across his lips.

          Morrigan knelt to the ground, muttering and rummaging through her pack. “Why would anyone purposely allow themselves to be shot? What a ridiculous notion.”

          “Oh, I don’t know. To save damsels in distress, perhaps?”

          She flashed him a withering glare. “I am no damsel. And certainly not in need of saving! Least of all by you.”

          Alistair belted out another laugh and immediately winced in pain. The imbecile. He looked ill; grimacing, left arm crossed over his torso to hold the opposite one tightly to his side lest it move too much and drive the arrow deeper. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his pallid skin, though at present she knew not whether it was merely from the effort exerted getting him here, or fever. The latter would be an ominous sign indeed.

          The knot in her gut that had formed upon the moment of his injury twisted tighter. A sense of foreboding, like that which she experienced as the sky clouded over and thunder clapped in the distance during one of her many solitary outings in the Korcari Wilds, descended. In those moments, the search for shelter was imperative. In this situation, it was not the security of her own wellbeing she desired, but his. How strange… 

          Before joining these young Wardens on their quest, she’d never known concern for others to ever exceed that which she felt for herself. One did not survive in the Wilds, or with a mother such as hers, for long without putting oneself first. Survival, that was important. Power. Not… not… She wracked her brain for the proper word, the label one would typically use. And the word that crossed her mind first was entirely unexpected. Friends. 

          She shuddered and pushed the idea far and away. Focus, Morrigan. Now was not the time to sit and wax philosophical, much less get… sentimental. Ugh. 

          “You will make it worse if you keep moving so, Alistair,” she said, her voice wavering slightly on his name. “Lie down.”

          With one hand behind his neck and one steadying the injured shoulder, she helped him ease gently down onto the bedroll she laid out when they set up the tent. He bit his lip to hold back a cry. Much as she teased and taunted, called him weak or childish, the man did have admirable stamina, skill, and a high tolerance for pain. With heavy armor, injuries such as this were usually rare, but the steel-tipped bolt had found a gap and shot straight through the chain mail beneath. And she knew not how far yet, nor how bad the damage was.

          “Drink this,” she ordered, handing him a small, clear flask. “It will… ease some of your pain.”

          “Oh, ho! Is that concern I hear?” Alistair smiled, weakly this time as his energy waned. “I’m touched. I might even cry.”

          “W-what?” Her pale cheeks grew warm. She was not one to easily fluster, but somehow the royal bastard always found a way to get under her skin. What was it about him that irked her so? “Shut up, you fool. Clearly you have lost too much blood and it has robbed you of your senses.”

          When he made to speak, she interrupted with a slender finger against his lips. “Cease your prattling and do as I say!”

          Sighing, Alistair downed the potion in one gulp, face puckering immediately after from the bitter taste, and laid his head back down. 

          “Let’s…” He paused, seemingly out of breath, and swallowed thickly. “Let’s get this over with.”

          “This will be... quite unpleasant. Here.” Morrigan produced a thick strap of leather from her pack. “Bite down on this.”

          He nodded and she leaned over him to place the leather between his teeth. She caught his gaze as it moved lazily from her barely covered chest back up to her eyes, and the crimson blush that stained his cheeks. She rolled her eyes. The Chantry boy probably would not even know what to do with a woman given the chance. 

          Unfortunate, really. He was not… bad looking. Quite the opposite. After traveling together and occupying the same camp for so many months, she’d seen her fair share of the man. Having grown up in Templar dormitories with little privacy, he was far less shy about walking about in minimal clothing than he was with seeing the women bare their skin - almost as if he did not equate the two things in his mind! She and Leliana had made a game of it recently, to see how red and flustered Alistair could get. She smirked while the memories flitted through her mind.

          Alistair growled below her. “Mmmph,” he said, voice muffled as he tried to get her attention back to the task at hand. 

          She shook her head to clear it and reached for the arrow. “Ready?”

          He closed his eyes and grunted. With one hand on the shaft and the other upon his chest to hold him down, she yanked on the arrow. It came free with a sickening squelch. The leather muted Alistair’s shout and his face visibly paled. Breathing a sigh of relief that the arrowhead hadn’t broken off within his shoulder, she tossed it to the side and immediately began working at the clasps of his armor. Opening his eyes, he turned his head and spit out the leather, panting to catch his breath. 

          “Now sit up,” she said.

          Alistair struggled a moment before propping himself up on his elbows, jaw clenched to fight back the sounds threatening to tear from his throat. He was clearly too weak. Wrapping her arms around his broad figure, she pulled him up the rest of the way and let him lean on her while she undid the buckles at his back. She had to twist herself over his lap slightly to avoid bumping the wound. 

          The sheer size of him nearly enveloped her, and had he not been sitting and hunched over, he could easily crush her with his weight alone. She breathed in the earthy aroma permeating from his sweat-drenched skin. It was a heavy, heady blend; earthy, like leather and fresh soil, salt and musk. Not at all putrid as she’d so often teased. They’d never been close enough for her to take in the various notes, nor had they ever touched so intimately. 

          Head lolling against her shoulder, he moaned into her neck, breath warm on her chilled skin. Pulse racing, heat flooded her cheeks again and gooseflesh prickled up her arms at the amalgamation of feelings their contact stirred. It had been a while since she’d been with a man…

          Focus!

          Hastening the pace of her skilled fingers, she undid the remaining clasps and gingerly wiggled him out of the armor and mail. After setting each piece out of the way, she reached for the hem of his shirt and began dragging it up over his stomach.

          “Not even going to buy me dinner, first? Or even a glass of wine?” His voice was softer than usual, its timbre lower. He chuckled feebly, lips whispering close enough to tickle the dark hair dangling at the nape of her long, slender neck. 

          Was he… no, surely he was not implying anything untoward between them. Not the shy Chantry boy. But the moment she thought that, one of his hands settled upon her bare back. She stilled. He’d lost too much blood, that was all. He was merely steadying himself. Yes. Nothing more.

          “Ugh… Enough of that. Your blathering is most annoying.” 

          “Wynne will have my hide for ruining another shirt.”

          “And I will have it now if you do not hush,” she chided.

          She pushed him off, though gently so as not to aggravate his injury, and slipped his shirt over his head before easing him back down to the pallet below. Her golden eyes drifted down his tanned body, over the sculpted musculature of his chest and abdomen, the powerful arms and shoulders built by years of dedicated physical training.

          “There really is no getting on your good side, is there?” he sighed, interrupting her train of thought yet again.

          Morrigan turned sharply away and set to work pouring water from a flask into a wooden bowl, heating it with a conjured flame. Somehow, even that warmth compared little to that which had steadily been filling her in the short time they had spent alone. She soaked a clean rag, wrung it out, and began cleaning Alistair’s wound. He hissed at the first swipe, but held his tongue thereafter, watching her carefully while she worked.

          “Let us assume that this imaginary good side exists. What exactly would be the benefit for you to ‘get on it’?”

          “I’ll settle for a smile, actually.”

          “Oh?” She smirked. So typical of a man! That was all she was good for, then. Smiling and looking pretty for his enjoyment. 

          “Not like that. A  real one.”

          “Do I not smile enough to suit you? How very negligent! Shall I bat my eyelashes as well?” 

          Placing one hand over his now clean wound, the pale green glow of magic flowing from her palm filled the tent. It washed over them both, delicate and ethereal and cool like moonlight on a snowy winter night as she channeled soothing coils of Fade energy through his raw, tender flesh to stem the already-waning flow of blood and seal the wound. 

          “Oh, come on, Morrigan. I don’t mean it like… I just want...” He hesitated, briefly met her eyes, and turned his head away to stare at the canvas wall painted with their shadows. 

          “Let me see. I would expect favor to come with a price. Perhaps you would be willing to pay a compliment? Is that too much, hm?” Undoubtedly, he’d fail to come up with anything, and this would put an end to his shenanigans. 

          Instead, he took her free hand, still damp, and whispered her name. Meeting his eyes, now on her again and heavy with exhaustion but no less bright, she paused her ministrations. The glow faded, bathing them in darkness save but for the lit candle in the tent's corner. 

          Alistair took a breath. “I think you are brilliant. Strong, and powerful… and more than a little terrifying.”

          He didn’t laugh this time. Instead, his expression shifted. Amber brown eyes passed over her slim body, kneeling in the dirt beside him, the sweat and grime and blood of their recent battle still painting her porcelain, candle-lit skin. But his expression was not one of disgust… it was the look of desire. And when those eyes returned to hers, the passion within them sent a pleasurable chill up her spine. 

          “You are beautiful, Morrigan. We may not always get along, but I wanted you to know that in case… well. You know.”

          Her eyes grew wide as she absorbed his words. He - of all people - thought that of her? That was not at all what she expected. Yet the admission seemed genuine. Mind suddenly blank, she froze until the light squeeze of her fingers brought her back to the present.

          Cocking her head, she smirked and rewarded him with a sultry and suggestive gaze. 

          “I suppose stating the obvious will have to do,” she said. He grinned back and released her hand. “Very well, then. You are on my good side. Best watch your step that you don’t fall off.”

          “Morrigan, you do realize you’re telling the clumsiest man in Thedas not to fall. How could I ever live up to such impossible standards? You’re not even giving me a fighting chance, here.”

          She rolled her eyes, but the smile remained on her lips. “You really are a fool.”

          Alistair laughed. It was a strained, pitiful sound, so unlike his usual sarcastic chuckles and boisterous guffaws. Weak and hoarse, it filled her with regret. Regret that she had not been stronger, faster. Though he had put himself in this position, perhaps if she’d seen the arrow coming, he would have never been struck. 

          Then again… that also meant he might never have made this confession. And she wouldn’t have realized not only that his feelings for her were not at all what she imagined, but that she felt a similar attraction to him. Despite her attempts to deny that the disconcerting tension between them indicated something other than mutual contempt, she had to admit he’d earned her begrudging respect… and more.

[onwardintolight]

Han x Leia, ESB, Trip to Bespin, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: ESB from Leia's POV. A journey from despair to hope, a blossoming, an opening to vulnerability and love.

Warnings: Deals with some heavy themes, incl. working through trauma, depression, self-harm, attempted sexual assault. Each chapter will be individually warned.

Note: I’m currently in the process of reposting the first nine chapters here in full, since when I first wrote this fic, I only shared links to the chapters on AO3 and FFN. I will try to post at least weekly. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to binge-read it, the entire fic is posted in full on AO3 and FFN.

Part: Masterlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Epilogue

~~~

I’m sorry, Han. I’m sorry we didn’t make it in time. Leia sat in the pilot’s seat—Han’s seat—and steered the Falcon away from Cloud City, feeling as if her heart had been torn apart.

He was gone.

It’s not your fault, the memory of his voice echoed in her head. She almost argued back out of habit, but then she stopped herself.

He was gone. Blaming herself wouldn’t help him now, nor would it help her. And… he was right. She knew that, deep down. Vader had done it, just as he’d done so many unspeakable things before. Vader would pay when the Rebellion won. In the meantime, she would fight with everything she had for that victory.

And she would fight with everything she had for Han.

She glanced at Chewie, who was sitting silently beside her in the co-pilot’s seat. “Anything on the sensors?” she said softly.

«Nothing,» he replied. «They are not chasing us yet.»

“Only a matter of time,” Lando muttered from behind them.

She knew he was right. There would be at least fifteen minutes worth of atmospheric and sublight flight before they made it to a point where they could safely jump to lightspeed—maybe more. Plenty of time for the Empire to try to cut them off. At least, she told herself, they had a head start.

She guided the Falcon over the top of a particularly dense cloud, black against the slowly dwindling fire of the sky—

And then she froze; her hands mechanically guiding the Falcon forward, her mind tugged elsewhere. An image appeared: a figure hanging from a vane on the bottom of the city, nothing but endless clouds below. A voice: Luke’s voice, in pain.

Leia, he was saying. Hear me, Leia.

“Luke,” she whispered.

The image dissipated. But she knew without a doubt that like her dream, it was real. Luke was in danger; there was no time to spare.

“We’ve got to go back,” she told the others.

“What?” Lando said, incredulous, Chewie echoing him.

“I know where Luke is,” she said, calling on her royal voice and all its commanding influence. She looked Chewie in the eye, silently pleading for him to believe her.

“What about those fighters?” Lando questioned.

«How do you know where he is?»

“Chewie, just do it!”

“But what about Vader—” Lando had hardly started saying the words before the Wookiee turned around and gave him a threatening roar. “All right, all right!” he said.

Chewie trusted her. Warmth spread through her, even as they turned the ship back towards danger, and maybe death.

She knew what she knew; the how didn’t matter right now.

They may not have been able to rescue Han, but they sure as hell weren’t going to leave without Luke.

~~~

The underside of Cloud City was deep violet, faint with the last echoes of the setting sun. Leia’s eyes scanned it, searching.

Maybe she was being ridiculous. Maybe the torture droid’s drugs had left her hallucinating. Or maybe all the trauma was finally, truly, catching up to her, shredding what was left of her sanity. But she wasn’t ready to give up hope just yet.

“Look, someone’s up there!” Lando pointed.

And there he was. A little to the left and ahead, clinging onto a weather vane, just as she’d seen it in her mind.

“It’s Luke,” she said. “Chewie, slow down—slow down and we’ll get under him. Lando, open the top hatch.” She heard the cockpit door open as Lando went to follow her orders.

Luke. What had happened? Even from here she could feel the pain radiating off of him. “Easy, Chewie,” she said, and together, they maneuvered the Falcon until it floated right underneath the vane. She saw the indicator light for the top hatch blinking. Suddenly, another sensor lit up. Several small ships were dropping around the rim of the city and heading their way. She looked closer; they were definitely TIE fighters. “Lando?” she called, her voice urgent.

“Okay, let’s go!” he replied through the comm, and they sped off. Ahead, three more TIEs came into view.

She heard the sound of the cockpit door again, and she got to her feet, trusting Chewie to take charge of the Falcon.

Oh, Luke.

He stood there in the doorway, supported by Lando. His face was bloodied and bruised; his eyes haunted. She rushed to him and buried herself in his arms as Lando went to take her place in the cockpit.

“Leia,” he whispered. He clung to her as if clinging to life itself. She held him tight, hoping that somehow through her embrace she could impart the strength, courage and comfort he needed. It felt good to hug someone, after everything. She hadn’t since—

Abruptly, tears stung her eyes again.

She swallowed down her grief. She could deal with it all later; right now she needed to take care of Luke. Gently, she slipped out of the hug and eased him down the hallway to the crew quarters. Helping him onto the right-hand bunk that had been fitted with medical equipment, she quickly analyzed his wounds. The burn on his face looked painful but not threatening; she could treat it later. More immediately, he needed fluids and possibly a blood transfusion; he was clearly on the verge of collapse. Her eyes traveled down and stopped short. She gasped.

His hand. He was missing a hand. Suddenly, his symptoms of shock became very clear.

Swallowing, she forced back the familiar crescendo of panic regarding needles and hooked him up to the fluids generator, trying to stall the shaking in her hands. Next, she turned to rummage through the med cabinet. Finding what she was looking for, she knelt beside his bunk. That put her a little low, but she needed to be steady—right now, with the beating the ship was taking from the TIEs, the gravity emulators weren’t exactly at top performance. She examined his wound again. It was completely cauterized, she realized, so there would be no need for a coagulant. As gently as she could, she daubed the stump of his wrist with an antiseptic. He tensed, moaning. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Carefully, she placed a bacta patch over the wound, then she wrapped the whole lower arm in a protective bandage.

When she was finished and satisfied that there were no further injuries that demanded her immediate attention, she pulled a blanket over him and grabbed a compress, soaking it with cold water in the ‘fresher. Coming back to his side, she dabbed at his forehead.

The ship lurched; a particularly bad one. She looked up, concerned. Glancing back at Luke, she leaned down and kissed him lightly. The gesture felt instinctual and familial, meant to comfort, and she did it without much forethought. But immediately she felt a twinge of guilt as she remembered the last, awkward kiss she’d given him to spite Han, and his strange attempt to kiss her before that. She hoped he wouldn’t mistake this one for anything more than it was, if he remembered it later.

Right now, though, the pilots needed her help. “I’ll be back,” she murmured. Setting down the compress, she rushed back to the cockpit. They’d emerged from Bespin’s atmosphere and were finally approaching a suitable hyperspace jump point. Unfortunately, Chewie and Lando were busy turning the ship in barrel rolls to avoid TIE fighter fire. In the distance, a massive ship came into view. “Star Destroyer,” she said, pointing. Executor-class, no less. She cursed under her breath. The grav emulators trembled once again, and her stomach lurched. If they continued to get worse, Luke could be even more seriously injured.

Chewie growled at her to set the lightspeed coordinates, and after a brief moment’s thought she reached up to enter them. The Kaliida Nebula would be a fairly easy sequence of jumps from here. She’d rendezvoused with members of the Alliance there after Mako-Ta; perhaps there’d be a scout there for her to make contact with now. At the very least, it was a good place to hide and plot their next course, provided that they stopped along the way to check that they weren’t being tracked.

“All right, Chewie,” Lando said. “Ready for lightspeed.”

“If your people fixed the hyperdrive,” she muttered half-sardonically.

«It was fixed when Han checked,» Chewie assured her.

She saw a light flash green on the panel, and she sat down. “All the coordinates are set. It’s now or never.”

“Punch it,” said Lando.

The stars remained tiny, frozen points of light. They sat in stunned silence as the whine of the failed hyperdrive filled the cockpit.

Leia and Chewie looked at each other, then over at Lando. At that moment, another blast rocked the ship. Chewie exploded with curses. Leia fell back in her seat, her head in her hands.

Of course it’s not working, she thought. How could they have expected anything else?

“They told me they fixed it!” Lando seemed even more shocked than the rest of them. “I trusted them to fix it!” he shouted. “It’s not my fault!” She heard banging noises as he charged around the cockpit, looking for something, anything, that he could do to help. Chewie brushed past her on his way out; to dig in the bowels of the ship, she presumed. He nearly knocked Lando over in the process.

Sighing, she moved forward to take charge of the controls.

~~~

It was a trick out of Han’s book, pulling the ship in close to the Star Destroyer at an angle where the tractor beams couldn’t lock onto them (she hoped). The TIEs were following them still, but they were free, for the moment.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a chill ran down her back. She heard the door open and looked up to see Luke wandering in, staring out the viewport at the Destroyer. “It’s Vader,” he whispered. The familiar clench of anxiety came at his name. She felt cold.

Luke sat down beside her, muttering deliriously. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she heard him say. Frowning, she tried to ignore him for now and focus on flying the ship, avoiding the TIEs and keeping out of the tractor beam’s range. She knew she was unlikely to succeed. Executor-class Destroyers had particularly powerful tractor beams that would be hard to evade; more likely, the Imperials simply hadn’t finished readying them yet. She felt as though a hand were tightening on her throat. Vader, in that ship, and them, stranded here….

All of a sudden, she was thrown back in her seat. From the back, she heard Artoo screech, and a light started blinking furiously on the panel in front of her. Hardly believing her eyes, she reached forward, breathless, and grabbed the hyperspace lever, pushing it forward.

The stars outside the viewpoint lengthened, coalescing into woven light.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Am so in the mood for some fics where John helps Sherlock through detox/cravings/danger nights, anytime throughout the series. Bonus points for Sherlock being scared John will be mad at him or turn away, but John being supportive and understanding!!

anonymous  asked: Do you know of any Sherlock fics that include self harm? Thanks

Hi Guys!! 

Since these are… SORT OF related, I’m putting them together! I don’t have many re: self-harm, so I thought I would add all the drug use, poisoning and the like fics together as well. They’re for both John and Sherlock, so I hope that’s alright! Hope these suffice!!

SELF-HARM

See also Alexx’s Lists:

Self Harm Fics

Self Harm – Part 2

John is drinking too much – Alcoholism

Shut Up and Sleep by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,257 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) – Sherlock has a knack for hurting himself, although not entirely on purpose. John is a doctor, and it’s a good thing he’s there.

Needles by Kryptaria (M, 5,194 w. || Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Needles, Referenced/Implied Drug Use, Doctor John) – At the end of January, 2010, John and Sherlock move to 221-B Baker Street. By mid-February, John takes up his role not only as Sherlock’s guardian and helper, but also his doctor. As the months pass, they grow closer and the trust between them deepens, until Sherlock puts it to the ultimate test.

I’m Pretty Sure This Changes Shit by cwb (E, 7,672 w. || Fluff, Cudding, Doctor/Patient, Accidents, Pining Sherlock, Blow Jobs, Oral / Anal, BAMF John, Minor Injuries, Dev. Rel.) – Sherlock finds increasingly ridiculous ways to get John to patch him up after hurting himself.

Checkmate to a Castled King by LaSuen (T, 18,290 w. || Friendship, Hurt / Comfort, Sick Sherlock, Rev. Reich.) - John dies. Or at least everyone thinks he does.

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 || Sickfic, Angst with Happy Ending, Case Fic, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Jealous Sherlock, Body Image Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional H/C, POV Sherlock, Oral / Anal, Thong, Frottage) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a “harmless” virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary’s betrayal and Sherlock’s deceptions.

Bleed Me Out by antietamfalls (E, 87,987 w. || Vampire AU || Bonding, Vampire Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, H/C, John Whump, Magical Realism) – John isn’t exactly surprised to discover that Sherlock isn’t human. His vampirism doesn’t pose a problem, even when their relationship gradually grows into something more. That is, until a deadly revelation about John’s blood sends their lives spinning dangerously out of control.

Maintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (E, 106,650 w. || FutureAU, Augmentation || Augmented John, Depression, Body Modification, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Sci-Fi, Self-Care, Body Dysmorphia) – John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say:Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain. Part 2 of STATIC

between each beat are words unsaid by darcylindbergh, hudders-and-hiddles (T, 107,998 w. || Epistolary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending) – On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years. Part 1 of between each beat

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w. || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, H/C, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w. || Established, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it’s supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,168 w. across 46 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

The Gilded Cage by BeautifulFiction (E, 326,887 w. || Omegaverse || Omega Sherlock / Alpha John, Friends to Lovers, Dub Con, Reproductive Rights) – In a world where Omegas are the property of the elite Alphas, locked away and treasured by those wealthy enough to buy them, John never questioned his flatmate’s secondary gender. Sherlock Holmes was an Alpha through-and through. Wasn’t he? A chance discovery turns the world on its head, and John is left grappling to come to terms with Sherlock’s past as events conspire to threaten their future.

DANGER NIGHTS

Treasure Hunt by ThessalyMc (K, 2,288 w. || ASiB Missing Scene, Danger Nights, Friendship / Family, Seek and Find Game, Smoking) – Mycroft called them ‘danger nights’ because he feared Sherlock’s mood might drive him back to drugs. John knows better. Doesn’t stop him tearing apart the flat he knows is clean, though. He’s not looking for drugs, though. He’s setting up a distraction.

Those Days by StillWaters1 (T, 2,663 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD / Sensory Attacks, Caring Sherlock) – If Sherlock had danger nights, then these were John’s danger days.

DRUG USE / DRUGGING / POISONING

See also Alexx’s Lists:

Drugged Non-con sex

Drugs & Recovery

Mycroft deals with Sherlock’s drugs

Helping Sherlock With Drugs

Sherlock Drugs & Addiction

Angsty Drugs & Prostitution Fics

Teenlock & Drugs

The Signs of Loss by LitLocked (NR, 1,103 w. || Post-TSo3, Pining Sherlock, Self Reflection) – Sherlock’s internal monologue after he comes back from the wedding.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield.

The Two of Us Against the World by slashscribe (T, 1,617 w. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Anxious Sherlock, Angsty Fluff) – John is there to take care of Sherlock as he comes down from his overdose in The Abominable Bride. Set immediately after the tarmac, back in 221B.

Loudly Unspoken by Mount_Seleya (M, 1,871 w. || Post-TAB, Love Confessions, Vulnerable Sherlock, Frottage) – John confronts Sherlock about the words he left unsaid on the tarmac. Set immediately after TAB.

They’re Taking My Wisdom by whitchry9 (K+, 1,939 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Drugging, Dentists, Friendship, Anxious Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They’re always fun.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) –  “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Thief by KendylGirl (M, 2,430 w. || Rev. Reich., Heavy Angst, Regret, Grief / Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Implied Drug Use, Self-Flagellation) – John has been gone for four months, and Sherlock is not dealing well with it. When he finds a personal item of John’s, the situation reaches a crisis. Part 3 of When to Let Go

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

Unspoken by PipMer (T, 2,770 w. || Drugged John, Mutual Pining, John’s Missing Wednesday, Fluff & Angst, Canon Compliant, Gap Filler) – Sherlock wanted to test a hypothesis. About John. He wanted a question answered that he couldn’t just ask, at least not under normal conditions, because John would never tell him the truth about that.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Bolt Holes by PostcardsfromTheoryland (T, 4,177 w. || H/C, Angst, Drug Mentions, Pining Sherlock) – John asked, one evening, if Sherlock liked her. To which he grudgingly had to say yes, and John said he was glad. Because John was going to propose to her.

Experiment by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 4,222 w. || Non-Con Drugging, Hurt Comfort, Friendship) – Of course John has always known about his flatmate’s irregular sleeping habits, especially when they’re on a case. This time, however, the case is taking longer and longer, and soon John starts to worry. But there’s not much he can do, is there? Because drugging Sherlock isn’t an option. Not yet, maybe, but will it be soon? {{CW: John drugs Sherlock without his consent}}

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn’t seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. How will Sherlock react?

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn’t seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. How will Sherlock react?

Very Good Indeed by StillWaters1 (T, 4,531 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Doctor John, John Whump) – John Watson was a doctor, trained to observe details; a fact Sherlock had never been more aware of than when a drugged John’s lifesaving instructions were based on an unlabeled syringe and an unconscious murder suspect’s body.

Needles by Kryptaria (M, 5,194 w. || Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Needles, Referenced/Implied Drug Use, Doctor John) – At the end of January, 2010, John and Sherlock move to 221-B Baker Street. By mid-February, John takes up his role not only as Sherlock’s guardian and helper, but also his doctor. As the months pass, they grow closer and the trust between them deepens, until Sherlock puts it to the ultimate test.

Not The Hands That Kill by You_Light_The_Sky (M, 6,201 w. || Winglock, Whump, Mentions of Drug Use) – Having wings does not make Sherlock Holmes a guardian angel, not in the way that John Watson is his.

The Dying Detective Remix by SailorChibi (K, 6,563 w. || Friendship & Family) – No one hates admitting illness or wounds more than Sherlock… perhaps that’s why no one believes him when he actually gets sick. Fortunately, when he can’t do it himself any longer, John and Lestrade are there to pick up the slack. Features Paternal!Lestrade and Gen John and Sherlock. One-shot.

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn’t play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

A Dangerous Mix by thebakerstreetgirl (K, 8,077 w. || Angst, Whump, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Overdosing) – During a case, John gets attacked and Sherlock and Lestrade find him with a mysterious drug running through the army doctor’s veins.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim’s hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Obsession by storylover18 (K+, 15,213 w. || HC, Case Fic, Friendship) - Dr. John Watson wakes up ill one morning but it is not the 24 hour flu he thinks it was. Soon he lands in hospital, quickly deteriorating and Sherlock must work to find out what has happened to his blogger before it is too late. Case!fic mixed with sick!fic / No slash.

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 stories || Asexual Sherlock / Straight John, Est. Rel, Queerplatonic Relationship, Romance, Cuddling, Fluff, Platonic Romance, Domestics) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.  {{HAVEN’T READ THIS FIC YET, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION}}

To Light Another’s Path by BeautifulFiction (E, 128,654 w. || Post-TGG, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction / Recreational Drug Use, First Time / Kiss, Case Fic) – Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John’s care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.

Ten Days by Engazed (E, 137,208 w. || Rape/Non-Con, Post-TRF, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Case Fic) – Sherlock Holmes has been dead for forty months, and John is at last beginning to live his life again. But just when he believes he might be happy, his world crashes back down around him. John is named a missing person. Someone is pointing DI Lestrade in the wrong direction. And as the days pass, his situation only grows more dire. It seems like the disappearance of his best friend is the only thing that can bring Sherlock Holmes back from the dead. Part 1 of The Fallen

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate’s charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim? {{centres around drug use, but not necessarily John or Sherlock’s}}

[moowcowlol]

A Chance Encounter

HitsuHinaDay2019 Theme: AU

A/N: Ahh, I missed the actual day!! I feel so bad for coming in a lil late, hope this is fine!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo.

She looked outside the window of her small room. The sky had been immensely cloudy and gray and the weather cold and harsh, far more so than the autumn season warranted. Many in the village had suspected the worst and she couldn’t help the fear she herself felt. But the day was looking much better, still no blue skies but the clouds white and safe. The girl smiled to herself, hopeful that this day was the first step to the villagefolk feeling better.

She rushed out of her room and into another one, slightly bigger in size and belonging to her grandmother. The elderly woman looked at her and the girl saw her smile widen.

“Granny! The weather’s so much better!” the girl exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I can go out now? Please? Pleeease?”

The grandmother laughed softly and patted the girl on her head. “Yes yes Momo. It seems the danger has passed on. I think it’s safe enough for you to hunt now.”

“Yes!” Momo yelled, before bounding out of the room and back into hers. She hurriedly changed from her sleeping wear into clothes fit for the outdoors. Before she could run out her grandmother called out to her.

“Do remember to be careful Momo!”

“I will!” Momo called back. With that, she ran for the nearby woods.

Or, “nearby” more like. While they encircled the small village it still took one an hour to truly be in the woods, which was the case for Momo despite her house being on the edge of the village lines. The time it took to get there gave her a chance to calm herself, let the nerves and adrenaline of the hunt and the joy of being able to do something she does well fade away into a need for food for her small family. Once she was well into the trees she crouched down and watched for any animals to pass by, watched for any change in the rough terrain of the forest floor, kept an ear out for any noises, whether from her or from a foreign source...

...

...

...There!

“Byakurai!”

Said in a harsh whisper, and a lightning bolt followed after. The four legged creature fell with a thump, and the sounds of nearby animals frightened by the unseen threat of the girl filled the air for a moment before silence filled the air again. Momo breathed out a sigh. For just a few minutes, she had some time for herself, with no worry for other animals possibly charging her. Byakurai was a simple spell, but still quite bright and loud. It tended to scare off the surrounding animals away from her and gave her a brief time of relief. 

She went over to the dead animal; a particularly big stag. Her eyes filled with sadness, Momo looked at the creature. She knelt down, closed her eyes, and offered a prayer for it, as she and the other villagers always did, giving thanks for the food it will provide and asking forgiveness for ending its life.

As she was about to get up, perform the Horin spell to lift the animal and bring it back, she heard something. A rustle, in a bush near her.

Her head snapped towards the sound, alert and tense. An animal, coming back so soon after Byakurai? She’s never seen such a thing happen, but that could mean this would be her first time. She crouched back down, preparing herself to launch another spell, waiting for the noise to happen again though she was sure she knew where it came from. Momo stared at the spot, waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen, something to move.

And something did.

From the patch of bushes, in front of her to her left, she saw something come out of them. A thick, dark liquid, slowly making its way across the uneven grounds. Blood. Something was bleeding. Still living, still moving.

Momo felt panic set in, and she tried her best to push it back and think. An animal that was here before she was? No, no, it would be trashing about, crying out in pain. At least, in her experience. Perhaps this was different? It couldn’t be another person, right? Surely they would call out for help? She swallowed down the lump in her throat and slowly made her way towards the patch. An animal, she puts it out its misery, offers another prayer, brings it home with the stag. A person, she helps to the best of her ability. Simple, right?

She takes her hands and forced the twigs and leaves apart.

“----!”

She jumps, bringing her arms to her face and squeezing out a Seki spell instinctively. She could feel a cold wind wrap around her thick pant-legs and saw her small  barrier covered in frost before it cracked and shattered. 

Momo could feel herself shaking. She looked down at the now-exposed figure.

A small boy. Even in the dark of the woods his hair shone bright white. His sea green slitted eyes glaring at her in desperation and fear. He was breathing quick, quiet, shallow breaths, and Momo’s eyes traveled down from his head to where his tense arm was clutching at a gaping wound in his leg.

“Y...You’re hurt...” she sputtered the obvious, unsure of how else to react. She went to come down to his level. “I-I can help you-”

“----! ----!” he swipe his hand and bared his teeth - his fanged teeth - and screamed something she couldn’t understand. He hissed in pain at the movement, and she could hear his breath hitch and hasten even more.

‘What do I do?’ She couldn’t get close to him with him lashing out at her, and they don’t seem to speak the same language. Something, there had to be something she could do to show this... boy, that she was trying to help. ‘Think, think, think...! That’s it!’

He wouldn’t keep his eyes off of her and she used that to her advantage. She took a deep breath and produced a small flame at her fingertips and put it against the skin of her arm. She winced at the pain, but the look of shock on the boy’s face meant that what she was doing was working. She put the flame out and started performing healing magic, the soft green glow taking over her hand as she put it over the small burn.

“Help.” she said slowly, hoping to get the word understood as her burn healed away. The boy’s eyes were wide now, the look of fear replaced with a sort of wonder.

She held her glowing hand out, slowly, hoping she wasn’t threatening. “Help.” she said again.

It felt like an impossibly long passed before the boy moved his bloodied hand away from his wound. He was still tense, still eyeing her with those large, cat-like eyes, but he made no move as she went closer. The better look at the wound nearly made her gag. It was horrible, a gaping gash running down the side of his calf, the muscle of the leg peeking through the oozing blood. Momo could feel her stomach lurch and she swallowed back the urge to vomit and she placed both hands on the wound and injected more of her magic into the healing spell. Slowly, slowly, far more slowly than her small little burn, the wound was closing up, muscle coming back together and skin finally closing.

Momo slumped over, completely drained. She had never had to heal something as bad as the one this boy had. She tried to stand but couldn’t even gather the strength to get to her knees, falling to her side instead. Was it even worth it? This “boy” wasn’t human - one needs no training to tell, no human could live that long with an injury so severe. And what brief display of power he showed in an instinctual moment was even more worrying.

She felt herself be moved side to side. Momo looked up to find those strange eyes look down on her, the young boy’s face now overtaken with worry. His face, so human, so genuine, did it really matter if it wasn’t? She felt a small surge of energy run through her, enough to sit up. The boy was awkward, clearly not knowing what to do, so it was up to her to get out of this.

She tried hard to think, exhaustion making her thoughts slow and foggy. He couldn’t stay here, and she needed to get home. Why not kill two bird with one stone?

“Home.”

She watched the boy tilt his head in confusion. “H-o-m-e?” he repeated back to her. Nodding her head, she tried once again to stand. She got much farther, nearly a slouched stand, but faltered. Momo braced for when her face hit to hard ground but felt herself be caught. She felt her arm get wrapped around the smaller boy’s shoulder. It was awkward, but she could move.

And thus they walked, slowly but steadily, the young inhuman boy following the pointing finger of the girl towards her home. Nothing was said between the two - what could be said between two people who only shared one word? It made the time pass by so slowly, and Momo looked up in slight horror to find the night sky greet her as she looked up once the canopy of the woods cleared.

She never thought she’d take for granted how short an hour truly was. The hour long trek between the woods and her village transformed into something that felt like days on her tired mind and body. Momo could see it was having its effect on the boy as well with his constant adjustment of her body weight and his own slouching figure.

But finally, finally, she could see the little house she shared with her grandmother, lantern light still on and a huddled figure on the back doorway.

“Home,” she croaked out, looking at the boy. He looked back, relief clear in his eyes.

“Home?” he repeated back, the relief pouring into his voice.

Momo couldn’t help but nod vigorously, life coming back to her at the thought of sleeping in her bed and hugging her grandmother.

Speaking of her-

“Granny!” she yelled. The boy jumped at the sudden life that’s rushed back into her.

The elderly woman’s figure moved, possibly asleep from waiting but certainly awake now at the sound of her voice. Momo pulled away from the boy and ran sloppily forward, and she could him yelp before his footsteps followed hers. She soon crossed the distance and fell into her grandmother’s arms, lax and crying.

“By the Gods Momo!” Granny chastised, but Momo could feel the small hand caress her back in comfort. “You’ve had me so worried! What in the world-”

Momo heard her grandmother cut off mid-way, and she looked up to see why. The elderly woman’s was tense, looking behind her, and Momo followed her eyes to the young boy with white hair and slitted sea green eyes.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the three of them. Momo tried to think about what to say to her grandmother, to convince her this inhuman boy needed somewhere to stay if only for a little while, but in her panic and exhaustion nothing would come to mind. It seemed an eternity passed before the boy started to back away, clearly trying to leave.

“Wait!”

It came out before she could think. The noise made the two of them look at her, both with shock on their faces.

“Momo-”

Please, Granny!” she pleaded, clutching onto her granny’s clothes with the little strength she had left. “He helped me make it back here! I-I healed him a lot and-and it made me really tired but-but he helped me come home! He didn’t have to do that, Granny, please let him stay! Just for a little while, please!”

She could feel tears tickling her eyes but she kept her stare solid on her granny, hoping she could convince her. Her grandmother opened and closed her mouth, trying to come up with something to say Momo was sure, but she eventually just sighed. Momo felt a smile spread across her face, and she turned towards the boy, standing there by himself. Not anymore.

She waved him over, and he did, slowly and with uncertainty. Once he was close enough she hugged him. He tensed immediately at the action, but didn’t reject it. She pulled back, looking him in his strange eyes, and she realized something in that moment. 

She pointed to herself. “Momo.”

He took a moment. “M-o-m-o?” 

She nodded. “Momo.” She then points to him. A brief moment of thinking comes across his face before she sees the moment he figured out what she was asking.

He points to himself. “Toshiro.”

Momo, so happy to learn this strange creature’s name, goes to jump as she usally does. But that was the straw that broke her back and she stumbled forward, unable to keep upright by herself anymore. She’s once again caught by the bo- Toshiro. Caught by Toshiro. And he follows her grandmother inside. It was sometime during this walk that she finally passed out, a smile on her face.

[sally-mun]

Episode 5: Meanwhile, Behind the Scenes...

Back in Episode 1, I mentioned that Hamlin was the driving force behind the invasion of Albion, but I didn’t delve into why. Well, one of the problems that plagued Albion for the years following Finitevus’ attack was a contamination of their groundwater and soil. Prolonged exposure to the contaminants can result in a degenerative nerve disease colloquially known as Albion Syndrome. This condition is what initially drew Hamlin’s eye; in his best case scenario, the contaminants could be harnessed and weaponized in case they ever had need of chemical warfare. Of course, he couldn’t exactly be forward with this sort of motivation, so his public argument was that Finitevus still needed to pay for his crimes against the world, even if Albion had come to embrace him as a hero for getting them back on their feet. He promised that if Albion wouldn’t deliver him to face justice, then the Acorn Kingdom needed to go take him… and maybe quietly annex Albion in the process.

Now, take everything I just told you and put a pin in it for a second. In Episode 2, something else that got mentioned briefly was the fact that Robotnik closely monitored East and West Acorn following his broadcast. The perimeter forces were easily spotted by both nations’ security teams, but the aerial monitoring initially went unnoticed. Unfortunately, it was discovered when Tails attempted (again) to prove himself useful and performed a sky patrol to keep tabs on the perimeter. He was literally shot out of the sky by one of Robotnik’s drones, and probably would’ve died from the fall alone had Knuckles not witnessed it and warped in to catch him. Tails didn’t suffer any life-threatening injuries, but took heavy damage to the base of his spine, resulting in paralysis of both of his tails and severely limiting the use of his legs.

It’s at this point that Amadeus took an interest in Albion. Given that Albion Syndrome is a nerve issue, there was a chance that a cure for it could also be used in some way to help Tails. Amadeus made the decision to begin secretly funneling a portion of his own funds to the lab working on treatment options, with the agreement that he gets access to any advancement they make. This deal was made in absolutely secrecy, however, as Amadeus had every expectation that if Hamlin got wind of it, things wouldn’t go well for him on the council.

So imagine the lab’s surprise when one day Amadeus’ funding suddenly cuts off, with no notice or explanation. Finitevus, a consultant at the lab, ventures to West Acorn to find out what’s going on – only to find instead that Amadeus immediately behaves as though Fini is an immediate threat and draws his sword. Fini retreats and wonders what the hell is going on; surely Amadeus could’ve concluded that he was there to ask what was up, right?

Many plots later, Finitevus has discovered that someone named Adam is watching Amadeus’ every move, which is why he had to stop sending money to Albion and pretend to regard Fini as an enemy of the state. More investigation reveals that this Adam seems to be gunning for the Acorn Council, which meant that it may be more than just Amadeus that’s being stalked. Fini takes it upon himself to continue looking into this matter; West Acorn already regards him as a criminal anyway, so he didn’t have a reputation to worry about ruining, and if he got in a sticky situation he could just warp away to safety.

Another batch of plot reveals that Adam isn’t a name, it’s an acronym: The “Automatic Data Archiving Mainframe.” Adam is an AI – and most alarmingly, he appears to have been built off of Nicole’s code. Feeling that all of this is well over his head, Fini enlists the help of Nicole herself. This reveals that Adam’s base functions are indeed the same as hers, but his prime directives are extremely limited. Adam isn’t trying to take over the council, he’s just programmed in a way that makes him paranoid and obsessed with security. Finitevus posits the idea of creating a virus to stop him, but Nicole refuses, as she states that any virus that could ruin Adam would probably be viable against herself. Instead, Nicole suggests a patch: Something that would expand his prime directives beyond his limited scope, as well as tidy up his general coding (as she noticed his programming seemed very… cobbled together). She also warns Fini that Adam has a large array of projection models to represent himself; he could literally be anyone, anywhere, at any time.

Upon completion of the patch, Fini heads back to West Acorn and begins skulking around various important government locations, attempting to draw Adam’s attention in the hopes that he’d confiscate the flash drive and accidentally install the patch himself. Fini eventually warps himself into Castle Acorn, banking on the notion that this must be where Adam’s mainframe is located since it’s the epicenter of their government. All that was left to do was to keep acting suspicious until someone “caught” him.

To his surprise, Finitevus is intercepted by King Max, who angrily demands to know what he’s doing in his home. Deciding there’s not much to lose here, Fini plainly states that he’s looking for Adam. Max scoffs and says he doesn’t know anyone by that name, then calls for security. Fini explains exactly who and what Adam is, hoping that if nothing else this might upset Max enough to get… well okay maybe not an ally, but at least stop him from being an enemy.

However, to Fini’s shock, Max suddenly stands up from his wheelchair and announces that he can’t have him running around with that sort of information. Finitevus immediately moves to warp away, but Max snags his arm before he can toss the ring – hard. Fini makes every effort to shake him loose, but to his disbelief, Max’s grip never wavers. Instead he drags Fini to a panel in the wall and removes a pair of inhibitor rings (like the kind Shadow uses) and forces them onto Fini’s arms, effectively stopping him from being able to use chaos energy to escape. Realizing just how screwed he is, Fini takes a chance and tries addressing Max as Adam.

Max – Adam – responds that he’s been watching Fini all day and demands to know what he’s been up to. Fini makes a roundabout response about how Adam of all people should understand wanting to snoop, while idly fiddling with the flash drive in one hand. Adam spots this and snags the drive from him… but to Fini’s horror, crushes it and asks if Fini honestly thought he’d be stupid enough to infect himself with a virus. Doing his best not to panic, all Fini can think to say is that that’s not what it was.

Adam leads Fini out of the prominent areas of Castle Acorn into what appear to be maintenance corridors. Expecting that he’s about to be imprisoned, Fini starts formulating an escape strategy – but to his amazement, Adam actually leads him directly to his mainframe. Adam comments that Fini needs to be scanned so he can make a model of him before he’s taken to his cell, and instructs him to stand on a circular platform. At that same moment, Hamlin enters the room, instantly becoming irate and demanding to know why Adam hasn’t taken stricter security measures with Fini. Confused, Adam says that Fini’s been subdued and therefor no longer constitutes a threat. Hamlin irritably takes a seat at one of the consoles and hammers away at the keyboard; Adam’s model promptly vanishes for a moment, then reappears, somewhat corrupted. He cycles through several projections before finally settling on a royal guard.

Suddenly it seems as though Adam’s aggression has dramatically increased, and he roughly grabs Fini and throws him toward the door so he can be locked up. Mulling over the obvious deficiencies in the way Hamlin’s attempted to edit him, Fini attempts idle conversation with Adam, hoping to crash his system by pointing out contradictions in his directives. For the most part this tactic works; Adam’s model glitches out repeatedly before vanishing again. Finitevus flees the castle, all the while still speaking out loud to Adam on the off chance he can still hear, reiterating that the flash drive was not a virus, and if it’s salvageable he should take a look at it to prove it. Luckily Adam doesn’t manage to project his model again before Fini makes contact with Knuckles and fully escapes.

Spooked by how helpless he’d been with those inhibitor rings, Fini keeps his distance from West Acorn for a while, but ultimately can’t help trying to find out if the plan had ever worked. He warps (in a mild disguise) back to West Acorn, and is almost immediately intercepted by Adam in the form of a castle guard. Fini feigns ignorance, but after taking him to a private area, Adam switches his projection model back to that of Max to make his point. He immediately demands to know what Fini had done to him, admitting that his paranoia had gotten the best of him and he did in fact repair and investigate that flash drive. Fini calmly states that he’d simply fixed the parts that were broken and added the parts that were missing: Emotion, critical analysis, etc. He also points out that it seems to be working, because Adam was having a conversation with him rather than immediately locking him up. Adam sputters a bit about Fini staying out of his territory and leaving his system alone, then demands he leave before he DID get locked up.

Over the next few weeks this pattern repeats, with Finitevus intermittently dropping in somewhere secluded in Castle Acorn and waiting for Adam to appear so they could have a conversation. Their discussions generally focus on Adam’s programming – his directives, how those directives interact (or interfere) with one another, how the terms are defined, etc. With each discussion Adam appears to become more “aware” of his situation beyond the scope of simply monitoring West Acorn Republic. At no point does he make a move to actually incarcerate Fini, even warning him a few times not to say or do certain things because it would be construed as “a threat” and force him to act against him.

During one of Finitevus’ visits, Adam seems more distraught over his situation than usual. Fini presses him for information, reminding him that up until now, he’s been nothing but trustworthy and has helped him process all the new emotions he’d been experiencing. Adam says nothing, but withdraws his projection and instead unlocks a nearby door. One by one Adam leads Finitevus through the secluded areas of Castle Acorn, unlocking and relocking doors as he passes. This ultimately leads Fini to the door of an enormous vault. Once Adam enters the proper code, Fini opens the massive door and steps in to find the usual suspects: Treasures, confidential records, heirlooms, etc. The only thing that seems out of place is a small table against the back wall, holding nothing but a small, dusty vase. Stepping closer, Finitevus realizes it’s not a vase – it’s an urn.

The name on the urn reads, “King Maximillian Acorn.”

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[clairekatswritingcorner]

Just in the Nick of Time

Word Count: 2,180

Summary: Alexys is busy closing up the clinic one night when a mysterious stranger turns up, winded and wounded, and collapses right in front of her in the lobby.

*Author’s Note*: First of another batch of commissions for @bad-blue-moon-rising and her precious selfship with Tom! The first time I saw him I got so excited because…masks are so neat (but then I realized I didn’t do a lot with it T^T oh well). I hope you enjoy!

“Looks like that’s everything.”

Alexys was finishing up yet another long day at the vet clinic. Although the clinic itself had closed an hour or so ago, it was common for the dutiful pet doctor to stay a little later than everyone else, ensuring that everything was organized and taken care of before she headed out. Sometimes there’d be clean up or supply orders that could technically wait until the next day, but Alexys rested easier knowing it was all done before she left. Some of the other employees considered her dedication to be a little on the extreme side, but tonight her propensity for working overtime was going to kickstart a fateful encounter.

The young woman gathered her belongings and made her way for the main lobby. Slipping around the check in desk, she already had the key out so she could lock up for the night. To her surprise, it seemed she wasn’t going to make it outside without one more problem barreling through the doors and falling into her arms—quite literally, in this case.

Alexys couldn’t help letting out a small shriek as an unfamiliar man stumbled through the entrance, panting and sweating as he tried to stay on his feet. He didn’t have much strength left, and he’d used the last of it making it into the safety of this building; or at least, he hoped it would be safe. He’d been in more life threatening situations before, and situations just like this more often than he would have liked, so he expected the outcome of this one to be no different. He’d make his way to some random building, hide away inside until his partners could come find him, and do what he could with what he had to tend to his wounds.

Alexys dropped her bag, and the man dropped to the floor. He was on his knees, groaning and holding his side, clearly in some sort of physical distress. He may have been in some kind of mental distress, too, considering the state of panic he was exhibiting. It was hard for Alexys to imagine someone not feeling panicked in a situation like this; the man looked like he’d just barely managed to escape some sort of fight for his life. It was a little hard to tell the extent of both his wounds and his demeanor due to his layered clothes, and a very striking yet peculiar mask that hid his face.

Her first thought after her initial shock was that it was a little ironic; the fact that he was wearing an animal mask, that is. It appeared to be the visage of a white fox, although Alexys reminded herself in the midst of her arbitrary mental detour that now wasn’t the best time to be getting distracted by his appearance. This man needed medical attention, and the longer she stood around in paralyzed confusion, the more his chance of survival dwindled.

“Uh, uh, I’ll call an ambulance!” Her words were a little garbled, all fighting to pile out of her mouth at once as a rush of adrenaline seized her body. Suddenly, everything was moving too fast, all at once, and she knew she had to react quickly if she wanted to keep up with it all.

She knelt down beside the bag she’d dropped, frantically sifting through its contents in her haze of both determination and horror. How could she be so stupid, why was she reacting this way? She was used to dealing with emergencies, even emergencies that treaded the razor thin line between life and death. She’d dealt with a handful of such instances today, and yet right now she just couldn’t seem to pull herself together. She supposed maybe it was because now she was dealing with a human being instead of an animal, although it wasn’t like she didn’t care deeply for the patients she treated. Maybe it was just due to the severity of the situation, and the fact that she was alone, and the clinic was so quiet that the lack of sound was more oppressive than any loud noises would have been.

She shrieked again when the man grabbed her wrist. She was just getting ready to dial 911 as his strong, rough hand seized her arm, his expressionless mask staring at her with a kind of eerie intensity. Was he going to hurt her? Was this actually some sort of set up, a plan to prey upon her sympathies until she let her guard down like one of those schemes you hear about on the news? Now her blood ran cold with the realization that she might have just waltzed into an obvious and life-threatening trap. She was so concerned about this mysterious stranger’s wellbeing that she hadn’t even considered worrying about her own safety…this may turn out to be the greatest mistake she’d made in a long time.

“Don’t…” His voice was weak and raspy, and Alexys felt herself starting to tremble in fearful anticipation of what his next demand might be. “Don’t call the police…”

“What?” She was honestly dumbfounded, and her befuddlement was almost strong enough to snap her out of her traumatically concerned state.

“Don’t call the police,” he said it again, with a little more strength this time, although apparently that was all the strength he had left. As the last word left his mouth he collapsed, slumping facedown on the floor as he finally succumbed to the blackout that had been encroaching on his vision since he’d entered the facility.

Alexys wasn’t sure why, and she knew it wasn’t advisable, but…she wanted to listen to his words. She didn’t want to betray his trust. Even if he hadn’t really had a choice in giving it to her, since the regrettable state of his body was what determined whether he was going to pass out or not, she felt like she had some duty to help him. Surely it wouldn’t do her any good to commit such an act, but something in her heart encouraged her to do so with no reservations. In a way, a hurt animal had just drug itself to her doorstep, and it was her policy to do everything in her power to save any hurt or ailing creature brought before her.

She may only be a vet, but she had enough basic knowledge to get him patched up. She could only hope there wasn’t any severe internal damage, because if that were the case he might not make it until morning. She wasn’t sure why he was so insistent on her not calling for help, determined to the point that he implored her with his last conscious breath. Then again, perhaps he’d gotten into a scuffle that involved him getting in some trouble with the law; it certainly didn’t seem like what had happened to him was simple or unintentional.

Although she was confident she could tend to his wounds at least somewhat, she had to acknowledge that he was much larger than any of the normal patients she dealt with. There also weren’t any techs around to help her maneuver him around, so she spent a good five minutes or so wrestling him onto a gurney she could use to get him back into one of the operating rooms. She didn’t plan on doing anything too significant, like cutting him open or trying to pop bones back into place, but she knew she could handle giving him the stitches he required in at least one or two places.

“So much for making it home early,” she mumbled to herself as she got back into the sterile parts of her uniform. She always left later than everyone else and getting home before midnight or one o’clock would have been an early night for her. But she wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing she left someone untended to, or kicked them out, or got them in trouble by calling the police who might not actually do anything to help them. As disruptive as this situation was, it’d become her responsibility, and she was going to see it through to the end.

As she got to work removing the parts of his clothing where she could see blood seeping through, she examined his mask out of the corner of her eye. His eyes were probably shut behind it, completely immobile and blank as a result of the restorative state his body had defaulted to. Should she remove it and see what kind of damage had been done? There didn’t seem to be any blood flowing from his ears or neck or dripping from his face. There were a few streaks of blood smeared across his mask, a stark contrast to the white background they disrupted. From the way they were positioned, she was fairly certain they weren’t made of his own.

But there also seemed to be a weight to the mask, an invisible one that encouraged her to stay as far away from it as possible. She didn’t want to touch or displace it, or even try to clean it, for fear that she would disturb the individual whose identity was currently locked behind it. For now, it wasn’t imperative for her to know who the mask belonged to, who had made their way so unceremoniously into her clinic but refused the help she tried to offer in the form of getting him to the nearest hospital. In retrospect, this was the nearest hospital, even if it wasn’t one for humans…and since she was able to moderately treat his injuries, it was a sufficient enough place for him to stay.

After getting the wounds she could see disinfected and patched up, she laid a blanket over him and went to grab a cup of water. She’d had to remove his jacket and cut part of his pantleg to reach the cuts trapped below, and she took the salvageable parts of his outfit to get them washed. When she returned, she found him still asleep, and sat with him for a while trying to decide what to do next. She couldn’t leave him here to wake up alone, but she couldn’t really take him anywhere else, and she wasn’t sure if it would be wise to take him with her, only to discover she’d invited unsolicited danger into her home.

She was starting to feel a little drowsy when the man made a groaning noise, his limbs rustling under the blanket. Alexys perked up and came to his side, touching his shoulder gently out of her reflex to comfort patients. The man instantly flinched away, and Alexys took a step back, keeping a cautious eye on him. He’d just been through quite an ordeal, but considering how violent it seemed, she couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t going to instigate some kind of problem himself.

“Where am I?”

The more he woke up the calmer he became, but Alexys kept her distance. “You’re in a vet hospital. You came charging in here from outside, but I don’t know where you came from before that. You were hurt pretty badly, enough that you passed out from the pain and blood loss. I treated the wounds that I could, but I don’t really have the tools or expertise to inspect you for internal injuries—”

“And who are you?”

She was a little hesitant to respond. “My name’s Alexys. I’m a veterinarian at this clinic, and you’re lucky you came when you did, because I was just getting ready to lock up for the night. Would you mind telling me who you are?”

“Alexys, huh?” the man replied, sounding a little amused. Alexys wasn’t sure what was so funny about her name, and she also wasn’t going to let him sneak away without getting an answer to her own question. Before she could repeat herself, he started speaking again. “Well, thanks for your help. Looks like I got here just in the nick of time. Without you I don’t think I’d have woken up from that black out. And thanks for not calling the cops, too. I don’t have any personal issues with them, but uh, you could say that thanks to my work they definitely have more than a few issues with me.”

Alexys crossed her arms and allowed him to keep going. “Anyway, that’s kind of a lot to get into. It’s pretty late, and I’m sure you were hoping to be home by now.”

It didn’t seem like he was going to hurt her, which was a relief. “I was. But I’m not leaving here until you at least give me your name.”

The stranger chuckled, entertained by something she still couldn’t figure out. To her surprise he lifted the mask from his face, revealing the considerably handsome appearance of a man with dark eyes, wavy hair, and a short wavy beard to match. Alexys blushed involuntarily in response, much to her own embarrassment.

“The name’s…Tom,” he answered with a half grin. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Alexys.”

[jolienjoyswriting]

Electrical Disturbance, Ch. V

Chapter 5 of "Electrical Disturbance," a Rockman (Dr. Chou Numbers universe) fan fiction story.

I dunno what I was thinking with the dialogue in this one.  Probably, weird things.  I'm a weirdo.  ):

Word count: 4,110 – Character count: 23,847 Originally written: July 19th, 2020

Kaitlin's suspicious nature leads her to find out that, maybe, the Rights are alright.

Thomas Right, Roll, Rightot, Rock/Rockman, “Rockman” (series), Turboman, and related characters and concepts created by various people and © Capcom Co, Ltd. "Dr. Chou Numbers" concept and related characters and concepts created by and © Jussy Kaitlin/Thundergirl created by and © KaitlinEXE

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    “– significant damage – radiation–”     “– lin!  Kaitlin…!!  Wake–”     “Why – Blues do–”     “I say leave – is.  Clearly, she – threat.”     “Shut up!  She–”

    There was a dizzying cacophony of voices swirling around in Kaitlin’s head.  Her optics were offline and her aural sensors were only working part-of-the-time.  She couldn’t move and couldn’t speak, and she wasn’t entirely sure where she was or how she got there.  All she knew was that the parts of her body that she could feel really hurt…

    “Thundergirl?  Kaitlin?  Answer if you can hear me.”

    The girl twitched.  What was going on…?  All those voices from before were gone… except for one.  It was a gentle-but-firm voice calling out with a sense of urgency.  Part of her didn’t want to bother responding, but…     “I… I hear you…”     She thought she may as well.

    “Kaitlin, I know you can’t see me,” the voice told her, “but this is Dr. Thomas Right.”     The girl went silent.  She had a feeling that’s who it was…     “Kaitlin, you’ve suffered some serious injuries.”     “Yeah, no kiddin’…”  She grumbled as she said, “I can’t see, I can’t move…  Whatever happened must’a been pretty bad.”     “You don’t remember because… I had to reroute power from your memory to your core.”     “Where’s my dad?”  Kaitlin frowned – at least, in her head.  “Where’s Papa Wily?”     “I know you think I’m the enemy, but whether or not that’s true, I assure you… I live by the Hippocratic Oath of Medics and–”     “I… don’t know what that is…”     “‘I carry out this oath,’” the doctor began quoting, “and break it not, may I gain for ever reputation among all men for my life and for my art; but if I break it and forswear myself, may the opposite befall me.’”     She paused before telling him, “I didn’t understand a word’a that.”     “It means that I am, first-and-foremost, a Doctor of Robotics.  My formal alliances have no place in my laboratory or in any other place where I may repair a robot in need.”     Once again, the girl too a long pause to consider his words.     “Whether you trust me or not,” the doctor added in a softer tone, “I will do my best to return you to full health.”     “Don’t… guess I have much choice, huh?”     “You could ask me to leave you as you are… though, I believe that there are several people waiting outside for you to recover.”     “Any… friends?”     “They seem to think so.”     Kaitlin sighed…  Then, she said something she wasn’t sure she’d regret, later:     “Go ahead ’n patch me up, Doc…  I don’t trust you… but I trust your words.” –––––

    “–lin, Kaitlin…?  Kaitlin?”     “What, what…?”     The girl waved a hand in no specific direction… until it smacked into something.  Immediately, her eyes shot open and she looked up to see…     “Gah!”     She’d accidentally plopped her hand on Dr. Right’s face.  Needless to say, she was quick to move it right back off.

    “S… sorry!”  She paused…  “Wait, no, I’m not!  You’re my… my…”     The girl sighed, suddenly, shaking her head.     “No…  No, I can’t swear vengeance against you…  You fixed me… right?”     “Ah, good!”  The doctor smiled.  “Your short-term memory, tactile sensors, and your audio-visual sensor array all seem to be working.  How do you feel?”     “Tired…”  She chuckled as she asked, “Can I get an E-Can Mini, pretty-please?  I… I promise not to threaten you ‘n your family, for now?”     Hearing Kaitlin joke made the doctor even happier.  She seemed to be doing just fine.

    “So, let me get this straight, Doc…”

    A short while after awakening, Kaitlin took a seat on the edge of a workbench.  She was still tied into his computer systems while casually sipping on a miniature Energy Can.  During that time, she took stock of her current situation.

    “Accordin’ to Breakman… that sonova– uh, I came here after gettin’ into a fight with Elecman, a few days ago, who was… under my dad’s control, at the time?”     The doctor softly nodded as he stared at a computer screen and typed… something.  Kaitlin had no idea what and didn’t care enough to ask.     “Elecman messed me up, so you had’a do some internal repairs…”     “Mm-hmm…”     “But, somethin’ went wrong?”     “That is correct, my dear.”     The girl shuddered.  “Hey… can you not call me that, ever again, please?”     “My apologies,” is what he offered, still focused on the computer screen.

    “Anyway…  You’re tellin’ me that you somehow… nuked my memories?”     “Accidentally, yes.  Up to the point where you were activated by Albert – Dr. Wily,” he corrected for her benefit.     “And… before that, I was fightin’ on your guys’ side?”     “Of your own volition, yes.”     Kaitlin sipped her drink and narrowed her eyes.  Something wasn’t adding up…     “If I was on your guys’ side…” she asked, “then why’d Breakman shoot me?”     The doctor’s typing came to a sudden stop.  Somehow, that made the girl smirk.     “What?  Ya didn’t know?  He dared me t’ zap him one after I found out I had electric weapons, but I couldn’t do it ‘cause… ‘cause he’d been so nice.”     Her smirk faded into a troubled frown.     “I… actually kind’a trusted him…  Hah, guess I know better, now!”

    There was a long, heavy pause.  The atmosphere of the room had changed, dramatically.  Dr. Right seemed just as troubled as his patient.     “I had my suspicions,” he started to tell her, “that your recent injures were caused by Blues – or ‘Breakman,’ as he prefers to go by, in some instances.  When Rock and Joseph brought you in, there was an unusual char pattern on your skin and clothes.  You were burning-hot with radiation…”     Kaitlin immediately looked herself over… only to find that she was wearing the same outfit she’d had on when Breakman had attacked her.  A double-check confirmed that neither her clothes nor her skin seemed any the worse for wear.     “I replaced the corroded parts of your synthetic skin,” Dr. Right commented, noticing his patient’s curiosity, “and Roll made you a new set of clothing once she’d heard what happened.”     She blushed a little as she realized the doctor probably had to have seen her bare-skinned… and very-likely had to get into her chest panel, among other places.  Despite knowing it was her own-dang-fault for permitting him… she still shuddered when she thought about it.

    “Hey, Doc…”     “Yes, Kaitlin?”     When Kaitlin was finally over being creeped-out, she asked the doctor, “If I was your guys’ friends… why did Breakman-Blues shoot me?”     “Ah, well…” he started as he returned to his computer console, “Blues is the type of individual who doesn’t trust easily.  I suppose he considered you a threat when you tore through our house, making a mess, and claimed that you were working for Dr. Wily.”     She shrank a little.  “I’m… sorry for that, just so you know.  A-and, not just because you fixed me.  Twice.  Apparently…”     “Although you certainly gave us quite the start,” he said, matter-of-factly, “it could have been far worse.”     He offered the girl a smile.     “You could have been aware of your weapon systems.”     “Heh…  Maybe, that’s why Breakman shot me…”     “Perhaps.”  He frowned as he added, “However, I do I find it rather disturbing…”     She blinked as the doctor looked back at his screen.  “What’s that?”     “From what you’ve told me, you were prone to attack Blues… yet decided against it.  He, then, attacked you with a sort of… ‘just-in-case’ mentality.”  He paused…  “Kaitlin?  Would you have attacked Blues?”     “I… I was gonna, but…”     She paused, rubbing her arm and looking away.     “S… sorry, Papa Wily…  I can’t attack someone who’s only been nice to me!  Although… he did deck me with his shield!  A-after I got mad and tried to zap him a little…  He’s… he’s just so infuriating!”     “What did he say to anger you?”     “I don’t remember, exactly…”  The girl looked up.  “I just remember… he said something that really ticked me off, so I punched him… then he walloped me in the gut… then I think he said something that made me so mad, I ended up tryin’ t’ zap him one.  He whacked me with his shield – and blocked my attack, thankfully – then I think I joked about zappin’ him for real… which led to this… stand-off… where I decided not to… but he, apparently, didn’t.”

    “Blues is… something of a mystery…”  The doctor sighed.  “Even though I was the one who created him, I have yet to figure out what truly motivates him.  He’s slowly dying… yet he refuses to let me replace the nuclear core Dr. Wily installed with a more stable solar unit.  He helps Rockman from-time-to-time… yet he is just as likely to attack him – usually as some sort of ‘test.’  He keeps close watch of us all… yet he doesn’t want to be a part of our family.  In fact, the only stable relationship he seems to have is with Roll.  But, I guess that makes sense…”     He smiled to himself.     “Roll is the only one not trying to change him…”     “Heh.  That’s what he said.”  She paused.  “Hey, uh… speakin’a Roll…”     “Don’t worry.”  The doctor looked at Kaitlin with that same smile.  “Roll is perfectly fine.  She’s experienced far worse than a fully-charged Thunder Beam.”     Kaitlin clasped her hands together before resting them under her mouth.     “I wanna tell her I’m sorry…”     She twitched as he turned and squeezed her shoulder…     “It was hardly your fault.  Roll is a brave, kind, caring girl who would gladly put herself in the line-of-fire to save a friend… or even a stranger!  She and her brother are very like-minded, in that way…”     “Awfully feelsie… aren’cha, Doc?”     The doctor flinched, immediately letting go of her shoulder and turning back to his console.  That made Kaitlin chuckle, but only a little.

    “I-in any case,” the doctor said after clearing his throat, “you’re free to leave and go wherever you want – both within the compound and outside of it.  Elecman returned to Nevada to undo his prior damage, Rockman is in New York, and Roll and Rightot are in the main lab.  Oh!  And, Joseph is waiting for you in the living room.”     “‘Joseph?’”  She tilted her head with a smirk.  “Another one’a your pet projects…?”

    “Kaitlin…!!”

    Kaitlin’s eyes widened and her body stiffened.  The instant she arrived in the Right Labs living room, she was assaulted by… bizarrely… what looked to be a human-sized fox-man!  He wasn’t trying to lick her, though… thankfully.  Just… hug her.  Really… really tightly…!

    “Get– get off…!”     He leaped back with a yelp and blankly stared.  She’d given him a dose of electricity.  A moment later, he smiled and rapidly wagged his tail.     “God… I’m so glad you’re okay!”  The fox sniffled…  “When… when Rock and I found you laying there, all burned-up and warped, I…”     “Hey, save the waterworks for someone else, okay?”     He nodded and tried… but he just couldn’t help but cry.     “I’m just so relieved…” he hiccuped.  “I dunno what I’d ever do if I lost you…”     “Now, that’s funny ‘cause… I do know what I’d do if I lost you!”     “Wh… what?”     “This.”  She brightly smiled.  “‘bye!”     With that, she casually strolled by the fox and headed into the main lab.

    “Watch out, Rock!  There’s a flock of Mini-Pipis heading your way!”     “I’m on it, Roll!  Rock Buster…!”     “Yeah!  Go get ‘em, das!  Who’s a ve-ry might-y Ro-kku-maaan, das?!”     “Ha hah, thanks for the cheer, Rightot!  I’ll make you proud!”     “Rightot is already proud of Rokkuman, das!  Roll-chan, too!”     “Just come back to us in one piece, Rock…  That’s all I ask!”     “Will do, sis!  Rock, out!”     “I love it when Rokkuman says that, das.  It’s so ‘punny!’”

    Kaitlin stood at the doorway of the laboratory, arms crossed and a smirk on her face.  She’d always wondered what the “central control hub” of the place looked like during one of Wily’s campaigns…  Strangely, it didn’t look much different from her dad’s “control room.”     “A three-by-three grid with icons of the Robot Masters…”     “Kaitlin?”  Roll turned around and smiled.  “Welcome back!”     “Live satellite feed of Rockman’s current location…” the brunette commented as she strolled in.  “A rough, 2D map of the current ‘stage…’  And, of course, a navigator –”     Roll’s smile brightened as she was pointed to.     “Just like with the Robot Masters…”     “We’re here to keep Rock motivated and give him lots of help navigating the terrain!” the blond-haired girl explained as she removed her headset.  “I’m usually here, warning him of incoming enemies, but Rightot sometimes helps out!”     “Yeah, yeah, go, go!!” the big, green robot shouted, pumping his fist and screwdriver-hand into the air as he watched Rockman blast through a series of small, flying robots.  “Super figh-ting robot!  Rokkumaaan, das!”     “Of course…”  The girl closed her eyes and her smile became labored.  “Rightot gets a little carried away with praise, most-of-the-time…”     Her face returned to a happy expression, then.

    “So, what brings you to the lab?”     “Well,” Kaitlin started, her own expression falling.  “Firstly… aren’t you… ya know… mad at me?”     Roll tilted her head.  “For what?”     “For gettin’ you zapped by ‘Electman?’  Don’cha remember…?”     “It’s ‘Elecman,’ and of course I do!  But, why would I be mad at you?”  Her smile brightened.  “No one forced me to jump in front of his attack!  I did it all on my own!”     “But, why…?”     “Because…”     The girl flexed one arm, putting her opposite hand on that bicep.  She winked at Kaitlin, then, continuing to smile.     “That’s what heroes do!”     “Uuuhh…”     “Look,” the girl started, putting her hands on Kaitlin’s shoulders.  “Whatever you’re going through, we can work it out.  I know that somewhere, deep inside, the Kaitlin I know and love is still there!  And, if she isn’t?  Well, then…”     She winked, again.     “I’ll just have to do my best to earn this one’s trust!”

    Kaitlin’s expression became confused… then suspicious.  She opened her mouth, then closed it, then after a few seconds, she asked Roll a simple question…     “Are… are you coming onto me?”     Roll’s face turned slightly red and she became visibly flustered.  But, then…     “Oh, wait…  You were kidding, right?”     She pulled the brunette into a big hug, laughing and smiling.     “Oh, Kaitlin…  You’re such a funny girl!  No wonder Joseph adores you!”     “Ah–  Fff…”     Kaitlin was at a loss… so she just hugged the girl right back.  Granted, she wasn’t… quite as enthusiastic about it.  Actually, that hug kind of made her wonder if Roll wasn’t attracted to her, in some way…     Maybe, she’s just this friendly with everyone… she thought to herself.  Whatever, I guess.

    “Hey, speaking of…” Roll continued after pulling back, “did you see him, yet?”     “Did I see who?” Kaitlin asked with genuine confusion.     “Your boyfriend!  Joseph!”     “Is he that crybaby fox I met on the way in here?”     The blond girl nodded tilted her head.  She looked like she might scold Kaitlin, but…     “I remember when I caught you two kissing under the apple tree!”  She softly sighed…  “It was sooo sweet and romantic!  I felt bad about intruding, but I–”     “That’s disgusting.  I would never–”     “Aww, Kaitlin…!  You don’t have to put on that tough-girl act around me!  We both know you’re head-over-heels for him!”     Kaitlin scowled as Roll giggled.     “You’re… serious… aren’t you?”     The other girl blinked a couple of times.  Then… a look of realization came over her.     “Oh, right!”  She slapped one closed hand into the other.  “You lost your memory!”     “That’s what everyone keeps tellin’ me…”     “Okay, well then…”  Roll smiled.  “Joseph was Kaitlin’s friend.  He’s a silly, emotional guy with a cute face and a fluffy tail!  He kind’a likes me… but I think he likes Kaitlin more!”     “Why… are you talking about me in third-person, Roll?”  Kaitlin tilted her head and scowled.  “I’m right here.”     “When I say ‘Kaitlin,’” she explained, “I mean– oh, wait!  Better idea!”     The girl cleared her throat and started over.     “I’m sure he loves Thundergirl!  You’re… not Thundergirl right now, right?”     “I’m not Thundergirl, ever!” Kaitlin exclaimed.  “I barely even know who that is!”     “Perfect!”  Roll beamed before telling her, “Joseph and Thundergirl were super-close friends and I’m pretty sure he loved Thundergirl!”     “He loved my supposed ‘superhero identity’ before I supposedly lost my memories?”     “That’s right!”     Kaitlin rubbed her cheek while Roll nodded.     “This conversation is confusing and annoying…” she grumbled.  “I think I’d remember being a superhero with a furry freak for a boyfriend.”     “Not if your memory was reset!”     “Yeah, but–”  Kaitlin huffed, shaking her head.  “Whatever.”

    “Roll-chan, Roll-chan!”     “Rightot,” Roll called to the big, green robot, “I asked you not to call me that!”     “But, Roll is small and Roll is cute, das!  So, the Japanese honorifics–”     She half-heartedly laughed before interrupting with, “What did you want, Rightot?”     “Oh!  Right, das.”  He pointed to the screen.  “Rockman is about to fight Turboman, das!”     Kaitlin perked.  “Car Bro…?”     “Oh!!”  Roll turned back.  “E-excuse me, Kaitlin!”     “Uh… sure.”

    Kaitlin rubbed the back of her head, watching Roll hop over a table and grab her headset.  Curiosity overtook her, then, and she decided to pull up and chair and watch Rockman fight one of her brothers… who she was silently rooting for, despite all the hospitality.

    “Okay, Rock!” Roll called through her microphone while her brother came up to a tall shutter-style door.  She read from a screen, telling him: “Turboman is a fast, transforming Robot Master.  His weapon is the Burning Wheel which, as the name says, summons four flaming orbs that rotate like a wheel, burning everything they touch with sticky, napalm-like gasoline – including you!  He’s perfectly-tuned for speed, but he isn’t very agile.  Don’t let him draw you in with his high-performance exhaust system or ram you with his Crash Drive attack!”     “Got it, Roll!” the boy called back.     “Good luck, Rock!  We’re all counting on you!”     With that, the video feed became staticky and communication ceased.

    “H… hey, I was watching that.  What happened…?”     “Huh?”     Roll turned around.  Kaitlin was standing up with an angry look on her face.     “Oh, that happens whenever Rock gets close enough to one of Wily’s Robot Masters!” the girl explained with a smile.  “See, Doctor Wily installs these… jammer… thingies in his robots that keep us from contacting or recalling Rock from the area until it’s disabled…  It… always really worries me…”     The blond girl frowned, wringing her hands.  Meanwhile, Kaitlin tilted her head.     “Huh.  I guess that makes sense…  Papa Wily wouldn’t wanna let Rockman get the upper hand and cheat his way through a fight!  He sure could with–”     “‘Papa Wily,’ das…?”     Rightot stood up from his seat and spun around…  His thick, triangular eyebrows pointed down and his shiny, red eyes focused on Kaitlin.     “Kaitlin-chan is a Wily robot, das?”     “Kaitlin-chan,” the brunette mocked, putting one hand on her hip and smirking, “is a Wily robot, das.  What’s it to ya, Big Green?”     There was a long, heavy silence as the two stared each other down.  Then…     “Well, any friend of Roll-chan is a friend of Rightot, das!”     The green giant simply smiled… she thought… and turned back around, much to the girl’s confusion…

    “You Right-‘bots’re too trustin’,” she laughed… before she frowned and added, “but I’m the same way, so…”     “You say that like it’s a bad thing!”     “Well, considerin’ your… brother, I guess?”  She looked over at Roll.  “Considering your brother, Blues the Breakman, broke me for my trust…”     “Listen…”     Kaitlin blinked as Roll quietly walked over.  When the girl took her hand, she blushed a little.  Roll was looking right into her eyes, for some reason…

    “I won’t make excuses for Blues, but I want you to know that his actions don’t reflect how any of us feel about you.  Okay?  I know you made a mess that Rock had to clean up and you scared Elecman bad enough to zap you, but even so… I like you.  I trust you!  You’re a good person, Kaitlin, and no amount of Wily code or Wily branding is going to change that!”         The brunette continued to blush.  Roll wouldn’t stop giving her that bright, friendly smile or turn her shiny, green eyes away.  She kept both hands tightly wrapped around hers, too.  It was… uncomfortable.     “H-hey… i-if you’re gonna flirt with me, um…”     “I’m not flirting with you!!”     Roll threw the other girl’s hand down before glaring and puffing her cheeks.     “I’m trying to say you’re my friend!” she furiously shouted.  “What’s wrong with you?!”     “I dunno…”  Kaitlin turned away, rubbing her arm.  “May– maybe I was hoping you… were… flirting with me?”     “Wh… what?”     When Roll actually started to blush, herself…     “You know I’m kidding, right?”     She awkwardly smiled and canceled her decidedly-dumb joke.     “I barely know you, and–”     Her eyes went wide, then.  Roll… had slapped her!     “It’s not nice to play with a girl’s feelings – even if you are a girl!”     When she turned away and crossed her arms, Kaitlin felt… a little guilty.     “Roll, hey, I was–”  She paused.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.”     “Well… at long as you’re sorry, I guess it’s okay.”     Roll turned back and pulled Kaitlin into a brief hug.     “To be honest… I’m probably sending you the wrong message by being so friendly, to begin with!  It’s just that Thundergirl was a really good friend – just… a friend,” she quickly clarified.  “We’d sometimes e-mail each other about stuff.  Sometimes… we’d even talk about–”     “At the risk of making you mad, again… are you sure you two were just friends…?”

    “I just said…!” Roll half-shouted, anger flaring in her eyes and on her face.  Once she calmed, she sighed… “Yes, Kaitlin… we were just friends.”     The girl smiled.  Then, she thought about something…     “As far as I know, I mean?  Thundergirl never seemed like she was interested in me, like that, and I know I wasn’t with her – no offense!  Besides…”     The girl winked.     “I think she was pretty happy with that rascally fox of hers!”

    “Okay.  I believe you,” Kaitlin said, finally smiling.  “Thanks for clearing that up.  But, can I tell you something as a friend, Roll?”     “What’s that?”     She sighed a little, rubbing her other arm and tapping her sneaker toe against the floor…  She didn’t feel quite right about what she was going to say, but…     “As a friend… I… I do think y-you’re… really cute!” is what she ended up saying.     “You, too, Kaitlin!”     The blond girl beamed… but the brunette just tilted her head.     “Come again?” she asked.  Roll said that so fast, it was like she was prepared…     “I said, ‘I think you’re cute, too!’”  Her smile brightened as she added, “You have such nice hair, pretty eyes, a great smile, and I love your outfits!  Plus, you look really cool in purple!”     “O-oh, um…”     Kaitlin knew Roll was just being nice, but somehow… hearing all that made her feel a little flattered.  She’d said it all so candidly, too… Kaitlin didn’t know how to respond.     “Hey, Roll?”     “Yes?”     The brunette held her hand out, causing the other girl to blink.     “I’m… glad you’re my friend.  Even if we are s’posed t’ be enemies.  Heh…”     “Aww…!”     Kaitlin knew saying that was a mistake, but somehow…     “Oof.”     She didn’t mind, so much, when Roll pulled her into another overly-affectionate hug.

    “Roll-chan, Roll-chan, das!”     “What is it, Rightot?”     Both Roll and Kaitlin turned back to the big screen.  There, they saw the static clearing.  The camera focused, a moment later, and showed Rockman standing over the collapsed heap of–     “Turboman…!!”

    Roll blinked as Kaitlin ran over to the computer terminal and grabbed her headset off the keyboard.  Almost immediately, the brunette began yelling into the microphone.     “Rockman, you jerk!!”     “R-Roll?” was the reply she got back.  “Your voice sounds different…”     “I’m Kaitlin!” she corrected.  “Rockman, you… you killed my brother!!  Why…?!”     “I…  Wait, what?”     Tears filled Kaitlin’s eyes as she shouted, “Turboman is dead!  He’s dead because of you…!  He… he was one of my favorite brothers…”     She sniffled, rubbing her cheeks with one sleeve.     “We used t’ go on night drives down the highway, laughin’ and makin’ lots’a noise!  He… he actually treated me like a kid sister instead of a pest or a machine…  He was so cool…”     “Kaitlin…  I–”     “I don’t wanna hear it!”     “But, Kaitlin!  Hey?  Kaitlin…?  Kaitlin!”     Unfortunately for Rockman… the girl had tossed the headset off and stormed out.  As her body crackled with energy and the last of her angry tears rolled down her cheeks, she vowed…     “I’m gonna get that little, blue boy…  For you, Big Brother!”

[ladydracarysao3]

Nemesis of Neglect: A Dragon Age & Jack the Ripper Tale

Chapter Four

Note Only one chapter this week, real life has ruined my scheduling plans. Consider that "every Tuesday and Wednesday" rule to be murdered in and around the face.

[Read Chapter Four on AO3]  or  [Start with the Prologue]

Chapter Four

Pain.

The pain is excruciating. All over her body she feels the ache. However, it is the rough licking of a sandpaper tongue and the loud thrum of purring that’s woken Ian. They call her awake from a catatonic state, those wet tiny bristles scraping her cheek.

Ian’s eyelids squint and flutter open while she groans through the newly discovered throbbing pain throughout her body. The tabby’s face in hers, she bats the cat off from her chest. It hops down with hmpf and struts away, offended by her lack of thanks.

Ian runs her hands over herself, wincing as she finds many tender spots. Bruises, scratches, and welts that seem to cover her from end to end. Her muscles ache, and her bones feel snapped and brittle. There is a swelling to her face and split to her lip. It is as if she’s one swift kick from death.

Her mind slowly follows her consciousness, and she discovers herself in a bed and room that is not her own. Her back is slightly raised from the mattress, propped up with a few pillows. The bed’s footboard, and a chair beside it, hold her dirty, bloody clothing. She is dressed in a slightly baggy and not very clean undershirt, though her undergarments are her own. And there are bandages wrapped around her ribs and both of her hands. The knuckles of which are bloody, soaked through the tattered strips of cotton.

She takes in the rest of her surroundings. Dingy. Dark. Damp. The stale smell of mold and mildew hangs in the air. Not a single window, just a smattering of candles and lanterns placed throughout. There is a desk across the room that is cluttered with books, odd instruments, jars, and beakers.

She knows this room. She knows it well. Reality settles in like an old friend who is no longer welcome, her heart plummeting beneath the bed as it does. Her mind and heart both pacing with anxious questions on how she got here, of all places. She considers bolting from the room, but the pain in her body keeps her planted firmly in the old familiar bed, dread of what will come next consuming her.

But it all stops cold when the old wood-slat door to the room opens. Involuntarily, her breath chokes in her throat when she sees him.

Dirty blonde long hair has fallen from its binding behind his head and tangles in a short beard on his chin. A straggly little thing that is unkempt due to his priorities in science over appearance. There is a point to his nose and a strength to his jaw that compliment the severity of his expression. Lost in thought, as always, he is surely scheming his next idea to save the sick and the dying in Kirkwall.

There is something beautiful about that way he sterns his face when he thinks. There always has been...

His clothes are old. Almost centuries old. A sad linen shirt hangs loosely from his chest, stitches meant to fix holes and rips hold the thing together more than anything else. His coat is dark and long and covered in patches of dust and dirt, matching his tattered dark trousers. They are items he found scavenging, no doubt, The man cares to only spend money on his herbs and his books and the other things that clutter his workspaces.

“Oh,” he says, glancing up from some vials in his hands. “You’re up. That’s an improvement, I suppose.” He walks over, unphased by her shock and confusion, and sets the vials down on a small table beside the bed. “Though, I admit it’s only good for you and not so much for me.” He scratches his cheek through his beard and skews his face. “Now I suppose I will have to speak with you.” Sighing, he crosses his arms while looking down at her with that stern and skewed expression.

“Anders,” Ian says, although her voice is not but a puff of breath. It has been so long since she’s laid eyes on the man that she feels everything from excited, to scared, to tense, and angry.

“Well, you’re mind is intact, it seems. I suppose that is good, too. Also, only for you.”

“How long was I out?” she asks softly, still in disbelief by the entire situation.

“Through the night. Although, I gave you a little something to ensure that be the case. It’s obvious you’ve not had proper rest in a long time,” he says with a roll to his eyes.

Ian glances down at the old bed on which she lies. It’s his bed in his bedroom, not a cot where he places his clinic’s patients. “Where did you sleep?” she asks. “If I’m here for care, why not place me in one of your sick beds?”

Anders fidgets and clears his throat. “You had open wounds, I didn’t want to chance you contracting an infection from the other rooms.” He darts his eyes away and points the opposite direction. “I slept at my desk. It was no matter. I’ve done it before.”

She smiles a tiny, short-lived grin. “Not the first time, certainly not the last. But how did I get here?”

“What do you last remember?”

“I was in the hall of the Arishok...there was a brawl.”

Anders chuckles deep in his chest and turns to the vials on the table. He mixes the different contents into a small glass. “I think a brawl constitutes something a bit more involved than one stupid woman getting almost beaten to death.” He scowls and shakes his head while pushing the glass of freshly mixed liquids into her hand. “Why would you go in there carrying on about murder? Do you have a death wish?”

Ian sits up fully, careful not to spill the glass as well as cause the least amount of pain from her injuries. “You haven’t told me how I ended up here,” she says. “What is this? One of your elixirs?”

“It is. A new one I’ve been perfecting,” he says, a bit of pride. The man has always enjoyed discovering new forms medicine. “Drink it. It should dull your pain and speed your healing considerably. I will give you more to take home when you leave.” He gestures for her to bring the glass to her lips. “I will answer you once you are properly medicated.”

“Why? Will this knock me out?” She smiles a lopsided thing before she drinks it down. The contents are bitter and horrid, but she swallows it all without complaint.

“I wish,” he says. A tiny reciprocated smirk flashes as he takes the glass from her hand. “Merrill came running in here, raving about how you had been beaten. Two men she found in Lowtown carried you in. I paid them to leave as well as for their silence.” His tone drops. “A payment I would like to see returned to me. I am not your keeper anymore.”

Ian grunts. “You were never my keeper.”

Anders sighs and finds a reason to cross the room. He begins to fiddle with items on his desk as he grumbles. “Yes, you made that abundantly clear.”

“Oh, please. Do not pretend to be hurt after all this time.” Her words sting even herself, but it is nothing compared to the pain already shrieking inside her body. “And remember, my dear Anders, you acted first. You know the rules of Lowtown. You hurt me, I hurt you. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.”

Anders slams his fists on the desk. The collection of glass bottles, beakers, and who knows what else ring and clank. “What you did destroyed me!” he yells through gritted teeth and silence follows. He remains with his back to her, shoulders rising and falling rapidly. It is a flaring temper that splits in a way she’s all too familiar.

Ian decides it’s time to leave. As fun as it is dredging up the past, there are more important matters. She eases her legs from the sheets to the floor and pulls off her draped trousers from the foot of the bed. “I suppose I should be thanking you for tending to me. Given your animosity, you may well have left me for dead.”

“You could, but we both know you wouldn’t mean it.”

“Give me a little credit,” she says with a groan, and she slips on her shoes.

Anders turns to face her again, and leans back on the desk. “I can’t. I know you too well for that.”

Ian grunts and reaches for her shirt and vest draped over the nearby chair. She winces at the pain the movement causes, but she can tell that it is far duller than before. His new elixir seems to be working quickly.

“Ian…” he says and she freezes. It is the first time she’s heard her name from his lips in what feels like the turn of the ages. Ancient suppressed emotions threaten to release themselves from their purgatory.

“Ian, I’m very sorry to hear of what happened to Bethany. I know what this must do to you, and I know you will not share it. Just understand, her loss is felt throughout the city...and deeply with me.” He runs his hands through his hair, smoothing back the pieces that fell from their binding. “She was like a sister to me too, after all… For a time, anyway.”

Ian swallows her emotions and finishes dressing. In doing so, she stares at the long-faded design on a rug in his room. “Did you know what she was?”

“I had suspicions. She came to me once, asking questions about magic and the healing arts. But when I pressed for the source of her investigation, she seemed to panic. She found cause to leave, and I never saw her again after that.” Anders tugs at a gold loop in his ear, and his voice trails far away. After a few thought filled seconds, he takes a deep breath, his mind returning from whence it came. “If I had actually known anything. I would have told you.”

Ian runs her fingers through her own hair. It feels cleaned. He took the time to clean her and bandage her wounds, yet he rarely shows himself the courtesy. A sad and tired tingle sets in her chest. “I know,” she says.

They stand there in his room, and somehow their eyes find each other. They do not smile. They do not speak. They just stand there in the thick, heavy air. His eyes are blue for all the gold in the iris. Her heart aches for those eyes. They once sparkled like the sun. They once held shimmers of hope in their intricate and beautiful gilded bands.

However, the world is too harsh for hope, and his bright eyes are clouded. No more of the sun, not since she helped spur the rain.

It is too hard to look at him. The pain is too great. It’s why she’s stayed away for so long. But she has the incredible urge to walk the few paces needed to close the distance between them. It wouldn't take much, just a little momentum.

How badly she wants to run to him...tell him how foolish she was, and ask for reconciliation.

An impossible desire, truly. This life is not kind to lovers. It is too complicated, too dangerous. They were as cursed then as they will be forever. People such as they are not rewarded the happy endings. It is best to not make matters worse. It is best that she leave, and leave now, rather than hurt their broken hearts any further.

She tries to find the sounds to say goodbye, when something in his eyes makes her throat trip. A flicker in the dulled and clouded gold, something perhaps triggered by his own lost thoughts.

It is no matter what spiral his mind may travel, however, because Merrill’s voice hollers from beyond Anders’ bedroom door. The elf runs inside before either Ian or Anders can react, and she falls limp against the doorknob. While desperately trying to catch her breath, she manages to say, “Good...you’re awake...there was another...dead...last night.”

Ian shoots a look toward Anders. The disappointment is almost too apparent in his face for her to stand. “Go,” he says. “I know you won’t listen if I ask you to stay...out of this. So just go.” He grabs a small bottle from his desk with one hand and hers with the other. The touch of his skin is enough to make her heart break, if it was not already broken.

Anders shoves the bottle into her palm and says, “Another dose, take this in a couple of hours.” Ian half-nods, grabs her coat, and walks out the door.

She never did find the sounds that say goodbye.

“I will send the rest of the elixir to your estate,” Anders calls out after her. Ian swallows the emotion that built so quickly in that old, damp room. She steels herself, and with Merrill by her side, works her way though Anders’ clinic.

It is a small series of old corridors that the man claimed in the pits of Darktown. There, he can tend to his experiments and the sick who live in the slums, without interruption or snooping by the authorities.

One will never find a guardsman in Darktown, because those who call it home are the forgotten ones. The poor wretches that are plagued with illness and curse. The souls who dare not walk the streets of even Lowtown for fear of a mob’s attack. Instead, they reside in the dark depths and caverns below the city. An old connection to the sewers where the only light comes from small fires or candles lit beside their mud-caked bodies. The only persons found there beyond its residents are the odd runaway criminal, or the truly desperate seeking Anders’ aid.

The women climb their way out of Darktown, each step of Ian’s feeling a little stronger than the previous. She follows the woman through the early morning ruckus of Lowtown. When they come upon the scene of the murder, it is a far different scenario than that of Bethany’s. Instead of just guardsmen milling about, there is a mob of people. Varric has more than one of his men with a camera, recording the events in still pictures, and the town’s official tribune is in attendance as well.

So much for Aveline’s wish to keep it all under wraps.

Not that that had worked anyway.

She finds the redheaded Captain in the center of the horde. She is towering over Varric with anger writ throughout her body.

“The people have a right to know!” Varric's protests carry over the sounds of the yelling mob. There is a mixture of horrified cries, hateful accusations toward conjurers, and blame thrown around for everyone from the Qunari to the Viscount himself.

Ian uses the chaos as covered distraction and is able to slip behind Aveline without notice. When she enters the scene, there is a rank smell of death. Either the night was warmer than the previous, or this body sat longer before discovery, or both. The victim is another woman, unknown to Ian. Same cuts to the neck and throat as Bethany, but also her hands are missing.

The blood is sloppier than before. It seems to be everywhere in the small enclave where the body lies slumped partly upright against the wall. The same words are painted in the the victim's blood, but the addition of crudely drawn horns are added at the top, flanking the hate.

“I knew it was them beasties!” a shrill yell filters in from the street.

Ian holds a kerchief to her nose while she surveys the area. Aveline is soon on her heels, however, and her angry voice disrupts Ian’s inspection.

“What are you doing here, Hawke. Leave my crime scene at once,” Aveline says.

“I am trying to solve this, same as you.”

Aveline’s shrewd stare scrutinizes the healing cuts and bruises on Ian’s face, and she shakes her head. “What you are doing, or what you have already done, is making a dire situation even worse. I know you have a sense of entitlement with the events in this city, but I will not have the investigation botched by your meddling. Leave, and leave it alone, Hawke.” Aveline points to the street and the mob hollering on it. “Go now, or I will lock you up.”

Ian places her hands in the air and backs out of the enclave. Bumping into Varric once in the street, the dwarf says, “Ah, don’t mind Red. She’s just feeling this case pretty hard. It’s the worst string of crimes since she took over as Guard Captain.” He smiles up at her, but the smile vanishes faster than it appeared. “Andraste’s ass, if this is what you look like after Anders’ help, I’m glad I didn't see you before...I'm not sure I could have handled it.” A stout finger lifts the the wool of her coat as he peers at it, then drops it back in place. “You should look into changing, Hawke,” he says gruffly and begins to push through the mob.

She follows Varric, and Merrill follows her, and the three head directly to The Hanged Man. They take seat in a secluded booth in the tavern, heads hanging low. They all order a meal while Merrill and Varric tell Ian about the uprising of violence in Lowtown’s streets. Those suspected of magic get bricks through their windows and graffiti slopped on their doors. Even people who are related to conjurers are under attack. Fist fights have been breaking out across the city and hostile fingers point at everyone for blame.

“It’s mayhem, the city guard can barely keep up,” Merrill says. “The Qunari are getting the worst of it. After we got you out of there, people started trying to set fires to their homes and threw stones at their heads. It became so bad so quickly that the Arishok has closed off their district completely. It is barricaded and guarded. No one beside those under the Qun may enter, and no one inside may leave.”

A silence washes over the table. Repeatedly, the dwarf and the elf look at each other, glance at Ian, then back to their morning meal of tavern porridge and black ale. Ian watches these glances with an eyebrow cocked, until she demands an explanation. Fed-up with the silence, she drops her spoon in her meal and leans back in their booth, arms crossed. “Alright. What is it? Out with it, the both of you,” she says flatly.

They look at each other silently. Varric sighs. “Listen, Hawke,” he begins.

“What you did was careless,” Merrill interrupts. Her anger is startling. “Storming in there, not asking questions, but strictly accusing. You not only risked the investigation, but you risked your life...and mine!”

Ian dips her head and fiddles with her spoon. “You should not have let you come. Something...something took hold of me. I had no control on my temper.”

Merrill growls in frustration. “If I had not been there, you’d be dead!”

“I think Aveline is right, Hawke. You’re too close to this, you’re not thinking straight. You’re a hard-headed son-of-a-bitch, but you aren’t usually that reckless,” Varric says.

“If we hadn’t been so close to an entrance to Darktown, if I hadn’t enlisted the help of those men… Ian, I’m not sure what would have become of you.” Merrill stares down at her porridge, and wipes a tear from her eye before it can fall.

Varric reaches across the table and places a hand over Ian’s. “Maybe you should go home, Hawke. Have you even taken a moment to mourn? Go be with your family. The rest of us will handle this. We won’t rest until the man is in irons.”

Ian shakes her head. “No. My sister was taken because of this, I can’t just sit back and wait. There must be something--”

“Go home. I promise I will make sure any new information I find gets to you. The best you can do is go home. You look like shit, and I bet you feel even worse.” The dwarf urges her, and cocks his head toward the doorway. “Go. Let us take care of you, for once in your miserable life.”

“This is ridiculous. You can take care of me by supporting me in this!” Ian feels her skin turn hot. She pulls the bottle Ander’s gave her from her coat. “This shit is healing me quickly. I will be as strong as ever soon and ready to get back on the streets!”

Merrill refuses speak or lift her gaze from her meal. Varric nods toward the door again and pats Ian’s hand. Neither friend giving into her demands.

“Go,” Varric says again.

“This is bullshit. Fine. If you will not help, then I will go elsewhere,” she grumbles and stands. No support will be found in this tavern. For now, anyway. She’s angry. Disappointed. Wounded even, that her friends have so little faith in her anymore.

Varric groans and rolls his neck. “Not somewhere else, Hawke. Home. Go home.”

Ian glares at the two of them, but they will not look at her. Storming to the exit of the tavern, her fury and frustration bellowing inside her, she decides that if nothing else, she will change, bathe, and find another dose of Anders’ elixir. Then, perhaps she can walk the streets again with less push-back.

She leaves the tavern, walking into the early afternoon sun filtering down through the smog of chimneys. She walks only a few paces before she hears a swift whistle in her direction. Turning her head to the source, she finds a woman leaning in the alley beside the tavern.

“There is a bloodlust to you. Is there not, Miss Hawke?” the woman asks.

Ian peers through a squinted stare at the woman. “What of it?”

“There is magic in you, yes? I can feel it. Yet you have not used it? Perhaps not ever, am I right?”

“You are a brazen woman to bring forth that kind of talk so openly in Lowtown.”

“Forgive me,” the woman says and steps forward from the shadows of the alley while outstretching her gloved hand. “My name is Grace, and I think I can help you.” In the light, Ian notices the woman is well dressed for lurking the darkness of slum alleyways.

Ian stares at the woman’s hand with great suspicion. She lets it wait for her, and instead of taking it, crosses her arms. “And how do you think you will help me?”

Grace smiles and leans on an odd looking cane. It appears more decorative than useful, with a blue sparkling crystal at its tip and blue vines curling around a dark metal shaft. “By showing you what your power can bring. These people you speak to, they are too afraid to do what needs to be done, but you are not. The gift of enlightenment in inside you, you just have to take it.”

Ian is in no mood for frilly speech. She cocks her head in annoyance. “Speak plainly, Miss Grace.”

“Perhaps it is better to show you.” She angles to invite Ian in following her back into the alley.

Ian chortles incredulously. “Follow you into darkness? How do I know you will not trick me once off the street?”

Grace chuckles. “Oh dear, Miss Hawke.” She points a lacy finger at Ian’s face. “Even without your proof of muscle so clearly on your exterior, you reputation precedes you. I would be a fool to think you could be matched by any thug I may find in this slum. No, all I wish to do is to help.” She points her strange cane down the alley. “Will you allow it? At least let me show you what I can do to facilitate your endeavours, and then you may decide for yourself if you wish to pursue them.”

Ian gestures for the lady to lead the way, and cautiously follows her into the darkness.

They navigate the alleys and corridors through the backs and sides of buildings, until the woman of fine clothing and fancy canes leads Ian into the pits of Darktown.

“What is a woman of your means doing associating with anything down here?” asks Ian as they descend a ladder into the lowest slum.

“What my company does is not fit for the open world, Miss Hawke. Darktown is the safest place to conduct our business without discovery. Our client base is strictly invitation only, and I’m afraid you must agree to never speak of this place or else it will vanish from your grasp entirely.”

“Vanish? You would move your operation just because I told one person of it?”

Grace chuckles amusedly. “Oh my dear, you have so much to learn, and I’m afraid no time to learn it.” She reaches the end of a corridor. There is no exit, just a dead end space. Ian starts to reach for her knife and looks over her shoulder, feeling as though she has been duped after all. But just as she is about to yell for the meaning of this, Grace walks through the wood slats that make up the wall - as if they were not there at all. Ian stands stunned. Staring at the wood where Grace once stood before the woman’s lacy gloved hand appears from through the wall, finger beckoning. “Come, Miss Hawke. It is not far now.”

Ian steps forward, staring at the wood, and hesitantly reaches out to touch it. Her hand slides past it without incident, and shocked, she steps through fully. On the other side she finds herself on a bridge of sorts, Grace a few paces ahead.

Ian looks over the edge of the bridge only to find complete blackness beneath her. No water. No rock. Just nothingness. There are walls on either side of the bridge where hundreds of strange trinkets and treasures hang. Posters and baubles. Dried flowers and clothing. Equipment and gemstones. Everything one may think of embedded in or hanging from the walls in such abundance that Ian cannot be sure what lies beneath.

“This way, Miss Hawke, come along,” Grace calls from the edge of the bridge. Ian walks along the wood slats as if her feet do not trust her mind. When she nears the end of the bridge - were a few wooden steps lead to some kind of dais and some kind of shrine atop it - Grace smiles and swings her hand toward it. “This is my associate, Xenon the Antiquarian. Welcome to the Black Emporium, Miss Hawke.”

“The what? I’ve never heard of such a place,” Ian says. Her eyes scan the surroundings past the dais. A tiny bear putters about. A little nug scurries away. A young boy stands silently in the corner. But oddest of the oddities, the associate Grace claims is no more than a skeleton set in a glass case with even more items strewn around it.

Grace giggles. “No, Miss Hawke, you wouldn’t have. Remember this place is of the highest secrecy.” She looks at her skeleton friend and says, “Mr. Xenon, will you not greet our guest?”

To Ian’s shock, a voice carries through the hall. It is not as if the skeleton’s jaw moves, no, but the voice of an elderly man echoes around them. “Ah yes, welcome my child. Few people are worthy of an invitation, you know. They search the sewers for the emporium and accost poor urchin. And I tell urchin to say, 'No! You are not worthy. Starve in the sewers!' Except urchin never speaks."

“Excuse me?” Ian asks, her mind can barely keep up with with has happened in the past few minutes.

“Come, Miss Hawke. I have yet to show you the true reason why I’ve brought you.” Grace walks around the glassed Xenon, and Ian follows her into a room behind a red velvet curtain. Inside, there are plush chaise lounges paired with small tables and ornate pipes. Some of these lounges have men lying upon them, the smoke from their pipes fog the air and they lie limp amongst crushed velvet and pillows.

“What is this place?” Ian asks.

“This is where you will find your answers. A spirit called to me this night last. It wishes to commune with you, Miss Hawke. It knows of your dire need for answers. Answers you have yet to find.”

“If this spirit has the answers, why did it not tell you?”

Grace smiles again. The woman seems coy and conniving by nature, and Ian does not trust her. “That is the way of spirits, my dear. They only speak to those they desire.”

“And all of this?” Ian asks pointing to the lounges and pipes and smoke.

“This will facilitate your communion in the quickest way possible for one of your...novice… abilities.”

“You are telling me that if I smoke from your pipe, I can speak with a spirit who will aid me to find my sister’s killer? You have a special way of conjuring, hidden here in the depths of who-knows-where in Darktown?”

“Yes.”

“But the other conjurers, could they not ask or seek these spirits for answers as well?” Ian asks.

“As I said before, Miss Hawke. Spirits are fickle, but they are also under estimated. That Orsino you spoke to, or that Merrill you of which you are befriended, they lack the will required for such an endeavour. They do not respect the spirits, and the spirits do not come to them.”

Ian would be bothered by how much this stranger knows of her, if it weren’t for everything else surrounding the mysterious woman as well. As it is, it’s just another layer of strange to an already boggling day. “I’m finding this all to be a bit bizarre, Miss Grace,” she says.

“The matter of importance is not of your knowledge on what conjurers are or are not capable of, Miss Hawke, but of what you are capable of with the aid of just a little lyrium.”

“Lyrium? That is highly addictive and dangerous.”

“I assure you, you are safe in my care. Do these men appear in peril?” She gestures to those partaking, all seem relaxed and at peace. “Now, I told you I would show you why I found you, but it is up to you to take the offer.”

Ian ponders and stares at her surroundings. Her heart thumps in her chest. If what this woman says is true, Ian cannot in good conscience ignore the offer. If there is an entity on the other side that wishes to help her, she must find it. She must find her sister’s killer, no matter the cost to herself.

“Alright, Grace,” Ian says. “Set me up.”

Grace clasps her hands together in glee, a sentiment that is still unsettling to Ian, but she pushes through the warnings in her mind to the authenticity of this woman’s intentions and follows her to a chaise.

Grace teaches her how to use the instruments provided, showing her the proper methods of filling, holding, and lighting the lyrium. “This is a special blend of lyrium I engineered to enhance the mind. Even the magically inept may travel the Fade with a bit of this in their lungs. You are all set now, Miss Hawke. Happy travels, and I hope you find the answers you seek.”

Left to find her way through this murky endeavour, Ian lies back on pillows and brings the pipe to her lips. The smoke feels cool to the lungs, almost as if ice dances through her body. It is a pleasant sensation that is immediately calming. She exhales and watches blueish-tinted smoke rise in the air. She feels her head floating. She feels relaxed. Another inhale, and another layer of sparkling frost throughout her body. This time when she exhales, the smoke glitters and swirls around her in a beautiful array of blue shine. Ian smiles and lies back, watching the twinkling dance above her. She smokes from the pipe one more time before that smoky display completely envelops her. The room falls away, in fact she forgets of its existence altogether.

The blue glitter swirls through the fog until it creates a shape, solidifying into a shining form of a blue velvet cloak. The hooded figure stands with its back to her and Ian’s heart races.

Bethany.

Bethany.

“Bethany!” Ian yells and reaches for the velvet. She begins to remember her purpose for this exploration as tears stream down her cheeks. “Bethany, was it you? Did you send that woman to me? Did you hear me call to you in that room? Oh Bethany, look at me!”

The hooded head turns to look over her shoulder, and Bethany’s golden eyes gleam in Ian’s direction. She does not speak, instead Bethany walks away. Ian calls out to her again and attempts to chase after her through the blue fog. As she breaks through the haze, she finds herself in the streets of the Qunari district. It is dark and quiet. The blue fog settles low over the mud of the street. Red candles glow in a scattering of windows, but only the moon lends any light to see. Ian spins around, screaming her sister’s name, until she spots a glimpse of the blue cloak disappearing through a doorway.

She runs, and mud from wet streets splashes. She reaches the doorway and yanks it open. “Bethany!” Her voice echoes in the hall, it is dark and still inside as she enters. She soon realizes that it is the hall of the Arishok, though it seems empty, at first. The ground squishes below her feet, and looking down she sees that she walks on a blood soaked rug.

“Bethany, are you here?” she asks into the silent hall. Each step is wet and clomping. She tries not to look down at the blood, and she tries not to notice the dead qunari bodies lining the walls, their lives pooling together to form the carnage beneath her feet.

A flash of blue dips through a back door, and Ian runs. She runs and blood splashes over the mud splattered on her clothing. She runs until she trips and falls, slamming into the wet rug and coating herself in red from toe to face. She turns to see from what she’d tripped, only to find her own dead eyes staring back at her. Her body crumpled and beaten and dead.

Ian would scream if she were the type, but her heart swallows her fear, and her wind had been knocked from her. She scrambles backward, her eyes fixed on the dead ones. She scrambles until she hits the steps to the Arishok’s dais, where she is able to lift herself back to her feet and carefully walk back toward the door where her sister vanished. Her stare still on her own, she watches until the dead version of herself is out of sight.

“Bethany!” she yells again as she stumbles backward through the door, stumbling into a street in hightown, her sister’s blue cloak quickly climbing the stairs to the Grand Cathedral’s doors. Ian calls out again and again, but Bethany keeps climbing and does not respond, she does not look back, she does not stop.

As Ian follows frantically until she is halted by a dagger to her throat and a strong arm pinning both of hers behind her back. A woman walks in front of her, dressed in a long black cloak that is hooded, shielding her face. Long blonde hair drapes down their chest, and she lifts her pale hands to drop the hood from her head. Aged but still stunningly beautiful, eyes as bright as pure lyrium, she stares into Ian with a menacing glare.

Ian struggles in the hold of a man much stronger than she, the blade of his dagger cutting tiny, painful slices into her neck each time she jerks her body.

The woman brings a sword from beneath her cloak and lights it aflame. She slowly points the flaming sword toward Ian’s chest, stopping at the location of her panic-stricken heart. The heat of the flames is excruciating, and Ian feels he skin begin to blister under the flame. She struggles harder to be freed from the man's grasp, the knife cutting deeper into her neck, but he hold her firm. His own hand does not scorch as she does, for his is protected with thick gloves.

“Blood,” the woman says and presses the sword’s point to Ian’s chest. “Blood is what I seek. When you give in, I tell all.”

“What do you mean?” Ian screams, the pain is too much to bare and she begins to wish for death. “Did you kill my sister?”

The woman presses the sword into Ian’s chest slowly and the shock of the hot blade pushing through her ribs stops Ian’s mind. Her struggles cease and her body falls limp into her captor's arms. She feels herself sinking to the ground, her eyes staring at the glare from the woman through the flames engulfing the sword and now herself. The woman presses the sword deeper, pushing the blade into Ian’s heart and she starts choking on her own blood, coughing it up violently and helplessly. The man behind her releases her, and Ian falls to the ground.

The man who’d held her watches as she bleeds and burns, his amber eyes devoid of emotion. The icy gaze of the woman beside him pierces her, her voice low and foreboding. “Your blood, Marian Hawke. Do not return without it.”

That is the last she hears, the last she sees, before death consumes her.

[my-one-love-is-music]

It Takes Two Ch. 7

It's been a while, but I'm back with a new chapter! Hope you enjoy it. I'm hoping to get back to a regular updating schedule now, but we'll see how things go with school and such. 

Also on AO3!

Tim rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. The bright glow of his computer screen was starting to get to him and his muscles were tight from staying in the same position for so long. He heard grumbling from the other room and assumed that Jason had finally woken up and aggravated his injuries. Maybe Bruce was right that he couldn’t be trusted by himself if he wasn’t able to keep from causing himself pain even if he was doing something as simple as waking up.

“Okay, that’s it. How long did you think you could get away with working out here while you sent me off to sleep?”

Tim jerked, back hitting the couch as his gaze snapped to where Jason was leaning against the wall, holding his side, and breathing heavier than normal.

“What the hell are you doing out of bed?” Tim asked, scrambling to his feet.

“I can’t exactly stay in bed when someone is a workaholic, caffeine addict, and refuses to get rest. I’m not the only one who’s been benched. You are too and I’m not about to suffer through all of the shit that comes through that alone.”

“I don’t think you have much of an argument when you can’t even take me down. You can’t even block a hit properly. Not without causing yourself enough pain to stop you in your tracks.” He grabbed Jason’s arm and tugged it around his shoulders before helping him hobble over to the couch.

“Shut up. Don’t make me accidentally fall on top of your laptop.”

Tim narrowed his eyes and eased Jason onto the couch. “You wouldn’t.”

Jason smirked. “You really want to try me, Timbo?”

He scowled. “No. Stay away from my computer. I don’t need you breaking anything.”

“Only if you stay away from your computer, too,” he shot back, grabbing Tim’s wrist before he could move away and pulling him down onto the couch next to him. “Now, why don’t you explain to me why it is that you’re still doing research even though you’ve got all the time in the world to work on it?”

“I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“I have to. Why can’t you?”

“Because it’s different.”

Jason quirked an eyebrow. “How?”

“I’m not injured and-“

“No, you’re not injured, but that doesn’t mean that you can work yourself into the ground until you get sick. I don’t want to have to take care of your scrawny ass.”

Tim glared at Jason.

“Now tell me the real reason why you can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“I don’t like being inactive. There’s something that I can do so I might as well do it. And who says that Bruce is going to crack this thing before me?”

Jason looked around. “There’s no one saying that, but you also have the chance to put yourself first. You don’t have to patrol which means you can sleep and I’m assuming that Bruce is going to bar you from school and W.E. unless it’s absolutely necessary so no dealing with idiots and old people who pinch your cheeks.”

Tim huffed and crossed his arms.

“I’m not saying that you have to give up on this altogether, but you have time to sleep and eat and do other weird nerdy things that you don’t normally get to do.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just…”

“What aren’t you telling me, Tim?”

Tim stood and started pacing across the floor, unable to keep his nerves contained any longer. “There are so many things that don’t make sense with this case. I don’t know why we’ve had so much trouble tracking down Anderson when he should be the easiest person to find with how much stuff he’s been involved in.”

“You already put government involvement on the table, Tim. That’s the reason.”

“Yes, but I don’t like it.”

Jason quirked an eyebrow. “You’re still scared. Even after everything we talked about this morning. You’re still worried that his formula or whatever that’s connected our emotions is still flawed.”

“Aren’t you?” Tim pleaded.

Jason sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired face, fingers catching on the small patches of stubble that had grown back in. “I…know that this isn’t simple by any means and that there’s a very real threat to ourselves and a lot of other people. But…I’m also not going to sit here and worry about things that I can’t exactly control right now. Can we do research and break this thing down? Yes. Does that mean we should run ourselves into the ground to do it? No. We’re not alone in this anymore. Hell, we weren’t from the beginning.

“There are plenty of other people who have our backs in this. Trust them. And trust me, too. We’ll be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you if I can help it. Most people won’t be willing to attack if they’re facing death down the barrel of a gun. Not unless they have a much bigger, more threatening gun-slash-weapon of their own.”

Tim rolled his eyes at Jason’s grin, but he couldn’t hide the relief he felt at Jason’s words. The whole project felt so much larger than him. It was a mountain that he was afraid of scaling alone. But he wasn’t alone. He had a partner in this and the best technology to get him to the top of it and come out on the other side.

He sat back down next to Jason, trying not to jostle him too much on the couch. “How is it that you have the ability to say the right thing sometimes?”

“Are you saying that there are times when I don’t know how to say the right thing?”

“Yes.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Be glad that I’m in recovery or your ass would be flat on the floor right about now.”

“Does this mean that I have several wonderful days of getting to taunt you without any backlash?”

“Don’t be so sure about that. If you’re not careful, I’m going to have a lot of reasons to beat your ass once I’m healed. Don’t doubt my creative abilities either. Who says that I have to physically land you on your ass?”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Oh?”

“Because if you actually got me hurt, you would be feeling it too.”

Jason scowled at him. “Damn scientists making my threats useless.”

Tim snickered.

“Don’t think this is going to get you out of my wrath after we’re freed of this.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m sure with your brain capacity, you won’t even remember the insults or the fact that you want to beat me up for them.”

He squawked when Jason grabbed his arm and tugged him close. Their faces were inches apart and Tim could make out the individual freckles clustered around Jason’s nose.

“Trust me when I say that I have a very good memory. Especially when it comes to holding a grudge.”

Tim swallowed and plastered on a cocky smile. “So I’m important enough for you to hold a grudge against?”

Jason snorted and slung an arm around his shoulders. “If it makes you feel better, then yes. You are important enough to hold a grudge against. And that grudge will keep getting bigger if you don’t get over this obsessive desire you have to work yourself into the ground. Now, if you’re all done moping, how about some food?”

Tim struggled to get out of Jason’s hold, but he wasn’t letting up. “Sure. What do you want to eat? I can go cook if you actually let me up.”

“Um…no. There’s no way in hell that I am letting you anywhere near that stove. No cooking for you. Never again. Or at least no cooking while I’m here.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“I highly doubt that. Now help me up so I can criticize and judge all of your life choices based on what I’m going to find in your cabinets and fridge.”

“Umm…”

Jason rolled his eyes and pushed himself up from the couch. “Don’t worry, I already know that I’m not going to find anything good in there so we might as well get this over with. I don’t need a fully stocked restaurant-level kitchen. I just need to know there’s something edible in there that will hold me over until I can get some actual food for you.”

“I have actual food,” Tim objected, hovering nearby as Jason shuffled to the kitchen. He wasn’t exactly worried Jason was going to collapse from the pain, but he didn’t want to be held responsible if his injuries got worse because Jason was being stupid.

Jason glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Want to take a polygraph?”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You don’t think I can pass a lie detector test?”

Jason hummed and pulled open the fridge door. “You’re a good liar, Timmy, but not convincing enough to beat out the machine.”

“Oh and I suppose you’re better?” he scoffed.

Jason grinned and moved over to the cabinets. “I’ve done it before.”

Tim opened his mouth to shoot back a retort and then thought better of it, shaking his head instead. “Whatever. No amount of arguing is going to convince you anyway.”

“That’s only because you know that I’m right. Like I knew I was right when I said you didn’t have anything edible in this place and you don’t.”

He crossed his arms. “Takeout menus are in the drawer to your right. Pick out something you like and it’ll be here in a half hour.”

“Takeout is not actual dinner. I’m not going to let you go another day living off pizza or Chinese, okay? We need to go grocery shopping. You have a car, right?”

“I’m not taking you to the store when you can barely stand up.”

“Then give me your computer.”

“For what?” Tim asked as he shuffled around him towards the living room.

“To order groceries, duh! Haven’t you heard of those grocery delivery services? That’s the only way that we’re getting something to eat without bugging Alfred and I’m not about to call him up when he just left.”

Jason already had his laptop perched on his legs and feet propped up on the coffee table by the time Tim joined him. He tried not to comment as he watched Jason scroll through pages of groceries and put a cart together for them, but he couldn’t keep all of his exasperated sighs from coming out.

Jason’s hands froze over the keys and he looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Keep complaining like that and I’m not going to cook for you.”

“Fine. You can cook for yourself and I’ll order Indian food. I’ve been craving that recently.”

“You’re not ordering Indian food. Seriously, how have you not had a heart attack? Your diet is disgusting.”

“I have more important things to do than try and keep my fridge fully stocked and spend time making meals. What’s so wrong with tossing something in the microwave? It’s a meal in three minutes. Seems like the best kind of invention to me.”

Jason shook his head. “You’re despicable. Credit card,” he said, holding out his hand.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one taking the time to order groceries and you want me to pay for them?”

“You were more than willing to pay for takeout five minutes ago. This isn’t that different. This way I can guarantee you’re going to get better food that won’t threaten your long-term health. Now card,” he said, curling his fingers.

Tim rolled his eyes and pulled the laptop onto his legs. He angled the screen away from Jason to keep him from seeing the numbers he was typing in. He didn’t need any unwanted charges on his card and Jason would definitely be the person to use it for something ridiculous. He’d buy one of those inflatable hamster balls and wreck everything in the apartment.

A wrecked apartment and complaints from his neighbors would be the icing on a list of shits he didn’t need piling up any further.

“There,” he said, passing the computer back. “It’s ordered and paid for. Should be here in a couple of hours.”

“That’s what you think,” Jason said with a grin. “I put in an express order. We’ll get the stuff in thirty minutes.

Tim groaned and leaned his head back on the cushions. “Great.”

“You’re not exactly wanting for money and I’m hungry. If you don’t want something like this to happen then you shouldn’t let your cabinets get so low. Now…”

Tim tilted his head and watched as Jason pulled up the files he’d been looking at. His lips became more and more pinched the further he read until he finally shut the computer with a huff.

“It’s not pretty, I know,” Tim whispered. He’d gone over the details enough times himself that he probably had it committed to memory at this point, but memorization wasn’t exactly a difficult skill since he was a vigilante. It was needed in the field. There wasn’t time to sit and take notes and no one could risk their notes being found and compromising their identities and operations.

“Life’s not pretty. This is just another hiccup along the way, but we don’t need to worry about that now. We need to look through more missing person’s reports and find out where these people are being taken. That’s the only way we’re going to find our guy since no one else seems to know where he’s hiding out.”

“Well, I would have those to show to you if you hadn’t interrupted me earlier.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “It was for your own good and you know it. But we might as well track some of those down while we’re waiting for food. Looks like dinner conversation is going to be an entirely healthy discussion on human trafficking and experimentation.”

Tim pulled the computer back and opened it, accessing the GCPD interface to peek at their files and reports. He completed a mass download of all of the missing person’s reports since the last time he’d gone through them. He scrolled through them, passing on the details in favor of the dates of the reports.  

“Most of these are from the worse areas of Gotham,” Jason murmured. “Not that that’s anything new, but…”

“Yeah…” Tim agreed. “Any operation isn’t going to want to gain more attention than necessary so it’s not a big deal if these people are kidnapped. The timestamps on these group them in sixes. That must be all they have room for in whatever they’re transporting them in. I’d guess a small van. Tie them up and give them gags and they’re not going anywhere.”

“It’s an even number too so that would give them pairs to work with in their experiments.”

Tim swallowed as a chill came over him, bringing goosebumps to the surface of his arms.

“That might be the largest amount they’re able to get settled at one time. Least suspicious form of transportation is a van. And it’s the most common and difficult to track.”

“Possibly a large facility depending on how many people they’re housing at one time. Since we don’t know if any of these people are dead, we can only speculate on where they might be located.”

Tim rubbed his arms, trying to drive away some of the chill that lingered. “Yeah. I’d aim for a larger base of operations. They’re going to need adequate room to house individuals separately or in pairs and storage of medical equipment and operating rooms.”

Jason nodded. “I would suggest searching the warehouse district, but…”

“But that would be too central in Gotham. Especially when a group of vigilantes are after them. And a warehouse would need a lot of work to get it into the type of condition necessary to make this operation work.”

Jason sighed and closed his eyes. “God this is such shit.”

“This is Gotham.”

Jason laughed and turned to look at Tim. “True.”

The door buzzed, interrupting their conversation. Tim shoved the computer at Jason and pulled himself from the couch. He pressed the intercom next to the door.

“Yeah?”

“Gotham Grocery Delivery. I have an order for Tim Drake?”

“Come on up,” he said, pressing the entry buzzer.

Tim waited by the door and watched Jason scroll through more of the reports that had been filed, adding comments to his case notes.

“Hey Tim?” he asked.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t think that Anderson is sending out collectors every night. These times match up every few weeks.” He pulled his eyes away from the screen and looked over at Tim. “So either they have a longer transport process or it takes that long to get these people settled in and the process started.”

“Could they-“

A knock sounded on the door and Tim sighed, pulling it open to find a bored looking worker holding a large box of groceries.

“Tim Drake?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, taking the box from him and setting it down on the floor. He signed the clipboard that was held out to him and shut the door as the worker left.

“Anyway,” he said, moving the box to the kitchen. “Could that be the amount of time it takes before this connection or whatever ends up killing them?”

“It’s a possibility, but I don’t think that’s entirely likely. They’re running an experiment so wouldn’t it make sense to be more vigilant in the early stages to make sure that nothing goes wrong and then moving them to a more permanent area with the older subjects?”

Tim nodded, pulling vegetables and boxes of pasta from the box. “That’s true. I just wish that we had more information on this guy. We have a better idea of when people are being kidnapped so we could easily go out and wait for the vans to come around. That would give us the identities of some of the lower workers in this operation who we could get information out of.”

“Let B take care of it. Send him your notes and he can put himself or someone else on it.”

“I’m surprised you’re willing to let someone else do the interrogating instead of pulling out your guns. And I can’t just let B take care of it. I told you I need to do something. Not just sit around.”

“Oh believe me, I want to pull my guns on these guys, but I can’t really do that right now. And you are going to be doing something,” Jason said, taking a package of chicken from him as he walked around the counter now that he’d left the case files behind.

Tim raised an eyebrow.

“You’re going to sit down at the table and wait for me to cook and you are going to eat something that wasn’t stuck in a microwave or ordered from a fast-food place.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You sure you’re good enough to stand and cook?”

Jason grinned. “You’d be surprised how good of a motivation hunger can be.”

[terreisa]

The Savior and The Scoundrel: Enemy of the Enemy

Emma has had a few titles attributed to her in her life: princess, captain, pirate but none sat so heavily on her shoulders as Savior. When fate forces her to step into the role prophesied before her birth the only saving she wants to do is to bring back the man she loves. Fulfilling the Prophecy along the way is an additional reward. Sequel to A Crown and A Captain.

Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8

ff.net, AO3

“I told you I was just trying to see if she had her magic.  Now get that thing out of my face.”

Emma rolled her eyes at Regina’s indignant squawk even as she grit her teeth against the pain in her shoulder.  Grace was trying to bandage it as best she could but Emma could see and feel her hands shaking almost uncontrollably.  She wasn’t sure if it was from being halfway drenched or from seeing her attacked but Emma sat as still as possible to ease Grace’s attempts to stop the bleeding.

The knife had embedded itself in her shoulder before Emma had even thought to defend herself against the attack.  Roland’s quick action of pulling her towards him had kept her from being stabbed in the heart but not quick enough to prevent any injury at all.  Only her desire for answers and the arrival of the storm that had been slowly rolling in from offshore had kept Roland from killing Regina on the spot.  It was an impulse she could still see him fighting against.

Regina had led them to a rundown cottage deep in the woods, complaining loudly about the cutlass at her back and protesting even louder about what her intentions had been.  The skies had opened up when the cottage had come into view and by the time they all trudged inside the deluge had practically soaked them all through, chilling them considerably.  As soon as the door had closed behind them Roland had tied an irate Regina to a chair and Grace had forced her to sit in another so she could inspect her wound.

It wasn’t her first injury from a blade but it was by far the most annoying.  She could somewhat understand Regina’s twisted logic for determining if she really did have her magic or not.  It didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to throw a knife of her own just to make sure Regina’s magic was gone too.  At least she would have the decency to not aim for her heart and end up hitting her sword arm instead.

“I’m going to have to stitch it together,” Grace said grimly.

“Of course you will,” Emma sighed.  She shifted in her chair and grimaced as a jolt of pain shot down her arm, “Regina do you have any alcohol?  Preferably rum, it tends to burn less.”

“You have magic and you still resort to sewing yourself up like a common peon?  It’s a wonder Zelena had problems with you at all- Hey!”

“Roland, stop,” Emma said exasperated.  Roland pulled his cutlass back from under Regina’s chin and frowned, but didn’t turn to look at her, “She’s not going to answer any of our questions if we keep threatening her when she insults us.  Which will probably be every time she opens her mouth-”

“Not every time,” Regina sneered.

“Right, I completely forgot about those miraculous five minutes after we got you out of that tower your sister imprisoned you in,” Emma said acerbically, starting to feel lightheaded. “The rum Regina or I’ll have Roland gag you too.”

Regina glared at her, her jaw moving in tight arcs as though she was grinding her teeth.  Finally she straightened up as best as she could still tied to the chair and gave them what could have been taken as a look of apology.

“You don’t need the rum.  Untie me and I can patch her up using one of the few things this realm has that’s almost as good as magic.”

Looking at Roland and Grace Emma realized they were leaving the decision up to her.  Grace, she noticed with shock, wasn’t shaking from worry or cold but fury.  With fuzzy recollection she remembered that Regina had been guilty of destroying Grace’s life long before Zelena had come along to seemingly out do her.  Roland wasn’t faring much better as his cutlass had only moved from one fatal position to another and his eyes had been trained on Regina from the moment he was reassured Emma wasn’t seriously injured.  With little regret she made her decision.

“Tell us what we need to know to heal me and everything you know about this curse.  If what you tell us is actually helpful we might let you go.”

“What?!  I’m your only hope at getting around this town without Zelena finding out you’re here!  Without my help you might as well march up to her front door and offer up your heart on a silver platter!”

“Roland find something to shut her up.  Grace go find the rum,” Emma said in a cold voice, brushing aside Grace’s hand and reapplying pressure to her wound. “I want to be done and out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Wait, wait.  No, wait just a goddamn minute,” Regina said slightly panicked as she watched Roland and Grace begin moving through the cottage. “You can’t just brush off my help, Savior, you need me.”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Emma said flatly, glaring at her. “I defended you time and again when the others wanted to lock you up or even kill you after we found you in that tower.  Even when I knew you were keeping something from me I was on your side and I ended up suffering because of it.  You knew about this curse and you knew Zelena was going to enact it, didn’t you?  Why should you want to help me now when you didn’t even consider it when it would have actually mattered?”

“I had my reasons,” Regina said hesitantly, her eyes shifting away guiltily.

“And I have mine,” Emma said keeping her voice steady despite wanting to rant and rave. “You won’t help us?  Fine.  You’ll just be one of the easier obstacles we need to overcome in this fight.”

Regina’s mouth opened and closed like the gaping of a fish out of water.  The momentary flare of vindication Emma felt disappeared quickly as another wave of lightheadedness washed over her.  She pressed harder against her shoulder and was relieved to see Grace emerging from the room she had disappeared to with a nearly full bottle of a promising looking amber liquid and what looked like actual cloth bandages instead of the torn up shirt she had under her hand.  A half second later Roland returned from his search with another shirt he was in the process of tearing apart to create long strips of cloth.

“The curse was meant to take away the happy endings of everyone but the one who cast it!” Regina shouted with desperation, warily eyeing Roland. “The Dark One gave it to me to cast and I would have done it if the price of casting it wasn’t so high.”

“A heart,” Emma said with grim understanding, remembering the nearly black glowing organ Zelena had crushed as the final ingredient of her curse.

“Untie me and I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” Regina said in a pleading tone.

“Why should we trust you?” Roland growled, speaking up in a threatening rumble for the first time since they’d come across Regina in the woods.

“You shouldn’t but I am your best bet at staying under the radar and getting around this realm without making an ass of yourselves,” Regina scoffed.  Then she continued quietly, “I’ve been a prisoner of my sister one way or another for too long.  Don’t force me to remain under her thumb.”

Roland looked back at her, his mistrust and irritation clear on his face but clearly waiting for her to indicate what she wanted.  With the constant feeling of being in way over her head and needing someone, anyone, to help them Emma nodded slowly at Roland, hoping she hadn’t made yet another colossal mistake they would have to pay for later.  Regina sagged in relief as Roland frowned and abandoned the strips of cloth he had been making, moving to remove the ropes and clearly wanting to discuss things further but knowing it would do no good.  Grace’s displeasure with Emma’s decision was more evident as she slammed the bottle of liquor down on the table and stormed out of the cottage.  Wisely Regina kept her mouth shut as Emma sighed heavily and made to stand to grab the bottle herself.

“Sit down Emma, I’ll get it,” Roland scolded her gently, stepping away from Regina.

“I told you you don’t need that,” Regina said impatiently, squirming in the chair. “Finish untying me and I’ll get you items that are far better than my very limited brandy supply.”

After giving Roland a tired, one shouldered shrug Emma tipped her head back until it rested on the high back of her wooden chair and closed her eyes.  She kept her focus on the throbbing pain in her shoulder, pressing down sharply when her thoughts began to wander towards the encounters she’d had that morning.  After a few minutes she felt a hand nuding her own and opened her eyes to see Regina standing over her.

“Here,” she said, nudging her hand again with a fist closed around something. “Don’t chew, just swallow it.”

Emma opened her hand and Regina dropped what looked like tiny, smoothed white pebbles into her palm.  She brought her palm up closer to her eyes and inspected them warily.

“What are they?”

“Something better than liquor for dealing with the pain,” Regina said absently as she lined up several objects on a low table that had been moved next to Emma’s chair.  She looked at her and rolled her eyes in exasperation at her hesitation, “It’s this realm’s version of willow bark, just more concentrated and a thousand times more effective.  Oh, here, take these pills too, it’ll prevent infection and I sincerely hope you’re not allergic to penicillin.”

Regina hastily dropped two more small pebbles into her hand followed by a metal cup filled with what appeared to be water.  She sniffed at it, earning another huff from Regina and a smirk from Roland, and found that it had no suspicious odor or color from what she could tell.  Well aware that swallowing whatever it was that the woman who had been known as the Evil Queen had given her would be a far greater show of trust than merely stating it Emma felt no qualms in taking a moment to fully consider the allegiance she was about to enter.  It was as she recalled Regina’s admission that she wouldn’t have cast the Dark Curse that she tossed the handful of pills into her mouth.  They were slightly bitter and Emma fumbled for the cup of water to wash them down.

“It’ll take a minute for them to start working but you probably want this stitched up now,” Regina said, indicating the bloody rag at her shoulder. “Lucky for you Zelena made one of the doctors a drunk who forgets to lock up his office more often than not.  Another stroke of luck in this god forsaken town.”

“What did this curse do exactly?” Emma asked frowning at the lingering bitterness on her tongue.

“Like I said, it took away everyone’s happy endings,” Regina began as she started tending to her wound with practiced efficiency. “It brought us here, to the Land Without Magic-”

“There’s no magic at all?” Emma asked, wincing as Regina pressed a strong smelling cloth to her shoulder that immediately had her wound stinging fiercely.

“None.  I was still wearing this ridiculous cuff-” Regina motioned for Emma to keep holding the cloth. She then pushed back her sleeve to show off the magic preventing piece of leather she’d been forced to wear as Zelena’s prisoner, “-when I woke up in this realm.  I knew where the curse would have taken us but I saw fit to provoke my dear sister when I first saw her here.  She doesn’t have magic but she has other ways of keeping me under her thumb and miserable.”

“Remind me to thank her,” Roland murmured loud enough for them both to hear him from where he was leaning against a far wall.

Aside from the tightening of her jaw and the flare of her nostrils Regina left the comment unacknowledged.  Emma watched her closely as she prepared the needle and thread, wondering how long before any one of them broke the tentative truce they had found themselves in.  Herself included.

“So, the curse brought everyone here and took their memories too?”

Regina looked up sharply, “You’ve talked to someone?  Who?”

“They won’t tell anyone we’re here,” Emma assured her instead of answering.

“You can’t know that,” Regina sneered. “Zelena made sure to make everyone her unhappy pawns.  If they don’t work for her then they spy for her, sometimes both.”

“How do we know that you aren’t working for her too-” Roland pushed himself up off the wall and slowly approached until he was towering over them. “That you’re not just keeping us here until you can hand us over to that witch?”

“You think I chose to live like this?” Regina threw her hands up, gesturing to the cottage.  The roof was leaking in several spots and icy air was blowing in through the uneven seams of the doors and windows.  She then looked down at herself and scowled, “I woke up here and not only remembered who I had been but who I am in this realm.  I used to be a queen and now I’m the town nut.

“No one remembers who they used to be aside from myself and Zelena.  I found out the hard way.  I tried telling anyone that would listen that we weren’t from here and that they weren’t who they believed they were, and earned a three month stay in the looney bin.  Gave me plenty of time to think about getting revenge on my sister and to figure out what lies she put in my head.”

As Regina spoke she became more agitated and her voice slipped in and out a pattern of speech Emma would have never thought would slip out of her mouth.  She seemed to catch herself and huffed in annoyance, clenching one of her fists before focusing back on the needle in her other hand.

“Time” she gave a stilted laugh then continued as she moved Emma’s hand out of the way and bent towards her shoulder.  There was no sense of gentleness as she began stitching her skin back together, “Time doesn’t move here, or at least it didn’t.  Not for over a year.  I didn’t notice at first since I was trying to convince the idiots of this town that none of this is real and then I was in that godforsaken asylum.

“When I got out it was almost too obvious when I actually paid attention.  The people went about the same actions at the same time every day-” Regina frowned, at her wound or her memories Emma wasn’t sure, “-not as though it was a habit or routine but exactly the same.  It only took two days for me to realize what was happening and two more to figure out how to steer clear of anyone that I knew was in my sister’s pocket.”

“If time doesn’t move how do you know how much of it has passed?” Emma grit out, the pain of getting stitched up just at the point of becoming unbearable.

“I started keeping count of the days when I was locked up and kept going when I figured out that time was stopped,” Regina said offhandedly but Emma could see a muscle in her jaw ticking.  Then her eyes flicked up, “When I saw that the hands on the clock tower had moved I knew you’d finally showed up.”

“The clock?” Roland asked with bland disbelief.

“It’s been stuck on eight fifteen since we arrived in this hellish realm but this morning it was telling the right time.  I watched it for longer than I’ll admit to you to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.  Then I noticed that people weren’t behaving like robots anymore.  I came back to the woods to wait for you.”

“How did you know we’d come to the woods?” Emma asked suspiciously.

“You’re in a strange realm where nothing makes sense to any of you and you don’t know whom you can trust.  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’d take to the woods,” Regina said with a roll of her eyes.  She began to tie off the last stitch with a contemplative look, “Zelena probably won’t notice anything is different for a day or two but we can’t count on anything longer than that.  Of course, that depends on whom you’ve talked to.”

“Roland and Grace talked to his father briefly,” Emma hedged, ignoring the betrayed glare Roland shot at her.

“And his father is?” Regina asked annoyed as she used another foul smelling rag to clean the remaining blood from her shoulder.

“Robin Hood,” Roland growled reluctantly.  When Regina showed no sign of recognition he continued impatiently, “He has brown hair that’s going grey, blue eyes, comes up to my shoulder and is some sort of constable here, forced to arrest his best friend.”

“That’s Robin Hood?  I thought he would be… more oafish,” Regina said in disbelief, a small smile playing at her lips.  She blinked and quickly frowned, “He’s known as Ren Archer under the curse.  My sister has him playing deputy under her main pet monkey, Walsh Baum, whom you should avoid at all costs.  Archer’s not quite as bad but he’s a stickler for upholding the law, even the smallest of transgressions will have him pulling out his ticket book.  He’s not the worst person you could have run into but he’s not the best either.”

Emma shifted uncomfortably, causing Regina to narrow her eyes at her.

“I saw my father but I don’t think he saw me,” she said once more avoiding telling her about Killian.

“He goes by David,” Regina scoffed, securing a cloth bandage to her shoulder with a few strips of oddly sticky cloth. “Zelena obviously used little imagination when it came to him.  Even if he saw you it would mean next to nothing.  He runs the animal shelter, keeps to himself, and is grumpier than that dwarf your mother kept around.  You’d be lucky to get more than two words out of him that aren’t miserly.”

“He’s still all alone,” Emma whispered, focusing on her hands in her lap.

“He has it better than most,” Regina said with a dismissive wave of her hand as she stood and began gathering the supplies she’d used. “At least the dogs and cats he works with all day don’t make him even more miserable than he already is.  Who else?”

“I-” Emma paused, plucking at the ruined edges of her shirt that had been ripped open to deal with her wound.  She looked at Roland for comfort but found him watching her stonily.  With a heavy sigh she turned back to Regina, “We ran into Killian when we arrived and then I met him again after I saw my father.  He told me his name is Kieran.  It’s how we knew that the memories had been taken.”

Regina pursed her lips and Emma waited with trepidation for what she would say.  It was almost too much knowing that Killian didn’t recognize her, she didn’t think she could handle knowing that he was a close ally of Zelena and therefore that he could have fooled her so easily.

Before Regina could say a word, however, a sharp rapping sounded at the front door.  Emma and Roland jumped to attention, drawing their swords, even though the movement caused her shoulder to scream in protest.

“Put those away you idiots!” Regina hissed, dumping the unused bandages and dirty rags into Emma’s arms. “No one can know you’re here let alone hiding out with me.  Go into the bedroom and don’t make a sound!”

Regina shoved them none too gently towards a room at the back of the cottage, practically slamming the door closed behind them.  Emma dropped the things in her arms onto the misshapen mattress and resheathed her sword before sidling up to the door and pressing her ear to it as Roland had already done.  She could hear Regina’s muffled footsteps and the sound of the front door as it opened.

“Well, hello Regina,” a low pitched, male voice said. “Am I interrupting something?  I thought I heard voices.”

Emma’s fingers dug into the wood under her hand.  She tried to quiet her breathing as much as she could but the pounding of her heart was nearly drowning out every other sound.

“I like to talk to myself since no one else wants to talk to the crazy woman that lives in the woods,” Regina said calmly. “What do you want Walsh?”

“Sheriff Baum or Sir,” the man called Walsh said absently, as though it was an oft repeated phrase. “Looks like you’ve a bit of an issue with a leaky roof.”

“It’s no worse than it was last time we had rain.  Did Zelena send you here?”

“Mayor Viridans is concerned about the conditions of this cabin-” Emma could hear planks of wood squeaking gently under Walsh’s feet as he moved about the cottage. “You know as well as I do it was abandoned for a reason and you’ve been squatting.  We’ve turned a blind eye to it but with winter coming on we simply can’t do that anymore.  There’s a shelter in town-”

“What if I get permission from the owner to live here?  Pay him rent or something?” Regina asked frantically as Emma listened to Walsh’s footsteps stop near their door.

“Mister Gold?” Walsh’s feet shuffled and Emma pictured the unseen man turning to look at Regina in disbelief. “He has dozens of other properties and tenants to worry about.  Why would he make an exception for a woman who has no money to stay in the cabin he’s about to demolish?”

“What?” Regina’s voice was quiet and stunned.

“It didn’t take much to convince him,” Walsh’s footsteps moved back towards the front of the cottage. “We both agreed that it was past time to get rid of this dump and take care of the unwanted- oh, I’m sorry, uninvited guest in it.  As I said there’s a shelter in town, if not Mayor Viridans is more than willing to allow you to return to your room at Storybrooke Manor.”

“I’ll return to that hell hole in a body bag first,” Regina spat out.

“Then we’d welcome you to the morgue instead,” Walsh said blandly. “You have until tomorrow to move along or the invitation to Storybrooke Manor won’t be a request.”

They silently listened as Walsh’s footsteps tapered off and the sound of the front door slamming caused them to jump.  It was several tense moments before Regina snapped at them to come out of the bedroom.

“Like I said people in this town are starting to act different,” Regina said brusquely as she pushed past them.  Emma watched as she grabbed an overstuffed pack and a smaller, equally stuffed one from under the bed, “I’ve only ever had warnings from that idiot before, not threats. ��It’s a good thing I’ve had plenty of time to prepare for this.  Here, put this on before we leave.”

Regina pulled a shirt from one of the packs and threw it towards her.  Unlike her own it was made of a lightweight material that was soft to the touch.  Emma wondered idly if Regina would give her one that wasn’t dyed such a lush shade of blue but decided against asking when she noticed her hastily prying up a loose floorboard.  With Regina occupied and Roland seemingly avoiding looking at her altogether as he moved to the front room she quickly removed her waistcoat and ruined shirt and drew the new one over her head.

“Don’t put that back on,” Regina said as Emma was reaching for her waistcoat.  She had slung her packs over her shoulders and had a metal box in her hands, “We’re trying to get you to blend in, remember?  I would say change the pants and lose the sword but we don’t have time right now and I doubt you’ll even consider being unarmed.  I have some things for that other woman whenever she decides to rejoin us but Paul Bunyan out there is going to have to wait for me find something that might fit him.”

“I have a name,” Roland grumbled annoyed.

“And I’ll take the time to learn it when I’m sure that Walsh and Zelena aren’t breathing down my neck.  Unfortunately I didn’t plan for three hangers-on when I set up my hiding spots but we’ll have to suck it up and get on with it.  I don’t have a lot of food but I think there might be- no, I can’t take that- but maybe I could-”

She dissolved into incoherent mumbling as she moved toward what Emma assumed was the cooking and eating area.  Keeping out of her way she tried to catch Roland’s eye instead but he was resolutely looking out of one of the cottage’s windows into the rainy afternoon.  She stood next to him and looked out the window herself, seeing nothing but the steady downpour and the small streams of water running across the forest floor.

“Do you think that Walsh guy saw Grace?” Emma asked quietly, ignoring the sounds of Regina banging around in the other room.

“I think Grace has the most sense out of all of us right now,” Roland said steadily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Looking up at him she found him glaring at her, a vein in his temple throbbing.  She had never seen him so angry before.

“Come off it Emma, you know exactly what I mean,” he said lowly, his eyes flashing. “You’ve lost your head completely now that you’ve found Killian again.  This land is strange and terrifying and we should have gone back to the Jewel this morning instead of trying to figure things out through clumsy prodding and half formed ideas.  We’re working with the Evil Queen, the one who ruined hundreds of lives even before her sister, who was somehow worse, came along.  Grace has suffered because of both of them and she’s right not to fall in line with what we’re doing here.”

“It sounds like you’re blaming me,” she said angrily, her temper flaring. “You’re the one that’s been going along with everything, keeping these opinions of yours to yourself.  You expect me to be this all powerful savior, coming here and breaking this nightmare with a wave of my hand and a smile and that’s not going to happen.  Take a look around, we need someone who knows how this land works to stop us from destroying what chance we do have at ending this curse and right now that person is Regina.”

“I don’t trust her.”

“Fine, don’t, but I’m not going to just cast aside the only thing that will give us an edge over Zelena.  We’re going to need her since apparently I’ve lost my head completely.”

Leaving Roland gaping behind her Emma joined Regina in the other room.  There were battered pots and chipped plates covering every flat surface which there wasn’t much of in the small room.  Aside from the absence of a fireplace it looked much like every cooking space Emma had seen in her travels.  Regina was busy filling another small pack with metal canisters that clanked together discordantly as she moved about.

“I hope this storm passes quickly,” Regina said conversationally, clearly unaware of what Emma and Roland had been discussing in the front room. “We’re going to have to rough it until we’re certain that Walsh and Zelena will let the cabin be for a while longer.  I’d say we could go to that old house on the other side of town but we’d spotted sooner rather than later.”

“We have somewhere to stay,” Emma said distractedly as she picked up a red box adorned with a colorful drawing of a tropical bird with an impossibly large beak surrounded by even more colorful round rings.

“It’s cereal and how do you already have somewhere to hide?  How exactly did you get here?”

“A magic bean-” she shrugged, trying to cover the unsteadiness she felt after her argument with Roland, and set the box down on the table. “It took a while for us to find it and and then we sailed through the portal on a ship.”

“A ship?” Regina said flatly, then shook her head. “Of course you did and it’s probably sitting out there in the harbor where anyone can see it, including my sister or any of her snitches.  Why are we even bothering hiding then?”

“It’s not,” Emma said shortly. “Despite what you think I’m not stupid, I had the others anchor her where they wouldn’t be seen.  I guess you’ve forgotten that I was able to avoid Zelena for years, thanks to a trick or two I learned from my mother.  You know, the one who evaded you time and again before she took her throne back and had you banished?”

Without pause Emma turned and stormed out of the cottage, past a still brooding Roland, into the dampened woods, her temper burning white hot.  The rain had tapered off into a fine mist that slowly gathered on her new shirt and made it sodden as she stalked forward without any sense of where she was headed, ignoring every instinct to turn back around or unsheath her sword in the uncertainty of what she could run into next.  She knew Roland would easily be able to track her, if he felt so inclined, but between what little Regina had told them and the unexpected visit from the stranger she felt even more on edge than she had already been.

The sound of a branch breaking to her left had her staggering to a halt and pulling out her sword.  For the second time her shoulder protested against the movement and she felt a wet warmth that she knew without looking that she had undone some of Regina’s work.  It was something she pushed aside as she spun towards the sound, sword held steadily in front of her.

“Turner and Marty have anchored the Jewel in a small inlet just beyond this ridge,” Grace said nonplussed as Emma dropped her arm with a hiss.  She look back towards the direction of the cottage with a frown, “Is it too much to hope that you’ve come to your senses and not accepted her help?”

Guilt swelled within her, “Grace-”

“Don’t tell her who I am,” Grace interrupted, a resigned look in her eyes. “I doubt she’ll remember me or what she’s done but I don’t want her false apologies or worse her indifference.  Let her think I’m just a member of your crew with no true stake in this fight.  It’ll be easier for all of us that way.”

“But your children,” Emma said, stricken.

“I will find them without her help,” Grace said resolutely, a stubborn tilt to her chin.  She stared at her, seemingly waiting for an argument before changing the subject completely, “I’m sure Turner saw me but we’ll have to either find another rowboat or retrieve ours to get to back to the Jewel.”

“That means risking going back into the town,” Emma sighed. “Did you happen to see the man that came to the cottage?”

“What man?  I only just started making my way back there because the rain had finally let up a bit.  What did he look like?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, frustrated. “I just know after he left Regina lost it, started tearing the cottage apart gathering supplies.  She told us there’s no one in the town we can trust because apparently everyone is Zelena’s spy.”

“I think there is someone you can trust,” Grace said with a small smile.

“Who?  Zelena has altered everyone’s memories, changed who they are.  My own father is apparently cantankerous and unpleasant and you saw what Killian is like-”

“Exactly-” Grace’s smile grew slightly and became somewhat hopeful. “He had plenty of opportunity to report what he saw last night to Zelena but he didn’t.  Yes, he stopped you from attacking her but he also didn’t drag you before her to try and curry some favor with her.  I didn’t know Killian from before but nothing about him now has me believing he’s working with Zelena.”

“We can’t force ourselves to see something that isn’t there,” Emma said stubbornly, tamping down the small bubble of hope that she could feel rising.

“And we can’t ignore the things that are.”

Emma wanted to argue against what Grace was implying but then Killian’s face floated into her mind.  The soft, quizzical, look he had given her in the alley when he has asked who she was had been eerily similar to the looks he had bestowed on her when they had first been getting to know one another.  From the moment she had walked away from the alley she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on the similarities of the man she loved and the stranger he’d become but Grace’s words had broken the dam in her mind.  That small glimpse of wonder and admiration was something she could hold onto when everything else felt so far out of her reach.

“You do know that storming off like that could end up with you coming face to face with Zelena right?” Regina’s voice called out.

Emma turned and saw that Regina had saddled Roland with one of her packs as she carried the two others.  They were lumbering towards them with equally disgruntled looks that she knew came from different thoughts and frustrations.  Neither looked apologetic for what they had said to her back in the cabin and she grit her teeth against the anger she could feel rising again.

“Grace has found where Turner has anchored the Jewel,” she said shortly.

“I’m not staying on some moldy ship where the only way to escape is waiting for one of you to slowly row some boat back to shore or jump into the freezing ocean,” Regina huffed, dropping everything to the ground unceremoniously. “The cabin should be fine after a few days as long as the teacher’s pet Sheriff Baum and Deputy Do-good Archer don’t change their patrol routes.”

“Then you can go to whatever hollowed out log you deem fit to hide in but I’m not leaving my crew unaware of what’s happened or ignoring what ideas they might have on how to defeat Zelena.  We need your help but we can make do without it,” Emma said dismissively.

All three of them stared at her in shock as she stared defiantly back.  She was tired, her shoulder was throbbing, and the dull ache in her stomach was a constant reminder that she’d had nothing to eat other than a few bites of hardtack early that morning.  Her patience had finally run out and she wanted nothing more than to shutter herself in the captain’s cabin on the Jewel and sleep for a week.

“We’ll need to get the rowboat we came in on,” Grace said softly.

“That means going back to the harbor-” Roland frowned, setting his noisy pack down. “We’ll be seen by someone if we go now but we can’t wait until night falls again.”

“Are you insane?  Half this town works at or near the docks and any one of them could report seeing you back to Zelena!”

“We’ll just have to risk it,” Emma said, ignoring Regina’s outburst and furious glare. “If we all go it’ll be more suspicious.  I’ll go with Grace and meet you at the shore closest to the Jewel.”

“You can’t row with that shoulder, Emma,” Roland scoffed and then narrowed his eyes at Regina. “I’m also not staying behind with her.”

“Then you go with Grace and I’ll wait at the shore with Regina,” Emma said exasperated.

“I thought I said I wasn’t going to get on any damn ship,” Regina huffed.

“Why are you still here then?” Emma snapped back. “Go back to avoiding your sister by hiding out in the woods and stealing things to survive.  You have to actually be willing to fight back if you want things to change.  You haven’t had any kind of power for a long time now, don’t think that by helping us you can act like you do.”

Regina’s jaw dropped as she stared at her like she’d been slapped.  Emma waited.  Finally Regina closed her mouth and folded her arms over her chest but made no move to pick up her packs to leave.  With one battle won Emma turned to Grace and Roland.

“You two go get the boat but leave your swords with me-” she held up a hand against their protests. “Killian was suspicious of mine and you saw, like I did, that no one in this realm walks around armed with weapons.”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Regina scoffed.

Emma frowned but continued, “Get the boat, row it here if you can, if not at least get it out of the harbor and away from prying eyes.  We can carry it between us overland if we have to.  We can camp within sight of the Jewel so Turner will at least see that we haven’t abandoned him.  Grace which way to the inlet?”

“Walk straight back that way,” Grace said, turning to point slightly north of where they were standing. “Even if you veer a little off course you’ll be able to spot the Jewel from the cliffside above the shore.  There seemed to be a path leading down to a small beach where you won’t be seen if you decide to light a fire.”

“Okay, good-” she nodded and bent down to pick up the pack she was sure was filled with foodstuffs.  When she straightened and had the pack settled over her good shoulder she held out her hand, “Give me your swords.”

With only a little grumbling from Roland and silence from Grace they handed over their scabbards.  They walked away with little fanfare, only sending a glare from each of them towards Regina and receiving one from Emma in return.  She gingerly adjusted the pack on her shoulder and headed in the direction Grace had pointed out without waiting to see if Regina would follow her.  A loud sigh and squelching footfalls came not long after and Emma grinned in spite of herself.

It wasn’t long before the smell of the sea overwhelmed the odors of the forest and the sound of the waves crashing upon the shore drowned out the heavy drops of water falling from the canopy above.  Emma gradually quickened her pace until the pain in her shoulder forced her to slow down but not before she broke through the treeline to see the endless stretch of ocean before her.  The rain had finally stopped but the stormclouds remained, a roiling grey mass that reminded her of unpolished metal.  She took in a deep breath of the salt laden air and when her eyes lit upon the Jewel floating serenely in the calm inlet below she felt at ease for the first time since they’d arrived.

“You sailed that thing through a portal?” Regina snorted indelicately, effectively shattering Emma’s brief sense of tranquility.

“Obviously,” she grumbled. “Let’s see if we can find that path Grace mentioned.”

The path was easy enough to find but the longer Emma stared at it the more treacherous it looked.  It seemed to be nothing more than an animal trail barely worn into the side of the cliff that overlooked the inlet.  Hardly wider than the width of her shoulders it was clearly not meant to be traversed by someone laden down with cumbersome packs and extra swords.  Looking back at Regina she could see the same trepidation she felt in her eyes.

“Is there anything in this pack that might break?” Emma asked casually as she eyed the distance to the beach below.

“Not that one.  It’s all- Hey!”

Emma watched with childlike glee as the pack spun several times in the air as it careened down to the pebbly beach below.  The slight clanging of metal exploded into a cacophony of sound when the pack hit the ground and dozens of metal cylinders spilled out of the top.  Movement on the deck of the Jewel caught her eye and she saw the figures of Turner and the slightly shorter Marty staring in their direction.  She let out a shout of greeting and returned the wave they gave her, a smile nearly splitting her face in two.

“Just because there wasn’t anything breakable in there doesn’t mean something hasn’t been ruined,” Regina said exasperated.

“But now I can walk down this trail without worrying about tumbling down the cliff myself-” she shrugged, her sudden uplift in mood making her giddy. “Plus I’ve always wanted to do something like that.”

“Throw a bag of cans off a cliff?” Regina asked in disbelief.

“No-” laughing with only a little humor she started to carefully walk down the slightly rocky path, “Throw something of yours off a cliff.”

Silence followed her as she descended but a second pack had sailed over the cliff and she could hear Regina’s feet scraping down the path behind her.  Despite her focusing solely on keeping her feet on the path she could feel Turner and Marty’s eyes on her.  She wondered how they had fared overnight, if they’d run into any trouble during the day, and as she contemplated what to tell Turner about Killian she stepped down onto the uneven but firm rocky sand of the beach.

Without a glance back to see if Regina was alright she rushed as close as she could get to the Jewel without getting her boots wet in the gentle waves lapping at the shore.  Turner had informed her once that the Jewel’s shallow draft allowed her to enter harbors and bays that were inaccessible to other, larger, ships and could get closer to a shore as well. However, it seemed he was concerned about the inhabitants of the new realm because the Jewel was anchored at the mouth of the inlet, positioned so that she was facing east towards the open sea.  Emma could see Turner watching her but couldn’t make out if he was smiling or frowning at her.  Marty on the other hand was leaning almost completely over the railing.

“Ahoy!” She called out, raising her left arm.

“Ahoy!” Marty yelled back enthusiastically, his shout echoing off the walls of the cliff surrounding the water.

“Alright?”

“Aye,” Turner answered, his head tilting up to presumably look at the top of the cliff she’d just descended. “And you?”

“We’re fine.  All of us,” she reassured him as much as she could by shouting. “Waiting for the row boat to come back aboard.”

“Of course.  We’ll all just have to wait then I suppose.”

“Looks like it.”

With a final wave of her hand she turned back to see Regina watching her, frowning.  The frown deepened and Emma wondered if she was about to be lectured for shouting out where anyone could hear her.

“You popped your stitches,” Regina said instead.

“Huh?” Emma looked down at her shoulder and saw a small patch of blood that was slowly growing on her shirt. “Oh, I thought I might have.”

“Sit,” Regina said exasperated and pointed to a piece of driftwood that she had set one of her packs beside.

She went without argument.  They had nothing but time now and her sudden burst of energy and good humor had abandoned her, leaving her feeling more exhausted and wrung out than before.  Slumping down on the piece of wood she dropped the swords she was still holding onto and detachedly pulled her arm out of her sleeve to remove her shirt enough for Regina to have an easier time patching her back up.

“Was it worth it?” Regina asked as she tipped what turned out to be the foul smelling ointment onto a rag before pressing it to her shoulder.

“Was what worth it?” She asked tiredly, holding the rag in place as Regina began threading a needle.

“Injuring yourself further by throwing our food over a cliff.”

“It wasn’t from that-” she winced as Regina started her stitches. “I think some were from when that Walsh guy came by the cottage and the others were from Grace sneaking up on me in the forest.”

“You know you won’t be able to go anywhere in town wearing a sword on your hip either, right?” Regina scolded.  Her eyes flickered up and Emma saw something akin to regret in them before Regina settled her gaze on her shoulder and said uncomfortably, “I never thanked you.  You know, for rescuing me the first time.”

“Regina-”

“No, let me say this,” Regina sat back on her heels and looked at her straight in the eye. “I have done terrible things in my life, mostly to your mother but to plenty of other people as well.  The years I’ve spent as Zelena’s prisoner, being tortured by her because she believed she deserved more, it made me realize that no matter what lies I had told myself to be able to sleep at night it didn’t matter.  In the end I was just like her.  I was too blinded by seeking my revenge that I couldn’t see what it really was I was torturing and killing for, what Zelena is still grasping for now: power.

“Coming to this realm and the time I spent in the asylum, it all became clear the horrors I’ve committed, the damage I’ve done.  I’m not asking for for things to be swept under a rug and ignored as we work together or for a reward at the end of all of this.  I know from the way your crew looks at me that I’ve somehow destroyed their lives in one way or another and I have to pay for that and I give you my word that I will.  I just… I need you to know that you can trust me, even if you never forgive me.”

Emma gave her a shallow nod, too stunned to form any words.  Every conversation she’d had with the woman had been filled with barbs and insults.  She had never heard her sound so sincere and so unlike the Evil Queen she’d heard about from too many stories and too many people whose lives had been destroyed.  Regina’s mouth ticked up slightly as she went back to stitching up her shoulder, apparently satisfied with her reaction.

As Regina tied off the last stitch Emma gathered her courage, figuring that if she really could trust her then when she asked her a question she’d get a truthful answer.  She only hoped she was strong enough to hear it.

“When I mentioned that it was Killian that I talked to you looked like you were about to say something,” she said hesitantly.  She put her shirt back to rights and focused her gaze on her wringing hands, “Is he one of the ones we can’t trust because he works for Zelena?”

“No-” Regina sighed and sat next to her, “it isn’t that.  He’s probably one of the few people in town that openly hates her and doesn’t miss an opportunity to show it.”

“Oh,” Emma smiled slightly. “Then what is it?”

Regina hesitated and turned to look out at the Jewel, “You didn’t talk about him much when we were in my palace but you didn’t need to, it was easy to tell how you felt about him.  As it was Zelena didn’t only use that mirror to taunt me but to vent.  She hated that somehow you working with my cousin made it even more impossible to bring you down.  The man whose heart she had, his friend, he had told her how close you two had gotten.  It was something she didn’t forget when she cast the curse.”

“What… what else did she do to him?” Emma couldn’t help the waver in her voice, picturing his missing hand in her mind.

“He’s not hurt.  He may have one of the worst jobs in town, but he’s relatively fine.”

“Then if he’s miserable like you it’ll be easy to get him on our side, get him to help us.  I can get him to remember me and we can break the curse with True Love’s kiss!”

She turned towards Regina excitedly only to find her looking at back at her sadly.  Her stomach dropped as she dug her nails into her palms and took deep breaths to keep herself steady.

Neither made any difference when Regina finally spoke.

“Emma, I’m sorry but... he’s married.”

If you’d like to be tagged so you don’t miss future chapters let me know.

Tagging: @teamhook, @galadriel26

[seasless]

OK, I SWEAR TO THE LORT that someone posted about a Marvey/Beauty and the beast crossover thingy on @parabatez about a library and I wrote this for that, but I cannot find the post, so if it was someone else, or you know what I’m talking about, please let me know so I can credit appropriately!

Anyway. Here’s the shmoopiest hurt/comfort fluff. 

--

Mike checks his phone for the fifth time in twelve minutes.

”Come on, dude, it’s eleven o’clock. PM, you douchebag!”

"What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“You told me to ‘go the fuck away.’ You don’t get to be pissy now, princess.”</i>

“I am your goddamn boss. I will be however the fuck I want. This is as much your case as it is mine, and you’re the one who screwed the pooch, so you get your uppity little ass to my condo with those notes or you won’t have a job to come back to.”

Mike breathes deeply. “I’ll be over in thirty.”

It hadn’t even been that much of a fuck up. He’d get the signature. He just hadn’t gotten it today. Harvey’s been avoiding him so much he hadn’t managed to mentioned they were on a timeline. How was Mike supposed to know?

It’s not the kind of neighborhood where people sit on doorsteps, but Mike’s feeling salty about being chewed out, threatened, and then stood up on a Friday night, interrupting a standing date with his ratty couch and a six pack of shitty beer, so he plunks down on the edge of one of the giant pots holding the plants that guard the building’s entrance with a huff, which is when a rough voice says, “Get your goddamn ass off my planter.”

Halfway through, “Technically it’s not your planter,” Mike chokes. “Oh my god, what happened?”

Harvey sneers. “I tripped.”

“...In front of a bus?”

“Go away.”

“You just threatened me into coming over!”

“Kind of obvious plans have changed,” he grits, struggling to dig his keys out of his pocket while holding his ribs together with the other arm.

“Here.” Mike jumps up. “Let me.” Harvey jerks away from him, but jars something in the process, badly enough that Mike doesn’t even have to be quick about reaching into his coat and withdrawing the keycard. “After you, princess.”

Mike's pretty sure he's not invited in after Harvey. He goes anyway.

The front desk guy is nodding off so Mike flashes him a smile and steps forward, blocking his groggy view as Harvey limps to the elevator. Pissed as he is, Mike’s not about to leave Harvey alone.

“Go home, Mike.”

“Make me.”

The desire to throttle answers from his is nearly overwhelming, but Mike abandons that tack, knowing it won't do any good, instead doing his level best to gauge the severity to Harvey's injuries from sight alone. He’s pretty sure it was a mugging -  Harvey’s brow is bleeding freely, blood tracking the line of his jaw before dropping down to stain his lapel, his lip is split, and he looks to be having trouble breathing.

The knot in Mike's stomach tightens.

With a hushed sigh, the elevator opens and Mike beelines to the bathroom, past one beautiful bookshelf, a few paperbacks peeking out. When he reemerges, bottles tucked under his arm and rag draped over one shoulder, Harvey's peeling his suit coat from his torso. Mike pokes the books back into alignment as he asks, “How bad are your ribs? They didn't stab you, did they?”

 Hissing, Harvey drops the coat to the floor. “They?”

“Oh come on. If it was just one you’d be crowing about how you beat some guy’s ass. It had to be at least three.”

 Harvey fiddles with the button on the cuff of his sleeve before muttering, “Four. And no. Just a few bruises.”  

 Mike nods and goes to the freezer. He’s not surprised to find a medical grade ice pack in the door, though if it were his place, or any of the other apartments where he’d patched people up, it’d be a bag of frozen peas. “Sit down.”

“No thanks.”

“You’re bleeding on the floor.”

“If you’d leave, I could take a shower.” 

Mike places a glass bowl in the sink and begins filling it with warm water. “Twenty bucks says you can’t even unbutton your shirt without help. Sit down.” 

“The hell you think you’re going to tell me what to do in my own -”

“Fine,” Mike bites out. “Catch,” and he tosses the ice pack in a soft, slow arc. Harvey extends a hand and gives a shout, face contorted in pain, as the ice hits his hand and then the floor with a thunk. “That’s what I thought. Now Sit. Down.”

 Harvey grunts onto a stool at the bar. He rolls his eyes hard enough to pull something else, but he goes.

“Jesus. You big baby.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Mike slides the bowl across the island and plucks the ice pack from the floor. “You heard me.” He hands over the pack. “Onto your ribs. And hold still.” 

“You’re awful pushy for a fake associate who fucked up a contract negotiation today.” 

“Oh fuck you.” It stings, all that accusation in one simple statement. “You never fucking told me we were on a timeline.”

 “I definitely did.”

“No, you were too goddamn busy avoiding me, so don’t act like that’s anyone’s fault but your own.”

<p>“I am <i>not</i> avoiding - ow!”</p>

“Would you quit moving around so goddamn much? You’re such a goddamn pain!”

Something cracks behind Harvey’s eyes and he roars, “Then why don’t you fucking leave!”

It’s a good question, and Mike comes closer to answering it than he ever has before.

He wrings the cloth and takes Harvey’s chin in hand to stabilize his face, observing him quietly for a long moment before dabbing away a few errant streaks of blood. “If I left right now,” he says softly, “I’d spend the whole night staring at the ceiling and praying to a god I don’t believe in anymore that you’re ok. I don’t know how much staring at the ceiling you do, but let me tell you, it’s even worse than getting reamed out by your boss who’s finally decided he hates you.”

It takes until the blood is gone, turning the water pink, before Harvey murmurs begrudgingly, “I don’t hate you. I just -”

Mike shakes his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Harvey.”

The way the older man is chewing on his lips suggests he thinks that maybe he does.

Mike takes a break from cleaning to take a look at Harvey’s ribs, popping the button closest to Harvey’s throat easily, but as he works his way down, he notices his hands shaking. Hopefully Harvey misses that part.

There are a smattering of bruises across the tan skin, but most are concentrated on his left side. Mike wrings the towel and wraps it around the ice pack so Harvey can hold it to his bare skin.

“You’ve done this before,” Harvey observes quietly, and until then Mike hadn’t really noticed how close they are.

“Yeah. My friends tend to be idiots.” Harvey looks up quickly at the use of the word friend, but Mike’s focusing desperately on the task at hand.

“They were harassing this kid,” Harvey says finally, wincing as Mike butterflies his eyebrow back into one piece. “She couldn’t have been more than twenty one, and they were just…” He trails off, looking genuinely unwell for the first time. “Anyway. What?”

“I can’t even be mad at you.” Mike huffs. “You literally probably saved that girl’s life.”

“I don’t think you can be mad at me for being late, but there might be some other shit,” Harvey grumbles, twitching one shoulder in a shrug.

“Are you admitting you’ve been a dick?”

“No,” he protests tightly. “I’m just saying you’re not the only one who’s been doing some ceiling staring.”

Cautiously, Mike cleans out a cut over Harvey’s cheekbone. “Watch out, old man. Someone might think you have feelings.”

Harvey sighs tiredly. “Now there’s a scary thought.”

“Worse than staring at the ceiling?”

Harvey doesn’t answer, but he almost smiles, making it even more difficult for Mike to complete the impressive task of applying neosporin to Harvey’s lip without licking his own, but he manages. It’s the last of the injuries, and as loathe as Mike is to stop touching him, he can’t really justify staying, so he stands with a groan.

“You sound like an old man.” 

“My boss is putting some years on me. Where are you going?”

“Couch,” Harvey yawns. It takes him several minutes to kick his shoes off, and Mike finally takes pity and shucks his socks for him. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’ll finish the paperwork right now. You should get some sleep.”

“It’s fine, kid.”

“It’s ok, I’ll just do it right he-”

“Mike. Stop. It’s ok. I don’t care. Leave it until tomorrow.”

“But you -”

“I was being a real piece of shit.”

Mike can’t help but smile at that, though he hides it by fetching blankets from the hall closet - one for Harvey and one to roll up beneath his own head where he sprawls next to the couch.

The knot in Mike’s gut finally loosens enough that he can breathe again, and he uses the time to scan the bookshelf along the wall for something to read. He’s read most of them at one point or another, from the library as a kid, or stoned in Trev’s old apartment, or to Gram when she’d been sick. It’s hard to come by a book he hasn’t read, so he finds a title he enjoys and begins sifting through it in his head, skipping the long-winded forward.

He thinks Harvey’s asleep, listening absently to the measured breathing when the older man says, “What are you reading?” 

“Huh?” 

Harvey reaches down with scraped up fingers to take the hand suspended by Mike’s hip. He stills, frozen and aflame at the contact. “When you read,” Harvey says softly, running a gentle thumb down the line of Mike’s knuckles. “You track the words with your fingers. On paper and in your head.”

MIke blinks. “I never noticed.”

“I did.” In the low light it’s hard to decipher the expression, but there’s no ignoring the fact that Harvey’s watching him, tonguing the split in his lip thoughtfully. “I notice a lot about you.” 

Mike swallows hard. “Harvey…”

“Do you see the words in your head?”

“More or less.

“How many books have you read?”

“Thousands, I’d guess.”

“And you still love it.”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“I - haven’t thought about it in years. Reading for pleasure isn’t something I give myself much time for.”

“That’s a shame.”

Harvey nods slowly, stroking Mike’s palm. “But I’m working on making time. For things that matter.” His fingers travel down to Mike’s wrist as he adds, “I really am sorry for being such an asshole. I’ve been trying to figure some shit out, and to be honest with you, I’m doing a crap job of it.”

Sitting up on his elbows, Mike asks, “Anything I can help with?”

“You already have.” 

--

“Is the building remodeling? There’s a bunch of shit in the hall. I still don’t see why this edit couldn’t have wait until tomorrow. Also,” Mike barrels past Harvey into the condo. “Whoa. Are you the one renovating?” 

“Yeah.” He fidgets his hands into his pockets. “I - uh -”

“You didn’t mention that.”

Mike’s kind of surprised. They’ve been better, the past few weeks, than they ever were before. They eat lunch together every day, and Harvey seems to have gotten his head out of his ass enough to cultivate the friendship that really only they could have, two brilliant, stubborn, freaky idiots. It hurts beautifully, but Mike thinks he’s doing an ok enough job at hiding the adoration in his gaze. Enough that Harvey hasn’t been suspicious, anyway.

“It’s. Um.”

“Are you having a stroke?”

 Harvey cuffs him on the shoulder. “Come here. I uh - got you something.”

“Why? It’s not my birthday.” Through the living room, down the hall. “Are you bribing me? Gonna sell me to Louis or something?” They stop outside a door that hadn’t been here the last time Mike had visited. Harvey opens the door, then steps out of the way. “Or make me - Oh my god.”

The carpet is a soft, creamy gray, but there’s not wall color to comment on, because one wall is floor to ceiling windows, and the other three? Well.

Some are new, but many are worn, old copies, originals, well loved. Law. Science. Art. So much science fiction. Lovingly, Mike walks the perimeter, letting his fingers dance over the spines. Two Years Before the Mast. He’s never heard of it, but the worn cover and yellowing pages extend a welcome. Walden. He can’t believe he’s never gotten around to that one. “Wait. This is - it’s for me?” 

Nervously, Harvey nods. Excitement builds in Mike’s chest like a bubble. A million tales, new characters, unknown or reframed information… He walks on.

Kitchen Confidential. It’s been on his to-read list for years. Stories in the Stars. It looks fascinating. He’s never seen it before.

Mike freezes. “I’ve never read...any of these.”

Harvey looks inordinately pleased with himself. “Good.”

“How is that possible?”

“I know a gal.”

“Who knows what books I’ve read?”

He shrugs. “Who got me a list of library book you’ve ever took out. Every credit card slip from a bookstore. Every book at your Gram’s. I’m sure a few slipped through the cracks but - what?”

“This must’ve taken weeks!”

“A month or two.”

“Hundreds of hours.”

“Yeah.”

“For me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Here. At your place.” 

“About that…” 

“So you don’t hate me?”

Surprised laughter spills from him. “Remember that thing I was trying to figure out?” 

“Yes?”

“Well, this infuriating, beautiful, brilliant kid I know clarified a few things for me when he refused to leave my condo…” 

“So instead of calling the cops you built me a library?”

Harvey’s smile slides away as he says softly, “I didn’t know how else to tell you.”

“Tell me?”

But the explanation appears to be lodged in his throat, so Mike stops talking and tries to listen instead.

Harvey spent thousands dollars building a new room in his condo. A room he spent even more time and money stocking with things he knew Mike would love and appreciate. It’s the most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever extended to him, and the fact that it’s Harvey is even more mindblowing. Hesitantly, Mike steps forward until he’s inches from the other man, close enough to watch the light dance in those dark eyes. 

“Harvey Specter, are you trying to con me into living with you?”

“Is it working?”

“Honestly, I would’ve settled for a french press and a decent blowjob, but hey, I’ll take it.”

Harvey throws his head back and shouts a laugh, but Mike catches it in his mouth. Without hesitation, warm hands pull him in, cradle his jaw, hold him close in this magic room in a home he’d have chosen a hundred times over but never thought he’d be able to have. A little breathless, Mike pulls back to say, “Harvey. Thank you. This is -” His throat closes up then, so he leans in for another kiss, which Harvey returns so sweetly it makes it worse. “I can’t believe you did this. That it’s mine.”

A gentle thumb brushes the line of Mike’s jaw as Harvey says, “Just about everything that’s mine has always been yours.”