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truthofherdreams · 7 months

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poetry, beauty, romance, love

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Belle stops in front of the door to the lecture hall, trying her best to calm her laboured breaths as she presses a hand to her chest. A group of students walks toward her in the corridor, so she takes a sip of her water as to hide her discomfort, although she is certain her red cheeks are betraying her anyway.

The walk from her College to the Medical Sciences building is a short one - on purpose - but she is yet to get accustomed to the strain on her heart every time she exerts herself, even slightly. She tried a bike instead, on her very first day in Oxford, but the results were not any better. Hopefully, her body will get used to those brisk walks across the city.

Thankfully, the lecture hall is almost empty when she enters, a whole half-hour before the lecture is actually meant to start, so Belle takes her time going down the steps, all the way to the very first row. She selects her seat slightly to the left of the room, close to the still empty lectern. Behind her, two other students talk to each other in small whispers, while a girl at the very back is busy typing away on her phone.

Belle gets her own out of her pocket, checking for her latest messages. Despite the early hour, she has one unread message from her sister - a picture of Fanny’s current art project, one that has Belle frowning at her screen as she tilts her head to the side, trying and failing to guess what the meaning of the painting is meant to be. Maybe she will ask Fanny later, or maybe she will let her sister to her deranged phallic art pieces and sculptures.

Instead, Belle opens her laptop, hoping for at least twenty minutes to work on the assignment she was given yesterday. Barely half a way in Oxford, and she is already drowning in a sea of essays, reading assignments and lab notes. Well, any other student would be drowning. Belle is doing just fine.

“Seat’s taken?”

She looks up from her laptop, blinking in surprise at the boy next to her. She belatedly notices the room has filled up by now, whispers of two turned into a cacophony of voices. And this boy, still staring at her, now with his eyebrows raised.

“Hm, sorry, no - no it’s free.”

“Cool.”

He plops into the seat next to her, his long legs stretching in front of him under the table, as he drops a laptop right next to hers. The thing seems almost broken beyond repair, with faded stickers all over the back, one broken corner, and some tape keeping the screen from escaping from the keyboard. Belle forces herself not to comment, thankfully distracted from the acidic words on the top of her tongue when students start passing around piles of printed-out syllabi for the course.

Belle grabs one, even though she’s had it downloaded onto her iPad since last night. IPad she now fetches from her bag, along with a paper notepad and her pencil case. She neatly lines up her three favourite highlighters - blush pink, lavender and soft green, before she takes a sip of water.

And notices her seat neighbour staring at her.

“Problem?” she asks him, raising an eyebrow at her.

He shakes his head for a moment, tongue against the inside of his cheek, before he thinks better of it. “Have you watched any of those videos about those Sorority girls?”

She frowns. “I fail to see your point.”

“Bet you do.”

Then he turns his focus back on the (still off) lecture screen. The way he does it, so casual - too casual, even - immediately gets on her nerves. So what if she likes her notes to be neat and organised? So what if she will spend another hour after the lecture, going back through what she’s written, just to ensure everything is written well, colour-coded, highlighted, sticky-noted? She huffs in frustration as she turns back toward the front of the room too, but not before noticing his smirk from the corner of her eye. The jerk.

Professor McGregor chooses that perfect moment to make his way to the lectern, and all other thoughts leave Belle’s mind as she focuses on the man’s lecture. For the next hour, she dutifully takes notes, nodding to herself every time she remembers one of the facts from her past readings.

The professor might not be the liveliest, with the monotonous drawl to his voice, but his insights into the field still are satisfying to Belle. She does make a mental note to check his research papers later, out of curiosity more than anything else.

When Professor McGregor finishes his speech for the day, her ever so delightful neighbour jumps right out of his seat, broken laptop under his arm. He gives her a salute, as lazy as his grin is mocking.

“See you on Thursday, Bama Rush.”

“Fucker,” she grumbles.

He’s too far up the stairs to hear her.

…

Professor McGregor, as it turns out, also happens to be her tutor. Which is how, the next week, Belle finds herself in the professor’s quarters, overlooking the gardens of St John’s College. Despite being of a decent size, the room feels stuffy, with its large mahogany bookcases on every wall, its displayed human skeleton in a corner, and its wide array of nicknacks on every possible table, desk, and shelf. Very much absent from the room, though, is Professor McGregor himself.

“Do not touch that,” Hetty hisses.

Belle looks up, just in time to see Sneed’s hand retract from a large jar with what seems to be an embryo with two heads floating inside. Bell wrinkles her nose.

“What a waste of time,” Sneed complains, moving on to his observation of a polished skull on one of the bookcases. “At the price of tuition…”

“Cry me a river, Sneed,” Hetty replies. “We all know daddy dearest paid extra for you to be here.”

Belle stifles a laugh as Sneed glares at Hetty, who replies with her most condescending smile. Even though they’ve barely interacted so far, Belle enjoys Hetty’s company - she’s smart and sharp and unafraid to speak her mind, when the occasion calls for it. They could make great friends, given time, and Belle hopes this tutoring group will give their friendship the space it needs to blossom.

Hetty winks at her, and Belle smiles.

She is about to say something, when the door to the study opens, and all three heads snap to that direction.

But the good professor still is yet to make his entrance. Instead, the boy from last week’s lecture stands in the doorframe, blinking at the darkness of the room.

“Old git still not here, huh?” he says as he enters, door closing behind him. He didn’t bother with his broken laptop this time.

Actually, he didn’t bother with anything at all, strolling through the room with his hands in his pockets until he drops himself unceremoniously next to Belle on the small settee. She glares at him. He ignores her.

“They let anyone in these days,” Sneed mumbles, before he turns back to the bookcase.

“Indeed. Remind me, how many A* did you get?” the other boy retorts. “Three? Four? Oh no, wait. That was me.”

If looks could kill, Sneed would have murdered him on the spot with the glare he throws over his shoulder. Hatty rolls her eyes.

“Yes, Dawkins. We all know how smart you are,” she says, but her tone is more exasperate than biting. Like an old argument, repeated too many times.

Has Belle already missed on that much drama, even after only a week, by spending time between her bedroom and the library? Has life gone past her so fast, that enemies were made already?

Dawkins bumps his shoulder with Belle’s conspiratorially. “You heard that, right? She calls me smart!”

He offers her a shit-eating grin, the kind that makes Belle’s stomach do a little jump. Despite her best try at stoicism, she smiles too. The grin grows bigger.

There is a twinkle in his eyes, when they drop to her lips, a flash of something Belle doesn’t quite know how to name. It’s there and then it’s gone, his eyes meeting hers again - and here’s that mischief again, the boyish stupidity that fits him like a glove.

His mouth opens, slightly, like he's about to say something, and…

The door slams open.

They all startle.

Professor McGregor enters, his steps unsteady, his hand wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle. He stops, blinking at them in confusion, before he mumbles something that both his beard and the alcohol make inaudible.

Hetty is the first one to jump to her feet, to spring to action. “Should we come back tomorrow, Professor?”

He waves her off, before he drops himself in the closest chair and takes another long sip of his wine. Sneed can barely hide his grimace of disapproval, a reminder to Belle to smooth out her own features.

The professor gives them brief and confusing instructions on readings and reports to be completed for the next session, and research to be done in pairs. He vaguely points to Hetty and Sneed first, then to Belle and Dawkins, with some misogynistic comment about making it equal, giving a chance for the ladies to learn something. Then he waves them off, and they all scramble to escape as fast as they can.

Belle runs down the stairs, only allowing herself to breathe once she is on the lawn of the front quadrangle, head down and hands on her hips. She inhales deeply, to calm her heart and will the annoyance away.

“Here.”

She turns around, facing Dawkins. His arm is stretched toward her, paper in hand. She takes it carefully, then frowns down at the scribbles that make up a name - Jack, she guesses, even though it reads as Jeck - and a phone number.

“Got that doctor’s handwriting locked in,” she comments.

“Thanks, it’s the dyspraxia.”

She blinks, and swallows back a curse to herself. Of course she had to make a fool of herself, and insult him in the process. He may be infuriating, but that doesn’t mean she has a right to be that rude.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” “It’s fine,” he waves it away. “Just text me when you’re free for a trip to the library.”

…

It’s funny, how quickly new experiences become habits. How the unknown turns into the familiar in the blink of an eye. How Jack makes his way into her life, one infuriating jab at a time.

Every Monday, ten o’clock on the dot, they meet in the same study room of St John’s College’s library, to study and work together on Professor McGregor’s assignments. The study room allows them privacy, so Jack can use the text-to-speech tools on his computer, or so Belle can read out loud some passages for the both of them. She proofreads his essays when his dyslexia gets the best of him, and he always brings her favourite snacks to avoid her sugar levels crashing.

Despite what she thought, it works seamlessly.

They fight, of course. On new medical research, on which technology to use, on grammar and methodology and whether Star Wars or Star Trek is the best. They argue, and yell, and get stern reminders to be quiet from the librarian. They help each other up, fact-check everything twice, and motivate each other when the burden of first year medicine becomes too much, the pressure, the workload, the late night study sessions.

One Monday at a time, he becomes part of her life, of her universe.

“Why don’t we ever study at yours’?” she asks him one particularly chilly November morning, when the library is so cold their fingers turned blue, until Belle gave up and dragged him all the way back to her dorm bedroom.

He lies down on the floor, fluffy blanket on top of him as he hugs one of her Squishmallows to his chest. “You don’t want to come to my place, believe me.”

“Why is that?” She puts her laptop aside, cross-legged on her bed, peering down at him. “Live in the dungeons?”

He scoffs. “Worse. Subletting from some old fart who used to be a porter for St Cross College till they caught him stealing from students.”

“What is he doing now?”

“Working at Costa.”

“And how did you meet this lovely gentleman?”

Jack’s smile is wry. “Working at Costa.”

Belle snorts a laugh. Not for the first time, she is reminded of the socio-economical differences between her and Jack. How she was sent to boarding school to Cheltenham Ladies’, while he did his studies in some no-name high school in South London. How her parents pay for her tuition, but he got in on a full scholarship. How she spends the summers in Greece, or Spain, or back home in Australia, while he’s stuck here, working to make meets end. How she has a loving mother, and a fool of a father, and a crazy sister, while he’s all alone.

They never properly agreed not to talk about it - not in so many words, at least - but sometimes, like today, it hangs between us. Heavy. Obvious.

“Do you fancy some tea?” she asks, to change the conversation, to lead it back to more comfortable topics, like anatomy and lab reports and lectures. Not Jack’s misfortune in life. Not Jack’s empty bank account. Not the way her heart misses a beat when he looks at her like that, open and vulnerable and oh so eager.

Her heart is used to skipping beats.

Not like that, though.

Never like that.

…

“The WHO defines health as…”

“A state of complete physical, mental, and social well-being,” Belle recites as she walks up and down the corridor.

Hetty hums at the back of her throat, before she switches to another card. “Decline in deaths from infectious diseases in the second half of the nineteenth century was mainly due to…”

“Improvements in diet, housing, and public sanitation.”

She is wringing her hands now, the motion nowhere near as soothing as it ought to be. Her bottom lip is raw from biting down on it and picking at the skin, and her heartbeat is going way faster than ever recommended by her own doctors.

“What is NOT a task of a sociologist in medicine?”

Belle pauses. Stops. Stares at Hetty. Hetty stares back.

“Develop theory that assists in understanding social issues related to health,” comes from behind her.

Belle sighs, and turns around. “Just because you can memorise everything by heart…”

“Please, Belle. We both know your memory is far better than mine could ever be.”

She wants to tell him that is not true. She wants to remind him he got better exam results than her last year. She wants to pout and says that he’s better than her at sociology, period. She wants…

He hands her a chocolate bar, and all her worries go away.

“Jack Dawkins, you are a blessing.”

He laughs, even though his cheeks turn red “Can I get that in writing?”

She waves him away, more to dismiss his unwanted silliness than anything else, but still has a moment of panic when he indeed starts walking away from the exam hall. From the corridor. From her.

Mouth full of chocolate, she gestures vaguely at the door. Jack grins, and walks back the few steps separating them to boop her nose with his finger.

“Different room. Extra time. You knew that, Fox.”

She did know that, indeed, knows his SPP by heart - the 25% extra time he gets for every exam, and the text-to-speech machine to help him go through the papers. It doesn’t make it any less difficult, to know he will not be in the hall with the rest of them, that the sight of his mess of blond hair will not be able to sooth her nerves during the exam. He’ll be right next door, but she might as well be all the way back in Sydney, for she will feel his absence just as well.

“You got it,” he says, and it’s soft and quiet and full of emotions she refuses to question now. “I’ll see you when I’m done, alright?”

She nods, and swallows around the chocolate pieces in her mouth. “Good luck.”

“No need for luck when you’ve got talent,” he winks at her.

…

She passes with a 96.

He does so too. With a 99.

…

Belle doesn’t remember how it happened.

Well, that is a lie. Her memories may be fuzzy around the corners, but she remembers every second, every moment, every word and every touch and every tiny, single detail of that afternoon.

It starts, as it so often does, with the end. The end of exam week, the end of an academic year, the end of their first year of medicine. It starts, as it so often does in Oxford, on the banks of the river, where the grass meets the water, where boats move lazily and students gather, bottles of cheap wine and packs of snacks in hand.

It starts on the bank of the river, laughing as Hetty kisses girls after girls after girls, and makes fun of Sneed for having no game, and no girlfriend, and no summer internship. It starts with a bottle of rosé against Belle’s lips, warming her stomach and her cheeks and her brain.

It starts when it ends, when the sun is so low everything turns golden and beautiful, like a painting from an era long gone. It starts with Jack and his golden hair, and his shining eyes, and the smirk he keeps just for her, for when she’s happy and carefree and on the right side of tipsy.

It starts with her laugh.

“Jack Dawkings, everyone!” she exclaims as loud as her lungs will let her, “Top of the class!”

People cheer and whoop and toast, any reason good enough for yet another drink. Belle’s arm is flung around his shoulders, her body pressed into him, and he chuckles against the mess of her hair.

“How much did you drink already?”

“Enough,” she replies, smug and proud and laughing.

“Yeah, right,” he says, and takes the bottle from her.

She pouts, but she doesn’t fight back, not even when he hands the bottle to some random guy just passing by. She’s tipsy but not drunk, and she’s fine with it - especially when Jack’s side is pressed against her chest, against her breasts, when his arm is wrapped around her waist and he holds her to him, strong and solid and present.

“Top of the class,” she whispers to him, softer this time.

He looks down at her, and he’s soft too. Bright eyes, even brighter smile. “And yet, you’re my number one.”

She kisses him. Or maybe he kisses her. Not that it matters, when his lips are on hers, when his fingers are in her hand and on her neck, when he grabs her and pulls her close, close, closer until she forgets where he stops and where she begins, until it’s only them, them, them.

When he breaks the kiss, it’s to rub his nose alongside the ridge of hers. Delicate. Loving. Adoring. She kisses him again, just because she can.

Hetty yells at them to get a room.

Belle happily obliges.

#the artful dodger #dodgerfox #jack dawkins #belle fox #fanfic

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totowlff · 2 years

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chapter four — worth the yearning for

➝ the meeting was arranged in a cafe in the old part of oxford. she had no idea how he would react to her answer.

➝ word count: 2,5k

➝ warnings: none

Cassie was nervous, even more nervous than she’d been when she visited the fertility clinic. She and Toto had agreed to meet in a coffee shop she liked in Cambridge to discuss Toto’s offer. She drove to the heart of the city, parking in the carpark at Gloucester Green. She sighed as she checked the time on her phone when she arrived — she was 20 minutes early, and it was less than a five minute walk.

She set off anyway, deciding it was better to be a little early to reserve a table. Hopefully, the coffee shop wouldn’t be too busy, and they could find a nice, quiet place to talk. The shop was small on its first floor, but had a downstairs that had plenty of space and some nice booths, so she wasn’t worried.

She stepped inside, and found it a little busier than an average weekday, but there was a free table tucked into a rear corner of the shop. She sat down and gazed at the menu boards behind the counter, eyeing up the various cakes and pastries in the display cases, but she couldn’t really concentrate on either, as nervous as she was about accepting Toto’s offer.

It was incredibly generous, and felt like an earnest, heartfelt offer. She wanted to accept immediately after seeing his baby pictures, but a more rational side of Cassie prevailed. There were downsides to consider, such as the fact that it would make a relationship that was purely professional into a personal one.

A child would inextricably bind her and Toto together for life, whether or not they worked together for the foreseeable future, and whether or not their personal relationship stayed as good as it was now. The logistics of shared custody, especially given the insanity of Toto’s travel schedule, would be tricky to navigate. They would have to have some legal documentation regarding parental rights and responsibilities drawn up, which meant getting a lawyer involved in some capacity.

He stressed that he wasn’t looking to start a relationship, at least in the traditional sense, with her, but if he wanted to be the father to her child, they would be inextricably linked, in some way, from then on.

However…

Toto was incredibly kind, funny, intelligent, well-read, spoke five languages, and was financially secure — more than, even. He didn’t have vices that she knew of. He drank socially, but responsibly. He took incredibly good care of himself. Cassie had eaten enough meals with him to know that he ate incredibly well, but not to the point of never indulging, as she knew he had a fondness for some sort of pink Austrian biscuits called Manner Schnitten and secretly kept some stashed in his office.

She knew that he also got plenty of exercise — he was frequently spotted in the onsite gym at the factory, and even occasionally cycled to work when the weather was favorable. She knew the only times he’d been hospitalized were from injuries and not from illnesses; a broken elbow and wrist from a bicycle accident in 2013, and a knee surgery to repair a torn ligament two years ago.

Cassie thought back to their conversation in his office, how he spoke about his desire to have a family of his own but never having the time or ability to meet someone — wasn’t that all part of why Cassie wanted to start on this journey in the first place? To give her own life meaning outside of her job? To have her own little family to love and nurture, instead of continuing to wonder what could have been if her family loved her for who she was, instead of resenting her and casting her out for her refusal to conform to pointless, archaic social mores?

The other big benefit that was working in Toto’s favor was that, with him as a donor, she wouldn’t have to wait for banked sperm. The fertility clinic had warned her that because the UK wasn’t legally able to pay sperm donors beyond a paltry sum for travel costs to and from the clinic, they didn’t have as ready of a supply as other countries, like the United States, did.

And sure enough, none of the donors the clinic had on file were really what she was looking for. All along, she’d envisioned someone tall, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a strong jawline, but the clinic didn’t currently have a donor in its banks that matched that description.

Toto certainly did, though.

As the time passed noon, Cassie started to worry. She knew Toto was almost always punctual, joking once that it was because he’d lose his Austrian passport if he wasn’t. She started to run through a list of awful possibilities, which she usually did when she was stressed — maybe he got into an accident, maybe he got scared and is backing out, maybe he’d gotten lost, or fallen down an open manhole, maybe…

— Ah, I’m so sorry I’m late! I forgot this place was in the old section of the city, and that I’d need to find a carpark, and then I forgot where the car park was — he said, appearing at the table. He looked flushed and breathless, his hair was sticking up in some places as he nervously ran his hand through it.

— No, it’s okay. No trouble — Cassie said, looking up at him and smiling.

She watched as Toto took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He glanced around as he sat down across from her.

— Have you ordered yet?

— No — Cassie said — I was waiting for you.

— Oh. Well, did you want to order for both of us? I’ve never been here. You know what I like, and I trust you — he said, with a kind smile.

Cassie was taken aback. Not in an unpleasant way, but the last time she went somewhere with a man, he didn’t trust her judgment or knowledge and ordered for both of them, without even asking.

“Another point in your favor, Wolff”, Cassie thought, easing herself out of her seat and heading to the counter.

She ordered herself a flat white with whole milk, and ordered Toto and a cup of the cafe’s house espresso with lactose-free milk, just like he typically ordered at the factory’s coffee shop. She was feeling a bit peckish, so she decided to get herself a raisin croissant. She decided to order a classic croissant for Toto. If he didn’t want it, she’d gladly take it home to eat later.

She sat back down. She was starting to get nervous, even about making small talk — it felt pointless with the proverbial elephant in the room seemingly dangling directly overhead, but their drinks were brought by the barista in short order.

— Oh, this looks delicious. I was a bit hungry, too — he said, taking a delicate bite of the croissant, smiling at her, delighted — This is wonderful. Thank you.

“Well”, Cassie thought. “It’s now or never”.

— So — she said — I guess we should discuss what I invited you here to discuss.

Toto nodded.

— Yes.

— Well, first, I just wanted to make sure that you haven’t changed your mind about your offer in the last two days. I will admit, I am a bit afraid that you made it in the heat of the moment, that it was more an impulse based on your feelings about your own history, rather than you fully realizing the implications of what you are agreeing to.

Toto’s face was inscrutable, but serious.

— I had considered that, after we talked, but I don’t believe that is the case. I have wanted a child for a long time, regardless.

— And you do know that the IVF process can be incredibly taxing, both physically and emotionally, especially for me? You will have to undergo some exams and tests as well. I know you’ll need a physical and some blood tests, and they’ll probably want to check and make sure you’re… Uh, viable, but if this is something you agree to go through, I need you to see it through, and then some.

He nodded.

— From what I’ve learned, some of the procedures can be painful, and tiring. One of the procedures is technically a surgery. Once we start in earnest, there is a two week period where I will be getting injections and blood tests nearly every day, until the pregnancy is confirmed. I can’t have you tell me you’re on board for all of this and then backing out halfway through.

— I’ve done my own reading since we talked — Toto answered — It doesn’t sound easy, especially for you, but I’m ready to support you unconditionally, in every way I can.

— Okay. Then, you also realize that your commitment to this is something that needs to be everlasting, correct? Not just until our child is old enough to leave the nest, so to speak?

— Yes, of course. My relationship with my mother, as terrible as it was at times, didn’t end the second I left home. I am in my forties and still talk to my mother.

— And you know that we will need to see a solicitor, before we even continue with the clinical aspects of this venture, to have a legal agreement drawn up for you to even have parental rights, because we will not have any sort of legal relationship otherwise? And that you will be responsible for monetary support and partial custody, even if our personal relationship sours at some point? I’m not saying I’m expecting that, but even people who start out being madly in love with each other, at least enough to get married, get divorced.

— Of course.

— So, do you want this as much as I do?

— Cassie, look — Toto said. He reached over the table, taking both of Cassie’s hands in his. He looked directly into her eyes, his expression stern — You’ve worked with me long enough that you know I don’t do anything by half-measures. I don’t take unnecessary risks, even though my career started in investing and finance. You don’t hear about many risk-averse investment bankers, but I was, and I did very well for myself. I don’t move forward with anything unless I am absolutely sure about it. You know that I also despise bullshit, and dishonesty. That’s why I like motor racing so much in the first place, you know. The stopwatch never lies. You know I will never lie to you, so when I say that I will support you and our child in any way I can, I mean that. Emotionally, physically, and materially.

Cassie studied his face for a long moment. His eyes were dark and serious, his face still stern, his jaw set. She’d seen that look before at work a few times, during difficult meetings with potential sponsors.

— I mean absolutely every word, and I can prove it, too — he said, letting go of Cassie’s hands and sitting back up. He fished around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out his phone — I am guessing you have not found a lawyer to handle the legal side of things quite yet.

— No, I haven’t. I didn’t know I’d need one until Thursday afternoon.

— Well, let me make a quick call, then, excuse me.

He found the contact he was looking for and tapped the screen, bringing the phone to his ear.

— Hi, Tom, it’s Toto — he said, after a few seconds. He was looking directly at Cassie as he talked — Listen, sorry to bother you on the weekend. It’s not an emergency, but is there someone at your firm that you trust that specializes in family law? Oh, no? Ah, another firm in Oxford? Wonderful. Claire Rodgers? Yes, if you can, that would be great. Thanks again.

Toto hung up his call, and put his phone back into his pocket.

— So, that was my lawyer. His firm doesn’t deal with family law at all, but an acquaintance of his does, and he said that she’s very good. He will send me her information, and then I will call to set up a consultation with her, so we can meet her and start talking about the details.

— Oh! Well… Okay, then — Cassie said. It was incredibly reassuring to her that he was at least serious enough about his offer to take a tangible step forward in the process — In that case… My answer is yes. I would like you to be the donor.

Toto’s face turned to a mixture of shock and relief.

— Are… Are you serious? — he asked.

Cassie nodded.

— Yes, Toto. I am. I would like you to be the father of my child. Well, our child.

Toto let out a breathy laugh as a wide smile spread over his space. A genuine smile, with the top of his nose scrunching. He grasped at Cassie’s hands on the tabletop again, holding them as he laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles.

— I’m going to be a dad — he said, as if he was trying to convince himself.

Cassie smiled at him, watching as his eyes started shining a bit.

— Please don’t start crying, Toto, or I might start crying — she said.

— I’m sorry, Cassie, I’m… I’m just so happy.

They finished up their drinks as they talked a little more. They got up to leave together, and when they stepped outside the door, Toto asked if he could walk Cassie to her car.

— You don’t have to — he said — It’s just at Gloucester Green, it’s not even five minutes from here.

— Well, that’s where I parked anyway, so that’s perfect.

— Oh, well, in that case…

They set off walking toward the parking lot, walking together mostly in silence. It was a companionable silence, though, and not an uncomfortable one. Cassie felt a lightness and warmth in her chest, and she wondered if Toto felt the same thing.

— I’m down this way — she said, pointing in the direction of one of the interior aisles — Thanks so much for meeting me. Please let me know when the solicitor gets back to you.

— Again, it’s my pleasure. And, before you go… This might sound strange, but… Can I give you a hug?

It was a strange request, but a simple one, and Cassie found herself oddly charmed by it.

— Oh… Yes, that would be lovely.

He smiled as he wrapped his arms around her. He had to bend down a little bit, but it was an earnest, warm, hug. It had been a while since anybody had hugged Cassie like that, aside from her aunt, and she found herself not wanting it to end.

She felt strangely safe there.

A few seconds later, she pulled away from him, smiling.

— Well, see you soon— Cassie said quietly.

— See you soon… Cassandra.

Turning her back, she walked to the car with a strange feeling taking over her body. It was as if she were weightless, about to float across the sky like a helium balloon aimlessly. Cassie just couldn't believe what had just happened.

Sitting down in the car seat, she took a few seconds to breathe and, more importantly, to absorb the entire conversation she had just had with Toto. She had accepted his offer. She was going to be the mother of his child. They would have a child.

— I'm going to have a baby — Cassie whispered, before letting out a squeal of delight.

#toto wolff #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x oc #f1 x oc #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #collab #wlffog #etlwlff

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The White Dove Pt 31 - Cooking With Riot

The White Dove Masterlist

...

“Alright, Eldfalls, you’re going to have to give me a sort of warning to help me out, and please no over confidence in your status, if it needs replacing could you flame up or buzz or something?” Gradually bit by bit of the unintelligible engine was tapped and checked to be marked off in self proclaimed stunningly near mint condition as you managed to recall what Elliot had shared on the other models similar to this one. Much like human bodies regenerated its own atoms in a cycle of decades remake its own engine parts to keep the star core stable.

The damage to the rudder both inside at mounts and outside for days had your hive slowly printing out in the Asgardian metal was next. The new parts for a video, that blurred out the flame on the adapted welding torch, recorded the new trio of exposed fins you had showed off to duplicate the same pattern etched into it as the original. Sanding and scrubbing next came to smooth out the new connection points ended by a filmed clamber onto the deck to use the rudder control that had each of the repaired fins to move properly.

An alarm however had you off for a promised father son night out with Riot and Venom contained within their Others. With care you locked everything up saying goodnight to Eldfalls, pausing at turning off the light to answer your phone at Eddie’s call. “On my way back now.”

“Don’t forget, the dress code. Women wearing dresses and all that…”

“Why is there a dress code for a cooking class?”

“It’s a Cordon Bleu five star Michelin place with a top chef who wants to have a Julia Child sort of black and white shoot after.”

“Not very fair when you all just have to add suspenders and a tie,” you said making him chuckle.

“I know Sis, see you after.”

“I’m still wearing tights no matter what they say, I refuse to have anything splash on my legs.”

“Good, rhinestone ones? I can wear my rhinestone tie to match.”

“Yes, got my pinstripe dress ready upstairs just have to do something with my hair too. I refuse to have it down.”

It didn’t take long for you to freshen up and ease into the pencil skirt navy pinstripe dress, folds of the off the shoulder straps came to rest over the tops of your ribs to accentuate the bust without flashing cleavage or inhibit lifting your arms. Down the front two rows of black buttons matched the row down your left leg to help the constriction of the skirt. Tights that were sheer to above the knee darkened to black with rhinestones to really pop with your black tall heeled wedges with colorful blue ribbon to tie them. Both sides of your hair were braided back into a zig zagging bun that would not be hindered by your helmet. And due to the tightness of your skirt hindering instant access to your weapon holsters a few more bees than normal were secured in your hair to match the two daggers and grappler chord reachable in between your shoulder blades.

“Now that is snazzy,” Eddie said making you giggle and accept his offered navy and white checkered jacket to pull on for the ride that matched his checkered slacks. His pale blue shirt rested under black suspenders matching the shade of his rhinestone accented tie and polished dress shoes.

“We didn’t have to match, I know you got pressured into buying that suit by your Mate.”

And he held up a finger, “Hup, hup, hup, we are matching, even Riot’s Other is matching us, it is family night and we are going all out since you have to wear a dress. He bought Oxfords and is going full under vest as well.”

“You two are wild, all to keep people from cyanide poisoning,” you said in a shake of your head making him chuckle and guide you to his bike. Two buttons on your skirt were undone to flash enough leg to sit without tearing your skirt as he adjusted his pant legs to do the same while you secured the buckle on your helmet.

Just as he said over a half hour later out of a sports car Riot’s Other smirked in adjusting his vest and crossed the space from where he parked to where you both were waiting. “Now we’re definitely underdressed, forgot my,” he said and chuckled at Riot stealthily easing over his arm to pull the rhinestoned bow tie out of his inner jacket pocket, “Nope, I didn’t. You said rhinestones and pinstripes, all out.” With a giggle you watched him fasten the bowtie in place to the flow of more bodies due for the course dressed more for yachting or the Kentucky Derby.

All of the women at least seemed to be in their silver years and like the famous picture of Sophia Loren and Jayne Mansfield where the latter was getting side eyes from the former. While you weren’t flashing anything, the fact you had on a pencil skirt opposing their longer flowing or layered skirts and higher heels had them cast some serious shade your way. At least until one of the older gentlemen tried to nudge the elbow of Eddie in wait at the front door of the lavish hotel the eatery was located inside of the ground floor luring his eyes to the man who stated, “Clearly you found a nice night out for your arm candy. Hear they’ve got ample wine for tasting to really spoil her from wandering to your friend there.”

Quite casually to the statement Eddie replied proudly, “My baby sister here is nobody’s arm candy and far too young for wine, so no tasting for us tonight.”

The title for you had his wife look you over again, almost in a new light and ask herself, “Did your parents dress you alike as children?”

“Just us for a decade now and there was a dress code so we all decided to go all out so it’d be fair with the enforced skirt,” he answered.

“You seem so at home in a dress,” another wife stated and chuckled out in addition, “You can’t tell me you’re a tomboy.” The elevator doors opened and you remained silent in being led inside with them to be rested in Eddie’s arms against his chest to grant more space to the others.

“I can’t eat anything on this menu,” you muttered to Riot’s Other, who was at the shared counter, while Riot had his hand lifting every knife available from the offered wooden block for his use in sheer amusement. The guiding chefs chattered away on the details of the ingredients’ rare origins tripling the price of them to the point of exclusivity for their usual clientele.

Eddie stepped closer to allow Venom to say through him, “We’ll do the tasting,” after having heard the instructor that each of you would be forced to taste what you make before sending it to assigned people in the dining room who would grade you on them.

Cleaning shrimp was an unpleasant task to begin the makings of a surf and turf meal for the first course. Just a portion of Wagyu steak would be drizzled with a garlic based sauce, and the still bleeding things you were asked to serve medium rare had you grimace in a turn back to the station to finish off the sauce. “Now slap the knife,” you were instructed to crush the garlic clove making you shake your head.

To yourself you muttered, “Not happening.” And simply pressed on the blade rested atop the clove you then grated a section of it into the sauce simmering on top of the burner, that in a spoon you raised to mime a taste for the look of the chef. Then dropped it low to your side so Venom out of Eddie’s side could taste as you offered one of the shrimp from your skillet to Riot, the both of them who sent their comments through their Others that refused to taste theirs either to not trigger a reaction in you later on. Even though you only got reactions from ingesting your allergens when it came to food all the same they didn’t want to risk it, same with the foods like shellfish or filter feeders that simply upset your stomach and didn’t make your throat swell shut.

However they did get some amusement at your being able to sample the naked freshly cooked pasta for the next course and few morsels of rice in the one that followed. For dessert afterwards a bit of a scene had to be made.

By means of touching a still hot cast iron skillet by Riot’s Other, to have the chef glaring at each person intently as they tasted their nut based course follow the man feigning a burn his Other was already trying to bubble out to heal inside the curled fist of the man taking a few steps away. “Just a tap, I’ll just rub some butter on it, right as rain,” he said and the chef snapped his eyes to you as the dish was carried to your waiting judge to hear through you the praising comment Venom had whispered to you seconds after he slithered out behind the counter to sample the ridiculously priced treat.

“Come,” he said with an ordering clap of his hands. “Now we taste the wine, you will drink first.”

“I’m 16,” you said and in a sweep of his eyes over you he made the slightest of scoffs.

“Come, time to learn.”

Nine bottles of rather expensive wine by a waiter were poured and offered to you to smell try and break down the elements of the wines only irritating him more at your being able to detect various things. Just like when you got to the fifth and narrowed your eyes saying, “Smells like someone added raspberry syrup and vermouth to this rose,” instantly causing his neck to grow in patches red up to his ears at your learning some secret additive of the house wine.

“I don’t taste that,” one of the other guests said in a growing conclusion you were deemed wrong for the favor of the chef who now only had one person who knew the house wine secret.

All the same to the end of the miserably held lesson you stuck it out and then went back to the vehicles to go and find someplace with something actually edible to eat and kinder wait staff. Just to help cover the group discussion between yourself, the men and their Symbiotes, to help Riot and his Other grow more settled in their newfound fondness for the possibilities of culinary lessons to become a chef. A career world where one who stabbed their unruly employees if angered wouldn’t be too unbelievable to have happen in case he lost his cool and slipped to harm someone in their new hopeful dream job.

*.*.*

Dinner over the presentation of a hopeful space station project for Reed Richards amongst a great deal of Airforce personnel and scientists alike found Rhodey halfway listening to both Reed and his chosen pilot for the mission, Benjamin Grimm, who was sharing about his run in with the famed creator of the Blackhowls Rhodey had piloted.

Stark on his right however drew random glances as the stubborn billionaire continued to look over newer prints on the Goliath system overhaul after the first set became too obscured by his own notes to read the code anymore while full on ignoring the reason he had been invited here. “Still can’t believe you get to fly those. Now I’m gonna be in space for four months and training for the next year before that, no time at all to slip in a test run or ride along.”

Rhodey smirked at the fellow pilot and said, “Are you going to be in California day after tomorrow still?”

“I’ll rent a new room or sleep in a lot on the base if I have to,” Grimm replied making Rhodey chuckle.

“Have to make a run to Antarctica for a supply drop off to a research team there. Not much fun,”

“Oh it sounds like a party bus to me. I don’t care where you have to shove me.”

And Rhodey nodded, “I’ll add your name to the passenger list, one of the Privates always complains in the cold so you’ll have to help unload.”

“All for earning my way.”

And across the table a representative from Harvard supporting a fellow alumni in attendance squirmed again in his seat, as he had the whole time they had been talking over the aircraft and how Grimm had met the inventor of it. Just bursting to ask, “Okay, sorry,” he said luring eyes to him, “Have to ask, why Columbia?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Grimm and Rhodey asked together in Stark’s stolen glance up over the enhanced glasses he hoped to help pick apart the code to not break out his phone and be called entirely rude.

“Why’d she pick Columbia? She was top of our short list and she picked Columbia of all places over Harvard!” Rhodey’s eyes narrowed during the man’s panting exhale to keep himself from growing too excited in his taken slight to his alma matter.

“She lives in New York.” Rhodey answered.

But Grimm said, “Not to mention one of the scholarships she got was limited to New York schools.”

Rhodey and the man asked, “What?” causing Tony to look up again, but this time at his friend in the hint of tension in his tone at the fact that was news to him.

Grimm clarified, “Someone in the scholarship departments she applied to after the press released the news on the Blackhawks got a price tag on them and they turned her down. Largest one of the few she got out of the stack she applied to had the rule to keep it to New York schools. Said she took it bit hard being turned down for so many, but a teacher knew a guy in Columbia and they helped book a private tour and it’s close to home and work so she went there.”

“Why’d she need a scholarship at all? Those aircraft are a couple mil a pair.” The man asked.

Rhodey answered as his mind reeled, “Military only paid her base Engineer salary up front and put the rest in trust funds, in fact they wanted it all in trust until I went after them once she told me she was the only one working on them that wasn’t being paid.”

Tony said plainly, “Bit sexist,” and Rhodey looked at him, “I was sixteen when I sold my first idea to the military and they paid me in full.”

“What I told them,” Rhodey replied, “But you had a team looking after you is what they said.”

“That’s a terrible copout. What they’re afraid she’d buy too many beanie babies or something fun with that money?” Tony replied and looked back at his papers to Rhodey’s shift on his seat.

“So you’re telling me the military press leak on those aircraft ruined Pluto’s chances at going to any college in the world?” And Grimm nodded, “She could have gone anywhere!” Rhodey scoffed to himself.

And the man from Harvard said, “She could have gone to Harvard.”

Making Tony butt in blindly, “She could have been a TA at MIT with work like that and the OWLS by now.” Turning the page and bringing out the stylus in his pocket to write electronically to be only seen by his glasses notes to look back on later in his lab on the array of screens and room sizable projector Jarvis could help him bounce ideas around to get to the root of this unreadable language.

And the man spoke again, “And she graduates this year?”

“Next year, has to repeat after that midterm vote raised school core requirements.” Grimm clarified, only making Rhodey flop his hands onto his lap.

“I’ll let the guys in enrollment know to get a fund package ready. None of the other schools said anything either about a trust issue.”

“Why didn’t she say something?” Rhodey asked Grimm.

“Didn’t want to cause trouble,” he replied.

“That’s not causing trouble, I could have made some calls to the scholarship boards, explained it. And now she’s got to repeat a year…” making him all but cross his arms mid huff.

“She is a magnet for chaos,” Grimm added with a smirk repeating what you had told him. “Same happened to me,” the Harvard man already was on his phone emailing the others to let them in on the news to get ahead of other schools. And even with needing a fund to aid in studies on their campus they would be more than willing to offer full for what the world could only imagine the teenager capable of even in just the near future.

“I’m talking to her about this, I told her we’d have her back after that leak.”

Rhodey said only making Tony say, “And that’s why she didn’t tell you. She got into Columbia without any degree. Wrote this whole damn code without one too. Degrees are just a bumper sticker to that talent.” He said with a grumble in his tone. “Not even code this bit, all weird bubble symbols, like shorthand?” bringing the page a bit closer to his face to turn the page to the side.

“Have you tried Swedish?”

“I’ve tried every language known to man, this bit is half a line of the original code then it’s twelve symbols and it breaks into what look to be light sequence checks? There is no logic in this.”

“There overlap?” Grimm asked making Tony look up at him flatly, “Like a 4d map?”

“Map of what? The console light bulbs the next line orders to blink in a pattern?” making Rhodey chuckle at the latest failed try to uncover what the logic of it could be.

*.*.*

Lively the burger and steak centered eatery had colorful lights, music and decorations everywhere you looked. While fun everyone who came here always seemed to dress up and at the back balcony booth you could see why, one of Kingpin’s main men owned and ran the place settled upon his makeshift throne to look over people sending money straight for his pockets. Still the match of your clothes had more than a few people look your way upon entering, namely the owner and a disguised duo of Agents here to watch a chosen target.

The uncomfortable shift of the bun in your hair that had caught on the neck strap of the apron from cooking found you a new sort of subtle spectacle in just undoing a few braids. Atop Eddie’s shoulder however and reflected off a mirrored wall by the door your bees were recording all angles possible after your notice of the Agents in the back of the place.

A simple fluff of your hair that cascaded down your chest, face and back was all it took and in a glance back at the man along the wall in charge of allowing who was taken as strangers inside the establishment a nod was given to an easy attractive face to lure more men inside.

Two fingers were used to wave you back by the Hostess who turned as you lifted a hand to cover the rest of the bees moving from your palm back to your hair they would keep that side back out of your face.

“Cocktails?” The Hostess said in an offer of their specialty drink list for this week, her eyes directly on you knowing by the kind of nod given you were the reasoning to be welcomed in.

“She’s sixteen,” Riot’s Other said, “I’ll take one of the Flaming Bangers though.”

“We have mocktails for each of them,” subtly implying to you that you had to choose one that had you look at the list.

The third on the list had you giggle and say, “Catatonic Grasshopper, please, and can I have a raspberry tea to follow?” A secondary drink that also could be fancied up to resemble a mocktail as well.

A grin eased across her lips and she nodded, “Absolutely.” And looked to Eddie who said, “Uh, one of the Eroded Blue Lagoon mocktails so she won’t have to carry me home,” making her chuckle to his grin your way.

Pictures and shared comments of your mint green blended drink inside a martini glass and the tall blue fizzy drink with fruit liquors, juices and Sprite he let you taste joined a picture of what a Flaming Banger was to add to your social page. Alongside images from the cooking outing and a piece of the clip of you letting down your hair with a comment on a relax of your scalp now your braids were out after getting snagged earlier.

Out of possible meal choices chicken for you was chosen with noodles, veggies were to come after the opening course of mini stromboli’s and bruschetta you all wanted to sample out of the opening course options you could eat without risk of reaction. Dessert was last to add and then you were free to talk without groups to overhear or interrupt at least for a time. Riot’s Other asked, “There’s a question I’ve been wondering since you shared on your necklace, your ancestor had all those kids, it can’t just be you.”

“Um,” you said lowering your mocktail from another sip, licking away a bead of the liquid left on your lower lip to answer him, “I have an aunt, maternal, but she’s a competitive Ice Dancer on tour, doesn’t want kids. That turned me a bit off writing to her dad, he’s got some standing in Denmark. And an uncle, paternal, who is in a monastery, he um, well he sort of lost it when dad went missing, went to go find himself and didn’t take my first letter very well.”

“First letter?” he asked and looked to Eddie who held up five fingers and mimed a swipe of those fingers across his neck making Riot’s Other look at you again.

“He thought I was lying, but I sent him my social page and he was able to see I have his hair and eyes. He’s still seeking one-ness, but he wishes me the same.”

“He’s five apples short of a Fig Newton,” Eddie said lifting his own drink making you giggle.

“I think he’s on opiates, Dad’s notes say he’s had issues before, like his other brother out in Nevada who is detoxing himself with sunshine and blended cacti.”

“You can’t eat cacti,” he said and you nodded.

“Hence the lack of contact, he loses breaks of time so he’s mentally unfit to have me either way.”

“Oh I’m not asking on a matter of custody, you aren’t leaving New York or Eddie. None of us will let that happen. But, no more relatives than that?”

“I have some older cousins from the cacti uncle in Norway, they comment on my videos a lot. Their mother sort of hates me though by association to him. They work with welding in art and mechanically to make their livings so they send tips.”

“And the ice dancer? No letters?”

“She sent me a poster, but last time we talked she said I look too much like Mom. Mentioned cousins of hers that she lost touch with as kids,” five hints that the Agents were in debate on coming over to interfere with your meal and you let the comments from the guys cover a slip away to the bathroom. Those buttons on your skirt came in handy to not have to take off the dress entirely to relieve your bladder, yet halfway through washing your hands the door opened and Grant Ward slipped into the bathroom locking the door behind him.

“Alright little girl, you’re gonna tell me everything.” To the side you moved to collect one of the hand towels offered to dry your hands looking up at him once it was in hand in his move closer. “Who do you know and why no one comes after you or sends you on any missions, even reports I’ve personally filed have vanished physically and digitally. Tell me, now!”

He came to tower over you and you answered back calmly, “Must be so exhausting being a double agent who is so terrible at both sides of the aisle.” Wide open his jaw dropped and you blindly let go of the hand towel through the opening marked for their return and heard his breath hitch in the ignition of your hair and eyes luring glowing spots into his eyes as you tapped his mind. “You want to change that unimpressive record of yours, when you complete today’s tasks you are going to book a flight to Russia and show them exactly how Bucky Barnes is being held.”

The order was given and silently he turned like a good soldier and didn’t speak a word. Completing his report for the evening details discovered from sleuthing and then went home to pack and book a flight. First thing he was off leaving simply a message behind for his team he caught a lead on how to find Barnes, only to be seen on surveillance footage to have been snatched up off the street. But for the furious star spangled Avenger and Fury alike every detail of his life was being torn apart to find some clue on how he found that location.

Cooper eyed the recorded message his niece was watching once again of her ex said, “Now you have your treasure map,” only turning her head to look at him. “Pluto said you don’t teach your soldiers to think like dead men,” and he pointed at the screen, “You have your tracking beacon.”

“You think they took him where Barnes is? To that Ice place her videos talked about?”

“I know she told you to go to Russia.”

Fury butt in, “Ward went to Russia and got snatched off the street.” Beginning to pace.

“Have you read any of Black Widow’s file reports?” Cooper asked back making Fury turn to look at him.

“Your point being?” Fury asked flatly.

“Common denominator between the files.”

That had Fury turn his head to the looped footage of Ward being snatched up, “Get captured and interrogated.” And he looked at Cooper again, “It’s not a where, it’s where the people who know where Barnes is.”

Steve Rogers cross armed against the wall said, “That makes no sense. She doesn’t dislike me enough to go tell me to get myself snatched off the street.”

Nat cut in, “No she told you to send me to get captured.”

“That-,” Steve tried to talk but was cut off.

Fury said pointing at the screen, “There’s a way to track him. Under his skin, his clothes, drilled into his damn jaw bone, I don’t care, the kid knew we didn’t have a weapon to break in but a way to track him.” He shook his head, “Not about finding any location but a person,” and he looked to Stark who sat up more wondering how he could help, “She told us how to find you, got to be something there.”

He nodded and said, “I’ll get with Rhodey on it,” climbing to his feet to leave the room to find his friend with others in another end of the floor to give them their task.

“I want details, his socials, phone log, messages, bills, even the receipts he uses as bookmarks. There’s a tracker on him we have to find a hint of it.” Fury said and bodies left seats to go and follow his orders, yet still Cooper remained in place behind Fury who asked him lowly, “He’s gonna be dead when we find him isn’t he?”

“He was a terrible double agent anyways,” Cooper said turning Fury around wide eyed to see the former Winter Soldier.

“Who is gonna be on the other end of this rabbit hole?”

“Most likely, more bodies and some useful clues. Just keep Rogers from going beserk he might ruin the wrong wall or piece of furniture before you can look it all over.” He turned and said, “For now, Pluto has a night shift and I’m on watch.” He paused in the doorway to say, “She gives me hope, helps me sleep at night knowing she’s out and about.” His hand patted the doorframe in leaving the confused Agent in place until he turned back to the footage to start taking notes to uncover some sort of clue once added by more and more details.

“We got bodies,” Clint said and with a tongue depressor and mini flashlight from a pocket he got to checking tongues on the single female found outside a ring of cryo tubes, one of which held Ward clearly shot in the head. “Not much else,” seeing the place had been emptied and splattered with blood smudges. Rage was palpable in the air even days after the fight that brought about the end of the Winter Solder trainees here, and what sadness was felt in the sight of more teen girls the brands under their tongues binding them to the bloody freed soldiers found with neck kill switches activated.

Tony inside the space said in a gesture of his hand around the room, “Jarvis says they all had hidden kill darts in their bodies, and there’s traces of gas in the air.”

Nat spoke up in her pass through the space to an emptied out file room with a fist warped and bloody door, “Hydra instigates a frenzy and when they want it to end they flip the switch. We need infrared scans, black light, everything you got on you Stark. If a clue is here it’s buried in plain sight.”

Pictures of faces were next to be taken by Clint, who when he crossed Tony’s path said, “I imagine those eyes of yours could be more helpful looking for clues, we’ll take care of the kids in a bit. They’ll understand if we look around first.”

“They’ve been abducted from their homes, the street and hospitals Tony. If they’re here it’s because no one was able to find them, clues can wait three minutes.” Pictures all were uploaded into the database for Fury to run through facial recognition systems only to fill in the rest of your missing dance class students and then some.

The ping from the device as Clint had helped to look and more agents came to load up the jet with the bodies they would take back for proper autopsies and burial had him stop and bring out his phone he turned sideways and sighed at the image the girls were from. “Oh you got to be kidding me,” promptly Rhodey’s side was found and he lowly shared with him the heart dropping news, “Look who they knew.”

“So the girls got snatched up by the same ring, she got out as they got raided by Hydra. That is fucked up.”

Rogers across the room moving a cabinet aside asked loudly, “Any faces get recognized?”

“Ya Steve, they were Pluto’s friends that got snatched from Russia when she left.” Instantly that had eyes not on him dart to his deeply exhaling self in need of a corner to go walk to, “Need a minute,” he said doing just that.

Once there however his eyes and head drifted up to see flashes of yellow light and he could only have his suit shine a light on the ceiling to find a tiny hole apparently inside a pattern of dashes and dots beginning in the corner to branch outwards. “What the hell is that?” Morse code was obvious, but what took hovering up there and breaking the hole larger a small transmitter no bigger than a lemon they would add to their nonexistent sack of clues to inhibit waves out or in to keep from being tracked themselves until they could dismantle it to learn its secrets.

“Alright?” Eddie asked with a smirk as you climbed back into your seat elegantly and as effortlessly as possible, “Managed to get out and back in I see without tearing a seam.”

“You know, while a nice silhouette these are rather impractical, have to nearly take the whole damn thing off in the bathroom if you have no buttons.”

“Not an all day dress,” Riot’s Other said. “Wore one all day at a Rights March and they are wildly uncomfortable to wiggle out of but you do get a fair bit of looks.” Making you giggle to yourself. “More a two hour stunner then have a buddy wiggle you out of it type of cut.”

“I didn’t think this place had such an exclusive feel to it.” You said making him smirk and nod.

“I like it, even if they try to keep me out half the time, me and the big bird up there go way back just likes to pretend he’s playing favorites but he usually slips me in the back room when he needs the place packed with ladies. See, you can only have so many guys in a place before it changes the whole feel of the place. Too rowdy or noisy and ladies tend to make it a mellower vibe and the female staff get treated better and tips go up as the guys want to make good impressions as big shots. All works out, and the drinks help to keep it from being just another burger and steak joint. Halfway between fancy and jersey central on sports days.”

“Sounds very particular,” you giggled in another sip of your mock tail.

And he lifted a finger a moment, “Never shut up about the place back in school. Whole year could quote back and recognize the place just passing by most likely. He dreamed big and he caught it.” His smirk widened, “All thanks to the first purge, dropped on the market for cheap.” Luring a smirk across your lips that eased in the arrival of your first course.

When she left amply thanked you answered. “I suppose everything comes with its positives.”

“Ooh, we have a few more names for the next one, some of the hive moved onto greener pastures to get some heat off thanks to our big red guy.”

“And we can’t do anything?” You asked, “Won’t that bring the King Knull guy here?”

Eddie answered that, “No, latest we heard Knull is facing off against some world absorber to keep Klyntar neutral. Something about Death and that Thane guy messing with things now has his dad moving around and I can’t ever hear more out of that as they all just start screeching back on Klyntar and I can’t make it out.”

“Out of curiosity, what happens if Knull dies?”

“Someone has to claim the black throne,” Riot answered through his Other.

And Eddie added in, “Huge war, all would have to plan a planet to head to so they can fight it out, that is if the others don’t accept the absorber as their new King. But that’s where the screeching comes in,” he cut off Riot in his urgent hiss, “They wouldn’t, and the few who would are being drowned out and reminded eating the planet with the King on it doesn’t count as killing the King.”

“Plus I suppose being part of the hive would be preferable,” you said making them both nod and join you in selecting a snack from the steaming platters of food.

Food now had the main focus of the conversation while inside your hair your bees minded the growing chatter outside and in the front came in the open and close of the door allowing the noise and source of it all inside.

Identical to a fault young Johnny Storm, who was almost a mirror image of Steve Rogers entered the place. A bit more slender but no less toned, with shorter hair and longer hints of sideburns to go with the stubble around the lower half of his face to prove he wasn’t the man with the shield. And just like Rogers his blue eyes and smirk shifted your way, though in the same waitress also manning his table his try to send a new alcoholic cocktail your way had him smile boldly at her mention of your being a minor.

Even over the music and noise of his group of friends he brought with him you could hear him ask, “Purple eyes?” She barely had to answer and he gave his order he chose without much of a care to what it could be in a flash of a glance at the menu and stood to walk around her back, leaving her to take the rest of the table’s orders as he crossed the floor to your booth.

“I can’t go five days without hearing your name and finally I run into you.” He said making your puffy cheeked self mid chew hold a hand in front of your mouth widening his smile upon the fall of your eyes in him. “And if you weren’t still a kid I’d invite you to one of my parties just to show off to the rest of the team. Grimm’s an inch from begging to be on a Blackhowl team before we launch.”

Under the table your foot tapped Eddie’s as you were still chewing and he said for you, “Ya, we heard you’re doing that trip to the station Reed and that Doom guy came up with.”

His head tilted to the side and Storm replied, “Rather be riding my bike cross country testing out all the nightlife scenes I can for half a year but I suppose going up to space could only improve my brag game when I get back down,” and he said to you with a wink, “And you’ll be closer to 18.”

You pointed at him, finally able to answer him after swallowing the still scalding food your throat was now healing the sensitivity from. “Women of my line were won with deeds and honorable hearts not winks from the town whore.” That had him laugh aloud at your answer and nod in respect for that stance, “Besides I’m certain you could find more fun pieces of arm candy for such frivolous outings. I intend to be rather boring.”

“As you should be, someone’s got to keep putting Reed and Doom in their places. How the hell did you shut them up with that code you gave them?”

“Simply said in their argument of who had the broadest horizons of intellect should know what the code is.”

And his smile crept wider asking, “What is the code?”

“Firefly genetic code,” you said making him laugh again and point at you.

“Oh that is brilliant! Going in the vault,” he said miming a key locking across his lips. “Reed has been pouting about it pouring over every physics book he can find assuming it’s got to be with aviation. He is never gonna look there.”

A call from his table had him glance back and nod and then ease onto the booth beside you and hold his arm out starting a small video, “Look who I ran into! Reedykins, Doomybear, I know what the code is, and you’ll never guess it!” His brows popped up and you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself as he mentioned his shimmering silvery blue suit and angled his arm to show the guys with you saying, “Dress code’s blue tonight boys, flash some class and come down to Krinkle Plummet. You’ll never guess who’s been hiding away in the back if you don’t drop in.” He angled back to show just him and you and said, “And now I know who rode in on that stunning tankless bike outside, just maybe I might have the third of this firecracker’s exclusive custom motorcycle line. Drop in on you later guys.” He said signing off the video he added to his social pages and added a slew of tags even finding your page and Eddie’s to tag, adding one for his earlier video circle of his bike in the garage for this place he parked his own bike next to. When his eyes were on you again he said. “I really do want a bike of yours, how well do they run on fuel?”

“Solar and have a kick start momentum setting for cloudy days near empty,” Eddie said dropping his jaw, “Can run days and its great on mileage and off roading too, had it all through our summer trips through the Americas and Africa when our van wouldn’t fit on the roads.”

“How much?”

“Um,” you said and he lifted a finger.

“Okay, what body can you build one on? Saw you fixed a killer one with ape hangars for Johnny Blaze. How much he pay?”

“Any you would like I could alter it, after it’s cleaned out. He gave me 25k to go for my school books and garage costs for a boat I’m fixing.”

“Saw the boat,” he said pointing at you, “Like I said I’ve got training, so I’ll send you some pictures of the model and find the body, one in decent shape, and when I get back l’ll give you 35. I’m a bit picky on paint jobs so I’ll send some ideas for that too.”

“Okay,” you said and he shook your hand in a rise up to head to his table leaving you to begin feeling buzzes from your clutch resting against your thigh. To Eddie you looked making him chuckle at the pop of your brows up to fall back down again. “I can’t decide who I find more cocky, him or Rogers.” You said making the guys chuckle.

“I like how he asked to film us,” Riot’s Other chimed in for his Symbiote making you all chuckle again, “Such a gentleman flashing cash and smiles all around.” Eddie simply stole a quick pat on your lap knowing you were debating to have your bees keep up with the social page issue right now or to just let it pass by and keep calm for your shift you’d have to change for after this.

“We have more in the back,” you said approaching the same young woman who had been lingering in the book shop for weeks now on your shifts closer and closer to closing until approached for help by anyone else who would go to talk to her. She wasn’t confused and mainly you ignored her stares as a patient gesture you weren’t going to approach her first. But today having heard of the talk of calling someone in security for the strip mall about her you broke your rule.

A few years older than you the young woman shifted on her feet adjusting the grip she had on the dangling tassles from the cross chest purse strap still in a loss for words. You knew exactly who she was, in fact you knew her mother, aunts, and both twin grandmother and great aunt who had taken turns to flow into your path from Brooklyn. Jamie Barnes, named after the lost Barnes in place of a son unable to be conceived to hold the promise of continuing the name each generation since he was marked as presumed dead by the military.

From the first moment they had been told by Steve of the social page containing proof James was alive electronically and physically when possible one of them was there as if to not miss a single hidden clue if any sort as to where he could be found. And just maybe to bring his only known student into the fold if they just had the nerve to speak to you.

Out of your back pocket, having fetched it from your bag, a Manila envelope the size of 4x6 photographs was brought out to hand over. “Here. I would have posted them, but wasn’t sure if I should, nipple ban online and all,” you joked, and turned to get back to your cart of books to put back in place after people changed their mind in lines or after reading them in the offered sitting section. “And you’re gonna have to buy something,” you said making her stop with hold of the photographs still inside the envelope she’d opened hastily, “They’re talking about posting your picture up for security.”

She nodded and then brought out the pictures, blindly collecting a book on what would be found to be emus to lay under the envelope and captured images of her shirtless one armed great uncle at your side in a shallow wading pool helping to strap gauges on your wetsuit coated legs and arm for the upcoming diving lesson.

Over her mouth her hand moved to cover her trembling lips at the rough meeting point of flesh and metal around his shoulder joint.

In the next image of him with a rod of some sort lodged in his other arm and hold of your ankle by his metal arm, miming you were a caught swordfish, like the one strung up behind you with the other half of the clear harpoon he was shot with. Bringing up more questions on the injury an also bleeding and bandaged Cooper was seen to be binding off above it to contain the trickle of blood spilling out. A confusing but also partly adorable picture of your tiny self they were sure to be keeping calm by adding humor to the event. All to hide the reason of being atop a ship you had overtaken and snuffed out the whole unseen upper crust fishing trip by country officials within neutral waters then to be faked as a boating malfunction the coast guard would find wreckage of months later after extensive searches by their families.

Five images from outside in waterfront locations, to one where he was seen pulling the chord on a chainsaw as you held a broken shovel against your shoulder and a bag in your other hand. Without hint of what you were up to in that tree filled clearing where you ambushed a group of officials on a hunting trip and were now readying a landslide worthy explosion to conceal their real cause of death.

Followed by one where you were clearly seen with screwdriver in hand installing his new metal arm’s neural pathways as he looked on rather calmly atop a kitchen chair sipping on an iced drink. Only adding more questions but also proof he was alive and more than bonded to this strange teenager they never knew about for a good span of your childhood and for Steve more reason to find his now known to be one armed best friend before any more injuries could be gained in time apart.

She didn’t say goodbye, merely bought the book and tipped it like a cheers one would with a drink on her way out having noticed you looked her way and she was off to wake and spread the news amongst her family who would then call Cap to fill him in.

*.*.*

“So, how’s school?” May Parker asked her nephew with a spreading grin.

“Alright,” he answered pretending to be distracted by picking at his food.

“You should come do laundry with me this week,” she said making him look up knowing who she meant for him to run into.

“May,”

“Oh come on, you could ask Pluto over for a study date.”

“Uncle Ben make her stop!” He pled to the man who chuckled adding another plate of food to the table off the skillet he’d just left to cool.

“Now you know I can’t do that.” Sitting down across from the teen stealing a kiss in her cheek as he did. “My May loves to stir the pot.”

“I can’t ask Pluto on a date!” Peter fired back.

“Group then, sheesh you know what I meant. Have Ned too and some more of the kids from your team.”

“Not my team,” he muttered and shoved a forkful of food between his lips to chew in a pouting sort of way that had the couple glance at one another.

“You’re friends come on, she could help you out with school and making a solid footing for yourself. I mean you said you joined the robotics club too and you were on the fence about that.”

“You have lunch together,” Ben chimed in off what he’d been told making Peter hastily chew then swallow.

“She eats with the marching band, they’re pretty nice.”

“See! Made friends already,” she said smiling wider only making him huff.

“Don’t be nervous, she seems to like you.”

“We’re not gonna date!” Peter fired back.

“I never said anything about dating,” Ben replied and held back his smirk as May did the same. “You could be great friends, just study group, think about it.”

“Fine, study group, but I’m not going to laundry, that would be creepy, meeting her at school and asking her while we wash things.”

“Just hide the fun boxers,” Ben joked making him stare pointedly at his now chuckling uncle due to the look he got. “Fine, ask at school, neutral ground sans undies.”

Pt 32

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