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shakespeareanwannabe · 4 years

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New Beginnings

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!OC/Santiago Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: A year after leaving Colombia, Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia returns home, ready for something...more.

Warnings: References to death and PTSD, swearing

A/N: Hi everyone! I was blown away by the response to ‘Protective Instincts’, so I wrote a sequel that’s based off of part of one of clarke’s headcanons. This was so fun to write, and I’m really wanting to write more about Bex and Pope, and Pope and Frankie, and the baby, so I’m hoping you all enjoy this as much as you enjoyed the first one! If you want to be added to the tags, please let me know. I just used the tags list from ‘Protective Instincts’ for this one.

**********

In…Out…In…Out…

It was stupid.

This was stupid.

Why was he nervous?

He was being creepy. He needed to stop that. It was creepy enough when he stalked Tom down to the last condo he was showing and waited outside by his truck, scrambling to come up with a witty, cocksure line to make his old commanding officer laugh.

This…this was different. There were no ulterior motives this time around, no lies, no cash-grabs. Just an honest man who knew how badly he had fucked up, preparing to go hat in hand to the only person he thought would still give him another chance.

Would he still give him another chance?

In…Out…In…Out…

Of course he would, this was Frankie they were talking about. The man who, after he got their commanding officer killed, still cupped the back of his head and pulled him into a hug that was both amical and familial. The man who had always, always, had his back. Ride or die since day one. He wouldn’t hold Colombia against him…

Would he?

In…Out…In…Out…

They had parted ways fairly amicably, their farewell consisting of that hug that had almost brought him to his tired knees and back slaps and “take care of yourselves”.

Then again, Frankie had never wanted to go on the mission in the first place. He’d gone because Pope had used every tool in his repertoire to get his best friend to join him. And, when it had gone sideways, Pope had been able to see the exact second when that switch in Frankie’s brain switched from “civilian doing recon” to “soldier on the battlefield”. After so long away, after years of therapy and good old-fashioned love, Frankie had become a newer, better version of himself, and Pope had torn it all away with the promise of money that would benefit Frankie’s family.

But they had parted ways on good terms, right? That meant everything would be okay.

In…Out…In—

There he was.

Pope sat forward in the front seat of his new truck, eyes eagerly following his best friend’s movements.

Frankie was pacing the length of the porch, a baby perched in his arms. Even from where he was parked, Pope could hear the crying.

It probably wasn’t the best time. If Frankie’s kid was crying, then Frankie’s senses were probably all strung out. Plus, it was 6:30, so it was probably close to dinnertime. Frankie needed a schedule to help keep the wolves at bay, and he always ate around 6:30.

He should probably go. Dinner and a crying baby would have his friend all over the place. Not exactly good timing for the apology and ask of the century.

He should go…

He needed to go…

He couldn’t do this…

He needed this but he couldn’t drag Frankie back into his bullshit…

When Yovanna had told him, tears in her voice, that she couldn’t take it anymore, that he needed to go home, his mind hadn’t gone to a place. He wasn’t going to go back to his mother’s country of birth, or his father’s. He wasn’t going to go to Texas or Maine or New York. He was going to go to South Carolina. He was going to go to Frankie. The ballast of his ship, the eye of his hurricane, the—

“Santi?”

Pope hadn’t even realized he had been walking until his boot clipped the bottom step of Frankie’s porch, alerting the pilot to his presence.

“Hey ‘Fish,” he replied, a little too brightly.

“Jesus, man…” Frankie adjusted the whimpering, no longer crying, child in his arms and pulled Pope into a one-armed hug. “What are you doing here?”

Pope listened to the question, hunting for even a hint of suspicion or anger, and found none, only genuine curiosity and warmth.

“Was in the neighborhood…”

Frankie fixed him with a piercing look. “Thought you were headed to Australia to see a girl about a life?”

Pope shrugged. “Didn’t work out.”

Frankie nodded lightly. “Huh…” He looked down at the baby in his arms, no longer crying. “You settled now, mijo? You’re not gonna make Mamá tear her hair out by crying again?” The baby blinked up at Frankie and cooed, one chubby hand extending to pat Frankie’s beard. “Alright, kid. Let’s get you back to Mamá. Give me one sec, man.”

Frankie disappeared into the house and Pope took a deep breath. He still didn’t think he should be doing this, considering last time he interrupted his friend’s life, he had nearly gotten them all killed, but he couldn’t deny the calming effect Frankie was already having on him. Already, he felt like he could breathe easier and his heart wasn’t racing.

Frankie had always had that sort of effect on him. The cool, calm, and collected pilot versus the hot-headed, shoot first and ask questions later lieutenant. Their friendship, their bond, shouldn’t have worked. Like fire and water, oil and vinegar, they never should have gelled the way they did, but they did. Santi brought Frankie out of his shell, encouraged him to take control and step up when they needed his voice of reason. Frankie cooled Santi off, reminded him to stay grounded, to stay alive to fight the next fight, that he was still human underneath all the Kevlar and camo.

Frankie tempered Santi’s fire, and Santi boiled Frankie’s water. A perfectly balanced pair.

“You gonna take a seat and stay awhile, or are you gonna bolt?”

Santi turned back towards the door, not even realizing that he had been standing there with one foot on the porch steps while Frankie had been inside.

“That an invitation?” Santi accepted the beer that Frankie held out towards him and sat in one of the wooden chairs set out around a wrought iron table.

“You don’t need an invitation, cabrón,” Frankie scoffed quietly as he took the other chair and collapsed into it, cracking open his bottle and taking a long swig.

Santi nodded hesitantly. “You never know…things change.”

Frankie’s eyes jerked towards him. “They don’t change that much,” he replied with a warm firmness in his voice that somehow set all of Santi’s nerves at ease.

“So, that was the new baby, huh?” Santi nodded towards the house. “How old is…he?”

Frankie nodded, a small grin on his face. “18 months. Mateo James Morales.”

“Cute. And Charlie?” Santi had met Charlotte King when he had a brief month long leave and had crashed at Frankie’s old apartment. Charlie and Frankie had only been seeing each other for a couple of months, but it was clear that the physiotherapist was good for Frankie. She had that same fire that Santiago had, but in a way that cleared away all the bad shit in Frankie’s life, making room for all the good to come, instead of destroying everything in its path, the way Santi’s did. That, plus her kind heart and no-nonsense attitude, made her a perfect match for Frankie. It only took minutes of being in the same room with the two to feel the love they shared for each other and, because of that love, Santi came to love her too. Anyone who could make Frankie happy was a saint in Santi’s books.

“She’s good. She owns her own clinic now, which is nice. She sets her own prices and her own hours, plus she gets a cut of all the business that comes in, so we don’t really have to worry about money. Plus, she’s a lot happier now that she can spend more time at home with Mateo.”

“And you,” a warm voice added. Charlie stepped over the threshold and sat on the arm of Frankie’s chair, wrapping her free arm around her fiancé’s shoulders as she cuddled Mateo close with her other arm. Frankie craned his neck up to place a gentle kiss on her shoulder and Santi looked away.

He didn’t begrudge his friend his happiness at all. Frankie deserved it after helping Santi wade through the muck and grime over the past decade and a half. But he wanted exactly this. The family and the home and the warmth and the love.

“Hey Santi,” Charlie called, her warm eyes sparkling as she reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

“Hey Chuck,” he greeted with an impish grin, causing her to laugh.

“Wow, it’s been a while since anybody has called me that.”

Santi grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Charlie shrugged delicately before passing Mateo to his father. “You can make it up to me by staying for dinner. I’m making that mushroom chicken that you liked so much last time.”

“That’s alright, I don’t want to impose—”

“Hey, cabrón. What did I say about invitations?” Frankie interjected, his harsh tone at odds with the silly grin on his face as he bounced his son up and down on his knee.

“I—”

“It’s settled. You’re staying,” Charlie ordered, a soft smile on her face as she stood. “Keep Mateo busy while I cook, flyboy?” She bent to nuzzle Frankie’s nose before placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

“Sí, mi amada,” Santi heard Frankie whisper softly before Charlie stepped away and disappeared inside, winking at Santi over her shoulder as the door swung closed. The boys sat in companionable silence for a few long minutes. Santi was desperate to say something, anything, for things to feel like they used to, but that wasn’t Frankie. Frankie was always content with silence, especially between friends. He didn’t need to fill up silences with platitudes or useless trivia. If he found someone he could sit in silence with and feel fulfilled, that person became incredibly important to him. He and Santi used to have that, and they could both feel the ghost of that bond floating just overhead, desperate to possess them again. But after a year apart, and the way they had left things, neither knew if they were capable of such a relationship again.

Luckily, it was Mateo who broke the silence, giggling loudly as he reached across the table towards Santi.

Santiago’s eyebrow cocked up as he glanced from the baby to Frankie and back again. “Friendly kid.”

Frankie chuckled. “Gets it from his Mamá.” Frankie considered his son for a moment before looking up at Santi. “Here.” Frankie stood and moved around the table, placing Mateo into Santi’s lap before he could refuse. Santi’s hands immediately came up to steady the chubby baby that had suddenly been plopped in his lap, eyes wide open in shock.

“Frankie, what the f—”

“Watch it, man. Young ears,” Frankie replied loftily, waving at his son, who was giggling and squirming in Santi’s lap.

“It’s not like he’s gonna remember,” Santi scoffed. Mateo was shocked into silence by the voice, only a questioning coo escaping the baby’s lips as he craned his neck around to look at Santiago. The baby and the soldier stared at each other for a long moment before Mateo squealed excitedly, clapping his hands, and grinning up at his father’s friend. He began babbling excitedly and crawling around to face him. He reached out to grip the neckline of Santi’s t-shirt and used the leverage to start pulling himself up to stand.

“Frankie…” Santi peered around the baby to stare at his friend, who was seemingly unperturbed by the events unfolding in front of him.

“18-month-olds learn about one or two words a week, hermano. If the F word is one of Mateo’s first words, I’m telling Charlie it’s on you.”

“And…uh…this?” he asked, Mateo now eye-to-eye with him and pulling at his greying curls.

Frankie sighed and sank deeper into his chair, pulling his cap further down on his forehead. “Just don’t drop him.”

Santiago sat stock still as Mateo tugged at his hair, pulled on his ears, and ran his hands up and down Santi’s stubbly cheeks, giggling all the way. Finally, the baby huffed and slapped his hands down on Santi’s shoulders and stared into his eyes.

The quiet slap could just as easily have been a thunderclap.

Santiago was transfixed.

This wasn’t some kid from a village in Colombia, or a baby that he happened to smile at in Afghanistan. This was his best friend’s son, his brother’s son. As close to his own flesh and blood as he had at the moment. A child born of love that relied on Frankie and Charlie for everything. A child who, if he hadn’t been such a dumbass, wouldn’t have spent the last 18 months not knowing his face. A child who might, if Santi was lucky, grow up calling him Tío Santi.

Santiago drew in a shuddery breath and gently pulled Mateo into a hug, giving the child lots of time to voice his displeasure, but it never came. Instead, the young boy cooed and rested his head against Santi’s shoulder. Santi blinked back the tears that had unexpectedly pooled in his eyes and met Frankie’s gaze across the table.

His old friend, his best friend, gave him a soft smile and an understanding nod as he watched his son bond with his uncle for the first time.

**********

“So, Santi, I’m not gonna lie. I was surprised when Frankie told me you were outside,” Charlie commented as she placed the last serving dish down on the table and took her seat next to Mateo’s empty highchair. “I thought Frankie said you were living in Australia now.”

“Didn’t work out,” Santi deflected, watching as Frankie entered the room after putting Mateo down to sleep.

“Her loss, man,” Frankie comforted lowly, giving Santi’s shoulder a squeeze as he sat down next to him and pulled the dish of chicken towards him.

The adults quietly passed dishes of roasted chicken smothered in mushroom cream sauce, mashed potatoes, almond green beans, and strawberry spinach salad and began to eat.

First bite, Santi groaned. “Oh my god, Charlie…”

Charlie laughed brightly. “You regret staying away for so long now, bud?”

Santi nodded; eyes closed in pleasure. “How hasn’t my boy here gotten fat with you cooking like this?”

Frankie chuckled under his breath. “Who says I haven’t?”

Charlie smiled lovingly at him and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “You’re definitely not, handsome. But even if you were, I’d still love you.”

Frankie pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before releasing her to eat their dinners. “She does her best to keep me in shape. Hiking and swimming and shit.” Santiago winced at the thought and Frankie nodded commiseratingly at him. “Well, at least your knees haven’t given out on you yet, man.”

“If you were in the area, I’d get you set up at my clinic, Santi,” Charlie added. “I don’t know how much good it would do, but there are some exercises and stretches that might help ease the ache a little.”

Santi swallowed his bite of chicken and washed it down with a gulp of white wine before clearing his throat. “Actually, that’s kind of why I’m here.”

At his announcement, both Charlie and Frankie looked at him, dinners abandoned.

Santi swallowed down his nerves.

In…Out…In…Out…

“I, uh…I found a house about ten minutes away that I was thinking of buying,” he stated in an even voice that belied his nerves. Charlie set down her fork and Frankie turned his whole body to face him. “I sold my company in Colombia,” he explained, meeting Frankie’s eyes for a long moment. In actuality, he had sold his stash of weapons to the police force and taken a fairly large payout from the private contractor he had been working for. “And I worked for a security firm in Australia while I was there. But now…” Santi shrugged. “I just think it’s time for something permanent. But I didn’t want to buy so close to you guys without talking to you first. I know there might be some hard feelings, or that you might not want me around Mateo, but—”

“Santi, will you shut up please?” Charlie stood and marched around the table to stand in front of him. “Get up.” Santi glanced over at Frankie who just shrugged and jerked his chin at him. Slowly, hesitantly, Santi stood in front of his best friend’s girl and prepared for the worst.

Odds were, Charlie knew all about Colombia. Santi knew that Frankie didn’t keep secrets from his lady, and didn’t begrudge him at all, but he knew that this could only go badly.

Charlie didn’t want Frankie to go on the mission in the first place. The team had returned one man short and without the promised money. Frankie would have returned home carrying all the guilt and blood that he had worked so hard to shed since his honorary discharge. And the person who dragged him back in was now asking to live in the safety of their shadow.

Santi wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to see him again, never wanted him to hold her child again, never wanted him to see his best friend again, never—

Santi melted into the warm arms that embraced him, one around his back and the other coming up to cup the back of his head, pulling him down to rest against her shoulder.

When Frankie had told him that Charlie was pregnant, Santi was shameful to say that he laughed. Spitfire, no-nonsense Chuck was gonna be a Mom? Are you kidding? She could match the squad drink for drink, curse for curse, any day of the week. She bullied men twice her size into following her exercise regimen for a living, twisting and manipulating their bodies into working properly again. Yet, now, Santi could see that there had always been a touch of motherhood to her. Her warmth and her kindness were what had drawn Frankie to her in the first place. Santi loved her for that, but now he loved her for so much more.

Finally, she pulled back and, much like her son, rested her hands on his shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “If you even thought of moving somewhere else, I would take you out at the knees myself, bud.”

Santi chuckled, and if it was a little watery, nobody mentioned it.

Frankie stood and wrapped Santi up in a hug, pulling back only to say, “Welcome to the neighborhood, hermano. Mateo’s lucky to have his uncle around.”

**********

Santiago cleared his throat as he approached the front desk. The red-haired receptionist looked up and greeted him with a smile.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?”

“My name is Santiago Garcia. I’m supposed to have an appointment with Charlotte King?”

The receptionist tapped a few keys and nodded. “She’s just with a patient right now, but if you’d like to take a seat in our waiting room, she’ll be with you in a moment.”

Santi nodded and thanked the lady before moving into the small purple alcove off the reception desk and took a seat.

It had been a month since that dinner, and Santi was settling into his new routine nicely.

The sale of the house had gone as smoothly as it possibly could have (meaning, not at all), but the small old colonial style house was officially his and he loved it, despite it being quite the fixer upper. In fact, he loved it because it was a fixer upper.

At Frankie’s urging, Santi had reconnected with Benny and Will, who had taken it upon themselves to become his construction crew. Whenever Will wasn’t giving a speech or Benny wasn’t losing a fight, they were at the house, doing whatever needed to be done. Every Wednesday and Saturday, when he wasn’t teaching flying lessons or spending time with his son, Frankie joined them. Friday nights, he had dinner with Frankie and Charlie. Every Sunday, the whole crew got together and hung out at Frankie’s house. Charlie would cook something delicious, Santi would sit with Mateo in his arms, the Miller’s would do the dishes, and Frankie would hover around them all, making sure his family was safe and happy. It was everything Santi had wanted when he moved back home and more.

“Hey, Santi, sorry about that,” Charlie greeted as she appeared in the doorway of the waiting room.

Santi stood up and gave her a hug. “No worries, Chuck. I know you’re busy.”

Charlie smiled and gave him a friendly pat on the cheek. “If my staff starts calling me Chuck, I’m blaming you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” he teased as he followed her out into the gymnasium-looking clinic. Long massage tables were set up around the periphery of the room while a series of gym apparatuses took up the bulk of the middle. A giant machine sat half-hidden behind a partial wall, and Pope could smell chlorine in the air.

At the end of the square gym was a long hallway, the therapy pool built into the wall on one side and a row of consultation rooms on the other.

Charlie pulled back the curtain on one of the consultation rooms and ushered him inside. Santi slid himself onto the massage table while Charlie sat on the circular rolling chair.

“So, listen…” Charlie began with a sigh. “I tried like hell to change things around and shuffle some patients up, but I wasn’t able to fit you into my schedule.”

Santi felt his heart sink a little. He wasn’t looking for a miracle. Hell no, his last ‘miracle’ surgery had only made things worse. But he had been hoping for at least a chance to live without chronic pain. “No worries, Chuck. Honestly. It was nice of you to—”

“Would you shut the fuck up and let me talk, please? Jesus, Santi, you’re worse than Benny sometimes,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “I can’t fit you in with me, but I can get you in with Steve. We met when we were doing our DPT program, and he co-owns the place with me. You’ll like him.” Charlie met Santi’s wary gaze and smiled. “Listen, Santi. If you’re not comfortable with him, I’ll see what I can do about fitting you in with me sometime next month. But, please, give him a shot? For me?”

Santi felt himself soften and he grinned, nudging her knee with his foot. “Is that how you landed Frankie, Chuck? You flash him those puppy dog eyes?”

“The puppy dog eyes may or may not have played a part in getting him to put a ring on it. Then again, that might have been the three days of on and off labor to bring his son into the world,” she quipped as she rolled to the door to stick her head out through the curtain. “Hey, Steve! Your new patient is here!”

A shadow crossed the curtain as Charlie stood up, winking at him as she whispered, “You’re gonna be fine, hun.”

The curtain opened and a hulking man blocked a good portion of the light streaming down from the fluorescents. Stepping into the room, Santi blinked for a minute to let his eyes adjust, not even seeing Charlie slip out of the room.

The man was big. Bigger than Will and Benny, which was saying something. Not tall, but broad and muscular, a sleeve of tattoos decorating both arms. Bald with a gold stud in his ear.

What the fuck was Charlie thinking? This dude looked like he was about to break his legs, not help fix them.

Steve (and sweet Jesus, his name was Steve? Did his parents even think before naming him?) took the stool that Charlie had been sitting on and straddled it, rolling over to the table Pope was sitting on.

“Hey, man. I’m Steve,” he grinned brightly, holding out a hand for him to shake.

When their hands clasped, Pope understood why Charlie thought they would get along.

“Where did you serve?”

Steve laughed. “Two tours at a VA hospital in Germany after I got my Bachelor’s degree. Couldn’t afford to get my DPT without Uncle Sam footing the bill. How’d you know?”

Santi laughed. “Spent the last 14 years shaking hands with the brass. It gets pretty easy to tell who has a military handshake and who doesn’t.” At Steve’s questioning look, he continued. “Delta Force. Been all over kingdom come.”

“Ah, so you served with Frankie, huh?”

“Known ‘Fish ever since basic. Been close ever since,” Pope nodded.

Steve nodded with a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve got a couple like that. I’m sure it’s different because we never saw a battlefield, but I get it. Knowing you’re on the same side, being with the same people for years, it forges something.” Pope nodded thoughtfully for a moment before lapsing into silence. “So, I’m guessing all that running around for the good of our nation did some pretty serious damage to your knees, huh?”

Pope smirked, thankful for the out he was being given as he dove into his medical history.

**********

45 minutes later, Steve led Santi out to the main gym and pointed at one of the massage tables along the wall.

“Go hangout there for a minute. I’ll grab the printout of those exercises I was telling you about and a couple of cryo cuffs.”

Pope nodded and settled himself onto a table as Charlie guided her patient onto the table next to him.

“So, how did it go?” she asked as her patient unsteadily eased herself onto the table.

“Oh c’mon, Chuck, you know you were right.”

She shrugged with a tiny smirk on her face. “Well, yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it every once in a while.”

Steve returned and Pope spent the next few minutes setting up his first appointment time, going over the home stretches Steve was giving him to work on, and allowing Steve to wrap both his legs in puffy blue leg braces that he then filled with ice water.

“Alright, man. Hang out here for as long as you want. Just give me a call when you’re ready to go.”

“Sure thing, thanks Steve.”

Pope gently lowered himself onto his back, head cushioned by a thin pillow as he allowed the frigid water to wash away the ache in his knees.

“…Alright, turn over onto your tummy and I’ll get the heating pad for your back,” Charlie informed her patient.

“Oh, you’re actually being nice today and letting me relax to finish off the session,” a playful voice responded, slightly muffled as she turned herself onto her stomach, facing away from Pope so he could only see her hair.

“I’m always nice,” Charlie snarked with a smile as she moved to the steamer and removed a thick heating pad, quickly wrapping it in a cloth and draping it over her patient’s back.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Santi piped up, grinning at his friend. “Charlie’s an awful human being. Stole my best friend and everything.”

The responding giggles sent shivers up his spine as the patient turned her head towards him and he met her eyes for the first time.

“Don’t I know it,” she teased, but Santi barely heard her.

Warm, provoking eyes were framed by long dark lashes that just skimmed her cheekbones when she blinked. A small smile played across full lips, framed by soft looking skin. In short, she was stunning, even with her sweat soaked brow and her slightly hitched breathing.

In…Out…In…Out…

“Yeah, okay Santi,” Charlie’s teasing voice pulled him from his stunned reverie. “I’m so awful I was about to ask if you had dinner plans. You could come see your best friend and your nephew, but I guess I’m too awful of a person to do that.”

“What’s cooking?” he asked, pulling his eyes away from this woman who had definitely caught him by surprise.

Charlie shrugged. “We were just gonna order some pizza and wings. Frankie texted me and said Ben has some sample tile for you to look at for your bathrooms. Will offered to bring beer.”

“Sounds good.”

“Sweet. Now stop being a dick and tell everyone how wonderful I am.”

“Yes ma’am,” he called, laughing under his breath as she sauntered away. He brought his eyes back to the woman lying next to him and found her watching him with an amused look that was peeking out through the space between her hair and her shoulder. “She isn’t that great,” he joked.

She laughed again, and Santi found himself scrambling for another witty comment so he could hear the sound again.

“Trust me, I know,” she responded, adjusting her arms so that they still pillowed her head, but she could now see properly. “She’s been beating on me for weeks.”

“That sounds like Chuck,” he laughed.

She giggled again and Pope preened under her gaze. “Oh, I am so calling her that now.”

He winced with a smile. “She might actually kill me if you do.”

“Oh well, we don’t want that,” she smirked, raising her head a little. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure physiotherapists have to follow the whole ‘do no harm’ thing too. I’ll make sure she can’t hurt you.”

“Thanks, I feel much safer now,” he smiled softly, crow’s-feet crinkling happily at his eyes. He reached a hand out into the empty space between their tables. “I’m Santiago, but most people just call me Santi.”

She smiled and shifted so she could free one of her arms to shake his hand. “I’m Rebecca. It’s nice to meet you, Santi. What are you in for?”

**********

Tags list (open): @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell

#dad!pope #santiago pope garcia x oc #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #oscar issac #pedro pascal #frankie catfish morales

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maria-scribbles · 4 years

Text

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part five

summary: in the aftermath of hurricane agatha, the pogues are thrown into a mess none of them are ready to deal with. things that don’t exactly top sailor’s ‘fun things to do this summer’ list: surfing in the middle of a hurricane, getting punched in the face by a stupid kook, and stumbling upon a mystery that turns her and her friends into the damn scooby gang. when she said she wanted an exciting summer, she should’ve been more specific. 🙃

word count: 8.1k+ (it just keeps getting longer and longer 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings n stuff: mentions of abuse/neglect/gambling addiction, child abandonment, anxiety, self-worth issues, jj being both soft af and hot for his best friend, weed usage, underage drinking, unresolved sexual tension, sailor being thirsty, swearing, guns, fighting, blood, that one trope where two characters only call each other by their nicknames/last names until they don’t because of ~reasons~ that makes me lose my shit every time (like a lot of the obx fandom, i also headcanon that jj stands for jesse james), references to the three stooges (jj=moe, pope=larry, and john b=curly and that’s a fact lmao), to all the boys i've loved before, avengers infinity war, and david attenborough, and a line heavily inspired/influenced by taylor swift's "dress" (a song that happens to be on the playlist for this series)

a/n: we’re finally entering canon territory, y’all (with a few tweaks, of course!) but i’m determined not to make this a rehash/retelling word for word of the show ‘cause that’s just no fun, so expect smaller pieces (vignettes, i guess?) of storytelling as i expand on canon with sailor and the rest of the pogues. think of it like a mixtape of sorts, but with words instead of music if that makes sense lol. this part originally covered episodes one and two but i wrote so much that i had to split it, so we're just covering most of episode one for now (i still can't even believe how much shit actually goes down in the pilot lol). i was veryyyy excited to write the kegger at the boneyard 'cause some ~juicy~ stuff happens there lol. fun fact: the title of this part is a term used by surfers to refer to getting up at the ass crack of dawn to hit the waves. as always, this is unbetaed so any mistakes are mine. enjoy!

gif credit to @jj-maybnks

~Masterlist~

part five: dawn patrol

The next morning, Hurricane Agatha hits the island with all the force of a knockout punch; the sound of rain pounding against the roof echoes impossibly loud throughout the Chateau but Sailor’s bewildered shriek is even louder.

“You’re gonna what the what?!”

John B shrugs as the stunned redhead, lounging on the couch, looks away from watching the storm and fixes him with a wide-eyed stare.

“I’m gonna surf the surge.”

“Hell yeah, bro!” JJ yells from his spot as her footrest, punching his fist in the air and she sends him an exasperated look, both at his enthusiastic encouragement of John B’s downright moronic idea and the fact that she already misses the feeling of his thumb drawing circles on her bare ankle.

“Are you two insane?”

“Possibly.” John B states, grinning when JJ follows that up with, “Absolutely.” The blond boy pushes Sailor’s legs off his lap as he stands which earns him another displeased scowl from the redhead. “Come on, Sail. Live a little.”

“Oh, I’ll live alright, but you idiots won’t,” She takes his offered hand, letting him pull her to her feet and then down the hall after John B as she continues, “because this is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

“See, this is why we keep you around,” He replies, laughing when she dodges his attempt to ruffle her hair and dashes forward to beat him to the spare room. “We do something stupid, you and Kie read us the riot act. It’s tradition.”

Sailor grabs her long-sleeved rash vest -if she’s going to sit on the beach to keep an eye on these fools in the middle of a damn hurricane, at least she’ll wear something that offers a little bit of warmth- and heads to the bathroom to change. “Yeah, and then I’m there to patch you up when you inevitably hurt yourselves.”

“Can’t help that you have that healing touch.” His cheeky response floats through the closed door and she catches herself smiling -wide and just a little bit sappy- in the mirror.

After a quick detour to pick up Pope, who’s already drenched from sneaking out his window, the pogues (sans Kiara who never answered John B’s text in the group chat and, knowing her parents, was probably on hurricane lockdown) head to the beach, where the rugged gray surf hammers against the shore with unrelenting brutality. Sailor trails behind the others as they grab their boards and make a break for the water, blatantly ignoring the barriers that read ‘beach closed’ in large, impossible to miss letters. A few hundred feet down the coast, she can barely make out The Sandbar all boarded up for the storm and she thinks of her mother, wondering if she's riding it out inside or at home; either way Carmen's all alone and Sailor's stomach twists with guilt, both for letting her phone battery die so she didn't have to answer her calls and for leaving in the first place, even though it was the right thing to do for her damn sanity.

“These signs are here for a reason, guys!” She calls over the howling wind, squinting through the rain at the rough waves with her hands tapping uneasily against her thighs. Watching John B run into the ocean with reckless abandon (Pope following with a little more caution, thankfully) immediately puts her anxiety on edge so she sits down heavily on the wet sand, wrapping her arms around the knees pulled to her chest and looks up at the blond boy who stayed behind. “Aren’t you gonna join the other stooges?”

JJ shrugs at her question, glancing out toward their friends before dropping his board to the ground and taking a seat behind the trembling girl, his chest to her back. “This one can’t just leave you hanging out here all alone, lookin’ all sad and shit. It’s kind of pathetic.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel special, J.” She smirks and scoots back in the sand, lips curling into a full-fledged smile when he lifts his arms to drape them over her shoulders. As he tucks her securely against his front, the warmth of his body helps ward off the biting chill of the rain, and so does the fact that he knows her so well, that he knows this is exactly what she needs to help calm the panicking butterflies in her stomach.

He leans close, lips brushing against the shell of her ear when he whispers his next words like a secret, low and just for her even when there’s no one around to hear them. “Trust me, Sail, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

She suddenly finds those butterflies in her stomach fluttering for a whole different reason.

The Chateau sits in complete darkness, the power having been knocked out since they returned from dropping Pope off at his house that afternoon. Sailor thinks it’s about ten at night as she lies on her back on the mattress of the sleeper sofa, listening to the wind rip through the trees outside with Binx curled up at her feet. The spare room was way too hot without a working fan, even after she braided her hair off to the side and changed into a crop top and shorts, so she and JJ had returned to the living room where it was cooler, if only by a little bit.

John B has already retreated to his room for the night; he’d been acting quieter than usual since their little adventure at the beach but between a lantern-lit dinner of semi-stale cereal and passing a joint around, she never got the chance to ask if he was okay before he made his escape. JJ lies beside her with his limbs all askew and from the slow rise and fall of his bare chest she’s 99% sure he’s out like a light until, out of the blue, he mutters into the stagnant air, “Can’t keep your eyes off me, huh?”

She blinks heavily -that weed must’ve hit her harder than she thought because she hadn’t even realized she’d been staring- when he lazily turns his head to stare back, a halcyon grin on his face and in the dark, his pupils are blown so wide she can barely see the blue of his irises. Her hand itches with a longing to sweep that one stubborn strand of hair away from his forehead but instead she blindly slides it to the left until she finds his and holds on tight; his fingers automatically lace with hers even as the space between his eyebrows furrows and the smile falls from his lips.

“Sail?”

“I don’t think my dad’s ever coming back.” The redhead’s mouth blurts before her brain can catch up, heavy words lingering like a storm cloud ready to downpour. The thought had been weighing on her heart for a while now, from when she’d first suspected it two months ago, and it feels bittersweet to finally admit it out loud, even when she hadn’t planned doing it.

Her bedmate is silent for a long time as he looks at her through the shadows and she focuses on the touch of his palm against hers instead of the awful mounting pressure behind her eyes -hadn’t she promised herself she was done crying over her dad?- until he asks quietly, “Why? I mean, good riddance 'cause he's kind of the worst, but why?"

“A feeling,” She murmurs around the sudden lump in her throat, biting the inside of her lip hard enough that she tastes the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. “He...he usually comes back after a month or two but this time it’s been almost five.” A bitter laugh escapes from her chest and she shakes her head. “I guess he finally decided he’s done dealing with my worthless ass.”

JJ’s eyes flash like lightning as he rolls over to face her, the hand not entwined with hers reaching up to cup her cheek. “Sail, shut up. Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true,” She says sharply, words acerbic and biting and full of a self-hatred that’s been poisoning her heart ever since she was old enough -eight and far, far too young- to discern the way her dad’s love for her was fickle at best, non-existent at worst. “I could’ve been a better daughter- a perfect daughter- and he might still be here and my mom wouldn't hate me. I should’ve tried harder-”

“Jesus Christ, Sailor!” He interrupts, calloused yet gentle thumb wiping away the tears she just now registers sliding down her cheeks and the shock of hearing her full name come from his mouth makes the rest of her vitriolic thoughts fly out the window. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

The image of him blurs through the darkness in shades of black and she closes her eyes, jaw clenched in an attempt to quell the tremble of her lip as he goes on in his low, soft voice, “You should’ve tried harder to do what, huh? What could you have possibly done better?”

She’s quiet for a long time, so long that her tears run dry and all that remains is smeared salt on her skin because she doesn’t have an answer. What could she have done? That terrible thought in her mind rears it’s ugly head again, the one that tells her she’s not good enough, that everything’s her fault because she doesn’t do enough, but when she asks it what more she can do, there’s no reply. There never is.

“Hey, look at me.” She hears the rustling of sheets and feels his fingers slip from hers before they come to rest on her cheek, both hands now cradling her face; she opens her eyes to find him hovering over her and the sheer lack of distance between them makes her heart skip a beat. “You...”

“What about me?” Her voice cracks as she speaks and in a mirror of her from earlier, JJ shakes his head, causing that stubborn strand of hair to once again fall into his eyes.

“I wish you’d see yourself the way I do.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “And how do you see me?”

“Fucking amazing.” He says simply and in the dark, she can barely see the flush slowly starting to creep up his neck. “Smart, brave, and loyal as hell. A beautiful badass who doesn’t take shit from anybody. A girl who listens when someone needs to be heard.”

The redhead stares up at him with wide green eyes as he goes on and on, listing all these wonderful little things that her traitorous mind has a hard time processing, let alone believing; he really thinks about her like this? “You care so damn much,” “You’re kind but not afraid speak out,” “You’re the one I trust the most.”

Her hand slowly releases its tight grip on the sheets and slides up his bare arm, feeling the heat of his skin under her palm as she touches his face, not trusting herself to speak because she’s so afraid of saying something dumb or stupid and ruining everything ('like I always do,' her mind echoes).

“You’re my best friend, Sailor, and yeah, you’re not perfect. You drink and you smoke weed and you don’t get straight As in school but fuck, you’re real and so not worthless.” He says each word with such conviction that its impossible not to believe him, as much as her brain screams at her not to. “And I want you to know that what your parents think of you doesn't matter at all, got it?"

Without warning, she flings her arms around his neck and JJ loses his balance, falling onto her with a soft oof of surprise but Sailor doesn’t even feel the extra weight as she rests her face against his shoulder and finally finds her voice. “Thank you.”

He takes her with him when he rolls onto his side, arms wrapped tight around her waist and nose buried in her messy braid. “Just...trying to do the right thing, I guess. For once.”

She pulls back at his words, then leans forward and slowly presses her lips to his flushed cheek, just missing the corner of his mouth. She lets them linger for a beat longer than necessary before leaning back -not too far, just enough- and looking him in the eye. “Thank you, Jesse.”

He usually hates being called by his first name (she found that out pretty quickly into their friendship, “never call me Jesse” being one of the first things he ever said to her) but he just looks at her with a soft, endearing smile on his face as he leans back onto the bed, once again bringing her with him. “Promise me something, Sail?”

She glances up at him from his shoulder and meets his eyes. “Yeah?”

His fingers tuck an escaped red curl behind her ear. “Just...be you. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.”

She wishes it were that easy, that she could just step inside her mind and flip a switch and she could stop all those thoughts that’ve plagued her for years but it’s not. It’s gonna take time -time and a lot of patience and maybe even a miracle- but damn it, she’s gonna give it her all, not just for herself but for him and the rest of the pogues, too, the best friends she's ever had, so she nods and settles back down at his side. “I’ll try my best, J.”

“I know you will.”

"Sail, you're the best swimmer out of all of us. Think you can dive down there and check it out?"

The redhead peers over the edge of the HMS Pogue and into the water, where the murky shape of the sunken Grady-White sits thirty feet down on the bottom of the marsh, then nods at the rest of the pogues, an excited grin on her face.

"No problem," She answers John B, hopping up onto the very tip of the boat's bow with practiced ease before diving headfirst into the water to JJ's yell of "diver down!" It's dirtier than usual because of the hurricane but she doesn't let that stop her as she swims down and down until she reaches the top of the boat and pulls herself the rest of the way onto the deck, carefully scanning the area for...fuck. Honestly, she's got absolutely no clue what she's looking for but she assumes she'll know when she sees it.

'It' turns out to be a motel key, resting all alone on the floor by the steering wheel and she quickly reaches out to snatch it, sliding the silver key ring around her finger securely. When she pushes off toward the surface, she leaves the ghostly Grady-White behind with more questions than answers.

The rest of her friends are lined up in a row along the boat's railing, all staring at her with near identical expressions of anticipation as she breaks through the water and holds the key aloft with a triumphant smile.

"The Summer Winds Motel called, they want their key back!"

A little later that evening, Sailor would really regret finding that damn key but right now, she's having a great time dancing at the Boneyard with Kiara at the traditional post-hurricane kegger, second refill of beer in hand, spiked with Fireball from the flask tucked in her back pocket. To her, dancing's a lot like surfing -steady feet, swiveling hips, snapping shoulders- and she thinks that might be the reason she's so bad at it, anticipating the fluidity of water instead of the solidness of dry land. Or it could be that she just doesn't have rhythm when she's a little buzzed. That works, too.

"Ow, Sail!" Kiara winces as the redhead steps on her foot again, rolling her eyes fondly when she throws her head back with a loud, tipsy giggle.

"My bad, Kie!" She twirls in the sand, hair dancing around her shoulders like fire, and finds herself spinning right into a herd of dancing tourons, all too drunk to care that she's spilling her beer all over their feet. Large, olive-skinned hands grab her waist to spin her again and she laughs, smiling over her shoulder at a cute dark-haired touron as he slides one palm over to settle against the bare skin of her lower back. She pushes one hand on his shoulder with just enough resistance that he doesn't get too close into her personal space as he leans in to speak in a low Southern drawl, brown eyes turned a pretty bronze in the glow of the nearby bonfire.

"This probably isn't the best thing to say to a beautiful girl but you kind of dance like a giraffe."

Sailor bursts out laughing at that. "Hey, I think giraffes are very elegant creatures so I'll take that as a compliment!"

The boy grins and she smiles, too, letting him take her free hand and pull her into the throng of dancing bodies. He's almost as bad a dancer as she is but he's fun to talk to and together they gleefully show off their worst moves until their feet hurt -she's lost count of how many times she stepped on his toes- and her solo cup is empty. "Come on," She says and this time, she's the one to grab his hand and lead him over to the closest keg, where John B's dishing out beer with an expert flourish.

"'Sup, Sail," He lifts his chin in greeting as he fills her cup, smirking when she immediately pulls out her flask and adds a long pour of Fireball on top. "Who's your friend?"

"JB, this is Adam, he's visiting from Tennessee. Adam, meet John B, one of my best friends and a total moron," She makes quick introductions, smiling into her drink as he scowls and playfully sprays some beer at her feet before filling another cup and holding it out to the other boy with a jab at her expense.

"Be careful around her, man. She's a handful."

The touron accepts the drink with a shrug and a quick wink in her direction. "Good thing I happen to like 'em a little crazy."

Ugh. More than a little miffed at that, she rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of beer to hide her annoyance when Adam laughs and slings his arm around her shoulders. Calling her a giraffe was actually kind of cute in a very weird, endearing way but he instantly lost whatever points he had with her the second that 'c' word came out of his pretty mouth. She glances around the Boneyard while the boys start talking about surfing (she scoffs to herself, what does a farm kid from Tennessee know about that?), scanning the crowd for the rest of her friends and a chance to ditch him. Kiara's sitting on a big piece of driftwood, chatting up a stunning, deeply tan girl with glossy black hair -she waves when their eyes meet and shoots Sailor a cheeky grin before returning to her conversation- while the ever awkward Pope seems to be stuck in the middle of one of his rambles about autopsies as he stands around the fire, the willowy blonde beside him looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. She'd deliberately lost track of JJ a while ago, after she watched him getting a little too close to a tiny brunette, his hand low on her back as she passed him a drink and ran her fingers up his bare arm, coaxing that killer smile of his onto his face (that girl may have gotten his smile but Sailor got his eyes and they watched her until she pointedly turned away).

Honestly, she's a bit -okay, a lot- peeved. Here she is, thinking that they're the closest they've ever been before (they've always been close, ever since that day in sixth grade, but this is a whole different kind of close), and just when she feels like she may finally be ready to admit some things, some feelings, he's off doing who knows what with another girl; to be fair, she's off with another guy that she'd, until a minute ago, fully planned on kissing, but that's only because of him! Him and some weird need she has to keep him looking at her, to make him jealous -she shakes her head and takes another swig of her whiskey-spiked beer. Nope, nope, not gonna think about that.

Poor Pope looks like he's really struggling so Sailor pushes all thoughts of her blond best friend from her mind and goes to rescue him, ducking out from under Adam's sweaty arm and walking away without a backwards glance, ignoring the confusion in his voice as he calls her name. She pushes through the crowd to her friend and steps right in front of the girl he's trying to talk to, grabbing his hand with her free one.

"Come dance with me?"

The smile of pure relief that breaks out over his face makes her own widen as he lets her pull him back through the mass of bodies to a less-crowded part of the make-shift dance floor, the tension bleeding out of his hunched shoulders with every step.

"You're an angel, Sailor."

She laughs and wraps her arm around his shoulders, leading him in a carefree twirl across the cool sand. "Tell me something I don't know."

Like a leaf caught up in a whirlwind, he's helpless to resist her infectious joy as they dance, grinning like fools and poking fun at each other; for a while, the redhead tries to forget about stupid, clueless boys and focuses on Pope who, while still a clueless boy, doesn't expect anything from her but pure, unconditional friendship that she's all too willing to give (although she did have a teensy little crush on him when they first became friends, she got over it pretty fast the second he started talking about the bodily functions of dead bodies in explicit detail). She shares her drink with him, giggling at the way his face morphs from curiosity to disgust to delight at the taste of her cinnamon beer concoction and lets him down the rest while she drinks straight from the flask that she pulls from her back pocket.

"You've got a shadow." Pope says, slightly nodding his chin over her shoulder and she takes his hand again, slowly spinning herself under his arm to take a quick glance, rolling her eyes when she spots Adam staring at her from the edge of the crowd. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately. Thought he was cute, then he called me crazy." She tucks the whiskey away with a shrug at her friend's sympathetic wince, then steps closer to him and raises a conspiratorial eyebrow. "Wanna help me tell him to take a long walk off a short cliff?"

"Uh-"

"I think I can help with that," A familiar voice cuts off Pope's reply as JJ suddenly appears at her side, slipping his hand into her back pocket to spin her right into the circle of his arms before he plucks the flask from the other and takes a big sip in one smooth kinda sexy move. "Straight Fireball? Damn, Sail."

The redhead carefully schools her features into a blank mask but her body has other ideas, one hand instantly settling on his chest like it's second nature and her face flushing from more than just the alcohol as she casually replies, "You know I like things a little spicy." Completely aware of the way he's watching her every move, she snatches the whiskey back and downs the little bit that's left, trying and failing to ignore the thrill that shoots through her at those bright blue eyes of his darkening when her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Pope rolls his eyes at them both before muttering a quick 'see ya' and hastily melting back into the crowd.

"So, who're we telling to fuck off?" His voice is just a little strained and she feels her cool facade start to crack as she scowls, subtly tilts her head toward where Adam's still staring at her with an expression that looks like he ate a sour lemon. JJ spins her around to take a very conspicuous peek and her mouth curls into a grin, mask breaking completely when he shoots the touron a glare that screams 'try me, I dare you'; the heat from his hand still in her pocket burns as he leans in until his forehead rests on hers. "Let's give him a show."

Sailor hums and pretends to mull it over even as she coyly snakes her arms around his neck and pulls him closer, the harder panes of his body sliding almost sinfully against her softer curves as they sway together, "I don't know, you looked pretty cozy with that other girl earlier..." Is it kind of petty to bring it up? Yes, yes it is, but she can't resist toying with him like he did to her, just as she can't help the breathless gasp that escapes her lips when his fingers press hard into the toned flesh of her ass through her shorts.

"Why, Flynn, are you jealous?"

"Please, I saw that glare you gave him. If anyone's jealous, it's you, Maybank." She fires back while carding both hands through his hair and the pure gratification she feels at his slight shiver is nothing short of euphoric. Out of the corner of her eye, she barely takes notice of the frown Adam sends their way before he turns and stalks off toward the other side of the beach; honestly, she's so caught up in JJ and everything about him -the slow swing of his hips, the hands burning hot against the strip of her back exposed by her crop top, the darkened look in those ocean eyes- that she'd completely forgotten about the touron she danced with earlier in an effort to forget the boy she's dancing with now. She should've known it wouldn't have worked: Sailor could never forget JJ, no matter how hard she tries. He's like a permanent mark on her, a tattoo inked in gold, a beautiful, wonderous scar that she never wants to fade away.

"Seems like we scared him off so I don't have to worry about that anymore." His flushed face is so close she can feel his breath on her lips as he speaks and her eyes quickly flick down to his mouth on their own accord.

"And what about me?" She asks, twirling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, heart beating fast in anticipation as he smirks wickedly at the way her own face turns cherry red.

"Sail, babe, you don't have to worry about a damn thing."

All one of them has to do is tilt their head and everything will fall into place and she can once again know what it's like to kiss him-

"Let it go, Topper!" A sudden, annoyed shout breaks the two apart before they can close that final distance (Sailor's not sure who would've made the first move and she's both relieved and disappointed they won't get to find out), turning away from each other in tandem toward the gathering mass of bodies chanting 'fight, fight!' at the shoreline.

"JB, he's not worth it!" At the sound of Kiara's voice, they take off running across the sand and shove their way to the front of the crowd just in time to see Topper Thornton in all his frat boy glory get absolutely slammed with a hard punch to the jaw, courtesy of John B. The kook barely hits the ground before he's back on his feet and lunging forward to tackle him into the water, landing a hit of his own square in the eye.

"What the hell happened?" Sailor grabs Kiara's elbow and the dark haired girl looks at her with wide eyes as the boys continue to roll around, exchanging brutal blows while a stunned Pope watches from her other side.

"I don't even know, they just started wailing on each other!"

JJ stands silent to Sailor's right, jaw clenched and hands curled into fists as he stares at the brawl and she reaches over to wrap her fingers around his wrist, thumb calmly running circles on his skin.

"Top, seriously! Stop it!" Sarah Cameron stands in the sand just before the crashing waves, yelling furiously at her boyfriend and throwing her arms in the air when he ignores her. "What is wrong with you?"

The moment Topper lands three punches in a row on John B's battered face, Sailor decides she's seen enough. She rushes forward without thinking to grab the blond boy's arm, pulling as hard as she can in an attempt to get him off her friend and barely has time to register what's happening when the fist he was aiming at John B suddenly swings at her. It connects solidly with her left cheek and makes her stumble back, her hand flying to her throbbing face before she goes down hard onto her butt in the surf.

"What the fuck, Thornton?"

"Did you just punch a girl?"

"Ohhhh shit!"

A cacophony of voices yells from the shore as the kook boy stares down at her, momentarily stunned when he realizes who exactly he hit, and it gives John B an opening to wrestle him back into the water and land a solid punch right to his nose. Everything happens so fast after that that the redhead, still reeling in a wide-eyed daze, has a little trouble keeping up. First, Kiara and Pope splash through the waves to her side, kneeling down to help her to her feet with their arms around her waist. Second, Topper gains the upper hand and straight up tries to drown John B, holding his head under the water while Sarah screams at him to stop. And third, JJ -reckless, bold, protective JJ- pulls out that damn stolen gun, effectively bringing the whole mess to a grinding halt when he stalks forward and presses the barrel to the side of Topper's head.

"Your move, broski." He threatens and the beach is so quiet everyone can hear the click of the safety being switched off. The kook slowly raises his hands in the air and John B emerges from the water, stumbling forward onto his hands and knees with a horrible wet cough.

It's all too much for Sailor's poor tipsy self to take. The world spins beneath her feet as her head starts to pound and her shaking fingers fail to find purchase on Kiara's and Pope's shoulders.

"Guys, I don't feel so good," She manages to whisper and their looks of concern (the former) and panic (the latter) are the last thing she sees before her legs give out and everything goes black.

The first thing she registers is the pain that radiates from the left side of her face, her whole head throbbing with every beat of her heart and the sound of loud whispering right by her ear isn't helping at all.

"That's the best you can do, J? Seriously?"

"The power's out! I can't exactly pull ice out of my ass, Kie."

Something semi-cold gently rests against her cheek and she audibly sighs at the little bit of relief she feels, her hand sluggishly rising to hold it a little closer as she mumbles, "I wouldn't want your ass ice anyway." At least she tries to: her mouth feels like it's full of cotton and she's pretty sure the only thing that comes out is unintelligible gibberish.

Sailor opens her eyes and finds herself lying on her back on the sleeper sofa at the Chateau, a passed out John B to her right. Pope sits on the edge of the mattress by his side, holding a beer bottle to his friend's black eye and he sends her a relieved smile when he notices she's awake.

"There she is," JJ says from her other side and she turns to face him, not at all surprised to find him already looking at her, and the unabashed concern in his eyes sends a golden warmth through her whole body. Her fingers slip down the hand that's still holding the bottle to her cheek so she can run her thumb over the delicate bones in his wrist in a silent thank you.

A different, softer hand rests on her knee and she tears her gaze away from his face to smile at Kiara as she says, "Good to see you're okay, Sail."

The redhead sinks back into the pillow in embarrassment and covers her eyes with her free hand. God, she really passed out, didn't she? She passed out after taking one lousy punch to the face by a fucking kook, no less. How completely mortifying. She swallows thickly and sounds like a chain smoker when she says, "I'm so sorry, guys. I'm a total idiot."

The other three conscious pogues start protesting all at once -apparently there's many, many, different ways to say she's not an idiot- and the resulting volume of their combined voices is enough to make her headache even worse. She sits up and scoots back until she's propped against the couch and sets the now warm beer on the side table before massaging both of her temples.

"Will you please shut up, I can feel my brain beating in my skull."

For a second, there's wonderful, blissful silence and then:

"Holy shit, thank you," A groggy voice says to her right and she turns to watch a bleary-eyed John B claw his way back to consciousness. "You guys are fucking loud."

"He lives!" JJ shouts, ignoring the four glares sent his way and reaching over to clap his hand against the brunet boy's shoulder. "Welcome back, dude."

"Ugh," He suddenly rolls onto his stomach -Pope deftly catching the bottle when it nearly falls from the bed- and his muffled voice floats out from the pillow he shoves his head under like an ostrich in the sand. "Knock me back out."

"Aww, poor baby." Sailor gives his back a sympathetic pat and chuckles softly when he blindly feels around for her arm, pushing it away with another deep groan and a 'fuck off, Sail' that lacks any type of venom.

"Okay, now that you're both kind of conscious, let's agree that neither of you will ever fucking do that again. Got it?" Kiara addresses John B and Sailor as she stands from the bed and crosses her arms, fixing the latter with a piercing look that makes her feel like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar; she opens her mouth to defend herself but before she can say anything, Kiara turns her furious gaze to JJ and points an accusing finger at his face. "And you! What the hell were you thinking pulling that damn gun out, huh?"

"Jesus Christ, Kie!" He suddenly rockets to his feet and throws his hands in the air. "Sail got socked in the face and JB was getting fucking drowned, I wasn't really thinking much at all!”

The dark haired girl can't seemed to think of a response to that and looks away, staring at the floor with her jaw clenched as Pope, ever the mediator, rises to his feet, too, and rounds the bed to step between them placatingly.

"Let's just drop it for tonight, okay? They need to rest." He says, nodding toward the two still on the bed before wrapping his hand around Kiara's elbow and turning her toward the front door. She immediately pulls her arm from his grasp but still nods in agreement, the hard look in her eyes softening when she glances at her injured friends.

"Yeah, okay." She says and glances down at her watch, wincing when she catches sight of the time. "My parents'll kill me if I'm not home soon, anyway."

"Come on, I'll take you guys home." JJ says with a conciliatory look in her direction as Pope tosses him the Volkswagen's keys from his pocket and when she nods back, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, Sailor knows that all is forgiven, at least for now.

"Are you sure you're good to drive?" She asks and immediately rolls her eyes at his sarcastic reply of "Yes, Mom," and the obnoxious wink he shoots her.

The trio leaves after a quick round of goodbyes and John B waits until he hears the sound of his van driving away before finally emerging from under the pillow and rolling onto his back.

"Sensing the immediate danger has passed, the ostrich cautiously pulls its head out from the sand..." She says in her best David Attenborough impression, laughing when he tosses the pillow at her head with an amused grin.

"Ha ha. I was trying to avoid getting a Kie lecture," He explains, running both hands down his face with a heavy sigh. "It feels like my head's gonna explode."

"You and me both, dude." She carefully probes at her swollen cheek and is more than a little surprised to feel the beginnings of a scab forming near her eye. She knew Topper landed a solid punch but she didn't realize how solid that hit was until now as she catches sight of the tiny bit of drying blood left behind on her fingertips.

"That looks like it hurts. You okay?" John B asks and she looks up from wiping her hand clean on her shorts, stiff from dried saltwater, with a wrinkle of her freckled nose.

"I'm alright. How about you? No offense but your eye looks like shit."

"I'll live." He answers with a shrug as he pulls himself upright on the mattress and leans his head against the back of the couch. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

He sluggishly turns his head to look Sailor in the eye and shrugs again. "For trying to help me out. Sorry I got you punched."

She smirks and reaches over to give his hand a brief, friendly squeeze as she replies, "It's not your fault I got myself punched. I'm sorry your ass almost drowned."

He snorts at that and she's relieved to hear it, knowing that he can still joke around and he's not, like, completely traumatized or something. Poor guy's already got enough to deal with without adding a mental breakdown to the list. She swings her legs over the edge of the mattress and slowly stands before taking a tentative step forward; when her knees hold and she doesn't fall flat on her face, she makes her way to his side and holds both hands out to him with a small, lighthearted smile.

"Yeah, you're delirious. Near death experiences do that to you." She says, helping him to his feet and, after looping his arm over her shoulders and sliding hers around his waist, the two teenagers carefully shuffle down the hall in the dim light of the emergency lantern on the kitchen table to his room, where she unceremoniously dumps him onto his bed. "Sleep it off. And for the love of God, please change. You smell terrible."

She goes to leave as he laughs again, tugging his shirt off and tossing it into the growing pile of clothes near the closet before saying, "Hey, Sailor?"

The redhead pauses with one foot in the hall and leans against the doorframe. "Yeah?"

"You know you're a badass, right?"

She laughs and sends him a wink but her heart is oh so light as she turns and heads to the spare room, calling back over her shoulder, "Nice to see someone acknowledge it. Now go to bed!"

The sound of the Chateau's front door opening and closing startles Sailor awake and she blinks heavily, wondering when exactly she'd fallen asleep. Last thing she remembers she was staring out at the fireflies through the open window as she steadily ran her hand down the length of Binx's back and their ethereal glow, combined with the breeze dancing around her shoulders, must've pulled her right under. Down the hall, she hears a loud thump, followed by JJ cursing as he runs into something and she giggles to herself, rolling onto her side to face the hall. He appears in the darkened doorway a minute later, rubbing his knee with a scowl on his face and she laughs louder at his quiet, venomous hiss of "fuck that fucking chair."

"Rude. It's not the chair's fault you always run into it." She teases and he shoots her a flat, unamused look before turning to glance down the hall toward John B's room, his fingers holding tight to the door frame.

"He's okay, you know. Told him to get some sleep." His head swings to face her when she speaks with soft words and even in the dark, she can see the way his tense shoulders slowly relax and his hand loosens, falling back to his side as he nods, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"And you?" He asks, his eyes never wavering from hers as he kicks his boots off and pulls his shirt over his head; the sight of his messy hair and the muscles in his arms make it a little hard for Sailor to breathe, the gentle wind she once thought of as cool now doing nothing to help calm her flushed skin when she scoots over in bed to give him room to lie down next to her. Binx looks as disgruntled as a cat can look as he loses his comfy spot and jumps down from the bed, only to immediately leap onto the windowsill and stretch out.

"What about me?"

JJ rolls over to face her, reaching one hand up to cup her injured face and runs his calloused thumb under the cut on her cheekbone. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, she shifts closer and lays her head on his outstretched arm, covering his hand with her own and effortlessly fitting her fingers into the spaces between his. "I'm fine. Even better, now."

He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers. "Good, 'cause I don't know what I'd do if you weren't."

When those pesky butterflies come raging back with a vengeance, she realizes she's fighting a battle she hopes to lose.

The sound of a conversation in the kitchen, low voices drifting through the closed door of the guest room wakes Sailor early the next morning. Sunlight filters in through the windows and she squeezes one eye shut against the painful brightness, the other still squished into JJ's shoulder. His arm is a welcome weight slung over her hip and his deep, even breaths are soft against her forehead as he sleeps on, dead to the voices down the hall. With the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile, she smooths his fine blond hair away from his face and runs her fingers along his jawline before carefully sliding out from under his arm and quietly heading toward the kitchen.

Pulling her hair into a messy ponytail, she rounds the corner and stops short when she catches sight of the person standing by the table, her cheerful 'good morning' getting stuck on her tongue; she was expecting Pope and Kiara, not the goddamn sheriff! Shooting John B a wide-eyed look that makes him shake his head (what the fuck did that even mean?!), the redhead forces a smile and hastily offers her a wave.

"Uh, good morning, Sheriff. Sorry to interrupt, just, uh, grabbing some water."

She just nods in acknowledgement before turning her attention back to the brunet boy and Sailor breathes an inaudible sigh of relief. Holy shit, is that woman scary. She heads to the sink and keeps one ear on the conversation as she quickly fills a glass with water and pops two aspirin, the headache from last night made even worse by the addition of a whiskey hangover.

"I didn't realize you had company, John B. Wild night?" The sheriff asks and Sailor meets her friend's eyes again, her anxiety rising when she sees his thinly veiled panic. Her back to Peterkin, she silently implores him to say something, anything -hell, she even tries to subtly mime surfing with her hands to help him out- but he stays silent, so she gathers her courage, plasters a smile on her face, and twirls to face her.

"Busy day, actually. We went surfing all day after cleaning up the yard." She says, jerking her thumb toward the heap of broken branches piled by the fire pit visible through the living room window; when the sheriff turns to look, she quickly elbows John B in the side, ignoring his huff of surprise as she nods her head in her direction.

"Yeah, surfing! All day." He blurts out, sending Sailor a lukewarm glare when she quickly mouths 'what the fuck was that?' before they both straighten up and spin back to the older woman just as she turns to face them again.

"Right." Peterkin hums and arches one eyebrow as she glances back and forth between the two teenagers. "Now tell me, how'd you both get those bruises? They look pretty painful."

"Oh, this?" Sailor asks, pointing at her cheek with a casual shrug, "I tried to hang ten and bit it pretty hard. My board caught me right in the face."

Peterkin looks at her for a beat longer than normal and the redhead does her best to keep her expression neutral as her palms start to sweat. "Surfing, really? Thought you were pretty experienced in that department."

John B adds, offering some much needed back up, "Even the pros wipe out every once in awhile, you know?" He crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. "My board got me good, too."

"Yeah, it just was not our day," She says with a nervous chuckle, refilling her water and slowly starting to back out of the kitchen, pretending she doesn't see the dismayed look her friend sends her way; her anxiety can't take another second of the sheriff's piercing gaze and she needs to get away fast, lest she start recounting every single second of their activities both legal and not so legal- from yesterday in explicit detail. "And I'm still pretty tired so I'm just gonna go back to bed for a bit. Nice talking to you, Sheriff."

After disappearing around the corner before either of them can reply, she creeps down the hallway, keeping her footfalls as light as she can, and she's so focused on trying to listen in on what Peterkin's saying that she runs smack into JJ, standing in the doorway of the spare room. His arm instantly darts out to wrap around her waist and pull her close, keeping her from falling right on her butt as he says, "There you are-"

"Shhh!" Sailor hisses quietly, covering his mouth with her hand, "The damn sheriff is here!"

He mumbles something into her palm but she she holds a finger to her lips, pushing him back into the room and softly closing the door behind them before pressing her ear against it and dropping her hand from his face. He mirrors her position with a question clear as day in his wide eyes, 'what the fuck?', arm still looped around her lower back.

"She's grilling him about yesterday," She says simply, then turns her attention back to the faint voices floating through the door. The duo listens in silence, trying and failing to discern what's being said until they hear the sound of the sheriff's boots on the front porch and her squad car tires crunching through the gravel as she drives away and they exchange a worried look. JJ had it right: what the fuck, indeed.

"Holy shit, guys," John B's voice suddenly says from the hallway. The door opens before they have time to back away and it sends them sprawling to the floor in a twisted pile of limbs; the brunet boy -who'd usually find something like that hilarious- barely reacts to their position and sends them both a tense frown, his next words dropping like a damn anchor in the marsh.

"We need to go check out that Grady-White again, and fast."

Sailor groans and lets her head fall back onto the floor with a thunk. "Here we go."

let me know what you think! fun fact: ostriches actually do put their heads in the sand, but it's not because they sense danger. female ostriches bury their eggs to keep them safe from predators and they'll occasionally stick their head into the sand to check on them and give 'em a lil turn 😊

taglist ❤: @sinkbeneathwaves @jiaraendgame @hmsjiara @maysbanks @alexa-playafricabytoto @sunflowerbecca @obxlife @obx-adventures @sexualparkour @coltonparayyko @miawantsapuppy

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